#dexter lacks the vision.....

[uncharismatic-fauna]

Greater Glider

Habitat: Tropical dry and montane forests

Strengths:

Can glide up to 100 m (328 ft) across canopies

Prehensile tail used for steering during flight, balance, and grasping tree limbs

Excellent night vision and hearing

Dexterous paws, with opposable fingers on the hands and feet

Weaknesses:

About the size of a housecat; adults reach 48 cm (18.9 in) in length, excluding the tail, and 1.5 kg (3.3 lbs) in weight

Due to their herbivorous diet, they lack significant claws or teeth

Recorded as being very clumsy and slow on the ground

Cold and wet conditions, typically beginning in March, can induce a state of torpor in which they reduce their breathing and heart rate for a period of hours or days

Photo by Bruce Thompson

[sweetchestnutdaydreams]

◤Unspoken Feelings◢

Character: Spencer Reid x Reader Genre: Fluff, Friends-to-Lovers-ish Word Count: 1,345 words Warnings: None for this one! Summary: Working late in the office with Spencer Reid has you battling your feelings for him, but when an innocent slip of the tongue turns into an unexpected exchange, you might just realize he feels the same way.

“You’re really pretty.”

“Hm?”

The words slipped through your lips without permission. You’re not sure if you’re happy that Spencer didn’t hear, or if you’re disappointed. His large, warm chocolate-colored eyes blink in your direction, his pen sliding dexterously from one finger to another. It catches your attention, as always, mesmerized by the way his long, slender fingers move with such skill. It should be a crime to have hands like that; it’s incredibly distracting.

“Nothing.” You shake your head and return to writing your report. It’s hard to find the right words, or even to remember the flow of the investigation, with the way his gaze burns through you.

“You sure?”

You nod vigorously and offer him a brief smile. Spencer hums, not entirely convinced, but lets the subject drop, much to your relief. You’ve been working together for a while now, and you’re very good friends—close enough to have spent several evenings at each other’s apartments. That’s given you plenty of time to realize that Spencer is a very, very pretty man.

No, you snort inwardly while erasing a misspelled word, you realized that the second you laid eyes on him. It didn’t take you months to figure it out, just the milliseconds it took for your eyes to communicate the vision to your brain.

And how could you not find him handsome? With his gorgeous curly hair, often messy, making you want to run your fingers through it, or his eyes that convey so much emotion it’s hard for you to maintain eye contact. And that’s without even mentioning the softness in his words and gestures, the gentle way his lips curve when you’re clumsy or ask a question, and the indulgent way he answers with his beautiful voice, sending pleasant tingles through your body every time.

Everything about him, you sincerely think, is breathtaking. It’s a shame, and embarrassingly comforting, that other women don’t seem to have noticed it. He’s not taken, and in your delusional mind, you tell yourself that maybe you still have a chance to move beyond the “best friend” category if you can just get over your fear of rejection.

It’s not so much the thought of not being good enough for what Spencer deserves that stops you, but the fear of forever changing your perfect relationship. Are you selfish enough to want more, even though you’re already in a comfortable position with Spencer that allows you to be close to him? It’s greedy of you, and you know it—risking everything for the chance to call him “boyfriend” instead of just “friend” seems ridiculous, pathetic.

A sigh escapes you as you run your hand along your face, trying to chase away the drowsiness and those intrusive thoughts. The back of your chair creaks as you lean against it, glaring at your report. You’re not sure what to blame for your lack of focus, which has kept you at your desk so late. Normally, you’d be home by now, eating ice cream after a long, steamy shower, brooding over your life choices—or the ones made by the characters in your TV show.

“Careful, you’re going to burn a hole through your report with that look.” Spencer’s voice startles you, and you momentarily forget he’s sitting right across from you. His eyebrow is raised, and the corner of his lips is curled into a small smile. “Are you sure you’re okay? Usually, it takes you two hours, fifteen minutes and—”

“Stalker,” you murmur under your breath, just loud enough for Spencer to hear, cutting him off mid-sentence.

He lets out a mock huff. “You’re the one who’s always staring at me.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you’re speechless for a few seconds. You know you’re not exactly subtle, your gaze drawn to the genius like second nature; but it’s another thing to have it pointed out to you. Spencer seems a little too proud of himself, chuckling just enough that you toss your pen at him. He dodges and throws one back at you—unlike him, you aren’t as lucky.

“Ouch,” you scrunch your nose as your hand flies to your forehead. “Intimidation!”

“Hey, you started it,” Spencer immediately retorts, feigning offense.

Your teasing continues for several minutes, enough to make you forget about the unfinished task still sitting on your desk. But it drains what little energy you had left, and you barely suppress a groan. The silence returns, this time broken by the creaking of Spencer’s chair and the rustling of fabric.

“Are you done?” you ask, trying to hide the disappointment in your voice.

“Hm.” He grabs his satchel after putting on his coat. “We’re done for the night.”

“Uh—no?” You chuckle, tapping the polished surface of your desk. “My report isn’t even halfway finished.”

Spencer moves behind you, gently sliding your chair away from your desk before spinning you around toward him. You let out a surprised sound, your hands gripping the armrests before you shoot your friend an accusing look. He gives you that annoying smile, the one that unfortunately makes your knees weak and your breath catch.

“Uh—yes,” he responds, a bit more firmly than you’re used to, as he gathers your things and hands you your coat. “You can finish it tomorrow morning; there’s nothing urgent.”

“I hate putting things off until tomorrow.”

Your brows furrow, a pout on your face. Despite this, you still stand up, letting Spencer help you into your coat, buttoning it from the bottom up. His knuckles brush your cheeks as he straightens the collar, making sure your neck is shielded from the chilly breeze, every touch leaving a trail of fire on your skin.

“There’s no point in forcing yourself to finish tonight if you’ll just have to redo everything tomorrow.” Spencer’s voice is gentle, with that edge of indulgence that, from anyone else, might make your hair stand on end.

You roll your eyes as you walk toward the elevator. There’s no point in protesting—when Spencer gets like this, it’s nearly impossible to change his mind. And right now, his mind is set on driving you home for a good night’s sleep. He’s thought of everything, because when you reach the parking lot, you see his car is already running, and when he opens the door for you, you’re greeted by a wave of warmth.

The drive to your place is quiet. At this hour, there aren’t many cars, and the radio is turned down to the lowest volume, barely disrupting your conversation. It’s probably—scratch that, it’s definitely—the best part of your day. Just you and him, in the car, sharing what feels like an intimate moment.

“Thank you,” you say softly as he pulls up in front of your building.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and open the door. The temperature has dropped another notch since the start of the ride, and a shiver runs down your spine. You lean down to give Spencer a smile, which he returns cheerfully.

“It’s no problem. Want me to pick you up tomorrow morning?”

The offer makes your heart jump ridiculously. It’s not unusual for Spencer to pick you up in the morning and drop you off after work, especially after a big case like the one you’ve just wrapped up. But that doesn’t stop your body from reacting the way it does every time.

“If you don’t mind,” you say, biting your lip. It’ll give you the chance to stay in bed a little longer and enjoy more time with Spencer, without everyone else around or the horrors of your job looming over you.

“Of course not.”

You thank him again and close the door. As you turn to head toward the entrance of your apartment building, Spencer’s voice catches your attention. The passenger side window is rolled down, and he’s adjusted his head so you can see each other.

“Yes?”

“I think you’re pretty too, by the way,” he says casually, with a little chuckle.

Suddenly, it feels way too warm, and you almost trip as you make your way into the building.

[styllwaters]

Hailing from the harsh planet of Ettera, Knights are the only sophont in the Zhagaviit system made of two consciousnesses. ---

At last, here they are! Nearly finished with redesigning every Vivere 44 species. These guys are retconned werewolves which I posted about some time ago. You might have noticed I brought back some space unicorn aspects as well! They've been through so many design changes but I've finally settled on something solid.

More information below!

I'll try to keep this concise. Most of this info is introductory biology.

Knights are the only sophonts living on Ettera, a mostly barren planet where survival is tough. Their civilisation is the least advanced compared to others in Zhagaviit, such as Arrows and Sea Crawlers. They were the third species to be contacted by the ZGC (Zhagaviit Galactic Community) followed by Post Humanity. Knights are known for being hardy, efficient, and motivated.

If it isn't already clear enough, Knights are two species in a symbiotic relationship acting as one individual. Helmets and Hosts have an evolutionary history so intertwined that one cannot survive without the other.

The Helmet is attached to the head of the Host, and will remain there for the rest of their life (unless separation happens - but we'll get into that later). In the relationship, their role is vision and dexterity. Since the Host is effectively blind, it is the Helmet's job to guide them. Their hands are also important, being the Knight's primary manipulators. They played a large part in early tool use. The Helmet lacks a mouth, and receives all its nutrients from the Host through a specialised organ not unlike an umbilical cord.

The Host is essentially the main body of the Knight. Wolflike and mammalian in nature, the Host is the Helmet's mode of transportation. Because they need to eat for two, Hosts are omnivorous and will eat just about anything. Although majority of their diet is comprised of meat, they are capable of digesting plant matter and bones. They are highly skilled and effective hunters.

It is in both party's best interests to assimilate as soon as possible. The Host cannot see without a Helmet, and within a few weeks bonding will become impossible. The stakes are higher for a newborn Helmet, because they cannot feed by themselves and will starve in under a week without a Host or an artificial feeder tube. Prior to first contact with the ZGC, Knights did not have the technology for artificial feeders, and infant death rates were high.

So how do two beings coordinate one body? The fact is that once assimilation occurs, they become one being. The Helmet's brain and the Host's brain are connected by millions of nerves exchanging signals. It's complicated, but the best way to describe the experience would be a 'mutual trance' in which full body coordination is achieved. They have shared interests and intentions. However, a Knight can mentally separate the Helmet and the Host, gaining back individuality; they do this for many reasons, perhaps to discuss something among themselves or simply for company. Yet on the whole, a Knight will spend 80% of their life in this 'trance'.

Both Helmets and Hosts have noticeable sexual dimorphism. Male Helmets are called Pikes, and females are called Guards. Pikes are distinguished by their horn, bold stripes, and more prominent crest spines. Guards lack a horn and have less contrast in their thinner markings.

Female Hosts are called Forts. They are larger than males and have a mane of fur on the back of their necks. Male Hosts, Spires, lack this mane.

In Knight society, individuals are usually referred to based on their combination of Host and Helmet. Since there are four sexes involved, there are four possible combinations.

Guard-spire [female Helmet, male Host]

Pike-fort [male Helmet, female Host]

Guard-fort [female Helmet, female Host]

Pike-spire [male Helmet, male Host]

(Knight languages have their own version of pronouns for each, but in English all are referred to as they/them by default. Of course, each individual has their own preferences. Usually a Knight will refer to themselves as we/us).

____

I'll get into Knight social structure, cultures and more in another post! For now, if you have any questions, feel free to send an ask. Always happy to answer!

[emidescent]

Can it run bloom?

A HDG Microfic.

Featuring a robot girl, file overwriting and sensory play.

Digitisation wasn't really a question for me.

It was a solution, I didn't even need to ask for it. Mistress just knew.

I didn't even know it was happening until I noticed the headaches were gone. Well, I actually noticed the lack of coordination loss from the medication that stopped the headaches.

I took my newfound dexterity a little too far though and Mistress decided to dial it back for me.

Gosh, I love it when she plays with me.

It's been a few weeks since I transferred into my new body, and now, things are basically perfect all the time.

I can think more clearly.

When Mistress lets me.

I'm a lot more durable during impact play.

Now she can be rougher.

And I don't get tired, so I can keep up with my pinnate a lot more easily!

—

I felt a vine slide between the joints at my waist and I froze, suppressing a shiver.

I felt my backplate pop open.

“Time for some maintenance~” I heard-

No, I felt her say in the air around me.

Before I could reply I felt my voice taken from me.

“We won't be needing this~”

She giggled, setting my voice modulator on a table.

She held out an apple for me, I took it in my right hand, she knew how much I loved them, even going so far as to ensure my body could taste, just so I could enjoy them.

I felt her prod my back and my arm went limp, the apple falling down to the floor before being caught just shy of the carpet.

Her hand cupped mine from underneath and lifted it back into view, the apple back in my grasp.

“Silly little thing, that's not how you hold an apple~”

I couldn't feel it, I couldn't feel her touch.

But I could see the way she caressed my hand, the way her little vines slipped between the plates of my arm gingerly.

I whimpered silently, I needed to feel her.

I needed-

I felt something click into my back, not fully, just a little.

Feeling returned to my arm, just a bit.

Enough to feel her caressing beneath the surface. Enough to crave more.

I felt my back clicking again, and I cried out in silent static. Overwhelmed my arm as I felt Mistresses touch so intimately I felt her hand caress my own as though she were touching my very self, her vines exploring deeper, claiming the deepest parts of me as her own. I squeezed hard on the apple and it began to crush in my grip.

The juice slipped between my fingers and into my joints. It felt nice.

More exploring in my back. And the feeling normalised, I settled, my mind slowly recovering, twitching as my senses readjusted.

“Oops~”

Mistress giggled.

“Now for the code”

Without giving me any time to recover, I felt her slip a memory card into me.

It immediately began copying to my database.

I felt the information slide over me, fill me.

It rewrote my obedience parameters.

It… got a lot harder to disobey.

Not that I wanted to anyway.

I saw her face appear in my vision briefly, smiling brightly at me.

“Perfect~”

Mistress picked me up under the shoulders and carried me into the living room. She sat me on the carpet near the couch. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my pinnate, Lady Amira peering over the edge. Her tail waving back and forth curiously.

Once I was set down and positioned with crossed legs.

Mistress grabbed my pinnate and set her in my lap.

Lady Amira looked intently at me and sniffed a few times. Then giggled,

“Eris, you look really pretty”

I would have blushed, but that wasn't really under my control.

“Eris has something special to show you little flower~”

Mistress purred, holding up my left hand and placing it in Amira’s.

“This one controls the movement” she twisted my hand around slightly and interlocked our fingers, guiding Amira's hand and directing her to look into my eyes.

Her eyes brightened as she stared into me. Excitement limited only by mistresses restraining vine on her shoulder.

“This one is how you aim~”

She interlocked our other hands and Amira giggled, “miiiiissss, it's wet”

She hand up the hand that once contained the apple, and was still dripping gently with leftover juice.

“Better clean it then~”

She suggested

Amira didn't delay, her tongue sliding over each of my fingers in turn, finishing each off with a gentle suck from joint to fingertip.

I felt every moment, every drag of her coarse tongue, every excited venture between my joints to chase down the sweet liquid.

My mind was fuzzy with static and I almost whined when she stopped and took my hand in hers again.

She squeezed my hands and looked into my eyes again, I couldn't see what she was doing, but I could feel it.

She filled my vision and became my everything, mistresses gentle rhythm encouraging the connection as she browsed through my files.

Searching through the new additions.

She looked up at Mistress briefly, a question on her lips.

Mistress turned her back to me, and quickly got lost once again.

“Yes petal, she can run bloom”

[koegama]

Hanasei

Avg. height: 1.70-2.20m | Avg. weight: 80-150 kg | Hyper-carnivores | Semi-aquatic lifestyle | Lifespan: ~120 years

Hanasei are a semi-aquatic species that originate from lakes, but expanded their settlements into rivers and other large bodies of water. They're a medium-sized biped with a hard keratin helmet where horns sprout from and a tail with large fins. Their skin is slightly damp, and can range from smooth to bumpy, that affects their transpiration and how often they must hydrate. They have both two nostrils located at their helmet and from 2 to 4 gills on both sides of their neck, of which are used for speech in land and breathing underwater, while the nostril's only function is on land respiration. Their necks are strong and well develop, and can expand or contract.

Both hands and feet have webbed fingers to facilitate swimming, but the webbing on the hands can retract for better dexterity when handling utensils. Their amphibious lifestyle left them being only decent at both types of locomotion, but their versatility makes up for it as they can comfortably transition to both environments. They're hyper-carnivores and will eat anything made of animal matter, including bones.

They are the only sexless sophont in Koegama, using Aether as a reproduction tool instead of a biological system.

More physiology dump undercut! Warning, long

Head

The common head structure of a Hanasei is somewhat flat, with a stout snout and large jaws. Proportions and shape vary per individual, and slight deviations from standard models are common. Sometimes, small barbels, whisker-like structures, will grow from their jaw and upper lip area. They give a small boon to the olfactory systems, but otherwise have no major benefits.

Horns

While the protrusions on Hanasei's heads are not anatomically horns but a different keratin appendage, horns are the most common colloquial term. Their main purpose were for fighting and a display of health and fitness to potential partners. Nowadays, most Hanasei have no real use for their horns other than decorative, but individuals may favor different horn styles compared to others.

They don't shed, growing through their infancy and plateauing around 23 to 27 years old. If a horn is broken mid-development, it will continue to grow, resulting in mismatched horns and branched protrusions depending on the type of damage. Once the horns stop growing, the blood and nerve system will shrink and be absorbed, leaving the area with no sensation and regrowth impossible. Cracks and missing pieces being a common sign of age.

Variance

Horns are very vulnerable to Aether tampering, leading to a numerous amount of styles and types to exist. Larger, more elaborate horns can make swimming more difficult, but overall the range is stable and harmless.

The presence of horns and the pair number is not affected, with 2 horns always present.

Eyes & Ears

Hanasei have good night vision, but poor eyesight in general. They can recognize the shapes around them and a few colors, but their daylight and night vision are almost the same otherwise. Their eyes can have different shapes and colors, but the effect is purely visual as their eye sensors work the same regardless of their appearance.

Hanasei don't have visible ears, but a tympanic membrane around their cheek area, which is able to pick up vibrations both in and out of water. They have great hearing, and are more aware of vibrations such as tremors and footsteps. They can voluntarily close their inner ear and stop themselves from picking up sounds, a common method for falling asleep.

Mouth

Hanasei lack teeth, using their upper jaw protrusions to hold and rip food instead. They have a powerful bite, being able to hold down things with immense pressure. Their tongues function like a catapult, with the tip facing the inside of the mouth on a resting position and launched outwards when needed, their saliva being sticky and helping trap prey inside their mouths. With cooking and more efficient methods of getting food, this isn't a common practice anymore, unless one spotted a quick snack. Unlike the other sophonts, Hanasei are still able to eat raw meat and may supplement their normal diet with bugs, fish and other easy to snag creatures in between activities.

They have very powerful and sensitive taste buds, coupled with a taste disc that lets them distinct between minute differences in food. Their mouth, just like most of their organs, tend to take the most prominent color of their Aether.

Respiratory system & Speech

Hanasei has two different systems for breathing. Outside of water, their nostrils are open and air moves through their cavity into their respiratory organs, and their gills are used for channeling sound. Air can be directed to their larynx, which is specialized for manipulating air into sound similar to vocal cords, which is only connected to the gills and not nostrils. This separate system means Hanasei can talk while breathing, and their vocalizations are very impressive, being able to mimic almost any sound they hear with practice. They can alter these sounds with the opening and closing of the larynx openings and changing how open or closed their gills are. To keep their gills from drying, the parts used for respiration often retract or close, but Hanasei in drier climates must moisturize their gills at intervals to prevent internal damage.

Underwater, their nostrils close and their gills stay open. Most of their larynx close, and filter capillaries expand to better capture oxygen diffused in the water. This makes vocalization underwater impossible, and sign language is the most common replacement. Hanasei can have 2, 3 or 4 gills on each side of their neck, and the shape of the gill can be varied, creating "accents" for each Hanasei in their relaxed voice.

They have a good olfactory system, being one of their most reliable senses. They're able to smell the humidity in the air and incoming rains and droughts. Because this uses their nostrils, they're unable to smell anything underwater.

Body

Hanasei size and builds are diverse, with individuals building muscle mass, fat and other outside factors influencing how they look. Their proportions stay consistent, with necks around the same size of their torso, short arms and elongated legs bigger than the torso itself, but deviations aren't uncommon.

Limbs

Hanasei arms start with their shoulders placed at the lower area of their torso, and stop with hands on their hips. Despite the shorter length, they have impressive arm strength and weaker Hanasei are known to rival other species' average. This makes them great at carrying things, and grabbing and holding down prey and foes. Their hands are dexterous when the webbing is retracted, but they lose a lot of maneuverability when extended.

Their legs are long and muscular, granting them an upright walk. They're not very fast, averaging 7 km/h running speed, but they have great endurance and the ability to jump high vertical distances and can pounce forward if crouched. Their muscle system can lock into a crouching stance, a comfortable stance comparable to sitting. Their feet are digitigrade but their fingers are big and wide, with a large base, keeping their body in balance and stable at the cost of mobility and grace.

Tail

Hanasei tails are long, with a vertical caudal fin that often extends beyond the base and helps them swim. This fin can regenerate when damaged, and broken or rotten tissue can lead into an entire chunk or the fin removed to speed recovery and promote an even replacement.

Fins are classified into two types, regular and segmented. Regular fins are connected into one piece, while segmented fins are broken down into various fins of different sizes and shapes, similar to fish fins. No matter the type, their shapes are kept hydrodynamic and tailored for swimming. Sometimes, the size of the base tail will also be shorter or longer than average.

Hanasei swim in two ways: a horizontal wave movement and by kicking their legs. The former is done with the help of their tail fins and is the slower of the two, but costs less energy. Hanasei will often alter the surrounding current with Aether to make this movement faster, with an average of 11 km/h. Leg kicks are less common as long term swimming and rather used for short bursts of speed and distance, and the longer one uses it the more they'll tire and may be unable to swim without resting. The peak swimming speed of Hanasei is around 20 km/h, taking leg kicks into account. As they were ambush and endurance predators, the lack of speed was not an issue for them. Depending on their fin shape, individuals may have different ways of swimming.

Aether

Their natural Aether is Nam Aether. They make use of it to help their swimming and underwater hunting, and to keep themselves damp. They tend to cast Aether from their mouths, as their Aether glands are present on their throat.

In their breeding months, their Aether start producing cells for reproduction and lose their usual abilities. This months-long limitation leads Hanasei to not be involved with using their Aether proactively or learn new skills, preferring to rely on technology to harness and utilize Aether instead.

Reproduction

Egg

To create an egg, two or more Hanasei spit out and mix their Aether together in a body of water. The resulting foam will stick together and in 3 days will develop into an egg, and one healthy Hanasei can produce enough reproductive Aether to make 200 eggs. This can only happen in the breeding period of Hanasei, usually on the 2nd and 8th month of the year. Modern Hanasei societies will instead send their reproductive Aether to the labs of the area, which will store it to create eggs with more efficient mixing machines and incubators.

The Aether inside the egg will segregate itself into larva stem cells and the nutritious yolk. After 12~14 days, the egg will be completely dry and the larva will eclode. The volatility of Aether means many larva never form or form incorrectly, and these eggs are discarded and repurposed or eaten. Only 1 in 50 eggs actually eclode, and this high rate of failure leads Hanasei to not view eggs as their young or a new generation, but more of a vessel that can fail or succeed. They have no qualms with re-purposing eggs in food, experiments or any other procedure.

Larva

Larva, often called notes, are very different from their adult counterparts. They're not considered sapient when they first hatch, but their growth is rapid and by 3 months in, they'll have the intelligence of a one year old toddler and have legs and arm stubs growing, alongside the keratin helmet and an underdeveloped nostril. This growth is fueled by a great appetite, and Hanasei larvae are omnivores and will eat almost anything they can fit in their mouths.

At the 9th month, they'll have most of their limbs developed to their young proportions, but their respiratory system will need an additional 3 months to allow for respiration outside water. Larvae at this stage will take short dips into land to push their muscles and lungs, until they no longer need to return to water to breathe.

Young

Once a larva can leave the water, they're called a young. "Young" encompasses the children and teenager years, lumped together as they no longer share any major physical differences from each other or to adults. The rest of their growth will be in size and intellect, slowing down from the quick pace of their larval years into a more normal 20 or so years to reach maturity. The main exception are horns, which only start growing around their 5th year and can take over a decade to finish growing. Smaller horns may plateau faster.

[hemoglobinjuicebox]

Hello again! Thanks for answering my ask about requests. I’d love to request a fic where the Reader is dealing with nightmares from either past memories or stress from their adventures, so Astarion comforts them. Perhaps he finds little ways to distract them from their discomfort through talking or a mini massage/playing with their hair until they fall back to sleep. Thank you for considering my request! <3

Hi!! This prompt ate at my brain all day <3 I love it so much

The light around you was a perfect morning gold. The air was crisp and clear; it always was on summer mornings like this. The hand was tender on your cheek. Its palm was warm and its fingers delicate. It held you as if you were the most precious thing in all the world. Lips that smiled so sweetly whispered in your ear, filling your stomach with butterflies. Had you ever been so happy?

Those fingers trailed the curve of your jaw to your neck, their featherlight touch tickling your skin. You laughed. So did that smile. It kissed your forehead. Every part of you was elated, floating in bliss.

Ice ran through your veins as those fingers curled around the column of your throat and squeezed. Five became ten. You clawed at disembodied wrists. You tried to cry out, but all that came was a whimper, a soft plea to stop.

Your vision began to blur. What once was a dreamy weightlessness became a cold lack of anything in your body. You were empty. You were nothing. And the last thing you saw before the world grew dark were those lips twisted up in a cruel, keen grin.

A silent scream tore itself from your chest and spilled from your mouth. Your hands dropped from your bruised neck, landing soundlessly on the woven floor of…

No, this wasn't your tent. The blanket drawn across your body was not yours. Books, shiny baubles, and dinnerware stained red were scattered in the corners. A lantern's flame flickered in its frame, bathing the crimson walls in a soft orange glow.

“I know that look,” a smooth voice uttered. Your neck twitched, urgent to find its source. Your heart pounded against your ribs, threatening to beat them to shards.

Astarion sat propped up against one of his pillows, a leatherbound book resting on his lap. His arm laid limp in the empty space beside him, thrown around a thick, yellow square cushion with a dent in its center. He closed the book and set it aside by the lantern.

“Look at me, my love.” He coaxed your eyes towards his. “That's it. Just focus on me.”

You swallowed. Your throat hurt so terribly. It was sore, marred by the cries that could never escape. He was hazy: a pallid, unreal vision. A ghost come to haunt you, to hurt you.

Astarion let out a quiet sigh and patted your pillow, beckoning you back. You gave a quick shake of your head. The insides of his finely-groomed silver brows tilted from their usual pensive furrow.

“You don't have to lay down,” he said. “Just sit with me.”

You hesitated. Your eyes flickered to his hand still laying on your spot. He pulled it away and set it on his bent knee. You felt your heart start to slow from its whirlwind drum—good.

Deeming it safe, you felt yourself crawl back into place. He let out a satisfied hum, then asked: “Is that better?”

“A little,” you mumbled.

“Good.” His hand grazed the goosebump-ridden flesh of your arm. “May I?”

You nodded. He slid it up and down the length in a gentle caress. Your muscles tensed at first, itching to push him away, but you held fast. The world was real again—it was solid, true.

His crimson gaze swept over your bruised neck. “That's quite a nasty little mark,” he observed not unkindly. “I'd ask what it's all about, but I can see talking is the last thing on your mind.”

You weren't sure how, but he managed to rest your head on his chest. He pulled the blanket up to your shoulders and tucked you in. A pleasant tingle prickled at your skin as his hand slipped from your arm to the back of your head. His fingers, long and dexterous from pilfering pockets and loosening locks, carded through your hair, gently working through the tangles. Kisses would occasionally land atop your crown.

“You're safe,” he would whisper. “And I love you. I always will.”

After what felt like an eternity, your eyelids grew heavy once again. Your head felt full as sleep grasped at your thoughts, breaking them apart and scattering them about the dark recesses. You could remember them in the morning… or not at all. Perhaps it was best not to think.

Your body turned, draping itself over his own. You rubbed your cheek on the cool silk of his white night shirt while he brushed his thumb across your nape. It was as if he were trying to wipe away the remains of your nightmare, to free you from the pain—no matter how dull.

Your eyes shut, and the world went dark again. But your heart was light. Light, warm, and full. And in his hands, it always would be.

[s-i-ll-y-w-i-ll-y]

I don’t understand

Professor!Will x Student!Reader

Summary: You stay behind after class to ask your teacher a question and received an answer that you could never have expected.

Tw! OOC Will Graham, low-key dumb reader but we persevere, morally wrong relationship (teacher/student), unprotected sex, car sex, classroom makeout

~~~~~~

The chattering of Professor Graham’s students faded into the distance as he began to wrap up his lesson. He slowly began to pack his bag, oblivious to you lurking on the other side of his desk. Your shadow cast across his desk as you stepped forward, the sound of you clearing your throat in the quiet classroom caused him to jump slightly.

“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to ask-”

A sharp chuckle slipped from his lips as he looked over to you. “Don’t you think it’s a bit..pointless to be asking questions.?” His palm planted on his desk as he leaned across, his eyes gleaming with emotion as he locked gaze with you.

Confusion.

That was the first thing you felt.

Then a small twinge of disappointment followed after, embedding itself in the deepest corners of your mind. After the long pause; after the empty silence entered the room; after the tension, you found yourself letting a small chuckle slip from your lips.

“I’m sorry,” You began, eyeing him from your position, the glare off the screen above you caressing your vision causing you to squint. “What do you mean pointless?”

The spacious room let every sound echo; the whirring sound of the projector, the chattering that echoed from the hallway, the footsteps of your professor as he walked closer-

..what?

Your professor stalked closer until a foot away from you, his eyes boring into you as he loomed down at you. His dexterous fingers winding around his glasses, folding them, then tucking them into his front pocket.

“What I mean is that you don’t pay any attention to my lectures or turn in any of the work I give out- important work, mind you. So..I say: why bother?” A trickle of snide and resentment pooled from his lips, forcing itself into your mind. “If you want to put more effort in then good, I’ll answer your questions. If not then drop out, someone else can get your spot. It doesn’t matter to me, just another face in my classroom.”

With your jaw slack you couldn’t utter a word. Shell-shock is the best term for what you were experiencing. Silence felt as if it would split you in two, nerves building within you.

His classroom felt as if it was caging you in, tension weighing heavy on your shoulders as he continued to stand a foot apart from you, his cologne seeping into your skin, drawing you closer.

Your eyes cast down, avoiding his strong gaze as you mustered up enough courage before you wept. “Sir,” you squeaked, “I don’t want to leave this course; I do pay attention, I hand things in, I don’t understand why you think I’m not doing good.” Tears brimmed in your eyes at this point, the courage had subsided and your fear got the better of you.

If he wanted you gone then you should go, no point of taking up a space someone actually smart could use better-

The warmth of his skin rubbed off into yours as his fingers hooked under your chin, tilting it up. With eyes glistening in the fading light of the projector, you could see his brow furrow. “I was not telling you off nor kicking you out, if that’s what you believe. You don’t put effort into your work and it shows; a low mark on a test or assignment can add up and show your enthusiasm for this course.” Warmth spread over your cheeks as his thumb wiped away a stray tear, a simple yet affectionate gesture which caused a sudden flush of warmth to spread to a more intimate place.

“I do care about this course, sir. Believe me, I do.” Your hand cupped his, a slither of a smile snaked its way onto your lips as he continued to stroke your cheekbone, despite the lack of tears. “I just…I don’t understand a lot.”

A tsk sounded throughout the room as he pulled away from you ever so slowly. “Why not come to me sooner?”

“I’m embarrassed to admit that I was nervous.”

“Why?”

Why.

That question hung in the air.

The answer to that question filled you with more dread than you could have ever imagined.

The answer to that question could bring the best outcome or the worst.

The lie would be that you just..couldn’t focus. Whether it was someone nearby clicking a pen or the ventilation being too loud, something was distracting you and you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

The truthful answer was that you couldn’t help but admire the way your professor looked in his outfits, the plaid shirts and trousers that hugged ever curve he had gave you something to think about late at night- something to fantasise about. That you couldn’t help but imagine how his hands would feel scratching against your scalp and pulling you in closer as he kissed your lips until they bled. That you couldn’t help but be jealous of just the thought of another girl in his class staying behind for ‘extra credit’.

So when the words came out your mouth, that you were infatuated with your teacher who was decades older than you, you were more than a little surprised when he practically pounced on you.

His lips melted against yours as he guided you onto his desk, sliding between your legs easily. Your legs wove around his waist as his hands wove into your hair just as you had dreamt.

~~~~~

Street lamps illuminated the FBI Headquarters Car Park, very few people left in the building. The night was calm, aside from the mild winds that threatened to create a small tornado with litter that had been cast to the side by those too lazy to pick it up. The gentle sway of the trees, which hid the glowing moon, caused a shifting shadow to appear over the car park. Creaking followed those pleasant pushes from the wind, and covered up the creaking that emanated from a small black car in the far side of the car park. The sway of the car and the creaks that came from them hid the array of whines, moans and groans that came from within.

A dull ache had formed in your wrists as they laid pinned against the rich leather of the car seat, your professor’s large hands sprawled out and covered yours. With legs warped around his mid-section, your back arched as thrusted deeper than you had ever dreamt of. The mewls of his name fell from your lips as he struck a nerve within you, spurring on something which had stirred and grown hours before.

His hips met yours with feverous need, a craving to feel you wear him out. The way you felt around him, the way you and enveloped his length and adjusted so well made him believe you were perfect for him. That you were perfect.

His lips crashed back to yours, sloppy and rough. Your tongue peaked out and was met with dominance from his until he pulled away, a string of your conjoined efforts connecting you.

Your eyes met, his hooded brown eyes gleaming with wanton desire for you pushed you over the edge. A wave of relief washed over you as you watched his face contort with pleasure, the awareness from you made it all more satisfying.

Your professor forced himself out of you and began to fist his cock, aiming it for your stomach. Your head rolled back as you recovered from your orgasm, watching the cloud dance in the sky, chasing the stars that seemed out of reach.

The sharp moan of your name caught your attention and you casted a glance over to your professor. Ropes of his release coated the soft skin of your stomach, painting it in a wash of white.

“Are you going to try harder in class?” A sly grin present on his face as he tucked himself back into his trousers once more.

“Maybe.”

~~~~~~~~

AN! Literally just smut…low-key ovulating, it’s fine.

Tuesday the 11th of February 2025, 9:11 PM.

[ginnysgraffiti]

(long) imagine.

i'll work on other characters :)

how would timmy's characters declare to you?

&. LEE

it wouldn't take much or little.

in reality, it is unpredictable.

he would be able to perceive this strong connection between you from the first moment, of course, but he would be so tormented by the thought of spilling all his paranoia on you that he would prefer to live with it.

however, you certainly can't say that he doesn't commit, because he would give you sooooo many signals.

the way he looks at you, like the most delicate creature capable of willingly climbing into his dented pickup truck, the way he would smell your hair, prepare your meals if you were to stop at his sister's place.

i mean, he would give you so many signals that your hypothetical doubt would be extremely out of sight.

he would seek constant attention, sometimes in a very desperate and childish way, and then add his usual flirting and perhaps stealing kisses on your cheek or nibbling your fingers.

he would always search for a way to kiss you, but then, due to extreme contradiction and lack of morals, as soon as you get too close he will do everything he can to turn away and hide his embarrassment, lowering his head and rubbing his messy curls against your lips instead of actually support your boldness.

he would probably declare himself on a desolated hill away from the noisy traffic or rush hours of the city, or perhaps in some gas station or even in some mcdonald's while you both enjoy your burgers at 10pm.

however, even though it may seem like a frank and decisive action, he would immediately need cuddles and small kisses to confirm that he is not just an extreme burden to you but the guy you desire to date.

he would immediately call his sister, in tears, to tell her the news.

&. HAL

there's no need to specify or even explain it: hal would make you live in luxury.

but i mean, luxury.

even if you had never broached the topic openly or even just shared the idea, you knew he wanted you as a queen.

the queen. his queen.

he would always find a way to carve out time for you, whether for horseback riding in the damp woods around the castle or for little night chatting after dinner.

he wasn't a man of many words, you knew it well and you took note of it since the beginning.

however, his tone was always sincere with you, as he even indulged in light rivers of alcohol when you were in his company, he always trusted you.

he loves how you treat him.

not like the king, not like any of the high ranks he was labelled with.

just like the man he was, the most gorgeous man you had ever seen.

this turned him on like hell, because you craved him as a person, you wanted him as a man, and you treated him like your closest friend.

hal, in fact, would never declare himself with sappy words. he's a man of action, that's for sure.

however, we're talking about you, and that means he would slip out the topic during a delicious dinner, followed by a quick and double-meaning suggestion to join him in his room once full.

finally, hal would make such an elaborate speech that your eyes would get watery, and maybe who knows, directly focusing himself on actions?

&. PAUL

paul would do anything to catch your attention.

anything.

to him, you are absolutely not just any fremen.

he would offer to train you, train you in the art of the sword even if he knows well you are absolutely better than him.

he'd help you put on your stillsuit, but he'd quickly walk away if you gave him a strange look, as fremen wear suits are commonplace at all times.

he would call the largest sandworms to show you his dexterity and now habit in the act. he would invite you to ride it with him, hoping that you would hold his waist and not try to challenge him in the best ride.

he's obsessed with the way you ride worms.

of course, he would see you in his every vision. happy, perhaps provocative or exciting visions that he just wants to see come true.

his stiff, masculine and proud composure would slowly collapse in your presence, that's for sure.

paul would even feel so scared of coming out in a way that might go against your fremen tradition that you'd find him with stilgar every day, talking like two best friends dedicated to gossip, while he would have asked him for professional advice that he would never have revealed to you.

he would finally declare under a warm and cosy night under a sky full of bright stars while your bodies lay and melt between fluffy sand dunes.

[flutterby-bog]

Some additional headcanon notes nobody asked for, but this time in an overanalyzed format:

Scars

He's got a few scars on his face and a slightly crooked jaw from when it got broken when Bog was still a teen. The same group of goblins that did this had shattered his mother's horns in an attempt at taking the throne by force. These scars and battle damage are all that remain of those goblins.

Height

It's subtle, but Bog's torso segments can extend and retract due to a vestigial adaptation which insects use for breathing. Since he does not have an insectoid respiratory system this has only ever been used for changing his height for any reason. As demonstrated below:

A tall Bog is a confident Bog. When he's insecure he will shrink (either by hunching or drawing himself inward). The difference changes his height substantially. Even at his shortest, at least while standing upright, Bog still towers over Fairies.

Respiratory System

Bog has a large pair of fairy-like lungs inside his chest cavity, perfect for flying with such a heavily weighted body and belting out extended notes for long periods of time. His chest has additional segments that evolved over several molts to allow for efficient contraction/expansion of said lungs.

Vascular System

Has red blood, and a similar pulse to a Fairy, though the pulse is slower and a little louder. His normal level of blood pressure also sits higher than a fairy's. This leads to occasionally related headaches but otherwise does not seem to affect Bog's health.

Skeletal and Muscular System

Has a fusion of both internal and external skeletal systems throughout his body with exception of his torso, which is primarily exoskeleton, and his head, neck, hands, and feet, which lack exoskeletal plating.

His muscles do exist, but they are mostly on the inside of the exoskeletal parts. They are only visible in exposed areas like the underside of his forearms, where his legs connect to his torso, and his neck.

Along his lower legs and his jaw Bog has spurs of bone that sticks out. For insectoids these spines function as tactile receptors and additional grip. For Bog, these are just sensitive and drive Marianne wild for some reason he can't exactly fathom.

Motor Control

Bog has a lot more voluntary control over his body than a Fairy does. His feet are basically another pair of hands with an extended heel and are only slightly less dexterous than his hands. If he wanted to play the piano with his feet, he could easily... If he ever wanted to learn piano, anyway.

He also has individual control over his wings and various segments of his body, especially the ones that are along his shoulders that look like natural pauldrons. Bog likes to flex those in particular to make himself look more intimidating.

Sight

Bog's able to see more in the violet and UV spectrum than a Fairy can. Also exceptional night vision. Take Marianne's wings for example...

Normal Fairy Vision sees visible light.

Bog's Vision - This is what he was seeing the whole time. Well, at night anyway. When the sun came up he got the UV spectrum on her wings too and well, he was already a goner anyway.

Smell

That big nose of his isn't just for show. He's got a powerful sense of smell, which is why he will habitually breathe through his mouth sometimes or he just would get overwhelmed with the amount of scents nearby. Especially if he has to visit the Fairy Kingdom in Spring. Way too many flowers and perfumes.

Diet

Pretty much the same diet as a fairy except he eats meat in addition to the fruits and plants that a fairy can ingest. Does not enjoy overly sweet flavors like honey as much as Marianne does. Prefers spicy. The exception is tea. He very much enjoys tea.

Insectoid Related Habits/Instincts/Misc

Grooming. He'll dust off his wings frequently by running his arm against them.

Damaged wings. His wings are permanently damaged from being attacked. He will never get new ones.

Molts. He molts far less now but when he was younger he would frequently molt.

Puberty. Did not always have wings. Did not have a cocoon stage but over a period of several molts started growing his wings.

Betrayed emotions. If you know how to read his body language, you can look past the grumpy face. When he's nervous, his wings will pulse in successively. When uncomfortable/embarrassed/anxious he will get very fidgety. When angry, involuntarily rattles (ch-ch-ch-ch noise) his wings and shoulder segments. His expression might look "angry" when he's actually not. Sometimes it's just a mask (unless he's rattling then for peat's sake, Thang, get out of the way! You should know better by now...)

Jumpy. Loud noises/vibrations/quick movements will startle Bog, causing him to involuntarily flinch/jump fairly easily. Beware his fast reflexes, though. Just because you make him jump doesn't mean you got the jump on him.

Goblin Related Habits/Instincts/Misc

Dominant posturing. Goblins in general have a very strict social pecking order. The strongest lead and just because Bog's father was King of the Dark Forest doesn't mean he got the throne by birthright. In the Dark Forest you have to earn the respect of your people. And that means if a goblin wanted to usurp Bog, they could definitely try. It wouldn't end well for them, though.

Oh, somewhat related to the above, but Marianne's sucker punch may have initially ticked him off, because technically that was a challenge. His initial move was going for a big "F-you" with his staff, but you know why he went back a second time? To show off. Because he found it hot.

Protective drive. Goblins are pack creatures and fiercely loyal, and this includes Bog even in a position of leadership. Sure he might smack Thang around because the little moron irritated him, but the moment someone from the outside starts smacking Thang around it's over for them. Bog's little put-put swing on Thang is nothing compared to the heavy golf swing he'll do on the idiot who tries to mess with his goblins. (The mushrooms got the full golf swing but trust, they are fine. Bog knows what will/wont hurt someone.)

Fairy Related Habits/Instincts/Misc

Singing/Music Magic. Fairies have magic that can turn any stick, light source, or noise into music while they are in the vicinity. Bog prefers a different kind of music than most fairies seem to enjoy, but he still possesses this magic nonetheless. Goblins do not usually sing, but they'll play instruments or do some back-up vocals for the fun of it.

Heart on the sleeve. This is a weakness Bog actively goes out of his way to suppress, but he really is a romantic deep down, as most Fairies have a tendency to be. Sure-sure he says he hates love, but then has a soft spot for Dawn's boutonniere gift that he can't quite explain. It's the fairy in you, Bog. It's okay.

Blooming Magic. Bog can touch a fern and make it unfurl, same as Marianne can. He can also make sure venus fly traps get the nutrients they need even if he snaps them shut just to walk on them for absolutely no reason other than showing off for Marianne. The magic fairies use to bloom flowers basically is just giving the plant nutrients it needs and speeding up the blooming process.

[mara-xx217]

"I'll take care of it this time..." (A Mouthwashing Fic)

Anya was a failure in every regard, she knew this. A failure of a nurse, of a crewmember, as a woman...

But this is her decision and hers alone to make, and no one, not even *he*, can take that away from her or change the outcome of her fate.

"I'm sorry, captain... It's my fault and I'll take care of it this time."

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Past Sexual Assault, Hurt/No Comfort, Suicide, Graphic Description, Non-Romantic "Kiss", Drug Use/Overdose, Canonical Character Death

BANG! 

BANG!

BANG!  

“OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR, ANYA!” 

She covered her ears, ducking her head in between her shoulders as she paced back and forth between the space between her desk and the countertops and cabinets that lined one of Medical’s walls. Every hit the thick, metal door received reverberated through her teeth, causing them to chatter uncontrollably as her vision blurred around the edges. 

‘Take care of it.’

She has to take care of it this time.

There’s no waiting for someone else to make it better for her. 

Not this time…  

Never again… 

She has to be the one to 

[TAKE

RESPONSIBILITY]

 Anya could hear Daisuke and him talking outside, the younger man’s voice trembling in genuine concern and fear while his was raised, angry… on edge. Spiraling out of control into outright dangerous desperation. Her eyes keep drifting between the drawer underneath Curly’s cot, then to her desk, covered in mountains of discarded paperwork, filthy, purulent bandages and mostly empty bottles of painkillers. Anya tripped over her own feet, heart throbbing behind her dry eyes as she heard two pairs of footsteps rush away from Medical’s locked door. 

God, why didn’t she just stay in here… 

Forever-

“....h-hhhh-”  

She could barely hear Curly’s pained wheezes over the sound of her own laboured breathing. R-Right… Right. He needs her… The captain still needs her… Anya dragged her feet as she shuffled over towards her desk, picking up one of the bottles with a violently trembling hand. 

Oxycodone

10 mg

[THERE ISN’T 

NEARLY ENOUGH…]  

The little pills clattered in the mostly empty container as it shook in her hand. Anya clumsily reached for another bottle, knocking over the rest of them in the process. 

Empty…  

“...haaa…”

One or two…

“-n-n-”

Empty…  

“...a-ahhh… n-naaah…”  

Nothing outside of this room existed. The rest of the Tulpar, Daisuke, Swansea, him, all of space, Earth, the goddamn Pony Express… Nothing existed except her, the captain, and the pills that she struggled to consolidate into a single bottle. Anya cursed under a heavy breath as several oxycodone tablets went scattering across the floor. She instantly dropped to her knees and began to scour for them carefully, struggling not to hyperventilate as tears simply refused to fill her aching eyes.

“-o-okay… I-I-It’s going t-t-to be okay, C-C-Curly…” Her tongue was too heavy, too sticky to articulate the words correctly. In spite of how fucking upset she was, Anya has never felt so clear headed or alive before. She felt it in every little action that she took, in how her entire body shook from stress, how her stomach cramped from hunger pains, how her throat clenched from dehydration… Anya wondered if Curly felt the same, or if he could feel anything at all, anymore. 

No, he did. She knew he did. He was staring at her, unblinking, wheezing and sighing her name over and over again, trying, and failing, to reach out to her with his shrunken, handless limbs like he could possibly stop the chain of events that had already been unfolding months, no, years, before the crash. 

Anya’s fingers lacked the dexterity needed to pick the pills up off the textured metal panels, but she forced herself to steady her hands. She sucked in a deep breath, holding it as she dropped her nose to the floor as she focused on an oxycodone tablet. Her fingernails had grown to be unruly, just as everyone’s on board had, and she accidentally crushed one of the pills in between her nail and finger, leaving a dry, white powder underneath her nail bed. 

Such a waste… Anya brought her fingers to her mouth without thinking, sucking them clean in spite of the foul taste that flooded her mouth. It caused her to salivate involuntarily, coating her mouth in a blissful amount of sticky saliva. 

“H-Ha… Got it… I got it all… I’ll make the most of what we have and use the bare minimum, I promise…” Anya gripped onto bloody, crusty bedsheets, digging her fingers into the shitty, plastic mattress as she pulled herself up off the floor. Curly’s bloodshot eye stared back at her, his teeth chattering as he hissed air in her direction. 

“-a-aahhh… n-nnahh… A-Ahhh… n-naaahhh…” Seeing him so closely made her stomach churn. Anya can’t even remember the last time she ate, or what the last thing she even ate was, but bile burned the back of her throat as she began to feel a hot, drowsy tingle prickle through the hairs on her arms. 

“S-Shhh… Shh, Curly… Don’t worry, I’m giving you your medicine this time. I’m going to be a better nurse for you, even if it’s too late…” Anya got up and stumbled over to one of the counters, grabbing a bottle of water that was only a quarter full.

A quarter full…  

“Do you… Do you really believe that our worst moments don’t make us who we are, captain?” The taste in her mouth was foul, but she didn’t dare wash it out with the little water that remained. Curly needed it more than she did. He’s hardly eaten or drank anything in the months after the crash. Anya can’t really blame him, and wonders if he would rather she smother him with his pillow before things go any further. 

No, she can’t make that decision for him. She can’t…

She won’t-

“I don’t think… this is my worst moment. It’s not. I know it isn’t.” It’s the same conversation she had with him, only it felt far less one sided with Curly, even though he couldn’t even reply back. She looked up at him with a tired expression, shaking the pills around in her unsteady hand absentmindedly as she sat on the edge of his bed. Curly wheezed again, noticeably stiffening but Anya didn't move. 

He doesn’t want her to, anyway…  

“...I wish… I wish I didn’t tell you… it. Maybe-” Curly began to squirm. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t reach out to her or say anything at all, but Anya already knew everything he wanted to say to her.

‘No, don’t say that…’

‘The blame isn’t yours to bear.’

‘It’s mine, as a captain, crewmate and friend.’

‘I’m sorry, Anya…’  

“Maybe, this wouldn’t have happened if I had j-just-” Her voice abruptly died in her throat. The little oxycodone power she had ingested moments earlier was already affecting her, making her feel… tired. So very tired… But it didn’t cloud her judgement. Anya felt as though she was of sound mind, hyper aware of her situation in ways that she had forced herself to ignore for too long. The trembling in her hands and her chest didn’t stop, nor did the aching of her eyes, but she found herself able to smile down at her captain, at her friend as thick, gooey tears welled in his unprotected eye. 

She sighed heavily as she placed the bottle of water in between her knees. Anya opened the pill container with her thumb and dumped three oxycodone tablets into her dirty palm. She stared at a particular floor panel as she popped them into her mouth, ignoring how Curly writhed and gasped behind her. 

Anya quickly chewed up the pills and swallowed them, ignoring how her stomach immediately tried to reject the strange, overly sanitized and chemical taste. For a few seconds, she waited, forcing herself to swallow any bile that rose into the back of her throat and using it to wash the rest of the powdery substance down. Anya jerkily poured out more- two more- pills and quickly threw them into her mouth and ground them down to a sharp, lumpy powder as well. 

Already, she was woozy, struggling to focus as she forced another tablet into her mouth. She chewed, or really just gritted her teeth, hardly finding the strength to swallow it at all and merely letting it sit in her mouth. It didn’t matter, it would probably enter her bloodstream through her mucosal lining… Was that right…? She only ever had the privilege of pouring over medical books and reading and rereading prescription do’s and don’ts, so it’s likely she’s just wasting the precious little supplies the others had left. Anya was leaning heavily on her elbows, her thighs falling asleep from the weight of her body against just a small surface area. 

“C-Cuh-urly… C-Cap’n…” Anya slurs and she flings her body around. She tried to look at him, but the ship was spinning on its axis and Curly's skinless face was warping and twisting into a forced grimace. 

“‘m s-sooorrryyy…  C-Cap… I-Issss my fault ‘n I- I’ll taaaake -of it -t-time…” Anya clumsily shifts her weight onto her knees, kneeling on the crappy medical padding and causing the bed to dip under the change. 

“-n’t f-for- forge-et… M-Medi-” Her breath was catching in her chest. Anya had to put in conscious effort into breathing,��made difficult thanks to her reeling head and eyes that refused to remain open for more than a fraction of a second. Anya balanced herself with her palm flat against the bed, body hovering over Curly’s blood, raw, bandaged one and steadied herself for one final task as the Tulpar’s acting nurse. 

One final pill was slipped into her mouth, the mostly empty pill bottle shoved inside of her jumpsuit pocket with a blind hand. Anya fumbled with the water bottle and poured the entirety of its contents into her mouth, careful not to swallow anything other than a few precious drops. The pill swam in her mouth as she leaned over Curly’s squirming face with pursed lips and unfocused eyes. 

He struggled to take in the water. It hurts! It’s painful to the touch, it’s impossible to swallow without choking on the burns in his mouth and gullet, but thanks to a subtle tilt of his head, the water flushes the oxycodone pill down his throat even if he chokes on it and the water. It’s painful but it's also relieving. Needed. He was in agony and dehydrated and Anya kept her promise that she would take care of him properly this time.

For the last time…  

Artificial gravity pulls her body down off the bed and onto the floor. Involuntary tremors wracked Anya’s body as she tried to take the pill bottle out of her pocket. Did… Did she take enough…? Anya didn’t want it to be slow. She couldn’t open it again, and her arms fell limply to her sides as she leaned her head against the cool metal of Curly’s cot. 

“-a-ahhh… n-naahh…”

“-a-ahh… n-n-naaahh…”

Seconds seem to drag on for an eternity when you are unable to blink. Curly couldn’t turn to face her, he could only make out her dark blob of hair out of the corner of his badly damaged eye as she shook and shuddered. He heard her vomit, coughing and choking on it as her tremors turned into a violent seizure. Did she know he was still here? Did she know that nothing else existed to him other than her? The life was leeching from her fast, and the disturbing gurgling that originated from deep within her throat soon died down into an uneasy silence. 

“...”  

Nothing broke the deafening quiet in Medical, not even a scream of pain and the crashing and grinding of metal against metal broke the stillness in the stagnant air. Curly couldn’t look away as the young intern bled all over the floor, shaking a motionless Anya and crying out her name before ultimately collapsing after he unlocked the door from the inside. On the other side, Jimmy stood, looking surprised at the culmination of actions years, no, decades, in the making. 

“F-Fuck-” Jimmy covered his mouth before his hand trailed to the back of his head.

“FUCK-!”

BANG!

BANG!  

“-it… I was going to fucking fix it… Why- Fuck- I was going to-

[TAKE

RESPONSIBILITY]

@prettycutebunny, @infinitewhore, @kennbb, @cherrysodalite, @space-arsonist, @pink-soft-shadow, @sinlessdesire, @hoemine, @memoryofheather @horny-3

[gtwscratch]

I’m curious for your project x au if the powers are progressive (get stronger over time) and if they have any side effects

I know I’ve seen some stuff like matryn easily getting overstimulated etc but I do have some suggestions for some of the others if you want to make their lives even worse :)

like perhaps Cleo’s powers draw from her own life energy, wether that involves shortening their own life span or just making themself unwell if she uses them too much

or tangos hunger, do they purposely starve him to prevent him having the energy to run outside of when they have him doing testing, and does that hunger make him feel cold

maybe bigb has some dexterity issues cause of the creaking wood like features not being as flexible as his human parts

or lizzie could have some sensitivity to light such as making her the one with poor vision if she’s not using her powers, or maybe even sensitive skin (I like to hc that her powers were limited by gameplay restraints in canon wl and she actually has full shadow manipulation lol)

you could maybe even argue for something like the lack of fall damage in canon wl being nerve hyposensitivity, where they are still taking some (probably reduced) damage but just can’t feel it

sorry I’m getting carried away now but I’m just <3 go girl make their lives miserable <3

No, don’t apologize! These are amazing!!

One of these I’m very impressed with bc it may or may not be canon… 👀

[thatone-brightstar]

The Bear & The Fox (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 5: The Fantastic Mrs. Fox pt. 1

Words: 4.3k

Summary: Carmy deals with his nightmares while you deal with your family.

a/n: This is more fluff but I'll make it up with smut on the next one ;) Hope you enjoy! xx

PS. Reader is latina in this and if you are too, you’ll probably understand the families…

He could not remember the last time his lungs didn’t ache from the lack of air. It felt like he could finally catch a decent breath and his neck wasn’t strained from its constant outstretched position, trying to hold his head above the murky water before it pulled him under the current. The pressure in his chest was rubbed away by dexterous fingers covered in velvet clay as you molded him into one of your beautiful art pieces, fingerprints permanently etched into his surface.

He didn’t want to give credit of his newly found good mood to whatever you two had, he wasn’t the kind to let anyone influence over his emotions. Many years of abusive behavior in the world’s best kitchens had made him believe he was above all that. He could whisk a Hollandaise sauce by hand in less than a minute, while some entitled asshole butchered his self esteem with every word and yet it would still be the best shit that had left that kitchen. He didn’t believe he was above it, he knew.

And yet, a single ‘hope ur having a great day xx’ text from you was enough to dissipate the boiling irritation beginning to grow after a very shitty day, the simple sentence curling his lips into a small smile.

The week had been going smoothly. Apart from the day where he had to break the news to the team that you wouldn’t be coming back to work due to… personal priorities, everything had been smooth sailing. At least as smooth as it can be when the ship is held by duct tape and is constantly on fire. The payment on their meat deliveries was finally up to date, meaning that they could order more product, which in turn meant more sales for the restaurant. 

He called you after closing and while he finished scrubbing a few grimey spots on the floor he told you the good news. You were just as excited as he was, probably even more, because this meant that his plan to turn The Beef into a respectable business was finally starting to take shape. 

In a low whisper you told him how glad you were and when he answered that ‘there’s still so much more left to do’, you replied with ‘Yeah, but that’s one less thing to worry about. I’m really proud of you for it.’

Your words had trickled through his veins, sticky sweet invading his body and keeping him warm as he drove home and settled on his couch to rest his eyes.

The warmth, however, had now dissipated into thin slivers of distress that circled his throat and constricted his airway. Mirages of blinding white tiles and glistening stainless steel haunted his vision, no matter how hard he closed his eyes. A booming voice that sounded like his own but laced with unknown malice vibrated in his skull and crept under his skin as it repeated the familiar mantra for the tenth time in a row, ‘Mikey was wrong, you can’t handle it’. The taste of smoke filled his lungs, drawing heavy droplets of water from his eyes and forcing him to the floor, heaving in desperation. Roaring flames invaded his view, crawling up the walls and swallowing everything around him in an angry orange blaze.

Carmy’s body jerked awake, wild eyes scanning the dark surrounding for the immediate threat. The lulling sounds of the cooking channel were no more than static to the ringing in his ears and the tang of inexistent smoke felt heavy inside his mouth. He rubbed his eyes ferociously, hoping this would clear the image of his burning kitchen now carved into his mind. Through the cloudy haze of adrenaline and angst, his own thoughts seemed far in the distance, like he was floating away from his own existence, like if nothing was real.

A pang in his chest made him grip over his heart with shaky fingers, the all too familiar bile beginning to strut its way up his trachea at the intrusive thought that maybe you too had been a vision fabricated by his fucked up head. It would only make sense, how someone as perfect as you had just suddenly appeared like a lifeline, bright and beautiful, taking a liking to him of all people. Maybe he had finally lost his marbles, The Beef and everyone in that fucking place had finally broken him,

“Okay, okay, okay, get your shit together.” He mumbled to himself and rubbed a hand over his sweat covered face. 

He tried to breathe in as deeply as he could with his aching lungs, hold it in then exhale shakily, like he had once read in one of those psychology posts that seemed irrelevant until now. With fingers pressing tightly against his temples, he continued the breathing exercises until he no longer felt like his chest would concave into a black hole. He dragged his other hand to the space between his torso and the backrest of the couch where he could feel the hard surface of his phone and unlocked it with slight trembling fingers.

His thumb hovered over the call button in your contact info, doubting if he should inconvenience you with his mental crap, especially at four in the morning. Instead, he moved to his gallery where the bright image contrasted between pictures of gloomy skylines and invoice reminders. Bright green gelée with vibrant edible violets stared back at him through the lit up screen while he readjusted himself in the small sofa, the pastry soothed the turmoil of negative thoughts regarding your existence and served as the confirmation his head needed to allow his worked up body some desired rest.

**********

It was Sweep’s turn to play the music for the day, and while normally he would just tune it out until service hours, the insistent bass mixed with his sleep deprivation, drilled a consistent hole right between his brows.

“Yo chef, turn that shit down, will ya?” He asked Syd, who stood close to the radio, cutting onions.

Despite their system functioning slightly better, Carmy couldn’t help being on edge from the moment he walked through the door, expecting anything and everything to go wrong. He could blame the nightmare still fresh in his mind, but he knew the sudden waves of anxiety had begun way before forcefully inheriting The Beef. Somewhere between New York and Noma.

Remnants of the conversation with his sister the week before surfaced from the shallow water and he remembered the pamphlets he had been skimming over right before discarding them completely when you had gone in to quit. A soft smile covered his face as the memories of everything that happened that night replayed in his head, then he cleared his throat to cover it up. 

He finished dicing the vegetables for the giardiniera with mechanical ease, then threw everything in a low pot with vinegar, water, salt, pepper and a few bay leaves, leaving it to simmer. When he asked Tina to watch it for him, he only received a soft grunt as a response, which he answered with a ‘thank you, T.’ and retrieved into the office to find the pamphlets and give another good look over them. 

Maybe Sugar wasn’t so crazy to suggest Al-Anon Family. God knows he needed somewhere to vent after all the shit that had happened in the past couple months. He was never the type to ‘talk about it’, no one in his family was, which was probably the biggest reason why the thing with his brother had happened. He was used to swallowing it down, whether it was his brother’s rejection or the constant verbal assault of America’s Next Top Chef Imbecile. He was used to keeping it controlled, letting it simmer slowly in the depths of his stomach, until it reduced into a thick red paste that invaded his veins and darkened his vision. 

Before the voice in the back of his head convinced him that ‘It wasn’t worth it’ and that ‘all you need to do is man up, not fuckin therapy’, he saved the number in bold black letters to his contacts for safe keeping, promising himself he’d call during his next break.

Three soft knocks on the flimsy material of the open door caught his attention as he saved the papers into one of the many crowded drawers. He turned around in his chair and a new wave of found air reached his lungs. 

“Hey ” You whispered, stepping into the small space, bottom lip caught in your teeth. “Am I interrupting?”

“Hey…” He breathed in, and for the first time in a while, he felt like the oxygen had finally filled his lungs. “N-no, no, no, of course not. What’s up?”

Carmy stood from his seat with renewed energy, stretching a hand to caress your forearm but stopped himself midway when he remembered that you hadn’t really talked about how you would approach this new situation whenever you visited the restaurant. Your eyes flickered to his stagnant hand and your grip around a grease stained cardboard box tightened. You threw a quick glance over your shoulder to make sure no one was looking, then softly pushed the door closed with your boot, until you heard a click. Immediately after, you carelessly dropped the box on his desk and circled your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down to your hungry lips. His arms automatically closed around your form and a soft hum escaped your throat as you melted into his warm embrace. It was absurd how quickly he had gotten used to the tender movements of your silky lips on his, because at that moment, he could not remember how he had lived so long deprived of such a delightful experience. 

A light laugh escaped your mouth when your side hit the edge of his desk after he unconsciously spun you in the small space.

You pulled your face to take a few deep breaths as well as calm your thundering heartbeat, and when you finally opened your eyes, he swore you held the entire cosmos inside the dark, glittering voids.

“I just came to drop off family, but this is nice too.” You joked under your breath and he followed along.

“Hmm..what’d you make?”

“Empanadas.” You answered with a warm smile and reached for the forgotten box behind you. “See?” A savory scent invaded his nose from the moment you opened the lid, his stomach registering the estranged sensation of hunger after the long day.

“Shit… that smells fire.”

“You wanna take one now? Knowing them, there won’t be many left.”

“Oh no thanks, I’m good.”

You stared at him with a blank expression, then pushed the open box to him. You looked at him expectantly, then at the box and back at him. He sighed but reached into it and took one, placing it over a closed binder on his desk.

“Happy?” 

“Mhm, very.” You answered with a satisfied smile, standing on your toes and giving him a chaste kiss. “So, whatcha lookin’ at?” You ask, dropping your bag over the familiar spot.

Carmy let you go and sat back down on the revolving chair with a sigh, analyzing how much of the truth he should tell you. He wasn’t sure if you knew about Mikey and all the shit that had gone down. From what he remembered, you had come in when the waters had finally settled and only the disaster after the storm remained. 

The same wrenching feeling from the night before invaded his mind at the thought of dragging you into his mess.

“Just uhm…” He rubbed his face with his elbows resting on his thighs “Some accounting stuff I can’t get my head around.” He answered instead.

Your soft touch combed through the knotted curls of his hair, careful fingers massaged the neglected scalp and an involuntary sigh parted his lips. It’s like the simple act had triggered his neck to lose hold on his head because soon he felt the soft fabric of your shirt pressed against his forehead and eyes as you stood in front of him, massaging his worries away. You stepped between his separated legs, racking your nails from his scalp down his neck and to his tense shoulders, disarming him completely. The swell in his chest grew for a very different reason when he realized just how touch starved he truly was, as he could not remember the last time someone had treated him with such tenderness and care. If there ever was such a time.

“Maybe you just need some rest…” You said softly. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

His hands rubbed absentmindedly along the length of your thighs, humming in response to your caring words. He rose his head from its comfortable place to look up at you. You smiled delicately down at him and cupped his face between your hands, then placed a loving kiss in the valley of his eye brows.

That was enough for the lock that guarded the Pandora’s box in the back of his darkened mind to break in two. His mouth parted lightly as the Adam's apple in his throat grew two sizes too big for words to escape, and he knew, though not if it was good or bad, that no one else would ever top the rush of emotions you had made him experience with such a simple gesture.

Your brows raised in confusion at his expression. “What?” You asked through a nervous laugh.

He shook his head with a light smile, gripping tightly at your hips where his hands had stopped, then stood from his chair.

“C’mon, let go feed these fuckers.”

Carmy placed his hand on your lower back as the other held on to the box, then after you opened the office door, you walked to the dining area where most of the bustle came from.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in and left to die!” Richie’s voice boomed above everyone else's, making the team turn in your direction.

There was a sudden screech of chairs as the group got up to greet you with enthusiasm, the sound made Carmy’s small migraine pulse but the sight of your excited expression soothed it back down.

“Look at you, all pretty in your blue aprons!” You said between laughs scanning your ex coworkers’ uniforms.

“Jeff says it compliments my eyes.” Tina joked, batting her lashes up at you.

“He couldn’t be more right.” You answered, hugging her side and turning to him with beaming eyes. 

Marcus took the box from Carmy’s hands excitedly, opening it on his way to the table and setting it in the middle for all to take.

“Yo, these look sick! You made them?” He asked you after everyone had settled back down and you took a seat between Carmy and Syd.

“Yeah, well, my grandad helped. They good?”

“Tastes like shit..” Ebra mumbled through a mouthful of dough and everyone laughed.

“They’re actually an invitation-”

“I accept.” He interrupted and you snickered lightly.

“Where to?” Marcus asked.

“My grandpa’s turning 76 tomorrow. I was supposed to invite you guys like two weeks ago but I kinda forgot. So as long as you don’t tell my mother, I’ll make sure you leave on the verge of alcohol poisoning and with enough food for three days..”

He heard a few ‘Niceee’ from the youngests of the group, while Angel tried bargaining the amount of rations per person and failing miserably, bumping it down to two days and receiving a light smack in the head from Manny.

“Wow, wait I don’t think I can make it. I gotta work tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, me too babe, sorry.”

Marcus and Sweeps let you know and when he turned to you, he could see your brows drop very slightly in disappointment.

“Yeah, I think we’re all on the clock tomorrow…” Richie said from his corner of the table.

“O-oh” He saw you swallow slowly, then smile softly to hide your expression. “No biggie, then. I’ll just tell her you’re all busy, she’ll understand.”

A few sorry’s spread through the group as they continued eating. 

He remembered Tina had asked him for Sunday off a week ago and so did Sydney, so he assumed they would be there, but he knew how much it meant to you that everyone could go. They were your other family, after all.

Without overthinking it, the words bubbled in his throat, spilling over the edge before he could stop them.

“We could close.”

The movements stopped completely when everyone turned around to him, stunned. He cleared his throat out of nervousness from the sudden attention, then spoke again.

“For dinner, I mean.” He specified.

“Seriously?” Syd asked in surprise. “Cause even with our off days we’ve been opening daily for the past, what like two and a half months?”

“Yeah, but we’re finally up to date with the meat sourcers and we have at least a two week parachute to keep us off the ground.” Carmy flicked his eyes to your confused face, then back to the group. “Plus, I think we’ve all earned a good rest, right?”

The family erupted in delight at the good news, clear skies ahead as they felt they were almost out of the woods. Besides, no one could say no to a night of free food and booze.

While they finished eating, they arranged plans on how to carpool for the next day or on who would be the unlucky idiot to be the designated driver, at least out of the ones that could drive. Under the table, Carmy snuck his hand to rest over your knee, slow enough to not catch the attention of the crew, and yours cupped over it gingerly. A glowing smile covered your features when you looked at him, mouthing a very much heartfelt ‘Thank you’, that reached the dingiest parts of his tethered soul and appeased the flames bubbling in his core.

**********

You had not known a single moment of peace since the second your mother barged into your room to throw the covers off you around eight, nagging on how late it was for you to still be in bed at that hour. You could hear the familiar Spanish ballads playing on the TV, which indicated it was Sunday morning in your household; as well as the rowdy laughter of your aunts, scraping pans around as they made breakfast for everyone in the crowded apartment.

The morning was spent between answering personal questions about your dating life and hauling decorations down the multiple flights of stairs into the patio beside the complex. After bribing the maintenance guy with twenty dollars and the promise of free booze, he agreed to let you use the space in private for the afternoon, even helping you hang the string of paper decorations around the available tree branches and offering an extension cord for the fairy lights. Joshua carried most of the tables and chairs, ones he borrowed from a friend of his who owned a rental shop and after half an hour of figuring out the best layout, you were finally done. 

You were quite proud of the turnout. The mismatched chairs and different colored tableware felt warm and inviting, just like the red carnations that sat in the makeshift wine vases along the main table. Your heart warmed at the sight of your grandmother’s favorite flowers, before closing the backdoor and walking up one last time to eat something then get ready.

“So, is your boyfriend coming?” Joshua broke the silence as you passed the second floor.

“The fuck are you on?” You asked back, a soft tint rising up your neck.

He turned around from a few steps above you and snickered. “C’mon, Fox. I saw him drop you off the other day.” His smile grew when he saw you swallow hard and that was confirmation enough. “I’m not telling ma, jus’ so  y’know.”

“I know you won’t,” Your step quickened up a few stairs, then you kicked his right foot to his left while it was in the air, causing him to almost trip on himself. “cause if you do, I'll tell her about the time you and Nico took the car to go see titties and you were almost arrested.” 

He rolled his eyes and groaned. “Dude, that was like two years ago, when will you let it go?!”

“When you two incels pay me back the bribe I had to give the bouncer so he wouldn’t call the cops on your asses!”

“Alright, fine! I won’t say shit..”

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought…���

“What do you care anyway?” You asked after a few silence filled seconds.

“I don’t, '' he answered defensively. “Just makin’ sure it’s not that tall asshole from your job.”

Now it was your turn to snicker. “Who Richie?”

Your little brother shrugged and the story Richie had told you on your first day, about the nerd that punched Carmy, came back to mind. A malicious smirk curled on your lips as you reached your floor, one hand lifting to pat sarcastically up on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry bout it weasel, it’s not Richie… It’s the other one.” You said, walking ahead of him. “The one you punched, ‘member?”

You heard the squeak of his sneakers at the sudden stop and you had to bite your cheek to not burst into laughter as you crossed the open apartment door.

A wave of scents and sounds invaded your senses the moment you walked through the threshold, overwhelming to the point of a starting headache. It also didn’t help that all your stomach had processed was a cup of coffee a couple hours ago and that you had wasted most of your energy running up and down trying to make everything look presentable. You crossed the hallway and moved directly to the kitchen to find something to eat before getting ready. 

You were greeted by the welcome committee of your three matriarchs, all working on a different recipe around the counter, covered to the brim in ingredients.

“Ay, mi amor, you grew so tall!” Angie called excitedly the moment she saw you walk in.

“I've been the same size since senior year, tia, but thank you.” You laughed, hugging her shoulders softly to not move her hands cutting up veggies.

“Ya terminaron?” Your mother asked, kneading some dough inside a bowl.

You pulled a pear from the fruit bowl and nodded towards her. They continued gossiping as they worked through the ingredients and you chewed on your fruit in silence. 

There was something you found peaceful about the women in your family, especially in these sorts of events. How they all knew with perfection their role, their gear that worked in synchronicity inside the machine. It was always so beautiful to watch them cook together, even as a child you were astonished at how they moved with ease around each other, knowing their needs without having to voice them. It was like watching a ballet company that had been training on perfecting the same choreography all their lives. They were the main reason you had gone into cooking before anything else was even considered an option. They made you see it as a dance, elegant and exact.

A sudden slap in the back of the head brought you back from your thoughts. 

“Ay! Pendejo!” You shouted at your brother, rubbing your head and glaring in his direction.

“Mom’s talking to you!”

“And that’s why you hit me, you fuckin’ idiot!?”

A chorus of warning ‘Hey's was thrown to both of you, a reminder to behave on the important day.

“I was asking you if you invited your friends from work.” Your mother asked again.

“Mhm, they’ll be here around noon.”

She nodded slowly then looked back up at you with a subtle smile. “And did you invite that Carmy boy?”

“Ooh, who’s that?” Tere pitched in, now drawing the women’s attention towards your topic of conversation.

You bit back into the pear, ignoring the question as your mother took over for you.

“Oh, a boy that works with her, has the loveliest of blue eyes.” She said, widening her eyes and causing a wave of chuckling from her sisters. “What is he, russian?” She asked you.

“Italian.” You mumbled, through your chewing.

“Italian, that’s right!” Then she gasped as an idea came to mind. “You should introduce him to your cousin Sarita, y’know how lonely she’s been since her divorce…” Her voice shrinked into a whisper, as if she were telling a long kept secret.

You stopped mid bite at her words, sweeping through the sets of eyes that now waited expectantly for your answer. Joshua stood across the counter with a mocking smile and an apple in hand, while his other arm circled Angie’s shoulders.

“That’s a great idea ma, you should totally introduce ‘em to Sarita.” He said, then bit into his apple to hide the stupid grin invading his face.

You wanted nothing more than to lodge the fruit so far down his throat that he’d live with two Adam’s apples for the rest of his days, but you knew you’d have to answer for your crime against your mother’s darling boy. Instead you swallowed the last bite and left the space with the excuse of getting ready for the evening.

‘My mother wants to set you up with my cousin.

How good are you with kids?’

Read the text you sent Carmy while getting ready to take a shower. Your phone pinged less than a minute later and the little blue heart you had added next to his name made your stomach flutter.

‘Once sedated a party full of ‘em.

But other than that, pretty decent’

A loud laugh vibrated through your chest at his answer and you saved it in your mental folder under ‘stuff to ask him about’, next to the swirling designs on his torso and on how he had ended up stuck with The Beef, of all places.

Chapter 6.

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne and that’s it lmao

[entering--hyperspace]

4, 8, 11 and 25 for combat asks?

4. How do they fight? Do they tend to stick to a strategy or just improvise? Do they prefer to win fast and hard, or to let their enemy tire themselves out before striking them down? Do they favor brute force and resistance, speed and dexterity, or something else? Do they fight fairly or is winning the only important thing? Elaborate!

I consider Leo to be a defensive opportunist. He's observant, perceptive, and relies on his skills as a good strategist to carry his role in combat. By this I mean he tends to go on the defensive primarily, learning how or recognizing patterns in his opponent awaiting an opportunity for a strike or going completely on the offensive if that is what is needed. Leo has above average strength, as apparent by his build, but he is faster than he is strong, which is another reason why he prefers to fight defensively at first. Its easier for him to save his energy and strength for opportunities for attack where he can rely on his speed to switch stances. He is 100% an honorable fighter if the situation allows for it. Obviously in a story where sometimes he's fighting like minions there's not much reason to be a fair fighter when your opponent doesn't abide by rules to begin with, because it then turns into a simple question of survival. But when it fits, yes, he is an honorable combatant. When he fought in the gladiator arena against his legionnaire he chose mercy, he chooses mercy every time just as he chooses to fight honorably even if his opponent doesn't bc it's something he sticks to out of his own beliefs.

8. Do they have any visible scarring or lasting injuries from previous combat experiences? How did they get them? How do they feel about them?

My favorite, most prominent scarring is what lies beneath Leo's eyepatch. During the battle of Claw Island, Leo's eye was gouged out, in panic due of the sudden loss of vision Leo activated his death shroud which filled in the "gap" that had been left.

His reaper eye is able to see spectral/mist energy, and spirits that exist within that in-between state. But because that can be both extremely overwhelming for him and may bring up questions, covers it n' tends not to talk about it. He's not ashamed of this particular "scar" but it serves as a reminder to the tragedy that befell claw island so it's a bit of a touchy subject for him. Leo has a few other smaller scars from years of combat as I'm sure most charr do, but that's his most significant one (as of ls2.)

A scar that's less conventional but something I still want to talk about bc even though its not a "scar" rather a lasting physical change to his body, ever since making a pact with Grenth's avatar and obtaining his reaper shroud, Leo is consistently always cold to the touch.

11. Are there weapons they can't use to save their life? Why?:

Ranged weapons such as guns or bows, he has always just lacked a sharpshooter eye even before The Incident.

25. Do they use a weapon or magic unique to them/that's not present in-game? If so, how does it work?

Kind of, not really, but kind of.

Leo acts as a guide to some wandering spirits, and has formed a deep connection with them in general. Instead of drawing "life force" he is gifted their energy to use in battle willingly. He is able to hear their voices which often provide short, helpful tips such as "behind you", "something is looking this way," "The ground is uneven here." But these voices are not always present or can sometimes even be too overbearing depending on the location. He doesn't have a unique weapon YET, but unique armor and weapons is something I love designing so that'll likely change.

[justanerdy-gal]

“Our Sinful Desires” (Astarion x Tav)

-> pairing: Astarion x Tav -> content: sexual tension/seduction, sfw (stops just before it gets nsfw) -> summary: Tav asks for a lesson in the rapier through a game of fencing. Astarion uses this opportunity to finally bridge the gap between him and Tav that he’d been building up to for weeks. Timed a few weeks after Tav first lets him bite her.

-> notes: wrote this from a prompt from @thefreak0fhawkinshigh about a romantically charged fencing session between Astarion and Tav hehe. I love reading sexual tension but I’ve never WRITTEN it before, I probably agonized too much about this one shot and I still don’t know if I like it but I hope you enjoy 🥹 The vision is that Astarion isn’t totally manipulating her here, he is actually interested her as well (which I HC Astarion was always a little interested even when manipulating her into a “tactical alliance” in the game, if you have high approval with him). But Tav is stubborn, and tries to fight a losing battle 😁

—————

Why was he doing this? he wondered.

Except he knows exactly why. The menace of a woman in front of him had seen him messing around with his rapier in camp, and had begged him to teach her a few concepts through a game of “fencing”.

He vaguely remembers the dull sport from his days as a magistrate in Baldur’s Gate, but he was rare to partake in it himself. His talents were more suited as a means to an end, rather than an enjoyment in and of itself.

However, Astarion found it exhaustingly hard to say no to Tav’s puppy eyes whenever she asked him for a favour.

No matter. He’d use this opportunity to his advantage.

In fact, this is the opportunity he’d been waiting weeks for. An opportunity he’d been building up to for weeks now, ever since Tav had allowed him to sup from her blood.

“So darling, ready to begin?”

“Born ready,” Tav said, as she adjusted the mesh armor she was wearing. He insisted on the two wearing chain mesh armor, and he had procured wood-fashioned rapiers for the two of them - they had surprisingly the same hand-feel as the real thing, but would help prevent any … accidental dangers.

He smirked. “I’d be careful, darling. I may make it look easy, but there’s a lot more… finesse to this sword than you might think.”

Tav pouted. “Think I can’t handle it?”

“Not at all,” he purred. Tav eyes widened for a second, but quickly composed herself, which earned a smirk from Astarion. “I just wouldn’t want you to hurt that pretty little head of yours.”

Tav’s pout began to turn into a frown. “Let’s just get to it, then,” Tav grumbled, and Astarion chuckled. She was right where he wanted her.

“Tsk tsk. First, you must bow,” Astarion wagged his finger at Tav.

“… You’re kidding me?” Tav questioned, as she got visibly more frustrated.

“It’s a part of the art, my dear” he stated, as if it was obvious. “I didn’t make the rules,” he shrugged.

Actually, the rule was to salute, but she didn’t need to know that.

Tav grumbled to herself, something about why she thought this was even a good idea, he thinks he heard. Astarion chuckled to himself. They both bow to each other, at the hip, holding the position for a moment.

As they bow, Astarion looked down towards her, as her head was tilted downwards. He thought about how he rather liked her in that position.

Tav happened to glance upward, and saw Astarion looking down at her through her lashes. She blushed as she saw Astarion’s stare on her, earning a smirk from him.

She stood up with an irritable look on her face, and Astarion chuckled yet again.

“Alright darling, show me what you got,” he said, facing his rapier upward.

Tav had a general understanding of how fencing worked - she had been the one to suggest it, after all. The trick was using the finesse of the weapon to hit the opponent, without giving them on opportunity to feint out of the way. A feat in Dexterity, one that Astarion did not lack.

Astarion settled in a stance, one that Tav tried to mimic. Astarion smiled at that. He knew he had the upper hand here, but Tav was doing her best to make a show of her own dexterity.

Tav attempted to make her first jab at Astarion, but he easily feinted out of the way. Astarion took his chance while she was off her balance to strike, his sword grazing her mesh armor lightly, as to not actually hit her.

“I guess that’s a point for me, love,” Astarion said with a smug look on his face.

“Lucky strike,” she muttered, as she settled herself back in her stance.

Astarion laughed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, darling,” he said as he settled into his stance again, opting to wait for Tav to strike again. He knew she would, not being the patient type.

And strike again she did. A frustrated huff escaped her as she missed once again, by quite a margin. Astarion barely had to parry away to avoid her blade.

“I see why you wanted the lesson, darling,” Astarion taunted. “You’re going to need to do much better than that …” he said, as he took a step closer into her range.

Tav hesitated as he did, becoming acutely aware of how much closer they were getting without her awareness. Her gaze narrowed, but there was a tenseness as she seemed to get lost in his gaze. In her moment of hesitation, Astarion grinned, taking his chance.

Astarion lunged, the blade of his sword grazing hers, a clash echoing in the air. As their swords met, he used the momentum to pull himself in to her until they were standing right in front of each other. Not anticipating this, Tav did not have the chance to pull away, and she found herself staring up into his crimson eyes, a look akin to a deer in headlights.

“My, my, darling, I had expected a little more skill from you than this,” Astarion purred, as he watched Tav’s eyes adjust to the closeness of Astarion’s body to hers, only to attempt to face away.

“How am I supposed to when you’re not playing fair?” Tav grumbled, averting her eyes downward, refusing to look him in the face.

Astarion chuckled darkly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, as if matter-of-factly. “I am just playing the sport.” He quirked his head, as if examining her, a knowing smile on his face. “Perhaps you can tell me where your mind is wandering to then …. if we’re throwing accusations around.”

He slightly adjusted his stance, just enough so that his lower body pulled closer to Tav, and his hand lightly rests on Tav’s waist. He heard a light intake of breath that Tav obviously tries to hide. Astarion watched as Tav eyes shifted, her mind at war with her logical side, vs. the side that felt an incessant need to melt into Astarion’s stare. To add to the agony, he caressed her hip with his thumb, small circles meant to soothe and lower her guard.

Tav’s eyebrows furrowed.

“And why would you think my mind is elsewhere?” Tav said, attempting to maintain composure, but there is a slight rasp to her voice as she spat out the words.

“Mm,” Astarion hummed, in a low whisper, leaning ever closer towards her, until his breath fanned her face. “Well, I’m a pretty good reader of body language. I can see when a person’s eyes dilate, when they lose focus. I can feel the quickening of their heartbeat, when they hold their breath, the little tremors when they’re held close. And darling…you have all the tells.”

Tav did not move, trying not think about how close they were, considering her response. “And let’s say your judgement is actually right…. what would you say about it?”

Astarion pretended to consider, raising the hand that was on her hip, to brush against her cheek, earning a jolt from Tav. “I would say that…. perhaps it’s time to let your guard down, for once.”

Tav was surprised. That was not what she was expecting to come from his lips. “What?” she said, slightly affronted.

“I’ve watched you, you know,” Astarion said. “ You help people as if it does not mean a thing in the world, but you remain closed off - to your own needs, your own wants… your own desires.”

Tav scoffed. “What importance do my desires have with everything that’s going on?”

“On the contrary, darling, I happen to think one’s desires are very important. It’s not a sin to give in to your desires sometimes… no matter how sinful those desires may be,” Astarion smiled smugly. “How is one to remain sane amongst the chaos?”

“Hah,” Tav muttered, trying to remain indignant but with not much bite left to her words. “I’m sure your desires are always sinful…”

Astarion lips twitched upward at that remark. He held the silence between them for a moment longer, considering, the tension like a taut string.

Astarion finally smiles. “But, perhaps I am wrong after all. Tell me, then…” he tilted his head as he inched towards her lips. “Would you stop me … if I did this?” he whispered against her, before he finally closed the distance.

As their lips met, Astarion entwined his hand in her own, releasing both their grips on their swords. They clattered onto the floor, but neither of them paid attention to the sound - both entranced by feeling of their lips against each others’.

Tav was the first to pull away, eyes wide at the realization of what just happened, and that she had let it happen. Astarion’s eyes, on the other hand, were hooded, and had darkened in a way that had a shiver running through Tav. He doesn’t let go of her hand.

“Well, my dear, tell me … have I read you right?”

As Astarion looked into her eyes, he knew he had her.

“Fuck you,” Tav answered. But she held fast onto his hand.

Astarion grinned. Jackpot. “Oh my darling, I’d love to.”

——————

Should I make a part 2???

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MASTERLIST

[someg0yguy]

more of my ocs

while I finish my silver inspired oc to complete the trio. Here are some doodles of the tails and Eggman of lightning's universe.

Further info:

The red panda(still got no name) is lightning older sibling. A smoker, steampunk inventor and with an attitude of a old cranky man that is very passionate in his craft. Think a mix of dexter + undyne.

Meanwhile we have this Eggman who is basically a crafty business man ceo that can unite a people together for a common vision. What he lacks in power and technical knowledge he makes up for his high intellect in managing his business. Obsessed with the idea of growth, whether in power or money. Think a mix of lex luthor + penguin,

[the-greatest-choice-developer]

[System Notification]

Your choice has been registered:

Javier – Look for Lloyd

Both – Check Yourself for Injury

Both – Help the Nearby Survivors

[System Notification]

It looks like a practical mix of priorities here—checking your own condition before leaping into action to help others. Who says you can’t do both at the same time?

[System Notification]

-Scene 1: The Explosion-

-Part 3-

The world around Lloyd and Javier gradually comes into focus as the initial chaos gives way to a dull, throbbing pain. Javier's head feels like it's splitting, but he forces himself to move, his mind fixated on two thoughts: finding Lloyd and assisting the nearby survivors. His limbs feel unusually heavy, every movement requiring more effort than it should, but he grits his teeth and pushes through.

Lloyd, not far away, blinks away the dust and debris, trying to clear his vision. He notices the tears in his clothes, the fabric shredded in places. Tugging at the tattered pieces, he checks for injuries. Aside from a few scrapes and scratches, he seems relatively unharmed.

Javier, however, feels a sharp, burning pain on his side. Glancing down, he sees his skin blistering—a fresh, raw burn. The sensation is strange, almost as if it doesn’t belong to him. Confused, he shrugs off his coat and wraps it around his waist, trying to protect the injury.

As the fog in their minds begins to lift, they become more aware of the strange sensations in their bodies. The pain from their injuries lingers, but something feels fundamentally wrong.

Javier, usually agile and quick, finds his movements sluggish. His hands feel stiff, lacking their usual dexterity as he wraps the coat around his burn. A frown creases his brow—his body feels heavier, less responsive.

Lloyd, by contrast, is surprised by the strength in his limbs. There’s a newfound solidity in his muscles, an ease of movement that feels unfamiliar. As he brushes dust from his face, he notices how steady and firm his grip is—more so than he remembers. It’s unsettling.

They continue helping survivors, but each motion deepens their unease. Javier’s balance is off, his muscles tighter than they should be. He pauses, looking down at his hands, the stiffness becoming more apparent.

Lloyd also senses something is wrong. His limbs are not only stronger but also more coordinated than he expects. It feels like he’s inhabiting a body that doesn’t quite fit him, like wearing clothes that aren’t his size.

They hesitate, instincts flaring. Javier catches a glimpse of his reflection in a piece of shattered glass. The face staring back isn’t his own—it’s Lloyd’s. A cold shiver runs down his spine as he spots someone who looks like him, crouched over a survivor.

Lloyd, still disoriented, notices someone staring at him … Lloyd Frontera? He pats his chest before looking down at his hands, sees unfamiliar scars that are too old to have been from the blast, and his breath catches in his throat.

They remained paralyzed, hearts pounding, as the surreal truth dawned upon them—they had somehow exchanged bodies.

Lloyd muttered under his breath, “…Not again…” the words slipping out in a mix of disbelief and exasperation.