#none of this comes naturally. all of it is learned. if you fail you will try again. again. again.

[melancholic-pigeon]

Okay this is the *actual* last comment, for real, but I just found out Spider is now smearing me as a convert and accusing me of being involved with drama I was not involved with because he mistakenly attributed my apologies for his public temper tantrum as being about something unrelated.

THIS IS A FALSE ACCUSATION and I do not appreciate having yet another bit of fake malicious intent falsely ascribed to my actions and* attributing a completely unrelated attack to me.

Also, it's very sad and disappointing whenever a Jew gets mad at a convert because something else is going on in the Jew's life and the convert happens to be in the splash zone and the Jew falls over backwards to smear the convert and invalidate her faith.

Just....the childish aggression is making me so, so sad and disappointed, from someone I used to think very highly of, who is now lying about me and publicly smearing me with false accusations based on a conflict he started because he misinterpreted something I said and I went out of my way to give him the benefit of the doubt when trying to clear up the mistake HE MADE that led him to decide bullying and attacking me for three fucking days was appropriate and okay and that I'm the bad guy for saying it's wildly unprofessional to behave like this in public to a former customer face.

Sorry, but facts, reality, linear time and the truth of what I actually said and did are on my side here, and I will not stand for being smeared and attacked and shat all over because I had the gall to try to kindly resolve his uncalled for, unjustified temper tantrum.

I am also not sorry that I left a side note in the tags that it was also unacceptable for HIM to drag his daughter into a stupid internet slapfight based on his own reading comprehension failure. Because it was and is unacceptable, and she needs to hear that message from someone.

End of story. Keep digging that hole as long as you like, Spider. It's not helping your case and is continuing to make you look progressively worse and more unreasonable, and the only person you have to blame is yourself.

*revised for clarity

[moe-broey]

What did she mean by this. Btw.

LIKE. It is SUCH an interesting observation coming from Veronica SPECIFICALLY, someone who has been notoriously out of touch with emotions -- her own emotions, and also struggles significantly with processing other people's emotions and understanding their intent.

And like thinking about this like. Alfonse has a tendency to be sincere even when he doesn't want to be. He can't help it. No matter how guarded he is, that sincerity always shines through.

But when I think about Sharena, like. I never think of her as Insincere. I never think of her as Fake-Nice, like the way I view Henriette at times. Where it feels like there's something more unsettlingly detached underneath her warm smile and overly affectionate demeanor. Which isn't to say I believe Henriette is secretly evil or something, I just think she has Something going on that makes it so I have never completely trusted her as a character and would Not be surprised if she was hiding something.

When I think about Sharena, I think maybe she's like. Try-Hard Nice. It's very hard to explain what I mean. But I don't believe she's insincere. I don't believe she's hiding something like Henriette could be. I think she's desperate? And takes a methodical approach to relationships, where she's set out on A Goal, which is to make a friend. If I say the right thing and act the right way I will succeed in being the perfect friend. She's incredibly open, but is she really? Does she know how to be truly open? Has she ever just let herself, be?

ALSO incredibly fascinating the implications of this for Veronica, having noticed this and saying it so confidently. I haven't delved super deep into Veronica's character, but... I just think it's interesting, that she struggles so much to process these things, and yet seems to be able to detect when something is off and untrustworthy to her. Even MORE interesting is how all this plays out with Letizia, where she trusted her completely. Ofc, in that case, you have to consider the entire context of their relationship -- Veronica never having had a reason to distrust her. Unfortunately I don't have a lot I can say on that though (<- emotionally cannot finish Book 6)

Idk I just. Sometimes I'll be reminded of a dialogue and it'll infect me with brain worms LMFAO

[gojoest]

this was supposed to be a ramble post but i went on and on ;-; i might fw this idea some more in the future! tried to be as eloquent as possible but failed

royal au, crown prince!gojo satoru, f!reader (she/her), you reject him but that ain’t stopping the king to be from pursuing you, wc: 1.5k

crown prince gojo satoru, predictably, was the most desired man in the kingdom.

along with his royal heritage — the simple fact of being the next in line to the throne — his highness was undeniably a well-favored, handsome man that no other could hold a candle to. naturally, ladies would often throw themselves at him — some charmed by power, others harboring genuine feelings. he could see through them all and he would politely, and sometimes not so — depending on the intention — would turn them down.

his highness found no thrill in the concept of love. he saw no challenge in it and in someone dolling up for him and speaking to him of all the things that he, supposedly, wanted to hear. he deemed it boring. thus, he’d often sneak out of the castle (jumping off his balcony, unharmed) when the ladies arrived to visit him. other times he’d send the servants to deliver the unfortunate (and very much untrue) news of his highness being sick and needing rest to recuperate his strength. he truly could not be bothered while there were other things that piqued his interest more.

the battlefield, he admired it.

he grew up as — what others considered — a problematic child. ditching etiquette lessons to go into the forest and climb the trees, hunt animals and pick up branches to practice swordsmanship by himself. other times he’d simply act up in inappropriate ways, purposely so, that would inevitably bring punishment upon him, resulting in him being locked in his room to reflect on the unfitting of a royal behavior he displayed that day.

yet, nobody knew how agile and flexible he was, that he had learned how to climb and land safely after jumping from dangerous heights.

hence why, to this day, his highness uses his balcony as an exit when faced with unwanted guests. and to this day, nobody knows to where the crown prince has perished when the noble ladies line up in the castle to meet him.

truly, a problematic man.

his father, the king, was not having it. he thought, maybe, if he were to actually send his son the battlefield in order for him to come face to face with the harsh truth of it, that it was not as the fairy tales told so, that it was bloody, merciless and brutal, filled with death and decaying corpses — he would, maybe, come to his senses.

but, unfortunately so, that did not do it.

so far, everything was going the way the crown prince had desired — he had learned, early on, how to manipulate his environment to get what he wanted, through mischief. he had become a self-taught knight by his own means. he had caused enough havoc in order to be sent away to the most desired of places he wanted to be. the battlefield.

he conquered lands. each time he returned to the royal capital, he brought victory.

the neighboring countries were growing wary, avoiding conflicts and easily agreeing and bowing to the demands of the kingdom in order to prevent wars from breaking. the army’s strength, led by none other than the crown prince gojo satoru, was unheard of.

soon, the entire world knew of it. the clashes and conflicts seized. nobody dared oppose the kingdom anymore.

the prince returned to the capital, back to his boring days.

the days once filled with dull etiquette and history lessons were now replaced with the constant nagging to review a list of candidates in order to pick a bride to be the next crown princess.

it was a bothersome activity. his only challenge now was finding new excuses every day to avoid it.

but alas, there was only as much he could do to run away from his royal responsibilities of continuing the bloodline.

it was after the king had threatened to have the head of his right arm in combat and best friend, the glorious knight geto suguru, that the crown prince caved and considered looking at the portraits of the candidates presented to him.

in front of him were a list of the big families and the portraits of their daughters sent in.

“say, suguru”, satoru lifts a curious brow. “the lady of this house”, he points at the paper, “i can’t see her portrait”

suguru chuckles. “i am afraid, she did not send in one”

the prince scrunches up his nose. thinking. “i don’t understand?”

suguru, covering his mouth, tries to hold his laugh back. “she did not send in a portrait”

“did she forget?”

“i don’t think so”

“then? why?”, satoru stares. clueless.

suguru, with his entire willpower, is earnestly trying to fight the laughter climbing up his throat. the crown prince might be his best friend, but he didn’t really know how this man would react when faced with rejection for the first time in his life.

“in my humble knowledge”, he clears his throat before continuing, “when a lady refuses to send in a portrait to the royal palace, it only means she is politely withdrawing from the list of the candidates, your highness”

silence.

and then, a stretch — of lips, into a smile. a smile of disbelief. one that resembles the smile he shows when faced with a challenge on the battlefield that his audacious opponents throw at him.

“is she rejecting me?”

“i am afraid so”

intriguing. it’s been too long since he felt that kind of thrill, and to think he’d experience it while flipping through mere portraits of his wife-to-be’s. perhaps, he should’ve listened to his father sooner, huh?

he chuckles to himself. “good. i want her”

from that day on, the crown prince, who was once apathetic and uninterested in banquets held by the nobles, attended every one of them that was rumored to have you as a guest.

sadly, you rarely showed up. during the times you were present, you obviated his approach in a crafty and tactful manner.

he started sending you gifts — luxury gems and stones, hairpins, foreign cloths and dresses that were considered hard to obtain even by the big noble families. you sent them all back to the royal palace.

but unfortunately to you and very fortunately to the crown prince, this uncourteous gesture of yours intrigued him even further. he already had a hunch from your previous encounters, that you were not one to be bound by etiquettes of high society nor were you one to be easily blinded by opulence. but just in case, he wanted to test you. he wanted to see more of your deviant nature.

yet, he almost felt defeated, ashamed of taking you so lightly — as if tarnishing and trampling on your character — every time upon seeing the gifts delivered back to him in the same state that he had sent them, unpacked. not even touched out of curiosity. spotless as they were — as a sign of unambiguous rejection.

maybe, he shouldn’t have acted so carelessly with you.

it was during a banquet hosted by the royal palace in honor of the visiting diplomats from the neighboring countries when satoru finally got the chance to strike a more private conversation with you.

eyes glued to you all night, watching as you danced and socialized with other nobles, he was waiting for the right moment to approach you.

and just as you happened to leave the ballroom and walk toward the balcony to catch some fresh air, he excused himself and followed behind you.

“don’t tell me you’re already bored and want to leave, my lady?”

you turn around, visibly unfazed by his presence.

“good evening, your highness”, you politely greet, bobbing a curtsy to him. “although it is not to my liking, i wouldn’t call such a fancy banquet objectively boring. i was merely getting some fresh air after dancing”

there she goes again with that witty tongue of hers, he chuckles. “i see. you find it subjectively boring, if i may assume?”

“you may and that wouldn’t be far from the truth”

he lets out another chuckle, wiping a hand across his face as if at a loss of words. you truly are one intriguing woman.

“i will be very frank with you, my lady”, he speaks. “i think, i might’ve fallen for you”

you remain unamused, not even a single feature on your face flinching at his very confession.

“love is not something you think, but rather something you feel, your highness. curiosity, on the other hand, might pick at your brain and make you think and ponder”

he chuckles. “they’re not mutually exclusive, i believe. can’t love start from curiosity?”

you crack a soft smile. “perhaps”

“may i assume this is you giving me permission to pursue you further?”

“excuse my impertinence, your highness, but — do you have a thing for getting rejected?”, you tilt your head, an impish grin on your lips. “how long are you going to keep this up for?”

he steps closer, “i promise i’ll stop”, taking your hand into his and courteously going down on one knee before kissing it — “when you stop rejecting me, my lady”

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

So I’m a minor (16 to be specific) and I frequently watch and read stuff with explicit sexual or 18+ content in it. I live in an extremely conservative Christian household and things like explicit fanfic are pretty much the only option I have for learning about sex that isn’t abstinence only. I do feel bad about it, especially when I see adults online say stuff like “oh i watched lots of inappropriate things as a teen that i really shouldn’t have” and it makes me feel like I’m ruining myself in a way that I won’t realize until I’m an adult? Right now I don’t see what the big deal is but i get the feeling that when i’m 24 or something I’ll wake up one day and be ashamed of this for some reason i’m not mature enough to know yet. Should I just stop and wait until I’m 18 to continue or what?

hi anon,

okay. I'm gonna hit you with something:

turning 18 does not actually change the way you feel about porn or sex or anything. the difference between being seventeen and 364 days and being 18 is nonexistent. there's not a magical switch that changes you as a person; that comes from lived experience. if you're 18 and your experience is still that porn and smut and what have you i something that you should feel bad about, it's still going to feel that way and a birthday won't change that.

look, the whole notion of "I saw [x] that I shouldn't have when I was young" is like. okay. so you saw something that was a little mature for you that you didn't quite get? awesome. did you die? no. most people's hangups about sexuality don't come from seeing a rogue titty when they were a teenager, they come from the culture that person was raised in that made seeing a rogue titty feel like something to be ashamed of instead of a completely natural part of life.

story time! when I teach my 4th-6th grade OWL classes (Our Whole Lives, great human development program) I always start by holding a meeting with the kids' parents. I've been doing this for seven years, and every time without fail some of the parents will recall seeing porn for the first time as a kid. these guys were kids when printed porn magazines were still a thing, so they were discovering them in all kinds of places - the bedrooms of their parents or their friends' parents, at bus stops, in the woods, once even stowed in some farm equipment. and they remember it feeling illicit and exciting, sure, and possibly making them confused or even horny for the first time in their young lives, but like... that's it. none of these people are irreparably damaged by seeing porn. in fact, they've grown up to be the kind of people who go out of their way to make sure their young kids are enrolled in a queer-friendly, body-positive, diversity-embracing sex ed class to counter stereotypes and misinformation they might receive elsewhere.

looking at things that arouse you is morally neutral. it can be a great way to help you learn about what turns you on, and even if it's not the best source of factual, realistic depictions of sex, it can still help you discover things - hell, I only figured out what the clitoris was by reading Young Justice fanfic (shout out Snaibsel).

you can't ruin yourself, at any age, with the media you like to consume. what makes you uncomfortable and anxious is the attitude you've been taught to have about that media, which is something that has to be actively unlearned, because it's certainly not going to just disappear on its own when you become a legal adult.

tl;dr obviously no one is making you watch porn and you shouldn't if it makes you uncomfortable, but if you drop it right now and come back when you're 18 don't expect to feel any different if you haven't done any more unpacking re: the conservative Christianity of it all.

[myunghology]

THE LITTLE THINGS.

summary the little things they do for you, just because they love you. part 1/2 !!

pairings riddle, leona, azul, x gender neutral reader (established relationship)

tw none.. i think IDK

a/n — YAYYY I HIT 1.7K give me more clout pls ily all

✧ — RiDDLE ROSEHEARTS

Teaches you even though it's incredibly late at night. His eyes are already telling you that he's tired— and you try your best to tell him to go to bed.

But noooo, he cares too much about you to let you fail your worst subject. He casually waves his hand to dismiss your ideas for him to get sleep, putting you first before anything else. Well, at least he's learning more as well from teaching you.

Your head would be laying on his lap as he explains literal calculus at 4am in the morning, since you woke up in the middle of the night, making HIM wake up as well, why not torment you as well by making you learn with the time?

You give him such attitude early in the morning, saying "I'm sorry calculus sucks so bad, I'm sorry it's boring?" and yet he's completely whipped for you to the point that he's willing to sacrifice his sleeping schedule for you to learn. It's for your own good!

Riddle's possessive.. But in a good way! He just cares too much, not possessive to the point he's controlling, but possessive in a way that he's just overprotective of you.

He's the "Don't let anybody do this to you, unless that somebody's me." type of boyfriend. Can you tell he gets jealous easily? Gets extra snarky whenever someone asks about you, especially when they don't know you two are dating.

The type to pull you closer wherever just from being possessive, and makes an excuse that's basically just "Because you might get lost". Riddle.. The hallway is currently empty?

He will forever be your first and last love. The little things he does for you, it's everything. To you, and to everyone else who sees. The way he ties your shoelaces— which you didn't even notice that was untied.

When you make a mistake and a small "I'm sorry." comes out of your lips while your eyes get blurry, shaking his head as he shushes you and reassures you, everytime without fail.

The way he looks up at your pretty face right after, as smitten as ever and in complete awe, it's not that obvious, but you can see it in his eyes.

The way he's incredibly patient with you, the way you push your luck just to annoy him— luckily not getting beheaded by your own boyfriend. He has always fully believed time has brought you to him, hell, even fate itself maybe.

✧ — LEONA KiNGSCHOLAR

Leona always finds himself ending up with you, one way or another. At the end of the day, he's home. To you. And that's what matters the most to him.

The way he's burying his face in your chest, making a giggle escape out of your lips, a giggle he especially loves, but of course, would never really admit it directly.

This time, it's your turn to tease him for acting like this. But who could blame him? You're so comfortable.. And you're so.. Everything, really.

The soft sighs of relief he lets out when he feels your fingers thread through his long hair, indirectly asking you to not stop, and just keep going.

He compliments you without even realizing. Like it's a natural response to everything you do. From your little "Isn't this bow really cute, Leona?" with a soft smile as he goes, "Yeah. It'd be cuter if you'd wear it, though."

And you're left red and blushing, it honestly depends if he's going to tease you for it or not. But we all know, your blush is never going to get unnoticed by the prince himself.

Gets defensive whenever you bring this topic up. He will NEVER miss a day of complimenting you— even if it's something random. It's either that, or something completely heartwarming.

It ranges from, "You're really short, you know? Could barely even reach the top of the door even if you stand on your tippy-toes. But it's alright. I like it like that." with a smug grin.

To, "What's wrong with you? You're gorgeous. You're gonna be keepin' up with me in terms of persuasion, with those adorable little eyes of yours, are you?" sir this is a wendys

Can NEVER say no to you when you give him that special look. When you look up at him he absolutely melts— and it's painfully obvious it hurts physically (And by that, I mean butterflies.)

"If my significant other thinks they can just bat their cute lil eyes at me and get whatever they want, they're absolutely right." Type of mindset. He'd never admit it or say it out loud, either. We all saw that coming though, let's be honest..

Grits his teeth whenever you look at him with doe eyes, and it makes him weak because he especially loves your eyes, and how much they can say about you and how you're feeling.

✧ — AZUL ASHENGROTTO

Provides you with anything you need, without you needing to ask, almost everytime he notices. For other people, they'd need payment. But for you..? Ah, just forget about the goddamn contract at this point.

Actually, there IS a payment you have to do. Can you guess? It's definitely something cheesy or corny. Kills myself

Everytime you give him kisses all over his face, he's definitely all read. Who could blame him? We know he's not used to affection like this. And the fact that it's coming from you.. I don't know if that makes it worse or better at this point.

But of course, this will always come with a payment. More of a punishment— maybe. Having to wipe all your faint lipstick marks off his face when he has to be in the mostro lounge, making him just a few minutes late.

He picks up your habits. From talking or texting, no matter how different it is, he'll pick it up. From how much time you two spend together, I can't really say anyone's surprised..?

So, don't be surprised when he randomly responds to you with your usual attitude, or even just talking or texting a little bit like you as well.

The best part is, he doesn't even notice himself. When someone brings it up, he raises an eyebrow and acts like he doesn't know what they're talking about at all.

Gets all flustered when someone mentions you. It wouldn't even be about your relationship and he'd still be a blushing mess. Why? Um.. I dunno..

They probably wouldn't even realize you two are dating until they see Azul's wallpaper is you two, and when he opens his phone, most of the widgets there are your little selfies you send to him for fun.

Whether it'll be a literal thirst trap ("He's getting all red, please stop?" - Jade). Or a 0.5 picture of you sent by a mutual friend, or even Floyd who practically towers over you.

note — 𝔹𝕌ℝ��� 𝕋ℍ𝔼 𝔾𝔸𝕐𝕊 𝓑𝓤𝓡𝓝 𝓣𝓗𝓔 𝓖𝓐𝓨𝓢 𝙱𝚄𝚁𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙶𝙰𝚈𝚂 ꃳ꒤ꋪꋊ ꓄ꁝꏂ ꍌꋬꌦꇙ ฿ɄⱤ₦ ₮ⱧɆ ₲₳Ɏ₴ ᗷᑘᖇᘉ ᖶᕼᘿ ᘜᗩᖻS [̲̅B][̲̅U][̲̅R][̲̅N] [̲̅T][̲̅H][̲̅E] [̲̅G][̲̅A][̲̅Y][̲̅S] BURN THE GAYS ßÚRñ †HÈ GÄ¥§ B̶U̶R̶N̶ T̶H̶E̶ G̶A̶Y̶S̶ вυяη тнє gαуѕ ᏰᏬᏒᏁ ᎿᎻᎬ ᎶᎯᎽᏕ ᴮᵁᴿᴺ ᵀᴴᴱ ᴳᴬʸˢ БҴЯҊ ꚌӉЄ ԌДҰЅ ႦႮჁႶ ႵႹჹ ყმჄႽ B̤̮Ṳ̮R̤̮N̤̮ T̤̮H̤̮E̤̮ G̤̮A̤̮Y̤̮S̤̮ B̷U̷R̷N̷ T̷H̷E̷ G̷A̷Y̷S̷ B̲U̲R̲N̲ T̲H̲E̲ G̲̲A̲̲Y̲̲S̲ B̳U̳R̳N̳ T̳H̳E̳ G̳A̳Y̳S̳ B̾U̾R̾N̾ T̾H̾E̾ G̾A̾Y̾S̾ B͎U͎R͎N͎ T͎H͎E͎ G͎A͎Y͎S͎ B͓̽U͓̽R͓̽N͓̽ T͓̽H͓̽E͓̽ G͓̽A͓̽Y͓̽S͓̽ B҈U҈R҈N҈ T҈H҈E҈ G҈A҈Y҈D҈ B͙U͙R͙N͙ T͙H͙E͙ G͙A͙Y͙S͙ B͒U͒R͒N͒ T͒H͒E͒ G͒A͒Y͒S͒ B̻U̻R̻N̻ T̻H̻E̻ G̻A̻Y̻S̻ ḄỤṚṆ ṬḤẸ G̣ẠỴṢ

[lyrefromthesea]

Please could I request all the hashira being in denial that they have a crush on hashira!reader. I hope you’re having a wonderful day 💙💙💙

Male pillars x Reader - Denial is a thing

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu x reader, Gyomei x reader

content warning: none

type 1 - i don't have enough time for romance, meaning it doesn't exist.

he is the type of person who is fully obligated to his duty. saving people and taking care of others has gotten natural to him.

the demon slayers of lower rank have come to trust him, look up to him, he couldn't disappoint them. he knew how it was to be scared, now he needed to take away the fear others felt.

naturally, he didn't understand why he found his attention shift, suddenly not thinking of his mission anymore.

yet nothing was different, he got a mission assigned, another slayer joined him, you both tried to defeat the demon.

that's right, you.

you were different, you were the thought occupying his mind. he thought it was fine at first, but when he got distracted during the fight, he realized just how severe the connection to you could be.

he would try to keep your relationship professional, strictly related to work, but he couldn't stop himself from learning more about you while you took care of his wounds.

...Gyomei, Rengoku

type 2 - i don't even know what happened, this can't be true.

this was stupid, utterly and absolutely stupid. in no world was it possible for him to fall in love with you.

..right?

you were a nice person, someone he could rely on. fear was evident on your face when the situation got severe, but you pushed through, because you wanted to save the people around you - even him.

he didn't understand, you weren't a hashira, yet you fought with the same determination. he tried to understand, listened to your explanation.

"i can't rely on you just because you're strong, the people who chose this life decided to fight until it's over."

he felt his heart throb right at that moment, heartbeat speeding up drastically. never in his life had he heard another person talk like this.

yes, he couldn't understand how this happened.. or maybe he just didn't want to.

...Obanai, Tengen

type 3 - i will never love again, otherwise i'll lose you too.

what makes him special is not the fact that he's denying his feelings for you, it's how he copes with it.

he wasn't stupid, of course he realized something was different when he felt his cheeks flush or how he accidentally stuttered when he tried to talk to you.

the realization hit him like a brick, immediately excusing himself, trying to never talk to you again.

he knew how this would go. he fell in love with you, he stayed by your side and like everyone else, you'll be taking away from him. it's always that way. it'll always be that way.

it's not like he couldn't stay away, he was used to being alone. other people didn't necessarily talk to him, he would just go back to his old life.

only that it was much harder this time. how come he would always run into you? not only that, but somehow he got paired up on missions with you too.

he cursed himself, nothing about this worked like he had wanted it to.

and when you silently brushed your hand against his, eventually bringing yourself to interlock your hands, he knew he had ultimately failed to stay way.

not that he cared a few months later, when he could wake up to your sleeping body next to his.

...Sanemi, Giyuu

[foreverdolly]

ೃ࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part 6 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: serious blood play ( it only gets worse from here, folks. welcome to hell), the realization that feyd has been scenting her, the harkonnen's have a supernatural sense of smell, minor talk of feelings, lots of talk and show of devotion, the baron, the mention of breeding, dubious consent.

word count: 7.6k

← previous chapter | next chapter →

ೃ࿔ savage bonds masterlist

Something dark was building up- roiling inside of him. 

It had a mind of its own. 

It didn’t belong to him. . . not really. It was its own entity entirely. 

It called to him in the middle of the night, waking him up from a dead, dreamless sleep. For a moment he stared at the slate grey wall, searching for any imperfections. When he found none he rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He wasn’t quite sure what he was searching for. Maybe a black hole to swallow him up. . . or an answer to his many questions. 

It wasn’t in his nature to be good. If anything, it felt off to display any kind of affection. Niceties were always just a means to get something that he wanted. Goodness was something he had to practice. A skill he honed over the years so that he could carry a conversation with those that weren’t raised by the same closed, hard knuckled fists that he was.  

It oozed off of you so naturally. Dripped from your mouth and your gentle hands. It was something that you freely created, and with zero effort at that. The thought of it used to infuriate him. He had heard about you, his promised one in passing. He’d always wanted you, from the first moment he’d met you back when you were children. 

And while he was. . .  infatuated with you? Yearned for you? Loved you? He wasn’t sure himself what it was that he felt, just that it had seeped itself into his very marrow- regardless of his feelings, he resented the fact that you weren’t cut from the same cloth. Feyd never minded the idea of putting you on a pedestal and protecting you. He’d play the part of your knight well, just as long as you’d let him relish in his misdeeds. No, he resented your kindness because he knew that eventually someone like him would use that against you. He had always wondered when it would happen. Had it happened on your planet when he hadn’t been there by your side? Or perhaps that moment had finally come whilst you were out on an excursion with your parent’s, making nice with other nobility.

You see, he hated the idea of anyone inflicting pain on you or inspiring fear in you. He wanted to be the soul owner of those sensations. Feyd could smell your fear in the air, the naturally floral scent of your skin turning slightly powdery the second that your pupils dilated and your heartbeat sped up. When he was in an enclosed space with you, like that damned closet, he could even taste it on his tongue. He often wondered if you were the same as he was in some aspects. If he choked you to the point of total oxygen deprivation would you cum harder? What if he ran his nails along your back and chest until you bled? Would you beg for him then? 

No. . . probably not.

 You were just as alien to him as he was to you. He didn’t see the world through your eyes, but as of late he wished that he could. Feyd wanted to know you so that he might be able to handle you better. 

No. . . that wasn’t it. 

Feyd wanted to know your favorite food and to be able to taste it for himself. Did you have animals back on Caladan and did you care enough about them to name them? Did you love anyone other than your family? He wanted you to tell him, in detail, what that was like. How did it feel to care for someone in that way, and how did you always make it look so easy to do so? What did you dream of when you closed your eyes to sleep at night? Did you prefer the night to the day and if you could ever get used to the thick smog that blocked your view from the sky, did you ever think at any point that you might stay with him here once everything was said and done?

He found no answers etched into the ceiling, and if they were really there, well then it was far too dark to tell. Instead he turned on his other side, his eyes instantly falling onto your resting form. He noted the way your lashes fluttered, eyes moving beneath your lids as you dreamed. 

Did he haunt you the same way you haunted him? 

His hand moved beneath his thin bed sheets, ghosting over your cheek. Instead he moved his finger just below your nose, feeling the warmth of your breaths. Someone had been so close to stopping those sleepy sighs completely, and while he had killed the perpetrators, the culprit was still in his own bedchambers, fat and bloated with greed. 

He knew what the Baron dreamt of: death and power. 

Feyd doubted that his uncle was finding any sort of trouble sleeping after what he had done. He’d gorge himself on food come the morning, another plan soon solidifying in his twisted mind. 

The dark thing moved inside of his chest again, jerking awake so severely that Feyd could only sit up in bed, his hands flying to his sides so that he could grip at the mattress and not your delicate face on accident. The feathers didn’t feel as satisfying as a throat would, but he squeezed down regardless, imagining his uncle’s fat neck breaking beneath his unyielding strength. Would he try to say something to his nephew in his last moments? Would his eyes flash at his own blood’s betrayal. . . or would he stare at him in silent hatred? 

No matter. Feyd reckoned that he would soon find out. 

People die everyday. The weak had to be culled, that was what he had been taught afterall. Powerful men were able to move the weak like pawns, but Feyd preferred to do everything by himself. That was the difference between him and his uncle. 

Feyd liked dirtying his hands. Vladimir had the numbers to command, but those men were all just as intimidated of his nephew as they were of him. The Na-Baron had two things that the “all powerful” Siridar-Baron did not: fangs and the ability to wield them. There was no weapon, unfamiliar or not, that Feyd couldn’t pick up and wield as though he had trained with them his whole life. There was no form of combat that he hadn’t honed his body with. Even worse, the Baron had raised Feyd with particular interest. He’d taught him since boyhood how to intimidate, barter, and kill legions of enemies with as little as a few words and harshly bit out threats. Above all else, Vladimir Harkonnen had taught Feyd-Rautha how to think and move across the game board just as he himself did. 

While Vladimir had faceless, nameless pawns to command at will, his nephew had only one other playable piece on his side. If it had just been Feyd against his uncle then he would have already razed the entirety of the empire that he’d been raised in to the ground. He’d deliver the embers up to the black sun as a final offering before leaving. Heading for you. 

Feyd wasn’t sure how something so weak could find its way to him. Better yet, that small, weak thing now lived inside of him, just as that nasty, violent entity did. There was once a time where he believed that they would always be separate. One could not live if the other was already inhabiting its host. . . but that was before. 

Before that first kiss. Before the first softening of your gaze. Before you. 

Slowly he laid back down, his head turning on instinct so that he could continue to watch you. So long as you were breathing then so shall he. He’d never had something that he needed to protect before. It felt heavy, but it wasn’t a bad thing- just a reminder that you were there. Still dreaming. Still loving. Death had always meant that there was something or someone better than him out there. If he had died then that just meant that he didn’t deserve to live. He had always been the type of warrior that craved to die in battle. How invigorating would it be to die by someone’s better trained hands? He’d watch with grave interest and jealousy as they carved him up. Feyd would want to feel everything. Experience it all with wide eyes so that he might learn and better himself even in his final moments. 

Feyd laid there in his bed though, the idea of being a coward playing over and over again in his mind. Could he run if it meant that you’d live? Yes. That fact was startling. So much in fact that it threatened to undo absolutely everything that he’d ever been taught. Every unspoken code that he lived by was being erased, replaced by an intrinsic need to be by your side. 

‘Could you accept her hatred?’ Yes, if need be. 

‘Would you let her paint you as a monster if her conscience called for it?’ Whatever it took. He couldn’t look back. 

‘What if it meant that she could never love you?’ Hate mirrored love in the grand scheme of things. He’d take whatever you’d give him willingly and without complaint, so long as you would let him pour his own affections into you. 

Feyd would continue to take. . . and take. . . and take. 

His next steps would all have to be carefully calculated. If he were in his uncle’s shoes then he would want to wait until after his enemy’s wedding, especially if it were obvious that suspicions were high. The pale man laid in bed for the rest of that night, his mind swimming with every possible step his uncle would take and might have already taken. If this were all going to work out then he would have to make sure that you were able to fight at his side when the time came. Despite his skill, it would be impossible to take an entire army on by himself, even if he timed things correctly. Feyd would have to start sowing seeds of doubt amongst his Uncle’s followers. He’d start with the men that had been assigned to his dimwit brother, Glossu. He’d no doubt side with their uncle when this all came to an end, though he’d be easy enough to dispose of. He was large, yes, but he was slow. He functioned off of anger and anger alone, which made him sloppy. Feyd could slit his throat whilst he slept and watch him gurgle on his own blood and dying breaths with not even a semblance of compassion. 

This evening he needed to start small though: the guards that you’d tried to distract at the door and those that saw the two of you fleeing down the hall. Whether or not he wanted to blame the two of you being alone in the Baron’s wing together on a moment of passion, he knew that his uncle would be all too suspicious. He’d have to do away with all of them before they could say anything. Feyd could blame the killings on his recent boredom and the rising tensions before the marriage. Either way, he knew the Siridar-Baron was less likely to become suspicious of his actions if he was to blame it on his own blood lust. 

He resented the fact that he’d still have to play the part of the Baron’s “beloved” nephew. Feyd wondered until the black sun rose high in the sky, the moonlight seeping from the room and plunging them in darkness yet again, whether or not he could even play nice with the man for a few more days. Everything inside of him, even now, screamed out at him: kill him. Kill him. 

He’d take out your adversaries one by one as the days passed. Whether you knew it or not, Feyd was completely at your disposal.

The memory of home had collected to a single point, dripping from your mind like liquid to pool at your feet. 

Your horse’s breath coming from his wide, kind mouth in thick plumes of aqueous smoke. Paul’s careful but unyielding fists flying past your cheeks in the training room. Your mother’s gentle hands cupping your face, the skin of her palms so soft and thin that you were scared that one day they might just tear against your lashes. Your father’s indulgent smile, always curious. 

In the moments that you spent by yourself in your now shared living quarters you found yourself clinging to their voices as well as the exact color of their eyes. You wondered if there would be a day that you would forget all of it. You had to stand in front of the mirror just the other day, hands palming your face, trying to remember every point of resemblance between you and your twin that your parents had always so lovingly pointed out. 

How long have you been on Giedi Prime? You tried to count on your fingers as you waited for Feyd to come back from wherever he’d stormed off to. How many nights have you slept in Feyd’s bed as opposed to the one that you’d been originally assigned? The wedding had been pushed back a few days due to the attempt on your life, but had your parents been made aware of the act? How many times have you eaten in the large dining room, miles of space between seats, feeling no more than a spectator of the life around you? You tried to imagine each breakfast, lunch and dinner that had been placed before you over the days, but the tan, black, and brown meats and side dishes all looked the same. They broke apart in your mouth and settled on your tongue like sand. 

You remembered staring up at that black sun for the very first time with wide, horrified eyes. When did it swallow you up? What day? Hour? Minute? Mentally you turned back the clock, wondering when it was that you lost the will to count down the days, the only thought on your mind being your own survival. You’d been lost to a planet that wanted you dead. 

Driven into a corner, you’d given in to your flight or fight instincts. The only thing on your mind at all hours of the day was the “when” and the “how”. When would the Baron strike next? How did he plan on taking you out? There wasn’t much of a reason to wonder why. You supposed he hadn’t taken a liking to you or had grown bored somehow. Vladimir never struck you as a man that followed the rules if he felt as though they didn’t give him a personal advantage, even the ones that the Bene Gesserit set in place. 

Shaky fingers reached up to brush against your lips, as though you could still feel Feyd’s brushing against them. That man. . . that infuriating man had done something to you. His constant mind tricks were beginning to wear you down and it seemed as though you were finally buckling under the intense pressure of it all. You nearly fell forward, catching yourself against the side of one of the black settees in the sitting area, eyes closing against your will as the memory of his dominance washed over you, nearly pulling you out into a sea of want and need with the high tides of your own desire. You had been drowning for days, no buoy in sight. Eventually you’d tire yourself, fighting against the power of those waves. Even now your limbs shook with the overexertion of it all. 

Your lips still tasted of sea water. 

Has this been their plan all along? Were you losing your mind? The non stop seduction had somehow made such a horrific place more bearable. Bearable enough that, even in your own overwhelming paranoia, you’d lost track of how many days, hours, minutes, seconds you’d been away from everything you’d ever known and loved. 

When the Na-Baron returned to the room you didn’t ask about the blood that clung to his pale skin, nor the crazed look in his eyes. By the time he was done showering, no doubt scrubbing off more carnage that your eyes hadn’t been able to see in the brief seconds that the two of you had stared at one another, the light had returned to his eyes. He was Feyd again. Just Feyd. 

Perhaps even your Feyd. 

He stood before you, wearing nothing but a pair of skin tight trousers that reminded you of what he so often trained in. He hadn’t dried off well enough, and you wondered if he’d been in a hurry to be in your presence. ‘Nonsense.’ You thought ruefully to yourself. The skewed view that your mind had created of Feyd Rautha-Harkonnen was nothing but a lie. A farce. 

Living so closely with someone that wasn’t completely evil was more bearable than being held in a room with just another Harkonnen that wanted you dead. He was one of them, no matter how many times he tried to tell you differently. 

Droplets of water ran down his pale chest. For a single, selfish moment you allowed yourself the time it took to follow one of the ephemeral bead’s trail. Down the line of his neck, pooling ever so slightly at his defined collarbone, before sliding down the harsh lines and planes of his chest and abs. It soaked into the waistband of his pants, dying there without even a whisper. 

Would you die there too eventually? Would he split you into two and forget about you? Would he leave you bleeding and broken on your shared marital bed? You had to bite off a sob before it ripped from your chest, especially when he finally opened his mouth to speak after what felt like hours of prolonged, painful silence. 

“Everything I do, from this point on, is for you. Even if I have to tell lies, know that my body and my mind would never betray you.” His eyes were searing, burning holes into your own. 

He was constantly flickering between personalities. One second he treated you as though you were as fragile as gossamer stretched thin over your mother’s bone china, and then the next it was as though he was staring at his own reflection; like you were a mirror image of every dark desire he’d ever had. 

Like called to like. 

“How will I know that you’re not betraying me? Feyd, my life is at stake here. I can’t spend what might be my final hours-” He closed the distance between you in a single long legged stride, reaching out to grip your wrist in his large hand. The size difference between the two of you had once made you shake at the knees. At one point he had seemed like an unclimbable obstacle that stood between you and your freedom. What was he to you now? 

“Stop talking like that,” He bit out, the muscles in his shoulders visibly tense at the mention of such finality. “I will cross one finger against the other when I’m telling a lie. Something only for you to see and to know.” He held up his free hand, demonstrating for you as he wrapped his middle finger over his pointer. 

A signal. 

“And how do I know that even that is the truth?” You whispered, the words painful to utter. 

Lost. You were so lost here. Somewhere along the way you had forgotten which way was up and which way was down. Would anyone blame you for asking him to prove his loyalty? Was it really so selfish to need such assurance? 

The pressure of his hold on your wrist loosened as he looked down at you, his jawline clicking. You could practically see the thoughts flashing behind his blue-grey eyes. Finally he settled on something, letting you go completely so that he could walk over towards the bed you had shared. Slowly he bent his large, broad body down, his pale hand running along the bottom of the frame. He retrieved a long, thinly crafted blade and showed it to you. 

‘Every night that you’ve slept here could have been your last.’ It was a confession, you supposed. Was he trying to show you how weak and naive you were? You’d checked the cushions in the seating area, beneath his pillows and mattress- but you hadn’t thought to check the bedframe for any sort of weapon that could be used against you. Shame slapped you across the face, and yet again you were reminded of how weak you were. 

Weak and stupid, the worst kind of combination. 

He moved back over towards you, the blade still clutched in one of his hands while his other reached back out for you. He took hold of your wrist again, even as you began shaking your head. “No, please. . .” You whined out, your pupils blowing out wide as your heart began to race. 

His nostrils flared and for a second he just stood there, the blade in one hand and your wrist in the other. “There’s no need to be afraid.” When he spoke in hushed tones like this it almost sounded like a hiss. You thought back to your first meeting with the Reverend Mother, your stomach clenching as a new kind of fear settled over you. 

Feyd had never been a man. He had always been an animal. The person before you wasn’t. . . wasn’t like you. He could treat you softly, but things like that didn’t come naturally to him. Reassuring you at all went against the basis of who he was, and still he tried. 

“My flesh is yours,” He told you, holding your gaze as he pressed the blade against his forearm. “As is my blood.” You flinched and tried to wrench your hand away from his as you watched him press against the leather handle. Onyx blossomed from the cut and fell onto your hand. It pooled in your palm as you fought to slide your wrist from his hold. It was so warm. . . and you wanted it to stop. 

“Enough.” You barked out, trying your hardest to take a step back from him. He kept you in place, his face displaying no sense of pain or even discomfort. 

“You’ve heard of animals chewing off a leg to escape a trap?” 

He pressed the blade down harder, the small streams of blood turning into a river. It dripped from between your fingers and began to seep down the front of your linen day-dress. “Everything I am in exchange for all that you have to offer.” 

“There’s an animal kind of trick.”

“Feyd, enough.” Your voice shook as you stared in horror at the blood. All of that blood. . . for you. 

All that he was. All that he would ever be. 

In exchange. 

He dropped the blade beside him, the loud clanging sound causing your shoulders to quiver. The pale man stared at your hand for a few seconds and all you could do was watch him, your whines and prayers for him to stop whatever this was dying out on your tongue. His eyes. . . oh, heavens. You felt as though you’d disintegrate into nothing but ashes where you stood. The light in those blue eyes had been completely snuffed out and all that remained was darkness. It was almost as though the shadows that seemed to constantly wrap themselves around him had seeped beneath his skin. There were no pupils. No irises. Just. . . black. As black as his blood that now coated your hands. 

He was everywhere. Feyd was everywhere you looked, every scent you breathed in, every touch and sensation- and your chest heaved with some sort of emotion that you couldn’t decipher. It felt as though your heart was ripping at your lungs, at your throat, begging to be let out. You needed to be freed of these horrible, sinful thoughts. 

The pale Harkonnen warrior stared at you as though you were the beginning and end of everything. Nothing else existed outside of this room. The sight of his own life essence spilling down your skin, staining you. . . was the epitome of perversion. 

This animal- this paragon looked at you with phantom eyes and wished that he could possess you. 

He pulled your wrist higher up, his attention dropping down to your dripping palm. Slowly, too slowly, he dipped the tip of his pointer finger into the pool that he had created. He lifted his hand up between the both of you before pressing his thumb against your chin, prying your lips open. 

You were too confused to understand what it was that he wanted from you. It wasn’t until the metallic taste of his blood spread over your tongue did you truly understand what he was doing. Your eyes, now the size of saucers, locked on his. For a brief second you thought about biting his finger. Whatever was happening between the two of you was too intense for you to handle, especially with your mental wellbeing hanging in limbo. 

But you let his finger caress your tongue. You even opened your mouth wider for him, moaning when his lips curled up at your sudden obedience. His eyes flickered up to your eyes from your mouth when he heard the sound, a responding groan meeting your ears. Deep and guttural, as though he wanted you to know that he felt it too. He felt all of it. He hooked his finger on your bottom teeth, sliding them against your gums and then. . . 

Then he released your mouth. “Swallow me.” 

And so you did. The thickness of it coated your mouth and tongue, marking you from the inside out. You weren’t sure why you were so willing to do as he told, but there wasn’t a single part of you that didn’t want to please him at that moment. 

It was almost as though he had watched the fight and the fear drain from your body. You stood there, languid and malleable before him. 

It was odd. . . but it was like you could finally breathe for the first time in days. 

“You never ask for permission.” You couldn’t project your voice the way that you wanted to. You had spoken in a barely audible whisper. 

“No,” His voice was low enough to be considered a hum in response. “Never.” 

And as if to prove that as fact, Feyd lowered his lips down onto yours. His grip was still on your stained wrist and you were positive that if he hadn’t been holding you in some way then you might have just floated away. The floor would have swallowed you up whole. . . or that black, black sun. The strength of his bruising hold acted as a tether, tying you to the floor and to him. Your lips tightened, compressing for a split second against the softness of his kiss. It wasn’t as searing as the other ones had been. A part of you reviled this small shred of humanity that he was showing you, the paranoia still biting at the back of your mind. Was he doing this to disarm you? 

But you remembered his blood and his promise. You could feel it beginning to dry on your skin, growing cold and tacky: a reminder. His flesh was yours. 

In that instant you yielded- submitted fully to all of it. You assaulted his mouth with your own, lips melting against his as your free hand moved up to cup the side of his neck, pressing him harder against you. The suddenness of your surrender had him staggering, his hold on your wrist loosening in his shock before he finally let you go, his strong arms wrapping around you so tightly that you feared that you might be crushed into his chest. 

Would you really mind that though? 

You allowed his lips to birth you anew and gave into the deranged desires. If this was what it meant to be mentally insane then. . . you weren’t sure if you wanted to be put back together again. His lips moved against yours, tongue curling into your mouth in such a way that you couldn’t help but wonder what other parts of you he could set ablaze. He owned your mouth, just as he had before when his finger had slipped past your teeth. 

No doubt he could taste the metallic film that still clung to your tongue, and you let him. Your newly freed hand slid along the expanse of his chest, and without needing to see it you knew that you were leaving your own marks. Hands, fingers, blood- it was everywhere. 

No matter how close he pressed himself against you it still didn’t feel enough. 

Feyd was kissing you with a fervent need- not to own you, but as if he truly couldn’t get enough. He pressed his lips against yours as though he could absorb you into his body. It would be safer there, you thought. If he wanted to breathe you in then you would damn well let him. 

He broke the kiss so that he could look at you, and after he had gotten his fill he pressed his lips against yours in small pecks. Once, twice, and then his eyes opened once again. The hunger in his eyes was still there, of course, but there was a strange sense of longing there too. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but before he could open his mouth you were stepping up on your toes, pressing your lips against his neck. 

You thought of every demented thing you’d wanted to do to him since you’d been stuck on this forsaken planet. At one point you’d wanted to gut him, then silence him and now. . . now you wanted him so badly that your hands shook as they began to pull at the waistband of his pants. The sound he let out was so loud that you were positive that someone had to have heard it. The moan was all beast, no hint of man to be found. 

“You’re covered in it,” He panted out, tilting his head to the side so that you could continue biting and licking at his pale neck. His skin tasted of the spicy, herbal soap he had used in the shower. You wanted more of him. All of him, in fact. “On our wedding night I’ll give you even more of it.” He promised, his hands moving to braid themselves into your hair. The tips of his fingers massage your scalp roughly, and when you bite down a little too hard on his soft skin you can hear a few strands of your hair popping as they are ripped from the roots. 

“I’ll mark every inch of your body,” He removed your hand from the waistband of his pants, and right when you were about to cry out a complaint he pressed your palm against his straining front. He allowed you to run your fingers along every inch of him, shuddering at the feel of your fingers- so tiny- brushing against him. “Make you drink it even.”

Those words tumbling from his lips sounded, in a fucked up way, as though he was worshipping you. The dam had burst wide open and the two of you could do nothing to keep Feyd from uttering every cursed, demented thought he’d ever had about you. 

“I’ll coat myself in it. My blood and cum belong in and on every inch of you.” 

You were finally touching him. Not because he was forcing it out of you but because you chose to. Again and again, as your fingers continued their exploration, you reminded yourself that this was what you wanted. 

More, more, more. 

“Na-Baron?” No one, not once over the days that you’d spent in Feyd’s quarters, had ever dared to knock on the door. Usually they’d place your meals just outside of it around the same time each day, not wanting to be sliced to ribbons after everything that had happened. The sound of the foreign voice cooled your hot blood so quickly that you swore that you could hear it fizzing in your ears, the heat being replaced by white, cold terror. 

For a few elongated moments Feyd stared at you, his breathing labored. You watched as he sucked in a singular breath, caging it in his lungs for a beat before blowing it out slowly. One step at a time he detached himself from you, looking pained all the while. You silently cursed whoever it was that had interrupted the both of you. 

This had been the first thing that you had, quite possibly, ever done for yourself. Every day, even back on Caladan, had been spent training with Paul. Since the day of your birth you had known that you would be shipped off, married to someone that you knew very little about. Every day had become a waiting game, filled with meaningless marriage training. 

This moment had been just for you. You had wanted him more than anything, and if not for the interruption then you would have more than willingly given yourself to him completely. It was all so complex, and you weren’t sure of the meaning behind it all. Had you come to care for Feyd or was it just the release that you were searching for? Either way, you had wanted it. Whatever it meant. 

“What is it?” 

You tried to drown out the voices as you slowly moved away from the sitting area and further into the room, realizing now that the two of you probably looked deranged. As you stared down at your clothes you finally noticed that this was all. . . so gruesome. With a small gasp you began pawing at your dress, noticing the sheer amount of blood that had been spilled. How deeply had he cut himself? Was he still bleeding, even now? 

You hurried to the bathroom, turning the sink on so that you could wash your hands. 

This place felt as though it had already stolen years of your life from you, when in actuality it couldn’t be more than two weeks. Still, you’d lived every hour on edge and in constant earth shattering terror. For the first time in those three hundred and thirty-six hours you didn’t feel alone. In fact. . . you felt good, if anything. A ten ton weight had been lifted from your chest. 

You didn’t just have a protector. An Atreides had somehow managed to find themselves a damned champion. 

“Our presence is needed at the arena,” Feyd started, crowding the door frame as you continued to scrub at your fingers. One of his hands reached out, as if to stop you, but he let it fall back at his side before his fingers could grip yours. “We need to make an appearance.” 

Yes, you should have expected that. Everyone must want to see the sacrificial lamb that had been led to the slaughter.

The black sun had set a few hours ago, and the light of the moon was blinding as you were led down a long black corridor and up a steep, obsidian staircase. The new color palette of your life: black, grey and white- it blinded you now as you gripped Feyd’s steady hand. The balcony had a clear view of the entire arena, the white sand below catching the rays of the full moon that hung high, suspended in the air above you. 

A few cloaked figures were seated, their backs towards you as they stared out at the scene unfolding before them. A loud voice that you didn’t recognize was narrating the carnage, the loud screams and voices of the crowd assaulting your ears. The arena itself reminded you of the training grounds that you and Feyd had spent much of your time over the last two weeks. It was so strange to think that it had been two full weeks since the day that you had threatened the Harkonnen man out on that sandy terrain, poised and ready to kill him. Back then you had wanted to spill his blood, especially if it had meant that you could find your way back to your family. 

It had been a fool's errand: husband or not, you were never meant to return to the life that you had lived before. 

The black gown that had been prepared for you was uncomfortable and so long that you had to kick your feet out just so that you wouldn’t trip on the train. You felt ridiculous and missed the breathable fabrics and gossamer of your home planet. As you looked out at the sea of spectators you realized that you blended right in. If you had been wearing a veil to disguise your facial features then you would have been just another Harkonnen, jowls wide and drooling as you stared out at the bloody terrain. Thirsty for carnage and wrath. 

The sun had begun to change you. You were no longer favored by the light. 

The hand clutching yours was a stark reminder of that, as was the way that you clung to him right back. “An hour. Tolerate this for an hour.” He whispered in your ear. 

His lips were still swollen from your kisses. The moment that had been shared between you had been far from gentle, but it had been the closest thing to loving that you’d ever experienced. You didn’t startle as he reassuringly squeezed your hand. 

The Bene Gesserit’s eventual arrival had been expected. You knew, eventually, someone from the Order would come and check on how the marriage ceremony was proceeding. You doubted that they’d been made aware of the recent threats. 

It was doubtful that they’d even care.

You’d recognized the old, hateful hag even with her veil on, the downward tilt of her lips visible even from a hazy distance. You squint your eyes against the light, bowing your head ever so slightly as you began to take the empty seat beside her. Imperceptibly Feyd reached out, moving around you so that he could take the seat next to the familiar woman and his uncle. It was a kindness that you happily accepted. 

“Mother.” It was a practiced greeting, but she nodded her head in your direction, her eyes still cast towards the arena. 

It took a few seconds for your eyes to adjust fully to the light, the white bodies in the sand finally actualizing themselves as your pupils dilated. A man was on his knees, crawling towards a discarded dagger. The white landscape beneath him had been dyed with his blood. 

It was nothing you hadn’t seen before. You tried to rationalize that fact with yourself once you discerned that one of his legs had been completely severed at the knee. Still, as he inched forward, digging himself even further into the sand beneath him, you couldn’t help the bile that began crawling its way up your throat. 

“The gladiators know how special tonight is for the two of you,” Vladimir said with a sneer, his eyes catching on your face. “They were instructed to make it as flashy as possible.” 

You had to turn your head, the disgust darkening your eyes as you cast down your gaze. 

“You indulge me too much, uncle.” Feyd’s lips tilted up with a sick grin, one that you recognized from days past. 

The warrior- if you could even call him that- gave a final cry as he finally reached his blade. The poor bastard wasn’t even given enough time to grip the hilt in his bloody palm before the gladiator struck down with his own kindjal. 

It sliced through the air in a wide ark, cutting through shadows, cloth and bone as it hit its mark. The sound drained from the surrounding stands as the Harkonnens stood up on their feet. Their pale, terrifying faces gaping as they took in the carnage. 

Your chest heaved before you could stop yourself as you watched the warrior’s decapitated head roll across the ground, his eyes wide and lifeless. You were too caught up in the moment to even realize that Feyd had gripped the bell-sleeve of your dress, yanking you back down as you began to stand up. 

Escape. You needed to escape. 

“Your promised one seems eager to get up close.” The baron chuckled in his seat, having seen your reaction. 

“Our customs are unfamiliar to her. She will learn in time.” Feyd’s excuses for your strange behavior were becoming second nature to him now. 

“Perhaps you are eager to show her how skilled you are,” The Baron leaned forward ever so slightly so that he could meet your gaze, his chair creaking beneath his weight. “Your future husband is the most skilled gladiator that Giedi Prime has ever bore witness to. No one in this entire arena could ever match his might.” 

“I feel incredibly lucky.” And you did. Knowing that he was planning to help you fight your battles settled your stomach, but you couldn’t help but imagine yourself in that poor warrior’s place. The Harkonnens were no doubt wishing that you would get pushed onto that cold sand so that your colored blood could paint their arena walls. 

As if on cue the animals began to scream, raising their palms up to the sky as the gladiator gripped the severed head by its hair. Slowly he turned, letting every woman, man and child get a good view of the brutality of it. Finally he turned to you, his black eyes seemingly glaring straight through you. 

“An offering, lady Atreides.” He called out over the screams. 

Beside you Feyd tensed, the muscles in his jaw jumping as he bared his teeth at the other male. The Baron laughed loudly, clapping his hands together in gleeful approval. “It seems Feyd is eager to give you an offering of his own. Why don’t you volunteer yourself to fight?” 

The man beside you seemed tempted to take his uncle up on that offer. Whatever the other male had just done must have been a sign of disrespect. 

“He’s goading me,” Feyd seemed to read your mind, his blue eyes narrowed on the other pale creature below. “He’s presenting himself to you.” 

The warrior continued to grin up at the balcony, his eyes promising bloodshed. 

You blinked, stomach churning as you slowly turned to look at the reverend mother. She kept her eyes on the warrior, feigning interest. She must have seen much destruction in her long life because the old crow didn’t even bat an eye at the scene before her. She looked just as disinterested as she had that very first night you had made her acquaintance. Being stranded here with the Baron and reverend mother was a terrifying thought, but you didn’t dare beg Feyd to stay with you. The last thing you needed to do was show weakness to either one of them. 

So you sucked in a small breath and straightened your shoulders, looking expectantly at the both of them. You waited for the Baron to stand up and declare that his nephew would be dueling the unruly gladiator. No doubt you’d be cornered the second that he stepped away from the balcony. Not once had you been left alone with the Baron, and you silently wondered if his hatred would slip into his speech the second his “adoring” family member was out of earshot. 

“I wish to be married before I present her with an offering of flesh.” Feyd said through clenched teeth, his eyes still on the gladiator. The two of them seemed to be having a standoff with their eyes, communicating something that you couldn’t see nor understand. 

“The both of you already smell heavily of bloodletting. It seems to me that the two of you are already bound.” The Baron seemed smug in his observation, especially when you quickly whirled to face him with wide eyes. 

Smell? He could. . . smell Feyd’s blood on you? 

Feyd’s lips tilted up into a small, cocky smile as he turned to face his uncle. “You wanted us to try for offspring as soon as possible. We have been quite busy these last few days.” He placed his hand in yours as he spoke. 

One finger curled over the other inside of your palm. A lie. 

“I am pleased to hear so.” And the Baron, despite his apparent hatred of you, did seem pleased. He didn’t actually want Atreides-Harkonnen children running around. 

No, he was pleased that his nephew had deflowered and sullied you. 

“There will be another time for me to properly show my wife what I am capable of. I will offer her that man’s head as a wedding gift.” Feyd promised, and with the look on his face you were sure that he would deliver it to you on a silver platter. 

Your grip on sanity must have slipped. The black sun must have finally tainted your heart because heavens, with the new knowledge that the Harkonnens possessed an unnatural sense of smell, you had to press your thighs together in the hopes that no one around you could smell your arousal. 

“Yes,” The Baron hummed pridefully, his lips turning up into a secretive smile. “I have a feeling that our lady Atreides will become well acquainted with the arena in due time.”

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[itsvenera]

Aww I love that you write for Kiba! He really doesn't get enough love so thank you! Can I please request headcannons for married and family life with Kiba, Kakashi, Gaara and Neji (with female reader)? Like being married and having children with them? They're my favourites and you write them so, so well. I hope that request is alright, please don't feel pressured to write it if you don't want to. I hope your week is amazing 🫶🏻

author's note: Kiba was one of my first fictional crushes and I totally agree he doesn't get enough love! Thank you so much for this beautiful request! I really hope you enjoy and that so far your week has been good! <3

➤ Kiba

Kiba as a husband is everything but boring!

During the first year or two, marriage would feel just like your relationship before that - laid back, chill and maybe a bit immature.

He is an amazing partner - he is very affectionate, never fails to make you smile and loves to surprise you.

However, when it comes to taking care of himself, he is like a big baby - I don't really see him doing any chores in the beginning of your relationship and even when he tries, more often than not he either burn or flood the kitchen.

Maybe it was fate or karma of some sorts, but I totally see you with twins or triplets!

If you thought life was crazy, wait till your house is full with hyperactive, unpredictable and loud Inuzukas.

Surprisingly, Kiba actually enjoy his role as a dad - probably because they all take after his personality, and tries to spend as much time with you and the children as possible.

Every time he has a free day, he organises a "family fun day" - more often than not, it is not that fun for you, as you have to run or yell after them to be careful while running/swimming/climbing etc.

While he would never get too much into housework, he will try to help around the house as much as he can, especially once you get back to work. (also, wouldn't do a good job and you would have to clean after his cleaning all the time, but it is the enthusiasm that counts!)

His attitude towards you would remain the same - he is just as in love with you as he was as a teenager, constantly trying to flirt with you with cheesy pick-up lines and smack your bum when you least expect it.

With multiple children, you probably won't have a lot of opportunities for spend time alone or go on dates, but you are both quite comfortable with your chaotic life.

He is definitely the laid-back and fun parent. Sorry, but you are going to have to be the "bad cop" - he can just bring himself to scold or punish your children.

He would often team up with them in order to prank you or his mother. Also, every bad word they learn by the age of six, is definitely his fault. (But hey, is it his fault they can remember every slip up?)

Kiba absolutely wants more children, so you better brace yourself, because I totally see you with another set of twins/triplets... it's these Inuzuka genes, what can I say!

➤ Kakashi

Surprisingly (or not so much since we are talking about Kakashi) your two children came before you got married.

You have been together for years and it worked perfectly, so what would a ring and a signature on a paper change? In the beginning, both of you were of the opinion "why fix something if it isn't broken?" and none of you see the point in marriage.

More or less, you were already acting as spouses - you tried to equally divide the household chores, but since he was working most of the time, you naturally took the role of the carer of the house, while he was the provider.

Once your first child was born, however, Kakashi started to seriously think of a change.

Since being a child, his life has been filled with battles, blood and loss - and he surely did not want for these things to be present in your baby's life.

However, change was hard and while he tortured his mind with ideas about how much happier you are going to be if both of you give up the shinobi life and move somewhere far, far away, he never voiced his thoughts out loud to you.

Kakashi is a very calm and loving dad - it almost come naturally to him, but you would notice something was bothering him, since as a partner he acted a bit more withdrawn.

When your second child was born, this is when he knew for sure he has to step down as a Hokage and retire from the ninja lifestyle once and for all. I imagine at this point, with two kids at home, you were retired as a shinobi.

When he brought the idea of moving in the outskirts of the village, he didn't expect for you to agree so quickly. You knew Kakashi for years, even before you got together, so you knew he really needed this break and detachment in the name of your family.

Once he left the position as a leader of the village, he focused 100% of his attention on you and your children - your oldest was a toddler by that time and while he felt sad because he felt like he missed the first two years of their life, he tried to enjoy every moment and stay grounded in the present.

He also finally decide it is time to propose and make you officially Mrs. Hatake - everything in your life was slowly falling into place and this felt like the only thing missing. (I imagine a small ceremony with both of your children as flower girls/page boys.)

Kakashi as a husband is the same as he was before that - loving, gentle, romantic, sometimes lazy, yet always attentive. The only difference is that he is even more relaxed and probably would pick up a random hobby such as gardening or maybe even writing?

Your have a very idyllic and peaceful life with him, and you wouldn't change it for anything in the world.

➤ Gaara

Married life with Gaara is hard in the beginning.

His work has been his whole life since he was a teenager, so when you finally tied the knot and, a few months later, welcomed your first child, he didn't know how to handle it.

He tried to juggle his job and his new role as a husband and father without any help for the first six months, but failed miserably.

The long hours he spend in the office definitely affected your relationship, especially since you are the one who had to give up your career in order to stay at home and take care of the baby.

There will be a rough period of time during you will be either ignoring each other or fighting with each other. Each of you will be upset, frustrated and annoyed with the other, but will not know how to fix things.

Don't get it wrong - this man loves you to death, but this is all new to him too! And it is especially stressful, since he never had a proper functioning family anyway.

Eventually, one night after another fight, you will sit down on the floor and share (or more likely scream at him) all the pent up frustration and worries you had been keeping inside.

From that moment everything changes.

Gaara would realise he needs to spend more time with his family, so he will probably promote Kankuro to a "shadow Kazekage" or any other title, under which he can replace him in the office some days of the week.

You start communicating more and soon fall in a natural rhythm - he is definitely a man that likes to do everything 50-50 with you, including care of the baby and household chores.

A very gentle and attentive husband - he always listen to your advice and tries his best to keep the spark between you by organising surprise getaway weekends for both of you every so often or by bringing you flowers/gifts when he comes home from work.

I would imagine given his position, he would try to influence to remain at home - he has always been worried about your safety and the potential risk of his enemies targeting you, but since you were now also the mother of his child, his worry slowly turned into a paranoia.

He will respect your decision no matter what, but if you decide to go back to work at some point - he will forget his morals and will abuse his role as a Kazekage in order to arrange some extra security to be around you at all times.

I feel like he will be a very calm dad in the beginning, but the more his children grew, the more nervous he became - babies are easy to manage, but toddlers? Pre-teens? Oh, Kami!

Naturally, he is very anxious about his performance as a parent, so please provide him reassurance every now and then, just so you can ease his mind!

Nevertheless, he is great with your child and they absolutely adore him. If you had a girl, she will totally be daddy's girl. If you had a boy, he would dream one day to grow up like Gaara.

I totally see you guys adopting some family traditions like Sunday dinner, "come-with-dad-to-work" Thursdays or book Fridays.

Gaara is going to be satisfied with one child, two at most (only if they have at least five years difference).

➤ Neji

Neji was made to be a father and a husband!

Raised in a very traditional family, he has been dreaming about becoming a husband and father pretty much from the moment you got together.

I think you would be married for about a year, before your first child is born, during which you will get you own house in the Hyuga compound, arrange its interior and enjoy your life as newlywed couple.

He will never command you or restrict your freedom in any way, but he will definitely influence a lot of your decisions.

For starters, it is expected that you will stop working and become a housewife, as any other woman married into the clan has done before.

I feel Neji loves you enough to respect your wishes if you decide not to do it, but he will still insist being the main provider for your family. (Do not resist him on this one, it is quite important for him!)

That doesn't mean he won't help around the household, especially after your child is born - he is actually very, very good cook and will take care of your dinners at least a few times per week.

As a father, I imagine he is very caring and loving, but will become more strict as they start to grow older. He values fairness and order a lot, so it will for sure reflect in his parenting style.

Your child absolutely adores him though - Neji is definitely their role model and the best teacher. You, on the other hand, will be the more laid-back parent, using any chance to spoil them or treat them with some extra sweets/toys behind Neji's back.

Neji is very confident as a parent, so he won't really have any worries about how you are raising your little one. What worries him, however, is how much less time you are both spending together.

I think once your child reach toddler age, he would start declining more and more missions, so he can stay at home. I also imagine that seeing his growth and commitment to the family, Hiashi would involve him in the leadership of the clan.

He will still find time to organise little dates just for both of you or late midnight walks, when you can enjoy only each other's company.

He would grow more serious and less fun with time, but given how much responsibilities he how stressful his life is, you would try and support him in every decision he makes (even when you are not fully convinced by his reasoning).

Your love would blossom from fun and carefree to mature and responsible. (& tbh I think that is absolutely beautiful!)

Both of you want at least one more child, so I imagine you would get pregnant a two or three years after you gave birth to your first born.

cc artwork: Daniel Clarke

[ravennawritesfanfiction]

Imagine Being a Loyal Patron of the Theatre des Vampires and Catching Armand's Attention

Pairing: Armand x Reader

Word Count: 1933

Summary: You visit Theatre des Vampires and you notice things are exactly what they seem. You catch Armand's attention.

For months you had watched Santiago come out on stage and tell everyone what they were about to see was real and that he loved them for it. Every night, audience after audience was splattered with red syrup. Every night ending with a murder, a couple of hundred witnesses none the wiser. Assured by the same man that had previously stated that it was real, now telling them it was fake. Patrons convinced that the victims were part of the cast. Willful denial. 

You had been one of them once. However, you quickly realized you couldn’t fake that kind of terror. The fear that was palpable in the air. The look of impending death. In the end, Santiago had them greeting death like an old friend. It was not natural and you were hooked. 

You started watching the cast more intently. Their eyes were unnatural. The way that Santiago spoke to the victims, still he wasn’t the most interesting theater cast member. Each night he would “fly” up to the catwalk, the man up there never failed to meet your gaze. At first it seemed coincidental, like he was looking in your general direction making it appear as though he was looking at you. Then it didn’t matter where in the audience you were, he found you. You stopped watching the shows. Your eyes searching him out in the darkness. His calling to you. 

You attended every performance for two years. You had learned a few members' names. You had met Sam in the ticket booth; he sold the tickets to the shows he wrote. He always had your stubs waiting for you, the spot expertly tailored to your mood of the day. Each offering a new view of the shows you had memorized. It didn’t matter where you were sitting, you were still in view of him. It was as if Sam could read your mind. 

You had met all of the cast over the years. They were all particularly nice to you. It was hard to tell if it was the frequency of your patronage or if there was something more sinister at foot. After all, you knew they were actively killing people every night. Did they know that you had figured it out? That Theatre des Vampires wasn’t just clever or avant garde? 

Tonight was different. Sam wasn’t alone in the ticket booth. He didn’t have your ticket waiting for you. And as you approached, you were met with four unnaturally alluring eyes. The man for the catwalk.

“Would you accompany me tonight?” no introduction. Just an inquiring look that felt like a challenge. “We mean you no harm.” he softened his approach, likely noting that you shifted your weight towards the door. 

“On the Catwalk?” you were confused. Perhaps there would be a terrible accident resulting in you falling to your death. The only one that could tie the theater to the string of missing persons plaguing Paris.

“Yes, on the catwalk. No, you will not fall to your demise.” He smiled both breathtakingly stunning and terrifying. They knew. You had to realize how monumentally bad this was for you. 

“You never have anyone up there with you, save Santiago occasionally. So, why me?” you weren’t digging your heels in exactly, but you weren’t entirely ready to follow a vampire into the dark without knowing so much as his name. 

“We have been doing this for a hundred years. And no one had figured it out. If they did, they never came back, let alone returning every night.” He looked at you as if you belonged under a microscope, fit for study.

“So am I more of a curiosity or a threat to you?” your posture was as far from at ease as one could get. 

“Neither, Ma Cheri. You are more special than you know,” his eyes looked earnest.”Now, will you join me tonight? Otherwise we have a regular ticket for you.” you wanted nothing more than to say yes. It was an uncontrollable impulse. 

He led you into the theater, through the crowds of patrons and vampires. Celeste eyed you suspiciously. Santiago looked like a cat that was about to eat the canary. You were both mystified and terrified. As you approached the stairs to the catwalk, the actors were now far scarier than you had ever thought them to be. 

“Enjoy the show.” Santiago purred into your ear as you passed him, the hair on the back of your neck stood on end. He who had not yet been named led you up the stairs to the area you would be spectating from.

He stood there in silent appraisal, looking out over a sea of fresh spectators. You sat there appraising him. Even in his outward youth, you could see all of his countless years. You had so many questions but made no move to voice them. He volunteered nothing. 

The show began as it always had. Santiago addressed the audience and started his monologue that wound up with him flying up to the catwalk. This time, when the spotlight shifted, you were in it as well, and you saw something that both blew your mind and completely disarmed you. Santiago was not truly harnessed in. It was clipped to a random loop that looked like it could have been a harness, but in the end you realised that Santiago really was flying about the theater. Your dawning realisation was met with a wink before dropping back down to the stage. Your head was spinning. 

The rest of the play passed in a monotonous blur. You memorized the lines, knew all the queues. The only difference was now you could watch the mystery man up close. He was unmoving. He has a script with him, though he didn’t reference it much. The director?

The night’s victim was brought out and from here you could see the glimmering fangs. The screams echoed up here. The blood that made it onto the stage was visible where you had never seen it before. The body was dropped through a trapdoor and you could see down below the stage. You felt your legs give out. The ringing in your ears overpowered Sanitago’s closing remarks. You never felt the ground. Rather, two strong arms wrapped around you breaking your descent. 

“I told you you wouldn’t fall.” he offered you a soft smile as you fought back the tears of your own panic. You wanted to pull away, You wanted to puke. Too many feelings fighting to be the first released. “I’ll let you go if you promise to stay calm.” You looked at the theater, still full of patrons, and nodded.

“I need air.” you were gasping and your vision was fading to black around the edges. Like a brain shortcircuiting. You were gasping, panicking and grasping at anything to try and stay grounded. As it happened, the only thing for you to cling to had been him. 

“Let’s get you outside.” He helped you down the stairs, all but carrying you. You passed the theater vampires who appeared amused by your reaction to tonight’s show.

“I don’t understand.” you stated once the cool air of the night pricked your skin, reviving you into the nightmare your brain attempted to escape.

“Of course not. You were just faced with the impossible. All of the things you were taught are fiction just became fact.” he shifted away to give you space and was intrigued to see you moved with him, having to be near. 

“Why show me at all?” you looked at him as though this answer would solve all of life’s greatest mysteries. 

“Because you saw and accepted what no one else would. You saw a coven of vampires , pretending to be human, pretending to be vampires and called bullshit. But you kept coming back anyway.” He was the supernatural being, but looked at you as though your existence was the impossible one. “No it’s my turn, why?”

“Ummm,” did you lie and risk him calling you on it or answer honestly?

“Honestly.” he laughed as you jumped. It wasn’t the first time he had done this, but this time it was unnerving. 

“Two reasons I guess. First, I was curious about the impossibility of it all. And then there was you.” you glanced his way to gauge his reaction, but you found none. 

“Me?” It was a mock surprise. “You risked being right and possibly dying for it because of me?” the more he pondered the admission, the more confused he became. Surely he had known what your answer would be, but knowing and understanding did not equate the same thing.

“Yes, I guess so. Though the possibility of death didn’t occur to me until tonight.” he stood there looking at you slack jawed.

“Maybe you are a bit of a curiosity.” he joked, you relaxed.

“Two impossibilities?” You looked at him and made eye contact for the first time. He was saddened that this may not have happened. If only you could have known that Santiago had been the first to realise you knew. It had taken Him and Sam both to stop Santiago from following you home that night and draining you. 

“My name is Armand.” he offered, still searching your eyes for a flicker of home. “I have a question, if you’d permit me.” he looked so young, your heart felt like goo in your chest. You nodded for him to continue. “Would you ever consider joining me?” he looked slightly to your side, breaking eye contact.

“For a show or joining you more definitely?” Big difference.

“As my companion. You’ve called to me every night just as I have called to you.” he returned to your gaze.

“What does it mean to be a vampire’s companion?” even the world felt supernatural.

“The closest thing humans have is a spouse. Though a companion is far more than that. The life of a vampire is a lonely one. A companion is a shelter from that loneliness. A comfort in the dark painful existence.” for the hundredth time tonight you asked yourself why you. You hardly felt qualified for the task, though you understood the loneliness Armand described. 

“I do not wish to rob you of your mortality. I only long for your companionship for as long as you'll grant me.” It wasn't as if you had anything to lose. You had your flat and your own suffocating loneliness. 

“I accept. I will join you as your companion along with everything that comes with it.” maybe you were signing your own death warrant, but you quickly realized that you  didn’t care. “How does this work?” Armand closed the miniscule distance between you until your noses were touching. 

“However, you are comfortable.” he smiled as he stroked your hair. “But first, there is one thing you have to see.” He stepped back from you far enough for you to see his whole face. Out of nowhere, two sharp fangs appeared. 

Your response was unexpected. You pulled him in for a kiss, fangs bared and all. And he let you. 

“I agreed to be a vampire’s companion and you thought that your fangs were going to be the deal breaker?” you giggled and he just shook his head at you. Taken by the complex little creature you were. “I do have one question.”

“Anything.” he looked at you like you were the entire galaxy.

“Your place or mine?” you found yourself in a strange apartment before the syllable died on your lips. “Yours I guess.” You answered your own question.

[meanbossart]

How did your DU drow react when he got told he had to kill his spouse? and then when he went to wake up Astarion and get tied up? I think I just wanna know how your DU drow mentally/emotionally is doing during and after that part, and when talking to Astarion afterward, I'm a sucker for hearing about those deep kinds of moments (hopefully that makes sense?) Also, how did your DU react when you met Kressa Bonedaughter and learned all about what was done to him (again, I know none of the companions really comment on literally something horrible being told such a shame, honestly) but how would you say or think that Astarion and Shadowheart might have reacted hearing that info? Again, thank you for all your art and for answering these questions! PS: (I really don't care if your answer is super long; I WILL EAT IT UP)

Sooo for the first question, I wanna preface by saying that I personally don't think their relationship was that in depth yet, at that point. Yes, DU drow enjoyed Astarion's company and relied on him in a similar way which he relied on Shadowheart. And also yes, Astarion saw DU drow as the first person who ever took him and his agency seriously - but I think feelings were still in their infancy. DU drow's mind was a mess through and through; he drank constantly to keep his urge at bay, he kept his distance from everyone most of the time, and when he did seek out comfort in either Shadowheart or Astarion (the non-sexual kind, they didn't really fuck at all), it was a kind of primal instinct and desperate longing for companionship - if you asked him if he was in love with anyone, however, he would have said no.

Similarly, while I think Astarion's act 2 confession is sincere, I also think that he's being sincere when he says that he doesn't know what you are yet. You're not really a lover, but you aren't a victim, either; what you are is a person who he would rather not have to murder eventually, and as someone who has had their empathy squeezed out throughout the course of two centuries, that's meaningful enough. He may fantasize about the best case scenario for you two - but he has no expectations that whatever this is will last. But it is nice, for the time being.

So the "murder your darling" scene, rather than a proof of love and trust, is to me the turning point where:

A) DU drow has to come to terms with the fact that he doesn't have as much control over the Urge as he thought, and B) When Astarion snaps out of his care-free, just-go-with-the-flow nature around his plan and this relationship. They both realize they bit off more than they could chew and are now caught in each other's crossfire.

Which is to say that I don't read Astarion's words of comfort to him as entirely honest - specially when you compare it to certain dialogue deliveries later in the game. I think he's still, to a degree, telling you what you need to hear so that you hold out for just a bit longer and kill Cazador. You probably can't be together forever as he idly fantasized about once or twice, when he let his mind wander - but god damn it, he needs to at least be free, and it seems like you have bloodlust to spare to make that happen.

Meanwhile, DU drow finally comes to confront the fact that he is not in control. Doesn't matter how hard he tries or how much he drinks, the urge will do to him as it will, and when it wishes. It stops being fun and it gets scary, from that moment on.

But here's who did stop it: Astarion. Where alcohol fell short and his willpower failed, Astarion stepped in.

So, more interesting than the scene itself to me, is how from that point on DU drow would have no choice but put his trust entirely on the vampire to control him. He ties him up, he keeps an eye on him, he has full spoken-word permission to kill him if necessary - he is forced to be as vulnerable at humanly possible under his hand, every night. Regardless of whether or not DU drow realizes that Astarion is doing it for his own reasons, he doesnt care, because Astarion has now become his rock and his bondage - hell, if Astarion does have a reason to keep him alive that's all the better; someone else might just slit DU drow's throat and be done with the concern altogether.

And so, it's only from that point on that DU drow truly starts to see Astarion as an equal, and even a partner. He's thinking that, if his whole life has to be like this, at least he has someone who can handle it.

Astarion, meanwhile, I believe only comes to truly consider (and wish for) DU drow's freedom after he's free from Cazador - and after he bestows that freedom upon his siblings and the other spawn. That's when he finally understands the length of DU drow's devotion to him and the value of freewill as a concept- and how he wants it for both of them, instead of being content with his own.

Not to mention... I think in Astarion's mind he was 100% not going to survive Cazador LOL so when he succeeds he's like "oh shit I guess anything is fucking possible huh. Yeah fuck it lets go fight your dad, also I've decided I want you for realsies, now."

Anyways, can you believe I thought this was gonna be a short ask. Here have a doodle I made while thinking about all this bullshit:

As for Kressa, I got an ask about that before but I can't find it now LOL to summarize; he was pissed, angered, and in a far more personal level embarrassed to have had his dirty laundry aired (AKA, victimized) in that way in front of the others - but this isn't something he would have expressed outwardly, and I think both Shadowheart and Astarion would have known better than to inquire him about it. It's not really something he would have sought out comfort for in anyone, so, I think the subject died as soon as Kressa did. In this case, their lack of commentary was completely appropriate - If they had reached out in any way (which would have been, in my opinion, completely out of character) DU drow would have shut them out with a quickness.

[darlingbabyboo]

Hi, I’m mitsuyababygirl nice to meet you.

I just read your Fatherly Love and so sweet, I love it by the way.

I was wondering if you could do a request on this video https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Nu7w6F-Ico0

like how would Mikey, Shinichiro, Izana and Draken, Mitsuya Takashi, Baji,Kazutora,reacting to that video I send you ?

Feel free to ignore this request if don’t to do the request, I will understand.

Why Can't I Marry Papa?

I'm in love with this request, the video was so cute! I split it up so this is Mikey, Draken, Mitsuya, and Baji since they're Toman captains! I'll do the rest in another part. Reader is a woman.

Manjiro Sano

"We're getting a divorce."

"W-what." You're heard a lot of things during your marriage to Manjiro. After all the years you've been together, you like to think that you've gotten used to his ridiculous nature. Especially when it's so uncommon for him and sense to come together.

You never expected to hear something like this though. Never in a thousand years.

You drop your knife slowly on the countertop so you're not tempted to do anything irrational. You turn around and are met with your husband holding your sniffling daughter, Keina.

You look from your daughter to Manjiro to your daughter again and finally come to the realisation.

None of this makes sense.

Manjiro sighs, "I've found another woman!"

Your heart clenches. Tears begin to pool up in your eyes. This is your worst nightmare, Mikey, with all his looks and charisma and success, leaving you.

You swallow, trying to appear strong when all you want to do is collapse. "Who are you cheating on me with?" You're proud that you manage to let the words out at all, while on the inside you're screaming to get on your knees and beg him to stay.

Manjiro gives a heavy sigh like it's a chore to even begin trying to explain what's going on, like all of your years of marriage have meant nothing. He rocks Keina gently, "I'm sure this one can explain it to you."

What?

You give your daughter a strange look, what does that mean? Had your daughter witnessed Manjiro with another woman, is that why she's been dragged into this?

You take a deep breath and pray that your tears won't fall, "sweetie, do you have something to tell me?"

Keina rubs her eyes with her pudgy hands.

"I-i wanna marry Papa but I can't 'cause you're with Papa!" She buries her face into her father's neck, trying to hide the fact that tears are flowing down her face. She's failing, horribly.

You look at Manjiro, and he gives you a toothy grin. You release the tension in your shoulders at that. Your heart starts to calm down, now you're overcome with love at your small family.

"Sorry hun," He rocks Keina, "I gotta pick my little girl over you."

You play along, shaking your head in faux sadness, "well, that's depressing, but that's just how life is sometimes." You walk over to your little girl and remove your ring. Suddenly, her tears ceases. She removes her head from her father's neck and she reaches for the gold band with wide twinkling eyes.

At the last minute, you pull back and she juts out her bottom lip. Once again, tears start to pool her eyes.

"But why Mama!" She yells.

You hum, "are you sure you want your Papa," You tease as you shake your ring in front of your eyes, enjoying how her eyes follow it.

She nods eagerly, "I do! I really do! 's not fair that you have him!"

Manjiro grins, ego stroked, "look, Keina knows what kind of catch I am."

You roll your eyes at his words then look at Keina again, who tries to reach for the jewelry with her small hands. You hold it back, "what about Mama?"

"Mama...?" Not understanding where you're getting at, she stares.

"Yep!" You pop, "mama's the one that makes all your delicious food, which includes your favourites: dorayaki and taiyaki!" You had learned to make it for Manjiro, when you two weren't dating and you wanted to impress him. It's to your luck that your daughter adores the snack almost as much as her father.

Your girl's eyes pop and she whips her head to her father, "Papa! I wanna marry Mama!"

You laugh and place the ring back on your finger. You give Manjiro a victorious smile as he tilts his head back and groans as Keina pesters him for his ring.

"You monster, you've turned her against me." He groans.

You place your hands on your hips and roll your eyes, "not my fault she loves her mama so much." Pettily you add, "guess I'll be the one leaving you for another woman."

Ken Ryuguji (Draken)

Despite what it looks like, Ken is the more domestic one of you two. That's not to say he's the best at it (you've got the burned meals to prove it), but his shops closer to home and more often then not, he's the one taking care of you daughter while you're at work.

Over the years, he's improved dramatically, so you're surprised to see Manami and Ken crying in the living room.

Manami is more dramatic, loud cries that you heard as soon as you opened the door (which means that, surely, your neighbours are going to have something to complain about later) but Ken's tears are less obvious, you only notice the small trail leaving his face as you get closer.

"What's the problem?" You question. Manami holds onto her father's leg, burying her face on his thigh. Ken looks up at you, like he hadn't heard the door open and your anxieties start to peak when you see how red his eye are.

"Yeah- um- no problem." Ken says, wiping away some of the tears on his face, which does nothing to make you feel better about the situation. "Don't worry at all."

"Of course I'm going to worry." You sit beside him on the couch, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other on Manami's back, soothing both of them. "There's a lot of crying going on right now, what's wrong?"

Ken sniffs, and rubs his eyes again, "I think this one could explain what's going on." He nudges his daughter gently who lifts up her face and trembles.

You pick her up, and your daughter shakes in your hold. "Baby, tell me what's going on?"

"Y-you're married t-to Daddy a-and thas' not fair!" She says between hiccups of breath.

You crock your head to the side, confused what she might mean, "baby, why's it not fair?"

"I-i-i-" She gently rock her as her cries become more dramatic. Patiently, you wait for her to calm down a bit and speak again.

"I wanna marry Daddy!"

You blink, and when you confirm that she's being serious you restrain a laugh. So this is what your big strong husband was crying about, his little girl wanting to marry him.

"Do you...?" You murmur, moving her around so you can cradle her in one hand and hold Ken's hand in the other. "Okay, then we can share!"

She blinks, not understanding what you're talking about. You wipe away the snot and tears on her face. "You can have him today, but he's still my husband, so I get to take him back when I want him." You wiggle her and she giggles in your hold, her sad mood seemingly vanishing.

You take off your ring and place them on her pudgy fingers, you have to place them on thumb so it doesn't fall off. She looks at the ring in wonder. While she's preoccupied, you turn to your husband, who's buried his head in your shoulders.

"So, turns out you're a big softie." You tease. "Couldn't handle that your little girl loved you so much she wanted to marry you?"

"Don't bully me." Ken mumbles, "I couldn't deal with her, she's just too adorable."

You stroke his thigh, "my big softie." You place a kiss on his forehead, "my wonderful big softie."

Takashi Mitsuya

It's not unusual to hear cries from your daughter's room. After starting kindergarten, she's been introduced to this new world and and she's still adjusting being thrown into it. It is strange to hear them when your husband is in the nursery with her. Your husband's great with children (years of domestic work with Luna and Mana had allowed him to ease into being a father easily). It's no secret how much of a daddy's girl your sweet daughter is.

You drop the laundry basket on yours and your husband's bed and hesitantly walk towards the nursery, unsure of what you might find.

"Takashi...is everything okay?" You question as you start to open the door. You expected a lot of things, but not to see your husband holding back a smile.

You raise an eyebrow as your husband motions you to him. He wraps an arm around your waist and you lay your head on his shoulder.

"What's-" The problem you want to ask, but Takashi has already pressed a finger to your lips and mouths the word watch.

With confused eyes, you watch as Takashi gently rocks your daughter's crib. "Hatsuko, do you want to tell Mommy what's wrong?"

Hatsuko sniffles, "no! I don't want to be a bad daughter."

"You won't be," Takashi says softly, "trust me, you'd never be a bad daughter. Mommy's gonna like what you said."

"Yeah," You're not sure what's going on, but you'd never be angry at your precious daughter. "Mommy really wants to know what you said, could you tell me?" Your curiosity is also peaked.

She looks at you, trying to compose herself, blinking away her tears and rubbing away the ones that have fallen down her face. You wait patiently, as she finally puts herself together.

"I wanna marry Daddy." She whispers, sinking into herself like she's sorry for saying it. The tears start to pool up in her eyes again, you feel bad for finding the situation so adorable. She's obviously distressed about her desires, but you think that it's so heartwarming how genuine and innocent her desires are.

You look at your husband, who was the same love filled look in his eyes.

"Daddy says that since he's married to you, he can't be married to me." Your daughter continues to explain, "I'm sorry Mommy, I don't want to be a bad person, 'm a bad daughter."

"It's okay honey." You reach over and pat her head, "you're not a bad person. In fact-" You remove your wedding ring, "you can be married to Daddy, give me your hand." She reaches her hand out and you place it on her ring finger. She looks at the band in awe.

Her eyes glow, "thank you Mommy!" She cheers.

"No problem." You say, wide smile on your face, "now why don't you go back to bed honey?"

She nods eagerly and Takashi moves so that he can tuck her in properly.

"Daddy, we're married." She whispers to him, waving the ring in front of him. Takashi smiles, and places a kiss on her ring finger and Hatsuko's forehead.

"I know, I'm so happy baby."

You both watch as she loses her fight with sleep, and curls in her crib.

"Can't believe you're gave me away so easily." Takashi teases. You smile, going towards him and wrapping your hands around his neck, his around your waist. You place a kiss on his lips, filled with so much love that you don't know how you're meant to function.

"Can't resist my babygirl." You defend, "besides, like you don't want to be married to our little angel."

He looks at the little angel in question, who's now softly snoring. He smiles, "definitely." He turns to you, so close that your noses brush against each other. "I'm so happy for what we have."

Definitely. You nod, sinking deeper into his arms.

Keisuke Baji

"So you're married to Mama?"

"Yep."

"For how long?"

"Since before you were born."

"And you're going to be married forever?"

"Of course we are."

"So you're never going to get married again?"

"Nope."

"And you can't be married to anyone else?"

"Nope."

"And you don't want to be."

"Definitely not."

"But what about me!"

"Um- what?" Keisuke pauses playing with his cats, which lets you know that this is a serious situation. Almost nothing could tear him apart from his precious pets.

Chieko crosses her arms, her determined face weakened from how adorable she looks.

"What about me Papa!" She protests, "won't you marry me!"

You hold in your laugh at the conflicted look on Keisuke's face. You'd expected something like this, over the past couple of days, you've seen how your daughter's eyes would linger on the band on your finger. She's definitely been asking more questions about marriage lately.

When preparing for parenthood, you had also heard about this phenomena, children wanting to get married to their fathers when they're too young to truly understand concept of marriage, only that it happens between two people in love.

Keisuke looks like he doesn't understand how to handle the situation, dealing with an entire division of delinquents in a fight, sure, that's reasonable, but saying no to his little girl never.

He looks at you for assistance, but you only respond with a smile, holding up your phone and recording the scene. This is pure gold.

Your daughter's eyes start to well up with tears, "Papa answer me! This isn't fair!"

"Well, it doesn't really work like that..." He scratches the back of his neck.

"Why not!"

"Um..."

And that's how you end up with an amazing video to show of your husband trying to explain marriage to your blubbering daughter, something that you definitely use on her wedding day.

Bonus

"Dad! I was four!"

"Nope, you said you were going to marry me and I'm finally saying yes!"

"Dad, would it kill you to get along with my boyfriend!"

"I think it would."

"Mom stop recording and stop dad"

"Sorry hun, this is just too good!"

"You're all crazy!"

Sorry for responding this so late! Some of these sound the same to me. I'll do better with variety when I drop part 2!

[thinkingofausername]

Just a reminder for those who didn't know, Curly exists outside of Mouthwashing as well, in the DLC "How Fish is Made" and I really think we should take this into account when analyzing him.

Here are his monologues:

It's easy to get on this boat when you have to. You say to yourself, this is just temporary. Just until I get what I need. Got bigger things planned! Then suddenly you're one year in, five years. Ten. First I couldn't stand the constant, constant noise. Now I can't sleep without it. A lot of things can't follow you out here. But it also means the outside world moves on without you. Won't even notice until it's too late... Easy to get on, hard to leave.

Next comes spite. First it stares back at you in the mirror. Then it's those around you. They're wearing your face, and you theirs... You know, he joined because of me. What were the words I used? Ah, right. "It's a great opportunity. Easy money, just a trip or two." Someone else's words in my mouth. Hey, worked on me as well, right? Change hurts, but worse things fester for a long time. I told him as much. I tried, I really did. We're defined by our past, but not slaves to it. We said tomorrow will be different. Today would be the last day. The last one. The last one and then another. And another, and another, and another...

Do you want to hear a joke? Three men are in the hospital. The first man cries "I lost both my hands, they told me I'll never work again!" The second man wails "I lost both my legs, they told me I'll never work again!" The third man? He rejoices "I lost my hearing, they'll never be able to tell me I'm fired again!" Hahahah! Good one, huh?

Curly is endlessly intriguing to me and I could analyze him forever but the things which stood out to me the most are:

The job was temporary. He had other things planned. He won't get to do them.

The way time passes without him (us) noticing is reminiscent of the way he failed to notice some other things.

"A lot of things can't follow you out here." A lot, not none of them. Jimmy's rancid nature followed him.

"The outside world moves on without you." For all the horrors which occurred on the ship, their families are clueless. Their tragedy floats in space unbeknownst to anyone.

"Won't even notice until it's too late." By the time someone finds the Tulpar, everything will have already happened. No one saved them.

"Someone else's words in my mouth." He convinced a person of something he himself didn't quite believe in.

"Change hurts, but worse things fester for a long time." It would've hurt Curly to face change (notice the errors of someone he thought was his friend; cut off a person he thought was his friend) but in avoiding it, Jimmy festered.

"I tried, I really did." Despite his mistakes, Curly cared.

"We're defined by our past, but not slaves to it." In some kinder universe, Curly survives and heals and learns.

Was it implied Curly might've lost his hearing?

[yannaryartside]

This is still all about Donna

The cyclical aspect of abuse ft Chef David

So, I wanted to add to the discussion why Carmy pursued the star so intensely, to the point of inflicting self-punishment and isolation. Why would he focus his whole identity on the evil chef after all those other beautiful experiences he also got to live?

I am going to talk on broad terms because I don’t have any studies in psychology, so you can take it all with a grain of salt; I am talking just from personal experience/instrospection. I am also not saying this applies to all victims of abuse or all types of abuse. I am talking mainly about domestic/psychological abuse.

WHY IT ALL STARTED

On the opening night, a particular set of chemicals created an explosion in Carmy's mind. He saw a man who resembled the chef who tortured him psychologically and abused him. So he goes back and starts a fight with Syd. She calms him down, but he feels lost and needs a pause, so he goes to the freezer but finds himself trapped. Then, the turmoil of flashbacks comes in of Donna and Chef David, while he thinks he failed his team and confirms the belief that he is indeed worthless, no good, and a waste of space. Donna installed this belief in Carmy, and Chef David revived it.

So he blames Claire, a relationship that (regardless of not being particularly deep or healthy) was bringing him happiness, and he decides to commit to the lie that he needs to sacrifice things that make him happy to be good (chef). At this point, Carmy has equated his worth as a human with his ability to produce a certain quality of work as a chef.

THE CYCLE

Maybe the most vile thing about abuse is its cyclical nature. If you have been abused, particularly since childhood, even if you manage to leave the environment where the abuse took place, there is a high chance you will end up in another abusive relationship/situation.

Abuse breaks your perception of self and the world around you; because of that, every relationship you have, or situation you establish will be defined by that broken perception.

Carmy grew up in an abusive household, believing there was something wrong with him that made his mother reject him and prefer his older brother. From what we can gather, none of Carmy's interests and personality traits were appreciated or encouraged in that house (besides cooking), so he was a child "terrified of speaking." He didn't have friends who could help him understand or accept himself; he missed that in very formative years. Michael (the brother he compared himself to) ended up being the real parental figure in his life (Michael divides himself between teasing him and encouraging him).

Carmy learns to love cooking because of his connection with Michael. Then Michael makes him feel rejected by casting him out. Carmy goes abroad and has really amazing experiences that allow him to know and accept himself. He gets to feel like a child again, finding and cultivating the things that he loves.

Then he finds a chef boss who is also abusive. Donna comes to life in the face of Chef David, and Carmy (who has become almost the best at this point and could have just left this place) accepts the abuse because he is afraid that both Donna and David are right, that there is something fundamentally wrong with him no matter how hard he tries.

So he goes into this season in freeze response, screaming at others because he can hear the evil chef in his head telling him how much of a waste of space he is; he needs to fight it, so he screams at everyone to have the same standard he has to obey or get killed. He is acting entirely out of fear that they are going to get him killed because they are “not perfect” or “too slow.” Because he can still feel the threat of the ghost of Chef David saying horrible things to him as he cooks. This is about self-preservation.

Also, isolation is a form of self-punishment, and he believes he needs to resolve this on his own.

THE CLAIRE PART-SELF PUNISHMENT

He tells himself that he cannot be with Claire because that is who he is and that he doesn't deserve such a good thing if it endangers the only thing that brings him value, cooking. He doesn't deserve this love that, for the first time, doesn't seem to require a big amount of sacrifice on his part. He spent most of the season reminiscent of that affection. He said she brought her peace, but I think he just meant she didn't feel worthless for once. It looks like not having girlfriends or friends (lack of meaningful connections that accept him for who he is) is a big source of insecurity for him.

The relationship was empty and superficial but was the best he had ever felt; Claire made him feel like there was nothing wrong with him, (to the point of being an enabler, yes), but it was still better for him than feeling rejected most of his life.

His most significant relationships (Mickey and Donna and sometimes Nat and Richie) were based on a push-and-pull mechanic that created an emotional distance, and he has spent most of his life trying to earn his mother's love, while he felt he didn't have to make an effort to earn Claire's love, even the most basic emotional responsibility (never apologize). The show even showed you that the relationship between Claire and Carmel would have happened if she hadn't done most of the work, emotional or otherwise.

Case in point: Sydney, a person with whom he has a lot in common, an unspoken telepathy, and a bond that can get him out of panic attacks (his previous unhealthy beliefs), is the person with whom he has the most trouble establishing a relationship because of the plot (based on his mental health), even after three seasons.

That was a lot, thank you for reading.

[yanderes-galore]

I would like to see what a human romantic Yandere Mewtwo would be like! :3

Honestly, I like this idea. Keep in mind this is a HUMAN POKEMON story, which means Mewtwo is a human with some Pokemon-like characteristics and powers.

Yandere! Human! Mewtwo Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Dark themes such as the following; Human experimentation, Neglect, Telepathy/Telekinesis, Violence, Mass Murder, Blood, Clingy behavior, Delusional behavior, Kidnapping, Forced relationship implied.

In this story, Mewtwo would be more of a chimera than anything.

He's mostly human but has been spliced with Mew's DNA.

As a result, he is a human with a purple tail, white nubs near the top of his head like horns or ears, and extreme psychic abilities.

He has white/silver hair, purple eyes. and a lean but strong build.

He is the first attempt at a living weapon, a human spliced with the raw power of a Pokemon.

Naturally, due to his upbringing, he comes across as volatile.

You meet the chimera hybrid as a scientist/caretaker.

You were hired to research the new experiment as he learns and is trained.

Obviously, Mewtwo feels less than human.

All the other scientists treat him like he is below them.

But he knows the truth... he is easily better than all of them with his power.

The one person he does not feel this way with is you.

Similar to how Mewtwo in canon has never felt proper compassion, you give said compassion to him.

You're the only one who gives such a thing to him.

You can't see this experiment as a Pokemon.

You feel Mewtwo is too intelligent and human-like to be treated as anything less than that.

Really, what makes him different other than some characteristics and powers?

You pity that he only gets to wear loose experiment clothes or some sort of tight skin-tight suit for training.

You wish he could live a normal life...

In secret you try to give him that, even if he's behind some glass.

You talk with the hybrid in private and even teach him some things.

You answer any questions he seems to have.

He often asks why the other scientists aren't as nice as you... to which you say you aren't sure.

If he wants to speak to you in private he trains his telepathy to continue to read your thoughts and converse with you.

Naturally, if you're the only one he feels is safe to be around, he gets attached to you.

When he sees you he acts very cat-like, purple eyes dilating with his tail swaying when he sees you behind the glass.

He may look very cold but his telepathy says otherwise when he appears to be ecstatic when projecting his thoughts.

You are never allowed to touch or hold the experiment and can only interact behind the glass.

You slide food into his enclosure and provide him stimulation through speech and tests.

Yet Mewtwo always voices his distaste to you for this arrangement.

Mewtwo probably feels a connection with you to the point he wonders about romantic attraction.

Granted, he still is new to such a thought.

He's a genetically altered human and can read the thoughts of others.

Eventually, he interprets his feelings for you as romantic due to the thoughts he's picked up.

I imagine Mewtwo's mental state drops as the transition to making him a weapon begins.

When they put him in a tight battle suit and all that heavy armor... he's frightened.

Even more so when he sees you're no longer in his sight.

After all, by this point, he no longer needs to be watched.

He's a weapon... almost able to be put to the test once his mask slips on.

It all becomes too much.

Mewtwo makes his big escape... a massacre left behind him.

The facility collapses, his psychic power causing tech to fail as he lays waste to the scientists who have created yet imprisoned him.

He cares for none here... none but you.

Blood covers the heavy armor he wears as he searches for you.

Even if you weren't in the facility at the time, he doesn't stop his search.

The faster the hybrid finds you... the faster his carnage ends.

By the time he finds you, he sees you cowering.

You stare at him like he's a monster, a weapon...

Perhaps that is what he is in the end.

But he doesn't care now.

He pulls off the mask they gave him and drops it to the floor, you can see the pale purple tint on his skin as he stares at you.

All you smell is metal and gore.

He would try to comfort you... yet now he and you will be on the run.

He proposes the idea of you both becoming a "couple" like humans usually do.

But you don't answer him.

Oh well... maybe you'll come around?

It's then that Mewtwo decides to take you to Cerulean Cave, a cave out of the way for the two of you in Kanto.

You can live there with him...

Maybe even teach him how normal humans live life now that the facility is in ruins.

[anony-man]

Thank you anon 🥺🥺 I hope you enjoy!

Chubformers drabble #153!

Characters: Optimus & Elita (G1)

Word count: 1.3k

Most bots missed seeing Optimus out in the field alongside his conjux and close companion, but Elita sure didn’t. Not anymore, at least. Everything came with a learning curve, and half the time learning curves meant adapting to a lot (and by a lot, she meant a lot) of changes, but for once in her online existence, she and her stay-at-home-hubby were gifted the chance of positive change.

Elita could understand the rough patches everyone went through when Optimus had first made the difficult decision step down from leadership. She was still in charge, of course, and under her management, everything flowed smoothly. Still, bots missed their fearless leader and co-companion of the new mech in charge, and she couldn’t blame them. She had missed him, too, sometimes, especially in the first few months of change. It was expected, and it was natural… all of which she’d taken into consideration when shouldering the new burden.

The Autobots missed seeing their Prime every day, and so had she at first. Now, however, things had changed—and all for the better, thank the Primes. They still had their days, and Elita still struggled to adjust sometimes, but in the end, it was all worth it. In the end, it was worth it, because at the end, she could spend her days snuggled in the cozy atmosphere her beloved conjux had created for them both… them and their little bitlets, that is. She couldn’t forget the bitlets.

An age of change was upon all of them, and none were left unaffected. Elita wouldn’t deny enjoying her role a little more than she had before, back when it was her and Optimus carrying the Autobots forward against the Decepticons. Something about this new transfer of power, the way it left her strong and sure and a damn good intimidator in the eyes of their enemies was far more satisfying than any supportive role she’d taken up before. She enjoyed herself now, and she was proud of herself, too. Here she stood, standing in the dust of the exchange of power, backed by the army she and Optimus had nurtured and developed… and supported by the soft, glowing face of a Prime awaiting her return without fail every night.

Change was treating her well; it was treating Optimus well, too, if the soft curves and growing belly of his were anything to go by. It was a well-deserved rest for them both, a long-needed shift from the monotonous and a change in direction that helped shape the future into something more… tangible, she supposed. It was all of that and none of it, really. Deep down, there was one thing Elita loved most—and that was being able to soldier forward through thick and thin to have Optimus by her side and nurturing their next generation in the comfort of their home, something that she had hoped and prayed would take place for years before it’d come to happen.

Most bots still missed seeing their Prime’s gentle face and hearing his encouraging voice, but in Elita’s opinion, nothing beat coming back to base after a successful expedition to find her beloved conjux nursing their two sparklings into recharge for the night. It was what dreams were made of, a sight like that, and nothing warmed her spark more.

As if having two young bitlets scurrying around the base wasn’t bad enough, Optimus was already nearing the final stages of his third (and likely last, if only for a little while) carrying cycle. His belly, swollen and massive from the effects of bringing two young ones into the world and growing soft from Elita’s relentless pampering, hung low on his frame and left his back struts feeling painfully sore every day, and if that weren’t good enough reason for her to keep him at home resting and eating, she wasn’t sure what was.

Truly, Optimus didn’t exactly need a reason to stay in their quarters and tend to the little ones while she was gone for the day. Thanks to their new arrangement, Elita would have ensured he was given the proper support to do such things anyway. She did, after all, love to see him finally taking care of himself for once.

Returning home for the night was a mess of preparing berths and readying a bit of pre-planned pampering, and aside from passing comments and shared affections, both bots had their servos full. By the time both bitlets were asleep in their berth and Elita was watching Optimus stretch out across the couch from where she stood preparing a hearty meal in the kitchen, she was more than ready to get down to business.

The daytime was her chance to work and succeed, and Optimus’ opportunity to take it easy and care for himself and the sparklings (both present and weighing him down from the inside, of course). By the time both Bumblebee and Jazz were fast asleep, though…

“Hello, dear,” Elita cooed from behind the couch, her servos coming in from behind to rub away the tension from Optimus’ chubby frame. “Have a nice day?”

Optimus merely hummed in response. She hadn’t even begun to pamper him yet, and he was already melting under her touch.

“Mm,” he nodded as he turned his helm and smiled up at her, his optics soft and his cheeks warm with a faint blush. “It was very nice… especially now that you’re here.”

“Good,” she said, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. “That’s exactly what I like to hear.”

Shared smiles and fleeting touches were the norm with such busy schedules, and in between clashing shifts, both she and Optimus did their very best to reconnect. There was one thing that never ceased to occur each night, however, and it was by far Elita’s favorite part of the day. Knowing her conjux was safe and sound here at home was nice, but nothing beat checking in with him through any means necessary—and that meant pampering him from helm to pede, inside and out.

Shared words were few, and the sensual touches that did occur were mostly Elita’s servos on Optimus’ frame, or her fingers deftly slotting another treat past his sticky, quivering lips. She loved it though, and she adored this routine of theirs even more. There was nothing better than coming home to him and ending the night with a bit of overdue pampering, and that was a fact. Besides, his softened frame and growing sparkling wouldn’t feed themselves… at least, not to her specifications.

“Mmm,” Optimus groaned, his optics half-closed and his face flush with heat. He was blushing madly, just as always—from embarrassment, arousal, or purely the fact that his belly was stuffed past its limits yet again, she wasn’t certain. “Mmnn… Elita…”

Optimus Prime, ever steady, sure, and collected… all but reduced to putty in her servos. Elita wasn’t lying when she said she loved it. He wasn’t just the Autobot’s Prime anymore, but her Prime. He was hers to pamper, hers to care for. He was hers to support, to fill and to protect and to feed…

Optimus lifted his helm, his expression a mixture of desperation and adoration. His cheeks were flushed with energon, and the face he made was just sweet enough to draw a giggle from Elita.

“Elita…” he moaned again, his lips parted as he waited for the next bite.

“Prime,” Elita cooed back, one servo pressed against the pudge of her mech’s belly as the other held up a small cube of jellied energon.

Prime… her Prime, all laid up on the couch and plump from her hand. She could understand the wistful feelings of her fellow soldiers, and she missed him by her side all the same. Still, nothing beat coming home to this… especially not when Optimus was just as pleased with their new arrangement as she was. And this, with Optimus plump and pampered and tended to in every way she could think of, was all she needed to be pleased.

“Here, sweetspark,” she said, her smile ever widening as Optimus struggled to raise his helm. “For the sparkling… eat.”

[skeletonapricationday]

Even more spicy David Headcannons

Here's the first one

I forgot how fun headcannons were, especially smutty ones. My David kink is never ending. I know I legit posted minutes ago but IDGAF!

He's so twitchy, he can't help it. His thighs jump and jolt, his fingers clench and twitch, his head can't decide which direction its going with every wave of pleasure. His twitchy self is all over the place. Sometimes you just gotta hold the man down. (He loves being pinned anyway.)

He is so touchy. The only time he pulls your hair is on accident, when his needy hands find there way on your head during a blowjob. Sometimes he'll tug you when he doesn't feel you're close enough when he's doing you from behind. He'll grip his hands onto your back while you ride him, making it impossible to pull away from him. This twink has needy strength!

Speaking of blowjobs, he doesn't exactly know his stance on them. They feel incredible, and he enjoys the closeness. Yet, at the same time he hates making you swallow. You're very adamant about it, especially since he's such a healthy eater, you enjoy it. At the same time he would be disheartened if you spit, so there's no winning. He'll always accept one, but it isn't the first thing that comes to mind when he thinks about getting freaky with you.

Now, on the other hand he loves 69ing. It's the best of both worlds to him. It's harder to think about the guilt of you swallowing his unborn children when his tongue is busy. Plus if he cums prematurely he still has his mouth to work you. He loves the way your wetness drips down onto his face and the way you taste, that added onto the pleasure of your mouth wrapped around his cock- there's nothing better. Well, expect actual sex of course.

His tongue is always busy, and I mean busy. He has an obsession with giving rather than receiving. Something about the way you coo and praise him, the way you moan. He loves when your toes curl, when your thighs turn into earmuffs, and being practically waterboarded by your wetness. If he hasn't made you cum once from shoving his tongue inside you during a sexual rendezvou, he has failed. And Davy ain't no quitter. It goes on and on if you don't stop him, so watch out.

David doesn't enjoy being tied up. He hates not being able to run his hands all over you. Wether its having a death grip on your ass, thighs, or even your waist he wants it. He worships you from top to bottom, and that's hard to do with his hands tied. Now, he has found out on the other hand he enjoys tying you up. He still isn't the most dominant when he does, but he does get revenge for all those "one more" s you've given him.

David gains more confidence in the bedroom over time, which is natural for most relationships but when you say confidence you mean it. The more sure he is that he can make you orgasm, the more excited he is for the session. When you taught him how to properly finger you (hes not a virgin, just none of his exes talked him through it), he kept asking you to be his test dummy for weeks. Hes quite the quick learner. Once he learned the basics he became utterly focused on mastering them, and he has. Which has lead to his sexual confidence, at least towards you.

David comes with a nasty habit. He anxiously bites his bottom lip, always leaving it sore and red. This upsets you since he's got such a pretty mouth. He does this in and out of the bedroom. You basically have to shove your fingers in his mouth to make him stop, which has awakened a whole new kink within him. He's started doing it on purpose just so he can feel your dominant hand stop him and fingers press on the bottom of his tongue. Something about the weight and intimacy of it turns him on.

This boy just can't stop saying please. He's so polite even when he's asking to cum. It's such a cute habit of his. "Please let me cum." "Please, you're so tight. I can't do it." "Baby, please." He finds a new use for the word every time you fuck.

He sure knows how to beg. Davy has started looking for the keywords you like the most in bed. Learning what to plead for and what to subtlety demand. You haven't even noticed it over time but his every word is catered to your needs and lust. Oh mommy can't he cum early just this once?

Oh yes he says mommy, look at that cute little face. He just wants to babied every once in a while. Let him lay back with a goofy grin on his face covered in wetness as he patiently waits for more from his mommy. David doesn't say it often cause it makes him feel emrbassed, but when he gets really into it, it just slips out. You first learned about his mommy kink on accident. He was pumping deep inside of you squeezing his eyes shut with an agape mouth on the brink of an orgasm when it slipped. When he said his first mommy you couldn't help but make him cum again and again, hearing it was so cute!

David has no problem exploring any interesting kinks or fetishes you have. He makes you deal with his (you do more than just deal, you enjoy), so of course he'd willingly try yours. Wether its a night when he ends up blindfolded and covered in wax, or a more subtle fetish like spitting into his mouth, he'll try it. Getting you off gets him off. He's a pleasure bottom all the way.

David isn't exactly packing. He isn't huge but he isn't small either. He's working with a perfect 6 inches, average across the board. It's not so big that it'll hurt or take too much preparation, but it's not so small that you don't feel a thing. Like a dirtier version of goldilocks you think his dick is just right.

The base starts out the color of his skin and slowly fades into a dusty pink. It's like the perfect shade to you. He's your multicolored fun stick. He isn't very veiny, he doesn't work out much afterall. His job is athletic enough (herding kids is cardio, for sure). And yes, the carpet does match the drapes.