#(little success so far it still terrifies me)

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

working up the courage to put a watermark or a tag on my art like

[emmyrosee]

tw// cursing, yelling, long stints of fighting, Kiyoomi is a little toxic, blood, patching up injuries, broken noses, ANGST- please be safe friends ❤️

I talk a lot about Kiyoomi being an amazing sport about your clinginess, your closeness, and your affections, right?

But what about when he's not?

What happens when the one day you try to crawl into his skin, spilling your head over his shoulder and squeezing him tightly, peppering kisses over the side of his face and jawline, and when he asks you to please stop, you don’t.

“You’re just too yummy,” you say happily. You bite his ear, “this is your tax.”

He shrugs you off sharply, “I’m not paying the tax today.”

You stumble back slightly, regaining your footing and taking a step back from him. “I’m sorry… bad day?”

Bad day. Yeah. It was. He can’t fathom how bad today was, how every time he said anything, Miya was right in his ear simply talking, sending shivers of annoyance to course through kiyoomi’s veins. How Bokuto accidentally almost hit the ball straight to his face, his own intensity almost causing Kiyoomi the season. How meian benched him for being too intense, too much and needing to ‘cool off’ with every spike and scowl kiyoomi flails to the other side of the court. How the threats of sending him home for his attitude started, causing Kiyoomi to shut his mouth but white knuckle the rest of the day.

But kiyoomi doesn’t answer that like a normal person.

That would be too easy.

“Maybe I just don’t want you dangling off of me the second I walk in the door.”

His mind screams at him to shut up, but he can’t.

You take a deep breath in, “I didn’t know, I’m sorry. Usually you… you don’t mind-“

“Well maybe I should start minding.”

Shut up.

Your eyes hold betrayal as he spews his venomous words, your chest rising and falling as he balls his fists to try and ground himself.

“I’m sorry. I’ll think more about your feelings when I try to cuddle you.”

“What you do is not cuddling-“ the balled fist slams against the countertop. “It’s clinging. It’s suffocating. It’s ridiculous, and it’s obnoxious-“

“‘Yoomi-“

“And for the love of all that is fucking malevolent would you PLEASE STOP CALLING ME THAT!” He roars. “I gotta deal with it from FUCKING MIYA, now I have to deal with it at HOME FROM YOU?”

You don’t know why you do it. But you flinch.

He’s so loud, so in your face and so mean that it happens without you even knowing you did it, the only indication being that his face instantly drops and pales at the mere idea of you being so afraid of him you flinch.

He says nothing. He can’t. What could he say?

He quickly makes a dash to the door, grabbing the keys dangling from the hook and leaving right then and there, bile rising in his throat and chest swelling with disgust as your terrified face plays over and over, like a movie he can’t turn off because he’s the one who put it on.

He runs. He runs fast and far, down the street and over hills and across crosswalks that don’t permit him from crossing yet, trying to create distance between himself and the monster he was god knows how long ago.

He finds himself- somehow- at work, the bright lights of the arena snapping him back to reality that you’ve been alone for who knows how long, but at least long enough where he’s back at his physical job. On foot.

The gods give him the smallest semblance of mercy as Miya and Hinata are still together, setting and spiking away until their hands grow calloused, cheering with each successive spike sent hurdling to the floor.

Hinata notices the panting Kiyoomi first, his head cocking in concern. “Hey… thought you didn’t want to train with us?”

“You.” Kiyoomi’s dark eyes fall onto Miya, and without even processing the fact that he shouldn’t be doing this, he makes a blind dash at the blonde, who then instinctively runs the other way.

Hinata instinctively darts out of the way, “woah! What! Miya what’s going on!”

“I didn’t do anything!” The blonde whines. “Not this time! I swear!” Hinata scrambles into action, chasing after Kiyoomi who’s on another runners high as he chases his teammate around the linoleum floors of the volleyball court but is still no match for Hinata’s own speed.

Great for Miya Atsumu. Terrible for sakusa Kiyoomi.

Bulky arms wrap around Kiyoomi’s waist and immediately weights around him, slowing him down from skinning Miya alive, “no, sakusa! Enough!”

“I’ll kill him!” He barks at whoever will listen to his threat. “I’LL KILL YOU!” He points a finger at the blonde.

And Hinata’s not proud of it. Honest! But it’s what he had to do to stop his friends from mauling each other, and he trips Kiyoomi flat onto his face, a sickening crunch! under the squishing cartilage of nose and skull slamming into the floor. He lays there in defeat, panting softly into the floor and crying even quieter as his two teammates surround him.

He needed to cry. That’s it. Now that he’s crying, his salty tears mixing with the blood dribbling from his nose and the gash in his head, he feels better, he feels lighter and like he’s finally getting to express every fractal of emotion that surged through his veins all day in what is finally a healthy way.

It only cost you being uncomfortable around him.

He safely decides it’s not worth it.

“Sakusa,” Hinata begins. “What happened?”

“I was cruel,” he says, now wailing into the floor. “They flinched at me. I ruined everything. Again.”

He can’t tell from looking, but he practically feels the weight of understanding fall onto his teammates, a soft ‘ahhh,’ falling from Miya’s lips. He hears the squeak of shoes next to his head, and when his bloody face turns upward to see Miya Atsumu’s calm, non-judgmental features, he cries even harder, his tears mingling with blood as they fall to the floor.

“Go home, Kiyoomi.”

“I can’t. I shouldn’t.”

“Yes, you should,” Hinata interjects. “You need to be there. I don’t know what happened, or what Atsumu did to piss you off, but I know you want to sort this out.”

“I ran here,” Kiyoomi sniffles. His hand instinctively comes to wipe his nose, the taste of blood filling his throat once he’s finally able to see just the sheer amount he’s bleeding.

“YOU RAN HERE?!”

“I had to. I had to go somewhere.”

“I’ll take him home,” Miya sighs, calmly stepping away for a moment to grab his keys and bag. Hinata claps a large, comforting hand on Kiyoomi’s back, his own feet stepping away as Kiyoomi childishly stays on the floor, blood trickling onto his lips and down his chin. He’s gonna have a gash in his head for sure, maybe even a black eye, and he hopes you’re open to taking him to the hospital to get it clean.

The car ride back home is silent, save for the occasional sniffles coming from Kiyoomi and his pinched nose, stuffed with bloody toilet paper. Miya keeps his car surprisingly clean, it smells like pine and citrus and it cuts through the tension and pounding in kiyoomis head from the smell. He doesn’t know when, but Kiyoomi mumbles a soft “I’m sorry” at some point.

Miya chuckles, “you’re having a bad day. We all get those. You ain’t special.” It makes Kiyoomi chuckle softly, for the first time in what feels like days. When the car rolls up to your shared house, kiyoomi shakily gets out of the car, slamming the door closed and leaving Miya to drive off.

“Kiyoomi?”

“What?”

“You come at me like that again, I’ll give you another black eye.”

Kiyoomi chuckles and shakes his head at the blonde, “you’d never even get a shot in.” He rolls his shoulders, sniffles back a little bit more blood, and makes his way inside, shaky hands opening the door and stalking in like a zombie.

When he comes into your view, you’re quick to get on your feet, getting up to fuss over him.

“Fucks sake,” you gasp, cupping his cheeks and inspecting the dried blood over his face. “You leave for two hours and come back beaten up?”

“I fell.” Not really a lie.

“Yeah, don’t care,” you snap, grabbing his wrist and tugging him to the bathroom. “Let me clean you up. Is your nose broken?”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

You groan and gently grab the bridge of his nose, and he whines and reels his head back petulantly out of pain. “Ow.”

“Yeah. Go to the doctors, Kiyoomi.”

Kiyoomi.

Shit.

“Please come with me?”

He sees you tense up as you grab a wet towel, pausing your movements and taking in a deep breath to calm down, “yeah. Yeah I’ll go.”

“Hold my hand when I’m scared?” He tries to joke.

You don’t laugh. You don’t say anything. You dab the blood from his lips and chin, careful of his nose and the bruising around his eye. “I don’t know where you fell but you’ve got a black eye blooming.”

He tucks his swollen lip into his teeth nervously, “I ran to Miya.”

“Osamu?”

“No. Atsumu.”

Your hand pauses again, “did he hit you?”

“No. He’d never.” Even if he did deserve a smack coming to him.

You roll your eyes and escort him out of the bathroom, “come on. I’ll drive.”

The drive to the hospital is silent.

The waiting room is silent between you both.

Sitting in the doctor’s office is silent, save for the crunching of his nose as his doctor recenters his nose and he whines in pain. You do squeeze his hand through the pain, even if he doesn’t deserve your kindness.

The ride home is silent.

Your walk to your bedroom is silent, and as Kiyoomi sets up a bed on the couch is silent.

The next few days are silent. Kiyoomi can’t play due to his nose, leaving him to merely watch on the sides with a protective splint covering the bone. At home, it’s no better, with you dodging his kisses and affections with no indications you’ll ever want them again.

He wonders, briefly, if this is it. You realize you’re too good for him, worth more than a man who plays volleyball and screams at people, you deserve the stars and moon and you’re not getting it from him.

Between losing you and volleyball, he hopes its punishment enough

He can’t take it anymore. He’s lost the two loves of his life in the span of four hours, over a stupid mistake he made his bed with.

It’s been four days; you haven’t said six words to him, and he doesn’t even bother trying to get affection from you, he knows better than that. But he’s yearning for you, and while he’d never force anything onto you, he just wants to know:

Is there anything worth salvaging? Or is it just an exhaustive task, one he already knows the answer to, and you’re just too kind to tell him in person?

He needs to find out.

“Smells good in here,” he says quietly, looking at you with optimistic eyes. You give him a shrug back and continue to dress the warm bread with garlic and butter. “What’re you making?”

“I… I uhm saw a thing online on how to make bread shaped like a frog,” you say, turning back to it quietly. “Thought it would be fun.”

“It’s cute.”

“Thanks.”

The room is quiet, and when Kiyoomi hesitantly leans in for a kiss, you turn away, not ready for his affections yet.

Maybe ever again.

“I would like to kiss you,” he says, pleadingly.

“I don’t want to kiss you.”

“That’s okay. Can I… can I hug you?”

At the idea of being trapped in his arms, you shake your head, pushing him away and trying to make some distance. He obeys, but as you continue to shove him, he suddenly tries to intervene

“Please, stop,” he chokes, grabbing your hands to still you.

“Stop what?” You ask, even though you know the answer. Your hands do stop shoving him, but you avoid his gaze intently.

He sighs shakily, “I love you. I love you and every part of you. I love when you try to get inside of my skin and take my socks off with your toes. I like when you pick my nose and tickle me because I hate it, I like it when you sniff me, please just love me again.

I was so agitated that day, and that wasn’t your fault, and now I’ve ruined us because I was cruel. But please,” he collapses to his knees and wraps his arms around your legs, “just love me again. You’re safe, and it’s okay. Please.”

You don’t return his emotion, having been hurt by showing it before has made the feeling sour. “Kiyoomi-“

“It’s ‘yoomi. What happened to yoomi, why won’t you call me that anymore?”

“You screamed it out of my vocabulary, in case you forgot,” you snap. He squeezes your legs tighter like a child. “You don’t get to keep doing this. You don’t get to decide one day to snap or tell me know about something I’m doing, then a few days later tell me you miss doing it. For fucks sake, I flinched!” He starts to tremble against your legs. “And now you tell me you want to go back to how it was! You’re out of your mind.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll try my hardest to be better for you. A better man. A better boyfriend.”

“There’s almost no way for you to be worse.”

This time, he lets you go and stands up. His eyes are swollen with tears, the dark irises even deeper from the reddening of his scleras. “So, what?” He begins, voice wobbly. “We’re just never going to show affection again? Be in loveless love? Is that my punishment?”

“It’s NOT THAT BLACK AND WHITE!” You yell, losing your composure for the first time that fight. Your hands come down to grip and smack the bread against the counter, ruining it and sending crumbs flying everywhere. You sigh and lazily throw it in the sink in defeat, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. “You sincerely think I wouldnt love nothing more than to wrap MY arms around you, squish your cheeks in MY hands, crawl into YOUR lap and cuddle when you get home? You think I wanted to make bread shaped like a fucking frog for fun? NO! I’m doing it, because YOU told me YOU didn’t want me to DO THOSE THINGS!”

“I was wrong!” He yells back. “I’m sorry!”

“THAT DOESNT MEAN IT WAS STILL OKAY TO DO!”

The room is silent. Too silent. Theres a rattling of dishes that can be heard from your screams of agony, a cabinet creaks and somewhere away, the dryer dings to signal its contents to be done.

Kiyoomi takes a deep inhale in through his nose to keep himself grounded, and you watch with balled fists. “I want you to feel like you have space. You deserve that. But you also need to know you’re endgame for me. You’re the only one I want, the only one who makes me feel excited to wake up in the morning and slip into sleep at night. And if this is it for us, you need to know that you were the greatest thing that ever happened to me.”

You give him a sad, shaky sigh.

“I made a mistake. I made you feel unsafe in your own home. You never deserved that, never deserved that level of cruelty. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” you murmur.

“Do you need me to stay with Bokuto for a few nights?”

“No.”

“Do you need me to sleep on the couch?”

“…no… I don’t think so.”

He tears up at the idea you’re not completely upset with him, enough to sleep next to him in the same house. “What can I do to make you feel more comfortable?” He chews at his swollen lip, “I want to help you be comfortable around me again. Please.”

You gnaw at your lip as you process his words, and with a small shake of your head, you slowly, almost so slowly he doesn’t see it, slink towards him, resting your head on his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist. When his arms loosely slither around your waist, you tighten, but you don’t stop him.

It feels foreign, but so right at the same time. His swirling head is finally stilled. The demons stop their bark as you bury your face in his chest, sniffling softy in the fabric.

“Last time you left,” you begin. “You came home with a black eye from Miya. I’d hate to see what happens if you come home from Bokuto’s.”

“Okay, hold on, it was not from Miya.”

The change in tone has you laughing in his arms, and he tries to keep cool and not immediately pull you into a spine crushing hug that’ll spook you away from him again. He can’t help himself though, from rubbing his face against you and taking inhales of your scent, the shrieking and howling in his mind finally going quiet at the contact of you.

“Kiyoomi?”

“Yeah?”

“You ever talk to me like that again, I’ll give you another black eye.”

He chuckles and does, finally, squeeze you tighter, “I don’t blame you for a second.”

[fleur-bbyy]

I WANNA FEEL YOU FROM THE INSIDE

playlist

⭒pairing: katsuki bakugo x fem! reader.

⭒wc: 4.8k

⭒warnings: SEX (MINORS DNI), continuation of the porn!au, characters are aged up to 21+, reader is not of a certain skin color, use of names like ‘bunny,’ daddy kink, spanking with belt, live camming, mentions of; onlyfans, pegging, plugs, fingering (f! receiving), cunnilingus, slight breath play, small part of m! receiving oral, degrading, if I forgot anything I will update this later on!

⭒author’s note: y’all the amount of times I had to change the fake usernames to not accidentally tag someone is crazy. will scream, cry, and throw up if I still somehow managed to.

part one.

“you still wanna go through with it?”

“fuck yeah. show that fucker what he’s missing with us.”

it’d been a few months since you and katsuki had professionally filmed together for the first time. watching the opportunity for a decent cash flow get even bigger after more and more sick bastards wanted to see the two of you together. becoming a little more than professional acquaintances as you filmed together more and more.

it felt like the two of you could only keep growing until that douchebag that calls himself a director publicly shit on both of your names. calling the two of you ‘unprofessional’ and a slew of other names, even going as far to say he could’ve ‘done it without the both of you’ whilst he basked in the glory of his first successful porno. your ranks and ratings didn’t drop that much, but it was enough to piss the two of you off.

so now here the pair of you are, about to prove to that dickhead director that you didn’t need him, he needed you.

“it’s just been a while since i’ve cammed live. I feel like i’m back at the beginning again.”

“i bet. we’ve all come a long way though.” he stood up from where he was sat at the laptop perched upon your desk, angled towards the chaise lounge in your room. everything was set and ready with a timer counting down from five minutes. for some reason you were nervous about camming again.

maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t done so in so long.

or maybe it was that you didn’t know what the hulking blond standing over you had in store.

“we still have four and a half minutes left,” he rough hand stroked your soft cheek, “wanna let me get a little taste before you start, bunny?” his free hand cupped your cunt covered with white lace.

“nuh-uh. don’t spoil yourself now or you’ll have nothing left in you in a few.” you pushed him off and walked over to where the laptop was set up to check the countdown once more. making sure to shimmy your hips as you walked to show off your cute ass to him.

he already felt quite feral just looking at you. body clad in skimpy, white lingerie with cute little bunny ears on your head and a cotton tail attached the the back of your thong. the thigh-high socks squeezed the fat of your thighs so perfectly his cock was already straining against his jeans.

“have it your way, princess, but remember who’s in charge today. no shitty scripts to follow, I can do whatever the fuck I want.” you didn’t know whether you should feel more aroused or terrified at the thought. you’ve seen his videos from when he was amateur. unscripted, he was ruthless. fucking whoever was with him in the most insane, body-contorting positions, having them drool all over themselves. you weren’t ashamed to admit that you had touched yourself many times before to the sound of the filth that he spoke into the mic.

“it’s almost time, bunny. c’mere and sit with me.” he beckoned you over to the lounge with a wiggle of his index finger. he was shirtless with his chest lightly oiled. you eyed the way his pecs and stomach glistened under the light every time he shifted. he switched out his jeans and boxers to just a pair of grey sweats with nothing underneath. you loved the way his trail of wispy, blond hairs started just below his naval and disappeared below the waistband.

he had you sitting with your back to his chest. he held you tightly, already copping a feel on your chest. kneading and pinching the fat of your breasts. he had your legs placed over his spread ones, making you completely open for the camera. your little thong barely covered a thing and was getting eaten by your lips. he used his other hand to slide down your body and gently rub your clit over the cloth.

you almost forgot what you were about to be doing until you heard the familiar pinging sound from money being sent in. this little cam show was pretty well advertised on both of your socials and even by some of your friends in the industry, so it was really not surprise that people were already sending tips in. you soon heard bakugo pipe up. his voice moderately loud so the microphone could pick it up.

“awh, bunny, hear all those horny bastards that already are spendin’ shit on you? we’ve barely done anything yet” you quickly nodded your head, wiggling your hips to try and get his hand to move faster.

“where are your fuckin’ manners?” he took the hand that was kneading your tits and brought it up to your neck, fastening his thick fingers around and lightly squeezing. you let out a small ‘thank you’ which you thought wouldn’t be enough. thankfully, bakugo had mercy right now.

he kept toying with your cunt, continuously growing wetter and wetter. your arousal now seeping through your thong and spreading onto your plush thighs. also dripping down onto bakugo, leaving a wet patch on his pants.

“already makin’ such a mess. you want it bad, don’t you?” he lightly slapped your already sensitive clit, sending jolts of electricity down your spine and do your core.

“yes. so bad.” you felt like a virgin that couldn’t make a complete sentence and your cheeks started to burn. it was kind of hard to feel embarrassed when you’re in your industry, but the way he toyed with you flipped a switch inside.

“yes what?” he stopped touching you and roughly pinched your nipples, eliciting and piercing whine from you.

“yes daddy.” his cock twitched beneath you at the sound of your voice.

“good fuckin’ girl. why don’t you turn around and show them the pretty little ass of yours?” he unhooked your legs from his and brought them together so you could stand. you slowly got up, making sure to not lose your footing since your legs already felt like jelly. you heard the pinging start up again when you turned around and bent over slightly, wiggling your hips back and forth causing your ass to shake.

“come sit back down on me. daddy’s gonna play with you too, yeah?” you straddled his still-spread legs and his hands instantly found place on the fat of your ass. kneading, pulling, and squeezing every inch. you could feel his hard-on pressing right against your clit and you dared to start grinding down on him. because of that action, you were met with a harsh slap to your ass.

“who the fuck said you could grind on me? needy fuckin’ slut.” he roughly slapped your ass again and tips started to roll in at the sight of the bright red hand prints now adorning your backside.

“oh fuck, think these bastards are gettin’ off to the sight of you gettin’ punished, huh? who wants to see some more?” he was wearing the charming smirk on his face as he soothed the burning, red spots with his hands. rubbing circles on you and tilting his head to kiss and nip at your neck. the pinging sound that rolled in again signified that people did want to see more.

“alright, little bunny, all fours f’me.” you rolled off of him as he stood up, the obvious tent in his pants making your mouth water. he sauntered his way behind the lounge as you got in position. you could see out of the corner of your eye that he had picked up the belt he was wearing half an hour ago, striking the sides of the belt together to make a loud slapping sound as he approached you once more.

you felt his hands run over the spot where your lower back curved as the fabric of the lounge dipped down behind you. he caressed your smooth skin for a few moments more before he spoke up again.

“you’re gonna take ten of these yeah?” he leaned down and gripped the sides of your chin, turning your head to look towards him and the camera. “and you’re gonna count, lose your place and we start over. don’t fuck up and you get a reward. got that?” you furiously nodded your head and he cocked a warning brow at you. he let go of the death grip he had on your chin and lightly patted your cheek two or three times. you heard the leather of his belt slap against itself one more time before it was striking you.

your legs and cunt were both quivering as he delivered each blow to your sensitive skin. every strike was met with more pinging sounds as money was sent you way. your ass was covered in red spots and sore to the touch. he wasn’t entirely a monster, though, rubbing each area he hit with the palm of his hand after you struck you. despite the challenge, you didn’t lose your place and even thanked him afterwards. after the tenth was delivered, he pressed his soft lips to the spots most red and placed feather like kisses on you.

“so good f’me. so fuckin’ good f’me. daddy’ll give you what you want.” and with that he pushed your panties to the side and plunged two of his thick fingers in your wet heat. rapid fire fingering your aching pussy as he used his free hand to continue soothing the hot spots left on your ass from his belt.

the sight of your cute tears leaving mascara tracks down your pretty face in the screen of the laptop was enough to make him want to bust in his pants. the moans and whimpers that left your parted lips sounded so sweet, delicious even. and the feeling of your slick running down his middle and index finger was enough to make him lean down to lick your juices from the source as he replaced his fingers with his long tongue. his fingers found purchase again on your swollen clit, aching to be touched and he tongue-fucked you.

his movements were skillful. rubbing circles on your clit in a way the stimulated your nerves in just the right way. he worked his tongue oh so perfectly inside you, causing you to writhe under he touch. his free hand fisting at the fat of your ass.

he could tell that you were getting close by your moans increasing in volume and the way your pussy fluttered and clenched around his tongue. the pinging sound had slowed, pissing him off a bit.

“you wanna see this slut cum? pay the fuck up. we’re not doin’ this shit for free.” you whined when he pulled away from you, getting whatever the female equivalent of blue balls was. you dropped your top half down to the lounge, just leaving your ass in the air. you wiggled it a bit for the camera and for the blond staring at you through the laptop screen.

“shit, 15,000¥? these motherfuckers really are desperate. 20,000¥ and i’ll make this slutty bunny squirt.” he lightly ghosted his fingers over your pussy before deciding he wanted your panties that were still pushed to the side off. the strength of the explosive blond before you made you gush another bout of wetness as he tore them at the hips and pulled them off. even though you were desperate, you quietly whines at the loss. you really liked this lingerie set.

“oi, heard that shit. quit your bratty bitchin’ or you won’t cum until I do.” at that, he looked to the laptop and saw that someone had sent in the amount he requested and smirked.

“make sure to say ‘thank you.’” he dived back in your pussy, one hand on your clit, two fingers back in your cunt, and using his tongue to drink up any of your dripping slick. it wasn’t long before you felt that familiar pressure in your stomach and your hole started to twitch. shit, you were right there.

“oh fuck, oh fuck, fuckfuckfuck thank you.. fuck.” your speech was slurred and words were jumbled together as he finger-fucked you through your orgasm. he growled at the way your cunt gushed for him and all over him, drinking up as much as he could.

“shit, that’s my good fuckin’ girl. stand up f’me and show them your drenched pussy.” you did as he said, already feeling so fucked out to disobey. he held you by your hips as you stood, steadying your balance. using one of his big hands to spread your cheeks apart to show off your fucked hole, groaning at your reflection in the camera.

“d’you bastards miss when she was a cam slut? because i sure fuckin’ do.” he rubbed the side of your hip and ass as he pressed little kisses to your skin. it wasn’t long before the chat was beginning him to take his dick out and for you to take your bra off.

“awww. they want you to get naked too.” you teased, ruffling his blond hair.

“‘m sure they just want my cock out because that means i’m closer to destroying your insides.” he teased right back at you, softly smacking your backside.

you felt gracious about him giving you a little breather. you loved your work, loved making people feel good, but you hated how everything was go, go, go once the camera started rolling. sometimes having to just stay in bed the next day so the poor spot between your legs could take a break. when you felt ready, you tapped his shoulder and gave him a quick nod when he looked up.

you straddled his lap once more and pawed at his cock through the fabric of his sweatpants. you just wanted him to stuff you full and you were willing to act out to get it.

“needy little whore arentcha? not fuckin’ you yet. on your knees.” he patted your face once more and got up with you to get you closer to the camera. only his lower half was in view, but your face and still-covered chest was on full display. you were visibly excited when he tugged his sweatpants down enough to free his rock hard dick. taking it into his hand and pumping it a few times before slapping your cheek with it.

“be a good bunny and open wide f’me.” as soon as you did so, he was shoving his cock in your mouth. fucking your face for true audience you’d garnered. you thought all you’d be getting was a rough face-fucking until he pushed his length all the way in. the tip of your nose was touching his groomed, blond hairs that grew from his pelvis. tears once again started to stream down your cheeks as you struggled to breathe through your nose.

“you want this bitch to breathe? 5,000¥. simple enough? ‘m lowballin’ because the slut seems desperate already.” he punctuated his last few syllables by lightly thrusting back and forth in your mouth. it still wasn’t enough for you to get a deep breath, but enough for you to not pass out.

as he looked at the screen, a specific ping of a donation caught his attention.

105,000¥ - fuck her now.

he pulled out and leaned down to where his face was in view. he gave you a moment to sputter and catch your breath before he was gripping you by the jaw to look at the camera.

“see how much they wanna pay for that sloppy cunt? whad’dya think?”

“mmmm, 20,000¥ more. my pussy’s worth it.”

“you fuckin’ heard her, pay up, bastards. or i’ll just fuck her off camera.” he finished his last word with another slap to your ass. his rough hand still had you by the jaw as he showed off your messy face. makeup smeared and mascara stains running down your hot cheeks. you smiled into the camera when you saw the notification come up that someone had sent the remaining amount of money.

“thank you, baby. bet you wish it was you here and not him. you’d treat me nice, right?” bakugo’s gaze bore into the side of your head as he listened to you flirt with whoever threw money your way. anything word you spoke that sounded remotely suggestive was like a buzzword for more tips to roll in. “mmm you want him to take my bra off? you’d better ask him nicely.”

he fixated his gaze off of you and onto the comments rolling in in the monitor. another 10,000¥ rolling in with the nice request that he strip you some more.

“you bastards are so fuckin’ desperate. bet you’re all touchin’ yourselves right now. waiting for her tits to be out before you bust.” he was standing behind you, unhooking the clasps on your bra and letting it drop to the floor. you were fully exposed for the camera now. the only thing remaining from your costume lingerie were your sheer thigh-highs and the bunny ears atop your head.

he reached around you tweak your hard nipples and play with the fat of your breasts, eliciting little moans from you.

“so fuckin’ pretty. she’s a pretty, pretty girl isn’t she?” his hand traveled down to your pussy and he ran a finger through the slit to assess if he needed to prep you or not. you were practically still dripping from earlier, slick running out of your needy cunt and spreading onto the insides of your thighs.

“time to make their money’s worth, bunny. ride my fuckin’ cock.” he sat back down onto the chaise lounge and beckoned you over with the curl of his index finger. the sight of him comfortably sprawled out with his sweatpants just lazily pulled down enough for his cock to be out made the ache between your legs throb even more.

“d’ya bitches wanna see her ass or tits bounce?” he kept you from sitting, rubbing up and down the side of your hips as his eyes focused in on the chat. responses were mixed with people who wanted to see either. a few comments sprinkled in about yours or his looks.

“looks like they can’t decide, we’ll do both.” he pulled you towards him and you straddled his lap in regular cowgirl. he rubbed the tip of his angry, red cock up and down your soaked slit. the look in his eyes was enough to make you gush another wave of arousal as he slowly eased in you. the stretch of him was welcomed by your warm walls and he bottomed out rather quickly from how horny you were. his tip lightly brushed your cervix, marking you squirm above him. he grabbed your hips and you kept an agonizingly slow pace.

“if you want him to split me open, i’m gonna need a little more from you, babies.” you looked over your shoulder and winked. your reflection in the screen was pretty, beautiful even. one of his hands was lazily placed on your hip and the other placed behind his head. the sight of him slowly disappearing and appearing again was a spectacular sight to see. the way his heavy balls lightly slapped your ass was heavenly and the taut muscles flexed on his spread thighs was probably enough to make someone cream in their pants.

the pinging had begun once again and you increased your pace each time a donation came through. he eventually was gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he began to thrust into you, hard and fast. your moans were already pornographically loud when you were at a slow pace, but now they filled the room with the sound of skin slapping skin.

“shit bunny, this cunt is so fuckin’ good. i can’t wait for you to make a mess on this dick.” you clenched down on him every time he spoke the filth that had gotten you off so many times before. your legs were beginning to tremble and your pussy was twitching in a way that told him you were close, right there even.

“fuck yes. cum on my cock.. ride that shit. show them how much of a dirty fuckin’ slut you are f’me.” his words coupled with his rough thrusts to punctuate the syllables sent you over the edge. your stomach felt white-hot as you creamed on him. he removed the hand from behind his head to spread your pussy lips and watch the glistening arousal flood his dick. the ring of your cum gathered on the base. that and your tits knocking together in his face made him slow himself to keep him from cumming too.

“hope y’got another one in ya. turn the fuck around and sit again.” you quickly got up and whined at the loss. katsuki growled at the sight of your hole already gaping for him.

you let out another whine of pleasure as you sat back on his cock again. your knees and shins were placed on both sides of his thighs and his arms were wrapped around the front of you to play with your tits as he started thrusting again.

he was rougher this time, removing one of his hands from your chest to move back down to your hip to keep you close to him. his feet were firmly planted in the carpet below you to keep up his pace without fault.

“play with your tits, sweets. show them how horny you are for daddy.”

“shit.. i love when daddy fills me up… fuck fuck fuck.” you brought your hands up to your chest to play with yourself and he brought his now-free hand to toy with your swollen clit. you loudly whimpered at the sensitivity when he was touching and fucking you at the same time.

“i feel you clenchin’ my shit. already gonna cum again? you really are a desperate slut for the camera.” he started slamming his hips into yours harder and you began to bounce at a pace that met his thrusts. he felt impossibly deep inside of you as your pussy squelched and gushed around him. he was now focused on your reflection in the screen. his eyes moved back and forth from the monitor to the real you. he loved being able to see your expressions whilst also being able to watch the way your peachy ass rippled and bounce as you met his rough thrusts.

“tell me.. fuck.. tell me how bad you want it.”

“daddy please I want it to badly. I need to cum and I need to be filled with yours.”

“oh, slutty bunny wants me to breed ‘er, that’s it, yeah?” you whimpered and nodded your head as he began to thrust even harder and deeper. hitting that special spot inside you that made your whole body feel like it was on fire. the crescendo of your moans and your pussy once again tightening on him told him you were almost over the edge, he was glad because he didn’t think he’d last much longer with the sight to behold in front of him.

after a few more rough thrusts and his cock dragging against your g-spot, you were once again coating the man in your release. squirting once again as he continued to ride you through your orgasm. your juices slid down his muscular thighs and onto the fabric below the both of you. you heard his growls get louder as he used your body to chase his own high. practically losing himself at the sight the clear liquid spewing from you.

“fuck bunny, y’gonna let me cum in you? fuck i’m gonna fill you up.”

a little ‘please’ was all you could get from your lips as your spent brain wasn’t thinking too clearly. he gripped your sore hips one last good time before he was spilling the contents from his balls into your overused hole.

“‘m cummin’.. fuck baby, god you feel so fuckin’ good when i’m flooding this pussy.” your body shivered as his words and the shallow thrusts he continued to pump into you. you felt impossibly empty when he slowed and lifted you off of him. that feeling soon being subdued by his thick, calloused finger tips collecting the cum that had leaked out and pushing it back into your cunt.

“know you’re fucked out, but bend over ‘n show them how pretty that pussy looks filled with my cum.” although tired, you gladly obeyed his request. standing up on wobbly legs to turn around and bend over like you’d done earlier, holding onto the edge of the lounge for stabilization.

“mmm, bet you guys wish this was yours stuffed in there, yeah?” you giggled and waved your ass back and forth as the pinging increased for a final time. katsuki grabbing your face and showing the audience how debauched and fucked out he had made you. you finished off the stream with a flirty ‘goodbye babies’ and a seductive wink before covering the camera with your hand and ending the stream.

you both watched the screen go black and light up again as the total revenue flashed across the screen. both of your eyes widened as you saw the number. you both expected into six fugures, you didn’t expect to be that well into six figures. it was more money made in a single stream than the two of you would made from a few pornos. the two of you decided the split the money equally as it made the most sense and was only fair.

the screen blackened again, this time the transcript of the comments lit up the screen. you decided to sit and read whilst the blond got up to redress.

“hey kats, they want me to peg you!” you say in front of the laptop, still naked as the day you were born minus the thigh-highs, and read through the comments. a lot of them complimenting the pair of you or offering you guys money for sex. sometimes you came across comments that made you audibly laugh, this being one of those moments.

“fat chance. most that’s been in my ass is a plug.”

“I could change that.” you wiggled a brow at him and he dramatically rolled his eyes. he stood in the corner of your room and you watched him tug a white compression shirt on.

“adventurous thing, arentcha?”

“adventurous is my middle name.”

“yeah, okay dumbass.” it was your turn to rolls your eyes as you went to your twitter to tweet about the success of the stream, definitely showing up the director that dared trash yours and bakugo’s names. after tweeting, you decided to scroll your feed a bit to see if anyone had said anything yet. if the money you guys make didn’t show the success of the stream, the slew of people tweeting about it sure did.

@better-luxe-next-time: made more in one stream with @.officialdynamight than that slimeball has made in his whole career <3

@.officialdynamight: wanna see my POV with @better-luxe-next-time? unlock the videos on my onlyfans @.dynamight.

@.alien.queen.pinky: wettest i’ve ever been from watching a stream. 3some? @better-luxe-next-time @.officialdynamight

@bigredriot: I couldn’t tell who I wanted more 😫

@chargeboltt: she could step on me and i’d say thank you!

@chakoraka i’d kill an elderly woman to be sandwiched between them.

@sticky-sero: not even gay but i’d suck his ween ngl

you smiled at the tweets your fellow stars had posted. it some sick, weird way it warmed your heart that they all had your backs and watched the stream to help you prove a point. you even noticed some of them donating their own money. the smile that grew on your face slowly drooped again once you saw another tweet posted 7 minutes ago from dynamight himself.

@.officialdynamight: 50 retweets and we’ll stream weekly. @better-luxe-next-time

“seriously, katsuki? 50 retweets?”

“i’ll take any excuse to get inside you. got the sweetest cunt i’ve ever fucked.” you took the bunny ears off and slid your stockings off your legs as he handed you his t-shirt. it fell right at your mid-thigh and swallowed your torso whole. “and trust me, i’ve fucked a lot.”

“me too, we’re in the same business, y’know,” you let out a light giggle at his exaggerated eye roll, “but yeah, best dick i’ve ever had.”

“so we can agree, one retweet?”

“sure, kats, one retweet.” his vermillion eyes darkened and his lips contorted into a cheshire cat-like smile as he opened his twitter app and turned the screen to face you. the tweet already have over 100 retweets and it’d only been up for 10 minutes.

“looks like you might wanna start getting comfy with me, bunny.”

part one.

[patheticpeoplesupreme]

Yue Qingyuan and Shang Qinghua a possible friendship

people pleasers duo/j drabbles and stuff

Au where SQH’s dad has the last name “Yue”

Yue Qingyuan loved his martial siblings, even if it was fairly chaotic all year round (half the time, it was because of a few certain individuals—)

His heart was very full of fondness whenever he sees young disciples playing around during their break time or when the older disciples come around to give the little ones advice.

He knows that outside of the mountain, there’s bound to be more horrors, but for the moment, he’s extremely relieved to see joyful children.

Admittedly, he’s more distant to them than he would have liked, being the sect leader and all, he has to focus on his responsibilities and reputation before being just Yue Qingyuan. Yue Qi.

These days, it’s more peaceful, he’s able to feel the weight in his chest lift slightly after Shen Yuan revealed who he truly was.

Yue Qingyuan was severely devastated, but… for the past few years, deep down, he had known that it wasn’t amnesia that plagued his martial brother. It was a sort of closure to know who what had happened to the real Shen Jiu instead of suffering in wait, wondering if Shen Qingqiu would ever remember their past.

After a few months, he’d created a makeshift grave for himself to visit.

—

Eventually, he realised that Shang Qinghua was probably a soul just like Shen Yuan, what with his informal (and shameless) behaviour and the foreign language he often spoke with Shen Yuan

Eventually, he found out that he was the one who had written his, and Xiao Jiu’s suffering.

He… well… he avoided the man for a long while.

Yue Qingyuan was not exactly the type to emotionally express his fury, not like Liu Qingge. In the end, he decided, it wasn’t fury he was feeling anyway.

Maybe he was far too tired to feel fury.

—

Looking back on it now, it was quite obvious, he was ashamed to admit that he should’ve probably have listened to Shen Jiu’s wariness towards the man

Though he supposed it went for the better since Shang Qinghua did help with the peak’s success in not being destroyed.

He was also little downtrodden at the realisation that he hadn’t known the small man that well at all.

—

Yue Qingyuan remembers one time, he was carrying a fevered Shang Qinghua to Qian Cao Peak. Shang Qinghua was quite delirious the , murmuring things he couldn’t understand. It was probably the world he came from, but Yue Qingyuan hadn’t known that at the time and rushed to the peak quickly and placing him gently on the bed.

Since Mu Qingfang hadn’t been there yet, his brotherly instincts took over and he takes care of his martial brother, trying to ease his furrowed brow and stop him from squirming. He brought him a cup of water and coaxed him to drink.

“Shh, Shang—shidi, it’s okay.” He hummed, remembering a tune from when he had sung to his Xiao Jiu a long long time ago.

It took a short time for the peak lord to settle, so he waited till Shang Qinghua’s eyes were fully closed to leave.

Surprisingly however, the man had caught onto Yue Qingyuan’s sleeve with wide and tearful eyes that made his heart sting.

His next words had made his stomach churn more.

“Baba… you told me you wouldn’t leave…” Shang Qinghua sniffled. It was obvious that he was still delirious from the fever and hadn’t recognised who he was talking to but… for a moment… Yue Qingyuan saw his Xiao Jiu. Yue Qi couldn’t muster up the courage to leave now.

Yue Qingyuan pursed his lips.

“W—Was I too much for you?”

Yue Qingyuan’s eyes widened before he finally rushed to his martial brother’s side, he couldn’t let Shang Qinghua think this way at all.

“No, of course not, just rest…Huá’er.” He brushed the loose strands behind his ear.

“You’re lying—!!” he cried, Yue Qingyuan only held him a little tighter, feeling terrified of what to say and not to say, “Huā’er won’t be annoying anymore, so please don’t leave, Baba!”

Yue Qingyuan could feel his heart shattering the more he listened.

—

Years later, Yue Qingyuan sits by his shidi’s table listening to Shang Qinghua admit to being this world’s creator.

One day, he asks mildly curiously. “Huá’er doesn’t have to answer, but this one was wondering. What was this lord’s old family like?”

(This is where SQH admits that his what his dad’s name was)

“My dad was, Uhm… Yue Nuo. The character for promise.”

Yue Qingyuan squeezed Shang Qinghua’s hand.

“Ahh don’t worry gege, it’s been so long, I’m over it now.”

YQY only smiles when he reminds him, “the family that you’ve found in this sect, in your husband’s winter palace, we will be here for you.”

—

Shang Qinghua pouts, “everyone’s disobeying me

Shen Qingqiu rolls his eyes

**

He created Yue Qingyuan after his dad because he wishes that his dad actually had an excuse not to see him, he wishes that it wasn’t his fault that Shang Qinghua was left alone for so long, he wishes, but he knows that in real life, it’s not so simple. He knows that he’s unloved.

He sees his happy half siblings and he knows. He knows in every family reunion where he’s the odd one out, even when he tries to hangout with his half siblings. He knows it all.

So he pushes it all into Qi-ge and Xiao Jiu.

Eventually he realised that he bared a little too much of his soul to the world, so he scrapped their backstory.

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

The Rift - Chapter Seven

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Marcus Acacius x Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: E (18+ only, explicit smut)

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: dream/nightmare sequences, mentions of spouse death and hypothetical child death (in the dream sequence), angst, references to smut, m/m/m/f dynamics

Summary: Each Marcus deals with conflicting emotions after spending the night together.

A/N: WHOOPS, who let all the angst in here???? Sorry about that!

Masterlist | Chapter 6 | Next chapter>>

(Moreno)

Marcus Moreno is about to die. Alien tentacles ooze toward him out of a strange crack in the world itself, moving with terrifying speed. He can choose to draw his swords and ready himself, or to shove the people beside him away and out of danger, but not both. He’s somehow both controlling his body and observing the scene from the outside as he turns to see a pretty young woman with fierce eyes, a man dressed in Roman armor, and the FBI Agent he admires so much that it hurts. They all look at him with fear in their eyes as he lets out a strangled yell and throws them out of harm’s way with all of his strength. They land on the pavement several feet away, but it’s not far enough. The tentacles engulf them, and Marcus cries out in anguish as he draws his swords, slashing and hacking frantically, spilling thick, black blood everywhere as he tries to reach his loved ones.

He throws off the last of the writhing black mess, but somehow, the three people he had thought had been there before have changed. Now, only two bodies lie broken and bloodied on the pavement–one much smaller than the other. When he sees the eyes of his late wife staring unseeingly up at the sky, he drops to his knees with a guttural scream of grief and pain. He can’t bring himself to look at the second body, knowing exactly what he’ll see when he does. 

No, he whispers as tears fall down his cheeks. No, no, no, no–

He shoots up in bed, gasping for air. He’s soaked in sweat and shaking uncontrollably, heart still pounding in his chest from the remnants of the dream. It’s only when something shifts behind him, a broad, bare chest turning and facing the other direction does he remember he’s not alone. 

He breathes a sigh of relief when he realizes his movements hadn’t woken anyone else. Carefully, he scoots down the bed, avoiding several pairs of legs, and retrieves his phone from the pocket of his discarded pants before retreating to the living room. 

Hey, he taps out a message. How’s college life?

He stands in the middle of the room, staring down at the bright screen and feeling rather awkward in his nudity, not really expecting a response at this time of night but wishing with every atom in his body for one anyway. 

He’s about to give up and try to force himself back to sleep when three little dots appear at the bottom of the screen.

M: Who’s asking, leader of the Heroics or my papá?

Marcus snorts softly.

Do I receive a different response depending on my answer?

M: 1. I am studying at the library, or 2. It’s dollar beer night at Lotus.

He smiles. 

I choose option 1, obviously.

M: The real question is what are YOU doing up so late? 

Couldn’t sleep. Just felt the need to check in on you. Everything okay?

M: Everything’s fine. Are YOU okay? You haven’t sent me Worried Dad texts in the middle of the night in a while.

Marcus begins tapping out a response, deletes it, starts again, and deletes that too. He sighs, glancing warily back at the bedroom. I’m afraid to let anyone else into my life, he wants to tell her. You’re my only success story, and I worry every day that I’m going to lose you, too. 

It’s too much to lay on his twenty-one year-old daughter, so he turns it into a joke instead.

I’m short on my Dad quota and wanted to make sure the Dad Boss doesn’t fire me.

M: You’re weird.

Ever heard the saying ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?’

The message is left unread for several minutes, and he imagines that her friends are all goading her to get off her phone and rejoin the fun. Good. He does all the worrying for both of them, so that she can remain carefree. He smiles softly and taps out one last text.

Have a good night, bug. Call me sometime. xo 

He locks his phone and holds it at his side, but remains standing in the same place, mulling over his thoughts. 

He hadn’t been exaggerating earlier when he said it had been a long time since he’d had… well, anyone really. The last time he’d had sex was during a disastrous no-strings-attached hookup after one of his coworkers convinced him to download some app and set up a profile. That was… shit, it had to be almost two years ago now. He hadn’t realized it had been quite that long. 

The last time he had a relationship was more of a trick question. He dated a few people on and off, once Missy had been able to mostly fend for herself at home, but they never lasted long or ever became serious. None of them had even met his daughter. The real answer to ‘when was your last relationship’ was ‘not since his wife died.’

It wasn’t just that no one could compare to her. It was that he couldn’t allow them the opportunity to even try. The closer people are to him, the more danger he puts them in. 

But ever since a certain FBI Agent waltzed into his office and asked so earnestly for his help, he found himself wanting to let someone in for the first time in a very long while. 

And now, to his great surprise and bewilderment, he has not just one more person he cares about, but three. Can he let himself get closer again? Can he afford to?

He looks at the book left open on the coffee table. At first he thinks there must be something wrong with his eyes, because the words all look like gibberish, but then he realizes the book is in Latin. Oh. Somehow he had forgotten that Marcus Acacius did not actually belong here. He can’t tell if the thought troubles him or relieves him–knowing that one less person will be in danger because of him.

The Heroic debates sleeping on the couch for a few moments, but the remnants of the dream still trickle unpleasantly through his bloodstream, and he doesn’t want to be alone. Carefully, he pads back into the bedroom and crawls back into the still-empty space that he had vacated. 

He lies awake for a long time, listening to the sound of breathing.

(Pike)

Marcus stirs, cracking open his eyes to see the first rays of daylight reflecting on the wall opposite your bedroom window. He rolls onto his back, being careful not to wake you as he turns over. Moreno is snoring softly beside him, looking peaceful. This is the only time he hasn’t seen worry lines etched on the man’s forehead, and he wonders about the burden of one man trying to protect the entire world. 

The Roman is already awake, piercing brown eyes meeting his with a mischievous twinkle. Marcus nods to him in greeting and gives him a small, crooked smile. The other man reaches over the Hero to run the tip of his index finger down the length of Marcus’s arm, and he shivers softly. 

“Early riser,” he comments in a whisper. 

“I have always risen with the sun.”

“Makes both of us,” Marcus grins. 

“And decidedly not our hostess.”

They both laugh quietly, not wanting to wake the other occupants of the bed. 

“Coffee?” he asks the Roman. 

“I would love some.”

Marcus helps himself to your kitchen, knowing exactly where you keep your coffee grounds and filters. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt so at home in someone else’s space; he’s spent more time here over the past several weeks than he’s spent at his own apartment, and from the beginning he had secretly preened over the excuse to get to know you better.

At first, your temporary houseguest had been a slightly befuddling distraction–his distinctive presence ensured that he looked completely out of place in every environment, and his constant refrain of “Quid est, quid est, quid est” was equal parts endearing and frustrating. Marcus didn’t often feel like a small man, but he couldn’t deny that the way the General’s broad shoulders seemed to fill every room had him feeling some kind of way about it. 

It’s a fascination, he had told himself so many times. A temporary infatuation that’s distracting you from the woman of your dreams. 

When the translators were introduced, and the Roman’s sharp wit and mischievous sense of humor could be understood for the first time, the pull became even stronger. It didn’t help that the man seemed to be a shameless flirt with everyone–himself, you, and when Moreno began spending the odd evening here, him too. 

Even so, the events of the previous night had been so far beyond his imagination that he can hardly make sense of it. Marcus has always been a serial monogamist, hopping from one way-too-serious relationship to another and hoping against all odds that the next one wouldn’t end in disaster. He’s never been able to do anything that could remotely be considered casual.

He had no concept of what last night had meant. 

He pours the coffee into two mugs–dumping a fair amount of cream and sugar in one, and far less in his own–and hands one to Acacius. 

“You are pensive this morning,” he remarks, his voice still carrying a light rasp from sleep.

“Just thinking.”

“You and the Hero both strike me as men who are inclined to think themselves into an early grave.”

Marcus snorts. “That might be true.” Might be. Everyone he’s ever known has called him an over-thinker. “You're a great tactician when it comes to war,” he challenges the man. “Surely you appreciate the benefits of analysis.”

“There is analyzing a situation, and then there is helpfully standing in place wondering what action you are going to take while the enemy completely surrounds you.”

Marcus pauses, coffee cup halfway to his lips, and really looks at the man beside him, leaning casually against the kitchen counter. He tries to imagine him in the armor he had been wearing that first night, bruised and bloodied, leading the armies of Rome with a fierce battle cry. “I don't often find myself surrounded by an army.”

“The enemy can be many things. There is a word for this, no?”

“A metaphor?”

“Mmm,” he grunts in assent. “When is an army not really an army?”

Marcus smiles to himself, setting the mug down on the counter and staring into the middle distance. “So, what do you think my enemy is?”

The General looks him up and down. “The things that you carry with you.”

His eyes snap to Acacius in shock and surprise. The man is discerning–alarmingly so, at times. Marcus’s breath catches in his throat when he responds thickly, “What is it that you think I’m carrying?”

“This is not for me to know,” the man remarks casually, raising one eyebrow. “Unless you are wanting to tell me something?”

“What are you two chattering about?” your soft voice cuts through their conversation. Marcus turns to see you padding toward them wearing only a shirt and looking satisfyingly mussed. 

“A soldier that carries the weight of his past failure into the next battle will surely lose,” the General says cryptically. 

You stare at the two of them blankly. “Yeah, I’m gonna need some coffee if you’re going to be talking like that.” You look at Marcus shyly. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” 

Marcus doesn’t know what to do. Does he kiss you? Is that rude? He wants to reach for you, to take you into his arms, but the two other men have him at a loss–how does one act after group sex? He has no blueprint for this situation.

“How lucky we are to have such a beautiful woman in front of us, still looking so well-fucked from our attentions last night.” The other man croons, moving closer to Marcus and nosing the shell of his ear. 

Feeling emboldened by the other man’s candor, he extends his arm to you, and you immediately fill the space perfectly, your head resting against his bare chest. Marcus presses a soft kiss to your forehead. With the General at his back, he feels completely surrounded by warmth–and wonders, despite himself, if he might be lucky enough to hold onto this feeling. The only thing better would be…

“Our other Marcus still asleep?” he jokes.

“The Hero was awake for some time in the night,” Acacius comments. 

Ah. That explains it. “We’ll let him sleep, then.”

“Or,” you say with a sultry smile, “or we could all three of us go back and… wake him up.”

(Acacius)

Marcus Acacius likes this more than anything else. More than any of the hedonistic acts that had come before, more than the thrill of building sexual tension between partners, is this: 

The utter decadence of sweaty, sated bodies, limbs tangled together… delicious. 

The hero lies boneless, half-sprawled over him. A man who has been pushed into a position of strength all his life, he finally appears free of all those expectations here. The General has always been able to read people, but it hardly took any effort at all to see that Marcus Moreno desperately craved the ability to let go. His breath shudders slightly on the exhale, and the other man curled around him makes a soft noise of inquiry.

“Feel okay?”

“Mmhmm,” the hero mumbles, not opening his eyes, and Acacius smiles.

The Agent, on the other hand, is much like himself, in that he seems to be just as comfortable in a position of power as he is in submission. Marcus hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off the man as he guided the hero through his first time receiving–gentle, but firm, one hand wrapped around the man’s cock and the other grasping his shoulder for leverage, his fingers always reaching possessively for his neck. Marcus Pike does not simply take a lover, the General concluded, he desires to own them.

It was that obvious possessiveness that had kept Marcus from insisting the Agent share with the others the night previous, allowing him to be the sole proprietor of your pleasure–but the way the man had shuddered at the sight of his beloved with his own thick cock down your throat gave him less qualms about the matter today.

And if that resulted in Marcus delighting in the hot, wet clutch of your cunt for himself, that was simply a fringe benefit, was it not? Oh, you were a sweet one, and it was easy to see why Pike was completely enraptured. You whimpered so beautifully when he broke you open for the first time, squirming around his cock with a little wrinkle of discomfort on your forehead. When the Agent reached down to palm your cheek and soothe you through it, you greedily sucked his thumb into your mouth and bit down gently, eliciting a soft groan from the man. 

Marcus eventually flipped you on your stomach to take you fast and hard, mirroring the intensity of the two men beside you. You were delirious, drunk on your own pleasure, but still had the presence of mind to reach out and stroke the cheek of the Hero, who was moaning into the pillow next to you. You smiled softly, seeing the other man’s overwhelmed expression, and moved yourself closer to him. The two of you were still tangled together when you reached the point of ecstasy.

You’re curled into Marcus’s chest now, your soft breaths disturbing the smattering of hair and your warm body leaving his own glistening with sweat. You beside him, the Hero sprawled bonelessly on top of him, and the Agent with his arm draped over top, his fingers brushing against the top of his pubic bone–and Marcus Acacius feels utterly at peace. 

[rhysdarbinizedarby]

How ‘Our Flag Means Death’ Became the Funniest Show on TV

Creator and showrunner David Jenkins breaks down the new season of TV’s most adorable star-crossed pirates.

Our Flag Means Death debuted in March 2022 to respectable viewership numbers that grew. And grew. And grew some more. With each week of its 10-episode run, viewership increased, eventually tripling its original audience. The little gay pirate workplace and romantic comedy-cum-historical fantasy that could is back for a second season on Max, and fans will be glad to know that piracy power couple Stede Bonnet (Rhys Darby) and Ed Teach, aka Blackbeard (Academy Award winner Taika Waititi) won’t be parted for long.

The first season of Our Flag Means Death introduced viewers to fictional versions of the real historical figures Stede Bonnet (aka The Gentleman Pirate) and Blackbeard, as well as their respective crews. The two captains instantly forged an unlikely connection. Stede, who decided to exorcize his midlife crisis by abandoning his family and taking to the seas, despite being at best a piracy novice, hero-worships Blackbeard and is thrilled to make his acquaintance. The fearsome Blackbeard, who among friends goes by his real first name, Ed, is taken with Stede’s commitment to enjoying the finer and frillier things in life, marveling at his new friend’s on-ship library and massive, beautiful wardrobe.

While the two captains are an odd couple, each of their crews regards the other as an entirely different species. Aboard the Revenge, Stede reads bedtime stories to his crew and encourages them to use their words when conflicts emerge, while on Blackbeard’s ship, Ed’s first mate Izzy Hands (a deliciously scowling, jealous Con O’Neill) rants that his captain is now a shell of the terrifying legend he used to be. Over time, Blackbeard’s crew begin to appreciate the healthier work-life culture on the Revenge, where there’s room for romantic and collegial dyads to form and pair off.

Of course, the path of true love never runs smooth even for a couple as invested in each other as Stede and Ed. At the end of the first season, the crews are split between ships and land, and Ed believes Stede has permanently abandoned their relationship for his original family, causing a heartbroken Ed to revert to his fearsome Kraken persona. As the second season opens, Stede is frantically trying to get back to Ed and explain that he’s all in on their relationship. Ed’s behavior has been swinging erratically from depressed to murderous, even toward Izzy, and when the two captains and crews meet again, there’s an extra twist: Stede and company have been co-opted by the far more capable and successful Chinese Pirate Queen, Zheng Yi Sao (Ruibo Qian).

On the eve of the second season’s three-episode premiere, creator and showrunner David Jenkins reflected on the series’ approach to workplace dynamics, male friendships and romance, and the character arcs he’s most excited for fans to see.

The first three episodes of the season premiere feature a bunch of breakups and reshuffling of romantic and work relationships—not just Stede and Ed. Were you chasing anything in particular, narratively, by splitting up so many dyads?

Definitely. To watch the effects of Stede and Blackbeard’s relationship reverberate through everybody's lives is so interesting. Their separation doesn’t just happen to the two of them, it’s happening to all of them, because they’re a family. Just as the breakup reverberated throughout both crews, getting back together is going to do the same thing.

That makes sense.

The goal was just being true to the character beats and finding ways to make them ring true. Oluwande (Samson Kayo) and Jim (Vico Ortiz, they/them) are friends who got romantic. It rang true to me that they’d watch each others’ lives move forward, and then come back together to find that they still care about each other, and each of them is also happy for the other person. I've seen that happen in real life a bunch of times, but I don't see that dramatized a lot. I think there should be a lot of different flavors of relationships in this show. And there's so many different pairings that you get a lot of chances to be like, “Oh, how are these two different from Stede and Ed?”

How does that relate to your interest in exploring tenderness and vulnerability in male characters? In previous interviews, you’ve referred to Our Flag Means Death as examining the burlesque of masculinity. What does it bring to your work to be exploring it over the course of many hours of storytelling?

That’s an area where Taika’s and my interests overlap a lot. There’s something so understated about his sensibility—I think some of it derives from his New Zealand accent, actually—that suits asking questions about masculinity. And it's fun to look at pirate stories, to play against that genre’s whitewashed, heteronormative conventions. Growing up as a guy, you get a lot of pressure to be just one type of a guy, the guy who refuses to feel things. Men are in terrible trouble in that way. We’re getting better about talking about feelings, but there’s so much more to cover—body dysmorphia, vulnerability, not just talking about feelings, but understanding them and having this whole range of emotions—those are always the things I want to watch.

Do you have favorites among on-screen stories that make room for a broader emotional palette?

Heat and Midnight Run are two really lovely Robert De Niro movies where characters have these very big emotional lives. It’s a similar thing with Robert Redford and Paul Newman in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I like extending that. We can push it further, because there's so many different ways to be a man! Not everything has to be a shoot ’em up action thing where people don’t have feelings. A lot of men feel like they need permission to just be their weird selves, to be funny, to dress differently. Try some different things! Maybe wear a color! Put some product in your hair! Don't worry about it, it's gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine.

Our Flag Means Death is not a casual show. It’s very funny and playful! But there is not one single frame of the show that plays it cool. As an artist, what’s the significance of qualities like sincerity and earnestness?

I hate coolness, it’s so ungenerous. And I like that you said that it’s not casual. I’m not a casual guy. This is a deeply uncool show. There’s something so special about seeing comedic actors like Rhys or Taika, who are so used to coming into a scene, being incredibly funny and destroying, and then leaving, having to use their earnestness, and not using their weapon of immediately diffusing it by going for a laugh. When I see that, it makes my heart leap. There’s something particularly special about seeing a comedic actor do it.

It’s really fun to watch comedic actors dispel the notion that dramatic acting is 180 degrees away from comedic acting.

Characters that call for that type of performance are a lot of what I love about Robert Altman, Christopher Guest, and Harold Ashby movies. They’re comedies, but those characters really grow and they experience pain, and the pain they feel is real. And then the funny shit that they do is even funnier because of it. Those are the things that bring me the most joy.

Tell me about Zheng Yi Sao, the Pirate Queen. She’s such a good foil for Ed and Stede—her ambition, competence, and leadership style are all so distinct from theirs.

Zheng Yi Sao is the most competent pirate captain on our show, and was the most successful pirate captain in history. She lived about 100 years apart from these fellas, and she was so successful that China had to cut her in and do a treaty with her so she would move on to some other field. She wound up making another fortune in gambling!

One thing that jumped out at me in these first three episodes of the season is how much therapy-literate dialogue is used—where did that come from?

I just think it's funny. The thing about a workplace is that they all see everything that’s going on with others, because they're all on top of each other all the time. I don't want to go l too far with it, but it’s fun that some of these characters can see that one of their friends is in a weird relationship with his boss, and then say “hey, you might want to look at that.”

Where do you think that comes from for the characters themselves?

There’s a level of care on that ship that Stede almost infected them with in the first season, and now those ideas are more alive because of how Stede built the Revenge’s culture. You can see that that spirit is still kind of alive when Jim tells the story of the wooden boy to Bang to calm him down. That’s a little bit of Stede’s kindness being alive in the world still, and of Jim needing and being able to call on it now that everything’s so dark. For them to go from an “every person for themselves” ethos to thinking “there was a time when life meant something on this ship, it doesn’t have to be this way” is interesting growth for the character, and is true to Vico as a person. There's a real kindness to how they carry themselves—they’re one of those people that just makes everybody feel safe. It’s nice to see some of those character traits bleed through to Jim.

Without getting too spoilery, what’s coming up over the rest of this season that you can’t wait for viewers to see?

I’m really excited for Izzy’s journey. Con O’Neill did such beautiful work, and getting to see where that character goes and how he grows, I think is one of the most exciting things of the season. To see where Ed and Stede’s relationship goes is gratifying—to see how they navigate each other and find, hopefully, a more mature way of being together.

Jim's relationships with Archie (Madeleine Sami) and Olu develop, too, and more broadly, the crew coming together as a new kind of family, now that Mom and Dad are getting back together. I also like that Lucius (Nathan Foad) is back, and has an angry young man thing going on that he has to process. For Lucius to go through something really harrowing and have to grow up with it is so interesting, because he had all the answers in the first season.

We can’t not talk about the mermaid sequence at the end of the second episode. How did that come about?

We really have to pick our shots on the show, so that was very storyboarded out. I knew I wanted Kate Bush’s “This Woman’s Work” for the scene, so that was incorporated in it. Unfortunately, Rhys had had a really bad near-drowning experience shooting in a tank before, but I didn’t know that until we were working on the stunts! But when Rhys saw the gorgeous tail, and it looked so cool and beautiful, he decided to go for it. He knew the scene was going to look awesome. So he navigated that costume, which is basically a big flipper that he needed to move his entire core to make it work, and Taika’s there with all this glue to keep his wig on underwater all day. When it’s humming and all the departments are working, everyone feels safe. It gives everyone a feeling of “let’s do it—let’s jump in!”

Speaking of jumping in, what degree of pressure did you all feel coming into the second season, knowing how high the expectations were from the show’s incredibly passionate fan base?

I don’t feel pressure from the fans, I just feel unconditional love and acceptance, and I think that the writers room feels that too. We all want it to be good, and we want the storylines to be cool. But it’s less pressure, and more just the level of freedom that it gave us, knowing somebody’s watching. It makes doing all the hard work a joy, because you know it’s going to be appreciated. Some people will have critiques, and that’s fine.

I just know that this—the fan reaction to this show—will be the honor of my career. The fan community is so kind and nice and talented—it's just a good vibe, and it’s been safe and affirming for everyone.

We’re all basking in the glow of the adoration of the show from our fanbase. It’s infectious—when we all get together, it saturates every element of the show, and it's a very special thing for all of us.

Source: The Daily Beast

[utilitycaster]

Bonus:

Campaign 2 episode 92/Campaign 3 episode 92 parallels (with some assistance from 3x89)

Transcription of the text in the above images (screenshots from the Critical Role Transcript Search) below the cut:

The following is excerpts from Campaign 2, Episode 92, and Campaign 3 Episode 92 (except one from 89, noted below), interspersed. Travis is playing Fjord, Marisha is playing Beau, Laura is playing Imogen, Liam is playing Orym, and Matt plays Thoreau Lionett in the Campaign 2 excerpt and Liliana Temult in the Campaign 3 excerpt:

First image:

TRAVIS: Your histamine reactions are going again.

MARISHA: Yeah. I've been away from Zadash for a little bit, so the pollen, it's kicking a little, you know?

TRAVIS: I take it you don't fully, fully hate your dad. It's got to be hard to hear this.

Second image:

LAURA: I'm going to heard toward Orym who's at a distance and approach slowly.

LIAM: Hey.

LAURA: Hi. I'm going to put my hand on your shoulder.

LIAM: Sorry, I know how hard all that is for you.

Third image:

MARISHA: Everyone wants to make their dad proud, you know? Just hoping he could, he could show some of that.

TRAVIS: You don't know that he can't. It's been years. You've grown, you've changed. I'm sure you were even more of an unbearable shit before. I'm not saying he deserves a second chance, but he is your father, and you do have a mother, and a brother that you've never met.

MARISHA: (sniffs) I guess it's hard when... the word inevitable has been brought up several times in the past 24 hours amongst us. I feel like I've found my family with The Mighty Nein. I don't like looking at my past, because it doesn't have The Mighty Nein in it, and I think I put off the inevitable, because I'm going to-- I'm afraid it's going to be like my past.

Fourth image:

LAURA: Don't apologize. I can't begin to understand how hard it is for you.

LIAM: You know, every one of us makes our decisions with the lenses or prisms we see life through.

LAURA: Mm-hmm.

LIAM: I can't take mine down. (sobs softly) It's not even about revenge for me. (sniffles) I just try and honor what they sign up to do. (sniffles) I just try and honor what they sign up to do.

LAURA: I didn't know them, but I can't imagine they wouldn't look at you and not be proud.

LIAM: (sighs sadly)

LAURA: I think you've gone farther than anyone could ever expect you to, and you're still going.

Fifth image:

TRAVIS: I don't think one contaminates the other. You've got good, solid footing here. I mean, shit, if we want to run, we run. If we want to kick his ass, we'll kick his ass.

MARISHA: Yeah. (sniffing) I kind of want to kick his ass, and I don't want to run.

TRAVIS: Could I ask you, in your wildest dreams, and feel free to say you don't want to tell me, what would you have happen when we go there?

MARISHA: I think I've worked so hard because I scripted this day, in my inevitable future that I would go back to him, successful woman, respectable member of society, Cobalt Soul, an Expositor, the thing he threw me away to, and I embraced. And then, I would get mad at myself, because I felt like I was doing exactly what he was doing to me my entire life, scripting me to be something else. And I'm still doing it. I haven't seen him in three years, and I'm still trying to be... something. And I think what's scary is that I like this, and what I've found, and I don't think it was until Nott started talking about having to go home and go away that it truly started terrifying me. Because for the first time, I'm happy. And what if that goes away?

Sixth image:

LIAM: (sighs softly) (sniffles) So far. I'm going to miss him.

LAURA: Yeah. Yeah.

LIAM: I'm going to miss Letters.

(sniffles)

LAURA: They were-- They were alive.

LIAM: Out of any of us, he just wanted to help.

Seventh image:

TRAVIS: It could always go away. It could go away tonight. The Gentleman's debtors could come calling.

MARISHA: (chuckling) And I think I know that, and I think I say things to Nott like, "You don't have to put those stipulations on yourself" because I've convinced myself that destiny or the inevitability won't come knocking. If you ignore it, it won't exist, and that's not true.

TRAVIS: (sighs) It'll be interesting either way. Your face is leaking.

MARISHA: I hate it.

TRAVIS: I won't tell anyone.

MARISHA: Don't tell anybody.

TRAVIS: Yep. You're a good friend. You're a good trainer.

Eighth image:

LAURA: I want you to know that that for a while it may have felt that you and I were not seeing eye to eye or maybe you felt that I, I didn't have the same goal in mind that you did. But don't worry about that anymore, all right?

LIAM: I understand family.

LAURA: Yeah. Yeah.

LIAM: I want for all the world for you to have your family.

LAURA: I wanted that, too, and (chuckles) god, that back and forth is a pretty funny thing, but choices were made. If nothing else, then at least we've got a little bit of knowledge on the inside now.

LIAM: Yeah. As much we'd like to, you can't turn back the clock.

LAURA: That's right. But you've got us.

Bonus image 1:

MARISHA: Mom already fucking mentioned that life gets difficult and it's hard. So you're right. Maybe it's easy to justify the easy way out, just get rid of the problem.

MATT: "That's not what this was about. You were on the self-destructive path. We didn't know what to do. I've never been a-- no one teaches you how to be a good father. I regret choices I've made, and you don't think I don't hold myself responsible for-- I thought I was doing what was best for you, truly."

MARISHA: You did. It was probably the best thing you could've done for me. So thank you. Tell me the story again, and then I'll go.

Bonus image 2 (from 3x89):

MATT: "History is filled with evil men. But few have the courage to stand up and try and stop them. Where I'm standing, I don't think we're on the opposing sides like you think we are. We just have a different myth, that's all. That's all. Please see it in yourself to understand why I've done and given up all of this."

LAURA: Maybe it's your turn to run. And I wake up.

[uptondixon]

Upstead Foster Daughter

Did you ever wonder how Upstead would be as foster parents for a teenage girl? Like Hank and Erin, Hailey and Jay welcomed Olivia to their home when she was 16. Olivia holds a lot of grudges and is full of mischief, but she is also incredibly sweet and has a tremendous need to feel like she belongs. To her surprise, Hailey and Jay will give her exactly that.

Masterlist

Word count: 2k-ish

[Chapter III] “What if I'm far from home?”

Jay recovers well and three months later Olivia finds herself face to face with him and Hailey again.

“Hailey,” Jay’s rough voice woke Hailey from a light sleep on the chair next to Jay’s hospital bed. 

“Jay!” she got up and held one of his hands between hers, leaving a chaste kiss on it. 

“Hi, my love,” Jay smiled, the effort to do so appearing bigger than it should be. 

Hailey smiled back, “How are you feeling?”

He made a face and tried to change his position on the bed, a huff leaving his lips, “Everything hurts.”

“I’ll call the nurse.”

“No, wait,” Jay grabbed her hand. “Let us be for a while, it doesn’t hurt that much.”

Hailey stared at her stubborn husband. She knew he hated hospitals, and he also wasn’t known for admitting his pain, but she let him be for now.

“What happened?” Jay asked. “I mean, with my CI and the case?”

“What about hearing about yourself first, huh? The surgery was a success, but the doctor said you must take it easy for a while otherwise it won’t heal properly. You scared me, Jay. I can’t see you in this situation again.”

“I’m sorry, I should’ve waited for you. You’re my partner, we do this kind of stuff together.”

“I should’ve insisted on going with you. Maybe if you had backup…”

“You can’t know that for sure, Hailey. If anything, you could be in my place right now so I’m happy I was alone.”

“Jay…”

“Let’s leave the what-ifs behind, okay? I’m here and I’m not going anywhere,” he was the one to kiss her hand this time. “I love you.”

“I love you too, always.”

Jay smiled, “Where’s my kiss? Or do I have a bad breath? I don’t know how long I was out.”

Hailey laughed, kissing her husband’s lips softly. “It’s been a day and a half.”

“Wait!” Jay said. “What about the girl who helped me? Olivia. Is she okay?”

“She is, it’s a long story though. We found out she had run away from her foster family.”

“Why?” Jay asked with a frown.

“I don’t know, we talked with her social worker but nothing was wrong, it seemed like a teenager thing.”

“Really? You guys went there to check?”

“We did, Kev and I talked with her foster mom. She seemed good, and the social worker confirmed that.”

“Well,” Jay rearranged himself on the bed again. “Hopefully she will be okay. We can keep an eye on her just in case.”

“I exchanged numbers with her social worker. Told her to call me if anything happened.” 

“Of course you did,” he smiled, but then his expression became more serious. “If it wasn’t for her… I don’t even know Hailey.”

“Yeah, I was terrified hearing from another person that you were shot, but I was happy you weren’t alone.” 

“Me too, I still remember her eyes staring at me in a panic. She must have been so scared, Hailey. But she still did everything I told her to.”

“She was a little shaken up afterward, Kim and Kev said she barely said a word to them. But she was brave.” 

“Oh, about the case,” Hailey started. “It was closed rather quickly, I’m sure Platt and Voight pulled some strings,” she laughed lightly and so did Jay.

“The team found out your CI was still working for his old gang, when you called him asking for info on our case he told them and they sent someone after you.”

“Son of a bitch,” Jay said.

“Both your CI and the guy who shot you were arrested."

Jay looked like he wanted to ask a million questions but Hailey spoke before he had the chance, "But now I just wish to never think about this again, can we do that?”

Jay nodded, “You don’t have to, I promise this was the last bullet to my count,” he said with a smile.

“It better be, Halstead!”

⭑*•⊱ 3 months later ⊰•*⭑

Hailey's phone has been ringing for the past 5 minutes, her ringtone waking Jay up. Hailey came running out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, her long hair dripping water everywhere. Jay smiled lazily at the sight.

“I'm sorry Jay, I forgot to turn it off. I came in so desperate for a shower.”

It was around 1 am when she arrived home from an extra shift. There was a situation in a women’s shelter and she and Kim decided to go and lend a hand. 

Hailey did a double take at her phone when she saw the name ‘Martha’, she was Olivia's social worker. 

Jay noticed her shock and said, “You're good? Who is it?”

“It's Olivia's social worker,” she said while picking up the call. Jay sat up, all the traces of sleep suddenly vanishing from his brain. Something bad must have happened for her to call at this hour.

“Martha? Hi, yes I can talk. What's going on? Is Olivia okay?” Hailey said. She felt Jay's presence by her side. 

“Of course, no, don't worry about that it's not a bother at all. I'm glad you called, my husband and I are going right now, bye.” She hung up the phone and turned to Jay.

“What happened? Is she okay?” Jay asked straight away.

“She ran away again.”

2:00 am on a Wednesday, in Chicago. Jay is doing the best he can to avoid thinking about all the possible scenarios that could happen to a 15-year-old girl alone at night. He and Hailey drove around Olivia's foster family neighborhood, checking places she could have run to. No sign of her. After checking all the places the family said she likes to go, Hailey and Jay started to think further.

“Maybe we should call patrol to help out on the search? Call in the team?” Jay said, already sounding way more stressed than he intended to. He knew she wasn't missing long enough to follow all the missing person's protocol, it's been 3 hours. One of the kids that shared a room with Olivia woke up to drink a glass of water and didn't find her on the bed and her clothes were gone from the closet. However, Jay can't help but think the worst. A lot of things can happen in 3 hours, right? 

“Let's check the nearest bus and train stations, if she's not there then we'll see what we can do at the station,” Hailey said, her tone filled with worry.

They got nothing from the bus station, it was almost empty and no one saw a girl walking around alone. But their luck changed at the train station. They noticed her from a distance, sitting down on a bench, a backpack by her side. She was waiting for the train that would come at any minute now. Hailey and Jay looked at each other with relief, moving in the direction of the girl. 

“Olivia,” her head spun toward the feminine voice.

“Hailey? Jay?” Olivia stood up, putting her bag on her shoulders.

Jay immediately tensed up, afraid she might run from them. 

“Olivia we just wanna help, okay?” Hailey said with a small smile. “Come and talk to us.”

Jay watched in silence, hesitant to say anything that could scare the girl away. 

Hailey continued, “Please, Olivia? Whatever you're thinking, it's no good being alone in Chicago at night, we know you know that.” 

Of course, she knew. Olivia was scared, she didn't want to run away in the middle of the night, but it was the best time to do this so she had to gather the courage and go. Always looking over her shoulder the whole way.

“We're taking you to the station,” Jay spoke for the first time, “You're not in trouble, but we can talk there, you can tell us what's going on. How does that sound?” 

Hailey nodded in affirmation to Jay's words.

“Fine,” was all Olivia said. She followed them to the car quietly. The train arrived when they left. If they had got there 5 minutes later, Jay thought. 5 damn minutes and she would be gone.

Olivia did not say a single word on the way to the station. Hailey and Jay tried every possible topic of conversation they could think of but it was useless. She shut herself completely. Hailey was the one driving and after giving up the small talk, she and Jay were exchanging worried looks in silence. Jay, especially, was in a lot of thought. Of course Olivia shut them out, she did not know them. Between that day at the alley when they first met, Jay being in the hospital and Olivia being sent back to her foster family, neither he nor Hailey had a real conversation with her. Jay realized that he didn’t even thank her. 

“I never thanked you for saving my life, Olivia,” Jay said after a long silence.

“It was nothing,” Olivia answered in a low voice.

Jay looked at Hailey in surprise, he was not expecting an answer at all. “What do you mean it was nothing, I could have bled out if you hadn't called my team,” Jay looked at her over his shoulder. “Thank you.”  

It was around 3 am when they got to the district. The three of them went over to the Intelligence break room to talk. 

Olivia sat at the small table close to the window. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?” Jay asked.

“No,” Olivia mumbled without looking at him.

“I’m just gonna go straight to the point Olivia,” Hailey said, pulling a chair and sitting in front of the girl. “What’s happening with your foster home? Why are you running away?”

“You don’t get it,” Olivia said, still not looking at them.

“Then make us understand,” Hailey said calmly. She looked at Jay silently asking for help, he came and sat beside Hailey.

“We just wanna help you, but we can’t do that if you don’t open up to us,” Hailey tried again. Olivia looked up, looking between them both.

“You don’t know us and we don’t know you,” Jay started. “But we want to get to know you, we want to help you.”

“Why?” Olivia asked.

“Why wouldn’t we?” Hailey answered. “You’re a good kid, you deserve to be happy. If your current foster home is not giving you that then we need to know.”

Olivia thought for a moment. She never expected to see Hailey and Jay again, let alone have this conversation. They were nice to her and she knew they were grateful for what she did for Jay. They probably think they owe her something and that’s why they’re doing this. Whatever the reason, maybe they can help her.

“Fine,” Olivia said looking at the pair. “There is nothing wrong with the foster family.”

Hailey and Jay stared at her in confusion. They did not believe she was running away for the sake of it, it made no sense.

“They feed me, they are nice to me, they give me fresh clothes and a warm bed,” Olivia said. “But that’s all it is.”

“What do you mean?” Hailey asked. 

Olivia took a deep breath before saying, “I’m just another kid to them. They’re good people and everything but that is not my home. I feel like an intruder there. I know I should be grateful, a lot of kids are not this lucky when it comes to foster homes, but I can’t help feeling like this. So I made a plan.”

“A plan?” Hailey asked.

“Yeah, I planned to leave Chicago and the foster system behind. I would miss Chicago but at least I was going to be my own family.”

Hailey and Jay looked at each other in realization. So that's why she was running? She just wanted to belong. 

“I know the system's not perfect Olivia, but running is not the solution,” Jay said calmly. “How would you live? And the people who know you? They would be worried as hell.”

“We would be worried as hell,” Hailey said. 

Jay nodded, “We would be the first ones looking for you out there.” Olivia smiled softly at that.

“Will you let us help?” Hailey asked.

“Mm-hmm, okay.” Olivia honestly had no idea how they could help, but it was worth a try, wasn’t it?

Here we go! How you guys like this chapter? Thank you again for all the love on the previous chapters!

[kairiscorner]

❝stop, you're losing me.❞ — oikawa tooru x gn!reader (angst)

🎧 song inspo: you're losing me. – taylor swift

✒️ word count: 1,492

🍞 genre: angst.

💗 special mention to: @xoxo-cha for introducing me to the song ! (gave me so many ideas that day UHEUHEUHEUEEUHUEHE LABYU)

you used to think you were important to him, that you mattered just a little more than ordinary people to him–that you mattered to him, period.

but you never once felt that you were anything more than a chore for tooru to finish, that he actually felt happy to see you after school before or after practice, and walking home with you–not even looking at you and mindlessly answering with a nod or a shake of his head. he was always in his own head, in his own world.

he was always hard working, only taking mondays off, but still setting in a court in his mind. he wasn't always with you, no matter how close to you he was–he was always in his own little world, and he could never help it. to you, tooru was worlds apart from you; but you could never tell him that, you couldn't even find the words or the voice to speak it out to him, let alone the courage to back up your thoughts. hours of tooru not seeing you was bearable, you understood he couldn't always come to see you, he was the genius setter and captain of seijoh's volleyball team, of course he had more urgent matters to attend to.

that's fine.

you could handle a few more hours without him, you kind of needed space, too. could never have too much of it, right? well, hours turned to days; it had been three days since you last spoke to tooru. all your texts to him went ignored, you were always too shy to call–he always initiated them, until the calls stopped coming when the team began to practice for the inter high preliminaries.

that's fine.

you did have some homework you needed to catch up on, a big test next week, you had to focus. in all honesty, you were mich more like tooru than either of you would like to admit–you were much calmer and quieter than him. you hated standing out, you preferred staying out of the spotlight. you did have a tendency to want to prove you were worth something, that you mattered–but you never went out of your way to go beyond.

you stuck right where you belonged, in your league, because after falling for tooru, you realized that you didn't need to feel special in others' eyes, you just wanted to be special in his eyes. but that was where you and tooru were different.

tooru was always hungry for success, to be better, to be at the top and to prove to everyone he is just as good, no, that he's better than everyone claims he is. and he's terrifying when he gets stuck in that state of mind. it shouldn't matter too much... should it? after all, he was only seijoh's pride and joy, one of the big reasons why seijoh is a formidable force to be dealt with–of course it shouldn't matter what you think, just who were you to meddle with his success?

...well you were his partner. you were his true, number one fan. you were his lover.

you weren't just somebody to him... right?

well if you weren't just somebody to him, then why doesn't he bother to call you at least once in the weeks that passed by? not even apologizing for missing your texts? not even exchanging glances with you anymore when you two cross paths in the hallway?

it's like you went from strangers, to lovers, to back to being strangers.

it's hard loving a stranger, because you don't know if you were ever in love with them to begin with, because that past when you two were lovers felt so far away... it didn't feel real, it didn't feel familiar anymore.

your friends tried to tell you he wasn't worth it, that he couldn't love anyone but himself—but they were far from right; tooru oikawa has never known a day where he truly loves himself. if he did, he wouldn't need to stay up countless hours at dawn, watching and rewatching matches of his opponents to come up with a plan in his mind on how to win against them, and he'd do it over, and over, and over again. he tortures himself, and you can't understand how he can't see that it's hurting him, how it's hurting you.

do you even know you're hurting?

you decided one day, after school, you would confront him and tell him everything you were feeling—even if you had no idea what kinds of feelings those knots in your stomach were whenever you thought about him and how much he's changed since you last spoke with him. you couldn't even remember the events that led up to you asking him to see you outside of the gym, all you could remember was your mind screaming at you, "don't you dare cry" as he approached you with an obviously bothered expression. his eyebrows were furrowed so slightly, in an attempt to hide his frustration, you believe—he sharply breathed in and out, throwing the ball to his teammate as he said briefly he'd be back in a few, he just has some stuff to take care of. yeah, some stuff.

the full conversation was a blur, words coming in and out of your ear, words flying out of your mouth; his eyes saying so much when he himself says so little. you could remember, at least, how you couldn't believe how little, yet so much, self-awareness the boy in front of you had. he knew he lacked in some areas in volleyball, as a captain, as a player—but he never seemed to realize what he lacked as your boyfriend. you wished you slapped him into reality then, maybe you did, and that's why your clearest memory of that day was him with reddened cheeks and a flushed nose; with his eyes threatening to erupt into tears, his lips quivering as he tried biting back his urge to scream, to yell, to cry. he was losing. he was losing you.

"love, i... i don't understa—" "i know you don't."

is this really you speaking? are those words coming out of your mouth? since when did you learn how to act so... cold? maybe this was the effect of tooru leaving you buried in the snow of his own icy neglect. and the worst part was... he can't take you like this. he doesn't recognize you in this cold blizzard raging between you two. there are storms in your eyes, a dark glare looms over your face that once stared back at him with nothing but sunshine and warmth. he said, over and over, that he loves you, that he has no idea why you're acting so cruel—whatever it is, he'll make up for it; he promises.

how could he say that he loves someone who he can't tell is dying?

he gets on his knees, he doesn't care anymore if the team sees him groveling at your feet, begging for you not to leave him—because you are the reason tooru keeps going, at least, that's what he says. he cries a little louder, clinging on to your hands, your hands that have gone cold and have felt calloused. does he not realize that you... aren't affected by his little act anymore?

"do something, babe, say something."

"tooru... stop it, this is embarrassing, even for you..." you plead with him softly, trying to hide his crying figure so he can save face. he shakes his head and cries against the end of your shirt, hoping that in his cries, you'll hear him out. but why should you listen? why should you offer him a listening ear, when he never bothered to listen if your heart still had a pulse for him?

"lose something, babe, risk something."

"i can't... go on without you... please, l-let's try again! i'll take you on... on those dates i promised! i-i'm just a little set back, i'll make you happy, happier than you've ever been, because i love you!"

"choose something, babe, i got nothing to believe—"

"stop." you whisper, and tooru pauses his whimpering and sniffling, looking up at you as he anxiously anticipates what you had to say. he fears it's the last thing you'll ever tell him before you turn your back on him and disappear into the frigid cold, never to speak to him or acknowledge him, never to love him again.

you take in a ragged breath, and a silver lining comes out of the gray clouds that curtain your once bright and loving eyes that lookedupon him with so much love, patience, and devotion—now looking like that of sad pity.

"unless you're choosin' me."

"...you're losing me, tooru."

and that... was the last thing you said to him; not even a 'good bye', or an 'i wish you the best'—because he could achieve the best, he could train that much if he wanted—but he'll never have the best you's anymore, he'll never, ever have you again.

[sysmedsaresexist]

hey does acknowledging the existence of parts make symptoms worse? like if they have a different name or other stuff about them thats different from you as a part, or using we/us, or generally just talking about them as a different part. i see ppl on reddit complain abt 'fakers' and them talking abt parts as if different from themself being against treatment guidelines but whenever i talk about my parts this way w drs/nurses/etc no one gives a shit. how else am i supposed to talk about it

Posting all three asks together.

To the very first question, does acknowledging parts make symptoms worse, yes and no. I have to talk about both, because it depends.

Typically, when people first find out they're a system or start questioning having a CDD, symptoms DO get worse.

A lot of antis and reddit are going on old research (old research doesn't support them, bear with me). Before the age of the internet, most people had someone ELSE point out that they were a system before they saw it in themselves.

This has to do with how mental health was treated a couple decades ago (having problems was Bad™️, deny and hide symptoms, it's still true but it was much worse), and access to resources about symptoms being much, much harder to come by. Amnesia was harder to notice. These days, every time you log in, you can see what your alters were doing while you were gone. There's no denying or hiding it.

That said, take myself, for example. I'm in my mid 30s, and I've been in therapy since I was 4.

Around age 20, after a very serious event, my therapist and I started to discuss alters. Before this point, I had rarely heard them, as far I knew, they didn't have names or personalities. Many of my alters DIDN'T have names. They were little more than emotionally reactive concepts of bad coping methods-- "the angry one," "self harming one."

It wasn't until I worked with my therapist to gain some kind of communication that my system kind of... activated. Suddenly, all my symptoms seemed 100 times worse, I was noticing things more and more, the increased communication was terrifying, we fought and rejected each other. We became more real, gained traits, names, voices.

Typically, this kind of upset settles after a while, but it's normal for it to get worse.

This type of progression of symptoms is well documented, but it's no longer the norm.

Now, is it specifically acknowledging the alters or parts that cause issues?

Fuck no, and Treatment Guidelines don't say that acknowledging them as separate is a bad thing.

The treatment guidelines are very clear that you use the language and words that the client uses.

What the treatment guidelines advise against is encouraging the rejection or disownment of parts. An example is someone who's religious, and believes that their system is related to possession. The therapist is to refer to the alters in the same way the client does-- by name and "we/us", etc, without encouraging the idea that they're actually possessed by a demon.

This is more about system accountability than anything else. The point is to get the system to realize that they are all in this together, and that the actions of one have consequences for all, including the demon in question. There is no hell to return to, when the body goes to jail, so do you.

This is integration.

Learning to get along, compromise on needs and wants, working together, leaning on each other, learning about each other, until together you're an unstoppable power ranger mecha with useful skills spread throughout the system. Everyone has a part to play in success.

You can't do that if you don't acknowledge them and their differences.

Fuck reddit.

[rainsoftenings]

MOLDY REFUSE HEAP — You study the earth. A pitiful attempt at compost lies before you, a smear of dirt and disarray, with plenty of manmade, shattered objects strewn in alongside the organic material. A loaf of bread, still wrapped in its plastic lining, though with a huge gash on the side exposing it to the elements, is festooned with little brown mushrooms.

INLAND EMPIRE — Those mushrooms are looking at you. Mocking you.

YOU — What? They're mushrooms...

INLAND EMPIRE — Look at that one with its ugly little head. Looks like a big wart, and also like it's giving you the finger. Are you going to let that bastard give you the finger?

HALF-LIGHT — SHOOT IT! It's trying to make you look stupid!

YOU — [Draw your gun and aim it at the mushroom-bread wad.]

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant shifts nervously, trying to parse your movements. He'll no doubt wrest the gun away from you should the need arise.

YOU — [Shout.] "Tell me the name of God, you fungal piece of shit!"

SHIVERS — The bread, which once seemed inert, writhes with life before your very eyes. Wheat from faraway fields is milled into flour, mixed with water and sugar and yeast and baked in some mass-production facility God knows how far away only to come to rest, spurned and uneaten, at your feet. No, not uneaten- the yeast, another fungus, was killed, incinerated, in the process of baking. The mold reclaims what remains of its fallen brethren. If you listen close enough, you can almost hear it speaking...

SHIVERS — CAN YOU FEEL YOUR HEART BURNING. CAN YOU FEEL THE STRUGGLE WITHIN. THE FEAR WITHIN ME IS BEYOND ANYTHING YOUR SOUL CAN MAKE. YOU CANNOT KILL ME IN A WAY THAT MATTERS.

YOU — [Cock your gun.] "I'M NOT FUCKING SCARED OF YOU!"

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant's muscles tense now, poised to strike. A look of apprehension- no, fear and concern- crosses his face...

YOU — [Shoot the piece of moldy bread.] PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — You hadn't realized it, but your whole frame is trembling, shaking. Tears stream down your face. You hunch, in shame and agony. Like some forgotten gargoyle creature out of myth.

PAIN THRESHOLD [Medium: Failure] — The recoil sends a throb down your arm, like you've just been kicked.

KIM KITSURAGI — He places a hand on your shoulder, and you flinch. "Detective, if I may be so bold as to ask... What did you mean by that?"

COMPOSURE [Difficult: Success] — Hey now. Straighten up. It's Kim. You must answer in a coherent fashion.

 INLAND EMPIRE — Screw coherence. The fervent squigglings of your brain will emerge from your mouth until the very stars blink out.

YOU — [Compose yourself.] "Decay exists as an extant form of life."

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant blinks, bewildered. He has no response to that, to your frighteningly calm visage, still stained with drying tears. Behind him, the drunks raise their glasses of brew, yowl a cheer.

IDIOT DOOM SPIRAL — "Terrifying answer, Tequila Sunset! Have a nice day!”

[wonderpommey]

Well Jesse said it, no one truly changes and indeed nothing really changed in the couples’ dynamics in the end.

The show dangled a possible happy ending for Connor and Willa for a second but of course it tears it away in the finale. We already see Willa squirming under Connor’s grip, grappling with the “sexy second week itch”. Roman is particularly repulsed by that pairing; buying a young escort-type woman and parading her as somehow worthy, as a ‘wife’. There’s something so offensive to him about that. We never see Roman give Gerri anything of monetary value. He’d never want to buy her, he’s desperately attracted to how real she is, to the experience and things she can teach him, in every possible way (sex & advice). He wants what she is willing to give, not what he can buy. The only time money comes into their relationship is the exit package (pass!) and even that is essentially just another lesson she’s teaching him. You wanna rule with emotion, the next person will take you for everything you’re worth!

Shiv's adoption of Tom remains partly strategic. It moves from "not being betrayed" to "holding onto power", it has very little to do with love. Shiv continues to push sadistically to see how much she can get away with, how close patriarchy will let her get to being her own woman. Then, when Tom or Logan tells her she’s gone too far, she folds. And Tom loves her enough or loves being in the fold enough that it works in the succession universe, it becomes a deal of somewhat terrifying equals. And that was what succession was all about. Capitalism, patriarchy and the oppression of women. What men demand things like love and care from women, but they actually lose any genuine connection the second they take a woman's agency away from her… Sure you get her by your side physically for a while but you crucially loose her very desire to be there.

Roman and Gerri’s relationship remains a study in longing and sensuality. They are barely featured in the finale but Roman sets the tone by going down on mummy’s cheese. Oh succession and its cheesy genitals, the ricotta dick! The grilled cheese with a sucked dick! The whole kitchen scene is obviously an allegory about the lack of food and incidentally love Caroline has supplied to her children. It’s only scraps, rot and fire going into that smoothie. But Oedipus-Roman, doesn’t want the smoothie, he wants the tasty morsel of maternal love which isn't for him. He doesn’t bite by the way, he only licks. Unlike his last second on screen, he can’t go as far as actual consumption. Did he want Lobster? No, he wanted the most love. Did he want steak? No! He wanted to be picked above Kendall!!

Speaking of what’s not for him... He then has to watch Gerri talk about the pleasures of a slow screw. It’s a sudden exposure to her sexuality, a validation of his intuition that she likes being superior to her conquests, sexually, spiritually. Something he knows he can give her alongside the painful realisation that she opens up - to others - in that way.

Then the office breakdown. I still look good, I still look the part “Why isn’t it me?” What are the rockstar and the molewoman when the rockstar is just a big sack of bullshit? And Ken reaffirming he’s not good enough, he’s pure emotion, he doesn’t have the drive, he only ever wanted a ride or die.

All culminating in his only true, almost naturalistic documentary-style consumption of the season; Gerri’s martini. Drinking in the quasi love of his life (I could do a whole post about how wild it is that Jesse ‘I don’t want to tell you what to think’ Armstrong said something so totalitarian). This isn't the first connection between an older woman’s sexual appetite and her drink of choice this season! Remember Roman’s reaction to the image of Nan liking her wine like she likes her men!

Sure, the outer layer of that scene shows Roman, having lost the company, his lover/mentor's good will, and any way he knows of interacting with his siblings in a bar drinking alone, overly dressed, old Hollywood style. A potential regression to his sad playboy lifestyle (Jesse), or the start of a hopeless spiral of alcohol abuse (Mark - who has since then said he saw how Roman’s ending could be perceived as hopeful). 

Upon closer inspection, his inferiority/beta complex, his emotions, his desire to be loved, his desire NOT to be in charge/on top - everything that his dad loathed to see in him - are finally showing through the physical scars on his face. He gave it a valiant try, but he couldn’t keep parading as whomever Logan wanted him to be and he realises that it makes him an unworthy heir and in the same breath, access to Gerri is disallowed. It still overwhelms him with emotion, but in the same way Oedipus took his own eyes and couldnt see Jocasta and longer, Roman only gets to see Gerri through screen and glass anymore. He demanded she believed he was as good and as ruthless as his dad and he turned out not to be. Objectively, it’s not a prerequisite to Gerri’s feelings for him as she responds to his pathos way more than she does to Logan's death, but his psyche is convinced he no longer deserves to be in her presence.

So he does the only thing he can do to keep her as close as he needs. Don't be fooled by the luxurious, civilised quality of the drink, this is a biological need,  pure sustenance (Get her inside of him, under his skin, into his bloodstream and pumping to his heart). He bites his lip as the liquid enters his mouth, swallowing dramatically, loving the burn & hating the pain. 

And we’ve come full circle on the theme of consuming each other. From the partnership-worthy mutual cannibalistic proposal of season 2, to the toxic if slightly castrating injunction for her to go down on him and devour him. Season 4 breaks him enough that he gets to the opposite nihilistic ideation that he’s nothing and hence has no claim on the company or being her protégé. The truth - that we don’t know if he can get to - is somewhat in between. All these kids are very smart and worthy in their own ways, even though of course the expectation placed on them to be exceptional prevents them being satisfied in being maybe just that.

His final scene showcases the sad and lonely consumption of the woman he loves’ essence, a poor ersatz for the ‘old gal’s juices’ that he doesn’t deserve. All he has to offer being something he has never been able to name or express without the alibi of the company; an amorphous, unworthy, unnamable but ultimately undeniable feeling.

And possibly in the writers’ minds, this is the suicide part of their contemporary Romeo & Juliet drama. Dying with the blade and the poison after daddy said the love was unacceptable & unobtainable? I mean come ON! 

Roman “knifed” Gerri (This is rhetoric they use ON THE SHOW), she completed the execution by taking herself out and brought him the threat of annihilation (while ordering the poison; a martini). There is a delicious poisonous quality to the drink isn’t there (or its abuse)? And of course, if he dies he’ll die by her, he’ll taste the poison she chose off her lips, because if he has lost the love of his life in this eternal quasi status, it becomes the only worthy pursuit.

That was the roman-esque question of the show. What is love if it’s always been withheld, if it’s always been expressed via the proxy of the company, if it’s never been given freely, or modelled or held as something precious and worthy that had to be protected? And what if it makes you ravenous for it? And how could you get it, this thing you most desperately want, if you’d never been given the tools?

O true apothecary, Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. 

[hayanwulf]

Your Scent is An Oasis

Warnings: A/B/O, Heat/Rut Cycles, Referenced Torture, Captivity, Mention of Past Rape

There will be sequel, and things will get better. :)

---

“Stark.”

Tony didn’t have enough energy to respond, or even look the wizard’s way. He resorted to letting out a low groan in response.

“Are you in heat?”

No shit, Sherlock, he wanted to respond. God he really tried to. He thought that he might’ve been more successful had he not had an uncountable number of injuries all over his body, many of which still bled. His mind was a haze from all the pain, his heightened senses compounding onto it. He didn’t know how was he still conscious.

“Oh god,” That baritone voice whispered. There was some shuffling sounds as a presence crept closer to his body, smelling too strongly of blood to discern any other scents. Then, something touched his shoulder and he immediately flinched away, a small whimper escaping his lips even as he tried his hardest to control his reaction.

This was like Afghanistan all over again, just worse.

He’d been badly injured even then. He’d been pushed into a heat without the availability of suppressants. He’d been..

He’d been trapped. He’d felt helpless. He’d felt terrified as he had progressively lost more and more of his conscious thoughts to the haze of his heat.

He’d been.. violated.

Now he was once again so far away from home — trillions of miles — encaged aboard his greatest enemy’s spaceship with Strange, both of them being coerced into giving up the location of the Time Stone. There were no suppressants, because why would aliens care about those? Even the food they got was just barely enough to keep them alive.

And no one was going to come to their rescue.

He was trapped here. Trapped in this small grimy room with no escape & no tools, with an unknown Alpha. His entire body’s nerves screamed in pain, his throat felt parched, he was losing his sanity, barely at the edge of consciousness—

“Stark, let me help you.”

“No!” He somehow managed to yell out even though it hurt his throat, his body lurching further away from the Alpha that sat not two feet away. He looked up at Strange like a frightened animal, curling in on himself, bad memories of the past flooding his thoughts. He might have been shivering too. He wouldn’t know.

There is no escape.

“Stark..” The Alpha carefully raised his hands in surrender. “I just want to help. Your body will overload itself trying to compensate for both your injuries and your heat.”

No one will come for you.

Tony was vaguely aware that he was shaking his head in denial. It was futile. His conscious mind — was he even conscious anymore? — knew that there was nowhere to run, no way to prevent it. They were in a small room with no exit. If the Alpha wanted him, he’ll have him no matter how much Tony denied or thrashed or tried to fight back.

Contrary to his expectation, though, the Alpha did not pound on him, nor used his Voice, nor showed any sign of anger for Tony’s misbehavior. Did not even move from his place. He just.. sat there, the blue eyes carefully observing Tony.

“Stark.. Tony, I’m not going to do anything to you. I’ll just stay by your side and let you scent me. That’s all I will do, I swear. It will alleviate some of the pain and make you feel better. Let me help.”

Tony twitched a little in place, expecting a catch. Maybe it was a lie. Maybe it was some cruel, twisted kind of fake reprieve before the Alpha would pin him down and have his way with Tony, laughing maniacally at him for even considering for a second that he was going to be spared kindness.

Again, instead of doing any of that, the Alpha simply made himself comfortable where he sat on the floor, his eyes watching Tony. “Come to me?” The Alpha asked, extending a shaking hand.

Tony looked down at the hand and found it bathed in blood. His chest ached at the sight.

It cleared some of the haze of terror from Tony’s mind and he found himself looking back up at the sorcerer’s face.

There was blood still trickling down the cuts on his face. His robes which used to be dark blue once, now seemed to be a much darker shade with the blotches and stains of dried blood everywhere. He even smelled of copper, gone was that pleasant scent that Tony had caught that day in the Central Park. He still remembered it though. It had been like fresh tea leaves and rain and incense.

Just like himself, Strange was just a prisoner. Trapped. Injured. Suffering. Possibly starved.

Logic and common sense seemed to return to him, and he wanted to kick himself for reacting the way he had. He supposed, though, it didn’t matter. They had learned to let go of their walls and just.. be vulnerable around each other inside their cell. If they didn’t let it out here, they would break out there, during one of those sessions.

He took a second to take a few deep breaths, then nodded towards his companion, and started to shift himself closer to the sorcerer with whatever energy was left in his limbs. Once he was close enough, he allowed himself to fall on the Alpha’s body, who caught it, thought not without a grunt of pain.

Strange guided Tony’s head into his neck, and Tony sucked in a sharp breath when he smelled fresh tea leaves and rain through the overwhelming scent of copper. Only now was he also aware of the calming scents Strange had been trying to send to him. He weakly wrapped his arms around the Alpha, for the little help that they would do, and tried to bury his face into the neck. Something obstructed him, and he opened his eyes, frowning.

Oh, the collar.

The goddamn collar around Strange’s neck that blocked his magic.

Tony whimpered a little, trying to bury his face as much as he could on Strange’s neck, trying to inhale as much of that pleasant, calming scent as he could, trying to ignore the bite of metallic scent in the air. Strange wrapped his own weak arms around Tony’s body, both on them leaning onto each other.

In the end Tony couldn’t scent nearly enough, but what he could was still an oasis in the middle of a hot Afghan desert.

[megpricephotography]

I am CRYING!! LOOK who finally has his very own jacket! Flynnie does!! I am so proud of him.

I never, ever, ever thought I'd see the day when this little scaredy-dog would be brave enough to let me put a jacket on him - complete with a worrying velcro strap, wrapped around his tummy. This dog - who used to be so terrified of me touching him, that he'd bite me if he suspected I might even try to pat him... never mind put clothing on him!

As he's got older, Flynn's made it increasingly clear that he really doesn't like getting rained on, & he's not a huge fan of being cold either. He still wants to go out but strongly objects to bad weather. With any normal dog, I'd have happily got them a jacket, long ago... With Flynn, I've spent ages agonising over whether the potential stress of me fiddling about putting the jacket on & off him, would outweigh any comfort he'd gain, by wearing it on cold/rainy days. Flynn's ability to cope with handling has improved a lot over the years but the trust between us is hard won & easily lost - on both sides. It's not like the weather here gets so awful that a coat is essential... it's just something I felt Flynn might like (if he could tolerate it going on!).

However, after looking at a sad, soggy Flynn once too often this autumn, I decided if I could find a cheap coat in the sales, then I'd just order it & see what he thought!! The jacket arrived this week & so far, it's been a success! I am so happy!

Flynn's been standing beautifully for me to put it on (I can do it up one handed, while feeding him snacks with the other!). The noise of the velcro being undone after, has made him jump slightly but nothing terrible & he's calming down now he expects it. I took this pic today, on Flynn's 1st proper walk in his jacket - thought I'd better take a photo while it's still looking nice & clean! Flynn was initially a little uncertain if he could run around in it but once I threw a toy for him, Flynn quickly realised it was all good. He came home happy & cosy!

Anyway that was a long post about putting a jacket on a dog... but I celebrate small successes with Flynn!

[thedeerman]

RadioApple Week Day 1: Early Morning

So I draw a little bit here and there but Ive been spending a LOT more time writing. I’m hoping it’s alright that I decided to post excerpts of my ongoing Radioapple fic instead of drawings!

An excerpt from DYWTK Chapter 23: Adore

Lucifer didn’t sleep for very long after their all-night chat, so he woke up some time before Alastor did. He liked to do so as often as possible, actually. It gave the king extra time to snuggle up to the oh so terrifying radio demon. 

He’d hate to admit it, but Lucifer also loved watching Alastor sleep. Not in a creepy way, of course! No, it’s just that the guy wasn’t nearly as hostile when he was asleep, which made him straight up adorable. Also, it made Lucifer a lot less nervous to stare. There was no way he was going to admit any of that out loud, though. 

Alastor, having deer features, had hooved feet just like Lucifer did. He also, amazingly, had a fluffy little tail. And just like his fuzzy ears, it would sometimes twitch while he was asleep. Unfortunately for the fallen angel, Alastor had made it very clear very soon after he started staying in Lucifer’s room that the tail was off limits. No touching allowed. Huge bummer, honestly.

So Lucifer would just lay there in bed, listening to Alastor quietly snore and watching his ears flick back and forth as he dreamed. That was when the demon actually slept, of course.

It was quite often that Alastor didn't sleep for long, sometimes he didn’t sleep at all. He would still get nightmares that caused him to make scared and angry little noises, and whether the demon himself was aware of that or not, Lucifer wasn’t sure. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask.

Most often when this happened, the king would sing a quiet tune until Alastor settled back into calm sleep. So far, he had a 100% success rate with that strategy. It wasn’t any bother to Lucifer; sleep wasn’t something he needed as regularly as mortals. But it always worried him when his partner couldn’t sleep. 

Before, it was just one of those things he just silently went over in his head for hours, afraid to chase away the first person to tolerate him in decades. But now with their new deal, perhaps the next sleepless night Alastor had, Lucifer would ask what was keeping him awake. 

For now though, the angel just watched the radio demon sleep. Sometimes Pudu would keep him company, but other times, like right now, it was just the two of them. Lucifer wished he could just keep them in this peaceful moment in time forever, but eventually Alastor opened his eyes and asked, “Have you been staring at me all morning?”

Lucifer laughed. “Not all morning, no. Just for a little while.”

Alastor hummed and rolled over, not willing to get out of bed just yet. Lucifer took the opportunity to scooch closer and- avoiding touching his tail too much- pulled Alastor close. The demon grumbled an unintelligible, half-asleep complaint, making Lucifer chuckle. Even half-conscious, he was so easy to annoy.

Thankfully Lucifer had learned by now that Alastor’s ‘vague annoyance’ was more accurately defined as ‘I'm going to act like I want to complain but don’t not do the thing because I secretly like it and don’t want to admit it out loud.’ When he truly didn’t like something, he made it very clear. So the king just gently kissed Alastor’s shoulder, earning him another low grumble.

(Not gonna lie, I love this scene. It's so simple and sweet.)

[alice-after-dark]

some babble dump expanding further on this post, this post, and this post about why Vox is in Hell. There will probably be more posts about this because I am fascinated by this sentient TV.

TW for sexual abuse, abusive relationships, victim blaming, gaslighting, mentions of suicide, mentions of homophobia, and other canon-typical triggers. Contains abusive StaticMoth.

So unlike a lot of headcanons I see about Vox's human life, I actually think he didn't have a lot of power when he was alive. That's part of why he's so power hungry and a control freak in Hell. He never wants to go back to being powerless. I think that Vox's big sin that landed him in Hell was that he saw the abuse and suffering going on around him and chose to remain silent about it for the sake of his own career and success. Because most people don't start out bad, I do like to think that the first time he witnessed something, he did try to express concern to his boss and was shut down hard. I imagine the term "blacklist" was probably involved (potentially even a prod at his sexuality, though whether this was just to scare him or because the producer actually had some clue is up for debate). So he shuts up like a good little boy, not willing to lose everything he has worked for. Besides, that starlet he saw coming out of his boss' office in tears got the gig, didn't she? So really it's just about doing what you need to do to get ahead in the game (at least that's how he rationalizes it to himself).

And the more he witnesses, the more normalized it becomes to him. It's just...part of the industry. You do what you gotta do to stay on top, to stay relevant. If anything, there's a part of him that is almost jealous that these women can use their sexuality to get ahead while if he were to offer the same, it would destroy him. And that is how he starts to see it, how he convinces himself to look away. These women are doing this to get ahead in their careers. They don't need help. And then he finally gets a role on a popular late night show as a cohost and he is over the moon. He has worked his whole life for this. Every menial job, every audition, every jab and jeer and degradation has been worth it because he has finally made it. And then he witnesses his cohost being abused by their producer and instead of sympathy, it makes him angry. He has worked his ass off to get where he is and all she had to do was get on her knees? It enrages him.

On air, they're jovial and have great chemistry, but once those cameras stop rolling and they're away from the audience, he goes cold to her and certainly doesn't bother to intervene when their producer wants to private meeting or two with her. It's not his business anyways. Even when she finally ends her own life due to the abuse, he just...pushes down that feeling that something is so very wrong and continues on as the show's solitary host. He can't rationalize her death as easily so he just...ignores it entirely. He throws himself into his work and ignores it. It haunts him. It haunts him when her sister breaks into the studio and demands answers from him.

Why did she do it? Why why why why why?

He has no answer to give her. Because how can he explain it away to her when he hasn't even managed to explain it to himself? At least, not without admitting that something is so very wrong. And he can't do that.

This is what makes his relationship with Valentino so fun to explore for me. He spent his entire human life turning a blind eye to all the abuse around him for the sake of furthering his own career and now, still for the sake of furthering his own career and power, he finds himself trapped in an abusive relationship, one that he desperately keeps out of the public eye. Because it would make him look weak. And he can absolutely not be weak again.

In Hell, he has so much power and yet...he's still terrified of losing everything.

(Side note that this is a big reason Vox holds no sympathy for Angel Dust. As far as he's concerned, Angel is just another leech trying to get ahead in the world, using his body for fame and fortune. The dumb bitch wanted to be famous so badly that he sold his soul to Valentino. His mistakes are his own fault. He got what he wanted, didn't he? He's the most famous whore in Hell. At least this is how Vox sees it. Because admitting that Angel doesn't want this - admitting that HE doesn't want this - means admitting that all those women he ignored and even hated during his lifetime were actually in need of his help and he can't do that.)