#Have too much high expectation for humans

[heliosunny]

I absolutely LOVED your Himeko one, thank you so much for writing it! Now hear me out Herta x Ruan Mei x deadpan assistant reader (reader doesn’t give to fucks about anything lol, they just stay for the research lol)

You guys never cease to fail me with your hear me out

Yan!The Herta x Assistant!Reader x Yan!Ruan Mei

The whirring of machinery filled the laboratory. You barely blinked as you recorded the latest test results, your attention solely on the data in front of you.

"You're staying up late again." Herta’s voice rang out, her tone edged with a knowing confidence. "Humans are so inefficient. Unlike me, of course. I can do everything effortlessly. You should rest."

You didn’t look up. "Noted."

Herta sighed, stepping closer, her movements precise and deliberate. "If you collapse, your research will suffer. I could arrange for you to be taken care of. Permanently. It’s only logical."

You finished typing and clicked save. "I’ll manage."

Herta smirked. Anyone else would be intimidated, but you simply… weren't. She knew she was brilliant—capable of anything. Yet, you remained infuriatingly indifferent, treating her presence as nothing more than white noise.

From across the lab, another presence approached. "Still working?"

"I need to finish sequencing this data before tomorrow’s experiment."

Ruan Mei leaned in slightly, "Fewer distractions would make things easier. I could ensure no one interferes with your work."

You finally turned your head, but only to adjust the microscope. "No need."

Herta raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in her eyes. Ruan Mei’s expression remained steady, though the knowing glint in her gaze deepened. They had tried everything—manipulating your schedule, controlling who you interacted with, ensuring they were your only company. And yet, your reaction remained the same: absolute, unwavering indifference. The data was what mattered.

A test tube clinked against the counter as you picked it up. "Pass me the notes on the last trial."

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Ruan Mei let out a quiet chuckle. "Of course."

Herta tilted her head, smiling smugly. "You really don’t care, do you?"

"Not particularly."

Herta’s smirk widened. Ruan Mei’s gaze sharpened slightly. If fear wouldn’t make you acknowledge them, if obsession wasn’t enough…Then they’d just have to find another way.

---

An accident. The lab was a mess—shattered glass, overturned equipment, and the unmistakable scent of burnt circuits. You lay slumped against the console, blood seeping from a deep gash along your arm. Yet, your face remained as calm as ever.

Herta and Ruan Mei arrived together, their sharp eyes scanning the scene before their gazes landed on you. Herta clicked her tongue. "This isn’t just an accident."

Ruan Mei knelt beside you, pressing a cloth against your wound. "Someone was here" she murmured, her voice calm but firm. "This wasn’t self-inflicted, nor a malfunction."

Herta’s eyes swept across the wreckage. "Debris patterns suggest a struggle. Equipment was deliberately smashed—except for the high-priority research terminal. That means they weren’t just here to destroy. They were looking for something."

Ruan Mei nodded. "And they didn't expect resistance. You fought back."

You exhaled. "They were sloppy."

Herta smirked, "Sloppy, yes. But bold. To attack you directly? They were confident in their ability to subdue you. That alone tells us something."

Ruan Mei’s fingers hovered near a jagged fragment on the ground. "Here. This break is too clean—whoever was here knew exactly what they were doing."

Herta turned her gaze back to you. "Whoever it was, they underestimated you. But you’re injured. That irritates me."

Ruan Mei’s voice was softer, but no less firm. "We’ll find them and make sure they don’t get a second chance."

You merely closed your eyes for a moment. "That’s your business. Mine is still the research."

Herta huffed a laugh. "Of course it is. But don’t mistake our patience for leniency. Whoever did this… won’t be walking away from it unscathed."

Instead of calling for medical aid, Ruan Mei simply rolled up her sleeves. "Hold still."

You barely flinched as she used a syringe with a strange-looking liquid inside on you. The pain was sharp, then numbing, then sharp again. Flesh knitted together, the sensation alien but effective.

Despite everything, you spoke. "You shouldn't waste it on me."

Ruan Mei’s movements didn’t falter, though you caught the faintest flicker of relief in her steady gaze. "You’re talking. That’s good."

"You’d be unbearable if I died."

Herta huffed a laugh. "True."

Once the procedure was finished, exhaustion finally crept in. Your vision blurred slightly as you leaned back, head resting against the cool metal. Ruan Mei’s gaze lingered, but she said nothing further.

"Rest" she murmured, voice softer than usual.

As your consciousness slipped, you caught Herta’s voice, sharp and determined. "We’re finding the culprit. And when we do… well, let’s just say they won’t get the same kindness you did."

Ruan Mei simply nodded.

Ruan Mei and Herta stood amidst the wreckage, their keen eyes scanning every fragment, every overturned instrument, every small disturbance in the environment.

Herta broke the silence first. "Look at the footprints. The spacing is inconsistent—whoever was here moved quickly, but not efficiently."

Ruan Mei kneeled, running her fingers lightly over the ground. "And they stepped here. This area was clear before. Notice the scuff marks? They hesitated. Perhaps they realized they took the wrong direction."

Herta smirked. "A mistake. Good. That means they're not as competent as they thought."

Moving further into the lab, Ruan Mei's eyes landed on a fractured beaker. "The break pattern—this wasn't just knocked over. It was deliberately shattered, possibly to cover up another sound."

Herta tapped her temple. "A distraction, then? That tells us the culprit had prior knowledge of how the lab operates. They knew breaking glass would delay us, force us to investigate multiple possibilities."

Ruan Mei picked up a small metallic fragment, holding it to the light. "This material… it's not from any equipment we use. And the shape—it's a piece of a glove. Not standard lab wear."

Herta’s expression sharpened. "Custom gloves. Specialized equipment. That narrows our list of suspects considerably."

Ruan Mei's gaze moved to the security console, where a faint smudge lingered near the access panel. "They tried to bypass the system manually. The interface was touched by someone not wearing proper lab attire—there's residual oil."

"Sloppy work. A professional would’ve worn gloves throughout."

Ruan Mei exhaled softly. "Now we just need to run a material analysis on this fragment and cross-check it against the logs of personnel who entered the lab today. The answer is already in front of us."

"And once we find them… well, let's just say they'll regret thinking they could outsmart us."

Later that night, the lab remained dark, silent. Until a faint rustling near the storage cabinet broke the stillness. The intruder had returned.

As they reached for something inside, the overhead lights flickered on, bathing the lab in a harsh glow.

Herta’s voice rang out. "Took you long enough."

Ruan Mei stood beside her, arms crossed, her gaze steady. "You knew we’d figure it out, didn’t you? You left too many signs behind."

The culprit froze, their eyes darting between them two. Their hesitation only confirmed everything.

Herta sighed, shaking her head. "The footprints, the shattered beaker, the security panel..."

Ruan Mei took a step forward. "You needed to retrieve something. And now you’re here, caught in the act."

The culprit tried to bolt, but Herta was faster. With a flick of her wrist, an unseen force locked them in place. "Not so fast."

Ruan Mei approached, her voice calm but firm. "You should have left when you had the chance."

With precision and efficiency, they secured the intruder. The mystery was solved, and now it was time for answers.

---

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the unsettling presence in the middle of the lab.

A 'new specimen.'

It loomed in the dim lighting, its form distorted, a mix of organic and synthetic in ways that defied conventional understanding. Even with your detached nature, something about it sent a prickling sensation down your spine. But instead of panicking, you simply sighed, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes before standing up and heading straight to your workstation.

Herta had been there earlier, observing the entity with a critical eye, arms crossed as she muttered calculations under her breath. When she noticed you moving, she smirked. "Finally awake? I half-expected you to sleep through the discovery of a potential anomaly."

You sat down and powered up the console. "Unlikely. My schedule is precise."

She chuckled, amused. "Of course. Though, I have to say, you're remarkably calm for someone who just woke up to this... thing."

You glanced at it again. "If it's dangerous, it should be contained. If it's harmless, it should be studied."

Herta tapped her chin, watching you with a knowing gaze. "You're so predictable. Always straight to work, never questioning the bigger picture."

"I leave that to you and Ruan Mei" you replied, adjusting the settings on your interface. "Speaking of which, where is she?"

"Busy. Something about an ongoing experiment needing adjustments. Which means..." Herta leaned in slightly, a smug grin forming. "You're stuck with me today."

"That was already obvious."

Herta laughed outright at that. "See? This is why you're interesting. No panic, no hesitation. Just an endless march forward, like a machine."

"You're flattering yourself if you think you're much different."

Her eyes gleamed with amusement. "Oh, but I am. I acknowledge my own brilliance and enjoy it. You, on the other hand, don’t even bother to look in the mirror."

You exhaled, turning your attention back to your work. "Self-awareness is unnecessary for efficiency."

Herta tilted her head, watching you in silence for a moment before speaking again. "You know, I could analyze you like an anomaly if I wanted."

"You already do."

She grinned. "True. But I think I’d rather keep talking to you instead."

----

Ruan Mei may have been busy, but for now, this was enough. The next day, Herta was preoccupied with another project, leaving you to assist Ruan Mei.

Ruan Mei was busy fine-tuning an experiment, her fingers deftly adjusting various instruments. Without needing to be asked, you moved beside her, scanning the logs and adjusting parameters as needed.

She glanced at you, her voice as soft and composed as ever. "You should still be resting."

"Efficiency takes priority" you responded, eyes focused on the data.

She exhaled lightly, a faint hint of amusement in her tone. "You're remarkably stubborn."

"I simply follow the logical course of action. The work needs to be done."

Ruan Mei hummed, seemingly satisfied with your answer. "At least drink something while you do. I don’t want to explain why you collapsed from neglecting basic needs."

Without argument, you reached for the cup of tea she had set beside your console earlier, taking a sip before resuming work. "Happy?"

She smiled slightly. "Content. For now."

As the two of you worked in sync, she occasionally made small remarks about adjustments to the experiment, and you countered with brief, calculated suggestions. It was a rhythm the two of you had perfected over time, one of mutual understanding and unspoken trust.

At one point, she paused, observing you. "You always do this—work without pause, talk without hesitation. But do you ever stop to think about yourself?"

"Self-reflection is inefficient in moments like these."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "One day, you'll have to let yourself breathe. But I suppose today is not that day."

"Today is just another day" you replied.

She let the conversation drift into silence, but the warmth in her voice lingered. And as the hum of the lab surrounded you both, it was enough.

----

The following morning, you decided to do something different.

Carrying a tray of breakfast, you walked into the lab, setting it down near where Ruan Mei and Herta were working. "For saving me."

Herta barely glanced up before smirking. "Oh? A rare moment of generosity? How fascinating."

Ruan Mei took a delicate sip of tea, her expression unreadable but her tone teasing. "Perhaps we should make you thank us more often."

They both laughed, though you simply shrugged it off, indifferent to their reactions. As you turned to begin your work, neither of them made any further remarks, but something lingered in the air—an unspoken possessiveness in the way they watched you.

You didn’t notice.

For them, that was fine.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Okay so I need you to hear me out on this (t

80’s James hetfield being like demon or smth idk and you being a catholic girl, as you are praying to go to bed you hear a voice? Could it be James (well it kinda has to be lmao) but you hear him saying the prayer with you, but you suddenly get attached and don’t know what has gotten into you? You end up get horny (IDKK) and suddenly wish to see him or smth. Once you see him your no longer a catholic, sweet, innocent girl.

(This is inspired by enter sandman if you couldn’t tell <3, also you don’t have to do the catholic bit if it’s disrespectful!!)

#makeitdirtyPLEASEE

A/n: Honestly I think reader being Catholic is the least offensive thing when it comes to smut, but the Catholics shouldn't even BE HERE (my blog)/j so I think we're safe

Warnings: Smut, monster fucking, fingering (f receiving), masturbation, temperature play, breeding kink, heavy mentions of religion, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

You were kneeling beside your bed, as you did every night, rosemary clutched in your hands as you mumbled a prayer.

A chill ran up your spine, a breeze flooded the room and blew out your new candles. You scanned around quickly before relighting them and uttering an apology before continuing your ritual.

This time you heard a voice repeating after you, like it was mocking you. Your eyes snapped open and you hurriedly scanned around again, this time a figure caught your attention.

Across the bed from you was a man, or at least it looked like a man. His fingers were painted black and horns protruded from his forehead, his eyes were dark, black spheres that pierced through you.

"Say the next line." It urged, voice raspy, a reverberated echo of a sound. You hesitated, frozen as he stared at you. "Say it, 'and to our father...'"

"And-" you swallowed thickly, screwing your eyes shut tight, "and to our father, who-who art in heaven..." You continued the prayer and finished with an 'amen'. The voice repeated after you, this time sounding much, much closer.

He was right beside you when you opened your eyes. You couldn't move, frozen in fear. You stared at him, eyes wide and filled with tears. "Was that so hard?" He asked, shining you a smile that was just too wide and too white. You swallowed again, slowly shaking your head. "Good, good... now get into bed, that's what you always do, right?" You nodded, waiting for him to stand up before following.

You had already gotten ready, you get ready for God and then crawl into bed with a clean soul. You didn't take your eyes off the figure as you got into bed, pulling the blanket up high.

He blew your candles out and a small yelp left you. There was a click and the room filled with a dim light once more. "Can't leave your candles on while you sleep, could be dangerous." The figure said, taking a seat on the edge of your bed. He reached out and rested his hand on your stomach, rubbing you through the blanket.

"What-what do you want..?" You asked, voice shaky.

"What do I want?" He asked. "No hi? How are you? Straight to the questions." He let out a low chuckle. The longer he spoke it sounded more and more human.

"I-I'm sorry." You said, much to his surprise and it was evident on his face. You sat up and held a hand out to him. "Hello, what, um, what's your name?"

His gaze flickered between your eyes and your hand before he slowly reached out for it. "James." He said after a moment, sounding unsure of it. "That sounds right."

You nodded. "James." You repeated. "It-it does sound... rather nice." You pulled your hand back, ignoring how cold his had been. "Can I ask why you're here now?"

He shifted closer to you, resting his hand on your thigh now. "Because I was sent to you, by God, would you believe that?" He asked, smiling that unnerving smile once more.

Your eyes widened slightly, you didn't know what you were expecting but that definitely wasn't it. "So, you're an angel?" His smile only widened.

"If you believe that." And that was your first encounter.

James was awkward and followed you around, but only in your house, he was unable to leave. He was polite enough, following your rules of not keeping you up and no more sneaking up on you, he wasn't allowed to interrupt your prayers and he had to stay elsewhere at night. Where he went you didn't know, but he wasn't in your room, even when you woke up around 4:00 am.

As time passed he looked more and more human, his arms and calves lightened, losing that terrestrial space shadow that creeped up them, his eyes brightened right up to this beautiful blue you caught yourself staring into more than once.

You were watching a movie, it was late, later than usual. You were tired. James sat on the opposite side of the couch, head resting in his hand. "You humans watch annoying shit." You tossed a piece of popcorn at him and it caught in his hair. He shot you a look but quickly corrected it.

"Watch your tongue." You scolded. He rolled his eyes at you and let out a heavy sigh.

"Isn't it past your bedtime?" He grumbled.

"No, it's only..." You checked the clock in the kitchen from the couch. "Oh, geez, it's already twelve after midnight?"

James chuckled. "Twelve twelve, devils hour." You tossed another piece of popcorn at him, this time he caught it in his mouth.

"Heathen." You teased. You stood up and stretched, setting the bowl of popcorn on the couch. James watched you, something you had grown used to. "I have been so bad with time lately." You mumbled.

"I've noticed." James said, taking the bowl and popping more kernels into his mouth. "Missed your bedtime, missed your prayer last night-" Your eyes widened at that.

"I-I forgot to pray last night?" You asked, brows furrowing as you thought back to it. He was right, you hadn't gone through your normal routine, you missed it.

"It's Sunday." You hadn't been to church in...

"Two weeks!" You yelled, rushing to your room. "I haven't been to church in two weeks, James!" He followed you to the bathroom, leaning against the wall as he watched you brush your teeth. "What kind of angel are you?!"

"A demon." A chill ran up your spine and you slowly turned to him. How could you have been so blinded? He was ice cold, his limbs had been blackened and those eyes were cruel. He had horns for crying out loud, he was a demon!

"Get out." You said, mouth full of toothpaste. "Get out, James!" He shrugged and vanished, filling the room with a cool breeze. Your eyes filled with tears, you couldn't believe it. Two weeks had gone by, and you were blind to it all. How could you have let this happen? What plan did God have for you?"

You did your best to stop your tears but it was hard, you'd been lied to, and worst of you had forgotten about your faith. Everything was wrong.

You knelt down in your usual spot, babbling on apology after apology through your quiet cries, candles lit, rosemary in your hands that looked too dark even in the dimly lit room. You said a longer prayer, promising to go to church the next day and the day after that all the way until next Sunday to make up for what you had done.

You crawled into bed but no matter how much you tossed or turned you couldn't get comfortable. Your eyes wouldn't stay shut for long and there was an aching in your gut. Your throat was dry so you went to get water but it didn't help.

You lay on your back on the mattress heaving, the cross that hung above your bed staring back at you. "It's alright, love." That voice, that raspy echo was back sending chills down your spine. "Give in, you know you want to."

You couldn't stop yourself. Your hand was moving on its own beneath the covers and pulling your nightgown up, fingers dipping under the waistband of your panties. "Good girl." The voice mused. "You like that, don't you? Just give in to me."

Your breath caught your throat, the way your fingers rubbed your sensitive nub. "James." You muttered. "Is-is that you, James..?" You blinked and there he was, right back beside you.

He was smiling down at you in bed, though his smile was human and not what it usually was. Maybe that changed sooner and you were just realizing it now.

"I'm right here, baby, just let me help you." When did his fingers take over? You didn't care, they were bigger and the cold was so good against your hot cunt. He pushed a digit into you, making you arch your back.

This was so bad, so terrible wrong. He was a demon and he was doing such vile things to you, but God... it felt so good. Why would it feel good if you weren't supposed to do it?

You pushed his hand off of you, he pulled away without hesitation. You nudged his shoulder, making him fall back onto his back and you crawled on top of him.

One look at what was supposed to be his dick had your stomach turning. You'd never actually seen one but this wasn't human, this was big and bumpy, like something you'd find in those shops your pastor forbade you from.

"How-how does that..." You trailed.

James's hands went to your hips, rubbing soothing circles in your hips. "Don't think about it, just c'mere." His hands moved up higher, lifting your nightgown and tossing it to the side. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you down so your chests were pressed together. His one hand went down to stroke his cock. "Deep breath for me, doll."

You listened, inhaling deeply and holding it while he lined his tip with your aching hole. He bottomed out with one harsh thrust, making you yelp. You clung to him, arms tightening around his neck.

A deep chuckle resonated within his chest. "You don't have to do anything, just keep screaming." His hips bucked up into you. "Preferably my name." He set a harsh and fast pace at the start, the room filling with skin slapping and your whiny moans as he hit the same spot over and over.

"Oh, James! Fuck, please!" Hearing you curse made him smile, knowing he was the one making you curse filled him with pride.

His arms stayed tight around you, holding you in place while he bruised your insides. It was like his cock had a tongue, hitting everything at once, stuffing you so nice and full. His pelvis kept hitting your clit.

"James-! James, it-it feels weird." You managed to mumble out between moans. Your gut tightened, a ball of fire building inside that had your eyes fluttering.

"Means you're close, sweetheart." You didn't understand but you didn't have to, it felt good, so fucking good, and you just had to lay there and let him do the work, his low grunts and groans flooding into your ears.

Before long that knot was snapping and your body melted into him. James wasn't far behind, you were already half asleep when you felt his hot cum spurting into you.

James held you on top of him, keeping himself buried in you. You could just barely see the cross hanging above your bed out the corner of your eye, but it was there, staring back at you, but James was warm and strong and he made you feel safe so you didn't care for the time being.

James had other plans. A Catholic girl was just what he'd been looking for, someone who, despite their better judgement, would keep the baby because it was a baby! It was a life, even if it was a demon.

You would work.

[yaut-jaknowit]

Hello can I have an ask about reader who came from our world who is a big fan of predators who can read, write and speak their language and fight like them too gets teleported to yautja prime and I guess she was looking around for shelter and she found a clan so she entered their clan grounds hoping she doesn't get killed and she found a pyramid (from what I remember seeing in one of the movies) which turns out to be where the clan has its important meetings. And the elder clan leader let's call him Kar'dokh (if you don't mind) was having meeting with other nearby clans so reader accidently enters the meeting room filled with other clan leaders and their most trusted soldiers standing by their side and the silence was LOUD

Reader: .... 

Kar'dokh and the other clan leaders: .... 

*Kar'dokh gets up about to kill her*

*Reader speaks in yautja*: wait I mean no harm I swear!! 

And like all of the yautjas were flabbergasted to find this out and they were suspicious of her cause how does a human know so much about their people? (cause in the world no human ever went to yautja prime) so word got out and everyone wanted to see the human including people from other clans, so fast forward reader and kar'dokh got close -e ends up liking her try's courting her but she pretends to be oblivious to it

Kar'dokh: ooman

Reader: yes? 

Kar'dokh: why do you refuse to be my mate? Am I not a worthy enough male for you? I have you know I have strong seed to sire strong pups so why do you refuse me? 

Reader: what...? What do you...huh? Kar'dokh you are an alien I wouldn't even be able to give you children! 

Kar'dokh: my people's technology can fix that issue so be my mate

Reader: I... I can't 

Kar'dokh: and why not? 

Reader: because I'm human!!! 

Kar'dokh: not valuable reason. Try again

Reader: why do you even like me!?!? Kar'dokh: because I am attracted to you

Reader: *tip toe’s and manages to grab him by the shoulders* raise your standard!!!!

Kar'dokh: *slams hand into metal and puts a deep dent into it then proceed to grab her by the risk*

AND BOOM he pounces on her, corners her against the wall gets her to confess her feelings and they do the super Spicy boombayah doggie style😉

And she somehow got pregnant a few days later 

SORRY FOR IT BEING LONG!!!!! 

To Another Realm

Pairings: Kar'dokh (male yautja) x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 5271

Summary: After being transported to another realm where yautjas are real, you learn to survive. With the help of Kar'dokh. A clan leader of a strong tribe. If it wasn't for him, you would've been long dead your first day. Close proximity and his help made the two of you grow close. To the point there was no space between you two.

Author Note: IM SO SORRY ITS TAKEN ME FOREVER TO GET TO THIS. I've been so busy. Work just changed my 6-2 to a 10-6 and I'm now moving an hour away. So I'll be taking a small break as well for that for writing probably. Maybe... I don't know.

Also! I do have a patreon now: link There are three tiers. Those get the post earlier. Everything will still come out. I'm tweaking things as I go.

Masterlist

Ao3

Wind rushes passed you. The ground comes and meets your face with a dull thud. Blackness is all you see.

A throat-tearing gasp wracks your body. You sit up rapidly and start to violently cough, trying to figure out how to steady your breathing. It takes a moment to steady yourself enough to wipe away the tears from your face and gaze around. What you saw wasn’t what you were expecting.

Jungle. Tall, lumbering trees towered high above you. Heat and humidity smacked you in the face. The air was hard to breath. It felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen, like you had been shoved onto of a mountain without any time to acclimate. You struggled to your feet and glanced around. The area felt weird. It was as if your internal compass was thrown off completely.

Where were you?

Only thing you could feel besides the confusion was dread. A heavy thing to sit in the pit of your belly, weighing you down. You placed over your heart and took in deep, calming breathes. A difficult thing to do when it feels like you’re slowly suffocating. You pushed through the dread and began to move in a random direction. There had to be some sort of clue to as where you are… and how you got here. The last thing you say doesn’t correspond to waking up in a forest!

Due to the lack of air, you could only walk at a moderate pace. That already had you panting slightly. The terrain was rough and unsteady. Thick foliage, fall giant trees, wide creeks, and boulders made the trip all the more difficult. You had to push forward though and find some sort of clue. Sweat and humidity sticks to your skin like a sheet. Your clothes sticking to you uncomfortably. No matter how much you pulled the drenched clothing away from your skin.

Hours, or what felt like hours of traveling, later, you spotted something through the foliage. It rivaled the trees height. A structure! You immediately started to quickened your pace and race through the foliage, not caring if the branches tore at your clothing and skin. You panted heavily by the time you pushed past the lush bush. You stood there and dragged your gaze up, up, up until you find the top. It was a pyramid. A pyramid in the middle of the jungle. Was this somewhere that had Aztec or Mayan buildings? That’s all you could come up with.

It was in pristine state, as if you had been transported back in time. Like this was the day it was built. You can’t recall anything from anywhere that had something like this. With your heavy breathing, you had to stand there for at least ten minutes, under a tree, catching your breath. The sun was harsh. It felt like you were in a desert, in middle of the day. It nearly burned your skin by standing out in it for a short period of time. You glanced at the building after catching your breath once more. You wanted to go inside. Who knows what’s beyond its walls? Could be an earth shattering record?

With a deep breath you pushed onward and stepped into the blazing sun. Even the intensity felt off, the rays as well. Yet, you didn’t have an idea on what is happening. Besides this being a terrible dream. Stuck in a hot, humid jungle with no phone, no map, no clue where you were. A hopeless situation to be put into with your lonesome.

Large stairs that reached your knees slowed your ascend. Halfway up, you had to stop and take a moment. “This. Is. Bullshit,” you muttered to yourself then continued up the stairs. The material was textured and a deep ruby red with blocks of black. It was beautiful despite you sweating all over it. Does a dream really make you sweat this much?

By the time you had reached the top steps, you feel faint, ready to fall back down the stairs you just climbed. You stumbled your way into the entrance, thankful for the cover. The sun had done a number on your skin. The heat that radiated off of you could make water boil off of you. Your back touches a wall before you slide down to sit. Your legs were more than thankful for the rest. There had to be at least on-hundred steps. Minimum. It was worse since they were made for bigger people.

All because you wanted to see the inside. This better be worth it.

Once you felt stable, thirty minutes later, you weakly stood up. Your legs wobbled when you took a step. You continue on and follow your way inside. Only to realize it had a stairwell. You growled and glared at the damn thing. Then, you take the slow and approach of climbing down each step. It wasn’t much to complain about. Only about two flights until you reached the first floor. Now, it was time to explore.

There was something in the air that had you on alert. Either from the creepiness or from the fact you felt like you were crossing into forbidden territory. You tread quietly, peered around corners before doing down that hallway. The place felt like a maze, meant to drag you deeper and deeper into the depths. Until you from yourself all the way at the bottom level.

That; s when you realize that the only reason you’re able to see is from fire lamps. Lamps that have to be lit by someone. You stopped in your tracks and looked at the walls. In your blind stupor, you didn’t think to look at the walls. Walls that are decorated with stone carvings. Carving that made you think of the movie ‘AVP’. This is really a dream.

You walked up to the carving and gently ran a hand over the smooth stone. Beautiful work. Someone had poured their heart into the crafting a story into the stone. Your gaze drifts over the art work and followed the story down the hallway. All the way to a grand door at the end of the hallway. It was too carved with a mixture of stone, word, and some sort of ore. You stopped in front the door with your jaw dropped.

Curiosity got the best of you. Both of your hands were place on one of the doors.; With all of your weight and strength, you pushed open the door. Your head was ducked down as you struggled the entire time. Just enough until you could slip between the new crack. You stepped into the room and instantly freeze on the spot. That dreadful feeling only intensified… tenfold. You picked up your head and had to cut off a gasp.

Tens of eyes stared at you bright, fierce gazes that looked ready to tear into you. Your muscles locked in place as you stared out at the group. You recognized them. Yautjas. These were Yautjas. Twenty or so. All of them staring at you. Your heart pounding in your chest, trying to escape from the situation you’ve put yourself into.

At the end of the long, formal table, one grand looking Yautja stood up abruptly. Others following suit. The first on marched around everyone and advanced swiftly towards you. You stumble backwards and smacked into the closed door behind you.

Two long blades slid out and glinted off the low light from the fire lamps. Your eyes about bulged out of your head as you looked at the approaching Yautja. Seeing them in movies was far different than seeing on in person. Not that you ever thought you would see one like this. Your hands lifted up in a complacent manner, as if you were trying to call down an angered animal.

“Wait!” you screamed, using a language you never though to use. The Yautja stopped in his tracks his muscles tense. Everyone else pausing as well. “Don’t… don’t kill me.” The unused language was choppy on your tongue. You never thought you would ever use it. Not that you had anyone to use it with.

Surprise over took his anger in the moment. His eyes roamed from head to toe. “You spoke.” It was a statement rather than a question. The words takes a long few seconds to register in your brain. A bit of excitement flares to life inside of you at the knowledge you understand him.

Timidly, you nodded your head. “Yes. Did. Not well.” You did your best to communicate with him, hoping to keep yourself alive. The other Yautjas with him, hoping to keep yourself alive. The other Yautjas behind him glanced at each other, confusion evident in their eyes. Some looked angry. One stepped out from the group and tried to bypass the main Yautja standing less than ten feet from you. He sticks his arm out and stops the other one.

“No, Taural,” he growled but didn’t let his bright vibrant eyes off of you. You felt like a deer in headlights, just waiting for them to do something. For them to decide your fate. There was no running, no fleeing. You couldn’t outrun them, there was no chance of escape. You had to think smart.

The one he stopped snapped his head towards the larger male. “It’s a ooman, Kar'dokh! On Yautja Prime. It needs to be killed,” Taural spat at the brown Yautja. Your heart leapt into your throat. Kill you?! But-but, you’re not a threat, you have no weapons. They have no reason to kill you!

“No.” Such a firm statement that left nothing to be argued. “Return to your seats. Now.” A command that left everyone only to followed. They followed his order with little resistance. Some glanced back at you with murderous intent. Part of you was thankful for the mercy while the other was afraid what he might have in store for you.

Kar'dokh approached you once more with a stern look in his eyes. Instantly, like a cornered animal, your first thought was to throw a punch. But, you didn’t want to give a reason to kill you. Don’t be a threat. He stopped directly in front of you. A towering form that made you feel like you were going to shit yourself. Your heart raced and felt like it was going to leap directly into his hands.

He leaned down and got directly into your face. You tried to turn your head away but he grips your chin and forces your head back. “No threat. Can’t… kill me,” you continued in choppy Yautja. The fear that gripped your heart squeezed hard. All you could do was stand there, under his scrutiny. Your eyes pleading for your life to be spared. Because if your memory served you right, from all the knowledge about these guys, they shouldn’t be allowed to harm or kill you in any way. You aren’t a threat and hold no weapons.

“How do you know?” he growled out lowly and tightened his grip on your chin. You since. “How did you get here?” You could see the questions swirling in his eyes the longer you he stared at you. He was trying to figure out where and how you got here.

Longer you stood there pinned to the wall, you grew more lightheaded. Either from the anxiety that ran through you or the lack of oxygen was starting to get to you. Maybe it was the fear of death right in front of you. Or maybe it was a combination of all of that. Your breathes started to come out fast the longer you were pinned. Darkness began to crowd your vision.

“I-I’m gonna pa-pas out,” you alerted to him before everything went dark. You collapsed on the ground. Kar'dokh letting you dropped. The last thing you remember is being picked up.

By the next time you woke up, you felt a bit refresh. Your eyes blinked open to stare up at a patterned, carved ceiling. Carving like the ones you’ve seen on the pyramid walls. Your brows furrowed at the sight. What? You sat up and rubbed at your eyes. The scene didn’t change. You had just woke up. What in the world were you still in this dream? Fear started to fill your stomach. No… surely, this was a dream. Was this a dream?

Then, a door opening caught your attention. Your head snapped over towards the sound. Kar'dokh was walking into the room, head held high. He stopped besides the cot you had been placed on during your forced nap. Stunned, you peered up at him, heart thundering again. “What happened?” you asked, speaking in your normal language now. Then, you felt the blanket that had been laid on you, slip down. That’s when you realize the room you were in was a medical room. And it didn’t feel like you were suffocating anymore.

His nearness was frightening. To see him crowd into your space without any remorse for scaring you terribly. A grumbled came from the towering, brown giant. “Our planet’s atmosphere isn’t designed for oomans.” His voice! He spoke in Yautja but a monotone voice sounded in your ear. A translator.

It’s thought that they breathe nitrogen more than oxygen. They can survive in our atmosphere than us in theirs. “A regulator has been added to our respiratory system.” Kar'dokh leaned into closer into your space. Your natural reaction was to move away but he snatched your throat and tugged you back. “Now, that I know you won’t die before I get my answers: start talking.”

Worst of all, you don’t know the true answer to his questions. He didn’t look like he would accept ‘I don’t know’ as an answer either. You forced down the lump in your throat. “Uh, what was the questions again?” you asked in a small voice. As much as you wanted to shy away and hide, the grip he had on your chin was firm. There was no escape.

He scowled at you and tightened his hold on you for a moment. “How did you get here? Who brought you onto our planet?” The deepness and anger in his voice was laid thick over you. It rattled you deep to the bones. Fear gripped your heart. The more you looked at Kar'dokh, the more you noticed how decorated he was. Kar'dokh was covered with plenty of bones and scars. From your knowledge, he must be a well decorated hunter or possibly an elder… or a clan leader. That had your heart dropping to the floor, at his feet. You whimpered quietly and closed your eyes, trying not to faint again.

“Answer me!”

Your whole body jerked from him but he brought you back to his space. “I don’t know! I don’t know! I promise. I woke up in the middle of the jungle. I-I walked around and found this place. I don’t know how I got here. Honestly!” you had to plead to him. Hopefully, he’d see the honesty in your eyes, hear it in your voice. You cracked open an eye to read his face.

The gears in his brain were spinning. Kar'dokh growled then let go of your chin. With a yelp, you fell back and nearly fell off the cot if it wasn’t for him grabbing the collar of your shirt. He hauled you back up into a sitting position. Far too close. You could see the speckles in his eyes. Beautiful but deadly. This creature could easily hurt and kill you with a fraction of his strength. The only reason you are alive currently was you weren’t a threat nor an honorable kill. Those… others wanted to kill you with little remorse or pause. Was that honor rule not true? If that was the case, you were a walking corpse. Soon to be a skull on the wall. Nothing more than a trophy.

Kar'dokh eases off of your shirt until he knew you won’t fall backwards again. “Thanks,” you murmured and drifted your face down towards the cot again. Your hands were folded in your lap, nervously playing with each other. “I’m being honest. I promise. I don’t know how I got here. I don’t even know where I am. This isn’t earth, is it?” You gazed back up at him, eyes large and wide.

The two of you entered a short staring contest until he sighed and took a step back. “I believe you, ooman. I don’t smell another on you.” The brown Yautja leaned forward and sniffed you for a moment. “You do smell… strange.” Was that a good or bad thing? He stood back up and stared down at you from over his mandibles. “Do answer me this: how do you know that we can’t harm you?” Your breath got caught in your throat. Was it wise to release such information to him? Would he think you as insane?

But, the only way was to get through all of this is to be honest. From there, it would be up to Kar'dokh if you are to live. Putting your life in someone’s hands.

“Okay… you might not believe me though.” From there, you went into explaining what your world is like. Going deeply into about how Yautjas are a fake species, made up. All of them a fantasy that someone made up… until now. Kar'dokh took all of it. His stern face a wall of impassible features. Not even his eyes gave away a single emotion. By the end, you finally stopped and watched him closely.

During your whole talk, he had grabbed a chair. Kar'dokh stood up and uncrossed his arms. “All you’ve said is… unrealistic, though you arriving on Yautja Prime is also next to unrealistic. Oomans aren’t allowed on Yautja Prime but… you are  a special case now. If what you say is true then you must be kept alive.” That made a cold drop drip down your spine. What could that mean?

From that day, you were under lock and key by Kar'dokh or in a medical-like room. They would run tests on you yet they couldn’t come up with anything logical for your situation. In the meantime, you got to learn more than ever about them. Probably the first and only humans to step foot on Yautja Prime. Alive. It took time to get Kar'dokh to open up but your excitement about learning their culture and language inevitably softened him up enough. That’s when you learned more about him. Plenty for a well decorated warrior and clan leader to talk about.

Two years after you first dropped down onto their planet, the scientists were still scratching their heads. They haven’t figured out how you’ve made it here. They were able to find out you weren’t from their universe. Something about your cells were different. That’s as far as they’ve gotten about your situation.

On a different hand, you’ve gotten further with Kar'dokh to the point he allows you free roam of his home and the clan he leads. There was a strict no harming or killing on you. He had his name and symbol burned into your skin to ensure everyone knew you were off limits. Everyone kept a wide berth when it came to you. Rarely did anyone talk or looked at you. Something you used to your advantage. For the most part. Until you wanted to learn about their culture more.

Back in the comfort of Kar'dokh’s home, you were studying the language. A soft, thin, knitted blanket laid over your legs while you were curled on the couch in the living room. The language… was different. But Kar'dokh was more than helpful when it came to speaking and writing. Listening, that’s a whole different story. That’s all on you. Your brain is completely scrambled trying to understand the different clicks and trills they make.

With a groan, you flopped back against the back of the couch and tilted your head back, eyes closed. A familiar presences hovered over you, blocking out the light. You cracked open an eye then softly smiled at him with no teeth showing. “Hello, Kar'dokh. Come here to gloat about my struggles?” you teased him.

The brown Yautja placed his hands on the top of the couch and leaned over you. His long, dark tresses curtained around his head. “What are you struggling with?” he asked you, features soft and calm. You continued to gaze up at him. “I told you I’m here to help you.” He has changed since the first day you met him. You’ve cracked past his hard exterior to see how soft and kind he could be. You sat up and brought up the sheet of paper you were on. Kar'dokh grabbed it and looked at it closely.

Kar'dokh snorted then used a sharp nail to flick off the translator right behind your ear. Then, he began to speak in Yautja. “What it is saying is…” he spoke the word but it didn’t register in your brain. The confusion etched in your features stated you didn’t understand it. At all. Kar'dokh repeat it a few times. “Now, you try it.” The course of two years has greatly improved your Yautja speech and understanding. There are moment when you struggle… but Kar'dokh is there to catch you before you fall.

At first, the word choppily fell from your lips. Kar'dokh was patient in helping you get the word. The different facial structures definitely made it all the harder. Yet, Kar'dokh was patient with you the entire time. Even if it took all day for you to finally get it.

Once you finally got it, Kar'dokh purred and grinned at you. He combed his fingers carefully through your hair. “You did so well. I’m proud of you,” he praised to you.

In the pit of your stomach, butterflies erupted to life. Your eyes softly shut as you enjoyed the comfort his presence and touch offered. “Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you,” you muttered softly in Yautja. The words were starting to fall from your lips with ease. His nails raked across your scalp. You sunk further into the couch with a deep groan.

A chuckle comes from the brown Yautja. You feel his presence grow closer, his heat washing over you like a blanket of comfort. One of your eyes barely cracks open to see his bright yellow one staring directly at you. You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face.

Without thinking, you leaned up and pecked him on one of his mandibles.

The whole world froze. Your heart dropped to your stomach. Internally, you were cursing at yourself. You flinched and tried to slip off the couch to put some distance between the two of you. When a hand snatched the back of you neck, lifted you over the couch, and dropped you right in front of Kar'dokh. Your shoulders scrunched up, eyes not daring to look him in the eye.

Rough finger pads gripped your chin and forced you to look directly at him. A lump began to grow in your throat the longer you stared at him.

“I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I just-I don’t know. It just happened. I do have feelings. I don’t know if you did. And I probably just ruined what friendship we had. Now you’ll probably hate me. Please, don’t. I don’t know what I wo-“ a tongue was shoved into your mouth and promptly shut you up. Your eyes fluttered shut.

An arm snaked around your waist and tugged you close to a feverish body. Your own arms wrapped around a sturdy neck. Kar'dokh guided you towards the nearest wall and trapped you between him and it. You are forced to pull back and pant for breath. The back of your head resting against the wall.

“That’s one way to make me shut up,” you teased him and leaned up on your tippy toes to place a kiss to his lower mandible. “I’m not complaining though.” Kar'dokh growled lowly in the back of his throat and dove back into another kiss. You immediately responded in haste, hands roaming over his shoulders and felt up his powerful body.

As your hands dipped lower, Kar'dokh pressed himself harder against you. One of his legs pressed between your legs and forced them open. You gasped into the kiss but he doesn’t let you pull away this time. A rough textured hand palms at your hip for a moment before dipping under the hem of your shirt. The difference in temperature has your hair standing on edge. He continues to grope at your newly exposed skin.

For a moment, he moves back a fraction to give you a moment to take a breath. His large, brown forehead was pressed to your own. Piercing yellow eyes stare directly into yours. The hand under your shirts drifts up and skims under the swell of your unbound breasts. You gasped and arched your back, pressing yourself more into his touch. His eyes flared with fire, mandibles twitching wider.

There’s a long second passed before he rips your shirt off of your body and frees your torso. Kar'dokh’s gaze was immediately admiring the new skin he exposes. Both of his hands palm at the supple, soft skin of your breasts. Large thumbs toys over your nipples and draws them into peaks. You whined and curled your hands into fists. One snagging a dark tress of his. He purred deeply and pressed his mouth to yours again in a fierce fight for the top. Kar'dokh easily overtakes you.

You tugged on his tress. His dark nails dig into your ribcage then he pinched and twisted one of your nipples. A gasp tore at your throat and forced you to pull away from him. Your hips rutted down on the thigh between them.

“Kar, no more teasing. Please, I can’t take it anymore,” you begged him, breathless. His irises darkened.

With the open invitation, Kar'dokh simply rips off your pants and under in one move. A yelp escapes from your throat but he ignores it. The brown Yautja bumps his knee further up and grinds against your exposed slit. Heat flushed to your cheeks at the feeling of a dripping mess making its way to his thigh.

Drool drips down his jaw. Kar'dokh grips your hips and easily lifts you off of the ground, keeping you pinned to the wall. Instinctively, your legs attempted to wrap around his waist but he was larger than you. He uses his hips to hold you up as he undoes his loincloth and tosses it to the side. Your gaze is drawn downwards.

Hot and heavy. Kar'dokh’s alien cock is nestled between your thighs, resting on your stomach. The tip reaches your belly button easily. Oh shit. You felt yourself clench around nothing at the sight.

One last look in your eyes, he draws his hips back. The tapered, neon green tip was pressed to your entrance. Then, with a swift thrust, he lodges himself as deep as possible, only able to get about halfway in. Your back arches off of the wall as a wail falls from your lips. The sheer size of him makes it hard for your walls to even clench around him.

Kar'dokh uses a hand to ensnare your throat and forced you to look at him. “I know you can take more.” Another draw and thrust of his hips makes the rest of him fit snuggly inside of you. The feeling of him overwhelmed you. It felt like he was touching every nerve inside of you. Maybe he was.

A deep groan falls from his alien mouth. His eyes fluttering, on the verge of shutting at the exquisite feeling of you wrapped snuggly around him. “That’s it. I knew you could take it, little one. Mm, you’re so tight,” he muttered under his breath. Kar'dokh refocused on the task on hand.

The pace at first was sloppy, unsteady until he found the perfect beat. Loud slaps echoing throughout the living room. Your hand was still wrapped around his tress firmly, using it as a lifeline. Your jaw dropped as each thrust forced the air out of your lungs.

“Yes, yes. Perfect. Been wanting to do this-ugh, for so long. Make you my mate. Gonne breed you. Have my pups,” he rambled amidst the brutal fucking he provided. His claw dug into your hips and held you in place.

You couldn’t the snort that left you as you tried to stay sane. “T-that’s n-ah, no possible, Kar.” From what you know of, it shouldn’t be. No matter how potent their seed is. Or the fact the tip of his shaft was slamming against you cervix with each rut into you.

Black nails dug deeper into your flesh, threatening to break the barrier. “Doesn’t matter. Our technology will fix that,” he growled back and doubled his efforts. Your reply was cut off with a high pitched whine. The brutalness was wrecking to your smaller frame. There wasn’t a chance you would be able to walk tomorrow.

He leaned further into your space and buried his face into the crook of your neck. His long, pink tongue slithered over your salty flesh, tasting you. Blood pool around the nails that finally pierced the flesh of your hips.

“You’re mine. My mate!” Your pants grew whiny. You had no choice but to hold on as the first wave of your orgasm started to wash over you. Your eyes crossed as the pleasure became overwhelming.

Fangs bite down into the crook of your neck, scaring as his mate. With a deep, resonating snarl, Kar'dokh hips go flush with yours. You mewled at the feeling of his throbbing cock taking up every available space inside of you then some more. Spurts of cum began to fill your insides.

None of it was able to spill out and be of waste. Something was lodged just shy of your entrance, plugging you up. You squirmed in his hold and tried to figure it out what it was. Then, the light bulb went off.

A knot. Kar'dokh had knotted you. The thought sent a shiver down your spine. He really was doing everything he can to make you pregnant. He unlatched his teeth from your shoulder and licked at the dribbling blood.

At first, you smiled. That turned into a smirk and soon enough, you were laughing softly, soaking in the dopamine in your system. Kar'dokh’s licking stopped. The brown Yautja pulls away to look you in the eye, confused on your laughter.

“I don’t know how this will work. You won’t be able to get me pregnant,” you explained to him again, trying to get the point across. “Why do you even like me? I’m a human.”

One hand detaches the claws in your hip to grip at your chin. “It’s because I am attracted to you. Ooman or not, you are attractable both physically and mentally.” Oh… that’s really sweet of him. Your cheeks flushed with heat again. You couldn’t even duck your head off to the side.

“Then, you need to raise your standards, Kar. Or you just need to get out more often.” Kar'dokh responded with a snort and returned to nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He doesn’t entertain your words. Instead, he holds you in his arms, waiting for his knot to deflate.

So he could do it all over again.

Sure enough, a human can get pregnant by a Yautja.

[lenodrysalad]

There's a good video about this here, but it's exhausting seeing people yelling about "keeping politics out of sports" again. Like OP said, it's impossible to keep politics out of sports. It's impossible to keep politics out of anything, and nation states are inherently political. Right now this isn't even just about nationality, this is about the threat to people.

Politics have always been embedded in sports; booing a national anthem is literally the smallest form of protest. Yet again this demonstrates the luxury of ignorance athletes have about sociopolitical issues. It's not surprising. We don't watch sports for politics, we watch it for entertainment. There isn't a high degree of expectation. It's just as well that athletes keep their mouths shut, and the league perpetuates that silence. We know where this organization sits; they've made it clear they only support inclusivity and causes with capitalistic incentive, and that veneer is pretty thin.

What's confounding is the way athletes are coddled as if they're exempt from so much as thinking just because their job is playing sports. Why? Are they not people? Citizens of society? Do most people not also have jobs and still manage to pay attention? Why should their profession give them a free pass? It isn't difficult to inform yourself or have an ounce of integrity; some athletes have managed it just fine.

So while it's not surprising, it still sucks being reminded how many of these guys support Trump and/or people like him. But those who are uninformed or uncaring are also ludicrous. Yes, do not put these guys on pedestals, do not hinge your values around strangers on TV. It's also likely there's professional pressure from the league for players not to speak on certain issues. But it's also not a crime to hope for better. Emotional connection is human. Seeking familiarity is natural, as is wanting to approach people in good faith.

We're not asking for their opinion about pineapple on pizza. We're asking them to empathize. We're asking them if they know what they're supporting. We're asking them to have the same awareness and humanity asked of everyone.

People's identities are not political until politics are brandished as a weapon against them; until politicians decide they get to determine who deserves to be considered a human being. The moment you threaten someone's existence, safety, rights, and autonomy, you make it a political issue. You don't then get to turn around and complain about everything being too politicized when people are being forced to fight for their right to live in peace.

The fact that these guys don't understand what the booing is about is ridiculous. So is the way it's being reported, with this framing of "inciting hate and negativity," or spun into this underdog narrative of "what spurred America to victory." The questions players are being asked are an insult to journalism; they're being asked about how they feel about the booing. That's it. Here's a thought: ask them why the anthem is being booed. Ask them what's going on right now. Ask how they would feel if a global superpower run by an authoritarian bigot was threatening them. Ask them to take their blinders off.

You don't see the point in booing? Why do you care? Like OP said, it's not directed at American citizens or American athletes. Oh, no, it hurts your feelings, so you don't like it. Well, we don't like tariffs and oligarchs and bullies insulting and threatening us. We don't like having our existence threatened.

i know the majority of contemporary hockey players all grew up privileged and most of their education was abbreviated, but it’s crazy to me how many of them refuse to see why the american anthem is being booed. no, canadians aren’t booing american players. they aren’t booing american teams. they aren’t booing american citizens. they are booing the united states as an entity, more specifically what the people in power over the country are choosing to do to canada.

national anthems aren’t just a nice song meant to celebrate american people; they always have and always will be inherently tied to politics and nationalism. governments and other people in power have historically weaponized nationalism and patriotism (and will continue to do so), and symbols of national pride like flags and anthems are direct conduits of that pride from government to citizen. there is no removing their political nature just because they’re being performed in the context of hockey, and to expect people to ignore what a country’s government is trying to do to them is naive and, frankly, a little insulting.

so no, brad marchand, montreal was not booing the american players during the anthem. matthew tkachuk, i’m sorry you “didn’t like” the boos, but given that you seem to have no interest in saying anything about what the american government is doing to cause all of this, your complaints about a political song being received poorly due to current politics come off as out of touch and petulant.

as long as national anthems are performed at games, there will always be the risk of current events changing now they’re viewed, due to the fact that the crowd of people are in fact real humans who have an awareness of things besides sports.

[studiogrimm810]

Intentions

pairings/characters: (pining) sam x you, dean is barely there

summary: after a disappointing call from your father regarding your place with in the family, sam is the only one who can truly understand and offer you the support you need to process this heartbreak

warnings: disowning, strained family dynamic, alone for the holidays, a dad💀

word count: 2,892

A/N: this was a request by the lovely elle (@blossomingorchids), i hope i struck the tune you were looking for. this was SO much fun to write!!!🧎🏻

———————

The Life was never easy. Jumping from town to town, motel to the backseat of your shitty sedan, diners and dive bars- it was completely contradictory of luxurious. But one thing you could always rely on was the gratification of seeing your family.

After what has felt like months of isolation and constant grind, it was now the holiday season. Snow blanketed the icy ground, framing the view from where you sat on a motel porch, reminding you of such. It had been too long since you’ve seen your family and you didn’t have to reach out to know that your mother would give you a piece or two of her mind in regards to your lifestyle.

You missed her birthday, the more notable holidays you celebrate in the autumn months, and now maybe the last monumental holiday of the year- but you’ll make it work.

Finally, after weeks of hoping, days of organizing, and a quick vampire hunt with the Winchesters, you plan to bid the boys an early goodbye in preparations for visiting your family. Your chest swells with uncontainable excitement at the thought of surprising your mother.

Currently, you nursed the rest of your beer handed to you earlier by Dean and watched as lazy waves of fresh, flakey snow settled on the already icy mounds that coated any greenery turned brown due to a frosty death.

You waited for the buzzing adrenaline from your hunt to drain as you claimed this too cold and wildly uncomfortable patio chair as yours. Sam occupied the other chair and Dean simply leaned onto the hood of his precious baby. You all watched the innocent weather- doing what it does and leading you and all other occupying humans to adjust accordingly to its indomitable force.

The weather almost makes you worry about not making it back to your childhood home- almost.

At this point, nothing can stop you from coming home and seeing the warmth of a motherly glow emit from her smile or seeing the threat of tears in your fathers lids. Maybe you’re setting your expectations too high, claiming your own presence in your family’s home to be too monumental of a regard- but the ache in your chest overrides any fear and settles the homesick nostalgia deeper into your very being.

It was going to be a great holiday.

“How we feeling ‘bout another round?” Dean asks, thrusting himself to his feet from the hood of Baby.

“Count me in,” Sam tips his almost empty bottle, keeping his eyes focused out to the beyond of snow.

“I’ll pass, I have to get on the road soon if I want to make it by breakfast,” you sit up, placing your empty bottle with an echoing clink on the pavement of the sidewalk below.

“Are you sure you're up for the drive? It’s still a good four hours,” Sam said with a raised brow, finishing off his drink, and referring to your hometown just a few hours north.

“Hells yeah,” you scoff a quick jerked smile, unable to contain the simmering excitement. You just loved surprises. “I’ll probably have to hit the road soon though. Don’t want the alcohol to make me too sleepy,” you sit up, pulling out your phone to check the time- 2:32 AM.

“Just be safe, yeah?” Sam asks with a simple and polite smile that he uses to cover his deeper worry of your mental state on such little sleep after two beers and an adrenaline filled hunt.

Before you can respond though, your phone rings with a call. Your fathers name flashes on the screen. The lax expression hardens like oobleck at the slap of reality- why is he calling so late? Your previous restless excitement freezes into a still under-layer of stiff bone.

“Excuse me,” you say mindlessly, standing and walking a few paces to the field beside the motel, swiping to answer the call.

“Dad?” You ask, a subconscious fear that they’re in trouble tearing a ripple in your speech.

“Hey, kid,” his tired and strained voice forces through the call- you can almost see the stubble on his chin from the pull in his voice.

“Is everything okay? Why are you up so late?” You ask, the blizzard of nerves tangling up every overthought under your skin putting you on edge.

“We’re fine, kiddo, all is well here- just…” his voice trails, harnessing something with a weight beyond a few loaded words. He sighs, a heavy puff. “We’ve been talking and-,” your dad takes another simple pause, and you imagine him running a hand down his face with a slight eye roll like he usually does in times of exhausted stress. “We just think that maybe it’s better off that you’re not around for the holidays.”

As if Medusa tiptoed out from the woodwork, your body settled like stone. A heavy, weighted dread that shredded any emotion above contentment settled deep in your stomach and you felt six years old again.

“What do you mean?” The words ghost past your lips without registering their syllables.

“Look, honey. You know we love you. I just think that it’s better off that you’re not around for the holidays,” he sighs, “your mother worries so much for you but- but the longer you’re gone, the easier it is for her to relax. I know that you probably couldn’t even make time for us anyways,” the disappointment cuts deep.

“Dad-.”

“No, I get you're ‘saving the world’ or whatever, but you still have a responsibility with us. Your siblings feel your absence, your mother grieves for a child she hasn’t lost- all because of your need to be self-sacrificial. Your duty isn’t to the strangers you help, it’s to the family you neglect,” his words pour out with a confident slur and you deduce he’s been drinking. “Just do us a favor and don’t show up. Don’t remind us how close we are to losing you or how your absence has left us disappointed in the adult you’ve become. It’s better that you just stick with the life you chose instead of teetering back and forth between suicide and comfort.”

You’re speechless. The words that you’ve queued for retaliation dissolve under his spewing confidence. He is angry and hurt and drunk. You can picture him now- freshly abandoned recliner with a double six-pack worth of Bud’s scattered about the side table. He’s pacing the homey living room that’s frosted with warm holiday decor, probably the only one awake in the house. The house that’s full of your family. Your family.

Your entire family is in that home and you’re here.

Your entire family?

A family.

Not yours, not anymore.

“If you’ve ever cared for us, don’t bother. We’ve anticipated your reckless death for so long it may as well be fate. I love you, kid, but just forget about us like we have you.”

The line is dead before the words fully settle into your bones like the enochian sigil Cas implemented years ago- maybe even replacing it with the force at which it was etched.

Sure, your father has always been emotionally distant and your relationship with him strained, but you never imagined him speaking to you like that. The brutal honesty of his poisoned words have done their damage though, securing all of your doubts and insecurities of your place in your family.

It was a tough decision- you promise it was. You tried college, even gave a normal life the previously proclaimed try, but it didn’t fit. It felt like you had stuck yourself into a fizzy bottle of cola that threatened to spit you out at any moment. It was too strict, too encompassing, and too expectant. However, since you’ve been on your own and riding the Eisenhower roads from troubled town to troubled town, you’ve found your purpose. You’re skilled, stealthy, witty- made for The Life. And it was hard to abandon the path paved for you by your family’s privilege, but it was necessary for you to feel comfortable in your own skin.

Your arm loses its stability and your wrist slacks back to your side, barely clutching your phone in your hand.

The field beyond is wavy with white powder and the quiet that is absorbed by it solidifies your presence. You turn back to see Sam accept a fresh beer from his brother. Dean settles back into his spot on the sleek black hood of his personified ego, uttering unintelligible words with an effortless smirk.

You pocket your phone and cast one more envious glance along the steady horizon.

Walking back to the brothers, your embedded guilt worsens as you feel the shift of energy amongst the trio.

“Everything okay?” Sam asks first because of course he does.

“Slight change of plans,” you sniffle, refusing to feel embarrassed since you can blame the simple act on the freezing temperatures around you. “I can take you up on that other round,” you attempt a casual smirk to Dean as you settle back into your chair. The brothers share a glance.

“Who was that?” Sam asked with a slight tick of his head toward your phone, his gaze latching onto the direction of the pocketed item.

“My dad,” you sink into the previously comfortable position that now feels like a lazy river that’s swirling you down into a nothingness pit of, well, nothing.

“Heard,” Dean nods, kicking himself off the hood and heading back inside to retrieve an ice cold beer. In hindsight, he could’ve left the packs outside on the icy pavement and saved himself a trip or two.

“What did he say?” Sam sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees and slacking the fizzing bottle in his bruised hand- marked from previously saving your ass from the clutches of a blood-drunk vamp.

“Basically told me I’m not-,” your words start with such baffled confidence but quickly melt into heartbroken speechlessness. You sniffle, unable to blame it on the cold this time due to the stray tear that rolls down your cheek.

You’ve confided in Sam more than once about your rocky relationship with your family but it was still difficult to formulate the situation for another to envision.

“Said it’s better I don’t come home. That I’ve only disappointed and worried them with my ‘choices’. I think he disowned me,” the last five words melt out in a guttural despair. The reality hits, the meaning of your fathers words and the implications of them already saving themselves a spot in the newest dictionary. It’s settled. You’re alone.

“He said that?” Sam bucks back in a shocked confusion, his brows furrowed in misunderstanding.

“He sounded so done with me. Like he would rather accept losing me than my ‘flaky’ appearances. Like they’d all be better off,” the words waver your volume, causing an embarrassing sob to rip from your lips.

Soft shuffling followed by a nearly inaudible click of a door latching, lead to Sam’s warm hand on your back. His fingertips curl slightly, causing his nails to trail a short and sweet drag over your clothed skin.

“I’m so sorry,” his words are genuine. They’re loaded and meaningful. You can almost hear your own heartache in his voice but the feel of his palm steadying you settles the second threat of a sob.

“Family is hard,” he starts, his thumb caressing over the wrinkled folds of your jacket that ripple under his influence. “You’ll never be able to please everyone, and you’ll never be able to rise to their unreasonable expectations. I know you,” he sets his bottle on the pavement and uses his now free hand to push back some of your fallen hair. “You’re kind, caring, strong, empathetic. You try so hard for the approval of others and I hate that you don’t receive the respect you deserve for the effort you contribute.”

He’s quick and organized, almost like he’s practiced this before. For you or himself? You don’t know, but crafted for a misunderstood child for sure.

“Unconditional love is the one thing each and every one of us is entitled to from birth but is unfortunately the one thing that’s rarely supplied to us. I’m so fucking sorry that the people responsable for giving you that would cast you aside like this.”

His free hand rests on your knee, almost like he’s trying to funnel the depth of his words upon your skin.

“You’re doing the right thing, yaknow,” he says and you know he’s considering the insecurities you’ve once disclosed with him. “This life is hard and complicated and isn’t made for just anyone. You’re talented and smart and-,” he halted. When you look up, his lips are pressed thin and he’s obviously holding back.

“I’m just sorry,” he shakes his head, deciding to finish his projected rant, his grip on your form stiff but assuring.

The night is still- silent. The tiny crystals falling from the clouds above settled on the frozen blankets with soft clinks and trickles. Icy rain, almost. The sound is melodic.

“I don’t understand how he can default to this- accepting my fate as if I’m walking a damn plank,” you sniffle, wiping away a few more tears that stain your skin with almost freezing force due to the weather.

“He’s hurting,” Sam defaults, “he’s scared and he doesn’t understand. But that’s still no excuse.”

A comfortable but emotionally aching silence settles between you two. Dean’s taking too long with your beer but you remember the click from earlier was the motel door closing, offering you and his younger brother some space.

“Me and Dean didn’t have much planned for our Christmas, we never do,” he scoffs a soft chuckle, “but we can make an effort for you. I know that Dean secretly loves building gingerbread houses.” Sam nudges you softly, hoping to lighten the tension embedded in your shoulders.

You appreciate his effort, you really do, but your fathers words are still fresh. His voice still echoes in your skull, reminding you of all the ways you’ve disappointed them in your life.

Sam can see the conflict in your tense features. You’ve now buried your face in your palm but by the scrunched skin that lines your hidden eyes, he can tell the toll this incident is taking on you. He really hopes his words of encouragement weren’t too preachy but were instead a helpful chant you needed to hear. He definitely knows how it might have helped him when he was hurting badly.

He knows the feeling all too well. He’s disappointed John, Dean, Bobby. Just about everyone he’s looked up to in his life has casted back down a look of disgusted contentment that framed him like a spotlight- showing how his once innocent infantile being was now an abdominal hallmark of the literal apocalypse.

All his life, his skin has felt wrong, his hands moved in a way he didn’t want, even his body ached for a taunting drug that led him to his most regrettable moment, but he always intended good. He always sought felicity for those around him. And he never intended the pain his actions inflicted on those he only wanted to protect.

And selfishly, worst of all, he was constantly misunderstood. Something he wouldn’t wish upon his worst enemy. Hell, even Lucifer had his reasons.

He knew his speech was a lot of ‘self-help’ words you would almost want to cringe at, but he desperately wanted- no, needed. Fucking needed, you to know that despite all of whatever your father said to you, that Sam knew your intentions were selfless and thoughtful. That you aren’t just some dumb kid who took up this life on a whim.

“You’re doing the right thing.” And that. That is what settled with you the most. It’s what you believed, but until now, you trusted no one to remind you.

“Then why does it feel so wrong?” You peak out from the comfort of your own palm again.

“Because it hurts,” he says with a sympathetic cringe. “Because life isn’t fair and acceptance is a curse.”

The crystals continue to fall all around you two. Sam’s firm hold on your knee and repetitive caress on your back keep you steady.

“But I can promise you one thing,” he says with emphasis that implies he’ll continue once you look at him fully. “You’ll never lose us,” Sam means him and Dean out of obligation, but he wishes to specify himself. He wishes to make himself stand out a bit higher to remind you that you aren’t just another hunter friend with relatable baggage but yet a good friend which he shared a profound bond with.

You’re different. He’s different. But to each other, you’re the same.

To each other, you’re worthy of love without bounds, you’re deserving of a microphone to defend yourself with, you’re obligated a benefit of the doubt.

For each other, you’re always there to listen, examine, and determine a deeper understanding of intent and not initial thought.

With each other, you’re whole. You’re beyond a mutual understanding. You’re quite simply understood. And even when you aren’t, there is still the unspoken promise of patience to be understood.

Sam Winchester offers more than you feel you’ll ever deserve. But for him, he fears he could never supply you just enough.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @blossomingorchids

[muletia]

I can’t cook for the life of me but uh, here goes (baby’s first ask off anon lmao)

Imagine the newly exiled Megatron (formerly D16) just being tired and stressed from all the hassle of establishing the new pecking order (while I figure the majority of the old high guard backs him, there are not too keen on this newer, younger bot taking command) and he finds comfort in resting with the reader. Like… he’s resting his helm on their chest, trying to keep it together, but reader is able to reassure him he’s what is best for the Decepticon cause as their leader and he’s worthy of his position.

Okay I’m gonna scurry away now under my rock like a little pill bug and not make everyone sad. :3

[tfo] megatron x human!reader

word count: 600

very short, took me way longer than it should cuz words weren't wording but I needed to write about tfo megs

Silence. Peace. When was the last time he had a chance to spend time in his habsuite? When was the last time he allowed himself intimacy with you? When did he last have time to catch his breath?

He doesn't remember. That's why he wants to squeeze every last nanoklik out of this fleeting privacy. Before the chaos returns, the conflicts resurface, and the venomous glares at the back of his helm return. Before the guilt over everything that happened in Iacon manages to catch up with him. Buries his mass-displaced helm deeper into your chest, as if trying to fuse the two of you together, shrinking the world around down to just you. Desperately trying not to break, not to scare you away with the turmoil reigning in his processor. Holding you close for as long as he possibly can, because you are the only being keeping him from breaking down and destroying everything in his path.

There’s so much he wants to tell you. About the chaos, the disorder. About how Starscream drives him to madness. About the expectations he still cannot meet. Wants to pour all his stress, frustration, and grief into words, feelings that claw at his glossa like wild animals begging to be set free. But he knows the walls have ears. A newly appointed leader cannot appear overwhelmed, let alone uncertain. Yet peace is a privilege, and unloading his emotional burden is a treasure he cannot afford. He must be strong. Resilient. No feelings. No stress.

“You’re doing great,” you say, stroking his massive helm, heavy with worry.

But he already has a weakness. The greatest one. Painful and unbearable, because the mere thought of losing you dims the spark burning within him with passion.

“You are a good leader. The best and the only one worthy of such a demanding and difficult position,” you add, placing the gentlest, most tender kiss on the top of his helm. That brief contact with your lips momentarily overshadows his suffering.

Wants to tell you how deeply grateful he is for your mere presence. How much he appreciates that you’re here with him, that you’ve stayed after the torment in the mines and, of your own free will, chose to join him. After everything he’s done, you witnessed his cruelty firsthand. Offer him comfort he doesn’t deserve. He isolates you, and separates from the rest out of fear that someone might use you against him. Knows he doesn’t deserve your affection, knows he causes you pain and suffering, knows he can be harsh and aggressive. And he hopes you understand that he has to be this way. Though he cannot fathom how you can greet him with open arms. Every time. Without a trace of hatred, always with a joyful smile.

“Only you can lead the Decepticons to the glory they deserve. You deserve,” you say, offering another kiss that melts his spark. Megatron slides his servo behind your back to gently caress it with his thumb, anchoring himself even further in this rare sense of comfort. “You are strong. Resourceful. Able to handle every challenge.”

He’s not yet sure of your words. They’re too raw, spoken too soon. They build confidence and reassure him — oh, how they comfort and soothe the urge to cry — but he wants to let them ripen because he must believe in them himself.

For now, he’s content with the closeness. With having his own corner where you always wait for him, with your delicate hands cradling his helm so tenderly, with moments when he can rest. Your presence is enough. One day, he’ll tell you everything. About the ugly and the messy, the most hidden and intangible parts of himself. But for now, this is enough. It has to be.

[askviktor]

greetings, viktor (is it okay if i adress you by your name?)

i hope you are doing well. it was my lifelong dream to study physics. i managed to get in a college to fulfill that dream but apparently getting into one was way easier than finishing it. i really love physics and i think understanding how universe works is fundamental for our development as humanity but as i start studying in college i found myself losing my passion and feeling under-qualified for this major. it saddens me deeply and i lost all my confidence. i feel lazy and less than my peers.

sorry for the rant, you must be busy but as a fellow scientist (a successful and hard-working one i should add) i think you might have some advice for me. i really want to keep going but i can't seem to study because it never feels enough. have you ever felt like this? how do you keep yourself motivated and be a more disciplined person? thanks in advance and sorry again for bothering you.

anon.

(I apologize for not replying as our beloved Viktor, but as a former physics major, I very much empathize with your message. I worked very hard and eventually felt that the pace at which I needed to learn was one I could not maintain with my neurological disabilities. I did well in an accelerated private high school, but a post-graduation brain infection and other difficulties made the return to college in my thirties a rough adjustment. I have switched to my other passion, writing, for my degree. I too felt a great deal of depression as I struggled with an incredibly difficult subject, especially as I did all in my power to succeed. My husband fully believes I could have continued, but I now know I made the best choice for me. In my spare time, I teach myself math and read my physics books, without the stress of grades.

All this said, I truly believe all of us can learn whatever we wish with enough time, patience, and hard work. I highly recommend learning about how to learn; I found the information in "A Mind for Numbers" by Barbara Oakley especially encouraging and helpful. Invest in a tutor and take great care in crafting a distraction-free, but balanced study schedule. Ask the "dumb" questions that 75% of your peers are afraid to ask. Interleave different types of problems, and take breaks so your brain can alternate between diffused and focused thinking. Keep a picture of whatever goal you may have at your desk. Go to office hours.

And do not forget that learning and memorization take time. As a person accustomed to a 4.0, I had to accept that lower grades were the norm in my major. We see lone geniuses in the media and expect simplicity; real scientists struggle together. But, back to Viktor...)

Yes, Viktor is fine. Thank you for asking.

Failure is data, is it not? Perhaps you may find this surprising, but I struggled academically when I began at Piltover. While I had raw intelligence, I found many holes in my previous, primarily self-administered education as I proceeded through the Academy. Tutors and extra practice helped me to catch up. Analyze your data with fellow students, and help one another succeed.

Be kind to yourself; the universe is ineffably complex, and you are but one person. But, never, ever sell yourself short. The mind has great plasticity.

Good luck, my friend.

[aeneia-art]

I have an uncomfortable and very personal connection to Lucanis, Illario & Caterina's (and Taash & Shathan relationship tbh, they're honestly a flip side of the same trauma) family dynamic, and it's sadly "neurospicey with high expectation caretaker (that is tbh, also Neurospicey)" that I want to shed a bunch of headcanons that I don't see brought up but OH BOY, I KNOW SOME THINGS.

It's unfortunately the "woman who lost all her children and now there is just one survivor" because my mother had six kids before me, they all died in infancy or early childhood, and there are things that I just feel about their upbringing. Bonus, my mother is Italian-Australian, if you want that extra cultural relevance I guess. But it made me very much appreciate their writing of her - because I recognised that hollowed out woman so well that watching her felt like a gut punch of familiarity.

SLAPPING A BIG OLD WARNING ON THIS AND UNDER A CUT because yeah, a lot of discussions of child death, intergenerational trauma, child abuse and family trauma. Seriously please mind those warnings!!

( and if you read these and go... OP are you okay,,,,?? its okay, I am told its called "intergenerational trauma"! and the therapist gave me pills about it! I kid, but also - yes i do therapy about it, don't sweat it, I also find these things kind of therapeutic because instead of just having these life experience rolling around I can use them to help others write good or understand character beats that might not be apparent straight away and honestly this kind of trauma is not written often or well, which is far more frustrating and upsetting, because often there is a lot of shame around failed motherhood, but also no one ever wants to talk about what its like to have dead children. Even if high infant mortality rates and loss of even up to age 15 children has dominated much of human history, but outside of horror movies, it's seldom actually discussed what that does to a family or the women involved over the long term. Weirdly outside of horror I can find it more readily about men than I can about women. )

Illario and Lucanis are often called the wrong name as children, when they are children especially, but even sometimes into adulthood. The exhausted moments when Caterina turns to Lucanis and goes "Giovanni, go get your brother." Then she stops, he stops, and then just get on with it.

The correction at them in training: "Maria- how many times have I told you not to-" then she swallows, their child eyes stare up, Illario wants to ask, Lucanis jerks his head to stop. Caterina swallows and taps a foot back into position.

They do things sometimes, training, talking, and especially gesturing, that Caterina's eyes just close and a pain falls over her face and there is no asking what it's about, but its clear, for a moment, just one or two, they were the same: they moved the same, acted the same, and the times and places blur.

Lucanis and Illario grow up without a sense of ever being completely alone in any room, especially when Caterina is present. The are ghosts in House Dellamorte, they do not know them particularly, but they know they wear their faces often.

There are anniversaries that they do not understand the importance of, moments that for some reason they will never be privy too, they must be present. They will seem sometimes so innocuous and unimportant, no one ELSE around them will ever understand it, but they know they can never miss it.

My immigrant kids will know this one well, but over protective parenting? It's turned up to 11. Imagine every stereotype about Asian / Eastern European / African / Latino / Mediterranean parents, but on HIGH BLAST. It's more akin to stories I have heard about parents who had to live through a war-zone and what their kids grow up with. You can't go anywhere, do anything, say anything, no one outside of your family is to be trusted. Friends? Keep them at arm's length, if they're allowed at all. Activities are limited to what can be supervised. And what's worse? There is no arguing that it's just them being paranoid. The proof is there. It happened. There is no saying that it's anxiety, it's over the top, because the worst has happened and they know it. You can't say it's "just paranoia talking" because it happened over, and over, and over again.

They wake up with Caterina walking in to check their breathing. I am 30+. My mother still does this, and every time I hear her take a relieved breathe. Life will never be taken for granted. Survival will never be taken for granted. She checks on them constantly, and it probably felt strange and spooky to feel her hovering as a child, but some point around 16, it probably started to make sense.

As children, they want to ask, they need to understand, they want to know why they have to live this way when others don't. It's frustrating too because others seem to know all the details when they don't and they're fed it in pieces. Then by adulthood, they understand and the pain is theirs too, now, whether they wanted it or not.

Teia must have been a breathe of fresh air to the entire household when she visited, the soul person that can banish the ghosts. Because Teia is an elf, there can be no confusing her for any of the other children, some confused creeping despair. She's Teia and she's only Teia, and it's probably in part why Caterina enjoys her company, because she's clearly no afraid of the old woman, but that there can be no mistaking there here and now of it.

Speaking of creeping despair: probably thank the Maker there are no mages in the family, if demons are born out of human emotion twisted??? What in the fuck must the Fade look like just the other side of House Dellamorte? IT'S A GOOD THING NO ONE IN THE FAMILY CAN GET POSSESSED RIGHT [stares directly into the camera like the Office]

The long nights of despair are palpable when alone in House Dellamorte after the servants are gone to bed and Illario and Lucanis sit doing study nearby. They watch her at times stare into the hollow depths, and at times when conversations veer about survival, choices, making assessments, she speaks candidly of crawling out of that place with her own two hands, not for pity, but on how one learns to live and go on. She says it's that or death, Illario asks if that means because the enemies of House Dellamorte will kill them? She says no and leaves it at that. They only realise in adulthood how often their grandmother sits and contemplates death, and not from another assassin's blade. It is only that it is completely unacceptable for her to ever give up that made her drag herself out. It's not grand declaration, it is a simple contemplation, she'd never want your pity. Even if therapists did exist in Thedas, what would they even say? Or do? There aren't enough therapists and drugs in the world. Everyone understands that no parent should bury their child, but to do it over and over and over? After awhile, there is only the quiet shuffling and exhaustion.

Of course Lucanis attracted a Spirit of Determination that became a Spirit of Spite, that is exactly what he has had shaped to him. Welcome to the other side of despair. Welcome to how you live through the worst days of your life. The first funerals of the Dellamorte House were probably the typical big wailing Mediterranean-type funerals. You scream, you cry, your rip your hair, you throw yourself at the coffin and wail. She thinks there is nothing worse in the world, and then - she finds out - there is worse. The last Dellamorte funerals are silent. There is no more grief to tear out. What is left is only determination, only resilience, only spite that drives the will to go on.

Likewise, it doesn't surprise me that he could calm himself even in the depths of torture, to make a deal with Spite. The Ossuary was hell, shut off and shut down as he says. But he and his family are a long won lesson on survival even when survival cannot feel worth it, anymore, a test of endurance that not even Zara would be able to scratch the surface of. When submission to pain would be so much easier. That is a resilience that didn't come from Caterina's torture, it comes from growing up in a graveyard that ebbs around you, that everyone sees when they look at you, and yet finding a way through, for good and bad. Perhaps not even well, but they have, they did, they continue to do so.

Caterina is past grief and it makes the woman before and the woman afterward, like two seperate lives. Which makes it so odd for Lucanis and Illario when... you know that moment when you find out that your parents were whole people that did wild shit before you ever existed that have just been sitting in the back? It's like that but worse. They hear stories and learn deeds, and it's hearing about a completely different person. Caterina that other people remember likely used to smile, and laugh, danced, did hijinks. They find old letters, portraits, commemorations, to this woman that seems to be as much as a ghost as all the other dead aunts and uncles. They have been robbed, not just of their family, and yes a peaceful childhood, but of that woman who could have been Nonnina, and now is just La Signora Dellamorte.

The apple never falls far from the tree, and I imagine that Caterina-before-the-deaths was some split of Lucanis and Illario. Which comes to something that I am sure might be contentious because I imagine it's hard to hear and see for someone who became so outright abusive as Caterina was to her grandchildren when we all love the boys dearly, but in a game about how good intentions and the best wishes and parts of us can be twisted I feel this isn't a far leap. You think you end up with five kids for someone as savvy as she was because she was an unpassionate, unloving woman? She was likely as fierce and devoted and passionate as the boys are now. (Which if you think all of this is to excuse her abuse, no, being broken by the world does give excuses to visit upon the next generation, that is the big difference between my mother and Caterina, my mother took her grief and shoved it fiercely into reminding me every day that I am loved). I understand it's easy to say abusers just woke up mean one day to hate the world, but the reality is probably way muddier than that, as often is in Dragon Age especially, this is a world where everyone has reasons they became what they are, and often did not start that way - and I think the unfortunate truth is that Caterina was once like Lucanis and Illario: passionate, driven, full of life and interest, hope and ambition to be the best she could be, and never dreamed of what it would all become.

So, yes, if you want to know what Illario and Lucanis look like after they have been actually, truly, soul-crushingly broken in a way that can never be repaired, look no further than Caterina. You can already see the shades of it in the Hardened Lucanis run, he turns himself away from remorse, redemption, love. The way Illario is trying to goad Lucanis into killing him. There but for the grace of the Maker, go her grandsons.

In that vein, I suspect she saw the traits that failed her most in Illario, and the ones that helped her survive in Lucanis, which in part lead to the divide in her treatment of the two of them.

There is probably some moment when someone is an edgelord at her, as dramatic mediterraneans are wont to do, spouted off about torture and pain and suffering. Caterina probably laughed in their face about it. It has big "you cannot hurt me in any way that matters" and "you can't hate me more than I hate myself" energy. She has stared into the abyss, she knows the darkest parts of herself, and some rat thinks they can frighten her back?

The only threat that hangs is someone hurting Illario and Lucanis. Nothing is too far, nothing is too much, when it comes to protecting what she has left. Caterina is both impassive to them, unknowable at times, frustrating at others, but then she throws down in broad daylight even as she enters true old age. I shudder to think about the torture she now inflicts in the name of her family.

[starkenobi]

Demonic Domination | chapter one: lo hecho está hecho.

masterlist — demonic domination masterlist — prologue

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reder; Bucky Barnes x Reader; Matt Murdock x Reader.

Summary: Y/N doesn’t classify herself as a vigilante or, as people on the internet say, an antihero. No, she’s just an occult detective with a fucking amnesia trying to create a new life beyond her secret mutant status. At first, she really tried to keep a normal civilian life, but it’s difficult when you’re rescued from a dark place by a man dressed as a mummy ninja calling himself Moon Knight. So, anyway, working as an occult detective makes her travel around the world, and it’s cool because it gives her a lot of stories… Until her feet touch New York grounds. It’s all downhill from there.

chapter warnings: none.

When Konshu announced that there was an important mission, Jake thought it would be another gang or a terrorist group, perhaps a theft of objects that humans shouldn't be playing with or even trafficking and clandestine sale of some artefact.

He expected everything except to find a house full of scientific paraphernalia and a girl locked in a dark room. A weapon in the wrong hands, Konshu said harshly, but Jake only saw a girl who had her life stolen and tortured.

A victim.

"Hey, I'm Moon Knight, I'll get you out of here, okay? Kid, can you hear me? Dammit, Steve, I can see she's unresponsive."

The young woman was covered in blood from head to toe, dried blood with clear signs of torture. It didn't take long to remove the iron chains that held her to the ceiling, but it took some work to get her out of the anklets, the shine and quality of the material indicating a high technology.

But nothing could be that simple with his missions. So, Jake felt several punctures in his abdomen and arms as soon as she was freed from the restraints. Red blades hit him with precision. Luckily, he was wearing the suit.

"Shit. She has powers. Couldn't you have warned us, Konshu?"

With no answers from the Egyptian god, with Steve talking too much in their headspace and Marc starting to get worried, Jake needed to act quickly before the situation really got out of control.

He tried to talk to the young woman once more, maybe calm her down with words before taking drastic measures. Maybe Steve could be right once again.

"We're here to help. You're safe now."

But when another red blade came out of the young woman and tried to hit him in the head, Jake knew there was no other option.

He muttered a somber "I'm sorry, kid." before knocking the young woman out in the head.

Sighing heavily, Jake picked her up and left that bizarre place. The night that had once been lit by the moon was now raining heavily, a clear sign of a sudden storm. Jake tried to ignore the strange feeling in his chest, but the news had confirmed that there’d be a week off of dry spell.

“What are we going to do now?” Steve asked in their headspace.

“I’ll put her in the taxi and take her home.” Jake declared.

“Home?” Marc repeated incredulously. “She needs a hospital and the police. We did our part.”

“Lo hecho está hecho.” Jake replied, putting an end to the discussion before it began. “We’re going to adopt the stray ​​while we don’t have answers, pendejo.”

—

Nothing like one day after another. A routine. No big news, the big gossip revolving around who ate whose sandwich that was in the office fridge or that the dog peed on someone’s shoe again.

From Monday to Friday there was no possibility of anything unexpected happening. Everything was safe. Full of rules. Monotonous to the extreme. A 9am to 4pm job, with about an hour for lunch, and the possibility of several trips to get a coffee.

Without the risk of dealing with angry customers since that was the most isolated part of the department. The actual activity was spent the whole day holed up in an office making calls, writing and reviewing paperwork before the deadline. While it’s good that the amount of paper's decreasing, thanks to technology, spending hours on a computer tired her eyes.

Anyway, was it possible to die from being exhausted from the same old thing? Sure, tired from so much work and the same old thing.

She was tempted to shout 'fire' and risk the work safety rules just to get some reaction on that fateful friday. It was at times like that that she, unfortunately, had to agree with Marc. Taking that job was a terrible idea.

Okay, she was making money fast, but at what cost?

However, she couldn't take other people's opinions into consideration, since Marc didn't know anything about the adult life of a mere mortal. Steven, fine, worked at the museum. Jake, maybe, he played cab driver sometimes. But Marc? Good heavens, Marc lived in a reality where his so-called weekly job was to be the fist of a naked bird!

“Necromancer, you can't keep avoiding your destiny.”

“Shit.” Y/N hissed under her breath as she spilled some of her coffee on the office desk, luckily not getting any paper dirty. “I'm bored, but it's not that deep.”

Frowning, she controlled herself from turning in the direction of the voice. It's best to pretend she didn't know it was there so it would go away quickly.

She then glanced discreetly at the computer screen, finding a slightly disfigured lady standing right behind her chair, hovering a few inches off the floor.

Sighing heavily, Y/N finished cleaning up the spilled coffee before drinking the liquid from the mug again. The visits were becoming more frequent, perhaps it was time to change jobs once again.

“Necromancer.”

“Fuck.” Y/N cursed impatiently.

Ignoring the looks from her coworkers, she got up in a hurry, walking to the kitchen in long strides. Pouring the rest of the coffee into the sink, she washed the mug giving up on caffeine.

Knowing that there would be no point in staying there working overtime, she went back to her desk to turn off her computer and grab her bag. She said goodbye to the group still in the office, quickly heading towards the emergency staircase. Going down the five flights of stairs with ease, it didn't take long to reach the small lobby.

She kept her pace fast until she passed through the door, stopping only after she reached the corner of the street to debate if it was better to go home walking or running.

“Necromancer, there’s no point in avoiding your fate.”

“Stop trying to collect a debt that doesn’t belong to me!” Y/N hissed, finally facing the spirit that was still following her.

“Do you really not remember, necromancer?”

She frowned, finding the question confusing. The spirits' behavior was becoming increasingly odd, and she wasn't sure how to feel about it. Before she could retort, the spirit disappeared in a blur at the same time she heard footsteps behind her.

“What are you doing standing here alone, bug?”

Turning around, she came face to face with Steven. “Huh, was trying to remember if I left the charger at the office before I went home for good.”

“If you say so,” Steven arched a brow, offering to hold her bag.

“What are you doing here, by the way?” Y/N asked, holding one of his arms before starting to walk again. “Came to make sure that I’m crossing the street safely?”

“Why do you make me feel like a senior father?” Steven lamented, allowing to be pulled by her in the direction of their apartment.

“Cause you guys decided to bring the ‘three men and a baby’ with a twist to real life?” She fired back, a smug smile on her face.

Steven flashed her a huge smile back. “Marc's saying that Jake's a terrible influence on you.”

“He's just saying that because I called him daddy in front of Layla.”

“What?”

“Oh, you didn't know?” Y/N smirked, knowing full well that Marc was still embarrassed. “Saw him trying to dismiss a woman at the door, so I called him daddy to make her uncomfortable and leave. But lo and behold, it was actually Layla.”

“Oh, that's hilarious.” Steven wheezed from how hard he's laughing.

“C'mon, less laughing and more walking.” She sassed him. “Wanna finish our Star Wars marathon this weekend.”

—

Do you really not remember?

Do you remember?

Open your eyes.

Remember.

Remem-

Y/N woke up with a start.

Trying to catch her breath, she noticed the sun had disappeared and the moon shone brightly in the sky. Shit. She fell asleep without planning to.

“My love.”

Y/N’s mind stuttered to a halt, before launching into motion as she quickly turned towards the female’s voice. “Fuck!”

“Eloquent as always, I see,” the woman said.

“Who the fuck are you?” Y/N hissed, grabbing the first thing within reach – her umbrella.

The woman raised her hands, a melancholic smile on her slips. “I was hoping my messengers were wrong, but it really seems you've forgotten.”

“I won't ask you again,” she growled.

“I have many names, some call me Rio.” the woman answered, her voice sweet as honey. “But you, my love, you know me as Death.”

“What?”

“I'm sorry, my love, I know now that you don't have your memories,” the woman, Death, smiled sweetly as she stepped closer. “But we have things to discuss now that you're free.”

Stood frozen, Y/N utterly stunned. “What?”

Death chuckled, snapping her fingers to make the umbrella disappear so she could hold Y/N's hands. “You've made an oath, my love, a long time ago.”

And I came to collect it.

Demonic Domination officially started! You'll notice some references from the mcu and the comics, I'm cooking something here and I really hope you guys like it! The first chapter is the last bit of introduction. So buckle up! From now on, we're going to start the real deal: following around the occultist detective and her harem Y/N Constantine and the gang.

comments, reblogs and likes are welcomed and appreciated! thank you for reading and supporting my writing 💜

follow the tag #starkenobi writing and #demonic domination

[liliaasyoursexyvampiredaddy]

People who read 'Operation: true love' backward are my 13th reason

[ganondoodle]

About Shargon: What kind of compound are their horns made of? Is it the same as his teeth or skeleton? What’s the reason behind their glow? I think it’s really cool so I thought I’d ask

Thank you for the ask!

so, alot of demon anatomy revolves around their demonic heart and its blood (which is concentrated energy/magic- the color of which is determined by their elemental type, Shargon is type lightning, which is generally a mid blue going into greenish, but there are always slight color variations even between the same types) their bones too are made of crystalized demonic blood, its coated in a black layer of depleted blood (so the substance without energy) that acts as a sort of armor and makes the bones more durable and able to withstand even alot of bending (when a demon shape shifts their bones have to decrystalize to some extent to shift into different forms and sizes, its really uncomfortable or even painful depending on how well trained they are or in stressful situations since that process is something that needs to be done right or they end up really messy and vunerable) bones are also hollow and filled with demonic blood, it also aids their flexibility and the shapeshifting process and makes sure that if one is broken its quickly healed again since the bone doesnt have to decrystalize first

teeth and claws are not hollow and lack the black layer bc it eases using magic/energy through them and makes them harder to break, unlike the bones they are as hard as possible instead of flexible; the liquid blood isnt necessary since a broken tooth or claw usually gets discarded entirely and regrown from the ground up

horns are a mix of both, they dont have a black layer but are hollow (at least partly through) and filled with an even more concentrated version of demonic blood, very similar to heartblood (only found in the heart, the most concentrated version with a similar consistency; like a thick floaty liquid) and connected to it (you could see or feel a pulse in Shargons horns) but it lacks the genetic information actual heartblood carries- horns act mainly as a sensing aid ... like antenna in a way, or how whales melons work, it aids in sensing energy nearby, navigation, limited long range communication or if an energy wave that was sent out has hit something like a living demon .. or a dead one if theres still some remaining energy left (works best between demons of the same elemental type, but isnt limited to them and also depends on how skilled or mighty a demon is- for example, Eadrya, type water but extraordinarily powerful, could sent out even a really weak energy wave and they would be able to sense if it hits Shargon while Shargon himself might just feel there was some energy, but not from who or what type) and can pick up frequencies of distress calls that have lost the hearable part

the downside to that is if a horn was to break it might actually be the most painful thing to happen to a demon, even worse so if it draws blood, its like stabbing the most sensitive nerve that goes through their head and spine and heart, depending on the severity of the injury it might be paralyzing or drive a demon temporarily mad- worse than a stabwound into the heart itself

not all demons have horns, they are a very diverse kind of creatures that are each built better for different things (Eadrya doesnt have horns, the extreme amount of energy at their disposal pretty much closes any gap horns could have made in aiding senses- an advantage being less vunerability, a downside though is easy disturbance of anything relating to those senses by other energy types or frequencies .... and a general downside to Eadryas .. overproduction of magic even, is being basically the most detectable demon in the world due to them constantly emitting energy at very high levels if they are in good health)

(since Shargon (he/they) is the main example here, hes a demon that is built for speed and flexibility, for quick strikes out of the shadows, his bones are thin and bendable, his teeth are long, sharp and angled in various ways so if he bites he can lock it down hard without escape, even if the force of his bite isnt the strongest in itself- he can turn his head fully around multiple times (like an owl but worse) and his throat is largely made of pure muscle (the most muscle on him is his throat and to the big primary arms) perfect to bite and pull and twist until whatever he bit into gives out, getting him off of something is rather impossible without doing massive damage to it in the process (unless he lets go willingly of course)

-since i compared him to Eadrya (they/them) already- they are quick but only in water, their sheer size, thick skin, bones and well, body is really hard to damage, their teeth are small and all in the same shape in two rows on both sides, their maw is really wide and their bite force is pretty strong- if they bite it is with the intent to bite clean through, if that doesnt work they would need to let go and go for it again here older art but just to give you a general idea for Eadrya (demon form):

Thor (any pronouns) is another one that is really different- they are massive and armored with thick, hard plates, they are slow and have little mobility but are nigh impossible to take down unless you know exactly how; they dont have alot of teeth, rather small and probably not very sharp either and due to her two big tusks going forward its rather hard to actually get to anything to bite into, if she were though it would be somewhat akin to alligators (i think) that just smash their massive bones together to break whatever is in between with little to no actual 'biting' going on

(rather outdated art that i still, somehow, like- her humaoid form:

and an even MORE outdated ancient doodle of her demon form:

the only somewhat accurate part is the general shape and head, though the mouth isnt accurate anymore either ... barely anything is but something is better than nothing and the roughly lobster inspired design idea is still currently the idea)

OC lore ramble over :3

[mashmouths]

so i started this show and it just gets worse and worseeeee not only did it lift the romance subplot directly from twilight (and not well) but they also are trying to play the forbidden love angle hard in the fantasy racism vein except it's a "cross-species" relationship between the two whitest people i've ever seen in my life and there are three people of color in the whole (first season of the) show who aren't villains and it seems that every other episode (and sometimes ebery episode and sometimes twice an episode!) there is a man physically or magically subjugating a woman and i keep waiting for the big reveal at the end to be stolen from fucking rainbow rowell

[xiii-e]

//ooc posting: I NEED to find more fun/silly things to do with my two they are Not meant to be all agony all the time I swear- I just have a penchant for the dramatic and they're a little in the torment nexus o(-< but on god they will Have Fun too

[big-cheesy-productions]

Sonic Movie 3 Spoilers

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.

.

I'm trying to come to terms with the fact that the movies are an AU and this is a Different Story than what we know for Shadow. I get that.

But I'm also like, why do it Like That. Why make the changes they did? Why not just do the fan favorite story for the fan favorite character as it is? From every level of film making, I can't wrap my head around that decision. Why claim that Shadow and Maria's story is one of the most important in the Sonic world, and then Change It and not give it the screen time it deserves? Or why not explain the changes more thoroughly within the story instead of having a 3 minute dance scene? Why take away Maria's sickness? Why have Shadow be found instead of made? WHY remove the promise???

Like, yeah their friendship is there, and she does die, which one could argue is the story at its most basic, but the real tragedy that makes it so compelling isn't there.

I just keep coming back to, if you're going to kind of do Sonic Adventure 2, why not just fully do Sonic Adventure 2? And maybe that's unfair just because I really love Sonic Adventure 2, and again, the movies are an AU. I KNOW.

I just really need an explanation, Jeff Fowler, please.

I'm just so conflicted. Idk, I really need this second watch.

[itspileofgoodthings]

also it’s interesting because. my family is deeply unsentimental (in a very powerful way) and society is divided into the pretty heartless or the pretty sentimental (generally speaking) and I’m sort of this walking heart wound of emotion trying to straddle these lines (and having a hard time of it!) but one of the things that does guard me from being more sentimental than I am is the secret cruelty and unfairness that lurks at the bottom of all sentimentality.

[sonknuxadow]

they werent lying that knuckles series barely has knuckles in it