#let me know if you need this tagged with anything due to the discussions of aeron's past

[navree]

I remember one of your answers you said that the most similar characters to Aegon are Tyrion,Theon,and Aeron why these three specifically ? I'm curious

So for those who don't remember that, this was specifically about who I would compare show!Aegon to in response to all those people who were like "omg new Joffrey" even tho he's not like Joffrey at all (there's an ask about that somewhere but I can't locate it at the moment), and I do believe I said that show!Aegon reads more to me as an amalgamation of Tyrion, Theon, and Aeron.

All three of them share a common trait in that they have used or still do use debauchery as a coping mechanism for deep internal wounds. Tyrion drinks way too much and frequents sex workers because of the ableism he's endured all his life and the abuse he's suffered at the hands of his family, Theon is vain and unserious and cocky to make up for his feelings of otherness and displacement due to being a hostage at Winterfell, Aeron very likely was using drinking and whoring and playing around to try and deal with the lasting trauma from being a victim of sexual abuse, and Aegon, as I've mentioned numerous times, is clearly a wastrel who hardcore abuses susbtances to deal with the fact that he feels not only unloved but genuinely unlovable. Each of them developed unhealthy and negative coping mechanisms to deal with feeling pained deep inside in ways that they feel cannot be alleviated, only medicated and steadfastly ignored, and this has negatively impacted how they're viewed by others, including by members of their own families, which only compounds the feelings of isolation that they all deal with (Tyrion again due to being the undesired dwarf son, Theon due to being sent away, Aeron due to just having consciously separated himself and devoted himself to the Drowned God, Aegon due to being seen as a disappointment by his mother and his siblings in spite of their love for him).

Complicated relationships with their families is something that they all share, though to varying degrees of toxicity. Tyrion and Aeron have it worse, since Tyrion was put down and viciously abused by his father and his sister, and by Jaime due to his complicity in the Tysha debacle, and Aeron not only doesn't appear to have been close to any of his brothers (with the exception of traumabonding with Urri, who he harbors a lot of guilt for "killing" before his conversion) but was also serially molested by one of them, which has had a longlasting impact in the form of what's clearly severely untreated PTSD. But Theon himself feels outcast from his family due to the time he spent in Winterfell and how they seem to blame him for the crime of being a hostage, and Aegon's feelings that his family doesn't love him in spite of how much he cares is just the vicious cycle of parents and children and siblings fucking each other up until he and Alicent start clearing the air with the "do you love me" exchange and trying to defend each other from Meleys. They've also got complex sibling dynamics that are all messy and not easy to untangle (Tyrion with Jaime and Cersei, Aeron and his brothers even aside from Euron being his abuser, Theon and Asha, Aegon and Aemond and Helaena but particularly Aemond, as I have ranted about substantially in the past) and that are all going to play huge parts in whatever arcs remain to them for the rest of the series.

Aegon's similarities with Aeron himself have already been more firml outlined, such as a tendency to turn to religion when dealing with bad things happening to them and a lack of personal closeness to others, and again, bad coping mechanisms. Theon and Aegon share that feeling of isolation specific to having an otherwise cohesive family unit, like the way Asha is not only so much more at home in Pyke than he is but also how much closer she is to Baelon than he is, and how she views herself as better than him (though not without reason), while Aegon clearly feels at odds with how close his mother and Aemond are, and his own feelings of inadequacy as it relates to Aemond even as he loves him and Aemond's apparent disdain for him, since we know that Aegon is willing to go to the mat for Aemond (ironically not dissimilar to the way that Asha does for Theon), though Aemond himself is willing to also go to the mat for his brother and that relationship is only going to get more codependent as the show goes on. Tyrion and Aegon also share a similarity in how their arcs are going to go, as Tyrion is clearly spiraling further and further into darkness and is likely going to be a corrupting influence on Dany before he's either pulled back or goes all the way and dies, much like how Aegon himself is going to slip slower and slower into darkness and ruthlessness, culminating in how he executes Rhaenyra and how he almost kinslays Baela, both motivated by strong feelings of loss and feeling that there's nothing left (Tyrion killed his dad and feels he lost Jaime due to the Tysha confession and not to mention his entire feelings of hopelessness about Tysha and that tragedy, while Aegon's going to lose nearly all of his family members and the near death of Baela is motivated by his grief over losing Sunfyre). And there's a minor thread in the connection to food and poison, and Tyrion wonders in ADWD if The Mushrooms are poisoned, while Aegon himself does die of poisoning (either murder or suicide).

I think all three characters share similarities with the show's interpretation of Aegon, both as a group and on their own individual merits, certainly more than fucking Joffrey.

[wilcze-kudly]

I do find it annoying how a lot of Zutara fans tweak the character's stories, personalities and even the timelines to suit their own needs.

Once again, there's nothing wrong with fanon and headcanons, however if looking through the lense of canon, you're objectively wrong.

I ended up stumbling on a post from a Zutara shipper. (At this point I'm regretfully considering not following the tags for Zuko or Katara because I get way too much Zutara content lol) I'm not replying directly to her because I don't want this to turn into an argument, and I know she doesn't take criticism very well.

Ok, So let's break this down.

The character who was first out of the group to trust Zuko?

I'm quite sure this is referring to the scene in Ba Sing Se's caves. And yes, that is a very important scene. I think it's a very important scene preceeding Zuko's 'relapse'. It shows how he's matured during his time in Ba Sing Se and therefore it serves to add to our dismay when he joins Azula. I adore the fact that Zuko's journey to redemption is not linear, it certainly adds a lot to the character and shows us how his trauma affected him.

It's also a horrific moment for Katara. To have her worldview on Zuko and firebenders as a whole challenged, and then for it to go blowing up in her face. It rips open old wounds of her childhood. It refreshes her resentment of Zuko and the Fire Nation as a whole. It parallels the death of her mother when Aang dies due to Azula's lighting and she is unable to do anything about it. It places her back in that spot of helplessness. Even though she's grown up, even though she's a master waterbender, she still comes a hair's breadth to losing one of the most important people in her life.

No wonder she hated Zuko so much after this.

It's an important moment for both characters, but I wouldn't say it is that in a romantic sense. It's a sweet, hopeful moment that then turns absolutely horrific and visceral for both parties.

I could argue that there are other characters who could be given the title of 'first to trust Zuko'. Funnily, Appa being one of them lol.

But other characters trusting Zuko dovetails nicely into the next point.

The character who emotionally connects to Zuko?

Well, technically, I'd argue that most members of the Gaang connect emotionally on one level or another with him?

But I'd argue that Aang is the person Zuko connected with the most. Aang is Zuko's parallel. Aang is the first person to reach out to Zuko. Aang is the person who showed mercy to Zuko, multiple times. Aang is the person who valued Zuko's life, the life of someone whose whole life goal is to capture him.

This was also an incredibly important moment to Zuko. This is the thing he brings up when trying to convince the Gaang to let him join.

Zuko: Why aren't you saying anything? You once said you thought we could be friends. You know I have good in me.

The character Zuko feels safest letting his guard down around?

It's Mai. Love her or hate her, her relationship with Zuko is incredibly important to him. Maiko isn't my favourite Zuko ship, in full honesty. But even platonically, Mai and Zuko are one another's reprieve from their respective shitty lives.

People often talk about Katara touching Zuko's scar while discussing healing his scar, however one could argue that she did so as a medical examination. Mai touching Zuko's scar is a casual thing, neither of them really make a big deal of it and that's the beauty of it.

I'm mainly talking out of my own personal experience, as someone with a huge amount of burn scars, but there is a world of difference between someone inspecting my scars like Katara did and simply accepting them as a part of me, like Mai does for Zuko.

With Mai, Zuko isn't the scarred banished prince, Ozai's son or Azula's brother. He's just Zuko. And they speak freely with one another, arguing like real people do. Often, being comfortable having arguments is actually a sign of being comfortable with one another.

The character who helps Zuko heal from his trauma?

Once again, this is a bit of a flawed question. By the end of the show, Zuko isn't even fully healed, in my opinion. He has made leaps and bounds on the road to recovery, but when he will truly heal if ever is yet to be seen.

Zuko's journey to recovery includes plenty of people. This includes Iroh, Aang, Song and Jin. People who show him the error of his coping mechanism. Who challenge his worldview, who coax him out of the his shell of pain and anger.

The character known for showing most compassion to others?

Yes, Katara's compassion is a huge part of her character. Her need to help and protect those who cannot do that for themselves cannot be understated.

But Aang's compassion for others and all beings is just as great, if not greater than Katara's. Compassion and nonviolence are huge parts of his culture and his own philosophy.

Aang: Wait, we can't just leave him here. Sokka: Sure we can. Let's go. Aang :No, if we leave him he'll die. Aang airbends himself off Appa and retrieves Zuko, bringing him to Appa. Sokka: [Sarcastically.] Yeah, this makes a lot of sense. Let's bring the guy who's constantly trying to kill us.

Friendly reminder that Aang could've absolutely wrecked Ozai, but held back because his own moral compass was so powerful. Hell, he was friendly and nice to Azula, the woman who literally killed him.

This is why Aang and Katara work so well together. They're both incredibly compassionate people who will immediately jump in to help others in need. Like they did during the Painted Lady, destroying the factiry together.

The character who primarily bears the burden of having to step up into a parental role?

I think "parental role" is an incredibly vague term. There's a lot of things that go into a "parental role". Katara plays a stereotypically "maternal" role, while someone who plays a "paternal" one would probably be Sokka.

Katara deals with very "homemaking" tasks like sewing and cooking, etc. And Sokka often takes on the role of leader, hunter, gatherer and also protector, despite being a nonbender.

This coincides nicely with their core childhood traumas. The loss of Katara's mother impacted her greatly, leading her to have to step up into a motherly role. While Sokka was clearly heavily traumatised by his father departing and the crushing responsibility of having to care for his entire village.

Sexism also probably played a part in this dichotomy.

The character who represses their emotions to be strong for others?

I'd argue that this could apply to all the members of the Gaang in some capacity.

Aang's pain is something most of us will never experience and cannot hope to understand. The complete horrific destruction of his culture and home followed him through the entire show. He was entitled to his grief and rage, yet he supressed it. We see during Appa's kidnapping, how easy it would be for Aang to rage, to let himself be destructive. And yet, he wakes up every day and chooses to smile and goof off, because his friends need someone to remind them how to be children.

Sokka puts on a very impressive bravado, despite having a lot of insecurities. However, as the oldest member of the Gaang (pre Zuko) he puts on a facade of the confident and unbothered older brother. Even if he's the butt of almost every joke, he still keeps that demeanour up, letting it slip only a few times.

I'd actually argue that Toph is the person whom this label fits best. While we know Toph as witty, callous and strong, we have to remember that she kept up the facade of her parents' good, helpless little blind girl for no reason other than her mother and father's comfort. She actually hides a lot of her hurt, covering it up with a prickly exterior.

I want to do longer think pieces about Toph and Katara so apologies if this isn't complete.

I'm actually baffled by the idea of Katara repressing her emotions. She's actually quite straightforward and open about her feelings. She yells and feels a lot of emotions and lets them be heard. She gets angry and sad. She's actually kinda bitchy sometimes and that's honestly why I love her so much.

The whole inciting incident of the show was her getting so pissed off she somehow pulls a giant iceberg from the bottom of the sea.

She is anything but repressed.

She is angry.

She's angry at the fire nation, at Sokka, at her father, at men, and with good right to be so.

This is what makes her an amazing character and one who broke the mould of a lot of female characters at the time. Her anger and unrestrained emotions rang true with a lot of watchers at the time. I'm not sure why this is being taken away from her rather than celebrated.

I reiterate the point I made at the beginning of this post: there is nothing wrong with headcanons and fanon interpretations for one's enjoyment. I do find it a bit odd when it changes a character too much (because then, why not just create an oc?) but it's all in good fun. However, you shouldn't push that onto other people and how they perceive canon and you certainly shouldn't use it to take away from other characters. It's a very unfair way of entering discourse.

[syoddeye]

consequence / needling

price x f!reader | 1.9k words series directory | ao3 tags: tattoos, feelings, social media, shitty exes a/n: good news and bad news. ☕

you’ve never been much of a dancer, but you find a rhythm all the same.

john divides time between work and leave. grouses about tying up loose ends and mountains of menial paperwork about said ends, but he’s with you more often than not. you think you’re handling his comings and goings well until he sits you down for a talk after informing you he’ll be gone for two and a half weeks.

at first, it feels like critique all over again, the kind that makes you shrink into yourself. your instinct is to freeze up, say little, agree with him, and promise to do better next time he’s away. but john doesn’t let you fold into yourself, and he doesn’t take easy answers either. he’s calm and direct and speaks with disarming clarity. for someone who can’t discuss what his job involves, he’s honest about its realities. there’s no judgment in his tone, just a measured precision that leaves you feeling exposed, then immediately comforted. for the first time, you’re not left twisting in the wind.

he wants you to make informed decisions. to minimize the surprises you’ll inevitably experience. no more gut reactions, no more panic.

i need to know you’ll be alright. with or without me.

and he isn’t simply referring to his deployments. he speaks about a future without him, should you choose to walk away. 

this isn’t for everyone.

john’s right, of course. you know in your bones but don’t want it to be true. instead, you let yourself believe in the possibility of things working out, following the moments that feel good and easy, however fleeting. winter helps—the light snow smoothing over the ugly edges of everything outside, making it easier to laze about with him. he spends more time at your flat than his own, though he won’t even hear of you merging households yet. you don’t press him. rushing things is what got you here. a deep bruise always prepared to remind you of its ache.

99+. terrifying. absurd.

the espresso machine hisses as you wipe spilled milk off the counter with the edge of your apron. the rectangular shape in your pocket taunts you. you haven’t looked at your phone since you clocked in, and the impulse grows harder to ignore with every flat white.

it’s stupid. it’s not like you drew anything groundbreaking—just a sheet of cats with coffee mugs modeled after old-school greeting cards. a cute warm-up, nothing serious. you wrote a corny caption, meowcchiato or catpuccino, posted it, and went to sleep. you considered it a modest success when you woke to a dozen comments and new followers. then, some big-name tattoo page shared it, and it ballooned.

your fingertips dip into the canvas only for a group order to pop up on the screen, signaling the start of the mid-day rush.

on break, you step out back. the cold air hits like a reset button, your breath visible in cloudy puffs. shivering, you stare at the tower of notifications on your lock screen and swipe.

your eyes saucer at four figures. a thousand and some change likes. hundreds of comments and shares. two hundred more followers. you scroll through the new names, quickly following a few artists and legit-looking shops back before you feel weird.

one account catches your eye despite a sea of requests in your messages. a local studio you’re familiar with.

>> hey, looks like we are neighbors. i like the cats. i don’t think i recognize your work. are you an apprentice somewhere?

rechecking the post, you flinch. you neglected to remove the geotag. shit. so much for total anonymity. you respond before you think too hard about it. embarrassment rolls off of you like the vapor from your breath.

> hi, no i’m not. this is just a hobby.

another chance to check your phone doesn’t arrive until you’re off, due to meet john.

>> really? if you’re at all interested, i’ve got a friend opening apps in a month or two. >> happy to chat if you want to drop by the shop.

it feels like a trap. something oddly shaped like hope makes you walk into it anyway with a reply.

~~~~

she’s in a rush, already glancing at the clock before she’s even out the door. her scarf is half-tied, her coat slipping off a shoulder as she reaches for her bag, but john can’t help himself. he leans in and kisses her cheek, then the line of her jaw, quick and light like a thief. she huffs a laugh but doesn’t pull away.

“you’re going to make me late.”

he kisses the corner of her mouth, the scar on her wrist when she tries to push him off, the warm skin beneath her ear. his hands crawl under her open coat and up her sides to reel in for another. he fixes her coat, fastens the buttons, and ties her scarf, all without letting her up for air. when she finally pulls the door open, winter funneling through the crack, he lets her go with a goodbye. she steps out mid-laugh, and he’s left standing, smiling to himself like a fool.

with nothing but time to kill, he makes himself useful. 

cece follows as he tidies. he knows exactly what his girl buys at the shop now, what brands, what alternatives. he parks outside her building and catches himself smiling, almost laughing, at how far this has come. how it started with that dent in the car he now leaves at her curb, the little heart she’d drawn on the note that came with it, an act to placate an angry stranger. now, she draws them on the back of his hand when they lie in.

later, he fixes supper, the cat weaving between his feet. greets her when she gets in with a thin slice of parmesan with honey balanced on his fingers. before she bites the morsel off its perch, she holds up her phone with a frown.

“what am i looking at?”

“he fucking painted it.”

~~~~

you find out through an old classmate, an acquaintance utterly ignorant of everything.

of course, ben painted the breakup, the prelude, and the aftermath, repurposing it all for artistic expression. you picture him pretending to suffer, draping his self-inflicted misery over their history like he’s the victim. the sheer audacity of it—painting your pain as if it’s a fucking concept—makes you want to scream. you don’t even know what’s worse: the paintings themselves, his self-congratulatory smugness in the captions, or the fact that you feel anything when you see them. the nerve to twist everything into his own narrative. it’s infuriating, his reduction of everything into a palette of pity. you know that temporarily unblocking him to spy helps nothing, but you can’t help yourself.

ben reinterpreted everything, made it about his genius and his torment the way he always did. and what bothers you most is that you’re still trying to find yourself in his work, even now.

at least hannah stays out of the literal picture for once. bad enough ben depicts her as some sort of savior. a heavy-handed and garish fucking pieta-like feature. 'ben wanted to paint it, you know…had it all mapped out. i convinced him not to.' the rat.

you stare at the hard line of john’s jaw as he scrolls, barely able to appreciate his culinary efforts because his predecessor ruined your appetite.

“my offer stands.”

“what?”

“i’m inclined to sort him out for you. i know a man or two who owe me.”

~~~~

she makes him promise he won’t sic someone on the ex, and he obliges. he makes her feel better, and she draws another lazy heart on his skin.

cheek pressed to his chest, she sighs.

“you gonna to say anything to him?” 

“what’s there to say?”

“i can think of some words to make a sailor blush.”

she flicks his nipple. “i already cursed him out and threw wine at him.”

“think he’s doin’ this because you told hannah to fuck off?”

rolling to her side, she toys with the hair creeping down his chest. “i think hannah and i are irrelevant. swap us out with anyone else, and he’d come to the same, self-centered conclusion.”

“for what it’s worth, i think his work is…trite.”

a tired laugh rattles out of her, and she pats his stomach. “oh, wow, someone check on the sailor. must be blushing.”

cheeky.

he sweeps over her in one fluid roll, pushing her to her back and sticking his mouth to her neck. he ignores her squeals and her half-hearted battering. she protests, something about him leaving a mark, and he lifts.

“put one on me?”

“a hickey?” her chest heaves from their game.

“no. a tattoo.”

the meticulousness john admires translates into everything, that much is clear, given his girl’s stringent cleaning and the amount of ppe. he didn’t think he’d be treated to some gutter punk special, but it feels as professional as an amateur can get. considering the other places he’s spent time with open wounds, her flat feels like a spa.

the amount of shit he’ll catch from the boys, however? that worries him.

they discuss the design again. it already took the better part of an hour to select one from her burgeoning collection—she refuses to call it a portfolio, despite all evidence—and placement took another fifteen. shaving, regrettably, took only a few minutes. odd and intimate. when she brushed the shorn hair off his left pec and swept it into a dust pan, he forced himself to breathe.

“are you sure about this? i’m not a professional. this is permanent.”

he readjusts and pats the naked patch of skin. “i’m aware.”

the bite of a needle is nothing. compared to the puckered scar from a knife wound in his right thigh—it’s a pleasant burn. helps that the hand guiding it is light, the pressure deliberate and contained. plus, her tongue wets the corner of her lips so often, and that, paired with the pinch of her brow? he’d endure worse. cute.

he will not embarrass her and say it out loud. he doesn’t say a word. she’s finally distracted from ben’s paintings.

but she speaks when she switches to color, dabbing excess ink onto a paper towel.

“alright?”

“never better.”

“because i’m not a mind reader. if you’re regretting this now, say the word.”

“i’m not regretting a thing. are you?” 

she doesn’t immediately look up from the needle, fiddling with it. when she does, she shakes her head. “not a thing. moving onto color now.”

she carefully drags red into the design, then gold. the firm, short strokes spark a brief flare of discomfort but let nothing slip. he can take it. the silence lingers, shorter this time, and again, she breaks it.

“remember that silly cats and coffee sheet?”

“yeah?”

“i’ve been, uh, chatting with a local artist about it. he wants to meet. talk shop, i guess.”

his attention snaps from his chest to her. sly thing, biting her cheek to keep her expression as flat as possible. “go on.”

she meets his eye for a second, pulling her hand back to swap to green. “he wants me to bring my collection, if you can believe it.”

that ugly, possessive monster in his head cocks an ear. focuses on the wrong detail. he wrestles it into the thick mud of his thoughts and resurfaces with—”sounds like he thinks you have a knack for it. we have that in common.” good show.

“he thinks i might be good enough to try for an apprenticeship.”

this time, she holds his gaze. uncertainty writ large on her face. seeking.

“is that something you want?”

“yeah,” her lip twitches. a flash of something crosses her face. a wince? “yeah, it is.”

[misswynters]

Bond by Love and Fire - Chapter Four

Dragon Twins Series

Aegon Targaryen x Dayne!fem!reader x Aerion Targaryen

[synopsis: Aegon tries to find the culprit of your attack, however the small council’s focus is at another thing. Which is your duty as his wife, to give him an heir. Aerion is starting to get jealous.

[warnings: mature/explicit (mdni), 18+, eventual smut, exhibitionism, vouyerism, making out, touching, fingering, cursing, worship, balcony sex, breeding, degrading, rough sex (kinda), smut with plot, not proofread (kinda)

[work count: 4.5k

[a/n: took longer due to my brain wanting to write other things, however it’s here now! enjoy pls and if you would like to be tagged for the next chapter let me know!!! also the balcony part was inspired “Owned” by @peachysunrize <3

[note l it would greatly appreciated if you would not only just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. thank you!

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Birds chirps and sun shining, it was the next morning and it couldn’t been a beautiful day. However, the Red Keep was abuzz with the news of the attack. Guards were doubled, and everyone was on high alert. Aegon and you met with the small council to discuss the incident.

In the council chamber, the atmosphere was tense. Aegon, you, and the council members were gathered around the large wooden table. The guard captain gave a report on the investigation so far, noting that the assassin wasn’t sent by Aerion.

Lord Hand cleared his throat. “We’ve interrogated the remaining guards, and it appears the assailant was acting under orders from an unknown source. We suspect a plot within the court.”

Aegon squeezed your hand tightly. “We need to find out who’s behind this. My spouse’s safety is paramount.”

You nodded in agreement. “I want to know why I was targeted. We need to uncover the truth.”

Master of Whispers leaned forward. “I will deploy my spies to gather more information. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

The tension in the room was palpable, each council member wearing a serious expression. The discussion continued, each voice contributing to the plan to secure the castle and find the perpetrator.

Later that day, Aerion sought you out. He looked genuinely concerned, having heard about the attack.

“Aerion,” you greeted him, a mixture of relief and tension in your voice.

“I heard about the attack,” Aerion said, his eyes searching yours. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, though the memory of the guard’s assault still haunted you. “I’m fine, just shaken.”

Aerion stepped closer, his expression softening. “I’m glad you’re safe. I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you.”

Before you could respond, Aegon approached, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Aerion. “Is there a problem here?”

Aerion straightened, his concern for you momentarily overshadowed by his rivalry with Aegon. “No problem. Just making sure they’re okay.”

Aegon’s jaw tightened. “They’re my wife. It’s my duty to ensure their safety.”

You placed a hand on Aegon’s arm, trying to diffuse the tension. “I appreciate both of your concerns. But right now, we need to focus on finding out who’s behind this.”

Aerion nodded reluctantly. “Of course. Just know that I’m here if you need anything.”

With that you stood up from the bench and walked away without looking back. You didn’t want anything else to happen between the two of you since you were now officially married to aegon. And it wasn’t like he wasn’t being kind towards you. It was the opposite and you didn’t want to rude that. Not after you were complaining about not getting aegon attention. Matter fact you were getting more than you bargained for.

The crackling of the hearth was the only sound that punctuated the serene ambiance of the chamber. The fire cast a warm, flickering glow across the room, creating a dance of light and shadow that made the atmosphere intimate and inviting. You sat near the hearth, deeply engrossed in a book, its pages illuminated by the fire’s gentle warmth. It seemed like the day was dragging on as you spent them at the library reading and learning about the culture in kings landing. However the nightly hours came sooner than expected.

The tranquility of the moment was abruptly disturbed as the heavy door to the chamber swung open with a groan. Aegon’s tall, imposing figure filled the doorway, his presence commanding and filled with a palpable tension. His eyes, usually soft and affectionate, were now stormy and intense, reflecting a turmoil that immediately set your heart racing.

“Aegon,” you said, rising from your seat and closing the book with a soft thud. “What’s wrong?”

His voice was low, almost a growl, as he crossed the room with determined strides. “Why were you meeting with Aerion in secret? Do you have any idea the scandal this could provoke?”

A pang of guilt pierced through you. “Fuck-Aegon, it wasn’t intended to be a secret rendezvous. I only needed to speak with Aerion about something personal, something I couldn’t discuss openly.”

He stopped before you, his eyes blazing with hurt and frustration. “Personal? Is that what you call it? Do you understand how this affects us, how it fuels the rumors that can jeopardize everything we’ve built together?”

You reached out instinctively, placing a hand on his chest. “I wasn’t trying to betray you. I am deeply sorry for the distress I caused. Please, let me explain.”

Aegon’s expression softened, the fierce anger giving way to a more subdued pain. “I know you didn’t intend to hurt me,” he said, his voice wavering slightly. “But seeing you with him again like that made me feel as though our bond was being questioned. It’s a wound I didn’t expect.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked up at him, your heart aching with remorse. “I never wanted to make you feel that way. I love you, Aegon, and I’m truly sorry. I should have been more mindful.”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close in a protective embrace. His warmth enveloped you, offering solace as you buried your face in his chest. “I forgive you,” he murmured into your hair. “And I’m sorry for my outburst. It’s just… my love for you is so profound that the thought of losing it or having our marriage questioned is unbearable.”

You clung to him, feeling the depth of his words. “I love you too, Aegon. I promise, I will be more considerate. I never want to hurt you.”

Aegon pulled back, his gaze intense and earnest. “We’ve been married for a few months now,” he began, his voice filled with a trace of apprehension. “The small council has been relentless in their pressure. They demand that we secure an heir to ensure the future of our line.”

A realization dawned upon you, a mix of anticipation and tenderness. “You mean…?”

He nodded, his expression softening into a tender smile. “Yes. They expect us to conceive an heir. And I desire that as well.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with both affection and understanding. “Oh…Well I want that too then.”

He approached you with a gentle grace, lowering himself to kneel before you. His hands, warm and reverent, rested on your thighs as he gazed up at you with adoration. “Let me make amends for my earlier reaction,” he whispered, his voice a low, reverent murmur.

As you settled back into your chair, Aegon’s hands began to knead your thighs with a worshipful tenderness. His touch was a blend of soothing pressure and affectionate caresses, each movement a silent expression of his devotion. He leaned in, pressing delicate kisses along the inner curve of your thighs, his lips moving with a reverent touch that made your breath catch.

“I love you beyond words,” he murmured between kisses, his lips brushing against your skin with the lightness of butterfly wings. “I am devoted to you in every way, and I cherish every moment with you.”

You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of his affection. “I love you too, Aegon,” you whispered, your voice filled with a profound sense of connection. “You are everything to me.”

Aegon’s touch remained tender and adoring, his kisses a constant reminder of his unwavering love and commitment. In the glow of the hearth, surrounded by the warmth of his devotion, you felt a deep sense of peace and closeness, knowing that together, you could face anything.

The atmosphere was rich with an intimate, serene quality, punctuated only by the soft rustling of fabric and the occasional, contented sigh.

Aegon, having guided you to the edge of the sofa, looked at you with a tender, focused gaze. His touch remained gentle and adoring as he carefully spread your legs, allowing them to cascade over the armrest. The position was comfortable, giving him easy access to you while allowing you to remain relaxed and at ease.

As you adjusted to the new position, Aegon's fingers continued their tender exploration. His hands were warm and skilled, moving with an almost reverential touch. He guided you closer to the edge, making sure you were supported yet relaxed. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though each gesture was an act of worship.

You let out a surprised yelp and a soft giggle as he made you shift, the playful nature of his touch bringing a lightheartedness to the moment. Aegon's eyes sparkled with affection and amusement. "I want to make sure you're as comfortable as possible," he said softly, his voice filled with warmth.

Aegon's hands traveled up your thighs with a gentle, loving pressure. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Each kiss was soft and lingering, a testament to his deep affection. His lips moved in a slow, worshipful pattern, kissing and nuzzling with a delicate tenderness that made you shiver in pleasure.

"You are so beautiful," Aegon whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "Every part of you captivates me."

As he continued his loving exploration, his fingers began to caress with a more intentional touch. They moved slowly, tracing along the contours of your thighs with a practiced, reverent caress.

The combination of his kisses and gentle touches made your heart race, a feeling of deep connection enveloping you.

Aegon's fingers explored with a careful, adoring touch, his movements considerate of your responses. He pressed tender, fluttering kisses along your inner thighs, his lips a soft, affectionate pressure against your skin.

Each kiss was accompanied by a whispered word of praise, a reflection of his adoration.

"You are everything to me," he murmured, his voice hushed and filled with emotion. "I cherish every moment with you, and I want to show you just how deeply I love you."

The combination of Aegon's kisses and touches created a cocoon of intimacy and warmth. His hands continued to move with a loving, deliberate pace, his touch both soothing and exhilarating.

The firelight played across his face, highlighting the tenderness in his expression as he continued to adore you.

With each kiss and caress, the bond between you grew stronger, a testament to the depth of your connection. Aegon's devotion was palpable, expressed through every gentle touch and affectionate word. The intimacy you shared was both profound and comforting, creating a moment of deep, heartfelt closeness.

Aegon's touch was skillful and deliberate, his fingers pushing into you with a rhythm that left you breathless and wanting. His blue eyes were filled with a mixture of desire and determination as he watched you writhe and moan beneath his touch. The heat of the room seemed to intensify with every passing moment, sweat beginning to bead on your skin.

"You're so beautiful like this," Aegon murmured, his voice husky with desire. “with your legs wide open for me."

You moaned in response, your body instinctively arching toward his touch, seeking more of the exquisite pleasure he was giving you. The feeling of his fingers inside you, moving with such expertise, was driving you to the edge of your sanity.

"A-Aegon," you stuttered, body unraveling with sheer pleasure as two of Aegon’s fingers happened to fuck you relentlessly throughout these past few seconds. The pleasure took overdrive, and you were in so much pleasure that you needed a few minutes to calm down. Shaking hands gripped on weakly to aegon’s wrist, showing the lack of you actually wanting him to stop. Aegon slightly smirked, and curling his fingers up inside of your folds which caused you to arch your back against the couch, loosening your grip entirely.

"I want to make you cum just like this." Aegon whispered, his gaze looking up towards you with desire. How stunning you looked intoxicated, half naked and brilliantly decorated with patterns of hickeys and love bites. "With my beautiful hands, as you say." he precisely added on, pressing his fingertips down onto your sensitive thighs which earned him a choked moan.

Aegon ran his tongue up your neck, suckling on the your jawline as he continued his pace gently with his fingers. "I told you to move your hands, dear wife." He whispered huskily into your ear, afterwards, he drove his teeth into the soft skin of your ear which caused the other's breath to hitch.

"You like that, my love?"

"Uh-huh, yes, so fucking much." you whimpered, your folds throbbing with intense pleasure. Aegon started to rut against the coach and he started to also get evidently hard. But he had to wait for you first, making sure you were well prepared. However he couldn’t wait much longer. He was desperately in need to be inside of you.

Aegon paused, his fingers stilling inside you as he looked up with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "It's too hot in here," he declared, a smirk playing on his lips. "Let's take this outside."

Before you could protest, Aegon stood, his strong arms lifting you effortlessly from the chair. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you could feel the hard, insistent press of his arousal against you through his clothes. The sensation sent a thrill through your body, heightening your anticipation.

Aegon carried you out to the balcony, the cool night air a sharp contrast to the heat you had just left behind. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery light over the stone railing and the sprawling landscape beyond.

He pressed your back against the cold, rough stone, his body shielding you from the night's chill. The sensation of the cool air against your heated skin was exhilarating, adding a new layer of intensity to the moment.

With a deft movement, Aegon lifted your thighs, draping them over his arms so that you were completely open to him. The position made you feel vulnerable yet intensely aroused, your body eager for what was to come next.

Aegon's eyes were dark with desire as he aligned himself with you. He pushed into you slowly, the sensation of him filling you making you gasp. His pace was deliberate, every inch of him driving you wild with need.

“You feel so good, hugging around me like that," he groaned, his voice thick with pleasure. "So tight and wet. You're perfect."

You moaned, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you tried to pull him closer, needing to feel every part of him. Aegon's movements became more urgent, his hips thrusting with a rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your heart.

"Look at you, taking me so well," he growled, his tone dripping with a mix of lust and disdain. "Such a needy little cunt. You like being filled, don't you?"

The cold stone against your back, the night air on your skin, and the heat of Aegon inside you created a heady mixture of sensations that left you breathless. Every thrust, every whispered word of praise and degradation from Aegon, pushed you closer to the edge.

Aegon gripped your hips firmly, his eyes locking onto yours with a fiery intensity.

"Look down," he commanded, his voice a rough whisper. Your gaze followed his, looking down between your bodies. The sight of him disappearing into your folds, the slickness of your arousal coating him, made your breath catch in your throat. The view was almost too much to bear.

"You see that?" Aegon rasped, his voice thick with desire. "You're taking me so deep, so perfectly. Fuck, you're amazing."

The sound of your bodies moving together, the wet noises, and your mingled moans filled the night air, creating a symphony of shared pleasure. You watched in fascination as Aegon's length disappeared into you again and again, the sight driving you to new heights of ecstasy.

"Aegon," you gasped, your voice trembling with need. "I can feel you so deep... don't stop. Please, I need you."

He responded with a deep, guttural groan, his pace quickening as he drove into you with a relentless rhythm. The sensation of him stretching and filling you completely was almost overwhelming, each thrust sending shivers of pleasure through your entire body.

"You're going to give me an heir," he rasped, his voice rough and

commanding. "I'm going to fill you up until you're carrying my child. The small council will finally shut up when they see you swollen with my seed."

His thrusts became even more aggressive, each movement driving you closer to the brink of ecstasy. The wet, slick sounds of him plunging into you echoed through the night, mingling with your desperate moans and his harsh breaths.

"You're nothing but a breeding cunt for me," he continued, his words sending shivers down your spine. "'ll fuck you every night until I'm sure you're filled with my heir."

As the waves of your climax began to build, Aegon's grip on you tightened, his thrusts becoming more urgent and desperate. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered,

"Come for me. I want to feel you come around me." His words, combined with the intense rhythm of his thrusts, sent you over the edge. Your body convulsed with a powerful, shuddering orgasm, your cries of pleasure echoing into the night.

Just as he was reaching his peak, Aegon's grip tightened on the stone railing behind you, holding you in place as his body pressed flush against yours. He followed you moments later, his own release crashing through him as he filled you completely. The slickness between your bodies made every movement smoother, more intimate. Your thighs and hips were coated with the evidence of your shared pleasure, as was his lower abdomen.

For a few moments, the world seemed to stand still. The only sounds were your heavy breaths and the distant crackle of the hearth inside. Aegon remained pressed against you, his body still intimately connected with yours, as you both savored the afterglow of your intense connection.

As you clung to him, lost in the sensation of his body against yours, you didn't notice the door to the balcony creaking open. It wasn't until you heard a gasp that your head snapped around. Standing there, eyes wide with shock, was Aegon's twin brother, Aerion.

"What the-" Aerion stammered, his face a mix of surprise and amusement.

Aegon's reaction was immediate. He moved to shield your body from his brother's view, his face contorted with anger. "Get out!" he barked, his voice harsh and commanding. "Now!"

Aerion raised his hands in mock surrender, backing away with a smirk.

"Alright, alright. I didn't see anything," he said, disappearing back inside. Aegon turned back to you, his expression softening. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice gentle despite the lingering tension.

You nodded, still catching your breath. "Yes, I'm fine," you assured him.

Slowly, he eased out of you, his hands gentle as he helped you back to a standing position. His eyes were soft, filled with a mix of satisfaction and tenderness as he looked at you.

Aegon looked at you with a soft, lingering gaze, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along your back.

"You should relax," he murmured, his voice a tender whisper. "Let me take you to the bath."

You nodded, feeling a warm flush of gratitude. Aegon wrapped an arm around your waist, guiding you back inside the room. The warmth of the hearth welcomed you once more, the flames casting a golden glow over the opulent surroundings. He led you to a spacious bathing chamber, the air filled with the soothing scent of lavender and rose.

The bath was already prepared, steam rising from the clear water, inviting and serene. Aegon helped you undress, his touch gentle and reverent, before guiding you into the tub. The warm water enveloped you, easing the tension from your muscles and wrapping you in a comforting embrace.

Aegon knelt beside the tub, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as if to savor the moment. "Relax, my love," he whispered. "I need to take care of something, but I'll be back soon."

You watched as he left the room, his figure disappearing down the hallway with purposeful strides. You always wondered by he would always leave after spending time with you, in the guise that the council is summoning him. Left alone, you allowed yourself to sink deeper into the water, the warmth seeping into your bones. The events of the night played over in your mind, Aegon's sweet and harsh words echoing in your thoughts.

"You're nothing but a breeding cunt for me," he had said, yet there had been an underlying tenderness in his eyes, a depth of emotion that spoke of more than just desire.

As you reflected, the door to the bathing chamber opened once more. Handmaidens entered, carrying fresh clothes for both you and Aegon. They moved with quiet efficiency, laying out the garments on a nearby table. One of them approached the tub, her expression respectful and serene.

"Milady, we've brought fresh clothes for you," she said softly. "Is there anything else you require?"

You shook your head, offering her a grateful smile. "No, thank you. This is perfect."

The handmaidens bowed slightly before exiting the room, leaving you once again in peaceful solitude. The soothing scents and the gentle warmth of the water lulled you into a state of deep relaxation. Your eyelids grew heavy, the exhaustion of the night catching up with you.

As you reclined in the tub, your thoughts drifted, mingling with the soft murmur of the water. You remembered the way Aegon's eyes had darkened with desire, the way his hands had claimed you with both gentleness and ferocity. A small smile played on your lips as you recalled the mix of sweet words and degrading commands that had left you breathless.

The memories sent a shiver through you, a lingering thrill that kept the embers of your desire burning. But the warmth of the bath and the comforting scent of lavender began to weave a drowsy spell over you. Your head lolled back, your muscles loosening as you gave in to the gentle pull of sleep.

You barely noticed when your eyes closed completely, the soft embrace of slumber enveloping you. The last conscious thought you had was of Aegon's tender kiss on your forehead, a promise of his return. The crackle of the hearth and the soothing warmth of the bath became a lullaby, guiding you into a deep, restful sleep.

Time seemed to stand still as you drifted in a dreamlike state, your mind filled with the remnants of the night's passion and the promise of Aegon's return. The water cradled you, its warmth a gentle cocoon that kept the world at bay. Lost in your dreams, you didn’t hear the door to the bathing chamber creak open.

A light tap on your shoulder jolted you awake. Your eyes snapped open, and you found yourself face-to-face with Aerion. His presence startled you, and a mix of fear and anger surged through you.

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing here?” you spat, your voice trembling with indignation. “Get out, now, before I summon the guards!”

Aerion raised his hands in a placating gesture, his expression earnest. “Wait, just listen to me for a moment,” he implored.

“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say,” you snapped, sitting up in the tub and clutching the edges for support. “Leave now, or I swear I’ll have the guards drag you out of here.”

Aerion’s face contorted with frustration, but he didn’t move. He stepped closer, his face mere inches from yours, staring into your eyes with disbelief. “My dear,” he began, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and pity, “you are so oblivious to everything. Finding the good in everything and being so optimistic when it’s the direct opposite. The world isn’t how you dream it would be.”

You could feel his breath on your face, his intensity making your anger flare even hotter. You bit your tongue, holding back the torrent of words you wanted to unleash.

“You were fortunate enough to have a perfect life,” he continued, his tone almost accusatory. “You don’t see the reality, the scheming, the manipulation. Aegon is using you, and you’re too blinded by your feelings to see it. Once he has his heir, he’ll cast you aside, just like he did in the beginning.”

Your anger flared even hotter at his words. “How dare you! You don’t know anything about our relationship. Aegon cares for me, and I care for him. You’re just trying to cause a rift between us, something you’ve always tried to do.”

Aerion’s expression softened, his eyes pleading. “I’m trying to protect you. Aegon is using you, and you’re too blinded by your feelings to see it. Once he has his heir, he’ll go back to ignoring you, to treating you like you’re nothing. Don’t you remember how he was before?”

The memories of Aegon’s distant behavior in the early days of your relationship flashed through your mind, but you pushed them aside. “People change, Aerion. He has changed.”

Aerion shook his head, stepping closer to the tub. “You’re deluding yourself. I’ve seen how he looks at you—like you’re a means to an end. He’s sweet now because he needs you. But once he gets what he wants, he’ll go back to his old ways.”

You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms. “Enough. You need to leave, now. I won’t let you poison my mind with your lies.”

Aerion sighed, his expression a mixture of sadness and resignation. “I’m telling you this because I care about you. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

You glared at him, your voice icy. “If you really cared about me, you’d respect my wishes and leave. Now, get out.”

Aerion’s shoulders slumped, and he nodded slowly. “Heed my warning, my dear ___. Don’t let him break your heart.”

With that, he turned and left the room, leaving you alone with your swirling emotions. The bathwater had lost its warmth, but you stayed where you were, your mind racing with conflicting thoughts. Aerion’s words echoed in your head, sowing seeds of doubt that you desperately tried to ignore.

You knew you had to trust Aegon, to believe in the changes you had seen in him. But Aerion’s warnings gnawed at the edges of your confidence, leaving you feeling unsettled and vulnerable.

As you finally climbed out of the tub and dried off, you couldn’t shake the feeling that your relationship with Aegon was standing on precarious ground. You dressed in the fresh clothes the handmaidens had left, your mind still a storm of uncertainty.

When Aegon returned, you’d have to confront these doubts, to seek reassurance and clarity. Until then, all you could do was hold onto the hope that the love you and Aegon shared was real and enduring, strong enough to withstand any challenges that came your way.

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[runningfrom2am]

leveling the playing field // epilogue

summary: seven years later.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.7k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. this part is quite tame! idk, discussion of the games as a concept is pretty messed up? obviously r & coryo are both delusional but whats new??

a/n: this is it :') thank you all so so so much for all the love on this fic! it means so much to me that you guys enjoyed it! but don't get too sad (like me) bc i am not ready to let them go so i'll probably do like blurbs and stuff ab this series so stick around for those!

series masterlist // playlist

~ seven years later ~

"You've got this, Darling. It's going to be perfect." Coryo insists, kissing your temple as you relentlessly adjust your hair, trying to tame any imaginary flyaways in your flawlessly straightened hair.

"As long as it's not a disaster..." You mumble, giving up on your hair and refocusing on making sure you have all your papers.

Arena map? Check. Tribute and mentors list? Check. Schedule?

"With you in charge, I do not doubt that it will be anything short of flawless. I know you. You wouldn't have it any other way." Your husband assures you, taking your spot in front of the large mirror to adjust his red coat, matching to yours.

You sigh, tucking the large stack of meticulously organized papers into your bag. "I mean, does anyone honestly expect it to be perfect? It's my first games... There's a small margin for error, right?"

"No." Coryo replies sternly, turning to face you. He grabs your chin as you groan, forcing your eyes to meet his. "There's no room for error, but it will be perfect. So don't worry." He plants a gentle kiss on your lips. "And if you need anything, just call."

"Okay..." You hum, smiling as you look up at him. "I'm going to miss you, though." Your smile shifts into a pout, and he kisses your forehead.

"I know. I'll miss having my assistant around, too." He mumbles against the softness of your skin.

Your time working together under Dr. Gaul had been a dream. Why did everything have to change all at once? You've been together every day for years, and you had the most fun helping plan the games and pitching all your ideas to Dr. Gaul, staying up late over ideas due the next morning and too many cups of coffee, giggling over how funny it would be to see a games where the people of the Districts got to vote over who to send in.

"Do you think it's because that's kind of what happened to Lucy Gray?" You giggled in the dark, feeling Coryo's form shift under the blankets next to you before you felt his breath hit the side of your face.

"Now that you mention it..." He laughed quietly. "Yeah, it totally was."

You had always come up with Dr. Gaul's favourite ideas together. But now, she was gone. And it was just you. You honestly thought that woman was some kind of immortal beast, but clearly, no one is fully bulletproof.

She had offered the position of Head Gamemaker to both of you in her will. You and Coriolanus had worked well together, she had always said that about you. That the two of you were her favourite experiment.

"No, Darling. You take it."

"What? No, we've always done everything together." You protest, furrowing your brow. "She's offered it to both of us, we can do whatever we want, no more waiting for her approval. We can run with it! Come on, it'll be so fun, Coryo."

"That's your dream. Not mine." He smiled at you, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

You frowned, focussing yourself on pulling the buttons of his shirt so they were perfectly aligned. "Are... Are you sure? I don't know if I can do it without you."

"You'll never do anything without me, you know that." He hummed, pushing your hair out of your eyes. "If you need help, just ask. I'm right here. Always."

"I'm not an assistant anymore." You laugh. "Technically, you're kind of my assistant now." You shrug, leaning down to pull on your shoes, white with bottoms red to match your coat.

"Okay, well, I wouldn't put it like that..." He laughs, shaking his head at you and holding out a hand to steady you while you adjust yourself to accommodate your heels.

You take it gratefully, standing up and brushing off your coat once more with your free hand. "Be honest, Coryo, do you think the bear is too much? I feel a little like it's cheating, they don't even really have a chance. Do you get what I mean?"

"Darling," He cups your cheeks in his hands. "No one will be able to look away. That's the most important part."

"I just... I want it to be something different. Something people will still want to watch."

"Everyone will be watching." He assures you. "Now, let's get going. You have a big day ahead."

"Yes sir, Mister President."

"My name is Lucretius "Lucky" Flickerman, your favourite and only host of the annual Hunger Games on Capitol TV, and I have a very special treat for you all this morning before the beginning of the games." You gently remove your coat as you sit down across from Lucky, holding it out for someone to take before the cameras flit your way, though the live audience can already see you.

"For anyone who lives under a rock, this beautiful woman here with me is our lovely First Lady of Panem, and now, Head Gamemaker, Dr. Y/N Snow." He continues as your coat is taken away, and you smile across at him. "Thank you so much for squeezing us into your very busy schedule. Now, how are you feeling about today, Miss Snow?"

"Doctor is fine." You correct him politely, to which he utters a quick apology. "And I am feeling very good about my first games. Dr. Gaul left some big shoes to fill, but I've been working with her for years so I have some really exciting ideas that I just can't wait for the world to see."

"Yes! I'm certain you do." Lucky grins. "Now, I don't know how much of our audience will remember this, but the first time we met was during the tenth games, I was hosting for the first time and you and your husband were both mentors! Just young academy students with some big dreams, isn't that right?"

You laugh, nodding as he speaks and letting the cheers die down. "Yes, I remember that. All of us were kind of getting a feel for how things would work, and my husband was actually the one who came up with the ideas of betting and sponsorships. He has truly always been such a leader, and so smart. He was the one who asked Dr. Gaul if I could help him with his mentorship, and she agreed, and then she just really loved how well we worked together so she kept us around to study under her all these years. It has been such a fun and kind of... fulfilling journey for us both."

"And now, here you are." He nods at you.

"Here I am." You echo it back to him, waiting for another question.

"Now, we have to address what can only be described as the elephant in the room..." He starts, and you try and hide your confused look as you straighten your posture. If there was some kind of problem you should have been made aware before you set foot on stage. "That summer, after your mentorship. Tell us. What happened? Both of you disappeared off the face of the earth right after your success in the games, then came back with these shiny new internships under Dr. Gaul, how did you swing that?"

"Oh!" You laugh, partially relieved it wasn't about these games, but hesitant because everyone knows better than to bring up the tenth games in any sort of detail. "Well, that was the beginning of our internship with Dr. Gaul, and she wanted us to gain some life experience, so we did some touring of the Districts on our own to get to know the people of Panem better. Neither of us had ever left home before, so it was definitely a unique experience that I think was really good for both of us. It was a super secret thing, for some reason. We weren't even to tell our families."

"I see! Well, I hope you learned everything you sought out to?"

"We did." You nod. "And more."

"Okay, well, with that cleared up, tell us more about the games you have planned for us this year. Is there anything new we should be expecting?"

"Oh, definitely." You nod, smiling wide now that you can once again talk about your games. "But I wouldn't want to spoil anything, so everyone will just have to watch." You shrug.

"I don't know if you are aware of this, Dr. Snow," He leans in a little closer, smile on his face. "But one new thing that we know for sure is changing this year, is that the president, your husband, has made it mandatory to watch the games. Not just here in the Capitol, but everywhere in the Districts as well. He made an announcement just this morning, he wants everyone to see what you've worked so hard for."

"Aw." You blush, pressing your hands to your chest. "That's so sweet! No, I didn't know that." The audience eats up your reaction, and you try to keep your eyes on him instead of acknowledging all the clapping and shouts from below you.

"Well, that's just about the cutest surprise! He has a lot of confidence in you." He laughs, reaching over and patting your leg. "You've all heard it here, he's just as good a husband as he is a president!"

"It's true." You agree, hardly audible over the crowds enthusiasm.

"Speaking of your husband..." He says, turning back to look into the wing of the stage and nodding at someone. "He set us up with a little surprise for you, if you don't mind."

"Oh, please." You laugh, covering your face as your cheeks heat up. "Of course he did." You shake your head, whistles from the audience not helping your blush.

"Okay, you can look now. Don't hide!" Lucky laughs, and you lower your hands from in front of your face to be presented with a bouquet of white and red roses. It wasn't an extravagant gift from him, the amount of roses he has gifted to you since your return from Twelve together is astronomical by now, but it's a gesture you cherish nonetheless. You smile as you take them.

"Beautiful, as always." You grin, making a point of smelling them before handing them back to the assistant who's waiting with a vase for them.

"And we have one more thing here, I believe..." He hums, looking back again while you're distracted passing off the wrapped flowers.

When you turn back to look at him you gasp, hands flying up to cover your mouth, fearless of whether or not you would smudge your lipstick. "Is that for me?" You ask, voice higher in octave from the excitement as one of the stagehands walks out with a small dog, fur dyed a soft shade of red with a matching bow around its neck.

"Indeed it is!" Lucky laughs as you're handed the puppy.

"Oh my god..." You smile, tears brimming in your eyes. "Hi there..."

"I think there's a note for you there too..." Lucky urges you and you grab the tag tied onto the bow. "Mind reading it for us?" He says, holding his handkerchief out to you.

"Thank you," You laugh, dabbing under your eyes with your free hand. "A new assistant to match your shoes." You read, laughing at the inside joke.

Everyone laughs, and you get from Lucky's confused expression that you should explain. "Uh, working under Dr. Gaul we would always joke that he was my assistant and vice versa." You laugh, wiping your eyes again before you continue. "I am so proud of you. Finally, the world will see you as I do. Intelligent, strong, and beautiful. Unstoppable. That's why I love you, you're as pure as the driven Snow."

The audience awe's, but you know none of them get it the way you do. "Another inside joke." You nod at Lucky, trying to hold back from crying so much you turn into a mess.

"I stand corrected. That is the cutest surprise." He points to the dog in your lap. "Both literally and figuratively."

"I don't know what I'll do with it." You laugh, shaking your head as the puppy jumps up against your chest, trying to lick your face.

"How about a name, to start?" Lucky prompts you.

"Oh, gosh. Well..." You giggle, lifting it and setting it back down so it will sit in your lap. It's so small, hardly bigger than your hands. It'll likely never grow larger than your lap. It's perfect. "What about Lucky?" You tease.

"Oh, you flatter me, Y/N. Come on, something better."

"I don't know!" You laugh. "I'm not good at naming... things."

Lucky laughs. "Our Head Gamemaker with no ideas? That seems unlikely."

"Okay, okay. You're just putting me on the spot here, I'm a little nervous." You laugh, stroking over the dog's head. "I tell you what, before the games begin this morning I'll come up with twelve names, assign them randomly to the districts, then whoever shall win the games will determine the name of my dog. Does that sound fair?"

"Ah! That's brilliant!" Lucky laughs, clapping his hands together. "And that's a good incentive for anyone who hasn't yet placed their bets or sent in donations for the tributes! Your donation may just be what gives the First Lady's dog its name. How fun!"

"It'll be interesting." You giggle, looking down at the puppy in your lap. It must have been white before the dye, it took so well. Maybe it will fade into a pink before it grows out its natural white fur- you wouldn't want it to stay red forever, but for show, it was perfect.

"Now, we really shouldn't be taking up any more of your time. You have a busy day ahead!" Lucky says and you nod in agreement, standing up and carefully tucking the small dog under your arm. "Thank you for making time for us, I know I'm looking forward to seeing what you have in store for us."

"Thank you. I really hope you all enjoy the games!" You smile, holding out a hand for him to shake which he takes quickly, then allowing you to walk off the stage.

As predicted by a certain Mister President; Coriolanus Snow, your first games as Head Gamemaker went without a hitch. They were perfect in every way. Capitol citizens were buzzing- not just about the games, the mutts you incorporated into the newly decorated arena, or the most shocking kills, but also about your dog. The people loved her, and so did you. She hardly ever left your lap or your side for the duration of the games, which only lasted a matter of days.

The party your husband threw for you at the presidential palace, your home, at the end of the games was extravagant. Coryo couldn't help but broadcast his pride to all of the Capitol. He loved you; you were his, and he needed everyone to know. Not a soul in all the world was anywhere close to being on your level, and shaping you into the perfect wife and First Lady was what Coriolanus Snow considered his greatest achievement. As you stood next to him, his palm tucked neatly against your lower back, you were perfect. More perfect than you were the day you fought for a spot in the mentorships that he granted you, more perfect than the he first time he kissed you, and more perfect than both of the days he had killed someone for you. Without question, he would do it all again if it meant he would get to hold you even just one more time.

"I'm so proud of you, Love." He gently rubs your back, looking down at you while you overlook your garden from the patio off of your bedroom.

You smile, standing up on your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Snow lands on top." You whisper, biting your lip when you see a shift behind his eyes.

"You bet we do." He hums with a smug smile, lifting you up and carrying you back inside.

And somewhere, thousands of miles away in the Northern shambles of a still recovering District Thirteen, while you and your husband are celebrating, Sejanus Plinth and Lucy Gray Baird share knowing, sorrowful glances when it's announced on the crackling radio that the winner of the Seventeenth Annual Hunger Games was a boy from District Two, and because of this, the First Lady of Panem's dog shall be called Sage.

taglist: @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @klplynn , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @gloryekaterina , @andrewgarfieldsbitch , @queenofspades6 , @pepperonipastas , @ladybug0095 , @lunamothwrites , @sbrewer21 , @mus-tbe-a-weasley , @splxtscreen , @unclecrunkle , @karmaswitch , @coconut-dreamz , @nekee-lilac02 , @ooooglymoooogly , @riddlerloveb0t , @lovedbalances , @notyourwildestdream , @snowlandson-top , @too-lit-for-fanfic , @utopiakys , @deafeningballoonnacho , @roosterschanelslut , @chmpgneprblem , @cosmoetik , , @urvampgfsworld , @carolanns-world@nan-nie , @shakespearseclipse , @iovemoonyy , @notyoursweetheart-honey ,  @xyzstar , @eatpizzasass, @slytherinholland , @queenofshinigamis , @elodiebeau , @soulessjourney

taglist is closed for coryo unfortunately, but my requests for him are open!! so send me all your suggestions!! requests here!!

[strawbeerossi]

Nights Like These

18+ Content. Minors DNI

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: After a grueling case, your best friend and roommate Spencer comes home a lot more cuddly and hands on. So much so you two have to share a bed because he just doesn’t wanna be alone.

Content Warning: Some light case discussion, light angst due to Spencer being in distress from the case, one of the many versions of the one bed trope, best friends with hidden feelings trope, Spencer ends up having a wet dream, admitted feelings, some sweet fluff, fingering (f receiving), oral sex (f receiving), finger sucking, unprotected sex, creampie, some cockwarming in the end.

Word Count: 2.5K

Navigation || Masterlist || Taglist || Request

Tags 🏷️ @beardedhotchh @nyx-tella @multifandom-on-the-side @morgthemagpie @eveyez-exe @avis-writeshq

This is purely self indulgent. Also new format of not doing purely 3rd person. Let me know if I should do this more often.

You knew how hard it was for Spencer on emotionally draining cases. He had feared being alone after them, his experience in prison making him more prone to the occasional outburst, which he desperately tried avoiding.

They could take an everlasting impact on him if he wasn’t careful enough, the idea of losing all control and being faced with the trauma that continued stacking against him was not what he needed.

He struggled enough with his day to day life, his therapist only able to give him so much advice and do so much for him. He liked to say that she helped but she wasn’t a miracle worker. He seemed to never be comfortable in the past.

Until he met you.

He’d found solace with you.

The way you would play with his hair and let him get as close as possible to you so he could cling for comfort were things that he appreciated. You weren’t the type to push him away and tell him to deal with his own issues, no, you took care of him.

You’d met whenever Spencer put out an ad for a new roommate, living in DC was something he could afford due to the luxury of working with the FBI for fifteen years, however he didn’t like being alone. 

He was fresh out of prison at the time, the silence being too eery to deal with. He knew he couldn’t live in the chaos of JJ’s house, nor could he turn to much of anyone else on the team. He felt like a burden to them. A piece of him died in the prison cell he was left in,the nights of being awake due to the impending doom that was gonna strike granted the inmates found out he was a federal agent.

When he had gotten into contact with you due to you being the first one to speak with him, he had already found some sense in comfort with you. You were kind and always had a smile on your face, not to mention that you had a sense of cleanliness that Spencer could definitely deal with.

 Due to his busy life, his apartment could tend to be littered with books that he’d started before he got a call, he would have case files piling up, even the occasional coffee cup or two was left out. He wasn’t a slob, yet he could definitely benefit from a roommate who would teach him the ways of organization.

The both of you really seemed to hit it off, your energies feeding into one another really well. You learned he knew way too much, joking how you didn’t know how his brain could hold the vast amount of knowledge that stuck with him. He learned that you were really into science fiction novels and films, being impressed with your knowledge of Doctor Who and Star Trek. 

Both of you were seemingly cut from the same piece of cloth, making it easier for you to upgrade from just being roommates to best friends as well.

It was a late Tuesday night whenever Spencer was quietly walking through the front door. He could smell the familiar scent of lemon, associating the smell with the cleaner that you’d mop the floors with. 

He was toeing his shoes off by the front door, knowing you’d kill him if you woke up to anything on the freshly mopped floors. “Y/N?” He called, walking deeper into the apartment. His voice was hoarse, presumably from yelling at some point. 

“In my room!” You call, glancing up from the book in your hands while watching Spencer quietly push the door open. He looked exhausted. Being familiar already with that look, you were placing your book down before holding your arms out to Spencer with a soft sigh.

As he approached your bed and you felt his body collapse in your arms, you were slowly rubbing his back.The heaviness of his heart could be felt by the way his grip tightened on you, his face buried in your neck as his body shifted to get comfortable on the bed beside you. 

Your fingers were threading through the touseled curls on his head, nails occasionally scratching his scalp in an effort to help soothe him. It seemed to work, his grip loosening and his head lifting soon after, cheek against the fluffy pillow that he could’ve swore that you had added to your bed just for him.

“It was a hard case.” He stated the obvious, making your head nod. “I can imagine. Do you wanna talk about it?” The softness of your voice brought Spencer comfort, a soft sigh falling from his lips. “The unsub targeted male and female best friends. Apparently, his ex-girlfriend had left him for someone who was her best friend. We found out they recently got married and he just snapped.”

He neglected to mention how the duos reminded him of the friendship you two shared.

It was something that a partner wouldnt understand without immediately jumping to the worst conclusions. It made him think of how that very well could’ve been you two, a man killing you for his own failed relationship and pushing blame on everyone else.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.. You’re safe now, more importantly, he’s behind bars.” Your reassurance made his head nod slowly. “You’re right.” He offered a small smile, his head turning to face you easier. “Do you mind if I sleep with you?”

The question was a silly one to ask, already knowing the answer whenever he was being told to turn off the bedside lamp closest to him. 

You didn’t mind sharing a bed with Spencer, enjoying the comforting presence of a loving companion. Truth be told, you’d always had the tiniest crush on him. He made sure you were okay both physically and mentally, not to mention that he was truly an amazing roommate and friend. He carried a sense of warmth, one that could draw anyone in.

As you began to drift off to sleep, things felt right. 

The feeling of his arms wrapped around your frame always made you feel a sense of safety, not to mention the butterflies in your belly would come to life when he’d pull you closer in the night.

Tonight was different.

You’d been sleeping for a good four hours now, the sounds of labored breathing filling the room from your slumber combined with Spencer’s, his snores not being unbearably loud. However, at some point you two had ended up in a spooning situation, your body being engulfed by his arms as he pulled you tight to his chest.You were stirring awake to the sounds of soft whispers coming from Spencer, his face buried in your neck. 

It wasn’t rare for him to talk in his sleep, you finding it silly at times because you could have full conversations with him. 

In your drowsy state, you hadn’t registered the way his hips were rutting into yours, his hard cock pressing firm against your clothed ass under the sheets. What you did register though, was a warm hand under the sheets trailing up your thigh, warm and wet kisses being pressed against the flesh of your neck. It took his thumb running over your clothed clit that had you jolting to life. 

“Spencer.” Your voice was raised in an attempt to wake him up, thankfully succeeding as his movements slowed, eyes slowly blinking open. 

“What’s wrong?” His voice was deep, laced with sleep.

“You were uh-”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence, Spencer’s realization hitting as he was quickly pulling away, body jolting up. “Oh, my god! I’m sorry.” His voice was at a high octave, his cheeks bright red with embarrassment. He couldn’t believe himself. 

“N-No it’s okay! You were sleeping.” Your body was sitting up, thighs pressed tightly together due to the fact that arousal had already settled in, your panties wet enough just from a small touch and some grinding. 

You were more touch deprived than you thought.

“I’m sorry. I should go to my room. No, I am gonna go to my room.”

“Wait!” 

You didn’t know what had gotten into you, your hand reaching to quickly grab his wrist. “Do you want help?” The words made Spencer’s mouth run dry, winded from just the mere suggestion. “Help?” He repeated, as if he wanted to hear you say it again.

“Yeah. We are both mature adults.”

“For the most part.”

His words made you crack a smile, soft laughter erupting between the both of you. Though as it died down, the sound of Spencer clicking his tongue could be heard. “You’re sure?” He then asked, not completely against the idea. “Because I really like you, Y/N. Seriously, you have no idea.” 

He liked you. You liked him. This was an invitation if you’d ever seen one.

“I’m one hundred percent sure. I have had a crush on you since i met-” You didn’t get to finish your sentence before you felt a warm hand cup your cheek, tugging you close to easily connect his lips to yours.

The kiss was filled with need and desire, his hand slowly moving from your cheek and down to your waist. You felt dizzy, the tantalizing nature of his tongue slipping into your mouth as the hunger for more was beginning to bubble under the surface. 

His hands were pushing you back on the mattress, his body now hovering over yours, your body being trapped under his weight. However, you definitely weren’t complaining. As your kiss grew more needy and sloppy, his nimble fingers were trailing up your inner thigh, hands bunching up the nightgown that you were wearing to your stomach. 

The sexual tension hung thick, his fingers continuing to tease your skin that was already burning with desire that was growing into desperation. As his fingertips slowly trailed to your panties, he was slowly pushing them to the side. 

You could feel the wind being knocked out of your lungs as one of his fingers trailed up your slick folds before making their way to your clit. “You’re already so wet, fuck.” Spencer wasn’t one to swear, normally being reluctant to use such language. It was pathetic on how it contributed to the arousal pool. 

His finger was massaging your pearl as if it needed to be polished and put on display, the sounds of your little gasps and moans spurring him on. His hand was moving away from your throbbing clit, chuckling at your whining for more. Instead of saying anything, he was disappearing under the blankets.

His large hands were pushing your thighs apart, lips pressing tantalizing kisses against your inner thighs before his tongue was licking a fat stripe up your slick folds. Your hands were sliding under the sheets, mouth falling open once he was licking and slurping at your cunt, your taste being intoxicating. 

He ate like a man starved, lapping up every ounce of arousal that seemed to gush out of your pussy with every movement. Drinking in everything you had to offer, his jaw was growing wet with the sweet nectar that he’d been so focused on milking out of you. 

It wasn’t long until his tongue was being replaced by two fingers, a cry of pleasure leaving your lips as the long digits were putting in the work, his fingers curling and brushing against the spongy button inside of you that had you roughly pushing his face into your slick cunt more. 

His tongue was licking over your clit coupled with two fingers scissoring your tight cunt open was causing your legs to shake, the knot of pleasure inside of your tummy getting tighter and tighter, your pussy walls spasming around his fingers as you were so close to your orgasm.

Then Spencer pulled away.

Before you could voice your frustrations, your open mouth was silenced by two fingers slipping into your mouth. Not needing to be told twice, your eyes were fluttering shut while letting your tongue lap up any evidence of shimmering arousal from his fingers, your moans vibrating around his finger from the taste of slick. 

With a ‘pop’, Spencer was pulling his fingers out of your mouth. “You look so beautiful, Y/N.” His words were soft, only leaning down to connect your lips in a chaste kiss. You were growing impatient, your hands quickly pushing his pants and his boxers down his legs soon after. It wasn’t enough to completely undress him, mainly because you both weren’t waiting that long. 

Spencer let his hand wrap around his hard cock, stroking a few times go get himself hard enough to his liking before tapping the thick tip against your clit, causing electricity to shoot through your body as you shivered softly at the contact. 

“Ready?” He asked, pushing the blunt head past your folds. That was when he was pushing his cock inside of you, your hands gripping his shoulders while you both shared a deep kiss.

The girth of his base had given you a delicious burn, making you hiss at the pleasurable pain. “Fuck. You take my cock so well. Like this pussy was made for me.” He grunted, the filth of his words causing a moan to fall from your lips. Never once did you expect this behavior nor this kind of language from Spencer. 

He was pulling you out of your dazed thoughts as he was slowly rolling his hips into yours, cock nestled inside of your tight cunt.

It was almost as if you could feel every vein, every curve.. It was a sensation that you’d never actually felt before. Who knows, maybe you just paid extra attention because you’ve been dreaming of this moment. 

Those slow thrusts were soon upgrading to harder and faster ones, a cry of pleasure falling from your lips as your head hit the pillow behind you. The sounds of skin slapping together as well as the sinful sounds of squelching from your wet pussy and the moans, whimpers and cries falling from your lips were filling the bedroom.

Spencer continued to ram his cock into your tight hole, a thin shine of sweat on his forehead as he was relentlessly fucking into you. The feeling of your warm, plushy walls convulsing around him was enough for his cock to twitch. He was close and so were you, both of your bodily reactions being dead giveaways. 

As your cunt squeezed tight around his cock, your nails were digging into the shirt he was wearing as you let your eyes screw shut, your creamy cum slowly sliding down his cock and surely making a mess of the sheets while he was giving a few more hard thrusts before shooting long ropes of cum inside of you, surely coating your cervix in the process. 

With a few more sloppy thrusts to ride out both of your orgasms, it wasn’t long until his body was collapsing on top of yours. As he tried to pull away though, your legs were tightening around his waist. “Wait.” She whispered, her head tilting back. “Wanna feel you inside for a little bit longer.” She blabbered out, grip loosening as Spencer couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“Hey, Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you wanna go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?” 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

[guardian-angle22]

Happy to present to y'all this 911LS fic list for stories related to one of my favorite episodes 3.13 Riddle of the Sphynx! I try to make these as comprehensive as possible, so if you have any you think I missed, let me know so I can add them. (I also might make edits to these posts to add more fics as they get written. If I ever do so I'll be sure to reblog the post for visibility!)

Enjoy all of our amazing fandom writers and leave them some comments & love!

[Disclaimers: • If you're an author and don't like to be tagged or linked for any reason, let me know and I'll remove the tag and make sure not to do so in the future, no questions asked. • I usually post TWs in rec lists. Due to the episode subject matter, assume all of these have a TW for discussion of addiction/drug use and possibly discussion of parent death/grief.]

◆ Heard the risk is drowning by @paperstorm (Words: 15.3 K; Rating: M)

A tag for 3x13, "Riddle of the Sphynx", in which Carlos combats his own insecurities as TK tries to heal.

◆ Chasers by @carlos-in-glasses (Words: 13.4K; Rating: E)

After 3x13 – while TK is alone with Cooper, Carlos is alone with his thoughts. Both recall times they’ve chased the next high, other men, or each other. When Carlos arrives home, TK still has something important to say – and it's something he didn’t tell Cooper.

◆ trying my best by @reyescarlos (Words: 10.3K; Rating: M)

An exploration of TK's sobriety journey from 2017 to now. Or, a season 3 coda spanning 3x08-3x13

◆ You Showed me How it feels to Truly be Seen by @ramblingdisaster73 (Words: 3K; Rating: T)

Carlos works through the events of 3x13 "The Riddle of the Sphinx".

◆ Measure of a Man by @chicgeekgirl89 (Words: 1.8K; Rating: T)

“I want to be everything you need. That I can’t be, it hurts, T.K. It feels like a failure on my part. And as much as I’m trying to accept it, it’s hard.” A 3x13 coda in which Carlos struggles with a new definition of being "enough."

◆ I'll be here all the same by @strandnreyes (Words: 4.8K; Rating: G)

“I am glad you have someone you can talk to who can maybe do a better job at fixing things,” Carlos insists before dropping his eyes to their tangled together fingers. “All I want is for you to be okay.”It’s not surprising to hear, but it hits as if it was. That really is the root of this whole thing. As much as Carlos wants to do what he can to be the person to get TK to that place, at the end of the day all he really wants is for TK to get there.“I will be.”Or, three late night conversations following the events of 3.13

◆ Trigger by comes2gusu (Words: 4.7K; Rating: T)

TK is struggling with his newly found sobriety. After being triggered at an NA meeting, Cooper takes TK for omelets

◆ this love we carry by @thevenstar (Words: 7.6K; Rating: T)

A 3x13 coda in which Carlos has a conversation with a friend, puts his heart to rest, and learns that walking away does not mean surrender.

◆ Those Pieces by @taralaurel (Words: 7.3K; Rating: M)

"I, I'm not telling you all - this - so you can fix me," TK huffs a hot breath against Carlos' chin, "or save me or really, do anything, okay?" Carlos nods against TK's forehead. TK has done a lot of things in his life to deserve the bad that has happened to him. He has no idea what good he's done to deserve Carlos. Coda to 3x13

◆ the one i want by @chaotictarlos (Words: 2K; Rating: E)

TK gets Carlos to take his shirt off.

◆ i want you to unravel me by @reyescarlos (Words: 4.2K; Rating: E)

In the aftermath of the strain that's fallen over them, TK and Carlos bridge the gap with open conversation that brings them closer together, both emotionally and physically. [3x13 coda]

◆ Just Wanna Breathe by @theoceanismyinkwell (Words: 1.9K; Rating: G)

Carlos doesn’t dare look at him for long, knowing that his eyes have always been the window to his soul, the weakest part of his body, unveiling everything in the well of truths he’s kept a lid on for years and years. His family may not be able to read him as well as he feared for the decades he was in the closet, but TK has a way of crashing into his life with a formidable gentleness and a piercing understanding that unmoors him in every possible way.And that’s precisely what TK is doing now, keeping the warmth of his palms flush against the beating of Carlos’ skin, cradling his face, forcing them both to gaze into each other’s eyes and face each other’s unspoken terrors without flinching.TK sounds like he has a lump in his throat. “I’m going to say something, and I want you to listen to me and I want you to remember it.”---Or: What happens when Carlos comes back home after TK's talk with Cooper, and the confessions that spill out after.

◆ waiting on the sidelines by @morganaspendragonss (Words: 1.5K; Rating: T)

They’d promised each other no more secrets, and while Carlos rationally knows that these aren’t exactly secrets, there’s still this grain of resentment inside of him that scratches away with every beat of his heart. It’s something he can’t let show in front of TK ever again, which is why he’s here, outside Owen's house while TK and Cooper talk in the loft.If anyone’s going to understand what he’s feeling, it’s Owen Strand.

◆ Three Weeks In by @masterroadtripper (Words: 3K; Rating: T; TW: self-harm)

It’d been three weeks since Sadie had drugged them - nineteen days since TK started a ninety-day NA sobriety program at the local Synagogue and eleven days since Carlos had met Cooper for the first time - before Carlos realized that there was something else TK wasn’t telling him.

◆ What We Need by Ehm (Words: 3.1K; Rating: T)

"You okay, bud?" Cooper startled him out of his thoughts and he let go of the spoon with a clinking noise. He straightened up, embarrassed. "Sorry, I zoned out." "I can see that," Cooper sounded vaguely amused. "You wanna talk about it?" --- Three times TK has a conversation with Cooper, and one time he talks to Carlos. Or, 3x13 and beyond from TK's point of view.

◆ Nocturne by @sanctuaryforalluniverses (Words: 735; Rating: T)

Carlos comes home. (Post-ep for 3x13)

◆ Precious Love by @rmd-writes (Words: 11.6K; Rating: M)

This is five times TK thinks he doesn’t deserve love and one time he knows he does – an exploration of TK’s relationship with love and self-worth.

◆ Inside a snow globe by @goodways (Words: 6.9K; Rating: E)

It isn’t until TK is on top, lavishing Carlos’ neck, stroking his hand up his side, that Carlos brings their faces together, barely a suggestion of a kiss between them. He holds TK’s jaw and keeps him close whilst he readies the question in his mind. He breathes out a straightforward and tempting, “fuck me,” over TK’s lips which silences the world outside their bedroom. TK’s response whenever he’s asked for this has few variations between immediate enthusiastic compliancy and the sweet reassurance he knows Carlos is dying for. The answer is always yes. - The evening after TK gets his one month sobriety chip.

◆ my home has been your heart since the day i met you by @lavendergiroux (Words: 1.8K; Rating: M)

After Carlos leaves Cooper and TK to talk, all they do is talk about him. When Carlos comes home - they are still talking about him.

◆ Deep Talks and Cuddles by raniaswritings (Words: 1.2K; Rating: T)

TK talks to Cooper and Carlos comes back home after a few hours

◆ “What are you doing?” “I don’t want you to do that.” by @irispurpurea (Words: 1.1K; Rating: T)

Fictober 2022 Day 13 and 14. Prompts: “What are you doing?” “I don’t want you to do that.” “What are you doing?” Carlos looks up to find TK frowning at him from their bedroom. “I…” Carlos holds up the blanket in his hands, unsure what else to say. He thinks it’s pretty obvious what he’s doing. Then again, tonight has proven that he can’t do anything right, apparently, when it comes to TK.

◆ "It's your shirt..." by @lavendergiroux (Words: 780; Rating: M)

TK really didn't want to talk about it, he just really needed Carlos to claim him...

◆ sunkissed face by mooshkat (Words: 1K; Rating: T)

To show his appreciation, TK decides to make Carlos breakfast.

Spec Fics Written Prior to the Episode Airing/Canon Convergence:

◆ if the darkness comes, i'll stay by @doublel27 (Words: 3.2K; Rating: T)

“I had some things to do,” TK says, his stomach twisting. “Some things?” “Carlos, I texted,” TK reminds his boyfriend, because he did. “It’s fine.” “Is it?” Carlos asks, his voice dangerously calm. or TK comes home late for the third night in one week, and he and Carlos have a necessary confrontation. A speculative fic for 3x13.

◆ Caught by @littlemissmarianna (Words: 761; Rating: G)

“Who’s that?” Carlos doesn’t answer Mitchell’s question because he doesn’t know. There’s only a handful of people he can identify from the back, and this guy isn’t on the list. He has broad shoulders, though, and nice hair and is probably good-looking. Why else would TK be staring at him so intently?

◆ In Order to Get Back to Us by reyestrand (Words: 2.2K; Rating: G)

Carlos waits up for TK when he’s late coming home and they talk about the things they’re afraid to. - a 3x13 speculation fic

◆ still comparing your past to my future by @kiras-sunshine (Words: 17.4K; Rating: T)

Something else than the wallowing feeling of uneasiness, anxiety and hurt in the bottom of his stomach. All of it seems to have a chokehold on his heart and no matter what he tries to think about, his thoughts always go back to TK, to worry that keeps mixing in with everything, and the brightness of TK’s smile, the way the corner of his mouth curled up and his eyes shone, when he smiled at someone else than him.

[capybonara]

I come with more Sardon doodles because I wanna talk more about him and I'm having so much fun drawing these guys (you gotta be the cheerleader for your OCs!)

As stated in a previous post, hes the largest and oldest sibling out of six (Cironus, Kaska and three unnamed siblings). He's based off the wild orca who goes by Chainsaw due to the unique scarring on the dorsal fin!

Unlike Cironus and Kaska who are bards, Sardon is an orca pugilist! Orca's hunt by causing blunt force trauma on their prey so basically Sardon just solves most things with his fists! As I write this I missed the opportunity to make a Shoryuken joke with him hunting the lizalfos OH WELL

I also mentioned that I'd like to pair him up AND give him friends in general! This may or may not be an excuse to draw people's ocs and be part of a community again. People asked what his type is so allow me to info dump BELOW A CUT

HI THERE :D

OKAY SO

Sardon was a runt when he was a child but his mother, aunts, and grandmother protected him and kept him well fed. As he grew he became very rowdy, as a way to fight back from being picked on and to establish a position among his peers. When he was big enough, he found he enjoyed fighting/hunting monsters and then it kind of became a job for him. In a similar way that Kaska visits kingdoms and areas to see if they're welcome to stick around, Sardon goes around areas where his family plan to rest at and clears out any monsters.

Bloon Moon events are something he looks forward too because it means he can go hunting all over again!

But despite his job and rough childhood, Sardon is usually very quiet and reserved. His size and scars tend to have people make assumptions about his personality and so they steer clear. He's a bit jealous of the way Cironus and Kaska can make friends so easily, and it's why he likes hanging out with them so much. Their presence makes him look slightly less intimidating and he may be picking up pointers on how to socialize.

He's very supportive of their endeavors, and he's an excellent listener. When he's not picking fights, he'll be babysitting the young orca children and letting them talk his ear off. He's playing wingman to Cironus, getting lost in discussions with Kaska regarding kingdom politics. Sometimes they need an extra voice for their music and while Sardon doesn't play an instrument, he has a beautiful baritone!

When it comes to courtship, he's been extremely awkward so he gave up for a while and focused on his monster hunting work. He's been pressured by his mother and grandmother about courting since Sardon was a prime candidate for siring more healthy orca children. There isn't much prejudice against seeing those from other races among the zorca, but he knew it had to do with being a first born son.

Still, the idea of companionship is appealing. He has an appreciation for all races in Hyrule, and the same goes for his romantic preferences. He's more familiar with zora because of his family travels but he's run into others on land enough to have a respect for them.

When he's accompanying Cironus or Kaska, they help lower his defenses; he smiles more, he's making jokes with them, and he's able to read the cues from his siblings on who is friendly or not. But he knows he can't always tag along with his siblings and use them as a buffer.

When he's on his own, he tends to freeze when he encounters others, either in water or on land, and he's at a loss for words. To anyone else, he looks like a monster himself. And it eats him up inside because deep down he still sees himself as a trembling orca child. And he questions himself a lot. Did anything about him really change for the better? First being seen as a sardine to something considerably worse 😭

[plutoswritingplanet]

Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt. 6

a/n: Mama a new chapter behind you (had to reupload this, because it didn't show up in the tag for some reason), this chapter might seem like a blurb of bs but it's important to the story guys please believe me. Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: Creepy Behavior (wow, a shocker), Discussion around some Non-Con situations (nothing explicit though), Smoking, Cussing, the regular

Summary: Finally, you get your phone back... And make a promise which will haunt you forever

Vicarious Masterlist

- What the fuck did you do? - Stillwell asks through gritted teeth, her expression frozen in a tight smile. 

The very second he has announced, the photoshoot would have to be postponed due to your "health problems", he could practically hear her heart drop right down to her tight, corporate ass. He decided not to comment on the sudden flood of adrenaline in her veins, but the moment she turned to him, demanding an answer, an explanation, he could feel the vein on his temple start to pulse.

Because how dare she, look at him like that? Like she actually cares about that ungrateful lowlife, he left wheezing on the floor, in some forgotten conference room? 

- She's not feeling well - he repeats, his voice becoming tense - Last night must've worn her out. 

Stillwell scoffs at his pathetic attempt at sounding sympathetic. Her eyebrows crease, as she takes a long, steadying breath, her shoulders slumping slightly. He likes that expression, likes the way people give up around him. The feeling of breaking someone down always gives him such a rush, it's unparalleled to anything else. 

He wonders how your face will twist and turn, when he finally manages to wrench himself under the layers of masks and disguises. He got close, he got a whiff of blood, and like a starved shark, he needed more.

The team of photographers continues to hassle about the place, setting things up, as if the photoshoot will take place. Which, it won't, he made sure of it. 

- Is she alive? - Stillwell asks with a resigned sigh, and Homelander rolls his eyes. 

- Yes, of course she's fucking alive, I'm not...

- Hey, y'all. Sorry for being late. 

Your voice shoots through him like an arrow of some fucked up, drunk cupid. His entire frame goes rigid, as his head all but snaps with the quickness he turns around. 

There you are. 

A plastic imitation of a laid-back smile plastered on your face, as you regard every person in the room with a nod of greeting. Not a hair on you seems out of place, even though he can clearly see, through the tissue and the muscle, that your ribs are only beginning to heal, the fragments of bone connecting with each other at a snails pace. It can't be pleasant, but your eyes shine nonetheless, as your platform boots carry you in their direction.

Stillwell looks just as shocked as he feels, her eyebrows nearly touching the perfect hairline on her forehead. 

- Miss Stillwell - you greet her with a pleasant smile - Homelander. 

- I see you're all better now - he comments after a beat, his eyes scanning your form.

He doesn't like the way your expression doesn't even budge. It feels insulting, your refusal to show your true colors to him, especially since he has seen you. He knows there are thoughts brewing under that blowout, and when you direct that fake smile at him, it feels like a personal jab.

 A small middle finger, pointed straight at his smile, stuck like glue to his face. The word "Bitch" echoes in his mind, and his eyes start to burn at the corners. 

- Ah, that party last night must've tired me out more than I anticipated - you shake your head in a rather forced attempt at looking bashful - I hope I haven't inconvenienced y'all too much. 

It's a blur from then on. Stillwell directs you towards the makeup booth, swallowing around her shock, before she comes out as too relieved. 

Homelander doesn't register any of her words, silently stalking to his own chair, where he lets some intern cake his face with makeup. He keeps his eyes on you, all the time, imagining all the horrible things he could do, will do, once this charade is over. 

He notices, with the accuracy of a starved hawk, how your breathing is still quite shaky, how your lungs aren't expanding as much as they're supposed to. Then, there's the tremble in your hand, as you curl your fingers around the armrest, nails digging into the plastic, when the makeup artist glides her brush over your collarbones. His eyes catch the smidgen of glitter, and his lip quirks up, seemingly on its own. 

A fitting camouflage, for the carnage he's left underneath. 

You suck in a sharp breath, as one of the ribs clicks back into place, and mask the sound with a cough. Which brings another wave of pain, crashing over your chest. He has to admit, the way you pretend to be completely unaffected is admirable. If anything, it gives him some hope regarding the future movie you're supposed to do together. In a month or so, he doesn't remember the details. Doesn't care for them. 

And then, you're up. 

Solo shots first. The photographer ushers you in front of the green screen, where you stand on the mark, shuffling on your feet awkwardly. Homelander watches, his head tilting, as you let yourself be posed, like a doll for the entertainment of millions. For his entertainment. 

It's the same, boring series of poses. The same, ass-and-tits-in-the-same-shot bullshit. He's seen it on practically every female superhero, and yes, perhaps at first it was exciting. Right now, however, it feels like licking off a plate after reheated leftovers. Still, he has to admit, there's something intriguing about the way your body twists and turns to accommodate the photographer's artistic vision. 

Despite that, despite the way your thighs peak almost too scandalously from under your plaid skirt, or the way your chest practically waves at him from beneath your corset top... 

He feels nothing. No familiar tightness in the lower parts of his suit. No fidgeting, no sudden wave of heat. He looks at you, and sees... Well... You. 

Even when your painted lips pull back into a flirty, curling smile, as you wink at the camera (as instructed), he can't really see Fireball anymore. It's like those couple of minutes ago, when he left you writhing on the floor unlocked some deep truth, some unexplainable dam, which has burst completely.

For a moment, he doesn't know what to think. The photographer thanks you, motions for him to take his place, and with limbs, which are suddenly much too heavy, Homelander makes his way in front of the camera. 

Your gaze follows him, eyes shifting under ridiculously large fake eyelashes. He feels them, burning the back of his neck, and for some unknown reason, it makes him feel... Almost pleased. He's always been a slut for attention, for admiration, for the looks of awe. And while there's nothing on your face which would suggest the latter two, you're still looking at him.

It makes his chest puff out a bit more, his back straightening, his smile cutting even more than usual. And the camera clicks, and clicks, until it's time for your paired shots. 

The chair squeaks, when you stand up, and Homelander swallows, listening to your platform boots, as they click on the linoleum flooring. Soon enough, you're in front of him, the photographer maneuvers you to his liking, and Homelander looks down, takes a whiff of  your perfume. That lingering, suffocating scent of jasmine. It swirls in his nose, cements itself into his brain, and his chest makes a quick up and down movement, his lungs refusing cooperation for just a second. 

The photographer turns you around, makes you stand closer to him, chests almost pressing together. And then, he places your arm across his shoulders, and Homelander freezes.

He doesn't know why, not really, but the feeling of your plush flesh against his sends a wave of paralyzing shivers down his spine. Surprisingly, not of arousal, but something else entirely. Something he refused to recognize. 

Your eyes flicker to his, eyebrows twitching in a display of curiosity, as you feel him tense under your hand. He doesn't like it, the way you seem to see right through him, like he's made of glass. Like you can sense his thoughts, his very soul. 

Annoyingly perceptive.

His mouth opens, so close to a biting, threatening comment, but before anything comes out, the pressure on his shoulder lessens, before disappearing completely. Eyes flickering to the side, he can see the way your hand hovers, just millimeters from his costume, maintaining the illusion of contact. 

Anger is his natural reaction, embedded into the very core of his being. He doesn't want to recognize the flood of relief at the lack of contact, he doesn't want to understand the implications. And most importantly, he absolutely hates, that it's you. Once again, you've managed to read him like a fucking book, and took it all in without even moving a muscle. 

Thoughts swirl inside his brain, and he's so focused on the noticable lack of your touch, that he doesn't hear the photographer until the third time.

The next couple of poses go in that exact manner. The photographer tells you how to pose, and you do so, keeping your body hovering over Homelander's. 

He refuses to recognize the flicker of gratitude in his gut. He's never grateful, he's a fucking superhero, and physical touch is not something he's shied away from. Yet, he can't deny, that small show of respect, not directed towards his power, but rather, his own preference... Strange.

You're strange, you're infuriating. Your hair looks so soft, despite the gallons of product they dumped onto it.

He gravitates towards you after the shoot ends, when all the staff is slowly packing up, flickering out of the room in a river of insignificance. You're standing by the makeup table, Ashley at your side, explaining something with that same 'i'm going to have a heart attack any moment', terrified stare. He watches with mild interest, as your presence alone seems to slow the ginger's heart.

Your ribs seem to be healed over by this point, he watches some lingering, floating pieces of bone, as they fit into the puzzle of your insides. He takes a step closer, suddenly mesmerized by the way your blood vessels connect, reaching towards each other. Joining hands.

The sound of your laughter cuts through his thoughts like a knife, and he blinks up towards your face, noting deep in his brain the different types, different sounds of your joy. It's such a strange observation, he stuns himself for a moment. But then again, there's no one but himself to police his thoughts. What goes on in his mind, stays within. No corporate restrictions, no paparazzi, no Stillwell. Just him, and the soft chuckle you just let out, light, breezy, barely a sound really. 

He's caught in the middle of replaying the way your voice carried above the music, back at the party, where he listened to you, and only you, floating above the roof like a dark omen. That cracking, unrestrained sound, which both irritated him, and brought a strange feeling of confusion, swirling in his stomach. So different from your Fireball persona, from the soft, high-pitched sounds you were emitting while in the Tower, constantly under surveillance. 

- Just don't blow it - Ashley sighs, a swan song of her professionalism, and the wink you give her is nothing short of diabolical

- I never blow jobs without a "please" first - you shoot back, stunning both the redhead, and the lurking Homelander into silence.

It's almost a relief to him, when the familiar tightness around the lower section of his suit manifests itself at your words. He greets it like an old friend. 

Would he ask for it? Would he twist his face into a pleading expression, would he guide you down, a steady hand on your shoulder, as he repeats "please" like it's a prayer? He shudders at the mental image, his fingers curling into fists so tight, the leather of his gloves starts to creak. 

When your conversation with Ashley finishes, he follows you out the room, a small distance behind, and he truly doesn't know what compels his legs to move forward. He doesn't understand the need, that's suddenly manifested itself somewhere in the darker parts of himself. All he knows, is that he walks behind you like a shadow, through the corridors of the ground level of the Tower, ignoring the looks of awe and inspiration from all the inconsequential workers. 

They filter like ants around the two of you, faces rising from their computers, abandoning their lunches in favor of gaping at the unexpected pair, that's slowly but surely making it's way towards the smoking area. 

All the while, that ridiculously short, plaid skirt sways to the sound of the only two words, rattling around in his brain, as he observes your movements.

Ripe. Plump. Ripe. Plump. Ripe. Plump.

It would be so easy, he thinks again, to just pull you away. He knows every nook and cranny of this place. Every shadowed broom closet, every blind spot of the cameras. He has used and abused all those places, burned their existence into the mind of many, many women. 

There are walls in this building, which are most definitely lacking your body pressed into them. His hands itch. They would fit so nicely under the plush flesh of your thighs, sinking into them, holding them apart. It would be child's play at this point. 

And he knows Madelyn made you sign an NDA, he's seen the intricate lines of your name on the white paper. No one would stop him, and yet...

The smoking area is relatively empty. You find a spot at a table near the large window overlooking the street, and he says nothing, as he slinks into the chair opposite yours. Finally, you look up at him, tilting your head to the side, like you're trying to read something out of the schooled, passive expression on his face. He doesn't like it, the way your eyes drill into him, like you're peeling away some layers he doesn't even know are there. 

He's supposed to be the one doing the peeling. 

- So - you start, and he immediately snaps his attention to the tone of your voice - That was fucking exhausting, wasn't it?

Higher register, breathy quality. You're talking to him like he's one of them. One of Vaught, one of the press, like he didn't see your trembling body on the floor of the office.

Anger flares within him at the revelation, and your breath catches in your throat as without warning, the sound of a chair scraping roughly on the tiled floor fills the air. Homelander pushes himself right next to you, his hand clamping down like a vice around your wrist, holding it tightly on your lap, the leather of his gloves squeaking in protest.

Your eyes widen a fraction, muscles tensing at the unexpected proximity, and your gaze darts around the smoking area, taking in the noticable lack of other people.

- The fu...-

He cuts you off quickly, his grip tightening to an almost bruising intensity.

- Don't ever use that voice with me. - his voice is low, a hint of a warning hidden in every syllable.

For just a second your eyebrows furrow in plain confusion, and then, realization hits the both of you like a freight train. 

This isn't you. You're not here.

You didn't know. You didn't notice until he pointed it out. Slow horror blossoms on your face, breath catching in your freshly healed trachea, as you blink up at him. 

A mixture of emotions swirls in his gut. 

They almost got you. For just a second you were completely immersed in the fantastical, corporate creation, this hellish place wanted you to be. So immersed in fact, you forgot your own voice. Fireball, like a greedy parasite, has taken root in your system, sucking away your person hood. Just like he is trained to always smile towards the camera, his face twisting every time, like a compulsion he can't get rid of. 

Your shoulders sag, this unexplainable heaviness returning to your bones. He will remember this moment for years to come, long after the contract has ended, this small flicker of understanding, however damning it might be, will forever cement itself into his very being. The first time you've ever recognized, that there's more to him, that he knows he's not the only thing you're fighting.

Because in this small moment, despite the animosity, the tension, the downright horrible thoughts and actions he's taken against you, will take against you, both of you know the horrible truth. The price to pay for stepping a foot in his world, even momentarily. 

- You will never lie to me - he says like it's an universally accepted fact, not a request.

And you nod, a sudden jerk of your head, hair jumping around your face, because there's no other way. He'll sniff out lies from the very essence of your being, but more than that, you're slowly growing more desperate to maintain this flicker of kinship. Your only chance at establishing a connection, at worming yourself into his brain as something more than just a piece of fuckable meat. 

You will take any crumb at this point. Any way to ensure he sees you as something more, than a toy to play with and discard. To earn your safety amongst his heated stares, and pages upon pages of contracts. Stillwell won't protect you from him anymore, that much has become obvious, the moment she made you sign an NDA. Now it's your job to make sure it'll never be used against you. 

Which is why, your lips part, tongue running over your teeth, as if chasing the lingering taste of Fireball's voice in your mouth. So you can recognize it earlier, cut it out like a tumor, before it consumes you. 

- Thank you - he shudders, as that phrase leaves your lips once again, so reminiscent of your time in his penthouse, and yet so distinctly different. 

His jaw twitches under his skin, eyes blinking in rapid succession, and you can almost feel the way the bones of his hand creak, as he detaches himself from your wrist. There are indents in your flesh, in places where he pushed just a bit too far, but as soon as the pressure's gone, you can feel your skin spring back into its original state.

The chair scrapes once again, a shrill sound in the silence of the room, and with a terrifying mixture of emotions, your eyes glue themselves to the image of the American flag on his back, as he all but flees the place. For the first time, since you've landed here, he's the one retreating. But it doesn't feel like victory, it feels like the executioner's axe.

The next day, you spot your friend sitting at that same table, right in front of the window overlooking the street, where just yesterday he sat in that very chair. They notice you immediately, face twisting into a bright grin, as your heavy boots thud against the tiled floor. 

You absolutely, viscerally hate seeing them here, in this suffocating, terrible place. Alas, Stillwell made herself clear. This meeting is arranged during your working hours, and as such, must take place in the Tower. Despite that, you can't help the heartbreaking feeling, that tears your chest apart as they wave at you.

You've missed them, so incredibly hard, for just a moment you're willing to forget, that the walls of this building quite literally have ears. That there's always someone watching your every movement. That he's watching, listening in.

- Good God, look at you - your friend huffs a laugh, and wraps their arms around you, finally making the faux leather of the corset somewhat bearable - You look like an industry plant.

- That's cause I am an industry plant - you smile against their cheek, revelling in the way your voice finally sounds like it's supposed to.

Ignoring the gnawing feeling of unease, you sit back in your chair, forcing the image of Homelander to the very back of your mind. You might never be safe in here, but this  small reprieve, you'll take in stride. God only knows, you need some familiarity.

- How are the wedding preparations? - you ask, grabbing your phone from their hand, reunited at last 

- Well, I had no idea there's so many flowers to choose from, lemme tell you that much - they huff, and your lips pull back into a smile on their own accord.

It's so easy to forget where you are, when they're near, when they're teasing the Smirnoff out of you. It's like their sheer presence here stomped hard on Fireball's neck, forcing her to stay down, to know her place. 

You needed that.

With practiced ease, your fingers fish out a pack of cigarettes from your cleavage, the only place you could've hidden them, considering your super suit doesn't have any pockets. And with an even more practiced smirk, your friend produces a lighter. The exchange happens naturally. They pluck one cig from the package, light yours up, and then their own. 

The scent of smoke fills your nose, biting and grounding at the same time. The feeling of nicotine slowly trickling into your system, a tightness in your lungs, makes your shoulders sag ever so slightly. 

- I'm surprised they let you smoke - your friend muses, cloud of gray curling around their mouth - Not very 'superhero of the people' of you.

You scoff, your eyes rolling.

- I swear, everytime I pull one out, they all look at me, like I'm snorting coke in front of a fucking preschooler.

You're well aware just how bitter your voice sounds, and as much as your friend tries to maintain the easy going smile, there's a flicker of deep-rooted concern. 

- They really made you into something else, huh? - they ask, voice quiet and almost mournful

- Five more months - you sigh, trying to take some consolation in the passage of time, however hopeless it may be. - "Life is a Cabaret, old chum..."

The quote hangs heavily between the two of you, twisting your faces into mirror images of sardonic smiles, as the utter ridiculousness of your situation falls on you like a weighted blanket. Smoke fills the space, lingering around your heads, before inevitably it gets sucked away by the ventilation system. For a second, you wish, you could ingrain this scent, this nauseating stink of chemicals into your very being, somehow sink it into your blood.

 Perhaps this way, you'd finally feel safe. Perhaps it would make him repulsed enough to leave your shadow.

It's quiet for a moment. The hum of the air conditioning, and the distant sounds of lively New York streets combining into a harmony of your current life, drowning you in the unchanging rhythm of the big city. Your mind starts to wonder, towards the ever-seeing eyes of your mentor. If he sees you now, what is he thinking? Is he planning some elaborate way to twist your very being to his liking? 

No. Not after your last conversation. 

Surely, it would be easier, if he had just accepted Fireball as your ultimate, perfect image. You were a good actress, and exceptional liar. You could've pulled it off. But of course, he wants you. He wants Smirnoff. And by God, that thought twists your guts into a mixture of fear and disgust. 

Why won't he just let you pretend?

- So, how's Mister America? - your friend's voice brings you back, pulls you away from your darkening thoughts, and wrenches a heavy, tired sigh right out of your lungs. 

You can't tell them. 

You're contractually obligated never to say a word. Still, they can read you like an open book, having spent years of their life getting used to the twists and turns of your expression. So, when you look up at them, through haze of cigarette smoke and unspoken words, they understand without a second of delay. 

Their face falls, that smirk you've known so well, trampled by an image of pure worry. It doesn't take a genius to see the undercurrent of fear, the acceptance of the inevitable flowing from your eyes like a broken faucet. 

- Oh...

Yeah. Oh. 

What else is there to say? What words could bring you comfort in this mess? Truth is, as much as you'd hate to admit it, you've brought this upon yourself, the moment you sat in Stillwells office. The moment you saw the CCTV footage, and still decided to sign that damned non-disclosure. You should've ran for the hills. Pack your pride, pack your bleeding heart, and hide back in your house, between boxes of your mother's belongings, between your sister's old posters. Under your old diploma, and all the other trash you're never going to use again. 

But here you are. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

- You have no idea... - the words seem to run out of your mouth on their own, carried away on the hands of cigarette smoke.

- Did he hurt you?

Now you laugh. A bitter, grating sound that hurts both your ears, and your heart. Because yes, of course he did hurt you. But how can you explain, that in that very moment you felt more seen, more alive, than you've had for years of your life? How does one even begin to comprehend such terrible truth, not to mention saying it out loud. 

And how do you explain, that physical violence is not the part you're worried about?

- That's... - you pause, raking your brain for something, any phrase that wouldn't endanger the contract, while still describing your hopeless situation - That's not the worst thing, that can (will) happen to me here.

There. You can see, by their sharp intake of breath, that suddenly they understand in fullness. Their throat bobs around a nervous swallow.

- What's your plan? - your friend asks, leaning closer, their elbows sliding on the glass table - You have to protect yourself somehow, this can't... You can't. 

- I don't know - the admission feels both hopeless and cathartic - I thought I did, but I don't. All I know is, I need to make myself irreplacable. I need to be entertaining enough, without loosing the last fucking shreds of dignity I have. Damned if I do, damned if I don't otherwise. 

Another moment of heavy silence falls between the two of you. The tiles on the floor start to merge together, as tears spring into your eyes. Pathetic, really. You promised yourself not to cry, and yet, despite still being inside the belly of the beast, your friend's presence brings out, well... You. 

Their tone of voice is soft, measured, when they say your name, and your eyes flicker towards them, wetness gathering on the ends of your fake eyelashes.

They hold your gaze for a moment, something akin to determination flowing in tides across their face. 

- So, saying "Yes", and saying "No" are out of question. - they muse, and you nod, a single, tense jerk of your head - Then there's only one answer. 

You blink, confused. The cigarette sizzles, as they chuck it into a half empty paper cup of black coffee, smoke rising into the air, before it's extinguished completely. Elbows slide across the glass table, as they lean in closer towards you, as if sharing some incredibly juicy secret. 

You can see the small mole on their cheek is dusted with a bit of makeup powder. 

- The answer is, "Maybe."

[circle-with-me]

Legs - Jesse Cash x Reader

Pairing: Jesse Cash x Reader

Content Warning/Tags: 18+ MDNI! vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, mild possessiveness, car sex, mentions of mental illness and self-destructive behavior, hurt/comfort, and some fluff at the end.

Word Count: 2.4k

Tag list: @concretenoah @deathblacksmoke @cncohshit @foliosriot @sacredthefran

If you would like to be added to my tag list for Jesse or my other fics, please sign up here.

Author's Note: Not too long ago, @cncohshit and I were discussing how few fics there are about sweet Jesse. So, I decided I'd write up a little something. This is loosely based on Ghost Atlas' song Legs. Thank you as always to @deathblacksmoke for being my wonderful beta reader <3

dividers by @cafekitsune

The rain pours outside as you sit in your car. Heavy droplets pelt the roof of the vehicle. Even with your headlights on you couldn’t see more than two feet in front of you. The sound of the rain was so loud you could barely make out the song playing on the radio.

The World At Large - Modest Mouse, the screen read. Fitting, you think. 

You check your phone for the fourth, maybe fifth time in as many minutes. The text message you sent had been read but went unanswered. There were still no lights on in the house except for the glow of the red LED’s in his room. Maybe he wasn’t coming. Maybe he’d finally had enough.

It’s not like you could blame him.

Almost as if he read your mind, he appears in the headlights dashing towards your car. Quickly unlocking the door you let him in. He runs a hand through his damp mess of curls trying to catch his breath. He looks over at you and you forget how to breathe for a moment, his wide brown eyes staring into yours. 

“Hi, Jesse.” You say meekly. 

“You could have come inside, Y/N.” He states, giving you a quick once over. 

You shake your head, gently pushing his hand away when it comes up to examine your face. 

“It’s not a good idea, Jesse.”

Your legs twitch with need and you run your hands on top of your thighs to relax them. You can feel his gaze burning into your skin. It’s not a good idea to go inside. All of your self-restraint will go out of the window the second you step inside his home and you’re not here for that. 

You need him, but not in the way you normally do. Jesse is the only person you feel safe with. He’s the only person who can make you feel anything outside of sex. You’re a broken person. Full of spite and hatred for the world and you take it out on others. You use people to your benefit and abandon them without explanation. 

Unfortunately, Jesse has been a victim of your lies and self-destructive behavior more times than you care to admit. Every time he starts to get attached you panic and leave. For some reason, he always gives you another chance when you come crawling back to him.

Over the time you’ve known each other, you’ve come to realize that Jesse is in love with you. He has to be. No sane person would put up with your bullshit the way he does. But still, you can see the light in his eyes fading every time you leave. Even when you come back there’s an air of tension between the two of you, almost as if he’s dying to ask the question of “How long will you stay this time?”

“What have they done now, darling?” Jesse asks quietly, taking your hand in his. You lean your head against the headrest and close your eyes, knowing that if you looked at him the floodgates would open. 

He rubs the back of your hand with his thumb and squeezes it gently. It’s not a demand but a reminder that he’s there, ready and willing to listen. The gesture is so remarkably kind but you know you don’t deserve it. You feel your chest tighten and your eyes well up with tears.

“Nothing I didn't have coming to me.” You decide to leave it at that. 

You watch as Jesse studies you for a minute. It’s obvious there are a million things he wants to say but he chooses not to due to the fragility of the situation.  

“Why don’t you come inside? We’ll get you warm and dry. I can fix you something to eat.” He pauses. “Have you eaten today?” 

You shake your head. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you weren’t sure the last time you had a decent meal. Your brain and body have been running at 90 mph and food has been the last thing on your mind.

Jesse hums a sound of disapproval and pats your thigh. The entirety of your body tenses at his touch and he pulls his hand away immediately afraid he has crossed a line. The two of you stare at each other for a long time unsure of what to say before you abandon what restraint you have left and grab his hand. 

You place it on your inner thigh, much higher than it was previously. Jesse audibly gulps and squeezes the flesh experimentally. It’s endearing to you how he always gets nervous like it’s your first time together. Leaning forward, you grab his face to kiss him, parting his lips with your tongue. 

He sighs into your mouth, gathering the courage to push his hand under your dress. His index finger dips into the top of your thigh high stockings, running along the lace edge. He groans and shoves his tongue in your mouth, his free hand gripping the back of your head. 

“You know how much I love these, darling.” Jesse murmurs, kissing along your jaw. He snaps the band of the tights against your skin and goosebumps pop up, making you shiver. You feel him smile against your neck before grazing his teeth against the skin.

Jesse places his hand on your pussy, massaging you through your already damp panties. You arch into his touch and he wraps his arm around your waist. An unspoken request is made when he presses his arm into your back, guiding you towards him. 

Taking the hint, you crawl over the center console and he pulls you into his lap. His grip is bruising as he drags your hips against his hardened erection. The coarse denim of his jeans provides a satisfying friction that sends electricity through your body.

Jesse reaches down to lower the car seat a little so he can lean back. You follow him, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. He pushes his hands up your dress, his calloused hands softly scratching your back. You hum at his soothing touch. He moves to unhook your bra but you feel his hands shake a little. 

“Are you okay?” You speak, carding your fingers through his hair. He nods but doesn’t make eye contact; the nervousness from earlier returning twice over. After you brush your fingers across his forehead he finally looks at you. 

“You’re breathtaking, Y/N.” Jesse speaks so softly the rain pounding on the roof of the car nearly drowns him out. All you can focus on are his lips as they part; the way his tongue dances behind them. When he asks you to remove your dress, you’re achingly willing. 

Jesse watches you undress before him, completely entranced by your body. Regardless of how often he’s seen your form, he pores over you as if you were the finest sculpture he has ever laid eyes on. He skims his hands across the expanse of your thighs and upwards, twisting the fabric of your panties around his fingers. 

He places gentle kisses to your collarbones, your neck, the junction between your breasts. Jesse Cash is not a man that can be rushed, and you wouldn’t dare try to anyway. Each press of his soft lips against your skin heals a part of you that has been burning alive inside of you for ages. 

He leans you back against the dash, one hand supporting your back and the other coming to your chest. Running his hand down the length of your torso, he slips his fingers through the waistband of your panties. A shuddered breath escapes him and he curses when he dips a finger inside of you, feeling how soaked you are. 

“Tell me, honey.” He coos, not wasting any time finding the sweet spongy spot inside of you. “Do the others make you this wet or is it just me?” 

The sudden flash of possessiveness in Jesse’s eyes catches you off guard. You squirm under his gaze, not because you’re uncomfortable, but because you’re wildly turned on by it.

“Only you.” You moan, grabbing onto his thigh for support. Jesse grins and adds another finger. You dig your nails into the denim of his jeans as he picks up the pace, your vision already beginning to go white. The filthy wet sounds made as he pleasures you can be heard even over the rain. 

Just as you feel yourself reaching your peak, he halts his movements, eliciting a pitiful whimper from you. He removes his fingers completely, dragging it up your slit collecting more of your juices. 

“Open up.”

Your mouth falls open so quickly it makes Jesse chuckle. He places his fingers on your tongue and you close your lips around it sucking and savoring the flavor of your own arousal. 

Jesse watches you intently; his mouth slack-jawed and eyes trained on your mouth. When you moan around his fingers, he moans back bucking his hips slightly. You feel his cock pressing into your bare pussy and you’re scrambling for his belt, desperate for him.

He helps you shove his pants down, hissing when you take his leaking cock into your hand. As hurried as you were, you sigh in relief the moment he’s inside of you. You set a slow pace, dragging your pussy up his length until you feel just the tip and sinking back down again. Jesse lays back against the car seat, his nails digging crescent shapes into your thighs.

You move like I want to. 

To see, like your eyes do.

The whispered vocals on the hauntingly beautiful track make the moment even more intimate. You pick up the pace a little to match the tempo of the song, your movements causing Jesse to arch his back, moaning loudly. He observes as you move on top of him, chest heaving from breathing so hard. Somehow, his brown eyes grow even darker 

Jesse wraps his hand around the back of your neck, gently but firmly pulling your mouth to his. He snakes his other arm around your waist, thrusting into you at a brutal pace. In this moment, you’re thankful for the deluge outside otherwise your cries of pleasure and pleas not to stop would get the two of you caught in an instant. 

You rake your fingernails through his scalp, tugging at the damp curls. Jesse grunts into your neck, grasping your waist tighter and thrusting into you harder. You slam your hand against the car window for extra support, a distorted hand print forming in the condensation. 

“Jesse, please don’t stop.” You whimper. He shakes his head fervently, refusing to leave the spot between your neck and shoulder that he’s claimed. 

“Never.”

Grasping onto his shirt and pulling it off of him, you reattach yourself to him immediately. Your skin is on fire but you’re desperate to be closer to him, to feel all of him. 

Tonight I feel like more. 

Chino’s voice bellows through the speakers. While the lyrics are nefarious in nature, the line resonates with you in a different way. 

It’s never been a question that you care deeply for the man underneath you. It’s not his fault you have a fear of abandonment. You’ve told yourself that’s all it was, but the truth is you have never felt good enough for him. His integrity and pure heart intimidates you. His ability to see through your lies and still love you anyway scares you to death.

Your orgasm builds with the swell of the music. You allow the pleasure to consume your entire body, the toe curling, stomach tightening, finger gripping sensation overwhelming you. 

The music becomes muffled in your ears when Jesse calls out your name. Opening your eyes, all you can see is him. Tunnel vision has never been more blissful than this. The moonlight illuminates his face and he stares at you with the same entranced look from earlier. It’s evident that you’re all he can see too.

The coil in your stomach snaps, sending shockwaves through your entire body. You grasp onto his knees tighter to keep yourself up right, bucking your hips on his cock chasing your high. He lets out a low groan, his stomach muscles growing taut and cock twitching inside of you. 

I feel like more. 

And you do. 

You feel more alive than you ever have. The numbness in your soul has vanished and there’s nothing but him and you want more. 

The euphoria that creeps up inside of you when you both orgasm at the same time is all-consuming and you hope he feels it too. One wave of pleasure after the other radiates through every muscle in your body, making you quiver relentlessly. You feel Jesse’s legs shaking underneath you, strangled groans erupting from him as he spills inside of you. 

Jesse opens your car door and grabs your hand, the two of you sprinting towards his house. By the time you make it to his front door, you’re both soaked and laughing uncontrollably. Once inside, he leads you to his room to find dry clothes. You peel off your soaked ones and hang them in the bathroom to dry. When Jesse comes in with new clothes, you take them graciously, shivering from the rain.

You sit on the counter towel drying your hair as you watch him change. He turns around, catching you staring and he smiles at you. You curl your finger at him, motioning for him to come to you. He stands between your legs, his hands resting on top of your thighs. 

Placing the towel on top of his head, you rub it vigorously against his hair to get the excess water out. When you pull the towel down and around his neck you can’t help but giggle at how frizzy his hair looks. He leans to the side to see what’s so funny, laughing when he sees himself. You plant a kiss on his cheek and he looks over at you, a soft smile on his lips. He kisses you, holding your chin softly between his fingers. There’s no urgency behind it. He’s simply savoring every second he has with you. 

“Stay tonight?” He mumbles against your lips.

“I’m not going anywhere, Jesse.” 

He sighs contentedly, enveloping your face in his hands.  

“Tell me you mean that, Y/N.” 

This time, more than anything, you hope you do.

[windmaedchen-oceanhorn]

I have found the strength to draw one (of two) OCs for AFK Journey. So let me record a few details about her here.

Lavinia

Close childhood friend of Valen. Her father was an Imperial Knight stationed there (Stoutstone Isle) but died on duty in her early childhood years. Since then she dreamed of stepping into her father's shoes, bravely (and angrily often) tagging behind Valen to prove she was no less than him, despite being nearly 3 years younger. Sometimes even managed to kick his butt!

Left for the capital at 11 with her mother. She hated the city and missed the island (and her friend), but then found the Heroic Order and saw that girls were allowed - and then didn't think of anything else.

She had agreed with Valen that they'd meet again as knights but he never showed up and so time passed. On occasion she'd discuss with her mother what he might have been up to, not knowing that he's been in Holistone the past few years.

Her design was influenced by the two other Imperial members Guywin and Joey. She isn't meant to have any special rank, but somehow the design looked bland without the touch of gold.

Her story would be experienced as some extended side quest. At that point she's been through stupid stuff and hit rock bottom. She hid in the Ashen Wastes for a few weeks, before Berial senses her despair. He grants her continued life in exchange of being entertained... so now Lavinia is returning to the capital to follow up on her dark thoughts and assassinate the current leader of the Heroic Order.

She would not actually be wearing her uniform, but some rags she got in Mauler territory a few weeks prior. Only after the side quest is over she'd be seen in uniform again.

Valen's got to attend an important meeting of the Solitaries in the capital, and Merlin joins for the opportunity to see more of the Lightbearer Empire (and refresh her memory). They run into Lavinia on the road and travel together for a bit.

"Who the heck gave you permission to grow into such a stud of a man?!" "The same entity that made you grow pretty beautiful curves. You actually look like a girl now!"

Then lots of things happen. xD Friendships rekindled and broken again. Attempted murder in broad daylight and witnesses.

Truths are being shared, faith and trust are lost. Futures put on line. Hypofiends and a Hypogean in the middle of the capital!

Valen nearly throws the towel on the Heroic Order.

Corrupted Lavinia versus Valen (and others)

Berial is causing chaos but escapes from Merlin and the celestials.

The leader of the Heroic Order ends up very dead. Lavinia lives, somewhat against her expectations and wishes.

Hogan saves the situation, at least he tries to.

The Happy End is not missing, though: while leaving behind the capital for good, Lavinia continues to serve under and among better men in Holistone. ;-)

Due to previous events, Lavinia's life is dependent on Berial's grace. She's also got some perks due to that but she'd much rather not have anything to do with a Hypogean. Thankfully, he forgets about her until I need more drama many years down the line. xD

And finally... she wouldn't be a playable character ever, her skills are boring and greatly overshadowed by Valen or even Guywin. I might think about her stats in the future but since that part of the game isn't what sparks my interest, I probably won't. *shrugs*

Thanks for reading. :-) Until next time! <3

[http-tokki]

Youre..its...Dynamight!

~ bakugou katsuki x reader ~ tags/cw: aged up bakugou, anxiety, established realtionships, home business girl boss, cute lil baby dynamight fan meeting his hero. ~ wc: 870

Katsuki was the one who mentioned working from home. He was the one who suggested turning the spare room into your studio and working out of the comfort of your own home.

"It's not like were using it for anything, and I don't plan on filling it with little ones anytime soon." He poked your belly as to emphasise the point.

“Plus, it’ll be good for your anxiety” and despite his flat tone and lack of concern for the space you would be taking up, your heart squeezed at how caring he was. he knew it was tough on you going into work some days, when the anxiety would grip you by the throat and slam you back into bed. The dark shadow of pandemic induced agoraphobia taking over your desire to be in the world of the living, and you felt so guilty taking days off, having a lower income than your boyfriend even though he reminded you every single time you paid of something that he was kind of loaded and didn’t need to struggle through (you could never let him do that, at least not while you weren’t married and ready to be a home maker) so you turned that spare room into your own workspace and after weeks of renovating and redecorating, you were finally open the public, well select few of the public.

You had been open for a while now, your clientele steadily increasing and so did your bank account, but it was the initial surprise of having your clients face drop upon seeing pro hero Dynamight lounging on the couch in his sweats, playing video games. You enjoyed the surprise and shock completely taking over them as they stammered trying to piece the puzzle together.

“You’re- is that - huh?” were the usual string of words that bringing new clients over for a consult is always interesting.

You don’t think Katsuki fully understand the impact he has on people, especially when he’s just lounging around watching tv or emailing companies, all very mundane not pro hero things. (he knows but he doesn’t care. it’s his house why should he change his behaviour for people he’ll see for two seconds) but it was your latest consultation that had you loving your newest work space.

It was a simple consultation, only half an hour to discuss price and appointment times but your client had to bring along her little one due to school being off for holidays. She had given you enough warning, asking if it was okay if her six year old tagged along because her babysitter had flaked and this was the only time she had free. It wasn't an issue for you, offering the little one a hot chocolate and cookies as you and their mother talked.

You hear Katsuki come home halfway through the appointment. He would usually walk into your voice and greet you with a kiss before heading to the shower or his office but you had put up the little sign to signify that you had a client and would be busy for a bit.

The jingle of keys and heavy footfalls of his boot clad feet alert the little one to another visitor. Your eyes flick over to them, hot chocolate clutched tightly in their tiny hands as their head turns to the door and only then do you notice the Dynamight t-shirt. Eyes scanning over the rest of their outfit you clock the socks and shoes and their little backpack in the corner all adorned with your fiancé's face.

"Do they like Dynamight?" you ask the mother quietly, trying not to alert them to the mention of their favourite hero.

"Like?" the mother scoffs. "That's all they talk about. It's Dynamight this, Dynamight that. I've just about had enough of that name." her laugh is soft as she looks over at her child, fondness and slight annoyance lingering in her eyes.

You nod in understanding, biting down on your lip to supress a smile. "You might just hate me for this but-" you turn your head towards the door.

"Baby, can you come in please." you call to Katsuki.

"Angel, I'm too tired so if you want it you're gonna have to- ohh," Katsuki is whining as he walks down the hall but stop his sentence as he spots the kid sitting at the end of your desk.

You watch as little one freezes. Their eyes growing wide and jaw dropping as they see their hero steps into the doorway. You catch Bakugou's gaze, smiling at him before nodding towards the shocked child sitting a few feet from you.

"It's… it's…." their voice is small as they follow Katsuki around the room. "You're Dynamight." they whisper.

"Hi, bud." 'Suki waves and drops into a squat to talk to the little one.

"You're… mum, it's him." they whisper, tiny hands curling in their shirt.

The mother turns to you, eyes wide as she reaches for her phone. "How did you- is he your- how?"

"fiancé ." You laugh softly. "I'm sorry, i should have given you a warning."

She shakes her head, attention now on her fawning child. "You just made me mother of the year."

a/n: cute bakugou content that i never finished from July last year

[silenceofthewave]

[A SOUNDWAVE ROLEPLAY BLOG]

– This is a multi-verse roleplay and ask blog.

– Soundwave's character is a mixture between TF Prime and TF One. It's frame is consistent with Prime, which means it has the visor, datacables and creature like quality (hence the it/its pronouns).

– This blog does not shy away from shitposting, but don't let that scare you! I enjoy literature RP just as much, and always welcome discussion when opening new threads.

– Feel free to DM me! I am open to DM RPs as well as discussion! I'm here to make friends and have a good time :)

– Author is 24 years old, and does not shy away from NSFW topics. This includes smut, but also extends to violence, robogore, and the like. I understand I interact with minors, and I am always very careful to ensure they are not exposed to anything explicit. If you are interested in explicit RP, it MUST be kept to DMs for this purpose. I also need assurance that you Are above 18+ in order to engage in this way.

– Due to the multiverse nature of the blog, this is also multi-ship! I am willing to consider anyone who has good chemistry with Soundwave, but my otps are MegaSound, SoundOP, StarSound and WaveWave.

- Header image by kibermonakh

[RULES]

– Please put as much effort as I do into our RPs. It's frustrating writing out a big reply only to get a paragraph back. (This ofc does not apply to shitposting.)

– Minors are free to interact, but please keep in mind that I am particular and reserve the right to stop a RP if its veering into territory I'm not comfortable with. (as are you!! and this applies to all RPs)

– Please reach out to me before starting a big thread, and please keep in contact throughout so we can stay on the same page.

– OCs are welcome!

– Please send asks! Soundwave loves them. But, please do not flood my ask box. I assure you, I've seen it, and it will be answered.

– If you want to start an RP through an ask, please make sure we are mutuals. My notifications get flooded very easily and I am currently trying to work out a management system for them.

– To piggyback off that, if I missed a response from you please either Tag me in the comments of the thread, OR send me a DM with the link to your response. Like I said, my notifications are a MESS, and I know it's very likely for me to miss something.

– Since this has been a problem before, please please please don't purposefully flood my notifications. While I am Committed to the Bit, it's very overwhelming and buries replies. I appreciate the humor, but it's one of the few times I'll say something is unnecessary.

[UNIVERSES]

– 1024.14 Tau: The Chaos Verse

Lovingly called The Chaos Universe, this is where Soundwave gets to shitpost for fun and free. Soundwave has never known peace a day in its life in this universe. Soundwave speaks freely, using the typical "Soundwave: [sentence]" format.

Tagged as u 1024.14

Shipped with @/Lord-Starscream

- 1024.15 Tau: Revival

The Revival Universe currently focuses on the journey to bring Soundwave's cassettes back, utilizing Shockwave's cloning techniques. Angst and grief abound, Soundwave finds itself questioning everything thing it knows about itself. Soundwave has gone mute due to the grief of losing its beloved Cassettes, and instead uses others voices to speak. Still, it finds it has trouble voicing its true thoughts and feelings.

Tagged as u 1024.15

Eventually to be shipped with @/dailydoseoflogic

[HEADCANONS]

Soundwave thoroughly enjoys human music and art. It even has a hacked Spotify account and will listen to music while its flying, alone, or even share it with those closest to it.

Soundwave has managed to get itself connected to the internet, and will regularly do internet searches on things it is unfamiliar with. It also enjoys watching movies and videos.

Soundwave has a strong EM field, which it uses to hone its telepathy, and occasionally share emotions it cannot express.

Soundwave is not emotionless. It feels a lot, actually, but cannot express that.

It uses many emoticons to express what it's feeling, all with their own different meanings.

Soundwave's telepathy is touch based.

Before the war, Soundwave was a gladiator with Megatron. It honed its skills and life long friendship with the Decepticon leader in the pits of Kaon. It trusts Megatron with its life because of their shared experiences. Its loyalty to the Decepticon cause runs deeper than politics.

Soundwave loves its Cassettes. It will put itself in the line of fire to protect them, and will protect them even if it means certain death. In the universes where its Cassettes have gone offline, it's extremely vengeful and will stoop to murder to avenge its beloveds.

The Cassettes were built by Soundwave's own servos. A sliver of its spark splits off, and it only has a few days to build a spark chamber, the beginnings of a protoform and install an internal repair system. The process is extremely time and resource intensive, hence why it has not made new Cassettes during the war.

Further headcanons that appear on the blog are tagged as #soundwave lore

[TAGS]

#u 1024.14 - The Chaos Verse

#u 1024.15 - Revival

#Soundwave: <3 - usually used on neat artwork that i, and by extension soundwave, enjoys

#TheWaves - wavewave art, headcanons, general posting

#SoundAmongTheStars - StarSound art, headcanons, general posting

#Soundwave: >:( - usually used in RP to denote displeasure or anger

#Soundwave: Loves Its Cassettes - exactly what it sounds like, mostly artwork ft the Cassettes

#Soundwave: :( - Usually used in RP to denote some kind of sadness

#nightlygreeting - my sign off posts

#admin babbles - i enjoy yapping sometimes

[wroteclassicaly]

All these people in the gator and fargo tag complaining of people thirsting over gator, calling him a nazi and how dare people find the humanity in him but praising joe for his great job like he didnt find the humanity in this character and played him to be someone you feel for. 🤡

Then being pro munch like he doesnt have problematic traditional values either

Honestly so tired of these people virtue signaling and having no nuance or media literacy for the sake of internet points, its exhausting and they just look annoying and stupid

Okay, so I wasn’t sure if I was going to answer this, because I’m trying to stay out of things. But I’ve gotten several messages like this, and I’m writing for Gator, so I feel like I owe my take on him, which had a major influence on my choice to continue.

TW below the cut, discussing Gator and his issues:

I live in a Midwestern, republican town. Everyone here owns flags like Gator’s, has blue lives matter flags, etc. If you’re raised into that life and it’s all your family knows/the people around you know - you will likely adapt to that way of thinking as well. I was fortunate enough to be able to break away from how the people around me thought and felt, forming my own opinions and expressing my disgust for the blue lives matter crap and the flag, etc. My parents are heavily republican (carry all that side’s beliefs) and so is my brother.

It’s an incredibly suffocating and confusing environment to grow up in, especially if you have no way to safely think and form your own opinions. Again, I’m grateful I could break away and think for myself!!!!

Now, discussing Gator. I just want to say that it never said he was a Nazi! Roy was. Gator was misogynistic and racist.

I’m going to compare Gator to a character called Mickey Milkovich (now this will probably upset people, due to Mickey’s character being a gay man), but I’m mostly comparing fathers/environments. Mickey and Gator were raised by two dangerous and horrific men, who beat and brain washed their sons into one way of thinking - theirs. Products of their environment, (Mickey used slurs, had flags like Gator, weapons, drugs, and even had nazi items on his wall) and what is called ‘learned racism’. They have no safe way to think for themselves, no other people around to show them love or kindness, help lead them towards a different way. Mickey found that with Ian and was able to develop and fully nurture the kindness/goodness that was in him, and he had over ten seasons to grow!

Gator only had Nadine and 10 episodes. When she left he began to let his warped devotion to the only person he had a blood connection with - flood him, outweigh his own personal goodness. Dot said it herself when she said his need to be like Roy outweighed the goodness inside. He was a product of the father and the environment. He didn’t have his own way of thinking, not really, he clung to what was beat and brainwashed into him, trying to find love and approval from his abuser/only blood relative/only person he was around (very common).

Am I excusing that? Absolutely not! Gator was not entirely a good person, and he knew that as well! He made choices he knew were wrong, to impress and gain affection from a sociopathic, demonic man. Gator was responsible for what he did, so this is not me trying to excuse or argue that!!

The only way for him to become free of who he was molded to be (he has no clue who he is, just a weak prototype of what he tried to be, hardly anything that is his own), was for him to become blind in order to see, and start serving his time. They left his ending open, which is a great way for those of us who choose to write for him - to explore his mental freedom and further nurture the soft/good side of him!

We don’t know how Gator would act or think (he was immediately apologetic to Dot and didn’t hesitate to give Roy up when he saw he wasn’t loved or cared for, so he didn’t need to protect his father), now that he is away from the environment and the man that molded him into the character he was on the show.

Gator was still a child trapped in a man’s body in some aspects; his temper tantrums, his knee jerk reactions, his hot headed plans without thought, his bedroom items (the toy cars, the sneakers, etc), his blinding anger towards Dot for leaving him behind (not even faulting her, because baby girl needed to get out and I’m glad she did). The show also alluded to the fact that he might have been addicted to some kind of substance he was stealing, as well.

Feelings on Munch are that he’s got just as much issues, lol. And we hardly knew much on him, tbh? What he did in the past, other than what he said.

Anyways, that’s my take on Gator.

We all have the right to feel how we feel!! Hate or love Gator, see his humanity or not. Some of the things his character represented effect a whole lot of people, so they have a right to be upset! There’s a lot of different factors and feelings involved!! I only look sideways at you if you thought his torture and eyes getting burnt/cut was what he deserved, because that’s just gross!

But at the end of the day, none of us who do love Gator/write for him — condone Gator’s actions! Seeing the layers and humanity in a character Joe put his all into, is perfectly normal/okay!

Sometimes there’s areas in between, and it’s not just either/or.

But I will say that not everyone who feels this way is just doing it for internet points! A lot of people have valid points/feelings about the dislike of Gator, to which I will not/have no business arguing, you know? There’s also other people that make callout posts for clout and false superiority, without even recognizing what Gator actually did and they just pull stuff outta their ass, lol.

If you don’t like Gator fans or writers, then just scroll!! It’s easy, I promise! No one is hurting anyone or being malicious!! ❤️

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Candle Store

Author’s note: More of Ramiel and Jophiel in Husbandry AU.

Summary: Ramiel and Jophiel wander into a Candle store

Warnings: None? Let me know if I need to add anything!

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @ms--lobotomy , @thevoidscreams, @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

Tagged: @felinisnoctis

Ramiel had noticed that they were running low on candles for the private shrine that the Primaris Marines have set up in their quarters. While he could go to the quarter master and request some candles, in exchange for work.

Another option could be to make the candles, but Jophiel had noticed what he was looking over and had said that one of the times that he had been going through Gannet Point, he had spotted a shop dedicated to selling a wide variety of candles.

Ramiel had pointed out to Jophiel that they would need to get local currency in order to buy candles from a baseline shop. Jophiel had grinned at him saying that some people had commissioned him for his embroidery and he'd gotten those commissions done.

He had gotten local currency, among other things, for the needle point work that he'd finished recently. Jophiel was happy to spend some of the local currency on candles. So the pair of them had made plans for during their time off to go to the candle store and check it out.

Ramiel really liked candles, they soft light they gave off, the flickering light that glowed softly in the darkness. The way that they illuminated something, without being overly bright.

The pair of Primaris Marines go to the Candle shop, it's only about a twenty minute power walk away from the Loyalist Base, and still is in Gannet Point.

After double checking, before heading out to the shop, it was rated Space Marines friendly and they headed into the store. It had wooden colored walls. It had a lot of different kinds of candles in glass containers with wooden tops.

Ramiel coughs a little at the strong scent that comes wafting, invading his nose and he quickly puts on his helmet in order to filter out the almost overwhelming smell of all the different kinds of scented candles.

He sees Jophiel stagger a little bit and his eyes water as he puts on his helmet and groans to Ramiel quietly that he might get a small headache from the overpower smell of the different candles.

Despite that minor hiccup, they look around the shop, there are a bunch of base line humans in the store, and some of them are in the candle shop uniform.

One of them is looking at the pair of Space Marines nervously- one of them going into the employees only section of the shop. Ramiel and Jophiel had noticed that, but were very happy to go through the various candles, lightly holding them and assessing the look, smell and quality of the candles.

Discussing the various pros and cons of the different candles, particularly the scented ones. They turn when they hear someone approach them and see a first born space marine in an Astartes-sized version of the candle shop uniform approach them.

He's heavily scarred and neither Jophiel or Ramiel can figure out which Chapter he's from. "Hello there brothers," The first born says slowly, a slight lisp, due to a scar that carves through his lips that has his face in a permanent sneer. "I see you are enjoying the shop. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Oh- we were just looking for some candles," Jophiel says, the more talktive and outgoing of the pair of Scout aged Primaris Marines cheerfully.

"I can recommend you some Astartes-tolerable scented candles, if you would like." The First born marine offers.

"That would be great," Jophiel says with bright smile.

"I go by Lysander," The First Born says. "Can I know your names?"

"I am Jophiel," Jophiel introduces, and waves a hand at Ramiel, "And this is Ramiel."

"It's nice to meet both of you," Lysander says, "Just as a reminder, little cousins, do you have local currency?"

"I do have local currency with me," Jophiel says as he pulls out a hand stitched and embroidered pouch that rustled with local currency in it.

Lysander nods and goes over the various options for candles that are Astartes-safe scented and they decide on half a dozen different candles. The expense for the hand crafted candles is a little surprising to Jophiel- but he's able to cover the bill with an easy smile.

The way that Ramiel had been like an kid in a candy story as they looked around the Candle store had been worth it, well worth it to see the happy expression on his often melancholic brother-cousin's face.

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

experienced!omega!luocha taking care of inexperienced!omega!s/o during their first heat. like they don't need to worry about anything just let luocha take care of them. they don't even have to pick up a finger, let him do all the work. (afab!s/o btw)

(i feel bad for asking so many luocha requests-)

The afab tag doesn't work here for my version of omegaverse cause all dynamics have both parts just certain ones more developed(and focused on)than the other basically. If you meant she/her pronouns use f!omega instead :D

Also this feels a bit short to me but I might be just tired.

Cw: omegaverse, nsfw

Though they do have an idea of how heats are meant to be spent they've been on the strongest suppressants since they presented they've never experienced their heat even once. Omega!Luocha is worried from a medical side but also from his own omega side and while he's familiar with the agony that can come with a heat he knows the pleasurable side of it as well.

So when his omega mate makes the decision to come off their suppressants to experience their first heat he offers to help them through it. They wean off their medication bit by bit until they can finally come off of it and give him a heads up they'll be having their heat. Before any of the "fun" can begin he helps them build their nest and gather snacks and water and toys. They're a bit clumsy during this out of nerves and the medication wearing off but he doesn't mind assisting them with a gentle hand. Once preparations are complete all that's left to do is wait until their heat arrives which judging by how warm they've gotten is soon.

Since they're still nervous about experiencing their first heat Luocha decides to talk things out with his omega on what exactly they'd be alright with. Things such as heavy petting, oral, and the like. He wants to make sure their comfort comes first even if they're going to be out of it due to their heat they still have control over what does and doesn't get done to their body. Discussing things eases their worries a bit though they still have nerves they feel safer knowing Luocha will look out for them.

When their heat finally kicks in they're needy and begging for his touch even if he can't give them a knot the knotting toys he got them will do the trick but he doesn't use them just yet. He wants them to know as much pleasure from being an omega as he can. He'll make them cum on his tongue and fingers as he opens them up to make room for a small vibrating toy.

They cum again on just the lightest setting before he stops to give them a break even if they whine and paw at him for more he doesn't rush things and kisses them to pacify them for a bit as he pulls out the vibrator to slide in the knotting toy. They gasp and whine as he thrusts the toy in and out of them at a quick and firm pace. When they finally cum again he inflates the toy inside them and hums as he takes in their sleepy but blissed out expression.

They fall asleep purring in his arms and when they wake up to do it all over again they think to themselves that they should have stopped suppressants a lot sooner.