#Sure its not an instant kill but its still not fucking fun

[cute-girls-from-vns-anime-manga]

Well I remembered why I dont like Elden ring, for fuck sake the bosses legit just become an untouchable hit box for what feels like a minute straight

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Congratulations Mo 🥹🩷

Ordering Crimson with Kitten and a sprinkle of stork thank you

I LOVE YOUR FICS TOO OMG🩷

OMG HI THANK YOU SWEET BABY FOR REQUESTING! I like totally went overboard with this one and I think it made me realize that I have to write a Kid slow burn. I keep writing waaaaaay too much for Kid One Shots.

Pairing: Eustass Kid x Fem!Reader

Prompt: Hurt/Comfort to Smut x Breeding

WC: 2400 lmao fuck

Warnings: KINDA HEAVY- potential assault of some sort but it doesn’t happen (don’t worry we’re cool!), comfort, protective Kid, Kid with feelings, Killer is also here for reasons, p in v sex, cream pies and breeding yay, unprotected sex, fingering, good girl type shit.

I'll Protect You (+18)

— — 

It was a whirlwind of blood, cannon fire, and flying metal. 

Cuffs were tight behind your back and you weren’t sure how you got into this position. You receive a hard kick to the ribs. You spit blood. 

“Aww, little Kid Pirate girl isn’t so tough now, huh?” Your captors laughed down at you. 

You had been a part of Kid’s crew for awhile now but this was your first confrontation with other pirates in which you had found yourself bested. You were overtaken by several powerful enemy pirates and swiftly hauled off to a secluded closet area away from the fray and away from the safety of your captain and his crew. 

“She’ll make a fun little play thing for us I think… heh heh…” One of the brutish pirates chuckles down at you, nudging your cheek with the bottom of his boot as you lay bound on your side. The moist wood of the ship was splintering your cheek and one of your eyes was swollen to the point of obstructing your vision. 

“T-they’ll kill you, fucking bastards..” You spit out with all of your might, but it came out quiet since there was very little air left in your lungs. 

“Hah! You think they’d come for you? See how easily we were able to take you away? They don’t give a shit about you.” Another of the men sneered at you. 

“Come on, let’s get her out of those ugly punk clothes. She belongs to us now.” A taller, thinner man said as he reached for the buckle of your pants. 

“Get the fuck off me!” You choked out. 

“Stop playing hard to get, sweetie, I thought you liked red heads?” Another enemy pirate chuckled as he used his sweaty hand to rip your tank top, exposing your breasts. 

You had almost given up and resigned yourself for whatever you were about to endure when the door of the closet was blown clear off its hinges. The men around you straightened up and turned around immediately taking their hands off you. 

In flash of long blonde hair and blue and white, the men around you had fallen to the floor in pools of blood, sliced to pieces. 

“Kil-“ You try to speak but your mouth was full of blood again and you cough. 

In an instant you were scooped up in Killer’s huge arms, tucked into his chest to cover your now exposed body from any other prying eyes. You were fading in and out of consciousness while Killer carried you across the deck of the Victoria Punk. As your head lolled back you could see Kid facing away from you out of the corner of your eye, no doubt destroying what was left of the enemy pirate crew. 

“Captain! Y/n’s hurt! Bringing her inside!” Killer shouted at your captain. 

You were able to catch Kid’s eyes as he turned around. His expression changed so fast in that brief moment of eye contact it was almost as if Killer was carrying you in slow motion. You saw shock turn to blind rage as Kid noticed how damaged your body was. He no doubt saw your torn clothing… so god help those pirates if he assumed the worst had happened to you… 

You lose consciousness before you make it to the first aid quarters.

— — 

Your vision is too blurry and your head too fuzzy to make sense of your surroundings. All you could hear was a far-away, muffled yelling… a voice you could just barely recognize. 

“LET ME IN THERE NOW, HEAT! THAT’S AN ORDER FROM YOUR CAPTAIN!” It sounded like Kid was underwater, miles away, but you could still make out the words being exchanged. 

“Captain! I-I’m sorry but she’s been sedated! Waking her up now would only put her in more pain!”  You could just hear Heat outside the room pleading with your irate captain. 

“I DON’T CARE IF SHE’S AWAKE! SHE NEEDS HER CAPTAIN!” Kid clearly was not in the mood for reason. 

“Captain… The threat is eliminated. You need to rest, and so does she. We all do. Heat has assured us that y/n will be fine in a few days. If you trust your crew, you’d back off.” Your ears perk up further as you hear the logical and clear voice of reason, Killer speak to his captain. 

Several moments of silence go by and you felt yourself passing out again… 

“FINE!” *SLAM* Kid must have grabbed Heat and pushed him against the wooden wall of the ship. “But if anything, and I mean ANYTHING changes in her condition… I’m in there. Got it?” You hear kid spit at his crew. 

“A-aye captain.” You can nearly hear Heat choke out at Kid. 

You black out again. 

— — 

You hear whispers and see a faint light behind your eyelids. 

“Hey…. Hey y/n…” 

Your eyes flutter open completely for the first time in several days and you’re met with a mane of blue hair and a Glasgow smile. 

“AH!” You shriek and jolt up. 

“AH!!!” Heat pulls back and screams louder. 

“Gods on fucking bikes, Heat! You can’t wake people up like that!” You breath heavily, leaning up on your elbow, hospital sheet clutched to your chest in your other arm. 

“Like what? I literally just look like that!” Heat snips back at you, comfortable now seeing you’re alive and well. 

“Maybe a surgical mask or something, geez… Nearly shit myself…” You sigh out. 

“Are you body shaming me?” Heat brings his hands to his scarred, grey cheeks in fake offense. You smile weakly. 

A few moments of silence go by. 

“Do you… do you remember what happened?” Heat asks you. 

“Yes.” You respond instinctively. You don’t elaborate. “Can you get Kid? He asked if anything changed to come get him.” You ask without looking up from your feet at the end of the hospital bed. 

“How did-? Yes, y/n… I-I’ll get him.” Heat stutters as he swiftly exists the Victoria Punk’s makeshift medical bay. 

Without having the energy to thank your crew mate, you just sat on the hospital bed and pulled your knees up to your chest. You hugged them close into your body and stared out the porthole on the opposite wall. It could have been seconds, minutes, or an hour… but you found yourself lost in the point where the ocean met the sky, rocking back and forth in the window before you were startled by a gentle knock. 

Too gentle from what you’re used to on this ship. 

“Yes-“ you try to call out but your voice was hoarse. 

You hear the door behind you creek open and a heavy body thumps in with large boots. The door shuts. You don’t turn around.

Nothing is said. You can hear Kid’s heavy breathing. He was upset. You were sure you knew why. He was angry that a member of his crew had been so easily captured and needed to be rescued and put on a week of bed rest. You were pathetic.  He was here to tell you that you weren’t worthy to be a Kid Pirate anymore. Tears formed in your eyes and your throat felt tight. You clutched your knees harder before you finally spoke. 

“Captain-“

“I killed them.” Kid interrupted you immediately. 

“Y-you.. what-“ You turn your neck and wince, muscles still sore. 

“Every single fucking one of them. Killed them and threw their bodies in the sea. Set their ship on fire.” Kid paces across the room slowly, his jackboots creaking on the wooden floorboards. 

You tried to swallow down the lump in your throat. 

“I-I apologize c-captain. I-I was w-weak-“ You try to square your shoulders as you turn to face your imposing captain, but your voice trails off. “But I.. I… I… ” Your voice falters and squeaks. 

“You what, y/n?” Kid stops pacing and takes a step towards you. 

“I.. I was so fucking scared, Kid.” You spit out and succumb to violent sobs that wracked your whole body. “So fucking scared…” You cry and whimper into your knees as you pulled them impossibly closer to your shaking body. 

You were so engulfed in your own emotions that you were startled when you were scooped up entirely and pulled into Kid’s huge chest. 

You didn’t know why he was holding you, but you couldn’t help but let it comfort you nonetheless. You cried into Kid’s leather clad chest for awhile until he finally speaks. 

“I don’t want to ever hear you apologize to me again. Not for that shit. You fought hard. It was my fault.” Kid pulls your head out from between his pecs so you could look up at him. He gently uses his flesh hand to push your damp hair from your eyes while he cradles your body in his giant metal arm. Your wet eyes bat up at him and he can’t help but melt. “It was my fault that I couldn’t protect you. I’m never letting that happen again, you hear me?”

“But Kid, I-“ You try to protest, knowing you were too weak to be a part of his crew.

“You hear me?!” Kid pulls you closer to him by the back of your neck now. You inhale sharply. “I’m never letting anyone else touch you again. If they do, I’ll fucking slaughter them just like I did those bastards. You’re mine.” Kid becomes heated as he moves his face even closer to yours. “You hear me?” He repeats, but this time in a soft whisper against your lips. 

“A-Aye Captain..” You barely breath out through your trembling lips. 

“Aye, Captain what-“ Kid starts to run his hands up and down your torso, still not kissing you fully.

“I’m yours.” You finally get out. 

Kid hums in satisfaction just before pressing his painted red lips into yours. 

You sigh into the kiss, releasing so much anxiety and stress from yourself, knowing that Kid want you to stay, and wanted you in this capacity. 

Kid ripped the hospital sheet off your body and kisses down your neck to your breasts, quickly attaching his hungry mouth to your pert nipple. Small pants leave your parted, swollen lips. Kid pulls back from your breast to admire your naked, quivering body beneath him. 

Kid stands at full height, he then hunches slightly to drop a large ball of spit from his lips to land right on your bare pussy. You gasp slightly at the lewdness. 

Kid then leans down and presses his forehead against yours while undoing the buckle on his belt. 

“Tell me this is okay… tell me if you don’t want this, we can stop… tell me you want me…” He whispers softly to you as he strokes himself above you. 

“Yes. Touch me.” You meet Kid’s gaze and cup his jaw in your hand, truly magnifying his size against yours. 

Kid wordlessly moves his hand to your sex as he smears his own saliva across your clit. You throw your head back and sigh. 

“Have to get you ready for me…” Kid says tenderly as he pushes two large fingers inside of you. “I don’t want to hurt you…” Such softness you had never seen from your captain before was only adding to your arousal. He stroked your g-spot gently as he whispered sweet praises to you in assurance. “Such pretty sounds, baby… You’re doing so good getting so wet for me… you ready to take my cock?

“I-I need you… Kid… please…” You plead, wanting him inside of you so badly that you could swear your slit was dribbling out onto the bed beneath you. 

Kid nods his head against your forehead and takes his fingers from your clenching hole. You groan in frustration, but only for a moment as Kid returns and slides his massive member into you. You squirm at first, so unused to such a massive stretch. It didn’t hurt, but it was going to take a little work to get it all in…

Kid hears you whimper and tries tor assure you. 

“I know baby, it’s a little big… we’ll make it fit… you’re gonna feel so good…” Kid coos at your boneless form on the hospital bed as he gingerly thrusts the first half of his cock in and out of you. 

With each few thrusts, Kid sinks his cock a bit deeper inside you and with each additional centimeter you squealed. You moaned but you never protested, as your gushing slick coated him further, he was eventually able to sink himself balls deep inside of you. 

“See, pretty? I told you it’d fit.” Kid smirks and presses his flesh hand on your lower tummy while his metal arm holds your legs apart. 

“Ahh, Kid don’t do that I’ll-“ You protest and try to push his wrist. 

“You’ll what? Cum? Squirt? That’s the point, love.” Kid chuckles and rips your hand off his wrist. He pins your wrists together above your head in one hand as he presses on your belly with the other all while he relentlessly fucked into you. 

You shriek. Your vision turned starry for a moment and you feel liquid gush from your lower half.  Your eyes roll back in your head and your thighs twitch from the stretch to accommodate such a large man between them for so long. 

“That’s my girl… my fucking girl…” Kid grips your face with his hand and forces you to look at him. “Let me make you mine.” Ge growls at you. 

“Y-yes, Captain.” You make out through your post orgasm haze. 

“Mine…” Kid grunts and slams his hips so far into yours that it made you cry out. He came hard and heavy deep inside your cunt. 

Kid’s feet shuffle against the wooden floor as he tries to pull himself off of you. He pulls back and lifts your chin to face him. You were cock drunk and exhausted, still recovering from your wounds. 

“Come finish the rest of your treatment in my quarters. You’re not staying in this shithole anymore.” Kid says as he nuzzles his nose against yours. 

“You’ll have to take it up with the doctor, but I have a feeling you’ll be very convincing.” You place a gentle kiss against Kid’s lips. 

— — 

**A/N** This was too much plot with not enough porn? I can admit that but IDK I HAD FUN WRITING IT? I hope y’all like it!

[suguru-getos]

fractures // geto suguru x f!reader // chapter 4

links: part 1 / part 2 / part 3

story summary: being a monkey is the norm except when you're captured by geto sama because he needs money from your parents. however, you may just have to suffer a little extra because of the forced thinking about the right and wrongs... you're putting him through. the affection you’re forcing him through…

chapter summary: only five more days left to finally be able to leave the geto estate, however with an environment so brutal & scathing… the reader is slowly losing her will to keep going, and her hopes with it.

warnings: depressed reader, geto is being a cunty bitch as always (but hes softened a teensy bit if you squint), trying to provide the resder comfort in his own way. degradation. not beta’d by me i’m a lazy ass bitch :33

you sat lonesome, devastated & absolutely crushed below the shower. the way the cold water drenched your hair, every hit of it against your skin reminding you of the fact that you were alive, still alive unfortunately. and will be alive, until geto suguru gets what he’s promised. the money. its been close to an hour and your skin has started to wrinkle apart, you are so lost in your thoughts that your mind forgets to register how cold you feel with the shivering. the white marble flooring of the bathroom against your bare bottom & the soles of your feet a constant reminder of the coldness.

“y/n.” a voice echoed from outside the expensive glassed sliding door of the bathroom. it sounds like a fake echo amidst the stormy thoughts you’re battling.

“Y/N!” the voice snapped louder, and you jerked at the shocking bellow. flinching and getting pulled from your mind to what’s real. ��yes?” you answered meekly, getting up on your now wobbly feet with how long you had been sitting the same and twisting the shower nozzle to stop.

“just checking if you had died.” manami’s voice scoffs from outside the door, footsteps walking away from you and sounding delightfully fainter.

you want to kill everyone & yourself. these people were so beyond powerful that you didn’t know humans could… do that.

begrudgingly, passionately hatefully, you got up and wandered to wear clothes and apply any cream that could soothe your now dry & angry skin. that’s when you see the girls.

mimiko & nanako, peeking through the door and humming. “you are pretty.” one of them smiles, “shame you’re nothing but a monkey.” she pouted, the one with brown, whiskey-kin hair. you blink, unsure how to respond to something that sounded awfully unclear. “what do you mean when you say monkey?” you asked, sighing.

the girls invited themselves in, putting your food beside you. “geto sama wants you to eat.” the raven haired little girl numbly reiterated. you nodded, unsure why they respected the monster so much. then again, you also think he is insanely kind to everyone but you. oh how fun.

“funny he didn’t bring me an animal bowl since he called me a mutt.” you scoffed, you know the life within you brimming and enflamed could one day kill you. maybe it should. oh no… you’re starting to feel depressed. why else do you think so frequently that you should rather fucking die?

“mimiko, nanako, you both are excused.” the velvety hum of geto’s voice from the entrance of your door echoed. it sent instant chill in your spine, the color of blood & fear mingled into the reminding dark red that oozed from the word ‘monkey’. the girls listened to him as if he was all they ever had. conflicting, the tender tone he used for those teenagers was conflicting.

he walks in, hands in front with the gojo-gesa making him look even more majestic than he is. he is tall, bigger than you, and his cologne is perfect. you wondered if he dresses like this to hide the real him. the rotten, unemotional, sadistic bastard.

“did you like sleeping on the floor yesterday?” he hums, clearly in a mood to stab your barely healed psyche wounds. “yes, it was comfortable. i’m sure sleeping on the bed must have been quite uncomfortable.” your sarcasm is biting, you haven’t had a good sleep thanks to him. “get used to it, little mutt.” he shrugs, “get used to it until your pathetic parents can gather the money they are demanded.”

you sigh, right. money… “i am.” the fight within you is flickery, and you never know what might rub geto the wrong way & suddenly your whole body is chopped up. “you clean up bearable.” geto hums again, his eyes flickering towards how devastatingly gorgeous you look post shower.

“i know.” you respond again, waiting, bracing. he is here to hurt you anyway. he’s doing that everyday ever since you’re here. “the girls brought you food, eat.” he sounds demanding suddenly, breaking the chain of your vile overthinking.

“is it poisoned?” you snarkily replied. rolling your eyes. you have come to the delusional conclusion that this “geto” person wouldn’t kill you. until he has the money that is… that is the sole reason why your mouth hasn’t stopped.

suguru’s gaze almost softens, you look pale, having lost a lot of blood. he remembers how bruised your skin looked, and you look like you have easily lost a few pounds. he has come to a conclusion that he doesn’t like damaged goods. even when he’s returning them. that is a much better explaination than the other one that meekly whispers to his heart: he has a soft spot for a fucking monkey!

“it’s not. i am fully capable of stuffing that useless mouth full.” he answers, equal bite to his tone. oh his words scathe and burn you, but they do the same to him. they feel like branding on his skin. especially when the light in your eyes fades a little more at his sentences. you hesitantly take a bite, then another… and another. you didn’t know you were ‘this’ hungry, because you could swear the plates are finished in a few minutes. suguru feels a motherly joy upon seeing you like this, before he forcibly snaps himself out. “five more days, then you’re a free girl.” he hums, wanting to see the excitement in your eyes of finally ridding yourself off of him. to his surprise, there was none.

“if i am alive by then.” you hummed, there was no malice in your words, no ill-intent, no insight to piss him off. that’s what HURTS him. it feels like the wrath of a thousand suns is coming for him. you actually… feel that you wouldn’t survive.

for you, its because you want to give up. maybe kill yourself, maybe let him kill you. the idea of a ‘life’ after this whole ordeal seems draining. it would take so much to heal from it; and you’re becoming more and more unsure with every passing day.

suguru gets up, glancing your way once more. you are torturing him just by breathing. “if you had one last wish, what would it be?” he asks, partially to see any emotion apart from the numb on your face. be it fear.

you looked at him, “that you don’t tell my parents i’m dead. tell them i escaped & wouldn’t return.”

he widens his eyes, the frog in his throat unbearably tight. he clears his throat to sound the same distinct monotonous, unkind tone. “they should be happy their daughter is dead if you were to… stop… breathing.” he has to strain the last two words out of him. his jaw tightening.

“a-after all, what use are you to them? you are giving them stress while they try to collect money for you. to save you. and here you are, so okay with your demise.” there is a questionable vigor in his tone. as if he’s trying his best to stop you from killing yourself. “the only reason you’re still alive is because they promised the money.” and… not because suguru can’t bring himself to kill you. yeah, that’s it.

tears sting your eyes, your heart feels heavy. you don’t want to die either… you’re just tired god damn it! “what’s your full name?” you asked him, trying to deviate from the topic.

suguru is taken aback at that change, why do you want to know more about him? “geto suguru.” he hums, responding rather conceited.

“during sunset.” he begins again, unsure why he’s saying what he’s about to say. kicking himself for it. “the gardens… look exceptionally beautiful.”

you raised a brow, curiosity brinming within your bones. “if you don’t wish to die even one bit, a walk might help.” he gets up with that, leaving for the exit. before doing so, he stands at the entrance, “should you want to be a good daughter who is at least breathing when she meets her parents, i would be there in the gardens too. an unwelcomed and imposed company.”

you don’t have an answer to that. except a sigh of relief when he leaves, he didn’t hurt you today… until now. how relieving…

what you don’t know is geto is leaned against that very door, replaying this conversation over and over in his head like a stuck tape-recorder. almost choking at the way you were. maybe he needs to get back at it, killing annoying monkeys. that… should help?

[melonba11s]

Tender Revenge (MC/Strade ficlet)

Right so, this is a fic with an MC domming and overstimming Strade to break him. Enjoy.

Contains: Gender Neutral MC, Strade, Overstim, Noncon, mindbreak, bondage, gag, drug use mention

It'd been hard to get Strade down here, even with him fucked up on a concoction of pills that should have put a grown man on his ass. He'd still fought the entire way, growling slurred threats in german as best he could. Saying you didn't have the guts to hurt him.

He was right about that last part. He'd loved that about you, your refusal to hurt others, how it broke you down when he made you.

But there were other ways to torture someone without hurting them, you'd told him quietly as you tied him down to the chair. A chair you'd preemptively tied to the familiar pole in the basement to prevent him from thrashing around and falling over.

calves bound to the front legs of the chair, arms around the back, and finally managing to force a gag past his lips despite him thrashing his head every which way.

You'd never seen Strade so angry, but you could tell that he was also afraid. Apprehensive, didn't know what you were about to do. Strade usually loved surprises.

When you dug out the wand vibrator, his eyebrows flew up into his messy sweaty hair. Then he let out something that sounded like a laugh, another muffled threat coming from his throat.

"You were right. I'm not gonna hurt you. But I'm sure I can still break you with this." you bent over, unzipping Strades pants and pulling his cock out. A cock he'd forced you to get down on your knees and suck, you remembered how he'd bend you over and fuck you.

How he'd make you cum even with every fiber of your being fighting against it, relishing in your conflicted screams.

You were going to make him have a taste of his own medicine now. Hopefully by the end of today, he'd cry at the thought of even touching his dick.

You licked each of your fingers slowly, before wrapping them around the base and beginning to stroke him. Feeling his hips stutter at the sudden contact, a sensitive moan slip out from under the gag before he began to jerk at his restraints again.

Once he was fully hard, you plugged the wand in. He stiffened at the sound of the motor running, watching helplessly as you pressed it against the dripping head of his cock.

It was almost instant. A high pitched moan from him, and suddenly he was arching his back as best he could, and you jumped back as he came, splattering your front.

"wow..." you said, almost breathless. "Didn't know you could be such a quick shot, Strade." You laughed, watching as he began to fight his restraints with renewed vigor. You could almost hear his pleas.

"Ok, you had your fun. Let me go now and I won't kill you."

You weren't done yet though. The wand was still buzzing in your hand, sending tingles along your fingers. You went to the counter and grabbed a roll of duct tape, moving back towards him.

Watching him flinch, then yelp as you pressed the wand back against his softening cock, oversensitive, painful. As much as you wanted to stay here and watch him cum over and over again though... You had better things you could do with your time.

And he didn't deserve to see how happy breaking him made you.

Eventually the best hands free method you could think of was taping the wand to the chair, nestled snuggly just above his balls, against the base.

No where near as sensitive as the head of his cock, but it was doing the job all the same. You could tell by the way his teeth where digging into the gag he was holding back. He jerked his head away again as you reached out, stroking his cheek.

"I'll be back later." You smiled, giving his ear a kiss as you checked to make sure the ropes would hold.

As you walked up the stairs, you could hear a muffled scream of rage. Or maybe he had just cum again, only for the unforgiving toy to continue its assault.

You waited several hours. You took a nap, you dug out Strades credit card and ordered food. You cracked open a few of his beers and even tried one of his cigars while you watched a movie before heading back downstairs.

His demeanor was completely different now. He was slumped forward, the gag had fallen out, probably thanks to how much he had drooled. But he was barely making a sound, only panting, groaning.

The spark in his eyes was almost gone, a frown flickering on his face when he saw you come into view before that too slipped from his exhausted features.

He was probably dehydrated. You walked over to the small fridge in the basement and took out a bottle of water.

Holding it to his lips, he only stared at the clear liquid, quickly forcing the tip into his mouth as he began to chug.

The entire bottle was empty in seconds, and he began to gasp, choke on what was left as you grabbed another.

You felt more confident now, holding his head to your chest, pressing lazy kisses against his forehead as you drained a second, then third bottle.

A high pitched, not like Strade at all, whimper came from his throat. You hadn't turned off the wand yet, and he'd cum again, joining the countless, drying splatters against his stomach, thighs, even some had reached high enough to catch him in the chin.

His eyes met yours, begging you. It almost broke your heart. Almost.

There was nothing left of the snarling, ready to charge boar before. You'd managed to reduce him to a squealing pig for slaughter.

"You're gonna be a good boy, okay?" you whispered, feeling him nod as you unplugged the wand.

[powderblueblood]

the king of hawkins high

hawkins, indiana. 1960-somethin'. al munson reckons with the reality of his brother being shipped off to vietnam, and carries on a years-long tradition of swapping a ring with his best friend, ray doevski. which could mean nothing. cw: swearing, mention of criminal activities, era-typical misogyny and implied homophobia, guys is it gay to wipe motor oil from your homie's face when they've possibly just set a heinous crime in motion, murder but kind of not really. i didnt proofread this i am really just running on the fumes of vibes atp wc: 6.1k. what goes on. tagging @slowdancer, without whose continued interest in the old man yaoi aspect of hellfire & ice, this would not be possible. i appreciate you more than you know part of the hellfire & ice universe

He comes to with his head against the tile. 

Comes to as in wakes up or comes into jettisoned back to sobriety by the force of his own piss stream, he’s not sure, but he is here and he’s awake. 

With his dick in his hand. 

Al’s mouth feels like a fucking shag carpet. Every bud on his tongue has grown its own ecosystem after the amount of beer and whiskey and tobacco and ketchup and mustard and sugar and salt and smoke and someone else’s spit he’s let populate there. 

It’s been a long… however long it’s been, cooped up in this clubhouse on the outskirts of town. 

Undesirable types like to hole up here and pretend it’s a bar, but it functions more as a halfway hovel. Some genius calls it the Hideout. 

Al just about keeps himself steady as he shakes the last drop out (more’n three and you’re playin’ with yourself), zipping his pants back up with a hop that he instantly regrets. A knife slices right through his temporal lobe. 

The tubular bells have begun to ring and remorse starts to churn in his stomach. 

Time’s up, party’s over, away we go home.

Staggering back out into the front bar, Al catches a fond sight–a shapely, tanned rump lying bare across the pool table. Given that he’s missing a shirt, he figures he must have been splayed underneath that body before nature had called. 

God given miracle he’d made it to the bathroom in whatever state he was in.

One of Al’s hands reaches out and caresses a perky, round cheek, giving it a squeeze. A grumble from the mouth it belongs to, buried under a mass of blonde curls. 

“Kar-ennn,” he sing-songs, voice sputtering like a fuckin’ chainsaw, “It’s after ten.” 

“Mmnff.”

“On a Sunday.” He bends, bringing his mouth to the peachy mound. Teeth sink in. “You’re gonna be late for–”

“--church!” yelps the blonde, darting up and rolling over in this mad scramble to get her frilly old halter dress back on her body. “Shit! Shit-shit-shit!”

“Oh, slow down,” Al says, his brain moving a little slurrier than he’d anticipated–which is to say, he’s still polluted. He cages his arms around Karen where she’s sitting, leaning his perspiring forehead into her chest which stills her in an instant. “God ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“Yes, but my mother is,” she grabs him by the ears, yanking him to her eyeline–woof, way too much movement, “gonna kill me.”

“Proposal,” Al mumbles, leaning for her mouth but landing on her neck, “I tell your mama that we’re gettin’ married. Tell her the next time you enter the house of God it’s ‘cause you’re gonna make an honest woman outta me.” 

“Al,” Karen sighs, shoving him off and dismounting the pool table. This bouncy blonde, this head cheerleader apple pie type… Al had her nailed the moment he walked into her homeroom that first day at Hawkins High. Stacked to the ceiling, her gorgeous baby blues stuck on him like a fly trap. 

He hadn’t expected to stumble across a babe like her in this glorified cornfield of a town. 

“You’re very cute, and you’re a lotta fun. I mean, we have,” she shuffles in her little skirt; so cute, scandalized by herself by the light of day, “a lot of fun, but no matter how many times you ask, there’s no way I’m marrying you just so you can avoid shipping out.” 

He adopts a slump. “But what if I said I loved ya?”

“You’d be lying!” Karen cries, a phosphate giggle. She manages to find that letterman jacket she came in here wearing and slides it over her shoulders. Lobs a guilty look over her shoulder at Al.

Like he’s supposed to share in some reverent moment of shame, like he should feel bad that he’s giving her what that Wheeler meathead can’t. 

Guy’s graduated and still insists that she wears his letterman jacket. It’s sad. 

“Look, are you coming to that Gomes chick’s party, at least?” 

“Gomes? Gloriana Gomes?” Karen’s gone all incredulous on him. “Al, I’m going to have to try and sneak past my mother after being out here all night–you really think I’m going to risk my neck going to some greaser cookout?” 

“Tell them you’re goin’ to Bible study. Repenting and all that.”

Her mussed curls shudder as she shakes her head, heading for the door with her tennis shoes in her hand. “See you at school. Last week of senior year!” 

—

To Al’s shock and delight, someone’s been paying the phone bill at the Hideout–he wonders what kind of bootlegging operation necessitates a phone line, but he’s thankful for it all the same. Lets him punch in one of the only numbers he knows in this shitheel town and bark, “Bring the Caddy ‘round, Jeeves!”

Forty minutes, his found shirt and a flat beer later, a battered, rusted truck kicks up dust outside of the Hideout. 

“Thought you were dead,” a clipped voice echoes out the driver’s side. 

Al takes his time ambling over. He reaches through the driver’s window and chucks Ray Doevksi’s chin with his ringed hand. 

“Wished I was, more like.”

The greased slick of Ray’s pompadour catches an offensive amount of light, and Al’s got to shield his eyes. He throws himself into the passenger side and lets Ray size him up with customary disapproval.

“Christ, you smell like Corn Nuts and pussy.”

“Take a big whiff, Doevski!” Al rifles through the glove compartment before Ray shoves a soft pack of cigarettes at him. “Might be the last one you get for a while, seeing as you’re liable to strike out tonight.” 

“And what makes you say that?”

“Because you’re sniffin’ after a girl whose big brothers are known Hawkins heavies,” Al scoffs back a mouthful of smoke, more to curb the ever-present craving than anything else. “You don’t got the stones to see a thing like that through.”

He catches Ray’s sidelong glance at him, the line of his hardened jaw with the shiny fucking hair on top. A dollop of oily black, showing up starkly against his pristine white t-shirt. Ray is crisp and calculated-looking, without the starched strangulation of looking like some prep. Ray looks like they peeled Jimmy Dean off the blacktop and reinflated him, gave him a Presley dye-job. 

Brought him back wrong. 

See, Ray Doevski, Al’s best friend, he looks like the sensitive type but he’s all mean streak. 

Al, ever the other boy’s foil, looks like exactly what he is. A hick with a perpetual hard-on and a mouth too smart for his brain to catch up with. Luckily, Al sucked up all the charm in his gene pool; Hawkins has been a cakewalk ever since his folks moved him and his sullen older brother down here from the good ol’ hills of Appalachia. 

In fact, Ray was the first person to step to him about that. Make some crack about they got running water up there yet? Or y’all still bathin’ in pig spittle? 

‘We haven’t quite gotten to experience the spoils of modern plumbing, but your mama was kind enough to let me wash off after I balled her into oblivion.’

Up went the scuffle, and they were immediate friends after the fisticuffs were thrown. 

Since then, Ray’s led Al into the underbelly. The doper contingent that Ray’s foster family has connections to, the bikers trafficking shit through places like the Hideout. The only exciting thing about a town like Hawkins is how many secrets it can hold, and there’s not a whole lot, but enough to keep them entertained for now. 

Ray has designs on fleeing to business school after they graduate. 

The only designs Al has on are his boxer briefs. 

Speaking of, he scratches his crotch. 

“Don’t get crabs on my passenger seat,” Ray monotonously scolds him.

“This passenger seat’s a ward of the state,” Al grumbles. Translation: he knows this truck is stolen. 

“Am I driving you home, then? Is your tail sufficiently tucked between your legs yet?” 

Al hates when Ray acts like he’s his own personal O. Henry story, reading him down to the last punctuation. 

See, his last three lost days on the tear with Hawkins’ grimiest and all their passers-through had been the result of some family problems. Well, not problems. Consequences. Of living as a part of the greatest country in the world. 

Al’s brother Wayne had been drafted. Ticket up, number called. Death certificate as good as signed. 

You’re next, boy, Al’s father had said, If they can find any goddamn use for ya.

 “I’m conscientiously objecting to the whole thing.”

“Shit. Didn’t know you had one of those.”

“Just trying it on for size. I can still return it for store credit.”

The rubber on Ray’s tyres squeal onto Philadelphia, stopping dead outside of the Munson household. Clapboard. Best they could do on short notice–needs a lick of paint that no one got around to sticking their tongue out for. But it’s home. 

It always will be. Al understands that might be why his heart feels like it’s sinking. 

He feels Ray watching him as he stares out the passenger side. A dry swallow. 

He doesn’t want to go back in there. He toys with the idea of telling Ray to hit it again, to keep driving til the wheels come off this thing, so he can stay unmoored and un-privy to the disappointment dripping down the walls of that house. Those stains don’t lift. 

They never will.

“Pick me up at eight, sugar?” Al snaps back into character, simpering with Donna Reed sweetness at Ray. He rolls his eyes under long-lashed lids. 

“If you survive ‘til then.” 

A heave to the rustbucket of a door and Al’s hopping out of the truck. 

“Al,” Ray calls, gunning the engine back to life. “If I make it with Gloriana Gomes tonight…”

“Mighty girthy if.”

“... that calls for a changing of hands.” Ray gestures to the rock on Al’s finger. The Hawkins High class ring, the big brass bastard with its imitation emerald. Green and gold, the colors of their proud and mighty cowpat of a school. It had been Ray’s originally, seeing as how Al had all but dropped out at this point. But there were few things Ray had that Al didn’t want, and vice versa. 

Balls. Charisma. Something big and ugly and shiny. 

Something to be proud of. 

So one day Al goes, ‘Bet your ring I can’t aim this stink bomb clear through O’Donnell’s classroom window,’ continuing his habit of torturing the newest faculty member. Ray’d said sure, because Al’s aim was reliably shitty– except for that day. Bullseye. Screaming. 

Ray had reluctantly handed over the ring. 

Then, at the derelict drive-in where they’d watched On the Waterfront together, Ray’d said, ‘Bet your ring I can’t shake down the candy shack for whatever’s in the register.’ 

A made-up kid-choking emergency and fifty-odd dollars later, Al was handing the ring back.

It went on like that, the bets increasing in risk and moral soundness. The ring bearer was dubbed the King of Hawkins High, a stab at the squares that actually gave a shit. Al lived for it. Not because Ray was easy to best, he wasn’t. One really had to get creative, or not be afraid to be hauled in by the heat. Ray was a worthy adversary. 

Made Al feel like he could accomplish things. 

“That’s a little tame, don’t you think?” Al says. The stakes had crawled up a little higher than balling some chick, no matter how white hot her family supposedly was. Unless, this is Ray really trying to prove something.

The Gomes brothers were the number one name in town for racketeering, gun thuggery, speed distribution… you name it, they had dominion over it. 

If he won over their princess Gloriana, eased into their good books… that’s the making of a man. Al knows that. 

Ray knows Al knows that, leveling him with a steel-edged stare over his sunglasses. 

“See you at eight, sugar.”

—

The Munson household is dark and quiet, thank Christ, allowing Al to slink into the bedroom he shares with his elder brother and catch some well-earned hungover shuteye. 

Sleep sinks him quick, his exhausted, wrung out form hitting the mattress without so much as kicking his boots off. His dreams are vivid and vague, parched and sweaty, indecisive and arresting as they always are after a sleepless bender. In the one he can recall the best, he sits behind a cartoonishly large wheel of a cartoonishly small van. He’s driving around labyrinthian turns, around a trailer park that he vaguely recognises from the outskirts of town. 

Gravel crunches underneath, sounding like bones cracking. Grinding teeth. 

He wants to get out, but he can’t find the lot that he’s looking for. Someone’s yelling at him from outside the vehicle; and he can’t exactly turn his head to see, but he’s vaguely aware of a baby girl lying in the passenger seat beside him. She’s crying and he’s hushing, promising that they’re almost there. 

It’ll all be okay, honey bear! Al’s gonna fix it.

The window of the van is slung low, and hailstones begin to rain in on him and the baby, pelting him in the forehead–

Takes him a minute or two to come to. Wayne stands, a shadowy figure in the doorway with a handful of peanut shells. 

“Dinner,” the elder Munson grumbles. 

“I’m comin’! Jesus!” Al whines.

“No, this is your dinner,” Wayne keeps tossing the shells. “You wanna run off and join the circus, you better get used to circus food.”

“I’d sooner crawl inside of a lion’s asshole than bend over and take it up the chute for Uncle Sam, I’ll tell you that,” kid brother grumbles into his flat, yellowing pillow. 

“Real nice, Allen.”

“You know what,” Al, annoyed now, rustles up in bed, furiously blinking his bleary eyes at Wayne, “When did you go and get so fuckin’ patriotic anyway? Far as I know, your greatest contribution to society was teaching me how to boost a car on my sixteenth birthday.”

Wayne scoffs, tossing the last of the shells onto the floor. “Yeah, and a fat lotta good it did. Still got that… Doohickey pansy chauffeurin’ you around, huh?”

“Christ, you really fell out the sad bastard tree and hit every branch on the way down, huh? Just ‘cause you ain’t got no friends, man–”

“Allen.”

“--doesn’t mean you need to go buzz your head and get a rifle about it, I mean, my god–”

“Al.”

“I think it’s really pathetic, y’know, real pathetic that you’re gonna go play stooge for a system that wouldn’t piss on folks like you or me or Ma or Pa if we was on fire–” 

As if Al really gave a damn about the system.

“Al, you’re gonna have to grow up pretty soon. You know that, don’t you?”

That plugs him up fast. Al’s vision has unbleary’ed itself. A cold jolt arcs through him, one he tries to scoff away. Wayne always does this, drags out the stoic shit because he knows it’s a surefire conversation ender. He’s so solid that way, this living full stop Al has to call a brother. His way or the highway. His way or the chopper. 

Wayne was always telling Al no, always telling Al do this and do that and take the fall, they won’t care, you’re the youngest, they’ll go easy on you and watched as their father snatched a knot into Al’s head that a navy man couldn’t untie.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

Wayne leans a little heavier on the doorframe. Al can see paint chips loosening where his shoulder presses. 

“Means I gotta go and do this because Ma and Pa won’t be able to survive if I don’t. Not if they got you leechin’ off ‘em still. Which, signs point to,” Wayne gestures to their shared bedroom. A harsh split down the middle; Al’s side is a ragged explosion of dirty socks, underwear, records, comics, cigarette butts. Wayne’s side is so orderly, Al bets he could bounce a quarter off the bed. 

Like he’d been waiting to ship out his whole life. 

“I’m warnin’ you, boy,” Wayne’s tone darkens. Al wishes it didn’t make him flinch on instinct, but it does. “You better clean up your act. Get some kinda life together. Otherwise, you’re gonna end up in prison before your ticket’s even drawn.”

He lets it simmer for a minute, drawing out the silence that he’d usually feel like he has to fill. It’s so muggy, it has been muggy, this quiet between them since Wayne decided he was the kind of person that wanted to do the right thing. Do what he’s told, more like. 

Another knot of a different kind tightens in Al’s sternum. Fear. He doesn’t look at Wayne because to look at him, he would know. Wayne would see it in Al’s face, and Al would see it in Wayne’s. They’re terrified, the both of them. 

Munsons are no heroes. They don’t pull out of things like this. 

Even if Wayne uses all the right moves, likelihood is he catches a stray bullet or blowback from a bomb and goes down. Stupid for him to think anything else would happen. 

Every time Al looks at him, he knows it might be one of the last.

Then again, what else has Wayne got? He wasn’t happy about being dragged by the ear from Appalachia to Indiana. He couldn’t shake the stubbornness to make friends in town. Left school before he even broke tenth grade. He couldn’t hold down a job for nothin’-- Hawkins decided they didn’t like the smell of hick shit that the Munsons were dragging through the place. Their father was barely hanging onto the gig he’d moved them here for, drinking what little he did make. Their mother was catatonic most of the time, drinking twice as much as their father did. 

Wayne is floundering, if not practically dead in Lover’s Lake already. 

Might as well die someplace tropical. 

But where does that leave Al? Al, the spitfire kid who needs Wayne to anchor him so he doesn’t spin completely out of control. He gets this notion of speed, thinks he’s capable of beating God at his own game–not in small part spurned on by Ray Doevski. Gasoline, matches. He needs Wayne, needs his big brother to remind him that the ground below him is hard, not soft. What goes up must come down, and all that shit. 

So, how dare he. 

How dare he choose Vietnam over Al. 

“Well, brother mine,” Al says in a tone smooth as silk, rolling onto his back and stretching his wiry arms up like a languid cat. Smug beats stoic. “Just so happens that army green ain’t really my color. I’ll take my chances.”

—

Hastily scrubbed and half a shoulder of stolen bourbon deep, Al kicks rocks in his shoddy driveway. If he had a watch that wasn’t broken, he sure would check it, then drunkenly shake his fist at the sky and curse Ray Doevski’s tardiness. 

Just as that thought occurs, of course, Ray hits his mark. Skids up to the facade on Philadelphia with a little more urgency than usual. 

“Don’t burn that rubber too fast, now,” Al says, almost missing the step as he climbs in, “You know how tyres are a bitch to lift.”

“Ain’t you gonna offer me a drink?” Ray’s voice is a little reedier than usual–that usually means he has something on his mind. Something cooking. 

Through the encroaching fog of his inebriation, Al gives him a little once over. He’s got a smudge of motor oil on his cheek. 

Al wipes it away with a clumsy hand and feels Ray stiffen. His dark, delighted eyeballs seem to jitter in his skull before he jerks his head away from Al’s hand. 

A moment throbs, and Al pushes the booze towards him. He doesn’t totally understand and it shows as much on his face. 

“S’goin’ on with you?” 

He watches as Ray mechanically reminds himself to relax, chill out, they’re headed for a party. Like the gears are clicking behind his face, evening out his expression.

“Lemme ask you something,” and that vibrancy is back in Ray’s voice, “Your folks still on your ass about gettin’ a job?”

“Like flies on shit.”

“What if I told you I had an opportunity that would make them very happy?”

“Happier than they are with my brother, the Colonel?”

“Way,” Ray’s teeth gleam in the late Autumn sunset, the bodacious orange twisting the planes of his face into a handsome Jack o’ Lantern. “Real cash. And fast.”

Al slugs a little whisky and slouches further down in his seat. “Can’t be any dumber than the bullshit I’ve already heard. Hit me.”

“You’re gonna fuckin’ flip,” Ray shakes his head, “The Gomes brothers wanna cut us in on a deal. They, uh, they’ve gotten familiar with us. Told you it was worth showin’ your face at the Hideout every once in a while.”

Every once in a while, sure… Ray and Al skulking the parking lot, chainsmoking and playing marbles like a couple of errant kids in order to get familiar with the local heavies. Prove they were trustworthy. That they’d see shit, but they wouldn’t say shit.

Flies on shit.

Al jerks forward as Ray steps on the gas. 

“A deal, huh?” Al finally manages. 

“Distribution,” the gentlemen’s term for slinging dope. Speed, hash, benzos. Whatever. “This is a real business, Munson. With real payout. We make the right connections, there’s no tellin’ what we can do with it.”

Ray’s just about frothing at the mouth; Al’s never seen him so jazzed about something before. Similar to Wayne with that cool as ice, hard rock front. It’s unnerving to see it crack. Al’s stomach winches. 

Prison before your ticket’s even drawn.

Then again, what else has Al Munson got going for him?

Ray’s shark eyes reflect a bolt of lightning that doesn’t appear in the sky. 

Al’s groan sounds like thunder. “Fuck it. Sure.”

“Thatta boy! We gotta be at the pickup spot at midnight sharp, Cinderella.” Ray’s hands drum against the wheel, and Al could swear that he sees his bare ring finger twitching. “And–listen, Al. Don’t go spreadin’ this around at the party, alright? Especially to the boys. Mixin’ business and pleasure… just puts a bad taste in people’s mouths, y’know.”

“I’ll behave.”

—

Easier said than done. 

Al wobbles through Gloriana Gomes’ backyard with the grace of a newborn gazelle, but at the very least he can make almost falling into the band’s drumset look cute. Lantern lights above him triple, quadruple, and he’s wondering just what the hell the bruiser bitch put in this punch. 

“Munson.”

“Ah! The lady of the hour,” Al manages almost coherently. “Lemme get look at you.”

He squints through one eye to take in Gloriana’s shapely figure, packed tight into a halterneck catsuit that would make any man shed a tear and cry glory to God. She’s stunning, this chick, with her blunt black bangs and her lacquered cherry lips and her spike heels–but by god, is she lethal.

Al needs exactly this amount of Dutch courage to even fathom speaking a full sentence to her. 

He heard she keeps a switchblade in her bra, which is how she’s won so many pageants. Pure intimidation.

He wants her to shave him bald all over with that very same switchblade.

Lurching forward, his lips brush her bouffant and almost swallow her earring. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“It’s not my birthday,” Goddamn, he can feel her nails dig into his bicep. Whisky dick is being rendered a myth with every passing second. “It’s just a party.” 

“Thassa damn shame, ‘cause here I am with this biiig ole gift for you,” Al’s choking on the chemical tinge of her drugstore perfume and the copious amounts of hairspray she wears. This, the girl with always has a lit cigarette perched in her fingers… walking fire hazard. White hot. 

Al’s hand slides over Gloriana’s hip, only distantly aware that he’s likely in Ray’s direct line of vision–that man rarely takes his eyes off the baddest Betty Hawkins has to offer. 

“You wanna see it? S’in my pocket…”

Those Dutchmen are really onto something.

Her nails dig again and Al wonders, with a throb to the crotch, if she’s drawing blood yet. 

“I’m gonna do you a favor, creep,” Gloriana hisses into Al’s ear, “I’m not going to slap the shit out of you in front of my brothers and their friends, because I don’t feel like helping anybody chop up your lousy little body tonight. I just did my nails fresh.”

“I can feel that.”

Gloriana lightly but politely shoves him off. Her face curls up into this charm-offensive, butter-wouldn’t-melt smile, which is completely at odds with her tough girl appearance. Still, it’s like a cherry nipple on a milkshake tit. Just perfect.

“You and that foster home freak are made for each other,” she says to Al, and he sees two pairs of ruby red lips instead of one. She makes it sound like she’s being friendly. Foster home freak—that’d be Ray’s calling card. Hawkins loves to remind Ray and Al that they don’t really belong here.

And then she’s gone, and Al feels a hand physically propping him upright. It’s dinky, bony and feminine so it can only belong to one person–

“Joycey!” he bellows into the young Maldonado birdy’s face. Now, Joyce is a gal that Al has always had a minute for and vice versa. She was always good for a smoke and a jaw about nothin’, as was he, but he didn’t love having to share his stash of finely toasted tobacco with that lug Jim Hopper she’s so goddamned fond of. 

Joyce flinches at the greeting, wiping a little of Al’s spittle off her cheek. “Jesus H., Munson, wake the neighbors muchly?” 

“Oh, between me and Dick fuckin’ Dale over here,” he gestures in the vague direction of the garage band that belongs to one Gomes or another, he’s sure, “they’ll be up all night. What’s shakin’?”

Joyce digs around her grubby jeans for her smokes, doing Al the honor of both putting it in his waiting maw and lighting it. She shrugs in that tight-shouldered way that she has, always wound up about something or other. She’s so twiggy, this girl–probably why Al’s never tried to put a move on her. He’s scared she’ll have a nervous breakdown or something. 

“Just wanted to see how you were.”

That’s the other thing. Bleeding heart Maldonado, always checking in on her good pal Al. Ever since he’d broke the news that Wayne was Viet-bound, she kept looking at him sidelong, all sadlike. 

“Me? Spiffy, sweetheart. Just darling, if you must know,” Al says, volume and theatricality increasing. “Any day now, I’ll have a full bedroom to myself. Ain’t that exciting?”

Joyce snorts, a puff of smoke coming out of each nostril like she’s the world’s most anxious dragon. “Gonna invite Karen over for a sleepover?”

“Ixnay on the aren-kay, Joy-say! My god, we can’t have the whole of Cherry Lane know I’m balling a cheerleader,” hands cup around Al’s mouth, cigarette still dangling from it, “It’d be just about my ruination!” 

Joyce giggles all big and unbridled, which Al likes because he likes when she loosens up, but it’s swiftly cut off as Al finds himself stumbling into the nearest deck chair–which is to say, into the lap of the person sitting on it. This lucky customer happens to be one Leonard Gomes, affectionately nicknamed Lurch. Guy’s built like a brick shit cathedral, not just a house, with a selection of fascinating prison tattoos covering his neck. Al can’t make ‘em out, even up close.

“Myyy sincerest apologies, big boy!” Al slurs, but doesn’t get up right away. Lurch’s little black eyes are blackening and blackening. “But hey, I’ll catch you later. For our big date, right? Right? Can ya gimme any clues for what we’re movin’, can–” 

Oof, hauled up by the front of his ribbed tank! Only Ray Doevski in full crisis management mode could manage such a feat. 

Just kidding. Joyce could probably do it if she put her mind to it. Al’s about a hundred pounds soaking wet. 

“Hey, this is my favorite shirt, man! Don’t stretch ‘er out!” 

A seething Ray hauls him all the way to the front of the house and about heaves him into the truck. Al complies pretty limply, not hating the feeling of being puppeteered around. His limbs were getting heavy. 

“Daddy’s givin’ me a time out,” Al pouts. And promptly leans out the passenger door and pukes. It’s all bile, three or four days of full bender bile. He’s barely eaten. It scores his nostrils and steams up on the pavement. 

Ray stands just out of the splash zone with his arms folded, waiting for Al to let up. 

When all the blood has been sufficiently drained out of his face, he does. Slumps against the seat. 

Ray doesn’t exactly look at him with anger. Or annoyance, even. There’s a pillowy nature to the way he stares him down, before he walks over to the Gomes’ garden hose and turns it on, stretching it so it’ll reach Al. 

He laps at the water gratefully. A hound. 

Ray digs a vial from his pocket, the kind that comes complete with its own little spoon. Something he’d lifted from some foster kid he’d lived with, he had told Al before. This little number is a sight for sore eyes. 

“The smelling salts. You shouldn’t have.”

Al huffs a bump up each nostril and shoves the heels of his hands into his eyeballs. 

Whammo. Slowly coming back to reality. 

“Sorry.” 

“S’alright.” Ray’s head swivels around, evidently spotting the Gomes brothers heading to their hot rod. His voice comes out tight and he bolts for the driver’s side of the truck. Moves so fast he makes Al dizzy. “We gotta move anyhow.” 

“Midnight already?”

“The witching hour.” 

—

His head wedged into the corner of the open window, Al breathes deep the dusty night breeze on Holland. On the drive out here, you can count down the seconds until you smell the lake. 

Five, four, three, two… Cannonball. 

They drive in an imbalanced silence. Tense on Ray’s end, nauseated on Al’s. But he’s just about starting to come to, starting to clock into the reality of their situation. 

Al had tossed around a little grass before; he came by it easy and could move it even easier. An operation like this, however, with clandestine pickups under the cover of night, with the armored Gomes vehicle tailing them–this is serious. 

Wait. 

Hold on. 

Al cranes his neck to get a look out the back window. They’ve lost the Gomes’ headlights. Nothing but dark, dark road beyond the reddened back beams of Ray’s truck. That’s funny. Guys of that caliber, big pieces of gristle and meat, they’re hardly going to be tardy to their own drug pick-up party. 

“Where’d they go to, Ray?” Al’s voice is a croak when it comes out, fighting against his burning throat. 

“Shut up, Al.” 

“Ray–”

“Shut up, Al.” 

Al shrinks down in his seat, a child admonished. Ray’s hand flexes over the wheel, a man desperately trying to keep control.

They pull around to this shitheap looking place on Lover’s Lake, so bent it’s practically sliding down the embankment. A van already sits there. Black, sleek. The kind a serviceman would have or something. 

Ray kills the engine and some force from beyond prompts Al to grab at his arm before he can jump on out. 

“Ray.” 

“You’re doing this for your family,” Ray seamlessly reminds him, the gaze he turns on him empty. There’s not a waver in his voice. Like he’d been preparing this little bon mot of encouragement. “I’m doing this for mine.”

“But w–”

“Doing it for love. That’s honorable,” Ray nods. His features have taken on this waxy sheen under the moonlight that threatens to bring Al to a dry heave. He’s like a ventriloquist doll, down to the wooden way he’s moving. “I’ve done things for love that you wouldn’t believe. Now get out of the fucking truck.”

Beat for beat, Ray exits the truck, Al exits the truck, then a guy in overalls appears from the shiny black van. All of it moving in this rhythm that’s making Al’s head swim–feels like an unreality. Feels like he’ll blink, be behind the wheel of that van with a crying baby to his right. Feels like a dream. 

Al, for once, clams up. Doesn’t say anything at all, because it’s the only way he can mask the nervous twitch his face takes on when he’s this piss-pants scared. 

But it’s funny. It’s not like a drug operation he’s ever dreamed of. There’s no real shadiness to it. Guy just opens up the back of his van and tosses Ray a brick wrapped in brown parcel paper. 

“Lurch and Palo on the way?”

It’s incredible. To Al’s knowledge, this guy, this guy with all the drugs in the back of his fucking van, has never seen Ray before but implicitly assumes he’s taking point on this deal. What if he had been a cop?!

But Ray Doevski does have this thing about him. Gives you one good, meaningful look and he has you shackled for life. You can’t help but trust him. 

Still waters, man. Just like Wayne, Al thinks and feels something different rise in his throat. 

“Lurch and Palo got caught up. Car trouble.” 

Overalls guy just shrugs and helps load the rest of the packages into the passenger side of the truck. Al, he just stands there. Rooted. Watching him. Ray doesn’t pass any heed; like he’s not even there. 

“Not much of a talker, your guy?” Overalls jerks his head in Al’s direction. 

“Nah,” Ray grins in the briefest of flashes. “Strong and silent type. Right, Munson?”

A light flashes on at the porch of the half derelict looking house. Al can spot a hulking figure in the window, obscured by what has to be clouds upon clouds of smoke.

Ray raises a hand in the form’s direction, as howdy doody casual as a fucking neighborino.

“Who is that?” Al hears himself ask.

“Rick. I’ll introduce you next time. You two’ll like each other.”

Next thing Al’s physically aware of is the pile of packages at his feet as Ray guns the truck to life. This insufferable smirk curls up the corner of his mouth, the kind that Al has an immediate instinct to slug right off. 

A bad feeling, a terrible feeling twists up his guts.

It’s justified about fifteen minutes into their drive back. 

Al sees the flames licking around the plumes of black smoke first, easing up into that inky sky stabbed through with needlepoint constellations. He sees mangled hot rod hardware wrapped around a great big tree. He sees blue lights, he sees red. He sees an ambulance. He sees two stretchers and two body bags. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he spits, his lips feeling loose and panicky. “Ray, Jesus, we have to stop!” 

“You wanna stop?” Ray laughs, voice so light you’d swear Al had asked him to pull in so he could take a piss. “You’re sittin’ on a small fortune of narcotics and you wanna stop? Don’t be such a morbid little rubbernecker, Munson.” 

—

The untimely passing of the Gomes brothers brought with it a varied reception. The angle from one end of town was that it’s great when God deals with hoodlums before the law has to. On the other, someone had to pick up the slack and keep the seedy underbelly of this wicked little place nice and satiated. 

Ray Doevski didn’t leave Gloriana Gomes’ side from the moment she got the news about her beloved brothers. She’d broke down wailing in his waiting arms, her red lipstick bleeding at the edges.

Those same brothers who regarded the scheming nowhere kid with such distaste that they’d never let them anywhere near their sister, or their business. 

Over their dead bodies.

The only reasonable move was to remove them from the picture entirely, and step in gallantly. The hero. A picture of suave severity, backroom business acumen seeping from his blacktop hairdo. He’d fill the hole, he’d keep the cash flowing.

When he got the time to cut the Gomes’ break lines, we’ll never really know.

Al couldn’t fathom pulling off such a stunt. 

Ray never admitted to it, of course. Can’t show your hand. Not to anybody, not even your best friend. But there was always this sense of knowing… even if he didn’t do it, he was capable of it.

Once he got over the shock of it all, how quick and seamless Ray had made that elimination, Al was overtaken with admiration. Tinged with latent fear, of course, but admiration all the same. 

When Ray dropped him off at the house on Philadelphia in the wee hours of the morning, Al pressed the Hawkins High class ring into his hand. 

“Well played, my liege.”

“Couldn’t’ve done it without ya,” Ray smiled. “Pleasure doing business.”

Business was right. At Al’s feet sat serious cash. Cash he could use to pull his weight around the house. Cash he could use to get out of Hawkins entirely. Cash he could rub in Wayne’s face, show him, hey! I’m not nothing! I can move this, I can be part of something huge and heavy! I can run this fucking town!

But he didn’t have any clear designs on doing anything without Ray’s say so.

The only designs Al had were on his boxer briefs. 

He was only really sure of one thing. He’d spend his entire life trying to best Ray Doevski. Trying to get that ring back on his finger.

Just for the love of the game. 

[intertexts]

HELLOOOOOOO i hope u have fun w ur siblings :] but also holy shit i cant wait for u to finish 39 and get to 40 heheheheheheh. ANYWAY. welcome to wibby torment nexus hours here we go!!!!!!!!!

actually going to start with the whisperer/mal/trickster thing because holy shit dude ive had IN DEPTH thoughts about this. i cant even type it all out here bc thats for a wholeeee second ask but basically. fuckin. yeah. fundamental basics: in nhw world trickster killed clarence. not going to give you the reasoning for this yet. im on the fence about how particularly intentional wibbys death was BECAUSE of that but.... yeah thats for sure a fucking soup ingredient dude.

out of all the options you said... hmmmmmm okay. i like all of them for different reasons. i dont think he would specifically kill wibby JUST to spite mal, theres definitely more to it than that, but i think its a funny little bonus for him. mals hatred is proabably MOSTLY one sided. but trickster thinks its funny to make him look like an idiot sooo. haha i killed the kid who reminds me of the other guy i killed in front of you get fucked loser! I ALSOOOO. HMMMM. I DO REALLY LIKE THE IDEA OF WILLIAM GETTING STRUNG ALONG but i dont think trickster is manipulative Like That. hes impatient, he doesnt like playing the long game he likes instant gratification. getting ashe was a HUGE exception to that. so while i do love a good "morally grey hero works with the villain to get something he wants" thing. i think its EXTREMELY in character for william to do that but maybe not so much trickster. i do think if we want a moment like this though...................... what if. ohhh evil cooking in my mind rn. what if trickster makes it. OH FUCK. OKAY. HERE WE GO. LITERALLY JUST POPPING INTO MY MIND AS I TYPE OKAY OKAY FUCK . PSYCHIC DAMAGE

what if. what if. this happens at the beginning of the battle. they find muse sitting in the clearing by himself. they all show up ready to fight, theyre surrounding him (they have scouts out looking for trickster, too, since taking down the puppetmaster is how they free the puppets. ill get to this in a second). um. well. his hair is down, not in any fancy braid or anything. and william cant sense the breaker state. (dakota can, but hes not fast enough). trickster is making it seem like ashe is free by suppressing the breaker state as much as he can wihtout actually turning it off. he has ashe turn toward his friends, talks to them like its actually him, saying htings like "guys please he let me go help me get these off of me" (referring to. the strings) . and . in a panicked state of. relief and desperation to get ashe back, because he cant sense the breaker state, he believes the ruse, wibby is the first person to rush forward. it would maybe be more in character for dakota to rush in, but he hesitates, because with the effects of his power he CAN tell that ashe is still in breaker state. he and/or virion reach out to grab william before he can get too close but hes too fast and hes already in his own breaker form so even if they could grab him their hands would just slip through. he gets close enough and far enough away from the other heroes that trickster has ashe snap fully back into muse mode and rips wibby in half. so his real goal there was just to trick (ha!) at least one of the heroes into getting close enough to do that (lmao funny prank, get gamzeed idiot) but the fact that it was william specifically who did it makes the whole thing EVEN FUNNIER. his trap fooled the logical one, the smart one, the one who is usually stopping the OTHERS from doing stupid things like this !! AND this also just so happens to be mallard ghoul conway's little pet project who looks suspiciously like the hero trickster killed when he took over his first city!!!!!!!!!!! the whole thing is just so delicious for him. which . oh god the wards are out of commission because of wibby death but its also maybe kind of a good thing that this happened because trickster is so busy laughing at his own successful prank that it makes it just a tiny bit easier to find where hes holed up.

is this anything. hi. holy shit wibby torment nexus. i feel like there was something else i wanted to say but i got so lost in the sauce of the Scenarios

AUUUUHGH THIS IS EVERYTHING. YEAH. YEAH HOLY SHIT. sorry i took so long 2 get to this but like. Augh. holy shit. ok. this hits so perfectly i love it a lot. yeah. this goes hard. what if. also. honestly. he just could straight up turn off muse's shaker stuff/breaker state for a minute....... maybe he lets ashe think he's free maybe he's still controlling him or maybe it's genuine & he's really free for half a minute..... then also they doesn't have any reason to suspect him & if dakota Does ashe's telekinesis just. trips him up or prevents him from getting 2 will in time (bc half of dakota's thing is just Being Really Fucking Fast right).... will goes into his breaker state for Extra Security (remember how i said he hates actually fighting w/ it & stuff? he just Doesn't Know that it doesn't work right in ashe's area of effect.) & as soon as he gets close the ruse drops & everything bubbles and shifts around him & it's too late. do u think the trickster still does it with ashe's hands? also i couldn't stop thinking abt the image of wibby's breaker state just. dropping as soon as muse rips him apart. the clean blue-white glow fizzles and disappears & everything's just. blood and meat spraying. that moment of horror. (& maybe also dakota & virion literally just. can't get close safely for a while, they don't Know wibby is still Alive Like that, they just saw him get ripped apart, it's only when they recover from the shock/get desperate enough to enter the muse dreamscape that they realize his lungs are like. still going & stuff....) anyway. did we ever talk about how we fix this? how does he fucking get put back together????

[fangsandfeelings]

Repercussions (Zhentarim Tease pt.2)

Gale x Tav/fem reader x Astarion

Light gagging | PinV | oral (his and hers) | revenge sex (consensual)

Word count : 1,937 (it’s a longy sorry)

You thought you got away with teasing Gale and Astarion in the Zhentarim Hideout. They see things quite differently, and are eager to show you how they feel about it. :)))

———————————

You had gotten away with it. You had gotten away with teasing the wizard that contained an orb that could obliterate you in an instant and a 200 year old vampire who had already killed you once (albeit by accident).

Neither of them had said a word to you about the encounter either after the hideout nor in camp afterwards. Gale had even been so kind as to cook your favorite dinner for you, baked potato soup! You quietly chuckled to yourself in disbelief that the boys hadn’t gotten on to you about your playing, you might even be a little suspicious of it, had you not been so proud of yourself.

Full bellied and content, you sat in front of the campfire and looked into the orange flames, dreaming of what other little games you could play on the two males. You were at peace, the camp quiet and still. Which, now come to think of it, was very strange. No argument between Gale and Astarion over whether Gales book collection should be used as kindling or not? No droning whir of magic projections as Gale takes in his appearance over multiple crawling minutes? Not even a laugh from Karlach as she watches either of them struggle to open a jar of vegetables?

You’re just being paranoid, surely you could all enjoy one peaceful night at camp, no bickering or fighting. You shook your head as you walked back to your tent, not caring to notice the flap had been shut since you last left it.

You poked your head in, your eyes adjusting to the darkness, when cool, strong hands held a rag over your mouth and roughly pulled you into the tent. You landed on your bedroll, with what felt like a couple of extra pillows around you, pillows you recognized from…..Gales tent?

Sooner than you could look around or try to wiggle free, a usually silky smooth voice, now laced with darkness and lust purrs in your ear.

“Tsk, look at you darling, poor thing. All tensed up, when you should be relaxing in your tent. You did have an awfully fun day today. You need the rest.” A shiver ran down your spine at his last words, you were pretty sure rest was not in the cards tonight.

Either you were about to get revenge fucked, or you were about to die.

A deep rumbling from across the tent caught your attention, followed by a small dim stream of blue light, whirling around your heads. Gales features were illuminated, and he sat across from you, elbows on his knees.

“Don’t worry Astarion. She got plenty of her favorite dinner tonight. I’d say she’s got strength to spare.” He lifted himself onto his knees in front of you, undoing the first few clasps of his robe.

You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander to the tattoo on his upper chest, and the way it delicately curled up his neck. Your eyes followed its trail until you met his gaze, his eyes darkening.

You felt yourself get wet already, just from Gale opening his shirt a little…oh Gods….. this was going to be a long night.

Astarion pulled you closer to his chest, his thighs cradling either side of your butt as you sat in front of him on your bedroll. The hand he wasn’t using to hold a rag over your mouth slithered over the crease of your hip and rested right between your legs. Putting just enough pressure to cause your core to instinctively clench, but staying light enough that you groaned in frustration at the lack of friction.

“We just want to talk about your actions today.” Gale said, his voice now huskier than usual. Astarion hummed in agreement behind you.

“Surely you know that it’s not kind to tease.’ Gale said softly, hands moving to the waistband of your trousers. He gently pulled them down and off, leaving you only in your underwear and top. You feel your skin prickle from the cool air touching it.

Astarion occupies his now free hand with your right breast, easily cupping it in his palm. You moan softly against the rag, and he grips slightly harder in response.

Gale lowers himself between your legs, you feel them tremble from another clench at your core. He laughs lowly as he rubs his nose on either side of your lips, the fabric of your underwear smoothing the sensation into a vague blur. It’s enough though, enough to have you bucking your hips toward him, and to have him backing up and shaking his finger at you .

“Mmm, I wouldn’t try anything without Mr. Dekarios’ permission.” Astarion purred. Truly unbelievable, that these two could agree on anything, much less work together for your ruin.

“P-please” you manage to get out through the rag. Gale lifted his eyebrows, shooting a gaze at Astarion, signaling for him to lift the rag from your mouth.

“Make sure to use your inside voice darling.” Astarion growled. You nodded and held back another moan. He pulled his hand away and you sucked in a breath, your voice coming out rasped and shakey.

“Please do that again…..Mr. De-karios” Gale looked at you with something like pity. Then signaled to Astarion to put the rag back in place.

“I want to be very clear with you” he said, looking into your eyes and lowering himself again, “you are not to make requests, unless you need us to stop. Do you understand?” He looked up from between your legs, and you feel Astarions cock start to harden against your back.

“You had it your way earlier in the day, now it’s our turn. Although with the knowledge that we’ve shared with each other,” his eyes flicked from you to Astarion, then back “I can assure you, you won’t have any complaints.”

Without another word, Gale started using his nose once again on either side of your lips. His warm hands wrapped around your thighs, offering an interesting contrast to Astarions cool one cupped over your breast.

Gale pressed a kiss over your panties, right over where your clit was under the fabric. You rolled your head back, letting it fall on Astarions shoulder. You heard Astarion growl, quickly pressing his lips to your now exposed neck. Warm electricity thrummed through you, causing you to wriggle a little, desperately wanting to get more friction.

Seemingly detecting your thoughts, Gale pulled your underwear to the side, finally letting his tongue slide between your folds. He groaned into you, giving you a delicious moment of vibration before he continued licking your core.

He allowed you to roll your hips as needed, holding you firmly by your hips but not forcing you to be still. Astarion continued kissing your neck, his erection nearly painful on your back.

“Darling….” He mumbled against your skin “do you mind if I….” You already knew what he was asking, and you quickly nodded your head in response. You felt his lips smile against your neck, and a moment later, a faint cry escaped you when he pressed his fangs into you.

You could feel both boys tongues, similar, but each so different in their approach. Gale stayed firm but tender and gentle, clearly enjoying his moment, but more focused on his technique. While Astarion licked and lapped without thought, allowed his body to move for him, giving in to his lust like it was second nature.

You moaned deeply against the rag, which earned a finger inside of you from Gale, and Astarion sliding his hand to grasp your bare breast under your shirt. Gale pumped slowly at first, taking care to curl his finger ever so slightly until you could feel the pressure start to build between your thighs. At some point Astarion stopped feeding on you, and instead ground himself on you while licking your wound clean.

The sensations you were feeling all at once threatened to push you over your edge, and just as you were about to cum, you felt an absence in your lips, and a stillness inside of you. Gale looked up at you, his eyes darker than you had ever seen them, and placed a gentle kiss on the inside of your thigh.

You heaved a sigh and whimpered through your rag,not able to tear your eyes away from the wizard. Before you could protest, Astarion gently pushed you forward, and he swapped places with Gale who was now behind you.

Astarion quickly yanked down his trousers, not even bothering to take them all the way off, settling with them falling at his knees. He pulled you until you were on your hands and knees in front of him, and Gale grabbed your hips from behind as he rubbed his hard cock into your lips.

Astarion offered the tip of his length for you, using one of his hands to cup your cheek.

“So so pretty.” His cooing was enough fuel for you to lean forward and take his tip into your mouth. He let a breathy moan escape, throwing his head back as you smiled around his cock.

You started moving faster, enjoying the little amount of control you had gained in the moment. Your lips lifting into a smile, until you felt Gale give you a hint of forewarning with his own tip at your entrance.

As soon as he thrust into you, you leaned even farther forward, almost choking on Astarions length. He huffed out a surprised moan as you accidentally deep throated him, and hollowed your cheeks on the way back up.

Gale murmured an apology for not warning you better, but it was quickly lost in the echos of hissed gasps and low moans that filled the tent. You added your hand with your mouth to Astarions cock, feeling your release quickly approaching. The sight of Astarion starting to come undone and Gales cock pumping in and out of you was pushing you faster and faster to the point of no return.

It didn’t take long with your hand until you heard Astarion hiss your name and place both of his hands on either side of your head, his hands tangled in your hair. It was all you needed to start your own release, moaning onto his cock, feeling his cum fill your mouth. You swallowed, not wanting the mess, and knowing it would earn you extra points as well.

Gale was still pushing into you, bottoming out as you came, going harder and faster than you expected he would. The moan that escaped his throat when he finally came was beautiful, you had never been with Gale before this night, so you looked back in awe, watching as his hips slowed, and he panted and mumbled your name.

You closed your eyes to take in the moment, Gale still hard inside you, Astarion leaning back on his heels in front of you, hands still in your hair. I’d this what your punishment was for teasing them?

You all cleaned up lazily, and fell onto the bedroll, a boy on either side of you. Astarion laid on his side towards you, Gale on his back, as he conjured up a personal starry sky on the inside of your tent.

“Quite beautiful…..maybe the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.” It was almost a whisper coming from Astarions lips, half of Gales mouth shrugged up in triumph.

“Well, you should see what I can do with -…..” you didn’t hear the rest of what Gale was saying, because you saw that when he said it, Astarion was looking right at you.

[antiv3nom]

Bedman (Romeo)

omg havent had an excuse to talk abt bedman in a hot minute thank u anon...

favorite thing about them:

i love the tragedy of his story arc... that feels like a weird thing to say but its the first thing that came to mind! just. look. the road to hell paved with good intentions bit taken to the extreme really works here!!! the idea that he remembered the name of every person he ever killed because he was under the impression he could bring them all back, only to have the rug pulled from under him? hurts me! in the best way!!!

other than that i do enjoy his design, both romeo himself and the bed :] i wanna give my bedman cosplay another try sometime for sure, it didnt work out for various reasons but i have most of the components and would enjoy cosplaying him fr in the future

least favorite thing about them:

i think i dont really dislike anything about the way bedman is written in the source material strongly enough to point it out here? i think my main gripe is the way the fandom treats him to either extreme, like theres "bedman did nothing wrong ever" people and "bedman is horrific" people and i wish both camps would chill out and recognize hes like. a complex character? but i do think most people do this already which i can appreciate

favorite line:

im a little obsessed w his win line against may in xrd

"I do not understand humans who are motivated by love. A person is born, lives for a number of years, and interacts with up to eight billion people. What proof is there of something they can't even define?"

bc like. buddy. you dont even realize it. YOURE driven by love. all this shit wasnt just for yourself but it was for delilah too!!! fuck!!! you dont even see it as love you see it as necessary because shes that important to you!!! and dont even get me STARTED on the bed in strive and how its still running because of his last minute code additions which almost act as the last part of his will to protect delilah. GAHHHH

brOTP:

BEDMAN AND AXL INTERACTIONS. PLEASE. PLEASE. their dynamic is so interesting as characters with such fascinating ways of interacting with the world...gah. GAH. and no one fucking talks about it!!!

OTP:

sinbed. must i wlabo.

ok but i will, im not as into them as i was like a year ago but i still do really enjoy their dynamic. sin being such a beacon of hope and being so willing to see people as good contrasted with a post-xrd living bedman (bc all my sinbed stuff exists within au but im having fun out here so sue me) seeing himself as inherently evil due to his actions despite his intentions and believing no one would ever care for him? it hits for me

nOTP:

i dont know of anything off the top of my head that ive seen for him??? nothing prevalent at least.

actually on second thought i think ive seen like one instance of bedman and ram in a romantic sense, and that im not a fan of but i guess i could see the appeal, just not my thing

random headcanon:

this motherfucker would have gotten heated in some internet forums or wiki talk pages, DEDICATED to accuracy out here and he WILL fight you about it

unpopular opinion:

not entirely certain i have one? i think the "bedman while flawed is not actually a terrible person and was doing his best given his extremely fucked up circumstances" is a pretty cool take by this point for most people

i think the only thing i have is that my interpretation of bedman has always been as like a young adult rather than a kid but like i dont really have a concrete opinion on that and i totally understand people who do see him as a kid like its entirely understandable to do so

song i associate with them:

other than his character themes, its GOTTA be dramaturgy by eve, which just. it gives the vibes. read the english lyrics it will make sense i prommy

favorite image of them:

THE EEPER...

OTHER than this one its more an animation but his 6p in xrd is so silly i love it so bad...and for a more serious option his instant kill is really cool

[nochi-quinn]

I've been reading Time to Orbit: Unknown at a friend's suggestion and just got caught up. I started off just making notes of stuff I wanted to post once I was done so I wouldn't get accidentally spoiled in possible notes or that just wouldn't be relevant later, but quickly became a liveblog just because of the kind of person I am. it makes very little sense in places and sometimes there are multiple chapters in between any commentary, but here it is:

it is remarkably easy to procure an axe on colony ship Courageous

kudzu is inevitable

“In your medical opinion, doctor,” I ask, “what in the everloving fuck?”

no dogs on luna. they just run right off the damn thing.

tinera. you agree.

“You would be truly amazed just how often ‘serving humanity’ and ‘obeying the law’ are, in fact, diametrically opposed concepts.”

“Sure, we’ll make sure to be better liars next time,” Tinera says. “That’s all I ask.”

Okay I can't quote this entire conversation about the kill switch but let it be known I really want to

“If you go to jail, should be for something cool.”

Crew bonding by making fun of the captain for their cringe childhood interests

“Do you guys remember that factory in Sengki?” Adin asks. “Where the AI to the apartment building that housed most of its workforce noticed that all its residents were sleep deprived and added two hours to the clocks, throwing production into chaos for a month?” comrade Sengki AI

they're Vaults. they're Vaults in Space.

“Everything is wrong with everything" if that's not a fucking mood

countdown to throwing Sands out an airlock

tal. you agree.

I deeply love every time they talk about "pre-Neocambrian" anything, it feels so accurate to how we talk about ancient socities now, just reading so much into everything based on far too little data to be so sure of ourselves

"Captain Sands rubs his temples" welcome to the Courageous

you can't kill MOVIE NIGHT, you absolute monster

can we PLEASE throw Sands out an airlock

"That’s how science works, right? (I’m not a scientist.)"

found the cannibalism

before going to the next chapter, I don't believe Sands figured out shit about shit, he just wants to Solve A Problem so he looks like A Good Captain

If Sands Has No Haters I Am Dead

“Are you asking how many this Friend killed, or how many it was convicted for?” “Which is the bigger number?” “Guess,” it says, with a little smile.

I'm going to shove Sands in a locker and then throw the locker out an airlock

fuck yeah adin, get his ass

FUCK YEAH ASPEN GET HIS ASS

aspen no

(I don't know what I expected honestly)

“I still want to try violence, actually,”

FUCK YEAH ADIN GET HIS JOB

“You’re both utterly terrible examples of humanity that the universe would be better off without! It’s not a competition.”

just saw No Mercy Percy in the Patreon box

(it's weirdly heartwarming to see the patreon box grow over time)

ohh, I like the Texan paper flower custom, that's really sweet

Truly fascinating how the instant Sands is in the ground I'm back to smiling at every other line

like this will obviously change but I feel like it's important to note

you KICK meringue

you CANNOT, 118 chapters in, casually drop that aspen is colorblind. like.

I knew shit was going too well

would it be weird to have one eye be colorblind and the other not? what would that even look like?

"minor injuries" YOU LOST AN EYE

aspen is going to burn every copy of every single one of their books

("they're probably digital" they will burn the computers)

BEE MOVIE SURVIVED

“It says ‘This product was manufactured in a facility that processes peanuts.’” oh adin bb

"It’s not eavesdropping. It’s sociological research."

oh, they's cannibals

that's cannibal behavior

Aspen talking like Dinesh now that they're trying to speak Texan is my favorite

"when you change your mind" is just the most casually gross thing to say about tinera not wanting to get her hand fixed

if the eyeball starts talking to them uchikoshi is gonna sue

“Aspen,” Tinera says, “has anyone ever told you that you’re a nerd?” “Not so much, these days. You’re usually distracted by Tal being a much bigger nerd. Like light pollution.”

the Hylaran politics in general and regarding the colonists specifically is reminding me of old stargate episodes and I'm here for it

aspen is obviously daniel

okay teleportation was not on my bingo card

oh, they've got meningitis. that's not great.

"The problem with talking to an AI is that I can’t punch it."

okay so they've DON'T got meningitis. not sure this is better.

Bobby Tables mentioned

Bobby Tables plot device!

hey. hey aspen. whatcha doin buddy

HEY ASPEN???

and a little child will lead them

oh god kim's gonna try to fix tinera's hand isn't she

oh god kim tried to fix tinera's hand AND the friend's brain didn't she

I knew my immortal was gonna show up in here at some point

fascinated by how hylaran society is pretty much literally a big kindergarten class bc it simply makes so much fucking sense

tal doing complex flower crown math

"As your captain, I order you to enjoy pancake dinner with me.”

DANDELION I'm gonna cry

pretty sure their "repair indefinitely" plan is how you get the space station from outer worlds

or, how dandelion's explaining it, the quarian fleet

my reaction to the "they'll see how right we are eventually" thing is so strong and I do not know why

noooo greyed-out "next" button my behated

[bathroomtrapped]

What are the basic differences between saws original script and the outcome? Why did they not play those scenes?

theres a lot of superficial changes, like their ages and adams last name being denlon. honestly still not sure where faulkner-stanheight got confirmed as his last name!

a lot of the things that were cut had to do with adams character and im not entirely sure why it was cut. his reason for being there was because he was suicidal. jigsaw said something along the lines of "everyday youve wanted to die". he wanted to go to vet school and had an interaction with some cat in his apartment. theres a scene where his mother calls, saying his father isnt mad and that he should call them. he writes on a sticky note "call mom" then adds a "?"

he has an interaction with a shitty neighbor, begs god to become a better person

theres probably a few small details about him im forgetting bc its been a while since ive reread the screenplay but the common theme is that the saw movie cut out a MASSIVE amount of context for adams character.

im not entirely sure why, i think some scenes might have to do with cutting down on time (the cat scene would probably get cut for time before filming once they actually start working on the project) vs something that was cut to make the story tighter and change adams role in the story.

he tells lawrence that basically, be hid the photo because he "didnt know what he would do". aka he was scared that itd motivate lawrence to kill him more. not sure why this is cut because some people clearly did not pick up on that lol

basically everything we know about adam is only known to us because it has something to do with lawrence. we know it because lawrence needs to. its unfortunately bc i like adam enough to want to know more but it serves the story better. hes the audience. we know what we know bc adam knows it or learns it. hes the one behind the camera. hes a voyeur. hes literally nothing. he died forgotten by basically everyone and hes just BARELY there in the narrative bc hes just... nothing.

at the end of the day, he was just a pawn. hes not important to anyone but lawrence because this is his story. this is his test and were just the people chained up and forced to watch it play out. i imagine his backstory and personal information was cut for this reason.

during the editing process, there were scenes cut. i know the trap was supposed to be more elaborate originally. i think the cat scene was cut out to save time and the mom scene/motivation/history was cut to firmly center the narrative on lawrence

one change that fucking BAFFLES me is that at the end during the love scene, adam originally asks lawrence "am i going to be okay?". in the film its "are WE going to be okay?" umm im honestly not quite sure what series of thoughts propelled them to make such a gay film by accident, call the end the LOVE SCENE publicly, and then proceed to be shocked when people call them on it? leigh was shocked to see chainshipping fics back during the ff.net days (fun fact: the first ever chainshipping fanfic was published on ffnet called rebirth. its still up)

my best guess is that leigh wanted to push their "relationship" (whatever they think that is) further for more emotional pay off. most of the changes seem to pull their themes tighter. it ends up working in its favor. adam is lawrences test and his moral core or whatever, so they have a pretty instant connection. it was probably done to make lawrence suffer more! or maybe make it gayer and leigh is just doing a bit

theres also the lampshade song lol. some dumb shit leigh made up and cary refused to do, so they changed it to the weird little piggy thing instead. MINOR minor improvement

certain words were changed because cary just kinda... rolled with it. he adjusted the script a few times bc he rly liked lawrence for some reason. he still does. leigh just accepted it and let him do his thing

amanda was also amanda denlon in the screenplay im pretty sure

tapp was dunked on by john as he assassins creed-ed him in the throat for being a 40 YEAR OLD VIRGIN! absolutely insane

the way adam finds out lawrence is a doctor is different, he talks about possibly being injected with rohypnol LOL

the heart was actually a clue leading to the word toilet written over his heart, under his shirt. the blood heart wasnt in the script LOL. i imagine cary didnt want to have toilet written on his bare chest for the film? a shame

theres more interactions with tapp, sing, lawrence, and brett (his lawyer) im assuming its what happened before they asked lawrence to sit and watch amandas testimony. they say his fingerprints were found at the scene, not a pen. i think either way its interesting because. wow! lawrences prints are in the system which means he has a record. the implications are kinda funny, it makes how baffled he is that tapp dare accuse him of such a thing! even more ironic. now we know that mark was involved in the police and planted the pen, so he probably just out his prints into the system as well

amanda works at lawrences hospital. not sure why this is cut? possibly bc shawnee was begged to join bc james had a big crush on her and she didnt even want to originally. she might notve wanted to do multiple scenes or something at the time before she decided on returning as amanda (for whatever reason, im not quite sure why she became so attached to the series after not joining as enthusiastically as cary did after watching the 2003 short)

amandas reason is also different. i think jigsaw literally hated depressed ppl so much in the script bc she was there for therapy or something LOL. not drugs. prob just cut to improve it

thats all i got. theres a lot of changes for logics sake related to the trap, wording changes for flow (im assuming), time constraints, and to streamline the themes and center it on lawrence

[foster-the-moths]

u have some awesome dreams . give me them👁️ njkhdcjd actually tho of the three i remember u sharing it's interestign that all three involved you being some sort of whimsical creature (i'm counting altsar as a whimsical little beast he's very silly and fun to m e)

WOOO YEAH i love talking about my dreams they are so Strange um putting all of these under the readmore bc. they are so fucked up sometimes SJFLDJFLJSJF these ones are more horror oriented bc those are some of my favorite ones. i am just listing 4 for now, because this post got very long. i can post more of them later maybe. i have a LOT more but these are just semi-recent ones i can access easily.

warning for descriptions of body horror, gore, injury, death, and parasites (big maggot) and images of body horror and parasites.

1: had a dream a was a little victorian boy (like 3 or something) on vacation with my family and we were on a train but oops!!! we got on the demon train by accident. the conductor surgically removed all of the skin off my face, taxidermied it, sewed it back on, and then sent me to a shadow mirror realm for 18 years. i got back to the Real realm and it turns out it had only been 3 years for my family; but they had still all been distorted beyond recognition and made into worse versions of themselves. my father had turned into a weird goat man, my mother resembled a deep sea fish, and i couldn't remember what happened to my sister or brother. they also didn't recognize me because i had aged 18 years. the rest of the dream was me trying to reverse their transformations.

2: had another one in which i was trapped in an extra-dimensional liminal space that changed and grew as i explored it. It had video game physics which is always fun. when i walked there was view-bobbing and my hands were always visible in front of me, like a first person shooter. i could also sprint jump and b-hop and side sprint and stuff like that. there were also small creatures that latched onto me and tried to kill me, but my hands were extremely lethal (they caused instant burning pain to whatever they touched, and if i pressed my hands against a living thing it would 'melt') so i was able to fend them off. this meant i was basically unbeatable, but could still be hurt.

^this is vaguely what i looked like. i could only see my hands but i'm pretty sure the rest of me wasn't 100% human. i'll draw something better later maybe.

3. a more tame one i had recently was i got trapped in a fantasy video game by accident and ended up in a village that used pinecones as currency. so i had to grow pine trees. and then this other guy started growing saplings on MY farm plot and i was PISSED. he showed me his farming techniques though so i let him stay. time passed very quickly, each hour was a new season, so four hours was a 'year'. i did not realize the implications of this until about two weeks (about 80 'years') had passed. the npc villagers started aging and disappearing and the guy who i planted trees with turned to face me and his face was rotting away. he told me i took too long.

4. less tame one. I had a giant maggot parasite that replaced all of my organs and it tried to control me via telepathic mind battle?? but. i won the telepathic mind battle. so now i WAS the maggot. and i was piloting my own body with weird nerve things and instead of organs there was just a giant maggot in my abdomen but i WAS the maggot and i could feel myself inside of myself. it was like if you could feel your organs against the inside of your skin. incredibly unpleasant sensation. i had to hide the fact that i was a maggot because usually the maggot wins the psychic mind battle and kills people so if my doctors found out i had a maggot parasite in me they would kill me.

^diagram of parasite in the body. the red is the 'nerves' used to control the body. the brain of the host and parasite become merged, which is how i 'became' the maggot. the maggot could also like. climb up the throat and peek its head out of the host's mouth to maul people with its fangs.

[catonator]

Lol, internet

The largest imageboard in Finland, Ylilauta and its offshoot Northpole (rip in peace) had a major faux pas this week. Threads older than 2 weeks are now placed behind a paywall. Imagine if Discord set message history behind a Nitro subscription, and you have the gist of it. The latter board was just flatout killed off due to legal issues.

This majorly pissed off the users, and as a result my fringe alt-imageboard (won’t name the one, rules of the internet 1 & 2) got a surge of new users. However, the results weren’t as I feared! While Ylilauta isn’t really representative of smaller corners of the internet like it once used to be and nowadays is closer to a modern social media platform, the users who showed up were still willing to play along the rules of the smaller board, even if they ended up mostly asking stupid questions. Watching the entire thing unfold was quite fun, actually, and really reminded me of the kind of stupid shit I used to do online about 15 years ago.

The noob raid ended up reminding me of how you actually learn to be a fun part of the communities you happen to stumble upon. Observation. Lurking. You learn new things by reading the old users and seeing what this place is just about. It’s an image board, you don’t even have accounts! You can just stick around and watch!

Search engines and the internet didn’t die because of corporate greed and SEO. Well, just because of corporate greed and SEO. The internet died, because we, the users, collectively all jumped to places like Twitter, Tumblr and Discord. Especially Discord. The internet has always been a haven of user-generated stuff (for better or worse…), but sometime in the past 10 or so years we all decided to stop making it available. Twitter is a collection of barely coherent thoughts in posts that can barely encompass a full sentence. Many good posts are spread across dozens of tweets, usually out of which one at most is indexable, but often the entire thread is missing. Tumblr is a blogging site where the users stopped blogging, and the blogs aren’t visible to outsiders because fuck you. Discord is an instant messaging application meant to compete with fucking TeamSpeak that through sheer user laziness and insane overreach managed to overtake forums, and the message history is completely inaccessible unless you have an account and an invitation to the server.

The result is that all of human knowledge is now contained on like 5 sites, most of which are never going to be accessible to outsiders. For the past decade, we have unknowingly waged a war on lurkers, and in the process driven them all into extinction.

The issue is, lurkers are mostly those who aren’t newcomers. They’re the ones who have learned to keep their mouth shut and try finding a solution first and foremost. The questions they do eventually ask are also the ones that are going to be the most specialised, and also useful to other lurkers. They share personal experience and anecdotes, ideas they tried out but didn’t work for their purposes. They share abstract, multilayered concepts that simply aren’t something that can be demonstrated or proven algorithmically.

The sites that exist and rule the landscape today are practically fraud. What they sell is not funded by them, nor is it created by them. They sell the writings, media, humour, anecdotes and other forms of bizarre interactions that we, the consumers create. Without any user activity, these media megastructures would simply shrivel up and die, as there’d be nobody driving eyes onto the site. They don’t really deserve anything besides maybe being paid for the server costs, which still constitute a fraction of a fraction of the total revenue generated.

But nothing prevents you from just leaving. The internet doesn’t suddenly end when you walk out of YouTube or Instagram. Sure, you can’t just upload your data onto The Internet itself, but the way the web was constructed means that you haven’t lost your rights to obtain a small webhost and an address and setting up your own ramshackle site. You’ll just pay in discoverability.

Internet users need to be reminded that the concept of the internet isn’t just a technology that transmits data to a small number of applications, it’s an interconnected series of servers, clients, more servers and more clients. A server can be any computer you can find with a little tweaking, and as long as you have a router and an internet connection, that’s all you need. You can forward the computer’s IP address and make it behave like a website. The internet was created by users, for users, and so far there’s nothing that can take that away from you.

The change isn’t going to manifest itself overnight, and I also wouldn’t recommend jumping out headfirst into the abyss, leaving everything else behind. It’s just good to know the possibilities anyone can have at their fingertips, as I’ve seen more and more people wallow in misery over the state of current and future internet. Maybe if enough people create wacko self-hosted sites as side projects, we may one day not need sites like the one I’m publishing this text on right now. And if you’re you’re interested and are willing to dive through some tech jargon, this talk by Mr. Cory Doctorow was an incredibly fascinating listen, and provides some solutions to fixing the issues from the perspective of a higher-level operation. It still contains some tidbits of info for you, if you’re concerned about how you’ll move your userbase from one platform to another with as little compromise as possible.

Now, I’ve had enough of this wistful nostalgic hopes bullshit. Next time I’ll just write a story.

[falinscloaca]

potential options i’ve come up with off the top of my head

-Death (obvious enough, though despite its apparent gravitas wrt killing a projected 1 outta 3 japanese criminals it still seems a bit early for whats arguably THE big fear.)

-Suicide (not really a primal fear IMO but like, sure. thats literally whats happening so maybe)

-FALLING (more of a long shot but i’ll fight anyone who tries to say thats not a primal fear and its ALSO its what the victims we’ve seen so far have done. while also not being as on-the-nose. that said is suicidal ideation beam doesn’t fit its name but who knows. money’s still on death but this ones fun.)

also its design is hella underwhelming but that probably bc Darkness was a fucking instant classic of visual symbolism body horror and simplicity, with the only ‘huge name’ devil to be at all disappointing since then being Hell imo. also its been literally 2 panels theres details we haven’t seen yet. maybe its still developing. dig the back-scythe-arm and the wrapped arms head thing reminds me of some designs i’ve thrown around for my own stuff (a compliment :3)

[marvel-trash-bin]

Taking Risks.

(Not my Gif.)

Summary: Zemo gives you what he thinks you deserve. *Some TFATWS Ep. 3 Spoilers.*

Pairing: Zemo x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Smut for days baby. Dirty Talking, Possession, marking, Soft!Dom Zemo. 18+ Only.

Word Count: 4.2K

Tags: @greeneyedblondie44

A/N: Look we all know we're walking dangerous territory, simping for a war criminal. But Sugar Daddy Zemo got me feeling some type of way and also, Daniel Brüle is hot asf. Also, I don't actually know german so pls if it's off just blame google translate, I just have an insatiable language kink and I needed the pet names more than air itself. I thought about making this a chaptered fic, but I barely had the time to write this, never mind chapters of it before he likely fucks over Sam and Bucky next episode. Anyways, enjoy!

Here’s the thing.

You knew he was dangerous. You knew his past, the EKO Scorpion kill squad and everything with the Avengers, manipulating them and breaking them up from the inside. He was smart, unpredictable. You knew there was a very real potential that you could be hurt - or worse - if you went down the road.

And maybe, in a past life that would’ve been enough to stop you. But you weren’t who you used to be. You liked playing with fire now, inviting danger and chaos rather than straying from it. You had lived in - hid in, was more accurate - Madripoor for a handful of years now. You laid low, kept yourself under the radar of the Power Broker and those who worked for him. This way, no one bothered you and you could live fragments of a normal life, Trading and bartering to make a living. But living this way, like forgotten trash on a sidewalk, got old.

Maybe that’s why when you caught his attention, you didn’t shy away from it.

It had happened so fast. You were dancing, just intoxicated enough that the rubbing of strangers' bodies against yours was not just welcomed, but encouraged. So encouraged that when a new body, tall and firm behind you, took the place of another, you didn’t hesitate to back up into the warmth. His hands gripped your hips tightly, not stopping or guiding you, just resting. Turning your head slightly to see what your new dance partner looked like, you startled a little seeing the Baron.

Helmut chuckled, a low sound you felt rather than heard, and ducked his head down to speak into your ear, “You know who I am.”

You let your body relax back into his, feeling reckless enough to bless the menacing man with your flirtations, your head falling back onto his, “I’ve heard a thing or two.”

“And yet you trust me to hold you like this,” his hands flex on your hips, just hard enough to show the strength they hold, “Like a lover.”

You grab one of his hands, leading it down to your upper thigh where your knife holster sits, never once letting his hand leave your body.

“If I didn’t want you touching me, you’d know it, Baron.”

The gust of breath you felt against the side of your neck and the large hand gripping your thigh had shivers rolling pleasantly down your spine.

“You are far too beautiful to reside in these undergrounds,” he spun you around in his grasp, allowing you to get a good look at his face, “A woman like yourself should be treated with the most expensive riches, the finest wines. She should drain a man of his earnings.”

You laughed, not expecting the words that came from his mouth nor how handsome he was, even this close, “Point me to the man who’s willing.”

He smirked at you, but there was a smugness to it. A glimmer in his eye that suggested he had the riches and the desire to give you anything you wanted. You felt like you were drowning in his gaze, lost as you were under the heat of it. He looked somewhere behind you, pulling his eyes from you to nod once at whatever, or whoever, had stolen his attention from you. When they returned to you, the heat and desire were replaced with determination.

“It is with great regret that I must leave you, for now,” He captured your hand, bringing it up to his lips, the softness of them brushing lightly against your knuckles, “I can get you out of Madripoor, give you a life you deserve. If you meet me tomorrow morning, the airstrip.”

The world felt like it froze around you. The rational part of your brain was screaming at you. You couldn’t trust him. You Shouldn’t trust him. But as you stared into his eyes you saw nothing but honesty.

“And if I don’t?” You ask, just to buy yourself some time.

His hand travels up your arm, taking your chin between his thumb and pointer finger securely, “I will not pressure you. I’d leave you be, but the ghost of you would haunt me, schatzi.”

And with that, he was gone. Leaving you with nothing more than your thoughts, mentally preparing how quickly you could pack your things and leaving Madripoor behind. After all, you’ve always loved taking risks.

~

The next few weeks were a blur. Zemo was laying low, but his form of laying low was still luxury to you. It was private jets and upscale accommodations, not to mention that he was a man of his word. He spoiled you. Within three days of being in his presence, you had acquired a whole new wardrobe. Your suitcases - also new - were filled to the brim with the fanciest and latest fashion. You had rare jewels on nearly every piece of jewelry you owned. Maybe spoiled was an understatement. You’ve only dreamed of owning riches like these.

He had picked something particular for you to wear tonight, both of you making an appearance at some sort of party with some higher-ups. It was all laid out on the king-sized bed, a little black dress of sorts. It was short and sheer in its long sleeves, the sparkles in the fabric ensured that you would shimmer under any lighting. With a simple clutch, matching jewelry and a cropped, white fur jacket to keep you warm until you got to your destination. You looked good. You felt good.

He looked just as good. Sporting an outfit similar to the one you had met him in, instead choosing a dark red turtleneck to create a stunning relation between both your outfits. Nothing had happened between the two of you yet. Aside from lingering glances and innocent touches, he had been a gentleman. The chemistry was there, for sure. You were able to joke and talk with the man, matching his wit and charm every step of the way. And he loved it.

“Best behaviour tonight, schatzi.” He had said, low in your ear as you walked towards the venue.

You had smiled back at him, the perfect picture of innocence, “Always, Baron.”

And at the time, you had fully meant it. But you found yourself craving him. He looked too good, it honestly wasn’t fair. The way that ridiculous fur jacket draped over his shoulders, fostering a powerful ambience. And you knew he was faring no better himself if by the way his eyes were glued to your curves was anything to go by.

So, you decided, maybe you shouldn’t be on your best behaviour tonight. It’s not like you were making a scene or anything that would call too much attention. You were simply letting the alcohol take over your body. Whether that meant a hand on his thigh as you listened to the conversations around you, your fingers playing with the short hairs at the back of his neck or dancing a little too scandalously when you knew he was watching. You felt confident. And when you felt confident, you felt dangerous.

By the end of the night, you were teasing yourself just as much as you were him. You were pushing your luck, hands trailing a little too close to the bulge in his slacks, enjoying the way his facial features changed briefly in shock before settling back into that infuriating unmovable stoic impression. The last straw was you bending in front of him, having ‘dropped’ something from your purse. You only had to bend so much before the dress, as short as it was, had ridden up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your panties.

In an instant, he had you standing upright, thanking whoever he had been talking to for a wonderful night, tugging your dress back down to a respectable length and steering you towards the door by the back of your neck.

“That was not best behaviour,” he growled into your ear.

You giggled, despite the tight grip on your neck, “I was just having fun.”

He had done nothing but stare at you, eyes hard with a warning that had you rethinking your actions. You had forgotten, for a moment, that this man was not just someone to give you all the pretty trinkets you wore. He was a mastermind, a criminal mastermind at that. A man most deemed dangerous enough to be locked away.

“You have been bad tonight, kleine Schlampe.” He said once he had gotten you back to his car, away from the prying eyes and ears of the party guests, “You will spend the trip back thinking of ways to make it up to me.”

The words sent heat through your core, and you did exactly as he said.

~

By the time he had gotten you up to your accommodations, you had thought of thousands of different scenarios that could earn you forgiveness for your recklessness. You were uncertain if his words earlier had implied sexual favours, or if a simple, genuine apology was all he was looking for. However, once he had turned to you, the room door closing behind him and his eyebrows raised expectantly, you fell to your knees in front of him like it was second nature.

He chuckles darkly at you as he peels his gloves off, tossing them gently onto a side table nearby before letting one hand brush away the hair that had fallen in your face.

“Seems you are meine kleine schlampe indeed,” You had no idea what it meant, but fuck it sounded good coming from him. His eyes were hard and dark as he stared down at you, “If this is the path you’ve chosen to apologize, so be it. But not here, you are meine schlampe not a common whore. Get up. Go to the bedroom.”

You did as he said, quickly pulling yourself up to a standing position and walking to the designated room. The bed, so far, had only been used by you. He hadn’t wanted to push or pressure you into sharing a space with him. He understood that just because you decided to join him, didn’t mean you wanted to be with him. But tonight, you had decided, you wanted to give him your everything. You wanted to show him how grateful you were for all the gifts he’d given you so far. And if you couldn’t give him luxuries, you would give him your desire.

“So,” he began, nodding in approval at the way you resume your position on the floor in front of him, “Let’s begin with the basics.” As he talked, he rolled up his sleeves, doing so with precision, “Tell me, what exactly are you apologizing for?”

He commands every drop of your attention. There’s an aura to him that you had only previously caught a glimpse of. His eyes dark and locked onto yours, never once wavering. Waiting. Calculating.

“For teasing you.”

“And?”

You take a breath, shame flooding your core at the answer that sits on your tongue.

“For embarrassing you.”

There’s a pause. He cocks his head, gaze softening just a tad. He's quiet for several moments, analyzing your words. Your heart starts to beat a little faster at the extended silence, thinking you’ve done something wrong and you can’t keep up the eye contact. You duck your head, averting your gaze to his feet.

“Look at me, schatzi.” His voice is soft, but still with enough edge to make you listen.

Only once your eyes meet his again does he continue.

“That’s very sweet of you, to be concerned about my image. But make no mistake,” He steps closer to you, letting one hand cup your jaw, tilting it upwards. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, “You could never embarrass me,”

You dip your head, nipping softly at his thumb. He smiles softly at you, something glimmering in his eye, “I simply just don’t like to share what’s mine.”

Your breath leaves your body at his words and suddenly the need for him to claim you had you nearly vibrating in your skin. You watch, every muscle in your body clenched tightly, as he walks slowly over to the armchair in the corner, never once taking his eyes off you. He sits, legs parted, one arm draped off the side, the other rested so he could prop his head up.

“Proceed.”

Instantly, you make your way over to him. Once in front of him, you stand up on your knees, placing your hands on his knees and slowly sliding them up his thighs. They continue its upward motion, skimming lighting over the hardness in his pants and reaching to start on his belt. You make quick work of his belt and buttons, eagerly working his pants and briefs down. He chuckles above you.

“Mein Schatz, so eager to apologize.” He purrs, almost mockingly, hand coming down to brush the fallen hair away from your face.

Once you had him free, you took a second to admire him. Your legs clenched at the size of him. Not terribly big, but big enough to anticipate the stretch, the fullness. Your eyes flicked back up, looking up at his through your lashes, leaning in but stopping just before you could actually get your mouth on him. The hand that was previously fixing your hair was now clenched in it, messing it up again and forcing your head back suddenly to look at him properly.

“It would not be wise to tease me more than you have,” he warned.

A smirk spread across your features and you quickly realized how much you liked him like this.

Powerful.

Strict.

However, you knew you were on thin ice already. With that in mind, as soon as his grip loosened you licked a wide stripe up his length, swirling your tongue around the tip before taking him fully into your mouth. The tension his body held melted the second your tongue touched him. His mouth dropping on a soft groan. His hand stroked your hair as you sucked, encouraging the bobs of your head, not forcing but guiding. You keep your eyes trained on his face, not wanting to miss a second of experiencing him like this.

He glows in the low lamplight of the room, the shadows playing across his features delicately. You like him like this too. Reduced to a heap of gasps and moans beneath the heat of your mouth. As you suck, your hands wander, up under the fabric of his shirt, nails dragging down his sides. He hisses at the pain, but doesn’t tell you to stop.

After a few minutes of your slow torture, he decides he’s had enough. His hand tightens in your hair, his movements becoming less gentle and more demanding.

“That’s a good girl, take it all for me.”

You do as he asks, taking a breath before taking him as deep as you can. He groans at the feeling, hips shifting a few times to test you before beginning to thrust in and out of your mouth. Your jaw aches, but his eyes are on you and his thumb is tracing your bottom lip that’s stretched wide around his cock and you think for a second that you could spend eternity like this.

It’s not much longer before he pulls you off his cock, hand wrapping around his base tightly, “Apologies, schatzi. I am out of practice, and I fear I'm not quite finished with you yet.”

You laugh softly, voice rough due to your previous activity, “That’s okay, I don’t mind.” You insist, more than happy to let him finish like this. Whatever he wants.

He stops you before you can dip down again, standing up and taking you with him. For the first time, his lips are on yours. He overwhelms all your senses. His breath loud in your ears, his hands on your waist, his scent. His tongue slides against yours as he walks you forward, shedding his lower clothing as he goes. He only parts to give you an order.

“Turn around.”

As you do, he finishes undressing and it kills you that can’t see him. Just as quickly as the thought crosses your mind, it’s gone as you feel his hands at the top of your dress. He slides the zipper down, letting the fabric fall off your shoulders. You take the liberty of helping the sleeves the rest of the way down, the fabric falling down around your heels once you’ve done so. He hums behind you.

“Such beauty,” he whispers against your shoulder. His hands begin to wander, around your waist, up underneath the fabric of your bra, down to your thighs and ass. He chuckles, dragging your panties down enough that they too fall, forgotten at your feet, “I can hardly stay mad at you, liebling.”

Your head falls back onto his shoulders as he works your bra off next. You shiver, feeling bare and exposed before him. You want him more than you can express and you let your whole body fall back into his embrace, whimpering at the feeling of him, hard against the swell of your ass.

“Helmut,” you moan, one of your hands finding purchase in his hair as the other rests on one of his forearms.

“Tell me you’re mine, Schatzi. And I’ll give you anything you want.”

“I’m yours,” you say without hesitation, breathless as his hand dips between your legs, finding your clit. He hums, pleased at the arousal he finds there, “I’m yours. Only yours.”

He growls pulling his hand away from, “Lay back on the bed. I’ll be right back.”

You do as he says, positioning yourself in the middle of the bed. While you wait, you let your mind wander, listening to his rummaging somewhere in another room while your mind runs through everything you want him to do to you. At some point, your eyes must close because when you feel the bed dip, they open to see him crawling between your legs.

He’s done messing around, wasting no time before his face is buried between your thighs, hands maneuvering your legs so that they’re thrown over his shoulders, your heels crossing sweetly behind his head, no doubt scratching at his shoulders. Your breath leaves your body at the feeling of his tongue, warm and wet and fan-fucking-tastic. He alternates between dipping it in and out of your heat and flicking it against your clit. Your hand finds his hair, gripping it between your fingers and guiding his movements ever so slightly. His eyes don’t leave yours, spare for the few times he closes them to moan against you.

One of his hands move, leaving its place at your hip to sink two fingers into you. Your head falls back on a moan, back arching up when he crooks his fingers and finds your g-spot.

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand gripping the pillow behind your head as you feel your orgasm rush towards you, “Fuck- Wait, I-”

You can’t even feel embarrassed about how easily your body has reacted to him. Before you can warn him much more, you're falling over the edge. Your thighs tensing around his head, back arching in pleasure as you ride out your high. In this moment you belong completely to him, unable to think of anything else.

“So sweet for me, liebling.” He comments, hands rubbing up and down your calves as you come down, taking a moment to unfasten your heels, letting the shoes drop to the floor before leaning back in. His lips brush against your inner thigh.

Then a bite.

“Such pretty sounds you make for me.”

And then he’s sucking harshly at the skin there, watching the shudder that rips through your sensitive body at the sensation. He doesn’t pull away until the mark is dark and flush against your skin. He continues this on the other thigh, on your ribs, your breasts and finally your neck, marking you thoroughly.

“Mine.” He growls, hot against your ear, “Mein schatz, will you let me have you?” he asks, and it’s literally all you can think about so you don’t even bother hiding the truth, the confession tumbling from your lips breathlessly.

“I’d let you do anything to me.”

He groans, capturing your lips in a deep kiss as he does so. He pulls away to grab the condom that he had put next to him on the bed and leaning back on his haunches to roll it on. You’re so impatient, nails digging into his thighs and arms, whining as you watch his hands work.

“So needy,” He comments, swallowing your moan as he finally, finally, sinks into you.

The stretch as he enters you has your head rolling back on a moan, your legs wrapping around his waist the bring him the rest of the way in. He buries his head in the crook of your neck, growling against the skin there.

“Fuck,” he groans through gritted teeth, his resolve quickly slipping at the feeling of you around his cock. And to his credit, he really tries to wait, to be good. But not seconds later he’s adjusting his grip on your hips and he’s thrusting into you with a force that makes the whole bed shake.

It’s barely been 30 seconds, but the build-up that had occurred throughout the entirety of the night had you right back on the edge, your nails clawing at his shoulders, his back, his thighs. Any purchase you could get on him, you were begging for more. You’d take anything he gave you without so much as batting an eyelash. His grip on your hips is tight and bruising, but the pain twists into a delicious pleasure that only spurs you on.

You must be speaking, babbling something back to him about how good it feels, how much you love being fucked by him because he’s laughing through a moan against your neck. He pauses for just a second, straightening up and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder before continuing to fuck you.

“That’s it Kätzchen.” He purrs, eyes moving down your body to where he enters your body, “Taking my cock so well.”

You mewl at the praise, your body arching in response to his words. Your second orgasm takes you both by surprise, having hit you like a fucking freight train when he thrusts particularly deep, hitting one of your sweet spots. You scramble for purchase on him, mouth dropped open in a near-pornographic moan that you’ll surely be embarrassed about later. But for now, all you know is pleasure.

His hips falter, stuttering as your walls tighten around him. His head falls back on a low moan, fucking you hard and slow through your release.

“Such a sweet cunt,” he gasps, “Mein Gott..”

And then he’s tangling your hands together, holding it high above your head as he pushes your thighs back, flush against your chest. He’s the one babbling now, words from God only knows what language, whispered against your skin as he chases his own release. He gives one last hard thrust and he’s done, his teeth dragging against the skin on your shoulder, moaning against you as he rides out his orgasm.

As you both come down, you stroke the back of his neck, playing with the hairs there, trying to catch your breath. After a few moments, he pulls away just enough to kiss you. There’s a lingering heat and it’s a little messy due to your shared exhaustion but it’s good.

Once you’ve both caught your breath, he removes himself from your body, taking the necessary time to deal with the condom. You watch him lazily, unable to do much other than that. You’re so tired. But there’s that ache between your legs that you love so much and you think briefly that you could go another round, if he wanted to.

He must see something in your eyes when he returns because he laughs softly, “I feel I may have my hands full with you, schatzi.” he says as he crawls back into the bed with you, covering the both of you with a blanket, the cold now biting at your skin. You know you have to get up soon enough to sort yourself out before bed, but for a moment you stay with him.

His fingers brush over your face softly, following the slope of your nose and the angle of your cheeks. There’s no real purpose to his movements, just... touching. As if convincing himself that you’re real.

“You are special, schatzi.” he says softly, “I don’t know what your plans are, but I can only hope that you choose to continue to bless me with your presence.”

This man is such an enigma to you. He carries such confidence in every aspect of his life and yet he still doubts your loyalties. There’s anxiety and pain hidden within him, you can see it in his eyes as he continues to look at you. You wonder, how much of his past weighs on his shoulders. How long before he deems himself worthy of your affection? You lean in to kiss him softly, your lips dragging slowly against him. When you pull away you keep him close, brushing your noses together.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

[therenlover]

One Last Night In Madripoor (An 18+ Helmut Zemo/Reader Oneshot)

Synopsis: Baron Helmut Zemo is a lonely, wanted man looking for some fun, you’re a piss-poor bounty hunter in search of a connection before leaving your life of crime behind, and fate has brought you together at a party the likes of which has never been seen before. You only have one night left in Madripoor, so why not take a chance?

Tags: Smut, SoftDom!Zemo, Hook Up, Semi-Public Sex, Drinking, Safe Sex, Explicit Consent, First Meeting, Wall Sex, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Swearing, Explicit Sexual Content

Word Count: 4200~

This fic has been crossposted under the same title to my AO3!

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Madripoor was a place like nothing you had ever seen.

It wasn’t that the sights were anything special. You could find seedy criminal underbellies lined with neon where the streets ran red with blood anywhere if you looked hard enough. Even the ocean view didn’t do much to set it apart from any other place visually. No, Madripoor’s scenery and architecture weren’t what kept your eyes wide with wonder whenever you found yourself wandering through the winding back-alleys without a purpose. It was the people that kept you around.

Thieves, pirates, and miscreants had been taking shelter at the docks since before anyone there could remember. It was a city borne of the underbelly of society, the people nobody sees, but you saw them. You saw them every day when you stood in the main market waiting for an easy bounty. There were faces everywhere; big and small, tall and short, scarred and flawless. No two people in the streets of Madripoor were ever exactly alike. If you needed to remember someone, their unique face was right there waiting in your mind.

After living on the island for almost 6 months, most people were already cataloged neatly in your mind as friend or foe. This man, though, he was new. He was different.

The night was still young. There was some trouble at the Princess Bar that ended with Selby dead and a few murderers loose in the streets with a price on their heads, but you steered clear. Going after the killers meant going up against hundreds if not thousands of trained bounty hunters and assassins and no amount of money was worth dying over now, not while you were so close to freedom. Instead of chasing your doom, you decided to head to your room, get dressed up, and head out to wherever the music was loudest in search of a place to forget about your problems for the night. The thudding sounds of poorly DJ-ed club remixes led you to Leonardo’s Place. That’s where you found him.

You were two drinks in and sticking close to the wall when he stumbled into your line of sight. What initially caught your eye was his dancing. He couldn’t move for shit. What kept your attention, though, was his face.

There was transience to him, like at any moment someone could bump into him and he would disappear without a trace at their touch. Despite that he was gaudy. Everything about his clothing screamed wealth and fine taste from the thread count of his obnoxious purple turtleneck to the shine on his boots. He was strange, a walking contradiction, and one who had never had the pleasure of gracing your presence or screwing you over in the past. In the simplest of terms, he intrigued you. With nothing left to lose you downed the last of your cocktail and made your way to the gap in the crowd where the stranger had staked his claim. It was game time.

“You come here alone?” You asked. Your voice was barely a whisper above the heavy thrumming of the music.

He gave you a long look up and down before answering as if he were trying to size you up. Something about having his gaze linger on your body made your heartbeat soar. “I’m not looking for company,” His accented tone was gruff but left a sliver of room for reconsideration. You took the chance. What could go wrong?

With as much tact and grace as you could muster you let yourself slip a little closer to him. “What, do I look too expensive for you?” you teased, before backing off with a grin, “Thanks for the compliment, but I’m not here for that. My job is a little more… dangerous.” As you danced, the hem of your dress rode up your thigh just enough to reveal the knife holster in your garter belt. It pleased you greatly to see this handsome stranger do a double-take; that meant he was looking at your upper thigh in the first place. “I just liked what I saw in you… do you like what you see in me?”

Somehow, your little joke had endeared him to you, however minutely. Instead of brushing you off the man paused his jerky dancing for a moment to really take you in. Then, he caved. “Would you like a drink?” He asked.

You smirked. “Who would I be if I turned down a free drink from a handsome stranger,”

He met you in the middle as he offered you his hand. “I never promised it would be free,”

So, the two of you found yourselves at the bar, bodies leaned into each other and away from the rest of the sweltering crowd as the bartender slid you your order. The stranger was drinking a brandy straight while you opted for a sidecar. It was enough alcohol that you were starting to feel pretty buzzed, but you still felt in full control of yourself. You took a long sip before speaking. “So, what should I call you?”

It took him a moment to respond but once he did, he seemed sure of himself. “You can call me Helmut, but Baron is fine as well,”

You cocked up an eyebrow. “Is that a nickname?”

“More of a title,”

He took a drink as you gawked. “Like royalty?”

“Not like. I am,”

Your cheeks flushed. The rational part of your mind was so stunned by the ease with which Helmut lied that it seemed to short circuit completely, leaving you very puzzled and more than a little intrigued. “Well, pardon me, Mr. Baron. What’s royalty like you doing in a place like this?”

“There are plenty of reasons a man like me would have business here. A woman as beautiful as you, though… not so much,” he waved his hand in loose gestures as he spoke, “Why risk your life and beauty for this? A life living in the underground where you cannot so much as dream of seeing the stars?”

You finished your drink in one large swig. It burned down your throat but you relished in the pain. “Not all of us are lucky enough to be born in a place where we can see the stars. Funny enough, though, I’m just about to get out,”

“Is that right?”

“I finally saved up enough money from small jobs to buy my way out from under the Power Broker’s thumb,” Something about the way Helmut smiled at you made you feel safe. It was like you could tell him your worst, darkest secrets and not feel an ounce of fear or guilt. “I’m nothing special here, a small-time bounty hunter, and I kept it that way for a reason. I’m not valuable and I don’t know much. If I just pay my dues and keep the money coming until I can get their claws out of my back, I should be free to leave with a freighter tomorrow morning,”

Helmut was quick to respond. “Ah, travel by freighter. It’s terribly dangerous to be a stowaway, you know? Impossible to predict quite what the seas will be like,”

“Well, that’s just a risk I’ll have to take to get out of here and stop… what was it that you said I was doing? Risking my life and beauty?”

The two of you chuckled as Helmut took one last drink to empty his glass. Then, the conversation stilled. Around you people were alive, gyrating to the music as their pulses thumped to the beat, but it was like they weren’t even there. Instead, your whole being was focused on the strange man in front of you who had stolen away your sensibilities with his cool tone and thick accent. He made you feel alive. No, more than alive. Every color was brighter, every sound was sharper, every sip of your drink was crisper. He was a once-in-a-lifetime man, and this was a once-in-a-lifetime night. Oh, to hell with it!

“I like you, Baron,” you purred, pressing yourself close to him. His breath hitched the moment you touched him. He acted as if it had been a very long time since he was last touched like that. “And I think you like me too. In fact, I think you like me enough that we should take this conversation somewhere a little more private. What do you say?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, his gloved hand made its way around your wrist, and in a moment’s time, he was pulling you across the crowded dance floor towards a small, secluded hallway. You assumed that meant yes.

The instant you made it to the shelter of the shadows Helmut was on you like a man starved. One of his hands was quick to explore the skin just above the hem of your dress as the other pressed against the wall, caging you in and holding you as a more than willing hostage to his affections. He didn’t kiss your face, and you weren’t complaining about that, but he did put his mouth to good use sucking a dark bruise into your collarbone. His ministrations only stopped when a high, keening sound escaped your lips.

“You like that, don’t you, meine kleine schlampe?” he growled through gritted teeth. Something about his tone turned your already weak legs to jelly. The second you went limp in his grip, though, he pulled back. Straightening himself out, he offered you a steadying arm. You took it without hesitation. “I’m terribly sorry to be so rude. I assure you that I am not usually the type of man to hook up with someone on a whim, I’ve simply been… indisposed for many years and haven’t had many opportunities for pleasure, especially not with a woman as beautiful as you,”

His compliment was enough to have you blushing like a schoolgirl. You had killed more people than you could reasonably count, and probably fucked even more, but something about the way Helmut looked and sounded and acted made you feel almost innocent to his advances. He was a drug and you needed to get your fix before he disappeared forever.

“Does that mean you think I’m special?” You asked, all doe eyes with an innocent smile. Helmut ate it right up.

“Yes, schatzi. Very special,”

You hitched a leg up, letting your heel dig into his expensive dress pants and drag him closer to you once again. “First your little slut and now your little treasure? Which one is it, Helmut?”

“And so smart,”

“Move, Baron!”

At your insistence, Helmut was on you once again, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses down your neck as he fiddled with his gloves, yanking them off and shoving them in his back pocket before he continued. “So demanding,” he chided, and yet he continued to lavish you with affection, his hand climbing higher and higher up your thigh. Your back was pressed flush to the wall now, and you were painfully aware of just how warm Helmut was. He smelled like a rich man’s cologne and yet his skin tasted of cheap soap when you leaned in to give him a bruise of his own.

“You love it,” you replied. He let out a husky laugh.

“I suppose I do,” he chuckled, and then his fingers brushed over your core. Your knees buckled. Helmut kept you upright with his body as he continued to taunt you through your underwear, but he seemed more confident now, almost cocky. “My needy schatzi, have you no patience?”

Your response was breathless; a confession.

“Not with you,”

Something about your words lit a fire in Helmut’s eyes. In an instant he had your leg hiked up while he ground his hardened length against your clothed wetness. Your mind went blank. He felt big. A mindless whimper fell from your lips.

“How do you want me?” Helmut asked. As he spoke he ran a light finger down your elevated thigh. You offered up another whimper. “I’ll need you to use your words and tell me what you want or I can’t give it to you,” His tone had you wet enough that you worried you were dripping.

With a gulp, you managed to fumble out the words. “I’ll blow you first if you promise to fuck me,”

That had him grinning like a wolf. “Perhaps you are my little schlampe, so eager to get down on your knees for me…” And you were. Even on shaky legs, you found yourself happily falling to your knees as the Baron fumbled with his fly. It was only then that you found yourself gazing down the hall towards the cacophony of lights and sounds and people maybe 20 feet away from your hiding place in the shadows. As if he could sense your discomfort, Helmut paused. “Are you alright?”

You nodded quickly. “I just forgot we were out in the open for a second,”

“Do you want to stop? If the location is the problem, I would gladly pause so we can find a new hideaway,” he stopped short, looking down and meeting your heavily lidded gaze, “or perhaps the idea of putting on a show excites you?” Your heart jumped out of your chest. Helmut noticed. “Well, if my little schlampe is so keen on putting on a show, she should get a move on,”

That was your cue to get to work. In a swift motion, you finished unzipping his fly and shifted his boxers, letting his lovely cock spring free. It was a pleasant penis and far as they went, average in length but thick with a leaking purple tip at half-mast. Just looking at it made you clamp your legs together.

Slowly, you gave a tentative lick up the underside of his length. He felt heavy on your tongue in the best of ways. Helmut jerked upward, a man possessed. You couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s been a long time, huh?”

“Less talking, more working little schlam-” you cut Helmut off quickly by taking most of his length into his mouth. That seemed to shut him up. His wolf-like grin had dissolved into a slack-jawed mess the second you started to suck him off. Oh, this was going to be fun.

For the most part, the Baron let you set the pace, bobbing your head and taking as much of his length as you comfortably could, but after a short while his hands were buried in your hair as he fought the urge to buck into your throat, hard. With a particularly rough snap of his hips, Helmut pulled away.

“You are an angel from heaven, schatzi,” he groaned, pulling himself slowly from your mouth as you got your first good deep breath in a while, “but a deal is a deal, and it wouldn’t be quite fair if I got to have all the fun, now would it?” Your breath hitched in your throat. Finally time for the main event.

Helmut was surprisingly gentle with you as he offered you a hand and helped you back up, only pausing to wipe a line of dribble off your chin with his thumb. With anyone else, it would have felt wholly humiliating but with Helmut… well, it did things to you you would rather not admit. You quirked up an eyebrow, though, when he got on his knees in turn, mirroring your past position. “What are you doing, Baron?”

“I simply assumed my sweet schatzi would enjoy a reward for taking my cock so well,” his words had you biting your lip as your cheeks flushed, “now be a good girl and take what I give you. I want to hear those pretty noises you made earlier,” With that, his face disappeared under your skirt. He pulled down your panties and… snickered?

“What now?” you groaned, squirming as his hot breath hit your exposed nub.

“You’re sopping wet,” he replied. Out of habit, you moved to shut your legs but found Helmut’s large hand was holding them open. “I do enjoy being sandwiched between your thighs, but you shouldn’t hide yourself from me. Take your pleasure. You’ve earned it,” That was when he began his assault on your folds.

You had been with plenty of partners over the years, all with varying proficiencies when it came to giving pleasure, but no one had ever made you feel quite as good as Helmut did while you gripped his hair and rode his face with reckless abandon. He always hit just the right spot, alternating between sucking on your sensitive clit and running his rough tongue in sloppy circles against it. In no time flat your pleasure was building toward’s its peak as your knees trembled.

“Helmut,” you squeaked, “Helmut I’m gonna cuuuUUOH!”

You were suddenly thrown over the edge of pleasure as the Baron worked you open with his fingers, pressing that spot inside of you just right. It was a revelation. Nothing would ever compare to him and you hadn’t even fucked yet. Once you had regained some semblance of stability he emerged from his place between your thighs, face slick with your juices, wearing the expression of a cat that got the cream.

“You make such lovely sounds for me, schatzi,” Helmut groaned, rising from his place at your feet and reaching into his pocket. While he fumbled for a condom you took the time to actually remove your panties, lifting one shaky leg at a time before balling them up and tossing them on the ground. You could grab them later. Or not! In all honesty, your ruined undies were the last thing on your mind as your watched Helmut roll the condom onto his proud cock, pumping himself a few times. “Now, are you sure you want this?”

You had never felt more sober in your whole life despite the drinks you’d downed earlier.

“God, yes,”

“Wonderful,”

He caged you into his body once again, lining himself up on your slick folds, and then with a pronounced bite against your collarbone, he was entering you. It wasn’t painful or uncomfortable, you just felt full, like a missing piece of your body had been completed. For the first few thrusts, you were too blissed out to really take note of anything around you, but once you tuned back into the world of the living you realized Helmut was talking. Well, babbling was more like it. He seemed to simply be speaking his stream of consciousness into your ear as he pistoned in and out of you like a madman. There was a jilted rhythm to it, but the abnormality kept you on your toes.

“I won’t be letting you go any time soon, schatzi, and definitely not on some dank freighter like a rat from the gutters. No, you will travel with me. Once I help my friends and slip away from the front lines I can take you anywhere your little heart desires. Paris, Vienna, Australia… Mein Gott, what a sweet cunt,”

Any sane woman, after hearing his sex-drunken musings, would have run. They would have heard the wild ramblings of a madman and left after their little fling was done to never see him again. It was only rational. He didn’t even know your real name. Sane women didn’t run away with strangers claiming to be barons they hooked up with in a seedy club selling stolen Van Goghs in a hub of the criminal underworld.

The only thing was, though, that you weren’t a sane woman.

You were a killer, a child left in the streets to live or die who had scraped themselves together and dragged themselves towards life. So what if the idea of some rich mysterious benefactor with a good dick coming in to save the day sounded fantastic? It was fantastic. Like your own personal version of Pretty Woman. Even if he wasn’t as rich as he claimed to be, being poor and getting dicked down by him was better than being poor and alone.

For just a moment, and with no regrets, you let yourself get lost in the fantasy and just let go.

It was as if Helmut could sense a difference.

“Are you close, little schlampe?” He gasped, letting his thrusts take on a faster staccato rhythm.

You could do little more than moan and nod as he pounded you into the wall. That seemed to be enough for him to get the message, though.

“What a good girl,” he purred. His mouth was so close to your ear, his hot breath tickling the sensitive flesh with each heaving breath he took. As he chased his own climax, he brought a hand between your bodies and rubbed tight, wet circles around your clit. It was already sensitive, your body was only barely recovering from your first orgasm, and yet something about the overstimulation was thrilling, like racing towards an impossible dream. With a shout, you came for the second time, melting into Baron Helmut’s arms as he quickly followed.

The two of you stayed there, slumped against the cool wall and still connected by your dripping sexes, for a few moments, breathing heavy. Surprisingly, you were the first to speak.

“Wow,” you breathed, letting a soft laugh escape your lips.

Helmut returned the sentiment. “You were wonderful,” In a strange moment of intimacy, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, but then he pulled out, tying off the full condom and tossing it to the ground as he tucked himself back into his boxers and zipped up his fly.

“Are you just gonna leave that there?” you made a gesture towards his litter.

“They have janitors,”

A burbling laugh escaped from your lips. “That they do,”

Back in the main room of the party, the crowd had only grown larger as the night progressed. Nobody had seen you, nor had they noticed your cries as they danced and drank and made merry under the neon lights. You were, for all intents and purposes, invisible at Helmut’s side. Within and without. There was something exhilarating about knowing he was the only one that truly saw you in a room packed with hundreds. It was like something out of a twisted fairytale.

“So…” you broached the subject gently while you pulled down your dress to protect your modesty, “Did you mean what you said back there about Paris and Vienna, or…”

“Oh, you heard that?”

You snickered. “It was pretty hard not to with you breathing in my ear,”

“I apologize,” he leaned against the wall beside you, shoulder to shoulder in the darkness, “but yes, I meant what I said. I-”

Suddenly, from down the hall, a booming voice interrupted your moment.

“There you are!”

“Goddamnit, Zemo, I thought we told you to stay low not hire an escort,”

There, at the mouth of the hallway, stood two massive men. They were obviously displeased, and though their faces were obscured by the lights you could tell you weren’t the one they were after.

They called him Zemo… where had you heard that name before?

Helmut stepped away from the wall with a shrug. “At least I didn’t cause a scene by forgetting to put my phone on silent,”

The larger of the two men stayed where he was, while the other walked to meet the Baron in the middle.

“I swear to God, man, you’ve gotten ten times more insufferable since I learned you were rich.

The Baron shrugged. “It comes with the territory,”

“But you don’t have to be such a jackass about it,”

You felt it was a good time to chime in.

“Thank you so much for that, Helmut, but I think I should give you guys some privacy,” you said, straightening out your dress and walking deeper into the hallway. There had to be an exit somewhere…

“Wait!” When you turned, you found Helmut rushing to meet you. The men in the background looked shocked and almost smug. “Save your money. Meet me out at the airstrip tomorrow afternoon if you feel like seeing me again. If not, know that the Power Broker doesn’t let go of assets cheap, and you just slept with a man with a million dollar bounty, so buying your freedom isn’t an option. If you want to go without me, you’ll have to hitch a ride on a cargo ship but not as a stowaway. Working for your keep is the best way to stay under the radar. Nobody can touch you once you’r-”

You cut him off by pressing a finger to his lips. “I’ll see you at your private jet, Baron,”

He smirked. “So you will,” With as much gusto as a man could muster, he returned to his companions but not before offering one last goodbye. “Farewell, schatzi, until tomorrow,”

As you leaned up against the wall once more, you watched them go with a twinkle in your eye.

“Who was that?”

“None of your business, James,”

“Guys, what the hell did I just step on?”

“I believe that was my used rubber,”

“ZEMO!”

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a/n: I hope you enjoyed the filth! I haven’t written for Zemo before, even though I’ve loved him for years, but he’s definitely going into my main rotation now. If you have any ideas, send them my way! I’d love to fill the void, because there just aren’t very many Zemo x reader fics out there. If you enjoyed this, maybe reblog or leave a comment! I’d love to hear your thoughts. Thanks again!

Please do not post my works to any other sites, thanks! <3

[theshelbyclan]

Castle in the Sky

Summary: You’re the daydreaming sibling of the Shelby’s, but when the adventure spills over into real life, it’s not as great as you’d imagined

(Gif by @nofckingfighting​) A/N: A sweet anon requested: can I have request please Something like this Tommy was very protective over y/n and she gets hurt by one of the bad guys and sees blood on her face now all bruised but Tommy wants revenge Omg if you do so thank you so much for my request! ❤️ Huge fan of your works!This is set around season 1, back in the good old days when the only real enemy was Billy Kimber, remember those days? So easy… anyways, hope you like it J Words: 2933 ***

You were only nine when you started as a bookie’s runner for the Peaky Blinders. Nothing about this was special, half the kids of Small Heath worked for them, but there was just one difference: the Shelby’s were your brothers. It was a good job in many ways, because it meant not only being able to help your brothers, but people were inclined to give you a bit extra, just for being a Shelby. You imagined they thought it good luck.

��Y/N, take this to the other side of town, will you?” Tommy requested as he sat hunched over a newspaper. You protested a little, “Why me? I’ve done all of mine for today…” “This one’s extra, alright?” “Who is it?” you could never hide your inquisitive nature. But you only showed it around your brothers; to the rest of the world you were just quiet and practically invisible. He smirked slightly, “Someone who’ll pay up big. That’s why I need you to do it. Can’t trust any of the other kids not to steal…” “I have some homework to do, Tommy.” At thirteen, you were still at school, which was a minor miracle in Birmingham. “Tell you what: if you just do this one job, I’ll get you magazine you’ve been talking about, eh?” now he looked up and met your eyes. “Book, Tommy,” you smiled, “You might have heard of the concept? It’s a little like a magazine, a little like that newspaper, but with more pages? Some find it challenging, but once you get used to it…” “Alright, little miss know-it-all,” he grumbled without malice, “Go on, take the slip, make sure he bets all. Off with you. Stop outsmarting your old brother, eh?” He winked to make sure you were comfortable and you returned it with a big grin. “Where?” “Digbeth,” Tommy’s nose was back in the newspaper, “behind the Golden Dragon.” ***

As you were walking through the streets of Small Heath on your way to Digbeth, you were daydreaming. In a way it was strange just how different you were from your brothers, because the entire Shelby clan was very realistic, trying to make their way in this hard world, where you would rather pretend all day you were the main character in some story. The books you read, it was all an escape to you. So while you were walking, the people and factories disappeared. In your head, you were walking through the woods, on a secret mission that your king gave you. With the top-priority letter in your pocket, you remembered what he’d told you before you left: “If you get caught, eat the letter. If they capture you, make sure to be brave and never divulge its contents to anyone. And if all else fails, you must make the ultimate sacrifice. But remember, you have to memorize the contents of the letter first…” Wouldn’t it just be easier to memorize it now and destroy the letter immediately? You pondered on the matter… In the distance, you could see the mountains and the towers of another kingdom, and you knew your enemies were near. Without anyone noticing, you put a hand to your pocket and could feel the reassuring rustling of paper underneath your fingers: the letter was still there. If it would come to a fight, how would you go about it? If there were just one man, the small dagger in your boots would suffice. If it were two, you’d distract one, maybe by throwing the veil you were wearing, quickly turning around to kill the other and then back to the first one before he had time to recover. If there were more than three, you’d run, because you were the fastest after all. You’d get to higher ground and attack them from there, like a deadly shadow they could never see coming. As you smiled to yourself, you left the daydream for a short moment. You looked down and saw the muddy shoes you were wearing, marching through Birmingham mud. In the distance, all you saw was smoke and factory pipes. But it was honestly all you needed: your imagination did the rest. The real world barged in when you delivered the slip in Digbeth. Everything went smoothly at first. Your big brown eyes persuaded him to indeed bet big, and you were quite satisfied with yourself, knowing Tommy would be too. But you still had to walk back with a lot of money now in your pocket.

*** Almost home, there were only a few streets to go. Your head was back in the clouds and this time you were imagining you were a spy during the war. Silently, you moved through the streets, making yourself invisible and pretending every man wearing a hat was the enemy. So each time you saw one, you changed directions or hid for a second. It was a fun game, until you realised the enemy wasn’t wearing a hat. “Now, what’s a pretty girl like you doing on the streets, all by herself?” A man with a heavy Cockney accent popped up next to you and your heart nearly jumped out of your chest. You opened your mouth to reply, but no words came out. In your dreams, you always knew what to say, but in reality it wasn’t so easy. The man approached you and you noticed he’d cut you off from your one exit out of the alley, “It’s Y/N Shelby, isn’t it,” he grinned. “No,” you managed to say, “you got the wrong girl.” He grinned again, “Nice try, sweetheart. We’ve seen you at the Garrison. They don’t allow little girls at the pub, unless they’re a Shelby.” This was all true. You felt your hands getting clammy. “Tommy sent you, didn’t he?” Again, you tried to remember what the hero in your stories would do. She’d run, climb the building and then throw a knife right between the eyes of the man. Or she’d say something clever, just to distract him, and then turn around and escape when he least expected it. He took another few steps forward and you could smell him now, a smell of strange smoke and the river, “Do you know who I am?” Nailed to the ground, you shook your head. “I work for Mr. Billy Kimber. Ever heard of him?” You turned to see if you could escape, but then realised the other side of the alley was blocked by two more men. Neither of them were wearing hats. Cold sweat of fear ran down your back. The man in front of you started laughing, “There’s no running, sweetheart. Just give it to me.” At once you realised he was referring to the money in your pocket, but for Tommy’s sake, you wanted at least to try to be brave, “I don’t have anything.” He sighed, “Don’t play with me. I’m not the kind of man to play with, and neither is Mr. Kimber,” his voice was suddenly low and menacing, “Your brother thought he could, thought he would get away with fixing a race, he did, and now he’s going to be put against the post and shot. Don’t think I won’t do the same to you.” You gulped, but still thought of Tommy’s disappointment in you when he would find out you’d been a coward. So you took a deep breath and said softly, “It’s not yours. This money is ours. You can tell Mr. Kimber to go fuck himself!” It didn’t come out as strongly as you’d hoped. Like a crack of thunder, he swiftly slapped you across the face with the back of his hand. All the air was knocked out of your lungs in a second and you stood gasping for air, as you felt some blood trickling down your chin. “Give me the money,” he demanded again. And then, like your heroes, you pretended to reach for it in your pocket. Suddenly, you turned around and started running into the other direction, hoping to slip past the two men before they could stop you. But it didn’t work. One grabbed your arm and when you tried to push him away, he punched you hard. All strength left you in an instant. The second one started fumbling in your pockets and instinctively you kicked him, which earned you another blow to the head. More punches followed and your head was spinning. As you looked up to the sky, you remembered wanting to get back home, to your castle, where all was well and safe.  In the end, they left you on the ground and the money was gone. Your last thought was: Tommy is going to be so embarrassed. 

*** “Y/N?” You opened your eyes, but couldn’t see for a moment. “Y/N,” the familiar voice repeated, “Come on, yes, let’s get you home. Polly, Polly will know what to do, yes…” Strong arms lifted you up and rocking with his familiar limp, Curly carried you back to Watery Lane. When he’d taken you into the kitchen, Aunt Polly flew to your side in seconds, asking, “What’s happened?” Uncertainly, Curly explained and as he did, he started to become upset over your state. That’s when Tommy came in and started to calm him, while keeping an eye on you all the time. “Sweetheart,” Aunt Polly had taken a cold cloth to the cut in your lip, “Wake up… Come back to us…” Again you tried opening you eyes and you finally managed this time. But all your concern was with Curly, who was still anxiously fidgeting with his cap in hand. “Don’t worry, Curly,” you croaked, “I’m alright now. You did good, carrying me here.” “Polly will know what to do…” he kept on repeating. Tommy put a hand on his shoulder and it had an immediate calming effect, “It’s alright, Curly, go back to Charlie, eh? We’ll take care of her now.” Before he left, you said to him, “Curly? I’ll stop by tomorrow, see about that beautiful horse of yours, alright?” That put an immediate smile on his face, “Yes, she’s a beauty, alright… And she needs her princess to ride her! Back to that castle in the sky…yes…” When he’d gone, you lowered your head again and sighed deeply. Carefully, you felt your face and only then realised how awful you must look. “Who did this,” Tommy demanded at once. Polly glared daggers at him, “You did, I presume?” “Me?” “I told you again and again not to use the little ones to run errands. Sending them across half of Birmingham with money in their pockets, and look what happens!” For a moment, Tommy seemed to be speechless. Then he protested, “They’re invisible, Pol. Nobody knows they’re carrying anything.” “This one did,” you interjected, “because he knew who I was.” “How?” “Said he was with Kimber,” you whispered as the memories came back to you, “said he’d put me up against a post and he’d shoot me, like he’d do with you…” In a sudden fit of rage, Tommy grabbed a chair and flung it across the room. Polly snarled at the gesture and then turned to you, “Stay here. This cloth is cold, keep it against your eye, or it’ll turn black in half an hour, and I can’t take you to church looking like that. I just need to have a word with your brother.” You took the cloth and didn’t dare to look at Tommy, who was now being taken away by his aunt like he was ten years old again and in trouble. Aunt Polly closed the door behind her, but you still tried to hear as much as you could. Most of it was lost, but when they started shouting you heard bits like “putting your little sister in danger!” and “this is Billy fucking Kimber, Thomas” and “family first”. At first Tommy protested with “I didn’t know they knew her” and “Kimber is getting weak”, but eventually he shouted out in defeat, “I fucked up, alright? I’ll fix it. I promise.” When they came back, Tommy looked like a dog that’d just been kicked. So he retreated into a corner and started smoking, still sulking a little. Aunt Polly lifted your head up by placing a finger under your chin, “You won’t look pretty for a week, but it’ll heal.” You shrugged, not caring about being pretty at all, and muttered, “I feel like an idiot…” “Why?” your aunt demanded, “because big men decided to go after a small girl?” Tears started forming in the corners of your eyes, as you admitted, “Because I wanted to be brave! In my stories I’m pretty and strong and the hero, but in reality I’m just like a mouse. No one notices me and I’m useless…” “Sweetheart,” Polly softened her voice and crouched down next to you, “Just because you can’t fight like Arthur or John can, doesn’t make you useless. We’re all stuck here, in Small Heath, and there’s nothing pretty about that. But you reading all those books? That’s what’s going to make this easier. You can pretend, and that’s worth more than you’ll ever realise.” You smiled back at your aunt, who always knew what to say to make you feel better. “I’m off to the chemist to get you some powder against the pain,” she kissed the top of your head, “I’ll be right back, love.” After she’d gone as well, you sighed again and dropped the cloth. Her words mattered, of course they did, but it didn’t change the fact that you weren’t happy with yourself at all. For starters, you still couldn’t bear looking at Tommy. “Y/N,” he grumbled, which convinced you even more he was angry and disappointed, “Tell me what they looked like.” “They didn’t wear hats…” Impatiently he waved a hand, “Apart from that. What else?” “I don’t know,” you shrugged, “it all happened fast, Tommy. They had that accent that Kimber has as well.” “Fucking Cockneys…” your brother breathed. “Tommy?” you tried carefully, “I’m so sorry, but I lost the money. I tried to keep it. When they asked I told them to fuck off and then I tried to run and even fight, but they still took it. I’m so sorry…” He held up a hand to silence you and locked eyes with you, “You told them to fuck off?” “Yes, but it didn’t help…” “You actually told them to fuck off?” he frowned, “Usually you’re too shy to even say anything to strangers…” “I was angry,” you explained, “and I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Tommy walked over to you and much to your surprise, he was smirking, “So you told them to go fuck themselves, and then you fought them?” “Yes?” “Did you hit any of them?” You thought about it for a second, “I think I kicked one in the balls and hit the other in the face.” His grin grew even wider and he mumbled to himself, “Wait ‘till I tell Arthur about this…” “Why?” you protested, “So he can laugh at me as well?” “No, sweetheart, he’ll be the proudest brother ever. His little sister, who everyone thinks is a little mouse too scared to do anything? She fucking hit a grown man and told them to go fuck themselves. Now that’s a hero in my book!” His laugh was contagious and you had to join in. But soon you became uncertain again and asked, “Are you not upset I lost the money?” “The money’s not important,” his face grew serious again in an instant, “but you are.” “Really?” you whispered. “Yes,” he took your face in his hands, “Listen, Y/N, this is what’s going to happen: Billy Kimber threatened my little sister, so I’m going to put himup against the post, and shoot him.” “And then what?” “Well, what usually happens in your books? Maybe I could learn something from them, eh?” A warm feeling of being appreciated for who you were came over you, “You’d take his kingdom and his skull would be put up on the gates, as a warning for all future enemies.” “That’s fucking dark,” Tommy raised one eyebrow, “But I like it.” “Me too…” you smiled at your brother. “I mean it though, Y/N. Kimber touched you, so I’m going to shoot the bastard. I won’t let anyone fucking go near you again.” And just like that, you felt safe enough again to continue dreaming. *** A few weeks later, everything had turned to chaos, both in the Shelby household as in the whole of Birmingham. Tommy didn’t speak to anyone of what happened to you, he hadn’t even apologized, but he wasn’t like that. He told you he’d fix it, promised you revenge, and that was even better. When the men were counting minutes in front of the Garrison and Billy Kimber’s army arrived, you were sitting at home with a book. You couldn’t really concentrate, because you knew there were too many of them. You pretended some angel would appear to save them all. There’d have to be no bloodshed, because this angel would be on your brothers’ side. That angel came in the form of your older sister Ada. She’d always had flair. In the end, only two bullets were fired. You listened to them both. One killed Danny Whizz-bang. The other killed Billy Kimber. Nobody knew, but as Tommy fired, he didn’t have business on his mind.

As he aimed, he saw his little sister’s face, all bruised and battered.

He whispered, “for Y/N,” and shot.

Bang.

***

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