#basically just features that the masks could hide

[sugoi-writes]

Scent Kink - Featuring Alastor x GN! Reader

A/N: HEAVILY inspired (and partially written for) @hazelfoureyes... UNO VERSE, DEER! I hope this is alright, as I feel you do him SOOO much more justice. Your thirsts have made me cave in. I will need to go to confessional after this one.

Includes: scent kink (Alastor has it for reader), GN! Reader, some implications, mentions of violence/carnal desires, and of course, some m*sturbation. Yippee~

Honest to Satan, it took him by surprise. Rarely was Alastor motivated by anything "innate" or "carnal" (past his violent urges against ne'er-do-wells). That is... until you came into the picture.

Alastor's always had a great nose: all the better to spot bad meat with! ...But now? Now he can't help the way he drifts and looks your way. Now, he has to hide the perk in his ears and the subtle nostril twitches and flails. Now, he often stands closer to you when engaged in group activities. Hell, the seat to his right will always be reserved for you. Anything to get closer and catch just a momentary, minute whiff to take in your scent...

When you arrive back to the hotel, he's at the door, helping to take your coat. It's always on the coat rack by the door when you need it most... but when you weren't paying attention? Alastor had it all to himself.

There had even been times where Niffty was doing laundry, and he had half the mind to volunteer to help... it'd much less suspicious of him to handle your things this way, right? But alas, that was maybe a touch obvious... and Alastor is not known for his charity.

When you're fresh from a shower and coming down for dinner, he always seemed out-of-sorts. Little did you know that the Radio Demon was sad that your natural scent was muted by flowery, excessive fragrance. No, he much preferred seeing you worked up, disheveled, maybe even a bit... unkempt? A normally tidy, avoidant, do-NOT-touch-me man was reduced to this? It unnerved him to no end; his blood was boiling.

He had his normal mask, that damned smile, working overtime. Anything to distact you from his eye twitching. Anything so you wouldn't notice how he shifted his weight next to you. He would curse himself, his back straightening and even arching when you leaned over him on the couch, straining to grab the TV remote. He made grand, almost cartoonishly bold gestures now... just so you would miss how much he needed to adjust himself around you. How much his eyes would dialate when you were close to him, for any reason...

But the more he tried to hide it... the more craved it; the more he needed the real deal.

---

You were adjusting yourself after a recent scuffle, loan sharks having come looking for Mimzy again... You winced, clutching your side from a harsh blow you received. You would definitely need some help taking care of that...

You could barely make it two steps before Alastor has you by the wrist, pulling your arm taunt. You panic, wriggling and squirming as Alastor's eyes roamed over you. You had a delectable little nick on your cheek, weeping blood. Alastor leans down, breath ghosting your cheek as you shuddered. You felt a jolt of electricity race up your spine as he spoke:

"Dear, you should really be more careful...," a thumb grazes your flushed flesh, before his taloned digit is licked clean. You found yourself struggling to swallow the lump in your throat as a toothy, sultry grin is sent your way.

"You're getting sloppy...~"

You can't help but notice how obsessively attentive he was. How he managed to pull you inside, and forced you to sit on his bed. He asked you to strip down to the basics, and tended to your wounds, no matter how little. You could hear every time that Alastor's breath shook and hitched, absolutely enthralled by you. You were in his sights, in his hands, and you invaded his sense of smell.... he was so close, yet he felt miles away...

The only way he didn't have you was with his tongue, lapping at your sweet, sweet sweat... Maybe, he would consider licking a little lower... did you taste as good as you smelled?

He would inhale deeply as he spied fresh blood or helped remove old clothing/bandages. This routine of yours would continue, even as your wounds became more manageable.

One would assume he was concentrating when he held his breath... but NO. He was memorizing this. He would remember this map-out of your musk and body like the back of his hand... He felt like a mut in heat with how hungrily he regarded you.

You had missed the way that Alastor's eyes gleamed when he offered to wash your dirty, bloodied clothing for you. Embarrassed but appreciative, you took him up on his offer. As he gave you one of his blouses as a temporary cover up, sending you on your way... Alastor locked the door, practically salivating.

Never had he been brought to his knees so quickly, doubled over and panting. Never had he practically torn his pants off, seams frayed and barely hanging on.

He frantically fisted his cock, pumping hard and fast as his precum glided down his warm, agitated tip. The desperate mewls and blissful sighes that escaped with every pant was almost musical, bouncing off the walls of his room in a grotesque cacophany. The staticy filter cloaking his voice had vanished, leaving him nothing but a bare, hungry, frenzied sinner.

As he balled up your shirt, inhaling sharply, he fumbled through curses and praises... You. You. You. This was your fault.

And even as his mind demanded more, his body sought its release, making a mess of his hand and the carpet. He grimaced at the warm fluids, realizing he'd have to deal with that sooner, rather than later. Alastor would fall back onto his haunches, shirt still gripped tightly in his left hand. Shakily, he held it up to his face again, nuzzling into it as he took in more of your musk. His own had started to cling to the shirt, his sweat and drool starting to dampen your smell.

You were driving him to madness. To his dismay, he realized that this would not be enough... not anymore.

He let his hands fall lazily in front of him, cock still throbbing absentmindedly.

First, a quick wash and preening. Then... he'd be looking for you to answer for his desires.

[simpingforbots]

What if human ended up in transformers one

Part 5

Megatronus

Megatronus is big, very big, the biggest of all primes, the strongest, the coolest, but only for the publick. His fellow Primus knew that below this tank of a bot was a soft one, who just wanted for the war with quintessons to finally end, no matter what it takes, even if complete a genocide of entire race, that wanted the same.

It was pure luck you escaped the quintessons ship after being kidnapped by them, only to ran in to an active battlefield, running for your life and hid behind one of the huge rock as hell happened all over. Fire, strange huge metal creatures fighting those who kidnapped you. One of hugest bot's took cover behind the huge pile of rocks you were hiding behind, spoting you in progress. You stared at him with wide eyes of horror and smiled nervously as you realised that any second this bot might kill you. The big bot only cocked his head and than grabbed you as he rolled away from a big blast, that shattered the rock, keeping you by his chest, shielding with his huge hand while fighting back. When the fight ended he happily showed you off to other Primes, holding you like a kitten, by the scarf of the ragged clothes you had on your self. Other primes were quite surprised by such interesting life and it was decided that Magetronus can keep you. Oh Primus. The big bot definitely had a soft spot for you. Finally on outlet to just let his soft side to take over completely, showering you in pets and treats, besides you clearly showing some kind intelligent, he just did not care. He did kept you far away from Sentinel. You were "allowed" to move aorund via floating pad, that was programmed to follow Megatronus around and it was in your best interest to stay on it unless you wanted to plummet down from a very high place, even if Megatronus would catch you. You also just had to wear the same styled armour as he did. And only you, along with Alpha Triton and Zeta could see his face behind the mask. He hade quite a soft features for someone who was supposed to be scary and would purr when ever you would pat his face, lening in to your small hands, closing his eyes and just letting the guard down. He would love to shower you, filling the small cup with warm soapy water and let you splash around under his watchful eye, he would pay with you, rolling a small ball or let you play with his fingers. Megatronus would also snuggle with you during recharge, wrapping his hand around you, basically trapping in a cage of big, metal fingers. He was also willing to go as far as to find a way to keep you around "longer", no matter the cost. Even if it hurt you, he wanted for you to be there for a bit longer than what medicks told him. after all you were an organic life form and they don't tend to live to long.

Starscream

Starscream is a egotistical bot, it is well known. He had to be the leader of High Guard after their downfall and lase Prime rising to the "throne" he loved control so much it basically made him drunk of it. he even ordered for the thrown of his own to be made in their hide out. But being a leader is also boring. What can bots, who are in hiding do besides scavenging for energon and trying to rebuild their hideout in something more functional for all of them. Boring.

You came in to his existence by accident, during one of his flights with the other seekers, looking for energon, he spotted you near a cave, hiding as you noticed them. It did not take to much effort to pull you out of the hiding and with how small you are, he felt very much in control. So your fate was sealed. he would "command" you to do something, be it as simple as turn over, jump or just try to sound out his name, even if there was language barrier. but after time and countless shocks and punishments, you were able to "understand" what he wanted from you and even somewhat managed to sound out his name, even if it sounded weird. Starscream basically showered in pride of your little pathetic self graveling before his peds, just trying to not get on his bad side. You usually cower by his side as he lazes around, throwing commands and try time to time entertain him by dancing or singing what ever songs you remember. when ever he felt like, he would play with you, if you can call it play. tossing your food so that you would chase it, dangling it on a string above you so that you'll have to jump up and down for it. he would grow soft just a bit to allow you to rest on his shoulder, time to time getting chin scratches, and that's about it. But try to leave the hide out and you will be punished.

[astro-rainbow777]

🌙 ✨Cancer Through The Houses✨🐚

🌀Preface: Cancer rules over the mother archetype, it is important to note that genders are excluded here. The word mother will be used interchangeably throughout this text, but this just means someone who stepped into their feminine energy in your life, or how you display mother like qualities. The mother pertains to anything that requires a soft, nurturing, emotional, protective and instinctive approach. A man can have these as well, but gender is not important here.

☆

🌝 Cancer in the First House ~ Soft and moon like features, this can show skin sensitivities. This native cannot hide their feelings even if they try, they may be prone to passive aggression. They are know to have a round moon like face, or a crescent shaped face, man of the moon qualities with a prominent chin & bone structure. Whatever moon sign the native has & what house it’s in will show more about the native’s physical features. They enjoy their creature comforts and the maternal figure plays a significant importance in their lives. Family is super important to them, probably raised siblings, cousins or parents to a degree, from a younger age. Resting sad face. Very sweet and kind, people. Strangers often feel comforted by them easily because of their softness and empathetic demeanor.

🤱Cancer in the Second House ~ When Cancer falls into the house of values, money, and possessions, in can indicate a person who values their family and close loved ones deeply. They may spend a lot of money of home goods, property, things for their loved ones. Having a stable home life can be very important for them, as well as having all their creature comforts met. If this person doesn’t get their basic needs met, it can lead them to be very moody and unpredictable in terms of emotional reactions. An important maternal figure could have shown their love by good food, material possessions, gifts, shopping, etc. This is a very good mothering placement, as it’s very grounded, practical and realistic in matters of the heart.

🍪 Cancer in the Third House ~ Shy, soft and gentle speakers, they aren’t too concerned with other people’s business and prefer to keep to themselves. Here the house of communication prefers to stay more in its shell. Their emotions may cloud their thoughts from time to time, but this does make a very colorful communicator. They can be very kind, sweet and sensitive once you get to know them, however, they have a tendency towards defensive communication. They don’t say anymore than needs to be said because of this, to them “no” is a complete sentence. They are very private individuals, and prefer intimate close bonds. They may act as a mother to their siblings and cousins- or perhaps they are the mom friend. These are deeply sentimental and nostalgic individuals, and think a lot about their childhood.

🏡 Cancer in the Fourth House ~ Very sensitive and family oriented individuals. These natives have a deep desire to be apart of a family, raise children and be somewhat of an influence to the younger generations. Emotions are important to them and they are very protective over people that they love. This is a very primal response for them, think of a mother duck attacking anyone that even goes near their babies. They will whoop somebodies a** if they mess with their loved ones. They do not play about family and to them blood is everything. They operate off of pure emotional reaction and instincts. They will enjoy spending time at home to recharge their emotions and don’t get emotionally drained easily because they don’t mask how they are feeling. When they need to flow, they flow.

🛋 Cancer in the Fifth House ~ Known for their cozy and emotional disposition, when Cancer falls in the house of hobbies, fun, and children it can make for a family oriented personality. The native probably spends their spare time with their loved ones, In the comfort of their own home, with children, cooking or connecting to their childhood. They may have a very gentle and soft way of expressing themselves, and can be highly introverted. If the native does have kids, their will be a huge focus on parenthood, spending time with their kids, and will participate in a lot of activities that are nurturing to their spirit. This is the stay at home over going out type. Their idea of fun consists of hanging out with their closest friends in familiar, safe locations. They may enjoy creating emotional art or listening to music that makes you FEEL.

🛀 Cancer in the Sixth House ~ The sixth house rules over health, routines and service; that being said Cancer can bring a lot of sensitivities to this area of the natives lives. They can be very protective over their daily routines and habits. This is usually due to the fact that they make take care of someone in their family or have food sensitivities or their own health issues. They can work on the night shift or just start their day later than most. Coworkers can be like family to them, it's possible they work from home as well. They could do jobs home Healthcare, IT jobs or work with their family.

🫂 Cancer in the Seventh House ~ When Cancer falls over the seventh house of close relationships, business partners & contracts, this can manifest as being really close to your family or being attracted to sensitive, nurturing personalities. They look for a home in their spouse and they could be close to their maternal figure. They could be attract introverts and prefer intimate bonds over superficial connections. They could go into business with family members, take on the family business or work from home. They pick up on their partners feelings intuitively and may engage in passive aggressive behavior when there is conflict in their personal relationships. These guys definitely have a rough exterior, but don't let them fool you, they are extremely sentimental at heart.

🌑 Cancer in Eighth House ~ This house rules over all things taboo, mysterious, and sometimes scary. That being said, this cusp can have some serious family trauma. These natives are known to come off spontaneous and free, but don't let them fool you, they have a lot they are protecting. The maternal figure can play a huge role in this natives psychology and may have easy access to a lot of the family secrets. Their could be alienated from their family. Their child hood was intense, their could have been s*xual ab*se, witch craft and cults in the family. They can feel vengeful towards their family. It's hard for them to find security in the world, may move a lot and find it difficult to feel at home no matter where they go.

🦀 Cancer in Ninth House ~ When Cancer falls over the cusp of the ninth house, the house of philosophy, higher learning and travel, the native could have developed their beliefs from their family. It's possible these natives don't know their family or are adopted. Perhaps one or both parents live overseas or are always traveling for work. They could move out of the country or have family orgins in a place different from where they were born. Their family could be religious, teachers or free spirited. Perhaps the native frequently travels with their family and enjoys broadening their horizon. May not be the traveling type, or enjoys homey, safety stays and might not go out of their comfort zone to explore a new destination.

👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 Cancer in the Tenth House ~ This is the work from home/stay at home parent type. When Cancer falls over the tenth house of career and reputation, these individuals are known for their sensitivity and inner circle. They could spend a good amount of time at home, post on social media about their family and children or just look at family as a highest form of success. It's possible that the paternal figure is absent and the maternal figure takes over. Perhaps the father figure is very sweet, supportive and kind- but this is rare. This cusp is known for being in touch with their feelings and could work in fields that allow them to care and intuivley pick up on people's needs.

🧿 Cancer in Eleventh House ~ These natives are huge humanitarian and may even identify with the phrase global citizen. They could be find family in their communities, and be very protective over their social causes and political beliefs. They are likely the black sheep of their family or maybe their family inspired their passion for humanity. Their is likely a cause that they fight for, this could be related to domestic violence, child abuse or foster care- to name a few. The native can rebuild a family, may rebel against familial norms or just strive to better their themselves for their family. This is likely to be the most unique and innovative one in the their family unit. They could live in area that allows them to be close to their community and friends; they could have a unique living situation or live with a lot of people.

🛌 Cancer in the Twelfth House ~ This native may be hidden to a lot of their family members true motives, they can be blind to their own emotions or be very sensitive towards their families needs. Their home is likely an escape for them, having decor that is highly artist or reminds them of a dream land. The native may have dreams of their family members, have a psychic like awareness of their family's emotions and personal issues. Family life can be confusing for them, the mother figure can be a hidden enemy, or they can have a lot of hidden enemies in the family. May also have a tendency to self sacrifice for their family or maternal figure.

☆ I just want to make a quick note here that wherever Cancer is at in your chart can rule over where you are the most sentimental, sensitive and caring. This is the area of life you nature, hold space for and can get emotional about. This may also be an area of life where you are protective and secretive over. So- if I don't properly interpret your house, and that's common because astrology is so vast, there are so many different ways to interpret things, maybe you can find something I can't! Let me know in the comments anything you find. Thanks you guys!

I really appreciate you for giving my work your time and attention. I hope you and enjoyed ♡

As always I love hearing your feedback and knowing what resonates and what doesn't resonate. At the end of the day, my goal is to become the best Astrologer I can be! As much as I love to share and teach you, the best teachers know how to be students.

Can you guess my Cancer House placement?

I'm a Cancer Stellium btw!

Thanks again,

Kya ♡

[sunrisecaminus]

Heya! Anon here I just discovered you and you're really really good at writing, so hear me out on my request megatron please with human female reader who kidnapped her and became the assistant in the lab she's beautiful and has big brown eyes, black hair olive tanned skin and freckles and she thinks she's ugly or basic but she damn pretty and wears the hoodie to hide l( I'm writing these features BC they're mine,I was bullied since I was a kid and felt insecure about them ,I talked about it with my friends and family at the dinner table and they said it was a lie and I'm beautiful I ended up crying and got confidence for the first time, I know this is a big fat ass request but feel free) I would like it to be comfort and nsfw thank you and take your time:3

Message - I like the idea, but I usually don't like describing specific details/characteristic on the reader, because I want the fics to be for everyone to imagine themselves or whoever they want in the scenario. I still kept the jacket, but I didn't specify the colors. Hopefully it is still a good fic and enjoy :3

Megatron x Human Reader NSFW

Summary - Megatron treats his human pet to make them feel better about themselves even if they think their ugly.

Warnings - NSFW

Type of Fanfic - Hurt/Comfort/NSFW

Being an assistant for Shockwave was pretty weird. Everyday he would have you do something really important, but than next he would just have you clean the floors. You were really good at helping him grab things that is too small, while also finding details he missed (which is very rare he says XD). It was nice to be able to do things around the ship that was useful, but there was one thing keeping you from being the best. Your confidence was so low, it could be down in the earths crater. You always wore a j/c (jacket color) that covered your hair and a bit of your face. You didn't like how you look and your body wasn't any different. You had a few spots on your body that you thought was fine, but other than that, you hated how you looked from head to toe. These bots weren't emotionless creatures, so not only you have to deal with the beauty standards of Earth, but also you need to figure out if you were beautiful on, what the mechs would call, Cybertron. Should you ask? No! Do you know how embarrassing it would be to ask these people? Knockout might be a good person to talk to about it, but he seems like a mean girl and call you ugly, which you don't need to be reminded. Soundwave could be a nice person to talk to, but you always thought he talked shit about people with that quiet aura and mask that covered his face. You were also kind of jealous these mechs had a fashion choice to cover their entire faceplate, you freaking wish humans would do that.

Megatron has grown fond of you, it has been a few weeks when he told you that you were is personal pet. Now you are visited by him for reports which was odd because shockwave did most of the reports. Megs surprisingly was one of the only ones that asked for your opinion on things he doesn't know too much about, and it was nice to be able to listen to him about his past. Being a part of his life would never be boring, and you would honestly like to watch Cybertron be rebuilt and live there. Society has done you so wrong that you wish to start on a new planet and see what happens. You haven't told Megatron any of your thoughts on this, you honestly believe he would hate a human wanting to come and be on their planet. You don't know any of the language or culture, so it would be horrible for a human unless they studied at least one of their languages. It has been a while, but Megatron has taught you a bit of Kaonian which was nice. It sounded like a strong and proud language, which was the exact opposite of you. Everything you repeated in the Kaonian language was hard, because you had to be a bit loud with it and sound more confident then your shy, soft tone of voice. You mess everything up in your mind, Megatron has been a bit disappointed lately and you knew it was because you couldn't say things right and never was able to get the accent down.

Today you had been cleaning Shockwave's tools when you see the clock, showing it was time to head to your bedro-shit they call it birth room. You had to write the terms down a few days ago and it was easy to study on most of them. Grabbing your bag, you head over to Shockwave and told him you were going back to your quarters for the night. He agreed and lets you leave. Today has not been too busy, so it gave you time to think about stuff. It was so hard to get the tiny thoughts out of your head, repeating to you all the negative things you tell yourself. Everyday goes by, increasing your regret on not going to the doctors and getting medication to shut your brain up. Opening the door, you find yourself with the massive room they have for you. You had a ramp that when up to the birth, so you walk up it and set your bag down. It has been so long since you have touched the dirt of your planet, but honestly would you even want to? The horrible things that go on can't be helped by someone like you. No one would care if you just left this planet for good…ok maybe your parents. They are probably worried sick about you, trying to look all over Jasper. You have been trusted by Megatron for you to sneak in the house when they were at work to write them a letter about your ware abouts.

Speaking of Megatron, you hear familiar footsteps walking over to your door as some knocking is heard. "Are you awake, pet?" Megatron was waiting for an answer, which you give by telling him to come in. He opens the door and steps in, closing it behind him. He stands above the birth and watches you put stuff away from your bag. "I was informed by Starscream you have been delaying plans for our next experiment, would you explain yourself?" You stopped what you were doing and thinks about it. The last experiment you heard Shockwave plan was to finally do a health exam on you to see if you can handle G-force without any risks. They have been planning on taking you to places when they finally fix their light speed travel, but it was necessary for you to not be harmed during it because of your usefulness to the faction. The reason you have been delaying Shockwave was because they want you to strip in front of him. Now it wasn't him that made you feel like you couldn't do it…ok it might be a little. You have never done something so inappropriate before and never wanted to show Shockwave or Megatron your figure underneath the baggy clothing. If they realized how gross you were, even more than Megatron thinks humans are, than you would be killed from Megatron not being interested in you anymore. You don't want anyone else to judge you as much as your own brain does, so delaying that check up is the best thing you can do for you and everyone else. You have been thinking for too long and Megatron was getting a bit impatient. "Well? Answer me, human! Or is the silent treatment a way of you telling me you are a traitor?" He sees you react in a scared and frantic way. You cover your face more with your jacket and mumble. "Sorry, I just…don't want-" Your voice was so quiet he asks for you to speak up which made you a little more shaken up about it. "Sorry! I don't want you to look at me!" You put your hands over your face and was ready for him to yell again, but all you got was confusion. "What? That is the whole experiment, you can't stop this from happening." The sigh of stress comes out of your mouth. This big mech doesn't know anything, you can't believe you are going to have to tell him.

"You said it yourself, humans are a very gross species. I am not even good looking in the eyes of my own people. They call me ugly all the time, so I know you would think worse of me once you see my whole body." Megatron loads in his processor what he was hearing. Since he was so big, Megs never really got to take a real good look at your face before. Now he may think Organics are gross, but that's because of their insides. They can pop if he stepped on them and he never wanted to even think about cleaning his pedes of sticky gross organs. He is honestly a bit offended you thought his judgement was going to be the same of tiny little humans. "How dare you compare my processor to a humans brain! I will never know if you are lying about being so hideous unless you show me." You feel his claws start to touch your jacket, which made you tense up a bit before you felt the whole coat being taken away from your body. You are now just wearing a tank top with pants, showing your arms and a bit of your chest. You make a "eep!" noise and tried to grab your jacket again, covering yourself the best you could. Megatron ignores your pleading and observed how you looked. When you tried to cover your face again, his servo grabs you and tightens around your arms so you couldn't move. He stares at your face and presses his thumb against your cheek. This was making you panic, his purple eyes were staring into you like a predator, a hawk ready to just gut you at any movement. He didn't show any disgust, but also wasn't showing he liked what he was looking at. Megatron's emotions were unclear, and you just wanted to run away without wanting to see this ship again. Your plan to go to Cybertron with these mechs were off the table now, you probably won't even make it stepping off the ship's cargo ramp to leave.

Megatron was taking every inch of you in account. What you didn't know was he was loving what he was seeing. The skin, how soft you were, the innocent face. Your body looked cute in his eyes; Your body shape he wished to hold on forever. He mass displaces, having his servo still hold onto your chest. "Don't ever lie to your leader ever again. I don't see anything ugly in this birth right now." You feel one of his digits rub against your chest, making you squeak and moan a little from the nice feeling. He hears your tiny noises, and does it again. His optics dilate a bit, peaking interest by your reaction. He keeps rubbing one of your boobs while slowly taking off your pants and underwear with his free claws. You don't understand why he is giving you such pleasure, and the way he complimented you? You felt a fuzzy feeling in your stomach and lay your head back from the friction he is giving to your chest. Megatron looks at your legs and switches up your position, having his servos grab you by the legs and his digits rubbing against your crotch. You tried your best not to moan, and sees him trying to take off your shirt. Now since your arms are free, your hands stop him and try to cover yourself again. "You try to disobey me?" The second he said that, his digit presses against your crotch a bit more, making you gasp and let go of your shirt. He feels your flower leaking onto his servo and tears off your shirt. Megs leans closure to you and licks down from your lower stomach, all the way up to your neck, sliding in between your boobs. Your hand presses against his face plate as you shakily moan again from the touching, not feeling this before in your life. The love and desire Megatron was feeling right now, he was never going to tell anybody and you better not either or he was going to do worse to you. It lasts for a little while until you cum on his servo, it now dripping all over down on the bed. Your vision was blurry and you felt dazed from the quick interface you just had. Megatron sets you down on the covers and gruff. "You're beautiful, tell me who ever calls you something other than that." Your eyes start to water and smile from such a kind thing he said. Megs will never forget that smile for the rest of his living life.

[assassinnumber9]

TwiYor's Love Languages

So as you guys may or may not know, a little over a year ago I published a fanfic on Archive of Our Own called Loid Forger is NOT A Cuddler, which is basically just 5 chapters (so far) of Loid cuddling and denying it.

It's practically an essay for how his love language is physical touch.

And while I do like to joke about how Loid Forger is a cuddler and whatnot because of my fanfic and headcanon, this most recent manga chapter of Spy x Family gives me a perfect opportunity to talk about this headcanon and why it's in line with Twilight's character as well as Yor's own love language and how they relate.

We'll look at the obvious and pretty much explicitly stated first.

Yor's Love Language: Acts of Service

As previously mentioned, she basically says it outright. Her growing feelings toward Loid are much more obvious than his, and so it's easy to point out that her wanting to help him and have him rely on her is both a way for her to care/love him outwardly and a way for her to know he's accepting of that love.

I think Loid being the one to rely on her also makes her feel even more loved/trusted/confident, because Loid Forger is just so perfect at anything and everything he tries. From the outside, he really doesn't need any sort of help from anyone.

And, Twilight would likely agree. He's confident in his abilities and doesn't seem to want help from anyone as far as we've seen. The only missions he shares are the ones where more than one person is really needed.

Fiona could be potentially seen as someone he accepts help from, except that her help is more of an employee to an employer (or inferior to superior in their case.

And Franky... acts almost like a brother to Twilight? So like, they just force each other to help. Neither of them are accepting any kind of help, just going, "You're doing this."

All this to say that Yor is the only one that Twilight accepts and asks for help from. In the latest chapter, we see Twilight is comfortable enough to ask her.

And, she's ecstatic at hearing him ask for it.

She gets to finally show her love the way she knows how - the way she showed Yuri during her childhood.

Now for Loid Forger, rather Twilight.

Twilight's Love Language: Physical Touch

So far in the story, we have not seen much in terms of love when it comes to Twilight.

Emotions, and love especially, are weaknesses for spies unlike assassins, where emotions and attachments can be seen as strengths. Both fight for their respective loved ones, but the former has to do so hidden under a mask without being caught and the other is able to outwardly express these protective instincts through their actions (assassinations).

So, Twilight, like the great spy he is, hides his love.

You could possibly argue his love language is the same as Yor's (acts of service), but his acts are to keep her happy to ensure she stays with him (ie actually for the mission).

He also seems to give words of affirmation as well, but he only does so when he needs to provide them.

Gifts and Quality time can also be crossed out, because we don't really see him giving Yor gifts and we haven't seen him really go "I need to be with Yor more" yet. The only time we ever saw him think of her when they weren't together was during the cruise arc. But that’s not enough solid evidence for that specific one yet.

Also keep in mind that we haven't seen him express any of these languages to anyone else either.

There is one language we do have solid proof for, and of course that's physical touch.

While no, it's not proof that features Yor or even Anya.

We both hear and see it when it comes to his mother.

He explicitly states that he loved being held by her.

While this story was meant to show his mother's strength as a person, it confirms that loving physical touch was a large part of his childhood

Because he remembers it

Twilight remembers loving being held by her.

He can't remember her face, or his father's face, and is even flustered and confused after his PTSD flashback when he was unconscious. His memories are covered in trauma, and I believe one of the only reasons why he can remember what his friends looked like are because he saw them later in life.

It's hinted that he remembers very little of his childhood - likely due to the trauma.

But his mother holding him stayed with him.

Physical touch was an influential thing during his childhood.

Like Yor's love language during hers.

I would really like to believe that we'll see him learn to love touch again when he finally learns to accept his emotions, and in turn, his "weaknesses" (which will likely be turned to strengths).

And Yor being strong, a trait he remembers of his mother, only strengthens my theory that he'll learn to love physical touch again.

Because, he'll once again be able to know that everything is fine when he's holding her - just as he felt with his mother.

[faewrenbird]

Homicipher Theory

Mr. Hood: The Dishonored Samurai

Don’t turn your nose up yet, hear me out. Maybe it’s a stretch, maybe it makes sense, maybe it’s just a damn good (or delusional) headcanon, you decide.

Homicipher/Mr. Hood Route Spoilers Below!!!!

I established in an earlier theory that the “Ghost Apartments” is a pocket of the spirit realm on haunted grounds where a hospital and subway line were once located but destroyed in an earthquake, after which, an apartment building was built and then abandoned.

But I have a theory that the history of the haunted grounds goes even further back. Perhaps as far as Edo-era feudal Japan. Why? I’m inclined to believe that Mr. Crawling is from that era, but that’s a whole different theory I still need to mull over.

Suppose it’s true—that the cursed land that has accumulated hundreds of vengeful and lost spirits became haunted hundreds of years ago. Perhaps, it became cursed and haunted due to war in this time period. Whatever the case, operating under the premise that its history is this old, I want to take a look at helpful Mr. Hood.

Mr. Hood

He’s the first face we see after waking up in the spirit realm (not counting our startling run-in with Mr. Crawling). You could consider him our Toriel. He gives us the basics, enough info, or lack thereof, to begin our exploration. He tries to teach us some words: light, dark, sound, door, not, maybe “container” if we’re smart. We take this knowledge, leave him in the room behind us, and proceed to immediately get our hearts eaten by Mr. Gap.

But who, or what, is Mr. Hood?

The only thing we learn about him from our brief introduction is that he’s a man of few words, mysterious, monotone, and he’s…literally just a guy in a hood. Oh, and he’s got a big fuck-off axe for seemingly no reason at all.

From what I’ve played of the game so far, it seems we’re unlikely to ever see him again unless some really bizarre and specific conditions are met.

If those conditions are met, we wind up being Alice-in-Wonderlanded into a miniature version of ourselves, and Mr Hood makes an unexpected appearance to help us try to find the magical potion to make us normal again.

During our adventure with him, we…don’t learn much. Kind of the ongoing theme of this game, actually. Get used to perpetually knowing nothing and being confused by what you do know.

We do learn a few key things, though.

First, man has a deft hand with an axe. In fact, he can flawlessly execute any ghost he deems to be a threat, without a moment’s hesitation, and with the badassery to act totally calm and say only “they’re dead” when you interrogate him about it.

Second, there’s nothing under the hood. After escaping a brutal entity, he sits with his hood pulled back, revealing nothingness. Unlike the Bride, though, he prefers to mask this feature. When we comment on his lack of a head, he quickly pulls the hood back up.

Third, he has a body. Although lacking a head, we know that there’s something solid under the cloak, because he hides us in it and we comment on the err…texture of his insides(?).

Fourth, he is some kind of executioner. This is perfectly apparent design-wise. Hooded and carrying a massive axe that he employs with perfect ease. Some speculation, but he seems to specifically serve the purpose of executioner in this land of ghosts. He’s very adept at detecting a threat and differentiating between good and evil (wish the same could be said for our himbo-brained Mr. Crawling, but I digress). In fact, while we're taking a nap, he evidently leaves to a different room to hunt and kill another ghost.

Fifth, he goes where he’s needed. He comes off as someone strictly bound by his duty. At least, this is what I infer rather than him being a wandering spirit in these halls. It’s why, when we’re reunited with Mr. Crawling and the others, Mr. Hood leaves us. We don’t need him anymore, and he can’t accept that we want him with us just because we like him. In fact, he tells us not to say things like that, or depending on your interpretation, that he has nothing to say to that before he abandons us.

So, what does this all mean (apart from making him the sexiest and most mysterious hooded figure I’ve ever known cough)?

My theory is that, in life, Mr. Hood was a samurai who committed some great treason and thus endured the ritual of hara-kiri (seppuku) for his execution.

Hara-kiri was a form of ritualistic suicide where a samurai would take a blade and slice open his stomach, after which, an executioner would decapitate him. An honorable death was when the executioner left just a bit of the criminal’s neck during the slice, not quite severing it completely. A dishonorable death meant the whole head came off, which was embarrassing for the deceased samurai and his family.

If Mr. Hood was a samurai, his prowess with a weapon and calculating attitude towards fulfilling his duty and cutting down enemies makes a lot of sense.

If he was a dishonored samurai, then his reclusive manner and the shame of having no head also makes sense. Not that I think the ghosts retain memories of their life (Mr Gap excluded), but he could be carrying residual shame and dishonor from his death. He could be forever trapped trying to repent for his sins by executing evil, to make up for whatever treason he committed.

I think it’s further evidenced by our description of his insides. Slimy. It’s a grotesque thought, but if we’re being held against a gutted and sliced open stomach, this description makes sense, too.

Additionally, the shame and self-loathing would help explain why he rejects our confession of affection towards him. He’s not worthy of that affection, nor of companionship. He can’t even fathom our interest in him.

(Edit: some below translations aren’t great, I’m still ironing them out. As I’ve seen now, the best translations show us saying “Love you,” and Mr. Hood replying with “not understand,” indicating her can’t grasp our love for him, which still lines up with everything I said!)

I personally am really obsessed with this concept and have adopted it as my headcanon because I think it makes it all the sweeter when he comes back to save us and decides to carry us for all eternity (which, btw, I squealed when I realized that we were no longer small when he picked us up with this objective in mind, so we’re spending our afterlife being bridal-style carried by this man). We are, after all, the first person to care for him since his humiliating death. The first person to like him. The first person to give him purpose beyond routine and mindless execution of dark spirits. We give him a new duty, something to protect and cherish.

And idc what you say, that’s goddamn romantic for this vaguely romantic horror game.

[reveryfics]

hi hi !!!

not a scott lang request, moreso a thor one !!

wow, so different, i know / j

god reader? he's an anchor being (unknown "center of the universe"). he was hiding out in earth in a human form, (like thor, just... his god form is an eldritch horror). endgame timeline. fury says they need more firepower, and thor suggests asking reader for help.

reader has no obligation to, because if he's such a powerful being, thanos has no real threat to him / and or his realm. (his army?)

just, thor practically swooning over readers god form. any scenario, but what i stated (last paragraph) is basically some world building. reader towers over everything, "i eat planets whole" size, with the entire... other worldly, extravagant personality.

imagine the figure that Gorr saw before asking Thor to protect his daughter. (the big, crossed-legged entity of the universe itself).

🪲 anon

Eater Of Worlds

Thor Odinson x Male Reader

Summary: The Avengers need more help against Thanos, and Thor has just the God in mind.

A/N: Currently have a lot of smut requests in my drafts, those will be spaced out as I've done a lot of Smut lately however non-smut requests are still open. I'm not a big fan of how this turned out, so I apologize.

TW: Fluff

The threat of Thanos hung heavy in the air, a suffocating blanket of dread. Everyone present understood the brutal calculus of their situation. They knew the risks intimately, the chilling probability that no matter how meticulously they planned, how fiercely they fought, many wouldn't emerge from the inevitable confrontation alive. The sheer power Thanos wielded was a tangible force, a looming shadow that dwarfed their collective might. They clung to the belief that they were facing a singular, insurmountable obstacle, their options dwindling with each passing hour.

Then, a flicker of improbable hope ignited in the hushed room. Thor, his voice low and tinged with a long-forgotten reverence, murmured about an old tale, a legend whispered by his mother, Frigga. It spoke of a god, a being of immense and terrifying power, one who dwarfed even Thanos in the annals of Asgardian lore. This god, according to the ancient stories, had vanished, choosing to walk among mortals, his true nature masked by a human guise. But the echoes of his past deeds still resonated, tales of devastation and awe that had once sent shivers down even Asgardian spines. This being had once roamed the cosmos in a form that defied comprehension, a wolf so colossal its head pierced the clouds, each earth-shattering step a testament to its raw, untamed power.

Thor recounted these stories, Frigga's voice seemingly echoing in the room, her descriptions so vivid it felt as though she herself had witnessed these incredible events. Yet, even he, a god accustomed to the extraordinary, had never truly believed he would lay eyes on this legendary figure. But here you were, standing amongst them, indistinguishable from any other human, a stark contrast to the monstrous deity of myth. The only hint of your true nature was the casual arrogance in your laughter as Thanos's threat was mentioned, a dismissive scoff that bordered on insulting.

Your amusement abruptly ceased as you registered the gravity etched onto the faces of Thor and Loki. Two Asgardian gods, beings who had faced down cosmic horrors, were visibly concerned. A flicker of something akin to curiosity, perhaps even a grudging respect, crossed your features. If they were taking this seriously, then perhaps, just perhaps, it was worth a moment of your attention.

"Our mother spoke highly of you," Thor ventured, his voice respectful, almost pleading. "You must understand what is at stake here. This… this Thanos… he could even pose a threat to you."

You sighed, a drawn-out exhale of weariness that seemed to carry the weight of ages. "Then you are aware that not even this Thanos can touch me, dear boy," you whispered, your voice a low rumble that resonated in the silence. "It simply isn't my fight."

Tony Stark, who had been observing the exchange with growing impatience, finally interjected, his voice sharp and laced with his usual pragmatism. "Look, with all due respect to the Norse mythology hour, this is getting us nowhere. We're facing a universe-ending threat, and you're talking about some bedtime story. This 'god,' if he even exists, clearly isn't interested in helping. We need a plan, not fairy tales."

Thor ignored Tony, his gaze fixed intently on you. "But you have helped before," he insisted, his voice gaining a desperate edge. "My mother told us stories, Loki and I. Tales of how you single-handedly turned back armies to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. How you devoured entire worlds that posed a danger to others. You possess a power that could tip the scales."

You remained impassive, your eyes flicking briefly towards Tony, a silent acknowledgment of his assessment. "He's right," you stated flatly, your voice devoid of emotion. "Whatever you are attempting will be futile."

Thor refused to be deterred. He pressed on, his voice laced with desperation. Loki, standing beside him, shot Thor a sharp, knowing look, a subtle warning that seemed to suggest Thor was deliberately trying to provoke a reaction.

A low growl rumbled in your chest, a sound that vibrated through the floor. You grunted, the human facade beginning to crack under the weight of Thor's relentless appeals. "Enough!" you roared, your voice booming with an unnatural resonance, silencing Thor mid-sentence. "Stop your mewling, godling! You sound like a child begging for scraps."

Thor, stung by the rebuke, his own patience fraying, retorted, "Perhaps my mother was wrong. Perhaps you are nothing more than a cowardly god, content to hide while others suffer."

The air crackled with a sudden, palpable energy. The sound of bones audibly shifting and cracking filled the room, followed by a guttural growl that seemed to emanate from the very depths of the earth. Your human form began to contort, stretching and shifting in ways that defied natural law. In a matter of seconds, the mortal man was gone, replaced by a wolf of unimaginable size. Its fur was the color of midnight, its muscles rippling beneath its hide like shifting mountains. Its head breached the ceiling, its massive jaws capable of swallowing a planet whole. You bent down, your enormous head looming over the stunned Avengers, a low snarl rumbling in your throat. Your eyes, once human, now glowed with an intense, ember-like light, burning with ancient power.

"Pathetic," you rumbled, your voice a deep, resonant growl that shook the very foundations of the building. "You dare disturb my solitude with such trivial affairs? Matters that have nothing to do with me?"

Thor, however, seemed to have tuned out your words, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and disbelief. He interrupted you, a strange smile spreading across his face. "The stories," he breathed, his voice barely a whisper, "they never truly captured it. How… breathtaking your godly form is." He stepped closer, oblivious to the danger, his gaze sweeping over your massive form. "The sheer power, the majesty… it's… magnificent. I must say, I am rather enjoying this particular form of yours."

You recoiled slightly, taking a massive step back, your paws causing the ground to tremble beneath their weight. You stared at Thor in utter disbelief, your massive head tilting slightly as if trying to comprehend his bizarre reaction. Your colossal form began to shrink, the impossible transformation reversing, albeit not entirely. You settled into the form of a wolf still immense, easily towering over Thor and the other Avengers, but no longer scraping the clouds.

Uncertainty flickered in your glowing eyes. You glanced between the bewildered faces of the Avengers and Thor, who was still gazing at you with an unnerving mixture of fascination and admiration. "I… I am still not obligated to assist you," you finally managed, your voice now a deep, rumbling growl, less earth-shattering than before, but still undeniably powerful. "However… perhaps… if the situation becomes truly dire, if there is absolutely no other recourse… then I might consider lending my aid."

Thor's face lit up, a wide, genuine smile spreading across his features. "Thank you," he exclaimed, his voice filled with relief. "Thank you for reconsidering."

You simply huffed in response, a puff of air that rustled the nearby debris. You turned to leave, your massive form moving with surprising agility. Just as you reached the doorway, you paused, glancing back at Thor, a flicker of something unreadable in your glowing eyes. "And for the record, thunder god," you rumbled, a hint of amusement creeping into your voice. "If that was your attempt at flirting… it worked."

[youryanderedaddy]

yan prison guard who hates u but low-key wants to f??

YES?!

tw: female reader, hinted non-con, period cramps, physical neglect, abuse of power, hinted blood play, reader is hinted to be a criminal, starts flirty but ends dead dovey xD My Ko - fi <3

"Shit." You mumble, your back softly resting against the cold wall. You reach for the nearest utenstil on the ground - all metal now, since you broke one too many nice porcelain plates - and throw it against the bars with little consideration to the vomit inducing "food" still left inside. The yellow sauce splashes all over the floor, and you look up, not even bothering to hide your smug expression.

"I could make you lick that up, you know." Darcy states, adding little emotion to his already monotone voice - his eyes glued to the book in his lap and all the tiny little words in it, perfectly pristine fresh ink in the stuffy air. His gloved hands are digging into the paper, almost crumpling it, and you now know that his pale hands are simply incapable of holding anything gently - even the things he actually likes.

"Will you?" You tease, but the warning bells at the back of your mind go off nonetheless, seemingly in spite of your best attempts to come off as playful and not desperate. He rarely jokes around - not exactly the fun type. "I'll decide after I finish this page." Your warden chuckles humorlessly. "Those whom I love I rebuke and discipline." He starts reading aloud, licking his cold lips. "So be earnest..." You can feel his gaze on you, caging you in like a wild animal. "And repent." He finally closes the book. "Revelation 3:19." The blonde repeats quietly, turning his attention back to you - and you realise calling out was a mistake, but now it's too late. He's got you in his clutches.

"My stomach hurts. Tell me, Father Allmighty, is this devine punishment too?" You spit out sarcastically, hugging your knees in order to numb the pain a bit. "Or am I simply on my period?" It's your turn to giggle, although it hurts to do so - anything to mask the unease tugging at your vocal cords every time you're faced with that demon.

His eyes narrow in response, and his fingers circle his nose bridge as he scoffs at you, annoyance quickly spreading across his irritatingly handsome, yet equally sharp features.

"Your voice makes my head throb. Stop it." The guard barks, voice dropping low in warning. Still, you decide to push your luck due to pure and simple physical need. "But it hurts." You let yourself whine, slowly revealing your collarbone - and silently hoping that just this once the sweat will look like glitter. "I don't care." He hisses, picking his book again.

You roll your eyes.

"Alright. Sure. But you'll be the one cleaning the bloody sheets after." You mutter under your breath, crossing your hands. You're not sure what's more frustrating - the way your stomach is trying to eat itself or having to appease a narcissistic maniac with too much power and free time through it. Somewhere in the part of your brain still capable of rational thought you realize you should be provided with basic hygiene products just like all the other female prisoners. What makes you different, you guess, is the fact that you're kept under lock and key almost extensively. Solitary confinement 24 hours a day, except for Darcy.

He brings you food. He helps you bathe - if you've been good enough. He's the only one who knows if you're dead or alive. Hell, he may be the only one who even cares.

"I'm sure cleaning up your mess will be quite exciting." The blonde cracks a tiny, self evident smile only he knows the meaning of - and you would have frowned in disgust if you could still feel that lovely human emotion. "Admit it, you actually like the thought of me bleeding, you little freak." You scrunch your nose at him, then look back to the floor, the filth so thick it almost sticks to your slightly less dirty shoes. "Takes one to know one." Darcy responds nonchalantly, running his hand through his slick white locks.

At that moment the cramps return in full force, your lower abdomen on fire with sharp stabbing pain. You remember some fragmentary tips from your scrappy teen years - you close your eyes and breath in deeply, you bite the inside of your cheek - you even pray to whoever is listening, but it just won't stop. So you bargain.

"You can have it." You say with difficulty, folded in half. Hot tears prick your eyes and you try to fight them, but soon give into the agony. It's such a relief to cry after months of resilience - to break down completely and let your most vulnerable self out.

The warden takes a single steps towards the bars and motions for you to move closer. You crawl to him, your hand supporting your lower belly in the process. He takes a good look at you and slowly, almost gently caresses your face through the metal - eyes suddenly softened by the image of you dancing in the palm of his hand.

If it was anyone else he'd be simply repulsed by this clear display of weakness. If it was another prisoner, another hardened criminal, he'd have no problem following his own principles of zero tolerance - of crushing and breaking their spirit until nothing was left. But it was you and your beatiful, stipid tears that mesmerized him to no end, that haunted his dreams and turned his bloodlust into something a lot more sinister. Something harder to capture, harder to fight - and easier to give into.

"You can have it." You repeated tearfully, rubbing at your soft wet eyelids - completely still. Scared of your own flesh and its betrayal. "My mind, my body, anything. Just please give me some pills. I can't take it." You whimper pitifully, shaking under his watchful eyes. He's holding onto your cheek, but you feel like he's got you in a suffocating embrace. And then just when you're about to kneel down, he unlocks the door to your cell.

"I've been taking your brain apart for months now." Darcy whispers softly, taking off one of his gloves and letting it drop to the floor. He takes another step towards your cowering form. "Your body, on the other hand, is a white canvas." He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his burning gaze - and the pain fades away instantly, replaced by raw, intense fear. "I wonder what your insides look like. Surely, they're beatiful."

You feel his lips on your neck, followed by the tip of a knife - a butterfly kiss.

[experi-sketches]

Rowan and Ash - Chapter Two

Hey all! I'm so glad folks liked chapter one of Rowan and Ash, so I'm back with chapter two.

If you're wondering what the deal with this story is, or what's going on with An Iron Blood Tale, check out my notes in chapter one (linked below)

This is whumpy slavefic so please mind the content warnings. Enjoy!

_____

Content warnings: whump, slavefic, m/m master/slave dynamics, captivity & restraints, self-harm, emotional distress, power dynamics/size difference Rating: mature Word Count: 3,053

Chapter One // Chapter Three

_____

As soon as the footman closed the door behind them Rowan turned his attention to getting the boy out of the building and into the car as quickly as possible. Sefton's town residence comprised the entire floor of a tall, overly ornamented upper Shell Port high-rise, and as a guest Rowan had been graciously allowed parking in the building's private garage, so it would be a short journey to meet Jules. Rowan thanked the Saints for that; he didn't think the boy could manage a long trek down the street in his current state.

It was bad enough just walking through the crowded lobby. The slave shuffled pitifully at Rowan's side, his chained, manacled feet clanking on the marble floor and attracting stares. The poor thing looked miserable and exhausted, shoulders hunched in pain, hair a mess, hands still trapped in the saints' bridle, but despite all that he was surprisingly well behaved on a leash. He did not dare to pull at the leather lead Rowan had latched to the bridle's handle, even when it meant he had to shuffle a little faster to keep up with Rowan's longer stride. Standing, the boy was shorter than Rowan realized, barely reaching his shoulder. The perfect size for fitting in one's lap, though Rowan doubted that would happen anytime soon.

He stopped at the front desk to phone for the car, and within minutes Jules was parked out front. They exited the lobby's towering doors, Rowan's modest but perfectly respectable saloon an eyesore amongst the much larger, flashier vehicles which surrounded it. 

"In," Rowan said, opening the back passenger door, and the slave stumbled inside without a fight. Rowan slid in after, settling onto the seat while the boy huddled on the floor at his knee, a careful and undoubtably intentional measure of distance between them. 

"Welcome back, sir," Jules greeted from the front seat, looking at the boy's pitiful reflection in the rearview. "Looks like it went well."

"'Well' indeed. I should have hurled Sefton off the balcony. Look at the boy, he's petrified." 

Jules nudged the car into traffic with ease, the roads busy but not nearly as congested as they were at home. Shell Port was exclusively for the nobility, and it wasn't crowded here like it was down in Dower's Point. "I'm sure the unfetterates would applaud you if you did. Straight home, sir?"

"Yes. I need to get this one sorted out." Rowan looked down at the boy as he trembled on the floor, using his bent arms to hide his face. "We'll need to phone Doctor Curtis. Sefton said he called in his own physician, but I wouldn't trust his staff to provide anything more than basic care. And he needs a good bath." He pushed his hand into the pet's tangled curls, damp at the nape with sweat. A shiver went through the boy, but other than that he gave no reaction to his master's touch. "How does that sound, darling? Get you out of that dirty rag and all cleaned up?" His fingers caught on the gag's strap and he cursed. "Let's get this off you." 

Rowan unbuckled the mask and peeled it away, the leather sticking and leaving bright red lines on the boy's cheeks where the edges had bitten in. Saints only knew how long it'd been on. 

"There we are." He set the gag aside and used the saints' bridle to carefully tug the boy's head backwards, tilting it toward the afternoon sunlight. "Let me see you."

It was Rowan's first real look at the pet's face, and he was as lovely as excepted. His fine-boned features were soft and youthful, even in exhaustion, and Rowan was pleased to find that the mask had been hiding a beautifully arched mouth of the sort that would make a master's knees go weak, if applied properly. Rowan was already imagining the possibilities. 

"Saints, look at you. You were wasted on that selfish prick." He touched a flushed cheek. The boy kept his eyes down, pretty lips pressed thin, and breathed quickly through his nose. "You don't need to be frightened of me. I actually know a thing or two about slave handling, unlike Sefton. Isn't that right, Jules?"

"You've got a gentleman's touch, sir," Jules confirmed, grinning in the rearview.

"You see? Forget Sefton. He's a fool, and he can't hurt you anymore." He let go of the bridle, allowing the boy to hunch forward and hide his face again. Not ideal behavior, but Rowan wouldn't press the issue for today. While manners were important, it was clear the poor boy was distraught. Proper etiquette could wait until tomorrow. "The only smart thing he's ever done is sell you to me, because now that you're mine, you're safe. I won't let him or anyone else harm you. You have my word."

The ride was quiet after that. Eventually Jules flipped the radio on.

~*~

Ash kept his mouth shut and let himself be taken, inexorably, to his doom.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He was really fucked now. Ash had thought he'd been fucked before, but no, as it turned out, Sefton was only a precursor to the misery that lay ahead. Ash had heard of the Banks brothers. He'd listened to the terrifying stories whispered among the other noblemen's slaves when they came to visit, and it was never anything good. 

Carver and Rowan Banks. The bulldozers. The demolishers. The breakers. 

Officially they were called something else, 'corrective handlers' or some other nonsense, because people always needed to put a prettier name on bondslavery, but everyone knew what they really were: professional torturers. When a nobleman had a particularly awful slave, a really hopeless case, the Banks brothers would spirit them away and beat them back into line. Every unruly bondslave that had ever walked into the Banks' home had come back out a gelded, tamed pet, and some, it was said, had never come back out at all. 

And here Ash was, chained and sitting at Rowan Banks' feet, heading for that very home. 

He couldn't stop shivering. 

This was why he'd hurt himself last night. He'd wanted scars. The Banks brothers, like all slave dealers and whorehouse pimps, only took in slaves that stood to earn money. Ash had wanted to damage himself, to make himself so ugly, so undesirable, that Sefton would simply toss him out like garbage. It had happened before. One heard gossip from time to time about some unfortunate pet who'd gotten injured and, with no hope for resale, was simply dumped onto the streets of the lower city to starve. Emancipated, they called it. Prettier word. 

Ash had wanted that freedom for himself. He hadn't expected Sefton to threaten pawning him off at some Gully Wharf fuck-house; he'd wanted to damage himself so badly that there'd be no risk of anyone wanting him at all. Starving alone on the streets of Templhead would have been preferable to living another day under Sefton's roof, with his unpredictable, drunken rages, the violent rapes, the leering glares and free, rough usage of his friends, and worst of all the ropes and chains—it was like being back in the chattel camp. And after the—the party, four days ago, that awful night, the terror—Ash couldn't do it anymore. He'd rather die in one of the lower city's dark alleyways, if it meant he'd die free. 

But Rowan Banks had come and taken that away from him. 

Ash wanted desperately to be free of the saint's bridle. The long cuts on his front throbbed awfully, raw and tender under the protection of the clear medical sealant. He wished he'd been given something for the pain, but Sefton never offered anything like that, no reprieves. It hurt just to breathe. Ash still felt queasy at the memory of inflicting the wounds, the hot bite of metal against skin, the sheer determination needed just to make himself do it. It'd taken hours to work up the nerve, sitting in the quiet, dark kitchen in the middle of the night with the knife in his hand. And now all that pain had been for nothing. 

Ash was so fucking stupid.

Banks was an imposing man. Tall, broad shouldered, with neatly trimmed dark hair and the respectable clothes of the well-to-do upper class. He wasn't nobility, but he was rich. And he was big enough to hurt Ash, to overpower him, to do anything he wanted, and Ash would be powerless to stop him. Banks was going to tear him apart, piece by piece, until nothing remained but a broken, mindless fuck-doll who could only be resold to some sadistic bastard who liked hideous scars and would probably inflict more.    

The tears were back in his eyes, he realized, as a large hand slid into his hair to scratch gently at his scalp. 

"You're shaking again," Banks observed from somewhere above his head in a low, deceptively easy voice. "Don't worry. We're nearly home."

Ash closed his eyes. If he still believed in the Saints he might have prayed to Saint Thelma for mercy, but he didn't, so he sat quietly and tried to think of nothing at all. 

~*~

Banks' building wasn't quite as big or as nice as Sefton's, but it was still imposing. 

They were somewhere in Dower's Point, though Ash didn't know exactly where. Despite being here for nearly a year Ash knew very little of Templhead, since most of that time had been spent behind locked doors, but he did know that Dower's Point was in the upper city, where the money was.

The driver parked the car in an underground garage and they entered the building from there, rather than going through the main lobby. The elevator ride up was long and quiet, and Ash was dismayed to note that Banks used a key to both enter the elevator and then to select a floor—not that Ash really believed he had any chance of escaping, but he always watched these things as an old force of habit. The driver came with them, standing quietly behind Banks, and Ash belatedly realized that he must be a slave. He was older than Ash and dressed in simple, black livery, a tailored tunic and trousers, nondescript but well made. 

The elevator eventually spat them out into a short hallway which contained only two doors, one each on the north and south walls. As Ash looked out into the small corridor his entire world seemed to shrink down into that confined space and close in around him, pressing his feet to the elevator floor so that when Banks stepped out, for the first time since having that stupid leash clipped to the back of his bridle, Ash found he couldn't follow.

This was it. The end of the line. Behind one of those doors was the Banks' brothers home, and once Ash went through, he didn't know when, or if, he would ever come back out. He didn't know what tortures lay in store for him behind that door, or if he would survive them, or if he even wanted to. He swallowed, throat suddenly dry. 

Banks turned and looked at him when the leash jerked taut, arching a dark brow. "Come," he said, not angrily, but it was enough to raise the hair on Ash's arms. 

"He's scared, sir," said the other slave.

Banks sighed. "All the more reason to get it over with, then. Come on." He snapped his fingers and pointed to ground at his feet. "With me. We've a lot to do, and it's nearly dinner time."

Ash tried to obey. He did, but his feet seemed frozen where they were. Even when Banks gave the leash a gentle tug, Ash only stumbled forward a step and stuttered to a halt. He wanted to obey. He didn't want to make Banks angry. He wanted to be good, because being good was smart, but he didn't want to go—

Banks huffed. "Really now. It's all right, darling. I've told you that you're safe, haven't I?" He came over and reached for Ash, and Ash flinched, expecting a hard slap to the face like Sefton used to do, but Banks only grabbed the metal handle at the back of the bridle. "I promise I don't bite."

He was as strong as he looked. Ash's chained feet were clumsy as he was pulled forward out of the elevator, nearly tripping over himself as he tried to keep pace. It wasn't painful, and Banks was careful not to choke him with the collar as he ushered Ash along, but his ironclad grip brooked no resistance and Ash felt a shiver down his spine. Even when he wasn't trapped inside a saints' bridle there was going to be very little he could do to defend himself against that strength.

He was fucked. Entirely.

They stopped in front of the door on the southward wall. It was dark and heavy looking, and secured with a large lock. Banks opened it with his key and pulled Ash inside.  

Beyond was a sleek, tidy entryway, and Ash found himself standing in the foyer of what appeared to be an expensive residence. He twisted around just in time to see the other slave closing the door behind them and heard the telltale click of an automatic lock, and knew that was it. He was trapped. 

"Was that so difficult?" Banks asked as his slave stepped behind him to slide the spring jacket off his shoulders, a pointless garment made of light, well-tailored material, and hang it in the closet. "Thank you Jules. Can you phone Doctor Curtis? I'd like him to see the boy tonight."

The slave, Jules, gave an easy smile. "Of course, sir. Was there anything else?"

"Find some fresh clothes for him. Something loose. He's got wounds on his front, and I don't want them irritated."

Jules looked a little more grim at that, smile vanishing. His eyes flicked quickly to Ash, then back to his master. "Yes, sir. I'm sure we've got something appropriate."

"Thank you. You can leave them in his room. That will be all." 

Jules bowed respectfully and hurried off. 

Banks turned his attention to Ash, unlatching the leash and placing it on a small table beside the door. Ash stood perfectly still, not daring to move a muscle. "Here's what I'm thinking," Banks said, running one of his large hands down Ash's back in a way that was probably meant to be soothing. "Let's get you out of all this nonsense and wash you up. You'll have a visit with Doctor Curtis, and then a good, solid meal. After that you'll sleep. In the morning we'll talk about your future, but tonight I want you to rest. Understood?"

Ash only nodded. He knew he should respond properly when asked a direct question, but his throat felt tight and he doubted he could speak.

Banks let him get away with it. "Come on then. This way."

The foyer led directly into a large, open lounge, and Ash realized with a jolt that this was no mere suite in a well-to-do high-rise. The lounge's windows revealed a sweeping view of Templhead from far above, the jagged skyline bathed in slanting afternoon light, with a slim stretch of blueish haze on the horizon that might have been the ocean through the smoggy shroud of distance. The home branched out in several directions from the lounge, hinting at a sprawling, extensive residence. It had been a very long elevator ride up. The Banks brothers lived in a Dower's Point penthouse.

"Ah," said a low voice, and Ash froze. "This must be Sefton's castoff."

He'd been so startled by the view that he hadn't noticed they weren't alone. The voice had come from the other side of the room where Ash couldn't see, his own arms acting like blinders in the bridle. 

Banks stopped and turned, looking over Ash's head. "It is, and thank the Saints I decided to go today and not push it off until tomorrow. Lord Sefton is a moron."

"He's nobility. All those pricks are." There was the sound of shuffling fabric, a pause, a small grunt. Then the voice went on. "Well then. Let's see him." 

Banks turned Ash round so that he could see a man sitting on the large sofa opposite the windows, and Ash's stomach dropped. It was obviously the other Banks brother. The family resemblance was strong, but this was clearly the older sibling, little wisps of grey peppering the temples of his dark hair. He was broader than his younger brother, stockier, his face more stern, and he was somehow more terrifying, although that might have had something to do with the bound and gagged slave kneeling at this feet. The boy was shaking with the effort of keeping himself upright in his restraints, his arms cruelly manacled behind his back, a ball gag strapped over his mouth and black blindfold over his eyes. He was young, perhaps Ash's age or a little less, and his disheveled red hair looked particularly bright against his flushed skin and white slave's shift. 

Carver Banks let out a long, low whistle and closed the book in his lap, setting it aside on the table. Beside him, the slave twitched. "Great Saints. Isn't he a pretty one."

"Frightened, is what he is. Sefton's nearly ruined him. It'll be an Abysmal task undoing the damage he's done."

Ash tried not to whimper. 

"So it'll be a while before you're ready for me, then?" Carver said, reaching to pet his slave's red hair, then giving it a sharp, cruel tug when the boy leaned towards the touch. "Mind your form."

"I think so." Banks looked down at Ash and smiled. "This is my brother Carver," he explained, like Ash was an idiot. "You'll be seeing quite a lot of him once he's finished working with Will there. But that won't be for some time. Not until you're ready." He looked back to his brother. "Anyways, we're off for a bath. Jules is phoning Doctor Curtis. I'd like to be finished before he arrives."

Carver waved an unbothered hand. "Don't let me keep you."

_____

Thanks for reading! lmk if you liked or if you want to be added to a tag list for future posts.

tag list: @definiteberry @there-will-always-be-blood @emanresus-blog

[anxiteyandsleep]

I'm so sorry if I made you flustered about the smut question- didn't mean to! 🫢🫣😆

Okay so I'm gonna try and request this: 🙏

Could I please request Thranduil x Male reader who's this tall and buffed tiefling (big horns, long strong tail) who looks scary asf but is actually a total sweetheart? He only looks intimidating bc he's always wearing his armor, covers his face with a cloth/a mask, has dark makeup around his eyes and basically looks like a fricking demon?

He wears a cloth/a mask around his mouth bc he has a big open scar on his cheek (naaah nothing too graphic he just can do this trick with food where when you're facing his healthy side he sticks a carrot into the opening (scar) on the other side and chews without even opening his lips- totally normal- he did it in front of Legolas once and that poor child didn't sleep for a week). He's not ashamed of it, he just doesn't like the stares.

Even tho I'm as old as the first LOTR movie I only just now became a fan and I saw that Thranduil has an injury on his face as well (but hidden) so that got me thinking...

Maybe reader and Thranduil are a couple (reader was treated badly for being a barbarian tiefling -> not by Thranduil <- but proved himself when he saved him) and he then made reader his personal guard, became friends and then lovers.

Thranduil is curious about reader hiding his face but never pushes him to uncover himself (Like why are you hidding yourself from me hmm? Why don't you kiss me? Your other facial features are gorgeous asf, for a tiefling barbarian who rips goblins in half with his bare hands you could even compete with some elves I know-).

One day Thranduil has some issues with his own injury which reader sees and comes to his aid, Thranduil is embarrassed and nearly breaks down, tears fill his eyes bc his love saw his hideous face and is afraid he will leave him (god I'm so bad at romance bro) but reader just chuckles, takes the cloth/mask from his face and shows Thranduil his own injury.

Now they both have scars! They know each other struggles! And they love each other like never before! Happy ending- No but really, angst with fluffy comfort for our two boys and mainly for the elf himself, he needs the love.

Maybe even emotional way back to their shared bedroom by sunset all lovely dovely bc why dafuq not- just Thranduil giggling kicking his feet and twirling his hair as he's princess carried-

Jesus...I got way too into this. 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Sorry for it being so long, I honestly don't know how to write short requests...also sorry for any mistakes, english is my second language.

Add something, remove something, it's up to you. You don't even have to write it if you hate it or you're not comfy with it. 😘😘

This is adorable ahhh and dw you didn't make me embarrassed or anything! I may have missed some details, this was written over the course of multiple days with very little sleep😭

I included my head canon that Thranduil is blind in his one eye from the dragon fire, as well as that when low on energy he can't keep the disguise up.

Slight TW for blood, scars and such???

It has been almost a year since you and Thranduil had started dating, you were his personal guard and beloved boyfriend, he adored you so much. He never knew why you hid your face but he didn't pry, especially considering he hides his face in a way too.

Thranduil had always been impressed by you, a strong tiefling with a kind soul, much like a gentle giant. Sure you were rather... Gruesome in battle, using your bare hands to fight and always returning covered in blood and gore. It was truly terrifying but Thranduil loved it, especially after you had saved him from a spider attack.

Today, however, Thranduil was hiding away from his beloved barbarian, tucked away in his room with nothing but a small candle dimly lighting the room. He had overworked himself again, his head was aching and he had no energy left to maintain his disguise, the burnt skin and muscle visible, a sight he despised.

When you heard that Thranduil was taking the day off and locked himself in his room, you grew worried. He's never done that before, usually on his days off he spends them with you, taking a walk through the garden or getting some much needed sleep. So of course you immediately went to check on him, making your way to your shared bedroom.

"Thranduil? Are you alright? I heard the guards say you weren't feeling well and I-" you fell silent as you entered the bedroom, squinting as you adjusted to the dim light but you knew exactly what you saw. You never knew Thranduil had such a scar, it covered the left half of his face and his eye was completely white.

Thranduil had to turn his head completely to actually see you, quickly attempting to cover up the scar but alas, he couldn't manage to use his magic in such a state. He never wanted you to see this side or him, he wanted to keep this horrid scar hidden from you.

"(Name)... What... What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be on patrol?" He managed to get out, clearing his throat and doing his best to speak in his usual tone but his voice still sounded shaky. Perhaps if he didn't bring attention to the scar, you would just ignore it as well

"I just got back, my love..." You replied, slowly walking closer to Thranduil, head tilted slightly in curiosity as you examined the scar. When you reached the edge of the bed, you knelt down before him, resting your chin on his legs. "is that from the dragon you faced?"

Thranduil sighed softly, closing his eyes as he couldn't bare to look at you, afraid he'd see disgust in your eyes. "yes...I managed to survive but..." He vaguely gestured to the scar, shaking his head slightly. Thranduil finally opened his eyes again when he felt your strong hands holding his, the touch was so gentle and caring, he just had to see you.

The way you were looking at him surprised him, your eyes were full so of love and admiration, it made his heart swell.

"We kinda match" you hum in a soft whisper, reaching up to remove the mask you always wore and revealing your own scar. You weren't ashamed of it, you mostly hid it for everyone's comfort as the sight of your open cheek often made people uneasy and you hated the looks they'd give you.

it was now Thranduil's turn to stare in awe, one of his delicate hands reaching up to gently trace around the scar, his fingers soft and gentle as always. "hm I suppose we do, my love" he replied softly his hand trailing up to gently trace over your horns, following the pattern and ridges of them.

"forgive me for keeping this from you... I... I do not like people seeing me in such a state but I should've told you" Thranduil apologized, moving his hands back to gently cup your face, being careful to not disturb the scar

You couldn't help but chuckle a little, leaning into his touch while your tail wagged slightly. "there's no need to apologize, I kept a secret from you too"

Thranduil felt as if a huge weight was lifted from his shoulders, the stress slowly melting away as he held you in his hands. "Well now that we both have told the truth, how about we rest?" He whispered sweetly, leaning down to capture your lips in a tender kiss, one you eagerly returned.

Without breaking the kiss, you got off your knees, cradling the back of Thranduils neck with one of your hands. You kicked off your boots, accidentally sending one flying across the room but you didn't care. "a nap sounds good, yeah" you muttered against his lips as you carefully push him back onto the bed, climbing on top of him to continue the kiss.

Thranduil couldn't help but chuckle, pulling back from your lips just enough to talk. "My love, this is not napping ~" he didn't really mind as you continued to pamper him with kisses, his delicate hands reaching up to gently tangle themselves in your hair.

"mm we'll nap after, then"

[imagoddamnonionmason]

Lupita "Lupe" Hidalgo

Images by @/blackmoon-edits, @/m-rod-unofficial, @/icons-rare.

Basic Information

Other Name(s): Lu

Citizenship: Mexican

Language(s): Spanish, English, Russian (minimal)

Place of Birth: Las Almas, Mexico

Date of Birth: 23/01/1990

Occupation: Cuerpo de Fuerzas Especiales (formerly), Shadow Company

Status: Alive

Physical Appearance

Eyes: Brown

Hair: Mahogany brown

Skin: Olive, warm undertones

Tattoo(s): none yet

Scar(s): lower left of her stomach, a stab wound received from a cartel member from when she was a teen, a slash across her left forearm received from the same attack.

Face Claim: Michelle Rodriguez

Description: Lupita is a strong woman with a good muscular build but is relatively small in stature; she stands at a height of 5ft 4in. Her face is a roundish shape with soft features, despite the harsh looks she usually wears. She normally wears her hair in two braids when working, but when casual, she prefers it down; it is just past shoulder length and has a slight wave to it naturally.

Lupita will often be seen wearing her uniform, consisting of black tactical gear and combats. When casual, she prefers baggy trousers or shorts with trainers and a shirt. She will sometimes wear baby band t-shirts or tank tops. She rarely likes to dress up formally, but when she does, she will wear a nice dress, but nothing extravagant, she'll feel out of place.

She does wear one necklace, a cross, and two rings on her right hand; one large wedding band that belonged to her father, which she has on her middle finger, and one with a small sapphire in the centre of a gold band. This belonged to her sister.

Personality

Like(s): chocolate, the smell of a firing range, showers, strawberries, cute animals, rock music, ACDC, action films, fast cars, her motorbike

Dislike(s): liars, cartel-related anything, her mother, people who act like they know everything, being spoken down to, losing, snow, knitwear

Strength(s): very knowledgeable about the cartel and Las Almas, efficient leader, good sense of right and wrong

Weakness(es): can struggle to work in a team with people she doesn't respect, hardheaded, a little too blunt at times

Relationships

Parent(s): Fernanda Hidalgo (mother, status unknown), Emiliano Hidalgo (father, deceased)

Sibling(s): Lola Hidalgo (sister, deceased)

Spouse(s): N/A

Child(ren): none yet

Biography

Lupita refused to talk about her past, if you try to delve into it, she will level you with the hardest stare known to man before tutting and moving away from you. She can count on one hand who knows her story, even then, they don't know everything.

She holds her father and her sister's memory very close to her heart, they were very dear to her in her adolescence and their memory serves to act as a sort of guidance for her. When alone, she will often speak to them and she has a picture of them kept on her at all times. It is folded and kept somewhere safe, somewhere she won't lose it when on the battlefield.

Lupita, alongside her younger sister Lola, were born and raised in Las Almas by mainly their father, who was retired from the police force early due to an injury received whilst on duty; it affected his everyday life, so decided to dedicate his time to his children as best that he could. Meanwhile, their mother, Fernanda, remained in the police force, where she and Emiliano met when they were younger.

One day, when Lupita was a young teen and her sister barely past 10, her father collected them both and urged them to hide somewhere safe, that they would play a game. Lupita wasn't stupid, she knew something was wrong, but did as her father had asked.

Unfortunately, masked men entered their home that day, attacking their father and taking his life after he refused to tell them where Fernanda was. Whilst they searched the rest of the house, Lupita and her sister were found and also attacked. In the midst of this attack, Lupita was stabbed and slashed while trying to protect her sister, but ultimately failed to protect her. Lupita held on to consciousness long enough to call for help and she later awoke in the hospital with her wounds treated, but lacking two very important people in her life. At their funeral, her mother was not much comfort, turning to alcoholism to cope with the grief and became rather neglectful of Lupita. It was around that time that Lupita vowed she would destroy the cartel and find out the reason why her father and sister deserved to die in their eyes that day.

Lupita started a career in the Mexican Army, eventually becoming involved with the Cuerpo de Fuerzas Especiales, where she learnt skills with weaponry and combat. She proved herself to be a driven soldier, stoic, with a silent undertone of anger that no one could ever seem to put their finger on why it was there.

She was exceptionally callous when it came to dealings with the cartel, having no remorse for their losses; it is said that she seemed to take joy in hunting them down.

Eventually, Lupita became consumed by her resentment of the cartel, to the point where her callousness nearly cost her team their lives, and she was reprimanded for such risky behaviour. While suspended, Lupita began to question who she had become, why she was doing what she was doing, and how she could find the humanity her father would have wanted her to have.

She made the decision that hunting the cartel that murdered her family was something that would force her into an early grave, something her family would not have wanted for her. Leaving the Special Forces behind, Lupita decided to go travelling, offering her services elsewhere and for more protective instances.

It was whilst on a job that she came across a lucrative opportunity, something she decided to take; Shadow Company.

She worked alongside them ever since then, working up and becoming one of Graves' most trusted; she never thought that it would bring her right back to Las Almas one day.

Divider Credit: me.

[fatuismooches]

Sobbing rn I just got hit with the cutest hurt/comfort idea for fragile!reader and Dottore

(The hurt in this instance is just fragile!reader's self deprecating inner monologue 😭)

What if reader was the sort who fussed over their appearance a lot? In the Akademiya they wouldn't be caught dead with dark circles under their eyes or having their hair messy.

Even if they did pull all nighters for a project, they always found time to put just a little bit of make-up on to lighten up their eyebags, and always had a simple yet neat hairstyle in mind in times they're in a rush.

They might be perishing from all the studies and assignments but they're going to look good doing it!

This made Reader and Zandik an even odder pair in the Akademiya. Reader who is always neat and in style, versus Zandik who just spent the whole night taking apart a ruin guard somewhere in Avidya Forest until the sun rose and he showed up as is.

That was one of the features Zandik found 'annoying' about Reader before they got together. Like - ugh they're so bubbly and energetic! They're running around everywhere and they're so chatty! Them with their— nice hair! And— pretty eyes, and those robes that actually fit them as if they were tailored! How pretentious of them— (he was down bad. Bro was coping with anger to bat away the feels)

But of course, that was all in the past. In the present, Reader can't take care of their appearance anymore. They couldn't even pick up a hairbrush, their joints ached horribly, they don't have the strength to hold something so light, they don't have the energy to do the basic care of untangling the strands of hair either.

They can't stand looking at their own reflection. That sense of 'wrongness' they couldn't fix, what they couldn't hide. How desperately they wanted to put just a little bit of blush at least, to give their skin some life with how sickeningly pale it was, no longer warm and saturated as it used to be.

They can't look at their eyes either. The greying, sagging bags beneath their lids was a taunt. No amount of sleep would get rid of them.

They can't wear outfits that were too elaborate. Their temperature fluctuated too much, a deathly cold beneath their skin, then a sudden spike in heat as if they were being scorched by the desert sun. They have to wear basic garments, comfortable without hindering layers to slow down their daily check-ups.

Reader is thankful for the segments caring for them, they really are. A segment brushing their hair while talking to them is a highlight of their day.

But... it wasn't the same.

Of course it wouldn't be, the segments were carers, nor stylists.

Still, the fact that they had no control over their appearance and presentation had their mental state withering.

Dottore noticed this. How withdrawn his dear had become. They had their days of silence, yes... but this was more sombre than usual.

He concludes that their illness was flaring up again, and that they were masking their pain instead of consulting with him. He comes to their room of course, his current duties be damned (not that he could've been productive even if he had wanted to, the Segments were restless and shrinking away from their tasks, their darling's current disposition bothered them.)

Opening the door slightly to enter, he sees them blankly staring at their reflection, prodding a finger on their prominent eyebags, rubbing their cheek to see if it would redden.

Ah... how could he had forgotten that. They were once very particular of how they looked. He should have known this possibility, witnessing their own sickly reflection would be distressing...

[The Crow visits a certain Dove. Despite how stiff and vague the Doctor had been with his words, the Damsalette only tittered in understanding, and imparted the knowledge he was seeking.]

The next day, Reader is sat on their vanity, waiting for a Segment to tend to them (always with a little bit of struggle to walk in the morning, but it's the least they could do to be less of an inconvenience already.)

The minutes tick by... he's late. Did something happen?

More time goes by, and they become more worried. They were about to get up and search before the door creaks open.

Zandik...? And he's carrying a... why does he have a bag?

They have plenty of questions. Why the late arrival? What was in the bag? Why was Zandik himself here?

Before they could ask all of this, however, he sets the small bag down on the vanity. He riffles through it... are those make-up brushes?

Wait, make-up?

The next half-hour was spent in stunned silence for Reader's part, Zandik was silent as well out of careful concentration. Gently applying everything, his touch on the brush strokes and blending soft... applying gloss on their lips.

Once Zandik moves on to their hair, they finally catch a glimpse of their reflection. Their cheeks were rosey, the dark circles under their eyes concealed, their lips no longer appearing dry, and instead plump and shimmering.

Oh.

... they almost looked like the way they were before their illness.

Almost.

But it was enough.

(Reader tries so hard not to cry. Fighting back tears, not wanting to ruin the make-up Zandik so diligently applied. Once Zandik was finished with their hair... they may have hiccuped a little bit.)

They may no longer have that upbeat energy they once boasted... but it was comforting to see their old reflection once again. It had been far too long.

You know, I really love this ask because my whole life I've pretty much never used make-up even though I want to so having Dottie do it for me heals me a bit. Also, I'm not very knowledgeable on it so apologies if anything is wrong. Okay, I'm done. 🤏

In all honesty, Dottore was never one to care much for outward looks but he has to admit that you still always manage to look good despite all of the work from school plus all of the work you help with for his experiments, plus... literally everything life throws at you. Yet you still bounce back like it was nothing. The scholar still had not discovered your secret to this yet despite observing you for so long, which furthered his interest in you even though he didn't admit it.

Zandik did maintain his appearance, to an extent of course as he didn't go out of his way to look great, but nothing compared to the effort you put in. So while he did look presentable most of the time, there have been quite a few times you made him late to class because there was no way you were going to let him out looking like that. You don't regret it, even when you get weird looks from the other students. Being 'odd' with your equally as odd lover was nothing to worry about, in your humble opinion.

Although Zandik couldn't hope to understand your strange nature, always mumbling under his breath about you while you laughed at his comments, he also couldn't help but enjoy being around you. You kept him on his toes (your words, not his.)

Unfortunately, this nature and style of yours gradually dissipated into nothing when your illness struck. At first, you refused to accept it, pushing yourself to do what you usually did but soon enough you realized that it simply wasn't going to work out. You had all these tools and resources and options in front of you but you couldn't use them anymore. The self-consciousness only grew more and more each day as you struggled to see yourself as beautiful - struggled to see yourself as a person Dottore would find beautiful.

Of course, your gratitude to the segments couldn't be properly expressed or put into words. You quite literally wouldn't be here without them. However, it is still incredibly demoralizing to be unable to do what you once loved. You really did love them, but... it wasn't enough.

Dottore, despite spending much time in his lab or elsewhere, still kept tabs on you of course. Not just as your doctor, but as your lover, it was important. He had seen you at your lowest numerous times before, comforting you through the worst moments, and he was angered - not at you of course, but rather at himself for being unable to do anything that would be enough for you. Yet he continued, even when you hid yourself from him.

This time, however, maybe the scientist could do a bit more. He doesn't particularly... approve of the Third, or your "friend", but she's far more knowledgeable in this area than he'll ever be. Thankfully, she didn't tease him too much, knowing of your current state.

Dottore had never been one to take much interest in your make-up or style, preferring to simply watch as you worked your magic. So seeing him walk in with make-up makes you think you're still dreaming. (You remember laughing at his segment's various fashion tastes when you woke up though.)

The questions die on your lips the moment he lays everything out and the soft brush tickles your face, not to mention how he's obviously inexperienced yet he's still doing a good job. A part of you aren't surprised because of course he'd be skilled at most things, but still, you thought Celestia would sooner fall on Teyvat than Dottore do your make-up for you. Slowly, you watch as he transforms your face into something that was once dearly familiar.

It's not the same. It may never be. But it's more than enough for you, to revisit the old days that you loved so much. You fear you may cry full-on if you speak, so a simple kiss on your husband's face will have to do.

But regardless of what you look like, no matter how much your body and looks will change, Zandik will always view you as the most beautiful creation on this planet.

[sensitiveange]

Trio Headcannons - “Starry Stairs” ⊹₊⋆

This is going to be jam packed with info so everything will be provided below ↓

First I want to mention that some of these headcannons are related to the individual character, so these emojis will indicate who is being talked about

🌌 - Fortis-Fayetta (Forty-Five), the oldest

🚀 - Fifena-Fivail (Fifty-Five), the (tallest) middle child

💠 - Fifateia (Fifteen), the baby :3

🌠 - All together (The “Starry Stairs”)

I also want to share how I think siblinghood works between Numberblocks

• Siblinghood typically comes between numberblocks with similar numerical characteristics (12 and 18, 11 and 22, etc.)

• Not having any ‘biological’ connections (Other than some similar features), siblinghood is determined by the bond between the souls the moment they cross paths

🌌🚀 Example, 45 felt a deep urge to pamper and protect 55 the moment she met him, which he seemed reluctant by but deep down wanted it too

On to the actual hcs!

💠 Family life for 15 is by far her strangest life experience yet: She was basically “adopted” by 45 when they met after the All-Star concert, and since then her schedule has filled with “Tea Time Tuesdays,” she’s gifted the cheesiest onesies in the mail, constantly correcting 55’s “American Slang” (what is a “cookie?”), and learning things that nothing in her work life could ever teach her. It’s taken her the longest to adjust to realizing she’s part of a family, but she can’t deny that she loves it

🚀 Nobody knows where 55’s “American Terms” came from, and some numberblocks don’t even believe that they’re real: Regardless, she’ll always call the game “Tic Tac Toe” over “Naughts and Crosses”

🚀 A very dear headcannon I’ve had for years, 55 is bigender. I don’t know why I’m fascinated in the topic of bigender 55 but let’s just say she was deeply influenced by her sisters

🌌 45 was (and is) WEIRD, and she knows that others think that way. Her futuristic and alien-like fashion is her way of coping with the rumors and judgy eyes

🌠 They’re one of those affectionate families (Not in any strange way), always hugging and lounging around each other. 55 and 15 tell 45 basically everything, and she somehow has the best advice each time; Perhaps she is an alien?

🚀💠A fact that isn’t well-known but certainly true, all step squads have the power to transform and function as rockets. After many countdown and many more failed launches mid-air, 55 finally managed to guide 15 through the stars

🌌 45 often flies off to sit on the moon whenever things on Numberland are too overwhelming (Numberblocks jokingly say that she’s “returned back home” whenever this happens, but she’s unaware of it)

🚀 55 loses her step mask every now and then, and he (inconveniently) refuses to search for it if it means leaving the house for everyone to see her

🌠 Every family member is somewhat connected to the other: 15 and 55 are both goal-oriented, and will achieve them even though the most unusual methods. 55 and 45 take value in their moral senses and try to promote what’s right. 45 and 15 present themselves with grace, and love residing in their own spaces. All of them represent great leaders and admires figures (For the most part)

💠 Recognizing how truly weak they were, 15 has been trying to “amplify” her hiding spots recently, but is still somehow always found by her siblings

💠 15 decided to adopt the orange cat that was stuck in that tree, and now everyone’s responding for: No one could agree on the name so for now they’re just “Cat”

🚀 55 is EMBARRASSINGLY social. If she wasn’t such a great parental figure and guide to others, he would be the laughing stock of Numberland

🚀 Despite being a rocket and all, 55 is strangely connected to nature. Once she decided to skip one of his missions to follow a squirrel around for 3 hours

🌌 45 works as an astronomer and occasionally a work buddy to 55. She would’ve been a rocket just like him, but 45 gets homesick.

🌌 15 and 55 get into scuffles a lot more than expected (siblings will always be siblings), so 45 has to carry bandages and safety equipment in case someone gets pushed around too hard

🌌 45 was originally considered pursuing music for the rest of her life, but turned that down when she felt like she was always being upstaged by 50, who was always nearby to remind her that she’s the star of the show

💠 15 can usually control herself, but sweet treats are a completely different story

🚀 Why doesn’t 55 have boots? Some think that hers were just too small, others say that he thinks they’re out of his fashion. The truth is he just lost them one day and “never had the time” to find them

🌠 They never feel like doing any work for themselves but jump up in an instant to help someone out, step squads are naturally self sacrificing

🌌 Every afternoon at 4:50, 45 goes on her porch and plays a song on her vibraphone. One day in particular, was different, however. 28 and 36 were assigned to let all of the super rectangles know that there would be a meeting for everyone tomorrow, yet were distracted by the tune that filled the air the moment the clock struck 4:50. They hid to stay from her sight, then came out to applaud 45 once she was finished, which led her to get embarrassed and rush back in her house. (36 slid the club meeting notice under her door)

🌌 The next day the three met up, and 45 confesses that she just wasn’t expecting an audience, to 36’s and 28’s understanding. The trio has hit it off ever since.

MORE COMING SOON! SAVE THIS POST

[emeraldspiral]

Say what you will about the ability of the people chosen for the project to deliver a Zelda movie that doesn't suck. But I'm seeing a lot of people saying Zelda doesn't have enough story to make a movie and I'm like... What are you even talking about? Zelda games are probably the most narrative-driven out of all Nintendo's IPs and the lore is a big part of why they're so popular.

Like, something like Mario or Banjo-Kazooie can be a challenge to adapt because there's basically no plot-progression between the inciting incident and the final boss. You just visit a bunch of different worlds to obtain tokens and none of it builds toward anything and there aren't any narrative twists or turns and nobody has a character arc. But that hasn't really been the case for Zelda since the very earliest games. Virtually every Zelda from Link to the Past onward has some semblance of a plot with a beginning, a midpoint plot twist or reveal, and an ending, storylines that play out for various NPCs and sidekicks, and lore drops explaining what happened in the ancient past that informs the current state of affairs, and things that change throughout the game that show the impact of Link's actions as he completes different legs of his quest.

But also like, even if it were true that Zelda games "have no story", do these people have no imagination? Think of all fairy tales that have been adapted into feature-length Disney movie that were originally like a 10-minute read.

If anything a Zelda movie is a bad idea because I'd rather have a series. Like, IDK if they're going to make an original story, but if they were going to adapt one of the games OoT seems like the obvious choice. Not just because of its popularity, but because of it's impact on the rest of the series as the origin point for the three divergent timelines. And I feel like if you were to do just one movie based on OoT or even split it into 2 movies, it would still feel really rushed to have Link bouncing from location to location to get all the spiritual stones and sage medallions and there wouldn't be enough time to really develop all the different races and their problems and Link's relationships with the sages beyond what we already got in the original game in just 2-4 hours. So what would be the point?

I'd rather see it adapted as a series that can take its time fleshing out all the characters and adding more depth to the original story. I want to see Navi with more personality and more of an emphasis on her developing a bond with Link and how her leaving at the end affected him so you have a deeper understanding of his feelings going into Majora's Mask. I want an episode dedicated to Ganondorf's backstory and how a harsh life in the desert and the influence of his surrogate mothers turned him from someone who might've been a noble leader at one point into the person he ultimately became and how he and Nabooru may have once been close until Ganondorf's moral compromises drove her to oppose him. I want an emphasis on the coming of age aspect of the story with Link's peculiar position used to explore the question of what actually makes someone an adult. I want an episode dedicated to showing us everything Zelda went through after her kingdom was taken over and she had to go into hiding and learn to fight so she could one day take it back. There are so many opportunities to expand upon the ideas presented in the original OoT that one movie wouldn't be enough to do it justice.

But that's pretty much true for most Zelda games. Like, they all have at least 4 dungeons, but usually more, and there's always a sidequest you have to do for each dungeon to make it accessible, and it usually involves helping out the people living in the immediate area surrounding the dungeon who are being affected by whatever curse has befallen it. So even when the plots are really thin, the very nature of them being structured and paced around taking you to a bunch of different locations that each have their own mini-narrative attached makes it awkward to try to adapt any game or even write an original story following the formula of the games as a single three-act movie rather than as a series of episodic chapters.

Something like Majora's Mask would especially benefit from being adapted as a series rather than a movie since it's the sidequests that make it as beloved as it is and it would feel too cluttered to try and cram all of them in, but you'd lose a lot of emotional impact if you only focused on a select few.

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

I know that X-Men 97 Morph now has the silly-putty clay form that is meant to be their "real" form, but I headcanon that Morph still considers their human face to also be their "real" self, like both are equally them.

This is very much in contrast to Exiles Morph, who always seemed to treat his "human" appearance like a mask he had to wear to fit in, and seems to have dropped it completely when he joined the New Mutants at around 13. He never really goes "full human" unless he has to hide in a crowd or impersonate someone.

TAS Morph pretty much always uses the same face in human form, unless they have some specific reason not to (like impersonating someone else, or hiding from Wolverine). They always default to it when revealing themself, and even in X-Men 97 they use the glowed-up version of that face when going out to a club. It's possible that Morph is still getting used to using their "real" mutant form (the silly putty look), just like they are still gradually coming out of the closet in terms of gender identity and sexuality. But I think there's a reason they still use the same human face, like maybe it's the face they always used growing up (and if their X-gene didn't manifest until teens, maybe it's what they previously looked like), maybe their features are a combination of their parents' features (in another post I've noted that Exiles Morph's parents have features that could easily combine to look like Changeling/TAS Morph). Maybe the silly-putty look feels the most natural to Morph, but I think they still see their human face as "themself," just another version of themself.

(Bear in mind this is all just speculation and headcanon from me, I know some people also see Morph's human form as basically a mask they used to wear, and that's fine, too, we've all got our own interpretations.)

[daandyli0n]

(warnings: blood/mild gore, implied child death (and murder in Cassidy's case), eye contact. maybe also bright colors/eyestrain)

Some Updated Refs For The Afton Family In The Rewrite

(you know the drill, click the images to see details better and whatnot)

hooo boy. give me a minute to ramble about the designs and stuff below -

William:

so. tried to give him both "Eccentric, Goofy Restaurant Owner" and "REALLY Off-Putting" Vibes. hope i succeeded

yes he's hiding a knife behind his back.

bunny features. i Love William with bunny features. if you draw William with Bunny Features ily (platonically)

this man has not gotten a good night's sleep in Years.

now...you may be wondering: Why Do His Kids Get Refs For When They're Older, But Not Him? well...that's because, physically, he doesn't change much besides getting some more gray hairs and worse eye bags in the over a decade between his original murders and his death. and i've already done a ref for what O'Hare/Springtrap looks like in my design

yes, the Unhinged look in his eyes is intentional.

Alex:

gave his younger self a pose that was meant to give off "rebellious teenager" vibes, and his older self a pose that gives off "bitter and anxious" vibes.

gave him long hair. because Yes.

tallest of his siblings.

Michael:

looks like his father, but with a few minor changes: skin is mildly more tanned than his father, hair is a lighter shade of brown, etc.

William based the 1987 uniforms for the guards/employees off of his own usual outfit (Purple. which Backfired).

Mike tried to change his hair a bit to distinguish himself from his father, mostly by dying it a bright red and trying to cut the Bunny Ear-Shaped parts on the top of his hair to be more jagged and less Bunny-Like.

scars on his arm are from where Springtrap grabbed onto him.

Evan:

not much to say. bookworm, sad guy, probably needs to go to therapy for what happened in his childhood.

Elizabeth:

Bunny Features :]

she's basically somewhere between blonde and ginger hair color wise. i'd describe her as a strawberry blonde.

constantly has a wide-eyed look. like a hare.

mismatched socks, just because she could.

ghosts are typically either desaturated or transparent, with the only bright colors on them are usually their eyes or the bloody wounds from their death.

so while it's not shown here, "fun" fact! Liz died from where Harriet (Circus Baby) hugged her hard enough to break not just her spine, but her neck as well. (the hug was so strong due to Harriet malfunctioning that day)

all ghosts who have their souls tied to an animatronic have a mask of that animatronic that they can wear if they wish. Liz's mask is of Harriet.

Cassidy:

my baby boy. my beloved <3

those pants are pajama pants. he wore them everywhere.

while not visible, Cassidy also wears mismatched socks like Liz.

the Fredbear plush was a gift from Henry, given to Cassidy by Charlie.

was blind in one eye after The Bite.

The Bite wasn't as horrible as people think it was. what basically happened was that the teeth bit slightly into his head, which caused the bleeding, as well as some cracking in the skull and brain damage in his frontal lobe. due to the mechanisms in Fredbear being Very hot as well, it caused some burns. nothing that couldn't heal, but...it Was still pretty serious.

while The Bite itself didn't kill Cassidy, he still, as a ghost, appears to have a bleeding section of his head.

the strangulation marks on his neck are more visible as a ghost.

Cassidy, as a spirit, can occasionally leak a mysterious black fluid from his eyes and mouth, which is reflected on his Mask.

Cassidy is transparent as a ghost.

anyway!! here's the guys!!

@that-darn-clown @hello-there-world