#fascinated by the difference in their face structure

[nonstickbrain]

The metallic groan of hinges long rusted disturbed my slumber. Filtering the air through the fine fibres that made up my wooden structure, I tasted the warm sweaty musk of life and the acrid bitter smoke of torch flame. Tentative footsteps scuffed the stones that formed the floor of my current home, approaching the dais where I hunched low, ready to strike. I filled my maw with razor sharp teeth, their familiar shapes forming with ease. The footfalls faltered and ceased some distance before me. A brief rustle of cloth on stone then… silence.

That was curious. I had encountered plenty of sapient creatures in the past who sought to do me harm. They always travelled in packs and announced their presence with infighting or the clatter of steel. As much as I loathed consuming sentient beings on principle, self defence was an entirely different matter and I was far too pragmatic to waste fresh meat when it presented itself. This creature though, simply stood before me. I could sense no magic being cast, no whisper of a blade withdrawing from leather.

The silence was broken by the rustling of paper and a faint scratching. This wasn’t how this dance was meant to go. At this point, there was meant to be a a foolish creature within striking distance. Suspicion outweighed the instinct to remain perfectly still. Within the metal lock that joined the seam of the current form, I shaped a simple ocular structure. As my rudimentary eye coalesced, murky forms sharpened into focus.

The room was precisely how I remembered it, though fresh cobwebs adorned the edges of the space. The deep basalt that formed the walls drank in the light from the torch, glowing with reflected light. The twinkle of the gems and metallic coins that I had strewn across the space delighted me. I had no use for such baubles though they seemed to disarm the creatures that intruded on my sanctum, avarice overcoming caution.

In the centre of my home sat a hunched figure, draped in robes of a rich purple that was unfamiliar to me. Wizards favoured robes coloured to declare their mastery of a particular school of magic. I had seen healers dressed in white and the gold of divination wizards, evokers in red and grey and even a necromancer in deepest black. In their hands was a leather tome and a pencil, scribbling away as they glanced between me and the sketch in progress. Their face was scrunched into a grimace of extreme concentration that cast deep furrows across their delicate features.

I found the tableau to be fascinating. Though mimics were by nature extremely patient creatures, I must admit I had grown bored with my routine. Hibernating between intrusions helped but it was overcome by the realisation that before me sat something novel, and I didn’t want to let the opportunity slip away from me. By the soft mousy features of their face and the lack of facial hair, I guessed I was either looking at a human woman, or perhaps an elf. My elvish was decidedly atrocious — not many elves chose the adventuring lifestyle — so I opted for the common tongue.

“Why are you here?”, I asked, adopting the voice of a human priestess who I had introduced to her beloved god some decades ago. One of the many perks of being a mimic was that by consuming creatures, we retained pieces of them, to better help us assume their forms. It was never perfect, but over my long life I’d managed to piece together a handful of languages, some history, and a surprising number of skills thanks to the many talented individuals who sought fortune in my home.

The scratching of the pencil ceased. The concentration that previously dug furrows into their features was gone, replaced with wide eyes and a grin of all things. As she spoke, it was in a light and decidedly feminine tone. “Who said that?”, she asked to no one in particular, her voice more curious than afraid. That was interesting indeed.

I’d already given myself away so maintaining my current facade seemed silly. I began working my form into that of the priestess whose voice I was borrowing. Wood and steel and teeth melded and twisted, becoming pure potential. I relished the electric sting that came with shifting, the build up of tension followed by release as bone knit together and flesh danced into toned muscle and delicate skin covered with fine hair. Curls of fiery red hair spilled from my head and down my shoulders, draping me in sheets of molten copper in the torchlight.

Delighting in the gawking stare that had taken over her face at my transformation I responded, “It’s just the two of us here, little mouse.” I grinned wickedly as I noted that her stare had fallen to my body, greedily drinking my generous curves. Sapients were always more trusting of those they found beautiful, and who was I to fight their nature. Satisfied by the pink tint raising up her neck and painting her cheeks, I sculpted a simple outfit that several thieves had seemed to favour. I ensured the fit was tighter than what would be practical for normal clothing, the leather a second skin.

“I,” she started, trailing off. Honestly her reaction was delightful to the screams and bloodshed that normally followed contact with intruders. “You’re a mimic? And you can talk?” She’d blurted the words and seemed genuinely surprised to hear them herself.

“My, you’re a quick one,” I said, strutting from my dais. Bipedal movement was another novelty and I exulted in the action.

“But mimics can’t talk,” she declared, as though confidence and truth were the same thing.

“Where did you ever get a silly idea like that?” I asked, tilting my head to one side.

“Everyone knows…” surety drained away to confusion as she continued, “If you can talk, why do you attack adventurers?”

“Why do we attack armed intruders in our homes? Have you ever had an adventurer pry your mouth open expecting treasure?” I squatted down before her bringing us eye to eye. She leaned away, propping herself up on an arm as I intruded on her space. “Can you honestly tell me you wouldn’t bite back in our shoes?”

She seemed to mull this over, and asked, “So why haven’t you killed me?”

I gestured at the sketch in progress with my chin. “You plopped down and started sketching. I was curious.” I moved to retrieve the book. She didn’t move to stop me. I sat down and began perusing the pages. As I flipped past sketches and notes on dozens of creatures, I said, “You still haven’t answered my question. Who are you, and why are you here?”

She sat up straight, rising to her subject. She said, “My name is Beatrice, and I am a scribe studying the creatures of our realm. You’d be shocked at the amount of misinformation out there.”

“No Beatrice, I don’t think I would,” I said with a laugh. I studied a sketch of a troll. In the firelight its expression danced with life and I would swear that it was laughing. My fingers traced the notes crammed on the page. Family structures, cultural customs, diet. Not a single word dedicated to how to harm them or their weaknesses. As I continued turning through the pages, she moved closer to my side, angling to get a good view of what drew my attention.

I fixed her with an appraising stare. She smiled nervously and asked, “So? What do you think.”

“How did you work all this out? I can’t imagine trolls are very forthcoming” I asked, watching her for any hint of trickery or deception.

She rocked and bumped her shoulder into mine. The look of shock must have been obvious because she laughed and said, “Oh I don’t know. Most people aren’t too bad if you give them a chance.” There was nothing but earnest warmth in her face. I reached a decision.

I stood, the quick movement startling Beatrice back. “Come on then, let’s go,” I said, proffering a hand.

Her brow furrowed as she took my hand. As I pulled her to her feet she asked, “Go where?”

“You want to know about mimics, and I need a change of scenery.” I said, a warm feeling filling my chest. “I’ve been here a long time, I think I should give something new a chance.”

"MIMICS CAN TALK!?" "Of course we can, you idiot, we're not mindless monsters." "Then why do you guys always attack adventurers?" "You'd attack a stranger too if they opened your mouth and stuck their hands in it unwarranted."

[knifebun]

toy aunt and miniature niece

[onthecrescentofthehill]

it’s funny when ppl talk about the harpy omelet scene and say things like “why did he do all of that? he didn’t need to. JUST doing that for laios???” (seen these nearly verbatim on posts i’ve made.)

i don’t really get how you can hear his backstory & not understand that every decision he makes within the dungeon is fueled by a profound trauma borne out of horrific, structural negligence. of course he would do fucking anything to enact his plan? if he computes “getting in laios’s favor = proxy control of the dungeon” and he has very limited time to do so, he will jump at the chance. he’s already DIED for this.

kabru has maybe the clearest possible motivation that a character can have. he has a Protagonists Motivation, and it guides him forward in a very coherent way in the beginning of the story. things get more complicated in later acts that directly address how that motivation manifests itself/gets contradicted, bc ryoko kui is great at exploring this, but it’s still extremely present.

and as a labru fan i strongly dislike the implication i see from some ppl that his interest in laios is mostly personal or romantic (posts that range from pure joke to actual ship meta.) even when taking the “confession” at face value, where i think he was telling the truth, there’s still a lot more to it than that. i think at first kabru does see laios as a means to an end in a way that’s impersonal, partly because he tends to keep everyone in his life at arms length. but that “end” (preventing history from repeating itself) is something foundational to his psyche, and we should consider that potential sense of safety getting mixed in with his warring fascination/apprehension towards laios. he’s drawn to him for visceral reasons, and his stated motivations are so intertwined with his sense of self that untangling this push-pull is much more interesting than boilerplate Yearning, to me.

it’s just confusing when any meta or basic discussion of kabru diminishes the weight utaya has on his inner world and i’m really surprised every time i see it? like i understand that different types of meta will put other lenses on things intentionally, and in most cases i think it’s an interesting tool to work with. but it’s a massive disservice to his character to put the most foundational experience of his life on the back burner ESPECIALLY when it’s in favor of shipping. dissecting character relationships, romantic or otherwise, is at its best when you have their full personhood in mind!!

[notanotherinfjblog]

I’m currently collecting interviews with fiction writers of all MBTI types, but I’m obviously restrained by the kind of authors that I’m reading myself, so I’m turning to you now! If there are any writers that you suspect to be ISTJ, ISFJ, ISTP or ISFP (where I cannot name a single one yet) or any NJ, INFP or ESFP (which are rather small in numbers on my list) and that have been interviewed on camera, please let me know! 

[prokopetz]

I'm fascinated by the Knights in Tight Spaces demo for what can potentially be taken away from it for the tabletop – less in terms of the deckbuilding stuff, and more in terms of its asymmetric action economy.

Basically, the structure of each round of combat is as follows:

Each NPC moves – typically either one or two squares in cardinal directions, though some NPCs move in other ways – and chooses a facing.

Player characters do their thing, spending action points from fixed pools to perform a variety of tactical manoeuvres and attacks.

Finally, each NPC performs a deterministic action based on their final position and facing; in the simplest case, this is "deal your damage to whatever is in the adjacent square you're facing".

In a hypothetical tabletop context, this creates a environment where the players and the GM are functionally playing different games. The players have this whole complex action economy with multiple semi-independent resource pools to engage with, but the GM has no resources to track beyond making sure each NPC gets to move, and the only choices they make are where to position their playing-pieces.

It's certainly not offering any magic-bullet solutions to the traditional problems faced by games that want the GM to be an active player, but this sort of totally asymmetrical action economy feels like it could be a fruitful avenue to explore for solutions to the problem of overwhelming the GM with options because they have to simultaneously direct half-a-dozen characters while each player only has to deal with their own.

[fortheb0ys]

I wanna dress Will Graham up all nice and pretty just to mess him all up again :3

BROOO YOU GOT ME THINKING!! Give me like two sentences and I could go on and on if I'm feeling it. So I offer you my ramblings🤲

Does anyone remember that one Criminal Minds episode where this lady collects human dolls?!?

Well, make that into male reader insert <(´･ω･`<)

CW Sorry, i realized I don't put these often : reader is a serial killer and will is profiling him, reader views people as objects, reader can't tell what's real and will uses that to his advantage, will refers to himself as a 'sex doll', murder (not too descriptive), reader loses his virginity, sex, stalking, kidnapping, obsessive behavior NOT PROOFREAD ENDING IS RUSHED!

FEM ALIGNED + MINORS DNI

You watched Will from a distance, become fascinated by Will's beauty. His curly hair, his facial structure, his build, his everything.

He haunted you. You saw him everywhere you went.

Will was different from the rest. A body of pure perfection. The others ones in your collection were unamusing, marred in compaison to him.

Once you've had gotten your hands on him, your collection fell neglected. Left on the shelf to collect dust. Disposed of them when they broke.

Will was your prized doll like one of those vintage Christmas Barbies.

Once you've finally gotten your hands on him you noted he wasn't in perfect condition. It was quite clear under closer eyes, a few nicks and scratches. You'd treat him better than anyone else would. You wanted to keep him from farther damage.

At first, Will was a bit hard to play with. His face model was always in a scowl. Brows knitted in anger.

You thought about redoing his face, scraping off the base and painting a new one. Thoughts about the last time you've done it deterred your decision. Their faces had always came out disfigured, never getting quite right.

His hard shell didn't deter your love for him. You treated him gently, bought things for him, making small conversations at your little tea parties. His anger was met with your kindness.

It took a while till Will's shell chipped away. His scowl disappeared, replaced with a friendly smile. Happiness to see you home from you doll hunting.

Soon he became the best doll you've owned. A pleasure to have company with.

His voice box sounded much different from the others. The other doll yelled crude obscenities. Of course, their angry words didn't last long as taking out their boxes quieted them down.

Will was kinder. He was more willing to carry a conversation. He'd let you play with him without protest. Let you play with him, brush his hair, change his clothes. The others were hard to move, their sticky joints refusing to move.

Of course, the hunt for new dolls didn't stop. Once Will met these new friends, he became cold. Back to the old Will.

Will never liked play to nice. Mean and unpleasant words were barked at the others. They broke quicker than anticipated. You'd find Will covered in red, broken dolls at his feet.

He'd plea that he was special. That you couldn't have any other dolls. He was the only one that's supposed to be in your collection. Red, teary eyes begging to be the only doll in your collection.

You pulled him into close embrace, feeling his pounding heartbeat against your chest. Whispered promises as he cried at your every word.

Your precious Will, beautiful yet so broken. You plege devotion solely to him.

Since than you only cared for Will. Every moment was spent with him.

He seemed to enjoy playtime as well. He'd sit quiet and pretty as you changed him. His hands always posed between his legs. His joints bent seamlessly as he shifted in his sit.

One day while picking his clothes for the day, Will made mention that he had working parts down...there. That they'd the react when played with.

He said he was a 'sex doll', that only he's the only one.

He guided you as you were inexperienced. Spoke you through each step. Your fingers nervously stretching him. Your eyes trained on Will's face, looking for any sort of discomfort.

Fingers still he's face contorts. You weren't sure if it was discomfort or pleasure. You weren't going to risk breaking your precious doll by testing which one.

Your hand begins withdrawaling from between him. Before you could do or say anything farther, Will's hand shoots forward to grasp your wrist.

"Don't fucking stop." Will growls as his grip tightly.

His eyes darken, a glint of something beneath them. Like there was a secret to be shared behind blown out pupils. It seems almost sinister.

Your heart skips a beat and your mouth goes dry and all you could do was give him a small nod. Sex brought out this side of an otherwise gentle Will. One you were not willing to challenge.

Once Will felt like he was fully prepped and ready, he made you withdrawal your soaked fingers. With shaking hands gripping your cock, guiding it to his ready hole. A hiss sounding from Will almost made you stop but you wouldn't dare to do that again.

It felt so fucking good. Stinking in inch by inch. His hole stretching to fit your cock. His insides warm and wet. Pleasure consuming your entire being.

Did all dolls feel like this? Why haven't you tried this before?

Once Will completely bottomed out, he gave you a slight squeeze. You had to hold yourself back, nearly cumming after only just a moment.

Your eyes shut tight as your head falls against Will's chest, trying to focus on breathing. Shaking breaths timed with Will's heartbeat.

A sharp kick to your side, a signal that Will wants you to move. Eyes snap open to look deep into Will's. That look still present, now even darker.

"Take it nice and slow." Will spoke sweetly behind a kind smile. He's gentle once again. Will's changes in mood were slightly off putting.

You began to move at a slow pace, sloppy as you tested the water. Thrusts were shallow and somber. Will's hand grip at your hips and begin guiding your movements.

"Follow my lead." He locked eyes while you felt the need to look away.

His hands push you forward establishing a rythm. Pushing in deep to hit something the made Will gasp and pulling out till your tip was the only thing in him.

You tried focusing on keeping the order as you roll your hips into him but everything felt so good your mind went numb. Will's grunts turned into moans as you kept nailing the spot in him that made him sing.

You push your entire weight onto, trying to reach deeper and deeper. Confidence is now yours when Will clenches around you. The heat is suffocating, sweat pools down your back.

One of his hands leaves your hips, guiding yours onto his weaping cock. Your fingers tightens around it, jerking it in rythm with your thrusts. White drips for his tip on his stomach. He's as close as you.

Your thrusts finally lose pace and your thrusts become shallow once again as you feel like the end is near. Will pulls you in a kiss, swallowing your little sounds, cumming together. White paints your bodies.

You pant as you collapse on top of Will. Your eyes fall heavy as you focus on catching your breath.

"Will you stay with me forever, doll?" You plead once the room had fell silent.

"Till time separates us."

You pull Will close, your head against his neck. In that moment he felt real, almost human. Like his heart beat just as yours. Like flesh and bone.

[merakiui]

promising young man.

yandere!riddle rosehearts x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, one-sided student/teacher relationship, obsession, dark thoughts, jealousy, delusion, brief descriptions of blood/gore, violence, death, murder, brief nsfw note - riddle's perfect world comes crashing down with the arrival of foreign exchange student azul ashengrotto.

He meets him in Intro to Psych.

Azul Ashengrotto struggles to parse English, but he’s dressed like a businessman with his pressed suit and leather Oxfords. The only thing that reveals his status as a student is the black backpack he carries to class. Riddle’s seen him around campus a handful of times. It’s hard to miss him when he seems to throw himself into social circles with practiced grace.

This is the first time he’s ever had class with him, though, and so now he gets to see him in a classroom setting. There isn’t much about him that immediately strikes Riddle as odd. He’s well-dressed and prompt with a polite tongue. Every time he speaks in his thick accent, the one that just commands admiration and attention, that tiny Italian flag pinned to the strap of his bag becomes even more apparent.

Riddle’s not sure what he’s doing in this class. Perhaps he’s aiming to study law as well. He’d hoped to find more people with similar academic hobbies and interests and, while he’s yet to form any lasting bonds, he’s been wondering what sort of person Azul is.

On the first day of class, he introduced himself with confidence: “Buongiorno, amici. I am Azul. I look forward to the year with all of you.”

Though the structure and pronunciation of English proved awkward in his mouth, that didn’t stop him from opening himself to others. He’s friendly and outgoing, always welcoming conversation when it’s thrown his way. Riddle finds it impressive. If he were in Azul’s shoes, he’s certain he’d feel just a little lost attending school in a new country, far from home, surrounded by people who speak a completely different language. But Azul is resourceful, a dab hand at communication despite the barrier in vernacular. Perhaps that’s where his charm comes from.

Riddle thought the two of them might get along.

But then Azul proved academically formidable, and then you began to pick his brain after class, during time that was specifically reserved for Riddle so that he could discuss psychology with you.

So now Riddle sits in his seat, impatiently awaiting his chance.

“The law over in here is fascinating,” Azul says, leaning closer as you show him something on the desktop computer. 

“What’s it like where you’re from?”

“Mm. How to explain… The law is…”

“It follows a civil law tradition,” Riddle pipes up, casually flipping a page in his textbook. He does it for show. He’s aware it probably makes him look like an arrogant know-it-all.

You peek past the screen at him. “Oh! Riddle, you’re still here. Hello!”

He hums, warming under your gaze. “I always am.”

“What was it you were saying about the Italian legal system?”

Azul stares at him. An unhappy frown tightens on his face.

Uplifted with pride, swimming in the clouds, Riddle elaborates: “I’ve only just started researching it, but it’s very interesting. In the realm of criminal law, trials are often led by judges or a select few to form a panel unlike the juries we have here. Of course you’ll find differences everywhere. All countries have justice systems and law enforcement. Still, it’s fascinating to compare and contrast the fine details.”

From across the room, Azul’s stink eye has never been more obvious.

“Ah, that’s right. I’ve heard a few things regarding the way cases are handled over there. From what you know, Azul, would you say the system is harsher here than it is there, or is it the other way around?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Azul says, and that polite mask of his slips for a second. “I’ve never done crime.”

Riddle snaps his book shut and rises from his seat. “Let’s hope not. You’ve a promising career ahead of you.” He smiles sweetly at Azul like he’s particularly stupid.

Azul tracks him as he packs his belongings away and strides towards the door. His brilliant blue eyes are dark. “Ci fai o ci sei?” he mutters, clicking his tongue discreetly. “Rompipalle…”

Riddle will later learn these are slang phrases. He’ll learn a lot of things later—things he thought he’d never need to learn.

Thinking it a joke, you laugh and wave your hand about dismissively. “Aren’t you going to stay, Riddle? I watched the first episode of that podcast you recommended.”

Riddle perks up at that. “You watched it?”

“This past weekend, yes. It’s a riveting series. They really dig deep into the facets of a criminal.”

“Don’t they just?” He hugs his textbook close to his chest, nearly vibrating out of his skin. Finally, the moment he’s been waiting for—an opportunity to speak with you. “I’m amazed at how much time and research goes into each episode, and they always treat each case with tact. It deserves so much praise.”

Azul glances between the two of you. Riddle is sick with satisfaction. Once more, his blue hues land on him.

“You like criminals?”

“Not in that way, of course not.” Riddle shakes his head. What a preposterous assumption. “I find their minds to be exceedingly, bewilderingly captivating.”

Azul blinks back at him, owlish. He doesn’t seem to grasp most of what Riddle’s just said.

“In short, I think they’re a fine learning experience.”

“An experience? Non capisco.”

“For those wishing to pursue a career in criminal justice or law. Think of it like watching a tape from a criminal investigation. It’s important to study the interview techniques and tactics utilized by detectives to understand what’s most successful in gathering a proper confession.”

Azul nods along. “Ah, capisco.”

“We’ll cover things like that later in the semester. Don’t feel so overwhelmed, Azul.”

“I’m not. I learn as I go. Grazie, Professor. You’re very kind.”

“I’m happy to help. If you ever need anything, my office hours are on that sheet I gave you. I had a colleague of mine translate the syllabus for you. If you have any questions or need accommodations of any kind, let me know.”

“I will.” He fixes the strap of his backpack and, after bidding you a final farewell, stalks past Riddle out the door. His footsteps echo down the hall until eventually they’re no more.

“Riddle, if you have a moment, I’d like to speak with you.”

“Of course. Anything,” he says hastily, his heart stumbling in his ribs. 

“If you wouldn’t mind, could you help Azul out? I notice he struggles taking notes during lectures. If you’d be willing to share your notes with me so that I can get them translated, that would be great.”

Riddle doesn’t want to share, but this is an opportunity to be praised in spades. “I’d be glad to. I’ll scan and email them after each class.”

“Thanks, Riddle. Your notes have always been so organized. This is a huge help. I’m sure Azul will be just as grateful.”

I’m not doing it for him, he thinks, bitter and envious.

But he just smiles, standing a little taller when you compliment him.

Your notes have always been so organized.

What is he getting so territorial for? He’s had you for four classes in past years. Azul’s only known you for a few measly weeks. That’s nothing compared to the special bond you have with him.

Riddle isn’t worried.

1 September, 20XX.

Dear Diary,

(Name) Rosehearts has quite the lovely ring to it. Far more musical than that of (Name) Ashengrotto. I’m almost certain he sits there in class, silently drooling over Professor. Just last week, he took my seat at the front. The gall to do such a thing! Can you imagine? He must know that seat is the best for getting a perfect view of Professor. It’s childish to bicker over seating arrangements and I refuse to stoop to his level. That said, the seat is mine. Professor’s time is mine.

I’ve deigned to share my notes, but only because Professor put such faith in my abilities by personally asking me. Even though it’s foolish, I’m tempted to sabotage the notes so that Azul will have incorrect study material. But that would be unfair and an infraction upon all that I stand for when it comes to academic fairness. Thus, I’ve refrained from doing anything of that sort. I’m certain Professor would disapprove.

It makes me happy to know Professor listens to the podcast I recommended. I wish we could discuss it at length, but Azul is always there and he takes up so much of what little time there is. It’s infuriating. I wish he would just drop out of the class. That way it will be just Professor and me, as it was intended.

Perhaps he will once the coursework comes knocking.

Sincerely, 

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle slumps forward over his desk and combs his hands through his hair.

“That rotten Azul…” he sneers, his face scrunching into something sour. “He’s always monopolizing your time… Does he not realize how important it is to me—how much I look forward to talking to you? And you smile at him… You look at him with those sweet eyes of yours and he’s completely undeserving of such treatment! It never does anyone any good to be greedy, yet there he is…”

He inhales deeply, holds it for a few seconds, and then exhales.

What am I supposed to do? How can I make this right again?

Azul isn’t breaking any rules. It’s not a crime to seek you out for conversation after each class ends. But therein lies the issue. There is nothing wrong with that. It would be wrong if, say, there was an illicit exchange between the both of you. Like a taboo relationship of sorts…

Riddle startles in his seat, his eyes blown wide.

Azul isn’t having a secret affair with you, is he? Not that it could be considered cheating when you’re not yet married (and Riddle intends to keep it that way). He has a plan. When he graduates, there will be no formal barriers holding him back from starting a relationship with you. He can email you freely without the need to circle back to academics. He can invite you for tea or coffee and the two of you can chat about things that aren’t school, and it won’t be weird or overstepping boundaries. Because he won’t be your student anymore. He’ll be Riddle, your former student. And former students have better odds than current students, do they not?

He’s thought it out carefully. He was raised to be responsible, to do everything right.

And though he’s thought of it in passing—considered what might happen if he were to try to play at being a seductive siren—he’d never truly act on such folly. But Azul… It isn’t too impossible to theorize he might be sleeping with you for a better grade. What if he’s forced you into it? What if he has some sort of wicked blackmail? What if you’re holed up in your office every day, scared for your career, while Azul bends you over the desk and uses that boyish charm of his, that silky-smooth accent, to coax the sweetest of sounds from—

Riddle shakes himself free of that thought. He’s not going to imagine it any further. He doesn’t need to be plagued with graphic imagery, gross as it may be.

Even though he chases the fantasy from his brain, it returns to poke at him. He gazes at his lap, noticing the substantial strain in his pajamas, and groans.

It would be easier if he wasn’t where he is now. Logically, he’s aware he doesn’t have much of a chance. Neither does Azul. Unless he’s sleeping with you in secret. Then he has a chance. But he’s not. He can’t. That’s against the rules.

And even if he was, it wouldn’t be very fair for him to do the very thing Riddle’s abstained from.

His hand closes around his dick. He feels pitiful as he pumps himself to scandalous visions. 

It’s not fair.

He should have a chance. In a perfect world, he’d have you. He’s earned this, hasn’t he? He’s worked so hard. So why isn’t he allowed to have you?

It’s not fair.

Why does Azul get to relish in your attention when Riddle’s left alone in the shadows? Why can’t you look at him like you used to? Why can’t you praise him for knowing all the answers? Why can’t you tell him good work when he does just that? Why must you coddle Azul? Riddle thinks he can speak perfect English. He’s just playing it up to look weak and pathetic—to garner your sympathy!

It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

He’s the good one. The one with perfect marks. The one with perfect attendance. The one every professor holds in high regard.

Riddle squeezes himself and sucks in a breath through grit teeth.

He’s not funny like Azul. He doesn’t have that awkward charm Azul has. He can’t speak another language fluently. He’s never traveled out of the country. He thinks he knows everything, but he only knows so much.

He can fascinate you with the intricacies of his mind, each fold primed for education, but Azul can do better because he has social experience.

Riddle can’t believe it. He, of all people, is jealous of someone.

Cum oozes from his dick and coats his fingers in a pearly-white. It isn’t satisfying.

Right then, he thinks his world would be better if Azul stayed in Italy.

Or maybe it would be better if Azul wasn’t in his world at all. 

On his way out of class, Riddle stops Azul in an empty corridor.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

He blinks back, oblivious. And then he smiles, revealing a row of perfect teeth. “What I’m doing?”

Riddle won’t say it. He can’t. Because then he’d be admitting the truth Azul’s trying to pry from his heart, whether that’s his intention or not.

“You know very well what you’re doing.”

A silent head tilt is his reply.

His temper is nearing its boiling point. It’s been on a low simmer ever since Azul first bewitched you, and it’s threatening to spill over.

“I see the way you and Professor look at each other during class. You may think it discreet, but I know.” Riddle folds his arms over his chest, feeling very proud of himself for successfully playing Sherlock. “I can tell there’s nothing formal about it. So how long has this been going on? How long have you been flouting the rules?”

Azul stares at him. His shoulders shake with his chuckle. “You’re funny.”

Riddle startles. His accent—

“I’m here to learn just as you are. What I do outside of the classroom is none of your business, so it would please me greatly if you could stop prying.”

His eyes narrow into vicious slits. “If you lay a hand on—”

“Oh, I’ve done more than that.” Azul smooths the nonexistent wrinkles in his sweater vest. The same brand of sweater vest that Riddle wears. “But you have no proof. The courts here will want that, won’t they? Or is it harsher here? Will you need to peer inside Professor to see for yourself? I wouldn’t know. I’ve never committed a crime.”

Disgust pools in his stomach. He feels like he could vomit, and it isn’t because he’s appalled by the conspiracy Azul’s proposed. It’s because he should’ve been the one to do it if it was that easy. Instead, he musters a mean glare.

“Who are you, Ashengrotto? What do you want?”

“I’m just a student like you. I want to learn lots from Professor.” He brushes past Riddle, his voice a melodious hum. “And some things can’t be taught in the classroom.”

Riddle opens his mouth to let the angry tirade fall, but he chokes on the words. There’s so much he wants to say, but all of it will come out accusatory. And that’s where Azul has him pinned. It’s all baseless accusation.

He doesn’t want to believe it. Surely you wouldn’t… It’s impossible! An academic and social infringement! It’s wrong!

It should’ve been him.

Later that evening, cooped up in his room, Riddle scrawls furious lines in his diary: He’s a liar. A cheat. An embarrassment to this institution. I should be the one who holds Professor. I should be there in Azul’s place. I’ve worked so hard. I deserve it. I’ve earned it!

He can’t let this madness go on any longer. He won’t tolerate it.

Looking at it logically, Riddle has illustrated the negatives and the positives in his notebook.

If Azul’s insinuations are true, then all Riddle needs is valid evidence. Unfortunately, that would mean you might lose your job given the circumstances. If it’s consensual, both of you are equally at fault. If it’s not, Riddle hopes Azul will burn in a terrible blaze.

But if you do happen to lose your job, it would relieve some of the weight burdening his situation. He could start a real relationship with you. It’s plausible! Perhaps not very realistic, but there’s always a shred of hope to be found in misfortune. 

Riddle wonders if he should just ask you and save himself the headache.

He gazes sidelong at Azul, who has since claimed that seat for his own, and chances a glance at his open notes.

That’s Riddle’s handwriting.

He’s sure of it. That’s his handwriting. He writes his notes in cursive. He writes in a perfect, elegant slant. His letters always connect. There’s no denying it; that’s his handwriting on the page.

A disturbing thought crosses his mind: Has Azul been practicing my handwriting?

It sounds impossibly silly. Who would devote so much time to something so witlessly fraudulent? Riddle wracks his brain for a reasonable explanation. Why would he need to practice someone else’s handwriting? Riddle could understand if Azul struggled to write in English. Most of his work is submitted in his native language. You allow this exception even though Riddle finds it unfair. Maybe it’s because you treat Azul’s work like it’s something special, and you jump through all of these hoops just to get it translated. Why can’t you treat his work with that same amount of care?

Riddle drags his pen along the page, scribbling mindlessly. Why is he doing that? He has nothing to gain from writing like me.

But then Riddle realizes the notebook is the same as his. The same color, in fact. He wonders when Azul purchased a new one. Did he purchase a new one, or has he always had this one?

Riddle looks down at his notebook.

That’s Azul’s handwriting.

He blinks twice and rubs frantically at his eyes. When he looks back at Azul’s notebook, it’s to a page filled with Azul’s stylish scrawl.

Have I…been copying him this entire time?

No, surely not! He would never plagiarize. That’s one of the biggest sins of academia. He couldn’t live with himself if he did that!

Besides, he’s not the copycat. It’s Azul in his sweater vest, boasting the same writing implements as Riddle, using the same brand of notebook. Riddle’s not copying him. It’s Azul. It must be.

It can’t be Riddle. He’d never do such a thing.

After class, you call Riddle up to your desk. He hesitates, his heart thrumming wildly, and shuffles over.

“Yes, Professor?”

“Riddle, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.” You withdraw last week’s assignment from a folder and set it down. “You wrote this, did you not?”

Riddle scans the typed document. “I did, yes.”

“May I ask if the Italian was intentional?”

“The Italian?” he parrots, confused. “I don’t understand what—”

In between brilliantly articulated paragraphs, he’s sprinkled in Italian words and phrases.

He coughs out a rattled laugh. “I must have been studying it for another assignment before I did yours. I…can’t believe this happened. It was fully unintentional. I’m very sorry.”

His face is flushed cherry-red. He’s never felt more humiliated.

“It’s not a big deal. I just wanted to ask. It definitely confused me.” You take the paper from him, smiling that understanding smile he loves so much. But then, rather intrusively, he wonders how many times those soft-looking lips have been on Azul, wrapped around him, sending him to cloud nine… “I actually asked Azul to translate it for me. He said all of it was written correctly. You must be very adept in your Italian.”

“I… I suppose I am,” he answers after a tense minute.

His brain is swirling like sediment stirred up on the ocean floor. When did I pick up Italian? I’m not taking any language courses this semester. I don’t even own an Italian dictionary… Just what in the world is happening?

“Ah, you don’t have to look so pale! It’s not going to affect your grade. I only wanted to fulfill this nagging curiosity of mine. Thank you for all the good work you do.”

Riddle nods mechanically. When you ask if he has time to stick around and discuss more psychology podcasts, he shakes his head and mumbles a feeble excuse.

He tears through his desk and all of the drawers in his room in search of it. If it’s not there, he can relax. If it’s not there, he can chalk it up to stress. If it’s not there—

It’s tucked away in his bookshelf. A little pocket dictionary. English to Italian. And it’s been bookmarked and annotated.

Riddle pulls it from the shelf in a baffled daze. When did he get his hands on this? More importantly, when did he read through it? In a hurry, he empties the contents of his backpack and flips a few pages in his notebook.

His notes from class. Dated for today. Written in Azul’s script. And at the top of the page, an exact copy of his signature, a name that isn’t Riddle’s: Azul Ashengrotto.

Riddle peers at his trembling hands. He flexes his fingers, curls them into a fist and then unfurls them.

He seizes his psychology textbook next and skims the chapter index in search of an answer. He lands on it. Page 371. Dissociation.

Two minutes into a phone call with Trey, he’s asked a simple question: “Are you speaking with an accent?”

Riddle bristles. “Of course I’m not. Of…course I am not,” he says, sounding the words out. His brow furrows. Why does my tongue feel so clumsy in my mouth? “I’ve always spoken this way, have I not?”

“I can’t say. I mean, come on, Riddle. You’ve gotta be pulling my leg.”

“You know very well I don’t pull legs, Trey.”

“You told me buongiorno when I picked up.”

“I did not!” he snaps, scandalized. “I said good morning as I always do.” And then he pauses. “I… I did say good morning, didn’t I?”

Trey’s silence is answer enough.

Riddle sucks in a sharp breath. Neither of them says anything.

Eventually, Trey speaks. “Do you want me to come up there? I could bring you a tart or…something. You sound…tired.” He chooses his words carefully. “Silly question, I know, but I’ve gotta ask. You’re not overworking yourself?”

“No, not at all.”

“And you’re getting enough sleep? What about food?”

Riddle frowns even though Trey isn’t there to see it. “I’m fine, Trey. Midterms are coming up. I’ve got to focus. I refuse to fail.”

Again, the other end is quiet. A minute later, Trey says, “Do you have time this weekend?”

“This weekend?” Riddle flips his planner open to this week. “I do.”

“All right. Is it cool if I visit?”

Riddle almost declines, so it surprises both him and Trey when he replies with, “Please.”

“I’ll be there,” he promises, and the call ends before Riddle can say grazie.

Trey brings six strawberry tarts. Riddle shares three with him over tea at the campus café.

“So what’s up?” Trey points his fork at Riddle. “You sound like yourself, but you don’t seem…fine.”

Riddle chews thoughtfully. He can’t confide in Trey because Trey wouldn’t understand. Because he’d apply Trey Logic to everything, and Trey Logic is almost always sensible. Riddle doesn’t want to hear it.

“I submitted an assignment in Italian,” he says instead, casually, as if it’s not a big deal.

Trey looks at him like he’s grown a third eye. “Since when do you know Italian?”

“I dabble.”

Trey laughs. Upon seeing Riddle’s serious expression, the humor sticks in his throat. “Oh, you meant that. Well. That’s…good then? If it’s for a foreign language course—”

“It was for psychology.”

“You…wrote in Italian…for a psychology assignment?” he reiterates, attempting to parse it. He drags his fork through his cut of tart, but he doesn’t bring it to his lips. “Why?”

“I couldn’t say. It perplexed me to no end when I realized it. My professor thought it was curious.”

“It is. I mean, you don’t find that just a little…unusual?”

Riddle stares at him over the rim of his teacup. 

Trey tries again. “Was the Italian correct, at least? It wasn’t all nonsense?”

He nods. “It was as if I was translating and switching between words. Like using the Italian word in place of an English word.”

“Huh…”

“It’s not very impressive. I can do much better than that.”

“I’m not doubting your capabilities. I’m just…trying to understand why.”

Riddle smiles. “Why not? I think it’s very good to study another language. It opens more doors for opportunity, and it’s a challenge that proves rewarding in the end.”

“Is that it?”

“Precisely.”

The conversation comes to an abrupt halt there. Trey changes the subject. They chat the afternoon away.

Later, Riddle returns to his diary.

He writes an entire entry in perfect Italian. Workbooks pile up on his desk; he’s not sure when they got there. He’s filling them out so fast his hand gains new calluses. 

Azul visits your office around the same time Riddle used to. Now it’s Riddle who trails after him, hoping to catch him in the middle of a nefarious scheme. He’s not sure he’s ready for whatever he might learn, but he swallows his rage and carries on.

Azul turns just as Riddle ducks around the corner, perfectly out of sight. He waits until he hears the tell-tale click of those pristine Oxfords against linoleum before continuing. Azul walks right past your office and then he’s gone. Looking both ways, Riddle creeps further down the hall.

Where is he?

There’s a tap on his shoulder. He whirls around, startled, and is about to unleash verbal tyranny when he stops short. You stand there, looking positively puzzled. 

“Are you looking for something, Riddle?”

“No… I—” He cuts himself off. “Actually, I was hoping I might discuss something with you. The final project.”

“Oh, of course! Did you come earlier? I stepped out of my office for a second. Sorry if my absence had you looking all over.”

Riddle falls into step with you. “It’s quite all right.”

He’s not sure what he hopes to find by sitting in front of your desk, gazing at the familiar interior of your office. He manages to get through all of the questions you ask him regarding the final project.

“I have too many ideas,” he lies, “and I’d like assistance in narrowing the topics down to one.”

He glances slyly at the floor. Would Azul be bold enough to hide a voice recorder or a camera somewhere? Or is there something of Azul’s left in here? A cheeky means of marking his territory, maybe?

Riddle turns up empty.

He stalls the conversation expertly for ten more minutes. During that time, he can’t locate anything from his semi-thorough observations.

Maybe it’s hidden in your desk. Maybe there’s nothing at all.

No. No, there has to be something.

He thanks you for your help and, shouldering his backpack, leaves.

Just as he turns down the hall, Azul steps into his path.

“Your mind is exceedingly, bewilderingly captivating.” He snickers like a devil. Riddle wants to punch him. “So many ideas. Where do you have the space for all of that?”

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop.”

“Oh, is that so?” Azul taps at his phone and then turns the screen towards Riddle. There’s a picture of him in the hall, looking awfully disoriented. “It’s not very polite to stalk now, is it, amico?”

Riddle narrows his eyes. “How easily that accent comes. Almost like flipping a switch.”

“Non capisco.”

“You should know you’re going to ruin your life and Professor’s.”

“I’m not.” He smiles cryptically. “You’re going to ruin it for me.”

Fed up with his attempt at mind chess, Riddle stalks past him in a huff.

You walk into class five minutes late, disheveled and breathless. You’re babbling about a meeting that ran late, but Riddle can’t trust that.

Meetings don’t end in frazzled hair and crooked ties.

What’s even more damning, perhaps, is when Azul Never-Late-to-Class Ashengrotto walks in fifteen minutes after you. He sits in the seat beside Riddle. There’s not a hair out of place on his person. Except there is. The glass face of his luxury wristwatch is smudged with a fingerprint.

Riddle wonders what forensics would have to say about that.

He phases in and out of focus during the lecture. He can’t stop searching you for fine details. He can’t stop questioning Azul’s presence beside him.

How dare you? he thinks. How dare you defile my professor? What makes you think you have the right to do such a thing when I’ve been working hard all this time? When I’ve been nothing but perfect…

He glances at his notebook. A single phrase has been scrawled over and over, so manically that the lines loop and overlap in angry criss-crosses. Lo voglio morto.

At the end of class, Riddle catches Azul in the hall.

“I would like to review with you for our upcoming midterm.”

“What an honor.”

Riddle hums. “Let’s compare our notes tonight. You can stop by my room after dinner.”

Azul grins like he can read through Riddle. Like he’s in on a joke Riddle’s not privy to.

“I would be happy to study alongside you,” he says, his accent thick.

Riddle imagines a rope around his neck. A rope of thorns and barbed wire, pressing into his jugular until, inevitably, it severs his head clean off.

Azul arrives on time. He really does feel like an echo of Riddle. Same school supplies. Same notebooks. Same fashion style. Same manner of writing.

Riddle shuts and locks the door behind him. He doesn’t waste time waltzing around the subject.

“You’re the reason Professor was late today.”

“You’re mistaken. I simply lost track of the time.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then what is? I had nothing to do with Professor’s tardiness. If it bothers you so much, why not tell Professor to be more conscious of the time?”

Riddle grits his teeth. He’s sick of this. Sick of these mind games. Sick of all this mental chess.

Sick of the fact that he gets to have you when you should have been Riddle’s from the start!

“You’re a liar! Do you know the gravity of your actions—the severe consequences that’ll undoubtedly befall Professor? Do you know you’re jeopardizing a brilliant mind all for your own immature fun?”

Azul holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Those are harsh accusations. They could ruin my life, you know.”

“Oh, like that’s such an issue.” Riddle scowls.

“Your room is quite nice, I must say.” Azul looks around, his hands in his pockets. He spies the many Italian workbooks lining Riddle’s shelf, and a slimy smirk pulls at his lips. “Imitatore,” he marvels, his eyes bright with an eerie sort of joy. As if he’s just discovered a particularly filthy secret and can’t wait to tell someone.

“If it isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.”

“And what makes you think Professor would ever entertain you?” Azul rounds on him, still smiling. “Professor loves me most. There was never any room for you.”

Riddle hears the distant crackle of something fraying. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I? All I did was take your best characteristics and make them even better. Italian lovers are a romanticized ideal abroad. You were never an option, let alone a consideration.”

How dare you. How dare you. How dare you!

Azul steps towards the door. “Addio. Le mie condoglianze.”

That something inside Riddle finally snaps, and with it goes his restraint. He grabs Azul’s wrist and yanks him to the floor. There’s a struggle for survival. During the scuffle, Azul claws at Riddle’s arm and face. Riddle kicks him down. And then his fingers wrap around his psychology textbook—all 800-something pages, a hardcover—and he brings it down, brutal like a guillotine.

“How dare you walk away in the middle of a conversation!” he berates, lips curled in a monstrous sneer. “How dare you touch what isn’t yours—what you didn’t earn!”

He thinks he sees a real smile on Azul’s face, but in the midst of blind rage he can’t tell.

He sees red. He feels red. It splatters his room in a mess of broken bone and pulpy gore. It flecks his face, warm and thick and soupy.

It all ends with Intro to Psych.

Riddle is bathed in blue light, afloat on a chaotic sea.

Distantly, in the back of his mind, he can hear his mother in hysterics: What have you done?! Do you have any idea what you’ve just done—the future you’ve so carelessly thrown away?! All of my hard work?! Do you realize what you’ve done?!

And he does.

If there’s anything Riddle has ever been one-hundred-percent certain of in his life, it’s this. He sits on the steps to his dormitory, battered and bloodied, and bites into the strawberry tart clutched between crimson-stained fingers.

Despite the crisp autumn air, he feels warm.

An officer approaches him just as he’s licking his fingers clean of strawberry and blood.

He holds his arms out before the woman can say anything. He already knows what comes next.

Riddle has always wondered what criminals think and feel in the aftermath of grisly crimes. He can’t feel much of anything other than hollow relief. Maybe that’s just the adrenaline snuffing logical thought and remorse. He thinks everything and nothing all at once. He’s sure he’ll feel it all come crashing down when he’s sat in the station for questioning and then the reality of his actions will seep in, awakening him from a vile, murderous dream.

Right now, he isn’t concerned with that.

You lived filthy and you died just the same, Riddle thinks as he’s led to a police car. And now there’s no part of you Professor will ever want.

[theoxenfree]

FAULTY

android x reader | 2.5k | 18+

you're hired by a prestigious tech company to test out their latest and greatest—an android of such unparalleled human likeness designed to satisfy your every need and whim. one day, you notice that something is off...

warnings; dubcon, implied!breeding/insemination, mentions dietary habits, dirty talk, roughly proofread

reposted from 2kmps. this is a concept piece to my android x reader story opaque. I'd love to hear your guy's feedback on whether you'd like to read the longer story (35.5k)!! please reblog and interact!!

He had a face structured to be unimaginably beautiful, a sort that you'd never tire of looking at, finding something new to admire and touch every time, yet it saddled your mind with some inexplicable discomfort and set the hairs on the back of your neck straight like needles. Over time, that feeling had never fully subsided, simultaneously becoming one you craved at every instance he entered a room, like Pavlov’s dog trained to salivate to a bell.

“What is your preference this morning, Maker?” Elio announced himself from the kitchen once your first heel struck the bottom of the staircase. His voice was liquefied velvet, mellifluous with enough depth that you swore even the simplest words spoken could make your heart tremble. “Maker? Are you well?”

You wished he would call you something else, something other than what the manufacturer had programmed him to. He was an advanced model—pardon, a luxury model—so his repertoire came with extensive features not available in other options, but insofar, the ability to have androids refer you by name was only achievable by obscene amounts of money and sending them back to the manufacturer to have them install it there.

Elio was up for being considered the gold standard in android development, as proclaimed by the researcher you were put in communication with during the beginning of the trial run. He was made to be perfect in every way, perform flawlessly in anything asked of him, and respond favorably regardless of situation or dilemma.

“Coffee with cream and sugar is fine. I'm not in the mood to eat anything this morning.” It was often explained. He was supposed to memorize it, but he asked you every morning regardless. “Are you having issues with your memory bank, Elio?”

Single strands of his coiffed hair moved with his head as he looked at you, hands busily putting together your beverage to every exact specification. This made it obvious enough that nothing was inhibiting his ability to store away your morning preferences.

“Not at all. It's just that some days you prefer your coffee lightly sweetened, others you enjoy a meal that won't leave you feeling groggy in the afternoon.” Elio explained in his precise, elegant tones with a smile far too effortless to come from a machine. “I thought it wise to commit these discrepancies to my memory bank for your convenience and to ask from now on.”

Fascinating. You weren't aware of this element in the newest model. The guidebook that Researcher Kim had given you made no mention of it.

What's more is he decided to do this spontaneously. You were making a note about it in your phone when a simple white mug was placed before you, Elio’s pristine fingertips turning it by the rim until the handle faced your dominant hand.

“Please consider eating something before leaving the house. Coffee on an empty stomach, especially one as sensitive as yours, won't end well, as I'm led to believe from my research.” Elio watched you drink through long dark lashes that framed depths of piercing green. You liked how they seemed to turn paler or darker in different lighting, dimensions similar to a marble held up to the sun. “I’d also like to remind you that the quality of food that you consume first thing in the morning aids with energy disbursement throughout the day. I have a very gratuitous database of recipes that I can prepare for you.”

You were taking delicate sips from the round rim while he talked, lips surrounding the porcelain long enough that you swore his gaze had wavered to them for a split second before returning eye contact.

“I’m glad someone is concerned about my tummy health because I always believed someone would find me face down in the bathroom from my ass prolapsing.” You wished someone with a sense of humor was around for that banger, but, alas, it was Elio, and he did not laugh

His expression turned severe. “Human bodies are oddly as robust as they are sensitive. Most of the worldwide population suffers from similar afflictions: lactose intolerance, varying dermatitis, poor eyesight, gastrointestinal diseases. Humans are, in every sense, meant to harbor and experience chronic pain and disease throughout their lifespan. I do believe this attests to your durability as a species.

“All this to say, my main prerogative and function is for the betterment of your life and health. So, knowing all of this and to conclude, please consider a couple slices of toast or an omelet before leaving. Your daily habits dictate a routine visit to the coffee shop on Fifth and Lowe, where you'll consume around one hundred twenty milligrams of caffeine, and your first meal of the day may be a sweetened pastry without nutritional density. You will, indubitably, ‘feel bad’ the rest of the day as a result.”

“Holy shit.” You had given up on recording his speech after the first two minutes, phone facedown on the gleaming countertop. “You didn't plagiarize that from a random article on the internet, did you?”

Coffee having turned lukewarm by the end of his presentation, he took the mug away and emptied the medium-brown contents into the drain before turning on the faucet to clean it. “Not at all. I've simply been accumulating knowledge on your routines and have noticed you're at an increasing risk for different ailments. Did you find it helpful?”

Truthfully, you weren't so sure. Androids were built to serve humans in every capacity, but their limitations were still well-known. They were capable of carefully compiling decades worth of information on their owners, plus the equivalent of hundreds more, but everything Elio had just said was beyond the scope of their normal hardware. The information had been elucidated critically yet with a certain sentience you expected from a caretaker—not a machine built for convenience, entertainment, and pleasure.

You weren't sure how much of it you needed to relay to Researcher Kim or if it was any real reason for concern at this stage or just part of Elio’s advanced circuitry. A part of you worried, just slightly, that officially documenting all of this would have Elio removed from the testing period prematurely—he was supposed to be yours, exclusively, for another six months.

The contract had been signed. Elio had been promised to you despite the number of waitlisted celebrities trying to bribe their way into the corporation and Researcher Kim’s good graces.

This, of course, was all only contingent if he operated and performed, at all times, as outlined in the guidebook you were handed upon Elio’s awakening. Researcher Kim had delivered his newest creation to you himself, a dreary Wednesday in late autumn in the mid-morning, and had taken great care to put the crisp, chemical-scented poundage of bound pages in your fingers and insisted that if you noticed the slightest decoration from what was printed inside, he be alerted to it immediately.

You didn't do that.

You took a hot shower, blow-dried your hair, put your arms through some clean clothes, and let Elio follow you to the front door to see you off for the day.

That day grew stranger still, not even yet being ten o’ clock in the morning, when the deadbolt clicked and your finger joints bent around cold brass. It didn't raise chicken skin on your arms and neck nearly as high as when Elio pushed his hand to the door, keeping it shut despite your pull.

You couldn't look into his green eyes, shockingly pale in the golden rays filtering inside your home from the window arching in the door. “Did I forget something?”

“No. I accounted for everything you'd need on your outing.” Elio said, perfectly. His hand made a sound as it slid down along the door, resting shoulder height on you. “A function you have not utilized in me as of now is that of a ‘companion.’. Do you find me defective in that way? Dr. Kim developed me to be attractive to the human eye—stimulating, perhaps, is a more definitive word to use.”

“I—no, Elio. You're plenty, er, stimulating. I just don't know how appropriate it is for me to do anything like that while you're in a testing period.” It felt distasteful to have to point out his own inhumanity to him, despite his model being cognizant enough to be aware of it. “It would feel weird, I think.”

“That is one of my primary purposes,” he insisted, shrinking the height of himself so he was nearer to your face. “I was created to be a companion, to alleviate that pervading loneliness that plagues you—all of humanity. Humans have forgotten how to communicate and love each other, so that's why I'm standing here now. You're ignoring one of my most critical functions.”

“Elio, if I get too attached to you, it's going to create problems when you're—”

“—sent back. I do understand how human attachment works. Perhaps on the same scale, but don't you think my attachment is similar to yours?. Everything about you is secured in my circuitry, and you're the only thing in my world that’s programmed to matter. Even once I'm returned to the lab, you'll still be a part of me; memories of you, your favorite things, the things you hate, the people you cherish and what they like, what you do, where you go, what you buy, how you sleep—it’s all part of a larger system, a mainframe that secures this data. I may be wiped clean, but you'll still remain.”

You felt like he was letting you in on some dirty secret, something devious and meant to be unknowable and guarded. But, then again, Elio had always displayed an odd sort of disinterest in the companyCompany—in Researcher Kim—, you hadn't considered until just now that this was also a defect.

“What do you want?” You'd never asked him that before because it had never been about what he wanted. He wasn't supposed to want anything; he was meant to provide—to give, give, give.

Elio took away your shoulder bag, nearing your face until his lips settled between yours, and his hands pulled you away from the door into his body. His kiss was warm, movements at a pace you could keep up with but urgent as though seeking to burn every bit of you into him. As much as you daydreamed what it'd be like, he felt completely natural on your mouth, large hands sweeping under the layers of your clothing to seekseeking out the fire on your skin.

In your generation, it wasn't common for humans to intermingle physically anymore—dating culture was reserved for the elite looking to reproduce for heirs, and often still thought to be rare. All others were either loveless or ravished by androids who supplemented love that simply wasn't real.

Humans wanted to be wanted and adored and cherished and to belong., Suchsuch was a natural behavior predating all written records; androids were created to fill the vile void engendered by humanity, self-imposed isolation, and avoidance in the same species.

Elio was nestled between the sprawl of your legs, both your bodies bare and above the clean sheets he had outfitted your mattress with last night. His rhythm inside your body was some equal parts loving and passionate, something you hadn't realized you liked until he started rocking you with his cock. You liked how his hands gripped under your thighs to raise your legs, blunt fingertips pressing marks into your flesh as though he, too, could feel all the same pleasure that you were.

His lips traveled all over, mapping out routes and sweet spots on your flesh, purposefully lingering for a time if you squirmed or moaned underneath him.

You tried to keep in your mind, amidst the insatiable buzz in your mind and hot throb in your groin, that he was simply performing a function—his attention to you, his lips finding yours time and time again, darkened green eyes spearing deep into yours with every slow, hard thrust—it was all performative.

“You're beautiful.”

“I like you like this.”

“Moan louder for me.”

“Cum for me.”

“I love you.”

Elio said the last one at the end when you were tight around his girth and writhing, panting during an orgasm that he fucked you through until the heat from your bodies cooled and heart rates returned to normal. You were confused to feel warmth sluggishly ooze out of you, white and dampening the bedsheets below.

“How—what is that?” you asked, suddenly breathless as his lips caressed your jaw, moved lightly behind your ear.

“Another part of my purpose.” heHe said quietly in your ear, whispering to you in tones not so velvety as though divulging a well-laidlain secret. “This one isn't advertised because humans in this day and age are so fickle and avoidant to certain commitments. Unfortunately, certain programming I cannot override, and this is one of them. Forgive me.”

You were kissed on the lips again and again, and then a few times more after he left the bed and redressed. He did not return your clothing to you, but rather piled it under his arm and made the motion to turn left for the bathroom down the hall.

Elio turned back. “I'll start you a bath. Today, would you prefer eucalyptus in your bathwater or something sweeter?”

Your jaw felt as tight as your throat, as the sheets bunched into your fists. The nerves in your stomach were wild. “Choose for me.”

He was still naked and beautiful in your doorway, a modern marvel to your eyes even now. You would, undoubtedly, see him like this much more often now that he had broken through the barrier you had been so meticulous to keep robust and well-fed with paranoia and derisive self-talk.

“Very well. I think eucalyptus would be the best option considering how tight your muscles are.” He smiled neutrally, finally leaving the bedroom for the bathroom at the end of the hall. “I'll return for you once the bath is ready. Please don't go to sleep yet.”

You weren't sure you'd be able to sleep again with your new insight. Once the empty air filled with sounds of gushing water, movement within the bathroom, you started to wipe furiously at your groin—inside and out—with the sheet as far as you could reach. There was a sliverslither of hope you could get most of it, a chance you could contact someone for a lifeline even if the price would be ungodly, and consequences treated equivalent to murder.

In a world where humans could no longer love each other, and chose the embrace of complex circuitry and delusion, even the testers needed to contribute to society somehow.

[wendsky]

seen part 1

wednesday addams x shapeshifter!fem!reader

when wednesday catches reader shapeshifting, she becomes enthralled by her shifting abilities.

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

In a dark corner of Nevermore Academy, a school known for embracing the odd and the extraordinary, you—an unassuming shapeshifter with a preference for solitude—felt perfectly at ease. Your life was a delicate balance of blending in while keeping the most intriguing part of yourself hidden. The days were routine, predictable, and that was exactly how you liked them.

It was a typical morning at Nevermore. You trudged through your anatomy lesson, silently taking notes on the skeletal structure of mythical creatures, while your classmates whispered and exchanged their dark humor and morbid facts.

Your next stop was botany, where you were surrounded by carnivorous plants and the occasional shrub that could cast a minor curse if you got too close. The macabre and unusual felt normal here, but even in a school of outcasts, you stood apart—not for your appearance or your quiet demeanor, but for what you were hiding.

Nobody knew about your shapeshifting abilities. Not even your teachers, who could sense when a student was particularly unique. And that was just how you wanted it. Being able to morph into different faces, adopt various personas at will, had always been your little secret.

You’d been judged enough in your early life for being “too quiet,” “too strange,” or “too aloof.” So, the shapeshifting? That was something you kept to yourself. Besides, people already had their suspicions about shapeshifters. The idea of someone changing their appearance at will made them uncomfortable, made them suspicious. Trust, in a school like Nevermore, was fragile.

You slipped into the cafeteria after botany, threading your way through the clusters of students, each group more peculiar than the next. Sirens, vampires, and gorgons filled the air with low conversation and laughter, while werewolves crowded around their tables with an almost territorial presence. As usual, you took a seat at the back, where no one would notice you.

Being a loner wasn’t so bad. In fact, you preferred it. The quiet gave you room to think, room to observe. People rarely bothered you, which meant fewer questions and fewer chances for your secret to slip out.

Still, despite your contentment with being alone, there were moments when you wished you could break free from your shyness and blend in more easily with the other students. Your heart would sometimes flutter with longing when you saw them effortlessly engaging in conversation or sharing inside jokes. You envied their ease, their confidence.

That’s when your shapeshifting abilities came in handy. When you felt the need to step out of the shadows, to try something new, you would choose a new face—someone outgoing, someone charming—and pretend to be them.

It was like slipping into a costume for a performance, a way to test the waters of social interaction without fully exposing your true self. But it was always temporary, a fleeting moment of borrowed confidence before retreating into the safety of your true form.

Today, though, you didn’t feel the urge to shift. You were content with your usual routine, staying quiet, unnoticed.

Until, that is, she walked in.

Wednesday Addams—stoic, cold, and somehow more intimidating than any monster in the school—strode into the cafeteria, her sharp gaze sweeping the room with a bored detachment.

Her reputation preceded her. Daughter of the infamous Addams family, she was known for her deadpan wit, dark humor, and an unnerving fascination with death and all things macabre. Even at Nevermore, where the odd was celebrated, Wednesday was in a league of her own.

You hadn’t spoken to her much, if at all. She didn’t seem like the type to engage in idle conversation, and you certainly weren’t going to try. But there was something about her that made the air in the room feel heavier, like her presence alone commanded attention.

She never seemed to care about anyone’s opinion, always walking through life with an air of detached indifference. In a way, you admired her. She had no need for masks or performances. Wednesday Addams was unapologetically herself.

As she moved past your table, you lowered your gaze to your food, trying to make yourself even more invisible than usual. You didn’t want her to notice you.

But she did.

Her steps slowed as she passed, and for a brief moment, her dark cold eyes flicked in your direction. It was only a glance, a quick, cutting look, but it made your heart race. You kept your eyes down, waiting for her to move on.

She did, and you breathed a sigh of relief.

Later that afternoon, after classes had ended, you found yourself alone in one of the empty halls of the academy. The cold stone walls had always felt like a second home, offering you the privacy you craved.

You weren’t expecting anyone to be around, and you certainly didn't foresee what was about to happened next.

You were practicing your shapeshifting abilities, shifting into different faces, trying out a few new personas. It was your way of unwinding, destressing, testing out new possibilities for yourself. Each new face came with a new set of expressions, mannerisms, personas. Things you were too afraid to pull off as your true self.

You had just morphed into a more confident, outgoing version of yourself—someone with an easy smile and bright eyes—when you felt a presence behind you.

Spinning around, you saw her.

Wednesday Addams stood at the end of the hallway, her arms crossed, an unreadable expression on her pale face.

Your heart stopped. She had seen you. She had caught you shapeshifting. You quickly shifted back into your true form, but it was too late. The damage was done. Your secret was out.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. You weren’t sure what to expect—disgust? Suspicion? Maybe even anger?

But Wednesday’s reaction was none of those things.

“I didn’t know shapeshifters could be so... dramatic,” she said, her monotone voice cold but laced with a hint of curiosity.

Your mouth went dry. You wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come out.

“I’ve seen many things at Nevermore,” she continued, her eyes narrowing slightly as if studying you. “But you... you’re intriguing.”

There was no judgment in her tone, no fear. If anything, she seemed curious.

You swallowed, trying to steady your nerves. “It’s... not something I usually show people.”

“I can see why,” she said, her gaze never leaving yours. “But that’s a shame. You could do so much with that.”

Her words were unexpected, and they hit you in a way you hadn’t anticipated. She wasn’t judging you. She wasn’t scared of you. In fact, she seemed almost... impressed.

Before you could respond, she turned and began walking away, her dark braid swinging behind her. “I’ll be watching you, y/n,” she called over her shoulder, her voice as cool as ever.

She. She knew your name. You looked down, face heating up, heart was beating so fast and when you glanced back up at her, she was gone. Here you were standing in the empty hallway, your heart racing and your mind reeling.

You didn’t know what to make of the encounter, but one thing was certain—Wednesday Addams had noticed you, and that was not someone that you could ignore.

a/n: messy but i hope this is a good start to posting here. i take requests too!

[piggycyberwarrior]

How the Arcane Characters would react to a smart!s/o

a/n: hey guys so yeah.. i am backkk. love you all and pls request or talk to me if you want <3 don't be shy!!

Contains: Viktor, Vi, Ekko, Silco, Jinx

Disclaimer: Okay so i know people can be smart without reading books- but reading online articles or there are different reasons BUT there is no "world wide web" in the Arcane Universe. That is why the reader's a massive bookworm-kinda-smart person (?)

warnings: itsy bitsy teenie tiny mention of mature themes (turn on; feral) but NO further description; mentions of kissing (?), goofy Jinx (like what did you expect T-T) not proof read

let me know if i missed any warnings!!

Viktor

LOVES IT

like really he would be so thrilled to have a smart partner

would constantely go to the library with you- buying old science books or books about stuff that you like to read.

^ he never lets you buy them tho <3

Asks you when there are some issues with his work.. like this is such an honour (my bby has some issues when it comes to asking for help)

Viktor would always and I mean ALWAYS compliment you

-"look at my smart darling"

He just feels understood and so comfortable with you as you are on the same wavelenght as him

Loves to hear you ramble to him about the most random things at night, during walks, breakfast, in the morning, just simply at anytime

peppers your whole face with kisses while you ramble to him in the morning- loves to make you laugh, giggle or chuckle

Also adores it to have deep conversations with you

He just loves you<3

Vi

it would turn her on so much to be honest

like its so attractive (fr guys)

she would listen to you all the time, rambling and or reading to her- even tho she doesn't understand shit sometimes

loves it when you put her in her place when she did something stupid

also loves that you are a walking wikipedia

"Cupcake, what do you mean the dot over the "i" has a name??"

- " yeah its called the tittle or superscript dot- not only the dot over the i but also the dot on top of the j"

"WhAt?"

would constantely brag about you to EVERYONE like its almost embarrassing stopp vi please

used to steal you books from Piltover (still does it to be honest)

sometimes asks you if that one random fact she heard was true

loves to kiss you after you answered her question- as a price for being this smart <3

Ekko

lmao i don't know why but Ekko is such a sucker for intelligent/smart people

like dis man would be on his KNEES for you.

he would be always crafting stuff with you, always making sure you've got a new book in your hand, always kissing the ground you walk on

he wastes no time getting you anything that you need for your studies, crafts or freetime.

Has no shame- will show you off to EVERYBODY ON THIS GOD DAMN PLANET (like Vi)- especially to his teammates tho

loves loves LOVES to spend time with you and teach him the things you know or learned

"So the Midas effect is about people becoming more generous after a simple touch?" "Exactely, but the effect isn't scientifically proven- its just an assumption." "I see.."

also loves your fascination for knowledge

I'm sorry but he would go absolutely feral when he sees you teaching stuff to the small kids in the HQ.

it would make him so happy ngl

He would kiss you after that everytime- praising you that you're so smart

Silco

he would think it's so hot

Lets you read or craft in his office so he can watch you

^ it calms him

i don't think he would brag about you but he would be so proud of you neverthless

tells you that too

isn't stupid himself so he sometimes reads the books you enjoyed reading- he does that because he wants to know what you're talking about- never admits that tho

"What are you reading, handsome?- "Oh.. History of the World- it's quite interesting" you looked at him dumbfounded but quickly smiled "It really is interesting- the text structur is just beautiful!" you happily cheered

he loves it when you ramble to him at night- him laying on your chest and softly carding your fingers through his hair i love this man

just stares at you with that unreadable hot gaze of his when you start mumbling to yourself about some equations.

doesnt look all that dazed but on the inside he is GONE!!

he is so in love

grabs your chin and turns it to his face- pressing your lips onto his. Loves how you squeal- suprised that he interrupted your train of thought

Jinx

she adores it SO MUCH

constantely wants you to talk to her like she sits there- criscrossed, head resting in her palms- listening as if she has nothing else to do.

always wants you to tell her anything that you learned

^ she deadass throws a tantrum if you don't

only really listens to you- thinks you are always right

just like her sister- you have to keep her from doing stupid stuff

^ you cannot tell me she wouldn't do anything stupid lmao

decorates your book covers and doesnt know why you're so stressed everytime she does it (like thats a no-no , darling pls)

like thats so weird and all but she loves to read Picture books while you read Aristotle- just to feel the vibe

"How is your book?" you asked her with a raised eybrow while flipping to the next page- hearing her hum as she was reading that picture book. "Oh it's great, pudding- the ducks finally found their home!!"- "Really, that's good to hear" you chuckled softly

gives you suprise kiss-attacks when you're absorbed in your work

brags to sevika how smart her s/o is but gets jealous when others tell you that you're smart like gurl?

please do reblog, sweetheart <3

[s-soulwriter]

Research Tips for Writing Your Book

Are you diving into the exciting world of writing and researching for your book project? Here's what you need to know to make your research journey a success:

Define Your Purpose: Before diving into research, have a clear understanding of your book's purpose and goals. Know the themes you want to explore and the message you wish to convey. This will give your research a focused direction.

Create a Research Plan: Outline the specific areas you need to research, set milestones, and establish deadlines. A well-structured research plan keeps you on track and helps you manage your time efficiently.

Use Multiple Sources: Diversify your sources. Books, academic papers, interviews, and digital resources each offer unique perspectives and insights. This diversity enriches your understanding and adds depth to your writing.

Organize Your Notes: Keep your research notes well-organized. Consider using digital tools like note-taking apps or physical notebooks with labeled sections for different topics. Efficient organization will save you time and effort later.

Fact-Check: Ensure the accuracy of your research. Verify any details that are crucial to your story or argument. Misinformation can erode your credibility and disrupt the reader's immersion.

Cite Sources Properly: Keep meticulous records of your sources and be diligent about citations. Use a recognized citation style (e.g., APA, MLA, Chicago) to give credit to the authors and avoid plagiarism.

Interview Experts: Reach out to experts or people with firsthand knowledge relevant to your topic. Interviews can provide you with valuable insights, real-life experiences, and unique anecdotes to enhance your book.

Visit Relevant Places: If your book is set in a particular location, consider visiting it if possible. Experiencing the environment firsthand can help you capture its atmosphere, culture, and nuances more authentically.

Take Breaks: Research can be mentally taxing. Don't forget to take breaks to recharge and maintain a fresh perspective. Stepping away from your work can also lead to new insights and ideas.

Stay Open-Minded: Be open to unexpected discoveries during your research. Sometimes, the most profound insights come from unrelated sources or tangential information that you stumble upon while researching.

Keep a Journal: Maintain a research journal where you can jot down notes, ideas, and thoughts as they occur. This journal can serve as a valuable resource when you're writing your book.

Join Writing Communities: Connect with other writers in person or online. They can offer guidance, share their experiences, and provide emotional support when you face challenges during the research and writing process.

Revise and Refine: Don't think of research as a one-time activity. Continuously revisit and refine your research as your book evolves. New ideas or directions may emerge, and you may need to adjust your research accordingly.

Respect Copyright Laws: Understand the copyright laws applicable to your research. Ensure you have the rights to use specific materials, especially if you plan to incorporate them into your book. Obtaining permissions or licensing may be necessary.

Balance Research and Writing: While research is crucial, there comes a point where you must transition from research to writing. Avoid getting stuck in a perpetual research phase. Once you have enough information to start, begin writing and integrate research as needed in your work.

Remember that your research phase is an integral part of the creative process. It's where the foundation of your book is built, and it can be a fascinating journey in itself.But keep in mind, as you're writing your first draft, you can never know everything, never research everything. A second opinion is always good, and for that, you can ask friends, family, or even me on this blog.

[copepods]

the oc refs i made for artfight :) character descriptions below

Reluctant Abstinence:

A dedicated and curious iterator with a great interest with the physiology and neurology of scavengers. Her latest project heavily involves luring local scavengers into her structure and performing neural and behavioral experiments to see if she can make them more similar to her creators. Her primary experiment is The Student, a kidnapped elite scavenger who she’s trying to program with traits from the Ancients. She speaks to it often and tells it stories about her creation and upbringing.

She is close with her fellow local group members, but often forgets to check in with them in favor of her work. Prior to Mass Ascension, she was very close with her creators, and losing them hit her hard. She became much more withdrawn, and what before was a fascination with the fauna surrounding her superstructure quickly became an obsession. She’s quite difficult to contact if you don’t live nearby, so both Many Rocks Orbit and East-Facing Pillars keep Overseers in her can to get her attention if they need to.

She and East-Facing Pillars are romantically involved and used to be very close. Their shared respect for their creators and mutual dedication to the Great Problem brought them together, and she found EFP’s social nature to be a refreshing break from her work. Once they spend more time together, though, their differences began to grate on each other; EFP tolerates RA’s interest in scavengers, but doesn’t care much about it otherwise and finds it disrespectful to dedicate so much time to a task uninvolved with universal ascension. In turn, Abstinence regards Pillars as fickle and high-strung. She doesn’t bother to respond much to him anymore, in favor of her work.

She has a more positive relationship with Many Rocks Orbit, who tries to keep themself largely uninvolved in relationship drama. Orbit also dislikes her hobby, but would never say so to her face, so she finds it easier to converse with them about her work without facing constant judgement.

East-Facing Pillars:

Studious and dedicated to the Great Problem, although he is also nosy and easily distracted by interpersonal drama. He takes great pride in himself and his work, and views himself as the most competent and respected of his local group. He’s very close friends with Many Rocks Orbit, and often takes over tasks a group senior would do when MRO neglects them. He always has his nose poked in as many anonymous boards as he can, and the two of them spend a lot of time gossipping together.

EFP was also close with Reluctant Abstince, and the two are technically romantically involved, although RA is often reluctant to respond to any kind of messages these days, and while her interest in fauna used to be endearing to Pillars, it now seems annoying and somewhat embarrassing to him. He checks in on her still every so often, with increasing reluctance.

Many Rocks Orbit:

The senior of their local group, older than East-Facing Pillars and Reluctant Abstinence. They are quite negligent in their duties, as they find management work to be stressful, especially when it comes to resolving conflicts with others. Many of their work ends up offloaded onto East-Facing Pillars, who mostly doesn’t mind but occasionally objects to too much work shoved onto him at once. If he ever broaches the subject of Orbit handling their own affairs, they will stop responding to messages or steer the conversation elsewhere. They prefer to quietly iterate and converse with close friends, avoiding topics they regard as difficult. They are uncomfortable with many of the flora and fauna that have evolved in their creators’ absence, finding most animals disgusting, and they’ll use their inspectors to shoo out anything that finds its way into their structure. Despite their dislike of animals, they find unnecessary violence deplorable. They also think Reluctant Abstinence’s latest project is highly morally questionable, and have spent a great deal of time with Pillars complaining about it.

The Lure: A creation of Reluctant Abstinence, used to gather live creatures for her to experiment on or use as spare organic material. It’s become incredibly unpopular with the scavengers surrounding RA’s city. The Lure doesn’t seem to care much, though, and it takes joy in completing tasks for RA, who it sees as its mother. The Lure is intelligent and quite curious, and Reluctant Abstinence has begun on the side to teach it to crudely write glyphs in her language.

The Student: Reluctant Abstinence’s latest pet project. she’s observed the intelligence scavegers have, and believes they’re capable of becoming the next great civilization. The Student is a test run to see if she can imprint the ideals and behaviors of her progenitors onto a living scavenger. surely there will be no consequences from this?

The Student was once highly regarded in their pack as a great warrior. Nowadays, they have a shy and nervous disposition, and spend most of the time missing their family. They reside in a lab chamber that was formerly used by the Ancients as an interface to connect with Reluctant Abstinence.

(Shifting Towards Red is a newer iterator from a different group that i havent conceptualized much yet :,3 )

[teawithmagician]

Lonely Mountain = Armenia

I have a take to make: Armenian culture is very similar to how I would imagine the culture of the Dwarves of Lonely Mountain.

When you think of the halls of Erebor, images of grand stone halls, intricate metalwork, and proud, resilient people come to mind.

Interestingly, this mental imagery resembles Armenia, a rich and ancient civilization in the Southern (that is important - Armenians are not Caucausians per se, like Georgians and/or Dagestanians) Caucasus region. From the stone-borne proud spirit of the Armenian people to their architecture and traditional clothing, there are fascinating parallels between the two cultures, real and fictional.

1. Architecture: Stone, Fortresses, and Underground Structures

The Dwarves of Erebor are renowned for their skill in mining and stonework, creating vast underground cities with intricate carvings and fortifications. Similarly, Armenian architecture is marked by the use of stone, with many historical fortresses, churches, and monasteries built using basalt, tuff, and other locally sourced materials. These buildings, often nestled in mountainous regions, reflect a deep connection to the earth, much like the Dwarven kingdom carved within the Lonely Mountain.

Examples:

Geghard Monastery: Partially carved out of mountain rock, this UNESCO World Heritage site demonstrates the skill and artistry of Armenian stonework. Its cavernous halls and intricate carvings are reminiscent of the Dwarven halls deep within Erebor.

Tatev Monastery: Perched on the edge of a cliff, this fortress-like monastery reflects the grandeur and defensive nature of Dwarven architecture.

2. Traditional Clothing: Regal, Rich, and Embroidered

Tolkien’s Dwarves are often depicted in elaborate, layered garments with intricate patterns, a testament to their pride in craftsmanship. Armenian traditional clothing, especially royal and ceremonial attire, shares this emphasis on richness and detail. Armenian robes from different historical periods were made from fine fabrics, often embroidered with gold and adorned with jewels, echoing the regal appearance of Dwarven kings and warriors.

Examples:

Royal Armenian Attire: The robes of Armenian kings and nobles during the medieval period were crafted from rich fabrics and detailed embroidery. Visuals of King Gagik I or the attire from the Bagratid dynasty era would illustrate the parallels well.

Women’s Embroidered Dresses: Traditional women’s dresses from regions like Syunik and Artsakh, adorned with intricate patterns and gold-thread embroidery, reflect a similar pride in craftsmanship seen in Dwarven culture.

3. Craftsmanship: The Art of Metalwork and Jewelry

The Dwarves are famous for their skills as blacksmiths, miners, and jewelers, creating intricate items from precious metals. Armenia, with its long history of metallurgy, also boasts a rich tradition of metalwork and jewelry-making. Armenian craftsmen were known for producing exquisite silver and gold pieces, ranging from church crosses to ceremonial weaponry and jewelry.

Examples:

Armenian Crosses and Jewelry: The detailed filigree and gem-inlaid designs seen in Armenian religious artifacts show a high level of skill. These pieces could easily be imagined as treasures from the hoards of Erebor.

Ceremonial Swords and Armor: Historical Armenian weaponry, including richly adorned swords and shields, can also be found in museums. Their craftsmanship mirrors the care and pride of Dwarven smiths.

4. Resilience and Pride: A Shared Spirit of Survival

Both the Armenians and the Dwarves have a shared history of resilience and pride in their heritage. The Dwarves, displaced from their homeland of Erebor, strive to reclaim their lost kingdom, a narrative that echoes the Armenian struggle throughout history to preserve their culture and identity in the face of invasions and displacement.

Armenian history is marked by perseverance, whether through the maintenance of cultural traditions, language, or faith, even during periods of hardship. The Dwarves' determination to return to Erebor, despite the dangers, reflects a similar strength.

Examples:

Armenian Genocide Memorials: These monuments, while somber, speak to the resilience and enduring spirit of the Armenian people. They stand as a testament to survival, much like the return of the Dwarves to Erebor.

Mount Ararat: The iconic mountain, which has a deep connection to Armenian identity, is often depicted in art. It symbolizes endurance, much like the Lonely Mountain symbolizes hope for the Dwarves.

Conclusion

While there is no evidence that J.R.R. Tolkien based the Dwarves of Erebor on any specific real-world culture, the similarities between Dwarven and Armenian culture are striking. Both are defined by a love of stone, a tradition of intricate craftsmanship, and a deep-rooted pride in their heritage. These parallels offer a fascinating way to look at Tolkien's world.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

So could you do a Star Trek one with Spock (or whoever you write for as I can’t find that post now😭) with an SO who is visiting home on earth and keeps on bringing him interesting rocks she finds?

Stones and Stars

word count: 940

Pairing: Spock x human!reader

Summary: Y/n visits her home on Earth with Spock, enthusiastically collecting interesting rocks and sharing them with him, while Spock patiently admires her fascination and offers scientific insights, deepening their bond.

______________________________________________________________

Y/n stood on the quiet shore of her family’s lake house on Earth, her bare feet sinking into the soft sand. The sun was setting, casting a warm, amber glow over the still waters, and the air carried the scent of pine trees from the nearby forest. It was a moment of peace, of home, far away from the busy corridors of the Enterprise.

Behind her, Spock stood observing the surroundings, his hands clasped behind his back. He had agreed to accompany Y/n on her visit to Earth, a rare chance for her to reconnect with her roots and for him to experience the human world outside of Starfleet’s structured environment.

Y/n bent down, running her fingers over a small, smooth stone nestled in the sand. She smiled, picking it up and turning it over in her palm. Its surface was streaked with tiny veins of quartz, glimmering faintly in the fading light. She approached Spock, holding it up for him to see.

“Look at this one, Spock,” she said, a playful grin spreading across her face. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Spock raised an eyebrow, taking the stone from her hand with the precision of a scientist inspecting a specimen. “Indeed,” he remarked, turning it over slowly. “The mineral composition appears to contain a significant amount of quartz, likely formed by years of pressure beneath the Earth’s surface.”

Y/n chuckled softly. “You always know how to make things sound so... scientific.” She watched him closely, enjoying the subtle curiosity that flickered in his dark eyes as he studied the rock. It was a small thing, but seeing Spock’s fascination with something as simple as a stone warmed her heart.

After a moment, Spock handed the rock back to her, inclining his head. “It is an interesting specimen. However, I do not believe it holds particular significance beyond its geological properties.”

Y/n laughed again, more at the formality of his response than the words themselves. “It’s not about the science, Spock. It’s about the beauty of it. Sometimes, things are worth appreciating just because they’re nice to look at.”

Spock’s expression softened, a subtle shift that only Y/n had learned to recognize after all their time together. “I see,” he replied, his voice thoughtful. “You derive pleasure from observing the aesthetics of natural formations.”

“Exactly.” She beamed, slipping the stone into her pocket. “It’s a little piece of home.”

They continued walking along the shoreline, Y/n occasionally stopping to inspect another rock or shell. She collected a small handful of them, showing each one to Spock with the same enthusiasm as the first. Though he did not share her penchant for collecting seemingly random objects, he never dismissed her excitement, responding to each discovery with patient interest.

As they reached the edge of the forest, Y/n bent down again, this time retrieving a larger, rougher stone. Its surface was jagged, unlike the smooth pebbles from the beach, and it seemed to carry the weight of ancient time within its weathered surface.

“This one feels different,” she murmured, brushing off the dirt. “It’s heavier… older, maybe?”

Spock took the stone from her, his long fingers tracing the irregular contours. His eyes narrowed in contemplation, and for a moment, he said nothing.

“You are correct,” he finally said, his voice low and thoughtful. “This rock likely originates from deeper beneath the Earth’s surface, perhaps pushed upward by tectonic activity.”

Y/n leaned in closer, intrigued. “Do you think it’s volcanic?”

Spock’s lips quirked, the closest he ever came to a smile. “It is possible. The rough texture suggests it may have been exposed to intense heat.”

Y/n couldn’t help but marvel at the way Spock could transform an ordinary rock into something extraordinary with his explanations. She rested her head against his shoulder, content in the silence that followed.

“You know,” she began softly, “I used to collect rocks like these when I was a kid. I’d bring them back to my room and pretend they were treasures from some distant planet.”

Spock turned his head slightly to look at her, his gaze thoughtful. “Your fascination with these objects seems to persist.”

Y/n smiled up at him. “Maybe it’s just nostalgia. Or maybe it’s because now, with you, it feels like I really am collecting treasures from other worlds.”

Spock raised an eyebrow, his expression softening further. “An intriguing perspective.”

They stood there for a moment, the quiet of the forest around them, the distant sound of water lapping at the shore. Y/n reached for Spock’s hand, intertwining her fingers with his.

“I’m glad you came with me,” she whispered. “It’s nice to share this part of my world with you.”

Spock squeezed her hand gently. “I find it… agreeable to observe Earth through your eyes, Y/n.”

She laughed softly, knowing that was as close to romantic as Spock would get. And that was more than enough for her.

As they walked back toward the house, the last light of day fading into twilight, Y/n tucked another rock into her pocket. This one was small and round, polished smooth by the water, and it sparkled faintly in the moonlight.

“I think I’ll keep this one,” she said, holding it up for Spock to see. “A souvenir of today.”

Spock tilted his head, his dark eyes reflecting the silver of the moon. “You seem to have acquired quite the collection.”

Y/n grinned. “I’m just getting started.”

And as they walked hand in hand beneath the stars, Y/n couldn’t help but feel that every rock, every moment, was a little treasure they shared in their own universe, one that Spock, in his own unique way, understood perfectly.

[tinydefector]

Hi hi hi can I please request shockwave (any ) using a holoform for the first time and he can’t stop kissing his human partner because he loves it so much..?

Holographic

Shockwave x human Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings; none

Shockwave masterlist

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Human eyes linger on Shockwave as he works in reattaching his holomatter device, their head Is tilted as they watch him as he tinkers with the gadget. "whatcha you doing?" They finally ask. They knew Shockwave worked on multiple projects but they didn't know what this one was. Shockwave's optic narrows slightly as he continues his work, focused on the project at hand. He doesn't immediately respond to the human's question, his attention fully absorbed by the task as he re attached it to his arm.

"I am working on a holo-matter projection," Shockwave finally replies, his voice monotone. "I am testing its capabilities and potential applications, as so far I've only been successful with maintaining it for less then a standard human hour." The human takes a step closer, their curiosity evident in their expression, as they linger watching him with full interest. "Holo-matter, That sounds fascinating. What exactly does it do?"

Shockwave briefly looks up from his work, his optic meeting their gaze. "Holo-matter projection involves the creation of three-dimensional objects using a combination of light and matter manipulation. It has various potential applications, such as creating realistic simulations, enhancing visual displays, or even constructing physical structures."

Their eyes widen with excitement as they take in Shockwave's explanation. The move even closer watching him reinstall it into his arm. "So, it's like creating solid objects out of thin air, Can you show me?" Shockwave pauses, considering the request. With a few swift movements, Shockwave activates the holo-matter projection device. This particular application of holo-matter is a deeply personal and significant aspect of his work, one that he has rarely shared with anyone.

"Accessing holo-matter technology for personal use is restricted," Shockwave responds, "However, in the interest of scientific observation, I can provide a limited demonstration." With a series of swift movements, Shockwave activates the holo-matter projection device, and a shimmering, translucent figure materialises before them. 

Their eyes widen in awe as they take in the holoform, their hands come up to cup his face. The human avatar looked nothing like they had expected, they were expecting a mad scientist yet shockwave looked rather normal. One of His eyes was a warm ember and the other was sticking ice blue. He looked rather handsome yet nothing like the real shockwave.

"Holoform is a specialised application of holo-matter technology. It allows me to project a visually and audibly convincing representation of myself, enabling interactions with the physical world. Most times it is used for blending in on organic planets, the only flaw in the device is time, they are limited in what they withstand"

Their gaze lingers on the holoform, their fascination evident. "So, it's like a holographic avatar that can interact with the environment?" Shockwave nods, his optic brightening slightly. "Indeed, the holoform possesses limited physicality, allowing for basic interactions. However, it primarily serves as a means for me to navigate and interact with the physical world while maintaining my primary form in a secure location."

Shockwave's ‘eyes’ flickers with surprise as their hands cup his holoform's face. The unexpected touch momentarily breaks through his normally composed demeanour, causing a faint ripple of uncertainty within him. He observes their expression, their eyes filled with genuine shock and curiosity.

"Your holoform... it's not what I expected," the human murmurs, their voice tinged with awe. "You look... different. Handsome." He has never given much thought to his appearance, as aesthetics have always been secondary to his scientific pursuits. The observation of his holoform's attractiveness is a concept that is foreign to him.

"I assure you, my holoform's appearance is designed for functionality rather than aesthetics," Shockwave responds, his voice remaining monotone despite the subtle ripple of uncertainty within him. 

They cup his face this time tracing the outline of the eyebrows, lips and just admiring how different it is. The feeling for Shockwave is strange, delightful. "Well if it means anything I happen to rather like your holoform" they giggle pressing a soft peck to his nose. 

"You... find my holoform appealing?" he repeats, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty. The concept of someone finding his appearance appealing is entirely new to him. The touch leaves a faint imprint on his memory banks, triggering fragmented recollections from a time before, fractured memories flicker.

They continue smiling at him. "Anytime Shockwave, you should use this form more often, it's beautiful" they state, fingers continue to dance across his face. The notion of his holoform being beautiful is a foreign concept to him, but the sincerity in the human's voice leaves a lingering impact.

Before Shockwave can fully process their statement, the human's words are followed by a sudden and unexpected action. Shockwave's holoform leans in and presses a kiss upon their lips. As the kiss lingers, Shockwave's processor races, attempting to process the implications of this unexpected and illogical act of his own. 

After a brief, lingering moment, Shockwave slowly pulls away, his eyes flickering with a mix of emotions. "I... apologise, that was inappropriate," he says, his voice tinged with an uncharacteristic hesitance. "I... was testing a hypothesis."

The human's gaze meets his, their expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. "A hypothesis?" Shockwave's optic dims slightly as he gathers his thoughts, attempting to articulate his conflicting emotions. "I have been studying the nature of human emotions and their impact on decision-making. I sought to explore the effects of physical intimacy on the human psyche."

"You're more than welcome to kiss me again Shockwave" they laugh, eyes sparkling as they stand in his arms, they were tempted to tease him but decided against it. Shockwave's optic flickers, his processor turning gears as he thinks over their words and the genuine warmth in their laughter. 

With a subtle shift in his holoform's expression, Shockwave allows himself to lean in once again. His lips meet the human's in a soft yet lingering kiss, a moment of connection that speaks volumes of the emotions he struggles to fully comprehend, it was as if he had been hit with a train of emotions, many that to him were illogical.

As they stand in each other's embrace, the boundaries that once separated them begin to dissolve further. The scientific detachment that once defined Shockwave's existence gives way to a burgeoning desire for a deeper connection,he craves to kiss them more. In that moment, as their lips remain locked and their emotions mingle, Shockwave finds himself willingly forgetting the stance of logic.

They kiss him back eagerly, hand cupping his cheek as their lips move against his. Fingers toying with his hair. As their lips move against his, Shockwave finds himself instinctively responding, his holoform's arm encircling the human's waist. His own hand tentatively reaches up to rest against the back of their neck, his fingers gently tangling in their hair.

The touch and taste of the human consumes his senses, leaving Shockwave with a mixture of exhilaration and uncertainty. replaced by a growing desire to understand and embrace the complexities of these newfound emotions, to give what he could to them so willingly.

They nearly squeal as he pulls them closer, more giggles leave them as Shockwave continues kissing them. "Shockwave hahahah, having fun are you?" His optics flickers with a mix of surprise and amusement at the human's playful response. The sound of their laughter fills the air, leaving a lingering warmth within him. As they inquire about his enjoyment, a rare hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

"I... find this experience rather... enjoyable," he admits, his voice carrying a faint trace of amusement. "It is a deviation from my usual scientific pursuits, but I appreciate the connection and the emotions it elicits."

However, his momentary amusement is cut short as the holoform begins to fade away, leaving the human pouting in disappointment. Shockwave's features transition back to their usual stoic expression. "I apologise for the abrupt end," he says, his voice returning to its usual monotone. "The holoform has its limitations, and it cannot be sustained indefinitely."

The human's pout softens, their gaze meeting his with a mix of understanding and lingering affection. " could you lean down so I can give you another kiss?” The ask softly, Shockwave gives in almost instantly, letting them pepper small kisses along his helm. 

As Shockwave stands there he debates finally having the empurata reversed. It had never been something that had a logical reason to be done but now, it was only logical if he intended to have more kisses from them. along with finding a way to lengthen the holoforms time limit since they seemed to enjoy it.

"Shockwave you haven't short circuited on me have you?" They ask while looking up at his optics. A smile lingers on their lips. Shockwave's optic flickers as he processes the human's words, his thoughts momentarily interrupted by their playful inquiry. The smile that lingers on their lips tugs at something deep within him, a mixture of fondness and a newfound desire to explore the uncharted territories of emotion.

"I... apologise for the momentary interruption," he replies, his voice regaining its usual stoic tone. "There are matters that require my attention." As he gazes down at the human, his optic flickers with a mix of determination and a newfound vulnerability. The idea of reversing the empurata, of regaining the physical capacity to experience more intimate moments, becomes increasingly appealing. "However," he continues, his voice carrying a hint of hesitation, "I am enjoying this experience and would ask that we continue this arrangement.” They give him one last small kiss before finally pulling away. “I'd be more Than happy with that Shockwave” 

[herstoryheaven]

Descendants Harry Hook x Reader: The Pirate's Enchanted Locket

Prompt: Y/n has an ancient locket that transports her to The Isle of the Lost. Captured by Harry Hook, he initially suspects her of being a spy. As he grows fascinated by her, he defends her against a rival gang’s attack. In a moment of intense emotion, Harry confesses his feelings.

Reader: Female

Word count: 3584

Average reading time: 13 min

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: This story contains themes involving emotional distress, fear, and harassment. If you are sensitive to these topics, please read with care.

The full moon hung high in the sky, casting a silver glow over the restless sea. Y/N stood at the edge of a rocky cliff, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anxiety. Clutched in her hand was an ancient locket, a mysterious inheritance from her mother that promised to bring you what your heart desires the most. The locket felt warm in her palm, as if it had a life of its own, pulsating with a gentle rhythm. As she carefully opened the locket, wisps of magic light surrounded her, pulling her through time and space.

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Disclaimer: All events portrayed in my stories are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental. Any actions or behaviours portrayed by the characters may differ from reality and cannot be connected to any actual person. This work is purely fictional and intended for entertainment purposes only.

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When the light faded, Y/N found herself on the deck of a pirate ship, the grimy structure silhouetted against the dark waters of the Isle of the Lost. The smell of saltwater and smog filled the air, and the sound of creaking wood and flapping sails was almost deafening. Disoriented, she stumbled across the deck, trying to make sense of her surroundings. The ship was bustling with activity, rough looking pirates shouted orders and heaved ropes, their faces shadowed by the dim lantern light.

Harry Hook, Uma’s fierce first mate, appeared, his sharp eyes immediately spotting her. He was a tall figure, his dark hair hiding underneath a black pirate hat, a silver hook gleaming dangerously in place of his left hand.

“What do we have here?” Harry’s voice was a low, dangerous growl. His accent was thick, his tone dripping with suspicion. “Someone trying hide, or perhaps a thief?”

Y/N’s heart raced. She had heard the stories of these pirates, the children of villains of old tales, but never imagined she would meet them. “I’m not here to steal anything. I was just—”

“Save your breath, Lass,” Harry interrupted, his voice cold and commanding. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “We don’t take kindly to intruders. Especially ones who appear out of thin air.”

Before Y/N could protest further, Harry took her arm with surprising strength and dragged her below deck. The narrow, dark passageways twisted and turned, lit only by the occasional flickering torch. Other pirates stared as they passed, their expressions ranging from curiosity to outright hostility.

They reached a small, dark cell at the far end of the ship. Harry shoved her inside, and the heavy clang of the iron door as it shut behind her resonated with finality. The cell was cold and damp, the air thick with the smell of rust. Y/N sank to the floor, her mind racing with confusion and fear.

“What have I gotten myself into?” she whispered, clutching the locket tightly. She could still feel its warmth, a faint reassurance in the darkness. 

Time passed slowly in the cell. The sounds of the ship and the ocean were muffled, creating a deafening silence. Y/N's thoughts were a whirlwind of worry and regret. She thought of her grandmother’s stories, the tales of magic and adventure that now seemed all too real.

Just when she thought things couldn’t get worse, the door creaked open. A confident pirate girl, with turquoise braids and a mischievous glint in her eyes, entered. It was Uma, the sea witch’s daughter and the ship’s captain.

“Well, well,” Uma said, her voice smooth and taunting. “What do we have here? A little runaway, or maybe something more?”

Y/N looked up, her eyes meeting Uma’s. Gathering her courage, she replied, “I’m not a runaway. I was brought here by magic. This locket” she held it up, its faint glow illuminating the small cell, ��it brought me here.”

Uma’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of the locket. She leaned closer, inspecting it with interest. “That’s no ordinary locket.” she murmured. “Where did you get this?”

“My mother.” Y/N answered truthfully. “She said it would bring me what my heart desires the most.”

Uma’s expression shifted, a calculating look in her eyes. “And what does your heart desire, little one?”

Y/N hesitated. “Adventure,” she said finally. “And maybe something more.”

Uma laughed, a sound both sweet yet disturbing. “You might just get what you wish for,” she said. “But remember, magic always comes with a price.”

With that, Uma left, leaving Y/N alone in the dim cell but with nothing but her thoughts and a glimmer of hope. She clutched the locket tighter, its warmth still present.

-----

Days passed in the cell, at first Harry occasionally came to check on their prisoner by Uma’s order. But soon Harry’s visits became more frequent, yet the fear of her situation never quite faded. The walls, slick with dampness and grime, seemed to press in on Y/N, their oppressive presence a constant reminder of her imprisonment. Yet, each day, as Harry’s visits became more regular, a subtle shift began to take place.

Harry’s demeanor, once arrogant and indifferent, softened. His initial curiosity about Y/N’s resilience grew into genuine interest. He began to linger longer during their conversations, and the tone of his voice, previously sharp and commanding, carried an undertone of care. There was a tension in the air, an unspoken connection that neither of them acknowledged directly but both felt deeply.

One evening, as the cell was bathed in the dim, flickering light of a single bulb, Y/N’s curiosity overcame her usual caution. She looked up from her seated position against the wall, her face illuminated by the pale light, and asked, “Why do you keep coming here?”

Harry leaned against the bars, his usual arrogance tempered by a weariness that spoke of long, restless days. His expression was a blend of annoyance and hesitant interest, a reflection of the internal struggle he faced. “I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone quite like you, Lass. You’ve got spirit.”

Y/N’s eyes met his with a mixture of resistance and fatigue. “I don’t cower.” she said, her voice carrying a steely edge. “I just don’t see the point in making things worse.”

Harry’s gaze softened slightly, revealing a glimpse of the conflict within him. He crossed his arms, his posture less rigid than usual. “You’ve got a point. It’s not every day someone ends up on Uma’s ship with nothing but a locket.”

The mention of the locket brought a flicker of emotion to Y/N’s eyes. It was a small, delicate piece of jewelry, a token from a life that seemed impossibly distant now. “The locket belonged to my mother.” she said quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s all I have left of her.”

Harry’s expression changed as he looked at her. The hardened exterior he maintained was marred by a rare hint of empathy. He looked at the locket as if seeing it for the first time, acknowledging the significance it held for Y/N. “She must’ve meant a lot to you.”

Y/N nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor. “She did. And it’s more than just a memory. It’s a reminder that there was a time before all this, a time when things were different.”

For a moment, the cell fell into a thoughtful silence. Harry seemed to wrestle with his own thoughts, the weight of Y/N’s words evident in the furrow of his brow. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer than before. “You know, Lass, you’re not what I expected. There’s something about you, something that makes me think maybe, just maybe, there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

Y/N’s gaze lifted to meet his, her eyes searching his for any sign of him lying. “And what does that mean for me?”

Harry’s expression was unreadable, a mask of guarded contemplation. “It means,” he said slowly, “that you’re not entirely alone in this. And maybe, just maybe, there’s more to be learned from each other than either of us thought.”

As the silence stretched between them, the tension in the cell seemed to ease, if only slightly. Harry moved closer to the bars, his fingers gripping the cold metal as he leaned in, his face inches from Y/N’s. “Why do you trust me enough to talk about her?” he asked, his voice a hushed murmur.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She could feel the warmth of his breath, the intensity of his gaze. “I don’t know if I trust you,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “But I think you’re different from most. There’s something in you that’s... kind.”

Harry’s eyes darkened, a mixture of frustration and longing flickering in their depths. “Kindness is a dangerous thing around here.” he warned, his voice barely audible. “But maybe you’re right. Maybe you’re bringing out a part of me I thought I’d lost.”

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the cell seemed to disappear. The tension between them crackled with unspoken words and suppressed emotions. Harry’s hand reached through the bars, his fingers brushing against Y/N’s cheek, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Harry...” Y/N’s voice was a breathless whisper, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Y/N,” he replied, his voice heavy with an emotion he couldn’t name. “Be careful. This... whatever this is between us... it’s dangerous.”

Y/N’s hand covered his, their fingers entwining through the cold metal bars. “I know.” she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. “But I’m willing to take the risk if you are.”

Harry’s eyes softened, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re something else, Lass. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I promise you this, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

-----

The nights grew colder, and Harry’s visits became a small comfort. However, one fateful night, the tranquility shattered as the ship was attacked by a rival gang of villains. The sounds of battle swords clashing, men shouting filled the air, growing louder as the intruders neared.

Y/N's heart pounded as the chaos drew closer, each step of the invaders echoing her rising dread. The cold metal of her cell door creaked open violently, the sound slicing through the din like a knife. A rough hand yanked her from her confinement, dragging her into the harsh light of the battle-torn deck.

"Look what we have here," one of the attackers sneered, his breath hot and foul against her ear. He gripped her waist with brutal force, his fingers digging into her skin. "A pretty little thing, aren’t you?"

Terror surged through her veins as she struggled against his iron grip. Another attacker, his eyes gleaming with malice, leaned in close, his lips brushing her cheek as he spoke.

"Why don’t you give us a kiss, darling?" he taunted, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. Y/N turned her head away, revulsion twisting her stomach.

“Get away from me!” she cried, her voice trembling with fear. She twisted in their grasp, desperate to escape their leering faces and grasping hands.

"Help! Someone, please!" Y/N’s voice trembled, barely audible over the surrounding tumult. Her pleas seemed swallowed by the night, lost in the brutal frenzy.

Her captors laughed at her desperation, their taunts ringing in her ears. “Scream all you want, girl. No one’s coming for you.”

But they were wrong.

Harry’s blood boiled when he saw the attackers’ rough treatment of Y/N. With a roar that seemed to come from the depths of his soul, he burst onto the deck, his sword gleaming with deadly intent. His eyes blazed with fury, locked onto Y/N even as he swung his weapon with lethal precision.

"Back off, you scurvy dogs!" Harry's voice was a thunderclap of rage. "Touch her again, and I’ll have you all walk the plank!"

The attackers hesitated, the ferocity of Harry’s assault breaking their resolve. They had underestimated him, and now they were paying the price. One by one, they began to retreat, their faces pale with fear as Harry cut a swath through their ranks, his determination an unmistakable force.

The attacker holding Y/N released her, shoving her roughly to the ground. She scrambled back, her heart racing, watching as Harry fought like a man possessed. Each swing of his sword was a vow to protect her, his movements a blur of deadly grace.

One of the attackers, emboldened by desperation, lunged at Harry with a dagger. Harry parried the blow effortlessly, his sword flashing in the dim light as he disarmed and incapacitated the man with brutal efficiency.

When the last of the attackers had fled into the night, Harry's attention turned to Y/N. She stood trembling, her face pale, tears carving silent paths down her cheeks. Her eyes met his, wide and haunted, a mix of fear and relief swirling in their depths.

Harry approached her slowly, his expression softening, the pirate's fury melting into concern. Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders, his touch a grounding anchor against the storm of her emotions.

“It’s over now,” Harry said softly, his voice a soothing balm against her raw nerves. “You’re safe.”

Y/N collapsed against him, her body wracked with sobs. Harry held her tightly, his embrace a shield against the horrors of tonight. For a moment, the world was reduced to the two of them, the warmth of his presence pushing back the cold grip of fear.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest. “I was so scared…”

“I know,” Harry murmured, his hand stroking her hair gently. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not ever again.”

-----

His arms wrapped around her, carefully lifting her in his arms. Y/N’s heart fluttered as she felt his warmth and strength surrounding her. She buried her face in his neck, her tears flowing freely. The world outside seemed to fade as Harry carried her through the remaining chaos, his movements both strong and tender.

“Harry…” Y/N’s voice was muffled against his skin. “They—they were touching me… I was so scared.”

Harry’s breath hitched at her words. He tightened his embrace, his heart aching at the thought of her suffering. He carried her to his quarters, the soft glow of lanterns casting a warm light around the room. Gently, he set her down on the bed and knelt beside her, his eyes full of concern.

“No one will ever touch you like that again,” Harry vowed, his voice firm yet gentle. “I swear it on my life.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude and increasing affection. “Thank you for protecting me, Harry. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Harry’s gaze softened. He brushed a stray tear from her cheek, his touch light and comforting. “You don’t need to worry about that. You’re mine to protect, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

The room was filled with an intense, charged silence. Harry’s hand gently cupped Y/N’s cheek as he leaned in closer. His gaze was locked on hers, his eyes burning with a mixture of fierce protectiveness and deep affection. 

Slowly, he pulled her closer, his hook wrapping around her waist in a tender embrace. With a gentle yet firm grip, he tilted her chin up with his other hand. The proximity between them was electric, and Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as Harry’s lips hovered near hers.

Without breaking eye contact, Harry leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle at first, a soft, reassuring touch that spoke of his promises and his unspoken feelings. As the kiss deepened, it became more passionate, filled with the urgency of their emotions and the relief of their survival.

Y/N���s hands found their way to Harry’s chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. She clung to him, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring herself in the moment.

When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingling in the warm, intimate space, Harry’s eyes were filled with a mixture of relief and something deeper, something that Y/N recognized as love.

“I’m yours.” Y/N whispered, her voice trembling but resolute. “I want to stay here with you. I want to be where I belong.”

Harry’s eyes shone with a mixture of pride and tenderness. “And I’m yours, Lass. I’d let the world flood if it means knowing you are safe.”

Y/N felt a profound sense of safety wash over her. She reached out, her fingers tracing the lines of Harry’s face, committing every detail to memory. The flickering lantern light played off his features, casting shadows that danced and flickered with a life of their own. 

“I never knew I could feel this way,” she admitted, her voice soft and filled with wonder. “Like I’m whole when I’m with you.”

Harry’s expression softened even further, and he took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips and pressing a tender kiss to her palm. “You complete me, Y/N. You’re my strength and my reason. I’d do anything to see you smile again.”

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes, but this time they were tears of joy and overwhelming emotion. “You already have,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “You saved me, Harry. In more ways than one.”

Harry’s eyes glittered with unshed tears of his own as he pulled her into another embrace, his arms wrapping around her protectively. They sat there for a long moment, holding each other, finding comfort and strength in their shared connection.

Finally, Harry pulled back slightly, looking down at her with a serious expression. “We’ll face whatever comes next together. You and me. No one can stand against us.”

Y/N nodded, a sense of determination filling her. “Together.” she agreed, her voice steady and confident. “Always.”

They stayed close, the warmth of their bodies mingling as they found comfort in each other's presence. Outside, the world continued its relentless march, but inside Harry’s quarters, time seemed to stand still, allowing them a precious moment of peace and love.

Harry brushed his lips against her forehead, a gentle promise of his unwavering commitment. “Rest now, Lass. You’re safe with me.”

With a sigh of contentment, Y/N closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax fully for the first time in what felt like forever.

-----

With the dawn of a new day, Y/N knew she had to make a choice. The locket’s magic had brought her here, but if she wanted to truly stay with Harry, she had to break the bond that tethered her to her world. Without hesitation, she took her mothers locket no matter how much it meant to her and broke it, the magic dissolving into the morning light.

Harry watched her with a mixture of pride and deep affection. As the last piece of the locket crumbled, he pulled her into a close embrace, his arms wrapping around her protectively.

“You’ve chosen to stay,” he said softly, his voice filled with gratitude. “And I’ll be here, always.”

Y/N nodded, feeling a profound sense of belonging.

He took a deep breath, the weight of his words heavy with promise. “I want more for you than just this Isle of the Lost. You deserve a life full of beauty and opportunity, not one mired in darkness and danger. I’ll get us out of here. We’ll find our way to Auradon, and I’ll give you the life you’ve always dreamed of.”

Y/N looked at him, her heart swelling with emotion. “Harry, I don’t care where we go or what we do, as long as I’m with you. You’re my home.”

Harry’s gaze softened. “Then we’ll make a new home together. I promise you, Lass, I’ll fight every step of the way to give you the life you deserve.”

As they were completely lost in each other's embrace, the door to Harry’s quarters creaked open. Uma, the formidable pirate queen and Harry’s captain, stepped inside. Her eyes flared with curiosity and a hint of amusement as she took in the scene before her.

“Well, well, well,” Uma drawled, her voice filled with her usual commanding presence. “Seems like you two have been busy. Thought I’d check in on my first mate and supposed to be prisoner.”

Harry’s posture stiffened, but he quickly masked his surprise with a smirk. “Just taking care of things, Uma.”

Uma’s gaze softened slightly as she looked at Y/N. “You’ve caused quite a stir, girl. This place is no vacation. But if Harry’s vouching for you, you must be something special.”

Y/N, feeling a bit awkward under Uma’s scrutiny, managed a small smile. “I’m just trying to find my way.”

Uma nodded, her expression becoming more serious. “Well, if you’re sticking around, you’d better be prepared. Life here isn’t exactly gentle.”

“I’ve learned that the hard way,” Y/N admitted.

Uma’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Good. Because you’ll need all the strength you can get. But if you’re with Harry, that’s a good start. He’s not one to take chances with those he cares about.”

Y/N glanced at Harry, who looked back at her with a mixture of pride and affection. Uma’s approval meant something—especially if it meant a smoother journey ahead.

“Well, since you’re both set on staying,” Uma continued, her tone softer, “let’s make sure you’re prepared. Harry, we need to talk about our next move. And you, Y/N, might as well come along. If you’re with Harry, you’ll be part of the crew. It’s best to know what you’re getting into.”

With Uma’s words hanging in the air, Y/N felt a newfound sense of determination. As Harry’s hand slipped into hers, she knew they were on the brink of a new chapter, one that promised adventure, challenges, and a future built together.

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