#for better grip on slippery prey-

[rxttenfish]

POV youre holding hands with miranda

#all the care guide says is 'biomass' #this isnt even exaggerating either #miri's claws are. very big. #and her hands are Very Muscular and Very Stocky to use those claws to their full potential #it even has the same kind of beans as miranda's hands have! #which is to say. pads of sandpaper scales on the inside of the palm #for better grip on slippery prey- #...... this is why Fun Times with miranda will not involve her fingers alas-

[wonda-fhr]

Secret Santa for @just-a-tiny-goldfish💕

I had the good fortune to choose between two interesting, complex and endearing steps. Marcos got the job because I had an idea for him in my head right away. Enjoy it. Have a great day.🤗 Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas 🎄

3029 words under the cut no warnings needed

An afternoon off Sure, you can spend the afternoon babysitting Spoon because the dog sitter is sick. After all, you're retired, right? You have time. He knows exactly what time you usually show up at the dog park. What else could you possibly have to do in the afternoon?

An afternoon off would be good for you. You love Spoon, there's no better company. You can take a leisurely walk, maybe go to a cafe or cuddle on a bench, and then bring him back to Chen. No problem at all. Besides, he will owe you a favor, which could come in handy at some point.

The closer you get to the handover, the more you look forward to your day as a dog owner. Chen and Spoon are already waiting at the agreed corner and Spoon sees you from afar and jumps for joy. You try to stop yourself from jumping up and down with him to greet him in the same way.

"Thanks for doing this, Marcos. He's been bored in the office all morning, the afternoon will be hectic for me and I just can't take care of him. He really likes you, he'll enjoy your company much more than watching me get stressed out by reporters". Chen holds out the leash to you.

Did his fingers brush yours as he handed you the leash? Surely a coincidence.

"We'll be fine. Go to work and let Spoon and me enjoy ourselves in peace."

"I'll meet you back here, I'll give you a call." He trusts you with the dog, but you're not allowed to take him to the apartment. Chen's priorities are strange. But what the hell, you've got a dog now. It's going to be a good day.

The weather could be better, today of all days there are always thick clouds in the sky. This morning's rain was certainly not the last. Spoon looks after Chen for a moment and then turns to look at you expectantly with his big, shiny eyes. Fun. When you're here, it's always fun.

Your first stop is the café, a cup to go and something sweet for your stomach. The beady eyes get even bigger and more pleading as you take your order. You pull out some more money and order a puppucino for Spoon, whose tongue gets a lot wetter when he notices the second cup in your hand.

Having a snack with a friend is nice. There's nothing wrong with having company, as long as it's the right company. You slightly wish that all people were as uncomplicated as dogs. Maybe you wish it more than slightly.

The first raindrops tear you away from your idyllic togetherness and you continue your walk. The destination is the dog park, as usual, Spoon should be able to move and play freely.

Fortunately, it's warm and the rain doesn't seem to bother Spoon much. Hopefully your jacket will keep you dry for a while, since you didn't think to bring an umbrella.

There is hardly anyone in the park, most of them have probably fled the rain. Only a petite lady with a massive Newfoundland dog is sneaking along one of the paths. Not exactly a dog that Spoon could mistake for a hunting prey. This means total freedom. Spoon dashes through the rain without muzzle or leash. He runs large circles around you and seems to be faster than the rain can hit him.

The well-trodden paths, now devoid of vegetation, resemble a muddy wasteland. Your shoes have already changed color. Spoon doesn't seem to mind the slippery ground, but you clearly lack the grip of four paws, slipping a bit with every third step.

With tiny, careful movements, you walk over to the trees, where the ground is much drier. Spoon tries to jump at you, but you deflect him before he can make you stumble. He seems a little disappointed by your boringly slow pace and takes another big turn across the muddy meadow.

You reach the tree without falling, leaning against the trunk, and just as your eyes and sensors refocus on Spoon, you feel a short but intense impulse. "Catch."

Your breathing stops in shock, your mind reaches for Spoon's, but he is far away and his impulse to chase is stronger than anything you could do now.

He is fast. Just like the rabbit, who can only keep his distance by skillfully making hooks

For a moment you stand motionless in the rain, but then the realization hits you that you have to do something, and you run after him. You make it through the first few muddy patches with a slight stumble, but in the third you fall flat on your face.

You are trained to fall, your body takes over the thinking, rolls skillfully, gets you back on your feet so you can keep running, but the mud stoically sticks to your clothes. You pass the fence at the same spot where Spoon jumped, then run like hell in the direction he disappeared.

The park is big. You realize just how big when you lean against a tree, panting to catch your breath, and realize how insane the idea of trying to catch a greyhound on foot is. Spoon is nowhere in sight.

There are no fences and many exits in this area, he could be anywhere. Panic creeps into your mind.

You feel lost, even though you're not the one who's lost. But you have lost a friend and now you feel more lost than ever.

Your thoughts race to Chen, who will never forgive you. Should you call him? No, not yet. Maybe you should ask Danny to help you find him. But he would tell Chen, for sure. The feeling of helplessness is driving you crazy, there's nothing you can do but hope he comes back.

Can't you? What can you do? You haven't thought through your options yet, you're not helpless. You have achieved so much without any help. There's no need to wait for someone to tell you what to do.

You start to look around, not at the gray runaway, but at your surroundings. There aren't many people in the park, but there are some. People with eyes and minds that can help you. You lean against the tree and reach out to them, searching for their last impressions. It doesn't take long before you find someone wondering about the fast dog without a leash. That's your direction, you walk briskly to where the person saw Spoon.

There you search again and find more witnesses. Thoughts of the weird guy walking through the park all muddy are humiliating and you try to ignore them. You follow the trail of sightings to the overgrown area with the bushes on the ground and the trees on the verge of breaking.   

The rabbit must have found shelter in the undergrowth, was the last thought that had anything to do with Spoon. He must be somewhere in that patch of trees. Hopefully.

You fight your way through thorny bushes, cursing more than once as you get caught in a vine and the thorns dig deep into your skin. Your armor would be very helpful in the fight against the thorny vines, but you have no choice but to free your leg with your unprotected hands.

With several scratches on your hands, you find a more accessible area under the trees, from where you try to get some orientation. Your throat is already raw from calling his name, but there is still no sign of him. The rain has thankfully eased up a bit, not that you could get any wetter than you already are, but you can see a lot better this way. The ringing of your phone almost makes you slip into the mud again.

A glance at the display tells you that it's Chen. Who else? You wonder if he has scheduled hourly checks. So much for trust. On the other hand, you certainly don't deserve his trust right now. You take the call and try to act as unconcerned as possible.

"Hey Chen, what's the matter?"

"I have to go to this interview right now. I just wanted to check in and make sure you're okay. Is Spoon behaving himself?"

Your pause is only a few seconds too long, a hesitation that can be attributed to the dog's distraction.

"He's having a lot of fun and I'm a little wet." At least this wasn't a lie.

"That sounds good. Except for the wet part."

"I'll dry up, I'm not made of sugar."

"Are you sure?" Do you hear a giggle? "See you later, I have to go."

"Bye." You're sure he giggled. Because you're wet? That's weird.

You can't think about that now, finding Spoon is your mission. But there are no people around whose eyes you could use. Just the fat pigeons in one of the trees, you watch them briefly and they watch you. No, no pigeons, that would be madness.

On your way, bending under the gnarled trees, you notice a paw print in the mud. You continue to follow the recurring paw prints and your mind scans a wide radius for Spoon.

An existential fear suddenly runs through you, but it is not yours. A moment later, a squirrel runs toward you, turns in front of you, and continues its flight up a tree. You quicken your pace. If Spoon scared the squirrel, he can't be far away.

Behind another hedge, an open space appears beneath a large tree with low-hanging branches and countless holes in the ground below. In the middle you can see two long legs and an excitedly wagging tail, the only things still sticking out of a large hole. Spoon notices you and jumps towards you and back to the hole for a moment, as if expecting you to help him.

Exhausted, you drop into the mud next to him. While he digs enthusiastically, you secretly attach the leash to his collar, wrap it around your wrist, and breathe a huge sigh of relief.

You watch him dig for a moment until a kiss from his earthy tongue prompts you to join in the fun. It's only then that you notice that it's not just Spoon's tongue that has turned an earthy brown. The well-groomed gray dog has changed color. A dull, muddy brown runs from his nose to his tail. A few blades of grass still cling to his teeth, his paws are twice the size from the mud between his claws, and his fur is soaked rather than spotted.

"I can't possibly take you back to him like this, you need a bath first. Maybe we can go home to you?"

A wagging tail and expectant eyes in a tilted head are the only answer you get and it makes you smile.

"Alright then, I guess to my place. It looks as if you are the first one who will know where I am living. I hope you appreciate it and know how to be discreet."

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

At the threshold of your door, you hesitate for a moment and look at Spoon, the mud up to the tips of his ears slowly drying. He looks completely content, he's had a good afternoon and much less stress than you. Now he looks at you expectantly with his bright eyes.

"This is a pretty big step for me, you know?"

Spoon tilts his head as if he's listening to your every word. You have to smile, he's the sweetest and most attentive listener you know.

Once inside, you walk him purposefully to the bathroom and close the door behind you. You open the collar and the first chunks of dirt fall onto the clean tiles.

You shove him into the shower and turn on the water. As soon as it splashes over his back, the long-legged animal amazes you with his impressive agility. Wet and slippery with mud, he wriggles like an eel out of your attempts to hold him, pushes past you out of the shower and enthusiastically shakes himself in the middle of the bathroom.

Your now brown speckled tiles match your muddy clothes perfectly. Your next attempt to get him into the shower turns into a great game of "you catch, I'll run". Even in the confines of a bathroom, you're no match for this dog's speed.

"This isn't going to work, is it? You're not going to shower alone." Spoon wags his tail enthusiastically, leans down on his front legs, and waits for another round of "Catch the muddy Greyhound."

"Maybe you're not a bad partner to practice with, huh? You're not going to turn away in fear, are you?" You need a shower as much as the dog, so you might as well get it over with. It seems silly that you find it hard to get undressed in front of a dog, and yet it is hard. Other people's eyes on your skin is not something you can just put up with. You take a deep breath and remove your shirt.

"You don't see orange very well, do you? How do I look to you? Like painted with mud?" Spoon seems to sense your sudden insecurity, abandons the request to play, and approaches you carefully, sniffing and licking your fingers.

"Apparently you don't find it scary." You crouch down and scratch his ears. He pushes his head closer and closer to you, until you can feel his breath on your chest.

"I would love to cuddle with you too, but we really should take a shower first. Luckily no one heard that, it sounded weird. Come on, come with me." You manage to convince Spoon to join you in the shower. You soap the dog and yourself several times until you feel you have finally washed out all the mud particles.

After you've dried him off, Spoon jumps happily around the living room and you collapse exhausted on the sofa. You leave the fur and mud splatters all over the bathroom for later. When Spoon rests his long nose on your leg to ask for a cuddle, you notice a slight shiver on his body.

"Are you cold? Come on, I'll warm you up." You've barely uttered the request before he's sitting right next to you on the sofa, his front legs stretched out over yours. " Are you allowed to lie on the sofa at home? He spoils you, I'm sure you even have your own." You spread the warm blanket over him and he continues to snuggle into your lap, even though he is clearly too big for it.

The warm dog on your belly, his calm and regular breathing and the pleasant feeling of not being alone have an incredibly calming effect on you. You quickly relax just like your guest and fall asleep with a cozy feeling.

The ringing of your phone jolts you awake. Seeing Chen's name on the screen suddenly awakens your mind, but you're not sure if your voice sounds like that.

"Chen, already finished?"

"Already? I was afraid you'd take him to the shelter if I didn't pick him up soon."

"Are you crazy? I would never ... it was a joke, right? I must have dozed off."

"Of course it was a joke. I'm sorry it's so late, I'm leaving right now. Where are you, do you want me to pick him up right away?"

"We're at my place, um ... no, no problem, we'll come to the meeting point, give me a moment."

"Good, see you soon."

"Yeah, ciao."

Rested, Spoon looks at you as if he's ready for a new adventure.

"No more rabbits today, sorry. We'll have to hurry now."

You curse inwardly, because there is not enough time to take the longer way, so no one can guess the direct direction to your apartment. This time you just have to hope that Spoon provides enough distraction so that Chen doesn't think about which direction you came from.

Even from a distance, Spoon recognizes his owner, who is already waving to greet you. Spoon pulls you the last few feet to Chen and then begins to squeal with exuberant joy. Chen smiles happily and greets his dog just as happily.

"Hey, my pretty boy. What kind of scent is that?"

"Lavender," you answer, a little embarrassed for Spoon.

"What? Oh no, what did he do?" Chen stands up again and his attention is all yours. It's easier when Spoon is your connection than when Chen looks at you so directly. You wonder if he's close enough to notice that you smell of the same lavender shampoo. You wonder if he would like it if you smelled like his dog.

"We both had a few encounters with mud, and he dug a hole. We both needed a good shower. I hope you don't find lavender too bad?"

"Lavender is great. He was on his best behavior, I see. I'm sorry. I guess I owe you more than a few flowers." Chen takes a fresh bouquet of pink and red flowers from his bag and hands it to you.

"But ... you wouldn't have. These are camellias." Flowers, he gave you flowers. You are a little surprised and stare at them, they are beautiful and they are for you.

"I heard you like flowers, I hope these are okay. Just a little thank you. I am still in your debt."

"No, I was happy to do it. I like having him around." You look at the bouquet in your hand and wonder if Chen knows what these flowers mean. He probably doesn't. You're sure he doesn't. Otherwise he would have chosen others, but it feels good to hold them. "Thank you, Chen, they're really beautiful."

"My pleasure. Take care then. Will I see you again for a walk?"

"Sure. As long as it doesn't rain. Bye." Chen smiles and you smile back, your cheeks feel funny, are you blushing a little? Luckily Chen is already on his way home. So are you, with a bouquet in your hand, which you carry like a precious treasure.

#fhr secret santa #wonda writes

[landfilloftrash]

@friendly-books oh god I'm about to have three nickels-- sorry for the entire post dedicated to this but I needed to explain in a way that was not about to be limited by character reply limit; ok how to explain-- so in Les Mis there are two characters that feature throughout the book; these two men are Javert and Jean Valjean.

Javert is a blueprint character; the inspiration for Donald Morgan if that explains his character for you (specifically). He is an inspector/cop and he follows the law to the very letter. Extremely Lawful Neutral. Extraordinarily earnest bootlicker; he genuinely thinks that is what he should do for the betterment of society.

Valjean is literally just a guy. Extremely strong and clever guy, "rough mind with a gentle heart", but still just a guy. This was a guy who broke a law when he was like 27, went to prison for 19 years, and when he got out broke parole and commits crimes for the betterment of other peoples lives (like breaking into houses and giving money in the dead of night during his stint as mayor). He's a big sweetheart with a whole lot of issues and PTSD. Where Javert is described as being so honest that you can look into his eyes and see all the way to the bottom of his conscience, Valjean is very secretive and keeps his emotions very close to his chest, not even letting his daughter know how he feels. He's a very sad old man. I love him.

But the reason I say "tragic/toxic old man yaoi" on that post is because throughout the book you can get the sense that Javert has.. a bit of a crush. Just a smidgen. Referring to Valjean as his convict, and watching him flee (thinking he had him caught [he did not because Valjean is extremely slippery and VERY GOOD AT ESCAPING THE LAW; specifically Javert]) simply because seeing him free was interesting to him. For example, one of my favorite lines is

"When he had so unexpectedly encountered Jean Valjean on the banks of the Seine, there had been in him something of the wolf which regains his grip on his prey, and of the dog who finds his master again."

Girl there are so many things wrong with you (breathless w/ affection)

But meanwhile Valjean sees him as a doggishly persistent hound/slave of the law chasing him all the while. Javert gets alllll the dog motifs. It's very funny because it's a resigned if slightly terrified "ah its this guy again, the one guy who knows my entire history" while he's running for his life.

But back on track (ahah get it), Javert has a chapter called "Javert Derailed" where he basically realizes that arresting Valjean when all he does is good would be morally incorrect, but NOT arresting Valjean would be LAWFULLY incorrect, so what's he supposed to do??; He is stuck in between a mental rock and a hard place-- so he chooses the third option of "well I refuse to be in a world where I'm forced to make that choice of letting a good man live his life and still be cop due to it being against the law"; Death. Now throughout the book, Victor Hugo points very viciously at the blue curtains with references to drowning men, the blue of the state (uniform), and water in slightly oblique ways. Which is how we come back to the yin and yang thing due to he dies. Another thing about Javert is he's very passionate about what he does and does things I associate with bright fire, and how can you douse fires? Water. So he would be Yang (aggressive, independent, self-sufficient, associated with the heaven [in the book, specifically with the archangel michael, and then of course he Fell, so Lucifer], with the center of Yin). Yin would be Valjean (quiet, aloof, earth, winter, but with center of Yang).

I hope this was coherent I'm so sorry if this is what gets you into this fandom; we have cookies

#whispers from the void #in a sense #rea rambles #shut up rea #Les Mis #screaming at the screen with rea #I AM NOT NORMAL ABOUT THEM THIS IS AS SHORT AS I COULD MAKE IT WITHOUT DELVING INTO THE ENTIRE BOOK IM SORRY /JOV #page 1017 describes it as conquering water with the train which. wrong one. but also not helping the case I'm making here Hugo #rea's trash

[leviathanverse]

Chapter 22: Change of plan

Zoha reached for the dragon, only for the aquatic creature to dive back under the water's surface right before he could grab it. His paw made contact with the water instead of the dragon.

He snarled, going onto all fours and leaned closer to the surface of the water, squinting his eyes in order to try and spot the slippery dragon. He didn't see it, and his awareness flared like a burning fire.

He snarled, hissing and he searched for the dragon frantically. A quick movement was seen on the right side of the corner of his eye. He turned to look at what it was, but it was too late.

The dragon's jaws bit his neck, latching on like a leach sucking blood from its victim. He shook his head as he stood up on his hind legs, pulling the dragon out of the water completely. It was, indeed, a bit smaller than his paws all the way up to his elbows.

He tried to get it off by using his paws, only for the dragon to wrap its eel-like lower half around his arm.

Like it was some kind of snake coiling around its prey. He felt the pressure increase on his arm as the creature tightened its coils.

He finally had enough and used his paws to get its head off of his neck. Its grip on his arm did not ease. It only tightened. He swore he heard a bone snap in his arm from the pressure, but paid no mind.

He watched the dragon hiss at him, head held between his thumb and pointer digits. He tried to get it to release its arm, but even that failed.

He let its head go, which was a terrible mistake. The dragon used its strength to pull itself up to his arm and bite it. The teeth felt sharper than it had been when it had bitten his neck.

He tried to pull it off, but it was no use. The few times he had managed to get a part of its tail uncoiled, it had only slipped out of his paws and started to coil around his neck.

His neck was now wrapped in its coils, and they had tightened around his neck. He struggled to breathe but had somehow managed to put a paw between the coils and his neck.

The dragon's skin and scales felt dry. It had only been twenty minutes, and its skin and scales were already dry. He felt its strength fade a bit, and tried to use it to his advantage.

The dragon was quicker and uncoiled from his neck before slipping into the river. That gave him plenty of time to formulate a plan on how to capture it.

He had a plan and waited for the next attack. He felt proud of his plan, his chest swelled up with pride as he thought of its taste so long. It had to be just as good as its scent.

Although, it didn't come out to attack him again. Which was strange. Normally, dragons would resume their attacks at him. This was strange. Really, really strange.

Something was wrong. Very wrong. He leaned closer to the water's surface, and scanned the river. He saw bubbles start at where he had stared, and squinted his eyes to get a better look.

He saw the dragon, the one he had begun to battle. But it seemed a lot more... weary? Scared? Why did it suddenly look scared and weary? Had it realized what he was capable of? That he could swallow it within three or four gulps?

Whatever the case, he didn't care. Although it had piqued his curiosity. The question was why? Why was it scared now out of all times? Had something made it paranoid?

He saw the dragon's eyes widen before it swam towards the surface. He opened his jaws, thinking that it was getting ready to attack him.

He was surprised when it jumped out of the water and clung to his face like the damn Speedwraiths, coiling around his head. Honestly, why was everything clinging on to him today?

He lifted his head and stood on his two hind legs. He lifted a paw and pulled it away from his face, glaring. It finally seemed to realize what it had done and what its predicament was, and started to struggle.

He growled and opened his jaws, intending to eat the little dragon like he had done to many others in the past.

He lowered it into his jaws, and closed it around their upper torso. His teeth grazed its skin as he held them with his jaws.

He felt it thrash, making terrified squeaks and trills. He paid no mind and swallowed, his throat brought its upper torso into his throat, waist where the tail connected with its upper body slipping into his jaws.

Its tail was slippery and tasted like those round things on the metal thing the human had used to get to his forest. He HATED the taste of it! But the flavour from the dragon was almost like... he didn't know how to describe it.

He swallowed again, its body slipping further and further in his. He was at the end of its tail when its head began to enter his stomach. He swallowed strongly and that was all it took to send the dragon down fully.

He made a satisfied rumble as the dragon entered his stomach, fitting inside nicely. He felt it start to thrash like an eel. He could finally eat! The human wasn't here to t-

" Zohakuten."

Ah fuck. He was caught. His body tensed up as he slowly turned his head. Low and behold, there stood the human. They had their arms crossed in front of their tiny chest, a foot tapping the ground with a disappointed expression as clear as day plastered on their face. There was also a dead bear twice their size behind them.

" What did you just eat?"

He whined, lowering his ears while he refused to turn around to face them fully. He could still feel the wriggling form of the dragon inside. He heard them sigh, a disappointed sigh.

He shouldn't be this submissive to a human! He was stronger than them! He had more power than them! But they somehow made him obey them by just looking at him in the eye.

" I thought I told you to stop eating other dragons, Zoha."

He hated how disappointed they were in him. It made him feel guilty. Of course, he could always decide if he wanted to digest the dragon inside or not. Not that the human needed to know.

But he didn't want to make the human more upset and disappointed at him than they should.

The calls from the dragon were muffled from the layers of fat, flesh, skin and scales. He looked away from the human, and prepared for the scolding like last time when he had eaten five packmates from the Speedwraith pack.

" Just... please let them go... I am too tired for this."

And the human really did sound tired. He didn't want to let the dragon go! It was the first dragon meal he has ever gotten in so long! Ever since the human arrived, he wasn't allowed to eat other dragons.

He sighed, before lowering his head and drinking some water. Just for the human, he'll spare the dragon. For now he needed water to keep it wet so he could dig up a hole and fill it up with water later. Just for the human's sake.

" Zoha-"

He lifted his head and looked at them, eyes watching the human as they yawned and rubbed their eyes. Geez! They looked like something from nightmares. He grimaced, but went to them and grabbed them by the back of their shirt.

" Zoha- the dragon!"

He rolled his eyes as he made his way back to the cave. The dragon would be fine as long as he didn't decide to digest it. It should be thanking the human from stopping him from turning it into his next meal.

His ears perked up when he heard the human's breathing slow. Now that he had time to think, he thought of what to do with the dragon, if the human wasn't interested in it.

His eyes widened as he realized something. He could offer the Speedwraiths the dragon as food in exchange for peace! Oh, how thrilling the idea was! But that was IF the human wasn't interested in the dragon.

He saw his cave come into view, and walked towards the emtrance. He realized that the dragon inside had stopped moving. He swore he drank enough water to keep its scales wet-

He stopped as he realized that he wouldn't be able to dig a hole immediately. It was around the hottest time of the day. He had wanted to dig outside, but didn't want to as he hated the sun.

He huffed as he gently placed the human down before carefully laying down himself. He could wait until dark. The dragon should be fine until then. He closed his eyes and allowed sleep to take over his mind. He hadn't realized that he had brought a paw to his face with the humans.

With that, he fell unconscious completely with a full stomach. Well, the dragon wasn't food. Yet. Just merely saved by the human from him turning it into food.

At least he had a back up plan. Looks like it was a change of plan after all. His tail unconsciously wrapped around the humans as he was dragged further into the world of dreams.

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#demon slayer #hantengu clones dragon au #dragon hantengu clones au #angry oc with a hatred for humans #The Hunter Assassin book #Sekido #Hantengu #Urogi #Karaku #Aizetsu #Zohakuten #v0re #safe v0re #soft v0re

[whatabloodbath]

A generalization of how I headcannon cats of the clans to look like

I wanted to give myself a bit of an art challenge when it comes to drawing characters in warriors by making each clan having a specific look to its members.

Riverclan was based more on semi-aquatic felines, like the jaguar and tiger, as well as other marine animals like otters and sea lions. I imagine that it is common for cats to have a slick, almost oily top coat and a very thick undercoat to manage their body temperatures better in land and in water; the end result being something sleek and plush simultaneously. I also imagine it to be common for most Riverclan cats to have a very muscular body type considering that strength would be needed to push past currents much more easily. Their heads, in proportion to their bodies, are small with a smooth nose bridge and forehead, and their ears are pointed backwards by default to lessen any drag while swimming.

Windclan, however, I did not want to be super bulky mainly because speed is their thing. Considering their tunneling behaviors mentioned in the books, I imagine their claws to be hard and relatively thick, much like that of a dog. I based their design on felines known for their unique, lanky appearance and quickness, like the cheetah and serval, but also on canines like the jackal and greyhound. Their noses and ears are quite large to dissipate heat after a long run, and their eyelashes are particularly long to shield their eyes from any debris that could fall into them while running. Their eyebrow ridges are also more prominent to protect their gaze from the sun, considering that there are not many trees -- if any -- to shade them.

It was a bit difficult trying to find some inspiration for Shadowclan, mainly because they just seemed like edgier Thunderclan; however, I remembered what kind of environment they lived in as well as their reputation as the "evil clan," mostly also according to Thunderclan. So, I thought: what other reasons would Thunderclan have to be so distrustful of these cats besides the decisions of cats like Brokenstar and Blackstar? Thinking more about Thunderclan's attitude towards cats outside of their clan as well as their own members made me realize that their distaste for Shadowclan could be just as shallow. I got inspired by how Tad Williams described the Clawguard in Tailchaser's Song: short, stocky, almost reptilian in appearance. I also based their design off of animals like hyenas and bulkier mustelids, like badgers and wolverines -- animals that are often associated with aggression and gluttony as well as their association with darkness. Overall, I wanted to make them built for stealth and night life, as well as mobility over slick, muddy terrain. Their heads in particular I wanted to pay more attention to: almost all of their senses are dedicated towards navigation in the dark. However, I also imagine that they are not very picky about the foods they eat; although they have long, sharp teeth that make it easier to grip onto slippery prey, I imagine they would not be above eating carrion if they came across it. So, I made their heads more bulky and well-muscled to accommodate eating tougher foods as well as dealing a much nastier bite than most cats in the forest.

Lastly, I drew Thunderclan. I believed it would be fitting to make them the "most feline resembling" of the forest cats, especially since they were the first clan that we ever read about and that had much more focus than the others, so I wanted them to be more recognizably felid than the others. I wanted to make them built for a more arboreal lifestyle, especially since I imagine climbing to be one of their specialized skills. I based their design mostly off of mountain lions, especially in their body type, but also off of cats like the margay and the leopard. Their wrists, in particular, I wanted to be extra flexible and their paws to be more handlike in order for them to scale trees with speed and ease. Their tails are long to give them balance, and their hindlegs are long and muscular so they can jump higher and farther when traversing across branches.

Note: I did not add a body type for Skyclan mainly because I believe there is no general body type for them -- at least, not for its modern members. In the forest, Thunderclan seemed to have taken over that niche once Skyclan was kicked out.

#warrior cats #cat #sketches #self concept #greyscale

[muertarte]

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @magmahearts @muertarte

SUMMARY: Disconnected from their usual self, Metzli goes out to hunt for dinner. Cass is out on a patrol against her better judgement and hears the sounds of their victims. She is startled to discover who the assailant is.

WARNINGS: None

Finding a new place for a meal wasn’t difficult. Humans were so oblivious to their surroundings, even in a town like Wicked’s Rest. It made them easy prey, taking out any sort of fun, but the blood was enough. Tasting life’s final moments was a high that few could understand, and with a barrier between heart and mind, there was no guilt to twist or sour the divine and luscious taste coating Metzli’s tongue as they tossed the second body they’d consumed aside.

She fell to the ground with a meaty thud, limp and lifeless, eyes vacant of whatever person she once was. They stared, tilting their head side to side curiously as the whimpers of their next meal became nothing but a muffle in the back of their mind. Continue. Their mind commanded, an outside voice beckoning them. Metzli inhaled deeply, pupils dilating into large saucers as they turned to regard the man behind them with a wild and hungry expression. 

Blood dripped from their chin, broadening the already large stain on their flower-pattern shirt. The man continued to blubber and cry, filling up the small room in the abandoned building. “Shut up.” Metzli commanded, wiping their face messily with the back of their hand as they approached. Their gait staggered a bit haphazardly, almost a little drunk from the amount of blood they’d already consumed. Continue! Master Jesus’s voice roared, making their eye twitch hungrily. Using too much force, Metzli gripped the man’s throat, choking him as they raised him to be eye level with them. He pleaded with his life, but it was futile. There was no negotiating with a monster that only spoke in grunts and teeth.

She shouldn’t be out here. Deep down, she knew that. The injuries from her altercation with Rhett hadn’t quite healed, and with her anxiety spiking every time she tried to convince herself to go back to the cave where she’d been grabbed to speed up the process, there was little she could do to rectify that. It wouldn’t have mattered much anyway, she told herself; Dr. Kavanagh said that nothing could speed up the injuries from the cold iron, that they’d never heal quite right even with the magic she’d used to help. They’d be a part of her forever. The thought made her sick, but she pushed the feeling away. 

She’d wanted a distraction. That was why she was here, why she was wandering around like she was still a superhero, like she ever had been. She knew she wasn’t. Superheroes didn’t fail the way she’d failed outside that cave, didn’t mess up so badly that their girlfriends had to rip through a man just to keep them alive. Cass was just Cass now, not Magma. But she’d never liked Cass much. She’d always liked Magma better. So… she was wandering. Glamour down, no attempt to hold onto that slippery concentration to keep it up, to keep her human. Just Cass wandered through an abandoned warehouse, pretending to be Magma. Pretending to be something worth being.

There was a noise up ahead. A whimper, a thud, a harsh voice. Trouble. She should go, she knew. She should, but she couldn’t. Even if she was just Cass now, she still couldn’t leave someone who needed her help. So she made her way towards the sound.

She saw the bodies first. Two of them, strewn haphazardly to the side as if they were nothing. Anger burned within her, remembering the way Rhett had spoken about her like she was just the same. A thing to be killed and tossed aside. She was more than that, wasn’t she? Everyone was more than that.

The figure came into view next; tall, broad-shouldered. One arm held a third man with a grip around his throat, the other ended just below the elbow. The figure was familiar, Cass realized, and her chest felt tight. “Metzli? What — What the hell are you doing? Stop.” 

Cass was greeted with a growl, deep and guttural, a warning to stay away from their meal. At first, recognition evaded Metzli, the young fae they saw as their own, just an enemy threatening to steal what was rightfully theirs. “Leave.” They hissed, teeth bared and stained with blood. When Cass stood her ground, Metzli tossed the blood bag aside, coughs accompanying the whimper and thud. 

Kill. 

Metzli blinked, the word shocking them when they were met with Cass’s face again. Briefly, there was a break in the feral trance, love outweighing all else so they could fully register what they’d done. “Cass?” Looking around, Metzli quickly realized they didn’t know where they were or how they got there. They raised a hand to analyze, thick blood coating it and dripping down onto the floor. Panic would usually be the first thing they’d exhibit for something as heinous and horrible as behaving like a monster in front of Cass, but nothing came. They were empty, and they always would be so long as Master Jesus was around. Even worse, this likely wouldn’t be the last time Cass bore witness to what Metzli really was, so they explained. Desperately.

“C-Cass, this is not me. I…I do not know how I got here. I was with Master and then…” And then Cass had caught them. “I was getting better. I was. I…” Trailing off, something tugged at the back of Metzli’s mind and they squeezed their eyes shut to fight back. It was no use. Master Jesus was winning. 

“Run.”

Metzli told her to leave, but there was no way Cass was going to do that. Not when they were still gripping the man, not when there were two bodies already strewn to the side. She didn’t know what was going on, didn’t understand, but she knew it couldn’t be allowed to continue. She wasn’t a very good hero, she knew. Good heroes weren’t grabbed by villains in the woods, good heroes didn’t need to be saved by forcing their girlfriend to bloody her hands. She wasn’t a good hero, but she still wanted to try. And a hero wouldn’t leave, so Cass stayed. Cass had to stay.

Something seemed to shift, though Cass had no idea why. The look on Metzli’s face went from foreign to familiar. They looked around like they were lost, said her name like they’d only just realized she was there at all. Cass felt an uncomfortable tightness in her chest, a quiet uncertainty. She’d been so caught up with her own things lately that she hadn’t been keeping up with Metzli’s. What if they hated her for it? What if that was what this was? 

Metzli tried to explain, and Cass wished she understood more about vampires, wished she knew more about the situation. Why were they with their master? Hadn’t they said they wanted nothing to do with him? Had they changed their mind? Still, a voice whispered that it was probably her fault, somehow. That Metzli had grown so tired of her that anything had seemed a better alternative. She was self-centered in her doubt, arrogant in the way she hated herself. Anxiety made everything about her, even when it wasn’t. 

“I’m not — I’m not going to leave,” she insisted when they told her to run, standing her ground stubbornly. “I’m not.” 

Metzli struggled with their hands clasped around their head, trying desperately to keep themself from giving into the urge to bite someone they loved. They had already hurt Leila, had fought against friends for a person that wanted to see Metzli suffer. But they were powerless to stop Master’s claws from latching onto them, forcing them to use their skills as a killer to attack. 

Eyes went blank, fingers flexed and their body prepared to pounce. As they did, a more loving part still managed to overshadow Master’s desires just long enough to reduce the weight of their tackle. Kill, he commanded, and Metzli nearly complied, unsheathing their knife and cocking their arm back to strike. “Please!” They begged, desperation piercing through just as the blade found purchase, though it was neither flesh nor bone. Wood splintered and parted, debris dancing in the air as Metzli’s eyes paraded between monster and friend. 

“He will make me hurt you. I do not want this!” Backing away from Cass, they had a death-grip on the hilt of their knife, hoping that they could force it to remain in place. What more could they do when the pressure in their mind was growing stronger? Distance, Metzli thought. That’s what they needed if they were going to have property of their mind again. “Run.” They said again, using the last bit of will. “I will chase. Run to Pines.”

Metzli pulled out a knife, and Cass didn’t understand. Her eyes went to the blade and for a moment, her shoulder ached. For a moment, she was standing outside her cave with Rhett’s hand grasped around her throat, her heart pounding and her pulse racing. Trusting the wrong person had ended poorly for her then, but this wasn’t like that. This wasn’t like that. Was it? She hated herself a little for the doubt that crept in, for the quiet question. Metzli didn’t deserve it, knife or no knife.

Still, she flinched when the blade splintered wood, her eyes darting to Metzli’s would-be victim behind them. She couldn’t leave while there was still someone who needed saving. Not if she wanted to be a hero. She didn’t understand what was going on, but it was clear that Metzli wasn’t in control, and… that meant she couldn’t trust them. She couldn’t take them at their word. It hurt a little.

But there were solutions she could use, too.

“Promise,” she demanded, trying hard to keep her voice from shaking. “Promise you’ll follow me.” If she could guarantee that Metzli would follow, she could leave without concern. But until then… Cass wasn’t going to let someone else get hurt so that she could get away. She was finished with that kind of thing.

At the chance to act on their instincts, to play with their food before the inevitable, Metzli’s mouth began to water, and they promised in earnest. “Yes.” They breathed, hungry for the chase to begin as they nodded enthusiastically. “I promise.” It came out as more of a hiss, fangs presented as another kind of promise. That they’d sink their teeth into flesh and spill blood into their mouth. Metzli had heard fae blood was sweet, but they had yet to prove that for themself.

With a shudder, they stepped forward, urging Cass to turn and run. Already, there was a pull as she slowly took heed of their demand. They took chase and kept their pace slow, knowing it wouldn’t take much to catch up and end it all too soon. So, despite how hunger rattled inside Metzli, they stayed far back. They knew patience well, how the thrill made the elixir that much more potent when fear pumped into a prey’s veins.

Binding Metzli to their promise felt so much heavier now than it had all those months ago, when Cass had first met them. There was a certain level of guilt to it, but what could she do? She couldn’t let them kill anyone else, and they clearly weren’t in control. (She repeated it to herself, determined to believe it. They weren’t in control. They weren’t. This wasn’t something they wanted to do. She wasn’t nothing, no matter what Rhett’s voice still whispered in her mind.) 

As Metzli stepped forward, Cass turned and took off in a sprint. She could feel the vampire behind her, farther back than they should have been. Were they letting her pull ahead out of love, or were they playing with her? Normally, she’d assume the first. But now… All she could do was pick up her speed and hope for the best.

A sharp yank nearly sent the vampire reeling backwards, but the promise they’d bound themself too won out. Whatever pace Cass set, Metzli synced with with ease. Hunger slowly became less of a motivation while their legs needed nothing more than Cass to move for them to keep going. It was all too easy to grow lost in the run that the hunt soon fled their mind, just as Master’s grip on Metzli’s mind did as well.

“Cass!” They called out, a familiarity attached to their voice once again. “Slow down. I cannot feel him here.” The running continued a little longer, though Metzli was sure that Cass had heard them. If she was as good of a hero as they knew she was, they knew she was taking a precaution. It would take much more than a change in tone to convince her. Metzli had proven more than once that they were good at pretending to be a person. They couldn’t blame Cass for that. She’d been burned too many times, even as she was made up of magma.

“I promise I will not attack you!” It was important to say, they knew that. “I promise, Cass. I will not hurt you if I can stop it.” Metzli urged, still continuing to chase as they had promised they would. “He cannot have influence right now. We are too far from his crypt.”

If she tried hard enough, she could almost pretend it was a game. She could forget about all of it, could close her eyes to it and let herself act like it was something it wasn’t. Only ever for a moment, though. Maybe she could have gone longer before that knife sunk into her shoulder, before the world proved to her that she wasn’t half as invincible as she thought she was even if she was made of stone. Rocks could break, stone could shatter, magma could cool. Even volcanoes went extinct after a while, became corpses lining the sky after erosion wore too much of them away.

Metzli’s voice called out, pulling her from her thoughts. She slowed a little when they asked her to, but didn’t stop quite yet. (She could still feel Rhett’s hand around her throat, the way he wrenched her arm when she’d gone to take the paper from him. Fae didn’t lie, but everyone else could. Even the people you trusted.)

Eventually, though, they spoke again, and she stopped. They made a promise, and she didn’t bind them to the first — it was too wide, too vague, too close to something that might hurt them if the monster controlling them forced their hand — but she let herself tie them to the second. They wouldn’t hurt her if they could stop it. Cass would take that, even if only to release them the moment they parted ways here. She stopped, turned to face them, offered them a small smile. She felt a pang of guilt for not getting to them sooner; maybe she could have saved more than just one person if she had. “Hi,” she greeted quietly.

The chase ended, leaving the vampire to stand there lamely as they stared silently at Cass. She looked tired, but no harm had come to her, and that was what mattered most to Metzli. If anything could matter to them anymore. If they could want for more than just what Master had commanded. “Hi.” They replied dryly, only then realizing their face was still covered with blood. “I am…” Trailing off, Metzli looked to the ground and removed their jacket to wipe what was left of the crimson on their skin. It was dry and flaky, but otherwise came off with a few scrubs of the fabric. 

They thought they should at least apologize, but there was no desire to lie. There never was, but it felt even more prominent than usual. When Metzli was in the clan, they never apologized unless forced to by the pain and guilt instilled on them by Eloy–or rather, Master Jesus. It was all so confusing, having to be bent to someone else’s will when you saw them as an ally for so long. After a few long beats of silence, Metzli managed to utter a weak apology, finding that it wasn’t a lie if they knew they would have felt guilt had it not been for Master. Logic worked in their favor often. Mixing that with their new experiences had to lead them to who they were under the monster Master wanted them to be.

“Are you okay? I wish you did not see what I did.” But a more selfish part of them knew they would be glad she had arrived and stopped them. “I…” Metzli slowly made their way to the ground, crossing their legs to sit and feel the world around the two of them. A small semblance of peace, where Master couldn’t reach them. “He is making me be the monster I used to be. Still am sometimes, but I only hurt bad people now. Or-or I did.” They sighed, gripping a clump of grass to show themself they still existed, that they could still be grounded. “It is hard to understand, I know. There is strong relationship with creator and their vampires, even if you do not want it. You are forever connected and–espera…” Metzli narrowed their eyes at Cass, realizing she was out of bed and doing her work when she should’ve been at home. “Why are you not resting?”

Her chest ached, and she knew it wasn’t only because of the still-healing injuries she’d sustained from Rhett. There were certain truths that were supposed to be undeniable things, but for Cass, they always proved false after a while. Your parents were supposed to want to protect you, but hers had given her away. Fae were meant to feel drawn to other fae, but none had ever wanted to keep her around. Being kind was supposed to make you likable, but everyone she’d ever clung to had run from her in the end. Metzli was supposed to protect her, but she was standing in an uncertain position ready to run from them again in a heartbeat. It wasn’t their fault. She knew it wasn’t their fault. There was a terrible, god-awful man who was controlling them and making them do things they never would have done on their own, but Cass’s heart was pounding and her chest ached anyway. That undeniable truth had been taken from her anyway. It felt so monumentally unfair.

Metzli apologized, quiet and not entirely sincere, and Cass shrugged. “It’s okay,” she said, even though it wasn’t. Even though nothing felt okay, even though nothing had felt okay in such a long time now that she scarcely remembered what okay was at all. Maybe nothing ever had been. Maybe she’d spent all these months in Wicked’s Rest just fooling herself. Anything could be taken from you in an instant. By a ranger with a gun, by a warden with a knife, by an elder vampire with a few well-placed commands. Okay was a thing that didn’t really seem to exist for people like them.

“I’m fine.” The lie tasted like acid on her tongue, churning her stomach and making that ache in her chest feel bigger, but she showed no outward sign of it. She followed Metzli’s lead, settling onto the ground and putting a palm flat against the Earth. She could feel the small rocks beneath her. If she concentrated hard enough, she could feel the heat from the planet’s core, the familiar magma that felt more like home than anything else did right now. She let herself focus on it instead of that ache. There was a distance between her and Metzli; she made no move to get closer to them. She told herself it was for their benefit as much as hers. If they hurt her, they’d hate themself for it eventually. But it was a selfish thing, too. If she hurt them, she’d never forgive herself. “It isn’t your fault, Metzli. This isn’t something you’d do if you were in control. I know that. It’s his fault. He… hurt those people. Not you.” 

She huffed a little laugh, rolling her eyes a little at Metzli’s question. The concern wasn’t real, but that wasn’t Metzli’s fault, either. “I’m tired of resting. I’m tired of feeling… weak and helpless. I want to feel strong. I want to help people. I’m better now, anyway.” Another lie, and it burned like one. Dr. Kavanagh hadn’t been lying about the cold iron wound being slow to heal. It was moving at a snail’s pace, no matter what she did to speed things along. Maybe if she could bring herself to go back to her cave and let it help, it would go faster, but… She kept thinking about what had happened just outside of it. Of those hands holding her in place, of that knife against her head. “I’m better like this.”

There was distance between the two, one that should not have been there if there was no reluctance, or fear fueling it. “You are not.” Metzli countered with a shake of their head, watching Cass carefully. She was touching the ground to soothe herself, as she often did when things were a little overwhelming. It was similar to the way Metzli fiddled with their fidget cube, and at the thought, they reached for it out of habit. 

“Even if it is not my fault, what you were seeing is not good. But…” They trailed off, rubbing a thumb against a smooth section of their cube. “If I could feel, I know I would be glad you stopped me. I would be glad at least someone got away.” There was an attempt at a smile, though it looked more like a grimace to most. Not to Cass though. She knew Metzli better than most. Just as they knew their young fae as well. There was lie after lie based on logic alone. The pain on Cass’s face didn’t make it any easier either. Normally, that would irk the vampire, but they were surprised to find that it didn’t. Not because they couldn’t feel, but because she wasn’t lying to them. She was lying to herself. She needed to be okay.

“You are not better completely.” They tensed, searching their mind for what should come next. Settling on a decision, Metzli rose to their feet and planted themself next to Cass. “But that does not mean you are helpless or weak. You can still help people without putting your body in danger. You are helping me right now and there is no fighting. You do not have to fight or get hurt.” Pain would just be a reminder of what that hunter had done to her, continuing the cycle of her ache. Metzli wanted to quell it, if only for a night. She could be the strong one, and they could be what she needed. With or without feeling.

“Helping has much variation. Help me to your cave and then help me stay in one place. Protect people from me. From m-my…from Master.” Metzli swallowed and took a breath, leaning in to bonk their head against Cass’s. This didn’t have to be what happened with Leila and Parker. This could be a different ending. They were far enough away to have that chance.

“I kind of have to be.” Wasn’t that how it always was? Kids like Cass didn’t get to fall apart the way other children did. When she was a teenager, other people her age had stressed over homework and schoolyard crushes while Cass struggled to find enough food to keep her from starving. Other kids resented their parents for strict rules and punishments deemed unfair when they broke them while Cass would have given anything just to know what her mother’s face looked like. She was fine because she had no choice. What good would it do her now to fall apart over the bodies Metzli left in that cave? What good would it do either of them? It served no purpose. She knew that. So she pushed it away, she ignored it. She was fine, because she kind of had to be. She knew Metzli would understand, even if they had no access to the feelings associated with that understanding now.

It was almost painful, the familiarity of their movements. It would have been easier if she could have told herself it was all someone else. If Metzli didn’t look like Metzli, didn’t talk like themself or move like themself. If their hand weren’t absently playing with that cube in a way she’d seen a thousand times before, it would have been simpler. But there was this strange in-between to it, this odd way of feeling. Metzli was Metzli, but they weren’t. Cass was fine, but she wasn’t. “I know it’s not good. But I know you wouldn’t do it if you were in control.” She still believed that, at least, even with the strangeness. The way Metzli spoke of their past, of the things they’d done… Cass knew they’d never do any of it if they had a say. She still remembered the way they’d locked themself up at the mere thought of hurting someone again. That scared her, too. If they got out of this in one piece, if they took care of Metzli’s sire the way she knew their friends were planning to do, what were the odds of a repeat performance? How likely was Metzli to leave again, to isolate themself again, to claim it for the best? The idea of going through all this just to lose them all over, just for them to leave made her stomach churn far more than the lie regarding her own well-being had.

She shrugged, still looking at the dirt. “I’m well enough. I don’t know when I’ll be better completely.” If she ever would. Dr. Kavanagh had said that wounds wrought from cold iron healed differently. There was a chance that this ache in her shoulder would be there forever, would never fade entirely. The thought of always feeling like this made her want to scream. She registered Metzli moving, coming to sit beside her, and she didn’t tense even if logic seemed to suggest she ought to. She told them once that they couldn’t hurt her. Back then, it had been arrogance. She’d felt invincible, and she’d been proven wrong by Rhett and his cruel hands and his sharp knife. Still, she couldn’t fathom the vampire ever harming her. Even now, with their sire’s control hanging so heavily over their head. 

“I’m not good at it,” she admitted quietly. “At helping people. I always mess it up. I mess everything up, I think.” Over and over, time after time. She tried, she failed, she mourned. She thought of Kuma, who had tried so hard to slide into a role similar to the one Metzli had taken here, who had cared for Cass the way she’d always imagined a parent might, who had died for it. Maybe it wasn’t Metzli’s sire who was the biggest threat to them here. Maybe Cass should have been far more worried about other ways the vampire might meet their end. “I — I haven’t been back to my cave,” she admitted. “Since… I got hurt. It was just outside of it. He grabbed me, and I was…” She trailed off. No point in talking about it now, she knew. No point in any of it. “I don’t know if I can go back now.”

How stupid, Metzli thought to themself, to not have the forethought to realize what going back to the cave meant. The pain that would reside there until the blood that had painted the ground had been washed clean. And even then, memories used a different kind of canvas to put a picture together. She needed a new home until then, and Metzli thought of Alex’s cabin as an idea for a moment before realizing how weak it might feel to be there. They recalled their first visit, when Cass was still sleeping, and thought better than to suggest it. Instead, they nodded and offered a reassuring hand to the nymph. 

“You help me.” Mistakes were inevitable, that was just a fact of life. It was something both Metzli and Cass had learned with vengeful hands just how wrong it could be to simply exist. As if the people who’d punished them and berated them were perfect, or had any say as to how the population should run. Metzli wanted to be better, to offer something kinder to a girl who wasn’t given what she was due. “When we are not good at something, the mistakes will happen. This is natural.” Their brows furrowed, in thought. “The punishments we get are not.” With a shake of their head, Metzli breathed quietly, voicing a new idea for the two of them to venture on and find safety in. Maybe a little fun too, for Cass. 

“There is hotel we can visit. We can go and order service all night, and then make sure workers get good tips. Maybe you call Alex too. Like vacation for a night.” Again, Metzli bonked their head against Cass’s, a gentle smile ticking up the corner of their mouth slightly. “You do not have to return to anything until you’re ready, and you can help in more ways than you think. This is all new, yes? Then let us try a new approach and be more gentle than the treatment we have before.” 

Because doing the same thing over and over again only to suffer made no sense. They could find moments of freedom and be the change. “We can just exist naturally. You have helped very much tonight. You deserve to know this and to feel accomplishment.” Metzli paused, wishing they could feel the words they knew were truth because they had felt the emotion countless times already. “I am proud of you, and I am lucky to have you here right now.”

“Not enough to matter,” she replied, shaking her head. After all, what good had she done Metzli lately? What good had she done them at all? In all the time she’d known them, she’d watched life throw terrible thing after terrible thing in their direction, and not once had she ever had the ability to stop any of it. She was just as useless to Metzli as she had been outside her cave, with that hand around her throat. Insignificant help might as well amount to no help at all in the grand scheme of things. 

She pressed her tongue against her teeth, a thousand words dying on the tip of it. But I want to be good at it, she thought. I want to be a hero who actually saves people. I want to be worth something. Any of it was cruel to say now. It was forcing Metzli to rely on the memory of feelings they’d lost to provide comfort Cass probably didn’t quite deserve when it was Metzli who was in crisis, Metzli whose life had fallen apart. She’d always been so good at taking, Leilani had told her once. At sapping things away from anyone stupid enough to care about her and then having the gall to demand more when they were empty. It wasn’t Metzli’s job to put their own problems to the side just to comfort her. It wasn’t Cass’s right to continue to take when she’d been given more than enough. She was owed nothing and deserved less. She knew that.

But god, taking was still all she wanted to do. She told herself that this would help Metzli, too. That it would benefit them to have a night away from it all, in a hotel with room service and fluffy robes. It was a lie at worst, an understatement at best, but she forced it to take root in her mind, anyway. “A hotel sounds nice,” she said quietly. “You’ll be able to stay?” The last thing she wanted was to cause more problems. She’d done enough of that already. 

The words Metzli spoke next were ones Cass had longed to hear all her life. And she hated herself for the way she didn’t know if she could believe them or not. Metzli didn’t lie, she knew that. But that didn’t mean that what Metzli believed to be true actually was. No one had ever been lucky to have Cass in their life before, and why would that change now? Selfishly, she refused to speak her doubts aloud. If she never spoke them, they were so much easier to ignore. “I’m lucky to have you, too,” she said instead, and she knew it was true. “Do you want to go now? To the hotel?”

Cass’s mind was filled with doubt and hunger, at odds with itself. She was starved for so long that she took and took, not realizing she was giving herself away because she believed love was a kind of emptiness. Her heart would never be filled until she unburdened herself from that doubt, making room for something much more fulfilling. She was on the right track, though. Metzli would keep her there, even if she didn’t realize it. She just needed time. 

“Yes, I will be able to stay.” They pocketed their fidget cube, readying themself. “I will try to stay as long as you want. We can have that time.” Metzli paused for a moment, looking kindly at Cass as they stood up and offered a hand. “We deserve that time.” It felt important to add, to affirm what they had both longed for since childhood even if Metzli was numb to that particular pain. Even if they could not feel the guilt or tragedy of what they’d done over the past few days.

“Let’s go.”

#wickedswriting #bloody ink #writings #false confidence #c: cass #cass and metzli

[persoc30]

Kinktober Day 16 - Hyperflexible / Autofellatio

Asbestos saw stars as her head hit the ground, her bad eye leaking whatever-the-fuck-that-stuff-was all over the shitty carpet of her Rhodes dorm. Before she could even catch her breath her opponent shoved a knee into her spine and put all the weight and strength of her upper body into holding the Savra’s head and right arm to the floor. A scaly underbelly slammed against her thighs and tail, trapping them too. The dense muscles and armored scales made her own tail feel pathetic and useless by comparison. A curtain of green mane fell over her vision right before needle like fangs, made to grip and never let go til their prey was dead, grazed her neck.

“Give in.”

In response Asbestos slammed her free elbow into her opponent’s side, a desperate attempt to shove her off or hurt her enough to loosen her grip. But it was like hitting a fucking rock, she didn’t move an inch. What the hell was this woman? Did she leave that arm free because she knew the leaner woman couldn’t do anything with it? To drive home to her how hopeless it was?

“Alright I give, I give! Uncle!” She hadn’t expected a medic to be such a monster.

“Hah, there’s a good girl.” Gavial removed her knee from the small of Asbestos’ back, leaning back on her haunches to straddle her prey. She threw back her hair, causally pushing it behind lightly scaled ears while giving the Savra a confident, toothy smile. “Thought you’d be more of a challenge, the reputation you’ve got!”

Wasting no time waiting for an answer she leaned down and yanked the woman’s cropped jacket off her shoulders, repeating the process with her pants and boots, playing at tearing them off but making sure to leave no actual damage. When she reached for the zipper at the back of Asbestos’ neck however a voice from below stopped her.

“Wait! The bodysuit stays or-.” Her protests were silenced by a hand roughly driving her face back into the carpet.

“That’s not how you ask, try again.”

“Ugh, dammit. Please? Ma’am?”

“There we go, I’ll train you yet.” The Archosauria woman removed her hand from the zipper and gave her plaything a pat on the cheek.

Gavial stood up and gave herself a look over. Crop top, shorts and boots all intact and accounted for, and she’d tossed her jacket off as soon as they’d started so that was probably fine wherever it was. A few scratches and bite marks from her playmates nails and fangs that’d look nice when they started healing. More slime than she was used to, but probably also fine.

She put one hand on her hip and rolled the other at her newly appointed sub. “Alright on your back.”

Asbestos complied with the order, but partway through the maneuver she lashed her tail out, grabbing Gavial around the ankle and pulling with all the slippery appendage had. Only for Gavial to remain standing as if nothing had happened. Instead she picked her foot up and stomped down on Asbestos’ tail, causing it to immediately let go and start thrashing around trying to escape while its owner let out a strangled squeak. The Archosauria squatted down and seized the offending limb.

“Eager lil slut aren’t you?” She mocked, rolling the slippery appendage between her fingers. “But don’t worry; I know exactly what to do with long tailed bitches like you.”

With that threat in place Gavial tossed off her shorts and dropped down to once again straddle her prey, up around her chest this time. She weaved the taller woman’s tail under her crotch, laughing when the tip of the tail tried to bend up towards her cunt.

“You should be so lucky. No, after that last stunt I’ve got better plans for this lil thing.”

She grabbed the prehensile tail with her other hand, taking a moment to disrespectfully wipe the now free hand clean on Asbestos’ spandex, then pulled it tight between the two of them. She pressed the tip against the Savra’s lips. “Open wide.”

“Fuck yo-”

Gavial took advantage of the predictable rebuttal to shove the tail into her plaything’s mouth, deep enough to make her gag. “Maybe next time, if you can learn to behave.” With her hands free she grabbed Asbestos’ wrists and held them up past her head, then lowered herself onto the tail. Grinding her slit on the appendage she slid forward until her bush was tickling Asbestos’ nose. She reared back and quickly slid forward again, the force thrusting the tail slightly further into its owner’s mouth. Face fucking her with her own tail.

Asbestos was in hell. Gavial had forced her tail into her throat already, her slime traitorously easing its way in. The soft meat of the prehensile limb was forcing her mouth open as wide as it could go, and more was still coming. Every thrust shook and pulled it, dragging it between her tits and over her spandex covered dick. Every finely honed asshole instinct was screaming at her to bite down, but she was still together enough to recognize how self-destructive that rebellion would be. A salty taste joined the slime, slowly spreading through it down her tongue and throat, and she realized tears were flowing from the eye that could still cry right.

Fortunately it couldn’t last forever. With one last thrust Gavial gave a shudder and dropped the Savra’s wrists to hold onto her head, cumming all over her tail and face. She rocked back and rose up on her knees, pulling the tail out with a pop and tossing it aside.

“Ugh, look what you did to me.” Gavial indicated the threads of slime still slowly dripping from between her thighs, “You got this stuff all over me. I think you should beg me to let you clean it up.”

Asbestos, still panting from her ordeal, shot the Archosauria a look that would be nasty if she didn’t currently look so pathetic. “What? No… fuck that… I’m not gonna-” She was stopped once more by Gavial’s hand grabbing her chin.

The medic leaned forward, a dangerous grin showing her interlocked fangs. “You’re lucky I’m still feeling the afterglow. You get one more chance, Beg.”

“Ugh fine. Please… please let me clean you ma’am. I’m sorry for making a mess please let me make it up.”

“It’s a start.” Gavial worked her way forward and turned around, before dropping her groin onto the Savra’s face. As Asbestos’ long tongue got to work on her slit and thighs she leaned forward and began roughly groping the lanky woman’s breasts.

Finally, her crotch cleaned to her satisfaction, Gavial flopped down onto her back beside the still panting woman, both laying on the floor for a moment. “Hah, you’re pretty fun. Hit me up next time you’re on base, maybe you’ll even win.” Flashing one last, significantly friendlier, toothy grin at her playmate.

#BDSMKinktober #arknights #nsft #fics #my fics #unrelated but i was double checking gavial and asbestos' arts for inspiration #and i don't think i ever realized gavial's base and e2 arts have different outfits #think i always just parsed them as the same outfit drawn slightly differently

[xmas-infinite]

The Terror Bird Monstar appears, Pelagalein!

Description:

"An extremely dangerous Monstar that dominates the coastal isles it lives on. Should the crew of a ship see a Pelagalein, they will turn around to avoid the hulls being torn apart by their hardened beaks. A Pelagalein's bite force is strong enough to shred iron and steel."

Pelagalein's name is made of three parts: PELAGORNIS, GALE, and KERATIN. The 'gale' part is in reference to the large, monstrous wings of the Monstar, while both other parts reference the inspiration for the Monstar itself, the pelagornis.

The pelagornis is both a member of and the name for a genus of prehistoric birds that used to occupy many areas of the prehistoric world. Pelagornis is thought to be the ancestral relatives of aquatic birds such as pelicans, storks, and other waterfowl such as ducks and geese. They are known as pseudotooth birds for the keratinous growths that line their beaks, resembling teeth, allowing them to better grip the slippery fish and aquatic life they preyed upon. They also had wingspans close to 20 feet long! Despite the large amount of members in the family, very little complete fossil records have been found due to their lightweight bones being crushed over time and improperly fossilized.

#monstars #creature design #monster design #concept art #fakemon #pelagornis #pseudotooth

[pierrotwrites-hc]

Defining Trauma (and writing it)

During intake with my new therapist, she recommended Pete Walker’s “Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving: A Guide and Map for Recovering from Childhood Trauma” (a title with two colons to let us know that it means business).

Because I want to get an A in therapy -- a goal that has nothing at all to do with C-PTSD, I’m sure -- I immediately bought the book and ripped through it. The speed of my reading is an indicator of digestibility rather than exceptional quality, which isn’t (necessarily) a knock: we’re living in a time when truly excellent resources on trauma are abundant and accessible, and my bar is high.

I did, however, mark the following definition of trauma, which elides the slippery and contentious debates over exactly how dreadful an experience has to be in order to merit the label by framing the matter, quite usefully, in terms of neurology:

“Trauma occurs when attack or abandonment triggers a fight/flight response so intensely that the person cannot turn it off once the threat is over. He becomes stuck in an adrenalized state. His sympathetic nervous system is locked ‘on’ and he cannot toggle into the relaxation function of the parasympathetic nervous system.”

...which reminded me of another passage in another (better) book about trauma, Laurence Gonzales’s “Surviving Survival: The Art and Science of Resilience” (a title with the acceptable number of colons: one):

“An ancient pathway in the brain, which scientists call the rage pathway, connects several areas to produce what neuroscientists call ‘affective attack.’ Affective means ‘emotional.’ When you are attacked, you automatically fight, scream, and bite. All mammals are born with this response. You don’t have to learn it. The rage pathway begins in the amygdala and sends signals to the hypothalamus, which monitors the state of your body and imparts tremendous powers of persuasion to all sorts of appetites, such as thirst and hunger. The rage pathway ties those structures in with an area called the pariaqueductal gray (PAG). The PAG is one of the places where you represent the physical self, both the outer and the interior body, and is involved in feeling pain and in responding to fear (freezing or fighting). The PAG also sends nerve fibers into the parts of the brain stem that control the jaw and face; biting and baring your teeth are part of the rage response. This response is so powerful that it can be overwhelming. It is, after all, meant to free you from the grip of a predator."

...which in turn reminded me of another passage in another (even better) book, Elisa Gabbert’s “The Unreality of Memory” (no colons at all):

“The psychologist and trauma specialist Peter Levine developed a model of what you might call trauma avoidance in prey animals. He observed that when they’re unable to flee or fight, they freeze instead—either hiding or playing dead. But while they are frozen, all the chemical activation associated with fight or flight persists. If the animal survives, once it’s safe it will need to ‘discharge’ this energy through shaking or trembling. He noted that humans also freeze in the face of threats, but rarely do they go through the discharge stage—likely because, as Scaer puts it, ‘dramatic shaking all over is “unseemly” or “hysterical,” and tends to be suppressed'...It’s like the fight-or-flight process can’t play itself out and so gets stuck.”

Taking these three passages together, we can conclude that trauma happens when the fight-or-flight reflex is triggered and cannot be turned off -- and when an attack activates the rage pathway but the physical response that is “meant to free you from the grip of a predator” is subdued or suppressed, leaving the survivor in a state of suspended chemical activation. 

Gabbert connects this state to experiences of chronic illness and pain -- and indeed, survivors (especially of childhood sexual abuse) are more likely to experience both. 

Looking at this conception of trauma, it’s useful for me (and perhaps for you) to think of C-PTSD as occurring when the conditions of trauma are also the conditions of life -- so enduring and seemingly inescapable that they become normal -- and so normal that any indication or suggestion that they may be abnormal can trigger a strongly negative and even defensive response.

This is something I’ve been thinking about in writing recently. In Part II/Chapter 18 of TGB, Luca has his first experience of conscious anger -- not at his abusers, but at the friends who are challenging his perception that the conditions of his life are normal. As a child subjected to extreme abuse in a society that sanctions it, he made the subconscious decision to accept the apparently universal consensus that his abuse is appropriate and deserved. This is a survival strategy: it’s what allowed him to stay sane. To bend without breaking. 

As Gabbert says, “Abused children are prone to ‘inappropriate bonding’ with their abusers” -- and if the abuse is not just systematic but systemic, the product of a larger social logic, then the victim may also form an attachment to that logic itself, for the simple reason that it is the only way for them to make sense of the otherwise senseless violence that defines their lives.

Gabbert connects the inappropriate bonding patterns of abused children to the fact that laboratory rats, "when given shocks in a certain part of a maze, will tend to return to that part of the maze” even knowing that they will be shocked again. As the scientist who worked on this experiment puts it, “The familiar is more rewarding to the rats than the unknown.” 

If abuse is “the familiar” -- if it is as deeply woven into everyday experience as the facts of gravity and inertia, and has itself taken on the quality of a fact -- then “the unknown” can be impossible to imagine.

Joan Didion says that we tell ourselves stories in order to live. In the context of C-PTSD, we believe the stories that other people tell us about ourselves -- no matter how awful -- in order to live. That’s why, when we are confronted by the falsity of these stories, it can feel as though our lives are at stake. We can become protective of the very people, systems, and behaviors that have most imperiled us.

The work of healing begins when we begin to imagine the unknown -- to shape in our minds a territory outside and beyond the world that has been given to us.

In the context of hurt/comfort, and thinking back to Levine’s model of trauma avoidance, we might think of this as the discharge stage. 

Recs for h/c that writes the discharge stage particularly well:

- “A Little Life,” by Hanya Yanagihara

- “Like An Arrow Through a Flock of Doves” by @arsenicjade​ and @hoosierbitch​

- “Marks Not Yet Made,” by empty_room

- “Freak Camp,” by brosedshield and LaviniaLavender

- “Broken Road” and “My Lips Have the Sin,” by @hoosierbitch

- “Motion Training,” by nonymos

- “Ipseity,” by SkyisGray

- “In Hell He’ll Be in Good Company,” by barbaricyawp

(The last three are Stucky, simply because that fandom is particularly interested in trauma recovery. No points for guessing why.)

Let this be a placeholder for a longer, better post in which I identify what the discharge stage can look like in fiction and why it’s an essential element of the comfort arc in h/c.

ETA: I would also LOVE recs for other works that focus on this aspect of the /comfort arc!

#trauma #trauma theory #whump #ptsd #cptsd #hurt/comfort #pierrot writes #pierrot recs #tw

[wolveria]

Inside Your Wires - Ch 8

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: Connor and the prototype check out the Ravendale district, and as per usual, the android doesn't listen to him.

AO3

Story banner by @uh-kitty-got-wet​

It was raining. Again.

And Connor was standing out in it. Again.

At least Colin seemed as miserable as he was, wrapped in his expensive leather jacket while shivering. It was more than a little satisfying that Connor’s practical windbreaker was holding up better under the never-ending deluge.

“Damn thing robs a convenience store, and no one sees where it went,” Colin complained, hunching his shoulders against the November chill. “Why don’t you tell Barbie over there to fetch?”

“Don’t call it that,” Connor muttered, sneaking a surreptitious glance at the android in question. It was standing next to his Mustang, back ramrod straight as it remained facing forward, looking for all intents and purposes just like a plastic doll. It didn’t even blink or fidget as it was pelted with cold rain droplets.

“Okay, Mr. Android Rights Activist.” Colin smirked. “You seemed fine calling it that at the station. Yelled it, in fact.”

Connor turned up the collar of his windbreaker, not dignifying that statement with a response. He was going to have to change the bandages on his cheek when he got back to the station. It stung like hell and was already soaked through.

“Shut up,” he said, halfhearted, before leaving Colin’s side to approach the prototype. Its eyes shifted toward him, its head following as if on a swivel. Connor had noticed it move that way before, and it was uncanny as hell. Like a bird, or a reptile, focusing on something of interest.

Without waiting for Connor to speak, it said, “The deviant fled by bus and didn’t disembark until the last stop. From what we saw of the Ortiz android, deviants don’t behave rationally and are often driven by emotions such as anger or fear.”

Connor scoffed.

“Okay, great. Emotional machines. How is that helpful?”

The YN800 model cocked its head and its eyes slid to the side, a thoughtful expression if Connor had ever seen one.

“Knowing it would soon be pursued by the police, it would most likely choose to hide. And with a young child in tow during inclement weather, it couldn’t have gone far.”

Connor’s eyebrows rose.

“All right. If you were a deviant, where would you hide?”

There was a flash of something in its eyes. It almost looked… annoyed.

Interesting.

The prototype turned and gaze out across the street, its eyes roving over each building with a critical lens, a small crease appearing between its brows. Had someone designed that little dip on purpose? Make it more human and less creepy?

“There’s a motel nearby, but that option would require cash and a change of clothing. It’s a human-only establishment, but it is a warm, dry place to shelter, so this location is high-risk high-reward. There’s also the foreclosed house on the corner, but it is structurally unsound and unsafe for a child. The AX400 may not care.”

It aimed its chin toward a lot surrounded by a chain link fence, and added, “The overnight parking lot may offer a good alternative as well, uncomfortable but discreet. Units should be placed at all three locations to cover the most ground and assure the deviant doesn’t slip away.”

Connor would have loved nothing more than to find fault in the prototype’s logic, just as an excuse to take it down a peg, but everything it said made an annoying amount of sense.

Without acknowledging the android, Connor went back to where Colin and Ralph were hunched miserably in the rain and gave them the update. The rookie got on the radio immediately and coordinated where the uniforms should be stationed, spread out all along the Ravendale district.

The android’s calculations paid off—an AX400 was spotted just down the street, a struggling child in tow.

Connor was about to turn to the YN800 model to give it the go-ahead when it blew past him, a streak of dark jeans and grey jacket with glowing blue accents.

“Goddammit, wait!” he yelled after it. Goddamn android didn’t even have a proper name for him to curse. For insisting on being Connor’s new partner, it sure didn’t act like one, running off or disappearing the first chance it got.

Connor fled after it, boots slapping against the wet pavement as he weaved around groups of people on the sidewalk, diving into traffic around slow-moving autonomous cars where he could.

The officers stationed along the street directed Connor where to go since he’d quickly lost sight of the prototype. It was eerily fast, and Connor wasn’t exactly diligent about getting regular exercise. By the time he caught up to it at the end of an alley, he was panting and wheezing for breath.

“Shit,” he panted through his teeth, staring wide-eyed through the chain-link fence as the AX400 and child somehow made it to the median strip without both of them dying. That fucking lunatic android was going to get the girl killed.

There was movement out of the corner of his eye; the prototype was halfway up the fence before Connor could grab it by the jacket, yanking it back down onto solid ground.

“What are you doing!”

He considered giving it a good shake when it stubbornly refused to let go of the fence.

The prototype ignored him completely, staring through the links to its target like a predator homing in on its prey.

“What I was designed to do.”

It tried to shrug off his grip, but Connor held on tighter.

“It’s a miracle they even made it that far!” Connor snapped, fingers digging into the slippery fabric. “You chase after them, you’ll get yourself killed!”

The YN800 positively glared at him out of the corner of its eye. It was a look so hostile that the air left Connor’s lungs, and he made the mistake of slightly loosening his grip.

The android jerked out of his hold, leapt onto the fence, and cleared the top before Connor could stop it.

“No!” Connor yelled, useless and too late.

The YN800 landed on the muddy embankment and slid down the slope to the highway railing, disrupting the shimmery text of the warning hologram as it leapt into traffic.

Connor was helpless to do anything but watch as it expertly dodged oncoming vehicles, sliding over and under them, always a hair’s breadth away from certain death. Somehow it made it to the median and gave chase, yelling for the AX400 to stop.

The deviant turned, panic twisting its features, and the two androids faced each other at a standstill, an innocent child caught in the middle.

Next Chapter

#connor x reader #human!connor x reader #connor x android!reader #human!connor x android!reader #inside your wires #my fanfiction #my writing

[sweetestlamb]

Bad Idea

Summary: Cha-young has a bad idea that involves one dangerous Italian. 

Author's note: It's really just smut that I couldn't get out of my head, these two have no right having this much chemistry. It's only been 4 episodes. Read at your own risk. Also disregard anything I say about the law I'm making this shit up lol I don't know anything and I couldn't be bothered to look it up. I wanted to write more(aka make the smut smuttier) but life is getting in the way so please accept this and except more in the future when I have more time.😏

*Plays Ariana Grande- Bad Idea*

She has broken the law, after spending years learning the nooks and crannies of the justice system; hours spent soaking the ink into her fingers and absorbing the knowledge until it became a part of her very fiber. Arson. She was liable to seven years if penalized, Babel would surely flex their corrupted muscles to imprison them for even longer if they were found. She'd seen first hand what they did to those they believed were in their way, the loss of her father still pressing on her heart in aches that ebb and flow like waves on the coast.

She thought she would feel conflicted, when he had shared his plan she'd stared at him in concern, only then realizing that he was not bluffing about the lengths he would go- she was following him to the pits of hell and there would be no turning back. It was told that the road there was paved with best of intentions, but she wouldn't delude herself into believing she was a martyr.

No, this wasn't selfless or self-sacrificing for the greater good. It was revenge. Plain and simple, she had never seen eye to eye with her father seeing his earnestness as naivety especially after losing her mother, hating him for abandoning them; his heart was so huge yet he had no room for his own family. She was his only child but he hadn't come to her on bended knees pleading for her forgiveness after her mother died, no he had committed even harder to fighting for strangers. She didn't care what others said about how good and kind he was, she was angry. Devastatingly filled with resentment and that hadn't dissipated with his untimely passing, her last words to him had truly been what was in her heart.

But, it wasn't all that was in her heart.

He'd been a first love, the first man to show her unconditional love. Then he'd broken her heart and taken that unconditional love and spread it thin until she barely had a sliver left.

Despite all of these thoughts swimming in her mind like a tornado whirling until her brain feels dizzy she's proud of what they've done. Watching the factory burn ruthlessly made her skin feel like it was similarly enflamed, flames licking at her skin and looking over at the man who'd made this all possible set other parts of her body on fire.

He was infuriating, a wolf in sheep's clothing where she just wanted the wolf without the sham.

Squirming in her seat, she pretends to stare out the window sneaking glances at his profile. Cataloging the parts of his face that are still visible, the point of his nose that looms over the smooth lines of his lips and those eyes, they are docile now none of the killer intent that had been there in the bathroom as he asphyxiated a man in a dirty bathroom with merely a wire hanger. He was dangerous but that didn't make her want to keep her distance, no it lured her even closer like a moth to a flame.

Her entire life had been a series of barely thought out mistakes, what was one more? At least this one would be fun. She was hoping he fucked like he fought, rough and with singular focus. Betting on it.

"Should I drop you home Cha-young ssi?," the voice of her father's right hand man breaks the silence they'd been enduring. In her peripheral Vincenzo moves tuning into the conversation, no longer muttering to himself in what she can only assume is Italian.

"No. I'm going with him, we have something to discuss." She replies with confidence, nodding over to the man with pursed lips. He stares back at her with a lifted brow to which she responds with her own brow, exaggerated so far that it makes her mouth falls open and he tilts his head at her looking dumbfounded. She shrugs patting his knee, he doesn't need to know. They have plans he'll get on board soon enough.

Joo-Sung quickly looks between them clear questions in his eyes, she stares at him hard and he flinches before focusing on the road. Still fearing her more despite seeing first hand what Vincenzo is capable of she almost preens from the satisfaction, there's nothing quite like invoking that level of fright in another.

It's the little things in life.

Shockingly enough the Italian Korean doesn't argue, sighing before leaning back further into his seat seemingly deciding that it's not worth the headache. It won't be that hard to train him it seems, she silently hopes that he's more defiant behind closed doors she needs the aggression tonight.

If he could see the salacious things running through her head she wonders how he would react, would it make him hot under the collar? Make him pin her to the car and rip the protective suit from her body until all that remained was her quivering breasts and aching core, even Joo-Sung sitting right beside her isn't enough to qualm her imaginings. She needs his hands on her twisting her into position and hungrily devouring everything she's offering, desperately wants to use one of his many ties to render him motionless as she takes him apart.

The wetness pooling between her legs is slippery now, dripping into the delicate lace of her panties she shifts to relieve some of the pressure but the opposite happens and she rubs against her already swollen bead her imagination quickly making her spiral out of the realm of acceptable behavior. A small moan falls from her lips and Vincenzo stiffens next to her, acutely aware of her now she can feel his eyes on her as he tries not to look.

She swallows the moan that threatens to escape as she watches him lick his lips from the tail of his eyes, he picks up a bottle of water with an ever present air of nonchalance that she wants to shatter to pieces, her deviance the sledgehammer. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows and she wants to be the nectar sliding down his throat, she hasn't had sex in months and everything about him screams good fuck.

She just needs scientific proof to back up that hypothesis.

Keeping her eyes straight ahead she places her hand innocuously between them, slowly walking her finger over to his thigh until she reaches the thick meat of his leg and feels him jump under her coy touch. At first, he tenses the muscles coiled tight under the pads of her fingers. They always look so enticing wrapped in the expensive material of his dress pants, they'll look even better bracketing her thighs as he pounds into her.

"What the hell are you doing?" He hisses at her through clenched teeth. She smirks in response basking in his annoyance.

She answers by running her manicured fingers up the line of his thigh until she reaches the vee of his groin, he instantly grabs her hand in a tight grip before she can complete her journey. She flexes her fingers in his grip and he tightens ever slightly answering her wordless challenge. Biting her lips discretely she reaches up with a free hand to lower the zip of her safety suit, blowing at the skin as its revealed bits of sweat linger on her skin and she wipes at it before running her hands across her neck peeling away the thick curtain of her hair. A few strands sticking to the nape of her neck.

He's watching her, she can feel his eyes trailing her every move. He squeezes painfully at her fingers when she starts to bring the zipper lower, just about passing over the swell of her breast.

"Are you hot Cha-young ssi should I turn on the AC?" Joo-Sung asks trying to be helpful, she barely responds to him nodding her head in decline as she focuses on her prey.

"No. I'm fine, I don't mind the heat." She's talking to Joo-Sung but her message is for Vincenzo alone, anything he can dish out she can take it, will gobble it up eagerly and ask for seconds she's not looking for love, no they're too fucked up for that. This thing between them is purely animalistic.

She fights his hold on her hand with futility, being sighing and pretending to admit defeat. He releases her hand carefully watching her, waiting for her counter attack and she places the dejected hand in her lap before trailing down to vee between her thighs. Pressing one finger against her mound she looks over at him with liquid eyes, he's fixated eyes unblinking as they watch her finger at her clothed entrance. She runs two digits down and under, tilting her head back in faux exhaustion and when she looks over and his gaze is penetrating her face she smiles, playful and mischievous.

"We're here." Joo-Sung states, turning down the radio which had done a great job of smothering her sounds. She'd turned it on initially for that purpose.

Before Vincenzo can even grasp the door handle she clamors over him, straddling his lap lips falling open at the hard line that presses deliciously at her hot center, Joo-Sung sputters in his seat glancing back and forth between them in shock, Vincenzo's face is a storm- his brows furrowed and his lips twisted in a sneer. After minutely grounding down into his hard cock she finally grabs the handle, pulling the door open.

"You were taking too long. Let's go," she easily says with a straight face, swinging her leg over she jumps out of the car, "I'll see you tomorrow." She waves at Joo-Sung before looking back at Vincenzo and beckoning him with a hand. After a moments pause he silently gets out of the car, slamming the door emphatically. Joo-Sung wastes no time before peeling away, racing like the devil is on his tail the car gone within seconds.

"Are you crazy? Why would you do that in front of him?" He immediately grabs her arm tugging her into his face and she almost giggles at his punishing grip on her elbow.

"He won't think anything of it. I've done way worst things to men." She shrugs not fighting his grip instead stepping even further into his orbit, as if he has his own gravitational pull. His eyes flash minutely before he slams into her, grabbing the side of her head and thrusting his tongue through the loose seal of lips eagerly she responds, dragging him down by his shoulders to similarly lick at his mouth, sucking earnestly at his tongue. The kiss is fast and furious, both of them battling for dominance it's wet and messy and she hopes that sex will be the same. She's getting hot and bothered just thinking about it. Suddenly he bends low breaking their kiss catching her off guard before slinging her over his shoulder easily. Her hair tumbles down over his back nearly touching the ground and she squeaks when he slaps her ass, hard.

"You'll do worst things with me." He promises, walking to his apartment with her slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. If she wasn't so turned on she would hate this macho man display but this is what she was waiting for all night. She can hardly look a gift horse in the mouth. But she still grumbles and pounds at his back for show, she has a reputation to uphold after all.

He unlocks the door with her dangling from his shoulder and after stopping to drop the keys in a glass bowl he effortlessly tosses her down onto a couch, she looks up affronted by his callous move but her complaint dies on her tongue as she sees the way he's looking at her, dark eyes undressing her as he looms over her body.

There's surely no need for that.

Feeling generous she leans back unzipping her suit, this time not stopping sliding it down her chest and the cool air makes her nipples perk up under the tight thin material of her tank top. His eyes are like beads of coal as he hungrily stares at her. He reaches out for her, hands barely cupping her breasts before he freezes, searching her face before drawing away. With a groan he spins around before turning back to her, grabbing his hair before taking a deep breath.

"Your father's dead and we just burned down the Babel factory."

She stares at him as he stares at her, waiting for her to have some kind of reaction. Maybe break down into a puddle of emotions.

Honestly she's bone tired of that, riding him all night sounds like a much better use of her time and energy.

"I'm wet enough to end a drought." She replies dryly, tugging the zipper as far as it'll go before stepping out of the restricting article of clothing. Naked smooth legs rubbing against the couch, he follows her movement like a lion stalking its prey.

"What?" His eyes dart down to her newly revealed panties, peering between her legs as if to check the accuracy of her statement.

"Oh, we're not just stating random facts?" She teases playing with the thin straps of her tank top the only thing preserving her remaining dignity.

"What do you want from me?" He looks nervous now, her first time seeing such an expression on that stoic face. It's an easy question to answer though she doesn't even need to think about it.

"Fuck me until I can't think straight."

She will have to deal with the emotions bubbling up beneath the surface, address her complicated relationship and feelings for her father, admit the role that she played in his untimely demise by helping those bastards for years but right now none of that matters, all that matters is the ache between her legs. She wants to stop being guilty for one night.

"Can you do that?" She looks at him pleading, and he peers back she can see the thoughts rolling over in his head and as the seconds drag on longer than she'd anticipated she wonders if she misjudged, maybe she should have accosted her bumbling intern but she'd been terrified he'd want an actual relationship- that was the last thing she was looking for.

She starts to plot how exactly she can seduce him when he unzips his own suit, making her gasp when her eyes land on smooth bare skin his six pack glistens with the light sheen of sweat coating it.

"You wore nothing under? You slut." The corner of his lip lifts in amusement before he stalks over to her, shoving her back onto the cushion and crushing her with his weight she eagerly welcomes it with open arms. Picking up right where he left off her cups her breasts running twin large thumbs across the pebbled skin, it feels good but not quite enough through the cloth of her tank top. Impatiently she shoves the material down baring herself to him, he looks at her with heated eyes before grabbing the naked flesh, twisting the hard points before swallowing her without warning.

She jolts at the sensation, arching into his wet suckling then pushing his head down onto her and whining as he runs his teeth against the swollen mounds. She wraps her legs around his waist grinding into the hard erection jutting from his tight boxer briefs. Only he would have Versace boxers, if he wasn't thoroughly dismantling her she would be ribbing him. Pompous jack ass. Harshly pulling him away from her chest she stares at his face, his eyes are glossy and his lips are red and shiny, he looks like sin. Sexy pompous jack ass.

"Are you sure about this?" He asks her stupidly and she tugs her shirt over her head before lifting up and pulling down her panties, completely nude underneath him. She doesn't get stage fright.

"Are you sure? Can you handle it?" She bites out rocking her naked pussy over his clothed hardness and he hisses at the motion, something foreign falling from his lips. Immediately it makes her hot, boiling hot admittedly him speaking Italian is a thing for her, even when he's cursing at her and his spittle is flying everywhere. Fucking sexy as hell. It turns her wild in his lap, grounding onto him until his boxers are completely drenched from her a dark spot forming. This time he grabs her, forcing her down to bite at her neck before swallowing the moans from her tongue.

They twist around each other like serpents, tongues and bodies entwined. He's running his hands through her hair, tugging at the strands and using them to reign her in whenever she breaks free to gasp for air. Her hips are relentless as she grinds onto him, never pausing as he rubs against her swollen clit lust drunk as arousal consumes her brain. The smack of the elastic of his boxers snaps her back to lucidity and when she peers down she sees his long rigid pole, standing at attention the waist band of his boxers just under his heavy balls.

He grabs her hips before sliding through the sopping wet fold of her center and she screams at the intense pleasure that quakes through her body, all her synapses are firing off simultaneously. All connected to the spot deep instead her core.

"You got us....ahhh this far. You...hmmm finish it." He can barely get the words out groaning and thrusting up to meet her downward grind and she doesn't need to be told twice, she grabs the base of his thick cock rubbing the blunt head at her entrance once, twice before lifting higher and holding him tightly as she slides down, down onto him until his balls are nuzzling her bottom. He's big, bigger than she's used to and she whines at the burning stretch, muscle sore from not being used. Pushing through the discomfort she drags up slowly, carefully before throwing caution to the wind and slamming back down, the slap of their skin connecting loud in the quiet room.

He groans loudly, fingers sinking into her hips as he pounds into her. Not an ounce of gentleness in his plundering of her body. There will be bruises, she's looking forward to it.

He lets her ride him, filthy sounding Italian words falling from his open mouth the rhythm is fast, almost ridiculously so with both of them slamming back together each time they pull apart as if they can't bear the separation. When a particular thrust nudges him perfectly against her clit, she screams scratching down the smooth expanse of his belly, red lines left in her wake. He hisses at the pain but doesn't slow down, yanking her down faster to meet his thrust upwards and it feels so good she collapses onto his chest, drooling from the intense pleasure. She feels his fingers twist in the thick cord of her hair before her head is drawn back, "You look like you're still thinking, I'm not fucking hard enough."

He's smirking. She knows what she looks like, she's basically jelly in his arms. She looks shameless, seducing a man she barely knows and letting him fuck her like this on a couch. Her head lolls in his hand and she almost misses the small smile that stretches across his lips before he sits up and pushes her out of his lap, she cries out at the sudden departure but seconds later he pushes her over the arm of the couch, spreading her thighs, sticking a long finger inside her and humming in satisfaction at the sloshing moisture before slamming back in.

"Ti piace quello?" (Do you like that?) She doesn't have the slightest idea what he said but she moans anyway, nodding frantically. He switches back to Korean whispering into her ear, "If I'd have known this was all it took to shut you up I would have done this much sooner." This time she hisses at him, curling her hand around his neck and bringing them face to face, twisted over her own shoulder. He fucks her as they breath the same air, mouths wide open as they pant into each other. Reaching under her he thumbs at her breasts, she jumps at the dual sensation mind heady as he pounds into her over and over again.

When he brings one hand down her expertly finding her clit and rubbing at it ardently she loses her mind, gasping and sputtering about; her body tingling as he assaults her from all angles his cock big and piercing inside of her.

"Say my name."

She's too busy losing her goddamn mind, the arm rest the sole thing keeping her afloat then he growls from behind her, squeezing her breast in perfect synchrony as he thrusts deep inside her and his fingers play her clit like a violin, she wails tightening around him as she feels a red hot burn from deep inside her bursting to the surface. She's so close.

"Say my fucking name." He demands slapping at her ass cheek and she arches at the stinging blow, her back curving beautifully.

"Vincenzo!" With barely any air in her lungs she rasps out, hoarse and breathless. He grabs her neck, pulling her back taut she shivers under the rough treatment.

"Again."

He curls his hands around her neck, not quite cutting off her airway but making it harder to breathe. She feels light-headed but then he releases and air rushes to her lungs, he groans as she melts further onto his hardness every inch of him encased in her.

"Vincenzo," she begs, tears pooling in her eyes.

"Questa figa è mio." (This pussy is mine.) He whispers darkly, the bastard knows what he's doing, that smug grin on his face confirms it but her body reacts regardless lighting up like a Christmas tree for her. Her body is one giant pleasure point and he is pushing all of her buttons, one by one.

She feels like she's going to explode but just when she's on the edge, so close to the precipice seconds away from falling over and reaching nirvana he stops, the bastard. He stops everything, pulling out of her achingly slow until she's empty and unsatisfied she growls in frustration spinning around with fire and brimstone in her eyes.

"I've thought about fucking you. A lot. It can't end too soon." She glances down at his burgeoning hard on swinging between them, ahhh so she wasn't the only one about to explode. Interesting. But her throbbing center feels no sympathy, too upset about the premature stop of pleasure.

"I didn't think Italians were the type to leave a woman unsatisfied. Next time I'll fin--" She never gets to complete her sentence because he slaps a large hand over her mouth.

"St 'zitto." (Shut up.) He barks and her face is drenched in a familiar downpour, he was definitely cursing at her but before she can retaliate he's lifting her off the couch, forcing her legs around his slim waist. She latches onto his shoulder for balance too, rubbing her naked chest against him enticingly ready to start back where they left of.

"If you want me to understand you need to speak Korean. Translate." She complains and he slams her into a wall causing her to cry out as her back hits the hard surface, his hand is large around her head softening that blow gratefully.

"I think you understand well enough."

He stares directly into her eyes, reaching down to force her legs further apart and before he can move she forces her feet into the dimples of his knee, he tumbles forward and with that momentum she sheathes him once more purring at the burn and stretch. He slams her hands above her head and she snaps her teeth at him, aggressively thrusting forward onto his cock forcing him to drill deeper into her.

She gasps when he unexpectedly grabs her wrists in one hand and twists them behind her back. She tugs, but his grip is too tight. Too powerful. She can't move not without his permission.

"What are you doing?" She groans fighting his hold without success.

Leaning forward he tugs her ear lobe into his scorching mouth, feeding the words straight into the organ. "You're still thinking. I'm not doing a good job."

She opens her mouth to scoff but the sounds shrivels up and dies when he slams her up the wall, sliding out before dropping her and impaling her on his thick column, his hand tightens on her wrists as she fights to break free. He does it again, driving deeper and harder and her screams are breathless and soundless, all she can do is feel. He ravishes her chest, swallowing the swollen buds and biting at the ruddy tips until her chest is sore and wet with his spit. With her wrist behind her back he steps back, placing her back on the wall and creating an angle to better fuck into her, loud smacks filling the air every time he plunges in, hammering at her walls with singular focus. She's a whimpering mess, high pitched sighs all that she can produce.

"Cha-young ssi?" He seductively whispers in her ears, she can barely hear him over the blood rushing to her head but she nods, groaning in response his thrusts are relentless and unyielding. Why isn't his brain mush too?

"Who's pussy is this?" Her brain stutters at the question, she's only heard things like that in American porn. Never had words like that uttered to her by a partner, if she did she would laugh in their face and promptly leave. But he looks deadly serious as he awaits her reply. Slowing down his movements, but grinding deeper circling on her clit with each languid motion. She really wants to fucking come. He's such an unnecessary tease.

Swallowing her pride, she mentally curses her pussy this was all its fault.

When he starts to stop she panics and tightens her legs around his him, shouting, "Yours! It's your pussy!"  Goddamit, why did he have to be this persistent? It was his for tonight. 

It's the right answer, he lets her come.

Multiple times.

Until her toes curl and her legs feel like jelly.

She doesn't think about anything else for the rest of the night, even when he breaks her apart and she blacks out and falls asleep, bad dreams chase her but he fucks her awake preemptively cutting off those thoughts too. Turning her screams of terror into screams of pleasure.

This time she puts his ties to good use, one bounding his wrists together and another wrapped around his eyes.

Tomorrow, she'll face reality. Tonight is for bad ideas.

What's a one night stand between enemies?

#vincenzo #hong cha young #vincenzo cassano #smut #I know they would be kinky #i feel it in my bones #the plot is sex #no regerts

[alphynix]

Transcript for the text on the image under the cut:

PAGE 1

Spectember 2020 #03 | nixillustration.com | alphynix.tumblr.com Concept suggested by: anonymous

Plunge-Diving Bats

(Enchonycteris praecipitis)

Although there are several present-day species of fishing bat, surprisingly none of them were the ancestors of the GANNETBATS.

[Image: three views of a long-winged pointy-nosed bat folding its wings back and dropping headfirst into a plunge dive.]

This species actually evolved from fruit bats.

Their ancestors were a large day-flying island species of flying fox that fed mainly on fruit but also snacked on insects for additional dietary protein – and occasionally even opportunistically fed on carrion, particularly beached fish.

They were already very capable swimmers, sometimes ending up in the water when swooping down to drink or to collect dropped floating fruit. Naturally highly buoyant, they were able to float at the surface and propel themselves back to land with rowing motions of their wings.

Eventually some of these bats began intentionally dropping into the water to actively pursue fish visible just beneath the surface, and over the next few million years these piscivorous diving bats became increasingly specialized.

Gannetbats have developed proportionally long and narrow wings, spanning up to 2m (6’6”), giving them a better ability to glide and soar than their ancestors. Their skulls and necks have become heavily reinforced and shock-resistant for plunge diving, and their snouts have become pointed and streamlined with retracted nostrils and an underslung jaw full of sharp needle-like teeth for gripping slippery aquatic prey. Their eyes face forwards and downwards, allowing them to spot fish shoals from above.

They’re also one of the few bat species to practice biparental care. During the first few weeks of a pup’s life it’s carried around clinging to an adult’s body – and to avoid submerging it during dives both parents take turns carrying and guarding it while the other hunts.

[Image: two different close up views of the head of a gannetbat, showing its narrow pointed snout, needle-like teeth, and downwards-facing eyes.]

PAGE 2

[Image: a gannet bat using its wings to launch itself into the air from the water's surface.]

By folding their wings back and diving at high speed gannetbats are able to overcome their natural positive buoyancy and access prey up to 10m (33’) below the surface, using powerful wing strokes to propel themselves underwater.

Dives last less than a minute before the bats float back up to the water’s surface. From there they can launch themselves back into the air using several rapid pushes with their wings, “hopping” along for several strokes before gaining enough momentum to get fully airborne.

[Image: a gannetbat swimming underwater, chasing several small fish.]

#spectember 2020 #spectember #speculative evolution #spec evo #gannetbats #science illustration #art #not paleoart #bats to the future

[miss-1ng]

If I could make a request, could I have Hubernie with kiss prompt number 70??

(this is petraswyvern from my main hehehehe)

Of course you can!! It was a joy and a pleasure to write this, thank you for submitting the request <3 <3 There's a minor mention of stitches in this fanfic (not too sure if that's a trigger, but just want you to know) but other than that, it's just soft Hubernie.

This will also be posted additionally to me Ao3 (miss_ing) if you'd like to read it there.

--

Maybe I am selfish, Hubert thinks while watching Bernadetta from the corner of his eye. Bernadetta, who is sweet and caring and lovely in her own shy and reclusive way. Bernadetta who is beautiful, sweet grey eyes so scared yet so confident. Their little time spent together has been a blessing . Selfish enough to want this.

Though even if he does want this, he knows he can’t have it.

His father’s words ring true in his head. “You are Lady Edelgard’s servant. She is your duty. Not anything else.” His voice, cruel and malicious hisses in his ear, voice alike a knife scraping on metal. “That is all you are here for.”

“Hubert,” Edelgard says behind him. He turns with a stiff nod, following her without question into the Cardinal’s room, placing himself next to her and the professor as their meeting begins. “Our next course of action is Tailtean plains.”

Tension hangs heavy in the air and all thoughts of Bernadetta slip out of his mind as the meeting commences. Hubert himself has known of this for a while, more than the rest of the Black Eagle Strike Force have. What that information does for him however is not much, except from an advancement in knowledge of their plan of attack.

“This will be a hard battle,” Edelgard continues. “But with our might, we can push through!”

Her words do little to improve the morale, but the small smiles a few of the Strike Force wear must be a start.

Hubert lets his eyes flick over everyone in the room – all the generals, the soldiers, their friends – before they fall on Bernadetta, cowering in her chair, her knees pulled up to her chest, her body so visibly trembling. He fights the tempting urge to walk over to her and give her a hug. He clenches his gloved hands into tight fists to try and restrain himself.

“T-Tailtean Plains?” she squeaks, flinching and hiding her face when many pairs of eyes turn to her. “Ah! I mean, um, when-when are we leaving?”

Edelgard presses her lips together. “Two weeks.”

Many people speak up at once, a series of “What?” and “That’s not enough time!” and “What if the weather doesn’t clear up in time?” and more “WHAT?!” get sent towards the three at the end of the table.

The volume in the room rises up rapidly, so loud Hubert can’t even hear his own thoughts, usually so loud in the silence of his own company.

Out of the corner of his narrowed eyes he sees Bernadetta duck out of the crowd who have all stood up and dart out of the room with the speed of a fox chasing it’s prey.

And Hubert watches, his heart rattling against his chest as he does.

--

Two weeks passes far too quickly for Hubert’s liking.

He’s spent the entirety of those two weeks devising tactics, helping Edelgard with the upcoming battle, thinking about Bernadetta and those feelings he tries to hide, and drinking tea (coffee for himself, however) with Ferdinand, with whom he has begun to become… friends… with.

Somehow, they wind up to talking about the topic of ‘courting’ and ‘love’. How they have gotten there, Hubert barely recalls, though it seems it is too late to back out now.

“Hubert, you must tell me who!” Ferdinand exclaims loudly after taking a delicate sip from his cup. “There has been someone on your mind lately. I can tell. You have been a little more distracted lately.”

It feels like someone has dunked his head in a bucket of ice. His brain, his thoughts feel completely numb. But in perfect Hubert fashion he feigns ignorance and says “You must be mistaken. I am focused on the upcoming battle.”

Ferdinand raises an eyebrow. “Even in the battle strategy meetings?”

“It’s on my mind. I’m very busy.”

“I can see that, but-”

“Ferdinand.” He slams his cup of coffee on the table. “That is enough. I will take my leave now.” He stands up, leaving Ferdinand be.

--

The battle is here. Rain belts down on Hubert, drenching him from head to two. The ground has turned slippery and muddy, water pooling at his boots.

Besides him, Bernadetta shivers in the cold, her whole body trembling. She seems to feel his eyes on her because she shrieks and stumbles back a few, almost about to fall over when Hubert reaches out, gripping her hand and pulling her back up.

He feels his face heat up, and just knows that the tips of his ears are going red by the sudden unexpected contact. “Th-thanks,” Bernadetta murmurs. “B-Bernie wouldn’t want to be-be all muddy before this b-battle.”

He nods, unable to form any words for a moment. He’s almost relieved that the tension gets resolved when Bernadetta speaks again. “I’m so scared.”

If he was any other person perhaps he’d console her, saying “It’s okay” or maybe “There’s nothing to be scared about” or even “I’ll make sure you’re okay,” but he’s not, and the words that leave his mouth are “Lady Edelgard will bring us to victory,” his father’s words echoing through his mind.

Bernadetta nods. “I-I know,” she whispers, though she doesn’t sound so sure.”

At the start, things go off without a hitch, Dedue’s demise leaving the King of Delusion in a wild rage, screaming out Edelgard’s name to anyone who would listen along with threats he will not carry along because Edelgard will win and-

He’s caught off guard, his thoughts getting in the way of his fighting, his plans, his-

Something sharp slices through his abdomen. He doesn’t say a word, just stares at the sword protruding his stomach, his face going slack. Someone shrieks his name, but he can’t-can’t…

Hubert’s eyes close as the sword gets pulled out angrily, his head falling to the ground, smacking on the mud before everything goes… goes dark.

--

He wakes up from so quiet they’re almost silent sniffles.

His eyes catch Bernadetta’s who gasps, letting go of his hand which feels rather warm and crying out, “H-Hubert? You’re awake?”

He manages to croak out a “I am,” and Bernadetta’s eyes light up as if she hadn’t believed him the first time.

“You-you scared us all so much,” she whispers, reaching out before snatching her arm away again. “You almost died; Bernie was terrified-”

“Bernie doesn’t need to be terrified, does she?” he asks, his voice dropping low and going soft. “I’m fine.” He can feel his face go red but hopes, hopes she doesn’t notice because if she does he’s not going to-

Bernadetta suddenly lunges forward, cupping his cheeks in her small, cold hands and her lips catch on his.

Stunned by the action, Hubert almost jolts away from the kiss. Her eyes are shut firmly tight. Then she suddenly steps back with a yell. “I’m-I’m so sorry, that was out of turn, I’m an idiot, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m-”

Despite the sharp spike of pain that his body gives when he stands up to walk over to her, he cups her soft cheeks in his hands and presses back. He has to lean down, and his back seems to be getting sore from the position he’s found himself in, but- but-

He’s kissing Bernadetta, and things could not be getting better.

The once soft gesture of adoration has become stronger, the two moving along with the kiss, pressing down and- All that’s going through Hubert’s mind is her. The girl he’d fallen in love with ever since their bond had strengthened. Ever since she had opened up to him. He loves her. He loves Bernadetta.

They break apart, cheeks flushed and panting.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he whispers, then winces as his body spasms after feeling a tug from the stitches sewn into his gut.

“Hubert!” she exclaims and rushes him over to the bed he collapses on. “I shouldn’t have done that! You need rest not kissing someone like m-”

He presses a kiss to the back of her palm which shuts her up immediately, her cheeks turning bright red from the kiss. “Oh… I… um… th-thanks?”

In his haze of pain he looks up at Bernadetta. Maybe I am selfish, a voice in his mind murmurs. The grip Bernadetta’s pressing on his hand is soft and gentle and most of all warm. Her eyes are filled with compassion with the underlying message of fear, though Hubert couldn’t have it any other way. But this is a lovely thing to be selfish for.

#prompt #kiss prompts #fanfics #filled prompt #hubernie #fe3h spoilers #fe3h #fic prompts

[octania]

1 & 34 for the smut prompt with our king Beni 🥵🔥 lets do this as headcanons please? Congratulations on 200 🥳💫

I wanted to clean my requests before I start the series, so you wonderful thirsty people don’t have to wait too long. So, here it is, your request my fiery thirst friend. 🥵🔥 

Benimaru Shinmon x Reader  HEADCANONS ( NSFW, 18+)

Word count:

Warnings: NSFW, SMUT

Short description : Benimaru and you have sex for the first time, and he wants to mark you and let everyone hear that you are his and only his.

Prompts: “You know, you always look so much better when I mark you up.” AND “I love the sounds you make when you come undone.”

____________________________________________________

Benimaru Shinmon is a patient man. Well, more of a “can’t – be – bothered- even – the – slightest” kind of guy, but some things did demand a lot of will power and mental strength to keep his composure. The hardest one was not sleeping with you.

Do not think even for a moment that he did not want to. The darkest corners of his mind eat you up like a predator eats its prey, violating every secret spot of that temple. But he had his principals.

The last time your heated kisses made you clutch onto his haori, giving into your needs, trying to push the dark blue material from his body, but your hands stopped moving when he took your wrists into his palms. With a flustered face you met his ruby eyes, shy but not regretting you actions. You wanted him, you craved for him, and you could feel on his tensed body and trembling breath that the feeling was more than mutual. But the vibrations on your lips caused by the words he said after stopping you, drilled into your very core, unleashing a desire like never before, feelings you thought can’t get any deeper than there already are for this man.

 “I will have you when I marry you, (Y/N).”-  placing a gentile kiss on your collarbone, inhaling the flowery scent of your shampoo, he barely managed to separate himself from your body, and leave the room while he still was thinking straight.

Countless sleepless nights that he would spend twisting and turning because his hard member kept yearning for you even if he pleased himself twice that evening already. But the strong fist pumping that thick dick was nothing compared to the feeling he knew he would have if he entered your delicate pussy. Just imagining the sight when his big hands slide along your silky legs, pushing your dress up to uncover what is now his, discarding the last thing that deprives him from that long awaited pleasure.

It finally happened, your wedding. You looked so perfect in that traditional wedding clothes with your hair lifted so your beautiful face was shown, he lost his breath a couple of times, just staring at you with that smile that spoke a thousand words. But he was not the only one staring, and he noticed it right away. No matter that it was your wedding, men ate you with their greedy eyes, consuming you with only their gaze glued to your figure. Benimaru hated it, every damn moment of it, staring them down, making them tremble in fear and respect, but when he stepped away from you for just a moment, preying eyes were again sizing you up.

 The feeling of happiness and pride that your faithful yes brought, and now the burning rage for someone even looking at his wife combined in the hurricane of urge. Urge to have you whole and to mark you as such. If the ring was not enough, a more intimate mark on your skin certainly will be.

Pulling your hand to follow him, you left the back yard of the restaurant were all of the guests were, going in to the hallways.

Painting the walls with your bodies smashing one on another, pulling the clothes violently off of you while still being in the hallway, so his thirsty mouth can drink the sensation of your skin along your bare shoulders. He knew you will not be able to reach the bedroom tonight to do this there, and your soft voice asking him to take it easy and that you have just a few more hours until you are in the privacy of your room for your first wedding night, did not change it.

He lifted you up, pushing the first door he saw, entering a small office. Slamming the door behind you, he carried you to the desk, dropping you on it, placing himself between your legs, as he leaned above you, locking you between his strong arms so you have nowhere to go.

You would not be able to say a word before he was tearing the fabric of your dress apart, ducking his head down, starting to kiss and lick his way to the sweet spot he was fantasizing about for so long. You whined, shaking under the feeling of warm breaths on your tights. Sudden slight pain made you almost scream, when he sank his teeth in your flesh, sucking the spot after the bite. Releasing the skin on that part, he did it again after a few inches closer to your cunt, biting harder. You moaned his name while he murmured with your skin between his teeth.

“You know, you always look so much better when I mark you up.”- a trail of swollen bite marks lined up all the way to your soaking panties. He saw the wet fabric glued to your pussy from all the moist, making out the shape of it. He could not resist, sticking his tongue out, licking along your still covered slit to the protruding clit. You pushed your fingers in his hair, trying to get him closer with all the begging and moaning, but he took his time. Sucking on the part of the panties that were most soaked, the part around your entrance, tasting your juices like you were a desert.

When he was done sampling your liquids, he ripped the thong. It was not long until he was already forcing his way in your tight, untouched pussy. The clutching of your slippery walls around his length almost made him cum, but he had no intention of making his quick.

Placing you on your side, he entered all the way to his base, squeezing your leg and hips with his hands. You screamed his name when he opened you with ease, making your insides remember his shape. His swollen tip kissing your cervix, as he pulled you down more, trying to go even more in even though there was nothing else to concur, he reached it all. 

When he started moving you were sure you are in heaven. Adrenalin pumping through your veins while you held tight on the table, trying to stay in place while Benimaru claimed what is his. He slammed in you forcefully, chasing the pleasure for both of you. He licked two fingers, reaching under your thigh, sliding them on your clit, pushing the nerve pearl tenderly, while he was abusing your hole. You barely caught any air as his thrusts made you lose it. Gasping, you crumbled in satisfaction, not being able to open your eyes fully from the electric tingling flowing through your face. He grabbed your jaw gently, whispering.

“I want you to look at me while I do this to you (Y/N)…I want you to look as I fuck your pussy.”- your watery eyes open on his lewd request, nodding, pushing your tongue out to lick the fingers that were holding your jaw.

Your obedience was not enough, the marks were not enough, he wanted everyone to hear that you belong to him and no one else. With one easy swoop, he turned you so you were laying on the table on your belly, legs on the floor, as he was still inside you. Seeing your ass so full and round like a perfect peach, his mind went bank, only raw sexual desire remained and the goal to make sure everybody hear your voice calling his name. Gripping your ass cheeks he spread them to gain access to your delicious hole, he drilled back in. His thrusts moved the table, leaving starch marks on the floor, but he did not stop. He was breaking you under him and he loved it. He reached for your breasts, playing with your nipples as he laid on your back with his sweaty chest, making the slams shallow and deep. You could  not take it anymore, crying out his name so loud you could hear the guest outside getting quiet, probably trying to hear what was the screaming all about, and Beni noticed, slamming one more time, making you scream once more, while he pulled out. Warm waves spread along your ass as the strings of his cum colored your skin, dripping along your legs and on the floor. Kissing your neck from the back, he breathed heavily in your ear, whispering.

” I love the sounds you make when you come undone.”

#benimaru shinmon #fire force #benimaru shinmon x reader #benimaru shinmon smut #enen no shouboutai #enen no shoubotai headcanons #benimaru shinmon headcanons #fire force headcanons #fire force benimaru #fire force x reader #shinmon benimaru #shinmon benimaru x reader #enen no shouboutai smut #enen no shouboutai x reader #benimaru shinmon x you

[the-silentium]

Murphy day Pt.3

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 -  Part 4

Pairing: Bad Batch x Reader

Words: 2302 words. I know it’s short! But it needed to end there.

Warnings: None.

A/N: This chapter is not the end like I thought because something went terribly wrong somewhere and I ended up far away from my initial plan. So here it is, the best chapter ever to finish 2020.

Fors is an Original planet. I do not give permission to people to use it for their own fics, the planet, the animals, the Nightmares, the lore or anything related to Fors. Thank you.

You found solace in the fact that the rain wasn't as heavy as what you were used to. Instead of the torrential rain that barely allowed you to see a meter before you, the only handicap you had was the discomfort of your clothes sticking to your skin and to Wrecker's armor. With a smile, you thanked yourself for choosing a dark outfit despite the clear sky that greeted you early in the morning, your initial light blue shirt would have forced you to throw yourself in mud to save what you had left of dignity.

Speaking of dignity, you couldn’t stop chuckling along with Wrecker at the shining star guiding the group. Tech would sometimes turn around to glare at the both of you, but really, there was nothing he could do to save himself at this point. 

The dry phosphorescent poo mixed with puke he fell in earlier finally kicked in now that the sun was hidden behind the dark clouds, illuminating his armor like a mighty beacon leading your steps towards salvation. Most of the sticky mixture had washed off his armor by now, getting rid of what he couldn’t remove by himself, leaving the light parts of his armor stained in the phosphorescent color. 

“Don’t take it like that Techie! At least the smell is gone!” You laughed along with Wrecker. 

At the sound, Shiny fussed, jumping happily on his tiny legs until he bumped into Crosshair who crouched slightly to calm him with a pat on the head. Shiny walked near his favorite sniper, his green horns illuminating proudly his steps like a young star that somehow found its way down onto this nightmare of a planet. Watching the duo from your venture point behind them, you thought about how opposed those two were but strangely enough, seemed to be the most comfortable around each other. 

Well, maybe you would be returning home alone after all. 

If you made it home that is. 

“Are we close?” Hunter stopped walking to fall back at Wrecker’s side. 

Squinting your eyes to protect them from the rain, you adjusted your grip around Wrecker as you moved your head forward to get a better view of your position. 

“Almost there!” You reported cheerfully, your head falling back in its place on the hard pauldron, your forehead comfortably pressed at the base of the black helmet that protected Wrecker from the rain. 

“Enjoying yourself?” The gruff voice reached your ears again, although this time there was something new in his tone. You shrugged it off, passing the fault on the occasional water drop that fell in your ear.

“Can’t say I don’t.” You replied sheepishly, a smile stretching your lips despite your best efforts. 

It was nice to be treated like that for the very first time in your life. Not like a damsel in distress, you still wanted to smack him for that, but to be treated like you were important. Like someone cared. It was warming and comforting so you’d take it while it lasted. Plus, it allowed you to recharge your batteries for a bit as well as giving time for the muscles in your legs to relax and stop contracting painfully. 

“She likes me Sarge!" 

His arms tighten slightly around you as he bumped his brother playfully, your feet hitting armor in the movement. 

"It's nothing to be so happy about." You mumbled under your breath, low enough that the rain swallowed your words. 

"I don't see why." Hunter walked a bit faster so he had a visual on you, head tilted slightly to the side. 

"What?" You asked at the same time Wrecker did, who turned to you, a smile on his lips that you couldn't see under his painted helmet. 

A yelped from Tech at the front alerted you that he tripped. Again. 

"I don't see why he shouldn't be happy that you like him." He clarified. 

Your cheeks suddenly became very hot as your brain finally remembered that his hearing was far above average. To make it worse, Wrecker's visor was now solely fixed on your face and you were sure that he was analyzing the pink covering your cheeks.

Looking around for an escape, your eyes found the perfect getaway in the shape of an endless field of glowing purple flowers in the distance. 

"Look! We're here!" You blurted out with too much enthusiasm, unlatching your hands from behind Wrecker's neck and pushing yourself out of his arms so suddenly that he didn't have the time to adjust his grip. 

You hurried on your feet despite your aching knees who met the hard ground without warning, your desperation to escape the subject propelling you forward, passing Tech the glorious shining star and into the meadow towards the river where a grey ship was stationed on the opposite bank. 

" 'cause 'm far from a catch Sarge." You repeated the words you've heard so many times before, feet entering the cold water to get to the other side as soon as possible. There was no way he could've heard that one. Not over the rain, the current of the river, and a good couple of meters separating you. 

"What was that?" You yelped in surprise, Tech's eyes widening in turn following your outburst. He must have run after you. 

"Nothing." You breathed, a hand over your heart in an attempt to calm it down. 

"We should cross the river in tandem. We'll have less chance to get dragged by the current." He dropped the subject and offered you his hand after getting in the waist high water with you. 

"Good idea." You took his warm gloveless hand in yours, lacing your fingers with his for a better grip. 

You walked at the same pace, each of you using the other to balance yourself. Your feet slipped once under the strong force of the current, sending your heart into a frantic rhythm until your boots passed the small inch of slippery rocks and found a good grip into a bed of mud. Tech had stopped walking, his grip tightening around your fingers as much as you did around his in your panic. 

You nodded to tell him that you were ready to start again and he followed your lead. With small steps you made it to the other side safely, Tech got out of the water first and turned around to offer you a hand. Grateful, you let him pull you out of the mad stream.

"Thanks, Tech." You huffed on your knees, breathing deeply to force your heart to work faster, providing more blood flow through your body to fight against the cold of the water. 

You heard three splashes behind you, the remaining boys must have decided to follow Tech's idea and cross the current with each other. With a quick glance, you confirmed that they were indeed following the example, Shiny secured under Wrecker's arm. 

"You're welcome." He presented his hand again to help you up. 

Just as your hand lifted to his, a movement just behind him caught your attention, a hiss reached your ears, stopping your heart. 

Time slowed for a second, Tech's residual glow illuminating two elliptical pupils staring him down with a predatory glint and rows after rows of thin razor sharp teeth and terrifyingly long fangs creeping their way over his head. 

You saw Tech's head turning to see what caused the sound, his other hand flying to his holster, but you were faster. Your heart started beating again, pumping blood like never before, your hand shot out to close around Tech's outstretched one and with a sharp pull, you made him dive into you, away from the deadly clasping maws. 

"Get up! Get up!" You stressed as the remaining Batchers yelled to know what was wrong.  

Ignoring them for the most urgent matter, you pushed him off hurriedly all the while keeping a firm grip on his hand, turned around, and pulled him after you in the opposed direction. 

You turned your head to see if the beast was following and sure enough, the draconic head of the Basilisk was gaining ground, its powerful body waving rapidly on the wet grass. Its dark scales made him hard to discern under the clouded sky, although his eyes and his three-forked tail made a stark contrast. 

"Don't stop running Tech!" You yelled, praying that he wouldn't trip like he did all the way here. 

"Don't worry!" 

The ground shook under your feet, both your heads snapping back at the impact. The basilisk disappeared underground, digging a hole with its strong and heavy body, using the thick spikes covering the whole length of its body to dig and move around away from its preys' eyes. 

"It went underground!" Tech panicked. "This thing can go underground!" 

"We have to get off the ground! Now!" You yelled over the rain. 

The ship was now forgotten, too far behind to even hope of getting there in time. You had two options, climbing the Waytree which you were sure Tech couldn't possibly climb in his armor or get up the rock promontory. 

The ground rumbled beneath your feet, telltale of the Basilisk getting closer. 

"Up there!" You pointed to the top of the inclined rock overlooking the meadow. 

At this point, Tech took the lead, running faster than you, pulling you with him in his wake to get to safety. The unusual speed along with the wet grass slipping underneath your boots almost made you trip more than once. 

"Tech, are you two okay?" Hunter's voice barely resonated out of the clones flashing wrist armor piece. His voice managed to calm you to some point for some unknown reason. Maybe it was because he saved you from hungry teeth before. "Tech!" 

"Fine for now." He answered in a slightly higher tone than usual. "Not for long." 

"Hang on." The line cut and you found out that it panicked you more. 

The shaking intensified to a point where you thought for the second time that day that you were done. Your heartbeat resonated in your head, the sound of the rain filled your ears, the splatter of the water hitting your skin made you numb and the vibration beneath your feet put you on edge. 

With a scream on the verge of your lips, you finally made it to the promontory, Tech pulling behind him until you reached the very end of the rock. 

A crash erupted behind you, the Basilisk erupting from under ground where the soft ground let place to something way too hard for it to continue digging. 

You saw the brille protecting its eyes retract as its maw opened in a warning hiss, slowly creeping its way towards you. A quick glance behind showed a nothingness that scared you to the bone. Either you jumped into the abyss and broke a lot of bone at your landing four stairs below or you could get chewed and digested by a gigantic snake. 

Tech grabbed his blaster, aiming at the approaching beast, the hand still gripping you tightening in fear. 

Before he could fire, the Basilisk screeched in pain as a blaster bolt hit him right in the eye. The sudden sound made the both of you jump, Tech's shoulder bumping you enough for you to lose your balance.  

"Tech!" You yelped, pulling onto him to regain footing. 

The Basilisk continued its ascension of the rock, crawling its way towards its prizes. Blaster bolts rained onto its side, infuriating the creature. Turning around in a hiss, the Basilisk changed its target, choosing to hunt the remaining clones instead. As it roamed away, the forked tail hit the promontory aggressively, the resulting shockwave projecting you right on your stomach to the ground, your top half dangling over the edge, hand still trapped between the engineer's who had lost its footing and fell off your perch. 

Luckily, your left foot caught into a fissure, keeping you anchored. 

"Don't let go!" He pleaded, panic lacing his voice. 

"Never." You gritted your teeth, locking your bones in position. 

With a colossal effort, you forced your boot down deeper into the crack while trying to pull Tech back up with your body half over the edge. 

Rain traveled down your face, dripping onto Tech's glasses that you now noticed had a flashing red light on their sides. Wet strands blocked your peripheral view, allowing you to concentrate solely on your task of saving your newly acquired friend and forget the other three fighting a gigantic carnivorous snake without any knowledge on its species. 

A sudden bright light illuminated Tech's eyes, the raw fear in them screaming at you to not drop him gave you a boost of strength. Ignoring the burning of your muscles, you forced your arms to pull harder, to push your limit and pull him up. 

Your grip on him was slipping, his wet deadweight too much for your small fingers. Surely, if you both survived this, your fingers would be sore and bruised. 

Slowly, inch by inch, you managed to pull him back on the rock, your arms shaking under the effort and groans falling from your lips. Tech managed to grip onto a crevice of his own, helping you in your critical task. He almost had his elbows secured on the rock, prompting you to put all your remaining strength behind this one last pull. 

The second his elbows touched the rock, your foot slipped and you immediately let go of his hand to not drag him down with you. 

It was disappointing to finally know that no, your life doesn't flash before your eyes moments before you die. You'd have loved to see your dad one last time before… well. 

Screams pierced your ears right before darkness engulfed you in a sickening crack.

#bad batch x reader #tech x reader #crosshair x reader #wrecker x reader #hunter x reader #damn that ended badly #Wasn't even supposed to go this way #it litterally wrote itself #murphy day

[not-close-to-straight]

Shackles (MurderIron)

Okay well if anyone missed it, I’m obsessed with Hannibal Lecter being a pre-Afghanistan Tony’s therapist. The MurderIron ship is going to pop up every now and again, just bear with me till I work it out of my system. Or, alternatively, encourage my obsession and help me create and support this ridiculously niche pairing. 

************

“Can I come over?” 

The voice on the phone had been muffled, the words slurred, and while most therapists might have simply talked their client through whichever drunken crisis had occurred at two am, Hannibal Lecter was not most therapists and Tony Stark was not most clients. 

“I was going to take them home.” Tony was a mess, shirt half unbuttoned, shoes scuffed and a splashed stain on his pants that smelled faintly of alcohol. He held a glass of ice in one hand and picked at a thread on the upholstered seat with the other, eyes bloodshot and mouth turned down into a frown and it was such a pity, Tony’s lips were far too pretty to grimace in such an unflattering way. 

“I was gonna take them home.” Tony rolled the glass over his forehead and Hannibal pulled his attention from the curve of the lovely mouth to the bitterness evident in Tony’s eyes. “Then somewhere between drink three and five, I realized they were smiling more at the cameras than they were smiling at me and that-- that--” 

Hannibal hadn’t said a word when Tony had shown up at his doorstep swaying and drunk, he hadn’t said a word when the brunette had half stumbled his way into the study and thrown himself down into the customary client chair and the therapist didn’t say a word now, only steepled his fingers and waited. 

Tony Stark only said what he wanted to say when he wanted to say it. Weeks of therapy with the young billionaire had shown Hannibal that even the most leading questions were dead ends if Tony didn’t want to share, that not even Obadiah Stane’s considerable and uncomfortably overbearing influence could force the brunette to speak his mind. 

But waiting, allowing Tony the chance to speak at his own pace away from cameras and the press, away from the so carefully crafted image the Stark name demanded from it’s bearers-- waiting led to revelations. Hannibal was usually  loathe to admit a too keen interest in any of his clients, truth be told he was rather bored by the mostly plebian problems they came crying to him about. 

The revelations from Tony’s mouth were intriguing, heart breaking to someone with a soul perhaps, but intriguing to a man like Hannibal who found inspiration in what most would consider tragedy, beauty in what most would consider horror, art in what others saw as desecration. 

The desecration of Anthony Edward Stark’s soul would be art indeed.

“Why don’t they see me?” Tony slumped forward in the chair and groaned.  “People look at me and they don’t see me. Why?” 

“Because you don’t allow them to see you.” Hannibal kept his voice calm, tone professionally even. It was too soon to reveal his hand, too soon to take a step past the barely there manipulation he carved into their therapy sessions. Tony was brilliant, genius even, and too soon a move would cost Hannibal the young man’s trust. 

“You don’t allow them to see you.” He said again. “This is a careful mask of yours, Tony, one you perfected at a very young age. No one sees you because you don’t allow anyone close enough to your truth, and if you don’t allow anyone close enough to your truth, you cannot be upset when they look and only see your facade. A lonely existence to be sure, but one of your own creation.” 

“You’re speaking from experience.” Tony’s head lolled back against the back of the chair. “About facades.” 

“And as always, you are astute in your observations.” Hannibal tipped his chin slightly in acknowledgment. “Even while in a drunken state.” 

“Yeah.” Tony chuckled but it was an ugly sound and Hannibal briefly wondered what an honest laugh from the beauty would sound like. “Yeah. I’m drunk as fuck right now. But you-- you’re lonely.” 

“Achingly so.” Proper manipulation required just as much give as take, and Hannibal wasn’t above fostering a sense of camaraderie in a moment like this. Tony was too drunk to remember their conversation, but not so drunk as to forget the feeling of being seen and accepted at a vulnerable moment. An appropriate step forward in this dark little dance of theirs. “I find myself lonely at the most inconvenient times.” 

“You’ve put up walls and masks to hide yourself from the world.” Tony was staring up at the ceiling, throat bared and legs splayed, the very picture of nonchalance-- or a tempting picture of prey for a creature bent on destruction.

“And we’ve established that you do the same with your actions and your press persona.” Hannibal reminded him.

“Sure sure, but I don’t sit over there in the worlds most phallic chair and watch everyone else at their lowest, most vulnerable points.” Tony put the glass down and covered his eyes with his hands. “And don’t-- don’t look too far into my comparison of your chair to phallus, Freud. It’s wide at the base and narrows at the tip. I was supposed to be having sex right now, not an impromptu therapy session, you’ll have to forgive my mind still being on dicks.” 

Hannibal’s mouth tipped up at the corner in a quick, almost begrudging smile. Even drunk and surly, Tony was quick witted and funny and it had been a very long time since Hannibal had been genuinely amused by someone. 

“What uh--” Tony lurched forward again, folded his arms and tucked his chin into his chest. “Waht do you see when you look at me, Dr. Lecter? Not the-- the clothes or the way I stink like a bar -- sorry about that by the way.” he tapped his nose. “I know you have that enhanced olfactory thing, I won’t be offended if you breathe through your mouth. I stink right now.” 

“Beneath the smell of mixed drinks and cloying coed perfume, you scent of ocean water from your Malibu home, sea salt from your runs along the beach, the tang of engine oil from your tinkerings in the garage.” Another give instead of a take. “It is delightful.” 

“You’re full of shit.” Tony stated, but the tips of his ears turned red and Hannibal he’d won just then, gained a foothold in the slippery slope of Tony Stark’s trust. “What do you see when you look at me?” 

“I see a child lost with out his mother, a young man reaching for a father’s approval that will never come because death gives us no comfort and your own expectations will never allow you to reach the level of approval you think your father would give.” the doctor said slowly. “I see a brilliant mind limited by self imposed rules. A beautiful creature begging to be set free. A phoenix waiting to rise from the ashes all the while snapping shackles about his own wrist because fear is a crippling force in his life.”

Tony swallowed hard and looked up, and the softness in Hannibal’s voice wasn’t planned or faked or even purposeful-- “I see a galaxy in your eyes as if the heavens are calling you home, but you have chained yourself here to Earth because you are afraid to fly.” 

“I--” another hard swallow and Tony’s fingers gripped right at the chair. “I’m not afraid to fly.” 

“Aren’t you though?” Hannibal took the moment to gather himself again, to re-shore defenses he hadn’t realized he needed. Tony had a way of insinuating himself right into Hannibal’s thoughts with no effort or intent and it was uncomfortable. 

“I’m not--” Tony shook his head. “No. Not to fly. I’d love to fly.”

“Would you?”

The brunette’s jaw worked as he clenched his teeth. “If I kissed you right now would you kick me out?” 

“I don’t make a habit of kicking people out from my office.” Hannibal disguised the sudden pounding of his heart with a sip at his water. “Usually I have observed and taken steps to avoid unsuitable behavior from a client before it reaches that point.” 

“That wasn’t an answer.” 

“Just because something isn’t the answer you seek, doesn’t mean it’s now an answer.” 

“Kay.” Tony nodded a few times. “Well I’m gonna kiss you.” 

“And why is that, Tony?” 

“Because you see me and no one else does.” Tony stood up in one abrupt motion as if he were afraid he’d talk himself out of it if he waited. “No one else ever does but you-- you see me.” 

Hannibal held himself very still while Tony advanced on him, held very still while the beautiful brunette bent to push their mouths together. He inhaled the scent of scotch and the faint taste of cigarettes, parted his lips obligingly when Tony’s tongue pushed sloppy at the seam of his mouth but made no attempt to kiss Tony back, no attempt to chase the velvet of soft lips or to coax a groan he knew would be like music to his ears. 

“Oh Jesus, you’re not kissing me back.” Tony wrenched away from the one sided kiss and stumbled back several steps, voice thick with self loathing. “Jesus, what am I doing?” 

“Tony--” 

“I’m going to be sick.” Tony ran for the bathroom and Hannibal closed his eyes against the sound of retching, the way Tony was sobbing into the toilet before it flushed. 

.... “You’ll stay the night.” Hannibal said when Tony came back from the bathroom. “In my guest bedroom. You’re in no state to drive and you show a marked proclivity towards self destructive behavior when you are unstable. I’d feel better if you slept here. Stay the night.” 

Tony didn’t even have the energy to protest, pliant and almost submissive as Hannibal guided him up the stairs to a well appointed guest bedroom. Pliant and almost submissive when Hannibal handed him pajamas, pliant and almost submissive when Hannibal tucked him into the thick quilts and silky sheets. 

Submissive and it twisted something possessive in Hannibal’s chest as he turned the lights off and left his project sleeping off what was left of the night. 

Tony slept and dreamed of chains round his wrists and feet trying him to the cliffs outside the Malibu house, dreamed of the ocean eroding and the rocks falling way beneath him, dreamed of trying to break free of the shackles but realizing he had put his own key just above his head where he couldn’t reach. 

And he screamed but no one was listening, he screamed and the shackles rattled against his bones, he screamed but the ocean drowned out the noise and no one heard. 

Tony screamed and the paparazzi's cameras snapped picture after picture, flash flash flash until the shackled cut into his skin and the blood dripped down scarlet against all the iron he’d forged to hold himself captive. 

*********

In the morning, Hannibal served Tony a breakfast sandwich, creamy mushrooms brie and pancetta layered onto a warmed croissant, sausage sliced along the edge of the plate and tempting Tony to mouth watering with the smell alone. 

“Even your breakfast is pretentious.” Tony drained an entire cup of coffee before cramming several pieces of sausage into his mouth, and Hannibal ignored the rudeness only because he garnered supreme satisfaction seeing his project eating what he had so specially prepared. “Thank you. It’s delicious.” 

Hannibal inclined his head in a brief nod, and after another minute Tony spoke again-- “I’m sorry about last night. I was drunk and belligerent and terrible. Sorry.” 

And then softer, “I uh-- I don’t remember what we talked about but I feel like you were very kind to me and that’s-- that’s rare.” Tony’s hand tightened on his fork. “I don’t usually wake up feeling cared for after a night of drinking and I appreciate it. Thank you.” 

“How do you usually feel waking up after a night of drinking?” Hannibal sipped at his own coffee. “And would you like more sausage?” 

“Yeah, I’ve never had this blend before and it’s great.” Tony held his plate out hopefully. “What’s the meat? Can’t be pork.” 

“Not pork, no.” Hannibal obligingly piled more on Tony’s plate. “How do you usually feel waking up after a night of drinking?” 

“Alone.” Tony said flatly. “As if I should be ashamed of everything I’ve ever done. Cold. Embarrassed.” 

“And this morning?” 

“...I feel taken care of.” Tony crammed another bite into his mouth and the words came out garbled. “I dunno. It’s nice. I appreciate it. Thank you.” 

“It’s my pleasure.” Hannibal took another drink. “I have a favor to ask you, Tony.” 

“Sure.” 

“The next time you kiss me, please do it sober.” Hannibal didn’t even flinch when Tony choked loudly on his bite of sandwich. “I found it hard to enjoy the experience when I knew you were barely coherent and wouldn’t appreciate my efforts during the moment.” 

“Fuck my life, I kissed you.” Tony thunked his head onto the table. “Guess I should be ashamed and fucking embarrassed. Sorry.” 

“No apologies necessary.” Another slowly measured sip and Hannibal waited a beat to make sure this particular sentence carried all the necessary influence and weight to steer Tony towards a particular direction. “I found my dreams particularly pleasant last night, but I’d much rather repeat the experience when you are sober.” 

“You--” Tony’s dark eyes narrowed, but the tell tale flush spread across his cheeks. “You dreamed about me last night?” 

“What did you dream about last night, Tony?” 

“Deflecting means you are avoiding an answer I’ve already figured out.” Tony realized and Hannibal was happy to let him think it, happy to give so long as the beautiful brunette saw it as a win. 

Tony’s self conscious smile was worth the give, a truly pretty thing that lit up his dark eyes with stars and Hannibal took it, stored it in his mind and heart for use later. 

Yes, Hannibal thought to himself. The desecration of this soul would be art. 

***********

That night Obadiah was cranky, snapping at Tony and disappointed after his night spent binge drinking, angry about the tabloids, upset Tony hadn’t finished any more work on the Jericho, irritated that Tony kept smiling sort of secretly and wouldn’t share why. 

“I think another session with Dr. Lecter is necessary.” Obadiah decided. “We will get to the bottom of this behavior or so help me God....” 

...that night Tony dreamed about shackles again, about being chained to the rocks and cringing away from the flash of camera. But this time when he looked for his key he found Obadiah tightening the manacles at his wrists and feet and up there above him framed against the sky and tinted red from the setting sun was Hannibal holding his key. 

Set me free.

#hannibal #tony stark #murderiron