#of sincerity and/or humanity and/or vulnerability in some sense

[fideidefenswhore]

Again and again, today's popular media represents Henry VIII as lecherous, insatiable, callous, unfeeling and self-centered. The truth is a lot more complex. The character that has emerged over these pages is of a man of strong feeling but little emotional intelligence, wilful and obstinate but also fiery and charismatic, intelligent but blinkered, attempting to rule and preserve his honour against his profound sense of duty and heavy responsibility to fulfil his divinely ordained role. This was a man who channelled great loss and hurt into physical pursuits, intense theological interest and sometimes savage anger; above all , a proud, awesome, and well-intentioned but also flawed and self-deceiving monarch.

1536: The Year that Changed Henry VIII, Suzannah Lipscomb

[suntoru]

❝ 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑! ❞

─ ✰ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: scaramouche thinks you’re an awfully clumsy human being. you’re lucky he loves you just as much as you like to see him suffer.

─ ✰ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: fluff, kissing, slight blood (you get hurt), 1.4k words

─ ✰ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: this is very half baked ill write more genshin I SWEARRRR

"stupid," scaramouche mumbles under his breath, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

if you didn't know any better you'd think he was degrading you, but his actions betray his words. though his tone may sound brash and condescending, you've grown accustomed to his prickly demeanor. there's a subtle shift in his voice, a hint of concern mingling with a sense of protectiveness. he squats down right next to where you're clutching your bloody knee.

pulling you snug against his chest, his touch is surprisingly gentle as he carefully inspects the scrape you received from tripping over a rock. despite his initial dismissal, there's a sincerity in his actions that speaks volumes. it's as if beneath his layers of harshness and sarcasm, there lies a genuine desire to ensure your well-being, hidden behind a facade of indifference.

he sighs, tenderly blowing air on the scrape in an attempt to alleviate some of the pain. "does it hurt?" he mumbles, his tone attempting to regain some of his abrasive personality. but when it comes to you, he finds it impossible to maintain his usual harshness. you nod softly, your eyes glazed over in a blurry haze, and he can't help but feel a strange sensation in his chest. or rather, the place where he would feel a sensation if he had a heart.

he's at a loss for how to make it feel better, his mildly annoyed faltering in the face of your discomfort. his nose crinkles. if it were him in this situation, he would have brushed it off easily, perhaps even stomped on the flowers in the surrounding area for good measure. a scrape like the one on your knee would be insignificant to him.

but mortals are so fragile, so easily breakable. you cry over small, uncontrollable events, like someone passing away or falling on your knee. you're bad for his health, he swears silently to himself. every time you trip or stumble or shed a tear, he finds himself inexplicably worrying about you. it's a strange feeling, one he's not accustomed to— caring for the emotions of someone other than himself. he doesn't like feeling vulnerable, yet in your presence, vulnerability seems inevitable.

but it's not all mortals he feels this way for. if it were one of his subordinates, he would have had them punished severely for shedding tears over such a small thing. however, with you, he finds it's different. he knows, all too well, the nature of human life, witnessing countless souls fade away in the blink of an eye; your lifespan is but a fleeting moment compared to his eternity. perhaps that's why he worries so much. scolding you for not taking proper care of yourself, angrily patching you up when you get hurt— these actions have become common occurrences.

yet, it doesn't stop the sinking feeling he gets every time it happens. it's as if with each scrape, each tear, he's reminded of the fragility of your existence. and in that reminder, he feels an unfamiliar pang of concern, a whisper of something resembling... affection. how strange.

he finds his fingers instinctively wiping away a stray tear rolling down your cheek, a frown marring his usually composed features. retrieving a spare bandaid, patterned with cute bunnies that you had insisted on buying, he takes extra caution when tending to your wound. somehow, you always manage to find trouble, a fact that both frustrates and perplexes him.

you're such a baby, always getting yourself into situations that require his attention. and yet, for some reason, he doesn't exactly mind it. after all, he'd rather you seek his comfort over a dimwit like a certain ginger harbinger.

you nuzzle into his touch, letting out soft sniffles as you pout sadly, wincing at the pain. he tries to be as gentle as possible, tenderly placing the bandaid over the scrape with the utmost care. and when you're not looking, he shoots a glare at the stupid rock that caused you harm, silently cursing its existence.

"hurts..." you mumble, tugging on his sleeve with pleading eyes. "will you kiss it better?" you ask, your voice tinged with vulnerability. he hesitates, his mind immediately conjuring up logical reasons why such an action would be ineffective and potentially harmful. but the look on your face melts his resolve, and with a resigned sigh, he leans in and tenderly presses a kiss on top of your so-called 'boo boo'. it's a small gesture, but he can't deny the warmth that spreads through him at the sight of your grateful smile.

in one motion, he tilts his oversized hat downwards, completely blocking his face, leaving you blinking softly and cocking your head in confusion. what could he possibly be doing?

"...scara?" you question, attempting to shift to where he seems to be looking. but as soon as you move, he shifts his gaze elsewhere, and you mimic his movements, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

"would you stop that?" he scowls finally, ceasing his movements and refusing to meet your gaze. his cheeks are tinged with a pretty pink hue, gradually deepening into a full-blown red, a clear sign of his embarrassment. you can't help but stare at him innocently before bursting into laughter, playfully pinching his cheek as you tease him about his flushed face.

"aww, scara, you flustered?" you taunt, but he swats away your hand, attempting to evade your playful teasing. "i'm not—" he begins, his voice trailing off as he struggles to find the right words, but the embarrassment on his face speaks volumes. with a bratty huff, he removes his beloved hat from his head and places it firmly onto yours, obstructing your vision. his hand remains firmly placed on your head to ensure you don't pull it off.

"hey!!!" you protest, squirming in an attempt to lift the hat, but his grip remains steadfast. he's adamant on not letting you see his face; perhaps you've gone a bit too far now. is he pouting at you? gently, you intertwine your delicate fingers with the hand that's pressing down the hat, silently coaxing him to relent. eventually, he does, allowing you to lift the hat and meet his gaze, although he still stubbornly avoids making direct eye contact, staring off into the distance with a petulant expression.

he resembles a toddler at this moment, cheeks puffed in annoyance, yet his hand remains firmly clasped against yours. despite his outward irritation, you don't miss the way his thumb gently moves back and forth, caressing your fingers.

it's endearing, really, and you can't help but smile at his adorable display. surely, he wouldn't mind too much if you continued to tease him, would he? with that mischievous thought in mind, you press a tender kiss to his cheek, lips as soft as custard pressed sweetly against his pale porcelain skin. nuzzling into his face softly, he predictably flinches back, his embarrassment turning a deeper shade of red.

"hah? what was that for?" he hisses, but you can see the subtle fluster dancing in his eyes, betraying his composed facade. suddenly, he feels trapped in a dizzying spiral of butterflies in his stomach, unable to think clearly as every single thought in his head revolves around you. "hm?" you giggle mischievously, playing innocent.

"i'm just... kissing it better."

bonus!!

a day later, scaramouche stealthily makes his way back to the spot where you had tripped and hurt yourself. squatting down, he inspects the object responsible for your fall with a disdainful glare. it's just a stupid, ugly grey rock. annoyingly mundane.

"you'll never be a precious gem like you wish you were," he snarls, his voice dripping with contempt as he channels his elemental skills against it, slamming it against various surfaces with relentless force.

"you're boring. get out of my sight." with each strike, he vents his frustration, punishing the rock for its audacity to cause you harm. he continues to torment the poor rock, his determination unwavering until it's reduced to mere shambles, pebbles scattered haphazardly across the ground. only then does he allow himself a satisfied huff, a smirk of triumph gracing his lips as he surveys his handiwork. with a sense of accomplishment, he strides proudly away, eager to return home to you.

© SUNTORU 2024. do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works on any platform.

[feinv]

John Wick x fem!reader please? 🥺

john wick x f!reader. hurt/comfort (?). reader has abandonment issues. also her hair can be tucked. fluffy fluff.

combined w this ask. and a gif to better understand what’s going on. <3

john felt a warm sense of contentment wash over him as you settled in his lap, your head resting on the pillows underneath his shoulder as you curled up into a ball. he ran his fingers through you hair, gently massaging your scalp as he spoke. "comfortable?" he asked, his baritone voice so affectionate towards you.

you weakly nodded your head, your hands finding his arm and wrapping themselves tightly around it, holding onto it for dear life.

he could tell you were feeling weak and vulnerable, in need of comfort and reassurance. it wasn’t unlike you, but like every other human being, you had your moments too, and he made sure not to leave you in solitude during those.

john felt a pang of concern as you squeezed his arm, your grip tight and tremulous. something was definitely bothering you. "is everything alright, sweetheart?" he questioned, voice laced with worry as his other hand rubbed at your hip.

you buried your nose in the sleeve of his shirt, your fingers tangling with his own before you whispered. “please. don’t ever leave me.”

john's heart ached at your words, the vulnerability in your voice slicing through him like a literal knife. is this the kind of pain his enemies felt when he stabbed them? no. this was undoubtedly so much worse.

"wha- why would i ever leave you?" his tone a mix of confusion and sadness. “darling- hey. look at me.” his free hand tilted your head so he could look down at you, his thumb soothing the soft skin of your cheek, his warm brown eyes staring into your teary ones.

“i…you are the only one worth living. i can’t imagine my life without you. nor do i want to.” he said firmly, his voice rough but at the same time soo so gentle with emotion.

his fingers brushed some strands of your hair, tucking them behind your ear gently as your tears finally broke free from your eyes, to which john’s arms protectively encircled your body close to him, his calloused palm on the back of your head burying you into his chest, as you wrapped your hands around his neck.

he patted your hair while you dampened his shirt, his other hand finding his way under your shirt and rubbing gentle circles on the warm nude skin of your lower back. all while whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

"you know i will always take care of you, sweetheart. in every possible way.” he said fiercely, voice filled with conviction. he leaned your body back slightly, your puffy lips and red eyes shattering his heart yet again. he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment as he spoke.

“i know you don’t like hearing about it but…i would kill for you.” his thumb tracing over the outline of your lips. the lips he so loved kissing every day. “and i would sooner die than hurt you, darlin’. you are my priority.” whispering the last word. “always."

your voice was quivering as you looked up to him, batting your wet eyelashes. “promise?”

“pinky promise.” the seriousness of his tone made you giggle as you squinted your eyes, the last hot tears running down your waterline, the corner of his lips turning upwards as he cheered you up at least in some way.

he captured your mouth in a sweet and loving kiss, his lips moving so soft and tender against yours as if trying to tell you to never doubt his love ever again. all your worries vanished when his tilted your chin up with his thumb and index finger to deepen the kiss, muttering a sincere i love you in between. <3

[cardinalcanis]

Wheel of fortune: part 1.

"Hey kid? Wanna go down this ride as I make my OC miserable?"

[Next]

Summary: Cato discovers a well kept secret between the primarch and his right hand man.

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x Ovidius Sulla (M!OC)

Tw: Cato, violation of privacy

Word count: 707

Tag squad (let me know if you wish to be tagged on stuff): @druidwolf21 @wolf-feathers12 @artemisareia @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus

@gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @kit-williams @egrets-not-regrets @jaghatai-khock @horuslupercal

@moodymisty @lemon-russ @thisuserislilsilly

@sinistermojo @beckyninja @justallll @ms--lobotomy @pluvio-tea

@cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @finchly-tintinnabulation

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

Cato Sicarius strode through the hallways of the Macragge’s Honor  with military precision in each step. He had a simple task: deliver a set of vital documents to Primarch Roboute Guilliman. But as he approached the Primarch’s private quarters, an inexplicable sense of foreboding began to settle in his gut.

Sicarius reached for the door, hesitating momentarily, finding it slightly open. He should have knocked anyway, as Guilliman’s privacy was sacred. Something about the atmosphere emanating the room felt charged, he readied his gun in one hand, he had outlived enough tricks of the warp to identify when something was off. What if the Primarch had been secretly attacked during the recent warp jump? 

The commander of the Victrix Honour Guard’s training kicked in as he readily peered through the opening, just as if ambushing the enemy in the field. The sight that greeted him was unexpected, nothing in the Codex Astartes had prepared him for it.

There, on the edge of Guilliman’s grand, well-ordered desk, sat Ovidius, his disgusting mechanical hands wrapped around the Primarch's shoulders. Guilliman was sitting on the floor over his knees, the only way they could make it so their heights sort of match. Seeing his gene sire on his knees in front of a human overfilled Sicarius with scorn, this, this must be some ruinous corruption. 

The warmth of their closeness radiated between them. Sicarius’s breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding with disbelief. In that moment, Ovidius leaned in, pressing his lips softly against Guilliman's in a tender kiss, their eyes momentarily closed as they gave themselves to the moment. His disgust grew as he saw how the Primarch melted and surrendered to the Head Logistician’s touch, weakness, that man is planting weakness inside his gene sire. 

There were so many feelings competing inside him; shock, a visceral jolt of confusion and anger. How dare they? The thought flared within him like a bolt of lightning, illuminating the shadows of jealousy and betrayal that lurked in his heart. As he stood frozen at the threshold, he found himself grappling with a tide of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

There was an undeniable sincerity in their connection, an authenticity that radiated from their shared gaze. Ovidius’s usual anxious demeanor melted away in Guilliman’s presence, replaced by a radiant trust that made Sicarius’s chest ache and stomach churn. The Primarch, the demigod, seemed lighter, almost human, in that fleeting moment. Impossible, Guilliman is not human, whatever this is it’ll only bring them ruin. 

Sicarius clenched his fists as the kiss lingered in the air, a silent promise between them, and as Ovidius pulled away, a shy smile graced his lips, illuminating his features. Guilliman’s eyes softened, a glimmer of affection and vulnerability that should not have a place in a being such as a primarch. How long has this been going on? How did it start? He had seen how competent the Head Logistican was at his position but there was something he couldn’t shake off. He knew mortals and how all they change and twist after having a taste of power. That’s why The Son of Ultramar reinstated the tetrarchs among his gene sons, so they would rule without the corruption that inhabits normal human hearts. The Avenging Son was powerful, and Ovidius had gotten just a taste of what that power was, the bastard wanted more. 

He leaned away from the open door and placed the gun back into its holster. Composing his emotions he would politely knock on the door. 

“My Lord, it is I, Cato Sicarius. I bring you updates from the situation on the western front.” he said, masking his disgust with many layers of cold formality. 

It took Roboute Guilliman a bit longer than usual to respond, Cato’s expression twisted as he waited. 

“Commander Sicarius, you may come in.” His gene sire’s voice answered in its usual tone, away from the human he was playing as. 

He entered, the room had shifted, with Guilliman back behind his desk and the Administratum leech sorting paperwork in a far corner. Cato wondered not for how long this charade had been going on, but how he would stop it. But not now, he must pretend nothing happened.

[sleeplesssmoll]

Other effects of Pain Tolerance?

This is mostly a bunch of ideas that my brain didn't want to let go of so now I subject everyone to them.

Let's say Vertin is someone who's pain tolerance is very high. This could warp her perceptions of pain. Things we normally find painful are less painful to her, therefore it's tolerable/normal. This is something we see done all the time in other media.

But what about the other effects this could have? Pain is a super important sense that also makes people relate to one another. We know the pain of stepping on a Lego or stubbing your toe. It's a very human (although Vertin is an arcanist) experience and while it's annoying, it connects us to one another. Here are some other things that popped up in my head. Note the brain is just storming so it'll be everywhere (like everything else I do, honestly)

Lack of sensation leading to appreciation

Pain and pleasure are very much intertwined so if she can't feel pain, it's probable other sensations are lessened too. For example, let's use hugs. The first sense we think of is touch but there's more than that.

There are differnet stimuli involved with that contact from heat, their weight against you, their scent, their breathing. If they start talking you can feel that little rumble in their chest. While she can't feel many sensations we take for granted to their fullest, there is alot more engagement in these interactions and it makes her appreciate them more. Or let's use her favorite thing: holding hands!Lines on palms, the size of each individual finger, cold/hot, the pulse, they way their hands fit together, etc. She notices things we don't think about since the interaction registers differently in her head. Her lack of feeling actually makes her more touchy because it's still one of the easiest ways to feel a connection to people, even if it's not in the conventional sense.

Arcanum Shenanigans

Vertin's actually holding hands with people to feel out their emotions through their arcane fluctuations. Maybe she can't feel her own pain, but she can feel your's. She can also sus out things that aren't pain like sincerity or hidden motive but she needs to touch you first. Except when arcane fluctuations/emotions are so intense she can feel them without contact. Things like bloodlust and desperation. We know she can sense arcane skills so this is one step further.

Fear/Hesitance

Vertin recognizes that maybe her pain tolerance messes with her perception and therefore is sometimes afraid she might hurt someone else. She has a very compassionate personality and the idea of accidentally hurting someone makes her hesitant and she restrains herself from otherwise normal interactions. This could also feed into that gentleness we see in her. There a dash of fear in that empathy. Note, I'm not saying that's why she's so nice but it could also be contributing factor.

She'll also overreact to her people's pain because of her skewed perception while being unaware the severity of her own wounds. I write this one a lot 🫠

This side of her could also make an appearance in a intimate/vulnerable settings where the chances of accidentally hurting the other person are higher. Super touchy at first but then hesitates because at the back of her mind she needs to show restraint and be mindful. I bet in impulsive arcanists it'd be doubley awkward cause they're so connected to their emotions. While Vertin has a clear disconnect with her own.

In other words, she overthink a LOT when it comes to anything that puts someone else in a vulnerable position.

Another example: she gets nervous about holding babies. While she can hold fragile little foggies and juvenile birds with no problem, holding a tiny person make her uneasy. Meanwhile her teammates are the type to rough house the baby. Kids? She loves them. Actual babies? Just frozen in place, waiting for someone to save her while she holds the child like it'll break if she blinks to hard. She won't even try to put the baby down in case she "screws up". Someone needs to come get the baby from her.

Of course, she can learn to get over this with time. Needs to unlearn her doubts and over-corrections. She will become the one who throws the baby in the air because they laugh when she catches them once she does. She'll carry them like a dad. If you know, you know.

Open to any other weird ideas about how a high pain tolerance could effect other parts of her life. Could also be a cool exercise that can apply to similar characters!

[4e7her]

october writing prompt #14 - "i don’t scare you, do i?”

-

character: sebek zigvolt, twst

contains: yandere themes, stalking, gn reader

“What? I don’t scare you, do I?”

Sebek sounds genuinely confused, like he has no clue why you might be afraid of him. Like you hadn’t just caught him outside your home, peering through your window with a nonchalance that made you wonder how often he had done this. How many times he had seen you existing vulnerably in the safety of your own home.

“I know you’re surely a bit surprised, but there’s no need to be afraid. I’ve been watching over you to ensure you wouldn’t get hurt! You’re just a fragile human, after all.”

There’s a lovesick smile on his face, and you shudder at the casual confession. You know that he had a thing with humans but you didn’t think it would manifest as something like stalking. Or was this from something else…? It didn’t seem like his little complex was the only thing talking here, not with that stupid look on his face.

He’s still waiting anxiously for your reply, and when you choose to continue to look over him with some form of fear and disgust, he wilts.

“I guess it was a bit unnerving for you to find out like this, hm? That’s okay! You can go back inside if you want. I’ll be right here protecting you, no need to worry.”

“…I’d rather you leave.”

“Oh.” His face falls flat, and you could swear that there was a shift in the air - everything around you went silent as Sebek stared at you with dark eyes, that loving expression wiped away in an instant. It takes him a long moment to think for what to say in response. “You’re just… surprised. Of course you’d want some time to… process.”

It sounds like he’s more talking to himself than to you, gaze drifting beyond you and into the house.

“Yes, yes, that makes sense.” He exhales heavily, and looks back to you with a soft smile that doesn’t fit the situation at all. God, is he delusional? “Unfortunately, I just can’t do that, darling. Humans are so breakable, you know? I can’t just leave you here. You’re much too precious for that.”

Your blood runs cold at the absolute sincerity in his tone.

It definitely was more than just his little complex over humans. This made it sounds like… he liked you. For some reason. You hardly remember interacting with him in any capacity, so you haven’t the faintest idea as to why.

“We’re meant to be, after all. I can’t let anything harm you.”

-

[click here to go to masterlist.]

[voraciousvore]

The Tiny (Chapter 3)

Chapter 1 | Previous (2) | Next (4)

Content Warning: Mouthplay, vore themes, Chester being a creep, extreme cringe. I always disliked the chapter this was based on, but since I'm following the format/ events of the original story, I had to include this part. It's bad and too long, maybe just don't read it

Word Count: 4.9k

------ Chapter 3: Temptation ------

I wake up with a big yawn. With my eyes closed, barely aware of what I am doing, I cover my mouth out of habit. My yawn is choked by something entering my mouth. I clamp my jaws shut out of reflex.  

Not something. Someone. She’s alive and moving, writhing with desperation. Puny limbs grapple with my tongue and claw at the roof of my mouth, exciting the predator within me. I brush aside the last cobwebs of sleep as my memories of the prior night snap me out of my daze. All at once, a delectable, voluptuous flavor permeates my tongue, one unlike anything I’ve ever tasted before. I repress a moan as my maw is deluged with drool.  

She’s naturally sweet, yet has a savory undertone that rounds out her flavor perfectly. The taste is undefinable, rich and hearty and delightful, like a slab of chocolate fudge cake. I squish my tongue against her, feeling every inch of her tiny, curvy form. Oh lord. I barely restrain myself from swallowing her right then and there, sucking down my saliva instead. 

I need to stop myself. My stomach roars like a beast. I can’t allow my urges to dominate me, to make the decision for me before my rational mind can sift through the implications. Straining with every muscle in my body to resist the animal need to swallow, I force my jaws open and drag the human out, plopping her into my palm. 

Her legs bend like rubber beneath her and she clumsily sits in my head with a thousand-yard stare, trembling uncontrollably. I can hardly blame her, considering she almost died. My face puckers up with shame as I gaze upon the vulnerable human, drenched in my disgusting spit. Why was she in such a dangerous spot to begin with, right next to my mouth? She must’ve crawled up my pillow to gaze at my face out of curiosity, the foolish girl. I feel as if I should offer some words of comfort, but I’m not entirely sure what to say in such a situation. I should probably check to make sure she’s not hurt. Hopefully, I didn’t crunch her with my molars while in the throes of ecstasy. 

“Um… sorry about that. Are you alright, little one?” She flinches, failing to answer me. The poor dear is terrified, no wonder. She’s on the verge of tears. The silence stretches out to an unbearable degree. I’ve never been proficient in uncomfortable social situations. I can’t expect her to break the ice, either. 

“Well, if it’s any consolation, you did taste amazing,” I remark, with an ill-timed attempt at humor. 

This statement does not have the intended effect. The human recoils in alarm, throwing up her hands in self-defense as she retreats into the curve of my fingers, as far away from my face as she can get. “P-p-please don’t eat me!” 

My heart breaks as I chide myself internally over my stupidity. “I didn’t mean it like that! Really, I’m sorry.” I lower my voice to a softer tone as I bring her in closer to my eyes, the windows to my soul. I give her a tender, sincere look that I hope will reassure her. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” I pray to whatever deity that may be listening that I can keep that promise, but I can sense my self-control slipping even as the words leave my lips. My tongue won’t forget her superlative flavor anytime soon. 

Luckily, she seems to accept my words at face value. The reasoning makes sense: I didn’t swallow her when she was inside my mouth, and the whole thing was an accident to begin with, so perhaps she presumes she is safe. She puts on a brave face, hugging herself tightly to quell her shaking. I’m impressed by her courage, and I encourage her with a genuine smile. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

I stand up, perhaps too quickly, since she stumbles in my hand. I’m not accustomed to handling humans in a benevolent manner, so this is all new to me. There’s no danger of dropping her, however, as my hand is positively massive compared to her, probably as expansive as an entire room by her standards. I observe as her head swivels with amazement to drink in her unfamiliar surroundings. I can’t help but marvel at holding a sentient person so small. Despite my machinations to the contrary, my heart fills with tenderness. 

I carry her into my bathroom, thanking my lucky stars that I had recently cleaned it. Even so, I doubt she would be too keen on bathing in a somewhat grimy sink. The bathtub would be impossibly large for her, an ocean. I place her on the countertop as an idea enters my brain. 

“Stay here for a moment, I’ll be right back,” I say to her. As if she could go anywhere. I hasten over to the kitchen and grab a bowl from the cupboard. I return and fill it up with warm water from the sink. I add little splotches of soap and shampoo on the edge for her to use. She watches me warily, shirking slightly anytime my hands get too close. I examine my work, before realizing she’s too short to reach the edge on her own. I grab some assorted toiletries and stack them up to create makeshift stairs for her. 

“Will that work?” I ask her, making a concerted effort not to fidget with my hands too much, since every stray movement unsettles the poor girl. She gives a small nod, then looks up at me with anxiety in her eyes like she’s expecting me to do something. I blink, my mind blank. Oh, she needs to undress! My face flames. 

“Uh… hold on a second…” Thinking fast, I grab a washcloth. “Here. You can cover yourself with this. Give me your clothes and I’ll wash them for you.” She obeys, throwing her soggy clothes into a pile. Her tiny head peeks out from under the washcloth as I take them. 

“I’ll be back in half an hour or so,” I assure her. Or perhaps warn her? I back out of the room and delicately close the door behind me. I let out a huge breath and hurry away to the kitchen, my heart pumping like a piston. 

I plant my palms on the counter and hang my head over the sink, allowing my revolting mouthful of slobber to drain in long strands into the basin. I’m disgusted with myself, with my heavy panting, my dirty thoughts. I can barely contain myself, especially as I catch her intoxicating scent on her clothes. My stomach grumbles noisily in an immediate Pavlovian response. 

I bring the clothes up to my lips, inhaling deeply through my nose. The fragrance is divine, even when hidden under layers of smelly spit. My tongue crawls out of my mouth and explores. Her taste lingers, albeit muted. I push the clothes into my mouth, relishing every microscopic iota of flavor I can extract from the cloth. 

It’s fabric, not human flesh, so any pleasure I can derive from it is fleeting. An ugly thought burrows into my brain like a slimy worm. She’s unclothed and helpless right now, in the bathroom. Why should I settle for sucking on her garments when I can experience the real thing? Saliva floods my maw as I fantasize. What I wouldn’t do, to have her in my belly. It would be so easy. Just walk in, pluck her out of the water all nice and clean, and devour. 

With a sigh, I spit the clothes back into my palm. I’m almost resigned, on the precipice of falling into the pitfall of hedonistic indulgence. Yet, a wave of disgust hits me as I scrutinize the clothes. They’re all rumpled and damp with my bodily fluids. And they’re so terribly small. Her shoes and socks are smaller than the nail on my pinky finger. Her little shirt and shorts would burst at the seams if stretched over my fingertip. And there’s even a diminutive bra, to cover mosquito bite breasts, and a feminine pink pair of panties… 

Guilt stabs into me, digging under my ribs. She’s not just some animal. She’s a woman, a person, a sentient being, with her own thoughts and dreams. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I ate her. I’m not remorseless like the rest of my family. I’m stupid and soft and I hate it sometimes. I let out a frustrated exhale and run the sink to wash the clothes. 

Thankfully, the collection dries quickly since it’s so tiny, so my humiliating lapse in self-control doesn’t waste too much time. I collect the garments into my hand and return to the bathroom. I listen from the other side of the door, briefly, but I don’t hear any water splashing. I tap the surface with my knuckle, gently. “Can I come in?” 

She squeaks an indistinguishable response. I open the door, keeping my moments slow and gradual. When there’s no exclamation of protest, I stroll in and approach the counter, where she’s curled up under the washcloth. Her eyes are so wide that I fancy they’ll bug out of her head. I don’t speak, since I know my voice will unnerve her. I simply deposit her articles on the counter and turn around to give her privacy while she changes. 

“I’m done,” she whispers with a subdued cough. My heart flutters at the sound of that timid voice, unsteady yet so sweet. I face her and test the waters by offering my palm to her. She quivers like a leaf, and I can tell she won’t be able to step into my hand on her own. I bring my other hand behind her and encourage her forward, guiding her into my palm. She crouches down in the center, still on edge, her eyes never leaving mine. 

I gingerly raise my hand up to my face. I drink in all the details with delight. She’s so cute. Her figure fills out her clothes nicely, with healthy curves that awaken my primordial appetites. My mouth waters anew and my stomach feels hollow, like it urgently needs to be filled. My heart starts to pound with a flurry of emotions. I need to get my urges under control, before I do something I’ll regret. I need to eat. 

“Are you hungry?” I ask, trying to sound casual. She nods, too nervous to speak. I cradle her in my hand as I carry her to the kitchen. My heart is thumping harder, my digestive organs coming alive inside me. The hunger is so intense, I almost want to cry. I don’t want to be an unaccommodating host, but I’m getting desperate to consume anything. I abandon her on the dining room table and rush to whip up a big breakfast, heavy on the protein. 

I pile up my plate with bacon, eggs, and toast. I would’ve added sausage and ham too, but I’m getting impatient. I force myself to remain calm as I set my plate on the table and sit in my chair. I must act like nothing is wrong, lest the woman sense the very real danger she is in. 

“Sorry, I don’t have any dishes or cutlery in your size, so you’ll just have to eat off my plate,” I inform her. I pray I can control myself as I hold off the rising tsunami of my insatiable gluttony to separate a portion for my miniature guest. If I don’t do this now, she won’t get a chance to eat at all, because I’ll vacuum up the whole meal myself. Worse, she might attempt to snag a bite while I’m dining, and end up a bite herself. 

Finally, for the love of God, I can eat. I dig into my vittles with ravenous enthusiasm, wolfing down the eggs and bacon like a starving beast. I know, rationally, that I should slow down to keep the human safe, but I’m so famished I can’t stop. I barely chew as I shovel great big bites into my gross oral cavity and gulp them down like my life depends on it. I throw caution to the wind, but by some miracle the woman doesn’t end up on my fork. I suppose she has the common sense to keep her distance as she nibbles on her portion, in stark contrast to my binging. 

As I chomp my way to the bottom of my plate, a harsh reality sets in that I can’t ignore. The food is fine and good, but it pales in comparison to the gourmet living cuisine sitting at the edge of my dish. A human may be little more than a crumb in my capacious belly, but I know that she would fill me up more than a mountain of eggs and bacon. Humans are special prey to us giants, and the gustatory pleasures of this woman in particular... 

I reach the last forkful of my breakfast. It disappears down my throat all too quickly. I’m not sated. I can only stare down at my empty plate with disappointment. Well... not completely empty. I fail to repress my rapacious bestial nature as my eyes flash over to the human. She turns white as a sheet, and I realize I’ve made a mistake. I soften my expression with an apologetic smile. 

I need to put her mind at ease, perhaps with conversation to distract her from the culinary massacre she just witnessed. “Can I ask you a question?” 

I almost ask her name, a natural icebreaker to get to know a new person, but the question dies on my lips. Is that such a great idea, to know the name of my future snack? Do I want to be haunted with her name after I mercilessly consume her? Do I wish to be corroded with that guilt, if I lose the battle against my powerful cravings? 

Food doesn’t need a name. 

Instead, I fumble to pick a query that I already know the answer to. “Where did you come from?” 

“I-I’m not sure,” she stammers, fidgeting with her shirt. “I was driving my car, and-and it got struck by lightning... and somehow I ended up here.”  

I scratch my chin in a performative display of contemplation, pretending as if such an occurrence is unheard of. “It must have been the lightning.” 

“The lightning?” 

“Yes. I was looking out the window last night and saw a brilliant blue bolt of lightning unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. I went out to investigate and... found you.” Warmth swells in my chest at the memory. I feel strangely possessive of her, despite scarcely knowing her. A tempting fantasy anchors in my heart, of keeping her for myself to quell my aching loneliness. I want her in contradictory ways, in her entirety, flesh and body and soul.  

“T-that makes sense I guess.” Every word seems to be a struggle for her to enunciate through her fearful uncertainty. I find her subtle mannerisms, as she wrings her hands and wiggles her eyebrows, quite adorable. 

Should I warn her of the truth? It hardly seems fair to keep her in the dark about the hazards of the giant world she has the misfortune to inhabit as her new home. “It’s not very often that we see humans here in the Land of Giants,” I explain. “And when they do find their way here, they don’t last very long.” I frown solemnly, bitter memories staining my thoughts. 

“W-why’s that?” Her uneasiness shows plainly in her fine features. 

I hesitate, choosing my words carefully. Perhaps it would be best to be direct, rather than sugarcoating the situation. I feel I owe her some semblance of the truth, if I choose to protect her. “Humans are considered a rare delicacy among us giants. Any humans who find themselves in our realm ultimately wind up in a giant’s belly.” 

Her face drains of any color. Her muscles stiffen with terror, yet her fragile body vibrates uncontrollably. The conflicting sentiments of my volatile heart crack me down the middle as I strain to negate my sympathy. I shouldn’t be feeling these tender emotions towards my prey. I’m too sensitive. My father would be disappointed in me. 

I pivot to an unsavory half-truth. “To be honest, if you hadn’t surprised me this morning by unwittingly falling into my mouth, I may have intentionally swallowed you.” I don’t tell her that I had planned to eat her from the beginning, and I will likely eat her in the near future. 

She loses her last shred of composure and backs away to the edge of the table, her chest fluttering with rapid breaths. I can tell she’s inches from bolting, but she has nowhere to go. She glances over her shoulder to the precipitous drop below and stumbles in the opposite direction, clearly disconcerted.  

She looks up at me, her eyes swimming in panicked tears. “I-I don’t want to die. I’ll do anything you ask, just please, please don’t eat me,” she implores. 

The sight breaks me. My desire to reassure her overrides my more cold-blooded, calculated intentions. “Didn’t I already tell you I wasn’t going to eat you?” I claim. I internally wince at the disingenuous words, yet I persist nevertheless. “I’ve had plenty of chances to. If I was going to, I would’ve done it already. Hell, I could’ve easily gobbled you up with my breakfast. But I didn’t.” 

Lies, all lies. It’s technically true that I resisted my carnivorous urges up to now, but the spirit of the statement is patently false. Even so, she’s sobbing and overwhelmed, and I feel terrible, so the lies continue to flow. She looks so helpless and alone on the expansive surface of the table, so I lovingly scoop her up in my hands and bring her in close. 

“I may be a giant, but that doesn’t mean I’m a savage monster. I won’t eat you; I promise,” I murmur. I pray that I can keep my word; I’m not too optimistic on that front. I stare at her intensely, my heart bursting. 

“Ok,” she sniffles. She’s calmed down a bit, but I’m not sure if she’s entirely convinced. My normally cozy cottage suddenly feels claustrophobic, with her enticing fragrance enveloping me with cloying tendrils in the confined space. In the privacy of my home, I worry it would be all too easy for me to succumb to my shameful perversions. 

“Why don’t we take a little walk outside?” I suggest tactfully. “I think we could both use some fresh air.” I bring her over to the front door and open it. The world is fresh and shining with radiance after the rain. I breathe in the clean air to clear my mind. “Do you want to sit on my shoulder?” 

“S-sure,” she quavers. I raise her up to my shoulder and allow her to find a secure spot. She tucks herself into the dip formed by my collarbone and clings to my shirt. “I’m ready,” she lets me know in a faint and tremulous tone. 

I walk cautiously at first, keeping my strides slow and steady so that she can familiarize herself with her new perch. She’s in no danger of falling under my vigilant watch, but I’m sure my lofty height is intimidating for her. I try to enjoy my slice of the scenic woods, sparkling with dew, but all I can focus on is her tiny body nestled up to my skin, her dainty movements, her addicting scent. She overwhelms my senses with a pleasure even more potent than the warmth of the sun, the melodious chirping of the birds and bugs, the scent of trees and flowers and grass. I’m in heaven, with my own little woman to have as my own. 

I find myself gravitating to the spot where I captured her. “This is where I found you,” I tell her. “You’re lucky you had your flashlight; otherwise, I may have stepped on you without even realizing you were there in the dark.” I conceal from her that I was actively hunting for her. 

“Speaking of flashlight…” I spy a glow in a nearby puddle and pull out the miniscule light, just a luminous speck between my fingertips. “Here it is!” I keep searching with enthusiastic curiosity. 

“Ah! Found your car!” I announce, lifting the miniature vehicle out of a slope below a patch of weeds. It’s so absurdly small, like a toy car that easily fits within my hand. I marvel at the intricate details and craftsmanship. Unfortunately, the windshield is shattered, and the exterior is charred from the blue lightning. “Wow, this thing is totaled. I don’t think you’ll be driving it anytime soon.” 

I’m mildly dispirited when she doesn’t answer, but I don’t press her further. I straighten up and begin the journey home in quiet reflection. To my dismay, my urges haven’t subsided in the least. My heart is heavy with a painful burden. I know, deep down, that my willpower will not outlast my ceaseless hunger. I harbor a burgeoning fondness for my little companion. I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to kill her. But I desperately want her inside me. 

“Hey, uh… do you know if there’s any way for me to get back home? Where all the humans are?” Her timid voice slashes through my distant thoughts. I stop to measure out a reasonable response that won’t reveal to her too much. I don’t want her to know of all the humans that I’ve eaten in the past. 

“Not that I know of. Nobody really understands how humans managed to get here, and we only hear about your realm from the few we have found. And I think I can be safe in assuming that no giants have made it to the human realm, right?” 

“Yeah.” Her tone is laced with despair. I’m saddened with the knowledge that she won’t last here much longer. I reach up and pet her with my thumb in what I hope is a comforting gesture. 

“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “If there’s a way for me to help you, I will find it.” 

Hollow, empty words. There’s no escape for her, and even if you had the power to help her, you wouldn’t. You’d swallow her down long before she’d have any chance to survive. 

“Thank you,” she answers, oblivious to my inner dialogue. 

I push those intrusive, unhelpful thoughts out of my head. There’s no point in pondering a scenario that’s impossible anyway. Even so, a trickle of guilt leeches into my chest.  

You’re a monster. Nothing more than teeth and a mouth and a digestive system. 

“I guess I should get some work done,” I remark, in an effort to alter the trajectory of my thoughts. 

“Work?” The tiny lady sounds confused. Bless her heart. Did she think that giants didn’t have to work for a living? That we just stomp around the countryside, plucking humans out of their homes and feasting on them? Boy, that would be the life. Things would be so much simpler. How I wish I didn’t have a conscience. 

“Yeah. I’m a freelance writer. I write stories and articles for magazines and other publications,” I elaborate. I enter my house and show her my den, furnished with my beloved computer on a sturdy wooden desk. I wrap my fingers around her, engulfing her in my fist. She struggles and cries for a moment, prompting my heart to beat faster with predatory excitement, before she relaxes again. I release her onto the desk. I fish her car and flashlight out of my pocket and place them next to her. She looks at her car with amazement, as if stunned that I could pick it up so easily. 

“If you have anything in your car that you need, now would be a good time to grab it,” I point out as I settle into my chair. I try to distract myself from my incessant cravings as I boot up my computer and start typing away. Even so, I’m preoccupied, and I can’t help but shift my attention downward when I see that the little damsel is unable to open the doors to her toasted car. She looks so precious, as she strains her arms and braces her legs in a futile jerk, her puny face scrunched in concentration. I pinch the door with my thumb and forefinger and pull it open. To my dismay, the hinges on the door are weaker than I anticipated and I end up ripping the whole door off. 

“Oops,” I mumble, my face heating. “I didn’t mean to do that.” 

“It’s alright,” she graciously forgives me. “It’s not like I could drive it anyways.” She has a point, and I don’t feel quite so bad. I return to my work as she retrieves her personal effects. Even as I become absorbed in the task at hand, I’m always cognizant of her exact location on my desk. Her scent never leaves my awareness, and my eyes follow her as she explores the wooden landscape, interacting with the oversized office supplies and climbing up a stack of books. I’m charmed by her curiosity, and relieved that’s she’s becoming more comfortable around me, but I fear her complacency is misplaced. My senses tirelessly tracking her are an inevitable symptom of more sinister intentions. 

The day passes into dusk, the sky darkening to orange outside the window. Unfortunately, as my breakfast breaks down into nutrients, my hunger waxes to an unbearable degree. I need to eat dinner soon, lest I snatch her off the desk and stuff her into my mouth, sucking her down my throat and relishing the sensations of her flailing in my stomach… 

I swallow a sea of saliva. “I’m almost done,” I announce. My voice sounds too loud, even to my own ears, after the prolonged lapse in conversation. “Give me just… one… second.” I finish the sentence I’m typing with a decisive click of the keys. “I think that’s enough for today.” 

I stretch out my huge body from my toes to my fingers with a loud groan. I use the opportunity to avert my gaze so I don’t come off as a creep when I utter the next phrase. Otherwise, I’d be fixating on my latest obsession with a ravenous leer. “Time for dinner.” 

I know I should let the diminutive woman walk into my hand of her own volition, rather than grabbing her up like I did before, but I’m finding it harder and harder to restrain myself. Without asking for permission, I grasp her between my fingers, reveling in her shape and soft squishiness, before gently cupping her in my palm. To my surprise, she doesn’t resist me. She’s too trusting. It would be so easy, to just give in now. To end her life. To savor her on my tongue, crush her between my teeth, slurp her up… 

Somehow, I make it to the kitchen without eating her or slobbering all over everything. I deposit her onto the counter and scrounge up some shredded cheddar and tortillas. “I was initially planning on making spaghetti, but I imagine that would be a bit messy for you to eat without a fork,” I chuckle. “I believe a quesadilla would be a little easier.” 

Another lie. I just picked something quick because the need to fill my belly is rapidly eclipsing my empathy. I hasten to slap together an edible repast before my rational mind devolves into bloodthirsty savagery. I can’t let myself lose control.  

I can’t keep thinking of her as just some prey animal, some generic, faceless human without a unique personality. Although I worry that I’ll regret my decision, I make a fateful choice. “What’s your name, little one? I wanted to ask you earlier, but I didn’t want to probe you with personal questions when you seemed so frightened.” 

I wanted to dehumanize you and make you less of a person, so that when I finally slaughter you and savor your flesh, I won’t feel as guilty about my sin. 

“M-my name’s Jaclyn, but my friends call me Jackie.” Despite her growing confidence, I still detect a tremor in her vocalization. She is compelling herself to be brave—foolish, so foolish. 

“Can I call you Jackie?” 

“S-sure.” I feel sick inside. In her naïveté, she regards me as a friend. “A-and what’s your name?” 

“Chester.” I’m the man that will kill you and use your bones as toothpicks. 

“Nice to meet you.” 

“Likewise.” 

Throughout the whole dinner, I act like the perfect gentleman. I grace her with tidbits of my meal. I help her drink from my cup when she’s thirsty, resisting the temptation to plop her into my beverage and chug her down. I keep the conversation flowing in a light and pleasant fashion. When she grows weary, I bring her bags with her into my bedroom and tuck her into my bed. I turn off the lights and close the door so she can sleep without intrusion. 

I tiptoe over to the living room, sit down on the couch, and tear my hair out with frustration. 

Chapter 4

[fallinashes]

Either TFP Optimus or TFA Megatron getting jealous ❤️

I TRIED DOING TFA MEGATRON AWELL BUT FOR SOME REASON IT JUST DIDNT SEEM GOOD ENOUGH SO I DIDNT ADD HIM BUT ONCE I GET IT RIGHT ILL POST IT ❤️

TFP OPTIMUS PRIME X FEM! READER

The Autobot base buzzed with activity as you engaged in a friendly conversation with Smokescreen, a fellow autobot and loyal friend. Optimus observed from a distance, his optics narrowing as he noticed the subtle way Smokescreen's laughter drew out your radiant smile.

Feeling a pang in his spark, Optimus couldn't help but be troubled. His thoughts spun with doubts and fears, wondering if he truly deserved your loyalty and attention. Moments like these revealed the vulnerability lurking beneath his stoic facade.

As Smokescreen leaned closer, his playful banter gaining momentum, Optimus felt a surge of possessiveness. Unable to bear the sight any longer, he strode purposefully towards you, his presence commanding attention.

"Excuse me," Optimus interjected, his deep voice cutting through the conversation. Smokescreen turned, slightly taken aback by the sudden interruption. Optimus held himself with an air of authority as he continued, his voice tinged with an unfamiliar edge of determination, "I require your assistance, [Reader], in a matter of utmost importance."

Your attention swiftly shifted from Smokescreen to Optimus, your eyes widening in surprise. Sensing the intensity of the moment, Smokescreen respectfully excused himself, allowing you and Optimus to converse privately.

Once alone, Optimus struggled to find the right words. His gaze averted, his voice carried a hint of vulnerability as he spoke, "I must admit, [Reader], witnessing the camaraderie between you and Smokescreen has brought forth unexpected emotions within me. Jealousy, I believe it is called."

You met his optics with empathy, understanding the turmoil he faced. Placing a gentle hand on his metallic forearm, you reassured him, "Optimus, our bond is forged on trust and understanding. While friendships may blossom, my loyalty and devotion to you as my leader and partner remain steadfast."

Optimus Prime's optics flickered, a mixture of relief and adoration illuminating his faceplate. He inched closer, his voice laden with sincerity, "Your words are a balm to my troubled spark, [Reader]. I am grateful for your unwavering support and the strength of our connection."

As you and Optimus stood there, the tension between you dissipated, replaced by an unbreakable bond fortified by the tumultuous currents of jealousy. In that moment, you both understood that the path you walked together was marked by challenges and tests, but your devotion to one another would always prevail.

With newfound reassurance, Optimus Prime straightened, his presence exuding confidence once more. Together, you resumed your duties, standing side by side, ready to face any threat that may arise. The jealousy that once clouded Optimus's spark had transformed into a renewed commitment to protect and cherish the special bond you shared.

And so, as the Autobot base hummed with activity, the legendary leader and his devoted human ally continued their mission, united in purpose and strengthened by the unyielding love that bound them.

LMK IF I MADE ANY MISTAKES

[kavalyera]

Bbg I did not mean to make an insane fucking lineup for you but alas here we are😔

anyways here’s some character inspiration that helped me build dr kelley<333 and also for the masses to get to know her better :3

Amy Dunne - I watched Gone Girl and read the book and I adored how much of a psychopath Amy was. Her strive to perfection and her constant adaptation to becoming more and more “perfect” in her own eyes to the point it puts her husband and other people at stake was probably the craziest thing I’ve seen and I love her for it. Dr. Kelley is like that in the sense she will become ruthless in order to reach these impossible standards of perfection she holds both to herself and other people.

Dr. Clef - She was my SCP OC before she was my VTM OC and Dr. Clef’s character played a major role. They don’t have anything much in common personality wise, but she makes herself an enigma to protect her reputation and make sure no one knows what else she might do or say.

Anton Chigurh - Both characters are devoid of remorse—though Dr. Kelley still does have a bit of cognitive empathy as she recognizes that she needs to understand people to uphold her reputation. Dr. Kelley never threatens people much like Anton Chigurh, her acts of violence being silent and clean.

GLaDOS - Dr. Kelley is often passive aggressive towards people she looks down upon, which is most people. She’s hates people that don’t have the drive to be smarter or more knowledgeable. Probably the biggest influence on Dr. Kelley’s character because basically the entire foundation of Dr. Kelley’s character is her motivation for a surprisingly sincere passion of medicine and human anatomy which is based of off GLaDOS’ own passion for science :3

Mother Miranda - Both are exceptionally intelligent but both of them have a fatal flaw: their arrogance. Their explosive anger comes after playing calm for far too long, which then causes dangerous shit to happen

Lorraine Broughton - Kind of a new one since I just watched Atomic Blonde and they’re both ENTJs so that’s what they have going on for them!!!! ^_^ They’re both stoic in the terms they don’t let anyone see who they really are. For Dr. Kelley, vulnerability repulses her to the point she finds any form of emotional weakness of her disgusting and that “only humans should feel this way” and other kindred are like okay damn. Both are assertive strategists who are directo and don’t play when it comes to getting shit done💗

[zalrb]

oooo, can you please talk about huddy's first kiss? because when i tell you i y e l l e d ! the mix of catharsis and stirred tf up i felt, that THEY felt. please, i miss when tv was like this

OK! So. What's great about Huddy's first kiss is that it's House cutting the bullshit.

Like, throughout the episode, he's challenging her

or messing with her

but she's reacting in the way that she always reacts to him when he's being impossible

So, this means that despite the subject matter, they're on the same page, they're doing the game they always do

it's still "foreplay."

But when he thinks he takes it too far and she shows some emotion, some vulnerability, some sensitivity to what he says

He goes to Wilson i.e. his conscience or his heart for advice on whether or not he took it too far and how to be human in the situation even though he doesn't outright say that

but he even chastises him for not coming to see him about Cuddy and it may be playful but there is a sense of, I'm being a total ass to her and you haven't tried to stop me from doing that and I kinda wish you would've

because her feelings matter to him because he loves her

and by the time Joy is delivered, he realizes that Wilson's assertion that he's making Cuddy feel miserable because he feels abandoned by her is right

but again, he's not going to admit that. He's going to continue being House

but then Cuddy doesn't get to adopt Joy and because House actually does care about Cuddy, he visits her and he tries to play their game, he tries to goad her but she's too emotionally spent to participate

which shows him how low she's actually feeling so he tries to be nice, he tries to pay her a compliment, he tries to tell her that he was wrong

but understandably Cuddy thinks that he's just being an ass so she gets angry

and he's visibly surprised by it because he was being sincere (and this goes back to why he would put her in that patient's room for a compliment)

and his response is to cut the bullshit and kiss her

because his feelings for her are at the centre of all his behaviour throughout the episode,

so he's actually being as vulnerable as she is by confessing, and can we also talk about how Hugh being so tall we see Lisa sink back down to her feet?

[katzkookiesshipping]

Forever mad I can’t find the flavor of L and Light fanfics that go into the complicated fucked nature of their relationship. The evershifting power imbalance tilted in Light’s favor. The way that they both valued each other as opponents. The brief moments of companionship they shared, which might be the most significant in both their lonely lives. The way Light kept finding himself surprised (and momentarily rendered vulnerable) by L. From L honestly saying Light is his first friend to drying his feet on his knees, L was openly sincere with his warmer feelings for Light. But I imagine he knew Light was Kira almost from the get go. And I imagine he was also, understandably, terrified of Light on some level for all their time together. I don’t think he is the type of character who wanted to die. I think he’s human, and he wanted to live, was scared of death, and sometimes he doubted he was right (rarely)— but kept on because of his strong sense of justice and morality. Because somebody had to do it, and he knew he was the best person for the job.

Look at this boy realizing that he’s hearing death warning him. I imagine he has his own relationship with death, like Light does. He’s an orphan— maybe the last time he heard those bells was when, well. He lost his parents. And working as an orphaned detective taking dangerous cases where he kept his identity hidden— you have to imagine this boy with his love of sweets and sitting weird and playful odd nature felt the keen risk he was under always. How else do you stay so perceptive?

Light has an interesting relationship with fear as well. His entire time with L he is on thin ice trying to prove his innocence, knowing how much he has to lose (his life, his vision for the world, his death note, his family) if L gets his way. He is playing 3D chess with the smartest person he’s ever met.

I think he wanted to win the whole time, but as much as winning meant relief, it also meant L wouldn’t be there. I like to think Light regrets, somewhere in himself, the loss of the boy who asked him if he’d ever told the truth in his life, and put this startlingly vulnerable expression on his face (even if for only a split second.)

Then, when he wins, he feels the euphoria of having won against the smartest person he’s ever met, sweet relief finally for all his fears, the rush of hard earned success and machinations coming to fruition— all validating his god complex. And cruelty lives in him too, in the curl of his mouth. He’s enjoying L losing face, being knocked down below him after so long of being untouchable and inscrutable. The furrow of his brow betrays focus and concentrations because he still has to pull this off. He feels the threat of L up to the moment he closes his eyes for good.

And L gets to see Light’s malevolence openly. Knowing that his work will be continued and he is right, having gotten to dry his only friends feet and leave the world ready to finish what he started (and I think a little bit in relief of the game being over, and of seeing Light’s true face), he accepts death and let’s himself go at peace.

Something about this scene, about their relationship. The way L is cradled by Light in his last moments, the slow fall of Light’s open smirk as his opponents eyes close, and as he never gets a response at the funeral. I have so many feelings about the dark sincere nature of their relationship with each other— and I cannot find more than one fic that explores this. If anyone knows some, please send them to me I am so ready!!!!

Them. Just, them.

[lkn3520]

No matter how many times I replay Detroit Become Human, I always have a special appreciation for the conversation between Markus and North in Freedom March, and how it worked on their characters with their sincerities and their vulnerabilities.

I find Markus to be a fascinating character, as an android who had a better life than many being a caretaker for Carl, who had a rough path to get to Jericho, who's determined to help the deviants and lead an uprising to free the androids, and at the same time, he still is a vulnerable character, often found alone in a thoughtful, introspective and unsettled state throughout the game.

And seeing his conversation with North in Freedom March was interesting, as their sincerities slowly made them listen and understand what each other has to say.

As Markus begins to express himself to her, some of his first dialogue options show a sense of pride and burden of being a leader, regrets of failing his mission or killing humans in retaliation, and a brief sincerity of feeling lost, even with the deviants counting on him.

North's determined and pessimistic perspective, on how trusting the human could be foolish, helps to create an interesting demand to the player to show Markus' determination on the cause as a leader, on how far you're willing to trust the humans and/or if you're willing to take the cause forward to yourself.

As North asks about Markus' life before heading to Jericho, the [Truth] and [Sincere] options carry a lot of meaning, with Markus feeling nostalgic, remembering how Carl was a father figure to him and gave him hope on a peaceful bond between humans and androids, or surprised to see how drastically different his world was from the other deviants, respectively.

In case the player shows interest on learning about North's past, Markus can convince her to be honest about herself, with his curiosity on North's reason for her hatred, seeing how the BL100 from Capitol Park reminded her of herself, and (my personal favorite) remembering how it's important to reflect on aspects about our past, even those that we might want to forget, to understand ourselves now.

And this vulnerability aspect is followed well by North on her speech about her past to Markus, while also bringing her character into a better understanding.

North is known for her reckless, determined and violent perspective, but during Capitol Park, North shows how vulnerable she can feel, seeing new deviants around her being killed by the humans (especially the BL100), and that continued in Freedom March, in how she admitted how worthless she felt being a Traci, how difficult it was for her when she deviated, and how she's so hopeless, unable to trust the humans, up to the point that it reflects on her, on having to resort to a violent retaliation to prove that the androids are people.

And last but not least, it shows how much she values and respects Markus, not only for how he's giving her a chance to believe on freedom, but for how he was honest to her, and especially trusting him, on listening and trying to understand her... as she did for him.

Seeing all of this happen with such morally different characters in this dialogue definitely makes this my favorite moment of Detroit Become Human, for how much value it adds to their characters, Markus' story, and the overall game.

Markus is more than honorable by telling what is in his mind to North, and North is more than brave to be honest about herself to Markus.

[still-a-morosexual-help]

there's obviously a lot I want to see in nightbringer, but one thing I haven't seen mentioned yet is solomon. I want to see why so many demons (including the demon brothers) see him so badly. he doesn't treat the mc, a human, the same way he treats demons and we don't ever get to see him be an asshole but I kind of want to? just to see how much his character has grown

according to the game page apparently solomon is helping the mc mask as a demon too so it would be fun for others to notice that solomon is very nice to some random "demon" they never seen before lol I just want to let him live up to his reputation for once, we hear so many things about him from others in the game, but he's always such a sweetheart to mc, and the few scenes we do see of him being a sneaky or a little mean don't seem like enough for demons to feel the way they do about him

also mc pretending to be a demon would be so easy, like the mc is so fucked up I feel like even real demons would find them off-putting, especially if they play it up a bit

While talking with MC in S3 I believe, Solomon says he only started treating the demons he had pacts with (72 of them) like friends recently. I believe it's heavily implied that up until that point he treated them as tools for him to use rather than actual people.

He also got Asmo blackout drunk while Asmo was already in an upset/vulnerable mood in order to make a pact with him, solely so he could get closer to Lucifer. Current Asmo says he doesn't mind, but past Asmo might have actually being pissed about it, Lucifer (& Belphie) would have definitely been pissed about it given how Lilith's interactions with humans went

Given those two points^ there's a high chance he tricked more of his 72 demons into pacts with him

He was also working with/for Michael at the time and I don't think there'll be many demons with anything good to say about Michael, specially at a time where the war had just settled down

Also in one of the recent events MC asks Solomon to tell them something scary (or something to that effect) and he tells them about taking control of the Devildom - Barbatos (who's known Solomon for a long time and is very observant) says that Solomon sounded a little too sincere

Also I really wanna know why he got basically kicked out from the Sorcerer's Society that he helped form and why he had a falling out with his previous apprentice that was so bad that even thousands of years later he still isn't welcome within the society

Plus his whole thing with the ocean! Living by the ocean for a time, liking fish but hating the ocean! If they follow the irl myths it probably had something to do with Asmo and I can't wait to see that trainwreck

Oh yeah gen MC has shown multiple times that they're very down with setting people on fire, very down with destructive violence and very turned on (or at the very least, not disturbed) by the brothers casually mentioning things like eating humans or eating/killing them even (*cough*halloween event*cough*vampire event*cough*paws event*caugh*) and has NO sense of self preservation to the point that it usually freaks the actual demons out

I can't wait to see how this shit plays out. I hope MC gets to be just as unhinged as in og OM!

[dc-and-arfrona]

Reassured

----

Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Type: Fluff

Word Count: 700+

Masterlist

Summary: You get some reassurance. 

---

You found yourself sitting in the Batcave, surrounded by the shadows of Gotham City. Your heart raced as you watched Jason Todd, the Red Hood, meticulously cleaning his weapons. There was a certain allure to his ruggedness and the danger that seemed to follow him wherever he went. But with that allure came a tinge of insecurity. You couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy whenever you saw him interact with other women.

Jason glanced up from his task, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours. He could sense the unease radiating from you. Putting down the gun, he walked over, his footsteps echoing in the vast cave. "Hey," he said softly, his voice filled with concern. "You seem a bit off. Is everything okay?"

You fidgeted with your hands, searching for the right words. "It's just... I can't help but feel jealous sometimes. You're always surrounded by beautiful, confident women, and I can't shake this fear that one day, you'll realize you deserve someone better."

Jason sighed, his gaze filled with understanding. "Look, (Y/N), I won't deny that I've had my fair share of complicated relationships. But none of them compare to what we have. You're the one I want, the one who understands me in ways no one else does."

His words struck a chord within you, momentarily easing your worries. But doubt still lingered in the depths of your heart. "But what if... what if you meet someone who's more like you? Someone who can fight alongside you without being a liability?"

Jason reached out and gently cupped your face, his touch both comforting and electrifying. "Listen to me, (Y/N). Our connection goes beyond fighting skills or appearances. It's about trust, vulnerability, and understanding. I don't need someone who can fight like me; I need someone who accepts me for who I am and reminds me of my humanity."

You looked into his eyes, searching for any signs of deception, but all you found was sincerity. He continued, his voice steady and unwavering. "You have qualities that no one else possesses. Your kindness, your compassion, and your ability to see the good in people, even when they can't see it in themselves. That's what sets you apart. That's what draws me to you."

A sense of warmth enveloped you as Jason's words washed away your doubts. You realized that your insecurity stemmed not from his actions, but from your own inner fears. His reassurance gave you the strength to confront your insecurities head-on.

"Jason," you said, your voice filled with newfound conviction, "I hear you, and I'm willing to trust in us. No more jealousy, no more doubts. From now on, I'll focus on cherishing what we have."

A genuine smile tugged at the corners of Jason's lips, and he pulled you into a tight embrace. "That's all I ever wanted," he whispered, his voice laced with tenderness.

In that moment, you knew that your bond was unbreakable. Together, you would conquer the shadows of insecurity and forge a love that could withstand the tests of time.

As the two of you held each other, the Batcave faded into the background, replaced by a future where jealousy was nothing more than a distant memory. And in the embrace of Jason Todd, you found solace, knowing that your love would always be stronger than any doubts that might arise.

[teawithmagician]

Adar: the character study

When writing about Adar, I present him as a deeply layered character: he balances strength, vulnerability, and a blend of ancient wisdom with an animalistic edge.

The circle of orcs around her parted for some reason. Durga heard whispers. The whispers were respectful, similar to the whispers that greeted older women at the council. In the smoke and vapour of the tunnel, another face appeared, yellow-pale, with old burn scars. The face was human, though - Durga squinted one eye and looked closer. An elf?

“How did you end up here, girl?” He asked in pure black speech. Shocked Durga, though, decided not to back down. Whoever he was, he spoke her language and the Uruk-hai listened to him. So she could speak through him for they would not listen to a woman.

“The first one who tries to stick it into me will pay with his face and his life,” Durga warned. The elf grinned in response. He had a strange grin, devoid of any joy, any mirth.

“You are a half-breed. Was your father a Uruk? You have clean skin and clean bones. It is good to see that Uruks have begun to be born without deformities.”

Durga roared in response. The Uruk above her pressed his foot on her chest, growling something about respect. Blood rushed to her face, but the pain soon passed. Uruk pulled his foot away. The elf stared at him, and Uruk seemed almost frightened. Or ashamed?

“You do not wish to continue your lineage, though it is the duty of each of my children. Then what do you want?” the elf asked, eyeing her without much interest.

“Freedom,” Durga said, swallowing. The elf kept his eyes on her. His silence changed after her answer.

Adar’s connection to the stars highlights his contemplative, almost poetic side, contrasting with the darker, harsher elements of his existence. The stars symbolize a sense of peace and reflection for him, possibly linking back to an ancient memory of a more serene past before corruption.

Durga rested her elbows on her knees, looking up at the stars. Adar hadn't said exactly what he was going to finish, the orders were only to dig. Only the commanders close to him seemed to know what he was doing. Here Durga didn't feel entitled to ask further even though she had his permission. Back home, in the camp, it was easier to believe that everyone was equal, but even there Durga didn't have the courage to ask such questions of her elders. And here it was Adar before her!

The stars overhead looked like glittering crystal balls, the air smelled of flowers opening after midnight. Durga huffed at her weakness and cowardice. Perhaps the time Adar had given her could have been put to better use. She could have been smarter and braver and asked more interesting questions to study better. But those kinds of questions weren't on her mind.

“Do you like the stars?” Adar broke the silence. Durga tensed, but he looked at her in a way that she realised the question was simple and sincere.

“Very much. Do you?”

As the story progresses, Adar’s interactions reveal a softer, more emotional aspect of his personality. He becomes less the cold, authoritative figure and more open, showing glimpses of tenderness. It shows that, despite the darkness that surrounds him, Adar is capable of genuine feelings and empathy, even if he struggles to express them fully.

Adar turned around and Durga saw him again. His ordinariness stunned her. He stood very straight, his hair was a little messy, he had wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, and thick, once-broken ears. He looked tired, but content. He gestured to Durga and she approached, feeling a stone drop from her heart. As she approached, Adar took her by the forearms and placed her in front of him. From here Durga could see something she had not seen before - there was a human skull lying in a cage, glistening brightly in the sunlight.

“Look,” Adar nodded to her. “There is life everywhere.”

Durga looked at the skull and thought that grass had already sprouted through the bones in the old battlefields. Once these hills had been riddled with trenches and forests had been cut down to make way for barracks and bridgeheads. Years had passed, the wounds had healed, and the land had blossomed again. The thought made her both sad and happy.

Durga looked at Adar over her shoulder. She met his eyes and saw understanding in them. Adar could not be like Sauron, she thought determinedly. He wouldn't drag the orcs into a new war unless it was absolutely necessary. 

“I think they told you all the things I didn't get to,” Adar said, looking at Durga carefully. “Is there something you want to ask me?”

Adar’s ancient nature is apparent in his dialogue, which often carries a weight of experience and melancholy. He embodies a sense of timelessness, but there is also a tragic element to him—incompleteness. Morgoth's influence left him partially transformed, never reaching the full, ethereal beauty and wisdom of an elf. Instead, there is something raw and untamed in his demeanour, hinting at an animalistic side that occasionally surfaces. This duality makes him both intimidating and oddly endearing, as his vulnerabilities shine through despite his attempts to mask them.

“Teacher,” she began, pausing to remember how elves put words in a question. “Can you tell me about who you are?”

“You already know who I am,” Adar replied. He ran his palms over the grass, touching but not crumpling. Durga noticed because she herself liked to put her palms down into the grass and feel the leaves and stems caressing her skin. She liked to pick up on little things like that.

Ever since Adar had started teaching her Quenya, Durga had found it easier to speak and think in Black Speech. It was as if the thoughts in her head began to flow faster. Adar had an unusual way of speaking, it helped too. He would ask questions that were seemingly about nothing, but the answers came out the most interesting. Durga tried to do the same, but she wasn't very good at it.

“Actually no, I don't. You are the Lord Father, the protector of the Uruks. But still, who are you, where do you come from?”

“You're asking the wrong question,” Adar corrected her. “It's because you want to know very different things. You want to know how I became Lord Father. You also want to know about my past. Do you want to know about my battles? You're curious about how I learnt quenya. You want to know why I say I'm an Uruk, but I don't look like an Uruk. All of these questions should be asked separately. Or choose between them the one answer to which will help you learn the most.”

By focusing on these contrasts, I attempted to craft a character who is not just a figure of power but also one who struggles with his own identity. Adar is being caught between what he was meant to be and what he has become, making his actions and motivations more complex. Through his developing bond with his companion, the reader can see a more nuanced side of him—one that desires connection and understanding, even if he is not fully capable of achieving it.

Adar noticed her when he had already gathered his writing implements before he left: a stack for the tablets and an iron quill for the paper. Durga recoiled, covering the entrance with a mat. A moment later, Adar came out.

“What is it?” he asked. Durga showed him a bundle of hares.

“I'll take them to the kitchen and tell to cook them. Do you want a roast or a stew with wild carrots?”

Instead of answering, Adar touched the ring in her nose. He frowned as he studied it, tilting his head back as if he could see better from afar.

“Utul put it in my nose today,” Durga explained. Adar let go of the ring and Durga thought she saw approval in his face.

“It's beautiful. And it suits you.”

The interplay of light and shadow in Adar's personality mirrors the duality within Adar himself. He exists in a world fraught with conflict and brutality, yet there is a flicker of hope and redemption in the future that he awaits for himself. The connection allows him to explore his vulnerabilities, creating a space where he can express both his fears and his desires without the weight of expectation.

Adar needs a catalyst for his own transformation, challenging him to confront the aspects of himself he has long buried. The tenderness of his caresses contrasts sharply with the primal instincts that define him, illustrating the push and pull between his violent past and the yearning for a peaceful existence.

Ultimately, Adar's journey is one of self-discovery—an exploration of what it means to be a warrior who yearns for love, connection, and belonging. The stars may serve as a reminder of his lost serenity, but they also illuminate a path forward, guiding him toward a future that holds the promise of redemption. He searches for a mirror reflecting the parts of himself he has long neglected, forging a bond that transcends the complexities of their existence and illuminates the potential for healing and acceptance.

[doumadono]

If you don't mine writing Dabi with a S/O that's a trans man and on their period.

A human heater - Dabi & trans man!Reader

A/N: hiya, love. I took the liberty of treating this request as an emergency. Also, forgive me, but since you didn't specify pronouns, I've used he/him and they/their interchangeably, with a bit more emphasis on he/him.

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

In the dimly lit confines of the League of Villains' hideout, a sense of unease lingered in the air.

Recently, the young man found himself grappling with an overwhelming wave of pain. His period had descended upon him, subjecting him to intense discomfort as each cramp mercilessly gripped his insides.

Dabi found himself in an unusual situation. His significant other was grappling with the discomfort of their menstrual cycle. Unaccustomed to such matters, Dabi couldn't help but feel a mix of concern and uncertainty.

As the moon cast its cold glow through the windows, Dabi approached his partner with a reserved yet genuine concern. "You seem off. Everything alright?" he asked, his deep voice betraying a hint of unease.

The man, nestled on the worn-out couch, offered a small smile. "Just dealing with the usual stuff. Nothing to worry about, Dabi."

Dabi's piercing blue eyes softened, and he took a seat beside his partner. "You know you can talk to me, right? I might not be great with feelings or words, but I will try for ya."

With a nod, the man leaned into Dabi's reassuring presence. "It's just the period blues, you know? It hurts. I hate feeling vulnerable. I hate not feeling manly at those moments."

Dabi grunted, acknowledging his limited understanding of such matters. "If you need anything, let me know. I can make you some tea or something."

Dabi found himself navigating the delicate balance between his aloof nature and his genuine desire to support his partner. He brewed a pot of chamomile tea, the aroma wafting through the room like a soothing balm. Setting the steaming mug in front of his boyfriend, he spoke, "Here, it might help."

His partner looked up, a grateful glint in their eyes. "Thanks, Dabi. You're not as heartless as you want people to believe."

Dabi shrugged, a flicker of a rare smile playing on his lips. "Just don't get used to it. I'm not making a habit out of being nice."

Soon, Dabi found himself more attuned to his boyfriend's needs. From silently handing over painkillers to sharing a few moments of quiet companionship, he adapted to the situation with an unexpected grace, holding his warm hand over their tummy to help ease the discomfort of the cramps.

Eyes shut, the boyfriend leaned into Dabi's shoulder, reveling in his warmth. "You're like a human heater."

"Hell, I am," Dabi responded with a wry chuckle, the darkness in his tone lingering. After a moment of silence, he spoke again, his words carrying a weight of sincerity. "Listen up, kid. I'll spill this once, so don't zone out. I think you're one tough soul. Just as manly as I am, maybe even more. Dealing with your crap solo and still thriving. Not sure if I could pull that off, you know?"

A soft chuckle escaped the man, his voice soft like a gentle breeze from the north. "Thank you. Your words mean the world to me, Dabi."

In the quiet moments of the night, Dabi sat beside his boyfriend, his presence a silent promise that he was there when it mattered.