#spiders are supposed to be display pets

[sanguistra]

Reptile Expo Haul

mostly feeders tbh BUT

Yes I did get a brown recluse. It's just a sling rn so hopefully i can manage to raise it to adulthood. It'll be difficult though.

She's SO TINY.

got this baby mexican fire leg that im pretty excited about also

as an adult they look like this if anyone's interested.

Family photo with all my feeders too (horn worms, dubia roaches, waxworms and a box of 500 crickets). AND this awesome coffin shaped enclosure from Tarantula Cribs. Gonna move my Black Widow into it 😎

[jyoongim]

I love your stories, they are fantastic and feed my daydreams to a intensely gratifying degree.

I am curious if you would entertain the idea of writing an Alastor and fem reader as battle partners and occasional lovers. She’s a fox demon that has been around for centuries and is very powerful. She is indispensable to him in battle but she helps him take care of his baser urges especially during his rut.

I beg you!

Thank youuuuuu

note: i kept this rather suggestive hehe.

Alastor x Kitsune! Fem Reader

“So what’s with the fox? Didn’t take smiles to be much of a dog person” Angel said to Husker as the black fox trotted past him, walking towards said demon sitting on the sofa, rubbing against his legs before jumping up and curling up in his lap.

Husker shook his head, grumbling “Listen, that’s one thing you don’t want to know about. Trust me” he chugged at his bourbon.

Angel rolled his eyes at the cat demon, “Oh c’mon! Tell me! What do Mr. Fancytalk need with a pet? ” He whined. Husker ignored him, thinking sooner or later the spider will figure it out.

Charlie and Vaggie entered the lobby, overhearing the conversation. Angel turned his sight to Vaggie “Hey Vagina do you know the deal with the strawberry pimp’s pet?”

Vaggie sighed ”When Alastor manifested in this realm it was absolute chaos! some have speculated what unimaginable forces enabled him to rival our worlds most ancient and destructive evils. But one thing for sure, he holds an unpredictable source of danger, the kind we shouldn’t risk getting involved with unless we want to end up erased!” Angel deadpanned “that’s doesn’t really answer my questions toots”

Vaggie pointed towards the red demon, at the black fox “rumor has it the fox is the reason he’s so powerful”

Angel sucked his teeth “Ill believe when I see it”

———————————————————————————-

You napped on the bed of your shared room as Alastor sat out on the balcony enjoying the view of Pentagram City.

A loud BANG! Was heard and suddenly there was a massive hole knocked into the hotel.

A giant blimp was outside the hotel and a snake demon was declaring a fight against Alastor.

Alastor joined Charlie and the others at the entrance of the hotel, very much amused at the pathetic display.

”Who are you?” He asked

”I am the great Sir Pentigous! Your fiercest enemy!…We literally battled last week”

Alastor tilted his head, leaning on his cane “Well you would think I remembered you”

The snake demon hissed and went to charge up his weapons.

”Uuugghh Alastor? Aren’t you gonna do something about him? Aren’t you suppose to protect the hotel or something?” angel asked, hands on his hips. Alastor grinned ”Aah yes” he snapped his fingers.

Thick, inky black smoke billowed from the ground as a thunderous growl was heard.

”Holy fucking hell!”

A Giant beast emerged from the ground and immediately took the bump into its mouth and shook like a dog would a toy.

Several appendages swirled as the beast tore into the machine like it was paper.

The snake demon fell to the ground, trying to back away as the massive black beast snapped its sharp teeth at him,  making him cower.

”now now my dear you’ve done enough” Alastor said, causing everyone to look at him confused?

The black beast huffed before black smoke surrounded it.

Walking out of the smoke, holding the snake demon was a…

”THE FOX???!!” Angel exclaimed

You dragged the demon by his hood, baring your sharp teeth at him as he cowered behind Charlie.

You frowned at Alasto as you turned to him, ears flattening

You hands were at your hips as your tails swirled behind you “You woke me up for that?! Please at least let it be a challenge next time”

Alastor snickered as he pulled you into his side,  grin turning Cheshire as you nuzzled him anyway.

Everyone had a puzzled look on their face.

The cute black fox that often roamed the hotel was actually a demon?!

”told you would have found out sooner or later” Husker said.

”A-Alastor w-what?” Charlie stuttered, as Vaggie barged through pointing her spear at you and Alastor.

Your eyes narrowed as you stood in front of Alastor, growling at her, claws flexing in case she made a move. Your tails spiked.

”I wouldn’t do that if I were you” Alastor grinned, peaking through one of your tails

”This darling of mine is that ‘unpredictable source of choas’. Isn’t she a doll?”

————————————————————————————-

“Soooo you two are like a thing? How the fuck? What he own your soul or something?” Angel asked sipping his martini.

You smirked.

You had been with Alastor for a while now. You met the red deer when he first came to hell. He was running a muck in your territory, taking away the souls that you enjoyed tormenting. You, the ‘Kitsune Demon’, would not be intimidated by some newbie. So you fought Alastor. 

Who won? No one knows but many often saw the Radio Demon entering and existing your domain without consequence afterwards.

You and the Radio Demon had a very simple relationship. Your ancient power gave him legitimacy in status as well as your presence on his arm.

You were his best weapon in a battle and a great companion.

You might have looked scary, but only the lanky demon had seen you in your most vulnerable state.

You looked so pretty taking his cock and covered in cum.

”No he doesn’t own my soul and a thing? If you mean I warm his bed and keep him in check for the most part? Then yes” you said bluntly, making the spider gawk.

”you fuck that? That makes a lot of sense now” angel mumbled.

Speaking of fucking, you sniffed at the air. Alastor’s rut was approaching. You had to take care of that.

You left the confused spider as you disappeared in a smoky mist.

”Did you know those two get freaky?” angel turned to Husker, making the cat roll his eyes.

[gbearyacorn]

I Turned The Corner 🔞

(A companion to Black Coffee)

Summary :

The Radio Demon enjoys his life for the most part. He’s set up shop at Princess Morningstar’s pet project, the Hazbin Hotel (Haha! He named it), and has been enjoying watching the residents flail about in search of connection. Unfortunately one day, Angel Dust brings a certain picture show to ‘show and tell’ and well..

Chapter 1: Wherein the Radio Demon Acquires a Kink

If you haven’t read Black Coffee yet, you should be fine- you may just miss out on some context and it’s from the reader’s perspective instead of Al’s. So this idea is what made me start writing Black Coffee. Like, what if Alastor watched consensual torture porn? I think he’d be like hey can I get in on that? Well, minus the porn part.

“Ah, my good fellow! A fine evening, isn’t it?” The Radio Demon was accustomed to the shaking terror he induced, and it never failed to make the sinister smile that adorned his face spread wider. The large rhinoceros trembled as he stuttered out a greeting, and Alastor bent in front of the display with a hum.

“Tell me, do you happen to have any venison in today? I just love the flavor!”

“Y-yes sir! I just received a fresh shipment this morning! What cut and weight would you like?”

The laughter and track that burst forth only served to scare the butcher even more. “I’ll take it all, my friend. No need to worry about cut,” he clarified, and the rhino’s face lit up. “Yes sir! I have two unprocessed bucks, if that works for you.”

Alastor’s crimson eyes narrowed in delight- his favorite! He heard the squeak the butcher let out and fixed his face to be more pleasant. It wouldn’t do to terrify his source of meat. “Splendid! I’ll take them!”

He snapped the carcasses into his stasis dimension and handed over his money before bidding the butcher a pleasant evening. As he turned he noticed a small demon opening the door and he reached for the handle to hold it open for her.

“Excuse me, my dear,” he spoke, grinning down at the canine. Definitely not his favorite species- but a favorite to collect the skulls and pelts of. What surprised him though was her reaction, or lack thereof to be more specific. Oh sure, her eyes widened in recognition, but she smiled back at him! Oh, that little pup wouldn’t be smiling so sweetly at him if she knew what he did to demons like her.

“Pardon me, sir. Have a lovely evening.”

Well, canine or not, at least the pretty dear had manners- he supposed he could spare this one. Besides, the little demon was obviously of fairer means. She wasn’t to his tastes.

“And to you, my dear,” he replied before walking out, his steps giddy in anticipation of the lovely dinner and breakfast he would have.

———————-

———————

“Fine! I guess I’ll just have ta fuck the information outta ya!”

“Do your worst… Daddy.”

Ugh, it would seem that wretched spider was deeply misunderstanding the assignment of ‘show and tell’. Alastor’s smile faltered as he waited for the adult picture show to finish or be turned off before walking into the lobby. He stayed in the hallway and listened gleefully to Husker list off everyone’s personal faults until Angel’s baiting flirt set the feline off.

Alastor decided it was safe to enter to enjoy the unfolding drama and seated himself across from Nifty, who looked far too entertained by the picture box. ‘Just don’t look, at least the speaker is turned off.’

His thoughts were interrupted by an aggravated, but excited Angel Dust waving a disc in his face. Holding a gloved hand up to get the spider to back away, his head cocked in confusion.

“I bet this one’s right up your alley, Smiles!” Angel winked playfully and Alastor had to fight to keep his smile on. The thought of enjoying anything produced by the spider was laughable, but not something he would entertain.

“My friend, I can assure you that if it involves… human interest, that I have no interest in viewing-“

Angel had already inserted the disc, and the video began playing. Ears pinning down in disgust, Alastor looked away as his eyes narrowed. He hated his wishes being ignored, especially when it came to such intimate matters. For something that everyone else seemed to hold so sacred, they sure were eager to thrust it onto others.

“You once said that you would do anything to fulfill my desires… Is… that still true?”

An ear twitched and swiveled to the picture box as his curiosity got the better of him. He knew that voice from somewhere, but who was it?

“Of course babydoll. What, you want me to kill someone for you?” Huh, now if murder is the theme, that he could get behind! The feminine voice giggled and as his eyes locked on the screen, his features froze.

“As much as I love to see your bloodlust, darling, I was thinking maybe…” The demon he saw at the butcher shop a few weeks ago was playing shy with the spider, pressing her fangs into her finger as she blushed and looked away. Alastor cocked his head, raising an eyebrow in question at Angel and the spider waved for him to just keep watching as he went to sit down. Rolling his eyes, Alastor turned back to the screen.

“What’s your desire, sweetheart?” Angel asked his costar, and Alastor had to admit he was impressed with the spider’s acting skills. If he’d not known better, he would think Angel was genuinely in love with the woman. ‘She certainly is a lovely creature.’ The thought surprised him slightly- it was rare that he considered people beautiful, and even then it was in the way one would consider a work of art beautiful. He had never been interested in holding another in the way people so often wanted to be held. He’d stopped with that farce once he’d landed in Hell.

“W-Will you flay me?” The woman scrunched her eyes closed in embarrassment, a cute blush flaring against her cheeks. Okay, so not murder, but color Alastor officially interested. An audible crack sounded as his head turned to look at Angel behind him.

“Is this one of Valentino’s funny ideas?” There was a burning pain in his gut as he did his best to remain chipper. There was no way this actress was filming something like this willingly.

The sound of Angel’s laughter filled the lobby, and Alastor felt a chill run down his spine. “No way! Even Val is scared of Vixen!” The spider devolved into a fit of laughter, confusing the radio demon even further as he turned back to watch the scene play out.

“Vixy, wha- what are you saying? I can’t skin you; I could never hurt you!” Angel cupped her face and pet her hair gently as she looked down ashamed.

“I’m sorry, my love. I didn’t mean to upset you. I… I was just thinking out lou-“ Angel crashed his lips against his costar (Vixen? Vixy? One of those) and rolled his hips against her in a way that had Alastor cringing before he spoke.

“If that’s what you really want, you have to tell me why,” Angel growled his line and the actress moaned out her response as if it were her deepest yearning. “I want to see you wear my pelt,” that sweet voice sent his blood to rushing as he stared intently at the demure actress. A vixen, that’s what she was.

“The thought of you surrounded in my fur… It makes me want to pull you so deep inside me you never leave.” Oh, sweet Satan that sounded just delicious coming from those luscious obsidian lips.

An uncomfortable warmth bloomed in his lap, and Alastor clenched his hand over his cane, crimson gaze narrowing at the screen as the scene played on. This was something he’d not felt since his human life, and even then he’d never felt such an urge in response to erotic pictures or shows. It was simply biology- a filthy need to be quickly taken care of and forgotten. Even his rut season was just a foul mood. This… this was new. He didn’t know what to do with this information, filing the thought away for later examination.

“Fuuuck… Well, when you put it that way, how can I deny you?” Alastor had to agree with Angel’s line, crossing his legs as he did his best to relax his posture and leaned on his knuckles.

“Uhhhh, Angel? Are we watching a snuff film?” Vaggie asked as she held Charlie.

“Of course not! Snuff films are all about unwilling murder victims. Vixy came to me wanting her pelt removed.” Angel grinned slyly, and Alastor heard Vaggie groan out in frustration. His attention was focused solely on the dancing vixen as she gave the camera a strip show. Her blood red tail swished with her large hips, her hands trailing up her curves to lift and flair out her long white hair. He was transfixed.

He didn’t know when Angel left, or when Charlie followed- his eyes never left the bloody scene playing on the picture box. The little vixen had transformed into an actual fox, and was sitting still, completely conscious and focused on Angel as he cut into her flesh; slowly but surely, he pulled the lovely pelt from her muscles. Her screams were genuine and primal, obviously painful. So why did she ask for this? It certainly didn’t seem pleasurable to her. And why film it? Well, that question was answered easily enough- for profit, of course!

His day flashed by as he considered his reaction to the picture show. Would he watch it again to see if he could replicate the feelings it elicited? Did he want to feel that way again?

Heaving a frustrated sigh, Alastor picked up his pace as he ran through his bayou dimension, tackling the earth buck he’d spirited away and sank his fangs into the flesh. He couldn’t get that little vixen out of his head- the sweet way she asked to be flayed alive and her moaned out reasoning, the eerie music of her animal screams.

He shredded his meal as he consumed the deer, blood spraying across his suit- no matter, he was very good at cleaning up after himself. When finished with his food, that hunger still nagged at him, and he slammed his fist into any tree he could find. Why did that wretched spider have to show him that stupid picture show? Why did he decide to watch it? He could’ve just shadowed out, walked away, destroyed that damnable box!

He hadn’t wanted to though. And damn it all, he actually wanted to watch it again! Even better, he wanted to offer that lovely creature that starred in it a deal to be her butcher- what he would give to rip that lovely fur from her as she screamed for him.

Wait… what would she want if he offered such a deal? What if she wanted romantic or sexual intimacy in exchange? Money, he could do, a few souls perhaps, but that? He knew he was considered attractive to the local cannibettes, and he was more than confident in his ability to satisfy, but just the thought of having to have relations just to be able to rip off some flesh… Well, he supposed that deal would be equally painful for each party. ‘You know you want to rip her apart in more ways than one,’ his shadow chittered at him, wicked grin spread wide.

What was it, exactly, that he wanted? He may have felt a fleeting desire, but what would he feel when face to face with the vixen once again? ‘Especially after seeing every delectable part of her body.’ Ugh, best not to think of that- she was probably used to rabid fans gandering at her.

He needed to kill something. He needed to rip flesh apart and crush bones. With a roaring bellow, his claws slashed at the bark of a felled tree as his form began to grow and contort. He needed to release this energy, and there were only so many animals that fell through his earth traps. If it weren’t for the constraints of his soul contract, he’d have no problem finding wretched souls to slaughter.

Alastor stalked toward another felled tree, his sinister aura darkening the environment around him. Wrapping large hands around the trunk, he snarled and crushed every piece until nothing remained but dust.

He just needed patience. With time, he would forget about the god-forsaken picture show. It was times like this he wished he felt the need to sleep. As the hours passed, the eldritch horror stalked through the shadows of his bayou in search of more prey. For the night is long and filled with terrors, and this terror was fucking hungry.

[the-stove-is-divorced]

Just read your post about the 100 subscriber, and wanted to congratulate you, so :

Congratulations!! 🎉🎊🎉🎊🎉

You totally deserve it and even more. Honestly I'm surprised not more people are subscribed smh

Anyway, seeing as this is a great opportunity to take a sneak peak, I will gladly take it lol

So, my question is, what happens next in your Steven x gotham crossover? And what where you thinking when you decide to merge something as dark and twisted with something also as dark and twisted but better well hidden than the other franchise?

Seriously I wanna open and dissect your brain and see what up with it (not complaining tho, your crossovers are always fun to read)

THANK YOU! ( ´ ▽ ` ) And oh, I haven't thought about that fic in a hot minute, haha. I kinda wanna re-write bits since I absolutely relied on fanon, unfortunately, bleh. But to answer ya, Steven ends up meeting Damian while looking for a new job! I'll put a excerpt down below :D

As for what I was thinking, the idea came to be suddenly, and I was so enraptured by it, I had to write myself. As for why it's so compelling to me: Steven, unlike, characters like Danny from DP, or Spider-Man for crossovers, does not fit in Gotham's world. The others make sense. They fit the mold of vigilante, secret identities, a specific flavor of hero angst, perils from villains, etc, which is why it's so easy to imagine them there. They can adapt easily. They make sense. They fit Gotham's ecosystem, they're vigilantes.

But Steven? He's like a bright pink canon ball of chaos to me. He's a hero, but not seen in the same way the others are, he doesn't hide his identity because everyone knows who he is, and he has to escape his own own narrow expectations of who he's supposed to be. His villains aren't just familiar strangers, but directly impacted by Diamonds, if not Diamonds themselves at one point. His hero-like angst comes from responsibility, a desire to help, but he gets to retire, he has to, for his own sanity.

There's still horror, angst, gut punches, peril, etc, but it's shaped so differently, that putting someone like Steven in to the Gotham ecosystem has to disrupt it, and how that can happen fascinates me deeply. It's still a character adapting to Gotham, but also Gotham adapting to him, or at least, if I got that far. He doesn't quite fit the mold of teenage vigilante, like the others do, and thus what to do with him and think of him (via heroes, villains, civilians), and what he'll do is a delightful to think about. But he's still strange enough that it isn't outrageous to consider, because Gotham is strange, it has to be by nature. It can't go like how crossovers tend to go, which is exactly what I wanted, or tried to attempt.

Sliding over closer, carefully still, Damian lets his hand waver around the lion's nose, letting the creature sniff it if need be, to which it simply blinks, expectantly.

Damian swallows, and gently, lets his fingers brush the lion’s mane. It’s so soft. He can’t help but coo, quietly, brushing as much as it allows. He curses, he wishes he hadn’t broken his arm, otherwise he could be petting it with both of his hands, as he should’ve been destined to do.

Foolishly, too overcome by the beauty of the lion he forgets his troubles, Damian clenching his fist tight, an ache spikes right back in retaliation, making him hiss and wince. He freezes, instinctively, over displaying such an open weakness before a stranger. Then again, there is nothing particularly frightening about him. Other than Damian’s usual, reasonable sense of wary paranoia, and ignoring his basis for the big cat, this teen reeks of tourist obliviousness fitting for Metropolis and potentially damning for one existing in Gotham. The teenager, the stranger with the Lion, doesn’t seem dangerous, either. Or capable of it, really. He’s disgustingly friendly. Unless-

The teenager’s eyes linger over to Damian’s cast, interrupting Damian’s paranoid spiral. “Oh, your arm! Is it broken? Do you, um, do you want me to fix that? Your arm? I can?”

The older teenager points at Damian’s cast, his head tilted ever so slightly, and when the light catches, the wind brushing back the leaves to spotlight his eyes, his black pupils seem almost cat-like for a second, a shaded pink hue embedded within them, distinctly in the shape of diamonds. 

Alien, Damian almost breathes. He’s gotta be an alien. Either that or a meta. Or, a heavy magic user to be shaped so subtly by his own magic, or to be so thoroughly warped by some sort of artifact. Damian stares at him, and decides sporadically, if just for the sake of seeing where this goes, and silently remarking if this is a kidnapping scheme, he’s knocking this guy unconscious and stealing his lion, nods. Better yet, if he’s a criminal, he has stumbled upon a tidy excuse to show how greatly he can perform in spite of such an injury. 

“You may assist.” 

The teenager does not whisper some ancient, ritual spell, nor does he transfer his hands upon Damian’s cast, murmuring words beyond human comprehension. Seamlessly, the teeenager licks his finger, and pokes Damian in the arm, pressing gently, before looking at him expectantly. 

The man’s a lunatic, Damian swiftly decides.

And like any normal, rational being with any functioning brain matter, he quickly calculates how many steps to take in order to dropkick this fiend into the dirt, without dirtying his clothes, and thus capturing Father’s suspicion. Cannot get caught doing any labor, less his family notices, and decides to stick with him something as stupid as a babysitter of some sort. Though, this weirdness probably would be justifiable for perhaps body slamming him into the ground and snapping his fingers.Just as Damian shifts back, something happens.

His arm glitters.

Light wraps around it, glowing softly beneath the cast, a fluttery, spiral of pink drifting into the air, warmth tingling his bones until he flexes his arm, bracing for the harsh spike of pain, but none comes. There’s no soreness, no exhaustion, no nothing. The light fades, and jut like that: his arm is fixed. It feels fine. It feels normal. It doesn’t even ache.

He pauses. His mind whirs. 

Damian stares at the (possibly insane, or socially oblivious, yet strangely, perhaps, genuinely friendly) alien, (or meta, or magic, to be determined) boy and his majestic pink lion. He flexes his arm again. Wiggles it. Tense it. Hits it. No pain, no numbing sensation, or strange marks that he can see. The tingling ache lingering along his bones have faded away. Forgotten. Gone. 

“You healed me,” Damian murmured in awe.  

He’s-he’s back on patrol now, he could storm right back into the Manor and prove just how capable he truly is, march right up to Father and show everyone, even that miserable, disrespectful heathen Drake and- 

But, Father would be suspicious. This was no doubt something mystical, or magical, or meta adjacent, and then what intentions, what side effects, what tests and pokes and prods would Damian have to endure to prove this is to be trusted to be back on the field?That Damian could be back in his spot, where he belonged, immediately?

[fraterribilis]

The taxonomy of Sly Cooper: Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

Sorry for being so late with this one, but I've been occupied with other things.

Anyway, time to overthink the biology of the different members of the Klaww Gang!

Starting off with a two for one, it's pretty obvious that both Neyla and Rajan are meant to be mainland or bengal tigers (Panthera tigris tigris). They were originally conceived by the developers as father and daughter afterall.

I think pretty much everyone knows what tigers are and what they're all about (solitary apex predators, live in Asia) so I'll spare you the details, and share some lesser known facts about them instead.

Most relevant to the topic at hand, the bengal tiger was long considered a separate subspecies from the siberian, chinese and malayan populations, but recent genetical analysis suggests that they all belong to the same subspecies, and are now collectively referred to as the mainland tiger. The only other extant subspecies being the Sunda Islands or sumatran tiger.

Contrary to what Bentley would have you believe, tigers do NOT have an aversion to water. In fact they are some of the best swimmers among big cats, with the population in the Sundarbans being known to swim between islands in the delta in search of prey.

And contrary to popular belief, there are NOT more tigers in captivity in the US than there are tigers in the wild. @why-animals-do-the-thing has a very well researched series examining the data regarding captive tigers in the US which you can find here.

Sidenote: As a kid I thought that Neyla was supposed to be just a normal (purple) tabby cat. It wasn't until I got older and heard Dimitri's office recordings that I realized she was supposed to be a tiger.

Speaking of Dimitri, he is obviously an iguana of some kind. There are no wild iguanas in France, but i guess his family could have migrated there. Some fans have identified him as a marine iguana (Amblyrhynchus cristatus), but his pointed skull and impressive dewlap beard suggests to me that he belongs to the genus of true iguanas (yes, taxonomy is confusing).

There are two recognised species of the Iguana genus; the green iguana (Iguana iguana) and the lesser antilliean iguana (Iguana delicatissima). I couldn't decide which one fit Dimitri better so you're getting another two for one. Both species grow to be up to six feet long, with males being larger than females. They are herbivorous, and feed on a wide variety of leaves, flowers, seeds and fruits. Both species live in forest and swamp areas, and are very capable swimmers and climbers. In addition to having well-developed vision, iguanas also possess a so-called parietal eye placed at the top of their skull, which allows them to detect ultra-violet light.

The green iguana is by far the most widespread of the two species, being found throughout most of Central America and northern South America, along with invasive populations in Florida and the Carribean. It is also one of the most popular lizards in the pet trade, even though it can be notoriously demanding and stroppy.

By contrast, the lesser antillean iguana is critically endangered, being only found on the archipelago of Lesser Antilles. Here it faces threats from invasive species, such as feral dogs and cats, but its greatest threat is, ironically enough, its invasive cousin the green iguana. The two species compete over resources, and can even interbreed, creating hybrids which further limit the native population.

The Contessa is most likely a black widow spider of the genus Latrodectus, seeing as she's often associated with an hourglass symbol which several members of the genus famously display on their abdomen. There are way too many Latrodectus species to count, so I'm just gonna assume that she is a southern black widow (Latrodectus mactans) which is basically the type species for the genus.

The southern black widow is the most common Latrodectus species in North America, being found throughout the southeastern United States along with Mexico and the Dominican Republic. Like other spiders it largely preys on insects, but sometimes also preys on other spiders, including its fellow species.

Black widows are infamous for their venom, which causes a condition called Latrodectism. This venom is rarely fatal in humans, with fatalities usually being those already of poor health, but it is extremely painful, causing symptons like nausea, vomiting, and muscle pain. These symptoms can sometimes last for weeks.

Black widows are of course also known for practicing sexual cannibalism, where the larger female will consume the male after mating, hence the "widow" name. This is not guaranteed however, as the female may spare the male if she isn't hungry. The females are generally the deadlier of the species though, as they are not only larger, but also have more potent venom (and a longer lifespan). All very fitting for a character who likely poisoned her husband.

As for Jean Bison, I actually like to think that he is a wisent or european bison (Bison bonasus). Part of that is his design. While his head is definitely big, it isn't quite as ridicoulously large as that of an american bison (Bison bison). More importantly however, I think it makes more sense for a european colonizer trying to industrialize the wild north, as opposed to a native american animal.

The european bison is distinquished from its american relative by being generally smaller and lankier in frame, but it is still a large and powerful animal. Adult bulls stand 6 feet tall at the shoulder (taller than the american bison) and can weigh up to 900 kg, making them the largest land animal in all of Europe.

The species has historically had a range covering most of northern Europe, but overhunting and habitat loss drove them to extinction in the wild in the early 20th century. Less than 60 animals remained in zoos worldwide, but thanks to wildlife rehabilitation efforts the species is slowly but steadily recovering. Today they are found in scattered populations across Europe, mostly in the east.

All in all, quite an ironic fit for a villain who's goal involves destroying the natural environment.

And finally we have Arpeggio. I had a hard time choosing between two particular species for him; the yellow faced parrot (Alipiopsitta xanthops), and the golden parakeet (Guaruba guarouba). Thanks to @arpeggio-the-parrot for coining me in on that last one. The yellow-faced has a more appropriate plumage, but the parakeet has a more prominent beak, much like Arpeggio. This combined with features we'll discuss later makes me conclude that he must be a golden parakeet. I do also kinda like the idea of him being a flightless kakapo, but I digress.

The golden parakeet or golden conure is only found in the Amazon Basin of northern Brazil. The species is endangered in the wild due to deforestation and the pet trade. It has a diet largely consisting of fruits and seeds, particularly corn. This is a highly social species, with up to 10 individuals roosting in the same tree hole. Different females will lay their eggs in a single nest, and when the chicks hatch they are raised communally.

The golden parakeet might seem like an odd choice, given that adults of the species are almost entirely yellow, (besides their green remige flight feathers) as opposed to Arpeggio's more balanced mix of yellow and green. However, juvenile parakeets have more prominently green coloring, including their back and tail feathers, which they lose as they grow older. This to me suggests, that Arpeggio likely suffers from paedomorphism (the retention of juvenile traits into adulthood), which would also explain his underdeveloped wings, that are so key to his character. Funny how things work out like that.

[leggerefiore]

How do you think Emmet and Ingo’s Pokemon would react to seeing their trainer tossing Emma and Inka/Erin in the air? Do they think it looks fun and want to try it for themselves (either doing the tossing or being the tossed), or maybe they get super protective of the children and even scold their own trainer for being so reckless.

I can easily imagine Chandelure freaking out and keeping Erin floating in midair, or Galvantula tying up Emmet to stop him from yeeting the his own daughter.

For Ingo...

Chandelure will mistake Erin's giggles for crying and float him mid-air to safely land him on the ground. She then starts angrily making cries at Ingo, who is now trying to explain that Erin isn't upset, or he would never, ever let him fall.

Haxorus also panics. Her extreme kindness and protectiveness kick, and she's rushing over to catch the poor hatchling human. She refuses to return The Erin to his father until she feels he will no longer toss him.

Crustle watches the scene and determines Erin is enjoying being tossed like that. He leaves Ingo alone to play with the boy until a thought crosses his mind. Playtime interrupted by dad's pet also wanting to be tossed in the air. (Sadly, Ingo can't handle 440 pounds (200 kg). (Yet.))

Garbodor makes concerned noises but knows she isn't supposed to touch the kids yet for sanitary reasons. So, when Erin is safely on the ground, she tackles Ingo instead and whines pitifully. Ingo is confused by this sudden behaviour and pats her on her back. Now, she wishes to be tossed like Erin.

Excadrill gets jealous of Erin's tossing, as Ingo used to do with him when he was a Drillbur. This leads to playtime interruption once again by a sad pokemon wanting their Trainer Father's attention.

Klinklang just watches. No strong opinions from this pokemon. It loves that its owner is happily enjoying himself with his little human.

For Emmet…

Eelektross watches as his owner goes between tossing one twin into the air before going to the other with mild interest. He may even float over and help Emmet play with the girls while they wait their turn to be tossed.

Galvantula worries about Mother Emmet's human children. They don't seem as resilient as Joltiks, and she isn't sure how she feels about Inka whining and grabbing Emmet's leg as he tosses Emma into the air. She interprets this as distress from Inka about her twin. She latches on to Emmet's torso and starts loudly chittering to make him stop. No more tossing until the spider nanny is comforted that the children aren't dying.

Durant gets a bit worried, too, thanks to Inka's whining. Unlike Galvantula, who wants to stop Emmet passively, he will go bite Emmet's ankles. Emma is placed on the ground while Emmet tries to ward off his pokemon. The girls watch this display of willpower curiously.

Archeops gasps. His trainer is teaching the fledglings how it is to be airborne! The bird only saw one issue with Emmet's plans. The girls don't have wings yet! He can also see how sad the twin waiting on the ground for their turn is. A plan comes into his mind, and he scoops up Inka to fly with her in the air. Despite her giggling excitement, her father is now panicking and ordering Archeops to put her down. A role reversal.

(Haxorus and Garbodor act similar to Inka and Emma ad they do for Erin.)

[box-architecture]

6.

Dream tugged at the webs that clung to his body, panic slowly dying down into a sweaty exhaustion that made it rapidly harder to fight. His wings were sticky from the web's silk and pinned behind his back, unable to unfurl and help him get away. His axe had long since fallen out of reach into the mine-shaft below.

He was an easy meal like this, and he bit his lip to try and ground himself. It would be fine. He'd gotten out of worse situations than this; the last set of hunters on his trail had tried to use explosives only to succeed in trapping Dream and killing their crew. It had taken a day to dig himself out, and after the blood had been washed away, the scars on his hands were rough proof of his efforts. Of his survival.

A spider's web would not be his undoing.

"You're not my usual prey."

The voice came from behind him, steady and curious. Dream stiffened, unable to twist far enough to squirm away from the hand that was delicately running through his wings.

"Don't-" He choked out. It had been ages since he was last touched kindly, and even longer since he had trusted that kindness anywhere near his wings. The gentleness of it made him twitch. He felt sensitive, vulnerable, and the way his body tangled up and splayed only heightened the intensity.

"I've never see someone with butterfly wings before." The person marveled as they came into view, and Dream's mouth went dry as he met the eyes of a spider hybrid. Two sets of arms, eyes that seemed to glow in the dark, and fangs that could tear his throat out in an instant. His would-be captor.

"It's not common, I'm told." Dream said. Automatically, he tilted his head, only to remember belatedly he didn't have his mask anymore. His emotions were already on display.

"It's definitely not." The spider agreed. One of their hands reached out to cup his face. "I would have remembered someone like you."

The tone was… soft. Earnest. Dream flushed. He turned his head away, but their thumb merely brushed his cheek to wipe away the dirt.

"Would you mind freeing me from your web then?" Dream tried to keep his voice even. "Maybe help keep butterflies from going extinct, yeah?"

The spider shifted closer, more hands reaching out to run their fingers through his hair, grip his hip, his thigh, the base where his wings met flesh. He couldn't stop the whimper when they fitted themselves between his legs, overwhelmed by the touches, and when their hips met, he jerked uselessly in his bindings. The spider looked nothing short of fascinated.

"I haven't caught anything in a few days," They admitted. "If I wanted a safe meal, it would have to be you."

They didn't seem interested in eating him, though. The hands continued to roam, exploring him, while occasionally they brought their head forward to graze his neck with their fangs. Each time, Dream braced himself for the death bite, but it never came.

"I can get you something better." Dream promised. His face felt like it was on fire. He wasn't sure what 'better' could be, but it was hard to think under the heavy petting. "Just let me go and I will."

The spider hummed in discontent. It's grip on his hip became firm. "You'll leave; you're not supposed to leave. Everything in my web belongs to me."

A hand was touching his wings again, and he gasped and trembled, unable to tell if he wanted to push into the touch or away.

"Please," He pleaded. "You can have anything you want. I'll give you anything. Please don't."

He could feel the spider shiver against him.

"You're not supposed to leave," The spider repeated, before drawing back with a regretful look. "But I don't want you to die."

They held Dream's cheek. It was hard not to lean in; people didn't show affection to him like this. He was a criminal. He was a pariah. He was something to be destroyed and something to be forgotten. There had never been a moment to spare for gentleness, not if he didn't want to risk the betrayal of a knife to the gut.

The spider leaned in and nuzzled their noses. Dream felt a lump in his throat.

"Let me be inside you." The spider said. A demand had never sounded so forlorn.

"What?" Dream croaked. There were hands tugging at his clothes now, though the webbing stopped any actual removal, stuck as he was.

"I want to be inside you." The spider pressed a chaste kiss against his lips. Then another. Then another. "Before you go, I want to make you mine. Give yourself to me."

"I- you can't!" Dream protested, head spinning as a small heat flickered through him. "I don't- I've never- you'd just eat me afterwards."

"I wouldn't." The spider's eyes were intense. "I promise. I'll be good to you."

Dream's breath caught. The heat spiked, causing his hips to twitch forward on instinct. The spider noticed, shifting back and letting Dream feel a bulge against his thigh.

"… Mr. Spider?" He mumbled.

"No, I'm Sam." Sam shook his head.

"Sammy." Dream said under his breath, not noticing the way Sam's eyes grew wide and dark. "If-if I let you use my body, will you let me go?"

Sam touched their foreheads, and they held each other's gaze for an endless moment. "I will honor my word."

Gods, he really was going to do this. Dream looked away, embarrassed from how much he was already on board with this. He wanted to thrust his hips, to move closer, but he couldn't spread his legs any farther: the web had splayed him out well enough. He looked like an obscene meal, however Sam had chosen to have him.

"Just- please be gentle with me. I've never done anything like this before."

Sam's eyes went wide and wondrous, before becoming so bright with happy affection that Dream was caught off-guard. The hands tugging at his clothes had now found their way underneath. They unbuttoned his pants and lifted his hoodie, pulling at his leotard eagerly. Sam had buried his face into Dream's neck, a strange trill accompanying him as he began to suck marks into his neck. Dream leaned his head back to make room, trying his best to participate with what little movements he could make.

He wasn't well versed in the field of sex. A skilled mouth could be traded for goods and services, but he hadn't had a lot of partners to actually explore anything deeper with. He knew the basics, held faint memories of tricks and tips from various sources throughout the years, but theory wasn't practice, and Sam's hand on his cock was a relatively unfamiliar experience. His mouth fell open, a moan trailing out as Sam traced the underside and cradled his balls.

And then Sam made a hiss of frustration. Dream yelped as heard a rip and a rush of cool air replace the leather around his thighs.

"What are you doing?" Dream panicked. "I need those!"

Sam hissed again, continuing to claw at his pants as if they had personally offended him.

"They won't let me touch you properly." He complained.

"Then just get me out."

"No." Sam said grouchily, gently bonking their foreheads as he did. "You belong in my web, so you need to stay there."

Dream made an exasperated noise, and Sam mimicked it. The hand went back to stroking his cock, never letting a single claw pierce his skin.

[just-horrible-things]

‘Verse: Box Boy Universe Story: A Girl Called Spider Timeline: The day of Rayce's unboxing

Alone Time [Prev | Next]

He wants to fight back, but he can barely stand. His legs and arms are jelly. Sharper pain grinds in his shoulders every time they move, and his lungs betray him every other breath. He wants to use words, put the Pet back in her place, or appeal to the softness in her, or, or something, but it's hard to string a coherent sentence together, and – again – he can't breathe well enough to try. 

It feels like he's still drowning, like there's still water burning in his lungs that won't come up no matter how he coughs and coughs. 

The last thing he wants is another shock to his throat when it's already aching and starting to wear raw from all the coughing.

So he doesn’t fight, or argue, or resist. He lets the psycho Pet pull him to his feet, and when his legs threaten to give out under him he leans on her, and he walks where she guides him.

Fuck, he's just as weak and helpless as he was drugged, and all from a bit of water.

He can't believe that this is his sweet, obedient trainee. Maybe  – maybe she's wrong, he's wrong, she's someone else. They never knew each other, she just looks a bit like one of his and he – he looks enough like her handler that she…. 

How could he have gone so wrong? He thought she was perfect. How did she turn out like this? What did he do wrong? What did her owner do?

Where is her owner anyway? Why is Rayce here? What is going on?

The cellar stairs are a trial. Rayce’s legs shake and threaten to buckle with every downwards step. The Pet isn’t really tall enough to hold him up, and every time he shakes he thinks he's going to miss the step and fall, and he hurts too much already and the flinching only makes it worse. 

There are more steps than seem possible and when he finally reaches flat ground he surrenders all dignity and collapses to the floor, coughing in another gut-burning throat-sanding bout that leaves his vision spotty before he can manage to stop.

The Pet tries to take his cuffs and drag him, but he coughs on her hands and she recoils.

Eventually it passes and he lets her haul him up and steer him to the side of the cellar. She takes him to one of the floor-to-ceiling shelving units, then pushes him back down.  Every time he drops, pain lances through his knees, the bruises throb – but it's nothing, really, beside everything else. 

Like when she grabs his cuffs and tries to lift his arms over his head. His shoulders lock up in agony and he yells hoarsely and pushes up off the ground to relieve the pressure. The Pet drops him in surprise and he tips sideways, choking on another grunt as his shoulder hits the floor.

Panting, fighting back the need to cough, he squints up at her and finds no sympathy, only a cold and stony gaze utterly at odds with her otherwise calmly pleasant expression.

Another shudder runs across his skin.

They're supposed to be sweet and empty underneath the training. Even Guard Dogs are cracked wide open, everything on display, all their aggression easy to see and understand and manipulate and direct. 

Azalea crouches and takes his wrists again. "I – can't –" Rayce grits out as she tries, a little more cautiously, to lift him by the arms again. "Pets don't get to decide that," she tells him testily. "Please?" he forces out, swallowing the expletive he wants to add.

She sighs, but she takes pity on him this time. The chain gets locked to his collar instead, and looped around the leg of the shelving with enough slack that he can stay sprawled on the floor.

A properly trained Pet would say thank you, but Rayce can’t bring himself to. Not for her.

"Sleep," she tells him. "I'll be back in a few hours. Remember, Handler – you're just as much a Pet as I am, now."

Watching her climb the stairs, Rayce reflects that he hasn’t the faintest idea of the time. He was upstairs just a minute ago, he should know if it’s light outside at least but… he can’t remember.

He hasn't had a real day night cycle in… probably weeks. It has to have been weeks. 

The Pet turns the light off when she leaves. And honestly – it's just a relief to be left alone.

Gingerly, groaning, Rayce rolls onto his back. The concrete is cold and hard and the pressure itches and stings across his back but it still feels fucking good to just lie flat. Some of the burning tension in his core is able to release. He can breathe deeper.

It’d feel a whole lot better, of course, if he could lower his hands to his sides. He has to rest them on his belly with the cuffs still tugging at his wrists and his shoulders still aching.

But at least he can lie mostly flat.

The darkness is absolute. He doesn’t have the energy to wave a hand in front of his face, but he doubts he’d see a thing. After weeks in a training cell staring up at the glare of the lights day in day out, his eyes aren’t used to darkness. Colours swim, aggressively bright, in psychedelic swirls across his vision. 

A treacherous little thought wonders if he’s really, absolutely sure he’s alone.

Of course he is. There was no one else down here, he’d have seen them. Wouldn’t he? But then again, he didn’t really look around, did he? His entire focus was on the crazed Pet. He can’t picture much of the room, even minutes after seeing it.

But no, he has to be alone. It’s pitch black and very, very quiet. The chain rattles when he coughs. He’d hear if there was anyone else down here. At least, he’d hear them if they moved.

Stop it, there’s no one down here and there’s no reason for his heart to still be racing.

And despite the adrenaline, despite everything that just happened, despite spending god knows  how many hours asleep in that Box – despite it all, gritty exhaustion still scratches at his eyes and drags at his mind.

It’s the same feeling as when he’d watch horror films late at night and scare himself stupid as a young teen. He’d lie awake, wanting nothing more than to sleep, but too afraid. The light would hurt his eyes but he wouldn’t be able to turn it off.

There’s no pretending this time that it isn’t real.

He doesn’t understand anything. He’d just started to wrap his head around the reality that he was going to be wiped and made into a Pet and there was nothing he could do. And now he’s  here instead?

He tries to sleep, he does. But his mind keeps running in circles and he can’t shake the childish fear that something is going to reach out from the pitch dark and touch his face, and he especially can’t let go of the intense awareness of his body and everything that’s wrong. Hunger gnaws in his belly. Every bruise and muscle and strained joint pulsates in time with his heart. His throat hurts every time he swallows.

And every time he thinks he’s starting to doze, he coughs and wakes himself right back up again.

It’s the cold that tips the scales. It seeps steadily up from the concrete floor, and the shivering gets worse, and eventually he has to concede that sleep is not an option no matter how badly he wants it. 

Hesitantly, fumbling in the dark, he finds the metal leg of the shelving and hauls himself back up to sitting. It inevitably sets off waves of muscle cramps. His head throbs violently, and he tips it gently forwards against the metal as if that could possibly help.

When he eventually releases his death grip on the leg of the shelf, his knuckles brush something cool and solid. He jumps a little, even though it shouldn’t be news that there are things on the shelves. Questing fingertips find the curve of paper-over-metal, slightly ridged – a food tin. Beside it and above it, others. A glass jar or bottle. A stack of cardboard packets.

It’s nerve-wracking, rummaging around in the dark. The backs of his fingers itch with phantom sensation, imagining the touch of webs or insects or god knows what. The link between the cuffs clinks semi-continuously against things as his hands explore.

He picks up a can and weighs it in his hand, imagining using it as a weapon. The heft is laughably inadequate. The mental image is absurd, a naked collared pet brandishing a tin of beans. Maybe not that.

The chain leash is a better bet. He’s seen Pets try to use their leashes as garottes. The metal links are light but sturdy in his hands.

He’s never seen a Pet succeed at more than annoying their handlers. Not with debilitating electric agony only a button-press away. 

He shudders, and tips his head against the shelves again – and knocks glass against glass and jumps again. Hands up – always both moving together – and he feels out where the edge of the shelf is, and then he turns around and tries to lean back. The hard edges bite painfully into his back.

He fingers his collar in the dark, hating the prickle of fresh nervousness that already – already – comes with the disobedience. No one’s here to see. The leather is still damp, trapping clammy cold against chafed skin – wait, leather?

It’s not the heavy duty webbing of the trainee collars.

Heart suddenly racing for reasons beyond fear, Rayce feels all the way around the collar, rotating it against his neck despite the discomfort of it tugging on the skin. He finds no power box. No electrode prongs when he slides his fingers between the leather and the skin. No hefty plastic fastener, just a locking buckle with a tiny padlock.

His hands shake. 

No shocks.

All of a sudden the world is infinitely less claustrophobic. Like a door just opened – even though the door remains resolutely shut. Even though he’s still chained by the neck to a fucking shelving unit, even though his hands are cuffed and he’s naked in the cellar of some stranger’s house with no idea where he is…

He can’t be shocked just for opening his mouth, just for looking at them the wrong way or twitching or touching the fucking collar.

He can’t be disabled with just the twitch of a thumb. He has options.

Not, admittedly, a lot of options… but infinitely more than none.

[Next]

[karikarasuno]

Dessert First

Pairing: Ichigo Kurosaki x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings/Tags: Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Smut (18+ only), Birthday Sex, Use of baby as a pet name, Ichigo loves thigh highs (I don’t make the rules), Unprotected Sex, Creampie

a/n: is this many days late? yes. is time even real? no.

“Rock, paper, scissors, SHOOT!”

His hand was a fist before your hand was flat. The rock to your paper.

“You cheated,” he slapped your hand away, making you chuckle.

“I did not! It’s rock, paper, scissors, shoot,” you emphasized with your hand again, pumping it up and down in the air between your bodies. “You’re supposed to go when I say shoot, not before.”

“That’s not the way I play,” he grumbled, walking around you to push the cart down the aisle you were stopped in.

“Well, your way is wrong,” you argued, bumping him with your hip as you took control of the cart and walked over to the produce. He whispered his rebuttal under his breath, stepping forward to match your stride as you led the way.

“And shouldn’t I be the one to pick the dessert, since it’s my birthday,” he said, pausing when you did as you looked over at the containers of strawberries in front of you. It was mid-season for them, so the air was fragrant and practically mouth watering. You inspected a few of the containers, deciding on the one with the largest batch of strawberries.

“No because knowing you, you’d just get something I like,” you said, placing the strawberries in the cart and walking over to the candy aisle. “This eliminates your ‘me’ bias.”

“I don’t have a ‘you’ bias,” he tugged on a strand of your hair playfully. “Maybe I like the same things you do.”

You scoffed, eyes scanning over the bags of chocolate chips until they landed on a pack of dark chocolate ones and you were immediately throwing it in the nearly full basket.

“Last time I got one of those slices of cake from the bakery you literally gagged after two bites.”

“Ok but in my defense that frosting was ass.” And maybe he was right, the frosting was insanely sweet, tooth-rottingly so, but it was a funfetti cake slice and you couldn’t say no when it was displayed so temptingly with all the fun colors.

“Yeah yeah,” you waved him off, heading towards self check-out since most of the items you came in here for to prepare his birthday dinner were already checked off of your mental list.

You’d made sure to grab a few reusable bags from the backseat before coming in, handing the items to Ichigo so he could fill them as you scanned. When you reached in your purse to grab your debit card, he snuck an arm past your waist, tapping his card against the screen of the card reader until it beeped.

“Excuse me,” you said, mouth propped open because you agreed that you’d pay. “Why do you behave this way?”

He smirked, small and smug as he ripped the receipt from the machine. He didn’t even let you grab a bag to carry, hauling them all into his hands to leave you to push the empty cart to its place by the entrance.

You caught up with him with a slight jog, unlocking the car and popping the trunk open so he could drop the bags gracelessly into the empty space.

“You better not break my eggs,” you scolded, tossing him the keys once he closed the trunk and headed to the driver’s side.

“They’re fine,” he laughed, leaning over the center console to kiss your temple once you were both seated before starting the car.

“You say that, but last time we were down two eggs because you don’t know how to be gentle.”

“Oh, that’s a lie. They broke because you decided it was a good time to stop abruptly in the middle of the hallway and I ran right into you.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile, remembering the moment you stopped in your tracks because you thought you saw a spider on your doormat. It was a leaf, but you refused to admit that to him.

“It’s your birthday, so I won’t argue with you,” you teased, poking your tongue in his direction and watching the smile pull at the corners of his lips. “Sure, that’s why.”

He decided he wanted to spend his birthday evening with you when you told him you were planning something special. He knew how excitable you got when it came to these things, so you compromised. Tonight it would just be you two, and tomorrow you could scheme and sneak to your heart’s content.

It took you longer than usual to prepare dinner, Ichigo spending most of his time in the kitchen bothering you instead of being helpful. He hovered, instructing you over your shoulder until you pointed the knife at him and told him to back off.

He threw his hands up, smiling as he walked backwards around the island to busy himself somewhere else around the apartment. And by the time the food was done, the stove turned off and the cookware pushed back on to a cool burner, he was nowhere to be found. You called for him, telling him dinner was ready, but he didn’t answer. The silence was loud and suspicious. Your interest piqued as if he was a toddler up to no good.

So you followed the quiet, making your way down the short hall to your bedroom. The door was barely cracked open, only rustling and movement could be heard behind it. You narrowed your eyes, trying hard to listen to figure out what the hell he was doing. But it was barely decipherable, except for the distinct sound of paper crinkling. You nudged the door open with your foot, hand on hip and head tilted.

“What are you doing?” You asked, a curious smile playing at your lips when he startled and turned to face you. He was holding something behind his back, ears red and eyes averted.

“What’re you hiding?” Your smile widened as you took careful steps towards your boyfriend who was cornering himself against the edge of the mattress.

“I got you something,” he rushed out, words without spaces between them when he finally met your playful gaze. He held out a gift bag to you, the handle hanging off his finger as it swayed back and forth.

“Ichigo,” you sighed, slipping the bag from off his finger and placing it on the bed. “Why?”

“Just,” he stopped, sitting on the bed and looking up at you, hesitant anticipation lighting up his eyes. “Just open it and stop asking questions.”

“But-,” you started, a rant ready on your tongue until he interrupted you.

“Open it, damnit,” he forced the bag back into your hands, and you shook your head before toying with the white tissue paper poking out the top. You tugged it out the bag, thin fabric slipping out along with it and falling on the comforter.

You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Not the pile of lacey material that you pinched between your fingertips, unfolding each piece with an amused grin as it became increasingly clear what exactly his gift was. The red thigh high stockings had a beautifully intricate lace trim with a matching garter belt. It was just like him to see this and think of you. So like him that you couldn’t help but laugh. Loud and bright and incredulous.

When you covered your mouth to look at him his brows were furrowed and he was staring back at you with frustrated confusion. An almost pout on his lips.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, glaring at you now when you hid the rest of your laugh behind your fingers. You held one of them up to tell him to wait, spinning on your toes and practically skipping to the walk-in closet on the opposite side of the bedroom. You fumbled around in there for a minute, pushing past the rows of hanging clothes until you reached a plastic tote you had hidden away. You opened the lid to grab what you were looking for, holding it in your hand close to your chest with another laugh.

He was staring still, handsome face scrunched in that scowl you were oh so in love with. You laid out what you had in your grasp on the bed next to his gift. An almost identical matching set. The stockings and garter a black instead.

“Oh,” he said, the amusement that clung to you now seeping into his voice.

“Oh, indeed,” you laughed, touching both sets, the texture smooth against your fingertips. “Now you have two to choose from. Black or red, birthday boy?”

One side of his lips turned up, a careful grin tugging his features into something mischievous. “Try them on for me?”

“Now?” You raised an eyebrow at him, remembering the food sitting on the stovetop ready to eat. “What about dinner?”

He shrugged, scooping both sets into his hand and holding them out to you. “Dinner can wait. Come on,” he nudged you in the direction of the bathroom, making a hurry up gesture as he reclined on his hands to wait.

“Dessert first then?”

“I think I deserve it.”

You didn’t argue that point, striding into the bathroom and kicking the door closed behind you. Your clothes smelled like the dinner you’d been cooking, spices clinging to your shirt as you peeled it over your head. The bra you’d been wearing was cute, but didn’t necessarily match the sets that were now resting on the bathroom counter. You thought for a moment about ditching it altogether, not intending to have any of this on for very long. But then you spotted one of his t-shirts folded neatly on his side of the counter. An idea forming that you knew he’d like.

So you undress and dress quickly, spraying some of your perfume on the back of your neck and your wrists hoping to get rid of the food smell. Replacing it with something much more alluring. You put the black one on first, the thong doing nothing to cover up much. But you felt sexy. The way the trimming hugged your thighs had a bit of fat squishing over the top. Your curves were delicate, pronounced once the garter was cinched in place. And his white shirt hung just below your ass, peeks of the set coming through whenever you walked.

“You need a hand?” He called from the bedroom, obvious impatience making you want to take just a second longer. But you pulled the door open, leaning against the doorframe and twisting the hem of the shirt around your finger.

“Someone’s bossy.” You took long strides towards him, lengthening each one so that the shirt rode up and caught in the garter belt. And it worked because his eyes were glued to your thighs, a blush creeping across his cheeks. His fingers twitched where they were placed on the bedding, an audible swallow meeting your ears when you stopped inches in front of him.

“What do you think?” You slowly rose the edge of the shirt to expose the top of where the garter starts, stopping just beneath your breasts. His hand reached out from behind him, lying his palm flat against your stomach and dragging it down. He took his time touching you, explorative fingers hooking and feeling and tugging on the lingerie. Once his hand was at your thigh, hovering over the trim, he sucked in a breath. Fingers splaying out before he gripped your thigh and squeezed, slipping a finger beneath the fabric to pull it back far enough for it to snap back.

“Yeah,” he whispered, using his other hand to grip your hips and tug you into his lap. Your legs stretched over his automatically, allowing him to grope at your body until you sat comfortably atop him. “This is the perfect birthday present.”

“I still have one more for you,” you giggled, dipping your head to kiss the side of his neck.

“You can try that one on after dinner,” he responded, tightening his grip on you, firm enough so that you couldn’t wiggle your way out of his lap. You kept kissing him, smattering them across his jaw until your lips brushed against his ear.

“How do you want me?” You breathed, your hot breath causing him to shiver in your arms and you hid your smirk behind more kisses. This time they were wet, your tongue licking over his pulse point before you sucked hard enough to bruise.

“Good question,” he muttered between a hissed inhale, his hands now on your thighs, kneading the meat there as he rolled the stocking over itself. You continued pressing your attention across his neck, waiting for him to tense in your embrace before grinding down. His dick was hard in his sweats, jumping when you dragged your clothed pussy over him.

“I can,” you began, sliding your hands down his chest to dive beneath his shirt to feel his heated skin, “ride you.”

“Or maybe I can,” you started to pull his shirt up and over his head, attaching your lips to his collarbone once he was exposed to you, “suck you off. Cause a little bit of birthday head never hurt nobody.”

“N-no,” he moaned, head lolling back as his breathing deepened the more you grinded against him. “On your stomach.”

Your head popped up to look at him, his eyes half-lidded, lips wet and red from where he dug his teeth into. “Oh? That’s what you want, baby?”

His response was only a groan, deep and reverberating in his chest. It vibrated against your palms, goosebumps lighting up your skin from the sound he made alone. You knew exactly what he wanted, opting to rip your shirt over your head before slipping off of his lap. You kept everything else on, crawling beside him until you were lined up with the pillows near the headboard. You placed your cheek against the cool surface, angling your hips so that your ass was propped in the air and your back curved with temptation.

The bed shifted from where he got up, and from the corner of your eye you could see him undress completely. His sweats fell to the floor with a dull thud, your peripheral vision catching the way he stroked his dick with his hand before he climbed on behind you.

“God, you’re perfect,” he said, hand trailing up from the stockings’ edge to palm one of your ass cheeks. “Don’t know how I got so lucky.”

He squeezed, a gasp pushed from your lungs when he reeled back his hand and smacked you. It wasn’t too hard, only enough to catch you by surprise from the heavy impact. You flattened your chest to the mattress, pressing your hips further up to exaggerate the curve of your spine. You were honestly ready for him, your thong sticking to your folds uncomfortably. Some days it really didn’t take much, not from him. Not when his simple touch set your skin on fire.

“Ichi,” you whined, hoping then that he’d get the hint to do something. To touch your aching core and do something.

“You look so,” his voice was tight, surely from the way he kept touching himself and admiring you. “Fuck, so sexy like this.”

“Then hurry up and fuck me, baby. Please,” you added, knowing the need that dripped like honey from your tongue would urge him forward. Have his patience thinning into a fraying thread.

Relief washed over you then, when the hand previously messing with the clip of your garter moved to push your panties to the side. His fingers slipped through your folds first, rough fingertips finding your clit and rubbing stiff circles. He didn’t have much space with how your thighs were pressed together and caged in by his legs. You were about to complain for more, another plea about to spill easily from your mouth until he pulled his hand away. You were left wanting, wiggling your hips and searching for friction again until his cock slid between your thighs, flush against your dripping cunt and you were suddenly hot all over.

“Holy shit,” his voice cracked, his hands now gripping your waist as he used his weight to pin you to the mattress. He wasn’t even inside of you yet, just thrusting between your thighs languidly and controlled. His tip bumping your clit with every forward motion.

“St-op teasing me, Ichi,” you said, hands balling the comforter in your fists. And he laughed, breathless and strained, before pulling back all the way and lining himself up.

“Wasn’t trying to,” he said, his fingers fidgeting where they were on your sides. “Just wanted to feel how wet you are for me.”

And before you could respond, before the thought even popped into your head, he was pressing forward. The glide into your entrance was easy, but the resistance had your breath sticking to your throat. His hips stuttered as soon as he bottomed out, his grasp impossibly tighter on your waist, and he inhaled harshly— the sound punctuated by a whistle between his teeth.

Your eyes squeezed shut and you allowed yourself to relax, waiting with growing need for him to move.

“Gimme a second,” he gritted out, thrusting tentatively before stopping all over again. “Don’t think I’mma-mmm- last long like this.”

You took that as your cue to bounce your hips as much as you could, barely creating a rhythm for yourself but each small roll had you crooning into the pillow and sighing. Ichigo’s palms were growing slick with sweat and while you couldn’t see him, you could envision the sharp set of his jaw and the pinch of his eyebrows as he tried to reign in his orgasm.

“So soon? You gonna cum for me so soon?” You teased, voice deceptively steady as he began to rock into you and pushing you further into the mattress. And he chuckled, the sound melting down your spine as his momentum picked up, the thrusts harder every time they met your thighs.

“Gotta problem with that?” Your moans were rising in pitch, that sickly pleasurable tingle heating your skin as his angle changed and focused on the spongy spot inside you. “Seems like you’re just as close as I am.”

Your eyes were rolling back because he was right, you were nearing that delicious edge and you knew you just needed a few well placed touches and you’d be a mess. So you squirmed in his grip, struggling to squish your hand beneath your body to find your clit. He was so determined to get you off before his inevitable release that he lifted your hips for you, giving you just enough room for two of your fingers to rub sloppy circles.

It was more than enough to get you there, especially when his pace became more erratic. He leaned back, a large palm resting on the center of your back while the other found your stocking again. He was pinching it between his fingers, pulling it back until the hem dug into the front of your thigh and he was releasing it. It snapped against your skin, quick and stinging from the sharpness of the elastic band. And you were falling, brain and body going fuzzy as you came with a whine of his name.

“Oh fuck,” he cursed, body bending over yours until his bangs tickled the back of your neck. “Shit,” he finished with a grunt and a shudder. He buried himself deep inside of you, cum hot and sticky and you were overwhelmingly full.

He rode it out, small thrusts prolonging the dizzying effects of your orgasm. The sweat that coated your body was now starting to cool, the breeze from the fan a welcome reprieve to intense heat radiating off of Ichigo.

“Warm,” you mumbled into the pillow, shifting so that his cock slipped out of you. “I’m warm, get off.”

“Don’t rush me,” he said, dropping like dead weight beside you with a stupid grin on his face, chest heaving with every jagged breath.

You couldn’t help but smile back, satisfaction weighing you down and comforting exhaustion had you cuddling into his side. You laid in silence until your breathing evened out, eyelids drooping until a rumbling sound came from Ichigo, obnoxious and gurgling. You shifted to look up at him, his eyes stuck to the ceiling as he bit back a laugh.

“You hungry?” You asked, propping yourself on an elbow and moving the hair that caught in his lashes.

“Starving,” he said, stomach sounding again seemingly at the idea of food.

“Good thing dinner’s ready.” You poked his cheek until he nipped his teeth in your direction, kissing your shoulder when you giggled and snatched your finger away.

“And then after you’ll try the red ones for me?” His tone was hopeful and suggestive, one eyebrow lifted on his relaxed face. And kissed him, a series of them peppered across his lips.

“Only because it’s your birthday.”

[angelamajiki]

PARINGS: Shouta Aizawa x Reader

CW: yandere, stalking, rape/noncon, pain kink, pain play, mild scent kink, home invasion, gags, restraints, virginity kink, scumbag aizawa, pet play, humiliation, cum stuffing, fingerings, snowballing, voice kink

SYNOPSIS: You have been calling the same phone sex operator for months, creating stalker and CNC fantasies. What happens when he rings true to his words?

AN: this is very dark, be warned! just had to make a fic out of the little idea I had <3

It’s always you who requests him. He can tell you're a virgin, the way your voice wavers when you feel like responding to him. Sometimes you don’t, letting your breathy moans do the talking for you.

“Good little girl.”

“Getting off to a phone call from your stalker? What a whore.”

“Cum for me, pretty girl.”

”Do you like that, pretty little kitty?”

He never had a knack for giving nicknames, but he had to make it known that he remembers you. Remembers that voice. Hopefully, he’ll be able to remember your body one day.

Tracking you down was easy enough; you didn't bother to block your number and public records was just calling his name. God did he love untouched girls like yourself. So wet and pliant, so easily manipulated, so naive to believe everyone had good intentions.

Cameras were placed around your house so he could watch you when he couldn't hear you. If it was a stalker you wanted, he was going to give it to you.

You called often and asked for him always—such an obedient girl. The live feed from your bedroom streamed in front of him whenever you rang, but he was tired of playing games this week.

“Just look at the way you’re kneading yourself; you like to tease yourself. Don't you, kitty?”

Your breath hitched, but he knew it wasn't from pleasure. Looking around, he chuckled at your confused expression.

“You got a real cute face, you know that kitty? I can't wait to fuck it one day.”

Be rational, you told yourself. Its all part of the fantasy, right? He can’t actually see you.

“That’s a cute bed spread you got there, I didn’t take you for the type who liked lilies. You always keep roses in your kitchen vase.”

Okay, he was definitely listening to you now.

“Say, you live on 14th Street, don't you? Why don't I come down and give you an in person session?”

“What do you say, kitty? Or should I just break in like I always tell you I would?”

The phone hung up after that comment. Sure, you were up to the fantasy of being stalked and raped; that’s why you called him. It was too embarrassing to tell a partner your fantasies, not like you had one. Or roommates for that matter.

His voice is what soothed you after a hard day, but now it kept ringing in your ears. Listening to his breathy chuckles sent shivers down your spine, but you never expected to feel them there.

Three raps came from your bedroom door before it opened. You were buried in your sheets, hopelessly, desperately attempting to be asleep. Like that would stop him.

“I know you're awake.”

An “ah” of realization came from him.

“Unless you sleeping peacefully is part of the fantasy. This is new, but I can indulge you in that kitty.”

The bed dipped and creaked with his weight, fear sinking into your heart further as a hand smoothed itself over your shoulders.

“So tense.” He tutted. “I’ve got something that can help you relax.”

His tongue lapped at the outer shell of your ear; arm slung over your blanketed body.

“Such a naughty girl. Tell me, how many times did you get off to the sound of my voice telling you I was going to take your virginity by force.”

A hand snaked its way up to your throat, squeezing gently enough not to cause pain but enough to cut off part of your air.

“Tell me you want me to rape you, here and now. Or I’ll take you out to the alley and make a display of it.”

His voice barely reached above of a whisper the entire time, the same soft sound he used over the phone. Hot breaths tickled your ear and neck as you squirmed, gasping at straws for air.

“I promise to be gentle; I know you like a tender man who takes what he wants.”

Your throat restricted even more under the hand to the point where you felt light-headed.

“Please!” You gasped, using your nails to scratch at his wrapped fingers. The pressure withdrew.

“Please what, kitty? C’mon, you can do it.”

“P-Please rape me.”

A sharp laugh came from behind you.

“Is that any way to address me? I thought we were using special nicknames here.”

He let you have your moment, apparently amused to see you choke for air as he stroked your back.

“Please rape me...sir.”

“Atta girl.”

The hand made its way back to your throat, only resting there as the thumb stroked over your tender flesh. The other one snuck under the blanket and groped at your chest.

“You're a virgin, aren't you, kitty? Don't worry; your owner is going to talk you through it. Nice and slow so you feel everything I'm giving you.”

Fingers wiggled their way under your bra and began pinching at your nipples, tugging and pulling at the hardening nubs.

“Stop squirming, or I’ll have to tie you up. You'll get your treat soon enough, kitty.”

You yelped after a particularly rough tug, tears springing in your eyes. His one hand managed to rip your bra apart, giving better access to his perverted fingers.

“I know you like it, the way I knead your pretty little breasts. Come, take your clothes off. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Everything came off before he instructed you to stand at the edge of the bed for him. He circled you like a predator, making inspections.

“I have to make sure my kitty is well-groomed and taking care of herself.”

The weight of his hot breath on your skin weighed down on you, pulling you further under his spell. He lifted your arms and smelled your scent.

“Lavender deodorant? What a shame; I wished I could have smelled your natural musk.”

Humiliation flushed your face hot. Disgusting pervert, it seemed he was into everything as long as it wasn't consensual.

“Sit down on the bed, legs spread.”

The baritone of his voice shook you to your core, but not in the pleasurable way you're used to.

“Don't make me ask twice, pet.”

His command was hard to ignore after following them for such a long time; it was practically instinctual to do as you were told. Shaking legs spread as you turned your head to the side. Another tut rolled off his tongue as he gripped your cheeks with one hand.

“Don't turn away from me. I want to see the look in yours when I take you and make you mine.”

You hadn't even realized before that he had brought a bag with him. From it, he took a bar spreader, rope, and a spider gag, all of which he put on you. The gag made your mouth uncomfortably wide, leaving nothing to his imagination.

Rough fingers pull you tongue from your mouth, his own coming down to lick at before spitting down the back of your throat.

“Swallow.”

You did.

“Good kitty.”

The name didn't comfort you anymore. Nothing about him comforted you anymore. Not his voice, not his nickname, and certainly not his breath, which you felt like was burning all over your body.

“I’m going to be nice and leave your throat alone today. However, if I give you a treat, you will swallow it. Do I make myself clear?”

You nodded, terrified at the notion that he intended to come back after tonight. Crouching down in front of you, he inspected your wet pussy before spitting on it as well. Gingerly moving your lips, he circled your tight hole and stood up.

“That should do.”

Watching him undress himself seemed to make time move slower, knowing that he was about to take your virginity within minutes. His hard cock sprung out from his boxers and hit his happy trail, bobbing slightly against his abs. Not only was this man toned, but he was also huge.

“In we go, kitty.”

Not even taking the courtesy to gather some slick from you, he pushed in, taking his sweet time as he locked eyes with you. He went agonizing slow, grinning as you wailed in pain.

“Hurts, doesn't it? Let's see how painful we can make this.”

You were hardly prepped, only having wetness left behind from your previous phone call. It stung, and it stung bad. Your eyes wept as you looked up at him with a pleading gaze, hoping he would take mercy on you. He did no such thing, pinching your clit between his fingers and rolling it with intense pressure. Moaning, he watched as you convulsed and twitched in pain beneath him.

“Being such a good girl for me, kitty.”

Another glob of spit landed in the back of your throat, making you gasp and choke on your sobs. He loved that you were an ugly, messy crier. It only served to make his dick harder.

Once he bottomed out, he stayed there for a while, letting you feel the fullness of his thick cock.

“The name’s Shouta, by the way. I'm sure you must have been curious.”

He spoke so casually, so calmly. It made you furious how collected he was while you were a whimpering, sniffling mess.

“Don't worry; we’ll have all the time in the world once we’re done to get to know me.”

Goddamn, that voice. That hypnotizing, nauseating voice. It's the reason you're stuck here underneath a fucking phone sex operator that turned out to be your stalker. What a mess.

A tap to the temple pulled you back to the present.

“Keep your focus here, kitty.”

Hips drew back and snapped into you, not letting you take a moment to adjust as he set a brutal speed.

Oh, how you wished you could leave your body, but if anything, your senses were all the more enhanced, taking in every last drop of your surroundings. The sounds of the bed creaking under his pounding, his grunts and breaths, the skin slapping against skin, your own cries of misery. The feeling of his breath, how your once silk sheets now felt like sandpaper across your skin, the metal of your binds, and the burn of your rope. Everything and nothing all at once.

The minutes seemed to draw themselves out into hours as he continued his assault. He, or Shouta, you supposed, wasn't lasting very long. It didn't suit him; he seemed like a man of stamina. Maybe it was because he played out a sick fantasy of his that made him cum in minutes.

Unprotected, he came deep inside you before sliding out, giving your pussy a slap as he made his exit.

“Such a tight little kitty you've got there.”

Fingers at the ready, he stuffed his cum back inside you, toying with your clit all the while. He was quick to make you cum, making you see stars at the intensity of your orgasm.

“Don’t worry; I'll make you cum on my cock next time. I have plenty of games planned for us when I take you home.”

Pulling his fingers out, he pushed them down your throat to clean them before getting up and dressed again. He left you there, tied up and gone without a word.

In reality, he was just getting his car ready for you, but who was he to deny himself the pleasure of seeing your panicked face when he came back?

You were going to make a fine pet for him.

[delimeful]

mere monstrosity (1)

warnings: spiders, misunderstandings, captivity

-

Logan woke up to the familiar soft chime of his alarm, and rolled out of bed bleary-eyed but ready to get the day started. He kept quiet as he crept out of the room.

He didn’t bother grabbing his glasses, knowing that they’d only be of use after his shower. His feet knew the way from his bedroom to the bathroom by heart, and he preferred to shower in the dark to avoid the likelihood of getting one of his light-sensitivity migraines, so he didn’t reach for the lightswitch either.

Instead, he pushed quietly past the half-open door and fumbled for the shower knob, cranking it up to exactly the point before it turned scalding.

The water flickered on a moment later, and amidst the clamor of droplets against ceramic, he heard an indistinct, high-pitched noise, like a chirp or squeak.

“A mouse?” he muttered to himself, squinting at the dark, blurry interior of the shower.

He couldn’t hear anything else over the spray, so he quickly turned the shower off and stepped back to flick the lightswitch on, potential headaches be damned.

He pulled the shower curtain fully to the side, and blinked at the sight of a blurry black splotch in the corner of his bathtub. Leaning in a little further, he could briefly make out individual legs, long and numerous, before they were pulled closer and blended in with the rest of the shape.

“You are… a considerably large spider,” he informed it, grateful that it was him and not Patton who had found it. The resulting terrified shriek would have woken him and Janus, and probably most of the neighbors for that matter. “Are you a tarantula? Are tarantulas even native to this area?”

The spider, rather predictably, didn’t respond, and Logan recalled that he’d just doused the poor thing with jets of cold water. It was probably curling all its limbs in a mock death-curl, trying to process the unexpected threat to its breathing and body temperature.

He reached over to the counter and carefully removed the collection of multicolored toothbrushes from the plastic cup next to their sink, tapping it against the side of the counter to clear out any remaining dust.

“Try to stay still, alright?” he coaxed in a low voice, crouching and leaning over the tub to get a better angle. “I don’t want to catch any of your limbs, just keep them all tucked in close like that and I’ll get you out of there.”

To his surprise, the spider really didn’t make any sudden moves, remaining frozen as he settled the cup over it. The only reason he was sure it was still alive was the tiny motion of its front legs, two little investigative nudges against the edge of the cup.

“Excellent job,” he praised, his curiosity only growing. Most of the spiders he had cupped would immediately run at the glass with arms lifted in threat, or run in frantic circles along the edges seeking an escape. Of course, none of them had been this large. Most wild tarantulas were hunters, though, not spinners. Aggression would serve them well, so why was this one so docile? Was it an escaped pet? Had the cold water been that shocking?

He quickly retrieved a folder from the living room, returning to find that the plastic cup had shifted a couple of inches. It was large enough to push it, then.

“Just a little bit more,” he continued to soothe, carefully sliding the folder under the cup bit by bit, allowing the spider time to shift its legs onto the folder so the tips wouldn’t be pinched. He then carefully lifted the whole ensemble up, keeping a cautious hand on top of the cup. “There we go.”

The kitchen was dimly lit, the small light under the microwave still on so that anyone getting water in the middle of the night wouldn’t trip or run into anything in the dark. Logan glanced at the front door for a long moment, and then gave in to the urge to investigate his catch a bit closer. It would be irresponsible to just release a domesticated tarantula into the wild, after all.

He set the cup and folder down carefully on the counter, and then placed a heavy ceramic plate on top of the cup, reasoning that it was better to make sure the spider wouldn’t push the cup-- and itself-- right off the counter.

“One moment.” That done, he went into his room to retrieve his glasses, leaving the light off so as to not wake up Janus, who had only gotten in from his night shift a few hours ago. His roommate normally slept heavily once he managed to get to sleep, so Logan didn’t have to worry about waking him by climbing out of their shared bed, but better not to risk turning the lights on in the first place.

The world came into a much clearer focus once he’d pushed his glasses into their proper place atop his nose, and with his vision improved, he had no problems finding the hall closet and rummaging through it for one of Janus’s old terrariums.

He set the glass case down on the kitchen counter without any furnishings inside-- he was only planning to get a good look at the specimen, after all-- and flicked on the kitchen light before carefully moving the trapped spider into the terrarium and then lifting the cup away.

The spider frantically scuttled back, smacking thorax-first into the glass wall of the terrarium, and Logan frowned contemplatively at the sight of it.

It was certainly a tarantula, one that he’d probably be able to find online fairly easily with the distinctive white stripes along it’s eight fuzzy legs. Concerningly enough, there was an odd swelling protrusion on the anterior part of the body. It was a similar dark shade to the rest of the body, but almost larger than the thorax, and it blocked off any sight of the pedipalps, fangs, or eyes.

The texture didn’t seem to match the carapace… Perhaps it was a piece of garbage or organic waste that had gotten stuck on the creature? If it hindered movement, that could explain why it had been so still earlier.

It wasn’t still now, exhibiting an odd vibrating throughout its body that Logan had never witnessed from a spider before. He would certainly be doing some research into arthropods after this.

Well, at the very least, he could see if that protruding material would come loose.

Logan carefully pulled on one of Janus’s thick leather gloves, one of the more worn sets in case the spider had urticating hairs, and then reached down. The spider seemed to spot his shadow, going by the way it stiffened, and he reminded himself that though he didn’t know the species and many tarantulas were venomous, it was incredibly unlikely their venom would be able to do more than hurt him.

Confidence restored, he continued reaching down until his fingers met the odd lump, at which point a low, guttural hiss sounded, and the spider threw its front legs up and lunged, slapping its limbs down against the floor of the terrarium in threat.

Logan remained undeterred by the small tantrum, instead focusing on the fact that the obstruction was loose, almost like shed skin on a snake. Studying the spider carefully, he pinched it gently between two fingers, trying to discern what in the world it could possibly be.

The next three movements happened in rapid succession.

First, Logan tugged lightly at the material caught between his fingers. Second, the spider recoiled sharply, pulling away from his grip with surprising strength. And third, the covering came loose, the spider pulling free from it and leaving a limp swathe of fabric hanging from Logan’s fingers.

Below him, now uncovered, there was pale skin, a mop of bedraggled hair, and a tiny, terrified human face.

Logan froze, staring down at it-- them with wide eyes.

The being he’d mistaken for a spider was actually a drider, a creature of myth that was apparently all too real. Logan couldn’t help how stunned he felt. Even apart from the shock of the discovery, there was the shock of their size. Driders were said to have a human-sized spider half, not the other way around!

Below, the drider was still frozen in place, staring right back up at him. He could see the way their little chest was heaving with quick, panicked breaths, could feel the way the tiny makeshift poncho in his hand was sodden and cold, and he felt guilt strike him like a ruler across knuckles.

“I-- Hold on a moment, please,” he managed, his mind racing as he stepped back, turning and hurrying out of the room.

Once again, the hall closet held exactly what he needed, and he mentally rescinded all his past complaints about the amount of extra snake care items Janus had stashed away in their storage closet like a dragon’s hoard.

The heat lamp was compact enough to fit easily in the terrarium, where the spider-person had scuttled back to press themself into the furthest corner, limbs pulled in tightly in what had to be a fear response.

Logan set the lamp carefully inside and plugged it in, sighing in relief when the bulb lit up and began to glow orange. “This lamp is designed for reptiles, not arthropods, so it may be too hot for extended use. However, it will work temporarily as a heat source to get rid of excess moisture, so I encourage you to use it.”

The drider was glaring up at him with the tiniest scowl he’d ever seen, front legs still lifted up defensively, but didn’t say a word.

“Do you speak?” Logan asked, and received only silence in return. “I suppose I should have guessed as much, seeing as you haven’t responded to any of my previous statements. Do you understand me? Do we speak the same language?”

The drider glared harder.

“I find it hard to believe that you have animal-level intelligence,” Logan continued, now mostly to himself. He lifted a hand, displaying the poncho he still held. “Although some birds can ‘sew’, construction of clothing to cover one’s form is a complex and distinctly human sentiment.”

Still, nothing. Their gaze was caught by the poncho for a moment before they looked away entirely, looking for all the world to be sulking.

Logan sighed, and then slowly moved to place the poncho next to the heat lamp, laying it out flat for easier drying. “I’m going to attend to my morning routine. It should only take me a few moments, but please feel free to call or make noise if you need my attention between now and then.”

The drider’s expression had eased into confusion at the sight of their garment laid out before them, but their legs remained warily upright as Logan left the room.

As promised, he only made a brief stop to make sure both of his roommates were still soundly asleep before climbing into the shower and preparing himself for the day, roughly fifteen minutes behind schedule.

It wasn’t too disruptive-- it had eaten into the time he normally allotted for sitting at the table and eating breakfast, so that would have to be skipped today, but it wasn’t the end of the world.

Honestly, he’d likely spend the rest of the day thinking about the surprise addition to his morning. There were so many questions he’d love to ask, but seeing as the creature had attempted to hide their existence even at risk of being perceived as a normal spider (and therefore possibly squashed), he expected he wouldn’t be receiving any answers.

Talkative or not, the drider clearly had sapient levels of intelligence, and Logan was loath to start off humanity’s relationship with a vulnerable and secretive species by keeping them trapped in a snake terrarium against their will.

Even if he was willing to weigh scientific advancement over his morals, his roommates would never allow it. Patton would naturally be terrified and possibly sympathetic when witnessing their clear terror, and he’d had enough extensive debates on ethics with Janus to know that his opinion on keeping them captive would be much the same.

So, when he returned to the kitchen and saw them toppling over and scurrying back from the heat lamp that they’d clearly been attempting to use as a makeshift ladder to freedom, Logan didn’t bother commenting, simply moving forward and looking them over.

“You seem to have mostly dried,” he stated instead, able to appreciate the subtle design work of the poncho better now that it wasn’t being used as camouflage. The drider gripped it like they thought he might take it away.

They would react fairly badly to him reaching out with his hand, and reasonably so. Logan hadn’t exactly done much except douse, capture, and then gently interrogate them. Not exactly trustworthy behavior.

He studied the terrarium for a moment before grabbing a washcloth and draping it over the side, providing an easy textured surface for the spider to climb up. There. “You are free to go.”

The surprised expression that flashed across their face was almost comical.

“I’m not sure what your purpose in the bathroom was, but I’d ask you to be more careful in the future. One of my roommates…,” Logan sighed through his nose, exasperated even imagining it. “Well, suffice to say you should avoid him at all costs.”

The tiny drider continued to stare at him, gaze occasionally flickering over to the towel with clear suspicion. It was saddening to be so distrusted, but perhaps this show of goodwill would help prove that he didn’t intend any harm? He hoped he hadn’t frightened them from the residence entirely-- he shuddered at the many, many potential dangers the creature would find outside.

“My roommates will wake later in the day, so if you intend to avoid their notice, I’d suggest leaving the enclosure as soon as I have departed for work,” he gave a little farewell wave, not reacting to the slight flinch it elicited from the little guy. “It-- well, you probably don’t share the sentiment, but still-- it was nice to meet you. Goodbye.”

Forcing himself not to turn back and get one last look, Logan hurried out the door.

[skellebonez]

Happy Birthday Winter!

Hey @winterpower98 it's your birthday! I really hope you enjoy this, I know I had a ton of fun writing it for you! Actor AU is one of my favorite AUs you've made and coming back to play around with it again was a blast and a half!

Painter MK cackled, taking the brushes filled with bright pink paint into his fists.

“Yes, yes!” He exclaimed, brushing them against his cheeks and bringing another to run up the center of his face. “The art is-OW! OW, THE ART IS IN MY EYE!”

“Cut!” The director yelled, bringing the entire film production to a halt in an instant. “Xiaotian, what happened?”

The young actor dropped the paintbrushes into the hands of a stage worker to rushed over to help him, one hand covering his right eye as he tried to keep himself from laughing. “I think some of it splashed when I waved the brush at my face. I guess the art really IS-”

“Don’t say it,” Heshang said from the other side of the set, doing his best not to join his co-star in laughter.

“-seeping into my pores!”

The entire cast and crew groaned as Xiaotian cackled again, with a few added ows, before another stage hand came by with a bottle of water.

~3…2…1~

“Uh…” Xiaojiao pulled, attempting to pull the prop sword from above her head out of the wall only to be met with… a lot more resistance than should probably be there. “UH…? It’s stuck?”

She stood, attempting to pull it out normally only to be met with just as much resistance.

“It’s stuck!” She laughed, out, bracing a foot on the wall with no change.

“Let me try,” General Ironclad, or rather Red in the costume of General Ironclad for the episode, offered, attempting to do the same with the exact same result as his co-star. “What did you use to hold this in place? Cement!?”

“It should have only been stuck in with force!” A stage hand yelled as Xiaotian and Heshang joined in, both failing to pull the sword out from the false wall and Heshang nearly toppling over backwards with his additional costume pieces.

“Whoever stuck that in there needs to be moved to making sure the safety equipment stays connected!” Xiaotian offered, watching as even more people tried to remove the sword. “That is not coming out.”

~3…2…1~

Heshang held Mo in his arms, waltzing around the set as he waited for places to be called for with the shockingly content feline in his arms.

~3…2…1~

“You are selling beautiful vegetables today?” Pigsy said, leaning over the the display to give an awkward smile to the disguised Spider Queen.

Tang looked over the produce from where he knelt, looking back up at his companion with a concerned and confused look. “Are you… a-are-PFT-FUCK.”

Everyone on set burst into laughter as Tang did, both of his fellow actors holding back from laughing themselves.

“Why is it this line!?” Tang yelled in frustration as he continued laughing. “It’s not a hard line! I wrote this line! Why do I keep laughing at the last word!?”

“Maybe if Ganglie wasn’t making goo-goo eyes at me you’d keep straight face,” Zhi-Zhu Jing managed to get out through her laughter.

“That’d be the only thing straight about me.”

~3…2…1~

Dicky Cheung, or the actual Sun Wukong disguised as a human actor in full costume of himself, took a running leap and jumped onto the counter of Pigsy’s noodles, sliding to a perfect stop with a wink toward the camera.

~3…2…1~

“MK, there’s something I wanted to tell you…” Mei said, looking at MK with sparkles in her eyes before snickering. “Stop looking at me like that, it’s hard enough to keep a straight face during this scene!”

“Sorry!” Xiaotian yelled to the camera. “I can’t help it! How are Jin and Yin this wrong about these two in the show?”

“Himbos!” was the shouted answer from Tang at the other end of the set.

~3…2…1~

“One of the rare talents that no one knew the great Sun Wukong possessed…” Xiaojiao said ominously, camera panning over to Mr. Cheung in full costume. “Surprisingly good peach juggling!”

“Gotta keep myself occupied somehow!” The actor laughed out, catching two peaches in either hand while the last one was caught perfectly in his mouth to the applause of everyone watching.

~3…2…1~

“Thanks for the Key los-AH!”

Red flung his arms wildly, key flying into the air as Tie Shan rushed forward and caught him just before he face planted into the ground.

“Mine!” Mr. Cheung yelled as he caught the key mid air and rushed through the frame.

“YOU’RE NOT EVEN IN THIS EPISODE!”

~3…2…1~

“Thank you… for giving me all o-ooh, whoa!” Lui Er Mihou, or unbeknownst to nearly all Six-Eared Macaque in disguise much the same way as Sun Wukong was, yelped as the cable that was supposed to gently raise him and make him look like he was floating yoinked him as good 4 feet off the ground way too fast. “That’s too much power!”

“SORRY!” The line operator shouted, fiddling with the controls. “Someone loaded the weight setting for Xiaotian into your line instead of yours.”

“I already feel bad enough treating him like garbage and beating him up in this role, this is just rubbing salt in the wound,” Liu Er muttered, leaning back and swinging limply much to the amusement of everyone who couldn’t hear him before raising his voice. “When will my beloved friend Sun Wukong come to rescue me?”

“SPEAK MY NAME AND I SHALL APPEAR!”

Liu Er yelped in surprise as Mr. Cheung rushed in and grabbed him from beneath to hold him bridal style with a shit eating grin. He couldn't help the flush on his cheeks in response.

“HOW DO YOU KEEP SHOWING UP IN SHOTS WHEN YOU AREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE THERE YET!?” The director yelled with more than a little amusement in his voice despite the disruption.

~3…2…1~

“You!” DBK said, rounding on Red Son. “You have brought me nothing but failure! Time and time again! I keep telling you I… shit, I can’t remember the next line when you look that sad, I am so sorry.”

“Nothing but disappointment?” Red offered helpfully, immediately breaking out of his downcast somber gaze to the floor with a wide smile.

“It is scary how fast you get in and out of character sometimes, kid,” Niu Mowang laughed out, clearly resisting the urge to ruffle the younger actor’s hair lest he ruin the styling job that took far too long every time they got dressed.

~3…2…1~

The White Bone Spirit stood at the entrance to the Silken Web Cave, looking at the camera before far too much time passed from when she was supposed to say he line. She moon walked backwards out of the frame without changing her expression one bit as the other actors devolved into cackles.

~3…2…1~

“The Year of the Spider starts tonight!” Spider Queen proclaimed from her high vantage point before she muttered something under her breathe, narrowing her gaze and then looking off to the side. “Or next year ‘cause I don’t remember my line.”

~3…2…1~

Huntsman slowly lowered into frame, upside down and gripping the rigging holding him up like Spiderman.

~3…2…1~

“Oh yeah?” Sun Wukong said, appearing in frame as he walked down the wall MK was embedded in. He grabbed his staff, yanking it out of the wall and jumped down and smacked the wall with it.

… only for it to go through the wall once again and crack it. Or, rather, the false wall that was on a tilted angle to make it look like he was talking down it, rather than a heavily slanted floor.

“I’m sorry!” Mr. Cheung yelled, looking at the damage he caused. “I must have hit at weak spot!”

He hoped no one noticed that when MK offered to get the prop staff for this shot and put it into the wall… he grabbed the real one by accident.

~3…2…1~

Nui Mowang held the little bird that was Wukong’s transformation stand in for one of the final scenes, gently petting the little head with a big goofy smile on his face.

~END~

The entire cast sat around on various travel tables right outside the small Lunar New Year Festival set they had set up, various extras that had answered the open invitation for the shoot going about and getting the free food that was available at the functional stalls provided by the catering they had hired.

It was an odd sight to see Red Son and Spider Queen and Sun Wukong and everyone else sitting around together, but Liu Er Mihou being there outside of his Macaque costume broke the illusion a little bit.

It was the final day of shooting for the season 2 opening special to Monkie Kid, Revenge of the Spider Queen, and everyone was there. Even people who didn’t have to come in wanted to give a temporary farewell to Tie Shan, Nui Mowang, and Red before season 2 proper began shooting. There was still a chance they could bebcalled in for bit roles, the scripts weren’t entirely finished yet, but as far as anyone knew the Demon Bull Family wasn’t going to be returning properly any time soon.

Maybe in season 3, Tang had teased, holding the begun scripts for that in his little tablet away from prying eyes. And they were always welcome to help out in bit roles, background characters or voice over or to use their other talents to work other jobs that were needed around the set.

But even before then it would be a while.

And so that’s how Red found himself sandwiched between Long Xiaojiao and Qi Xiaotian, with the newly added member of their quartet in her full White Bone Spirit costume hanging over his shoulder to watch the compilation that Xiaojiao had expertly edited on her phone for them all.

“The director gave me permission to use whatever I wanted and I though that… maybe we could all have it for ourselves,” Xiaojiao offered, pulling up the wireless transfer option on her phone. “To watch when we miss each other being on set together. I know we’re going to probably be back together with Red Son eventually! But…”

“I’ll miss shooting with you too,” Red said smiling softly as he pulled out his own phone to accept the file. “Hopefully Mr. Tang isn’t just teasing us about season 3.”

[nat-20s]

for @jonmartinweek day 8! (which I definitely realized was happening and for sure did not forget lmao). The prompt was free day/au, so I picked my own theme of “pets”. The last few fics have been pretty loaded, so please enjoy some pure post canon (literal and figurative) fluff

~*~

“I can’t believe I married a dog person.”

They weren’t even supposed to be in the shelter. They had made no plans to visit a shelter. However, as Jon has been learning over the course of the past couple years, a Martin not under duress and given free time outside will inevitably end up trying to befriend any living nonhuman creature in the immediate vicinity.

“I’m not a dog person.”

“The lapful of beagle puppy would indicate otherwise.”

“Just because I appreciate the company of a very good boy, yes you are, doesn’t mean I’m a dog person. Dog person implies I have a preference. I like cats equally as much as I like dogs. Unlike some of us, my heart is open to all manner of furry friends.”

“I don’t...hate dogs.”

“Uh-huh. Is that why you won’t pet Rufio here?”

“He’s nippy, I don’t trust him. And it’s just that dogs are A Lot. I find most of them a bit overwhelming. And needy.”

“Pff, that’s no excuse. You’ve been best friends with overwhelming, and you married needy.”

Martin lets out a distracted giggle as Rufio finally gets in a lick on his face. Okay, maybe it is a pretty adorable sight, but that’s hardly sufficient enough evidence to actually let such an energetic ball of fluff into their home. Still, it’s enough to convince Jon to sit down next to them, and give Rufio a very tentative scritch behind the ears. “I think we both qualify as the needy one in our relationship.”

“Pretty sure that’s called codependency. What would our therapist say?”

“She’d probably say that’s a bit harsh. And that we still need to work on our separation anxiety.”

“Hey, you know what helps with separation anxiety?”

“No.”

“A dog!”

“No!”

They get a dog. Their flat is decently sized and they both have steady incomes and enough free time between them to take proper care of her. They don’t get Rufio, but instead a 7 year old mutt named Daffodil who is, admittedly, the most gentle and sweet creature Jon’s ever met. They also get a cat, a rambunctious 2 year old tabby named Jack (“We can change the name.” “Jon! How dare you! Jack responds to his name, clearly he likes it!”) who had already decided Daffodil was his mom, and they couldn’t possibly bear not adopting them together.

~*~

“You know, we could get a tarantula.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m serious! They’re not, like, evil in this universe, and some of them have cutest little pink toesie woesies.”

“You’re not serious, you’re being a bastard, and I hate you.”

Martin wraps his arms around Jon’s waist and presses a kiss to the side of his face, which Jon gives a half-hearted swat at, because, again, the man’s being a bastard. Stubbornly ignoring Jon’s pout, Martin presses his cheek to the top of Jon’s head, cheerfully replying, “I’m fine with that, as long as you promise to hate me for the rest of our lives.”

“Well, I certainly can’t make that promise. I won’t even hate you ten seconds from now. I suppose you’ll have to settle for love instead.”

“Hmm. Deal.”

“We’re still not getting a fucking tarantula.”

They do not get a tarantula. Their home remains admirably spider free.

~*~

Martin’s gasp is loud enough to echo, and Jon can feel him begin to vibrate next to him. The excitement is perplexing at first, they’ve been to this bookstore dozens of times, and it’s never elicited this sort of response. Then Jon looks over to the front counter, where a medium-sized cage and a “For adoption” sign have been put on display. With a wild, jubilant glee, Martin asks, “Sonja! Are those baby. Dumbo. Rats?!”

“Sure are! I’ve got a friend who’s a breeder, I take it you’re interested?”

“Yes, absolutely, 100%, we’re getting two immediately.”

“Well…”

Martin snaps his head over to look at Jon with a look of betrayal the likes of which Jon hasn’t seen since the panopticon. “Jonathan, no!”

“Um.”

“You can not tell me you you don’t like rats! Dumbo rats especially!”

“I…”

Ticking off on his fingers, Martin lists, “They’re adorable, they’re smart, they’re cleanly, they’re extremely empathetic, they’re tickilish, which is stupidly cute, they can be trained to use a litter box and do tricks, they’re snuggly and playful and perfect! They’re all the good parts of dogs combined with the best parts of cats in one tiny portable package! Look at their little ears, that are like that because of a slight difference in skull shape that has no negative health effects! Plus, we can set them up in the project room, since Captain Jack isn’t allowed in there anyway. How can you dislike rats?”

“I don’t know! They just sort of..freak me out. Or not all of them, just their feet. I don’t like their little man hands.”

Martin throws his arms in the air, proclaiming, “Their little man hands are one of their best qualities! Look, Jon, are you genuinely afraid of them, or just slightly discomfited?”

“I would say mediumly discomfited. This isn’t like spiders.”

“Cool. ‘Cause in that case, we’re getting the light tan one and the solid white one, their names shall be Peaches and Cream, and you will love them as much as you love our dog and cat children.”

“That’s a rather bold claim.”

“It’s an accurate one. You’ll see.”

Within a week, Jon is transporting Peaches ‘n’ Cream in the pocket of his hoodie, and he can feel Martin’s smug aura from two rooms away. Damn him.

~*~

“Did you know snakes don’t have an amygdala?”

“Okay? You didn’t have to bring me to a reptile store to tell me that.”

“I didn’t bring you to a reptile store to tell you that. I brought you to a reptile store because I want to hold a cornsnake.”

Jon rolls his eyes, but the fondness in his voice somewhat undercuts it. “Of course you do.”

Martin makes a scaly acquaintance in less than two minutes, and as the snake coils around his fingers, he continues, “Anyway, if they don’t have amygladas, do they feel fear in a way similar to us, or is it only a recognition of threats and instinctual response?”

“Martin, my love, I have no idea. Is this going somewhere? It’s fine if not, I’m just checking in.”

“Yes. Because if they don’t feel fear, I’m getting this snake and naming her Georgie.”

That makes Jon let out a sharp bark of laugh, and, for a moment, he’s able to reminisce without any pain. “You know, I think she’d actually love that? She also had a proclivity for all creatures great and small. And a terrible sense of humor.”

“Wow, you really have a type, huh. Also hey! My sense of humor is fantastic! It always makes my husband laugh, and he has very exacting standards.”

“Liar. Your husband finds joy with you at the slightest provocation, no good sense of humor needed.”

“Hmm. He is a bit of a softie, isn’t he? Which is why he’ll let me get this snake.”

“He most certainly will not.”

“But….look at her….”

“It’s not a matter of how cute she is, dear. It’s a matter of you made us get pet rats less than a month ago, there’s absolutely no way you’re going to be able to feed mice to a snake.”

Martin looks at the cornsnake, looks at Jon, looks back, and his shoulders slump. With a wince, he asks, “Maybe frozen mice won’t be too bad?”

“What if she’s picky?”

“...There are species of snake that only eat bugs.”

“Cornsnakes aren’t one of them.”

Waving over an assistant, Martin puts the cornsnake back with a defeated, “Fine. When you’re right, you’re right.”

Jon doesn’t particularly feel like he’s won an argument. In fact, he’s a bit disappointed himself, he always liked snakes. Big fan of reptiles in general, actually, which is probably what drives him to say, “Lizards don’t usually eat mice.”

That’s how they walk out of the store with three leopard geckos.

~*~

Jon’s helping Martin set up the gecko tank in what can now be affectionately called a zoo when all of the sudden it strikes him. Some of the animals in their home right now have life spans of 10-20 years, and never once had the necessary longevity of care come up as a reason to protest against them. Jon had felt so at ease with the concept of a future that he hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t been steeling himself for the other shoe to drop. He’s stopped having bated breath every time something good happens, instead taking reassurance in a sense of permanence that he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel again. Martin must hear his breath hitch, because he immediately stops what he’s doing to take Jon’s hand into his own. “Something wrong, love?”

Jon shakes his head. “No, nothing. I suppose I’m realizing that we have time, don’t we?”

Martin must know exactly what he means, the weight behind the words, because he brings Jon’s hand to his lips and says, “Yes. Yes, we really, really do.”

[starkermeup]

Necessary Punishment

Tony is not amused by the chaos Peter caused in his absence and gives the boy a very necessary punishment.

Or what should of happened during the Roof Scene in Homecoming.

Part One

Cross posted on AO3

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Peter was stubborn, too stubborn for his own good. The kid was too quick to play hero without having a plan or any idea what he was truly doing. Now, here they were, after Tony not only saved Peter's ass but along with everyone on the fucking Staten Island Ferry. Tony rolled his eyes as Peter tried to bullshit his way out of taking proper responsibility. Not just for the ferry but for how he so easily lied to him. Tony knew he manipulated the baby protocol, he knew about every idiotic thing Peter had done since he left him to play the "Friendly Neighborhood Spider". Needless to say, Tony wasn't impressed in the slightest.

Peter stumbled backwards as Tony emerged from his suit, his eyes widening in shock that it was Tony in the flesh this time.

"I do care kid, I gave you the suit, didn't I?" Tony says sternly and Peter's stuck in place, under his glare. "That does not give you the right to disrespect me."

"B-but Mr. Stark I-"

"No. This is where you zip it, alright? The adult is talking. You were wrong Peter. Wrong." Tony snaps sharply at the boy, causing him to shrink into himself. Tony takes another step closer.

"I-I'm sorry Mr. Stark..." Peter says, still unable to meet his mentor's eyes. Tony clicked his tongue at the meager display in front of him.

"Peter," Tony starts. He grabs the boy's chin, lifting his head up and squeezes. Peter gasps but doesn't dare move. "You look me in the eyes when you address me. Christ, where's the good kid I met 3 months ago who showed the up most respect to his elders?" Tony shakes his head, convincing Peter of the severe disappointment he felt in him.

Peter looks befuddled, mouth opening and closing, changing what he wants to say at the last second. His eyes glassy as his face reddens. Tony rolled his eyes.

"You're clearly not ready for suit. You've shown that in more ways than one with your childish antics." Tony dropped Peter's chin as he spoke backing himself from the boy.

Peter immediately came to it then, pulling Tony back, clinging to him with his two fists. "No, N-no Sir please, I'm sorry, so sorry. I won't do it again just please don't take the suit, I'm nothing without it..." Peter babbled on, clutching Tony for dear life.

"If you're nothing without it, then you don't deserve it." Tony said simply, watching the boy's resolve crumble before his eyes. "I can't believe you would do this, to think you would disrespect me after all I've done for you..."

"Mr. Stark, please I'm sorry, I really am. I'm sorry I took off the protocol but-" Peter halted himself, words dying in his throat, realizing he was trying to defend his actions again. "Please Sir, just don't be disappointed in me. I just wanted to be like you. Y-you're my hero..." Peter's eyes were wet as tears rolled down his rosy cheeks. Apparently, expressing disappoint in the boy was his weak spot.

Tony stares at the boy with a unreadable gaze for a long moment before speaking. "You need to be taught a lesson for being so naughty and inconsiderate of others' feelings Peter and you're gonna get it right now. Get on your knees." Tony says sternly.

Peter hesitates for a moment, but he crumbles under Tony's ever so present gaze, keeping his head down. "Eyes on me and I won't tell you again." Tony says with an edge to his voice. It has Peter shaking with anticipation. Vivid flashbacks of the last time Mr. Stark told him to get on his knees come to mind. The limo ride home that had ended with Peter showing his gratification by sucking his mentor's cock while Mr. Stark praised him then jerked him off. It had been... amazing and Peter would be lying if he said he hadn't been thinking about it since it happened. It was apart of the reason why he wanted to see Mr. Stark so bad and why he threw himself into his little investigation, something to distract him from how bad he wanted Tony, how bad he wanted his cock buried down his throat again. The constant thought made itself known in Peter's head all the time as if to make sure he didn't imagine the whole thing.

The older man steadied his jaw, brushing his finger lightly against the boy's lips. "See Pete, that's the problem. You don't know when to shut this pretty mouth of yours and just listen." He dips his thumb into the boy's mouth which earns him a whimper. "But don't worry, I know just what bad boys need."

Tony held Peter's head in place while he used the other to undo his pants, Peter was rendered speechless. His breath hitched as Tony's semi hard cock came into his sight. Just as big and thick and in control like Mr. Stark, just as Peter remembered. He gaps at the twitching rod, mouth watering in anticipation.

"Keep your mouth open like that, perfect." Tony says, tracing his finger alongside Peter's mouth. "Now listen closely Peter. I'm going to fuck this pretty mouth of yours and you're gonna take it then thank me like the good obedient boy I know you can be, understand?" He's petting Peter's hair again and the boy can't help but lean into it.

"Yes Mr. Stark," Peter says as calm as he can, keeping eye contact with Tony this time, shivering from his mentor's words. He doesn't have a chance to say more, because Tony shoves his cock balls deep in his mouth in one go. Peter gags as his brown eyes widen, still staring at the older man. Tony uses the debauched sight in front of him as fuel to go faster. He holds Peter's curls tight, working himself in and out at a punishing pace.

Peter whines while Tony abuses his mouth and tries gripping the man's thighs for some leverage but Tony's moving so fast it's hard to hold on. He ends up placing his hands in his own lap and tries to focus on his breathing as Tony fucks his mouth.

"Fuck, look at you Peter. Your fucking mouth is like a flesh hole, the way you keep sucking me down like this. You must feel so guilty for disappointing me hm?" Tony says and Peter can't do anything but hum against the hot cock brutalizing his throat.

Tony keeps fucking his throat and the boy is almost able to completely bliss out from it. The fast rhythm was easy to follow once Peter focused on sucking cock, his throat feeling numb as Mr. Stark hit the back of his mouth every time. Closing his eyes, it was pleasant to let Tony use him as he pleased. It felt good being used like this, even though this was suppose to be his punishment, he felt his own cock throbbing hard in his suit.

Then Tony slams the boy's mouth balls deep on his cock. The pubic hair on Tony's groin tickles Peter's nose and he feels tears blur his vision. His mentor's cock was well down his esophagus. Peter lets out a strangled moan but Tony doesn't move, instead admiring the sight. The boy stares up at him with pleading wet orbs, his heart pounding hard in his chest as his cock throbs almost violently.

"Peter you're doing so good, but maybe a little too good. Perhaps this is what you wanted all along..." Tony ponders, lavishing in how the boy's throat contracts around him, can't help moving his hips a little at the tight sensation. "Was it? Is that why you lied to me and made stupid choices Parker? You wanted me to use your slutty mouth again. Isn't that right?" Tony asks and he must realize that Peter can't actually reply but that doesn't stop the boy from whining helplessly. He pulls back slowly, watching Peter's puffy lips come into view. "I said, isn't that right? And don't you dare think about lying to me again, you naughty boy."

Peter feels drunk from the speed of the throat fucking and his eyes are bloodshot from the tears filling out, yet he never felt so turned on before in him life, this topped everything, even the ride home. He knows Tony is waiting for his answer and he was never one to keep him waiting. So he clears his throat but his voice still comes out gravely. "Y-yes, I'm sorry for being immature Mr. Stark. Forgive me," Peter says, barely recognizing his own wrecked voice. He reaches out and strokes his mentor's length while looking up with what he thinks, is an apologetic expression.

Tony stares back amused, his eyes lower. He rubs the tip of his cock against the boy's swollen lips. "Oh baby, you're not immature, just a little cockstupid but that, that we can work with." Tony says almost adoringly, Peter's heart swoons in his chest and his cock leaks in his suit at the return of the nickname. Could it be Mr. Stark had forgiven him? Tony shoves his cock back into the welcoming mouth to the hilt and resumes his hard motions.

"That's it, baby, fucking take it." Tony mutters and Peter wants to be his baby, wants to be Tony's baby so bad, he's sick with it. Being calling baby by Tony gives him the encouragement to roll his tongue on the underside of older man's cock, which earns him a groan.

Tony tightens his hold of Peter's curls, aiming his cock directly down the boy's throat. It felt divine. He didn't originally planned for this to happen again but Peter, sweet little Peter in the suit he made him, making a mess of the city just for his attention was too much. And those innocent bambi eyes he gave Tony as he was told off was too good. He looked so small and vulnerable that Tony had it set in his mind that he was gonna have the boy on his knees again and this punishment was the perfect excuse to fuck Peter's inexperienced mouth like he wanted to in the limbo. And thank god, because Tony was slowly getting addicted to having his little spiderling like this, on his knees sucking his cock with that jailbait mouth like he was born for it. Another roll of Peter's tongue has Tony stuttering his hips and moving them in quick small thrusts in and out.

"I'm gonna come down your throat now," Tony states, leaving no more for objection. "And you're gonna be a good boy and swallow ever last drop okay? Good boys take their punishment with dignity and pride. Be a good boy for me." Tony shoves into Peter until he was nesting against his pelvis. The warmth and tightness became to much just then, feeling himself come down the teen's throat.

Tony's thick cock was lodged down his throat so deep, all Peter can do is swallow the hot spurts of cum over and over. Having Mr. Stark use his mouth like a whore had him so turned on, he can barely breathe, his own cock straining in his suit. He moans helplessly as his idle hands travel down to grip his hard on.

But one look at Peter and Tony knows. In one swift motion, he pulls his softening cock from the boy's mouth and grabs his hands above his head.

"Who says you get to come, hm? This is your punishment Petey, you don't get to have your release. You haven't earned it. " Mr. Stark says in an as a matter of fact way and Peter wants to cry. He sniffles, he never been this hard before in his life. What did Mr. Stark need from him? To give back the suit? A another apology? For him to beg to come? In that moment Peter would of done anything. There's no point in getting off if it's not with Mr. Stark, not anymore.

Peter's eyes are filled with arousal and sweet devotion. His lips puffy and red. It fills Tony with a sinful desire. Peter was far too easy like this. "I'm waiting Mr. Parker." Peter furrows his eyebrows together until it hits him and he manages to understand what the man wanted. He licked his lips before staring at his mentor.

"T-thank you Sir for letting me suck your dick," Peter says and the words feel foreign on his lips. Tony nods, pleased.

"Since you were such a good fuckhole for me, I think you deserve a little reward." Tony presents his right leg to Peter, moving it between the teen's spread thighs. "You can come but only by humping my leg." Peter's eyes widen at the realization of the man's words. He looks down at the roof, feeling humiliated and the undeniable throb of his confined cock.

"Are you going to take me up on it then? Gonna take your treat?" Tony purrs, petting Peter's curls. Peter's throat feels rubbed to hell so he nods at the man but Tony tsks in displeasure. "Use your words baby."

"P-please lemme get my treat M-Mr. Stark. I'm a good boy," Peter babbles, not recognizing the broken voice he hears. Tony smiles at him satisfied.

The New York sunset plays a beautiful backdrop, the sole witness to Peter humping his mentor's leg like a needy slut. His ears burn with embarrassment but he only thrusts his hips faster, unable to stop the lewd sounds from his mouth. It feels so good, also therapeutic and Peter feels more pre cum leak. He's already so close. The teen takes one quick look at his mentor's face, staring down at him, taking in how the handsome sternest of his features was in great contradiction with his near black eyes which was pure lust. He moaned, he wanted the man to touch him bad. Wanted to come from Tony's hands again.

"That's it baby, fuck my leg like a bitch in heat. Fuck, that's such a good look on you. You're gonna come aren't you? Go on then, come on my leg baby." Tony taunts and before he knows it, Peter is creaming his suit, letting out a strangled moan while grinding his orgasm into the meaty part of Tony's leg. "That's right, let it all out."

Peter pants hard, leaning his forehead against Tony's leg, coming down from the biggest orgasm he ever had. Tony lets him gather his breathing before he's pulling the boy up to his feet. Peter wobbles a little, knees being sore from being in the same position for so long but Mr. Stark is smiling at him like he's proud of him so Peter could care less about it. The smile falters a little as his eyes move down the front of Peter's suit. Peter follows them and blushes.

"You made another mess, just like last time." Tony states. He brushes his hand against the wet spot on Peter's suit, making the teen whimper. "I'm still taking the suit. But, next time I see you, it better not be for a punishment. Understood? Be a good boy for Peter." Tony says, in a demanding voice that shakes Peter to core.

Even though a part of him wants to disobey Mr. Stark, just to see what punishment he'd get, the bigger part wanted to be a good boy for his mentor, be worthy of his praise.

Peter bites his swollen bottom lip and says with the most conviction he can muster. "Yes, Mr. Stark."

Just then, Tony closes the distance between them and crashing their lips together. He holds Peter's jaw as he works the boy's mouth open, licking his way in, tasting his own cum. Peter is helpless to react, just becomes weak in his mentor's hold, letting Tony tongue fuck him. It doesn't last long but when Tony pulls back, Peter's needs to catch his breath. He stares scandalized at Tony through his lashes. The man only licks his lips.

"Good boy."

[voiceless-terror]

would you consider writing me some precanon jongeorgie angst. bc i imagine they probably bonded over their interest in the supernatural but never. you know. actually talked about their personal experiences/trauma. just give me a little of both of them handling that trauma very badly while never admitting their closest brush with the supernatural. or something. idk.

Hello anon! I haven’t written Jon/Georgie yet, but this prompt was too good to pass up. Hope you like!

Being with Georgie was easy. It shouldn’t have been, not for him.

But it was.

She carried herself with the utmost surety: of her opinions, of her feelings, of her place in the world. It wasn’t arrogance, more like confidence and something else Jon couldn’t quite put his finger on. There was a blankness in her eyes sometimes. Not an absence of feeling but an absence of...understanding, maybe. Of empathy. Georgie saw the world in black and white; she knew exactly what was right and what was wrong. She was blunt. She bulldozed over others in conversations, pointed out flaws that polite society knew to overlook and not name. Jon admired it, as much as it made him cringe.

But it was complemented by her fierce capacity for loving, her clever, teasing words, the way her fingers ran through his hair when he was stressed. That black and white view could quiet his mind like no other- ‘yes, Jon’, ‘no, Jon.’  She listened to his incessant rambling, nodding in the right places and adding her own commentary. She filled out the crosswords in the morning, her brow furrowed in concentration, colorful nails tapping at the table. She never wanted help, stubborn to a fault. Her dark skin ethereal in the morning light, the way her voice was low and croaky before her coffee. The ease with which she said ‘I love you.’ 

He remembered the day she first approached him, all ripped-tights and smudged, smoky eyeshadow. Just leaned against the wall on that chilly fall night and snatched the cigarette right from his hand, an eyebrow flicked upward as she took a drag. He couldn’t get a word out, just silently took her phone when she offered it and typed in a number with shaking hands. A year later and she was still that same girl, though he’d seen her stash of manga and her weird cat memorabilia. She was whole, real. It was comfortable.

“I’m not really sure if I should go.” They’re curled up on the couch, Jon leaning into the warm bulk of her. “All of the others are going, though.”

“It’s not like you’re close, right?” Jon’s petting the Admiral, the new addition to the household fitting in seamlessly. “I’m sure she won’t take it as an insult. You can always say you’re busy. Who was it, again? Her father?”

“Yeah.” Georgie’s shifting against him, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. It’s odd- she’s not usually so awkward about these things. If there’s something she doesn’t want to talk about, she shuts it down right away. This seems...different. “And no, not close. But everyone else is going- they want to show their support, I guess. It would be awkward if I didn’t.”

Perhaps Georgie didn’t like funerals. You’re not supposed to, of course. Maybe it was a phobia, a perfectly valid one. Plenty of people don’t like to see the reminder of death laid out before them. Jon’s been to a few in his lifetime- for his Gran’s friend, for a distant cousin.

For his parents.

He doesn’t remember his father’s, he might not have even gone. He was only two at the time. He distantly remembers his mother’s; it wasn’t well attended, he sat in the front row with his Gran. He doesn’t even remember crying, if he even realized the thing in the box was his mother, dead and gone.

Needless to say, he understands Georgie’s sentiments. “You don’t have to go, not if...not if you don’t like it. Plenty of people are uncomfortable with death-” This was the wrong thing to say, for Georgie tensed instantly, leaning away from him.

“That’s not it at all,” she says, snatching her legs out from where Jon’s leaning comfortable against them. “It’s- it’s the performance of it all. All those people standing around a body, sniffling and moaning-”

Jon tried for levity, bristling at her tone. “People grieve, they need closure-”

Georgie snorted, this time shoving him away on the couch, the Admiral jumping from Jon’s lap at the movement. Her words became impassioned, as if Jon needed to know, needed to understand. “Cremate them, then! Say a few words, scatter the ashes, whatever. But having the body on display like that?” She gets up, starts to pace. Jon’s never seen her like this. “Paint the corpse, dress it up, pretend it’s a person still but it’s not, and everyone’s just standing there around it, praying over it and watching it like it’s not just rotting meat you put lipstick on-”

“Georgie!”

“I can’t stand it.” She stops in front of him, chest heaving and eyes aflame. “What’s so monumental about it? We live, we die- and her father was old, it was bound to happen sometime. No need to make such a to-do. It’s- it’s just disgusting, is what it is.” She didn’t continue, and an awkward silence permeated the room. 

Georgie got worked up about things on occasion. But the wild look in her eye, the total sense of incomprehension was...disconcerting. He agreed with her on certain points, of course, but the vehemence behind them- something wasn’t right. But it didn’t feel right to pry, either, and Georgie surely wouldn’t appreciate it.

“You could just say you’re busy, you don’t have to go,” he tries tentatively. She seems to deflate where she stands, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable. So he stands up, taking her hand in his. She lets him, but doesn’t meet his eyes. “But if you do, I can come with you. If you’d like.”

They stand in the very back row of the church after awkwardly greeting her grieving coworker. Georgie’s nails dig painfully into his arm, but he says nothing. They leave after ten minutes and stop at an Indian buffet on the way home. He silently watches her dig into a curry, his own untouched.

___________

When she first met Jon, she thought he was utterly out of her league.

It was her first semester back at school, she was an absolute fucking mess- drinking at all hours, barely present in her classes. She was out at the bar with a few new friends, most of whom she’d already forgotten the names of, and saw him standing there under a single flickering lamp, a cigarette dangling from long, slender fingers, raven hair back in a messy bun. Not many people could pull that off but he looked almost effortlessly cool (a thing she’d later find laughable for ever thinking) in his dingy leather jacket, his eyes far away and shadowed. She wondered what made him lose sleep. He had an odd, crooked little smile on his face and she was filled with liquid courage. The look he gave her when she took that cigarette out of his hand made her knees weak, and he took the proffered phone like he was only a little impressed. She sent a text to his phone and left, so embarrassed she went straight home.

He never did text her. To be fair, she never expected him to.

But she found him not two days later, hunched over a table in the campus library. She did a double take- surely this couldn’t be him, her impossibly handsome, silent figure who she surely dreamed up. But there was no mistaking that hair, those eyes. He was smaller, somehow diminished in his baggy jumper and wire-rimmed glasses, tapping a pencil against his textbook in irritation. Before she knew it she found herself picking up her phone, sending a text to the number with no name. And sure enough, his phone buzzed.

They went out on their first date a day later.

Jon was a ball of nerves, awkward and not at all like the man she thought she met that night. Somehow, the real Jon was better. She liked the way he blushed and stammered, the way a touch of her hand left him flustered and unable to speak. The way he could talk for hours about nothing at all, making even the most dull of subjects seem interesting with that voice of his- a voice surely meant for radio or T.V., something Jon himself endlessly scoffed at whenever she brought it up. They would sit in front of the telly for hours, marathoning ridiculous ghost hunting shows and pointing out the obvious fakes. Jon had a weakness for ghost stories, just like she did. “Most of them are absolute drivel, of course,” he said.

Most of them. 

They found comfort in each other, their small island of two, had no need for other company. Georgie had never been able to relate to someone so well, not since Alex, and Jon was never fond of crowds. Three months in he tried to break up with her, saying he could never give her what ‘she needed’ but she stopped that in its tracks- Georgie would be the one who decided what she did and didn’t need, thank you very much. She liked the way he leaned into her on movie nights, like her touch was the only thing that mattered. The sincerity in his eyes whenever he complimented her in that earnest, awkward way of his. He challenged her when he thought she was wrong, sometimes their fights lasted days. But they always came back to one another, each knowing they had no one else who understood them. Was it healthy? Georgie couldn’t answer that, she didn’t know herself. Jon probably didn’t either. But she loved him, in her way. 

That night they have a few glasses of wine, and Jon’s regaling her with some ridiculous story from his youth- apparently he was somewhat of a delinquent, wandering about at all hours. She laughs in delight, imagining a small, serious Jon climbing fences and evading the law. But suddenly Jon stops, his eyes going wide and his face growing ashen as he stares unblinking at the table.

It’s a spider- a tiny thing, really. Georgie’s been seeing a lot of them lately, and she really should be better about dusting the place. But Jon- Jon looks absolutely terrified, like the thing’s bound to leap out and kill him. She opens her mouth to tease, an instinctive reaction, but is instead startled by the loud smack of a hand against the table. Jon had smashed it certainly, but he lifts his hand and stares at it in wide-eyed horror, as if whatever he sees is nine times worse than the original thing.

“Jon-”

The chair hits the ground as he stumbles to her bathroom with heavy, labored breathing. She gets up slowly, approaching as quietly as possible to find him hyperventilating against the sink, the faucet on full blast as he washes his hand- scratches it, really. He’s mumbling frantically under his breath.

“...so many legs, get off, get off-”

She makes her presence known as not to startle him, approaching from the side and gently wrapping a hand around his arm once she sees him drawing blood. He starts anyway, his movements jerky and frenzied as he rips his arm away like her touch burns.

“It’s just a spider Jon,” she says softly, lifting her hands to show she means no harm. “It’s okay, you got it, it’s dead now-”

“But what if it isn’t!” He spits, slamming his hands on the marble rim of the sink and leaving bloody prints in his wake. He’s breathing so fast she thinks he might pass out. “What if it isn’t?”

She has no answer to that.

It takes about two hours, a hot shower and a stiff drink for him to calm down. They lay on the couch, watching something stupid, mind-numbing. She runs her fingers through his hair. He always liked that. She doesn’t say a word, he’s exhausted, and she knows from experience that pushing him will just lead to another fit like before. The next day, he brings her Hungarian by way of apology. They eat in a more comfortable silence, Jon gradually warming up as the evening goes on. Still, she doesn’t ask.

She spends the weekend cleaning her flat, standing on a chair and vacuuming at the cobwebs.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440474

[necr0bvnny]

Nuclear Fusion - Chapter 1

Pairing: Otto Octavius/Doctor Octopus x Original Female Character

Genres: Action, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, From Nobody to Nightmare, Mad Scientist(s)

Content/Warnings: Fluff, First Meetings

Summary:

Dr. Kali Kavanah, a timid woman with a genius intellect, works as the head biochemist at Oscorp Industries. Her sheltered life changes when Norman Osborn assigns her to create a special formula for him with the help of Dr. Otto Octavius. What follows is a rollercoaster of romance, betrayal, and their descent into villainy.

A/N: Hi there!! This series will basically be both a Doc Ock x OC fic and the origin story for my Spider-Man villain OC! I’ll be making art for some of the chapters (plus art for my Spider-verse in general) and adding content warnings to certain ones because I do plan for this story to get graphic at times. I hope you all enjoy!! 😊💚

Link to AO3 post

————

“Do I feel happy in life? Um.. Let’s see. Well, I do hope I’m finding happiness. For me, if I can realise certain things in my work, I come the closest to being happy and I can say that also about my life. It only happens in moments, sometimes when I'm working and I’ll be able to fulfill a project successfully and then I think I'm the happiest. While I find it very stimulating to keep studying and working, I'm not just generally happy. If I'm generally anything I'd say I’m generally miserable, hehe!”

The white mice stared up curiously at Kali as she spoke to them in a tranquil tone. Of course, they said nothing back. She liked to pretend that they did though.

“.... I don't know.” She sighed.

Kali tended to work with animals more than people now ever since being promoted to head scientist. This was both a blessing and a curse however. She loved the animals dearly and valued them as lab partners, but nothing could beat real human interaction. While she was forever grateful to be given her position after years of hard work, she wished her boss would be a little more kind. Just because she has the brain power to complete every project he throws at her doesn't mean she should be doing it all alone. But she guessed this was his way of keeping her on her toes.

She lifted one of the mice up to her shoulder and rewarded it with a small piece of an apple that she had been eating, then made sure to give the others in the glass terrarium a few slices to share as well. Nobody went hungry in Dr. Kavanah's lab.

With her test subjects fed, she picked up the cage and walked to return them with the other animals. Within a few minutes Kali was back at her lab.

Upon entering, she was surprised to see her boss standing in the middle of the room waiting for her to return. Norman Osborn, CEO of Oscorp. Wearing a dark green suit so clean that it looked as though it was bought that morning, he stood tall and proud while opening a briefcase up on one of the tables.

"Good news, Kali. I have a new project to keep you busy." He handed her a document which she immediately opened with glee and began speed-reading the first page.

"Thank you, sir! What did you have in mind?"

"I’ve just struck up a deal with a veterinary pharmaceutical company. I was hoping you can create a sort of.. animal steroid for me. All of the effects they want to see are written down for you to go over later.”

Kali closed the documents and sat them down on the closest work table, sensing that that wasn’t all Norman had to say. “Of course, sir. I’ll begin as soon as possible.”

“There is one more thing you must know about this project. The company has requested that we use some benign radioactive ingredients in the formula. Seeing as how your specialty is biochemistry, I’ve hired you a lab partner that can help you with the more sensitive materials you'll be handling."

Turning around to face the entrance, Norman then half-shouted, "Come on in."

Suddenly all of Kali's attention was on the new company entering the lab. In walked Dr. Otto Octavius, head scientist at the U.S Atomic Research Center. She felt her heart get caught in her throat as he came right up to her and offered his hand with a smile.

"Good evening, Dr. Kavanah. It's a pleasure to be working with you."

"Oh, it is an honor, Dr. Octavius! I've read nearly all of your articles and interviews."

"Please, we're going to be working together for quite a while. Just call me Otto."

"Yes, sir! I-I mean Otto.. " After realizing she was still shaking his hand, she awkwardly let go, earning a quiet chuckle from him.

"Well, now that I have you two geniuses together I should be off. Good luck." With that, Osborn was out the door before anyone could respond.

"Please, make yourself at home! The office and bathroom are that way," Kali pointed to the door and window at the far right of the laboratory.

"Ah, thank you, dear. I'll be back shortly."

Otto walked off into the office and shut the door behind him, though she couldn't see what he was doing as the window had it's blinds drawn.

Kali stood alone in the middle of the lab, still trying to process everything that was happening. She couldn't believe it. Otto Octavius himself was going to be working with her, her of all people! She had seen him in person before but only from afar at a science convention a few years ago. At that time he was first introducing the world to the concept of his masterpiece, the four-armed apparatus that he used for handling nuclear material. He had since finished it but she had only seen it in pictures. She wondered for a moment if he was going to be bringing it to her lab, and the excitement at the idea forced a little squeal out of her.

Soon enough Dr. Octavius finally exited the office holding a magazine and chuckling to himself. Once he was back in front of Kali, he showed the front cover of it to her to reveal an image of himself standing proudly in front of a mechanical arm displayed on the table behind him. Kali's cheeks burned with embarrassment.

"I see you weren't lying about being a fan. I'm guessing you may know me better as 'Doctor Octopus' as my coworkers have grown fond of calling me."

"No, sir. I believe name calling like that is a petty tactic used by the weak-minded to undermine those they don't understand."

Otto smiled wider at her words.

"Y'know, I've done my own fair share of reading about you as well. Your work is nothing short of brilliance."

Kali perked up a bit at his compliment, her cheeks burning for a different reason now. "Really?"

"Of course! I've been meaning to get in touch with you even before Osborn hired me. Seeing as how we have some free time at the moment, I'd like to get to know you better if that's alright? We are lab partners now after all."

He pulled up two chairs, sitting down in one and offering the other one to her. Kali sat down across from him with an awkward smile and thanked him.

"Um, well… I don't know what to say, hehe. I suppose you can ask me anything you're curious about!"

Kali couldn't remember the last time she had sat down with someone and talked back and forth for who knows how long, laughing and simply enjoying each other's presence. Otto asked her many questions about herself, though none too personal. Everything he wanted to know about her seemed to be trivial, things such as 'how do you like your tea?' and 'do you have any pets?'. Things Kali didn't think anyone would ever care to know about her. And yet here he was, wanting to know and seeming fully invested as she spoke about herself.

Hours passed and eventually Otto checked his watch, realizing that it was time to go home. Kali was genuinely surprised, as it only felt like minutes had gone by. As they said their goodbyes for the night, her world seemed to fade back to grey as he left the laboratory. But knowing she would see him again the next day brought a toothy smile back to her face. Moving into the office, she fell back onto the couch on the right side of the room and let out a joyous sigh. Rats may have been adorable companions, but they couldn't ask you how your day was or flash you a genuine, debonair smile like Otto could.

Her heart swelled within her chest as she spent the rest of the night thinking about her new friend.