#but his teeth are extremely NOT human-like

[2bitz-star]

Finally got around to finishing this! I actually ended up quite liking a few of the AUs and I may expand on them in the future / make art of them! If you have any comments or headcannons on any of them, PLEASE SHARE, it would make me incredibly happy!!!! Alright, here we go..!

Triple Point

Around 60 years into the future, the Earth caves in on itself through pollution, global warming, erratic weather events, and disease. Worst of all, a parasite reminiscent of a zombie virus. Stone, an ex-soldier who went AWOL a few years after the breakout hit, meets Robotnik, a hermit who has lived in a bunker for most of his life anyway, meet in an underground bar, each looking for something. Robotnik, a safehouse, and Stone, a way to get to his rumored safehouse— an old CDC HQ taken over by survivors from the military and made a safe haven, passed through word of mouth in the army. Robotnik quickly lies to Stone that he has a working car and can bring him there as long as Stone allows him into the safehouse with his ex-military status.

They manage to pick up a few other survivors on the way, one of which is related to Robotnik. Stone gets bit protecting Robotnik and Gerald convinces Robotnik to leave him behind for their safety. Robotnik eventually dies to the rest of the group.

Extra details: Robotnik and Stone get drunk off of hospital isopropyl and kiss. Stone ends up hiding his bite for longer than he wanted and gets shot by Gerald.

Stolen Goods

On Curos, an alternate version of Earth, society is heavily restricted and in the middle ages. Both witches and humans exist, and witches hide among the humans. Bounty hunters are hired to kill both witches and criminals, as well as preserve witch blood to be used for magic. Robotnik is a witch, using his magic to create multitudes of familiars (like the drones) to scope out areas and sic on people he doesn’t like, and stealing artifacts to create his own wooden machines. He’s well known as a criminal and a witch. Stone is a bounty hunter hired and trained by the government to hunt down witches, and eventually finds Robotnik and attempts to kill him. Robotnik is able to blackmail him with Stone’s forged documents (accusing criminals of higher crimes so he would be paid more) and forces Stone to work with him.

Extra details: Robotnik is missing a leg and replaces it with magic. His magic is colored red. Overuse of magic can cause the user to pass out, which happens often— and Stone is always there to help him out when it happens.

Stone wears a bounty hunter’s mask, so Robotnik doesn’t even see his face until much later in the story. Stone also has a small supply of witch blood and knows just a few spells.

Wolfriders

In an alternate dimension, there are forest spirit wolves. They get pretty large, up to twenty feet tall in extreme cases. These wolves have three forms, their typical form (which vary in appearance from regular wolves to dire/maned wolves, demonic teeth, antlers/horns, snake tails, etc.), their small form, which makes them look like regular wolves and the proper size, as well as a human form (which most people don’t know exist). These wolves protect the people from supernatural evils like titans, witches, demons, etc. As the wolves continue to kill off these evils, there slowly becomes less use for the wolves, and when humans become relatively safe, they begin to hunt the wolves for sport. These wolves have the ability to connect with certain people called “riders”, and when the wolf and the rider bond, they develop matching glowing markings that appear on the rider when riding the wolf. A wolf with a rider becomes more prized to kill, as well with antlers, horns or teeth because of the markings, and more precious to have their head hanging up on your wall.

Robotnik comes from a line of riders, genetically bred to be more and more in control of the wolf than the last. They’re one of the only families that knows of the wolves’ human forms, and pass down the wolves and their litters as servants. They’re raised in captivity and because of this don’t bond naturally with their riders, and instead just serve them without a bond. When Robotnik is given his first wolf, he’s able to chase it off back to the forest. This continues to happen to every wolf he’s given, until eventually in his older years he’s gifted Stone. Although Robotnik tries to scare him off, they end up bonding naturally (with red and purple markings) in an incident where Stone protects him.

Extra details: When apart, Stone has purple markings. When he’s with Robotnik, they turn red, which isn’t something that typically happens. Robotnik doesn’t have any markings when he’s away from Stone.

Stone has both goat horns and sharper teeth, and strange markings, which attracts a lot of attention to them. Stone tries his best to stay in his human form for Robotnik but they often run away a lot together for him to be in his original form. And yes, he runs as fast as he can and takes Robotnik on rides trust ♥️

Commandeer

In the far future the Earth runs out of space on the surface for the population to live, so a layer of metal is built in the atmosphere where most people live as there’s more space. It’s so far above the Earth’s surface that most everybody has never even seen a plant. Macro, a robotics corporation first but had many subsections that form monopolies over food, weapons, etc, have many different lines of models for companions, servants, soldiers, etc. One of the soldier models is Stone. Macro is basically a corporate government of sorts, and over time the people began to fight back, and now Macro and a rebel force are engaged in war. Stone is sent out with a battalion and gets caught in an explosion, ripping off his leg and leaving him shut down in the middle of the battle feed. The RCs (remote controlled robots) are considered expendable, and therefore Stone is left behind. The rebels end up winning the battle, and Robotnik finds the old robot and decides it's worth cleaning up and repairing. With his leg repaired with rebel technology, Stone figures he must make himself useful to avoid being thrown out again.

Extra details: There are multiple models of Stone but this Stone is unique in particular due to his upbringing and being one of the first of his model. He was subject to a lot of testing as one of the first.

Robotnik reveals to Stone his plan in leading the rebellion is not just to overthrow Macro but also to take over the world. He promises that he’ll bring Stone to the surface of the Earth when that happens.

Stone has an obsession with living organisms(like plants) as a robot and believes himself to be a “fake”. He thinks Robotnik is fascinating just for being a human (and Robotnik wishes he were a robot). He’s under the impression that he’s fooling Robotnik into thinking that he’s a person, but Robotnik eventually convinces him that just because he isn’t living doesn’t mean he’s not real.

Stone has an opportunity to return to Macro during an attack on base. He turns down the opportunity by shooting the man in the face 🫶

Unholy

Elgatine originated from a small gold bracelet that was dropped from the god Enjorlas, the goddess of treasure, and into the valley beneath where Elgatine now is. The demon lord Zang Affol stole the bracelet and used it to raise the earth between the valley into the sky to escape the underworld. A band of “heroes” (as the legends call them) fought Zang Affol away from the sun and banished him back to the underworld, where he still lives today. The heroes formed the royal regime, and one was nicknamed “The Old King” by the future generations, as he was the first to take rule. In the future, the Temple was raised out of fear for Zang Affol returning. The Temple raises guardians of Elgatine, as demons leak out from the underworld often and attempt to hurt the people of Elgatine. Disciples of the Temple are trained in the temple and center their entire lives around becoming a guardian.

Stone, a gargoyle (one of the more holy creatures) was dropped off as a child to the temple and raised there, becoming one of their top disciples. When he’s much older, he runs into Robotnik, a shopkeep who happens to have frequent incidents with demons in his shop. Stone exorcises a demon hound for him, and returns to the temple, but can’t stop thinking about the shopkeep. He sells old artifacts and machines he’s made to keep afloat. Stone keeps getting called back due to the strange incidents, and he finds out much later on that the man he was falling in love with was a demon hiding in Elgatine. He ends up betraying the Temple in the end with Robotnik.

Extra details: For Temple disciples, hair is very important. When losing a battle your hair is cut, and Stone’s hair goes down to his waist. He typically keeps it braided. Robotnik is a cambion with wings that match Stone’s. Stone has a large scar up the side of his face and a missing horn (a crack from his gargoyle form).

Also, there’s an annual festival held by the temple (centered around the killing of demons and the celebration of their independence from Zang Affol). The tradition is for a disciple to ask a friend to come and Stone asks Robotnik, who can’t help but come for Stone— even though he can’t step foot inside the temple. The evening consists of him making excuses for why he can’t meet Stone’s elders or doesn’t want to participate in kid’s plays about killing demons.

Lucidity

Heaven and Hell want to bridge the gap between demon and angels, and decide that a project between their governments would be the best idea. Robotnik, a heaven-born angel (born and did not die), is sent down to the fifth circle of Hell and Stone, a death-born demon, is chosen to guide him through Hell.

Stone gets wrongly accused of a crime when they return to Heaven together to continue work on the project, and Robotnik decides to defend him. As per his punishment (for a crime he did not commit), he’s sentenced to a year on Earth. Robotnik is sent with him for defending Stone. This is Stone’s first time back on Earth since his life, as demons aren’t allowed to travel. Robotnik grapples with Heaven’s betrayal (of sending him to Earth) and how Stone could be so calm with being wrongly accused.

Extra Details: Robotnik is somehow even MORE of a repressed freak in this AU and because Stone grew up around zero censorship he’s a lot more comfortable making comments around Robotnik… heh…

The Aviary

In a more technologically advanced medieval setting, the sun is considered a god. The sun decides that humanity is due a new symbol and creates Stone, a man with giant wings who bleeds and cries gold. Because of this, he quickly becomes very sought after. He grows up believing that a life in captivity is normal, being passed around and bought by wealthy people, kings and queens, gamblers, hunters, etc. He’s treated as a pet, a servant, or even in some cases an experiment or a source of wealth. He’s broken free a few times but is never in the sky for long, which is where he feels the safest and at home. In present time, Stone is in the center of a table on an airship, when Robotnik (a pirate) waltzes in and bets on him. He ends up winning with Stone’s help, looking at people’s cards, and Stone believes he’s just going to be like the rest of his handlers. However, Robotnik brings him back to his own gargantuan airship titled “The Nest”, where he has his own worker bees and is determined to make Stone one of them (when in reality, he just saw Stone shivering and pathetic and decided on a spur of the moment to steal him).

Extra details: They have the obligatory scene of Stone spreading his wings and flying again, he picks up Robotnik and makes him fly with him and pretends to drop him hundreds of miles in the air.

Stone has light blue wings that blend in with the sky. He also refuses to let Robotnik touch his wings until much later. He’s also scared that Robotnik will find out that he bleeds gold and will take advantage of that as a pirate.

Robotnik refuses to send Stone out on missions the first few times as he says he’s “convinced he will fly away if given the chance”. Later on, he just flat out denies him the missions because he doesn’t want him to get hurt.

Sleep Forever

A more episodic format, Stone works at a cafe underneath someone else (and hates it) and Robotnik frequently goes there to annoy him. One night as Stone is closing, he goes into the back to retrieve something. Robotnik follows him under the guise of “keeping him safe” (he doesn’t want to be alone in the dark) and they are locked in the back room together. They have a run in with a ghost and make it out in the morning when one of Stone’s co-workers opens the door.

They face various monsters and such over the “show”, like giant spiders, shapeshifters, sirens, gorgons, secret cults and love potions (😜), body swaps and groundhog days, and everything else in your typical supernatural show that they can fix by the end of the episode.

Extra details: In one episode Stone gets possessed by an ancient demon or some shit and Robotnik doesn’t even notice 😭 It’s a turning point in their relationship as the series progresses when Robotnik realizes he has to put effort into the relationship as well or it’s not going to last.

White Space

Robotnik is the god of time. Every hair on his head represents a human life, and he has very little care for humans despite his job literally being to give them visions of the future to avoid their fates. He can see through the past, present, and future in each eye (a third on his forehead). Stone is the god of nature, but his goals clash with Robotnik’s, as he takes great pride in creating natural disasters to kill as many humans as he can.

There are multiple other gods created by the Universe inhabiting the Whitespace, Robotnik the Universe’s favorite and under the most pressure to please. So, in the beginning, Stone is his enemy. Robotnik makes no attempt to socialize whilst Stone is beloved by most of the other gods. Eventually, Stone is able to get him to crack a bit, having him tell Stone about his creations and projects. And even past that, thousands of millenia later, they become friends.

All the gods are immortal. If they’re injured beyond repair, they can “die”, living in the Blackspace for a while before returning in a new body. Stone is the first to find out he is mortal. As a god of nature, humans are slowly killing the earth and therefore Stone. He hides it for a while but it slips out eventually after one of Stone’s later deaths, physical scars appearing on his body. When Robotnik finds out, he directly defies the universe, planning to kill all humans just to save Stone.

Extra details: Gods can visit the Earth. Stone often sits in one of Robotnik’s temples to calm himself down or hang out.

Stone has a vast and silly wardrobe in this AU. He’s much more concerned with his appearance, wanting to seem more “godly” than he is (an insecurity stemming from his mortality). He regularly wears makeup, while Robotnik couldn’t care less.

While Robotnik still had long hair, he allowed Stone to take care of it. Stone ended up knotting it on purpose sometimes out of spite for humans. Eventually Robotnik cuts off all of his hair in defiance to the Universe.

The Summoning

Stone is a demon from a different realm, sneaking into the human realm for resources that sell for quite a lot in the demon realm— those resources being misery and evil. Robotnik, a human being kept captive to work on a government controlled project, stumbles across Stone. Stone gets attacked by other officials in the project, fighting well but getting badly hurt. Robotnik, curious about the strange creature, helps him away and follows him back to the demon realm. Once Stone is back in working order, he frantically tries to get Robotnik to go back, as he can’t disguise himself as human forever and demons can be dangerous. However, Robotnik feels more at home in the demon realm as he ever had in the human one. He feels more understood and refuses to go back to the human realm, and Stone takes Robotnik as his responsibility.

Extra details: Stone is a satyr-type demon, complete with a tail and goat horns hehe!!

Stone gives Robotnik a hood with a cape to disguise himself that he used to have as a kid, so it has a tail covering as well as horns (so they’re matching).

Stone is on the poorer side of the demon realm and was put into an underground fighting ring as a kid. He escaped when he was older, but it was the only way he could reliably make money (through people placing bets on him, etc) and ended up returning but prefers not to tell people about it because of shame. He has to leave to go to “work” at night and makes Robotnik promise to stay at home, but Robotnik becomes concerned when Stone comes back home every morning with bruises and cuts. He eventually finds out, makes Stone quit (getting them into a fair bit of trouble), and they move into the city. They make money off of Robotnik’s inventions instead as he began selling them while Stone was busy.

They also have a heart to heart scene when Stone asks Robotnik why he’s so willing to stay in a world that wants to kill him. Robotnik tells him the world at home was much the same, except there he didn’t have anyone who cared about him.

Strange Fixation

TW on this one for sensitive topics:

In a regular office setting, Robotnik is Stone’s boss but barely even knows of him. Stone is obsessed with his boss to an abnormal degree. He draws him in his sketchpad, ignores his work to stare, writes his name on post-it notes and sticks it to his wall, and dedicates himself to the work so everything is done well for Robotnik (often neglecting himself). He takes stalker-ish photos of Robotnik, and eventually Robotnik begins to catch on— but he’s a little into it.

Robotnik plays with him a lot once he realizes what’s going on, but doesn’t know the full extent of it. Stone doesn’t let him come over to his house even after a few dates and seeing Robotnik’s. Once Robotnik finds out about Stone’s self-harming habits “because of him”, he basically rushes Stone back to his house to take care of him, and finds the insane scrawling of everything about him all over Stone’s house. He’s decided Stone is a challenge for him to fix and it isn’t too bad to have someone drooling over every little move he makes.

Bonfire

Taking place while the two are teens, Ivo is sent to a summer camp to get out of the orphanage. He’s a huge germaphobe and hates anything related to touching grass. He refuses to let anyone near him, let alone touch him, and barely speaks, but he’s condemned to a cabin filled with bunk beds for the summer. Stone has been going to the same summer camp since he was old enough to go, and is scarily optimistic and cheery. The second he sees Ivo, he’s determined to make him his friend just like everybody else in the camp. He’s just a little harder to get through.

Ivo slowly starts to enjoy Stone’s presence, considering he’s always there. Stone gets him to try new experiences, shows him the quietest places in the woods where they can get some peace, listens to him talk about everything he’d rather be doing, and chases off the kids who are mean to him. Ivo eventually realizes that Stone only hangs out with him, though, despite Stone insisting that he’s friends with everyone here. Even the camp counselors don’t seem to like them. It’s just a prank when Stone is left alone to pick up after the teenagers smoking and drinking outside of the campgrounds, it’s a game that he has to play when campers try to aim at him with rocks, and the reason no one wants to talk to him isn’t because of his eccentricities but because it’s an “inside joke” that Ivo wouldn’t get. It’s clear to Ivo that even though Stone might be delusional, his “relationships” with the other campers are important to him, so when he’s caught snuggling up to Stone against a tree in the middle of the night, a photo passed around and accused to be gay, he doesn’t understand why Stone doesn’t care that everyone else is bullying them. He tries to distance himself from Stone to stop the rumors, but it only seems to make things worse. When Stone confronts Ivo about avoiding him, Ivo yells at Stone to just be realistic for once, and to accept the fact that they will never be good enough for other people, so it’s best to stop hanging out altogether. Obviously, Stone doesn’t take this well, and all his enjoyment for summer camp is sapped out of him.

They make up in the end, but it takes a while. Ivo just has to understand Stone’s point of view, that he doesn't care what other people think, as long as they’re together.

Extra details: Stone’s worst fear in this AU is Ivo not coming back to camp. He knows he was forced there against his will, and he knows that he would not come back if he doesn't have the “best summer ever”. So he tries his hardest to make Ivo see what makes camp so special for him. Ivo’s just extremely negative about everything.

Stone is not his name in this AU. He’s nicknamed that by the other campers because they all throw stones at him as an annual tradition LOL. He takes the nickname in pride, though, and makes sure everyone calls him it.

Rose Colored Evening

Robotnik and Stone are sent out on a data retrieval mission, arriving by car. Stone gets shot and then dies, trying to tell Robotnik something but failing to before dying. Robotnik wakes up again in the car, convinced he had a bad dream. However, things are the exact same as in his dream, and although he tries to change the outcome, Stone dies once more and doesn’t finish what he is trying to say due to Robotnik repeatedly cutting him off because he’s “going to live”. He wakes up yet again in the car and it doesn’t take long for him to realize he’s stuck in a time loop. He finds out that the loop is not triggered by him dying, but Stone, and changes his objective to protecting Stone. He believes that in making sure Stone lives until the end of the mission, he can escape from the loop. He’s sorely mistaken when they finally complete the mission without any casualties, but Robotnik wakes up again in the car before the mission.

It turns out, the solution is straight out of a crappy romcom. He has to listen to Stone’s final confession, that being that he loves Robotnik. Upon hearing it that last time, he’s able to save Stone, abandoning the mission and escaping the loop (as well as reciprocating his feelings).

Enemies Today, Friends Tomorrow

Superhero AU! Some people are just born with powers in this world, and the second the government catches wind of it, a child with powers is trained to become a superhero. This happens to Stone at a very early age, not having much contact with his family and growing up to be a leader of his team. Stone has technopathy, the power to talk to technology (as well as the ability to teleport through anything with a screen, in this AU specifically). He has support items because of this, like gloves with claws.

Robotnik also has powers, but was able to hide them until he grew older and avoided being “drafted”. He became a villain without anyone noticing who he really was, and no ties back to any family or anyone who could rat him out. He uses his robots to help him, however his power is telekinesis, which is very handy when building his creations.

Stone and Robotnik fight quite a lot, and Stone gets very close to killing him multiple times (but is held back by his team whenever they are together). He’s unable to get Robotnik’s robots to do anything as they are very resistant, although overtime they warm up to Stone and do more of what he asks them to.

Robotnik, needing a job, finds a position as a social media manager with alright enough pay for one of the hero teams. Of course it’s Stone’s, and he gets hired for the position without Stone realizing it’s his arch-enemy. They become very close in the workspace, and Stone is much kinder to Robotnik when he’s not fighting a villain version of himself. Robotnik starts valuing their relationship and begins to fear for when Stone finds out that he is the same man that Stone fights all the time.

Extra details: People already shipped Stone + Robotnik as superhero and villain, but the “unnamed social media manager” becomes part of the picture when he steals the spotlight on their twitter page.

Robotnik knows that the router will tell Stone everything that is accessed on the wifi, so he repeatedly opens up fanfictions of them to annoy him.

Stone will most likely escape the government’s leash and become villains with Robotnik by the end heh 😋👍

RE: Bunker

Here’s a quicker one, I just really like this Resident Evil AU and wanted to include it. Robotnik and Stone are married in this universe, Stone’s father working for Umbrella Corporation. Stone gets a letter from his father and goes to visit him based on a “family emergency” (which is what he tells Robotnik) and goes missing. Robotnik tears up everything trying to find him, but to no such luck. Eventually he is just convinced Stone is dead and gives up on searching for him a few years later.

During the T-virus pandemic (world-wide as in the novelization), Robotnik gets a tip from an unknown source about an island off the coast of Central America. When he goes there, he finds a bunker underground that goes on for miles and turns out to be home to many experiments from Umbrella Corporation, a project long forgotten at this point. He gets locked down in the bunker away from all civilization, and eventually finds Stone, who’s convinced he’s been turned into a monster (and has been experimented on and gone halfway insane as well as physically modified). There’s no set ending yet, but I’d like to think they fell in love a second time heh 😙

[that-annoying-ass-hellspaw]

Ghoulish (In)correct Quotes #35

*starring my OC* *regular vaccination day* Quint: *shouting towards the top of the cathedral at Phantom* Phantom, you come down this instant or I’ll personally come and get you and trust me, you won’t like it! Phantom: *hissing* NO. YOU ARE NOT INJECTING ME WITH THAT HUMAN SCIENCE SHIT! Quint: I can inject you with whatever I want, and if you don’t wanna live in fear of catching some “human science shit” sickness you better come down here and grit your teeth for a damn minute! Phantom: YOU CAN GO FUCKING SUCK IT. Quint: *rubbing his forehead* Lucifer, help me. Mountain: I wonder where he picked that up from. Swiss: What, the fear of needles? Mountain: The vocabulary. Swiss: God fucking knows. Mountain: Ah. Quint: Don’t make me fly up there, Phantom! Phantom: YOU CAN’T FUCKING CATCH ME! Quint: I can shoot you with an air rifle. Phatom: THAT WON’T DO SHIT! Quint: You cry when there's a bit more pepper in your soup. I believe this will hurt you real good. And if that doesn’t work, the fall nose-first on the pavement will. Phantom: YOU WANNA FUCKING KILL ME! Quint: I wanna save you from potential health hazards but you’re being extremely difficult. Phatom: AND CRACKING MY SKULL OPEN ISN’T A HEALTH HAZARD???? Quint: You know what they say, those who fly high, fall down low. Now get down before I snipe you down. Phantom: YOU’RE A FUCKING PSYCHO! Quint: Whatever gets you down. Swiss: How long do you think this will go on? Mountain: How long did it take Tom to try human food? Swiss: Pfff- about two weeks? He started losing sleep over his stomach grumbling. Moutain. Yeah, I’ll bet on that. Swiss: What, two weeks? Mountain: Yep. Swiss: How much? Mountain: 50. Swiss: Bet. I say 2 minutes. Mountain: 2 minutes??? Swiss: Yeah, Aether just went to fetch the rifle. Mountain: You think that’ll actually work? Swiss: Mhmmm. Mountain: I doubt it. Swiss: Let’s see. *Aether brings Quint the air rifle and Phantom notices it* Phantom: *screeching* FUCKING SHIT MAN, YOU’RE SERIOUS! Quint: I’m always serious. Now don’t make me start shooting. Phantom: SHIT SHIT FINE ALRIGHT- JUST-JUST- *flies down* just make it quick, yeah? Quint: *chuckles and pats his head comfortingly* You think I’d actually hurt you? Phantom: Well- Quint: The fuck you mean “well”? Mountain: *gives Swiss a 50*

[dailymaskytim]

WAIT. GRISPS YOU. I NEED TO SEE MORE OF YOUR LIL SCRIBBLE MASKY DESIGN. I LIKE HER.A LOT.

im guessing this is how she sees herself in headspace ? or how she looks to tim ? im really curious !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I WANTED TO DRAW PICTURES FOR THIS BUT IM TOO BUSY GRRR okok. Yes. Yes it is how she views herself in headspace. Or maybe less what she views herself as and a more what she is. BUT. Specifically the scribble exists when tim is 16. Think of the same wax being melted down over and over against and pressed into different moulds. Bare with me now

By the nature of masky’s being her form is (was) extremely fluid. She was born to fit a niche in Tim’s brain and as he grows and changes what he needs from that bit also grows and changes. Her form changes but in a weird way I think she had been relatively blind to it, or just blindly accepting. Her changes were changes that tim subconsciously facilitated and thus they must be ok with her. She lives for him. Everything she does is for him. Up to a point…

You see. Once she and tim were in college they had real access to peers their age, something they hadn’t had since very early childhood. suddenly there was a “correct” way to look/act/be that wasn’t enforced on them by doctors, but by the nature of the people around them. People she could feel that tim wanted to connect with. And slowly she morphed into this thing closer resembling of the other students. Smoothed out and vivid with bones and teeth and actual growing hair!! Maybe this change wasn’t Tim’s doing. In some way I think it was selfish. This longing for his dependence on her. Subconsciously trying to fill a niche she was now too small for. Even if he was surly I think tim was happiest in college and this guilty awful little part of her hated herself for no longer being what he needed. Tim’s wants for other people amplified her wants for him.

In her despair Masky grew quiet and small, still human. something akin to what tim had been when she first formed. Taking care of small things when she could but feeling wholly useless and now trapped in a form which she felt no true kinship. And with nothing else to do but observe she came to know his friends and even love them.

I think Brian was her tipping point, not his budding friendship with tim (as masky had passively watched it as she did everything now, barely even able to pick up on Tim’s complicated rush of emotions), but instead the physical closeness between brian and their shared body. Not in a sexual way, just these baseline intimacies that neither she nor tim grew up with. There’s a specific scene in my head. Brian leaning against Tim’s chest and shoulder while they’re watching a movie together. And suddenly masky is in front. Brian is on her chest, her shoulder. And just for a moment she feels needed and loved again. She fully understands that she is a being with wants. A person with wants. And, more importantly, a person who can feel fulfillment. Her form becomes completely human and this time it can’t even be melted down again. Now she can hold people and feel at home in her physical body. Because it’s her body too now. This time when she retreats back into the shadows and tim “wakes up” masky holds onto the physical sensations. Pleased with herself for the first time

[tapestryundone]

when the god was made in the image of a man who infiltrated the mind of said god and in doing so made himself intertwined with the form that god took while also being the cause of that form creating a infinite feedback loop of what caused the god and his creator to evoke the very image of the death the creator feared through the form of an animal representing that concept, and the god has faint, undeniably human characteristics given to him by his creator while his creator retained none of it. fuck

[the-real-couchrat]

Messy doodles of @vallis-cineris---wanderer’s Wings AU

I also made some headcannons!

Dipper’s cat like behaviors would be more disturbing to the Wings AU’s humans that the TAU canons, because of their bird instincts. (idk though, I don’t know how deep the behaviors go in the wings AU

He still purrs, it just freaks people out more (I know that there are many bird species that make purring noises out of contentment, but I’m just going to ignore that so he can be extra special)

All humans have a row of small, hard structures for preening under their lips (in front of the teeth, but very easily hidden bc they’re higher up than where the lips rise)

MAYBE there would be common tools to make preening easier, kind of like a hairbrush. (This makes sense to me in a world building sense, but I don’t really want this to be the case bc it could take away from cute moments)

Dipper’s coat TAILs behave like a cats, despite any anatomical limits.

[mad-hunts]

richard silken, editor's pages: black telephone | molly brown, places i've taken my body: essays | hael, who made you a monster? | j.h., to be discovered via @fairytellings | heiner müller, anatomy titus fall of rome | albert camus, caligula

[thelotusrabbit]

DpxDc #16

No more white tee

Surprisingly, not a lot changed for Danny after the portal incident.

He came back relatively healthy, something extremely surprising given his halfa status.

The little, small detail that was really a mild inconvenience was… the nosebleeds.

Heavy ones, where the blood would come down his throat, making him swallow continuously while trying to stop the liquid from pouring out or going into his lungs.

Frostbite explained it was like when people get nosebleeds due to the change in temperature, his ghost side being too cold and reacting to his human side being too warm.

Nothing he couldn’t endure, since it wasn’t something that happened on a daily basis.

What, on the other hand, was an inconvenience was the sheer amount of blood and the dramatic look of it.

The liquid would suddenly start dripping, staining his teeth and making him spit up the blood that would make its way into his mouth. He would often double over, trying not to make anything drip on his shirt, but that would make the blood run faster…

It was a mess.

Now in Gotham (or any other city, your choice how or why), he was wandering the streets, not even trying to stop the blood at this point, as it reached the end of his now unsavable shirt.

[yukioos]

Your writing is so good im eating up every little bit hsesuritvjhb

can I request a Katsuki x windquirk!reader? Hes tired and sweaty after training and comes into readers dorm to cool off with cuddles cuz shes basically a human fan thank you!

katsuki bakugo who relies on you to cool him off

treat it like it's the real thing. katsuki was always told that ever since he was a little boy. when he had to practice for sports events, his parents always advised him to play like he was really in the game. when he studied and did quizzes in school, he did his best to get all of them right. this wasn’t any different from training.

he always tried his hardest, and especially harder when he was against eijiro, who he considered to be one of the strongest in the class. while training, he and eijiro were one of the pairs that were the most entertaining to watch. it always ended in both of them being covered in sweat and many scratches, bruises, and cuts.

this time, after a couple of rounds of trying to push each other out of a large boxed arena, katsuki finally won. eijiro applauded him and placed a hand on his sweat-soaked shoulder, making him immediately pull his hand back.

“thanks for training with me, bakugo!” eijiro thanked, showing off his shiny, sharp teeth with a wide grin.

the blonde rolled his eyes and attempted to hold back a smile, “yeah, whatever.” he paused, then thought for a moment. damn, he needed to see you, he was soaked in sweat and felt like the sun was burning him a hundred times over. he looked at the ground, and his lip turned into a shy smile.

a knowing grin stretched across eijiro’s face, he tilted his head and crossed his arms. he knew that look. “thinking about your girl again?”

katsuki’s eyes widened, then quickly glared at his friend. when would he stop with all this teasing? before he opened his mouth, eijiro suggested, “i know you need her to cool you off, just go to her.”

the blonde rolled his eyes, he knew his friend was right. he gave him a small wave and jogged to your dorm, still panting on his way there. god, he was feeling too hot. too overwhelmed. how long has it been since he’s seen you last? two hours? that was clearly too long of a break, and he just wanted to be held in your arms again.

your door opened in the middle of nowhere, causing you to quickly and anxiously turn your head. the wind in your room was strong as papers and books began to fly all over the room. a heavy schoolbook quickly flew to the doorframe, but your boyfriend caught it, then shielded his eyes from the heavy wind.

once you realized it was him, you smiled and kicked your feet. as the wind began to become less intense, your hair spiked up, a sign that meant you were feeling extreme emotions. the blonde stood in the doorway before he walked in, quietly closed the door, made a short trip to your desk to place your schoolbook down, and then stripped himself of his black tank top.

“come here, kats!” you exclaimed, laying on your bed, back to your sheets as you held your arms out.

he didn’t say anything but quickly climbed into your bed, and wrapped his arms around your waist. a deep sigh came from his chest, and he immediately felt a wave of relief and coldness. you used your quirk to cool him off, and rubbed your hands against his bare back, making him feel more comfortable than ever.

katsuki kissed your neck and closed his eyes, not saying a single word. he must’ve been extremely tired if he didn’t have any complaints about training or anything to brag about.

but as soon as you were about to open your mouth, you noticed his breathing was even. all the sweat droplets on his body were gone, and his eyes were closed. it wasn’t too common for him to pass out immediately after training, but maybe he was especially emotional today.

he didn’t tell you that he fell asleep around you so easily because he felt safe around you. the way you were always so caring and excited to simply cool him down warmed his heart every time. he loved how as soon as you saw the slightest sign that he may have been overheated, you would place a hand on his bicep or forehead to cool him down.

not long after katsuki fell asleep, you also drifted into slumber, holding his cool body in your arms.

tysm for 900 followers! you guys are so amazing, and thank you for this request! it’s absolutely adorable, and i’m so thankful you love my writing!

[riddlesrose]

special features

w/ azul, jamil, leona, & malleus

in which he has a certain feature that remind you a lot of nature's creatures, but it's cute. a lot cuter.

a.n; i think jamil kind of does have tiny fangs of some kind, or just longer (??) canine teeth, but take it as a headcanon of sorts. fact, lets call all of these headcanons!

enjoy this while i work on something bigger;))))

azul has blue blood coursing through his veins. the transformation potions he consumes are enough to physically change his body from an eight-legged sea creature to a human, walking on land with two legs, but even with the physical changes, azul is still at home in the sea.

you found out about his blue blood not far into knowing him, but not because he injured himself or told you– no, you had flustered the poor housewarden half to death. his face blossomed into a light blue hue that caught your attention, causing you to point it out.

"i am an octopus at the end of the day, dear. we have blue blood, not red!"

jamil takes caution to deter attention from the two prominent, sharp canine teeth that resemble snake fangs. he's spent years training himself not to smile too wide, not to yawn in public, and definitely not to point them out. he's never been particularly ashamed of them, just takes extra caution to not alarm or startle anyone, especially young children like many of kalim's siblings or his own younger sister.

he's gotten used to them over the years, but when you innocently ask about them, he's suddenly a little bit shy. he pulls the collar of his hoodie over his chin, covering most of his mouth, resulting in his fangs being hidden from your curious view.

"i was born with them, they're nothing special."

leona's eyes slit and expand like a common house cat when he's surprised or extremely pleased. he denies it every time someone brings it up, but he's usually unbothered by the curious looks he gets, as he's use to them. and really, no one would dare piss off a prince. especially a prince like leona.

when you take notice to leona's fluctuating pupils, you realize he's a lot nicer than the front he puts up. he particularly notice he's not so opposed to your presence, his pupils expand a lot when you're around, they quickly slit when someone tries to bug him, and they're dangerously sharp when someone wakes him up prematurely from a nap. but they're always somewhat blown wide when he's within an arms reach, it's almost comical how you didn't notice them sooner.

"one word, and you're banned from savanaclaw, herbivore."

malleus had never realized he's able to purr. not until you came along. he's never had someone he's been so comfortable with, someone he feels so free around. the first time it happened, you were relaxing in his room, content with drawing messy shapes on his hand.

the rumbling had you believing a storm was brewing, but malleus was in a good mood, and the sky was clear of any angry clouds. you were confused until he came closer, attempting to inspect the sky, he gently leant on your back. that's when you felt the rumble that emitted from malleus's chest.

"i simply had no idea i was capable of that, it's fascinating."

masterlist

[wonderjanga]

What if when Billy gets put behind the x-ray and Batman's like "where are your bones" Billy panics, so bones appear, except, Billy doesnt actually? Know? How human bones work? So like, he just has a lot of bones under the x-ray now, except there are way too many and also that's not how ones are supposed to look like and fit in the human body??? Why is his whole torso from neck to butt covered in spines??? They're only supposed to be at the chest!

Marvel’s biology is strange. Batman knows that. After all, he and Martian Manhunter oversee the medical examinations of heroes. For some reason though, J’onn isn’t too concerned about it even though he definitely should be. That might be because of the fact J’onn’s a shapeshifter but still. Like…

Batman: “Say ah, Captain.”

Marvel: “Aaaaaaaah…”

Batman: *puts a popsicle stick on his tongue and looks around his mouth*

Marvel: “I’ evrythg gud? (Is everything good?)”

Batman: “Captain… Why do your teeth extend past your throat?”

Marvel: “Wha?”

Batman: “Why do your teeth continue past the normal amount until they disappear down your throat?” *gets a little flash light and peers it into Billy’s throat*

Marvel: “I’ tha no norma? (Is that not normal?)”

Batman: “No? Maybe?” *takes the popsicle stick away and turns off the flashlight*

Marvel: “How many teeth do normal people have?”

Batman: “32.”

Marvel: “Oh, okay. Check again.” *opens his mouth and he now has 32 normal teeth before closing it back up* “Is that better?”

Batman: “It is for humans.”

Marvel: “Oh, well then that’s good because I’m an adult human male aren’t I?”

Batman: Why are you asking me?

The fact that Marvel had to ask if he was an adult human male was extremely offputting.

or

Supes: *using X-ray vision on Billy* “Cap, why do you only have lungs, a heart and a brain?”

Marvel: “What do you mean?”

Supes: “I mean, you only have lungs, a heart, and a brain. How are you standing?”

Marvel: “Uh…”

Supes: “Is that normal for your species or something?”

Marvel: What do you mean species? I’m human?”

Supes: “Then how…?”

Marvel: “Can you show me a photo of human bodily innards?”

Supes: *confused at the suddenness of the question* “Why?”

Marvel: “Just cause.”

Supes: “Okay…” *shows him*

Random Bystander: *sees this and immediately thinks the two are gore fanatics*

Marvel: “Thanks! Now check again.”

Supes: “Woah… how do you do that?”

Marvel: “Well, I’m a human adult male. Aren’t I supposed to have those organs?”

Later, when Marvel told Flash about that incident…

Flash: “Geez, Cap. It’s like you were built by a kid!”

Marvel: “Ha ha ha… I know, right?”

JL: *laughing*

Marvel: *awkward laughing*

Batman: *sees the awkward laughing*

Bruce somehow came up with the theory that Marvel was built by a child God and that’s why his biology was weird despite the fact he claimed to be a human adult male. But then again, if he was built by a child God, would they want him to tweak his creation every single time he wishes to be more human?

[mahalachives]

How Not to Survive an Illyrian Winter

Pairing: Azriel x Human Mate (reader)

Genre: Slice of Life, Fluff

Summary: When a blizzard rolls through Windhaven, you learn firsthand just how brutal Illyrian winters can be—and how soft Azriel can be when it comes to you. Cold fingers, warm jackets, grumpy shadows, and one very flustered spymaster.

You'd always heard that Illyrian winters were brutal. What you hadn't realized was that "brutal" was a massive understatement.

Standing outside the war camp's central meeting hall, you hugged yourself tighter as another gust of snow-laden wind cut through your woefully inadequate cloak. When Azriel had mentioned bringing you along to Windhaven, you'd packed what you thought was appropriate winter attire.

Apparently, "winter attire" in Velaris and "winter attire" in the Illyrian Mountains were two entirely different concepts.

"It'll just be a quick meeting," he'd said with that rare, small smile that still made your heart flutter. "Wait for me outside. The camp lords get tetchy when outsiders sit in."

That was two hours ago.

Your teeth chattered so violently you worried they might crack. You'd long since lost feeling in your toes, and your fingers had progressed from painful to alarmingly numb. The snow had begun falling harder, creating white walls of wind that obscured everything beyond ten feet.

"This is f-f-fine," you muttered to yourself, stamping your feet in a futile attempt to generate warmth. "T-totally f-fine."

A passing Illyrian warrior, bundled in thick furs and leathers, shot you an incredulous look that clearly said. No, you idiot, this is not fine.

You glared back, though the effect was probably ruined by how pathetically you were shivering.

Just as you were contemplating whether it would be worse to interrupt Azriel's important meeting or to slowly freeze into a human popsicle, the door to the hall slammed open.

Azriel stood in the doorway, his expression shifting from irritation (presumably at whatever had transpired in the meeting) to absolute horror when he spotted you.

"What in the name of the Mother—" He was across the space between you in three long strides, shadows writhing agitatedly around him.

You attempted a smile. "H-hi."

"Are you—" He reached for you, then hissed when his fingers touched your cheek. "You're freezing!"

"C-curious observation, s-s-shadowsinger," you managed through chattering teeth.

The shadows around his hands seemed to darken and multiply, whispering what sounded like curses in languages you didn't recognize. For a moment, you swore they formed tiny, angry little faces that scolded the wind.

"Why didn't you go inside somewhere? Any building would have been better than standing out in this!" His voice was gentle but firm as he rapidly unfastened his heavy leather jacket.

"Y-you said wait outside the m-meeting hall."

Azriel paused in the middle of removing his jacket, those hazel eyes widening. "I meant wait outside the meeting, not outside in a blizzard!"

You blinked snowflakes from your lashes. "Oh."

With a noise that was half exasperation and half concern, he shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around you. Instantly, delicious warmth enveloped you – the leather practically radiated heat, the blue siphons embedded in the shoulders glowing subtly.

"You enchanted your jacket?" you asked, already feeling the painful tingle of circulation returning to your extremities.

"Of course I did. It's the Illyrian Mountains in winter," he said, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. His shadows continued their angry whispers, now seemingly directed at you.

"Are your shadows... lecturing me?"

A hint of color touched his cheeks. "They're concerned."

"They sound cranky."

"They hate seeing you in distress," he muttered, the admission clearly costing him something. Before you could tease him further, he bent and swept you into his arms as if you weighed absolutely nothing.

You squeaked in surprise. "Azriel! Put me down! I can walk!"

"Your lips are blue, your clothes are soaked through, and you've probably lost feeling in your feet," he countered, already striding through the snow. His massive wings unfurled partially to shield you from the worst of the wind. "So no, you cannot walk."

The few Illyrians out braving the storm quickly stepped aside, their expressions ranging from amusement to outright shock at seeing their intimidating spymaster carrying a shivering human through camp.

One brave warrior called out something in their native tongue that made Azriel's ears redden.

"What did he say?" you asked, snuggling deeper into the wonderful warmth of his jacket.

"Nothing important," Azriel replied too quickly.

You poked his chest. "Liar."

His lips twitched. "He said I've gone soft."

"Well, your jacket is very soft," you agreed, deliberately misunderstanding. "The big bad shadowsinger has a comfortable jacket. Shocking."

That earned you a rare chuckle as he pushed open the door to a small cabin with his foot. Inside was blessedly warm, a fire already crackling in the hearth.

He set you down gently on a chair near the fire, kneeling to remove your soaked boots. "You need to get out of these wet clothes."

When you waggled your eyebrows suggestively, he gave you a flat look. "Not like that."

"Spoilsport," you teased, but your attempt at humor was ruined by another violent shiver.

His expression sobered instantly. "You could have gotten seriously ill." His scarred hands cradled your frozen ones with infinite gentleness. "Why didn't you find shelter?"

"You told me to wait," you said simply. "I didn't want to miss you."

Something in his expression softened, and the shadows around him stilled their frantic movement. "Next time, assume that 'don't freeze to death' is implied in all of my instructions."

"I'll make a note of that," you promised, your lips curving into a smile as feeling returned to your face.

He disappeared into another room, returning with a pile of blankets and dry clothes that would clearly swallow you whole. "These will be too big, but they're warm."

As he helped you change – turning his back with endearing propriety when necessary – you couldn't help but observe, "Your shadows are still grumbling."

"They're saying I should have checked on you sooner." His voice was quiet, laced with guilt. "They sensed your discomfort but couldn't reach me through the wards in the meeting hall."

"Well, tell them I'm fine now. Just a bit chilly."

He raised an eyebrow. "'A bit chilly' doesn't turn someone's lips blue."

Once you were bundled in dry clothes and wrapped in multiple blankets, he sat beside you, hesitating only briefly before putting an arm around you.

"Your shadows are still muttering," you pointed out, leaning into his solid warmth.

"They're arguing about whether to tell Cassian."

You straightened in alarm. "Don't you dare. He'll never let me live it down."

The corner of Azriel's mouth lifted. "I think they're more concerned with whether he'll let me live it down for leaving my... for leaving you in a blizzard."

You caught that little slip, that unfinished word that hung between you, and tucked it away to examine later. "Your what, exactly?"

His wings shifted behind him – a nervous tell you'd begun to recognize. "My responsibility," he said finally.

"Hmm." You settled more comfortably against him. "Well, tell your shadows that if they snitch to Cassian, I'll find a way to make them regret it."

To your delight, the shadows actually seemed to recoil slightly, curling back toward Azriel's hands.

"They're suddenly reconsidering," he said, and you swore you could hear amusement in his voice.

"Good." You yawned, the warmth and safety making your eyelids heavy. "I'm very intimidating, you know."

"Terrifying," he agreed, his arm tightening around you. "Especially when you're blue with cold and buried under every blanket I own."

"Exactly," you mumbled, sleep beginning to claim you. "The most fearsome creature in all of Prythian."

As you drifted off, you felt the gentle press of lips against your temple and heard him whisper, "To me, you certainly are."

Author's Note: Just a little snowy slice of fluff starring everyone's favorite brooding shadowsinger and a very cold (but very stubborn) you. May the shadows always bring you blankets. 💙❄️

Outside, the wind howled, but you were warm, safe, and held by an Illyrian warrior whose shadows had finally stopped scolding the weather and started singing you to sleep instead.

End.

[revelboo]

The speed in which you crank out fics is concerning. Like, I appreciate it WHOLLY, but are you good? R u ok?

Rest is overrated, I run on stress and coffee. Yes, I’m good. I can write short form like this pretty quickly if I’m not at work or busy.

Humans Are Weird/Cute Headcanons

Humans elicit one of two reactions in Cybertronians. It’s not like they haven’t seen organic life before, but the fact that we look vaguely like most Cybertronians in form? Our faces, our body shapes, two legs and two arms just like them? It either creates an unconscious association that we look like tiny, organic Cybertronians or that the similarities are just unsettling. Compounding it is the way we move, the gestures we use that are so eerily like their own. To make it worse, we’re just so helpless compared to them. Fragile. There’s a tendency to react to us like we would a newborn kitten. And for that protectiveness to eventually slide into possessiveness.

TFP Knockout

• Primus. The first time he saw you in full racing leathers, boots, gloves, and that helmet, he just stopped short in surprise. Thinks of the rare times he’d seen minicons and how you look like one instead of just another squishy, little human. And while he’d initially just been invested in figuring out how an inferior, little human beat him in a race, it doesn’t take long for him to start looking forward to those almost nightly meetings. It becomes less about winning and more about the bull session between you two after. Enjoying when you stand up to him, argue with him, even though you must realize he could hurt you so easily if he wanted to.

IDW Bumblebee

• It’s honestly such a pleasant surprise how tactile humans are. You seem to have no sense of personal space and he loves it, because it’s less lonely when you’re near. You don’t mind being picked up and carried, your little frame so warm in his hands or cradled against him. Always so curious, your little hands exploring his servos, while you smile to yourself. Then holding out your own hands so he can carefully manipulate them with a single servo. It’s like a game between you, showing off your little, blunt teeth so he will bare his denta for you as you sit on his thigh.

IDW Bluestreak

• Knows he can be a bit annoying to some bots, but you never seem bothered by his chatter. Actually asking him questions, interacting and it means so much to him when you stretch out against him, laying a cheek on him to listen to the sound of his voice rumbling through you. Liking it when he talks, wanting to be near him. The big surprise, though? How protective you are of him, not even thinking twice about throwing a shoe at Sunny for making a rude comment aimed at him, your little face red as you snarl at the much bigger bot, who’s too shocked at the outburst to respond.

IDW Starscream

• Having so little to call his own, he’s extremely possessive of you. It doesn’t hurt that you’re always happy to see him, greeting him when he returns from patrol, fussing over his injuries like you’re trying to take care of him. No conniving or plotting in you and no ulterior motives for seeking out his company. Aside from leeching body heat, and he hardly minds that, enjoys the feel of you sprawled against him, the peaceful silence.

TFP Soundwave

• Even though he initially took you because of the effect your strange organic thoughts have on him to try and understand why he can’t shut you out, it’s impossible to stay impartial. Every day he tries to inoculate himself against your thoughts, strengthening that connection through touch. And when you start reaching for him in return it’s a surprise. Eventually you sing for him not because he asked you to in an effort to distract you and focus your thoughts on something so they’re less painful to him, but because you want to. Because you think it makes him happy and it does.

ES Megatron

• He’d never paid much attention to humans until he’d met Dorothy, he’d fought alongside her and suddenly humanity wasn’t just something vaguely annoying getting in his way, under ped. It’s harder to not care after getting to know humans. Harder to not be overprotective about you after making it his mission to look after you. And maybe he’s a bit overzealous about it, because you’re not Dorothy. She can stand on her own and take care of herself, but you? You need him.

IDW Optimus

• He’s so used to being bigger than most Autobots. Of being looked up to, but you’re even tinier than they are. Small enough to carry in one hand even though he’s awkward about asking you to let him carry you at first. But after the spark twisting anxiety of watching you walking where bigger Cybertronians are walking? Seeing it not even occur to you that you might get stepped on? He insists on carrying you for your own safety, though, truth be told, he enjoys the feel of you in his servos, that little bemused smile you aim at him.

IDW Thundercracker

• He feels guilty sometimes about taking you, but it’s for the best even if you’re upset now. He’s seen enough movies to know how to coax you, win you over. He became obsessed with human love stories, the drama and romance. And he wants that for himself. Needs it. So he tries different tactics, little gifts and acts meant to convince you to love him. It’s so easy in the movies.

TFP Megatron

• The game you two play has become something of a guilty pleasure of his. Watching you pretend. Pushing you to see how far you’ll allow before you snap at him. Pretending you aren’t scared of him, though he’s seen the fear in your eyes once or twice and while it had amused him at first, he prefers you snarling back at him, all attitude. Your fear twists unpleasantly through him, but that angry defiance? So lovely.

IDW Soundwave

• He never meant to get so attached to you after he’d found you in Starscream’s quarters that day. You’re just so small and you’d looked at him in fear, your wild emotions almost crippling him since he couldn’t shut it out. Even after you calmed, days later, he finds himself reaching out a thought. Finding you and monitoring you from a distance. Again and again until he’d finally had to check on you in person again. After all, what did Starscream really know about caring for anyone, let alone a human. And that hesitant, little smile had warmed him when you’d looked up at him.

IDW Jazz

• The fact that you can see through his lies and will call him out on it? It’s a surprise and a relief. Letting down his defenses, letting you in takes time. He’s worn that smiling, carefree mask for so long. But he slowly lets it fall away when it’s just the two of you, feeling the absence of that weight he’d carried for so long. Getting to know who he is under the facade.

IDW Prowl

• Has to protect you since you don’t seem to understand just how small and delicate you are. Standing up to him and any other bot with zero fear. Something about that reckless anger calls to him. Around the other Autobots, he has to be the one in control, the one with a plan no matter what. Never allowed to falter or hesitate. You spark his own temper, making it easier to drop the act. Be frustrated or angry when it’s just you two. Be real.

Next

[lavandulawrites]

Cares

Yandere Kinich x reader

This idea came to me suddenly and I just had to write it down asap.

Synopsis: Ajaw has finally found someone he considers his friend. He is however not the only one. The normally arrogant dragon, finds it fascinating how Kinich is spiralling deep into love and obsession.

Masterlist

Warnings: written in Ajaw’s point of view, Ajaw sees reader as both a friend and a motherly figure, murder, dismembering, Kinich is both down bad and insane, Ajaw cares (?!), drugging, abduction

Word count: 1058

Ajaw found the black haired man to be extremely annoying. He rarely showed any signs of hurt by his remarks and he put him in timeout way too often. He was in other words stupid and a sorry excuse of a man. Ajaw could feel himself greying in anger at the thought of his dismissal. You however, were different. You were kind (nauseating so) and you always brought Ajaw tasty snacks (as he deserved naturally). You entertained him in various means, unlike a certain useless man.

You were the only human Ajaw tolerated. And he made it known to you. For that’s how kind the Almighty Dragonlord was. To both his dismay and his curiosity, he was not the only one who thought highly of you. Oh, far from it.

Ajaw tried to stay out of human concerns as much as possible (it was after all offensive to his greatness to be a associated with humans), but he found it fascinating how much Kinich cared for you. He would always bring you food if you had forgotten to bring any, put on sunscreen for you (Ajaw found it gross how Kinich’s face reddened at the feel of your skin, he could sometimes swear he could see him wetting his lips like a hungry dog. Disgusting), take you on picnics and buy you gifts. The great dragon never got such nice things from him, even when he had been on his best behaviour.

When Kinich had managed to persuade you to try bungee jumping with him, Ajaw had for the first time in his life not had the desire to cut the rope and let you fall straight down with a splat. It was a weird feeling.

Conflict always seemed to rise whenever you were conversing with someone who wasn’t Ajaw nor Kinich. Ajaw was only offended that you speared another human your time instead of bringing him snacks, but Kinich was seething. His jaw was clenched so hard Ajaw could almost hear his teeth breaking in half. His fist tight causing the veins on his arms to stand out like a sore thumb. He clearly always intimidated the stranger enough that he or she left in a hurry. Had Ajaw not been as strong and amazing as he was, he would himself have been frightened.

Your naivety and kindness was something that clearly troubled his servant. He always worried about you and always came up with poor excuses to see you (be it meeting you or watching from the shadows). Normally would Ajaw not help him, no he would rather have sabotaged him, but since it was you he lend him his hand. You were clearly rather weak compared to the raven haired man and himself. Shorter than Kinich and not a fighter. Which was something the hazel eyed man seemed to appreciate.

Following you around became an everyday occurrence and Ajaw for once helped Kinich. When Kinich asked him for his help to orchestra a dangerous situation where he would come in and save the day, he didn’t think twice before agreeing.

He still wanted his body, but it was no longer his main focus. It was a strange shift in his behaviour, but not unwelcome. It was nice to have a friend after all.

Months had passed and both him and Kinich had gotten closer to you. It was clear as day to Ajaw that the ancient name bearer was head over heels. Especially when he caught him sniffing some clothes he had stolen from you. Ajaw never let that go and tormented him with it whenever he saw fit.

It was a lazy sunny afternoon when Kinich came barging into their home. His eyes were blown wide in rage and his limbs shaking. Ajaw was an expert in recognising blood thirst and Kinich oozed of it.

“The fuck are you barging in for, you useless fool?!” the dragon trumped his foot angrily on the air.

“Shut up, Ajaw. I need your help.”

“Don’t talk to the Almighty Dragonlord like that!! I should teach you a lesson! And why on earth should I help you?” he crossed his arms and raised a brow.

“It’s regarding [Name]” he didn’t need to say more for Ajaw to agree to help.

The forest was thick and dark. Mist covered the ground as far as they could see. Kinich had swung his claymore without his help and already ended the puny man’s life. That was he got for being a treat to your well being he had said. Ajaw had to agree.

Kinich dragged the body through the forest creating a bloody trail behind them. The metallic scent hung heavy in the air causing Ajaw to bare his teeth. Such an awful smell.

The man was as useless in death as he was alive. Heavy he was too, judging by the laboured breathing of the normally strong man.

The body was thrown on a makeshift table of old wooden planks. Thin fingers ran over the many knifes and cleavers in the worn knife roll. It was obvious to the yellow dragon that this wasn’t the first time Kinich had dismembered someone. It was a mystery just how many he had slain in the name of protecting you.

With a giddy smile, Ajaw watched as he lifted the sharp cleaver and started working. The blade easily cut through the flesh. With furrowed brows he worked around the bones with the precision of the most talented butcher. It was an eerie sight; the black haired drenched in blood.

After about an hour or so, he was finished. “Do you know of a good place to dispose of this?” he asked the dragon.

He watched through his sunglasses of your struggle. It was fascinating how you thought you could overpower the taller man in your drugged state. Kinich was clearly irritated which made the sight even more entertaining. It had been so fast. Before you know it you were drugged by the juice Kinich had so kindly offered you and brought home to the two of them. Not that Ajaw was on to complain. He found your company enjoyable and he even cared for you.

He couldn’t wait to see how this would unfold. What would happen first? Would you accept your fate or would Kinich finally, properly snap?

Only time would tell.

[mournthebird]

Gentle Hand.

summary: Soldat has a panic attack.

warnings: Post!HYDRA Winter Soldier | Post!HTP and abuse | PTSD symptoms & behavior | Panic attacks | Brief medical treatments | Flashbacks of HTP | Past dehumanization | Brief mention of SA

a/n: This was supposed to be posted before the other one I just posted, but I got impatient lol. So it might sound a little out of order, once I have all these parts out I'll put them in order. He's getting through it, you're being patient. Unedited. ;; wc: 3.4k

There were a lot of complicated things with Soldat.

Significant complications with his health, for starters, which caught you off guard given his status as a super soldier. You had initially assumed that his enhanced physiology would grant him a far greater resilience compared to an ordinary human, as had been proven with the likes of Steve Rogers. However, the treatment from HYDRA had somehow managed to infiltrate his system so profoundly and extensively that it had wreaked havoc on his entire physiological makeup, leaving him in a severely compromised state.

The issue of malnourishment was addressed through a carefully planned regimen of intravenous treatments, much to Soldat’s dislike. This approach was complemented by a gradual reintroduction to solid foods, a process that required meticulous attention and patience. The goal was to slowly accustom his system to regular nutrient intake without overwhelming his weakened digestive tract. Not to mention the fact that Soldat often refused food or that his body simply could not handle it, even in small amounts.

Honestly, re-feeding him was a whole other problem you had to tackle.

A similar strategy was employed to combat his severe dehydration and restore proper fluid balance. You also noticed that he experienced significant difficulty in swallowing, a symptom that hinted at potential damage to his esophageal tract or neurological complications affecting his ability to consume liquids normally.

Then, there were the myriad of wounds that covered his body. Stubborn injuries that had been persisting for a duration that far exceeded your initial expectations and caused you considerable worry. You found a small measure of solace in the fact that the majority of these injuries, while numerous, consisted primarily of superficial cuts and bruising.

Treating these wounds was far from easy. His behavior during treatment sessions mirrored a cornered wild animal, skittish and unpredictable, making each attempt at care a delicate and often extremely stressful. You didn’t want to stress him any further than he probably was in a stranger’s home, with a stranger, but you needed to at the very least keep the wounds from bleeding everywhere.

He lashed out at you with his metal arm, swinging wildly without any real force behind it. You could instantly discern that his actions were driven by sheer terror rather than malice. His eyes were wide with panic, darting frantically around the room, and it was evident that he wasn't actively trying to cause you harm. As you approached with the antiseptic and gauze, he bared his teeth in a defensive snarl and let out a feral hiss, his metal arm swinging once more in a desperate attempt to keep you at bay.

He had backed himself into the corner of your bathroom, the face he couldn’t go anywhere was frightening him just as much as you were. "Easy there, Soldat," you murmured, your voice steady and reassuring. "You're not scaring me. These wounds need to be cleaned and treated." Your words were calm and gentle, but they seemed to do little to soothe his frayed nerves.

In another display of agitation, he swung his arm downward, connecting with your tile floor. The impact was forceful enough to shatter the tiles into several jagged pieces, the sound of breaking ceramic echoing through the room. He fixed you with a glare that was clearly meant to be intimidating, but you could see right through it. His expression was a forced mask of hatred, a poor attempt at appearing dangerous. He was trying so hard to maintain this façade of aggression, but his fear was as obviously visible beneath the surface.

"Listen, Soldat," you said, your voice taking on a firmer yet still compassionate tone. "If you really wanted to harm me, we both know you would have done so by now. Your behavior isn't fooling either of us." You gestured to his injuries, your expression softening. "Now, please, let me tend to these wounds. If we don't bandage them soon, you're going to end up bleeding all over the place. That can't be comfortable for you. And I would really appreciate it if you didn't stain my carpet..."

His face held a stubborn, forced scowl, but also an undeniable air of resignation. He relaxed at your approach, albeit marginally, allowing you to come closer. Sharp, audible breaths exited his nostrils in rapid succession, betraying his lingering apprehension. You knew he was tense so you offered reassurance, "You're alright, I promise this won't hurt. We just need to take care of these."

Your words seemed to have enough of a calming effect as you carefully began tending to him, finally able to assess and treat his injuries. As the moments passed and he realized your true intentions were solely to help, not harm, his demeanor shifted. He became increasingly receptive to your ministrations as each cleaning session came, and he allowed you to clean his wounds and change his gauze without resistance.

But there was one thing you couldn't help but notice, and it was perhaps the biggest hurdle of them all. An almost violent aversion to certain actions and decisions.

To the outside eye, they appeared completely random, and they did to you too. At first.

Soldat refrained from doing anything, no matter how mundane, without first seeking your explicit permission. Something as simple as taking a seat or reaching for a glass of water seemed to require your approval.

At first this behavior confused you, but as you observed him more closely, you started to understand a little but more. HYDRA, while you knew very little of his experiences, did a number on his psyche. He was grappling with intense internal struggles, and in an attempt to cope with his sudden freedom, he was projecting his deep-seated need for structure and guidance onto you. By relinquishing control over even the most basic decisions, he seemed to find a semblance of comfort and stability.

This realization left you with mixed emotions.

On one hand, you felt a twinge of discomfort at being thrust into this unexpected role of authority. The weight of his dependence on your decisions was not something you had anticipated or necessarily desired.

Yet, on the other hand, you couldn't deny the visible relief and calm that washed over him when operating within these self-imposed boundaries. Witnessing how this dynamic seemed to provide him with a sense of security and ease, you found yourself reluctantly gave into.

Despite your internal reservations, you knew that this arrangement was serving as a crucial coping mechanism for him during what was clearly a difficult time, even if it had begun from something awful. So, setting aside your own discomfort, you made the conscious decision to lean into this role, at least for now.

Your primary concern was his well-being, and if this is what he needed to feel safe and begin healing, then you were willing to adapt and provide that structure for him.

His comfort level around you was noticeably increasing with each passing day. Gradually, he began to emerge from the bedroom where he had initially isolated himself, seeking out your company in subtle ways.

Your presence seemed to have a calming effect on him, acting as a source of reassurance in his new environment. He made a conscious effort to be in the same room as you, his actions betraying a growing desire for proximity.

He maintained a considerable distance for a while, positioning himself at the far end of whatever space you occupied. He often watched you, or sometimes he’d allow himself to nap, he never spoke. You chose to ignore him most of the time, not wanting to give him too much attention and spook him away.

Time progressed and you noticed a slow but steady shift in his behavior. Like a cautious animal gradually acclimating to a new habitat, he inched closer to you day by day. He continued his gradual migration until he finally felt secure enough to position himself right beside you.

One particularly lazy afternoon, he slowly made his way towards you, his steps heavy with hesitation. Upon reaching the living area, he carefully lowered himself onto the floor adjacent to the couch, his eyes fixed downward on the carpet. Eventually, his gaze lifted, settling on the television screen. He watched the program you had selected, you couldn't help but notice a glimmer of curiosity dancing behind his eyes, his engagement slowly growing with his surroundings.

You had tried many different offers and encouragement, but he refused to make use of any furniture in the house. The comfortable couch remained untouched by him, and the inviting bed you prepared for him went unused night after night. He had ripped the blankets off and curled up on the floor instead.

His reluctance to using the couch and the bed made you start to think. Had he been conditioned to believe that he wasn't allowed to use something as basic as furniture?

You remained silent, not uttering a single word as you observed him sitting there, seemingly without any discomfort. After a moment of hesitation, you decided to break the silence. "You know, you're more than welcome to sit up here with me," you suggested, your voice soft and kind. His head lifted ever so slightly in response to your words, his eyes glancing at you from under the bits of hair that fell over his face.

The soldier's gaze met yours, his eyes filled with a mixture of doubt and confusion. His frown deepened, etching lines across his forehead as if your words were spoken in a foreign tongue he couldn't quite decipher. You gently patted the empty cushion to your left, emphasizing your point. "Really, you can sit up here if you'd like," you reiterated, your tone warm and encouraging, hoping to dispel any lingering uncertainty he might have.

Several minutes pass and he doesn't budge.

You decide to just let him sit there if he wants to, observing his actions without comment. You didn't want to make him do something he didn't want to do anyway. So you turned your attention back to the show playing on the screen, watching she shitty adult cartoon full of jokes and clichés. But you had to admit, it was pretty funny. You felt something beside you, the subtle shift in the couch's cushions as his silver prosthetic makes contact. The furniture dips ever so slightly as the soldier cautiously lowers himself onto it.

His movements are painfully slow and deliberate, as if he's treading on eggshells, anticipating that you might suddenly change your mind or lash out at him at any moment. When he finally settles, his posture is noticeably stiff and unnatural, not to mention his obvious aversion to sitting flat on his ass like a normal person. His wounds and injuries were brutal, and you knew he didn't like to sit often. But right now it seemed like he was forcing himself to do so.

The discomfort radiates from him, filling the air with tension. He sits ramrod straight, muscles visibly taut beneath his clothing, and his eyes are wider than you've ever seen them, pupils dilated and darting around the room. It's as if he's desperately searching for potential threats or escape routes, his entire being on high alert. The sight reminds you of a cornered animal, teetering on the edge of fight-or-flight, barely containing the urge to bolt from the room at the slightest provocation.

"Soldat, it's alright. You're safe here. You can sit here, I said you could," you said in a gentle, reassuring tone, attempting to alleviate his visible anxiety. Your voice was recited soft and steady, hoping to create a calming atmosphere. Soldat still tensed up as you adjusted your position. His reaction was immediate and he recoiled as though anticipating a blow, his body language screaming of deep-seated fear.

His breathing became erratic, each inhale and exhale a struggle. His hands trembled and gripped the cushion with such force that the knuckles on his flesh hand turned white. It was clear he was desperately trying to maintain his composure in what he perceived as a threatening situation. The sight of his internal struggle tugged at your heart, you couldn’t believe something as simple as sitting on the couch could cause him to be this distressed.

‘Assets sit on the floor!’ A heavily armored combat boot collided with its nose, it heard a crack, felt the warmth of thick red ooze running down its face and throat, tasting the metallic flavored substance. The rusty tar. ‘Try to get up here again, and I will chain you up to that fucking stump outside. See if you can withstand below zero all night.’

Its handler really hated when it sat on the furniture. Used a bed. Used a chair. Its handler liked to threaten and hurt it.

He liked it to sit at his feet, like a good asset should. Be silent, be obedient, be subservient and pleasing for handler. Make sure he is satisfied and serviced well. Maybe then it will get to sleep? Maybe it would get a blanket tonight. Maybe it wouldn’t have to serve the team tonight.

Or not.

Concern etched across your features as you observed his distress. "I promise you, everything is okay," you reiterated, your voice laced with sincerity and compassion. However, as you shifted slightly to face him better, it became apparent that this small movement was what he had been unconsciously anticipating. The second you made that tiny little shift in the cushion, he leapt to his feet, his sudden movement causing him to stumble. His knee collided painfully with the coffee table, but he seemed oblivious to the impact.

Backing away from you, his eyes darted wildly around your apartment, resembling those of a cornered animal searching desperately for an escape route. There was panic in his gaze, his chest heaving with each rapid, shallow breath.

Unable to maintain his stance, he sank to his knees, his legs unable to support him any longer. His hands flew to his head, fingers entangling themselves in his long hair, gripping tightly as though trying to anchor himself to reality. His breathing had become so labored and quick that it appeared he was on the verge of hyperventilation, fighting for each breath as though he were drowning on dry land.

He cowered away from you as you approached him with worry, his body surrendering to you.

'Stupid fucking asset! Did they fry out all of your common sense, huh? I said NO sitting on the furniture!' Handler's voice thundered through the room, each word laced with venom and contempt. Its wet nose collided violently with his boot for the second time, the impact reverberating through its skull. A sharp, searing pain pushed into its face, and it wondered if a fragment of its broken nose had been forced inward.

Its handler seized a fistful of the asset's hair in a vicious grip and yanking, forcefully dragging it across the floor. The wooden planks, rough and splintered, scraped against its skin as it was hauled towards the dilapidated door of the safehouse. This ramshackle structure was their temporary refuge for the night, a necessary evil in the unforgiving Siberian wilderness. The biting cold of the subzero temperatures was a constant source of irritation for the American team, who were ill-equipped to handle such extreme conditions.

As its handler stepped outside, the asset felt the icy bite of a frozen chain wrapping around its neck. The metal was chilled to an impossible degree and seared its skin on contact. The unexpected pain elicited a cry of surprise and agony from the asset but it was cut short as the chain constricted, squeezing tightly and cutting off its air supply.

Panic set in as it gasped and clawed desperately at the unyielding metal, its lungs burning for oxygen. Just when unconsciousness threatened to overtake it, the pressure relented, allowing it to gulp in precious air once more. The asset's mind raced, recognizing the depth of its handler's fury in this brutal display.

Its handler secured the other end of the chain to an old tree stump barely visible through the snowbank. The makeshift anchor stood amidst piles of chopped wood, all buried under a thick blanket of freshly fallen snow. The wind howled mercilessly, its icy fingers clawing at both the asset and its handler. 'I'll come back in the morning,' he spat, the words barely audible over the roaring gale.

As its handler retreated indoors, the asset felt the blood on its face begin to crystallize, the crimson stream halting its flow as the subzero temperatures took hold. The relentless wind continued its assault, driving icy particles into every exposed inch of skin. With no other option available, the asset curled into itself, seeking what little warmth it could generate as it resigned itself to enduring the long, brutal hours of frozen misery until dawn.

At least it didn't have to service anyone tonight.

He remained motionless, neither pleading nor protesting.

Its handler hated when it begged most of the time. Sometimes he did like it, but it didn’t want to risk angering you by opening its mouth. No. It should only do that when its handler commands it. Otherwise, it was a whore.

In his mind, he braced for the inevitable feeling of your hand roughly grasping his hair, forcefully dragging him away to face some cruel punishment. How could he have the audacity? Sitting beside you on the couch, as if he dared to consider himself your equal.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly. After several long, dreary seconds that felt like an eternity, he summoned the courage to steal a glance at you. His eyes were partially obscured by strands of unkempt hair, peered out cautiously. His breathing remained ragged and uneven, though he made a conscious effort to quiet it.

Its handler preferred silence, after all.

This thought, ingrained deeply within him, only served to heighten his anxiety.

"Soldat, breathe... it's okay, you're safe here." Your voice broke through the silence, gentle and reassuring, though tinged with a noticeable tremor as you witnessed his breakdown. "It's okay. I'm here. No one else but me. You are safe." You repeated these words, emphasizing them as you carefully lowered yourself to the ground beside him.

The soldier’s hyperventilation persisted despite your gentle efforts to speak to him. You remained undeterred and continued to speak, hoping that somehow your words would penetrate the fog of fear surrounding him.

Or the thick snowbank slowly freezing its skin.

"Whatever you're seeing right now isn't real, it's in the past," you explained, your voice soft but steady. "You're here, in my apartment. It's just us. No one is going to hurt you." You inched closer, gradually closing the distance between you and his huddled, trembling form on the carpet. Your movements were slow as you consciously made the effort to be careful and not to startle him further.

He heard you, the absence of pain confused him, but it also provided some soothing to his pure panic. You were telling the truth.

You weren't going to hurt him.

Soldat's gaze met yours once more, his eyes filled with a profound sadness as he gradually descended from the heights of his attack. His breathing, still irregular and labored, came in erratic bursts, each sudden intake of air punctuated by a noticeable hitch. To your shock, he began to inch towards you, his movements hesitant yet deliberate.

Under his breath, he emitted soft whimpers, struggling valiantly to maintain his silence as he had been engrained to do. His entire form quivered violently, reminiscent of someone caught in the grip of an intense chill, and without warning, he allowed his weight to collapse against you, seeking solace in your presence.

A muffled sound escaped him, barely audible as it was absorbed by the fabric of your shirt. Your arms encircled his trembling frame, careful in case he didn’t want you to do so, but you felt no resistance. As he muffled, your ears pricked and you carefully leaned your head down a bit. Your cheek gently brushed his forehead, your mouth close to his ear. "What is it...you can tell me." You whispered, waiting for him to speak again.

Given the other times he had spoken, you braced yourself for Russian, but those concerns dissipated like morning mist when he finally found his voice and spoke. His words were simple, he murmured out again, the admission barely above a whisper and surprised you when they hit your ears.

"I'm cold."

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Cover images from Pinterest. I do not claim them as my own.

Taglist: @millercontracting | @teafangirl | @questionableratatouille00 | @buckybarneswife125 | @hazydespair | @leighta | @knoxic | @ghostlyfleur | @beckies000 | @seventeen-x | @freyjhasdesiredreality | @curlycow01

Let me know if you'd like to be added/unadded anytime.

[gay-dorito-dust]

funny req on how dante or vergil would react to being playfully spanked on their behind by their s/o, if not ok then thats cool too

dante

he's honestly into it, he wants you to do it again. might as well be bending over any surface just to entice you into smacking his ass again with a cheeky smirk followed by a equally cheeky wink.

no joke, he's all for a bit of playful butt smacking, especially if you were the one to instigate it first.

he makes a competition out of it that ends up with his chasing you throughout the house, all in hopes of reciprocating your ass smack with one of his own.

his demon side saw this as a sort of reinforcement of your relationship as in demon terms 'mates' and was more then willing to partake in this little game.

'you cheeky little minx.' dante says with a smile upon having his ass smacked and seeing your not so sutble way of acting innocent. 'you like smacking my ass or something? not that i'm complaining, my ass is very iresistable in these jeans.'

yeah now that you had one up on him, you best keep your ass covered from this point onwards as he was now planning on smacking your ass harder then you did his.

seriously his brain is hardwired into this sort of thing but obviously not to the point where it actually hurt and went beyond playful.

he's not that type of dickhead that would ever dare lay a hand on you with the intent to harm.

vergil

yet your ass might hurt to sit on for a while when he does manage to catch you off guard once, and you're glaring at him while he smirks, proud that you were even now.

'you happy?' you said through gritted teeth, your ass was throbbing and warm that you wouldn't be surpised if there was a comedical mark in the shape of his hand, glowing red and everything.

yet that surprisingly was not the case. he snacked your ass with the same amount of strenght you did to him, well the demon equivilent at lest, you were almsot sent flying with the force of the smack.

'very.' he replies, showing off his canines as he smiles cheekily at you. 'don't start something you can't finish sweetheart.' he adds and soon enough he's running away as you planned revenge; to smack his ass even harder.

riggid and awkward, his ears were redder then beetroots as his shoulders were extremely tense.

he doesn't know how to react when you playfully smack his ass.

also he's extremely demon brained it's insane, he's wondering if this was a human courting thing he wasn't privy to, or something else entirely that he just didn't understood.

he's been in hell for a really, really long time. so forgive him for not being up to date on how people flirt within the modern age. not that it was something that he found as worth his time to keep infromed on at all.

he has bigger and better things to focus on.

'what is this foolishness behaviour?' he asks, voice tight and almost snippy.

you shrug. 'me smacking your butt?'

'yes. that, what is the meaning of such...act.' he hesitates before finishing his sentance, dreading what would leave your mouth. he seriously didn't see what was the point in smacking someone's ass, what point does it serve to prove.

he's not as reciprocal as his brother, but if he's feeling a little heat under the collar thanks to his demonic heritage, then he might be a little bold and reciprocate the act or do the demon equivilent of smacking someones ass.

other then that, don't bother smacking his ass again, his hand has been trained to react upon reflexes to catch your hand to fall upon his ass. he's not one for foolish games, but you weren't one to easily give up becuase your partner has god-like speed and reflexes.

so yeah he's not a fan of having his ass smacked unless his miraculously in heat or in a good mood or some other shit.

[lani-sun]

☆ ritualistic ☆

synopsis: jake reminds himself it’s just biology. just the instincts of his newly-acquired form urging him to take, to claim, to keep. and maybe, just maybe, he could’ve controlled it. (had you not made everything so damn difficult, of course.) avatar!jake sully x fem!scientist!reader

warnings: there's no plot here friends i am SORRY, kind of dark!jealous!jake if you squint, slight enemies to lovers, graphic, descriptions of lust bc imagery goes wild here, explicit sexual content [18+ MINORS DNI], dom/sub dynamics, dubcon, dirty talk, slightly sacrilegious?, dacryphilia, major major size kink, biting/marking, jake sully being himself should be an inbuilt warning, let's pretend (for the bio minor stem girly in me) that the lab is somehow perfectly clean and non-contaminated after this pls

☆

jake finds you in the lab, your eyes scrunched into crescent moons underneath scuffed safety glasses hooked loosely behind your ears. his own pin back against the underside of his head instinctively, attuned to the rhythmic, near-silent reverberation of your breath. in. out. in. out. your gloved hands (ancient latex, he notes with a disgruntled twitch of his nose) shake incrementally as you peer into the microscope you're hunched over, adjusting the brilliance of the light painting your petri-dished specimen in a silvery glow. the sound you release when you get it just right—faint, pleased, unfairly absentminded—is enough to send a spark of something foreign down his spine. something delirious, fervent in nature. something that grits his teeth on instinct, clamps down on his jaw like barbed wire, like an insatiable beast clawing at the bars of its enclosure, crying out for the feeling of your flesh (futilely human, extremely off-limits) in its hands. and god, he's not supposed to think about you like that. not supposed to want you the way he did. not when his body isn't meant for you, not when he feels the chains of his forced entrapment in a life confined to a wheelchair coming undone at the sight of freedom. at the sight of you. in this form, he could take you. hell, he could have you. bite into you. he swipes his tongue across his top row of teeth, feeling for the elongated hooks of his canines. yeah, he'd like that.

he settles on making himself known. as his low hum of greeting fractures your reverie, your gaze snaps harshly to his, ricocheting of the surface of his skin. (and he likes it, the aggravation simmering under the surface of your composure. he's always had a soft spot for brats. for an animal to tame.) he swears he can hear the startled hitch in your breath, can sense the shaky, half-jump in your heart rate. "mornin' doc," he chirps, lips quirking up at the sight of the exasperation already etching itself into your features. you rip your safety glasses off, shoving them into a pocket of your lab coat before yanking your mask down with an irritated huff.

"i cannot with you today, sully." a muscle in the delicate column of your neck bounces under his unyielding stare as you reach underneath the metal tabletop to grapple for a pipette, balancing it in the junction between your thumb and index finger. sticky, cloying heat gathers in his veins, a tangible ache hunting for purchase in between his temples. take, it begs. take her.

you continue, oblivious. "and i told grace to change the code on the damn door—"

he clears his throat. reminds himself that fantasizing about you while you're within arm's reach of him is a decision better left unmade. "aw, c'mon, don't be like that. 'm not gonna stay long. not smart enough t'be a scientist like you, pretty."

you huff. "that's an understatement. go out and do—other things, then. stop bothering me." you yelp when his hands (heavyset, gorgeously sea-blue) meet the slim neck of your microscope, slapping them away with a flick of your wrist. "jake!"

a chuckle rumbles in the back of his throat as he backs away, arms raised mockingly in surrender. "show me what you're workin' on." his tail flicks across the backs of your thighs as he stalks around the table, diminishing the space between you. inch by inch. breath by breath. prowling. you track him warily, but a sharp gasp—low, so low he swears he's imagining it—slips through your gritted teeth when his palms flatten against the counter on either side of your waist, your shoulder blades nearly pressed to the junction of his navel and thigh. you jolt when his tail curves downward to wrap around your ankle (fragile, he thinks, so breakable) and squeeze.

"hey—" you warn, the force with which you grip the lab bench beneath you burning half-circle indentations of your fingernails into your palms. "what are you—"

"show me," he coaxes, voice like honey down the curve of your spine. "teach me, if you wanna. 'm not complainin'." his face goes slightly slack when you shift your weight, the cotton of your coat brushing against his tensed lateral muscle. your proximity is stifling. suffocating. he nearly tackles you to the floor when your hand tentatively encases his wrist, the illusion of distance accompanied by an empty threat of resistance. (he just can't help himself, you see. hunting prey is in his biology; he has to do it to survive. and you understand that, don’t you, sweet girl?)

"teach you?" your voice is erogenously breathless, spine fleetingly rigid. ramrod-straight, enraptured in the suggestive slide of his skin against yours. he resists the urge to outline the arc of your back with his knuckles. with his tongue. "not a service i offer, sully. not for you."

"who's it for, then?"

you shoot him a dark look over the incline of your shoulder, a brooding lilt scripted in the slant of your brow. an unavailing warning to his wandering hands. "why does it matter?"

the scent of you floods his senses as you shift, and his focus momentarily gives way to antiseptic and dampened soil, lemon and fresh chamomile, pine and vanilla-tinged sweat. a lingering body lotion, perhaps, or a coveted perfume. (and oh, are you trouble. trouble in the form of gentle hands, soft eyes, fragile bones. trouble in the way your defiance bleeds like a salted wound, roving gaze shirking under the weight of his shadow. it is raw, the way he longs to sink his teeth right into your godforsaken throat, apologies already teasing the tip of his tongue, just waiting for him to extinguish the fire he started—).

"just wanna know who's been spendin' time w' my girl." jake's chest vibrates with amusement against the dip of your nape, but the salacious slip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth betrays him. the heat of you burns through his layers (well, layer) of clothing, akin to an open flame. taunting him. tempting him. his gaze drops to the flex of your neck, the hypnotic flutter of your pulse thrumming dangerously close to the surface; the involuntary twitch of his fingers is only customary. only natural. "you're in 'ere too much, baby. gotta get you out."

"here's where the money is, jake," you counter, and his stomach seizes when your elbow brushes the braided cords of his tewng [loincloth]. "all the samples from the valley still need to be cataloged, and norm brought me a—"

jake's voice slices through the air, crackling roughly with unbidden contempt, an edge of resentment he can't quite bring himself to swallow. "you're gettin' samples from that asshat now?"

you crook a brow. "well. he offered." (he battles the depraved urge to clasp his hand around the dainty column of your throat, to press his chest flush against the arch of your spine. to school you in the art of possession, of ownership, of instincts that slither through bone marrow, of urges that writhe beneath his skin like a sickness, ravenous and unrepentant.)

his jaw flexes lazily, tongue pressing heavy against the inside of his cheek. his restraint is a brittle thing, straining beneath the weight of something starved. something venomous. "'s that right?" his teeth flash pearly-white. "doin' a lot for you, isn't he?"

you whirl on your heels to face him, snaring his gaze in yours. your vexation rises, fiery and unmistakably overeager, but a viscous want accompanies it, swirling in the whites of your eyes. it grows bolder under his earthy stare, a mere captive to the deepening hunger stretching wordlessly between you. it lingers, needlessly persistent in its provocation—the constant standoff of shallow breaths and locked jaws, of tongues bitten raw and fists clenched around unfulfilled promises of restraint. his stare tumbles downward to the wicked curve of your mouth, and he swears he can taste the startled exhale of breath that leaves you. gotcha.

"ever heard of overstaying a welcome, sully?" your expression dissolves into schooled imperturbability.

his braids follow the movement of his head as it tilts, azure skin glimmering aquamarine in the lab's sterile lamplight. your eyes track the slow sway of each woven strand, the way the beads threaded into each end collide sharply in sync—hypnotic, deliberate. erotic, almost. "careful, doc. keep talkin' like that and i might just start thinkin' you don't like me very much."

"i don't," you respond swiftly, but a flicker of suspicion contracts his pupils. he doesn't believe you for a single damn second. (and you're so pretty when you lie, aren't you? pretty girl, so resistant to an orbit your body is meant to sustain. saliva coats his mouth. the things he thinks of doing to you are despicable. downright lewd, even. he thinks of folding you in half. he thinks of molding you to his pleasure until you can't tell his name from your own. he thinks of making you cry. and he should feel guilty. he should chain himself to contrition. but he doesn't. he never has. he never will.)

he leans in. grins in wolfish pride when your pulse skips one, two, four beats. "you're a good liar, pretty. gotta give you that."

you jerk forward instinctively when one of his hands slides to your stomach, forcing the arch of your spine to coalesce with the unforgiving edge of the table. the other dips under your coat, captivation evident in the way his palm stretches effortlessly around the fullness of your waist. it is nearly consumption, an unfurling desire hell-bent on catharsis. on bitter-blooded ecstasy. (it is only nature, he reminds himself. it is only his new body, adjusting to the unfamiliarity of want for an object he cannot have. cannot attain. he's not himself. he's not thinking straight.)

"jake." a tinge of nervousness colors the syllables of his name as your mouth parts around them. he drops onto his haunches just as you reach for him, eluding the desparity of your touch. your hand flexes in midair, barren. "what are you—"

"bet norm's thought about this." his voice is a rasp against your skin, curling warm in the crook of your neck. his nose brushes the tender slope of your pulse point as his words wash over it, savoring the frantic thrum of your heartbeat against his lips. "bet he's wonderin' what you feel like under all these—" a pause. intentional, drawn-out. with an arbitrary flick of his wrist, he slides your lab coat off your shoulders, his fingers ghosting across the expanse of bare skin he can see. "clothes."

"what the fuck are you talking about?" there is no bite to your bark, a weak imitation of pious resolve hovering in the air between you.

"y'don't think so?"

"jake, stop."

he heeds the urgency in your tone, leaning back on his heels. (he knows you're fighting it. fighting him. stubborn, sweet girl, ankles deep in quicksand. so damn eager to play the ethical upper hand. so devoutly attached to your cool-blooded composure. so resolute in slipping from his grasp. flighty. he grits his teeth. then again, he's always liked butterflies. they look so pretty on their backs.)

your shudder of breath betrays you. "this isn't—we can't."

his eyes narrow—watching, knowing. he can smell it on you, the quiet betrayal of your body, the want fused to the rhythm of your pulse. it pools in your gaze, a laceration bound by silence. his fingers trace idle patterns along your thigh, evocative of ink kissed into parchment. a silent mantra hums beneath his touch—mine, mine, mine. "don't you want it?"

"jake."

"it's a yes or no question, pretty."

"that's not fair." your lower lip juts outward, crowned by the swell of your trembling inhale. "you've don't even like me. and you're a pain in the ass. i'm not letting you take my clothes off just 'cause—"

"who says i don't like you, huh?" he presses his nose to your sternum, grinning viciously when you choke. "i like you tons, baby."

"you didn't let me finish. i'm not letting you take my clothes off just 'cause—"

"who says i was gonna take your clothes off?"

your fingers sink into his hair, curling along the sharp cut of his jaw, thumbs hooked around the curves of his ears. controlling, captivating. taking what is already yours. he is gold wrapped in skin, inescapably sweltering beneath your touch. liquid longing fills the void of cloying stillness, his gaze dragging lazily over your lips, your throat, the shell of your ear. your echoed stare is a live wire, leaping frantically from feature to feature. "you talk too much." the words ghost from your lips like silk. like a promise of calamity, of disaster.

his ears twitch, tracking the staggered cadence of your breath. "you keep lookin’ at me like that,” he drawls, smirk broadening, "and i’m gonna start thinkin’ you wanna do somethin’ about it."

and for once, you do.

you yank him forward, crushing your mouth to his with enough force to bruise. his answering groan reverberates down the channel of your throat as his teeth catch your lower lip, eyes eclipsed by the storm-black of his pupils. he does not hesitate to lay claim. does not hesitate to anchor your body against his, swallowing your startled yelp. it is animal, the festering in his chest. lust. it makes devils of good men. makes massacres of soldiers.

"'s this what you wanted? huh?" his hands palm the outline of your chest, marveling at the artificial ribcage his fingers provide. (he resists the urge to nip at the indentation of your collarbones, at the dainty bone lining the column of your throat). your hands scramble for his biceps when he slots an arm underneath your thighs and single-handedly places you on the counter. "yeah, y'did."

"shut up," you whimper, and oh, fuck, his teeth ache. there is no bite to your bark, a weak imitation of resolve hovering in the air between you. "j-just shut up."

"nah." jake stands as he slots a thigh between your legs, parting them around the intrusion. his mouth moves south to taste the damp skin of your pulse point, salty musk exploding on the base of his tongue as he sinks to his knees. (and he'd pray to you, if he could. would bring you trinkets at an altar made of gold. would stroke his cock right there, at the edge of your world and his, begging for you to touch him.) "i think y'like it when i talk." his nostrils flare. "can smell it on you."

the cotton of your shirt doesn't stand a chance; it tears like aged paper beneath his hands, splitting stitches merely rendered a casualty of his need. your entire body jolts, mouth poised in a soundless gasp as his name tumbles out of your mouth, caught in a dangerous balance of shock and rapture. his grin widens. "could fit all of you in 'ere," jake breathes in wonder, fingers unfurling against the expanse of your ribcage, cyan thumbs hooking under the padded fabric of your bra. "in my hands."

"god." the word rips from your throat, breathless, a prayer to something holy. something sacred. your head drops forward in surrender, forehead pressed against the sharp curve of his collarbone. his hands are everywhere—everywhere, everything, all at once—as the clasp of your bra gives way and his tongue draws forward to trace agonizingly slow circles against the side of your breast, just an inch from the growing tightness throbbing beneath your skin. "someone—someone could see us—"

"let 'em." it is sacrilegious, your little whimper, the way it escapes from the corner of your mouth. it instigates sin. calls upon forces beyond his better judgement, beyond plain, good common sense. beyond right and wrong. his fangs graze your nipple, and a harsh breath catches halfway up your throat, the hand in his hair tightening around his kuru {braid} instinctively. he chokes roughly, slicing through the silence with a drawling inhale. (careful, pretty.) a shameful blush paints your cheeks in mahogany as your hands trail downward, tracing the corner of his mouth with the pad of your thumb. (there is but a single strand of mangled control holding him together, and the second he snaps—).

all it takes is one, broad palm flat against your sternum for your shoulder blades to kiss the cold metal of the table underneath you. pinned. (trapped). he tears into you like scripture. devouring not with mercy, not with patience—but with reverence. with ecstasy. it is simply a testament to the ruinous want stitched into the carbon-fiber of his bones, a hunger that has kept him starving, aching, waiting. your breath stutters, wrecked and disparately shallow, slipping from your lips in uneven waves. (he has never wanted anything the way he wants you. has never even known he could want something this damn much. and yet here you are, in front of him, his pretty little girl—). you lift your hips obediently when his hands slip under your leggings, earning a low hum of approval as he tugs at the panties clinging wetly to your cunt, leaving both in a haphazard tangle around your ankles. his thumb presses into your pulse, feeling for frantic jump in your heartbeat.

"look at you," he drawls, tone akin to that of a drawn-out prayer. his entire frame shakes, an embodiment of fraying restraint. "so pretty f'r me. fuckin' wet, too."

you only realize he's dipped inside you when the tip of his middle finger brushes the silken, pulsating center of your core, a stretch so deep it borders on cruel. your entire body jolts as your mouth falls open in in a soundless cry, fingernails clawing uselessly at the table’s edge. his groan bleeds through your ribs, settling into the hollows like a symphony only your bones remember. en echo of something long buried. "jake. jake, oh, fuck—"

"that's my name, baby," he mutters, thumb smearing through your slick, cautious circles gathered methodically around the tingling bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. (your arousal smells like rain, like velvet rose, like a hazy memory of a garden at dawn gnawing at his fraying conscious.) "jesus fuck, can't even get two fingers in 'ere, pretty. how're you gonna take my cock like this, huh?" the sound that rips from your throat in response is nothing human. his fangs flash crystal, scissoring hand devastatingly carving out space to fit himself in between the thighs of a body not meant to hold him. a body not meant for his hands to touch. (but it would take divine intervention to stop him now. he is a hound, an animal spoiled rotten by the scent of flesh. your flesh.)

your hips jerk at the unexpected sight of his middle and ring finger sinking into his mouth, leaving your empty cunt clenching around nothing. your pupils blow wide as he hums against the sweetness of you on his tongue, swiping the muscle downward to catch the droplets of milky white lingering across his knuckles. (he finds himself wondering if your tears will taste as good as your cunt does). his name escapes your lips in a whisper, trailing gently over the softness of your skin. your pulse is a wreckage beneath his palm as his mouth crashes over yours once more, the prickling rhythm erratic against the rounded edge of your ribs.

then—he moves. presses his weight over you, drags his mouth down the line of your jaw, your throat, the shallow depression of your clavicle. "been thinkin' about this," he rasps as your hands flutter uselessly at your sides, scrambling for purchase against the line of his torso. he ruts his hips ever-so slightly forward, harshly reminded of the painful hardness throbbing under his tewng {loincloth}. "for so long. fuckin'—jerked off t'you. had a real nice dream, once."

your voice is unbearably soft, enslaved to single-minded pleasure. "you d-dream about me?"

jake's breath hitches, heat grazing the sweat-slick line of your throat. "yeah, baby. tons." his steady stare brushes yours, sapphire flush painting his freckles in a shade of liquid ivory. "gets worse after seein' you. can't sleep for days w' you patterin' around in 'ere." he raises a hand in a slow arc, fingers wandering along the tender line of his temple as the other works the strings of his tewng {loincloth} loose. it falls, forgotten, and—oh. oh. your lips part around a soundless gasp, any sense of decorum failing you. the sight of him eclipses language itself, glowing pre-cum slathering his length in a starry sheen, flushed tip carved from material far more primal than skin. than muscle, than bone. you swallow, pulse skipping, and his cocky-eyed grin only grows.

shameless, he nocks the dripping slit against the tender mess of your folds, coating himself in your slick with an unbidden groan. "wanna take samples? 's better than norm's, i promise."

"jake—oh my god." he swallows your exclamation as his mouth claims the expanse of yours, hands branding heat along your ribs, your waist, the soft, trembling flesh of his thighs. his fingers wrap around your hips and pull, the blunt, aching weight of him nudging at your entrance. you whimper, dizzy with desire. "g-go slow," you slur, clambering for his shoulders, arching your back in an effort to appease the burn pulsating under your skin. light explodes behind your closed eyelids as he slowly—slowly—sinks the first inch inside; you seize, lower stomach contracting around the foreign intrusion. the stretch sings through you, the thick head of his cock cradled between your legs, and yet jake forces himself still, a vein pulsing in his forehead.

"lemme in, c'mon, pretty," jake pants, exhaling roughly through his nose. his cock throbs restlessly inside you as instinct claws at his spine, shaking with the urge to chase the relief of being fully sheathed, of simply forcing you down the rest of the way. he grits his teeth when you mewl, glimmering tears clinging to your waterline.

"'s not gonna fit," you howl, and guilt lances through him. (that's what he does with pretty things, isn't it? he breaks them. it's in his nature, written in the code of his biological being. he can't help himself, he's so sorry, pretty girl—)

"fuck," he chokes, languish enshrining the syllables in agony. his tail wraps around your calf, soothing. easing. "fucking shit, i'm so sorry, pretty—"

"hurts more when you stay still," you whisper, eyelashes damp where they flutter against the heat of your cheeks, and jake's breath pans over your throat in a sinking shudder. your vision spotlights as his fingers pull upward, reaching between your parted lips to gather the saliva pooling at the corner of your mouth. he kisses the shell of your ear as he strokes your spit lazily over his length, whining lowly at the lewdly-wet squelch. "d'you hear that?" his voice is enthralled. "that's you and me, baby."

your gaze flickers skyward, unfocused and glassy. mindless. (always thinking, aren't you, baby? he's happy to help you turn it off, if you'd let him. happy to strip you down to something soft, something malleable in his grasp—something that belongs only to him. it’s only fair. it’s what you deserve). a dark chuckle rumbles from his chest, sharp with satisfaction. (yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?).

he gives you no warning before taking hold of your hips, molding your lower body in a high arch, and sinking the rest of the way in.

"jake—!" his name leaves you in a breathless sob, a prayer, a curse, a requiem. you're nearly catatonic, twitching like you’ve been electrocuted as you spasm beneath his hands, the girth of him infiltrating the marrow of your bones, the lining of your ribs, the edges of your lungs. the dull ache in your stomach intensifies as his hips rut up, your head smacking against the ground as his ridged cock rams lecherously into the spongy entrance of your cervix. jake punches out a strangled laugh as your stomach mounds obscenely (frighteningly, if he were being honest with himself) to accommodate the sheer size of his length, a shaky hand reaching forward to feel for himself underneath your layers of quivering muscle. you jolt with a sharp cry, feet kicking helplessly in midair as tears spill in shimmering rivulets down your flushed cheeks. “so-“ he cuts himself off when your cunt, unable to squeeze around the girth of him, flutters achingly. begging for release. "tight. knew you'd be so fuckin' tight—"

he doesn't wait. can't. his hips roll forward, dragging another devastatingly thick thrust through the vice-like grip of your cunt, the sensation of him rearranging you from the inside out. his hand slips between your thighs (greedy, insistent), feeling for the slick heat pooling there, brushing over the tender, swollen knot of your clit. he drinks your shaky squeal, chest rising and falling in rapid succession as he folds forward, tongue swiping across your upper row of teeth. "jake,” you sob, a wrecked little thing, hands fisting in his braids, grasping for something, anything. "'m gonna cum—oh god, i wanna c—please, can i, jake, please—"

"w'me," jake manages to hiss, tongue swirling patterns into the wounded skin of your clavicle. the blunt tip of his cock twitches as his thrusts shallow, a moan purred into the junction between your neck and shoulder. the tightness in his stomach ebbs as the wet slap of your pelvis against his reverberates in the air, a symphony of noise escaping your throat as he fills your womb in thick, unrelenting waves of searing warmth. you sob raggedly in relief, convulsing under the weight of his palms, cleaving lines of deepening crimson in his back. (pretty little thing. so good for him. you'd let him do this every night, wouldn't you? would let him bury himself to the hilt until he flooded your cunt with his seed, would let him turn your pristine skin a splotchy, bruised shade of fuchsia.)

he thinks with his teeth, lovely girl, and you've got such a pretty neck.

note: WOW WHY DID THIS TAKE ME FOREVER?! i was so smut-stumped for whatever reason, so i apologize for the rushed ending and for the fact that i forgot to include jake taking sips of CO2 while he was in an oxygenated lab LOL (the stem girl in me is screaming at them having sex IN THE LAB). this one's for @pandoraslxna!! love always from lani!!