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[ateliersss]

Bandaids and Kisses

Pairing: Yautja x Fem!Reader Summary: One part of motherhood seemed to be patching up your reckless pup after another adventure in the wild against his parents’ wishes. Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: English isn't my first language Word Count: 2.885 Before the Blooming Family series

⇨ Hello, you Yautja lovers. With this, we are going back in time, before the happenings of the "Blooming Family" series. I hope you enjoy it! Comments are always appreciated!

⇨ You want to know something hilarious? A Yautja in their early twenties is the equivalent of a human in its 50's/60's, so Akail as a ten-year-old Yautja would be a minus something human baby.

"Oh my God, Akail! Again?"

You were taken to Yautja Prime about fifty years ago, Life-mated to Mi'ytiar for forty years, and an accepted and established member of his clan for ten years now. Ten years, the same amount of time your son had walked, talked, and breathed. Ruling alongside your mate and hunting for food weren't enough to make your contribution. Giving Mi'ytiar a pup had apparently been the only thing that changed your role among them — from an outsider (and even a simple plaything for their leader to some) to what you were now — the female counterpart of a clan leader, the Matriarch.

You had heard of several Matriarchs on Yautja Prime. Like you, they were mated to the clan leader, but unlike you, they were the superior one in their dynamic and even above an Elder or Ancient. You wouldn't dare to assume the same form of authority for yourself and therefore kept to the secondary leading role just as a queen consort on Earth would. You had much more freedom and control than you could ask for, utterly content in the position you were holding right now, and you never felt the need to claim the power of a true Matriarch. The fact that the Females of the Yautja race were viewed much higher in leading roles than the Males was satisfying enough.

Nonetheless, you still had particular obligations and a certain appearance to maintain. You would take part in organizing the journey of the Un-Blooded to become Blooded, ensure the civilized coexistence within the clan by taking on the role of a judge like in court on Earth, approve of every newborn pup that was presented to you and deem them worthy, listen to their requests and suggestions and try to contribute as best as you could, and even had become a beacon of generosity and kindness to the clan for advice and consolation. The list went on and on, but instead of feeling crushed by the vast amount of responsibility, you relished in it. It was an honor, indeed.

Another thing that was expected of you was joining the elder Females in their den and listening to their wisdom with other younger Females. Rather than a bothersome duty you had to force yourself to attend, you absolutely loved their company.

And the den was a beautiful place you loved to spend your time in, a flawless merge between ancient architecture and the futuristic Yautja influence, round in shape and with a high dome-ish roof that was held together by a construct of pillars and beams into which hieroglyphs were carved. Fire was burning in the hollow beams and illuminated the room above the heads of everyone present.

A week of adjusting to your new life had gone by without leaving Mi'ytiar's home — your home the second you had crossed the threshold — before he decided it was time to introduce you to his people. And the place he had brought you to first was the den of the Elders. It had been a tough start, but they were surprisingly objective. Instead of seeing you for what you were, they saw you for who you were. Even if you were among giants, you had felt welcomed.

On this day and decades later, you had joined them as well, taking your place at the fire pit and opposite the entrance on the only chair in the round room. The Matriarch had her very own seat in the den, a throne-like construction made of something that felt like a mix of stone and metal. Meanwhile, the other Females sat on white stepstones on the mossy ground around the pit.

Matheih, the Female that held the unofficially highest rank among the Elders and had been the first you felt comfortable with, was just about to discuss the matter of a Bad Blood who had come too close to the clan's borders when you noticed movement from the corner of your eye. You snapped your head to the entrance and gasped.

Your shocked exclamation had cut Matheih off, causing her to startle. The rest of the Elders either looked at you or your son, who seemed to shrink under the intense eyes of the Females.

You immediately rose from your seat, the others following you swiftly, and you raced around them to Akail, who anxiously fiddled with the charm attached to his loin cloth.

One day, you had noticed the longing gaze of your pup fixed to his father's loin cloth and the trinkets and trophies swinging on his hips. Without further ado, you tailored him something new and decorated it with a thread on which various square stones and animal teeth were strung, the thread sewn into the front of the self-made cloth to the right hip. His eyes had been so bright when you presented it to him.

"Akail, my little warrior." You sighed when you reached your son, kneeling in front of him to be on the same level as him.

You cupped his cheeks and examined his face. There were several cuts across his face — two on his forehead, one under his right eye, and one above his left eye — and fluorescent green blood was smeared around his wounds and coated his mandibles. When you checked his dreads, running your fingers through the short tendrils, he winced.

"My sweetling, what happened?" You asked when you grabbed his hands and scanned his arms up and down.

"I follow a tochi." He mumbled and instantly avoided your stern glare.

A lie.

Placing your pointer and middle finger under his chin, you tilted his head up so he was looking into your eyes again.

"Were you near the borders again?" You pressed on and raised an eyebrow.

Akail pulled a grimace. "Yeah."

Another lie.

"How many times do I have to tell you that it's dangerous?"

Akail looked down like a kicked puppy. "Sorry, Mama."

No. No, you were not allowed to melt right now. You needed to be strong and determined to be angry at him for disobeying one of your and his father's rules. You needed him to understand that running after an animal for the nth time and moving too far away from the clan's land was risky without someone by his side.

But those damn puppy eyes of his, the same look his father sometimes used on you, they made you weak and yielding.

"Come on." You softly smiled at him and stretched out a hand to him.

When you stood upright again, Akail wasted no time to grab your hand while his other arm wrapped around your leg, clinging to you. You turned to the Females, excused yourself, and apologized to Matheih for interrupting her before you and Akail left the den.

Hand in hand, you walked the short route to your home.

"Does it hurt, my sweetling?" You asked him when you entered the grounds of your home.

You whistled at Be'jaa who had started barking at the intruders, as well as the two other Hell Hounds Mi'ytiar owned, Vohtu and Gihn'tha, and signaled them that it was just you and to stand down.

"Not anymore, Mama." Akail vehemently shook his head, putting on a brave face.

You smiled down at him and led him inside, lifted him into your arms, and carried him to the long table that stood in the center of the main room of your home. Behind it and opposite the entrance door, three other doors lead deeper into your home to adjoining rooms like your bedroom. Just like the den of the elders, this room was round with a dome roof made out of orange and light grey glass, but there was at least a meter of additional ceiling going sideways from where the dome ended and from which a ring of rock was hanging down, like a huge ring-shaped lamp circling the whole room.

Just like a routine, you placed him down on the surface, kissed the little space between his nonexistent eyebrows, immediately eliciting a merry purr from him, and got the Medicomp that was stored in one of the box-drawers under the long shelves where your mate displayed his trophies.

You placed the Medicomp next to Akail on the table, sat down, and quickly got to work crushing the plaster and melting it with the burner, adding the blue solvent and mixing it until you got a gel.

"You know the drill, baby. It's going to hurt." You warned him, taking one of his hands into your free one before you started applying the gel to the thin cuts on his face.

Immediately, Akail let out a sharp hiss and squeezed your hand as hard as he could. But he remained still, not wanting to ruin your already careful treatment. His eyes danced across your face, admired the color of your eyes that was so different from his, studied your smooth skin that wasn't as rough or beige and green as his, scanned your mouth that wasn't hidden behind tusks.

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off before he could even utter the first syllable of his question.

"Be honest with me, Akail. What happened? You don't just get wounds like that because you followed a tochi." You questioned him and placed the spatula to the side before you grabbed the cloth that you had added to the Medicomp and dabbed the blood away from his already healing cuts and his mandibles.

"Stumbled over a stone." He answered in a huff.

Another lie.

"I roll down a slope in a bush."

Lie, lie, lie.

You hummed. "The bad ones near the Stonehenge? I told you to stay away from there. Those statues are unstable and you aren't yet strong enough to withstand their weight should one fall down on you."

"Sorry, Mama." Akail muttered and pulled his head in as if it would help him to escape the shame your words caused him.

You were melting once again at the sincerity in his words and reassurance washed over you. You may have had no idea how to raise a child as you never had the opportunity of doing it before, but you must be doing something right when he was capable of realizing his mistakes and showing remorse. But it wasn't the kind of remorse you were thinking of.

"It's alright, my sweetling. And you did so well in keeping still for me. You were very brave." You cooed and kissed first the healing cuts on his forehead before you turned to the ones at his eyes.

But he wasn't. If he was as brave as you claimed, he would tell you that it wasn't the thorns of the bushes overgrowing the Stonehenge but the still-developing claws of the older Younglings making fun of you that had caused the wounds. Akail had tried very, very hard to ignore their teasing and provoking snides, but when one of them — the tallest of all people — started talking about how glad he was that his mother was a respectable Female of the tribe and not some foreign, lowly pet that warmed the nest of the clan leader and probably pleased any other Male on the side, little Akail saw only red.

He had jumped the older Youngling and bit down on his neck while his claws inflicted as much damage as they were capable of. But due to his smaller size and frail strength, this advantage was turned against him in the next second when he felt his face being scratched open and his back colliding with the ground when he was pushed off by the older boy.

Luckily, before the situation could escalate even more, two Blooded Yautja neared the small group and Akail used the opportunity to quickly stand up and hurry to the den of the Elders where he knew his mother was.

It hadn't been the first time and it will probably not be the last time, but he had promised himself to always protect you from anything that could crush your beautiful heart and kind soul that had shown him unconditional love from the moment he had opened his eyes to take his first-ever look at his mother. It had been blurry and unfocused, but he remembered your smile. That smile.

"Mama?" Akail asked as he watched you packing up the Medicomp.

"Mhm?" You hummed and lowered yourself onto one of the chairs around the table right in front of him.

Instantly, Akail reached for your shiny hair and started fiddling with it, feeling how soft and silky it was. When he was a toddler, he would often play with it while purring, not being able to speak yet but his sweet chatter combined with his wide eyes was enough for you to be reminded how much he was his father's son. Both were enamored, maybe even slightly obsessed with your human features.

Akail huffed. "Why you not look like me?"

"Hm?" You raised your eyebrows in surprise at the topic of his sudden question.

"Why you look like this? Why not like me or Papa?" He pushed further and curled a lock of your hair around his pointer finger.

"My sweetling." You cooed, lifted him up by his waist, and settled him down on your lap, his legs dangling from each side of your thighs. He wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled his face into your chest, close to your throat. "Do you remember the bedtime stories I sometimes tell you?"

You only felt vibrations against your skin and you took that as an answer, a cue to continue, "When I was little like you, your grandmama sat next to my bed and told me the same ones."

Akail pulled his face from your chest and lifted his head to look up at you. "Grandmama?"

I nod. "Yeah. Mama's mama." You cupped his little face and peppered it with kisses. "Those stories are from the place I was born. Earth."

"Are there more looking like you?"

"Yes. Many like me. Earth is similar to home. There are villages all over the planet and they speak different tongues, too. They have a clan leader called a major or a president and they have warriors, but also normal people who work jobs or go to school."

"What is job?" Akail asked curiously and cocked his head to the side.

"A job is something oomans do to earn a living, to build a life. It is a little different here. For example, with a job, you can earn money and buy food, but here, you just go into the forest and hunt. With a job, you can also build a house, but here, you just do it yourself with the resources this planet has to offer." You explained with a soft smile.

"What a ooman?"

"It's what I am, my little warrior. Mama is ooman, a human. That's why I look so different than you or your Papa."

"But why I don't look more like you?" Akail asked and his adorable face became even more precious when he pulled it into a frown.

You hummed as if you were in thought before you put on a bright grin and started to tickle his sides. "Because I wanted someone unique and extraordinary, and I hoped for someone who is as handsome and strong and chivalrous as your Papa. And speaking of your Papa, he was determined to have a pup like you, my sweetling."

Mi'ytiar had been very determined indeed that his DNA took root inside you. It also hadn't been the only thing that had completely dominated you.

"I know I'm not as big and strong and pretty as the other mothers-"

"You more pretty!"

"What?" You asked with raised eyebrows at his offended tone.

"You more pretty! More pretty than other mothers, more pretty than other Females! Say you more pretty!" Akail protested, immediately standing up for you even against your own words.

You had to swallow your emotions during his short rant. This boy had your heart, so precious and pure, and your emotional intelligence, already developed so far for his young age. You had no idea you were able to create something so beautiful and unique.

"I'm more pretty." You repeated his words with a smile, petting the top of his head, and kissed his forehead one, two, three times. "Why don't you go and look for Papa, hm? I bet he loves to teach you a little something about leadership."

Akail climbed down from your lap with a click of his mandibles and was already running out of your home. You had followed him, a little slower than the hazardous speed of his, and leaned with your shoulder against the entrance as you watched him in amusement.

You had hated the thought of becoming a mother. You had hated the thought of how children would affect your health and body. You had hated the thought of giving up your freedom for them. You had hated the thought of limiting your own life to adapt to theirs. You had hated the thought of abandoning every hope you had felt, every plan you had made, and every dream you had envisioned to tend to each of their needs.

God, never had you been happier to be wrong.

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[dehydrated-turtle]

Sketchy Motel and Midnight Jerking

//warnings// smut, nsfw, 16+, mdni

//contents// Dick Grayson x transmasc!reader, trans reader, masturbation, one bed, transmasc reader

//synopsis// You, a detective are working with your long time friend, Dick Grayson, aka Nightwing on a case but when you get to the stakeout motel, they only have one room with the one bed. One thing leads to another... wc - 3.2k

//on ao3//

Driving to the outskirts of Blüdhaven, you and Dick were on your merry way to start a steakout on some drug dealers that have been selling tainted drugs to kids. Nightwing had gotten a “tip” (he beat up a thug) that the ring leader was staying in a sketchy house on the outskirts. Lucky for you guys, there was an even sketchier motel across the street that had a perfect view from the windows, spectacular for surveillance. 

You had become Dick’s go to cop in ‘haven after you “proved yourself” working on another case with him. You slowly became really close friends and being one of the best detectives in your precinct, you found out his secret identity, bringing the two of you even closer. 

“Looks like we’re pulling up to it now.” Dick says, turning the steering wheel and pulling into a gravel parking lot. The motel looked like it was on the verge of being abandoned, eaves troughs hanging down off the roof, clear water damage from outside , doors with no handles, and shingles missing from the roof. 

“Quaint.” you sigh, taking a good look at the building as Dick parks the car. 

“C’mon, let's get a room and set up surveillance, I wanna get it up and running as soon as possible.” 

You unbuckle your seatbelt and step out of the car onto the rough parking lot gravel, too cheap to get pavement I guess. As you keep looking at the state of the building, you follow Dick to the check-in office to get a room. 

As you walk in the door, a little bell jingles above your heads and a short, raven haired woman comes out from the back room. 

“What can I do you for?” 

“Uh, a room preferably.” Dick said with a chuckle and his signature friendly smile. You’ve seen him use it on kids who were in danger or to colleagues of yours. 

“Alright, let's see here…” She turned around to the wall that’s not so full of keys, “I’ve got one room left. Just a heads up, there’s only one bed so you two boys are going to have to share.” She hands Dick the key. 

“How could you only have one room, the parking lot was empty?” He says, looking at the key. 

“I dunno what to tell you kid, you see any more keys on this wall? How long?” 

He looks over at you nervously, “Uh, 4 nights.” He says while the woman taps something into her computer and Dick taps his card on the debit machine so your four nights are all paid for. No taking this out for company charges because it’s technically not a case. At least an official one. 

The two of you walk back out the jingly door and up the steps to try and find your room, 204. The door seemed tattered and like it had been beaten down in the past but at least the lock worked once you got in. Just as the woman said, one bed, queen sized so at least you could have your own space and not be practically on top of eachother. 

“Ok I’m going to go get some of the bags from the car, wanna help?” You say, walking to the door. 

“Sure, sure.” He replies, hurrying to the door and following you close behind. 

After you bring up all of your luggage and the many, many bags and cases of surveillance equipment, Dick flops down on the bed with a heaving sigh. You place the last case on the floor near the window and walk over to the bed as well, sitting on the opposite side as Dick. 

“I really don’t want to set all the stuff up right now. Maybe we can just set it up tomorrow morning, first thing.” Dick groans, turning onto his side to face you. 

“Yeah, it’s getting dark anyway, might as well get ready for bed.” You get off the bed and head toward your suitcase to get out a change of clothes and your toiletries bag before making your way to the bathroom. Said bathroom is disgusting but that’s not surprising, you just avoid the corners and don’t swallow the water. You change into your PJs which are really just a hoodie and a pair of shorts. You leave the room and walk back to your suitcase to pull out your phone charger and plug it into the wall. 

You ignore Dick as he gets his stuff out–just the same as you–and shuts the door to the bathroom as you crawl under the covers which seem to be relatively clean, at least they smell freshly washed. You lay on your side facing the bathroom door, scrolling on your phone when Dick comes out, wearing a tee shirt and boxers. You give him a surprised look and he responds, 

“Forgot my pants.” 

“Sure you did, or you just wanted me to see how much you’re packing.” You say teasingly with a smile. You mean it as a joke but he still flushes nonetheless and turns away. Odd. He pulls his pair of sweats on over his boxers and comes back to the bed. He lifts the covers and scoots underneath. For a second your legs brush ever so slightly. 

“Sorry,” he says, rather frantically. Also odd. 

“Oh, no it’s ok.” You look up at him, he's still so flushed. “Ok, I’m going to sleep, I’m beat. G’night, Dick.” You roll over and snuggle into the pillow. 

“‘Night…” He replies, also shuffling into a more comfortable position to sleep in. 

You don’t really remember falling asleep but you definitely remember waking up: you had apparently rolled over again because now you were facing inward. You were woken by some soft noises coming from beside you. You’re still not sure what it is because you’re still half asleep but as you open your eyes slowly, you have a perfect view of Dick’s dick, glistening in the moonlight. You don’t want to make it weird so you just stay perfectly still, watching him jerk off. 

His soft, quiet moans and whimpers make your boxers absolutley soiled, you try not to make any moans yourself. The squelching of his wet cock ringing in your ears making it extremely hard not to intervene. The bed starts to rock just slightly as he pumps his hand up and down, pulling him closer to a climax. You can’t see his face, with the way your head is, so you know he can’t see your eyes so you just keep watching, waiting until he’s done so as to not make it awkward for him until… 

He says your name. 

Amidst his moans and squealing whimpers, your name is whispered along with a string of profanities. His hand starts to move faster and his voice, louder. You want to intervene more than ever, now knowing that he’s jerking it to you and, by the looks of it, he’s about to cum. 

But what if you misheard. 

What if he’s thinking of someone else. 

What if he wouldn’t want you to touch him. 

Too many risks. 

His hand stutters and he squeals as you watch him cum all over his lower abdomen, rivers of white, pouring out of his tip. He lets out a sigh and dips his fingers into the cum on his abs, bringing it up to his mouth. You squeeze your legs together, trying desperately to feel something on your throbbing clit without arousing suspicion that you’re awake. 

He slides out of bed and heads toward the bathroom, nothing on his lower half so you watch his perfect ass as he walks away. There goes your opportunity. 

You roll over and try to go to sleep but the image of his pristine cock keeps popping up every time you close your eyes, shimmering and jumping in his hand. Fantasies come to mind, you sucking away at it, bouncing on it for hours, maybe adding a vibrator to the mix before he comes back through the bathroom door. You can only imagine what his soft cock looks like as he comes back, rebounding between his perfectly toned thighs before he puts his pants back on. You feel him crawl back into the bed, pausing for a moment before sliding down into the covers. After a couple of minutes, you fall back asleep again. 

This time you wake up to Dick’s hand on your shoulder and his voice pulling you out of your REM. You were facing him again, but this time one of his thighs was between yours and your hips were rolling against it. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living. I was going to leave you be but… you said my name, thought maybe I should intervene so, I dunno, you could get the most out of it?” He looks really flushed again but this time he’s keeping eye contact. He did what you couldn’t, little fucker. You’re too tired to really know what’s happening so you just keep rolling and let out a whimpering moan. “Is that a yes?” He asks, lifting your chin so you meet his eyes. All you do is nod. “I’m going to need a verbal confirmation.” 

“ Please just fuck me.” You slur, your eyes lidded and heavy still, but not until Dick takes your lips into a deep and sensuous kiss, rolling his hips along with yours, cock hard and so very ready. The pheromones are practically flying around the room. You moan gutteraly into the kiss as you feel his cock jump against your lower abdomen. Dick’s lips leave yours and start to travel along your neck, down to where your hoodie starts. 

“Mind if I take this off?” he asks, so sweetly. 

“No…” You reply, sitting up and lifting it off your torso and throwing it onto the ground. He pushes you by the shoulder so you’re laying back on the bed before he straddles your hips and kisses the nape of your neck. His kisses take a long journey, peppering and fluttering all the way down your chest, abs, and stomach before getting to the waistband of your shorts. 

“This ok?” he asks, looking up at you with those precious puppy dog eyes but genuinely asking. 

“Mhm.” you whine as he pulls down your shorts underneath your ass, off your legs, and onto the floor with your shirt. He places a kiss on your pelvic bone before looking up at you again with those beautiful dark blue eyes, looking for more confirmation, how much could he possibly need. You nod nonetheless and he licks a stripe up your folds, slowing down as he reaches your growth and you let out a soft whimper. You see him smile before going whole hog and taking your clit into his mouth, sucking vigorously. Your head hits the pillow as you moan out loudly before slapping your palm to your lips in an effort to stifle it. 

“Mm-mm, no, honey… I wanna hear you.” Dick whispers, pulling away from your core making you whine into your palm again before he reaches up toward you and pulls your hand away by your wrist before going back down on you. 

He pushes your thighs apart, massaging them as well while he slides his tongue into your leaking hole. You gasp at the sudden stretching and clench down on his tongue. He curls up and hits a certain spot which makes you all the more loud, he responds with a moan of his own, vibrating into your core. He takes his tongue back out to lick fast circles on your hardened growth and alternate with sucking. His actions are fast and spirited, making your inner thighs shake as your eyes roll back. A familiar heat growing in the depths of your abdomen, your hand snaps to the back of Dick’s head, pushing him down then pulling on his hair. His eyes look up and land on you, making eye contact as he lifts his hand to find yours, intertwining your fingers with his and squeezing three times. That pushed you over the edge. 

You had been mercilessly pining for Dick for ages now and the lewd acts were almost too much let alone him basically telling you he loves you. You just nearly scream out his name as you fall over the cliff of your climax, squirming under his mouth and his muscular arms resting on your thighs. 

“‘Atta boy…” He whispers against the skin of your inner thighs, leaving open mouthed kisses along them along with some bruising ones. “You really have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this.” he nuzzles into the crook of your leg, breathing in your scent as you play gently with his hair. All you can do in your post orgasm haze is hum in acknowledgement. 

With a singular kiss on your thigh, Dick sits up between them and starts to pull the hem of his shirt over his head. You had almost forgotten that he had been fully clothed the whole time you had been completely naked. His abs flexing as the collar of his shirt comes over his head and his biceps relaxing as he brings his arms back down. He tosses it gently onto the floor beside the bed and you take this time to admire his physique. 

You try to sit up to touch his bare chest but he pushes you back down, shoving your shoulder so you fall back bouncing onto the bed. He kisses your collarbone, leaving more maroon bruises on your skin as you tug at the hair on the nape of his neck and planting a kiss on the top of his head. You can feel Dick rutting into your thigh as he massacres your collarbone, whimpering softly. 

“Dick…” you whisper, “I need you. I need to feel you inside me, please .” 

“Oh, I was planning on it.” He says with a smug smile looking up at you. 

He sits back up, slides off the bed, and pulls off his sweats and boxers, you watch his cock spring free and slap his lower abdomen gently which makes you clench. He pumps his dick a few times before coming back onto the bed. You lock eyes with him and he sends you a genuine smile before spreading your legs again. He lets some spit fall onto his hand then coats his head with it before lining up with your entrance, swiping a line up your wet folds. He tilts his head as he does so and smiles again before looking back at you and pushing in slowly. He wants to make sure you feel every bit of this. 

He lets out a deep exhale as he bottoms out, gently. You stretch out your arms, reaching for his skin and touching his waist slowly massaging the flesh. Your hands travel along his body as he starts to move inside you, cock jumping ever so slightly but enough that you could feel it deep inside your guts. The stretch was so perfect, not nearly enough to hurt but just so that you could feel it pushing at your walls. 

“Hm, look at you… taking my cock so well.” he whispers almost to himself with his head still tilted, looking at your cunt. His fingers start to dance on your clit, toying at it and smiling another time because you just can’t stop clenching on his dick. 

He quickens his pace, balls now slapping against your flesh and moans being thrown around the room carelessly. He falls forward, catching himself with an arm right beside your head, his other hand palming at your sides, holding you steady. Your fingers now wandering along his back and arms, gripping desperately to anything you could get your hands on. 

His hand reaches your jawline and he looks right into your eyes before taking your lips into his, sliding his tongue past them and mingling with yours. He moans tenderly against your mouth as he relentlessly pounds into your cervix. With a wet pop, he breaks the kiss, panting heavily against your skin before he sits back up. He presses his palm down onto the flesh right above your pelvic bone. 

“Oh, fuck .” he whines, apparently the action had given you both an intense sensation, the pressure was immaculate and he just went slightly faster, pounding into spots of your walls you didn’t know could be pleasured or even reached for that matter. “Oh god, I’m gonna cum, shit-” 

“Don’t you dare pull out- OH FUCK.” The comment had made Dick’s cock twitch, sending him over the edge, spilling into you. The white rivers of cum pouring into your canal, ebbing and flowing, painting your insides white, leaking out onto the sides of his dick. Now he might be sensitive but he’s not stopping until you cum on his cock. He keeps pounding until you’re a shaking mess, moaning his name. 

“Such a good boy, cumming for me… clenching around my cock, so sweet.”

His thrusts slowly come to a halt, delicately pulling out and watching as his cum pours out of your hole. He dips his fingers into the mess and brings them to his lips, licking the cum off of them just like he had done in the middle of the night except this time you could see his mouth and he was looking right at you. The lewd act makes you whine before he bends down to your cunt again and lapps up his and your own juices from your leaking hole. He flattens his tongue and licks all the way up your core, tasting all of you before focusing more on your clit, sucking and circling with his tongue. 

After a couple of moments, he slides a finger into your hole, curling up and hitting your sensitive g-spot. He pumps this finger for a while while still sucking and bobbing his head ever so slightly before adding another finger and curling them repeatedly and with vigour. Your sensitivity causes you to gasp at the sudden intense pleasure, moaning Dick’s name and pulling at his hair. An unfamiliar sensation arises in your core, a sort of pressure and your stomach tightening. Before you knew it, there was a waterfall of clear liquid gushing up from your cunt, falling onto the bed and you. Dick looked at you in awe with a disbelieving smile and a little chuckle, completely soaked as well by your orgasm. 

“Fuck, I’ve never done that before… my god, you’re soaked.” You say, sitting up and brushing his hair out of his face before pulling him in for a kiss. 

“I’m just glad to know I make you feel good.” 

“Spectacular, even-” you’re cut off by your alarm going off meant to wake you up so you can set up the surveillance equipment. “Shit, we still have a perp to catch. Wanna come help me set up then maybe we can go out so they can change the sheets.” 

“What a great idea, maybe we should shower first, no? I’m kinda soaked already.” 

“Sounds good to me.”

[zahri-melitor]

Next up time for more intense angst in the Potted Fanon Histories with Robin III, TIM DRAKE:

Tim, newborn: His parents bring him home from the hospital to the family mansion in Bristol, Drake Manor. They are millionaires.

Tim, 3: Was at Haly’s Circus. Saw the Graysons die.

Tim, 8-9: Realises that Dick Grayson is Robin after seeing him do a quadruple flip on the news. Becomes immediately obsessed with Batman & Robin. Starts sneaking out at night with a camera to take photos.

Tim, 8-9: Jack and Janet Drake decide that their child is just so mature and competent that really, they’re too busy with their work running a multimillion dollar medical company as internationally renown archaeologists. Tim is now left at home in Drake Manor, with a housekeeper and/or nanny.

Tim, 10-13: shortly after Tim gets into his new hobby of midnight roof vigilante photography, Jason becomes Robin. Tim is now obsessed with this new younger Robin who cares so much for children.

Tim, 10-13: attends Gotham Academy. His parents return home at irregular intervals for a few days without warning. They repeatedly encourage him to network with other children at school for Business Purposes. At some stage they decide he no longer needs adult supervision at home, as he’s just So Responsible. Mrs Mac now drops in for a couple of hours per week to do the vacuuming and cook.

Tim and his parents: Janet is an Ice Queen and Jack is abusive. Tim is unaware that this is not normal. He is being raised as a Business Baby. He is expected to skip grades at school and be working 2-3 years above his age cohort.

Tim, 11-13 (yes we’re sticking with a wide range here): Tim finds out Jason is dead when Bruce announces it in the paper. During his nights out he notices Bruce is getting more violent. Tim goes to find Dick in Bludhaven to tell him that Bruce is too violent! Dick shrugs him off so Tim is determined – he goes to Bruce and tell him that there must be a Robin and insists it is him.

Tim, 13-14: is a smol sad bean. He is now Robin and Bruce is less violent but he’ll never be a Robin like his hero ~*~Jason Todd~*~. Bruce accidentally calls him Jason and looks at the memorial case all the time. Tim knows he’s not really part of the family but he’s doing his best as Robin.

Tim, 13-14: Tim goes on a trip to Paris where he encounters assassins. No further details.

Tim, 13-14: Dick starts dropping by the Manor and Gotham every second weekend to patrol with Tim as Robin, because he’s so guilty about Not Spending Enough Time With Jason. They become close, like brothers.

Tim, 13-14: Tim encounters Steph as Spoiler when she hits him on the head with a brick. They immediately start dating.

Tim’s Parental Free Square: Janet and Jack are both alive and well and neglect Tim. They have not realised he is Robin as they’ve been home for 6 weeks total in the last 5 years.

Tim’s Alternate Parental Free Square: at an unspecified time Janet died. Jack went into a coma. Since then, Tim has been living at Wayne Manor in a spare room. One day, Jack might wake up, but it’s been months or years now.

Tim, 14: Tim forms Young Justice with his best friends Kon, Bart, Cassie and Cissie. They hang out together and play baseball in space! (the only plot that happens here)

Tim, 14-15: Tim and the rest of Young Justice (minus Cissie) become Teen Titans. No reason why, they’re just old enough now. (The only plot that happens here is Titans of Tomorrow where they meet their evil adult selves)

Alternate Robin Tim plot: Joker Junior! Due to either Reverse Robins or just a desire for whump, Tim is captured by Joker and tortured till insanity. He becomes Joker Junior.

Tim, 14-15: there’s a new villain in Gotham haunting the streets, Red Hood. Bruce is now obsessed with him and has no time to pay any attention to Tim. He has told Tim not to patrol. Dick is also worried. Tim, forbidden from going out in Gotham, goes to hang out at Titans Tower (location unspecified). Jason turns up and beats Tim up with his own bo staff and may slit Tim’s throat. Alternately, Tim sneaks out in Gotham anyway and encounters Red Hood on another occasions where he gets his throat slit. This is a major injury that scars badly.

Tim, 16: His parents die. His best friend, Kon, dies. His girlfriend Steph dies. Tim is very distraught by this and refuses to let Bruce adopt him, inventing a Fake Uncle. He tries to clone Kon 99 times in a basement.

Tim, 17: gets adopted. He meets Damian and Damian immediately tries to deliberately murder him. Several times. 

Tim, 17: Bruce dies. Tim is convinced he is not dead. If Battle for the Cowl happens, Jason tries to kill him with a batarang. Once Dick is Batman, Tim and Dick fight over whether Bruce is dead. Dick says Tim is crazy and should be in Arkham. He then tells Tim that Damian is now Robin. Tim, furious, drops out of school and runs away and becomes Red Robin.

Tim, 17: Tim is captured by Ra’s Al Ghul. He loses his spleen. He gets away by blowing up ALL the League bases and hundreds of people die. He then returns to Gotham and falls out of a tower due to Ra’s Al Ghul. Dick catches him. The spleen loss is a secret.

Tim, 17: Tim gets emancipated and is no longer legally a family member because that’s how emancipation works. He now runs Wayne Enterprises as CEO. Everyone is impressed how good at it he is and how hard he works. 

Tim, 17: Tim is still mad about what Dick said to him. Damian again attempts to murder Tim, this time by dropping a billboard on his head and when that doesn’t work, by cutting his line. Dick takes Damian’s side, and explains Tim can’t be Robin anymore because Damian just needs it so much more and look how well he’s doing!

Tim, 17: Bruce returns due to Tim’s research but he’s now mad at Tim because Tim tried to kill Captain Boomerang (who killed his parents). 

Tim, 17: (optional angst) the Daughter of Acheron tries to rape Tim and Cass saves him. This provides angst. Cass is the only person who knows or cares. 

Tim, 17: Jason apologises for trying to kill Tim multiple times and blames it on pit rage. Tim accepts this as a good explanation and becomes Best Brothers with Jason as he has apologised.

Tim, 17: Tim’s no longer part of the family and it gives him ANGST. He’s just so sad. Also he just can’t trust Dick any more and their brotherhood is Eternally Destroyed. He’s just a Coworker.

Tim, currently: Tim comes out as bi and starts dating an old classmate, Bernard. They live on a boat. Bernard was in a paincult for a while. Tim is Robin. 

Alternate Tim, currently 17: Tim is living in an apartment and running Wayne Enterprises. He does not live at Manor but he has a bedroom there. This is an argument between him and Bruce. There is still tension between Tim and Dick that they are both sad about, but Tim is cool with Jason. Tim has either forgiven Damian or they fight constantly every time they’re near each other. Tim is Red Robin.

Tim, currently: is in a relationship with Bernard, Kon or Steph, pick one. If Tim is in a relationship with Kon, Bruce vaguely disapproves and says “no metas in Gotham” a lot. 

[haloshornsinkstains]

Let’s Play [Chishiya x Reader]

WARNING: BIG SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 OF ALICE IN BORDERLAND. 

CW: Language, canon-typical violence, injury, death etc etc, emotional constipation, no one here is a good person

And again, massive season 2 spoilers, proceed at your own risk.

Chishiya had no need for attachments. Even before coming to the Borderland he tried to shut off those particular emotions, first to deal with the nature his job, and then as he convinced himself that he had no interest in understanding peoples hearts. But, as it happened, attachments weren't swayed by that kind of logic. First it was Kuina, soon becoming a steadfast companion despite his attempts to stay distant, then it was you. He couldn't pinpoint the moment you became a part of his life here in the borderlands, nor when you became more than just another tool to him, and it frustrated him. But still, he found himself searching for your face in the returning crowds from the latest game, and lingering in your presence.

One night, close to the final completion of the pip cards, you found him up on the roof. “Should have known you'd be up here people watching.” You laughed, settling down next to him to study the residents playing in the pool below. His only response was a disinterested hum, but he didn't tell you to leave which was as close to a welcome as you tended to get from him. “Do you think they're right?” You asked after a moment, “Do you think collecting all the cards is really the way to get back?” He considered it for a moment before shrugging. “Who knows?  It's a logical train of thought.” “You know... I'm not sure I'll be able to survive in that world, even if we do get back.” You sighed, eyes carefully trained on the figure of Kuina as she made her way through the crowd. “And why would that be?” “Surviving here... it changes you. Haven't you noticed?” You breathed out a long breath, leaning back on your elbows. “Maybe it's different for you, but I don't even bat an eye at death any more. The last game... I watched someone kill themselves in front of me, because of me, and I didn't even care. I'm not sure I remember who I used to be, I don't know if I could go back.” Chishiya sighed, sounding every bit exasperated at you. His hand shot out, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. “You're the best hearts player at the Beach. You'll adapt, no matter what.” You stared at him in shock, but Chishiya merely nodded once, returning his gaze to the people below.

The pip cards, as it turned out, weren't the end of things. Just the first stage of the games. You had been so, so wrong when you thought things couldn't get much worse than the ten of hearts, a message driven home almost immediately by the King of Spades. You watched in horror as the car holding the last of your comrades disappeared behind a blast of flame, your body barely shielded by the car you dived behind. You glanced over at Chishiya and sighed. “New day, same old shit huh?” “Seems like it. We should move.” You nodded, following him quietly between the cars and away from the devastation. Things continued like that for a while. Sometimes you would enter the face card games together, sometimes Chishiya would insist you stayed back. You didn't argue with him, and he grew to appreciate your company even more than he had before. Things seemed to be going well, until they weren't.

Two face cards left. The King of Spades and the Queen of Hearts. You'd finally found the others after what seemed like forever apart, then Niragi crashed the party. You could only watch in horror as Chishiya took the bullet meant for Usagi, feeling for the first time since the games started, hurt. You eyes narrowed, reaching for the gun at your hip to blast the former Beach resident away, when the sound of gunfire in the distance pulled you from your rage. “The King. I'll get him somewhere safe, you two run.” You snapped, practically shoving Usagi and Arisu away as you ran to Chishiya's side. “You know, you should get to shelter too.” “Shut up and let me move you. I'll be just fine.” You huffed, helping him move behind a car. “Stay alive, I'm coming back for you once we kill this bastard.” He just nodded, one hand pressed against his wound as you turned and headed for where the others had grouped.

The plan had seemed so good, everyone using their best skills seemed like a surefire way to win. Hell, even Aguni had made an appearance, bringing with him an extra ray of hope. You had been so convinced that you could do this, that you would all survive... you didn't stop to consider the Kings almost inhuman strength and durability. It was a massacre. Chishiya could only watch through the car wing mirror in horror as you were thrown backwards by the force of his gunfire, your torso splattered with red, saved only from certain death by the kid with the arrows. Great, he owed her a favour now and she wouldn't even know why. His horror only increased as you dragged yourself upright, throwing a knife towards the man. He struggled against his injuries, trying to haul himself to his feet only to collapse with a groan. He could only watch as you went down again, only this time you didn't get up, but he couldn't take his eyes off you, watching for any signs of life. As the store exploded you were sent tumbling across the ground, but it seemed to wake you. Groaning, and a little singed, you crawled the rest of the way towards the car where you'd left Chishiya, collapsing against the metal beside him as you waved Arisu and Usagi off to the final challenge. “You think they'll do it?” You asked, leaning against his shoulder. “Probably.” “Good. I want to get the fuck out of here now.”

You awoke in hospital, confused and a little frightened, a nurse looking over you. “What happened?” You croaked, wincing when the movement sent a burst of pain down your side. “You were involved in the disaster in Shibuya, your heart stopped for a while but we managed to bring you back.” The nurse smiled kindly down at you. “Is there anyone I can call for you?” You started to shake you head, only to pause and murmur the details of your closest living relative. The nurse nodded, smiling again. “I'll do that. Don't worry, you'll be on your feet again before you know it.” Several days later you were finally allowed to wander around on your own. Escaping to the garden you spotted two men playing cards at a table, making your way over you paused by them, smiling softly. “Do you mind if I join?” The dark haired man, his face still covered with bandages nodded. “Sure. You can't be worse company than this asshole.” Laughing you took a seat beside the blonde, your breath catching in your throat when he turned to look at you. He stared back, a flash of recognition in his eyes for just a second. “Um, sorry if this sounds rude, but have we met before?” The blonde shook his head. “I don't think so.” “I'd certainly remember if I'd met someone as gorgeous as you before.” The bandaged man cut in, his grin edging towards a leer. “I just feel like I know you...” you murmured, “ah, never mind, maybe we should get to know each other then?” Both men nodded, picking up their cards as you grabbed your own stack. “Let's play.”

[svechnikovvv]

tutoring sessions

pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader

warnings: profanity

summary: what happens when jack hughes asks you to tutor him?

a/n: finally finished this (: i put aside my coding project just so i could finish this for you guys

masterlist: here

i was sitting at my usual secluded table in the cafeteria when jack hughes, one of the school’s most adored hockey players, takes a seat in front of me.

“hi,” he smiles.

“uh… hi?”

“y/n right?” i nod slowly, my brows furrowed

“i’m struggling with math and was wondering if you could tutor me? some people have told me that you’re the best person to go to for this kinda stuff.” i shrug

“just let me know when and what time,” i tell him and he nods.

“do you have something i can write on?” he pulls out a pen from his pocket and i grab a notecard i was using as a bookmark, and slide it over to him. he scribbles some things down on the card and hands it back to me. i look at it and see an address, number, and a date and time. i look up at him and he shoots me a wink, walking back to his table. i sigh and go back to my work in front of me. what did i just get myself into?

i manage to get through the rest of the week, and it’s finally saturday. which means it’s my first day to tutor jack. he’s been giving me glances in the hallways and everytime i see him pretty much. wonder what that’s about.

i head over to the address he gave me, and i get there five minutes before the time he specified. i knock on the door and a beautiful woman answers the door.

“hi, i’m ellen, jack’s mom. he said he’d get some company soon. come in,” she steps aside for me to enter and i do. i take a marvel at the house and i see some baby pictures hanging up on the walls. i walk closer to take a better inspection and ellen laughs. i look back at her and she gives me a smile.

“see that one in the middle?” i nod my head “that’s jack. the one on the right is his older brother quinn, and the one on the left is his younger brother luke.” i awe at the picture and she continues to tell me about more of the pictures hanging up. some had a backstory, and some didn’t.

“mommm,” jack whines and both ellen and i turn around to see an embarrassed jack.

“don’t be such a drama queen.” she shakes her head

“i think it’s time y/n and i study some algebra, yeah?” he then grabs my hand and drags me somewhere. i wave a quick goodbye to ellen and soon jack and i are in some room that’s secluded off with a big tv mounted on the wall.

“this is the entertainment room. just make yourself comfy.” i nod and take a seat on the couch, immediately sinking into it. jack then takes a seat beside me and unzips his bookbag that i didn’t even notice he had. he takes out a thick textbook and sets it on the table.

“okay, what exactly is causing you trouble?”

“um…” he flips a couple pages and stops on polynomials. i briefly scan what he needs to do and nod my head.

“okay, this should be fairly easy.” for the next hour, i begin to walk him through the lesson and help him better understand it. i give him some practice problems to work with, and with a little bit of help, he starts to understand it.

two hours later, and i’m leaving.

“thank you, for tutoring me.” i nod and start to walk away before he grabs my hand, making me spin around.

“y/n? would you um, maybe want to get coffee?” i shrug my shoulders

“i don’t see why not.” he smiles excitedly and then walks back up to his door.

“you won’t regret it,” he points at me and i laugh, walking away and heading in the direction of my house.

that night, i fell asleep with a smile on my face.

i continued to tutor jack for another few months before he finally asked me to be his girlfriend.

him and i were currently lying on his roof watching the stars in the sky.

“jack?” he hums and i sit up, looking down at him.

“what do you see in me?” his attention is torn away from the sky at my question and he sits up too, looking at me. he takes my hands in his and places a soft kiss to both.

“baby, what caused you to ask this?”

“i’ve just been thinking about it lately. so many people judge you for dating ‘a nerd’ and i keep hearing how you deserve someone better.” he frowns

“respectfully, shut the fuck up. so what if you’re a nerd, huh? you’re my nerd. you’re my nerd who helped me pass algebra 2. you’re a damn academic weapon. they’re just jealous they don’t have your einstein-ness.” i laugh at his words at the end and then it goes quiet again. he wraps the blanket we brought out around the two of us and i mean my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“i’m going to be honest with you, i never meant to fall in love with you, i just did. and it’s something i will never regret. falling for you was the best thing that’s happened to me since i discovered that kraft mac n cheese comes in different shapes. and you want to talk about scientific breakthrough? that right there.” we both laugh. “anyways, point is, i wouldn’t trade you for anything. not even angelina jolie.” i gasp and look at him

“are you serious? angelina jolie is fucking hot.” he shrugs

“my girl is better.” he smiles and presses a kiss on my cheek.

“mm, debatable, but alright.” he rolls his eyes and we go back to watching the stars.

“jack?” he hums again “how many years did it take for you to realize kraft mac n cheese came in different shapes?”

“way too many. i could’ve been living a lavish childhood eating star wars-shaped macaroni.”

“don’t worry, i’ll buy you all the star wars macaroni you want.”

“another reason why you’re the best.”

tags: @goldenbrokenheart @liquidflyer @woodruff-edwards @hockeyboysarehot @ajbird2010 @hughesx3 @hannahh01938 @theywantedplayer @k1ttyt3ar @jackhughesily @jackhues @marauderzkinnie @i-padfootblack-things @fanboysfangirl @austinbutlerscaresme

a/n: this one has been sitting in the drafts and it’s finally done 🫶🏻

[sgiandubh]

Logo wars: the unicorn vs. the griffin

Ever since August, the battle between the Warchief and the Sassenach has been lurking somewhere, on the outskirts of my radar. While some still deny there is anything going wrong between S and McTavish, I have strong reservations it's all about sunshine, lollipops and roses in that department. And I couldn't help but wonder if the key to the problem was not to be found in the very disingenuous way Graham chose to build the marketing strategy of his products and to update his own personal brand, in the process.

So I took a deep dive into socials and this is something that is going to take some more time to complete. If this kind of content is not your jam or you disagree with my premises, it's totally fine with me, but maybe you should skip these posts. And since we have to start somewhere, let's start with their companies' logos: they have a lot of things to tell us.

Soon after the Remarkable Week-end, S finally unveiled a business project he'd been alluding to for quite a while (if anything is wrong in here, kindly correct me in comments). This was the logo and the slogan they are still using until today:

The Sassenach Unique Spirits. Spirit of Home.

As compared with what McTavish released this summer:

McTavish Spirits. A Scotsman's Dream of America.

First logo: clean, sober lines. A Unicorn, whose contours seem more aptly designed for a sports car or a new, innovative line of home equipment (think rather audio systems, not refrigerators). Or even an elegant, country life oriented clothing line, with all the paraphernalia (gloves, scarves, etc - but we already knew about the First Love tartan, then, so it's still a possibility).

Unique spirits, with all my deep affection and due respect for a real effort, is not the best they could have come up with. You see, that's hardly a sales argument or an efficient pitch. Just like any dog owner on this planet would tell you that Bebe or Fido or Snoopy are 'the best dogs ever', a new entrepreneur would confidently tell you his booze is 'unique'. The effort S put into patiently educating his passion for whisky and creating something personal out of it deserved better. Not the completely expected and almost meaningless 'unique' - this is very lazy copywriting, I think (not a copywriter, just an exacting client, here). It spells low budget where we needed something irresistible.

Onwards to the Unicorn. Of course, it's all about Scotland - it's whisky, for Christ's sake. But, it's also about this:

This is the sixth panel of one of the most moving, exquisite things that ever graced this planet: The Lady and the Unicorn cycle of Flemish tapestries, now making the pride and joy of the Cluny National Museum of the Middle Ages, in Paris. A place I know well and was a very frequent visitor of, when I was living just about three blocks away from it. Its story has to do with the Five Senses and this is the last panel, featuring a mysterious message on that lavish tent's roof:

A mon seul Désir. It's French for: "To my sole desire". Unique, indeed.

Let's let things flow a bit in free association mode (I know Puffy did it on her blog with the Barbour project, but she didn't invent it and she certainly has no copyright - so yeah, waiting for a couple more idiots to block right after posting this):

Unicorn... Scotland... legend... purity...even Mary Queen of Scots asked for a unicorn horn to make sure the water was not poisoned, while in prison... untamed...chivalry.... woman...only a woman can tame and lure a unicorn... Medieval...Cluny... desire... sole desire... soul desire (heh)...unique...passion.... statement... labor of love... personal testimony...first love and we wrap it up nicely with a smile ('she is the original Sassenach', ahem).

That was the first set of (genuine) talking points he went with. Now, we deal with a contorted & painful explanation: Scotland is an inclusive nation and land, I am the Sassenach, etc. What do our unsuspecting American friends know, after all? But to a #silly European, it makes no sense: yes, Scotland is a very inclusive, open and even avantgarde society for many things, but this is whisky and should spell tradition, not innovation. It should spell mystery and something that comes (at great costs) from a faraway, fabled land of mists and druids and lochs. Not from a blaring EDI crossroads, where people are gathered to protest against global warming. Then how about that unnecessary 'I am the Sassenach' - no, Sir, you aren't, plus I hope you know how we, shippers immediately interpret it ('blood of my blood and bone of my bone' - 😁).

But your main problem with the name and the brand that goes along with is not even this. The problem is that a unicorn is always female. You have a feminine brand for a masculine product.

So instead of a haphazard explanation which smells of improv, why not just take the second, abstract, meaning of unicorn and just say cheekily something along those loose lines, for example:

'Well, we are a new, innovative enterprise which aspires to be a smaller unicorn in the world of spirits. Maybe we'll never make it to 1 billion dollars, but it's the bravery and the innovative spirit that we bring with us from Scotland, our home (cue in waxing lyrical and fill in the blanks with all the tropes you can think of). So we're the new kid on the block, the outsider, the underdog set to conquer new lands and new opportunities, exactly like Jamie Fraser, the character I play in OL does (cue in credible retconning of your initial strategy: you need a new client base to generate sales volume & secure or even multiply returning sales and those people DGAF about OL).'

Granted, you'll totally throw under the bus the whole initial plan, but hey - it's an elegant way out of a conundrum.

Second logo, quite a different situation. It's busy, busy, busy with the kind of motifs that make one immediately think of an engraved Colt grip. Something like this, perhaps, only stylized:

Instead of the Unicorn, we have a double beast: a Lion and an Eagle. In Ancient Greece, this mythical combo was called a  γρύψ (gryps), which later gave 'griffin' in English. It is a hybrid, but then so is bourbon. The Lion is a symbol for the European roots of the brand and the Eagle, well - easy, America, pointing West and meaning new perspectives, freedom, etc. But the brand is McTavish Spirits, in a very personal approach: this is my bourbon (isn't it ironic, for a white label project?) and this is my story and these are my (a Scotsman's) dreams of America. Transparent. Legible. I mean business - this is not a labor of love.

Free association again:

The Lion self... the Older, Wiser Guy... the Leader... the Statesman... Dougal MacKenzie...the (hello) Warchief...but this is America... so I am also the Lonely Gunman... I am exploring a New Frontier... bringing my past with me (all the classy, gentleman-like persona)... telling my personal story, too, in the process... from my Scottish roots to making it in Hollywood... so I am also The Storyteller (unlike that young nincompoop, who just goes zorbing and chases barmaids) ... so, maybe, just maybe if you listen to my stories, you will forget I put zero effort into trying samples and touring the whole land looking for perfect balance, and just went for the easy solution and a quick buck... buy my booze and I'll tell you more... I am reliable and tried and tested and still young enough and strong enough and determined enough (the Eagle) to have a new wife and new plans.

Plus: a masculine brand for a masculine product. I won't keep scores for a while, but pfff... point taken.

This is not only logo conception copycat and shameless, reactive competition, on very thin ice and on a (at this point in time, at least) very slim portion of the market. This is, mark me, war between two people who still have some gigs together.

We'll see next time who shows up at their parallel events and buys their booze and also how they choose to engage (or not) with these people. I think I begin to understand what McTavish's brand strategy is, but I need to have a second, closer look. More on this, tomorrow.

[juno-of-wonderland]

Monster au: Lord of Thorns route ending 1 (part 2)

list tag: @112-darling, @rain112-darling, @callmedarling112, @mushroomfrog203

The days went by like this, you trying to adjust your schedule to sleep during the day and stay awake at night, it was difficult for someone who was used to waking up very early, along with the rooster, but you didn't spend the day alone, Silver always came to keep you company and as the week went on, Malleus, who you found out was his name in Sebek's sermon from being so casual with your Waka-sama, was acting strange. "Did something happen?" You said resting your cheek on his arm. "Why the question?" Malleus lowered the cup and looked at you curiously. “You’ve been acting strange lately.” Malleus stared at you in silence, before looking away, embarrassed. “I don’t know, I just…it’s a weird feeling I’ve never felt before, sorry if this is making you uncomfortable.” “It’s not, do you want to talk about it?” Malleus gives you the sweetest smile. Suddenly the doors to the lounge, where you were having an evening tea, were opened. “My prince is sorry-” the elegant man stopped talking as soon as he saw you “I didn’t know our prince had toys, if you want I have some humans for you to choose from” You squeezed Malleus' arm, offended, disgusted and afraid of this vampire, your friend also seemed angry. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I’m here for that” as he spoke, rain clouds formed outside. “Oh, yes, sorry, I just wanted to ask you a question, your highness, but” the man took another step forward, looking dangerously at you and then at Malleus “is it true that you ordered humans to be transformed ?” "What?" Malleus and you seemed surprised. “If I can assure you of one thing, Mr Damian, it is that my grandson has nothing to do with such a rumor” Maleficia says in an authoritative voice. “Your majesty says that when your grandson has a human by his side” the vampire dared to challenge her. Maleficia gave you and Malleus a single look, which you understood and left, leaving the old queen to take care of the intruder. “Sorry” you said when you were in the hallway, far enough away from the room. “For what son of man?” Malleus asked with wide eyes. “For causing trouble” Draconia stopped and turned you by the shoulders, you raised your head to look at the face of the tall man in front of you. Malleus was determined, finally deciphering the feeling he felt when he saw you together with Silver. Holding your face in loving hands, he begins to speak. “If there's one thing you do, it's make me and everyone else here happy, I couldn't wish for a better gift than having you by my side, please don't apologize when the best thing I did was approach you on that roof.” He kisses your forehead, the weight of his words making you blush, but you didn't have a concrete answer now, maybe in the near future.

[girldragongizzard]

Chapter 9: Character growth

Säure really is beginning to seem like everyone’s boogeyman. Like, his involvement doesn’t seem like it’s just some educated guess on Chapman’s part nor my own suspicion, but something everyone I know is taking for granted.

It makes me want to find him to see if I can confirm it.

People compare billionaires to dragons all the time, pointing out how they hoard wealth needlessly and to the detriment of the land around them. But so far, hoarding really hasn’t been a big part of my life. Now that I know that my personal belongings are safe in Nathan’s garage for the time being, I feel safe about them and capable of focusing on other things.

If anything, I might be hoarding social connections now. I’m certainly becoming emotionally attached to everyone I talk to. It’s different with humans than it is with dragons, but it’s still an emotional attachment all the same.

I don’t know how the other dragons are doing in regards to hoarding. It just keeps not coming up. We have more important things to talk about, like Säure’s company, Equisetum Wildlife, and Joel and I having been kidnapped.

Still, we spent six hours talking in the arboretum. Six dragons for six hours, just to air our feelings and suspicions about other dragons who might be allied with Säure, and no concrete evidence that it’s happening.

Except Joel.

When I pointed this discrepancy in proof out, Joel yawped and stepped forward, confirming my suspicions about the night of my interview with the Mayor.

Joel had been recruited and then betrayed.

Six hours, and even though we had articulate and well spoken Wentin there, and Astraia and Tannis who weren’t so far behind, we hadn’t gotten anything more concrete than that, unfortunately.

Watching Ian talk for Brenna had been fascinating. He’d even affected a somewhat feminine voice, and her body language seemed to match what he was saying. It was the best act of faking telepathy I can imagine, and at this point I’m sure it wasn’t actually faked.

But we all ended up calling it off, frustrated, slightly suspicious of each other, and agreeing to be careful and to meet again when one of us had something verifiable.

And then I had gone back home to my roof thinking that maybe I had been invited there to stop a five way fight.

I spent the evening growling and trying to talk to myself, pacing my roof. And then went to sleep as it got dark. I barely even noticed the clouds rolling in.

Then my mind had the audacity to continue that whole “discussion” as a dream. Every time I went back to sleep.

So, I’m lying here on my roof a couple hours after Morning Roll Call, extremely grumpy about all that, thinking it might be extremely nice to just stay up here and ignore my tablet all day, and just take the entire Sunday to myself.

The coffee shop is closed, afterall. And Queen Meg needs her fucking alone time. She needs to think. Or stop thinking.

I get up and stretch again.

I’ve found myself stretching more often this morning, as something feels tight. And I think that last night I was rolling around in my sleep. I’d slept longer than usual, but I feel way more worn out than any other morning.

Grumpy, tired, and restless.

A good rock to lean against sounds awfully nice right now, and I find I’m jealous of Joel and his stretch of shoreline.

And there’s an itch, right in the nape of my neck where I can’t bite at it. But fortunately, my wing claws are really good for that spot and…

I see flakes of stuff falling to the rooftop.

There’s a comic from the internet that runs through my head. A two panel affair drawn by someone named pocketss, of a dragon holding up her leg and saying, “OMG Becky feel my leg I just shed”.

And I’d laugh at myself, but I desperately need a big fucking rock. A boulder, or three.

I cast around the rooftop futilely looking for one for several laps before I realize that the brick building itself is basically just one big giant boulder. I just have to find a reasonable place to rub up against it.

The alleyway. There are no windows in there, and I’d be mostly out of everyone’s sight. And if anyone turns in there to take a shortcut or something, I can just say, “Hi.” Which I taught myself how to do last night, along with a couple other useful words I’ve needed lately.

In desperation I leap off the building and flutter down there to find myself strutting up and down the alley, rubbing myself against every open brick and stone surface available, even rolling on the pavement.

And as exhausting as it is, I spend the better part of the day doing that and not much else.

If I don’t get my regular shipment of meat tonight, a couple of seagulls are gonna die, and I might not actually feel remorseful about it this time.

Assuming I’m not preoccupied with actively shedding well into the next day.

When does this stop?

Do I get a break?

What the hell? My whole body is itching.

When I start noticing larger flakes of scale shaped hide lifting off of me here and there, I try to help them get off faster by biting them and pulling. And then I find myself eating them.

Is this like a monthly thing or something? How often am I going to have to do this?

King Gidorah’s Breath, this sucks.

But, I do get to say, “Hi,” a couple times, which is as delightful as I imagined, as distracted as I am.

Someone walks in, and I stop and look at them, and say, “Hi.”

The first person just turns around and walks right out of the alley without breaking stride or saying anything.

The other, a bit later, says, “Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry!” And backs out quickly, with hands up, looking flustered. Just like they’d walked into a bathroom to see a naked woman drying herself off after a shower. I feel weirdly affirmed by this, and briefly wonder if a cop would dare try to arrest me for indecent exposure.

It’s when this child stands there and watches me for a while without saying anything that I find I can’t do the whole, “Hi,” routine. I feel like I shouldn’t interact with them, and I just keep working at getting myself clean of dead skin.

I’m wondering to myself whether this really came on so quickly today, or if I just didn’t notice the initial signs of it for the past few days or so, when the child looks down the street briefly and then steps into the alleyway and asks, “Want some help?”

That’s when I stop and look at them, careful to use only one eye to do so.

I feel like I need to be honest, but also to turn their help down specifically, so I string together a couple of my new words with old ones in hopes it comes across that way.

“Yes. Thanks. Please. No,” I say. I wish I’d taught myself “but” now.

They blink up at me in confusion, but don’t move.

“Thanks. No,” I repeat.

“Really?” they say. “I bet I’d be good at getting the small bits you can’t see.”

And I'm about to say “no” again when it occurs to me that I really do need help with something, because it’s been getting in the way.

I pull my tablet out of my purse, lay it on the ground, turn it on, open up the app, and say, “Actually, purse, please.”

And then I sit up and compose myself to present my purse, which falls into place in front of my chest. Chapman gave me this purse, which looks flame orange to me, and was thoughtful about it. The strap has clasps holding it to the purse.

“Of course!” my new friend exclaims, and eagerly steps forward to assist, undoing the clasps and gingerly removing my purse. “My name is Molly. Want me to hold onto it for you?”

“Thanks. No,” I say. Then use the tablet to add, “Put this in purse. Take purse to coffee shop. Explain.”

“Oh! OK!” Molly agrees, and then does what I ask.

When they come back, I am already working on the spots the purse was preventing me from really getting at.

“How long does it take?” Molly asks.

I have no idea how to respond without my tablet, and I'm really busy. It feels too good to be doing this now. There’s a lot of relief in it at this point.

And I keep at it.

After a while, Molly says, “Oh. You can’t talk much without your screen. OK. Can you say your name?”

I stop enough to say, “Meg.”

“I’ll leave you alone, but I wanted to say. Um. My pronouns are she/her, because I’m a girl. Mostly,” she looks a little uncomfortable about having said this to me for some reason, and she looks a little more antsy and ready to go find her parents again. But then, just before she goes, she says, “That looks like it’s really awful, but I still wish I was like you.”

That brings me up short, and I lift my head to look at her with my left eye again. Then I lower my head down to about level with her midsection and close my eyes most of the way, by way of my usual smile.

I’m halfway down the alley and she’s at the mouth of it. I’m sure it looks like a bow to her, and it is.

Even if I had a larger vocabulary, I’m at a loss for words.

“Thank you for talking to me, Meg,” Molly says. “I have to go now. I hope your shedding feels really good when you’re done.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Goodbye.”

She brightens up, waves, and then skips down the street and out of sight. But I still see a sadness in her eye as she does that.

I get so worked up in my thoughts about Molly and who and what she might be that I forget about my shed for a while, and when Rhoda finds me in the alley I’m still staring up at the sky, my heart hurting.

Why didn’t Molly transform when I did? Was it not safe for her yet? Will there be other waves of dragons? Or was it arbitrary and a one time thing?

She didn’t really look like a girl to me until she said her name, but I didn’t want to make any assumptions even then. Ever since I’ve met Chapman and come out to myself, I’ve been working hard to be good about that.

I think Molly is around 12 years old. Maybe give or take a couple of years. It’s hard to say. Maybe she’s lucky and on hormone blockers. Maybe puberty is being kind to her. Or maybe it’s not, and I’m reading her wrong.

But I recognized that look on her face because I saw it in the mirror for the past fifty years.

And she wants to be like me.

She already is.

“Hey, Meghan,” Rhoda says, holding my purse against her with her right arm, cane steadying her in left hand. “Are you OK?”

“No,” I say. “No.”

“Want to come over to my place to talk?” she asks.

“Yes. Thanks.”

“Ooh, a new word! I like it.”

“Thanks.”

—

I still have shedding to do, but now that I’m not in the middle of it I can ignore the urge for a while. I’m probably going to be spending a lot of the night working on it, still, though.

Rhoda and I have been talking for a while, enjoying her tea. I’m not drinking it, though, because I don’t want to make a mess in her apartment. I’m just tasting the air occasionally to get a whiff of it, mixed in with the other odors and aromas of Rhoda and her home. If I aim my head right, I get mostly tea, and I do love it.

She gets fancy, loose leaf teas from a shop on the edge of my territory, and I decide I need to visit it someday. Just to stick my head in the door, lick the air, and smile at the owner. I’ll even pay for the privilege, if I can.

Anyway, mostly I’ve been filling Rhoda in on the events of the past two days, and she’s been listening and nodding, only occasionally interjecting or asking a question.

It’s such a comfortable relief to me to be able to think about what I want to say and actually say it, and not be rushed by a conversation. It still takes longer than I’d like, but I start to lose track of time and forget about it, falling into my routine of communication.

This.

This is what I want my life to be like. To be myself in a quiet place with someone who is also just there.

I do wonder a little if Rhoda is being herself, or if she’s going out of her way to accommodate me. But the few times I’ve tried to pay her back for all she does for me, or to find out how, she’s told me, “Let me worry about me. I’ll be OK.” There isn’t much good in pushing, then.

However, when I get to talking about Molly, she has a story to share, so I listen.

“Just before my son died, he once told me something,” Rhoda says to me. “His best friend was a trans boy. A teenager just like him. And Jacob just one day says to me out of the blue, like he always did about whatever he was thinking about. He says, ‘Toby told me the first couple years of transition are the hardest.’ And then he went back to doing his homework and didn’t say anything else that night.”

I watch her look up at the corner of the ceiling. I’m sure she’s composing more words, and even if she isn’t she’s not looking for a response from me, yet.

“I always wondered what was going through Jacob’s head when he shared that. The phrase sounded to me like a piece of wisdom passed around from trans person to trans person. Something they told each other to help get through what they need to do. And I don’t see how it couldn’t be,” she continues eventually. “You’re a special case, Meghan, but I imagine it’s going to be similar for you. Things will get easier for you. They have to. But they didn’t for Jacob, and I don’t know why he left. I know that being autistic in this world can be so hard. Especially for a Black boy like him. But after he said that to me, I’ve always got to wonder, you know?”

Then she looks at me. And I still don’t feel like I should say anything.

I don’t smile. I just make sure my eye is pointed at her.

I’m right eye dominant, I think. I keep an eye out for danger with it more often. But it always feels like my left eye is my friendly one, so that’s the one facing her.

“I think,” Rhoda says. “I think, for Molly’s sake, if you are the center of this thing you call the dracomorphosis, you should figure out why and how. I think you know that.”

“Yes,” I say. 

I remember when she first mentioned her son, it sounded like he had died. But I hadn’t asked, and she had offered no indication how or why. I let the thought enter my head, I cataloged it for later, and had focused on what she wanted to talk about after that. She hadn’t even said his name.

So, tonight, to learn his name and that – I’m pretty sure I heard right – that he may have died from suicide. And that she wonders if he was trans, too.

It’s a lot.

“Yes,” I say again.

“Even if you’re an Artist, Meg. I want you to do this. I don’t know how you can. I don’t know if it’s even wise. But if you can give Molly anything that my son Jacob might have missed out on, I want you to do it. Please.”

I look down at my tablet and knuckle out a couple words, “I’ve already vowed to.”

“Good.”

After a little bit more silence, I dare to ask, “Is this why you friend me?”

She just shrugs and shakes her head. Not a tear on her face. And I think she’s trying to will them to come from the looks of it.

—

I’m on my roof again, staring up at the moon.

It’s a noticeable sliver high in the sky. It’s just strong enough to illuminate the high wispy clouds that are coming in and covering the whole sky, creating a cathedral of light and vapor. But it’s not quite as spectacular as I’ve seen it when near full.

This is my favorite kind of nighttime sky. You hardly get to see any stars anymore, especially from the middle of a city. So, moon illuminated clouds will do.

I used to daydream about flying up into the clouds and maybe kissing the moon, as if it was that close.

Now I’m wondering what moon rocks would do for my skin and scales.

And I want to talk to the moon. But I’m doing it in my head.

I remember Kimberly saying something about the neo-pagan belief that on a new moon you should wish for things to come to you, so that the moon will bring them as it waxes to full. And I know I missed that by a few nights.

I wonder if she wished for the ability to be a were-poodle that night. Or if she was joking for some of that, or just trying something on to see if it fit.

Thinking about spirituality, I find myself struck with an idea, a visualization.

If the Earth were a giant dragon, I’d like to think of the moon and the sun as her eyes, put there, up in the sky, to watch over us.

It’s a silly little myth I’ve just made up, but it feels special to me.

So, I ask the Earth, through the moon that is smiling at me, if maybe she could help me figure this all out.

What should I prepare for, if Säure’s people come for us again?

What should I look for to unravel the puzzle of the dracomorphosis?

Why am I supposedly the center of it?

Does that give me some sort of responsibility?

And then my tablet buzzes.

Rhoda has sent me a personal SMS, not in our group. It’s way past her stated bedtime.

“Don’t root out the mole,” she says. “Focus on community. Make it so strong the mole won’t matter. If the mole slips up, don’t acknowledge it. Feed them bullshit instead. But until then, don’t worry at it. Don’t seek them out.”

That seems like counterintuitive advice, until I remember what was done with Alan Turing’s discoveries. So, after a moment's consideration, I reply with, “OK. Thank you.”

“I’ll give you a paper with advice for direct action on it,” Rhoda sends back. “Best practices. Security. That kind of shit.”

“I know tumblr post. Can find myself,” I reply.

“No. Take it from me,” she responds. “It will seem more legit to the others. Caleb will get it, and Tannis’ girlfriend, probably. Maybe a couple of the dragons. But the rest will need that extra push to calm the fuck down.”

“Yes. Got it. Thank you so much.”

“I wish I could help you shed. That looks awful.”

“Please sleep,” I send her, with three different colored heart emojis.

“Meh,” she shoots back. “I will when you do.”

“Going to sleep now,” I reply.

“Good.”

If somehow, by some miracle, I manage to grant Molly her wish, or if the Earth just does it because I asked nicely, what will her parents do?

Another thought occurs to me, because I’m thinking about trans stuff as much as anything.

If I was human and I’d reached out and taken my transition by the horns back in 2015 when it had first occurred to me that I could seriously do it, and gotten my hormones and surgery funded by Medicaid. Would it be like this, too?

Would I hurt so much for my peers who, for one reason or another, didn’t have that chance?

Would I even be able to help them?

How would they be feeling about it all?

[hkbuilders]

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[scotianostra]

On 29th February 1904 the Pavilion Theatre, Glasgow, opened.

Designed by Bertie Crewe for Thomas Barrasford, the Pavilion Theatre opened at the corner of Renfield Street and Renfrew Street, Glasgow on the 29 February, 1904. It was regarded as luxurious for its time with its decor being described by the owners as “pure Louis XV”. An electrically operated sliding roof ensured good ventilation.

Performances in the early days were mainly variety, melodrama and pantomime. Many of the leading music hall artistes of the period appeared at the Pavilion, including Marie Lloyd, Little Tich, Harry Lauder, Florrie Forde, Will Fyffe, Sarah Bernhardt and a then unknown Charlie Chaplin.

Since the 1930s, the Pavilion began to host pantomimes with top name stars of the Scottish variety scene, such as Harry Gordon and Dave Willis. In more recent times it has produced plays, such as ‘The Sash’ and ‘The Steamie’.

The Pavilion Theatre is now the only privately run theatre in Scotland and one of a few unsubsidised independent theatres left in Britain.

“Defying all the odds, Glasgow’s Pavilion regularly purveys variety to this day. All the more remarkable as it is completely unsubsidised and receives no funding from the Scottish Arts Council and kindred bodies whose thoughts and cash are directed at higher cultural activities. It remains the last stronghold of a long music hall tradition in Europe’s City of Culture owing everything to a dedicated staff and patrons and nothing to the public purse.

With its imposing terra cotta facade, the Pavilion Theatre of Varieties was designed by Bertie Crewe in the grand manner for Thomas Barrasford. The domed ceiling was surmounted by an electrically controlled sliding roof for ventilation. Fine Rococo plasterwork on the circle, balcony and box fronts; decoration executed in pure Louis XV; handsome mahogany woodwork and the marble mosaic floor all lent the 1800 seat theatre an aura of splendour.

No less amusing than the dentist advertising in the Pavilion programme “painless extractions with nitrous oxide for 4/- (20p) or cocaine for 1/- (5p)”, were the press observations on the “fashionable company” which attended the Pavilion’s first house on 29th February,1904. We learn that “among the elite there was quite a preponderance of ladies and gentlemen of quality in evening dress”. Alas, class consciousness and respectability were all in Edwardian Britain!

The ‘forties and ‘fifties saw pantomime runs of sixteen weeks, the happy and hilarious summer seasons were emulated during the 1960s and early 1970s by Lex McLean. Another regular crowd puller to Renfield Street was Jack Milroy.

Lulu from Dennistoun (real name Marie Lawrie) broke box office records in 1975, Billy Connolly, Hector Nicol Andy Cameron portrayed their own distinctive brands of humour while Scottish songstresses Lena Zavaroni, , Sheena Easton, Lena Martell and Barbara Dickson also scored heavily with Pavilion audiences.

It was anything but plain sailing for the Pavilion and there was gloomy speculation of closure after incurring heavy financial losses in 1981. Spared the fate which befell the Queens, Metropole, Empire, Alhambra and Empress Theatres, the 80 years old Pavilion was rescued by James Glasgow and transformed into a modest profit maker. Smash-hit shows with Sydney Devine; spells from hypnotist Robert Halpern; pantomime with Denny Willis, and one night gigs from the foremost modern television entertainers have kept the cash tills registering.

The Pavilion also played a major role in the annual Mayfest – Glasgow’s International Festival of popular theatre, music, the arts and community programmes.

Little altered and virtually unspoilt since its inception, the seating capacity of 1449 is made up of 677 stalls, 341 circle, 413 balcony and 18 box seats. While the stiff shirts in chauffeur-driven cabs have given way to coach parties from the rural areas of Strathclyde and beyond, a policy of providing the best in live entertainment has been pursued consistently. The portents look good for the vibrant Pavilion Theatre of Varieties.”

The Pavillion is, in my view a survivor, even over the past few years tragedy has struck the area with a series of fires.

[harumscarumcos]

SFW ALPHABET + Kaine Parker

I sat on this cause I have a side blog I made specifically for Kaine but I’m too lazy to post to it + I can post wherever I want who’s gon check me?

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

• He is not the most outwardly affectionate person. It’s hard for him, all he’s been through, all he’s done, to really show the kind of affection that comes so normally to others. Sometimes, it makes him come off as a callous guy, and honestly that’s fine to him. Doesn’t want the world to see him as soft or weak.

• But when he does show it, it’s little things—words of support that may sound rougher than necessary (he’s trying to become gentler with them, but it’s tough), looking out for them in different situations to make sure they’re safe and protected, will sometimes just silently sit nearby when they’re doing an activity, just for the company.

• If this is someone he is really close with, platonic or romantic, it’s careful, soft touches. It’s brushing a strand of hair back that fell out of place for them. It’s letting them lean against him when they get too tired to keep themselves up. It’s offering to carry them when walking gets too tiring for their own legs, when their muscles are fatigued.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

• As much as he may to deny it, Kaine has a bleeding heart, and it has definitely led him into some unlikely friendships. I tend to think back to the elderly blind person he ended up staying for a time, that offered him a roof over his head and company to talk to. So I think he’d find a friend maybe in someone he may have met while on the lam, who gives him an ear willing to listen to some of his woes. Possibly someone who offered him a hot, home cooked meal, something he hasn’t had in a long time (if ever, really), who sits him down at their table to settle and eat, will even make him a to-go plate, offer him to come back anytime for food and conversation.

• Thus, it becomes routine for him to spend some quiet moments with this person, starts to divulge more about himself, learn more about them, forming a bond he had not expected. It’s nice, a comfort to have such a friendship. Becomes so talkative in this friendship, so trusting. Truly ankles himself to open up.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

• He does! He just doesn’t know how! He’s never been properly cuddled in his life, it’s AGONIZING.

• But say he’s on the couch or in bed with his person, laying back while they’re propped up on his chest before they settle their head down to use him like a pillow; he’s got his arms wrapped around their middle, chin resting gently atop their head at first, but soon enough the lower half of his face is buried in their hair, inhaling their scent. Just feels so much safety in this act.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

• Kaine has some notions of wanting to settle down with someone, but he wouldn’t even know what that truly looks like for him. His life has been such a whirlwind, whether because of his own actions or the actions of others that have complicated things for him to build a future, it’s kinda hard for him to imagine domesticity for himself.

• But he for sure will have the thought, from time to time, having a home of his own, something like what he knows from his memories (well, Peter’s, really) of what it was like with Aunt May and Uncle Ben. Imagining that house in Forest Hills, Queens, all the memories on the walls, the warmth in those halls. If he had a house like that, he wouldn’t even know what to fill it with. He knows he would always have a room for Aracely, though, would always make space for her.

• And maybe there is a romantic partner in the picture. Someone he can come home to, when he walks in the door can already smell the scent of something delicious filling the house. Maybe he calls out for them and they callback, letting them know they’re in the kitchen. He’ll come in, wrap his arms around their waist as he notches his head where their neck meets their shoulder, landing a kiss on their cheek. And they’d ask each other how their days were. Maybe a few complaints here and there, but mostly just…happy to be in each others presence now. Makes the whole day better. He wants that so bad.

• God, he’s shit at cooking. His partner is definitely shooing him out the kitchen cause ‘you set the fire alarm off every time you cook in my kitchen’. He makes up for what he lacks in cooking skills for cleaning, will for sure get on the ceiling to get those cobwebs in the high corners.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

• Kaine is…not good with a break up, to put it lightly. Part of that is because of his first truly committed relationship, with Louise Kennedy, where she used him and betrayed him, and the actions he took after this were certainly regrettable. Even if we talk Muse, another woman who used him in such a similar fashion and betrayed him all the same, and how that ended. It was different with Annabelle. Things were better, so much better. Until they weren’t. Until Kraven. Until Shathra. Until the Other. Until she saw him for all he was, or all he thinks himself to be, and she ran.

• So when it comes to the person Kaine is now, how he would go about a breakup? I think he’d just…go. In an attempt to avoid the mistakes he’s made in the past, the monstrous acts he committed against the others he was with before, and even to kind of avoid any further heartbreak. Just ghost, not a word. It’s better that way, right?

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

• Commitment is, admittedly, confusing to Kaine. Like, yeah, when he falls for someone, he falls hard. He is ready to give his everything to them, for them, whatever the case may be. But marriage has never really been something at the top of his mind cause, again, he doesn’t think the life he has lived allow for that.

• Of course, if the conversation is brought up by his partner, he’s gonna talk about it and tell his true feelings: that he loves them, immensely, he’s just not sure about marriage itself cause like 1) “superhero” life seems like it would make it tough, that it would complicate things 2) he’s seen how it went for his own brother (albeit, he definitely put some pressure on that marriage with his own actions that began to mar Peter’s life) and 3) he is still a wanted man and he doesn’t wanna put that on his beloved with a civil union.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

• He is one of the least gentle people in the world, physically and emotionally. But that doesn’t mean that he isn’t trying. He is working on himself to be more gentle, sometimes he’s gotta catch himself with the things he says or does, but I promise you, he is trying.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

• He likes hugs, he just can get a little awkward with them when someone gives him one, especially if it’s a little unexpected. It takes him time to get used to just one specific person hugging him. Definitely took him a minute with Aracely, cause she would just spring them on him (and still does), but now he passively accepts the hugs, sometimes returns it.

• When it comes to how he hugs? Again, he’s awkward with it, will probably like pat whoever on the head in that kinda “there, there” manner, tries to very carefully encircle them with his arms (he’s so damn big), but as he gets more comfortable with hugging them, he’s like a goddamn teddy bear.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

• Controversial, but I think he’s always on the verge of saying it with someone that he has found himself infatuated with, but bites his tongue every time before he can. He’s too nervous that his love will be spurned. Or worse—they’ll say it back and won’t mean it. He’s already been through that, where someone said it only as a means to use him, to control him. So he tries to distance himself from the word.

• If someone else says it to him first, though, WHEW! He’s gonna crumble. He’s going to melt. He was convinced from the day he came out the clone tank that he was unlovable just an experiment, a creature. And was further convinced through the years he’s a monster that no one can possibly love. So if someone says it and means it with their whole heart and shows him that love? He’s breaking down, baby.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

• Oh, Kaine gets big time jealous. Gonna refer to when he went to the rodeo with Annabelle and got super pissy when her ex was flirting with her (IIRC he shoved him out the way at some point and planted a big smooch on her). He will definitely start to hover around his partner, if not outright keeping an arm around them to keep them near/against him, and will glare at the person who is the source of these feelings of jealousy, like he’s actively plotting their downfall.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

• His kisses are very intense, all encompassing. Will have both hands pressed against the sides of his partner’s face to hold them there while his lips slot against theirs, may move one to cradle the back of their head as he deepens it. Just really gets into it, might end up getting some teeth and tongue in that kiss.

• He likes kissing the crook of his partner's neck or jawline, maybe the very top of their head.

• He likes getting cheek and forehead kisses. Something about it makes him feel so soft. He’s also a bit of a sucker for if they kiss him on the tip of his nose or along the shell of his ears, really likes it.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

• He gets a little nervous around kids. Teenagers are one thing, like Aracely is a handful as is (a personality that was hard for him to get used to), and Charlie (Spider-Kid) is a little shit, but he can definitely manage because he gets them, he understands where they’re coming from, why they are the way they are, and can definitely relate. If he had a chance to have a childhood, grow into teenhood, be a ‘real boy’, he believes his personality would mirror theirs in some ways.

• But kids? He does not really understand kids and worries when he’s around anyone under the age of 12. He’s worried he might end up being too harsh with them, might scare them off.

• The thing is kids kinda gravitate towards him, and this is very apparent with baby Mayday and Gerry, as they will crawl all over this man, will hang off him like a jungle gym, will coo and babble at him, and after a time, it becomes pretty amusing to him. And, soon enough, Uncle Candy Cane starts getting unexpectedly saddled with babysitting duties.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

• Depends on how the night before was for him, as I believe he deals with a touch of insomnia (which I will go more into in the next section), so he can be a little cranky in the morning, only giving slight mumbles and grumbles as he gets himself together for the day.

• Even after he’s done his bathroom routine—brushing his teeth, taking a shower, getting in a quick shave, doing some hair care if he still has his long, flowing locks—he’ll still probably be a bit of a grump until he gets some breakfast in him, a cup of coffee, something.

• There are times where he wants to just sleep in til noon, and if he’s been cuddled up in bed with his partner and they’re about to slip out to get there own day started, he’s definitely dragging them back in with him. Will mumble something about ‘just a few more minutes’ into their hair which, of course, turns into way more than a few more minutes. He just wants to revel in this.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

• He has a rough time of actually getting to sleep. Sometimes, he’ll just go swinging through the city for a while, looking for someone in need of help (there’s always someone), trying to tire himself out. Maybe he’ll hit up a bar to get a beer or two, which leads into a bar fight and a blackout because he got the same tolerance Peter had to alcohol—slim to none.

• If he has a partner, sometimes he’ll try to get them to stay up as long as he is up, but definitely feels bad when he can see them struggling to stay awake. Other times, he may cuddle up with them until they drift off, and will just watch them as they sleep, enjoying just observing them.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

• It definitely takes a while for him to open up, because he’s been burned in the past and doesn’t really want to reveal too much in the fear of it happening again. He also doesn’t want to risk driving them away with the things he may talk about concerning himself. He knows what he is, knows that a lot of what he’s done is unforgivable, and doesn’t want to unload all of that onto them, doesn’t want them to see him the way that he sees himself. But once he has found his comfort with that person, once he really feels he can trust them, he does start to slowly reveal more and more about himself.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

• Oh, too easy to anger. He has an admittedly short fuse that can go from annoyance to full on rage if someone hits the wrong nerve. And it’s not too easy to calm him down, so tread carefully.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

• He remembers everything. Every small detail, every little moment. Really makes sure to pay attention to the things that make his partner smile, makes them laugh. Remembers every soft moment between himself and them. But he also remembers the bad moments, the ones that he wants to burn from his memory entirely. Those become so etched into his mind, like a black mark. But he carries it with him. It’s his burden.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

• (insert self-indulgent fic here)

• Actually, I WILL be a little self-indulgent, albeit brief: it was the first time that he had any kind of significant interaction with them, a kickback at the Parker household. He knew of them, brief mentions of them, had caught a glance once or twice when he went to the pub they worked at the couple of times he’d accepted Peter’s invites to grab a bite, ‘catch up’, as it were. He knew they were a friend of MJ’s, something about meeting them at an audition? On set? He wasn’t too sure. Didn’t particularly matter, at the time.

• He found himself getting a bit overwhelmed, had been trying to avoid too many questions about ‘why he never really came around’, ‘how come he’d missed out on the Parker-Watson wedding’, ‘why they’ve heard so little of Peter’s jock of a brother’, and so one and so forth. He was sure a couple of them knew the truth of it (definitely Johnny who threw out that last one), but was finding it tough to navigate the questions.

• So, when they came over to interrupt, requesting his specific help because they ‘needed someone big’ to help carry a couple trays of leftovers down to the deep freeze for May, he nearly jumped at the task, a grunt and a quick nod as he trailed behind them. Though, as soon as the two of them entered the kitchen, he was quick to note the lack of food trays in need of transport.

• They instead handed him a cup, holding one identical in their other as they propped themselves back against the counter. “Sorry, you just kind of looked like you were drowning out there,” they would go on to clarify their deception, giving a brief laugh. “Couldn’t keep watching that. I say we’ve got a good five minutes before they expect you back. Maybe ten.”

• He had to admit, he was definitely relieved for the save. Even mumbled a quiet ‘thank you’ to them as he clutched the cup, leaning slightly against the counter adjacent. They’re finally able to give a proper introduction—Nanette, but they just go by Nan since it’s easier—explaining that they’ve seen him the couple of times he’s come into the bar with Peter and MJ. Clocked him as just as much of a lightweight as Peter; has watched him nurse one beer over an entire evening.

• “You might wanna sip slow from that cup,” they advise him, giving a small tap on their own. “Sangria. Made it myself. MJ says I make it ‘too strong’, so tread carefully.”

• They stay making a bit of small talk, nothing too in-depth. Talking about the party at hand, cracking a joke here and there. It’s nice. It’s only when someone calls through the back door for one of them that they find themselves ending their little chat, Nan heading back out, raising their cup in a mock toast. Says they hope to see him again sometime. He hoped so, too. Maybe he’d show his face act the bar without Peter sometime.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

• Oh, he’s super protective. Like ‘would commit crimes for you’ protective. Just looking at his past relationships, platonic and romantic, he definitely is super protective of those he loves and will do whatever necessary to ensure their safety.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

• He for sure would put a bit of effort towards these things, it’s just he doesn’t know what that looks like. He’s never really been in a relationship long enough to figure out what all that entails. His attempts may be a little lacking, at first, like it will mostly be watching TV on the sofa, maybe grab some takeout from the Chinese food store down at the corner or that New Mexican spot that opened on 10th, but as time goes along it will definitely develop further to “I saw this necklace that made me think of you, no big deal”, or “yeah, uh, I remember you talked about this exhibit, thought it would be nice to check it out together, maybe”, like he’s so awkward about it.

• He’s not really as used to doing housework as others might, so may lack on some things but will for sure try to make sure the laundry is done, that any trash goes down for trash day, will bring in the stray package the mailman left down at the leasing office.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

• He has been told multiple times to take his shoes off at the door, and multiple times he has tracked dirt into the space on the bottom of his shoes. He won’t even wipe his feet on the mat like he’s supposed to (half of that is for sure cause he’s coming through the fire escape window, but that’s another problem to tackle another day).

• Also, his communication skills are kind of terrible, he really needs to work more on having open lines of communication with the people in his life.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

• He acts like he doesn’t care, but this man has every hair shampoo, conditioner, hair mask, oil, pomade, all to make sure his hair stays immaculate when he’s growing it out.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

• Without a doubt. Wishes he was back on that beach with the waves licking at his feet, but will settle for this margarita he’s sipping on in this little Mexican spot you two would go to every other week and think about all the conversations you two had, the future promises you made. Would feel like there’s a hole in his heart (again…) And that’s on codependency issues, babes!

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

• On top of having unofficially adopted Aracely, I also like to think that since the Spider-Geddon event, Ashley Barton and Charlie Parker will occasionally hang around his apartment (Ashley wants to get to know her ‘not-so-great’ Uncle Kaine since she doesn’t really know him in her own world, and might drag Charlie with her cause she’ll be damned if her ‘Gramps’ is living alone on the streets of his own universe with no guidance; and suddenly Kaine is fulfilling the actual big brother role to at least one variation of Peter when it comes to Charlie, whether he’s setting the best example or not is the question). Now he’s got all these teens around his place, his snacks are gone, and has absolutely no peace of mind, but it’s okay, they teach him how to use the internet in exchange for unwilling mentorship.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

• He cannot abide by liars, even though he’s a huge liar himself, so kinda hypocritical. But if it’s big things, if it’s truly like ‘you told me you were this, but you’re actually this’ kind of things in regards to who they are as a person, it definitely will remind him of every partner who has presented a false self to him in the past, and he just can’t do that again. The trust will not be the same.

• The thing is, he does hate this about himself, too. He hates the way that he has martyred himself in the past based on a lie, he hates the situations that he has gotten others into based on lies he told them. And, unfortunately, he’s not really taking the steps necessary to not be that person who lies to those around him. Or at least he’s not trying as hard as he could.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

• When it comes down to him actually falling asleep, he kinda takes up the entire bed (he’s MASSIVE) and will move around quite a bit in his sleep, a very restless sleeper. With his partner, he may end up hugging them to him like they’re a stuffed animal, and good luck to them prying themselves from his arms if they have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

• Otherwise, this man has insomnia and hasn’t had a proper sleep since he was out the clone pod. He’ll say he doesn’t need it, that he’s good off getting maybe an hour or two, but it’s more like he doesn’t want to deal with what is subconscious will conjure up in his dreams when he finally lays down to rest, doesn’t want to see the faces of those he has wronged, those whose lives he has cut short in his pettiness and his times of instability. The man is haunted by guilt in both the waking world and the land of dreams

[yellowfingcr]

"Tell me somethin'." Comfortable's a bizarre way to describe lounging about in the company of an assassin, but Sam seems it. They're perched beneath the cover of one of Castle Morne's battlements, listening to the constant downpour of the Weeping Peninsula inbetween draws of their respective pipes; a sort of celebratory little tradition of theirs when one of his more potent goods does her a very fine turn. Maybe it's the pipeweed that's got him in a pensive sort of mood, or maybe it's how loose he seems given his usual state of being so tightly wound. Nevertheless, those flinty eyes of his find hers with a considering look to them. "Think ya coulda done it? Offed a demigod? Back 'fore ya got buried, I mean." He smothers a light round of coughing before taking another long draw from his pipe, the smoke curling past his lips before spilling out into an almost perfect circle. "Got the aim. Skill. Woulda been legendary."

The Weeping Peninsula gave two perching birds grey and only grey.

Not at all unpleasant, Heysel would have said. It had a woolen quality to it, a worn-sweater charm, steady and easy as a hand laid against her shoulder. Let the water fall, let the ground exhale mist in answer. This, for her who is sheltered and dry and so far above, smoking in the company of stinger-sharp Sam, cannot be anything but tranquil. Perhaps it is not always a good life but today, like this, it is a good day.

The raspy tone of him interrupts some idle calculation going on in her mind. It shows in the planes of her face, in the perplexed blink that meets his gaze; but that light disorientation turns so quickly into open curiosity. Truthfully she cannot recall the last time the perfumer had voiced a question to her about her that did not pertain to payment and new methods of harm. Truthfully she cannot recall ever seeing him in a state that wasn’t his usual nocked-arrow vigilance. 

“Oh, you- truly are too kind, friend! To think me so skilled!” Heysel says, admiring the ring of smoke form, sail, diffuse into nothing. “Hey! That was good! I cannot do it. Look.” She inhales from her pipe. Tilts her head. Blows out not one thing of discernible shape, and then laughs and laughs. “You’ll have to teach me! But, hm. You know. It’s a good question.”

“When I was younger, oh, I was so arrogant! I would have said yes because I thought that with the right instrument, the right advantage, you could have killed anything. Anything at all. A sword saint, a queen, a god. It was only a question of adequate preparation. The idea even titillated me. I hoped that maybe one day I would have been paid to perform such impossible desecration for material, useless coin, and I would have succeeded, and it would have been indeed legendary, and to take such a glorious life would have tasted like honey-coated berries. But then…”

She reclines, just a little. Something around her mouth hardens.

“...Now I believe that if I’d somehow found my way in the shadow of Godwyn’s room, if my blade had been coated with two of your most cruel poisons- if I’d struck him sleeping through the eyelid and into the brain- I am not sure it would have killed him. Because a demigod is not you or me. I think a demigod has- a firmer claim upon reality.”

A beat. Rain tiptoes over stone roofs.

“The spawn of a god is realer than us. I toy with the idea that that’s what divinity and adjacency to it is. A deeper root driven into the flesh of what is. Even if death had not been excised in the way it has from the ring most sacred, if I’d done my utmost, my best, my most precise and most cruel, if I’d been, yes, perfect, perfect bloody death from sweat cold nightmares, it still would have been my statement against theirs. And I think that if I’d said you are dead, I drove my thin knife into your skull and the jagged one into your heart… a demigod, a true demigod, could have bled but still possess the chance to say: no. Because by virtue of their blood they would have been more. More than their wounds. My steel. My ridiculous mortal shell and mortal intent. Me.”

Something dark, then, in her stare, something secret, flickering like a serpent’s tongue.

“So could I have killed one, before my own burial? Unlikely. But now… everything is flimsy. Hazy. Grey. Now is the time of possibilities. And you can walk to the children of a god and the children of their children, tell them now you die- and the world around you may say: yes. And if you can do such a thing to the progeny... what can we do to a god?"