#i just love these little details differentiating them

[une-sanz-pluis]

Clarence and Somerset are depicted wearing armour, tabard and a collar of esses. The armour is anachronistic: it is contemporary with the tomb rather than the deceased. The great basinet, double bevor, tassets and fluted, mitten gauntlets date the carvings to around 1440. John, Lord Roos was killed with Clarence at Bauge in 1421, and his effigy at Bottesford (Leics.) features glove gauntlets with gadlings, circular poleyns and couters, and a hip-belt typical of the period 1400-1425. The reinforcing plate on the right hand gauntlets suggests that the Canterbury carvings were modelled on an English suit of armour or its pattern. The two effigies are similar, but they are clearly identified by their heraldic footrests - Somerset has an eagle and Clarence a greyhound - together with points of detail: Clarence wears a ducal coronet, and Somerset a jewelled version of the orle. Somerset's effigy is slightly shorter, and the face more lined; Clarence's effigy has a collar of esses and tiret, while Somerset has a collar with tiret and ring pendant, a design repeated for the effigy of his son John Beaufort, Duke of Somerset (d. 1444) at Wimborne Minster (Dorset).

Mark Duffy, "St. Michael's Chapel, Canterbury Cathedral: A Lancastrian Mausoleum", Archæologia Cantiana, vol. 123 (2003)

[romancerepulsed]

aspec terms for beginners!

since it's trending right now, i feel like it might be helpful to clear up some basic aspec (but particularly aromantic, as we are the center of attention currently) terms. if you have absolutely any questions, i would be happy to answer, either in the replies, dms, or my inbox!

★・・・・・・★

the split attraction model (SAM): a model of human behavior that posits that, for some people, romantic and sexual attraction are not the same.

[most often this will come in the form of someone being aspec on one axis and allo (not aspec) on another. for example, a biromantic asexual may be romantically attracted to two or more genders, but sexually attracted to none. some people may even use SAM for allo identities– a bisexual lesbian may be sexually attracted to multiple genders, but only romantically attracted to women (note that this is not the only way that someone can be an mspec lesbian, just one way!). the SAM does not apply to everybody, not even all aspecs! there are non-SAM aros, for instance, who do not differentiate their aromanticism from their sexuality.]

aspec: a collection of queer spectrums centered around the lack of a certain attraction or identity. the most common spectrums under the aspec umbrella are asexual, aromantic, agender, and aplatonic, though there are many other ways to be aspec.

asexual: experiencing little to no sexual attraction.

[aces can still have sex– whether its because they experience some amount of sexual attraction or they just want to participate in sex because they find the act appealing in some other way. that being said, there are still plenty of aces who have not and will never have sex. it is a spectrum.]

aromantic: experiencing little to no romantic attraction.

[aros can still have romantic partners– whether its because they experience some amount of romantic attraction or they just find relationships appealing in some other way. that being said, there are still plenty of aros who have not and will never be in a romantic relationship. it is a spectrum.]

agender: having no gender or little relation to any gender.

aplatonic: experiencing little to no platonic attraction.

[similarly to aros and aces, apls can still form friendships if they so desire– whether its because they experience some amount of platonic attraction or they find friendships appealing in some other way.]

aroallo: combination of aromantic and allosexual– allosexual being someone who fully experiences sexual attraction. an aroallo, then, is someone who is aromantic but not asexual. aroallos often do not have a standard relationship with sex due to its romantic connotations and the stigma against loveless sex. someone having sex with someone else they do not love does not inherently make them aroallo, much in the same way that having a nonsexual relationship with a partner doesn't inherently make either participant asexual.

aroace: someone who is both aromantic and asexual. because aro and ace are both spectrums, an aroace may still experience some amount of attraction on either or both of those spectrums, or they may experience attraction of some other kind (platonic, tertiary, etc.), and that attraction may be only for a certain gender or genders– these are known as oriented aroaces.

queerplatonic relationship: a type of relationship that is defined only by the people within it. i have a post dedicated to explaining this in larger detail.

partnering: an aspec (usually aromantic) person who has and/or desires to have a partnership or multiple partnerships– romantic, queerplatonic, or otherwise.

non-partnering: an aspec (usually aromantic) person who has no desire to form a partnership of any kind.

romance/sex/plato favorable: an aspec who desires or would not reject a romantic, sexual, or platonic relationship. they are also generally not particularly bothered by seeing these relationships in their day-to-day.

romance/sex/plato repulsed: an aspec who does not desire a romantic, sexual, or platonic relationship and generally does not like seeing those relationships in their day-to-day. [x] repulsed people are not necessarily judgemental towards people who desire or participate in those relationships, they just do not desire them for themselves. repulsion often takes the form of discomfort or annoyance. [x] repulsed people are not necessarily cruel sticks-in-the-mud– they are perfectly capable of being respectful, and they very often are. repulsion does not always stem from trauma, though it certainly can.

romance/sex/plato positive: not to be confused with favorability, [x] positivity is the belief that romance, sex, and platonic relationships are human rights that should be supported and uplifted. someone can be [x] repulsed and [x] positive at the same time, because favorability/repulsion revolves around the self, and positivity/negativity extends to others.

sex/romance/plato negative: not to be confused with repulsion, [x] negativity is an inherently judgemental and harmful ideology. most commonly in the form of sex negativity, these ideologies are centered around the opposition to or personal judgement of people who engage in romance, sex, or platonic relationships. sex negativity in particular is embedded in western white supremacist societies and it is important for aspecs not to play into that.

those are the basics, but i have more information below the cut!

★・・・・・・★

> how are aspecs queer?

aspecs are queer because "queer" does not only mean LGBT. queer theory is about far more than just LGBT people– though they are undeniably a large part of it– queerness is any subversion of the traditional cisheteronormative standard. this includes things that cishets may take part in/identify with, because you do not have to be LGBT to subvert those standards. cishets who are gender-nonconforming are queer, for example. a good rule of thumb is that if you have to explain what you whole deal is to cishets, you're queer. queer does mean strange, after all.

traditional cisheteronormative conceptions of attraction, gender, and relationships do not account for aspecs. it is expected that everyone will one day form a traditional partnership with one other person, and that relationship will include sex (even if only for procreation, under some dogmas). virginity past a certain age is seen as a point of shame and something indicative of a larger problem in someone– in men, a red flag even. people past 30 without a relationship are pitied. our economic structure is build for couples and families– it's near impossible for someone to live comfortably alone. romance, friendship, and love are placed on a pedestal, treated as the meaning of life, the best thing anyone could ever experience. "love is the point of everything," as many posts on this site like to claim. people who reject these ideas are undeniably queer.

> i can get behind aros and aces, but the whole "aplatonic" thing feels like a stretch to me. how is not having friends queer? "platonic attraction" isn't even real.

aplatonicism is more than just "not having friends," and many apls have friends anyway, much in the same way that aros can date and aces can have sex. someone who does not have friends is not inherently aplatonic, they only are if they identify that little-to-no platonic attraction in themselves and choose to label themselves that way (just like how virgins aren't inherently asexual). still, apls who don't have friends exist, and they are all queer. what is a greater subversion of traditional cisheteronormative relationship structures than an outright rejection of what's seen as the most basic, fundamental relationship our culture has to offer?

you may not feel that platonic attraction is a distinct phenomenon in your own experience, and that's fine! ultimately, a lot of aspec terms exist for the utility and comfort of aspecs themselves. the SAM isn't for everyone, and platonic attraction isn't for everyone either. you do not have the authority to tell people what their own experiences are, nor should you care.

> i think it's sad that you're limiting yourself with these labels. you'll find someone one day!

for the broad majority of aspecs, our identities are not self-disciplinary, nor are they necessarily permanent. all queer people are capable of misunderstanding their identity or having a fluid identity– it is not a problem unique to being aspec. that being said, a lot of us may always be aspec and completely happy with it. being aspec is not a tragedy. the only thing i don't like about being aromantic is the judgement i receive from other people about it. non-partnering aspecs are not "missing out" on anything, because we don't even want the things we're rejecting in the first place. many of us are romance/sex/plato repulsed and are far more happy engaging with the world and with other people in different ways, because there is so, so much more to life than relationships, and it's wrong to presume that relationships are universally fit for everybody. telling an aspec that they'll find "the right person" one day is no different from telling a lesbian she'll find "the right man" one day. there is no "right person" for an aspec just as there's no "right man" for a lesbian. a lesbian is not "missing out" on a heterosexual relationship just because it's culturally perceived as superior and more fulfilling.

[disclaimer before anyone tries to do a "gotcha," i'm talking about a lesbian who is fully not attracted to men in any way. it's not like homophobes know the intricacies of gender identity and nonconformity as it pertains to homosexuality anyways.]

lastly, i wanna give a special shout out to the loveless aros and the relationship anarchists.

loveless aros are those who either feel little-to-no love as they understand it, or they are someone who supports the de-centering of love. they're worthy of a whole post of their own, but in summary: the loveless experience is all about finding joy in yourself and the countless things our world has to offer that are not dependent on the vague idea of love.

relationship anarchy is another concept worthy of its own post, but in essence it's an ideology aimed at abolishing the standard hierarchy of relationships (in the USA, depending on who you ask, its typically friendship < family < romantic partnership or friendship < romantic partnership < family) and allowing everyone the autonomy to define their relationships for themselves.

if i made any mistakes, let me know! and of course i'm willing to answer any questions anyone may have. :-3 thanks for reading my long ass post!

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

(18+) horny brainrot & hcs about the men I write for..

includes: bucky barnes, logan howlett, matt murdock, miguel o’hara, moon boys, peter quill, pietro maximoff, spencer reid, tangerine

fem!reader, mdni

cw. mentions of edging, blow jobs, dry humping, cock warming, oral (f receiving) fingering/ clit play, pinv sex

bucky barnes: likes to eat you out after you've had a bad day. he likes to listen to you try to formulate words describing the details of your day while his tongue flicks over your clit - the feel making your mind blank and hazy. he loves listening to you restart your sentences over and over and over because you keep cutting yourself off with noises - with moans

.

logan howlett: likes to play with your clit while he’s fucking you. palm resting on your public bone, thumb extended down to your clit — the motion slow and unrushed. each little circle and swirl matches the pace of his strokes, his cock fucking into you. the sensation of his dual touch earning him all your beautiful sounds and noises. every little one acting as fuel, as his momentum to keep going for you.

.

matt murdock: he knows the moment just as you're about to let go. he listens to your body, to your heart - listens to it pick up in rhythm, to it pump wildly just before that moment. he listens to your breathing stagger and heighten, listens to the change in your body, to your muscles seize and tense. though that's all he lets you feel. he snatches himself away just as you're about to cum - pulling away his cock or tongue or fingers, not allowing you that sweet moment of release. he plays with you, endlessly working you up until you're just shy of your orgasm, then yanks himself away - listening to you whine and protest, panting wildly. he tells you he'll be nice on you and let you cum, but it'll be the same story again. working you up impossibly more, leaving you on the cusp of your high

.

miguel o'hara: he won't always fuck you with the full length of his dick. sometimes, he's just too much for you to take, so you have to satiate your need with just the tip of his cock. he'd keep his fat head wedged snuggly inside you, not moving or giving you any friction you desperately need. only placing his thumb over your clit, circling it slowly as he essentially uses his tip as a plug. he'd look down at you almost pitifully, cooing at you when you'd pout and whine, trying to take more of him. but he won't allow it - placing a large hand on your hip, stilling you as he continues to toy with your clit

.

moon boys: they make you wear a blindfold while they take turns fucking you. you have to figure out who is fronting solely by their touch - no talking, no communicating, no nothing. you have to differentiate them by their strokes and rhythm, by the way they fuck you, by how they touch and caress you. they don't like being mistaken for one another, so you best not guess wrong - they won't be so lenient with you

.

peter quill: a lazy, heated makeout in bed under the covers. both wearing comfy, cozy underwear, quill hovering atop, your legs wrapped around his hips - keeping him snug to you. kissing each other carnally, all slow and sloppy, breathy muffled moans into one another's mouths as he nudges his clothed chub-on on your pussy. leisurely winding his rock-hard cock against the pit of heat between your thighs. one hand on your throat deepening the kiss, the other holding your hand beside your head

.

pietro maximoff: before you both get down and dirty one night, he'd pull out a deep, dark red lipstick from his nightstand, asking you to put some on before you suck him off. he loves to see the red kisses scattered along his chest and stomach - your lipstick marks littered over his pale skin as you work down to settle between his thighs. he'd smear the red over your mouth, his thumb dragging over your slightly bruised lips - smudging the lipstick around. he keeps his eyes glued on you the whole time, watching the way your mouth wraps around his cock, leaving a messy red ring at the base - streaks running up his shaft

.

spencer reid: enjoys the intimacy of touch during sex. loves the feeling of your fingers in his messy curls, your hand soft and gentle on his face as his cock rocks into you. it would all be slow and sweet - the encounter so leisured and unrushed. the steady wind of his hips into yours and the warmth of each of your hands on one another faces, creating a beautifully tender moment

.

tangerine: loves to play with your cunt while he's sat behind. you'd lean into him against the headboard, your back resting against his chest, one of his arms tightly wrapped around your middle, the other between your thighs. he'd extend his neck, reaching around to kiss up the side of your throat, peppering your skin in soft, light kisses as he lazily rubs over your clit. middle and ring finger leisurely circling over the swollen nub. just him mindlessly toying with you as he kisses your cheek, whispering sweet words into your skin as he palms your tits with his spare hand

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

had some of these ideas floating around for ages, but never done anything with them—so finally finally wrote about the brainrot that’s been eating me up

added bucky and reid mar 5th

added logan oct 11th

[yikimiki]

>> bones and ashes

⚔️ sukuna x fem!reader | warnings for: violence, mentions of death, possessiveness (sukuna is as evil as they come so basically every red flag under the sun), non-con that turns into dub-con (Stockholm syndrome), mentions of virginity loss, anatomically impossible size difference (if u know what I mean), blood play, etc | around 5-6k words | also important to note that I absolutely assassinated the canon lore in some points but bare with me

Sukuna doesn’t really have the ability to love. But he thinks he gets close enough when it comes to you. Of course, in his own twisted, macabre way.

Sukuna isn’t familiar to the concept of fondness, let alone anything more profound or meaningful than that. He knows want, desire, possession, curiosity even. But none of those feelings have ever tilted towards the side of affection, nor does he want them to. They’re all narcissistic pulses that keep pushing him forward — towards more power, more control, more of what he can become. He’s not even fond of his own abilities. Arrogant? Perhaps, but not fond. He can’t be fond of something he knows is not at its peak yet, that would just be weakness.

And Sukuna is everything but weak.

He sees you in a cold winter morning and he does what he knows best: he takes. Takes your pride, your virginity, your blood. Takes you like he took the lives of the rest of your village, paints your skin red and watches as the tears wash it away. Sukuna takes and takes until you have nothing left to give, just like he has done countless times before and yet… this time, something switches.

This time, he decides to let you live. Trapped in a dark cell, of course, but alive regardless.

The days move slowly, and you learn to mark their passing by the loud, clanking sound of a metal dish being thrown through a cracked door. The food is mostly raw meet and, after a few days of disgust, you cave in and eat a little of it. Not enough to be satisfied, not even close, but enough to keep you alive for at least a few hours longer.

Sukuna comes by in irregular intervals, and you soon give up on trying to find a pattern in his visits. You know it’s him from the way the door creaks open even further to accommodate his size, and you watch as his large shadow observes your movements for a moment before he kicks the disgusting plate towards you. Most of time time he’s there, you force yourself to eat, afraid of what should come if you turn down his unspoken commands. Once he seems satisfied, he exits without a word.

There is one single advantage in being in a windowless, isolated cell: you can’t hear what goes on up there. You’ve heard enough the day that Sukuna came to your village — the shattering screams, the pleads for mercy, the babies crying, the sound of wood and bone breaking almost too similar to differentiate. You saw creatures beyond your realm and heard awful whispers and threats; held you family as they died and gave up as the snow beneath your hands became as red as the burning sky above. And you know enough about Sukuna’s legend to be aware that it wasn’t an isolated incident.

When evil incarnate arrives, there’s not much you can do but surrender.

Though, when it comes to the legends, you thought that his palace was more of a manner of speak than an actual location. Once again, though, you’ve heard enough legends to know when to stop inquiring about the details.

Sukuna comes in after a week with a plan and a cloud of amusement over his head — frankly, given the state you were in, he thought you would be dead by now. Your stubborn hold on life is as impressive as it is pathetic.

“You looked so small when I first saw you,” his thunderous voice breaks the silence. There’s no food in his hands this time, only the fire cracking behind his form. You’re sitting down on the cold floor, back against the wall, and you don’t even bother looking up at him. “You look even smaller now.”

You don’t answer, because you don’t know what to say. Of course you’re smaller — you’re weak, starving, lacking movement and sunlight. Every muscle in your body aches and the aftertaste of dried blood never leaves your mouth. Smaller is a compliment; you wish you were just bones and ashes by now.

Sukuna takes a heavy step inside the dark chamber. “I killed everyone you’ve ever loved that day,” he says, bluntly. There’s no amusement nor sorrow in his tone — it’s a neutral statement. He lowers himself to your level and, on the corner of your eyes, you see his four arms. He is so wrong, even in a physical sense. Like the scar of something that shouldn’t even exist. “And yet… you live. Do you want to know why?”

You sneer. “I wish you’d just let me die.”

He chuckles, and one hand meets the side of your head. His fingers dig into the dirty, messy strings and pulls on the roots. There are tears on the corners of your eyes but you refuse to let him see them. “That’s exactly why you’re alive,” he says. “I knew you were ready to die when I saw you — all bloodied up, on your knees in the snow. It was quite a sight.” Sukuna’s voice is a malicious whisper as he comes even closer to you — he smells rotten. The tongue that licks up your cheek makes you want to puke. He tastes you the same way as he did on the first day, and you have no idea what he’s searching for. “Tell me, why were you so ready to give yourself to me? Most try to plead at least.”

“Plead for what? Your mercy?” The sarcasm is clear through your tone. The words you mean to say are knotted in the base of your throat and the odor Sukuna reeks is making you dizzy; making you remember everything that came before this. “I— I didn’t have anything else to live for,” you stutter. “You killed… you killed my mother, my father, my baby brother… why would I want to live without them? Why would I humiliate myself asking for mercy from a creature that clearly doesn’t have any to spare?”

Through anger, you look up at him. His eyes are flames bursting through the darkness, and they shine as your words settle on his skin. “Do you only live for love, my little dove?” He asks. “What a purposeless life you have.”

“Do you only live for hate?” You ask back before you can hold your tongue. Somewhere in your mind, you know that he’s capable of unimaginable evil, but you are beyond the point of caution. “What a purposeless legacy you’re leaving behind.”

This angers him. The corners of his mouth twists as he speaks. “You people fear me. Even the strongest of sorcerers doesn’t dare to go against me.”

“I pity you and your ridiculous need for destroying what isn’t yours,” you spit. “And I hate you for keeping me alive. I hate you for everything you’ve done to me and to the people I love. And I hate that you even dare to come here and talk to me like I’m the smaller person for daring to care about something.”

The hands on your hair tighten and he pulls your face against his. Sukuna’s forehead is a furnace against yours, his eyes burn into your soul. “You little insect, I could kill you with a snap of my fingers if I wanted to.”

Your voice shakes but you say it regardless: “Do it, then, what are you waiting for?”

“No,” his answer is more cruel than death could ever be. And he knows that. “And you know why?”

“If you are keeping me alive to have your way with me, so be it, have it,” you say. The tears are obvious now. You wonder if he can smell how fearful you really are. “Violate me like you did before, I don’t care anymore, but just don’t keep me alive just to waste me away.”

His lips are touching yours now, but you can’t pull away even if you tried. Sukuna’s chest is heaving like he’s in the middle of a battle, his voice like a roar in your ears. “Then ask. For. My Mercy.”

“I w-would n-never…”

“Ask!” It’s a loud command that crashes against you like a wave. You sink like there is no adrenaline in your body to keep you afloat; the anger that moved you before is no longer within your reach.

The truth is clear: you’re human. He’s a curse — the king of curses, older than you could ever imagine; probably even more powerful than the legends you’ve heard. His eyes say that there are fates worse than death and you believe them. And maybe, just maybe, if you play by his rules, he’ll grow tired of you and let you wither away.

“P-Please,” you are sobbing now, tears falling down like a cascade. Sukuna licks them and hums in satisfaction, watching as you break apart into a mountain of hiccups and trembling limbs. “Please just… have mercy on me. I’ll do whatever you want just — please, stop torturing me like this.”

“Aw,” he coos. “Was that so hard?”

You want to say that yes, somehow, that took everything still left in you. You want to say that if he wanted to break your spirit, congratulations, he’s done it. But you don’t get the chance.

Sukuna kisses you with the same ferocity you expected, sharp teeth crashing against yours and tongue exploring your mouth with no prior warning. He groans as he tastes you — you, the blood in your food, the salt of your tears — and suddenly it’s all that he will ever crave again. You whimper against his lips as his two lower arms crawl up your thighs and hold onto your hips, pushing you against him as he stands up and presses you against the wall. You feel more caged now than you have felt these past few days.

“Silly little human,” he raps against your lips, then licks your cheek for more of your precious tears. He realizes how much he likes to make you cry. You wince and give out a little sob, which only makes him smile. Finally, his grip on your hair loosens. “What is my name?”

You blink, dumbfounded by the sudden question. “S-Sukuna…?”

He pouts. “Say it like you mean it or I won’t be so nice.”

“Sukuna,” you say more firmly this time.

“There we go, that’s a good girl,” he says. “See how things just work better when you don’t misbehave? Hm?”

You nod. He doesn’t like it. “Y-Yes, I see, I’m sorry.”

“Very good.” The hand that was on your hair moves to hold your face, and it’s so huge that you feel like it would crush your skull with one single movement. As the other two arms hold onto your thighs, the fourth limb squeezes your breast. “Now, this is what’s going to happen, my pretty little human,” Sukuna starts, “I will have my servants take you to my chambers. You will be washed, clothed, and taken care of. They will feed you proper human food this time, whichever it is that your heart desires. How does that sound?”

Sounds like a trap. “And, in return, what do I have to do for you?”

“What do I have to do for you…?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Sukuna,” you complete.

“There’s my perfect little girl,” he says. You hate that something inside you likes the praise. “You will have to wait for me there. Do whatever you prefer, but don’t leave my room. Any attempt at escaping or killing yourself will be futile, and I’ve already warned every single curse that your death will result in a much more dire future for them. So you will be brought back to me. And I promise I won’t be so nice.”

“I understand… Sukuna,” you correct yourself quickly. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

The hand on your breast squeezes tighter, and you bite your lip so you don’t complain. “I knew I was right when I brought you here, something made me spare you. Yet, I don’t know what it is just yet.”

Sukuna is a looming threat above you, his limbs trapping you, and his deep voice is like thunder about to break. You know why so many fear him — you fear him too. And the sooner you act like it, the sooner he’ll grow tired of you. Sooner he’ll realize he was wrong in bringing you into his fortress.

He smirks. “But I believe I’ll discover soon enough.”

- ⚔️ -

Sukuna’s chambers are as spacious and monstrous as himself — corners switching and adjusting like breathing flesh; furniture morphing into different shapes; the weird odor of something old; the feeling for something lurking. The large windows show a world between worlds; a reality that doesn’t seem right no matter how long you stare at it. His palace is in a dimension you can’t reach, and you give up on trying to understand it. If anything, the more you wonder about it, the more you shake under the weight of the sheer power it must take to keep it all existing like solid matter.

Your passage of time is morphed and unreliable, but you would guess that a couple weeks have passed by the time that you come to terms that, perhaps, Sukuna isn’t as easy to bore as you first expected. The fire in his eyes doesn’t seem to diminish as he sees you — if anything, his eagerness to have you all to himself only seems to expand — and the way he takes care of you makes you realize that he isn’t planning on letting you die anytime soon.

Life in his chambers is far more comfortable, you admit, but it’s a prison nonetheless. Still, you can’t say that you are mistreated. In his chambers, you are bathed and clothed, well-fed and pampered. You soon come back to your normal weight and the fatigue leaves your body; there is more space to move, more things to do. The curses that come to check on you seem to be strangely kind and human-like, though you know it’s out of fear and not out of worry, and they keep your mind occupied with several stories and legends as the days move on.

Sukuna is more absent than you would have imagined, conquering and killing as often as he can. When he finally comes to you he is clean, recently bathed, but you can still see he is fresh from a battle, some mindless corruption beyond the horizon that you would rather hear nothing about. There are shallow scars and deep cuts that heal unreasonably quickly; dried blood that hasn’t quite washed away and ashes beneath his fingernails.

You ask whose village he has attacked this time, but he says it doesn’t matter, because there are no survivors.

“I never leave any survivors,” he completes, kissing your forehead, “besides you, my little human.”

You don’t push beyond that information, but the feeling of being special, chosen, starts to blossom like a dangerous rose inside your chest. It stings and stings, but grows regardless, and you see yourself less able to fight against his possessive claims. You start to enjoy them. You start to wonder if life beyond those walls is worth fighting for when you seem to have everything you would ever wish for right here.

You can always tell when Sukuna is about to arrive in this world because the atmosphere switches into something darker, heavier. The air seems thicker and the clouds beyond your windows start to bleed into a deep shade of red. Sukuna returns with the apocalypse on his back, and, when he does, he uses your body as he pleases.

Like the room around you, there is constant change. Sometimes it hurts like hell; sometimes it’s pleasurable. Sometimes you wish it would just end and you end up crying in despair; sometimes you look at him like you might get used to feeling him inside of you. Some days, Sukuna is kinder, more patient, taking time to adjust you to his enormous size and even makes sure that you enjoy it before reaching his end; fucking you full of his cum until you can’t think of one single thing besides him. Other days, you know he is angry just by the way he walks through the door — and, in those days, you are left bleeding and bruised as he uses your body in every single way until he’s close enough to satisfied. That, on itself, can take a long, long time.

You realize that, during those violent days, he could use one of his curses to please himself, but he prefers to use you — because you bleed, you cry, and you suffer. As long as your pain exists, his interest is unwavering.

However, like everything else, you adapt, get used to it. Routine becomes familiar and you learn the tell-tale signs of his rancid mood; learn how to make it a little better and what things to avoid. You stop thinking about getting away — you don’t even have anywhere else to go — and start longing for his presence as he takes more time to come back home. Sukuna is warm, safe; next to him you know you are shielded from any harm. When he appears, no one dares to look or touch you, no one speaks until they are spoken to. Just by being in his gravitational pull, you are protected and no harm will ever come your way again.

Even if it hurts, you start hoping that he won’t get tired of you.

Sukuna, on the other hand, isn’t quite sure how he feels about it all.

It’s not love — he has gone over that one a few hundred times already, has marked off every possible scenario and imagined every possible feeling, and he is sure it isn’t love. To be frank, he doesn’t even think he’s capable of it even if he wanted to, he sold his soul too long ago to even remember how normal humans love. But if it’s not love, it’s something similar — a kind of tenderness, fondness. He has a soft spot for you, to put it bluntly. Though not in the typical sense.

Sukuna adores you like a painter adores his favorite canvas; like an exotic bird in a cage — he adores you with possession, obsession, with the knowledge that you can’t ever get away from his grip. He is fond of you in a way that he would murder anyone who would even dare to touch what is his; but would never set you free. He can hurt you, he can tear you into pieces and build you to his liking. Sukuna can kiss you or bite you; hug or break you, but it’s because you’re his little pet and no one else’s.

He is fond of the way you bend for him; the way you look at him with sheer adoration in your eyes even after he has taken everything from you. He is fond of the way that only he could kill you; that your small life is in his hands and you thank him for it. Sukuna is fond of the way your tight little cunt stretches so wide to take his fat cock; lives for the little whimpers you give out and the tears that stain his satin sheets when he finally allows you to cum for him. If he could crawl inside your soul, he would. If he could take it and eat it and have you forever, he would.

He doesn’t know why he craves you so much, but he knows that nothing else gives him the same high anymore.

So he keeps you.

It’s a heavy stormy night when he comes back the next time, and his room is only illuminated by a few candles and the lightening from outside. You’re in his large bed, looking as small as that day in the snow, and there is a touch of worry in your eyes that he doesn’t miss. But he ignores it.

“Undress,” he commands.

You rush to do as he says, throwing the faint fabric over your head. It falls to the ground as Sukuna walks towards the bed, his massive weight making it dip under his knee as he leans closer to you.

“My pretty little doll,” Sukuna muses. “Missed me?”

He always asks that. And your answer is always the same.

“So much, Sukuna.”

It’s more honest every time.

He hums, satisfied, and smirks as he pushes your hair away from your face. “I have something to tell you, and I think you will like it,” Sukuna says. You look at him with wide eyes as he settles over you, his four arms caging your body as you lay down. The mouth on his stomach open and closes, a large tongue coming out before it vanishes again — it always does it when he’s particularly excited. “Would you like to know what it is?”

You know he will tell you regardless. Like all the tales of his battles, he lives for the glimpse of horror in the back of your eyes. “Yes, Sukuna.”

“Seems like you are famous now,” he starts. You furrow your eyebrows. “Sorcerers are trying to save you. The poor little human girl that Sukuna took as a prisoner months ago.” He kisses your neck, then licks the skin. You shiver — months, it has been months then. “Two of them tried to enter my domain today, stupid little insects,” he continues. Another hand lands on your exposed breast, playing with your nipple. “You have no idea how enraged that made me, my little human. To have someone try to take you away from me; to try and to enter my domain and take you from me.”

His voice turns into a growl by the end of the sentence, and you feel the familiar pulse of terror running through your veins. He’s in a bad mood, that’s obvious, but there’s something hiding beneath that as well.

“What did you do to them?” You ask. “Did they get in?”

Sukuna chuckles darkly, and the hand that was on your breast now settles on your clit, massaging it softly. “I took care of them, my sweet thing, of course,” he says. Your breath hitches at the slow pleasure of his movements, and your eyes flutter shut. “No one will ever take you from me.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” you say without a thought. In your heart, you feel it’s wrong. But without him, you have nothing. “I’m yours forever, Sukuna.”

“I know you are,” he answers.

Sukuna holds you by the throat as he kisses you — not enough to suffocate you, but enough to make you a little dizzy. Your eyes cross mindlessly as his tongue invades your mouth; a deep groan coming from his chest as he tastes your lips. He always kisses you violently, possessively, like he wishes to suck your soul out of your chest. Beneath his size you can only shrink and hold onto his large biceps, the wetness between your legs growing as he takes what is his.

He pulls back, ignoring the string of saliva that connects you two. “Pretty little thing,” he muses, shoving his middle finger inside your mouth. “Suck for me.”

You do as he says and he smirks at the feeling of your pretty lips around his large finger. Soon enough, the same digit is invading your pussy, curling up so quickly that you see starts at your peripheral vision.

“Relax or it’ll hurt again,” he says — not like he cares about it. “I want you to remember tonight.”

“W-Why?”

“Because I’ll make sure that you’ll be mine forever,” he says, a devilish smile on the corners of his lips. “So no one can take you from me. No one would even try.”

Your breath is getting heavier, and you don’t even register what he’s telling you — he could do a billion things to you and you’d still let him. The time spent only in his company made your resolution vanish, and you became exactly what he wanted you to: another possession for him to do as he pleases. Because of him, you have nothing else. Besides him, you have nothing.

“You’re not cumming around my finger tonight,” he says and quickly removes his hand from your cunt. You whine at the sudden emptiness, walls spasming around nothing, but you know better than to protest. “It’s going to be around my cock, you got it?”

“Yes, Sukuna,” you say.

“Good girl,” he muses. His lower arms move to undo his pants as his mouth attacks yours once again. His sharp teeth drain blood from your lips and he groans at the metallic taste; drinks the little sob of pain you let out. “You’re all fucking mine. Forever,” he growls, “I’ll make you live forever with me.”

Months ago, that would be torture. But now, “It sounds like heaven, Sukuna,” you say. “I love you.”

Your vision falls to where his hands are working. His cock is massive, bigger than your forearm, balls swinging out of his shorts and falling heavy under his shaft. Your entire body tingles in anticipation as he strokes himself, aligning his cockhead with your opening. “Tiny fucking cunt,” he curses, rubbing it against your soaked folds. “I’ll train you to take my cock even better than now, kitten.” Your mouth falls open as he starts to push in and it hurts — no matter how many times you’ve taken him, it always burns. “Way too fucking tight for my fat cock, you know that?”

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll do better-“

He chuckles. “I fucking love it.”

In one strong motion, he shoves himself as deep as he can, pressing against your cervix as you whine at his size. It isn’t fair — it’s so thick you can’t even breathe, you can feel him in your stomach, pressing and pulsing until you can’t think of anything but the sheer size of his massive cock inside your poor little hole. Your walls hurt to accommodate his girth, stretching as far as they can, but it never seems like it’s enough.

“It’s t-too big, Sukuna,” you whine. And it is. You know he must be doing something to your body so you can even be alive right now, because it’s not humanly possible to take such a big cock. “I c-can’t…”

His hand lands on your head and pulls at the roots. “You are my special little human, my obedient little girl,” he reminds you. His cock throbs inside you and you whimper, the small movement alone makes you drool. “You will do anything I tell you to do.”

You nod. “Y-Yes.”

“So when I tell you to take it….” He rolls his hips even deeper and you call his name so loud that you’re sure the entire world will hear it. “You’ll fucking take it.”

You don’t even have the ability to answer as he starts to pound deep inside your soaked cunt, hard and violent, as he is. Your vision is blurry with tears as you look down to see his massive cock bullying itself again and again inside your cunt, taking everything you have to give.

“Look at me when I claim you,” Sukuna warns and you do it instantly. Your legs wrap around his hips and he squeezes your ass so hard it will bruise. There’s a malicious glint in his red eyes that never quite goes away, no matter how much he tries, and now it’s deadset on you. “My precious little girl,” he calls, voice strained with pleasure. You can tell from the way his cock throbs that he is close, but it doesn’t matter. He just keeps going. “You told me you love me. Do you only live for love, kitten?”

“I live f-for loving you, S-Sukuna,” you respond automatically. “I live for you.”

Sukuna groans like an animal — he adores what a stupid little fuckdoll he has turned you into. He can never get tired of this; he can never let it get away. “You’ll die for me, kitten?”

You nod so quickly you get dizzy. “Yes, a-anything… I’m yours f-forever.”

He calls your name like he has never done before, a little insane, a little sweet. If the sheer size of Sukuna’s genitals aren’t anything to go by, he cums a lot — it oozes out of your cunt before he’s even halfway through, cock throbbing and leaking again and again until you’re filled to the brim. His huge balls smack against your ass as he continues to bully himself inside you, a little more desperate now, intoxicated by his own pleasure.

There’s no rest, there never is. He only takes and takes.

“I’ll make you mine,” he groans.

“I’m yours, Sukuna, I’m yours…” you repeat like a broken record, half-aware of your own voice through the loud moans and hiccups. You watch in ecstasy as he uses one of his sharp nails to cut the palm of his hand, blood oozing out of it and dropping on your breasts. It’s like you know what he will say even before he says it. “You want me t-to-“

“Drink it.”

Perhaps you should be scared, but you’re not. Your mouth opens without a second thought and he presses his large palm on your lips, muffling your moans and allowing the hot dark liquid to invade your tongue. Sukuna’s blood is thick and it tastes like poison, but you do as he says, liking his flesh and drinking it until he seems satisfied and takes his hand away.

It strikes your body like an arrow, straight through your chest and expanding like deep roots. You feel as his blood burns your insides, changing something in your very existence. It’s hard to think through the sensations — the pleasure building up, the venom running through your veins, the mixture of devotion and fear that dances inside your mind. Your vision is double, black around the edges, and you think you might be cumming but you’re not sure you can even feel your body anymore. Sukuna’s voice echoes muffled in the background, and you can see his mouth moving in slow motion, but you don’t understand his words. You think you are crying. You think you can’t breathe. You think you are dying and being born at the same time and you don’t know why you feel so grateful for it all.

Your lungs are on fire and your throat is dry. You try to speak, but can’t. You have the vague flashback of the time your uncle made you drink alcohol, it burns just the same, but this time, no one is laughing. This time, you’re dying.

“… at me.”

This time, Sukuna’s voice rings sharp and clear. You stare at him, confused, as the flames inside your chest slowly subside.

“Keep looking at me,” he repeats, commanding.

You try to nod, but your head doesn’t move. You can’t see the room around you anymore. “H-Hurts,” you manage to get out.

“I know,” he says, and there’s a touch of softness in his voice you don’t ignore. “Focus on me. I’ll make it feel better.”

And that’s what you try to do, even if your soul seems to be floating miles above your body. You look down at where he is still moving in and out of you, at the white-coated mess that drips from your hole and soaks your inner thighs. It doesn’t seem to hurt as badly now, like your body is changing to accommodate him even better — in fact, it feels like heaven.

You look up at him, dumbfounded. “I t-think I’m going to cum, Sukuna,” the words come easier now, and you feel like you can move again. Though, it still feels like a dream. “It’s so g-good.”

“Cum on my fat cock, then, make me proud,” he coos. You close your eyes and nod, trying to focus on the paradise that blooms between your legs. You feel every ridge and vein of his massive cock; hear the lewd squelching sounds of his cum leaking out of you. It comes to you faster than you would have imagined, washing through your body like a wave as you cry and shake miserably. “That’s my girl, fuck, there we go, that’s my perfect little girl.”

The spasming of your walls manages to milk more cum out of him and he groans loudly as he releases inside you once more. Sukuna cums so much it makes you breathless, filling you again and again until he’s satisfied and the sheets beneath you have no salvation left.

“There we go, take everything,” he says in a strained groan, “every fucking drop inside this tight fucking cunt.”

Sukuna looks absolutely insane above you — fucking his cock so hard into you that it seems like he will never have the chance again; eyes blown wide and his teeth clenched. You cum again, this time a little softer, as you feel his thick cock shoot a specially large amount of cum inside your pussy, and wait until he’s done using your body.

Eventually, he settles, pressing his forehead against yours and looking deep inside your eyes. The redness in them is shining like flames, watching every movement of your face.

“Feels weird,” you say. “I feel dizzy.”

He chuckles and removes himself from you. Another white-hot wave gushes out of your cunt, and he sits back to watch it drip. “There we go, it wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You swallow, your tongue is still numb inside your mouth. “It was horrible, Sukuna. I felt like I was going to die.”

Sukuna smiles and uses two fingers to push some of his cum back inside you. “I can promise you it was better than when I did,” he says, and you’re confused for a moment. “But now we don’t have anything to worry about anymore, my sweet thing. Those pathetic little sorcerers won’t want you.”

“H-How are you so sure?” You ask.

“Aw, my sweet, stupid little girl.” He pouts, condescending as always. “No one will want to save a curse now.”

Your eyes widen. “Did you…?”

“I told you.” Sukuna licks his own blood at the corner of your mouth. “You are mine forever.”

[d-targaryenshoe]

Drunk On Love - Benedict Bridgerton

Summary: Love is beautiful yet when one is drunk it can rather be a little confusing and breathtaking.

Word count: 1210

Benedict Bridgerton prided himself on many things, his artistic talent, wit, and ability to hold his drink.

Yet tonight, the second Bridgerton son was wobbling on his feet, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, a cravat dangling loosely from his neck like a sad ribbon on an overindulged present.

The Bridgerton house was alive with music and laughter.

Eloise had declared it a night for frivolity, dragging everyone into the drawing room after dinner to play a raucous game of charades.

Wine flowed like the Thames, and for once, Anthony and Kate didn’t step in to regulate the chaos.

“Benedict,” Colin chortled, pointing as his elder brother attempted to lean casually on a settee and nearly toppled over, “I think you’ve lost the ability to differentiate between horizontal and vertical.”

“I’m perfectly... perpendic... perpendicular!” Benedict slurred, wagging a finger in Colin’s direction.

“Indeed,” Eloise said dryly. She raised her voice, addressing the room. “I give it five minutes before he collapses entirely. Any takers?”

“Oh, stop betting on him,” sighed Daphne. “Where’s y/n? Benedict always behaves better when she's around.”

Benedict blinked hazily around the room.

His siblings’ teasing words blended into the merry chaos, but one name struck a chord, y/n.

Who was y/n?

And why did that name feel like a golden thread pulling at his soul?

He turned his head too quickly, the room spinning in response.

His gaze landed on a figure near the pianoforte—one so radiant it was as though the heavens had gifted them the very stars.

“Who... who is that?” Benedict whispered, stumbling toward Colin and yanking on his sleeve.

“Who?” Colin asked, bewildered.

“That divine creature,” Benedict gestured dramatically, “by the pianoforte. Look at her, Colin. Just look! She's perfect.”

Colin stared at him for a moment, then burst into uncontrollable laughter.

“Oh, this is too good. Benedict, that’s your wife”

“My what?” Benedict spluttered, recoiling as though he’d been doused in cold water.

“Your wife, you fool. Y/n. The person you married three years ago.” Colin’s grin was practically audible. “You have children with her, by the way.”

“Children?!” Benedict gasped, clutching his chest.

His mind raced. Surely, he would remember such monumental details.

A wife? Children? His heart thundered as he stared at you, as you were now laughing with Hyacinth and Gregory.

Every movement you made felt hypnotic, like watching sunlight dance on water.

“I don’t believe you,” Benedict declared, his voice rising above the chatter.

“Shall we fetch the marriage certificate?” Anthony drawled from his seat by the fire.

He smirked, swirling a glass of brandy. “Or the children?”

Before anyone could stop him, Benedict crossed the room with all the determination of a soldier marching to battle.

He nearly tripped over Daphne’s gown in his haste, earning a glare, but he pressed on.

As he approached, you turned to him, your face lighting up with warmth.

“Benedict,” you said, a fond smile gracing your lips. “You look like you’ve had quite a bit of—”

“Are you my spouse?” Benedict interrupted his voice a mix of awe and disbelief.

You blinked, glancing around the room as though to confirm this wasn’t a joke orchestrated by his siblings. “I am. Last time I checked, anyway.”

“And we have... children?” Benedict pressed, his hands flailing for emphasis.

“Two of them,” you replied slowly, your brow furrowing. “Are you feeling all right?”

Benedict staggered back a step, clutching at his heart as though Cupid himself had struck him anew.

“I don’t believe it. How could I have forgotten marrying someone so... so—” He gestured helplessly at you, his words failing him. “You’re perfect. Stunning. A masterpiece! Surely, I would remember creating something so beautiful with you.”

From the corner, Colin let out a loud snort of laughter, while Hyacinth whispered something to Gregory, both of them dissolving into giggles.

You, however, softened, recognizing the sincerity behind Benedict’s intoxicated declarations.

“Benedict,” you said gently, placing a hand on his arm. “You didn’t forget. You’ve just had a bit too much wine tonight.”

“I could never drink enough to forget you,” Benedict declared, his eyes wide with conviction.

“But I must have been a fool not to spend every waking moment worshiping you. Tell me, y/n—how did someone like me manage to convince someone like you to marry me?”

Your laughter was soft, your affection for him evident in every glance. "You painted me a portrait. You said it was the only way to capture what words could not. And then you kissed me.”

“I kissed you?” Benedict repeated, his voice trembling. “I kissed you and lived to tell the tale? Remarkable.”

The room erupted into chaos as the siblings could no longer contain their laughter.

Daphne leaned against a chair for support, Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose in mock exasperation, and Eloise whispered something scandalous to Francesca, who chuckled into her wine glass.

“You’re all horrible!” Benedict shouted, turning to glare at his family. “How dare you mock a man rediscovering the love of his life?”

“You’re rediscovering her because you’re drunk,” Eloise pointed out, her tone laced with amusement.

“Drunk or not, my love is real,” Benedict retorted dramatically, turning back to you. “Y/n, my muse, my heart—can you forgive me for not loving you loudly enough?”

“You love me plenty loudly, Benedict,” you replied with a smile, your eyes twinkling with mirth. “Especially when you’re drunk.”

At that moment, the door to the drawing room opened, and a pair of small children toddled in, guided by their nurse.

The eldest, a dark-haired boy of about three, immediately ran to you, clutching your leg.

The younger, a baby with Benedict’s dimpled cheeks, squealed happily from the nurse’s arms.

Benedict froze, staring at the children as though they were mythical creatures.

“Are these... mine?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Yes,” you said, picking up the boy and balancing him on your hip. “This is Thomas and that little one is Edith.”

Benedict dropped to his knees, staring at his children in awe. “Thomas. Edith. My heirs. My legacy.”

“They’re not royalty, Benedict,” Anthony deadpanned.

Benedict ignored him, his eyes welling with tears. “They’re perfect. Just like their parents.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “All right, darling. Let’s get you some water.”

The next morning, Benedict woke with a pounding headache and a vague sense of humiliation.

As he shuffled into the breakfast room, his siblings greeted him with a chorus of applause and cheers.

“Well done, Benedict,” Colin teased. “You fell in love with your wife all over again.”

“Most romantic thing I’ve ever seen,” Daphne added, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Benedict groaned, sinking into his chair. “Please, tell me I didn’t embarrass myself too badly.”

You entered the room, setting a cup of tea before him. “You were charming, as always.”

“Was I?” Benedict asked, peering up at you.

“You were,” you said, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “Though I think you owe me another portrait. You did promise one last night.”

Benedict smiled sheepishly, his love for you as steady and enduring as the sunlight streaming through the window.

“Anything for you,” he murmured, vowing to remind you every day just how deeply he adored you—drunk or not.

[cece693]

A Bright Place in the Dark

pairing: spencer reid x gender neutral reader tags: first impressions, reader sees Spencer as innocent and too good to be true, pre-relationship, all knowledge of this fandom comes from Tumblr fics and personal opinion, not fact checked

By the time you arrived at the Behavioral Analysis Unit, you were practically reciting facts about Dr. Spencer Reid in your head:

Over 187 IQ

An eidetic memory

A heart too big for a world as harsh as this

Those whispers, however, never prepared you for how human he would be. No legend of brilliance or office gossip about his quirks ever quite captured the softness in his eyes, or the halting way he spoke when he was nervous.

Your first day at the BAU felt like entering another planet. The bullpen buzzed with conversations about suspects, horrifying details of cases, and the flickering overhead lights seemed to spotlight every anxious beat of your heart. And then you saw him—a lanky figure hunched over a precarious tower of files, as though he didn’t know quite how to balance them against his chest.

You caught him looking around, scanning for an empty spot to set the documents down. Except he chose the worst possible moment to shift his weight; the top of the stack slid, pages scattered in every direction.

Dr. Spencer Reid froze, a rush of panicked words tumbling out of his mouth. “Oh no—sorry, sorry. I’m usually not this clumsy. Statistically, people trip at least—”

You bent down to help, offering a friendly grin. “Hey, it’s okay. It happens.”

He paused, as though your small kindness were a revelation. Slowly, he lifted his gaze, and for a split second, you glimpsed the vulnerability behind those gentle hazel eyes. When you straightened up with an armful of papers, you noticed the shy half-smile tugging at Spencer’s mouth. His cheeks had gone just a little pink, and he quickly busied himself by reorganizing the files.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, more subdued than before. “I’m Spencer Reid, by the way…Dr. Spencer Reid. You must be the new profiler—”

“That’s me,” you replied, introducing yourself. “It’s my first day, so I guess we can both say it’s a learning curve.”

He nodded, an anxious laugh slipping out. Then, as if remembering his role, he cleared his throat and motioned to the files. “These are some old case studies. We…we keep them around for reference, though I try to digitize them in my spare time.”

“Sounds fascinating,” you said. And you meant it, curiosity tugging at you like an impatient child. “I’d love to take a look sometime.”

His eyes flicked from the pages to you, wide and a little uncertain. Then, almost imperceptibly, relief smoothed the lines of tension on his forehead. “Sure. That’d be…good. Really good.”

In the following days, you quickly learned that your new job was every bit as tough as everyone warned. Each morning, the team assembled to face tragedies as mind-boggling as they were gruesome. Photos, crime scene details, and psychological autopsies filled your laptop.

Amid all the darkness, there was always him, moving through the chaos with a gentle sort of efficiency. Spencer held a wealth of knowledge in that brilliant mind, quoting statistics, classical literature, and obscure references effortlessly. Yet, you noticed how he spoke as though he feared his own intellect would push people away.

You tried to reach out, offering a smile or a small joke whenever he started rattling off something about “differential equations” or “geospatial profiling.” Each time, his shoulders would relax a fraction, as if he was grateful someone was listening rather than judging.

It wasn’t long before you started working late alongside him. You’d catch Spencer hunched over his desk, stacks of books and case reports spread in front of him, a half-full mug of coffee growing cold.

“Hey,” you said one evening, easing into the adjacent chair. “Mind if I sit?”

He lifted his gaze, blinking as if coming up for air. “Oh, of course, sure.”

Silence settled, filled by the low hum of the overhead lights and the distant clatter of a cleaning cart in the hallway.

“How do you handle it?” you asked, your voice quiet. “All the darkness?”

Spencer leaned back, momentarily lost in thought. “I—well, I guess I try to understand it. If I can figure out why someone does something terrible, maybe it’ll help prevent the next tragedy. At least that’s what I tell myself.” He gave a self-conscious shrug, eyes darting away. “I’m not sure if that’s the best answer.”

You offered a gentle smile. “It’s an honest one. And I think that’s what matters.”

As weeks turned into months, you and Spencer found yourselves gravitating toward each other. Lunchtime in the break room became a quiet sanctuary, where his commentary on quantum theory or historical murder cases was punctuated by the sandwich you’d share half with him because he often forgot to pack lunch.

He’d fret, insisting you didn’t need to share, but you found a simple joy in seeing his face relax when he finally took a break. Sometimes, a ghost of a smile would linger at the corners of his lips afterward, as if he was unused to anyone caring enough to notice his hunger.

You don't know exactly when your interest in the doctor turned into adoration, but perhaps it could be pointed back to when the team was out on a case and you were stuck trying to piece together a spree killer’s timeline. You hit a wall and decided to take a short break—heading to the building’s small courtyard.

Outside, you found Spencer leaning against a concrete pillar, lost in his own world. The afternoon sun gleamed off his hair, painting him in soft yellows and gold. For a moment, you hesitated. He looks so peaceful. But then he glanced up, and the sun highlighted the hope in his eyes. He waved you over.

“Hey,” you said quietly, sidling up next to him.

“Hey,” Spencer replied, his voice warm.

You stood together, the hush of traffic and a distant bird cawing filling the space between you.

“I was thinking about that timeline you mentioned,” he began without prompting. “If the unsub is traveling by bus, then the times might not match traditional driving estimates, and—” He stopped himself, a self-conscious smile forming. “Sorry. Work brain doesn’t really shut off.”

You laughed softly. “Don’t apologize. It’s actually pretty helpful. I think I’ll re-examine the public transit schedules as soon as we go back inside.”

His gaze lingered on you for a long moment. Then, so softly you nearly didn’t hear, he said, “I’m glad you’re here, you know…with the team. With me.”

Warmth flooded your cheeks, and you hoped he couldn’t see it in the bright afternoon light. “I’m glad, too.” Silence settled, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Sometimes no words are needed to enjoy someone's company—so, as you stared at nothing in particular, you developed the courage to ask Spencer out.

“I, uh, know it’s not exactly typical, but I was wondering if maybe you’d like to grab dinner sometime? Outside of the office, I mean.”

The request hung in the air. Spencer blinked, seeming to mentally catalog the entire situation. You could almost see the wheels turning behind his eyes.

“I-I’d like that,” he finally answered, voice a little too fast. A delicate pink brushed across his cheeks.

You had heard the rumors. You’d been told about his genius and his gentle heart—how he deserved the world, though the world often failed to deserve him in return. Watching him now, shoulders slightly hunched as he mentally rehearsed how to do something as simple as dinner, you couldn’t help but think:

If the world won’t cherish him…maybe I will.

He deserved that much, at least. And from the way Spencer offered you a shy smile—a small piece of his guarded heart—you knew he was willing to let you try.

[monalisahyperdrive]

Primarchs and Christmas Classics - christmas songs and festive primarch/legion headcanons.

The final week of the winter semester has run me over so I'm blasting Christmas music to cope & inspire fuzzy warm feelings. This is once again entirely subjective and largely based on my (British, somewhat Catholic) own Christmas experiences. All good fun while I avoid working on these essays. I struggled with some of these so they might be a little off. ⇒ divider by @/cafekitsune

Alpharius & Omegon / Alpha Legion

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus - The Jackson 5. The most confusing Christmas possible. Don't worry, Alpharius will be home for Christmas! Several dozen of him. You get the distinct feeling that the Alpharius who sat and laughed while playing charades earlier (you lost, badly) is actually not any of the Alphariuses sat at the table for Christmas dinner... but you just can't prove it. Is Omegon there? Of course he is. Which one is he? Good question.

Angron / World Eaters

Lonely This Christmas - Mud. Attempts a quiet peaceful Christmas, fails miserably every year. His sons love him very much, in their own way. He just sort of disappears into his home over the festive period. They come find him anyway. Small groups, well spaced out. They send one or two marines with gifts from a dozen or so every few hours. They don't get invited in, he greets them at the door, often gritting his teeth from the pain. He gets his rest, but he'll never be truly lonely on Christmas. Not anymore.

Corvus Corax / Raven Guard

Santa Claus Is Coming To Town - The Jackson 5. The Raven Guard just sort of... show up to Christmas. Was there even a knock at the door? Well, they're here now. You think. You were sure you just saw Corvus but you've lost him again. The whole thing is a relatively private affair, no real coming and going... as far as you can tell. The Raven Guard present seem to dissipate some time between late afternoon on Christmas Day and the morning of Boxing day. The presents are all freakishly accurate to what was wished for. Don't worry about it.

Ferrus Manus / Iron Hands

Christmas Time (Don't Let the Bells End) - The Darkness. (subject to change) Christmas with Ferrus and the Iron Hands is a rather rudimentary affair. 'For morale', they say. Admittance of actual celebration would be an admittance of weakness. Christmas dinner is served in a mess hall, and largely differentiates itself from the typical nutrient paste with... something that might be mashed potato and the slice of what seems to be the idea of turkey... if turkey was suspiciously nutrient dense and stiff. Presents are largely ignored, as are any decorations beyond the occasional string of lights. Time off is necessary in order to maintain efficiency. They're watching Die Hard for morale. Ferrus is watching along with them... for morale. Shut up.

Fulgrim / Emperor's Children

All I Want for Christmas Is You - Mariah Carey. Of course it's Mariah. The only way it wouldn't be Mariah is if it was Jingle Bell Rock, Mean Girls style. Yes, with the outfit. The Christmas decorations have gone up early and it all matches, right down to the last detail. Think those gorgeous monochrome Christmas trees you see on Pinterest. The table all set for Christmas dinner is both the most meticulously and yet effortlessly breathtaking you've ever seen. If anyone's got festive charger plates, it's the Third. There's singing, there's dancing. There's an elaborate charcuterie board for snacking on on Christmas Eve. Good luck going five minutes without your wine/champagne/juice glass refilling while you're not looking. Matching outfits for the Christmas cards but in an incredible chic way. Probably the classic matching pyjamas approach. Perfection is a must, and Christmas is no excuse.

Horus Lupercal / Luna Wolves & Sons of Horus

Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow! - Dean Martin. Cue shit eating grin, singing along, grabbing Lady Lupercal and- oh is that mistletoe up there? He hadn't even noticed. Well since you're already there... might as well? 30k Luna Wolves Horus is leaning full tilt into the Hallmark movie Christmases. The Mournival are even here for Christmas dinner and look they brought presents - isn't that cute? Post Heresy Horus (copium) is still just as meticulous with Christmas but it's a little more... off the rails. Everything is perfect, come sit down for Christmas dinner! Don't worry, he'll do the talking. All of it.

Jaghatai Khan / White Scars

Driving Home for Christmas - Chris Rea. One of the biggest and warmest Christmases, up there with the Salamanders and the Space Wolves. Everyone - and I mean absolutely everyone - is home for Christmas. Don't know anyone's names? Doesn't matter. The driveway is absolutely packed. They're parked out front all down the street, too. The living room barely fits everybody. There's not even nearly enough space for everyone to sit. It's cozy.

Konrad Curze / Night Lords

Wonderful Christmastime - Paul McCartney. Vague lyrics, nonspecific, bang on. It sure is a wonderful Christmastime, just... not what you might be thinking of. Merry Christmas from Nostramo. Please don't call. Sevatar is there. Christmas dinner is... meat, for sure. The fact there's so many Night Lords in the same place not snapping at eachother like a pack of unruly dogs is actually pretty impressive. Don't ask what the wrapping paper is made of. The first rule of Night Lord Christmas...

Leman Russ / Space Wolves

Merry Xmas Everybody - Slade. Primarily inspired by my drunken male relatives stopping everything to sing along and start dancing around the living room. Of course a Space Wolves Christmas would be boozy, it's a celebration isn't it? Feasting and drinking and laughing is the name of the game. All the presents are surprisingly thoughtful. Leman awkwardly hovers in the back while some of the presents are opened and suspiciously vanishes off into the next room with some of the wrapping paper and reemerges with presents wrapped in what he'd scavenged. After that is totally the type to sit by the youngest on the couch and be overly eager to offer his knife for them to use to get into their presents easier. Asleep the second he gets back to the couch post Christmas dinner.

Lion El'Jonson / Dark Angels

Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) - Darlene Love. A man who frankly needs to sit down over the holidays but physically cannot do it. Christmas? Stupid meaningless holiday. You're staying over though right? People are coming for dinner though right? No he's not going to decorate the tree. He's going to stare at you doing it though, and then he'll complain when he has to get up to help you place the star on the top. Acts entirely unbothered by Dark Angels showing up. Would be pacing and staring out the window all day if they didn't.

Lorgar Aurelian / Word Bearers

Mary's Boy Child / Oh My Lord - Boney M. Yeah, you're going to church for the Christmas service. But so is everyone else! And I mean, everyone else. Midnight Mass, Carol service, the whole shebang. Lorgar, however, is absolutely overjoyed! He has several Nativity sets he brings out every year. There's an angel for the top of the tree. He delights in listening to the carollers that come to the door. Has the whole family over for the holiday. Yes, including Kor Phaeron. There's no avoiding it. Picks out a new special ornament each year. Decorating the tree is a family activity that takes hours due to all the reminiscing over all the different ornaments that have been collected over the years and the story that has to be retold after they get carefully unwrapped before they can be hung on the tree. It's sweet, it just takes a while to get done.

Magnus (the Red) / Thousand Sons

I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday - Wizzard. Ah, the bane of my existence at school around Christmastime growing up. The Christmas quiz. If you don't think the Thousand Sons are having the MOST intense Christmas Quiz fighting tooth and nail (intellectually) for those points every year, you may be kidding yourself. Everyone knows exactly who won the year before. And the year before. And the year before that. Need I go on? Magnus himself writes and reads the questions, and it's Magnus who decides whether an answer gets a point or not. Christmas boardgames include Trivial Pursuit, Scrabble, and so on. Scrabble gets heated. The dictionary gets brought out. And a second if the first isn't convincing enough. Every year it's declared to be banned from Christmas. Every year it gets brought out again.

Mortarion / Death Guard

Do They Know It's Christmas? - Band Aid Before Nurgle there is no way in hell Mortarion celebrated. After being taken under Grandfather's metaphorical wing? Oh absolutely. There is nothing Nurgle would delight in more than getting the whole family together. Eat, drink, and be merry! Don't... don't worry about the food, sweetness. Even Typhus has come for dinner, isn't that sweet? Poor tired Mortarion. Best keep him looked after. Not to worry, Grandfather has it all under control!

Perturabo / Iron Warriors

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas - Perry Como, The Fontane Sisters. It's a stupid holiday. What? Of course he's celebrating this year, are you mad? Didn't seem excited for the festive season? Oh he'll show you excited. The lawn, the house, everything is absolutely plastered in decorations. Is this enough Christmas lights? No. No it's not. Hang them on that tree, too. Absolutely has the light up sleigh and reindeer on the roof with the Santa decoration climbing the chimney. Absolute chefzilla in the kitchen cooking Christmas dinner. Best turkey you've ever eaten. Don't worry about the way he'd been fiddling with the oven for the last couple days. In fact, don't even step into the kitchen. He's going to feed his stupid sons who he hates. Spends the rest of the day sat on the couch doing a jigsaw on the coffee table. Don't talk to him, just let him have this.

Roboute Guilliman / Ultramarines

Christmas Wrapping - The Waitresses. Respectfully, I don't think Guilliman - especially 40k Guilliman - would have the energy or time to be particularly festive. Any time off would be spent napping in an armchair in the corner dad style. Do NOT let this man take on any of the Christmas dinner cooking stress, but let him cut the turkey so he can still feel important and valued. He deserves a nice sit down in front of the tv and a glass of Baileys. His sons will handle the rest, and they'll do a damn good job of it, too! Seasons Greetings from Macragge, here is your festive email with an attached picture of Guilliman asleep on the couch in his sweater.

Rogal Dorn / Imperial Fists

Baby It's Cold Outside - Idina Menzel, Michael Bublé. No seriously, baby, it's cold outside, this is Inwit. Dorn's house is the safest possible place to spend Christmas anyway, fortified beyond belief. The Fists show up for Christmas. Sort of. Mostly they come and stand around awkwardly. The most active things get is when Jenga gets brought back out its box - winning is of course a point of pride. Gift favourites are of course, various iterations of building blocks.

Sanguinius / Blood Angels

A Spaceman Came Travelling - Chris de Burgh. Slightly more niche but the one that makes me think of Sanguinius the most. Christmas with the Blood Angels isn't the warmest fuzziest thing around. There's a difference between being revered and truly beloved and Sanguinius knows it like the back of his hand. It's comfortable, it's quiet. Dante is there. The Blood Angels all show up bearing presents on Christmas day. They fawn over him. He speaks to each and every one of them with a smile on his face. Eventually the knocks stop coming and the doorbell stops ringing, and he can collapse onto the couch and relax. He spends the season with his nearest and dearest. He takes a walk after Christmas dinner. He gives up Christmas day to being humble, and he lets himself be selfish on Boxing Day, with several glasses of... something red and some truly terrible Christmas movies.

Vulkan / Salamanders

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year - Andy Williams. And he damn well means it! Christmas with the Salamanders is incredible. Got nowhere to go for the holidays? Now you do. Decorating starts the second December does. The actual event starts bright and early Christmas Eve morning. Vulkan truly comes alive during the holiday - so many loved ones around! Christmas Eve is all movies and food and board games and jokes and stories by the fire. People even sleep over into Boxing Day. He greets each and every one of the people who'd attended personally, waving them off at the door with a big grin on his face. All his sons have Christmas sweaters that match his own. Expect some incredible Christmas cards in the mail with a whole host of posing Salamanders on the front. Oh well since you're all here already... you might as well stay for the New Year? Outstaying your welcome? Don't be silly.

[sillygoofyqueer]

what if someone saw pangyuan try to eat a gigantic rock

What if pangyuan ate a plant that made his scales have RGB LED toggles cuz airplane wrote it in so luo binghe can make a pretty gift for his 28304th wife

What if CROWYUAN ate the RGB-causing plant

Would his sleek feathers have a mythical sheen to them?

What if crowyuan ate a plant that made him glow in the dark

What if ghost leviathan-yuan in the abyss (subnautica cuz yes)

Damn so many questions this is fantastic, let's think about them all right now! First of all, Panyuan probably would try and eat a massive rock because (unlike normal pangolins) pangolin demons do have teeth, and they are absolutely biters. They will chew on anything. Wei Qingwei has had many panicked experiences of trying to gently worm a huge rock out of his son's mouth before he breaks his jaw or something. I like to think that, in the same way that pangolins eat small rocks and dirt to aid in crushing and digesting insects, pangolin demons eat larger rocks and shit that help with larger prey (like...large insects.........or other armoured animals). Panyuan just wandering around in the nighttime (because pangolins are largely nocturnal fun fact) and the only way he can be differentiated from the other pangolins roaming around (by the disciples looking over at him, not Wei Qingwei - he knows) is by the flashing RGB LED lights that point towards him in the darkness. This is even better if it only affects his pangolin form because that's what form he ate it in. Either that or it's just his scales affected, so his tail and random parts of his body are just randomly lighting up in human form. If Crowyuan ate a RGB plant, all hell would break loose because he's supposed to be able to blend in with his other crow companions but now he just fucking glows randomly. The idea of him having to escape from potential enemies but also flashing different colours is both hilarious and worrying because well he's being hunted but also all I can imagine for both RGB prompts is caramelldansen playing in the background. His wings would be constantly flashing and he just can't even sleep until the plant wears off. If Crowyuan could glow in the dark, he'd be so pissy because he can't do undercover missions and they are key to what he does - also he just becomes a prime target for any monsters he may be trying to observe and study so he gets even more huffy. He can, however, be used as a distraction and that's why the crows love him for it. Okay okay this last one is so cool and I'm just imagining a Scylla (the Epic song) type scenario where Luo Binghe stumbles into the dark depths of a cave looking for water and Shen Yuan is there (either like a mermaid type thing or a similar human form/monster form situation to the other pals). Just a tiny little Luo Binghe staring at this huge fucking beast towering over him. I literally don't have enough space to talk about it and I must be reminded to talk about this last prompt in more detail please and thank you.

[skylarsblue]

.•° ✿ °•. "Best Friends" .•° ✿ °•.

𖥔 Love & Deepspace... ❥Tara! <Summary: What was supposed to be a girl's night out between MC & Tara was ruined by Wanderers downtown. While it was their night off, there were no other available Hunters in the area. With all the enemies killed, but the metaflux still high, it's against protocol to leave the area until their replacements arrive. Why not relieve a little tension and try to save the night from being a complete waste while they wait?> [Content: Light smut (they're clothed and I don't go into great detail), some vague description of the MC mostly in differentiating her from Tara: ie; implied to be curvier than Tara, a vague outfit description, she's said to be shorter than Tara even in heels, and implied to be at least somewhat muscular. Skin/eye/hair color is not mentioned. I use MC in the place of Y/N. Not beta read and written in a haze between 23:00 & 00:35, so mind mistakes.] -Divider by @elfbar-baby , thank you <3-

Panting and annoyed, MC watched the last Wanderer in sight flicker out of existence, lowering her gun. Silence stretched on for a while. A few minutes went by, and enemies didn’t appear, but a quick glance at the wristband she wore showed the metaflux in the area had only gone down a bit. The streets were empty and the asphalt was wet from rain earlier that day. Leaving the fluorescent signs and street lights to glimmer off the puddles. “I cannot believe our luck.” Tara’s voice broke through MC’s annoyance. She turned and watched Tara put her own daggers away, adjusting her dress with a pout. “We can always plan another one, T.” MC sighed, looking down at her own appearance, clicking her tongue when she saw a tiny rip in the bottom of her dress. They were supposed to be having a girls night out. They had the night off, at the same time, and there was a bar in between both of their apartments that sold novelty drinks. They’d come out with a zodiac menu, so of course Tara was excited to try it.

They’d only gotten one drink each, and both of them barely finished the glasses before they got an urgent call of Wanderer’s in the downtown area. No other hunters were available, for some reason. Of course it had to be them. It not only annoyed MC that a night with Tara was wasted, it was also annoying having to fight in the outfit she had. She didn’t often dress for clubs or bars, but it was fun to feel sexy every now and then. But platform heels and a bra with only thin, clear straps to keep her bust in place was not ideal. It was a strapless dress, and shorter than the other clothes she typically wore. The material wasn’t very stretchy either. It was a miracle she hadn’t busted it at the seam with all the movement required for the fight.

Tara’s outfit seemed to come out unscathed at least. Dressed in a dress as well, a cute off shoulder one with a skirt that had a little flow to it. Kitten heels that tied up her legs like ballet slippers. She’d just bought it, and now, it was wasted on wanderers. She’d been so excited to wear it too. She’d called MC when she bought it, going on about how she finally found a dress her size that took into account her height, and in her favorite color too.

“Do you hear any more?” Tara asked, pausing MC’s staring. “No, I don’t. But the metaflux is still too high for us to leave.” She replied, holding up the reading. She placed her hands on her hips and frowned with sympathy when Tara dramatically deflated, bending at the waist with a groan. “I can’t believe my cards lied to meeee.” The brunette whined while standing back up. “Your tarot cards?” MC questioned. Tara nodded, pushing the short strands of her bob out from being stuck on her lipgloss. “The cards I pulled said I’d overcome hardship and live with enjoyment. Things would come to fruition! This definitely doesn’t feel like I’m living with enjoyment.” The woman crossed her arms. MC smiled with a little breathy chuckle. She looked around again, and there still had yet to be Wanderers. Her eyes trailed back to Tara. 

Recently, she’d had a complex bout of feelings for her best friend and favorite coworker. Tara had always been cute to her. And she’d never been shy about admitting to herself when she found a woman attractive. But Tara had always been only a friend to her, until about a month and a half ago. She could recall the exact moment her feelings changed, but it really had been a build up.

Tara bringing her coffee, a few reassuring pats when MC had been working too hard, the bubbly conversations and cheerful encouragement. Cute giggles when whispering gossip, shared perfume and chapstick. It all led up to a day where MC had wandered into the file room and caught Tara being…reckless, because she’d never use the word foolish, even if that was truly accurate.

The brunette stood precariously on a ladder and two boxes to try and reach some of the tallest shelves. It was unstable and she was wobbling when MC walked in. Of course, MC couldn’t help but gasp and feel an adrenaline spike at the sight, and the sound made Tara whip her head around. That motion caused her to lose her balance and fall backward. Naturally, MC would’ve never let her fall to the hard ground. It was all pure luck that she caught Tara safely enough to only bruise her own sternum, but the act proved worth it.

She’d caught Tara in a rough princess carry, but then the motion made MC wobble, so in a few milliseconds, she’d braced the rest of Tara’s fall with her body. Which meant Tara’s elbow went right into her breast bone and knocked the wind out of her. She was sure she’d made a sound. Probably something like a dying chicken. When she opened her eyes though, Tara had scrambled to push her weight off of her wounded friend, placing her hands on either side of MC’s head.

She was apologizing profusely, voice frantic with worry. But she looked so pretty. Hair falling to frame her face, square shoulders defined in her uniform, soft round cheeks and warm brown eyes wide. It was only plain office lights to illuminate her but it looked like a halo at the time. Now any time MC looked at Tara, she stared. Ogled, actually. It’d probably become noticeable to others but Tara hadn’t said anything about it. But even now, her eyes wandered along Tara’s figure and face. She was just…

So god damn cute.

“I’m tired and my feet hurt.” Tara complained as she looked sadly at her shoes. They were adorable but not ideal for standing, or martial arts. Tara looked over as MC chuckled. “Well, let’s find a place to wait until either more wanderers show up or our replacements.” She walked to Tara calmly. Tara held a lot of respect for her. She really excelled in so many aspects, especially combat. She mastered so many kinds of weapons, she’d seen MC slam a claymore into the bodies of enemies with one hand. Even now, in heels taller than her own and a tighter dress, she didn’t seem put off by the fighting. She didn’t even seem tired.

Tara passed the same exams, and she knew she wasn’t a bad hunter. But she didn’t see anything wrong with admitting there were those better than her, and desiring to be more like them. Even with all the combat training, she’d remained fairly slim. All her muscle mass seemed to be hidden unless she was actively flexing, and she knew she had a baby face. But MC was the same age and yet she operated wiser than Tara. At least the brunette thought so. In the strapless dress MC wore, her biceps were impressive, even if she wasn't necessarily bulky like someone who trained for looks, she was visibly strong. And her aura alone held so much influence.

“Being out in the open might be a bad idea. If there’s more Wanderers, they could sneak up on us far easier out here. I’d like to not be taken by surprise.” MC looked around and then stretched. She sighed and then held out her hand to Tara, making a ‘grab’ motion at the girl. Tara raised an eyebrow but stepped forward and took her hand. “So, should we hide somewhe-oh!” Tara let out a noise of surprise as MC pulled her and lifted her, perching her on one arm. Tara kept herself steady by keeping her hands on the hunter’s shoulders, and indeed, they were strong.

MC walked calmly. She was silent the entire time, not because she was thinking, but because the scent of Tara’s perfume was making her go insane. Tara tended to wear the same perfum everyday. It was sweet, sugary. Something like sugar cookie, though admittedly, she didn’t actually remember the name on the bottle, despite Tara telling her. This perfume however, MC assumed, was used for special occasions. It was heavier, but not like a cologne. It was just less sweet like sugar and more like the sweetness of fruit, more like a well balanced wine. Something a deep red color and full bodied. And as put together as MC was, she felt perverse at how the scent made her mouth water.

Tara was carried to an alleyway, set down carefully near the opening of it. It wasn’t that wide, wet stone dimly lit by a distant streetlight in between two brick buildings. MC settled somewhat in the middle and used one of the walls to lean her back against, sighing as she sank against it. Tara moved in further with her. She swallowed as she watched the light shade MC’s face, her hair falling gracefully against the brick. 

“Why are we in an alley?” Tara whispered. She didn’t need to, again, the streets were barren. Like a ghost town. The only company they might’ve had was maybe the occasional bird or stray cat that’d been too nonchalant to care about the metaflux in the air. But it just felt right to whisper. MC glanced over and shrugged. “I honestly don’t know, I don’t think we’re allowed in one of the buildings. But being out in the open feels like a bad idea.” She snorted. Tara couldn’t help but giggle at the answer and leaned on the opposite wall. There was just barely enough space for them both. Even standing upright, they were touching. Just faintly. But enough for MC to notice. 

“Besides,” she spoke up again, making Tara look at her. “We’ve got more privacy this way. I can hear you here, unlike in the bar.” She hummed. And it was a true statement, but she said it with some kind of softness that made Tara’s chest feel strange. “I guess we should make the most of it, since the girls night out idea is kinda ruined.” She admitted. MC looked over Tara again, eyes slowly tracing up and down. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, then shifted in place, so that she stood directly in front of Tara. 

Tara looked down slightly at her. She was taller but only by a few inches, thanks to MC’s heels. She swallowed seeing MC’s breathing. Her dress was strapless, tight to her bust and fitted everywhere else. And Tara watched the subtle shift in her coworker’s breasts from her breathing, and the narrowness of the alleyway made it to where Tara could feel the heat of MC’s body. It was, of course, impolite to stare at a woman’s cleavage, even if she was your best friend. But Tara wasn’t really thinking while she did it.

A giggle, not a laugh, but a breathy and quiet giggle made Tara snap out of it. She was met with the half lidded gaze and a slightly smug grin from MC. “Like’em? Made’em myself.” She patted the sides of her chest and Tara’s face exploded in red up to her ears. “Oh my gosh!” She covered her face, but she also couldn’t help but laugh. The air didn’t get awkward because they both found it funny. “I’m so sorry, I was being so obvious!” Tara dropped one of her hands and the other covered her mouth as she laughed. She always felt so comfortable with MC, it came with the best friend title.

They’d helped each other countless times with wardrobe malfunctions, in dressing rooms, the occasional bra hook mishaps. Of course Tara has seen her friend’s body, and vice versa. But in that moment, Tara felt the air change, and not the way it did when Wanderers were on the way. The electric buzzing feeling that signaled danger. It was something else as she watched MC tilt her head and shift.

She raised her hand and gently tugged Tara’s hand away from her face, holding it carefully. A beat of intense silence remained. “You’re gorgeous.” MC said earnestly. Tara’s breath hitched. It was different from past compliments, she didn’t know why it just felt different. Intense. And maybe it was because the way her best friend was looking at her, like a cat about to pounce on prey. 

Tara had begun breathing shakily, and the gap between them seemed to lessen by the second. Pushing the brunette into the wall and the dichotomy between hard brick and soft curves was something that made her feverish.

“You’re…you’re really pretty too.” Tara said, swallowing a mouthful of saliva. MC’s gaze broke from Tara’s lipgloss covered lips and up to her eyes again, long enough to smile. “You’re sweet.” She cooed quietly. Tara audibly shivered. A few centimeters and she’d have her mouth stained with MC’s lipstick shade. She almost went to ask a question, she wasn’t entirely sure which one, but it didn’t end up mattering.

Tara sighed and her knees buckled a bit when the other woman pressed a deep, impassioned kiss to her mouth, still holding one of her hands so delicately. The brick wall kept her from sliding to the stone path below. She was so warm, and so soft. Tara had what she called a boyfriend and a half in the past. Juvenile relationships that didn’t really go anywhere, and she couldn’t bring herself to be sad about it when she reminisced. It just never gave the spark she’d heard from other’s experiences or the romance books she loved so much. 

Every time she asked her tarot cards for romance advice, she’d pull some that told her good things were coming her way but she’d need to be patient. But she also always, every single time, without fail, pulled The Empress, upright.

The Empress, upright, was a feminine card. In both the divine world and the material one. Associated with what was womanly. The birth of new experiences, the fruitfulness of creation, fertility blessings, creativity, and new opportunities. It also represented maternity and abundance. Oftentimes, when pulled under the question of romance, it represented a deep commitment from a sensual, supportive, and nurturing partner. One that'd be quite in touch with their feminine side. 

That one always perplexed her but also made her excited for the mysterious lover the universe apparently had planned. Someone certain to be everything she sought in a partner. When she was a teenager, she’d admittedly dreamed of it being Captain Jenna. The way a lot of girls loved or lusted after celebrities or teachers sometimes. She still had a little girlish crush on her commander. 

But this had to be what the cards meant. Feeling her closest confidant’’s body heat soak into the fabric of her dress, a delicate grip from strong hands that was encouraging her to lean in more. Sliding down her ribs and to her hips, MC’s thumbs delicately rubbing over the seams of her dress.

Tara whined subconsciously when the other woman pulled back to let them both breathe. Pulse wild as MC looked up at her with wide pupils and heavy breaths, her chest pushed against Tara’s upper abdomen, and the way they pushed against her made Tara struggle not to drool.

“Sorry, T, I couldn’t resist.” Despite the apology, MC didn’t look all that sorry. Her smile was sweet but also lined with something mischievous. She leaned up again and pressed a shorter, but no less intense kiss to Tara’s mouth, groaning quietly at the cherry flavoring. “Been wanting to kiss you for months.” She admitted against the woman’s mouth, leaning to peck the corner of Tara’s mouth this time. Tara placed her hands on MC’s shoulders as she leaned into a kiss left on the soft, squishy part of her cheek. “R-really? Months?” She asked. “Mmhmmm~ Probably longer, but I only noticed it recently.” MC hummed as she kissed down Tara’s cheek, to her jaw. 

She trailed one hand up Tara’s side, the touch so light it made Tara shiver. Finally MC’s fingers pushed some of the soft, short hair out of her way, in order to place a kiss on the space just below Tara’s ear. Unable to bite back a smile when Tara let out a whimper. The brunette had admitted one night during a sleepover, during a game of twenty questions, that one of her weak points was her ears. It had been a cute and silly story. The woman explained how she wore clip-on earrings for so long because she’d squirm away too much from any piercing gun until she was nineteen.

“H-hey! No fair!” Tara hiccupped when she felt teeth delicately nipping at the cartilage of her ear, which was flushed a bright red. “Who said I needed to be fair?” MC replied quietly with a little laugh, trailing her hand back down Tara’s body, this time following the line of her spine until she reached the woman’s waist. Spreading her fingers to get a steady hold, pulling Tara closer, if even possible. Taking advantage of the off shoulder cut of Tara’s dress to peck a little mark on the brunette’s shoulder. A tiny scar from a childhood event.

“You’re- you’re really bold all of a sudden.” Tara acknowledged, but her arms had moved to wrap around the other’s neck. Her body was essentially supported by MC’s strength and her upper back against the building’s wall. “Hard to hold back, especially with you all dolled up like this.” MC said as she left more kisses along Tara’s shoulder and collarbone. Technically, this was risky. They were out in the open, in an area with high metaflux readings and Wanderer sightings. And to top it off, the association was likely going to be sending other officers to take over for the two women. 

They both knew that. And despite that, Tara still ended up whimpering and moaning into heavy kisses given to her by…was best friend the term to use now? A question for later, she supposed as MC’s hands came down to her thighs, keeping her steady as MC’s leg came to rest between hers. Not only for stability, since Tara’s legs had gone weak and useless now, but clearly for Tara’s enjoyment.

MC smiled as she pressed a kiss to Tara’s skin, just above where the fabric of her dress hid her petite bust. Watching the taller woman outright moan at the, quite frankly subtle, pressure applied to her core. “Sensitive are we?” She whispered, also out of breath and fevered. “Don’t tease!” Tara complained between clenched teeth, her breath hitching when the pressure from MC’s leg grew harsher. As if it represented permission, Tara got more handsy in response. Pulling MC by her face for more kisses, before quickly pushing her hands down to cop a handful. Clearly something she’d been clearly craving to do. She got an appreciative groan for her efforts.

It dawned on Tara in the midst of her lustful haze that the attention had been rather one sided. So she tried to move, and return the favor. She felt the other woman hum appreciatively when her knee slid in between, mimicking MC’s actions as best she could. Tara hissed between her teeth and whined loudly when she felt MC nip at her shoulder, leaving an obvious hickey no doubt, as if that’d distract from MC’s right hand sliding under Tara’s skirt to palm over her thigh and hip.

“Shh shh shh, can’t be too loud, baby.” MC cooed, kissing the line of Tara’s jawbone. “It’s not my fault! You’re so-“ She groaned again when teeth met her skin, grinding her hips more aggressively into MC’s knee. Everything was tense and tight, burning and she couldn’t tell if it was the metaflux or just her that made the air feel like a live wire.

“Someone sounds like they’re about to finish. You can go ahead, sweetheart.” The new pet names made Tara throb even worse. Her pulse was running wild and it wasn’t just thumping in her chest or the side of her neck. “N-not yet not yet.” Tara shook her head and began peppering MC’s cheek and temple on damp kisses. “Awww you don’t gotta worry baby, you know what? Mm, as soon as we’re done? I’ll take you back home, okay?” The huntress promised as she gripped Tara’s waist, aiding her along, even if the girl had left a visible wet patch on her thigh muscle. The promise made Tara’s knees buckle again, much to the other woman’s amusement.

“Uh huh, I’ll take you up to my place.” MC kissed along Tara’s neck as she kept talking, all words and no thought. “We can take it slower, and I can see you all bare and proper. God, what I’d give to taste you. Could I do that, huh? Would you let me?”

Tara nodded frantically as she tried to kiss MC again, though her heavy panting and moaning left it a bit moot. “Aww aren’t you sweet. You wanna return the favor, baby? Huh?” The thought alone made Tara push her head back against the wall and sob. MC let out a breathy laugh against Tara’s neck, kissing up the line of the brunette’s throat. “C’mon sweetheart, c’mon. Lemme see it, lemme see you break. I wanna know I’ve done right by my favorite girl.” She encouraged, praising and kissing until Tara’s body began to twitch and her noises grew quicker and quicker.

Til Tara tipped over the edge, and the sudden snap of it made her go almost completely limp. Her muscles had been so strained from fighting and then the treacherous wait for bliss. Because it had been just barely not enough for so long. Having her selfishly wanting more the entire time, knowing she couldn’t have it. But she got a piece of relief and she was once again so grateful for her coworkers strong arms, keeping her from falling to the dirty ground.

Tara let out a sleepy noise when she felt butterfly kisses against her cheeks, whispered praises and loving caresses of her hips and sore thighs. She blinked lazily as her vision came back, looking down to MC, who was already smiling up at her. Settled against her breastbone. “Hey pretty girl, welcome back to earth.” She teased.

“…s-so we go to your place?” Tara slurred. She couldn’t help but smile tiredly as MC tossed back her head in a laugh, genuine and full of love. “Yeah, yeah baby. We go back to my place, as soon as our replacements get here.” The reminder of work made Tara complain via a whine and a scowl. “I knoooow I know, it’s not fun.” Her partner replied, gently coaxing Tara into standing on her own, adjusting the brunette’s clothes as she went. 

“My head hurts.” Tara mumbled. “You kinda thumped your skull toward the end there. I’ll take a look when we get back to the apartment.” MC said, being extra gentle when fixing Tara’s hair. Smiling and cooing affectionately when the woman hugged her tightly, returning the gesture.

By the time their coworkers showed up to cover the scene, they were out of the alley and instead on a bench. Which probably would’ve been a better place to rest in hindsight. Neither of them had a car, but MC did have a Hunter Association bike. She’d met Tara at the bar after the girl took a taxi. Now, Tara got the privilege of a free ride back to the bar, being carried by MC in one arm, her heels hanging off of the woman’s fingers, until she was set on the back of the bike.There was only one helmet but Tara could not, despite her valiant effort, convince MC to be the one to wear it. 

She held onto her partner’s waist tightly as the bike zipped down the road to MC’s apartment. Giving her some ample time to think. She stayed in her thoughts even when they were in the elevator, and she only spoke once in MC’s apartment, watching the woman lock the door. “Sooo…” Tara started, clasping her hands behind her back. MC turned slowly and came to rest her hands on her hips curiously. “Sooo?” She mimicked. Tara rocked her weight from her heel to the balls of her feet a few times as she thought of what to say.

“What does this make us?” She asked, a bit shyly. But her insecurities simmered down to nothing when MC smiled. “Well, it’s definitely more than coworkers. And best friends can be close, but I don’t know if best friends are usually uh…cum on your thigh in an alleyway close-” "Oh my gosh.” Tara put her face in her hands, listening to a jovial laugh. Warm and gentle hands delicately encouraged her to show her face again, met with a sweet smile and a hopeful gaze.

“There’s a word I’m thinking of. And I mean, friend is part of the word.” She said. Tara snorted and giggled. “Is it…girlfriends?” She asked. MC gasped and picked Tara suddenly up by the waist. 

“Ding ding ding! We have a winner! She’s a winner ladies and gents!” The woman declared, all while Tara laughed. She was let down gently, keeping her arms around MC’s neck, and the MC’s hands around her waist. A moment of blissful and joyful silence passed between them, before Tara bit at her lip. She gently turned a dangling earring between her index and thumb as it hung from MC’s ear, slowly pulling her gaze to her girlfriend’s. “Second question.” She whispered.

“Go for it, pretty girl.” MC replied. “Sooo, about your plan about what we would do when we got here…something about doing it uhm, right?” Tara teased. She let out a squeak and a laugh when she was suddenly pulled over a sturdy shoulder. She kept laughing when she was gently tossed on top of a plush mattress, only stopping when the weight of her girlfriend came up on top of her, pressing a kiss to her mouth again. “Hey Tara?” MC whispered.

“Hmm?” “Remember to thank your cards after all this.”

[yamujiburo]

Ahh I just want to say I love how you manage to keep body type differences consistent! 💖💕

I love how Jessie is fuller, while Delia is petite, and it’s consistent in every pose 💖💕💖💕

I just love that, I wonder what your thought process is when you draw them, do you use references? Or do you practice with a model?

Thank you! I think I could be more consistent but I'm glad it reads! At this point I don't use reference for these characters since I've drawn em so much haha. Took me a while to find a shorthand for Delia's hair that I liked tho

Thought process for posing? For these comics in particular I try to be economical and use poses that are nice to look at and good to come back to so I don't have to do so much redrawing. I stage them in a way where I'm not breaking the 180 rule for clarity and also try to keep a general sense of where I want the text in mind.

If you meant thought process for the how I draw them I just kinda have an idea in my head of what they feel like to me. There's not a whooole lot of body diversity in anipoke and I try to keep my style true-ish to it. So to differentiate the characters a bit more I give them little details that aren't super noticeable but make them feel unique. I make Jessie taller, despited Jessie and Delia being around the same "adult woman" height they use in the anime. I give Jessie LONG legs and bigger boobs (lol) while I make Delia shorter, with slightly stockier legs, longer torso and more hip. Jessie and James more or less have the same face in earlier seasons of the show but when I draw them, I tend to give Jessie sharper eyes and those two pointy eyelashes at the corners of her eyes, and more upper eyelid. Then I make James' eyes rounder/softer, bigger pupils and sometimes give him bottom lashes. I sometimes give him a flatter nose depending on what style I'm using

Hope that answers the question haha

[shiny-jr]

Hello, this request is made with the translator so I hope it is understood. Congratulations for the 5000 followers, you deserve it for giving us such good yandere stories, especially soft Yan Vil. I would love the indication fear with a soft yan floyd, I am in this vibe of soft yanderes, especially strict or terrifying characters.

– Warning: Yes, this is a yandere thing. Gender-neutral reader.

– Prompt: Fear. “I don’t scare you, do I...?”

– Character: Floyd Leech.

– Note: Hopefully I read this request right. Honestly, I had no idea how I wanted to go about writing this, so I decided to take a new spin on it, not really set in any of the aus I have. I got a teensy bit carried away. It's a little longer than the rest, so I hope that's okay too. Sorry about that.

The only light came from the dim shine of the tank against the wall, the glass surface separating you from the seemingly endless tank of water. It gave the dark room an ominous blue glow, and exaggerated every shadow. You were small against the high ceilings, and you felt even smaller when you saw the sea creature’s emerging shadow. 

It was one of two sea creatures brought here recently. From what you heard, they were twins that called themselves Floyd and Jade. You also heard rumors of how the transportation of the two became deadly, but of course the shady directors and executives said these were false. Everyone knew it was true though, but no one could confirm how many workers disappeared while trying to capture and transport these two slippery creatures here. You also heard how the two creatures made it a living hell for all employees and scientists who even neared them. It wasn’t uncommon to hear of some fool getting too close to the water and being dragged in, and it wasn’t out of place to see an unnatural amount of red in the giant tank. Yet for some reason, ever since you were assigned to work nearby, you had yet to witness this hell the twins supposedly caused. Not only that, but the higher-ups offered you a promotion if you worked in the area by the tank permanently while the sea creatures who supposedly killed humans and lured them in seemed to enjoy watching you perform mundane tasks. So much so that they began talking to you, and you were the first and only one they’ve spoken to thus far. 

You gulped as you watched the long and intimidating eel-like mercreature approach the glass. It was Floyd. At this point you’ve learned to differentiate between the two by their mannerisms and tiny little details. Your nerves only increased tenfold when he looked you right in the eye and grinned, pressing his webbed-hand against the glass. You couldn’t help but hone in on his razor sharp nails. 

“Why not come see me and Jade up close? I’ll let you take those boring science notes if you come see me above the water in the next room!” 

You averted your gaze back down to your task, cursing yourself for how your voice wobbled. “I’m not stupid, Floyd. You’ll just drag me in, and you and your brother will maul me or something.” 

“No I won’t!” He whined, frowning deeply as you tore your attention away from him. You flinched when you saw his fingers flex out of the corner of your eye, his nails scratching at the glass which was the only thing keeping you safe. “I don’t scare you, do I? Come onnnn, you don’t have to be scared! I won’t hurt you like I did the others!”

[lawrites]

Gender neutral! Reader X Gotham Rogues Crochet Headcanons

This is so self-indulgent and too detailed for how dumb this concept is...my God. Anyway, crochet headcanons for the Gotham Rogues. How do they react to your crochet hobby? What do you make for them?

Featuring: The Penguin, The Riddler, Zsasz

The Penguin (Ozzie my beloved)

One of Oswald's most prominent love languages is gift-giving (he is SUCH a sugar daddy, c'mon)

So whether you already know how to crochet before meeting him or gently bring up wanting to try it while sharing dinner one night...

He is already getting out his card. A set of beautiful, ergonomic crochet hooks with colors to differentiate between the sizes, a leather yarn bag and organizer, plus yarn to fill it up.

He IS such a snob about fibers tho, he would get you local wool spun right outside of Gotham, bamboo, etc. anything expensive and natural and beautiful. (Even if you beg for some cheap acrylic just to start out with)

He also gets you little penguin stitch markers. He does his research on gifts and makes sure you have EVERYTHING you need to start a new hobby. (Now why is that so hot? Anyway)

He enjoys nothing more than sitting by the fire with you, drinking brandy, (or sometimes nice hot tea), and letting you cuddle up to his side as your nimble fingers create something.

He never gets tired of the cute face you make when you concentrate, or the joy and pride you show when you finally finish a project.

The first project you EVER made had to be a little amigurumi penguin. It was terrible and lopsided and you were almost ashamed to show him. You wouldn't have, actually, if he hadn't been sitting by you the whole time you were making it.

"Little Dove, is that for me? You shouldn't have." His hands plucked it from yours before you could protest, and he hugged it to himself and complimented you. He was so cute and so genuinely happy with it. And it stays on his little bedside table to this day.

BUT to truly make something for him? You try to go with the classics, as Ozzie is a classic guy.

Hat, scarf, mittens.

You use smaller yarn and stitches to give it more elasticity, the yarn is all a deep, darker purple and SO soft. (Cashmere bought on his dollar but it's the thought that counts right?)

You even managed to make a little penguin on only one side of the scarf, making it a little secret for Ozzie while still keeping the scarf classy.

He loves any gift from you but this? He starts planning his winter outfits to match your creations immediately.

He can smell you on the scarf still, since you spent so much time with that yarn, and it makes him smile even as the wind bites at him on cold days in Gotham. 💜

The Riddler

Listen, he's great but we all know he is kinda patronizing and a little bit of an asshole right? (Some versions more than others)

So he supports your hobby, even if your yarn and supplies take up space that he could be using for traps or riddles.

He does to research and figure out as much as he can about the hobby, but he won't dedicate time to it like you will, so he never gets as good. But he DOES know the basics, which means he can now critique you.

You are having trouble with a pattern? "Darling, that's just a double crochet into a half-double crochet into a triple crochet repeated 10 times into a magic ring. Simple."

You lost track of your stitch count? "Well I guess we can't all be multitaskers like me. I'll be silent for a bit while you count. 🙄"

With that in mind, he DOES leave you riddles in crochet pattern form occasionally. They take forever to solve but he's with you for a reason. And success is always...pleasurable for you both. 👀

Your first creation around him was just a little round frog. Green, because you thought you could gift it to Eddie.

It turned out misshapen and lumpy (listen all first projects are like this). And he teased you mercilessly for it.

"I suppose it could be a frog, from a certain angle. Maybe it's supposed to be abstract?"

It went missing after that. (Secretly Eddie keeps it at his workbench and squishes it when he's feeling stressed. The cute face you put on it does make him smile, too, but don't tell anyone 🔪)

For your actual real gift for him? You make a little crochet Riddler plush! You know the man well and he loves himself just a bit too much sometimes. (except maybe Dano Riddler but he would love it too for different reasons)

You decided to not go for realism and keep it simple in the face. But you DID go all out with the clothes. A little green suit jacket, pants, even a belt!

And you found little glasses to put on it. 🤓

When you presented it to him, he was speechless.

He takes it from you, examines it, and the wonder in his eyes makes your heart swell with pride. That is until he opens his mouth again. "I couldn't think of a better subject, truly. Though the face needs some work, dear, it doesn't truly capture my likeness."

But he says this all while hugging it to his side absentmindedly. He hugged it to himself for the rest of the night, actually. (And he now has another crochet project at his work bench)

You sometimes hear him talking to Ed Jr. while he's working, and you just smile to yourself and leave them be, turning back to your own crochet project and enjoying the peace.

Victor Zsasz

My headcanon is that Zsasz is into needlework and crochet, maybe someone in his family taught him?

He recommends what most seasoned crochet people will tell you, don't buy the fancy stuff and get some $3 goodwill hooks to start out with.

He also gifts you some yarn remnants to practice with, and when he doesn't have a job he'll sit next to you on the couch while you watch a movie, patiently helping you with steps you may struggle with.

Sometimes he may silently correct your form, showing you a different way to hold yarn tension or helping you remember how to make a slip stitch.

Your first project was just a simple washcloth. ("Nothing fancy to start out with, get the basics done first and then we may start with other stuff. If you do good.")

And you succeeded! Turns out it IS easier to do something basic at the beginning. Who knew. (Victor did)

After that you continued to have YouTube Video Essay/Needlework nights. Victor would sometimes not even work on anything and just lay against your side.

Sometimes he would even lay in your lap, spitting out any yarn fragments dramatically if they got in his mouth and pouting up at you until he got your attention.

Anyway. The actual project you made him was a nice, cozy sweater. And it was HARD to hide from him. Luckily, his profession DOES sometimes take him out of your apartment for hours upon hours at a time, so you have the ability to work in secret.

You think a simple black sweater is just perfect, something made of cotton or wool and maybe lined with red on the collar/trim, but that's it.

His immediate reaction when you gave it to him was to kiss the LIFE out of you, thanking you for thinking of him.

Then he pulls it over his head immediately, poking his head out and grinning goofily at you.

That night, you don't work on any crochet projects because he takes up your whole lap, cuddled up in his sweater and rubbing his hands up and down your sides, your hips...

Yeah he distracts you well.

And he wears the sweater proudly, but not on jobs. He reserves it for walks around town with you, so he can say his partner made it for him.

[xxavengingangelxx]

I am very curious about your version of Graves, I want to hear a detailed run down from you on how he’d be like in a romantic situation, would he commit? would he get married? would he “fall in love”, would he want a trophy wife to show off? I am just very curious and would love to hear you speak about this. I want to know what he’d be like if he actually did commit to a long term relationship or marriage, and what kind of woman would make him commit if so? I personally feel like he’d get married to a woman who works alongside him in shadow company, it just makes sense for him to get with somebody who is on the same level of psychopathy as him and understands his actions and behaviour, more so, he’d love being around a woman like that in my opinion. somebody who is as intelligent and knows how PMC’s work and can help him manage it too.

This is a good question! Sorry it took a while work has been absolutely insane. Like 60+ work weeks and now I have Hurricane Beryl headed my way! I use she/her pronouns just because that’s what I wrote my fic about but I think it certainly applies the other way around, too! 😉 I also found out after copy-pasting I've exceeding the character limit so this is part 1! Triggers for mentions of domestic violence and dubcon.

ALSO: This is my version of Graves based on what I know and based on the limited information we have. Another anon post said I had Graves wrong, a different opinion. Totally okay! We all have our own versions of him.

Graves in a romantic situation. This is a difficult one. I think it would be very difficult for Graves to differentiate between romance/love and possessiveness. In a fic I wrote, Graves decides OC is his immediately upon meeting her. I think he would be similarly inclined in the civilian world. I’m not sure if he could a civilian could handle Graves, to be honest ☹But he would be similarly possessive. When this type of man (narcissistic with a touch of psychopathy/sociopathy, and if I’m honest, just a little sadism) is deeply interested in a woman, he gets her one way or another.

My version of Graves likely wouldn’t give his chosen partner a choice. In the military, he’d use his clearances (and his Shadows!) to keep track of her. He’d treat a civilian the same way. He’d follow her and then act like: “Hey! Weird running into you here!” when in his head he’s thinking, “I better not see you talking with any other men.”

I think he would commit/not cheat but not for the reasons normal people would. He would commit because he’s obsessed. He would commit because stalking someone and making sure they don’t escape you once you have a hold of them is like two full-time jobs even with his Shadows. And if we’re talking about a female I can see Graves being worried about said female trying to seduce a Shadow to let her go. If she’s on the smaller side, there’s the risk of her slipping out somewhere. His mobile job would help in the sense that his wife would be clueless as to where she was most of the time. She would never go anywhere alone. He’s got a PMC to run. And when he has down time, he’s tired.

He would love showing off his wife. In a fic I wrote he does just that. He would marry to legally tie his wife to him. And in COD, to make it a legal barrier for her to testify against him. She wouldn’t have a choice. I can totally see him pregnancy trapping his wife to further trap her with him. He’d say there was no way she’d leave and take his children and she’s not going to leave her children behind so she stays. I can’t say him mentioning his kids too much as he realizes they would be a bigger target for his enemies. Even Graves has a bit of a heart when it comes to kids.

I see Graves having more of a traditionalist especially since he’s a conservative type from Texas. I'm a Texan living in Texas y'all: Graves is typical down here (but most of them aren't as good looking!) I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s the type to think: the man works, the wife stays home, raises kids, and spends all her time with her husband when he’s home. However, I can also see him wanting to keep said wife busy so her mind isn’t on escape. After kiddos start entering scene, I see him putting her on intel or something like that. Work from home, ma'am.

Graves would absolutely be attracted to intelligence because Graves is smart. Generally, if there is a big mismatch between intelligence (IQ) between parties, they struggle with not only communication but common interests. I think he would want any children he has to inherit that intelligence and continue his company.

An upside (I guess?): Graves is rich as fuck. His wife would have everything and anything she wants (except freedom, ha).

-OC wants an SUV to transport the kids on base? "Sure, darlin’ I already ordered a top-model Audi/Porche." (By the way, when traveling off base, she and the kids are in a military, armored vehicle with no windows. Graves knows his enemies will try to target them.)

-OC wants to be in a home-like environment on base to give the kids somewhat of a normal life? "Of course, sweetheart. Custom built. Whaddaya want?" (No way they would ever live in a normal neighborhood, too risky.)

-OC asks about schooling since they’re constantly moving around. “Don’t worry about it, love. Paid private school, one-on-one attention online and one-on-one in-person attention in the US. I’m not putting them in the shitty public school system. I want them in military universities.” (Plus, they’d start their military education young.)

I think that Graves, like most full-blood psychopaths/sociopaths as well as those who have a touch of it like Graves, he would equate giving his wife whatever she wanted (except freedom!), any material thing she wanted as well as his kids the best of everything with love. He’d equate sex, even dubcon sex, as love.

Now, more about kids. He’d want the best for his kids but there’s no damn way the kids would get whatever they wanted. He’s got some psychopath in him (see Graves Defragged posts as to why, based on the info we have, he does not score high enough on the psychopathy scale) so he’d literally shape his kids’ (and his wife’s tbh) behavior with positive reinforcement because that is what he responds to. Being a narcissist, he believes everyone thinks like him and that everyone responds to positive reinforcement (but in reality there are other ways of shaping behavior like negative reinforcement, negative punishment, and positive punishment). He literally cannot empathize or put himself in someone else’s shoes (again, see Graves Defragged posts). It’s not that he feels guilt/empathize and chooses to ignore it. This man’s brain is physically wired differently and cannot, cannot, CANNOT feel it. So of course he’d think positive reinforcement is the only way to shape behavior.

Now, Graves’s version of discipline. Yikes. Do I see Graves hitting his partner? Absolutely. Graves is in general not impulsive, especially when it comes to important, long-term decisions. For my Criminal Minds fans, he'd be an organized serial killer, not a disorganized one if that helps. His brain structure is different so his limbic system (the more animalistic part of our brains) can be overwhelming to him and I can see this overtaking his prefrontal lobes (PFC) when emotions are involved. What happens? He will lash out with violence, like, with little warning. (I can write another post as to how most homicides are actually crimes of passion, between people who know each other and not planned out/between strangers like the media/TV shows make it out to be.) He will hit his wife, hard, if she gets (what he deems to be) “out of line.” I can’t really see him doing it all the time. But I can definitely see that if his partner pisses him off enough, that partner can easily spend a few nights in a hospital. Yes, Graves sees his wife as somewhat below him: someone needing guidance, direction, and discipline.

For the kids: He’s the disciplinarian, no doubt and the kids go to mom for comfort. Mom gets in the way? He’ll shove her at the least. I can’t really see him seriously hurting his kids. His kids are half him and he’s narcissistic, remember?

There’s emotion involved and based on what I’ve been trained in, men like Graves can only feel two emotions strongly: joy…and rage. We’ve all gotten angry and done/said something we regretted. Imagine that tenfold with an overactive limbic system and some glitches in the frontal lobes.

Now: In one of my darker fics, Graves writes (and then burns) a letter to OC where he starts to feel some kind of guilt. But, xxavengingangelxx, you said he couldn’t feel that! I know 😉 But we all love somewhat happy endings, right? We all love seeing Graves with somewhat of a human side. That’s why I added that little tidbit even though in real life, he wouldn’t be able to feel that. In my fic he’d continue to blame OC for what she went through because “she should’ve talked when we first got her.”

Wow, ok. Two pages of this. I need to shut up. I went to school for this, I trained in this, I see this every day, and I read on average a book a week on this topic. I’m obsessed fascinated!

Anon, I hope I answered both your questions 😊 Any other questions, let me know!

[all-pacas]

house live-ish blogging: maternity

i love how the writers of this show only know like. 3 names. the baby is almost named amber. instead she is named max. max is also the name of the liver donating girlfriend in sleeping dogs lie. this show also has about six roberts, two chis, 5 rachels…

honestly love this episode. i wish the series had more "everyone pulling a 3 day shift, the only thing that matters is solving the Mystery" episodes, they're so good

i just looked up who wrote this episode to see if it was the same writer who wrote sleeping dogs lie re: the max thing. it isn't. instead it's peter blake, aka the chase whisperer: he also wrote the mistake, cursed, the itch, the tyrant, lockdown, and chase. (a couple shared credits but. damn. apparently this dude just wrote all the greatest hits for our useless nepobaby and his divorce. coincidentally, chase is great in this episode too. god now i want to do a tangent because the same writer wrote cursed/the mistake/lockdown/chase makes perfect fucking sense to me, because in each - when i say chase gets angry and resentful and shuts down when he's upset. when i say it's consistent. him lashing out at rowan isn't that different from him accusing cameron of never loving him, of accusing house of changing him. there's a throughline of these episodes: chase vulnerable, chase angry and upset, chase refusing to open up no matter who begs. and throw in the tyrant, his bonding with dibala and the way the murder is framed as chase lashing out in betrayal rather than moral imperative - man!!! ANYWAY)

i've always loved wilson's little "i can get you a key to the oncology lounge… we're getting TiVo" line. because when i was a kid, my dad got tivo. and when i say he bragged about it. when i say he would bring visitors into our house and show them the tivo and demonstrate the wonders of dvr in those olden days (of the early 2000s) (even if i was watching cartoons). so you know what wilson. i appreciate the flex. it is cool you're getting tivo.

in the script, it notes that chase is taking a nap while foreman studies and cameron reads houses mail. in the episode, chase is still taking his nap, but the other two are just standing around. i mention this just because it's interesting to see what character details are written and which are acting choices. to me.

the script also notes that the gays who lose their son are "comp lit grad students." not sure why we need to know this but i'm glad we do

foreman stepping up and lecturing cameron on bedside manner is. very funny. not that she doesn't need the lecturing in this episode (it's a Theme), but… considering how as time goes by, one of foreman's defining traits is terrible bedside manner… it's very main character of him lol. he truly is the best of the group in these early episodes. no weaknesses, only strengths.

cameron's "it's easier to die than to watch someone die" is so fascinating. it's so loaded with implication. what was her husband like? how much emotional labor was she doing for him? was he in denial of his prognosis until the end, meaning that cameron was stuck both taking care of him and pretending everything was okay? or is cameron, unwittingly, exposing her own selfishness here: does she actually kind of believe her pain is worse because she has to live with it?

that said i do like how even in this scene: cameron freezes up and is awkward at telling the patients bad news, but she's quick to (and good at) reassuring them a moment later. "kim is right," she says, using the patient's name. she's good at bonding with patients and comfort, just not when it's bad news. which, unfortunately, in her job…

i find the differential portions of this episode really interesting because it sets up as foreman has an idea, cameron has an idea, they argue their ideas, they want different treatments, house referees. they each get "assigned" a family and baby. neither are treated as more wrong or more right (although i guess cameron technically is — "her" baby is the one that dies because her treatment is wrong, but medically she did nothing wrong, it's more a larger theme about cameron struggling this episode). and meanwhile chase exists. this has been the case every episode so far lmao: foreman is the main ideas and treatment guy, cameron sometimes chimes in to back him up, chase offers no useful input or contributions. the difference is, this episode chase actually very much pulls his weight with the treatment and his work in NICU; he really is the Procedure Guy, not the Ideas Guy. which makes him a really interesting hire on house's part tbh - chase is almost useless in differentials (so far), he was hired just for his practical skills.

again, it is so weird to see foreman, champion of talking to patients. i mean, i do buy he knows how and is perfectly script accurate. but it was dropped as a trait so quickly

speaking of early installment weirdness: wilson calling cameron allison will never not be weird.

and likewise cameron's angry insistence that the women would rather have hope than truth is. very telling. like yes, we know she deals terribly with loss, but this is… what was her husband like? when did she find out he had cancer? does she wish she had been able to be ignorant longer? it's very clear – to the viewers and everyone in universe – that cameron is seeing this all through her perspective, that she's talking about herself at all times, but… (also imagine this perspective mixed with s6 and dibala. you think part of the reason chase didn't tell her for so long was because he really did think she'd prefer to be ignorant? how wrong or right was he in that?)

in the script, when the baby dies and chase is trying to revive it, there's a note that house puts his hand on chase's arm to get him to stop. not in the episode :( but i like their little interaction here: it's not much, but chase is clearly upset and house lets him go, doesn't scold him. house can in fact be pretty understanding about this stuff! he doesn't like wallowing but he has moments of being a good boss. and then he turns around and has zero sympathy for cameron lol.

cameron trying to foist the "inform the parents" thing on chase is very. hahaha. i always think of chase in forever trying to foist baby duties on her. it's not a great moment for cameron (it's not meant to be), but it… hm. i wouldn't say it's out of character; she never really gets better at dealing directly with death, but trying to weasel out of telling the parents by saying chase (or whoever) should do it seems… off, you know? her freezing up and wilson stepping in feels more on brand. but she's not supposed to be right this episode. she's lowkey supposed to suck.

(and from house's perspective: chase is sad about the dead baby. so is cameron. chase is still doing his job, he can be sad, it's not getting in the way. cameron is sad, and actively avoiding her job/trying to get others to do it for her. that is getting in the way.)

fascinating, too, that cameron is therefore stated in this episode to be bad at talking to patients (compared to foreman being good, and chase being a little awkward but fine).

"chase, you're the intensivist" -- love when the show tells us people's specialties. no one has called cameron an immunologist yet, but we have the guys now. and flash forward a few years, i don't think we technically ever learn thirteen or kutner's specialties (on screen).

in the lab end of the episode, cameron and chase are sitting way too close together. it is very funny how often this happens. i know it's because the actors were dating were not paying attention to body language but still. this is why everyone thought you were dating in s3, cameron

another good moment for cameron at the end of the episode, calling in the surviving baby's parents to hold her for a bit. (love that chase then reported this to house: it's not clear if house asked him how cameron was doing — he asks foreman, so it makes sense he'd check with chase too — or if chase reported it on his own, which also makes sense because chase telling house every bit of gossip he hears is a very consistent character trait lol)

speaking of foreman, his insisting that cameron has everything handled just fine is a) a blatant lie and b) very funny from foreman. which makes him sound like a douche but. he really did gain his ruthlessness later, didn't he?

actually, if house asked both the boys how cameron held up, and foreman lied and chase told a story of cameron having a Good Idea, that's kind of sweet. they're both covering for her/sticking up for her…

i haven't mentioned it but the clinic patient this episode always makes me laugh. shoutout to the actress, she just keeps saying this stupid stuff "oh man! wow!" but with this sincere, no brain cell enthusiasm that is so funny to me.

"do you think you could — " "no." "do the prenatal?" "no." "or deliver the baby?" "that would be no." "oh - kay!"

even though it's probably just a pillow they stuck under her shirt or something, i actually appreciate wardrobe remembered to have the woman who gave birth two days ago have a very noticeable stomach while sitting around in street clothes. realism!

house is oddly gentle with cameron in this scene at the end. "you look tired… you had a hard time this week." i know you can read it as oh, he's in love with her, but i don't think we're supposed to; i'm pretty sure it's a fragment of his nicer s1 personality. because we really don't see it again after s1, even with people or in situations where he's trying to be gentle. ("oh, it's because he's in love with cameron" i'm really not convinced that was the direction of this episode.) it also make's cameron's angry reaction a little odd - not that she wouldn't be defensive, but… house is being so nice, lol. he's not being a bastard at all! just wait until he really starts meddling in your life, cam!

i find it very unlikely that cuddy, tearing apart the hospital for days, didn't notice the old lady loitering around the maternity ward coughing constantly. i find it unlikely no one mentioned her. i get that we're not supposed to worry about these facts

house's soap opera doctor has exactly the same hairstyle as chase lmao

[ad-astrah]

Cinderella's Castle Digital Ticket Reactions (Part III)

"GOOD. Good. Good. good. goo--*sobs.*"

Starkid does one little concert in London and suddenly EVERYBODY'S got a British accent. lol I'm just joking. They work here with the setting of the show and as a way to differentiate characters. And I think it was smart of them to only use the accents for minor characters that only briefly appear.

"because your labor pained me and I swore that I'd get you back and...well, that time has come." Honestly, she's a real one for that. Also that line delivery was so perfect. Angela's comedic timing is so good.

I was actually rooting for Rancilda, though. The blowjob jokes that she and the prince could've shared...

"fits like a glove." "It's a shoe, stupid!" "IT'S AN EXPRESSION, DUMBASS."

Again, I just love how stupid and wildly different and fun Mariah's character is in this show! Love seeing her range.

🎶LA LA LALA LA LA LA LALA🎶

Tadius gettin' the fuq outta there. He knows shit's goin' down.

THE CUT TO STEPMOTHER AND RANCILDA IN THE AUDIENCE.

Tadius' face during these vows. Gives me Chris Pine sitting through an interview with Harry Styles vibes.

Boooo. BOOOOOO

EAT YOUR HEART OUT, RANCILDA.

HISSSSSSSSSS

When Ella came back I was like: WELCOME BACK, QUEEN. SLAY.

THE HAIR. THE ROBES. THE LONG SLEEVES. This is so fuckin' dope.

I DON'T WANNA LIVE YOUR DREAM ANYMORE, MOM. I LIKE RIDDLES...I'M GOIN' BACK TO THE BRIIIIIIIDGEEEE. YEAAAHH!" Honestly, I love that for her. Go live your dream, Rancilda!

How did the outfit get MORE. DOPE. YASSSSS ELLA. WERK BITCH. This chainmail-like look literally and figuratively KILLS.

And thus Winnifred Sanderson the Stepmother dies.

Tadius just casually admitting to regicide.

"Who knows! I wasn't there." Biiiitch.

Queen Putrice. lol gurl was queen for like 5 minutes.

I thought he was proposing for a hot sec there. And as good of a power couple I think they'd make, they ain't ready for that yet. They got boatlads of fuckin' trauma to unpack and I'm pretty sure neither of them have ever been in a relationship before lol. They gotta take that ish slow.

Wasn't quite expecting an 80s gospel ballad but it makes sense and it works. Especially with Bryce's powerful, soulful voice. Gimme that power ballad gilrboss vibe.

Yo, listen to how GOOD Jon Matteson sounds! And whilst using a character voice, too! Proud of you, boo. He's come such a long way since GWDLM.

SING IT BRYCE. FUCK YES. HOT DAMN.

Jeff working the crowd like the attention whore he is and we love him for that.

Jeff's falsetto is insane!

I'm wondering if Ella's wardrobe was all green as a reference to her mother's dancing and praying in the forest in front of that tree and to the Fairy Queen herself? I feel like it's symbolic and not just a "Bryce looks good in green, so let's make her entire wardrobe green" thing. Although she DOES look good in green.

Another brilliant, hilarious, incredible show from Team Starkid. I cannot WAIT until the Youtube edition comes out and all Starkid fans can watch it over and over as much as we want and soak up every little detail and joke and make all the memes. I know they'll never see a post from lil ole me, but THANK YOU, TEAM STARKID, for making my days brighter, my heart lighter, my laughter louder, and my smile wider.

[triptychofvoids]

Howdy howdy, this is kind of based on the last ask-and-subsequent-answer, but what are your feelings towards your partner like? Like, what does it feel like? I’m also aroace, or at least I think I’m aro, but it’s kinda hard for me to figure out whether I love my friend romantically or platonically. I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before, and we’re both autistic so I see love kinda differently than what’s portrayed in media. I’m just having trouble parsing my feelings, and I think it might help to hear about your experiences/thoughts, if you’re cool with sharing! I know it’s a spectrum so it’s not going to be the exact same for you as it is for me, but I think it’d at least help give me a perspective other than my own and the perspective of nt people/media!

Anyhoo it’s really cool to see another aroace person living happily and comfortable with his identity. Just…you’re cool.

from one autistic aroace to another, i assure you that your difficulty parsing feelings is not solely unique aheh.... well! before i get into answering this, ill have to state that i am certainly not the stereotype.. namely, i am the opposite of the sex/romance adverse person many people tend to think of when they hear aroace...

now, when it comes to my feelings towards my partner (without getting too detailed) ive found i often dont differentiate between platonic and romantic very well at all. for the longest time i never even thought there was a difference between the two, and i still struggle to differentiate them even now. however, from what ive learned, most people that are not aromantic have a list of behaviors and feelings they would consider inappropriate to do with/feel towards a friend, and that they would only do/have with a romantic partner in most cases. but my personal opinion on it is that a platonic relationship can be just as important and valuable as a romantic one, but its up to you to determine what sort of behaviors you are wanting to engage in with another person, and see if that want is mutual. in my case with my own partner, that includes affection and things that are probably seen as romantic to most! but like i said, i dont see the act of being affectionate as something purely romantic or platonic. it just is, and you have to decide if thats something you want or not. i could go on but i think you get the idea. its confusing, and the line is very thin in my experience.... my partner is also someone i consider to be one of my best friends, and the friendship aspect came before the committed relationship aspect, if that helps!

when it comes to the sexual side of things (again, without getting into too much detail) you still have to do some self-reflection and decide what it is that you want or do not want! but one thing that i can talk about from experience is that most people that are not asexual will feel sexual attraction simply by looking at their partner, and i do not. hence me being asexual aheh.. but there are many other kinds of attraction! in my case i do find my partner to be pleasant to look at, but i like to use the comparison of a piece of art or a landscape. as in, a beautiful sunset can sometimes seem like you are viewing heaven itself but generally speaking that beautiful sunset, pretty as it is, will not be sexually arousing. i also think its important to know that there is a difference between libido and attraction and it can be good to keep that in mind when looking at other peoples (or your own) experiences as well.

so... there is just a very small amount of my experience and thoughts on the matter. my feelings as an aroace person who is favorable towards romance and sex are likely going to be very different from an aroace person who is sex/romance adverse though. the point being, that having little to no romantic/sexual attraction is the core of being aroace, but beyond that its entirely up to the individual what their wants and needs are! i am happy to share my experiences though!