#Office Name Plate Holders

[hannahmason19us-blog]

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[chaoskull]

Lawrence Alma-Tadema - Ask me no more

Carelessness to Respite

Roboute Guilliman x gn!reader

Summary: Guilliman is neglecting himself, as his spouse, you cannot let this keep happening further more.

This is for you Guilliman addicts, ENJOY!

Guilliman had been stuck on his office for far too long, reviewing reports, ordering resources, and writing his signature. It had become a default movement for his hand, to glide a pen through paper drawing his name for hours.

"You've been at this table for how long?" Your question was left unanswered, as his focus was entirely on the words in front of his eyes. You clear your throat, the sound disrupting his concentration.

"Don't you want something to eat or drink?"

He waits a second to see if you're merely trying to stop him from his work. "If it isn't too much to ask, I could accept a beverage."

There was a gleam in his eye, one visible at times he felt true enjoyment, you were surely the only able to find. It is rare to see it, ever since he had awoken from his wound, the arduous task of keeping the imperium together had left him exhausted.

Leaning over his shoulder, you take a look at his desk. A sea of documents, you recognise a few names, mostly Sicarus, probably complaining. "That's a lot of papers, my husband"

He let out a deep, tired sigh. You were concerned over his well being, there had been a time where he was far more attentive to his health.

"I'll be back, and you had enough recaff for today" You say as leave him with a kiss to his forehead. He gave you a tired but appreciative gaze as you left, slowly drifting back to the pile of papers and reports, turning his attention back to work.

When you returned, he was still reading through the paperwork. "I wonder when you will take a break" you comment as you place a glass of wine and plate, it had a much bigger sized loaf of bread with sweets to accompany, on his desk.

"Thank you, my love. But I'm afraid I still have a lot of work that needs done." He takes the glass to take a sip and pulls the plate out of his way.

"No, first you eat" You insist, ordering him to stop his irresponsible behavior, snatching the pen he held in his hand and placing it on a holder.

"And what will you do if I don't?" He challenges you, amused by actions, he lets you continue this scene, waiting for a comeback.

"Something you won't like, now eat" I push the plate closer to him. He let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head, he ran a hand through his eyes to remove some of his fatigue, you were right, he felt terrible inside, so he obliges. "If that is how it is, I'll eat"

He reaches out and picks up the glass of wine again, taking a long drink. Grabbing a slice of bread, he took a bite. Slowly he starts to feel more relaxed, enjoying the small halt from his work.

You sat beside him, on the armrest of his chair, if not you wouldn't be able to get so close to his height, you had watched him finish his entire meal, not letting him neglect himself, as he had for so long.

"I hope you know I won't leave your side ever again" You whisper near his ear, he was done eating by the time you said it, and so this time, as he looked at you, a smile formed in his lips.

Content with the primarchs reaction, you catch him slightly off guard bringing in an embrace. He holds you with as much enthusiasm, as he deflates himself, his head falling into your shoulder.

The day had ended and you were still helping him finish his reports, you had to usually beg him to do so, but this time it wasn't needed.

Surprisingly, no one had come into his office that afternoon to end the moment of you two together.

It's a short little thing, but I hope you liked it!

[cupid-eclipse]

Unrequited Love (F!Reader x Price)

A bit of angst

   Summary: Reader has been a member of the 141 for so long, long enough that she's loved her Captain for more than 2 years. But is she allowed to be with someone in the military, let alone her own Captain?

A/N: Reader's nickname is Lass. It's not reader's real name.

    "Mornin', Lass." Gaz yawned, reaching for a glass cup before putting it on the coffee dispenser. "How'd your sleep go?"

    "Fine, I guess," You sighed before giving him a small smile. "Ay, what's with the sad face?" Gaz raised his eyebrows, looking directly at you while grabbing his cup of coffee before wincing and letting go of the cup onto the table immediately.

    "Ow! Why's it hot?!" You watched as he shook his hand a few times to loosen the pain. "Of course it is; you didn't use the holder to grab the cup!" You chuckled slowly, watching Gaz's movements.

  "Lass?" While you were having fun watching Gaz, a voice calling your name from behind made you freeze. You knew who that voice belonged to all too well. Turning around, you saw Price watching your movements intently. "My office, please." He ordered–pleaded, you fought with your own thoughts. His voice sounded too soft—unusually soft—for it to not be a plea.

    You turned around again to look at Gaz, giving him one last smile before standing up from your seat and following Price to his office. Upon arriving, you took a small, deep breath before entering his office with him as he closed the door behind you and walked in front of you.

    "...Why'd you wanna see me?" You spoke first. Price stood a few meters away from you, but not too far away for you to not be able to reach him with your hands.

    "...I realized you've been acting a little... off lately. Your performances have dropped both in training and on missions. I rarely even see you eating, as if you're in distress. Mind to share it with me?" Price spoke softly, his gaze searching yours.

    You gave him a tired smile before replying. "I'm okay." You reassured him. "I guess I'm just stressed with work."

    "Stressed with work to the point you've not eaten anything for two days?" Price exclaimed. "Don't act like I don't know. I've been watching your movements these past few days, and I noticed all of the untouched food on your plate. You didn't even drink a single drop of water!"

    "I know work can be tiring, but that's no excuse for you to neglect yourself. And I know you've been skipping sleep, too." Price said, his voice full of worry and concern. "Please, tell me what's wrong." He begged.

    "...what are we?" You muttered quietly, looking down to the floor. "What?" Price breathed, his eyes searching yours. "What are we, Captain John Price?" You spoke, calling him by his full name.

    "Are we really just "superiors" and "comrades"? Do you really not have any feelings for me?" You said it, your voice trembling with emotion. "I've been acting like this because of you, Captain. You're the reason for my behavior right now." You confessed.

    "..." Price looked at you before giving you a small smile. "...I do feel the same way, Lass. But you do know it's not allowed for us to be in a relationship here in the milita–"

    "Then why did you kiss me that day? To give me false hope?" You interrupted, looking up at him intently. "To play with my feelings and then break my heart? Is that it?"

    "Lass, please—don't go there." Price warned softly. "Go where? I'm right, aren't I? You only kissed me to play with my feelings. Otherwise, we wouldn't be here today."

    "I know it's wrong, Captain, but if you really do feel the same way about me, then you would try. But I'm not seeing your efforts." You sobbed. "I've loved you for so long, and when you kissed me that day, I thought my dreams were finally coming true. That I could finally be with you. Yet I was wrong." You avoided his gaze, turning around before twisting the door handle and opening the door.

    "I hope you know that what you did really broke me." You said this before walking out of his office and closing the door to his face before he could run after you.

Part 2?

[twstgarden]

❀ ❝ 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗱𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗸? ❞

━ azul ashengrotto x gn! reader (reader can either be yuu or an oc/twstsona) ━ after receiving a letter from azul, you decided to pay a visit to mostro lounge to get your complimentary drink. (inspired by twst valentine cards 2021) (f/n means first name)

do not steal or translate without my permission.

my dear friend, thank you so very much for this absolutely wonderful present. i am positively overjoyed to receive such an affectionate gift. when you have the time, please do drop by the mostro lounge. present the enclosed card at the door and you can enjoy a complimentary drink on me. ━ azul ashengrotto

a smile ghosted its way over your lips as you read azul’s returning card, finding it sweet of him to do this gesture all because you gave him a valentine's gift. you placed the card on your desk and made yourself look presentable before visiting the lounge. 

“are you going somewhere?” asked grim, “we ran out of tuna cans, so go buy some!” you let out a hum in response before patting his head and telling him to behave. you then ran out of your dorm, holding the card that azul told you to present for a complimentary drink.

as soon as you step onto the floors of mostro lounge, jazz music can be heard along with the chatter of students from different dorms and sounds of glasses and plates clinking, hinting that it is mostro lounge's busy hour.

“little shrimpy!”

hearing that familiar call, you looked around and spotted the twins sitting by the bar. you waved at them and sat beside floyd as you had a conversation with the twins while sipping on your drink.

the aura of mostro lounge was relaxing which is why it is one of your favourite places in nrc.

“azul is available if you wish to speak to him,” says jade as he seems to know the reason for your “free” drink, “he’s in his office right now.” he smiled at you and you replied with thanks before you walked towards his office while holding your half-finished drink. 

you gently knocked on his office door three times, hoping you weren’t disturbing him. “come in,” voiced out the male as you turned the doorknob and entered his office. you smiled at him as he smiled back, gesturing you to sit on the couch. 

“i see you have received your drink,” said azul, “do you like it?” you let out a hum as you nodded, “aren’t you going to have a drink too?”

it felt awkward for you to be the only one enjoying a beverage and you wanted to have a drink with him, but he shook his head and told you he was fine and that you should finish your drink first.

you nodded and placed the cup on his desk once you were finished, causing him to stand up and grab your cup before walking towards to door.

“i’ll be back,” said azul as he left you in his office. you nodded and made yourself sink into the comfortable couch.

it was cold in his office ━ not the shivering type of cold, but the refreshing type, similar to the scenarios when you enter a cold room after a long day out in the uncomfortable heat. it felt relaxing and you wanted to sleep, but you thought that would be embarrassing.

your eyes trailed around his beautiful office before landing on his desk, a blue folder laid flat on the surface on the further left side with his fishbone pen placed neatly on its holder. it was neat, as expected from azul.

seconds later, the door opened revealing azul with two glasses filled with your drink of choice. he arranged the glasses down on the table and sat on his leather chair.

“care for another drink? with me, this time,” uttered azul as he grabbed his glass. you took yours and thanked him before clinking your glasses together and taking a sip of your drink.

“thank you again,” said azul as he smiled at you, “that was... thoughtful of you.”

you avoided his gaze for a moment and stared at the drink in your glass. you did not know what to say, wondering if the feelings you desired to convey to him through that gift were clear. however from your point of view at the moment, it doesn't seem like your feelings were communicated properly.

“glad you like it,” you mumbled as you continued gulping down on your drink. you continued to lounge around azul's office for a while and had a pleasant conversation with him.

unbeknownst to the man before you, your heart was racing the entire time, feeling as if you were lucky to have this moment with someone that you are head over heels for. 

hours later, you have decided it was time to rest for the night. you stood up and thanked him for his time and how you enjoyed being around him before turning around and walking towards his door.

suddenly, he held your wrist before you could walk away any further. his touch was gentle as his voice called out, “wait...!” 

out of curiosity, you turned around to look at him and questioned, “is there something else?”

azul was silent for a moment before leaning towards you and placing a soft kiss on your lips, then he pulled away and smiled, “sleep tight, love.”

© twstgarden 2023 || please do not steal, translate without my permission, or use this to train a.i.

[crying-fantasies]

Emergence burns

Masterlist

Related to energon burns, these specific kind of burns happens when an organic helps with the emergence of a new spark, having direct contact to the hotspot full of energon, electric pulses and melted sentio metallico, tangling their organic components with a willing spark, attracted by the organic's living mechanisms wave or radiation and following it.

So far, it appears once the new spark chooses an organic and latches to it, following, in case of humans, the heartbeat, sometimes it comes to the willing hands of the bearer (name used for organics in these cases) slowly, almost searching and shy, other times the new sparks literally launch themselves to the bearer that works as a holder, one that has to endure the contact for as long as it takes the new spark to start the condensation of sentio metallico, the bearer can't let go of the new spark before that or it'll be lost forever.

The influx of high electricity, harmful condensed energon and melting burning metal bring obvious pain for the organic, the first bearer suffered continued heart failures before the first terraformer was able to take a hold of their own protoform, holding it to their little chest while all medical officers in the place mentioned, apart from the obvious painful screams and the blood, the unusual pattern on the bearer's hands and upper arms, oddly similar to lighting strike related burns, but deeper, strange colored that indicated energon poisoning, highly painful but not letting go of the protoform, holding lovingly the smallest protoform in history with care only similar to the long lost carriers.

There is still some investigation around it once the first case came know, easily to do when it happened in broad daylight and in an open, public area.

The resulting uproar was, of course, to be expected, specially from Caminus.

Emergence burns never totally heal, just like other energon poisoning related cases or energon burns, just being different in the lighting like pattern in real cases of emergence, it's the best way to differentiate the two apart.

In order to prevent emergence burns most organics use specialized gloves but it stops the new spark from retrieving elements from the bearer, something that many don't want, nowadays the ones to use the gloves are the organic blacksmiths, trained organics to help others and new sparks to make them reach complete forging, helping them to reach their truest frames, of course, in case the main bearer isn't able to perform the extraction due to health problems then the blacksmith takes action, the bearer puts only a hand in the hotspot and before the new spark reaches totally the blacksmith holds it, moving the sentio metallico before putting it in the bearer's hold, electric charge low and energon inside the new protoform, less dangerous overall.

So far, only conjuxed organics are able to perform this and obtain emergence burns, Camiens call it the sigil of Solus, as for them it's by Solus Prime blessing that organics are able to do it, firsts to call these organics bearers.

So far new sparks called by humans are terraformers, name given by the Lost Light scientific crew, formally know as terramorphos due to their ability to terraform alien environments to one similar to earth, not to be confused with Terrans, elonians call galarions, know for their almost indestructibility hard plating similar to Ore-12, visionaries call prysmorians, which like their bearers are able to use prysmosian magic, dire wraiths call and calve nebulons, similar to infected cybertronians in all senses.

So far, only a few cybertronians "reproduced" with organics, mainly using hotspots, but there are being strange cases of live births that seem to be more and more as pairs of dire wraiths and cybertronians start to appear, and so does their progeny.

[hibewriter]

Belonephobia

Masterlist   Read it on AO3 Chapter 2

Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse | Migwen | 6.7K | E 

Tags: Non-Con | Kidnapping | Police Butality | P in V Sex | Non-consensual drugging | Breeding kink

Chapter 1

"Sure you don't wanna stay the night, Gwen? I promise Margo doesn't mind." 

Gwen took one look at Miles, all grown up on practically the other side of the world, and shook her head. She was only going to be at Stanford for two days, and she already wasted the first working up the courage to knock on the door to the off-campus apartment that Miles had gotten with Margo. She had to leave to even hope to get back in time for classes to resume at NYU. Spring Break was no excuse. 

"Nah, I gotta start heading back. My hotel is only two hours away, and then I'm spending the night at Hobie's, so ya know…" She hated the way he looked at her, no longer how he used to. Instead, his eyes were full of concern and disbelief. He'd seen her worn hoodie and torn shoes. He had been at the funeral. 

But he didn't push. 

Just a hug. Another tight-lipped smile as she headed out the door. A wave when she turned back from her car. 

Text me when you get to your hotel. 

She breaks down thirty minutes away from the hostel she booked. A dead end for hikers, runaways, and various other riff-raff with twenty bucks and two feet. Her car pulls to a sputtering stop, slightly off the side of the road. She sees the smoke in the waning light of the surprisingly dusty road, rising from the hood of the rusted bucket she inherited from the Captain. 

She knew she should've gotten it checked before making the cross-country trip. Probably could've afforded the repairs with the leftover cash from her dad's emergency fund. But that would've required thinking before she packed her few belongings into the car and took off. 

She was kind of surprised she made it this far if she was honest. 

She sighs, tugging her phone out of the cup holder she tossed it into. 10% . Another sigh fights its way to the surface, giving her pause as she tries to figure out what to do. A tow truck would take too long, and her phone would never last. Her battery pack is dead, gone from her day of use building her resolve. The road looks…empty. The last building she passed was around forty minutes ago driving in the other direction. 

She worries her lip, staring towards the vagueness of the road ahead. She could try to walk it. Get lost, maybe, and get eaten by wolves or coyotes or whatever they had in the California desert. Or she could stay in the car. Turn it off, lock the doors, and make a makeshift bed out of her duffle in the back seat. She could walk back to that bar in the morning. Call a tow truck and get the fuck out of dodge by nightfall tomorrow if she's lucky. 

She nods, mainly to herself as the plan solidifies in her brain. Rest. Regroup. Tackle the problem. She can do that. 

Her head's barely on the stuffed duffle for more than ten minutes when she hears the soft rapping at her window. She bolts up, squinting against the light shining in her face from the unexpected guest's flashlight. 

Never fully roll down your window to a stranger. Her father's voice rings in her head as she moves to roll the antiquated handle down. Just a crack so she can hear. 

"Ma'am, you can't park here." The voice is deep honey spent, familiar only in its tone. The same tone she’s heard dozens of cops use all her life. She shakes her head, still squinting against the light. Has the sun really set so quickly? Maybe it’s been longer than ten minutes. 

"M' sorry, officer," she mutters, sitting up fully."My car broke down and my phone died. You wouldn't happen to have one I could use, do you?" 

It's silent for a beat, and she holds her breath, hoping he doesn’t ask for any papers. She hadn't quite shifted the plates to her name yet. Or fully renewed her license. But she can swear she hears the beep of his radio. Swears he mutters something about an O'Hara into the receiver. 

"Where are you headed?" he asks, and she wants to ask him to turn the light down. Let her see properly so she doesn't feel so groggy. 

"The Fillmore Hostel down the road." 

Another beep, a mutter of civilian assistance . 

"I'll take you there while my partner comes to collect your car." 

She's never heard of such a procedure in her life. Alarm bells start to ring in her ears, telling her to shrink away from the figure on the other side of the door. She shakes her head, scooting down the seat. "I'd rather stay in my car, if you don't mind." 

The sigh that comes out of him is more akin to a beast, full of disappointment and chiding . As if an unruly child had just demanded candy from him knowing damn well dinner was almost ready. 

"It's not safe out here," he says, clearly on the edge of his patience. "I'm going to have to ask you to come with me." 

Again, she shakes her head, inching away from the door again as he huffs.  

"You just had to make this difficult, didn't you?" 

The next moments happen in a flash. One second, she’s inching to the other side of the car. The next, an entire arm the size of both her legs is shoved through broken glass. A singular hand finds her ankle, ignoring her squirming and yelling as she tries to escape the stranger who found her. His fingers overlap circling her calf, finally finding purchase on her before he yanks . 

She's tugged nearly halfway out of the vehicle. Her nails are ineffective against cloth seats as he pulls her out of the window, tight into his arms. And she shrieks, loud as she can against the futility of the night. It's all she can do before she feels a sharp prick in her neck. In the next second, the world goes black .

__________

It's the clinking of metal against metal that rouses her from the darkness. Not that it's much brighter in the room when she wakes. Or maybe it's the haze in her vision that makes it seem much darker than it is. Her eyes refuse to adjust, the shadows are long and cold as she tries to orient herself.

She's on a cheap mattress. Similar to the worn ones at her sleepaway camps upstate when she felt the longing for home. The room is nothing but concrete slabs, a single bulb illuminating the space – what little there was. 

"You're awake." 

The voice brings no comfort. It's a sugary molasses, slow and sickening as it passes over the burnt embers of his mouth. She tries to move, only to find the pressure on her shoulders refusing to relent. The most she can do is lift her head, despite protest from every cell in her body.

He's on the other side of the room, just out of range of the feeble light. It didn't matter, really. From her limited vantage point, he is a colossus, his frame nearly touching the ceiling of the room. If only she could see a door, but even without the reference she can tell he’s wide. Just his shadow fills the space to the point it feels claustrophobic. As if a shift would fill her past capacity.

"Are you hungry?" 

She reels, brain swimming to process the words. "What?"

"Are you hungry?" he asks again, stepping to the side. He keeps to the wall, just out of full view. "I've heard the effects of the toxin can have adverse effects on the body's digestive system–"

"Wh–what? Toxin?"

"Well, it's more of a paralytic I've been working on. Though I fear I may have given you too much, most don't sleep for eighteen hours."

Eighteen hours. She feels tears welling in a burning sensation against her dry eyes. She was supposed to be headed to Hobie’s apartment right now, letting the desert air flow through freshly cut hair with a new punk record playing over the speakers of her dad’s ‘67 Buick. Instead, she doesn’t even know where she is. 

Her stranger doesn’t appear to be too bothered by her silence. His steps are soft, terrifyingly so as he paces around the room. She hears, rather than sees, his ruffling through cabinets and drawers. Each grind of drawer wheels against metal, the soft closing of a makeshift cupboard as he rummages for food or tools. Maybe he was planning to cut her, take the only thing from her that didn’t hurt, and drag her through the nightmares that plagued her. Maybe he was creating new ones for her to fear. 

“You know, chiquitita ,” he murmurs as if simply discussing plans for the coming weekend. “I didn’t expect you . Si no fuera por el capitán … si no hubiera muerto ese día . You see where things could’ve been different, yes?” 

She huffs, ignoring the pain in her throat as she swallows, wincing at the crack of her voice. “I don’t speak Spanish.” 

Even if she can’t see him, the amusement is evident in his laugh. "Of course, you don't. Why would you? It's not like New York has a large Spanish-speaking community."  

The words seem to swirl in her mind, both far and close as she lies in her cot. He continues to rummage around, noises echoing through the room. New York. Capitán. New York. Capitán. New York. Capitán. The sound of the water running is an accent to the running thoughts in her mind. Still, she can do nothing but groan. There’s something to connect but the pounding in her head refuses to let her. 

“Drink.” Her eyes fly open (when had they closed?) to see the man standing above her. They go wide, staring at his face. 

Capitán. Captain George Stacy. Promoted after his exemplary work in apprehending the leader of the 2099 Crawlers. The same leader was supposed to be rotting in a cell on the other side of the country right now. Instead, he is staring down at her, a bored expression on his face as he holds a small cup to her face. 

She shakes her head, lips pressed together. What is there to describe his face other than disappointment? Suddenly his hand strikes out, slipping between her head and the lumpy mattress. His grip encapsulates her skull, dragging her head upward against her restraints. “Open your mouth or I’ll open it for you.” 

Her hesitation is quickly forgotten as he moves to set the glass down, mouth turning agape in his stranglehold. The corner of his lips upturned, grip renewing on the cup as he proceeds to slowly pour into her waiting mouth.

The water is a fountain after what feels like a month of dehydration. It soothes away the ache of sore flesh, a cooling stream of relief against the effects of her poison. She wants to close her eyes in relief, to savor the feeling, but she can only stare at her captor. Even when he drops her head, letting it fall back into the mattress, she can only stare. Some of the water falls out, splashing over her face and clothes, but she can’t stop tracking his movements. He studies her back, squinting at her in kind. 

“I originally planned to make our dear Georgie suffer,” he states, calm as the sky on a summer afternoon. “Imagine my disappointment to learn that all that is left of him is you .” 

“What are you going to do to me?” 

“That, chiquita, is up to you.” 

He backs away from her then, unfurling his crouched position back to his full height. She watches as he turns and walks to the far wall. Can do nothing but watch as he moves the rusted metal of the door she hadn’t noticed as if it weighed nothing. Watches as he glances over his shoulder back at her. “When you’re hungry, just say so.” 

__________

By her count, there are exactly three spiders in what she now can recognize as a basement of some sort. One hovers on the wall behind her head, just above the sink and cabinetry. The second moves every three-ish minutes toward the light fixture on the ceiling, occasionally dropping to create more of its web. The third is a track star, running between the various areas of the room as it searches. For what, she’s unsure. Is it food? A comfortable space for it to nest? 

The restraints (metal bars across her chest, stomach, wrists, legs, and ankles) remove themselves after hours ( days?) pass. A whirring sound fills the entire room and blocks out any thought she may have had. But she can finally move. Sitting up seems to be just as much a struggle as keeping her eyes open, but she does it anyway.  Her muscles creak and groan as she stretches; whether they’re stiff from their held positions or the last of the poison in her body, she doesn’t know.

“You have an hour before you need to be lying back on that cot,” his voice rings from the sky. “If I have to put you back myself, we will have a problem.” 

She frowns, finally swinging her legs off the mattress. “What if I have to pee?”

“There is the sink or the drain in the middle of the room.”

She frowns, staring at where she thinks the sound is coming from. He can’t be serious. Nonetheless, she stands. Finally, her limbs move – each step releasing the numbing pinpricks in her nerves as they get used to pacing the small room. 

She tries the door first. Swears she can hear the snort of laughter from farther away when she finds it heavy and locked. He’d moved it like paper earlier, but she swears it must weigh at least fifty pounds with how ineffective her pushes are. 

Next, she explores the cabinets. Plastic bowls and plates, silverware locked in a clear box. The glass from earlier upon closer inspection is nothing but plastic either. No soap, no toiletries. Just water. 

“Can I take a shower?!” She calls, not even bothering to try and find a source for the violent man on the other side. “Or brush my teeth?!”

“Not now.” 

She sighs, filling another cup of water. Not that she expected luxury from her captor. Or that he’d proven himself to be particularly magnanimous. 

The hour is up before she realizes it, and she finds herself annoyed with her traitorous body as it moves to the cot and lies back in her position. No matter how she tries to rationalize her thoughts as trying to stay alive, she still finds herself annoyed with herself for folding so easily to his demands.

"Good girl," his voice rings as the bars return to their position on top of her. She squirms, the indescribable panic creeping up her chest. "You're doing so well; maybe tomorrow we'll give you two hours." 

She whimpers and nods. That does sound nice. He was going to keep her, until at least tomorrow. Still, she feels an aching pain within her. It gnaws at her stomach, twisting and turning as her head began to ache again. "I'm hungry."

She's met with silence. For a second she almost believes he's left. Left her alone in this windowless room as punishment for her wrongdoings. What wrongdoings she can’t be sure of. He'd told her to tell him when she was hungry. He wouldn't have done that if he didn't plan on fixing it. 

The door opens in a woosh. He's standing there, a plate of toast and apple slices in hand as he begins to cross the room toward her cot. 

"Food," he says as if she can't see the plate in his hand. He balances it easily as he walks in, dragging a chair behind him. She says nothing until he sits, the food now balanced on his knee. "No funny business, pollito ." 

She nods, this time merely dropping her mouth for him to put the first apple slice in. She relishes the crunch. The explosion of juice in her mouth is somehow the most satisfying thing in the world to her. Happily, she takes the second slice, watching his dark eyes as they follow the working of her jaw. It's the third slice that he switches hands. He rests his newly freed hand on her stomach. Not pressing down, no trailing of his fingers.

"Did you know I once had a wife? A daughter?" he asks as if telling her a bedtime story. She shakes her head, no. He sighs. 

"Well, I did. Paula and Gabrielle." For a moment he looks peaceful, remembering the family he had. “When I took over the 2099, Paula was furious .”

Her brow furrows, her heart rate quickening against her chest. The hand on her stomach flexes, nails sharp even through the thin cotton shirt. 

“She didn’t like the danger of it,” he sighs. The next bite is a piece of toast, so tiny in the hands of a beast. “Said it was too violent to raise our girl in. But I had a plan, you see.” 

His nails dig into her stomach, pressing, scraping, and flinging as she looks at him with fear-filled eyes. But he doesn’t seem perturbed. It’s like she barely registers as real, a simple doll for him to ground himself with. 

“I had stopped the drug pushing. Or at least the major bits. We still had internationals to deal with. Partners who wanted us to finish contracts, things of that nature. But we were��protecting our own, right?” 

Her breath catches when she realizes what his hand is doing. It’s only when he finds it, the high waistband of her leggings, that it registers. He makes quick work of her shirt, rucking it up with one hand as he continues his monologue. 

“Then Jess . Fucking Jess was convinced that George was a good one. Someone who could help us . When has the NYPD ever helped anyone?” His anger is palpable, laced into the tone of each word as his hand slips under the band of her pants. Suddenly her hunger is gone, her eyes widening as he continues his exploration southward.  

“W-wait, I –”

“ Callate perrito ,” he hisses. He is no longer looking at her face, attentions drifting southward as his fingers break the seal of the underwear she’d worn. “Did you know it was George who arranged for the shipment to New York? I told the group, no, we didn’t need it. But George infected us. Made us weak.” 

She can only whimper as his finger trails her slit. It stings, the soft laughter he lets free when he finds her dry. Cruel , she thinks. 

“Tell me, chiquita, do you do the same? Infect your friends with your silly ideas of what is right, only to hurt them in the end?” he spits at her. She doesn’t know whether he wants an actual answer, or if he is simply musing aloud. He withdraws his hand, and for a brief second, she believes maybe that is going to be the end of it. He’ll leave, and come back to feed her in the morning without his touch infecting her. 

She never is that lucky. 

He sticks his fingers in his mouth, giving a gentle suck before slipping them down her pants once more. 

“George,” he continues, pressing his index against her clit. Years of fumbling with boys and he’d found hers within a second of touching her. “He was a bastard. Only brought Jess and me to the meetup. Should’ve known it was a trap. But Jess vouched for him. I wonder, chiquita , if you were home alone, sleeping soundly as your father lead us to death?” 

She has a hard time concentrating on his words, a whimper escaping her mouth as he presses tight circles into her clit. Her body is a traitor, responding to his touches in kind as she feels herself warm. It pools and coils in her gut, a serpent of arousal as he pulls from her feelings she’d pushed far away since that day . 

“I wonder if you celebrated the night he put us behind bars.” He leans forward, his lips just on the shell of her ear. “I wonder if while you celebrated, your father knew what his men were doing to the families of the 2099?” 

She cries out as he lets his finger pierce her opening, still far too dry to receive any sort of penetration. 

“That’s how Jess screamed when they beat her. Cruel, no?” he whispers, drawing the finger out just to slip it back in. “They killed her husband next. A raid with no warrant, no discipline still. Not so much as a reprimand.” 

She can only whimper in return. It feels sickening, the pleasure he rips from her with each stroke of his finger inside. Silently, she is grateful for the bar holding her hips down, refusing to allow her to chase the sensation when he pulls out. The wetness between her legs builds, regardless of her wants. 

“Poor cosita linda, so confused? Imagine how Paula felt when the police came to our house. Took her in front of our angel . Then they told her I was gone.” His words are straight venom, a hiss to add to the sting as he forces a second finger inside. “And they kept coming back.”

Tears flow freely now, and she wants to reach out, push him away, or hold his hand to the only place that doesn’t hurt. But he doesn’t release her. His thumb joins the fray, returning the attention to her clit. 

"I think I figured out what to do with you, linda ." His voice is a razor blade, his tongue a serpent's fork, as he reaches out and tasted the salty tears on her cheeks. "And you're going to enjoy it, aren't you?"

"N-no," she hiccups, weakly. "I don't want–"

"It's not about what you want," he murmurs, and the coil tightens inside her, rushing for release. "It's about making things right. A family for a family. A daughter for a wife."

Her teeth bite into her cheek, drawing blood as her body seizes. She feels as her orgasm courses through her entire being, clenching and releasing her nerves from head to toe until the only thing she can focus on is the two fingers coaxing her down.  

"There you go," he whispers as if soothing a balm on a tiny cut. There is silence for only a moment, the only sound in the room her jagged breathing and soft sobs. "Rest now, chiquita , there will be more in the morning."

[deerslutsworld]

Sweeten The Deal

(Decided to write up a little promo fic for @havocfarceur's and my fic that will hopefully be dropping tomorrow!)

Warnings: Smoking, kidnapping, vague threats.

Read It On Ao3

You open your eyes, memory in a haze and head throbbing as you look around. You appear to be in some sort of office space, and a quite ornate one at that. You’ve been laid down on a velvet couch by the door, and, just in front of that, there’s a bookshelf and a desk. The bookshelf is a little sparse in places, and quite disorganized in others, a bird statue just next to that, mirrored by the one across the way.

Meanwhile, the desk has a stone pattern on the bottom, and a wooden top, sharing in its rather disorganized nature. There are bowls and bottles of sweets in the left corner, and a supply holder, telephone, and picture cramped to the right, just behind the name plate. Squinting your eyes, you see that it reads “Asa Sweet”. 

Looking up to the clean middle, a cat’s paw was there. Following that, there is a man sitting in his tall office chair, although he fills it just fine. The dimming light from outside silhouettes him. It shows off the warm browns of his seat, and the honey of his fur, lighter on the patches around his mouth and eyes. In a way, he resembles a cougar, with his darker ears and tough eyebrows. 

He is waiting for you to look at him, taking a puff on his cigar and, when you do, he smiles.

“Good morning sunshine! Sorry about the rude awakening. Those two workers of mine can be a bit…overzealous.”

As he says this, you swear you see a white paw waving at you from the door. However, it is soon pulled away, causing the door to shut in its absence.

The man, who you assume is named Asa, laughs at this small interaction, shaking his head at their antics. He waits for you to respond. Yet, when you don’t, he just shrugs, standing.

“Not much of a talker, huh? Well, that’s alright. I just need to ask you a few questions, you can just nod or shake your head to let me know if I’m getting warmer or not.”

He picks a folder up from his desk, sorting through it as he paces the room. You sit up as he does so, watching him carefully. You have a pretty good idea why you’re here, and your life depends on your next choices.

“Let’s see, it looks as if you're the triggerman for some new time speakeasy, one who is, well, let’s say attempting to go into direct opposition with my own. They even tried to rehire some of my best workers behind my back. Ha! Crafty.”

In one swift motion, he scans the rest of the files in the folder, before shutting it closed, stirring up some of the dust that had settled on it. He looks up at you with such a big smile, far too gleeful for someone who holds the matter of both your life and death firmly in his paws. 

As you watch him walk around the room, with that strength in his shoulders, and who knows how much information, you find yourself starting to shake. He stops when he sees this, raising his eyebrows. He makes his way over and you tense, your fur going up on end at his presence.

He sits down next to you, putting a firm yet reassuring paw on your shoulder. His fur is softer than you expected, having prepared yourself for a rough bristle, but, this is soothing. He smells of sugar, which you probably should have expected, considering the name and the amount of candy scattered all around on his desk, but, still.

“You’re alright, sweetheart. It’s not you that I want, but your boss . So, make this easy for yourself. Tell us what you know, and then you’ll be free to go. It’s as simple as that,” he says, voice becoming soft.

“If you want, I can even sweeten the deal. Offer a job, I’ll even give you protection should your boss resent you for it,” he reaches into his pocket, and offers you a wrapped candy, “Chocolate bar?”

You take it, considering. If you’re being honest, you were just desperate for the work, bearing no real loyalties to your boss or the establishment. Looking into Asa’s eyes now, you can tell he’s being truthful, nodding along to your thoughts. He smirks, as if he already knows your response.

“Well?”

You take a deep breath, and…

… 

“Come back any time now,” he says as he dismisses you, waving you out the door.

He has your paperwork in his hands as you exit, and you can’t help but wonder if you made the right decision.

You walk out, that black and white cat holding the door for you. Although, he looks mildly less terrifying when he’s not literally chasing after you. He looks straight ahead, not even giving you a glance. You spot someone behind the door too, a gray and black cat, who smirks at you and waves you off with their tail.

You swallow, speed walking away and finally managing to escape this place. Asa was the only bearable one there, you conclude to yourself. In fact, your heart flutters at the idea of seeing him again tomorrow, though you don’t pretend to understand why.

[tranquilamaresia]

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[memoriae-lectoris]

In 2006, the bicycle and pedestrian advocacy group Transportation Alternatives conducted a citywide survey of placard use. Three in four holders were using their permits illegally. Fully half of the cars parked illegally belonged to police officers. When the car was a safety hazard, it was a police officer’s personal vehicle 61 percent of the time. Transportation Alternatives had sent out twenty-two researchers on the project; every single one of them was apprehended and asked for ID doing their research, and two were detained. The worst placard abusers were the police, and the police ran the parking enforcement.

[…] Even if you could accept the idea that cops and court officers somehow had a particular need and right to drive to work, it was harder to defend the back-burner corruption that trailed in the wake of that privilege. Where there were placards you would find them being used illegally; you would also soon find a license plate behind a foggy plastic cover, or folded at the corner, to evade speed cameras and tolls. For the watchdogs who tracked the placards, parking corruption was an ominous sign that police did not think they had to play by the same rules as everyone else. And watchdogs did see what was going on. In 2007, Transportation Alternatives started a website, Uncivil Servants, where citizens could submit flagrant parking violations by city officials (mostly police). More than 1,600 vigilante parking sheriffs contributed. The NYPD was livid.

Twitter also became a popular platform for pointing out parking corruption. The anonymous Twitter account @PlacardAbuse was particularly fervent in policing the police. When we first spoke in 2018, the account’s creator wouldn’t tell me his name, but he said his work (posting photos of illegally parked cars on Twitter) had gotten him into several physical altercations as well as earned him complaints to his employer and a menacing visit to his home from the NYPD’s internal affairs unit. His best case for taking the issue seriously was not the consequences of the illegal parking, per se, but its implications for the police force.

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Today's Daily Encounter Thursday, April 18, 2024

Living in Harmony with Your "Bumper Sticker"

"By their fruits [actions] you will know them."1 – Jesus

The story is told how a driver was being tailgated by a stressed-out driver on a busy boulevard. Suddenly the light turns yellow just in front of her. She does the right thing and stops even though she could have beaten the red light by accelerating through the intersection.

The tailgating driver hits the roof, and the horn, and yells in frustration as he misses the chance to get through the intersection. As he is still in mid-rant, he hears a tap on his window and looks up into the face of a police officer.

The officer orders him to exit his car with his hands up. He takes him to the police station where he is searched, fingerprinted, photographed, and placed in a cell. After a couple of hours, a policeman opens the cell door, and escorts him back to the booking desk where the arresting officer is waiting with his personal effects.

The officer says, "I'm very sorry for this mistake. You see, I pulled up behind your car while you were blowing your horn, shaking your fist and yelling at the driver in front of you. I noticed the 'Choose Life' license plate holder, the 'What Would Jesus Do' bumper sticker, the 'Follow Me to Sunday School' bumper sticker, and the chrome plated Christian fish emblem on the trunk. Naturally I assumed you had stolen the car."2

Suggested Prayer: Heavenly Father, please help me live in such a way that my life and actions will always bring glory to Your name and be true reflection of who I say I am — a child of God. May others come to know you through my genuine testimony. Thank You for hearing and answering my prayer. Gratefully, in Jesus' name, amen.

Matthew 7:20 (NKJV).

Author Unknown

Today's Encounter was written by: Crystal B.

NOTE: If you would like to accept God's forgiveness for all your sins and His invitation for a full pardon Click on: http://www.actsweb.org/invitation.php. Or if you would like to re-commit your life to Jesus Christ, please click on http://www.actsweb.org/decision.php to note this.

Daily Encounter is published at no charge by ACTS International, a non-profit organization, and made possible through the donations of interested friends. Donations can be sent at: http://www.actscom.com

ACTS International P.O. Box 73545 San Clemente, California 92673-0119 U.S.A.

Phone: 949-940-9050 http://www.actsweb.org

Copyright (c) 2016 by ACTS International.

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nameplate_price_in_bangladesh