#and every time i have an episode not only is it unpleasant at the time but i just feel so drained and out of it afterwards....

[kabr0ztrousers]

Loved the portal pussy. Could we maybe do one with a tentacle type? Maybe grocery shopping or she falls asleep and forgets it's on or something. Whatever you want. Thank you!!!!

Kabr0z Writes episode 86: Shopping Trip

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: portal sex; public sex; freeuse; exhibitionism; excessive cum; cumulation; tentacles; cervical penetration

A/N: This story references a previous one, Episode 53: Hornyposting - it's not required reading, but it's one I really enjoyed writing, and I think you'll enjoy reading

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Another fruitful day of scrolling your favourite forums. You'd had such success last time, even if it did get you thrown out of a chain coffee shop. This time you'd found something very interesting indeed: apparently your portal could be tuned between channels, technically it's a bug, but if done just right you can set yourself as a wildcard of sorts. If you tune it just right, you can intercept a session and instead of tuning to the expected recipient, they get you.

At least, that's the theory. All the forums had to go off was a notice from the manufacturer asking people not to try it, and a dozen or so posts from other forum members telling you to do it anyway. It's worth it.

There's no way of knowing when someone would tune in, that's part of the thrill. You walked in to the supermarket, pushing a trolley ahead if you when you hit the button. Normally nothing would happen until someone else connected, this time it felt strange, like a warm fizzing static humming against your folds. It wasn't unpleasant, quite the opposite, but it definitely wasn't the usual experience.

You were turning onto the tins aisle when something started happening. The buzzing intensified for a moment, the sudden increase in sensation making you gasp a little. Something wet parted your lips, tracing a cold line towards your clit, rising back out before it reached your button. You shuddered, anticipation rising in you. Did this person know you're not who they meant to get? Were they tuned between channels like you, looking to see what they'd get?

The tip came back, accompanied by another now. You dropped a can of beans into your trolley, maybe a little harder than you meant to. Nobody seems to have noticed. The tips found your clit, one slipping dexterously under the hood as it explored you. You leant on the trolley, subconsciously pushing your ass out as you pushed it onwards. You'd worn leggings, the tight Spandex pair that left nothing to the imagination, along with the shortest miniskirt you owned. You could feel the spreading wetness starting to leak around your knickers, darkening the fabric around them. It wouldn't be long until you're showing off to the rest of the store.

You hurried up. Grabbing canned goods almost at random before entering the next aisle, frozen. Something was testing you, circling the entrance to your cunt, gently probing into you every now and then, just a little, but getting bolder as it went. Whoever this is, they knew how to get you going. Light touches on your lips, long drawn-out licks of your clit, and the incessant probing-flicking teasing of your hole.

You couldn't help it. A hand shot to your mouth. The wetness spread further as you clenched your other hand around the trolley handle. You tried to make it look like a yawn, but the half-crossing of your legs and the blissful expression on your face weren't helping. A couple of people looked at you with sideways glances. You reddened, they had to know, right?

Either way, you hurried on. The motion rubbing the tapering ends between the folds of your nethers, coating them even more with your moisture. This only emboldened the one in your entrance, letting it push in a few inches, then a few more, a few more. Before you'd left the aisle you were full, the appendage wriggling within your cunt. It was so long, and thin enough to almost coil in your pussy. That didn't mean it was going easy on you. It squirmed around, the whole length of it moving so powerfully against every part of you. It's getting hard to hide. Every sliding motion of the tentacle inside you made you blush, your breath catching and pulse quickening as you reached a second peak. The tendril rubbed your g-spot, right as one on the outside of you circled your clit just right. The wave that hit you bowled you off your feet. You dropped to your knees, wetness visibly staining the hot pink leggings, threatening to drip in lewd-smelling strands onto the floor were your hand not clasped over it as you gasped and whined.

Your quivering form could barely stay balanced, planting your feet, holding your legs open to lean on them. There's no way people didn't see. No way they couldn't smell it. The growing dark patch on your panties showed off what you were doing. The first tentacle was joined by another, then another. Whatever it was looking for, it was getting impatient to find. Three? Four tentacles writhed inside you, spiralling against each other, sliding past them. Each movement brought fresh whines from you.

Someone approached, asking if you were alright. You couldn't look at him, let alone drink. Your glazed vision was blurring from the force of your cunt twitching and squeezing. Your ears rang with a tinnitus screech as your heart raced. You could see more people approaching, standing around you as you twitched and wriggled on the tile floor.

The tentacles found their mark. A thinner tendril slipped through the mass of slick flesh working at your walls. You gasped as it pressed against the pinhole entrance to your cervix, the gasp turning to a moan as it oozed a hot liquid intk your womb, relaxing the muscular neck just enough to slip in.

The thin tendril pumped fluids into you, thin at first, then thinking to a viscous gel. You could feel it filling you as the tip of the tendril expanded, becoming a sort of reverse-catheter, stopping you up so it could force the thick, sticky fluid into you. The skin of your belly stretched, you looked bloated, then pregnant. Still it pumped into you, until the seal wasn't enough to hold the sheer volume back, cum squirting back out, oozing past the plug of tentacles, lubricating their still writhing masses before oozing out all over your legs. The hot, musky smell of fresh cum radiated from the floor where you sat. Disgusted noises emanated from the surrounding crowd as the stinking seed collected in a growing puddle beneath you.

At last the tendril finished. The end popping off to stick in your womb, plugging the entrance. You stayed a moment, feeling the tentacles slip out of you one by one, rubbing deliciously against your insides as they vacated your swollen, red pussy.

The last one slipped around your cunt, like a lover spreading their seed over your entrance, marking you as their own.

The panties cut off with a soft click. You stayed a few more moments, lying in the middle of s crowd of people too disgusted to look, but too intrigued to look away. A minute passed before you were strong enough to peel yourself off the floor, legs sticking together with a film of still fluid, still very thick cum.

You hobbled out of the store, trolley abandoned, looking like you've been carrying triplets for last 6 months. Slowly, carefully, you picked your way home, opening the forum on your phone as you walked.

"10/10, would exploit bugs again"

##########################################

Damn, I hate daylight savings time. It's now 2:33 am!

If you have anything you want to see, more portals or otherwise, drop an ask and I'll see what I can do!

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Run Baby, Run.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here!

authors note - seeing harry run a marathon just made him ten times hotter for some reason. 😫

word count - 1.4k

in which, harry is running the 2025 tokyo marathon, and who better to cheer him on than his fiance and little boy.

The air is crisp, the kind that clings to your skin but isn’t unpleasant. The streets of Tokyo hum with anticipation, the crowd thick with strangers who have all gathered for the same reason.

The hum of the crowd rises and falls around you, a mix of excited chatter and the occasional announcement over the loudspeakers.

Your fingers tighten around the handle of the stroller, your two-year-old nestled inside, bundled in a soft jacket despite the mild weather. His tiny legs kick idly, hands clutching a half-eaten rice cracker as his big eyes dart around and then back to the iPad hooked onto the front of the bar securing him in place, before his eyes then shift back to the sea of runners.

He doesn’t fully understand what’s happening,

Only that daddy’s going to be running a very, very long race.

You crouch beside the stroller, adjusting the blanket draped loosely over your son’s lap. He shifts in his seat, kicking his little legs, the hand that’s not holding the cracker is clutching his favorite stuffed bunny, its fur worn from love.

His dark curls peek out from under his hood, and he looks at you with wide, eager eyes.

The race started around an hour ago, and your stood at the halfway mark, and your son had been okay so far, (supplying him with snacks was the way to go).

The halfway mark was where you told Harry you’d be, and then towards the finish line.

“Bluey go zoo,” he announces, eyes locking on the iPad (something had to keep him entertained) nodding firmly, as if this is the most important thing in the world.

You smile, pressing your lips together to keep from laughing. “Oh yeah?”

“Yuh,” he says, chewing his snack between words.

“Bluey see big ‘affe. Giraffe eat leafs.” His little fingers pinch at the air, mimicking the long neck stretching up. “And lion go—RAAHH!”

He throws his arms up dramatically, startling a woman standing nearby, who chuckles as she steps aside.

You grin, reaching to brush a few crumbs from his jacket.

“You’ve been watching that episode a lot, haven’t you?” you murmur, tucking the blanket around him a little tighter.

“Uh-huh,” he says through a mouthful, then pauses, his face screwing up in thought. “I wan’ see ‘affe too.”

“We’ll see if we can find one later, buddy,” you say softly, but your voice trails off as something shifts in the atmosphere around you.

The twenty minutes that follow stretch and fold in on themselves, time both fleeting and endless. Your son chatters on, switching topics with the rapid, boundless energy of a toddler—Bluey, then trucks, then something about a bird he saw earlier that morning. His little hands gesture wildly as he speaks, his face lighting up with each new thought.

You nod along, your attention split between him and the shifting sea of runners passing by. Every so often, a wave of cheers erupts from the crowd as clusters of athletes surge forward, their rhythmic footfalls pounding against the pavement. You scan their faces, searching, waiting.

And then, finally, you see him.

A familiar figure weaves through the pack, his stride steady but powerful. Sunglasses shield his eyes, but you don’t need to see them to know the determination etched into his features. A white bandana is tied securely around his head, keeping his curls from falling into his face.

Even from a distance, you recognize the way his arms move, the slight furrow in his brow as he focuses on his breathing.

Your heart tightens, pride swelling in your chest.

Without thinking, you unbuckle your son from the stroller, lifting him onto your hip so he can see. He clings to you, his little hands pressing against your shoulder as his wide eyes scan the crowd of runners.

And then—he spots him.

“Daddy!” he yells, his voice bright and excited, cutting through the noise.

A few heads turn, but it doesn’t matter, because Harry hears him.

His head snaps to the side, his pace faltering just slightly before he spots you both at the barrier. His lips part, his breath catching, and for a moment, he just stares—his expression shifting from surprise to something softer, something deeper.

You smile, calling his name, your free hand lifting to wave.

Harry doesn’t hesitate. He veers toward you, breaking from his rhythm as he jogs over, his hands pressing against the barrier to steady himself. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, but it’s not just the run that has him breathless.

It’s you.

It’s your son.

It’s the sight of the two of you standing there, waiting for him.

Cheering you on.

“Hi, my loves,” he manages, voice thick with emotion, sweat glistening along his temples. His eyes flicker between you and the small boy in your arms, whose hands are now reaching out eagerly. “Oh, buddy, look at you.”

“Daddy runnin’!” your son exclaims, bouncing slightly against your hip. “Go fast, Daddy!”

Harry lets out a breathless laugh, his dimples appearing even as his bottom lip quivers just slightly. He reaches forward, brushing his fingertips over your son’s curls before cupping the back of his head, pressing a quick kiss there. “M’trying, bub. Doin’ my best.”

You stretch your hand out, fingers brushing his damp forearm.

“You’re doing amazing,” you tell him softly, and the way his shoulders drop just slightly lets you know he needed to hear it.

His gaze locks onto yours, something unspoken passing between you. He swallows hard. “Love you.”

You squeeze his arm. “Love you more.”

A voice over the loudspeaker reminds the runners to keep moving, and Harry exhales, nodding. He straightens up, rolling his shoulders back.

“Alright,” he says, mostly to himself, steeling his focus. “I’ll see you at the finish line, yeah?”

Your son wiggles excitedly in your arms. “Win, Daddy!”

Harry grins, shaking his head fondly. “I’ll try, little man.” He presses one last lingering glance at you before he steps back, blending once again into the sea of runners.

You press another kiss to his lips and murmur. “—run baby, run!”

You watch him go, your heart swelling with a mix of pride, love, and anticipation. And as your son settles back against you, resting his head on your shoulder, you whisper, more to yourself than to him—

“He’s got this.”

🏃🏃🏃🏃

He shifts restlessly in your arms, rubbing at his tired eyes with balled-up fists but refusing to settle.

“Wan’ Daddy,” he mumbles, his head heavy against your shoulder.

“I know, baby,” you murmur, swaying gently as you maneuver through the crowd. “He’s almost here. Just a little longer.”

You glance at the tracking app on your phone, your heartbeat kicking up as the little dot moves closer and closer to your location.

Two minutes.

Your breath catches as you press up against the barrier, shifting your son slightly so he can see the runners approaching in the distance. The energy is electric here—cheers erupting as each runner crosses the finish line, the collective exhilaration tangible in the air. But your world narrows to a single focus.

And then, through the blur of movement, you see him.

Harry’s strides are strong, his form steady despite the miles he’s endured. His bandana is damp with sweat, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head now, revealing the exhaustion in his eyes—but when he spots you, when he sees the small, sleepy figure in your arms, something shifts. His expression softens, his pace quickens.

You don’t even have time to react before he veers off course, heading straight for you.

“Here, give ‘im to me,” he breathes out, his voice raspy from exertion as he reaches for your son.

You hesitate. “Harry, you’re exhausted—”

“Please,” he says, and that’s all it takes.

Carefully, you pass your son into his waiting arms. As soon as Harry holds him, the little boy sighs, nestling instinctively against his chest, his tiny fingers curling into the damp fabric of Harry’s shirt.

“Daddy,” he mumbles sleepily.

Harry exhales shakily, pressing a kiss to the top of his curls. “Hey, bub. You waited for me, huh?”

You swipe at the tear pricking your eye, your heart clenching at the sight of them.

Harry turns back toward the finish line, adjusting his grip on the small, drowsy weight in his arms. He grins, breathless but determined. “Alright, let’s do this together, yeah?”

And then, with your son tucked safely against him, he runs the last few steps.

The crowd erupts as they cross the finish line, the cameras flashing, the cheers deafening—but all Harry cares about is the little boy in his arms and the person waiting for him just beyond the barrier.

And as he finally stops, as he leans forward to press his forehead against yours, his voice is thick with emotion when he whispers,

“We did it.”

[fortheb0ys]

I wanna dress Will Graham up all nice and pretty just to mess him all up again :3

BROOO YOU GOT ME THINKING!! Give me like two sentences and I could go on and on if I'm feeling it. So I offer you my ramblings🤲

Does anyone remember that one Criminal Minds episode where this lady collects human dolls?!?

Well, make that into male reader insert <(´･ω･`<)

CW Sorry, i realized I don't put these often : reader is a serial killer and will is profiling him, reader views people as objects, reader can't tell what's real and will uses that to his advantage, will refers to himself as a 'sex doll', murder (not too descriptive), reader loses his virginity, sex, stalking, kidnapping, obsessive behavior NOT PROOFREAD ENDING IS RUSHED!

FEM ALIGNED + MINORS DNI

You watched Will from a distance, become fascinated by Will's beauty. His curly hair, his facial structure, his build, his everything.

He haunted you. You saw him everywhere you went.

Will was different from the rest. A body of pure perfection. The others ones in your collection were unamusing, marred in compaison to him.

Once you've had gotten your hands on him, your collection fell neglected. Left on the shelf to collect dust. Disposed of them when they broke.

Will was your prized doll like one of those vintage Christmas Barbies.

Once you've finally gotten your hands on him you noted he wasn't in perfect condition. It was quite clear under closer eyes, a few nicks and scratches. You'd treat him better than anyone else would. You wanted to keep him from farther damage.

At first, Will was a bit hard to play with. His face model was always in a scowl. Brows knitted in anger.

You thought about redoing his face, scraping off the base and painting a new one. Thoughts about the last time you've done it deterred your decision. Their faces had always came out disfigured, never getting quite right.

His hard shell didn't deter your love for him. You treated him gently, bought things for him, making small conversations at your little tea parties. His anger was met with your kindness.

It took a while till Will's shell chipped away. His scowl disappeared, replaced with a friendly smile. Happiness to see you home from you doll hunting.

Soon he became the best doll you've owned. A pleasure to have company with.

His voice box sounded much different from the others. The other doll yelled crude obscenities. Of course, their angry words didn't last long as taking out their boxes quieted them down.

Will was kinder. He was more willing to carry a conversation. He'd let you play with him without protest. Let you play with him, brush his hair, change his clothes. The others were hard to move, their sticky joints refusing to move.

Of course, the hunt for new dolls didn't stop. Once Will met these new friends, he became cold. Back to the old Will.

Will never liked play to nice. Mean and unpleasant words were barked at the others. They broke quicker than anticipated. You'd find Will covered in red, broken dolls at his feet.

He'd plea that he was special. That you couldn't have any other dolls. He was the only one that's supposed to be in your collection. Red, teary eyes begging to be the only doll in your collection.

You pulled him into close embrace, feeling his pounding heartbeat against your chest. Whispered promises as he cried at your every word.

Your precious Will, beautiful yet so broken. You plege devotion solely to him.

Since than you only cared for Will. Every moment was spent with him.

He seemed to enjoy playtime as well. He'd sit quiet and pretty as you changed him. His hands always posed between his legs. His joints bent seamlessly as he shifted in his sit.

One day while picking his clothes for the day, Will made mention that he had working parts down...there. That they'd the react when played with.

He said he was a 'sex doll', that only he's the only one.

He guided you as you were inexperienced. Spoke you through each step. Your fingers nervously stretching him. Your eyes trained on Will's face, looking for any sort of discomfort.

Fingers still he's face contorts. You weren't sure if it was discomfort or pleasure. You weren't going to risk breaking your precious doll by testing which one.

Your hand begins withdrawaling from between him. Before you could do or say anything farther, Will's hand shoots forward to grasp your wrist.

"Don't fucking stop." Will growls as his grip tightly.

His eyes darken, a glint of something beneath them. Like there was a secret to be shared behind blown out pupils. It seems almost sinister.

Your heart skips a beat and your mouth goes dry and all you could do was give him a small nod. Sex brought out this side of an otherwise gentle Will. One you were not willing to challenge.

Once Will felt like he was fully prepped and ready, he made you withdrawal your soaked fingers. With shaking hands gripping your cock, guiding it to his ready hole. A hiss sounding from Will almost made you stop but you wouldn't dare to do that again.

It felt so fucking good. Stinking in inch by inch. His hole stretching to fit your cock. His insides warm and wet. Pleasure consuming your entire being.

Did all dolls feel like this? Why haven't you tried this before?

Once Will completely bottomed out, he gave you a slight squeeze. You had to hold yourself back, nearly cumming after only just a moment.

Your eyes shut tight as your head falls against Will's chest, trying to focus on breathing. Shaking breaths timed with Will's heartbeat.

A sharp kick to your side, a signal that Will wants you to move. Eyes snap open to look deep into Will's. That look still present, now even darker.

"Take it nice and slow." Will spoke sweetly behind a kind smile. He's gentle once again. Will's changes in mood were slightly off putting.

You began to move at a slow pace, sloppy as you tested the water. Thrusts were shallow and somber. Will's hand grip at your hips and begin guiding your movements.

"Follow my lead." He locked eyes while you felt the need to look away.

His hands push you forward establishing a rythm. Pushing in deep to hit something the made Will gasp and pulling out till your tip was the only thing in him.

You tried focusing on keeping the order as you roll your hips into him but everything felt so good your mind went numb. Will's grunts turned into moans as you kept nailing the spot in him that made him sing.

You push your entire weight onto, trying to reach deeper and deeper. Confidence is now yours when Will clenches around you. The heat is suffocating, sweat pools down your back.

One of his hands leaves your hips, guiding yours onto his weaping cock. Your fingers tightens around it, jerking it in rythm with your thrusts. White drips for his tip on his stomach. He's as close as you.

Your thrusts finally lose pace and your thrusts become shallow once again as you feel like the end is near. Will pulls you in a kiss, swallowing your little sounds, cumming together. White paints your bodies.

You pant as you collapse on top of Will. Your eyes fall heavy as you focus on catching your breath.

"Will you stay with me forever, doll?" You plead once the room had fell silent.

"Till time separates us."

You pull Will close, your head against his neck. In that moment he felt real, almost human. Like his heart beat just as yours. Like flesh and bone.

[tothepointofinsanity]

Is there any actual way for sayaka to grow as a magical girl while still keeping her mental composure ... Even her abilities encourage her to act recklessly. Sayaka's peak state would probably just be her tanking every attack with her healing while constantly being in a state of dissociation to block the pain. Unless her pain tolerance starts growing the more she fights until only severe injuries actually impact her. Still, it's unfair :c

(love your art and how you interpret her btw!)

Hello, firstly, thank you for the kind words of support and assurance ^_^ And thank you for taking your time out to write this letter to me.

Second, to address the question, I think that the phrase “grow as a magical girl” and “keeping her mental composure” are two separate but intersecting issues. The issue perpetuated by being a magical girl in MadoMagi is that it is rather systemic. Putting aside the blessings granted by the Law of Cycles, magical girls grow in experience, but not necessarily in their strength or invincibility (i.e Homura rewinding time made her more familiar with fighting, but it didn’t make her powerful enough to take down Walpurgisnacht, rather, she set off different timelines that contributed to Madoka’s power[1]). Sure, running around fighting witches makes you more athletic, but that isn’t tied to how much magic you can or know how to use, due to how each magical girl’s powers (the elusive nature of magic itself) are tied to the nature of their wishes, so most of that potential power rests on pre-contract. The most upward growth we observe in magical girls terms of their proficiency is mostly reliant on how good they are at fighting each other, how quickly they dispatch witches, and how effectively they polish their soul gems.

Addressing that alone already lands Sayaka in an unpleasant spot. Using magic automatically clouds your soul gem overtime, requiring you to clean it using a grief seed. However, Sayaka obviously views grief seeds as a product born from exploiting innocents and thus rejects their usage, but the magic system is uncompromising — you have to clean your soul gem in order to use magic more effectively again, as well as having the taint absorbed away by the grief seed. This magic system generally corners magical girls to constantly witch-farm (depleting even more magic) or risk the end of their life cycle and begin as witches themselves, so it is the system itself that is exploitative regardless of how much Sayaka adjusts her mentality.

Sayaka is most effective when she turns her mind off and just goes against the river like some kind of machine, but that would still accelerate her despair and doesn’t remove the mechanism that she has to clean her soul gem, something she refused to do. Disassociating throughout the whole day to ignore the other problems simmering around her would still compound her down the line, as we’ve seen in the episodes. In fact, things went from Bad to Worse after she started disassociating more frequently. ＿|￣|○

In a way, it’s just reshuffling the equation instead of solving it, because she was never meant to grow in spite of learning to gather her strength. Not until a new component is added to the equation that allowed this, which is thematic to the overwhelmingly bleak outlook of the show’s set-up and how to go about from there.

[1] As a side note, I do wonder in some way if all that dial-back by Homura with Sayaka’s grief scattered in these timelines ultimately leaked into the present one to take her out as soon as possible since it would be a kind of negative debt parallel to Madoka’s, which tightens her fate more and more because her self-destruction has occurred so many times that it’s etched into her “destiny”. Narratively Assured.

And you’re right, her abilities do allow for riskier combat styles compared to other magical girls. When fighting Holy Mami, she doesn’t even flinch at the fact that she’s holding back a nuclear blast because her hand regenerates the second it becomes loose from her arm. She’s a berserker fighter for sure, but without a strong support, she goes down very quickly.

[shhtickerbook]

Baby Feathers

Merry Christmas!

(Helluva Age regression ficlet that takes place post sinsmas)

I don’t see enough fics that have caregivers who want to try regressing!!! So I decided to fill that void and the soul destroying events of sinsmas gave me lots of agere fodder. have a lovely holiday everybody!!! Fic below!

Stolas had everything planned. It was new years Eve and both Stolas and Blitzø had the holiday just to themselves. Millie and Moxxie were spending the holiday with Millie’s family in Wrath, whilst Loona was going to another party at Beelzebub’s. Stolas had spent many a New Year’s Eve at insufferable galas, but there had always been one silver lining. Both himself and Via would slip away from the ball, where the two would sit on the roof of their mansion and watch the first new year’s moon come to rise. He still hadn’t realised that this would be the first year where they wouldn’t be able to share their tradition. He couldn’t stop thinking of Octavia, their last interaction cruelly playing on loop in his mind. His heart was breaking with every second, but at least he had Blitzø. If he hadn’t been grieving so painfully, maybe he’d be able to enjoy himself.

There was one aspect he found great comfort in though, and that was being able to take care of Blitzø. Over the past few months he’d been introduced to the Imp’s smaller side, which had taken a while for Blitzø to open up about it properly. He was a pretty headstrong character, and struggled s lot when it came to expressing any kind of vulnerability.

Stolas had actually found out by accident, with Blitzø regressing involuntarily after a bad night terror. Stolas’s heart had broke when he found his partner looking so afraid and vulnerable. Blitzø wasn’t able to really explain what was happening, but Stolas was already a parent, it was second nature to know how to comfort little ones after a bad dream. The next morning Blitzø had explained what happened, sometimes he found himself slipping younger in age, usually when he was stressed or was reminded of bad things. Especially since he lost his mother, she was the only person who treat him with gentle nurturing care. When he lost her, he never got to feel that again. So when he began to have these episodes, it became a part of himself he had to hide out of shame.

For a long time he continued to suppress this side of himself, pushing away all these childish longings. But he could only hold it back for so long until his body decided for him. When he did find out, Stolas was almost too supportive of it, finding this side of Blitzø absolutely darling. Lavishing him with toys, clothes and all kinds of things he never even considered trying. Stolas even found himself getting a lot out of caring for him too, it made him feel needed.

-

Blitzø had to admit that it felt great to not hide this side of him anymore. Stolas had officially seen every episode of that pony show, and helped Blitzø brush the manes of every single horse figurine he owned. But ever since the trial, neither Blitzø or Stolas had the time or the mental energy to take come time to relax.

Stolas had felt so guilty that in his current state he hadn’t been able to care for Blitzø, and had even collected a set of gifts for him to open from Sinsmas. On the day itself he’d set aside his little gifts so that he wouldn’t have to open them in front of the others. So he’d made the decision to surprise him with a “little sinsmas” on new years, when they knew they’d have the house all to themselves.

Stolas woke up early to get out the gifts he had stored away. Thankfully he had purchased these before he’d lost all of his money and possessions. But when he did get up, he felt awful. The former prince had slept terribly, tossing and turning as he once again replayed what had happened with Via. He was then cursed with unpleasant dreams that only tortured him further. All he wanted was his daughter, but she wanted nothing to do with him.

Regardless of how he felt, he pushed himself through it, today was for Blitzø. The imp had done so much for him recently, he had to pay it back somehow. He quietly looked through Blitzø’s wardrobe in search of some of his little clothes, choosing an oversized hoodie with some colourful horse motifs. It even had an adorable woollen mane that went down the hood. Last of all he collected a plastic box at the bottom of the wardrobe, stolas recognising it. Inside Blitzø kept all of his baby things, pacifiers, some teethers and other equally adorable equipment. It was adorned with multiple stickers, all in the horse variety.

As he entered back into the main room, stolas began to gather some ingredients for breakfast. The plan was to make Blitzø some oatmeal for breakfast, which was simple enough. Blitzø always liked it drizzled with cherry syrup, and if he was feeling little enough he’d even let Stolas feed him.

Stolas carefully arranged the gifts wrapped in coloured paper by the tree, flicking on the fairy lights for added effect. He loved the small touches of sinsmas, indulging in the little details that made it feel magic. Blitzø had mentioned how sinsmas wasn’t really a special thing when he was a kid, the circus would perform through the whole holiday. Which included an extra special sinsmas day show which was very popular, but it meant he never got to really enjoy the holiday.

He thought of a little blitz crouched by the tree, tearing open coloured parcels in glee. You couldn’t help but smile. As a final touch, he pulled the blinds open to let the light in. Such a simple action turned into a huge mistake. As Stolas glanced outside, his gaze was caught to the horizon. Peeking just through the clouds was the new moon, only barely visible. By tonight it would be hanging at the peak of the sky, even in daylight it was beautiful.

How could something so beautiful destroy him so painfully? Stolas remembered everything, his special tradition with his daughter. He thought of Octavia, sitting alone and watching the moon rise. The way she spat her words towards her father, looking like she genuinely despised him. Who was he kidding? It didn’t look like he hated him, she did hate him. Stolas just sank to the floor, his beak quivering as he felt tears building in his eyes. It was all too much. All he wanted was to hold his daughter in his arms again, but would that ever happen again?

she hated him.

she HATED him.

-

Blitzø turned over in bed, dozily reaching over into the empty space of his bed. He’d gotten so used to sleeping next to somebody again, so when he didn’t feel any feathers in his grasp, it pulled him out from his snoozing.

“Mmme- Stolas?”

He mumbled, eyes fluttering open. As suspected, Stolas wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Pushing himself up onto his elbow before rubbing his eyes, recently Stolas had been the one who stayed in bed. Blitzø would usually let him sleep in for as long as he needed, sometimes leaving a note if he had to leave for work.

With a yawn Blitzø pulled himself up, before hearing something from outside the room. It took him a second to realise in his sleep addled state, but he could clearly hear a sadly familiar sound of crying. Within a second he’d jumped from the bed and thrown open the door.

“Stolas? are you okay?”

In hindsight it was a pretty stupid question, especially when he found said bird on the floor of his sitting room. He was curled in on himself, sobbing bitterly. It was uncomfortably reminiscent of what he’d been like when Octavia had rejected him.

“Hey hey- what’s going on?”

Blitzø joined him on the floor, resting a hand over Stolas’s shaking back. Stolas flinched at the touch at first, but couldn’t help but fall into Blitzø’s hold. Blitzø could feel Stolas’s feathers quivering as he tried to control his sobbing. The Imp couldn’t help but notice that a lot of his little stuff was scattered across the room.

His box of pacifiers and that one hoodie he liked to wear, there were also some new gifts under the tree.

“I had planned to- I’m sorry, i just wanted to make today special for you.”

Stolas whimpered, feeling like he’d ruined everything. He thought he would feel better today, if he got to care for Blitzø. But right now owl felt as fragile as glass, but Blitzø held onto him tight and securely. It clicked as he realised what Stolas had been trying to do, his expression softening.

“Oh stolas, it’s okay.”

“It’s not! All I’ve done is mope around and you’ve had to do everything for me. Not to mention the money you’ve spent and the time I’ve taken up. I had it all planned, you deserved a break-“

It took him a little time to string together his response, tears continuing to dribble down his feathers. He felt pathetic, how was he going to care for a regressed Blitzø when he was this much of a mess? It furthered his suspicion that was just a complete failure when it came to any kind of caregiving.

“Stolas listen to me, it’s okay. It’s.. really sweet you thought of this.”

Blitzø gently tilted his beak to meet his face, the tearstained bird’s expression tugging something on his heartstrings. He looked around, spotting the half made breakfast and carefully arranged presents. All the effort he’d made, for him no less.

“I don’t deserve you.”

He chuckled, managing to pull the lanky heap of owl closer into his lap the best he could. His statement seemed to reactivate Stolas tears though, who cried intelligibly into his chest. It was the other way around, it was Stolas that didn’t deserve him.

Whilst Blitzø still wasn’t entirely sure on what had triggered this, it didn’t take an idiot to know it was related to Octavia. In the time Blitzø had known Stolas, he’d never seen him like this. The Goetian Prince was so broken, fragile. But thankfully Blitzø had some experience in that feeling already.

He let him cry it out for a few minutes, with the shoulder of his shirt becoming very wet. He ran his fingers up and down Stolas’s feathers, gently preening him as he murmured comfort. The sobs eventually died down into sad sniffling, but the grip around him still hadn’t broken. Although Stolas’s heart was breaking, Blitzø’s grip around him was at least keeping said shards in place.

As Blitzø rubbed his back, he was hit with a sudden idea. He felt a little guilty that Stolas had gone through all this trouble for him, especially as he wasn’t feeling anywhere near small. And as much as he cared for Stolas, he couldn’t fake his regression either. Anyways, he didn’t feel like he was the one need in comfort right now.

“Hey, here’s an idea. I know we’ve never talked about this before, but what if you let me take care of you today?”

Stolas stirred a little with a frown, peeling his crispy feathered face away from Blitzø’s chest.

“What do you mean?”

“You take care of me when I’m feeling low, why not let me baby you for once? You’re lookin’ like you need it.”

The more Blitzø thought about it, the more he wanted to give it a try. There was something about the forlorn bird in his arms that melted his heart a little. Was this how Stolas felt with him? Nah, he couldn’t he this cute.

“No, you’re my baby. I care for you, I care for people- it’s what I like to do.”

Stolas suddenly felt flustered, face lighting up bright red. He’d never even considered the idea of swapping roles before. Blitzø was his baby, never the other way around. He wasn’t sure if it felt right to him, he wanted to be the one caring for Blitzø.

“Yeah, and you do a great fuckin job at it. So why not let me return the favour, you might even like it?”

Blitzø teased as he gently pinched the owls red cheeks, already delighting in the idea. Stolas found himself wavering a little, especially with how shivery and weak he was. He looked over at the gifts guiltily, but Blitzø already had it covered.

“Look we could try it today, if you don’t like it, we’ll stop. We can save the gifts for tomorrow, and then you can have your turn babying me, sound okay?”

Blitzø sounded so sure that Stolas found it hard to disagree. Although it still felt very alien, he definitely appreciated this cuddling part right now. So in the end gave a defeated shrug, Blitzø’s face lighting up.

“You just relax and let me take care of everything, feathers.”

Stolas shook for a second, before burying his beak into Blitzø’s shoulder again. Fresh tears erupted seemingly for no specific reason. But this time there was a sense of catharsis that came with it, to be able to cry in safety. Was this how Blitzø felt when Stolas would comfort him whilst small? He hoped so, as it felt pretty damn good.

Blitzø began to rock him back and forth, kissing the crown of his feathers. He gave him a few more minutes to cry, Stolas had been forcing himself into long periods of numbness recently and clearly needed it. Eventually Blitzø shifted Stolas to the side a little, who whined at the movement.

“Lemme just move ya onto the couch, I can’t feel my fuckin’ legs anymore.”

With quite a bit of effort, Blitzø managed to lift the bird onto the couch. Unfolding the blanket over the armrest and tucking it around his skinny frame. Whilst no longer sobbing, Stolas had been reduced to the awkward hiccupy stage. Blitzø told ahold of his hand, squeezing softly to get his attention.

“Hey try and breathe a little, in and out.”

The imp demonstrated, and Stolas tried his hardest to follow. But he found himself falling back into the unhelpful gulping, even with Blitzø’s help.

“Here’s an idea.”

Blitzø turned and rifled through his little box, finding an unopened package. Blitzø himself still hadn’t used these ones as he didn’t like the colours. Stolas turned to see what Blitzø was doing, with his pupils pin-pricking when he spotted it. In his hands was a package of pacifiers, a pack of three different shades of lilac to dark blue.

“You’re doing a shitty job at breathing right now, try one of these. You’ll have no choice but to breathe a little slower.”

He spoke so casually, holding out a dark blue pacifier. Stolas had seen this kind of item many, many times now. But now when it was being presented to him, rather from him? It felt a little scary. Blitzø watched as stolas internally fought with himself, rolling his eyes.

“Cmon, open that beak for me, feathers.”

He used the pet name for the second time, which made Stolas melt a little. As if beyond his control he held his beak open, Blitzø placing the pacifier there before he could change his mind.

The sensation was certainly strange at first, the bird wasn’t really sure what to do with it. But his body was still hellbent on breathing hard, so he focused on trying to breathe nasally instead. Without realising he began to suck on the bulb, and breathed in and out. If it hadn’t been such sad circumstances, Blitzø would’ve definitely taken a photo. It was just too fucking cute. Instead he joined Stolas on the couch, still demonstrating his breathing in time to Stolas’s.

“Feels good doesn’t it?”

Stolas looked up at him lazily, his was face a little red self consciously. But he couldn’t lie, the rhythmic sensation of the pacifier was incredibly soothing. With each minute he understood just why Blitzø liked them so much. There was a cloudy fuzzy sensation in his head, one that forced him away from all the sad and scary feelings. It was a blissful escape, but it wasn’t numbing him the way his pills used to.

So he nodded at his partner, squeezing his hand back tight. They spent the next twenty minutes just cuddling, and Stolas honestly felt the calmest he had in months. Blitzø eventually had to pry the owl off of him to sort out breakfast, turned on the TV for Stolas. He considered what to put on, before setting on an incredibly corny fairytale movie about a princess. But it was worth it to see the way Stolas’s eyes lit up when it came on.

Blitzø made himself a cup of coffee, and poured one of Stolas’s weird fancy teas into one of his own sippy cups. Choosing the moonlight unicorn design, after forcing stolas to watch every episode of his horse show, Stolas had eventually chosen his favourite character. When he returned to the couch, Stolas shuffled over to curl into his chest again. The pacifier still hasn’t left his beak since placing it there, he looked undeniably adorable. Blitzø was just so happy to see him looking content for the first time in days. The two could just spend their day with each-other’s company, enjoying every moment.

-

Neither demon even made it to the end of the movie, the two of them passed out in a tangle of limbs. The bird with his head curled underneath Blitzø’s chin, the imp’s hand subconsciously still stroking his feathers. Blitzø had gotten so used to himself being the baby in their relationship, that he’d never considered how much he’d enjoy swapping places. The remainder of their day continued in a similar fashion, Blitzø leading Stolas along in hand. And to his surprise Stolas was a very quiet little, who didn’t speak much for the rest of the day.

It was different than when he was quiet when he was sad though, Stolas would still giggle if Blitzø said something funny and was clearly enjoying himself. Stolas just felt happy that he didn’t have to try and think of words right now, he could just be. He allowed Blitzø to dress him in some loose cuddly clothes, and even hand feed him little squares of pancake when he felt up to eating.

Blitzø loved learning more about this little side of him. And Stolas found himself embracing a part of himself he’d never even uncovered. They spent the day indoors, playing games and watching movies. In the evening when Blitzø was busy running a bath for him, Stolas couldn’t help but glance outside. The moon was beginning to rise in the early evening, himself and Blitzø agreed to head to bed before midnight. The whole new year’s celebration never interested him too much, he really only ever used it as an excuse to get wasted.

Stolas pulled the pacifier from his beak and dropped it to the floor. Feeling the fog of his small space drift away, he took in a deep breath. Slipping outside onto the balcony, he dared himself to look up at the moon. Giving anything just for one more moment with Octavia, wondering what she was doing right now.

“I know you hate me, and that you can’t even hear me- But I love you so very much.”

He spoke to himself quietly, not breaking eye contact with the rising moon. Hoping that just maybe Octavia could somehow get the message. He stayed there for a little while, not even realising the slow tears dripping down his face until he felt a hand on his. Blitzø didn’t say anything, he stood aside the Owl for a while until he stirred from his trance.

“I got your bath ready, even added a bunch of those bath nukes you like.”

“Bath bombs- you mean.”

Stolas couldn’t help but correct, although he still sounded sad. Blitzø held onto his hand and lead him back inside, finding the pacifier abandoned on the floor.

“Hey you still want this buddy?”

He held it up, unsure if Stolas was feeling completely big again. The owl looked at the object, clearly considering it. He watched the Imp as he stared up at him with genuine adoration. Instead of a verbal response, he just took the pacifier back and allowed himself to sink back into that comforting headspace. The Goetian prince stood tall above Blitzø, and to any old person they must’ve looked ridiculous. But Blitzø looked up at the tall owl and only saw a little baby bird, one that was in desperate need of some love and care.

“Cmon then baby feathers, I have a whole collection of rubber duck horses just waiting to play with ya-“

Merry Christmas y’all ❤️❤️❤️

[whereserpentswalk]

The reason why that joss whedon/mcu style "he's right behind me" humor is so unpleasant is because it's written with contempt for the worldbuilding most of the time.

Basically a lot of that quippy joss whedon style humor is written by people who are uncomfortable with the concept of genre fiction, but who are writing it any way, so they basically end up having their characters voice their opinion on the setting. Something like the "a cannibal named Hannibal isn't that a little on the nose" from that what if other movies were written by joss whedon meme doesn't work, not just because it's humor in an otherwise serious thing (tons of serious movies have comic relief) but because it's a comment someone would only make if they're reacting to the the name as if it's something written, and not like it's a real name they encountered.

It's terrible writing, but it's not about tone like how most people think, it's about characterization. Good character writing tends to rely on thinking about who the character is and what they'd do in the situation they're in. This type of humor does the exact opposite, it ignores crucial elements of who a character is so they can say something that the writer wants desperately to be said.

To use a more concrete example, there's an exchange in Firefly, a series joss whedon wrote before his worst writing quirks infected all of Hollywood like a locust plague. The exchange surrounds the characters reacting to one of the characters being revealed to have gained psychic powers via lobotomy. One character says skeptically "psychic powers, what kind of scifi nonsense is this" and another character replies "we live on a spaceship."

Now, this exchange has bothered me since I was a child. Spaceships are a normal thing in the firefly universe, every single character has lived their entire life with them being mundane vehicles, while psychic powers have just been revealed to be a thing to the audience. There's no reason why it would make sense for any character to see those two things as equivalent. The only people who that line makes sense to are the writers. It's like a perfectly constructed attack on suspension of disbelief, actively making fun of an audience who gets invested in the characters and their lives.

And the worst part about it, is that if it was just the first line, (the, "what type of scifi nonsense is this") without the reply, (the, "We live in a spaceship"). It would have worked better, both as a joke and as a peice of character writing.

It would have worked better as a joke without the reply, because it would have been actually subtle about the irony of a character in a spaceship complaining about something in his life seeming too scifi. The reply is basically just explaining the joke. It would have worked better as a worldbuilding line. Because what's weird for characters in a setting vs what's normal for them is a really hard thing to get across, and the first line gets it across pretty elegantly. And then the reply takes that elegant peice of writing and completely destroys it because of the writers insecurities about writing a story that takes place in space.

Anyway. Joss whedon is a badish writer and his worst tendencies should not have become Hollywood standard. All of this came from me re-watching old episodes of adventure time yesterday and wondering why the humor works there and why other media's humor doesn't work.

[beautifulfrog]

I'm alive, and it took me almost three months to do this. Just one drawing was really hard to finish, but I hope to be able to post more often. The truth is, I still love Monsters, Inc. and the purple lizard. I'm a little tired, for those who might be wondering. Honestly, I had to change psychiatrists after a really tough incident. But whatever, I think I'll keep drawing, even at my own pace.

Thank you so much for all your comments on my last post; I love you all. In context, I was SO inspired by the alternate story in @randall-simp-nadt88 about Randall going to prison. I think it was a really cool idea, and I couldn't help but think it was intriguing to see another path. That's why I wrote this short story alongside the drawing. Feel free to add and comment on anything. By the way, here in Mexico, mental health hospitals are very different from what one might imagine. Obviously, they can have unpleasant situations like anywhere else, but generally, they're not like in the movies. I'm not promoting any ideas or bad ideas about these types of places; I just wanted to adapt the "shady asylum" stereotype to ME. I just think it was necessary to clarify this.

I'm really sorry if the translation is wrong, I'm still learning English properly.

Ohno

Randall was arrested shortly after he had once again become involved in a conspiracy with another energy company (and again, for having fled two weeks before being found), this time leading to a possible terrorist act in the city. It wasn't long before Johnny Worthington managed to afford him a decent lawyer so he could face a fair trial. Even if the horned one was in prison, he managed to have some power.

The trial took place barely a month after he was captured. Clearly, he didn't have the money to even pay bail. He was completely broke, since after his exile, he had already been classified as a missing person and a fugitive. His apartment was evicted, his family (who didn't even call) took his belongings, and unfortunately for him, the only monster that kept him fed was still in prison. He was alone, with the entire city against him.

Due to protocol and background, he was ordered to remain locked in an isolated cell while in the custody of the authorities.

Cameras monitored his movements day and night, and he was never allowed to go out or socialize with others. He didn't really want that, but he hated every second in there. To add a layer to his obvious humiliation and defeat, he was fitted with an ankle tracker on his hind legs, as well as being required to wear a thick metal collar around his neck that connected to the cell wall. This was normally used for large, aggressive monsters like himself, as monsters were aware of their physical superiority over others. Randall showed discontent, occasionally causing mockery among the guards.

That was the beginning of something serious. Just a short time after being sent to the cell, Randall began to experience some episodes of paranoia. He began to have regular hallucinations about things from the past, voices making their presence felt behind him, small shadows or familiar figures passing by him. The nightmares also manifested during the night, centering on the horrible memory of being repeatedly hit in the face with the sharp shovel. Every time he woke up, he ran in search of a hiding place. But there wasn't one, and this stressed him out.

His aggressiveness toward the police also increased dramatically, as he no longer allowed them to speak to him or approach him. This led to multiple problems and a possible increase in his sentence. His lawyer clearly had no interest in Randall's freedom, but he was working to reduce his sentence, which, had it been a trial held forty years ago, would have undoubtedly condemned him to death. He spoke with the judge privately and agreed to perform a special examination to assess his mental state before the trial, since, in his words, "Randall will not survive prison." With permission, he was taken for X-rays, interviews, tests, and a few sessions with specialists.

The results were a traumatic brain injury, caused by the severe blow to the head he received in the human world (also accompanied by characteristics of post-traumatic stress disorder when he remembered it). His memory, behavior, and reactions suggested that he was unstable enough to appear in court, and that gave the lawyer the opportunity to finish his work cleanly.

On trial day, too many monsters were present to testify against him (as expected, Sullivan and Mike were there, getting on his nerves). They all said the same things...

"He's sick!"

"He's a psychopath!"

"He threatened me constantly..."

"He could have murdered my entire family!"

And when he least expected it, his sentence was final. They said he wouldn't go to prison, and that made him strangely happy for a few seconds before the punishment was announced, followed by a hammer blow.

"You'll go to the city mental hospital, the trial's over."

Randall was indignant and filled with rage after those words, having no idea what it would mean to be locked up in a place where supposedly all those who had no hope of being cured went. The lizard cursed, kicked, and growled at the guards who held his shoulders so they could drag him away. The humiliation and pain increased when he saw for the first time the pitying faces of a few coworkers he'd once had. He was finished.

The most painful part was leaving the courtroom, surrounded by some guards and nurses who would take him to the van of the mental hospital where he would be sent. The press photographed every moment and struggle, even though Randall tried to hide. For protocol and security reasons, Randall was restrained by heavy metal handcuffs fitted to his thin wrists, and a straitjacket that kept his lower arms still.

The muzzle soon covered his mouth, clamping his jaws to deny him the freedom to bite or threaten the journalists intrigued by his case. Randall no longer remembered much of the event and always refused to hear a word about it. It was a total humiliation.

The first few days at the mental hospital were filled with resistance and aggression. Again, because Randall was sent there for a fairly strong criminal record, they had to apply strict protocol to him. They isolated him in a padded room, where they forced him to wear a loose-fitting white shirt so he wouldn't try to take advantage of his unique camouflage.

They also gave him medication based on his diagnosis and the results of the therapy he received regularly (he remained very reserved when asked any questions). He was forbidden to drink coffee for a time, and the food there was relatively empty and boring. Most of the time it was soup, and he couldn't even go to the bathroom without someone having to watch him outside.

The hospital was incredibly large, but Randall didn't know even half of it. He was prohibited from entering and leaving many areas. He lost contact with the outside world; he knew practically nothing about what was going on outside because visits were strictly regulated and his contact with the other inmates was nonexistent. He didn't hang out with them, he thought it was a mistake to be there and that he would soon get out.

Clearly, that wasn't the case. The only privilege he had was that he was occasionally allowed to smoke outside for a while, but someone always had to be there to light his cigarette and make sure it didn't burn. He felt like a child, and that bothered him. Days, weeks, and months passed... Randall accepted his new reality, but it only led to the dreaded depression.

Realizing that he was only sent there because he was weak and because it was the quickest way to get rid of him was a hard blow. Everyone was living their lives out there while he was rotting away in a nursing home for other outcasts like him. No one was going to rescue him, and that filled him with immense despair.

He was the only one who would die alone.

[chocolatespringonion]

What if Hughie suddenly goes mad?

Hughie was tired of all the violence, death and murders. When he finally couldn't take it anymore and his already fragile mind, broke.

He became disoriented, unable to know where he is, who the people around him are, his mind is melting bit by bit until The Boys doesn't know what to do with him. They pitied the boy as one single thought appeared inside their head, Butcher had finally broken that boy.

Butcher refused to admit it himself of course. But deep down he could feel guilt creeping up his spine and whenever those unpleasant feelings appear he would pump himself full of tempV and went off to go Supe hunting.

The Boys unanimously agreed for Hughie's and their own safety, they will admit the boy into a mental hospital, hoping he would be safe and able to bounce back from whatever he is currently experiencing.

Hughie didn't let himself taken away without a fight, despite his disorientation and hysteria he understood his own friends are trying to send him away. He yelled and cried, saying he was not crazy but his pleas fell into deaf ears as he was dragged away into his new prison cell.

Months went by, The Boys and Annie would usually visit him once a week, but seeing how unresponsive Hughie had became towards them, the visitation became less and less. From once a week to once every 2 weeks, to once a month, to finally Hughie doesn't know if they'll ever come back.

On his rare days of being sober he would understand that his friends did this for his own safety but when those episodes came where he would break down and his brain would turn into a mushy paste, the betrayal would sting like hot molten iron. Hughie dreads the days where his sober state would leave him completely.

6 months later.

Homelander had gotten a schedule from Ashley that he is to catter to the young people by supporting the idea of caring for the mentally ill, something about how young people nowadays care a lot for mental health so Homelander should get on the bandwagon.

The bright idea was Homelander will visit a chosen mental hospital by roulette and he would care, listen and help those who was mentally vulnerable.

The first part of the filming was done, Homelander talking and playing simple games with the people he would assume had a problem with delusions, he talked and shared his tales with the depressed patients and they even managed to stage a rescue of a schizophrenic patient. Homelander was far from pleased with this work but what can he do?

After wrapping up the first day Homelander was allowed to roam around as he please. He stumbled upon an open door and took a glance inside.

Inside was a familiar man dressed the same as the other in a blue gown, sitting on the windowsills as the sun shines on his face making him appear somewhat ethereal. He was looking outside but it seems his mind are elsewhere.

It was Hughie Campbell.

Homelander knew he hadn't seen the Campbell boy in a while, he even asked Butcher in passing one time, the question made the other man's expression turn fierce and almost in a brink of snapping. Homelander was too entertained by his irritation to question again but he now knew the reason for the man's defensive reaction.

Out of curiosity, Homelander stepped into the room. His presence seems to catch the boy's attention and he looked away from the window and now to face Homelander.

The supe expected Hughie to panic and scream or maybe even beg for his life but what the other did was unexpected, he smiled brightly at the supe until his dimples are visible, he was happy?

"Hello, I'm Hughie. It's nice to have a visitor, who are you?"

Speechless, Homelander only stared at Hughie, making the other tilt his head and drop down from the window and walked closer to the blonde supe. Hughie invaded Homelander's personal space and stared closely into the supe's eyes, Homelander could even feel the other's breath with how close their proximity are.

"You- are pretty. I like you." Hughie leaned himself closer and pushed his lips against Homelander's.

The kiss was like no other he had experienced before, it was fleeting, not a hint of fear nor hidden objective, just a simple innocent peck on his lips.

Hughie pulled away and grinned at the supe, proud of his own achievement. "We're married now."

Homelander should've exploded in anger, he should've destroyed Hughie Campbell here and then, leaving nothing of the boy but ashes, he should've leveled this place that witnessed his shame to the ground, but he didn't.

It was the first time he felt such innocence, be felt nothing but the boy who was staring intently at his expression, studying it and when it didn't give him the result he hoped for, his smile faded into sadness.

"You don't like me anymore? I'm sorry. I'm sorry, don't be mad." Hughie began crying and wiping the tears with his bare hands. It couldn't help but pulled the strings of Homelander's heart.

"I'm not mad." No that isn't right, he needs to make sure that what happened earlier was only a coincidence or a mistake. "I won't be mad anymore if you kiss me again."

Hughie sniffed and looked up from the ground into the supe's eyes. "Really? Not angry?"

Homelander nods. But he couldn't help but second guess himself, what the fuck is he doing?

Hughie's face suddenly beamed in happiness as he pulled Homelander into his arms. "Uh-huh. I'll kiss everyday so don't be angry anymore, okay?" He once again captured Homelander's lips into an innocent kiss which this time dispelled the supe's doubts.

He-liked it?

Hughie kept kissing Homelander in the cheek afterwards while the supe was dumbfounded in place. A nearby nurse saw this and panicked, "Sir! Don't do that!"

Homelander just stood there as the nurse brought backup to restrain Hughie and calm him down. Homelander who was watching Hughie crying in helplessness calling out, "Wife! Wife! I want to be with my wife!"

Homelander questions himself, Is that supposed to be him?

When Hughie finally sleeps did the nurse apologized multiple times for the inconvenience. Homelander dismissed her saying it wasn't a big deal at all, and how he was thankful these people could have someone as capable as her caring for them. Which made her smile and leave the room as Homelander's new fan.

Homelander stared at the sleeping Hughie, now so peaceful and different from his manic behavior earlier. He is used to see fear and nervousness from the human, so this is how he is when he's now afraid?

It was a new feeling for Homelander. No fear, no expectations, no ulterior motives, just Homelander being himself had made the boy's previous melancholic face bloom into one of joy.

Homelander didn't realise it himself but his previously wrinkled and battered heart is now moved by the sleeping man.

Maybe he'll try to prolong his job here for a bit.

****

Hughie woke up late at night and saw the leather holding him down on the bed. So he probably did something and the nurse had to tie him down to give him his medicine. He sigh, as he tries to recall the day's events, it's hard for him to try and remember what happened during one of his episodes, but this time he vaguely remember kissing someone and calling them wife, he couldn't remember who the other was, only that empty blue eyes which was beginning to shimmer in an unspoken emotion.

Shit. No wonder he was now tied up in bed.

Hopefully his victim didn't hate him too much and forgives him for the offense. He doubts they'll be meeting again, no one wants to get attacked by a madman a second time.

***

How is he going to make Hughie kiss him again?

Was the thought belonging to the one and only Homelander as he was standing in front of Hughie's door again the very next day. It didn't take anything at all in fact. When Homelander opened and Hughie saw him, the other jumped out of his bed and immediately latched himself to the supe. Homelander quickly closed the door behind him to let them not be disturbed.

Hughie started hugging the blonde and put his chin on the blonde's head, "Wife, you came back. I'm so happy."

"I'm not—" Wait if he said he is not his wife, would the other cry again? "—going to leave you. Why would you think that?"

"I'm sorry. I was insensitive. Of course wife is the best. Wife is the kindest and prettiest." Hughie began innocently kissing Homelander's cheek again.

Since when does he have such Saint like patience? But it seems whenever it's Hughie, his temper wouldn't flare.

"Wife, do you want a kiss?" Hughie stared down innocently at Homelander.

It was what he was after since the beginning after all. "Sure."

The human leaned down and once again their lips met.

Without even knowing it, Homelander had became addicted to the madman called Hughie Campbell who is clearly not in his right mind. But he didn't care. For the first time in his life he felt free of the darkness of the human heart and enjoyed the pure feelings only a madman is capable of giving.

He hoped, Hughie will never regain his sanity. Maybe he should steal the boy away from here and let him stay in his condo indefinitely to ensure he'll stay Homelander's and will stay as he is.

***

It was sunset when Hughie had finally gained his sanity back. Once again he only remembered bits of pieces of his episodes but he remembered he had attacked someone with kisses again.

Since when had he become a kiss maniac?

Despite not remembering the other's identity he knows it must be the same person. He could remember the sensation of the kiss today and different from yesterday, he could feel the other reciprocate his advances. How those previously dull blue eyes brighten as it laid eyes on Hughie, and how it became misty when they kissed.

His heart pounds when he remembers the feeling.

"God. This is so fucked up." But he enjoyed it. Unlike when he kissed Robin or Annie, this mysterious person didn't feel like the usual confident women he's been with. This person was more timid in the beginning and became needy in the end, as if they needed—no CRAVED Hughie so bad the black hole inside the other is trying to swallow Hughie whole.

And Hughie liked it.

"Christ. I'm so fucked up."

_____________________________

A/n: I wrote this while still haven't watched season 4 of The Boys and as I'm having a huge important thing tomorrow. I wrote this instead of preparing.....

This is Top!Hughie x Bottom!Homelander for me. Hughie is crazy and Homelander is crazy, when you add minus with minus it became positive so naturally this would be sane and normal, right? Right...?

[starstruckkittensweets]

puppy love

Chuuya Nakahara x Reader

fandom: bungo stray dogs

My latest fixation, Chuuya with puppies! My precious boy deserves to be happy with a doggy of his own, so I decided to play into this little fantasy of mine (and his, probably). I'm planning on writing more parts to this lil series, I think it's helping me get out of my writing slump. Also parts of this fic are inspired by Shiloh, one of my all-time favorite books (so much nostalgia...) and a bit of a reference to that one puppy episode from Wan. And the panel I used for the banner is from the BSD manga (I think it's ch. 24) I hope you enjoy!

warnings: mentions of stray animals, Reader cries but it's in relief, mostly fluff, pet names (mostly "doll" but used only once in this part), the start of a slow burn perhaps? || words: 2k

Part I | Part II | Part III

He’s halfway through his usual trek home, muscles burning and head pounding from another successful night’s mission, when he realizes he has a shadow.

Chuuya doesn’t let up his pace; stay calm, don’t give anything away—but he has to wonder, who could be this stupid to try to follow a mafia executive? And they’re not being subtle about it either. Making no effort to conceal their breaths or their footsteps—

Wait a minute…that sounds too light to be footsteps…

He sucks in a breath and turns around to face the culprit. Hands clenched into fists at his sides, preparing for a fight—

“Woof!”

Staring up at him is perhaps one of the cutest fucking dogs he’s ever laid eyes on. (Not that he’s seen many dogs, but the point still stands.) Pointy ears, fuzzy orange fur, white paws and a belly that definitely looks too plump for a street dog.

He stares at it. The dog stares back, pink tongue lolling out the side of its mouth.

“…Woof!”

It takes every ounce of strength he can muster not to melt right then and there on the sidewalk. A thousand squeals on the tip of his tongue, gloved hands itching to scratch under that fuzzy little chin of his.

Never mind any dog hair, fuck that. Who’s gonna try to turn their nose up at this little cutie?

Chuuya briefly scans the area—not a soul in sight, just him and his companion beneath the lamplights—before dropping to his knees. The dog paws at the ground, his curly tail swishing madly in the air.

“C’mere boy,” he keeps his voice soft, holding out a hand. But the dog doesn’t budge. He just stares at him with that big dumb smile of his.

That really adorable dumb smile.

He tries again. The dog tilts his head and refuses to move. So Chuuya tries another tactic: “C’mere, girl?”

Still doesn’t move a muscle. Although now the dog looks amused as he paces from side to side, just out of Chuuya’s reach.

Yeah, gotta be a boy with that kind of attitude.

Chuuya sighs before pushing himself off the ground. Ah well, guess he’s too nervous to approach humans. Can’t really blame him for that; this city’s got its fair share of unpleasant people. He deals with them all the time, so he can kinda relate.

He shoves his hands back into his pockets (try not to think about how soft the dog’s fur must be) and turns on his heel to head home. It’s getting late anyway, and he’s got to get an early start tomorrow morning. He can’t be spending all night moping around some stray puppy following him around.

Even if he is the cutest thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

But he only gets a few steps in before hearing the unmistakable click-click of the dog’s nails against the pavement. He stops, the dog stops too. He glances over his shoulder, biting back a smile at the dog’s happy face.

“What do you want, huh? I don’t have any food, so if that’s what you’re looking for…”

Not that he looks like he needs any treats to begin with. He’s seen a few of the dogs roaming around Yokohama, all skin and bones as they pick through tipped-over trash cans. And the stray cats are no better, ears flat against their skulls as they hiss and claw at everything in sight.

So why does this dog look so fucking proud of himself?

Chuuya sighs and whistles to himself—and suddenly the dog comes running.

Two dirty paws plant themselves on his dress pants, that’ll surely be hard to get out, but how can he get angry when the dog’s trying so hard to reach his face? He chuckles under his breath as he kneels down to his level, as the dog plants kiss after kiss on his face with his slobbery tongue.

“Who knew all it took was a whistle?” he says more to himself than to the pup. The dog’s tail is wagging so hard he thinks it’ll fall off, the tiny little thing that it is.

He slides one of his gloves off, letting the dog sniff his hand before scratching him behind the ears. He was right, his fur is so soft… And his smile only gets bigger when the dog licks him again, not even minding all the drool.

But then he stiffens, slipping his fingers through the dog’s fur, noticing a red band of leather fastened around his neck. A collar? No way he’s someone’s pet. Then again, he does look a little too spoiled to be wandering the streets for food.

He curls his finger around the golden tag dangling from the buckle. No name, only an address he thinks he recognizes. Right on the edge of Yokohama, where the scent of sea salt is the strongest. Is it someone’s house? Apartment? Maybe a  shelter of some kind?

Chuuya steals another look at the dog, at those sweet brown eyes and twitching wet nose, trying his best to ignore the icy clench of his stomach. Maybe it’s for the best, just to bring him back. What’s he gonna do with a dog, anyway? Not like his job allows for much time raising a puppy, anyway.

Even one so cute as this little guy.

“Alright,” he sighs, scooping the pup in his arms, “let’s get you home.” He tries not to dwell on how warm the puppy is, or how softly he nestles his face in the crook of his shoulder.

And definitely not the way he can feel the pup drifting off to sleep as he starts down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. Gentle puffs against his skin, his curly tail twitching against his wrist.

“Kotaro! There you are!”

The engraving on the pup’s collar has led him to a tiny little shop a few minutes from the port. A bit shabby with a torn sign on the top and windows that have definitely seen better days, and he’s about to turn tail (no pun intended) until he sees someone nearly fly out through the set of double doors.

“Kotaro!” Your voice is strained, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sweep the puppy into your arms. Clutching him as tight as you can, smoothing down the fur on his head as he stirs awake from his little nap. “I was worried sick… How did you escape again?! I could’ve sworn I locked the doors… You’re just lucky I came back downstairs when I did—or else you would’ve been out there all night long!”

The puppy only wags his tail, staring up at you with those silly eyes and sweet little “smile.” He knows it’s your weakness, how could you be angry at a face like that?

Oh, well. As long as he’s safe, you can’t really hold a grudge against him. Not when he’s back in your arms, safe and sound, and it’s just the two of you, just as it always should be.

It’s only when you hear someone clear their throat that you realize you’re actually not alone. You hastily wipe your eyes with the back of your hand—it’s a little difficult with a nearly-twenty-pound dog in your arms—and stare up at the man before you. Kotaro’s savior, your savior. And suddenly you feel a fresh wave of tears surge forth.

“Thank you for bringing him back! I’m so sorry if he’s caused you any trouble, I know he has a habit of bothering people when he sneaks out—I thought I’d kept him inside this time! He just has a thing for running away like the little troublemaker he is. He’s still young, hopefully he’ll grow out of it when he’s older, maybe he’ll mellow out and settle down, and then…”

You bite your tongue and avert your eyes. No need to scare off the stranger with your incessant rambling, especially after he was so nice to bring Kotaro back to you. But he only shakes his head, a soft smile on his lips as he tips his hat over his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, he didn’t cause too much trouble.” He lifts a hand, allowing Kotaro to sniff him before scratching the fur beneath his chin. “Keep an eye on him, though. You don’t want him getting lost out there, especially this time of night.”

“I know… I swear, he’s gonna give me gray hairs before the end of the year. The other dogs aren’t even this mischievous, I don’t know where he got it from!”

Wait, other dogs?

He glances over your shoulder, towards the dingy windows of the shop. Pet supplies and part-time shelter, the sign plastered on the glass says. And sure enough, the closer he looks at your outfit, he can see little bits of dog fur clinging to the fabric—some gray, some brown, some white, and then a hint of orange thanks to Kotaro.

Just how many dogs do you have in there?

“Anyway, I just wanna say I really appreciate you bringing him back here. You didn’t have to, I know you’re probably busy. Let me just run inside and get my wallet, I think I have some left over if you want—”

But he’s quick to shut you down with a shake of his head, even a wave of his hands for emphasis. No money, he’s already got plenty of that to spare. And besides, it doesn’t sit right with him, paying him for something that should come naturally to any decent person.

And he doesn’t want to sound mean, but judging from the shape of that little shop of yours, you look like you can use every last cent you have.

“Oh, if you say so… But still, why don’t I make it up to you sometime?”

An uneasy silence settles in the air between you; Chuuya blinks as he watches you shift your weight, partially hiding your face in Kotaro’s fur.

“…I mean, you don’t have to—I just wanna pay you back some way! Maybe I can treat you to lunch one of these days? I don’t have many days off, but I can make it work! Or maybe…do you have a dog of your own? I can give you a discount on anything in the shop!” You throw an arm out to the double doors behind you, still holding Kotaro to your chest. “Name it and it’s yours! I really don’t mind, it’s just me here anyway. Well, me and the dogs, all nine of us.”

Wait, nine, including yourself…

“You have eight of them?!”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat at the look on Chuuya’s face. He reminds you of a child on Christmas morning, staring at the presents strewn around the glowing tree. He doesn’t seem one to enjoy the company of dogs, given his fancy attire and confident aura.

And yet, he still brought Kotaro back home, when he could’ve easily turned and walked the other way. You’ve learned not to judge a book by its cover, after all.

“Eight dogs, and hopefully more by the end of the year.” Your cheeks grow warm beneath his startling blue gaze. (His eyes are really pretty up close, aren’t they?) “…I can tell you all about them on our lunch date, if you’re interested.”

He blinks, eyes flitting back and forth between you and the dog in your arms. You’ve got guts, he’ll give you that; he can see it in the way you talk to him, the way you hold the puppy in your arms. Gentle as ever, but a fire brimming in your eyes. You love this dog, no doubt about it.

And you’ve got seven more inside? Do you love them all the same amount?

What breeds are they? How did you come to adopt so many dogs at once? Or did you adopt them at once, or sporadically over the years?

So many questions, and yet the night is crawling by. He shakes his head again, giving Kotaro one last scratch behind the ears, before meeting your gaze once more.

“Lunch sounds perfect, doll.”

Your lips pull up in a smile, and he can’t help but notice how it nearly matches the one on Kotaro’s face. Bright and eager, melting under the attention of the ones around you.

And yet your smile is infinitely prettier, and he finds himself thinking about it as he starts the familiar journey back home, as the night hours slowly tick by.

[miyamiwu]

Previously, I talked about Shang Chao’s and Xia Qing’s contrasting ideologies on what kind of hero Yang Cheng should be. Gist of that post is that to Xia Qing, Yang Cheng and E-Soul are different people. But to Shang Chao, there is no difference between them; Yang Cheng is E-Soul and vice versa.

So isn’t it just interesting that on the night Yang Cheng became a hero, Xia Qing—despite actually already knowing that it was Yang Cheng under the mask, as revealed in Episode 6—she called out the name E-Soul instead. Meanwhile, Shang Chao, who has only just learned the truth, called Yang Cheng by his real name with no hesitation.

It’s small moments like these that really convince me that Shang Chao is the right person for Yang Cheng. He’s just so naturally in sync with what Yang Cheng needs, and at that moment, Yang Cheng needed acknowledgement of himself as a person. Sure, he just did some superhero stuff, but the name Xiao Youzi called out back then was still E-Soul. That Trust point may have given him the boost to defeat his enemies, but it didn’t really do much to raise his self-esteem.

It’s just like that time he got asked out by Xia Qing while in his E-Soul costume. He also didn’t feel good about that:

So Shang Chao’s presence at the end of Episode 6 was very timely.

On the night Yang Cheng became a hero, the first person to call him by his real name and acknowledge that it was him, Yang Cheng the person, who did all those stuff, was Shang Chao.

Not the kid he saved. Not the girl he’s always had a crush on. But Shang Chao.

And what’s more affirming than being personally acknowledged by someone whom you think is superior than you in every way?

Xia Qing is nice, but she pays too much attention to Yang Cheng’s weaknesses instead of his strengths, and that doesn’t really help our Yang Cheng, who already has low self-esteem. Pity is the last thing he wants from her.

Shang Chao is different. At this point, he doesn’t know much about Yang Cheng. He only sees the diamond in the rough, while the people closer to Yang Cheng are being too careful with the dirt around it. But Yang Cheng doesn’t need to be reminded of the dirt; he knows that himself all too well. What he needs is to be made aware of the diamond within him. Shang Chao’s verbal encouragement and proactive support help with that.

This becomes clearer as Yang Cheng starts cooperating with Shang Chao:

Xia Qing is a realist who will point out the cons, while Shang Chao charges ahead optimistically in spite of the difficulties. His wealth and privilege allows him to do so, and by extension, it also gives Yang Cheng the resources he needs to give things a try. But more importantly, it also gives him the courage to dream:

Before he started working with Shang Chao, Yang Cheng didn’t even have any plans for the future:

But Shang Chao took him by the hand and opened his eyes to what he is capable of:

He gives him concrete steps on how he can act like a hero.

And also outlines a clear future for Yang Cheng.

At surface level, it may seem like Shang Chao is just imposing what he wants on Yang Cheng, but I don’t think that’s the case.

Yang Cheng had zero trust points his whole life. Nobody really expected anything from him. So Shang Chao clearly stating what he wants from him and fully believing that he can do it, although new and confusing, should be not unpleasant.

Because at last there’s someone who believes in him. Someone who isn’t just a random number on his wrist. Someone who actually sees him and supports him every step of the way with concrete actions.

Shang Chao is exactly the person Yang Cheng needs.

[kabr0ztrousers]

Pure hearted angel guy who could do no wrong discovers through the power of fanfiction that he loves the idea of a pack of hellhounds taking turns fucking him or perhaps all at once... He goes against the wishes angel kind and journeys into hell to find some to give him that exact treatment. Little does he know that the pack isn't ever going to let him go... He's their fucktoy for the rest of eternity. Perhaps over time it slowly turns him into an angel-hound hybrid with the ability to carry their young

Kabr0z Writes episode 61: Angels and Demons

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: feral; knotting; noncon; group sex; fellatio; corruption; transformation; an angel having an extremely bad time;

A/N: Welcome to the first part of Volume 2! Same great taste, brand new contents page! I'm also kicking off the new volume with something I haven't done before this series: an episode written in the third person!

Hopefully you all continue to enjoy the series and keep sending requests, fanmail, all that good stuff!

######################################

He was there. From the first spark of light. He saw the world under construction. He saw the first faltering steps of man. He saw the fall of the first angel. He saw as the fruit of forbidden knowledge was plucked from the great tree. He is a watcher, a documentor, an archivist and a messenger. One of the lowest ranks of angels, he sat far from the throne of divinity, below the Principalities, below the Archangels, he sat. His job, for the last two thousand generations, was to comb through everything written by mankind. His name was Oriniel. Oriniel was bored.

Not of the work, you understand, he loved the work. He was assigned to fiction, earnestly produced. That meant that he wasn't reading the really boring stuff. He certainly didn't envy people in the Non-Fiction, Legal department who spent their time reading tax returns and dense terms-of-service documents. No, Oriniel read things that humans wrote because they wanted to. Every line, every clumsy sentence, every tortured metaphor, all of it had a little bit of a person's soul in it. He laughed with some, cried with others, smiled bemusedly at the digressions and rants, ached with yearning, and delighted in joy. The problem was, he spent all his time reading.

He wanted to experience it.

Oriniel put down the codex he was reading from, a chapter from some repository they called an archive of their own. He didn't get the name, surely all archives belonged to somebody? The passages were about the denizens of Hell, specifically a young woman fighting her way through pits of fire and legions of damned whilst getting into romantic scrapes with a pair of demons. He'd read enough of this kind of book to know that sooner or later the sword-swinging heroine would have to choose between the brooding and moody one, or the moody one who broods. It was a little predictable, but each work made in good faith is a precious gem, so he loved it anyway. It did make him a little restless though.

Hell expands, you see. Every time someone describes a new part of it, that geography becomes real. Even if they think they're describing an existing part, as long as it's a living human doing the imagining, it pops into existence. Denizens of Hell then move in, either true demons or the Damned, and it becomes another duchy in the growing empires.

What if, the angel wondered, his dove-like wings fluttering a little at the thought, what if I were to beat them to it?

He looked at the publication date. This work was only a few days old at most! Chances were nothings found its way there yet!

Oriniel leapt from his seat and dashed down the hall to the landing strip. He grabbed a sword from a rack and took flight, the blade ripping into a blaze of silver fire as he did.

The route to Hell is well known. Simply keep going descending until things get sulphurous and unpleasant. Descend he did, plunging down to where he guessed the outskirts of Hell would be, yellowish clouds of smog and soot clung to the land, but he knew what he sought.

There

A wasteland of grey-black ash, dotted with walled cities and black stone watchtowers. There wouldn't be anything living here yet, humans create geography, they don't ensoul anything, so this would be the perfect spot to-

A fireball arced from a watchtower, catching the angel's wing. Oriniel went into a spin, tumbling and flapping, the fiery sword flew from his hand to lose itself on the gale-force wind. He landed with a thump, rolling a few times until he hit a wall. Clearly, he wasn't the first one here.

A tall demon woman stepped towards him, a cruel whip made of black spiked chain in her hand. "I am Tz'Arre, magistrix of the Grey Sand Waste." New magistrix, but she wasn't going to admit that "And you, interloper, have broken a dozen treaties by simply being in my airspace. Now, I could report you to my superiors, who would report you to theirs, and them to yours, or..." The whip cracked "I can have some fun."

"Please, don't hurt me?" Oriniel wheezed. He shouldn't need to breathe. He shouldn't feel pain. Both of these things suddenly not being the case worried him

"Per section 438, subsection G, clause 75, line 93, of the armistice between the hosts both Holy and Profane, your ass is mine to do with as I wish. And I think," the whip cracked again, this time Oriniel screamed as a red welt appeared on his arm "I wish"

The demoness lifted her arms, four hellhounds stalked from behind her. The beasts looked like dogs. If you took a large mastiff, stripped any sort of good nature out of it, filled it with burning sulphur, and finally added two inches to every fang, claw, and unpleasantly pointy edge, you'd be left with something not unlike an unusually cuddly hellhound.

These were not unusually cuddly. Molten brass dribbled from their mouths, burning coals sat where eyes would be, but that wasn't what Oriniel was staring at.

Hanging from between the hind legs of each one was a long, knotted cock, dripping and shimmering with its own internal heat.

The demoness stroked one of the hounds as it passed her "Give this angel a warm welcome, boys"

She disappeared in a flash. The hounds dove on Oriniel. Scraping the stone floor beneath their steel claws as molten metal and spunk flew in burning droplets onto the angel, the scalding fluids making him scream.

The first hound placed its forelimbs on the angel's upper back, humping in at his face, the red-hot precum coating his skin until the cock slipped between his lips, reducing the screams to muffled sobs.

The next was upon the angel's ass, burning up his clothes as the turgid cock found its mark in his tight hole. It pushed in without any lube, not caring about any resistance as it sank down, spurting into his guts as it reached the base. The two others grabbed Oriniel's robes with their teeth, tearing and fighting over the silks as they waited their turn.

The one in the angel's mouth was reaching its peak, the knot expanded behind the angel's teeth, locking it in as the cum went from watery to viscous and ropey, searing its way down Oriniel's throat until it landed in his belly, corrupting the angel from within.

The one in his ass wasn't far behind, knot filling out, pressing against the walls of the angel's ass. Oriniel couldn't help himself. It was as though he was being controlled as a hand strayed between his legs, jerking his tiny angelic cock. His balls were already pulling up against his crotch as he moaned into the knot gagging him. Silvery angel-seed spurted from his dick, making a little puddle beneath him as he beheld above him, his golden halo began to squeal like hot metal pressed on dry ice.

The hound in his mouth pulled away, still semi hard. Oriniel kept his mouth open as he looked to the other two hounds, still fighting between themselves. He didn't know why, but he whistled at them. Their ears perked up, looking at him, before they raced over, both fighting to get their cock in his mouth before the other could claim the vacant hole. One won, ramming its member into the angel's throat as the other stalked around the other side, waiting its turn on Oriniel's ass.

The cock in his ass pulled out as the waiting hound bit at the heels of the one stuck inside, the knot popped free and the last rope of hot cum stretched out, glinting in the flat reddish light filtering from the clouds above. The new cock was no less eager, pounding in with gusto. Oriniel angled himself slightly, feeling as his swollen, eager prostate was battered by the hound's enormous cock, pushing him to cum again.

This time, the angel's cum wasn't silver; it was iridescent black, like oil covering a seagull. It flowed and flowed from him as the halo above his head screeched and hissed, glowing brighter for a moment, then shattering altogether.

Oriniel's mouth twisted into a blissed-out smile as he leaked that blue-black cum, his cock growing a little with each pulse as his body shifted. The two knotted cocks were being massaged and milked by his throat and ass, drawing the hot cum into him, using it to reshape his form.

His unbroken wing shed its feathers as they fell and burned, the wings turning leathery and batlike. He could sense his skin pulling tight against his bones until the ribs cracked and lengthened, bone poking through the skin. Only, it wasn't bone, it was brass, tarnish and patina pockmarked the surface. His eyes receded, the skin burning away from the upper half of his head, leaving a blank brassy plate in its place. The hound in his mouth pulled out as his jaw broke and reformed, bifurcating as his teeth dropped out one by one. Brassy spikes grew where they were, perfect dentistry replaced by a maw of razor-sharp metal.

The demon who was Oriniel stood, the last cock slipping from his dripping ass as his leaking cock hung, equine and many-knotted from between his legs, oily semen still flowing in an uninterrupted stream.

His hands smoothed over his head, the hair falling away in matted lumps, replaced by brass blades running parallel down his skull, cutting through the skin they grew through, shine dulled by the polluted air and oxidising heat.

The angel Oriniel was no more, there stood the demon Leini'ro

######################################

I had fun here, but on reading back, is this really what was asked for? Was it even all that hot? Did I write porn with horror elements, or horror with porn elements? Where even is that line?

I don't dislike what I did here, but I'm not sure anyone could successfully get off on being corrupted and forcefully transformed by being forced to drink evil cum.

You know what, now I've said that, that's absolutely something I've seen people on here getting off to.

Damn I love you pervs

[self-indulgent-paw-patrol]

New pipeline analysis no one asked for

And that definitely no one needed either but when did I ever care tbh. And I still have no idea why it's even called "pipeline". In Portuguese we just call these things "new design" and that's about it.

CHASE

I always found his shade of brown too dark most times so I won't go about it, but the light reflections on his fur are now a very welcome touch, giving him some depth and shine to his coat. It looks so much better now. I like how he's been emoting a little more too. He was already expressive before, but now they're using more his ears to complete his expressions. It's very subtle actually so many people probably didn't notice that. I also like it that they worked a little more on his ears, they always felt extremely unnatural to me. Now they got little tufts of fur and some shape to them, instead of looking completely flat sheets of cardboard with some pink painted on what should be the inside of them. His tail looks more natural now too (despite the extremely thin base), I like that.

MARSHALL

While I like the shine on Chase's fur... Marshall is maybe a different story. In the attempt to make it clear he's got fur, they MAY have made it look a bit too... Fuzzy. Idk the word, sorry. You can only see it from up close, but it looks like some short and HARD fur, not soft and smooth. It only looks smooth if you see from afar, from a normal distance. Any up close shot makes it look rough. And then, there's a small issue with his spots: The shine on them seems unnatural when it doesn't match the shading on his white fur. It's weird, sometimes he looks just perfect (middle pic), some other times it's weird to look at him - first pic Idek what happened with the lighting there all over him, while the last pic is like they cranked up the contrast to the max again. But other than that, I didn't feel too much of a difference on his movements, expressions or etc, he's always been expressive and his ears always moved along with him. He looks a lot better with his uniform on, though, I can't deny that, it's just perfect.

SKYE

She looks like burnt toast. Not sorry. You know it's the truth. The only compliment I have on her is that I like how her fur (ears) look actually fluffy now, though her head bangs are animated in an extremely weird way - when they need them to move due to wind, they just... Clip in and out of her head. I wish I was exaggerating just as much as they exaggerated on cranking up the saturation and contrast on her colors. I feel bad for her fans, she just looks so... Idk. It literally hurts my eyes to look at her, definitely not visually pleasing. I'm really legitimately sad for what they did to her. I'll stay with her cinematic version any day.

ROCKY

I WISH I could say he looks more natural - at least partially he does, anatomy-wise. But his tail still looks off and he's having the exact same issue as Skye with her fur tufts. His tufts are just a completely different texture they didn't bother to "blend" into the body/head texture, so it causes a very unpleasant visual clash when you see his head from very up close, at least most times. Some other times he looks actually fine. Sometimes the fur on his eyelids are clearly a different piece from his head too and it looks insanely unnatural (first pic). Sometimes you can't notice that all that much (second pic). Thankfully, these issues are only visible from very up close, so, aside from his tail, he looks good enough when seeing from a regular/normal distance.

Important to note, I tend to notice these things bc I always look at EVERY SINGLE TINY DETAIL when watching something. I've always been like this, so most of these issues are things most people probably never even noticed at all (like how in the first episode of Fire Rescue, Rocky's cheeks are entirely grey when he's wearing the Fire Rescue uniform. Coloring error *Sigh*).

RUBBLE

I find it funny how he barely changed anything, except for when they cranked up the saturation of his colors too, just like how they did with Skye and Marshall. It's so random, though??? Sometimes he looks alright (left pic), some other times his "orange" fur gets a lot darker, with a very strong contrast against the white fur. If you put him side by side with his Rubble & Crew version, you'll say they're two totally different dogs, given how lighter colored he is in R&C. One good point though, his fangs finally look natural, coming from INSIDE his mouth, along with his jaw's teeth, instead of just... Popping out of his lower lip. He doesn't look bad here, I just still prefer his look in the movies too.

ZUMA

He looks good if you look from afar (first and second pics). Once you get up close shots, though... It makes you wonder wtf is up with his nose (where the fur meets the nose) and his fur texture. Same issue as Marshall's, it looks HARD. I compared him to a dried coconut once. It really doesn't look like something I'd like to put my hand on and give rubs and scratches - it feels like it would be very rough to the touch. I gave up on finding his color odd most of the times too (though it looks alright to me in these specific pics), I still like more his cinematic version on that aspect. Other than his fur seeming rough from up close and his nose seeming like it was punched in, he really does look good from a normal distance. The shine on his fur is nice and I'll forever love how they kept his ears and tail on the thicker side.

RYDER

I'll admit it took me a long time to get used to his new look. It's like some kind of mix between mostly the previous design and a little bit of the movies' design. Could be better for sure, but now that I've watched a few random episodes, I'm convinced it's not as bad as I initially thought and he's being pretty expressive too - I mean, I've gone through several episodes in the old animation, looking for screenshots showing Ryder with different expressions to make icons for his askblog, and let me tell you... It's HARD. He didn't show many expressions constantly, I feel like I was looking for a few toothpicks in a barn full of hay. I think I have seen quite more expressions on this kid's face now in the few episodes I've seen in the new animation than ever before (not counting the movies).

There's something about him that's still bothering me and I don't know what it is exactly, but it's not much of a big deal to the point I'd say I don't like his look here. Anyway, same as Skye and Zuma... I'll stay with his cinematic version, that's the best one imo, though this one manages to be a good second. Except for his hands. The fact he has 5 fingers on the movies will always win me over any day. My perfectionist ass is pleased there, not here.

OTHER CHARACTERS I'm actually pleased with most other characters. Sweetie looks good. Liberty... There's something bothering me but I still don't know what it is. Maybe it's because they made her ears the same color as her body fur, when they should be darker. They never added the darker spots/patches on her ears in the show anyway so I won't even go there. I like how the Mayors are looking, and the other people too. No complaints on any of them, surprisingly. Everest is the only one I'm still weirded out about - same issue as Skye and Rocky, her face looks extremely off with the different fur textures clashing.

ADVENTURE BAY Just... The same trees over and over again everywhere. Nothing unusual, it's always been like that, we rarely get to see a different tree model lol But the buildings are cool, the details on stuff, I like how the town's looking like now. I still need to catch more episodes to see how the sea water is behaving - one thing that always bothered me TO NO END was how the sea is always so STILL. I get it, animation budget, but dude. Come on.

Anyway, have a gifset to see what I mean about Skye's bangs clipping in and out...

Aaaaand their improved body language! You can clearly notice they're emoting with their entire bodies and it's fluid. You can even see when Marshall has his ears down and when he perks them back up as he's got his attention on Rubble! Chase turns his ears back too, but he's still alert, while Marshall and Skye completely shrink down with the jumpscare, and Rocky looks like he's about to jump and run the hell away, until he relaxes and lays down again.

[onyourhyuck]

LUKEWARM. L.DH | Episode 1

— Title: ‘Wasteland, baby.’

— Summary: Hong Yujin is the new patient at the psych ward admitted for her eating disorder. On the first day of being admitted she meets Haechan, a patient being treated for his bpd. Yujin already claims to hate him; he is everything she dislikes. Loud, annoying, self destructive.

— Genre: Psych ward, hospital, mental illnesses, can be triggering so read at your own risk, guys take care of yourself, mentions of eating disorders, mentions of bpd, suggestive, smut, angst etc.

— Notes: please don’t read if you’ll be triggered !! Take care of yourself guys.

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Yujin is emotionally constipated and Haechan is a meddler.

The two most complex cases in the ward — happen to be each other’s triggers and worst of friends in the whole of hospital. Putting these two and two together is like asking for a death wish to happen.

You see punishment takes in many different forms. Yujin is convinced that god is punishing her with Haechan messing up her life whenever she’s in a good mood.

The young girl only recently started to enrol in this hospital not out of her own choice. News spread around quickly of Yujin and of course Haechan wanted to see the newbie for himself. She remembers how he bothered her with so much questions on the first day. Now Yujin wishes he would choke and shut up for once.

If there was a thing to describe him. It would be running tap water.

Strange interpretation right? Yujin likes to think that Haechan’s like tap water. Distasteful, stale and unpleasant.

So far it sounds accurate to Yujin.

A plop of weight pressed on the mattress with shoes on the hospital bed. The boy crossed his legs over the covers with a gleeful smile gazing right back at the owner of the room who looks to be the most pissed he’s seen her yet.

How exciting. Haechan loves getting reaction out of people the most. The girl has been his main source of entertainment here since she arrived. It was like a blessing from God, or so he likes to think.

“Get out.” Yujin states not even bothering to say hello or ‘please get out’ it was just a flat out unemotional reaction equivalent to ‘fuck off’ which he pretends that it hurt him. But it didn’t in reality.

The boy gasps pretending to be a freaking sob but he stopped acting when the expression on her face did not budge. Haechan was intrigued by Yujin’s bluntness. Most other patients would’ve backed down and been submissive to him, but not Yujin. He liked that in a very twisted way.

“Oh come on don’t be such a stick in the mud, let me hang out with you.” Haechan flashes her a little smirk hoping it would encourage some agreement between them.

Yujin heavily exhales. Might as well add some smoke particles, Haechan swore he saw her head turning to flames any minute.

“No. If I want to hang out with someone like you I would get a pet dog. Now get out of my room!” The arms extend out towards the door so Haechan can see the way out.

Taken aback by such statements but not letting them phase him outwardly. Haechan definitely notes from bothering her as of lately he did notice Yujin was rather a feisty individual. Deciding it would be even more fun to get on her nerves and push the already pressed buttons even more just for the fun of it. He didn’t actually care that Yujin was upset.

Haechan’s back pressed on the wall while he was sitting up on the bed this time. Legs crossed over the covers with that devilish smile.

“Oh calm down you’re in a mental ward, I’m sure you’ll come across much worse than me.”

The audacity to have Haechan smiling at her at this time? Yujin feels every inch of her body blood boiling to the point she couldn’t stand straight and see clearly.

Yujin glares over at the boy who made himself comfortable on the bed unannounced with one leg over the covers as if he owns this freaking ward to himself. Yujin stands there in middle of the room immediately ready to protest to the boy who gave no ounce of care.

“Who do you think you are?” Yujin says with an unamused expression.

The boy notices Yujin’s reaction to him sitting down on her bed and her glare. It would fun seeing someone else react this much, Haechan sometimes wonders if her head will explode someday.

The girl has only enrolled recently. He grins from ear to ear. It was fun however. Especially to a guy like him.

Haechan leans back on the bed and rests his feet against the wall. He grabs a magazine off the bedside table and begins to read, as if he’s at home. “Oh come on, what makes you think you own everything here? Who do you think you are?”

Haechan taunts her back. He can’t get enough of this interaction. It was like watching a sitcom on television but he was starring himself.

The moment which was full of tension like a chalk scraping at the chalkboard in a classroom. It felt like a million knives stabbing in the same constant pressure point on a body. It wasn’t a good energy at all so when the young nurse walked in on the moment, she was rather surprised to see Haechan on the bed already harassing the new patient.

The nurse furrows her eyebrows. “Haechan shouldn’t you be in your room taking your medication with nurse Joong?”

His eyes dart away from Yujin to the nurse rather eerily and he slants forward with a dropping smile. “Awh bummer — well this was fun.” He said it like he spent most of the living moments in this ward.

Yujin couldn’t put her finger on it, but it certainly sounds like Haechan was used to the pills prescribed.

But before he was fully leaving he whispers to Yujin. “Welcome to the Wasteland, baby.”

Not quite understanding what the boy meant. Yujin frowned and turned back but by then he was gone on his way.

@onyourhyuck please refer from translating copyrighting and plagiarising my work. Please reblog this blog and follow me for more updates it helps a girl out !

[bartxnhood]

lost stars | c.b

colby brock x reader

summary: colby is always there for you. even at your worst.

warnings: mentions of depression, anxiety, thoughts of suicide, etc.

a/n: i’ve been kinda in a slump lately so this is kinda a self insert, but also if any of my followers or you come across this i genuinely hope you know that it will get better. if you need someone to talk to me, please reach out to me. i’ll always be here for you. ❤️

requests open

not proofread

Copyright © 2023 bartxnhood. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

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you were overcome with a familiar sensation. the sensation of having everyone around you but still feeling alone in the world occurred often. the need to curl up under your covers and wither away, the pain in your chest, the random tears, the feeling that you're going crazy. everything was wrong, but you were unable to express your feelings.

you surrounded yourself with toxic people over the years, hungry for any type of attention, even if it was unpleasant. you desired to feel something. even if that meant it hurt you more, it was better than nothing. you weren't numb.

you tried to block out your thoughts with music, but the songs only served to highlight how unhappy you were. your life was uninteresting, and you feared you'd never feel genuine happiness again. until you met colby, you saw everything in black and white.

he was a colorful person who saw the good in the world while you only saw the terrible. it has been said that opposites attract. despite this, you two had a lot in common after the meeting.

first and foremost, both of you had excellent musical tastes. if one of you discovered a new song or band, you'd tell each other about it. alternatively, if colby was droning on about the paranormal and his love for hunting the unknown, you'd be all ears, staring at him with the brightest smile, seeing how his eyes lit up. colby often enjoyed movie marathons with you; you'd both choose a few films you hadn't seen before and watch them together, along with the occasional old favorite you both adored.

“oh cmon, there was totally enough room for jack!” you exclaimed with the remote in hand. you just finished watching titanic for probably the hundredth time with him and you were back to arguing about the ending. “i’m not saying there wasn’t, jus sayin it would’ve been hard to balance!” he laughed, standing up from your sofa with the popcorn bowl in hand. “okay yeah maybe, but that’s why she had the life jacket!” you heard him snicker from the kitchen, “y/n, the movie is twenty years old, i don’t think it’ll change anytime soon. sorry darling” he walked back into the living room falling by your side.

though, it wasn’t always glamorous. you knew colby was famous, you know girls practically threw themselves at him and it did make you uneasy.

not that you thought you weren’t good enough for him, but the fear that once you had another episode, he would leave you.

colby understood about your mental health; he was always there for you and would do whatever to help you the best he could. you never wanted him to see you at your lowest; it was a difficult period for you, and you didn't want colby to bear that burden.

you were going through that again. everything went back to black and white, and the color faded day by day. you began to lose that sparkle in your eyes, you stopped smiling at his texts, you slept most of the day, you didn't leave your bed, and you even forgot to eat some days. your body was once again being overwhelmed by that sensation.

colby began to notice your absence, your one-word texts back, or even not messaging back for hours. it was like a complete shift. he was aware of what was going on and did not hold it against you. you needed time to deal with everything, but he didn't want you alone. he didn't have much experience with what you were feeling, but he would spend every single day with you just to understand; he wants to help you. he doesn't want you to suffer any longer, and even if you didn't talk to him or tell him how you felt, he wanted you to know he was there for you no matter what.

you lay on your bed, a mountain of sheets covering your body. all of your lights were turned out, and the only light came from your window. you couldn't recall when you last showered, maybe four days ago if you had to guess.

when you tried to close your eyes, you felt that familiar aching in your chest again. you began to cry as memories flooded your head. it was annoying not to be able to sleep without your mind taking control. reminding yourself of all you could have done better or things that have contributed to your depression. you felt guilty for everything, even if it had nothing to do with you.

you rolled over, facing your window and door. It was almost midnight. you just wanted to sleep, but following your previous naps, you doubted you'd get any. you tried to close your eyes and rest, but were interrupted by a knock at the door. "y/n?" you heard your boyfriend's voice and opened the door, only to be met with darkness. you opened your eyes and looked at him. "colby?"

he entered, closing the door behind him. "you vanished, and I just wanted to check on you." he left his spare key on your desk. "im okay," he knew you weren't, so he moved over to your side and perched on the edge of the bed. "you sure?" he asks, reaching for your hand. "i know you're having a hard time; whether you let me in or not is up to you." "but I hate seeing you suffer like this, y/n," he implored, his thumb sliding over your knuckles. meanwhile, you chewed on the inside of your cheek as you stared at the wall, fighting back the surge of emotions. "I just," you began, exhaling the breath you felt you'd been holding.

“I'm not sure, colbs. "I just don't know," you hesitated, "I always end up like this again." I can't express how I feel. "I've spent so much time suffering that it's normal," you explained, a few tears falling from your eyes. I don't want to put you down because you deserve so much more."

colby rose, had you scoot over, and took your place on the bed. he drew you closer, allowing you to cry with your head on his chest. "please don't say that." knowing how depressed you were shattered his heart. "i want to be there for you no matter how many times you go through this. “its a part of you that i still adore. you closed your eyes, fighting back tears as he smiled sadly.

"youll get through this, and I'll be right here until you do. you don't have to be alone anymore."

[talkbycolor]

let me hold your hand forever.

A/N; i almost threw up writing this because its not the usual "omg i love this cute yandere boy, so silly!" shit i do

Pairing; "Rendacted" x GN!reader

CW; Ren/[REDACTED] having unhealthy, obsessive and possesive behavior, wow, who would have told / TW; mutilations, romanticizing mutilation by Ren side but MC is really terrified / this is an AU where MC rejected Ren's advances and he lost his infinite patience / character with extremely questionable ethics / wow another nsfw in this blog? / you’re lucky this isn’t visual / i know in canon Rendacted would never hurt MC BUT HEY god gave me the ability to write and im making that everyone else's problem / surreal strength for the sake of the plot, IMPORTANT POINT

It was quite comfortable, having a friend like Ren could even be strange, he looked like cotton candy and it was very nice to spend time together. But then again, you were just friends, it was a little strange that he mentioned being in a relationship with you.

But things have taken a bit of a drastic turn, Ren has spent his days trying to hang out with you, having lunch together, spending nights watching anime and horror movies, that would be nice if it didn't feel so overwhelming.

So it's time to confront him.

"Ren, hey, I know you like me a lot but we can't go out every day, I'm not always up for that so… I'll let you know when we can go out, okay?"

And there was only silence from the pink-haired boy, he seemed to be trying to smile unsuccessfully, just looking at you.

"Of course, angel, don't forget to call me!" He spoke nervously trying to hold back the storm in his throat.

Just when you were about to leave a hand grabbed your forearm, Ren was still looking at you with a smile, a sad smile.

"You're going to call me, right?" He asks, his eyes widening in desperation, Ren didn't want to lose you, he couldn't stand it, not again, what if you're thinking about slowly walking away?

"Sure, later" was the only thing you mentioned before pulling your arm to leave, it's not like you had an avoidant attachment pfff!

The days passed and life could be considered calm, you went out with your friends, you greeted your strange neighbor who loved to walk to her floors, work was not unpleasant and you even bought yourself a small dessert for dinner tonight.

You and Moth talked late into the night about the new episodes and since Haruko was so adorable, life felt peaceful once again. It's not that Ren was a problem, he was attractive and if you had enough self-esteem you would think you had a chance with him but…

I suppose not.

Speaking of Ren, what is he doing now? Visiting him would be a good idea, it's been days since they last spoke.

Once morning arrived you headed towards his large apartment and knocked on the door, not long after it was opened by Ren, who looked just like an abandoned puppy, you could almost see his eyes shine and his breath was lost just by seeing you in front of him. him.

"Angel, you're here! oh god, I-I'm so sorry for the mess, I didn't expect you to come… to my apartment…" It sounded a little strange, but it was just Ren being shy.

"Yeah uh… I'm sorry, are you busy? I can go, yes, maybe I should have let you know I was coming."

"No! NO! it's okay, you just surprised me, do you want a drink? I have your fav-… many options! I have many drink options" He corrected himself immediately with a smile, his face was almost the color of his hair and I was dying to say that I miss you so much.

"Or we can go out, do you want to visit the new cafe? Maybe we can-…"

“No” You interrupted, it sounded a little rude so you cleared your throat. "Now I'm not sure, I was just passing by to say hello, plus I don't have money to buy something…"

"I can buy it for you," he said almost immediately, his eyes fixed on you, almost sweating from having you close.

"That's very generous, Ren, but…"

"Please! It's your day off, right? We could go out and…"

"Ren, I'm not-…"

"Please, angel!" He begged, his hand had climbed to your arm and you didn't even notice, he was now gently squeezing your shoulder, wanting closeness, wanting to date, wanting you and you kept pushing him away.

The atmosphere was a little awkward now, you didn't know whether to be flattered that he thought you were interesting enough for Ren to want to spend time with you or scared by how desperate he looked about it.

"No thanks, I think I better go back to my apartment" You mentioned as you pushed his hand from your arm, you didn't even have time to turn to the door when Ren grabbed your arm tightly, a painful grip.

"Ren?"

"Can we be together, please? I-I'll make you feel special, I want you to be okay and I want you to…" his expression seemed so… surprised, to see you, embarrassed to act like that? scared of being abandoned? overstimulated? "all I want is to be with you!"

He almost roared out, his grip on your arm becoming more and more painful, he was pulling you away from the exit door.

"Ren, that hurts! REN! REN!"

"JUST LET ME HOLD YOUR HAND FOREVER!" He begged between screams, only a beeping sound existed in his head as he watched you fall to the ground in a pool of blood.

Now you were on the ground, screaming and crying out loud, it was agony, Ren had hurt you.

For fuck's sake, not only did he hurt you, he tore your fucking arm off and now you were writhing in your blood as you slowly lost consciousness.

Wake up.

Your body was still shaking, you were still terrified, and you had to escape, where was your arm? As soon as you woke up you found a sweaty Ren who was looking at you with a desperate and nervous smile.

It was a deranged look, almost immediately you started crying out of panic, your arm was gone, your arm, he tore it off, you were hyperventilating as you watched his left arm missing.

"REN! REN!!" You were sobbing in despair, the pool of blood was still on the floor, how long were you unconscious? not much because apparently Ren had tried to stop the bleeding and close the wound, seeing bandages full of blood made you vomit immediately, but that didn't stop you from crying in agony.

"Angel, please! s-stop crying, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, please forgive me! FORGIVE ME, I DIDN'T WANT TO! IT WAS NOT MY INTENTION!" He begged you as he sobbed himself, he had hurt you and that was something he never thought of doing, that he never wanted to do. "l-look, now we are equal, can you forgive me?"

What did he say ..?

Your throat had closed and the screams stopped, that guy was fucking deranged.

He ripped his left arm off of him.

For you.

He came up to hug you, wanting to be comforting, to make you feel accompanied in this, to give you love in such a dark time.

No no no no.

"NO! NO! NOOO! PLEASE, NO!" You screamed in panic as the tears came out, that couldn't be happening, disgust and terror filled your poor mind as you were caressed with so much love, Ren was going to take care of you and promised to never hurt you again.

"We'll be fine angel, just trust me, I'll take care of you." He spoke so lovingly, smiling as he held you, genuinely happy to be so close, to be able to touch you. "Now we match, right?"

He was joking at a moment like that, as if it were nothing, the sobs no longer came out, you could barely breathe while the tears didn't stop and he lulled you into your chest with the help of his only arm.

♡

[madridfangirl]

Star crossed lovers (Jude Bellingham fanfic)

Chapter 4

(Series Link)

Jude * female reader

Warnings: None. Slightly mature language in parts.

Synopsis: A chance encounter in a tiny Madrid cafe with the newest superstar of her fav club. The two couldn't be more different, yet both feel the pull toward the other. Would this girl be the one he finally falls for? Would she make him change his ways? Even though she resists him every step of the way, would he fight all odds (& her) to have her in his life? Or would life come in the way of these star-crossed lovers?

…………………………..

Jude let go of her hands, which fell in her lap, and took two steps back to look at her. The mood needed some lightening up.

‘Look at you, shooting me down two nights in a row. One would think I played for Barca, not Madrid.’

This made her look back at him. His silliness made her smile, she couldn’t help herself.

‘There is no way I would be sitting in your kitchen if that were the case.’

‘Finally, the sass is back. Hallelujah!’

He mimicked his celebration, with his hands raised, quite proud of himself in the moment.

She tried kicking his knee to wipe that smirk off his face but he dodged just in time, both laughing by now.

‘Let’s get some food in you. And more wine, definitely more wine. Then we will talk.’

They moved to the living room couch with their dinner and drinks, and settled on watching an episode of Friends. Both knew the show by heart and it served as the perfect distraction. The food was lovely too. White sauce pasta was her ultimate comfort food - she had no idea how he chose this or if it was just something his cook decided to make.

But what helped the most was the wine. It tasted like little drops of heaven. She knew it would be some fancy ass bottle she won’t even be able to pronounce so she didn’t even bother checking the name.

It had started raining by then, she could see the downpour through the French windows facing the backyard. And in Madrid, when it rained, it poured.

While she was looking outside, he cleared the empty plates and came back to the couch with re-filled glasses.

‘Agnes will drop you back later, don’t worry. He’s awesome at driving.’

She turned around and thanked him with a genuine smile, taking the glass from his outstretched hand.

‘Now, tell me, why so intent on shooting me down?’

He tilted his head towards her, patiently waiting for a response. Ananya looked down wryly, while her fingers played with the fabric of the couch.

‘It’s not something I set out to do. But, you and me, we are so different. Don’t you think?’

‘Why do you think so?’

‘Isn’t it obvious? Our jobs, our worlds, our lives, our circles, our priorities - every damn thing is different. There is nothing in common.’

‘Or we are two young, lively, ambitious people, enjoying life in a new city while still being connected to our families back home. That’s how I see it.’

She shook her head in frustration.

‘C’monn, Jude. I am sure you can see my point. You can see what I mean.’

He scanned her face for a few seconds, before conceding.

‘Alright, cool. Yes, we are different. Why is that such a bad thing though? Don’t opposites attract?’

‘Only in movies. And novels. Not in real life. Practicality always wins in real life.’

‘Don’t believe in romance then? In love and fairy tales?’

‘Romance, yes. Love, yes. But not in fairy tales. Not in Price Charming or a White Knight. Not in some star crossed lovers kinda story.’

‘That’s too much scepticism for a 20 year old, y’know.’

She just shrugged in response. He wondered if there was a story behind it. If something, someone rather, made her feel this way. But that thought was so unpleasant that he quickly snapped out of it. Conversation for another time.

‘Ok, let’s stick to practicality then. Let’s break it down. Why can’t we give this a try and see where it goes? Why do we have to think 50 steps ahead on day 1?

‘Define giving it a try.’

‘Dating.’

‘And what would that entail?’

He had been leaning against the back of the couch but sat upright then, and looked at her quizzically.

‘You are asking me what dating entails?’

‘No. I am asking what dating you entails. Would it mean going to your matches, going out in the city with you, to be clicked in public with you? Yeah?’

‘Well, yeah, I guess.’

She sighed, and he put his glass on the table, utterly confused now. When she spoke next, her voice was small but firm.

‘The thing is, just the thought of that, of so many eyes on me is nauseating. It makes me want to run. I can’t handle the pressure of being in the public eye like that. Of being under constant scrutiny. The media will dig out every photo, every text, every said and unsaid thing. And not just that, the fans Jude. Some of your fan girls will absolutely detest my existence, for not being deserving in their eye of the most sought after guy in all of Europe maybe. And I live here, right in the epicentre of all this. It won’t just be virtual. It will be everywhere around me.’

Ananya took a big sip from her glass, almost gulping down the remaining half in one go. While he sat still, trying to process everything she was saying. She continued immediately after.

‘Also, who’s gonna take me seriously at work then? Do you know how hard it is to get into investment banking? There are so few women who graduate to leadership roles in this field - the glass ceiling is present and real. And I am just starting out. I worked my ass off to get here. But they will all just look at me as your…, as some kind of floozy..’

He didn’t let her finish. Jude grabbed both her hands, held them together between his and squeezed firmly.

‘Shhhhhhhh, calm down, calm down babe. I hear you.’

She breathed heavily, gradually opening her eyes as he kept making shushing noises in the meantime.

His eyes were kind and sincere, seeking hers. She nearly got pulled into them but managed to regain her balance. He spoke softly, with understanding.

‘It’s not that bad for some guys, y’know. Tony was telling me how Jessica has pretty much been able to do her own thing here, without much glare. Same for quite a few other guys.’

‘Jude, they are not you. And please don’t make me explain what that means, you already know it.’

Yes, he knew what she meant. She could see it with the resignation in his eyes.

It was his turn to look away to compose himself. She couldn’t resist admiring his face from so close, as he was lost in thought.

‘How about this - we don’t tell anyone. No one. Just you and me. We meet either here or at your place. I will find a way to get there without being seen. No media. No fans. No pictures. No drama. No pressure. Till we are ready. Till you are ready.’

His eyes had changed shade again, filled with resolve now.

She considered every word and replayed it over in her head.

‘That’s not ideal for you, though, is it?’

‘Maybe it is. The media finds enough fodder to rip apart my life and my family’s as it is, let’s not give them more juice. It could be a good thing dove, seriously.’

She scanned his face to see if he really meant what he said. When she couldn’t find any evidence to the contrary, she let out a little sigh.

‘You are sweet.’

‘You are pretty.’

His instant response threw her off-guard. The look of surprise on her face and her failed attempt to speak was deeply amusing to him. Along with the little blush that was starting to creep up at the top of her cheeks.

She pulled out her hands from his hold, gathered herself and tried to look admonishing. He just laughed at her response and flashed her his biggest smile, all 32 teeth visible.

Ananya was convinced he was just trying to distract her from the conversation. The darned thing was, it was working.

‘Can you please be serious, Jude?’

‘I say it as I see it.’

He retorted, meeting the challenge in her voice.

Just then, his phone rang loudly and they both jumped from the suddenness of it. He looked at the phone, then looked at her indecisively.

‘Umm, it’s my Mum.’

‘Go talk to her, she must be calling about the match. What are you waiting for?’

He beamed happily at her, almost thanking her for understanding. Then quickly answered the phone, moving to the next room. She could see him through the glass windows, walking up and down, practically skipping with joy while discussing the match with his mom.

It was such a sweet moment. He looked like a 5 year old little boy telling his mom he came first in a school race. The love was practically radiating from his being.

She smiled, then busied herself with her phone. Giving them their privacy.

Her insta was filled with messages of shock, awe and jealousy of them getting to watch the Classico live. She chuckled and scrolled through all, reminding herself to respond later.

Roma had sent her a few messages too, asking her how it was going. And throwing in some deeply suggestive comments in between. Ananya could tell her friend was drunk. If only she knew what was really happening here, she would probably murder her.

What was really happening here? She was ruining what was probably the best day of his life yet by discussing her complicated thoughts. He could have been celebrating with his teammates right now, or with anyone else. He deserved to have the moon tonight, not what they were doing.

Guilt set in and she kicked herself for coming over in the first place. He would have been upset but surely he would have found ways to get over it quickly.

The constant pattering of rain outside served as a good distraction. She walked over to the French windows and settled down on the comfy floor seating. The cushions were cozy and the throw was soft; she pulled it up till her waist and shut her eyes for a bit.

She still hadn’t told him the other piece of her hesitation. It was a trickier conversation - she didn’t know how to articulate it, or if she even wanted to. She didn’t know how he would react to such vulnerable admissions. Tonight was so not the night, such horrible timing.

Just then, she heard half-frantic footsteps in the background and moments later she saw him turn the corner.

‘There you are. Thought you ran away without telling me.’

She elbowed his side lightly as he settled down next to her on the floor seating, leaning against the cushions.

‘You think I would do that?.’

‘Been trying to run since yesterday. Don’t trust you yet.’

They were side by side, facing the windows but turned slightly towards each other. Ananya chose to not address the last comment.

‘How was the call? She must have been happy.’

There was the little boy again, smiling from ear to ear, radiating such affection for his mom that it made her heart flutter.

‘She was over the moon. But she’s always like that - twice as happy as me for anything I do. Same with Jobe. She’s just a bundle of love.’

This was just cheating at this point. How was she supposed to resist him like this? But she had to get it off her chest, before it was too late. Before something happens that she can’t go back on.

His eyes turned yet another shade, intense. She could feel them roaming over her now.

‘Listen, about earlier.’

‘Oh yes. Sorry for the interruption. You said there was something else. Tell me.’

Her fingers dug into the cushion as she struggled to articulate this sensitive topic. He watched her movements closely, letting her take his time.

‘I came out of a serious relationship, in fact the only relationship I have been in, about 6 months ago. It was hard, coz I thought that person was THE person I will end up with. He said all the right things, did all the right things but eventually when it came to it, he didn’t have it in him to fight for us enough.’

Jude grabbed a nearby cushion too, resisting the urge to bite on it or rip it open. He could tell her scepticism had a story behind it and this seemed to be that.

‘Not gonna bore you with more about that. But long story short, the idea of being with someone is a bit daunting for me right now. A lot of my fundamental beliefs have been shaken, including my ability to trust in my instincts, which I thought I was good at. I am still trying to piece myself back together block by block. That was another reason to pick Madrid - a complete change of environment. I am not…as in I don’t have any feelings for him anymore but it’s myself that I am trying to understand better. Not sure if that makes sense but that’s what it is. ‘

Just my luck, he thought. The cushion was living on borrowed life in his hands at this point but Jude was proud of the way he had kept his face calm and neutral.

‘Thank you for sharing this with me, couldn’t have been easy. Look, I get it. Coming out of a long relationship can be hard. I have also been in one. Though, I don’t think I was ready for it at the time and I can’t claim to have been a good boyfriend either. But we all learn and grow from our experiences, right? Can’t stop trusting our instincts. Think of it this way - you knew all this yet you are here tonight. Something pulled you towards me. Don’t let your brain deny that.’

Well, she wasn’t denying the pull she felt towards him. She was trying to make sense of it with him. But he still hadn’t gotten the full picture. She needed to spell it out crudely so he really gets it.

Ananya looked straight at him for this - so she could see his reaction closely.

‘Jude - I don’t think I am ready for anything physical. And I don’t know when I will be ready. Or if I will be ready. That’s what I have been trying to tell you.’

She watched the realisation dawn on his face then. Well, finally, she thought. When he didn’t speak for the next 30 seconds, she chimed in again.

‘Look - I know this is atypical and I know this won’t work for you. I get it. We can look at last two days as a different experience and just call it a night. It’s absolutely fine.’

His head shot up at her, and his tone was sharp, for the first time tonight.

‘Sorry - what do you mean you KNOW this won’t work for me?’

‘Because it won’t work for most people in your position.’

She said calmly, trying to keep an even tone.

‘IN MY POSITION? You mean a footballer right? And you know this how? Let me guess - media, social media and gossip pages, correct?’

‘Jude, I..’

‘Tell me this - have I done ANYTHING in the last two days to make you uncomfortable? Did I push you, touch you or even look at you when you didn’t want me to?

‘Please don’t say that. You haven’t. That’s not what I..’

‘Then why, why did you of all people assume I was some sex-crazed animal who is only interested in fucking anyone with….’

She crossed the distance between them, kneeled in front of him and covered his mouth with her hand.

‘Stop, please stop. I am sorry. That’s not what I meant. And yes, I shouldn’t have drawn any conclusions from the media. You are right. Pls I beg you, just calm down. I am so so sorry.’

She could feel his heavy breathing on her hand, but atleast he didn’t push her away. The fight drained out from his eyes slowly, replaced with hurt. Which killed her even more. She moved her hands to his shoulders, gently stroking both.

He spoke in a small voice then, the twinkle lost from his eyes.

‘What did you mean then, if not all that?’

‘I meant that, someone like you, who has the world at his feet right now, who has enough high stakes as it is in his day job, why would such a person want this kind of a restricted set-up? I am sure models, actresses and all such sexy women must be throwing themselves at you left, right and center. You could be with anyone you want to be with.’

He seemed to believe her explanation, from the way his shoulders relaxed and his expression softened.

‘Clearly, not anyone.’

He pointed in her direction. When she didn’t say anything, he reached for her hands lying on his shoulders. And gently, fleetingly brushed his lips on the back of both.

She gasped & shut her eyes, willing herself to not melt. Failing miserably.

‘I believe I have the right to decide who I find sexy. And dove, you are the reason I struggled to sleep last night. Haven’t stopped thinking about you.’

Ananya wanted to hide from his gaze which was burning her even with her eyes closed. But she was transfixed.

‘Plus you are smart, a little lippy, highly opinionated, well-read, brave, vulnerable, honest and so so real. Gosh, I love that about you.’

He requested her to look at him. She obliged.

‘I would take you right now if you were in the same headspace. God knows I have thought about it. But, if taking things slow is what you need and the alternative is you walking out that door forever, then let’s go at a turtle pace. Can’t let go of you.’

He pulled them both up to their feet, standing a few inches away from each other.

Then, he opened his arms for her, inviting her in. She looked between his arms and his face which had an expectant smile, then back to his open arms.

‘Come here, come to me.’

Next second, she found herself against his chest. Strong arms wrapped around her in a gentle hold, pulling her further into his chest. While her hands went around his broad back, clutching at his jumper.

This wasn’t like anything she had ever felt before. His scent, his warmth, his breath, his presence fogged her mind and made her oblivious to everything else in the world.

Jude kissed the top of her head and rested his cheek against it. She bit her cheek to not let out a moan, but failed, making him smile.

‘Feeling what I am feeling?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will you give us a chance, then?’

‘You haven’t left me with a choice.’

‘Finally. Two wins in the same night, I am truly on a roll.’

She giggled against his chest at his silliness, and he followed suit. Feeling his laugh reverberate through his whole body was a feeling she couldn’t describe in words. It was something pure, something ethereal.

They swayed in each other’s arms for minutes, not wanting to let go. Not wanting to disturb the peace of the moment.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she grudgingly removed her cheek that was placed against his chest, and looked up at him.

‘It must be late. I should go now.’

‘If you want, you can take the guest bedroom. And leave in the morning whenever you want.’

‘I have some work in the morning, have to send out some stuff to the New York office.’

‘Agnes can pick up your laptop and bring it here.’

‘Jude - I really don’t think we should be under the same roof tonight.’

‘Don’t trust me?’

‘Don’t trust either of us right now, to be honest.’

He flashed her a mind-numbing smile.

‘Already can’t resist me? I knew it.’

‘Shut up and let me go.’

‘Five more minutes?’

‘Fine.’

She rested her cheek on his chest again, while his went on her head. His arms gently stroking her back, building a cocoon of comfort. They stayed like that for more than 5 mins.

……………………………………………

There you go - hope you are liking the story so far.

Feedback is very very welcome :)