#but experience has taught me to be cautious

[eccentricallygothic]

Crosshairs

Description: Trying to get Robb's attention is one thing, but when you have successfully landed yourself in his crosshairs is another.

Pairing: Brat Tamer Prodigal Son!Robb Stark | Spoilt Brat!You.

Warning(s): Brat taming, jealousy, spanking, punishment, unprotected p-in-v, doggy style (it's me), claiming, manhandling (it's Robb), power imbalance, degradation, light misogyny, Robb's BDE because I live for that shit, corporal punishment ig, boob play. MDNI.

Type: Request, here. 

. . .

“You do realize you will land us both in trouble if you keep this up, yes?” Jon does not look up at his older brother's betrothed half out of respect and half out of the playful annoyance he feels for the spoiled girl batting her eyelashes down at him with faux coyness.

“What trouble?” The male rolls his eyes as he works away at his sword. “I haven't the slightest inkling of whatever you mean, Jon” he resists the urge to scoff at your obvious innocence. 

The uncharacteristic nature of your actions makes you stick out like a sore thumb. The forced lady-like smile that holds your features in an uncomfortable shift due to lack of experience, the way you hover above his head in a flirtatious side hang even though you never behave in this manner around the opposite sex save one, the overdone grace with which you tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear and the little tilt of your head that is accompanied by a confused and senseless giggle fitting to women, the pains with which you put this effort forward is painfully obvious. 

“Right” the object of his discomfort -something you have in common with said object, at times- appears on the horizon of his vision and Jon sighs. 

Well, there goes his hope of not becoming the collateral today.

“No, tell me what you meant” though you aren't used to or too comfortable with leaning into men, you do so because you have also caught the quiet figure in your own peripherals and unlike Jon, you welcome the circumstance like the fool you are. “I want to know, Jon~” the dark haired male uncomfortably shifts away from you who puts an extra swing in your sway towards him. He lets out a suppressed scoff and glares at you. The two of you have been friends long enough for him to know exactly what it is that you are doing. 

“Stop” you know each other too well to be affected by any proximity with each other but Jon's older brother who is an advocate of propriety has taught his younger brother that this distance with a lady one is not related to seldom fares well and thus his teachings show in his behavior. “You—” though he decides not to beat around the bush for any longer, it is too little too late.

Alas.

“Father calls for you, Snow” the male in question releases a breath he was not aware he was holding and jumps to his feet abruptly with a gladness he is still cautious of since his brother likes to get unfair at times despite being well acquainted with your personality. 

Jon departs, or rather flees the scene without another word.

A smirk makes its way onto your face so you turn your ‘unsuspecting’ back to the hairy giant, bending to pick up your upper coat that you had shrugged off in a bout of confidence. Though you aren't the sharpest and certainly don't possess the perception of your betrothed, you hear him approach you in his manly and wise silence as you clear the haystacks of your coat in one swift movement and resume an upright position.

“Oh!” You exclaim with a surprise so artificial that the impurity nearly cuts Robb because of how he always dons the gold of honesty and valor. “My heart!” You use your endearment for him for Robb neither likes to hear you refer to him by name in public nor does he prefer you call him by his titles. “When did you get here? You were not a moment ago!” 

The coolest, most small smile spreads over his rosy lips and Robb tips his head back an inch to grant himself a better look at your audacity. The milky skin under his eye slightly twitches in response to him narrowing his eyes at you. Though he says nothing, you can still hear his rhetorical inquiry in that sarcastic way of his that you are well familiar with due to how long you have known him. 

“Whatever’s the matter, my love?” Robb has to resist the urge to scoff at the extra pitch in your voice because of the pretentiousness you are putting into your performance. 

He just stares at you for a good while, studying you, perhaps giving you a chance. So much so that there comes a point where you feel yourself gulping down a bile from your rising nervousness. But unlike many other times, you refuse to give in today. Like husband, like wife. After all, you rebelled against your nature today to end up here, in this ‘predicament’. Giving up now would be to waste all your effort and turn your bold attempt futile.

“Come” he says after you know not how many minutes pass but before you can say anything, Robb’s hairy claw has already seized your smaller hand within it. It is unlike his nature too, for usually he is the effortless victor in a battle of wits between the two of you.

“Oh!” But you are used to being treated like the most delicate and valuable thing to ever exist. You have been raised in a manner which has accustomed you to everyone giving in to your demands and wishes. The firm manner in which Robb balances all things with a just foresight is most undesirable to you, fancy for him or not. Things should always go your way in the design of your desire, and not in a way that is mindful of safeguarding the welfare of other people too, unlike your dearest. If it does as a byproduct, jolly. If it does not, well, then that is simply not your pain to bear. And whilst you underwent this stunt to provoke Robb and his attention, the way your smaller body is being dragged somewhere through the dark hallways of the estate with a rigidity typical to your betrothed, it is hardly the conclusion you planned.

Not like this.

“Oh, my!” Your brutish man's ironhold is beast-like as you try to free yourself of it. But what good is a mere pip against a wolf out for blood? “Stop, stop!” You huff and puff half out of your liking to test him to the best of your ability and half because your scheme was not to be so quickly overthrown with such ease!

No, he was supposed to get jealous and sulk in the envy your behavior was aimed to stir in him due to your treatment of his brother. Then he was supposed to fight for your attention and give in to all demands bestowed upon him by you and fulfill any and every need you may have. Robb was to kneel down to you like everyone else in your life did and strike conversation to get you to shower the blessings of your company upon him. He was to say the first word and you were to act like he usually did; with a teasing indifference to make him haste harder for your notice. Except, your little mind failed to realize that you yourself had broken the very first rule of your own game not too long ago when you had spoken.

And now as you are pushed into a little room for the stored animal feed and other domestic necessities before your smaller body is pushed like a delinquent babe's to bend over hay forming a stack half your size, you whimper and pout as your pampered elbows itch from the dried grass. This outcome is far from what you had expected of your contrivance. This is not supposed to be it. 

“We are not wed yet, my Lord!” Your mouth runs its senseless attempts in vain. “Oh no!” You try to worm your body free from his elbow that he settles between your shoulder blades to nail you in place as the rest of his arm lays down along the length of your back, the tips of his fingers pressing against the twin dents in your tailbone. “This—”

“All that fuss to have my attention, dove” when he does speak, the guttural quality of his throat shushes you into silence. “Only to raise mayhem and put up such fight when it has been granted to you” you feel the fingers of his free hand dance along the plump, clothed cushions of your buttocks and your eyes widen as though the position he had put you in was not telling enough. 

No, no, no!

He is supposed to get on his knees and worship you! 

Not discipline you like a guardian does a misbehaving child! 

“Perhaps they are correct in what they say about a woman's eternal uncertainty in what she wants herself” not entirely true. You do know what you want. But if you confess it to him this will get even worse for you! He must not know! You shall conceal it like your life depends on it!

Or so you scheme in your naivete, for you have behaved in similar ways more times than one.

But trying to flirt with another man? That is new. 

And Robb is very determined to find out the source of that course of action.

“Ugh,” you shake your shoulders in a futile attempt once more. “Do not be a cruel brute!” You order the future King of the North like you are in any position to bark at a man of his stature. “I am not one of your savagely bannermen! I— ah!” A furious hiss shoots through your lips when his free hand comes down upon the midpoint of your cheeks that jiggle feverishly from the impact. You whine at the sting that goes all the way down to your pucker and though Robb is wordless, he curses under his breath when he realizes that you are not wearing adequate underclothing despite his constant advice and request that you do.

How typical of you.

The young man brings another strong hand down upon your rear at the thought and you let out such an exaggerated sound -in his opinion, as he is scarcely aware of the extent of his own strength- that it mimics a cackle. Only, it is one of woe. Your hips desperately try to find solace in swerving the endangered half of your body out of his line of devastation but your wolf-man is far too strong. 

“Aaaa!” You furiously wail like a delinquent puppy being set straight, digging your elbows into the hay and your head in your arms to withstand the thunderous rain of your betrothed's hand on your buttocks. “I demand you stop this immediately, Robb!” Your whines are muffled and pathetic in their contrast to your words. 

“It will not be until you tell me whose plot your little performance was” you gulp and bark out a wheeze to respond and it is like he senses the lie that goes to bud on your tongue and he swats it away with a foreseeable slap to the underside of your rear. “And you best think twice before giving me a false answer,” you shake your whole body and your head in protest and pain when he spanks you again. “Or so help me gods.” 

But you remain faithful to your nature and preserve your brain's unutilized state by choosing to, after all, lie. “I- I have not the slightest idea what you mean!” Robb releases a cool, mirthless scoff and shakes his head at you, his palm now taking turns on each of your cheeks as it comes out in strong, powerful hits that he lands with well paced delays so you can fully feel the ache of one strike before the next lands. “O- Ow! T- There was no- ah— p- plot! Nevermind a- any performance!” He sighs as if to lament what is about to happen to you next. 

“Fine” your eyes widen and you squawk in shock like you aren't accustomed to this or you were not hoping to arouse a more ideal variant of this outcome anyway. “Have it your way then, my dove” oh… that never fares well for you. 

And Robb proves your suspicion true when he lifts your skirts out of the way and tucks them under the hand that sits on your lower back like a menacing serpent with unkind intentions. “Tsk,’’ a strong strike is given to your barely secure intimates before he tugs your poor excuse for undergarments down. 

What?

They are uncomfortable!

It is not your problem if the man of your future household is too pedant and fastidious!

He always laughs at it and just ruffles your hair but you are unyielding in your belief that he is the way he is because your betrothed is adamant on reaching bachanalness three times faster than other people his age. 

“Ouch, my heart, please!” You cannot help but whine out an endearment though you absolutely do not want to because you are just as cross with him as he is with you! Ugh! He never falls in your traps! Why is he so clever?! Is this what your mother meant when she told you that you were finally going to have someone who would handle you like you ought to be the day Robb asked your father for your hand in marriage? “It hurts!” 

You gasp in realization.

The pieces fall into place.

It does make sense.

Gods, the world conspires against you!

This is not fair at all!

Robb's cruel palm is unrelenting even when it begins to tingle upon coming into contact with your bare and blushing skin over and over. “Tell me the name, my angel, and I will cease this immediately” he spreads your legs with one strong jerk of his hand and your whole body undergoes a turbulence. “You know I hate this just as much as you do” before you can feel any warmth for your cruel lover for he always tells you that he does not like to punish you, his lowered hand comes upwards in a vertical hit and collides against your drenched petals. The impact reverberates through your whole being and your mouth falls open at the way your folds shake. “Make haste, sweet one.”

Your eyebrows come together in a tight, angry knot and your cheeks puff at his condescending tone. “N- No name!” You bark out of spite and clutch at the hay angrily. “There was no one!” The compressed dried grass comes loose in your hold and you add. “You have gone completely mad, you hoary troll!” The way Robb audibly chuckles at that causes the arm that he has on your back to buzz into your spine.

You gulp because he is a man of a few words and even lesser noise. So this cannot mean anything good. Although you are quite determined in your resolve, you still have to bite your lip to suppress the whimper that you let out when his offending hand now begins to softly caress the blemished skin of your buttocks and sit spots. For you know his touch and it is not this when he means to be genuinely affectionate.

Just what kind of a predicament have you landed yourself into?

“I see.” You hear the zip of harnesses coming undone and the thump of coats hitting the floor. “Then nevermind the actions of a mad man precisely how we will the name of your fellow conspirator, my dear” you are confused by his words but the feeling of his tip aligning against you when he gets behind you and takes your sore thighs -for Robb never punishes your buttocks alone but all the spots in their vicinity- in his strong fingers that are decorated in scars which bear testament to his experience in conquest, causes a tumult in your determination-taut brain from the burst of sensation and the upper half of your body relaxes as result of all tension shifting to your nether regions. 

You mewl as you feel the delicious burn of your entrance that your beloved had deflowered some time ago stretch around the thick tip of his cock that makes love making feel like the first time whenever your balmy cavern is made to accommodate his manhood. “Oh! I can't take it!” You throw your head back and moan, forgetting everything else and getting lost in the flutters of pleasure you have been taught to find in the strain his cock causes on your flesh band. “You're too big, love!” Robb curses under his breath when the leaking apex of his cock is met with resistance against your folds that he feels quivering against him. “P- Please help me take it!” He just has to give a sharp strike to the underside of one of your buttocks to accompany with his scoff.

You are such a fox.

Saying all the agreeable things in that obedient tone of yours that he knows better than to trust. 

He shakes his head at the surprised squeal you whimper out as though the events of the last quarter did not happen. 

“Whoever said anything about you taking it, my sweet dove?” Horror creeps down your spine in the form of an ice cold shiver. 

No. 

“B- But— aaaah!” You are stinging, aroused, open but not filled and inching closer and closer to mindless, undignified desperation. “But!”

“Hm?” Robb seems to be enjoying himself, ever the master of restraint and self control, as he penetrates you only to the wide hilt of his tip before he sloshes it right out of your entrance only to repeat the tortuous action where your walls clench and bathe with slick in anticipation of his cock only for their buzzing excitement to be denied satisfaction. 

“W- What…” You rarely ever misbehave once he has you like this. But your wanton frustration makes you kick one foot as you huff. “Why would you— oh!” You bite your lip because of the shoddy pleasure that sparks but fails to ignite, leaving your body on a trembling edge that brings you to heaven's door each time he fishes his way past your swollen folds and plops into you never to let you sheathe him thus denying you the paradise beyond. “W- Why are you doing that?!” You finally break from your pretentious rhetoric as you try to push yourself down on his shaft but strength has never been grounds for competition between the two of you. 

Robb's nearly inhuman hold keeps you detained exactly where he wants you. “Doing what?” It's his time to display faux behavior and you huff although you know deep down in your mind that it would not do much to move him and would rather only land you in more trouble. 

“That!” You cry when you feel his cock release more precum right at the threshold of your cavern because of how he fucks your entrance with a warm, torturous gentleness that scorches both of your insides alike. “Why w- won't you put it in, cruel ogre!” 

A satisfied smirk suppresses Robb's breaths that grow heavier with the passing moments. “Why, I am a mad and cruel ogre-troll, my dove” he enters you again and this time both his hands come down on your cheeks in the form of slaps at once and you howl. “And creatures of my like have queer ways beyond the comprehensive abilities of pretty little things like yourself” you whine and your toes curl at how the frustration morphs into a dull ache in the mound between your legs. 

The painful twitching of your sex makes you croak and you try to move your hips once more. “No! No!” You gurgle on your own spit as you vehemently shake your head.

“No?” Robb's inquiry is nice, somewhat kind even… unlike his heartless actions. 

“No!” You affirm as you feel your knees ache and sore thighs quiver. You are a sensitive little thing. Rough handling is not a domain you are much acquainted with beside the brief encounters you have with it sometimes during spells of passion with your dearest betrothed. “No, the light of my life, you're not! You—” your back arches and you cry and pout like an entitled juvenile not getting their way, your frivolous unrest and feverish jittering making his great form that looms behind you like the silhouette of doom itself to shake in silent mirth. “You're perfect! Please, you're the most perfect Stark heir! You are the best Lord Winterfell can ever hope to have!” Your praises make him curse under his breath and he gropes your thigh harder to withstand his impulsive urge to thrust all the way in.

No.

He is the man and the responsible one.

No can do until you learn and acknowledge his authority.

That is the way.

Of men, and Lords.

“The name, my love” though he masks his words with nonchalance quite well, there is a disguised urgency in them. You light him up just as unbearably as he does you. “Tell me the name and I will give you all you need and desire.” He gives you one rough jerk just past the band of your entrance and the momentary friction you feel in the drenched velvet just above your entrance snaps the thread of your determination. “Just like that, it is that easy. But you choose the fruitless path of torment and frustration.” There is a hypnotic lull in his words and that is enough for you to gush out a part of your impending confession. 

“It was—!” You finally confess the name of your lady friend and Robb decides that it will do for now, rest you will tell him yourself with your own free will in your sensitive and emotional post orgasm state when you will be securely tucked in his arms and against his chest. 

“There” your eyes and mouth widen at the same time and a guttural grunt crawls out of your throat when he doesn't pull his tip out this time around and instead slots himself inside you until he is hilt deep. “There is my bonnie lass” the upper half of your body goes lax and appears as though your bones have dissolved into your blood. You go to collapse face first into the hay to lay down and get fucked into oblivion but Robb's territorial paw finds a hold on the underside of your jaw and he rams you onto his cock and continues to curve your form until the crown of your head is touching his shoulder. “Tsk, such havoc just because I could not attend to you right away and requested you show some patience.” His fingers find one of your nipples and you shiver.

“S- Sorry, hubby!” You finally use for him the odd yet heartwarming endearment he loves most and that is how he knows he has you netted in.  

“Who loves you?” You shiver as you feel his girth stretch out your insides even though you were more than prepared for him. 

“Y- You—” he pulls at your nipple before giving both your breasts punishing swats. Your waist further curls outwards at the feeling. 

“Say it properly” you clench around him because of the way his baritone voice grinds against your eardrums and Robb cannot help but twitch right under your cervix. 

You do not need to be told twice. “Robb Stark!” 

He hums in satisfaction. “Who knows better?” 

Your bubbling loins tighten. “Robb Stark!” 

“Who takes care of you?” His hands roughly fumble to throw your skirts out of his way. 

“Robb Stark—!” Your answer turns into a shivering moan when his fingers find the trembling gem under the hood of your sex. 

“Who do you trust with everything?” The minute crevices on the tips of his fingers rub against the sensitive nub and your vision falters. 

“R- Robb Stark!” His hold on your jaw is the only thing that keeps it in usable shape. 

“Who will you obey when he tells you that you will no longer be friends with—” you whine when he takes the name of your dear friend but it is not a complete surprise. 

Robb greatly dislikes and condemns for you any influence he deems indecent or bad.

“R- Robb Stark!” You whimper as you move your hips along to his cock that now fucks you so fast and rough that you lose your footing with each thrust, the fingers he has on the nub of your womanhood only adding to the flutters of pleasure that narrow the knot around your hips with each snap of his hips. 

“Who do you belong to?” This time, his mouth comes to press against your ear and his coarse beard irritates your sensitive skin. His words carry a wolfish ferocity and you hear him gnash his teeth in as much clarity as your thumping ears will allow. 

“R- Robb—” your teeth begin to chatter from the intensity of your orgasm and your body flexes against his much bigger one to withstand the explosion in your abdomen. “S- S- Stark…” Your words melt into hissing whispers and you shudder and hiss when he continues to rub, fuck and fondle you even when the ecstatic feeling has subsided and your mound demands solitude. 

“That is correct” he pounces onto the stacks that you face with your smaller body underneath him like a depraved wolf having trapped in its hold a helpless little lamb. The action causes for his tip to collide against your cervix and your body thrashes defensively but it is in vain. “Do not forget that.” Robb whispers in your ear before he regains his footing and his hairy claws tuck under your thighs from the front. Your betrothed easily lifts your legs off the floor and begins his annihilation of any remaining misconduct perchance still shrouded in some unwise crevice of your little mind.

MASTERLIST 

. . .

I… can swear I thought this was like 1K at best… 

[reidmarieprentiss]

Bridges to Belonging

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Six Part Seven

Summary: Spencer and Y/N go on their date!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: suggestive conversation, self doubt, glasses Spencer, reader wears glasses/contacts but other than that i'm trying not to give her a physical description, let me know if i do put her in a narrow category!! i know i said she had curves at rossi's dinner party but to be objectively fair every human has at least one curve lmao

Word count: 5.4k

a/n: i am really enjoying writing these two :') life has been so boring since i graduated. if you're wondering how i bust these out so fast, one -- i don't have a life, and two - i wrote all of my essays the night before or the day they were due hahah

main masterlist

It was Saturday morning, and the air held a crispness that hinted at the excitement of the day ahead. Y/N stood before her wardrobe, contemplating her outfit for the day. She opted for something comfortable yet dressy enough for wherever Spencer might be taking her. The outfit was stylish but not overly formal, perfect for a day that could involve a fair amount of walking yet elegant enough for an unexpected dinner venue. She chose layers—a practical choice that allowed for adjustments depending on whether the day turned warm or cool.

As she dressed, a flutter of excitement danced in her stomach, mixed with a tinge of anxiety that she couldn't shake off. Y/N was excited, truly, but she couldn’t help tempering her anticipation with a cautious restraint. Her past experiences with relationships and dates had taught her to guard her heart. More than once, she'd been let down, left to pick up the pieces after what she thought were promising beginnings fizzled into disappointment. These memories, still vivid, cast a shadow over her current excitement, reminding her to brace for any outcome.

Approaching her dresser, Y/N paused, her hand hovering over her contact lens case. Usually, she preferred contacts for a more put together look, especially when putting extra effort into her appearance. However, remembering the discomfort of her contacts drying out during unexpected long hours, she opted for her glasses instead. She hadn't worn them the first time she met Spencer, and a small part of her worried about what he'd think. Would he notice? Would he care?

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, now framed by the sleek lines of her glasses. Taking a deep breath, she told her reflection, "Just enjoy the day, no matter what comes," trying to bolster her spirits. She wanted to listen to that optimistic voice in her head telling her everything would be fine, that Spencer was different, that this time it wouldn't end in disappointment. Yet, she prepared herself mentally for any scenario, unwilling to let her guard down completely.

Y/N grabbed her essentials—phone, wallet, a light scarf—and slipped them into her bag. As she took one last look in the mirror, she practiced her smile, the one she’d use to mask her nerves when she met Spencer. She hoped the day would prove her fears unfounded, that it would be a turning point from her past experiences. But she kept her expectations in check, a self-protective measure honed by past heartaches.

—

As the morning sunlight streamed through the blinds of his apartment, Spencer Reid found himself standing before the bathroom mirror, his usual nerves mingling with a specific concern today. He adjusted his glasses, the frames unfamiliar against the bridge of his nose, as he leaned closer to examine his reflection. His contacts had dried out, an unfortunate oversight, leaving him no choice but to wear his glasses for the date with Y/N.

He studied himself critically. The glasses were practical, a necessity for his work, but he rarely wore them anymore. There was something about them that made him feel exposed, more like the bookish nerd he had always been, and who he had been made fun of for being, and less like the confident man he hoped to appear as today. What if she doesn’t like them? The question nagged at him, adding an extra layer of anxiety to his already jittery state.

Spencer took a deep breath, trying to center himself. He remembered reading that people often perceive glasses as a sign of intelligence and reliability, traits he hoped Y/N would appreciate. Still, he couldn't help but worry that perhaps she might prefer him without them, or that they might alter the way she saw him—literally and metaphorically.

As he turned away from the mirror, he made his way to his bedroom to choose his outfit. He opted for a smart-casual ensemble that felt comfortable yet presentable: a crisp button-down shirt paired with a well-fitted blazer, and his best jeans. The glasses, he decided, would just have to become part of his look for the day.

With his outfit sorted, Spencer paced his living room, every potential topic of conversation he had prepared buzzing through his mind. His thoughts were filled with bits of trivia about the latest exhibits at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, hoping these would spark engaging discussions between him and Y/N. He rehearsed some points in his head, mapping out how he might transition from discussing ancient artifacts to more personal subjects, like her interests and hobbies.

However, as much as he prepared, his thoughts kept drifting back to his glasses. He paused in his pacing, catching his reflection in the window. The morning light cast a soft glow that somehow made the glasses seem less obtrusive, more a part of him. "Maybe it's not so bad," Spencer muttered to himself, adjusting to his reflection.

He grabbed his notebook from the coffee table, a little ritual that always helped calm his nerves. Scribbling down some last-minute notes about things he wanted to remember—like asking Y/N about her recent projects and ensuring to mention a little-known fact about an art piece he thought she'd appreciate—helped him feel more in control.

Yet, beneath the surface of his meticulous preparations, there was an undercurrent of excitement. This wasn't just any date; it was a date with Y/N, someone who had sparked a level of interest in him that was rare and invigorating. The glasses, he realized, were just a minor detail in the grand scheme of things. What mattered was the connection they might deepen today.

Finally ready, Spencer took one last look around his apartment to ensure everything was in order before leaving. He grabbed his keys and his jacket, pushed up his glasses with a newfound sense of acceptance, and headed out the door. Today, he decided he would focus on the possibilities, not the insecurities. After all, if their connection was genuine, Y/N would see beyond the glasses to the person behind them. And perhaps, in those museum halls filled with timeless artifacts, they could find something just as enduring between them.

—

Y/N arrived at the coffee shop Spencer had texted her about, her heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and nerves. She spotted Spencer already there, waiting for her by the window, a steaming cup in front of him. He looked up as the bell above the door jingled, his face lighting up when he saw her. Despite her nervousness, Y/N felt a warm flutter in her chest at the sight of his welcoming smile.

"Hey, Y/N, over here!" Spencer called out softly, waving her over.

She walked towards him, her steps hesitant but eager. "Hey, Spencer," she greeted, her voice slightly quivering. As she sat down, she noticed his glasses and couldn't help but smile. "I like your glasses," she said, touching the frame of her own as if to point out the coincidence.

Spencer chuckled, a blush creeping up his cheeks. "Thanks, I usually wear contacts, but, you know, they dried out."

"Same here," Y/N admitted, feeling a connection over their shared minor dilemma. "It’s a glasses kind of day, I guess."

Internally, Y/N felt a surge of relief. Seeing Spencer in his glasses, looking unexpectedly handsome, eased her worries about her own appearance. My god, I didn’t think he could get anymore attractive, she thought, her initial anxiety about her own glasses fading away and being replaced with a warmth that couldn’t be helped by removing her scarf. Maybe all of her clothes. 

Spencer felt a similar relief, his earlier concerns about his glasses dissolving as he saw Y/N's reaction. She doesn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, she looks adorable in hers. Maybe this isn’t such a big deal after all, he reassured himself. His thoughts remained much more pure than Y/N’s, although he couldn’t help but think about how if he tried to kiss her today their glasses would clink together. The thought made a blush rise up his neck to his cheeks. 

There was a brief pause, an almost knowing silence, before Spencer leaned forward, his eyes bright with excitement. "So, I have something planned for us today. I hope you'll like it. We’re going to the Met. There’s a few exhibits I think you’d really enjoy, and then I thought we could grab dinner at a nice place nearby. How does that sound?"

Y/N's eyes widened, her earlier anxieties melting away into genuine excitement. "That sounds amazing, Spencer. I’ve always wanted to go to the Met! And dinner sounds perfect," she replied, her nervousness turning into anticipation.

Spencer seemed relieved by her enthusiasm. "Great! I wasn’t sure what you’d think. I mean, it’s a bit of a train ride, but I thought it might be fun to spend the day in New York."

"It’s more than fun, it’s perfect," Y/N assured him, her smile sincere. "I can’t think of a better way to spend the day." And she meant it, they could talk on the train ride there and back, maybe hold hands, brush thighs. It’s in the little things. 

They decided to take their coffee to go, stepping out together towards the train station. As they walked, the initial awkwardness began to fade. Spencer’s eyes occasionally met Y/N’s, each glance accompanied by a shy smile. "I’m really glad you’re here with me," Spencer confessed, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone.

"Me too," Y/N responded, her heart skipping a beat. "I’ve been looking forward to this all week."

Their conversation drifted to lighter topics, each shared laugh bringing them a little closer, building a bridge over their initial anxieties. As they boarded the train, Y/N felt a newfound optimism. Today was not just another date; it was the beginning of something special, she could feel it. And as they settled into their seats, watching the cityscape start to pass by, she believed, for the first time in a long time, that her hopes were well placed.

As the train clattered along the tracks toward New York, Y/N and Spencer found themselves in the comfortable cocoon of their shared booth. The cityscape blurred past, creating a serene backdrop for their burgeoning connection.

"So, Spencer," Y/N began, leaning forward with a playful glint in her eyes, "tell me about the most bizarre case you've ever worked on. I promise I can handle it."

Spencer chuckled, a blush already tinting his cheeks. "Well, there was this one time we dealt with a suspect who believed he was a 21st-century vampire..." As he recounted the peculiarities of the case, Y/N listened intently, occasionally brushing her foot against his under the table, sending a jolt through him each time. 

(Pretend this case happened earlier)

"Vampires, huh? Are you sure you aren't one?" Y/N teased, her tone light but suggestive. "You do have a certain... nocturnal charm."

Spencer's laugh was nervous, delighted. She's incredible, he thought. So bold and funny. It's utterly disarming. "I assure you, I'm not a vampire. Just a regular guy who happens to have naturally sunken eyes."

Y/N smiled and giggled, pleased with his playful response. "Good to know. I prefer my dates to be sunlight-friendly. Speaking of which, how do you usually spend your days off when you're not chasing fictional vampires or real criminals?"

Spencer found himself more relaxed as he shared more about his love for reading and rewatching sci-fi movies and TV. Y/N seemed genuinely interested, her responses peppered with witty remarks that kept him on his toes.

"Reading, huh? I should have guessed," she said, taking a sip of her coffee. "Next you'll be telling me you have a cat named Schrödinger."

"No cat," Spencer admitted, grinning. "But I wouldn't mind one. As long as it doesn't interfere with my reading."

Their conversation flowed effortlessly from books to favorite ways to spend a rainy day, each topic drawing them closer. Y/N's confidence and teasing made Spencer's heart race, but he found himself enjoying the thrill of it. She’s so refreshing, exciting even. I haven't felt this engaged in a long time.

As the train rolled closer to their destination, Spencer found himself wishing the ride wouldn't end. Y/N had the rare ability to make him blush and laugh in equal measure, a combination he found intoxicating.

"So, Spencer," Y/N leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a whisper as the train noise crescendoed around them. "If today goes well... would you consider making our next date a night at the opera? I hear it's quite the experience."

Spencer's eyes widened, both at the suggestion and her proximity. "I'd like that," he managed to say, his voice steady despite the butterflies in his stomach. "I'd like that very much."

Y/N smiled, her gaze lingering on his for a moment longer than necessary before she leaned back in her seat, satisfied with his response. Spencer watched her, a smile tugging at his lips, his earlier nerves replaced by anticipation and hope. She’s already wanting another date? I’m still hoping I can work up the courage to kiss her, he thought as the skyline of New York City came into view.

As they stepped into the grandeur of The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the vast spaces filled with centuries of art and history, Y/N's excitement was palpable. Her eyes sparkled with each new room they entered, each piece they observed. Spencer, usually reserved, found himself drawn out by her enthusiasm, his voice animated as he shared insights and facts about the artworks around them.

They wandered through the exhibit "The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions," where Y/N's favorite pieces resided. Her gaze lingered on each work, genuinely appreciating the artistry and the stories Spencer told her about the origins and significance of each piece.

"Did you know this particular painting was considered lost for almost two centuries before it was found in a small, forgotten chapel in Italy?" Spencer pointed to an intricate Renaissance painting, its colors vibrant even after all these years.

Y/N listened intently, her interest deepening with each fact. "I had no idea," she responded, her tone full of genuine fascination. "You know so much about all of this, Spencer. It's incredibly... exciting."

Spencer, caught off guard by her candid compliment, blushed deeply but couldn't suppress the grin that spread across his face. "Really?" he asked, his voice a mix of surprise and delight.

"Yes, really," Y/N affirmed, stepping closer to him. "Your brain is the sexiest thing about you, Spencer. The way you know all these things, the way you're so passionate about sharing them—it’s captivating."

Encouraged by her words, Spencer found himself sharing even more. They stopped in front of a medieval tapestry, its threads telling tales of battles and legends. As he explained the symbolism woven into the fabric, Y/N's admiration only grew. She watched him, not just listening but truly seeing him—someone who had finally found a receptive audience for his wealth of knowledge.

Spencer felt a thrill unlike any other. For so long, he had been used to people tuning out his ramblings, to seeing eyes glaze over halfway through his explanations. But with Y/N, it was different. She hung on his every word, her curiosity feeding his own, her enthusiasm fueling a confidence he rarely felt in social settings.

As they moved through the museum, their conversation flowed effortlessly from art to personal anecdotes, each story Spencer shared bringing a new sparkle to Y/N's eyes. He talked about his mother, his childhood filled with books instead of playdates, and she listened, understanding and nodding, sharing bits of her own life in return.

The day at the Met became more than just a date; it was a revelation for both. For Y/N, it was discovering that someone could match her enthusiasm for learning and experiencing new things. For Spencer, it was the joy of finding someone who not only appreciated his intellect but was genuinely excited by it.

As the museum began to close, and they slowly made their way out, neither of them wanted the day to end. They were lost in a bubble where art and intellect intertwined, where every fact shared was a thread pulling them closer together.

As Spencer and Y/N stepped out of The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the energy of New York City enveloped them once again. The streets buzzed with the usual symphony of honking cars, chattering pedestrians, and the distant siren of an emergency vehicle. Spencer turned to Y/N, a thoughtful look on his face.

“There’s a restaurant not too far from here where the team and I ate after wrapping up a case once,” he suggested. “It’s really good, not too fancy but the food is excellent. It might be a bit of a walk, though, so we could grab a cab if you’re tired from all the museum walking.”

Y/N, reveling in the connection they had fostered throughout the day, shook her head with a smile. “I don’t mind the walk, actually. It’s a beautiful evening, and I’m enjoying spending time with you. Let’s walk.”

Spencer nodded, visibly pleased by her eagerness to extend their time together. They started down the sidewalk, navigating through the bustling crowd. The city seemed to glow with a warm, golden light as the sun began to set, casting long shadows on the pavement.

As they were walking, the crowd around them thickened momentarily as people hurried to cross the street before the light changed. In the midst of this, a passerby stumbled a bit too close to Y/N, jostling her slightly. Instantly, Spencer’s protective instincts kicked in. He placed his hand on her lower back, gently pulling her closer to his side, away from the rush of the crowd.

The contact sent an unexpected jolt through Y/N, a spark that felt electric. Surprised and thrilled by the sensation, she instinctively reached for his bicep, feeling the solid muscle under her hand, and linked her other arm around his. The gesture was intimate, natural, and it seemed to anchor them both amidst the sea of people.

Spencer, who was so often touch-starved and reserved in his physical interactions, felt a warm thrill at her touch. His heart raced slightly, a pleasant buzz of excitement coursing through him. The feeling of her hand on his arm, her body close to his, was unexpectedly comforting and exhilarating. It was a simple gesture, but to Spencer, it felt significant, a physical affirmation of the connection they’d been building all day.

As they walked on, navigating the streets of New York toward the restaurant, Spencer felt a sense of contentment wash over him. Y/N’s presence at his side, the way she fit naturally into his space, made the city around them fade into a soft background. He found himself hoping that the evening would stretch on, reluctant to let go of the moment.

The walk to the restaurant became a leisurely stroll, each step taking them deeper into a shared comfort. They talked easily, laughter mingling with the city sounds, the initial spark at their contact evolving into a steady, warm glow. By the time they reached the restaurant, Spencer and Y/N were closer than ever, both physically and emotionally, eager to continue their evening together.

At the restaurant, the atmosphere was imbued with a sense of romance and intimacy, exactly the kind of place Spencer remembered and hoped would impress Y/N. The lighting was low and warm, casting soft shadows around the room and illuminating the tables with a gentle glow from the candles placed on each one. These candles, unscented and subtle, added a touch of elegance without overwhelming the senses. In the background, a live band played soft, sensual music, their melodies weaving through the conversations and enhancing the romantic vibe of the evening.

They were seated in an intimate curved booth that offered both privacy and comfort, allowing them to share each other's space effortlessly. It was cozy but spacious enough to not feel crowded, perfect for leaning in close and sharing quiet conversations.

Following the waiter's prompt, both Spencer and Y/N opted for red wine, a decision made easier by the fact that neither of them needed to drive back. As they sipped their wine, the rich, bold flavors seemed to deepen the already warm atmosphere, loosening inhibitions slightly.

Y/N, feeling the effects of the wine which always tended to make her feel a bit more daring, turned her full attention to Spencer. She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling with a mischievous light. “You know, I’ve been thinking,” she began in a slightly lower, flirtatious tone, “about how someone as smart as you, with all those facts in his head, must have some hidden talents I’ve yet to discover.”

Spencer, usually more reserved, felt a rush of boldness fueled by the wine and the undeniable chemistry between them. He returned her smile with one of his own, this one tinged with a newfound confidence. “Well, I might have a few surprises left,” he replied, his voice deeper than usual. “But I’m more interested in exploring what makes you... you. Besides, I find myself wanting to know all about your talents, hidden or otherwise.”

Y/N was pleasantly surprised by his reciprocation, the boldness of his words matching her own flirtatious energy. She leaned in closer, lowering her voice to match the intimacy of their booth. “Is that so? Well, I might just have to reveal a few secrets tonight,” she teased, her hand reaching under the table to lightly touch his leg.

The contact sent a thrill through Spencer, and he didn’t pull away. Instead, he welcomed it, letting her hand linger on him. The conversation shifted seamlessly from playful banter to deeper, more personal topics. They talked about their hopes, their fears, and the excitement of new experiences. Spencer found himself opening up more than he usually would, driven by the genuine interest Y/N showed in every word he said.

As the evening progressed, their connection deepened, bolstered by the wine and the enchanting setting. The music from the live band seemed to wrap around them, a soundtrack to the unfolding intimacy. Laughter and shared confidences filled their booth, the rest of the world fading into a distant murmur. For both Spencer and Y/N, the night was shaping up to be more enchanting than they had anticipated, each moment pulling them closer into a mutual fascination that promised only to grow.

As the train whisked them back towards home, the rhythm of the rails seemed to echo the residual buzz of the evening’s wine. Both Spencer and Y/N choose seats next to each other this time, their shoulders occasionally brushing in a comfortable, familiar manner. The closeness felt natural after the evening they had shared. They were both visibly tired, the excitement of the day and the indulgence in wine having drawn a gentle fatigue from them.

Despite the weariness, their conversation continued to flow smoothly, albeit with a quieter, more reflective tone than before. They leaned into each other slightly, the warmth between them palpable in the cool air of the train compartment.

“So, you’re a Doctor Who fan too?” Spencer asked, a hint of surprise and delight coloring his voice as they discovered yet another common interest.

“Yes, absolutely,” Y/N responded with a smile, her eyes lighting up. “I’ve been hooked since I was a kid. There’s just something about the Doctor’s adventures through time and space that’s captivating.”

Spencer nodded enthusiastically, his own fondness for the show sparking further attraction towards her. “I totally agree. It’s the blend of science fiction and deep moral questions that gets me. Plus, the Doctor is a great character—always changing, yet fundamentally the same.”

Their shared enthusiasm for the show spun off into a deeper discussion about their favorite episodes and Doctors, each reference pulling them closer in mutual geekdom. It was during this exchange that Spencer found himself making a spontaneous invitation, surprising even himself with his forwardness.

“You know, if you’re up for it, maybe you could come over sometime and we could watch a few episodes together? I have a pretty decent setup for a Doctor Who marathon,” Spencer suggested, his voice a mix of casual and hopeful.

Y/N’s smile broadened, and she nodded, her heart warmed by the invitation. “I’d love that. It sounds like a perfect plan.”

The ease with which they continued to talk about everything from favorite books to music showed how compatible they were, not just on a surface level but in deeper, more meaningful ways. Their laughter and shared looks filled the space around them, creating an intimate bubble even in the public setting of the train.

As the train neared their destination, both Spencer and Y/N felt a reluctance for the night to end—a sign of the significant connection they had forged. They exchanged sleepy smiles and soft words as the city lights began to grow brighter outside the train windows.

By the time the train pulled into the station, Spencer felt a sense of anticipation for their next meeting. Having Y/N in his apartment, a space he had never shared with a romantic interest before, felt like a big step, but it was one he was now eagerly looking forward to. The night had started as a hopeful date and had blossomed into the beginning of something truly special. As they stepped off the train, their hands found each other almost instinctively, a fitting end to a perfect day and the promise of more to come.

After exiting the train station, Spencer insisted on walking Y/N back to her apartment, citing crime statistics that painted a stark picture of the risks women faced when walking alone at night. Though the mood was light and jovial from their shared experiences of the day, his protective nature was evident, and Y/N appreciated his concern. 

The walk to her apartment was filled with light conversation and reflective pauses, both savoring the last few moments together. The city at night provided a beautifully lit backdrop, with street lamps casting soft glows on the sidewalks and the distant sounds of the city nightlife buzzing around them. Their fingers slotted together providing enough warmth to keep fires blazing within them both.

Upon reaching her apartment building, a comfortable silence fell over them as they stood at her doorstep, reluctant to end the evening. "Thank you, Spencer," Y/N said, her voice warm and sincere. "Today was amazing. Truly."

Spencer, his hands now shoved awkwardly into his pockets, nodded, his face showing a mixture of happiness and the usual nervousness that came when he was unsure of what to do next. "I had a great time too, Y/N. I'm glad you enjoyed it. Thank you for going with me."

Sensing his apprehension and wanting to ease his nerves, Y/N stepped closer and, on an impulse, kissed his cheek gently. "Goodnight, Spencer," she smiled, her eyes holding his gaze for a moment longer than necessary.

Spencer's face turned a deeper shade of red, his mouth gaping not unlike a fish before he managed a bashful, "Goodnight, Y/N." As she turned to enter her building, Spencer stood rooted to the spot for a few seconds, a hand reflexively touching the spot on his cheek where her lips had been.

He finally uprooted his feet and hailed a cab to take him home, his mind replaying every moment of the day and the evening, but especially that last, unexpected kiss on his cheek. He was absolutely buzzing with a mix of elation and disbelief. As the city lights passed by the cab's window, he couldn't keep the grin off his face, feeling an excitement he hadn't known in a long time.

Meanwhile, Y/N, after closing the door to her apartment, immediately dialed her mom. The time difference meant it was still early where her mom lived, and she knew she’d be awake. As soon as her mom answered, Y/N gushed, "Mom, I had the best date tonight. You remember I told you about Spencer from the FBI? It was with him."

Her mom's voice, hilarious and encouraging, came through the phone. "Tell me about it! But leave out the gory details."

“Mom!” Y/N whined petulantly but did as she asked anyway—she recounted every detail from the Met visit to the candlelit dinner and the casual yet intimate conversations they had shared. She described how considerate Spencer had been, walking her home and the protective reasons behind it, and she didn’t leave out the part about the kiss on the cheek that had left her feeling a pleasant flutter in her stomach.

"Mom, he’s different, really thoughtful and so smart. I think this could be something special," Y/N admitted, her voice a mixture of hope and a bit of wonder.

Her mom's reply was full of the usual maternal optimism and caution, "Just take it one step at a time. But he sounds wonderful. I’m happy for you."

Hanging up the phone, Y/N felt a contentment settle over her. The night had been perfect, and now, sharing it had made it feel even more real. As she got ready for bed, the memories of the evening played back in her mind, each one a promise of potential tomorrows.

— 

Sunday morning came too early for Y/N, her sleep interrupted by a loud banging on her apartment door. Disoriented and a bit alarmed, she pulled herself from the warmth of her bed, wondering who could be at her door at such an early hour. She wasn't expecting anyone, and the unexpected noise had her heart racing slightly as she approached the door.

Living in the city had taught Y/N to be cautious, but she also knew that only a select few knew her address—now Spencer and the Hotchners. With a mix of confusion and caution, she tiptoed to the door and peered through the peephole.

To her surprise and immediate relief, it was Penelope Garcia standing outside, her bright and colorful attire unmistakable even through the distorted view of the peephole. Penelope was holding a large carrier with what looked like coffee and pastries—a peace offering or perhaps a bribe for an early morning intrusion.

Y/N opened the door, her expression a mix of amusement and mock annoyance. "Penelope, what are you doing here this early?" she asked, though her tone was light and welcoming.

Penelope's face lit up with an excited grin, and she practically bounced on the spot. "Girl talk time! I brought reinforcements," she said, lifting the carrier slightly to emphasize the coffee and pastries. "I may or may not have used my magical database skills to find your address. I couldn't wait to hear all about your date with Spencer!"

Y/N couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head as she stepped aside to let Penelope into her apartment. "You're impossible," she said fondly. "But since you come bearing caffeine and carbs, I suppose I can forgive you."

Once inside, Penelope set the treats on the kitchen counter and turned to Y/N with wide, expectant eyes. "So? Tell me everything! Was it as magical as you hoped? Give me all the details!"

As Y/N poured them both coffee, she started recounting the events of the previous evening—from the walk through the Met to the candlelit dinner and the charming walk home. Penelope listened intently, occasionally interjecting with excited squeals or empathetic nods.

Y/N shared how comfortable she felt with Spencer, how their conversations flowed naturally, and how he made her laugh. She even blushed a bit when mentioning the protective gesture he made and the cheek kiss that ended the night.

Penelope was thrilled with every detail, her enthusiasm making Y/N relive the joy of the date all over again. "Spencer really likes you, you know," Penelope said with a knowing smile. "He even texted me because he had to tell someone how great the date went."

Hearing this, Y/N felt a warmth spread through her, her smile broadening. That man is just too sweet, I want to eat him up. 

[percheduphere]

LET’S TALK ABOUT EXPLORING LOKI & MOBIUS THROUGH THE LENS OF QUEER EXPERIENCE

Thank you for this request, @nabananab 

Before I dig into this juicy ask, I think it’s important to note (however obvious the fact maybe) that an individual’s unique engagement with art is an inherent and integral part of art. The intention of the artist and the sociopolitical influence of culture, while important in our interpretation of a work, are not the sole source of drawing the work’s meaning. We are all artists in one form or another. I consider myself one of the pen, and nothing is more important to me than art giving someone a sense of emotional connection. I should hope other artists would agree, and for this reason I am an ardent believer in art taking on a life of its own once it has been created. The creator’s word, while it matters to some degree, does not supersede an individual’s relationship with the creation. Our histories, our desires, our fears, our likes, our dislikes, indeed our infiniteness as fragile human beings, allow us to create an elevated, spiritual interpretation beyond the confines of original intent. With art, there is no such thing as “reaching” or “reading too deeply”. 

I leave this message with all of you as we look at these beloved characters through the lens of queer experience. 

LOKI 

Culture influences what we see and hear, which in turn influences artistic portrayal. Setting aside Norse myth, Marvel’s Loki is a classic example of a queer-coded villain (later canonized as a queer antihero). Deception, daggers, sexual temptation, transformation, and magic are all culturally tied to the “immoral” facets of femininity. Just as a strong, independent woman untethered to the control of man is deemed a “wicked woman”, a man demonstrating gender ambiguity and like qualities is similarly judged. Only masculinity is viewed as pure and good, and this no doubt was—and continues to be—a key force in white, western colonization’s destructiveness. It all but crushed our rich global history of divine femininity, gender diversity, and romantic and sexual expression. 

Asgard, as Marvel portrays it, is without a doubt a masculine-dominant warrior society. Only two women feature prominently: Queen Frigga and Lady Sif. Whereas Sif embraces her masculine qualities and fits in easily with Thor and the Warriors Three, Queen Frigga embraces her feminine powers, though her authority is submissive to the All-Father, Odin. Her influence is most heavily seen in her adopted son, Loki, with whom she shared and taught magic in hopes that Loki might “feel some sun on himself” despite the “long shadows [Thor] and [Odin]” cast. The magic that Frigga gifts Loki, however, attracts scorn. The subtext here is that Loki’s specialness, his individuality, comes from feminine powers despite presenting as a man, and a gender ambiguous one at that. Unlike Thor and Odin, he is not masculine. While strong, he does not exhibit Thor’s brute strength. He is cautious, thoughtful, another feminine quality, whereas Thor’s courageousness often veers toward foolhardy and brash.  

Thus, if Loki cannot be loved and accepted as he is (a queer person of another race), he will force love and acceptance through the power of the throne. Kings oft inspire fear, coercing subjects to love them whether they wish to or not. But we know Loki never truly wanted the throne. The throne is a mere distraction from, perhaps even a poor replacement for, what he truly wants: genuine love and acceptance that cannot be bought. Unfortunately, Loki believes he will never get these things, which is why, when Mobius questions him, Loki’s desire for control (Loki, King of the Midgard; Loki, King of the Nine Realms; Loki, King of Space) can never be satiated. Mobius challenges Loki for the exact purpose of revealing this to him. What do you really want? At this point, Loki does not have the words to form an answer. In S2E5, Syvlie raises the question Mobius originally asked in S1E1. It is then, after experiencing Mobius’s friendship and the other relationships that come to being as a result (including Sylvie’s), that Loki can articulate his answer. 

Loki’s othering, even before the discovery of his true identity as a Jotun (an allegory for a villainized foreign race), creates a lonely environment in which Loki’s potential for goodness is quashed by centuries of resentment, bitterness, and jealousy. His attempts at masculinity take the form of violence, all of which are, as Loki admits in S1E1, “part of the illusion; the cruel elaborate trick conjured by the weak to inspire fear.”  

Loneliness and the desire for love and acceptance are a universal human experience, but they are felt far more acutely within our intersectional queer communities. 

MOBIUS 

His fascination with Loki is compelling because there are many things we can infer about its reasons. The first, most obvious explanation is Mobius’s “soft spot for broken things”, which is in some ways tied to his qualities as a compassionate, forgiving, and supportive father. A secondary explanation is a wish for partnership. We know from S1 that Mobius’s friendship with Ravonna spanned eons. We later learn in S2E6 that he and Ravonna started out as peers, hunters. They were partners on the field, but where Mobius “failed” because of his humanity, Ravonna “advanced” because of her ruthlessness. This change in relational dynamics left him partner-less. Finally, a third, less obvious reason is Mobius’s desire to express himself in ways Loki does so effortlessly. That desire may come from the suppression and repression of his own softspoken queerness in order to survive the fascist culture of the TVA. 

Mobius is captivating for many reasons. Whereas Loki is a textbook example of culture viewing “queerness as evil”, “queerness as flamboyance”, “queerness as stylishness”, “queerness as loudness”, “queerness as sexual promiscuity and deviance”, “queerness as chaos”, Mobius very much aligns with the image of a straight-passing, repressed queer individual. This is an identity that does not get as much attention or presence in artistic media as it deserves, for there are many who need this representation to reflect them. He is not stereotypically queer by any means: he is not colorful. He is not stylish, flamboyant, or loud. His sex appeal primarily derives from the viewers’ attraction to his personality, though it certainly helps that Owen Wilson is quite handsome.  

Combine these three reasons, and it becomes easy to see how a character (or person!) like Mobius might fall in love with a character (or person!) like Loki.  

There is a certain amount of beautiful irony in how Loki and Mobius affect one another and consequently their identities. Mobius, feeling compassion toward an individual who has been brutally othered and oppressed, seeks to free Loki from the confines of his narrative, as determined by the “Time Keepers”.  The only feasible way to do this is to bring a variant of Loki out of the timeline and into the TVA. Mobius then provides Loki with the opportunity to change by: acknowledging Loki’s strengths, giving Loki the chance to use his strengths in productive ways, praising Loki when he does well, listening to Loki, believing in Loki, calling out Loki, and accepting Loki as he is, with all his history, without judgement. Mobius does not try to force change like Thor or Odin. Rather, he creates an environment in which change could happen naturally. This kindness and, indeed, what becomes unconditional love by the end of S1E4, allows Loki to embrace his authentic queerness with self-love and use his feminine powers for altruism rather than masking them with self-hatred and masculine rage. 

FREEING LOKI 

In S1E1, Mobius is enthralled with Loki’s hijinks as the handsome, charming, devil-may-care, D.B. Cooper. This minor escapade in Loki’s life, which was likely only intended for laughs by the writer, reveals something interesting about Mobius: Loki’s mischievousness, his magic, his cunning, are all quite endearing to him when no real harm is being inflicted. That is, Loki, when not under duress, is someone to be admired when he’s being himself. We admire in people what we wish we had in ourselves, and this, at times, may lead to powerful attraction. 

Loki, for his part, does much the same for Mobius. The environment (the TVA) which allowed Loki to thrive is also the same environment that has abused and constrained Mobius. 

The heat that Ravonna presses upon Mobius, however, changes his tone with Loki himself. When Loki asks Mobius why he “[sticks] his neck out for [him]”, Mobius provides Loki with two options to choose from: “A. He sees a scared little boy shivering in the cold, or B. He will say whatever he needs to say to get the job done”. Option A, while insulting, has compassion layered beneath the barb. Loki, an expert at cloaking truth with meanness, sees through this and indirectly chooses what he believes to be true in the cafeteria scene: that Mobius feels sympathy for Loki’s painful childhood. The subtext of this acknowledgement is that the true means to the end is reversed: Mobius doesn’t need Loki to catch the Variant on the timelines. Mobius needs the Variant to free Loki from the timelines. The Variant is an excuse and another agent of poetic irony: when Sylvie unleashes the multiverse, she literally frees Loki of his predetermined narrative. 

The conceit of S1E1 is that Mobius intends to use Loki for the “good” of the Sacred Timeline. It is important to remember that characters, while not real, are meant to mirror human complexity. Multiple, seemingly conflicting things may be true concurrently. In S1E2, we see in Mobius’s conversations with Ravonna that he deeply believes in Loki’a capacity to be a wonderful person and wants him to have the opportunity to change. His enthusiasm for these things outshines his desire to catch Sylvie.  

And, because the Variant is Loki, because Sylvie is Loki, because, as she says, “[they] are the same”, Mobius’s own freeing of Loki, his unconditional love for him, cascades from Loki to Sylvie. Sylvie would not be free to live as she pleases if not for Mobius’s compassion for Loki in the first place. 

In S1E4, Loki reveals the TVA’s sham. Mobius’s sense of self becomes fragile alongside his sense of partnership with Loki. But because of our sociopolitical culture’s influence on capitalism, the creative voices of the Loki series self-censures what could be (what is) a queer romance. This self-censureship makes itself known in Mobius’s own self-censureship. His jealousy and heartbreak cannot be spoken directly. It must be spoken through the words of a woman, someone who presents as the opposite sex. Through a looping memory of a scornful Sif telling Loki, “You are alone and always will be”, Mobius makes known the nature of his feelings for him.  

BUT WHO WILL FREE MOBIUS? 

In the same cafeteria scene in S1E2, Loki asks Mobius if he’s ever ridden a jet ski. Mobius’s response is demure, saying him riding one would “cause a branch for sure”. The jet ski gives the audience another clue as to what Mobius seeks in life: something fun, thrilling, and reckless. Yet Mobius sets aside his desires for what he believes is for the good of the TVA, and thus humanity. This suppression and repression of authentic selfhood mirrors the queer experience of living within a heteronormative culture, especially one with religious doctrines that equate pleasure with sinfulness.  

Because Mobius extended his heart, his partnership, his love (symbolized by twin daggers hidden in his locker [a closet]; notably a male phallic symbol of which there are a pair [partners]) and was soundly rejected, Mobius retaliates with the loneliness he himself feels. This loneliness may be interpreted as an allegory for the loneliness of being closeted as opposed to the loneliness of being out but othered. 

Ultimately, Mobius’s love for Loki shifts from selfish desire to unconditional love when he chooses to help Loki save Sylvie. In S1E5, it is conspicuous that after delivering Sylvie safely to Loki’s side, Mobius’s partings words are, “Guess you got away again”, to which Loki replies, “I always do”, which echos the lover’s trope of “the one that got away”. 

[It drives me absolutely bananas that I can't find the specific gif I need when I literally saw it multiple times earlier this week but didn't need it THEN]

Owen’s acting choice is interesting here. He laughs, smiles, then looks down before looking up again, his eyes shifting from fondness to what feels like longing. Mobius extends his hand, a sensible choice for someone who believes his love is unrequited and is unsure of how Loki defines their relationship. Loki, appreciating what Mobius has done for him, closes the distance with an embrace and thanks Mobius for his friendship. 

In S2E1, upon Loki’s time-slipping into the war room, whatever apprehensions Mobius had about physical contact was wiped away by the collapse of the TVA and the memory of Loki’s hug. In this scene, it becomes clear to Mobius that Loki is panicking. He makes the executive decision to use his physical contact as a grounding force, relocates Loki to a quiet environment, asks after Sylvie with no bitterness in his voice, then prioritizes Loki’s physical well-being. Perhaps, in Mobius’s view, his love is unrequited, but there is nothing in place to stop him from expressing that love more freely while honoring Loki’s feelings for Sylvie. This regard, which may be construed as platonic, may also be viewed romantic, courtly love. 

The fight between Loki and Sylvie in S1E6 sets the stage for Mobius to receive Loki and become a refuge for heartbreak.  

S2E2 and S2E3 has Loki’s and Mobius’s temperaments when it comes to investigating flipped. In S1, Mobius was focused on the mission and often had to reign in Loki. In S2, Mobius is more casual, more willing to take his time and enjoy the sleuthing as it unfolds, while Loki administers pressure to stay focused. The question is why? 

In S2E2, Brad attacks Mobius’s sense of self. He points out how weird it is that Mobius is not at all curious about looking at his timeline and stresses that the TVA, and everything in it, isn’t real. Brad calls into question Mobius’s reason for staying. Knowing that the answer is Loki, we can surmise through the queer lens that Brad also corners Mobius into potentially outing himself in front of the object of his affections, someone he believes does not return his feelings, and whose knowledge of those feelings may threaten their friendship. This is a traumatic experience for queer people in the real world, and this extra layer of emotional conflict adds depth to Mobius’s violent response.  

Mobius influenced Loki in a myriad of ways. One that has not been discussed yet is an appreciation for focus and order. Loki, in turn, has cracked the door open for Mobius to explore pleasure. We can speculate that, in his own way, Mobius is testing what happiness could look like living a life between the TVA and the timelines. For him, this means cocktails at the theater, cracker jacks, and exploring the World’s Fair, all of which are pleasurable on their own but are even more so with Loki’s company. His queerness, once again, is quiet, mundane, but playful in its own right, and finally brave enough to explore. These scenes suggest that Mobius is indeed happy at the TVA and, as we see in the finale, this happiness is solely rooted in his relationship with Loki and the emotional intimacy they share together. 

Loki expresses concern for Mobius, noting that he has “never seen him like that before.” Mobius, interestingly, deflects every concern by absurdly blaming Loki: “He got under your skin”, “I was following you!” The psychological undercurrent here is that Loki is the reason why Brad got under Mobius skin. Loki is the person that Mobius will follow.  

Loki takes Mobius’s distress in stride, responding in a way the Mobius normally would. However, Brad’s question piques his interest, and his own care for Mobius prompts him to gently challenge Mobius’s lack of interest in his own timeline. Mobius’s reason for avoidance is, “What if it’s something good?” 

In S2E5, it’s interesting that “good” in this narrative is defined as a heteronormative fantasy of a house, two kids, and (possibly) a puppy and a snake. The “good” in Mobius’s original timeline, however, is imperfect. There is a partner that is missing (partners being a recurring theme in the series, particularly in S2E3), pronounced gone not once but twice. The entire scene between Don and Loki has been discussed at length by many, so there’s no need to reiterate it here. However, let’s bring our attention to Mobius’s avoidance of this “good” because this avoidance resonates with another queer experience. 

The TVA, for Mobius, is the place where he studied, saved, and developed a close relationship with Loki. The fear of the “something good” is the fear of being confronted with something Mobius “should” want more than the TVA, and therefore “should” want more Loki. The fear is wanting something (or feeling pressured to want something) other than a queer relationship with no children. The question of “choice” is impacted by what is considered the “norm”. 

S2E5 very pointedly focuses on the concern of choice, especially Mobius’s choice, in the bar scene between Loki and Sylvie. “Mobius should get a choice now, no?” At this point, Loki’s regard for Mobius has finally caught up with the romantic nature of Mobius’s feelings for him. And Loki, living his own queer experience, is also afraid of his true desires like Mobius. In being part of the intersectional queer community, the psychological need to guard against disappointment is high and commonplace. Desires are easily disappointed by the expectations of oppressive social mores. This survival tactic manifests itself with our hope and heartbreak with mainstream media, Loki the series being among them. 

But Sylvie, the harbinger of true and absolute freedom, takes on the role of supportive ex and challenges Loki to answer Mobius’s question in S1E1: “What do you want?”  

In this, Mobius and Loki’s individual relationships with the TVA are identical. It was never about where (the TVA), when (time works differently at the TVA), or why (the timelines). It was about who. It was about each other. The TVA represents a liminal space which became home by virtue of the people who brought love into it. The TVA is code for Loki and Mobius when each speaks of it. 

Again, the artists behind the media must self-censure. In this, Loki also self-censures while giving the truth. “I don’t want to be alone. I want my friends back.” It cannot be denied that Mobius is Loki’s first truest and closest friend. “I don’t want to be alone. I want Mobius back.” Sylvie appreciates and validates this desire, but also points out that showing the TVA is something that cannot be unseen. The implication of this response suggests that Sylvie believes that Loki’s friends will feel compelled to join the TVA out of moral pressure. She reiterates the true lives that are being lived, and Loki, loving his friends, loving Mobius, elects to not take that away from them. “You are just fine without the TVA.” 

Yet, Loki must choose an act of profound selfless love to save everyone. In doing so, he saves and frees Mobius in the way Mobius saved and freed him. The tragedy and, once again, poetic irony is that they both would have chosen each other. In giving everyone freedom, the true freedom of Loki and Mobius is sacrificed. This double-standard reflects in our reality between those who identify as cis and heterosexual and those who do not. 

When Mobius looks at his timeline in S2E6, he does so for one reason: that timeline survived because of Loki’s sacrifice. He must honor that sacrifice and see what Loki protected. Mobius appreciates what he finds, but he doesn’t belong there. It is not what he ultimately longs for. And there must be worry, shame, in recognizing he would prefer to give up the house and two children if a life with Loki were a viable choice. 

We all experience loss in our lives. Loss without a goodbye is also commonplace but is another pain that is more acute within the intersectional queer community. I speak of missed opportunities for happiness due to external forces. I speak of loss of self. I speak of loss of friends and family and home. I speak of death, losing a loved one without a goodbye, because same-sex lovers are not considered next of kin, an impossibility without marriage. Marriage echoes back to Don, who has no spouse, and Mobius, who has no partner. 

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Kinktober Day 8 || Missionary

PAIRING || Boyfriend!Tony Stark x Girlfriend!Fem!Reader

WORDCOUNT || 3K

SUMMARY || You've been having a tough time now that the end of your residency is approaching, and Tony comes home early from his mission to be there for you, and giving you a night to truly relax together.

RATING || Explicit (E)

TAGS || Canon compliant. Former sugar relationship. Established relationship.

SMUT || Dirty talk. Praise/praise kink. Fingering. Fingersucking. Missionary. Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!). Aftercare.

A/N || AAAH, this was one of my favorite stories to write and share! Again, I want to give my thanks and undying love to my bestie @ccbsrmsf1; I cannot tell you enough how grateful I am for the support and proofreading! 🤍

All graphics are made by @nicoline1998enilocin

Main Masterlist || Tony Stark || Sugar Daddy!Tony Stark || Kinktober 2024

For as long as you can remember, you have dreamt of attending medical school and going through all the classes and training necessary to fulfill your dream job: a surgeon. While the road to get here certainly hasn’t been easy, you’re finally nearing the end of your residency and your time in medical school. All the years of experience have taught you a lot, but the one thing that sticks with you daily is how important it is to spend time with the people (and cats) you love.

In one month, you will officially graduate and become a surgeon within SHIELD’s medical team, where you’re currently doing your residency. But before that day is here, you have a few more long, demanding shifts ahead of you, and today, you’ve just come out of one of those. You had to perform one surgery after the other, and even though they all were successful, you did make some mistakes that shouldn’t have been made, leaving you with a stone in your stomach.

The elevator ride up to the penthouse is taking too long for your liking as you lean against the back wall, your eyes shut tight to push your evil thoughts and insecurities away. On top of all this, you’re also dreading stepping into the penthouse, as there’s nothing but a large, silent space waiting for you. Tony is gone for a mission that will last a few weeks, and Moon is staying at Bucky’s, where he is being spoiled rotten with Alpine. However, you’re met with a surprise as you smell the scent of your favorite food while the elevator doors open.

“H-hello? Is anybody there?” you ask carefully, your steps cautious as you enter your home.

“Yes, there is! But it’s just me, Sugar,” you hear your boyfriend say as he steps around the corner to greet you, and you can feel your body relax instantly at the sound of his voice. He was supposed to be gone for at least another week, so you’re not entirely sure why he’s home already, but you’re not going to question it as you let yourself fall into his strong, comforting, warm embrace.

“Hmmm, I missed you so much, you know that? I hate to be gone for this long,” Tony whispers as you let your hands glide under his shirt, the exceptional warmth of his body comforting in its way - he always tends to run hotter than the average person. You use it well when you’re cold or need comfort, as the warmth reminds you of him.

“Missed you too,” you murmur against his chest, not ready to let him go anytime soon. He’s been gone for a little over three weeks, which means you have a lot of cuddles to catch up on, so you might as well get a head start now. His hand gently cups your head as his thumb rubs soothing circles. As he does, you can feel the stress of the past weeks without him flowing away with every passing second.

You’re unsure how long you two stand in each other’s arms, but when you pull away, you feel about ten pounds lighter, and you’re finally able to kiss your boyfriend the way you’ve been longing to in his absence. The thought of being able to kiss him again has been on your mind constantly, and it has been part of some of your dirty thoughts, too.

Tony’s lips feel like heaven as you take your time to get reacquainted with them, his taste being something you’ve missed more than you thought. A soft moan escapes as his fingers dig into your sides, your body responding to his touch in a way that can only be described as desperation.

Your hands wander from his neck into his hair, pulling gently on the roots as his hands squeeze your hips in excitement, his pants becoming tighter the longer you two take your time with the kiss. The heat steadily rises between you two, and every last thought of what happened when Tony was gone slowly leaves your brain as his tongue makes it impossible to think. And he hasn’t even taken any of your clothing off yet.

“Sugar,” Tony says as he wants you to look at him, the need for air becoming too much, his words coming out breathy as he looks into your eyes with a slight smirk - “I made us a simple dinner; I figured you’d be hungry right about now. After that, I promise to give you all my time, attention, and love as I make you fall apart on my fingers and cock over and over again.”

Tony is nothing if not a man of his word, so after you two enjoyed your dinner - one of your favorite dishes that he learned to make especially for you - and a sweet dessert that has you feeling very content now that you’re on the bed, cuddling with Tony. Your head is on his chest, your leg is hooked over his, and his hand is playing with your hair while the other is rubbing soothing figures on your arm. Life couldn’t be more perfect if you’d tried.

“Thank you for coming home, Tony; I can’t believe how much I missed spending time with you,” you tell him as your eyes are shut, and you feel comfortable and soft. A small smile lights up his features, a feeling of pride swelling somewhere deep inside him. Before he had the honor of falling in love with you, he would never have considered being missed by anyone, but now that you two have had the chance to explore your love after your arrangement, he wouldn’t want it any other way. Thankfully, he’s not shy about admitting he missed you, either.

“You don’t have to thank me, Sugar, I promise. As soon as I heard you weren’t feeling well, I went home when I got permission from Steve and Nat. They didn’t hesitate for a moment when I told them that you needed me, and they practically pushed me out the door and into the Quinjet before I even had the chance to finish my sentence,” he says with a giant smile as he thinks back to that moment.

“Go, she needs you much more than we do, Stark! We’ll be fine. And besides, you’ve already been away for too long, so you have a lot to catch up on,” Natasha says as she throws some of Tony’s things in a duffel bag. All he can do is stand there and watch as she’s doing everything short of throwing him over her shoulder and carrying him to the Quinjet. Then, before she zips up the bag, she spots a small red box on the floor, reaching for it before Tony can say anything about it.

“Is this what I think it is?” Natasha asks with a quirked brow, and the color on Tony’s cheeks rivals the color of the small velvet box his fellow Avenger is holding. He nods, not trusting what might come out of his mouth when he does. He carries the ring everywhere, even if you’re not with him, because he can’t help but think of it as his good luck charm - you usually are his good luck charm, but on missions, this will have to do.

“Who’d have thought you’d ever go down on one knee? I surely didn’t until you met her. But you two are made for each other, Tony. I can see how happy you make her; she deserves someone as amazing as you. Go home and ask her to marry you already!” she says with a large grin, throwing the box to Tony, who easily catches it.

“Thank you, Nat, it means a lot,” he says as he grabs his bag, ready to go home to you.

“How’re you feeling?” It's a simple question, but still, you don’t have a clear answer. There’s still a lot going on inside you, and you want nothing more than for your boyfriend to silence every last thought going wild inside of you. Without saying anything, you move in a way so that you’re straddling him, leaning forward and kissing him with a passion and hunger that your boyfriend happily reciprocates.

A soft moan escapes your lips as his hips buck up, pressing his rapidly hardening length into your waiting core. Then, it becomes clear to Tony what you’re looking for, but he has a different plan for tonight. His arms circle your waist, holding you so that it’s safe to turn until your back is on the bed, and he is now on top of you instead of the other way around. His lips don’t leave yours for a second, making him incredibly proud as he deepens the kiss.

“Tony,” you say in a breathy voice, your chest heaving as you look up at him with neediness in your eyes.

“It’s okay, Sweet Girl; let me take the lead tonight, and I’m going to give you a night you’ll never forget,” he whispers before placing a few kisses on your cheek and your jawline, making your body feel hot, and your panties wetter than ever. You nod in agreement, allowing Tony to strip you completely naked before doing the same to himself. Your legs are spread wide to accommodate him being comfortable between them, your head propped up on a pillow so you can see exactly what he’s doing.

“Look at that, Sugar. ‘S all because of you- ‘m so fucking hard for you,” Tony groans as his hand strokes his painfully hard length, and it makes a wave of arousal soar through your body as you drip onto the sheets below you. Then, without warning, he works one of his thick fingers into you, making your back arch, and a loud moan bounces off the walls as he gently stretches you, as the last thing he wants is to hurt you.

“Good girl.”

The praise makes you preen as he takes his time stretching you on one finger, then two, and finally, when you can take three of his fingers comfortably, he takes them out before offering them to you. Without a second thought, you wrap your lips around his long digits, licking them entirely clean with a soft hum of approval. The entire time, Tony’s cock is throbbing from pure excitement as you look at him with your big, pleading eyes.

“So beautiful,” he whispers as a smile tugs at a corner of his mouth. After your boyfriend is delighted with how you cleaned his fingers, he wraps his hand around himself again, stroking a few times before moving to line up with your waiting entrance. His pink tip slips in without much resistance, making him groan as he feels your warmth around him again, and his thoughts are slipping away alongside yours.

“That’s it, you take me so well, Sugar. You feel like heaven around me,” he tells you as he gently thrusts into you, ensuring he’s taking it at a pace you’re comfortable with. The entire time, he can’t stop telling you how good you feel and how much he loves you, your heart swelling and your cheeks heating at the praise he’s giving you. Simultaneously, he knows it’s exactly what you need, as if he read your mind.

“I love you, ‘m so lucky to have fallen in love with you, you know that? Such a beautiful, sweet, caring girl who’s all mine. God, you would look perfect when carrying my babies - your perfect belly all swollen after I’ve fucked you in every position imaginable,” he groans, your nipples perking up even more at the thought as you suck him in even deeper with your eager pussy.

“Oh, you like that, huh? I- I just know that you’d make the best Mommy ever, and when you’re pregnant- fuck- I’d drink from you every single day, Sugar. Your milk will be so sweet as I take my fill from you,” he tells you, his pace picking up as he does. Your nails dig into his shoulders at the thought, your brows furrowing as the edge of your release slowly comes closer and closer. As Tony looks down to where you two are connected, he gasps softly, and a wicked grin spreads that has you following his line of sight.

“Hmm, I’m so deep I can see myself in your belly,” he whispers, and he slowly pulls his hips back before thrusting back in with renewed enthusiasm as he can see himself. It’s always a massive ego boost for Tony, and the obscene moan slipping from your lips is clear evidence that you’re enjoying the sight, too. Once Tony’s nestled deep inside you again, he repositions himself slightly so that he can set a better pace, and your hands move to his back as your legs wrap around his waist to pull you even further into him.

“I-I’m close- please,” you pant out, the pleasure you’re feeling almost overwhelming as he keeps the same pace and drives you to the edge you’re longing to fall over. As you drag your nails over your boyfriend’s back, he groans loudly, adding to your pleasure until the sweet release you’ve been craving is finally there. A loud shout of his name bounces through your bedroom as he fucks every last thought out of your brain, his forehead pressed against yours as a layer of sweat adorns your body.

With a few more faltering thrusts, Tony buries his cock deep inside you and his face in your neck as every last drop of his cum is eagerly milked by your body, leaving both of you satisfied beyond belief. It’s everything you needed and more, but when he pulls his softening cock out of you, you let out a little whimper at the loss of him. He presses a soft kiss to your nose to soothe you, making a dopey smile appear as he peppers your cheeks in kisses, too.

“I love you, Sugar, ‘m the luckiest man on earth right now,” he tells you after getting comfortable beside you, allowing you to snuggle into his side, exactly like you were before you two made love. Before you can answer, though, you’ve fallen asleep in his arms. Every time Tony’s gone, you don’t sleep as well, and you’ve also come out of a few 12-hour shifts, meaning you’re more tired than usual.

“Sleep well, Sugar,” he murmurs as he looks at you, followed by a kiss on the crown of your head. Once he’s sure you’re deeply asleep, he gently gets up from the bed to get a surprise ready for you. After pulling on a pair of pants, a henley, and a pair of shoes, he makes his way to Bucky’s apartment, not giving a single hoot about how he looks after he had sex with you. He’s proud to show off the fact you two made love, and his post-sex hair is a trophy he wears proudly.

After a few short knocks, Bucky opens the door while holding Moon and Alpine to ensure they won’t run away.

“Hi, Tony,” Bucky smiles before stepping aside, letting the other man into his apartment. Once the door is shut, Bucky bends down to put the felines down, and they make a beeline to Tony, who happily gives them all the attention they could desire.

“How is she? I know she’s been having a tough week,” Bucky says, his voice tapering off near the end. You and Bucky are pretty good friends, and even though he tried cheering you up, he knew you needed Tony more than him, so he sent Steve a message about your well-being.

“She’s better now; when she came home, she looked like she was on the verge of collapsing due to her tiredness, and it breaks my heart to see her that way, you know? But I know she’s doing what she loves, so I will always support her. Again, thank you for sending that message; I appreciate it.” Tony claps Bucky on the shoulder, who smiles in answer to his words.

“No need to thank me, Tony. You would’ve done the same for me,” Bucky says, and he’s right. While they haven’t always seen eye to eye, they’ve turned it all around, and now they’ve managed to build somewhat of a friendship. It hasn’t always been easy, but with your help, they’re getting along more than you ever could have anticipated. Then, Tony says his goodbyes before scooping up Moon, ready to take him back to your penthouse.

While Tony and Moon are standing in the elevator, Tony can't help but talk to Moon, as he missed him a lot during his time away for the mission.

"I'm happy to be back with you. Do you know that? Even though you're more like a black and white cat now, with Alpine's fur everywhere! Though Mommy won't mind, I'm sure of that. She's so excited to see you, my sweet Moon. Are you ready to go and see Mommy again?" As if to answer him, he gives his Daddy a soft meow, making Tony smile.

As soon as he steps into the penthouse, Moon jumps from Tony’s arms into the bedroom as if he knows exactly where to find you. When Tony walks into the bedroom, he sees Moon curled up by your side, purring with his eyes closed. The sight is one Tony never wants to forget, and he snaps a photo before making his way to the bathroom, ready to take a nice hot bath. The rest of the night is spent together in said bath with some fruit and your favorite chocolates, followed by a much-needed massage and more snuggles in bed.

“Thank you for everything, Tony. You gave me exactly what I needed today,” you say, scratching Moon behind his ears as he lies on your boyfriend’s lap. Then, you lean in, softly kissing your boyfriend’s nose, making him blush. You’re getting more comfortable and ready for more sleep, and when it finally takes you under again, you’re having some of the best rest. And it’s all because you’re with the man you love more than anything.

[upat4amwiththemoon]

Unwanted animal | part 3

Summary: Because that unwanted animal wants nothing more than to get out.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x female!reader

Warnings: talk of killing

Word count: 1948

a/n: reminder that this series is already fully written, so sadly I can’t take any ideas into consideration!

Tags: @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore @sayah13 @strangegardentaco @natashamaximoff69

masterlists | guidelines

All parts: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

The slight cloud coming from her breathing is the only thing in her line of sight besides the empty corridors. The building is seemingly abandoned, as all the doors were open and windows broken, bringing in the winter coldness, but they’re still careful as they move through it.

The team is in the northernmost part of Russia, checking out a building said to be one of HYDRA’s hide outs. Although, if it was in their use, it definitely doesn’t seem to be actively used anymore.

Y/N holds her gun with both hands, pointing it forward as she creeps the hallway forward. Occasionally she hears someone talking in the earpiece she has, clear and empty being the only words. They’re all separated, everyone on a different part of the building. It’s not big, but still spacious enough to not see or hear anyone else.

Setting her hand on a door handle, she pushes the door open slowly, being cautious for any unrecognizable sounds coming from inside. She steps one foot in, then another, looking over the whole room. “Clear.” She mumbles for the others. The room is small, but it has a few cabinets in it, so she starts going through them.

Most of the lockers are empty, but one of them has a thin file with the HYDRA logo on top of it. With a hum, she flips it open. There’s only one file inside, with most of the text blacked out. After a quick glance, Y/N closes the file and stuffs it inside her suit before continuing her way forward. “This place seems like it’s completely emptied out. Take anything you can find with and circle back to the Quinjet. Let’s go back home.” Steve’s authoritative voice comes through the earpiece.

Y/N doesn’t answer, she walks deeper into the building, not having looked through all the possible nooks and crannies. Her steps are light and silent. She moves like a shadow, just like she was taught to. When she comes to the end of the hallway, her foot kicks something solid. She crouches down to inspect the item, tilting her head in recognition. It’s a ballet shoe. The pink color of it has faded and turned into something more similar to grey. It’s not in a tidy condition, showing it has clearly been used. There are holes and scratches on it, and parts of the laces are gone.

Standing up, Y/N kicks the shoe under a cabinet and starts walking back towards the entrance. Her gun is back in her holster and her steps aren’t careful anymore. She knows the building is empty.

The file and single piece of paper are splayed on a table. The Avenger’s are standing around it, trying to make sense of what’s in front of them. “That’s you?” Tony asks, looking at a picture with a child on it.

“Yes.” Biting the nail on her thumb, Y/N stares at the picture. “I don’t remember someone taking a picture of me.” She mumbles.

“You look pretty out of it.”

The old looking, blue toned picture is of Y/N laying on a medical table with her limbs tightly bound with thick belts. Her eyes are open, but she doesn’t look conscious enough to understand anything going around her. There are two scientists beside her, the other holding a large needle near Y/N’s arm. Neither of their faces are visible.

Project Super Soldier Serum

Test subject #3: Y/N [redacted]

Age of subject: [redacted]

Date of experiment: [redacted]

Start time: 04:23

End time: 09:38

Test subject is injected with serum believed to contain the ingredients of the Super Soldier serum, [redacted].

[redacted] subject behaves [redacted] effects are [redacted] bad consequences. Serum [redacted] wrong [redacted].

[redacted]

[redacted] hallucinations and paranoia.

[redacted]

Test subject reacted [redacted] death [redacted] aggressive.

Experiment results: inconclusive

Experiment will be done again.

“Do you remember anything happening in this picture?” Natasha’s soft gaze is locked on the side of Y/N’s face. She isn’t even trying to hide how she feels from the others, she’s too worried about the woman next to her.

“I-“ she takes a deep breath, she’s losing her composure, “I remember going to the experiments. I remember them telling us what they’re going to do to us. And then…then I remember waking up in my cell.” Her brows are scrunches together and eyes stuck on the picture in front of her. “Not long after waking up, someone would come tell me what happened during the experiment, but I don’t have any memories of going through it.”

“That’s okay.” Steve states, gathering up the file, having seen the look on Natasha’s face. This is enough for today. “At least now we have confirmation HYDRA is really trying to recreate the Super Soldier serum. Good work everyone, go rest.”

Y/N and Natasha walk in silence, the latter occasionally glancing to the side to see Y/N’s face. No matter how good she is at reading people, it’s always difficult to read someone with the same skill set as her. “You okay?” She asks once they near their rooms. Y/N nods silently. “Do you want to watch a movie, or something? To wind down, and stuff.” Her hand goes to the back of her neck, nails scratching it lightly.

“I’d like to be alone today, if that’s okay?” Y/N doesn’t meet Natasha’s gaze. Her hand is already resting on the handle of her door.

“Of course.”

Without saying anything else, Y/N opens the door and goes inside her room. As the door closes, Natasha frowns, her hands falling to the side of her body. She wants to be useful, to help Y/N get over her traumatic past, but she doesn’t know if she’s capable of doing that. After all, she is still struggling with her own trauma.

Muddled screams wake Natasha up from her sleep. She sits up quickly, her senses instantly heightened for potential danger. Realizing the sound came from Y/N’s room, she gets up and runs to the room next to hers. The light from the hallway allow Natasha to see Y/N’s huddled form in the middle of the bed. Her shoulders are moving up and down quickly, and her face is buried between her hands.

Natasha closes the door so the harsh light wouldn’t bother her before going to sit next to Y/N. She sets her hand on her back, moving it softly. “Hey, tell me what happened.” Her voice comes out as a whisper as if not to scare her.

Y/N shakes her head.

“Was it a nightmare?”

Moving her hands away from her face, Y/N nods. “Yes.” The whisper is almost too quiet to hear.

Natasha sets her palms on Y/N’s dry cheeks. Her thumbs rub the soft skin under them. “Do you want to talk bout it?” Shaking her head once again, Y/N leans her whole body against Natasha. After a moment of surprise, Natasha wraps her arms around her body, holding her close. “Everything’s going to be okay. The nightmares will get less frequent over time, and I’m always here to help you.”

“Can you sleep here with me, please?”

“Yeah, yeah of course. Come on, lay back down.” Moving the covers out of the way, Natasha lays down to the bed and then pulls Y/N on top of her. She throws the covers over them while Y/N hides her face in the crook of her neck. “Try to go back to sleep, you’re safe here with me.” She starts brushing her fingers through her hair. “Did the file you found today make these nightmares come?”

“I think so.” Her voice comes out as a mumble, her mouth being restricted by Natasha’s hair and neck.

Natasha hums, deciding not to say anything else and staying awake until Y/N falls back asleep.

For the next few nights, Y/N either asks Natasha to sleep in the same room with her, or she knocks on her door after midnight, asking if they could share a bed. Natasha always says yes. She cherishes sleeping next to her. It gives her warmth, and not only because she is sleeping next to another body, but some deeper kind of warmth. The kind that settles her brain and makes her feel more relaxed and refreshed once she wakes up in the morning.

It becomes a routine for them.

The more Natasha’s demeanor, and even personality, changes around Y/N, the more the other Avengers have noticed it. It is surprising for them, having always known Natasha as the calculated one who didn’t do relationships, but they like the change.

They believe Natasha has found someone who understands her and is able to help her. Someone who no matter what, stays by her side. Someone who could be her person. And everyone thinks she deserves to have that person near her, even if she doesn’t believe that. Y/N could be the one to make her realize, she deserves good, that she isn’t evil. There’s hope for her. She can wipe the red off her ledger.

They just hope Y/N is good enough for her.

“What’s your take on love?” Wanda asks Y/N, who happened to wander into the kitchen while she’s cooking.

“Love?” She leans her hip against a counter near the witch, her arms crossed over her chest. “I don’t know. I was taught to think of love as a weakness, to only use it against someone.”

“Have your feelings of love changed?”

The quiet hum of the hood vent and occasional clangs of the ladle hitting the side of the pot fill Y/N’s head. Love is a weapon. “Maybe,” she looks away from Wanda’s awaiting gaze, “I’d like it to mean something more than a leverage.”

Wanda nods with a hum. “Could you tell me about it? The Red Room, Natasha rarely talks about what happened in there.”

“We were taught to respect and fear the place, to think of our superiors as gods who have saved and blessed us. Being in the Red Room was a gift and the highest honor anyone could ever get. Which meant we were better than the rest.” She turns to look at Wanda with a small glint in her eye. “No one could take it away from us, except our superiors. So, we had to outshine each other every single day, we had to be the best, but only one could be. We were at war with our peers and there were no laws. Only when we went to missions, then we had to tolerate each other. Failed missions weren’t tolerated.”

“What happened if a mission failed?”

“They made us kill the failures.”

Wanda turns the stove off, afraid she’ll burn the food as she listens. “Did you kill many of your peers?” She’s almost scared to ask.

“Yes. I was the best.”

“You liked being the best.”

“I did. It gave me power over the others, and power in a place like the Red Room is essential if you want to survive. I wanted to live. I would’ve done anything to stay alive, and I did many terrible things.”

“Do you regret them?”

Y/N looks down. “Of course.”

“But you wouldn’t be alive if you hadn’t done them.” Wanda tilts her head. She has a sympathetic look on her eyes.

“No, I wouldn’t.”

Walking over to her, Wanda engulfs Y/N in a hug, who takes a step back in surprise, but lets it happen once the initial shock is gone. “I’m glad you’re alive.” Wanda whispers, sounding genuine.

“I am too.”

[shiroganejpg]

DUNMESHI MANGA SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Needless to say, a large part of Mithrun's character is his lack of desire. But what this can actually mean and how that can affect him, that can be a bit more ambiguous I think, so here's me rambling a bit about what I believe and how I write him. It's kind of long and I'm trying to be extra cautious with spoilers for anime-only friends so I'm slapping it under a read more but I think Mithrun is SUCH a wonderful character and a total puzzle to figure out how to write.

The winged lion likes to leave scraps. And although it consumed his desires, one of the scraps he left in Mithrun was the ability to desire.

Mithrun didn't lose his desire for revenge against the demon, although we later find out obviously that that desire was something else: he wanted the demon to finish devouring him. That's a whooole other thing I need to write up about insecurity and desire to be loved etc etc.

Things get a little murky sometimes in regards to 'desire' - for example when we see that despite the Winged Lion getting carried away and consuming all of Thistle's desires, we still see Thistle respond to Yaad. That's probably a topic for a whole other meta but the point is: scraps of some variety still exist.

But without the desire to live, the desire to get up or to eat or to drink, one will die quickly regardless. It's not the consuming of the desire that directly kills you, but what that lack of desire then deprives you of. Left alive, yes, but you will then starve to death if you have no desire to eat. It's the aftermath.

In the 40 years he spent recovering, he was taught things (or people attempted to teach him things) to help him survive with this deficiency: Milsiril suggests he envisions his old self and allow him to tell Mithrun what he needs to do. We know that canonically, he relies on pre-established routines and habits to be able to function independently, but when outside of those routines, he neglects/cannot recognise his own needs.

Mithrun has no desire to live, to eat, to drink, to get out of bed, anything. He does these things (and everything else) with only one motivation: pursuit of the demon. Everything that he does, he does to advance that cause. Then later, when that goal is achieved, we see he’s basically catatonic - because there’s nothing else for him to live for.

He also has extremely poor interoception - the ability to understand what his body is telling him. I believe Mithrun does get hungry, does get tired, does feel cold — it's not that he doesn't physically feel these things. He does, albeit weaker than most people which is one reason why things can progress as far as they tend to (like in the panels where we see his body ‘just stopped working’, and he can't explain why — exhaustion, lack of food, mana depletion, he was unable to identify the problems.) I HC at least that Mithrun experiences these feelings, but struggles to identify these sensations as being hunger, thirst, etc — and even if he does recognise them, he has no desire to resolve them.

But, obviously, Kabru brings him back around - You constantly want new things. Desires can be cultivated, and they are an innate aspect of existence. His story ends on the note that he can develop new desires even if his old desires are gone forever - and I believe that healing will not recover those desires. He is never going to have the desire to feed himself, or rest, or even to get out of bed. In my mind the demon ate his desires, and also a large part of his ability to desire - but, just as we see the demon leaves scraps of someone's desire when consuming them... he also left scraps of the ability to desire in Mithrun. Most of it is gone, but some remains. And I don't think Mithrun realised that until the end of the series: that he can try to want things. He can try to desire things. He might not always succeed, but he has the ability to try.

A way I think this shows up is that, post-canon, Mithrun might ask questions or try to be curious (which we see to a limited degree in canon, outside of gathering information pertaining to his goal) as it is a desire that should be easy to cultivate - even though he doesn't really care about the answer. That sounds bad, but understand that Mithrun does care about people; his manner of showing it is simply different, and both he and others have to learn to recognise it. I have to do a write up on this aspect as well because Mithrun does care, but I think he struggles to identify that fact in himself -- and he may come off as uncaring, if you don't know how to recognise it in him.

I love Mithrun getting a happy ending, but I don’t think the damage that’s already done will be undone. Those desires are gone, they aren’t ever coming back. But he can try to replace them.

And I think another big aspect of Mithrun's story is that he's living regardless of if he has the desire to live or not. I don’t believe that he suddenly has the desire to live, or that he is suddenly regaining the desire to live (maybe that may come with healing, I'd say that is down to personal interpretation); regardless, I don't think the damages that the demon did can be undone.

Instead, he is making the choice to live regardless. And while he will never feel the desires that the demon consumed again, maybe he'll eventually be able to desire other things. He can't right now, and maybe he never will, but he has the ability to try. And whatever he is trying to desire will help him continue to live, even in the absence of the desire to live.

He may lack the desire to live, to rest when he's tired or feed himself when he's hungry -- but maybe if he can learn to want other things, resting or eating won't feel so pointless. So he's trying.

[demaparbat-hp]

Hello. I wanted to say that I really like your art style, especially how you do Katara's face. That's awesome.

But every time I read the description of your AUs, it gives me the creeps. You once said you try to stay true to Katara's character, but... your AUs are like "what if I take one of her major character traits and throw it in a trash bin?".

Halfblood AU: no connection to her culture that basically defies everything Katara thinks and feels about her waterbending.

Helping the Fire Nation AU: no hope for the avatar that Katara expressed in the intro of every episode of the original show.

And lowkey less kindness. She's cautious and bitter and wants to help only Zuko.

She seems like a completely different character. Not Katara at all.

Zuko too. I doubt he'll be in the White Lotus, it's not in his character at all. He may use the help of the members, but the original ("The Desert") tells us he will not be one of them, it's just not his style.

You make zutara look shallow, like you think that Zuko and Katara as they are in the show would never work together. As a person who sees appeal in this ship I feel very uneasy seeing your interpretations.

And my god, why do you hate Hakoda so much? Every time you add anything to halfbloodAU he looks more and more disgusting. I cannot believe mister "you and your brother are my entire world" would do what you are saying. And a married man with a child cannot be so naive to think that a woman won't become pregnant after having sex with him. Hakoda would've returned and checked and tried to help.

Sorry. I wish I could enjoy your art, but you're making it so hard.

Hello, and thank you for writing. I'm glad that you enjoy my art, at least to some extent, and I'm sorry if I ever made you uncomfortable with my AUs. However, I find myself in the need of defending them.

Creating AUs is something I take seriously, and one of the core traits of an AU is that it's, inherently, a different world. I can change virtually anything, and that's okay. Haven't we all read a fic and thought, this character wouldn't react like this in canon, but went along with it anyway? Because we know this isn't supposed to be canon. These characters are living in a different context, and react to things differently.

Canon exists for a reason. An AU does, too. They're different concepts and must be treated accordingly. It's a matter of context.

But we're talking about characters, aren't we?

You've pointed out that I've changed Zuko and Hakoda, too. And you're right. I've found that people online are more... defensive of Katara when compared to other characters. And while that may not be important to this specific discussion, I do find it rather curious. It's something to think about.

Anyways, I change characters. And I've gotta confess, I'm not ashamed of it.

My Katara is still Katara, and my Zuko is still Zuko. I'm just playing with how I believe they would react in different scenarios, and with different backgrounds (that's important, too).

You mentioned that my AUs are like "what if I take one of [Katara's] major character traits and throw it in a trash bin?". And I'm sorry that they give you the creeps, truly.

But maybe I want to explore how being a product of two different cultures affects not only Katara, but also Zuko as characters. Halfblood gives me the opportunity to address these sociocultural issues through their personal experiences, and I find that kind of narrative awfully compelling.

And maybe I wanted to change one core trait of Katara's personality and see how that affected both her journey and the general plot. Hunters is a writing experiment, and it has taught me a lot about human nature. Thanks to what you so kindly call "throwing a character trait in a trash bin", I've gained a lot more respect for who Katara is in canon. If anything, I consider Hunters!Katara as a foil for Canon!Katara.

And I don't hate Hakoda. I have a lot of respect for him as a leader and a father. I think he's a great character and role model for others within the ATLA universe. Bashing characters for fun isn't really my thing. The choices I made for Hakoda in the HalfBlood AU (and Aang in Hunters) are a matter of narrative and plot building, not my opinion on his character.

Just think about how different that AU would be if Hakoda made better choices, if he didn't have a wife and a son waiting for him at the South, or if Katara's father was a random Earth Kingdom villager. About 60% of the conflict in the story would disappear. And I could build that conflict with other stuff, I admit it. I could use different plot points or make the characters do other things or give Katara One Big Happy Family.

But it would change the core themes of the story I want to tell.

It's important to me that Katara is a product of two different cultures. It's important that she has no father figure in her life. It's important that Hakoda, who is a great leader and a great man and a great husband and a great father for Sokka, made a huge mistake in his youth that has been weighting on him ever since. It's important that Sokka is suddenly faced with the realization that his father, his idolized role model, is human and has also royally fucked up.

I want to talk about these things.

But I'm able to recognize that they're heavy subjects and, really, most of us are just here for the fluff anyway. So I'm sorry if I've made anyone uncomfortable. I won't hold it against you if you don't like what I do or just ignore whatever lore I set up for my AUs.

This is fiction, this is freedom, and this is the way I express myself. We all do it differently, and that's part of the beauty.

[violetlunette]

Okay, so I really like Female Silver. (Obviously, I like Male Silver better, but still.) It’s a bit hard to explain, but I like the idea of Lilia trying to raise a sweet, angelic girl and figuring out how to keep her safe while respecting her independence. Here, I drew Lilia catching Silver as she fell asleep. The image isn’t one of my best, but I like it well enough.

Anyway, while I’m here, some headcanons for a Female Silver AU.

*When Silver got her first period, neither she nor Lilia knew what the heck was going on and panicked. Lilia took her to a midwife who—after laughing—explained what was happening. Both were horrified and had trouble understanding that it was natural. (Lilia was then traumatized when he looked at the biology book Silver was given to help understand what was happening to her body.) *While none of the boys were overprotective, they were all very much aware that Silver was beautiful and were cautious around strangers. As such, they’re a bit more defensive of a female Silver than a male Silver, as a pretty female will attract danger more than a pretty male. **Lilia taught Silver to never talk to strangers but never told her why. *The second thing he taught Silver when her chest grew was how to break someone’s arm. The first thing was how to break “hardwood.” *To this day, Lilia never had the sex talk with Silver. He’s tried a few times but, whenever he does, he sees his baby girl and wusses out. **Despite this, Silver is very much aware of sex as they had a burrow of bunnies behind the cottage and, since she can talk to animals, they explained the concept. (Though, as all her information comes from animals, she’s a bit mixed up.) ***On that topic, Silver herself is very curious about sex and relationships. VERY curious. *When Silver first arrived at NRC, people were quite taken with her beauty, however, only a few brave ones approached as others saw her stoic features as ice Queen qualities. *At first, Malleus was confused (and a bit jealous [not for romantic reasons, but that people were approaching her]) when people approached Silver as they acted in a way he wasn’t familiar with. When he discovered what was going on and that Silver was being pursued, he had a mini-freak out. There were thunderstorms, and students were getting struck by lightning—it was chaos till Lilia stepped in and told him to calm the heck down. **Silver was bewildered by the whole experience and still had no idea what was going on. ***On that topic, Silver is still 100 % oblivious to romantic topics. *Malleus still sees Silver as a little girl and is always thrown off when something happens to remind him that she’s a young woman. He honestly has trouble processing it, but when he does, he gets melancholy. *When Silver first arrived at NRC people thought she and Lilia were an item due to how close they were. **They thought the same when Sebek arrived till he LOUDLY rejected the notion. *Lilia tries to act calm and cool, but one time Lilia saw a bruise on Silver’s neck and—believing it was a hickey—obsessed over it for hours, till Silver informed him that she got it while training. Basically, he can pretend to be calm all he likes but that girl more often will send him into panic without knowing it. (Just like Male Silver does.) *Silver finds her long hair annoying, but keeps it as she likes it when her father styles it. (Meta: This is a defense for me as I just like drawing long hair.) *Like her male counterpart, Silver is a strong fighter and hopes to become a knight.

[carolinahope]

I'm not ready for 7x06. My expectations are both really high and really low. They really leaned into the Pastel & Puke promo. But experience taught me that about 90% of their promos are a misdirection. So I'm cautious and mistrustful.

It's not like I'll quit watching if Eddie doesn't propose to Buck at the end of the episode. The friends-to-fiancés trope is distinctly Buddie-shaped but I have fan fiction for that. I want an actual story for them on-screen. We deserve it, they deserve it and Oliver and Ryan will most definitely deliver.

And the FF button is there for any scenes with characters I grew weary of. I had plenty of practice. Yes, I'm talking about the other guy and the nun in this instance.

And Eddie deserves his own queer awakening and to have it handled with the same care they handle his relationship with Chris or his breakdown. He needs a break in his romantic woes, to stop searching for some perceived perfection. He needs to sit down and think really hard on what he wants, what he needs, what he has and what is missing.

Besides, Buck needs to get off of his hamster wheel first, anyway. To stop letting things just happen to him. To stop letting people treat him poorly just because they are a potential romantic partner. And see it for the point in the con column it is.

So I will take another poker date as long as this time it actually leads where it was pointing us.

But expectations, they sure can wreak havoc on poor unsuspecting fans.

ETA: Apparently they cut some parts that were already showed in promo? Like the karaoke? I'm lowering my expectations below sea level now.

[rotworld]

[Re: 2 wolf packs after same human] Not OP ask, but now I just imagine a comedy of errors as the most oblivious human alive catches the eye of 2 packs who continually tries to entice them but fails. 😂 Or a human who has no idea of wolf packs, but is intuitive/clever about dodging their requests w/o being too rude or obvious. Among the different packs, which is known has the most patience or creativity in luring their targeted human? 👀

it occurred to me as i was typing up the last answer that with a sufficiently shy or cautious person, this could go on for a while lmao 

hoarfrost falls does better in terms of patience. they have more members so they can afford to spend more time pursuing a pack human. their leadership is older and less impulsive, the idea of “waiting for the perfect strike” is something all new members are taught so they can absolutely play the long game. their weakness is creativity. all they want to do is outdoor scenarios because they’d rather not go into town lol which might sound surprising, considering corbin does so much of his scouting that way, but i can see corbin really disliking these kinds of competitions. he doesn’t have enough control of the situation to enjoy it and he really wouldn’t handle rejection well. he’s used to “hunting” in a very specific way, wearing down someone’s guard gradually over hours or even days of repeated visits if that’s what it takes. just having a few minutes to shoot his shot and not being able to try again right away, especially if he could lose them to someone else right after, would upset him way too much so he probably wouldn’t volunteer. 

shelter mountain isn’t in a position to do competitions for long with so few members and so little experience, but if they ever do, blake is their secret weapon. he’d be good at coming up with different approaches and he’d be equally comfortable with indoor and outdoor contests. i think he’d also have a really high success rate compared to anyone else, even in hoarfrost falls. he’s patient and he never shows his hand too early. even corbin can be overeager and overbearing in a way that might alarm someone who’s already suspicious, especially since being fully trained means he has some werewolf behaviors. but blake is a former city wolf. he knows what humans are like, how to make them comfortable and how to completely blend in. even someone who’s heard rumors about werewolves kidnapping people might look right at him and assume they don’t have to worry.

[snakegorl212006]

Pomefiore Journal Entries

-------------Rook hunt---------------------------------

-We’ve met truly in sam’s shop

-his stocking tendencies are certainly….concerning

-literally he doesn't need to be waiting outside my window 

-this makes me question how long he has been doing this

-the necklace barely tracks him which explains why nothing much happened when i was around

-didn’t even vibrate once 

-unless he’s 1 inch close to touching me

-other then he’s kinda weird, he is really gentleman like

-definitely can be very helpful when it comes to finding things or tracking down grim when he stole something of mine again

-he has this whole things around the pursuing of beauty which it’s cool 

-sometimes there’s a minor language barrier as he likes to switch to french every now and then 

-he likes to compliment people in french often

-based on experience with the others, asking about how he died might be a sensitive subject 

-rook and the others were popular in the 20’s and there deaths were compleat mysteries

-still haven’t yet to ask him

-----------Vil schoenheit-----------------------------

-I thought he’ll be meaner 

-not saying he’s not on the sassy side of things but he’s nice at the same time

-kinda like a nagging mom

-he likes to see if I’m doing well health wise

-if he see me not looking my best when i come in i automatically dragged by vil, epel(my savor) helping me escape the queen's wrath, or rooks huntting me down by vil’s orders 

-”just dress and look nicely, have good manners and posture and you should avoid his wrath”-epel

-well he gives me a reason to use those fancy outfits that i would wear only once 

-but that doesn't stop him for the need to dress me up in his old clothing

-”someone has to put them in good use”-vil 

-possessive and controlling in a understatement for this guy 

-he never likes when i bring people around and more vocal about it then the people in heartslabyul 

-always holds some sort of jealousy with other people of the living

-he has this aura which acts like a narcotic 

-apparently he can activate this toxic air at will 

-i did ask him why he knocked me out before but it turned into a scolding session on my sleep schedule and my overall health 

-Don’t mechonded his rival 

-AT

-ALL

-Neige leblanche is a actor and model who only risen to fame recently and “stole”(vil’s words not mine) the title of “the most beautiful person in the world”

-Rook likes Neige a lot and it pisses Vil a lot to a certain degree  

-he likes to talk about his past accomplishments and sometimes even the true reason why he performed in such ways or why he made that song

-definitely more meaningful than a documentary

-”they only have one part of the main story” he said 

-he sometimes call me sweet potato when he needs something or feeling affectionate

-definitely have to be cautious around

-he’s just as addicting as the poison drugs he makes  

-sweet and dotting as he is, he definitely has some red flags 

-----Epel Felmier------------------------------

-don’t call him cute. Period. Not even as a complement(he wanted me to write this down) -away from vil’s gaze he has a cute cool country accent -he often asked me to help him to tend to the gardens and his apple tree -love to talk about his family and his life before meeting Vil -He can’t stand Vil and 100% blames him for his death -i managed to piece together that some poison was involved by vil himself -i didn't ask any more then that -i understand his rightful anger tho -he teaches me how to handle vil’s poisonous aura by offering me a bottle of apple juice which had herbs that combat the smell -Vil taught him how to make it and instructed him to give me some -when he’s not busy doing whatever task vil needs him to do, he likes to explore the other properties along with me when i do my rounds -other times he likes to watch and play sports -one winter he taught me how to use a sled using whatever animal was around to help us.(it was fun)

[sylvia-forest]

[CN] Shaw's 6th Anniversary event - Finale (Part 2)

⚡ Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an Event which hasn't been released in EN yet!⚡

MC: I didn't expect someone to be so full of me, secretly taking so many photos.

Looking at the arranged photos on the car window, I couldn't help but lift the corners of my mouth.

Shaw: Your smugness is too obvious. Shaw: If you don't tone it down, I might take them back.

Seeing him say that, I quickly opened my arms to protect the photos in my embrace.

MC: It's not easy for you to capture me with so much feeling. What's wrong with being a little smug! Shaw: You often go "all out," making it challenging for me to capture candid moments. Why didn't you mention that?

As he said that, he "straightened" me while separating me a bit from the photos on the car window.

Shaw: Look, this one is a great example.

Shaw pointed to a photo, a small boat bathed in the setting sun, even though we didn't interact, the atmosphere was full.

MC: This one is not bad~ One facing forward, the other with the back turned, one smiling, the other looking.

I paused, playfully poking his lip.

MC: But from the perspective of a professional producer... you should have more opportunities to showcase this kind of smile in your photos. MC: It's good to level up the image of you always being a "bad guy" in my mind~

He lowered his eyes and glanced at my finger, and the curve of his lips became even more pronounced.

Shaw: No, I'm always authentic—whatever mood I'm in, that's the expression I wear. MC: Then, tell me, in what kind of mood were you smiling so brightly in this photo?

I pointed to another picture, a brightly lit snowfield where Shaw and I were racing in the snow.

He smirked and poked the little turtle protector in the photo.

Shaw: What mood do you think I could be in? At least, I taught my disciple well. How could she not perform in the snow? MC: It's not about lack of experience; it's about being cautious with a boat that has sailed for thousands of years~ Shaw: So, someone like you, who is both unskilled and loves to play, deserves to be recorded.

The more Shaw spoke, the more his lips curved upward, perfectly replicating the "him" in the photo.

Shaw: When you act rebelliously again someday, I'll expose this "black material" of yours. Shaw: "Breaking News: A seasoned skateboarder seeks a little turtle as a bodyguard." MC: How dare you!

As I thought of hitting him, I caught sight of another photo with a conspicuous "Yay" in it, making me squint my eyes.

MC: Isn't this from the night before we went to the Little River Ancient Village... Is this also some "black material" you want to keep? Shaw: I can't bear to expose this one. Shaw: Do you know what you did after getting drunk that night?

I paused, glancing around nervously.

MC: Didn't I just fall asleep on your leg... Shaw: Messy nibbling, talking nonsense, silly laughter—have you forgotten these three "pieces of evidence"? MC: Your words are baseless. You want to accuse me with just one photo!

"Hehe... Shaw, let me hug you."

A drunken voice entered my ears, and I widened my eyes, looking at the video playing on his phone that I didn't notice when it started.

The background of the footage was the noodle shop, and there I was, like a soft "octopus," leaning on Shaw.

Shaw: The video has 24 frames per second. How do you make every frame wonderful? MC: Shaw!

I shamefully pressed the lock screen button, ignoring the laughter nearby, and pretended to be calm as I picked up another photo.

MC: This one is also good, it was taken when we were playing on the slide in the flower town, right?

Shaw's teasing expression lingered in his eyes for a moment before nodding.

Shaw: Indeed, it can be considered a rare harmonious photo. MC: It shows that as long as we want to cooperate, we can take good photos. Look at this one—

In the deep underwater tunnel, we stood side by side, and I was smiling, leaning on his shoulder.

MC: Don't you think this one has a nice contrast? MC: It's not like our usual selves; it's an unusually quiet moment captured in front of the camera. Shaw: So, you prefer this style? MC: To be precise, I love every "us" in every style. Shaw: Since that's the case, let's put a definitive end to this trip.

Shaw aimed his phone at the two of us and pressed the record button.

Shaw: Let's make it clear here. Although it seems like an endpoint, it's also the starting point for something else. MC: Huh? What starting point?

He raised an eyebrow, abruptly bringing the phone's camera close, making us blurry in the frame.

Only the voice in my ears was clear.

Shaw: Of course, it's the starting point of the next year. Shaw: But for me, no matter how many "next years" there are, Shaw: I won't let you have a single boring moment.

—

🚐 Moments (coming soon)

🚐 Texts (coming soon)

🚐 Offline Call (coming soon)

[whattraintracks]

Huh? Oh, don't mind me. Just thinking about how 1987 Raphael's hatred for humanity comes not only from his experiences but as a direct inheritance from Splinter.

What?? You say. But Splinter is always trying to convince him not to hate humans. Yes, but that's after Splinter spent years unlearning his own resentment. Because of April and Zach and the many others they've met over the years who extended kindness freely to Splinter and his little clan.

Splinter has always seen firsthand the worst humans have to offer. Exiled from his family and ancestral home by Oroku Saki's greed and envy. In a foreign land, driven into the sewers by xenophobia. Attacked years later by Oroku Saki, who chased him halfway across the world. He and his sons hunted, defamed, and harmed by dozens of humans. Gosh, early in his mutation, he is so desperate to be human again that the boys are willing to give up anything. But within moments of being above ground, the humans are so cruel, dashing his hope so utterly upon the rocks that when his sons get a chance at humanity, he warns them against it.

Somehow, in his enlightened way, Splinter unlearns this fear and distrust through his interactions with human friends. So how come Raphael can't? I would argue it's because Raphael doesn't really consider those same people human. He knows they are, but he puts them on another level. They are very much on the us side of us vs. them, which is why he never bothers to say "except April, or Irma, or Zach, or whoever" when he's getting worked up about humans. In his mind, they're in distinct categories.

We know Splinter taught the turtles to be cautious of the surface, of daylight hours, and humans who might stumble upon them and their home. He must have impressed upon them a sense of distrust. Whether he actively distilled his own enmity into them or not, I don't know, but it's clear Raphael picked up on it. And this inherited hatred only grew as humans proved to be, at best, unappreciative of, perhaps disgusted with, Raphael and his brothers. And, at worst, wanted them dead.

[astrxlfinale]

Arlecchino stares Caelus down. She knows you don't belong here.

"...."

There was something scathing about the eyes that fell upon him. Distinct, so utterly different from many of the energies that encroached this land blessed by the elements. Searing like flame, but in the same vein, feeling nothing like it at all. What his innate senses discovered were remnants of the restless, vestiges of the defeated, similar to a loop like many other strange phenomena in this world.

Caelus's posture found itself cautious to peer deep into those dual X's imbued with crimson. Mostly. For it'd be that stir of molten gold that intends to peer forward, meeting the Harbinger's gaze. "I know my table manners aren't that bad, I certainly don't have anything lingering upon me, right?" The musing was simply empty words. Experience in it's boundless wealth taught him good in what expressions like this mean.

"And just how can this wandering soul help you today?" Even as he stares into the very eyes that hold one of Teyvat's greatest calamities.

A Trailblazer has been found.

@sercphs

[transmisogyny-explained]

I really appreciate your blog because I've been getting so much insight from it as a TME trans man who is mostly around other TME people (kinda just by happenstance, although I'm always open to trans female/transfem friends).

Anyway. You reblogged a post talking about why some trans women can seem a little prickly towards TME people, which reminded me of when I met a group of trans women IRL once at an event for trans people (most of them happened to be trans women, but all trans people were invited), and one of the women I approached and talked to most that night did seem a bit uneasy/cautious/maybe even a bit standoffish around me at first. I sort of understood at the time that "oh yeah it's probably bc I'm TME" and I've never let it get to me, ofc. I just didn't quite understand how deep that feeling towards me likely went. How much pain was attached to it.

She warmed up a good bit to me eventually, though, and we even hugged before I left. And I just thought when reading that post and a couple others you reblogged, "That woman I met that night, in her 30s, going out with her other trans female/transfem friends to have fun...she had been through a lot. She's going through a lot as I type this. She will go through much more...of course she was nervous around me. So many trans men just Don't Get It, and some don't WANT to get it...and she's suffering because of it. She and all of her friends...why would anyone want that? Especially another trans person?"

And it made me sad. It made me upset that trans women have to be on guard so much because they never know, even in space they belong in, just which TME person is going to decide they don't belong. And, just as importantly, who is going to side with that TME person to make sure she and women like her are kicked out for good...

I don't mean for this to be an "oh I'm such a good person, I would NEVER do that" type spiel. Because I'm not a good person JUST because I care about and accept trans women. It's something everyone should do by default.

I just wanted to relay this story and attach my face to it because 1). Going on anon would make this feel so much less genuine to me. Like I'm more concerned about receiving backlash from transphobes than I am about showing people I care. And I'm not.

2). I know a lot of trans women are frustrated with and scared about the lack of support from trans men. And when I remembered that story and that woman I met that night, I thought maybe if I told it and explained how I felt, that maybe I could give some kind of hope and reassurance that there are trans men who do care and do want to support their trans woman/transfem sisters/siblings.

And 3). I wanted to assure trans women making posts about their experiences with transmisogyny that their posts are reaching more than just people who also experience transmisogyny, as well as unfortunately bigots who don't believe them/don't care/perpetuate transmisogyny on purpose. I'm listening. My friends are listening. I promise we care.

I honestly don't know if this will help anyone or if this is tone deaf at all. And I'm telling you in particular because your blog is where I saw the posts, and your blog has taught me so much, and I really appreciate it. I hope it was okay to send this to you.

But yeah. Thank you for reading all this and I'm so sorry if this sounds like some random needy guy trying to win favors or praise. And no one has to believe me or say anything positive about me or what I said. I promise I don't feel like I need to be rewarded for being an ally to trans women or anything. Again, I was just wanting to tell this story to maybe prove that there are TME people who are listening. I know how stubborn and downright awful some of us can be when we're told we're being transmisogynistic. I'd imagine it's beyond frustrating.

On that note; I'm happy to see you on my dash again! Just please take care of yourself when you need to. It's okay to take breaks, or even a hiatus. Your mental health is so much more important than managing a blog. The work you do is good and important, but you deserve to have time to recover from the negativity you receive. Even if you one day have to abandon this blog for your health, you made a positive impact while you were here! I support and care about you! Thank you for being here and being you💜

I don’t think it’s tone deaf. Personally, I like hearing that my efforts haven’t been for nothing, so thanks for sharing.

[orime-stories]

Loyalty and Idiocy

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Aymeric attempts to check in with how his friend is doing but quickly finds himself subject to another interrogation about his dealings with the Warrior of Light. Full story below the cut. (924 words) Previous Story / Next Story / Read on AO3 / Tumblr Masterlist

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A tension had been building in Estinien of late.

A strain he had been carrying far longer than any mortal man should have to bear. The terrible power of Nidhogg’s stolen essence, and the all too justified rage infusing it. Poison that stood concentrated in the Eye the man now carried with him at all times, and that surely permeated the blood he had all but bathed in when bringing the mighty wyrm down low. Blood that had aetherially bonded with the very metal that comprised his armour, now a vivid red reminder of his conquest.

They knew the true danger of dragon’s blood now — one of the Scions’ many concerning discoveries. Horror twisting Aymeric’s gut as he considered the times he had felt its spray upon his own face, wondering how close he had been to transformation himself had any of those droplets crept but a little closer to his lips. As he considered how some among those named heretic had turned this knowledge upon the unconsenting. As he considered how many of his brothers, consenting or no, had been forever altered into beasts that the city would hunt down without mercy.

How many of them had died by his hand? Had been hunted down at his command?

And would his orders have changed if he had known?

Not that Estinien seemed to fear the red seeping its way towards his very heart. But Aymeric would always hold some measure of worry over the fate of his friend’s soul, even if the man had never been moved to hold that worry for himself. And even if that friend would never appreciate his concerns, no matter how cautious or gentle in their expression.

“I am managing just fine!” Estinien snapped in their current continuation of that pattern, albeit with disproportionate vitriol. His hand then clenching more firmly around his helm as he steadied himself to repeat in marginally more convincing tones, “I am managing just fine.”

They both knew it to be a lie.

“And I am not the one who nearly lost their head to their own blind foolishness,” Estinien then pressed on. “The bastards imprisoned you and beat you like one of their bloody heretics…”

“I fear that recent experience confirms the notion of ‘heresy’ to have long been abused to the detriment of any that fall out of favour with the Church, legitimate reason or no,” Aymeric responded grimly. “I could not say how many of Charibert’s victims—”

“Did he—”

“No. I am sure that he would have liked to, but you all came for me in time.”

Estinien turned from him and stalked over to the window, surveying the streets below. “Someone had to save you from your own idiocy,” he growled quietly.

“Full glad am I that it was you, my friend.”

“Hmph,” Estinien snorted, unimpressed. “…I imagine your other ‘friend’ has already been.”

“To whom are you referring?” Certain as he was of the answer, Aymeric would not incriminate himself further than necessary.

“Your Warrior of Light.” Estinien turned back to him then, eyes narrowed. “‘Tis no exaggeration to say she fled the room when I asked her what was going on with you two.”

Aymeric stiffened despite himself. “When?”

“Not long after we set out to slay the great wyrm.”

Unfortunate. “I fear then that your question was ill-timed, my friend. While mine own response to your investigations was truthful, the situation changed in the interim. I requested that she keep such developments close to her chest for the moment, circumstances being what they are.”

“Developments?” Estinien echoed in disbelieving tones. “You cannot tell me that you expect her to be able to outright lie when she is inevitably asked by folk about your swivving developments. You may be of noble ilk, taught to lie and misdirect since you could crawl but have you met her?”

“Nothing about the course we have found ourselves on is sensible, and I shall not attempt to defend it.”

“By the Fury, Aymeric. ‘Tis not about what’s sensible, ‘tis about what’s bloody cruel.”

Ah. Affection surged through Aymeric then. For this brusque man before him that had always cared far more for others than he let on. But he made sure to keep that affection hidden behind that dishonest nobleman’s face of his, experience teaching him that Estinien would end the conversation immediately upon sensing its full strength.

“Might you have some characteristically straight-talking advice for your oldest friend then?” he asked in partial jest. “Knowing the fullness of my situation and the complexities of the societal institutions in which we live.”

Estinien just shook his head. “The dutiful Lord Commander has chosen his heart over common fucking sense in the middle of a war. We are long past advice.”

“Then may I at least depend upon you to pray for my wayward soul as I navigate the chaos I have wrought?”

Eyes were rolled. “Do not push your luck.”

“I have been through quite the ordeal of late,” Aymeric reminded, lightly teasing. “You ought to be kinder to me.”

“You are an idiot. Do not injure yourself further while we are gone.”

Aymeric could only sigh. Fond, relieved. “I shall do my best. You look after yourself too, my friend. And… watch over her.” Be there for her where I cannot.

“Do not insult the woman,” Estinien growled as he stalked off. “We both know what she can do.”

“Yes,” Aymeric replied, to the now empty room and the swell of mournful inevitability beginning to fill it. “Yes we do…”