#I don’t even know what his species is supposed to be. who is he!!!

[bluebluebluewoods]

Got shown this bizarre cunt in a meme in the Smurfs server, said I could fix him by giving him beautiful tits, and proceeded to go ham redesigning him when people said I should, entirely based on this single blurry screenshot because. Well someone’s gotta

#the smurfs #morphio (smurfs) #I don’t even know what his species is supposed to be. who is he!!!

[reiding-writing]

Omg imagine Reid being incredibly touch starved and literally having this very primal craving for affection to the point it's all he can think about but he cannot for the life of him get over his fear of germs and it's just all this angst and ahh

deprivation [ s.r ]

Summary:

Spencer needs support. He needs it. But he for the life of him just cannot reach out for it himself. And after one particular case, you make an effort to try and quell is emotional rampage.

WARNINGS: germophobia, self deprecation, touch deprivation, emotional breakdown

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

genre: ANGST, hurt/comfort

wc: 2.8k

masterlist!!

a/n: great minds must think alike because i was actually already working on this when the request came in😭

i made this less angsty than originally planned, but i hope it suffices nonetheless the less, thanks for the request! <33

Spencer Reid was exhausted in every sense of the word.

His muscles ached, his head pounded, and he was so burnt out he didn’t even have any thing to say when JJ had incorrectly mentioned a ‘fact’ about a certain sub-species of butterfly that was supposedly native to Oregon.

His exhaustion only proved to get worse as the jet took off for Virginia, but the unfortunate rampaging of his own mind proved any chance of him sleeping on the flight home impossible.

“Hey… Are you okay?” Your voice seems to echo across the silence of the cabin despite you practically whispering to avoid waking your teammates, and Spencer’s eyes flicker up towards you, clearly not having expected you to be awake.

You stand up from your seat, walking down the aisle to take a seat on the sofa next to Spencer, his head resting in his hands as his eyes followed you. “You’ve been really quiet since the case ended,”

“I’m fine…” He said the words, but it wasn’t reflective of his tone of voice. There was something there. Something more, something beneath the words.

A sadness.

An uncertainty.

And if you listened to his voice, not just to his words, you’d hear a hint of pain, a deep seeded sense of misery that he was concealing beneath the usual layers of stoicism.

“Spencer you’re talking to a professional profiler, which I don’t even need to be to know that you’re not okay.” You can’t help the soft sigh that escapes your mouth, turning to sit sideways to face him properly.

"I'm fine," He said the words again, and this time they held a touch of force. But the words did not match his tone, still pained, wounded, and silently pleading with him to just be honest with you.

And as the words came out of his mouth, he took a deep breath, closing his eyes as if hoping that what he was feeling would be gone by the time he opened them again.

But when they fluttered open through his eyelashes he was still on the sofa of the jet and you were still sitting there and he still felt miserable.

“If you don’t want to talk about it then I won’t pressure you,” You dejectedly resign yourself at Spencer’s insistence, leaning your left side against the back of the sofa. “But just know i’m here for you if you ever want to get something off your chest okay?”

"It's just...It's just-" He paused, biting his lip as if unsure about what he was about to say. He knew it may be dangerous to let himself slip. So he considered his words carefully before he spoke again. "...it's just been hard...I’m so stressed and...I'm...feeling vulnerable. And I don't like it. I don't like it at all."

“Everyone’s gonna feel like that at some point Spence, especially in our line of work,” You tilt your head slightly at him, a soft expression painting your features that matches your tone.

"I know..." He said, " But...I don't like feeling like...like i can't cope. Like I'm scared. That's not who I am. I'm supposed to be the rational one. The smart one." Spencer dragged his palms up his face and back over his hair, leaning back against the sofa with his head leaned back against the wall.

“I don’t like being scared,”

And there, again, in that simple sentence was another hint of the hurt that his apprehension hadn’t managed to fully hide. “I’m meant to be better than that.”

“Spencer just because you are a functioning genius does not mean that you’re not allowed to be scared, that’s a part of what makes you human,” Your face furrows as you become increasingly concerned for Spencer and his mindset.

"I-...I know..." He said the words, but the underlying message was clear. He might know that he was supposed to have emotions and he might know that expressing them is healthy, but there was a part of him that was screaming at him to suppress them.

To bury his feelings and pretend to be the robot that his childhood (or lack thereof) had forced him to be.

He wasn't trying to be resistant, he was just...afraid.

“When was the last time you cried Spencer?” The question blurted it’s way out of your mouth as your concern for Spencer only continued to grow.

"Why would you ask me that?" His tone of voice was almost affronted by the question as if he were a little wounded that you had brought up something so sensitive.

He swallowed back the lump in his throat, and you swear that you could see his eyes glass over even in the dim lighting of the cabin. “Because i want to know exactly how much pent up emotion you’re dealing with right now,”

You make a conscious effort to relax your features as you look at him, sighing softly. “Please answer the question…”

Spencer took a second as he deliberated whether or not to answer your question, staring blankly across the cabin so he wouldn’t have to look at you.

"958 days ago."

He said the words coldly, but you could hear the emotion in the way he spoke them. This is the moment when he finally cracked. When he finally realised that hiding the way he felt wasn't a sustainable solution.

And its was also the point when he started to break down. The tears finally started to flow, and he couldn't stop them as much as he tried.

“Spence…” You reach out a hand towards him, but you barely get it up out of your lap before he firmly stops you.

"Don't..."

The words come out of him sharply, but there's something in his tone that saying the opposite. There’s a note of desperation in them. A plea. A cry for help. Because he wants you to touch him, he needs you to. But he's resistant to the idea, he keeps resisting it. “80% of communicable diseases are passed by physical contact. I don’t want to get sick.”

You curl up your hand into a ball as you let it fall back into your lap, pursing your lips as Spencer uses his statistical knowledge to stop you from touching him.

You knew he had an aversion to touch. That he was hyper aware of practically any illness that could possibly be transferred through human contact. You knew that he kept himself at a physical distance from everyone for a reason.

But you also knew that despite all of that he needed physical comfort. Words just weren’t going to cut it.

“It’s okay to need to be comforted…”

"I can get through this myself." He cuts you off harshly, and if you didn’t know that he was obviously mentally struggling his tone would’ve cut you deep.

He's in pain.

He's miserable.

And he's been alone for too long.

He needs emotional intimacy. He needs the affection and comfort of his friends.

He just can't bring himself to actually say that.

“Spencer, let me comfort you. please.” You bite the inside of your cheek as your eyes follow a tear that falls down his face, leaving a water streak in its wake.

“It’s not healthy for you to ball yourself up like this,” You plead desperately with him to let down his emotional barriers and just let you help him.

"There's nothing wrong with me." His words are still cold, but he's wavering now. His shoulders are lowering, his hands loosening from fists to lying flat on either side of him.

He wants you to touch him. He wants the affection that he's been deprived of for so long. But there's still that part in him that's resisting. The voice in his head telling him he can't.

“There doesn’t have to be anything wrong with you for you to need comfort Spencer,” You attempt again to hesitantly reach out a hand towards you, but your advances are again immediately shot down.

"Please.. Don't touch me." His words come out weakly. He's desperately resisting, but the tears are still flowing down his cheeks and you can tell that he’s trying not to completely break down.

“…Are you sure?” You hand retreats back to your side the second he denies you, but you both know he’s not entirely convinced of his own boundaries.

"I'm sure."

He's lying.

The tears were still streaming down his cheeks, and even one quick look at his eyes could tell you that he was desperate to be touched.

He was craving human interaction. But the words were still coming out of his mouth. He wasn't ready yet, not quite yet.

Your hand falls to the gap between the two of you on the sofa, a few inches left between his hand and yours as you suppress a sigh at the clear desperation coating his face despite his denial of your touch.

But you don’t want to overstep the boundary, even if he’s not 100% sure of it himself.

He stares back at you, still resisting the urge to reach out for your hand, even though he's not sure why. He knows that he would feel better if he could grab you and put his head on your shoulder, letting the weight of all of his problems wash away.

But there was still the little voice in his head shouting "Don't. Don't touch them. Don't." And he was struggling. Fighting with every inch of his being for self-control.

As the two of you fall into a slightly tense silence, you make a small movement to breaking Spencer’s self made barrier as you edge your pinky finger towards his own, just barely brushing his skin as you keep your eyes plastered on the opposite wall.

His eyes follow your fingers as they inch their way closer and closer to his. And when - at long last - you make contact, Spencer freezes. Time seems to just stand still as his eyes are transfixed on the single point of contact between your fingers and his.

He doesn't move, he doesn't speak. He just watches.

Over 200 breeds of bacteria are passed through people’s hands for every second they’re in contact.

But he can’t seem to pull himself away.

Because this is the connection he seeks. This is the release he needs. And finally, finally he gets it.

You continue to gently bridge the gap as your pinky finger links itself with Spencer’s, squeezing it with a gentle pressure as you try desperately to stop your eyes from averting back to him.

The second your finger links with his, a dam of emotions breaks. The tears flow faster and he lets out a whimper in the back of his throat.

As soon as you touch him, he leans into the feeling and turns his hand over, pressing his palm and his other fingers against your own, wanting more, needing more of this sensation that he's been starved of for so long.

You respond enthusiastically at his acceptance of the contact, interlacing your fingers together and giving his hand a soft squeeze as you finally bring your gaze back towards his face.

“You’re going to be alright Spencer…”

The moment your hand falls into his is a moment of sweet release. The flood gates have opened, the dam has broken, and there are no barriers between him and the overwhelming emotions he's been forced to bottle up.

And as the dam breaks so too does that small, insistent voice telling him to reject contact. That small voice that tells him he can't have physical affection.

Because that small voice is wrong.

And when you squeeze his hand he brings no hesitation into melting into you completely and burying his face into the crook of your neck.

You immediately shift to accommodate Spencer’s weight against your body, breaking the contact of your hands to pull him into a firm but comforting embrace, rubbing soft lines up and down his back as the other held his head against your shoulder.

With tears still flowing down his cheeks and his head buried in your neck, he lets out a soft, contented whimper.

His body relaxes in your embrace, and just lies there in your arms.

He's safe. He's finally safe, and it feels good. He no longer needs to hold himself together. And for the first time in years, he feels loved.

“I’ve got you…” You whisper the affirmation softly into Spencer’s hair as you rest your nose against the crown of his head.

He lets out more soft whimpers, his body relaxing as he leans into the comfort of your embrace, finally allowing himself to just let go.

He takes in big breaths, drinking in your scent as he tries to slow his breathing. He's still crying, but the tears aren't so severe anymore. He's finally started to calm down.

You lean backwards against the seat to support both of your weights comfortably as you focus on soothing Spencer through his emotions, running your fingers gently through his hair and massaging softly at his scalp.

The soft strokes against his head bring a wave of shivers, but they aren't like the shivers that he had felt when he'd been shaking so much.

These are better, these are warm and comforting, and it was like the tension was leaving his body from his head all the way down to his toes.

It feels good, it feels right.

Your touch was healing, and his whole body is relaxing in the gentle massage of your fingers.

“when was the last time you got a full night’s rest Spence..?” The question is soft against his ear as you continue to gently scratch and massage Spencer’s scalp, pulling him slightly towards you with your other arm to secure him safely in your lap.

“I… A while ago…” His words were hushed and sleepy, the exhaustion evident in the slight rasp that was present in his voice. He's been so caught up in the case and the work that he hasn't given a moment's thought to taking care of himself.

He's running on caffeine and willpower. He’s exhausted.

“You should get some sleep…” You carefully adjust the way yo two are sat until you are lying flat on your back with Spencer splayed out on top of you, burying himself in your presence at every point possible.

“I will…”

He's lying.

And based on the fact that his eyes are still squeezed tight against you and the way he's practically buried his body into yours it's clear that even he knows that he's lying.

There's no way that he can sleep right now. Not when he's finally feeling safe. When he's finally found comfort. He plans to bask in it for as long as possible.

“I’ll still be here when you wake up Spencer,” You know that he knows that you know he’s lying. “Get some rest,”

"But-"

He wants to hold this moment, to cling to this moment, trying to delay the passing of time just a little longer.

"I-“

He falters, realising that he's fighting against losing an argument that has already ended. He forces himself to breathe in and out in a slow and deliberate way as he resigns himself to the inevitability of falling asleep.

“…promise?”

He sounds less like a genius and more like a scared child when he says those words. A child who wants to be reassured. Who wants to be told that everything will be okay. That he'll be taken care of when he wakes up from his slumber.

“I promise.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #mgg #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #spencer reid angst #asks 🫶

[seravphs]

棠 —

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — TEEN DAD! GOJO x FEM READER

Gojo has something to tell you. Megumi is unfortunately still a member of the male species. Tsumiki just wants to watch the sunset. 

wc — 1.5k

cw — interlude between tried to live in a softer way and stockholm (coming soon), 棠 means "wild plums", Megumi’s a good boy but he’s still a boy (gross), part of teen dad gojoverse, in which you and Gojo raise Megumi together, I lowkey forgot Tsumiki existed when I first started writing Teen Dad! Gojo so now I have to retcon her in 

Megumi’s mouth is smeared with purple pulp. 

“You better have washed that,” you warn him as you carefully cut Tsumiki’s fruit for her. Your knives drip juice onto the ground, requiring careful attention to make sure the sugar won’t rust them. 

Some cursed weapons are durable, outlasting generation after generation of the sorcerers that wielded them. Yours are more delicate. Like flowers, they require great care.

Tsumiki takes the slice you hand her with gratitude and pops it into her mouth with a little shiver of happiness. Her fingertips are turning purple to match Megumi’s lips. You pour a little water from your bottle over them, and place another slice into her mouth yourself. 

“A little dirt is good for him,” Gojo calls from where he’s wedged halfway inside the trunk, fighting for the folding chairs he threw in haphazardly. Now they’re stuck. You told him they would be, and he hadn’t listened. 

You make an unconvinced noise in the back of your throat, pursing your lips. He can’t see you, of course. 

“Germs are gonna make his immune system stronger. Eat up, Megumi!” 

Megumi wrinkles his nose and unhappily swallows his bite. The next time Tsumiki hands him a slice of her (washed) plums, he takes it. Nothing ever works as well on him like Gojo and inadvertent reverse psychology. 

After another minute of letting Gojo struggle to prove a point, you reach over and tug on a latch. The chair Gojo is struggling with snaps shut so you can effortlessly pull it out of the trunk. Gojo smiles sheepishly. 

“What did we learn from this?”

“Wife is always right?” He says cheekily. 

“Can I help?” Tsumiki pops up underneath your elbow. 

“It’s okay,” Gojo ruffles her hair. “We got it.” 

He pushes you gently away when you try to take a chair, carrying three singlehandedly to the spot where Megumi and Tsumiki are waiting with the picnic basket. You know he wants you to gush over him, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. 

You purposefully turn away to start setting out the food, only for him to saunter over as soon as Tsumiki and Megumi are sitting in their newly placed chairs. 

“Did you see that?” 

“You are the strongest, Satoru.” This is easy work for him. 

“Okay, but it’s still cool, right?” 

Sometimes you want to ignore him and sometimes you want to give in. Gojo, like Megumi is predictable. He needs the carrot and the stick. 

“Yeah,” you smile. “It was cool. You know what would be cooler?” 

He’s setting out the dishes before you even have to ask. 

You’re not fooled even though Gojo’s acting completely normal. As lighthearted and nonchalant as he is, anyone who didn’t know better would think there’s nothing in the world that could phase him, but you do know better. 

He’s not the type to share his issues, especially not when he thinks he can solve them on his own, which is what you think is going on here. It’s fine. 

You don’t press. He’ll tell you when he’s ready. 

“Someone’s coming,” Megumi announces. 

Gojo raises an eyebrow. “And how do you know that?” 

He looks away, eyes shifty. 

“You know you’re not supposed to be summoning your dogs in public!” You scold him. 

Technically, he’s not supposed to know anything about his technique yet. Young sorcerers aren’t allowed to use their technique if they’re not enrolled at Jujutsu High. Of course, it’s different for clans, especially big clans. None of the elders who sit on the council are going to punish one of their own for getting ahead of the game. In fact, they’re quite willing to turn a blind eye to anything that makes their clan more powerful, even if it means starting their young off early. Too early, in your opinion. 

Gojo disagrees with this judgement, as he disagrees with everything the elders say. He’s been training Megumi in secret, slowly getting him used to the Ten Shadows. The dogs, which Megumi’s manifested since he was young, were the first to become tamed. They’re the easiest for him to control, so he looses them more often than he should. Regardless of what Gojo thinks, it’s simply not safe. You don’t want to give the Zenins any reason to take Megumi and Tsumiki. 

Megumi calls his shikigami back. They evaporate into shadow just as an old couple hobble up the dirt path. 

“Oy, granny!” Gojo calls, ignoring you as you smack his arm. “You need a hand?” 

“I’m okay,” she calls back. “Don’t worry about me! Just taking my daily walk.” 

Gojo gives you an aghast look. 

“Why are they hiking up here? One of them is going to break a leg,” he hisses. 

“Are you sure?” You ask them hesitantly. 

“My, aren’t you sweet! I’m alright, hon. The fresh air will do these old bones some good.” 

Beside her, her husband nods in agreement. He seems like the silent type to her extrovert. 

“What’re you two doing up here?” She says, picking her way over. 

Tsumiki holds up her plate. “Picnicking!” 

“How cute,” the old woman coos as she pinches her cheek. 

“And you! Why, I could just eat you up,” she tells Megumi, who looks mildly alarmed, not at her words, but at her attention. He squirms in his seat. 

“Your little brother?” The couple smiles as you stiffen. It’s not their fault. They have no idea. 

“My son,” Gojo says, his own smile turning unpleasant. 

“Oh!” She seems to sense she’s made a mistake of some sort, taking her husband’s arm once more. “I’m sorry, you seemed so young. Well, I’m sure you want to get back to your picnic without these old folk. Be careful not to stay out too late! I hear there’s a storm brewing.” 

Her husband helps her carefully over the grass back on to the dirt path. She turns back to wave, just once. 

“That wasn’t nice,” you say, watching them leave. “They didn’t know.” 

Gojo rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” 

“Look!” Tsumiki jostles Megumi, who’s still focused on his food instead of the sky. “The sun is setting!”

Gojo picked a good spot. No trees obstruct your view of a sky stretching as far as the eye can see. As someone who’s lived in the city for so long, it’s almost a miracle to witness. 

The sky is awash in floral hues. Burnt orange, ashy lavender, and muted links spread throughout the clouds. You’re smiling, awestruck at the sight, when you hear a click. You turn back just in time to see Gojo shove his phone in his pocket. 

“Did you just take a picture of me?” 

“Nope! Why don’t you sit tight while I repack everything?” 

Even when you try to help, Gojo pushes you back in your chair. His little helpers dash back and forth from the makeshift campsite to the car until everything is safely packed away. 

When you finally get up and brush your lap off, Gojo offers you his arm. 

You laugh at him. “Come on, I don’t need that.” 

He pushes his arm in your direction again, insistent. He’s being such a baby today, but you can’t help spoiling him. You take it as he escorts you to the car and opens the door for you with a flourish. 

The kids don’t want to go home, but Gojo distracts them with promises of McDonald’s on the long, winding trip down the mountain. Megumi’s at that age where he knew better than to trust the strange white haired sixteen year old who offered to take him in but still gullible enough not to understand there are no McDonald’s on mountains. 

He and Tsumiki fall asleep in the back seat as the rain patters rhythmically on the windows. All around you, the earth is lush and verdant. You’re in Eden before the fall. It’s hard to stay mad when the forest is putting on such a show for you outside. The earth is blooming, beckoning. 

Gojo rolls down the sun roof so the warmth of weak sun beams shines into the car. If you look up, the rain beads on the glass like crystals on a backdrop of dove grey storm clouds. 

It’s still raining when you get home. 

Gojo carries Megumi and Tsumiki inside, one in each arm. It’s a testament to their sleepiness that neither protest. You drop a kiss on each cherubic little cheek as you tuck them into bed, pressing the covers down around them. 

Gojo’s waiting in the kitchen when you quietly close their bedroom door. 

“I have something to tell you,” he says almost half-heartedly, looking out the window. “But you have to promise not to be mad.” 

You knew it. 

Whatever it is, you’re sure you can take it. You and Gojo have been through the worst of everything together, from a bullet in the shoulder to whiney, feverish children. There’s nothing you can’t handle to keep your little family together. 

“The Zenins want to take Megumi away,” he blurts out. 

Okay, maybe that wasn’t what you were expecting, but it’s fine. You can make it work. 

“They’re coming tomorrow.” 

You’re going to kill him.

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo fluff #gojou fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader

[dancingdonatello]

HI!! 💕💕

can i request a donatello x gn reader who has a pet softshell turtle? i saw a tiktok where raph and donnie were holding their turtle species and omg it was so cute- 😭💕

have an AMAZING day/night!!

donnie x gn reader

“Donnie, it’s time you meet someone very important to me.”

That’s what you had told him a few days ago. Now, he stood at your doorstep dressed in the fanciest of clothes he could find. He was prepared to meet and impress your parent.

He wasn’t prepared for you to laugh at him when you opened the door and saw him.

“What?” He asked. You didn’t answer and instead pulled him into your house and up to a room that you had never let him go in before. “What’s going on?”

“As much as I love seeing you in a suit,” you paused as you fell into another bout of laughter, “you might want to take it off.”

“Why?” He demanded before you opened the door. Only then did he see the reason why.

The room was mostly empty, just filled with bins and food containers. But in the middle and most obviously the center piece of the room, there was a large pool of water.

“You… have a turtle.” He was flabbergasted. “As a pet?”

“And another as a boyfriend.” You patted him on the arm before you walked over. You picked the turtle up and it squirmed unhappily in your hands. “Look! It’s a soft shell too.”

“Amazing,” Donatello said flatly. “Now where is your parent that I was supposed to meet?”

“You were supposed to meet her!” You held the turtle in your hands out towards him. “Isn’t she pretty?”

Donnie turned to leave.

“Aw, Donnie…” you whined. “You’re hurting her feelings.”

Donnie scoffed again but stayed put. You smiled victoriously.

“Come on,” you sat down on the floor and patted the floor in front of you, “let’s just hang out.”

Your boyfriend reluctantly turned around and sat in front of you. He looked very unamused but you didn’t care. You set your pet on the floor and it immediately hissed at Donnie.

“Wow, she does not like you.” Her long neck reached over and she bit onto the finger of one Donnie’s hands that had been laid on his lap nearly. “She really doesn’t like you.”

“It’s because she knows I am better than her in all ways,” he said emotionlessly, even with his finger in the turtles mouth. “You are nothing compared to me,” he whispered lowly to it.

“Not true.” you shook your head. “Watch. Daphne, let go.”

“You named it Daphne?”

“Look!” You interrupted with a screech. “She let go! She listens better than compared to you.”

“What? I listen,” he defended himself but you were moving on.

“Daphne, sit.” The turtle coincidentally laid down when you said it. Donnie groaned when you cheered. “Such a good girl,” you cooed and picked her up. She bit you this time.

“Can it balance chemical equations?” Donnie scoffed.

You looked over at him, shocked at how… displeased he looked. His arms were crossed and his eyebrows were furrowed.

“Can it develop and operate highly dangerous and radioactive weaponry? I don’t think so.” Donnie’s eyes were burning holes into your poor turtle.

“No, but it is cute.” You held poor Daphne a little closer protectively before you had an idea. “Donnie, just hold her. Feel the connection.”

“Feel the connection,” he mocked you. But he still took the turtle into his hands when you passed her over. He inspected it with a grumpy look. “Looks healthy.”

The turtle reached forward with its long neck and touched its snout to his.

“Oh my god,” you breathed out and took a hundred photos. “I am printing these out and plastering them all over my walls.”

It was all fine until Daphne started to churr. She had crossed the line.

“Daphne!” You snatched her back. “That is inappropriate!” Donnie snorted and shook the mud off his hands with a sigh.

“I guess she’s alright…” He interrupted your chastising of Daphne. “Still can’t take over the world though.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Yeah, yeah, you’re one of a kind, Donnie.”

leo | raph | mikey

art

#rottmnt x reader #tmnt x reader #donatello x reader #tmnt donnie x reader #donatello hamato x reader

[messydiabolical]

i’d once read a Mass Effect take that has been stewing in my melon ever since, about Wrex and him demanding a cure for the genophage during the war in 3. (I think it was on twitter but I can’t remember for sure. Just the idea of it stuck with me.) The general sentiment was that this was a dick move on his part, that there were “bigger problems” and this wasn’t the time and it was cruel and manipulative of him to put Shepard in that position. He should have helped out first and Shepard would have helped him back once the war was over. A lot of people chimed in agreeing, saying how they stopped liking Wrex after that. It bothered me for a bunch of reasons I didn’t feel I could adequately articulate, but i’m gonna try now. Prepare for my meandering thought style! The governing bodies of the Mass Effect Galaxy have repeatedly proven that they believe themselves superior to other species and know what’s best for everyone. They don’t let all species have a say in the council, always look out for their own species’ interests in so much as it pertains to keeping things as they are, and will happily go along with literal genocide to aid this. They approve of secret police and biological warfare espionage tactics. They weaponise bureaucracy to hide their cruelty behind ‘oh red tape has us bound, sorry uwu’.   I’m going to try to remain pertinent to the Wrex subject but as one great example of these governing bodies ways of dealing with percieved outsiders: The first contact war is a great example of how ludicrous and fascist things are.. ‘It’s ilegal to use this thing so we’re going to kill you for it’ without so much as a heads up. How were humans supposed to know that, exactly? The governing bodies of this place do not care about anyone outside their own self interests. Fall out of line and they will work to end you. Until you prove you might be useful or of interest to them in some way (or a threat). And then of course we later learn the asari were breaking these laws themselves, hoarding this tech to stay superior. Classic. Anyway, back to Wrex. Wrex knows this. Wrex has seen how the krogan are regarded and treated, the dangerous monolith species, outsiders who can never be let in, never forgiven, never given a chance to grow or change. For a long arse time. “But the krogan were getting out of control and also committing genocide, the genophage was a last ditch resort to stop a galactic war” … And it’s been hundreds of years since then. That 'last ditch resort' wasn’t used as a stop gap, a reset to even out the playing field so that new negotiations and relations could be developed. It was used to end the krogan, and has been actively maintained to continue that, ever since. Do you really, truly believe that if Wrex petitioned the council/ world leaders to negotiate reversing the genophage, they’d even let him have an audience with them? And if they did, do you really think these people, with their history and all the shit they pull, would listen and be reasonable? I can already hear the responses, that weaponised bureaucracy (“you raise an interesting point Mr Wrex but unfortunately we are recovering from a war don’t you know, please come back in 300 years for review, we are very interested in discussing this further then!”) Wrex is old, wise and knows exactly what is up. The only way the governing bodies of power were ever going to have a listen, was if he had something they needed. The war with the reapers provided that. And even then, he knew that they wouldn’t listen outright; having Shepard’s voice was a way to get the foot in the door. It makes my heart hurt to think about that honestly; how dehumanising (dekroganising?) it must feel to be the ruler of your people and know that you have to rely on your alien friend to even get someone to listen to you, when what you want to say is an extremely reasonable “hey committing genoicde against my people sucks, stop that now”. Anyway, Wrex was right, this was his one chance to save his people and he took it. Good for him.

#mass effect #urdnot wrex #wrex #my hot take of the day #I usually avoid hot takes because discourse is exhausting #but this one has been revolving in my mind for like a year since I read it #and I read that great post about how dystopian mass effects governments are earlier and my mind has THOUGHTS now

[fayesia]

Sex pollen — Simon Ghost Riley x fem!reader 

a/n: Hi quickly wanted to say that it was not supposed to be this long but once I started writing i kinda just went with it lol. I’m also pretty new to writing smut but hopefully y’all like this :D

Warnings: nsfw 18+, p in v, unprotected sex, praise kink, creampie, dirty talk, size difference, rough sex, squirting, lmk if i missed anything!! 

This recent task wasn’t one of the harder ones, easily able to be accomplished in about 2 hours, it was the venture home that took the most out of you. Trudging through the forest with its vast species of fauna and flora had been beautiful but also uncomfortable, from both the exhaustion and the heat of the tropical climate. 

However things only seem to get worse for the team as the sun was setting and darkness surrounded the group from every side. A guttural howl was heard coming from behind, deep in the thick cluster of trees, the beasts were coming out to play.  “Runnnn!!! Go go go, pick up the pace, let’s keep moving!” You heard Simon yelling from your right at the rest of the team lagging behind.“We’re about 100m from base, keep it moving!! We’re all making it back alive tonight no matter what , Let’s GO!” You were about to ask him a question turning your head to the right until your foot got caught on a lifted tree root. 

You stretch out your hands ready to support yourself from crashing head first into large rocks, feeling two muscular arms wrap around you. Unaware of who it was, the both of you start rolling down a ditch off the side of the path leading to home base. Expecting to fall into more rocks, you instead feel the cushion of large soft petals belonging to some unknown plant—a large plant for sure. Quickly sitting up you come face to face with Simon, he rushes to you, looking down as puffs of pink dust rise from the pores of the petals after every step he takes. 

The two of you cough as the pollen invades your nostrils, seeping into every crevice of your combat suits and Simons mask. You try to orientate yourself attempting to get up only to fall down again, sharp pain searing through your ankle, you grab onto Simon for support. “Looks like my ankle took most of the fall eh?” You attempt to lighten up the mood only Simon doesn’t seem to reciprocate this idea. 

“You’re hurt. This isn’t good, we have to get back to base before something else attack-“ his sentence is cut short as he sees you inspecting the tears in your suit. One along the shoulder of your right arm sleeve to your collarbone, another where you injured your ankle and the last one visible to him is on your inner thigh stretching all the way to your hip. Looking up you sheepishly apologise, “sorry heh didnt know so many things would cut through the suit, didn’t want to wear the heavy combat one for such an easy mission.” 

“It’s fine, come on we’ve got to find a way back” he states after a moment of silence as his eyes raked you up and down, you simply took this as his way of assessing the situation of your ankle. Wrapping an arm around his waist he tries to find a path yet as far as your eyes can see in the pitch black of the night is more pink petals. Simons steps only seem to agitate the unknown flora even more causing large clouds of dust to invade your senses. 

“Let’s take a break” you suggest after you both had only ventured a few meters away, but Simons breathing had picked up and his uncommon stumbling seemed to be happening more. You turn to him lightly giggling, “i don’t remember being that heavy to such a big boy like you” 

“no no its not that” he’s quick to reassure you, never wanting you to undermine his strength. “It’s just-i don’t know something in the air is making the temperature rise, don’t you feel it?”

Now, you have been well aware of the heat, the reason you asked to take a break in the first place was because of that, the almost unbearable feeling prickling at every cell in your body. And yes you hated to admit, but mostly attacking your nether regions where the heat seemed to escape from the most. “Y-yeah i feel it to”. Simon stares into your eyes, slowly crawling closer to you in hopes of releasing less dust from his movements. You also near him, briefly pausing before your lightheadedness takes over, causing you to fall straight on top of him. The small size of you is barely enough to push his large frame over, leaving you sat in his lap against his gun— wait why would his gun be in the middle of his pants—oh…Your face turns a deep red but embarrassment is something neither of you have the time or patience for. The contact releases a lengthy groan from Simon and his hips grinding upwards has you moaning with need. 

“Fuck what’s causing this”

“i done have a clue but right now i dont give a fuck i just need to fucking consume every part of you.” His words cause more moans to come out from your mouth. You get to work tugging down his pants pulling out his long fully erect dick, the tip is a pulsing aggressive red and it’s covered in thick throbbing veins. Your hand barely wraps around the girth of it and you’re sure you can’t take all of it, imagining Simon trying to fit it inside of you, prompts more moans to fall from your mouth. This train of dirty images are cut short as Simon flips you on your back, his fingers tug and pull at your suit while you yelp from the sudden movement. Finally his hands take opportunity of the rips caused by your fall, practically tearing the stretchy skin-tight material from you body leaving your top half completely bare. 

“Fuck arent you just beautiful, been hiding all of this the whole time you’ve been on the team huh?” He growls against your skin covered by a thin sheen of sweat. He licks from your neck down to your right nipple and then to your left one. Grabbing the two soft squishy fats of skin into his big hands he pushes them together rubbing his face between the two, “god love your tits so fucking much just molded to fit right in my hands huh”. Unable to reply you simply let out breathy moans at his rough actions.

Crawling lower to where your neediest he runs his hand along you suit covered pussy, feeling the wetness drench the material the more he rubs against you. “Who knew we had such a fucking slut on the team, pussy’s so fuckin’ wet just begging to get filled by a thick cock like mine”. You nod your head, “yes yes please fuck me mmm”. He grabs onto the ripped material at your thigh creating an even larger hole to access your pussy, your suit—if you can even call it that anymore—is now just two scraps of material covering your calves. “Guess i gotta give this whore what she wants” he replies slapping your tits as you moan. “Mhm please touch me, fuck me anything I need you so bad” 

“aw just begging for this cock aren’t you…i don’t think you should have it just yet though, i mean you’re the one who got us into this mess in the first place, isn’t that right?” 

“What no no hhnng please do something anything” at this he lowers himself to lie on his front, grabs onto your hip and drags your pussy a few inches from your face. Immediately you thrust your hips forwards keen for any skin to skin contact. “Mm shit such a pretty pussy just like your pretty face, soaking wet for me” he brings his fingers to your mouth, pushing them past your lips, you suck on them just like you would on his cock drenching the two fingers in copious amounts of spit  bobbing your head up and down. While you were busy with that he lifts up his mask to his nose and sticks out his tongue to lick a large stripe from your ass to clit, finally relieving you as your head falls back against the soft cushions of the petals. 

His first taste of you. He goes wild. Biting at your inner thighs and kissing his way to your sex. Spit is falling from his lips all over your pussy as his mouth travels up and down to every crevice of your vagina. The sinful sounds echo across the eerily silent forest as he plunges two of his spit covered fingers into you, the large size of them easily reaching deeper than your small dainty ones have ever. You’re unable to control your moans as he further stimulates your clit with his mouth and tongue while his fingers push and rub against your g-spot. Your juices drip against his chin mixing with his spit creating more and more fluid to rub all over his face. “Im gonna cum omg Simon fuck keep going”

“just like that baby cum all over me”. With one last curl of his fingers against your walls you feel yourself let go releasing a waterfall of your cum in his mouth and drenching his face in the process. He laps you up like a dog starved of thirst “mmh good fucking slut, gonna reward you now. Stuff my whore nice and full with this dick”

His hands grab your hips flipping you over with a soft thud, pulling your ass flush against his stiff cock positioning your back into a deep arch. He enters you in one swift go smacking your ass as he thrusts in and out. Your nails grip into the petals the same way his did on your ass forming crescent shaped marks across your plump skin. You were sure to wake up with marks everywhere tomorrow, from bites to bruises. 

“Ahhh so good, nice and full now aren’t you, fuckin’ slut was waiting for this to happen weren’t you, probably fell on purpose, wore this tight suit hoping I’d just fuck you” 

“Yesyesyes please let me cum please sir” “let go baby” 

Once again you fall apart on Simons cock tightening and pulsing around the thick intrusion. He drives into you harder getting closer to cumming as you go dumb on his dick. His hand pushes your face into the comfort of the silky petals and your a drooling mess, with the only thought in your head being the way his cook feels inside of you as his balls slap loud and heavily against your clit. The feeling of your wet channel tightening from the overstimulation of his pumping has him reaching his climax, one last hard inward thrust of his hips has him releasing his hot load in you, the amount almost inhumane as it starts spilling out onto the sides of his cock, a white foamy ring of your mixed cum reaching the base. 

He gently pulls out, eyes fixated on the heavenly sight of his cum oozing out from your hole, running down your clit to the petals you lay on. Your laying there like a descended angel with dazed eyes..and the last thing you remember is seeing Simon remove his jacket and crawl over towards you, gently placing a kiss on your forehead. 

(unedited)

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley #call of duty #ghost x reader #cod smut #ghost mw2 #call of duty smut #simon riley smut #cod x reader #ghost smut #smut

[petrapalerno]

Submitting to the Alien Barbarian #7

Alien x fem reader, a dom/sub erotic short.

TW/CW: rough consensual sex, primal play, knotting, breeding, aliens, dominance/submission, blood play, spanking, pregnancy, overstimulation, anal play, gagging and violence.

MASTER POST

PREVIOUS

You and Drohako have gotten into something close to a routine over the past few weeks.

When you wake, he stuffs you full of weird alien food. There must not be a polite way to decline a meal for the Volkroth because anytime you've wrinkled your nose or pushed a bite away, he refuses to accept no for an answer.

He wants you stuffed in more ways than one.

Once you finish eating, Drohako fucks and uses for hours. You can’t even keep track of how many times you’ve had to use your safe word for overstimulation alone.

The big purple alien barbarian, to his credit, listens even though he made a sour face at your refusals.

Then, once you’re spent and slick with seed, he carries you into the healing spring. The planet’s blood, as he calls it, and tends to your wounds.

There’s this dichotomy inside of him. The brute who wants nothing more than to rut you raw, and the mate who needs to make sure you’re alright.

It makes each side of your encounters all that more intense, to know that he’s capable of both.

You chew the rough textured meat, turning your head only catching him staring at you.

“Do I have something on my face?” you joke, wanting to break the tension.

“No,” he mumbles.

There’s a terse few moments where his eyes stay locked on you, something you can’t read behind his eyes.

It’s cut short when Grasyi whines, ready to be let out to hunt.

Despite its terrifying appearance, the big yellow cat has grown on you. You often wake up to him dropping some giant half dead bird at your feet. The act isn’t one you particularly enjoy, but you understand the sentiment.

“Good boy,” you wince as you kick the headless turkey sized thing off your feet.

It sits back on its muscular haunches, and pants. The feline face contorts to something almost like a smile. If a smile could be so...toothy.

“A small one today, eh?” He eyes the carcass that is anything but small to you.

Drohako loves the beast for as much as he complains about it. You witnessed some of his deep and guarded gentleness when you watched him tend to the creature’s injured paw. With careful extraction, he removed the large thorn that caused it to limp, with little reaction.

When the creature nuzzled Drohako’s face, you were in damn near shock to see him smile.

It's not a smirk or a cunning smile, but a smile filled with warmth. A smile of affection.

He walks over to the creature with a sigh and holds the flap to ‘home cave’ open.

With one firm slap of its muscular rump, he sends it off into the brutal red world that is this planet.

You take another bite of the massive bird. Drohako roasted it over a skewer earlier today, yet another of the Grasyi’s fresh kills.

“He cares for you, you know,” he tells me before sitting down next to me.

“I suppose.” I’m preoccupied with chewing through the gristle heavy meat. While I have no complaints about the alien dick here, the food leaves much to be desired.

“Think he’d ever let me ride him?” I ponder, remembering the few times I’ve seen Drohako ride him to fetch water or supplies.

“The bond between a Grasyi and rider is a spirtual one, I don’t think it’s possible,” he frowns at your request.

“Even though I’m your ‘mate’?” You ask, wiggling your fingers in the air as if the word mate is magic.

The corner of his mouth ticks up in amusement.

“That, I’m unsure of. The last volkroth mated pair was long before I was even born,” He says, a bit more wistfully than I expect.

“What happened to them, the mates?”

“The female Volkroth?” He muses. “They died out, we adapted. We’re lucky our young gestate outside a womb, otherwise my species would be doomed.”

“So you’re telling me that every Volkroth female just…died?” I’m so confused about how that would even be possible.

“Yes, fewer and fewer females were born until there were none left. Then the males whose seed refused to take in other species lines died too,” He tells me quietly, trying to look unaffected by information he’s conveying. “The spawning pits were a necessity, to breed females, and to introduce genetic diversity. It’s the only way we could continue the volkroth way of life.”

“And you mated me, some human from a space station that’s a glorified hunk of space junk?”

I’m flabbergasted. What would make me so special?

“You’re the first human I’ve ever seen in the pits,” his voice deepens as he puts his huge square hand on your thigh. The muscles of your body instantly stiffen, the anticipation of what’s coming quickly heating your core to liquid magma.

“I think I knew what you were when I saw you in the dirt, eyes wide and wet,” he whispers, leaning closer to you.

"Knew what?" You ask, almost salivating with anticipation. He has your body trained to crave his touch.

“That you were different, you were a worthy opponent...you were mine,” he growls, clasping the column of your throat.

Your eyes roll back as he squeezes the sides of your neck. He pulls you forward against the fur hides you sit on. His body swivels over your own and suddenly your face down. His thick limbs are caging you in.

There’s a flame lit shadow spreading out on the floor in front of you. Drohako’s a silhouette is one of pure power. It gives the illusion of some ripped shadow demon dancing with the crackling fire.

“Mine to do with as I please, to fill every hole as I wish too,” you hear a squelching noise as he speaks, then something slick and warm being slathered in the cleft of your ass.

“Drohako...” you warn, “I’ve never put something there before, let alone something as big as you,” you’re nervous at the thought of him fucking your ass with his monster cock.

“You have your safe word,” he mutters as he works the tip of his finger past your tight ring.

“Oh okay,” you breathe, adjusting to the new nerve sensations that he’s found.

“I don’t want to put both my cocks inside your tight hole,” he growls, "just one, so I save the other for your sweet cunt." He acts like it’s no big deal. But just one of his cocks is still the most massive thing you’ve ever had inside of you.

“Fuck Drohako,” you press your hips back, and he slides further inside, the muscles of your ass resist as he breeches it deeper.

“I want to stuff you full,” he says, adding a second finger slowly inside your backdoor. His other hand finds your clit, stroking it with long, firm strokes. The pleasure he creates at the apex of your legs has things feeling more relaxed around back. You breathe deep, willing your body to accept the fingers he’s feeding into you.

It feels...better than you thought it would. It’s an entirely unfamiliar sensation than when he fucks your pussy, but not a bad one. The sensations grow more pleasurable with each passing second.

“I’ll stretch this taut bud until it’s good and ready for my cock. It’ll fit,” he says confidently. “You’re made for me, you’re my mate,” He tells you before pumping his hand more roughly. Spreading his fingers wide, stretching you further before a third finger works past your subconscious resistance.

There’s a burn, but you like it.

Drohako raises your ass up and notches his shaft at your pussy’s entrance.

He is not gentle with this familiar hole, and you don’t think you’d want him to be. He slams deep, grunting with the effort it takes to keep his other cock from entering the promised land as well.

You claw at the dirt as the combination of his fingers on you clit, inside your ass, and his thick manhood buried deep in your pussy is fucking decadent.

He throbs inside you and your channel clenches.

“I will not go slowly. I need to fill you completely,” he groans with about as much warning as you’re liable to get from him.

You are unprepared for the feeling of him stuffing your ass. He has you arching your back like a cat at the burning stretch of his cock. A reflexive hiss leaving your  lips.

Drohako, savoring the tightness of you around him, stills his hips as he rakes his hands down the skin of your back.

“Made for me,” he growls as he withdraws both cocks nearly completely before slamming himself home again, all while furiously working your clit.

As he fills you, the air leaves your chest in one big hiss.

“Drohako,” you sob, unable to parse the current of sensation that’s running through you.

Deeply, he dives back in. You can feel the dual friction of both sides of the thin strip of flesh that separates your channels. Having his cock pounding into your ass makes the shaft in your pussy grind against your g-spot. The impact has you curling your toes.

“So tight, so perfect. Choke my cocks,” his voice huffs ruthlessly.

You’re being fucked into a gasping silence as your face is pushed against the ground. Your nerves fire at all once, the intensity of which is almost too much.

You’re clenching your ass tightly as you feel the thrum of approaching oblivion.

The slap of his heavy balls against your cheeks as he picks up his pace.

You feel yourself draw up tightly, and with a final flick of your clit you come apart into a seizing storm of pleasure.

“Fuck!” Drohako growls, releasing your clit only to grab you by the hips. He lifts you off the ground as he bounces you on his cocks, one hand pressing hard on the small of your belly while he uses the other to grab you by the throat.

“Do it,” you choke out, “empty yourself into me,” you’re sobbing, his pounding pushing your orgasm further. The edges of your senses fuzz and blur.

You feel the cock in your ass fire first, pumping thick loads into the uncharted territory. The throbbing shaft in your pussy is quick to follow, and the staggered sensation of both dicks exploding inside you is enough to push you over the edge again.

You shake, as he places you face down on the ground again. His cocks futilely search for each other. They seek to knot like they do in your pussy, but their division just lets them probe deeper. They hit new pleasure centers you’ve never imagined before.

There’s a suction as both of his shafts leave you. Your ass gapes, and both holes drip with hot cum as he does.

“Good girl,” he tells you, stuffing a thick knuckle at the entrance of your pussy.

You’re a mewling, wiggling. Words lost to some snapping pleasure.

“So good for me, so tight and greedy for my cocks,” he coos, laying it on thicker than normal.

He’s softer when he needs to be, you remind yourself. Gentle even, for a barbarian.

You don’t hate it.

He gathers you up, slipping both your bodies into the warm planet’s blood. You’re not even sure you need it, despite the new experience today.

Drohako made sure your ass could take him. He took his time. But as the warm waters wash over, you don’t mind the comfort they provide.

He cradles your body as you let your eyes close, trying to ride the wave of endorphins as long as possible.

BEEP.

You snap your eyes open. The digital noise is distinctly out of place in this primitive setting.

“What was that?” You look up to Drohako’s forlorn face. His hand cups your cheek, a finger straying to trace your ear.

“You’re pregnant, you’ll be retrieved to go to the nesting grounds soon,” his eyes shimmered with some unspoken pain.

You raise your hand up, feeling the metal cuff. It was punched into your cartilage before your arrival. A safety measure, they said.

You forgot about the tracking device.

BEEP.

It sounds again, shrill and sharp. An orange light flashes from it, casting a sickly glow on the purple face above you.

“Do we go now?” you ask him, your expression dazed.

“They will come for you,” he says, his voice cracking.

“I...We knew this time would come,” you say, nervous about the next step in your journey.

“They will not take you from me,” he growls, gripping you even tighter.

“Drohako,” you pry at his hand as his nails bite into your skin, “calm down. I’ll be back,” you tell him, cupping a hand to his cheek.

“You will not, they will ship you to a different spawning pit in the name of genetic diversity,” the barbarian’s breathing is becoming frantic."I will kill anyone who dares to take you from me," He drags us from the pool quickly, grabbing one of the many blades stashed through the cave.

“Come and you shall meet death!” he screams toward the entrance.

NEXT

#monster fucker #monster fuqqer #monster smut #monsterfuqqer #monster romance #monster lover #smut #terato #aliens #i love aliens #alien romance #alien x reader #alien x human #alien #Petra palerno #STTABshort

[littlenightma]

Hello. I hope this request is not strange. Can you write a Yandere Jeeper Creepers headcanon?

Yandere!Jeepers Creepers Headcanons (NSFW)

• Your scent was intoxicating and it called to him like a siren’s song. He drops his latest kill to the ground. He had to find the source of the delicious smell or he was going to go insane. As he searches, he is bombarded with an assemblage of differentiating scents, but none of them are yours. Where are you, sneaky human? He flaps his wings harder until he is nothing but an unrecognizable blur in the sky.

• And there you are, pinned beneath him, screaming and squirming. Talons dig into your skin. Muscles ripple beneath your hands as you futilely try to pry away. He trails his nose everywhere, sniffing and scanning, searching for something. You think, this is it. This thing is going to rip me to shreds. He finally comes to a stop between your legs. Ah, there it is. To your horror he buries his face there and inhales deeply and rises with a toothy grin. He is going to enjoy you.

• Unfortunately for you, Creepers mate for life, so unless something terrible happens and you die, you’re stuck with him forever. Mating lets him to bypass the 23 year hibernation cycle, too, so yeah, until you die, you belong to the Creeper.

• There’s no use in running. He can track you from miles away and will find you every time. Not to mention he will be very displeased and will rip whoever helps you apart. All those times he allowed you to leave the den for a few hours are long gone.

• Creeper doesn’t talk much — and it depends on if he has vocal cords on him at the time — but every now and again he calls you different pet names from little human, pretty pet, or a simple mate/pup because he senses how you like it. His main form of communication is through body language or vocalization. When he growls you know you’re in trouble or when he tenses and his ears perk, it means there is someone or something nearby and you are expected to hide until it’s safe to come out.

• You do most of the talking because of this. Whenever he brings home bodies to “work on”, he listens to you ramble about different things: the weather, politics, or the new tv show you’ve been watching. He doesn’t understand a lot of it like why humans feel the need to buy their food when there was a plenty of animals to be hunted or why there were some who refused to eat meat altogether, but it doesn’t matter to him as long as he gets to hear your voice.

• Very territorial. Does not like when males of any species get close to you. Human, feline, canine, it doesn’t matter, however humans can get you pregnant and if that were to happen, he’d have no choice but to kill the offspring. No mate of his was going to bear any children that didn’t belong to him.

• Will scent and mark you to let others know you are already claimed. If anyone wants to fight for the right to have you, they can certainly try, but you know what’s going to happen, right? It’s not going to end well for them.

• You know who is in charge here, don’t you? You humans deemed yourselves the apex predators, top of the food chain, but it’s certainly not him rolled onto his back and displaying his belly in a show of submission. Such a good little pet you are.

• You’re unprepared for when he knots you the first time. Your initial reaction is to move away, however the knot is connecting you to him and will not budge, causing pain. You have no choice but to lay there and allow it to lodge itself further inside you. It’s intense, the feeling of his knot invading you, stretching you more than his monstrous cock did. You can’t believe you’re being fucked like an animal in the literal sense and how it’s even remotely possible for your human body to be adjusting so well. Wasn’t your body supposed to instinctively push out anything foreign? So why was your body greedily sucking him in and why was it starting to feel so good? Oh…

• When you’re on your period, it sends him into a state of frenzy and he will not leave you alone. The combination of your blood mixed with your pheromones are begging him to breed you. While it is impossible for him to impregnate humans, you’re still going to be put on your hands and knees, ass up and ready so he can fuck you all night long.

• And when I say all night long — I mean it. There are no breaks, no time outs, no breathers for you to take. It’s just him pounding into you relentlessly until his knot forms then it’s rinse and repeat. It’s messy, it’s sticky, and the more you cry out, the harder he goes. If you reach behind and grab his hips, pulling him close because you’re needing more is exactly how he wants you; a pleading, blood-soaked, cock drunken mess. You will never have to worry about having cramps again because he will fuck them right out of you.

• Loves to play fight. One because he wants you to learn how to properly pounce and pin prey to the ground. The more you learn to give into your own primal instincts that humans have all but lost long ago and learn to protect yourself when he isn’t around, the less he has to worry. Two, because of the social aspect of it. He likes spending time with his human and enjoys when you try your best to get the upper hand. Sometimes he will let you win, but there’s no changing the dynamics here. He will always play the dominate role.

• Takes you on impromptu flying trips. At first you were too scared to open your eyes to even look at anything and he has to jostle you until you do. It’s scary to know you’re that high in the air, but the fear eventually gives way and you begin to enjoy the wind blowing in your face.

• On those rare occasions when the Creeper isn’t out and prowling for himself, he rests you on top of his chest and cocoons you within his wings, locking them tight. He hums an old tune while scratching your back with his claws and eventually you are lulled to sleep, dreaming of a winged creature who has turned your life upside down.

• But maybe not for the worst.

#jeepers creepers x reader #jeepers creepers #jonathan breck #slasher x reader #slasher fandom #slasher community #yandere #jeepers creepers (2003) #slasher headcanons

[galactic-magick]

But Then I Saw You: Adam Warlock x Reader

Summary: Adam can’t take his eyes off you and he doesn’t understand why.

Words: 0.7k+

Warnings: SPOILERS!!

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Adam was slowly but surely learning to navigate his new life—a far different one than he ever thought he’d be living.

Between missions with the other Guardians, his new home is Knowhere. He has his own small apartment with an overlook of the city, and he’s been trying to inegrate himself into the community. It’s difficult, considering he violently destroyed the place less than a year ago, yet he’s made a decent amount of friends.

There’s one person he still hasn’t figured out how to talk to, though, and that’s you.

Adam sees you around town nearly everyday, and the sight of you always makes him feel something different. He doesn’t understand why he can’t just talk to you like he does everyone else, the nervousness always stopping him. He’s been made well aware that he left his cocoon too early, and therefore isn’t fully developed, but this feeling isn’t something he ever heard mentioned by his mother or his people.

“Ya know, it’s a good thing you don’t have laser eyes or something, because they’d be dead from all your staring,” Rocket jokes, catching Adam looking at you again.

“I don’t know why I can’t stop looking at them,” Adam says.

“Sounds like you got a crush, golden boy,”

“I am Groot,” Groot agrees.

“What’s a crush?” Adam asks, intrigued.

“Oh, geez, do I have to be the one to explain it to him?”

Groot steps up, wrapping a vine around Adam’s shoulders, “I am Groot. I am Groot, I am Groot. I am Groot! I am Groot?”

“Yeah, that makes sense. I guess we just don’t usually have those romantic type feelings in my species. We reproduce through genetic engineering and birthing pods, so we don’t have the need to be attracted to each other like that,”

“Okay, so what’s wrong with you then?” Rocket laughs.

“I don’t know,” Adam catches another glance at you. “But maybe it’s not a bad thing,”

“I am Groot?”

Rocket cackles again, “No way am I giving him dating advice, Groot. Go ask Drax or something, he’s the one who’s been married before,”

-

Adam doesn’t waste much time, so later that day he asks Drax how he should talk to you. Of course Draw tells him about how he met his wife, talking about his attraction to her in graphic detail. Adam hangs onto every word, taking everything in as if he’d be quizzed on it. He asks lots of questions, trying to figure out how best to express his interest in you. Eventually he thinks he has it down, so next time he sees you, he’s determined to make his move.

Fortunately, that time comes pretty fast, and he sees you sitting in the main square on his way home. He sits beside you, attempting to be somewhat covert and casual.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you reply with a smile. “You’re Adam, right?”

“You know who I am?”

“Well, yeah, everyone here knows who you are,” you shrug. “Plus I see you staring at me a lot so I’ve asked some people what your deal is,”

Adam loses his entire train of thought, quickly realizing his plan had already failed. He clearly already weirded you out by his behavior, and he didn’t want to further discomfort you.

“I’m sorry,” are the only words he finds to say.

“Why?” you laugh. “I’m not mad, I’ve just been waiting for you to actually talk to me,”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’ve been wanting to know what’s so interesting about me. Do I look like someone you knew or something?”

He’s relieved to know you’re not upset with his terrible social skills, but he still doesn’t know quite how to respond. How is he to explain how seeing you makes him feel?

“The truth is,” he starts, “I thought my people were supposed to be the most beautiful and perfect species in the universe...but then I saw you,”

Now it’s your turn to lose all words and thoughts from your mind. Is the Adam Warlock into you?

“I never meant to scare you, and I understand if you don’t feel similar feelings towards me,” he stand up, “I hope you have a lovely evening,”

“Wait, hang on Adam,” you stop him from leaving. “Why didn’t you just ask me out?”

“Out where?”

You laugh, his confusion endearing, “Anywhere, goldie. I need to get to know you better before I decide if I like you too, don’t I?”

“Ah, yes! Great idea,” he nods. “I will ask you out tomorrow, then,”

“Not now?”

“I need to go home now to feed my pet,”

“Of course,” you smile. “Tomorrow, then,”

He flies up into the air, leaving you to look forward to whatever he comes up with.

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Read this to make a Guardians request!

#adam warlock x reader #guardians of the galaxy x reader #gotg x reader #adam warlock #guardians of the galaxy #gotg #guardians of the galaxy vol 3 #gotg 3

[mostlymaudlin]

would you still love me if i was a worm?

ive always wanted to manufacture a situation where andrew gets to ask neil this bc i just think he deserves to be a ridiculous bf who seeks validation in silly, petty ways <3 and i think I’ve finally got something — it’s def silly but that’s the point lmfao

Andrew wakes when Neil gets up to pee.

“Sorry,” Neil whispers, brushing his knuckles against the back of Andrew’s hand as he slips out of their bed.

Andrew doesn’t bother trying to fall back asleep immediately. He’ll just wake up again when Neil returns. Instead, he pulls his phone from under the pillow and scrolls through iFunny, staring blearily at memes that do not live up to the app’s name and fighting sleep.

By the time Neil gets back, Andrew has lost the ability to move his heavy thumb, his eyes drooping as he stares at a pixelated screenshot of a screenshot of a Tweet posted to Facebook. Neil takes the phone out of his lax grip, turning off the screen and shoving it back under the pillows.

“Go to sleep,” Neil whispers. Andrew opens one eye to glare at him. He would still be sleeping if Neil hadn’t chugged a whole can of seltzer water right before bed and damned them both. Unfortunately for Andrew, the act of looking at Neil in his rumpled, tired state only makes his chest go tight in that angry, riotous way that only Neil can inspire in him. He shifts closer to Neil, pushing at his shoulder until Neil gets the message and rolls onto his side. Andrew presses up against Neil’s back, shoving his face into his bedhead and inhaling deeply. One arm wraps tightly around Neil’s waist, the other wiggles underneath the pillow they now share. Andrew throws a knee over Neil’s thigh for good measure. Neil sighs happily, resting his palm over the back of Andrew’s hand where it rests on his chest.

The lure of sleep threatens to pull him back under, but the meme he’d been staring at is still burned into the backs of his eyelids.

“Hey,” Andrew murmurs into Neil’s hair. Neil hums in acknowledgment. “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

Neil stiffens for a second, and it takes a beat for Andrew to register that they don’t really use that word. They talked about it once, a few years ago. Neither of them have anything against it, but agreed it felt shallow. Andrew thinks the word sometimes, when his brain is too lazy to be specific about what exactly Neil stirs in him. It doesn’t really matter. It’s just a word. He presses a kiss to Neil’s shoulder, and Neil relaxes immediately.

“I don’t know,” Neil says. “Why would you be a worm? How would I even know who you were?”

“You’re supposed to say yes,” Andrew says, squeezing in reprimand. “That your feelings for me transcend species.”

“Okay, well, mine don’t,” Neil says. “Worms are gross.”

In a flash of irritation, Andrew releases Neil and rolls back to his own side of the bed.

“Andrew,” Neil says, sitting up. “You can’t seriously be upset about this.”

“I can do whatever I want,” Andrew says.

“I mean, yeah,” Neil says, interrupted by a yawn. “But you’re not a worm. And I do love you.”

Andrew wrinkles his nose, flopping onto his back. “That’s gross.”

Neil huffs. He reaches a hand toward Andrew, waiting for Andrew to roll his eyes and nod before running his fingers through Andrew’s hair.

“It’s true,” Neil says. “And also based on reality.”

“Whatever,” Andrew says, he catches Neil’s wrist and tugs. “Come here.”

They resume their earlier position. When they finally settle, the slow, steady rhythm of Neil’s chest rising and falling has Andrew’s consciousness slipping. He jolts a bit when Neil speaks again.

“Would you love me if I was a worm?”

“Yes,” Andrew says, even though Neil is so annoying that Andrew should squeeze him until he pops.

“What would that even look like?” Neil asks. “Would you kiss my worm body?”

“I’d put you in a little worm enclosure,” Andrew murmurs, eyes closed. “I’d get you good worm food and toys, and keep you in a room where you could see Exy games on TV.“

“Oh,” Neil says. “That’s really nice, actually.”

“Mmhmmm.”

“I’d do that too,” Neil says, yawning again. “But different. I’ll think about it more tomorrow.”

Andrew doesn’t really care anymore. He’s warm, and he’s human, he’s holding a warm and human Neil. Sleep finally pulls him back under.

#my writing #shdjfjdjfjf I’ve been trying to do something w this for so long y’all have no idea 🤣 #aftg #aftg fic #flash #Andreil

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Lottie; a pocketful of Kons.

Bruce went to make a call and Dick went to call off work, because Tim getting a Pocket of not-Superman is concerning and going to require some all-hands-on-deck Bat-investigation, and Alfred went to get lunch started, because he’s a better man than any of them and a true hero to the people. 

And Tim is currently sitting in the cave with a Pocket who still refuses to take off the cape, and since it's no masks in the manor, he's kind of stuck down here for now. 

He wonders who this guy actually is, because while there are plenty of people out there who can shapeshift or whatever, a Pocket is supposed to reflect who they actually are. It's incredibly, incredibly rare for a Pocket to shapeshift at all, in fact, unless they're from a society or species where it's common from birth. Like–Martian Pockets shapeshift, apparently. 

Do they show up shapeshifted, though? And then stay that way? Because that part–that part seems weird. Like, definitely weird. 

Tim actually didn't even know he liked guys, but he hasn't even had time to deal with that weird internal realization because the specific guy that showed up is Superman. Like, not actually Superman, according to Bruce, and Bruce is usually right about these things, but . . . 

Well, then who is he? 

“You don’t make any sense,” Tim says, eyeing his Pocket. “Why do you look like Superman?” 

“Rob!” his Pocket chirps happily, grinning up at him from his seat at the Pocket-sized tea table with a Pocket-sized plate of Alfred’s Pocket-sized cookies and a Pocket-sized rack of Pocket-sized clothes he is Pocket-sized ignoring. He doesn’t seem to like the tea and absolutely hates the clothes, but he definitely likes the cookies. 

Tim probably should hurry up and name him, if only because he clearly does care about names and Tim doesn't want to upset him again. But also, it’s making him crazy to have a mystery right here and be completely unable to solve it. It’s not as if he can question a Pocket, especially not a brand-new one that only knows his name and his codename, and there’s not exactly any evidence to follow or anything, so . . . 

So he doesn’t know, exactly. 

Maybe he should just focus on what’s in front of him right now. Name his Pocket, get him settled in, talk him into some glasses. Maybe find him some more cookies, if the opportunity arises. 

He just–doesn’t know what to do long-term here, he guesses. Taking home a full-grown adult Pocket isn’t exactly going to thrill his dad, for starters, especially because said adult is a man and Tim didn’t even know he wasn’t straight, much less ever tell him he wasn’t straight. And that’s ignoring how badly getting his Pocket out of the cape is going. And he just . . . he doesn’t know. 

“I don’t even know what to name you,” he groans. “I don’t know who you are. I was supposed to know who my Pocket came from before I had to name them!” 

His Pocket frowns, looking hurt. Tim immediately feels like an asshole. A Pocket turning up before you meet your soulmate is supposed to be a good thing, he knows. That’s what everybody says. It means the bond’s going to be stronger. 

At least Superman he’s actually met a couple times. He knows absolutely nothing about whoever his Pocket actually is. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he tries, still feeling like an asshole. “I just–I don’t even know what you’re like. I want to think of a good name for you."

His Pocket looks a little mollified, but still smaller and quieter than he was acting before. Tim’s not sure if that’s because he sucks at this or because Bruce and Dick and Alfred are gone and he has fewer people to show off for. Whoever his Pocket is, they’re definitely a show-off. Just–very definitely. 

Opposites attract, Tim guesses. The only time he shows off is when he’s trying to draw fire or provide a distraction.

He really expected to get to know his soulmate for a while before a Pocket ever showed up, assuming he ever got a Pocket at all. Probably a pretty long while, given how bad he is at getting close to people. A Pocket showing up out of nowhere before he’s even met the person they came from, when he has no idea who that person even is . . . 

Well, that’s not something he’s planned for. Or been ready for. Or . . . 

He wonders how close they’re going to be, if his Pocket showed up this early. Even if he walked upstairs right now and found his soulmate delivering a package at the door or something, which seems unlikely, it’s just–early. 

Tim doesn’t know why he’d get a soulmate bond that strong. Like–why would he? 

People don’t like him enough to have a bond like that with him. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, and looks away from the Pocket of someone who doesn’t even know him yet, much less care that he exists. 

“Rob?” his Pocket says, sounding concerned. Tim feels like an idiot and just–tries to concentrate on thinking of names. “S” ones, maybe. “S” is a place to start, no matter who his Pocket actually is. His best operating theory right now is Supergirl, actually, because she does have shapeshifting powers, doesn’t she? And also some identity issues, according to Bruce. And showing up as Superman actually might make sense for a Pocket that’d come from her, given she was partially based off him when she was created, so maybe . . . 

“What about ‘Shift’ or ‘Shape’?” he suggests, looking back to his Pocket, who immediately makes a face at both ideas. “Alright, gonna take that as a no. Um . . . ‘Steel’? ‘Synapse’? I don’t know, ‘Stunt’?” 

His Pocket keeps fucking pulling stunts, so it’s tempting, anyway. Or . . . her personality? If he/she is Supergirl, he means. 

Does Supergirl actually have a gender identity, come to think? Is that a thing for shapeshifting protoplasmic lifeforms? 

Hm. Worth looking into, maybe. 

Tim’s Pocket looks considering about “Stunt”, but Tim’s interrupted from gauging his (or her) full reaction by Dick coming back down the stairs. He’s not in costume anymore, and has Red’s wheelchair cupped in one hand and Star floating over his opposite shoulder. Tim’s Pocket doesn’t seem interested in Dick’s arrival, but he chirps excitedly at the sight of Red and Star. Red clicks back and Star croons, flying over to hug him. He grins delightedly and hugs her back, nuzzling into her ridiculous amount of hair until he practically disappears in it. 

“Any luck on the name?” Dick asks as he sets Red down next to the table and she wheels over to Tim’s Pocket too and punches him lightly in the hip before getting a hug of her own. 

“He’s taking ‘Stunt’ under consideration, I think, though all things considered maybe I should’ve gone with ‘Stud’,” Tim says dryly, watching his Pocket take far too much pleasure in trying to hug Star and Red both at once while they avoid actually touching each other. 

“Oh, buddy,” Dick says with absolute pity as Tim’s Pocket lights up in absolute glee. 

“. . . fuck,” Tim realizes in dread, putting a hand over his face. Dick just pats his shoulder sympathetically. 

“Rob! Tim! Tim-Rob!” his Pocket crows happily, abandoning Star and Red to zip over to him and hug him instead. Or try to, anyway. Mostly he ends up smushed against his face and chattering in thrilled Pocket talk as he tries to pull Tim’s hand down. Tim refuses to let him. He’s not going to acknowledge this problem. He’s going to ignore this problem. This problem does not exist as long as he’s safe behind his hand. 

Unfortunately, Stud has super-strength, so that’s kind of a doomed effort there. 

Tim has no idea how he’s supposed to explain this to Bruce. 

#lottie #wip: a pocketful of kons #long post

[padawansuggest]

Obi-Wan: *having a panic attack stuck in the hold of a telepathic tree they aren’t sure is evil or not* I mean if it can’t eat me maybe it’s gonna infect my brain and turn me into a SITH-

Qui-Gon: Obi, Padawan mine, you need to stop thinking about it.

Obi-Wan: How am I supposed to stop thinking about a tree that feels things! Normally I can run from your Devil plants but this one isn’t even reacting to you!

Mace: Obi-Wan, you need to think of something else. Your own emotional panic is likely rebounding off it and causing a feedback loop. What’s the most annoying subject in your schooling right now?

Obi-Wan: …probably maths. They keep speaking numbers at me.

Mace: Exactly. You don’t like the numbers and the tree doesn’t like your panic. What you should be thinking about, is that eighteen page essay on the history of circumcision noted in five different species that you turned into your poetry master.

Obi-Wan: Hey, I got an A on that!

Mace: I know. She thought it was a study of the suffering of sentients by their own hand in a modern art format.

Obi-Wan: Maybe it was!

Qui-Gon: Is that why your biology master said you turned in a very cursed prophetic poem about a spider? That he had to ask the mind healers to look at?

Obi-Wan: Um. Sure. That must have been the reason.

Mace: Exactly. There is a lot more of interest out here to talk about-

Obi-Wan: I think the tree is possessed by a force ghost of a Sith who didn’t want to die a Sith but their master trapped them in the tree as a punishment.

Mace: …

Qui-Gon: …huh…

Mace: Is this normal for him?

Qui-Gon: Yeah you just mentioned the eighteen page paper on circumcision you know damn well this is right up his mental abilities.

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #incorrect star wars quotes #qui gon jinn #mace windu

[katherinearandez]

I don’t think Tessa is one of the good guys

I have a lot of questions about Tessa. What are her goals? Is she really on copper 9 for the reasons she told us in episode 6? Does she have hidden motives, and if so, what are they???

The lines of “morality” in this show are super squiggly, so by “good guy”, I mean an individual with positive or helpful intent toward the main characters - in this case, drones. The concept of Tessa bearing ill-intent for drones as a ‘species’ seemed contradictory at first: after all, she’s so nice to N, V and J, right? We’re talking about someone who, as a kid, saved zombie drones from the dump(cough, mass grave, cough) where their human owners left them to rot after creating them by means of improper disposal. Why would she want to kill drones? Especially in the same callous, procedurally improper ways that created the threat of Cyn to start out with?

Well…

Let’s not forget about the evil AI that massacred her family and the guests of their gala. AFTER Tessa took her in as an act of kindness, against her parents wishes. Parents who did seem to look down on her pretty severely, regularly chained her up in her room as punishment(you don’t install heavy duty, floor anchored chains for the occasional time out) and possibly kept her socially isolated???

That last point is pretty speculative, since a lot about the earth of N’s flashbacks screams post-apocalyptic vibes. Maybe there just aren’t a lot of humans left for Tessa to socialize with. Tessa’s dad reinforces this idea in his speech by listing “currently being alive” as an attribute the Elliots are known for. It could just as well be a meta joke(since they are killed in the next few seconds), so lacking more context, I hesitate to extrapolate from this point alone.

Anywho, back to Tessa’s callous drone murder. Even if her parents were crappy by the usual standards, she clearly didn’t want them/the other gala guests to die. She tried to save them by “murdering her a robo-child”. Idk, does this blacked out redacted image of Tessa in the aftermath of the massacre seem upset??

Reasonable assumption. So adult/older teen Tessa has changed the way she feels about drones after these traumatic events. Maybe she doesn’t outright hate them, but she views them from a colder, more pragmatic angle than she did in her younger years. Does she still feel empathy for them and the horrible mistreatment they suffer at the hands of humans? Probably. But she’s now aware of the danger they truly pose and has good reason to eliminate them to ensure the absolute solver mutation no longer has a pool of hosts in which to spread and evolve.

So why the callous drone murder at the end of episode 3? We know you’re supposed to follow a 2 step procedure for decommissioning drones. Software death via lethal injection of a kill program(sounds fun!), followed by hardware death via “core removal” to ensure the decommissioned drone doesn’t reboot with corrupted software and an “increased chance for future errors”.

Did she hastily kill this random drone to keep her arrival on copper 9 secret, foregoing procedure for the sake of urgency? If so, who is she keeping her presence secret from? Is it the remaining drone population of copper 9, who Cyn used to collapse the planet core and kill all humans there? Possibly, Uzi is a prime example of anti-human sentiment, and during Mr Doorman’s parent-teacher conference he mentioned being on a “kill all humans kick when he was her age”. Perhaps Tessa assumes all the c9 worker drones are hostile to humans.

When you start making assumptions about what characters are assuming, it’s generally a good time to stop and just accept you don’t have the answers 🫠 so that’s where I will cut that line of questioning short. That being said, I’m not quite done yet…

What’s with this shelf of small human skulls in Tessa’s room? Why are the trash robots she “rescues” her only friends? Do her parents chain her up in her room because they suck? Or… do they have reasons not yet revealed to us, the audience?

Tessa’s perception among most of the fan base is fairly positive and on the surface there’s good reason for this. She’s presented as peppy, compassionate(except toward that one worker drone, lmao), ~tenacious~ and resilient. Actions like salvaging drones from the dump and perceived displays of affection and warmth for the disassembly drones leave viewers with the impression that she’s a good, kind person.

There is, however, another light in which to view her actions, and it casts a shadow on the motives we may have assumed were pure up to this point.

While it’s easy to parse Tessa saving drones from the dump as an act of altruism, it can also be interpreted as sinister. It could be an example of a character with a savior complex; a power dynamic wherein the “savior” exerts control over those they “rescue” by taking advantage of their gratitude and using it in manipulative ways. If this is the case, Tessa’s motives take a sharp left turn, flipping from selfless and kind to egotistical and controlling.

The show actually gives us direct evidence of Tessa using manipulation to get her drones to do her bidding.

“It wants paid time off…”

This instance of her using corporate buzzwords to drive J into a rage strong enough for her to bite through metal chains. Or how about her outright lying to the drones at the start of episode 6? Asserting that her intention was to “burn to the ground” labs Cyn was interested in, while later that same episode revealing to N that her “true” purpose was to obtain a list of drones infected with the absolute solver?

Preeetty manipulative. She manipulated and/or coerced Doll as well, in order to obtain the keybug. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if come episode 7, she switches it up yet again, revealing a new manipulation or perhaps, finally, her real mission.

Tessa’s manipulation of the drones she supposedly cares about isn’t the only hint that she might have a savior complex or similar egocentric tendencies. She’s also shown that she’s not very respectful of the drones autonomy, another red flag that can signal a propensity for narcissism and the controlling behaviors associated with it.

N is the example this time.

Tessa’s signature greeting for N, which is to grab his face and swing him around with excitement that borders on aggression. Maybe it’s just me, but his expression doesn’t suggest it’s mutually enjoyed. Looks more to me like he’s uncomfortable and only humoring her pep because he feels like he has no choice… after all, none of Tessa’s “dumpster pets” want to let down their saving grace.

We see this same kind of contact again throughout episode 6, with Tessa grabbing N’s face as a greeting again, and also playing with his hair on the way down to cabin fever labs. The way Tessa interacts with the drones(J and V as well as N) shows that she sees them as objects in her possession, rather than friends, peers or their own individuals with unique thoughts, wants and feelings.

Uzi even calls her out on this very mindset at the end of episode 6 after Tessa asks her sardonically to “don’t date my robot, please.”

Granted, I’ve got no solid backing, just observation, speculation and a suspicious mind. Tessa could be a great person… “good” or “bad” though, she’ll definitely try to kill our main character sometime soon, so… yup. Killing even an anti-hero typically slots you into the bad guy category, even in a show where the moral lines between good and evil are so artfully blurred.

TLDR; I think there’s more to Tessa than meets the eye, and even though Cyn is still probably Murder Drones “big bad”, I feel like Tessa has an element of villainy to her that I hope will be further explored in canon.

#murder drones #uzi doorman #tessa james elliot #theory #serial designation n #serial designation j #serial designation v

[scary-lasagna]

Creepypastas reacting to a proxy in training with a large pair of wings who tends to crash land a lot due to not having mastered certain flight maneuvers(she ends up flying into trees a lot.)?

I love writing about worldbuilding and other species :)))

Winged!Proxy

Surprisingly, Slender will be the one to teach you. He knows a great deal about flying, wing types, and how different species of beings can travel.

He taught Zalgo how to fly properly, and now he’s one of the fastest demons around, now for the worst.

Although not sporting wings himself, he’s incredibly intelligent about it.

He will set you up on the highest roof of the manor, tied securely to a tether that will keep you from plummeting from the roof below.

And even so, he can teleport you back to safety if need be.

But he’s not too kind with his critiques, he will tell you if your posture is sloppy, or you panic your flaps too much.

The most common mistake is arching your back downward, due to lack of required core muscles.

“My dear [Y/N], it is your wings that are supposed to look like an ‘M’, not your spine.” He will say as he pushes you back into the proper shape.

He even has certain connections to winged folk, and may invite them over to answer any questions that he can’t answer.

You could decide to ask around the manor, and considering all of them are either human or don’t have wings, you come to loss.

But Tim will open your eyes to something you’ve never considered.

“Have you ever gone bird watching?”

“Every bird has a different style of flying, designed for what they’ve evolved for over time, even down to the lath and weight of their feathers. Eagles have a larger body and wingspan for strength and diving. Hummingbirds have curved wings for hovering. I’d say just grab a bird book from the library and match up what’s best for you.”

And so you thanked Tim greatly, and did as he said. And it turns out, Slender and you both were completely wrong about your species, finding out you had something else mixed it that was affecting your posture and your turning speed, no matter how hard you’d try.

You’re meant to fly long distances and up vertical structures, not zip through trees like you’ve been trying to do.

And from then on, learning has been much easier, a breeze, if you will. And Slender couldn’t be more proud of you!

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta imagines #creepypasta blog #slender #slender x reader #tim wright #creepypasta x reader #wings

[marlynnofmany]

Things to Do on Ice

I adjusted the heat shawl against my neck, tugging my collar over it to keep out the chill breeze. Heatseekers sure knew what they were doing when it came to warming devices. A regular scarf had nothing on this. It was almost enough to let me forget the snowy temperatures on this alien planet. 

Not that I could fully forget, with the snow drifting down into the streets anywhere there wasn't a storefront with a heat-field umbrella. The city-goers were from a range of species, and anyone who didn't have heavy fur was bundled up against the cold in some way. 

Even Zhee, who objected to coats on the grounds that they covered up his glorious purple exoskeleton, was sporting a range of scarves and bracelets that radiated heat. It seemed like an inefficient way to keep warm to me, but that was his business. 

Speaking of business, there were hours left before our ship was due to leave, and everyone was taking the chance to see the sights. Zhee and I had volunteered to scout out the tourism hub. Several others would be joining us shortly. 

“Is that the sports arena?” I asked when a wide building loomed ahead. 

“Yes.” Zhee pointed out a sign with his pincher arm. I'd missed it because of all the burly, yeti-like locals milling around in front of it. “One building, many sports, all open to anyone.” 

I was more than a little curious to see what sort of sports were played here. “Let's take a look! Paint and Eggskin will probably come here first anyway; it's bound to be warmer in there.” 

“A valid point,” Zhee agreed, stepping quickly. His clicky bug feet had the most adorable little booties on, for all the world like something a toddler would wear to keep from slipping on the kitchen floor. The sparkly thread woven through the rim probably meant they were high fashion where Mesmers were concerned. I hoped they were waterproof.

I tromped through the slush in my normal human boots, and soon enough we entered the arena doorway to a much more comfortable temperature. I found the control tab for the heat shawl and turned it off, though I left it draped under my shirt.

Zhee deactivated several bracelets. “A respectable range of sports,” he observed.

I scanned the signs. “I don’t recognize the names of any of these.”

“The viewing areas are this way,” Zhee said, padding off down the main hallway. “Perhaps you will recognize one if you see it in action.”

Surprisingly enough, I did.

“Is that hockey?” I asked a moment later, staring through the big window at the ice rink where two mixed teams of local yetis and offworld Smashers careened around in chase of something small. The full-body thumps vibrated through the floor.

“They’re calling it ‘puck chase,’ Zhee said, reading a sign.

“That’s amazing. We have this exact sport where I’m from.” I looked for differences. The puck looked bigger and heavier, and the sticks were a different shape. Judging by the amount of violence going on, the rules were probably different too. But it was very much the same on the surface, with goalies in front of nets and everything. “I suppose it’s an obvious sort of game to think up when there’s a lot of ice around, but still. I know a few people who would have loved to see this.”

Zhee sniffed. “It’s a bit pedestrian.”

“I suppose,” I said with a smile. “Not your style?”

“I’ve never been one for the more feminine sports,” Zhee said with a flick of his antennae.

“Feminine?” I asked.

He pointed with a pincher arm, keeping it carefully folded. “All this ‘protect the nest; steal the enemy’s egg’ nonsense.”

I blinked. “I guess that’s one way to think of it.”

“Judging by that sign though, there promises to be something more masculine down this way,” Zhee said. He headed off down the hallway.

I hurried to follow. The sign in question had another name I didn’t recognize, though I could guess. I dodged around a trio of yetis — which smelled like cinnamon and herbal tea, with none of the wet-dog scent I’d been subconsciously expecting. I reminded myself not to make unflattering assumptions, and caught up with Zhee just as he turned the corner.

“There we are!” he said in satisfaction. “Now that’s a sport. Even Trrili would have to appreciate this one.”

Figure skating. Aliens of a variety of body types and clothing styles glided around on the ice, leaping and spinning and generally being as flashy as they could. Somebody with wings was even doing a high-speed series of flips that were almost certainly a mating dance. Every skater moved past the others with elegance and grace, a far cry from the violence in the other room.

“I’ll be here for a while,” said Zhee’s voice, already farther away.

I turned to see him gliding toward the entrance to the arena, reactivating his heat bracelets and pulling a currency card from a belt pouch. A vending machine just inside the door looked like it sold force-field ice skates to fit any foot.

“All right, I’ll keep an eye out for the others,” I called after him, though I doubt he was listening. He disappeared through the door in a gust of cold air.

I looked around at the passersby, some of whom were watching the action with recording devices. I quietly got out my phone. I had a suspicion that seeing a praying-mantis-shaped alien strut his stuff in the manly art of ice dancing was about to be very memorable.

I was right.

~~~

Shamelessly inspired by this post.

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

#my writing #humans are weird #and so are the aliens #hfy #haso #eiad #humans are space orcs #science fiction #writeblr #writblr #culture clash #sports #gender #in spaaace

[ourfag]

conversation topic: dogs in the city. tiny dogs that scamper and gallop bc their legs are so short. big dogs that can't possibly fit in an apartment. purse dogs. dogs in outfits. also babies in hats. actually just what's the convo when they r browsing a lovely farmers market. 💐 happy sunday hope the weather's nice where u r

ed: oh fuck me, look at that one

stede: which

ed: there. that. i’m—pointing with my fucking elbow, look—

stede: d’you want me to take something? i can carry—

ed: just—shut up and look at that fat little baby, look

stede: oh. oh my lord

ed: with the pom poms

stede: i see what you mean

ed: little fuckin—

stede: on his booties

ed, a full octave up: on his little booties look

stede: i love when they’ve got the hats that make them look like starfish

ed: is he supposed to look like a starfish?

stede: little points on his hat. starfish arms

ed: that doesn’t look like a starfish, it looks like a jester

stede: what? no it doesn’t. the points are sticking straight up, that’s a starfish

ed: how many starfish have you seen whose arms end in jingle bells

stede: i—

stede: the world is vast, edward.

ed: see i just think—

stede: must i be accountable for every species of starfish?

ed: —if there’s a starfish with jingle bells then you’re the kind of person who’s gonna know it off the top of your head

stede: i’m sure there’s one out there

edward: ok. is this like when i floated the idea of horse with wheels

stede: ……well, not—

ed: it’s practical, save the horse a lot of effort

stede: —it’s unlikely. it’s unlikely

ed: see that’s a useful feature. what’s a starfish gonna do with a jingle bell

stede: i don’t know! celebrate??

ed: doesn’t even work underwater

stede: maybe it just wants to feel fancy once in a while, you don’t think a starfish ever wants to feel fancy?

ed: spaghetti dog

stede: that’s—now you’re just hybridising

ed, pointing in an altogether different direction: no, look, there’s one of those spaghetti dogs, look

stede, following ed’s elbow to an italian greyhound: ooh spaghetti dog

ed: spaghetti dog

stede: that one’s got a jacket on. stylish

ed: didn’t you say starfish were carnivores?

stede: it’s houndstooth though. is that a bit too on the nose? sorry—

ed: no you have a point

stede: —what about starfish and carnivores?

ed: oh, just—if the starfish’s got bells, won’t its prey hear it sneaking up

stede: well you said it yourself, bells don’t really work underwater

ed: huh

ed: now you think about it that’s actually—that’s kind of depressing

stede: oh no

ed: sorry i didn’t mean to—

stede: no, starfish baby dropped one of his little pom pom booties, look

ed: oh shit—aw look at his little toes he’s gonna get cold

stede: should we go over? is that—would that be weird?

ed: i dunno, maybe, but like, also kind of badass?

stede: …badass?

ed: yeah like we’re starfish baby’s bodyguards or something. like we’re not gonna smother him but we’re just—

stede: on the outskirts, right? to make sure he won’t be mobbed for autographs

ed: right cuz he’s a celebrity baby

stede: but then when he needs assistance, we’re—

ed: “you dropped this, sir”

stede: and then he takes it, very businesslike, because he’s a professional

ed: and he understands what we’re saying because he’s a genius baby as well

stede: yes

stede: well—normal babies can do that too

ed: what, understand you?

stede: yeah. i believe so

stede: what? what’s wrong?

ed, in quiet horror: i have said so much stupid shit in front of other people’s babies

#this took a while bc my brains been moving around a little and now its two sundays later sorry 😭 #thank you though! the weather HAS been nice it’s been raining a lot and the wetlands near where i walk is full of moss and skunk cabbage #i hope your day is wonderful too 🌸💕🧄 #this whole farmers market convo is taking place while ed’s arms are full of alpaca yarn btw. he’s in the middle of a crochet era