#also I'll touch back on the masks thing later

[princessisfinethx]

Monster!König x Fem!Vet!Reader! Pt. 4

Perspective change cause the whole Monster!Konig thing gets on my nerves...

Warnings: None, just some light fluff and Monster Konig discovering things.

I'm slowly building up like, how he came to be what he is, and such. I don't think I'll go into details on how I think he was created. But I'll try to fill in gaps and such. I have a wicked crazy idea for later but I have to build up to it *insert the rubbing hands together evilly, here*

König never rode in the actual passenger seat of a vehicle. Last time he was in a vehicle he was hog tied and in the bed of a truck. So this was a nice change no matter how nervous he was. You, decided to show him everything inside your little car to try easing his anxiety. You show him how the windows work, how to turn the A/C on and off, hot and cold. Showed him the radio, the lights inside the car, the seatbelts and how to fasten them and then how to release it. He was intrigued, his tentacles curiously winding and rolling together.

König kept the window down the whole way to your house. He didn't enjoy any of the music so you both listened to the wind as you drove. Your house was secluded in a wooded area but near one of the parks. You had a decent sized home. It was a two bedroom, two bathroom house that had a lake down the hill from it. When you both got out the vehicle, Konig had walked straight to the lake to take a closer look.

You followed him down to the lake and put your hands in your pockets, smiling a little. "Is it as big as the one you live by?" You questioned as you looked up at him. He looked around carefully before finally answering.

"No. It seems like the one here is smaller. And is not connected to any other stream. Why?" He looked at you.

"Oh, well it is connected to a separate stream." You walked a little further and he followed. He watched as you pointed to a small area where the trees opened up, but it was across the lake. "There. The lake is by some camp grounds but there's a stream there. We can visit it later if you want." You look back at him. "But for now, would you like to help me cook some dinner?"

He could feel his tentacles shifting under his mask and he shifted his jaw. But he nodded and followed you back up the hill.

Entering your house was different from the vet hospital. First off, it smelled better. The smell didn't burn his nose. Instead he was surrounded by an artificial smell, something he knew had to have been produced by human. But he didn't find himself hating it. It was a background odor for him to ignore. For now, he inspected your little home. You watched as he wasted no time in looking around your home and gently touching things that fascinated him. You smile a little, curious about his curious nature.

He stopped when he saw a tank near the hallway. It was a large 50 gallon tank but filled with dirt. Some netting surrounded the interior and he looked closer, trying to understand what it was doing here. You came over and opened the top. "Would you like to see my pet hermits?" You gently pulled out a small hermit crab. It had a pretty but spotted shell. "This is Babes. She's pretty nice but she pinches sometimes." You gently set her back down and grabbed the other. "And this is Brownie. She's shy but she's also pretty nice." You held up the other hermit, who had a brown shell on. He couldn't see the hermit but he nodded.

"You name your food?" He asked, puzzled. You laughed in an almost panicked way and shook your head.

"They're not for eating! They're my pets. They were being sold by this man on the side of the road, so I take care of them." You set the hermit back into the terrarium and turned on a small dim lamp for them. "Konig, what all do you know about humans?"

He was surprised by this question and he looked around your living room. Konig had many ideas and assumption about human beings. But, he was worried how you would react to his dislike for most people. He shifted and looked down at you. "Well, they're odd. They keep other animals as 'pets', they burn their food before eating it. They also hate me. When most humans find out about me, they scream or try to hurt me." He watched your reaction carefully. "You're the only human that has not tried to hurt me."

You felt your heart drop at this, and he could see the frown on your lips. You nodded then asked him, "Well, I never saw a reason to hurt you because you didn't hurt me." You smiled a little. "You're also living in the hunting county. So maybe most people just think you're buck or some wild animal...I don't think most would purposely-"

"They do." He stopped you. "They know what I am." He looked away and you felt your stomach drop. You stepped a little closer and reached out to touch his arm. He flinched but you only touched him with your fingertips.

"I'm not going to hurt you. And I'm not going to let anyone try to hurt you. You're not a human being but you're not a monster either." You smiled at him. "C'mon, I'll start cooking for us and I'll tell you about some human traditions."

~~~~

"So, you allow yourself to sit down and let other humans hurt you, for hours and hours, so that you will have lines marked along your skin? Because you like it?" His eyes were stuck on the tattoo you had on your arm.

"Well, that's harder to explain. Some humans really like it, the pain, Some find it comforting and others find it excruciating! It depends on the human. But the reason is also a lot to explain." You sipped your tea. "Some humans like the looks and styles. Some want to have a picture or a design on them to remember something. Like, if someone close to them has died, then they may want to get their name tattooed onto their arm or hand."

He nodded and leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. "And you got this to remember someone?"

"No, I got this because I liked it, and I've always wanted to get a tattoo to see if I liked it." You smiled and shrugged your arm. "You can touch it if you want. It's been healed for years now."

He reached out and pressed his large hand on your arm. He was surprised it was smooth there, expecting a bumpy or rough texture. His fingers trailed down your arm to where the tattoo ended and he quickly retracted his hand. "I see."

You watched carefully as your heart sped up. He had a gentle touch, but you could feel his strength in it. You smiled and nodded. "So yeah, but um, I could also tell you about birthdays. Can you guess what those are?" You stood up and went to the stove. You opened the pot and stirred the food inside. Beside you, Konig walked over to lean back against the counter. You noticed he would stay close to you ever since you brought him inside and it made you smile. He reminded you of a small kid, in a sense.

"Birthdays. Is this a day where many humans are birthed alive?" He asked with all seriousness.

You giggled and looked at him. "That's a good guess but no, its usually just one person. So a birthday is the day a person was born. And usually every year they would celebrate it with people they are close with." You hummed. "My birthday already passed, but since I live alone here I just ate a slice of cake and watched a movie." You tapped your finger on the counter. "So, a birthday party is just celebrating that the year has passed and you've lived long enough to have surpassed it."

He nodded and looked at the pot of food. "And how are humans born?"

"Humans are born like, in a live birth. The mother has to pass them through her uterus." You thought about this and made sure he understood. "And human babies are born small and have to be taken care of most of their life. Until they reach adulthood. How were you born?"

Konig thought about this then answered. "I don't know. I only remember living in the lake all my life. My earliest memory is when I was smaller. And I found a small human who was my size. He was clinging to a log and was crying." He itched his neck as he recalled the memory. "I swam up to him and he screamed more. I couldn't talk so I tried to show him I could help him get back to the shore. I guess he understood, because he stopped screaming and he nodded his head. I knew humans didn't breath underwater so I kept him above water. After I got him to shore, he said something to me but I didn't understand." Konig stopped talking and then looked at you. "That is all I remember."

You pouted and tilted your head. "Well what happened after that?"

He shrugged and continued. "He ran away. So I left. I had to hunt for food."

"...Maybe he tried telling you thank you." You suggested. "But, that was a very nice thing you did for that boy. I think you probably scared him but, still. You saved his life."

He shrugged, looking down at you. "Perhaps." He watched as you lifted the spoon from the pot and blew on it. Then you carefully held up the spoon.

"Here, taste this." You said as you held it up some more.

He eyes the food sample before reaching up and dipping his fingers into the spoon, then shoving them under his hood into his mouth. He made a face before shaking his head and then taking a step back. "Ack! What is that? Why is...there's so much-..." He moved his mouth before he looked at you. "Why does this food have so many different tastes?"

You tried to search your brain to figure out what he meant. Then it clicked. "Oh! Flavor you mean? Um, there's spices in it. I used oregano, thyme, basil, paprika, turmeric..." you then tasted the food as well. "Hmm, it tastes fine to me. But I guess you've never had this before? Seasonings I mean."

"No, I've never had these 'seasons' before, on my food." He saw your quiet giggling and he felt his tentacles twitching under his hood. He disliked that he enjoyed your giggling.

"That's a crime in some states." You chuckled and turned the pot off. "Would you like some more to try again? If not, I could grill up some of the fish you gave to me." You wiped your hands on a towel and walked to the cabinet to grab two bowls.

He watched you as you reached up to grab them. His eyes wandered down you back and he felt his chest tighten so he looked away. When he looked at his own arm, Konig suddenly asked, "Who was that man with the dog? He seemed to be mad at you."

Your eyebrows furrowed at the question that seemed to come out of nowhere. You put the two bowls down and looked at him with a concerned look, but it softened. "That was Simon. He was upset because I wouldn't go out with him." You then looked at his healing dog bites as well and frowned. "He's usually a nice man, but he's pushy, and he has some problems. I don't like him because he can become violent when he doesn't get what he wants." Konig asked you to explain what you meant by 'asking out someone'. "So, that means to date someone." When he didn't understand that, you felt your cheek heat up. "Like, when one human wants to get to know another human but more personally, and maybe perhaps intimately. They go on a date, or go out and learn more about each other."

He felt his eyebrows furrow in a slow understanding. "Like, he was trying to mate with you?" His eyes widened. "That is why he brought you those flowers?" His back straightened. "He tried to force you to accept his courting item."

You put your hands up as if to calm him down. "Hey, its not like that. Humans have different ideas from 'mating'. I think anyways..." You chewed your lip. "Like I said, humans go on dates to know each other better before they decide to mate. And humans can decide if they don't want to continue or not. And I refused him."

He listened to your explanation and he nodded. So, human mating rituals were different than his. As he suspected. It was just additional steps. "This sounds like a long process for humans."

You smiled and nodded. "I couldn't explain dating to you tonight. Its too long and complicated. But, I'll fix you some food and I can show you a movie on the tv. Sounds good?"

Konig nodded a little, even though he wasn't sure how a movie or a tv worked. And he would have to ignore the crazy tastes that were in the food to please you. You already worked hard to make him this human dish, and he wouldn't make you work anymore.

I had to find someway to end this cause I wrote too much. There will be more. Obviously. I had a night of free time so, here's your late night snacks. Hope yall enjoy...

Next chapter will have more interesting subjects.

[janeways-coffees]

Oh man, Beloved wanting to go back and get Fitz's corpse, just like fitz needed to go back and see Beloved's corpse... the Fool's Fate parallels...

[theoxenfree]

IMPOSTER

possessed scholar!husband x reader |3.9k| 18+

In an unforeseen act of self-preservation, your family marries you off into an exorbitantly wealthy family, to a reclusive and reticent scholar who provides you little affection. He is suddenly called away for the handling of his late uncle's final will wishes and estate. He returns to you not himself, and with unquenchable lust.

warnings; dead dove do not eat; extreme dubon, explicit sexual content, mentions of (not explored, not described): orgies, heatplay, robbing a mortuary & drug use, masturbation w/ metal dildo, mirror sex & masturbation, hypnotism, power imbalance, murder, body horror, gruesome imagery, classism, detail & prose heavy, roughly proofread.

this is a concept piece, possibly preluding a full story! if you have any interest in having me build a larger piece out of this concept, PLEASE reblog + interact and let me know! I'm only going to go forward with it if folks express interest!

read to the end for author's notes!

In the airless dark of your bedroom at night, you knew the man lying next to you under covers was not your husband. Once he had been, but now he no longer was.

The revelation had come to you before noticing the stillness of his broad frame in bed, certain stiffness which seemed more alike to rigor in a days old corpse rather than a man wrapped in the comforting spell of deep sleep.

His breaths were silent, if he even breathed at all, reminding you of childhood where the floorboards wouldn't creak so loudly if you sucked all the air out from your lungs into your throat, snagging it, holding it firm. Suddenly, you'd be lighter; effervescent; floating across the wooden slabs towards the kitchen past midnight, or out the front door during the years where testing your parent’s patience and fraying the head maid’s nerves was your favorite thing to do.

You’d learned later on, after the loveless vows and complicated legality behind joining your two families, that your husband had a knack for slipping away at night as well. Only, he wasn't at all the sort for flirtatious gallivanting and loquacious rendezvous with secret lovers in dim rooms, smells of mildew masked by a numbingly sweet, perfumey fog.

He was reclusive and reticent; one of those outstandingly brilliant scholars who believed the rest of the world was below him because he hadn't found an equal in conversation or thought. Social obligations—no matter the occasion or person—pained him to where he intentionally brought you as a buffer between himself and whomever was trying to speak to him.

Some of the talk was so astronomically beyond you that parroting the long-winded answers he spoke softly into your ear back to his audience made you burn under the collar from embarrassment and his proximity to you. His peers could not understand why he simply wouldn't talk for himself; meanwhile, they also wondered why someone without their level of formal education had even accompanied him.

At night, he became one with darkness and retreated to the depths of his study across the massive house you shared together. It was part of one of his family’s various estates dotted across the country and his favorite, due to its location near the university where he worked (at his leisure), and its closeness to his only relative he actually cared about.

“My uncle—he has passed. Of complications caused from tuberculosis, I've been told. I was the only family member placed in his will, therefore it falls to me to settle all remaining affairs he may have overlooked,” he said, letting you help him into his heavy, wool coat he left on a hook near the front door. At his side was a hulking suitcase; one he often used for trips that were days—weeks away from home, from you. “He was a far more private man than I, so there's no telling what I'll come across while I'm there. I cannot tell you how long I'll be away. I'm sorry.”

You expected nothing less from him. This man who had only ever touched you once, on your wedding day. He did everything that he was supposed to: tonelessly regurgitate scripted vows he committed to memory, hold your hands, and kiss you at the altar for more than two seconds but less than five, and then gently lead you away once both families were pleased with the performance.

Right after, now as newlyweds, he poured bourbon into exquisite crosshatch crystalware and examined the glistening amber under wan lamplight. He apologized for kissing you, that he wouldn't have had at all if it hadn't been so important for your families.

At the time, it made you feel very ugly and undeserving of the silk and ornate lacework decorating your body. The gold band fitted around your finger was a lofty symbol of acquired wealth, heavy and unforgiving.

“Write to me every once and a while,” was all you could think to say at present, managing your composure well enough as he gripped the handle of his suitcase and leaned into its heftiness on that side. “It'd just be nice to know how you're doing. If you find anything interesting. When you'll be coming home. It gives me something to look forward to.”

“I'll try to,” he said, but looked through you, pierced you, as though trying to see something else. You saw this look most often at events or parties where he'd fixate on a specific point (usually you) and seem to recede inside himself, into his thoughts, perhaps trying to dissect them or make them congeal into something linear.

“Uncle was an eccentric man. There's no telling what he's left behind for me to find. I must go. Be well, my dear.”

Once again, he left you behind without remorse.

Four months passed with agonizing, gripping slowness from the crisp mornings of late autumn into the icy vise of winter and a shimmering white-blue landscape outside your windows.

In those days, you occupied yourself as best you could with guests and alcoholic merriment, whisked yourself away to parties and dinners after wringing out the invitations from friends, and spent many sleepless nights sprawled across the floor beside the fireplace coveting self-pleasure.

You imagined it was your husband there with you, immediately a renewed man after his return and finding you boundlessly desirable, fucking you with his cock rather than the freezing metal dildo you thrust inside yourself.

Even once you were finished, fucked out by your own hand and the object gaping you wide, you kept masturbating until you lost sensation, the motions and metal numbing you inside—until the intimacy and thrill of self-discovery had lost meaning to you.

Sometimes, you were found the next morning by a maid like that: thoroughly debauched with the phallus having rolled away nearby or still shallowly pressed inside. You only needed to threaten her livelihood once for her to never speak of it, pretend each time she hadn't witnessed a regrettable case of personal depravity.

It'd eventually become a frequent enough sight to her that she knew better than to look directly at you when she entered the room. Rather, now, she carried a laundered pair of trousers in with her. They were draped neatly over a bent arm, along with a warm and soapy rag in her hand, which she used to lightly clean you of dried fluids. Afterward, she helped you into the new garment.

“You have received a letter from the Master,” she said unexpectedly one morning, after fastening your pants and tucking your blouse inside them. “It's strange, though, because it doesn't feel like a letter. Not enough… substance. Shall I open it for you?”

“No! No, that's alright.” You took the long, pale envelope from her once she revealed it to you, realizing that she was right. There was nothing to it. Light as a feather, but completely sealed on the back with his personal emblem hastily stamped, or more appropriately, smeared, with red wax dribbling away from center towards the bottom of the envelope as if sudden jerkiness had unsteadied his focused pour.

You flipped the thing front to back several times, testing the way the opposite ends fluttered from nothingness within, and glanced aside to your maid.

She looked to be just as thrown.

“You're sure this is from him?” you asked, bemused. “Who delivered this?”

“Why, a courier on horseback, of course!” she said with conviction, so you knew she wasn't lying to you at that moment. It wasn't her habit to weave tales to get a rise out of her employers, anyway. “I even spoke to the courier for a while because I made a comment about it being so light. He wasn't sure about it, either, but the description of the man who hired him matched the Master almost exactly.”

You had found a letter opener on the desk nearby and made a quick cut under the wax to break the seal without ripping the envelope itself.

“Almost? What does that mean here?” you raised the intact flap with the messy seal attached, freeing all of the residual tracks of wax from the paper so that they fell to the hardwood below like pebbles shaken out of a shoe after a stroll through the yard. “The man was either my husband or he wasn't.”

The maid tried to subdue her intrigue of the envelope, turned, and moved onto bunching up the soiled sheet you'd spread out on the floor last night. “Please don't misunderstand. It was him. But, the courier described him as ‘a very interesting and friendly fellow to converse with’.”

“What?”

You were responding to two things simultaneously right then: what your maid had just told you, and the fact that the only content inside the envelope was a single shred of paper torn from an unlined journal.

The maid fluttered back over to your side as you plucked out the slither of paper, letting the envelope fall freely from your hand to the floor. Leaning into your proximity, she read aloud the same three words that your eyes skimmed:

“Father Marius DuMonde.”

Just as you had done before with the envelope, you flipped the scrap back and forth as though trying to magically flip something into existence. Your husband's handwriting was recognizable in the lettering, but it was impatient; scrawled across a page in one journal in his vast collection like he hurriedly walked past, and then ripped it out.

Nothing else was revealed to you in the seconds after, nor in your long, contemplative stare.

“Who is that?” you asked the maid to alleviate a fast yawning gap of uneasiness beginning to make you fidget and fluster. “A priest?”

The maid beamed in awe of your fast deductive skills and nodded eagerly. “It would seem that way! The city has more places of worship than it does homes for the hungry and sick. Although, I suppose a church offers some of those services.” However, the lightness sank out of her face when you didn't reciprocate that enthusiasm whatsoever. “You’re unhappy? What's wrong?”

“My husband is a scholar. A rigid man of science,” you said, bending over to pick up the discarded envelope to closer examine the disastrous wax seal. “He denounces faith in all forms. Why did he write a priest's name to me?”

That maddening thought followed you for days afterward, sufficiently distracting you from all the regular vices you'd come to rely on to fill the void of your husband's absence. Fulfill the needs he'd never tried to meet even while he was around.

You spent your days brooding in the window seats in whichever room was warmest, molding against their domed shape while leaning a cheek flush to frigid glass, eyes bloodshot and watering against the sun’s searing neon reflecting off of a lawn of undiluted, glittering white.

Seldomly, a finch or small vermin would come into your view—hopping or lunging through the snow, making tracks, digging holes, disturbing your beautiful wonderland and almost arousing you into unreasonable outbursts which then inevitably became the servants responsibility to contend with, should any be nearby to provoke you.

It was the early evening during one of your normal watches, just after dinner and a glass of red wine, when a great clamor carried swiftly to you from the foyer of the main entrance. The servants’ voices were a feverish amalgam of nonsensical babbling, high-pitched, and accommodating in a way that made you think of groveling dogs with flattened ears, wagging and tucked tails, bellies upturned to their masters.

“Come! Come quickly!” called your maid from the sitting room door, her shrill, excitable voice a violent jostling in your head, scrambling your thoughts and anger with it. “Master has returned! He's asking for you.”

You delayed the reunion, waiting several minutes after she had gone before standing. You realized that the anticipation you felt swelling in your chest, rising like growth—a malignant tumor into your throat, thickening your tongue and fouling your taste and smell, was because you were uneasy, haunted by the cryptic message he had presumably sent you weeks ago.

A while later, you entered the foyer to see most of the staff had already dispersed and the ones left behind were your husband’s most loyal. There among them, speaking so unremarkably, so casually in a way you'd never witnessed, was your husband. His good spirits and animated gestures as he handed off all his things to many hands were an odd sight, staggeringly unlike his typical dour.

So, the rumor was true. There was something discomforting in that.

Whatever topic he'd been engaged in fell wayside once he took sight of you: standing, waiting, subtly shifting your weight, picking your overgrown cuticles to remedy how nervous you truly felt in that moment. You'd always been a little uncertain of how to deal with him as he was hardly affable, but this—

“Oh my… there you are, my sweet!” his voice was exactly the same, but his way of speaking was too jarring, almost lilting. Unnatural. No one else seemed to notice. “I was worried you may have been cross with me for being away for so long. As it turned out, uncle had far more beneath the surface to find than I once thought. But, all is well! The old man has been laid to rest forever. The estate is in the right hands. I've come back to you.”

Could this man really be your husband?

He came to you in brisk strides with a certain clumsiness to the way he moved, somewhat off. You thought about seasoned drunkards who could walk along a path, but never on a straight line without gently swaying on and off of it. Mostly in control, but never so well to appear normal.

But, you didn't detect that stiff, hot, fermented reek of alcohol on his breath nor any subtle odor sticking to his clothes as he gripped you tight in an embrace. The only one he'd ever given you. Where you should have been over the moon in joy at his profound change in heart, the little sweetness was like an anchor—arms of a sinewy willow pinning you to an even stronger trunk.

“God, you're breathtaking.” He even sounded winded as he spoke, lifting your face up with both hands to see his dark, dark gleaming eyes. You startled from his cold touch, fingertips pinpricks of pure frost and ice as they pushed into your skin, but you felt trying to reach much deeper than that. “Come with me, my love. Let me show you just how much I've missed you.”

As if fantasy had become real, he fucked you relentlessly that night next to the fireplace, consuming you so completely that every orgasm made your insides churn in agony.

He laved at you with his entire mouth, tongue and teeth hardest at work while his hands bruised and fondled you, fingers thrusting up into your tight hole oozing his saliva and your arousal. It was shameful to think that it took this sort of handling from another person to get you off, squeal like a sow.

He fucked you however he could, wherever he could. Rutting you from behind and against furniture, pressing your bare chest flush to frosted over window panes to make your nipples erect and ache from the cold biting them.

Then, you were settled on his lap in front of a mirror hanging adjacent across the bedroom, his thighs spreading you wide open before your own reflection where you watched his cock plunge deep, filling you to the base of his shaft, balls slapping your sticky skin.

“Touch yourself, darling.” His throat rumbled, turning over stones and shards of glass, overall sounding very husky. There was something of wheeze that trailed the end of his every word, like he’d been patched for a long time. “Touch yourself. Watch yourself while you do it. Fuck yourself like the whore you are.”

Although the things he said were horribly uncouth, unbefitting of a man of his status and who you'd known him to be, there was great allure in hearing him, obeying his wants. You'd only had one glass of wine that evening, but your head and body warmed and buzzed like you'd had several.

His voice was a raspy whisper in your ears, seeping deep into your mind; spreading; fitting the grooves of your brain like the slow sprawl of sap through the gaps in bark. You were hardly yourself those minutes, those hours onward where you witnessed your reflection stroking throbbing parts, moaning, weeping, cumming until it hurt, and then doing it all over again.

The person in the mirror seemed to be someone completely different, whether simply disassociation from yourself or some hallucination evoked by exhaustion and ecstacy. Your husband had faded into the background, his voice creating sounds and noises, holding the cadence of language while seeming entirely unprobable, unknowable to you.

You couldn't understand him, yet you could, and the things he said were vile and disgusting and moralless. He told you of every way he'd like to fuck you, watch you be fucked; but, mostly, he wanted you to fuck yourself with the bulbous bedposts, the metal phallus held under lashing flames to be inserted next to his own cock.

He suggested orgies where the servants could take turns with you. He had almost convinced you to call for your maid so he could watch you suck on her breasts and lick her clit, while he rammed you from the back. He suggested drugs and whores, robbing the mortuaries, and worse and worse and worse and worse…

The next morning, you were stiff and immobile, bedridden unless two servants came into your room to help you squat on the commode. Your abdomen was tender and your genitals were untouchable, forcing you to lie in bed without undergarments to alleviate the raw chafing that could happen with fabric.

“I'm sorry, my darling. I—I lost control of myself. I got carried away,” your husband confessed later on, his sallow complexion keeping a weird, waxy sheen to it. A mask that fits, but not quite perfectly. Some of his former somber nature had returned to him as he sat on the edge of your bed, caressing the side of your face. He was still ridiculously cold. “Forgive me. I never meant to hurt you. I didn't realize just how desperate I was to see you again until you were in my arms. And then—and then, it was like it was all a dream.”

You thought the very same. You could believe he forgot himself in an uncharacteristic blaze of lust, as men were never taught to be any other way, and most men couldn't fathom the level of restraint he’d had until last night.

Everything else, you'd wanted to believe, was simply imagined after drinking more than you once thought and getting inside your own head full of sinful indulgences.

Still, one thing bothered you: Father Marius DuMonde.

“I need you to go to the city and find him. And show him this paper. Explain to him everything that you know, you hear?” You'd handed your maid the old envelope and scrap of paper, and handed her a generous bag of coins from your own safe.

She looked at you, everything else, in bewilderment. “Don't ask questions. If you're able, bring him back here. Beg him if you must. If it's all nothing, he will simply be an honored guest we feed well, house, and send off gracefully the next day. Should it be something…”

“Are you afraid of him? The Master?” asked the maid, perhaps out of faithfulness to him. Perhaps out of devotion to you the most. “What do you think happened at his uncle's estate?”

It would all be speculation and unjustified gossip without proof, of which you had none. So, you told her that you couldn't be sure of anything right now. “Wait until sundown. Take the old pony in the stables, the one that usually lags behind all the rest. Be silent. Be careful.”

The maid did as you asked and left right before the final light was extinguished by indigo nightfall. You were able to move to one of the windows, seating yourself gingerly, watching her lead the sluggish old pony into cover of tree tops and then nothing else.

But, five days later, the maid hadn't returned from her mission, nor had you received any correspondence from her, nor the priest that she was supposed to retrieve.

A week after that, it was revealed to you that neither she or the old pony had made it out of the woods. The details of the old pony were so gruesome you couldn't bear to remember them.

But, the maid was found nearly decapitated, head twisted around to face backwards, her pale skin hideously purple and black and swelled where it had been stretched like a strap of wrung leather. It was mentioned she had been disemboweled as well, but you promptly burst into tears and ran from the room before the visiting coroner could finish speaking, leaving him to discuss the rest with just your husband.

That night, you lay next to your husband in bed. The deep silence of night filled your ears with static and crunching cotton, whereas a hum resonated inside your head, your chest, seeping into your bones like a cold blanket of rainfall.

The black air took on weird shapes: imagined appendages curling, reaching across the ceiling towards the bed, towards you. Your eyes couldn't focus enough to ward them off, nor the depth of dark your husband's silhouette had at your side.

He was faced the other way, his clothes back to you, completely unmoving. You ventured closer to listen for the thin breathing of sleep, the automatic rise and fall of his body, and yet he could've been mistaken as one of the dead. As dead and gnarled as your maid.

“Who are you?” you asked him. Asked the swirling nothingness in the room. “Where is my husband?”

“You've nothing to worry about, my sweet,” he said readily, so clearly anticipating to have your voice ring out at some point in the night. “He is here with me. Such a selfish, unlovable man. I am the one worthy of this vessel and you. Not he.”

Then, he rolled on top of you and kissed you deeply. Your bedclothes were shucked from your bodies and he pushed your thighs apart to seat himself inside of you. He took you with greedy thrusts, face fitted against the arch of your neck where his breath left a moist film across your skin, but the rest of him was freezing.

Your whimpers of pains were dwarfed by his hot moans into your flesh, teeth suddenly sharper and sinking deep when he bit into your neck. You were trapped staring at the ceiling, wrapped in agony and pleasure, feeling his body under your fingertips beginning to distort and change into something far more monstrous.

a/n; this is heavily inspired from me reading the exorcist, recently. the section with the maid's head swiveled around was a nod to the scene with director having "fallen" from a height and dying similarly. a lot of my most recent reads have been extremely graphic, so my writing has been reflecting that and it's been interesting!

quick q&a!

is father marius dumonde the same father marius from your vampire priest fic? yup! if I go forward with writing the longer story, father marius will be a central character later on, and father shaw will make a reappearance as well.

what would the main differences be in a full story vs just this piece?

a) the husband would be given a more solid identity, appearance, and name. he'd have more depth to build an emotional rapport with his character.

b) existing scenes would be expanded, smut scenes grittier and more graphic, more development between mc and the husband, the maid would have a more important part and given an identity. essentially, most elements from this price would be fleshed out and expanded.

c) I intend to add a "mystery" element to this where mc tries to unveil what happened during the husband's stay at his uncle's estate.

d) I would open up multiple polls to help influence different aspects of the story such as the husband's name, appearance, overall disposition, whether the majority would vote for a happy ending with the husband vs the ending with the demon.

if you're interested in seeing a full story, make sure to reblog and share your thoughts with me!! I'd love to hear feedback on this to know what you'd like to see in the future!

[gxbbyhoneybadger]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write a Predator x reader?

Leads to smut (0u0")

Where he breaks into he readers house/apartment for safety, he looks around and his heat sensors pick up the readers body heat.. He notices she's mostly defenseless but searchers her for weapons.. in the process he's touching her everywhere then leaves. he comes back a few nights later to see her and then BOOM SMUTTY SMUT!

This. . . This is just amazing! Ofc, and enjoy the treat. I'm gonna use Scar boy from AvP, he's my favorite Yautja out of them all heheheh. This is also my first monster/predator smut so. . . Please do be gentle with the comments if u don't approve 🥹

A/n: the Yautjas can roughly speak human languages, I'm using this from the end scene of Predator (1987) movie. I'll give them a reason to speak as well, don't worry. There's a plot for that lol.

Mission XXXIV-XXXV

Pairing: !Yautja!Scar x !F!Shy!Reader

Summary: After making an escape from the Alien Queen, Scar manages to hide away within an empty home—not knowing who was still there and wide awake. After finding and searching the shy human to make sure that she was no threat, she was rather aroused by the strange creature's lingering touches. When he leaves, he can't get the woman out of his mind, causing the Yautja to run back to where she was just a few nights later to finish what he had unintentionally started.

Warnings: Blood and gore, death, adult language, eventual smut, gentle sex (Scar a horny mf but he's a gentle giant imo), size kink, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before ya tap it folks), fluff, anonymous ending.

Part 2

Minors DNI 🔞 18 below the cut

--

Many things happen for a reason, times of events line up for destruction or something wonderful. Not right now apparently, not for Scar. This was destruction, he wiped out the rampant Xenomorph younglings, now the Queen was left. She was raging with fury as she searched for the few Yautjas who were hiding and planning their ways to kill the unforgiving creature.

Scar was wounded—bleeding out the neon green substance from his left shoulder. He shouldn't have let his guard down, he could've spotted that one Xenomorph that leapt at him. At least he made it out alive, he'll make it back to his planet soon. He entered a home, it was dark but he used his mask to read the room. Everything was clear, before he saw the acidic burn on a book that fell onto the floor from the fallen bookshelf.

His guard was already on high alert, his weapon at hand as he slowly approached a broken door where he saw a tail of a Xenomorph lying lifeless. It was already dead, he scanned the room once more, this time using the heat sensor built within his mask. He caught the glowing body within the dark kitchen, the lights flickered on by her trembling hand. She seemed to stunned to even react by the giant watching her, her clothes were disheveled, a few cuts on her arms but not too much damage.

She didn't move from her place, still taking in who this was. "You're one of them. . ." She muttered before her eyes moved to the side. Scar followed her gaze and saw one of his fallen brothers dead in the corner, impaled through the chest most likely from the Xenomorph itself. His neon green blood coated his stilled chest and the ground beneath him.

". . . I didn't know. . . what to do. . . he tried to. . ." She whispered. Scar looked at the dead alien next, seeing that it's head and neck was severely wounded by one of the Yautjas weapons: A Wrist Scythe.

He looked to her and saw the weapon around her arm that she must've taken from the corpse to defend herself from the Xenomorph. "I-I'm s-so sorry. . ." She mumbled. His mandibles clicked as he lifted his hand and held out his index fingers, slowly circling his wrist—telling her to turn around. She read his silent command and turned around, dropping the Wrist Scythe she held behind her back as she rested her hands against the wall.

Scar scanned her body, reading the wounds she sustained as his large claws grazed over her smaller arms. His entire hand could wrap around her neck if he dare harmed her, but he was simply checking for any hidden weapons she may have carried. Gently letting his hands lower down from the sides of her breasts to her waist and hips, his large hands then clasped over her left thigh. The bridge between his thumb and index finger softly brushed against her sensitive nether regions.

She silently scolded herself to stop thinking about such disgusting thoughts, she didn't even know what this thing was or what was happening. Y/n was a shy person, not really out there in the dating or hookup life. But her thoughts were rather intrusive about this strange being that was touching her.

She felt her face heat up from the unintentional touch, he moved on and checked her other thigh—again, touching her nether regions. Palming around her calf before he stood back up and towered over her frame, his shadow completely swallowed her own. His large mitt held her left shoulder and turned her to face him. She followed his movement and let him scan her body.

He read her vitals and smelled something. . . Something rare for any Yautja to smell from a human, her very own arousal, her vitals showed that her heart was beating erratically, a sign of nervousness while her body heat rose significantly, her pupils widened as she looked away from him. She was healthy and stable, but aroused and nervous around him. Scar stepped back and looked at the fallen Yautja, Y/n slowly slid down the wall and sighed.

". . . Um. . . I. . . I'm Y/n. . . Not that, you'd need to know. . . or anything. . ." She said, Scar looked down at her, his dreadlocks hanging over his shoulders as he tilted his head. His mask translating her words into his own language, his understanding of the human languages and different types were vaguely known to his species. Only a rare few of Yautja elders knew the humans entire lot of languages by memory, no mask needed for translation.

Scar was learning bit by bit each day he spends on earth hunting down worthy opponents, and Bad Bloods. "You're hurt. . ." Her shying voice said, bringing Scar's attention back to her, "Your shoulder is bleeding. . . are. . . are you okay?"

Clicking his mandibles again, he grabbed the items he needed and started to clean his wound and patch it up. Y/n grunted as she stood up and wandered towards the dead Xenomorph, she watched it, lightly kicking it's leg to see if it really was dead. . . which it was.

After he finished patching his injury when he saw Y/n standing by the body. It twitched just a little bit caused her to jump back and squeak with fear, making Scar's mandibles click in a chuckling way at her reaction. She growled and kicked the body before looking at Scar who was checking outside for any sign of the Queen nearby. The coast was clear and he turned to pick up his fallen brother's body.

"W-Wait!" She gasped when he walked out of the door, he paused in his step and glanced at her as she stumbled out of her house while watching him with a tiny glimmer of appreciation. ". . . D-Do you have a name?" She asked him.

Scar didn't say or do anything as a response, he looked away and continued to walk away, leaving the girl alone.

~Three Days Later~

He couldn't stop thinking about her voice, her eyes, the shy voice and her smell. He refused to go back to her for three days, for those three days he still couldn't stop thinking about her. Her bravery to take on a Xenomorph, one that even a Yautja couldn't defeat.

His species never mated for life, they simply procreated to reproduce for their species. To grow more warriors for more hunts, their mating wasn't loving either. The females were known to be rough and quite deadly with the males, just making it out alive and injured was considered lucky after their mating.

But after that, they'd go their separate ways. Mating with others and every four hundred days, they'd all mate again for reproduction. But here was a Yautja, searching for the same female he had ran into by accident, a female who wasn't even a part of his species, no, of course, she was human. A species that was noteworthy of being their opponents to hunt and kill, perhaps even ally with.

But something. . . Something shined from this human, and it wasn't because of the thermal scan. This human, this female human of the human race killed a Xenomorph when one of his kind failed to do so. She wasn't a regular human, she was a warrior.

Scar quietly remained perched up in a tree as his scanners searched her house. The damaged parts of the house were cleaned up and repaired over the days, the light in her bedroom was the only thing on. There he saw her exit the restroom, wearing nothing but a towel around her body as she brushed through her semi-dried hair. She seemed low and lonely as she sat on her bed, not even hearing the camouflaged Predator entering her home.

~Y/n pov~

I turned and looked at my folded clothes to wear; it's been three days, whoever that creature was isn't coming back. I already know that's the truth, but it's so hard to accept. For those three days, I couldn't stop thinking about him. Those large hands, the claws, those dreadlocks and his large abs lining his abdomen. Fishnets on his legs, his large build, his tall height.

He couldn't be just six feet, he had to be close to seven at least. I felt stupid when I remembered how I touched myself last night, thinking about him in such erotic ways. I don't even know what he was or who he was, and yet there I was—finger fucking myself over him.

He didn't even answer me or anything, I don't even know if he had a name. I was more pissed off at myself as I stood to grab my clothes, I opened my shirt and sighed as I turned around. Gasping as I dropped the piece of clothing when my eyes landed on the behemoth in front of me. Him. . . It was him! He was here. . .

He was back. . . But. . . why? Shit, what is he going to do? Kill me? Finish whatever job he had to be here? He stepped forward and I couldn't move, I was either scared or really brave to face this giant. . . I highly doubt that I was brave, I was just petrified. I saw him raise his hand at me, was he going to strangle me? Break my neck? I closed my eyes and accepted my fate, maybe he'll make it quick.

But that anticipation was for nothing, I slightly gasped when his claw dragged against my cheekbone. I opened my eyes to see his fingers gentle caressing my skin with care, it really showed me how truly big he was. His hand could cover my entire face, I looked up at his metal covered mask, those dreadlocks were out of this world. Hesitance drowned my confidence as I lifted my hand towards him, slowly and steadily.

He didn't move or growl, that was a good sign. . . right?

I let the tip of my index finger brush one of his dreadlocks, he seemed to have shuddered from the contact. I moved my hand—thinking I did something to cause him discomfort, but that was debunked when his hand held my much smaller wrist. He brought it up to encircle one of his dreadlocks, it felt smooth, rubbery almost, fake to the touch. But it was real nonetheless.

"Y-You're back. . . Why did you come back?" I asked him with a stutter lining my words. I heard the familiar clicking come from behind his mask, I didn't understand what he was saying but I saw his hand lift towards the tubes connected to the side of his mask before pulling them out. A hiss of air was heard when his hand lifted the disguise.

I didn't know what to think when I saw his face, those large mandibles, sharp pointed teeth, sharp and deadly eyes. Never in my life have I seen a creature like him, this was an extraterrestrial level. Forget E.T, this guy definitely takes the cake. I lifted my hand and grazed my finger over his lower jaw mandibles, they clicked and spread open to reveal his teeth within.

I couldn't stop looking at him, but when I did I glanced at the towel I was wearing. My heart rate picked up as I argued back in forth in my head. What if this is truly the last time I ever see him? He'll be gone, what if he forgets about me? This is my only chance, I've never done this before, but this'll be one hell of a first time story for anyone to hear.

I closed my eyes and gulped before bringing my hand towards my towel, I looked back at the creature before pulling the cloth loose—feeling it fall down to my ankles and the cool air breeze across my bare breasts. I shuddered as the coolness, but kept my eyes on his. His clicking grew to a low growl, almost like a warning sign.

Did I read the signs wrong-? oh fuck! I can't even get a regular guy and here I am, not even getting a damn alien or whatever he was to—"Bee-U-Tiff-all. . ." His semi-audible voice growled out. I gasped at the wonder of his voice, it sounded like he tried to put the words together correctly, but with struggle of course. I grew a light smile as I placed my hand on his chest.

"I don't know. . . if you can understand what I'm saying but: you. . . are the most amazing thing I've ever seen walk the earth. . ." I said to him. His large calloused hand slithered up my arm and towards my neck, his thumb gently pushed my chin to look up at him. His large head tilted to the side as he used his unintelligible clicking to communicate to me.

"I don't understand what you're saying. . . But if you mean. . ." I glanced at my bed then back at him, I took his hand and led him near it before I let him go, crawling backwards on the bed and watched him, "If I'm misinterpreting whatever you're trying to say. . . Then I'm sorry. . . But if I'm right. . . Then can you. . . be gentle? I-I've never. . . did this." I mumbled awkwardly.

He seemed to have understood that rather quickly when he held my ankle and lifted it, like he was examining my skin before he rested his knee on the bed. Pulling me closer and spreading my legs, I whimpered at my exposed place. He's ten times my size, yet he's being gentle as he could be. Maybe this will feel good like my friends say.

~~~

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Not good! Oh fuck! I was laying on my stomach, my ass was perched up and this thing was hovering over my back while his unnatural massive cock was prodding at my unexplored entrance. His hands were locked on my waist as he rubbed himself against me, I mewled from the sensation, it was some sort of friction for me.

He was so big, I was terrified on how he'll even make it fit inside of me. I'll barely get the tip in alone! Without warning me, he turned me over on my back again and knelt on the ground. He held my thighs open before letting his forked tongue run over my clit—there I gasped as I clenched the bedsheets.

"Ah!" I moaned, it was a strange feeling, but it felt good. I heard his growling rumbling within his chest as his hands squeezed my thighs. I wanted to touch him, but I wasn't sure of what he was comfortable with so I kept my hands to myself. I felt his mandibles slightly dif into my pelvic area as his lower ones cupped the backs of my rear, his tongue then slithered inside of my glistening petals and through my cunt.

My legs started to shake when his tongue flickered over my clit as he started to tease my labia. I felt my sweat beginning to form over my chest and forehead, I started to feel the tightening string building inside of me. He fully plunged his tongue deeper inside of me and struck the cord—my back lifting off the bed as I bit my hand to not moan out loud. With trembling legs and the flash of white blurring my vision, I didn't even see or feel him turn me back over on my stomach.

But I did feel that initial sting when his cock pushed into me, I used my pillow to squeal into as he added more pressure. Slowly but surely breaking through my hymen, my tears started to sting my eyes as his hands pushed down my shoulder—making my chest lay flat on the bed as I endured it.

His cock was large, too large, it filled me up as he started to slowly thrust, each thrust made his length dig deeper inside of me. I choked on my whimper as he slammed against my cervix, "FUCK!" I screamed out. He remained still and lowly purred beside my head, not moving and letting me adjust to the sheer size of him. My knuckles turned white as I clenched the sheets, I whined when he slightly moved. He was growling while letting his hands touch my body, I felt his dreadlocks drag across my skin.

After a minute or so, he slowly pulled back and pushed forward. Filling me again, he surely reached the deepest parts of me. Mewls and gasps came from me as he continued with his slow motions, rolling his hips into me and growling, letting out snarls and purrs as he clenched my hips—his claws digging into my skin to resist the urge to go faster. I appreciated the thought, but was terrified if he did let loose on me.

"Ah, Ngh! K-keep goi-NG!" I moaned while hugging my pillow with tears. I felt my sweat beginning to coat my forehead and my back, I felt him lower down and lick the shell of my ear with his forked tongue. A whimper flowed from my lips when he picked up the pace just a bit, I could feel his balls hitting my clit just right. They were so big slapping against me; I choked on my air when he pulled me up on his chest.

He hugged my waist and started to thrust into me again, I reached towards one of his locks and brought it to my lips to kiss. He roared and started to grope my breasts while thrusting quicker, each thrust was heavy and deep. His scale like arms held me tight, his claws tracing over my nipples as his mandibles clicked right next to my ear.

My body felt like it was going to split in half from his cock, I was shocked by my moaning and my begging for more of him. I held his arm while I shut my eyes to enjoy this overriding pleasure, my orgasm was approaching as he continued to grind against me. He laid me down again and snarled—digging his nails into my flesh as he restrained himself, I bit the pillow and squealed when the ball tightening within me snapped.

My back arched as I pushed against him, moaning as I felt my desire squirt out of me. That white bliss glossed over my vision, leaving small black dots to see as he continued to grind against me. He didn't stop, his thrusting grew more intense as he clawed at the sheets to avoid harming me—I covered my ears when he roared out. Then gasping when he finished inside of me.

It felt warm, and thick—I could feel his thick desire coating the walls of my uterus and filling my cunt to the brim. His dreadlocks were dragging over my shoulders as he slowly got up from me, I winced feeling him pull out from me. I felt his cum leaking out of me. I felt so tired, drained of all my energy.

His arms gently turned me over, my eyes felt droopy, they started to close when I felt him cover me with a blanket and pick me up before his deep voice growled out, "Sc—aar."

Unaware of where he was taking me. I don't know how long I was out but I was still sleeping. Until I heard more clicking and snarls from other creatures near me.

_____________________________________

I hope you enjoyed the smut! Feel free to follow and request for ur own!

[eye-f0r-an-eye]

vessel's pre-venue jitters [nsfw - gn!reader]

-had to pause writing my lewis fic cause i listen to sleep token while i write and had a wicked idea pop into my head. now i can't stop thinking about vessel having mad anxiety before a show and the reader, who's also in the band, helping him calm down-

(i did not plan this out, i wrote it all on the spot, i just needed to get this out of my brain - i'm still prioritising my lewis fic)

word count: 887

cw: nsfw, swearing, sub!vessel, dom!reader, oral sex (m!recieving), reader's anatomy is not mentioned, no use of y/n, first fic posted! - author doesn't know what else to put here????

god i want him to mount me like thatfjsgtrwdsgvfyuiuh

you were a part of the band and served as a second guitarist next to iv, and you were always quite close to vessel - in ways that the others would always tease you about. although, you kept assuring them that there was nothing between you both, even when you used little petnames with each other.

you were searching for vessel right before a show to seek validation for a quirky idea you had about a little something you could do on stage. you never made rash decisions on the spot for fear you'd mess up the performance, very unlike the others.

you find vessel, still in one of the dressing rooms behind stage rather than getting ready to go out and perform.

you then notice that he's facing away from and has got his head against the wall, muttering small things to himself, and shaking slightly.

you approach to ask him what's wrong, to which he jumps a little, clearly not expecting you of all people to find him here.

"just... gimme a minute... get out there, i'll follow later..."

you're not having it. you make him sit down and notice the light sheen of sweat on his neck, which is already testing the integrity of the black body paint coating his skin. and he hasn't even done all his little dancey dances yet!

you ask him again what's up with him, kneeling down in front of him to appear less intimidating. he simply sighs. his shaky hands reach for yours, searching for that anchor to ground himself.

"just a bit nervous, love..." he mumbled as his hands interlocked with yours. "dunno why..."

you do your best to comfort him but none of your words seem to work, he always has a negative thought step in and frustratingly deflect your consolation with it's iron shield of self-deprecation.

as the time ticks quickly and you've now likely just less than 10 minutes before you have to go out on stage, and you definitely can't let him go out there like this. you need to release his tension somehow.

it's in this moment when you abandon your value of not making rash, on-the-spot decisions.

you slip your hands out from his, roll your mask up just above your nose, and begin make quick work of his belt, which ultimately made him panic a bit more.

"shit- w-what are you doing?!" he tried to stop you, but you simply swatted his hands away and began to shimmy his pants down his thighs.

you shushed him, telling him to just lay back and focus on the sensations. you assured him that you'd ease his nerves.

was it his fault that he trusted you?

he definitely goes commando under the costume, fucking fight me, i will die on this hill. he's also like 7-8 inches, yet you still believe you can take him all when you watch the length of it roll out like a red carpet.

you feasted on both his fat cock and the little moans you illicit out of him with stripe you lick up his long shaft, enticed as you witness him go from soft to rock hard after mere moments of you touching him.

your hand rested on his thigh while your other was tenderly fondling his balls as you suckled on his swollen, leaky tip. it was a struggle for him to keep quiet, who knows who could be lurking outside the unlocked door of the dressing room.

he could probably pass it off as him practicing his vocals should anyone have heard him.

his hand came up to nest on top of your head, gripping at the fabric of your mask as you slowly begin to take an inch of him into your mouth.

he struggles not to buck up and fuck the ever-living shit out of your throat.

you make quick work of him, taking as much of him in as you can, wasting no time in sucking him off. he softly whimpers out your name.

he finishes quickly with a loud stifled moan, you made it hard for him not to when you're bobbing up and down on his length like that, your tongue flattened, and your cheeks hollowed to optimise his pleasure.

he shoots his fat load deep down your throat, you swallow it all gratefully. your mouth pops off his cock, which is beginning to soften as he pants. he's certainly a lot calmer now.

however, he doesn't know if he could look at you the same while performing without getting hard again.

you may have eased his nerves but what have you done to his mind?

he tucks himself back into his pants, you pull your mask back down over the bottom half of your face, and you both leave the dressing room without uttering any words to each other.

vessel has a bit of a haze clouding his head while you regroup with the rest of the band, who are definitely smirking at you both for being gone until last second.

"you two snogging back there, or what?" iii teased you, making ii and iv giggle.

vessel was a little embarrassed, but he ignored it, finding comfort in the fact that they didn't exactly know what it was that you two were doing.

you simply told them to get fucked as you all began to flood onto stage.

hey, hoped you enjoyed this! i haven't read it over, i wrote it all on the spot and am now posting it. please let me know if you have any icks or recommendations on how to make this better!

thank you for reading!

-leo :3

[phntmeii]

♡ Dating Brahms Heelshire Headcanons:

❝ Come back! I'll be good! I will! ❝

[SFW+NSFW + No Gendered Terms]

NSFW Section Warnings: Stalking, Secret Voyeurism, Somnophilia, Non-Con, Dom/Sub Dynamics

A/N: Different fandom but same styled headcanons :) Brahms rattles around in this dome of mine nearly everyday so he had to be next. Also, first time doing NSFW headcanons so the writing may seem awkward just bc it’s slightly uncomfortable to write lmao

SFW Headcanons:

> Brahms's Main Love Languages to give are: Physical Touch and Quality Time.

> Brahms is obviously very clingy and needy. You can find him to be attached at the hip with you at all times.

> It doesn’t need to even be something important but he’ll be hugging you, holding your hand. Something. ANYTHING. So long as he’s by your side.

> He’s simply happy to be beside you because you’re his favorite person in the whole world!

> Now, this is where his bratty behavior can come out. If you brush him off or not reciprocate his excitement, he’ll pout and whine that he should be given your attention.

> Brahms will match his schedule to yours to ensure that he spends as much time as possible with you! Occasionally he’ll stay up for later but normally he doesn’t want to miss out on any chance while you’re awake.

> Incredibly possessive over you and insists you never leave him. He has massive separation anxiety and is incredibly nervous when you ask to leave to do some chores.

> When you get back, better believe he is NOT letting go of you for a good while. “Please don’t leave me again! You can never do that again! Stay with me here! Please!”

> I 100% believe that any source of romantic interactions that he’s gotten is from romance books. He pictures himself as the knight in shining armor and will try and mimic things he’s read in books.

> Cue him trying to hype himself up to offer you a flower from the garden to which you’re wondering why you have several weeds in your hands now at 8:00AM.

> He definitely cannot cook or clean but seeing you do it will encourage him to want to help you out because he wants to be useful.

> He ended up burning his finger on the pan and cried at the pain for an hour and insisting he needed to be kissed better.

> He also watches you as you get ready for the day with pure admiration. His eyes sparkle while you do skincare, makeup, put on jewelry or do your hair.

> He then will ask if you can do the same to him. (Do his hair or skincare, etc.) Brahms will keep happily still and follow each instruction you give so he can look just as good as you do!

> It takes a long while before he ever considers pulling off his mask. Whenever he gets food from you, he immediately runs off to go eat it so you can’t see him without his mask on. If you help him bathe, he will firmly insist his mask stays on.

> After some time, if you ask again, he’ll hesitate but give a slight nod to encourage you to remove it.

> If you shower him in affection and praise at seeing his face, he’ll be wide-eyed and stunned asking if you really mean it then pull you into a bear hug.

> Brahms's Favorite Love Languages to receive are: Words of Affirmation and Acts of Service.

> Brahms obviously feels most loved when he's taken care of. His needs need to be tended to regularly or else he feels as though he's being ignored or has done something wrong to have deserved such treatment.

> Cooking for him, bathing him, brushing his hair, cleaning his mask, etc. are things he'll happily watch you do with pure love in his eyes.

> And obviously because of his childlike nature and insecurities, he needs to be complimented and reassured often.

> He'll get all giddy and excited accompanied by slight stimming when he's complimented. It's like you can tell when he's blushing under his mask just by how openly he reacts.

NSFW Headcanons:

> When you first arrive as a nanny to take care of Brahms and he begins developing his obsession with you, he’ll find it more comfortable to watch you while you sleep.

> He’ll start by just watching from inside the walls, then to being in the room, then to sitting at the bedside, then finally, he’ll work himself up to touching you.

> He keeps gentle to not wake you but he gets excited by the opportunity to be this close to you and touch at your soft belly and chest. He fears you waking up so he’ll only caress your body for a bit before slinking back into the walls.

> Definitely has several peepholes all across the manor to get off to you. He finds it difficult to keep quiet. You swear sometimes you could hear some breathing somewhere in the manor but you can’t place it.

> Occasionally, you’ll find your clothing missing. It would take a bit to notice since it’s one or two things but you take to notice your laundry seemed more full than you last saw it and your drawers can be messier than how you left it.

> Once you’re comfortable with the actual Brahms, he’ll straight up ask to have your clothing for… “personal reasons”.

> Firmly believe he has no idea how sex works. His parents, once he was an adult, gave him magazines to scroll through but that isn’t an instruction manual to do anything. So you need to teach him how most of it works and what feels good and also what aftercare is.

> To keep all his needs satisfied, he was gifted one of those dolls. Y’know? It’s a miracle he hasn’t broken the damn thing with how aggressive he can be.

> Remember those stolen clothing items? Guess what doll is dressed in them.

> The doll he has customized best he can to look like you and he’ll use it while dreaming and fantasizing what it would be like to use you the same way.

> I know he’s commonly accepted to be a pure sub but I think he’s a switch (sub-leaning). He does want to please and have someone take control which is why he’ll let you take the reins most of the time.

> But, get him worked up enough or he’s getting close? He’s changing positions quick and fucking you hard and fast without restraint.

> Like—Doggy style while his arms are wrapped around you to keep you in place as he desperately pounds into you.

> He enjoys hearing praise for when he’s doing well. His eyes will look up to yours for confirmation that he’s doing what you asked for.

> It’s pure praise for him. Bby boy cannot handle degradation because he’ll take it seriously and be put off. So obvious pet names like being considered your “good boy” or a slew of other sweet names like “baby”, “honey”, “sweetheart” or “love”.

> Brahms is the type to not last long or for the average time but have insane recharge speed. Like he can go five times a day until he’s crying from sensitivity.

> If he’s straight up frustrated, he does not hesitate to just bend you over the nearest surface, yank your clothing off and fucking you to oblivion. He struggles with restraint if you couldn’t tell.

> He’d enjoy doing that in every part of the house by the way. Just to be reminded anywhere that he’s at of what your body looks like.

> CLINGS onto you like never before once you guys are done and puddled in sweat. Aftercare consists of telling him how good he was while he worships your body and apologizes if he's hurt you or went too hard.

⤷ divider credits: @cafekitsune

[bonny-kookoo]

More someone older smut drabble pls

When he wakes up, he feels somewhat.. anxious?

He slowly sits up in his bed to look around, checking the digital clock next to his bed on the small table twice just to make sure that he's truly not asleep anymore. Because this- just doesn't feel quite real.

There's faint music playing in his home, outside the bedroom. The smell of something cooking fills the room as well, dishes clattering a bit in the sink in the kitchen. He knows it must be you- he's aware that you're staying with him after all. But still.

This feels too much like his mind making things up.

The bedroom door opens slowly, your head poking in, before you realize he's awake. "Oh, you're up." You say, entering more openly now. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"Why did you get up without me?" He wonders, feet meeting the floor as he's moved to sit on the edge of the bed, making you giggle as you sit down on the bed on your knees.

"Cause.. I wasn't tired anymore." You shrug, reaching out to somewhat tame his slightly wild bedhead. "And I thought you might appreciate breakfast?"

"I do appreciate that." He smiles, before he catches you off guard by tugging on your arm and making you lay down, before he positions himself over you. "But you could've also woken me up." He chuckles before pecking your lips once.

"But you were sleeping so tight." You say. "Looked like you were dreaming."

"Hm.. I was." He agrees, kisses moving to your neck. "Of you."

"Oh?" You wonder, stretching your arms above your head for a second. "What were you dreaming of?" You ask.

"Things I'd love to make a reality one day." He purrs against your skin, before he releases you again. 'I'll shower real quick, alright?" He tells you, before he pecks your lips once more and leaves into the bathroom to shower-

And you're honestly not sure what makes you feel so bold.

Maybe it's that feeling of safety you have with him, this odd sense of security here in his home, as if nothing can really harm you in here. So when you move to enter the bathroom as well, shower already running with him inside, you don't feel any sort of hesitation as you shed your clothes and join him beneath the warm water.

It's a sight that easily makes him stir alive, remnants of his dream revived as he watches the water pearl down your skin. The way you easily touch and kiss him is making his head spin, making him forget about your past hesitation in its entirety.

This is how it's supposed to be. Easy, simple. No worries about what might be the best thing to do.

Just existing.

Your hand on him makes him gasp into your mouth, a sound you eagerly swallow, his back hitting the tiled wall of the shower. He manages to turn the steady stream of water up ahead a bit lower as you fall to your knees, the anti slip mat on the shower floor cushioning them quite a bit as you work on him.

It's now what his dream was about- but he's sure he could never come up with a scene as serene as this anyways, imagination not advanced enough to even think of this potentially happening.

Just like back at your place before, this time once more he's a slave to your actions. It's causing his mind to go blank at the way your tongue runs over the head of his cock, beckoning him further and further towards his release. And then your hands join in to hold and touch what you can't fit, effortlessly making the muscles in his thighs spasm as he spills inside your mouth with his head thrown back against the tiles of the shower, a hand in your hair.

He can't let this stand.

And he doesnt- returning the favor shamelessly so with both his hands and mouth, eagerly devouring you as his first breakfast before he later on sits at the table in the kitchen to eat his actual one, conversation innocent enough to mask over the things that went down not even long enough ago to dry your hair fully.

If this is a dream, he doesn't want to wake up. If all the Christmas decor and your words about baking later are lies, he doesn't want to hear the truth.

He wants to stay like this-

And he'll do anything to make it work.

[polin-erospsyche]

This post was inspired by a comment from an anon in my ask box. They mentioned that if the Queen hadn’t interrupted Polin's wedding, they could have had a beautiful wedding night (if you’re the anon and you’re reading this, hi! And also, I know this isn't everything, but I'll touch on the rest. Small disclaimer: this got long and I’m sorry).

I agree, that could have happened. But honestly, I'm really glad it didn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I would have loved to see it, but I don’t think it would have been good for them. The intimate scenes we did get tell an overarching story and serve a purpose in the narrative. We’ve been told that these intimate moments are a way for them to communicate, so let’s unpack that.

The first intimate scene is about them discovering each other in a new, intimate way, moving from friendship (which had already started to happen in the carriage) to a lover relationship. This moment is crucial for Penelope's story and character development. From this, she grows in confidence and self-awareness. She expresses this to Colin multiple times, such as when she says, “with the confidence you’ve helped me find this year,” and later, “You’ve taught me to hold my own. You have shown me I’m capable of pleasure beyond imagination.”

From that intimate scene onward, Penelope starts to come into her own power and that includes her sexual power. Colin shows her a level of love and care beyond what she ever thought possible, breaking down the belief system she built around herself. She was ready to sacrifice her dreams of being loved and held for financial stability, a mindset ingrained by Portia. Colin helps her see that this doesn’t have to be the case, chipping away at her long-held beliefs.

Let’s now move to the scene in the alleyway, which links back to anon’s comment. Anon suggests that this is the moment they start repairing their relationship post LW reveal. That following this scene they were in a good enough place to enjoy their wedding night if the Queen hadn’t crashed the party. Yes. And no. 

And oh my god how I’ve longed to discuss this scene but I never quite knew how to approach it. At this point in the show, the narrative is like a tightly wound ball of yarn with so many threads to pull at. So, let’s attempt to pull at them. 

First of all, they’ve entered a whole new playing field. And they’ve entered this playing field while being “the oldest of friends really” so they have ammunition against each other. Pen has hurt Colin by lying (hiding the truth from him time and time again) about her identity. She has let him go on and on about his despise of Lady Whistledown. About his dreams of being an author. These were things he told her in intimacy. Those were things he told his best friend and the person he fell in love with. Not the woman who hides behind her column and has done so much wrong to his family and loved ones. 

There is a separation between the two. For Colin, in that alleyway, there is still just Pen his best friend, Penelope the woman he loves and on the other side of that there is Lady Whistledown, the woman he vowed to destroy. He expresses that when he says “so then you do not need Lady Whistledown anymore”. What he fails to realise at this point, and he cannot be blamed for that, is that Lady Whistledown is an integral part of who Penelope Featherington is as a person. That her alter ego is not just a mask she wears but a crucial aspect of her identity, giving her a sense of power and agency in a world that often limits her as a woman. Something that Pen has slowly come to terms with when she says that she no longer needs to hide behind this alter ego but that does not mean there is no value in it, something that she also explains to him after the Queen has crashed their wedding breakfast. 

Now I say that he cannot be blamed for his refusal of recognizing that they are one and the same because he is still holding onto his misbelief, which is that to be loved and to have a value he must protect what he loves and be useful. Part of that is saving and avenging the people he loves from Whistledown. He has given his word to Eloise, to Marina indirectly, to himself and I’m thinking to Pen silently after what she’s written about herself. He finds himself, due to his misbelief, between a rock and a hard place: “the person he vowed to destroy is, in fact, the person he vowed to protect, and there is no separation between the two” (not me directly quoting myself lol). To this you add all the shame over his writing and his envy of her success and you have a recipe for disaster. 

So essentially, in that alleyway you have Pen who is already well along her character arc and Colin who is still gripping onto his original, unchanged self. This represents a power imbalance. What I love throughout this season, and I might write something about this one day, is that Pen and Colin are never quite on the same level both literally and figuratively. There is always one ahead of the other. This, in the long run, is another recipe for disaster because they are never quite equal. That is UNTIL that butterfly ball when they’ve gone through their character arc respectively. That is the moment they fully come together. They become a unit. They are no longer fighting against each other but with each other and for each other. 

But to arrive to this moment they need to do it separately. They need to be able to work on themselves before they can fully be able to work on their marriage. Genevieve says it well “there is no such thing as true love without first embracing your true self”. For Penelope that is becoming Penelope Bridgerton, an amalgam of the best parts of Whistledown and Penelope Featherington. For Colin that is deconstructing his hero complex and fully believing that he is enough just by being exactly who he is. And that has not happened in that alleyway. Truthfully the surface has barely been scraped in that scene because she essentially shuts down his demons for an instant by saying that she loves him. However, the issues remain. 

So yes, we can speculate all we want. If the Queen had not interrupted their wedding, they might have had a wedding night and they might have had a talk about everything afterward. However, the lack of acceptance of their true selves would have driven them up a wall at the next problem, which was how to handle Cressida.

And I think that is why Polin season is actually so beautiful. It is not just about Polin. It is about marriage and how hard it can get, and how you have to work on yourself to fit around the person you love without sacrificing yourself in the process. It is about choosing each other every day, through the ugly as well as the beautiful, through the hard parts as well as the easy ones. It’s choosing to have faith that you’ll work and figure it out without an assurance that it actually will, but if the love is there, then it just might. That is the story they chose to tell through Penelope and Colin.

First gif made by my bestie @polinsated 💕

[secretsandwriting]

Obsessed

Ethoslab x gn reader

Where Etho is sick and the reader is dragged in to take care of him

As per usual, I've attempted gn reader but I am used to writing fem so if I messed it up let me know and I'll fix it

(UNEDITED)

You weren’t sure why you were pinged by Gem to meet at Etho’s base as soon as possible, but there you were, landing a few steps away from Gem in front of Etho’s base. She turned around, clearly relieved to see you.

“Etho’s sick.” That wasn’t good but you weren’t sure why that required your immediate arrival, Gem seemed to catch on to your unsaid question. “He’s refusing to believe he’s sick and won’t let anyone help him. Tango said he’s way too warm to just brush it off, and since Etho listens to you a little better than the rest of us I asked you to come.”

“I don’t know if he will on this, especially if he wants to get back to his redstone.” You followed Gem into Etho’s base and found him arguing with Tango and Pearl, both trying to get him to lay back down while Etho tried to get past them to work on whatever he felt was calling his name. Which left only one method that would maybe work.

“Etho?” He whipped around and smiled through his mask at you. 

“Hey Y/n! Want to come look at my farms if Pearl and Tango would get out of the way?” You held up some papers. 

“Actually, I have some plans I’ve been testing for a farm but I’m not sure if I have the numbers right. Would you mind looking over them with me?” Etho paused and his gaze flickered between you and the papers.  

“Of course!” With that, your fate was sealed. Etho ushered you to the kitchen table and the papers were laid out and he started pouring over them, figuring it out in his head and mumbling it out. It didn’t take long to hear the effects of his fever. His rambling made no sense. Less sense than most of his redstone rambles. While he was talking, you gently placed your hand against his forehead. Etho froze before ever so slightly leaning against your hand. 

Tango was right, he was burning up. 

“Alright, that's enough. You need to get some rest, your fever is high.” Immediately Etho protested, “I’ll make you a deal. If you listen to what I tell you, I’ll take care of you. If you don’t, I’ll ask Doc too.” He weighed his choices. “Head to bed, I’ll be there in a minute with some things.” Etho jumped up and headed to his room, he was out cold when you went up three minutes later. 

You took that time to get everything you needed together and make some light food for when he woke up. Knowing full well a sick Etho would take advantage of any open second to get away and go back to work and once he started it could be almost impossible to pull him away. 

Etho was out until the next morning, and as predicted, he tried to escape out the window. Thankfully you had blocked all of them off so he couldn’t but he still tried. Begrudgingly, he accepted the tea and sipped on it slowly while he ate his soup. 

When you checked his forehead, he leaned into your touch more than he had the day before, he was also quite a bit warmer then he had been. Hoping you were wrong, you gently pushed his hair off his forehead and kissed it. It was worse, though you were pretty sure the sudden flush in his cheeks was not from the fever. 

Etho whined and complained when he was sentenced back to bed but immediately calmed down when you offered to read something to him. Settling down under a large pile of blankets he fell asleep to the fairy tale you were reading to him.

The next time he woke up, he was delirious and to make it worse, he kept trying to get up to go work on some redstone project. Nothing you tried would convince him to settle down and at least stay inside. 

“You wanna know what will keep me inside?”

“Yes Etho, I do!” Etho’s expression morphed into something you weren’t sure you wanted to know and he leaned a little closer to whisper to you.”

“A kiss, and not on the cheek, it has to be on the lips and you have to cuddle with me.” Oh boy, you had a feeling you knew how this was going to end.”

“I will give you a kiss on the lips and cuddle with you, if you listen to me and you can collect it when you're better and no longer contagious.” He pouted at the last part but seemed to accept it as he settled back down in bed and fell back asleep. 

Three days later, Etho was better and you left to go back to your base for the first time in 6 days. It was nice to finally shower in your own home, and it would be nice to finally get a full nights sleep again in your own bed.

What you didn’t expect was for someone to join you.

“It’s just me.” Etho. “I am here to collect my kiss and cuddles.” Of course Etho would remember that, why did you even agree to it i- Your thoughts were cut off by Etho pulling you closer to him.

“I’ve wanted to do this for years.” Etho whispered before closing the space between your lips. It was a short kiss, but damn was it good. You could feel the questions in the air, questions you weren’t sure if you knew how to answer. So you did the only thing you could think of that could possibly answer a few of them without having to find the words.

Placing your hand on his cheek, you pulled him back for another one. You could feel his smirk through your kiss and his arms tightened around your waist. 

“I didn’t know you were so obsessed with me.” He teased, before you could fire a response back he continued, a little more serious, “It’s ok though, I’m obsessed with you too.”

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 40 (Spending the Night)

cw: mid-level spice? 🌶️🌶️ (I'd call it low but I don't know people's thresholds. If there's an official simblr threshold for this kind of cw I don't know it, sorry! No actual nudity.)

Conrad's apartment in the Arts Quarter wasn't far from the festival grounds, and when they arrived, Gord greeted the flirty pair at the door with a friendly tail wag.

They took him downstairs and let him run around, ensuring he did his business before returning to the outdated suite Conrad called home. Gord raced to his spot on the small sofa in the open kitchen and living space and Conrad flashed a nervous smile.

He set his keys on a shelf laden with knick-knacks someone might have had in the last century. It looked a bit like a dingy motel room, like the ones Heather and her family stayed in on the way to their vacations in Granite Falls.

"I know the place isn't much," he said. "When he retired, my dad got it furnished from some old lady who used to frequent flea markets every Sunday. Rent's cheap, location's great, but I wasn't a very good son when he was alive. I was back and forth from college, still dealing with my mom's death, hanging out with the wrong people."

"Conrad, I'm sorry. I didn't know both your parents were gone."

He shrugged, masking grief he'd buried well all these years. "It's not easy, but I was looking for any way I could to feel closer to him, so I took over the lease here after he died. But he didn't change anything, and I'm usually too busy with work to spend much time here, as it is. Gord likes the sofa. I do have an old Unix I play around with for fun, but I've never really had to think about impressing company with the place. Until now."

"I don't care what it looks like," Heather said. "I came up to spend time with you tonight, not your apartment."

Still buzzing from the effects of the Sakura tea, she leaned in to kiss him. Her lips travelled softly down his neck. He grinned from her touch, but pulled back. "Wait, wait. This is fast. Just let me catch my breath a minute."

"Sorry." She buried her swooning head in her hands. "I'm usually the one slowing things down. It's just...the tea, and...and you."

His breathing grew heavier. "I want you," he said. "But I also like you. I haven't stopped thinking about you since the day I knocked on your door. I don't want you to think I brought you back here just to do this."

"I don't think that. I like you, too. So much it scares me a little."

"I scare you?"

"No, I'm afraid of myself. I'm the one who makes rash decisions and gets tangled up with the Landgraabs - who despise me."

"The Landgraabs have no taste," he laughed. "Which is all the better for me."

He leaned in for another kiss, dragging her to the sofa while Gord made himself scarce.

A hunger took them over, perhaps drenched in too much Sakura tea, but they gave in to the passion bleeding through their skin. Twice.

They slept soundly for a few hours until sunlight poured over the Myshuno Hills, breaking through Conrad's small bedroom window. As they stirred, he pulled back the covers to admire her in the daylight. She blushed, pulling him in for a kiss before she stood to get dressed.

"I want to see you again soon," he said. "I'll bring Gord to the coast later this week, hang out with you and Ash."

She smiled. "I'd love that."

Before she made it down the elevator, her phone vibrated from an incoming text. Would it be too soon to call you my girlfriend? She grinned.

Not too soon. I like the way that sounds. She took screenshots and sent the texts to Holly, and her sister sent back enthusiastic support with a half dozen heart emojis.

Heather felt like a lovestruck teenager again. But this time the boy on the other end of the phone didn't make her question anything about their connection.

Yet when she picked up her son from Malcolm’s penthouse, she didn’t mention Conrad. They were trying to make peace, consciously, for the sake of their son, but she still didn't trust him. He and Conrad had a history, and Heather didn't want his opinion. Not yet.

For now, at least, she was happy to have something in her life that Malcolm and the Landgraabs didn't know anything about. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: Me, tossing Conrad into the cheapest apartment in the city so he'd have more money when he eventually (hopefully) moves in, without considering the aesthetics of this eventual moment? Typical.

WCIF Poses Used: 2 poses from The Kiss by Simmerberlin (as you can tell I used the wrong-sized sofa but I'm not too bothered, I still like how the pose looks even in Conrad's tragic apartment); Confiding in You by StarrySimsie

[scekrex]

I just want to preface this by saying I love your work, your stories are wonderful and I have been reading them nonstop since yesterday, thank you so much for making them

Since you are taking request, can I ask for another part of the Overlord!reader storyline, like, maybe part 2 but from reader perspective as his angel explore his new home, him slowly coaxing Adam too get use to him, to find comfort in his touch. OH, and maybe a shot of reader hidden on a balcony just watching as his sweet birdy wander about in his garden, just basking in this little piece of paradise in the depth of Hell

I fucking love Overlord!Reader x Adam, gimme more of that shit I'm addicted. Also I kinda already wrote a part 2 for Overlord!Reader, so I'll make this part 3

Bird of Hell's Paradise

I promise you that I'll be good to you if you promise that you'll try to love me too

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, tooth rotting fluff

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

The way Adam carried himself inside the walls of your mansion was surely nothing but divine, his chin was tilted upwards, his eyes were partly closed and his back was as straight as possible, making him seem even taller. His body language told you with how much pride this man was filled with. And while he appeared so prideful and untouchable, his actions spoke a different language.

In the beginning you had offered him his own room, a thing he had accepted without any hesitation but as the bond between the two of you grew, as you continued to treat his wounds with kindness even though Adam was acting like a huge dickhead - even back then you had known that most of his behavior had been an act, nothing but harsh words that he had spoken to keep you away from him, something that had changed over time. But then, slowly, he started to accept your touch.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” your voice calmed the first man down, that you noticed, his body visibly relaxed under your careful fingers as you took off one of his bandages. You eyed the healing stab wounds critically - they would scar, you had known that ever since you had taken the brunette in, those wounds would leave imperfect scars on Adam’s perfect skin and you could only imagine how much he must have hated the thought of that. “I fucking know,” the brunette mumbled barely audible as he avoided your eyes at all cost, his chin was tilted upwards as he sat on your bed, chest bare, body exposed. And you believed him, because he’d react differently if he wouldn’t know. That was something that filled you with pride - knowing that the first man trusted you enough to let you treat his wounds, saw him in a state as vulnerable as the one he was currently in. You didn’t voice your pride though, you knew Adam would just make a pissy comment about it.

You gently traced the outlines of the healing wound, careful not to hurt the first man and to your surprise he let you. He even closed his eyes for a moment and seemed to genuinely enjoy your touch against his skin, before he harshly pulled back and slapped your hand away a moment later, “Enough.” You decided it would be best for you to not respond to his sudden moodswing, you simply kept your hands to yourself as you rose from your knees and took a step back, “We won’t need to bandage your wounds anymore, darlin’, they have healed incredibly well.” Adam dared to look down on himself, spotting the still healing stabs of the dagger Niffty had rammed into his body countless of times. And while Adam tried to mask his emotions like he always did, a little bit of worry shined through his facade, “They won’t fucking disappear.” It was less of a question and more of a statement, as if he was trying to get himself used to the thought of it. “Well, we could ask-” “Fuck no. There ain’t no fucking way that any demon fuck-up shit is going to touch my damn body, this bitch is divine and it will fucking stay that way.” You simply nodded, it was his choice after all and if you were honest, you understood, If your roles were reversed you’d act the same, that was for sure.

Adam took your silence as his sign to leave the room - or maybe he took it as the sign that told him you were one touching his wounds, whatever it was, the brunette was quick to leave your bedroom and wander through the building, where he went you were never quite sure of, but you trusted him - there was literally no other place for him down here. It was either staying with you or getting killed over and over by angry sinners and while Adam definitely made some reckless decisions from time to time, he wasn’t stupid. Even if it seemed like it sometimes.

You decided for yourself that you needed some fresh air, Adam’s mood swings could weigh quite heavily on you, he didn’t intend on that, you were positive about this. You slowly stepped across your bedroom and made it over to the small balcony that was promising you the view of an amazing garden. Your garden was your treasure, it was probably the most peaceful little place in all seven rings of hell, the most beautiful area a sinner would ever see. So when your eyes watched over your garden in protection, you noticed Adam’s wings gleaming between a couple cherry trees. He had loved your little garden right from the start, once, when you had found him half asleep underneath one of the cherry trees, he had told you that your garden reminded him of Eden, that it gave him a welcome feeling that could be compared to feeling at home. You were sure he didn’t even remember telling you that little detail, he had looked at you with tiny, tired eyes that kept falling shut. But it explained why he spent so much time laying in the grass, why he loved to take a bath in a small lake that was located at the center. You adored the way Adam’s eyes would lit up whenever the two birds that were living in your garden would show their faces.

In amusement you watched as Adam rushed from his current spot to the other side of the garden, then he quickly made his way over to the strawberries. Whenever the first man was spending time in the garden he seemed so carefree to you. Like it lifted a burden from his shoulders that was usually so heavy to carry. You decided that joining him would be a fantastic idea, so you left the balcony and made your way downstairs to join the brunette.

Once you set foot in the garden, Adam was quick to notice you - it seemed as if he noticed everything that was going on there. His eyes watched you skeptically, then he walked over to you, “I still don’t fucking understand how you manage to keep all of that shit alive in a hellhole like that.” The brunette sounded genuinely impressed and that filled you with pride. “TIme and love, my dear, and a little bit of patience of course,” you hummed proudly as you wrapped an arm around his waist. In the first moment the brunette flinched, tried to pull away from your touch, but then he seemed to change his mind because suddenly he was leaning into your touch instead of trying to get it off him. “You know,” you started as you gently guided Adam back to the cherry trees, they provided some shade and given the temperature shade seemed like a good thing. “I’m glad I found you,” Adam huffed at your words as he watched you while you sat down. Your back rested against one of the trees and you patted your thigh to tell Adam he was very welcome to sit down. The brunette hesitated for a good moment, then he sat down in front of you, his back towards you. And just as you were about to complain he leaned back and his head was resting in your lap. That was definitely something that you hadn’t expected, it wasn’t that Adam strictly avoided your touch, he just never initiated body contact this soft before. “Do you give me permission to touch your hair darling?” The question was spoken quietly, you were afraid to scare him away, but a hum in agreement answered your question and blew away the doubts you had.

Your hands gently massaged his scalp, fingers comed through his thick hair as Adam relaxed his muscles and allowed himself to fully drown in the feeling of your touch - it was beyond cute. Despite pushing you away over and over again, you had always managed to get close to him again and it seemed as if Adam was slowly growing tired of pushing you away and denying himself the comfort of your touch. His eyes cracked open a little as he asked, “Does that fucking offer still stand?” You curiously tilted your head a bit as you looked down on him, “Which one?” “Y’know, sharing a room,” he mumbled and turned his head to the side in order to avoid your eyes, one of your hands came up to move his head back into its original position, forcing him to look at you, “Yeah, that offer is still on the table.” A small yet cocky grin appeared on Adam’s lips and all he said before closing his eyes again was a simple, “Good.”

You leaned down, placing a soft kiss on his forehead and the satisfied sounding hum the first man let out at that told you that he was enjoying having you close - no matter what lies his words had tried to tell you, no matter how often he had pushed you away. “Could get fucking used to that,” and his words not only tool you by surprise, no they also made you smile against his soft skin. You placed yet another kiss to his forehead before you responded with the softest voice you had to offer, “I can offer you this,” Adam felt a quick peck on his cheek, “For all of eternity, if it is what you desire.”

The brunette opened his eyes once more as your face pulled away from his, and his beautiful golden eyes met yours, the lighting made them look even more beautiful, “What if I fucking want you?”

[time-travelling-chaos]

Aziraphale and autism representation: episode 1

So, I was rewatching Good Omens recently, and I wanted to come back on how Aziraphale is represented as autistic in the show. I especially want to focus on the positive representation here, what makes me happy about it and how I see myself (and other autistic people can see themselves as well) in it. I'm probably going to go way too much into small details here, and end up analysing every scene where he is present (but to be fair, an autistic person is always autistic, whatever they are doing even if it's not always visible). And yeah, I'm probably going to be projecting a tiny bit here.

So, let's start with the first episode here, and especially, let's start at the beginning:

When we first see Aziraphale it is at the moment he meets Crowley and the conversation starts like this:

Crowley: That went down like a lead balloon Aziraphale: Yeah. *Laughs* Sorry what was that? Crowley: I said 'Well that went down like a lead balloon' Aziraphale: Yes, yes, it rather did.

There are two points that I find interesting here, about the way Aziraphale reacts to what Crowley says. He doesn't understand or hear the question right away, but still reacts to it before asking Crowley to repeat. One of the ways I read it is processing issues that often happen with autism. Sometimes, it simply takes time to process or to understand and information that has been given (and it has happened to me so many times, asking someone to repeat something to only realise what they have been saying when they start repeating it). Plus, here Aziraphale doesn't actually seems to realise that he has missed the information right away, it takes him a few seconds to do so. And sure, this can happen to everyone, but it happens more often with neurodivergent people, so it's a nice touch. The good thing about that as well, is the reaction of Crowley. He isn't upset, he simply repeats what he just said, and the conversation keeps going. This way of processing information is shown again later, when Crowley says 'it would be funny if we both got it wrong' and Aziraphale chuckles first (because it is objectively funny here) and only then realises the implications of it. [I'll insist here, but none of that means that Aziraphale is stupid. He is, it has been said over and over, a really intelligent being, I'll come back to it later.]

The second interesting point though is about masking. I'll come back to it later, because it's not the most interesting instance of it, but his first reaction to the question, is to pretend that he understood, to pretend that things are ok, and that he was following the conversation correctly, to not show that he didn't understand. And once again it's something that I do a lot. I miss pieces of information all of the time, because I didn't hear it properly, or wasn't focused or simply didn't understand something. And people get easily annoyed by that, plus it can be exhausting sometimes to ask to repeat all the time, so pretending to have heard something, and continuing like nothing happened is also a thing that I'll do quite often.

Now, one of the most visible things here, is the relation that Aziraphale has with eye contact. He makes eye contact with Crowley, plenty of times. But also (and this one also applies to Crowley to some extent), they spend a lot of the conversation not looking at each other.

And this is something that happens often in the show, when they are discussing, they don't always look at each other. It's more visible when Aziraphale is uncomfortable about something, or when he need time to think about something, he'll simply look away for some time, to give himself some time to rest and think properly.

Now, one of of the things I love about him, is his moral sense, and the way he cares. A common autistic trait is a strong sense of justice, but it means, most of the times, having your own sense of justice. And Aziraphale definitely has his own, that doesn't align with Heaven's one. He gives his flaming sword away to protect humanity, without hesitating a second. He doesn't want to kill anyone, not if he can avoid it. He is a strong character, and a protector and I love him for that.

Another thing about him, that can also be seen in that first scene, is that he has a tendency to overthink things. He clearly spent a lot of time worrying about the consequences of giving his sword away before talking to Crowley. While, that, by itself is not a positive trait, it is on that I love seeing in characters, because it is something that needs to be shown and discussed as well.

Now, the next scene where we see Aziraphale is the sushi scene, which shows a completely different side of him. Here, he is relaxed, and doing something he absolutely loves. I adore this part the way it shows the care he has for small things, the small ritual that he follows before eating, how it is shown that it is part of his habits/routine. It's a place he his familiar with, and that he loves. And the specific way he loves it. He takes time to do so, time to enjoy the smell, to care and love things slowly. And this is something I wish I'd let myself do more. Take the time to do things slowly, to fully appreciate them. And of course, that scene pictures the care and love for familiarity, for sameness, for small rituals, not in a boring way but in a caring and comforting way.

And then Gabriel arrives, and his expression changes, he becomes more nervous. And he stops talking freely. There is here a really nice parallel to make between autism masking and Aziraphale's relationship with Heaven. Autism masking is a way to protect yourself by trying to fit in a neurotypical society. And the way Aziraphale acts in Heaven, or in presence of Gabriel is extremely similar to that. He becomes nervous, and careful of what he is saying. Then we have this discussion

Gabriel: Why do you consume that? Aziraphale: It's sushi. It's nice. You dip it in soy sauce Aziraphale: It's what humans do.

And several things can be said about that. First, Gabriel's question wasn't really a question, more of a disguised insult here, to which Aziraphale replies as if it was a literal question from him, which does show some literal thinking. It's not the only instance of that, and a similar reaction will happen later in the discussion with Crowley about Warlock

Crowley: If there was no boy... Aziraphale: But there is a boy. He is right there.

Then, the way he talks about sushi. He is hurt that Gabriel doesn't like sushi, and he starts explaining what it is giving a tiny piece of information about it, and his face completely light up as he does. Food and especially certain type of food such as sushi are definitely one of his special interests, and it makes him really happy. He wants to talk about it, and he wants his interest to be appreciated. But then, he realises that it's not something Gabriel approves of, and hides his own feelings, stop talking about it, and try to justify it, to make his love acceptable (It's what humans do). And, ouch, this hurts. Having to mask your own interest when they are not deemed acceptable or, because you are talking 'too much' about it and it's 'not interesting' is absolutely a common experience of autism, and it is often heartbreaking.

Now, I don't really want to go into details in the relationship between Aziraphale and Heaven, because as I said I would like to focus more on the positive and on the parts that I find relatable, and also because it's a complex relationship and I'm not in Aziraphale's head, but I feel the need to say a few things about it.

Does Aziraphale have faith in Heaven? It's a bit of a complex question here. Plenty of times, he is shown talking about Heaven in what can be seen as positive (Heaven will finally triumph over Hell, we're the good guys). But he is also shown hating it, going directly against it (I don't like it anymore than you do...). He knows that the other Angels are, for most of them (not counting Muriel here), not good, and he is always careful around them. When we see him in Heaven, he has a tense face, makes small, constrained smiles, keeps masking and keeping his thoughts to himself, not trusting them. So where exactly does he stand with Heaven? I do believe that, at least in that season, he still has some faith in God, if not in any of the other angels, as he will end up praying to Her at some point, but there are other factors to take into account when analysing this relation. [Also I'm only focusing on the first season/ first episode here, I'm not going to the end of S2 at all here, which is a completely different topic]

First of all, liking the idea of something does not mean that you will like the thing as it is. To take a personal example here, I love academia. Except I don't. I love the idea of academia, the idea of public research, of being able to learn and to transmit knowledge. But academia is a shitty place. So, so much people are sexists and racists, (queerphobic as well, even if less perceived usually), and a lot of my friends have horror stories of their own about it. A lot of people are burnt-out, tired, it's a system that asks you to work relentlessly to get a chance to survive, in which a lot of people spend more time looking for money to work that actually working. Academia is absolutely awful but the idea of academia is amazing.

Then, as I mentioned it before -and this is the point that I really want to mention here- Heaven is associated to masking. And yeah, here, I know some people have mentioned that Heaven can check on him any time, meaning that he has to keep up appearances, but that's not exactly relevant to what I want to say here. Masking, when done for a long time, becomes a part of who you are, and you sometimes forget a part of who you are without it. For a long time, I used to go back home after my day and not being myself either, acting as if there was still people around me. Because, the rest of the time it's what keeps you safe. So you keep doing it without realising. Sometimes, I catch myself stimming or doing something I like when I'm alone, and I stop myself because it's not something you're supposed to be doing. Masking, when done for a long time, becomes somewhat a part of what you are, even when you are alone and safe.

And in a very similar fashion, it takes a lot of time to unlearn things. Not necessarily masking, but things that you learn from your family, you relatives, and you later realise were incorrect. I don't know how much (if to any extent) autism impacts that, but on some occasions, it had taken me years to manage to unlearn stuff (and some I still struggle with). And it's extraordinarily frustrating, both for you and for the people around you and sometimes hurtful as well. Now, Aziraphale has been with Heaven for thousand, even millions of years, it would make sense that some things stayed in his head. [Now, because I have seen that too many times, NO, he doesn't need to violently realise that Heaven is bad, he know it. In a similar way, I don't need to be let's say screamed at for masking, because it would only trigger the opposite effect. Aziraphale needs to be free from Heaven and some time to heal from it.]

Also, Aziraphale doesn't have any other option than Heaven at the moment (here in S1). Things are going to be destroyed and he will be stuck in Heaven, one way or another. So, maybe a part of it is simply him, trying to convince himself that there is good in Heaven because he doesn't have a choice.

Now, I don't want to say any of these are true, or try to analyse that relationship in more details, those are just a few points that I wanted to mention here, because they are (at least the part about masking) relevant to the rest of the discussion about autism so I'll stop there because there would be so much more to discuss and analyse, but that's not the topic of this post.

But as I was on the topic of Heaven, I'm going to do a small skip forward before going back to a linear discussion of the episode, and talk about that conversation:

I am an angel, you are a demon, we're hereditary ennemis. Get the behing me fool fiend! After you.

Now, I love this sentence, because it says a lot about his relationship with Heaven. He knows Heaven's rules, but he also knows when and when not to follow them. Of course, him and Crowley are enemies, that's how Heaven sees them. But they are also friends, that's how they constructed their own relationship. To some extend, it reminds me of the Don't Play With Liquid Nitrogen moment. [And before I go any further in my explanation, I'll emphasise on that: DO NOT PLAY WITH LIQUID NITROGEN, it doesn't matter whatever I say next, DO NOT PLAY WITH LIQUID NITROGEN GUYS].

When I was doing an internship in my second year of bachelor, one of the person I was working with started to show me and another student something, and told us that we were not supposed to play with liquid nitrogen, while himself splashing so of it around. The thing is, liquid nitrogen is dangerous, but when you know how to do it, you can touch it for a few seconds without getting burnt. And here it is a bit of a similar situation. By simply following the rules, they shouldn't interact, let alone be friends. But they've been there for long enough to properly understand the situation, and to know they can follow their own rules instead of Heaven and Hell's ones.

Now, back to the rest of the episode. After the scene with Gabriel, we next see Aziraphale in the bookshop. He is putting up his coat on the hanger, and while doing that, he is humming along with the classical music in the background. Here, he is at home, a place where he can be himself, do whatever he likes. And I love that we see him stim along with the music. We see him stim plenty of times during the show (with the music, when he eats...) and it shows that it's a part of who he is. And most importantly, it's never shown negatively or mocked, and yeah, it's just so great to see a character stimming (and I'll add: stimming in a non-cliché way. Everyone's stims are different and do not always fit the cliché representation that most people have of it) and enjoying doing so, in moments of relaxation and happiness.

And in the second part of that scene, the phone rings, and he is visibly annoyed. He likes the quiet, doesn't like been around people (even if he loves humanity and people themselves) and doesn't like unexpected things to happen. And thus, he also immediately goes to an automated script instead of starting a conversation (I'm afraid we're quite definitely closed).

Now, I'll take the opportunity to mention the bookshop itself, because I absolutely love it. To be fair, it would be one of my dream place in the world, but that's not the topic here.

The bookshop is such a comforting place. The lights are dim and it's quiet (despite the outside of it being in a crowded place, so that probably took a miracle), which makes it a dream to relax and avoid overstimulation. But also, it's a place where he stores everything related to another of his special interests: books (and also wines, and other things he loves). So books are a special interest that I share with him, so of course, it's something that I means a lot to be, but to be able to be surrounded by so much of things you love, with music you love in the background, it's simply amazing , and I'm repeating myself here, but it's absolutely a dream place to be. Plus, going back to the representation part, it's so, so important to see special interests shown as they are. Once again, not in a cliché way (and by saying that, I have absolutely nothing against special interests that can be considered more cliché (look a me right now, writing an essay on two of my current ones, autism and Good Omens)) but simply them being things that people can usually enjoy, but to a much strong extent in Aziraphale's case. And once again, it's never here to be made fun of, simply to be shared and appreciated.

Something notable as well about Aziraphale is his posture. He sits in a very straight way, that doesn't seems comfortable. Now, autistic people tend to have more the opposite problem, which is to have bad posture. But a usual one is also a notable sign as well. But also, his posture when walking is interesting.

He is holding his hands close to his body, and most of the time is stimming once more, with his hands (or perhaps with his ring as well). And this type of posture, is so, so nice to see. When I was younger, I had the tendency to hold my arms around my stomach, in a way that was a bit similar to the way Aziraphale is holding himself in the picture above. And, of course, I got scolded and criticised for it, until I stopped doing so. So seeing Aziraphale having a similar posture, and knowing the type of comfort it can bring, and how this type of contact is important, makes me really happy.

Now, I'm diverting a bit from the topic for a second here, but there is an interesting parallel to make between Aziraphale's posture, and the one of the other angels:

When we look at the angels in Heaven, they all hold their hands in front of them, but it's in a tense way trying to show authority and rigor, while for Aziraphale, it's in a more relaxed way, and the goal for him is comfort. It's similar, but it's also so different, and it creates and interesting contrast between Aziraphale and the other angels.

And when I'm talking about the posture, I'd also like to mention the vocabulary. Aziraphale's vocabulary is peculiar, old-fashioned, but it's also really precise. Now, that is not something I particularly relate to, but a lot of autistic people do tend to have a very specific and precise vocabulary to communicate their ideas in the clearest way possible, and I like that this is something we can find in Aziraphale as well.

Quickly after the discussion between Aziraphale and Crowley, they discuss going out for lunch, and mention the last time that happen, and start discussing the reign of terror, to which Aziraphale replies 'We had crepes'.

And while he does so, his face absolutely lights up. Now, I've seen people mentioning the fact that Aziraphale doesn't really show (or worst doesn't really have) emotions, but this scene is so much the opposite of that. When he is talking about something he love, he is so expressive and his love for it is so visible. And I love seeing that, seeing the love for special interests being accepted and represented in such a positive way. Now, when talking about emotions, there is a sharp contrast between this scene and the previous one, where they were discussing about Heaven where he kept his face neutral. Having a neutral face is something that is often seen as one of the characteristics of autism, but it's not fully true. First of all, it can be related to masking (and I've already discussed the relationship between Heaven and masking here) but also, it usually depends a lot on the situation, and when autistic people are talking about their interests, they can, in fact, be very expressive, as this can be seen here with Aziraphale.

Another thing that I love about that scene is how he connects the discussion to one of his interests. Now, another characteristic of autism is to see patterns between things, and for a long time, I thought this didn't quite applied to me. But it does, and usually in the way it's shown here with Aziraphale. When I have a special interest, I have a tendency to find way to connect everything to it, to make links between ordinary things and my interest, and that was a really cool thing to see here.

And now the dinner scene. I've mostly already discussed everything happening in the scene before, but I'll just say it again, because it shows that those things are constants in Aziraphale's character, and not a one time thing. First is his love for food, that we can see there once more. Then he is once more stimming after eating. And also, he is finishing eating much after Crowley already finished his meal. He takes his time, takes the time to really savour the things he loves, and I love that for him.

Another thing that I want to mention, is his gardener disguise (and much later in the show, his newspaperman disguise). It is, in both cases, so exaggerated, and shows a lot about how he comprehends the world. It's something that I can connect to the idea of learning how to be human only from what you see in shows and books, and that's something a lot of autistic people can related to. (And of course, this rarely works in real life, the same way that it seems odd in the show).

There is another interesting point to mention, and that's questions. When we think about Good Omens and questions, we directly think about Crowley, and him asking questions. But in the show, at least in that first episode, Aziraphale is the one asking a lot of questions. Especially about how precisely things will happen.

Won't people remark on the sudden appearance of a huge black dog? His parents for a start?

He needs precise information to know how things will happen and to be able to prepare for what will happen, and that, once again, is a strong autistic trait. (I could also discuss about the fact of Heaven not liking questions, and autistic people usually being criticise when asking questions to understand clearly what to do, but I think that would be going a bit too far in the analysis here.) Still, I love seeing the way he understands the world, and the way he sees the potential issues that could arise. And also, there is that scene with Crowley, that I particularly relate to.

Aziraphale: If he comes to his full powers, how will we stop him? Crowley: This won't happen. Aziraphale: *quick annoyed smile*

And this scene is important, because it shows the difference of what autistic people can expect when the ask a question, and what other people understand. Here Crowley tries to reassure him, and Aziraphale gets slightly annoyed, because it was not what he needed. This is a situation I've been here before, and when I ask this type of question (because at the same time I'm overthinking and I need to plan how I'll act and have a plan) people offer reassurance. And this is rarely helpful to handle the situation, because in that type of case, what I need is answers (or at least something like 'we'll figure it out'. Because things can go wrong, and I need to be prepared for this eventuality as well). And yeah, I really like the scene for showing that discrepancy between what is needed by autistic people, and the answer that other people usually provide.

One more of Aziraphale's special interests is magic, and it has quite an important part in the show.

As it's the case with all of the times we see special interest, we also see Aziraphale being extremely happy with it, and his face always lighting up. But this one is a bit different because he is bad at it. When he does magic, he is clumsy, and drops things and fails most of the time. And that's great, for two different reasons. First of all, clumsiness, and poor space management is often a part of autism, and it's one that is rarely shown or represented, so it's something that I like to see. But, and most importantly, it shows that you don't need to be good at something to enjoy it, and this, by itself is amazing. And it's especially great in the context of special interest, where once again, one of the clichés is that autistic people have to know everything and to excel at their interets, which can end up putting a lot of pressure on people (also as some autistic people, myself included, are extremely perfectionists). So seeing him simply enjoying it without being good at it is refreshing here, and helpful as well.

I'm now going to very quickly mention that conversation when the Hellhound doesn't arrive

Aziraphale: Wrong boy Crowley: Wrong boy

Simply because I've discussed earlier in the post about processing issues, and about how it had nothing to do about Aziraphale's intelligence. Well, here is a perfect example of it, because this time, just after learning about the situation he is able to have a good understanding of the situation, and, if that's completely obvious for us, it is much less to them.

And I'm now going to conclude with that sentence said by Aziraphale at the end of the episode: Welcome to the end times.

I don't have any specific analysis behind that one, I just happen to particularly love it and I wanted to share it once more.

And to conclude a bit more with that analysis of the first episode, I absolutely love how Aziraphale is depicted in the show. He is a strong and caring character, but also a very complex one. I find it really great that his character is able to show the good and the part parts of autism, and also, that it never turns any of it as a joke, nor goes strongly in the clichés. So, yeah, I absolutely love him.

So at first I was planning to do a similar analysis for every episode, but I had not realised how much time and energy this would cost me. I really loved doing it though, so I might continue, but I'm not making any promise here.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

You were my past

Bobby Drake x John Allerdyce (Allerdrake)

warning : emotional, kiss, hurt comfort, fighting

Summary : Another Logan and an assasin with madness were his companions as Bobby finds himself in the middle of nowhere when all he wanted to do was help. What John didn't know was that the past he was supposed to have ended, opportunities and a heart reached him again after more than twenty years in a nothing that could only give them both each other.

info : Finally an Allerdrake one shot I know I'll finish the other story too I promise I will…someday. Now have fun with it and have a nice day

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Heat and warmth were something he was familiar with, they were natural elements of nature that naturally hevrorrtarate just as cold and ice have naturally existed in the world for centuries and millions of years. They were conditions he knew, especially the cold, since he was a teenager and initially hated it…but now loved it.

His ice this coldness was something that characterized him as a mutant, his abilities were at the highest level and he could be a great danger but he chose not to be because what did he have but hatred and aversion to the one for whom he would give his life and the one closest to his. So no Bobby would never use his abilities for something so harmful but he knew others, knew someone years ago who was just like him.

Someone who also had that time in him but something different, that warmth, the heat, the fire had been his strength and for a moment he had had the makings of an X-Men, for a moment in both their lives they could have taken on the coin, the fate of each other and yet they didn't. Was it predestined? Or was it something they couldn't control? Bobby Drake didn't know.

Even now, two decades later, he had no answer to these questions. All he had instead was nothing and a lion that wasn't his and a red assassin with a "mission".

Information about various things, universes, humans and mutants had lulled him into a stupor, as well as Logan's elliptical expression that looked at him like he was suffering every time.

But he only got a vague answer or none at all, but Bobby himself was an X-Men teacher, at least in this universe, and when it came to Logan, his friend and former father figure, he would help.

He had left with them a few hours ago on a long mission from the school and was now in the middle of nowhere. Since that time organization had touched them with the staff they had been wandering here for what seemed like hours through the ncihts of desert, to forest to trees to stone and back the desert.

It was getting too crazy and to make matters worse he felt Deadpool's body sticking to him, ,,Good walking popsicle…can I have a lick?" the masked man asked and Bobby felt the hot exuberant breath on his cheek, causing him to push the man off him and hear a sigh of pleasure from Logan, whose nerves were as fried as his own.

Even if the mutant wasn't warm he didn't know the word he was always cold, he also found the heat that kept trying to cover him like a veil annoying.

He was just about to ask something about the multiverse again when Deadpool started cowering like a dog and made Bobby a fuck offer based on information, ,,Leave me alone with this…here!" Bobby hissed and created a block of ice from his hand, which he threw at Deadpool, who accepted it with great gratitude. But a glance at Logan told the blue-eyed man that Logan was not only exhausted but was also wading towards something, something that might not even come.

Maybe they were alone? Another question he couldn't answer and so he kept looking until he saw some kind of object on a hill in the distance and pointed to it, ,,How about a break for today?" he suggested and made it clear to the two others what he meant, hearing Wolverine's growling agreement and Deadpool's joyful assent, who suddenly didn't seem so warm anymore.

But time passed quickly, faster than in the "normal" world, and by the time they reached the object, which turned out to be half the roof of a house, it was already dark and the three of them sat down under it and made themselves comfortable as best they could.

Bobby had also offered to make a bed out of ice, but this was likely to lead to unpleasantly wet clothes, so he simply closed the "tent" with a wall of ice, which cooled it down a little and the three of them tried to beat it after a bit of thinking and discussing what to do next.

This sleep was much easier after Deadpool's knockout, but he and Logan talked a little about various things, but his "friend" didn't seem to want to open up. Which is why they both quietly decided to let it go and go to sleep for at least a few hours before they had to continue.

A sleep that was restless, hard and above all restless, again and again he opened his eyes and looked into darkness, sometimes there seemed to be wandering shadows above them or again into the darkness but above all it was something else that did not let Bobby sleep at least not again when he felt something, a warming not artificial and yet not quite natural.

Slowly rising from his seated position he looked at his two companions at least Deadpool still seemed to be out of it and Logan seemed to be caught up in his own dream, ,,I'll be right back" he mumbled not knowing if either of them were even aware of it before he stepped through his ice wall closing it behind him and following this something, this connection.

The desert had indeed filled down at night still warm but it seemed to be a beautiful summer evening just without anyone with him as he walked through the sand looking around again and again hoping to find something through his own slowly dwindling courage and spirit.

But besides the thinness of sand, the stony random chunks of something didn't exist…at least that seemed to be the first case until he actually spotted something in the distance, something he wouldn't have expected here.

,,A car?" he asked himself and created an ice ramp in front of him to get to the object faster, knowing about the possible danger but how bad could it get here in this nothing? The closer he got he felt something like an invisible something that he knew, that he should have known once, the car was old, decades nibbled at it but he knew by the lights that it was a flame design. Flames.

He knew flames and immediately images popped into his head of dreams and memories as he moved closer not seeing the shadow moving outside the light not wanting to join Bobby's approach. The other thought he would never see him again, which is why in this place full of nothing.

The heat over the dunes was enough for him to grab it, he would have turned the stranger to dust before he could do anything, but why not have some fun?

Why not play something before it would become nothing again? drawing in the air he held out his hand letting the heated air warm up further before the fire appeared in his hand and he held the flame next to the others.

A smile stole across Pyro's lips as he saw the flinch, ,,One move mate and you're ashes or hers" he warned, a laugh could be heard, yellow teeth showing briefly as he extended the flame, the fire slowly wrapping around the other's body with the simplicity of years of practice. He felt the tingling in his body as the fire became like an obsession over time and the older one only had to make one move to make another human torch.

Maybe he would get the chance even faster than he thought because the stranger turned around and Pyro took his chance the fire would lay on the clothes and turn the body to burnt flesh and ashes within seconds, maybe playing a little more.

But even though he heard a clearly startled gasp as he saw the fire start, the newcomer hardly seemed to feel anything, at least he didn't scream, but instead Pyro backed away with an uncertain look in his eyes when he felt an ice-cold hand on his cheek. Ice.

There had never been anyone here who had ice, there was no natural ice, no winter, no North Pole and South Pole here, such a thing should not exist here, the element alone had burned itself into his body twenty years ago, he should never see it again and certainly not feel it.

Letting the fire get hotter and hotter with a hasty hand movement six thousand degrees was the highest he had ever managed with a few more chemicals, but this would have to be enough, it had to be enough because he wanted to feel it again.

Not to feel him again. Bobby felt the flames hotter than anything he had ever fought, more concentrated and aggressive than normal fire, it was the same fire only stronger than when he had touched him John didn't flinch he had seen the fear in his friend's eyes, his first love, he just wanted to touch him one more time.

But it wasn't enough another fight like when the ice and fire met, the steam rising where the fire met his ice as he put his head into the ice form and walked towards John, it was the same dark bluish gray eyes he had looked into back then, the hair just dark wispier a broken man standing in front of him who seemed to have gone through hell.

The coin had been tossed again. ,,John…it's me Bobby" he said calmly trying to reach out a hand after the other mutant but Pyro drew in the air again gathering more of the heated air and throwing more and more fire at Bobby creating more and more heat to draw out of the air to kill the fate he had concluded at least once and for all, ,,I want to talk" Bobby tried again his ice fighting the fire made the two of them clash again.

The madness of the one commanded in which nothing seemed to further fracture the cracked psyche of the fire leader his facade the walls of safety froze and shattered as Bobby leapt out of the fire from a ramp, ,,Fuck off Iceman go away!" Pyro shouted at the other letting the fire in front of him rise up like a wall shielding himself from the former boy who had beaten him.

He felt the pain on his wrists as the cold gripped him again and he pushed the heat higher, yet a startled sound left his lips as Bobby simply walked through the fire, hands reaching for him, fear gripping Pyro's heart of getting the same freezing burns, the same darkness, the same slaughter, the same loneliness…but instead he felt peace.

The fire went out, the ice disappeared and in the darkness of nothingness John was embraced by Bobby, an embrace of arms wrapped around the battered John who within an aching heartbeat was suddenly clinging painfully to Bobby.

,,You did this to me! The pain and loneliness Bobby, it's your fault, you bastard!" John screamed his pain at his former love, the boy his feelings had once belonged to, as he simply listened to Bobby apologize for every word, for every pain of the past they shared.

Bobby threatened to break away John continued to hold on to him, the look of his dark eyes full of hate and anger but most of all pain, the firebender continued to hold on to the taller Iceman slowly placing his hand on John's cheek the wince going through both their bodies as the ice met the fire peacefully for the first time in ten years.

Until the throaty laugh came from John, whose cheek did more harm than good as he withdrew from the caress, ,,That's a joke the fucker is kidding me…where are the cameras? Huh where are those time clocks!" he shouted raising his hands as if he would see someone at any moment and Bobby just looked in fascination at his former friend who apparently couldn't process the situation.

The ice user tried to get close to the other again, but his hand tried to lay on John's, which resulted in a blow to his face with a fist full of fire, ,,Where's the TVA!" he shouted at Bobby, grabbing his collar and pulling him up again, but when he saw the apologetic look on the ice mutant's face, John finally stopped.

Realization set in and he threatened to lose his grip and let go of Bobby, leaning against his car and looking to the ground until he heard a click, a click as Bobby opened and closed the fire door with the haymaker, ,,I've been saving it all this time…I thought you'd come back…Pyro," he said and darted over to his peer and leaned against the car next to him before wiping away his own tears and John's eyes showed tears.

,,John…please, Bobby, call me what I used to be," the firebender whispered softly, barely audible, and Bobby placed the fire train in his hands, pressing his hand into the smaller one for a moment as the dark eyes of Pyro flashed back to the memories they had shared twenty years ago until John lifted his head and let his eyes wander over Bobby.

Pain showed itself as time had taken its toll on them in good and bad ways and yet they had found each other again even in different circumstances, ,,John I can help you this tva or something they don't even know you…but I-I know you…I know this," he said and tapped John's chest beneath the dirty dark fabric was the beating heart that had always held love and that love had not stopped even in the pain of time.

John's gaze met Bobby's again, the fire mutant ready to accept full affection, to feel something other than this madness and pain, John's twisted fingers on Bobby's cheek, he almost drew in the air and let out a shudder as he truly realized that Bobby was really here, that for the first time there was another hope that didn't come from the tva, but from something that really needed him and wanted to help him and had something to love him after everything that had happened.

,,I'm here John I won't let you disappear" Bobby said putting his hand on John's leaning against his warm cheek feeling John press closer to him dark bluish gray eyes moving from Bobby's bright blue eyes to the other's lips that something lay between them again, the coin tossed fire had hurt ice and ice had hurt fire, tears shed and love still not forgotten.

The two of them ventured further before kissing after two decades, the two elements coming closer again, Bobby finally able to let go of the guilt, John finally sure that he had let go of all the years of anger and fear and pain, that he was someone who could be loved, who was no longer an outsider among outsiders.

Because he had had someone to return the favor all this time and now finally felt that return of love. He put his hand on Bobby's he would not let go of him again while Bobby accepted John's gesture for help and did the right thing with gentleness.

They would make it, they wouldn't fight each other, they wouldn't lose each other again because in the end they would find love again and the pain would disappear as soon as he took John back into a reality, into a world that had been looking for him, into a world where they would make up for everything they couldn't and have the life together they needed and deserved and it would start together with fire and ice and that kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@psychoblaster here is the promised story hope you like it :)

[codfanficedits]

Before the mask - Part six.

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Because Simon wasn’t born as Ghost.

Wordcount: 1857| Rating: E! (18+ only!)

Warnings: Smoking,

A/N: Simon would be around 22/23 in this fic, so it would be set around 2015 ish? Also, sorry for not uploading more, I have to rewrite my papers, do my internship and I want to write Christmas fics, so it has been a little too much. I'll try to do better!

His hand reach the small of your back, gently guiding you to the bathroom, the moment you stand still your neck gets peppered with small kisses. “You smell so nice.” He muttered, his lips pressed against the crook of your neck.

Simon nearly couldn’t wait for the water to warm up before he pulled you under the shower. “Stop it, today is not my hair wash day.” You groan in an attempt to protest, but he pays no mind to your words, instead his arms get wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to him. He finally has you where he wants you, and he is not letting go.

“Can you help me with my Halloween mask?” He asks, finally taking one of his hands off you, to grab the shower gel. “I want to make it myself, but I have no clue how.” He squeezed the gel on a wash cloth before he used it to clean you.

“I have an idea.” You muse, closing your eyes as you feel his touch on your body. “Ever heard of paper mâché?”

“Are you trying to curse me?” He jokes, not being used to the word, as his hands run over your body and you laugh at the stupid joke. “Maybe.” You answer. “But if I wanted to, I would already have done it.”

“I would happily be cursed if that means spending more time with you.” He whispers in your ear. And in response you just roll your eyes at him. “If you had been this flirty before, we would’ve ended up in the shower together way sooner.” You say, just to tease him. And your teasing is met with a groan, alongside another kiss in the crook of your neck.

Simon slaps your ass, the sound echoing through the bathroom and he lets out a content hum while he lathers himself with soap. “So, the whole paper thing. What is it?”

You watch the little show before you, enjoying the sight of his soaped up body. “Two parts glue, one part water, a ripped up newspaper and a balloon.” You begin. “I used to do this in elementary school all the time to make masks and stuff.”

Simon frowns, but he is more amused than anything else. “So you’re saying that I am a child?” “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.” You muse as you watch his wash the soap away. “Can you help me?” He asks. “Sounds like you’re a pro and I can’t have an ugly mask for Halloween.”

How could you ever resist such a sweet request? “Of course.” You promise him. “We have a mission later today, but afterwards we should find the time to shop for the supplies.”

He turns the shower off, handing you a towel before he dries himself off. “You know what? That sounds like a lovely idea.” His lips get pressed against your temple again.

He walks into his room again, dressing into the uniform and gear you’ve seen him plenty of times in, and it is enough to make your heart swoon every time. When you’re done watching him, eyeing him, you finally get dressed yourself, putting on one of his boxers instead of your own underwear, and Simon grins about the thought of you walking around in something that is his, again.

He pulls you close, his lips finding your forehead again. “Stay safe, okay?” He pleads. “I promised your dad, and I would hate to make a bad first impression when you get hurt.”

In response you laugh. “I’ll see what I can do.” You return the sweet gesture with a kiss from your own, neither of you wanting to pull back, but duty calls and you have to. “I’ll see you tonight.” Simon promises you, before he leaves, letting you in his room, until you have to go too.

The shitty thing about war, is that is seems to follow you. The blood on your hands no longer feels like something you can wash off, the stains seem to stay and you don’t know how much longer you can take it.

It was a successful mission, you and your team got what was needed, but at what cost? At the cost of who? You had promised Simon that you would be with him tonight, but you just couldn’t. The burden of being a soldier seemed to weigh you down like a ball and chain.

Simon was worried at first, you had been late before, but something in his gut told him that something was wrong. You weren’t in your room, but your teammates had told him you had arrived back to base with them. So he went to look for you, outside.

Heavy but careful footsteps made their way towards you and they stopped a few inches behind you.

“Smoking again? You said you’d stop.” Simon’s voice was teasing but light hearted

“It’s gotten tougher hasn’t it?”

You took another drag of your cigarette. "Yeah, yeah." You grumbled, as you blew out the smoke. "I did say I would quit."

You shifted your eyes to the sky, looking for the stars. "But it is getting tougher each mission." You said, a sad smile on your face.

Simon came close to you and his hands ran softly up and down your shoulders. You felt surprisingly small compared to him and he thought how sweet it was. The warmth of his hand was soothing as they rubbed small circles over your back

“You do good work out there in the field, the hardest jobs are given to the best soldiers. They need someone to be reliable like you. I know the missions seem tough but I promise things are going to get better.”

“Does it ever get better though?" You asked, a little sceptical, although you did appreciate his attempt to soothe you.

"It feels like it is just getting worse, Simon." You sighed softly. "The blood on my hands, the horrors, the screams."

"How does one cope with that?"

His warm gentle smile spread across his face as he looked at you. You were so sincere and so strong. He could see the pain and the weight in your eyes.

“You have to remember the lives that you have saved, lovie. You are on the right side of history and these missions are tough but necessary. The horror you witnessed is a reminder to be more aware and to never forget how important it is to serve and protect the lives of many”

"How do I know I'm on the right side?" You murmured. "The people whose life I’m taking all think they're on the right side too."

You let out a sigh. "What makes us different from them?" You ran a hand through your hand. "It just.. it keeps coming up in my brain."

Simon placed his fingers at the bottom of your chin and ran his soft thumb over your smooth lips. He moved your head so that you would face him.  His eyes looked deep into yours.

“It keeps coming up in your brain because you care, lovie.” He said with a soft smile. “And that is a good thing. But we are different. We fight for a greater good. They fight for selfish greed or their own twisted agenda. There is a big difference”

Did you buy his words? Not really, to you, your enemy might say the same to their team, to their soldiers.

What was right, and what was wrong?

You kissed his thumb when he dragged it along your bottom lip. "I guess so." You murmured. "It’s just... Sometimes I wonder if the army is the right place for me."

His thumbs made small circular motion on your bottom lip, as he continued to stare deep into your eyes. He wanted to kiss you but this wasn’t the time

“What else would you do other than the army? You don’t seem like the type of girl to become a housewife. It is the right place for you. You can make a difference and I know you do.” He chuckled softly.

“But maybe one day we’ll retire and become the owners of a nice house with a big backyard.”

You rolled your eyes at him. "Being a housewife isn't my style." You chuckled. "But retirement with a big backyard does sound nice." You added with a sigh. "I don't know. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that we're fighting for the right cause when all we do is shed blood."

A small smile graced his face. He pulled you close in a gentle embrace. His arms wrapped around your body. He ran his hands gently through your hair.

“You are overthinking this again, my love. The world is a complicated place and it’s easy to let yourself get overwhelmed by it all. But don’t let yourself become too lost in your thoughts.”

“Just hold tight and wait. Things always make sense in the end.” Simon promised.

"Guess you're right." You mumbled, although you couldn't fully shake the feeling yet. But you tried to focus on his embrace, on his warmth, and the temporary peace that it gave you.

"I'm always right" he said with a cheeky grin. But his eyes were glued on yours as his voice was soft and tender.  "I'm here for you, always. Anytime you get lost in your thoughts and need someone to talk to. You come to me. I'll try to understand and help you figure things out.”

His joke gets rewarded with a scoff, but your lips curl upward to a smile. "Thank you." You muttered. "You're more of a help than you realize."

"I'm just doing my job." he softly chuckled. His hands caressed her hair and he stared at her face.  "It’s not going to be a walk in the park from now on but I know you have what it takes to stay strong."

“Now.” He took your pack of cigarettes from you. “Let’s quit this, and come back inside with me to cuddle.”

You smile at him, he had been right, and the feeling of dread was buried into your soul again. “We can go craft shopping tomorrow, lovie. No need to do it now.”

He tucks some of your hair behind your ear. “When will you Skype your parents again?” He asks. And as an answer you shrug. “It’s difficult sometimes due to the time difference. But I was hoping to do it later this week, why?”

Simon doesn’t want to seem desperate, or needy, but in reality he had missed the warmth of your family, he had missed the joy it gave him. “No reason.” He muttered. “Maybe I would like to see them again.”

In response you smile once more, it is such a nice feeling that he likes your family, and it did make your heart flutter a little when he mentioned it. “I’ll let you know when I pick a date again.”

Simon took your hand into his, walking towards his room with you, the moment the door closes behind him, his arms snake around your waist again, and his lips find yours again.

[luvgavii]

cozy - (pg6)

request: can you write a gavi imagine where reader makes him do face masks and gives him a cute headband and he secretly likes it bc it makes her happy bc he looks so fucking cute 🫶

author's note: hi love, thank you sm for your request, i loved writing it and i hope you love it too. 💓

summary: you and gavi have a cozy evening after he had a rough time at training.

You were removing your make up in the bathroom when you finally heard the door to your shared apartment open, meaning your boyfriend was back from practice. Touching the screen of your phone to light up, the time read that it was much later than the time Gavi would usually finish practice. This was your first sign that something wasn't okay.

"Bebé?" his voice rang through the apartment.

"I'm in the bathroom, mi amor, I'll be right out." you said loudly, making sure he heard you, but a few seconds later you saw him enter the bathroom, immediately wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"Mi amor, what's wrong? What happened?" You asked him worried, hugging him close with one arm while your other hand let go of the make up remover wipes and went into his hair, gently massaging his scalp while he sighed into your neck before giving it a sweet little kiss.

"Practice was horrible. I don't know how the next match will go." Pablo said while clinging onto you, feeling vulnerable. He didn't show this side of him to anyone but you. You were the only person that knew how clingy he would get when he was upset, while you were also the only one that could cheer him up.

"Hey, don't say that, it's going to be okay, you're a champ." You bit your lip while trying to think how to cheer him up, knowing it wasn't the right time to seduce him, but rather have an affectionate evening, just the two of you. "You're my champ." You cupped his cheeks and lifted up his head making him look at you. You smiled and Pablo returned a small smile back. He still wasn't okay.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Y/N." He said looking at you with what you could only describe as heart eyes.

"You are everything to me, that's why tonight, you and I, are going to have the best time ever. I have an idea." You said smiling and clapping your hands together after pulling back from him.

Pablo laughed. "I love you but you and ideas don't go well together, mi vida."

You gasped jokingly putting your hand on your chest. "That was offensive, Mr. Gavira. But I will forgive you this one time, now go put on your pajamas and wait for me." You giggled while shoving him outside the bathroom, and jokingly slapping his butt before going back inside the bathroom.

"Hey!" you heard him exclaim, which only made you giggle more.

Once you heard his footsteps going into your shared bedroom, you started looking through the drawers of your bathroom closet for the facemasks and headbands. After finding the facemask, you were left with choosing out two headbands. You chose one with panda ears for Pablo, and one with a pink bow for you.

When you entered the bedroom, Gavi was sitting on your shared bed, already in his coziest pajamas. He looked up at you and smiled when he saw the facemasks, even though at first he would act like he didn't like doing facemasks with you, after a couple times he started loving how soft his skin would feel after. But what he loved even more was the way your eyes would shine with happiness whenever you applied his mask, complimenting his handsome features whenever you had the chance.

"Beautiful eyes, beautiful nose, beautiful eyebrows. You're perfect, mi cielo." You would always say.

After you changed into your pajamas too, you sit on Pablo's lap while getting ready to apply his mask. His hands immediately finding your ass, resting his hands on it, occasionally giving it a squeeze.

You pushed his head back lightly, so you could put the headband on. He raised his eyebrows and pulled back a little, looking at the headband.

"I'm not wearing panda ears." Gavi said amused.

"Too bad, you don't have a choice. It will make you feel better." You shrugged and resumed what you started doing.

"I don't see how, but as long as you're happy, I'm happy." He pecked your lips.

"So let me do my thing, you're in good hands, mi amor." You gave him another sweet kiss.

"As are you." Pablo laughed while moving his hands on your ass, making you laugh at his childish joke too.

When you were almost done with applying his facemask, you couldn't help but notice how lovingly he was looking at you.

"Stop looking at me like that, Pablo. You're making me blush." You giggled and hid your face in the crook of his neck for a few seconds.

"I can't help it. You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. I would give you the sun, the moon and all of the stars if I could." He said as sincerely as he could. Putting a hair strand behind your ears and looking you deep into your eyes.

"What did I ever do to deserve you?" You said trying to fight back the happy tears from your eyes. Damn he really knew how to get you emotional.

That's how the day ended. You applied the mask on yourself and after taking photos together for your Instagram stories, you and Gavi talked for hours, forgetting the time and everything else around you becoming a blur.

When you and Gavi were together, there was nothing else in the world. It was just the two of you, being goofy and forgetting about any and every problem. He wouldn't have it any other way, just you and him against the world, para siempre.

[iraprince]

TIME FOR A PROCESS POST let's talk abt getting from this (client sketch - which, btw, i know other artists have talked about this plenty, but i LOOOOOOVE a client sketch as early direction on a commission. LOVE it)

to this!

at first we didn't know if the title was going to go across the desk, or over the central figure (emara's) head against the back wall. so there was a 1st version where we were favoring a higher title, then we started favoring the desk so we scrapped the clutter + centered it more

i used clip studio's 3D models (particularly for the chair, guard, + weapon crates) and perspective rulers to help with laying everything out at this stage, tho i abandoned the 3D pretty early on bc it's a bit too clunky for me. maybe i'll find it quicker to use w more practice!

(the rest under the cut!)

once the basic layout was approved, i threw together a value study to explain how in the final image all the clutter of the bg detail would be unified and pushed back. lately i find myself thinking abt value earlier + earlier in the process; planning ahead saves me a lot of time!

i fiddled with starting to refine things digitally, but then i got A BRAND NEW LIGHTBOX delivered in the mail with perfect timing (lmao) so i just ended up printing off the digital sketch, finalizing in pencil, + scanning back in

then comes five billion different steps of locking in values, again. i did everything greyscale first, but i didn't worry abt getting things super polished at this stage bc i knew color would factor in a lot to later decisions

this is the point at which presenting these wips "step by step" is kind of misleading; i didn't do these stages one at a time, but rather had a BUNCH of different lighting/shading layers that i kept toggling on and off as i worked to make sure everything was coming along well.

(to get some of these caps i actually went into the main file again and turned a bunch of stuff on/off just for the sake of getting specific examples, because actually when i was actively working on it there was rarely a point where i was actually working on something with "all lighting turned off and just the shading on," or anything like that; but i AM interested in showing what effects different lighting/shading changes had on the base colors, even if i wasn't really making these changes in a rigid order.)

i.e., just for the sake of interest, here's how the flat colors look without those adjustments!! but i honestly never looked at it like this on its own for long...i had all the shading/lighting turned off so i could see what i was doing while flatting, but i was constantly checking back and forth.

then tones added on top (which were actually just two copies of the tone folders in the above posts, set to linear burn and overlay) -

which makes it get HORRIFYINGLY dark, but that's when we go in and add a bunch of lighting adjustments.

the most obvious lighting change above is the big burst of hot pink light from the corner, but there was also some masked overlay + burn layers to pop out the guard + emara and make sure they were pulled out from the bg. if this were a standalone illustration, i maybe would have let the bg (and all that painstakingly drawn detail..........) stand out a little more, but a cover functions differently, and i wanted to make sure the eye goes to the title first. that means sacrificing bg detail even if it looks sick lol

then final touches! a lot of my very last touches are things that are close to invisible; gradient maps on very low opacity, noise, a little bit of scribbling on upper layers. the typesetting was all by the client, except for the lettering for "emara king's," which i did myself!

finally, here's a comparison of ⬅where i left off one night close to the deadline thinking "it's probably done, but i'll sleep on it just in case," then all the adjustments i made the next day with fresh eyes.➡ and that's it!!! phew!!! that's how i make a cover!