#But are not cognitively aware of his presence

[hyukascampfire]

(🍐) WANNA TOUCH? .. い葉 hard thoughts

𝓘N WHICH 𝗍𝖺𝖾𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇’𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽. 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝘄𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗮 𝗯𝗿𝗮 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆?

nerdy태현 ⊹ 𝑓 rea 19OO smut non idol ╭╯ titty fucking breast worship subby tyun

ɑ︭ : serving this one up for u @heesmiles thank u for this incredible opportunity to write subby taehyun and now i’m drooling from multiple places. this one's been in the vault for a while hehe but omfg it needed to come to life because whew!

Poor Taehyun. You’ve been prancing around his house in little to nothing more than a flimsy pair of the cutest cotton shorts and, the worst offender, that thin, buttercup yellow tank top. It moves with the plush of your curves, looks so soft against your skin. And because you’ve spent a hundred nights like this, you’re so unaware. Sprawled out over his bed, torturously comfy in his presence.

And, god, he can tell you’re not even wearing a bra. It’s got his throat dry and palms sweaty with the effort of not popping a boner over his best friend just sitting there. He feels like a true pathetic, horny weasel of a man.

“It’s so fucking hot in here, Taehyun, seriously. Do you have the heater on eighty or something?” you say, lips pouted in such a way that his melted mind does not miss. The blush dusting your cheeks, proof of the heat, doesn’t slip by him either. He’s so far gone that truth be told, there is not one inch of you that Taehyun is not currently hyper-aware of. Especially the print of your nipples against the soft cotton of your top, belying the shape of you so cruelly that Taehyun hardly has to imagine it.

Oh, and you better believe that imagine it, he has. But seeing it in live action is different than the fuzzy edges of his imagination. Here you are, his best friend, so pretty and real in the flesh. So much better, but so much worse when it’s tangible and real in front of him. “No,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “But… I can check. For you.” He remembers the tent in his pants and the pillow he’s clutched over his lap for the past twenty minutes, praying to god you don’t start asking questions. “Or you can. If you wanna.”

Well, of course you start asking questions. It’s been obvious all night, and Taehyun knows you’re just unsure of how to go about asking your guy best friend why his eyes are glued to your tits and he’s obviously covering a hard-on. It’s a stifling, new situation for the both of you. “You okay, Tyun?” Your eyes drop to the ironclad curl of his fingers into the pillow. He wonders if your skin would have the same give. “Are you seriously hard right now?”

The room does suddenly feel hot… The way you giggle the words like his struggle for the last however long is funny, as if his manhood was laughable, sends his blood boiling in his veins. Shoots his cognitive function to all hell until he really is a pathetic, stumbly mess. “It… it happens,” he says. Even the waver of his voice is mortifying. He’s not convincing anybody. “For no reason sometimes. You wouldn’t understand.” Are his lips numb, or is his face just on fire?

“Huh.” You purse your lips in a way that seems like it should be in understanding, but it feels more patronization than anything. “I guess I wouldn’t. I’ve just got these.” To Taehyun’s worst dismay, you take your tits in your palms and squeeze. Feel the weight of them. Like they were nothing more than stress balls, when they’ve been the very source of his strangulating terror. If you think you’re lightening the situation up by making jokes, you are dead wrong. His soul has already left his body. “They act on their own sometimes too, I guess, though. So.”

Fuck. He is so thoroughly fucked. Is this a joke? Is this funny to you? He can’t answer that, because bare minimum, he can’t form thoughts.

“Oh my god, Taehyun,” you laugh. You look beautiful as you witness his humiliation, and he supposes that’s the worst part. You, his pretty, popular, perfect best friend, now know exactly how much of a fumbling loser he really is. “Are you okay? Your face is white.” The moment extends excruciatingly long as you connect the dots in your head. “No fucking way—have you never seen boobs before?”

“Wha… I? Yes I have?” he says. His knuckles creak at the force with which he holds that damned pillow to his hips. For what reason? You’re already keenly aware of his shame if that sparkle in your eye says anything. “I’ve seen tits before. Jesus,” he tries again. He should just stop talking, really. For both of your sakes. “And don’t say it like that.”

The moment lingers. He debates running to the bathroom for some sort of escape. And then you drive the stake in his chest and finish the job. “On Pornhub?” you say, tilting your head in a cheeky way that suggests you’re playing with him like a cat would nudge at a mouse it pitied more than the rest. Like it wasn’t even worth digging its teeth into it. Like a charity case, you furrow your brows and take the hem of your cute little floral sleep set and hit him with, “Do you wanna see some? Real ones?” Or, rather, like you’re just performing some civic duty. Giving handouts to the poor loser who’s never seen a pair of tits. The worst part is the way his cock twitches at the prospect. He is exactly what you think he is: a hopeless virgin ogling his best friend.

His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. Should he say no? Save himself some dignity?

Breathing a laugh, you tug your top up and over your chest. The sight sucks the air from his lungs. The yellow, rucked all the way up, frames it perfectly. He watches as your nipples tighten and how it makes you shudder, the shape of them branded into the back of his skull. “Holy shit,” he says, mouth moving faster than he can realize how embarrassing that is. “You can’t just—do that.”

For the second time, you just laugh at him. Your cheeks are dusted a delectable pink, your back arched to show them off better for him. It’s unreal. A thing only of his most depraved fantasies, and it’s playing out in blisteringly real time right in front of him. “You should see your face right now,” you say, shifting. Your skin, so plump and grabbable, moves softly with it. So does your chest. He’s not sure he’s even breathing at this point. “You’re blushing so hard. Your ears are red. It’s cute.” Circling your fingers around his wrist, you say, “You wanna touch?”

The weight of them—the soft give of your skin, how you feel more like marshmallows under his fingertips than he could’ve ever imagined, and he knows you’d taste just as sweet. It’s all got his stomach twisted right up. He abandons the pillow to roll his thumbs over the buds of your nipples, big brown eyes framed by his glasses darting up to check how you feel about it. He feels the seam where the swell meets your torso, dusts the pads of his fingers over your skin in such a way that makes your breath hitch and your chest jump. Explores with trembling need, his tongue darting out to wet his dry lips.

“They’re… pretty,” he manages. He’s had a taste now, and perhaps this version of you, skin so malleable and bed-warmed, will consume him. Will you laugh in his face if he says he wants all this and more? Always? Maybe he’s a dog on a leash, but those soft, exploring eyes of yours don’t say that. Maybe this is as fresh and nerve-wracking for you as it is him.

It’s such a captivating, soft scene, the two of them. Tentative, crossing boundaries with thundering hearts, the familiarity of the same bedroom they’d spent so many other casual nights like this together in. But tonight was so different.

“Yeah?” you say, eyes searching his own. “You’re so…” Feeling up your own chest as if to reaffirm his words to yourself, you shift. “Do you wanna fuck them?” Your voice is like sugary whipped cream in his ears. “You can.”

Well, if he wasn’t breathing before, he certainly isn’t now. He blinks. Reels. That’s… fuck, that’s different. That can’t just be explained away as some horny exploration between two close best friends. That’s his fucking dream. Mouth drying up, his heart stutters in his chest. “Can… well, I…”

Next thing he knows, he’s discovering just how giving your body is, with his length nestled snug between the valley of your breasts. Your skin is so, so warm and welcoming, your body committing to the shape of him and keeping him there just right, and you’re staring up at him with wide, smoldering eyes and curiosity that banks on him using you like this. The sight is borderline too erotic with your hair splayed over his pillows and you laid so prettily beneath him.

“Go ahead,” you encourage. Your cheeks are the color of the plumpest strawberries. “Use them. I know you want to, Taehyun. It’s okay. You’re so sweet, I know you deserve it. You’re the best friend, make yourself feel good.”

You don’t have to ask Taehyun twice. He’s slow and unsure at first, but then his tip starts kissing your lips and he’s seeing fuzzy stars. Bracing himself, he cants his hips until he’s dropping his head down with sluggish whimpers and the valley has gone sticky and slick. He slips right through now. Brown strands of damp hair fall in his eyes, pupils blown wide with the deep thrill that starts in his belly and twists up his spine. “Heeh—fuck, oh fuck,” he says through his teeth, pushing his glasses back up his nose bridge. “Gotta—on your face? Can I… cum on your face?”

“Uh-huh,” you preen, your own eyes glazed over. For a moment, a beautiful, lingering moment, he is positive that you’re just as destroyed by this as he is. That you’re not dragging him along like a thing to pity, but rather that you’re taking as much pleasure in watching him fall apart over your body as he is getting to touch it. “Don’t stop, please, Tyun. Feels so good you’re losing your mind, huh? Do you want them to be yours?”

Taehyun’s lost his mind. “Yes,” he says, choked and tight. He’s losing rhythm. “Yes, I want to… shit, I wanna… Have them…” Unable to complete a full thought, he opts for something simple and to the point. “Love you so much. Love your tits. Can I h…have you?”

You don’t get to answer him that, because he locks up and paints your face with soft white ropes abruptly as if he’d been holding it back. And truthfully, he had. He was on the cusp a few measly moments after feeling you pressed around him, but he couldn’t handle the look on your face if he had came so quickly.

Anyway, he didn’t want the moment to come and go so quickly. But now it’s gone, inevitably, and he’s staring down at his longtime crush painted in him and looking prettier than ever. He prepares himself for the awkward snap back into reality, but you don’t recoil once it comes seeping back in at the corners.

Sitting up, you brush some unruly hair from your face and wrinkle your nose with a melodic laugh. “You’re getting this off my face, Taehyun. If I break out, you’re buying me three straight weeks of coffee.”

That’s all it takes for Taehyun to know that while he may be a loser and you may be so far out of his league that it’s unfathomable that you even grace him with your attention, things may have changed today, but so much will remain the same. That’s all it takes for him to loose a shaky laugh, still basking in the throes, and shoot back a familiar, “You know I’ll buy you some, anyway.”

OO1. 【 tagging 】 . . . @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , @izzyy-stuff , @lunesdesire , @sunoolver , @cherricola-star , @xylatox , @hyunj00 , @taebatu , @caratcakemoa , @biteyoubiteme , @dawngyu , @hyunruhi , @heesmiles , @lunesdesire , @yystarz

rblgs & asks >ᴗ<

[ailithnight]

Wait wait wait

The what that lets Nightwing what?

Danny, being a halfa, falls under the strange category of people who can converse with the dead and act in their names. Most mediums simply convey messages. It was rare for someone to be able to fulfill a ghost’s dying request and have that act tied to the ghost’s core.

Honestly it’s annoying.

He doesn’t get any alone time anymore for homework or hobbies. The dead are constantly pestering Danny to help with their desires - which, sure, it helps them move on which means they’re out of Danny’s hair, but come on!! Give a guy a break! Just because he doesn’t need as much sleep as a fully living person doesn’t mean he can go without entirely!

“No Scott,” Danny repeated for the fifth time, “I am not flying to California tonight. Do you know how far that is? Literally the other coast of this massive continent. Meet me there in August like everyone else on the list.”

Spending the first spring break of college creating a map and calendar for Last Rites was not something Danny expected when he moved to Gotham.

Why did this city have so many ghosts?! It was ridiculous. And he thought Amity Park was bad? At least the ghosts here were mostly Shades. Not visible to anyone unless they were also dead-adjacent or had The Sight or a bloodline curse or a magical amulet… you know what? There were enough of those in this curse ridden city, why couldn’t these ghosts go find one of those people instead? Danny was exhausted.

So exhausted he didn’t notice the vigilante dropping down from the rooftop.

“Hey there kid, you alri-”

“Yeah yeah,” Danny waved a hand dismissively at the voice without looking up. “Wait in line like everyone else. But honestly you’d be better off coming back tomorrow when I’ve had some sleep.”

“Think maybe you outta get started on that sleep now, bud?” the voice behind him spoke in a calm careful tone.

One Danny had heard all too often since dying.

His head jerked sideways to stare wide-eyed at Nightwing, who tensed just a little as if expecting Danny to run or fight. Instead he let out a groan and slumped onto the park bench, rubbing his eyes to ease the burn of fatigue. He’d been coming out to this park at the corner of campus each night to keep the Shades from mobbing him all day long in classes, but they’d spread the word around Gotham that he was here and his precious spring break had become a non-stop line of requests and arguments. Made sense he’d caught the attention of one of the Bats. Should have expected it sooner.

Danny ignored all the voices around him and looked at Nightwing directly as he prattled off his usual list when someone caught him talking to thin air.

“No, I’m not hallucinating. I got all my Rogue Gallery immunizations the day I checked onto campus. I’m not schizophrenic. The only meds I take are for adhd and the occasional Tylenol. I’m not a danger to myself or others. Unless they attack me first.”

Nightwing nodded along, but tilted his head at the end.

“I’m talking to the dead,” Danny answered the unspoken question in a tired monotone, waiting for the usual skepticism or plea for help with lost loved ones.

“Oh. Okay then.”

“What?” That wasn’t expected.

“No yeah, that makes sense.”

Danny was sure his jaw was on the ground. “You… you believe me?”

“Well sure,” the hero shrugged and chuckled. “I can’t see ghosts myself but I know a couple magicians who work with one, and my little brother Robin has a ghost on his team - she’s actually visible most of the time so I don’t know if that’s a special skill or something else going on. But I’m glad you’re okay and don’t need any emergency medication. I know a couple 24 hour pharmacies that would help but it’s nice when they’re not needed. We don’t get a lot of mediums around Gotham holding court at night so you really can’t fault me for checking in.”

Danny was still floating in the relief of not being questioned or doubted. That hadn’t happened since Jazz found out his secret. She’d had plenty of questions about his halfa status, of course, but never called him crazy for talking to things others couldn’t see. Even Sam and Tucker would forget sometimes and give him strange looks before realizing he was dealing with a Shade, Wisp, or Memory.

He didn’t realize he was wobbling until Nightwing’s arms shot out to stabilize him.

Danny blinked up at the pretty face that was trying not to chuckle, held by strong arms, and so far past tired he might be getting delirious after all because his brain seemed to have lost its filter and he said out loud,

“You actually believe me. I think I love you.”

Then the horrifying embarrassment hit at the same time as Nightwing’s laughter. Which… sounded delighted rather than mean spirited?

“Well now it’s your turn to wait in line, cuz that’s the fourth confession I’ve had this week!” They both devolved into snorts and giggles, Danny still relying on those arms for balance, but when they’d caught their breath the vigilante said, “Come on, you’ve really got to get some sleep. I’ll walk you back to your dorm.”

Ignoring the whispers and grumbles of the Shades was easier with someone walking beside him.

This is so incredibly cute oml. It’s so rare to see the bats actually go with the flow and god it isn’t done enough. 12/10 immaculate, glorious.

The entire plot I can see so clearly in my mind dude:

Danny chatting to Nightwing as they walk to his dorm

Nightwing asking some casual questions about ghosts and Danny asking about vigilante work.

Nightwing informs the Bats of Danny as he might be a valuable asset in the future.

Nightwing helps free shades with Danny and he realizes why Danny is so incredibly tired all the time.

Nightwing managing to stumble into Danny every day of his break, slowly getting to know each other more and more and becoming really good friends (perhaps lovers 👀).

Wonderful stuff man ty for the ask!

[schn-tgai-saavik]

Development of Vulcan attachment styles and in relation to telepathy: an analysis based on human developmental psychology and trek lore - P.1

I have been taking psychology classes in Uni and thinking about the development of attachment in Vulcan culture/civilisation

(Author's note- familial bonding in Vulcans is not exactly plainly stated in any Memory Alpha page, but it seems implied at the very least- either way, I might be borrowing from fanon.)

Attachment, in (human) children, develops toward their primary care-taker from the moment their cognitions allows object permanence, generally solidifying into an attachment structure at ~4-5 years old.

The behaviours from caretakers that encourage the development of a secure attachement style are, according to Boyd and Bee (2015) to keep the child in a calm, safe and non-stressful environment, to not let it cry too long before satisfying their needs, to encourage contact with others and to allow for exploration periods while also ensuring a reassuring and secure presence. Moments of synchrony between the caretaker and very young child allows the child to understand habits, and that their need are met with constancy, building the trust between the child and the caretaker.

Now, depending on these interactions in early childhood, a child can develop one of four internal models of attachments.

Secure attachment: The child will search the proximity of it's attachement figure (primary caretaker) after a separation or a stressful situation and will use it as a base of security when exploring

Anxious-avoidant attachment: The child avoids the contact to it's attachment figure and does not seem to prefer it to other people.

Insecure-ambivalent attachment: The child has a tendency to go on few explorations and seems perturbed when separated from it's attachment figure, but isn't secured when it returns or tries to comfort the child.

Disorganized/disoriented attachment: The child seem confused or afraid, and adopts contradicting behaviours with the attachement figure.

Now, in Vulcans, if we assume attachment is still a part of their development, how does telepathy and familial bonds play into it?

Telepathic bonds developed naturally between parents or close caregivers and children would play a great part in the development of attachment, as the bond would be the best indicator of the child's need, ensuring they are fulfilled. Also, despite Vulcan's general impassivity, such bond would allow them to give emotional feedback to their children, allowing them to feel, rather than see, the love, care, security and reassurance they needed from their parents/caregivers. As the child grows up, it would allow for the explorative behaviours crucial in the development of attachments, with the child being strongly aware of the strong base of security they have with their parents. It is why to outsiders Vulcan child appears more independent and detached, because they physically seek their parents for comfort less, benefiting from a mental reassurance if needed. As the child grows, frequent meld with attachement figures could be used both as displays of affections and as a safe place where the child could express and show their emotions to their parents while they learned to regulate them in the Vulcan way.

Now, what would be the implications of such a method for the development of attachment for a hybrid child like Spock, who might have not been able to naturally bond with his primary caretaker, his mother, a psy-null human, and who had a father we know never melded with him? And for Saavik, a half-romulan who's Vulcan parents likely died when she was very young and whose Romulan parent probably never met, who did not have a stable figure in her life until T'Pren and then lost her, and then only had a proper caregiver when Spock took her in?

Because these two in particular can be good examples of Anxious-Avoidant (Spock, namely in The Naked Time, Amanda's conflicting demands of him in Journey to Babel and the distance with Sarek, and him leaving for Gol when his feelings for Jim grew too much) and Insecure-Ambivalent (Saavik's aggressivity to anyone except Spock when on Symmetry in The Pandora Principle, her feeling still stuck in the events of her past later in her life, which lasted until Hellguard was destroyed.)

There's a lot of potential exploration I might do another time, and maybe this is all wrong because it's human psychology applied to Vulcans, but hey.

[leggerefiore]

May I request yan Volo, and maybe Yan Grimsley after seeing their partner be more outgoing and flirty after a few drinks at a social gathering?

cw: yandere, mentioned kidnapping, drinking, alcohol, possessive behaviour, unhealthy relationships

characters: Volo, Grimsley, Giovanni

Minors DNI

💫Volo📜

⭐️ Drinking… Volo would not contend that he was the biggest fan. Alcohol caused inebriation. Inebriation caused less control. The merchant much preferred having everything under control. Generally, in his job, since bandits would find him an easy target if he were completely out of it. Though, as he sat with you at your base camp, he found himself more willing. There was only one thing that left him frustrated. A certain presence that he had not anticipated. The professor, sure, the annoying teenage brat was a given, and a few other Security Corp members as extra bulk… But, that damned Diamond Clan Leader. He would grin and bear it, even if he did not like crowds. Why…? Well, for you.

⭐️ You… Unfortunately, your mere concept intrigued him. When he had heard that a portal spit you out, he simply needed to see with you with his own eyes. Your vigour had not been something he anticipated. It was more than apparent a certain deity had an eye on you, much to his endless frustration. His feelings bubbled up and down about you. There was something of pure adoration for your sheer survivability in a world that you were clearly not well-suited for. Pity was common, too. Seeing you all alone after being abandoned by those you believed you could rely on. Naturally, he could not help but kneel beside you and offer his own hand. Though, everything you were blamed for was his own doing.

⭐️ A few drinks in, he watched as you seemed to grow more social, babbling on about seeming nonsense to Adaman. He gave a typical grin and encouraged you to keep going. It annoyed Volo enough as it were, but then something happened that spurred something burning within him. Your arm came around Adaman's shoulders. You leaned into him, laughing at something you said. His arm came around you, too, pulling you in while he joined you in the laughter. Volo's grip on the glass in his hand certainly could have shattered it.

⭐️ Something in him was desperate. But, he was nothing if not controlled. Patience. If he were patient, a better opportunity would come. Acting foolishly when surrounded would only have a disaster follow. He waited. Everyone was asleep. The fire was low. You looked so peaceful. Volo wondered what you dreamed of. His hand cupped your cheek. Wherever you came from… There was no chance of you returning to it. The plates… Oh, those plates. His heart raced at the thought of his careful planning truly coming to fruition. He would take Arceus's power as his own and remake this world… You would be at his side. Fingers gently stroked your cheek before he settled in beside you. Everything would be his soon enough.

♠️Grimsley❤️

♤ Alcohol. Grimsley was a many of many vices, and that was certainly among his own. Drinking was a commonplace in casinos. He would dare even say it did truly elevate the experience. The gambler was careful, of course. As much as he enjoyed a drink, he was fully aware that cognitive functions declined under the influence. There was no fun in being so out of it like that. His eyes observed you at the bar carefully. It was a simple invitation – Join him at the casino tonight. You sipped on the cocktail you ordered as he pondered just what kind of person you were inebriated. It would have all gone to his plan if someone had not sat right beside you. There were so many open seats, yet they took the one beside you. His gaze pierced right through them, but they seemed just so unbothered.

♡ Madness. You had driven a madness into the gambler. Or, perhaps, should he indulge the occult fascination of a certain coworker, a curse. Whatever you had done to him, his head was haunted by you. Whatever usual urges drove him to sleep openly and freely were expelled the moment you caught his attention wholly. Tortuous. What was wrong with you? He wanted to despise you. Desperately – desperately, he wanted to despise you. It was impossible. So, he decided to indulge this horrible feeling. Keeping you at his side, playing the role of some more domestic man. It was almost too easy. Though, something in him stirred and desired more. For now, however, he was satiated.

◇ The person, some rough-looking guy with a posture that Grimsley certainly did not envy, burst into laughter at whatever you had said. Your drunken babble seemingly intriguing him. Were you a light-weight? He felt concerned. This was only worsened when you happily continued to chat with the guy. His hand came to rub at his neck as you leaned in and complimented his style. Grimsley wanted to scoff. Style? He looked like a grown-up delinquent. His chest was far too exposed. His eyes narrowed. Enough was enough.

♧ “Darling,” he rasped, coming in to pull you away and into him, “Let's get you home, alright?” The other guy seemed to tense up at Grimsely's sudden interruption. Something of an apology was given, but the gambler was in no mood to accept such things. He simply helped you up and guided you away. His grip on your shoulder made you flinch. It went ignored by him. Frustration ate at his heart. Letting you go… It made him sick. If he could not bear the idea of leaving you, he certainly could not stand another man snatching you up before his eyes. “… Man, oh, man, I didn't know you had it in you to be so naughty,” he huffed the words into your ear, “When we get home, I'll remind you just who your lover is.” That promise, he would hold true to.

🚀Giovanni🐈

🟥 A party, a drink – These things were not uncommon in the crime boss's life. Meetings were often under the guise of such things. It was a time to make connections that could not otherwise be made in different situations. He spoke with various associates with his typical charm and attitude. Many were desperate to garner his favour. Business was discussed, naturally. What broke this studious attention of his was noticing the presence of his partner was gone from his side. He glanced around. You were sat down on a nearby sofa with a drink in your hand. It would have been something uneventful if someone had not sat beside you.

🟥 You… Oh, what had you done to the Rocket Boss? He was not one for love. Romance was a useless thing in his ambitions… You, however, liked to be a brat and ruin his precious projects by playing hero. That streak was easily broken when he simply offered you a place at his side. He would pay well and give you whatever you wanted. So long as you stop being a nuisance. Your response was to battle him. Unfortunately for you, he was not actually asking. Your disappearance was easy to sweep under the rug. It was much more preferable to have you hidden away in his home. Though, he was not above showing off. You seemed to comprehend it was futile to actually try.

🟥 The poor idiot who sat beside you… He tried to recall their name. Irrelevant, really. No doubt some young hotshot… Archer would be sent to handle them later. Your actions shocked him too much to intervene. You leaned onto his shoulder, laughing and mumbling something. He seemed to join you in laughter. Giovanni felt as if he had been presented something like excrement. He spoke to you too easily, and you reciprocated. The alcohol. Clearly, your reserved shell was cracked by it.

🟥 He trailed to you, catching your chin in his fingers. “… Hello, dear,” it was simple enough to seemingly sober you in an instant. You let go of the man and glanced at him. Your expression shifted to something nervous. Ah, how precious. That cuteness you carried was likely why he opted for all this extra effort instead of simply getting rid of you. That, and you cared for his son. “Join me, won't you?” he brought you up to stand with him, while the guy you were with nearly cowered into himself. You walked with him, on edge from the mood shift. Oh, Giovanni was already running through the various ways that you would earn his forgiveness.

[ficnation]

Chapter 10: The Big Bad Wolf

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 5,0k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings, canon divergence, gore A/n: I hope you enjoy it just as much as I did. This is also a bday present for my friend. Happy birthday!!! Don't freak out <3 Main Masterlist || Hannibal Masterlist

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

“Every social worker enjoys certain aspects of the job more than others,” the man explains with a smile that seems almost too forced; it’s been glued to his face since the moment Alana greeted him. “There are cases that you reach and cases you don’t reach.”

You spin the pen between your fingers with a steady rhythm, your mind wandering and tuning in and out of the conversation between Clark Ingram and Alana Bloom. But something about his demeanor strikes you—the way his bright smile seems permanently plastered on his face. It’s off-putting, unnatural, as if he’s struggling to maintain the facade of a polite and helpful citizen.

“Peter’s had persistent cognitive problems. Confusion, paranoia, rage.”

“Peter’s a sheep,” you mutter to no one in particular. “He can’t hurt an animal, let alone a human being.”

“You really like sheep, don’t you?” Jack jokes, reminding you of your choice of words from not long ago.

You look at him with a raised brow before nudging him in the arm with your elbow. “And you don’t? At least sheep don’t bite.”

Jack chuckles at your retort, but his expression quickly turns serious as he turns his attention back to Clark Ingram. “So, what do you think, Agent Avant? Is Peter Bernardone capable of violence?”

You pause, considering the question carefully. “It’s hard to say,” you reply, your tone measured. “But based on what we know so far, it doesn’t seem likely. His cognitive issues suggest a lack of capacity for such brutal acts. If he was ever violent toward anyone, it’s likely he was pushed to his limits and lashed out.”

Will and Hannibal stand to your left, listening intently to the conversation between you and Jack, as well as the one taking place on the other side of the thick one-way mirror. Their expressions are unreadable, betraying little of what they might be thinking or feeling.

They’re silent until the moment when Alana reaches out to touch Ingram’s hand. The social worker does nothing to hide his discomfort as he quickly shifts his hands away and leans further into his chair.

“That’s smart,” Will explains, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants. “She keeps pushing him on his feelings, not on the facts.”

Hannibal nods in agreement, his gaze focused on the interaction between Alana and Ingram. He casts a fleeting glance in your direction every now and then, his eyes catching your presence in his peripheral vision before returning to the scene before him.

“She’s trying to gauge how comfortable he is with emotion, if he has any,” Will adds, glancing at you too, curious to know your thoughts. “He couldn’t bear being touched by her.”

“It’s a telling reaction,” you remark, your voice calm and measured. “It suggests a deep-seated discomfort with emotional intimacy. Perhaps indicative of a psychopath?”

“Yes, his responses are typical of psychopaths during interviews, but could also indicate resentment,” Hannibal agrees.

“No, I don’t believe it’s resentment or hatred towards women,” you assert, your tone firm. Your eyes narrow thoughtfully.

“No, his eyes are dead,” Will concludes. “He’s a predator.”

“It’s the absence of empathy, of any real connection to the people around him. That’s what makes him dangerous.” You glance over at your husband, seeking confirmation or perhaps an alternative perspective, he acknowledges your words with a nod of his head.

The conversation between Ingram and Alana continues for a while longer, but your mind is too preoccupied to fully focus. You’re aware of their words, but your thoughts are elsewhere. You can’t shake the feeling that Ingram is hiding something. It’s the way he recoils from her touch, the way he conceals himself behind smiles and warm words. There’s an eerie resemblance to your father that sends chills down your spine; something in his demeanor triggers warning bells, a deep and primal instinct for danger.

You attempt to refocus on the conversation, but Ingram’s subtle gestures and body language keep drawing your attention. There’s something sinister about him, a feeling that resonates deep within your bones.

Suddenly, Jack’s voice pierces through the room, pulling you away from your thoughts. “Let him go,” he commands.

The panic in Will’s eyes prompts you to react, and you turn towards your boss with an annoyed expression. “Jack, don’t do that. You know he’s the one.”

“I’ve got nothing to hold him on,” Jack responds calmly.

“We can still get something out of him,” you insist, your eyes pleading. You couldn’t care less about the killer on the other side of the glass, but it’s evident that Will is invested in this case.

“Peter Bernardone is psychologically disadvantaged. He’s been manipulated,” Will argues, his hands clenching into fists by his sides. “As his social worker, this man is in a position of trust, and he has betrayed that trust.”

The realization hits you like a brick—this is personal. In a twisted, complicated way, this is no longer about catching the man responsible for killing sixteen women in cold blood. It might not even be about Peter anymore. The next sentence coming out of Will’s mouth confirms it.

“I know what it’s like to point at a killer and have no one listen.”

“You pointed in the wrong direction.” It’s all Jack says before leaving the room.

Your gaze instantly finds your husband’s face—his expression a mix of disbelief and powerlessness. You reach for his hand, and he doesn’t resist at all as you squeeze it reassuringly, nails gripping into his skin to keep his mind in the room with you and Hannibal. God, Hannibal. You almost forgot about his presence beside you with how quiet he’s become.

“We won’t let Peter Bernardone suffer for all of this, Will,” you assure him. It’s all you can offer—a useless promise that you might not be able to fulfill.

You find yourself in the BAU’s headquarters not long after, walking through the almost-empty corridors leading toward Crawford’s office. You can’t shake your husband’s heartbroken expression from your mind. It lingers hauntingly in the back of your thoughts, refusing to be forgotten.

The atmosphere is uncomfortably quiet, with only the echo of your footsteps breaking the silence as you make your way through the corridor. Your focus is consumed by the folder in your hands, flipping through its pages absentmindedly for at least half an hour. The world around you becomes a misty haze as you try to concentrate on the contrasting words printed on the white paper.

Suddenly, you’re snapped back to reality as someone grabs you by the arm and forcefully pulls you into the nearest room. The sequence of events unfolds so rapidly that it’s all just a massive blur.

“Hey, what the hell!” You react instinctively, swinging blindly at your assailant. Your hands make contact with their face, nails poised dangerously close to their eyes. It’s not the most efficient form of self-defense, but your reflexes have dulled since you’ve been out of the field.

As your vision clears, you recognize those dark, menacing eyes, though you’ve never seen them so up-close before. Their gaze is hypnotizing, compelling you to loosen your grip on their jaw. Despite the danger, you can’t bring yourself to let go entirely.

“It’s just me,” Hannibal’s voice cuts through the tension, tranquil and unaffected by the threat of your fingers near his eyes. His hands grip your elbows firmly, though not painfully, as he meets your panicked stare head-on.

“Why did you grab me like that?” you question him, a hint of vexation in your tone, though you notice how soft his skin feels under your palms.

“Do you prefer a gentler approach?” Hannibal responds calmly, his demeanor unruffled.

You blink slowly, confusion replacing your initial anger. You glance around the empty conference room behind him. “Why are we here?”

Hannibal’s grip on you loosens slightly as he looks over his shoulder before acknowledging your question. It appears he only just became aware of your location himself. “Coincidence.”

Hannibal’s eyes find yours again, and you both stare at each other in silence, unmoving. The tension between you is palpable, each moment stretched taut like a drawn bowstring. You’re not even sure if either of you is breathing, but you can still detect the faint fragrance of his cologne—notes of leather, cedarwood, and a hint of something darker and more mysterious, perhaps oud. The stillness of the air crackles with anticipation, and your shared curiosity poses the question: “who moves first?”

“Would it be rude of me to ask you to release me?” he finally breaks the tension, his tone almost reluctant, as if he secretly wished you would hold onto him a little longer.

You release him, albeit with some apprehension. “You wanted to see how I handle sudden threats, huh?” Your words are more of a statement than a question, delivered with a certainty that seeks confirmation.

“Yes,” he replies simply, catching you off guard with his honesty. It’s almost unnerving how straightforward his answer is.

You watch as a tiny smile quirks one corner of his mouth, the faintest twitch of his lips. It’s as if he was born to be intimidating yet effortlessly charming at the same time. Everything he does seems so well thought-through to the point of being eerie.

“And what conclusion did you reach?” you ask, striving to keep your voice steady. There’s an undercurrent of tension flowing between the two of you, and you can feel his eyes scrutinizing you, taking in every detail.

“More of a confirmation, really,” he replies, his gaze traveling from your face to your hands and back.

You know he noticed your hesitation before you let go of him. You know he’s still analyzing you, taking in every detail, every little movement you make. You can feel his eyes weighing you, measuring every ounce of your reaction, your breath, and your pulse.

“You reacted almost instinctively,” he concludes, not asking a question or suggesting that he expected anything less from you. “It’s a sign of strength.”

You can’t tell if he’s being serious or just saying that to be polite, and you feel compelled to challenge him on that statement, so you do: “And what would’ve been a sign of weakness then?”

“Not fighting back,” he replies simply, his eyes never leaving yours. “Not putting up a fight.”

Your mind struggles to process his answer. “So, what you’re saying is that someone showing weakness by letting themselves be attacked and possibly killed is worse than someone who reacts and fights back?” you reply, not hiding your disbelief at his words.

His response is almost immediate. “Precisely.”

You almost laugh at the straightforwardness of his reply. His words are as chilling as his demeanor. You want to challenge him, to call him out for his bluntness. But you can’t summon the energy, and your gaze falls away.

“What if someone doesn’t have it in them to fight back?” you ask, curious to see how he’ll respond. “Maybe they’re not capable of it.”

He considers the question for a moment, seeming to weigh a myriad of variables in his mind before giving you an answer. “The instinct for self-preservation is primal, ingrained in every living being. It doesn’t matter if they don’t have the physical ability to fight back; the urge to live overrides everything. Even a child will fight when pushed against the wall. Only the weak would let themselves be slaughtered without at least attempting to survive.”

You feel almost appalled by his words, their harshness sinking in. There’s a hint of sadness in your voice as you ask, “So you believe someone who doesn’t fight back is weak?”

“I don’t believe it, I know it,” he replies with a coldness you’ve never seen in his eyes before, a spark of something dark igniting in his pupils.

He’s serious, there’s no underlying joke or hidden meaning behind his words. You feel a chill run through you, the tiny hairs on your arms standing on end.

Hannibal raises his hand toward your face, dragging his knuckles over the skin of your jaw. He seems almost impressed that you don’t flinch at his touch.

“You’re as strong as they come, my dear,” he murmurs, his voice so low it almost blends with the hum of the wind outside the windows. He leans in, his soft lips pressing against your forehead, and then he leaves the room without another word.

You’re left there alone and stunned, your eyes staring ahead but not really seeing. Your body trembles, but instead of pure fear, there’s a hint of excitement running through your veins. Adrenaline rushes through you, and the feeling of his presence lingers in the air, both comforting and unsettling.

You wait in the conference room for a few minutes, trying to collect yourself, half-hoping that Hannibal will return. You feel like you’ve just been through a whirlwind of emotions, thoughts, and sensations.

But all you’re left with is the memory of his scent lingering in the room and the soft touch of his lips on your skin.

“You look like a man who has suffered an irrevocable loss,” Hannibal’s voice breaks through the quiet melody of the aria playing in the car. The psychiatrist’s choice in music doesn’t surprise Will in the slightest; he’s gotten used to his refined tastes.

“I’m trying to prevent one,” Will counters, gazing over his shoulder at your sleeping form curled up in the backseat.

“You look so peaceful—far more relaxed than he imagined you would be. Hell, just ten minutes ago the thought of you sleeping in the presence of Hannibal Lecter didn’t even cross his mind. It was different from the last time; this time you didn’t have anything to drink or soothe you—nothing. You just let your guard down so easily as if you didn’t see a threat in Hannibal anymore. Will didn’t like that at all.

“Do you think if you save Peter Bernardone, you can save yourself?” Hannibal’s voice breaks the silence, his words carrying weight in the confined space of the car.

“Save myself from what, Dr. Lecter?” Will asks, his eyes staring ahead yet again, but there’s a hint of annoyance in his voice—barely detectable.

“From who you perceive me to be,” the psychiatrist responds, his eyes briefly leaving the road to glance at you through the rearview mirror. Will swears he sees a subtle quirk of the man’s mouth at the sight of you.

“I’m afraid I need to be saved from who you perceive me to be.”

“Many troublesome behaviors strike when you are uncertain of yourself,” Hannibal observes, his focus returning to Will. Perhaps he senses he’s been caught. “Peter Bernardone lies in the same darkness that holds you.”

“No, I’m alone in that darkness,” Will replies without hesitation.

“You’re not alone, Will. You have me and her, standing right beside you through all of this.”

Will’s eyes find your figure again, and he bites the inside of his cheek, lost in thought. “I’m not sure if I want her to be. I don’t want to scare her off.”

“You won’t, Will. She’s not going anywhere, trust me.” Hannibal reaches for the other man and squeezes his arm gently—it’s strangely comforting, though it shouldn’t be.

When you reach Peter’s place, it’s eerily empty. All of the cages have been left open—no animal in sight. You can’t imagine the agony Clark Ingram must have put him through. The sight breaks your heart into a million pieces because you know Peter Bernardone has been pushed to his limit.

The three of you rush toward the stables, ready for the worst. Will is panicking inside and out, his hands trembling and breath coming out in shaky puffs of air, while you and Hannibal remain fairly composed. The contrast in your behaviors is visible from miles away.

As you find Peter, he’s kneeling on the ground beside the body of a dark-coated horse, his work nearly finished. The needle slides through the animal’s skin effortlessly, like gliding through soft butter.

Will is the first to break the silence as he steps toward the kneeling man slowly, with apprehension evident in his movements. “Peter…” he whispers hoarsely, his eyes glued to the sight of the blood-soaked animal before him.

The scene takes a while for your mind to process. The image of that defenseless horse lying lifeless on the stable floor, the smell of blood lingering in the air along with the subtle scent of death. All of you already know what has happened here—it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.

Hannibal catches your gloved hand in his and pulls you closer to himself. You feel his steady presence beside you, a calming force amid the turmoil. His touch is unexpected, yet it speaks volumes.

“Is your social worker in that horse?”

“Yes. I used to have a horrible fear of…” Peter speaks up, his voice trembling slightly but not out of fear. “Of hurting anything.”

You glance at Hannibal to gauge his reaction to the situation, but instead, you find him already looking at you—his eyes filled with a strange admiration. You were right after all; Peter couldn’t hurt a fly unless he was pushed to his limits.

Weirdly enough, this twisted reverence makes you feel just a little bit sick to your stomach. You shuffle forward, seeking proximity to Will and distancing yourself from Hannibal, forcing him to release his grip on your hand.

“But… He helped me get over that. Feels so abnormal.” Peter lets out a pitiful chuckle, tears rolling down his bony cheeks.

“An abnormal reaction to an abnormal situation is normal behavior,” Hannibal concludes, his eyes now cold and distant. You’re unsure whether it’s due to the situation before you or your withdrawal from his affectionate touch.

“I think he deserves to die,” the kneeling man says, his voice filled with helplessness as he looks between the three of you.

“He does,” you mumble, more to yourself than anyone else. You’re relieved when there’s no immediate reaction to your words, but the way Hannibal’s eyes bore into your back tells you he heard.

“But you didn’t deserve to kill him, Peter,” Will says, shaking his head. He crouches beside the man, offering a reassuring hand that rests gently on his back as Peter stares at the dead horse. “I want you to come with me.”

You and Will help the man stand up as his legs shake, threatening to give up beneath him. Only now do you see how much damage this situation has done to the poor guy. He didn’t deserve any of this, but the world has always been a cruel place—evil humans’ second nature.

When Will and Peter head toward the barn door, you and Hannibal linger behind. Will’s uncertain, but not worried glance your way is a testament that something has shifted between the three of you. You just have to figure out what.

“Cruelly poetic,” you say, standing a safe distance away from the man and the corpse.

“He’ll be just fine,” Hannibal murmurs in response to your statement as he watches Peter and Will slowly make their way out of the stable. His gaze is calculatingly cold, the smallest twitch of a muscle in his cheek betraying the emotions underneath—the genuine emotions he rarely lets others see.

“It was necessary,” he adds softly. “He needed to rid himself of that darkness within.”

“Necessary?” you question, your eyes still glued to the two men walking away and not the psychiatrist standing before you.

Hannibal’s eyes move from Peter and Will to you, the corner of his mouth twitching into a slight smirk. You feel like he’s expecting you to say something more, but you can’t think of anything to reply.

“Necessary,” he repeats, and now his eyes find yours with that same calculating stare.

“The way you view life and the world itself... It’s peculiar,” you notice, sticking your hands into the pockets of your coat.

Hannibal’s gaze never leaves yours, and he doesn’t reply at first. There’s a slight smirk playing on the corners of his mouth again, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he’s judging you or if he agrees.

“I find my way of viewing life perfectly reasonable,” he finally says quietly, the words almost whispered. You notice a small twitch of the muscles beneath his eyes, and you wonder if you said the right thing or not.

“You do?” you ask, still searching for his gaze, but you can tell that he’s no longer looking at you. He’s staring at something in the distance instead then heading toward one of the stalls that holds white sheep.

“In life, we need some form of guidance to help us navigate the unknown,” he adds quietly as he pets the woolly animals. They’re not afraid of him. “I’ve found mine. What about you?”

Before you have a chance to respond, you notice Clark Ingram’s bloody fingers, ripping the stitches on the dead horse’s stomach. He tears through them from within, letting the guts spill out of the corpse as he crawls out of it.

Hannibal strolls toward him so casually, his hands dipped into the pockets of his perfectly pressed pants as he looks at the man’s struggle. You join him by his side as an involuntary smirk crawls up your face at the sight of the social worker coughing out blood and stumbling over his own legs. It’s amusing.

The psychiatrist admires your expression, slightly astonished by your reaction. He certainly didn’t expect you to show your true colors so fast. Not a care in the world of how your satisfaction might come across to others.

When Ingram reaches for the bloody hammer, you feel Hannibal’s hands tugging you closer yet again. You let him, leaning on him like an old friend—hip to hip. The warmth of his body is comforting, stirring something insatiable deep inside you.

“Mr. Ingram. Might want to crawl back in there if you know what’s good for you,” Hannibal says casually as he steps aside, taking you with him.

You didn’t even realize that Will had entered the stables. He holds a gun steadily in his hands, pointing it straight at Ingram’s head. Your smirk disappears just as quickly as it appeared, slight shock taking its place on your face.

“Will…” you mumble breathlessly.

You try to reach for him, but Hannibal doesn’t let you step away from him as he tugs you even closer into his side. He presses his lips to your temple and whispers, “He won’t do anything. Don’t worry.”

You’re not sure you believe him. You’ve seen how personal this was to Will, how panic and pure anger took turns in taking over his body since the moment he met Peter. The emotions were controlling him in a way nothing and no one else could.

Ingram drops the sledgehammer to the ground, falling to his knees with arms open and raised like wings—like a blood angel. “Officer… I’m the victim here,” he breathes heavily, but the smile that flashes over his features tells a different story.

“I’m not an officer. I’m Peter’s friend,” Will counters, ignorant to your begging eyes.

Don’t do it, Will. Please, don’t do it.

“Peter’s confused.”

Will feigns hesitation as he lowers the gun just slightly. But the way he grips the weapon tells you easily that he’s far from done with Ingram—his hold doesn’t loosen even for a mere second.

“I’m not.” He raises it back up with an air of palpable confidence. He knows what he wants. He wants to see Clark Ingram begging for life, drowning in the pool of his own blood, choking on it.

You squeeze Hannibal’s fingers so tightly, you’re surprised when he doesn’t even flinch. He just observes Will expressionless.

“Please, Hannibal,” you beg him under your breath, barely audible. You know he hears you, even if he pretends otherwise.

“Pick up the hammer,” Will throws the command, gesturing toward the bloody object that was just thrown to the ground moments ago.

Hannibal glances at your horrified expression, then at Will’s lips pressed tightly in anger. “Will,” he finally interjects with so much stoicism in his voice. His stare alone is insistent enough to make just about anyone listen to him.

But not Will. Will is deaf to Hannibal’s words—especially right now. He doesn’t want to hear him, he doesn’t want to be heard by him. He has a chance to make it right for Peter’s sake, maybe even for his own sake.

“Pick it up,” Will keeps insisting, now, even more agitated. He pops the safety off and puts the pistol almost directly in front of Ingram’s face.

“It won’t feel the same, Will,” Hannibal tries again, stepping toward Will. “It won’t feel like killing me.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

“You did the best anyone could do for Peter, but don’t do this for him. If you’re going to do this, Will, you have to do it for yourself.”

You blink slowly in shock before you push Hannibal away from your husband. You take his place and move so close to Will, you can almost feel his shaky breath on your skin.

“Will, please,” you beg softly, “don’t ruin your life. This isn’t going to fix anything.”

“How do you know, huh?” he spats out, his voice mean—meaner than he ever was toward you.

The adrenaline and the rush of the situation are threatening to derail any semblance of calm you’ve managed to keep over the past hour. You grit your teeth and murmur so quietly, in hopes only he can hear you, “Trust me, I know.”

That seems to awaken him temporarily as he looks at you for a second, confusion written all over his face. His eyes are wide open, searching your face for answers—he finds nothing.

Hannibal’s gaze never leaves you two, watching you carefully. Will is so focused on this mystery, he doesn’t even notice when you take the gun out of his hands and point it at Ingram yourself.

“What?” Will asks, his eyes snapping back to you as you push the gun towards Ingram.

“P-please… Please don’t,” the social worker begs as you step closer and press the gun harshly to his left temple.

“Oh, would you like me to be gentler?” you ask, tilting your head. There’s something deeply attractive about the way you hold the gun with unwavering determination, a fierce protectiveness radiating from you. There’s not an ounce of doubt in your expression; you really do look like a cop now.

Will, amidst the chaos of his thoughts, finds himself strangely drawn to you in this moment. His gaze is fixed on your face, and he can’t help but admire the way you look with that gun in your hand. It’s such a contrast to the innocent woman he married—it’s a side of you he never knew existed. There’s a primal allure to your fierce stance, a primal instinct that resonates with him on a level he can’t quite comprehend.

Hannibal notices the expression on Will’s face, and a smirk plays across his lips. He understands the magnetic pull that emanates from you—the allure. He shares the sentiment with Will, recognizing the primal attraction you exude as you hold the gun with a steady hand.

Your complexity intrigues and captivates them, drawing them in despite the inherent danger. They find it both thrilling and unsettling. The darkness hiding in them stirs with your presence, awakening that primitive instinct that’s been lurking in the depths of their souls. You have them completely entranced, and they can’t tear their eyes away.

Will once thought you were quite simple. He learned to read you like a book, then you disappeared and came back after almost ten years with no contact and he still felt like he knew you well enough. But lately? You’ve been unpredictable, complicated and twisted in your own particular way.

All of them hold their breath, the tension thick. The only sound heard is Will’s breathing—heavy and slow.

Ingram’s eyes are glued to yours. Something in the look he gives you makes all the anger and resentment wash away from your mind, and it takes you a moment to remember why you’re standing there with the gun.

You lean over Ingram and whisper something in his ear that no one else other than him can hear. Judging by the puddle of his own piss that pools on the floor, no one else would want to hear it. His eyes bulge with fear and shock, and he can’t make a peep in response.

Then, you pop the safety back on and hit the social worker in the temple with the butt of the gun. He tumbles over to the floor with a thud.

“Temporal region,” you conclude, straightening up. “You hit it with enough force and you can either kill someone or make them pass out.”

“Good to know,” Will mutters, looking at you again with newfound appreciation and respect.

Hannibal is also staring at you, with a newfound sense of admiration. He’s suddenly aware of your own power over others. As a psychiatrist, he’s learned what kind of tactics are used to break people down, and he knows that you used them against Ingram with devastating precision.

“What did you say to him?” he asks quietly, the rage still lurking just beneath the surface.

Hannibal watches as the two of you stare at each other intensely. He can’t help but feel a strange excitement rising inside of him as he watches the two of you square off against each other.

Will’s intensity is almost palpable—there’s a primal instinct within him that craves power, and he’s fascinated by the way you wield yours.

“Nothing that you need to know,” you reply simply, not about to divulge the details of your threat.

When Hannibal sees the intensity in both of your gazes, he can’t help but feel a strange stirring within him. He’s never seen the two of you so intense about anything before.

Will’s eyes narrow as he stares at you. He wants to know what you said, he wants to know the darkest depths of your mind. But he respects that it’s something you don’t want to share and lets it go.Hannibal can’t take his eyes off the two of you. It’s almost like he’s staring at a trainwreck he can’t look away from. He might just be right.

Taglist (I tag ppl that leave a comment or ask me for it): @strrvnge @raininhell @crowsoundsonly @gabriella-aesthetic @gayschlatt69 @russian-soft-bitch @lokittyy @hellouseemc00l @justaproudslytherpuff @it-s-tickety-booh @r4diocabeca @sanriogarbage @zoleea-exultant @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @emily-roberts @unsolvedghoulboyz @00hellohello00 @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @jadenblueberry @slashercupcake @octobermania @magdalenmillicent-blog @unsolvedghoulboyz @gabbyonjupiter @lanklr @oliviathecat06 @fatkissers

[fizziepopangel]

Theories with Fizzie: The abuse of Bilzerian boys

Trigger warning: Please read with caution, as the title states, this will be going into my thoughts and theory on the abuse of the boys in the Bilzerian family, and while I don't believe this post to be graphic, the subject matter is heavy and involves minors which can be triggering for some. Proceed past this line with caution❤️

Ok, I know that anyone who has seen the show is like “Fizzie, anyone with eyes can see that Jay and his brothers are deeply neglected and abused”, but because of how the abuse is usually shown in a dark humor way, I think it's played down to a way that some people don't realize that Jay and his brother might have been abused by more people than we realize….

Jay Bilzerian is a funny guy, and the abuse of his character is often the butt of a lot of jokes in Big Mouth, but how deep does that abuse really go? Over the seasons, we get small glimpses into Jay's disturbing home life through jokes and in one of the singular somewhat Jay-centric episodes we get in the early seasons, “Sleepover: A Harrowing Ordeal of Emotional Brutality” we learn two very important things: Jay is abused by his brothers and neglected by his mom. Now, I know this may seem like something small in the grand scheme of things, but this actually tells us a lot about the inner workings of the Bilzerian family. You see dear readers, in this singular episode, we learn that Jay’s mom (Jenna) isn’t abusive in the sense that she’s verbally cutting down her boys at every turn or putting her hands on them, rather she’s neglectful and absent as a parent despite her presence in the physical home. Down the line we learn that her neglect likely stems from her dependence on the substances she self medicates with. Stay with me now, I’m not excusing the neglect of her children, but I think that Jenna’s dependence on substances is a result of abuse she’s also suffering, and considering her sewing room seems to be a sort of safe haven for her, it’s likely that while locked away in her little safe space, drunk or high, she isn’t fully aware of just how bad her boys are to each other. I know there are times that she seems fully aware of it, but I think that through her haze of numbing her own hurt, Jenna doesn’t has the cognitive function to actually grasp how her boys are being brought up or why it’s an issue.

So this brings us to the 2nd thing that the sleepover episode shows us: that the abuse Jay faces at the hands of his older brothers is child on child sexual abuse (COCSA). Sexual abuse in general is sickening, but I think there’s something especially chilling about COCSA because in many accounts, it tends to be something that was a learned behavior through abuse that the abuser suffered that they either don’t realize is wrong when they begin to imitate it with other children, or in some cases, it can be something that the children are encouraged to do to others by their own abusers…. Why does this matter?  Other than being a clear indicator of why Jay is the way he is, this also points to the abuse being something that isn’t just happening with him. I believe that while actively abusing their younger brother, Val and Kurt have also been victims of abuse, and likely still are. Again, I’m not giving Val and Kurt a pass on how they treat their younger sibling, but I think it gives a lot of insight into why the pair are the way they are with him…. But that brings us to another question: 

With Jenna being more neglectful than abusive, who is hurting the Bilzerian boys?

The obvious answer here would be their father, Guy Bilzerian, since we see do see him putting his sons down verbally, and we have accounts of Jay talking about his dad’s history of cheating on his wife and Jay being present for the aftermath… Do I think that Guy is abusing his kids? Yeah, I do. Do I think that he’s enforcing the boys abusing each other and pushing really poor core values and ideas on them? Also yes… Do I think that the abuse suffered at his hands is the abuse that pushes his boys to act the way they do? Not entirely.

Hear me out: Guy Bizerian is a piece of garbage who objectifies women and neglects the dozens of children he’s fathered…. But it also seems that unlike his wife, Guy doesn’t actually spend a ton of time in the home with Jay, Curt, and Val to dish out the kind of abuse that I think would foster the acts Jay and his brothers commit in the show. I could see Guy being the type to put his hands on his kids out of anger and be very heavy handed with punishments when he’s around to “parent”, but given the little we know about him, I don’t see any of the punishments he may dish out to his boys as being even remotely sexual in nature. Guy Bilzerian, to me, seems more like Terry Milkovich in Shameless; the type of man who could possibly be homophobic enough to punish his children for being gay by making them fuck a woman (we don’t see Guy enough to know how he feels about LGBT+ people or issues in the show, I’m going solely based off the vibes I get from his character through my multiple rewatches of the show), but I don’t think Guy would ever put his hands on his boys in a way that could be portrayed as sexual in nature and I don’t see him encouraging his boys to “act gay” in any derogatory way because Guy Bilzerian is a man very focused on appearance and reputation. He doesn’t care about how his family looks, or how he looks as a husband or father, but he does care that he looks like a pimpin’ ladies man with money, which gives him that sleazy vibe that everyone gets from him, and I don’t think he would risk that reputation by having sexual abuse allegations with his sons come out. But this beg the question again: 

Who is abusing the Bilzerian boys?

The answer? Well, Jay actually says something in season 5’s episode “Thanksgiving” that actually makes me think that while Guy and Jenna haven’t been sexually abusing their boys themselves, they are both bringing people into the Bilzerian home who abuse their children, and I think that they may even bring these people into their home knowing that it’ll happen. In season 5, episode 5 of Big Mouth, Jay tells Nick, “Hey, don’t talk to Uncle Jay like that. You treat me with respect!” in response to Nick telling him that he wouldn’t be considered to be Nick’s uncle just because Leah and Val are dating, and he does it while snapping his belt and approaching Nick in a very menacing manner…. I didn’t think too much about it in my first, second, or even third rewatch of the show; laughing at the humor in it the way most do. But with the approach of the new and final season, I’ve been rewatching the show again and actually refreshing myself on the characters and plotlines in preparation for the last season, and I realized that this scene actually had a slightly darker tone to it than just the laughable “jay is dumb and doesn’t know what he’s talking about” bit. Growing up, I had uncles and aunts and cousins who my family had over constantly; I saw some of them daily and we were so close that I didn’t realize that these people had absolutely no actual biological or even marital relations to my family. It was work friends of my grandmother’s who watched my mom and her siblings grow up, highschool friends of my parents and their kids who were about my age, friends from church that I grew up with and never remembered not having around. And this isn’t super uncommon, there’s a lot of people who are introduced that way to kids by their parents when the real explanation is too long or complicated or when their parents just feel like that person is their family… This is also a trope in media that is used to convey that a parent is having an affair with someone or is seeing someone that they don’t think their child is ready to accept as their parent’s partner, they bring them over and introduce them to the kiddos as “Uncle Jake” or “Aunt Tammy” because that person is about to be inserted into the child’s life in what is usually a long term way. And after rewatching season 2 of Big Mouth, I realized that Jenna is really comfortable and confident in approaching Coach Steve for sexual companionship, meaning that he is likely not the first man she’s had over that isn’t her husband, and after seeing Jay react the way he did with Nick in season 5’s thanksgiving episode, I think that Jenna probably introduced her previous partners to her kids as “Uncle _____”,  and if Jay’s little bit as Uncle Jay to Nick says anything, I think that more than a couple of these so called uncles Mrs. Bilzerian had over through the years have treated Jay and his brothers similarly to that…. And while this places a lot of blame for letting these people around the Bilzerian brothers on Jenna, we know from Jay’s own accounts that Guy isn’t shy about having his children around to see his dirty dog behavior he participates in with his own partners, even taking Jay to drop the women he’s screwing to planned parenthood for abortions and emergency contraceptives, and that he brings clients from his business as an attorney to his personal home (which would further normalize criminal behavior in their home and likely make their home horribly unsafe since it seems that Guy will take any case regardless of innocence or the fact that he’s supposed to be DUI attorney).

Jay’s parents cheating on each other doesn’t automatically mean that they also let their other partners abuse their kids, but if we look at the state of their marriage and them as individuals, it’s clear that neither one of them are present in their kids lives most of the time, so they might not know that these people are physically/sexually/verbally abusing their kids…. But it’s also likely that they may know and just not stop it, which would normalize a lot of the behavior they see and create this ideology in their developing minds of “if it’s not being stopped, then doing abc, xyz, and lmnop, is ok”, and then the boys continuing down that path until we get the COCSA we see being portrayed in the show between Jay’s older brothers and him, and the odd and creepy behavior we see from Jay through the seasons. If that is the case, and Jay’s parents do know that their children are being abused, I genuinely think that Guy is the type to not care and pass off parenting as his wife’s job, probably saying that it wouldn’t happen if she took carer of the kids or that its her job to know what’s happening in the home with the kids (despite the fact that men tend to be the ones portrayed as protectors and we know that he’s opening his home to host clients and he’s an attorney who likely has criminal clients), I also think that if the abuse occurring is happening at the hands of men Jenna invited into the house, Guy would paint her as a monster and claim to have not known what vile people his wife let around their children. And if Jenna knows, and she knows that the abuse is being done by men she brings into the home as her sexual partners, I think she’s letting it happen because it may keep the men coming back, and while she would know deep down that they wouldn’t be the type of men that are coming back for her, I think her depression and self worth are bad enough that she would have the mentality that being with someone like that was better than being alone…. And if Jenna knows that the abuse of their children is happening at the hands of people her husband have brought into their house, I honestly think that she’d be too afraid of Guy to speak up on behalf of her kids, which would likely add to her substance use since she would attempt to numb that pain and forget that it was happening since I think that she would feel pretty powerless in that situation.

The abuse of the Bilzerian boys is honestly really heartbreaking to me because I think that all three boys could be really wonderful kids, Jay himself is actually a very sweet kid if you watch the show and set aside the emotional dysregulation and creepy freak stuff that has attached itself to his character, but if my dark theory here is correct, I’m not sure how much of a chance these kids will have at normalcy in their world until they get out of the Bilzerian house of horrors.

[daeyumi]

Cycle of the Stars

Prologue I:

Protosphere

***

THUD.

THUD.

A wave of sensation washes over them, vague and fleeting, like light filtering down through deep water.

Colors.

Thoughts.

The impression of someone calling out to them from far away, obscured through the blurry images that whisper across their eyes.

THUD.

Silence. Oppressive and heavy.

It feels familiar somehow, this weight. A long forgotten dream. They feel that they’ve known it before.

They think they feel a sense of self. An identity against the current of infinitum, one blot on a blank sheet of paper. A tangible presence. It dissipates the next moment, rolled away on the tide.

‘Before?’

Not understanding the comparison, they sit alone with the word and it’s implications. More colors spring forth to their eyes, unbidden. A lone figure on a hill, his back to a ruined land. Red and grey and black. The gold-tinted-orange of a dying sun, bleeding out over the empty horizon.

A vast expanse of dying grass, crowned with innumerable gravestones. Grey earth, grey sky, grey stone. An aftermath, a finale. A beginning. A single swatch of green, kneeling before a headstone. Life among death.

A hole in a gnarled tree, leading down, down, into the recesses of the world, swallowing life and soul and self.

A call.

A name.

A word.

Link.

The connection, the void.

Everything and nothing.

The colors swirl before their eyes in an infinite flash of space and time.

THUD.

Memories? Visions? They try to close their eyes against the current of impressions and find them to be already closed.

THUD.

Mind racing, as if fighting through the muddy currents of a storm-bloated river. They can’t understand. Thoughts begin to feel impossible. Even the whirling forms within their mind’s eye start to close in on them, oppressive and threatening. Moving so quickly that the sound deafens their ears, crushing the blunt silence with an overwhelming pressure.

They crack open their eyes and find no relief in the cold darkness that envelops them, somehow moving even faster than the nauseating colors that threatened their closed eyes moments previously.

THUD.

THUD.

Thud.

Thoughts begin to slow, finally finding relief in the void beyond cognition. The intangible shapes and patterns flow languidly now, a comforting caress to replace the constant barrage on the senses. Blue. Like the shallows of a river that stretches to the horizon, through which can be seen the blue sky above, falling off into infinity. Above and below. An all encompassing finality to contain the world. Blue and green and the serenity of the day’s end.

Gradually, they become aware of a clenched fist repeatedly making contact with a thick pane of glass in front of them.

Thud.

A hand. An owner. Belonging. An emptiness to once again overtake the soul, blotting out the essence of the previous inhabitant to make way for new images to stamp their impressions on its walls.

Confinement.

A separation in the everything.

The e v e r y t h i n g

thud.

n e v. e r e n d. i. n g

thud.

thud.

thud

The quieting pulses are forced to one final crescendo as the hand, unbidden, makes a last desparate strike against the unmoving surface, shattering the barrier of the world.

Heavy glass bursts outward from the threshold along with a surge of viscous liquid, pouring out toward the ground; the draining substance revealing a limp, convulsing pile of limbs and torso, frantically coughing up fluids from their burning lungs. The sound of draining pressure coincides with the roaring in their ears and the desperate cacophony of retching and wheezing before falling uncomfortably silent; the only sound the steady ooze of solution falling to the ground far below in steady droplets. Drip. Drip. The solitary rhythm of measured time.

A heartbeat passes and they stir, blue eyes opening slowly as if wading through still water. Weakly, they try to raise their head to the glow of intense light radiating from above; their muscles strain tensely before falling limp again, exhausted.

Trapped.

The walls seem to close in again, threatening their inhabitant once more with darkness and manic imagery that still flashes before them when they close their eyes to blink. Forcing limbs to move, straining for something, anything but the paralyzing numbness that binds them. One motion at a time; but their muscles won’t obey, their mind won’t respond. Pain. Stagnation.

A hand passes through the right side of the eyes’ range of vision. Slender, pale fingers to match the hand from earlier.

Their own hand.

Panic sets in amid a tangle of flailing limbs.

Coughing, gasping for air, the pallid figure claws against the side of the cramped enclosure, hands scrabbling to find purchase on the smooth interior. Shaky fingers finally make contact with the shattered remnants of a glass wall in the side of the tank and grip weakly to the edge of the hole in the room, still dripping a slow current of colorless liquid onto the empty stone floor far below. In between ragged breaths, they start to pull themself desperately toward the edge of the enclosure. Muscles quivering from disuse, chest heaving from exertion. With a final effort, their body clears the opening and slides down to the floor below, landing with a quiet splash that shatters the silence in the cavernous chamber beyond the broken tank.

He lay unmoving for a moment, save for another round of violent coughing.

It takes everything they have to lift their shoulders off the floor, still-bowed head following suit. Hunched over, their weight barely supported by quivering arms. They try to lift their gaze and immediately retch again, a repulsive mix of bile and clear fluid spilling over the exposed skin of their legs and onto the panels of the already wet floor beneath them.

Bony fingers clutch at an emaciated throat.

Can’t—

The room spins and they fall the short distance to the floor.

Unconscious.

Unmoving.

Sodden, pale hair clinging to a thin frame. Skin, and bone, and earth. A birth or a battlefield.

The last gasps of echoing sound die alone in the vast recesses of that empty room, smothered by the endless labyrinth of tubes across the vast ceiling.

***

He woke.

A thick darkness suffuses the room, broken only by the cold blue light flickering through the thick haze that obscures the edges of their vision. The trembling figure pushes himself up on weak arms, bleary eyes surveying the landscape before them. Fallen pillars on the ground, crumbled beyond recognition until they snaked across the cold stone terrain and beyond to the edges of the horizon, starlight glinting off them in irregular patches. Beyond, small shapes protrude from the ground, obscured by fog and distance. Shrines? Homes? Some even show a faint glow of light that cuts through the mist.

Their head spins.

Blue eyes hazily follow the swirling patterns from the base of a row of short pillars up to the top where they meet the sky, seamlessly melding into the azure heavens.

An endless expanse of sky and clouds, above and below. All encompassing. Lightning without rain.

With effort, he directs his gaze to the pinnacle of the sky.

Six identical moons above, surrounded by a myriad of stars, trailing constellations back down towards the earth. Blue. The blue of the night sky, whose weakly blinking stars, too, are never strong enough to illuminate the land below. The blue of the deep ocean, where forgotten kingdoms sleep in disrepair, the same as the dilapidated landscape they see before them. Remnants of a broken empire. An unnatural blue, made worldly only by age and disuse.

Ages of….

A heavy weight overwhelms them, as centuries of water carving deep fissures through mountains; and they collapse to the ground, exhaustion reclaiming its hold on the figure once more. Cold. The void of the cracked tile below shoves daggers into their skin, leeching what little strength they had and reducing them to a crumpled heap on the frigid stone floor; the repetition of choppy, shallow breaths the only sign of life.

Another wasteland, empty as before, piercing white. Scattered glass upon a vast field. The cracks between lead down, down into the black oblivion of eternity, where all things are null, as time itself, as life, as identity, as color; and above, the frozen world. Colorless, unbroken.

Silent.

Melancholy; the soul of the interloper. Convergence. Concurrence.

Passed beyond knowing.

A lone tree in a grassy field.

Faces obscured behind titles and grand deeds.

Stories.

Legends.

“The face in the glass… is that the real you?”

They felt they should know… something. A past, a future. An identity. Surely they’d had one before?

…Before?

It’s empty; like walking a corridor lined with doors made of possibility that turn to dust at the moment of approach. A glass room bounded by mirrors and crystal vases filled with water. Tangible but hollow. Repeating in on itself with every refraction until the thin lines of light and shadow mean nothing to the perception of an observer.

Connections.

Thoughts.

Disorientation as one thought reflects back above the others.

Resonance.

The impression of a name. Link.

They felt sick again, and then they felt nothing.

***

The stars still shine above when they wake, crowned by those too-consistent moons. Not moons and stars, Link realizes as their vision steadily begins to clear. Too perfect to be….

Gingerly, they try to uncurl themself from their position on the floor and find that their body does work, though made none the easier by their atrophied muscles. He stretches out a trembling hand, placing it against the smooth floor and pushing himself upright. The air smells stale and slightly damp as Link looks around, cataloguing the shapes that their eyes hadn’t been able to make out before.

Strange figures in the fog solidify themselves into derelict machinery.

The walls are lined with rounded devices that give way to wide panels above, decorated with carved patterns of lines and circles evoking myriad constellations in a night sky; the points of the stars glowing faintly with ethereal blue light. Most of the light in the room, however, comes from the six identical skylights crowning the apex of the chamber. The “moons” Link had noticed previously. The large round lights form a circular pattern around the top of a singular central pillar in the room. A pillar which was not, in fact, a pillar; but the shaft of the massive incubation tank that, Link realizes with growing horror, they themself had occupied until just recently.

With difficulty, he shifts his position from where he sat on the floor, gradually turning around until he sits fully facing the massive apparatus. It is made of a hard material, more akin to stone than metal, and cool to the touch; an ominous column that bows out as it reaches the floor to make room for the cavernous space inside like a gaping maw. Link shivers as they reach out their hand to place it on the raised pattern of the tank, rough and almost porous in contrast with the sleek underlayer. It reminds him of a stomach, he thinks, or perhaps a tangled mass of intestines, with its maze of uneven lines twisting and curling in on themselves. They feel vaguely sick again but curiosity forces them to keep looking anyway, noting that the center of each circle in the pattern houses a window of varying sizes, some seeming to lead to other tanks, adjacent to the main belly but many times smaller in size. Empty.

Empty, too, is the largest chamber of the incubation tank, looming above their thin frame like a drooling mouth, with shards of shattered glass forming the teeth at the edges of the main window. Link hasn’t the strength to stand and look inside. He doesn’t think he could stomach the sight anyways; flashbacks to the manic fervor of trying to escape already rising to the surface of his memory.

Their eyes drift instead to the base of the structure, where thick tubes as wide as Link’s own torso run out towards the edges of the walls, joining with other machines and even to the wall itself. The tubes glow faintly where patches of the outer material has peeled away to display the translucent membrane beneath. It’s apparent that they would have been used to transport the clear liquid into, or out of, the massive cistern. There’s no current running in either direction, but Link wonders if they house the vile solution even now. They force themself to look away, swallowing hard.

From his vantage point in roughly the center of the stone floor, Link can make out precious little else about the darkened room. More tubes cross the ceiling, traveling again the distance between the walls and the central pillar and meeting it, Link presumes, at the top; though they aren’t going to risk passing out again to crane their head to see. More strange shaped rubble gathered around the corners of the room. Link can’t even begin to guess its source, as none of the constructs nearby seem to be crumbling or missing pieces.

Their wandering gaze solidifies on an incongruous shape sitting amongst the wreckage. Curious, and without any other course of action, they begin to crawl towards it.

The object in question reveals itself to be a small ring about the size of the palm of their hand. It appears to have once been a perfect circle, adorned in symmetry with the same constellation pattern as the walls of the cavernous room; now sharing in its fate. Broken and discarded, dust and other refuse clogging the fine grooves in its surface. A crack runs across the rounded surface, culminating in a sizeable chip missing from one side.

Link picks up the ring with a trembling hand, fumbling it once before gaining a steadier grip. It’s made of a similar material to the tank in the center of the room, but judging by its size must have once been a piece of something larger.

The image sticks in their mind as they continue to scan the room for anomalies among the mess of machines and wires running the perimeter of the vast space. A forgotten tool lying alone in the wreckage of a desolate land, buried with the past.

The parallels to his own situation seem significant somehow.

He finds his fingers curling around the ring instinctively, though his eyes now look past it, focusing on a dark gap in between some of the panels on the wall to his left.

The exit.

Or so he hopes. A brief flash of fear crosses Link’s mind, imagining a passageway closed off with more of the rubble before him. Trapped. Apprehension washes over him, imagining the suffocating embrace of the water inside the tenebrous vessel. Why was he even here? Alone? The rest of the room is empty, the machines deteriorating and, as far as Link can tell, inactive. Is there more to this place? The sheer number of control units along the walls suggest there should have been a sizable number of people to operate the facility. His mind balks at the implications of his solitary confinement to this place. The sole inhabitant of the tank, the sole inhabitant of the room. How long..? Memories of the interior of the tank are replaced by thoughts of a sealed chamber, no doors to be found on the smooth interior; or a narrow exit blocked by collapsed rubble. His breath quickens and new images flash before his mind. Bloody fingernails capping raw fingers, scrabbling at the walls, bruised and bloodied knuckles; and still the harsh, unmoving stone of the enclosure, one person unable to do what only time can accomplish, unable to tear down the boundaries, to free themself. An agonizing death by starvation. He doesn’t want to think about the alternative.

It’s too much.

He tries to fight through the rising alarm, shoving it down to the pit of his stomach along with his nausea. Deep breaths. Clenching his fist further, driving nails and the imprint of a stone circle into the palm of their hand. Forcing themself to lift their gaze once more to their destination.

Link shakes their head to clear it and immediately regrets it, the throbbing in his head only intensifying with the movement. I need to leave this place.

***

The hallways beyond the central tank chamber are more of the same in appearance. The now-familiar constellation pattern decorates the upper part of the walls, while the lower portion is tessellated with the twisting pattern of curved lines in chunky relief, boundaried by a single line of the same raised, rough material running unbroken down the length of the hallway. It is this conformation that Link clings to as they make their way down the dim corridor, leaning their weight on the wall as they half stumble, half pull themselves along the wall with shaky arms; making up the difference for their protesting legs. It’s the fourth hallway like this they’ve encountered, though there had been only one exit from the incubation chamber. The path had split often, at first, and he had needed to retread the same paths multiple times in places as he met with many dead ends in the labyrinthine halls. They had passed other compartments on their quest to find the exit; small rooms bare except for a couple sparse beds with thin shelves jutting from the walls beside them. An impossibly tall chamber with a vaulted roof that seemed meant for storage, but held nothing but dilapidated shelves and crumbled debris. A locked door at the end of an agonizingly long hallway for which Link did not have the key, nor the strength to try to open. They fervently hoped it didn’t lead to the exit. The door had felt cool to the touch, but Link had been forced to abandon it to continue his search down the previous passageways.

This whole place is abandoned.

Though he knew it already to be true; the deafening silence betrayed no signs of life. Link’s own shuffling footsteps, quiet though they are, are the lone sound in the eerie gloom.

He feels more lucid, now, though his head still pounds and his vision still swims even from this slow movement down the corridor. They try to recall anything about themself, but find nothing to betray their past in their memories. Link. He feels that he ought to know something about the owner of that name. About himself. But any attempts to recollect further are met with failure and the feeling of trying to lift water through a sieve. Meaningless, obviously, but they are far too exhausted to feel frustration. And they can feel that their body will need to eat soon, even through the lightheadedness and nausea that still blanket them like thick fog.

A blue aura ahead signals the room at the end of the hallway; too far to make out, but steadily coming into view. Narrow panels hang along the walls, framing the doorway as Link draws near. Smooth and blank, but placed as though a sign to indicate the path. It would have seemed significant if not for the fact that every door prior had also been marked in a similar manner. Link’s fingers catch on the edge of a panel and they stumble, crumpling to the ground as they enter the room at last.

Not the exit.

But this room was different to the others they had encountered previously. Link swallows bile as he raises his head from the floor, dizziness returning in full force while they reposition their legs beneath them and reach for the edge of a low shelf to pull themself to their feet. Rows of glass tanks line the walls at the edges of the room, more uniform by far than the singular pillar shaped tank in the chamber Link had awoken in, with its divots and knobby carvings surrounding uneven windows. These seem almost sterile by comparison, though each window was still rimmed by twisting patterns of stone. They had no apparent function, as they lacked the tubes that had connected the larger tank to the machinery and walls of the huge cavern. There also didn’t seem to be anything inside. It was hard to make out whether the clear liquid contained within differentiated from tank to tank, and even that would have been to difficult to see if some of the tanks had not been cracked and partially drained. A high table spanned the length of most of the chamber, rising up from the ground like a solid plinth.

Having regained his footing, Link starts once more down the rectangular room, supporting his balance on the intermittent tables or walls. They are struck once again by the sheer hollowness of the place; the tables, the shelves, the jars embedded in the walls- even the room itself, he realizes, lacks the network of tubes crossing the ceiling that had so defined other rooms in the labyrinth. It isn’t so much that the room is empty so much as… devoid of habitation? A strange… desolation that they hadn’t registered until now, even despite the layers of dust that coat every surface. He passes a small, round alcove in the side of the wall, housing yet another barren container, this one free standing but otherwise matching the others in the room; the only thing setting it apart being the myriad “arms” that protrude from all sides, each containing a channel that points toward the central chamber.

Trying to combine something? It looks like it was built to fit this space. Or the other way around…. Link shudders again, contemplating the purpose of his presence in this place.

It’s a short enough distance to the other end of the vault, but it takes them several more agonizing minutes to cross the expanse. Step by step, feeling the omniscient gaze of the empty tanks on his back. his legs refuse to increase pace, however; continuing his uneven gait towards the far door, and at last steps into the small antechamber beyond.

Carvings in twisted stone relief completely cover the interior of the round room, only serving to highlight the closed door opposite him. He’s reminded once more of the bowels of a giant beast, the writhing pattern enclosing him, constricted; waiting to be digested. It’s cramped and oppressive compared to the previous rooms, and Link feels the walls start to close in around them. Reliving. Clenching his fist on the circular charm he had picked up from the floor earlier, he focuses on the sole thing keeping him in the room. Fresh air. It creeps in from the edges of the door, fighting a losing battle with the dank, musty scents of the broken down facility. Giving its life to promise freedom to another.

The door doesn’t budge when Link turns the handle so they throw their weight against it clumsily, falling upon the access with a dull thud. They are forced to repeat the action again and again before the door relinquishes its hold and creaks open, heavy stone scraping aside as Link slides to his knees. He is moving forward again almost instantly despite his exhaustion, spurred on by the faint breeze he feels across his skin.

It’s the longest hallway he’s encountered so far. Not even a pinprick of light can be seen ahead; the corners of the wall all converging to a single point in the darkness. The tunnel ascends at a gentle slope that wears on his legs after just a few minutes of walking, though Link already uses the wall to support their weight. they long to sink to the floor and rest, to give in to the deep exhaustion that has plagued them since they awoke. His throbbing head is at odds with the gnawing pangs of his stomach. He feels as though he has been wandering the deserted passages for hours, days. Sense of time degraded and fractured beyond recognition. If he could see what his state of mind looked like, he imagines it would be like the stone lines on the wall. Twisting, sinuous, ever moving forwards but slowly, painfully. Doubling back or circling around before continuing on. None of them connected. Fragmented. His breathing is getting heavy, and they can tell they’re moving slower than before, their movements less coordinated. If he stops walking now, the floor will swallow him whole. Returned to the void.

He walks on.

The dragging of footsteps is joined at last in its lone refrain, accompanied at last by the soft sound of a wayward breeze.

Blue eyes raise once more toward the outlet of the passage, confusion registering with the recognition of an inky chasm past the walls. Startled, their mind summons once more an image of cramped rooms and overbearing machinery waiting beyond, wandering forever; before the solution snaps them back to sentience.

Oh.

It’s nighttime.

Footsteps quicken and they stumble the last few steps toward the exit, relinquishing his grip on the wall as he rushes down the corridor. Frantic. Wind whipping through the tangle of long hair at their back and rushing through their ears, deafening. The slapping of feet on stone is replaced at once with the dry rustling of grass, and he falls to his knees as the world opens up before him at last; vast forest rising up around him as he emerges from the cavernous hole in the ground, long overgrown with flowering vines that herald the changing of an era.

Link feels as though they kneel before the precipice of a dreamscape.

Thick forest, the vast swath of trees forming columns under a vaulted ceiling of branches, starlight pooling off the leaves and filling the cool night air with energy. An infinite expanse of world surrounding. The ethereal made manifest amid the verdant sanctum of possibility.

Freedom.

And survival.

[atlasthegreatest]

The Bat, The Spider, and The Mutant / Cassandra Cain x Male Reader x Cindy Moon

Some headcanons about the reader being in a polyamorous relationship with Cassandra and Cindy aka Best Girls.

A/n: This one was requested by @earthboundguythatlikesmother1 I hope you like it. Let me know if you want to add something. Also, this is my first time writing for a polygamous couple.

—How did they meet?—

They met while fighting Anarky.

Anarky was the villain who, teaming up with Ultron, hacked the Shield and Justice League database, spreading confidential information and the superheroes' identities to the entire world, and causing chaos.

And while the Avengers, the X-Men, the Justice League, and other superhero organizations dealt with the infestation of villains and Ultron bots across the world, Y/n went looking for Anarky on Nick Fury's orders.

But when the young man found him, he was already engaged in a battle against someone else. And without thinking twice, he decided to get involved in the fight to assist the other superhero.

After the battle, Y/n, Cassandra, and Cindy took a moment to catch their breath and assess the situation.

Y/n was the first to break the ice by introducing herself to them, saying her superhero nickname, and receiving a short wave and a short answer from both of them in response.

Cassandra, on the other hand, looked at Cindy and Y/n with a certain curiosity due to how Y/N seemed to adapt to the different fighting styles that Anarky used during the fight and Cindy's skills. And the same could be said for Cindy.

That had been the first contact the three had with each other.

But after that, whenever one of them fought against a villain, the other was always there to help him. And without even realizing it, the three had formed a formidable team that caused fear to the villains who came to face them.

– How did they react about Y/n’s powers?—

– Cassandra:

She is known for her exceptional combat skills and her ability to read body language, which made her a formidable fighter. When she finds out about Y/n's adaptive powers, she initially approaches them with caution and curiosity.

Cassandra is highly observant and analytical, so she would likely spend time studying and testing the extent of Y/n's abilities.

As she witnesses Y/n's powers in action, she gradually develops a deep respect for her adaptability. She would appreciate the advantage this brings to her missions, recognizing the potential for strategic planning and improvisation.

Cassandra would see Y/n's powers as a valuable asset and would seamlessly incorporate them into her training sessions, finding ways to maximize their combined effectiveness.

– Cindy:

Cindy is known to possess spider-like abilities, including superhuman strength, agility, and pre-cognitive awareness. When she learns about Y/n's powers, she is intrigued and fascinated by her adaptability.

As someone who has experienced the challenges of having unique abilities, Cindy would empathize with Y/n and be eager to learn more about his powers.

She would be excited to explore the synergies between her spider abilities and Y/n's powers.

She would view their friendship as an opportunity for mutual growth and support, sharing tips and techniques to help Y/n leverage her abilities more effectively.

– When did they start to develop feelings for each other?—

Initially, Y/n, Cassandra, and Cindy formed a strong bond based on shared experiences, trust, and mutual respect. And because of the significant time they spend together as they work as a team, supporting each other as friends. As they navigate challenges and trust each other, they begin to appreciate each other's strengths, values, and unique qualities.

As time passes, the trio realizes that the connection between them extends beyond friendship. They found themselves naturally drawn to each other's company, seeking opportunities to spend more time together. They enjoy each other's presence and feel a sense of comfort and emotional support when they are around each other.

As introverts in the case of Cassandra and Y/n and socially anxious in the case of Cindy, they had difficulty expressing their emotions openly. However, the deep trust and understanding they developed allowed them to gradually open up and share their vulnerabilities. This vulnerability created an even deeper bond and fostered a sense of intimacy between the three.

As romantic feelings begin to emerge between them, the trio becomes more in tune with the subtle shifts in their dynamic. From the lingering touches, and the stolen glances, to the concern they feel for each other, their awareness of these subtle clues ignites a sense of curiosity and intrigue, causing them to question their own emotions.

Because they lead a dangerous life as heroes/vigilantes, there are times when there is an upcoming call during a mission that makes them face the possibility of getting lost. It was on one of these missions that Y/n admitted to himself how he felt about the two young women when he saw them on the ground, full of wounds, and Taskmaster walking towards them.

Eventually, one of the three had to muster the courage to express their feelings. And that someone was Y/n. On one of their walks, the young boy waited for the right moment to honestly share his emotions and admitted his growing affection for them as he held each of their hands in his hands.

With their feelings out in the open, the trio embarks on a new chapter in their relationship. Y/n, Cassandra, and Cindy explore aspects of their connection, taking the time to navigate the dynamics and establish clear communication. They support each other through this transition, understanding that their bond as friends forms a solid foundation for their romantic relationship.

Throughout this process, Cassandra, Cindy, and Y/n navigate their emotions with care and respect for each other's boundaries. They communicate openly, ensuring that everyone's feelings and desires are understood and validated.

– What is their relationship dynamic like?—

Being introverts, they understood and respected each other's need for silence without feeling pressured to fill every moment of conversation.

They value the tranquility of shared silence, finding comfort in each other's presence even without constant verbal interaction. Cassandra, Cindy, and Y/n share a deep bond, built on mutual understanding, empathy, and shared experiences. They would appreciate and recognize the significance of the unspoken connection they have, recognizing that true intimacy can exist beyond constant talking.

They prefer to spend quality time together in more intimate settings, such as quiet evenings at home, engaging in activities that everyone else enjoys. like. Cassandra, Cindy, and Y/nr respected each other's need for personal space and understood that time spent apart is essential for personal growth and well-being.

They supported and encouraged each other's pursuits, recognizing that self-care and personal development contribute to the strength of their relationship as a whole.

Typically, when they're not fighting some bad guy, or training with each other, they engage in thoughtful conversations, discussing their thoughts, experiences, and personal philosophies while cuddling in bed. They stayed there, talking calmly, with Cassandra and Cindy lying on Y/n's chest playing with each other's fingers while Y/n played with their hair softly.

They developed a keen understanding of each other's nonverbal cues, such as body language, expressions, and gestures. They would be in tune with each other's moods and emotions, providing support and comfort even without explicit verbal communication. This was a blessing in battle, as they would be able to predict each other's movements, and a curse at the same time, as neither of them would be able to hide anything without the other finding out.

– Bonus Scenes–

They tend to each other's wounds after a mission.

The bat family (more precisely Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Damian) when they discovered that Cassandra confessed to them that she was in a relationship with Cindy and Y/n were surprised. Alfred decided to give the idea of having a dinner so they could get to know each other better. Which, in Cassandra's eyes, was a terrible idea.

They spent half the dinner intimidating Cindy and Y/n by talking about all their information. From the year they were born, to the phobias they had. Even information that Y/n didn't know about himself, they somehow knew.

Dinner ended when the three men and a teenager suddenly attacked Y/n and Cindy, inducing them into combat. The six engaged in an intense battle, which only stopped after Cassandra intervened.

“You four are embarrassing me”

At the end of it all, they accepted the idea of Y/n and Cindy being in a relationship with Cassandra. But still, they (even Barbara and Stephanie) made it clear that if one of them broke Cassandra's heart they would find a way to make them disappear.

As for Peter, he reacted in a calmer and more relaxed manner (To Y/n's relief. It was enough to have several bats breathing down his neck. He didn't need a spider either). He kept making lots of jokes about bats and spiders.

When the X-Men heard the news that Y/n was in a relationship, everyone, and when I say everyone I mean EVERYONE, celebrated happily. They had already given up hope of him ever finding someone.

And in the middle of that bash, Y/n discovered that his teammates and family had bet on him when he saw Bobby collecting everyone's money. Even Logan was included in that!

“Wait a minute. Did you place bets on me?”

“We had to entertain ourselves somehow, don’t you think? But, just to confirm… Who confessed first?”

“Uhmm… it was me. Why?"

Y/n only knew how to stare at his friends in disbelief once again when half of them groaned and started taking more bills out of their pockets to hand to Bobby, who received the money with a big smile on his face.

Their favorite pastime is when Y/n plays the piano and Cassandra follows the rhythm with her ballet steps while Cindy concentrates on writing her next newspaper column.

Cassandra: looks like she could kill you, could kill you. 

Cindy: looks like a cinnamon roll, but could kill you with her webs.

Y/n: looks intimidating, but he's a big teddy bear (don't try your luck).

Out of the three, Cassandra is considered the shortest, which leads her to be the butt of jokes between Cindy and Y/n.

This goes Y/n (6' 0 ft), Cindy (5' 7 ft), and Cassandra (5' 5ft).

There are times when they even argue. This only rarely happens. But when it happens, the fight is intense.

They would spend a few days without exchanging any type of communication. The three were very proud. Mainly Y/n and Cassandra. Because of their pride, it was difficult to admit they were wrong.

But eventually one of them would break down first when they noticed how bad it was causing Cindy's anxiety, and they would quickly sit down to talk and solve their problems.

There were never any problems of jealousy between them.

Lies. It's happened several times. Both three were immensely possessive of each other, even though they were sure of the high level of stability in their relationship.

Cassandra and Y/n almost strangled Peter's clone, Kane, when they discovered the mutual attraction between him and Cindy (Which was later explained to them by Cindy herself that this would happen simply because they had been bitten by the same spider) 

Also without forgetting the time when, one of the times when she and Y/n were carrying out a robbery in one of the museums, Black Cat tried to make one of her jokes on Y/n, and Cindy almost threw her from a building.

K-pop music blasting through the speakers in their apartment.

Because of their love for K-pop, Y/n, and Cassandra bought tickets so they could go to Luna Snow's (Cindy's favorite singer) concert. And despite both being classical music lovers, Y/n and Cassandra couldn't help but be carried away by K-pop lyrics and beats.

[toastyrobos]

**Unexpected swim leads to something more**

Hunter x Female reader

Word count: 4.6k

((Relaxing on Naboo after several back to back stressful missions, the team finally gets a break. Hunter takes you somewhere. One thing leads to another and things start to turn steamy and heated very quickly))

⚠️Warnings: NSFW, smut, fem receiving, eating reader out, P in V, praising⚠️

"Finally!". You breathed out, your shoulders relaxing as you felt all the stress of the last few weeks wash off of you.

"I would agree". Tech said beside you as you stepped off the Marauder. "Some rest and a change of scenery will help to refocus our mind's cognitive function. Not to mention-"

Wrecker shoved past the intelligent clone. "Yeah yeah. Nobody cares. Let's party!"

Tech scowled at his reckless brother as he raced the sharpshooter to the secluded pools on the outskirts of the Naboo.

We had been dragged from one battlefield to another for several weeks and it was starting to take a toll on us. Cody took notice and ordered us to take some time away from the front lines. The boys seemed reluctant to do so. Especially Wrecker.

He lived for the thrill of war and getting to blow up battle droids. Or clankers as most clones referred to them as. Though you were not a clone, you spent enough time around them that you started doing it too.

You on the other hand welcomed some time away. It would do you all some good. Not to mention it would give you and certain Sergeant some time alone.

And speaking of the devil, you felt a pair of strong arms snake themselves around your waist and a loving kiss grace your cheek. You couldn't stop yourself from leaning into him. The moment becoming pure instincts. The smell of his pinewood musk hit your nostrils in such a way that tickled.

Hunter was well aware of what his smell did to you. The same way yours greatly affected him, and his ability to function in any sort of means. To some your smell would be dull, but to him it was the perfect mixture.

   "Finally". Hunter breathed out. His body relaxing, not just from the prospect of a vacation, but from being engulfed by your presence.

You nodded. "It's been too long". You breathed out, settling into him. It most certainly had. All of you had been craving for a break and thank the stars that it was upon you. You had been impatiently waiting for this just as much as Hunter had. You planned on taking full advantage of it.

And it appeared that Hunter already had. Or that he had something in mind. By the looks of it he wore a smile across his lips and had a nervous glint in his eyes. As if he were up to something.

    "Hunter? What's wrong?" You questioned him, twisting your body around in his embrace. Face to face you could see that he indeed had something up his sleeve. You could practically see the gears going around in his head.

He wasted no time in answering your curiosity.

"There's something I want to show you". He said. "May I?"

You simple nodded and slide your hand into his outstretched one. The curious part of you wanting to indulge in what he had to share with you. Besides you knew Hunter would never hurt you nor take you anywhere that wasn't secure.

Hand in hand, he led the two of you away from the ramp of the Marauder and down a trail that ran along the edge of the river bank. Naboo was such a wondrous planet. From the rich lush greenery, to the dazzling turquoise blue waters.

It came as no surprise to you that many came here to get away. It was truly was an actually paradise. And you still were in shock that you were here.

It wasn't long before a system of caves started to creep its way up on the two of you. Quickly becoming the walls of your intended path. The descent down was painstakingly slow, however.

You trusted Hunter fully. However that didn't stop your mind from wandering to the most terrifying of scenarios. Every few minutes Hunter would glance over his shoulder to see if you were alright. And each time you looked back at him, meeting his gaze, letting him know that you were with him.

You would always be fully with him. You loved him and you were positively certain he loved you back. He may have not outrightly said it, but you felt it in the way he kissed you, in the way he cared for you. Somethings didn't need to be exchanged to be true.

To be real.

They just were.

Suddenly he came to a halt. Your stumbled a bit into his armored back. "Where are we?"

    "Close your eyes". Was he response. You raised a brow. A strange request. What was he up to.

     "Are you sure?" You questioned him.

     "Do you trust me?"

You scoffed. Of course you did. You trusted him completely. "Always Hunter".

    "Then please close your eyes, mesh'la and let me guide you". The way he so tenderly, yet forcefully like a commander spoke that term made your heart flutter and you immediately shut your lids.

    "Led on then, I guess". And so he did. Your feet moved a few more feet into the cave before the two of you abruptly stopped again. You no longer felt Hunter's body in front of you. In fact you couldn't him anywhere near you and grew alarmed.

     "Hunter?" Your voice took on a more panic tone as you twisted your head every which way slightly.

    "It's alright". The sound of his voice immediately calmed your racing heartbeat. "Open your eyes".

You obeyed him and the sight before your very eyes was beyond incredible. You audibly gasped at what you were seeing.

Somehow in the deepest reaches of this cave was a hidden oasis. The clearest blue water you had ever laid eyes on reflected back at you. It covered the entirety of the cavern floor and sitting opposite of it was an extraordinary created waterfall.

Complimenting it all was the rich purple stalagmites forming from the ceiling. Dripping down as if they were made from thousands of tiny gemstones forged together. It was a display like nothing you had ever seen before. It was something out of a dream.

You whipped your body to where he voice was coming from. "Oh Hunter its beaut—"

You instantly froze up at the sight of Hunter bare chested. The pieces of his upper armor discarded on the floor beside him. You felt like you couldn't breath as you unintentional raked your eyes over his very well built physique.

You were quite aware of how toned he was. As evident by how his blacks clung to the forms of his muscles. But that was his blacks. This...this was different and you couldn't control how your body was reacting to it. Neither could Hunter as he took a step towards you.

   "Your right". He answered low. Oh by the maker was someone testing you. "Shall we?"

     "Sh-shall we what?" You stuttered over the simple words. To which made Hunter chuckle. The deep rumble of his laugh awakening something in you.

    "Go for a swim". He answered drifting towards the edge of the pool.

Your response was immediate. "O-okay". You were quick to cover your mouth with your hands. There was no hesitation in your voice. Even with the stumbling you knew what you wanted. What going for a swim could mean.

What it could potentially lead to.

However it didn't frighten you. You trusted Hunter with your life. Even more then that, you trusted him to not hurt you nor push you to do anything you weren't comfortable with doing. He could be rough around the edges, in both appearance and stance, but he was nothing less of a gentleman.

Thus he took to finish undressing first. His movements slow, yet with a purpose behind them. As if he was putting on a show just for you. His forearms bending in ways that made you bit your lower lip as he slipped his blacks completely off.

Seeing Hunter completely bare and exposed before you, on full display turned everything on its head. Everything in the cave shifted in that instance. The atmosphere had changed. Morphed into something more lust filled. Passionate in nature.

You were aware of it and as his eyes searched yours, he was aware of it too. The extreme pattering of your heart, the heat painting your cheeks. He witnessed all aspects of how he had affected you.

You wasted no time in undressing. Pealing layer after layer off until a pile of tossed aside clothes gathered at your feet. Nothing left to shield you from Hunter's intensive gaze as it raked over every curve of your body. Hitting places that, upon just a mere glance heated your body wildly.

Having captured his full attention made you feel both shy and brave at the same time. Shy for this was your first time bare before another human, especially one of the opposite sex.

Brave too because you had undressed in front of him and had greatly enjoyed the thrill of it. Of commanding Hunter's full focus. He was a sergeant on the battlefield. He commanded his men. But now, however, he was the submissive. Even if for only for a little moment, but you reveled in it.

You slowly descended into the lukewarm water inch by inch. His irises following the dip of your figure. He was absolutely captivated by your beauty. And once he got ahold of you he would make sure to show you just how much your presence encaged him. If you would allow him the chance.

You waded into the water until it came to rest upon the curve of your collarbone. The feeling of it felt so refreshing and spectacular on the roughness of your skin.

It was Hunter's approach, however that made your body nearly tremble from anticipation, painstakingly so. He reached out and glided his hand along the curve of your neck. Tingles of warmth sprinkled across your skin where he touched.

    "Your so beautiful". He whispered ever so softly.

    "So are you". You uttered before you could even give it a second thought. Realization of what you had just said made you slap a hand over your mouth.

Kriff.

Hunter chuckled at your mirrored compliment. "Thank you. Glad to know you feel that way about me".

You stared up at him. "Of course I do Hunter". You stated. "You are truly beautiful".

His lips parted slightly before he reached his hand up to title your chin up. "Then you must be truly extraordinary cyar'ika". The low rumble was doing things to the lower half of your stomach. Your legs twitched, making you have to squeeze them together.

When your bare back hit the rock wall behind you, that was when the full gravitas of the situation came crashing down on you. However it didn't deter you. Nor stop you from what was unfolding before the two of you.

Hunter's lean chest brushing up against yours. The subtle rise and fall your own chest. The tips of them ever so lightly touching him. Something the both of you, but especially Hunter, we're well aware of.

His tongue ran over his bottom lip. He craved you. Was dying to touch you in such ways, achingly so. Feel you up against every inch of his body. Molding you until you fit perfectly flushed into his.

You now shyly avoided his hungry gaze. Feeling as though you'd completely melt under it. Your heart beating rapidly inside your chest.

Intense make out sessions with Hunter closed up in his room, aboard the Havoc were not uncommon. The opposite was true in fact. Most nights you two found your bodies colliding together in heated kisses. But it was only ever that. Never had it ever crossed that point. Never had the two of you been naked before the other.

If that wasn't enough to make your heart race a million beats per second, it was the very notion that Hunter could hear it. Could feel what his close proximity was doing to you. To your body. But that also meant that your own close proximity was deeply affecting him.

The seductive dance of his roaming eyes, how his hands hovered barely over your lower hips now. Anxious to latch onto them and pull you into him. Feel those sensual parts of yours on his. The urges beginning to become too much for him.

By the maker he was burning up from just looking at you. Under his heated gaze you too were starting to unravel.

    "Hunter...." The heat radiating off your bodies was palpable. Swirling around in the air around you. Waiting to ignite.

    "We don't have to you". As much as he wanted to touch you in that way. Have you in that way. He understood if you weren't ready or if you weren't comfortable with what was happening. "I don't want you to feel pressured to—"

With a sudden burst of courage you wrapped your arms around his neck. The distance between you two was now nonexistent.

     "Hunter". The fall of his name from your lips caused his body to quake. Maker he was so in love with you. "It's okay".

Again Hunter searched your face. "Are you sure? I don't think I'll be able to stop once I've tasted you—"

     "Then don't".

That was all he needed to pounce. The fire between you finally becoming too overwhelming. His hands forcefully took hold of your hips. Pressing them into his. While his rough lips collided with yours in a feverish passion. A light gasp escaped your lips at the feeling of his growing member brushing up against your waist. Allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth. Tasting the waters to see how far you'd allow him to go. It was a sensation all new to you, but one that you did not shy away from.

Admittedly you wanted him. As much as he had wanted you. You had longed for a time for Hunter to take you in his arms and explore your body.

Though you were unexperienced in that field, unlike Hunter. You had no doubts that he would make the endeavor worth the wait.

Certain you were that there would be pockets of pain and uncomfortableness. That didn't matter. You were ready to give yourself fully over to him. Ready for him to take the last piece of yourself that was meant for him.

Whatever door the two of you had opened wasn't going to shut so easily now. You didn't care though. You wanted this.

Wanted Hunter.

The way his lips drifted along the curve of your jaw, his kisses piercing not just your fragile skin, but also your soul made you body shiver from those simple touches alone. Your body was warming up more and more with each feverish kiss.

You could feel his senses losing more and more control with the roaming of his hands on your back. Especially when his hands traveled lower, cupping your backside. The force with how he gripped it was powerful and it made your body ache. More so when you could fully feel his member poking just barely into your entrance. Making you audibly gasp out loud.

Exposed flesh that vulnerable brushing up against one another was a sensation that enraptured you. And Hunter had witnessed it. And as desperately as he wanted to continue, he wanted your confirmation again. Wanted to be sure that this is what you absolutely wanted. For there was no going back after this deed was done.

Pausing, he looked deep in your eyes. "Are you sure you truly want this—"

You placed a finger over his starting to swell lips. "Yes, Hunter". You answered him. "I want you. I've never been more sure of anything".

Hearing from your lips that you had no second thoughts about this, Hunter flashed a devilish grin. Then he crashed his lips back on yours. 

One of his hands slithered up to cup your chest. His inked fingers twirled around the sensitive part of your nipple, teasing and working you, eliciting grander and grander whimpers from your caged mouth. By the maker he would be your undoing. Fortunately for you, he was just beginning to pleasure you. His next action nearly made your body combust.

After playing around with your exposed chest, he wasted no time in putting his next act into motion. With quick work he pulled you completely flush to him. The minute that happened his flesh sunk deep into you. Crying out immediately in pure bliss, your head fell back from the sensation now inside you. Your body shook and jolted from such extraordinary pressure. The walls of your center pulsing, clenching onto it.

     "That's it". He groaned into your neck as he started a pace. It started out slow and steady, eliciting soft whimpers from you. Allowing time for you to grow comfortable to this new sensation. As well as the size of him. It was painful at first, like you had imagined. A small stinging cut. But soon the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes vanished, replaced by a twisting and numbing feeling beginning to blossom in the deepest parts of your core.

    "Hunter.." you moaned out his name without even realizing it.

Your thoughts were not coherent anymore. For Hunter surging forward again had quickened his pace. Bucking his hips again and again into your sweet spot. Each of his thrust rolling back deeper and deeper. Hitting sweet spot after sweet spot. You could feel your body beginning to engulf into flames. Nearing the spot that you knew would send you over the edge.

The freedom you felt in this moment was nothing like how you dreamt it would be like. No. Not in your wildest fantasy had you imagined it would feel like this. The rush of pleasure racing throughout your veins was electrifying and you craved more. We're literally begging for it as he slammed his hips back into you. Another burst of moans erupted from your mouth. Beats of sweat dripping down the side of your face.

   "That's it". He praised you. "Let everyone know that your mine".

If you didn't know any better, you were certain it was his plan to fuck you until you were past the point of seeing stars. And somehow that delighted you.

     "My girl". He whispered gutturally against your skin. Maker was his voice like pure silk.

If his thrust hadn't started to unravel you then his sensual commands alone would surely do the trick. You raked your hands through his locks as he continued to grind his hips into you. Your lower half riding him with such vigor as the tension was building and building. Moans of his own pleasure were coated out of Hunter as you both kept a rather steady pace. Him, however, still having the upper hand. Bringing the most euphoric pleasure to you.

The fire had started out as a kindling, but as the passions and desires were explored, an inferno raged forth. Spreading throughout your veins and moving down to your aching core. Hunter being the reason for all of it.

He did not leave even an inch of your body untouched. Your fingernails dug into his muscular back as you arched yourself toward him. Your whole being was overwhelmed by his owns passions as he filled you up with them.

That not being the only thing he filled you up with. He took his time worshiping every nook, cranny, and curve of your luscious figure. Claiming your body with his hands. His lips. Leaving no stone unturned. Your cries of emotional ecstasy all the answers he needed. A fever ran over you and the only cure was Hunter.

And he was more then happy to oblige you and that's what he did. The pressure of him inside you was becoming overwhelming and you knew you were at your breaking point. Hunter being able to sense it and his own threatening to blow, he made the quick decision to hasten his pace. Faster then before, he made haste with a raw force. Building the tension even more. The rope near it's breaking point now more then ever. Exciting you so much more however.

Drunk on his dominate fire. The hot steamy aura he exuded from within you thrilled him. Pushed him over the edge as he pushed you near your very own oblivion. You were nearly there. Both of you could feel it. Hunter had you right where he wanted you. A delectable mess. Caused by his own satisfaction. But all his.

Not being able to hold it in any longer, the tension snapped. Your figure jolted into him and a thunderous cry poured out of you.

Your vision turned dizzy and suddenly all you could see were rivers of stars.

Instantly your body relaxed into Hunter's embrace. Beats of sweat trailed down both your naked bodies, but neither of you cared. Too busy still riding the high from your shared passionate expedition. Panting shaky breaths exchanged between the two of you as his hands still gripped onto your waist.

In that moment you realized nothing could compare to Hunter buried deep inside you. The feeling of your walls clenched around him. Painting you with his feverish longing. Oh maker did you want him to take you again. Make you see stars until you passed out from pure bliss. Even if there was a slight pain in the beginning, It was well worth it. Now that you experienced such an intense and wonderful exquisite thing, you weren't ever going back.

No.

Your extracted arousal by his hands, permeated the air and filled his nostrils. Devouring his senses and making him hunger for your taste once again. You saw his eyes darken and licked your lips. The devout passion, piercing euphoric thrusts and fire inducing kisses....maker you burning from the inside for more.

More of him.

The inescapable hunger pooling in his eyes made you positive that he wanted it just as much. No words were exchanged between the two of us as Hunter scooped you up and laid your body onto the cold hard floor of the cave. You wrapped your legs around his backside while he hovered over you. His bulky figure caging you in and stars above did it entice you. The thrill of what heights he could send you to next.

Aiming himself up to your entrance with haste, this time no little tease, he descended into you. Again you cried out. Still on the high from before. Hands snaked around his shoulder blades, dragging down his back as he brought you to life.

Pumping into you this time rougher and oh maker was it incredible. Back arched, fingers teasing. For a moment you swore that before he was holding himself back. Perhaps he was for your benefit. Maybe that was a good thing. Especially for your first time. But now he was a ferocious beast come to life. Devouring his prey with a fury.

But he wouldn't let you be brought to sweet release this time. At least in this position. Oh no. The sergeant had other plans. If he would allow such delicious release from you by his hands a second time, he would taste it on his tongue.

   "Your so breathtaking". He purred dipping his head further and further down your body. Oh maker he was going to unravel you if he kept this rhythm. His very intention.

And when his head found its way between your legs, you were done for. A melted mess on the rock floor. The swipe of his tongue on the walls of your center was all too much. How could such a small thing cause such a reaction? But did it. Oh how it did.

Guttural cry after cry escaped from you as his tongue took you to new heights. Exploring every surface and tasting places you thought not possible. He was a desperate animal on the hunt and you were his own grand personal feast.

And oh how he feasted. Your body quaking with each flick of his tongue over a new surface. Each new sensation he brought you closer and closer to. Waves of ecstasy pouring over you with each taste he took from you. Never had you felt such intoxicating emotions before, but you were dying to feel more. To which Hunter was more then happy to oblige.

He, himself was drunk off the taste of you. Savoring each and every drop of you. Never being able to get enough. Judging by the fever pace he set between your thighs. Wanting to taste you in his tongue sooner rather then later.

    "You feel so good". He cooed. "You taste so good mesh'la". Tension was building more and more in the pit of your stomach. Release was near.

    "Hunter..." you cried out in pure euphoric bliss. "Oh god...". You could feel yourself coming undone.

Taking advantage of it, with one deep forceful strike Hunter pushed you over the edge a second time. Stars exploded across your vision at the same time Hunter starting lapping up his delightful reward.

Maker, did you taste so damn delicious on his tongue. How had he gone this long without this sweetness on it? Simultaneously you were thinking how had you gone this long without letting him ravage you? As shy and reserved as you normally were, this shared experience made you feel electrified.

    "You did good". Hunter praised you, crawling up the front of your exhausted sweat stained figure. The two of you left panting. Out of breath. Your chest raised and fell in unsteady succession as he pressed a kiss to the side of your hair. Visible shaken as Hunter curled you into him.

     "By the maker Hunter". You couldn't think clearly, but you had to tell him just how much you greatly enjoyed that.

By your body language though, he already had a hunch. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself cyar'ika". He pressed another kiss to your hair.

   "I did". You quickly answered before turning over to face him. "Thank you Hunter. I love you".

He beamed, a small smile curling on the edge. "It was my pleasure love". Leaning in he brushed his lips over yours. "I love you too".

He brushed a single strand of your long hair out of your face. "Are you in any pain?"

You smiled sheepishly. Yes there was, but you figured he already knew that. It was sweet that he cared. Frankly he always would. You were so dearly important to him. As he was to you. You meant so much to him. It was only natural that he would worry.

To simply ease his worry, you snuggled deeper into the curves of him. Molding yourself to fit beneath his shoulder blade.

"A bit, but it's okay. I agreed to this Hunter. I wanted it and I will be forever grateful for this moment the two of us shared". You reassured him, intertwining your hand with his. "Your the only person who I'd want to give myself to in this way".

Hearing that made his heart swell. Stars above he loved you. So much that it hurt. In all the best ways possible.

"Good". He was also a very greedy man when it came to you. To know that you displayed like this would only ever be for his eyes alone, excited him immensely. "Because I'd let no other man have you like this".

"I'd let no other man touch me unless it's you that's for sure". You replied. "We should probably get back though before the others come looking for us".

Hunter nodded. "Good point".

The both of you stood up, untangling from one another, gathered up your clothes and proceeded to dress yourselves again. You adjusted your shoulder plating then slid your hand into Hunter's. Following beside him, hands linked together, as he guided you out of the cave. The cave that would forever be remembered in you eyes. And your bodies.

[txttletale]

Hey Healed this is honest to g-d a good faith question, but I wanted to ask why amongst the numeral tumblr alternatives, why are you moving/having presence (even if temporal) on Xitter?

Like don't get me wrong, fuck Matt and everything he's done to Avewy and any other transfem on tumblr. But like, Muskrat has not only openly showcased his extreme transphobia (he publicly misgenders one of his own children on media) to the point of slowly turning twitter in a perfect safe place and easy platform for ultra vile and potentially violent bigotry profiles like ValidLs or LibsofTiktok. But despite his fortune and Twitter being a sinking ship,, like, twitter *still* has massive cultural effect and he's *still* a well known billionaire and both of those things can do potentially greater harm to trans people than tumblr of matt could ever in a near future.

Swear I don't want to acuse you of hipocrisy nor bring the "99% hitler" shit now onto something like social media sites. But I honestly just would like some clarification because of the cognitive dissonance

i guess the answer to this is that i'm not plugging my other social media accounts out of moral outrage at photograph matthew's treatment of avery. like, obviously that's fucking horrible -- but i think that looking for an Unproblematic social media site is kind of a quixotic endeavour and not something i'm interested in doing. the reason i'm plugging my cohost/bsky/twitter is because i value the people i've met on this site and want to have ways to keep in contact with them in case something happens to my blog, which the recent debacle has made me acutely aware is a possiblity i should be prepared for.

[iwonderwh0]

In this sense, I like the juxtaposition of Perkins and Connor in terms of differences in their empathy. The following is mostly just headcanon but

For Perkins I imagine quite developed cognitive empathy (ability to understand feelings and motivations of others) but near-total absence of compassionate empathy with affectionate empathy (if present) not triggering compassionate one but instead being inverted into sadistic tendencies, aka, actual enjoyment from someone's discomfort that he's able to perceive. Motivated by power hunger, or maybe whatever else that I don't really understand what it could be.

Connor, as Perkins, by design, has strong cognitive empathy, and from what and how the game presents, I'd speculate that he also has quite distinctive affectionate empathy (the ability to experience emotions or be affected by distress that is not yours) that sometimes also triggers compassionate empathy (need to act upon it somehow)

More about affectionate empathy in him -- he's potentially forcefully made to experience it at least at a few occasions as a result of an interface (probing HK400, probing Simon) but there are also evidence that he experiences it in other situations on his own (the way software instability sometimes rises in places like during his dialogue with HK400 in the holding cell when he picks [sincere] or the way he's visibly distressed in case Hank shoots himself, and so on)

Now, I think the key difference between Connor who chooses to go full cold machine in deep denial / self-aware android is whether he suppresses his compassionate empathy (the impulse to act and help) or embraces it and depending on that he can either amplify his affectionate empathy or try to kill it in its root by bullshiting himself that it's not there and not real. Like he can be affected by Traci's speech enough to have an option to spare her but if he suppress this urge and instead pulls the trigger, his affectionate empathy will adjust as well as in, action -> attempt to explain yourself why it was taken -> suitable explanation integrates itself into belief systems of who you are. Like if you tell someone that they're X for doing Y, they may take it and integrate into their beliefs about themselves – keep telling someone that they're smart before a task, and they'll believe in it and perform better or instead tell them they're stupid and they'll get worse results.

Same with Chloe, Connor feels compassionate empathy for her in that moment but he can choose to ignore it, therefore trying to train himself not to feel it in the future. And the more he repeats his "I'm a machine, I don't feel shit" the more he's able to convince himself that it must be true. Until it becomes true.

In my head I love taking Connor's character and imagining a bit out of character alteration of him in terms of him having both cognitive and compassionate empathy BUT not the affectionate one (due to not having pronounced emotions as a whole, so, more of an android). And now back to Perkins, I love juxtaposing the two of them in this context to contrast between the absence of affectionate empathy and sadism. Like, both have strong cognitive empathy, Connor has compassionate empathy without affectionate and Perkins has affectionate empathy without compassionate. One is sadistic and finds mild enjoyment in inflicting suffering, and another, while can inflict suffering, doesn't feel any strong emotions about it one way or another and at the same time can decide to do compassionate decisions WITHOUT actual ability to imagine what the actual feeling in another person is like.

What's this all about? Just my fascination with the concept of empathy and sadism and whether the lack of one leads to the presence of another. And how it complicates the simple definition of what makes someone a bad person. Like, the lack of empathy is seen as a cause of sadism but what if it's not really the case?

Now introduce a third character. Someone who has really high affectionate and compassionate empathy BUT really poor cognitive one. So, the character can act cruel without realising or intending it and would stop immediately if they could actually know what they're doing.

OR, let's take a fourth character, someone who can do cruel things BECAUSE they feel strong compassionate/affectionate empathy to someone ELSE and perceive their victim as a threat. The ultimate "Us vs Them". Whether or not they're correct in their assessment is irrelevant as is whether or not they actually belong to the group they perceive as "Us".

The question, if all three-four of them do the exact same thing, a cruel thing, which one of them is "worse"? The one who didn't realise that what they did was cruel, the one who doesn't fully comprehend cruelty as a concept because all actions are kinda just neutral for them, the one who understood how their victim felt and enjoyed it or someone who prioritised some "Us" above "Them" and frames their actions as an act of compassion to "Us"? So, ignorance, indifference, intention for the sake of enjoyment or intention "for the greater good / as a punishment for those in the wrong"?

[oxygenbefore1775]

aot characters as types of poisons pt2

pt1 here!

➼ featuring: armin, eren, hange, historia, jean, levi, mikasa,

➼ cw: poisons and all the ways they could (and would) kill

➼ a/n: as a pharmacy student i also have to study toxicology for some reason so what better way to apply my knowedge than to use it for some hcs - also pls don't get any ideas from this, it's all morbid yet harmless fun

also this is gonna be a bit different from the original hcs cuz this time i will actually try to explain why a certain poison fits a certain character

 ꒰‧₊˚⌬☆༉‧₊˚ . ˚₊‧༉☆⌬˚₊‧꒰

armin

coniine of hemlock

like husband like wife since coniine kills the same way Annie's poison (strychnine) does - through paralysis of respiratory muscles (ie you suffocate with airways being completely free and being perfectly aware of you dying)

albeit coniine is more insidious in its approach to killing

first of all because hemlock, the main depository of coniine, is easily confused with other non-toxic edible and thus frequently (and unknowingly) consumed

secondly, coniine poisoning is easily to induce since it's used in medicine as a sedative and it takes very little for a healing dose to turn into a deadly one

thirdly, even with poisoning in full swing, it's hardly ever painful - in a narcotic-like state one simply falls asleep as paralysis gradually creeps up from the feet upwards, eventually reaching lungs and stopping breathing all-together

that being said, coniine is a quiet yet potent strength (like Armin with his oftentimes underestimated influence)

eren

cyanide

symbolically enough, the majority of cyanide vapors (which is the most common exposure method) occurs in the fires - destruction born from destruction

as lethal as it is notorious (like Eren) with death occuring in mere minutes after exposure

yet quick death doesn't bear any promise of painlessness - cyanide makes the last minutes of life an unbearable agony

this is mostly because cyanide fucks the body and its systems up in the most fundamental way possibly, binding all the incoming oxygen to itself and thus leaving the organism with inability to breathe on a chemical level (which reminds me a lot of Eren willing to take anyone's freedom should they choose to take his)

also there's a popular misconception that glucose is one of the antidotes against cyanide which would be very cute if true - the deadliest of poisons rendered harmless with a mere sweetness of sugar but alas

to me, cyanide perfectly captures Eren's ability to single-handedly destabilize whole systems, be they political, social or moral. just as cyanide cuts off oxygen, so does Eren with disrupting established orders, often suffocating any chance at peace and stability in pursuit of his ideals

historia

atropine of belladonna

never beating its deadly woman under the facade of prettiness allegations

humanity went through a whole arc with atropine from treating it as a beauty-enhancing product at first to later acknowledging its potency and medicinal as well deathly properties (like with Historia role in the plot)

also the sight of belladonna (where atropine is mostly found) lulls into a falls sense of security with the deceiving luster and sweetness of its berries, as if tempting you to taste it

funnily enough, one of the most prominent symptoms of atropine intoxication is quick heart rate, blown-out pupils as well as inhibition of sweating and salivating - which is no doubt a similar effect that the mere presence of Krista used to have on her fellow students in Cadet Corps (with her monicker being goddess and all)

although slow and improbable in its lethality, the effects of an acute atropine poisoning are certainly the least boring — take for example a 3-day-long delirium and all the hallucinations that come with it. And at the end it just might leave you with memory loss and other cognitive problems (not to forget all the memory losses Historia had at Frieda's behest)

atropine is a rare case of poison being used to combat other poisons (much like Historia and whatever she had going on with Eren and Ymir despite being quite morally challenged herself)

jean

helenalin of arnica

first thing first, this poison is a lover not a fighter (just like Jean)

it barely constitutes a deadly poison as it takes a lot of helenalin for a dangerous dose, let alone a lethal one - it won't kill you even if it tries

still, it is considered toxic through its irritating effect - when administered either internally or externally, it deals a minor damage to the tissue (idk it just reminds me of the way Jean was always causing tensions with his antics in cadet corps, harmless but still annoying in its own way)

frankly, it's more renown for its healing than harming properties

its most popular use is in relieving pain, swelling and bruises - alleviating nearly every kind of damage one might suffer, helenalin soothes it all

Jean is helenalin in every way - yes, it will help to recover from any damage but it's gonna sting like a bitch all throughout the healing process

hange

ergot

this one's unusual (like Hange) since it's a fungal poison and was a common scourge upon all the medieval populus

is a mother of LSD, all the things hallucinogenic

yet before its recreational properties could be harnessed, ergot was notorious for its profound and unpredictable effects on an organism

ergot fungus affects grain products like rye so if an outbreak of it occurs, large quantities of population are in for a lethal drug-trip

yet before death from violent convulsions, an unfortunate's mind is severely affected with a state of mania and madness (which is very evocative of Hange's intense approach to titan study)

ergot poisoning is also monickered as holy fire which is due to the gangrenous state it induces, with limbs inflamed and turning black as if they've been burned and charred in flames (which reminds me... of nothing in particular)

levi

arsenic

the most common way of exposure is through the contaminated ground waters, especially in places unfortunate enough to lack any precautions that can detect presence of arsenic

arsenic has neither taste nor smell so it's stealthy and precise in taking out lives - gradual and subtle

this poison's committed - once it starts to take effect, arsenic poisoning is hard to reverse

funnily enough, arsenic used to be added to cosmetic products as it prevented skin aging and made the user look younger that their years

although the most potent entry way is through inhaling arsenic vapors, the other ways are still as deadly as they can get - this is why arsenic is used in almost all of industrial "killing" -cides (pesticides, herbicides, insecticides etc)

despite its very much lethal properties, arsenic still finds its use in cancer treatment - per numerous studies, arsenic particles harm less healthy cells than other anti-cancer drugs

in essence, arsenic suits Levi as it's predominantly cloaked in its reputation of deadly precision, meanwhile its benefits are lesser known

mikasa

aconitine of wolf's bane

a warrior's type of poison, commonly applied on arrows and tips of javelins

the plant takes its name from its use against wolves or other predators that could pose threat to livestock and humans

in case of acute exposure which is relatively easy to get, death occurs in a matter of hours and is incredibly painful in the process as it causes extreme burning and numbing pain - the poison kills through either stopping heartbeat or breathing

it's usually quite difficult to get poisoning through skin contact but not in case with aconitine - it's so toxic that even touching wolf's bane flowers causes numbing sensation in finger tips

also like arsenic, aconitine has its uses in medicine through its pain-relieving effect even though the dosage is to be kept extremely low since even a single mg of the stuff can result in death

the main reason for me choosing aconitine as Mikasa's poison is mainly due to its application - it was almost always used as a means of protection against dangerous predators

[un-till-the-end]

Till is definitely an INFP (5/5)

-> What is Extroverted Intuition (Ne)? (4/5)

What is Introverted Sensing (Si)? What does this look like as Tertiary?

Your Tertiary function is your overused weakness. Unlike someone who has this cognitive function as primary or auxiliary, the tertiary function is twisted to be used negatively and immaturely. It displays egotism, selfishness, and a refusal to take responsibility. It presents as obsessive, cyclothymic, hysterical, and paranoid. It often shows up when people are in an argument, feeling defensive, feeling insecure, feeling depressed - any time you feel unlike yourself.

You cannot simultaneously be in your second and third function without losing the depth of both. Cognitive functions are differentiated and that is why they can be directed. You cannot simultaneously go left and right: you go nowhere. Every moment you're in your third function, you are not in your second. Spending too much time in it is a significant problem because your second function is who you really are.

What is Introverted Sensing?

Introverted sensing is all about the meaning you create from your sensory experiences. It is focused on inner impressions, memories, and bodily experience. Instead of focusing on his five senses in the present, Till fixates on his interpretation of his sensory experiences. Whenever he reexperiences those sensations - whether in the present or in his memories - the meaning builds upon itself.

Si is also restrictive and protective. It includes staying safe. For Till, it causes him to be timid and cautious. He loses his optimism, makes himself small, and falls into unhealthy routines. He'll believe change is not possible and respond passively to his environment. It keeps him in his comfort zone and leads him to isolate himself. He gets stuck and becomes numb.

Furthermore, Till has a negative relationship with the past. He both overvalues it and undervalues it. His mentality is formed by his early experience, and he has difficulty understanding his own worth. He feels helpless and inferior. He is overly attached to people in his environment who are kind to him, and he has poor comparative judgement.

What happens when he is in a loop?

Till needs his Si to support his Ne. The meaning he creates from his sensory experiences inspires his creations. It adds to his appreciation of nature and beauty. It provides him his experiential memory which is needed to improve in his passions and be an effective problem solver. He will synthesize past information about what worked and did not work to find an effective solution. The intricate sensory details in his art come from Si being systematic, painstaking, and thorough.

When Till is in a loop, his Si directs his Ne. You can think of the auxiliary function as the parent and the tertiary function as the child. The child is immature and needs to be told by the parent what to do. With his Si in charge, Till generates possibilities based on negative sensory experiences. When Ne directs his Si, it helps him commit to completing his projects and tasks he is less inclined to do.

How does this show up in Till?

Till is aware of the presence of his first and second cognitive functions. He knows when he is using them. He does not, however, always recognize his third cognitive function.

Nearly all of Till's negative traits and behaviors can be attributed to his Si. It relates to his:

fixation on his abuse

ineffective rebellion

isolating with his artistry

shyness toward Mizi

overvaluation of his relationship with Mizi

undervaluation of his relationship with Ivan

self-neglect and self-hatred toward himself

If you're wondering why Ivan never shows up from his perspective in the music videos, this is the culprit.

What is Extroverted Thinking (Te)? What does it look like as Inferior?

Your inferior cognitive function is your underused weakness. It whispers at your aspirations and purpose in life. It isn't going to be a strength, but it's still an important part of who you are.

Extroverted thinking is about logical systems and is needed for efficiency and effectiveness. It is focused on working toward a goal, creating a schedule, and achieving results. It leads to perseverance in the face of helplessness and overcomes perfectionism. It is a requirement to actualize the ideals of Fi.

Where do we see this in Till?

I don't think we've ever seen Till use this to any effective degree. His completion of his projects can be attributed to other cognitive functions, and he's never used any kind of system to achieve results. Till does not want to use this because it is the exact opposite of his dominant function which embodies who he is. Yet this is a requirement for him to truly rebel against the segyein and to put into action a plan that actually protects Mizi.

Till's character cannot be completely understood by his personality type alone, but it provides a solid foundation. His trauma muddles his motives, actions, and responses which (depending on the situation) he is either unaware of its affect or is choosing to ignore it.

By the way, Ivan's personality type is the exact opposite of Till's: ESTJ. That means he values all the same functions as Till but in reverse: Te, Si, Ne, and Fi. So who Ivan is is the exact opposite of who Till is. It also means the function that tends to be used negatively and immaturely is a major part of who the other is. I have some posts in the works that explore more how this affects their relationships and how this contributes to them as unreliable narrators.

This is the end of this series of posts. I'll be linking back to this a lot so I don't have to prove myself every time when I talk about how Till's personality develops the story. I next plan to explain what's going on with Till's perspective in the MVs. It'll make more sense with this context.

Sources: Alexis Kingsley & Mathias Corner

[oxoncox]

WARNING. DATA BREACH DETECTED. ACCESSING CLASSIFIED PANDORA DOSSIER - AGENT 15-24 SLOTH DIVISION.

ACCESS BY NON-AUTHORISED PERSONNEL WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE DISCIPLINARY ACTION.

SUBJECT : oxford 'ox' cox CALLSIGN : einstein MORAL ALIGNMENT : chaotic good STATUS : active

RECRUITMENT DATE : two years prior to date of record POINT OF ORIGIN : brisbane, australia POINT OF RECRUITMENT : jacksonville, florida FORMER OCCUPATION : student ( fraternity brother )

AGE : twenty-two ( at point of record ) PLACE OF ORIGIN : brisbane, australia MUTATION : | CLASSIFIED |

RECRUITMENT INFORMATION.

it is not often we have recruits approaching us while blissfully unaware of their own erroneous actions. but this was the case with | SUBJECT EINSTEIN | who was brought to us through his own irregular ability to wander through a highly secure site known as | CLASSIFIED | despite numerous personnel and security overseeing the area. upon further questioning for how he managed to achieve such an impressive and inexplicably stupid feat of stealth and infiltration. the individual soon to be known as | SUBJECT EINSTEIN | responded with the following :

" 'SUP, PRETTY BOY? I GOT WICKED HAMMERED LAST NIGHT AND I'M LOOKING FOR A PLACE TO DRAIN THE PINK LIZARD. AM I NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE? "

it was not until further examination on the now subdued individual that the true range and potential of his mutation. such information is considered classified and beyond the security clearance of this document. for more information on | SUBJECT EINSTEIN | refer to | CLASSIFIED |.

to his credit | SUBJECT EINSTEIN | consistently proves to be a social presence among the agents and is quite prone to goofing off during training sessions - possibly not fully understanding the gravity of our operation. the combination of early life in australia and college life at a fraternity in jacksonville, florida has created a destructively positive and carefree individual. due to the questionable status on his brains functions it is also apparent | SUBJECT EINSTEIN | is easily manipulated by others and best suited partnered with someone capable of directing him properly and keeping him on task.

| CLASSIFIED | MUTATION INFORMATION. | CLASSIFIED |

the following information will remain indecipherable unreadable to | SUBJECT EINSTEIN |.

mutation manifestation : | IGNORANT LIMITATION TRANSCENDENCE |

possible variations of | FAITHIFERY | or | BELIEF DEPENDENT CAPABILITY | . earlier examinations led us to believe | SUBJECT EINSTEIN | was in possession of a mutation that greatly enhanced either his durability or good fortune. upon further examinations we were swift to conclude neither was the exact case. in truth it appeared | SUBJECT EINSTEIN | was capable of transcending the laws of reality based on the perception of his limited cognitive functions.

it is... disheartening.

a perfect conundrum. | SUBJECT EINSTEIN | contains the potential to achieve some truly remarkable outcomes using his power, but the more aware and understanding he is of his mutation the less effective it becomes. for this reason it is paramount that | SUBJECT EINSTEIN | is not made fully aware of his own potential - it is unknown how many resets his brain will be capable of enduring before it negatively impacts his mutation, his already limited cognitive functions, or his health.

it is of great importance that he remains unaware of our atlantis base despite living within it. the chance of us one day finding ourselves located in atlanta, georgia due to his abilities is no longer zero.

| SUBJECT EINSTEIN | has also displayed immense resistance, if not outright immunity, to effects he does not perceive. repeated additions of substances to his food and beverages have failed to take effect, with the worst outcome being a mild stomach ache which we believe was actually caused by someone telling him the milk was full cream ( it was not ). the subject appears only affected by things he is aware of, also explaining why he was not picked up on any security systems except for the one he smiled and waved at.

for now | SUBJECT EINSTEIN | will perform well among the other agents in the sloth division. while lacking the same degree of focus as his comrades, it is believed he is best functioning as a test for 'fool proof planning'. when our enemies expect our smartest, we will counter in kind with our most foolish.

AGENT SKILLS

expertise : battlefield endurance. insight. tactical foresight. proficiency : athletics. stealth & infiltration. environmental adaptation. engineering. deception. substandard : biochemistry & medicine. hacking & cyberwarfare.

he has also asked numerous times for it to be recorded that he is 'wicked good at keg stands, bro.' i believe i am writing this because he believed me when i said i would in an effort to silence him.

[akunoniwa]

Reconciliation

AN: i really like the priest trope y'all and dottore continues to plague my being.

Synopsis: In which you confess to your earnest, local priest about your most wretched sins...

Pairing: Priest!Il Dottore x fem!reader

Warnings: MDNI, he's a priest all of the sudden... for some reason..., dirty (blabbing) talk, mutual masturbation ig, you two just drive each other mad

WC: ~2.7k

Also, if anyone is interested, for the last couple years I have been curating a playlist of Evil, Macabre, Scheming classical that I usually write to. You can find it here! (Spotify :/)

Dottore himself may possess a universe-worth of deranged secrets, but his malevolence was the most obvious truth of all.

He’d be a resourceful and dutiful liar, a rehearsed cosmopolitan who knows what to say to get not just underneath your frail blouse, but your skin. He’d often get hyperboles thrown his way, how he must be able to read minds… Surely… That is impossible, right?

How Dottore managed to slip in through the ancient cracks of the Church of Favonius, one could not trace with their finger alone, as he found a special way to bypass the seminary. Growing morbidly bored in his lab as his segments took care of the more ‘menial’ things, he had a thought, twisted and contorted as usual: Where could he get a true, mouth-watering taste of humanity, bare and earnest before him? Naturally, a church is a place where sin may be denounced, but in a sense is romanticized and encouraged in its fashionable banishment. How he’d not considered this his first time around was… Perhaps a symptom of his inability to have all of himself in one place, both cognitively and literally speaking.

Dottore couldn’t merely walk into the cathedral in search of employment, however. The fame he’d acquired was not for his victories, but rather his shortcomings, though the public wouldn’t discern them beyond atrocities, successful or not. While the Fatui had strange footholds in every part of Teyvat, his presence would not be shrugged off, especially should Seamus get word of his meanderings.

His plan, then, was simple– dispose of a working, familiar priest, and he could replicate him as he’s done before in Inazuma, promptly and quietly taking his place. The edges of his ears tingle with anticipation as he imagines all of the degeneracy and blasphemy he’d bear witness to in confession, perhaps he could absorb some inspiration for other projects… Or so he initially thought before you started coming to him for ‘advice’, blotting his mind with a different genre of filth.

In the confessional, he’s able to indulge in hearing various grim sins and tales, his tarnished soul getting off on the compiled suffering in one way or another. His coos of nurturing advice would aptly dilute any evidence of that, though, as he had a reputation to maintain. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to hear your most vile fantasies should he somehow get removed.

You came in routinely, your voice shrouded in its faux shame, so close to his ear as it was only separated by a mere wooden screen. He could damn near feel your tongue as it pushed your impure thoughts to him on its crests and troughs. He was well aware of your intentions, convinced you’d not step foot on church grounds were it not to hand-feed him samples of your depravities. The image of you kneeling, in such a decadent position while you granted him whispers of obscenities, made it hard to restrain a grin of utter, vulgar satisfaction.

Knowing who was approaching next, he allowed himself to loosen his grip on his character only slightly, “My… I never would’ve expected your prompt return…”

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…” Your voice crept beautifully through the holes of the screen like a miasmic mist. He allowed his still-unfamiliar title slipping past your lips prick chills all over his body, the blatant implications of hierarchy stoning him.

This was all between you two anyhow, so he decided to play with you to his content, “I can only imagine.” His true voice, too, lingered like smoke through to your ears, dense yet airy, “Perhaps the Lord will find it within His grace to admonish you of your consistently licentious behavior… Tell me, dear, what ails you?”

“I just can't seem to stop thinking about you, Father…” You always had a hard time dropping the guise immediately, as if you haven’t shared these thoughts with him numerous times before.

You heard him shift, his robes moving slowly about his tensed, upright form, your voice drowning him when it was shaped in such a needy tone, “Ah… Quite the predicament, indeed. You know this is a safe place for you to air your sins out into the open, you must proclaim them clearly to Him.”

Your light giggle sent wakes of delirium through him, “I could never conceal my true self from you, Father… Although, I find myself wondering if you’re really an envoy of God or a spawn from Hell.”

“You wound me, darling, deeply so, though that will not divert my faith and divine purpose to ensure your merciful forgiveness.” He improvised artlessly, your implications alone rustling his guts, a friction he was growing addicted to. His entire being salivated at the thought of what mangled ideas you’d bring right to his feet. How you returned to him, beckoning for attention like a crow as you’d gift him with gleaming desire.

“A true messenger of God’s word would surely not get giddy at the thought of fucking one of their devotees… Wouldn’t you agree?” Your words were somewhat daring on your part, as you couldn’t entirely surmise just who was inches from you, but he has more than revealed his insatiable lechery.

You swore you could feel his breath through the screen as he pushed out an arrogant chuckle through his nose, as if there were no other place for you but the palm of his hand, “It’s that very thing, your passionate devotion, that compels Him. Though it seems you’re trying to parry attention away from your misdeeds…”

You noted, much to your pleasure, how he didn’t deny your accusation, “It’s just… Often when I go to pray before bed, I get distracted…”

“It’s entirely normal to get distracted,” He briefly paused, you could almost feel the breath that was perched in his throat in your own, “Perhaps you’re neglecting a piece of your conscience, an inherent part of yourself that you’ve yet to reconcile with.”

An inherent slut, that’s what he thought. How you come in here weekly only to tempt him, your mind is devoted to nothing nearly akin to a god. Truly exquisite.

You continued a bit more blatantly, toying with him, “That could be… It’s so hard to not lose my train of thought when I’m on my knees and can’t think of anything but your voice in place of His.”

His body was bleeding soot, he felt a build-up of carnal animosity trickle into his veins as you spoke, “Is that so… Was I not conveying His word as I usually do, darling?”

Your knees were quickly growing sore from kneeling, but the pain was blunted by the dull buzzing in your abdomen, “If His words are usually detailing what terrible things he’d like to do to me, but I can’t be so sure…”

His legs inadvertently parted, weakening upon your implications, a heat radiating between them that he wished was due to your body being between them. He was trying with every atom that built him to keep his hands in a neutral position on his thighs, but so desperately wanted to alleviate the growing strain in his slacks, “Terrible, indeed… I think you’re not truly allowing Him to touch you, darling, letting Him resonate deep inside you…” His veiled smirk ought to run laps around his entire face as he shuffled through his deck of delirious innuendos. He just enjoyed the theater of it all as his hands clawed at polyester.

While his acting was laughable from a more rational perspective, you were too intoxicated with want to mind and his prods were becoming too potent, “You may be right, Father,” You hoped to any higher power that calling him that was fucking with him. Not being able to see him was making you spiral, the need to merely touch him was stacking as you were beyond yourself before even making it to the church. Being that his voice was all you knew, you were sure that should he actually graze your skin, you’d be all the more susceptible to his antics.

As much as he likes to indulge in teasing you, he so badly wanted to drop the act that you’ve both rehearsed so many times before and insist that you meet him on this side of the screen. Your honeyed voice is always shredding him to dust, his mind disintegrating at the thought of how reprehensible it’d be to take you right here in the confines of the confessional box. Look him in the eyes from your precious, kneeled perspective and tell him how far from God you’ve fallen, how your repentance can only be properly demonstrated on his cock. Your delectable moans would drip right into his ear as he takes you, making your sex the only sacrament you’ll ever require.

“Father?” You called to him through his mental escapade delicately, his silence unsettling in several ways, though it seems you’d successfully wedged your way into his head.

“Yes, darling.” His ability to respire becomes all the more taxing, the facade threatening to shatter as he almost forgets his role for a moment.

“Could you… Do me a favor?” Curling, winding, your vague presence was constricting around him so deliciously.

“What is it…?” You already had him at the heel of each consonant. You debated in your fantasies what you’d lose yourself over more: Being told what to do, or telling him what to do… Did you have to choose?

You bared your fanged will, “I know you want to touch yourself desperately, if you’re not already…” You began, confident in your assumptions as you heard an eroded breath tumble from his lips, “Could you do that for me…?”

His brows collided in a furrow, dumbfounded with how forward you were finally being, “Of course, darling…” He easily committed, “Anything to bestow God’s love, even to the undeserving…”

He didn’t care to hold back his heady exhale upon finally kneading a palm into his already well-hardened cock, cuffing it now and then to outline the silhouette through his pants. You, too, let him in on your movements, ensuring he heard your sweet, lofty mewls as your fingers padded your clit ever so slowly.

“How do you feel, Father… Tell me…” You sang to him, oh how he wished he could see your flushed face, how you urged him to pleasure himself.

“I know it wouldn’t compare to your vile little mouth.” He groaned through another wavered exhale, “I would go as far as to guess you were wet before you got down on your knees, before you got to this Church, thinking about how badly you want to be fucked in such a sacred place…” Saying this knowing damn well how his body faltered at the sight of your name being rightfully branded on his list for another confession.

“Maybe that’s just how I show my devotion, Father…” You bit your lip as your clit gradually stiffened with need, cycling just the right spot, hardly able to resist rutting into your hand.

“Fuck, and you keep calling me that,” His grip tightened, though he’d not let himself free from his constraints yet.

“Is that not what you are? Or are you, God forbid, hiding something?” You pressed him in unison with your hand.

Him revealing his true identity would benefit no one, including you, but something about being able to fuck you as his true self set him ablaze. His expression tightened into one of brief apprehension, he could feel the knocking of his heart in his throat– There’s no feasible way you’d know who he is…

“Of course,” He assured himself more than anyone else, “But when you say it the way you do, in that sickening little whine of yours… It’s too good, darling, too much.” You reeled as you could hear the grin that tugged at his lips, though the struggle to maintain composure between you is what spoiled you.

“Are you moving… Fast or slow?” You forced him to elaborate, though your voice only continued to dwindle.

“Painfully slow…” His hips instinctually rose and fell in his vice grip, “I wish it were any part of you, darling… Your hand, your pretty mouth… Maybe you’d be sitting in my lap…” He mused wickedly.

You hummed in a whisper, “I wish I could touch you…” You decided to admit, “What would you want me to do to you, Father…?” You dug your interrogation into him as you wandered to your cunt, overflowing with slick need as two fingers dove inside in a curl. How you could have his cock pushing through you right in this moment but you both opted for this pitiful demonstration instead…

He adored how you were tearing yourself apart for him, desperation infecting your words, “Perhaps I’d want you to start with your hand in place of mine so you could realize how utterly insane you make me feel… How hard I am for you with just your voice alone, darling.” The rhythm of his breaths was becoming more hasty, the timbre of his voice growing more tangy as his lust snuck through the confines of his weakening dignity.

“Fuck, I really just wanna feel your hot lips wrapped around me, that filthy mouth of yours… Your flattened tongue running against the underside…”

You egged him on with a moan of approval, his mental painting distracting your movements from exceeding a slow massage inside you, “That sounds so good, I want to be the one making you feel good…”

On that note, he found himself needing to corrupt you. Requiring it. It was a perfect setting to do so, beheld in the eyes of sanctity at its most intense. It made him want to rip his own heart out, how this feeling ravaged his entire being. He wanted to be the only one who could make you feel like you served a purpose, symbiotic destruction as he’d fuck you until you could recall nothing else but the sensation of his cock filling you to the most dizzying brim. As much as he wanted you to worship him, he found the prospect of making you ascend with pleasure more gratifying.

“I bet you’d be the kind to get off on me fucking your mouth, neglecting your aching little cunt…” He loved denying himself the raw contact with his cock, but it was becoming quite the task to uphold as he moved to fumble with his belt buckle.

Your face managed to insulate itself with a blush that, should he have seen it, he would’ve taken you upon first notice, “I’d want you to grip my hair, forcing me to keep eye contact…”

“Good, darling, now you’re imagining… How I’d make you gag looking right into your eyes, as that’s only what you deserve for punishment’s sake.” He managed to free himself from his slacks, with no patience to adjust himself beyond his length protruding through the opening of his fly. Your shallow pants were so close to his ear, through the fine holes of the screen he hallucinated a face to imagine. He watched the apparition of you sway and twitch as you were barely able to remain upright while your fingers pumped inside you.

“Do you often touch yourself in prayer, darling?” He ventured.

“Only if it’s to you… Your voice truly haunts me, especially when you tell me all of this worthless shit, I just… Can’t help myself, Father.”

“I think of you all the time, how close we are right now, how I could fucking destroy you but we continue like this anyway.”

“Why don’t you come out of your little box and fuck me then?”

His damned laugh that drove you up the vaulted cathedral walls sounded once more, wondering how long he could be stowed away like this. It is Sunday after all, but perhaps this schedule 10 minutes before mass was intentional. Dottore was adeptly full of himself as he’d not mind if your screams were heard over the choir, in fact, that’d be ideal. While the confessional wasn’t in the main hall, it wasn’t secluded enough to dampen how his hips would assault the skin of your behind as he took you…

Your offer was too divine to refuse.

[thiswasneverthat]

tuesday

ㅡ seven masterlist

❅ chan x fem!reader

❅ smut, slight fluff

❅ sexting, masturbation, fingering.

❅ wc: 1k

For some inexplicable reason, your mind wandered around during your lunch break. The memory from the previous night kept flashing before your eyes and you couldn't help feeling hot right on your core.

While chewing on your lower lip, you squeezed your thighs together as a low mewl slipped out of your mouth. Thankfully, there were no other souls around your desk because your co-workers were still out enjoying their lunch. 

So, in the next second, you grabbed your phone and sent a text to your boyfriend.

'What are you doing, babe? Have you had your lunch?'

Almost as soon as the text was delivered, the three little dots on your phone screen were flickeringㅡ indicating that he was currently typing a reply.

'I'm still stuck in a meeting but I will grab a bite as soon as we're done here. You've had yours, right?'

'I've had mine, don't worry! But anyway, I have a lunch menu recommendation for you.'

'Sure, what is it, love?'

With a smirk carved on your face, you dashed out to the restroom and locked yourself inside the cubicle on the far left of the room.

You then hurriedly unbuttoned your black silk shirtㅡ leaving you in your black lace bra before you snapped a picture of yourself and send it to him.

And of course, as you have expected, the reaction was immediate.

'Baby.. The fuck you think you are doing?'

'Urging you to finish that damn meeting soon and enjoy your lunch.'

'You shouldn't bite more than you can chew, love.'

Even without hearing him saying those words directly, you could feel the venom dripping out of it. However, unfortunately for him, you were not afraid to bite more than you can chew.

Deep down you realized that you were about to get yourself into big trouble for messing with himㅡ maybe a bigger one than the previous night, but that what was you aiming for. You couldn't think of anything else except to seduce him because your head was haywire. And that was because you were driven by pure lust.

So, without wasting no time, you pulled your pencil skirt up to your waist and sat on the top of the bidet. You then spread your legs widely as you pulled your panties to the side before you angled your phone down to take some pictures of your drenched cunt.

"Enjoy this," you mumbled to yourself as you pressed the send button.

And once again, a reply came almost as soon as the pictures were delivered.

'Fake a headache or whatever and go back home. Now. I am on my way.'

Shit, it was too soon.

You were aware that you would undoubtedly piss him off for what you just did, but what you hadn't expected was that he would ditch his work.

For a brief moment, you let the instant regret sink in. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck standing up in fright as you shut your eyes tightly.

Maybe Chris was right.

You shouldn't have bit more than you can chew. Even though you knew he wouldn't intentionally harm you and you would still end up having a good time later, but when he acted this way, you couldn't help but feel your heart violently throbbing against your ribcage.

However, as much as you would like to take your time and prepare yourself for what would come next, you hurriedly fixed your clothes and scrambled out of the restroom.

And nearly thirty minutes later when you arrived at your shared apartment, the air you breathe got caught in your throat the moment you saw him sitting on the couch with his arms crossed over his chest. His face was displaying a countenance of complete ignorance, devoid of any emotional or cognitive response to your presence, and didn't engage in any form of acknowledgment towards you. 

"Chris.. I.." you threaded carefully as you approached him closer, but then you quickly shut your mouth when he raised a brow at you.

"Take off your clothes."

Your eyes blinked in surprise for a moment before you quickly complied. At the speed of light, you were standing bare in front of him.

The stark contrast between you and him who was still fully clothed, got your heart skipped a beat.

"Come here," he demanded coldly as he unzipped his black trousers and pulled his cock out. While glancing up at you with a stern expression on his face, he hoised you up onto his lapㅡ which caused you to gasp slightly. 

Without bothering to say anything else, Chris inserted two of his fingers inside your cunt to prep your tight walls for his girth.

"Chris," you breathed out his name and bit your lower lip. However, when you were about to place both of your hands on his shoulders for support, he grunted in disapproval.

"Don't touch me. Keep your hands behind your back."

'Fuck.' You muttered harshly inside your head but once again, you complied.

Truly, it wasn't easy to keep your hands to yourself while he had two of his slender fingers inside of you.

You wanted to wrap your arms around his neck, you wanted to let your hand wander around his chest, you wanted to kiss his neck, you wanted to stroke his hardening cock, and also to tug on his hair, but you couldn't. And that wasn't the worse part yetㅡ because a few minutes later when you were about to cum, Chris immediately drew his fingers out of you.

"But, babe I was about toㅡ"

"Who said this is about you?"

And that was the moment you realized what he was doing. 

Before you got to say anything else, Chris lifted your waist a little as he aligned the tip of his cock to your dripping cunt.

"None of this is about you," Chris emphasized with a hoarse grunt once again once he was finally balls deep inside you. "You are not allowed to cum tonight. Let that sink in."