#i only slightly altered the colouring

[luveline]

I wanted to know how Aaron Hotchner would react to discovering the existence of a daughter (something from college perhaps), she would be his copy both in appearance and personality

—Hotch has a surprise visitor and the world spins on a new axis. daughter!reader, 2.2k

readers physical traits like hair and skin colour are not mentioned, but she is described as looking like her mother (also not described) and as sharing some characteristics with Hotch!<3 I also altered canon so that Hotch and Haley take a break at college 

“There is a kid in your office.” 

“Morgan?” 

Hotch pulls his phone away to check. D. Morgan blinks on his phone screen. It’s a slightly absurd sentence. 

“There’s a child in my office?” he asks, returning the phone to his ear. 

“I’m standing with her right now. She won’t tell me who she is. Anderson let her in.” 

“How old?” Hotch asks, scratching his cheek. God forbid he steal two minutes of peace in the bathroom. 

“How old are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m twenty two,” a feminine voice says. 

“You said kid,” Hotch says, frowning. 

“Anyone under twenty five is a kid to me. Are you on your way?” 

He sighs. “Yeah,” he says, and hangs up, dropping the small body of his phone into his pocket. Twenty two isn’t a kid, it’s a year younger than Spencer was when he started at the BAU; Hotch doesn’t underestimate the intelligence of young adults. Why you’re in his office is another thing. He can’t have one day without inconvenience. 

Hotch makes his way into the BAU office and up the stairs to the half level where his own office resides. Morgan leans against the door with his arms crossed, standing to attention when Hotch passes. 

“Thanks, Morgan,” Hotch says. 

Morgan nods, sending a curious gaze at you before he leaves. 

You’re dressed very formally for someone your age, but it’s not as though this is different from the norm of the building. You have on a dark shirt with a starched collar and a fitted blazer, a crisp skirt, and leather Mary Jane heels, one pressed flat to the back of the other. 

You stand when he comes in. 

“Mr. Hotchner?” you ask. 

“Yes?” he asks. 

You have a small file in your hand. Paper with worn edges pokes out of one side as though you’d been looking through it and put it hastily away, and the Manila file itself is fresh.

“Do we know one another?” he asks. 

You look familiar. It’s possible he would’ve known your parents —it could make sense. A colleague or acquaintance assumed he could help you with something, and you in your naivety you made your way in. 

“I think you know my mother.” 

“And she was?” he prompts. Not impolite, but needing to move forward. He’s very busy. 

You take a small step back. “Mr. Hotchner,” you say again, something nervous in your eyes as you lift your chin, “I don’t want to waste your time. I’m aware I might sound foolish, or that this… might not be something you want to hear, but. My mother told me you met in college, and that…” 

You bite your lip. 

He’s incredibly confused now. Not one to let a stranger suffer whether in real pain or awkwardness, he opens his hand. “Can I?” 

“Yes, sir,” you say.

You don’t want to pass it over, but you do as he’s asked. 

The photograph is a shock, held with a paperclip to a magnolia sheet of paper. It’s of Hotch, undoubtedly, a much younger Hotch sitting on a bench with a woman he recognises immediately. He only looks at her, and he knows why you’re here, and he knows exactly what you’re thinking. 

“Do you remember her?” you ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer.

“She says you’re the only man that could… possibly be my father.” You hold your hands behind your back. 

He lifts the photograph. There’s not much else to look at, only your photo ID, your birth certificate where he is glaringly not listed, as well as your mother’s birth certificate, and proof of her enrollment at George Washington University. 

You look a little teary. Trying very hard to be sober, as you have been since he laid eyes on you, but clearly getting more and more upset as time goes on. He’s feeling a similar ache, a searing pain in his chest, staring at you from over the Manila folder to really, really look at you. He swears he can see something of himself in your face, though he’s not sure what. Perhaps it’s wishful thinking. 

There’s certainly some of him in your frown. 

“I think you should sit down,” he says softly. 

You sit down immediately in the chair you’d inhabited a few minutes ago. 

He’s not sure what to say. Are you sure it could only be him? Is your mother? But you’re looking at him with an expression he practically trademarked, whether he wanted to or not, and the proof is in his hands: you’re your mother’s daughter, and Hotch would have slept with her almost twenty three years ago. He doesn’t need much time to do the math. 

“I realise my word alone isn’t a lot to go on, sir, so– so if you’d want to, I’ll of course submit for a paternity test. Or if you want nothing to do with me, that’s okay too.” 

“It’s not okay,” he says, closing your folder. 

Your eyes widen just a touch. 

“Can I sit with you?” he asks. 

You push your chair back to make lots of room. He sits in the chair besides yours, cautious that being across a desk from you is insensitive, or cold, at least. 

He looks at you and he’s sure that you’re his. The longer you sit there, the more sure he becomes.

“I do want a paternity test,” he says, watching your tight nod. 

He believes you. And truly, if he was unsure of what you’re saying he’d still give you grace now, because the first time you meet your father should be full of love. He should’ve been there to hold you in one arm twenty two years ago, he should’ve been there for you through everything he’s already missed. 

“But I believe you,” he says.

“You do?” 

“I’m a very good judge of character. I know that you believe what you’re telling me completely,” he says.

“How?”

“When you’re nervous your hand drifts to your chest, but you didn’t move when you suggested I’m your father. You haven’t once checked the door or looked toward the camera in the corner of the room.” And the full truth. “I want to believe you.” 

“Why?” you ask.

“You look like your mother, but…” He lets himself smile. “You sound like me.” 

You laugh under your breath. “Hopefully not so deep.” 

“I’ve had it described to me as mellifluous.” 

“I’ve wanted to hear your voice since I can remember. My mom didn’t talk about you much, but I’ve always wondered. She told me she didn’t know who you were, and…”

“And you believed her. Any child would do the same.” 

“She’s made mistakes.” You look to him with eyebrows gently pinched, asking him to understand. “But I looked you up. When she told me your name, I looked for you online, and… I always thought I never needed you, even if I wanted to know you. I thought you might want to know me. I thought that a man like you would want to know.”

There’s something you’re not saying. Hotch doesn’t mind. “Of course I want to know you.” 

You chance a smile at him. “You really believe me?” 

“You were expecting me to turn you away.” 

“No, just– I’m not a kid, even if your colleague said so. And I’m not an image of you, I don’t have your eyes. All I have is that photograph. There's not much evidence to go on.” 

He sees no reason why a young girl like you would walk into his office and tell him who you are. Self preservation insists on a paternity test, and soon —UnSubs haven’t ever done something so conniving as imitating a family member yet, but there’s no prediction for evil— but Hotch has an inherent sense of the truth.  

“What do you do?” he asks. 

You frown. “Sorry?” 

“What do you do?” he asks again, “You’re dressed like a lawyer.” 

You nod with a smile you’re pushing into a flat line unsuccessfully. “I’m at GWU. For law, like you and my mom.” 

“She only just told you who I am?” He speaks each word carefully. 

“The photo fell out of an old album, and I had a funny feeling. I asked her about it and she said I’m too much like you. She admitted it like the secret had been eating her alive.” You look at your hand on the armrest. “We aren’t getting along right now.” 

“I don’t know why she wouldn’t tell you. Or me,” he says honestly. 

“I don’t know either.” 

Hotch is expecting a lot more awkwardness than he feels as he puts his hand over yours. You stay very still. 

“Thank you for coming here today.” He gives your hand the barest squeeze and stands. “Have you eaten? I could take you out for dinner,” he suggests. 

You stand with him. “Are you serious?” you ask, gentle and pleased at once. 

“I think you have a lot to tell me, and I’d love to listen.” 

“You’re not working?” 

Sometimes, sometimes, there are things that can be worked around or held on the back burner. You and Hotch go for lunch. 

—

Aaron Hotchner knows many important people. Your paternity test takes a day, less than twenty four hours from the time you both submit samples, but you have a class you can’t miss and he’s sure you’re nervous, so you don’t meet again for two days regardless. By then, you both know the results. (And Aaron’s had to have a very strange conversation with his wife, in which she doesn’t believe him, and then has to sit down.) 

He can admit to being far more protective of you once he knows the truth for sure, though he knows it before the results come back. You’re his daughter, and he’s left you without a father for two decades of your life, your formative years, time he can never get back. 

He doesn’t even know what to do. How can he make up for it? Twenty two years of birthday cards? He feels like buying you a diamond necklace with a stone for each year, and then he wants to buy you a house, but mostly he wants to give you a hug. He thinks about it for so long the morning before he’s scheduled to meet you again that it makes him as upset as he’s ever been in his life, desperate to say sorry to you and your mother and furious with her for keeping you a secret. 

He thinks of all those years without an inkling of your existence, and now you’re the only thing he can think about. His remorse makes him sick. 

You’re smiling when you see him. For a millisecond, you look like Jack. 

“Hi, Mr. Hotchner!” you say, standing from the table, your formal dress and cardigan pressed neatly, your hands held behind your back.

‘Mr. Hotchner’ will need to be fixed quickly, though he won’t force you to call him anything else. He can’t help himself, however.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says softly. 

You pause, and you laugh. “This is weird.” 

He doesn’t mean to make it weirder, but he opens his arms, and he waits for an indication that you might not want a hug before he leans in to hold you. You’re still so young. There’s still time for him to be a good father to you. 

He can’t say everything he needs to in his hug, and at the end of the day he’s a stranger to you; you probably don’t want him to hug you for too long. But he rubs your back, and he promises himself that he won’t let you down twice.

Your arm curls tentatively behind his back. For a second, you press your face to his shoulder and breathe. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling away. 

Your lip twitches to one side like his would when presented with such heavy sincerity. “I’m okay. How did, um, Haley take the news?” 

“She just wants to meet you, okay? You’re part of my family now.” 

You give no indication you’ve heard what it is he’s saying to you, or whether you like it as you sit down at the dinner table. He quite likes that some way, somehow, you’ve become like him, but he wonders if he might not love it so much when he asks how your mom is taking this new development and you just smile. 

“We’re going to tell Jack about everything this weekend,” he adds. “He’ll be excited, if no one else.” 

“And Haley doesn’t mind?” 

“She’s not going to ask you to babysit anytime soon, honey, but no, of course she doesn’t. He should meet his sister before she’s too old for legos.” 

You actually laugh. 

Dad humour transcends age, and for that, Hotch is grateful. 

—

only after I finished did I wonder if I misinterpreted the request and this was supposed to be x reader with a shared daughter so if that’s the case I’m sorry original requester!! and I can totally write that if that’s what you meant 🫶❤️

[joonieskinks]

I just read your blurb where reader wakes up and she’s married to Sergeant Soap and not Captain Soap but I feel like what if it’s reversed. What if she’s this young bonnie thing with a young husband and then she wakes up to be married to older, slightly more mature, Captain MacTavish.

uh- HELLO?? I love it. Sorry it took so long but here you go, hope I did it justice xx

warning: age gap so shoo if ur not into it

You sat up slowly in the bed, stilling orientating yourself and emerging from sleep. You had thought the sheets felt a little different, but assumed that maybe you were still dreaming. It was only when your eyes opened did you realize you weren’t at home anymore.

You were on base in the early morning, in a room that looked an awful like your husband’s when you would come to see him and stay with him for a couple nights. Well, that was what you did until his passing.

Johnny and you were a young love. He got down on one knee before he was even 23, and got to the altar before 24. You only got a couple months with him as husband and wife- a young widow they now called you. Everyday is hard, but that horrible day you received the news plays over and over in your mind all the time like a nightmare you just can’t shake.

John, Simon and Kyle all came to your door to tell you personally. They cried with you and stayed with you, they promised they would help take care of you, always. It’s what Johnny would have wanted.

The panic finally began to sink in as you could not remember how you got here. Everything was different but also incredibly familiar. This was the base alright, but the layout seemed altered, the paint a different colour. Looking around, you turned on the nightstand light, eyes briefly glancing at the framed photo beside.

It was like your blood turned cold.

There was your Johnny.

That’s your Johnny with his boys, with John, Simon, Kyle. But older, so much older. But he was alive, he was smiling, he’s so handsome and he’s there-

You shot out of bed, running into the hallway, searching for anyone, any familiar face. For your husband. Is he your husband? If he’s older? But how is he alive? Is he still alive?

The questions running around your head, threatening to ignite tears from your eyes. You turn a sharp corner, bumping straight into a hefty figure.

“Sorry” you stumbled out, trying to regain your balance.

“‘S alright.” The man started, looking down at the small, young girl who’s a frantic mess before him.

“Hey, hold on,” he starts again, and you glance up. Coming face to face with John Price. Much older, a thicker beard adorning his face, but that same damn hat. It was him.

“Slow down there a sec and-“

“John?”

The recognition in your voice stops him in his tracks, he looks you over for a couple seconds and shakes his head.

“Think you might be mistaken, love.” He smiles gently, trying to be as polite as possible.

“Johnathon Price- Captain. You, Kyle, Simon and my Johnny were all on Taskforce 141 when we met. You even came to our wedding, you were one of the groomsmen for crying out loud. I-“

“Stop right there.” John orders, his hands coming to grip your shoulders. “How could you possibly know about all that?”

“John, I know you. Now, what’s going on? How did I get here and why’re you older?” You asked, utterly confused and exhausted, you needed answers and you needed them now.

He glanced around the room before making his decision.

“Alright, come with me. We’ve gotta talk.”

-

John sat you down in a private room with a two-way mirror where you told him all about himself, how you woke up here and your marriage. Your Johnny MacTavish, your young husband who went by Soap. Everything, you laid it all on the table, the task force, the mission, the death. Everything.

And John believed you, as crazy as it sounded, from wherever you came from and however you got here- because how else could you know all this?

As he listened, he kept looking to your ring finger, the gold band adorning that you refused to ever take off. He admired your devotion.

John sat, silent when you finished, glancing towards the mirror every now again. Thinking and planning his next move.

“Wait here.” He stood up from his chair and left out the door, leaving you with your own thoughts. But only the same questions were on repeat.

Where am I? What was that photo? Why is he older? Is he still alive? Does he know who I am? Would he think I’m crazy? What now?

You almost didn’t register the sound of Price opening the door again until his figure reappeared. He could only stare at you, empathy in his eyes. Although this was a weird situation, he could tell you were genuine and wanted to help, so he trusted you. Anything for his boys, Johnny included.

“He’s been listening.” John starts and you draw in a breath.. You didn’t even know you were holding it.

He? As in your Johnny?

“He would like to meet you, if you’d like to see him-“

“Yes.” You reply without thinking.

Eager for anything, anything at all that could bring you a glimpse Johnny. The love of your life taken so young, life was so cruel and unfair. Taking him just as you were happiest. He was alive but was this still your Johnny? From the photo he was older, he’s different. He probably doesn’t even know who you are, for all you know he could be married, have his own kids. Who the hell are you to interrupt all of that?

“Then I’ll take my leave.” John huffs, interrupting your thoughts. He eyes you up and down one last time before exiting once again.

You sit up from your chair instinctively, playing with your ring. It’s only now that the doubt hits you like a truck.

Would he believe you? Would he laugh you off? Would he even like what he sees?

The thoughts raced until he opened up the door, reveling himself to you. Then you could only stare in shock.

That was your Johnny.

Older, yes. But that was him. Banged up with more scars, he looks tired yet wears his age well, you just wish you could’ve seen him grow older alongside you… But that’s your Johnny alright.

His eyes drag from the floor to meet yours and he offers you a small smile. It’s enough to shoot the air back into your lungs and for your heart to beat again. The tears starts to leave your eyes and your hands shoot up to wipe them away.

Johnny takes a good look at you and particularly that golden wedding band that he supposedly gave you. It’s still always been his dream to marry a girl like you, in some odd way he feels proud that in another life he got you. A gorgeous, caring and devoted wife that he could love up and spoil. Johnny knows himself and in any life, he would do the same: wife up a woman like you. Looks like he did. Looks like he still could.

“I ‘eard what ye said.” He softly speaks. You close your eyes at the sound. It feels so good to hear him again. A little different, but it’s still him.

“Bonnie, ye don’t have to cry.”

He steps forward to cup your face, wiping your tears away with his fingers. You place your own hands over his, keeping him there. Having him touch you again, it’s better than anything you could have ever prayed for. This is all you think about and to finally have it all come true. Even if it’s just for a second, you’d trade it all away.

“My wife, eh?” Johnny jokes to try and lighten the mood. You look up into his eyes and laugh with a smile despite the tears still leaking. He doesn’t mind, he wipes them still anyway.

“It’s so good to see you again.” You confess, a hand leaving his to touch his scarred face. From his cheeks, a thumb over his chin and his lips. He’s so hard to look away from, how handsome he grew up to be. His gaze and attention makes you bite your lip out of habit. A blush flooding your cheeks- he still has the same effect on you. Damn.

The feeling goes straight to your core, and you react before you can think. Bringing your face to his, foreheads resting against each others while your hands explore his back and shoulders, his neck and through his hair. Something he used to love, and it makes you whine a little when he moans at the feeling. He loves your touch just as much.

“Lass, yer doin’ somethin’ wild to me.” Johnny stumbles out, his hands coming to rest on your waist, pulling you in until you’re flush with his body. He feels so good, so toned under his clothes and solid. You didn’t want him to stop, your mind starting to spin.

He runs his hands up your sides, gliding your shirt up to touch the bare skin underneath. The slightest touch has you moaning his name out and he can’t help but swell with pride as he sees this gorgeous, young girl before him come apart, desperate for more of him. His ego has never felt so big until this moment.

“Johnny…”

“What do y’a need?” He mumbles out against your lips, brushing them with just enough touch to set your skin on fire, begging for more.

“Kiss me.” You lean further into his touch, eyes fluttering shut. It’s all too much, and yet you want more. God, you knew that if he were to take you right here in this room, you’d come undone within a minute. Easily. Happily.

“Please.”

“Well- what the wife wants, the wife gets.” He chuckles as he clashes his lips to yours, his large frame utterly engulfing your small one. The way he uses your title so easily, wife- you can’t help but need more of him everywhere, all over like a wife deserves from her husband. Your own hands itching for more of him to touch, your mouths moving together, tongues finding each other as he hums against you.

Johnny guides you and gently backs you up against the wall, a hand protecting your head as your body meets it. You try to pull him even closer to you, grabbing at his clothes when you realize you need him completely bare. It’s been so long since you’ve felt good, only ever wanting your husband. And now here he is just for you. You wonder if he’s even better now with his age... Hard to tell without a test drive.

But it’s only when you need to part for air that some of reality comes back to you.

Guilt.

“Wait, Johnny.” The alarm bells go off in his head and he looks at you worriedly.

“What’s wrong?” Seeing his eyebrows crease you immediately try to calm him. Another kiss to his lips and he eases up a bit. Just like he used to.

“I need to know. Do you- do you already have someone? A wife?”

Your nerves hit once more. He could still have someone in this universe or wherever you are. And even like this, you couldn’t be that woman that ruins a marriage. Even if he does feel rightfully yours.

Johnny smiles a bit at the question before glancing downward, almost as if he’s shy or embarrassed.

“Nay, never did.” He starts before taking your cheeks back into his hands, looking into your eyes.

“Just you.”

The biggest smile breaks out on your face, your hands tugging at his shirt to bring his lips back down to yours. He feels good, warm, right. Yours. Still yours. Always yours.

“I know I’m a little young, but that doesn’t bother you, does it?” You ask with a slight smirk against his lips.

Johnny just laughs, his hands working their way down your body to cup your ass almost possessively.

“Certainly not.” His eyes looking all over your face, taking you all in. Gods, you’re gorgeous and all his? He could still hardly believe it, but he’ll be damned if he didn’t at least get to know you and try to make it all work with you. He owes that much to himself.

“Does it bother you?”

“Hmm? You being older?” You ask innocently.

Johnny only nods, still admiring your beautiful face, his girl.

You shake your head no, not daring to look away from his gaze.

“I think it’s sexy, Sergeant John MacTavish.” You quip teasingly.

A groan escapes his lips, his pants straining against him almost painfully at this point. He needed you now or he might combust.

“This room or mine?” Johnny whispers, bringing his knee in between your legs and his mouth to your ear.

“And it’s Captain now, bonnie. Make a decision or I’ll make one for ya. Put on a show.” He glances to the two-way mirror and a nervous giggle leaves your lips.

Your husband most certainly would do such a thing.

-

Johnny was sure to make you use his proper title as he properly had you in bed, as well as used yours.

And with your volume and his reach, everyone on the base now knew he had a wife.

Things were complicated, sure, but you two would figure it out. He knew you both wanted to give it a try and were both willing despite it all.

And after a few weeks, he decides that all there’s left to do is buy a ring of his own that’ll match yours.

[the-ancient-dragons]

Feast your eyes upon this Overcomplicated MudWing! (Or as it's known in my computer files, MudWung)

You know the drill. Joy Ang and Tui are awesome and don't need me touching their stuff, but I was curious and did it anyway!

Details and explanation below.

Otherwise, next week are SandWings! See you then!

More overcomplicated dragons.

I was, obviously, highly inspired by crocodiles. I hope it's readable. I tried to emulate their colours, patterns, and awesome toothy grins. I wanted the MudWing to be slightly scary to look at. Imagine trying to travel through the swamp at night only to realize you're not standing on a log, and instead a sleeping dragon... Yikes!

Speaking of logs, I attempted to carve their horns into something vaguely branch-like. If real crocodiles try to look like floating logs, I figured a MudWing's horns poking out of the mud/water would benefit from this disguise as well. I suppose their spines could have this alteration as well, but I felt that would stray too far and they might be hidden anyway. I actually had a previous version where the horns were longer and more blunt like broken/rotting branches, but decided it didn't look right and instead blended them into the usual curved tip.

When I get into exploring the full-body skeleton and musculature, I'll include the process and behind-the-scenes for some of the tribes. Hopefully you'll like it!

[grimm-writings]

I really like how you write. Can I have some Tall-man Chilchuck crumbs?🙏

don’t see, don’t think

…ft! chilchuck x gn! reader

…tags! fluff, reader is having a crisis, reader’s race and race change is left ambiguous (but implied to NOT be a half foot)

…wc! 571

…notes! JUST IN TIME BEFORE THE EPISODE ITSELF GRAGGGGHH!!!! apologies for the wait anon!!! enjoy your crumbs

Don’t see it, don’t think it, don’t see it, don’t think it, don’t see it—

“Why are you staring at the wall?”

The deeper voice is so unfamiliar that it leaves you nearly leaping into the air like a cat.  You know it to be Chilchuck, and yet you can’t bring yourself to turn away from said wall you were fixating your eyes on.

“...Just coming to terms with this new form is all,” you awkwardly excuse yourself.  More like you’re trying to come to terms with Chilchuck’s new form.

You were close with the lockpick, more than you were with anyone else in the party.  Never in your life did you really come to think of Chilchuck as attractive.  Maybe it’s the difference in race?

Those damn changelings, if it weren’t for this new perspective on the man you would have been fine.  You wouldn’t find yourself thinking about how he has a stubble, slightly darker than his reddish-brown hair.  You wouldn’t notice the fact he’s definitely taller than Laios was as a tall man.  You wouldn’t be melting at how his voice altered, and you absolutely wouldn’t be trying your best not to be a complete mess around him.

Chilchuck doesn’t seem to notice, though.  At least with this sudden change, his senses dulled.  So seems to be the case with how observant he is.  “Figures,” he sighs, folding his arms.  “It’s definitely a lot to get used to.”

As his sentence draws close to a murmur, Chilchuck’s voice lowers a bit more in pitch.  You had to stop yourself from facing the wall and banging your head against it.

Good God, why did this have to happen to you?!

“Mhm!” You agree with a hum.  If you don’t open your mouth, there isn’t a way for you to say something you’ll regret.

That doesn’t stop Chilchuck from going, “hey,” and you find that he’s adjusting your bodies around in a way that you can be eye level, face to face with one another.

Don’t see it, don’t think it, don’t see it, don’t think it, don’t see it— 

His eyes are still that familiar colour, a dark brown with a slight shine to them.  The lines underneath them crease as he sends you a fond smile.

“Don’t let this freak you out too much, yeah?”  Chilchuck reassures you, but you’re hardly listening as you note now at the short distance he has a dimple on his chin.  How cute.  “We’ll find some way to get rid of the, uh, ailment, ok?”

He laughs a little at his own choice of words, and you try to do so too.  It comes out awkward and forced, but Chilchuck just gives your shoulder a squeeze to show that it’s alright.

He walks ahead, leaving you at your wit’s end.  This truly is the death of you.

Izutsumi doggedly (quite literally) reaches your side, if only to give you a judgemental sidelong glance.

“Didn’t think you’d have a thing for rugged guys you’d usually find in a back alley.”

You turn around and wrap your hands around Izutsumi’s snout, keeping her mouth shut as she flails in anger.  This definitely needed to be fixed soon, and quickly too, lest you lose your senses entirely.

Trying not to look at Chilchuck definitely isn’t doing you any favours anymore either; his face is etched into your mind permanently (and will be for days after.)

[dixons-sunshine]

Bloody | Vamp!Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, sexual content, blood, accidental injuries.

A/N: Requested by @holdmytesseract. For week two of @lazyneonrabbitt’s Halloween challenge.

With a carefully practiced precession to ensure that he did not accidentally hurt you with his inhuman strength, Daryl lowered you onto the bed in your shared room, his lips never leaving yours. His hands clutched the hem of your shirt in a manner that bordered on desperate. The man’s usually slow beating heart beat faster than normal under the palm of your hand that rested on his chest, and his skin was flushed with a heat that far surpassed his usual body heat, which was slightly colder than the average person’s, but not entirely cold to the touch.

It was clear that your current predicament had begun to alter your partner’s mind, his movements turning more frantic, more fast-paced. Instead of merely removing the shirt over your head, he ripped it to shreds instead, his hands finally being able to feel the smoothness of your soft skin. The feeling of your flesh against his hands, paired with the delectably overwhelming smell of your amazing scent had his mind drifting off into the ether. So much so that he failed to notice his accidental slip up until a drop of blood found its way into his mouth.

The moment the taste of the delicious crimson he relied on for his survival infiltrated his senses, his eyes shot open and he instantly pulled himself away from you, scrambling off of the bed to put some distance between you both. He furiously wiped at his mouth, a futile attempt to rid himself of the mouthwatering taste of your blood. It was not been the first time that he had tasted your blood, but it was the first time where he had lost control of himself to the point where he accidentally hurt you like that.

“Dar, what’s wrong?” you asked him, still breathless from your mind altering make out session with your partner, moving yourself to sit up on the bed.

The sound of your angelic voice snapped Daryl out of his thoughts. His ocean-coloured eyes—now painted with specks of red in them—peered at you from behind his hair. His breathing was ragged, both from your prior activities and the fact that he was attempting to hold himself at bay and control his slowly growing hunger.

“Fuck. M’so goddamn sorry, Sweetheart,” Daryl apologized to you, his eyes showing sincere remorse at the accident. He had not realized that his fangs had elongated. That was the reason your lip had been nicked, and was now bleeding. Because of him. “I swear, I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’d never take yer blood without yer permission. M’not like that.”

You were confused at his words. However, when you brought your hand up to your lip, you winced as your finger made contact with your busted lip, and you knew what he was talking about. And you did not blame him in the slightest. If anything, the minor accident kind of turned you on even more. Daryl’s fangs only ever made an appearance during sex when he was getting drunk on your scent. More often than not, he would lightly scrape his fangs over your body as he went down, but never hard enough to leave an injury.

This was the first time that had happened.

After a moment of silence, you let out a small giggle, confusing Daryl entirely. “What?” he inquired gruffly.

You shook your head, your laugh dying down into a small smile. “Nothing. You’re just so adorable.” Before he could protest, you stood up from the bed, shaking off the last remnants of your destroyed shirt, and walked over to him. You looped your arms around his neck and pressed your body against his, your lower half making contact with his hard erection. You successfully elicited a small groan from him, making you smirk slightly.

“You have nothing to apologize for. It was an accident. I didn’t even realize it happened until you pointed it out.” You leaned forward to whisper in his ear, your tone low and seductive. “Besides, you know I don’t mind if you take some of my blood. I was gonna suggest you do that, anyway. But not on my lip. I was gonna say somewhere more…” You took one of his hands in yours and guided it down, letting it hover right above the clothed skin of your cunt. “...enjoyable for us both.”

Your words barely had time to sit in the air. You were hoisted off of your feet and practically flung back onto the bed. A light laugh escaped your chest, and you smiled at the sight of Daryl clambering back to hover over you, his hands clumsily but eagerly working to free you of your jeans.

When you were left in nothing but your bra, Daryl moved up to slant his mouth across yours for a gentle kiss. His tongue swiped over your bottom lip a few times, his spit coating your mouth. When he was satisfied, he pulled back and stared down at you, a small, lopsided smile on his face.

“S’gon’ make sure yer lip heals faster,” he explained, although it was unnecessary. You were well aware of the healing attributes his saliva held.

“Daryl, please stop worrying about a small cut on my lip and just fuck me already.”

Daryl chuckled at your impatient tone. He pressed one last kiss to your lips before pulling away again. “Yes, ma’am.”

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Rise August: Couch Potato

Alt version with my own style-ish design changes for the characters

I've seen a few artists do their own iterations of TMNT so I guess this would be mine? My iteration based off the Rise designs? I suppose?? Idk I do too much stuff anyway so let's move on — but I did draw this version first and then got too in my head about whether or not people would like it so I uh redrew it because I'm a coward so here's the secret version:

I made Splinter have a more similar colour scheme to the 2012 Splinter, a brown rat with some pale marks and stubble on his face and tail.

The boys have slightly altered green tones — slightly darker shades than usual. They all also have facial marks, and I gave Raph his own birthmarks!! Their shell designs and stuff have simplified, no outlines, just solid colour (same with Leo's banana marks).

Raph is probably the biggest change — he has birthmarks, extra spiky scales, and tons of red in his skin!

I put in my own art style bits for this as well: I try to draw Rise as close to the actual style as I can, but for this I wanted to go for more of my style traits. The knees have swirls and the limbs are a bit more loose. There's some more detail and strands in the hair for Splinter. Raph's toes are claw-like. The boys' hands are rounded out, a lil' pudgy. I prefer drawing rounder edges, so I included a lot of those. I also (on occasion) do this style thing with my lineart where I add some shades and tones to it so it has multicolour... things? I dunno what to call it, but it looks dope as heck. Only issue with the art choice is it takes a while to draw so I don't do it a lot, only for special art pieces (like this one)!

@sariphantom

[xenonarrow]

At last, my piece for the Moon Knight fanzine Lunar Labyrinth (@moon-knight-zine) from last year! This is the first time I work with a zine project and it was definitely a delight.

I had fun with the symbolism on this piece, more info under the crack:

Prompt/Subject: My place in this zine was part of the artists for the 4th chapters, Waxing Gibbous: Order. The prompt was changed and revised through the process, ultimately revolving around the concept of being reborn, rebuilding, discovering each other's strengths and ultimately the chapter's namesake order. I played with the concept of rebuilding a literal set of mirrors as a visual metaphor.

General setting: I chose to feature the MCU version of the character(s) with some elements from the comics since the time of the planning was very close to its release on D+. The scene is set inside one's house as I often use them with the symbolic value of one's personality and emotional state. I chose Steven's apartment from the MCU for two main reasons: 1) It's shown at the end after the events of the series, implying they still use it as home 2) The layout of the set is well documented and also nice and cosy. I used a combination of pictures from the behind the scenes and artbook + a rough scene I put up in Blender as reference for the subjects' placement, perspective and palette

Character(s) There is only one (physical) character in scene that I called "the body" since it's placed in a way so the face is not visible. This is deliberate so to not give away any clue about which alter is fronting - he can be any of them, all or none at the same time - it's just the body. The physical appearance. The medium with which the psyche interacts with the rest of the physical world. The body's clothes were a tough choice but I ended up with Steven's pyjamas since it was what they wearing at the end of the series. Steven, Marc and Jake are represented in the mirror with their Duat sequence clothes (except for Jake's attire for his only on-screen appearance + comics version fake moustache because honestly he feels naked without them) and in a pose reflecting as much as their individual vibe and role as I could in a single image: Steven and Jake are helping the body putting the mirror pieces back together in two different ways, one in a more concerned / affectionate manner and the other is slightly more blunt and direct. Marc is covering his face, as hiding away is kinda fitting for his character on different occasions (hiding memories in an attempt to protect Steven, Hiding parts of himself and his life to his loved ones, running away from his problems etc). Being dramatic as usual.

Mirrors I love using mirrors as visual metaphors. And I love how they used them in the series. I am very normal about it. In this piece the mirrors function as a reflection of the inner self (or selves, in this case): the same body is reflected in three different mirrors (the alters) which are more or less fractured based on the status of their relationship with a specific alter and themselves: Jake has the most pieces missing, since in the series he's the most elusive one to the point of the others not being aware of his existence up until the end despite still being active in protecting them in times of need. The background of the mirrors reflects the pattern of the (head)space as seen in some parts of the Moon Knight (2016) comics while the colours are chosen and assigned based on the box colours used in Moon Knight (2021). The pattern is not following the perspective of the shards on the floor because it's not a physical space the mirror is reflecting but it's more of a "door" to another dimension, the psychological one. The back of the mirrors has a hieroglyphic inscription vaguely inspired by those seen during the first costume sequence at the end of ep 1 (will be back at this later)

The moon dart (that shiny thing stuck in the rightmost mirror): The moon dart symbolises their connection and service under Khonshu. It was thrown diagonally hitting all three mirrors (and causing the fractures in them) and it got stuck in Jake's, symbolising his status as the one in the system still under the god's leash. The dart has also a side, positive connotation: despite the havoc that being Khonshu's avatar has brought, it also started to bring them together and work as a team.

Hieroglyphs: There is a thematic back-and-forth in this segment of the mirror, as the empty sections symbolises a loss of self in favour of being an Egyptian deity's puppet (hence the hieroglyphic inscriptions, vaguely resembling the pyramid texts where a certain hymn features an earlier and more violent version of the god Khonsu being a slayer for the king), but in the same inscriptions (see the second picture) carry a hopeful message: "There is no son who is strong against his father, but you are strong and mighty while Ma'at (personification of order, balance, harmony) dwells on your arms and your Ba (plural) will last forever, repeating rejuvenation like the Moon". I used "father" referencing the comics where Khonshu leans heavier into posing as a fatherly figure as a manipulation tactic, so the sentence can be interpreted as escaping from Khonshu's leash and finding strength and balance among themselves. It also echoes the usage of the moon dart.

Easter eggs: There are two easter eggs in here. Three Ba birds with the alters' faces can be seen over Steven's mirror, it's a little signature detail since a previous drawing with them apparently became iconic in my corner of MK fandom? They are also mentioned in the hieroglyphic text. There's a tiny Dracula hiding under the carpet layer. We can't see you in the finished piece, but we know you're here you big fucking nerd

WHEW that was a lot. Thank you for reading this far!

Here are some other progress pics if you fancy:

[rizzyu]

hey there! could i request luxiem reacting to their s/o cosplaying as them or one of their alter egos? :) thanks!♡♡

When You Cosplay As Them

Pairing: Vox, Mysta, Luca, Ike, Shu x gn! reader

Category: Fluff, slightly suggestive if you squint hard enough

Warning: Uhhhh slight cursing in Mysta’s, mentions of exposed chests and smol waists, pet names

Summary: If you’re braindead and didn’t understand the title, this is how the Luxiem members react to you cosplaying as them stoopid :)

A/N: thx for the requeeeeeeeeeeeeeest I wanna cosplay as shuey shu :3

Vox Akuma

As you step out of the changing room, Vox’s eyes widened at the sight of you in the white suit and red shirt identical to his own. And just like his, your black and red hair was sprayed over your shoulders. You looked away from him, blushing, as you were worried about what his reaction would be. “Darling, don’t be shy, look at me.” Your beloved demon walked over and lifted your chin, making you face him. Your red eyeliners and golden lenses were displayed clearly for him to see. “Holy Riku Tazumi, you look so hot.” You felt your face heat up at his comments. Vox chuckled at your reaction and leaned in to peck you on your lips. “See? No need to be shy, you look stunning. I’ll have to take a photo later.”

Mysta Rias

“HOLY SHIT-” Mysta’s lips were left agape, and his eyes got so wide when you walked into you and his shared bedroom wearing a cosplay of him. You were dressed in the orange patterned shirt, white pants, and the fox beret similar to his. You had one hand on your waist, the other lowering your orange sunglasses, showing him your turquoise lenses while slightly sticking your tongue out. Your cleavage was also slightly revealed by the orange shirt. Mysta was ready to just cross his arms over his chest and pass out right there. Why do you look so beautiful?? “So, what do you think?” Your question snapped Mysta out of his thoughts. Mysta lifted your taupe coloured hair to peck your forehead. “Absolutely perfect.”

Luca Kaneshiro

What’s a cleavage? Your entire chest was exposed at this point. Luca’s face immediately heated up at the sight of you in the similar looking white striped suit, dark grey shirt, and fur coat. To be honest, both of you were way too flustered right now. Luca had never seen you wear such exposed clothes, and you never had worn any. “So uhhh… do you like it..?” Luca tried to keep his composure and lifted two thumbs up. “You look so poggers babe.” You chuckled “And you were so adorable just now” You walked over to him to squish his cheeks, causing him to become a blushing mess (not that he wasn’t already). “My cute golden retriever boy” Oh man what did you do to him?

Ike Eveland

Ike leaned forward on his seat when you came out all cute looking in his cosplay. He felt like in heaven when he saw you in heels, fishnet gloves and the golden rimmed glasses. You even held a book and a quill pen by your side as props. You tucked away some of your grey-to-blue coloured hair while slightly blushing. “Heheh, your cosplay was kinda hard to put on. At least it looks good.” Dammit, how could you speak in such a sugar-coated voice while cosplaying as him? You were going to make Ike ascend. Ike walked over to you, and like the gentleman that he is, he took your hand and tenderly placed a peck on the knuckles while keeping eye contact with your golden lenses. “You look way more than good.”

Shu Yamino

“EYYYYYYYYYYYYYY” And that was the hardest Shu had ever eyy-ed before, just from looking at you in his sorcerer cosplay. As soon as you showed Shu your cosplay, it was visible that Shu was looking at your small waist bound in the black corset. “Shuey, it’s not nice to stare~” You chuckled as you managed to snap your banana boi back to reality. “O-oh! S-sorry…” Shu could only sheepishly look away blushing upon getting caught staring at your waist. You pulled him closer by the arm, close enough for you to whisper in his ear. “Don’t worry pretty boy, I often stare at your snatched waist too.” Well if that did not bring the true flustered Shu out. Broski was standing there stuttering and everything. He’s too cute you couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction. “H-hey! Not funny! You’ll be paying back later when I get to hold your snatched waist all to myself!”

[keyleth-clay]

I'm really curious about your Kryn dynasty hair headcanons 💜💜

Okay so like, full disclosure, the vast majority of this comes from the brilliant minds of @quinn-of-aebradore and her fic What is left behind, and hanap (who I don't think is on tumblr?) and their fic Unbinding. Bullet points for simplicity's sake:

The only headcanon on this list that isn't directly inspired by a fanfic lol. Elves in fantasy media are so frequently portrayed with long, flowing hair - just take your pick of any elven character from Lord of the Rings, for example. As such, whenever elves show up in any other fictional media, I always just assume that they have the same long, elegant hair (unless described otherwise). At some indeterminate point in the past, I ended up learning how the Han Chinese had (at least for a very long time, if not in present day) traditionally stopped cutting their hair once they reached adulthood - @ziseviolet has a great post about that over here - and the two points of information neatly dovetailed into a headcanon for the Kryn Dynasty.

With one slight alteration, that is - in addition to new souls and unconsecuted souls no longer cutting their hair upon reaching adulthood, consecuted souls would stop cutting their hair once the returning soul becomes apparent and anamnesis is completed, as a signifier of the once-adult soul returning to the world. The long, uncut hair represents the long life they've lived, and the even longer succession of experiences of the soul.

Building off of the idea that not cutting your hair would leave it fairly unwieldy in the day-to-day, and the incredibly detailed elven-inspired braid hairstyles you can find all over social media (especially Pinterest), the idea of braids being the main traditional hairstyle(s) of the Kryn Dynasty sprung up. This would predominantly apply to the Drow of the Dynasty, along with any other consecuted souls who ended up in non-Drow bodies, with more freedom of hairstyle choice being afforded to non-consecuted citizens.

Inspired by What is left behind: the idea of different styles of braids being worn for different occasions. Like, there's a difference between their everyday braids, their standard ceremonial braids, braids for weddings, braids for funerals, etc. I am also totally in love with the idea of having ribbons or other similar materials woven into the braids, and especially with the Den colours that @quinn-of-aebradore came up with (Den Thelyss teal and silver, my beloved 💙🤍). Wearing the wrong style of braid to the wrong occasion would be a major social faux pas, and the correct colours and the right amounts of each colour are also important, though perhaps slightly less so than the braids style itself.

Also inspired by What is left behind: the idea of a mourning braid, which must be worn for a certain amount of time. Quinn made the period of mourning be a week in their fic, but I could easily see some people choosing to wear theirs longer, especially if the deceased was someone they were particularly close to, or if they were an unconsecuted soul, and as such the mourner would not be able to reunite with them.

Last one from What is left behind: building off of the Den colours woven into the braid, ceremonial braids will also use specific combinations of the Den's colours to mark the relationship the wearer has with the person the ceremony is for. For example, in the fic, Verin wears a mourning braid with "one silver, two teal, marking the deceased as his sibling." Deirta wears one silver and one teal, for her child. Further extrapolation should be pretty simple from there.

Inspired by Unbinding: the number of braids. I adore the idea of an additional braid being added for each major accomplishment and milestone of a person's life, because it already merges so well with the spiritual ideas of the unbroken strand of hair representing the long life and rebirth of the soul, and the cultural/societal significance to the style of braids and the colours woven into them. Now, the hair becomes a status symbol - the more braids, the more intricate the patterns and more impressive the person looks, as a direct reflection of what they've accomplished in their lives. The Umavi's , for example, would have incredibly complicated patterns of braids, while lower-ranked members of the Dens would probably only have one to three braids.

Inspired by Unbinding - and by "inspired", I mean that's straight up what happens in the fic: Essek cutting his hair off. That's a big deal, and by that I mean an enormous social taboo to the point of scandal. Hair signifies the Den, the soul's accomplishments, the journey of the soul through many lives as guided by the Luxon. Cutting that off could easily represent cutting the life short (which isn't totally inaccurate in this case, given that Essek isn't consecuted), could represent spurning the Den (again, not necessarily inaccurate in Essek's case), so on and so forth.

That being said, I think it's quite thematically appropriate for the Shadowhand (which according to Matt Mercer, is "those who focus on the dark mysteries of Exandria for the Bright Queen") to keep his hair cut short - it prevents people from learning too much about him at a glance, without Den colours or length or number of braids to tell them what he's done or who he's associated with. That being said, I don't imagine Essek cut his hair with any of that in mind - instead, it was one of the few, small ways that he could quietly rebel against a culture that he never fully believed in.

With all of that, I genuinely cannot picture Essek with longer hair. That's not a knock to Matt's depiction of him - he's his character, after all. And that's not a knock to the fanartists, either. My brain just refuses to make the mental connection of "Drow with shoulder length hair = Essek Thelyss". But, of course, none of this is canon anyways and I just like playing in this sandbox.

[badathumanemotions]

Feelings of Ecstasy

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader MDNI Master List Category: Smut CW: Spiked Drinks, Sex Pollen, DubCon, Drugged Sex, Vaginal Sex, Sort of Dominate Spencer, Breeding Kink WC:2,195 Summery: Spencer and reader go out for a drink after work. Their drinks are spiked with a sex pollen like drug. (Not Proof Read) You know what, Spence?" Y/N said, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a tired smile, "I think we've earned this." She held up two cold beer bottles, the condensation beading like tiny diamonds in the neon light of the bar.

Spencer chuckled, his eyes lighting up with a hint of relief. "Agreed, Y/N," he said, taking the bottle she offered. "Cheers to another successful case."

Their clinking bottles echoed through the bustling bar, mingling with the chatter of the patrons and the jukebox playing an old rock song in the corner. The scent of stale beer and faint whiff of greasy food filled the air, but to them, it was the sweet smell of victory and a well-deserved break. They were off the clock, and the weight of their jobs at the BAU had been temporarily lifted.

In the midst of their celebration, a sudden crash jolted them out of their conversation. A group of rowdy patrons had knocked over a chair, sending it skidding across the sticky floor. The commotion drew their eyes, and in that split second, an unseen hand reached out from the shadows. It was swift, almost ghostly in its precision, and by the time their gazes returned to their drinks, their beers had been adulterated with a clear, odourless liquid.

Y/N took a sip of her beer, unaware of the potent concoction now swirling within it. The first few moments were unchanged—the cool, bitter taste of the ale sliding down her throat, the bubbles tickling her nose. But then, it hit her—a warm, tingling sensation that spread from her fingertips to her toes. She looked at Spencer, his cheeks slightly flushed, and realized he was feeling it too.

"Do you feel… strange?" she asked, setting her bottle down with a shaky hand. Spencer nodded, his gaze unfocused. "Yeah, I… I don't know what's happening."

Within minutes, the bar swirled around them like a kaleidoscope, the colors bleeding into one another, the faces of the patrons distorting into a blur of smiles. The music grew louder, the lights brighter, until the only clear thought was escape. They stumbled out, the cool night air slapping them in the face, sobering them just enough to realize they needed to get away from the there.

Somehow, through the fog of their minds, they managed to make it to Y/N's apartment. The journey was a series of disjointed moments—a cab ride, Spencer fumbling with his wallet, the sound of her keys jingling in the lock.

Inside, the safety of the familiar surroundings did little to abate the confusion. Spencer's thoughts swam in a haze of doubt and need, his instincts telling him that he should be concerned about their compromised drinks, but the drug whispered seductively, pushing those worries aside. The room was a whirlwind of sensation—colours more vivid than ever, the fabric of the couch feeling like the softest velvet under their fingertips, the scent of Y/N's perfume intoxicatingly potent.

Spencer's body felt hot, his heart racing in his chest. He looked up at Y/N, her eyes meeting his with a sudden intensity that made him feel like he was drowning. The fire grew stronger, and with it, an overwhelming need to touch her, to claim her in a way that was both primal and utterly consuming.

Y/N's cheeks flushed, her breaths shallow. She licked her lips, and Spencer could see the desire reflected in her gaze. The atmosphere in the room shifted, charged with something neither of them could ignore. They both knew what was happening, but neither spoke of the sex pollen like drug that they had been dosed with. It was as if the very fabric of their reality had been altered, and all that remained was the raw, unbridled lust that now ruled them. Finally able to give in and act on their mutual desire.

He took a step closer to her, and she didn't back away. Instead, she leaned into him, her breasts pressing against his chest. He groaned, his hands instinctively reaching for her hips, pulling her closer. The friction of their clothes was unbearable, the need to feel her bare skin against his own driving him to the brink of madness. He kissed her, hard and deep, his tongue invading her mouth as if he could taste the very essence of her soul.

Their kiss grew more frantic, more desperate. Spencer's hand found its way under her shirt, his rough touch sending electric shocks through her body. Y/N moaned into his mouth, her own hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. They stumbled backward, knocking over a chair in their haste to be closer, to feel more of each other. When they reached the bed, Spencer pushed her down, his hands already working at the fastening of her pants. He needed to be inside her, to feel her warmth enveloping him, to fill her completely with his desire.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as he pushed her legs apart, his gaze never leaving hers. He lowered himself onto her, the weight of his body pressing her into the mattress. The need to have him was like a living thing inside her, demanding to be satiated. She reached down, her hand wrapping around his erection, guiding him to her entrance. He paused for a moment, savouring the anticipation, before plunging into her with a force that made them both gasp.

Their bodies moved together in a dance as old as time itself, driven by the potent pollen that had taken over their senses. Spencer's thrusts grew harder, more demanding, as if he was trying to reach a place deep within her that no one else had ever touched. Y/N's nails dug into his back, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. The world outside the room ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the friction between their bodies, the sounds of their passion filling the space.

Their climax was explosive, a crescendo of pleasure that seemed to shake the very foundation of the building. But even as they rode the waves of their release, the hunger for more didn't abate. Spencer pulled out of her, only to push back in again, his movements relentless. He was going to fill her with his seed, mark her as his own, no matter how much she begged for mercy.

Their moans grew louder, echoing through the room, their bodies slick with sweat. They were lost in a world of pure, unadulterated lust, and neither wanted it to end. Every stroke brought them closer to the edge, only to pull them back, prolonging the sweet agony. It was a battle of wills, a struggle for dominance, and yet, they were both equally enslaved to the desire that consumed them.

The room spun around them, the air thick with the scent of arousal. They were a tangled mess of limbs and passion, each movement a declaration of war against the invisible force that had taken control of their bodies. And as they reached their peak once more, their eyes locked, the intensity of their connection reaching a new level, they both knew that the night was far from over. The sex pollen had only just begun to do its work, and they were both powerless to resist its siren call.

Spencer pulled out, his cock glistening with their combined juices, and rolled Y/N onto her stomach. He grabbed her hips and slammed into her from behind, his hands digging into her flesh as he claimed her with renewed vigor. She screamed his name, her voice hoarse from the moans and pleas that had already spilled from her lips. The bed frame creaked under their weight, a testament to the frenzied pace they had set.

Her pussy tightened around him, squeezing him in a vice-like grip that had him seeing stars. He knew he was close again, his balls tightening with every thrust. He reached around, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing it mercilessly. Y/N's back arched, her body responding to his touch like it was programmed to do so. He could feel her walls fluttering around him, her orgasm building.

He didn't let up, pushing deeper, harder, until she was on the brink. With one final, brutal thrust, he sent her over the edge, her pussy convulsing around him. He roared his release, filling her up with hot spurts of cum, his hips jerking with the force of it. They collapsed onto the bed, their bodies spent, but the lust still pulsing through their veins like a drug.

For a moment, they lay there, panting, trying to catch their breath. But the respite was short-lived. The pollen's grip on them was unrelenting, and soon, their hands were roaming again, their kisses growing more urgent. They had become addicted to the feeling of each other, unable to get enough, as if every touch was a lifeline to sanity in a world gone mad with desire. And as the night grew darker, their cries grew louder, their bodies moving in a symphony of passion that neither of them could ever forget.

Spencer's mind was a haze of need, his thoughts consumed by the single goal of impregnating Y/N. He rolled her onto her back, his eyes burning with a fierce possessiveness. He had to see her stomach swollen with his child, her breasts heavy with milk, her body forever changed by the life they would create together. It was a primal urge that overrode any rational thought, reducing him to his most basic instincts.

He kissed her again, his tongue exploring the depths of her mouth as his hands moved over her curves, memorizing every inch of her. His cock was already hard again, demanding more, eager to fill her once more. He positioned himself between her legs, his eyes never leaving hers as he slid back inside her. The heat of her body was like a brand, searing him with the knowledge that she was his, and always would be.

Her hips bucked up to meet him, her nails scoring his back, urging him deeper. He knew she felt it too, the all-consuming need to be one, to create something new and beautiful together. They moved together, their bodies in perfect sync, their hearts racing in time with the rhythm of their lovemaking. The room was a blur of sweat and heat, the only reality the feeling of skin on skin, the sound of their breaths mingling in the stillness of the night.

And as they reached their climax once more, their eyes locked, Spencer knew that nothing would ever be the same again. They had crossed a line, succumbed to a desire so intense it had stripped them bare of all their defences. He continued to thrust, his seed spilling into her, marking her as his in the most primal way possible. He whispered her name over and over, a mantra that echoed through the room, a declaration of ownership that was as fierce as it was tender.

Their bodies shuddered with the power of their release, the force of it leaving them trembling and gasping. But even as the intensity began to wane, the need didn't. They were trapped in a cycle of passion, driven by the sex pollen that had taken over their senses. They had become slaves to their desires, and there was no escape.

The night stretched on, a never-ending tapestry of pleasure and pain, of love and obsession. They didn't speak of the future, didn't whisper sweet nothings into the darkness. They didn't need to. The bond that had formed between them was stronger than words, stronger than anything they had ever known. And as they lay there, their bodies entwined, their hearts beating as one, they knew that no matter what the morning brought, they would never be the same again. The pollen had changed them, bound them together in a way that no one else could ever understand.

Spencer brushed the hair from Y/N's face, his eyes filled with a mix of wonder and possession. He wanted to see her grow round with his child, the thought made him hard again, his body responding to the idea of claiming her so completely, so utterly. He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a kiss that spoke of forever, of a bond that could never be broken.

The pollen had done its work, and now they were truly one. And as the first light of dawn began to creep into the room, they both knew that the night had only just begun. They had so much more to explore, so much more to experience together. The world outside had ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the here and now, the passion that burned between them like an eternal flame. They were bound by lust, by love, by the promise of new life growing within her. And as they drifted off to sleep, their bodies still intertwined, they were already planning for the next round, eager to see if the next time would be the one that made their deepest desires come true.

[crustaceousfaggot]

So... Idk maybe this was obvious to everyone and there's no point in me bringing it up. But can we talk about Ballister's armor?

The plate that the knights wear is standardized. It's their uniform. All the knights we see in the film are wearing the same armor and use the same swords. They're standard issue. With a couple exceptions.

Ambrosius gets much flashier armor, with the obvious gold and white colour scheme and the lion (?) design on his chest plate. He also has large lions on the sides of his pauldrons with embedded sapphire eyes, which - wow, talk about ostentatious. This is presumably because of his connections to Gloreth - his blood is special enough that he gets an entirely different and considerably flashier set of armor. Is it a family heirloom? Was it commissioned specifically for him? We'll never know. But the Institute designated this little boy Special enough to be exempt from the dress code in order to demonstrate his status as the Specialist Boy.

Todd gets a slightly altered version of the uniform, with black bottoms instead of grey, and larger pauldrons. If we assume Ambrosius gets fancy armour because of his family connections, then that seems to imply Todd also has some ancestry notable enough to set him aside slightly from the rest of the knights. Not anywhere near as famed as Gloreth of course, but maybe a notable general or war hero or something along those lines. That would explain some of the ego. Whatever.

Both of them seem to still be using the standardized swords though.

And then there's Ballister. With his black armor.

In the book I just sort of assumed he chose that armor in order to compliment the whole aesthetic he's got going on. But in the movie that is explicitly not true. They gave him that armor, to signify in the most literal and inconspicuous way possible that he is the black sheep. He does not belong and he never will, no matter how hard he tries, because the Institute will make sure everyone who sees him immediately recognizes him as other. Street trash who has been graciously permitted into their ranks, but will never be allowed to wear the untainted, pure colours of their order, the divine white and gold. It was decided for him, before he even became a knight, that no matter what he did he would never escape that shadow. That he was let in, not born in. Allowed to exist. Always on their terms.

He doesn't even get to use their swords. He gets a black sword to match his armor, one which (by the looks of it) is significantly lower-tech than the standard issue swords, at least until it was tampered with.

The Queen could have stopped this, but she didn't, which indicates to me more than ever that, to her, Ballister was first and foremost a token. A gesture meant to inspire loyalty and goodwill from her subjects, to prove that she was willing to change. Slowly. And only so long as people remembered who really had the power. Am I saying she was evil or whatever? No. We haven't seen enough of her as a ruler to make those kinds of judgements. But to me she represents a very milquetoast, left-of-center, "Equal-rights-for-everyone-so-long-as-it-doesn't-negatively-affect-me-or-my-standing-in-any-way" kind of leader.

There was no way he could have ever been one of them. Never. And they made sure knew it.

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Kibo and Kisses

Taking a breather on a remote planet after working yet another job for Cid, Echo steals away with you for a moment.

Pairing: Echo x f!reader

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: cuteness, sweetness, fluff, Echo is self-conscious but we love him, eavesdropping brothers, idiots in love, first kiss, pet names/nicknames, brief mention of Fives (who else was Echo going to learn some moves from?)

Translations: Uj’ika – kinda like ‘cupcake’

He was sweet behind all the gruffness and bad puns. If anything, it just added to his charm. War changed many men, and being kept prisoner, body altered without consent, and mind used to defeat your brethren? Yeah, that would undoubtedly change a man.

You wouldn’t think it, though, watching Echo listen intently to Omega’s story, laughing at the right moments and nodding to encourage her to continue. She only had a handful of stories, late-night tales Nala Se used to tell her back on Kamino, but she could remember them like the back of her hand, and once she grew tired of the boy’s war stories and the ones about your childhood, she would share hers.

You’d lost track of how long you’d been roaming the galaxy with Omega and the boys. Cid had insisted you accompany them on a mission, and that mission rolled to two and then to three…

Shaking your head fondly, a sigh slipped from between your lips. The Trandoshan had given you such a sly smile when she’d shoved you onto a ship with four charming men and a cute kid.

“He’s not going to disappear, you know.” Warmth blossomed in your chest as Hunter sat next to you on the crudely made wooden bench you’d fashioned shortly after landing two rotations ago on Yavin 4. While the boys had armour to protect their behinds from the damp grass, you and Omega didn’t have that luxury.

“Don’t know what you mean.” You lied, tilting your head to meet the Sergeant’s gaze, squinting a little as the setting sun dared to blind you.

“Mhm.” The corners of Hunter’s lips quirked up in amusement, but he refrained from pushing his point too far. Watching you moon over his brother from afar was adorable and frustrating that you were too stubborn and anxious to do anything about it. “What story is Omega telling this time?” He switched topics, noting how the tension melted slightly from your shoulders.

“You’re the one with the enhanced hearing, you tell me.” You rocked to the side, lightly nudging Hunter’s arm with your shoulder. You’d grown up with a brother, and though the war had taken him from you, it had also graced you with a few new ones.

Turning your gaze back to Echo and Omega, you waited as Hunter tuned in to their conversation. At first, his ability to eavesdrop from afar had caught you off guard, forcing you to switch to your mother tongue when quietly cussing anyone on the ship out. Still, you found amusement in using it to your advantage, twisting Hunter’s arm until he would eavesdrop on gossiping women in marketplaces or creepy men with lousy pick-up lines in cantinas.

“It’s not a Nala Se special.” He admitted, eyebrows rising closer to his hairline as Echo’s laughter filled the tiny clearing Tech had set the Marauder down in. “Did you tell someone that you prefer they take you for dinner before calling you names?”

The colour drained from your face, and your jaw slackened. “Oh no.” You squeaked, wide eyes watching the way Echo’s whole frame shook with laughter, while Omega grinned, oblivious to the true meaning behind the comeback you’d snapped at the rude market attendant the last time you’d touched down for supplies.

Turning your gaze to Hunter, his thinly veiled amusement had you stammering out an explanation. “A- A fruit vendor wasn’t looking where he was going. He walked into us. His goods went everywhere. He called me some choice names; I told him I preferred dinner beforehand – it slipped out before I could stop it. Oh, Maker, you think Omega knows what I meant?”

Allowing himself to chuckle at the horror on your face, Hunter stood, bringing a large hand down to land on your shoulder. “I hope not but try not to make such comments around the innocent child next time. I don’t think any of us are ready to have that talk with her yet.” He shook his head in disbelief, smile firmly in place as he retreated onto the ship.

“Omega.” You called out, desperately hoping to stop her from telling any more stories before she embarrassed you further.

Your voice drew the young girl’s attention, and with a quick wave of your hand, she came racing across the clearing, stopping right in front of you. Echo trailed behind her, his pace much more languid. “What is it?” Omega offered you a sweet smile, rocking on the spot with her hands locked behind her back.

“It’s getting dark, and we should head inside.” You gestured to the setting sun, which had dropped a little further towards the horizon since you’d first sat down to watch Omega and Echo.

Frowning, the young clone glared at the sun before returning her smile to you. “But you and Echo are out here with me.” She retorted, tampering down her grin as she watched Echo sit beside you on the bench, his knee lightly knocking against yours.

Grateful he couldn’t hear your heart hammering away at the physical contact, you bit down on the inside of your lip. “I know, but it’s bedtime.” You insisted. You tried to keep a routine for her, conscious that she was young and growing. Omega never skipped a meal, even if it meant you did on the quiet, and where possible, she got eight hours of sleep.

“I’m not tired.” Omega’s smile turned to a pout. She wasn’t ready for the evening to end.

“It’s been a long day. You’ll fall asleep as soon as you’re in bed and have Lula.” Echo chimed in, catching how your shoulders relaxed as he took the reins. He enjoyed that you mothered Omega, offering her one of the things that they had been deprived of. But he also knew how difficult it could be, especially when the child in question wasn’t your own. There were invisible boundaries to negotiate and rules to establish, but whenever he felt you might need a helping hand, he was more than willing to step up. Sometimes, it was good to remind himself that Omega was still a child, even if she was older than him and his brothers.

Shooting Echo a thankful smile, you returned your focus to the quiet girl before you. She looked to be contemplating Echo’s words. It was time for the big guns. “Besides, you’ll need plenty of energy if we’re going to track down a Ysalamiri tomorrow.”

Omega’s face lit up brighter than the suns of Tatooine. “We’re going to go and find one?” She gasped. When you’d landed, Tech had pulled out his datapad to research the planet. He’d found a list of native plants and animals, pointing out which ones to avoid. Omega had caught sight of the Ysalamiri and loved the non-threatening, furry creatures.

“Yep, so you’ll need your sleep. They’re fast and live in the trees, so we might need to do some climbing.” You explained, silently praying Hunter wasn’t actively listening to the conversation. He would have a fit if he knew you’d scramble amongst the branches, but it was part of a normal childhood.

“Will you come too, Echo?” Omega swung her wide gaze to her brother, pleading for him to join them.

Eyes widening as he was put on the spot, Echo stalled for a moment. He’d told Tech that he would help him perform maintenance on the ship in the morning, but was he about to give up the chance to explore with you? “Sure.” He decided, knowing he’d have to break the news to Tech. His brother could maintain the ship alone, but Echo didn’t want him to bear the weight alone. “I’d be more than happy to escort my favourite girls.” It slipped out before he could stop it, and he studiously kept his eyes on Omega, ignoring the weight of your soft gaze on his profile.

“I’ll go to bed then.” Omega declared, conceding with a grin that had you narrowing your eyes in her direction. What was going on in that young girl’s mind?

Opening his arms, Echo accepted Omega’s goodnight hug. It had taken a short while for him to grow accustomed to the action – a shoulder thump was the usual level of affection his brothers gave, and he was conscious that his cybernetics made everything uncomfortable and awkward. Sometimes he wondered if he could swap his scomp out for a proper arm and hand, but they didn’t have the credits or time to purchase and make such adjustments.

Omega threw herself into your arms after hugging her brother, giving you a tight squeeze before she bounded into the Marauder, leaving you with Echo.

“If you’d rather have a girl’s day tomorrow, that’s okay. I know you and Omega enjoy your time together.” Echo broke the momentary silence. As much as he wanted, no yearned, to join you tomorrow, he would respect your decision. You and Omega didn’t get much time to explore marketplaces or local fairgrounds together, and he would hate to take that from you.

“I’d love for you to come with us.” You stated, reaching up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear.

Echo wasn’t entirely convinced. “You sure?” He gave you one last out. “Feels like you haven’t wanted to be around me lately. You left the cockpit quickly the other day when we swapped watch.” He added dejectedly, shrugging his shoulders as if he didn’t care.

Your heart ached, and your mind berated you. You’d just wanted a little space to determine whether your adoration for the man at your side was genuine or forged because you lived in each other’s pockets. Some hypothetical questions had been posed to Tech, your confidence in the man’s research capabilities unquestionable, and done a lot of soul searching.

Reaching out for him, your hand found purchase on his scomp, and though he couldn’t feel anything from the rigid metal, you still gave him a gentle squeeze. “Ecks.” The nickname slipped out quickly as you scooted closer, registering the flicker of surprise across his face at the new name. “I’m sorry, I’ve had much on my mind lately. You didn’t do or say anything wrong; it was just me getting stuck in my head.” You explained. “Of course, I want to be around you, and I’d love for you to come with us tomorrow.”

The frown creasing Echo’s brow disappeared at your reassurance, but your words kept playing over in his mind. What have you been thinking about? Could he help ease the weight of it, if only for a little while? “You should probably rest too then, uj’ika, if we’re to keep up with Omega. And don’t tell me you’re not tired. You yawned twice when Hunter was handing out rations.” Echo chided. You might’ve thought you were being subtle, but from the vantage point of his bunk, Echo could see the faint glow of your datapad screen each night as you stayed up late.

The term of endearment made you smile, but you were still none the wiser about the meaning. The first time Echo had used it, Wrecker had given a hearty chuckle, Hunter and Tech shooting you amused smiles before glancing at each other – communicating in that silent way only the Batch boys could. With Hunter’s words from earlier playing through your mind, you took a small leap of faith. “I should, but I was thinking about going for a small walk – want to join me?” You offered, rising to your feet and offering the sweet man before you your hand.

Echo hesitated. He wanted to go with you, Maker, he did, but he was supposed to be on watch with Tech. “Go.” Tech’s voice clipped through his cybernetic headpiece, and Echo gladly placed his hand in your own, rising to his feet as he watched the momentary confusion marring your features smooth into a beautiful smile.

Tinkering with the ship’s engine, Tech had heard the entire exchange between you and his vod. It took only two taps on his vambrace to isolate Echo’s comms and deliver the instruction. While some assistance would’ve been helpful, and another set of eyes for the watch was optimal, ensuring his brother’s happiness was back on track and your anxiety levels lowered would be better for the group.  

Letting you lead, Echo savoured the warmth of your hand in his, the way your fingers curled to grasp him tightly, and how you brought your other hand over to clutch at his forearm, suffocating all space between you. Fleetingly, he was grateful that you’d grabbed hold of his arm and not his scomp. “We shouldn’t go too far; we have no idea what could be out here.” He warned as you approached the edge of the clearing.

Shoulders shaking with your small laugh, you turned to stand in front of Echo, letting go of his forearm in the process. “You’re right, but I know I’m safe with you.” There had been some close calls over the last few missions, but Echo had been behind you, blaster in hand. He always had your back.

The softness of your words and the way you smiled at him took everything for Echo not to stride forward and steal his first kiss. Were you even aware of the effect you had on him? How his heart raced, and how he sometimes struggled to find the right words? “Always.” He vowed. His body had been through plenty. What was another blaster shot if it meant keeping you safe? 

The distant look was back in Echo’s eyes; the one you knew meant he was lost in thought. “Come on.” You gently prompted, moving to his right to loop your arm through his, fingers resting on his scomp.

“The other side would be comfier for you.” Echo swallowed, highly aware of how unforgiving his altered arm was. His first few weeks with the Batch had been spent relearning how to fight, sleep comfortably, eat, and wash himself. He’d sometimes wondered if it would be easier not to have the scomp.

Shrugging, you lightly pulled him forward, starting your journey into the tree line. “I like this side too.” You reassured him. “I like all of you.” You took a leap, throwing the comment out into the open, avoiding Echo’s gaze as you moved nimbly through the woods, avoiding the mighty trees that stretched up to the sky. At the same time, the crisp crunch of fallen leaves and the sweet music of local birds provided a beautiful soundtrack.

“You do?” Echo blinked in surprise, lips parting as your words settled in his mind. Your hum of affirmation as you released his scomp to jump across a small creek made him grin. “Well, it’s mutual.” He offered, reaching up to rub at the back of his head.

Giggling, you turned back around to face Echo, but your smile faltered when you caught sight of something above him, eyes widening as you gasped.

Watching your expression change, the galaxy slowed for a moment as Echo reflexively pulled his blaster from its holster, finger on the trigger as he aimed it upwards in the direction you were looking. His body tensed, every nerve on high alert, ready to take down whatever was up there and protect you. But while scanning the branches, leaves, and colourful flowers, he found no danger, no noise of a droid or person, or even an animal beyond the melodic bird song – was there something he couldn’t see?  

“Uj’ika…” Echo searched for an answer.

Returning your gaze to Echo, you hopped back across the creek, reaching out a hand to take his arm and slowly lower it, along with his blaster. “It’s okay, there’s no danger.” You explained quietly. “I’m sorry I spooked you.” You apologised, watching as he slid his blaster back into its holster, questioning brown eyes turning in your direction.

“It’s a Kibo.” You whispered, awe lacing your voice as the softest smile crossed your features. “The purple flowers. They’re so rare, Ecks. I never thought I’d see one in person.”

Flowers. You were in awe of rare flowers. And he’d nearly shot them. “Are they going to eat us?” Echo asked, fingers twitching near his blaster. He tried to ignore how his heart clenched again at the nickname, warmth daring to seep through the few bones he had left.

Laughter bubbled forward, and you raised a hand to cover your mouth. “No, they won’t eat us.” Your laughter tapered out as you watched Echo relax.

Reassured, Echo could now ask his next question. “Why are they rare?”

“The seeds of the Kibo can restore sight. They’re prized for it. Healers and medics have searched for and taken them, so few are left.” You explained, moving closer for a better look at the flowers.

“Can they restore anything else?” Echo questioned, admiring the delicate blooms.

“I’m not sure. All that’s been documented is how they can literally and metaphorically restore a person’s vision, allowing them to see what’s right in front of them.” You shrugged, head tilting towards the flowers, watching the petals shift in the light breeze. You couldn’t believe you’d finally seen them – and out in the wild, too!

Echo couldn’t help but watch you, the awe on your face exquisite. Swallowing thickly, tendrils of fear try to creep down his spine, but he pushes them aside and reaches out with his hand. Sliding it across your cheek, he tilted your head towards him. “I don’t need a flower to let me see how beautiful you are.” He whispered, silently praying the years of watching his twin compliment women would pay off.

Surprised, your lips parted, eyes widening at the compliment and physical contact. Warmth seeped through your body. Was he flirting?

Emboldened by the fact you hadn’t reacted badly, Echo slipped his scomp around your waist and pulled you close. He had the opportunity, and he wasn’t going to waste it.

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding with anticipation. A soft, nervous smile formed on your lips and Echo’s eyes dropped to them – it was all the warning you got before he leaned in and closed the distance.

His lips met yours in a soft, gentle kiss, like the brush of a feather against the skin. It was sweet and tentative, filled with all the unspoken feelings you’d both been withholding since you’d joined the squad. The world seemed to stand still as you savoured the sensation, lips lingering against each other’s.

You pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss, and your eyes opened to find Echo gazing at you with warmth and affection. Your bodies pressed together, heart racing.

You watched as a glint of something crossed his eyes, and with light steps, he guided you backwards, pressing you against the trunk of a nearby tree. His lips found your throat, and he peppered kisses across it, pulling a gasp from you.

His hand gripped your waist, keeping you close. You were still out in the open on an unfamiliar planet, and your safety was his priority. More kisses were left up your throat until he pressed his lips to yours once again. There was a little heat behind this one, making your insides turn to mush as Echo’s fingers grasped at you tightly.

He pulled back after a moment, resting his forehead on yours while you caught your breaths. The soft sound of the wind rustling the trees filtered back into your mind, along with the chirp of forest creatures.

“Maker, I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Echo whispered, nervousness settling in.

You chuckled, a smile breaking out on your face. “Me too.” You admitted, sliding a hand to the nape of his neck, careful not to snag his cybernetic headpiece. “I think we should do it again.” You whispered.

As Echo’s eyes snapped open, you were no longer unsure what their glint meant. Those soft lips you’d just kissed curved into a wicked smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

[chiorisgf]

❕ nsfw sethos x f!reader

summary : sethos “poisoning” his rival but accidentally giving her an aphrodisiac.. ( idea creds : @writing-genshin-obsession )

“sethos.” you’d smile bitterly at the man, watching him sit down on the barstool beside you for.. whatever reason. on the outside, he was friendly and sociable; ready to help out whoever asked.

but you knew what he was really like.. a conniving, evil, selfish, and arrogant man whom you’ve grown to despise.

that look in his bright green eyes that he gives you the moment you catch his gaze could almost be terrifying, but you know better than to cower away and bow down to the likes of him.

when he turns to the side and smiles at you — as if you were just another woman in the bar, you had to admit it was a surprise. not a very good one, but a surprise nonetheless.

“name, hello.” he’d smile brightly at you, keeping that stupidly sweet facade. “want a drink?” he asks, giving you a closed eye smile as his slender hand slides a glass towards you.

you grimace, staring down at the drink in front of you. it didn’t seem disgusting, or altered… the colour was bright and beautiful, and if you had to guess it was sunsettia flavoured. not bad.

“hm, alright.” you mutter, eyeing him suspiciously before holding the glass up to your pretty lips and taking a small sip. your eyebrows shoot up for a moment, it tasted good — really good!

you take another sip, a content smile finding it’s way onto your features. while you hated sethos more than anything — this was quite nice of him.

but why was he staring at you with that bewildered expression on his face?

“what is it?” you stare back at him, tilting your head to the side as the same hand he used to give you the drink snatches it right back.

he frowns down at the drink, and you can barley make sense of the situation before he drinks the rest of the liquid you left behind.

your eyes are wide as he stares back at you, and you can’t help but feel yourself growing hot. the sounds of people laughing and chattering drunkenly in the bar seem to fade out as he holds eye contact with you.

no no no, this can’t be — you think, a fire being lit in your lower abdomen as he inches closer. are you really aroused by him? no way!

but, when his lips find yours, you find it hard to resist. his hand finds it’s way onto your cheek, the other on your waist as he claims your lips with his own in a hot kiss.

as he pulls away, you notice his bright eyes have darkened a little, his breath growing heavier as his hand squeezes slightly at the flesh of your hip. “i- must’ve given you the wrong drug.” he grits his teeth, before leaning in once again and kissing you.

“excuse me?” you huff as his lips part from yours, your eyebrows furrowing. “what even is this—? get off me.” you turn your head away from sethos, an annoyed frown settling on your pretty features. what were you doing, kissing your rival — your enemy, of all people!

yes, that’s right, he’s your enemy. not to be trusted; so why is he so damn hot?!

“we’re not done here, name. i can tell you’re in.. the same predicament, as me.” he leans closer, his warm breath fanning against your neck. “it would be oh so mean of me to just leave you alone, wouldn’t it?” he purrs, his cat-like eyes glinting as he takes note of your state.

he’s onto something — you’re hot and you’re bothered, but it’s all his fault! you’ll have to get him back some time…

but for now, all you can think about is the way he places a hand on your lower back, leaving you out of the tavern.

in only a few minutes, he’s got you pinned to the wall of an alleyway, his lips on yours as his hands work on removing every piece of clothing you’re wearing.

his movements are desperate, needy, even — and the look in his eyes is just, so, so attractive. the voices of merchants and other civilians from sumeru are still heard as sethos’ slim fingers snake down between your thighs, tapping them gently.

you do nothing but part them obediently, looking at the man with a defiant look. what else are you supposed to look at him like? he’s your enemy — but it’s so hard to ignore the heat you feel around him suddenly. your vision is almost pink, and your e/c eyes roll into the back of your skull as the tip of his finger prods at your entrance. he pulls his hand up, stuffing his middle and ring finger past your lips and into your mouth.

“suck.” he says, a desperate undertone in his voice as he leans closer, smiling as you listen to his little command.

before you knew it, he was already pushing a finger into your little hole, his free hand patting gently at your hair. this side of him almost came as a surprise, but you had no time to comment on it as he inserted another finger.

with two of his fingers inside of you, you already felt so full — but you couldn’t help but yearn for more, your hands finding refuge in his shoulder as he pumped his fingers into you, each thrust pulling out a sweet, strained moan from your lips.

you were trying so hard to be quiet, you really were, but he’s just so good. he curled his fingers perfectly, hitting that spot that nobody could ever reach — not even your last boyfriend.

sethos knew that. sethos has always known you’ve been needing this — a good fuck, but he wishes it could’ve happened in a more.. romantic setting.

why did he have to fuck up?! did he really have to slip an aphrodisiac into your drink?

you could’ve been dead, if he wasn’t so careless.

but the way you’re moaning so quiet and breathlessly into his ear, he can’t feel regret. in fact, he doesn’t want to — you’re just so good, and he can’t wait to hear how you’ll sound when he impales you on his dick.

his cock is aching for you, it has been since he took a sip of that damn drink.

“s-sethos!” you whine, your voice growing higher in pitch as you squirm against him, your walks tightening around his fingers as he reaches even deeper, taking you to a higher you never even knew you could reach.

he swears he can see stars in your eyes as he leans in and presses a wet kiss to the soft skin beneath your ear. “go on,” he urges you, his hand trailing down your body to your waist. “cum, cum for me.”

it makes you so angry that he’s basically commanding you — acting as if he’s doing you a favour! but his voice was the last thing you needed before you came, another whine leaving your lips as his fingers thrust into you continuously, guiding you through your first orgasm of many.

you barley opened your eyes again when you felt the tip of his dick push slightly against your entrance, just how far was he willing to go ?!

edit: i wrote this before his release so sorry if he’s ooc

[karmesean]

Im I'm obsessed with ALL ur aus omg

Could I mayhaps have some more info on just ghost dark?? I Understand tho if u don't have much due to the au being more abt second being possessed :3

thank you thanmk you <3 and plbbthh of course! honestly there wasn't much concrete but i'm glad you asked bc it got me thinking

link to masterpost

⚠️ CW: talk of possession, body horror, injury ⚠️

so. stepping into slightly uncharted territory but dark's like "aura" is just inherently volatile. that's the main way sec can identify ghosts, mostly just feeling them.

re: aura: orchid feels sorrowful and gold is something between fear and confusion. the colour gang is pure mischief and giddiness at different ratios! (green: 👁️👁️) dark is loud and vengeful, like the climax of an unfinished song.

not pictured here: dark still has the gashes from TSC killing him

uhh dark doesn't actually have gloves here they got burned off when he was alive. here, it's the "corruption" of being a mad spirit. ideally, that would go away if he becomes at peace, which is one of second's goals for all of the ghosts. unsure how to banish them, and unwilling to for somewhat selfish reasons, second can only hope to calm them all down.

dark is lucid! he might be hellbent on revenge, but that's more lucidity than the other ghosts get. he's actively aware he is dead and trying to claw his way into second and chosen's lives.

wow so. as a result of The Dark Lord powers and the exceptionally painful death, the physical alterations dark causes second to have are much more. More. spikes calcify as skeletal limbs that slice through second's back, his wristblades have dug into him so hard that they form on second, only able to spark with dark's aura and trying to burn their host and refusing, by dark's willpower and second's healing. it's just. A Lot. and dark genuinely doesn't have much control over it, but even he might be startled by the extra pain it inflicts on the only stick he knows can host him, Second.

it just hurts a lot. he is the ghost who is actively rejected by second's very code. it just hurts a lot. their very essence of being fights against him and he fights back, almost grinning at the challenge and wincing when he can feel the resistance he himself puts up against second. it just hurts. a lot.

oh also hair just permanently floats when you're a ghost trust me The Dark Lord told me

[carmillascrusade]

Of Eden | Larissa Weems x f!reader

Images do not belong to me.

Summary: You stumble upon a clandestine meeting in the forest between robed figures and their enigmatic leader. What happens when she spots you?

Word count: 1,335

A/N: This is going to be a multi chapter fic so this chapter is really just a set up to the other parts. I was also supposed to post this on Christmas Eve lmao.

The earth hummed in discomfort, creatures of the forest cowering in dimly lit corners, fearful of every small noise in the otherwise silence of the night. You stumbled through a thick layer of tri-coloured leaves blanketing the floor, magnificent shades of red and amber unable to be seen properly under the slither of moonlight peaking through the gaps in the canopy. The frigid air was thick with an eerie tension, unease settling deep within your bones as your boots crushed the leaves beneath them.

Soft crunches followed your path as you traversed deeper into the wooded area, trees growing and twisting into sinister shapes the further you progressed.

Stopping in your place, you strained your ears, trying to pick up any sound at all; the usual song of the crickets was not playing tonight. Low chants in a strange, unfamiliar language called out to you, drawing you in like a siren would her prey. The flickering glow of torchlight basked a circular clearing in fiery hues. An alter stood in the centre of twelve hooded figures, archaic runes etched into the sides and top of the stone table.

A thirteenth figure clad in blood red garments emerged from the gloomy shadows, their stature and clothing a stark contrast to the twelve robed in a pure white. With great confidence the person, who you thought to be the leader, strode up to the alter. Reaching into the depths of their robes, a pale hand emerged from the void with a dagger in tow.

Sparkling under the firelight, rubies glimmered against the gold handle of the dagger, like stars shining under the cover of nightfall. Intricate metal work adorned the handle of it, two snakes twisted around each other in a fatal dance. The dagger itself shone under the attention of the moonlight, the metal pure and strong.

Placing the dagger down onto the alter, the red figure slowly pulled back their hood, urging the others to do the same. Platinum hair revealed itself inch by inch, striking features and icy blue eyes only accentuated by the frigid hue of this mysterious woman’s hair. The woman was enigmatic as she stood towering above the others, alluring for reasons unknown. She stood as a clandestine haven, a whispering secret echoing within the garden of Eden, tempting those unfortunate enough to lay their eyes upon her. Tempting you.

Her presence carried the fragrance of unexplored wonders, her gaze tempestuous, holding the secrets of forbidden fruits. The aura she emanated cradled the beauty of a hidden sanctuary, but also elicited the utmost fear you feel when stranded in a place unknown.

She grinned at her companions, or should you say followers? Chills ran through your spine as the hair on your neck stood to attention, her grin unlike anything you had encountered; inhuman and slightly deranged. Yet her eyes were soft, holding copious amounts of wisdom behind them, hinting at the untold stories beneath the surface- stories out of reach.

Encountering the strange gathering in the clearing was akin to stumbling upon an ancient garden, lush and full of promise. Something so surreal and dream-like that you had to be dreaming. But you were not, and where things grow, things rot. The nagging voice in the back of your mind a reminder that something wasn’t right, no matter how enchanting they may seem.

Hidden in the shadows you observed the scene before you, grotesque shadows periodically casting themselves upon the hooded figures before retreating back to depths; the pristine robes void of colour unmarred once more. The air was charged with an energy not known to this world.

A small goat was brought forth, passed to the silver haired woman and placed on the stone table. Your breath caught in your throat as you continued to watch, torn between fleeing or enlightening yourself to secrets unveiled if you stayed hidden.

You were no fool. You knew what was going to happen.

The woman cooed sweet nothings, calming the goat as you would a child. Luring it into a false sense of security before it inevitably reached its fate. You watched in horror as she brought the dagger to the goats neck, swiping in a quick yet efficient motion. Archaic chants grew louder as time ticked on, drowning out every other sound in the wooded area.

You carded through the underbrush as silent as a mouse, desperate to get a closer look at this magnificent woman and her cult, an invisible string pulling you in closer. Closer. Until you were at the end of the tree line, crouched and still hidden, but able to see and hear everything clearly.

The woman stood even taller from this perspective, lithe frame blocking the candlelight, dousing the alter in an inky darkness. She spoke with such passions, such charisma that you couldn’t help but be enraptured by her. Her hands swayed slightly as she spoke, tiptoeing the line between dance and complete stillness. Honeyed words slithered off her tongue in a southern British accent, sweet and tempting.

Your stomach twisted and you knew it was time to flee. Anxiously, your turned around to look for a quick escape route, cautious to turn your back on the cult for more than two seconds. What you weren’t expecting, however, was those icy blue eyes staring into your own from where she stood. Your eyes widened in shock, heart beating so rapidly that you thought it would give out under the stress. Scrambling up from your crouched position, you turned tail and ran back down the path you took to get to the clearing.

You glanced behind your shoulder, eyes wide with fear as a group of six pursued you relentlessly. Their faces obscured by the darkness due to the very little light allowed through the thick canopy. Your footsteps echoes louder, the pounding of your heart matching the rhythm of your steps. The Forrest seemed to be against you, a labyrinth of twists and turns obscuring you way, making it even more difficult to find an escape route.

The menacing presence of the six tailing you grew more intense as they got closer to you. You threw yourself to the floor in a desperate attempt to escape the figure that lunged out to grab you, bony fingers digging into the skin of your ankle. You cried out in anguish, whether that be because of the pain inflicted on you or the fact you had been caught was questionable. Twigs and leaves knotted themselves in your hair, gripping on with such vigour, as you were dragged across the floor.

The hooded figures huffed in as you began to cry softly, bone rattling sobs wracking your body as you trembled, petrified. What was going to happen to you? Were you to be sacrificed just as the goat had been mere moments ago? Your thoughts were cut short as two of the people hauled you up by your shoulders. You marvelled at their strength. Surely it shouldn’t be possible to carry you by your armpits alone. Nevertheless, your wonder was cut short as the dread set in.

You were being taken back to their leader.

You couldn’t breathe, the forest began to spin around you; trees swirling into an array of different patterns, similar to how a kaleidoscope twists and turns to distort real life numerous times. You felt as if you were underwater, your hearing muffled as an invisible weight bore down on your chest. Pushing, pushing, until the weight became too much and breathing became extremely difficult. Panicking at your inability to breathe, your body went into overdrive, breathes coming out short but fast, trying to compensate for the lack of oxygen you were taking in.

The world as you knew it spun to black. Shades of faded grey and other dull hues swarming your vision. The last thing you seeing being those piercing blue eyes, staring into you own, before your body went limp, mind blank as you succumb to familiar hold of darkness.

A/NII: I can’t help but find writing descriptively boring. But I hope you enjoy nonetheless.

[antimisinfo]

General DID/OSDD information :

This is a masterlist of misinformation about DID/OSDD that we've corrected or questions we have answered that are unrelated to endogenics / non-traumagenics.

- romantic relationships between alters (sourced)

- are partner systems normal? (not sourced)

- should we use the term core? (sourced)

(continuation of core misinfo) (sourced)

- can alters have multiple roles? (sourced)

- can you have fragments without being polyfragmented? (not sourced)

- can you have DID without alters? (Needs to be remade because I'm not happy with how I answered this) (sourced)

- can two alters look the same? (kind of sourced)

- is it possible for a host (or dominant alter) to go dormant (kind of sourced)

- can OSDD1 systems be polyfragmented? & Does it count as DID if it's only grey out amnesia? (sourced for the first question, kind of sourced for the second. slightly long post)

- what's the difference between a side system and a subsystem? (not sourced)

- can alters have disorders the system doesn't have? (sourced)

- what is a low or high split tolerance? (kind of sourced)

- can alters have a different skin colour than the body / can alters be a different race than the body? (sourced)

- what are OSDD-1a and OSDD 1b / what do they mean? (sourced)