#and by that I mean I need to come up with a different tag for it lol

[the-mountain-flower]

#? this is what i ask myself on a daily basis#when i feel like being talked to like a toddler i ask my parents that#and they always say stuff like this.#YES I KNOW YOU THINK CANNIBALISM IS BAD#BUT WHY DO YOU#WHAT IS THAT FEELING BASED ON#others dont do this?#< prev's tags#I've actually wondered this myself#by my observation#it seems like it has something to do with the idea that when something is consumed it loses its previous identity via digestion#and the general discomfort around the idea of/avoidance towards knowing the animal being eaten#like short-lived animals don't always get the “don't name them don't get attached to them” thing just because they're going to die soon#but farm animals raised for their meat get that because no only are they going to die#but they're going to get killed for the purpose of consumption#and going 'hey that bacon you're eating used to be my beloved pet jeff and he loved playing in the mud and bonking my legs with his nose'#tends to put people off of the idea of eating it#it's the same reason stuff like dog meat is normal to some cultures and such a horrible idea to others bc doggos are our beloved friends#or why cow meat is normalized many places but a horrific affront in others due to cows being sacred#people that culturally have pigs or chickens were beloved pets would probably be horrified at the idea of pig or chicken meat as food#it really depends on the perception of the animal#and humans are Us. the idea of eating other humans is common so off-putting because that was A Person With An Entire Personality And A Life#which tends to be a lot more prevalent in our minds than it is for other animals#plus I think eating human meat that's actually viable to be very edible would require murder so............ yeah

So apparently I still have more to say on the subject so uh...

Trigger warnings for dehumanization, racism, and genocide

As you can probably tell I've thought a bit about human perception of ourselves and other animals and what really makes us different since I don't think sentience/sapience is a mark of species supremacy or whatever. Why murder is Very Bad but killing animals without good reason is Less Bad? Why we hold more love for some species of animals and contempt for others? Why do people find Pinocchio plots so compelling? Why getting hit by a car and surviving means doing our best to save them as mercy for humans, but 'putting them out of their misery' as mercy for animals? Why is senseless violence less bad when it comes to animals and atrocious when it comes to people? Why is killing bad but being omnivorous or carnivorous is morally neutral? Or why being called an 'animal' is supposed to be an insult (because younger me Did Not Understand that because animals aren't bad (and also categorically speaking humans are animals))?

One of those things is why people who try to excuse stuff like racism and genocide with (extremely racist language warning) calling their targets 'animals' or 'not fully human' or just straight-up 'not human' and why it's such a prevalent tool for the oppressor,

Because when you think about it logically it doesn't make sense. Even if they were doing these atrocities to actual non-human animals, that doesn't make it okay or right. Humans wiping out entire types of animals off the face of the Earth is most definitely A Bad Thing, both because of the unnecessary brutality and because it's really bad for ecosystems. So why does dehumanizing propaganda suddenly mean it seems okay to cause mass death and suffering? Why would anyone think either of those things (mass death to people or to animals) are okay?? Why is anyone so desensitized to such unreasonable violence??

And I think it has something to do with how a lot of humans perceive themselves and other humans. Because of the us vs. them mentality that I think is a result of evolutionary need to protect ourselves from the dangerous parts of nature. I think that's the thing that gets weaponized as "humans are superior because they're Us." That's what causes people to care less about other animals than they do other humans, because it's a lot harder to kill a predator in self-defense or to hunt animals for food, if you're grappling with empathy for that creature. I think a balance is necessary, like when a hunter pays respects to the animals they hunt, but that requires thought and consideration for something unlike yourself, and that tends to be a lot harder than just getting yourself to have complete apathy when hunting for self-preservation. And that lends itself to becoming very dangerous when justification for violence changes with what you perceive as necessary, and when your perception of 'us' changes. Because if killing animals is fine because they're not human, then what's to stop you from killing anything you see even if you don't need to just because they're not 'us'? And what's to stop you from seeing other humans as okay to kill because they're not like the conception of 'us' that you've built up in your head?

Justifying atrocities with dehumanization, in my observation at least, seems to be a result of human selfishness taken too far, of dismissing the unity and need for diversity that's absolutely necessary for survival and more, and of constructed apathy.

...Wow I didn't think I had that much to say on the subject but here you go I guess. To be fair, this has genuinely helped me unpack and unlearn a lot of harmful internalized stuff. Of course, I'm open to others' views and constructive criticism.

[rafesdespair]

taking the edge off

ׂ╰┈➤ rafe shows up to your house on the verge of a panic attack. you do your best to calm him down, but he has his own ideas of what could help his mind go blank. [wc: 2.5k]

tags; smut, edging, slight choking, very mild manipulation, technically dubcon kissing but overall the entire deed is very consensual! there are no pronouns or gendered language used towards the reader so this is entirely gender-neutral. [18+] only ★ [read this on ao3!]

Rafe showed up to your house pacing, hands running through his hair anxiously as he muttered expletives. You were sitting on your porch when he showed up speeding in on his bike. He threw his helmet to the ground and walked right by you and through your front door. He was already in the living room when you followed, practically panting while he walked back and forth.

He wasn’t the type to show up like this. You were hardly friends; you’d seen each other at bonfires or at the occasional party, but mostly at Barry’s. You weren’t involved in the drug scene, but you and Barry had been friends for years. Whenever you saw Rafe, he was either fucked up, erratic, or in a frat-boy-party mood. But the Rafe in front of you then was different. 

When he sat on the couch, you took the chance to finally ask what the hell was going on.

Rafe pushed his head into the heels of his hands and inhaled a stuttered breath. “I fucked up bad, like, real fucking bad. I’m so fucked, dude. I’m fucked.”

You furrowed your brows together. “Okay… I mean, how bad? Like, jail bad? Am I harboring a fugitive right now?” you tried to joke lightheartedly, but it fell flat. 

“I need-” he swallowed and wiped his hands down his face. “I need… fuck. I don't know. Something. What do you have?” He stood up now, looking around.

“Rafe,” you said quietly, shaking your head. “I don't do any of that… Why didn't you go to Barry's? Why are you here? What did you do?”

His face twisted into something angry and he tensed his hands at his side. He took a deep breath and visibly held back the urge to yell or break something.

“Barry wasn't there. I thought he might be here, but-” he threw his hands up, exasperated. He sat on the couch again and tears brimmed in his eyes. “Shit, man.”

You didn't know what to do. You've never seen this side of Rafe; you didn't even know he had a side like this. You knew him as someone detached, maybe a bit cold hearted– someone entirely different than the person sitting before you now. 

You, somewhat cautiously, sat next to him on the couch and put your hand on his knee. “Rafe, just breathe. You need to tell me what happened. Maybe I.. I don't know, maybe I can help.” The fact that he hadn’t told you what brought him to this state to begin with had started to worry you.

He tensed and untensed his fingers multiple times until he spoke. “It’s better if you don't know. Don't get involved in my shit. Just… Give me a minute.”

“Don't get involved in your shit? Rafe, you showed up to my house halfway to a breakdown- literally almost broke down my door. You involved me in your shit. Give me something to work with.” You didn't want him to leave in this state. He was already a reckless driver and you were sure he was far too out of it to get on his bike. 

He shoved your hand off of him and gritted his teeth. “I did some shit I can't come back from. Not just light jail time, this is serious life sentence shit I'm in. Prison type shit.” His voice cracked at the end of his sentence and he shook his head. “It’s over.”

You opened your mouth and closed it again, unsure of what to say. You doubted he would tell you any more, and honestly, knowing any more might’ve made you an accomplice. You shoved all questions out of the forefront of your mind and focused on the current situation. 

“Rafe,” you started. He looked up at you, eyes glassy and eyelashes clumped together. “Just breathe. Take a moment to relax. Think. Make a plan. You can't do anything if you're high out of your mind or spiraling. You need to reset.”

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, unconvinced. “I can't. I can't stop thinking. I feel like I'm losing my fucking mind. Everything in my head,” he tapped aggressively at his temples, “it's all a fucking mess.”

You grabbed his wrists in your hands and locked eyes with him. “Breathe. Take some deep breaths with me.” You loosened your hold and inhaled long through your nose, waiting for him to follow. 

His eyes searched your face for a moment before he surged forwards, crashing your lips together. He held your head still between his hands, preventing you from quickly pulling away. Your eyes widened and you pushed at his shoulders, but he didn't pull back. He kissed you harder, one hand moving down to cup your jaw. 

You took that opportunity to shove him and lean out of his embrace and stand up. “What the fuck are you doing, Rafe?” Your heart was racing and you were entirely tense. 

“You told me I need to relax,” he said, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “This helps me relax. No drugs.” He puts a hand on the back of your thigh and pulls you closer until you stumble onto him.

You lean back and sit closer to his knees than in his lap. “This isn't what I meant!” His hands traveled up your thighs and rested there.

“Please,” he sighed out. “I need this. My life’s falling apart. I- I can't even think straight. I'm probably going to jail. Just,” he paused, “give me this.” His eyes are big and pleading. His hands moved up to your waist, squeezing gently. “You need to help me.” His hips slightly arched off of the couch, emphasizing his desperation.

You'd be lying if you tried to avoid the way your body is reacting to this– the way your skin was heating up and desire was working through your veins. You let yourself slip closer to him, but shook your head. “This won't make you feel better. It won't change anything, Rafe.”

He held you tighter, maybe leaving a bruise. “I don't care.” One of his hands moved between your legs. “I don't think you do either. I think you want this.”

You closed your eyes for a moment and huffed out a laugh. “What is happening right now, Rafe? What do you want?”

“To make my mind go completely fucking blank.” He fully pulled you into his lap now where you could feel him pressed against you. “Will you do that for me?”

“You're fucked in the head,” you said, but there was no malice behind it. His grin in response made you bite your lip. Maybe you were just as fucked.

You leaned in and kissed him with an open mouth. You started gentle, but he grabbed the back of your neck and slid it into your hair, taking a handful to control your head. He bit and tugged at your lower lip before licking into your mouth. Your ‘mmph’ of surprise encouraged him further.

Pulling back was difficult with his hand holding you and your own want telling you to stay like this, but you did. His lips chased yours, trying to reconnect the kiss. 

Before he could protest, you ran your thumb over his lower lip. “If we're really doing this, we're doing it my way. You're letting me take care of you.”

“Oh, I am?” he replied, smirking while taking your thumb between his teeth. You slipped it into his mouth and pressed it down on his tongue. 

“You are.” You slid your thumb out of his mouth, swiping it over his bottom lip before moving down to unbuckle his pants. “Just lean back.”

He settled his hands on your thighs again and leaned into the cushions, watching your movements with amusement. You were taking your time unzipping his jeans, stopping to palm at him and run your fingertips down his bulge. 

You slipped your hand beneath his waistband and held him loosely, moving your hand tauntingly slow. He bucked his hips a bit to encourage you, but you only used your other hand to push him back down. 

You took him out of his pants and take a moment to just admire, which seemed to amuse him. His cock was pretty. The tip was a blush pink that matched his lips and the color that tinted his cheekbones. You ran your fingertip from base to tip, smearing the bit of precum that had gathered. The sensitivity made his cock twitch.

You spit in your palm and watched the way his pupils dilate, his teeth biting down on his lower lip. Motivated, you wrapped your fingers around him and started jerking him off. You started , watching his expressions and seeing what he responded to the best. When you twisted your hand around the head, he gave a quiet mph. 

“I wanna hear you moan,” you said before leaning forward and letting spit drip from your mouth and onto his cock. You moved your hand faster, following the way his breathing picked up.

Rafe gave a proud smirk and said, “make it good then.”

Keeping up pace, you leaned forward to kiss at his jaw. They were gentle and almost teasing until you moved down to his neck. You left open mouthed kisses everywhere and could feel his pulse increase while you sucked bruises into his skin. You loved watching marks slowly decorate him from his collarbone to his jaw.

You kissed your way back up to his lips and spoke against them. “Am I doing good?” you whispered, quickening your speed.

He placed a hand around your neck, applying a pleasing pressure. “Mm, you could do better.” The warmth that spread up through your head made your eyes flutter with a soft whimper playing from your lips.

You doubled your efforts, focusing one hand on massaging his balls and the other working him top to bottom. The two of you held each other's gaze as his breath stuttered, pupils eclipsing the blue of his eyes. He thrusted his hips lightly, nose scrunching in pleasure.

You slowed down then, keeping one hand steadily stroking him and took the other to cradle his jaw while you kissed him. He sighed and licked into your mouth with a needy groan. You let him deepen the kiss and let out another mewl when he squeezed your throat again. 

His head fell back against the couch when you tightened your grip around him, followed by a breathy, “fuck.” Absentmindedly, you rolled your hips against nothing, your body seeking some kind of friction. Rafe almost laughed as he sat himself up a bit.

“Y’want me?” Rafe asked with amusement lacing his voice. “Want my dick, baby?”

Your cheeks flushed as you chewed the inside of your cheeks, shaking your head. “This isn't about me.” You thumbed at the underside of his tip, ignoring the pulsing between your legs. “I'll let you pay me back later.”

You spit on his cock again, putting an end to the retort about to slip from his mouth. Instead, he let out a sigh mixed with a moan before biting his lower lip again. He watched your hand move up and down, his breath unsteady with every exhale. You could tell he was getting closer with every stroke. His chest rose and fell faster and his hips stuttered beneath you.

Then, you took your hand away.

Rafe whined, which caught you by surprise. He let go of your neck and grabbed your wrist hard enough to bruise and scowled. “The fuck?” His voice was hoarse and confusion bordered with frustration was etched on his face. “Why’d y'stop?” 

Your wrist throbbed but his strength and desperation turned you on more. “It'll feel better if you wait,” you said while running your hands up and down his stomach. “I told you I'd take care of you,” you leaned forward to kiss below his ear, “so let me.”

“Why're you fuckin’ around?” He dropped your wrist and squeezed at your hips instead. “S'posed to be helpin’ me.” He tilted his head over, giving you more access to kissing his neck. 

Speaking in between kisses, you said, “I am helping. You feel good, don’t you?” When Rafe mumbles out a weak mhm, you stroke him faster. “I’ll let you come soon, just hold on a little longer.” You palmed his balls and added, “you think you can do that for me?” He nodded hungrily.

You were watching him lose control by the second. You knew the Rafe that everyone else knew: hot-headed, combative, cold. But this version of Rafe was entirely different. He was loose under your hands and unraveling more and more. His eyes were hardly open anymore, brain completely fuzzy.

He reacted the most whenever you would take your hand away when he would get to close to coming. You’d work him up, then go slower until the rush subsided. You’d get him there again, then let go entirely. You felt almost cruel as he practically clawed at your thigh, silently begging for more stimulation.

When it was clear that there wasn't a single thought in his head that didn't revolve around his pleasure, you knew it was time to give in. Precum slicked up each movement, filling the room with a sound that seemed to make him want more and more. You worked one hand steadily up and down while the other took care of his balls. You matched your movements to what made his breath hitch— what made him twitch, shudder, and whimper for more. 

You kept eye contact with him, or as much as he was able to, as he reached his peak. His lips were glistening with spit, parted and panting. His eyebrows were furrowing and his whines and grunts were full on moans. His nails left darker trails in their wake along your skin; you couldn’t wait to see all the marks he had left on you. The finger shaped bruises on your wrist, hips, and neck excited you more than anything else. You knew you’d be pressing on them for days, reliving this.

”Oh fuck,” Rafe hissed and thrusted into your hand. “Gonna come, gonna come, fuck, please.” His clutch on one side of your hips was so tight that it ached, and it only got tighter as he got closer to his climax. His entire body was tensing up alongside a long moan that reverberated through the room, broken only with gasps of air. His cheeks were flushed darker than you’d ever seen them and sweat along his hairline left his hair stuck to his forehead. He looked wholly fucked out and satiated.

Ropes of cum pooled on his stomach and up to his chest. It was more than you’d ever seen before. He finally let all his muscles relax with a splintered sigh and sunk into the couch. “The fuck did you just do t’me?” His voice was debilitated and rough.

“Fulfilled my promise.” His blue eyes were glazed over with a fading lust and relief. His pupils were still dilated, though not as much as before. He was all soft around the edges now.

After basking in the aftermath of his pleasure, you traced a finger through the mess on his stomach and sucked it into your mouth. “All this from a hand job?” you teased.

He weakly shoved at your shoulder with a groan. “Mm, fuck off.”

[rauspberries]

lawyer!aaron hotchner x paralegal!reader. summary: your boss shoots down your big idea to try and win a big case, only to use it later without telling you. noting your irritation, he sets the record straight. tags/warnings: afab reader, no use of y/n and no physical description of reader, prosecutor!hotchner, author didn't go to law school, reader is in law school, this is mostly just very hidden flirting and tension word count: 4.1k notes: this was recommended by an anon! i unfortunately accidentally deleted the ask but thank you so much whoever suggested this <3 this is mostly just tension but maybe one day i'll write more of this pairing [leave me requests huehuehue]

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the wall, cascading your shadow against the wall full of plaques on the wall. When you had first started working at the district attorney’s office as a paralegal, you had been amazed by the look of the place. High ceilings, tile flooring, the cleanliness of the place. It screamed excellence and richness, like you had finally made it – even if you weren’t exactly high on the food chain.

As a paralegal, you were essentially a mini-lawyer. Your job was to collect evidence to assist the prosecutor, conduct interviews for them and help prepare for court, meaning you were extremely important in the way legal cases were handled. Your caseload was just as high as the one of prosecutors, your overtime hours just as extreme, but you enjoyed the fast-paced environment and the lovely collection of recommendation letters you’d get once you finished going through law school.

While you sometimes tended to stray to help other procescutors, you tended to be on the cases that Aaron Hotchner handled, to the point where you had memorized everything about him. How he liked his cases ordered on his desk, what order he preferred to gather extra evidence in, how he conducted his witness interviews, all the way down to his coffee order. In order to help him efficiently, you believed that you needed to know absolutely everything in order to excel.

You had been called a perfectionist for the majority of your life. To be a lawyer, that’s what you had to be. You couldn’t slack off just because you weren’t there yet.

You push through the doorway of Aaron’s office just as he sets down his briefcase on the desk, giving him a soft smile as you place a coffee cup on his desk. “Detectives found more evidence in the sexual assault case in Columbia Heights, meaning we’ll most likely have another court case on our hands during the week. I pulled more cases to set precedent for the Argal case and the summary for that is right here,” you grab the manilla folder from beneath his briefcase, holding it back to him, “and the lab results on the knife finally came in for the Neller case, we got him dead to rights.”

The corner of Aaron’s lip pulls up in a slight smirk as he pulls open the file you handed him, glancing at it for a moment before back up at you. “Whatever happened to ‘good morning, Counselor?’ And breathe, please.” He chuckles, setting the file down before sitting in the chair behind his desk. 

Taking a deep breath at the reminder, you cross your arms over your chest, tilting your head. “Is it a good morning if you haven’t slept? Kidding,” you add quickly when he pins you with a stern look, afraid of being sent home due to exhaustion. 

“The Temple murder case is tomorrow, by the way.” The words come out of your mouth slowly, cautiously. The high-profile murder case had been a storm cloud over the office since it had come through, making it the main thing that had plagued your mind – and your workload.

You knew the case like the back of your hand. A spree killer, William Temple, a married business man loved by many. Four different bodies, blunt force trauma to the head and stab wounds to the chest, evidence of sexual assault on low-risk victims. It had gotten media attention before the cops had even known what to do with it, making it a case that had to end in a guilty verdict. It was either that or letting him walk free with a God complex, believing that he could do absolutely anything with no consequences at all.

Unfortunately, there were always issues with high-profile cases. It put them under a microscope, all left under the court of public opinion before getting in front of the jury. His defense attorney would most likely use his charm to their advantage, playing him as a loving family man who couldn’t hurt a fly. Crowds would gather on the steps of the courthouse, either chanting for him to be released or for him to be locked away for good.

There had already been issues with the case. The defense attorney had buried you and Aaron in unnecessary motions, brought you in front of the judge about every single piece of evidence you had attempted to submit for fabricated reasons, along with asking for extraneous files that’d never be needed for the entirety of the case. After that stalling, in which they took the chance to put his good name all over the Internet, jury selection had taken over a week, too worried about his media coverage poisoning the possible jurors.

Finally, after what seemed like years of making an air-tight case, it was time for the case to proceed. Despite the judge granting Aaron’s motion of keeping the media out of the courtroom, a few things would definitely fall through the cracks, meaning everything you’ve pulled together evidence-wise had to be airtight.

“Are you asking me if I’m ready?” The prosecutor hums as he scribbles something in a file, glancing up through his eyelashes for just a brief moment before back down at his work.

“Are you?” You respond calmly, brow arching. It wasn’t like you to question Aaron - you often worshipped the ground he walked on as a prosecutor - but this case was practically half of you. You couldn’t bear to see it go the wrong way. “Do you think we have enough to prove he did this beyond a reasonable doubt?”

A sigh leaves his lips as he sets down his pen, chin tilting up until his focus levels on you, eyes wrinkling around the corners. “I know what my job is.” He reminds you evenly, challenging you with a twitch of his lip. “We have witness testimony putting him on the block of two of the kills, the expunged record of sexual assault, the testimony of his ex-girlfriend on his domestic abuse that shows his dislike towards women.”

You press your lips together as you sit down in the chair on the other side of his desk, crossing your leg over your knee. “Yes, but they have his wife. She’d be willing to perjure herself to give him an alibi, no doubt about it, we’ve seen it before. Also, you said it yourself, his record was expunged. That’s asking for the defense attorney to twist it into how he was wrongfully accused, how this is twice in a row. This man is charming people by just existing, Aaron, we have to come up with either more concrete physical evidence or a way to show the jury that he’s not the kind man he appears to be.” 

Realizing you might’ve overstepped, you clear your throat. “Sir.”

Clearing his throat, Aaron leans back further in his seat, long legs stretching out and splaying apart as he crosses his arms over his chest. He looks dangerous, holding the same focus and grit that you often saw displayed across his face in the courtroom, sending a soft flutter of butterflies in your stomach. Dark and determined eyes watch all of your movements closely, jaw set despite the seemingly relaxed state of his body, a tuft of hair draping over his forehead and his patterned tie just slightly crooked around his neck.

“What would you do?” He questions, keeping his face even. “You want to be a lawyer, don’t you? You’ll have to make these decisions for yourself. So, what would you do?”

You swallow, anxiety creeping its way up your spine. While he doesn’t look upset at your obvious overstepping, the conversation feels like a game of tug-of-war. Pull too hard, you risk anger. Let go, you risk kicking yourself for giving up so easily. “Bring in his wife and have her sit on the wrong side.”

The prosecutor’s eyebrows raise. You can tell you’ve caught him by surprise, watching as he shifts his weight and leans a bit closer to you in curiosity. “Why?”

“During the trial, Temple is going to keep to the calm, good guy demeanor that they’ve tried to paint him to be. His attorney is going to coach him into looking likeable, sophisticated, someone who would never kill anyone, much less four people. But, based on the evidence with his domestic abuse and all of his victims being women, you can infer that he has something against women who go against what he believes is correct.” You lean closer to the desk as you talk, being extra aware to hold the tense eye contact with him.

After a pause, you continue. “If his wife, who believes he has trained to obey his every command, looks to be deceiving him, the irritation will show. If he believes his only solace is his wife and that that one person is betraying him, his good-looking image would immediately be reconsidered by the jury when he snaps at you. If you press into him, explaining to the jury exactly why he looks so agitated and nervous, he will grow defensive, further proving your own point.” Your hands move wildly as you speak, growing excited as your idea spills out of your mouth.

Despite your excitement, Aaron stays in his relaxed position, bending his knees as he places his feet firmly on the floor. “That sounds too risky to make it our smoking gun.” He responds, head shaking just a smidge. “If the wife doesn’t agree or if he’s able to keep his composure, we’re right back where we are at this moment.”

The way he speaks, so easily dismissing you, makes irritation prick at your skin. Your idea is good. You know it’s good. It’s been done before, tactics used to sway the jury’s opinion over the defendant’s personality rather than the evidence laid out in front. At the end of the day, everyone held personal opinions about people – those ruled above any fact that someone could provide. It’s why celebrities are so highly revered despite the controversies painting the front page of magazines.

“Let me talk to the wife.” You thread your fingers together, cracking your knuckles anxiously. “I can get through to her. If Temple is the abuser we think he is, she’s been wanting to get away for a while, but hasn’t because of her kids. All I have to do is empathize and bring up her confidence. I can do it,” you insist, embarrassed by the slightly pleading tone lacing your words.

With a heavy sigh, like this conversation was unimportant, Aaron scoots his chair forward, elbows hitting his desk as his body leans towards you. “That’s not going to happen.” His tone is still even, cool, probably as an attempt to be reassuring while he crushes your idea beneath your nice shoes. “If his wife tells him or his defense attorney that we tried to turn her against him, the attorney will use that to their advantage to poison the jury and paint us as the villians. Every move we make has to be careful, I don’t need to remind you.”

Your lips part again to speak, however your words fall short on your tongue when he raises one hand, immediately silencing you. “Please. Focus on the other cases we have. I will work this case on my own and let you know if I need anything. As for the courtroom,” he takes a sip of the coffee you gave him, clearing his throat, “you are allowed to sit next to me at the prosecutor’s bench. To observe and learn, not to participate.” 

His focus finds you again, eyebrow raising in question. “Understood?”

The urge to let your irritation boil over is intense, causing you to bite at the inside of your cheek to silence yourself. The both of you are held in a tense staring contest for a few heartbeats before you nod, standing back up. “Yes, sir.” 

Without waiting for an answer, you turn around, heels clacking loudly against the tile floor as you rush towards your own office.

For the rest of your shift, you try to avoid Aaron as much as possible, dropping off files when he was away from his office and avoiding any meeting room he might be occupying. You’re annoyed, if not hurt, by his instant dismissal of your ideas. Usually, anything you suggested tended to be mulled over by him, accepted with a grunt of approval or denied with an explanation of exactly why. To be waved off so easily on the biggest case of your career so far was so annoying, so demeaning on the work you had put in in the year you had been working underneath him.

After finishing up all of your work for the day, long after the sun had set beneath the horizon, you immediately shut the door to your office before making your way back through the hallway, pulling your bag up higher on your shoulder. You are aware that you look slightly insane, chin tilted up as your feet thunk against the ground at an annoyingly fast pace, but it’s a price you’re willing to pay. You just need to leave the four walls of the office in order to simmer down the irritation before it turns into a grudge.

Unfortunately, you peer into every meeting room as you step by it, only to look directly into the eyes of Aaron. Across from him, you could only make out a mop of blonde hair, recognizing it as Mrs. Temple. Her shoulders are stiff as she keeps her focus on the prosecutor, having not noticed that his attention was now directed over her head. 

Quickly, you turn your attention away, heading straight for the exit. You weren’t supposed to work on the case anymore – it wasn’t your business what he was doing.

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮

Court days were always extremely stressful days. Every small thing mattered. What time you arrived, if you were too late or too early, what you wore and how you presented yourself. Even if you weren’t the person on the stands, or even one of the lawyers talking, you would be scrutinized. The last thing you needed was to embarrass Aaron.

Pulling your shoulders back, you practically strut into the courthouse, fingers curled around the handle of your briefcase. Your power walk is only stopped by the sight of Temple’s defense attorney, watching as a wicked smile curls on her lip, looking over at you and blocking your way. “I see Hotchner doesn’t have a very good hold on his dog, letting you walk around by yourself. Scared you’re going to embarrass him?”

You narrow your eyes as you look closer at her face, playing innocent. “Did you miss your Botox appointment? Or are you just stressed about how hard you’re going to lose this case?” Your head tilts slightly to the side, the corner of your lip threatening a smile.

Her brows raise in slight surprise at your bite, lips parting to respond, although she’s interrupted by the clearing of a throat. “Counselor. You best teach your paralegal some manners.”

Manicured hand raising, you’re ready to bite back again, only to stop short when you feel a tug on the back of your neck. Without you noticing, Aaron’s hand had slid up the space between your shoulder blades, his index finger curling around the hair at the nape of your neck and giving it a sharp, but brisk tug. The temporary pain sends a slight shudder down your spine, eyes turning towards him accusingly. Leaning down, he murmurs low enough for only you to hear. “Behave.”

You manage to keep your cool long enough for him to straighten his spine, looking back at the other attorney. “The only time you should be speaking to my paralegal is if you are requesting to speak to me. The only time you should be asking for me is if you are willing to discuss a deal. Until then, any conversation you have is not my business. See you in court.” His tone is authoriative and straight to the point, leaving no room for argument before his hand is on the small of your back, leading you away.

“I can handle myself.” You grumble, although you make no attempt to step away from him. You’d spend the next few days by his side in the courtroom, anyways, it wasn’t like you could avoid him. Plus, the warm feeling of his hand through your shirt was comforting the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You always had the worst anxiety on court days. Aaron usually poked fun at you for it – when it was lesser charges and not multiple counts of murder, that is.

He sighs as he opens a door to one of the conference rooms, guiding you in before shutting it. The room isn’t too small, enough to fit a larger table and a group of people, but it feels like he’s looming over you, taking up too much space. “You need to get yourself together. It is a stressful day and you don’t need to make it worse by arguing with the defense. Focus.” He crosses his arms over his chest, the act almost sinful with the way it makes his toned arms press against the fabric. “You aren’t speaking today, but I will be speaking a lot of words you spoke. You will be the one speaking in front of the jury soon enough, you need to take this time to learn, not bicker.”

The way he looks at you, dark eyes searing into your own while he scolds you, makes you feel small. Not insignificant, just small. You’re very aware that you are just one piece of this puzzle. You’re also aware that you are incredibly attracted to the stern version of Aaron Hotchner. 

Sighing, you shake out your shoulders, cracking your knuckle before nodding. “Yes, sir. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I just need you to make sure the best version of yourself is walking into that courtroom. And stop cracking your knuckles, it makes you look nervous. You can be nervous, but you cannot show it.” His brow raises as he stares you down before his hand finds the doorknob. “Are you ready?”

You nod, adjusting your blazer before grabbing your briefcase tighter. “Yes.”

Aaron nods back at you, opening the door. He holds it open for you to step out before following close behind, his shoulder brushing yours as you make your way towards the courtroom.

Once you’re in, you let every thought not regarding the case fall away. Instead, you go over the facts in your head. There wouldn’t be much today, other than opening statements, but it was vital. The opening statements were the jury’s first impression of your side – and one of the only things they’d actually remember. 

As you settle down at the prosecution bench, you take a quick look around the courtroom. There’s a few faces you don’t recognize, but they’re blurs alongside the faces you do know. The first victim’s kids, the second victim’s parents. It’s almost suffocatingly sad.

Your eyes raise again as the courtroom doors open, revealing Mrs. Temple and her two kids. You note the nervousness on her face, but you chalk it up to the fact that she was walking into a court session for her husband of a few years. That is, until you watch her saunter to one of the benches behind you, settling herself down on the wrong side of the courtroom.

Immediately, irritation prickles at your skin. Accusatory eyes find the side of Aaron’s face, which is perfectly settled and calm as he stares down at the pad of paper in front of him, scribbling notes after notes. If he feels your gaze, which you’re sure he does, he doesn’t react to it. 

Not one bit.

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮

The trial goes by quicker than expected. After Aaron cross-examined Temple himself on the stand, digging into all of the worst parts of him in the perfectly suave tone he saved for the courtroom, the defense attorney had practically begged for the plea deal you two had offered long before. It took a couple of days to actually settle the details, but then it was done. Over. Months upon months of work just for it to go away in a couple weeks.

Now, you’re back to normal life. Who knew how long it’d be until you got into another courtroom again, especially since you had been doing everything in your power to avoid him. It was childish, how something so simple had hurt your feelings, but you had never been one to let a bruised ego just get swept away.

You’re nosedeep in a pile of cases late at night, sitting on your desk for a new perspective with your leg crossed over your knee, when there’s a knock on the door of your office. Your head raises quickly, thinking it’s a prosecutor needing something urgent from you, only to take in the sight of Aaron. He’s obviously on his way out, his necktie loose around his neck and the buttons on his wrist and collar undone. You feel dumb for the way your heart flutters.

“Can I come in?” He questions, leaning against your doorframe.

“Depends. Are you going to steal my stapler?” You deadpan. The past couple of weeks, you haven’t been hiding your discontent, nor have you had any intent to. You did your work, you put in the hours and you weren’t outwardly rude – what would he do, fire you?

A shadow slowly looms over you as he steps closer, two palms landing on your desk on either side of you. His presence is so close, so sudden, that you’re automatically leaning back, eyes widening as you glance up at him. “Can I help you?”

“I didn’t steal anything.” Aaron starts, his brow furrowing as he looks down at you sternly. “You had a great idea and I decided to use it. I know I was a bit blunt when I dismissed it the first time, and I apologize for that. I should’ve told you when I changed my mind, and I apologize for that. But I’d appreciate it if you’d speak to me instead of acting like a brat for weeks.”

That word, falling off of his tongue so easily, mixed with the slightly dishelved look he was currently sporting, was enough to have blood quickly rushing to your cheeks, heat gathering there as you stared back at him. There’s a part of you that wants to argue, however you cannot get the words out.

The prosecutor must take your surprise for being upset, sighing as his shoulders fall. His head droops for just a moment, causing a strand of hair to come loose and drape over his forehead. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to make you feel any type of negative way.” He sounds the most sincere you have ever heard him – which was saying a lot, seeing as he spoke in a cool, collected cadence most of the time. 

Not wanting to make him beg for forgiveness, you find your words. “It’s okay. I probably was being a bit of a brat.” You admit, raising one shoulder in a shrug.

“Oh, you definitely were.” He stands up straight, removing his hands from their spots beside you as he shoves them into the pockets of his slacks. The air around you feels ten times cleaner now that he’s no longer in your space, although the feeling is bittersweet. 

Aaron is quiet for a moment, eyes flickering to the work on your desk and the ground before back at your face. “You’re the hardest worker here at this office and an essential asset to me. I didn’t intend to offend you and I never will.” His eyes glint with a hint of amusement, the familiar wrinkle on the side of his lips deepening with the ghost of a smile. “Can’t have my best girl leaving me in the dust because I wasn’t clear.”

“Now you’re just trying to flatter me.” You roll your eyes, standing up and setting the files in your hands on your desk. You’re trying your very best to seem calm and collected, although you’re admittedly extremely flustered. For someone who craved to be recognized growing up, you’d never been the best at taking compliments.

“Just a little bit.” He admits bluntly, a small chuckle rumbling in his chest before he turns his back to you, making his way towards the door. “Go home, take a break. Come in late tomorrow. We have a lot to do so I need you at your best.”

With that, he steps out of your office, leaving you to watch him walk past the glass and disappear down the hallway, ignoring the intense thudding of your heart against your ribcage.

You’ve got it bad.

[mantas-ray]

VALENTINE’S DAY FT. JAYCE TALIS

includes! jayce’s love language + valentine’s day themes

tags. gn!reader, fluff, cheesy & cliché asf. this was supposed to be 3 love languages but jayce is filled w so much love i had to do all. obvi there will be some he’s more inclined to, but i think he does all to some capacity

a/n. i’m sorry this is late jayce nd i were trying for a baby (he’s the one getting pregnant btw) but for real school has been hell and i’ve been lacking motivation lately

GIFT GIVING

Jayce loves giving gifts, especially to those he loves. Whether it’s birthdays, anniversaries or holidays, he’s sure to get his loved ones a thoughtful present.

It’s no different on Valentine’s Day. Every year, he gets his mother and Caitlyn their favourite flowers with a handwritten note attached because Valentine’s Day is about showing appreciation to those he loves — not just romantically. He also gives Viktor a gift, maybe a collection of caffeinated teas.

He goes all out with you, though. Jayce occasionally gives you flowers, so he steps up his game. That doesn’t mean he won’t give you your favourite flowers, because he 100% will. In addition to a huge bouquet, he gifts you a little black box with something he made inside.

Jayce will be in his forge days before, creating a trinket for you. It could be a bracelet, necklace, or ring. Jayce would make you an engagement ring with your initials engraved on the inside of its band when that time comes around, but for now, he’d settle for a simple promise ring. He doesn’t often gift you things he’s created in his forge because he doesn’t want it to lose its novelty.

Though Jayce may claim getting him a gift is unnecessary, it’s a lie. He gets ecstatic when you return the favour. If you give him any jewellery, he won’t take it off. Have you seen how attached he is to the hex crystal on his leather wristband? It’s because it’s held significance to his life, and so have you.

He’d want to be buried with any jewellery you’ve gotten him — rings, bracelet, a locket with a picture of your face — he’s cherishing it. The only way to show his appreciation of the piece, and by extension, you, is to wear it every day until he can’t anymore.

ACTS OF SERVICES (no vday mention but u win some u lose some)

Living with Jayce can be monotonous, but being a Councilor or being with a Councilor is not the average experience, so the monotony is comforting.

Simple chores such as taking out the trash or cleaning up your shared home provide normalcy in his life that the role of a Councilor didn’t fulfil. Don’t get him wrong, he’s grateful for his seat on the Council, but some days Jayce would rather be stuck in his lab working out kinks in an invention or maybe preparing a meal to surprise you when you’re home from work or school instead of being in an office.

I’ve seen people headcanon Jayce as a terrible cook. It is funny, but I personally think Jayce spent a lot of time in the kitchen with his mom growing up, and food is a love language for him. He seems like a guy who eats good. (Have you seen how huge he is??)

His mother would cut apples and bring them to him when he was preoccupied with studying or research. Jayce does the same for you.

When you’re overworking yourself, hunched over your desk, one spelling error away from a mental breakdown, Jayce will knock on the door and offer you fresh fruit or a simple meal. Jayce would love to be home helping around, but he’s rarely there, so he tries to help in the little ways he can.

It’s a nonverbal reminder to take care of yourself because Jayce loves you and doesn’t want you to stress yourself out. It is hypocritical, considering he returns home late most days because he’s usually worrying about political business.

He doesn’t mind when you return the gesture, of course. There will be days he’s overworked and needs you to care for him.

QUALITY TIME & PHYSICAL TOUCH

These go hand in hand with Jayce. If he’s spending time with you, he’s touching you in some sort of way. He’s like a newborn baby — Jayce needs skin-to-skin contact. He wakes up earlier just to experience you cuddled up next to him, and he has to kiss you before work each morning. You’re not conscious half the time, but you feel his lips on your forehead.

Normally, he attempts to make any excuse to see you throughout the day to spend an extra couple of hours with you. You’re at the academy as a scholar or professor? He’s dropping by after your class to gift you a sweet treat — a kiss or, if you’re lucky, some sort of pastry — and chat you up.

His hand subconsciously itch to touch you when you’re conversing. He doesn’t know where to put them, though. Jayce contemplates resting them on your hip, but they just brush against you until you take the hint and intertwine your fingers with his.

If you work elsewhere, Jayce is taking his lunchtime to bother you during yours. He buys you lunch and asks how your day is so far, attempting to spend as much time as possible with you since you both have busy schedules.

Jayce would take you out to a fancy dinner for Valentine’s Day if you’d like, but enjoying each other’s company after another tiring day of work is what he’d prefer most.

He loves cooking and enjoys every component of dinner with you, including preparing, eating, and washing the dishes.

Music fills the room, and Jayce hums to the tune while he prepares the ingredients. You don’t even have to cook — you could be his taste tester, ensuring he’s added enough seasoning. You’re both enjoying each other’s presence, not talking much.

Jayce gets his recipes from his mom. He definitely asked her which dish would impress you the most, and he followed the written instructions on the piece of paper. When you compliment the meal, he tells his mom how much you appreciate it when he visits her later.

As boring as it seems, he loves doing the dishes with you. It’s another excuse to spend more time with you, even if it’s mundane. He washes the plates; you dry them. It’s repetitive, but he adores the close proximity, your shoulders bumping together as he passes you another plate for you to dry.

However, his favourite part of Valentine’s Day is taking a bath with you. Sure, it’s cliché, but Jayce is a lover boy. It’s not often he gets you like this, so let him have it.

Jayce can barely fit in the bathtub, his knees peeking out the warm water as he bends his knees, suds clinging to his bare skin, but he doesn’t care. It can go either way: your back pressed to Jayce’s chest, his chin resting on top of your damp hair or Jayce’s back is pressed to your chest, his head resting on the crook of your neck.

He doesn’t mind either way. Once your bare skin is sticking to his, Jayce is at peace. The added scent of fragrant candles and the gentle light they cast on your dewy skin increased the intimacy of the scenario. There’s something about cleaning each other’s body, cleansing the other of the day’s burden that sends Jayce’s heart beating erratically.

Additionally, Jayce gives you an amateur massage before bed. He’s oddly good at it. Jayce is strong, and his hands are skilled, but it’s downright orgasmic when his thumb digs into your back, working out the knots.

He expects you to repay him for his efforts. Maybe not by a massage, but you’re going to have to make it up to him somehow. I’m sure you’ll get creative.

WORDS OF AFFIRMATION

Jayce is very vocal about his love with you. He tells you he loves you any chance he gets. Between kisses, before work, while you’re asleep — he wants you to know how much he loves you. He needs you to know you mean the world to him.

It’s not just ‘I love you’s he tells you. Jayce loves complimenting you, even when you think you look like shit. 

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he says after you’ve woken up from your well-deserved nap. You have bags under your eyes, your hair’s dishevelled, and your eyes are barely open, but Jayce truthfully thinks you’re gorgeous no matter how much you think you look a mess.

He also makes it known how proud he is of you. Again, you don’t need to do anything revolutionary; maybe you finished a book, yet Jayce lets it be known how proud he is of you.

Jayce talks about you to other people. I’m sure Caitlyn is sick of hearing how amazing you are, and his mother is elated her son found someone who loves him so dearly. It’s all she wants for her sweet boy.

[bullet-prooflove]

Eurydice: Leroy Jethro Gibbs x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @ilovemark1951 @love-affair-with-fandoms @clarasmoon @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

The perfect song for this piece: Eurydice by Vincent Lima

Companion piece to:

The Ice Queen - Gibbs meets The Ice Queen for the first time.

Break The Ice - A act of decency helps Gibbs to break the ice.

Grave - You and Gibbs bump into each other in an unexpected place.

Safe - You and Gibbs work through your grief in different ways.

Check In - Gibbs checks in with you after the night before.

Wait It Out - You and Gibbs wait out a threat to your saftey.

All Dressed Up - You and Gibbs have a frank conversation about an office event.

Right Here - You come home to find Gibbs waiting for you on your doorstep.

Revelations - Gibbs is surprised to discover a connection between you and Mike Franks.

Haunted (ft: Mike Franks) - Mike reflects on your prior history.

Lilies - Gibbs knows you're not fine.

Closure - Gibbs supports you in the aftermath of the arrest.

Save Me San Francisco - Gibbs is forced to confront his feelings when you leave for San Franisco.

San Francisco agrees with you. Gibbs can hear it in your voice on the other end of the phone as he sits in the chair alongside his window and looks out across the San Diego skyline. The sun is starting to set in the distance, the sky streaked with darkness as it turns to the colour of cornflowers. The exact same shade as your eyes. He wonders if they darken at the height of pleasure, if you’ll keep them fixed on his as he brings you to the brink of rapture.

Those thoughts, they’ve been invading his brain ever since the day you left, since you kissed him on the mouth and told him to think about visiting you in San Francisco. That moment, it had awakened something inside of him, something he thought had died along with Shannon.

“I found this wonderful little microbrewery you’d love.” You tell him as he tunes back into the conversation. “I could take you the next time you have leave. A vacation would do you some good.”

He remains silent and he can feel your disappointment over four hundred miles away as he cradles the phone underneath his chin. He can tell your hope is dying, that you’re starting to give up on him. You’ve been away for six months now and he hasn’t been to see you despite your offers. He can sense that you’re starting to move on with your life, that you want him to be a part of that but being with you, it changes everything for him. It means letting go of his wife, his daughter and he’s not sure he’ll ever be ready for that.

“OK.” You say finally, your tone shifting to one of resolution. “I should probably stop calling right? Let you get on with it?”

“I like knowing you’re ok, that your safe.” He reassures you.

These Thursday night phone calls are the highlight of his week. Each and every one reminds him of the connection the two of you have, that he still means something to you despite the distance.

“Jethro.” You say softly. “I need to know what we’re doing right now, if I should be holding on for something more or if it’s time to let this go.”

And here it is, the inevitable fork in the road, the one that Mike Franks had warned was coming because you can’t have one foot in and one foot out, not the way he has been.

“Do you want me Jethro?” You ask him, your voice raw with emotion. “Do you want me the way that I want you?”

His breath catches in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. He opens his mouth to speak but the words, they’re lodged in his throat like the Lego blocks still scattered across the floor of Kelly’s bedroom floor.

“Alright, I understand.” You say quietly and the resignation in your voice, it tears the heart right out of his ribcage. “Goodbye Jethro, stay safe out there.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[leashybebes]

wip word game

i was tagged in this a bunch so here goes. these are from a bunch of different things, mostly allying and amnesia fic, with a few fluffebruary bits thrown in when i couldn't find anything in those. and i still had to fudge it a little lol. feel free to guess what's what!

no pressure tags for @hyperfocusthusly, @bidisasterevankinard, @kissmyashes for the word best

from @geddyqueer the word wreck

W - What does Tommy mean, Eddie's in Texas? Buck doesn't remember him talking about taking a trip, but then he doesn't remember what landed him in hospital, either.

R - "Remember, I am a world leading expert at complicated parent stuff, okay? I got you."

E - "Evan. Of course. We're still friends. I just don't need your uh. Your particular brand of wingman skills right now."

C - "Couldn't handle the shift work," Tommy says with a shrug, but it doesn't escape Buck that they're having this conversation two weeks after the first time since Derek became a feature that Tommy wound up in hospital with smoke inhalation and a concussion.

K - Karen lets out a long, slow breath. "Do you want one of us to try talking to him?"

from @dadvans the word real

R - (The) room they're staying in is down the hall from mom's but they still settle close under the covers, heads on the same pillow, a sheet pulled up high creating a warm little world just for them.

E - Evan's big hand squeezes at his waist. "Dance with me."

A - Across the table, Tommy drags the tip of his nose up the side of Derek's face, across his stubble, making him smile.

L - "Look, give it some time," he says again. "I'm not saying never, man, you know we'd love to see you. But not yet, okay?"

from @rcmclachlan the word star

S - She barely comes up to Tommy's shoulder, but manages to make him look small when she envelops him in a hug.

T - Tommy is a good kisser - even out of his mind with pleasure, he's good at it, messy and biting enough that it fits the moment, but not sloppy, more like a controlled messiness.

A - "Are you coming down with something?" he asks, pressing the back of his hand to Tommy's forehead like he's five years old.

R - (The) red velvet cupcakes were an easy choice. They're Tommy's favorite by far which Buck doesn't get at all, if he's being honest.

from @sugarpenchant the word water

W - When Buck kisses back, he makes a noise low in his chest and gets his hands in Buck's hair, keeps him close, gasps against his mouth.

A - A week later, Buck meets a girl on a call who has a pet snake.

T - Tommy looks briefly like he's been dunked in cold water before he musters up a laugh. 

E - Evan looks beautifully happy in the resulting photo.

R - (The) rest of the house will need some work to match their style, but Tommy can already tell Evan won't want to change a thing about the kitchen, from the cute little island to the six ring hob with built-in flat top. Tommy grabs Evan's hand to stop the tugging on his sleeve and holds it tight.

from @setmeatopthepyre the word bite

B - "Boy, I clocked you years back. Wasn't sure if you knew, but. You think the way you looked at Deluca or - guys on calls was subtle?"

I - "I had a close call at work," Tommy admits, and tries to ignore the desperate little part of him that thrills when Evan, all these months later, looks worried.

T - Tommy doesn't move in the doorway, other than to tuck his hands into his pockets, a familiar, awkward movement.

E - Evan shrugs and looks away. "I figured I'd never see you again."

[lmvari]

⟳ 08. FLOWER CHARM

You did it.

The rush of adrenaline hasn’t worn off yet, but the moment you step outside the lecture hall, you feel lighter. It’s over.

The nerves, the overthinking, the endless nights buried in notes and half-finished slides all led to this moment. And god, it was worth it. The panelists had smiled at you, nodding along as you spoke, their questions laced more with curiosity than skepticism.

You did that.

And for some reason, the first person you want to tell is—

“Hey, genius.”

Kuni.

Leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed, looking completely unbothered. But he’s here. He’s here. And the second his eyes land on you, something flickers in his gaze. Something quiet, knowing. Like he already knows exactly how it went before you even say a word.

Your chest tightens.

You roll your eyes, but it’s impossible to fight the warmth bubbling up in you. “You don’t even know if I passed.”

Kuni scoffs, pushing off the wall. “Oh, shut it.” He gives you a once-over, like he’s confirming his own thoughts. “So? How bad did you show off?”

You laugh, and it comes out lighter than you expect. “Maybe just a little.”

His lips twitch. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watching you. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he repeats, “Showoff.”

You shove him lightly, but before you can say anything, he reaches into his pocket and holds something out to you.

A small charm.

Delicate glass petals catching the light.

A flower with your initials on it.

You freeze.

“I figured you deserved something,” he says, like it’s nothing. “Though I should’ve gotten a bigger one, since you aced it and all.”

You barely hear the teasing edge in his voice. Your fingers brush the charm as you take it, turning it over in your palm. It’s so small, but somehow, it feels heavier than it should be.

Unlike treating you to food and drinks, this feels different. It’s not just a passing gesture, not something that will be gone by tomorrow. It’s a small gift. Something to keep, something that lingers. And for the first time, it feels like he wanted you to have more than just a moment with him.

Your heart stumbles. “You…”

Kuni watches you for a beat longer than necessary. Then he shrugs, stuffing his hands back in his pockets.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” he drawls, already moving past you, hands in his pockets. Then, over his shoulder, “C’mon, I just finished my own practicals. We need a proper celebration. Nothing big, just us. You in?”

And just like that, hope flutters in your chest once more. You’re still riding the high of your emotions, so much so that you don’t even consider the usual implications of his offer. For once, it doesn’t feel like he’s expecting anything in return. Just a simple, genuine gesture that leaves something unfamiliar and lingering in its wake.

Because he didn’t have to do this.

Because why does it feel like this means something?

⟳ BLURRED LINES — PREV | MASTERLIST | NEXT

You say you’re just friends. You say it every time you leave a party together, every time you wake up tangled in sheets, every time you swear it’s the last time. But habits form, lines blur, and pretending gets harder when jealousy starts to sting.

NOTE in honor of the recent valentine’s i made it a flower charm hehe also for the sake of it just pretend that flower is ur fave and that ur initials r on it ty <3

TAGLIST @joiurz @sketcheeee @mywillt0live @kyouzki @ylapsha45 @eternallykira-143 @bananasquash @kunikissr @swivi @ariesloves @lloversss @b-bbytears @kokoscutie @vi0let-writes @tomsishere @franaby @scaraenthusiast1 @iloveescara @usagiarchive @ilovecats-26 @quiechee @snetr @axquella @tatsuomii @lalalaloveallmydays @liyahbug @feiherp @jinjjjia

if your name is in bold, that means i can’t tag you

[ihaznoclue]

Hey Arlo! It’s been some time since you’re available.

I have another request for you to try out.

May I request HCs of Arcee, Bulkhead and Smokescreen with a Cybertronian![S/O] [Romantic] [Gender Neutral] who has a Helicopter-based alt. mode?

Probably based on the AH-1Z Viper, but it doesn’t have to be that specific type. You can be creative with this one.

Long time no see friend :) I've been away most of the week, I went to camp for mainly three days then had a break all from last week

Pairings -> Arcee, Bulkhead, Smokescreen x Cybertronian Reader

Warnings -> None

Note -> Reader has a helicopter alt but is part of the autobots

Genre -> Fluff [Romantic]

Arcee

She would be very suspicious of your to have such a alt vehicle as flight like the decepticons

But sooner or later she realised that you weren't like them, you were trying to find a side that would help you

Then you two started to become more closer together as you would go on mission if needed

Or sometime would go out with Jack, Arcee on the road while you were in the air

You two would sometimes race even if you are both not ont he same level

Arcee then soon realise that she is starting to feel a fuzzy feeling in her spark meaning that she is starting to like you

But of course you like her back, she was the first one to welcome you in even though she didn't full on trusted you on the first day here on earth

Like when Smokescreen came into the Decepticon pod to escape the war on Cybertron

But you and Arcee would be great together with her agility on the ground while you cover for her up top

Or sometimes when you sneak attack the cons from above as you start to fire down at them

Arcee always knows that you have her back and that she has yours

Whenever you are in trouble she is always the first one to try to get to you to see if you are okay

Bulkhead

This Softie is the wording of kindness, like he literally made you feel welcome on the first day on earth and in the base

Miko thinking that you were cool and that you and bulkhead should be buddies

Like wheeljack and Bulkhead

Even though Bulkhead realises your wings and other helicopter parts when you are not in your alt form

But he still knows that you are on the good side of the war

Meaning that you have a lot to learn

Bulkhead bearly knows you but he is starting to feel something for you in a way he couldn't describe

He would go to Miko and ask for her advice

To what Miko said to bulkhead, he just went for it

Of course you accepted his feelings towards you because you couldn't think of any other answer rather than yes

You two are starting to date and hang out more often

Sometimes Miko would tag along with you guys

You would have Miko in your alt mode when going out for a 'drove' well for Bulkhead mostly

Smokescreen

This guy would be questioning you stuff on why you look like that

He never realises what he is saying and the words that are currently coming out of his mouth until someone tells him off

Mainly Optimus or Ratchet

He wouldn't think much of it as you have a rather colour scheme then the decepticons

But you told him that you weren't on their side and he just never spoke of it anymore to keep his respect to his friends

Yes he now considers you as a friend

But seeming that you two love to hang out and other stuff that 'close friends' do

He starts to feel something else rather then heating up

His spark feels more lighter when he is around you

His faceplates become more heated than it already is

He always shakes it off but it never goes away

Thats until he confesses to get rid of this feeling

But it never did as you two are now dating

But he becomes more confidant in himself knowing that you won't judge him for his childish plays

You are just like him but different

-A<3

[artistically-hershie]

So I see my drawing for the RusAme AUs got alot more love than I expected and I saw a few tags and a few friends asking what AU's are shown, and what is their plot.

I will say this, these are my AU's or an AU that I helped create. A lot of them are inspired by games or music, truthfully.

1. Monster Hunter

A big AU i am working in with @gremlins-hotel . We do plan to make a blog and reveal more of the AU eventually but with the new game coming out, we want to polish the plot a bit more before we post anything

Ivan being a Hunter from the New World and Alfred being a Rider, and his monstie Alti [a Tobi-Kadachi] being from a secluded tribe in the Old World.

2. Horizon x Hetalia

An AU based on the Horizon [ZeroDawn and ForbiddenWest] game series.

A post apocalyptic US setting where these guys made a clones of themselves along with their history to try and help aid the future generations.

But of course, time erodes everything. Even history and memories.

Alfred having his process to remember his history haunted due to a malfunction leaving him with broken memories and being in the hands of a very territorial tribe. He was raised a warrior struggling to remember this real name, all while Ivan is helping Matthew on the search to find Alfred .

3. Ersatz

One of my older but more proud AU's. A sci-fi, horror setting in the...strangely not so distant future with alot of drama between national embodiments and their yearn to be immortal through...experimental methods. Even if that means using an Alien for their own bodily needs.

Majorly inspired by the game Prey [2017]

4. Final Fantasy 14 x Hetalia

Astrologian Ivan and Red Mage Alfred, two Au Ruí from different tribes, grown in different ways, even told to hate one another. Yet they are somehow bound together...through time and soul.

5. XenoChronicles [name may change] *

Based on the multiple Mech Animes I've watched , (mainly) Xenoblade X and the few sci fi shows i grew up loving; these two are lost in space.

Alfred being a mechanic added onto the ship last minute, he is shown very little respect for being a cyborg. But Ivan being commander of a mech squadron who sees potential in the young man, even if he isn't completely human.

6. A Forgotten Story *

One of Two High Fantasy AUs where Alfred is the hier of a Dragon Goddess and has no clue of his heritage and Ivan being a Arch Mage of the Arcane. Some call the Mage a god but he is just highly skilled.

7. Godly Vessels *

Second of the two High Fantasy AUs where a cult tries to overthrow a kingdom by summoning a god using a peasants body for sacrifice. But instead the god shares the body with them (Alfred). Ivan being a unwanted Royal Guard from a neighboring kingdom (that was destroyed by these vessels) is to protect this entity.

Eventually his service will be a blessing.

8. Voodoo down Bourbon *

This isn't a official AU compared to the others rather a fun joke AU i couldn't help but include. Espically since Mardi Gras is just around the corner and I am from Louisiana.

Ivan based on drunken tourist gets a bit too cocky with a stranger, and Alfred being of course a voodoo artist takes advantage of the tourist.

Truthfully it was fun to throw my own speech and slang to Alfred, so to have him say cher is so fun.

Besides based on some local folk lore I'm sure he reminds you of a certain villain.

The ones with the stars after the name are ones that I posted maybe once or never posted because I was too embarrassed to share these ideas. I make quite a few AUs but sometimes it's just for comfort reasons or something just sparked a sudden idea and then actually thinking on the subject, it is scrapped.

Or even just for a quick doodle and the idea is gone

So to see you guys actually are interested makes me quite happy, espically since I've been very stressed.

If any peak your interest or you'd like to see more of these let me know!

[seellove]

Counterfeit Shrines // sukuna x female reader

Masterlist

Chapter 5 - Placing a bet, my odds are You and Me Zero // (3.6k words) // 18+

\|/ AO3 - Chapter 5 | << Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 >>

You're a late bloomer when it comes to cursed energy, entering Tokyo Jujutsu High partway through the 4th year on the support student track. Because of this, you get paired with the only combat track sorcerer without a partner for obvious reasons, Ryomen Sukuna. He's had a tragic upbringing as a human that is part curse with dark expectations for how to live his life. However, after meeting you, he slowly starts to see the possibility of a different path with someone he might love.

Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: Reader and Sukuna are Jujutsu Sorcerers in a JJK AU, explicit smut, violence/blood/injury, dubious consent, dubious morality, drug and alcohol use, falling in love, angst, comfort, fluff, happy ending

There is a chill in the morning air as you wait outside. You are groggy from sleeping poorly last night and as a result of waking up obscenely early, anxious and nervous for your first mission. Your bag lays on the ground beside you, probably overpacked, but you didn’t know what to expect so better to have something and not need it. 

You pull your beanie down lower to cover your ears from the breeze. The car better be warm, you aren’t yet used to these chilly mornings. 

“Be careful on your mission Suki,” Yorozus voice cuts through the silence. “Let me know when you get back, I’ll have a welcome home present you don’t want to miss.” 

Suki, you snicker to yourself, you’ll have to remember that next time he’s an asshole. 

“Oh yeah, what’s that gonna be?” a hint of playfulness in his voice.

“If you’re lucky I might send you a sneak peek later,” she responds in a sultry tone. 

Gross can they not do this elsewhere?. 

“Oh she’s going with you?” Yorozus voice grates on your ears. Goddammit you don’t want to deal with this right now. 

“Yep it’s a support training mission, I have to make sure she doesn’t kill herself, isn’t that right?” he pulls your beanie down over your eyes. 

You rip the beanie off in frustration, revealing Sukuna standing in front of you wearing his uniform pants and a red and black jacket. Yorozu stands next to him, her arms crossed scowling at you. 

“I might have to kill myself to save myself from your incessant attitude,” you clap back. You look at Yorozu. “He’s all yours girl, I don’t want anything to do with this,” you gesture at Sukuna. You wouldn’t mind if what happened last night were to happen again, but you had no interest in fighting over a man like him. 

He fakes a frown, “wow harsh. I underestimated how little you think of me.” You don’t miss the side eyed smirk as he turns his head slightly towards you so Yorozu can’t see. 

To your relief a black car pulls up, saving you from this situation. You take off towards the car, not bothering to acknowledge whether Sukuna follows or not. After tossing your bag into the trunk, you circle back to the rear doors and settle yourself in the backseat. The driver greets you but other than that stays quiet. Not long after you buckle up, Sukuna joins you. You ignore him at first, not planning to say anything until he speaks.

“Did you mean what you said back there?” he caves first. 

“Mean what?” 

“You want nothing to do with this.”

You briefly pause before speaking, staring out the window to avoid looking at him, “I mean, kind of. I’m just here to go to school so I can move on with my life. I didn’t ask to be partnered up with the class fuckboy and be the target of his fangirls’ jealousy.”

The sounds of the car on the highway fills the space between the two of you. Tension weighs heavy in the air. You don’t hate Sukuna, in fact you value the time together and the unexpected friendship that has developed. It might not be the deepest bond, but at the end of the day there is mutual respect and the company is enjoyable. You are also grateful for everything he has taught you, even though it started out on not the best of terms. Plus, it was nice having someone actually appreciate your intelligence instead of calling you a nerd or a loser. 

You turn to look at him, surprised to see him already eying you. His eyes look a little softer than normal, while his mouth betrays no hints as to what he is thinking. 

“It’s exhausting trying to be friends with you sometimes Sukuna. Your love life is of no concern to me, but when people start berating me and being nasty, it’s hard to justify wanting to continue the friendship. Hell, I don't even know if you want to be friends with me. You are so emotionless and vapid at times, it's impossible to tell if you actually enjoy spending time together.”

“I absolutely do want to be friends with you,” he quickly responds, his eyes widening with a rare sign of emotion. “Sorry, I’m not good at conveying this with words, but your presence, I enjoy it, I look forward to it.”

His vulnerability catches you by surprise, awkward silence pooling between you. You decide to lighten the mode a bit, to offset the weird moment. “So he does have a heart after all,” you force a giggle.

He snorts in response, “it keeps me alive.”

“Alright Suki, now tell me about this mission.” 

“Never call me that,” he huffs in annoyance, giving you a side eyed glare.

“Oh right, that's your special nickname only your girl can call you,” you continue to egg him on, feeling him seething beside you.

“If you don’t shut up, I’m gonna leave you in there with those curses and let you figure it out. Besides, she isn’t worth my time to disagree with, I don’t care enough to have a lengthy conversation,” Sukuna retorts.

“Now, about the mission.”

He explains the info that was contained in the original posting online. He must read the confusion on your face at the lack of information because he continues talking, “sometimes you don’t really know what the mission will be like until you are there to scope it out. The intel we receive is usually pretty high level without a ton of detail.” 

Your nervous demeanor must be apparent because he places his hand on your arm, “I won’t send you in there alone, I’ll scope it out first and I’ll be nearby the whole time. You have no idea how fast and powerful I am, I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

Your stomach feels less turbulent with his reassurances. 

“Are they scary? The curses?”

“If you aren’t used to them, I suppose they could be. Just to warn you, they are pretty grotesque and deformed looking. These ones we will be dealing with are pretty stupid though. Higher level ones are more scary because they can reason and act like humans.” 

“What kinds of missions do you usually go on?” you question. 

“Hmm, mine are usually a little tougher and can last multiple days. Sometimes I need to gather my own intel before charging in. There’s usually a lot of lower grade curses in addition to powerful ones. Curses attract curses after all.”

A sadistic grin creeps across his face as he continues, “I fuck then up though, I enjoy tearing them apart, trying new techniques on them, I’m known for leaving my missions a bloody mess when it’s all said and done.” 

“Why does that not surprise me? Can you show me your technique on one when we get there?” 

He sits up straighter, puffing out his chest ever so slightly, “yeah I will, just for you.”

You can’t help but be a little excited to see a real sorcerer in action. Plus, you need to see if he’s actually as strong as he claims to be. 

The rest of the ride goes without incident, chatting and banter between you two passing the time. You look up and notice the car slowing to turn into an old neighborhood, stopping a few houses away from what is presumably the abandoned one. It was a massive brick building with beautiful white columns, an unkempt garden framing the entrance.

You stare up at it, a wave of nausea springs up as fear begins to wash over you. You were scared of curses, only remembering stories of missions gone wrong and the gruesome things they will do to people. Shoko tried to describe them one time as did Sukuna earlier, but you were still nervous about everything. 

The driver activates the barrier and gives you both the rendezvous location. 

“Follow me,” Sukuna grunts shortly, leading the way towards the mansion. “I’ll go scope it out first, then come back for you.”

He bounds inside with impressive speed, kicking down the front door unceremoniously. A chill drips down your spine making you shiver in anticipation. The presence of curses. Swallowing hard, you try to pep yourself up, remembering the combat moves Sukuna had meticulously taught you and drilled you on.

You see red eyes approaching from the mansion and realize it’s just Sukuna. He beckons to you, waving you over. Your feet feel like lead as you force yourself to climb the staircase and walk through the open doorway.

“Watch me take out a few, then it’s your turn,” he grins. He seems to love this stuff, to love fighting because it's the first glimpse of excitement you’ve ever observed from him. Suddenly you see it, or better yet, them. Eyeless and slimy, the curses’ blue skin catches your eye in the dim room as they appear from behind a doorway on the opposite wall. You freeze up, the dark cursed energy coming off of them suffocates you, like your windpipe feeling like it is half the size now. You can’t tell if it’s panic or effects of the curses, but a feeling of despair comes on quickly.

On the contrary, Sukuna has a malicious sneer on his face, eyes glowing even brighter than before. He also looks like he has claws now, those definitely weren’t there before. 

“Watch,” he says in a gravelly voice as he delivers a swift punch to one of the curses. A gruesome sound of flesh bending grates on your ears as It bursts into a spray of purple blood. Sukuna doesn’t seem to care as it lands on his arm and clothing. “One punch with cursed energy should be enough.”

You are revolted by everything right now, feet glued to the ground and overstimulated by the sights and sounds. “I’m scared, I don’t know if I can,” your voice cracks.

“You’ve been trained by myself, the best, you are more than ready, get a grip,” he growls, irritation flashing in his eyes. 

“Your tough love attitude is not helping right now!” you lash out at him in frustration.

 Sukuna cups his chin with his hand, pondering something. “I have an idea,” he announces as he swiftly turns back towards the doorway.

Another curse appears from the same doorway. Sukuna seems to lure it out into the open, while you are unsure of what he’s trying to do. Suddenly he flicks his fingers and the curse’s leg is sliced in half. It screeches something awful, blood pouring out from where the limb was severed. 

Like a mother predator helping her young make their first kill, you realized what Sukuna was doing.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, dry heaving at the stench and sight. Also what the fuck was that move he just did? He seemed to cut the thing open without moving.

“Do it,” his voice is sharp and commanding, “hesitating can be the difference between living and dying.”

You gulp, trying to muster up the courage to charge at the curse. Remember, it can’t move, so it’s not a threat. You approach it cautiously, gathering up cursed energy in your fist. You wind up and deliver a blow to the side of its head. The flesh compresses as your fist makes contact, tearing through the skin and showering you with the purple blood you saw before. You jump back as the curse disintegrates.

“Finally,” Sukuna barks, “now I’m going to stand back while you take them on.” He moves to the entryway. You eye the interior doorway, awaiting the next curse.

It appears and you circle it, studying its movements before you make a move. The thing moves around uncoordinated like it can barely see. After watching it you realize there really is no sign of intelligence from the creature. You dart towards it and easily deliver a blow to its head, watching the life leave its eyes as your knuckles penetrate the thin skin. Another appears and you dodge it, delivering a kick this time which destroys it in a similar fashion. 

Next two come at one time, causing you to dodge more creatively as you exorcise them. You still feel the harsh ache in your bones from the dark cursed energy filling the room, but your confidence is boosted now, adrenaline pumping through your veins. 

Sukuna leads the way deeper into the mansion. Little by little, you clear the rooms while he observes quietly. You feel very comfortable with taking them out now, your confidence brimming.

“The last one is stronger than the others, I’ll handle it,” Sukuna says, stepping forward. He kicks open the last door and you both come face to face with a contorted creature, its limbs broken and bones protruding from its skin. It’s like a cross between a giant centipede and a human. A dry heave bursts from your mouth and fear grips you. 

Sukuna laughs with a twisted sound, “get a load of this thing.” He taunts it, not going in for the kill immediately, like a cat playing with its food. 

“My technique uses slashing attacks, two of which being dismantle and cleave,” he explains to you while dancing around the creature that is desperately trying to hit him with its boney tail. 

“Dismantle is a series of default slashes that don’t differ in power, but I can architect it however I please with however many I want.” You notice an almost artistic crosshatch pattern of slashes appear on the creature as Sukuna carves up the surface of its skin, muscle and skin hanging from the creature like tattered cloth.

“Cleave adjusts to the target’s power and toughness to inflict a lethal amount of damage.”

He slices his hand diagonally in front of him and suddenly the curse is sliced into 4 pieces, falling to the ground like a carved up piece of meat. His technique is terrifying. You shiver at the thought of how he could kill you anytime in seconds. He looks back at you and notices the fear on your face.

“What’s wrong brat? Scared of me?”

“Kind of yeah,” you squeak out. 

“Good, you should be,” he licks the blood off his fingers. 

“Gross!”

He looks directly in your eyes and drops his hands to his sides, “You asked me to show you my technique, so I did. Let’s go.”

Back at the car you both change into your spare clothes. You are thankful to have the blood off your clothes and are excited to take a shower to not just the blood off of you but the invisible feeling of nastiness you still feel from the curses. You still feel a sense of despair and depression consuming you, no doubt a result of the sinister cursed energy within that building.

Sukuna walks you to your hotel room after everyone checks in.

“I’ll get us some dinner, come to my room when you are done showering and getting settled,” he says as he strides down to the end of the hall and disappears into his room. 

You open the door to reveal what's inside. The room is nice enough, a simple bed sits in the middle of the room with night stands on either side adorned with ornate iron lamps on each. The bathroom is quite nice too with a walk in shower and tile wall matching the sink backsplash.

You take a long hot shower, feeling very refreshed and replenished now that the blood splattered on your skin has washed away. You can’t help but think back to the mission, reliving everything as you dried yourself off. Sukuna handled it with such ease, it was impressive. Also he was such a freak for licking curse blood off of himself. Incredibly odd behavior. 

The chilling feeling from before is still apparent, but you are more used to it now as it weighs over you like a constant presence. Even though your stomach is still a little uncomfortable, it growls with hunger, evidence of the physical activity you just partook in. You change into lounge shorts and a comfortable t-shirt, then make your way to Sukuna’s room. 

You knock on the door and he is quick to answer, opening the door wearing nothing but pajama pants. Dear lord his body was to die for as your breath catches in your throat. His hair is still damp from the shower and the bold tattoos snake through the rifts and valleys of his toned body. He turns away to let you in, walking back towards the bathroom.

“Food’s on the table,” he says as he grabs his shirt and throws it on. How convenient that he answered the door shirtless, unable to wait five seconds to throw a shirt on.

You sit down and demolish your dinner quickly, him finishing not long after. You feel much more at ease having him around right now, not really wanting to be alone after dealing with the curses. You just felt off and being around someone strong like Sukuna was much more comforting.

“Want to watch something?” you suggest, grabbing the remote. You get up and get onto the bed. Leaning back against the headboard, you flip on the TV.

Sukuna crawls up next to you, leaving a gap between him and you. Even though nothing was happening, you felt a little weird being in the same bed as him. You curl your knees to your chest and pull a blanket up over you, attempting to be less exposed.

“There’s a new episode of Masterchef tonight, turn that on,” Sukuna says in a monotone voice. 

“You like Masterchef?” You ask happily. “I love it!”

“Yes brat, cooking shows are my favorite genre of TV,” he says bluntly. 

Sukuna lays on his stomach facing the TV and away from you. His shirt clings to his back muscles in a way that makes watching the show distracting, unsure if you are watching more of it or him. 

“That steak is way overcooked,” he comments as the judges cut into one of the contestants' dishes.

“It looks fine, it shouldn’t be still mooing when you eat it,” you laugh. The steak looked medium rare which was plenty fine.

“Yeah but the juices are the best part,” he turns around to look at you, making a creepy but funny face.

“Whatever,” you nudge his leg with your foot.

He turns around without a response.

You watch together, critiquing the cast and dishes and laughing at each other's comments. Sukuna certainly had a lot to say about food and contestants’ knife skills.  

It felt good, it felt right, and helped you forget about the mission and dark thoughts for a while. Joking with Sukuna was easy, he was someone you could be yourself with and not worry. You also felt like you could say anything because no matter what he was always grumpy about something, so you had nothing to lose. As the night lingered on, you felt yourself starting getting tired. You internally cursed your body, not wanting the fun night to end. 

Sukuna notices you fighting sleep, “I can walk you back to your room if you want.”

Yawning, you nod your head wordlessly, getting up and going to stand by the door while Sukuna grabs his phone and room key. You reach to grab the door handle, but feel him grasp your arm, pulling you to face him.

Everything happens so fast, next thing you know his lips are on yours and you are pressed against the door. You squeak in surprise, but quickly surrender to the kiss, allowing his tongue to invade your mouth. The salty taste from dinner lingering on his tongue and his body wash enveloping your nose. He tips your chin up, allowing him deeper access, practically feeling his tongue down your throat. You hardly have time to react before he pulls back with a pop.

This kiss is quick but intense, leaving you half dazed, your mind a pile of mush as you long for more, wishing you had been more alert to match his energy.

“Come on, let's get you back to your room brat,” he opens the door, allowing you to leave first. Finally your legs move, carrying you down the hall. Your heart is pounding on the walk back while walking on unsteady legs. 

You don’t want to be alone right now, you want more time with him, want more of him. You feel safe in his presence as the unsettling feeling is still present from earlier. 

You open your door and glance back at him. “Night Sukuna.”

“G’night,” he says with a tired look on his face, standing just outside the door of your room, hands shoved in his pockets. 

Heart beating a hundred miles an hour, you can’t bring yourself to shut him out. The doorframe acts like a barrier between you and him that shouldn’t be breached. But with all things that should be off limits, even the threat of eternal damnation has never been enough of a deterrent against the sin of tasting the forbidden. 

He goes to turn around when suddenly you reach out, not sure if your brain made this decision or if your body just was running on autopilot. 

You grab his arm, your voice uttering a simple word:

 “stay.” 

<< Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 >>

Masterlist

[lileafae]

while I've got mixed feelings about Eden, I love the concept. so here <3

Pairing: M!Eden the hunter x F!pc/reader

Content warnings. MDNI: dark fic. heavy noncon. fingering. p in v. liddol bit of pussy slaps. mean and gross Eden. pc is teetering on the edge of madness. mentions of self-loathing/worthlessness. a sprinkle of dissociation. manhandling. at some point, it's mentioned that 'pc weighs nothing to him', but it simply means that Eden is so strong (he's a hunter after all). pc is called 'bird' sometimes but that doesn't imply she has a bird transformation; it simply is a nickname (although you're free to imagine pc as you like). Stockholm (kinda). yandere. if there are any tags you believe I've missed let me know!

a/n: this was a labor of love lol. squeezed this out by writing a few lines/paragraph a day because I've got exams still. I hope you enjoy!

Eden did not expect the pretty bird he had been watching to come to him on her own accord.

Sure, it's a little different from what he had imagined. Waking up to the door getting rattled so harshly he swore he'd put a bullet between the eyes of whoever that is, only to be met with a barrel lifted to his head once he opened the door. He recognized you at once– how could he not? What with you being the sole thing occupying his mind, haunting it, more like, with images he had only the chance of glimpsing from afar. And now–

You're looking up at him with dilated, bloodshot eyes veiled in a fierce glare, but if he gazes a little closer, a little longer, he'd pluck out a sliver of terror behind it. A terrified thing at his doorstep pretending to be all-that, not sure of what she's doing. The gun in your hand is shaking as you point it at him, teeth grinding in rage as you croak out a brave order to let you inside.

Eden had stared. Your clothes torn, skin sun-starved, an ugly gash that's caked in dried blood and dirt at your exposed torso. Feet bare and dirty. Hair matted. And he's been wondering why the pretty thing who bounds into the forest and digs up questionable items, hoards them into the little nest she creates with her arms and skidaddles away hasn't shown up in a month. After all, it's been precisely a month since he decided that idle birdwatching wasn't gonna do it for him; he wanted to hunt his bird and cage it; protect it, more like. He doesn't like to think himself this cruel. The world is so full of predators, after all, and the way you look right now is solid evidence.

He doesn't realize how bewitched he is by your sudden appearance until you bark another order at him, drenched with more aggressiveness than the first time, and he doesn't fail to notice the nervous glimpse you throw over your shoulder even when you try to hide it.

He steps aside, and you bound in with a slight limp.

It's more clear than ever that you didn't think your plan through, now that you're standing before him. The gun you had snatched off the person who had grappled you to the forest ground earlier feels foreign in your hand, yet you never lower it as you go by the table, hunger stricken, wild red-rimmed eyes hunting for something you could use to squander the ache in your belly. He doesn't take his eyes off of you either. Closes the door with his body facing you.

“I–” your throat contracts when you attempt to speak, and you cough. Parched. To speak means to pour tremendous effort; energy that you so desperately lack, but you manage it only for a few words. “–will leave shortly. W.. worry not.”

And it feels silly assuring this beast of a man. Perhaps thinking the gun in your hand an object that instills trepidation– which is precisely what you intend, but a buried layer of your conscience tells you of a need to reassure him you mean no harm, for the gun seems to you an instrument that wields power. A talisman of control in a mind that's spiraling into madness; a promise of safety in the guise of steel and fire. Some divine power that would carve a world where you're allowed a chance to command respect, to assert your will upon a world that had often left you staggeringly powerless.

Between the table (that you use as a barrier between the two of you) and the door (where he stands ominously) is a good few feet, yet not only his stature makes the space seem small, but also the air surrounding him shrinks the sense of safety you had initially prompted. He stares you down while your eyes widely flit between him and the interior of his cabin, arm cramping due to your refusal of lowering your weapon.

He moves, and you flinch. Pauses, gives you a weird look (perhaps to question why you were so wary of him, completely abandoning the notion that while he's seen you before, familiarized himself with you, you haven't), then walks over to the side. Your hand trembles as it follows him with the barrel, but then he merely produces a plate. Leftovers. Your eyes zeroes in on them.

You resist lunging at the sight of food. Animalistic. Primal; somewhere in the back of your mind had been readied to reduce yourself to the act of cannibalism were you to not find a bite. But he thuds the plate down in front of you, and something in his chest expands at the sight; perhaps pride, or giddiness at the thought of being a saviour of some sort. For, after all, you looked everything a wild, wounded animal; someone stripped off humanity and forced to keep living; to survive. A stray that he so willingly took in.

Eden watches you snap. Watches as you scramble forward, taking handful after handful of food and shoving it into your mouth with no care for decorum. It's amusing, however, how the gun resides still in your hand. Like an extension of yourself. At some point you don't notice, he'd filled you a bowl of water, which you greedily chug without so much looking at him. It is then he realizes this is his chance; Eden is invisible to you as of now, even without putting any effort in concealing his movement. You're simply there in body, not in mind, acting upon pure instinct.

The only thing that convulses your brain back to alertness is the sound of a click, and something heavy and cold around your neck. You shriek, whip around savagely, point the gun up at him and pull the trigger.

Nothing comes. Your eyes widen, your body shakes, a strangled whimper resonates from your throat as you pull the trigger again and again and again, thinking that somehow it would change. That it would refill on its own. That a bullet would materialize inside the muzzle by some divine intervention. Alas, the gun's empty, and there's no changing that.

In that moment, the gun was truly an extension of yourself; helpless, powerless, a hollow vessel concealed by an imposing presence. Eden slowly traces his hand up to wrap around the gun that you still absentmindedly fire, eyes wide and frozen in shock and panic. It slips from your fingers and into his without tussle, despite it being basically inseparable from you seconds ago. In his other hand a leash that he attaches to the collar he clicked around your neck.

Your stance shifts, blinking yourself back to reality, and Eden notices, quick to adapt to your unpredictability, because you lunge at him, thrashing and clawing and screeching. It only takes a harsh tug of the leash downwards and a rumble of his grave voice to render you put. “Down, girl.”

You tumble down, knees hitting the floor hard, and he goes down with you. Crouching before you to grab your wrist with his free hand, feeling up to your elbow before he lifts it. You wince, the gaping wound on your torso stretching, flesh stinging as he inspects it. He's close enough for you to smell the scent of pine and earth that clings to him, like he's the embodiment of the forest and not just a hunter that it took in.

You have to ground yourself when he speaks, his voice rich and rumbling, threatening to plunge you into full panic. “Were you chased?”

You mewl quietly.

“By the wolves?”

You manage to raise your head and meet his eyes. “..no.”

Eden reaches for your tattered shirt, and tears it right off. Your muscles go taut, hysteria seizing your mind once again and your limbs launch to action, flailing about ferally to desperately push him away. He pushes you back on the floor, pinning your legs with his knees and seizing both your wrists in one hand. “I'm helping you, goddammit,” he hovers above and glares, then his gaze goes down, lingers on your bare breasts for a beat, then down to your side where the wound your blood cells worked so hard to plug has opened and started bleeding again.

For a moment, he ponders how to get up to fetch his medkit without you jerking away and scrambling out the door. He could tie the leash to something, certainly, but in your unstable state he worries you might actively try to choke yourself with it, and although he's nearby and wouldn't let that happen, that would be inconvenient to deal with. He just doesn't want you to hurt yourself further.

But then he looks down again, and realizes he needs not to do a thing. The pain had rendered you inert. Completely still; limp prey bleeding impotently on his floors, agonized soft whimpers leaving your lips occasionally while tears stream quietly down your face. Eden watches as you stare right up at the ceiling, something shifting in your gaze; a film coating your eyes.

You sink, brain morphing to wet cotton that expands till it fills every nook and cranny in your skull. It's like you're swaying in the lake, water seeping through your ears and muffling your surroundings. You keep coming in and out of your haze, everything a blur, and when you finally blink yourself to consciousness (as much consciousness as there might be) you find yourself next to the now blazing fire, leaning back against a sturdy chest. Torso bandaged. Body naked.

Eden holds a wet cloth that he sweeps down your skin, perhaps trying his best to be gentle, but for a man of his nature it's inevitable for it to feel a little rough. He runs the cloth from your neck, to your shoulder, down to your breasts. You're still out of it, no reaction as you absently watch his hand clean you up. He picks up on your growing awareness, though, because his arm suddenly tightens around your middle right beneath your chest just before you start stirring about. Your lips part to speak but your mind fails to catch up with you, so you end up babbling incoherently, pitch gradually rising in distress.

For that, he adjusts you on his lap, shuffling a thigh between your legs and pulling you back further towards himself. You whimper as your clit drags on his clothed thigh. “Easy there,” he says, hot breath hitting the back of your neck, “you're hurt enough.”

“I-” you choke out, swallowing back tears; his hand that splays on your stomach to still you makes your mind reel with memories, “I want to leave.”

“Leave? But where will you ever go?” He speaks, for once picking his words carefully, “doesn't look like you were wanted wherever you were.”

Your throat tightens, and your mind goes to Robin. “I am needed.”

“Whoever needed you has clearly abandoned you.”

You stiffen up. “That is not true. I– I am both–..they want and need me.”

“Someone who truly wants you would never let this happen to you.” Eden says, gravely voice reverberating almost like a baritone would, “tell me: does anyone truly want you, dove?”

You jerk, elbow digging back into him with as much force as you can manage, and he tightens his hold. Folds his body over yours to curl you into yourself. “Tell me,” he growls in your ear, “is the person who abandoned you worth everything you've been through?”

“You don't know anything– y- you know nothing!” you shrill, but he doesn't give you a chance to proceed, doubling down.

“Is it worth all of this exertion? Haven't you been running for too long?” He dips his words into the knowledge he's gathered from watching you months ago, and his hand starts moving south when he sees you've gone rigid at his words, “don't you want someone who'll take charge for a change? Someone who wants you, protects you, takes care of you for once?”

Something about his voice, about the way he utters his words rather than the words themselves, penetrates your skull, shoving past all tissue and blood and presses directly on your brain. His middle finger ventures down, runs above the hood of your clit. “I want you.” Eden says, gently drags his finger along your seam now, coaxing the lips open by stroking the pad of his finger up and down, and he continues, “I'll take care of you, provide for you.”

You turn into mush. Words you've been craving to hear but have not dared to entertain the thought of actually hearing them. The slow circles he traces on your clit might be another reason you're melting, but you're too lost in the fantasy of being cared for to register that. His hold on you tightens further, as if he knows what he says next will break you out of the trance he's managed to tuck you under this far. “You only have to stay.”

Your eyes snap into focus.

“Stay here. Keep me company. Never leave.”

Many things force their way into your mind. Self-loathing deems you unworthy of affection and care, of being provided for and not the one providing; another part of your mind refuses comfort, having adapted itself to pain and misery, having acquainted itself with it and, therefore, finds comfort in anguish. There are also memories that stream forth, overflooding your head until it pounds with pain, forcing you to realize you've merely escaped a den to jump into another, whether deliberately or not.

And when you process that, you bristle and try to kick your feet, but he folds you in, chest morphing into your back with how much he squishes you to him. “I don't think you realize, but you don't have a say in this.” He says, prodding at your hole and gradually pushing a thick finger inside, relishing in the way your jaw slacks despite yourself. “You are to stay. This is meant to be. We are meant to be.”

He glides his finger further in, coaxing out fluids that squelch with every drag. “You came to me on your own accord. And while I am not a believer, I do believe fate guided your legs to me, right where you belong.”

He ignores your high cries and squawks, your thrashing and squirming (as much as his hold allows, at least), your nails digging into the muscle of his arm and scratching with fervor until it draws blood. Eden adds another finger, listening to your cries mingling with forfeited moans, and thrusts them faster until your heels dig to the floor and you drench his fingers with your cum.

Your orgasm is still crashing through you when he tucks his arm beneath your knees and adjusts you until they meet your chest, seated on the cradle of his thighs. His fingers withdraw promptly just to return as four, and he wedges the tips of them between the split of your lips and shakes them, tearing strangled moans from your throat that turn into squeals when he follows with a few slaps to your cunt.

He doesn't give you enough time to process nor to react before you're on your back, next to the fire, lifting your ankles onto his shoulders. “Eden,” he says, and the head of something hot and hard nudges your hole, “my name. Use it.”

Then he's bullying his cock past your folds, pushing past the tight ring of muscle and groaning loud and long. He stretches your walls to the hilt, and shoves his dick in until it's buried to the base in one long thrust. It strips your lungs of breath, knocking it out of you as he pulls you further into him, lifting your hips so they perch on his lap. Your eyes are blown, jaw slack with a silent moan, still trying to adjust to his impalement.

But he moves before you do. His hands latch onto your hips, digging his fingers into your flesh and indenting his mark there with mad bruises. Eden drags his hips back until only the head is notched in you, before he slams back in. He settles a brutal pace soon, thighs smacking your ass as he fucks you with short and hard thrusts, pulling only halfway out as if it pains him to separate from your squelching cunt any further.

Your whole body jostles with every ram. Doesn't leave you enough room to breathe in and steals what little air you manage out in pathetic whimpers. You reach out with your hands, gasping and blubbing, so he leans down until you can reach him. You latch your nails to his skin, clawing up until they hook at the front of his neck. Eden hisses, and the force of his thrusts amplifies. When you expect him to retreat in pain, he smiles dangerously down at you, gaze darkening and bottom lip catching beneath his teeth.

He leans down further, allowing you to scrape more at his skin, watching as you leave angry red lines down his throat and around his collarbones. “Is it too much for you?” Eden heaves, hitting deep and hard and smirking when the fattest part of his cock seems to ram into your g-spot, judging by your reaction. “Too big for you, bird?”

When you gasp and nod, he grips your hips harder and stops moving his hips altogether. Instead, he starts moving you, bouncing you onto his cock as if you weigh nothing to him, as if you were a fleshlight; a toy he can maneuver and use however he wishes. “Use my name.” He groans, starting to get breathless, “say it. Tell me it's too much.”

But he's mean as he bullies the spot he's found earlier over and over, knocking the words out of you and rendering you into a blubbering mess while still demanding you to speak. Eden hisses. “Say it.”

“‘s t-too mu..ch..!”

“My name, bird.”

And you have to grapple around your mind and fetch the moment he made his name known to you. He makes it particularly hard as he bumps your hips up onto his searing rock-hard cock, but you succeed at remembering, and finally cry out. “E-Eden! sl-ow down–!”

The only thing his name coming out of your lips does is wrench a growl from his throat, and your legs are suddenly up on one shoulder of his. He perches your hips up and pistons into you, somehow harder and faster than before. You thrash and squeal, but no matter what you do, he moves with you, predicting every direction you blindly throw yourself in to get away. And he's made it clear that your scramble for some sort of power means nothing to him the moment he had lowered himself to you earlier so you could hit and scrape his flesh. Taunting you to hit him as hard as you could, for he can never get hurt.

It takes no more than a few particularly hard thrusts to send you over the edge. You spasm against him, convulsing with a cry that makes his dick throb inside you before he sends his seed deep into your cunt. Hot and thick and fills you up until you're overflowing with it, which finally makes him unplug you, slipping his softening cock out and watching his cum plop right out, trickling down to your asshole.

The sight bewitches him, and he stares in awe for a while as it dribbles, before he reaches with a finger to scoop some of it up, only to smear it on your swollen folds like it's some sort of lotion. He's so entranced it takes him a moment to realize you're passed out; exhausted, and still heaving.

That's when he learns he simply needs to keep wearing you out until you're trained. And over the course of the following week(s), Eden sprouts a set of bruises and harsh scratches, some of them deep enough to urge his blood to clot around them. And he wears them proudly, knowing that it only takes a good, rough fucking to get you soft and pliant again, to wear you out until you sit and eat in silence. Like a stray cat, he says, hissing and seething her claws until she gets a big, hefty cock in her wet cunt. It might take some time for you to stop trying to claw his eyes out, but he's willing to train you until you finally realize this is the life you were meant for.

With him. For him.

[brucie-baby]

Little bit less dead now and I wanted to word vomit a little more.

Like I said before, I would not definitively describe pre-crisis Jason as reckless because that sounds a little too negative for a boy who genuinely did have good intentions, but he was often a little reckless. From the beginning (and to fully make it clear: this is pre-crisis Jason with his circus origin, because pre-crisis is where that line comes from), Jason had one goal: Be good enough to be Robin. He was constantly trying to prove himself despite Bruce telling him that there was no need. This mostly stems from doing death-defying stunts at the circus and always being encouraged by his parents to take risks (his parents chased after Killer Croc, they were also insane [positive]), and Bruce telling him that being Robin was too dangerous made him feel like Bruce wasn't letting him be who he truly was. (He's literally just a ginger Dick Grayson here, guys.)

After one of these instances, Bruce says, "It was ill-advised, Jason, but you didn't do wrong. On the other hand... initiative is one thing, but I wish you'd stop taking on such grand schemes for yourself. You don't have to keep proving your worth to me, I'm sold." That pretty much sums up Bruce's whole view on it at this point - Jason isn't doing anything bad because it's with the intention of doing good and it does help people in the end, but he doesn't have to take on these big missions all by himself.

Now one thing that's important to note is that Bruce did not initially want Jason to be his partner, but Jason was absolutely not having it. Before he even knew of his parents' fate, Jason had already stolen a costume from the cave and jumped in the back of the batmobile. From the get-go, Jason wanted to be Batman's partner, and Bruce wanted Jason to be his son. (This gets a bit flipped post-crisis which is infinitely frustrating to me.) Obviously both feelings end up much more mutual, the father-son one very quickly, but this is how it starts.

So essentially you've got this kid who's used to taking a lot of big risks and parents that encouraged him to take those risks (I can't tell if it sounds like I'm bashing them here? I'm not meaning to if it does), and whilst he understands that this is also life-or-death, he doesn't seem to grasp that they're entirely different circumstances. Being a skilled aerialist is not the same as fighting bad guys who want you dead. He's also got the whole Dick Grayson thing of "I'm your partner, not your weakness. Treat me as such."

That's where we get back to "Robin gives me magic!"

With all this context of Jason's intense need to prove himself, both as Robin, son of the Bruce/Batman, and Jason, son of adventurous acrobats, Joseph and Trina Todd, Robin giving him magic takes on a whole new light. I've seen a few people say that the line is more about the anonymity, or finding courage in the mantle of a hero, and while both these interpretations are totally fair, I still mostly disagree. This is Jason refusing to be treated like the child he is (he was twelve years old when Bruce took him in). This is Jason becoming... I wouldn't necessarily say cocky, but something along those lines. Like I said in the tags of that last post, this is a warning sign.

And that's not even touching on the Collins of it all. I know these comics are unrelated so you don't really have to listen to me here, but having a man become so convinced that his costume gives him magic that he grows detrimentally reckless just links them so well.

This is why I think that this could've been the starting point of his post-crisis self if the crisis had not happened. If they'd have fleshed it out a little more, slowed it down a bit, Jason gradually becoming more and more explicitly reckless and eventually violent could've worked. They'd already laid the groundwork for the recklessness. The violence and bloodlust would've taken a little longer (one of Jason's last conversations pre-crisis has him saying that Bruce has not failed by only arresting criminals instead of successfully reforming them, as the world is still a better place with them behind bars), but it still very much could have worked (Jason was quick to act and, only a few times, quick to violence, but with reason).

I was going to dig a little further into my ideal Robin!Jason origin and progression but I fear this post may be growing a little too long so I'll leave that for another time possibly.

There isn't much point to this post other than literally just rambling about Robin!Jason. I just think he's a very complex character, and fandom tends to boil him down to being 'the real golden child who loved school and never caused trouble', and that simply isn't accurate.

He did care about his grades, both pre- and post-crisis, and though he never really enjoyed homework, he still did it (pre-crisis he very much did not want to do it but he wanted to keep his grades up, and his views on schoolwork aren't really touched on in post-crisis, though it is said he does extra credit to make sure his grades stay up as high as they are). And he was always stressing Bruce - letting a villain adopt him to solve a case, running away, patrolling alone with permission, dying his hair black and stealing cash from Bruce's drawer to go help him and so on. Post-crisis, he was obviously very violent and this jump was super sudden (one comic he's telling Bruce not to give up on his methods, and the next he's saying "okay but what if they just died", but Bruce's character was also very affected by the crisis), but it's canon now, so🤷.

Basically I think fanon Jason is boring and bland. Like yeah canon Jason pretty much went from Ginger Dick Grayson to Angry Murder Machine, but that's still a lot more personality than what fanon gives him. I just really love Robin!Jason and this, I think, is why I dislike current Jason so much.

I've got a lot of thoughts about "Robin gives me magic!" and absolutely none of them are coherent but I'm sharing them anyway.

So for context: this line comes from a story in which Calendar Man is planning to kill Jason, and Bruce tells him that he can work the case but not out in the field. There's a whole thing here where Jason gives Bruce the silent treatment until Bruce calls him immature and sends him to his room. That night, Bruce apologises and explains that he can't lose Jason, and that sometimes Batman has to go out alone. Jason says he understands but sneaks out anyway, planning to take Calendar Man on his own.

When he gets back to the cave (after Bruce has been searching for him despite bleeding out), Bruce tries to scold him. This is where he says that line, and that Robin lets him do things he'd never have dared before. Bruce says that it sounds like recklessness, and Jason says no, just maturity. There's a few more bits here that I have a lot of thoughts on but these are the most relevant parts of it.

The thing I find so interesting about this is actually from a different comic from a little while before. There's this guy, Collins, who wears Catman's costume and believes it has this magical ability to give him nine lives. Collins narrowly avoids death several times (e.g. nearly hit by a truck, almost crushed by rocks) and he thinks it's the suit's doing, but actually, it was Batman following and saving him every time. While they're fighting and Collins is insisting that the suit gives him magic, Bruce thinks, "I've created a monster - he's completely reckless - unwilling to concede there's any danger his costume can't handle!"

Now I also have a lot of thoughts on this that I might get into when it's not five in the morning but the main one is this: "Robin gives me magic" is not proof of Jason being the happy, chill Robin. This is him giving Bruce grey hairs in real time. This is him thinking that he's nearly invincible. To me, this would've been the perfect point to start shifting him into his post-crisis self. I think Jason's too complicated to label him as just reckless but also? I would not say it's wrong to. He is occasionally reckless and he does act without thinking sometimes. And just to clarify, this isn't criticism. I love pre-crisis Jason. He's my little guy. That's why I hate it when he's just boiled down to 'the happy Robin' (and the fact that it's a stupid label for any of the Robins, please let go of that), because he's been stressing Bruce out since day one. Like, this is the kid who said "if you don't make me Robin I'm doing to run away to the circus," and then did. And post-crisis he's very explicitly written as violent and reckless. He's always been a menace, don't take that away from him!!

[makiswirl]

can i just say. and this is probably a niche hill to die on. that i am so gobsmacked every time someone vaguely hints at the idea that jotaro doesn't care meaningfully for the other crusaders, usually particularly kakyoin and joseph, when those two actually tend to be the ones he reacts to being hurt the hardest

like he cares for his loved ones!!!! that literally plays into his character motives in every single part he shows up in!!! stop lying to me!!!!!!!

[ruvviks]

finally got around making a proper outfit reference sheet for nathan! he likes wearing dark clothes which really emphasizes just how pale he is. he was a STEM developer at MOBIUS for nine years what did you expect </3 click for higher resolution and to get a closer look at all the details! outfits from left to right: his gear for the evil within 2, 1am convenience store trip, his mobius gear, and an improvised outfit for my own fictional the evil within 3 =^)

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @hibernationsuit, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree;

@jacobseed, @swordcoasts

[chemdisaster]

"as long as it's not against a cc's boundary-" shut the fuck up. shut the fuck up. a boundary is what they're okay with being sent/tagged in. a boundary is not them telling fans to "draw this and not that". that's censorship. if some random tumblr person told you "oh hey, don't draw this ship cause i don't like it" would you comply? no, cause that's horseshit. and it's no different here. because guess what? cc's are people just like the rest of you, and if they don't like something they are fully capable of blocking the tag and/or clicking away. cc's are not better than you somehow and they should not dictate what you should and shouldn't draw, because art is fiction and fiction harms no one and one of the best thing about the internet is that when you don't like something you can just take a deep breath, close your eyes and click away.

[al-luviec]

still haven't moved on from zane in this episode (aka I hit tag limit again and am unhappy about it)