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buckttommy · 19 hours

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If there would be a tommy begins episode, what would you like to see?

I have waited... my entire life for this moment.

Sorry, I'm about to answer this question in the most Jack way possible. Strap in, I'm about to enter my director era. Okay, let's get to it.

Tommy Begins (Jack's Version)

Opening scene: We see a kid (8yo) playing with Legos on his bedroom floor. His room is very much so a boy's room—there are dinosaurs and dragons and a soccer ball in the corner—but it's very sparse. This family is not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination. He's building a car, and beyond his closed bedroom door, you can hear muffled shouting. It's his mom and dad. The boy stops playing with his toys and listens as a door slams downstairs (his mom leaving) and heavy footsteps come up the stairs. He's already scooting backwards when the door opens and his father stands in the doorway. He's visibly drunk, and the camera is angled at Tommy's height so that the man in the doorway looks scary and imposing. (We're really leaning into the visuals here). So his dad looks at him and says, "Tommy, were you eavesdropping?" He wasn't, of course, but it doesn't matter because his dad is already undoing his belt (to beat him, not for anything else!!). Little Tommy continues to scoot backwards as his father comes into the room, and closes the door behind him. Before the door closes and the light from the hallway is shut out, we get a shot of the man's shirt—his father is an auto mechanic and the name Kinard is stitched into his clothing.

Similar to 5x17, where Jonah is introduced as a random little boy before the narrative makes the connection as to who he really is, this is the point where the audience realizes, oh, this isn't just any Tommy, this is our Tommy. And he's about to get his ass beaten.

Oh shit.

And then the 9-1-1 title card appears.

Now, all the begins episodes parallel past with present, so in my head, Tommy is off-work. Buck is moving in that day (this isn't a Buck/Tommy focused episode at all, but Buck is the vehicle for this episode to happen) and Tommy needs to finish going through his stuff to make room for him. He comes across a large box in the back of his closet that's stuffed with all his random keepsakes. He reaches into the box and pulls out a small Rubik's cube on a keychain.

The next scene flashes back to the past. We see Tommy as a teenager, getting into trouble with his idiot friends. They're all high as kites, and one of his friends overdoses on [drug]. He notices—he's the only one that notices, actually—and tells one of his other friends to call 9-1-1. They don't because they're kids, there are drugs involved, and they're stupid, so Tommy calls 9-1-1. He follows the operator's instructions and stays on the line until the paramedics get there. He accompanies his friend to the hospital and someone—a cop who is familiar with him, from having plucked him out of trouble a handful of times—waits with him. He tosses Tommy a Rubik's cube (the same one from the box) so that he can keep his mind occupied. His friend is okay, but the cop is like, "Listen, kid. One day, that's going to be you and one day, it's not going to turn out so well. You've got to straighten up or end up dead." Basically, the whole thing is kind of a wake up call. Before the scene changes, we see Tommy look up and look toward a container of pamphlets on the hospital wall. One of the pamphlets has a soldier on it. In his hand, the Rubik's cube has been completed.

In the present, Tommy continues going through his belongings. This is a dense episode, so we're not going to linger too much on what's happening in the present because it's secondary to what's going on in the past, but Buck and Tommy are texting. Buck is excited and has no idea the turmoil that is going on in his boyfriend's head. Tommy matches his enthusiasm (and it's genuine) but also takes a lot of effort at the moment. Still he smiles a little before he puts the phone down and continues digging through the box. Next, he withdraws his dog tags (and if it isn't obvious by now, the items in the box parallel with the next flashback because these are memories that are actively being triggered while the audience watches).

So, the next scene is obviously back to Tommy's time in the Army. Now, ideally, this would be a ninety-minute episode and I'd have the time to explore all the layers of Tommy's time in the service, but, alas, the boundaries of network television. In my head, most of Tommy's trauma comes from his childhood rather than his time in the Army anyway (which isn't to say it doesn't exist, just that it's not at the forefront of his issues) so we're going to have to gloss over that a bit. When we see him again, he's already in the Army, already well into his career, and the audience can see that he's shaped up and matured quite well. He's well-liked and good at what he does.

He's doing repairs on a helicopter when his CO approaches him and asks where he's going and what he's going to do after he's discharged. Tommy looks across the [hangar] and the camera pans to a a young man. He's in his 20s. Handsome in a boyish way. He's already looking at Tommy, but he looks sad and guilty and hesitant. They meet each others eyes and stare just a bit too long to be casual, and there is a lot of unspoken feeling between the two of them. Their relationship, such as it was during the DADT era, is heavily implied and it does not have a happy ending. Tommy looks back at his CO and says he's headed back home to Los Angeles. As for the rest, he doesn't know what he'll do after he leaves, but he'll figure it out as it comes to him. When he looks up at the guy, he's already gone. It's kind of a metaphor for the way the things he wants always seem to slip away.

In the present, Tommy is still going through his stuff. He unearths an old Academy shirt, so the next scene is his first day at the 118.

Tommy doesn't know it yet, but this is the first day of the rest of his life. Immediately, seeing those walls and doors fills the viewer with a sense of peace. Finally he's where he's supposed to be. He learns on his first day what type of boys club the 118 is under Gerrard. He's visibly uncomfortable (visibly to the viewer, who knows him well enough by now to read his face, but not to the old guard) the first time someone makes a homophobic joke. But he laughs and joins in, aware of but refusing to acknowledge the fact that they are making jokes at his expense. Just like that, he's accepted.

We see him assimilate quickly; the 118 goes on several calls. Not necessarily a montage, but we don't linger on the calls either except for a big fire. He saves Sal DeLuca and is rewarded with lots of accolades and praise. Tommy is one of the "in-crowd" and things are going well. But then Chimney shows up and Hen shows up shortly after. We all know how this plays in canon, so we don't linger too long on the times when Tommy is a dickhead but we do understand, from his perspective, that he has disdain for Hen and Chim—not because he's racist but because their existences threaten to dismantle this bubble of safety he's built around himself at the 118. The goal isn't to make the audience dismiss his complicity, but rather make them understand why he made the choices he made.

Because I am self-indulgent, there is one additional scene right before Tommy leaves for Harbor, where he and Hen are sitting in the locker room. She asks if he's going to miss it. He says he doesn't know, then he pauses and says "Kind of." There are lots of mixed feelings here. He suffocated himself in the closet within these walls and became someone he did not recognize, someone who went along with things rather than fight against the status quo, but he also learned how to breathe and exist a little freely once Gerrard left and Bobby took his place. He got his first taste of what it looks like to be Queer and proud within these walls, and that means something to him.

He looks at Hen and there are so many things he'd like to say to her that he doesn't know how to articulate, mostly because he cannot yet articulate them to himself. He's getting to that point but he's not there yet, so when she asks why he's looking at her like that, he just says "Thank you." "For what?" "For showing me another way." (This, of course, has a double meaning: first, referencing the idea that Hen/Chim showed him another way to be a firefighter, to be a family, to be a human being, and second, referencing the fact that Hen showed him another way to be Queer—showed him that Queerness doesn't have to be filled with self-hatred and pain. It can just... be... and people can either accept it, or they don't). Hen gets the sense that there's a lot he's not saying, a lot under the surface that she's not privy to, but she says "You're welcome."

The next scene is Tommy at Harbor, and the moment he gets there, the viewer can see a weight slip off his shoulders. He's back where he belongs—back with the mechanics, back with the big toys that make him feel at ease. It's a direct parallel to Buck's first meeting with the 118 (not for any Buck/Tommy purposes, just because I love a good narrative parallel) where Bobby pranks him. But Tommy smiles when they bust his balls, and settles into himself, and the viewer can see that he's okay. Things might not be perfect—he might not be perfect—but he's on the right track to being the person the audience will know and love in a few short seasons.

Back in the present, Tommy is pulled out of his walk down memory lane by the sound of his front door opening. Buck is standing on the other side with an overly large box in his hands. Tommy helps him carry it in, and offers to get the rest of his stuff from the Jeep, but Buck waves him off. He studies his face for a long moment, and asks if Tommy is alright. Tommy opens his mouth to answer and discovers, almost shockingly, that he is. He is alright. Maybe he wasn't a couple minutes ago. Maybe those items from the past dredged up memories that were best left forgotten. But he's here now, in this moment with his boyfriend, and he's fine. He's survived a lot. He's grown a lot. He's happy. So he smiles and he says yes, yes he's alright, and he kisses Buck, who also smiles, deeply. The doors close, implying sexytimes and Tommy closing the door on all the chapters of his life that have led him to this place, where he's now ready to embrace and walk into his future.

aaaaand SCENE :) the end.

#I had WAY too much fun with this #Oh my god.#TIM GET ME IN THE WRITING ROOM QUICK!!!!!!!!!!#tommy kinard #tv: 911 #bucktommy #(but only slightly)

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romanticintheory · 2 days

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on my knees BEGGING for more price and civilian!reader. i just read it and i can’t stop thinking about all the cute itty bitty interactions- their date, their convos, maybe him meeting her surprisingly scary dog (currently in love thinking about COD men and K9s yknow?).

Like if there’s not a single supporter for this, i’m dead in a ditch somewhere

what it's like dating john price as a civilian.

john price x gn!reader

part 1

more fluff, more domesticity, me being down bad

a/n: KSAHDASDKJ im so glad u love them as much as i do!! hope this does them justice for u <3

the date went really well, thankfully. he showed up at your place ready to pick you up with the bouquet of flowers he knew you deserved. call him old-fashioned, but he was adamant on making sure you didn't have to lift a finger for anything.

hell, he even asked you why you were standing out there in the cold by yourself, saying, "i could have come to your door so you didn't have to freeze all the way out here, sweetheart!"

he held out his hand for you to take as he guided you down the stairs, opened your side of the door for the car, and always walked with you on the side closest to the street.

the movie was a cute action comedy. it was even funnier with john because he'd sometimes pipe up at the action sequences talking about how unrealistic some scenes were.

when you told john that the main character's actor, a built, older-looking man, was used to be your celebrity crush in high school, he couldn't help but let a chuckle rumble in his throat and ask, "got a type then, love?"

"yeah, probably do," you admitted shamelessly.

the dinner was just as nice as the movie: he took you out to a nice restaurant and hung onto every word you spoke. likewise, you couldn't take your eyes off him whenever he told you stories about him and his boys.

he wouldn't tell you stories about him doing his job, mostly because he didn't want to disturb you with what he's had to do. he did, however, happily tell you stories about the ridiculous things he's seen his task force get up to.

"they sound like a handful," you said warmly, "you sure they're not your kids?"

"no, but they certainly sound like it," he leaned just a little bit closer to hear you better over the chatter of the restaurant.

"i get that. i've got a handful at home, too." you paused to take a sip of your drink. "a little puppy."

"really? what's its name?"

when he takes you back home, he wordlessly walks you back to your door.

"would you like to meet beau, john?" you ask, hand hovering over the door you unlocked.

he opens his mouth to speak but gets interrupted by the sound of scratching and a dog panting on the other side of the door.

"well, only if he's okay with meeting me."

when you open the door, john is surprised to see a full-grown rottweiler launching at him at full speed. for a second, he saw his life flashing before his eyes before he realized the wagging of beau's tail.

"oh my god, i'm so sorry!" you call out immediately, "he's usually more polite around strangers. beau- beau get down!"

john only laughs at your panic and took your dog's friendliness as a sign to pet him. "'s alright, love. i trust you enough to know you wouldn't put me in harm's way."

he takes in beau's stature. from the looks of his larger-than-average size, he might be a guard dog for you. or maybe you just wanted company and decided to hone in on his scariness and bulk by adding that spiked collar.

"so, a puppy, huh?" he points outed humorously, locking eyes with you after realizing that your canine was, in fact, fully grown.

"hey, he's still a puppy to me!" you interject, kneeling down beside john's crouched figure to also show the rottweiler some affection.

"i see," he nods thoughtfully, turning his attention back to beau. "you're just as gorgeous as your owner, huh?"

your face is on fire again. "you flatter me, john."

"how does the saying go? it's not flattery if it's true?" he stands up much to the disappointment of beau and to take a step closer to you.

"you're too kind."

"jus' trying to treat you like how you deserve."

it's like he's trying to light you aflame on purpose. your embarrassment grows so much you have to cover the smile on your face with your hand. once your face has cooled down, you take a deep breath and let your hand fall down back to your side.

"thank you for tonight," you say quietly. "i had a really good time."

"glad to hear," he replies. "'m also happy to see beau likes me, too."

"well, we both have that in common, i guess."

"oh, who's doing the flattery, now?" john says playfully, his hands on his hips as you laugh softly at him.

"still you!" you insist.

"hm. maybe next time we can figure it out, yeah?" he proposes, a hopeful glint in his eye.

"next time? you already ready for a second date, price?"

oh, he was ready for more, but he didn't think you were ready to hear that.

"unless you're not," he tells you slowly, afraid of pressuring you into saying yes already.

sensing his worry, you reassure him with, "how could i not be?"

he relaxes at your admission and leans forward to give you a kiss on the cheek. "i've got your number. next week sound fine to you?"

"of course. whatever you like, soldier," you nodded, the lingering feeling of his lips on your cheek leaving a tingling sensation. if you were just a bit more confident, you would have kissed him then and there.

"i'll see you then, love."

he bends down to give beau a well-deserved goodbye pet before turning to leave, looking you in the eyes one last time before leaving for home.

#call of duty imagine #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price imagine #john price x you #cod x reader #cod x y/n #cod x you #rarawrites #call of duty fanfic #john price fanfic #captain john price imagine

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morganski-19 · 2 days

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part 1, part 2

Dustin visits the next day, sitting next to Wayne with the same book he’s had for the past few days. Turning to the page that was dog-eared, reading. Voices and all. Just like Eddie does when he’s practicing for one of those campaigns. Claiming that it’s better to get it down with someone else’s words so he can improvise. So he doesn’t have to memorize some script and can be in the moment. Let his mind do the workings along with the players.

It’s one of the many parts of Eddie that Wayne sees in this kid. The dramatics, the drive. The snobbiness about certain things that don’t really matter to the rest of the world. But it matters to them, so it matters to the people who care about them too.

If Eddie were awake, he might yell at the kid for turning the corner of a page instead of using a bookmark. Even though all the books he gets are second-hand and already torn and bent in all sorts of ways. But it’s about keeping the art pristine. The author put their heart and soul into this work, it’s not meant to be sullied. Wayne saw Eddie bend the corner of a page a million times over though, he just likes making a big stink about nothing. Just to get a rise out of people, make them laugh. Wayne can imagine that Eddie liked to make Dustin laugh a lot.

“Have the doctors said anything new?” Dustin asks after finishing the chapter.

Wayne shakes his head. “Same old, same old. Don’t worry about it too much though, he wouldn’t want you to.”

“He wouldn’t want a lot of the things that happened over the past week. So he’ll have to deal with it.” After a pause, he asks, “How are you doing?”

That makes Wayne laugh. “You don’t have to go worryin’ about me either. You’re just a kid.”

“And you’re just a man waiting for your kid to wake up. The same way I’m waiting for my friend to wake up. At the end of the day, we’re all still people. That sometimes need a break. So, how are you doing?”

It’s scary how much Wayne sees Eddie in this kid. “It’s hard comin’ here to hear the same thing every day.” That’s all Wayne’s willing to say to a kid.

Hard is definitely a word most people would use to describe his situation. Difficult, disheartening. Maybe even hopeless. But there’s still some hope in this old heart that keeps Wayne coming back day in and day out. Keeps him moving while only getting a few hours of sleep a day. Cause as soon as the night comes around, it’s right back to the plant. Making the money to pay for the care his boy needs to keep living. To pay for the roof over his own head enough so he’ll live to see it happen.

Truth is, Wayne’s dying here. From the fatigue. From the endless waiting. From the slowly draining pool of hope. Nothing seems to change. Nothing gets better. Six days in a medically induced coma with no hopes of ever waking up. Wayne’s not dumb enough to think that the chances increase the more days pass without him showing any signs of improvement.

Part of him says that this is the state Eddie will be in for the rest of his life. Wonders if it’s worth all of this just to keep him alive. If he’s really suffering in there and would be better off resting forever. But then the heart monitor keeps beeping and his brain is still active. Wayne’s boy is still in there, he’ll come back soon.

“Yeah, I bet that’s hard. I still have hope though, I was there when he came in. He looks a lot better now.”

There’s a knock on the door that keeps Wayne from responding. It’s the Harrington boy, in normal clothes this time. Discharged.

“Sorry to interrupt but your mom said it’s time to go home.”

Dustin dramatically rolls his eyes. “Which one, my actual mother or you?”

“Your actual mother, but I happen to agree with her. Come on, you got school in the morning.” Harrington crosses his arms, looking like he’s ready to start a standoff.

But instead of fighting Dustin stands. “Have a good night Mr. Munson. I’ll still try to visit as much as I can even though school’s starting back up again.”

“Thanks, kid, I’ll try.”

Harrington ruffles Dustin’s hair as he walks out the doorway. Standing there for a beat before turning back to Wayne. “We’ve never officially met, I’m Steve.”

Steve holds out his hand, waiting for Wayne to shake it. Wayne debates whether that’s a good idea or not. Apparently, it takes too long as Steve returns his hand to his side.

“I wanted to apologize for the scene I made the other day, you didn’t deserve that. I was just so shocked that they actually cuffed him to the bed. Still have him cuffed to the bed.” Steve looks at Eddie with a guilt that Wayne doesn’t understand. Like he’s the reason Eddie’s strapped to the bed.

Wayne continues to say nothing, not quite sure what would be appropriate. Tell him that it’s ok, that it didn’t bother him. Or thank him for believing that Wayne knew was true. That his boy was innocent.

There was more to this story than he knew. Something to do with the kid being there and the rich boy standing in the doorway looking like this is all his fault. When Wayne knows the same scars mark Steve just as much as they do Eddie. Steve made sure that everyone knew that. Using it as proof that Steve was there, and that Eddie was innocent.

Steve was ready to offer himself up as a witness for a man that the town hates. Wayne should be grateful for that, but it doesn’t seem right. They were part of different worlds. Different status, interests. It didn’t make sense for them to be in the same place at all. Yet here they are supposedly having gone through the same vicious attack.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Steve continues when Wayne stays silent. “I’m more than happy to help out. Eddie was kind of a new friend and I hate seeing him like this as much as you do.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Wayne snaps. He hates charity, especially from this kid. For some reason he doesn’t really understand why.

Steve is taken aback. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.”

“I’m sure you didn’t, but you did. I know my boy and I know how my boy thinks about people like you. So don’t go ‘round gaining sympathy points from the real people who are suffering.”

“I, I wasn’t,” Steve stammers. “I would never.”

“Steve,” Dustin yells. “Get your ass moving, we’re your ride too.”

Steve sighs. “Coming, Jesus. I’m sorry for offending you. I won’t bother you again.”

Wayne shakes his head when Steve leaves, letting out a deep sigh. Maybe he was too harsh, maybe he wasn’t harsh enough. He’s not sure.

He’s not sure about a lot of things anymore.

tag list, let me know if you want to be added or removed: @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar, @tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda, @fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77, @here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium, @resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly, @gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight, @devondepresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug, @greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake, @morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs,

#stranger things #stranger things fanfic #post season 4 #wayne munson #dustin henderson #steve harrington #pre steddie #eddie munson #eddie in a coma #everyone lives/nobody dies #fanfic #wayne pov

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are-you-still-writing-that · 2 days

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Yandere Alphabet: Tobias "Ticci Toby" Rogers

It was genuinely so much fun to figure him out. (If I would care, it would almost be scary how many of my own habits I projected onto him, but o well...) I hope you will enjoy this little thing!

Toby Rogers

One word: Unstable. That is all you need to know about him. His movements, his moods, his sanity. All of it is unstable. Wishing you good luck would feel condescending at this point. So I´m just gonna laugh quietly to myself as I leave the scene of the crime. You are aware that this man is a disaster waiting to happen, right? Oh well, you are done for anyway. Byebye~!

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

He comes closer to you, leaning down to get on eye level with you, as you struggle to stand up again. Faster than you react, he already grabbed you by the collar of your shirt. Beneath his googles you know he is staring at your face, and even though you can´t see his eyes, it gets uncomfortable quickly. He leans further into your space, leaning to your neck. His fingers, jerking slightly, brush aside your shirt, as he pulls down his mask. Then nothing but pain, as he buries his teeth in your shoulder. Licking the blood away, he bites down again. Carefully circling the indents of his teeth, he whispers something about scars. Later he clings to you, demanding head pats and cuddles, and every once in a while, he will scar you again with his teeth.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

The scream ends in a gurgle, as he slams down his hatchet again, and again. And again. Again. He won´t stop. Blood is splattered all over the floor. It´s dripping from his hair and face. When his movements stop, he turns to grin at you widely. The wound on his cheek distorts his face even further. Hatchet still in hand, he grabs for the corpse with the other hand, and drags it over to you. You´re shaking as he simply drops it down in front of you. Rolling on the balls of his feet, he almost looks like a child. Nothing left of the rage, he had relished in only moments before. He looks like a cat who is proudly showing off his prey. You notice how his face suddenly seems to shift at your lack of an reaction, and you quickly lean over to inspect his kill. Thank you, you mumble out as you look over the wound, slightly poking them to get your hands bloody, because you know it will make him happy. No problem, that´s what a good boyfriend should do, no? Watch out for his partner? And you are mine after all! His sentence ends with a little laugh, as he crouches down next to you, to explain to you in detail how he slaughtered the other.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

He flips faster than you can predict. Sometimes, he seems amused by the way you flinch away from him, whenever he moves to fast. Mocking your reactions to him, and setting you off on purpose. His laughter, a rasp that must hurt, echoing through the little cabin. There is no escape from him. Other times, he looks at you with worry. His eyebrow furrowed, as he slows down on purpose. You can see how he clenches his teeth, trying to suppress the jerks of his body. Something, that is not only not really possible, but also puts him in a terrible mood. You don´t mind the laughter or the worry. Because what you really hate, is the anger. Because sometimes he rages, when he sees you flinch away from him. He is up to your face, screaming, spit flying into your face. His grip becomes so tight, you swear, that you feel your bones creak. In those moments, you always fear, that he will always grab his hatchet next to put an end to it all. You hate it.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

You were shaking again, standing in the middle of the cabin, when you felt how his arm snaked around your waist, only to pull you flush against him. He was breathing against the back of your neck, as he seemed to relax. After a moment he also wrapped his other arm around you, only to rest his entire weight on you. With a satisfied sigh, he pulled away from you after a few minutes. You blanched, when he pulled you towards his bed. A happy smile on his face, as he pushed you down, climbing to lay on top of you, as close as possible. Obviously in the mood to cuddle, no matter what you would say.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Whenever he had a nightmare, you would be awake long before him. His sudden jerking of limbs right next to you, pulling you from sleep. Every time you would slowly sit up, not touching him, and instead wait for him to wake up by himself. Shuffling back to lean against the wall, you wait. When he would finally come to with a big gasp, he would look around panicked. It would only take a moment, before he grabs you, and burrows his face in your lap. Big sobs shaking his body. He would talk, but stutter heavely, thrills and whistles would make it hard to understand him. Never mind, that he was still slurring his words from sleep. This would be the only time, he would be vulnerable in front of you. Straight from a nightmare, he would use you for his own comfort. Talk to you, till he felt better, about whatever his brain had cooked up that night. It was easier to placate and comfort him on those nights. You had learned that the hard way.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

He doesn´t seem to register the punches, the kicking. Ignores the screaming. He laughs when you bite him. Cooing at you, proud for you to marking – maybe even scarring – him like that. He bites back as well. Drunk on joy of how you seem to reciprocate his feeling for you. This is not a game, that you can win. The look in his eyes tells you, to appreciate that he sees your fighting as a game, that he enjoys scuffling with you. Because if you already can´t win the game, you would certainly loose the fight. And the consequences would be gruesome.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

He loves the hunt. You can see it in his eyes, how much he enjoys it, whenever you try to turn away from him. To run. To escape from him. He adores the chase. His eyes glinting in delight, when he jumps up to chase after you. His feet carrying him securely across the uneven forest ground, while you stumble. He knows, that you won´t escape him, and deep down you know the same thing. His confidence let´s him be calm, while your panic clouds every thought. The woods around the cabin are familiar to him, while you struggle not to fall. No matter where you turn, you know he will still be on your trail. You can hear him whistling behind you. And when his weight suddenly slams into your back, his knees pressing into your back, as you hit the ground. He lets out a delighted hoot. It´s only slowly, that he will get off from you. Pulling you from the forest floor, absent-mindedly patting dirt from your clothes, as he pulls you back to the cabin.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

He leans over you. At the moment you are still sleeping. Completely unaware of the intruder in your home. He can´t help himself, but to reach out, and softly caress your face. You won´t wake up. Not yet. You are a surprisingly heavy sleeper, as he just finds out, and it suits him just fine. He looks around your room for a moment, shuffling through your papers, rummaging through your pictures. There is a smile on his face, but soon enough, he looses interest in that. The source of it all, after all still sleeps right there. You scream, when you wake up. His face is covered, as you kick and scream, desperately trying to get him off of you. He doesn´t budge. He easily pulls you from your bed, and before you know it, slams your head against the edge of it. Your screaming stops as you dazedly look around. Everything seems to swim and dance. You mumble out something like that and he just laughs quietly, as he lifts you from the ground, half-dragging you from your room, out of your home. You don´t know it yet, but it is the last time you´ll ever see it.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

He looks at you laying on his bed. Still unconscious. You´re breathing peacefully, blood dripples down your face. Not that you notice it. With a quiet sigh, he stands up to get a wet cloth. Carefully dabbing at your wound, he wonders why he even took you in the first place. His tongue clicks, more annoyance than tick, as his head rolls to the side. Settling back down into the chair to watch you, he drums his fingers anxiously on the armrest. He already knows how this will end. No matter, what he will try or attempt, how much he wants to trust in you. There is only one possible ending left for you and him. You will leave him. You will betray him. And he, in a fit of rage will kill you. It´s almost sobering, and he chuckles slightly. He always set himself up for disappointment, but he doesn´t mind. It´s always nice, while it lasts. You twitch, seems like this story is about to start. He doesn´t know the middle, but it comforts him, that he already knows its end.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

You had noticed, before he came for you, that the people you would get closer to, would vanish. They would become the victims of gruesome murders. His murders, as you had to realize later. The rage he felt, upon seeing you with someone else, drove him, to murder them in a gruesome fashion. It calmed him down tremendously. Toby would later talk to you, about his murders. Seeming almost proud, as he looked at you. Either not caring, or not recognizing the horror you would mirror back at him. Wide eyes, short breath. For him, you looked excited. And so he kept talking. Happy to share his stories with you. While you slowly realize, that you won´t get away from him alive. Not with how easy killing seems to be for him.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

You watch his every step. But that isn´t surprising. You just woke up in this place one day. Him chattering endlessly into your ear. If the situation was any different, it would be easier for you to admit. Toby is actually quite sweet, when it comes to you. He has his mood swings were he is annoyed and in general aggravated by everything, but you also noticed, that he distances himself from you before that. You see, that he quiet literally bites his tongue, and just waves you away instead. His entire behaviour just tells you how much he adores you. He tends to sticks close to you. He listens attentively, when you say something. You´re always touching somehow, with how he tries to cuddle up to you.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

He was picking at his cheek again. Pulling at the edges of the wound with his fingers, when he clasped his hand in his lap to stop himself from ripping it open even further, he unconsciously started to prod it with his tongue. Toby was nervous. Terribly so. His eyes track your movements almost lazily. He perks up when he notices, who you are talking to and his teeth grit. When blood suddenly pools into his mouth, he opens it again, and carefully feels out, how much of his tongue he accidentally bit off now again. Not much. Lucky. It would be a lot easier if he could approach you. Felt confident enough in himself, to simply go up to you and introduce himself. He ticks. His head rolling to the side, as he clicks his tongue. It repeats several times, before it finally stops again. The stress is slowly getting to him, which only makes everything worse. After all, he is very aware of how he looks – his hair is disheveled, his clothes always dirty, there is a giant hole in his cheek and he looks like he hasn´t slept in days – and the habits he has – the ticks, so many of them, the stutter, and quite frankly the social ineptitude – that approaching you can only become a disaster. So he thinks of something else, as he watches you disappear behind your door, checking the lock quickly, as he leaves. It´s not a very good one. It would be easy for him. And well, once you´re with him, it can´t be that bad, right? With a grin, he hounds down your newest suitor, happily whistling, as he already plans to come back tonight.

Mask: Are their true colours drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

It´s hard for him to control his emotions in any manner. He tries sometimes. Leaves, when he feels, how his emotions nearly overrun him. But it never works. His mouth is often so much faster, than his mind can keep up with. He talks about blood and guts, and how fun killing those guys were. How much fun it was. All the while not even realizing, that you aren´t enjoying what he talks about. Sometimes he simply sits down next to you, refusing to say anything, as he simply watches how you move. He knows, that he will say the wrong thing again, when he opens his mouth. It´s inevitable for him. He can feel the tension building up in his body, and the sudden way, that it releases again. Sometimes it´s just a click of the tongue, a slight twitch, and other times a full body shiver. He never could hide, mask like other people did. With his body, his emotions. And over time, he stopped trying. He grew more careful, sure, but he was always true to himself.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

You look at him. He is shaking, as he tries to take deep breaths. You can see, that he is trying to say something, but it seems like he has problems forming the words. His brows furrow, almost like he is in pain, and then he violently twitches. His head drops down to his shoulder, there is a loud crack, and you flinch away. You can see, that he suddenly looses his balance, and drops to the floor. His attempts at speaking stop, as he simply rides out the ticks. For a moment you wait, breath held, to see what he will do next. He is slow, when he pushes himself back to his feet. You can tell, that he is still angry, and his stutter is worse. „Go away!“ He points to the room, he shares with you, and you don´t try to fight him on it. You leave. Slide down the door. Only moments later, you can hear things breaking, screaming. It doesn´t stop. His crying gets louder, as he lets out his frustrations on the furniture. Nothing will be left standing in his path. You are safe in the room. Still scared.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

You try to run, when he leaves the hut for the first time. You can´t believe, that this is supposed to be your new home or whatever he calls it. It makes you sound like some sort of stray animal, that he picked up on the way. It aggravates you. When you finally get the damn lock on the door open, you don´t wait for another moment. You´re out of the door and running. The forest is not familiar to you, you don´t even know, if you´re close to your actual home. A giddy laugh almost escapes you, that is tragically cut short, when the handle of a hatchet just barely misses you head. Ducking, you stumble forward. Turning to the side, you can see the man – What was his name again? Toby? – watching you. Though, you can´t see his eyes through his googles. He stands still for one moment. In the next, he is already upon you. Throwing you down to the floor, his weight enough to immobilize you. „Not now. Let´s play later, kay?“, with that he simply starts to drag you back. The hand around your ankle like a vice, as he slowly, but clearly not bothered by you, makes his way back to the hut.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

You swallow. Completely unnerved by the way, he is looking at you. Wide eyes staring at you. Almost lazily, he makes clicking sound with his tongue. It´s strange to someone act like this. You carefully try to move further away from him, hoping that a greater distance will lessen the absolute terror you are feeling at the moment. It doesn´t work. Instead a smile slowly grows on his face. His eyes bright. The gaping wound on his cheek wrapping to accommodate the change. You shudder. He lowly starts to talk. His voice nothing but a whisper. He stutter, you notice, and if you would actually listen to what he says, you would notice, that sometime he interrupts himself with a strange term or phrase. But you don´t, so you only notice his stutter. Not that you are focusing on that either, as he slowly crawls over to you. Closer and closer, till he can reach you again. His fingers twist themselves into the hem of your clothing, as he keeps talking to you. His eyes unwavering. Looking at you. Maybe even through you. You don´t know. All you can focus on is the way he holds on to you. Careful. Afraid. Not willing to let go. Never letting you leave.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

You have stopped to answer him for quite some time now. No matter what he says, you seem to ignore him. At this point, he is sure, that he said something to upset you, but he doesn´t know what it was. And he can´t ask you either, because you are giving him the silent treatment. Well, he talks enough to fill the silence between the two of you by himself. And you always had been a good listener. Though recently he started to notice a saccharine smell clinging to everything, like rot or mould, in the hut. He shrugs it off, and helps you to the living room. Unmoving. So still, but he hefts you up anyway to carry you over. He absent-mindedly wonders, if you would at least eat something today. He talks to fill the silence. The smell of decay his most loyal friend. And you. Or whatever is left of you.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Sometimes he does wonders. He looks at you, and imagines a world where the two of you could have met differently. Before long though, he will shake his head again, forgetting this flight of fancy, as he focuses on what he has. There is no use for him to cry over lost opportunities. There are already so many things, that he doesn´t know. So many things, that he had forgot. He will watch you, stay close to you, in this little hut, that he calls his home. Sometimes, he will wonder again, when you cry yourself to sleep. But instead of wondering for long, he simply takes you in his arms to shush you back to sleep. There is nothing he can do about it now. He doesn´t regret taking you. Because he knows, he would have regretted it more to let you go.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Some days, Toby will flinch away from loud men screaming with rage, without knowing why. He will look at some girls, and wonder why they seem familiar to him, as if they remind of someone he once knew. When he works, he sometimes hums something under his breath, without knowing the words to the melody. Even then, he is sure, that when he tries to sing you to sleep, that the words would be in a language he had forgotten a long time ago. He is reminded of a past, that doesn´t exist any more for him. Toby has lost many pieces of himself. Too many. He can´t give anything of himself away any more, without becoming hollow. So, when he gave you his heart without knowing, he had to keep it close. No matter what.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

There is a heavy clump in his chest, pressing down on his lungs, as you let out another anguished wail. He was fighting against his won tears, as he tried to calm you down, but nothing was working. He couldn´t even remember what had upset you so suddenly, or when you had started to cry like this. He coos at you, pulling you into his arms with a hug. Peppering kisses across your face – over the bridge of your nose, your eyes, before pressing one deeply to your forehead – while he carded through your hair. Even if he didn´t understand why you so sad, he knew that the two of you would get through this. Together.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Before long, you notice, that his mood tends to be... unstable. It´s not something, that is very surprising at first – the whole man seems to be the definition of unstable – and yet it is still something, that you notice quite often. Because no matter what you do, he will still lash out without rhyme or reason. Sometimes at you, sometimes when he quite literally recoils from you to leave the room. It´s quite – at least that´s one word for it – strange. Another thing, that tends to draw your attention is how he clings to you. No matter where you go or what you try to do – When he is there, he will hold onto you. Most days he will try to fill the silence with his talking, still always keeping an eye on you as if waiting for your approval. On other days, he will be quiet, but his hand will be fisted into your sleeves, as he simply holds on. The strangest thing, though, is how used you get to him.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

He was gone again. You didn´t know if it would only be hours, days or maybe even weeks. You look over the little hut, he called home and you called far less favourable things. You think about it for a moment longer. Then decide „Fuck it!“ and bolt. You don´t if you will run directly into his arms or if you will actually get away. But event then, he could still catch up to you. Doubt floods your mind, but for the moment you are free. You would laugh, if he didn´t remind you so much of yourself at the moment. Because no matter how much you wanted forget, you could never quite do it. Leave behind the days on which you would basically barricade yourself into your room to avoid all possible contact with other people, and instead of doing something – anything – productive, stare at your wall for several hours. You understood him in that moment, and quite frankly hated yourself quite a bit for it as well. You sat down next to him, and wondered if he would even care in this state, if you simply walked out of the door.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

It happens quickly. Like everything with him does. Without warning or any prompting. No sign for you. Nothing. One moment, he is still cuddling up to you. And while you are uncomfortable with it, you still let him do what he wants. He is talking about something or the other – you aren´t really listening to him – while you pet his hair slowly. Tousling it one way and then another, as you hum every once in a while. You could almost call it peaceful. And in the next moment, he is screaming. Cursing loudly, he lashes out. You shriek in fright, when he goes for your face. The pain is sharp, when his fingernails cut your cheek open. He is nearly spitting, as he yowls in anger. He throws himself away from you, as you start to sob quietly. Tearing at his hair, he flees from the room. Later, he will apologize. All soft again. „Sorry, sorry“, he wont´t stop repeating, as he wipes the dried blood away, and presses a soft kiss to your face, which he cradles between his palms. „Love you“. Still you can´t help but to notice the slight tremor running through his limps from now on.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Toby likes to bring you gifts. Sometimes, at least. It´s never something grand. Little things, that reminded him of you, that he presents to you with a smile. It´s almost cute. Though sometimes, when he thinks you aren´t looking, you see the mask fall. How his eyes take in your reaction. He is manipulating you. You know that. Doesn´t mean, you know how to stop it. He likes to think, that he is a good boyfriend. He adores you. But worship? Revering you? No, thank you. He likes to be close to you. Likes to hold you. Likes to play fight with you. He likes the quiet moments, and the screams. But some days, he hates you as well. He knows that. It´s nothing, that he can change. He could never worship you. You and him are too human for that. Just mortals. Just people. But that is what he loves most about you. Being human.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

He had forgotten, when he had started to follow you around. Has it been a week, a month? Maybe it had been summer back then, he muses, as snow melts on his gloves. He doesn´t remember the first moment, he saw you. But he does remember, that he always recognized you. No matter how much time had passed. He always felt like he knew you. Maybe he did. He wouldn´t know. He has forgotten so many things, that were supposed to be important. A low growl escapes him, as you entertain another idiot. No matter how often he cleans up, there always more of them vying for your attention. Seems like tonight will be busy for him again. He wonders if you would like to hear all the stories, he collected while watching over you. Though, they might be a bit bloody for your taste. He clicks his tongue, a low whistle following, as his eyes follow you again. Maybe one day, he will make sure, that no one else can get your attention except him.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

He watches your every move carefully. Afraid, that he accidentally hurt you again. He knows, that he feels pain different than you do. He knows, that you deal with some things differently than he does. He knows all of that. So, he watches you. He sees it, when your eyes go glassy. When your facial expressions start to dull. He sees it. He knows something is wrong, when you lean in close to him. Sighing almost wistfully, as you intertwine your hands. You never done that before. He tries to break you out of this mood. Maybe you need something new to entertain you? Maybe some fresh air? It´s not like he adores you like this too, but he worries over you. When your spark does not return to you, he gives up. Instead, he simply leans closer to you, holds your hand like he always wanted to, and tells you of his day. You don´t flinch, and he doesn´t mind.

#yandere #yandere ticci toby #yandere alphabet #xreader #creepypasta #ticci toby #yandere headcanon #ticci toby creepypasta #ticci toby headcanons #ticci toby x reader #yandere creepypasta

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flywolfwriting · 17 hours

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Throw Me in the Deep End

Charlie was proud to say she was not afraid of the dark. It certainly impressed the other seven-year-olds in her class, and her parents always told her how proud they were that she had conquered that fear so young. That she was so brave for sleeping without a night light.

It was even mostly true. She could sleep in her own room, and could sneak about the manor in the middle of the night without her heart in her throat, but sometimes it still quickened, and if she looked out the windows her breath caught. She was still only seven, after all, and it was a big, scary world beyond the safety of the manor walls.

It took her time to settle into their New Orleans holiday home. She learned the creaking of the walls and the whispering of the wind, grew accustomed to the way shadows cloaked her temporary bedroom. She kept the curtains open for just that small glimmer of moonlight and buried her head under her blankets to keep from looking outside.

She didn't say anything to her parents, though, not even when her mom woke her before sunrise to take her on an early-morning walk. They drove for ages with Charlie napping in the backseat, until her mom pulled over and told her they'd arrived. Charlie hugged close to her, but put on a brave face when Lilith led her into the bayou. She protested only a little when directed to stay put for a moment, her plea cut off with a firm, "You're mommy's brave little girl, aren't you?"

Charlie wanted so badly to be so she nodded and did as asked. She watched her mother disappear into the darkness and waited.

And waited.

And kept waiting.

The song of the bayou played around Charlie and her trembling fingers clutched the hem of her shirt tightly as she tried not to imagine glowing eyes creeping closer around her, silent tears streaking her cheeks.

Finally she could take it no more and with a sob she raced back the way they'd come.

"Mommy!"

—---------------------

Alastor loved nights like this, when the shadows clung to him like cobwebs and the crescent moon offered just enough light to avoid stepping into the alligator-infested waters. He could see the glint of their eyes watching as he dumped the duffle bag and opened it. They moved closer but didn't creep onto the small finger of land he stood on. They simply waited, and when he threw the first limb into the water they struck, the still bayou turning into churning bodies fighting for meat.

Alastor threw the next piece, quietly humming as he watched them feed. This was almost the best part, second only to the moment blood welled under his fingers and his victim realized they were about to die. He kept the best cuts to himself, of course, but the gators seemed to appreciate his treats all the same.

When he finished he loaded the bag with soil before tossing it in, tucked his gloves back into his pocket, and set off with a spring in his step.

That was when he heard the sob.

Alastor froze, listening carefully. The bayou was full of strange sounds but he had learned them all, knew each creak of wood, the splash of an alligator sliding into the water, the hum of every insect. He slipped into the shadow between the trees and waited, his knife at the ready. They weren't truly deep within the bayou itself; he couldn't risk the noise of a boat. It was plausible someone had followed him.

What came next was a greater shock: a child, a little girl, stumbling into view.

No, they weren't deep, but dawn had yet to crack the sky and they weren't near any roads.

Alastor resisted a sigh and tucked his knife back into its sheath against his thigh and stepped out.

The girl let out a short scream and fled.

“Wait-” Alastor called, then took off after her. He couldn't see her anymore but he heard her footsteps, another short scream, and the expected splash as she fell into the water.

And then a more familiar kind of splash.

#Hazbin Hotel #Alastor #charlie morningstar #lucifer morningstar #RadioApple #Slow burn #ao3 #flywolf33 #flywolfwriting #my fic #please don't repost to another site #fanfic #Human au #found family #hazbin hotel rosie #serial killer Alastor #title from Deep End by I Prevail

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niphredil-14 · 3 days

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Casey Jones Junior as an Obsessive Lover

As we are all aware, Casey Jr. was raised during the apocalypse. His whole life was intense and scary. His whole life, he must have needed to let go of things that weren't a priority, and to keep a death grip on anything he considered precious.

So imagine with me, if you will, Casey Jr in the modern day, after saving the world. He's working towards his GED, he's got a job, and while he's still kicking ass to protect the world, he is learning to experience and adjust to long-term mundanity. He doesn't know how to do things in moderation, so when he finds his love, he falls hard, and doesn't believe that any line is too far to cross, not if it ensures his darling's safety and comfort.

---

Imagine with me, if you will, waiting outside of Casey's work. It's late at night, but the shop is closing up, and Casey texted saying that he'd be out in five minutes. But New York is New York, no matter the circumstances, and a man approaches you. He's not being too overly creepy, but you have a bad feeling, and only give short answers, trying to end the interaction as quickly and safely as possible. Despite your best efforts, things escalate quickly, and the man tries to put a hand on you. And yet before you can even process the fact that he had tried to touch you, he's on the ground, Casey on top of him. Each and every one of Casey's hits lands hard, the stomach churning sounds of harsh impact, the man's wails, and the cracking of bones causing your knees to become weak, and bile to rise in your throat. Even after the man was resigned to quiet whimpers, Casey didn't let up, not until your legs finally give out on you, and you begin to stumble backwards. Then, in an instant, Casey is there, bloodied hands catching you, stabilizing you as much as they startle you. And when he speaks, there's a deranged edge to his voice, it's still sweet and loving, but there's a dangerous concern lacing it,

"Are you okay, Baby?"

He moves one of his hands to cup your cheek, guiding you so that he can give you a good once-over, and you can feel the blood transfer to your skin. It sends both shivers down your spine, and warmth to your belly.

---

Imagine with me, if you will, coming home to him after a long day. Your phone is dead and you got stuck in traffic, you're running maybe around half an hour late. When you finally get home, and open the door, you find Casey pacing and tugging at his hair, staring at his phone, his heavy footfalls echoing through the apartment. Imagine him borderline panicking, relief washing over his features when his gaze finds you, though you can see that intensity burning in his eyes. He rushes to you, taking you into his arms, and squeezing before pulling back just enough to gaze into your eyes.

"Are you okay? Did something happen? You weren't answering your phone!"

He panics, and dotes on you the whole night, becoming extremely clingy. He will insist on transporting you to and from any engagements for the next week, and will do his best to convince you to let him put a tracker on you- and of course he will let you put one on him!!

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soullessjack · 2 days

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🔥 jack

oh my godddd I have so many unpopular opinions where do I even start….HOLY DISCLAIMER BATMAN!

anyways so in no particular order or tier system:

✯ i don’t think jack would wear anything feminine im sorry spn fandom. for lolz he has same-outfit-pattern-everyday autism and for serious it’s like. Really weird how fandoms tend to HC/portray non-binary amabs (and men/transmascs in general) almost exclusively as GNC or fem-presenting…like DGMW that is a real and valid form of self expression but it’s not the Only type of non-binary expression that exists. and honestly…**dare I say that most fandom/queer spaces just need to realize that queer masculinity exists and it doesn’t always have to be a matter of breaking gender norms??

** genuinely do whatever u want idc I can’t stop you i don’t want to stop you yada yada. paint his nails and put him in a skirt all u want but Please recognize patterns yall 😭

✯ more headcanon complaints (see disclaimer above ⇧) but I promise to switch it up soon. anyways every time somebody on this lil website says something along the lines of “Jack can’t handle/doesn’t like [insert violence, scary or adult-oriented thing], he prefers [soft or blatantly childlike things]” I shrivel inward like a dead spider. It’s annoying, it’s completely inaccurate to his canon personality and interests, it’s annoying ˣ2, and whether ppl wanna admit it or not—it stems from infantilization. not necessarily ableism, as infantilization is not exclusive to disabled people, but still just about the same thing.

honestly all I see of majority jack headcanons are ones that set him back to just being a child or otherwise being treated like one. for example, the one about him being able to shapeshift is pretty cool...until it just becomes about him deciding to age regress, yknow, to an age set he canonically chose not to go through, showed no desire to be in, and is more offended than anything to be considered as such. all of his interests have to be some shit like bluey or animal crossing, and he drinks apple juice from a sippy cup instead of beer. BARF.

I’ve lessened on my keyboard warring over babyjack in the past year but I have not lessened in being a hater. and I’ve said this before, but the baby-jack au already breached headcanon containment a long time ago when it’s not only so widespread that ppl take it for canon and it makes having any intelligent conversation about him nearly fucking Impossible, but it also lead to harassment and accusations of being a fucking predator, to anyone who dared find a whole grown man attractive. any potential jack ship, like jackharper? automatic grooming case to them. it’s like the fandom is just so dead set on this idea that jack really truly is a child in every aspect you can think of, and for what? if it’s just a headcanon, something you know is not part of the actual show, then don’t go Travis the Chimp levels of apeshit when you see him being treated like he is canonically 💀

unpopular opinion numero 3 which is slightly connected to 2:

✯ baby-jack and a handful of the domestic au’s are BORING (see disclaimer again ⇧), not just on a surface level to my suiting, but also because I feel like it just ..misses the point of the show?

the ragtag untraditional found family is now as nuclear and traditional as the Atomic Age. Dean and Cas are the most heteronormative “who wears the pants in the relationship” gay couple ever, Sam is demoted to the uncle that gets written out of his own family, Jack is just there to make his gay dads look cute and emphasize that they’re a gay family (while still being very heteronormative), and at least 5 of them could be found in a California gated community. everything that made any of them unique or defined their personalities is just scrubbed off, even for an AU.

so much of the later seasons focus on Sam and Dean realizing that they don’t have to make a hard splitting decision between the lives they want to live; that they can find a balance; be happy and have good things—namely families—without giving up hunting (and vice versa, that they can have hunting without giving up on family or happiness). everybody loves the gay hunters from S10(?12?) and what they represented for Dean, but I almost never see that be put into practice in the fandom.

THEY’RE ALREADY DOMESTIC!!! AND WITH THAT PERFECT BALANCE!!!! Season 13 quite literally gave Team Free Will a surrogate son to raise and established them as a family; highly untraditional, largely dysfunctional, overall not fitting of a family family, and yet they are a family still. Dean wears an apron and cooks and bakes for everyone; he built himself a man cave and established two separate family night events that they all ritually keep up; Sam has a morning jogging routine and visits his girlfriend every so often; Jack was taught how to drive, has normal chores like washing dishes, and gets groceries. And they didn’t just have that while fighting monsters—they had that while fighting a whole fucking archangel. Even if it did go down the gutter by the end, they still had it: domestic familial bliss and violent messy hunting without having to trade one for the other.

✯ I truly genuinely think Jack’s relationship with Dean is the best, most interesting and most misunderstood out of the three, and I also think that the problems with his relationship to Cas and Sam are hugely overlooked by the fandom—granted they are very small, especially if you’re comparing it to Dean, but they’re still there and I think we should bully Cas and Sam about it more. I shan’t elaborate because it’s 5AM and this was an impulsive add-on ❤️

✯ getting normal now…his plaid pattern jacket from the first half of Ouroboros is ugly as SHIT i have never liked it and don’t think I ever will. but I cannot deny it; he got that shit on.

✯ most unpopular opinion of all, I wanna do insane shit to his cervix 🙌

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agere-fics · 2 days

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Doctor Papa

dni: k!nk, anti-agere, agepl4y, or ddlg-esque blogs 🍄 this blog is a safe space for age regressors and age dreamers 🍄

pairing: caregiver!papa!bruce banner x regressor!little!reader

characters: uncle thor, bruce banner, reader, mentions of: steve, bucky, sam, and tony stark.

summary: you have to get MRIs done but you're nervous. thank goodness, papa knows how to cheer you up.

word count: 1,751

content warnings: MRIs, hospital gown, reader is written like they're a child's height, no mention of a particular chronic illness, please tell me if i'm missing anything

author's note: tadaa!! all done! this is the most i've written for a one shot! very proud of myself. also, this is inspired by me having to get MRIs done recently ajfhs

♡

Sometimes stuff we've done lots of times can still seem scary; which is annoying because who wants to feel anxious about the same exact thing over and over again?

You have to get these scans done by tomorrow. With every heart of your being, you wished that wasn't true but your previous scans were too old.

UGH!

Luckily, your papa had a trick up his sleeve.

He told you to stay here, in this gigantic, empty, white walled room. It was utterly boring, there were no paintings or statues or anything. Not even toys! Well, okay, you had your Mr. Rainy Day Bear but still! At least there were floor to ceiling windows- OH, and a skylight, too. Those are always nice.

While you waited for Bruce to come back, you watched what went on outside. There was Tony using his latest invention to attempt to lift Uncle Thor’s hammer. Tony still had no idea that it couldn't possibly work! How silly of him.

Bucky, Sam, and Steve stood in a far apart triangle. They were tossing around the Captain America shield like a Frisbee, guffawing, and yelling things that were joyously incomprehensible. It looked like lots of fun! Definitely more fun than MRIs. Maybe, they would let you join in later.

The double doors of the empty room swung open and papa’s humongous green form entered.

“Okayyy, love bug, I've grabbed all the cardboard pieces from recycling that weren't gross.” He grimaced thinking about the black, moldy gunk that spoiled some previously useful parts. He shrunk back down to Bruce Banner size after dumping the cardboard into a large pile. “We should have enough for our little art project.”

“Art project?” You looked at him expectantly. Your eyes were actually lit up with stars of joy this time, instead of meteor shower anxiety.

The idea was to make a cardboard MRI machine. Having an art project to focus on would comfort and reassure you about the process you would go through tomorrow. If he could make it fun, your anxiety wouldn't be so bad.

“I’ve seen the machine before, papa, I can make the bestest one yet!” You hopped on your toes, giddy with tight, flapping fists.

“I grabbed your sticker books and some paint, too-”

“OH YAY, THANK YOU PAPA, THIS IS SO EXCITING!!”

Mission accomplished. Anxiety gone, replaced with magical cure Art Project™. Bruce smirked to himself.

You laid down on a tall, square cardboard piece. Bruce traced your form with a sharpie as you giggled. Once you had the correct length, you both began cutting a rectangular piece and put that piece on a metal cart with wheels.

Then, you cut out half circle pieces and hot glued them all together until it made one large 4D sphere with a hole in the middle like a donut.

At one point, the glue burned you but Papa Bruce fixed it right up and stopped the booboo pain with a cure-all kiss.

Your cardboard MRI machine may look done to outsiders but it wasn't even close. It was missing the most important part of all: the stickers! There were heart stickers, stickers with dolphins, rainbow stickers, puppy stickers, stickers that had Mr. Hulk and Papa on them, too! There were even stickers of Stevey, Bucky, Iron Man, and Uncle Thor! Papa said for your birthday he'd make stickers with you on them, too.

You also painted squiggles, polka dots, lines, circles, triangles, kitty cats, and zig zags. All of them in your most favoritest color.

“There!” You stood proudly, hands on your hips. “Now, it's very, very pretty, papa.”

Papa gave you a minute and then asked, “Are you ready to practice?”

You blinked and sighed. Defeat warping your mood. “Yeah...”

Papa spun away, put a doctor's coat on, and then turned back, holding a clipboard. “Alright, are you the caregiver for Mr. Rainy Day Bear?”

“Yeah, papa.” You lightened up a little bit.

“Papa? No, I'm Doctor Doctor. Who's papa?”

“You're papaaa!” You pointed at him.

“Okay, okay I'm Doctor Papa.” He repeated, “Are you the caregiver of Mr. Rainy Day Bear?”

You tilted your chin up and did a faux British accent. “Why, yes, sir. He's feeling very, very bad and needs a scan.”

“Ah, yes, I see that on his chart, Caregiver.” He flipped through the scribbled pages on the clipboard. “Let's have. Mr. Bear lay down on the table with his head on the pillow.” Bruce gestured with his hand.

You laid your stuffie down on the pretend bed, placing Mr. Bear’s head gently on the pillow. You patted his hand for good measure.

Doctor Papa put ear plugs into the bear's ears and placed cushy pink headphones on him. The headphones had cat ears on them. Papa raised his voice a little, “Mr. Rainy Day Bear, what kind of music do you like to listen to?”

“Doctor Papa, Mr. Bear is nonverbal.” you said matter of factly. You raised your pointer finger to the sky. “I’ll answer for him. He likes The Wiggles, Papa- I mean Doctor Papa.”

“Alrighty then, The Wiggles album coming right up.” Bruce pulled out his phone, scrolling until he found the right music. “Wiggles rave?”

You nodded, then kissed the tippity top of Rainy Day’s head. “You'll be okay, Mr. Bear.”

Bruce began to push the cardboard bed into the donut sphere. You took a big, big deep breath in.

“BRRRR BEEEP AGHHHH RRRRR DNNNN-”

That breath was immediately released back into the atmosphere. “PAPAAA!” You clutched your chest, laughing so hard your legs felt weak.

Doctor Papa continued, “DRRRRR EEEEEE EHHHHHH MRRRRRR!”

You were rolling on the floor, tears leaving your eyes. How silly of your papa!

“BRRRRRrrrrrr….” Papa rolled the cardboard bed out of the donut. “How are you feeling Mr. Bear?”

“Papa, he can't hear you!”

Bruce laughed. “Oh, yeah, right.” He removed the headphones and then the earplugs. “How is the fantastic Mr. Bear?”

You lifted Mr. Bear’s paws and had him sign to Bruce, ‘I am okay.’

“Perfect! Let's take a look at your scans here…” Papa turned around and scribbled quickly on the paper. When he faced you again, he showed you the scan. It was a poorly constructed scribble of Mr. Rainy Day Bear with a big, biiiiiiiig, heart right in the middle. “I knew it, Lots-Of-Love-itis.”

You unburied the British accent. “Quite good, sir. Well done, Mr. Bear.” You placed a hulk sticker on his paw and hugged him tightly.

Papa kneeled down and asked, “Do you want to practice with you this time?”

You gave it a thought, looking this way and that. “Hmmm, will you make the funny noises again?”

“BEEEEP BRRR-”

“Not right now, Papa!” You shouted with a smile.

“Oh, during the practice?” He waited for you to finish rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Okay…” You breathed in, out, in, and out slowly. “Let's practice, Doctor Papa.”

♡

“Big day, lille venn.” Uncle Thor said as he helped tie the back of your hospital gown. He double knotted the strings behind your neck and then the ones by your hip. “There you are. All set.”

You frowned at that, looking at Thor with big, watery eyes. “Not all set.”

“It'll be okay.” His hands (placed on your shoulders) turned you to face him. “Remember your breathing?”

“Mhm.”

“Let's do it together.” He raised his left hand as you did the same. “Climb Yggdrasil, breathe in.”

You traced up your pointer finger.

“Let's sit at the very top, hold your breath.”

You paused at the tip of your finger.

“Slide down the Yggdrasil branches, breathe out.”

You traced down your pointer finger.

Uncle Thor had you repeat that four more times, until the tears dried and the anxiety flowed further away.

“Very good, great job. Let's go see Papa.” He held your hand as he walked you towards the scary room. Worse than the boring room from yesterday.

You turned the corner and there was Papa at the computer. “Hey there! The computer’s prepped and waiting for you, little one.”

You looked at Papa, then Uncle Thor, and then Papa again. “Okay… I'm ready.”

Papa led you to the metal bed. It was rectangular and thin. A sheet was laid out on it so you wouldn't get super cold. There was a thick pillow on the end that had your favorite kitty cat pillowcase on it, which made the corners of your lips turn upwards.

Papa pressed an arrow down bottom next to the donut sphere that brought the bed down to your level. He held your hand as you hopped on and then helped position you onto the center. He guided you through a big, deep breath so that your body was as comfortable on the table as can be instead of tense.

Next came pink headphones with cutesy kitty ears on them and plain boring ear plugs so that your hearing wasn't hurt from the loud noises. Papa already set up your favorite kind of music so when the headphones were placed on you, it was already playing. Bruce furrowed his brow in question, moving his thumb up and down. You replied with a thumbs up. You were ready.

Bruce handed you a panic button to hold just in case and laid a blanket over you to keep you warm. Papa kissed the top of your head and left the room.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in and out.

BBRRRRRRR

‘It's okay. I'm okay.’

BEEEEEEPPP

‘Woohoo, I'm doing awesome!’

REEEEHHHHHH

‘This is boring, it's got to have been a bajillion minutes by now.’

After ten years (minutes), the machine stopped and Papa walked back into the room. He gave you a high five and bunches of praises that you only heard some of because of all the ear protectors. But you could tell by his facial expressions that he was so very proud of you.

He pressed the arrow down button again and the bed began moving to an easier height. You removed the headphones and earplugs yourself, you felt like such a big kid (in the best way)!

You stretched this way and that while making funny noises which made you abrupt into hearty giggles.

Bruce held your hand as you jumped down. Next thing you knew, he was hugging you tightly, picking you up, and spinning you around and around!

“I'm so very, very proud of you, bumble bee!”

You kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Papa!”

♡

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