#And have been and will continue to be done by various parts of humanity

[twelvebooksstuff]

Yes, love that pattern for a job!

Yeah…I don’t think a lot of jobs are necessarily designed for people, honestly…that sounds so weird but the way a job/work environment is designed vs what would actually be helpful for workers is such a huge gap, most of the time! Your feelings are valid and relatable!! Workplaces, even less computer-based ones, can often feel like a machine where people are just seen as parts and less like you know, actual human beings, and it sucks. It doesn’t help when people at the top are so removed from everyday operations, that they don’t get it and make unhelpful choices as a result. Yes!!! The same information in three different ways (and three different places) happens all too often…*tries not to scream*

Ideal work schedule:

I show up and am given a list of cognitively engaging but achievable tasks

I complete the list

I leave immedietly

[twisted-broth]

A Human's Touch

Mr Gap x Reader

(Anything in bold is other world language)

It had been a while now since you had returned to the other world. It was hard to tell time here, but at least you knew that this was where you belonged. It was almost laughable to think that you once tried to leave this place.

You would never admit it, but you really owed a lot to the shit eating grin that always manages to pop up whenever you need him. Even now, with you life no longer in constant peril, he pops up somewhere nearby quite often. It could be from the crack of your closet, inside your bag, or a random hole in the wall that you swear wasn't there before. As annoying as Mr Gap was, he was probably the closest thing you had to a friend. He would even bring you things from the human world if you asked. For a price, of course.

You sigh as your "friend" holds one of your favorite books from the human world just out of reach. He was playing his favorite game again.

"Give leg." He demanded.

"Give foot." Was your counter offer. Most of your body parts would grow back, but it takes longer for bigger parts and more complex organs. Luckily there didn't seem to be a word in their language for liver or spinal column.

His expression twists for a moment, but the smile quickly returns. "Yes." He agrees.

The pain that radiates from your ankle would have made you pass out a few months ago, but now it only elicits a stifled grunt. You snatch the book from Mr. Gap's hand as he smiles at the newfound treasure that appears in his grasp. You sigh once more and put the book to the side before pressing an already bloodied towel to your ankle.

With the bleeding successfully stopped, there was nothing else for you to do but lie in bed while you waited for it to grow back. You spared a glance towards your new book, but couldn't muster the energy to read it. The isolation of this world had been wearing on you. You had been spending time with Mr Silvair and Mr Chopped lately, but there was another recent earthquake that blocked off your path to them. You had yet to find the time to search for a new one.

With an arm draped over your eyes, you fell back against your threadbare pillow. The covers rustled around you, giving away the presence of another with you.

"Why sad?" You opened one eye to look down at your covers. The face of Mr Gap blended in with the darkness above your legs. If he had a body, he would be nearly lying on top of you. The part of your brain that was still human couldn't help but think that some actual physical touch would be nice.

"I one. Sad. Friend not here." Elaborating on the concept of loneliness using a lexicon of 100 words wasn't really a task you wanted to undertake at the moment.

You had thought Mr Gap would either leave or laugh at you, but to your surprise he looked confused. "I here." He responded.

Now it was your turn to be confused. If you weren't mistaken, he seemed almost offended that you hadn't called him a friend.

"You friend?"

"Yes." If this language had some equivalent of 'duh', you imagined that would be what he would say instead.

All you can do in response is blink at him. You really never imagined that Mr Gap would hang around you because he considered you a friend. If anything, you thought he just saw you as a an endless stream of various body parts. "Thank you. I like friend."

Hesitantly, you lifted a hand to reach up and stroke his head. He looked mildly disgusted (which was often his expression anyway), but didn't react otherwise. His hair wasn't exactly pleasant to touch- it was greasy and weirdly damp in places- but at least it was something of what you had been missing. He continued to humor you, but you decided not to push your luck on how long he would allow you to continue touching him.

"Why touch?" He asked when you were done.

"Human like touch. Make sad go away." It wasn't exactly what you wanted to say, but you figured it would get the point across.

Hesitantly, one of his arms reaches out from beneath your covers. Your current working theory was that his arms just appeared whenever he needed them, but you haven't gotten around to asking him yet. Your positioning is a bit awkward, so he can't reach your head to return your pats. Instead, he pats you on the shoulder for a few seconds. His hands are cold and clammy, but those few seconds of touch are something you've been missing for a while.

You smile. Mr Gap could be annoying at best and cruel at worst, but it would seem that he does have a sweet side to him after all. You distantly wonder if some semblance of a normal relationship would be possible here. Unlikely, but it may not be as out of reach as you once thought.

"Thank you. You good friend." You said after a beat of silence. For a moment it appears like he isn't quite sure how to feel about your declaration. You don't imagine it's something people tell him often. After a second of thought, he returns your smile.

"Me good friend. You give heart?"

Well, you can work on that.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Monsters Reimagined: Yeenoghu, Demon Lord of Insatiable Hunger

It's been some years since I did my overhaul on the lore of the gnolls and how they embody the weird de/humanization that goes on with various monsters over d&d's history. Ever since I've had more than a few folks write in asking about how I would handle the default Gnoll God Yeenoghu, who exists in a similar state of "Kill everything that ever existed" to Orcus and a good portion of the game's other late game threats, thematically flat and not really useful for building stories around.

For a while I've avoided doing this post because I thought it might skew a little too close to my personal philosophy, and risk going from simply being influenced by my views to an outright soapbox. I personally hold that despite being part of our nature hunger is the source of the majority of human cruelty, and if society and cooperation are the tools we developed to best fight against the threat of famine, it is fear of that famine that allows the powerful to control society and secure their positions of privilege.

I've also dealt with disordered eating in a prior period of my life, alternating between neglecting my body's needs and punishing myself for needing in the first place. I'm well acquainted with hunger and the hollowing effect it can have, though I'd never claim to know it so well as someone who went hungry by anything other than choice and self hatred.

Learning to love food again saved saved my life. The joy of eating, of feeling whole and nourished, yes, but there was also the joy of making: of experimenting, improving, providing, being connected to a great tradition of cultivation which has guided our entire species.

If I was going to talk about an evil god of hunger, I was going to have to touch on all of that, and now that it's out in the open I can continue with a more thematic and narrative discussion on the beast of butchery below the cut.

What's wrong: Going by the default lore, there's not much that really separates Yeenoghu from any other chaotic evil mega-boss. He wants to kill everything in vicious ways, and encourages his followers to do the same. He's there so that the evil clerics can have someone to pray to because the objectively good gods are on the party's side and wouldn't help a bunch of cannibalistic slavers.

This is boring, we've done this song and dance before, and the only reason that there are so many demon lords/evil gods/archdevils like this is because the bioessentialism baked into the older editions of the game's lore was also a theological essentialism, and that every group had to have their own gods which perfectly embodied their ethos and there was no crossover whatsoever, themes be damned.

Normally I'd do a whole section about "what can be salvaged" from an old concept, but we're scraping the bottom of the barrel right from the inset. Likewise my trick of combining multiple bits of underwritten d&d mythology to make a sturdier concept isn't going to work as most of d&d's other gods of hunger or famine are similar levels of paper thin.

How do we fix it: I want Yeenoghu to be the opposite of the path I found myself on, a hunger so great and so painful that it percludes happiness, cooperation, or even rational thought. Hunger not as a sumptuous hedonistic gluttony but a hollowing emptiness that compels violence and desperation. More than just psychopathic slaughter and gore, it is becalmed sailors drinking seawater to quench their thirst, the urban poor mixing sawdust and plaster into their food because their wages are not enough to afford grain.

This is where we get the idea of Yeenoghu as an enemy of society, not because violence is antithical to society ( I think we've learned by now how structured violence can really be) but because society fundamentally breaks down when it can't take care of the people who provide its foundations. Contrast the Beast of Butchery with one of my other favourite villainous famine spirits: Caracalla the grim trader, who embodies scarcity as a form of profit and control in to Yeenoghu's scarcity as suffering.

Into this we can also add the idea of the hungry dead, ghouls yes but also vampires, anything cursed with an eternal existence and appetites it no longer has the ability to sate. A large number of cultures across the world share the idea that the dead cannot rest while they are starving, which is why we leave offerings of food by their graves or pour out a glass to the ones we lost along the way.

On that topic, there's also a scrap of lore involving Doresain god of ghouls, who has been depicted as an on and off servant of Yeenoghu. Since I'm already remaking the mythology, I'd have Doresain act as a sort of saint or herald for the demon lord, the wicked but still partially reasonable entity who can villain monolog before the feral and all consuming demon god shows up.

Summing it all up: Yeenoghu isn't a demon you wittingly worship, it's a demon that claims you, marks you as its mouthpiece and through you seeks to consume more of the world. It gives you just enough strength to keep on living, keep on suffering, keep on filling that hole in your belly and feed it in turn.

The greatest of these mouthpieces is Doresain, an elf of ancient times who's unearthly hungers elevated him to demigod status. Known as the knawbone king, he dwells within a dread domain of the shadowfell, and is sought out only for his ability to intercede with the maw-fiend's rampages.

Signs: Unnaturally persistent hunger pangs, excessive drool and gurgling stomach noises, the growth of extra teeth in the mouth, stomachs splitting open into mouths.

Symbols: An animal with three jaws, a three tailed flail or spiked whip. A crown of knawed bones (Doresain)

Titles: Beast of butchery, the maw fiend, the knawing god

Artist

[insipid-drivel]

Warhorses: Which horses are actually good candidates, anyway?

This post is in honor of @warrioreowynofrohan, who asked the question in the comments under my guide, "Horses: Since There Seems To Be A Knowledge Gap". Their question, "Given what you said about too much weight breaking a horse’s spine, how did that work with knights in plate armour?" is one I'm going to try to answer here, since the answer can be very nuanced depending on where and when you're talking about.

Also, while I was a stable hand for years as well as a rider, I never had the opportunity to directly learn more ancient styles of tacking, horse training, and combat, so I don't have any direct experience to draw from with regard to horses used for military purposes. I'm still gonna do my best here with what I know, and research what I don't.

As I've covered in the past, large horses (draft horses) make less-than-ideal warhorses, and so do carriage horses like the elegant and dramatic Friesians.

Let's begin by addressing this from the perspective of creative writing. For you writers and content creators out there, an essential part to the continuity of any historically-themed work you do involving horses will be depicting breeds of horses that didn't exist before a certain time in history. I'm going to approach this question from the stance of, "Medieval-type era warhorses". Horses were used in warfare as late was World War II, but actual horses you ride into battle with knights and archers and bannermen? We actually have to drop the subject of specific modern breeds altogether aside from using them for comparisons.

When discussing warhorses, various cultures have approached them differently. Some cultures will value a specific type of horse above all others, such as the Mongolian Steppe Horse or the American Mustang. Other cultures, which may be from biomes and territories where multiple types of horses are needed for different forms of warfare and tactics, value whichever horses can get their jobs done without their riders getting killed.

Carrying vs. Pulling:

Horses have been used in warfare since as far back as 4000 BC, but their first applications were more as chariot horses. Humans have been riding and working with horses since before we even had stirrups to more easily ride them with! As archaeologists and anthropologists make more discoveries, the more we learn that we humans have been working closely with horses since before we had specialized tools to ride them with. The very first warhorses pulled chariots or carts, which is much easier for a horse's anatomy to handle compared to carrying a heavy weight like an armored rider on their backs, which puts stress directly on their spines where they have very little supporting muscle for supporting a lot of heavy downward weight.

Warhorse Size Categories:

Really, any breed of horse can apply to a niche in warfare if it's needed enough. Even very small, delicate horses have had their place in the history of human combat! Before I continue, it's important to know that there's a unique unit of measuring a horse's height. Rather than measuring a horse's height in centimeters or inches, they're measured in units called "hands". A single "hand" = ~4 inches/10.16cm, and a horse's height is measured based upon the distance between the bottom of their hoof to the tallest part of their shoulders, just at the base of the back of their necks. We don't actually include neck length/head height in a horse's measurements with traditional measuring.

Another rule of thumb: The average horse cannot safely carry anything heavier than about 30% of their total body weight. This is a serious factor to take into mind when deciding on a type of or breed of horse for a mounted warrior of any kind: You need to factor in the OC's starting body weight, and then add on the weight of armor, weapons, and any armor the horse itself may wear along with the weight of its tack.

Light-Weight Horses:

A few examples of lightweight horse breeds whose ancestors have historically been used in combat are Arabians, Barber Horses, and the magnificent Akhal-Teke. Lightweight and delicately-boned horses like those are best applied for military maneuvers that require precision, speed, and endurance, and the rider themselves should specialize in some form of combat or reconnaissance that doesn't require them to wear heavy metal or laminated armors. Archers are good candidates for riding smaller horses, or lightly-armored swordsmen like an Ottoman Janissary.

Central-Asian and North African horses also benefit from having a higher tolerance for hot climates. They can absolutely suffer from heatstroke and cardiac arrest from being forced to run and work in extreme temperatures and should always be provided with the same protective measures in a heatwave as any other horse, but they have a little bit of an edge over horses descended from freezing and temperate climates.

Medium-Weight Horses:

Medium-weight horses started showing up in the archaeological record around about the Iron Age, where chariot warfare was becoming an increasingly utilized form of mobile combat, and people needed bigger, stronger horses capable of pulling heavier loads - such as a chariot with two passengers rather than just one. As cultures began to develop heavier-duty armors made of metals and laminated materials, it also became important to breed horses that were tall and stocky (muscular and with relatively short spines compared to their height), and therefore more capable of carrying riders in increasingly heavy armor. Medium-weight horses were also essential at the dawn of the gunpowder age when the cannon came into use in siege warfare for pulling the heavy, iron cannons into position.

Medium-weight horses are really where we see the beginnings of knights and other warrior classes on horseback come into the forefront of warfare. When you have a horse that's big and strong enough to carry heavier armor and heavier weapons along with a rider wielding them, you have a much deadlier force at your disposal. Strikes from a sword or spear from the back of a galloping horse basically results in a sword capable of cutting through enemy soldiers like a hot knife through butter.

Important Note: Traditionally, cavalrymen wield blunt swords when attacking from a charging horse's back. When a horse is charging at full speed, the sharpness of a blade becomes less important than the blade's ability to stay in one piece when it impacts hard armor and bone. A blunted edge basically turns a cavalryman's sword into a thin club that's better at holding up against smashing through multiple layers of armor and bone compared to a thinner, more delicate sharpened edge that can shatter from a high-speed impact.

Heavy-Weight Horses:

The direct ancestors of modern draft horses, such as the Shire Horse, only began to appear around about the beginning of the European Medieval Era, and were far and away not even close to the enormous sizes of the draft horses we have today. Any horse counts as a "Heavy-weight" classed horse if its weight exceeds 1500lbs/680kgs.

Heavy-weight horses were really more bred for pulling enormous weights rather than carrying knights. While yeah, there is some evidence that suggests that heavy-weight horses were used by heavily-armored knights, historians argue a lot about whether it was a rule or an exception (such as with Henry VIII, who continued to ride well after he had begun to weigh more than 350lbs/158kgs, and even went to war in France in his final years on horseback). Generally speaking, medium-weight horses tend to be the right balance of agile and strong for carrying someone that's going to actively be fighting. Heavy-weight horses were bred to be a lot more tolerant to the chaos and frightening stimulation of the sounds of battle, but medium-weighted horses generally tended to be more suited to moving efficiently through dense packs of soldiers and weaving around other horses.

Ponies:

While actually being the smallest class of warhorse, ponies were essential when it came to carrying cargo and working as pack-horses. In certain forms of terrain, such as mountains, large horses pulling big carts full of supplies or soldiers could often be extremely impractical. In situations where an army needed to move on foot and form a narrow line in order to travel, ponies were able to traverse much narrower and rougher terrain while carrying smaller loads to their destination, when heavier horses would struggle more under their own weight and dexterity.

Europe-Specific Terminologies:

If you're a writer reading this and writing a piece set in the European Medieval age, there are specific terms used for the different classes I listed of warhorses above that I'm gonna list:

Destriers: The Destrier was a universal term for the iconic knight-carrying, jousting horse. They were also sometimes referred to as "Great Horses" due to their reputations in combat settings. Destriers could have just about any appearance, but were rarely taller than 15.2 hands, or 62inches/157cm. They were capable of carrying heavily-armored knights (although knights in full plate mail rarely rode into battle and stayed on the horse the entire time - they tended to specialize at grouping up and killing a lot of footsoldiers swarming them at once and preventing breaks in defenses from being overwhelmed by an oncoming army; in the case of Edward the Black Prince, we have substantial evidence in the form of his surviving brigandine that a mounted soldier or knight was more likely to wear chainmail and brigandine with a tabard on their body with their arms, feet, and heads the most heavily armored in plate when they intended to fight on horseback, making them a little lighter and more maneuverable, but I may be waaay off base there because I'm thinking of more of Italian soldiers who used full plate and how they applied it in battle more than any other example) and wearing armor themselves.

Interestingly, the sex of a destrier was often chosen strategically. Stallions (horses that haven't been neutered) are more aggressive, and could both act as combatants on their own if their knight was dismounted or killed, but could give away an army's location if they were attempting to move stealthily. Stallions whinny and shriek a lot when they're horny or arguing with each other, which is most of the time.

Mares were often chosen by Muslim armies for being much less vocal, and therefore much more capable of stealth. Geldings (neutered males) were the preferred mounts of the Teutonic Knights, a Catholic military group, since they couldn't be stolen and used to breed more horses for the enemy army.

Coursers:

Coursers were the most common Medieval European warhorse. It's important to remember that in Medieval Europe, most armies were almost entirely comprised of common men - serfs subject to the will of their landlords, not far removed from slaves in many ways - who couldn't afford the highly-prized and expensive Destriers. Coursers were usually a bit lighter than Destriers, but were still strong enough to carry someone wearing armor. Coursers were also a little more utilitarian, because they were also sometimes used in hunting as well as warfare, so they had a valuable use outside of warfare that the owner could benefit from.

Rouncey:

A rouncey was an all-purpose horse that could be used for leisure and travel-riding as well as be trained for war. They were a lot more likely to be found on the farm of a serf or independent farmer of some kind, as they could fill a lot of different roles depending on what they were needed for. Their sizes weren't really important as much as their ability to get the job done.

It's also critical to remember that, when talking about warhorses, we're usually talking about eras long past. In general, thanks to resource availability and incredible advances in medicine, modern humans are significantly taller, and therefore heavier, than people from the European Medieval era and prior. While fatness was valued in many cultures for its suggestion of wealth, most working-class and serf-class people worked intensely physically-demanding daily lives just to maintain their own homes. They were a few inches shorter on average than we are today, had greater fluctuations in body fat distribution depending on how harsh or bountiful the harvest season had been and the season in which a war was taking place (the average person's weight would swing by 30lbs or more on average every year prior to the industrial era), and cavalry were usually chosen based upon skill in the saddle as well as physical size when considering the application of medium or heavy armor being placed on the horse's back and body.

[ozzgin]

Hello, i’m back 😁.

I’m finaly going to ask you the 3 part of Yautja female reader raised on earth.

So reader had her first heat and she spend it with her yautja male. And suprise !!!! She’s pregnant !

Her mate want to take her to their home planet but reader becomes agressive when he tried and they all know the rule : you don’t fuck with pregnant yautja. No seriously, never do that.

And so the male see the way her family is really happy about this news and they help reader with her pregnancy and they fully support her. Which is suprising for our male yautja because usualy pregnant females yautja go on their pregnancy alone. And if you feel up for it, could you write about active labour : reader is having contractions for hours, she wants support and her mate ( males aren’t suppose to ne here for the labor ) and then the baby is here and everyone love this little buttle of joy.

Hope you have time for this resquest and thanks for reading this, bye.

Welcome back! The third part of the Predator saga has been requested by @avaleigh16 as well, so I’m tagging you as promised! :) Each Predator is written under the assumption that you’ve picked them as a partner with perhaps a little bit of reaction from the other suitors. Sorry for the delay!

Various Predators x Predator! Reader Headcanons: Mating

Featuring the four Predator types and their independent story if you’ve accepted them as your mate. Dealing with pregnancy and birth.

Part 1: Meeting

Part 2: Courting

Part 3: Mating

After a long and exhausting courting process from all these unexpected suitors, you’ve made your decision and chose your mate. Not only that, but consuming the new relationship has left you visibly pregnant. And the father is none other than…

Feral Predator

What a bizarre choice in the eyes of the other suitors. You’ve picked the foreigner of unknown origins, from the deserted plains of the opposing hemisphere. Two different Yautja species meeting and mating. What would the outcome be? Neither the Feral Predator nor you care much about genetics. He is much more interested in planning his new family unit, except you’re not as enthusiastic about leaving your caregivers behind. Surely you can’t expect to raise your children with these frail humans. They have no skill nor value to pass on to your offspring and there are no biological ties holding you back. He notices your increased aggression and would rather not press the matters further and compromise your health, at least for now. And while he is baffled by the strange customs of assisting you throughout your pregnancy, he can’t deny the enjoyment of being included. To your surprise, in your moments of required bed rest, you spot Feral Predator continuing your household tasks for the humans. He doesn’t agree with your choices, but he will respect them nevertheless. If the humans are this important to you, he can make the effort to tolerate them.

Elite Predator

Being on this pathetic planet hasn’t eroded your common sense it seems. You’ve made the right choice. All that’s left is returning to Yautja Prime, preferably before you have to carry a needy newborn around. His patience is running thin upon hearing your obstinate refusals. What could it be this time? Pregnancy hormones? Alas, he’d rather not fight you in this feral state. It’s not optimal, but right now there’s little room for protest. If you so desire, you can have your final stay with the little creatures. Although he’s not happy at all to witness them flocking to your aid whenever something is required. You can spot the Elite Predator sulking from a distance, following his part in the tradition and giving you space. His frown, however, only lasts until the first contractions. The small earthly creatures demand his presence. It is not commonly done, but then again, can he really miss the opportunity of attending the birth of his own offspring? It’s a comical sight, his tall frame towering over the gathered family, and you can’t help but chuckle between the labored breaths. You’ll deal with his moods later.

Fugitive Bad Blood

The Fugitive knew that despite all the disapproving eyes, you’d still pick him as your partner. You have the blood of your parents running through your veins. For how long were you planning on avoiding your nature, your very fate? Thankfully you’ve come to your senses, though he might need to shake the remaining doubt off of you with his own hands. Your attachment to these life forms is frankly annoying and he doesn’t mind making the choices for you. In fact, there’s no decision to make if you only have one option. He has already proven to you that anyone else besides him is a superfluous existence. He is your guarantee to survival and anything else your heart might desire. You have managed to keep him away from your family with distant promises of compliance once the suckling is here. As you approach the moment of birth, you can sense his excitement and anticipation. The tension is the air is thick, almost suffocating. You don’t doubt his loyalty to you. If only you could use it for the safety of your earthly parents instead.

Berserker

You choosing him as your partner was the best for everyone, really. He would’ve had no trouble hunting down his competition. You soon find out just how possessive and territorial the Berserker is when not even your family can approach you. Perhaps the pregnancy has caused him to be extra careful. Not only are you his mate, but the mother of his future sucklings, so he’s not taking any risks of a foreign presence outside his own. After all, why would you need anyone else but him? You can feel anger knotting inside your stomach, but fighting against the Berserker is not the wisest move. Even though he wouldn’t recklessly jeopardize his lineage. Most likely. Probably. You will have to do something soon, because he has expressed his intentions to leave this planet as soon as the birth happens. Naturally you’ll join him. There’s a long life ahead and he’s determined to keep you with him. Just what have you gotten yourself into?

[summerlinenss]

Continuing the discussion from Twitter about Taika possibly not being straight, I do hesitate to diagnose strangers with 'queer' because it's usually done by utalising stereotypes (like just him being flamboyant or the latest 'evidence' of him being at a Paris Hilton concert, he seems to go to pretty much everything.)

Without getting too parasocial, the everyone's a bit queer quote from before Thor 4 seemed different though, almost like a soft launch? The dumb backlash was unfortunately familiar to me, as someone who poked her head out of the closet, only to be met with a resounding 'we don't want you'. If he was trying to do that, I dont blame him for not trying since, I certainly havent.

Like i don't think he's a closeted gay, theres no indication that his romantic relationships with women havent been real, but he is from a generation that flat out didnt think bisexuality was a real thing. And the fact he's older and has talked about growing up in a toxic masculinity culture probably has more to with it.

I dunno, i know i shouldnt be think about strangers like this, but some things he's said feel familiar to me

(context for those not on the bird app)

i totally agree with not labelling anyone, and (regardless of how he does identify) taika seems very comfortable in his sexuality, which is all that matters. however, there’s also nothing he’s ever done to make me assume he is straight, if that makes sense?

i definitely took his out magazine interview as a sort of soft launch, as you said. especially since he followed it up with a “coming out” joke tweet. but the amount of vitriol he faced for it was absurd, and it’s still so strange to me how people instantly took his comments in bad faith instead of making the fairly obvious assumption that he was just saying “i consider myself to be part of this community.”

a quote i actually think about a lot is from when taika was on the vanity fair little gold men podcast (around 00:59:45) and got into talking about the stereotypical hyper-masculine culture of growing up in aotearoa, and i feel like it gives some insight into his feelings on this subject:

“I will tell ya, I grew up in a — a pretty macho culture and a very macho country. Where it’s like, you know, you play rugby and, you know, you drink beer, and it’s, like… kind of, life is just set out for you, and… how boring? You know? It’s just, like, you know, it’s like — people are like, ‘Well, I don’t want any immigrants here,’ and then complain that there’s only one type of food to eat. And so, it’s like… you know, that you… want to have an interesting life and you want to be able to — you want to expose yourself to art, and to — you know, to various cultures and various types of people. So for me, growing up, I… I was exposed to that from an early age through, like, on my mother’s side, especially. So it was, like… there were a lot of eccentric and interesting and weird artists and stuff in my life. Um, so it wasn’t, like, a later in life, big shock for me. It was always there. But I think I’ve realized that there are so many ways of being a man, and… and to be… just macho and to just want to be, like… just straight. Just to be, like, so determined to be straight, is… so… sad. And, like — and also is — it just feels so tiring. Wouldn’t it be so tiring just to, like, have to hold on to something that no one cares about? So — so tightly? And it’s, like, look, if you just let go and accept who — then we don’t have to have the conversation. We can talk about more important things. But the idea that we still have to talk about all of this is mad. (…) So, you know, it’s like… I would much rather have the discussions around, you know, more intense, more upsetting things that are happening to humanity than, like, who someone’s in love with.”

[doberbutts]

You've spoken some about the dammage being done by breeding all breeds for a similar temperment. I feel like I've seen this too, people want a dog for the look and then want all dogs to just be companions. Are you willing to talk more about why we don't want all breeds to be chill companion dogs?

Well, I'm not really sure if I don't think all breeds should be chill companion dogs, but I do think all dogs aren't correct being so.

You have to understand, we domesticated dogs not just for companionship but also to help us accomplish tasks. And sometimes, the temperament that helps us accomplish these tasks... make it more difficult for the dog to be a do-nothing couch pet that gets maybe a walk on the weekends. It's not a bad thing, necessarily. Different strokes, different folks. But it does mean that trying to force dogs which are bred to not do that to fit into that mold is not really feasible if we also want the dogs to be able to continue doing the job we asked them to do.

A friend of mine had a great pyr, who she got from someone who kept their dogs the way pyrs are traditionally kept. Outside, with the sheep, guarding the flocks with their livestock guardian bond day and night. She got this dog as a puppy. This dog grew into an adult that was absolutely miserable in the house. Everyone's lives got a lot easier when they fenced their lot and gave the dog the option to be in or out during the day. Suddenly, the dog's annoying and destructive behavior (largely barking and also trying to get outside) disappeared practically overnight when he discovered he could just. Go outside. She had no sheep, she lived halfway to the middle of nowhere, and he was usually found just hanging out on their back porch watching the world go by around him. Occasionally barking if a car came down their driveway (like my mom's car, to drop me off at her house, because we were kids).

The problem is that the thing that makes them really, really good at guarding the sheep can also sometimes make them not so good at being house pets that sleep on the couch. He did not want to sleep on the couch. He wanted to sit outside and watch for predators so that his "sheep"- the humans inside the house- could be protected by him. To take this urge away from him, would also make him be bad at guarding sheep.

I have a Greater Swiss Mountain Dog. They, too, were bred to hang out outside all day, helping with various chores as their humans worked on the farm. Sushi's favorite activity is, you guessed it, following me around the yard as I pull weeds and rake up sticks and take a hedge trimmer to my never ending war with woody invasives. She loves when I take her to her breeder's house to chase the sheep or pull the wagon. She goes absolutely bananas in my car when we pull up to a hiking spot to go climb a mountain that day. These are things that make her a good mountain dog.

Now I actually think that Swissies are slept on but otherwise great pet dogs if their needs are met, but I have been part of swissy pet groups ever since getting Sushi and I can see when people have problems with their Swissies as a direct result of their needs not being met. Once again, barking and destruction from boredom. Dogs that throw around their body weight with zero regard to the humans involved. Dogs that refuse to recall, or that make their owners chase them down to come inside. Pulling like a freight train on leash. Chasing down and nipping at running children. These are behaviors that, while annoying in their worst forms, are often stemming directly from instincts that make them good at the job they were meant to do.

Sushi doesn't do any of those things- but then Sushi gets to do fun things that are mountain dog adjacent, so she is able to be a mountain dog without being a bad pet.

As long as we want to have dogs that have jobs, we will also have dogs that maybe don't belong in the hands of those who want chill companions. And, similarly, as long as people's idea of a pet is the most low effort dog ownership possible and anything even slightly more difficult is too much to ask, breeding these working dogs to not work will only result in dogs that can no longer work.

[spencersssockss]

Library

Summary: You meet Spencer at the library when going to check out The Fisher King…

Warnings: none!!!

Word count: 700

Ally: This is based loosely off the fisher king episode kinda but not really, sorry about the length!! I plan on having a second part to this one soon!!! Enjoy lovelies!

You loved reading, any free time you had was spent reading, and it served as a distraction.

Your friend had been telling you about a book she had recently heard of, it was called The Fisher King, you did a tremendous amount of research on it only to find out the only possible way to read it would be to get it from your local library as it was no longer being sold due to its old age and rarity.

You decided to visit the library after work to pick it up, luckily someone had just returned it, and just as you were checking out a nerdy, tall, and lanky man walked towards the front desk next to you.

“Do you mind if I read that book in your hand before you leave?” It’ll only take like ten minutes,” he quickly said eyes bright as he bounced his foot nervously.

“Ten minutes?” you questioned cocking an eyebrow.

Spencer bit his cheek for a second before replying, “I have an eidetic memory, and can read 20,000 words per minute, I know it sounds crazy but just trust me, it's really important,” he mumbled quickly.

“I-uh okay,” you stuttered handing him the book.

Taking the book in his hands, Spencer carefully flipped through it, fingers running over every page as he read, his eyes glancing over the words quickly, taking in every detail. After what seemed like only a few seconds, he closed the book and handed it back to you with a small smile.

“There's no way you read that all,” you blurted eyes widening.

“I promise, I did. My name's Spencer Reid by the way,” he said extending his hand for you to shake.

you shook it hesitantly still in disbelief.

With a smile, Spencer continued, “I'm a psychologist and criminal profiler for the FBI, always on the lookout for new books to read, this time it was actually for a case.”

You gasped in realization, you remembered before you graduated he had done a lecture at your college. “I've seen you before, you do lectures right?” you asked.

Spencer's cheeks reddened slightly, and he nodded. "Yeah, I've given several lectures on various topics, mostly about the human mind and behavior."

“You're one of the reasons I became a counselor,” you smiled.

Spencer smiled warmly, "That's amazing. I'm glad to have played a small part in your journey." He glanced around the library, trying to think of something else to say. "Would you like to get coffee or something sometime?”

“Absolutely, do you want my number?” you asked breaking into a smile.

"I'd love your number," Spencer replied, pulling out his phone. He tapped on the screen a few times before handing it over to you. "Here, add your number, sorry for not asking your name earlier, if you don't mind me asking now what is it?” he blushed slightly.

“it's y/n,” you smiled putting in your number and handing his phone back to him.

"Thank you, Y/N," Spencer said, pocketing his phone. He couldn't help but feel a bit flustered at the interaction. It was rare for him to meet someone who understood and appreciated his work so deeply. "Well, I should probably get back to my research now.”

“Yeah, sorry for keeping you so long,” you blushed holding the book against your chest.

"It's quite alright," Spencer reassured you with a gentle smile. "I hope we can catch up again soon, maybe over that coffee or even another book." He waved goodbye before disappearing into the stacks of the library.

You stood there for a moment still in disbelief at what had just happened, the librarian laughed before saying, “he's a cutie isn't he?”

You blushed deeply turning to face her to answer, “Just a little,” you mumbled making her laugh again.

“He works for the FBI actually,” she added laughing again as your eyes widened.

“Good to know,” you smiled waving at her as you left the library and headed home to read the book. Which would probably take YOU a lot longer than ten minutes.

[imsosleepyofyourbull]

Rewatching KNY and seeing Zenitsu again is almost giving me whiplash, because he went from being one of my least favorite characters to one of my most beloved in a flash. It sucks that his defining moments are so frequently interrupted or otherwise disturbed by his obsession with finding a wife, and that it kept me from analyzing him the way I should’ve been doing at the start. Because, at his core, Zenitsu is a lesson on weakness — on learning to live and adapt when you can’t immediately overcome it.

This is evident from his very first appearance, where he’s shown mumbling about his inevitable death and his fear of demons after surviving final selection as one of the five senses (the hearing to Kanao’s sight, Tanjiro’s smell, Inosuke’s touch, and Genya’s taste.) It continues on in his actual introduction in the Tsuzumi Mansion Arc, where he spends the majority of his time crying or in various other states of terror. The two exceptions to this are when he falls asleep for the first time and when he defends Nezuko’s box from Inosuke.

The former is part of a larger discussion on his sleepwalking habit and its impact as a coping mechanism, so I’ll be talking about the latter;

Zenitsu outright says that he has a habit of trusting the wrong people, and that being able to hear their sounds hasn’t done him any good in remedying that. He’s known Tanjiro for maybe a handful of hours at this point, but he throws himself on Nezuko’s box anyway. Not because he likes her (not yet) but because she matters to someone he wants to believe in. For someone who clearly hates being in pain, that says volumes about who he actually is as a person. He might be a coward, but he’s also loyal and self sacrificing.

He earnestly follows behind the people he cares about even when it might get him into trouble. The fact that he’s a demon slayer at all is evidence of that — a testament to his love for Jigoro for believing in him and continuing to believe in him even when he seemed hopeless or tried to run away. There was nothing keeping him attached to the demon slayer corps after his gramps wasn’t there to drag him to the final selection or his missions (and we know from Aoi that he could definitely retire early) but he stays.

He runs and cowers and cries and he keeps moving forward, because his gramps gave him the courage to try again and again after failure;

This, I believe, is the reason behind his sleepwalking habit. It’s a response to his desire to change and grow as a person, manifesting in an unconscious state where he forces himself to shed his terror and pain so that he can actually work at his full potential. It doesn’t just apply to his body either, given that (as the series goes on) his sleepwalking also allows him to access his natural analytical abilities where his panic might have blinded him. He couldn’t get rid of the weakness that hindered him, so he adapted to it;

And then — when he learned what became of Kaigaku and that their shared mentor had given his life in repentance — he finally overcame his cowardice altogether and stopped sleeping;

He beat Kaigaku entirely awake, and he fought Muzan the same way. Being with Jigoro and Tanjiro and Nezuko and Inosuke and everyone else didn’t rid him of his fear, but it did teach him to adapt to and then overcome it. To push it aside to achieve his goals, protecting the people he cares about as more than the human shield he was when he held onto Nezuko’s box and desperately hoped that his body could withstand Inosuke’s abuse. More than that, they also taught him to be more comfortable in his own skin.

I’m not going to say that Zenitsu can’t be an annoying character — I can’t stand his behavior toward women and rather disliked him for the longest time — but he’s much more interesting than his initial impression would have you believe. He’s loyal, protective, self sacrificing, insecure, and surprisingly taciturn when he wants to be. The fact that he sleepwalks for every battle before the final arc and his resolution with Kaigaku really hammers his character themes home, and I find that he’s genuinely interesting to think about!

[creadigol]

iff you want could you maybe continue this? this ask is a request ofc and idk if you do continuation, so if you don't want to then it's okay!! ^_^

Hey y’all! Apologies for the long absence, but I’m back in town and have finally come up with a continuation of my Hero Domestic Violence/Abuse snippet. 

I have had many requests to continue this one so I spent a lot of time trying to make it good! 

As before, there are very heavy mentions of such topics stated above in this snippet as well as mentions of violence, emotional abuse and choking. Please be safe my darlings! I love y’all!

Part 1

Hero must have blacked out or entered into some sort of daze, because the next thing they knew Hero was sitting on an exam table in what must have been one of Villain's many bases. 

Though the room itself was no doubt a medical facility, Hero knew this by the various medical equipment and smell of antiseptic, but there was a certain ambiance about the room which did not match any hospital or medical offices Hero had been to before…and Hero had been to many. 

If Hero only ever went to one, people would catch on. So Spouse was always sure to bring Hero to a different facility every time. 

Everytime. 

God, this was a mess. 

This room wasn’t lit like typical exam rooms. Rather than harsh fluorescents of busy ER rooms the lights held a warm sunlit-type glow. Welcoming, yet still bright enough to see. Instead of the stupid grey-white walls which everyone had switched to in the early 2000’s, it was bright wood paneling. Oak of some kind, Hero guessed. It complimented the warm glow quite nicely. 

And it was warm! So warm! Villain must have had the heat up to at least 75 and Hero was basking in it! 

At home, Spouse kept the heating down to 65, due to their powers causing them to run hot. Hero didn’t mind of course, they understood, but it did cause Hero to feel cold constantly. They had never had much in the bodyfat department and there was more than one night when Hero would go and take a bath just to unclench their frozen muscles. 

Until Spouse complained about the water bill that is. 

Taking stock once more of the room they were in, Hero noticed that the main door had been left open by a crack. Not that they could have gotten up and run out, not with their side, but they wondered if Villain had done this to make them feel more comfortable. 

Speaking of Villain, they had yet to reappear. Villain and Henchman had helped Hero to a car after the rather embarrassing display on the rooftop and once they had made it to this base, deposited Hero here and left. That had been about twenty minutes ago. 

Maybe they were planning something nefarious? What if this was a kidnapping? Honestly, this was the weakest Hero had ever been in front of Villain. It would be easy, tricking them into willingly walking into a trap with the promise of medical help…Hero had been a mess after all. Supervillain wouldn’t have hesitated in killing Hero on the spot. 

But then again, Villain was not Supervillain. Hero had seen Villain display acts of humanity on several occasions. Sure, they broke the law and believed their government to be the ultimate evil, but they never went in for harming those who didn’t deserve it. 

Didn’t deserve it? God, Hero was starting to think like Villain. No one deserved to be hurt. That was Hero’s motto. 

Things really were confusing right now.

Maybe they should just go home. Surely, Spouse would understand why they didn’t answer their texts for the past few hours. An hour of yelling tops and then Spouse would see the error of their ways and apologize and try to make up for the original fight in the first place by a heated night of…

Hero stopped that train of thought. No, this had to stop. Hero had to get out of the relationship and start thinking straight again…but, then again, Spouse held all the cards. The apartment and car were in Spouse’s name, their bank account was joint, the phone plan was set up by Spouse because they could negotiate better on cellular deals…not to mention, Spouse was more powerful than Hero. Much more powerful than Hero. Even back at the Academy Hero had never won at hand to hand against them. It was what made them seem so strong and confident and…perfect at the time. 

Hero suddenly realized what they were doing and how it would not end well. There was no way Villain could hold against Spouse when it really came down to it. Spouse was constantly bragging about how if Villain had been assigned to them and not Hero, the problem would have been resolved years ago. Hero didn’t want that on their conscience. 

Perhaps they should look at the texts…just to assess the situation. Damage control. 

They picked up their phone. 

As the screen lit up a voice interrupted Hero before they could look at the no doubt anger fueled words. 

“Hero,” Villain stood in the doorway holding gauze, antiseptic, a board of some kind and an ice pack. “Sorry, had a hard time finding an ice pack that was the right size. We’ve gotta get that swelling down on your neck or else you’ll never be able to harass me with those classic witty comebacks again.” 

Though it was said jovially, Hero could sense the hardness behind the tone. Not to mention the look of hatred as Villain glanced at the phone. 

Wanting to respond, but not being able to, Hero nodded once. 

“Great!” Villain strode over and placed everything on the side table. Picking up the board, Hero saw it was a dry erase. Villain handed it to them along with a red marker. 

“Henchman uses this to put up daily reminders for everyone. They thought it would serve for you to tell us what ails you.” Villain glanced back at the door, “They wanted to come in and help, but I didn’t know if you would want that. Figured I’d ask first.” 

Hero couldn’t help the small smile. They had always liked Henchman. Like Villain, they certainly had committed their fair share of crimes and violence, but they also seemed to live by a code. Unlike Supervillain. 

If it hadn’t been for Henchman, Hero was sure they would have passed out on that rooftop and who knows who would have found them if that happened. Hero uncapped the marker. 

Henchman can come in. 

Villain smiled, “Anyone ever tell you your penmanship is crazy good? God, it’s like looking at Victorian script.” 

 They turned towards the doorway once more, “They said it’s fine Henchman!” 

In an instant Henchman was walking through the door. They must have been just waiting on the other side. 

“Hey Hero,” they said. “Hope you’re doing better.” 

Hero nodded at Henchman. 

“Good,” Henchman looked between Hero and Villain for a moment, it looked like they were debating who to talk to next. They settled on both of them. “Looks like it’s just going to be us. Doctor said they couldn’t make it until morning. Still at that conference.” 

Villain nodded as if they knew this was going to be the case and addressed Hero. 

“Anything serious? Or are you okay to wait for the Doc?” 

Hero thought for a moment. Their neck should be fine with the ice, their jaw had certainly been hit harder, but their side…

I think everything is fine, but I’m not sure about my side.  Hero wrote. They gestured to their left side as Villain and Henchman read the script. 

“Alright, let's take a look then. Shirt off.” Villain ordered. 

Hero hesitated. Oh, right. To look at their side, Villain would have to have their shirt off. And to take off their shirt was to expose the…history written across their chest, back and torso. 

Hero was shy about their body. Sure, there was the occasional scar made by Spouse, but most of them were from past fights while Hero had been off hero-ing. They knew it was an occupational hazard, but they also knew it wasn’t great to look at. God only knew the many times Spouse had commented on their unsightly appearance during their intimate times. 

Villain seemed to notice the hesitation and said, “What? It’s not like I haven’t seen it all in this line of work. You should have seen Henchman last month. Supervillain’s Henchman got ‘em pretty bad.”

Henchman nodded, “Not pretty. Gained me a few cool new scars though.” 

Cool new scars, huh? Perhaps it won’t be so bad. 

Hero took off their shirt slowly. It was difficult and painful at first, as it zipped in the back, but Henchman wordlessly walked to the other side of the bed and helped. Villain supporting Hero’s side as they undid the clasp and unzipped. 

“Want to take off the mask as well?” Henchman asked. 

Hero made a face. 

“We’ve already seen your face. Remember? Three months ago it fell off while we were grappling in the snow.” Villain smirked. 

Hero peeled the mask off. They had forgotten about that. The snow had made the normally sticky mask slide off. It was something they had never told Spouse. 

Once deprived of their shirt and mask, Villain took a step back and surveyed the damage. Hero tried not to squirm under the gaze. 

Hero expected Villain and Henchman to make disgusted noises or grunts of anger at their bruised up side and swollen jaw, along with their neck, but instead Villain looked calculating. A slight hint of irritation coming though with their twitching eyebrow. 

“Alright, I’ll have to feel those ribs. They don’t look broken, but it’s best to make sure.”

Hero nodded their permission to Villain and tried to sit straight. 

“No, no, don’t straighten up yet,” Villain flew to their side. They placed one hand on hero’s back while the other poked and prodded their ribs. 

Everytime Hero hissed or flinched, Villain apologized and would move onto another part. It was strange. This whole night was strange. Hero had never seen Villain act this way before. Sure they had their own scruples, but Villain was never…gentle. 

Henchman stood off to the side looking rather anxious as Villain examined Hero. That was another strange thing. Why did they both seem to care?

“Well, good news, they’re not broken. Bad news, I’ll still have to wrap them.” 

Henchman immediately grabbed some wrappings from the cupboard behind them and handed them to Villain. 

“So, Hero,” Villain began as they tightly wrapped their ribs. “Want to tell us how this happened? We need to know if we’re going to treat your injuries effectively.” 

Once again Hero could tell Villain was stating things conversationally for their benefit. Hero made no move for the marker board. 

“We already know who did it, all I want to know is how,” Villain continued. 

Hero thought back. It had seemed like a haze when it happened. All the adrenaline and fear. The normal evening that went from good to horrific. The slight mess up on Hero’s part, the yelling, the grabbing, the throwing…the hands. The hands on their person…the hands on their neck…

Hero felt tears slip past their eyes once more, the sadness and fear coming back. Their jaw shook with unshed sobs. 

They felt the marker and board being pressed into their hands. 

“You don’t need to push yourself. I just need to know what to check on you,” Villain’s voice was soothing and once again uncharacteristically gentle. 

Hero shook as they wrote; the script that Villain had complimented earlier suffered for it. 

It’s never been this bad. Hero wrote. 

They knew it was a cliche response, but they also needed Villain and Henchman to know that it had never gone this far before. Henchman made a noise in the back of their throat as they read the words.

“How bad?” Villain prodded. 

Before, Hero hesitated in writing. How could they word this? 

Before I could always justify it as my fault. I mess up alot. I’m not so good at relationships. 

They waited for them to read this before erasing for more room. Villain had their jaw set and Henchman’s cheeks were getting red. 

I know it’s stupid. I know it’s bad. I just wanted to pretend it away. That was easier. I’m not stupid, I know what’s happening. 

Villain nodded at the words. Hero didn’t know why they were starting out like this. There was just a part of them that needed Villain and Henchman to know that they were still competent. Despite putting themselves in this situation, they weren’t stupid. There was just so much more going on. 

“I don’t think you’re stupid Hero. I never have. I meant it when I said you’re the best this city’s ever seen,” Villain said this while not breaking eye contact or blinking. As if the stare itself would get the words into Hero’s brain.

Hero nodded with a small smile. They needed that. 

They’ve never gone so far before. The other times, I knew I would recover. But this time…Hero stopped writing again. Once again looking for words. They let Villain and Henchman read. 

“What happened this time?” Henchman asked softly. Hero couldn’t tell if the softness was for comfort or if they were so angry they couldn’t raise their voice higher. 

This time, Hero spelled, I really thought they’d kill me.

Their hands shook terribly now and they had to stop and take a breath. 

Villain looked up at the ceiling for a moment while Henchman turned around. It seemed this news really affected them. 

“How?” Villain once again looked Hero in the eyes. They didn’t even try to hide the anger now. 

I can’t remember everything. I know I was thrown into our coffee table. Spouse hit me in the face, Hero paused and let them read while gesturing to their jaw. 

Villain nodded for them to continue. 

They’ve never tried to choke me before… Hero couldn’t seem to finish that one. 

“I understand,” Villain said. “Anything else?” 

Hero thought for a moment and then shook their head. That had been the most of it. The violence itself had only lasted a couple minutes, but it had been the most painful couple minutes of their life. Not only physically, but emotionally. They had never felt so betrayed. 

“Are you going to leave them?” Henchman asked. Hero looked at them and noticed fear in their eyes. Henchman was very concerned with Hero’s answer. Villain made a gesture at Henchman, but they were undeterred. 

“Are you going to leave them?” Henchman repeated. 

Hero uncapped the marker again. 

I want to. 

“But you feel you can’t,” Villain finished the sentence for Hero. 

Hero nodded. 

It never ends well. I know I need to, but they hold all the cards. Hero shrugged sadly. 

“Who cares?” Henchman said angrily. “So they have your money or whatever? That’s not worth you!”

Hero was touched by the sentiment, but felt the need to explain. 

It’s not only that. They’re more powerful than me. More powerful than anyone really. I shouldn’t even be here. The last time someone tried to help…it was bad.

Villain felt their blood freeze, “What do you mean more powerful?” 

It was hard to think of anyone more powerful than Hero. Except themselves of course. 

“Who tried to help?” Henchman asked at the same time. 

Hero grimaced, 

Do you remember Other Hero?

“Oh god,” Henchman whispered. 

“Your Spouse did that?” Villain asked, shocked. 

Hero nodded. 

I don’t know what they will do to anyone else, or the city itself if I’m not there. I hate it, but it’s the only way I know to protect everyone. 

They looked at Hero to continue.

I knew it was bad not long after our second anniversary, but by then Spouse was too dangerous. They need to be in jail, not only for me, but for everyone else they’ve hurt. I just don’t know anyone who can take them. 

Villain made a noise, but Hero raised a hand to silence them while they wrote more. 

In a way this is my ultimate sacrifice to protect my city.

“Hero,” Villain breathed. 

Henchman looked like they had tears in their eyes, “Hero, I’m going to hug you now if that’s alright.” 

Hero looked at Henchman quizzically, but nodded. 

Henchman wrapped their arms around Hero carefully and squeezed with a force that was both powerful, yet calming. 

“You really are the best the city’s ever seen,” Henchman spoke against Hero’s hair. “All this time you’ve been living in hell and it was to protect all of us.” 

Hero released more tears. They patted Henchman awkwardly on the back. 

“They’ve always been a hugger,” Villain chuckled as they watched the scene. “If you can’t tell, Henchman has been a fan of yours for a while.”

Henchman released them with an undignified HEY at Villain. Villain shrugged and turned their attention back to Hero. 

“Hero, I don’t care what danger it might put us in. I knew this was going to be messy the moment I saw you on the roof. Anyone who can take you on is going to be a threat. I knew that and helped you anyway.” 

Hero nodded at Villain’s words. 

“But what I need to know now is who Spouse really is. I don’t think I’m far off in thinking that they’re a part of the hero agency?” 

Hero nodded, there was hesitation in their eyes.

“And they’re more powerful than the other heroes.” 

Hero looked down, but nodded again. 

“And you two went to the academy at the same time didn’t you?” 

Hero winced and nodded. 

“And came to the city at the same time.” 

Hero closed their eyes and nodded. 

“Villain, what are you getting at?” Henchman asked slowly. In their voice Hero could tell they were on the same train of thought, but didn’t want to believe it. 

“Hero,” Villain waited for Hero ‘s red rimmed eyes to look up and meet their gaze. “You’re married to Superhero aren't you?” 

Hero nodded. 

“Shit.” Henchman said. 

Hero nodded their agreement. 

There was silence while everyone processed the news, Villain and Henchman the knowledge and Hero for sharing it. Finally Villain broke it. 

“Well,” they clapped their hands together, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Tonight we do nothing.”

“Hero, tonight I want you to focus on yourself. I know you want to look at your phone, but maybe hold off until tomorrow morning, yeah?” Hero made to protest, but Villain continued. 

“Look at it like this. You said this is how you protect the city. Now I don’t doubt that, especially knowing who Spouse is; but I want you to picture it like you're on a sinking ship. Lots of people need saving, but you can’t exactly help them into the lifeboats if you yourself are still in the water.” 

Hero wrinkled their eyebrows. 

“You’ve got to climb into the lifeboat first before you can pull anyone else in.” 

Hero was taken aback. That was…that was…really good advice. 

Villain smiled, “So for tonight, leave the phone and get some rest. We can make a plan tomorrow about what to do. You’re no longer in this alone. I don’t want someone like Spouse protecting my city.” 

“You’re not alone in this anymore,” Villain reiterated. 

Hero couldn’t help the smile on their lips or the hope in their chest. They weren’t alone in this. Perhaps this time, Superhero really could be caught. Hero could stop pretending. They suddenly felt so tired.

Seeing this, Henchman helped Hero lay down and placed the thin, long ice pack on their bruised neck.  

“I’ll stay here a while, there’s an all night Friends marathon on right now,” Henchman nodded to the TV on the wall, “I always fall asleep during that show.” 

Hero knew Henchman just wanted to keep an eye on them in case their throat swelled anymore, but they appreciated the company. It had been a while since they had people around them that knew everything and still wanted to be with them. They nodded. 

“Great,” Henchman walked over to the television to get it started. Villain followed them. 

“Once they fall asleep initiate plan orange,” Villain whispered so Hero wouldn’t hear. Henchman kept flipping through channels, but Villain saw their eyes harden a moment. 

“Are you sure?” They whispered back. 

Villain nodded as they looked at the channel guide.“Yes. Tell Supervillain we have a mutual enemy,” Villain glanced back at Hero, “And the key to defeat them. Once and for all.”

[frosteee]

"Benevolent Lord Uncle Zeus" my arse - On Prometheus and Epimetheus and Pandora

I've been following the development of Hades 2's story and, like everyone, become absolutely infatuated by Prometheus (my GOD). It also got me thinking about his myth, and that of his brother Epimetheus and Pandora.

And, very VERY happily, it reunited me with a retelling of Pandora's Box that I haven't listened to since the early 2000s - a tape of several stories by Storyteller, of which Pandora's Box is one. It's wonderfully told, very immersive and emotional. I highly recommend a listen!

Anyway, in anticipation of Epimetheus's debut in the Hades series, I've been hyperfixating obsessing thinking about how his character might be interpreted.

[Mythology splurge ahead]

Epimetheus's name means "hindsight".

THE CREATION OF MANKIND

One version of the story goes that Zeus gave he and Prometheus the task of creating life on earth. Prometheus created mankind from clay, in the image of the gods, and Epimetheus created the animals. Epimetheus was also tasked with bestowing traits of the gods upon earth's creatures, to help them survive. So Epimetheus gave claws to one creature, scales another, and so on. But when he came to give a gift to mankind, he had no traits left to give them.

This was exactly as Zeus planned. Epimetheus did not have his brother's foresight, so he did not think to prepare for such an outcome. Zeus was satisfied with mankind's eternal dependence on the gods, weak despite being moulded in their divine image.

It was in this same spirit that he gave Prometheus the task of showing mortals how to properly sacrifice to the gods - in short, reserve the best parts for the gods and leave the offal for themselves - Prometheus defied him so that mankind would not suffer for the gods to stroke their egos.

After this incident, Zeus hid fire from humanity, so that they would be cold and hungry. And because Epimetheus had not given any traits from the gods, mankind was doomed to extinction. So Prometheus took it upon himself to steal fire back, as well as teach them on all kinds of subjects (mathematics, architecture, etc.) so they could advance and build civilisations.

And we all know how well Zeus took that.

TL;DR: Zeus sentenced Prometheus to daily, eternal torture because he did not let all humanity die like Zeus had condemned them to do, out of pure spite and ego.

Now back to Epimetheus. Many tellings of the myth of creation say it was his foolishness that caused everything to go wrong for mankind, as well as dooming his elder brother to his agonising fate.

But I don't personally see stupidity in his actions. Naivete, perhaps, in trusting Zeus to give him enough godly traits to bestow on all creatures, but then, what reason did he have at that point to think otherwise? He and Prometheus had sided with the gods in the war against the Titans. The Titan brothers did not live on Olympus, choosing to live on earth, but they visited and were on friendly terms. Should Epimetheus bear the blame for everything because he did not have the power to see the future? Again, Zeus chose Epimetheus specifically because he did not have that ability.

PANDORA

Then comes Pandora. Some time prior to her creation, before his final punishment, Prometheus had warned Epimetheus not to accept any gifts from the gods. He knew that Zeus was not yet done punishing humanity for his actions. After he was chained to the rock to be tortured for eternity, Epimetheus continued to live on earth among people.

Zeus ordered Haphaestus to create a woman from the earth, a "beautiful evil" whose descendents would punish humanity forever. After she was made, Athena and various other gods dressed her and gave her speech and other attributes before placing her on earth. She charmed any man she came upon. She took with her a jar containing "countless plagues" and evils. Her target was Epimetheus, and he accepted her and took her as his wife.

What could Epimetheus do? He knew what his brother had warned, but his brother was also the prime example of what happened to those who defied the gods. If Epimetheus rejected her, the gods could take the oppornity to make Prometheus's punishment even worse. And even if they chose to punish Epimetheus directly, the people his brother had made and loved would have no-one to champion them, and would likely be punished in his absence. He had stayed among men to help them like his brother had.

Epimetheus knew from hindsight - defiance meant suffering.

Unfortunately, compliance also meant suffering. Pandora had been made by the gods for the express purpose of punishing all mankind and ensuring their subservience. Despite Epimetheus's warnings, Pandora opens the box and releases the evil, while also allowing Hope to escape as well. Hesiod closes the tale with the moral "there is no way to escape the will of Zeus".

It's clear to me that Epimetheus was damned no matter what he did. The gods were set on punishing Prometheus's beloved people either way. It was more fitting to use his brother to do it, so they gave him Pandora, knowing he would refuse at his peril. Pandora opened the box because that is what she was made to do.

Hesiod may paint her as a wicked temptress, the woman who infected mankind to cause misery for generations, but she had just been born. She could only do what she was meant to do. She likely did not know what the box contained more than Epimetheus did, she was only compelled to open it. I'm sure Supergiant would agree that she was as much a pawn and victim of the gods machinations as her husband and brother-in-law.

That's another thing about this. Pre-Pandora, humans were composed entirely of men. There was no illness or hunger, everyone got along well, there was prosperity and wisdom, all thanks to Prometheus. It was a paradise because of Prometheus. Zeus made a woman specifically to destroy all of that, and ensure successive generations would be born into a corrupted world.

I somehow very much doubt Supergiant will integrate this part of the myth in their story, but regardless of the makeup of humanity at the time, it was paradise on earth, and the evils Pandora released upon them brought misery, pain and a death.

TORMENT

Epimetheus was set up to fail no matter what he did. His feelings on all that transpired can only be seen in some accounts, where he has another daughter named Metameleia, whose name means "regret of what has occurred".

The fact that he only had hindsight to work with only makes his tragedy worse. Looking back at what you could have done better is good if managed properly. But the human mind likes to ruminate on the past, and people are so often their own worst critics. Oftentimes hindsight distorts the past and we learn the wrong lessons, if any at all.

But how can one do better against the gods? No matter what Epimetheus learned, the gods were determined to get their way. His brother had paid a terrible price for tricking them to benefit humanity. Epimetheus tried to avoid disaster by appeasing them, but there is no way to escape the will of Zeus.

But despite being placed in an impossible position, made to lose no matter what, Epimetheus still feels regret. He believes it was his own choices, lacking the traits his brother had, that led to things turning out as they did. He blames himself for everything - his brother's fate, humanity's fate. Mankind was his brother's legacy, and it was their prosperity that made Prometheus's sacrifice meaningful, bearable. And under Epimetheus's watch, all of that was taken away.

In Epimetheus's mind, he took it away. His hindsight paints him as the ultimate fool, and he cannot forget it. If he had only done this...if he had only done that...

Wracked with guilt, Epimetheus is faced with the decay of humanity, Pandora's death. Whether he blames her at all or not, ultimately he blame himself most of all.

EPIMETHEUS IN HADES 2 (THE SPECULATION BEGINS)

So what next? Well, Heracles released Prometheus from his torture, allowing him to align with Chronos. Epimetheus would return to his brother's side carrying the weight of humanity's woes, a failure in every way. He failed his brother, he failed humanity.

Perhaps, in his younger years, Epimetheus was able to be carefree and forgetful because Prometheus was there to cover for him. Perhaps because his brother was wise, it was OK to be a fool once in a while, until it wasn't. But even if it had been forgetfulness and lack of preparation that made him neglect humanity, why was the price to pay so heavy?

Did humanity deserve to DIE because he forgot to check the number of gifts he had, did they deserve to DIE because his brother would not let them give their valuables to the gods, did they deserve to SUFFER AND DIE because Epimetheus, knowing how the gods punish defiance, accept the gift they gave him?

When Epimetheus does appear, I have little doubt he will be as handsome as his brother. They are, after all, twins, Epimetheus being the younger of the two. However, I imagine the psychological toll of everything he has endured, and continues to endure, would show upon him as well, as well as in his behaviour. Broken and desperate to make up for his past "failures".

Prometheus likely forsaw everything that was to happen. It seems he can see multiple versions of the future. But he himself states that while he does not know the "why" of his many premonitions.

He may bear resentment towards Epimetheus because of this, or perhaps, knowing his brother's good heart, and knowing the mercilessness of the gods, he would know why Epimetheus did what he did, without his little brother needing to say a word. Their relationship in present time may mirror Moros's feelings about the Fates: "Maybe they knew always that I would fail them, and loved me anyway".

This may only make Epimetheus feel worse rather than better. Perhaps he would want his brother to hate him as much as he hates himself. This could be a subplot between the two of them as the story progresses.

All he would want now is to atone, to help his brother in any way he can. All he has left is Hope, which Pandora released into the world to temper the evils. He has no belief in himself, only a desperate, obsessive desire to make up for his past passivity by fighting the gods head on, for his brother. Perhaps even by his brother's side. He has given himself entirely to his brother, and trusts his foresight. Perhaps he is the only one Prometheus entrusts his premonitions with, and whatever goals he has, Epimetheus knows.

Epimetheus created the animals, and gave them their special traits, so it would make sense for him to be dressed accordingly, and maybe have some animal friends to help him. Honestly, just thinking about that gives me all the fuzzy feelings.

I hope to see him soon, though I'll try not to get too caught up with my own imaginings. I'm sure whatever Supergiant do will be awesome, as always. Prometheus is already delivering.

Oh, and Zeus is a bastard.

[RAMBLE OVER, HAVE A GREAT DAY!]

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 21 | S.R

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A/N - this picks up moments before the end of the last chapter. This one is a trip, please tread lightly, it got away from me.

Summary - Luke races to save Spencer from drowning. Whilst you await Spencer’s fate, you and Luke grow tenuously closer.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - CPR, paramedics, hospitals, suicide attempt, swearing, brief panic attack, slight cheating, making out, some kind of messy coma fever dream, heavy mentions of past rape, sexual assault in the form of a dream, handjob, hint at oral (m receiving).

WC - 6.5k

Chapter 21 - Night Riders Lament

The moment Luke slowed the Escalade to a stop on the gravel driveway, you were flinging yourself out of the vehicle. Luke barely shut off the engine before he did the same. 

He followed in your footsteps, running behind you up the hill towards a large Victorian style home. There were various lights coming from multiple windows in the house. 

The front door was gratefully unlocked as you didn’t have your keys on you. Luke followed you inside where you stopped in the entrance way, honing your ears on any little sound that might indicate Spencer’s location. 

“He could be at the stable, he often drinks down there.” You whispered.

Luke tried to not to think of the implications of Spencer drinking again after all these years of sobriety. He’d failed to find out much more information about his ex’s condition on the drive. 

You’d told him he was off his meds and dissociating into personalities you believed to be people from his past. If he was drinking too it really wasn’t much of a surprise this had happened. 

He heard footsteps on the floor above but not loud enough to come from a human. A moment later a red and grey floppy eared dog who he assumed to still be quite young, appeared at the top of the narrow staircase. 

His icy blue eyes landed on you before bouncing down the stairs towards you. He threw himself at you, nuzzling against you and whining slightly.

“It’s okay, Copper, what is it?” You pet his head. “Where’s Spencer?” 

The dog - Copper - moved away from you and back towards the stairs. You and Luke exchanged a look, wondering if you were supposed to follow. 

Before you could take a step, Luke put his arm in front of you, drawing his firearm with his other hand. 

“Let me go first.” He croaked, stepping forward. “We have no idea what we’re walking into.” 

You swallowed at the inference of his words and the fact he thought he might need his weapon. You nodded stiffly and let Luke take a few more steps as Copper started up the stairs. 

Luke followed and you tentatively crept behind them. Your heart was beating so rampantly against your chest, terrified over what you might find upstairs. Knowing Spencer it could literally be anything, you were scared to see the extent of his full psychosis. 

He could have really hurt himself, he’d been alone for the best part of twenty four hours and you had no idea what he could have done in that time. But you were about to find out. 

Luke continued following Copper into the master bedroom. It was pretty much how you left it aside for the near empty whiskey bottle on the bedside table and Spencer’s clothes strewn about the floor.

The folding wooden doors to the ensuite were closed but Copper came to stand in front of them, staring impatiently at them and whimpering. Luke looked back at you over his shoulder, his hand gripped around the gun noticeably shaking. 

“I think you should wait out here.” He told you sternly but you stubbornly shook your head.

“No way, I’m coming in with you. I can handle it.” You spat.

Luke’s jaw tightened and he swallowed thickly but this wasn’t the time to stand around arguing. He sucked in a trembling breath before turning back to the door. 

“Spencer?” He braced his free hand against the wood. “Spencer, can you hear me? Are you in there?”

There was no response. 

“Spencer, I’m going to open this door if you don’t respond.” He tried again, but still there was no response.

Luke drew a really large breath into his lungs through his nose before he shoved the folding doors, watching them concertina in the middle and pushed through the opening created on the right hand side. 

You were hot on his heels as he breached the room, his hand faltering around the weapon and it suddenly fell to the ground in a loud crash. You gasped loudly at the sight of Spencer in the tub, completely submerged in the water. You froze completely, unable to breathe let alone move.

Thankfully Luke was able to remain level headed and sprung to action after the initial shock. He ran further into the room, quickly reaching both hands into the scalding tub water and hooking them under Spencer’s armpits, dragging the led weight of his unconscious body up and out of the water. 

Spencer’s head lolled to his chest, eyes closed and if Luke wasn’t mistaken, unbreathing. He fought to pull the man fully out of the tub, water splashing everywhere while you and Copper stood stock still and watched in horror. 

Luke manoeuvred him to the floor, trying to ignore the sight of his ex’s naked body before him. He laid him gently on his back on the linoleum, kneeling over him and placing his cheek near Spencer’s face. As suspected, he wasn’t breathing. 

Moving his hand rapidly to Spencer’s neck and pressing two fingers against his pulse point he felt a very faint, very thready pulse.

“He’s not breathing but he’s alive.” Luke straddled Spencer’s hips, glancing up at you. “Call 911 now!” 

You blinked at him but remained unmoved while Luke began CPR in the absence of respiratory activity. He placed the heel of palm on the centre of Spencer’s chest, ignoring how prominent his bones were and how much weight he’d lost, then pressed his other palm to the back of his first hand and started compressions.

He counted off the compressions needing a steady rate of thrusts to kick start Spencer’s heart. After the first thirty he moved his hands from his chest to tilt his head back gently and pinched his nose. He lowered his head, disregarding the utter craziness of this situation, as he sealed his lips over Spencer’s to administer mouth to mouth.

He gave two rescue breaths before sitting back and continuing with the chest compressions. As he did so, he looked at you, seeing you still hadn’t moved. The colour had drained your face and your whole body was quaking.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. 

“Y/N, this is not the time to freeze.” Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. “Call 911 now! He will die if you just stand there.” Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. “I mean it, Y/N, call the damn paramedics!”

Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.

Finally you snapped out of your terror and reached into your pocket for your phone. Luke continued to count in his head while he listened to you on the phone. When he reached thirty he resorted back to mouth to mouth, then returned to chest compressions.

“Come on, man, come on.” He muttered, sweat gathering at his brow. “Come on Spence, please. Take a breath, just take a damn breath!” 

Tilting his head back again and breathing twice into Spencer’s mouth just as you hung up the phone, Spencer suddenly spluttered, his whole body jerking beneath Luke.  

You both froze as Spencer’s eyes fluttered, opening momentarily and staring right at Luke before he parted his lips and water spurted from his mouth. 

Luke quickly moved off of him, helping him into the recovery position while Spencer continued to spit up water and a little bile. Luke rubbed his back while you continued to stare at the coughing, shaking man. 

“Spence, it's okay. Get it out.” Luke cooed.

But no sooner had expelled himself, his eyes closed again and his whole body stilled. But he did continue to breathe, albeit extremely shallowly. Luke motioned for you to toss him a towel which you did and Luke used it to cover Spencer’s lower half. Water dribbled from his open mouth onto the floor, his breathing ragged and infrequent. 

Luke stayed crouched by his side, stroking his back for another few minutes, paying close attention to his breathing before suddenly it stopped again. Luke cursed in his mother tongue, pushing Spencer onto his back again and resuming his earlier attempts at CPR. 

You didn’t know how long you stood there watching in fear as Luke gave him chest compressions and mouth to mouth, before the sound of footsteps on the staircase alerted you to the arrival of EMT’s. 

They practically pushed you and Copper aside, one of them dropping to the floor next to Luke, a canister of oxygen wheeled behind him. He placed a hand on Luke’s shoulder as he robotically continued pumping Spencer’s chest with his hands, seemingly not noticing the arrival. 

“Sir,” the second EMT took hold of Luke’s shoulder. “Sir, it's okay, you can stop now.” 

The EMT had to physically drag Luke off of Spencer, while the other used a stethoscope to listen to his breathing. After a few moments he pulled away and looked up at the second paramedic. 

“Very little respiratory activity. He’ll need intubation.” For now he placed a mask over Spencer’s lips which were starting to turn blue. “Can you clear the room please? We’ll be taking him to Canyon Vista Medical, but for now we need space, we need to replenish his O2 and stabilise him.” 

A trembling Luke found your side and without thinking, wrapped his arms around you. You let him lead you from the room and towards the bed where the two of you sat down, Copper joining you soon after. 

Tears silently rolled down your cheeks as the EMT’s worked on getting him on a stretcher, keeping his oxygen mask in place. Once they started leading his unconscious form out of the room, Luke sprung back up to his feet. 

The two of you followed close behind while he was rapidly manoeuvred into the back of the ambulance, the speed in which everything was happening only furthered to prove his dire state. The EMT’s didn’t say another word to either of you and were soon peeling away, red and blue’s flashing and siren blaring. 

Without your knowledge you were back in Luke’s Escalade while he slammed his foot on the accelerator and sped after the ambulance as fast he could, the utter terror running through his veins. 

But he had to stay focused for now, at least until he made it to the hospital. There would be time to dwell on all of this later. For now he had to believe Spencer Reid could survive this. 

***

Spencer was taken straight to the ICU where he was hooked up to a ventilator via an endotracheal tube in his mouth. You and Luke had been informed that he’d gone into cardiac arrest in the ambulance but they had managed to revive him. 

He was taken for chest x-rays to assess the level of acute respiratory distress. He was being closely monitored for potential multiple organ failure, pneumonia and central nervous system infections. 

He was still unconscious and as such it was impossible to know the extent of brain injury due to lack of oxygen. They couldn’t fairly assess if he was suffering from hypoxic or anoxic brain injury until he was awake and could be given a series of tests to determine if he’d permanently damaged his brain. 

He was receptive to early testing, the doctor had shone a torch in his eyes and noted his pupils restricted to the intrusion. Ice cold water was applied to his ears which caused his eyes to move rapidly beneath his lids. The doctor was hopeful that these were good signs of brain activity but he certainly wasn’t out of the woods.

The fluid had been drained from his lungs but it didn’t mean he couldn’t still contract pneumonia. Prolonged use of the ventilator also came with its own risks of lung injury. The fact that he drowned in hot water removed the risk of hypothermia but it did mean his body’s need for oxygen was increased and that the oxygen deprivation could have been rapidly lethal and lead to permanent brain damage. 

He was being tested around the clock, closely monitored as he was at risk of innumerable issues and complications. His blood had been drawn on intake and the doctor informed you and Luke that his blood alcohol level had been four times the legal limit and they assumed it had led to him falling unconscious in the tub and submerging himself. 

You and Luke didn’t say as much but you both knew this hadn’t been some dumb accident. This was without a doubt in both of your minds, an attempt to end his life. 

The two of you exchanged barely two words for hours while you sat in the waiting room. Luke brought you a tepid, bitter coffee from the vending machine while you nursed it on autopilot while he excused himself to make some phone calls.

Firstly he called Grant and filled him in on everything, managing to stem his tears and remain stoic while he explained to his boyfriend how he found his ex close to death and was now waiting to see if he’d regain consciousness. 

It was when he called Emily that Luke finally succumbed to the terror and the heartache he’d bottled up since finding Spencer in the tub and thinking he was dead. 

He’d sobbed down the phone while he recited all the gory details to his boss, barely able to hold himself upright and having to use a nearby wall to brace himself against. 

Emily didn’t get every word he said due to the rampant crying and the fact that Luke seemed to flick back and forth between English and Spanish while he spoke.

“Jesus Em it was bad, it was so bad. I thought he estaba muerto. I thought I would never vería sus ojos otra vez. He wasn’t breathing, he barely had a pulse. Que pasa si lo pierdo? He was just like that, so sin vida. Ay dios mio, I would have…he could have fallecido. I thought he…oh god Em, I thought he was gone. I thought he was gonna die en frente de mí! I don’t know how I even held it together when all I wanted to do was quebrarme. And he still might no regresar. I still may never see his eyes again, hear su voz. Ay dios mio, AY DIOS MIO. Podría haber muerto, que hubiera hecho? Fuck, fuck Em, I’m atacado…having a ataque de pánico.”

“Okay, okay Alvez I need you to breathe. Just stop and take a breath in, count to five and release it again. Can you do that for me?” Her voice carried down the phone. 

“Si. Yes.” Luke closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the wall and doing as Emily said. 

At her guidance he repeated this over and over until she deemed Luke to be calm enough, his breathing slowly returning to something close to normal.

“Okay, are you good?”

“Yes.” Luke swallowed, turning and leaning back against the wall.

“Start again from the beginning. But I’m going to need you to stick to one language. English or Spanish is fine but I’m not as adept at switching between the two as you are, so please, pick one.” 

Luke pinched the bridge of his nose, he honestly hadn’t even realised he’d been speaking Spanish. He took a deep breath and wiped his tears before telling Emily everything in English only. 

By the time he returned to you in the waiting room he’d cried all of his tears and washed his face to try and hide that fact. 

Your face was obscured by your hood the way it had been since you arrived at the hospital, not able to take any chances on someone recognising you. Luke slid into the chair at your side. 

“Do I need to go? I assume your team is coming?” You sighed. 

“They’re on a case, they got called out right after I headed down to New Mexico, so no they aren’t. Also I don’t really think Spencer would want them to witness him in this state, whether he was conscious of them being here or not.” Luke ran his hand over his rough facial hair. 

“I should never have left him. This is my fault.” You cried. 

Luke placed his strong hand on your shoulder, forcing you to look at him through watery eyes hidden away behind your oversized hood. 

“None of this is your fault.” He shook his head. “No one could have prevented this, Y/N. Unfortunately Spencer is severely mentally ill. A combination of coming off his meds and heavy drinking only exacerbated the situation. This was sadly an inevitable outcome.” 

“What happens if he doesn’t wake up Luke? What happens if Spencer dies?” Your eyes were begging him for answers he just didn’t have and you knew it too. 

“Honestly?” He squeezed your shoulder. “I have no idea. I really wish I had some words to make this better, but I don’t. We just have to wait and see and go from there.” 

You nodded knowing he was right but hating it all the same. 

***

The momentary bliss of those first few seconds of consciousness swaddled you like a warm blanket and allowed you a reprieve from the previous day's events. The strong, firm body you found yourself cradled against breathed almost in symmetry with you. 

Broad arms encircled you, your head nuzzled against a hard chest and being lulled by the rhythmic beating of a heart. Legs were entwined together keeping you close. And for those joyous few seconds you forgot all about Spencer in the hospital and it didn’t even cross your mind that the body you were wrapped up in wasn’t his.

So when you shifted your head upwards and captured the sleepy lips of your bed companion in a kiss, it didn’t occur to you that it was incredibly wrong. Apparently it didn’t occur to him either as he returned the kiss with vigour, tongue working its way into your mouth whilst pulling you on top of him. 

He was already hard beneath you as you rolled your hips against his whilst hungrily exploring each other's mouth with fervour. It didn’t register to you that his lips were unfamiliar, that the body you were grinding against was much more muscular than you were used to. 

But then your brain started to kick into gear, pulling itself from its sleep-addled state and you remembered Spencer in the tub, Luke giving him CPR, the EMT’s, the hospital.

Oh my fucking god!

You suddenly broke the kiss, sitting back and staring down at a sleepy Luke Alvez under you. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking up at you as his own brain ebbed into consciousness. 

“Y/N?” He yelped slightly as you rolled off of him quickly. “What the fuck?”

“I…I, uh, I think I thought you were Spencer.” Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“Mierda,” he spat, pulling the sheet over his body mostly to cover the fact he was fully erect as if you hadn’t felt it. “I didn’t realise what I was doing. Jeez, I haven't kissed a woman in a really long time.” 

“We should, uh, pretend that never happened and get back to the hospital.” You were rolling out of bed, self conscious at the fact you only wore an oversized t-shirt and a pair of panties. 

Glancing back at Luke he only seemed to be wearing boxers and the clothes on the floor only further proved that. You didn’t remember leaving the hospital and getting back to the ranch. You didn’t know why you and Luke were in bed together, wearing next to nothing.

“You were exhausted.” Luke spoke, seemingly reading your mind. “I helped you up to bed and you asked me to stay with you. Honestly I didn’t mind the company. I, uh, did have more clothes on when I fell asleep but I do run hot so I guess I took them off in the night.” 

“We didn’t…?” You turned back to him, eyebrow cocked. 

“No!” Luke frowned with a huff. “No offence but you’re not exactly my type.”

“Right, my lack of a penis.” You nodded with a slight quip of your lip. 

“Exactly.” Luke couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not as equal opportunist as Spencer, if you know what I mean.” 

“You’re gay, I get it. I’m not offended.” You shook your head in amusement. “I’m gonna shower and hope to wash this fucking bizarre morning off of me.” 

“Good idea.” Luke nodded stiffly. 

Without another word you padded past him towards the bathroom and closed the folding doors behind you. You froze once inside, staring at the still full tub. You could still see him there, submerged under the water, not breathing. You could see his lifeless form as Luke laid him down on the floor and tried to breathe life back into him. 

The lips that had to administer mouth to mouth to Spencer were the same as the ones you’d fervently attacked. You’d kissed Luke while Spencer was fighting for his life. Tears crept to your eyes and you were momentarily paralysed by the weight of it all. But you couldn’t crumble, Spencer needed you. 

You bypassed the claw foot tub, unable to bring yourself to drain the water and simply stepped inside the shower and closed your eyes in the hopes of dispelling the images that ran amok in your mind.

***

The doctors started to try and wean Spencer off of the ventilator to try and assess if he was able to breath on his own. He’d had no further fluid build up in his lungs and they were hopeful that he would be able to breath without the use of the tube and the machine.

He was having tests done multiple times a day to measure his oxygen and carbon dioxide levels, his blood pressure, heart rate and temperature were all regularly checked. He had numerous blood tests to monitor his kidney function as well as other body functions. 

Luke had spent several hours in Spencer’s room, talking to the unconscious man but you couldn’t bring yourself to see him like this. 

By the end of the day the doctor had successfully removed him from the ventilator and Spencer was breathing unaided. They had started by explaining all the steps to you and Luke although most of it was lost on you. 

The pressure of the ventilator was gradually reduced whilst nurses moved Spencer into a half sitting position. His airway was suctioned before the ventilator was disconnected and replaced by a simple oxygen mask to aid his breathing but not control it. 

The doctor monitored his breathing for any anxiety or laboured breaths. As soon as he was happy that Spencer was able to breath without the machine, extubation was carried out, the endotracheal tube removed from his throat and the mask placed over his mouth and nose. 

He would need continuous monitoring to ensure he carried on breathing on his own but the doctor said it wasn’t unheard of for patients to return to a ventilator if needed. They also started to wean him off the medication keeping him sedated but you and Luke were both warned that it could still take some time for him to awaken.

You were both made aware that when he did wake up he would likely be restless and confused and if he was to get agitated he may need resedating but they hoped it wouldn’t come to that. None one mentioned the fact it was still a possibility he might not wake up at all. 

You stayed all day before returning to the ranch in the late evening. Luke ordered take out as all the two of you had eaten was snacks from the hospital vending machine. You both only picked at the Thai food, neither feeling particularly hungry.

After dinner Luke called Grant and then Emily to fill them in on Spencer’s progress before the two of you called it a night, sleeping in separate rooms this time to avoid another potentially awkward morning.

***

Spencer Reid didn’t believe in heaven and hell and perhaps that was why he’d found himself in some kind of limbo. 

Am I dead? Must be dead. What else could this be?

You really went and done it this time, Reid. You wanted to kill yourself and it looks like you succeeded. 

Well, this ought to be interesting. 

Everything seemed just mildly out of focus, hazy around the edges. It was a little like being tipsy, not quite able to get his vision to cooperate yet his mind was sharp unlike when he drank. 

Out of nowhere an incredibly bright light flashed before his left eye. He squinted before it appeared again in his right but then disappeared entirely. 

He walked with seemingly no purpose, through one blurry room to the next without knowing where he was going or why. His feet moved of their own volition, like they had their own destination in mind. 

Is this all there is out there? Am I simply going to wander the abyss for all eternity now? At least I’m alone, at least they aren’t here. 

A shiver passed up his spine and he looked around quickly, trying to work out where the sudden iciness that encompassed him came from. Moments later he felt it again, confined to his head…his ears? 

No bother, it soon passed and he continued on his way. 

Must have worked. The lack of oxygen must have killed enough of my brain cells that they’re all finally gone. I might be able to have some peace. 

But as he had this thought, a voice filtered into his ears distant and hard to understand but he certainly recognised it and not as one of the ghosts who had lived inside of his head. 

“Amor mio. Siento tanto esto que te pasó, pero necesito que abras tus ojos ya? Hazlo por mí. Por favor, te suplico, abre tus ojos.”

Luke? Luke, is that you? Luke I don’t understand, I can’t… Never had a problem understanding Spanish before, why can’t I understand him?

Luke, say it in English, what are you trying to say? Must have destroyed the part of my brain where my ability to retain language was stored. Amor mio…my love? Urgh, what are you trying to tell me?

Think, Spencer, think. Something about being sorry? Siento tanto esto que te pasó…I’m sorry for what happened to you? What happened to me? I don’t get it. 

Ojos…eyes? You want me to open my eyes? My eyes are open…I don’t understand, Luke? Pero necesito que abras tus ojos ya…But I need you to open your eyes? This doesn’t make any sense…

Hazlo por mí. Por favor, te suplico, abre tus ojos…Do it do me. Please I beg you, open your eyes? Am I losing my mind or has my Spanish gotten that rusty? I must be mistranslating, that doesn’t make any sense. 

His feet continued their aimless wandering, Luke’s voice fading out of his ears. He pushed his way through a door at the end of a long corridor and stepped inside to be greeted by a table full of people bathed in a soft glow, while they enjoyed dinner together.

Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau, Tara Lewis, Penelope Garcia, David Rossi and Matt Simmons sat around the table, laughing and clinking wine glasses together, not noticing their company. 

A smile blossomed on Spencer’s lips as he took in his old team, minus Luke. He walked towards the six of them, excited to join them in their dinner. 

Gosh, I’ve missed them, never realised how much until right now. It's so good to see them all again, can’t wait to…

As he neared the table the six figures he’d known and missed started to shift and morph before his very eyes. Soon enough he wasn’t looking at the six members of the BAU, instead he was looking upon the six demons who lived inside his head. 

There they were, sharing a meal together while Spencer stood in horror as the monsters of his past broke bread together and sipped wine like they were old friends catching up after a long time apart.

Tobias Hankel sipped from his wine glass. Cat Adams and Diane Turner laughed together side by side. William Reid picked up a bread roll and tore it into pieces before he started eating it. Benjamin Merva cut into a rare steak with an overly sharp knife.

And at the head of the table, clinking his own knife against his glass and capturing the attention of the others, was the source of Spencer’s biggest trauma. The broad, tattooed latino got to his feet, his prison scrubs rolled up to his elbows and all eyes were now on him. 

He smiled at his rapt audience, the same sick smile he used to give Spencer when he was forcing him to his knees and opening his mouth for the assault. Large hands clapped together, the very ones which had held Spencer in place while he was coerced into taking the other mens cocks in his mouth. 

“I’m so glad we could all be here today,” he spoke in that menacing tone Spencer knew too well. “To celebrate the man of the hour, the reason we were all brought together.” 

Suddenly all eyes turned to Spencer who was standing dumbly off to the side, on the outside looking in. He swallowed thickly at the six sets of eyes who seemed to be hungrily glaring at him. 

“Without you, querido, none of us would be here.” 

Please don’t call me that, please god don’t call me that, Spencer spoke but no words seemed to come out of his mouth. Yet, everyone seemed to hear him.

“What’s the matter, querido, I thought you liked it?” The man pouted at him.

I don’t, I don’t! Not when you say it! 

“He prefers it when you call him, cariño.” 

Another voice entered the arena, one in which Spencer didn’t mind the term of endearment from. He spun around to see Luke on the edge of the room, hands in his pockets and chewing awkwardly on his lip.

Luke, Luke you came! Luke, please make them go away. 

Again he didn’t make a sound yet Luke seemed to hear him loud and clear.

“You know I’d do anything for you cariño, but you never let me help you. I tried, I tried so hard. But you didn’t want my help.”

I want it now, please? Please! Make them go away.

He felt a strong set of arms around him from behind, he knew exactly who they belonged to. He struggled against them but he was too weak, his back being pinned against a firm chest while tattooed arms encompassed his waist, holding him steady.

“He looks a little like me, no?” The man breathed in his ear. “Is that why you wouldn’t let him touch you after what I did? Did he remind you of me?”

Y-yes, Spencer sniffled. It’s true Luke, I’m sorry. You reminded me of him, you reminded me of my rapist. 

“Ay cariño,” Luke huffed, still on the other side of the room and not stepping in to help him fight off his attacker. “Estabas tan vulnerable, que nunca pudiste aprender a cómo cuidarte. No es raro que él se haya aprovechado de ti.”

What does that mean? I don’t understand, I can’t seem to remember any Spanish, Luke you have to help me!

The arms tightened around him, squeezing the breath from his lungs. He desperately tried to catch it but the pressure around him inhibited him from getting a solid breath into his suddenly aching lungs. 

“He said you are so fragile, that you never did learn to take care of yourself. He said it’s no wonder I took advantage of you.”

No, no that’s not true. Luke, tell him, you didn’t say that! Tell him! 

Despite the fact Spencer was still not making any noise aside from trying to catch his breath, Luke shrugged. Spencer looked over at the table where the other five ghosts sat, none of them paying any attention to the three of them. They were focused back on their meals, clearly unperturbed by what was going on. 

The arms started to loosen their hold and Spencer gasped furiously for a breath to refill his near empty lungs. His breathing was thick and fast, rampant and erratic.

“It's to be expected when patients first come off the ventilator. He might struggle to breath on his own for a few minutes but the mask will help ensure he has enough oxygen and I can assure you Mister Alvez we’re monitoring him extremely closely.” 

Spencer frowned at the new voice entering his ears, looking around but not seeing any other faces. The man behind him had his hands on Spencer’s hips and no matter what he did, Spencer couldn’t get his breathing to return to normal.

Luke, what is happening? Why can’t I breathe properly? What is he saying about ventilators and oxygen? What have I missed? 

The hands gripped his hips tightly through his slacks and Spencer tried to ignore them in lieu of breathing. He was huffing and puffing but he couldn’t control it. 

What is happening to me? 

No one responded. 

Something was suddenly on his throat or more accurately, being removed from his throat. He felt it scratch and tickle as he clawed its way out of his mouth. He coughed violently out of nowhere, shuddering at the sensation and dribbling down his chin a little. 

He swallowed thickly, feeling empty in such a new and strange way but he didn’t understand what it was. What was that feeling? 

The sounds of laughter from the dinner table distracted him momentarily while one hand snuck around the front of his body. Spencer’s back stiffened as the thick fingers toyed at the waistband of his slacks.

Please, please don’t do this, he begged, still fighting for breath. “Please, I don’t want it. I don’t want it!” 

The hand was sliding inside his pants and Spencer whimpered, tears rolling down his cheeks as he looked at Luke, begging for help.

“Is he crying?” Luke’s voice came again but this time his lips didn’t move.

“It’s perfectly normal in comatose patients, Mister Alvez.” The other voice spoke again. 

Comatose? What is going on? Someone tell me what’s…oh shit! A hand wrapped around his shaft. Don’t do that, don't touch me!

“Don’t fight it cariño, just pretend it's me.” The Luke that was in front of him was speaking now and not the phantom, distant Luke voice.

Please, please I don’t want this! I just want to…oh…

Spencer threw his head back, eyes closing as a wave of pleasure erupted in his chest. He was still struggling to catch his breath but right then he didn’t care. The large, calloused hand in his pants felt divine even if he hated to admit it. 

He locked eyes with Luke while the man continued to stroke him, his knees buckling, but the man behind him held him upright.

“Feels good, huh?” Luke smirked at him

Y-yes, fucking goddamnit yes it does.

“I like him like this; so subservient.” The man whispered against Spencer’s ear, breath hot on his skin. 

Fuck…fuck…feels so good. Why does it have to feel so good? 

“Are you…oh my god he’s fucking hard! He’s enjoying this!” 

“He’s enjoying it! Hah!”

Two other bodies appeared beside Luke now, the other two men responsible for his prison assaults. Spencer squirmed and whined at their words, fighting against the hands once more.

I’m not enjoying it. Stop it, please. I don’t want it. 

“Spencer, baby, if you weren’t enjoying it, why is your cock so hard?” Luke offered him a sad smile. 

It’s a-adrenaline. It happens when we-we’re excited or scared. S-sexual arousal and fear a-arousal have many of the same bodily f…please stop! 

The tears were hot as they scored down his face. He desperately fought against the hands that wouldn’t let up, touching him in places he didn’t want to be touched. He still couldn’t breath, everything was growing hazier. 

He vaguely registered the sounds of chairs scraping across the floor and moments later the five other ghosts came into view. 

William and Merva helped to remove Spencer’s shirt while he whined and tried to push them away to no avail. Cat dropped to her knees in front of him, wasting no time in taking him in her mouth while the man’s hand remained around the base of his shaft. 

Tobias and Diane started pawing at his now bare chest, Diane sucking marks on his neck while he felt a needle at the crook of his arm.

No, please, please you have to stop. STOP! I don’t want any of this, Luke, make them stop! 

Spencer screamed and screamed until his lungs were raw and throbbing, but no one seemed to hear his pleas. He fought against the bodies now swarmed around him, thrashing and writhing but it didn’t do any good. No one was listening, no one heard his cries. 

Stop, stop, stop! You have to stop, I can’t do this. Can’t do this. Death was supposed to be a reprieve, it wasn’t supposed to be like this! You weren’t supposed to follow me to the other side. Luke, Luke! Please! Please you have to do something, Luke! Luke, Luke, Luke…

With a start, Spencer’s eyes shot open while he gasped for a breath to fill his battered lungs. Suddenly everything stilled. There were no hands upon him, no voices, no torrent of unwanted emotions. 

In the whiteness of the room he registered a faint beeping sound but he didn’t acknowledge it. Across the vividly lit space, he locked eyes with those dark brown orbs he’d loved for so many years and saw all the sorrow they held as they stared back at him.

He felt something over his face, obscuring his mouth and nose, something in the crook of his arm, something else jammed in a place much lower down his body that it most certainly shouldn’t be. A frantic beeping grew louder as he slowly ebbed out of that hazy unconscious. His heart? His heart was beating furiously. 

But through it all, he only had attention on that one man whom he was sure was not a ghost this time. As a small yet melancholy smile played on his lips, Spencer knew that Luke Alvez was just as much here as he himself was.

Wherever the hell here was. 

Heaven? Hell? Limbo again? Some kind of other in between where up is down and left is right? Got to be, can’t be real. If I was alive there is no way Luke Alvez would be here in front of me and…

Luke started towards him, eyes misted with tears. He moved closer to Spencer and without thinking he grabbed the younger man’s hand in his, needing to feel him, needing to ground himself. 

He blinked back tears whilst an extremely confused, extremely oxygen deprived Spencer continued to stare blankly at him. Luke lifted his hand to his mouth and brushed his lips across his knuckles. 

“Oh cariño, am I glad to see you.” 

@katrina0-0 @kalulakunundrum @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @babyspiderling @pleasantwitchgarden @djsjjsjsjsjsnsnsns @bringitonhomejohnb @chineray1234

[nova--spark]

Earth 101: A Manual for the Visiting Cybertronian

Chapter Two : Earth Weather

Earth, with its vast biomes and diverse terrains, has a variety of weather patterns that can change drastically from day to day, and have particular seasons with which they are often divided.

This has also been the cause of …particular issues for the newcomer Cybertronian, as the climate can have adverse effects on our biomechanics.

As a gentle reminder, please be sure to thank your medic when leaving the med bay after repairs.A bottle or two of high-grade Energon also goes a long way.

Divided into the Northern and Southern hemispheres, Earth cycles through 4 seasons, each with their own type of weather.

The four seasons by which the planet goes through, as labeled as:

Spring : Temperate to warm weather, usually brings the thawing of winter and replenishing of flora and fauna alike.

Summer: The warmest of the seasons, the planting of crops and their growth occurs here, as well as many an activity in the sun

Fall or Autumn: Harvest season, known to be the beginning of a cooling in the weather and when most flora experience a change in color to prepare for the next season.

Winter: The coldest of the seasons, this season is also known as the ‘holiday season’ due to many Earth holidays occurring during the jours, or rather, Terran months it overlaps.

These seasons last roughly 3 months each, but due to changes in the Earth’s ozone layer in a phenomenon known as ‘global warming’, which has caused quite severe changes to the climate of Earth in some places.

Primus help them, we can only hope this does not continue with our presence here.

The Northern hemisphere is known to host generally colder climates, whilst the Southern hemisphere hosts warmer climates.

The planet’s equator is the centralized area of its warmest zone.

This said, interestingly enough, when it is summer in one hemisphere, it is often winter in the other, in a rather fascinating exchange!

They oppose each other, meaning that through the 3 months it is the opposite season in the other region.

The equator tends to average around the same weather all of the orbital cycle, known as a year, around the 

Truly intriguing, the various weather patterns of Earth.

Earth is known to have various forms of weather, ranging from sunny days, cloudy, foggy, rainy or even snow.

That said, Earth weather can also be quite dangerous.

Storms such as hurricanes, tsunamis, tropical storms, and blizzards can devastate entire sections of Earth, and even wipe entire cities off the map.

We have witnessed some of these devastating incidents. 

We only hope that humans can find peace after these tragedies.

With each type of weather of course, come certain rules and warnings about potential hazards that could occur.

For example, not even the greatest of the Autobots is immune to the icy roads of the northernmost parts of the world, as our beloved Prime informed us after he spun out due to a particularly vicious patch of black ice amidst a snow storm.

Luckily no harm was done, as he crashed into the snow on the roadside. All that was harmed was perhaps his dignity when he informed us about the incident in a kind reminder to not repeat his actions, so as to avoid harm to ourselves and to others on the road.

Ever so watchful is he.

The same cannot be said for …others within our ranks however. 

Incidents with wild weather reported for documentation within this field guide are as follows:

A scientist studying the weather patterns of Earth amidst a particularly wild storm learned what the function of the aptly named lightning rod was. By becoming one involuntarily. Thankfully, said patient now seeks shelter when such storms come to pass.

One of our scouts learned the hard way that driving through fog can be a disorienting and frightening experience. It is not for the faint of Spark. Proceed with caution

Hailstorms. Spheres of ice sometimes the size of Scraplets that falls from the skies. It is as terrifying as it sounds.

One too many Autobot and Con alike have tried to become what is known on Earth as 'storm chasers'. Medical Officer Ratchet implores that the next to attempt such, will only learn from being swirled within a tornado and that the damage from such an event is very tedious to repair.

Please do not attempt to drive through flooded areas after heavy rains. Your engine will become full of water and proceed to stall. It is not worth splashing each other to have this happen.

High winds can push even the largest of us off the road. And we do mean this literally. 

We advise parking indoors when choosing to remain in vehicle mode or keeping your heating on when in cold weather. Your vehicle mode can in fact be encased in ice entirely if not careful. It is as annoying and freezing as it sounds.

For those who are flight inclined, be they Decepticon, Autobot or neutral, be aware of snow, rain, lightning, hail, and more, as they can blind the pilot if particularly severe. Even the well known Starscream has been known to crash land due to hail and sleet causing less than optimal flying conditions.

Heatwaves [No we do not mean the Sigma-17 leader, Heatwave] can be cause for our biomechs to overheat and falter, requiring significant cooling, as there have in fact been cases of engines catching on fire or outright shutting down from the intense heat.

Beware of blizzards, as we do not wish anyone to freeze within the piles of snow known to loosen in this.

Earthquakes can cause catastrophic chains of events to occur. Please be aware that aftershocks may occur afterwards.

The rescue team known as Sigma-17 has told us of a good many weather incidents like those mentioned within this chapter. Their testimony was vital for this chapter, and we thank them for their duty in rescue operations of all manner.

Please be sure to contact an official, medic or rescue service in the event of an emergency or accident, no matter the severity.

This concludes our initial overview of Earth Weather and Climates. Direct appropriate queries to the proper channels for more information.

[misc-obeyme]

Heya! Congrats on the 1k - it's really well deserved bc your writing's honestly amazing <3

I was wondering if I could request the NSFW prompt "I'll only bite if you want me to" for Diavolo x fem MC?

Tysm! ^.^

Hello, anon! Thank you so much, I'm so happy you're enjoying my writing!

Okay, this one got a little long, oops! But I had fun writing it! I know the location has been done before, but man it would be so hot I just couldn't resist lol. Also, since we have fem MC, I did afab and described some feminine clothing, so there is that as well.

Thank you for participating!

1,000 Followers Event!

afab!MC x Diavolo with prompt "I'll only bite if you want me to."

NSFW MDNI

Warnings: biting obviously, a little blood, penetration (reader receiving), female body parts, feminine clothing described

All night, you could feel Diavolo's eyes on you, watching you no matter where you were in the room. Even when he seemed to be fully engaged with other people, his attention was divided.

The party that was taking place in a ballroom of the Demon Lord's Castle was a standard affair. It was something that happened somewhat regularly, an event held for the demon nobles to gather and brag to each other about their various exploits.

Lucifer was the only demon brother present tonight - the rest had some prior engagements and couldn't make it. Lucifer mostly stayed by Diavolo, the two of them speaking to whatever demons came by. Both of them were in demon form and they looked absolutely regal standing together like that.

Diavolo wasn't the only one who couldn't focus. You had been trying to move about the room, answering questions about the exchange program. You had been doing a good job of it, too, but there was no denying the way your eyes flitted back to where Diavolo stood.

Several times, your eyes met his and it was like a jolt of electricity ran through you. The feeling increased when he smiled and you could see the sharp fangs of his teeth, the spark of desire that flashed through his expression.

You knew part of the distraction for him was your outfit. In a moment of sweetness between you, Diavolo had confided that he loved to see the skin of your shoulders, to touch your neck, your clavicles, the hollow of your throat. And tonight, you had chosen a dress that exposed all of it. Off the shoulder and a little low cut, just enough to reveal that part of you he had kissed so tenderly before.

Asmo had suggested the dress and when you saw it, you had decided to wear it immediately. It was in your favorite color, tailored to fit you just right, and you knew exactly how it would cause the demon prince to react.

You were standing beside a group of students from RAD who were in attendance, barely listening to their conversation, when you noticed Diavolo leave Lucifer's side. You watched as Lucifer seemed to easily cover for him, distracting the demons they had been talking to. Diavolo spoke quietly to Barbatos, who was near at hand in the background. Barbatos nodded at whatever Diavolo said.

And then Diavolo was walking toward you.

Everyone in the room noticed. How could they not? Lord Diavolo, in full demon form, was walking purposefully through the middle of the room directly to the human exchange student.

He stopped in front of you, spreading his arms and grinning. "MC! I am so glad you could make it here tonight. If you don't mind accompanying me, there is important student council business I would like to discuss with you."

You glanced at Lucifer and then at Barbatos, both of whom seemed to be perfectly fine with whatever Diavolo was planning.

You smiled back at him. "Of course, Lord Diavolo."

Diavolo offered you his arm and you took it, letting him lead you across the room. Everyone was still watching, but you heard their conversation buzz louder as the two of you left and were no longer in sight.

"Forgive me, MC," Diavolo said quietly as he continued to lead you down the hall. "I know you have been acutely aware of my gaze all evening."

You laughed softly. "It's all right," you said. "It's my fault."

Diavolo looked at you curiously. "How is it your fault?"

You ran your fingertips over the top edge of your dress. "I wore this on purpose."

Diavolo made a noise that sounded like he was holding back a moan.

Moments later you found yourself pulled through a door into another room. The room was dimly lit, but it was bright enough for you to see where you were. The throne room.

Diavolo didn't seem to care about what room you were in, though. He pulled you into his arms, letting his wings close in around you as well. He pressed his lips to the spot where your neck met your shoulder.

"MC," he said softly as he dragged his fangs across your skin. "You know I can't resist you like this."

You gripped his arms. "I don't want you to resist."

Diavolo moaned and put his mouth on your neck as though ready to bite down. You gasped as you felt the slight pricking of his teeth against you.

Diavolo pulled away only a little at the sound you made. "I'll only bite if you want me to," he said, voice low and sweet in your ear. "You won't need to return to the party. I gave Barbatos a story to explain our absence."

You pulled in a shaky breath. "Go ahead," you said. "I want you to."

Diavolo surprised you by picking you up instead. You cried out and threw your arms around him, holding on tightly as he carried you across the room.

You felt yourself flush as he sat down on his throne with you on his lap. The throne was large, spacious enough for you to be straddling him even with all the fabric of your dress spilling out around you.

You didn't have a chance to ask if this was okay, it seemed so scandalous, because Diavolo's mouth was back at your neck. The sweet pain of his bite sent shocks of pleasure through your body, a spike of it shooting up from deep inside you.

Diavolo's bites became a little less careful as he made his way down to your shoulder. All of them left marks, but the last one drew a little blood as he pierced you with his demon fangs.

"Ah, MC," he said, pulling away to look at you. Your blood was smeared across his bottom lip. "I'm afraid I bit too hard and made you bleed."

The dazed look in his eyes, your blood on his lips, the way his wings still tucked around you, the fact that he was doing this to you while you sat on his throne, it all made you dizzy with pleasure. You could feel his erection beneath you, so you moved your hips to grind down on it, hoping that you could convey what you wanted without having to say anything.

Diavolo moaned and leaned his head on the shoulder that wasn't covered in his bite marks. "I need you so badly, MC," he said against your neck. "Can I-?"

"Yes, Dia," you said, gripping his shoulders and grinding down again.

Diavolo's hands went from your waist to beneath the skirt of your dress. You lifted yourself from his lap just enough for him to pull his cock out of his pants, push your underwear aside, and position himself for you.

You were already dripping, wet and throbbing and ready as you sank down onto his cock.

Diavolo was large and your eyes rolled back as you felt him stretching you out. The feeling of him filling you up, finally hitting the spot deep inside you, caused you to moan and clench around him.

"You feel so sweet, MC," Diavolo said, kissing all over the bite marks he had left.

You couldn't think clearly enough to respond, but it didn't matter. Diavolo was already taking charge, his hands now on your hips as he moved you up and down. You pressed yourself forward, arms circling his neck, one hand reaching up from behind to grab his horn.

Diavolo nearly growled when you touched his horn, closing his eyes and thrusting up into you at the same time that he moved your hips. You cried out with every thrust, the feeling of him penetrating so deeply, hitting that spot so hard, the increasing pace of it stimulating you over and over was so overwhelming. You found yourself moving without Diavolo's help, desperate to continue feeling this good.

One of Diavolo's hands left your hips and returned to beneath your skirt, his fingers finding your clit. You cried out his name as he stimulated it, the increased pleasure causing your mind to go blank.

And then Diavolo leaned forward and bit your neck again. The pain, the pleasure, it was all too much and it sent you right over the edge. You tightened on him, one hand digging into his shoulder, the other tugging back slightly on his horn as you orgasmed.

He continued to thrust into you as you rode out your high. You never quite came down from it as he continued, moaning into your ear, licking up the blood from the one spot where he had drawn it, his fingers still on your clit even as you could no longer move yourself, simply holding on as he kept going.

You thought you might start crying from the over stimulation, but then you felt him tighten beneath you, one hand suddenly gripping your thigh hard, the other one running down your back as he filled you with his cum.

You wouldn't be leaving the castle that night as it turned out. Diavolo spent a considerable amount of time pampering you. He felt a little bad about the marks he'd left, even though you tried to reassure him that it was okay. Still you allowed him to kiss you softly all over, to give you a gentle massage, to bring you sweets and tea, and to hold you in his arms until morning.

1,000 Followers Event | masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

Hey I love your work is the best if your not busy can you the humans are cute AU we’re the cons meet a baby human for the first time and can’t help but coo and snuggle the little baby?

The Nemesis was a busy ship. There was always something that needed to be done, orders to follow, repairs to be made. That's why Megatron found it increasingly odd that he couldn't find a single decepticon as he stalked through the hallways.

It was quiet, with only the low groan of the bulkhead echoing through the halls. Megatron punched the door to the medbay but when he looked inside he saw no one, not a trace of that scam of a medic Hook.

He frowned and continued down the halls when he heard it. The distant sounds of multiple voices, soft and gentle.

Two words that definitely didn't belong on a warship.

Worried what foolishness his decepticon warriors had found themselves in now, Megatron marched down the hallway until he found himself at the command deck. Of course they had all gathered here.

The door opened and Megatron found most of his soldiers huddled together, backs turned and hyper focused on whatever they were surrounding.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he heard someone make the most ridiculous, nonsensical sound he had ever heard in his 4 million years of life.

"Ah goochie goochie goo, goochie goochie goo!"

"What the frag are you idiots doing?"

As the leader of the decepticons and a warlord responsible for the deaths of billions, Megatron was used to getting the respect he deserved, be it fear, admiration or awe. So when a dozen or so faces turned around, frowning, and shushed at him, he immediately felt the energon rush to his head in anger.

"You dare-" Megatron declared, taking one step forward before Skywap of all people turned around, held his hands out and shushed him.

"Shhh! You're gonna scare it!" he whisper-yelled.

Megatron frowned even harder and continued stomping forward. "I want an explanation and I want it n-" The crowd of decepticons lightly parted, allowing Megatron to finally see what they had been so entranced by.

He blinked. Then manually reset his optical feed to make sure they weren't malfunctioning. Nope. It was still there.

Lying in a yellow stroller was a human infant. Pudgy cheeks, big, bright eyes and the softest looking hair Megatron had ever seen. Only it's face and arms could be seen, the rest of its body covered by a knitted blanket as it was wearing a pale blue jumpsuit covered in white dots.

"What-" he cleared his throat, voice oddly high pitched. "What is the meaning of this?"

Ramjet, who was closest to him, looked up. "We just wanna take a look at the baby, sir. Most of us have never seen one in real life before and well..." He looked back at the baby who just at that moment decided to laugh, causing all the gathered decepticons too coo at it. "It's just so fragging damn cute!"

Scrapper slapped the back of Ramjet's helmet. "Don't swear in front of the baby!"

Instead of reacting with anger and a retaliating strike back as he might have in usual circumstances, Ramjet bowed his head in apparent shame. "Ah, sorry about that."

Megatron stared at the baby and the baby, attracted by the sudden noise, met his optics. For a couple of seconds, the baby and Megatron simply stared at each other.

Then it smiled.

Megatron had to manually lock his joints together to stop himself from reaching over and pinching its little cheek. He had an image to uphold!

"And how," he forced himself to look away from the adorable infant, "did it get here?"

There was a notable lack of answers. In fact, it became eerily quiet. Looking up, Megatron saw that none of the decepticon's would meet his optics. Swindle was still dangling a stolen wallet above the baby but his face had gone pale. Megatron felt his anger grow as slowly things started to click into place.

"Whose baby is this?" he growled. The decepticons exchanged various guilty looks. Megatron grit his denta. "Who stole the baby?"

At that moment, the door to the command deck opened. In strode Soundwave, carrying a crib. Behind him were his cassettes, holding a variety of baby formula, toys, clothes and diapers. Upon seeing Megatron, they all stopped at the door, optics wide. All except for Soundwave who was reading a datapad that he was carrying in his other servo, focused on whatever was written on it.

"Soundwave: has returned. Thanks you for watching-" Soundwave looked up and froze mid step. Megatron crossed his arms, frowning. Behind him, the rest of the decepticons were owlishly staring.

"Anything you want to tell me, Soundwave?" Megatron asked.

Soundwave's gaze flickered from Megatron, to the baby and then back to Megatron again. For a bot with both a visor and a face guard, he managed to look extremely guilty. "Megatron: has already met Soundwave Jr. then?"

[positivelybeastly]

From the Ashes Infinity Comics #15: Pygmalion, Part 1

So, for those who are not aware - Infinity Comics are online-only comics distributed through Marvel Unlimited, their subscription based app and browser collection of comics. Regarded as 'inessential,' but still very much canon, the raft of Infinity Comics coming out of From the Ashes have been quite good, but I haven't seen fit to comment on them for a bit, until now, because . . .

Let's go.

For those not aware, Pygmalion is a famous novel by George Bernard Shaw, detailing the attempt by a phonetics professor called Henry Higgins to 'elevate' a Cockney flower-girl named Eliza Doolittle.

Intrigued by a bet that he could pass her off as a duchess through careful schooling, he decides to take her on, and though he succeeds, she ends up feeling marginalised and overlooked, treated as an object of gambling and curiosity rather than an individual in her own right, and though the play is best known for the 'culturing' of Eliza Doolittle, it is as much about the arrogance of Higgins, who is a thoroughly unpleasant and rude individual, in thinking that he has any ownership over Eliza for his education of her. He may have 'created' her, but he does not control her.

The Factory that the X-Men are living in at present must have really good central heating for Cyclops to be wearing basketball shorts and a crop top that short.

Beast is currently investigating some kind of issue with Magneto's chromosomes - to put it succinctly, he appears to be ageing rapidly, and does not have access to his X-gene at present. This is a continuation of the storyline in the previous Infinity arc, which focused on Magneto.

Something worth noting - this is the first acknowledgement of the fact that though Hank's body may be of roughly the same physical age as his original, his mind is considerably younger, situated at some point in his mid 20s. For someone who was always the oldest of the original X-Men, this is fairly significant.

Also worth noting - Hank joins the ranks of superheroes who are actively seeking therapy for their problems! Good on you, Hank! And good on you, too, Scott, for suggesting it. Though, perhaps, given recent developments in the mainline X-Men comics, you should take your own advice . . .

The fact that Hank refers to himself as the only one left seemingly confirms that X-Force took care of the Beast clones who Beast Prime planted around various landmarks as part of the Ghost Calendars arc. Though they were defeated in their respective future timelines, I wasn't quite sure if they had been taken care of in the present as well. This seemingly confirms that they were.

Hank's therapist is Dr. Andrea Sterman, a supporting character from Jed MacKay's Moon Knight run, and a member of the Midnight Mission. Given that the writer, Alex Paknadel, confirmed on Twitter that he talked with Jed MacKay about making sure all the details for Hank's storyline would line up with the mainline X-Men book, I can only imagine this was done as a rather fun continuity nod.

Hank also refers to a Shi'ar warship, an avian alien race that the X-Men deal with on a regular basis. This makes sense, given that Hank was beamed aboard the Shi'ar imperial flagship during the events of Dark Phoenix Saga in 1981 - ancient history for us, but relatively fresh in Hank's mind, given his memories come from 1985.

Hank, naturally, does himself a disservice here. Dark Beast was, assumedly, abducted at a relatively young age from his human parents, and indoctrinated by Mister Sinister as something of a protege - a protege living in perpetual fear of his mentor. He probably didn't have a chance to develop any kind of moral code divorced from the social Darwinist hellhole that is the Age of Apocalypse.

That being said, Hank probably lacks that context, and Dark Beast is unique among Age of Apocalypse denizens, not just for his unerringly cruel nature, having never shown any altruistic tendencies (unlike, say, AoA Cyclops or Nightcrawler), but also for his resilience. He persists, even now - though last seen in Immortal X-Men #9 as a head in a jar, he has come back from the dead at least twice before, and it is unlikely he is gone for good.

Fun fact - his appearance here is based on the costume he wore during his scrap with Emma Frost's X-Men team in a confrontation with Spider-Man and the Lizard. Though the X-Men naturally encountered him after this point, it's fun that this appearance by Dark Beast is considered iconic enough to be the 'definitive' look for him by this comic.

Hank's final remark, about 'Henry McCoy plus time equals atrocity,' is a sentiment often repeated on social media boards, and it's interesting to see it being internalised by Hank himself, given his unique perspective on the events that created his future self and the other potential timelines the X-Men files likely refer to.

Mm. A lot to unpack here.

Hank's relationship with his X-gene has always been complicated, and the way he views it here, as essentially morphing him into a shape that he finds abhorrent, predatory, and beyond his control, is consistent with how Hank seemed to see himself during his feline mutation, which lasted from 2000 to 2013.

Though his feline phase is not referenced in this comic, beyond the 'over time, and with a little help, these became more pronounced,' (probably a reference to Sage's jumpstarting his secondary mutation) it assumedly would be in the files Hank has been using to catch up, and one has to wonder if he's been repeating some of the thought processes that made feline Hank such a uniquely neurotic version of the character.

It's also nice to see a canonisation of my long held fanon that Hank's X-gene is actively attempting to craft a form for him that is best suited for survival, a belief that Hank only hinted at back in Morrison's New X-Men, but which made sense, given the circumstances of his mutation in X-Treme X-Men.

That being said, Hank's own mind seemingly strays back to the night his furry mutation first manifested at the Brand Corporation in Amazing Adventures, where he flew into a berserker rage and nearly killed Carl Maddicks, which always seemed a little incongruous with how Hank was written in subsequent appearances in Avengers and Defenders, but which now seems to be retroactively made an expression of the brutality he was capable of during his feline phase.

The 'violent upheavals' Hank refers to here are likely his initial secondary mutation, and then his near-death experience when said mutation randomly destabilised in All-New X-Men. It could also be a reference to his numerous genetic troubles during X-Factor volume 1.

His opining that he found refuge in the life of the mind is very reminiscent of Hank's desire to find meaning in poetry, literature, art, humanity, in the wake of the changes in his body in both X-Factor and New X-Men. X-Factor #33 and New X-Men #117 both specifically reference his delight in the freedom to think, in opposition to the clouding of the mind that came with his Pestilence inflicted dumbing down, or his newly awakened predatory impulses.

Ironically enough, Magneto is, aside from Simon Williams, the character with whom this version of Hank has shared the most panel time and dialogue, between his conversations in X-Men and previous From the Ashes Infinity Comics. It would appear that Max's need for a cure for his condition are fostering a necessarily stronger bond than Hank and Max have ever shared before in canon.

Precisely where the rest of the team is during the course of these events is unknown. If I had to guess, it's possible this might be set during the events of X-Men #2, where the rest of the team was attending to a mutant rescue in San Francisco, accounting for the lack of availability of the Marauder and a reliance on an old Quinjet.

Quite how Hank got his hands on said Quinjet is unknown, though it's possible it might be a holdover from Hank's Defender days, where he would regularly borrow a Quinjet from the Avengers, for purposes ranging from actual superhero missions to attending Patsy Walker's wedding.

Though this Hank's memories originate in closest proximity to the Defenders, and though that team did enjoy some degree of notoriety under Hank and Candy Southern's stewardship, the Avengers have always been where Hank was most popular in-universe, and he has had a habit of using that association to smooth things over in mutant related books, such as in X-Factor volume 1 and the 90s X-Men run.

Unfortunately, mutant rights are in a more dire state than ever before, with things having seemingly gotten only worse for them since the 1980s, and it's likely Hank didn't expect this level of hatred from normal civilians.

I have, unfortunately, run out of images, so I'll be posting the last of this issue and my final thoughts and predictions in another post.