#which would be concerning if this test was for a different purpose

[itsboysauce]

the elation of getting hormone level test results back, and seeing that they’re in the (higher end of!) the normal male range...absolute euphoria

[easy-there-leftovers]

Magnum Opus (Ch. 1)

When an MIT prodigy on their gap year is contacted by the FBI regarding her potential involvement in a series of murders in Washington D.C., she must now cooperate to uncover how her paintings are mysteriously appearing at the crime scenes.

(Written with Season 1-4 Spencer in mind, but the timeline could be anywhere pre-season 12. No mentions of past cases)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Artist! reader|cw: Canon-typical violence|word count: 2k words

Also on Ao3!!

Series Masterlist

While Aaron Hotchner remained vigilant as he drove the black SUV, the constant flipping of Spencer’s case files seemed to be louder than the car’s air conditioning. 

He had directed Morgan and JJ to touch base at the MPDC, and had Rossi and Prentiss survey the crime scene of Jonathan Edwards; the identity of the previously unknown man in the vacant apartment.

This left him with Reid in the passenger seat to conduct an investigation on their only lead so far. 

From the update Garicia had given them, Y/n L/n was a prodigy a year younger than their very own. Having graduated from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology a year ago, she moved to Capitol Park Plaza and Twins Apartments in Washington D.C., and is currently unemployed. Occasionally selling her paintings out of her unit under an anagram of her name.

 But something bothered him.

And it seems like Reid has picked up on it too.

“Do you think Dr. L/n is the unsub?” The unit chief asks.

Spencer hums before answering.

“While we can’t rule it out just yet, the possibility of her being the unsub is totally unlikely. The thing that’s throwing me off is that everything is too convenient. I mean, why would the unsub use something so publicly personal to them as part of their signature? It’s as if she’s overtly incriminating herself.”

Spencer checks back onto the pictures of the victims, then lifts his head up to look at Hotch to continue.

“Based on the way the victims are modeled, an immense amount of care was put into them. All for the purpose of making them look like the subjects in their paintings. Actually, the fixation on changing the bodies’ posture and keeping them clean is typically done out of remorse. But the added elements, like the placement of the paintings, creates an image of an unsub more on the narcissistic side. By creating two 'artworks,' they're prompting the viewer to decide which version of it they prefer. Mocking the original artist in the process.”

“So the paintings were done before the murder?”

“I have no reason to believe otherwise.”

His unit chief sighs and pulls over to the curb. “Well, we’re about to test that belief.” Spencer hurries to take off his seatbelt as Hotch closes the car door with a thud. 

—------

Hotchner nods at Reid as they find themselves in front of the written address Garcia gave them. He lifts his hand to knock firmly on your door, and waits for a response.

A thud from the other side causes both of them to assess each other before Hotch tells Spencer to stay behind him. Gun in hand until something, or someone, comes running at them.

But instead a muffled, “sorry” is heard right after, which causes him to lower his gun.

The door finally opens a crack to reveal a very tired twenty-something woman, some dark pigment or makeup smudged on their lower eye lines as they rubbed at it. She immediately fixed her posture however at the sight of the unexpected visitors. Eyes wide with concern.

“Dr. L/n, I’m Aaron Hotchner with Dr. Spencer Reid of the FBI.” He highlights his statement by showing his badge. “We’d like to ask you some questions.” 

“Oh, um,” The woman blinks rapidly and shakes their head before immediately saying, “Of course,” with a nod and opening the door wide to let them in.

A quirk that does not go unnoticed by Spencer, who observes how different she looks to her more formal ID photos.

—-----

You let the FBI agents into your apartment, but are now suddenly aware of the state of disarray you left it in last night. Not to mention the state you were in. 

You had just woken up and your brain wasn’t quite all there yet. If you had known you’d have guests over, you would have at least put some of your books and papers back onto their shelves rather than on your floor.

“My, uh—” You start, “Apologies! For the room and the um,”

You inhale deeply and gesture to yourself as you try to find the words before settling on an exasperated, “me.”

“No worries, miss. We don’t really call in advance.” You nod at the older man’s explanation vacantly before coming up with a response.

“Would you like anything to drink ?” You move to your fridge to get water to wake you up, and decide that it would be rude not to offer. The two decline, with the younger more busy observing your living room bookcase than the older one that sat on your couch. 

You notice that something must have interested him as he lingers on certain shelves. That section in particular had prints of dissertations you had been meaning to read, or have already read, in clear folders.

You wonder if he found his work there or something before returning with water for yourself. 

“So what can I help you with?”

“Dr. L/n, are you aware of the current string of murders that have been happening as of this year?” 

You blink rapidly again. The question catches you off guard, but you shake your head. 

“I know it’s a bad habit, and that I should, but I don’t really listen to the news.” Feeling your eyebrows quirk, you rub your hands together slowly. Making direct eye contact with Hotch, before looking at the younger man as he takes out a few papers from the folder he was holding.

“Are you familiar with these paintings then?”

 Now that piques your interest.

Dr. Spencer Reid, who sees a flicker of recognition in your eyes when it meets his own, presents various pictures of your artworks in what seems to be dimly lit areas. They’re a little dirty, but otherwise you would recognize them as your own.

 The thought instantly made something in your stomach turn.

“I–” You start, but shake your head subtly again. Unsure of what to say and how to say it next as you stare at the images. “am.” You turn your head to look back up at Spencer who nods thoughtfully.

“Recently, your paintings have been showing up at crime scenes in the D.C. area. Specifically, victims of an organized unsub that seems to be targeting people who accurately resemble the subjects in your work.” If your eyes weren’t wide enough, that bit of information had certainly opened them wider than ever before as you stared up at him.

“That, combined with the concentrated traces of 5-durastalene found in the pigments of the paint used, have led us to suspect your involvement in these murders, Dr. L/n.” You heavily feel the blink of your eyelids and rest your fingers on them to keep them closed before looking back at the two of them.

“I’m sorry,” you smile incredulously. “So you’re telling me that not only has Lunacite been identified on the paintings you’ve found, but that people who look like the personas in my private works actually exist and have since been–” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Murdered?”

“Well that shouldn’t come as a surprise, they were your muses, weren’t they? You were commissioned?” Hotch is the one who asks and you shake your head with wide eyes.

“I didn’t even know these people existed. They were just– faces I came up with mentally with the visual library I’ve amassed over the years. I don’t really make it a habit to paint from reference. Like I said, they were private.”

“And the chemical?” You thought for a moment before your lips thinned into a line.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Agent Hotchner, but I haven’t touched anything regarding that compound in over a year. I’ve only ever worked on it in my lab on university grounds, and I don’t make a habit of bringing work home.” You scratch the hairs near the base of your hairline.

“More importantly, hundreds of students and lecturers have access to my work, my research, and my lab space. Not to mention the people who might have heard my work through academic conferences.”

You move away from your position near the living room coffee table Spencer placed the pictures on, but picked up one before you did and shook your head.

“Besides, these paintings? No one should know about them, let alone have them. I didn't sell these.” That made Spencer’s brows furrow as he looked at the other photos still on the table.

“Do you have proof?” You stay silent, but then motion for them to follow you to the door of your room.

“Well, for one, I’m sure you’d understand that most people don’t make copies of their artwork traditionally, right? Expenditure of time, work materials, effort, human error, and many other variables. It just isn’t practical nor convenient.” You ramble and look back at them to continue.

“I also don’t make the majority of my art known online. Only a good 30% makes its way to my portfolio, and the others are never to be seen by anyone else.”

“They're studies. They’re made with cheap paints, they’re subjectively not appropriate for commercial use and-–I just wouldn’t be comfortable charging anyone for them.” 

They follow you across the room, and make themselves apparent behind you.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“So if my ‘commissioned paintings’ are currently on D.C. crime scenes, and possibly in MPDC evidence,” You open the door to reveal your studio to the two agents. 

Various paint tubes, books, and brushes littered the floor, table, and boxes. A lone easel was situated near your apartment window, with an unfinished painting on it. And various canvasses, not displayed, but instead kept on tall shelves. Only the differently colored edges indicated that they were ever used.

What surprised them both however, were the same paintings in the pictures staring back at them.

 Some on the walls, some on the floor, but what was most important was that they were in this room, they were clean, and there were more of them.

You turn to look back at them with shaky eyes. “So why are they still here?”

—----

Hotch and Reid stood outside of your apartment door as you cleaned yourself up. Hotch made the call to bring you to the precinct for further investigation and for your own safety, but allowed you to freshen up before leaving with them. Not that he told you about the safety part.

You were hard to read, given your erratic reactions. It unnerved him, but he supposes it comes with the territory of being gifted. You also offered to bring in your paintings and a few other materials for forensics to test, to which while he was suspicious of, was not ungrateful for.

He made a quick call to Garcia to check attendants of any academic conferences you’ve spoken at and if anyone had been more interested than the others. When he was finished, he looked to Reid who was crossing his arms and staring at the carpeted hallway before looking back at him.

“She’s uncomfortable.” He stated plainly.

“Reid, most people would be if they just found out their hobby had been getting people killed.” Hotch said as he kept looking at his phone for anything new from the others.

“There’s certainly that, but I meant her title. ‘Doctor.’” He said in quotes, and Hotch raises his eyebrow at that but allows him to continue anyway with a curt nod.

“I mean, every time we’ve addressed her with her title, she blinks faster. Did you know it’s a common attribute that’s directly related to an increase in heart rate, which is why they’re usually correlated with lying? Initially, you would think that she faked her experience to get those credentials, but given her educational background, she must have not been given an opportunity to be referred to as such for a long time. Also, the gap year she took could’ve only exacerbated any insecurities she might have about her intellectual achievements. Plus, the lack of organization in her own home, while not wildly uncommon amongst people her age, could suggest the sincerity of her belief about compartmentalizing her work and her private life.”

“And what does that tell you?”

As Spencer was supposed to answer, a thud much like the one they heard before they entered earlier was heard again, followed by a similarly muffled, ‘sorry.’

He turns to look back at Hotch again with a small, victorious smile.

“That she doesn’t fit the profile.”

——-

taglist: @littlewolfieposts

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Day 10: Hairpulling

A/n: Day 9 is coming, when I don't know because I have no idea what to write for food play with Axl

Warnings: Smut, soft + rough sex, hairpulling, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Kinktober

Kirk was always sweet with you. You'd been dating for a few months, he definitely wasn't against fucking you, he was just gentle.

You didn't hate it, of course not, you loved how he was with you, but that didn't stop you from being... well, you.

Kirk had your hips in his lap, hands running up and down your sides as you lay back on the, rolling his hips to meet yours in slow, deep thrusts.

"You-you're so pretty." He purred, leaning down as you reached for him. He'd already made you cum twice, now twitching inside you as he held off on his own high.

The way his fingers danced in feather-light touches over your sweat-coated skin, sensitive and achy as he teased you.

Your arms wrapped around him, holding him close. "Kirk, please, faster... need it so bad..." You trailed, breathy moan falling from your lips.

"As you wish, my love." He mused, repositioning himself so he laid between your legs which you wrapped around him, pulling him closer.

He did just that, quickening his pace for you. His grunts and groans, soft moans even, fell onto your ears as he placed gentle kisses over your jaw and down your neck.

It wasn't much different to every other time you were together like this but it was just that little kick that had heat pooling in your core.

His hands rested on either side of your head, your hands moved over the expanse of his back, lightly clawing at his shoulders and accidently tugging on a few strands of his hair.

You heard a noise you'd never heard from him; a growl. Kirk, the one and only softy who had a real weird side to him, growled.

Wanting to test it out again, you reached for him, with more purpose this time. You grabbed a small handful of hair. "What-what are you-?" He was cut off by another gruff sound as you pulled on his hair. "Fuck, why would you do that?" He asked, voice much harsher than it ever had been with you.

"I-I wanted to see..." You said, breath airy. Your eyes fluttered as he continued to fuck you, movements getting faster and harsher as you tugged on his hair again. "Fuck me, Kirk." You moaned.

"I am, if you'd just stop-!" Again he was cut off by your pulling.

"Why, does it hurt?" You asked, only a little concerned.

"No, just-" He reached for your hand, holding it above your head. You just grabbed his hair in the other hand, causing a groan to rip from him, a particularly harsh snap of his hips sending jolts through you.

"Fine, you wanna play that?" He grumbled, continuing the movement, snapping his hips into yours as many times as you'd tug on his hair until the bedframe was rocking, knocking against the wall repeatedly.

Your back arched, replacing those soft moans Kirk was used to hearing from you he heard whines and cries of his name echoing off the walls, and all you did was tug his hair.

You would definitely have to do this again.

[rahuratna]

Nanami Kento: Relationship Headcanons, Part 2

Contents: pre-relationship headcanons, slow burn, pining, introvert reader, falling in love

ღ You've laid down ground rules for yourself, rules not meant to be broken, and yet you find yourself twisting them, testing their pliability, skimming along the edge of what is acceptable. Your chance meetings with Nanami at work continue, much the same as always. Sometimes you two may sit in comfortable silence. Sometimes you may speak about mundane things, or his latest mission. There seems to be an unspoken agreement that you will not ask about each other's personal lives, that you will keep the interaction impersonal and detached.

ღ Until you don't. Or rather, he is the one who asks and your hand falters over the lid of your packed lunch. He wants to know what type of sandwiches you prefer. Such a simple, innocuous question. A little strange too, since he has never asked anything directly about you before. You glance across at him and for a second, you think he looks embarrassed at having asked. You brush away the thought. Nanami never does things without a purpose. You tell him that you like the kind with smoked salmon, cheese and herbs, the one the cafeteria sells on Thursdays. He nods, as if satisfied and resumes his meal.

ღ Such a simple question, but you think it over when you reach home. Why would he ask something like that? Was it simple curiosity? You laugh out loud in the emptiness of your apartment, soft jazz music emanating from the TV speakers. You go to do the dishes and your step feels inexplicably light.

ღ You decide to ask him a question the next day. Oh, no need to be concerned, you tell yourself. You've broken none of your rules. You ignore the little doubt that tugs at your mind. You eventually ask him, rather abruptly you think, whether he likes crosswords. He considers you over the rim of his glasses before nodding slightly. He mentions that he likes the cryptic, and the particular newspaper he buys which makes the puzzle as challenging as he prefers. He goes back to working on his report, and you can't be certain (because Nanami is so difficult to read), but you think that he seems pleased.

ღ Questioning becomes routine between the two of you. You both keep the questions light at first, as if testing one another out for ... what it could be, you couldn't say. And then, he starts to ask about different things. He asks for your opinion on what a student sorcerer said to him, for your beliefs on the manner in which some of the clans operate, for your thoughts on the best way to deal with certain mission scenarios.

ღ Sometimes, you don't even get to ask your questions. He comes into the break room, carrying the weight of a full workday on his shoulders, and then he sees you and his brow clears, the corners of his mouth straightening out of their dour expression. He approaches you immediately, offering greetings, before dropping into the seat beside you with a sigh, unbuttoning his jacket and loosening his tie. He lays out for you, in his brisk, clinical manner, what occurred during the mission that day and what issues he encountered. His arm may brush against yours, he may lean closer to you, those earnest eyes of his capturing yours, as if he will not accept anything less than your complete attention. On days like these, you can't ask your questions, but you don't mind at all. You save them up, hoarded like precious gems in some long-buried den, for later.

ღ The more you question each other, the more you get to know about him. Not because of the questions themselves, no. More the manner in which he responds to them. Beneath his cut glass exterior, you realise that Nanami is a man who feels very deeply, and with conviction. He is sensitive, as you learn when you find out that he kept small mementoes of transfigured humans who never made it. He is considerate, having memorized the favourite drinks and snacks of everyone who seems to be closer to him. He is perceptive, as you learn when he offers you an extra copy he bought of his paper, having noted how curious you were about his crossword. He is gentle, as you see in his interactions with Yuuji. Your knowledge of him is a soft unfolding, perilous at the centre.

ღ You tell yourself that this is enough. That it will never go beyond this. As far as he is concerned, you may just be a trusted colleague who forms part of his daily routine, nothing more. You cast your rules in steel and then tear them out of the mould each time, turning them over in your hands, wishing you could break them apart. You have never felt weaker.

ღ And one day, he may enter the break room, pausing in the doorway, a first for him. He is always so decisive in every word and action. You may be puzzled by his hesitancy and give him your usual welcoming smile, your world already made a little brighter by his presence. You may shift your chair a little to the left, as you always do, to show him that there is always room for him at your table.

ღ Nanami takes off his glasses. There is something more open there, something warm, something that threatens all the safeguards you have set around yourself. He finally makes his way over and sinks into the chair beside you, his demeanour strangely helpless, in your eyes. He produces his phone from a pocket, looking down at it for a while before placing it carefully on the table between the both of you. Nanami tells you that he prefers to have the contact details of anyone from Jujutsu Tech who may be of importance to his work in the future. He hopes that it isn't too presumptuous, but he would greatly appreciate your contact too. The phone lies on the table, a small metal island separating two continents on the verge of collision. You take it in your hand. It is still warm from his touch.

ღ You tell yourself, as if repeating it a hundred times will make it true, that this is enough. It is enough. Enough. Enough. You whisper his name, reverently, to the ceiling of your bedroom. Kento.

ღ It is not enough. It never will be.

@tsukimefuku @actuallysaiyan @kentocalls @g-kleran

[humanpurposes]

Ettore / waking up to their partner giving them oral on a fine Christmas morning / smut where Ettore and reader have been sneaking around to bone, he often just grabs her and has his way with her, so to cheer him up on what would otherwise be a depressing Christmas on the ship she surprises him with a bj 💕

Desperate

Ettore x reader

Words: 1.9k

Warnings: smut, blowjob, dub-con, tw: Ettore

A/n: ayy my first time writing for this freak :)

Main Masterlist // Christmas Masterlist

It started in the showers.

Ettore had been staring at you for weeks, just as he had every other girl on the ship, but where Boyse would scream at him and Mink would shove him away, you’d stare back. You couldn’t help it.

He’s younger than the other men on the ship, perhaps the youngest, which makes you all the more curious as to what he’s been sentenced for. You guess it might be something to do with the way he stares, the way he stalks around the ship like an animal, keeping his chin down like he’s trying to be less conspicuous. He’s not hard to miss, tall and slender, with three matching tattoos, one on each arm, the other on his neck underneath his jaw.

It was late in the night cycle, soft snores coming from the other bunks in your room. Moments of privacy were rare so you’d made a habit of seeking solitude under running warm water when the rest of the ship was asleep. Or they should have been. 

You were standing in the doorway of your dorm when you spotted him, lingering in front of the shower room. It was too dark to see if he was smirking or not but the nervous feeling fluttering in your stomach told you he was. You were frozen to the spot, towel clutched under your arm, shoes off and feet bare against the cold floor. You knew the most intelligent thing to do would be to go back to your bunk…

But curiosity got the better of you. It keeps getting the better of you.

There’s not much to be excited about in a place like this. The days come and go with the alternating harsh white and the dull blue of the daylight cycle. From the few viewpoints on the ship there are no days to see, only night, only the void of deep space, and you wonder what the point is in pretending like the twenty-four hour cycle of Earth matters all the way out here. Months tick by on a calendar. Seasons and holidays become a distant memory. It all drives you insane, the dull colours of the walls, floors and ceilings, wearing the same red uniforms, eating the same tasteless food, the constant hum of the ship’s engines.

But there are ways to distract yourself. You tried the Box at first, but once you were finished using it you’d go back to your bunk and dream of heat and breath, real human hands on your body, skin on skin.

Intimacy between inmates is strictly forbidden on Dibs’ orders. She says it interferes with her ‘research’ and would distract you all from your tasks at hand, as if any of the people on this ship are here for scientific purposes. You think she likes it, having control over all the inmates like this, calling you to the lab every day, one by one. She has all these different tests “to keep track of your health,” she says. It’s bullshit. She’s picking her next victim.

Maybe that’s why Ettore excites you so much. He looks at you with a hunger and a want you’ve not known since you were first incarcerated. Maybe that’s why you let him grab you that night in the showers. You had walked into a room filled with billowing steam, the silhouette of his body visible through the grey. You stood right night to him, watching him staring at you out of the corner of your eye. It was like showering with a knife to your throat. His hand brushed over your hip and you flicked him away. Then he made his move. He had you by the elbows and pushed your front against the wall, thrusting his cock against your cunt until you were wet enough. It hurt at first but he showed no concern when you cried out. Once he got deep enough the pain subdued and faded into pleasure. It was quick and vulgar but it was bliss.

The showers are a good place to fuck, no cameras and no prying eyes. You find other corners of the ship, or rather Ettore does, dragging you into a storage unit or one of the abandoned labs without warning. As your trysts become more frequent he becomes somewhat more attentive, circles on your clit when he fucks you, his hands and lips and tongue on your breasts, lately he likes to prop you up, get on his knees and make you come with his fingers and his mouth.

It can’t be affection, whatever it is you feel for him. There’s no use for that on a suicide mission in deep space. You exchange pointed looks in passing or feel the occasional hand on your back. Sometimes you even make small talk. Besides, you don’t think Ettore would be capable of it. He’s more of a primal being and sometimes you think it rubs off on you, just the need to be close to another person, to chase something that’s forbidden. 

The calendar tells you it’s December, getting close to Christmas. There’s no concept of that on the ship. You’ll never know snow again, you’ll never hear a Christmas song or taste sugar and rich cuts of roasted meat. It’s the same routine over and over and over.

On the morning of the 25th you’re on laundry duty, stripping the bunks in each dorm. You spot Ettore on all fours, shirt off, wiping the floor with a cloth. You watch the lines of his muscles tense as he works to get a scuff out, brow slightly damp with sweat. He’s already noticed you, looking between the floor and you.

Anticipation rises in your belly.

You make sure the two of you are alone first. The hallway is empty and so are the dorms while the rest of the inmates are fulfilling their duties around the ship, then they’ll gather in the mess hall for morning rations– as close to morning you can get here.

Your steps towards Ettore are slow, shoes echoing softly through the hallway. You see him pause and place the cloth down.

Once you’re standing over him he sits back on his haunches, lips parted, eyes wide.

“It’s the 25th of December,” you say.

Ettore shrugs. “So?”

“I have something for you.”

He looks skeptical. “What?”

“It’s a surprise.”

He frowns. “Are you gonna tell me then?”

“That ruins the purpose of a surprise. Come with me and I’ll show you.”

He doesn’t care to check your surroundings. He’s on his feet in an instant, inching closer to you, fingertips pawing at your waist through your uniform.

You brush his hand away. “Not here,” you hiss, and lead him into one of the dorms.

The lights are dim, beds stripped down to the mattress. You hear the whirr of the mechanism that closes the door as Ettore’s body presses into your back. He keeps his hips close to your backside with a wide palm over your stomach, dangerously close to the hem of your shirt.

His lips are tantalizing against the shell of your ear. “What’s this something you’ve got for me, hmm? Wouldn’t happen to be you, would it?”

You pry yourself out of his touch and turn to face him. His eyes are dark and desperate, and he’s never one for patience when he wants something. He walks into you, backing you against the ladder of the bunks.

You reach your arm out to stop him. Something in his expression lights up at the challenge and panic surges through your chest because you know that if you don’t take your chance now, he’ll take it for you. But he stops, eyes fixed on your face as you trace down his bare torso, over the ridges of his abs, his surprisingly soft skin, the burning heat coming off him.

He shudders when your fingertips brush over his navel. A part of you is proud of yourself, tugging on the waistband of his trousers and pulling them down as you lower yourself to your knees. Ettore sighs when he realises what you intend to do, cradling the back of your head as you free his hardening cock. The sound of his breath only stirs the rising feeling in your gut, the thought of the sounds he’ll make when your lips will touch him, the way his jaw will fall open.

You can feel him pressing your head closer to the tip but you push back. You tilt your chin up and your eyes meet. 

The hum of the engines is deafening. No other living thing is within earshot in the empty room, the empty hallway and beyond that a lifeless void. There is just your heartbeat pulsing in your ears and the sound of Ettore’s impatient breaths.

He likes to be in control. He likes to press you against the wall and restrict your movement in any way he can, clasping your hands behind your back or above your head, gripping your body to use it as he pleases. He likes to scrape his teeth over your neck and you often have to tell him to stop because you can’t afford him to leave a visible mark on your body, no matter how much he wants to.

“Let me do this, for you,” you whisper.

He relents, stops pushing, but keeps his hand where it is. 

You run your tongue along the underside, feeling how he shudders when you reach the tip and tease it with small, sparse licks. 

Ettore holds onto one of the rungs on the ladder, his hips jerking like his body seeks more, but he stops himself. You glance up to see his lips pressed together and his eyes closed. You withhold a smile, deciding you like him like this, desperate.

You take him slowly into your mouth. Ordinarily he’d be the one positioning you on your knees, sliding his cock between his lips after fucking you. The taste of your own arousal would pool on your tongue, mingling with his own release when he was finished. “Take it. Swallow all of it,” because you’d be dead if Dibs discovered any consequences.

You don’t want to rush this. He’s heavy in your mouth as you inch along his length, gently pulling back and taking more with every bob of your head. 

Ettore’s sighs catch in his throat, dangerously close to groans. As demanding as he is he knows there are limits in this awful place. You never know who might hear, even through a closed door. But with every sound he makes, you want more, an infuriating pressure appearing at your clothed cunt as your hand traces down between your legs.

You hear a dark chuckle as Ettore’s fist closes in your hair. “I think you like this,” he says, pushing on your head again, bucking his hips into your mouth in a slow rhythm, “like it when I use that perfect little mouth?”

He’s upping the pace, hitting the back of your throat with every thrust. You try to take it, tell yourself to breathe.

“Take it, just fucking take it,”

Your eyes are hot and stinging with tears. You look up to him in a desperate plea. The light from the hall is faint, his face scattered with shadows catching on the harsh line of his jaw, the curve of his parted lips. He looks dark, hungry.

Your hand has slipped under your uniform and your panties, circling deftly over your clit. 

“Fucking knew it,” Ettore says with a grin. 

You can only keep your mouth open and brace yourself with a hand on his thigh. The sounds are lewd and thrilling. You gather wetness with your fingertips to draw yourself closer and closer to your own release.

Suddenly Ettore pushes himself to the hilt, your nose pressing against his stomach as he comes. Within a few heartbeats your own climax washes over you. Ettore slips himself out and you try to catch your breath, limbs numb, a warmth dripping from the corners of your mouth and running down your chin. You feel like an utter mess.

Ettore wipes his thumb over your skin and lifts your gaze up to him. “You’re pretty like this.”

“Did you like the surprise, then?”

He tilts his head, a hint of playfulness in the curl of his mouth as his fingertips dig into your jaw. “Not much of a surprise, was it? I already knew you were a little slut.”

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[pinkhoodi]

and the results are !

✎ᝰ — bat boys finding out their partner is pregnant

♡⃕ — dick grayson & jason todd x black!reader

♡⃕ — genre + warnings: fluff + mention of past sex but nothing in detail ! dick + jason are both worry warts, mention of children

꒰ DICK GRAYSON ꒱

Ꮺ the evening was quiet and chilly from the late autumn season. you were wrapped up in a blanket, watching tv, while dick was cooking dinner for the both of you. minimal sounds were heard throughout the house, besides the tv, but your groans interrupted them

Ꮺ the past few weeks haven’t been easy on both of you, dick has been busy working with bruce and you’ve been throwing up for the past few weeks. at first, you believed that you had caught the flu so you just bought some medicine and treated it how you usually would, with some herbal tea and soft food. though that didn’t cure much and you continued feeling unwell

Ꮺ as weeks passed, you’ve been throwing up more often than not. dick was growing fearful that you caught a virus and suggested that you went to the doctor, you scoffed at that idea and reassured him that you’ll be fine. but after some time of back and forth, you sided with the doctors

Ꮺ the doctor did ask the usual questions, “are you active?” “do you take any birth control pills or contraceptives?” “are you pregnant?”. however, you mind started wandering the answer to those questions, which were yes to most of them. while you and dick were active, you both didn’t do it often since you both had to work around the clock

Ꮺ the doctor suggested a pregnancy test after hearing your symptoms and answer to the questions. you did take it just to be sure and the doctor told you that she’d be in contact for the results

Ꮺ present day, the house is filled with the sizzling sounds of dick in the kitchen and dialogue heard from the tv. you were groaning and moving anxiously on the couch as you waited for the results. the level of anxiety has been filling the air since the last visit but both of you try to hide it for the sake of the other

Ꮺ dick comes over to the couch to take a quick break from cooking and kisses your forehead as he sees your worried look. he laughs a little and positions you to lay on his lap, your head laid on his thighs as he looks down at you and kisses your forehead again. your muscles slowly ease from the intimacy and you finally down as dick gives you shoulder and back rubs

Ꮺ out of the blue, your phone rings from under you, and you shift around to grab it. the number appearing on the screen is familiar and you answer immediately, your voice is shaky as you speak. the doctor introduces herself and tells you the purpose of the call, but you already knew and was anticipating this phone call

Ꮺ the doctor tells you that you have no indication of any illness but does tell you the bombing news that you have a positive pregnancy test. dick can already tell the results from how your pupils dilate and your facial expressions makes you seem brighter than before. in his head, there are only two thoughts, “I’m going to be a father!” and “I’m going to be a father?”. though the same thought, both had different emotions behind it. one was filled with excitement and joy about this new addition for you and y/n and the other was filled with worry, concern, and fear for the newborn. but dick covers the fearful thought with joy instead

Ꮺ after the phone call, dick pulls you into a deep comforting hug and celebrates that he’s going to be a father. he peppers kisses all around your face as the both of you are smiling at each other. the both of you filled with endless amounts of bliss after learning that you’re soon-to-be parents

Ꮺ dick is already throwing compliments, telling you that you’ll be the best mother to your child, you’ll look so beautiful pregnant, you’ll look so beautiful as mom, the child will be as gorgeous and graceful as their mother. he’s filling your head with peace as he continues to shower you with compliments

Ꮺ instantly, dick is already in dad mode and pulling up the target website to start shopping for his unborn child. you laugh and continue to carry on the conversation, feeling the complete opposite of how you felt earlier this evening

Ꮺ dick grayson and y/n grayson, soon-to-be parents and determined to be one of the best parents in this world <3

꒰ JASON TODD ꒱

Ꮺ in the middle of a movie night, jason looks to see you drifting asleep. the movie wasn’t boring, you were very tired from work and your body hadn’t been feeling the best. you were throwing up everywhere and your body ached more than it usually did

Ꮺ at the second you closed your eyes, the uneasy feeling of throwing up came up again. your face twisted into an uncomfortable look and you groaned while rubbing your stomach. you got up and ran to the bathroom before you threw up all over the couch, or even jason himself

Ꮺ jason asks if you’re okay and you reassure him that you are. he doesn’t believe you and tells you that he’s going to a nearby store to pick up some items for you. one of which is a pregnancy test but he kept that to himself

Ꮺ for the past few times you’ve been throwing up and complaining about your body, jason did research on what illness you could possibly have. but all that came up were life-threatening illnesses, a virus, and signs of pregnancy

Ꮺ pregnancy raised curiosity out of jason, since you both were very active and rarely used protection. he started doing the math on the last time you both had done it and the date your body started feeling unwell. let’s just say, the potential of being a father clouded his mind indefinitely

Ꮺ once jason came back from the store, he placed the items on the kitchen counter. he grabs the four pregnancy tests and hands them to you, you raise an eyebrow at him and he explains how he believes that you’re pregnant. you on the other hand don’t believe it but decide to take it anyway since you felt too weak to argue

Ꮺ you go into the bathroom and lock the door, your mind is racing with fear and anxiety as you take each test. as amazing as it would be to be a mother, you were worried for jason would be as a father and begging that the child doesn’t end up on the same path as jason. even though batman took him in and raised him somewhat well, you wanted better, you wanted more for your child

Ꮺ as time passes, you go in and out of sleep waiting for the results until jason wakes you up by knocking on the bathroom door. he’s asking you if the results have come in yet and you groan at the question, reminding you of the reason why you were even in the bathroom. you unlock the door and you step out to let him see the results first since you were too nervous

Ꮺ it was quiet for the first few minutes, you sat on the carpet of your living room while you waited. you were concerned, actually growing worry that you’ll be hit with bad news. but instead you were hit with a hug and a sniff?

Ꮺ was jason crying? why yes, yes he was. he felt joyful, happy, excited, yet overwhelmed and fearful. but mostly excited by the news!

Ꮺ he let go of you from the hug and showed all four pregnancy test showing positive. you were hit in a state of shock and immediately hugged jason back, crying into his shoulder as he cradled you. the both just were in amazement that you’re going to be parents. you’re going bring a new soul and raise a human being together

Ꮺ worry did start to grow in the both of you, and you both felt it in each other, but jason leveled it by kissing your forehead. he reassured you that both of you will be amazing parents and your child will love you more than you two love each other (quite impossible if I may add but hey)

Ꮺ for the rest of the night, you both continued the baby talk and playfully went back and forth on what the gender will be. you simply don’t care but jason is one hundred percent sure he’s gonna be a girl dad <3

♡⃕ hope you guys enjoyed my first post :) feedback is accepted !

𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐏 💗: acts 20:24

© 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟥 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗁𝗈𝗈𝖽𝗂. 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Alliance of Shadows (12)

A/N: This is it babes... the final chapter. I do have an epilouge planned that is definitely... rated R for raunchy. For now though, enjoy!

Pairing: Adar x Reader

Warnings: None

Taglist: @annatartastic @oakenshielq @perse-cora @eowyn7023 @passionofthesith @zoya-olenko

Word Count: 3.2 K

Previous- Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The mountain range ahead loomed vast and ancient, its peaks dusted with snow even in the warmer months. The mages had long called this place home, hidden in their solitude, away from the world that often looked at them with distrust. Now, as you and Adar led the Uruks and your people toward the imposing peaks you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the journey ahead—not just the trek through rugged terrain, but the merging of two vastly different peoples.

“Ered Sûr,” you murmur to Adar beside you, “The Mountains of Silence.” 

The Uruks, stoic as always, walk with purpose. Their dark eyes sweep the horizon, ever wary of danger. Though the threat of Sauron has been sealed away, they carry with them a wariness, as if expecting some new battle at any moment. Behind them, the mages move with quiet grace, their robes flowing in the wind. Though both groups had fought side by side, it is clear that old habits of distrust have not yet fully faded.

As the path begins to ascend, the Uruks raise their heads toward the jagged peaks of Ered Sûr. You catch the gleam in Adar’s eyes—his people have wandered for too long, and now they stand at the threshold of a potential home. The air grows colder as you climb higher, the rocky terrain testing everyone’s endurance, but there is no faltering, no doubt in the steps of either group. This is a necessary journey, and one that holds promise.

Finally, as night begins to fall, the peaks come into full view. The closest summit, which you had planned to offer to the Uruk’s, stood sentinel over the landscape. 

“This is Karn Maug, or the "Red Peak,"" you say to Adar, as you steadily climb. “With any luck, the council will agree that it is perfect for your people.” 

Adar takes in the landscape around him. He nods slowly, “I can see its appeal. Your land is beautiful.” Though you know he is only remarking on the land that will soon be his home, you cannot help the flush on your cheeks at his praise.  

As you descend toward the valley where your council waits, your thoughts churn. Would they understand? Would they accept the Uruks?

The chamber where the council convenes is carved deep into the mountain’s heart. Torches flicker on the walls, casting dancing shadows as you and Adar enter. The council members sit in a half-circle, their faces impassive. Their robes, a shimmering deep blue, mark them as the wisest of your people.

While you regale the council of your journey and your proposition, Adar stands tall beside you, his presence commanding but not hostile. His Uruks wait outside, scattered along the valley as they observe their surroundings, no doubt suspicious of this new environment. The mages, too, watch with silent curiosity, knowing that this meeting would shape the future of their kingdoms.

One of the councilors, an older mage named Erys, leans forward, his piercing gaze fixed on you. “You ask much of us, Your Majesty. These Uruks, they are not our kind. They have lived in the shadows, they have spilled blood. Why should we welcome them into our lands?”

You straighten, allowing the weight of your title to settle in the room for a moment before you speak. “I understand your concerns, Erys. And while it is within my power to make this decision alone, I value your wisdom, your guidance. I have not led us into ruin, nor will I now. Your counsel matters, and I won’t act without hearing your voices.”

Erys frowns, but he gives a nod of acknowledgment. His respect for you remains, even in disagreement. You continue, your heart heavy but your voice firm. “The Uruks have been cast aside by the world, just as we once were. For too long, we’ve shut ourselves away from the world’s struggles, and though we have known peace, it is peace born of avoidance. Now we have an opportunity to do more, to offer a home to those who have been cast out.”

You pause, the words building up inside you like a storm that you could no longer contain. “And I owe them this.”

The room stills. The councilors’ eyes flicker in confusion, waiting for you to explain. You draw in a breath, the weight of your confession pressing down on your chest.

“When we fought Sauron,” you begin, your voice softer now, “I lost control of my magic. In my rage, I sought only to stop him. I didn’t think… I didn’t think about the consequences. In my desperation, I bound him to the volcano in Mordor. I cursed that land, the very place the Uruks had fought to reclaim as their home.”

The councilors exchange uncertain glances, but you press on. “I did this. I destroyed their home with my mistake. And now they have nowhere to go. I feel responsible for giving them a place—a true home. Not just because of my error, but because I’ve seen their strength, their loyalty. They deserve more than to be cast out again.”

The weight of your words hangs in the air. You can feel the tension in the room, the discomfort of the councilors as they absorb what you have admitted.

Another councilor, Mara, speaks up next, her voice carefully measured. “And what if they turn against us, Your Majesty? What if they use that strength to conquer rather than to coexist?”

You meet her gaze, your spine straightening with resolve. “We cannot live in fear of ‘what ifs,’” you say calmly but with conviction. “I am Queen, and if I doubted them, they would not have crossed our borders. But understand this: they have no desire for conquest. I have seen their pain, their yearning for a home. They wish to live, as we do, in peace.”

The council remains silent for a beat, but you can sense their hesitancy. It is then that Adar, who has remained quiet, steps forward. His voice, calm and steady, fills the chamber.

“I will swear fealty to you and your people, if that is what is required. I will pledge my life and the lives of my children to your kingdom’s protection.”

His words take you by surprise. You turn to him, shaking your head. “You owe us nothing, Adar. You and your people have already paid enough. You do not need to bend the knee.”

Adar meets your gaze, his dark eyes unreadable. “It is not about owing, but about peace. I will do what is necessary to ensure that our people can live without fear.”

The council murmurs among themselves, weighing the offer. Erys finally raises his hand for silence, his brow furrowed in deep thought. “Fealty may not be enough to ease the minds of our people. There is a way, though, to ensure unity between us...  A marriage.”

Your heart skips a beat, and for a moment, the entire room seems to close in. You blink, flustered, your mind racing to comprehend the suggestion. “A marriage?”

Mara nods, her eyes observing your reaction carefully. “A marriage between the leaders of our people would serve to quell any doubts of rebellion or uprising. It would symbolize the merging of our kingdoms—both Uruk and mage united by blood and bond.”

You look at Adar, searching his face for some reaction. To your shock, he is smiling, albeit subtly. There is a glimmer of amusement, perhaps even approval, in his eyes. He glances at you, his voice low and filled with a private, secret satisfaction. “It seems… a practical solution.”

Heat rises to your cheeks as you stammer, “I—”

Adar speaks again, his tone now more serious. “We are willing to carve our home into the Red Peak. But if you allow us, we will not be a kingdom separate from yours. Over time, our peoples will come together. We will share the land, share the mountains, our resources. Let us build something lasting.”

Erys sits back, considering. “Very well. Should the Queen approve, the Uruks will begin carving their homes in Karn Maug. In return, their armies will be ours in times of need. And we will help them carve out the stone, with our magic and with our hands.”

Relief floods through you. “It will be done,” you say quietly.

As the meeting concluded, the future now set in motion, you linger beside Adar. His presence is reassuring, grounding you in this moment of monumental change.

“You’re… you’re not opposed to the council’s suggestion?” you ask, still flustered by the mention of marriage.

Adar’s dark eyes gleam as he regards you. “Opposed? No. I am not opposed to being bound to you, not in the least. In life or death, I would never wish to be parted from you.”

His words send a thrill through your chest, and for a moment, the weight of all that has passed seems distant, replaced only by the quiet certainty of his love.

As you and Adar make your way down from the council chamber, a familiar sight greets you—his children, gathered near the valley clearing where the Uruks have set up a temporary camp. Their rugged faces, scarred and hardened by years of battle and struggle, soften the moment they see Adar approach. A murmur runs through them, and soon, every eye is fixed on him, anticipation hanging thick in the air.

Adar pauses before them, casting a long glance over the gathering of his people, his family. He has always been a pillar of strength, but today, there is something different in his posture, something that makes the air hum with expectation.

Finally, he speaks, his deep voice carrying across the clearing. “My children,” he begins, and the murmurs quiet immediately. “We have traveled far. We have fought harder than anyone could have imagined. And today, I bring news of hope.”

The Uruks lean forward, listening intently. You stand by Adar’s side, watching as their eyes light with the faintest spark of hope—something that has been a rarity in their lives.

“The Red Peak will be our new home,” Adar continues, his voice steady and filled with quiet pride. “The mountains have welcomed us, and we shall carve out a kingdom here. No longer will we wander the shadows, cast aside by the world. This land will be ours.”

For a moment, there is silence, the weight of his words sinking in. Then, like the breaking of a dam, a cheer erupts from the Uruks. The roar of celebration is fierce, filled with the raw emotion of a people who have been denied a home for so long. The ground seems to tremble beneath the force of their joy, and you feel the warmth of it settle deep in your chest.

Adar’s children rush forward, some clapping him on the back, others raising their weapons in triumph. The sense of unity, of shared victory, is palpable. The Uruks, so often seen as brutal and cold, now stand together in a moment of pure celebration.

You step forward, raising your hand to quiet them, though your heart swells with the same sense of relief and hope. “For now, make camp in this valley,” you say, your voice carrying over the crowd. “But soon, we will begin building homes. Permanent homes. It will take time, but know this—you are safe. You are protected within these mountains. If there is anything you require, please find one of my people. We know the pain of rebuilding. We will provide what you need. Be welcome, children of Adar, and know peace.”

A second, louder cheer erupts, so fierce and full of life that it seems to echo through the peaks around you. The Uruks raise their fists in the air, their voices merging with the wind, a chorus of triumph and gratitude. Even the mages among them, initially cautious of this alliance, are swept up in the infectious energy, their faces softening as they join in the cheers.

Adar turns to you, his dark eyes filled with something akin to pride. You have both fought for this—together. And now, standing in the midst of your united peoples, you know that the road ahead, though still fraught with challenges, would be walked side by side.

As the night stretches on, the valley becomes a place of celebration. Fires are lit, food is shared, and laughter—a rare, beautiful sound—rings out among the Uruks and mages alike. It is the beginning of something new, something stronger than either people have ever known.

Adar leans in close, his voice just loud enough for you to hear amidst the celebrations. “They cheer for us now. But it is you who gave them this hope.”

You shake your head slightly, smiling. “It was you Adar, you have done well by your children.”

A single tear slides down his cheek. You gasp as he gives you a rare full smile. It changes his face, making him appear younger, lighter, and even more beautiful. You cannot help the smile that stretches across your lips in return.

—--

After the night’s celebration, you retreat to your chambers, longing for quiet, though the silence feels foreign after so many weeks spent among the chaotic, lively Uruks. The vast room, with its high ceilings and sweeping drapery, feels too large, too empty. Every footstep echoes in the stillness, and the luxury of the space suddenly feels overwhelming. You dismiss your handmaidens, assuring them that you need time for contemplation, though as soon as the door shuts, the weight of solitude presses down upon you.

You sit at your writing desk, staring at the blank page before you, but your mind refuses to settle. Without Adar’s steady presence, without the constant hum of voices around you, the quiet gnaws at your thoughts. Your heart aches with a strange, unfamiliar emptiness, one that pulls you toward the one person who has anchored you in this tumultuous time.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you rise and move to the door. You grasp the handle and pull the door open wide, and there stands Adar, his silhouette bathed in the soft light of the hallway.

“I was coming to see if there were any extra blankets,” he says, his voice low and familiar. “Some of the young ones—” he pauses, hesitating for just a moment before continuing, “they’re not used to the cold here.”

You blink in surprise, relief flooding through you at the sight of him. “Adar, you could have sent anyone,” you say, though there’s no edge to your words, only affection. “One of your people, or even one of my guards—they would’ve gladly provided whatever was needed.”

His lips curve into the faintest of smiles. “Perhaps,” he admits. 

The simplicity of his confession sends a warmth through you, and without another word, you turn to the guard outside your door. “Fetch more blankets for the young ones,” you instruct gently. “Distribute them to those who need them.”

The guard nods, disappearing down the corridor. As soon as the guard vanishes, you turn back to Adar, your heart thudding a little faster now that you’re alone with him.

“Come inside,” you say, stepping back to let him enter.

He moves into the room, his dark eyes quietly taking in his surroundings. You walk ahead of him, showing him the front room where your writing desk and library reside, the shelves lined with scrolls and books of ancient knowledge. You pass by the door to your bathing chamber, the lingering scent of herbs and oils filling the air. Finally, you lead him to your bedroom.

You hesitate there, both of your gazes drawn to the large bed in the center of the room, its sheets pulled tight and pristine. The tension between you, already simmering beneath the surface, spikes. It occurs to you that this is the first time since your meeting that you are truly alone, no armies outside demanding your attention, no fights on the horizon, and no duties calling your names for the rest of the night. Your heart races, and for a moment, neither of you speaks, the air thick with unspoken words and unsaid desires.

Desperate to break the tension, you turn abruptly and lead him toward the balcony doors, pushing them open to reveal the vast terrace that overlooks the mountain range. The cool night air greets you both, carrying with it the scent of pine and stone. Above you, the stars stretch out like an endless sea of glittering lights, brilliant and bright against the dark sky.

Adar steps onto the balcony beside you, his gaze drawn upward. His breath catches, and you see something in his expression that you’ve never seen before—wonder, pure and unguarded.

“The stars,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

You watch him closely, the way his eyes shine with awe, as if he’s seeing them for the first time.

“When I was very young,” he begins, his voice low and steady, “my mother used to hold me in her arms on nights like this. She would point up at the stars and tell me stories of the Valar—how they shaped the world and guided the fate of all who lived within it. She said that the stars were the light of the Valar’s love, watching over us, even in the darkest times.”

You listen intently, your heart swelling at the image of him as a small child, cradled by a mother who, despite the world’s harshness, still found a way to pass on stories of hope and wonder.

“She would say that the stars were our ancestors, shining down to remind us that we were never truly alone,” he continues, his voice softer now. “Even when everything seemed lost, there was always light to guide us—if only we had the strength to look up.”

He takes a deep breath, his expression both wistful and sorrowful. “As I grew older, those stories faded. My mother died when I was still very young. After that… the world became harsher, crueler. There was no time for stories, no time for the stars.”

His voice softens, a shadow passing over his face. “During my time with Sauron, I lost hope in them. I stopped looking up. I had no time for them while freeing my children.”

He falls silent for a long moment, his eyes still fixed on the sky. “Now,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “I can’t remember the last time I saw them this clearly.”

His words hit you like a weight, and a lump rises in your throat. You take a step toward him, closing the distance between you. “Adar…” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

Gently, you reach for him, pulling him into your arms. His body tenses for just a moment before he relaxes into the embrace, his forehead resting against yours. The silence between you is filled with the soft rustling of leaves in the wind, the distant murmur of the mountains.

“We will bask in their light together,” you promise, your voice steady. “And in the joy of your children. You are free now, Adar. We are free.”

Tears prick at your eyes as you press a soft kiss to his lips, the weight of everything you’ve both endured and survived pouring into the moment. He returns the kiss gently, his hands coming to rest on your waist, grounding you both in the here and now.

When you finally pull back, his gaze is locked on yours, filled with the same awe he had for the stars moments before. There is a quiet peace between you now, the tension gone, replaced with something deeper, something unshakable.

“Together,” he whispers, his voice a vow.

[foundfamily-connoisseur]

Hi pookie 🫶 do you have a favorite AU for your punch out blorbos? Like sci-fi mech au or something?

First off hi pookie 🫶😘

Secondly yes and while nothing is like super thought out yet I so have basic ideas

WIRE-FRAME

I think i rambled to you about this during vc lol but I have different versions of it

VERSION 1:

Mac gets into an accident (when or how is yet to be determined) and idk the people doing his surgery or freaks so they're like "hey yeah this kid isn't going to make it....UNLESS☝️‼️‼️‼️" and they basically do a consciousness transfer where his mind his put into a half hologram half machine form which has a wire frame base. Mac continues about his normal life but idk something happens that causes his "skin" to freak out mid combat and reveal his actual form. Spiraling ensues as he begins to question literally everything about himself and his identity (both as a living, breathing, human and as Little Mac). The other boxers understandable freak out, because holy shit Little Mac got into a life threatening accident, but HOLY SHIT HE'S A ROBOT NOW?????? There's definitely mixed reactions to the information: pity to his condition, apathy(more so defensively because if he's a robot (like he literally has no flesh and bones. Not even a brain) Then who or what were they talking to? Is he an unfeeling hunk of metal? Is how he reacts, each laugh, roll of the eyes, or tear truly his? Or is it simply a reaction because if Little Mac behaved as such, than it will as well), or maybe even fear? Stop watching terminator you guys this is different.

VERSION 2:

Similar concept except Little Mac knows what he is. He doesn't know anything beyond one day waking up in a lab with countless people looming over him. They run tests on him, mumbling to each other things he couldn't understand. They called him something, he's forgotten what, but they'd call him 'Mac'.

He's a machine made and built to be an unstoppable fighting force. That's his entire purpose. He was 'given' to Doc under the pretense of being an underdog who wants to take on the title of champion(his story being to honor his mother and to prove he's something more beyond his circumstances. How ironic). No one is aware of his true nature, but Mac isn't concerned with concealing who or what he is.

As per the rule of humanesque robot, he slowly but surely starts to feel. the warmth of Doc's hand on his shoulder as he tells him "well done, son", the smooth coffee going down his artifical throat as he converses with Joe. These things shouldn't matter, shouldn't overheat the machinery beneath his skin, yet it does.

(Spoilers if the gang ever finds out he's a robot (without knowing the proper context of his creation) they are for sure avoiding him which would make Mac feel absolutely horrible 🫶 cuz his creators were right he is just a machine who serves no purpose beyond what he was made for. He has the strength and capacity to kill, but doesn't not out of kindness or connection, but because he's told "not yet". Is he really his own person if at the end of the day, he does as he's told?

I technically have other ones but they're more "this would be fun" rather than fully fleshed out or thought about for more than 5 minutes: Beastars, MHA, a horror-esquw au (i wanna make Glass Joe a freaky porcelain doll like thing let me have this)

Then ig this would count as an au but those "everyone lives together in one house" things. I need to specially because how dare everyone be at minimum states away to literal countries across water away????? How can I have my found family ease of access if Lil Mac gotta clear out a week, get a plane ticket, and pack his shit to hang out with Great Tiger???? Literal bullshit I say chat

[jasonsbruce]

Possessive Brujay? I think it would be interesting if they were both equally possessive in their own (toxic) ways.

your wish is my command 🫡🫡🫡

after jason's resurrection, something changes between them. when bruce finally gets him back, he swears never to lose him again. he can't go through it again—the guilt, the grief, the loss.

bruce becomes possessive, but he hides it behind a mask of concern. he tells himself it's for jason's safety, that jason needs him, which makes it easier to push away the guilt of his behavior.

it starts with bruce hovering over him, always watching. he had always been controlling, but it's different now. more intense. bruce isn't just concerned about jason's safety; he's fixated on keeping him safe.

whenever jason talks to someone else, there's a dark look in bruce's eyes, a possessive flash, like jason is something to be guarded. and bruce always knows where jason is, like he's tracking his every move.

every time jason tries to go off-grid or leave gotham for a while, bruce is already there, making sure he never strays too far from the city—too far from him.

he shows up unannounced at jason's apartment, keeps critical information from him, brings him into the batcave for medical check-ups even when jason feels fine.

bruce even subtly sabotages jason's relationships, wanting him for himself. as jason tries to reconnect with the family, things mysteriously fall apart. texts go unanswered, calls get ignored.

and the most fucked up part is that jason doesn't care about any of that.

because his need for bruce's attention runs deeper. he craves his approval and hates how much he needs it. he wants to be the only one bruce sees, the only one bruce cares about.

jason goes out of his way to provoke him—flaunting his independence as red hood, breaking rules, taking reckless risks—just to see bruce react, to feel that warm flash of anger, that possessive rage that tells him bruce still wants him, still cares.

the more bruce tries to control jason, the more he pushes back. jason wants to see how far bruce will go to keep him. jason thrives on it.

then, one night, after an argument gets too heated, it just happens. it's rough, desperate, all of the tension and the need to own each other, poured into that moment. the next morning, they don't talk about it, don't even look at each other any differently.

but it keeps happening.

every time their bodies crash together, it's like a power struggle, but jason knows exactly what he's doing. he pushes, provokes, teases, waiting for bruce to snap, and stop holding back. jason knows, after everything that's happened, he shouldn't like it this much. he should hate giving up control, hate letting bruce have that power over him.

but he doesn't.

instead, he loves it. he loves the way it feels when everything is in bruce's hands, when bruce pins him down and takes what he wants, when he shows jason who is in control. it only makes him want bruce more. jason lets him have that control, because he likes feeling bruce's power.

the risks keep getting bigger, more dangerous, almost suicidal. jason stepping into enemy territory without backup, defying direct orders, putting himself in harms way on purpose, just to see if bruce will save him in time.

and bruce always does.

every fight is a test, every argument a challenge, and bruce rises to it every time. jason gets a rush whenever he successfully pulls bruce out of his controlled world, every time he sees that mask crack and the raw, possessive want underneath is exposed. he thrives on being the one thing bruce can’t control.

bruce wants to control him, to own him, and jason lets him think he can—until the next time he pushes back.

but there are times when jason hates how much he likes it. but the thought never lasts long—not when bruce's attention feels so good, not when his hands are on him, claiming him.

it's intoxicating—a twisted game. jason pushes and bruce pulls, and neither of them wants to stop it. their equal possessiveness and obsession feed off each other, and they're insatiable.

[ideavian]

Every time you post I just wanna know more about EE and Rarity. This is your excuse to just talk about it, I wanna read whatever you say

Ahhh that means a lot! I’m glad you like them :D I’m just going to use this ask for general trivia alsjsksk thanks for the opportunity to ramble!

1. EE was heavily inspired by Ludwig II of Bavaria and his architectural projects! EE takes after a lot of the aesthetics and elements associated with him in both the puppet and the superstructure. He also shares his idealisation of past eras and focus on preserving beauty, to the point of neglecting functional/material concerns.

2. Originally my idea for the campaign was supposed to revolve more around Rarity’s purpose as a mobile memory conflux, so it was more about going to different areas and documenting the environment. Each area successfully documented was supposed to symbolise a corresponding tie with the world, so that Rarity would essentially carry the world within its cells. This would mean that it wouldn’t be able to ascend after entering the void but would simply continue to record until it returned to the material plane with its newfound knowledge. Anyway I scrapped this idea because I had no idea how it would work gameplay wise and also couldn’t come up with that many unique areas :’)

3. The pearl garden region was a result of EE trying to create Rarity. His first attempt of merging biological tissue with pearls was successful but uncontrolled, and the result was too unstable to be any useful in retaining information. The material has high reproductive capacity but an extremely short lifespan, so it infects any living being and basically turns them to pearl statues. Over time, the material spread from the test site and covered the island EE is situated on, wiping out the ecosystem and beginning to strangle the superstructure. EE appreciates the aesthetic value of the infection even though he is very dying.

4. The echo which gives Rarity max Karma, Ten Chimes over Deep Water, was a member of EE’s maintenance crew and also EE’s favourite musician. They were very attached to EE and admired his artistic capabilities, but didn’t share his philosophy that beautiful things should be preserved forever, alive or dead. Chimes was, like other Ancients, used to the world, and they found its lack of novelty tiring. They were therefore enthusiastic about ascension and curious about the world beyond. Nevertheless, they were the last to leave EE’s superstructure for mass ascension. EE viewed their departure as a betrayal and forbade them from ever returning, so Chimes’ echo lingers on the far shore.

5. Rarity is solar powered and well adapted to the barrenness of EE’s surroundings. It likes sleeping in the sun :3 The rain in the region is gentle but floods are common due to poor drainage, so hibernating is still occasionally necessary.

That’s about all I’ve got for now! Might add on more if anything comes to me aldjsksk thanks for the ask!! Also feel free to ask question from here if there’s anything you’d like to know :D

[kleftiko]

❦ HOUSE OF SILVER

cw: mature themes (paid sexual favours), implied historical violence, historical ideologies regarding sex, fem!reader

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The Edo period—the final era of feudal Japan. daimyos, samurais, and the common class, all with a purpose to help society. After her father lost his money and status when she was a child, y/n works as a maid in a teashop, following courtesans and cleaning up after their jobs. When the head of the Gojo clan comes in one night, she doesn’t expect to see him again, much less have him call on her.

It isn't often you get to witness midday, and the cool breeze that accompanies it is a welcome feeling. The leaves rustle gently, creating a soothing melody that adds to the tranquility of the moment. Gojo stands beside you, waiting patiently as you take in the scenery.

"So, who are the Kamos and the Zen'ins?" You ask.

Gojo admitted that he suspects you to be a part of one of these two families, though he isn't sure which. He explained that the Kamos and the Zen'ins are two powerful and influential families with a long history of conflict and rivalry, but not much after that.

"Sorcerer clans," he says.

"Sorcerers?" You prompt, not knowing the term.

"Those who fight curses." He shrugs, and you huff a bit at the lack of information he's giving you.

You ask again, "Curses?"

"Those creatures you see, but others don't." He points towards a shadowy figure lurking far behind a tree, its eerie presence sending shivers down your spine. "They're a manifestation of negative emotions."

He explains that the Kamo and Zen'in bloodlines are known for their exceptional abilities, making them highly respected within the sorcerer community. However, their differences in ideologies and methods have led to a deep-rooted animosity between them, causing frequent clashes and power struggles.

You take a pause.

"And you're a sorcerer?"

He nods with a small smile that, on the surface, seems prideful but feels hollow. "The most powerful, yes."

It makes you think for a second; your senses just taking in the details of his face. There's a hint of weariness in his beautiful eyes and remnants of bags underneath, indicative of a poor night's sleep, or possibly many. You notice the slight creases between his brows, suggesting a constant state of tension or worry. His gaze flicks down at you, that teasing smile creeping on his lips.

"What?" He asks, his voice laced with amusement. It's a voice that carries a touch of arrogance, yet there's also a warmth that draws you in.

It makes you blink out of your thoughts.

"Why do they want me now?" You don't mean to voice your thoughts out loud, but you can't help it with the way his gaze strips you down.

"Well," his tone is unbothered. "I imagine their only concern would be marrying you off."

His response causes you to raise your eyebrows in confusion. "Marrying me off? But what about abilities?"

He chuckles softly, the sound carrying a hint of bitterness. "In some clans, power and potential mean very little compared to political alliances and social status."

You look out onto the landscape of the school again. The tall trees atop the hill that overlook the city stretch out before you, seemingly untouched by the complexities of society. The beauty of nature offers a temporary escape from the constraints and expectations you imagine come with being a sorcerer. Perhaps that's why the school is placed here—for an ounce of serenity.

"Is that why you frequented Madame Ino's teahouse? To find me?"

Gojo changes the subject. "How about we try some sparring?"

You furrow your brows at him, and you can't help but feel a sense of weariness at the mention of sparring. The idea of testing your skills against him fills you with a sense of unwanted anticipation, especially after his declaration of being the strongest. Or maybe it’s because you don’t know how you’ll handle yourself if he’s close enough to touch you.

"I don't know how to fight..." You admit, feeling your heart heart a bit harder against your chest.

However, Gojo's eyes still twinkle with amusement.

"You need to start somewhere." He says. "Your sex is not a concern of mine when it comes to this. Curses will come at you without discrimination."

You take a deep breath, hoping to keep your composure together as you see him take a step back. It’s a casual starting pose he takes, unlike your clumsy one, but you roll your shoulders back anyway and prepare yourself.

And just as soon as you start, Gojo has you pinned down.

He's too fast. His movements are a blur that leave you struggling to keep up. Despite your best efforts, with your very limited knowledge, it becomes clear that Gojo's speed and skill surpass you by miles.

Your back hits the ground rather forcefully, a whimper of pain sounding from your frowning lips as you close your eyes.

"Oww..." you whine, looking up at Gojo atop you with a pout.

He has a grin on his face, one different from the smiles you've previously seen. This one has a menacing twist to it, as if he's relishing in your defeat. It dawns on you that Gojo is not just an incredibly strong opponent, but also someone who enjoys the thrill of overpowering others.

It completely distracts you from the feeling of his large hands gripping your wrists and holding them above your head or the feeling of the warmth from his chest that was pressed up against yours, even though it probably wasn't the most tactical move to keep you down.

But what got you heated was his leg pressed up between yours, creating an intimate and electrifying tension that sends shivers down your spine.

His head tilts, dangerous look still in his eyes.

"Are you not feeling well?" His voice is teasing.

You make a pathetic noise.

The back of his hand releases your arm and slowly trails down your face.

"You're burning up." His voice is low.

And his touch sends a jolt of desire coursing through your veins, making it hard to focus on anything else. The intensity of the moment leaves you breathless, unable to form a coherent response.

You can’t help but melt into his attention, feeding off of his touch and gaze on you. His presence is both captivating and unsettling, leaving you torn between fear, an inexplicable attraction, and a confidence you didn't have when you entered the room that night before. Your hips buck slightly, and you don't know if it's an attempt to get closer or further from him, but it makes Gojo raise his brow at you and look down to where you're brushing against him.

When he meets your gaze again, it's hungry. His eyes bore into yours with an intensity that sends fire through your skin. The air between you crackles with an electric tension, as if something powerful is about to unravel, and you feel a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins, making every nerve ending tingle with anticipation.

You gulp, becoming numb through your body, until the only feeling you have is a scorching sensation where you two meet and the pounding of your heart in your ears. Before you can crane your head closer to his, wanting to bask in all of him, Gojo lets go, moving out of your grasp and filling the space between you with a frost-like feeling.

The hunger in his eyes diminishes as quickly as it came.

"That's not very smart," he says, looking down at you as he gets up and stands to his full height. "Especially if your estranged family wants you untouched before they sell you off."

Your heart drops. You feel a wave of fear and confusion wash over you as Gojo's words sink in. The reminder of how easy it is for flesh and blood to betray you for their own gain leaves you feeling cheated and vulnerable. It's a harsh reminder of the cruel world you find yourself trapped in and cannot escape, no matter where you go.

The virtue of women that this world values is reduced to a mere commodity, bought and sold at the whim of those in power. The weight of societal expectations and the pressure to conform becomes even more suffocating as you recall that your worth is determined solely by your ability to be traded like property.

"Untouched?" Your voice is soft, drawing out to see if what he means is what you think.

The look he gives you is enough to confirm.

And you realize that, if you weren't already, once they found out, you would be damaged property in their eyes. The flimsy promise of your first love comes back to you, as does the deal you made in exchange for the commitment you made to marry each other, only for him to leave afterwards.

"And..." You hesitate, suddenly feeling like a little girl again. "If I'm not... untouched?"

You can't distinguish the look on the Daimyo's face. His expression remains inscrutable, leaving you uncertain of how he will respond. The weight of your confession hangs in the air, and you brace yourself for his judgment.

But he squats down to your eye level, arms resting on his legs with a casual air.

"Like I said," he says, "it doesn't matter to me, but I can't say the same for the other clans."

The words do not reassure you in the slightest. You feel a surge of anxiety as the Daimyo's words sink in. The mention of the other clans only intensifies your fear of their potential judgment and repercussions.

"And what happens then?"

Gojo looks away from you, gazing off into the distance as if lost in thought. His silence stretches on, making you even more uneasy. Finally, he turns back to you and admits, "I don't know."

But he doesn't let you ruminate any longer, as he grabs your hands with a gentle touch you have never experienced from him and helps you stand up. He lets go of your fingers to smooth down your hair, and you almost melt into his touch.

"We'll continue this tomorrow." He tells you. "Go to sleep for now."

taglist:

@witchbybirth / @alekssashka7 / @haqita-kimoji / @idktbhloley / @swimmingsharkpuppy / @thecolorpeach / @qardasngan / @peqch-pie

[ladymorghul]

not my usual type of headcanon but here goes nothing. i'm on season two of tlk just so you know where this is lowkey inspired from.

tw: op's inaccurate asoiaf politics, abusive behaviour, cliches but idgaf cuz i love many cliches. also overlords of other regions who??

did not give this a second reread yet so if there's mistakes in it i might fix it later

--

the assize at riverrun makes the blackwoods resentful of their overlords. that is blackwood land as far as they are concerned, and the decrepit lord tully cannot change what has been theirs for generations. it takes little time for the blackwoods to defy the new border and start a battle with the brackens, one that ends bloodily for both houses, but more so for the brackens as their enemy raids their two villages near the border, burning places of worship, killing men and women, and stealing from their crops.

because of this, their new lord paramount, oscar tully, barely of age (grover tully has since died, rip), summons both amos bracken and samwell blackwood to riverrun, declaring that such acts of barbarity cannot happen again. lord oscar proposes a marriage between house blackwood's heir, davos blackwood, and amos bracken's nephew, aeron bracken. both houses protest, outraged at the proposal. the blackwoods see no purpose in this marriage; it will not solve their complaints, nor will they marry their heir to the son of a second son. the brackens, on the other hand, emphasize that such a marriage will not wash away the bloodshed and that even if they were to agree to this farce of a marriage, which they will not, davos blackwood would need to come live in stone hedge, for their nephew would be merely a prisoner in raventree hall, especially with the reputation davos blackwood has.

what they don't know, of course, is that davos blackwood and aeron bracken are no strangers to each other. they met many times at the stones, since they were old enough to patrol, and have been enemies, exchanging shoves and cruel words, but the time spent at the border, time spent getting to know the supposed enemy, changed things. they have not named their relationship "a relationship" per se, but they had kissed and were meeting in secret at night sometimes. they were testing the waters and exploring this new relationship.

upon hearing about the proposal, aeron is both excited and scared. he knew he'd have to marry one day, both of them would have to marry, but marrying the person that you were falling for stirred something in his chest even if until that moment marriage was not yet a concept he entertained at all. he thought he'd have more time. on the other hand he had no idea how davos would feel about this. sure, they liked each other enough to meet in secret and fool around a little, but marriage? that was for life.

with both houses refusing the marriage proposal, oscar tully falters and the idea fails. aeron feels disappointed but there's nothing he can do. he knew his uncle would never accept such proposal, nor would the blackwoods.

his uncle eventually tells him he'll marry into a different, random house, (have not yet decided which) and although frustrated and sad, aeron doesn't make much of a fuss because he knew it would eventually happen, he knew it was his duty as was everyone else's. but the more he thinks of how far away he'll be from home, from his friends, his family and well, davos, the more it eats at him. he accepts it, but he tries to meet davos one last time. davos never shows and they don't see each other before aeron leaves.

the problem is though, although sweet and polite on sight, the son of the house he's marrying is an actual nightmare. it starts small, with controlling what aeron can and can't do, and as the months go by, with aeron's defiant nature, everything turns worse, especially when his husband's parents die and he becomes lord. because aeron refuses to have anything to do with his husband at all, and has grown lowkey desperate with no allies in this keep, and has started responding back w as much strength as he could, his husband the lord makes him sleep in a cell with the dogs, dogs who overtime become attached to him and basically see him as their master. it helps aeron in a way, as now his husband refuses to even get close to the bars of his cell, but he's still locked up losing his mind. he hadn't been in sunshine for quite a while, hadn't seen his horse let alone ride it in a long time, hadn't had any practice, he was still a knight in his heart. he hadn't even seen a friendly face in so long. he felt like he was losing his sanity with each passing day. from his life in the riverlands to this? he could not live like this. but neither would he give in.

meanwhile in the riverlands, rumors of his treatment are reaching amos' ears. and davos' ears too. samwell blackwood died recently and davos is now lord, feeling both overwhelmed and lonely in his job. he has never forgotten aeron and what they had and had yet to still take a husband or a wife.

with these disturbing rumors reaching amos, amos sends raven after raven to the other house demanding answers but he's met with slightly polite yet short answers denying. the last raven is what sets amos off. the lord of whatever basically tells him that aeron is a married man now and all these accussations and worrying are for nothing. and that aeron is badly behaved as it is so the brackens should be thankful he did them the service of marrying such a man.

through this, the lord of whatever makes it known that he also refuses to grant aeron leave to visit or write to his family at all.

amos is, safe to say, angry. when he realizes aeron is basically a prisoner, much of what he feared would happen if he was married to davos blackwood all these months back, he decides to gather a small army and march on this house. he announces that any man able and willing to fight if it shall ever come to that, should join this march. that an insult to a man of house bracken, his nephew, is an insult to all rivermen. a few mallisters join, a few darry men and women too, a bit from all houses except, of course, the blackwoods.

but before amos can leave with his small army to march on this man keeping his nephew captive, he sees a small group of blackwoods crossing the boundary stones and approaching him and his men. they have with them a woman too, sporting a bow and arrows, looking fierce. at the head of it none other than davos blackwood.

"this is bracken land." amos says, but it's flat and devoid of any of the usual fire or anger.

davos almost smiles.

"we're here to join your march."

"you?" amos looks between them, like he can hardly believe they would.

"we are rivermen and women too aren't we?"

with that amos looks at them for a long time but eventually nods and gestures for them to join the rest of the people.

when davos had first heard the rumors about aeron's treatment, his gloom and heartbreak turned quickly into frustration and anger. how dare they disrespect him like this. nobody had exact details of what had happened to aeron, but he didn't deserve anything less than to be treat with the upmost respect. those vows spoken for marriage are not for nothing, whichever gods would be watching.

of course there were members of his house who strongly protested their lord just leave on a mad man's mission to save a bracken son from a foreigner house, but davos didn't want to hear any of it and although he had been overwhemed by his new responsabilities and nervous on weather he was doing a good enough job, he had found the strength to make his voice heard among his men. his decision was final.

alysanne was also not the happiest about this, but she would not undermine davos in front of the men of their house for she cared for him too much to do it publicly. nor would she leave him to go get himself killed gods know where. if your heart calls for you to go then you'll go and i'll go too, but this is stupid and unbecoming of a newly appointed lord.

in his stead, they left benji, now old enough to act as regent to davos, and they also left trusted men to guide him.

the march was long and not easy, they were not used to this type of long march, but shockingly, davos and amos were slowly forging a bond on their way there. amos was slowly realizing just how much davos blackwood cared about his nephew, that against the word of his house, and as a new, young lord, he'd leave his duties to march so far away for a bracken man. as they grew closer, tolerating each other better, dots were connecting in amos' head and he was beginning to understand with regret that his decisions contributed to aeron's situation.

as they were approaching whatever house, they realized a fight might have to happen when lord whatever sent some men to foolishly attack and immediately die at the hand of amos' small army.

there wasn't much of a fight. lord whatever was a proud man with no knowledge of battle and too few men. they fought but it didn't take much for amos' army to breach the keep and move the fight within.

davos fought in a fury, striking down every man in his path, and amos even saved his ass from being hit head on by a morningstar.

aeron in his cell was hearing the sounds of battle, sounds he hadn't heard since the burning mill, and in his daze, in his madness he stood up on weak knees to hear better, the dogs stirring up from their sleep to gather around him. then lord whatever came down to the cells with a couple of men. he ordered one man to open aeron's cell but all of them feared those "savage" dogs, including lord whatever. one of the men eventually opened the cell. he was also told to to grab aeron so that they can flee to their overlords house for safety. aeron looked between them, a warning with no words, and when the guard, after hesitating, attempted to grab aeron, one of the dogs immediately made for his hand. the rest soon followed, as packs do, and the rest of the guards stepped back, almost fleeing as they watched in horror. once they were done with the guard, aeron turned his attention on the man who had tortured him for the past months. he tried to reason with aeron, telling him savages had come to attack them, that they need to flee, but aeron was too lost in his hatred and rage and dispair to care.

"kill" was all he said and the dogs launched themselves at his lord husband, tearing him apart and making the rest of the guards flee.

when the lord commander of house whatever's forces saw through a window what had occured, he called for a stop to the fight. his lord was dead, many men had died, and there was no victory in sight so this was useless.

amos accepted, he had not actually come to shed blood from the get go, and he told his men to lay down their swords and hoard the remaining men of house whatever into a single place, taking their weapons.

it was then that aeron emerged from one of the entries of the keep, barefoot and dirty, but stil strong enough to walk on his own. the sun bothered his eyes and he cringed as he tried to make out the people before him. his dogs huddled close to him, excited and on edge because of the commotion.

when his eyes laid on his uncle, he took a deep breath, almost like he was breathing for the first time in months, and almost thought he was hallucinating it. time stood still and the world was spinning and he looked around to take in the bloodshed. he was saved. was he saved? what did that mean anymore? his eyes then landed on a bloodied davos who seemed almost as shocked as aeron when their gazes met. it was then that aeron could feel tears forming in his eyes and he was suddenly very aware of the state of him and everything he'd been through.

"you left me," he said to davos but then quickly looked at his uncle, both speechless, "you sent me away and you left me here to rot." he looked again at davos, anger and heartbreak and defeat evident in his voice and on his face. he didn't care anymore that he looked like a mad man to everyone watching.

"aeron," davos spoke first, taking a small step.

"you didn't want to marry me, you never came back for me," he said, anger overtaking all other emotions, "and you," he turned to his uncle, "you sent me away from the riverlands to a cruel man. for nothing."

feeling that aeron was angry and on edge, the dogs around him started to growl and snarl at them, especially when they tried to take a step closer to aeron. everything amos was trying to say was falling on deaf ears.

"maybe i should let them kill you like they did my lord husband." aeron almost whispered, looking from davos to amos, but as he saw their faces, full of worry and heartbreak, he faltered and looked down at himself and his hands, becoming more aware of the state he was in.

eventually he relaxed a bit, the emotion draining him of whatever energy he had left after so much time spent in a cell, and he swayed a little on his legs before turning around and walking back inside. he was by the entrance when he almost lost his balance but a heavy hand caught him in time. there was growling from the dogs but when aeron looked up he saw davos at his side, unafraid. aeron shook davos off gently and placed his hand on top of one of the dogs' heads and they all settled as he walked inside.

THE END

no. of course there is more to this story. more about healing, about forgiveness and who knows, if davos has any game, maybe a rekindling, maybe even an unlikely marriage, but there's quite a long way to that and this is all i have.

[thenexusofsouls]

“Are you friend or foe?” (For Zhaan)

Zhaan looked up at the young woman from where she sat inside her holding cell, not unlike the one used by Loki years prior. "Given our respective positions on either side of these walls in which I find myself imprisoned, I would say... at present... neither. But there is time yet for misunderstandings to be cleared and injustices to be set right." Her tone was not antagonistic, but it was guarded. She did not appreciate being incarcerated yet again after finally escaping Peacekeeper oppression after a number of years, yet she could hardly blame this woman for that. Still, trust was something that would have to be built.

The wormhole that had facilitated the invasion of New York City was not to be the only such anomaly to occur, it seemed. Another had just been detected, though this time, the results had been far less... dramatic. Something had come through, however. Perhaps several somethings. Both SHIELD and the Department of Defense were still attempting to determine exactly what.

One being had been captured thus far. A Delvian, apparently, by her own admission. No one had any idea what a Delvian was, or what such a being was capable of. For now, she was being contained at the Avengers compound, both because of the unknown level of threat she posed and for biological containment purposes. She could be carrying pathogenic microbes, after all.

Zhaan had been both interested and concerned to discover that she was on the planet Earth. It was John Crichton's home planet. How agonizingly ironic that she should be sent here and not him. Still, it was a planet entirely unfamiliar to her, and for that reason, she had to remain cautious. Although most of the humans who encountered her seemed unwilling to treat her as anything more than a caged pet, an oddity on display, or a test subject to be poked and prodded, there had been a few who had bothered to actually speak with her. Through them, she had learned where she was, at least, but was no closer to being able to gain her freedom.

And now... this young woman had chosen to speak to her. She did not look like the usual soldier or government official that had spoke to her - no, interrogated her - up until this point. That gave Zhaan some hope that perhaps this might be a different sort of interaction. Slowly, she rose from the bench she had been sitting on and walked closer to the glass. If the relative age of Crichton was to be any basis for comparison, this woman looked very young indeed. Then again, all humans were young ones compared to Zhaan. Eighty years... That was about how long Crichton had said the average human lived. Zhaan had already lived ten times that long.

Standing closer to the woman, inasmuch as the glass was still dividing the space between them, Zhaan's polite smile faded into a look of concern. Despite her situation, she was still an empath and a tenth level Pa'u, and for those reasons, she found it impossible to ignore the pain of others... even that of her own captors. "My goodness... There is such a heavy sadness that follows you," Zhaan said, her voice gentle and almost pained, as if she was feeling it too. It felt like... grief to her, but with humans she could never really be sure at first impression. She simply wasn't as familiar with their minds and emotions yet. "Are you alright?"

[whumpspicelatte]

To Be Silent: Terry in Prince's Solace

Tismoria and Echo's OCs belong to @echo-goes-mmm / @echo-goes-aaa

Warnings: slavery, nonsexual nudity, invasive medical examination, implied past noncon

Where the palace where Terrance had grown up had been all smooth, freezing white marble and soft furs and cool colours, roses growing around pillars no matter the cold, crystals like ice releasing vibrant rays of trapped moonlight where sunlight would not touch, the imperial palace of Timorsia was…warm. Warm colours, wood floors, plenty of rugs, plenty of plants. Formal, but almost welcoming. Almost cozy. 

Which fit with the differing climates, he supposed. The general heat of Timorsia versus the at-best temperate biospheres of Rhodantheia. 

The slave who showed him around the palace where Terrance would now live his life, in the same way a therapy housecat lived with its owners or a live-in nurse with their patient, introduced herself as Calla. Her wrinkled hands waved out at each room they entered, stern voice listing off each place and a brief sentence of description before moving on. Terrance may be a few inches taller than her, but he certainly had to pick up the pace to keep up. 

Her hazel eyes, at odds with the moonflower pigmentation of her body and the dark emerald cotton billowing around her arms and legs as she took care to avoid all sunlight she could, dug into him. The quirk of her thin lips made the muscles in his tense. 

Did she find him wanting? 

His life would be far harder if so. 

The kitchens, the laundry, the garden, the western library, the eastern library, the southern library, the main hall, the throne room.

She lingered in the eastern library in a way that spoke of familiarity. Her introduction to there lasted the longest. Her voice warmed when she spoke of it, with something like pride. Like personal accomplishment. 

That was where she must work, as the book embroidered into her shirt below the crest of the Timorsian royal family hinted at. 

When she asked about his skillset, and he answered, she only hummed. Her gaze felt like the king’s. 

Nobody had told him his purpose here, but he could guess. Someone would be assigned his care. Someone young, likely. Someone close to the king. It couldn’t be the king’s own child, though; Princess Jackal, his only daughter, was only several years his junior at best. But his skillset could be expanded to more than just simple childcare. 

His hypothesis only solidified when she mentioned off-hand that he’d likely spend his time in the family wing, to the north. 

She didn’t ask him too many questions. 

And then they were approaching the small dining room again. She led the way, and she wasn’t looking back at him. As long as he was quiet, as long as he kept walking, she wouldn’t notice anything wrong. 

Hesione Trading House never thought to teach him not to use his magic. 

Terrance closed his eyes, the curse in his veins sparking, and bit the inside of his cheek just hard enough to bleed. Nobody could see the momentary swirl of magic around his pupils as he swallowed down the burning hot blood. Nobody would know that anything had happened at all, not as he traced a simple healing spell with his tongue to make the delicate flesh knit back together, leaving not even a scar. 

Internalized spells left zero outside trace of magic. And if anyone tested his blood, they’d find the potent curse in his veins anyway. 

At least nobody outside of Rhodantheia knew of the curse hosted in every son of the rose. At least the curse didn’t consider him no longer one despite his enslavement. A mixed blessing. 

He opened his eyes, and his sense of hearing sharpened. 

Calla’s heartbeat thrummed calmly in her chest. A few nearby rooms echoed with heartbeats and dimmed conversation he didn’t bother to pick apart. 

The dining room held three heartbeats. Two voices. 

“-that is…concerning.” The king. “Is there anything else you want to tell me about?”

His Master piped up next. “Simply his sensitivity to touch. He has a hard time focusing when subjected to skin contact, though a bit of pain will snap him out of it for a few moments. A simple pinch will work.”

“And by ‘hard time focusing’...”

“As in he won’t be able to hear anything you say while being touched. Like all his senses but touch cut off. It’s gotten a little bit better, I believe, with… when he was with my wife. But only so much.”

“He’s like this with any type of skin contact?”

“Anyone touching him. Him touching someone else doesn’t seem to have the same issue. Being touched does seem to have a sedative effect on him; I think it calms his nerves.”

“I see.”

For a few moments, no voices. Only heartbeats. Breathing. Wine trickling into a glass; work shoes taking a few steps back. The cup lifted. Someone sipped from it. Calla was leading Terrance closer to the dining room; he had to turn down his hearing to keep all these voices and heartbeats from pounding inside his skull. 

“...Achilles, you look exhausted. You should rest.”

“I’m…aware.”

“Go ahead- ah, thank you- go on, take this slave, they’ll lead you to a guest room.”

“Jason, it’s the middle of the day.”

“And you’re exhausted. Go rest. I’ll take care of everything.”

“...if… if you’re certain.”

“I am.”

A pause. The sound of someone standing up- Master. A jug laid carefully on the table- the slave in question. The one who had been serving them drinks. Terrance hadn’t gotten their name. There hadn’t been any chance at it. 

“And Achilles?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For the gift.”

“....it was no trouble at all.”

“Still. You didn’t have to think of us. Thank you, Achilles.”

“....you’re welcome, Jason. I hope he can help.”

“We can hope.”

Master’s footsteps left the room, one of the inner doors closing shut right as Calla’s knuckles rapped against the door. Terrance locked down his instinctive jolt and cut off the spell. His hearing fell back to normal. He could no longer hear any heartbeat but his own.

What had that been about? 

- - - 

Master was gone. Now it was just the king and a woman dressed in white and red silks here with Terrance. A doctor, with a medical kit strapped to her waist and thigh, leather bracers holding various little pockets and slits for easy access to her tools strapped down over her fingerless gloves. 

Right now, those slits were all buttoned shut. 

The king stood back as the woman came forward. Brown eyes dragged over Terrance’s body as she flicked her fingers up dismissively. “Strip. Completely.”

Years ago, back before the ship, before the ocean voyage, such a demand would have mortified Terrance. There was nothing so insulting as being told to strip naked in front of another person, nothing so violating as being seen naked by someone without one’s consent. 

Terrance’s fingers were already coming up to unclasp the silver leaf clips on either side of his hips before his mind caught up with the order. 

Good slaves obey. 

He stripped off his silks, his cuffs, his collar, setting them neatly on the table beside them. His fingers hovered by the rings studding his ears as he checked in with the doctor with a questioning look. At her thoughtful frown, then her nod, he began to take off each piercing cradling the shell of his ears; three along each lobe, one along each conch, two along each helix. 

The sunlight warmed his skin, yet still he shivered. 

“Kneel.”

His knees buckled as he sank to the floor, sitting primly on his ankles, the curve of his heels cupping his ass. His hands folded neatly together in his lap. 

The doctor’s hands cupped his cheeks, tilting up his head, and his thoughts- sizzled. Went quiet. 

She frowned at him past the veil of his lashes, thumb pulling up his eyelid to examine his blown-wide pupils. He barely managed to hold back the small, needy whimper in the back of his throat as her bare fingertips left his skin, leaving the ghost of her touch, her warmth, in her wake. 

“Eyes open wide,” she ordered, a few dark curls falling over her forehead. 

He followed her command even as it made his eyes begin to water almost immediately. Not that he could notice as her fingertips brushed down his cheek, making his body and mind melt. His lashes fluttered just slightly. 

And then her touch retreated, and self-awareness flooded back into him. 

“You may blink,” she permitted, and he blinked away the tears that had surged to protect his eyes from drying out. Her frown deepened as she pulled out finger coverings and buttoned them onto her gloves. 

Deep in his mind, something in him keened. 

Nobody had touched him but Master since Lady Ophelia had passed. Master hadn’t touched him since that night together save for when he had guided Terrance to the king’s office. 

He knew it was selfish- knew himself unworthy- but he missed it. 

This time, when she cupped his cheeks, his mind stood firm, thoughts unwavering. He watched the little shifts in her facial expression as she pulled back his eyelids to see his normal pupils, had his gaze follow her finger around, felt along his face and opened his mouth to look at and feel about his jaw. 

In the back of his mind, he couldn’t help his gratitude towards Calla for letting him clean up after lunch, letting him clean his teeth and wash out his mouth. 

Her fingers ran over his teeth, his tongue, his gums. The insides of his cheeks. The roof and floor of his mouth. Feeling for issues. Pressing at the back of his mouth to peer into his throat. 

He didn’t gag. That reflex had long since been trained out of him. 

Her other hand keeping his mouth nice and open reminded him not to suckle or lap at the smooth leather in his mouth. It didn’t taste good. The taste didn’t matter.  

When her fingers pulled out, she wiped the saliva off on her bare thigh, peeking out from beneath her under shorts and her outer silks. Then her palm ran over his face to slip shut his eyelids, as if he were an infant she was trying in vain to get to sleep. 

He kept his eyes shut, even when her hand slipped off his face. 

Her fingers felt along his cheeks and forehead, then tilted his head down as she began to part and look through his hair. For lice, maybe. Not that she would find anything of note. 

She tilted his head from side to side to peer into his ears, then ran her hands down his neck. Pressed on his lymph nodes. Listened to his pulse through her fingertips. 

It felt…nice. Meditative. Soothing, even. 

He let himself float. 

She felt along his neck and shoulders and biceps, running a hand over his shoulder blades. Her fingertip ran over the old bites down his neck and clavicles, and he tensed. None were younger than four years. The oldest went back to when he was only nineteen. 

They’d healed well, of course. Terrance had made sure of it. 

Her fingers didn’t stay there long. 

When she had finished, she clapped her hand on his shoulder. His eyes fluttered open. “Stand up.”

He got to his feet, and the inspection resumed. She ran her hands all over him, feeling for abnormal growths, scar tissue, the tattoo on his inner wrist that marked him as being thirty-two instead of thirty-four, anything of note. A few minutes were spent with her behind his back, prodding at the tattoos painted down his spine. 

Her hands rested on his ribs. “Breathe.” He did. 

“Deep. Shallow. Deep.” 

She ran him through the breathing exercises, feeling along the rise and fall of his chest as his thoughts settled.  

“Bend over.”

He bent over the table and parted his thighs, closing his eyes against his forearms as she switched the leather covers on her fingers for something that felt more like the inner lining of the guts of a butchered cow. She examined the health of his insides, checking his prostate and eventually pulling out her fingers to check his genitals for…something. Injuries maybe. Likely. 

She wouldn’t find anything wrong beyond perhaps a bit of extra sensitivity from the way he inadvertently clenched down on her fingers. Terrance always made sure to heal himself of any tearing. It was better that way. Helped to limit the pain. 

At one point, she felt his pulse and lymph nodes through his groin. 

Once that was done, she had him stand up while she changed her finger covers back for the leather ones, then sit on the table. He watched as she examined his legs, his knees, his feet. 

Eventually, she stood back up. “Stand.” He slid off the table and stood before her. “Run through some stretches for me.”

She watched, and occasionally pushed him further with her hands for direction, as he rolled his joints and stretched his muscles. A simple assessment of flexibility. Often she’d make sure he was going to the limit of what his limbs could take, which was, to be fair, rather good for his age. 

He was no contortionist, but he could still comfortably twist his hands behind his back in a reverse prayer position, fingertips touching his neck, and do the splits. 

He could also tuck his ankles behind his neck, thighs framing his torso to better present his groin, but she didn’t test for that. 

Once that was done, she had him sit on the table again as she checked his reflexes with taps from a small hammer, then checked the places where his veins were closest to the surface, likely n case something needed to be injected into him. 

Or for blood to be drawn. 

He could only hope he wouldn’t ever need to get his blood drawn. 

She then checked his ears, pulling delicately at the lobes and the shell of his ear to peer into the holes left in his flesh. They were relatively fresh, his piercings. He’d only gotten them a few weeks before being finally sold off. 

A soft hum left her throat before she put his many little hoop earrings back in for him. 

And then the inspection was finished. 

She took the king aside to speak quietly to him as Terrance got dressed again, something in him relaxing with the weight of the collar guarding his nape, heavy chains resting over his jugular down to the little dip between his clavicles. 

He could only hope that his current state satisfied the king. 

Something told him he didn’t want to know what would happen if it didn’t. 

[emeraldspiral]

Episode where Zim is out in his kid disguise instead of one of his adult/old man disguises and someone takes notice of him trying to go somewhere he shouldn't. They come up and ask him "Young man, you know you're not supposed to be here without adult supervision. Where are you parents?" Frustrated that someone would dare disrupt his evil plans, Zim forgets his cover story and blurts out "I don't have parents!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. How long ago did you lose them?"

"Fool! I have never had parents."

"You mean you've been an orphan all your life? That's terrible!"

"It is not terrible! It's great! I have no need for guardianship or supervision."

"So there's no one looking after you?"

"Zim needs no one! Now rescind your pity human!"

"Oh no! It's so much worse than I thought. You poor brave boy. Don't worry, you won't have to be alone for much longer!"

And then the interloper calls child services, who forcibly place Zim in an orphanage. He can't take back anything he said about being an orphan before because neither he nor the Roboparents have social security numbers and their address and phone number aren't registered anywhere.

A couple quickly comes looking to adopt and they decide they want to take on the challenge of a "problem child" who's not likely to get adopted by anyone else. So they take Zim home with them for a trial adoption. Initially it seems like it's going to turn into something like Orphan where the nice family is oblivious to the danger Zim presents as he plans to make them into his latest test subjects. But just as Zim's about to implant some questionable device into one of the family members, something happens that freaks Zim out so much he loses his nerve.

He becomes increasingly anxious as the family members never give him a moment alone, following him from room to room constantly pestering him to ask if he's okay.

"Do you like this show? We could switch to a different channel."

"Is it too cold for you? We could turn the thermostat up."

"Would you like some hot cocoa? Some warm milk, perhaps? Soda?"

"Hey, we were thinking of Mac & Cheese for dinner tonight. But do you have any dietary concerns? Are you lactose intolerant? Gluten-free? Vegan? Diabetic?"

"Are you okay with the volume everyone is speaking at? We could speak softer if you want."

"OR LOUDER IF YOU'RE HAVING TROUBLE HEARING US!"

"Do you need a blanket?"

"We bought you some pajamas. But we can take them back if you don't like them."

"Do you want to talk about your feelings?"

"You know this is a safe place, right?"

"Don't be afraid to speak up if there's anything you need."

"Or if there's anything you want to talk about."

"We're always here to lend an ear."

Zim gets majorly creeped out and is convinced they're really human spies trying to get him to reveal himself and give away Irken military secrets.

He tries to get some privacy, but the only place where he can be alone is the bathroom. There's only one, and there are so many family members they have a schedule for who can use it when. But not to worry, they've already rearranged it to give him Thursdays at 3:30 and every other Saturday at 2:00am.

They send him to a new skool, which is much better than the one he went to before. It's clean, well funded with facilities in good repair, and best of all, there's no Dib around to harass him. But the staff at the new skool are far more professional than at the old skool and Zim's new teacher doesn't tolerate classroom disruptions, shocking Zim when he sends him to the principal's office within his first minute of class. At first Zim thinks it's a blessing in disguise because it means time away from his extremely clingy new foster siblings, but the one he shares a class with ends up getting sent to the office on purpose so he could stay by Zim's side. Zim does not appreciate the gesture of solidarity.

Zim comes home and his new foster parents tell him the principal called, but it's okay. They're not mad, they know it's going to take time for him to adjust. They also remind him that it's 3:30 and today is Thursday, which means it's finally his turn to use the bathroom.

He only has fifteen minutes, but he plans on escaping out the window. But it turns out the family have installed a state of the art security system to keep him from escaping. They aren't mad when he trips it though. They understand. Moving into a new home with a bunch of strangers can be scary, and he might think he wants to go back to the life he knew before because the familiarity of it is comforting, but they promise if he just gives them a chance they're sure they can make him happy.

Zim has no choice but to endure the two week trial adoption period. Initially, he figures if he acts like a little shit they won't want to adopt him and he'll get sent back to the orphanage from which he can make an escape. Halfway through however, he has a change of heart. He starts to enjoy regular kid activities like playing video games, family board game night, and riding bikes around the neighborhood, going to skool and learning actually useful and interesting things and not being bullied, having someone come and pick him up when he falls and scrapes his knee and give him an Adhesive Medical Strip and a kiss to make it all better, and the unconditional love and endless patience and forgiveness he's afforded.

He starts to think maybe there's an advantage to the arrangement. He can learn so much more about humans from actually living like one, and surely that would be beneficial to his mission, wouldn't it?

At the end of the two week period, Zim is interviewed and asked if he would like to be permanently adopted. He says "yes", only to be told "That's too bad. It looks like they've decided not to move forward with the adoption." Zim is shocked and dismayed.

"How could they not want Zim?!"

The only answer he gets is that the family "didn't feel like it was the right fit", which leaves Zim perplexed, ruminating over whatever he did wrong to make them not love him.

The episode then ends with the Roboparents coming to the adoption agency to look for a new son. Zim tries to get their attention, but they pass him over for a different prospective child and jet off without him.

[themonotonysyndrome]

hello, lovely lady!

i truly hope you’re doing well, and im sure you know this, but your work is much appreciated, but please please take care of yourself!

with that being said, even though i’ve seen previous head-cannons, do you think it would be possible if we sort of got an updated head-cannon of how Cecila and Castin will parent their children when they’ve reacher their teen years? just curious. 🙃

please don’t feel obligated to indulge me or do such, and as always have a fantastic day/evening.

💖🤍

It's the awesome addie! Hello, hello!

I'm okay—well, as alright as I can be. I'm very happy that you enjoyed my writing, and that's enough to make me feel so much better!

Ah... teenagehood. I was a pretty chill teenager—moody but pretty tamed. I was more into writing than doing sports, lol. But let's check out what Celica and Castin are like as parents raising their teenage twins!

Headcanons where Dain & Deirdre are teenagers & how Castin and Celica raise them:

This may come across as surprising, but it's Castin's that's gonna be a low-key helicopter parents 😂

Castin is very invested in Dain & Deirdre's life. What's the tea at school? Any dramas between friends? Any crushes? 👀 Any new hobbies?

While Celica is also interested in their children's daily lives, she only asks how they fare in their studies and if they've been keeping up with their etiquette training, which their governess would report to her directly. Unfortunately, after giving birth, the Baroness is busier than ever.

This isn't to say that Castin is also not busy with his patrols and hunting down any signs of rebels, but unlike Celica, who's actually at home, he would keep in touch with the twins via letters and calls even when he's on the other end of Intacia.

Castin habitually announces ridiculous rules for the twins during dinners every other week! EX: "Neither of y'all are allowed to talk more than 100 words to your crushes." And the next week would be "Don't spar with the opposite gender! Oh, wait - " Yeah, the twins learned to just ignore the rules, lol.

As for Celica, though? She has only one rule for the twins: "Do not tarnish the Anesidora name." Now, this might seem cold, and while the twins absolutely hate it, believing that their own mother is more concerned about their family's reputation than her own damn kids that she nearly died giving birth for, Celica's rule is actually a test to see if the twins are good at deception and finding loopholes on doing any anything that she doesn't like behind her back. Because if they can pull it off? That means they're on the way to inherit her position, and that's what Celica has been waiting for.

Now! Teenage rebellions!

"Don't worry, baby. Big Daddy Caddy is on it! He knows a thing or two about stopping rebellions!"

"Please do not tackle our children to the ground as if they are criminal."

"Pfft - I won't, I won't!"

Each of the twins acts out in different manner but most often, their attitudes are directed at their mother. Dain's acts of rebellion are more... subtle. Avoiding eye contact when Celica is talking to him, refusing to smile in her presence, purposely scrapping his cutleries onto the plates when eating, creating an ear-piercing sound and etc. Deirdre is a lot more of an outburst. She would skip lessons, walk away in a middle of the conversation, and getting in a shouting match with Celica because all she cares about is asking about their progress, not how they really are.

Of course this isn't true as Celica is only thinking about their future and of course, every time her children lash out at her, she feels hurt but then she would react in ways that was ingrained to her since childhood - stoic face, silent and retreat to her office for several days.

Those are the moments where Castin had to mediate between them and always remind their twins to be patient with their Mum and try to think about things in her perspective. The only reason they could act freely as teenagers and not would-be politician or hell, even consuming poison are because the Baroness constantly serve as a 'shield' for the twins in high society.

Every mistakes they made in public, every blunder they offend a household would immediately smooth out by the Baroness.

That's her form of love. Castin knows this after being married to her for so many years but the twins don't understand that.

She's hard on them because the world was cruel to her growing up. She's awkward in showing affections because her Ezekiel, Eaton and Tristan keeps her at arms-length due to their status.

She's a damn good Baroness and she hopes that in time, she'll be a worthy mother to Dain and Deirdre.