#Tactile Impression

[drsilasaslan]

Weathered Metal Beauty This close-up captures a weathered metallic surface, showcasing a blend of faded blue and rust brown, telling a story of time and nature's effects. silasAslan.com

[mintixtheweirdo]

I'm fine

[conidiophore]

I didn't really expect to like bottom growth as much as I do. Almost a year on T (just a couple of weeks away) and I am pleasantly surprised by what I have going on. Jerking that thing with solemn appreciation and nodding wisely.

[ozzyfromthecafeteria]

just heard someone yell a loud reverberating FUCK and then a thud. lmao?? how did you fall over?

[jazzums]

harry introduces peter to dr. connors and pete’s like “we’ve actually met” but connors doesn’t recognize him bc he has a different face model

[hundehelm]

my wizard friend is going to love this

[aeth-eris]

★  hypothetical  death  |  8th  house  ★ 

★  book  a  reading  ★  ★  masterlist  1  ★  ★  masterlist  2  ★

 ★  aries  in  the  8th  house  ★ 

a  fiery  and  sudden  death—aries  energy  ensures  the  circumstances  are  quick,  intense,  and  dramatic.  scenarios  might  include  head  trauma  from  an  accident  during  high-adrenaline  activities  like  racing,  extreme  sports,  or  even  combat.  mars,  as  aries'  ruler,  adds  themes  of  violence,  heat,  or  machinery,  suggesting  deaths  involving  fire,  burns,  or  weapon-related  incidents.  strokes  or  aneurysms  due  to  elevated  stress  or  blood  pressure  might  also  play  a  role.  the  impulsiveness  of  aries  could  contribute  to  risky  behavior  leading  to  fatal  consequences,  like  a  dare  gone  wrong  or  reacting  without  thinking  in  a  dangerous  situation.  workplace  accidents  involving  machinery  or  tools  might  also  be  significant.  death  could  occur  in  a  high-energy  environment,  like  a  gym,  construction  site,  or  battlefield.  if  mars  is  poorly  aspected,  anger  or  conflicts  might  escalate  into  physical  violence,  adding  a  combative  edge  to  their  passing.  aries  in  the  8th  suggests  a  death  that  is  fast,  passionate,  and  leaves  an  unmistakable  impression,  often  tied  to  their  drive  for  action  and  independence.  their  end  might  reflect  a  moment  of  courage,  boldness,  or  impulsivity—whether  in  a  fight,  an  accident,  or  a  heroic  act.

 ★  taurus  in  the  8th  house  ★ 

a  slow,  grounded  death  tied  to  the  physical  body  or  material  comforts.  taurus  rules  the  throat  and  neck,  so  choking,  strangulation,  or  complications  with  the  thyroid  could  be  relevant.  overindulgence  in  food,  drink,  or  a  luxurious  lifestyle  might  lead  to  long-term  health  issues,  such  as  heart  disease  or  diabetes.  accidents  involving  possessions,  like  heavy  objects  falling,  might  also  feature.  venus,  as  taurus’  ruler,  introduces  themes  of  beauty  and  sensuality—perhaps  death  occurs  in  a  peaceful  or  aesthetic  setting,  like  a  serene  garden  or  during  a  relaxing  spa  treatment.  there  could  also  be  a  financial  or  material  aspect  tied  to  their  passing,  such  as  disputes  over  inheritance  or  wealth.  deaths  involving  the  earth  or  natural  settings  are  possible—think  landslides,  farming  accidents,  or  being  buried  under  physical  weight.  if  venus  is  poorly  aspected,  overindulgence  or  attachment  to  material  comforts  could  play  a  detrimental  role.  taurus  in  the  8th  suggests  a  passing  that  is  steady,  tactile,  and  tied  to  the  physical  world,  reflecting  themes  of  security,  comfort,  or  even  stubbornness  in  their  final  moments.

 ★  gemini  in  the  8th  house  ★ 

a  curious  and  chaotic  death  tied  to  communication,  movement,  or  duality.  gemini’s  connection  to  the  lungs  and  nervous  system  suggests  respiratory  failure,  accidents  during  travel  (cars,  planes,  bikes),  or  even  stress-induced  neurological  breakdowns.  multitasking  or  miscommunication  could  play  a  significant  role—imagine  texting  while  driving  or  rushing  to  meet  a  deadline.  gemini’s  dual  nature  might  manifest  as  two  contrasting  causes  or  settings  tied  to  their  death,  like  being  in  two  places  at  once  or  dealing  with  conflicting  scenarios.  mercury,  gemini’s  ruler,  adds  themes  of  learning  and  intellect,  so  their  passing  might  involve  books,  technology,  or  public  speaking—perhaps  a  fatal  incident  during  a  lecture  or  broadcast.  mental  overstimulation,  like  overworking  the  brain  or  juggling  too  many  responsibilities,  could  lead  to  burnout  or  exhaustion.  gemini  in  the  8th  often  reflects  a  death  tied  to  curiosity,  adaptability,  or  rapid  movement,  with  circumstances  that  are  unpredictable  or  fast-paced.  the  end  might  occur  while  chasing  knowledge,  engaging  in  lively  conversation,  or  simply  moving  too  quickly  in  life.

 ★  cancer  in  the  8th  house  ★ 

an  emotionally  charged  death  tied  to  family,  water,  or  the  home.  cancer’s  rulership  of  the  chest  and  stomach  suggests  causes  like  breast  cancer,  ulcers,  or  drowning.  food  poisoning  or  allergies  from  nurturing  environments,  like  family  meals,  might  also  be  involved.  the  moon’s  influence  brings  cycles  and  tides  into  the  equation,  so  lunar  phases  or  emotional  states  might  align  with  their  passing.  accidents  in  domestic  spaces—like  a  fall  in  the  bathtub,  a  kitchen  mishap,  or  a  structural  collapse  in  their  home—are  possible.  cancer  in  the  8th  also  suggests  emotional  wounding  or  heartbreak  could  contribute  to  their  death,  especially  if  family  dynamics  are  strained.  the  circumstances  might  involve  themes  of  care  and  protection,  like  passing  while  tending  to  loved  ones  or  during  a  significant  life  transition,  such  as  childbirth  or  becoming  a  parent.  water-related  scenarios  are  significant—drowning  in  a  lake,  slipping  into  a  pool,  or  even  being  caught  in  a  storm  at  sea.  cancer  in  the  8th  suggests  a  deeply  personal,  intuitive,  and  emotionally  resonant  passing,  one  tied  to  their  roots,  family,  or  internal  world.

 ★  leo  in  the  8th  house  ★ 

a  dramatic  and  highly  visible  death  tied  to  their  individuality  or  public  presence.  leo  rules  the  heart,  so  heart  attacks,  cardiac  arrest,  or  stress-related  heart  issues  are  common.  their  passing  might  occur  during  a  moment  of  grandeur—perhaps  on  stage,  at  a  public  event,  or  while  performing  a  leadership  role.  accidents  involving  fire,  extreme  heat,  or  light  are  also  possible,  such  as  dying  in  a  blaze  or  due  to  sunstroke.  leo’s  need  for  recognition  suggests  their  death  might  leave  a  lasting  impression,  either  as  a  cautionary  tale  or  a  heroic  act.  venusian  influences  might  add  artistic  or  aesthetic  themes,  like  passing  away  while  creating  something  beautiful  or  during  an  extravagant  celebration.  if  poorly  aspected,  pride  or  stubbornness  could  lead  to  risky  behavior,  like  refusing  medical  advice  or  engaging  in  dangerous  stunts.  leo  in  the  8th  house  often  reflects  a  passing  that  mirrors  their  vibrant  life—bold,  memorable,  and  tied  to  their  creative  or  leadership  pursuits.  their  death  may  carry  a  symbolic  weight,  marking  the  end  of  an  era  or  leaving  a  dramatic  legacy.

 ★  virgo  in  the  8th  house  ★ 

a  precise  and  health-focused  death  tied  to  routine,  work,  or  the  body.  virgo  rules  the  digestive  system,  so  deaths  from  intestinal  issues,  food  poisoning,  or  chronic  illnesses  like  stomach  cancer  might  occur.  virgo’s  perfectionism  suggests  that  their  passing  could  involve  medical  errors  or  complications  during  surgery—perhaps  due  to  misdiagnosis  or  overly  meticulous  procedures.  stress  from  overwork  or  obsession  with  health  could  lead  to  burnout,  strokes,  or  heart-related  issues.  their  death  might  occur  in  a  clinical  or  work  environment,  such  as  a  hospital,  lab,  or  office,  especially  if  service  to  others  was  a  big  part  of  their  life.  virgo’s  connection  to  habits  may  mean  that  small,  unnoticed  health  problems  build  up  over  time,  eventually  leading  to  something  fatal.  mental  health  could  also  play  a  role,  with  overthinking  or  anxiety  exacerbating  physical  conditions.  if  mercury,  virgo’s  ruler,  is  poorly  aspected,  miscommunication  or  lack  of  clarity  might  surround  their  death.  virgo  in  the  8th  suggests  a  passing  that  is  methodical,  reflective  of  their  need  for  control  and  structure,  and  potentially  tied  to  their  dedication  to  service,  health,  or  routines.

 ★  libra  in  the  8th  house  ★ 

a  graceful,  relational  death  tied  to  beauty,  partnerships,  or  harmony.  libra’s  rulership  by  venus  highlights  love  and  aesthetics,  so  their  death  might  involve  themes  of  romance  or  occur  in  beautiful,  peaceful  settings.  it’s  possible  they  die  alongside  a  partner  or  as  a  result  of  heartbreak,  betrayal,  or  marital  stress.  accidents  during  social  gatherings  or  public  events,  especially  those  focused  on  art  or  fashion,  could  also  play  a  role.  cosmetic  surgeries  gone  wrong  or  beauty-related  mishaps  might  feature  as  well.  libra’s  focus  on  fairness  and  balance  might  bring  legal  or  contractual  matters  into  their  death,  such  as  disputes  over  inheritance  or  assets.  falls  or  accidents  due  to  losing  physical  balance  are  also  possibilities.  if  venus  is  poorly  aspected,  indulgence  in  luxury  or  unhealthy  relationships  might  contribute  to  their  death.  libra  in  the  8th  suggests  a  poetic,  symbolic  passing  that  reflects  their  desire  for  beauty,  love,  and  peace,  even  if  the  circumstances  are  less  than  ideal.  it  carries  relational  and  aesthetic  significance,  leaving  a  mark  on  those  they  leave  behind.

 ★  scorpio  in  the  8th  house  ★ 

a  deep,  transformative  death  tied  to  mystery,  power,  or  intensity.  scorpio  in  the  8th  house  points  to  dramatic  or  taboo  themes,  such  as  deaths  involving  betrayal,  violence,  or  even  murder.  illnesses  tied  to  reproductive  or  elimination  systems—like  cancer  or  sexually  transmitted  diseases—are  possible.  scorpio’s  association  with  secrecy  suggests  a  death  that  could  remain  unsolved  or  involve  hidden  circumstances,  like  poisoning  or  mysterious  disappearances.  water-related  deaths,  such  as  drowning  in  dark  or  concealed  places,  are  also  possible.  if  pluto,  scorpio’s  ruler,  is  prominent,  there  may  be  power  struggles,  dangerous  obsessions,  or  karmic  ties  involved.  this  placement  also  carries  a  potential  for  self-destructive  tendencies  or  involvement  in  intense  situations,  like  covert  operations  or  high-stakes  activities.  scorpio  in  the  8th  suggests  a  passing  that  is  transformative,  haunting,  and  impactful,  often  tied  to  cycles  of  life  and  death.  it’s  a  symbolic  end  that  might  feel  like  the  closing  of  a  profound  chapter,  affecting  not  only  the  individual  but  those  left  behind.

 ★  sagittarius  in  the  8th  house  ★ 

a  bold,  adventurous  death  tied  to  travel,  freedom,  or  philosophy.  sagittarius’  love  for  exploration  could  lead  to  accidents  during  long  journeys,  such  as  plane  crashes,  hiking  falls,  or  incidents  in  remote  areas.  their  passing  might  occur  abroad  or  while  engaging  in  a  daring  adventure,  like  climbing  a  mountain  or  embarking  on  a  spiritual  pilgrimage.  sagittarius’  connection  to  expansion  suggests  overindulgence  in  food,  drink,  or  risky  behavior,  which  could  lead  to  health  complications  like  liver  disease  or  heart  failure.  their  death  might  also  carry  a  philosophical  or  spiritual  undertone,  such  as  passing  away  in  pursuit  of  knowledge  or  while  defending  a  cause  they  believe  in.  accidents  during  academic  or  educational  pursuits,  like  during  a  lecture  or  research  expedition,  are  possible.  if  jupiter,  sagittarius’  ruler,  is  poorly  aspected,  reckless  behavior  or  overconfidence  might  contribute  to  their  death.  sagittarius  in  the  8th  suggests  a  passing  that  feels  larger  than  life—adventurous,  meaningful,  and  deeply  tied  to  their  pursuit  of  freedom  and  purpose.

 ★  capricorn  in  the  8th  house  ★ 

a  structured  and  karmic  death  tied  to  responsibility,  work,  or  aging.  capricorn’s  connection  to  discipline  and  time  suggests  a  slow,  steady  decline,  such  as  passing  from  old  age,  chronic  illness,  or  the  cumulative  effects  of  stress.  falls  from  heights,  accidents  involving  structures  (e.g.,  building  collapses),  or  work-related  mishaps  might  also  play  a  role.  capricorn’s  association  with  authority  and  legacy  suggests  their  death  could  involve  their  professional  life  or  public  image,  such  as  dying  during  a  high-profile  negotiation  or  business  endeavor.  saturn’s  influence  introduces  karmic  themes,  implying  their  passing  might  feel  like  a  culmination  of  life’s  lessons,  responsibilities,  or  burdens.  deaths  tied  to  cold  environments,  such  as  mountains  or  icy  conditions,  are  also  possible.  if  saturn  is  poorly  aspected,  restrictive  or  oppressive  circumstances  might  intensify,  leading  to  feelings  of  exhaustion  or  burnout.  capricorn  in  the  8th  suggests  a  death  that  is  practical,  significant,  and  reflective  of  their  long-term  dedication  to  goals,  responsibilities,  and  the  structures  they  built  in  life.

 ★  aquarius  in  the  8th  house  ★ 

a  sudden,  unconventional  death  tied  to  technology,  innovation,  or  groups.  aquarius’  connection  to  electricity  and  progress  suggests  deaths  involving  electrical  shocks,  airplane  crashes,  or  futuristic  technology.  their  passing  might  occur  during  group  activities  or  social  causes,  such  as  protests,  conventions,  or  experimental  events.  aquarius  rules  the  circulatory  system,  so  heart  issues  or  strokes  could  be  relevant.  uranus’  influence  adds  unpredictability,  suggesting  a  sudden  or  shocking  death,  possibly  during  a  groundbreaking  moment  in  science  or  technology.  if  uranus  is  poorly  aspected,  rebellious  or  unconventional  behavior  might  lead  to  dangerous  situations,  like  defying  safety  norms  or  engaging  in  risky  experiments.  aquarius  in  the  8th  suggests  a  passing  that  is  innovative,  impactful,  and  reflective  of  their  individuality  and  connection  to  collective  progress.  their  death  might  spark  change  or  inspire  others,  leaving  a  legacy  tied  to  the  future  they  envisioned.

 ★  pisces  in  the  8th  house  ★ 

a  mysterious  and  ethereal  death  tied  to  water,  dreams,  or  spirituality.  pisces’  connection  to  the  subconscious  suggests  passing  away  in  a  dream-like  state,  such  as  during  sleep,  under  anesthesia,  or  through  drowning.  deaths  involving  drugs,  alcohol,  or  escapism  might  also  occur,  reflecting  pisces’  tendency  toward  altered  states.  neptune’s  influence  adds  an  air  of  mystery,  with  deaths  potentially  surrounded  by  unclear  circumstances  or  long-term  illnesses  that  go  undiagnosed.  their  passing  might  happen  in  a  peaceful  or  spiritual  setting,  like  during  meditation,  prayer,  or  while  engaging  in  artistic  creation.  water-related  incidents,  like  slipping  into  a  river,  being  lost  at  sea,  or  even  floods,  are  significant  themes.  if  neptune  is  poorly  aspected,  confusion,  deception,  or  self-destructive  tendencies  could  play  a  role.  pisces  in  the  8th  suggests  a  death  that  is  symbolic,  intuitive,  and  tied  to  the  unseen  realms,  leaving  a  sense  of  mystery  and  emotional  depth  for  those  left  behind.

★  book  a  reading  ★  ★  masterlist  1  ★  ★  masterlist  2  ★

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Okay so thought would Astarion just be uber happy if tav is just clinging to him and is like let me stay here where it is safe for just a little longer pleaseee

I think I'm feeling the energy. And it's an actual drabble instead of a novel! Cw: In-game references, spoilers, but this is just some fluffy fluff fluff.

~

When Astarion made the decision to seduce you, it had been based in cold rationality. In the short time he had known you, you had proven to be intelligent, capable, attractive enough for sex to not feel like a total burden, and extremely hard to kill. Using a falsified relationship to wrap you around his finger was the easy choice for survival. And it did work, with varying results.

Because you provided many, many complications. Like the unfortunate reality that Astarion quickly had grown sincerely fond of you. Not only were you impressively competent, you were fun. Hilariously bitchy in a way that never failed to make him laugh. But you were still kind, kind in a meaningful way that Astarion was simply not used to.

It had felt like a shock when you were so adamant about his right to be his own person. When you didn't make him bite that drow cretin he was struck with the realization that you actually cared about him. What that thing had been offering in return would no doubt have been useful to your journey, but you didn't even give it a second thought. And Astarion wouldn't soon forget how you saying, "He said no," with so much conviction had sent a shiver up his spine.

Perhaps the whole event sent him into a tailspin that ended with him admitting his, in-hindsight, horrible plan, but it had been worth it in the end. Gods knows why, but you didn't abandon him when he revealed the truth. You just listened. You listened and opened up your mind for him to see just how much you cared for him. A care he perhaps didn't deserve, but one he would take. Even if he had no idea what the two of you were doing anymore.

But he did know that something shifted in your relationship after that, the birth of a new kind of trust. Apparently, Astarion hadn't been the only one holding back.

Because seemingly overnight, you got a lot more touchy. A facet of yourself that he really had not seen coming. Not sexually, no. You had been nothing but a dream when it came to understanding the hang-ups he had with that particular topic. But you did suddenly decide that you loved holding hands. You loved hugging him, for no reason at all. The two of you went from the occasional night together before parting ways to simply sharing a tent. And gods were you a cuddler. Every morning he would wake up with you wrapped around him, peaceful and at ease as you slept in his arms.

And... it was nice. Really, really nice. Astarion had always assumed that he would loathe being with someone who was so tactile. But it turned out when every little touch wasn't leading to mediocre and/or horrifying sex they were actually quite enjoyable. It felt good to have you so close, to know that you felt safe and comfortable with him of all people. Nice enough for Astarion to slowly get addicted to it. He wasn't quite sure when his favorite past time became reading while you laid on top of him, but he knew it claimed to top spot with startlingly speed.

Even now, with Cazador still looming, the tadpoles still squirming behind your eyes, worries and responsibilities abound, Astarion felt completely at peace. He was laying flat on his back on his bed roll, a book in one hand and the other carefully petting your hair as you dozed off; your body completely draped over him. He'd have to wake you sooner than later. Baldur's Gate was only a day's journey away now, and if you wanted to make it there before nightfall then everyone would have to get moving. He could already hear the sound of the others shuffling about.

He snapped his book shut, setting it to the side before he gently shook you, "It's time to rise and shine darling, Baldur's Gate won't be saving itself."

You mumbled as you buried your face into his chest, your words slurred, "Don't wanna. Too early."

That was another change with this newfound phase of trust. Astarion had become the only person who knew your little secret of not being a morning person. In the first few moments of wakefulness, you were at your clingiest, your whiniest, surprisingly your most honest, and arguably your most adorable state of the day. A fact that you actively hid from the rest of the group out of sheer embarrassment, but Astarion thought it was cute.

Not to mention that it made him feel special, oddly enough. That he was the only one who was allowed to see you like this; who could take care of you like this.

Astarion laughed at your response, "Tell that to the sun sweetheart. It's high-time we got going."

Despite his own words, he wasn't really doing much to move the process along. If anything he was hindering it when he wrapped his arms around you, only helping to make you more comfortable instead of less.

But then again, maybe he wasn't quite ready to let you go yet either.

You shook your head against him, your hands tightening on the fabric of his shirt, "Le'mme stay, just a little longer."

"That's easy for you to say when you're not the one to get Lae'zel's wrath," Astarion lightly argued, still making no moves to actually hurry this process along. But it was true, Lae'zel always blamed your lateness on him, her favoritism towards you blatantly obvious. The bitch. But at least she was a bitch with good taste, "I would prefer not to be murdered by a gith for being tardy."

But you were already back to being half-asleep, your internal filter completely disintegrated as you mumbled, "Feels safe here, with you. Don't wanna let it go yet. Please?"

Gods, how the in the nine hells was Astarion supposed to say no to that? He didn't. Instead the grip he had on you only tightened, the happy little sigh you let out at the movement striking him straight through the heart. He felt so... happy in that moment, through nothing more than the simplicity of holding you. Because you trusted him. You felt safe with him, which might as well have been a love confession in Astarion's world. It felt so good to have this, an intimacy that he'd been denied for centuries.

Astarion settled back, letting his own eyes close as he smiled. The others would get the two of you eventually, but until then he wasn't going anywhere. No, the two of you would be staying right here.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Word List: Psychology

more psychological concepts as reference for your poem/story

Mental fog - (also called clouding of consciousness) a mental state involving a reduced awareness of the environment, inability to concentrate, and confusion.

Metaworry - persistent worry about one’s own thoughts and cognitive processes.

Numbsense - the ability of some people who have lost feeling in part or all of their body to respond to tactile stimuli in the insensible area. Such individuals insist that they are not aware of any tactile sensations but can nevertheless discriminate between stimuli and point to where they have been presented.

Object love - in psychoanalytic theory, love of a person other than the self. It is a function of the ego and not the instincts as in object cathexis.

Oneirodynia - a form of dreaming characterized by nightmares or unpleasant dreams.

Passive joy - a feeling of extreme gladness, delight, or exultation of the spirit arising from a sense of well-being or satisfaction that involves tranquility and a feeling of contentment with things as they are.

Sauce béarnaise effect - a colloquial term referring to a conditioned taste aversion. If a person happens to become ill after tasting a new food, such as sauce béarnaise, they may subsequently dislike and avoid that food. Regardless of the actual cause of the illness, the sauce will be identified with it.

Sensitive soul - in the thought of Aristotle, the type of soul possessed by nonhuman animals. The sensitive soul has the capacity to receive and react to sense impressions but does not have a capacity for rational thought.

Symbiotic marriage - a marriage or partnership of codependency, whereby the individuals are entirely reliant upon each other for the gratification of certain psychological needs.

Synergic marriage - a marriage or partnership that is enhanced by the contributions the partners can make in satisfying each other’s psychological needs in a positive manner.

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Part 1 2 3 4 ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[butchvampireheimerdinger]

okay hear me out…butch4butch Sevika where Sevika is a power bottom???👀 reader is taller and stronger than her but very shy and intimidated by her🙈

Pairing: Powerbottom!Sevika x gentle giant-service top! reader

Warnings: ns/fw, fingering, cunnilingus, grinding/dry humping, smoking, mentions of violence, and horny lesbian activityyyy

Word count: 3k

A/N: Love you. Love this. You have come to the right place for this one, my friend. The lack of butch4butch Sevika content is criminalll if that woman has a type it begins with D and ends in Y-K-E-S. Anyways, how appropriate is it that my first fic is butch4butch Sevika smut. Checks out. (that being said, it is my first fic so you freaks betta be NICE) Now without further ado…

You Have No Idea

By ButchVampireHeimerdinger

It was the slow ending to an eventful shift at the last drop. Customers were in good spirits all night, likely due to a sudden influx of Piltie goods some gang had rattled up through more or less honorable means and was making its way through town. In any case, the energy was contagious and it had you, the buff and generally even-tempered server/bouncer, doing things you didn’t normally do. Like drink on the job — just a beer you had been nursing for over forty minutes — and fraternize with patrons. Y’know, other than the obligatory how are you, do you wanna pay out now or open a tab. Real actual conversations -- which led you to number three on the list of Things You Don’t Normally Do; you were hunched over the bar playing Texas Hold ‘Em with three regulars. Two were men, you didn’t remember their names, but they always came to the bar at about this time. A package deal — they snickered in your direction as a nearby shady-looking customer walked out on his tab.

“Hey, isn’t that your cue, tough guy?” The man gave you a patronizing sort of eyebrow raise as he dealt the next round.

Technically, it was. You got hired pretty much on account of your physique — you were 6’3” and a tank, always had been. Broad shoulders, biggest girl on the playground growing up, you gained muscle at the drop of a hat. You didn’t even try. But it was all for show. You were more of a lover than a fighter. Sometime in the first few months of the job the staff discovered you were better equipped to work inside the bar. Customers liked you because you were polite, a breath of fresh air from the culture of animosity that permeated the undercity. Still, it didn’t help your ego in situations like this. ”Hey, you don’t know what she’s got under her sleeve.” The third voice at the table spoke up. The right hand of Zaun. Sevika.

She had been a regular since before you started and probably would be long after. You had heard some pretty nasty stories about her and the things she was capable of. But when she came up to your counter for a drink, she came without malintent, always respectful to the waitstaff. It was disarming. Tonight, especially, your eyes lingered over her toned shoulders and sharp collarbones.You wanted to run your hands over them, to see how her body would react. And maybe it was the house IPA you had been drinking, but probably not.

Sevika gestured toward your dwindling pile of poker chips with her chin as she looked down, analyzing her hand. “Clearly, she must be the type to play the long game.” This earned her another light fit of snickers from bar idiots one and two, but they were easily impressed. You rolled your eyes.

Sevika raised two chips. The table matched. She spoke again.

“So, tough guy, do those arms of yours get you any female attention? Since you’re obviously not using them for any other tactile purpose,” her eyes traveled to the empty seat where the tab-skipper had been sitting.

You shrugged, suddenly warm and very aware of your body and not sure where to rest your gaze. “I get around.”

For some reason, tweedles dum and dee found this hilarious, and howls of laughter followed. You slapped your hand over your heart and feigned a look of deep hurt, to mask the bit of real hurt you were feeling. Yeah, it had been a while, but surely not long enough to warrant that response.

“Is it that implausible?”

Sevika chuckled and shook her head, but her expression was good-natured.

“Just make your move, Casanova.”

You had a full house. Three aces. Two kings. You matched, and didn’t raise.

Sevika raised, the men matched, and you folded.

The table revealed their hands and Sevika won the pile with a straight. Not a bad hand, but the round would’ve been yours if you had taken the risk. Sevika clicked her tongue, scolding you, which made your palms sweat. You averted her gaze and became suddenly interested in wiping down the bar.

Following your pitiful defeat, the two guys payed out, leaving the bar empty save for you, Sevika, and a couple stragglers who always stayed until morning and probably didn’t have anywhere else to spend the night. To your surprise, the woman beckoned you over once more. Something in your heart lifted. Something in your pants dropped.

“Blackjack?” She pushed the cards toward you, and her dominant sort of gaze made you feel, once again, compelled to do what she asked.

You won the first few rounds. Sevika was risky to a fault. If it wasn’t 21 exactly, trust she would draw. And she always made you the dealer, watching your hands intently, hungrily, even, as you shuffled. The third round was a tie, but she didn’t have anything left to raise.

“Tell you what,” she said. “You win this round and I’ll spread it around that I walked out on my tab, and you chased me down and kicked my ass for it. Should prevent other situations like our friend earlier, at least for a while.”

“Are my bouncer abilities really that pathetic?” You picked at the side of your nails. Sevika’s gaze pierced through you and you found it difficult to meet her eyes. But you didn’t necessarily hate the way her eyes took you in. Slowly and deliberately, like you were a battle map and she was trying to parse out her strategy.

“And if you win?” You looked up, all innocent. Maybe you imagined it, but your doe eyes seemed to rile her up a little bit. Something in the way her jaw shifted, the way she rubbed her flesh palm on her pants.

“Already planning for defeat? See, this is exactly your problem. You’re talking through a universe where you lose before we’ve even started.” She shoved her pile towards you again.

“Deal ‘em.” She commanded, you obliged.

“I’m serious! I just wanna know what I’m agreeing to. Fools rush in, and all that.” Your voice made everything sound like a question. With her, it was. Sevika was hard to figure out.

“You’re cute. If I win, I want…” The woman took a hit of the blunt she was holding and used it to gesture, her movements creating little loops of smoke that rose and dissipated. Her eyes followed them, and not you. For once.

“I want an hour. With you. N’ those arms.” You jerked while shuffling, accidentally knocking over your beer in your surprise. You picked it up quickly, hoping she didn’t notice.

“You serious?”

“Deadly. Fuck me up, Casanova.”

She won. Wasn’t even close. Three sevens, if you could believe it. As soon as you slapped the last seven down, you both shot up from the counter at light speed and she followed you to the back.

“A little eager, aren’t we?” Her voice was low and husky, but with a little something else.

“Sore winner,” was all you could think to respond. You shoved her lightly. She shoved you harder with her prosthetic arm. The two of you kept at it, pushing and shoving back and forth as you practically raced to The Last Drop’s back office. Play-fighting, like you were “one of the boys,” but it had a bit of a bite to it. Like you wanted to eat each other alive.

The office was hardly used except for the rare moments when staff wanted to crunch numbers. Or, of course, engage in extra-professional affairs like this one. That couch had seen some things. You fiddled with the key for what was apparently a moment too long.

“I’m getting bored out here, Casanova.” You looked into Sevika’s eyes through her thick brows, a couple inches below yours. You slammed your shoulder into the door and it gave way immediately, with a satisfying bang as it swung open. Sevika followed, grabbing you by the shirt as she brought your lips down to hers, hard, and kicked the door shut behind her without looking.

She dragged you toward her, her back pressed against the peeling drywall. Her tongue dragged against your bottom lip and something deep in your pelvis vibrated in anticipation. One of your hands reached up to the wall, to keep you both steady. Sevika grabbed your other hand and guided it under her tank top. You squeezed her breast, tracing over her nipple with your thumb. Your bodies pressed together and you brought your knee in between hers, rolling your hips forward and pressing your leg into her crotch. She moaned into your mouth. Like her voice, it was deep and gravelly.

You set a pace. Her hips seemed to agree with it, bucking upwards to get that friction where she needed it most. Her hands gripped your waist and hips as she started to manhandle you, making you move faster against her. Your kissing was frantic and sloppy, like there was anger behind it. Your lips shined with her spit, and you moved to kiss up and down her neck. She reacted with a throaty panting noise when you got to a sensitive spot — a fleshy and soft area where her jaw met with her neck. You twisted your head to the side and downward to get better access, to fully exploit that weakness. Without fully thinking through your actions, your sucking collapsed into biting. You drove your teeth into her neck and Sevika’s jaw shot upward as her panting became gasping. She grabbed the back of your head and pushed it harder against her neck to say what she couldn’t; more, more, more.

Your hands fumbled with her belt and she noticeably did not help you with it. It was like she got a kick out of watching you struggle. You finally got them unzipped and you reached under to start palming her through her boyshorts. She had already soaked through. Good.

You pulled away to look down at her again while tugging lightly at her waistband. You raised your eyebrows to ask, May I? Chin still tilted upward, she nodded, huffed out a “yuh” sort of noise, and hooked her leg around the back of yours to bring your chests closer, all rough.

You pulled down the panties and your fingers dipped into her folds. Sevika’s eyebrows knitted even closer together, if that was possible. You continued sucking and working that spot on her neck. Her lips were against your ear and you heard her panting grow more desperate, more melodic; whines and vocalizations mixed with the gruff and grainy rhythmic in-and-out of her breaths.

Your middle and ring finger sort of skated all around her entrance, just barely avoiding her swollen clit. You took in the sight — Sevika’s heaving chest, her eyes closed as she chased the pleasure you were giving her. Her moans grew to something not exactly desperate, that wasn’t like her, but deranged and shameless. She panted like she was breathing fire. And like she didn’t care if all of The Last Drop could hear her, even though they probably couldn’t.

The pulse of her hips grew a little more erratic and she shifted her legs like she was ready to switch positions. You gestured subtly with your head toward the couch, and she dragged you toward it.

The woman collapsed on it and rested her arms outward, elbows relaxed on top like it was a throne. She leaned as far back as she could as you helped work her pants and boyshorts all the way down until they dropped to her ankles. She pulled her shirt off with both hands, pulling it up and over from the back of the neckline. She threw the tank top to the side and all of the air left your lungs, as you took in the sight of her upper body. Where you were buff, she was cut. Unlike you, Sevika didn’t have the type of figure that was imposing simply by nature — her physique came from blood, sweat, and tears. She had the body of a bruiser, of someone who spent their life fighting. The Sevika before you made you realize why some of the patrons kept their distance. But it somehow made you want to get closer. It made you want to please her, and to be good at it.

Sevika had a manspread going and you dropped to your knees in front of her. But she wasn’t having that — not yet. With her flesh hand she grabbed you by the throat and dragged you up to her lips for another messy kiss. Your teeth clashed together and when your tongues made contact, you felt those butterflies low in your pelvis. You moaned into her mouth instinctively, and it came out higher and breathier than you expected. You felt her lips form a slight smile against yours and she released her hold on your neck, making you drop down to your knees. You were certain the impact must have shook the entire city block.

Breathing heavy, you went to start kissing and sucking at her inner thigh, but she tilted your chin upward to look at her. Breathless, she commanded,

“Take your shirt off for me, Casanova. I wanna see those arms while you… Yeah.”

You fought the smile forming and stripped for her. You took off your tank top and sports bra the same way she had — in one fluid motion, from the back. You were caught between a sudden wave of self consciousness and the urge to draw it out, to put on a show for her. You settled at maintaining eye contact as you subtly flexed for her, and placed your broad hands on her knees. Sevika smiled, all smug as she reached over to a nearby discarded vest, brought out the rest of her blunt, and lit up as her eyes poured over your exposed upper body. She inhaled deep using her metal arm, and with her flesh hand she traced over your biceps, satisfied.

All confident, you started on her inner thighs, taking your time. When your lips finally connected with her wet cunt, you heard her make a sharp exhale through her teeth. You kept going, first going over it all with a flat tongue, drinking in the moment, then using your tongue to explore her folds. Sevika let out a satisfied hum as you started sucking at her swollen, neglected clit.

That was when you brought your fingers up to her entrance, casually tracing, nothing else. That pissed her off.

Sevika slapped the top of the couch to get your attention. Your eyes snapped up to hers as she leaned forward to get all up in your face, with her signature sneer on.

“Did someone pay you to waste my time?”

You froze.

“That wasn’t rhetorical, I’m seriously asking you if some outside party with an interest in distracting me paid you to bring me here and do absolutely nothing with me.” You raised your eyebrows, eyes all wide and innocent. That made her groan, and she covered her face with one hand, your puppy eyes making her feel horny and desperate and a little guilty about snapping at you.

“Just. Fuck. Me.” She collapsed backward and you didn’t respond, just immediately did what she asked. You pushed your two fingers inside her without warning — hard. Again she exhaled through her teeth.

With your mouth, you continued giving her clit attention, and you pushed in and out of her, fingertips maintaining contact with her front wall, the one closest to you.

The sounds she made were pornographic, and it made you aware of the pool of slick that had established itself in the crotch of your boxers. Listening to her body, you gradually picked up the pace and you found Sevikas hand weave through your hair, grabbing you roughly at the scalp and pressing you closer and closer still.

Her face was angled toward the sky as she whined, her metal hand gripping the cushion tight enough to create what was probably going to be permanent ripples in the fabric. You brought her closer and closer and her grip on your head tightened as she bucked her hips upward, essentially fucking herself on your tongue and fingers. She occasionally let out a depraved vocalization that a trained ear might recognize as “fuck,” “don’t stop,” and “faster-FUCK faster.”

Until the pulse inside her cunt became erratic, and you felt a familiar tremor in her legs. You didn’t let up. You started fucking her deeper, with more pressure, using your tongue to play with her clit faster. Sevika’s thighs involuntarily snapped up to trap your head and you brought your hands up to brace them. Your tongue still moving as she cried out, loud and animalistic as she rode out her orgasm. Her thighs held you so tight against her pussy that you couldn’t escape if you tried, and the strength would probably have suffocated someone more petite.

Eventually, Sevika’s cries retreated back into deep panting and her legs dropped back to the floor, still trembling and spasming. She looked down at you, eyes half lidded, and gave you what could have been interpreted as a smile. She spread her arms back out on the top edge of the couch cushions, somehow still holding the half-smoked blunt. You shook your hair and a bit of ash fell out, which made you giggle. You were so invested in fucking her, you hadn’t noticed the active fire hazard against your skin the whole time.

With her chin, the woman gestured to the spot on the couch next to her. You settled in, your sides touching and your head leaning back against where her bicep was resting. She wrapped that arm around to bring the blunt to your lips.

“You can finish it, I don’t like the roach,” she said, and you obliged. You took a deep hit from her fingers and the last fiery bits assaulted your lungs, but you liked it. Sevika ashed it out on the couch, as if you hadn’t already desecrated it enough. You settled into a comfortable silence and she allowed you to lean your head on her pec, still uncovered. Until she spoke up.

“Promise me something, Casanova.” Her voice hoarse and gravelly from the earlier activities.

“Mm?” you responded. She wrapped her arm around you to reach up and ruffle your hair.

“Promise me you’ll never get good at cards.” You sucked your teeth and sneered back at her, giving her a hefty shove, which she gladly returned with equal force.

[jweekgoji]

Will you write for some Yandere!Orion Pax x reader? 👉👈

Yandere!Orion Pax/Reader [TFO/hcs]

tw: yandere themes, gn!cybertronian!reader, very brief mention of murder/death, mostly soft!yandere!Orion, overprotective, dependent behavior. word count: ~1000. a/n: i love making headcanons.

Orion is an obsessive, clingy and overprotective yandere that's for sure.

Orion is focused on you 24/7 in his mind, every time he's going out with someone else, he will constantly think of you. He's not having a fixation on you, like D-16 would with his darling, more like a thoughtful «I wonder if they will like it if I give it to them» or «if I COULD transform, I would be carrying them around everywhere!». His thoughts are mostly innocent, even though they often lead him to cause even more trouble. He will seek out a thousand risky stunts to do just to impress you, and he doesn't really care if Darkwing will beat him up because of it.

It is no secret that Orion is clingy. I already described it in other posts, and I will ramble about it again, but that silly guy does NOT know how to keep his servos to himself. Yandere Orion just can't comprehend the fact that you may not like it. You can find it weird, rude or just not tactile, and if he finds out, that's a pure torture. At first, he might find it funny and not take it seriously, you're probably in that «edgy, no nonsense and independent» phase some bots have, so he finds it his own personal goal to warm you up to him.

If you're somehow still adamant about it, I can see him trying to restrain himself from just squishing you against his frame the second he sees you in the same room with him. Cogless tiny Orion will be a sweetheart, so he always finds a way to satisfy his own needs without crossing the line. One day it's a simple touch on your shoulder, then he will try to hold your servo if lucky, and maaaaybe even give you a tiny peck on the cheek as soon as you look away from him. Touch is his love language!

Yandere cogged Orion/Optimus is a huge sweetheart but when he's tired and emotionally drained, the only thing he wants is to wrap his arms around you and hold you close to himself. Stay like that and don't say a word, it's not like you have a chance to escape.

Orion doesn't look like a person who thinks about his own safety. You will watch him running around Iacon from another trouble he got himself into, and he will even drag D-16 with him. Even though in his mind, it's for a better cause, If you're really close and dear to him, he also wants you to be the part of this adventure because he desires the better future for everyone and for both of you specifically. Together.

As Orion, still young, idealistic and naive bot, I never see him taking away your freedom. If you wish to tag along with him on the race, even though it's the most dangerous thing ever, especially with both of you not having any t-cogs...he will gladly accept it! As yandere Orion always cares about your well-being, but it's never the boring «I will lock you up just so you will always be safe» type of overprotectiveness. He neglects his own well-being to the point where he will gladly lose an arm or a leg if it means protecting you, and he doesn't care that he might die because of it.

You should constantly remind him to check Ratchet at least for once, but he will jokingly dismiss it since he's more concerned about that tiny dent on your frame. How did you get it? Do you need him helping you to polish? Orion already drags you to medic, meanwhile he is standing there holding broken metal pieces of his own body and like “that's just a scratch!”.

We all saw how Orion got protective over Elita once she was fired by Darkwing. His first thoughts are "yeah, I will NOT let that slide" even though he is two times smaller than their supervisor. Orion is a fighter for justice, for his darling he's a true gentleman, or...tries to be at least.

He's not that type of yandere who will murder someone if they hurt you, because his own beliefs are strong and unclouded. Yes, in the heat of battle, when it's either your life or the life of the enemy, he will never hesitate to end them, but even then he feels guilty about it (especially if we talk about young Orion/Optimus). If he actually ends up hurting someone, he will be devastated, and might as well take a long time to process it all.

How did it happen? How could he let this happen? He fights for freedom, for everyone, no matter if they're enemy or not, they all deserve at least a one chance for redemption. There will be a time when Orion blames himself for it, it corrupts his spark slowly, to the point where he thinks of himself as unworthy of you.

As much as Orion is an inspiring, he's self-conscious. The more not-so-happy events you go through together, the more he becomes dependent on you. You're a part of Orion's life, he can't shine brightly without his little satellite.

Yandere!Orion would constantly need you by his side. It doesn't matter where he is going, as long as he is with you. During his lowest moments, he wants you to reassure him and give him that comfort that will keep him at bay. He didn't mean to hurt anyone, but that worry and spark of rage blinded him, leaving his own servos dirty in the stranger's energon.

Young Orion is one of the softest yanderes to deal with. He still has to learn a lot about his own place in this world, his motivation, and his strength. Everything felt so easy when you were just two cogless bots, but the more time passes, the harder it is to deal with more complex feelings. Jealousy, disappointment, and regret. At the end of the day, you're the only person to keep him sane and not to collapse from the responsibilities on his shoulders. The problem is, it is too hard to get rid of that dependence.

[ms-demeanor]

I don't even really get the impression that if you were domming someone there would be anything "motherly" about

Yeah no I'm much more likely to be projecting semi-detached professionalism. If I'm domming I'm not really there for roleplay, I'm there to supervise you while you're locked down and squirming. I talk like tech support when I'm in a scene. "Not too tight? Good. I'm gonna take the vibe up two settings, yeah? Okay, great, I'm gonna leave that there, snap your fingers when it's getting to be too much; we'll keep ramping it up until you have to tap out." I like being unaffected and in control while people are losing it and I am not particularly tactile or into being touched or getting off while I'm doing that.

Which is great if you like to be dehumanized and objectified and hand yourself to me like you're taking a car to a mechanic! Less great if you're looking for a lot of praise or comfort or physical contact in the moment.

[icantspellthings]

Sulu and Chekov in TOS piloting a whole ass starship with just unlabelled buttons and no steering mechanism is already batshit crazy and wildly impressive, but honestly, I feel like from TNG onwards changing the control panels to touchscreens probably makes flying the starship shittier and even more insane.

At least with buttons, there's tactile feedback from it. You know you're pushing the button because you feel it, and you can rely on muscle memory because the buttons are always at the same place. Meanwhile, a touch screen is literally just a flat slick surface, imagine trying to fucking fly away out of a fight and oops your finger slipped and you've accidentally fired your phasers. Oh no, my palms are all sweaty under a high-pressure battle with hostile enemies, and now my touchscreen is freaking out because there's liquid on it, oh shit my sweat just imputed flight pattern alpha-elpsilon-gamma 24 and we're gonna crash straight into a romulan bird of prey. Oh fuck star fleet just updated my software and the buttons are now a different size and all rearranged I literally can't fly this shit anymore.

The stupid little touch screen next to the captains chair is even worse! Oh no I leaned on the armrest a little, and now we're on red alert, and I've jettisoned the pod.

[artbyblastweave]

In regards to Worm, have thee thoughts on Aegis? In general but also more specifically do you think there is a good way to describe the ultra stacked redundancies but specifically not on the fly adaptations?

If I squint I can sort of see why Wildbow picked him as a potential protagonist successor, in that as far as I can recall his described WOG trigger is basically just a completely physical version of the same kind of bullying she was on the receiving end of. Would have been interesting to see a version of the book where he was around concurrently with the Slaughterhouse and with Bonesaw more specifically. As far as the naming convention thing goes.... I don't think there's necessarily a good way to collapse the more involved description of his biofuckery into a punchy descriptive phrase in the vein of "Tactile Telekinesis." Sometimes you just need a paragraph containing a metaphor in order to accurately convey what a superpower does, and it often does bug me when people try to come up with wikia-style titles for extremely niche powers. Worm itself pokes fun at this impulse in arc 8 when it has a PRT grunt refer to Skitter's power as "arthropodokinesis-" motherfucker, that term did not exist before your boss decided that you needed a more-official-sounding way to say that she can control bugs. You are conveying negative information compared to just saying she can control bugs. And you aren't gonna run into enough guys who can do "arthropodokinesis" that you'll need a general term for it. All you're really conveying- or attempting to convey- is the impression that there's a term for this, that the institution knows what it's looking at, and implicitly that they have a playbook for it (they don't.) Great beat.

[luveline]

I love the KBD universe 🩵🩵. It’s so soft and comforting. Idk how you always write such gentle slice of life moments that stay soft even when there’s moments of conflict.

I was rereading the series, and in one scene Steve asks reader if they wanna make out, but Avery comes in before they can. Can I request a scene where they do get to make out (nothing super spicy) and spend that time with each other? I know it’s got to be difficult with four kids.

kisses before dinner —you and Steve languish in some rare alone time. mom!reader, 1k

"Hello," you whisper.

He looks up in surprise, eyebrows lifted. That surprise quickly melds to a soft-boned happiness as you sit in his lap —he's splayed sideways on the armchair, and you have to sit sort of sideways on him to meet his eyes. 

"Everybody's sleeping," you say, brushing a stray strand of hair from his eyes as the TV light paints him a blur of multicolour. "Even Wren." 

He looks up. "How'd you do that?" 

You told him to relax for a bit before bath time. He must've gotten distracted by the TV, which he doesn't often get to watch lately, and so you hadn't really minded. Full time childcare is exhausting. It comes to something when you're nearly happy to go to work, though coming home every night is still what you wait for, and it's thanks to him that you can drive home in excitement.  

"I'm multi-talented." You nestle your way under his chin, his arms curling around you as though they have a job to do. Firm. Immediate. "Wren went down like a miracle. I only had to rub her back." 

"Avery?" Steve asks. 

Avery's under the weather, so you let her skip bath time and tucked her in, sending her to sleep with little more than a forehead kiss. Beth was similarly eager for bed, knocking out after half of a story, her hand insistently in yours. Dove, in contrast, took three times as long to settle, but was convinced by the pad of your pinky finger as it traced up and down the bridge of her nose. 

"Tactile creatures, your girls," you murmur. 

"Where do they get it from?" he asks as he begins to stroke a quarter circle into your back. "Tokyo Olympics called again. Team USA needs you on their roster." 

He's declaring you impressive for such a feat as tonight's solo bed time. "The answer's still no. I don't think anyone wants to see me in a leotard." 

"I do," he says, kissing the top of your head. His lips soft, his voice the same, he hugs you closer still. "I so do. You look nice in everything." 

You could fall asleep like this, in his arms, his lap, your face drifting down his chest as you curl into his warmth. There's nowhere else you'd rather be (besides possibly bed, but even then you'd need it to be with him). "Thanks, Steve." 

"You're welcome." 

The room is quiet. The house stirs and rain lashes the darkened windows every now and then with the indecisive winds, whistling through tree branches far away. You shiver at the sound and Steve sets your goosebumps right with bigger strokes of his hand, a familiar up and down pressed into your back. Pressure to distract the senses. 

"Thanks for doing bed time." 

You wave it away. It's nice to be appreciated, but in the face of everything he does you don't want any thank yous tonight. "I just wanted to spend some time with you." 

"Yeah?" he asks, sinking lower into the armchair, the majority of your weight following down onto his abdomen rather than his legs. 

"I really…" missed isn't the right word. You missed him while you were at work, and time spent with him and the girls is just as worthy and sweet as time alone, but that doesn't mean you can't want both. "I've been thinking about you." 

Steve doesn't flinch at your odd wording, the opposite. He knuckles trail loosely to the small of your back, a smugness to the curve of his lips as he smiles, and says, "I've been thinking about you." 

Steve usually looks handsome. You've seen him bedraggled, dishevelled, and exhausted, of course, but he puts a majesty into nearly everything he does. He can take a plate down from one of the kitchen cabinets or hike one of your sweethearts onto his hip and you'll remark to yourself about how pretty he looks. This isn't taking into consideration how attractive you find his heart (that list is endless —compassion, dedication, loyalty, etc). The stuff you love about Steve goes on and on and on.

You curl a hand behind his head and card through his hair, not sure what to say. His eyes meet yours. "They don't have a word for how much I love you, H." 

His voice rasps with a low pleasure, "I could think of a bunch for you. Only if you want. I'm smart like that." 

Your lips twitch. "Please," you say, giving his scalp a playful scratch. 

"Endlessly," he begins. "Eternally. Overflowingly." He leans forward to touch your noses together. "Fuck," —he laughs as he searches for another— "started so strong. Uh… infinitely. A whole fucking lot?" 

"Loads." 

You both laugh, the heat of the others breath like a phantom of a kiss between you. 

"Loads," he agrees. "Wickedly." 

"Deviously?" 

"Ambitiously. A shit ton." 

You kiss him gingerly, not worried he won't kiss back but wanting to stay in this moment for as long as you can. "Love you loads," you say against his lips. 

With your eyes closed you can't see his expression, but you can guess at what he's doing. Steve likely has his brows sewn together, a grimace on his lips that might suggest the opposite of what he's feeling. 

He acts like kissing you is the only thing that he could ever need, that this intermission is painful but absolutely necessary. "I love you," he says. He whispers your name, raising his hand to cup your cheek. His marriage finger rubs a mindless little shape into the soft skin under your eye. "I love you." 

You wrap your arms around his neck and hook him closer, smiling into a second and much less ginger kiss. 

[suzukiblu]

AND! Tim/Not Kon! Carefully navigating a relationship with someone you created to replace your dead best friend, but fell in love with as themself!

“I think you made me kind of a slut, man,” Hunter muses, which would probably not have made Tim choke quite so hard if Hunter hadn’t been speculatively dragging his eyes up his body while he said it.

The part where the other’s draped over the nearest weight bench in this Titans Tower training room and wearing literally nothing but running shorts and sneakers isn’t helping either.

Also Hunter definitely needs a haircut because his hair grew down past his shoulders in development and he didn’t want to cut it after, but Tim is just not emotionally capable of dealing with the barely-restrained curly ponytails and half-ponytails and man-buns he’s been wearing. Just–not even slightly, no. Not even a little bit. 

“You are literally a virgin,” Tim says inanely, trying very hard not to drop either his bo or his literal entire brain on the mats. “I–what? What?” 

Hunter shrugs; rolls onto his back on top of the bench. It leaves him bent backwards over it, back arched and head upside-down as he skims a hand up his bare stomach. Hunter is, somehow, even more tactile and hedonistic than Kon ever was, which Tim is very suddenly being reminded of. 

He debates the merits of panicking. Or maybe, like, running for his life. 

“I said, I think you made me kind of a slut, man,” Hunter repeats, like that’s the part that Tim was trying not to drop his brain over. “Like, either libido-wise or uploads-wise, I dunno.” 

“Wh–I didn’t put anything like–I didn’t–” Tim half-sputters, and the crushing depression that’s taken over most of his life since everyone died on him and Bruce disappeared and Dick gave Robin to Damian is possibly actually just too baffled to be crushing him right now. Hunter gives him a lazy, half-lidded look, tipping his head back a little farther on his neck. His throat is . . . his throat is very, very exposed. And thick. And long and strong and stubbled and– 

Nrgnk, Tim thinks, very faintly.

He did not ever look at Kon’s throat and think things like that. 

He is definitely, definitely thinking those things about Hunter’s, though. 

“Oh my god, you fuckin’ sad-ass wet canary, I don’t mean I think you did it on purpose,” Hunter snorts in exasperation, rolling his eyes like Tim’s an idiot or something. Tim is not an idiot. Tim is actually, like, reasonably intelligent and–he made Hunter. That required being pretty damn smart, actually! Really damn smart, actually! 

. . . and also unfathomably, unfathomably stupid, admittedly. 

“Then what do you mean?” he asks warily, because Hunter is about a month and a half “old”, except also more like nineteen, and has already decided that he does not give a single telekinetically-flying fuck about things like social graces or social filters and it’s frankly a miracle that nobody’s killed him for that yet. Or, uh. Tim. Or killed Tim for that. 

Cassie definitely thought about it, he knows. 

Seriously, though, just–as bad as Kon ever was about anything, Hunter has definitely actively decided to be worse. Which is admittedly a very “Kon” kind of decision to make, except also just . . . absolutely nothing like Kon, at the same time. Hunter literally does not even care that Superman exists, for one thing, and has about as much interest in wearing the “S” as Lex Luthor does, but also does not care Luthor exists either. Like–impressively does not care about either of their existences, in fact. 

Tim might have, uh, overcompensated a little while trying to make sure the “Kon” he was making wouldn’t have as many issues about his gene donors as the real one had, but also Hunter might just be that goddamn contrary. It’s unclear, at this point. 

“Oh, like I keep thinking about fucking climbing somebody,” Hunter says. “Like, literally? I’m pretty sure I could do it literally. You know, could float a bit if I had to, whatever.” 

“I mean, you’re very, uh–tactile,” Tim attempts awkwardly, really not knowing how to approach this conversation. “And still only have about five minutes of experience with actual human contact, but also teenage hormones? So wanting to, uh–be tactile with a lot of people isn’t necessarily, you know . . . uh.” 

“I meant I wanna climb somebody specific, Wet Canary,” Hunter corrects dryly, rolling his eyes again. “Not like, literally everyone I know. Well–okay, also Starfire and Nightwing. But like, Starfire and Nightwing, so can you blame me?” 

“I plead the fifth,” Tim says, since that is his sort-of-brother and his sort-of-brother’s situationship that Hunter is talking about right now and he just . . . he just needs the plausible deniability there at least, okay? And also does not have the time to have a sexuality crisis right now either. Like, that’s just not going to fit in his schedule, despite all Hunter’s–Hunter-ness being a thing. 

“Maybe also Red Hood,” Hunter muses speculatively, drumming his fingers on his stomach. Tim . . . does not know how he feels about that. At all. Either the fact that Hunter is talking like he’s actually attracted to guys, or the fact that one of the guys he apparently finds attractive is Jason.

“You know he literally beat me half to death once, right?” he reminds him. Hunter smirks at him. 

“Yeah, and I bet he looked hot as fuck doing it,” he says. 

“. . . . . . I plead the fifth,” Tim mutters. Hunter drops his head back even further on his neck and cackles. Tim does not think anything about his throat. Like–definitely he does not. 

“Also I would definitely sit in your Bat-daddy’s lap, if you guys ever figure out if he’s dead or not,” Hunter decides, nodding to himself as he says it. 

Tim falls off the mats. Or like–the floor, maybe? Like–that’s just what happens, yeah. Hunter laughs at him again. 

“I hate you,” Tim mutters extremely feelingly, attempting to just . . . just attempting, maybe. Literally he does not even know what he’s “attempting”, except maybe to not to have a heart attack at eighteen and a half. 

“Aw, too bad, ‘cuz you literally made me so therefore you did this to yourself,” Hunter replies with a broad grin. Tim definitely hates him. “Maybe you should work on all that self-punishing shit, man, you coulda made a way nicer guy than me.” 

“I was trying to make Kon, that really would not have happened,” Tim retorts dryly, and then wonders when exactly his dark humor got this dark. Well–logically, it would’ve been somewhere around all the dead people and all, he guesses, but still. 

“Really, because literally no one has described that dude to me as anything but, like, a socially-awkward marshmallow who was just constantly fronting whatever overbearing ‘please like me’ behavior he thought would work,” Hunter says, giving him a wry look. “Literally. Literally no one. I think the dog thinks he was a marshmallow, in fact.” 

“Right, and you’re so hardcore and edgy over there,” Tim says, eyeing him briefly. 

“I mean I’m capable of, like, things like saying ‘no’ to people who aren’t active supervillains actively trying to murder somebody not me,” Hunter replies reasonably. “So I’d like to think I’m at least, like, nougat or something. Maybe a caramel.” 

“You are not even Nutella, Hunter,” Tim says, and Hunter laughs again and then rolls back over and shifts up to straddle the weight bench, his thighs very . . . thighs about it. Tim tries not to be a weird little freak about said thighs, but in no way is he not a weird little freak about said thighs. 

Jesus, why are they so thighs. 

Hunter leans forward, bracing his hands on the end of the weight bench. Tim pretends to be oblivious to the existence of the other’s pecs and that big broad grin he’s back to wearing. It’s not like he’s not used to seeing totally different people wearing that face, between Kon and Match and literal Superman, and also like . . . Superboy Prime, fuck that guy forever, but Hunter still manages to look just a little bit more different than that, somehow. 

Tim literally does not even understand his own brain sometimes. Or at all, maybe. 

“I just keep thinking about doing the climbing, is all,” Hunter says. Tim forces his incomprehensible excuse for a brain back on track. “Like, the specific climbing of a specific somebody, mostly, but still a lot of climbing in general. And also how to convince said somebody to teach me how to have sex, like, in a way that is not the high school-level sex ed course somebody uploaded into my brain. Though like, that’s also a thing I keep thinking about.” 

“That doesn’t sound like you’re a slut, that sounds like you have a crush on someone,” Tim says, a little perplexed. “Or, uh, a psychosexual obsession with. But let’s hope for ‘crush’.” 

“Oh,” Hunter says, looking pretty perplexed himself. “Huh.” 

“The part where you’re perving on Nightwing, Red Hood, and Batman might be a little much, though,” Tim says dryly, mostly to move the conversation along before Hunter says anything that–

“Well, yeah,” Hunter replies with a shrug, leaning forward a little heavier on his hands. “”Cuz they’ve all got that same Bat-vibe somebody’s got.” 

“. . . what,” Tim says. 

“I really did not think I was being subtle here, dude,” Hunter says, raising an eyebrow at him. “Like, at any point.” 

“I literally made you,” Tim says, staring at him in disbelief. 

“Yeah, do you wanna maybe try some daddy kink and see how that goes?” Hunter asks, cocking his head with a thoughtful expression. “I feel like maybe we could do something with that.” 

“Asdfghjk,” Tim says, and falls off the floor again. 

“Like, no pressure, just asking,” Hunter says with another shrug. 

Okay, Tim thinks. Maybe Hunter’s right, and he did kind of make him kind of a slut, one way or the other. Like–maybe. Possibly. 

And maybe Hunter is also right about him having done this to himself, considering.