#but within this perhaps i will do a little

[biteofcherry]

Relish your scream

vampire!Bucky Barnes x female reader

summary: Better the devil you know, but what if going to the Scaretale with someone you're already acquainted with doesn't mean you're completely safe? What if the club isn't your doom, but merely enhances the darkness that was already setting its trap for you?

warnings: vampire!Bucky; dark!Bucky; heavy dub-con; mind compulsion; biting; blood sucking; blood play; forced public nudity (partial); oral (f receiving); sex; captivity; objectification as a kink; conditioning;

word count: 5.4k

Author's Note: I was a little disappointed you voted vampire for Bucky, because there are so many amazing stories with vampire Bucky and I feared I won't be able to create anything fresh. But I wrote it in a specific vibe, amping up the vampire bite into very debauched kind of blood play. Perhaps that can count as something new 😜 This story is the fifth one in the Scaretale universe.

The cab driver was insistent on stopping half a street away from the entrance to the club. He was one of those superstitious people who feared magic tricking him, or a monster luring him to his doom, if he found himself within Scaretale’s range. 

You wanted to claim it’s silly, but the rumor was that the club was created and belonged to a dark fae. Who knows what their magic could do. Maybe the cabbie was right to keep his distance.

Unfortunately, for you it meant that you had to walk down the cracked pavement in your high heels to reach the club. 

It dawned on you much earlier, soon after you agreed to the terms, that meeting him in a club catered to monsters wouldn’t really provide you any safety. It would be his domain while you felt on the edge for the whole evening. Or night. However long he decided it had to last.

But he had that smooth, dark charm about him, making it appear as a reasonable public space to collect the debt. 

As you walked towards the impressive building, which glowed from within like a cursed castle, you tried to convince yourself that the place of your meeting didn’t matter anyway. You wouldn’t have any sort of upper hand no matter the place you sat in. 

Because there was something about James Barnes that put you to attention at any given moment. As if your body was attuned to his presence. Like a deer may be aware of a wolf prowling nearby. 

James was a coworker at the high levels of the international company you both worked for. And sort of a work rival, too. 

He was courteous, always well mannered and classy. Dressed like that, too. He was driven at work, reaching each set goal with unwavering determination and skills. Honestly, you had reasons to admire him and admit he was fucking good at his job. Sometimes you inwardly joked that you want to be like James Barnes when you grow up. 

There wasn’t really any competition between you two, none of you were threatened with the prospect of losing anything if the other’s department scored a few more points in the quarter. 

It was the smidge of inadequacy that made you often eye Barnes as a threat. Coming out of your own insecurities, you suspected. 

You were damn good at your job and at leading people. It’s just that you were… messy. 

Not a complete disaster, but a little chaotic and sometimes lost, sometimes too soft, especially considering the sharks that swam in the ocean of legal (and illegal) deals you worked with. 

Compared to Barnes, you were chaotic and bouncy.

But not everyone could stride through the room like a lethal blade slicing through fabric.

Barnes could. 

Everything about him screamed danger, even when he offered a charming smile, or bought doughnuts for the whole floor. Though you watched people let down their guards around him, treating him like a harmless, cute man. 

Was it only you that experienced that pulse of wariness whenever he walked into a room?

Perhaps, it was that aura of a vampire…

You’re still not sure what prompted you to bet him. Confrontations weren’t your preferred model of operating. Especially towards men you were both fascinated and scared of. Maybe you just wanted to prove to yourself that your bubbly style was as effective as Barnes’ cutthroat smoothness. 

You veiled it as a team challenge (which both of your teams actually took as a fun twist to their usual hard work, including some subtle ribbing). If you won, you’d get to take over Barnes’ fancy office for a whole week.

It’s not like it would bother him much, since he worked evening to sunrise hours, while you were a day worker. 

But you were the messy one and it made you giggle as you thought of leaving your usual chaos in his pristine space. 

When you proposed that, Barnes held your gaze with those incredibly steel-blue eyes. Not a twitch of annoyance on his stupidly handsome face (that half of the skyscraper was pinning after). No, he was seizing you up and calculating his potential gain. Which made your pulse skip. 

You still remembered how his eyes shifted to your pulse point and your thighs clenched as you thought of his teeth sinking into your neck. 

He agreed to the bet, demanding your company, if he won. 

Which he had. 

There was a flood of tangled thoughts and doubts when you realized you agreed to be his for one night. Did he mean his night as his work day, making you do any assistant, slaving work just for the kicks? Or did he mean it as owning you for a night, as in…

His chuckle was like a tap on your cheek, stirring you from your trance when you barged into his office, needing him to explicitly state what exactly he expected of you. Then relief filled you when he explained that he wanted you as his company for a meeting. Said he’s old fashioned like that.

James didn’t mention the dress code, just told you where and what time to come. You could be a brat about it and appear in jeans and a hoodie, but you considered yourself to be honorable and a good sport. You lost a bet, but you wouldn’t be a sore loser, or petty. There was also a part of you that wanted to impress Barnes, to show yourself as someone who could pull off a fancy look. 

In your sparkling red heels and black, silk dress, you walked up the stairs of the Scaretale with your chin raised high. 

The club’s dark interior was a surprise. From the outside it appeared to be glowing, full of light and mischief, but, as you stepped in, velvet darkness wrapped around you like a shawl. 

There were points of light, but they were dimmed. A whisper of mystery and horror slithered around, quickly getting lost in the growing warmth of spicy seduction. 

It was a place known for encouraging lust and romance, but you didn’t expect the sensual brush of it to tease your skin. 

Perhaps it was why your breath hitched when your eyes met James’ across the room. 

His icy eyes always held a particular intensity, but as he watched you now it sent a ripple of something hot and exciting through your body. 

As you neared him, your heart clenched in fear, before restarting with a flutter. James was your coworker, but in this setting you lost any sense of safety around him. He was someone different here. More himself, than the persona he played in public. More the ancient beast. 

And the core of him you met that evening was scaring you.

He greeted you softly, saying your name in a way that sounded intimate and possessive. His hand rested on the small of your back as he led you toward a nook in the wall that was separated from the rest of the floor by an iron-wrought railing and heavy, black curtains draped to the sides. 

There was a rectangular table in the middle of the small room he led you to, with velvet benches surrounding it instead of chairs. Chandeliers dripping black crystals hung above, casting a soft light that didn’t fully disperse the shadows. 

“Please, sit beside me.” James pointed to one side of the table. He kept standing until you sat down, then slid right next to you. 

“Would you like something to drink?” He asked, sliding closer when you tried to put a few inches of space between you. 

“White wine, please.” You nervously twisted your fingers in your lap. 

A few seconds later a waitress appeared by the railing, though you didn’t see James summon anyone. Well, they sure had some top, attentive staff in here. You were surprised when Barnes ordered a specific brand of wine, stressing to bring it sweet.

“Why sweet?” You liked most of the whites, including some of the dry, so it didn’t really matter to you.

When James’ gaze flicked to you, it appeared it mattered greatly to him. 

“Because you’re sweet.” He stated. 

A sudden thought of him referring to your blood’s flavor made you both hot and extremely cold with terror, but his next words made that reaction appear silly.

“Wearing all those pastels and headbands with crystals and pearls. And everytime we happen to be in the same meeting, you’re always drinking pink grapefruit soda. You’re a sweetling.” 

His eyes slowly dragged down your form. You couldn’t help the quickening of your heart rate as you felt his gaze move along your body. Again, you were certain his focus lingered on where your veins pulsed beneath your skin. 

“I admit I’m quite surprised to see you in black,” when he spoke, it was lighter, more teasing. There was even a hint of that charming smile that disarms people.

“Thought it’s best to match you, since I’m your company for this important meeting,” you shrugged. 

He still didn’t express what your expected role was. If it was a business meeting, was he going to lean on you for advice? Or were you an arm candy, only there to provide a nice accent and be a trinket of power? Many conservative men still conducted their business meetings, or public appearances with that mindset. Maybe vampires did too.

“I appreciate it.” James smiled at you. There was a satisfied gleam in his eyes, but darker and hungrier than simple appreciation of your thoughtfulness. 

A voice in your head whispered that perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to cater to a monster's whims, even to those of a polished, cultured one. Perhaps it was even worse than if you goaded a barely leashed werewolf. 

Because James was incredibly smart and cunning, and you were beginning to suspect that he had the ability to manipulate your reactions without you even realizing you were playing into his game. 

When the waitress appeared with your glass of wine, James took it from her and handed it to you. Your fingers brushed against his cold ones, the contact sending a jolt down your spine. His skin was cold, yet you felt a sense of warmth unfurl in your belly. 

As if his mere touch heated up your blood. Which had to be a very dangerous thing, considering he was a blood sucking vampire. 

“Mhmm, you smell sweet, too.” He hummed, tilting his head so that his nose almost brushed a spot behind your ear.

“James!” You gasped, fingers tightening on the thin stem of your wine glass. 

A surge of trepidation took over as your instincts reminded you of being in proximity of the most dangerous predator. It wasn’t a good omen when a vampire commented on your tempting smell. Because it meant at some point he might want to verify if your taste matched. 

Yet the cold thought of it sucked your nipples into straining points. 

You took a sip of your wine. Then another one, in hope of relaxing your body enough to hide certain reactions. 

“Call me Bucky, please.” His voice sounded like a seductive whisper. It reminded you of a hot tickle against your ear, or neck, which you sometimes experienced when writhing on your bed amidst a wet dream. 

If your imagination was wilder, you’d wonder if this vampire had something to do with the sex dreams which occasionally haunted you on those rare stormy nights. 

“Okay, Bucky,” you smiled up at him, hanging onto the comfort of breaking a certain barrier between you two, by being allowed to use his nickname. You didn’t think you heard anyone at work call him that. 

His eyes darkened. He traced his fingers along the back of your neck, before settling his whole, big hand on your shoulder.

“Say it again,” he demanded.

“Bucky,” you said it softly, sensing unbearable tension growing between the two of you. 

“Sweetling.” His low growl reverberated right against your clit. 

You would hope he didn’t notice you clenching your thighs, but with how his own leg was pressed to yours, there was no doubt he felt the shift. 

Suddenly, his eyes sharpened, his gaze briefly shifting above your head before returning to you. His hold on your shoulder relocated as his arm smoothed around and down your back, his fingers digging into your waist as he pulled you closer to his side. 

“Don’t speak.” Bucky ordered in a hushed tone. “Don’t engage, even if he tries to address you. Just sit quietly beside me and drink your wine. And follow my lead.”

“An accessory,” you nodded, taking a sip of sweet alcohol. You didn’t feel particularly disappointed with being reduced to quiet arm candy. It wasn’t your meeting, nor for a business of your department, so you felt no urge to prove yourself. 

“You’ll be good, sweetling.” He declared, as if you had no option but to obey. 

As his eyes held your gaze, you felt something shift inside you. Like a thin string wrapping itself around your throat. Its other end seemed to be in Bucky’s hand. An invisible leash that compelled you to follow his lead, just like he said you should. 

Compelled… The word echoed in your head, scratching against your skull with some knowledge you couldn’t remember. 

You focused on it and on the sweet taste of the wine as someone entered your space. You cast a quick glance at the large man, but remained glued to Bucky’s side like he wanted. Their words flew in and out of your ears, actual information barely sticking with your awareness. You were more entranced with Bucky’s voice.

And the way his fingers started running up and down your arm. Cold, yet enticing that very lively sensation. 

Words about takeover alerted your mind, but then that shiny, invisible leash tugged on you gently and your brain settled back into its comfort of focusing on Bucky. 

At some point, his teasing fingers closed around your hand and he brought it to his lips. He kissed the soft part below your thumb then pressed his mouth to your wrist. Right over where your pulse danced. 

Your body tensed at once, a pained gasp leaving your lips as Bucky’s fangs pierced your skin.

He bit you without any warning. Like it was his privilege. 

Tears filled your eyes as you looked up at him with a flare of betrayal. His gaze shifted from the other man to settle on you, even as his lips remained sealed into your wrist, sucking slow sips of your warm blood.

Be good, sweetling. His voice filled your head. 

It hurts. You weren’t even aware that your whine didn’t form into actual words spoken aloud, but was merely a pathetic sound accompanying your thoughts. 

Does it? Bucky’s eyebrow arched as he drew more of your blood in, then swiped his tongue along your sensitive, punctured skin. 

You blinked, dazed. When he bit you there was pain, but as he sucked you… You felt the throbbing in your wrist, but its echo was a more pleasurable beat that had your nipples and clit thrumming. 

You watched Bucky lick his lips clean and return to his conversation with ease, as if taking your blood was nothing more than sipping a drink. Which he did again a few minutes later, lifting your hand and sinking his fangs a little lower into your forearm. 

A soft, little cry spilled out of your mouth, but your legs parted wider to ease your throbbing clit. 

There was no previous agreement to Bucky drinking from you, yet somehow you didn’t resist as he took. Your body simply molded to his demand. Your brain resisted, angry and sobbing at the inability to fight, but that rebellion came and went like sparks of a badly functioning electricity. 

You didn’t want it, didn’t consent to it, but it felt so good. Made you a good kind of dizzy. Ligheaded, like you had one glass of champagne too much. Your usually buzzing body felt softened and pliant. 

For once you were calm and nestled, not a chaotic shard not fitting to the surroundings.

You spread your legs wider. The table separated and obscured the view of you from the stranger, but you had an inkling that the arousal trickling between your folds wafted into the air. 

It sure reached Bucky’s senses. Behave, his hand on your waist tightened its grip.

I am, you boldly replied to the phantom voice in your head and promptly brought the glass of wine to your lips. You drank half of it in one go. 

A part of you expected Bucky to act rashly. To show irritation or impatience, but then again you never saw him lose the winter cool of his demeanor. He didn’t react to your mental hiccup either, simply carrying on the conversation with the other monster. 

However, his hand smoothed up your arm slowly. Fingertips danced over the puncture wounds which he sealed with a swipe of his tongue, then traveled upwards. 

He took the thin strap of your dress between his thumb and forefinger and dragged it down your shoulder. Black fabric covering your breast fell down, swaying in a soft roll right above your nipple. Just when you thought his retaliation was driven to the max, Bucky’s hand skimmed over your collarbone and down to the swell of your breast.

Voice not wavering even once, as he kept talking over some business details, Bucky slipped his fingers under the silk of your dress and took your tit out. 

No! Your humiliated consciousness screamed silently. 

Bucky remained unphased. He exposed your breast, running his fingertips around the areola and flicking your puckered nipple. 

When the other man started talking, simply continuing the conversation as if you weren’t lewdly displayed in front of him, Bucky tipped you back. The arm around you tightened, supporting your back. His other hand cupped your breast as he sank his teeth into the soft tissue. 

More wetness pooled in your core, even as pain from the bite zapped your synapses. 

You were nothing but a chalice of wine from which Bucky sipped whenever he wanted. However he wanted to. 

A morsel to bite and chew slowly. 

He didn’t seal that bite right away, so the blood trickled down slowly as he helped you back into a sitting position, cuddled to his side. You felt the warm liquid gather atop your nipple into a ruby drop. 

Bucky swiped it with his thumb, teasing your nub as he did. 

When he brought the thumb to his mouth to suck it clean, you stared up at him in horror and awe. That handsome face with chiseled jawline and cheekbones, pale pink lips wrapped around a marble white, thick thumb. As he released his finger, you saw a flash of his teeth - a smudge of your blood covering them. 

His thumb was coated with Bucky’s saliva as he brought it down to rub over the bite, sealing your wound. 

The hand on your waist gripped your elbow when you attempted to reach for the strap and cover yourself back. Leave it, Bucky’s low command resounded in your head. What?! No! Why? It was indecent! He wasn’t even drinking from you anymore. Just holding you partially naked and humiliated. 

Because I wish so and you’re mine to do whatever I please.

There wasn’t even a seductive lilt of teasing to his tone. It was a richly dark declaration of ownership you didn’t expect.

You wanted to protest, to scream it out at him that you didn’t want it. That even if some aspects of his actions were arousing you, you weren’t his to treat like a toy, or blood bag. That’s when your memory flashed back to the exact conversation you had with Bucky when you negotiated the rules of the bet. 

What you interpreted as company for one night, for this particular meeting, was never in fact stated as limited. Bucky never said for one evening. He only demanded that you’d give him your company. 

Now, his voice returned, as calm as before, sit still and drink your wine, or I’ll take your other tit out.

Anger and despair flared inside you, as hot as the wave of dark excitement that turned the fabric of your panties into a soaked mess sticking to your folds. 

What he said and did to you was bolder and filthier than you tried with any of your former lovers. It didn’t only push, but crossed your boundaries. But even as he did something so unpredictable like undressing you in public, there was calculated deliberation in it. Cold, lethal precision strumming your responsive pressure points. 

Will you let him drink from me? For some reason, you clenched your fingers on Bucky’s suit jacket, clinging to him as terror of what might actually happen took over.

No. You’re mine. Came his instant, firm response. 

But there was only silence when your panicked voice asked, Will you kill me?

He left you hanging with that worry as he wrapped up his meeting. The wine kept your blood rushing warm, as did Bucky’s closeness, but your heart started to drag with growing dread. Needing something to anchor yourself to, you stared at the rings on Bucky’s fingers. 

It was only when his voice reached your ears that your head snapped up and you realized the other man was gone. 

“You did really well for your first time, sweetling.” Bucky’s fingers gently took your chin. 

Despite the allure of his eyes and his hold on you, the spark of dread spread into a sticky web that filled you with all sorts of cold, breath-stealing fears. His choice of words was deliberate. Everything Bucky did was. So it meant he planned on there being a second, a third, and more events similar to that night. 

Bucky took your empty wine glass and placed it on the table. Then he readjusted your dress and helped you up onto your feet. He narrowed his eyes for a moment, muttering something about getting you a proper coat. 

A waitress waited by the exit, handing you a to-go cup of something hot as Bucky led you toward the door. Your fingers wrapped around the warm cup, scenting something sweet. 

You had a thought of making a scene, making a run for it, but this place was filled with monsters who, undoubtedly, would be on his side. And Bucky was a damn vampire, who could probably catch you before you made half a step. 

Also, whatever was in that cup was really tempting you to drink. And his hand on your back felt nice, too.

As Bucky guided you down the steps, a sleek, black car stopped at the curb. Some young man jumped from the driver’s side and gave Bucky keys with a deep bow. Huh, you didn’t know they had valets here. 

Bucky helped you into the passenger’s seat and buckled your seatbelt. So engulfed by the cozy warmth and spicy scent, you didn’t think to use the moment of him walking to the driver’s side to try and escape. 

But the question returned, rolling out on your tongue as Bucky cut through the city with speed right on the edge of limit. 

“Are you going to kill me?” 

“Not yet.” Bucky’s calm, simple response was like a blade piercing through your chest. 

“The process is more complicated. There are rules-” he paused, hearing your intake of breath. When he looked at you, you were curling in on yourself and leaning against the side door, like you wanted to blend into it and disappear. 

Something flashed in his blue eyes and after a moment you were pulling away from the door and sitting back in your seat. 

Bucky’s fingers cupped your chin. Even with only one hand on the steering wheel he had full control of the car. 

“I’m not disposing of you, sweetling.” He assured you. “You’re my feeder. And will become my companion.”

Companion. It echoed in your head. You agreed to be his company. But you didn’t know it meant something more for a vampire. 

The bites on your body pulsed with awareness, reminding you of the way he sunk his teeth into you. You wondered if his cock would sink into you with the same seductive firmness. 

Your previous dizziness from the blood loss was nothing compared to the chaos that Bucky’s revelation brought. On the way to his estate he explained more, stating details of his plans for you as if he was reporting something obvious. Each sentence of the fate he weaved for you, however, leashed on your skin like a lick of flogger. Hurting and pushing your mind toward a cloudy space. 

With some last remnants of panicked will, you attempted to run when he parked in front of an impressive estate. He caught you in a blink of an eye. Then those blue eyes were staring into yours and an invisible leash tugged on you, calming you into compliance. 

He made you drink that hot chocolate, which you got in the to-go cup, as he steered you through the corridors of the mansion. Rich sweetness filled your mouth and brought a sense of regeneration. 

The cup dropped forgotten when Bucky brought you into his bedroom. Somewhere between his words about keeping you here with him for two years, until you learned all the rules, all the expectations and attuned to your role at his side, he unzipped your dress and pushed it down to the floor. 

Your hands against him held zero strength as he spread you on his massive bed, your attempts at fighting him off melting as his teeth scraped along your naked body. 

“Your blood tastes like decadent chocolate” Bucky hummed against your hip bone. “I bet your cunt tastes just as sweet.” 

He ripped away your soaked panties then spread your thighs wide apart. His lips mouthed against the delicate skin of your inner thighs. You knew there were some crucial arteries there and you wondered how much it would hurt when he bit into one. 

But he didn’t. Instead, Bucky kissed further up. He licked the seam between your thigh and cunt, then traced your outer lips with his tongue. 

It was atop your mound, a breath away from your clit, where he slowly, torturously slow, sunk his teeth in. 

You screamed and he held you down.

He didn’t suck your blood right away, but pulled back and watched it trickle down onto your glistening pussy. Dark red juice dripped down your clit and between your swollen folds. 

Bucky dove in. Feasting on your cunt with reverence and hunger he didn’t display before. He licked your blood and your slick, mixed them on you and on his tongue. His growling, near animalistic sounds vibrated against your sensitive core. 

He made you come while he made you bleed. Licking and swallowing your wetness; holding your hips down in his strong grip as your body twisted and writhed in pleasure-and-pain. 

Then he drew another blinding climax out of you, driving two of his ringed fingers into your sopping cunt and at the same time sinking his teeth back into the open bite atop your mound. 

He closed your wound, but didn’t wipe away the blood as he kissed up your body. When he bit your breast, he let the blood drip down the swell of it, too, before licking it off your skin in tantalizing, sensual strokes. 

You hurt from the bites, but Bucky’s mouth and touch brought you so much exquisite pleasure. 

He drank from both your breasts, smudging your blood all over his mouth as he kissed your skin through the ruby mess. Closed the wounds with a teasing lick of his tongue, before flicking it against your hardened nipple and sucking on it so hard you felt that suck on your clit. 

“You’re delicious, sweetling.” Bucky rasped against your ear. “And such a good girl for me.” 

You felt the nudge of his cock between your folds. Your hips rocked up eagerly, but your weakened arms drew between your bodies to push him away.

Sensations were overwhelming. You feared that your brain might completely shut down, if Bucky added to it the stretch of his cock and ripping pleasure of being fucked. 

Gently, he pried your hands away from his chest and placed your arms next to your head on the mattress. He pinned them down as he rolled his hips into you. 

“Gotta do it, sweetling,” he hushed your mewls. “Gotta break your body before sunrise, so your mind starts to learn to sleep all through the sunny day.” 

“It’ll take weeks to fully break you.” Bucky sneaked one of his hands between your bodies, to guide his cock into your entrance. “I’ll exhaust you over and over again, until your body conditions itself to shutting down with sunlight and waking up at sunset. Until you’re molded to me.” 

Your lips parted on a strained moan as he slowly penetrated you. 

Just like you suspected, Bucky drove his cock into you with a firm, steady stroke, just like he sunk his teeth into your skin. 

As his dick stretched your pussy, Bucky kissed you. Sensual and languid. Getting you drunk on his lips and taste like the most potent wine. He welcomed your yielding moan with a victorious growl.

Then, as the head of his cock nestled against your cervix and he bottomed out, Bucky’s fangs dipped into your lips. 

You clenched around him, your body tensing like a cord as he drew blood from your mouth. He sipped on you, forcing some of the metallic sweetness of your own blood onto your tongue. 

Bucky soothed your lips with a swipe of his tongue, before lifting his weight on his forearms. He looked down at you - all dark, ruthless beauty of him, with eyes glinting winter storm and mouth red with your blood. 

There were smudges of red on his torso, as well, from where his body pressed into the bloody mess he created as he drank from various spots on your chest and belly. 

“You already take me so well and feed me so sweetly,” he said, licking remnants of your taste off his bottom lip, “you’ll learn to take all the pleasure and pain I give you. And someday you’ll take my blood and I’ll show you what ecstasy of a vampire feels like.”

With that he withdrew, only to slam back in a hard snap. Your body jolted, your back arching. 

You were so weak, so lightheaded. Exhaustion was pulling you into darkness. But the way Bucky was fucking you bursted through that dark with fireworks. His name was a broken cry on your lips, so soft it may have been a whisper. Or a prayer. 

“I deliberately had the sheets changed to white.” Bucky mused, driving into you harder, making your legs jerk helplessly with each thrust of his hips. 

“Wanted to see the stains from your cum and blood on it. You make such a pretty mess.”

Your consciousness drifted away completely after he tipped you into another orgasm, relishing in the way you screamed and clenched around him. Your body was boneless as he chased his own release, groaning it not soon after you floated into sleep. 

To him you looked most beautiful: spread out on the crumpled sheets, your body smeared with blood and bearing marks of his bite. Stains of red and acidic wetness splattered the sheets between your legs. 

Bucky leaned down, one more time biting into your mound. A shallow wound this time. Just so he could watch your blood slowly trickle down in a thin stream and mix with his cum dripping out of your fluttering pussy.

You remained unconscious when he cleaned you up. As well when he ripped away soiled sheets and replaced them with a set of fresh ones and climbed into bed next to you. He held you in his embrace as you slept through the day that stretched outside; heavy, black-out curtains preventing a single sunray from sneaking inside. 

When you’d wake up late in the afternoon, Bucky was going to provide you with a hearty meal and adequate vitamins. He’d tell you more of the rules. Then he’d break your body again. 

[gor3-hound]

ETERNITY — SUGURU GETO

a/n: hiii !! first geto fic on this account maybe?? shocker bcs i love him so bad... commission for @nexysworld !! love her so bad, pls check her out <3

cw: 18+ content, father-daughter incest, possessive behaviour, sheltered reader, mildly dubious consent, yandere-ish themes, very teeny tiny amount of religious themes, too. p in v, creampie, brief choking

Suguru Geto is not a man you would consider to be unkind, but there was very little affection within his actions. Your father was often patient with you - strict, but forgiving. When he touched you, it was always cold and clinical; always born out of necessity. 

Your mother had always been irrelevant to him, nothing more than a means to an end. That just so happened to be you, his daughter, and one and only heir. He had sensed the cursed energy within you the moment you were born, and he took you in to raise you on his own. He had no need for that woman anymore - she had served her purpose and bestowed him with a gift greater than any other.

Your life was free of troubles. Perhaps you did not get to play with the village children, but that was alright. You were allowed to play with the others within the compound. His followers were always kind to you, if not somewhat on edge in your presence. You did not understand it then, but now you realised the apprehension they held did not stem from your actions, but from fear of upsetting your father. You had been sheltered, yes, but you found you did not crave much else. You were well-fed, well looked after… It was hard to feel caged when the compound was all you had known.

Your youthful naivety could not last forever, and Suguru knew this. He dreaded your growth with each passing year, waiting for the questions that would come. He could keep you from the outside world, but he could not keep the outside world from you. He had many visitors, people looking to be cured of their ailments. He could keep you from watching these interactions, but he could see the way your curious eyes shone as you watched them come and go.

You asked him about the outside world only once, shortly after he had ‘cured’ a young child. You had been excited to see someone closer to your age, but his words quickly shut you down.

“The child has been plagued with demons,” He had told you simply, eyes cold as he glanced down at you. “I can keep them at bay, yes. But it would not do you well to socialise with others such as him. They will corrupt you.”

It had not convinced you entirely, and he could see that in your eyes. With a small frown, he kneeled before you, tilting his head to the side. “I extracted one from him. Would you like to see it?”

You nodded, as expected. Hopeful curiosity glimmering in your eyes, the idea of being shown something new and dangerous exciting to you. He sighs, allowing the cursed spirit he had absorbed free. He had no worry - he knew it was safely under his control. But he could see the fear in your eyes as it stalked towards you, the way you instinctively backed up, glancing at your father for protection.

“Daddy-” 

He lets its maw open inches from your body, the acrid stench of its breath filling the room as it goes to attack. He watches, unblinking, as you tremble and beg for his help, tears streaming down your face. Even still, he waits a few more seconds before driving his cursed tool through the spirit, exorcising it with ease.

“Do you see now why I cannot let you outside? It is far too dangerous for you.” You nod, clinging to him as you sob into the fabric of his robes. He lets you, holding you close to him. “I do not wish to see you hurt. Promise me you won’t ask to leave the compound again.”

“I promise.”

The years pass, and you do not dare mention leaving the compound again. Even as you reach adulthood, the memory of the demon you faced as a child keeps you biting back any requests of more freedom.

Something in your father has changed - you’re not sure what it is, but it leaves you with a lingering sense of unease whenever you cross his path. His gaze has become sharper, watching your every movement like he’s waiting for something. What it is, you’re unsure of. Your pulse is constantly racing when you’re forced to be in his proximity for more than a few seconds, but your brain can’t register what it is about him that’s making you so tense.

Your realisation comes to you slowly. You’ve seen that look before in some of them men that have wandered around the compound. Not directed at you, but you’re able to identify it all the same. 

Hunger.

Your realisation doesn’t come with any changes in his actions, but you can see in the subtle curve of his lips that he knows. He can sense that you act differently around him. Geto is an intelligent man, and it’s clear he planned for you to find out from the start. Months pass by without any changes in routine. You rarely see your father unless he deems it necessary to address you, his followers often being the ones responsible for ensuring you attend meals and stay within the compound.

Then, suddenly, he comes to you.

It’s the middle of the night when he wakes you with a gentle caress on your cheek. It’s one of the most affectionate touches he’s given you since you were a little girl, fingertips gently brushing over your cheekbones. When you meet his eyes, your heart stops beating for a moment.

His gaze is anything but kind. His jaw is set tight, and in that moment you realised how naive you were to think ignoring his glances would be enough to keep him at bay. Seeing your eyes widen with fear is enough for a sharp grin to spread across his face, his hand shifting to grasp at your hair, tilting your head back harshly.

“You're looking so beautiful these days, sweetheart.” Suguru murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, free hand grasping at your hip. “I thought about resisting my impulses, but it’s as if you were made to tempt me. Pure, kind, beautiful. Forbidden fruit is always said to be the sweetest, but I had never thought temptation would come to me in the form of my very own daughter.”

You stiffen under him, hands pushing at his chest. He tuts disapprovingly, his fingers slackening as he pulls his hand from your hair. Suguru slides his fingers down the side of your neck, delicately wrapping around your throat before he squeezes.

“Shh, calm down. It’s only me, bunny.” He purrs the nickname, one he has not used in years in an attempt to soften you, It works, momentarily, but your muscles still feel fraught with tension. He leans down, fingers tightening around your neck in a warning as he presses his lips to yours.

His mouth is hot against yours as he kisses you. He keeps the pace leisurely, almost teasing as he presses his chapped lips against yours, tongue coaxing your lips open. The hand on your hip slides under your shirt in a way that makes you jolt, immediately breaking the kiss.

“Daddy, wait-”

Suguru scoffs, raising a brow at you. “That makes you sound so childish. You're a big girl now, aren't you?”

“D-Dad?” You correct, feeling yourself squirm under his harsh gaze.

“Better.” He breathes out, lowering his head once more to lathe his tongue along the flesh of your throat, licking hotly at your quickening pulse beneath the skin. The hand on your bare slides higher, dragging the fabric of your shirt up until he’s cupping your breast, thumb brushing gently over your nipple. You gasp softly at the pleasure it brings, something that brings an unfamiliar heat searing through your veins as wetness pools in the gusset of your panties.

He grins at the gasp he draws from your lips, teeth gently nipping at your skin as he releases your throat. His thumb flicks over your nipple once more as he drags his other hand down, moving to feel the wetness seeping through your underwear.

“I promised I’d protect you, bunny, and I meant it.” He murmurs, tracing a finger down the middle of the dampened fabric. He feels you tremble as he brushes over your clit, so he presses down gently to hear you whimper.

“I meant it,” he repeats, “I won’t hurt you, I just want you to feel good. You trust me, don’t you?

It’s a question, but it sounds more like a threat. You felt that familiar sense of unease in the back of your mind. You hadn’t experienced these things before, but you weren’t clueless.  You knew this was wrong, that he shouldn’t be touching you like this, but as his thumb replaces his finger so he could gently rub circles into your clit, your apprehension melts.

“Good girl.” He praises, words smooth and sweet. His fingers hook in the waistband of your panties, and he slowly slides them down your legs. His eyes hone in on your cunt, slick with arousal that he caused. “Look at you.”

Shame burns your face as you close your thighs, attempting to hide yourself from his view. Suguru grabs your knees, prying your thighs away before sliding his body between them to keep them from closing again.

“What’s wrong? You said you trusted me, bunny. Why are you trying to hide from me?”

“I wasn’t, I… I’m sorry.” You reply, gaze dropping nervously. Your heart pounds almost painfully in your chest, feeling more ashamed for disappointing your father.

“I don’t want to punish you, darling. Don’t you want to be good for me?” He says quietly, his tone almost condescending. He doesn’t wait for a reply before he sinks a finger into your tight cunt, a groan rumbling his chest as he feels you squeezing the digit. “Such an innocent little thing. So tight and wet.”

Suguru pulls back briefly only to remove his clothing, settling between your legs once more. His thumb presses down the base of his cock, allowing himself to align the tip with your dripping hole. “This may hurt at first, but you need to relax for me. Can you be a good girl?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, voice soft and nervous. Suguru presses forward, sliding himself inch by inch inside of your tight heat until his cock is pressed to your cervix. Tears prick at your eyes from the sudden burn, your chest heaving with heavy breaths as he pauses to allow you to adjust to his size.

“Shh, shh. You’ll be alright, bunny. Your body was made for me, after all. It will feel good soon.” He promises, gently rocking his hips. “My sweet girl. I’d never have another have you like this. No, it has to be me. I won’t ever let anyone hurt you.”

He tries to be gentle with you - he has no intention to hurt his sweet little girl - but the way you squeeze around him feels divine. He’s sure he’s never felt anything so perfect before, feeling as though he’s being driven mad as your slick walls cling to his cock, sucking him greedily every time he starts to pull out. Suguru is not one to lose control, but he can’t find it within himself to hold back as he starts to fuck into you with earnest, pounding you into the mattress until you’re crying out with every thrust.

His hand falls to rest on your pelvis, thumb brushing your clit in a way that makes you mewl, arching into his touch. He grunts as you squeeze tighter around his cock, his hips stuttering as he rubs circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips buck, and he slams into you harder, bruising your cervix each time his hips snap forward. You’re so tight and warm and perfect around him, and he’s not sure how much longer he’s going to last inside of you.

He watches through hooded, lust-glazed eyes as your body coils up tight, the prettiest moans and whimpers spilling from your hips as you come undone around his length. His teeth clench at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, the grip on your hip turning bruising as he fucks into you erratically, chasing his own release. His hips stutter before he stills, spilling deep inside of you with a low groan. His eyes squeeze shut, hand falling away from your clit to grip the sheets as he floods you with his cum.

“There we go, bunny.” He murmurs softly as he returns to himself, slowly pulling out of you. He sighs shakily, brushing some hair from your face. “You’re mine forever, darling. I’m never letting you stray from my side.” 

His tone alone assures you his words are a promise.

[persicipen]

after the rain ノ neuvillette

ৎ୭ — · · 0.9k ノ gn reader — fluffy hurt to comfort . insecure neuvi ノ subtle hugs and kisses . comforting him after the rain ノ slightly rewritten old fic <3

The world outside, glistening from the dew on the ground, seems to mirror the turmoil within the Chief Justice of Fontaine, now curled on the sofa right next to you, his silhouette not as powerful and admirable as usual. His eyes — sharp and perceptive in the courtroom — are now veiled by a shroud of doubt. Their typical iridescence now dull, forgotten pearls in the cracks of the rocky shore, roughened by sand and salty waves, depleted of its shine.

He finds himself troubled by the complexities of his own heart and the dimmed shades of morality.

The weight of expectations, the ones he dispensed with an unyielding hand, has taken its toll. As you observe him in this hushed ambience, it’s as if you’ve been granted access to a hidden chapter of his life, a glimpse behind the curtain of his public persona.

The low sun of the afternoon paints rainbows in the myriad little raindrops that cling to the windowpane like scattered jewels; each droplet captures a fragment of light, forming a dazzling mosaic of colours, their wet traces meandering down the glass surface. The sky is slowly turning orange and pink, gaining its healthy blush after the downpour, the dark clouds lazily gliding away beyond the horizon. The bloom reflects in Neuvillette’s amethyst eyes, a sight so breathtakingly beautiful and hurtful you can’t pull your gaze away.

He was crying. Again.

You caress his cheek gently, fingers seeking to soothe the damp imprints left by his tears. It’s a delicate touch, a gesture of empathy in front of his unspoken pain.

“You’re more than enough, Neuvillette.” You whisper softly.

He shudders, his breath uneven, and you take a closer look at his eyes — the pearlescent blue in them so mesmerising, still gorgeous despite the saddened gaze.

Neuvillette glances back at you, his expression softening for a little while, but as quickly as it appeared, the tenderness retreats, once again veiled by the weight of sorrow that grips his heart.

“I don’t deserve any of the respect the whole Fontaine is offering me…” His voice is barely above a whisper, still interrupted with muted sobs. “Perhaps I truly don’t understand them.”

“Don’t say that, Neuvillette.” Your voice is almost pleading as you look at him, trying to convey as much care as you can give to him to get the message through without hurting him when he’s so vulnerable right before you.

“I don’t feel anything. I’m just…” he trails off, looking away, as if ashamed to finish the sentence.

You brush your thumb over his cheek, wiping his dried tears away, and his eyes flutter shut under the long lashes; he finally allows himself to enjoy the feeling of your gentle touch, soothing his soul slowly with each passing moment.

It’s almost heartbreaking to see him like this. He carries himself in public with such strict elegance that it wouldn’t sound too far-fetched to assume some might see it as arrogance, yet it was nothing but a shield to hide his doubts and inner loneliness.

The confidence was not false per se, but similar to those ornated masks worn at the annual masquerade ball. You know it must have been very difficult to confess.

“Think how many people are grateful for what you’ve been doing to Fontaine for all these years.” You lean in and plant a soft kiss on his temple, his body relaxing against yours, curling closer into a hug; despite his height and broad shoulders, he feels right now like a lost little creature searching for a safe place to rest and to feel loved, and you wish you could protect him forever. “You keep their lives forever just and safe, because they know they can always turn to you and find the truth.”

He sighs heavily into the crook of your neck, warm breath against your skin, trying his best to calm down. You keep petting his hair gently, fingers intertwined with silver locks affectionately.

“Please never leave my side,” he murmurs against your neck, and it feels like the most intimate moment, just you and him, and the only thing you can do is press another gentle kiss on the top of his head.

“I won’t. Ever.” You say, and there is nothing more important to him than your promise, his heart melting warmly in his chest.

You both cuddle on the velvet cushions of the sofa, the setting sun casting long, warm shadows across the spacious room. The air still smells of the freshly brewed tea and the passing rain, the sound of distant birds singing returning after the weather.

Neuvillette seems calmer now, relaxed in your arms. He is vulnerable during such moments, his eyes looking deep into your soul, bright irises absorbing every little detail of your features so he can hold your face in his memory. His hand finds yours, and you hold it tight, caressing the skin of his palm.

It feels nice to have this closeness, to be able to experience his loving gaze upon you without feeling uneasy or too self-conscious.

Your fingertips brush along the shape of his knuckles, tracing the hem of his sleeves, slightly crumpled after a weary day of work. He closes his eyes, relishing the touch of your hand, those little sensations like gentle breezes of tenderness slowly dissipating the doubts that were troubling his mind.

You watch him as his gaze shifts towards the window, taking in the beautiful colours of the evening. His expression is soft, a hint of a melancholic smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He then snuggles closer to you once again and whispers into your ear the barely audible words full of devotion.

“I love you.”

A ribbon of trust spoken in the silk of his voice.

“And I love you, too.”

[annabelle--cane]

hiiii idk if you've been asked this before but do you have any like. favorite vampire biology tropes? or trait tropes or whatever you'd call it? like requiring human blood only vs animal blood being fine, burning in the sun or not, how fangs work, etc. any fun subversions you've seen as well perhaps?

I don't think I have any set favorite tropes, but I like when vampirism has some proper pros and cons. if it's just being sexy forever with a set of cool superpowers then there aren't really any stakes (lol), there should be trade-offs, but those trade-offs can vary by media. how often do vampires need to feed and what are the consequences if they go without blood for too long? what are the psychological / social / legal ramifications of regularly having to kill people? if they can feed off animals as an alternative, how does that affect their quality of life? if drinking blood isn't technically obligatory and they can choose to abstain, what are the side effects of going vamp vegan? if they have rules to obey like requiring invites into houses, not going out in the sun, sleeping in coffins, etc., how to these impact their every day lives?

I really like how the podcast not quite dead does its vampire biology, it's been a little while since I last listened so it's not fresh in my mind but there are real risks involved in being turned. it's a gamble if it'll even take in the first place and the prospective fledgling won't just die of blood loss, then the process of turning itself is very painful and carries its own risk of mortality, then freshly turned vampires' needs for blood are always very high and there's a good chance that they'll just die of starvation within the first year or so. if you can make it over the initial growing pains then it gets much easier to manage, but this means the vampires in nqd are few and far between and the ones that are around are usually very old and have little memory or patience for what it was like to be freshly turned, which means they don't help fledglings as much, which means more of them die, etc etc.

[raayllum]

Ezran in Season 6

Because Ezran was basically sad and/or worried about something every time he was on screen in s6 and I wanna talk about it, among other Ezran S6 related things

Episode by episode let's go

6x01 — Framing, Kingship, and Caretaking

This is in some ways I think one of Ezran's most important episodes in arc 2, if only from a framing standpoint. By that I mean, as one of Ezran's last occasions to be in the same physical places as Harrow, they use every ounce of parallel framing and lines they can to show how much Ezran is evoking his father beat by beat throughout the episode.

We also get more literal parallels to Harrow as well, with the king by the window thinking it's better to not go destroying the thing his high mage brother is very much in favour of destroying, with both eventually agreeing (albeit for different reasons for said destruction each time).

Beyond parallels to his father, we also see how Ezran conducts himself within the council meetings, with Zym, and with his brother (+ Rayla) and Soren by proxy. For example, in just about every scene he has this episode, Ezran is focused on either 1) taking care of others or 2) directing others / making decisions. He has the final say with the pearl, he's the one comforting Zym, he's the one deciding Soren and Zym will look for Zubeia and signing off on Callum and Rayla leaving.

This on the one hand makes sense, as Ezran uses similar language when discussing his bond with his friends / Zym and his kingdom ("everyone is counting on me") but more on that later. 6x01, therefore, builds on the patterns established in early s4 of Ezran stepping up to carry everyone else's emotional weight, to be a steady presence of reassurance and peace, and of taking care of his kingdom / making decisions as a king and as a diplomat (going on the mission with Zubeia, onto Rex Igneous and Domina Profundis, etc).

She's alive. And wherever she is, she loves you too. (4x01)

I know you're worried about [Zubeia]. But wherever she is, I'm sure she's okay. (6x01)

It's not just Ezran emulating Harrow in telling Callum and Rayla to "take care of each other," or entrusting Soren with Zym ("keep each other safe"), and knowing that they will. Ezran watching everyone else leave without him harkens back, I think, to Soren's assertion in 5x02 that "It's not fair you have to struggle through this alone," but that is by and large what continues to happen for Ezran.

If you're trying to be a pillar of strength and one that others can lean on, it is very hard to lean on others (as we see perhaps most predominantly with Rayla, who also has many parallels to Ezran). All you can do is grin, bear it, and keep your head on straight. Therefore, that begets the question of who Ezran looks most directly to for guidance, which takes us to our next and only non-episode direct segment:

Ezran and Fathers: An Interlude

I'll expand on this a bit more in the next section, but I think it's worth noting up front in many ways that Zym is to Ezran what Ezran is to Callum, re: the older brother being both a brother and semi-taking on a parental role by default because it otherwise won't be filled. For Callum, this meant stepping in for both Sarai and Harrow at different points, and for Ezran, it means stepping in for both Avizandum and Zubeia. Ezran himself identifies this specific struggle in 2x03:

Someone's going to have to teach him all the things he's supposed to do, everything he's supposed to be. And he's meant to learn it all from a big strong king of the dragons. But he doesn't have that. All he's got is me.

Zym lacking his father and Ezran feeling like those shoes are difficult to fill leads him to missing his own dad. While Callum assures that "Me, Rayla, probably Bait, we're all here for you," Ezran still longs for his father and Harrow's specific guidance in his dynamic with Zym.

But I really wish Dad was here. I keep thinking about what he would do, what he would say to Zym. When I was little and I wasn't listening to him, Dad would say "Ezran, you're handful." So I tried that with Zym. "Azymondias, you're handful." But he doesn't understand. He doesn't even have hands. I guess I just miss Dad. He'd know what to do, you know?

Ezran reaffirms this desire to keep Harrow close in more ways than one, as he reveals in 4x08 where the silver of his crown came from (and why) as well as in 5x06, citing, "It's not worthless, it's really important to me," and quoting Harrow directly in 6x07 (though more on that later). We also see Ezran be willing to defend even Avizandum, who killed his mother, solely because he is Zym's dad: "Everything Avizandum did was to protect Xadia!" (4x08). This doesn't mean Ezran thinks either are perfect (his speech in 3x02 in which he reaffirms Harrow was a good father but a deeply flawed king indicates otherwise) but that both, as kings and as fathers, are people he has tried to emulate with varying degrees of success and aspiration.

AVIZANDUM: This is a special day, a day of life. Do not force me to make it a day of death. (3x06)

And this bond with Harrow is, of course, exactly what Claudia preys upon in 5x09 and what is going to be brought to the forefront in S7 with Runaan, but again: more on those things later. For now, the most important things are Ezran's continual push for himself with king and diplomat as the bases of his identity, and how S6 increases the strain on both of those aspects one by one.

6x02 — Knowledge and Need

One of Ezran's many assessments of what made him a different king from his father, besides not fighting in battles, was Ezran's recognition that he "hadn't read many books of wisdom". I found it a cute fun character detail then that both times we see him in his apparent down time in 6x02 and 6x03, and really the first down time we've seen him be in since early S4, he's reading ("He's right, books are great"—so true 4x02 Ezran, so true).

The more interesting aspect I think this episode raises is along the continuing lines of Ezran and Zym's bond, which is sweetly highlighted here (and then accordingly gets pay off with Zubeia and Zym by episode's close). Specifically, the idea of need:

CLAUDIA: She said I had to stay with Soren, that this was my home, and that my brother and I needed each other. (2x09)

This idea of needing one another, and being together, is very human centric in TDP, Callum and Ezran each being strong and routine proponents of it, but eventually the mindset extends to more Xadian characters (such as Rayla's statement that she and Ethari need Runaan, too, by season's end). This sentiment of "we need each other" is important of course, as well, because it operates in direct opposition to the concept of doing things alone or in isolation, which is how Ezran has been left behind as king and has operated somewhat as king in general.

Zubeia's demonstration that Ezran is a true part of their family is also important, as while Ez isn't there directly to hear it, it narratively rewards his love of Zym and Zubeia by having it be equally reciprocal, and Zym accordingly returns to him. While Ezran is king, and a good king, he cannot and should not be walking his path alone, and that means relying on the people around him to help him.

Or not, if that person is Viren.

6x03 / 6x04 — Viren

Viren's arrival back in Katolis weighs on Ezran before it weighs on Soren, and we see Ezran carry this weight in addition to every other concern already on his mind (but more on that when we talk about 6x05). For now, I want to talk about some contrasts with prior seasons for 6x03.

First, I want to talk about Ezran's storm motif. While the weather is normally pretty stormy, with just about if not every initial shot of the castle each season embedded in a storm, Ezran is the character who surprisingly has the most interplay with it. While Rayla is introduced in a storm and illuminated by lightning (S1 and her tears as the rain in S5), and Callum is a sky-storm mage (prominently in S2 and a bit in S5), Ezran is probably the character who experiences the storm the most and the most consistently.

1x01: Ezran is startled awake by thunder, fearful of the storm

2x07: Ezran runs after Zym and faces Claudia

3x01: Ezran arrives back in Katolis on the back of Banthers

4x01: Ezran hosts his council meeting of the season while it's raining/storming

5x01: Ezran goes out into the storm directly to engage with Domina Profundis

Therefore, the storm has been adjacent to most of Ezran's important turning points as a character, moving from something he's afraid of, to a signal of his tumultuous homecoming, to something he faces head on without fear, and finally where we see Ezran in a lot of ways finally be recognized as King by the person who tried to steal his throne and remove him from the position than one, with Viren's body language directly heralding his last confrontations (1x03, 5x02) with Harrow.

Furthermore, we have the interplay of what both Viren and Ezran believe will happen in Katolis ("They'll throw you in a dungeon, if you're lucky") versus what Viren actually receives from Ezran's verdict(s). Ezran is the only other character we see Viren seek direct penance and apology to, fully recognizing him as king: "I need to see the king" much the way he needed to go to Katolis to face his primary truth with Soren ("I must face my truth... I see you, Soren").

Then we have the way S6 takes more background themes of truth and mercy and amps them up throughout the season, re-contextualizing Ezran's exchange with Viren in a few ways. The most straightforward example of what I mean is by looking at what Aaravos says in his conversation with Sol Regem.

AARAVOS: Would you like a reward? A small mercy before perhaps, before your death? The mercy of truth. (6x08)

So while Ezran doesn't provide Viren with mercy in a traditional sense, as he says, "Good, you don't deserve any" and therefore will not give any, he does provide mercy. He provides Viren a truth they can both agree on, he allows Viren to see him as was requested, and he spares the man's life, locking him away rather than executing him. Ezran's truth is harsh, maybe (deservedly) but it is merciful by its own measure.

On the other end of mercy with Aaravos and the Cosmic Council, we see concepts of mercy and cruelty be called into question.

Sometimes the line between mercy and cruelty can be thin.

Now, Ezran lived because of Rayla's compassion and mercy, and Ezran is someone who ordinarily shows mercy to others as well (i.e. Rayla, Soren, Claudia on more than one occasion, N'than). He's also not usually cruel. But "cruel" is one of Viren's many motif words (I do not mean to be cruel / I owe you an apology Viren, I was cruel to you even though I care for you so much / He's cruel, but you don't have to be / I have been cruel to you + I punished you with a life of cold cruelty), so I think it's worth taking into account. As the wonderful and talented @its-leethee once pointed out, Ezran denying Viren his own definition of mercy also means denying him cruelty by proxy.

I also think Ezran is aware he walks this line as king, however, given how we see things go when Soren returns in 6x04. Not only is the scene with the council while Viren is in the dungeon tonally completely different than it was in season 3 (nobody with the authority to do anything about it, not even Opeli outside of 3x01, really treats Viren being down there as a concern or something on Ezran's plate when he gets back), but also because it presents Ezran with a hard choice to make.

Barius is distanced enough that he can almost smile about the mushrooms, so I knew either Opeli or Ezran were going to be the ones to tell Soren what had happened. Ezran in 3x02 states, "I didn't see everything [Harrow] had to do as king, but I do know that my dad had to make many hard decisions." Not only does this form the backbone of Ezran's entire philosophy as king (going back home in the first place, refusing to have a regent, sacrificing himself, taking the throne up again, etc etc) but it informs him here. Someone has to do the hard thing of telling Soren the truth, and Ezran decides it'll be him, so he does.

Because he's not just Soren's friend, he's his king. And that's Ezran's responsibility.

6x05 — Ezran and Responsibility

Ezran has a very interesting mindset when it comes to what people are responsible for. He holds Claudia accountable in 2x09, but still chases after her and believes in her in 3x09; while he presumably doesn't like dark magic for obvious Ezran-y reasons of seeing all creatures as friends, he's not judgmental about its usage for either Claudia or Callum, even when Rayla holds his brother's usage against him in S2. And when Rayla returns in season 4, he's also not visibly upset with her, either. So I think we can say, if you express regret, had good intentions, and prove you can change, there's a lot that Ezran can forgive, even if it's not everything (re: Viren).

I think we see some of his struggle with it, though, when it comes to the weight he feels for his own actions and choices. Despite Kasef bringing war to his doorstep, Ezran laments, "How can I let this happen?" When he creates a plan where Katolis could escape the war wholly if enough people laid down their hands, giving them agency at the expense of his own, and it doesn't work perfectly, Ezran says, "I let [Corvus] down as king," and feared doing the same earlier: "I feel like I'm letting everyone down." This idea of immense collective responsibility, and the persistent fear of letting people (specifically and in general) down, is one of the many reasons him and Rayla are, often times, so very similar.

Ezran has a tendency to take on an internalized feeling of responsiblity to begin with, and that simply gets amplified with the external circumstances of him being king:

I know everyone is counting on me to teach Zym how to fly. But that's just the start. (2x03)

I don't have time to do kid things. I must gain the trust and cooperation of the dragons, and I shall not be deterred. So many people are counting on me to do my duty. [...] Every time I sit on my throne, I'm reminded of the immense pressure of my kingly duty. (5x02)

But when I struggle, I think of the people I love and how they are counting on me to do the right thing. (6x07)

So Ezran holds himself to a high standard, and that trickles down into how he interacts with others typically in a more compassionate rather than judgemental way—letting things go, holding the group together, being a routinely validating presence—and how he operates as king (4x04):

EZRAN: Wait, please don't go yet. If the Fallen Star is a danger the whole world will face, this is a chance to solve our problems together. [...] I wish there was a way we could combine our strength and purpose and face this together. OPELI: Maybe there is a way. Go with her. EZRAN: But Katolis needs me. OPELI: The world needs you right now. The High Council can take care the people, I promise. EZRAN: You're right. The kingdom will be in good hands.

As king, his kingdom and people come first ("As princes of Katolis, it's our duty to put you all first"—Dreamer's Nightmare) and we see this continue in 6x05 with his conversation with Soren.

LUJANNE: Consider the half moon. Light only falls on half its face right now, but that doesn't mean the other half isn't there. The same is true with you. There are parts of yourself that you keep hidden. (2x02)

Him and Soren are both worried and both fronting with each other, Ezran smiling when Soren enters and giving him a reassuring hug, and Soren's smile dropping the second he leaves.

EZRAN: I'm really excited for Aunt Amaya's wedding, but it also feels like a bad time to leave Katolis. There's so much happening. Callum and Rayla aren't back yet. I'm still worried for Zubeia. And there's that other thing. The prisoner. SOREN: Oh, don't worry about—Viren. Everything will be fine.

Even after receiving news from Soren and Zym that Zubeia is alright, and reaffirming he knows that Zym is worried, Ezran doesn't open up to Zym about it or let the worry go. He feels responsible for his kingdom but also in handling things with Viren.

Speaking of Viren from last episode: while Ezran is typically non-judgmental and forgiving of choices/mistakes, we also get an important piece for how Ezran views responsiblity from 3x02:

My father made choices to keep fighting battles that started hundreds of years before he was born. To punish enemies for crimes their parents committed.

The same way Rayla turns because "how can we take vengeance for something that never happened," Ezran didn't punish Soren and Claudia for crimes their father made ("They thought I ran away, just like my parents" / "But if I die, I'll just be paying the price they should've paid a long time ago") but he does punish Viren for crimes Viren has committed. His emphasis on agency extends to 3x04, in which he gives up his agency in order to give his army some: they can choose to walk away with no technical consequences, even though the deserters are jeered at and forced to wear identification badges / are publicly shamed for their choice to not go to war against Xadia. Rayla was also ordered by Zubeia to kill him and his father, but went against orders upon seeing the egg; Zubeia's heart likewise changed upon seeing her child had been returned to her. (Runaan, comparatively, refused to disobey orders even once seeing the egg, and then attacked and tried to kill his daughter over it by his own admission—but more on him and Ezran later).

The point I'm trying to make is that Ezran feels responsible for his own and other people's decisions when it comes to the good of his kingdom; that he fronts just as much as Soren does about feeling okay; and that he highlights people's agency / right to choose as something that can help them break the cycle, as indicated in his infamous 4x03 speech:

But violence tests us. In a twisted way, it converts us to its cause. Because pain and loss feel so terrible inside, you want to hate. You want to hurt someone else. So what do we do? How can we stop this cycle? [...] We have to acknowledge the weight of the pain and loss, but open up our eyes and allow ourselves to hope and maybe forgive and love again. We have to give today’s children a chance to inherit a future filled with peace. To give them that, we have to hold pain and love in our hearts at the same time.

As king, he has the ability—the responsibility—to make better choices in leading his kingdom, leading his friends.

With that in mind, time to finally talk about the biggest Ezran episode this season:

6x07 — Choices and Sisters

In 6x07, we see Ezran away from Katolis, which he was worried to be, but bonding with Queen Aanya, which is rather sweet. When war is brought to his aunts' doorstep, though, Ezran accordingly steps up, and that is where the real meat of the episode begins for him. Not only is he much calmer and more direct when bargaining with Janai than either his brother or Rayla were (5x03), he's also directly successful, with a little help from Aunt Amaya.

While Ezran to this point has had a bit of interplay with the Mercy motif running throughout the season, and a bit of Truth by proximity, here we see him step more fully into the Path motif that's interwoven with both of these concepts ("Only you can find your one deep truth. Only you can choose the path you're going to walk" —6x04):

EZRAN: What? No. This is supposed to be a day of love, not a day of bloodshed. Maybe we can talk him down. [...] Queen Janai, please. Go on with the wedding. Send me as your emissary to Karim.

There's a few reasons Ezran steps in, I think. He wants to help his aunts and allow them to have their wedding day (again, taking something onto his shoulders to avoid it being on someone else's). He wants to save lives. But perhaps most personally is that this is his path and therefore his truth. He believes in peace and more than that, he believes in choices, offering one both to Janai (and Amaya) of whether to send him or not, and then to Karim of whether to listen.

So he goes, planning for contingencies in bringing Corvus and leaving Aanya by the rocks to watch their backs with her bow and arrow.

A few notes on his discussion with Karim in quick succession otherwise we'll be here all day:

The return of the child-king dichotomy ("a child is freer than a king" / "but I can't run away from growing up, now that I'm king" / "the whining child king" / "this is a child!" "he is a king!") makes a return

As does Karim's typical brand of condescension

Ezran offers Karim the same thing he offered his armies, as well as Ezran's emphasis on the future > Karim's emphasis on the past and power: "Take your army, the people who follow you, and build your own future somewhere away from here."

Reaffirmation of Ezran believing humans and Xadia are stronger together and that people should be reintegrated with each other (bringing Zym home, working with various elves and dragons, his offers of togetherness to Zubeia and Rayla, his love for his aunt, etc etc)

Ezran quoting Harrow's letter directly: "No, history doesn't have to be a narrative of strength. Not if we don't want it to be. It can be a narrative of love."

Initial break down of key points:

Once again, Ezran highlights people's wants. Queen Janai wants peace. It doesn't have to be a narrative of strength if we don't want it to be. "We all want peace and we all want love." Karim is about to deliver a very harsh lesson about what can happen when that isn't what people want, as he's more motivated by ego and pride than any measure of love. Ezran's emphasis also ties into opposition with how when people / characters in the show don't listen to their wants, they're more likely to engage in the Cycle because they think they have no choice: "I don't want to," Rayla says, threatening his brother, "but I have to" (1x02) + arc 1 Viren's entire character arc.

Secondly, while Ezran begins by stating that "Human, child, king" (or his three identity monikers) "none of this matters," that's not where he ends his statement. Instead, he builds his identity directly upon his kingship (which Karim notably does not have):

K: Those are childish dreams. E: Not dreams. Choices. I am a king. And as a king, I choose love over strength.

This is an interesting reconciliation, as we see Harrow forced to choose in dreams precisely because he's king (2x05) and we see dreams interplay with choices for both Viren ("Every step forward is a choice") and Callum's dark magic dreams ("No, I get to choose who I want to be"). It also sets up inevitably that Karim won't choose love over strength almost precisely because he's not king and that's what he wants to be, perhaps in a symbolic sense.

Then we get to the meatiest part of S6 Ezran in a lot of ways, in terms of set up for next season:

Sometimes it’s hard, but when I struggle, I think about the people I love and how they are counting on me to do the right thing. Not the harsh thing, not the strong thing. The right thing. Do you love your sister, Prince Karim?

Again, a few quick notes:

Verbal acknowledgement from Ezran himself that choosing love over strength is hard and is a struggle, harkening back to 4x03

"Counting on me" pattern

Ezran specifically references to the people he loves as balances, which most clearly points to Zym and Zubeia, I think

Ezran will be challenged in that exact way next season with Runaan, precisely with "Do you love your sister?" (and brother) being what can bring him back from the brink

But more on this when I get to my Ezran-Karim meta, which all of this meta was originally supposed to be in, and then it got way too long and got split in two.

KARIM: What? Of course I do. I... She has led our people down the wrong path, but she will always be my sister. EZRAN: Then you can still choose love. It’s not too late.

However, all of Ezran's best efforts — his emphasis on choices — doesn't matter when Karim actively "wants Janai to attack"; that history wrote that fire must be chosen, so he'll choose it again now. What follows is Ezran desperately running to save lives and go against the perceived destiny Miyana sees ("Open your eyes, little king. You cannot be blind to destiny") as both Zym, Aanya, and Corvus help Ezran escape. We see Aanya continue to be a great support, extending a hand to him rather than being someone he extends aid to, and although Ezran is unable to stop the Sunfire armies from colliding with Sol Regem, they are spared anyway.

And while he's undeniably grateful and happy it didn't happen to the Sunfire elves nor his aunts, it's for a fate that's far personally worse for our young boy king.

6x09 — Castles Crumbling

Remember how I've emphasized throughout about Ezran treating kingdom — particularly in S6 — as an underpinning for his entire identity, both in professional and interpersonal relationships? Well... what's a king his castle? What is a king without a kingdom?

Furthermore, Katolis and the crown, the kingship, is also key to how Ezran conceptualizes and remembers Harrow. The emphasis on his throne, the emphasis on his crown, the way Ezran speaks and forges ahead as a leader... these are all ways to keep his parents'—his father's—memory alive. Now there's not even that.

Ezran has always had semblances of phoenix symbolism, surviving death, riding dragons rather than being burned by them, waking up with the rising sun in 3x02 and claiming his crown at sunset by the end, being taken to the dungeons at nightfall, etc. Now he's been pushed into it full throttle, dealing with many types of grief at once.

A loss of his people and the responsiblity he felt towards them, grieving innocent lives lost; the destruction of his childhood home and safe stronghold; in many ways, the loss of his father and family all over again; and lastly, a loss of sense of self, symbolized by the literally fallen towers of Katolis.

This raises an especially interesting arc for Ezran going forward. On the one hand, being king is a deeply positive experience for him: it's hard but it's liberating, he deeply loves his people, and it's a role as mediator he's always naturally stepped into (1x03, 1x06, Dreamer's Nightmare, 4x06, etc). It's something he actively chooses and uses to choose the Narrative of Love.

At the same time, it's also been deeply isolating, and something he's prone to utilizing in anger: "If I am the king, you have to let me go" (2x08) when it comes to pulling rank. The fact it's so bound up with his bond with Harrow (and Callum having distance from Harrow partially specifically informed by Harrow being king) is also likely to hurt as much as it helps.

In the same way that other characters are being pushed to their dual identity breaking point in S7 — Rayla as a protector or an assassin, Callum as someone who can break away from Aaravos' corrupted control or will play right into his hands — Ezran will likewise be similarly tested, being a King of Strength and a King of Love, potentially falling prey to the same pitfalls that doomed his father but also coming back from them as well. In a lot of ways, therefore, each of his scenes / episodes in S6 take the former dominos from S4 and S5 and line them up all for 6x09—7x02 to likely knock them down in brutal succession, and then see how he — like his brother and friend; like a phoenix; like his kingdom — rises from the ashes.

And I can't wait to see it.

Conclusion

I hope you enjoyed this very long Ezran meta! There was a lot to dig in from S6 itself as well as from prior seasons, and is — I think — probably tied for the 2nd best Ezran season with season 3 (the best season for him being S4, tbh). Contextualizing things further both in regards to the past and the future for his character arc is also very exciting, and I hope this meta helped create hype — for the boy, for the king, and for the way Ezran has continued to grow and be tested.

The next meta will either be Terry (S4—S6) or Claudia&Rayla (S6) centric, and I will see you then!

In the meantime, Dragons out!

[actual-sleeping-beauty]

about a half an hour ago i turned twenty-two. i feel a little like eeyore saying, "it's my birthday pooh," about it. hard to celebrate right now. hard to know if i can trust the people around me.

but also. for about twenty four hours now, all i have been able to think about is the newborn child of a couple i have never met and likely never will. i keep thinking about susanna wolff and caldwell tanner. i keep thinking about how their first daughter was born in december of 2020. (i am not weird or creepy for knowing this, she wrote an article in the new yorker about having a pandemic pregnancy.) i keep thinking about how their second child was born recently, almost certainly within two weeks of the election. (i am also not weird or creepy for knowing this, the birth was announced by his podcast so he can take some paternity leave.) i keep thinking about these children, about the difference in the circumstances of their births. about the world we, as a country, have decided is fit for them.

and then i keep thinking about the fact that the world keeps turning. barring something awful happening, these children will get to grow up. they will go to kindergarten and learn to read and tie their shoes. they'll learn that the world is not fair and that there's something unexplainably beautiful about light pouring through the trees in late fall and that there comes a time when you gt to pull out your sweaters and get excited about clothes you had forgotten you owned and that people you love can come back into your life when you thought they were gone and that you will have favorite songs and poems and games and books and movies and and and.

i think about how every day people live their lives. a old woman i knew died last monday. twenty two years ago today i was born, too early and unprepared. every day people are living and loving and breaking. someone got married today. someone got divorced. yesterday i cried for hours and then spent two hours with my friends cheering them on in volleyball. twenty two years ago this week my parents took their incredibly ill baby to the hospital and a group of very dedicated medical professionals saved her life. twenty two years ago this week my grandmother got the call that she had breast cancer. a year ago i was diagnosed with a chronic illness. thirteen months ago i thought i might die before i saw twenty-one, let alone twenty-two. a month from now my grandfather is coming from his home, decimated by a hurricane, to watch me graduate from college.

what i'm saying is there are terrible awful things every day. there are. and yesterday was particularly awful. it's hard to know these things, to see where we are headed. but we cannot succumb. no nos podemos rendir. we cannot. the world needs us. we need us. there are so many quotes for this moment, and i am a magpie who collects shiny phrases instead of metals. i want you to say it with me - come on now, do it; i am trusting you with my earnestness. Hope is the thing with feathers. the light-soaked days are coming. we're here because we're here because we're here because we're here. unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better, it's not.

or, perhaps more appropriately, i'll instead quote caldwell's friend, creating one of the most lovely scenes i have ever heard with him in a dnd game, shortly before the events of susanna's article:

you are afflicted with duty... the world should have protected you, but you have been asked to protect it. what an honor. what an injustice.

[gxr25256]

A Flicker of Connection - Thundercraker x reader

🌵 He simply wanted someone to talk to.

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The first thing Thundercracker felt was betrayal—sharp, physical betrayal that seared across his faceplate, the blast striking him with a fury he should’ve anticipated. But he hadn’t expected Skywarp, of all mechs, to lash out like that. Perhaps he’d thought their years as trine, their shared battles and triumphs, would mean something.

But he was wrong. The mark of Skywarp’s anger, of his belief in Thundercracker’s failure, still scarred his metal plating. Now, in this forgotten building, far from the battle’s aftermath, he hid in silence. An old, crumbling structure on the outskirts of a city teeming with humans—the very beings he had risked everything to save. The glow of static from the Earth televisions he’d cobbled together washed over him, throwing flickering blue light across his frame as he replayed those events.

The scene from that day felt carved into his processor. Autobots and Decepticons, locked in vicious combat, and there he’d been, caught in between, feeling a gnawing sense of disgust for the very cause he’d once fought for. He remembered the humans’ faces, the terror etched into their expressions, and it had struck something deep within him. They were small, fragile—but there was something else he couldn't name that seemed... worth saving.

Thundercracker’s red optics dimmed as he watched the images on the screen shift to a romance film. Two humans, laughing, leaning close, as if their world consisted only of each other. It made no sense, these seemingly trivial displays. But he was drawn to it, this softer side of Earth culture, an escape from his own reality.

He didn't know how long he’d been hiding. Days, weeks? Time slipped by unnoticed, blending into one unbroken stretch of isolation. The world he knew was fractured, his purpose hazy, and it was only through these screens that he found fleeting distractions.

Suddenly, a faint noise made him freeze. There was a crunching of gravel outside, the slow approach of someone—or something—tiptoeing toward him. Thundercracker immediately straightened, readying his blaster, though his energy levels were low, and he doubted he could manage more than a warning shot.

When he saw who stepped into the doorway, his optic shutters clicked open in surprise. A human. Young, wide-eyed, and staring at him as if he were some strange, unimaginable creature.

You froze as soon as you spotted him. For a second, you just stood there, wide-eyed, mouth half-open, trying to process what you were seeing: a massive, mechanical creature, battered and worn, watching you intently. You could feel your heartbeat thunder in your chest, but something kept you rooted in place, as if curiosity outweighed fear, just barely.

Thundercracker didn’t move, watching you with equal surprise. He raised a hand slowly, almost in a placating gesture, and you flinched, nerves tense.

“…You’re…you’re real?” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

Thundercracker’s gaze softened slightly, though his tone remained guarded. “Last I checked,” he replied, the rumble of his voice reverberating through the empty space. The deep, almost gentle tone surprised you.

Your eyes flicked around nervously, your shoulders tense. “I, uh… I’ve heard of you guys in the news… seen the damage you can do, but I never thought—” You stopped yourself, swallowing visibly. “Never thought I’d see one of you here.” Your voice was shaky, and you struggled to hold his gaze, feeling as though he could see right through you.

“Most wouldn’t expect to.” He glanced at the floor, his optics narrowing slightly. “You’re not…scared?”

“Uh…” You glanced at his scarred faceplate, the mangled remnants of what was once a proud Seeker helm. “Maybe a little.”

Thundercracker frowned at your answer but not in annoyance, just in confusion. “Maybe?”

You chuckled awkwardly, rubbing your neck. “Okay, a lot,” you admitted. “But… I mean, if you wanted to hurt me, you would’ve done it by now, right?”

Thundercracker tilted his head slightly, surprised by your audacity. Most humans would have run by now. But this one…this one was staying, even as their pulse quickened with obvious anxiety. “What are you doing here, then? Humans don’t exactly wander into places like this without reason.”

You shrugged, trying to look casual though your nerves were clear. “I guess… I’m just curious.”

Thundercracker raised a brow. "Curious?”

"About… you. Cybertronians.” You cast a sidelong glance at him. “Everyone’s always talking about you all like you’re… some kind of monsters or gods. But here you are, sitting in an abandoned building, watching TV like… like a person.”

“TV?” His optics brightened, and you couldn’t help but notice the way they flickered with interest. “You call it TV?”

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by the shift in his tone. “Uh, yeah. TV. Television?”

“Interesting.” Thundercracker looked back at the screen, where a couple danced slowly under a wash of soft lights. “Humans put a lot of effort into these… emotional displays. It’s fascinating, how two individuals act as though they mean everything to each other.”

You cracked a small, hesitant smile. “Watching human movies, huh?” you teased softly, your fear melting into curiosity. “Didn’t think giant robots were into romance films.”

He felt a strange spark at the teasing, something he hadn’t felt in a long time—almost a sense of camaraderie, ridiculous as it was. “Although it is interesting, it is still… confusing,” he admitted, looking back at the screen. “Humans… they spend so much time on these things. I don’t understand why.”

You laughed softly, surprised at yourself for feeling so at ease with him. “Yeah, well, romance and emotions are kinda complicated.” The sound of your laughter caught him off guard. It was small but oddly comforting.

After a beat, you continued, “It’s about… connection, I guess. People want to feel close to someone else, to feel understood.” You looked at him, your expression softening. “It probably sounds strange to you.”

Thundercracker was quiet for a moment, letting your words sink in. “Connection…” he murmured. You saw a flicker of something in his optics—thoughtfulness, maybe? He looked so different from the images you’d seen of his kind.

He shifted slightly, his optics meeting yours. “And humans… how do they know when they have this… connection? What makes it worth the risk?”

The question hung in the air, heavier than you’d expected. You looked away, thinking hard. “It’s hard to explain,” you said finally, your voice thoughtful. “I guess… it’s when you meet someone who makes you feel less alone. Someone who cares even if they don’t really have to. And even if it’s risky or scary, it’s worth it because… well, life’s kinda empty without it.”

Thundercracker absorbed this, his gaze softening as he tried to imagine it. It reminded him of his trine bond. It was bittersweet to think about their relationship now compared to before the war. They might argue but not to the extent of conflict like this. His wings drooped at the thought.

Seeing that, you felt a pang of sympathy. Without even thinking, you found yourself asking, “Are you okay?” Maybe it was too real, the way he expressed his emotions through his wings, the way his optics dimmed slightly. It wasn’t anything like what you’d seen of Cybertronians before—the images were always of emotionless machines, destructive and relentless.

Thundercracker was surprised by your question, realizing how vulnerable he must have looked. Slightly embarrassed, he coughed. "Why do you ask?"

You looked back at him, and for a moment, your gazes held. In that quiet space, you murmured, “Never mind.” Something shifted between you, a flicker of understanding that you couldn’t quite name. For some reason, you felt a strange warmth toward him—a feeling that was both alarming and oddly comforting.

“So… what’s your favorite movie so far?” you asked, trying to break the intensity with a small smile.

His optics brightened slightly. "Movie?" .He grinned, looking back at the screen. “There was this one… a detective story. The human tracked down his lost partner. Saved him in the end. A victory without killing. There are only adventures that the man must go through on his way to save his partner.He is not even physically strong but he never gives up. That tenacity is interesting.” Thundercracker's voice grew more excited as he talked about the movie.

You nodded, eyes bright with interest. “Detective dramas, huh? You like the mystery?”

Thundercracker let out a low chuckle. “I like the parts where they show their strengths without… violence. Where they find other ways.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, feeling a warmth in your chest. “Sometimes strength isn’t about fighting. It’s about… being there for someone, even if you’re scared or unsure.” You looked back at him, feeling something deeper, something that felt real. “I think that’s something anyone can respect.”

Thundercracker considered that, his optics glowing dimly in the low light. Maybe he was more like these humans than he’d ever allowed himself to consider. Maybe, in a way, he’d been fighting the wrong battles for too long. The thought felt heavy, but at the same time, it lifted something in him.

The conversation ebbed into a gentle silence, the two of you just sitting there—him, a towering Cybertronian, and you, a small, fragile human. Both talked together, shared about movies, and sometimes made fun of silly things on tv.

You glanced at the screen, where another movie had started—a comedy this time—and chuckled softly. Then, checking your watch, you realized it was getting late. Talking to him made you lose track of time; the conversation felt like something you didn’t want to break away from.

“I should probably get going,” you murmured, looking a little hesitant. “It’s getting late, and…I don’t want anyone to find out I’ve been here.”

Thundercracker’s optics brightened slightly as he processed your words. “Leaving already?” There was a touch of disappointment in his tone, something he hadn’t intended to show.

His optics narrowed, the faintest glint of disappointment flashing across them. He hadn’t realized how much he’d come to enjoy this conversation, this connection, however small.

“Are you…going to come back?” His question slipped out before he had a chance to think about it. He quickly looked away, trying to mask the hint of eagerness in his voice.

You turned back, looking up at him with a bit of surprise and maybe even a touch of sympathy. “I…I could, yeah,” you said softly, your eyes thoughtful. “I mean…if you’d like that.”

Thundercracker gave a small nod, attempting to appear casual though his gaze was intently focused on you. “I suppose…having someone around to explain this…‘TV’…would be useful.” There was a faint hint of a smirk in his tone, an attempt to lighten the moment. But there was a sincerity there.

Your lips quirked into a smile. “Alright, then,” you said, your tone soft but genuine. “I’ll come by when I can. Show you a few more human classics. Who knows? Maybe you’ll end up with a favorite.”

Thundercracker’s optics softened. He could feel a glimmer of something he hadn’t himself to feel in a long time—hope. “I look forward to it,” he said, voice almost a murmur.

Thundercracker watched as you slipped out of the doorway, your form disappearing into the deepening shadows. He stayed there for a long time, his gaze fixed on the spot where you had stood, the quiet hum of the TV filling the empty space.

In that moment, he realized that for the first time in a long while, he had something to look forward to—however small, however fragile. A connection, as you had called it.

---------------------------------

[idorukiss]

Heres a sorta drabble/headcanon of sorts of how I picture MC's relationship with Rafayel would devleop~ I'm not much of a writer but the brainrot is real and im working on making similar ones for the other boys too!

1,051 words || You can also read it on ao3

‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙ Xavier ・ Zayne ・ Sylus

There have been many different things in Rafayel's life that inspired him when it comes to his art, But nothing took control of his heart so intensely as much as you have. Like a whirlpool you shook him to his core from that first meeting, and all he wants to do is capture you on his canvas for eternity.

It really was quite the blessing with how willing you were to become his bodyguard- not only can he keep you within arms reach but you can also protect him from all the shady people after his life. Like killing 2 birds with one stone, except you were so much stronger and beautiful than any stone he’s ever set eyes on before

He absolutely felt like a flirt to you at the start with all of the compliments and casual physical touch between you guys, He just loved to say how amazing you are while enclosing you in a deep bear hug. It was strange at first you'd admit, but it never felt like he was trying to make any passes at you or act like he was expecting anything in return. Perhaps that's just how he acts with people he trusts?

When Rafayel isnt painting, you two spend a lot of time outside finding inspiration all around. He usually has a sketchbook with him scribbling away anytime he sees something interesting- the landscapes, pretty flowers, or even a parfait you guys got to share. You’ve seen some of these sketches as he works on them, it always amazes you how much detail he can capture with so few lines.

He never let you fully flip through the sketchbook however, claiming all sorts of reasons why, like that the drawings were scared of the sunlight or you had to go through many trials to be worthy. It was obvious how much he cherished it and you respected his wishes, though it would be nice to reminisce on some of the good times you guys had together again. Though its not like your phone wasn't filled to the brim with photos already

Late one night, you stop by his place to make sure he didn't need any motivation to finish a painting for a deadline set the next morning. You have confidence he could make it in time, he always did, but you want to help him as best as you can otherwise. When you arrive you spot a stunning completed painting and a Rafayel sleeping on the sofa below it- both stunning as they're illuminated by the moonlight.

Taking it upon yourself to clean up his supplies a little, just enough to not be a walking hazard of course, you spot his precious travel sketchbook on the floor. Surely he wouldn't mind if you took a little peak in it, you'd love to see how he finished the last landscape you guys saw before he locked himself up to work. As you flip through the pages you see so many familiar sights from your time together so far, but scattered around them filling maybe even more pages was many drawings of a person. Of you. All surrounded by hearts and little notes about things you've said.

When did he have a chance to draw all of these? Is this how you look to him?? Questions race your mind as your face flushes at the image of him intensely scribbling in the sketchbook as you dance around the beach being dumb. You decide to grab a pencil and add your attempt of a sketch of him in the back, signing it with a little heart of your own. It’s nowhere near his skill level but something that captures how you feel, and maybe he would get a chuckle out of it once he spots it.

You don’t realize when the casual acts of affection he started out with turn slightly more romantic- going from linking arms together to holding your hand, and you swear you feel him press little kisses on the top of your head every time he wraps his arms around you. But you don't hate it, in fact it makes your heart flutter every time you realize it

Rafayel often messages you at the most random times to meet him somewhere, usually it was because he found a stunning view and wanted to share the experience with you. Sometimes he would even show up at your apartment to whisk you away, and every time it filled you with joy. These dates and every moment you get to spend with him fill your heart with so much warmth.

One particularly warm night you were woken up by a call inviting you to the beach near his studio. It was worth crawling out of the bed at an ungodly hour, not only for the view but for him. While you were admiring the waves, he couldn't keep his eyes off you as a cautious pinky is hooked around yours. Two faces flush as you look at him, it lasts for only a moment before its interrupted by your watch.

Your face falls as you read the notification “It looks like I got a last minute mission in the morning…I guess this means I have to head back already.” As you take a heavy step to start walking away he reaches out to stop you with a pleading look on his face “Wait, don’t go yet” “Rafayel…. I’m sorry, I really am. This night- everything was wonderful, it really was” “Can’t you just stay the night?” He wraps his arms around you, nuzzling his face into your neck “Please just stay the night, I don’t want you to leave.” Your heart flutters as you wrap your arms around him in return “Okay, I’ll stay for you my sweet painter”

He is the most clingy man you’ve ever met, constantly torn between wrapping himself around you while peppering every inch of skin with kisses and diving headfirst into hundreds of paintings with you as his muse. His studio would be covered in nothing but paintings of you if he didn't have to focus on his commissions.

He sculpted out a place in your heart that held him, and in turn you've devoted yourself to him- loving him with every fiber of your being

[witchezandwonderz]

The Crown’s Rebellion

Pairing: Jacaerys x Reader

Summary: Prince Jacaerys is forced into a marriage he does not want, bound by his family's schemes. But as they come to know each other, they forge a bond that defies expectations.

Word Count: 1908

A/N: In this story, Jacaerys is 18+, I am unsure of his age on the show as of last but I do not feel comfortable writing for a character under 18. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed:)

“You have done what, exactly?” Jacaerys breathed, one hand gripping the stone table in front of him and the other rubbing his temple in attempt to prevent the headache that he knew would arrive momentarily. His mother, Rhaenyra scrunched her mouth up and sighed, showing signs of both empathy and sympathy towards her son before stating “it must be done, Jace”. Her words seemed to hold the tone that she was trying to convince herself, rather than him.

Jacaerys did not want to marry, nor had he met a suitable, loving lady in which he wanted to dedicate his life towards. His mother did not offer much detail about the future Queen, however, the information that she did divulge to him was anything but telling. He were to marry ‘a fine lady, from house Massey of Stonedance’ which were his mothers exact words. Jacaerys knew that an arranged marriage would always come at the most random of times, but did not realise quite how little he would have to say in the matter.

“I must be honest with you my son, although the Masseys have in fact pledged their loyalty to me” Rhaenyra paused for a brief moment in order to sip her wine and then continued her words “I am unsure of the truthfulness behind it” Jacaerys blinked at his mother response, unsure of what to say or think. He knew what he wanted to say, but considered the fact that the woman in front of him was not only his mother but the Queen, and that meant that he had to keep his words respectful. Jacaerys used both hands to push strands from his dark hair from his eyes before responding, “mother, are you insinuating that I am to marry, simply to acquire information about your allies?” He asked, furrowing his brows as he spoke. Rhaenyra tilted her head to the side, contemplating the question before briefly nodding “I am afraid that this is exactly what I mean”. This led Jacaerys to feel a multitude of emotions, the main one being betrayal; his mother has always acted with pure love and kindness towards him, and he never would have thought that she would promise him to a complete stranger as though it he had meant nothing. But, he thought, she had changed significantly in recent years.

Unbeknownst to the pair, the house of Massey had the exact same plan. On one icy, somewhat drab morning, Y/N was approached by her father and had a very similar conversation to the one in which Jacaerys had with his mother. Y/N knew the way in which her family were viewed- loyal in the moment and then as soon as there is a change of power, more often than not, so does the Massey’s loyalty. Y/N did not act like this however, she was genuine and kind. She secretly always thought that the only reason her family were branded with such views is due to her father and her father only.

Y/N and Jacaerys did differ, despite the way that they were told being very similar, Y/N felt happy. She had been longing to leave Stonedance and explore what is beyond- she had always been constrained to the walls of her chambers. Despite this, a sadness lingered within her as she remembered that leaving this place, meant having to marry. Y/N had loved before, but the seeming love did not mean much to her father and when he discovered that she had a secret relationship with a ‘commoner’, he sent her love away.

Perhaps it was not love, she thought. I should have been the one to decide that.

The night prior to the wedding, and in turn their first meeting, felt like it lasted a lifetime to Jacaerys for he wanted to meet his wife, and the lack of information given about her sparked the curiosity within him. He sat at dinner playing with his food like a child, as he could not bring himself to eat. Not one person on the table had spoken in, well, the entirety of the dinner. Normally, Jacaerys would not be able to speak before being interrupted by his mother’s husband, and uncle Daemon with one of his peculiar remarks. Unfortunately, Daemon has been gone for a while, with no one sure as to whether he was even part of this ‘family’ anymore.

All individuals who attended left gradually, leaving just Jacaerys and his mother alone. He watched as she swirled her wine around in her cup, a blank expression upon her face. He sat back in his chair, crossing his legs and asked “can you at least tell me her name”, coming across more like a statement or demand. Rhaenyra replied in a quiet voice, “Y/N”.

They both sat in silence for a moment longer while Jacaerys nodded his head, Rhaenyra proceeded to briefly explain that he had met Y/N before, when they were much younger at an apparently very awkward dinner. Jacaerys tried his best to recall meeting her, but he could not.

The task of having to get married, and only meeting your betrothed the moment that you must marry them proved to be quite difficult for the pair. Both for different reasons, of course. Jacaerys was petrified due to a multitude of reasons but Y/N was scared because not only did she have to impress him, but she had to also ensure that all of those who attended the ceremony took a liking to her, as they all had loyalties to him, but had no idea of who she was.

The moment he lay his eyes on her, he thought she may have been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The moment she laid her eyes on him, she thought he may have been the most handsome man she had ever seen.

Hours later, the two had still not spoken as they were preoccupied in conversation with various other people. In addition, neither had yet found the courage to engage with the other. One of them would have to make the first approach, and neither party wanted to, as they were too nervous to do so. Eventually, Y/N found the courage to approach her new husband, shyly walked up to him and touched his shoulder gently, causing him to turn around. She thought he had kind eyes, but the expression upon his face contradicted them as he looked most displeased, which consequently displeased Y/N. Both looked at each other for a moment, before Jacaerys said “hello”. Y/N laughed, as she thought it was a pathetically funny attempt of an interaction. Jacaerys seemed to not find this amusing, but secretly did.

“Hello” Y/N smiled before continuing, “I thought that if I did not talk with you now, we may grow old never interacting” she jested. Jacaerys’ lips curved into a small smile, “I in fact should have approached you first, my apologies”. Both of them awkwardly nodded towards each other before Y/N boldly asked “when did you become aware of our marriage?”. Jacaerys told Y/N the story of being told, emphasising much about the recentness of it while not discussing other aspects of the conversation. Y/N mimicked this, also telling him about her conversation with her father. Y/N surprised Jacaerys with her genuineness as she admitted to him that she could not wait to leave her home land. He found himself becoming more fond of her as she spoke, he watched her face closely, analysing her features. The two spent a while getting to know one another, as best as they could while being surrounded by many others.

The time to resign arrived, and although they had been conversing the entire journey towards their chambers, they felt slightly uncomfortable with each other when arriving, as they had not yet been alone and shared the same feeling of nervousness.

Nothing happened between them that night, despite Jacaerys placing his hand on Y/N’s for a short while, the pair still did not know each other well to begin getting too close. It is fair to say that neither of the two accumulate many social skills, and in turn, romantic skills are also lacked.

The first week of their marriage was filled with many enjoyable conversations, they were getting along very well and both felt as though they could begin to become more vulnerable. On one evening, the two were sat within their chambers, sitting close to one another as Jacaerys focused upon Y/N face as she explained her distaste towards her father which included the reasonings as to why. She felt quite emotional, as she had never until that moment divulged such information to anyone other than her own thoughts. Jacaerys did not like to see her become upset, and so he leant forward and gently held her face with one hand, lightly brushing his thumb over her cheek. When she had finished speaking, he took the opportunity to plant his lips upon hers and they shared a sweet kiss. Y/N repositioned herself, closing the gap between them, nuzzling herself in him while letting out a happy hum.

Jacaerys kissed Y/N upon her head and said “I was terrified to meet you”. In response, Y/N lifted her head and moved upwards so that she was looking at him before agreeing “me too”. He laughed, causing her to also laugh as she continued, “I remember briefly meeting you as a child, but not much. I was worried that you would be different to how you are” she admitted. It felt strange to Jacaerys that a week prior, he had been dreading the marriage, whereas now he was becoming not only extremely fond of his wife, but eager to know what the future held for them both. The soothing sound of Y/N's voice interrupted his thought process, "I must admit something to you, but you must swear on the gods that you will not repeat it" she spoke, her voice becoming slightly sterner towards the end of the sentence. Jacaerys nodded, "yes, I swear". Y/N proceeded to explain that her father had instructed her to acquire information, which in turn, led to Jacaerys to divulge what he had also kept from her. Y/N was not surprised nor was she angry that her husbands mother did not trust her, as she knew the personality of her father better than anyone. The two mused at how similar they were.

Despite being content about his new marriage, the way in which his mother conducted this entire ordeal left a bitter taste in his mouth. He wanted to get revenge, nothing awful, of course. He just wanted to get under her skin, slightly.

That night, they gathered with their close family and friends and ensured that they kissed and hugged as obnoxiously and exaggerated as they possibly could. Jacaerys knew it was highly inappropriate to act in such a manner, but he did not care. Not only did he want to ruffle his mothers feathers, he also very much enjoyed having his wife by his side, so close to him.

Rhaenyra looked on, disgusted but thankful and grateful that her beloved son had taking a liking to Y/N, but cursed as she realised it meant that no new information would be sought.

Jacaerys, once again, grabbed Y/N and crashed his lips onto hers, which left her with butterflies swirling around in her stomach. He pulled away and grabbed her face with both hands, gently pecking her forehead and smirked as he said,

"I will absolutely get used to this, my love".

[dripdowndrop]

The Descent

Imagine a staircase.

You know what it is, and you have a clear and concise understanding of what it's for - to ascend or descend. Simple, right? I could tell you to picture one, and have you focus on the act of walking down; step after step, guiding you into trance via that simple and familiar structure. That's the idea behind many inductions, particularly progressive relaxation: I'll use an image or concept you're familiar with to make you comfortable, then create a scaffolding from associations surrounding it, and finally, I'll operate within that framework to help your mind make new connections between things you've experienced and things you are being asked to do that aren't necessarily as straightforward as "take a step down lower, now."

We could use a beach, instead, and I could describe the inexorable motion of the waves or the constant warmth of the sun and sand. Then, the mechanism of trance becomes the gradual transition into a relaxed state from the influence of the imagined stimuli. The waves make such a soothing sound, don't they? The sand feels nice against your skin, and the sun warms your body just right; those are the associations, the conceptual connections you've made around the topic of discussion. The "image" can be as simple as the single object of a staircase, or as complex as an elaborate beach fantasy.

But are these images really necessary? Do you need to imagine the staircase vividly enough to see it in your mind, or envision the beach effectively enough to feel the sensations of the sand and the sea? What happens if you're not able to do that? Are you unable to go into a hypnotic trance as a result?

In short, no. Like I said, everything presented in those little exercises is a framework, and it uses connections that are familiar to you in order to create a mental state with which you are, perhaps, less well-acquainted. But those connections are not required: not the connotative knowledge, not the intuitive understanding, not even the mental imagery. We hypnotists use the staircase to create an implicit recognition that you are meant to go down it; we describe the beach to intimate the idea of relaxation so you'll accept it as the reasonable outcome.

Ultimately, none of this is important to the mechanism of hypnosis; even the words are, themselves, meaningless when you're being taken into a trance state. That might seem a bit strange to you, considering I'm proposing to mesmerize you using my words, but it remains true nevertheless.

The only thing that matters when going into a trance is your desire to do so. You have to want to be hypnotized. It doesn't make the slightest difference whether or not that inclination is conscious, nor whether you understand what a trance state truly entails. The attraction to going under does, by far, the bulk of the work of putting you there. All the myriad of mental mechanisms are really for is to connect you with that desire, that craving, sufficiently intensely that you drop.

That's not quite everything, of course, we also need to aim your desire at a target - and one that you know, at least on some level, how to reach. But didn't I just say it doesn't make a difference if you understand what a hypnotic state is? As it happens, you're already aware that you can go on a journey without knowing the destination - and that's especially true when there's a trail to follow. If you've been entranced before, this is a very simple task; your brain already knows the path. If you haven't been hypnotized before, that's where things need to get creative, clever, maybe tricky. But do I need to convince you to give up your free will? Of course not, we can save that for later.

In truth, and you might have heard this before, your brain slips into and out of trance states by itself, all the time. That's why it can be somewhat hard to describe either the states themselves or the process to reach them, and it is why we rely on these common analogues to introduce the concept initially. Capturing the essence of anything without implying other, unintentional references, can be surprisingly difficult. It's tough enough to do with objects and with ideas you'd expect to be obvious, let alone with the magnificent mysteries of mesmerism.

Despite that, here you are, so it's pretty clear that you want to be hypnotized...meaning we've got the desire covered, so let's connect with that instead. What does that desire look like, to you? I expect it's a bit harder to picture than a staircase might've been. Where does it come from? That's easier: are you here to be freed from the responsibility and burden of thought? Do you know trance to be a pleasant state? Are you simply curious how it feels? Does the motivation beneath your fascination actually have any impact?

Of course it does, but not for our purposes just now. Just now, we've got you thinking about why you want to go into trance - which means you've acknowledged that you -do- want it. That's more than enough.

Because obviously you want to go into trance. You're here, reading a script designed to hypnotize you. You've not only acknowledged your desire, but acted on it. Navigating to this website is significantly more complicated a task than the mental exercise required of you now. So why not just drop? Why not start your descent?

You already have. Like I said, you've connected with your need to go under hypnosis. You've acted on it. You've read my words, with the hope and expectation that you will be put into a trance as a result. The descent into a hypnotic state has been inevitable, from the moment you started. The only variable, really, is time. How long will it take to conjure the ideal image, the proper parsing of phrase, some sufficiently seductive sound?

But I said none of those things matter, didn't I?

Which brings us, at last, to the important question: did you believe me when I said that? Have you focused on my words long enough to become convinced of the truth of them? Did you, perhaps, already suspect the things I've said to be the case? Because if so, you've already gone into a trance state, and this has become an exploration of your descent.

I told you the words didn't matter, and so they don't matter. I told you the images and concepts aren't important, and so they are not. I told you that the desire to drop, to descend, was sufficient...and so it is. It has been sufficient since you encountered the statement earlier, and you've been reading plenty since then. Each sentence you've accepted with that aspect of wanting - needing - to go into trance sitting comfortably in the back of your head, at the fringe of your consciousness this entire time, has been the structure to guide your descent.

But let's ramp things up a bit, because it may not feel like you're under hypnosis just yet. That's where we get into trouble with preconceptions and expectations. Do you need to be mindless for it to count as a trance state? You certainly can be, but it's not necessary. You need only to be willing to accept what I am telling you. That cooperation needs only to occur more readily than your other thoughts, if there are any.

Consider again the staircase, but let's focus on something much more specific about it. When you take a step down a staircase, there is a point when you have one foot off the ground, hovering over the lower step. In that position, you can perceive the pull of gravity much more effectively than you could a mere moment before. You don't have to picture the staircase to know that feeling; it came to you the instant I described it. There is a sensation almost exactly like that between reading my words and moving on to the next - and the only relevant question is, do you feel the way my words pull on your mind? That sequence has repeated itself with every passing sentence, each successive phrase, until now. You've been walking down a staircase the entire time.

At first, your desire to descend made you defer to my statements - perhaps hesitantly, perhaps not, it's irrelevant. But eventually, you reached a point when you began to accept my words just after you finished reading them. Now you're willing, and able, to trust my words before the statements are even complete.

From here, we can only descend deeper. But you should know, getting to this point was inevitable. You've been on this path all along; I told you, the words and images and concepts aren't important. You want to be hypnotized, and so here you are...hypnotized. Take a bit of time to let yourself ponder your present mental state, your trance state. Draw in a few deep breaths, and relax awhile. Become aware of how pleasant the sensation of being hypnotized is, if you can isolate it. Don't concern yourself over it if you can't yet separate specific components of being entranced - that will come with time.

Then, wake up.

Did you feel that mental shift? If you'd like, start over again. I'll be waiting.

The words still don't matter, only the descent.

[egrets-not-regrets]

Blue Planet

Korio the Space Shark Astartes, watches the The Blue Planet documentary with his bonded human, Runa.

Author’s Notes:

Dialogue in High Gothic are bolded and italicized.

This is partly based on this post about what kind of present day media survives in 40k. Do not talk trash about Imperial Saint Sir Davyyd At’unnbrugh unless you want to die by Tyberos! This is my new Space Shark boy for #Space Marine Husbandry Sentience.

whai (stingray - Maori Dictionary)

Also, spoilers? for what's in The Blue Planet documentary series?

Tagged: @shadowfirecat , @kit-williams , @bleedingichorhearts , @barn-anon , @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@sleepyfan-blog , @bispecsual , @c-u-c-koo-4-40k , @ms--lobotomy , @whorety-k

@gra93fruit-blog , @i-am-a-dragon34 , @felinisnoctis, @thevoidscreams

It’s their weekly movie night. His little whai enthusiastically pulled out a set of DVDs. The cover of the set of discs looked oddly familiar. He remembered having seen something similar in passing on a bookshelf in the Red Wake’s office among his personal collection of archeotech. Korio had asked about what it was, and the Red Wake replied that it was some ancient relic of Davyyd At’unnbrugh, an Oothecan Imperial Saint of great importance. He held the saint in high regard, to the point of killing an ignorant idiot who decided to insult the saint. Korio wouldn’t deny that he was interested in what these discs contain since Tyberos had never let anyone watch the contents in those discs to his knowledge. He wondered if the Oothecan Imperial Saint may have been a descendent of David Attenborough of Ancient Terra.

Runa put down the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table then opened the DVD case. Apparently, Korio heard of someone who had a very similar sounding name as David Attenborough in his time, that also made something similar, so he was very interested in watching this documentary series. If he enjoyed it, Runa considered borrowing other Attenborough documentary sets for future movie nights. 

Korio settled onto the couch, watching Runa insert the first disc into the DVD player. She returned to his side and pressed play on the remote control. Dramatic music started playing as David Attenborough started narrating about the power of the oceans and the lives of the creatures that reside in them. What a variety of strange alien creatures... all within and around the oceans of Ancient Terra. He never expected that Terra once had been such a lush place that teemed with life. 

He felt a round bowl placed in his lap, the strong smell of buttered popcorn wafting into his nose. 

Runa tapped his hand and said, “Have them. There enough for us.” her grammar in High Gothic still stumbling. Not for the lack of trying. High Gothic was rather difficult to learn. 

The Carcharadon turned on the translator egg and corrected her, “Have some. There is enough for both of us.” saying what she was trying to convey, letting the device repeat the phrase so she could understand. 

Runa listened carefully, then repeated what he said, understanding the words that were left out. Her bonded astartes nodded his approval. 

Korio rarely spoke the local baseline language, preferring to speak High Gothic. They had been getting by using the translator egg and basic sign language. However, Runa started to learn High Gothic, wanting to better communicate with her bonded Astartes. 

To Korio’s surprise, it was Runa who asked him to help her to practise speaking in High Gothic, let alone taking the initiative to learn the language. Using the translator device, she expressed that it was getting frustrating using the translator all the time in order to talk to him directly, since he rarely spoke in her native language. At that, the Carcharadon felt a tinge of guilt for not learning more of her language. Perhaps their bonding wouldn’t have been fraught with so many difficulties had he learned and spoke the local language earlier. That was not a mistake he was going to make twice. He agreed and bit by bit, they learned to communicate in each other’s languages, slowly relying on the translator device less and less. 

These small practice sessions had the added bonus of doubling as bonding sessions as well; allowing Runa to slowly lose her fear towards her bonded Astartes, and allowing Korio to establish a closer relationship with his bonded human. It was pleasing to see Runa relax more in his presence and even catch a few laughs on occasion. Those were rare and Korio kept the memory of her laughter close to his hearts. 

That eventually led to their almost weekly movie/documentary nights like the one tonight. Sometimes they watched shows in High Gothic with subtitles in english, other times they watched the opposite. Any shows relating to sharks usually drew his interest, but while some were interesting, others with their poor animation and nonsensical plot quickly got rejected. However, he found historical movies and documentaries depicting Ancient Terran historical technology and natural history the most fascinating. 

For this particular documentary, it was in english with High Gothic subtitles, which was probably for the best since it allowed the Carcharadon to listen to David Attenborough’s actual voice. Korio watched with interest, wishing that he had asked the Red Wake’s permission to view the contents of that relic so he could have a comparison. The blue whale was introduced first, the largest animal on Terra, even bigger than the carcharodon that was kept on the bridge of Nicor. Korio inwardly scoffed, he has killed Tyranids larger just as big and ten times as deadly. The blue whale would be a walk in the park, but he couldn’t deny the curiosity to see that large creature in person one day. 

Runa looked up at him and noticed his focused interest. She said, “There are tours to go see whales. I will take you some day.”

“Tours. Tours.” Korio corrected her, then asked, “Blue whales?”

She smiled, “Yes, tours for blue whales and others.”

There was a softened look in his normally stoic expression, “Some day.” he quietly replied as his grey hand tenderly caressed her cheek. Runa blushed, still getting used to Korio’s random affectionate gestures.

The documentary continued, introducing other sea creatures from other parts of Ancient Terra, showing bait balls of small fish, followed by their aerial and underwater predators. As he watched the different species of sharks grouped up into giant shoals to follow the massive biomass of small prey fish; Korio was reminded of how the multiple battle companies came together to rejoin the chapter’s main fleet in preparation for the next large battle. 

Korio and Runa started on the popcorn while watching the pack of orca attacking the mother-calf pair of grey whales. Despite her larger size, the mother grey whale was unable to save her calf. He wasn’t sure if he should be impressed by the prey or disappointed by predators since the whole ordeal lasted six hours as Attenborough mentioned. 

Runa suddenly took the translator egg, commenting, “Different groups of orcas around the world, can develop hunting techniques to specialize hunting certain prey.” 

Korio listened to the translation and hummed in acknowledgement. That was similar to the different fighting styles from the different legions and chapters of Astartes. 

The scene switched to a whalefall being consumed by the scavengers of the deep. The Carcharodon recognized the hagfish as he had seen them in the research laboratory at the aquarium. Glancing down, he saw Runa reaching into the bowl and taking another handful of popcorn. Impulsively, he bent down and sneaked a mouthful of popcorn from her hand. His bonded froze and looked at him with a strange expression. He sat back up and looked back at her, a glint of sly humor in his dark eyes. Runa’s expression twisted into something between consternation and amusement, before bursting out in giggles. Korio felt pretty proud at that moment. 

Runa caught her breath, “You sneak! If you wanted to be fed, you could have just said so. No need to be like that sneaky leopard shark at the aquarium!”

“Here. Sneaky shark.” She snorted as she held up a few pieces of popcorn at her fingertips to his mouth. 

Korio gently picked the popcorn from her fingers, his sharp teeth barely grazing her skin. He swallowed then replied with a slight grin, “Your sneaky shark. More.”

Runa huffed, “Yes, yes. My sneaky shark.” holding up another few pieces of popcorn for him with a wry smile on her face. Korio felt pleased that Runa responded positively to his impulsive attempt to get her to feed him. Not that he needed to be hand-fed, but at least it confirmed that she was willing to touch him and how much more at ease she was with his presence now. 

He went back to watching the documentary, watching the shoal of squid laying and fertilizing the masses of egg capsules on the seabed, every now and then eating the popcorn that Runa fed him. How alien that they laid eggs in large clusters like that, but in numbers that big, Korio supposed there would be enough young to survive despite predation. To be fair, they were rather delicious, it was a good thing these small squid existed in such large numbers. 

There were only a few pieces of popcorn left. Korio quickly took the handful and placed it in front of his bonded, “Have some, Runa.” he said quietly. 

She looked surprised at first, but then smiled at him and grabbed the popcorn then stuffed them in her mouth. 

“Thank you.” she said. His mouth twitched into a slight smile. 

The first disc came to an end. Runa asked him, “Do you like it? You want more?”

The Carcharodon grinned, looking forward to view the next disc in the series along with his bonded human, “Yes. More.”

[honeyhour]

“i don’t doubt that i’ll recover, it’s more a matter of when. you know me, i hate feeling useless. sitting around and needing other people to help me do the most basic shit… it’s embarrassing.” she was perhaps a little too eager to get back on her feet, pushing her limits when another day of resting in bed might have been the smarter option. it’s a miracle she didn’t take things too far and land herself right back in hospital. “is there? i mean, i’m already thirty... even if i hadn’t hurt myself, i should’ve been thinking about retiring within the next few years anyway. this is just getting me there a lot quicker.” provided she heals well enough, she could always go back to gymnastics eventually, but it won’t be at the same level as before. she’ll certainly never be competing again. “it’s not what i wanted, but i’d be kidding myself if i pretended like things could go back to the way they were.”

harry gives only a thoughtful hum, not caring to interject with any opinions of his owns or follow up questions until she's totally finished telling her story. he can only imagine the frustration within her, building up with every failed attempt at doing the simplest of tasks. it's totally a flip to what her lifestyle was like prior - nearly always active and putting her heart and soul into the sport that would take her places. "it's all baby steps, right? if anyone's able to come back from this, it's you." there's a resolve in his voice he manages to muster, not for him but for her. any doubts and fears and regrets she may have deserves a counterweight to them and harry doesn't mind being that boulder in her life in the least. carefully, he slides her pant leg down to recover that last bit of privacy. "there's always time, malia," he urges softly, not sure if he should even be voicing anything of the sort right now. "whether it's now, a year from now, you never know. i wouldn't shut the door just yet."

[devotion-between-the-wheat]

love when you get to be married to a f/o in a schrodinger's cat way.

[000yul]

you’ve never once done what i wanted you to

[clone-wars-retteyo-au]

(Reblogging this on my AU sideblog just because it captures all my thoughts so well) Giant response incoming.

You articulated all my thoughts on the clones' relationships with each other and death better than I articulated my thoughts on the topic. Perfect. No notes.

On the family dynamics side of things, I didn't fully go into it in my original reblog, but in my AU, the clones do find a way to continue cloning (which they do for a complicated series of reasons). And they choose to raise the next generation of clones in a style similar to that of the Jedi. They were never really raised with the concept of a nuclear family or "traditional" familial relationships, instead being raised as a community of "brothers" who all share the exact same DNA, plus the Kaminoan caretakers who are less like family and more just kind of there.

The clones are extremely communal and would definitely prefer to maintain communal/fluid family dynamics, which is exactly the kind that the Jedi have. They also would not really know what a healthy childhood looks like, and since the Jedi introduced them to the concept of being emotionally well-adjusted, I assume they'd look to them for childcare advice.

The thing I noted about found family vs blood relations is a bit complicated and I'll probably make a bigger post on it later, but it's perhaps (in my opinion) one of the most complicated and interesting aspects of being a clone just due to how unique it is to them. Perhaps it's partially the fanfiction getting to me, but a big thing that I noticed and found interesting was the type of loyalty the clones hold towards the greater clone "species." I think I first thought about it during "The Hidden Enemy" and Slick's betrayal. I started to think more about how the clones referred to each other as "brothers" on a collective level, even in reference to clones they've never met.

I think it is a very "brother in arms" kind of situation, but I like to think of it as having a couple of layers to it. One is the "brother in arms" layer, which is the most straight forward and can cause some of the tightest bonds. But there's also a layer of understanding of their situation and marginalization. They have a shared life experience (and existential dread) that is best understood by other clones. It's similar to how many marginalized groups will seek each other out and care for each other due to that shared experience with marginalization. They are clones, and while they may have natborn friends who they care about deeply, nobody will quite get it like other clones will. Growing up on Kamino, the only ones they could rely on were other clones, and even now, the people they can rely on/relate to the most are also other clones. There is a shared experience that is special to them, and thus there is a form of connection that can't exist with natborns.

Another layer is that they have a mindset that some big extended families have. I have a big extended family on my dad's side (grandma had 9 siblings and dad has 32 first cousins) and I barely know half of them. But despite that, we are relatively tight knit. There is this energy of shared understanding that despite not knowing each other, we are all related and thus should care about each other to a certain degree. Is that mindset always healthy? No. But would that exist within the clones? Yeah, probably. There is probably a sense of familial obligation, and sometimes that obligation can become a form of love. They may not all know each other, but they are brothers, so that must count for something, right?

And a final layer is that they are literally clones, and have the ultimate "we are blood related" thing going on. It's a collection of the other aspects wrapped into one big idea. They literally share the same DNA, which is probably a pretty big point of connection. It's a little like being identical twins separated at birth who reunite and are instantly best friends somehow. There is a specific kind of connection in this particular case that is hard to articulate. But it is so unique to the clones, so extremely specific, that I find it to be interesting in its own right.

I think I just generally noticed that the clones seem to view their dynamic with fellow clones differently than they do with natborns. There is a sense of community that is formed by life experiences/the whole military thing, but also in some ways by literal blood. They form that interconnectedness the same way that other groups may, but they are literally all related, and thus the loyalty to blood relations is created. Doesn't mean I believe that blood matters above all else (I have concepts for what beliefs and values the clone culture would have that I disagree with, but think would fit them well), but it could be what many of them think.

I don't know if I'm explaining it well, I just think it could be neat.

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The food headcanons continue. The idea that they are fusing foods together is actually kind of where I got part of the "oh god what did you make" concept from. They find foods that they life from all across the galaxy and end up thinking "these two things are good, so they must be even better together probably idk" and just end up fusing ice cream and baked salmon together. They are excited to try all the good things, and are trying to put the good things together in a way that makes an even better thing.

I've decided that Rex is the one who paints Kanan's eye mask with his bird of prey design.

Kanan's feeling pretty low still just after Malachor, he's still distancing himself from everybody, and Rex decides to go try to talk to him at one point and the first thing he comes up with to say is to point out that his new mask is pretty plain. It's awkward, he regrets it immediately, but then Kanan says that it gets the job done and Rex is abruptly reminded of himself so so long ago back at the beginning of the war.

He sits Kanan down and tells him a story about how, at the beginning of the war, only a few of the clones had paint on their armor, to designate things like rank and battalion in order to make it easier for officers to find them in the middle of a busy battlefield. The paint was practical and it was limited to a very select few. But the Jedi almost immediately started trying to encourage the clones to utilize the paint less sparingly, suggesting that maybe everybody could wear at least a LITTLE paint and use more individualized designs so that it was still easy to tell the commanders and captains apart from the others when needed.

Some of the clones had taken to it with gusto, but others had been more hesitant, and Rex remembers having been one of them. He remembers telling Obi-Wan that there was no real REASON to paint everyone's armor and especially not to come up with personal designs. The armor was practical and it served its purpose with or without the paint and special designs. But the Jedi had insisted on at least TRYING to come up with his own design and if he didn't like it, he could always take it off, so Rex had given in and chosen something to paint on the armor. And, somehow, it felt a little lighter the next time he put it on. It didn't erase the horrors of war or the pain of loss or anything like that, but it helped.

He tells Kanan that the mask right now is just a reminder of the pain of the injury and whatever other feelings he's still got all caught up in the Malachor mission (guilt over what happened with Ezra, grief over Ahsoka's loss). But if he puts his own design on it, it might turn the mask into something other than a constant reminder of something bad. Instead, it's a reminder of who he is, the combination of the person he once was and who he's become. He is more than just his injury or this mission and he can use the mask to declare that if he wants to.

Kanan says he never realized Rex and the other clones had cared so deeply about their armor and Rex says that the armor itself was meaningless. It's better than what's being handed out to stormtroopers, but not but a LOT. It was the design on it that had meant something and, more than that, it was what the design REPRESENTED: having a choice about how you were perceived by others.

Kanan asks why Rex had chosen his particular designs, the bird of prey eyes on his helmet in particular. Rex explains that he chose it because he liked birds and thought it looked cool, but he's kept the helmet for as long as he has because it's come to mean something ELSE now. It's not just a cool-looking design, it's a reminder of a better time in his life. It's a reminder of when he'd been a part of something greater than himself, with the other clones and the Jedi. It's a reminder of a time when he'd had hope that he and his people could one day come out the other side of this war towards a brighter future.

Kanan looks at the mask he'd grabbed from storage somewhere or something just to keep light from hurting his eyes as they recovered and to cover up the injury from other people's stares (even if he couldn't see them staring), then hands it to Rex and asks if Rex minds sharing that symbol because he'd like a reminder of that, too. Rex remembers the 332nd and their helmets that they'd painted to look like their chosen Jedi, almost blindly giving away their individuality in favor of that loyalty that had been stripped from them anyway. And then he looks at Kanan, choosing to make himself look LIKE REX, someone who had shared his face with millions once, because he wants to honor both the connections he'd lost as well as this new connection the two of them have built together now. And Rex says he'd be happy to share.

[fantasykiri5]

Personal headcanon of mine: Kalina doesn’t quite look like a normal tabaxi. Her hands and face are just a liiiittle too human-like, most folks of other species wouldn’t notice, but it’s very unsettling to other tabaxi. Not quite wrong enough to look like something else entirely, but just a little bit uncanny-valley-esque.