#well some of that was taken up by drawing...

[itacats]

2 Lines Means Positive (mini-series)

FT: Simon Riley x reader

Warnings: pregnancy, worries of repeating the past/being a bad father, please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

A/N: Baby fever is in full swing this last little while, and I thought why not plague you all with a mini-series! There will be more to come for some of the other TF141 gang, but they'll just have to wait their turn.

SUM: Simon, a man haunted by a turbulent past, finds an unexpected moment of peace in a quiet Manchester evening. When you call him into the kitchen with life-changing news, he’s forced to confront the shadows he thought he’d left behind.

Soap MacTavish

Whispers of Hope

In the heart of Manchester, the rain poured steadily, creating a rhythmic backdrop that seemed to wash the world in a muted symphony. The room was bathed in a cozy, golden glow from the dim lamps scattered around, their light reflecting off the dark wood accents and worn leather couch. Shadows flickered gently, forming a mosaic of memories on the walls—memories that Simon Riley could never quite leave behind. These walls had seen him at his most vulnerable, his most broken, but they had also held the echoes of laughter, soft conversations, and the comfort that you both had woven into this place over time.

From his seat on the couch, Simon watched you glide through the kitchen with the kind of ease and grace that he found both foreign and comforting. There was an air of simple beauty about you as you moved, your sleeves rolled up, strands of hair slipping down past your ears, framing your face. You didn’t need to look up to feel his gaze; the warmth of his presence filled the room like a tangible force, blending with the aromas of herbs and simmering vegetables. It was these small moments—your content hum, the sizzle of food in the pan—that painted the portrait of a life he never thought he’d be part of.

You had pieced together a life of quiet sanctuary from the fragments of two turbulent pasts. Here, the ordinary became sacred: the unhurried evenings, the lazy weekend mornings, the feeling of safety that had been so hard to come by. It was fragile yet profoundly resilient, like the ivy that grew stubbornly through cracks in the cobbled streets outside. Every meal, every tender moment shared was a testament to your joint determination to build something out of nothing, to push back the darkness with a relentless light.

As he rose from the couch, crossing the worn wooden floor toward the kitchen, Simon felt a swell of emotions that had taken him years to understand, much less articulate. In the delicate frame of the person he loved, he saw a reflection of his own transformation—a man haunted by wars, scars, and regrets, now finding himself on the cusp of something he never believed he deserved: hope. The shadows in his mind receded a little as he approached, drawn forward by your voice.

“Simon! Can you come here for a second?” Your voice held an edge of anticipation, soft yet weighted, as if bracing for the impact of the moment. He quickened his pace, heart drumming in sync with the rain outside, a mixture of curiosity and unspoken worry bubbling beneath the surface.

“Sure, love. What’s up?” His words were casual, but his heart pounded as he watched you, a small plastic stick in your hand, held with the care and fragility of a message that could alter everything. Your eyes flickered with something unreadable—a mix of wonder and anxiety—and it was a look he’d come to know well: the way you gathered strength before sharing something you held close to your heart.

As you looked up, drawing a breath, the world around Simon slowed. All the battlefields, all the sleepless nights, all the walls he had built around himself felt oddly insignificant. He could feel the gravity of this moment settling over him, seeping into his bones, as the words left your lips:

“I’m pregnant.”

The words reverberated through the kitchen, hanging in the air like an incantation. For Simon, it was as if time had splintered. A swirl of thoughts collided within him—visions of childhood, flashes of solitude, echoes of a life filled with struggle and survival. But above all, one thought loomed larger than the rest: Could he be the father this child would need? He had always thought of parenthood as a distant, almost impossible concept—a role reserved for men without his past.

His gaze flickered to yours, searching for the strength he suddenly felt slipping through his grasp. “Wow…” he whispered, the word barely escaping. Simon could feel the old fears creeping in, familiar and unwelcome. His own childhood flickered in his mind like a reel of dark images, a life marked by pain and isolation. How could he, someone so steeped in darkness, nurture a life so fragile and innocent?

You stepped toward him, your hand reaching for his arm, grounding him with a gentle pressure. “Simon? Are you okay?” The tremor in your voice softened as you met his gaze, unwavering, clear—a lighthouse guiding him back to shore.

He closed his eyes for a moment, sighing as he combed a hand through his dark hair, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. “I just… I don’t want to screw this up. I’m afraid, love. Afraid of what I carry inside—afraid that I’ll let you both down.” His voice trembled, each word revealing cracks in the armor he’d worn for so long.

You held his gaze, firm and sure, your hand rising to rest over his chest, right above his heart. “Simon, you’re more than your past. You’ve faced so much, but you’ve never faced it alone, and you won’t now. We’ll do this together.”

In that moment, Simon felt an indescribable warmth—a kind of healing light that began to seep through his defenses. Here, in the heart of your small kitchen, surrounded by the comforting scent of dinner and the quiet rain outside, he felt something rare: hope. His world, once defined by battles and shadows, was now tinged with the promise of something softer, something worth fighting for in a different way.

“I want to be there for you—and the baby,” he confessed, feeling the weight of the words settle like an oath in his heart. It was a declaration, one spoken not from fear but from love.

“And you will be,” you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek, the warmth in your eyes a mirror to his own. For once, Simon wasn’t haunted by the ghosts of his past but guided by the love in your gaze.

He pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you, feeling the reassurance and strength of this newfound purpose. Together, you stood amidst the rain’s gentle rhythm, a silent promise lingering between you. For the first time, Simon Riley felt a light within him strong enough to break through any darkness—a light he would carry forward, forged not by fear, but by a love that would lead him into the unknown.

Here's the current post schedule with some upcoming stories to look forward to!

[myokk]

Hi! I'm still feral for these two, would you mind giving us some art of them in their later years together!?

Hello angel!!!!

Sorry it’s taken so long to respond🫶🫶 but I wanted to draw some new art for this ask💓

We have: Sebastian and Eloise trying out their new fancy camera with a selfie, pictures of them with their daughter, and finally…idk I just always felt like this drawing is when they’re a bit older💓

I want to take this ask as an opportunity as well to talk a little about how I imagine their future (I have no chill & you can ignore this and just enjoy the art if you want😇).

I am a COMPLETE pantser - I never know how a chapter’s going to end when I start writing it (I always just have a few scenes I know I need to include to keep the plot moving forward). Although I have different *big* scenes I’m always writing towards, and themes/plot elements I’m always foreshadowing (shout out to @elliecutte for catching *almost* all of my hints and appreciating my general no chill😆), IM STILL NOT 100% SURE HOW I WILL END THINGS !!! 😳 I have a lot of endings I see as possible, and I think soon it will become more clear to me what will work the best💓

HAPPY ENDING:

Eloise and Sebastian become Unspeakables. I have a LOT of thoughts on this profession that could be its OWN post, and I feel like Unspeakables are generally specialized in one or two departments, but as their interests/research change they also change.

Eloise becomes an Unspeakable in the Mind and Death departments, with the occasional foray into Time. Her ancient magic is connected with all of these things (my version of AM is NOT like the game) & the Department of Mysteries is one of the only places that gives her any useful information about these things. Plus she thinks too much (it IS her hobby after all😆💓) and is very introverted so a hermit job like this is a perfect fit.

Sebastian becomes an Unspeakable as well, but I feel like it takes him a long time to specialize in anything, if he ever does. I just feel like becoming an Unspeakable is the adult equivalent of sneaking into the Restricted Section🥹🫶

They grow old together (I won’t explain TOO much) & have a lovely little family🥹 at least one daughter that they both dote on. Sebastian had an amazing childhood (idyllic until it wasn’t), and wants to give his daughter the same, and Eloise works hard to make sure their daughter feels the love that she never had growing up🥺

When Sirius is burned off the family tree, Eloise and Sebastian take him in🥹🫶 (they’re like 100 years old but WIZARDS LIVE LONGER…) The same happened to her all those years ago, and she wants him to know that his whole family hasn’t abandoned him.

Eloise LOVED her nieces - Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa - when they were younger, but as Voldemort becomes more powerful & people realize WHAT he’s doing, she has to separate herself from them. Her heart breaks seeing Bellatrix go mad, and seeing Narcissa engaged to a Malfoy out of obligation😔 (iykyk)

I haven’t thought any more about happy ending but I think it’s fun to think about how their future story might weave in with the actual canon events, ESPECIALLY since Eloise is a Black🥹💓

SAD ENDING:

After Sebastian gets his hands on Slytherin’s relic, it really starts to consume him and makes him even MORE obsessive than his natural tendencies - I imagine it similarly “talking” to him like Slytherin’s locket/horcrux did in Deathly Hallows (😳)

Eloise is deathly afraid of the changes she’s seeing in Sebastian and steals it from him (he would never willingly give it to her ESPECIALLY if it starts to feel like a precious item to him)

BUT the relic triggers the latent Black Family Madness in her - the madness that afflicts almost every woman in her family since…🤭 - and she herself starts to lose touch with reality. Her body and soul are already destroying themselves between the curse and the ancient magic inside of her, and the relic is what triggers it in her.

Sebastian becomes an Unspeakable, focusing on the Mind, in a desperate attempt to find a cure for his Eloise🥺

He never gives up his research, and sometimes when he comes home she is lucid and they talk about his research - otherwise, he just loves and takes care of her.

(He’s never successful in finding a way to reverse what he feels he caused in the first place - his ambition and single-mindedness is, to him, the reason why all of this happened)

Honestly who knows if I end their story either of these ways😌 I just love thinking of AUs and different endings and I have a few others I’ve considered as well!!! And whatever endings I don’t write will be immortalized on this blog and in my art as well🙏

[starry-pierrot]

So I'm not one to usually come up with AU's let alone actually do anything with them, I work better with short stories and honestly I want to spend my time making my own ideas yet i fail to do that lmao

But an idea hit me. So Khan is an absent father right? Well what if he was actually over protective, like to a more grief ridden amount? Explanation under the cut!

Nori asking him as her final words to protect their daughter and he decides the colony isn't safe for her. But when he worked under humans he remembered another much smaller bunker, so he takes Uzi to the place and fixes it up. But...he puts her in a clear container. Or in this case 'These glass bullet proof doors will protect you!' sort of deal, idk I don't know how he'd do it or anything this all just jumbled into my head with no details. Anyway Uzi grows up with just her Dad and it honestly gets to her and pisses her off, she had no chance to make friends, she's alone here with just her Dad and her mom is gone. She misses Doll. But the bunker does have the one thing she hasn't seen in years, sunlight. Somehow her father missed the little beam of sun through a vent and every morning when he sleeps she stays up just a little longer just to look at it. Cue said Murder Drone cinnamon roll finding said weakness during a bad storm and finding Uzi. Her dad had been on a supply run, he's still in contact with the other bunker but refuses to stay with them. Yeva has taken over as leader and Khan refuses to tell her what happened to Uzi beyond 'She's fine! I'm keeping her safe!'. If she didn't have to run the Bunker she would go look herself, Doll on the other hand has a lot of time. ANyway-Uzi freaks out, N is curious about why she's trapped behind the glass and they of course become friends with N visiting on her dad's supply runs. He finds a packet of markers that surprisingly still work and with Uzi's own the two are drawing and coloring all over the clear container. Course she asks him to take her to the surface and he does much to the dismay of her father who tried to stop her and N but chaos and blah blah they get outside with Uzi now sporting her haircut from the show. I know from there it would sorta be canon compliant with the added bonus of V and J getting a new roommate that N has to smooth over with them, it would mostly follow the events while bringing back Doll's family. Tessa might be real Tessa. Love her. Probably continues on the camp episode right after the escape. Haven't decided if Nori told Khan about her solver and that Uzi might have it, sure with Nori she could handle it but with just him it would be hard to make sure she doesn't go feral. Might be a more concrete reason to lock her away. I don't know what I would call this, if I'm gonna continue working on it or what it will actually be. I could maybe write some one shots on it if I'm in the mood but if enough people like it I could try making a basic timeline? We'll see. And yes that one pic is a reference to draw with me.

[doctorho]

thinking about viktor with a chronically ill reader. you know? we see the vision, right?

it just works.

the thing with chronic pain, illnesses, disabilities, all of that - is that you can't always see them. sometimes you can, sure, you can see the mobility aids and the not-standing-up-for-too-long and the bruising from blood draws and sometimes you can see the compression garments, the pills and inhalers and the i'm fine, i just need a moment-

but most people just don't pay attention to that. or if they do, they don't put the pieces together fast enough to figure out what's really going on under the surface. viktor does, though; he's been there, and most of the time he's way beyond hiding it. or, well, he's way beyond hiding some of it.

walking with a cane was like carrying a neon sign that said yes there is something different here. yes i can't walk the way you can. no it's not going to get better. that last part wasn't directly evident just from him using a cane, sure, but with the way his cane looked, it should've been pretty clear. He had used one practically forever and it had evolved with him, he'd made it as comfortable to use as it could be, had even made it match his uniform.

so yeah. viktor knew what it was like. he'd been the disabled kid forever, even if some of the others were never going to say it out loud. that was just a thing about him, and he knew how hard it could be to navigate something like that in an academic environment. it was hard to admit you couldn't do something, that you had to sit down, that you needed a moment. that sometimes your body was just falling apart for no particular reason and it was just another tuesday.

sometimes it was easier to sit with the pain than take medication in the middle of a meeting, knowing that someone would make a bigger deal out of it than it had to be, even if it was just raising their eyebrows meaningfully. they'd think about you differently afterwards.

he could see you push through it, and he didn't blame you, really, he did that himself, too, but - he didn't want you to hurt yourself. you hadn't been in the lab as long as he had, so he could understand you being a little cautious with how you acted and what you told people, but he didn't want you to feel like you had to put on a show for him. he was, after all, walking around with the equivalent of a light-up sign of i'm disabled, too, and he liked to think of himself as someone who wouldn't come off as judgemental about stuff like that. other stuff, sure, stupid stuff, but not that.

so when he sees you dealing with the telltale signs of being in pain, he conveniently sends jayce and the others to pick up some parts that would take a while to collect and that they wouldn't actually need until the next day. but better prepared, right? what's the harm.

and then he comes to sit next to you and sighs deeply. leans back. relaxes to the best of his abilities. asks if you're alright, and sounds like he already knows the answer.

you sigh too, shift your position, and answer with it's fine. and viktor recognizes the strain in your voice, in your posture, and he knows there's a key difference between this and i'm fine, but he'll take it. it's not what he'd like, but he'll take it.

he leans over to dig around his belongings, and then offers you a bag of candied almonds.

"if you're going to take pain killers, it's better if you eat something first," he says, and you just stare at him. "i assume you haven't taken anything yet. nothing strong enough, at least," he continues, casually, and you take a deep breath and accept the almonds.

he smiles. continues like this is totally normal. "jayce made me start carrying around some food so i could do that. for myself, i mean. but it doesn't hurt to have some snacks around either way, i suppose."

he knows he's skirting around the real topic of the conversation, but he also knows that sometimes people get uncomfortable around his bluntness, and you hadn't exactly told him you were in pain, so he'd understand it if you were a little weirded out. after all, most people didn't notice this stuff. but you haven't run away from him, and you're eating, and then you're digging around your own bag to take your medication, so he'll count this as a win.

thanks, you exhale, handing back the almonds, and he takes a handful of them himself.

"i'm fine, really," you continue, not really looking at him, "it's just hard sometimes."

he nods. it was - even if he didn't know the specifics, he knew that it was true. especially since you had been hiding it from the others. and with something like that, something the others couldn't see, the invisible step to let them see it would grow bigger and bigger with time, when they expected you to be able to do everything they did without a second thought.

he also knows you didn't mean fine in the dictionary definition sense of the word, but more in the this is normal and you don't need to worry -sense. and that's fine. he was used to functioning on different parameters than most people, so this version of fine was good enough.

my body just isn't always very reliable, you explain with a sigh, and that he knows better than well.

he hmms in answer and nods. he knows.

you exhale a small laugh at that.

and he's glad you're relaxing, wants you to be as comfortable here as possible.

"these people are alright," he says casually, "as far as healthy people go."

viktor smiles a little.

another win for him.

and then he sits with you, talking and not talking and enjoying the quiet comfort if it all. and then he makes up some excuse so you don't have to keep working yet. he was well aware what it was like trying to work through the pain, waiting for the medication to kick in, and he wouldn't exactly recommend it. besides, as a rule, you were more likely to make mistakes if you were thinking through a layer of pain, and that was just plain bad planning. it made much more sense to just take a break and continue when you felt better. in fact, he was in dire need of a caramel latte and a pastry right now, do you want anything?

and after that it just... sort of falls into place. you're more relaxed around him. and the others, too, but he's the only one that really gets it. doesn’t make a whole thing out of it when you need to sit down for a moment or take a break while your pain killers kick in. he's just there.

he knows what it's like, and that feels like an invisble curtain lifted from between you and him, and it's just easy. you don't have to pretend you're doing better than you actually are and he doesn’t hide it when he's in pain, either.

most people don't see it, but there's a mutual understanding there; yeah, sometimes life sucks and sometimes you're in pain and no it's not fair that sometimes your body is falling apart and life just keeps going. you can't do all the things you want to do but you still have to show up for the other life-stuff and if you took a day off every time you felt bad you would never get anything done and it just never stops.

but sometimes there's someone who'll sit through it with you without judgement. offer a warm drink and a snack and some understanding.

[the-boy-meets-evil]

as wild and untamable as the sea | l.c (teaser)

pairing: greek god!chan x reincarnated sea nymph!f!reader genre: angst, smut | (very minor) reincarnation, fantasy, greek gods!au rating: explicit, minors DNI (for full fic, nothing in this teaser) word count: 850 for the teaser (TBD on full fic, prob 10k+) warnings: none for the teaser (full fic: explicit smut, past unhealthy relationships, plays with greek mythology, etc) post date: november 16th (hopefully)

summary: Chan remembers everything. Every little thing that's happened to him since his days as one of the twelve olympians. Poseidon to be exact. Even though he tries not to think about it now that he's living in modern times running a sad little aquarium, some memories are more vivid than others. Then, you stumble into his life and he can't explain the draw. You can't seem to figure out how this man is keeping an aquarium like this running when it seems like it's not that busy. Something about him really seems to put you off, despite the fact that he seems drawn to you. None of it makes any sense...until you start to remember.

a/n: this is for the 13 Gods of Olympus collab that @beomcoups & @wooahaeproductions have been tirelessly working on. thank you so much for hosting this! it's been fun (even if it's a challenge) to get lost in an entirely different world.

if you want to be tagged when i post, leave a comment or join my taglist here

Another day, another dollar. 

Wasn’t that what the humans said about another day spent working at some mindless job? Despite all the years he’s spent blending into their world, Chan still doesn’t really understand the humans. Doesn’t really understand why they put up with so many things they seemingly hate. Doesn’t really understand why they waste their short lives on something that makes them miserable. But, in fairness to the humans, Chan has also never had to worry about the trivial things that come along with working like money, possessions, or a home. When you’re one of the original gods of Olympus and life is seemingly infinite, money isn’t really an issue. 

That’s who Chan was in another lifetime: Poseidon. The God of the Sea, among other things. At least, until Olympus fell. A painful thought that he usually tries to push from his mind.

In the early days after Olympus fell, Chan still went through life acknowledging who he was. He leveraged his powers for favors or for payment. He used his control of the water and everything in it to get him what he needed. But, the years went by and the Olympians became the stuff of myth. Of stories. The kind of characters that you read about in books. Only the most eccentric members of society continue to worship the Olympians as if they’re real. Which they are, Chan reminds himself. Or, they were. As the faith faded, so did the Olympians’ belief in restoring themselves to full power. One by one, they gave up the task of finding a way back until it was only Chan and Zeus left. Two of the brightest minds of Olympus. Even they had to admit their own defeat. 

Which leads to the present day. Chan has taken on a new persona, for the…well, he’s lost track of what number this one is. He’s just thankful for his ability to shapeshift into someone new whenever he needs to. Takes a new name every time, too. At first, he tried to keep in touch with his siblings and the other Olympians. That, too, fades over time. It’s been at least a century since he’s spoken to any of them. Though, occasionally, he’ll catch wind of something through the chattering of local sea creatures. Something that says at least some of them are still out there.

Chan sighs. There’s really no reason for him to be wandering down memory lane in this way. He thinks, not for the first time, that maybe he needs to pick a different cover job. One that will keep his mind a little more occupied. The reality is, though, he’s tried nearly everything he could think of over the centuries. Changing professions is a frequent occurrence when he doesn’t want to let his body show too many signs of age. Not that he minds, it’s just that people start to ask too many questions about how he’s handling things someone “his age” shouldn’t be able to handle. In the end, working with sea life has always been the best. And this set up, where he’s running a smaller aquarium off of some long forgotten boardwalk in an area that doesn’t get much traffic, is also great. It isn’t even that Chan doesn’t like being around people. He finds humans entertaining in most senses. It’s just that nothing in this life is permanent for him. He’s not going to fall in love and grow old with someone. Best to just keep things at arm’s length. 

Most days are more or less the same and Chan works the majority of them. On the rare days off, he’s not far away since his little house is within walking distance of both the aquarium, the boardwalk it’s on, and the water. He trusts the limited staff that he has because he pays them well. Better than any other similar business, but he values loyalty. And they don’t seem to question how he’s able to make things work. That is largely due to the anonymous donors that make monthly contributions to the aquarium. Really, it’s just Chan funneling money that he’s earned over his many years on Earth so that he can keep a business afloat. Nobody seems to have anything to say. Beyond the staff not asking questions, they are all very good at their jobs. It makes life easier for Chan that way because he doesn’t have to micromanage them. Everyone knows what they’re supposed to do and will only ask questions if they hit an actual block. No, the aquarium runs very smoothly. It just doesn’t get a lot of business.

Since every day kind of blends together, Chan almost never realizes as days or weeks or even months pass by. He’s in a sort of autopilot where he also knows what he has to do and just does it without question. It’s just rinse and repeat day in and day out. 

Until it’s not. Until the first day that he notices you in his small, out of the way little aquarium. Until the day that everything starts to change.

[strnilolover]

what is prince!Matt and maid!reader's first kiss like?

Honestly, it’s soft and sweet. Matt would do it in a moment of thanking her, catching her off guard, but she didn’t mind at all. though she’d get really shy and kind of run off. (i feel like their first kiss wouldn’t be for a few months, not at least until they’re well aquatinted with one another and start to recognize and process their own feelings)

-

Matt had been out all day running errands and attending to royal duties that needed attention. Of course darling accompanied him for most of the day, so she was equally as tired. But, she was able to slip away with the last meeting he needed to attend.

She had made her way to his bedroom, getting his night clothes ready and his bed prepped for him to sleep in. Even though matt made it clear that she didn’t need to do everything expected of a personal maid, she still liked to to the little things to make everything easier for him.

As she finished drawing him a bath, she could hear his footsteps walking through his room. “Darling?” he called out, and she emerged from the bathroom — a small smile on her face. When matt saw her, his lips lazily tugged up. He knew how hard she worked, obviously seeing it first hand — that’s what drew him so close to her.

“Yes matt?” she replied, her voice straining a little. Even though matt has said countless of times that she could call him by his name — it still felt weird. He walked over to her, taking one of her hands in his. “Did you do all of this for me? you know you don’t have to do everything for me, even if it’s in your job.” he said, and she flushed, nodding in both understanding and acknowledging.

“You were so busy today, you need something to relax and i was just making it easier.” she admitted, her eyes training on their connected hand. Sure they’ve have some encounters where his hands lingered too long or where her eyes watched him — but it never felt like this.

“I appreciate it darling.” and before she could respond, he leaned in — pressing his lips to hers in a soft kiss. She was taken aback, not knowing what to do before her mind caught up and reciprocated the kiss. It was sweet and filled with something she couldn’t really place.

After a moment he pulled away, her eyes fluttering open to already find his blue eyes staring at her. Her lips parted, face even warmer now as she realized what they just did. “I hope i didn’t overstep..” matt whispered, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand.

Darling just shook her head, “N-no not at all..i just uhm — i should go now yeah?..” she quickly said, slipping her hand free as her heart pounded in her ears, bidding good night and slipping out his bedroom door.

Matt stood there, a soft chuckle escaping his lips before he smiled to himself — walking to his bathroom and discarding his clothes before slipping into the warm bath she drew for him.

© strnilolover

[thesassypadawan]

Deep Forest (Jacob x FemHalfDemonReader)

Summary: You’d overheard in your travels of a strong creature…a hulking being that wanders the forest trails at twilight, seeking out easy marks.  Begged and paid handsomely by the local villagers to exterminate this demon, you set the perfect trap…offering yourself as bait.  However you’re taken by surprise when your prey turns out to a very handsome human man…one that awakens a side of you that had long been buried.  (Story and reader are somewhat inspired by one of my favorite animes, InuYasha)

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there’s sooo much of the smut.  Riding (giddy up), somewhat public smex, marking, fight for power/power imbalance, and… Jacob’s long, fat dick.

- Shrugging, slipping out of your black bodysuit.  You let it fall silently to the forest floor, landing amongst your discarded armor and pack.  Rustle  Stretching lazily, inhaling the crisp mountain air.  You discreetly take in your surroundings.  Crackle   Faint breeze coming from the east, causing the spring’s surface to ripple.  Bringing the tangy scent of fruit mixed with sweet flowers.  Hints of musk, fresh sweat.  Crunch

- A twig snaps somewhere behind, ringing throughout the clearing.  You don’t react initially, opting instead to let your prey think it still has the upper hand.  To allow it to draw closer, just enough so you’re able to…

- Leaves shift.  The chitter of birdsong falls quiet, but only for a brief moment as…

- Fingers automatically thread themselves into your weapon’s leather binding.  Swinging it with trained ease, bringing it around to bear the weight…block what you sense would be a blow to your right shoulder.  However the attacker maneuvers to the left at the last moment; kicking out, sweeping your legs from underneath you.

- The two of tumble across the cold, hard ground.  Thin blade slashes, misses your now dirt and mud-covered flesh by mere inches.  Evading and rolling, you protect yourself to the best of your ability.  Even landing a few well-placed hits with the blunt, curved edge of your boomerang.  As you easily disarm one another, grappling for dominance in a passionate dance.  One that will only end in one of two ways…life or death. 

- Or…perhaps…maybe…

- Straddling your attacker’s hips, you stare down at the naked man beneath you.  Your shallow pants melding along with his; forming an almost soothing, erotic melody.  Rising and drifting towards the purple, orange skies.  “Who are you?”

- Although your question was more of a demand; it was still simple, straight to the point.  Yet he only stares up at you silently.  Blue eyes glazed over, something wild flickering deep within them.

- In retrospect, you probably shouldn’t have won this fight.  The man clearly stood a good head taller than you.  Most likely outweighing you as well by a considerable amount.  His body toned, heavily corded with powerful muscles.  That flex, contort beneath you.  Testing your balance, your grip around his thick neck.  While radiating a warmth that leeches into your thighs, causes…

- Stomach clenches, hips cant unconsciously.  “What, too embarrassed to say?  Upset that you were bested by a woman?”  Sharpened nails scratch at, sink slightly into the vulnerable curve of his throat.  “Thought I would be an easy mark…roll onto my back, part my legs for you like some spineless bitch?”

- A curious shudder vibrates through his form, sneer curling at the corners of his mouth.   “Mmmh, I was hoping so…”  Considerable length, twitching and swelling.  Hardening, pressing more firmly against your groin.  “It’s been a long time since I’ve had something pretty like you…”

- Breath catches, the coil inside your core tightens.  You should be repulsed, put off  by his unsavory choice of words and actions.  But there’s something about it; coupled with having such a strong, large being pinned down…helpless, under your control.  That was oddly arousing, that awoke a side of yourself which…

- Head tilts to the side; a predatory, feral smile spreads across your face.  “Is that so?”  Impulsively you start to rock; rubbing yourself teasingly, slowly.  The friction delicious, tantalizing.  “Maybe we can come to an agreement then…?”

- “Jacob,” he hisses through his teeth.  Cock jerking and twitching.  Smacking your stomach gently, smearing his pearly essence where your eager and fertile womb lay hidden.  “What might you have in mind…?”

- Picking up your pace, grinding against him harder.  “I go by many names.  Beast.  Abomination.  Half-breed.  Demon.”  Fighting your baser instincts to not whine, beg him to take you right then.  Fill you with…  “As for my real one though…I’ll only grace you with it if you get the job done.”

- His eyebrows rose slightly, adam’s apple bobbed between your spread fingers.  “A job, eh?”  The smell of his excitement, the opium running through his veins making your nostrils flare…mouth water.  “Care to elaborate more?”

- Lifting your hips, leaning forward.  You line up your aching, soaked core with his bulbous, dripping tip.  “It’s simple really.  You give me a litter; a substantial, strong one…”  All the while keeping your gleaming eyes trained on him…hand still fast in place around his neck.  “I’ll give you an experience that you’ve never encountered before.  Not even in your wildest fantasies…”

- “Ah, but what if I refuse?”  He grunts, fingertips digging furrows in the wet soil beneath him…thighs trembling with anticipation under you.  “Or what if I present to you a counter offer instead?”

- Nudging, allowing his head to slip past your tight rim.  “Then it better be a good one.”  Needy, desperate mewl falling from your lips.  “Less you want me to leave your body here for the other predators to feast upon…”  Quickly transforms into a soft growl of warning.  “…to rot here for eternity, in the deep forest.”

- Boldly, he grabs your sides.  Squeezes, kneads the supple flesh.  “Make me your mate…  I’ll be sure to have your belly swell every cycle with a brood of big pups…”  Pulls you roughly, impales you on himself.  Growling in his own gravelly, husky voice as you clench and flutter.  From the burning, almost inhuman stretch.  “For as long as you want…”

- Slick trickles down his shaft; dampens his tuft of wiry, blond curls.  “Then we have ourselves a deal, Jacob…”  Shallow gasps escape you, washes over the crook of his neck.  Tongue laps and licks at what you deem the perfect spot.  “Mate…”  And you sink your canines in.  Marking him, making him irreversibly yours for the rest of his life.

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @jediavengers, @anisangeldust, @fredswrite, @xhunnybeeex, @theladykassia, @thesmexymenace,@these-travels, @beresfordsgirl, @megathatharrypotterfan, @tygresha

[gaywineauntsstuff]

Birthdays

Dicks starts a tradition, for every first birthday one of his loved ones spends with him, he gives them a part of his heart.

Jason: Dick isn't there for Jasons first birthday at the manor because well... he isn't exactly welcome at the manor but he snuck Jason his number weeks in advance to make sure Jay would be at his crappy apartment the day after his birthday. And he gives Jason a collection of poetry his mother had written while they had traveled around the world. He had memorised all of them many years ago but he wanted to give Jason something tangible to connect them together. He might not be related to Bruce, he might not be Jason's brother by law or blood but Jason carries the robin name and Mary Graysons words so he is Dick's brother no matter what Bruce wants to say about it. Some of the poems aren't in English but they all flow beautifully and are written in the same black swirling script. Jason cries real tears and clings to Dick because this isn't something he can say he's had before. When Jason died, Dick took it from Jays room because he didn't allow it to be part of a mausoleum for his brother he wasn't going to let it be part of one for his brother.

After Jason comes back to life, and he's left Gotham he finds that familiar notebook in a safe-house he was sure Nightwing didn't know about with a post-it note on top reading.

I'm so glad you're back little wing

-DG

Tim: Dick and Alfred celebrate Tims birthday alone and Dick knows that Tim is struggling with who he is and his place in the family. Jason needed connection Tim needed purpose. Tim needed something to do to prove his value so on Tim's 13th birthday Dick teaches him the quadruple summersault. he teaches Tim the Full-Twisting Shaposhnikova his mother's favourite move on the bars and the moors. They spend all day practicing together until Tim can do a loose approximation of as many of his parent's signature moves as they can squeeze into one day. And every time Dick sees Tim for the next two months he asks for a spotter and they spend two odd hours practicing the moves. Tim never ends up incorporating the Flying Grayson's moves into his fighting style but he starts to follow Dicks habit of getting up high when he's stressed and working out all his frustration by practicing those moves over and over again until his body is pleasantly sore. Sometimes when Dick is on undercover missions, Tim will do one of the routines to help with the fact he cant reach his brother.

Damian: canonically Dick gave Damian a trapeze bar but that was long into his Robin tenure I believe it was after the Lazarus island debacle. So I think that by the. time Damians 11th birthdays rolls around, Dick and Damian have a pretty solid relationship and the first thing Dick would have given Damian was his father's unfinished sketchbook which contained the original designs for the robin costume. This book is Thick and its not like a modern sketchbook no, John Grayson found this leather bound monstrosity in Egypt and paid pennies for it. Its so dense that its filled with about 3 years of drawings and still has more the half of its pages a yellowed blank canvas. Damian, who is naturally talented at art and was encouraged by Dick to try and find non-vigilante methods of enjoyment has already taken up drawing months prior but this gets him to start practicing with fervour. He tries hard to mimic John Grayson's art style before eventually giving up at trying to create identical pieces and just incorporates various techniques the man used. For Dicks birthday that year he gifts him a portrait of his late parents but unlike the ones he's made for the manor, Dick's parents are in motion, with his John Grayson's grin stolen right off his sons face and Mary Grayson's boisterous laugh as she crashed into her husbands side could be heard in the famous cackle of her son.

now I wanted to do Cass or Steph or (maybe even Babs or Kori if I wanted to pivot from family to romance) but I genuinely the girl who has Mary Graysons wedding ring would

Donna Troy: Dick Gave it to her when they were still wonder girl and boy wonder. They were 14 and it was right after they had started the titans, back when it was a kids club more than a hero organisation. It was accompanied with a whispered confession of his identity, an identity the rest of their team wouldn't learn for another to 2 years. She wears it around her neck with a simple gold chain. She didn't take it off during her wedding or funeral, she was buried in it and came back with its barely there weight a comfort against base of her neck.

[mauveastrum]

Classics student’s guide to romanticising november

While I personally love november, I understand why some people can’t really always appreciate it; especially where I live, it gets real gray around this time, when autumn still lingers and Christmas and winter are quite not here yet. A liminal space. Here are some little tips, habits, things from wellness to whatever that I like to enjoy in november when I’m not cooped up in the library battling with the attic verb system. :)

Coffee to wake you up in the morning, maybe another one at lunch if your short nights sleep is still lingering; different teas throughout the day to keep you warm from the inside as the weather gets chillier each passing day

a bowl of (warm) porridge with your favorite toppings in the morning, either prepared at home or ordered at a cafe with your friend

Dark red nails, preferably long, preferably with small metallic accents (I prefer gold and bronze, silver works very well too)

Seasonal fruits and vegetables; pomegranates! Persephone’s journey to Hades has once again taken place.

Adding a little bit of darkness to your eyes, it’s your pick whether that’s with kayal, smudged eyeliner, eyeshadow or just a gracious layer of mascara; but remember to not rub your eyes when you stayed too late at the library translating Catullus’ latin poetry! Alternatively, just rock those dark underyes baby

November is the month of poets, artists, thinkers, lovers and wanderers, you know what they say. Write, draw, think, love, wander! I keep a diary where I try to write everyday. Try to find small pleasures in the mundane and write them down. Beauty is omnipresent. I also have been trying to sketch more when I don’t have the energy nor the time to complete complex illustrations and paintings. Small but meaningful.

Pretty candles, scented or unscented, perhaps each one lit as an honoring to a god, goddess, daimon or your lares; in the colder months I like to light a candle in honor of Vesta/Hestia and ask her to keep my apartment warm

Preparing for winter by slowly switching to more thicker and moisturizing skin- and haircare products. Do this as you run out of one product, don’t give in to overconsumption, be mindful with what you buy and what you put on your skin and hair

Remember to move your body. Whether this is walking, running, stretching, strength-training, pilates… the options are endless and the choice is yours! Even little movement can help you fight that seasonal depression.

Big scarves, long jackets, leather gloves. Gives you an aura of mystery and keeps you protected from the weather

These are just some of my favorite things at this time. If you read through all of this I’d really love to hear if you have your own sacred little rituals around this time of the year. Thank you for being here, remember to be kind to yourself and others, and speak up for those whose voices are being silenced. Go make your novembers mythical🖤

Valete,

Mauve

[blushingteddy]

Precious Things: Chapter 1

Plot: Rio visits Westview after The Hex comes down and finds Agnes O'Conner in Agatha's stead. She must team up with an unlikely ally to help get her wife back and confront the past to make sense of the future ahead. (Agathario x Rio/Mrs Hart unlikely friendship)

---

The beep of machines is a reliable monotone to measure the accrual of time to it’s exact and precise end. There was a knack, in her experience. A correct moment that was neither a heartbeat early nor a single beat overdue. The strangely comforting taste of artificial banana pudding felt as good a place as any to ground her overworked thought processes. Rio blew out her cheeks and straightened her criss-crossed ankles, elbows dug into the arm rests, prodding the plastic spoon around with marked disinterest.

She was putting off the inevitable.

Largely, because Agatha had been putting off the inevitable - for such a long, long time. The Scarlet Witch had taken the Darkhold. Agatha finally vulnerable. The dark magic that had shrouded her all of these centuries had lifted like a veil. Rio could feel that Agatha hadn’t run or attempted to evade the inevitable this time.

Perhaps she was finally ready.

“I imagined you differently.”

Rio stopped moving the plastic spoon. 

The ghost of a smile tugged up her lips, because they always imagined her differently, whether she came in one form or another—friend or foe—all of it was subjective, always it was some other version of her they had imagined and built up in their head. Ink black linen shrouds and milk white bones. Deep green aspen leaves ornately woven into clothes with spun spider silk stitching, rust coloured gold, dried sea moss for beading. Rio laughed quietly, amused on private levels, she was never dressed correctly for the occasion. 

Her lips tapered down into a serious expression. “Do you want to finish this?” Rio glanced at the frail elderly man drowning in his blankets and wires. “You always think you know how banana pudding tastes until you’re eating it, and then you realise it doesn’t taste like bananas at all. It tastes like something else. Something pretending to be a banana. Strange, right?” She angled the dessert toward him.

“Will there be banana pudding where I’m going, or…” His voice was a strained murmur - the whites of his eyes a dull cloudy colour. He gestured his finger downward.

Hell.

Rio’s expression gave nothing away.

She said nothing in response and idly scraped the spoon around.

“Not the time or place for that conversation, got it.” He nods perceptively. “Jill. Will she be there?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

“Kinda hope she isn’t.”

“Trust me, I know that feeling better than you think I do.”

“You do?”

Rio smiles, nodding slightly, and with that the tension breaks.

He draws a laboured breath. “Were you human once? You look…” Rio watches him gesture her up and down.

From the corner of her eye, the hospice nurses offer discrete, confirming nods. The kind that never require further conversation. Rio resists the sudden urge to show him her face—her true face—in response to his prying. The staff all knew when Rio visited. They knew when she left. She was a regular in this neck of the woods, a person they could feel in the air like the scent of perfume - invisible and entirely distinct. She didn’t like to trouble them anymore than they troubled her.

Sometimes, they caused her trouble.

But never the hospice nurses.

“I don’t know if there’s banana pudding. And there’s been a lot of Jills, far too many to remember. And I think you know I’m not here to talk about myself, don’t you?” Rio levels at the elderly man. “I’m here to do my job.”

“Do you enjoy your work?”

There isn’t time for this - the back and forth.

The question amuses her nonetheless.

“Not particularly. I punch-in, punch-out, I do it very well, if that gives you any comfort. Did you…have a job like that?”

“Yeah, I wish now I hadn’t.”

“Well.” Rio pushes out her cheeks, slightly exasperated. “Too late for regrets.”

“Everything…hurts.” He looks at her tiredly. “Can we take the pudding to go?” 

Rio likes that.

That makes her smile. 

“Sure we can.”

A deep peaceful sigh left him - he was finally ready.

Expectantly, the elderly man extends his weathered hand toward her. His fingertips graze against her fingertips, wrinkly and warm, ready to be taken away from this place despite the fear of her never leaving him for a moment, as though with the lightest tug of his wrist he could rise from the bed, light as a feather, and Death will take him for a long scenic walk to the next place beyond this world.

Rio took his hand gently.

“Hold this for me a sec.” Rio precariously rested the banana pudding cup on his collarbone. She took the blade from her thigh, haphazardly tossing it round to catch the handle, then quickly stabbed his chest several times as though jabbing a hot pen knife into butter. “Thanks.” She flipped and holstered the blade - the soul collected.

She let go of his limp wrist, allowing it fall down against his stilled chest in a thud. The alarms bleeted loudly into the echoing long corridor - then the cries, always the cries of concerned family and visitors with no further business that concerned her - Rio left and thought nothing of their distress.

They always imagine her so differently.

Express delivery only, Rio had a busy night ahead.

She had to be in Westview come sunrise.

***

Deep and dark was the persistent endless night. The entire mountain fell upon her in a storm of heavy jagged rocks and unbreathable, thick sharp dust that scraped her skin and stung her eyes as it slowly settled. The stagnant heat of harsh beating sunlight, somewhere out there beyond the persistent constant dark, was how Wanda kept track of the time. In the evenings, the cool air brought damp cold mildew which coated the boulders pressing every inch of her body, and the water droplets struck her forehead from a single crack above in awkward unpredictable rhythms. The first night, she willed her survival.

Perhaps Kamar-Taj would pity her once Stephen explained the condition of her maddening grief. He would save her, of course. He had to save her. He was a hero. The Sorcerer Supreme, the protector of earth, the lone sworn sentinel against magic and mystical threats out there between the darkest shades of reality. And what was she?

Who was she if not a hero? 

A woman relentlessly tormented into madness.

Perhaps this was the condition of all villains, Wanda decided.

The third night came, the sound of scraping rocks and movement disturbing her tomb above finally greeted her ears. She strained into the noise, welcomed it like a friend, then thought of her sons and felt her heart retreat backward in shame. The fourth night, the digging grew louder, and tears carved across her dry scabbed lips. Wanda clung to life like a leech. She hungered to survive. Lame, broken, disfigured and dying, she fought with insurmountable will to save herself—to persevere against the mountain.

Until she heard the faint howls.

The hungry snarls of scavenging pack animals disturbing the sediment above.

Wanda went slack, still, quiet and madder than her body could contain. Nobody was coming to save her. She closed her eyes, summoning her scarlet, imagining herself provoking wefts of bright glorious red from her palms, how the dust and sheets of rock would explode outward around her. She would rise in a tide of chaos, fire and glorious red—bright, burning scarlet.

But nothing came.

And Wanda wept and finally wished for Death.

“I have waited so long to say these words to you…” A woman in a crown of obsidian black glass laid beside her as though she had always been there. “Hello, Wanda Maximoff.”

She is there but not there. She is contorted around the jagged rock, her body stretched like ribbon strewn around each obstacle, more viper than woman—more creature than person. A dull green light exudes from her, bright enough to make Wanda wince and turn her cheek, but she feels sharp nails slip along her belly, her ribs, calling back her attention. She smells petrichor and…

Fermenting fruit, rotting cherries, the kind her step-father would stew and seal tightly in jars stacked neatly under the dank kitchen sink, and how the pungent smell of spoiled black cherries and sugar separating into alcohol would puncture their home as the jars were filtered months later, how she would slip into bed with Piotr and cradle his ears when their step-father drank to much of it, how their mother would place herself in front of the bedroom door like a barricade and bear the brunt of it.

A voice rumbles low like an earthquake, “Look at me.”

Wanda obeys instantly, terrified and without other choices to make.

Her fear delights Death.

Wanda’s voice frays with inactivity, “You came. I imagined you so…”

“Differently. Mhm. The name’s Rio.” She cranes her neck to get a better look, assessing the damage. “Your hips are shattered. Pretty nasty cranial bleed. Traumatic amputation at both knees, yuck. Your elbow is broken in…three places? That must be”—her eyebrows go upward in amazement, her head nodding enthusiastically—“Pretty painful, huh?”

“Please make it stop?”

“I will.” Rio smiles. “In time.”

Wanda watched in horror as the faint dull green smog begins to fade like the flicker of a dying candle. “Where are you going!”

“You took something special from me.” Rio stares down at the Scarlet Witch. “Somebody I have loved very, very much for centuries, Wanda. I don’t like it when people take my things.”

“Don’t leave me here!” 

“Then tell me how to lift the spell?”

“The spell?”

“The nasty little hex you trapped her in for the last nine months!” The woman rears forward with maddening grief in her eyes. “Give her back to me and then we can talk about your mortal soul.”

There is no further explanation needed, Wanda understands perfectly well, knows exactly who Death is referring to. Agatha Harkness. She doesn’t know how to admit the truth—how to tell her the only answer she has to offer.

“You don’t know how to lift it.” Rio closes her eyes. “Well, Wanda, until we figure that out? I’ll know exactly where to find you. That’s what you said to her, right?”

“Please don’t do this.” Wanda lurches forward. “Please! Please take me with you, I’ll help you! I swear. Please…please you have to take me from this place!”

“I said I would take you, didn’t I?” Death plays with the tip of an ornate knife. “You just have to suffer for a little bit first. Agatha would like that. Let’s circle back in a few days. You’re not going anywhere, I’m sure you’ll be available,” her voice and light fades away.

[weaverofink]

A Clara portrait because I love her so so much :) dialogue from the last episode of season 3

image without dialogue below:

she :)

[katabay]

THE JETSET LIFE IS GONNA KILL YOU, ERIC CARTER!

my laptop charger uhhhhhh. met its end in a very permanent, very fire hazardy kind of way last week. while waiting for a replacement I decided to try and get some work done at the library and was asking around for some urban fantasy (extra points for a mystery plot of some kind) recommendations to check out while I was there

the eric carter series was mentioned a couple of times, AND had the added bonus of having a necromancer for a main character. I love necromancers. someday I'm gonna play one in a game instead of immediately defaulting to vampires.

Fire Season, Stephen Blackmoore

[sysig]

Getting closer, getting really close now I swear (Patreon)

[inkyucu]

~ On a scale from one to ten my friend you're ✨fucked✨~

[averlym]

pleaaase may i have 28 and 29 aramour angst ✨ i crave it

28: “Move out of my way before I make you.” // 29: “You deserve better.” (prompt list here)

click for better quality!

[pinguuu-ni]

hello guys <3 i've been absent for a looooong while but i want to know, how have you been doing?!