#and directly to the maw

[luthwhore]

i do find it interesting that maws chose to give lex brown hair, bc it’s not his usual canon hair color but it isn’t completely out of nowhere either. it just makes it very, very clear that they’re using his silver/bronze age character design, which makes me wonder what their long term plans for lex are here.

[citrine-elephant]

strange idea from a sad reality, but

was watching a thing about orcas in captivity. highly highly inhumane. cases like tilikum, who lashed out and killed three people. whether he meant to or not.

the idea of a highly intelligent creature being kidnapped and forced to do tricks for the entertainment of the furless land creatures.

a little whump idea for leon, of course. say it's umbrella, or another group down the line of bioterrorist enthusiasts.

to train their circus lion, this weapon. all of this hard work put into breaking him down and forcing him in line.

leon never really does completely fall for this, as hard as he's beaten down past rock bottom. he sure as hell isn't going to be the weapon they want him to be, but if a few humiliating party tricks keeps him alive, then...

a few drops of spilled blood. not his own. but through his teeth. they wanted a weapon. they'll get one.

or, leon's captured, tortured and experimented on. the brainwashing doesn't work and he kills quite a few of his handlers. deemed "defective" but not put down.

[gestureintongues]

feeling so obsessive has its ups and downs. it feels amazing when it’s actively with me, but it feels like burning in hell the moment it’s away. what do you mean i can’t crawl into its chest cavity and rot there? what do you mean there’s responsibilities to be had? what do you mean i have to exist outside of its existence?

i no longer belong to the forest, i belong to be its heart rotting inside its chest.

[spotsupstuff]

Do farmer ancients have to cut the worm grass?

Is it any good to eat or is it just a weed? I imagine it could make a good garnish, I always imagine worm grass as homicidal green onion.

Also, what kinda tools/weapons do they use? Do they use guns to fight off predators or do they rely on spears and such, maybe electric spears as cattle prods to fend off the deer who shall not be named?

most likely they have to, yeah! can't have that shit growing tall and deathly dangerous to Them too. i can imagine that worm grass is often around the actual plots with the crops to keep em safe from smaller herbivors

you people and askin me what these fictional people stick into their mouths i swear sdjgklkcmsldmlk honestly anything living can be food if u prepare it well, so sure, yeah, worm grass is edible under Certain Circumstances. i can't help but think of it as some fucked up chewy gummy worm.....

usual farm tools are present! they have spade forks, axes (trees real, wood usually used for some building or woodcutting art, Sparrows' mask is made of wood!), shovels (Sparrows' favorite weapon of choice), scythes n so on

the weaponry is more sophisticated than what we get in game, absolutely. though electric spears as cattle prod i Do Really Like, you're smart

chemical warfare (pesticide can get wild) and guns are often utilized. each family has at least one designated expert at one of these and for Sparrows' family it's the elder twin brothers, Breeze and Inferno. took interest in the respective offensive crafts as kids and nerded about it hard. one of their duties is passing some skills on the other kids in the family- Sparrows is a pretty solid shot thanks to Inferno's endless enthusiasm for bullets in chitin covered heads

in the first Beppi noodle they are actually gettin ready to drop a lil pesticide dynamite stick shaped thing into a thingy- prolly their version of a silo

i've a Scenario

updated thought-thru version: all bugs in the game are things that naturally occur in the world (+ also lizards. to me.), so beastly centipedes were a thing even back then n maybe even more common. the red centipede thing happened when Sparrows was 18 and Not Yet in the respawn cycle. she likes putting her life in danger despite not wanting to die, apparently

it was scuttling through the streets, so you can imagine how much of an issue That was. the whole district capable of fighting (plus dumbo teen Sparrows) got together and hunted it down. when she managed to bump into it in an alley, it was already injured and stripped of a lot of its armor and she Still managed to waste like five bullets before actually getting the first head. the second one was a much cleaner, faster hit. mom grounded her for a month

later she even invited Breeze and Inferno to help her out with the spider infestation of Caper's underhang, that's how Euros met them. Inferno had the time of his fuckin Life shooting it all up while suspended upside down

[giantkillerjack]

Livewire's giant strap-on gun in this imagine-spot is so fucking funny, I shrieked when I saw this for the first time in the episode thumbnail.

Obviously if you're gay you get one big gun. And if you're bisexual, you get two smaller guns.

Also, I thought it wasn't possible for me to be more excited about Butch lesbian Mick Rory, but the show just kept saying 'here hold my beer' 😍😍😍😍

Jimmy Olsen assembling a crack team of lesbians, gays, and bisexuals (we've all seen how you look at Vicki Vale, Lois) to save his pal Superman.

[garaks-padded-bra]

I only close this skylight that is directly over my bed so that I don't float out of it and into the maw of a ufo, sort of like what happened to Linda Napolitano except for the fact that she is a liar and I'm not. Also, another difference is the aliens liked me for my vibe and didn't do experiments on me - I just don't want to go up there again cuz the first time it happened I freeballed my way into the sky and mooned the city of Paris cuz they didn't warn me and I was starkers and also my ex gleebo is up there and like we ended it on good terms but she keeps asking to probe me "casually" and "as a friend" but we all know how those kind of relationships end up loll

[n0cturnalflesh]

The One Where Sylus Turns Into A Wanderer

Synopsis: Sylus gets hit with an attack that not only turns him into a wanderer but also makes him really horny??? Oh nooo what will you do? (wink wink nudge nudge)

Characters: Sylus x Reader

tw: Dragon Sylus, smut, p in v, breeding kink, praise, aphrodisiacs, unprotected sex, oral, tentacles

wc: 8.3 k

A/N: I'm a BIG fan of the theory(is it confirmed?) that Sylus is/was a wanderer at one point but I wanna see more content of him looking kinda scary. Love the idea of Sylus with cute horns and a tail but I'm thinking more like the wanderers we fight in deepspace trials - big, scaly monsters that barely look human. (I’m not not even a Sylus main lol sorry Zayne but duty calls)

“It recovered. Be careful.” Sylus charges forward, his evol twisting the wyrmlord wanderer and redirecting its fiery assault just out of the way from hitting you. 

“I know, I know.” Your voice comes out hoarse, throat parched from the hour-long battle against a horde of mechanically enhanced Wanderers—an unwelcome gift from one of Sylus’ enemies. It wasn’t anything the two of you couldn't handle, but their durability in the field was at least 4 times that of regular wanderers. This was an endurance test.

“This better be the last one.” You grumble, Harrier 700s aimed at its maws as you dump Evol-enhanced bullets into its rocky flesh.

“It is.” Sylus warps to its side, taking a vicious hit before striking back just as hard. “Look at the fluctuations around it, they’re weakening. Anything that might come after this will likely be too weak to stand. This is their last card.”

It’s true, now that you take a closer look; the translucent shimmer that had been protecting every wanderer before this is now no more than a simple sparkle. Cocking your gun in your hand, you level the barrel to its heart, giving a brief glance to Sylus. 

“Let’s finish this.”

Blood-red swirls of energy coil around your hands, leaving little tingles on your knuckles as the cold mist kisses your knuckles. With each shot fired, a shard of energy follows the bullet, driving it deeper into the Wrmylord. Sylus stays close to the beast, striking each bullet wound as his evol amplifies the force of your resonate-enhanced attacks. A powerful gust from its panicked wings nearly knocks you off balance, but you hold firm, standing against the wind. Your hair slaps across your face, nearly covering your vision but the red energy around your hands helps keep your aim. It’s almost dead— it has to be.

With each bullet, the wanderer staggers; each punch leaving it closer to the ground in defeat until the final shimmer of its enhanced defense shatters.

“Now!” You yell as you close in the distance, running until you’re side by side with Sylus. His evol energy swirls begin to coil stronger, wrapping around your entire body before channeling directly into your gun. With the dragon in your sights, gun up and facing its weakened body, you pull the trigger. At the same moment, Sylus charges forward, winding up his final strike and landing a crushing blow where your bullet landed.

The wyrmlord lets out a final, piercing scream before collapsing to the ground. 

“Damn, I don’t want to see another wanderer for at least a month. Maybe more. Thoughts on a mini vacation Sylus?” You ask, wiping off your gun as you place it back in its holster on your waist.

A few seconds of silence go by. With no response from Sylus, you glance up from your holster just as it all goes wrong. A vibration on your wrist draws your attention, red letters glowing above your watch that read “Extreme Fluctuation - Evacuate Vicinity Immediately”. A low grumble shakes the ground, the sound echoing through the ground and reverberating so powerfully that you feel it rumble in your chest. Before you can react, a blinding flash of energy fills your vision. 

“Fuck off!” You shake your head and reach for your gun, squinting against the brilliance but all you can make out are the wyrmlord’s glowing crooked eyes peering through the glare. 

“Get back!” Sylus’ low voice cuts through the rumbling, and in an instant he’s standing in front of you, shielding you just as the light directs into a beam and strikes his chest. The moment it hits, everything stops. The beast collapses on the ground, its limbs going limp as dust creeps up its disintegrating form until nothing remains. 

“Sylus!” Your voice breaks the silence, hands pressing against his sturdy shoulders until he turns to face you. “Are you alright?”

Despite the attack, he appears none the worse for wear, aside from tired and dirty from the battleground dust. His eyes are downcast, staring at his chest where the beam hit. 

“Yes, I’m fine kitten. Must’ve died just before the beam could hit me.”

“Are you sure?” Worry laces your voice, “I could’ve sworn I watched that weird beam hit your chest.”

“Yes, I’m fine. Your eyes must be deceiving you. You should head on home quickly, book that vacation on my card. I’ll…” he trails off, looking back to where the wyrmlord disintegrated. “Stay behind to make sure no other wanderers come.”

Sylus’ eyes narrow as he looks around, his tone low and calculated. He shifts from foot to foot, unusually stiff as you notice the way he draws his shoulders in stiffly. 

“Sylus?”

He bows his head down, turning to face away from you. 

“Sylus, that beam did something to you didn’t it?”

An audible sigh escapes him, his breath slow yet his upper torso rises rapidly like its breathing entirely separate from his breaths. 

“It… did. But it’s nothing I can’t handle, don’t you worry about me. Just leave me to deal with this on my own, you should go rest.”

He stands awkwardly, posture just a bit too stiff - like he doesn’t quite know how to hold his limbs. You lean towards him, eye glancing over his body to check for hidden injuries or changes. There has to be something, he wouldn’t be sending you off so easily if there wasn’t. 

“Sylus, I’m not just going to leave because you said so. I’m a top hunter, why don’t you think I can help you?” You take a step forward, hoping for a closer inspection but he takes a step back as you do, keeping his face turned away.

“Excuse me?” Betrayal strikes you; how dare he go through months of coaxing and bonding just to leave you when he finally needs help for once? “Look at me.” You speak firmly, snatching his wrist so he can’t flee.

His body tenses at your touch, a quiet gasp escaping his lips. He could pull away if he wanted, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t move at all. He’s frozen still, his gaze fixed on the ground. You slide your hand down until you can squeeze his fingers; they feel unusually cold at the tips yet hot toward his palm.

Following the heat of his palm, your fingers trace back up his wrist, gliding along his forearm until they reach the edge of his sleeve. A wave of warmth pulses beneath his skin, following his veins, though the surface remains cold to the touch. 

“Kitten,” His voice draws out low and raspy, leveled like he’s holding his composure just to talk. “Please, let me deal with this on my own. You don’t need to see this.”

Testing the waters, you caress over his chest and up until you hold his chin in your palm. He resists only for a moment as you tilt his head until his vibrant, glowing red eyes face you, laced with evol.

With brows drawn and tense, he shutters under your touch, eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzles deeper into your palm. For a moment, he seeks comfort there, but he pulls away sharply as if your touch suddenly stings. His eyes reek of evol, the glowing red so bright that it becomes hard to see his pupils. Yet the sensation of his evol never comes. You don’t feel that deep pull from within; don’t hear the voices of your deepest desires. 

“Whatever that wanderer did to you, I won’t let you suffer alone. We’re in this together.”

He stares back, almost animalistic in nature, like he’s calculating how to react to your next move. His drastic change in personality becomes increasingly unsettling.

“Why are your eyes glowing like that? I don’t feel your evol.” You question, hoping a direct question might be an easier approach.

It seems to work, his gaze refocusing on you as he blinks a few times.

“It is…” he lowers his head, avoiding eye contact as he speaks, “returning me to a form I had hoped you’d never see in this lifetime.” Running a hand through his hair, he tilts his head up to look at the night sky, worries etched onto his face. The light of the moon shines on his pale skin and you can see a sheen layer of sweat on his forehead as he pushes his hair back.

“What does that mean?” Hundreds of questions pop into your head but that’s the one that comes out first before you can even think harder about what he said. A form? Form of what?

Sylus hums, voice uneven and hoarse as he keeps his head turned towards the stars. “Some time ago, which does not matter when, I was something else. Not… entirely as I am today.” He keeps his head tilted but lowers his glowing eyes to meet yours. “I’d since been able to restrict it, but it seems as though that wanderer’s attack was able to affect it.”

You stand your ground, holding eye contact. That’s not a complete answer, and he knows that. You stare back, not moving as he awaits a reaction that you won’t give him.

“I’ve never wanted it to come to this, because I know you won’t leave my side no matter what I say.” He continues, sad gratitude flashing on his expression for a moment, “You really won’t leave me to deal with this, will you?”

He’s not making sense. His words have told you nothing of the situation or his weird behavior. But raising your voice or pressing him further might escalate his behavior. Your heart aches at the thought of whatever is going through his mind as he loses his collected mannerism. He has done so much for you these past few months; proven your opinion of him wrong from the start and treated you so well. You will not let him be alone for this, whatever it is.

“No, I won’t.” You reply firmly.

“You never do.” He sighs, before doubling over to pull his arm close to his chest, hiding the skin from your touch.

“Sylus!” You cry out, taking a step towards him but he moves away as you come close.

“No.” His tone comes out calm despite the strain in his voice, “Don’t get close, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, Sylus.” You pause, observing the way he carries his limbs in towards himself like he’s trying to make himself look small. An impossible feat for such a large man. “I know you won’t because I know you would never dare to hurt me. I don’t know what you’re talking about or what you mean by this ‘form’ you’re reverting to, but I know that if it is still you at the core, you will not hurt me.” 

It’s a lie. Sylus is a very scary man if you don’t know him well. Whatever he’s talking about clearly has him worried about hurting you, and if that’s something he’s concerned about, it absolutely gives you every reason to be alarmed. But you can’t just admit that. Not after everything he’s done for you —risking his life, taking hits meant for you, following you on pointless expeditions that far exceed the duties of the N109 Zone leader, even letting you hurt him. No, it’s your turn to take a risk for him. Prove to him that you trust him wholeheartedly.

Assuming a (hopefully) confident-looking stance, you hold eye contact with him and take a step forward, leaving no room for debate as you press into his personal space. He gasps at your touch, eyes glued to where your hand grabs at his arm. 

“Please,” He grunts, “be careful. I don’t want to hurt you. Not…” His voice trails off just as you make contact with his skin. But it’s not skin. It's hard, rocky almost in texture but still molds to your touch as you squeeze it. 

Not ready to look down, you raise your other hand up and cradle his cheek. “It’s okay.” Your voice comes out as a hushed whisper, and finally, you look down.

His arm below the elbow and hand are not human. The skin is jagged, flesh turned black and grey while red light seeps out from the lines of his veins. His fingers are longer than they should be, joints extended and bony as they lead to talons at the tips. These are the hands of a wanderer.

“Sylus, your form? A wanderer?” The look of raw insecurity in his eyes stops you from questioning. With his brows knitted and eyes glistening, his lips tremble slightly, parted as if struggling to form words. His chest rises and falls with shallow, uneven breaths. He looks like he’s seconds away from breaking down.

“So you’ve figured it out, Miss Hunter.” He speaks, emphasizing the nickname like he’s pointing out how your job is sworn to killing monsters like him. He’s spiraling, slight tension tugging through his body like he wants to break away from you but doesn’t want you to leave him at the same time. You need to show him that you’ll remain ever at his side.

“This doesn’t change my statement, I won’t let you go about this alone.”

He lets out a small laugh, although there’s no humor or joy behind it. “I appreciate your help, but you don’t deserve to have to be exposed to this side of me. You've seen enough wanderers to last you at least 5 missions in the last few hours alone. You said it yourself, you need a vacation away from us horrid monsters.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“Because that wasn't you! You’re not just some beast that runs wild! Regardless of your form, there’s a ‘you’ deep inside. If you lose control, I’ll be here to make sure you don’t get caught. If anyone finds you, I’ll make sure they don't hurt you.”

“And if I hurt you?”

“You won’t.” Staring into his glowing eyes, you stand your ground. He needs to know this is a hill you’re willing to die on. “Listen, I don’t understand any of what’s going on, and you will explain everything to me when the time is right. But please, just shut up and let me be here for you.”

His jaw tightens before relaxing into a sigh. You run your fingers up and down his hardened palm, hoping to reassure him that this change does not change how you view him. 

“If you won’t leave me, you should at least distance yourself from me. At least for the time being. I don’t if the attack has altered my state of mind.”

“Alright.” You give his hand a light squeeze, rubbing your thumb against his knuckles before turning to retreat to a nearby tree. Only he doesn't let you. As you turn to leave, rough talons grasp onto your wrist. He pulls you close to him, your back pressing up against his chest as he wraps his arms around your waist. They feel… different. 

The rough, rocky texture has continued up his forearms. He’s hidden from your line of view, only his arms visible as they wrap your torso. 

“Sylus?”  Your voice trembles with uncertainty, but the only response is a low, guttural growl from behind you. In the stillness that follows, you notice the next sudden change; he’s growing. His hands, already massive compared to yours, now seem to dwarf you entirely.  As he splays his left hand across your abdomen, his claws extend effortlessly to the back of your torso. His palm alone envelops your entire stomach.

The sharp rip of fabric echoes from somewhere along his back, followed by the rush of warm, heavy breaths against your neck—slowly, far too slow for any human. Wrapping your fingers around just one of his now enormous claws, you strain to fully grip it, prying his hand away with deliberate caution.

“I’m going to turn around now. And then you can tell me if you still want me to distance myself, okay?”

He doesn't answer, but he also doesn’t stop you from pulling out of his grasp. Gently, you free yourself from his hold. Drawing a deep breath, you prepare for what awaits. If he truly is a wanderer, is this his true form?

As you turn, there’s a deep, resounding thud—Sylus stepping back, perhaps anxious for you to see him like this. Finally, in the pregnant silence, you open your eyes.

He’s… gigantic. Towering close to nine feet tall, his presence is overwhelming. At first glance, not much seems to have changed—his face, his torso, still familiar; aside from the darkened, rocky skin leading from his hands and now his feet upwards. Through the tears of clothing struggling to hang off his growing body,  the skin beneath remains a softer hue, though roughened, textured like stone.

Your gaze travels upward, from his exposed chest, straining beneath shredded buttons, to his face. Aside from the glowing red eyes and his change in size, the only new and noticeable changes are the two massive horns shooting out from behind his ears. —black as night, laced with swirling red energy tapering into sharp white tips. They curl around his face gracefully, flaring outward before narrowing into points that end near his chin. For such a beastly figure to cower, avoiding your eyes, almost elicits a strange tenderness—were it not for the seriousness of the moment. 

“I’m not afraid of you.” You murmur, stepping closer and offering your hand. He doesn't take it, but he doesn’t pull away, allowing the space between you to close.

When he speaks, his voice is even deeper than normal, rasping out hollow as though unused to forming words in this form. “I’m holding back... slowing the transformation.” His eyes shut, pained. “But the attack... it may have triggered some... side effects.”

He kneels down until he’s level with you, large eyes roaming over you like he needs to memorize your body. “I wanted this to be different. You deserve better—dinner, gifts, a proper evening to show you how much I—”

“Stop deciding for me.” You cut him off. “You’re not making sense. What side effects? What dinner? What’s happening?”

His chest rises and falls heavily, beads of sweat forming along his brow.  “I need you.”

“You have me.” you reply. He lets out a shaky breath, gaze slipping from your face to your body, over every curve you have and back up. He looks back to your face with a carnal, unrestrained desire.“No. I need you in ways that I should not take from you. I can endure this.” He groans. The side effect he mentioned is starting to make sense – an aphrodisiac. 

But it doesn’t shake you. Stolen evenings and unexpected gifts, whispered messages between meetings and surprise plushies left just for you—this isn’t for nothing. You want him. You want to be the one who helps him.

“And I’m saying you have me.” you whisper, “however you need me.”

In an instant, he surges forward, capturing your lips in a fervent kiss, nearly knocking you off balance. His claws steady you, holding you close as heat floods through you, every nerve alive under his touch. This wasn’t what you expected, but the rush is undeniable. After weeks of tension, playful flirtation, and stolen moments, you undeniably want this. The circumstances don’t change the feelings that you’ve harbored for him.

His pace is feverish, lips crashing against yours with a desperation that steals your breath. With inhumane sharp teeth, he pulls at your bottom lip before releasing, his tongue brushes lightly over your mouth, hesitant, seeking.

Your hands, trembling slightly, move to his jaw before drifting upward, fingers curling around his horns. The moment you tug gently, his breath hitches, a low gasp escaping him. His control slips further, the weight of his form heavy in the air between you as he slowly pulls away, panting, eyes squeezed shut. His hands, shaking, rest on your waist, still fighting against the wildness threatening to consume him.

“Sylus, it's ok. You can let go, show me your true form.”

He rests his head on your shoulder, face buried in the curve of your neck as he lets out a hushed groan, panting heavily as you feel his weight around you.

“Ok, my love.” He whispers, voice trembling, giving you no time to respond before his body begins to shift. The sound of bones cracking reverberates through the space, jarring and raw. He cups your chin gently, pulling your face to his, and kisses you deeply. Your eyes flutter shut as you cradle his tear-streaked cheeks in your palms, the damp warmth of his tears smearing against your skin. Whether he’s trying to distract you from his changing body or himself from the pain, you can’t be sure—but you return the kiss with equal passion, willing the world outside to fade away.

The sounds of his transformation— clothes ripping, bones snapping, joints realigning—begin to echo about louder and louder. Yet you ignore them, clinging to the heat between your lips, in hopes that the connection you share distracts him from the painful shift. After what feels like a small eternity, you pull away slowly, lips tingling from the heat of his breath. Steadying yourself, you take a step back, ready to take in all that he has become. 

Words cannot do justice to his new form. You stare in awe, committing his new body to your memory as he stands completely bare in front of you. Before you stands no trace of the human you once knew—only a towering, fearsome beast, the living embodiment of draconic ferocity. His body is a fusion of taut muscle and hardened scales, rippling with untamed power. Long, white hair cascades down his back, swaying like a mane as it frames his draconic face, a mix of humanoid and bestial features. His maw, lined with razor-sharp fangs, juts forward like that of a great dragon, yet his eyes still carry the familiar glint of Sylus—recognizable, despite the terrifying transformation.

His legs are thick and clawed like that of an animal, hoisting his massive form even higher above you. While he moves with the mannerisms of a bipedal creature, this is no man—this is something far more primal, more dangerous. Behind him, a long, jagged tail swings low, its blade-like ridges sharp and lethal. Higher up, leathery-red wings point upwards and wrap around his waist, covering himself up as modestly as he can. The horns that once subtly adorned his head have grown monstrously large, curling menacingly around his skull, nearly outsizing his monstrous, animalistic visage. His arms, though almost human in form, are colossal—each muscle encased in a thick, armor-like scale, protruding with strength at every joint as they swirl around his chest, where the beating thump of his heart stands out.

He is immense; a creature of both beauty and terror, and you can't help but feel both in awe and mesmerized in his presence.

You must look off-put, as Sylus bows his head, once more avoiding eye contact. Before he can move away, you take the initiative to reach out and grab his hand. Your fingers barely make a dent in his thick flesh, but still, you tug him towards yourself hoping he’ll understand the motive. 

“You’re beautiful.” You whisper, voice quiet as you reach your hand out for his face. He takes the hint, hesitantly stepping forward with a loud thud that shakes the ground nearby, bending down to place his jagged jaw into your hand lightly. 

“Don’t,” His voice comes out with a groggy, half-growl tone, “Lie.” He finishes. Each word seems to have winded him, sighs escaping through sharp talons.

“I’m not.” You answer, and before he can protest, you push your lips against what would be his lips in this new form. It’s awkward, your lips barely covering a quarter the size of his mouth, his large teeth pushing up against your mouth as you try to kiss him. But awkward as it is, he returns the passion as delicately as he can. 

“I still want you Sylus, like this, or in any form. You have me.”

He must finally give in to his desires, ignoring whatever reservations were holding him back as he realizes your devotion to him.  He takes your body in his giant hands, cradling you gently as he lifts you up so he can stand at full height. As you sit like a pretty doll in his palms, nearly 9 feet above the ground, he brings his head close to yours until his forehead and horns rest against your head. 

“Thank you.” He growls through softly bared fangs, “But… don’t know how much you can help me…” he trails off, “ like this. Don’t want to.. to hurt you.” 

As he leans away from you, a brief flicker of his eyes downwards gives him away. You shift a little in his grasp, hoping to peer down at one body part of his you hadn’t considered might also change. 

“Are you certain…want to see all of me?” Sylus nuzzles his sharp snout into your neck, subtly preventing you from looking further. 

“If it will help you, then of course. I know this isn’t how you wanted things to play out, but under different circumstances, I would still want to see all of you.”

Sylus lets you squirm out of his firm hold on you, allowing you to look past his scaled rocky chest and down to where the red tapered tip of his cock rests against his torso. And it's thick. The tip alone must be fatter than your fist. You can’t see beyond the tip from the angle you’re being held at but if it reaches this high up his body, it must be massive. Maybe you can’t help him the way he needs. 

The expression on your face must give away your shock at his size, as Sylus looks down to his cock and back up to your face, awaiting a reaction. 

“What exactly do you need from me to help you?” You ask hesitantly, gauging the severity of his need to fuck you. 

Sylus groans at your questions, low and deep, hips bucking forward like the mere thought of what you’re offering makes him throb. As he leans back to rest on a nearby tree, his hands tighten around your waist, just slightly, as he responds. 

“Need to fuck you,” he huffs, “To eat you,” he presses his face against your neck, “to breed you,”, saliva drips down from his scaly maw, landing hot and wet as it slides down the front of your shirt. “Mine.” 

“Mmph.” You moan, a warm wetness beginning to form between your legs at his words. “I’m not sure if you’ll fit, but we can try. Whatever will help you.” Your voice is flakey, shaking with each breath as you try to contain your arousal.

“Will fit,” he licks at your neck, right where your pulse is, “spit will help, will numb, stretch.” As he slides his tongue up, the sheer size of it alarms you and reminds you of how much bigger he is. Its heavy weight feels like a compression around you as it wraps once around your throat. The tip of it drags across your chin, soaking your face in his wetness, stopping before your lips, awaiting your approval. 

As he holds you so close to him, his hands the only thing supporting your body as his mouth pants at your chest, you give in. Accepting that whatever will come, Sylus will not hurt you. 

Opening your mouth, his tongue pushes in, stretching your jaw slightly before it flattens to fit better. Even with only the tip of it in, you’re overwhelmed as it thrashes around your cheeks, saliva beginning to drip down all around your face. 

Yet as it continues, as his tongue soaks your neck and fills your mouth, pleasure begins to stir within you. As his sharp talons hold you above his head, you start to crave more. As his scaly snout pokes into your chest, the feeling of being overwhelmed dissipates. The weight of his touch lightens. The awkward wetness feels comforting. 

And your arousal heightens. The fear that has been holding you back from fully indulging in him is gone, replaced by a carnal need to be used by him. Without even realizing it, you’ve gathered his heavy head in your hands, his tongue almost entirely down your throat as you swallow around it with ease. Face to face with his heavy maw, you finally let loose and moan into his mouth.

He pulls back slowly, unwinding his tongue from its place down your throat. He growls, keeping you eye to eye with him. “Ready?”

Jaw still sore, soaked from spit, you nod dumbly.

“Good.”  And as soon as the words escape his mouth he’s using a claw to rip apart your clothes, just barely leaving a mark on your skin as your tattered outfit falls to the ground. The cool air hits your body hard, nipples hardening in the wind as the saliva dries quickly. You tremble in his hands, partially due to the wind, and partially due to the way your body is out on display for him; the first time he’s seen you naked.

Any insecurities you may have had begin to melt away as he stares at you like he holds the world in his hands. “Beautiful.” He groans, gently caressing your skin with his claws. Despite his beastly exterior, he cradles you as though you are his most treasured possession.

Your skin is taut under his grasp as Sylus lifts you higher until you’re above his head. Staring directly at your exposed cunt, he clasps his maw against it before you can even blush at his forwardness. Gasping at his reaction, every touch seems to set your body aflame with desire. As his scaled lips touch your pelvis, his tongue begins to swirl around your pussy.

“Divine.” He croaks, words muffled by your wetness between his lips. He drags his tongue between your folds once more before diving deeper, the tip poking at your entrance. As his saliva mixes with your slick, your desire heightens. You need him in you now.

“Please, Sylus, fuck me already.”

His eyes snap from their view of where his tongue plays with your entrance, slit pupils dilating as he makes eye contact with you. He takes a deep breath in, then plunges his tongue deep inside.

The sensation is immediate, pleasure taking over your body as his self-lubricated muscle pumps into you, poking around at your gummy walls like it’s looking for room. No, like it’s making room. It’s almost terrifying, watching as his long and thick tongue penetrates deeper and deeper. It shouldn’t fit, but somehow, inch after inch it disappears further until you’re sat entirely on his sharp face.

 His hands hold your body up in the air as he tilts his head back to keep you in an upright position. Your feet, dangling on either side of his head, wrap around his horns to use as some kind of leverage to contrast the penetrating feeling of his tongue pushing against your cervix. “Mmm, Sy-!” You whine, his name the only word you can form as he pumps into you repeatedly. The coiling of his tongue pushes against all your inner walls, all the hidden spots you didn't know could be touched.

His fingers shift, one hand sliding slightly upwards, unintentionally grasping your loose tits between them, while the other wraps lower around your ass. It gives you a better view of his face - and the bulge protruding from your lower stomach every time his tongue flicks forward.

Sylus must catch your gaze, as he withdraws his tongue slowly until just the tip is inside, and he pushes on the bulged area, distending it to lengths that must made possible with the use of his aphrodisiac-like saliva. It hurts, but it hurts good. 

 “Carvin’ out my place in you.” He slurs as best he can without proper use of his tongue. He gives one last squeeze to your breasts, before withdrawing until he’s back to holding you up at chest height to him - still at least 9 feet above the ground.

“Ready?” he pants, “Sweetie?”

Missing the feeling of being filled already, you nod rapidly. Sylus smiles, scales glistening in his smirk, and then lowers himself until he’s lying on his back, keeping your body close to his chest. Feeling the base of his heavy cock rest on your ass is enough to get your body subconsciously moving, humping your hips forward helplessly, looking for any kind of stimulation. The hard texture of his skin beneath you catches against your clit. You lurch forward, hands steadying yourself on his defined abs to get yourself.

A purr-like noise radiating from beneath you causes you to open your eyes which must’ve closed in the chase for release. Sylus’ head is tilted low to watch as you use him and despite the desire in his eyes, he holds an expression that’s entirely human.

He lifts his gaze to meet yours, and suddenly, the world around you seems to still. His eyes are wide, filled with a mixture of awe, disbelief, and something deeper—infatuation. Relief washes over his face, softening his features as if the weight of years has been lifted in a single breath. It’s as though he’s finding solace in your acceptance of him, releasing the fears he’s long held about how you would perceive this form. He looks at you as if this moment is something he had once dared to hope for but never truly believed would come—an unspoken dream, now realized. His expression speaks of a man who has waited a lifetime for this, for you, and for the peace that comes with being seen and accepted completely.

“Sylus,” your voice comes out dripping with desire. The hardened skin beneath feels good, but you need more. There’s an aching emptiness within you, now that you’ve felt his tongue carve out a place in you. “Need you inside me. Now.”

He tosses his head back, throat exposed as he arches his back like you’re words alone pushed him closer to his release. His hands fondle your body before gently raising you up and back so you're sitting with his cock in front of you. And it is indeed massive. 

From where it rests against his stomach, you can see now why it felt so heavy when it was behind you. The base alone is almost as thick as one of your thighs. It shoots up at least a foot before tapering off to a tentacle-like tip that’s almost sized like a normal penis. 

There’s no way that’s fitting inside of you. 

“There’s no way that’s fitting inside me.”

Sylus huffs in what could be considered humour, before his expression softens. “It will… Some of it. Trust me.” He lets go of his grab on you and offers a hand. As your tiny palm slides around one of his fingers, just barely able to grasp it entirely in your hand, his wings wrap around your body like a shield of privacy. 

“Trust. Please.” His voice comes out more breathy than before, his chest rising and falling deeply with each breath. It’s then that you notice the tension in his shoulders, the way they bunch up is different than a human body but still noticeable. He must be suffering, holding himself back. 

You turn your head to the side, nose brushing against his taut wing. “Ok.” And with confidence, you lean forward and grab his cock. Holding it with both your hands, the girth is barely contained between your fingers. It’s moist all over, self-lubricating, slippery, and heavy. Sylus gasps under his breath and before your fingers can even reach the tip, he’s sliding you forward and upward. 

Hands flat against his shoulders, your face to face with him once again as he reaches to guide his cock towards your entrance. The anxiety of how he’ll fit must be evident in your face as he leans forward and licks your cheek. 

“I’m ready.” You whisper, and Sylus slowly slips his tip inside your dripping cunt.

Fitting a literal monster cock inside you is not something you can easily prepare for, mentally or physically, for that matter. But somehow, with a mix of whatever is in his saliva and his earlier ministrations, you now sit with almost half of a monster cock deep in your gut. 

The stretch of your gummy walls accommodating his girth is not as painful as you would have imagined. 

It feels like a reward, as if you’re fulfilling a purpose your body was made for.

Because it was, wasn’t it? Isn’t your body destined to take him inside you and milk it until you’re full? Weren’t you made for this? 

The feeling of his tip working its way inside you reveals a hidden will of its own, pulsing and writhing around despite Sylus not thrusting into you yet. He slowly works you down his cock until it seems you’ve hit your limit. With just barely half his length inside, your cunt split open wider than you thought possible, the thumping tip pushes out into the area he fucked open with his tongue. 

“See?” He growls. “Fits. Just need tip.” At his last word, the tip inside pokes out into your belly, a protruding bulge in your front. He takes your hand in his much large hand and pushes back against it, and you nearly cum at the sensation. Based on his reaction, he nearly does too.  

It’s becoming too much and he’s not even fucking you yet. The widening of his girth from where it sticks out of you is lined with rocky scales that hit exactly at your clit, like they were made for your pleasure. The tense bundle of nerves ache for stimulation. You squeeze your legs around the base of his cock, and slowly thrust yourself forward in hopes that he understands what you want. 

He does. Using gentle hands, he holds you up in place before slowly starting to thrust his hips upwards into you. With each movement, his cock pushes through your gut leaving you feeling stuffed and full of desire. Your legs loosen from their grip around his base and instead, hang freely below you as he uses you like a personal flesh light. 

“Fuck.” He growls, hands tightening around you like he’s using your body to keep himself alive. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, fuck.”

You can’t reply, at least not in words. The combination of his fat girth and poking tip render you speechless aside from a few moans of pleasure. “Sy…” you attempt his name, but it’s useless. You can’t focus on anything other than the way he fucks up into you. 

“Mine. Mine.  Fuck.” He mutters under his breath, fingers finding their way to where your body holds him inside, splaying across your belly to feel the weight of his cock inside you. 

The build-up of pleasure grows and grows as he brushes his cock against your clit and insides. Your edging closer and closer to release, but just as you feel your physical pleasure start to take over your mind, everything flips. 

The mossy ground is beneath you as you’re softly placed on the ground. With Sylus still inside your pulsing cunt, he now hovers above you, thick arms holding himself up on either side of your head. His wings flap around, shielding your body beneath him. 

“Mine. No one else’s.” He shouts, not taking his eyes off you as he raises an arm and holds his hand up in a direction away from you. Between the folds of his wings, you see movement: more wanderers. A few gnaves, they’re launching in your direction but a red whirling mist surrounds them before they can reach you. 

“Mine!” Sylus screams out, sharp fangs agape as he bares his teeth in the direction of the gnaves. From his position, he starts lightly thrusting his hips forward into you. The sharp pang of pleasure as he fucks into you draws your mind away from the looming threat of wanderers. 

You close your eyes, hands out grabbing for his chest, his arms, anything to ground you. A splattering of wetness across your face forces your eyes open in shock. Sylus stares down at you, his face and yours dripping in wanderer blood. Beside you, the dead bodies of the beasts disintegrate leaving only their protocors. Sylus fucks back into you. 

“Mmmph! Fuck - M’ yours!” You scream out, pulling his horned head towards you again and diving into his mouth. His long tongue laps at your mouth in anticipation before you let it slide in and down your throat once more, the numbing of the saliva still in effect as it mixes with the blood across your face.

“Mine. Mine to protect. Mine to fuck. Mine to breed.” Sylus pants into your mouth, words obstructed by his tongue down your throat. 

“Mmhmm.” You whimper, unable to form words between the harsh fucking of his cock in you and his tongue in your mouth. 

”I’m…” he groans, “here.” He lowers a hand to your stomach, the bulge less visible than the previous position but still just as deep in you as he fucks forward. 

“My place.” The tip of his cock squirms around and fucks up into you at a pace faster than his hips, smooshing against the thing wall of skin separating it and his hand on the other side. It feels like being fucked twice, one thick and slow, stretching against your clit. The other, thin and fast, pumping around against your cervix in whatever space has been molded to take it. 

“No one else.” His gaze is animalistic, hungry, desperate. With each thrust his hardens torso twists and twitches, your tiny body beneath him rocking back and forth on the ground. It hurts, it’ll definitely leave bruises on your skin, but the pleasure overtakes you. 

He slides his tongue out of you and it slithers to wrap around your throat. He looks over you, head nearly twice as big as yours with his sharp horns dangling over either side of your face. This shouldn't be as enjoyable as it is. You should be scared. The leader of Onichynous is splitting you open on the floor of a wandered infested forest after turning into one himself. 

But the way he stares at you overrides all of those things. He looks down at you with such a longing mixture of emotions. He looks down at you like you’re the most precious and dear thing to him in the world, like he’s been waiting for this, like he needs this like he needs to breathe air. Like he can’t believe it’s finally happening. 

His red eyes widen at your eye contact as you raise a hand to rest against his scaled cheekbone.  Not entirely human. Not entirely wanderer. Completely Sylus. 

His eyes glaze over, whether from the pleasure or the intimacy of the act, you’re unsure. But it moves you to speak. “Yours. Forever.” 

That pushes him over the edge, wings flapping violently behind him, horns scraping into the dirt beneath you without care as he leans his head down beside yours. His tongue squeezes at your throat, his breath and pace quickening as he fucks sloppily into you.

“Fuc- mmph...” he stutters into your ear, trying to form words. And then he whimpers, a high-pitched, voice-cracking cry right into your ear. And then he cums. And you can feel it happen. 

You can feel a sudden warmth spread through your lower half, feel each spurt and twitch of his cock. The pressure increases as it pumps into you and pushes against your walls, making you feel even more stuffed as he stays inside you. 

It must be some kind of wanderer, monster anatomy but you can feel the base of his cock tightening as he cums. It swells and grows, pushing further up against your clit. With each twitch of his hips, the base rubs on the nerves until you finally come undone on him. 

“Fuck! Sylus! I’m-!” You cry out. 

“I know, Sweetie,” he moans, voice hoarse, “Keep cumming. For me.”

You close your eyes, whole body tensing as release tingles through your muscles like a spell. Each pulse of pleasure quivering throughout your body; a blanket of white taking over your every thought. Your legs wrap and tighten around Sylus’ waist as he rocks forward into you, slowing down with every hump as you slowly become overstimulated.

“Nnph. Sylus, too much. Can’t.” You whimper out, eyes squeezed shut as you paw at his torso to slow down.  He doesn’t reply, but his body comes to a halt until he’s still above you. His breath is warm against your chest in slow, warm puffs. Time seems to come to a stop; your body feels heavy, and your mind floating above. There’s nothing besides you, the ground beneath you, and Sylus deep inside you. 

After what feels like hours (but could very well be minutes), Sylus shifts. A sharp claw slides gently under your back, supporting your weight as it picks up you. You keep your eyes closed in a heightened state of bliss, trusting Sylus as he moves until you are chest-to-chest with him while he lays on his back. The leather blanket of his wings rests on your shoulders as they wrap around you, keeping you warm and protected from the outside world. His cock remains nestled deep inside you, your stomach feeling tender - used. As if sensing your awareness to the discomfort, Sylus runs a sharp finger down the crest of your back, humming a cracked and hoarse tune. You wait for him to speak, but he doesn’t. He just sits in the silence with you. 

With the strength of Linkon’s most powerful hunter, you lift your tired head off his chest and peer up at him to find his ruby eyes already staring back at you. He looks unsure, almost vulnerable, an expression that a giant horned wanderer shouldn’t be able to express. His hand steadies on your waist, keeping a light hold on you like he’s waiting for you to pull away.

“You mean the world to me Sylus.” You say, eyes glimmering with intent and honesty. He doesn’t respond but his chest stops rising for a moment, a baited breath like he needs a moment for the words to set in. You can see the thoughts racing in his mind as he stares back at you and for a split second, his eyes shine with unshed tears. 

He looks away before you can comment, a smile returning to his face before looking back at you with a soft gaze. “And you are my world.” He says softly. He pulls you tight to him in an embrace that feels like more than just a hug, nuzzling his scaled-maw to your cheek. “Thank you. For trusting me.”

“Of course.” You smile, care seeping into your voice. “How are you feeling? Are the side effects… gone?” You ask, unsure of how to approach to topic. 

“Yes, thanks to you. I don’t know where I’d be without my feisty little kitten.” he teases, but there’s no bite to his tone - It’s filled with appreciation and truth. He smiles and as he does the tips of his scales begin to crumble to dust.

“You never cease to surprise me, Miss Hunter. I thought I walked this unforgiving road alone. You’ve proven me wrong, I’m sorry for doubting your trust in me.” He picks up your hand in his now considerably more human-sized palm and presses a kiss to your knuckles. “I’ll answer all your questions once we’re back at the base. But for now, let me tend to your body. Rest. Stop that wired train of thought in your pretty little head.”

“I don’t think -” you start in protest, but he pushes a no-longer taloned finger to your lips and hushes. “I’ll play kitty cards with you all night long if you wait until we get back.” He bribes, and you can’t find it in you to deny his offer. 

“Pinky promise?” You ask with a small voice, suddenly alerted to the feeling of Sylus’ monster cock shrinking within you and leaving you feeling empty even though he remains within.

“Pinky promise.” He replies, locking his finger around yours and sealing the deal with a spark of red evol energy swirling between you two. He notices your brief discomfort, holding you closer to him with a look nothing short of true love for you. “Thank you for this. You’ve given me a support that I don’t deserve.” He whispers into your ear. You tear your gaze from where your hands are intertwined and are met with human Sylus once again. 

“Don’t insult yourself like that. What we think we deserve and what others see in us are rarely the same—sometimes, we just have to accept the kindness offered.” You say in a stern voice. He looks at you with utter respect, eyes glowing like you’re his queen. “As you wish.” He hums, and it finally seems like everything you’ve said sinks in. “Now let’s get you cleaned up. As stunning as you are, I don’t think dried wanderer blood is a healthy fashion statement.” He lulls as he begins to unwrap his arms from you. 

“Rest, kitten.” Sylus smiles as he smudges dried blood away on your cheek.“Although we’ll need to find where our phones fell to. And new clothes.”

[emmyrosee]

*hoping this is the inbox lol

I’d like to request something for Bakugo, if you haven’t done something similar already!

the scenario could be something like, the reader is on her way home at nighttime to their + Bakugo’s shared apartment and she starts to feel like someone (or a villain) is following her, so she starts trying to subtly contact him (before the villain knows she’s onto them) and eventually needs to start calling/running because the follower/villain is directly starting to attack.

Bakugo could probably be waiting for the reader to get back home and wondering why they’re taking so long, or also on his way back from work as he gets the messages. Reader may/may not get hurt or taken, lol.

but yeah overall, I am in my feels for dramatic and protective Bakugo 🤧 sorry if it sounds too specific, I’m not holding ya to that at all, just sharing the overall idea and would love to see your take!

I hope you have a great day/evening!!

tw // insinuated attacks with NO intense details, angst, dangerous situations, no comfort.

———-

SENT please, for the love of all that is holy, answer me

katsuki im so scared rn Please

im sorry about earlier

But now is not the time to be petty

Katsuki please

Please

whatever happens I love you

I love you so much

you were the greatest thing that ever happened to me.

You’d gotten into a fight this morning.

It was over something minuscule, about throwing away the empty cartons of milk, but apparently it was more than enough to upset Katsuki to the point of silencing your notifications. It had been building up for weeks, little jabs here and there until of course, this morning.

But now’s not a good time for him to not take the high road.

Not when there’s someone only twenty paces behind you, walking step for step with you. Fear grips your heart as you try to muster the courage to face them, so you keep your head down and spam Katsuki with as many messages as your fingers can.

Every once in a while, they clear their throat, just to remind you that they’re there, they’re right behind you and dare you to say or do anything to make them pounce. You don't want to risk it, not when there's no one around to help you. No witnesses, no cameras you know of, nothing to keep you any semblance of safe, only you and your mental gymnastics of debating on confronting the culprit head on, or continue this predator and prey game. You could duck in this little alcove, the alleyway adjacent to you, in an attempt to get away.

You clear your throat. You spin on your heel.

“Is there a problem?”

You choose to face the situation, heart beating faster than an engine, and hands clenched into fists. You wait for your phone to do something, vibrate, chime, ring, anything. But nothing happens.

Katsuki isn’t coming.

The terror looks at you and shrugs, “no, no problem. Why?”

“Because you are directly behind me, breathing down my neck.”

“I was trying to go around you,” they say simply.

You furrow your brows and clench your fists, “then fucking walk around me. Go.” You step to the side and extend your arm out, gesturing them to keep walking. “Go. Go around.”

They click their tongue and shake their head, taking strides to get past you, with their hands jammed into their pockets. You watch with frightened eyes as they approach, ready to fight back when need be.

They pause right in front of you. Your heart leaps in your chest.

“Ain’t anyone ever taught you beware of alleys?”

The world slows down as you watch a massive hand dart up to your face, grabbing your maw and forcing you in the alley, keeping you from screaming. They jam you deeper inside, and your vision blurs with tears of fear as the streetlights grow smaller the farther they move you into the alley.

Your phone clatters to the ground as your adrenaline kicks up, and bile rises in your throat.

This is it, isn’t it?

bk 🩵 the fuck?

What’re you on about?

Why’re you scared?

Im with deku, my phone was off

What the fuck

No, you’re going to answer me

Right now.

You think I’m playing?

Where are you

Babe, please

You’re scaring me

I love you. I’m sorry I yelled

But you need to answer me

You’re okay you’re fine we’re fine

We’re on our way I got your location

Stay put. Don’t you fucking move

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: you make sure caldarus is comfortable during a snowy day.

COMMENTS: for the dragon lovers. i hear you. @xxoomiii you asked to be tagged so here you are my wifey!!

Caldarus stands faithfully at the entrance to your farm, as tall and rigid and stoney as always. He’s awkward but it hardly shows, feeling the tendrils of sleep creep into his brain while knowing he will never truly be asleep.

Ironically enough, he will also never truly be awake.

He will forever be unaware of what led him to becoming nothing but a humble lawn ornament on your lawn, surrounded by the stone furniture you collected from the museum, placed to create a happier space around him. He is thankful for the gesture, yet another act of kindness he owes you for, even though he claims not to need it. It’s people like you who make the world turn. It is people like you who change the world. Caldarus knows that.

The lights in your house are on. The sheet of snowflakes makes the light seem fuzzy, and the wind is steadily growing stronger, but the warm glow of your presence does not fade. For some reason, he finds it difficult to take his eyes away from it. In all the years you’ve been here (what was it now, four? five?) he’s never felt this way. It puzzles him, like an ancient riddle or a new device humans created to keep up with the times.

People like you are always doing better, scrambling for a perfection that doesn’t exist. It’s as admirable as it is foolish.

He hears the door to your house open, and he’s certain his ears would have perked up had they not been stones. He can’t move his head but that doesn’t stop the instinctual urge to turn his neck, to see you, to catch even a single glimpse of what you were doing.

He’s thankful when you appear in the corner of his vision, making your way past the stone lamps and onto the giant stone pathway you put in front of his statue, a sign of respect for him and a testament to your hard work keeping the weeds and debris away from him.

“Hi Caldarus. I made you something.” you smile, and it’s only then that he notices the multicolored bundle in your arms.

“Oh?” he inquires, “What is it?”

You unfurl the bundle with a flick of your wrists, revealing a tapestry of some sort. Caldarus stares warily as you clamber onto his pedestal, positioning your body directly in front of him as you spread the colorful sheet over his body.

“A blanket?” he asks incredulously, a deep chuckle rumbling through his stone maw, “I told you, I have no need for such things. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to.” you say sternly, adjusting the blanket so it fits over his back, tucking it around his shoulders securely, “Comfort is a luxury and you deserve it.”

He wishes he had something to say to that. Something witty, or something wise, or something to ignore the way something inside him melts, warm and heavy and thick. It sinks into every atom of his being, and although he isn’t breathing (he hasn’t done so properly since he was turned to stone) and feels his chest shudder.

Oh.

Oh.

You step back and admire your handiwork, your warm hand gentle against his cold cheek. Your mouth is moving but he can’t hear the words you’re saying, his ears are too busy ringing and his eyes are flicking between you and the tips of the blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“You look cozy.” is what he hears you say, and you laugh so sweetly it sends his heart ablaze.

How could he be such a fool?

All that time he spent watching you tend to your crops, all that encouragement he offered you when you helped out the town, all of the snippets of your conversations he overheard, all of his yearning to retain that information if nothing else—

It was love.

“Thank you.” he says, voice gravelly with gratitude.

You perk up at his thanks and pat his snout, jumping off his pedestal and landing gracefully on the snow in front of him.

“Reckless.” he tuts, because what if you sprained an ankle or broke a leg, humans are so fragile and he is in no position to take care of you.

“I’ll be okay Calda. You know that.” you salute, going on your merry way with a promise to be back before nine and to sit with him until midnight.

For the first time, Caldarus feels impatient for your return.

[teencopandthesourwolf]

edited version now found ON AO3 HERE

.

“Um, are you—uhhhh, are you, like...” Stiles tries swallowing the boulder sized lump in his throat to no avail. The rest of the sentence then rushes out of him like word vomit. “Der, are you seeing other people?”

“No.” Derek's answer is immediate and definite-sounding, out of his gorgeous mouth before Stiles can even look up at him. “Are you?”

Stiles' eyes shoot up and almost out of his head. He somehow manages not to splutter his reply. “I most definitely am not.”

Oh my God, as if.

“But you... want to?” Derek half presumes because he's quite obviously fucking braindead. “Is that why you brought it up?”

“What? No! Not at all! Why, do you—” Oh shit, he might just vomit for realsies. “Do you want to?”

“No, not at all,” Derek parrots, and Stiles thanks all the Gods he's never believed in.

“Oh, right, well. Good. That's—that's good to know.”

Stiles just really, really, really needed to know. Like, either way, you know? But holy Toledo, Cousin Miguel! Thank baby Jesus and the donkey and those Frankincense dudes and the Brokeback cowboys for humongous gigantor mercies.

Derek takes a breath. “I mean, I'd share you if that's what you wanted, but I... wouldn't exactly relish the thought.”

Okay, Stiles is now thanking the Flying Spaghetti Monster from Pastafarianism.

His lips twitch when the souwolf's grim-set features soften just a touch.

“Fuck it, you know what?” Derek asks before barrelling on without waiting for an answer. “If you were a wolf, you'd know that I'm actually a lying liar who lies,” he admits, seemingly out of nowhere.

Stiles's eyebrows try to match Derek's but fail, obviously. His stomach is trying to relocate in the fiery pits of the underworld via Nilfheim. “Oh yeah? H-how so?”

He very narrowly escapes getting whiplash when he finds himself batting his lashes and sucking on his bottom lip as he realises—after studying Derek for a moment, like, really looking at him—that he knows exactly how so. He doesn't need to hear heartbeats or scent stuff or whatever to perceive the quiet fury simmering away behind those silly-beautiful kaleidoscope eyes.

“Because...” Derek starts, hesitant, but that only lasts till he's looking up and seeing Stiles nodding furiously at him. Stiles knows. “Because you're mine,” he snarls, all wild and possesive and one hundred percent spectacularly correct.

Derek's eyes flash blood-red, and Stiles practically whimpers.

Then Stiles is lunging, slamming his face into Derek's while mumbling a garbled, “You're goddamn right I am,” directly into Derek's hot, wet, wide-open maw; fangs and growls and all.

Derek, ever the Big Bad, gobbles his words, and him, right the fuck up, ripping off Stiles's red hoodie before practically shredding the rest of his clothes with those lengthend black nail-claws.

As he gives himself over completely to getting gloriously mauled, Stiles idly considers how the only religion he'd ever align himself with is printed on the pages of Grimms' Fairy Tales.

Well, minus the grandma, of course. This particular retelling is way too saucy for his babcia.

[jaderabbitt]

Echoes of You

Bucky x Deceased(?)Wife!Reader

Bucky’s been hearing a voice for a long time. It began as the Soldat, and lingers even now. You’re his Angel—the voice in his head that he sometimes hallucinates into the form of a woman. Remnants of Hydra seizing his brain for so long—consequences of repeated head trauma, he assumes. He’s never told anyone about you, and he intended to keep it that way.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Descriptions of Violence, Mild Descriptions of Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied Thoughts of Suicide, Mentions of Death, jaderabbitt's esoteric writing style, not beta-read so if you find spelling mistakes, i WILL game-end myself Tags: Angst, Angst with Fluff, Did I Mention Angst, Canon Divergence, Reader Insert, Unreliable Narrator, References to Mythology, Angst with Happy Ending (?), Author will not spoil story in Tags, Author cannot remember the 8 pages she wrote in 9 hours, gomen.

Note: Reader is given an EXTREMELY loose description involving longer hair at some point, but it is VERY relevant to the story. You will need to read to see why!

—

“Enemy. Eight o’clock, Soldat.”

Immediately, his head swung, and his pistol was shoved in the crevice of a metal bicep, firing before the agent had even realized that he was spotted. The body dropped, a gaping hole left in between the eyes.

He released the breath he hadn’t realized he held to begin with. It was as if he had been the one shot, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. The world felt all-consuming.

He knew that voice. It hadn’t come through the device in his ear.

He didn’t know exactly how he knew the woman’s voice, nor why he heard her. Every time she spoke, it was as if she were talking directly into his ear, no matter the noise level around him.

Her voice had been the only constant in his fleeting moments of clarity. 

His Ангел. His Angel.

He began to call the voice that when she would warn him during missions. It was as if she acted as a sixth sense, being able to see things even his heightened perceptions couldn’t. She wasn’t always there—her presence faded in and out without notice. But, she was always there when he needed her.

When they put him in that gods forsaken chair to rewire his brain, it was her voice that kept him stable. When they put him inside the Iron Maiden of a cryochamber, it was her voice that kept him warm. When he sat in the dark corner of the empty concrete cell, it was her voice that kept him company.

He figured that all of Hydra’s torture created a tear in his psyche, manifesting in the voice of a woman he’d heard in passing. It would make sense, given that the human mind craves the comfort of others. Hydra didn’t exactly allow him relations besides his handlers, so his mind had to create someone to fulfill the space beyond pain and emptiness.

He kept his Angel a secret. Something that wholly belonged to him, the only part of himself that he could have control over. He would never allow them to take you.

“You are showing abnormal readings in brain functioning, Soldat. Status report.”

The grating voice of his handler was made even worse by the static in the communications channel. It succeeded in bringing him out of his trance, carefully observing the carnage around him.

“Mission complete. Targets eliminated. No witnesses.”

He stepped over the disemboweled body of an agent, retrieving his knife; he wiped the remaining viscera and gore from the blade on the deceased agent’s suit. It didn’t take long for him to receive word of his extraction point and means.

Back into the gaping maw of the Lernaean Serpent he headed, unable to resist its call.

He trekked through miles of uneven terrain, as Hydra was nothing but thorough when it came to ensuring their involvement within the world’s dealings stayed hidden. His extraction points were always far enough away from the target’s area of engagement to ensure that he could lose any tails he might encounter. It was an arduous process, one that he would despise if he could bring himself to feel such wealth of emotion. They had taken that from him too.

“They can never take your heart, my Soldier.”

No. They couldn’t. Not while he had you.

– – –

The first time his mind had conjured up a vision of you, he nearly punched a hole into the concrete of his holding cell. He had felt a presence within the dark room suddenly, and when he turned his head, there was the visage of a woman. Her features were too hazy to make out in the dark of the room, or perhaps his mind couldn’t remember a woman’s face to place onto the hallucination. Either way, the lifelike projection of a faceless woman should have been disturbing–even to someone who had seen under the epidermis of a human face before. Oddly, he couldn’t bring himself to think of you as such. 

No, the feeling he got when he looked at you was one he could no longer name. It had been forgotten under the force of an electric current.

“Not forgotten. Stolen.”

Your saccharine voice still sounded as loud as ever within his head, despite the distance between his physical body and your imaginary one. Oh, how he yearned to close that distance, to hold you within his arms–his coveted Angel, who he selfishly stole from the gods’ grasp to ease his troubled mind here, on Earth. He found his arm, the one made from Gaia’s own metals, outstretching towards you without thinking. His palm splayed out, he watched with bated breath as you mimicked his own movement. He knew that he would never have been able to feel you to begin with, but he allowed himself a simple indulgence in believing that it was due to the lack of nerve endings, and not because you were never here to begin with.

“I’m always with you, my Soldier.”

For once, he allowed himself to believe that.

– – –

He was incapable of dreaming while under the freeze of stasis. He simply went under, and woke up whenever they decided to thaw him. Sometimes, cryo-freeze was the only respite he got–and he was thankful for not being needed. And yet, he still fought his handlers to prevent the chill of the iron coffin. Being unable to dream and made forcibly unconscious meant that he was unable to hear the gentle lilt of your voice, unable to watch as your form took shape. His heart would ache, as if it were missing the synchronicity of yours marching along with it.

It was a fool’s hope to wish for every freeze to be his last–whether that meant he never went under again, or his heart finally left this mortal coil and froze over for good, he couldn’t decide. So, when he woke with a start to the remains of biting frost against his skin, he felt rage bubbling hot in his veins.

“Have a nice nap, Sleeping Beauty?” You giggled. Your form danced along the peripherals of his still hazy vision, taking spot where there was a gap between white coats. They were checking his vitals, making sure he would be combat ready for the mission they no doubt awoke him for.

He’d roll his eyes if he had full function of his muscles.

You huffed a laugh at that, reaching out a hand to caress his cheek. Of course, he couldn’t feel it–but he let himself believe it was because his skin was still defrosting.

“I missed you.”

He missed you, too. He always did. Even when you were present in his mind, or a vision being projected by his psyche, he missed you. He couldn’t explain it. How could he miss a part of himself? He didn’t dwell on the logistics too long. If he thought about you too hard, his head began to hurt, like it was protecting itself.

The pinpricks of melting ice gave way to freeze-burns, ones that were already beginning to heal from his forced genetic mutation. His left arm had been gently defrosted, as to not disrupt any of the machinery within. They held the Fist of Hydra to a higher regard than the rest of his body, apparently. You snorted at that thought. It was such a beautifully normal sound amongst the noise of beeping monitors and the scrambling of doctors, scientists, and engineers. He involuntarily let a half-smirk rise on his face, to the horror of the poor doctor checking his vitals. The medical professional couldn’t imagine what would make The Asset happy other than the thought of the impending carnage he would soon wreak upon unknowing targets. It was better he thought that, anyway. He’d get put in the chair for showing a sliver of unconditioned programming otherwise. 

He blinked the remaining frost from his eyelashes, looking back over at your dizzying presence. Your hair floated about you as if you were underwater, but your skin was still the same pitch black and featureless void that it had been the first time he let his mind give you physical form. It was confusing; he had seen plenty of women since you first began appearing before him, and yet his mind never allowed any of their features to replace your lack thereof. It just didn’t seem right, he supposed.

He must’ve really been under for a long time if it was taking his psyche this long to will you away and fall back in line with his programming. Even as he was being transported to the roads of Long Island, New York, you had continued to hover over him.

You had stood at the car wreckage with a curious turn of your head as he let the motorcycle fall upon its kickstand. It was only when the man in the driver’s seat stumbled out of the remains that you reacted to the sight in front of you.

“No…” You gasped, but the Soldier crept on towards his target.

“Sergeant Barnes..?” Croaked the dying man, and you watched along with bated breath, waiting for some kind of reaction. The only one you’d get would be the Soldier’s fist colliding with flesh and bone. The cries of a woman mourning her husband were cut off by a thick hand around her throat, effectively compressing her airway closed. The Soldier didn’t even look at the woman he was finishing off. No, his eyes were trained on you.

His face remained stoic as white streaks glistened down the black of your cheeks. This was his way of compartmentalizing, he supposed. You wept for the man who could not. 

When he turned after shooting out the camera, you had disappeared. 

– – –

The next time he heard your voice, it was in Romania. He had been here for quite some time, trying to piece together who he was, exactly. The quiet, traditionalist country was perfect for someone who preferred to stay hidden. He spoke the language fluently, resembled the people, and kept to himself. The locals didn’t ask questions, simply trusted he wouldn’t cause trouble. He couldn’t help but be wary–it was drilled into his head, near literally. He had started to grow paranoid at the peaceful life he was being allowed, as if it too would be stolen from him at any moment.

The lively morning market of Bucharest had settled his nerves somewhat; it was a familiar place with familiar faces. He settled for the fresh fruit stall, instantly gravitating towards the plums. His gloved metal hand palmed the assortment of velvety fruit, feeling the weight of them as a test. If they didn’t push against his thumb’s pressure and he was able to feel the weight upon the metal, he knew they were too early. He asked the stall manager, for good measure, about their ripeness, finally selecting a few for his apartment.

It felt normal. He felt normal.

“You know, I heard these were good for memory.”

He almost gave himself whiplash when he saw you standing across the street. His feet almost moved before his brain processed the oncoming traffic.

It wasn’t just that this was the first time he heard your voice in his head in years. No, it was that he was seeing you.

Your hair, set in the way you always favored. Your eyes, shining in the light of the morning sun. Your nose, set above your cupid’s bow as if it were carved from marble. And oh, your lips, how he yearned to pull you close and press them against his own. The distance was so unbearable, he almost intentionally walked into the oncoming cars. If it meant he would reach you before this hallucination ended, it would be worth it in his mind.

Your gaze faltered, and as you looked upon him with such sadness, he could have sworn he heard his heart shattering against the sidewalk.

“It isn’t safe anymore, James. I’m sorry.”

He wanted to scream in reply, ask what you meant–why you were sorry.

You were gone at the next pass of a bus.

He would come to figure out what you meant pretty quickly. You always did warn him of impending danger, like his own personal oracle. Or maybe it was his instincts reminding himself–he wasn’t paranoid without reason to be. He had already been shaken by seeing his dead wife from 75 years prior, but to see his supposed-to-be-dead-too best friend standing in his apartment had really raised his heart rate. He knew what followed, what always followed. He was never going to be free–not until he was dead.

At least in death, he would see you again. He may get cast down to the deepest circles of Hell–specially reserved–but he could still hope to be reunited with you once more.

– – –

Living at the Compound had felt like another prison–just fancier and with nicer amenities. A condition to his pardon; along with many other things, like atonement by way of taking down Hydra cells across the globe. Having finally been deprogramed, his activation words no longer functioning as his shackles to the serpentine organization, the government saw fit to use his training for their own gain. The fight never stops. Cut off one head, two more shall take its place. Receive a pardon, get ball and chained to a different corruption.

At least he didn’t have to do it all alone.

Of course, several other Avengers were given their own conditions after the amendments to the Accords. He had become unlikely friends with Wanda, both having trauma bonded with each other. Bucky saw her as a little sister, despite her being a grown ass woman. In fairness, he was over a century old; almost everyone seemed too young to him.

The highlight of his extended imprisonment-vacation was remembering you, however. He was slowly but surely recovering his memories, and he probed Steve now and again to confirm what he was remembering. Bucky never let him outright say what he remembered, wanting to recall it all on his own. You were his wife, not Steve’s best-friend’s wife. Being acquainted with Wanda also helped in this department. She would help him through still-locked memories; sometimes, they needed someone else to unblock the dam in order for the flood to start.

He would have called himself mentally on-the-way-to well, if it weren’t for one detail–he still hallucinated you. He refused to tell his therapist, or any of the other Avengers for that matter. It would simply get him labelled as clinically insane, and a clinically insane Winter Soldier was possibly the greatest threat to America, besides the next alien or robot invasion. He hadn’t even told Steve, fearing that even he might think less of him for it.

He supposed it was okay to keep this one thing to himself. He was allowed to be selfish for once in his life.

Bucky wasn’t even sure you would accept the man he’d become, if you were alive. He didn’t think he could take that pain. Maybe this was how his mind coped with that. Created a version of you who still loved him–no matter if he wasn’t the same man he was when you married him. He didn’t think he could ever be him again, despite how much everyone else wanted him to be.

So, he watched you, with a freshly poured mug of coffee in his hands and a small grin on his face, as you shifted between the clothing styles of the decades he missed. You hummed a tune from the movie he had watched last night, the soft notes sounding as if you were directly next to his ear. While the kitchen area was currently empty, if anyone walked in, he could just say he was reminiscing.

“How did anyone get anything done in these?” You laughed, the tight bell-bottom jeans clinging to your skin, with a tight halter top to match. “I know we didn’t wear pants much in the 40’s, but I think I might suffocate!”

Bucky let out a chuckle, scanning the room for anybody else flesh and blood. When he found none, he answered lowly.

“Can’t exactly suffocate when you don’t breathe, doll.”

“It’s about principle, Buck! You know what I mean,” you pouted, opting to shift into the silk slip dress that he remembers very much, cerca 75 years prior.

He hissed, turning his eyes away from you. You, of course, being ever so the manifestation of the woman he remembers, instantly placed yourself back in his gaze. You had that sly smirk on your face that always meant you were up to no good, but he’d be damned if he got himself aroused with a vivid hallucination of his dead wife. Saved by the bell he was, as the ring of the elevator chimed to notify that someone was stopping on this floor. He let out a small huff, knowing he’d have to will himself to act like you weren’t there.

Wanda and Vision stepped out into the kitchen area, spotting Bucky standing behind the island. Vision had been working on travelling like a normal human recently, opting to only phase through things in cases of emergency.

“Hello Bucky-”

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes.”

They both greeted, but Wanda had cut herself off in confusion. Bucky tilted his head, but returned the greetings.

“Bucky, who’s that?”

Bucky’s heart sank all the way down to Atlantis, and the coffee he had been drinking threatened to burn back up his esophagus. He followed the direction that Wanda’s finger pointed– She could see you.

She was seeing you.

“Wanda, I do believe that would be the Sergeant’s wife. She was labelled as deceased after–”

“Yes, Vision, I know who she looks like, so who is that?”

“I’m afraid I do not know.”

Bucky was damn near hyperventilating at this point. They could see you. Someone, or something, invaded his mind and pretended to be his wife. Or, could they see ghosts? Was his dead wife haunting him? They could see youohmygodtheycouldseeyou–

“James,” you hissed, “quiet your thoughts! I can’t focus when you’re panicking!”

…What?

Your hands immediately cradled your head, looking as if you had gotten slapped across the face with the worst migraine of your life. Wanda’s hands had sparked to life, thrumming with scarlet energy. A scream tore through your throat, ringing in Bucky’s psyche. He had clapped his hands over his ears, shutting his eyes, and feeling for the first time ever like the sound was an intrusion–like your voice didn’t belong only within his mind. He grit his teeth together to prevent his own yells from joining the chorus.

Your image flickered like someone was slashing through shadows with a ray of light–flashing between the you he knew and the form null of your distinct features.

There was a distinct crack! that reverberated in his ears.

He was almost scared to open his eyes, believing the sound to be the snap of bone that he was all too familiar with.

When he did gather the courage, he no longer recognized his whereabouts. They had been transported to a dark and dreary place, multiple large wires hanging overhead. The room was mostly unlit, a singular source of violet light extended their sight enough to at least see where they were standing. Wanda looked all over immediately, before her own panic set in. “Vis?!”

“He’s fine. So are you both. You aren’t physically here. He’s currently watching over your bodies.”

Bucky’s head immediately turned, because hearing your voice come out from not inside his head was not pleasant for him right now. And quite frankly, he was freaking the fuck out. There you stood, once again returned to the featureless form he remembered as the Soldier. Only, this time, your hair was much longer, and sat still. While you didn’t have eyes, your head tilted up to look at something behind him. Wanda’s mouth hung open as she, too, followed your gaze.

Behind him, as he found out, was where the only source of light stood tall in the room. It looked like a large tube, violet light streaming in from LEDs sitting at the bottom, pointing up. The structure was filled with some kind of liquid–too viscous to be water, but too thin to be unmoving.

Within that liquid lay something that would become engraved into their minds.

It was you.

There was your physical body, suspended in animation. It wasn’t the you that Bucky married; rather, it was the you that first appeared within his mind’s eye. Your hair floated wildly around your featureless face, and your noir skin reflected the purple of the ultraviolet lights. It was as if your body had gotten cemented into a singular position, your head tilted back and your back arched as if you had been struck and permanently falling.

Bucky couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away, wanting desperately to use the weapon they had attached to his body to shatter the glass in front of him. He finally looked back over to the you stood next to him, and you could see the pain written so plainly on his face. It broke your heart to watch the synapses of his neurons fire on all cylinders, to see the realization seize his body.

“Oh, don’t look at me so, my love. I’m not in any pain,” you reassured, though you were sure that had only answered a singular question he was itching to ask.

Wanda suddenly felt very uncomfortable being a bystander to all of this, but knew she was integral to this projection.

“How long?” Were the words that finally croaked out of his mouth.

You grimaced, knowing that this was the question that would devastate him the most.

“For as long as you had been the Winter Soldier.”

- - -

Teehee. That's all, folks! (for now.) (I've already begun part 2) Like, reblog, and comment! I'd really love to hear what you guys think, as this is the first time I'm uploading a longer type of fic. ;w;

For those waiting on Incidents, that will get worked on in tandem to this! Echoes will most likely only end up being a two parter, with maybe some drabbles of in-universe situations if people are interested. My asks are also open~

[dmitriene]

cw: low honor arthur, minor uncomfortable sexual themes, glimpses of smut.

something has happened, arthur morgan knows it, it's not a premonition, it's a remark on the obvious, he sees the way you walk around the camp slightly hunched over, uncertain, hardly speaking to anyone, and when you do, it's short and quiet, just simple yes or no, instead of the long, emotional dialogues that everyone around you is used to, the bright smiles, charming laughter, all this seemed to be erased, hidden deep and away from prying eyes, as if you were compelled to withdraw, curled up into an inaccessible bundle.

something inside him is pinching, gnawing and scratching at the flesh bleeding from within, trying to get out, to tear its way in a surge of emotions that he has tried to bury for so long, which he has felt for only one woman, but now, he wants to share them with you, this desire to comfort, to protect, to hide, an innate sense that something is wrong with you makes him rush about like caged animal, trying to get closer, more carefully, to you and to what happened, nuzzle in with his dirty maw.

arthur shouldn't have been eavesdropping, hiding in the night shadow of the nearby trees, like a real coward, listening shamelessly to how you sit, tenderly, anxiously clasping your hands on your lap, in a circle of girls, sharing a story from your lips with a muted, but such raw pain, merging from your lips more like blood mixed with dirt than honeyed speeches, about the time you visited this man in the city, walked with him hand in hand, trusting and cracking your ribcage open, to find yourself wounded right in the heart, stripped naked, not with admiration in eyes, but with a dirty animal desire to use, and then throw away.

there's a writhing and churning feeling low in his gut, coiling and pulling with a liquid, scalding weight, and he shouldn't feel a glimmer of hope now that he has a chance when you're in this position, at least, not with you, because you're so kind, so wonderful, offering to lend him a hand even when everyone else is just burdening him, reaching out to console him even when he's growling like a beaten dog, sharing your bullets, giving him smiles warmer than the summer sun rays, your presence like a thousand needles covering his entire body, each one punctuating deeply into his veins, pouring out there a craving, a love, for you, beauty and the beast, only he's worse.

he must forget, give up the very idea of ​​talking to you, ask, finally, what happened, hear the whole truth like it is from your lips directly, without eavesdropping, but his thoughts are always occupied only with you, his hands themselves reach for the journal, for the erased pencil, pressing into the paper, filling all the empty space with you, on the countless pages, in the soul, in the mind, and behind closed eyelids, you are everywhere, what he fills his lungs with, breathing in, what blesses his weary, pale colored eyes from early morning, saturates his palms with warmth when your hands touch, and all his scars, all the calluses, everything fades away.

arthur wants to know how the damp heat of your skin smells, how supple you will be under the greedy touch of his digging, squeezing fingers, what sounds you will make, quiet sobs, melodic moans, stuttering gasps of his name, requests for more, for him, for pleasure, how warm your cheeks will be from embarrassment, from emotions, will you giggle, seeing how mottled red his face will become from blush, how much his pupils will dilate, swallowing the blue greenish color of his fluttering eyes, how much his hands will shake, strong, molded from steel muscles, afraid to touch you, breach deeper.

he finds you in the dead of the night, perched on a rock beside a river with feet soaked and bare, drops of water scattered across the surface of your skin like jewels, like tears streaming down your cheeks, followed by sobs bitten against swollen lips, by the rustle of his steps on the stones, making you shudder, jump, but not flee, brave, proud, even though hurting, turning to welcome the unexpected company, the raspy, questioning voice, which wants to console, to pull you into the comfort of an embrace, and you allow it, burying yourself, curling up in his solid chest.

arthur fails to stop himself in time, lifting your chin between his thumb and forefinger, before pressing his lips to yours, awkwardly, slowly, letting you pull away, push, hiss, but you press in and respond, melting under his hand as he reaches out to squeeze your hip, digging into the worn fabric of your pants below, trying to control the surge of arousal, the urge to bite your lips, to push his tongue inside, instead softening to just gentle pressure and languid sighs you share between, before you pull away, and laugh, lay your head on his chest, letting him wipe your tears away, lick them, swallow all the pain.

how long, you ask in a whisper, but he doesn't know, all he knows is that he will not endure rejection, that he will lose the purpose he has already assigned to himself, to be yours, both a bullet and a shield and a lover, and when your gazes lock, something in his makes your eyes open wide, causes you to gasp, reaching your hand up to caress his cheek, his rugged stubble, his high, hectic cheekbones, rising on your toes to press your forehead to his, wiping away the moisture gathered from under his eyes, and nodding, giving yourself to him with a simple yes, one more kiss, as arthur scoops you up, thanking mother luck, grinning sharp into your lips.

the most precious possession, and he would do all in his power to keep it woven through him.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[therainscene]

While I'm on the topic of Will being on Vecna's side after the destruction of Castle Byers -- I have to point out the how well the colour symbolism in Will's costuming reflects his connection to Vecna.

In S1 he wears his iconic jacket with the giant red collar that evokes a Demogorgon's maw. For now, this is an innocent choice that simply serves as foreshadowing for the horrors to come.

During his S2 possession, he wears only grey, blue (symbolizing Mike perhaps?) and Vecna's signature red. But interestingly, the more control Vecna has over Will, the less red is present in his outfits. I can see two ways of looking at this, both of which are probably true:

It symbolizes his loss of individuality: S1 showed us that he likes wearing red, after all, and he wears it prominently in 2x01 as well. His efforts to reclaim the boy he was before his kidnapping aren't working.

It symbolizes how agreeable he is about having Vecna in his head: some red stripes remain on his pyjama bottoms while he still has enough control to spy on Vecna, but it's gone by the time Vecna starts using him as a spy in turn.

S3 begins with Will still only wearing blue and grey... but the red is back.

Vecna's back too, of course, but it's worth noting that this season brings with it the onset of puberty and the obnoxious reality that is Mike Wheeler spending all his time with El Hopper -- perhaps Will's anger about that can't help but splash onto his outfits.

Either way, red never appears on his neck (the area which most strongly symbolizes his connection to Vecna) until he fights with Mike and destroys Castle Byers -- after which his collar turns solid red and stays that way for the rest of the season.

(If you were skeptical about red symbolizing how agreeable Will is about having Vecna in his head before, maybe now it's making a bit more sense -- he spends this portion of the season choosing to be a glorified Geiger counter for the party.)

Red continues to dominate his wardrobe after the gate is closed, but it's gone from his neck. At least, his collar is blue when he affirms his devotion to Mike in the S3 epilogue:

It doesn't stay that way, though. After six months in Lenora with no contact from Mike, the collar is red again. Will can't sense Vecna here, but he certainly can sense how lonely and different he is.

(And just because Vecna isn't literally in his head doesn't mean he isn't on his mind. It's probably not a coincidence that the flirty girl is a Patty Newby lookalike who just so happens to share a shot with the word "HENRY" appearing behind Will's neck. He relates to Henry way more than he's letting on, I think.)

The instant Mike returns to him, he immediately excises almost all red from his wardrobe -- just swinging directly from one extreme to the other, with emphasis on blues and greys at first followed by generic Byers earth tones for the rest of the season.

I don't think this is a promising sign. The only other time red was this absent from his wardrobe was when Vecna was crushing all the individuality out of him -- and now he's doing it to himself.

Anyway, then S5 happens.

:)

[asidian]

Niko is such an intriguing character to me.

She's fun and funny, earnest and optimistic and kind. She seems to have a sort of innocence about her; her optimism veers into naivete, and those iconic rose-colored glasses tint her world view maybe a little too much. 

But at her heart, I feel like Niko's story is perhaps one of the most relatable in the show.

She isn't a psychic. She isn't a shapeshifter. She has no special powers at all. She's not dead already. She hasn't spent thirty-five years learning about all the strangest things the world has to offer.

She's just a girl, struggling with a very real, very universal, very down-to-earth problem.

Every person alive will lose someone.

Every person alive will learn to grapple with grief.

Every person alive will take a look around them at some point, at friends and family, and realize how quickly they might be lost.

Every person alive has had cause to worry about their own death, and how the future might bring it.

We see Niko come to terms with all of this, and her major emotional character arc centers largely on this processing of grief and her fear of her own mortality.

When we meet her, she's a shut-in. She isn't talking to anyone about anything, and especially not about her father. She can't even stand to read her mother's letters or write one in return.

We see her fear of death manifest during the Case of the Devlin House, when she opts to sit out entirely; it's fear, too, that urges her into action, when she sets out to assist her friends.

In the Case of the Lighthouse Leapers, she realizes for the first time that she can make an impact in keeping the people she cares for safe. It's Niko that darts in just in time to keep Crystal from walking off the cliff and into a sea monster's waiting maw.

As she becomes more confident, she also becomes more willing to directly face her own grief. She reads her mother's letters, and then, in time, manages to send one in return.

In the final episode, she notes that she's ready to call her mother; she's processed her feelings enough to be willing to put them into words, to speak about this unspeakable thing that's been living there inside her.

She's managed, too, to come to terms with her fear of death. She is brave not because of a lack of fear, but in spite of her fear. She's afraid when the boys are kidnapped, but she goes with Crystal to save them anyway.

This fearful girl, lost in grief, who couldn't leave her room at the start of the series, steps in front of one of her friends and takes the death that's meant for her – and in that moment, her character arc is complete. She's overcome the fear of her own mortality at last, in the most impactful way possible.

Seeing Niko struggle with her grief, and come to terms with her own mortality, is the sort of emotional narrative arc that you don't usually see on screen. It's beautifully handled, and Dead Boy Detectives is stronger because of that.

[omegaseverywhere]

Omega!Soap who frothes at the mouth when he meets you for the first time. Your scent engulfs him despite the stupid amount of suppressants and blockers the military forces everyone to take and a dribble of slick runs down his leg. Omega!Soap who starts reading parenting books and making baby name lists and arranging his finances because he knows he's going to be your Omega. You are going to be his Alpha. You are going to have a litter of tiny Scottish babies with your eyes. Omega!Soap who volunteers to spar with you every time you want to work on some hand-to-hand only so he can feel your body against his.

Omega!Soap who insists you call him Johnny, which tells the rest of the taskforce how Soap feels. Omega!Soap who works his hardest whenever he knows you are watching. Training. Going over mission specs. Creating and deactivating different bombs. Taking down targets on the field. If he knows you are watching, he locks the fuck in. (And when he's done, he turns to you for approval, blue eyes glittering, mouth pulled wide in a lovely grin)

Omega!Soap who could drown in the sound of your laugh and does everything he can to get that reaction. He basks in the light of your eyes as you smile at whatever quip came out of his mouth. Omega!Soap who actually listens to medical when he gets hurt as long as you are in the room to repeat their instructions. He will listen to you. Will not listen to them. (Price sometimes has you relay his orders to Soap as a precaution before risky missions. Soap listens to Price but he listens to you.) Omega!Soap who has separation anxiety and whines horrifically and consistently when you are sent on a mission without him. He knows you aren't together - yet, his inner Omega huffs - but he is chomping at the bit the entire time you are gone.

Omega!Soap who plans his leave to be the same time as yours and drops hints that you should visit Scotland with him. Its beautiful this time of year (and he wants to show his family the Alpha he's been telling her about).

Omega!Soap who circles you as he nears his heat, hoping you'll chase him down. Hoping you'll follow him directly into his nest and slip between his spread thighs. He snarls at other Alphas who think they have a chance, making a big show of it so you know that he would never accept another in his bed.

Omega!Soap who circles you as you near your rut, hoping you'll use him to satisfy your urges. He bears his throat and stares at you through long dark lashes. He snarls at other Omegas who think they have a chance, making a big show of it so you know that he will fight for you if need be. Omega!Soap who has medical remove his IUD and switches to the pill...and never takes it when you both aren't on a mission. He has a couple morning-after-pills for worst case scenario situations but he is not about to let an IUD stop him from getting knocked up on the random chance you wake up and decide your life's goal is to make an honest Omega out of him. Omega!Soap whose instincts turn dark and dangerous when you are taken hostage. Who makes such quick work of the hostile enemies that everyone is dead before anyone catches wind that anyone has died. Who snarls, blood in his maw and in his claws, as he brings you to safetly. Who only calms when he can rest alongside you, his head on your chest so he can monitor your heartbeat.

Omega!Soap who cries - from euphoria and relief - the first time you knot him. The cries turning into sobs when you sink your teeth in his neck. Who sniffles along your neck before biting you back.

[swampjawn]

Soooo…. what ever happened to the puppets from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer? And why was Santa such a grumpy bastard?

Well, the answer to that first question ended up being a much more complicated story than it first appeared, even complete with a twist ending. And while researching it, I stumbled across the tale of a forgotten Japanese animation pioneer who revolutionized animation industries in Japan AND China, made a whole bunch of propaganda during WWII and the Chinese Civil War, and then created the Rankin/Bass "Animagic" animation style and animated all those classically American classic stop-motion Christmas classics that we know and love. Tadahito "Tad" Mochinaga (持永 只仁).

That's right, Rankin/Bass was an anime studio!

Born in 1919, Mochinaga was inspired by early Walt Disney shorts to become an animator. Much like Disney, he built Japan's first ever multi-plane camera rig,

Ari-chan (アリチャン, 1941)

before being contracted to make war propaganda.

Ironically at the same time he was working under Mitsuyo Seo (瀬尾 光世) on Momotarou's Sea Eagles (1943)—a delightful picture about a bunch of cute little animals triumphantly bombing the shit out of those fat, stupid Americans at Pearl Harbor—his biggest inspiration was working on his own exciting propaganda cartoons from the exact opposite side of the same conflict.

But it was during his time working under the Chinese Communist Party that he inadvertently popularized stop-motion puppet animation in east Asia.

Tasked with making a puppet film that satirized the Nationalist Party's leader, but also dealing with an extreme shortage of film in the country, Mochinaga realized that if he stiffened the joints of the puppets, posed them manually and shot them frame-by-frame instead, he could use only the exact number of frames necessary.

He would continue to refine that stop-motion style after returning to Japan,

and eventually catch the eye of an American producer, Arthur Rankin Jr, who had just started a studio with his friend Jules Bass.

The story continues in much greater detail in this video, which completely obliterated my other plans for the month, and which I promise, does actually answer the question at the start of this post. I really didn't expect this project to balloon into an epic that spans an entire century, but in order to understand the ending, you have to start at the beginning!

Seriously though, I think this is the best video I've made yet and you KNOW I spent an absurd amount of time learning 3D modeling/rigging/texturing/animation to make what amounts to just some stylistic icing on the cake, but it's a bit different from what I usually make and youtube can punish you for that so if you do find the video interesting and feel like sharing it with someone you think would also be interested, I will personally show up at your house with an old satchel bursting with deliciously ripe oranges and squeeze all that sweet, sloppy nectar by hand, one-by-one directly into your expectant, gaping maw.