#and i just fully predicted that they switched bodies

[once-upon-the-earth]

did i ever tell anybody about the weirdly prophetic dream i had about good omens s3 BEFORE i even watched the show?

i dont think i did, listen up

so before i watched it a few months back, i had knowledge about like three things about this show. First of all, it was about an angel and a demon being in love with each other since the start of time and pining (you kinda understand that quickly when youre on tumblr even if you havent watched it), secondly, at some point they kiss and people are mad about it (i saw a gifset) and thirdly, there were nuns involved somehow. I also need people to understand that i only watched this show after some coercing because i knew it was exactly to my tastes and i would go insane about it but i would also have to suffer through a bad ending (didnt know a s3 was already confirmed at the time, or even that there should be one), so i mostly deliberately kept away from any content. so what did my brain do with those small scraps? Well, of course it told me to go get insane about it now or otherwise, it would come up with increasingly weird dreams featuring crowley and aziraphale as side characters, until at some point, turning the dreams into a literal storyline with them as the two main characters about how, and i still cant believe my brain predicted that, they were trying to buy a cottage together. And the nuns, which my brain threw in for some variety, were trying to chase them out (they were kind of a weird cult) until at some point they kissed (in the house. It was very epic and looked a little like a replay of the gifset) and the nuns were convinced to let them go because they didnt want to be homophobic or something.

genuinely how did I dream of them doing the whole south downs cottage thing before i got into the fandom or knew literally anything about them? I think the south downs cottage ending is simply destined to be, thats how.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

To be alone with you 8

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, power imbalance, cheating, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your babysitting gig becomes complicated. (f!plus sized!reader)

Character: dilf!Clark Kent

Note: who predicted 2024 would be the year I converted to Cavill.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The blinds are drawn as you hug your pillow with one arm. Your body is stiff as you sleep with one leg hooked around your blankets, the bottom of one cheek exposed to the steady blow of AC. You shiver and roll onto your back, pulling the covers around you fully.

The night before is a vague shadow in your mind. You remember starting the movie but not much else. You’d been so tired after the break-in, you must’ve passed out almost immediately. You feel bad, hoping that Clark doesn’t take it to heart.

You push yourself up. Your head is thick and full with sleep. You haven't slept like this in forever. Your mouth is dry but tangy. You swallow the gritty morning and cough, turning to dangle your legs over the edge.

Your striped shorts are crooked and wrinkly and your tee shirt smells like sweat. Ugh. You're a mess. 

You stand and lumber around clumsily. You grab a change of clothes and try to stretch out the kinks as you cross the hall to the bathroom. You close the door and put your clothes on the counter, facing your reflection.

You look rough. You feel just as bad. You turn on the cold water and splash it over your face before you brush your teeth, scraping out the stale taste stuck to your tongue. You turn on the shower and undress, wincing as your thighs meet.

You must be close to your time of the month. You get a bit sensitive. It would explain your fatigue and the soreness. Great. 

You step into the glass booth and wash yourself. The warm water is soothing against your stiff muscles. God, you really hurt. You reach down to touch your folds, checking your fingers for blood.

PMS is a bitch. Not enough to bleed for a week, your body has to gaslight you into thinking you are already.

After, you pull on the fresh clothes but hardly feel more awake. Just sluggish and achy. Coffee. You don't live off it like your sister but you need it in that moment.

Thinking of, where is your sister? Not too unusual for her to he errant but it's been a few days.

As you come downstairs, you hear snoring rumbling through the first floor. You slow and tiptoe into the front room. You cautiously approach the couch and find Clark, arms crossed, sleeping on his side, cramped into the small space as he slumbers. The small throw stretched over his shoulders. 

Your stomach pits. You're certain he'd much rather be at home in his own bed. Your guilt keeps you from disturbing him.

You creep into the kitchen, making your movement muted and staggered. You flip the switch on the kettle and wait as it hums. You load the french press with grinds and teeter on your toes, dancing nervously around the tile. 

You pour the boiling water into the press and check the time on the stove. You give it time to brew and lean on the island, listlessly cupping your chin and tapping your cheek with your fingertips. As you blow out, you hear the floorboards and stand up to greet Clark as he enters. 

His hair is askew, eyes droopy, and the blanket still draped around his neck. You didn't realise before he hadn't been wearing a shirt. His pajamas hang low on his stomach, the dark hair across his chest and trailing down his stomach exposed shamelessly. You gulp and focus on his face. 

“Smells like coffee,” he grins crookedly, “morning.”

“Morning, uh, I hope I didn't wake you up,” you squeak.

“Not at all,” he waves you off, “you passed out so quick, I figured you'd be up and at em. Besides, Jonny’s an early riser.”

“Oh, okay,” you turn to press down the plunger on the press, “I'm sorry I zonked out so fast–”

There's less resistance than you expect and the coffee splashes up and overflows, splashing your hands as you recoil with a yipe. You try to shake it off but a particular spot on the back of your hand singes badly. Before you can think, Clark has your arm and angles you to the sink as he flips on the cold water.

He guides your hand under, crowding you as your arm shakes in pain. You hiss even as the water soothes. 

“Oh, I'm so clumsy,” you murmur.

“As long as you're okay,” he slowly lets you go, “you let me take care of this.”

He swipes up the dish towel and sops up the errant drops of coffee. He dries off the outside of the press and patiently pushes down the plunger. You turn off the water and use a fresh towel on your hands.

He faces you, “blistering?”

You look at your hand, “just tender.”

“You're lucky I'm here,” he chortles, “scare away all the bad men and take care of your burns.”

“Ha, yeah, I–”

“Mm, something smells like cherry blossoms,” he interrupts, sniffing the air, his blue eyes narrowing on you, “is that you?”

“Um, yeah,” you catch a wafting scent from your body, “that's my body soap. Oh no, is it setting you off?”

“Not at all,” he smiles, “I was more worried about you.”

“Ah, no, it's fine. The soap doesn't trigger me surprisingly.”

“Hm,” he leans on the counter, gripping the edge as you notice how his stomach muscles clench, “I bought Lois some cherry blossom soap once. She never used it. Guess it isn't her scent.”

“Not for everyone I guess,” you turn and open a cupboard, taking down two mugs.

“Mm, yeah,” he agrees dully, “well, I should call your dad over my coffee,” he pushes himself straight and nears, stopping right beside you as you pour into the cups, “maybe after we can go get breakfast. My treat.”

“Oh, you don't have to–”

“I want to. Kinda weird not having Jonny around, looking fir a distraction,” he accepts a mug as you slide it over to him.

“Makes sense,” you say, “well, who am I to deny a free meal?”

🏡

After searching your coffee cup for an ounce of strength, you give in to the persistent glaze in your eyes. Maybe eating will help. Clark's offer is generous, almost too generous, yet your stomach clenches at the thought of food.

You grab your purse and head down to find Clark. He's in the kitchen, rinsing his mug, your own forgotten on your night stand. He dries it and puts it away as you wait for him to notice you.

“Did you talk to my dad?” You ask.

“Yeah, actually, couldn't get through. They must be on the road. Service gets spotty, right?” He hangs the dish towel neatly, “so you ready? I gotta stop by my place and change but then we can eat.”

“Sure, uh, well, you know, if it's too much…”

“Not at all, I'm excited. There's this place I've been meaning to try for a while but Lois hasn't felt like it,” he says, “tried calling her too. Think she's still mad at me.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Kent.”

“Clark,” he corrects you, “you make me feel so old.”

“Sorry,” you apologize again.

“It's fine,” he shrugs, “we should get going. I'm starving.”

“Not gonna lie, me too.”

“Must've been all the salty snacks last night,” he kids.

🏡

After you stop at the Kents', you set off for breakfast. The more you think about it the hungrier you are. You grow restless as you watch several options pass by, holding your tongue as Clark keeps driving.

You're surprised as he passes the city limits and you shift in your seat, craning to watch the sign pass. He clears his throat and turns down the radio, "almost there. Guess I shoulda mentioned it's all the way out here."

"Nah, it's fine," you shrug, "just curious."

"Really cute place, locally owned," he explains, "I prefer to give my money to an honest family business, you know?"

"Totally get it," you say coolly.

He taps his fingers on the wheel, as if he's restless or even agitated. He pulls into a gravel lot off the country road and you look up at the painted side. You passed this place with your parents a few times but never pulled over. It's a quaint brunch restaurant in a cottage-style house.

"Oh, this place," you chuckle.

"You been here?" He asks.

"No, but I've seen it."

"Right," he intones and clicks free his seat belt.

You free yourself of your own seat belt and climb out as he mirrors you. You let him take the lead and follow him to the front door. He holds it open and you enter ahead of him. You're greeted inside by an elderly lady.

"Good morning, may I show you to a table?" She offers.

You nod as Clark gives a vocal response over your head. She leads you to a table for two. You notice the place isn't very busy. There's an older man in the corner drinking coffee over a newspaper but no one else.

You sit as she introduces herself as Lena and promises menus. She shuffles away as you look at Clark who seems enamoured with the place. He admires the painting of flowers not far from your table and the lacy curtains around the front windows. It's cute but a bit outdated.

"There ya go, honies," she lays two menus on the table, her knobby hands shaking, "would you like coffee or tea?"

"Coffee, please, and..." he looks at you.

"Green tea, please."

"Coffee and green," she repeats, "lovely."

She hobbles away and you shift awkwardly in your seat. She must be the only waitress. In a place like this, you're not surprised. You just hope the food is decent, not that you can be picky.

"This place is nice," he muses, "peaceful."

"Yeah, it's interesting," you say as you pick up the menu. 

"I'm glad you got some sleep," he takes his own menu and browses it lazily, "glad I could be there to keep an eye out. Protect you."

"Ah, well, yeah, I don't think they guy would come back anyway but it did help," you give a small smile and settle on eggs benedict.

"Great," he puffs out his chest just a little. 

You peek up at him. It must be a good distraction for him. With Lois and Jonny gone, he needs something to keep him busy. You can humour him.

"Here ya go, sweets," Lena returns with a mug off coffee and a teacup on a saucer. She places both shakily and stands as straight as she can to ask if you've decided on what you want.

Clark lets you order first and you speak loudly and slowly to the woman as she cups her ear. She repeats it back to you before listening aptly to Clark. When she's done, she gives a soft clap and goes back behind the counter. She scribbles on a piece of paper and puts it in the window.

You glance over at the window, distracting yourself with the blowing grass. Somehow out here, you don't feel the same tickle in your sinuses. You sit back and cross your arms, watching the lazy blue sky.

"Oh, it's so romantic, a nice breakfast for two," Lena startles you as she appears again. She places a candlestick in the middle of the table then puts a wax taper in it. You can only stare and share look with Clark as she lights it, "you are so darling together. Is it a special occasion?"

"Uh," you bite your lip and look at Clark.

"Just breakfast," he answers as he throws his hands up, "spur of the moment, you know?"

"That's precious," she squeals, "you are such a beautiful pair."

"Thanks," Clark says and you just smile awkwardly.

She winks and leaves once more. You watch her cross the restaurant and sit with the old man and his newspaper. He lowers it as she whispers to him. You turn back and face Clark, leaning forward.

"I think she thinks we're together," you keep your voice quiet, "like a couple."

"Eh yeah, I didn't want it to be awkward," he shrugs, "no harm in it, really."

Your mouth slants as you consider his response. You guess he's right. What will it hurt? She's just a lonely old woman.

"What?" He tilts his head.

"Nothing," you answer.

"Really? I mean, I could correct her if it's a big deal--"

"It's not, really," you lean forward and cross your arms over the table, "just funny, I guess. Second time it's happened."

"It is?" He furrows his thick brows.

"Yeah, the ice cream guy..." you trail off, "whatever. Just... I'm kinda young but maybe don't look it."

"It's flattering, really," he insists, "people really think I could be with someone like you."

"Well, I mean, Lois is gorgeous," you laugh, "so..."

"Lucky man, surrounded by beautiful women," he grins.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you sit back awkwardly, not expecting the compliment. You're nothing like Lois, love handles excluded, you still couldn't compare. You're just the babysitter. “Thanks, that's… you don't have to say that.”

“Well, you are,” he rubs his neck bashfully.

“Ha, yeah, well…” you clasp your hands in your lap and look again out the window.

As you watch the horizon over the dusty road, your heart roils in the tension. There's something nipping at your mind, just on the edge of your memory but you just can't grasp it. Is he just being nice or is there something more behind his compliments?

Don't be silly, he doesn't see you like that. He couldn't.

[mischiefmaker615]

Take Me to Church

Inspiration: "Take Me to Church" by Hozier

Summary: Even a god can worship..

Requester: @slytherinqueen4life

Rating: R

Loki’s POV

Those eyes.. those eyes hold far more cruelty than I ever had in all the nine realms..

So much power.. power I could never ask for, for they demand submission.

My submission..

Her beautiful hair fell over her shoulders, framing her gaze while she kept me beneath her. Her nails dug into my shoulders, indicating through strength just how much she was taking me in.

I could watch her all day..

How she dragged herself up and down while I felt every inch of her grip me like a vice. I knew what she was doing, and gods knew how long she’d keep me over this cruel edge before she’d decide for when I could fall..

‘’Norns..’’ I breathed out, barely a whisper while my hips bucked instinctually up now and again and would earn myself another squeeze of her cunt. Gods she could ride me all day I’d still never tire..

And just before I could feel that heavenly state of bliss, her cruelty would begin again and she would seat herself down on my cock, rendering me immobile once more while I remained with her cold chains around my wrists. Gods knew I could break these, easily, but there was something about her.. her fierceness, her power, her domination that kept me from taking control.

She could have It all if it pleased her.. that’s all I could live for..

She would wait until she had me fidgeting, aching to rut into her again but I knew better than to move. Rewards were far but oh so worth the wait. As my eyes closed, willing patience once more before she decided to move her hips again- she removed herself entirely from my cock.

Confusion more than anything had me raise my head to look upon her, fully prepared to beg if I needed to for her to return and sheath my cock once more- but she had different plans.

Her knees brought her up my body, her dainty yet capable hands helping her along while she crawled to my gaze, her own piercing mine.

Gods yes.. just as I find myself struggling often to predict her next move, this one I found myself guessing easily..

Eagerly..

My nails dug into my palms, willing myself to remain patient, even while my mouth watered in demand. My cock hardened impossibly more and my muscles tensed to remain still.

Her knees finally.. finally planted themselves beside my head, and yet she still cruelly waited until she found me fidgeting once more.

Damn her sometimes..

But one found no room to complain when their mouth was busy.

I found hear her nails digging into the fabricated headboard while my impatient breaths fanned her cunt. Her thigh muscles tensed and I dared wondered if she was as desperate as I was while she kept up her cruel game.

Norns let me give you my life if you grant me this very moment to worship you in the bedroom.. to hold onto my promises I’ve vowed when you’ve so diligently and deliciously broke yours..

But not this one..

She finally sank herself down, a mix between a sigh and a gasp leaving her lips when her cunt enveloped my tongue. She began to slowly pull herself up, only to sink herself more onto my muscle I kept upward for her.

The mere taste of her had me humming against her flesh, the vibrations enough to earn me a faster pace while her hips began to tilt and sway back and forth. This action allowed her to use the tip of my nose to grind against her clit, the part of her I would help myself whenever she would offer it to my lips. Now and again she would oblige, grant for mere moments of mercy where I would lift my head up eagerly to suck upon her swollen bud and caress it with my tongue.

I could die like this.. gladly suffocate with her thighs pressed against my cheeks and her scent intoxicating my senses..

Another moan of pleasure from me would give another level of speed from her. Her legs would begin to shake while she would switch her position to where she so desperately needed me. Once she would remove her bud from my lips she would then hump it against my nose, indicating how much she needed my tongue inside her before she would switch off again.

My tongue couldn’t get any deeper in her- despite it’s attempts to reach her soul. It would desperately thrust up into her, acting as the one part of me that remained at attention for it’s turn.. but not now.. this was her pleasure, and she was going to take it..

Another moan left my lips, already feeling her walls began to flutter while I caressed her entrance, having found out just how close she was before she quickly moved her clit back to my mouth with a failed attention to hide what I already knew.

I knew what she wanted and how she would end this.

With desperate pants leaving her mouth, I felt her fingers glide into my hair, helping to lift my head and press my face more into her cunt while she weighed herself more upon her knees in an attempt to get closer. I ate like I was a starving man with the idea that only her essence could revive me from Hel’s torment..

With just the beginning of her moan, I was ready for her and she drew herself up quickly before my tongue shot right into her core, my nose and mouth pressing up into her with eager movements, I had her coming with a cry.

She was mewling upon shaking limbs, my name flowing from her lips as if I were the one to have dominated her..

With a single sound of a click, I could feel my arms sink into the mattress once she’s released me from my bounds. Her game was over, she was raising her white flag and recovering from battle while I feel her legs muster enough strength to raise herself from my mouth.

This wasn’t over.

Upon her surrender my hands instantly flew to her hips, stopping her in her tracks as she even dared flex a muscle to dismount from her perch. Her breath hitched, showing she had taken on a sudden confused state but she and I both knew that once she resigned, I was back in control and therefore making sure she planted herself back onto my face and stayed there until I have had enough.

Her moans and cries fell upon deaf ears.

 She’s brought me upon her religion and I fully intended on committing until I am at her mercy once more and begging for salvation. As cruel as she may be out there, behind these walls she’s granted me heaven.

So let me worship.. and take me to church..

(perhaps a failed attempt at being poetic but my brain demanded his POV on this one Lol)

(DM a song for your own Musical Mischief Loki one shot :D )

Tag List: @foxherder13 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz @nervouseden @kathren1sky-blog @eleniblue @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @queenofstarsign85 @gemini-serpentis

[anna-the-undertaker]

Well, I was thinking about a Beel x MC fic where MC decides to switch stomachs with Beel for a day as a surprise, so he could feel full after so long and not be in pain. But they have to handle his hunger on a leash

This was such a wholesome idea. I hope I captured what you had in mind.

Full

MC had spent countless days watching Beel’s struggle with his insatiable hunger—the constant gnawing pain that never seemed to ease. They had seen him down mountains of food, only for that empty ache to persist, and the more they saw it, the more determined they became to give him even a moment of relief. It was a wild idea, something they’d been working on in secret, consulting with Solomon to craft a spell that would let them switch stomachs with Beel for a day. A surprise. A gift. But one with consequences they couldn’t fully predict.

The morning of the switch, MC woke up early, nerves and determination battling within them. They had gone over the spell with Solomon, making sure they understood every aspect of it, knowing that it wouldn’t be easy. The hunger of a demon, especially Beel’s, was nothing like a human’s. His was all-consuming, a void that couldn’t be filled. But for Beel, they were willing to try. They met him in the kitchen, where he was already starting on his first meal of the day—a mountain of pancakes that would barely make a dent in his hunger.

“Beel,” MC said, smiling at him as they approached. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

His violet eyes lit up with curiosity, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “What kind of surprise?”

“You’ll see,” they replied, trying to keep their nerves from showing. “But you’ll need to trust me, okay?”

Beel nodded, trusting MC implicitly. They took a deep breath and recited the spell, feeling the magic course through them, and in an instant, they felt the shift. It was subtle at first, a strange sensation in their stomach, and then it hit them—a ravenous hunger, a gnawing, burning emptiness that nearly knocked the wind out of them. They gasped, clutching their stomach as they fought to stay upright.

“MC?” Beel’s voice was full of concern, and he reached out to steady them. “What’s wrong?”

MC forced a smile, despite the overwhelming void that clawed at their insides. “It’s okay,” they said, their voice strained. “I switched our stomachs. For today, you get to feel full.”

Beel’s eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, he was speechless. Then, as the realization sank in, his expression softened into something MC hadn’t seen before—an overwhelming sense of relief. He looked down at the plate of pancakes in front of him, then back at MC, who was still struggling to keep the hunger at bay.

“MC… I don’t know what to say.” His voice was thick with emotion.

“You don’t have to say anything,” they replied, though it was getting harder to focus. “Just… enjoy it.”

As the day wore on, MC found themselves constantly battling the urge to eat. The hunger was relentless, gnawing at their mind, distracting them from everything else. They had to keep reminding themselves that this was for Beel, that he deserved this break, even if it meant they had to suffer through his usual torment. Every meal became a test of willpower. They forced themselves to eat just enough to keep their body functioning, knowing that as a human, they couldn’t afford to skip meals altogether. But it was never enough. No matter how much they ate, the hunger remained, an insatiable emptiness that begged to be filled.

Their body cried out for more, every bite only intensifying the desire to keep eating. It was a battle to stop themselves from devouring everything in sight, to resist the urge to give in to the hunger that screamed for satisfaction. Their thoughts were consumed by it, their focus shattered as the primal need to eat overshadowed everything else.

Beel, on the other hand, was experiencing something he hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever—satisfaction. For the first time in centuries, he wasn’t plagued by that constant, aching hunger. He could eat a normal portion of food and feel content, even full, something he hadn’t thought possible. It was a strange sensation for him, and as much as he enjoyed it, he couldn’t stop worrying about MC.

Throughout the day, Beel kept a close eye on them. He knew better than anyone just how overpowering his hunger could be, and seeing MC struggle with it filled him with both gratitude and guilt. He had always tried to manage his hunger, but it was a battle he fought every second of the day, and now MC was fighting that same battle. He couldn’t just stand by and watch.

“MC, you don’t have to do this,” he said at one point, his voice gentle yet insistent. “I appreciate it more than you know, but I don’t want you to suffer.”

MC shook their head, managing a weak smile. “It’s only for today, Beel. I can handle it. Besides, you deserve to feel normal for once.”

Beel couldn’t argue with that, but he wasn’t about to let MC go through this alone. He stayed by their side, offering support whenever the hunger seemed to get too overwhelming. He’d bring them small snacks, knowing that it wouldn’t satisfy the void but hoping it would at least make it bearable. When MC’s strength began to wane, he guided them to their room, letting them rest against him on the bed as they fought through the worst of it.

As the day drew to a close, MC could feel the exhaustion setting in. The hunger had worn them down, and they were barely able to keep their eyes open. Beel had stayed close the entire time, his concern for them evident in every glance, every touch.

“You’ve done more than enough,” he said quietly, brushing a strand of hair from their face. “Let’s switch back.”

MC nodded, too tired to argue. They recited the spell again, feeling the magic take hold and reverse the switch. The hunger that had been gnawing at them vanished, replaced by a familiar, manageable emptiness. They let out a relieved sigh, sinking into Beel’s arms.

Beel, on the other hand, felt the hunger return, but it was different now. It wasn’t the painful, all-consuming void it usually was. Instead, it was tempered by the knowledge that someone had cared enough about him to take that burden, even for a little while. He held MC close, his heart swelling with gratitude and something deeper, something that words couldn’t quite capture.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You have no idea what this means to me.”

MC smiled up at him, their exhaustion evident but their eyes filled with warmth. “You’re worth it, Beel.”

Beel’s grip tightened around them, and for a moment, he just held them, letting the weight of their gesture sink in. Then, without a word, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to their forehead, his lips lingering as if trying to convey everything he felt in that single touch.

That night, as they lay together, Beel made a silent promise to himself. He would find a way to show MC just how much they meant to him, just how deeply their actions had touched him. He didn’t know how yet, but he would make sure they knew just how much they were loved.

And as they drifted off to sleep, with the hunger finally at bay, Beel held them close, vowing to always protect the one who had lifted his burden, even if only for a day.

[minnielvrr]

Living Canvas

Lee: Minho Ler: Hyunjin, Chan Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: it's almost insane how much I love seeing Lino getting all the tickles his sweet heart deserves🥺💖hope you like it✨🤗

Tags: @itzsana-kiddingmenow, @lajanaa, @bbybumblelee, @hearted-anon, @lunalattae,

@reginald-stay09

Hyunjin was BORED. You may wonder, of what? Of painting, particularly on his usual canvases. He never thought a day would dawn when he’d feel that way, but here he was.

He lay draped over the carpet in their living room, mindlessly tracing patterns into the soft fibers, only to brush them away in frustration.

He was still there when Minho came over, stopping to stare at the moping puddle that was Hwang Hyunjin.

“Wow, a new rug,” he commented dryly, toeing at Hyunjin with one socked foot before heading over to Chan’s room. Hyunjin let out a long, drawn-out sigh, continuing his sad ministrations on the carpet.

Minho eventually did emerge from the leader’s room and flopped himself onto the couch. They stayed in a comfortable silence until the older’s voice cut through it.

“What’s wrong?” There was a tinge of worry and concern in Minho's voice that made Hyunjin roll over to face the kitten. “I don’t wanna paint anymore…” The older’s brows shot up at the confession.

“What? Like at all? Why not?”

“It’s not interesting anymore. I don’t feel as inspired to paint as I did before. Something about the canvas itself is throwing me off every time I so much as pick up a brush.”

The dam broke and Hyunjin rambled on until a finger was pressed onto his lips, effectively shutting him up.

“Did you try switching things up? Maybe try something other than a canvas to paint on?”

Minho’s suggestion was predictable. After all, that had been the first thing Hyunjin had tried. But maybe—maybe Hyunjin had been looking at this all wrong this whole time.

An unnerving smile crept slowly onto his face, his calculating gaze assessing Minho’s figure as an idea formulated.

“Hmm. You’re right hyung! Perhaps swapping out my usual for a more…interactive canvas would be a good idea.”

Minho did NOT like the emphasis the artist had put on the word ‘interactive’. His eyes narrowed and a chill ran down his spine.

Every instinct in his body screamed at him to run at the look Hyunjin was giving him. But the older remained seated, ever the poster child for a poker face.

But even as his face remained impassive, his body seemed to give him away. His feet drummed anxiously on the floor, his clasped hands writhing where they lay on his lap and sweat beaded his forehead.

“Hyungie, will you pleaseee help me out? Pretty please? I’ll take you out to eat afterwards!” Hyunjin’s voice was sugary sweet, eyes wide and innocent as he tried to convince the older to make a deal with the devil.

By now, Minho had a good idea of what was being expected of him. The kitten gulped, caught in a stare-off, until he folded—he really couldn’t say no to the kids.

“Fine, but you’re getting me ice cream too.” He hesitantly agreed, fully aware of what was coming his way.

“Deal!” Hyunjin’s smile was demonic. “Sit tight hyungie~ I’ll go fetch the supplies!”

Anxiety, nervousness and anticipation swirled like a soup in Minho’s stomach, his feet tapping more and more frequently on the carpet the longer Hyunjin took. Minho’s thoughts raced a million miles an hour as he mentally prepared himself.

After a good 10 minutes of this, the artist sauntered in, wearing a paint-streaked black apron and holding a big wooden box filled to the brim with paints and a collection of different brushes. He gave Minho a warm smile, setting the box down next to him on the floor.

“I’m just going to lay down some newspapers so we don’t ruin the floor,” he explained as he worked, covering the carpets with multiple layers of newspapers and finally with a paint-stained towel.

When Minho crouched to lay on it, a little dazed from the unexpected turn his day had taken, the artist stopped him, gesturing for him to lose the shirt.

“Your pants might get stained though…gimme a second hyungie!” Hyunjin raced to his room, reappearing with a pair of shorts, “Wear this, I don’t want your clothes to get messy.”

Then the ferret disappeared once more, this time into Chan’s room, allowing the older to change. By the time the kitten was done, Chan and Hyunjin emerged together.

"Channie hyung, help me hold him down, will you?” Chan was all too happy to lay Minho on the towel, cradling his head gently in his lap.

The leader clasped Minho’s hands in his own ones, gently rubbing circles into his palm to soothe his nerves.

“Okay! Time for prep!” The artist announced with a flourish, cracking his knuckles. Minho gulped at the action, biting his lower lip nervously. This wasn't in the script!

“W-what do you mean ‘prep’?”

“Hm?” Hyunjin sounded genuinely puzzled by the question. Then a twinkle of mischief appeared in his eyes.

“You’re too ticklish hyung. If I use my brushes on you right now, you’ll squirm around so much it’ll ruin my painting! So Channie hyung and I will get you ready so that you won’t be so sensitive.”

Minho didn’t buy that nonsense. He was all too familiar with this particular technique, being one he often used on the younger members (mostly Innie) whenever the youngest needed to put on makeup on his neck and ears.

Minho always volunteered, dragging their maknae away from their makeup noonas to wreck him, claiming it’ll let them do their job ‘easier’. Surprise surprise, it didn’t.

But now that the tables were turned, the kitten didn’t find it as funny. “That—that won’t be necessary. You can just get started. I’ll stay stiHIHILL!! HYUHUHUNJIHIN!”

The ferret had dragged one of his brushes over Minho’s lower belly, his eyes already flickering over to the next spot—Minho’s hips.

The kitten shook his head, blabbering in a panic,” No! Nohot there, JihiHIHInnie pleheheHEHEASE! Ihihi sAHAid noahAHAHAHA ah!!”

Hyunjin ditched the brush, carefully massaging the spot with his thumbs. The oldest grinned at the way their lee arched and squirmed. This was just the beginning.

“Chahahanihihie hyuhuhung!! Ahahahaha sahahave meee!!” He screeched at his only hyung. Chan just grinned at him, and wanting to get in on the fun, he grabbed a brush.

Holding Minho’s hands with one of his own, he moved them to the side of his face.

Then as the kitten watched with growing dread he lowered the brush to his ear, running the soft bristles over the shell of Minho’s reddened ears.

“Ah nohohoho not my eahahahahars!! Thahat's cheHEHEATING!”

It had the cute lee squeaking and shaking his head desperately…until Hyunjin’s hands cupped his jaw, fingers wiggling at his neck while Chan happily ran the brush all over his ears and the backs of them.

“Mhmhmhehe ahahahAHAHAHAA!! PLEHEASE!”

Minho’s face burned as he tried—and failed—to stifle his giggles, his attempts at self-control crumbling with every ticklish touch. He kicked his legs and tugged at his arms but Chan was stronger and he held firm.

For all his attempts to escape, they didn’t stop. Hyunjin’s hands moved from Minho’s hips to his belly to his sides and ribs, leaving hysterical laughter in its wake. Chan focused on rubbing Minho’s ears and scribbling under the younger’s arms.

“Nahahahaha lehehet me goHOHAHAHAHA! Ihihit tihihihickles!” He squealed out. “Yes baby, that’s what we’re tryna do~ Dohohon’t behehe ihimpatient,” Chan mocked the poor boy’s cries for mercy.

The two continued their playful torment on Minho’s torso, only stopping when Minho’s laughter grew breathy and his struggles started growing weaker.

After a short break and some words of praise, the artist grabbed a palette, squeezing a dozen or so different colors on the flat surface.

“Prep’s over! Now for the real fun~” He snickered meanly.

Hyunjin decided to start off with a smaller paintbrush, dipping it in some water, he hovered the brush over the older’s tummy.

Minho’s breathing was picking up, a smile already tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched a drop of cool water fall from the brush and onto his hot skin.

That ‘prep’ had done nothing. Not that any of them expected it to anyway.

“Hmm so much to cover! Where should I start?” Hyunjin pondered, staring dead into Minho’s eyes and the poor flustered boy averted his gaze, prompting a high-pitched cackle from Chan.

“Aw don’t be shy Linoya~” he cooed, simultaneously moving his eyes to tell Hyunjin to go for his stomach. Boy was Chan mean when he wanted to be.

Then, while Chan gently tickled his underarms, Hyunjin scooted back, leaning forward to plant a kiss on the center of his belly.

Now, ticklish kisses don't usually work on Minho but the way Hyunjin's and Chan's fingers scritch scratched at his waist and armpits made him feel that much more sensitive.

His body seemed suddenly receptive to the soft pressing of Hyunjin's plush lips on his belly and Minho couldn’t help jerked his body away. But there was nowhere to go.

“ohoHO MYHYHY GOHOHOD, IHIHITS SO BAHAHAHAHAD!!” He wailed, his body shimmying around helplessly. If he twisted away from one hand, he'd only be shoving his sensitive spots into the other hand. It was merciless.

“Lino hyung…how on earth are you so precious. Just look at you! I’m touching you so lightly and yet you look like we’ve tortured you for hours! What a mess we can make of you hyungie~”

Minho’s eyes flew open at that, his mouth falling open in shock. Hyunjin had murmured those words but it felt like he’d screamed them in Minho’s ear instead.

“I—you- Hyunjin I swear to god I will literally KILL YOU aft—nO shihiHIHIHIT SOHOHORRY, IHIHIM SOHOHORRY PLEAHEHEASE!!!”

At the threat, Chan’s fingers went crazy on his armpits, Hyunjin’s hands now starting to knead his sides as he kissed all over Minho’s belly before letting up.

The two waited patiently for the kitten’s breathing to calm down, and just when Minho least expected it, Hyunjin struck once more.

Hyunjin grinned and grabbed a paintbrush. Dipping it in water, he surged forward, swirling the wet tips along Minho’s upper arms, just above his armpits.

The poor kitten jolted, arms coming down only for them to be pulled back up by the leader. “Uh uh, you have to be still or Jinnie won’t be able to concentrate~”

But even as he said that, Chan showered a pokes Lino's torso with his free hand, giggling as he watched the kitten squirm. “Nohohoho whyhyhy ihis Chahahnihie hyuhung dohoing thihis tohoohoo?!”

“Yah! Can’t this old man have some fun too?” Chan scolded playfully, praying that Seungmin hadn’t heard him. He’d never hear the end of it otherwise.

“Sohoho youhuhu admihit youhu’re old?” Minho teased through his giggles, immediately regretting it when Chan’s thumbs drilled in between his ribs.

“So cute hyungie. You’re absolutely adorable.” Hyunjin’s reverent words cut through their playful banter.

The tips of Hyunjin's fingers drag along the soft expanse of skin along with the brush on the other side, observing with the kind of attention that he’d usually keep reserved exclusively for their dance practices.

The artist's gaze was trained on the way Minho squirmed, goosebumps raising on his bare skin as his eyes fluttered shut. Minho was so soft, so sensitive when it came to this little weakness of his.

“Hyuhuhunehehe plehease! Ihihit’s sohoho bahaHAHAD! ehehehEHEHEhehe~”

He was putty in Jinnie’s unforgiving hold. His pretty doe eyes sparkled with an innocent, child-like excitement that Minho himself didn’t seem to be aware of.

He’d strongly denied it when Chan had brought it up once, threatening to utterly obliterate the older if he wasn’t careful. But the blush on his cheeks and the way he couldn’t meet their eyes gave him away.

“I love you so much hyungie,” Hyunjin murmured softly, tears welling up when he suddenly recalled their past. Minho blinked up at him in confusion, bambi eyes wide and shining as they flickered over Jinnie’s features.

Then a small smile broke out, wiping away the previous sadness and Hyunjin pressed his fingers into Minho’s sides more firmly.

The lee squealed at the abrupt change, bucking and twisting as he tried to escape those mean fingers. “shihihiIHIT ! NOHOHOT THEHEHEHERE AH!”

“Do you feel how much I love you Lino hyung? No? That’s okay, I’ll tickle you until I convince you”

Minho's vision is a little blurry with tears of mirth, the two lers appearing as wobbly figures in his eyes. In contrast, the feeling of hands attacking his worst spots felt so much more intense than before.

“YEHEHEHES! YEHEHES IHI DOHOHO HYUHUHUNJIHIN NAHAHAHAHA!!”

“So handsome~ So sensitive~ You’re just perfect hyungie,” Hyunjin’s voice dripped with so much love and affection, it had even poor Chan feeling a little flustered, ducking his head to hide how the words affected him.

Minho was full on blushing, his eyes squeezed shut and giggles rising in pitch with how embarrassed he felt.

“Our shy little kitten,” Hyunjin breathed softly as he ran his fingertips lightly over Minho’s painted sides. The poor lee giggled some more, squirming around.

“NAHAHAHAA I CAHAN’T TAKE ANYMOHORE!! HYUNJIN PLEASE! I WANT TOHOHO DIE NATURALLYHYHY!!”

Chan and Hyunjin died at his dramatic proclamation, laughing almost as hard as Minho was.

Lino's body trembled and shook with the force of his laughter, words growing warbled and incoherent as it mixed with his sweet, bubbly cackles.

It wasn't often his laughter got the chance to spread through their dorm so the red lights duo were determined to milk that opportunity for all it was worth.

"ChaHAHAhanihie hyung plehehEASE lehehehet me gohOHO! Hehehehes gonna kiHIhill me lihhihihke thihis!! ArghAHAHAhaha NOHOhoho"

With a sly smile, Hyunjin leaned back, gripping onto Minho's thick thighs with his paint-stained hands and gave it a squeeze. The poor boy squealed, feet skidding on the floor and almost tearing the newspapers as he struggled.

“FUHUHUHUCK! ChahanNIHIHIE HYUHUNG PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE!!”

But of course, that didn't deter the artist, who pinched and squished the soft flesh between his fingers and watched with growing amusement at the way Lino threw his head back, loud bouts of laughter ringing through the wide space.

He was hysterical. Between Chan's fingers gently wiggling in his armpits and Hyunjin's skilled fingers at his thighs, he was a goner in seconds.

Minho yelped, dissolving into shrieks and giggles, his sounds bringing smiles to everyone who heard it. “N-nohoHO MOHOhore pleHEHEhease!!”

And much like the tune from the pied piper, summoning a couple of eager faces to the scene of the crime with his infectious laughter.

Minho strained against Chan's hold, desperately trying to fight back. But the leader was obviously stronger and the hands running along his body only served to weaken him further.

“Linoya is this really that ticklish,” Chan asked as he used his free hand to lazily scratch over each of Minho's ribs.

The poor lee nodded furiously, his hair whipping everywhere and tears getting yeeted in all directions from the sheer force of the movement.

It made the leader giggle, “Is our little tsundere kitten so sensitive he can't even form a single thought? Can't remember how to say yes hm?”

Minho had to get them back for this. He certainly would. He'd use his electric toothbrush right on Chan's belly button and his feathers on Hyunjin. But revenge would have to wait. He'd have to survive this sweet torture first.

The thought of revenge was what got him through their relentless taunts and jabs at his sensitivity. Despite the fact that he had turned a concerning shade of red, his struggles getting weaker, Minho held on.

“I cahAN'T tahaHAHAHAKE IT!! AHHAHAHAHAHAHA,” he wailed frantically, his feeble attempts at escape doing nothing to help him.

The two menaces went on till Minho's sweet hiccupy sounds cut off completely, replaced by little spray bottle noises that only brought with it more hysterical laughter from the rest.

Minho curled up on his side, rubbing over all the spots that were now pink from their playful assault as Chan stroked his hair in adoration.

As Hyunjin wiped away the paint, Minho’s giggles softened into quiet chuckles. “You-you’re evil Hyunjin,” he complained, voice still shaky from laughter.

Hyunjin grinned innocently, “Only for you hyungie~”

The leader himself massaged gently along his arms, soothing the hyper kitten from his giggly fit.

“Go take a shower, let’s cuddle after okay baby?” Chan cooed, pulling Minho up and pushing him towards the bathrooms.

Hyunjin has a lot of snacks prepared, humming contently as he placed them neatly on a table.

Minho’s idea had seemed to work it’s magic and Hyunjin already knew what he wanted to paint next. Maybe this was the right way out of his creative slumps.

And after a nice, warm shower, the three spend all evening cuddling and snacking together as they watched a random k-drama.

Later, a certain kitten received a rather embarrassing—and extremely flustering—painting that captured a moment from their...eventful evening.

His breath hitched as he unwrapped the painting, looking over the vibrant colors and playful lines that captured his every ticklish struggle.

Minho’s face was bright red in the canvas, little tears forming at the corners of his eyes as a wide, beautiful smile adorned his face.

The painting also included some rather unnecessary details like the hands that had put him in that state and he most certainly did NOT hang it on his bedroom wall. No, he definitely did not.

[cbrownjc]

Hi! Hope you don't mind but I wanted to ask your opinion on some stuff we learned in ep 6 and possible repercussions for Daniel's character. So we get the super heavy-handed wink wink nudge nudge "body switch" line from Raglan, which imo definitely implies they are gonna go there at some point - body switching *will* be a thing.

Before this, I was actually pretty hopeful that at some point, Armand was going to turn old man Daniel into a vampire. Not sure yet how and when it would happen, but it felt like they were building towards it (also having not forgotten the super sus levodopa treatment from probably-a-vampire Dr. Fareed). But if they're going to introduce body switching (and it feels significant that this line was said to Daniel so I doubt it will NOT involve him at all), then that no longer makes sense, right? Why bother turning old man Daniel when they're gonna body switch his spirit with what I suspect might be a cloned younger version of him (played by LBF ofc)? I realize I'm making a lot of assumptions here lol but the hints are there, aren't they? Mostly I just really don't want Eric to be written out of the show - I'm so attached to his version of Daniel (though I also want to see more of LBF - I'm so torn lmao).

Where do you think they're going with this?

Hi,

Okay, so. IF older Daniel is turned and IF the body switch is still in play, I feel there are multiple scenarios going on as to where this could be going.

The first thing we have to look at is who we might see turn older Daniel if it happens. (And which I already predicted after last week's Inside the Episode for ep 2x05 gave away that the IWTV book was going to be published I think very likely is going to happen this season.) If it's Armand who does it, then it is 100% Daniel who is being turned. If it's Louis -- or anyone else -- who does it, then it 100% is not Daniel who is being turned IMO, but Raglan James -- no matter if it's Eric that we see getting bitten, drained, and turned by Louis . . . or any other vampire.

Because this show did not go to all the trouble it did in this latest episode (2x06) to specifically discuss how Armand has never once in his whole vampire life made another vampire and then not have him be the one to turn his one-and-only book-canon fledgling.

So if we see anyone other than Armand turning older Daniel at some point? Then that is Daniel's body being turned, but Daniel's actual soul/spirit/consciousness will for sure be somewhere else. Even if we don't actually see the switch happen beforehand.

If this is the case, Daniel's soul/spirit/consciousness will be in some other body -- most likely Justin Kirk's -- and I can see a scenario where Daniel doesn't want his older body back because it's now a vampire. So a new body is made for him -- via clone or whatever -- by Dr. Fareed that is younger, but not super young or something (and played by LBF -- whom I myself have already pointed out is 36 years old right now . . . meaning he could realistically play someone 40 years old IMO).

So this way, Daniel is still human, just in a different body now. And his older body is now a vampire and . . . IDK, goes off to join in on the Great Conversion thing, I'd guess. Or, maybe James just goes off to do what he did in the TotBT book but then, maybe something goes wrong with him in Daniel's older body -- maybe he's not fully anchored to it or something because this is the first time he's ever jumped bodies. Or maybe something else goes wrong (put a pin in this). And so James jumps bodies again, but he now wants to be a vampire again really bad. Which now sets up for him plotting to steal Lestat's body and the whole TotBT storyline.

However, if we see Armand turn older Daniel? I do think they could still be setting up for the body swap but, IMO, it might go more like this if they are:

Older Daniel gets turned and, just like his book counterpart, goes mad sometime very soon after he is. And I think the earlier in the show's run that Daniel gets turned the more likely we are headed toward the book scenario of Daniel losing his mind after he is turned. Because even I have kind of glossed over the fact Daniel being turned by Armand didn't lead to a happy ending for them both -- not right away. Things actually went really bad for them for decades afterward. Daniel went mad, and he and Armand were separated during that time he was, for over 20 years before Daniel finally healed and reunited with Armand again.

And while I don't think Daniel's turning on the show will lead to a +20-year separation -- because Armand and Daniel have already done that on the show -- we are very much not out of the woods on older Daniel going mad once he is turned IMO. I think Daniel going mad after he's turned is not only very much in play but will happen at some point if he is.

And, in the show? Daniel might not just go mad because he's unable to deal with what he now is or he's angry at Armand about, well, a whole lot of things. IMO, the body swap hints might also point to something, even more, being at play here. (Pin!)

This, however, is where my thoughts on these things get a bit more possibly depressing because -- I'm not 100% sure that turning older Daniel would cure his Parkinsons. Because Parkinson's isn't like cancer or being poisoned or dying from being shot or something. Parkinson's is specifically a neurological disease.

And one thing that the books have shown is that The Blood does NOT cure something neurological.

In the books, one of the twins, the vampire Maharet, was blinded before she was turned. And she isn't able to just take some human eyes and put them into her empty eye sockets and have that work permanently. The human eyes just continue to die within her eye sockets and that is because even The Blood can't heal the nerves connecting them.

We also see that The Blood doesn't help with neurological problems with the character of Mekare -- the other twin -- in the book Prince Lestat. Now, I'm only up to Chapter 15 of that book, but I have read past the part in that book where Jesse talks about Dr. Fareed examining Mekare, particularly her brain. Because while Mekare had her tongue cut out before she was turned, something happened to her mind as well. And this is what Jesse says was discovered after Mekare was examined by Fareed (via a CAT scan and other ways):

"They said Mekare was mindless," said Jesse. "They said the brain in her head was atrophied. They said there was so little indication of brain activity that she was like a human in a coma, kept alive by the brain stem alone. Apparently, she'd been entombed for so long, possibly in a cave, no one knew, that even her sight had been affected. The powerful Blood actually hardened the atrophied tissue over time [. . .]"

What this tells me is that there is probably not going to be any reversal wrt Daniel's Parkinson's once he's turned. Daniel's brain, and nerves, might just do like Mekare's did -- harden at the point they are at now. Keeping things forever in the degenerative state they are at whenever he's turned.

The Blood can kill cancer cells, destroy poison within the body, eradicate diseases like TB from the body, and even heal cuts and wounds. But it doesn't seem to be able to do anything for neurological issues, going by the books. It freezes things where they are when you are turned wrt that and does not repair them.

So older Daniel going mad after he's turned? Might not just be because of being unable to fully deal with now being a vampire. It might also be because he was turned while his body had health issues that even The Blood cannot fix. And while he will no longer age or die, Daniel might still have his body's neurological issues that were there when he was turned, just now forever frozen in that state where they were. Just like it remained so for the twins.

The show specifically focused on Daniel's shaking getting worse in episode 2x02 when he was under emotional stress/duress, which is very much a Parkinson's thing. As I know I've said more than once, I took care of my mom for 10 years while she had Parkinson's, and because so I've hyper-noticed these things -- the camera very much sometimes focusing on Daniel's shaking this season. Daniel's shaking was even commented on by Louis just last week.

And if Daniel is turned soon, well . . . imagine having to live with something like that for eternity?

And so just like with Maharet and her eyes, which Dr. Fareed figured out how to give her permanent ones that would never die in her head, (and also knew he could give Mekare a new tongue but, at least as far as I've read that offer hasn't been accepted -- and doing something for her brain was likely out of the question given that she was the Sacred Core at that point meaning her brain was fused with Amel's spirit . . . operating on that would very likely put every vampire in the world in danger), maybe this will have Dr. Fareed coming up with a new, cloned body for Daniel that don't have those neurological issues?

And then maybe that body gets stolen by Raglan James in a later season and we get the TotBT storyline that way? I can see being one way into it.

As it is, I know that making bodies for spirits to occupy does become a thing in the books after Prince Lestat. So their being able to do so is likely going to be established at some point -- and this could be one way they do so.

But, either way, if older Daniel is turned anytime soon, these are the two ways I can see it going afterward, and probably why they are also dropping body swap hints as well along with it. Because I don't think Daniel being turned is going to be simple, or lead to something happy right away. Again, it didn't in the books.

And really, this all just kind of backs up why I wasn't ever really feeling Daniel being turned anytime soon. But I realize now that my wanting the show to wait before they did so was the more happy way I was looking at it to go.

But this is Gothic Horror. And while I don't think Eric will be "written out" right away or something, I don't think whichever scenario I've given for all of this will lead to something happy. Not for a long time. There is just too much already in the source material that points to it not, IMO. And I think the show is very much setting up for that as well with the hints it's clearly dropping wrt all of this.

[the-whispers-of-death]

Ghost & Stone Sparring

Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something!

Due to both of them being the biggest soldiers in the 141, Stone and Ghost very often spar together. They spar together because both are scared of accidentally hurting the others in the 141, though they still do spar with the others. It's just that they know they both can handle it if one of them accidentally gets their shoulder dislocated (fun fact, Stone's major joints have been dislocated and reset so many times that he can just dislocate a joint without feeling pain and reset it easily).

It's a sight to behold each time, neither knowing which one is going to win the spar. They're both very agile for two big men and they both try and tire the other one out, so they're often close in skill, with the deciding factor of who will win the match depending on what time of day it is.

If it's early in the day, morning more likely, than Stone is more likely to win because he wakes up at four in the morning (unhinged man) and thus he's more awake than Ghost is. If it is later in the day, afternoon or evening, Ghost is more likely to win, especially if he hasn't been sent on any missions that day. Due to him not being sent on any missions during the day, he's often either working in his office or sharpening his skills in the training center, but Stone has been in the infirmary for hours, running around to patch up soldiers. His stamina, though great, has already been more depleted than Ghost's.

That's not to say it's clear-cut which one will win a sparring match depending on the time of day, nothing is ever that predictable. It's just a guide that the others use to muse about who might win the sparring match that day. Speaking of the others talking about who will win, Soap often says Ghost will win while Gaz cheers on Stone to win. Price does not care who wins the sparring match, he's just praying neither of them injure each other enough to put them out of commission for a few days.

Onto the actual sparring; as I said before, both of them are agile and will do their best not to rely too much on brute strength. This is especially true with Stone, considering he's the heaviest out of the entire 141. He's the tallest and thus needs a lot of food to have so much fat on him as he does, but it doesn't slow him down as much as one would think.

His style of sparring is mostly dodging and weaving, because he has often heard from superiors that he has very little control over how much of his strength goes into his kicks and punches. He will throw in a few here and there, mostly when he finds himself getting tired from the dodging and the weaving. His main goal is to wear out Ghost, which is ironically Ghost's goal too—to wear out Stone.

It's a battle of which one is going to tire out first, though it's often Ghost who seems to do so. Stone has rigorous training from his father who was not kind to him, even if he is the one who technically tires out first, one would never know he was tired. Unlike Ghost, who Stone can see the subtle signs of fatigue showing through Ghost's body language even if Ghost tries his best not to show it.

Once he sees a hint of exhaustion in Ghost's body language, Stone often foregoes the dodging and weaving. He switches from his agility to using his brute strength, ramming into Ghost when he knows Ghost is too tired to be able to get out of his hold. He never punches or kicks Ghost in this instance, he merely plows into the shorter man and gets Ghost onto the mat. He'll cage Ghost in until Ghost knows he can't get out of the hold and yields.

While it is often that Stone wins the spars, Ghost will win if he manages to sweep Stone off his feet. As with any large man, Stone's weakness is his legs. He's not as sturdy as he likes when he's sparring, especially when he's dodging and weaving. Once Stone is on his knees, if Ghost manages to just knock him down a bit and not fully down onto the sparring mat, then it's easier for Ghost to ram into him.

Stone's stronger, so Ghost has to wrap his arms and legs around the man as best as he can to pin him down. That's where the time of day really helps in Ghost's favor, because depending on how busy the infirmary is and what time of day it is, Stone is again more likely to be more tired than Ghost.

No matter who wins the spar, it's a testament of their strength and skill, the years they've spent in the military. It's why recruits will watch them spar, to see the different techniques they both use on each other. Though, this means the recruits are often seeing Stone beat Ghost—their Lieutenant—in a sparring match.

Whenever Ghost feels like the recruits are getting too cocky from seeing Stone beat him in sparring matches, he'll challenge Stone to do a shooting contest. Stone is skilled enough to be a sniper, but he's obviously not skilled enough to beat Ghost in a shooting contest. He'll sharpen his shooting skill, of course he would, but he's more focused on being the best Corpsman he can be which means improving more of his medical skill than his shooting skill. Hence why it's always Ghost who wins the shooting contests, and thus reminds the recruits that he is in fact still one of the best of the best.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated!

[juvenillia]

~Just an idea~

Okay, that‘s gonna be my brainrot for Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x reader and maybe I’ll turn it into a fic / chapter collection

Update: started the fic read here

Disclaimer: I literally have barely an idea about the actual cod lore, English isn't my first language

A/N: I’m just a needy gremlin for this man and my weakness is damn slow burn enemies to lovers, but with Simon it wouldn’t be a direct way from strangers to lovers, it would be the whole way from strangers, to kinda enemies, to comrades, to friends and after a bloody long time it would become more and they eventually find their peace together. Also, if I'm gonna turn it into a series, it's gonna be more oc related because I want to give her a full-on past and stuff. Hope that would be okay.

Should I make it a series?

Simon Ghost Riley who hated change, especially when there was a change within the team. It took him already so much effort, nerves, and time to get along with his current teammates, so why did they need another one? A new teammate he needed to learn to read, and much more, to fully trust.

Simon Ghost Riley who literally had not enough mental energy to get through another whole “get to know” progress, keeping up with Soap and Gaz costed him enough energy. Don’t get him wrong, he would immediately jump to catch a bullet for either of them, but they still were a pain in his ass.

Simon Ghost Riley who gets reminded by his captain that the 141 is more than a team, and just like a family, the team will also grow. So, he had no choice than accepting his new teammate.

Simon Ghost Riley who learns that he literally despises you, because he simply is unable to predict you. You’re too much at ease. You’re too caring. Your switching moods are the reasons of his headaches. Your way of thinking during missions is too unconventional. And you’re – just like him – closing everyone off from your private life.

Simon Ghost Riley who maybe learns to respect you. The despise slowly melting into a friendly relationship between comrades. Watching with a soft gaze how Soap, you and Gaz are chatting in the common room about everything under the sun. Listening attentive to your words during a briefing. Smiling even the slightest under his balaclava when you put some of the new recruits in line.

Simon Ghost Riley who can read your “on mission persona” perfectly. Working in tandem with little hand signs, the smallest amount of an eyesight. Growing to have a flow together. Enemies beware.

Simon Ghost Riley who starts to believe, that he could trust you. That all the effort would be worthy to really get to know you, and he is shocked that for once, he wants to learn about a person. At the same time, he’s scared, scared of making himself too vulnerable because of you.

Simon Ghost Riley who starts to enjoy your company, maybe a bit too much. Either on missions or just at the base. A comforting silence between the soft talks you share. Sitting next to each other while smoking in silence. Sharing a late-night cup of tea. Making cocky and flirty comments, but of course only jokingly. ONLY jokingly of course. He reminds himself.

Simon Ghost Riley who looks into a mirror when staring into your eyes. He sees your scars, your pain, and still, they look back at him soft and calm. He has only one thing on his mind: Maybe, just maybe this once

Simon Ghost Riley who holds on to your body when injured on the battlefield. Cutting out the heartbroken yells from Johnny while he carries you to the medevac and whispers in your ears to stay with him.

Simon Ghost Riley who would never admit it but grew way too attached to you.

Simon Ghost Riley who had no idea that his fate was sealed the day you walked into the common room to introduce yourself to the 141.

Simon Ghost Riley who cursed himself for all his thoughts that kept him awake late at night, because all those thoughts were only circling around you.

[chuuyaspinkmotorcycle16]

Day 5: Trust of @/Black00Cat’s (twt) SKKtober

Dazai can’t describe it, the trust between him and Chuuya.

A bond so strong it’s as if he can see Chuuya’s thoughts and future actions.

He’s always been a man of predictions but no where in all his years would he have predicted the impact Chuuya’s had on his life. He lived longer than he planned or originally wanted, for one.

And for two, he’s learned just what his partner means to him.

Their trust started small — two teens thrown together to find a god all because Chuuya had been manipulated by Dazai and Dazai by Mori — yet there was a spark, a connection, ever since Chuuya had kicked him to the ground and stood on him.

It was exhilarating to see someone so intuitive and smart, to use their ability so well against an ability nullifier.

How could Dazai not trust him?

It was clear from their first interaction that Chuuya was a loyal dog; all Dazai had to do was switch that loyalty to himself, an easy task once the fight against Rimbaud started.

A little manipulation here and there — a stab in the back, anyone? — and his plan worked perfectly.

He’d become the proud owner of a dog.

To be honest, he’d expected Chuuya to ditch him when they weren’t paired for missions — to go off and find someone else to attach to and grow from there.

But the redhead kept coming back with challenges of “I beat your high score” and “I bet I can eat more than you.”

Next thing Dazai knew, he was /fond/ of Chuuya.

The pattern of when the redhead would show up became easy to see and Dazai had started to look forward to it. Him, of all people, looking forward to the future!

For a while, he wondered if he had found the item to fill that hole in his heart (little did he know at the time that it’d be multiple things to fully fill that hole, though Chuuya would be the biggest) and so he did everything in his power to keep Chuuya alive and well, even if it meant annoying the boy if only to gauge his daily moods and to see how he could fix it.

Then came the events of Stormbringer and all the missions set for them before this had fully formed Dazai’s trust in Chuuya.

And luckily, it’d done the same to Chuuya with Dazai.

Chuuya honestly doesn’t know when it happened.

One day he was the leader of a ragtag gang of street brats and the next he was in the mafia with a bastard of a mastermind for a partner.

Maybe it’s Chuuya’s fault, he’s always been trusting of others, but something about Dazai had spoken to him back then.

He could rely on the boy more than anyone else he’d met in his life and that was comforting to know.

It was easy to fully trust Dazai after that. His internal sixth sense for bullshit quickly adapted to Dazai’s suicidal trysts and pranks, always planned to mean something.

The messages were never hard to read — or maybe he really had lost his mind a long time ago if he learned how to read Dazainese — and he knew what Dazai needed from him.

After Stormbringer, their bond was so strong that many believed the duo was only one person causing so much destruction. They were one, a soul in two bodies.

Who would have thought it could all be destroyed in one fateful night?

Not Chuuya.

It sucked, that first day when the news of Dazai’s defection was delivered to him.

Blinded by anger and pain, he’d sworn to never trust someone like that again.

He remained firm in that belief for a long while.

But deep down, he knew the bastard wasn’t dead and was just biding his time.

When news of a new detective in that agency circled around, Chuuya knew in his gut that it was him.

And, unfortunately, he couldn’t bring himself to confront Dazai. If the man didn’t want to talk, then he wouldn’t talk, just like if he didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be.

The part Chuuya hates about himself — that little voice in the back of his head that believes and trusts Dazai wholeheartedly — kept reminding him that there had to be a reason for that night when they were eighteen.

And so he waited.

When the brunet showed up in the PM dungeon two years later, Chuuya knew he wouldn’t get a straight answer but he knew it’d come eventually

Dazai was a man of predictions after all, and Chuuya could predict him in his sleep.

So finally, once Dazai’s predictions with Fyodor ran dry and Yokohama was safe once again, the day came.

It was the scariest moment of his life, trying to find the words to explain all that happened on the night of Odasaku’s death, to explain his choices and reasonings with the events of Dead Apple and Mersault, to explain that his trust in Chuuya never died and never will, to explain that the bond between them runs so deep that if Chuuya were to die then he would cease to live too—

Chuuya had only needed one second to respond to Dazai, one second to plant a kiss on his lips and seal their fate.

Maybe he knew all along that they’d end up together. Maybe that’s why the little voice in his head never gave up on trusting in Dazai.

Whatever the reason, Chuuya’s just happy that, even after knowing each other for a decade, that trust is still just as, if not stronger, than it was when they were fifteen.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[tinywalkingheater]

I had to gush about the two most recent bad batch episodes so spoilers for those obviously.

here's a "brief" list of my thoughts during those two episodes:

omg is that rex?

HOWZER!!

that has to be rex

rex?

rex?

REX!

ominous special clone

they're targeting omega no :(

oh yay the bad batch is on screen

ECHO!

nothing else interesting until howzer disses crosshair wtf man

the switch up that the special clone had when he saw crosshair gave me physical chills

upset some clones died

wolffe no :(

wolffe stop this isn't you

nothing significant until crosshair snipes the second special clone

thought that was fucking cool

crosshair fussing over omega just like hunter does MELTED my heart

batcher whining and hunter going "I hear it too"

love when franchises remember the powers they give their characters

smoke bomb escape

loved the continued crosshair action

the heat cam parts were awesome

fight in general was really cool

seeing crosshair in close combat was also really interesting

knew cross wasn't going to die but fully thought his helmet was going to be lost down the waterfall

howzer getting over his contempt for cross to save him

rex talking to wolffe. that entire scene

wolffe letting them go and THEN going back to bury the bodies of the clones UGH my heart

summary and predictions:

i used to hate crosshair because he was an asshole to rex in season 7 of tcw but he's really grown on me and figuring out he's just a softie melted my heart. loved the action scenes with him, hope we see more of that in future episodes.

great seeing rex and echo again. any episodes with them are great episodes.

heart absolutely broke when I figured out wolffe was hunting omega. I was happy in the end when he let them go however.

I think that wolffe will end up deserting like cody did and maybe join rex in his mission. cody might return and join rex as well.

still think tech is alive and will appear in a later episode because we never saw his body and star wars is notorious for throwing characters down chasms and bringing them back later

next few episodes will probably be mostly filler/fluff to balance out the huge lore drops we got and the fast pace of these two episodes

M-count is probably midichlorian count

I think omega is a female palpatine clone and that she's force sensitive as a result

I think that project necromancer is to make palpatine clones so he can continue to live even after he dies

concluding statement:

these episodes were fucking metal watch them immediately if you havent.

[slightly-nerdy-rambles]

Robstar Week Day 6: Faux Pas-sible (Prompt: Favorite Quotes Crossover AU)

So if you couldn't guess from the title, I kind of cheated today and completely switched out today's prompt for one from last year. The Crossover AU story was one of the ones I'd been most eager to write, but it was such a specific prompt that I couldn't combine it with one from this year like with the last three days. So, when I didn't get any real ideas for the "favorite quotes" prompt, I decided to replace it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Those of you who follow my fanfiction in general probably predicted the choice of crossover or can at least see it from the title alone, lol. It's actually a version of a scene that I had in mind for a full crossover story between Teen Titans and Kim Possible which itself will probably never see the light of day but is still something I like to play around in from time to time.

Faux Pas-sible

Robin yawned heavily and tried to stretch all his limbs at once as he made his way down from his bedroom to the Tower’s common area. The Titans had been up late the night before after Plasmus slipped into the sewers during a routine battle and led them all on a merry chase beneath the city. The guests currently staying at Titans’ Tower had been helping them out, and the mission had still ended with Robin covered in grunge and so annoyed and exhausted that he couldn’t even be bothered to change before collapsing into bed. He seriously needed to clean up soon (and wash all his sheets now, for that matter), but first he really just wanted coffee.

With another yawn, he opened the door into Ops to see that someone had already beaten him to the kitchen. The familiar shock of red hair and bright purple outfit made him smile a little. Maybe he could use a different kind of pick-me-up.

“Well, hello there,” he said, trying his best to sound alluring. He wasn’t really much of a flirt, but Starfire liked it when he tried to be cute and there was nobody else here to see him if he flubbed it.

He saw Starfire pause, startled by his entrance. She started to turn her head, but before she could turn around fully he placed his hands on her waist and leaned in close.

He then promptly forgot what he was going to say next, mostly because he was too busy being hurled over the figure’s shoulder and slammed hard onto the ground in front of her.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Kim Possible snarled at him.

For a moment, Robin just blinked up at the guest of the Titans he had just inadvertently gotten fresh with. Too late, he realized that the gunk still on his mask and the counter blocking his initial view of her waist had kept him from noticing that he was looking at the wrong purple-clad redhead.

“...You’re not Starfire,” he finally squeaked.

Kim scowled down at him. “Yeah, no duh,” she said.

Robin just stayed on his back on the kitchen floor. From the heat in his face, he knew he had to have turned a brilliant red. “I would like to go crawl into a hole and die now, please.”

Kim raised an eyebrow at that. After a moment, she looked down at her mission gear and sighed. “You really mistook me for your girlfriend, didn’t you?”

Robin finally – if very gingerly – mustered the energy to sit upright. Kim had a really good arm.

“I really need to clean up and get a mask I can see out of,” he muttered by way of explanation. “Sorry.”

Kim considered it for a second, then shrugged and went back to preparing her coffee. Now it was Robin’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“You’re not still mad?” he asked, standing up.

Kim shrugged again. “Ehh. I trust you enough to believe it was an honest mistake, and frankly, this is exactly the kind of blunder Ron would make. Sorry for body-slamming you.” She picked up her mug and inclined her head toward the still-steaming coffee pot. “Coffee? I’m guessing that’s why you came down here in the first place.”

Robin let out a low sigh and rubbed the back of his head. “Honestly, at this point I think I’m so keyed up from embarrassment that caffeine will only make it worse. Let’s just agree to never speak of this again and I’ll go and change before I do anything else to make your team feel overly welcome.”

Kim smirked. “Deal.”

Robin was making his way back to the door when it opened without his input and Starfire – the real Starfire, he made sure to double check – drifted in. She lit up upon seeing that she was not alone in Ops.

“Oh, good morning, Kim Possible!” she called out with a cheerful wave to Kim. Then, more sweetly, “Good morning, Robin.”

She leaned forward to give him a gentle kiss on the forehead, but then stopped. Her nose wrinkled a little. “Oh my, you are still rather dirty,” she told him in a low voice.

“Don’t worry Star, he’s well aware of that!” Kim called out with just a hint of a teasing tone.

Robin could feel himself blushing again. “Gonna go fix that now,” he muttered, pushing past Starfire before she could take notice and question him about it.

Having the extra help around was nice and all, but Robin was really going to have to keep in mind that there were currently more people in the Tower than the ones he was used to.

That, and maybe try and ask Ron what kinds of faux pas he'd made to be directly compared to this… incident. It would be useful to know how not to die of embarrassment.

[msfcatlover]

Shadow Tim (Reverse Robins)

So, a few very important things to keep in mind for Tim's iteration of the Shadow design:

Tim is taking it up as a tribute to Steph after her death.

Tim does not have a Moonbeam as his partner. (He was supposed to be the next Moonbeam, apprenticed under Cass, until shit went down.)

Tim lacks the fully context & perspective on Being Shadow that Steph & Damian had about it (but he's trying his best.)

To start with, Tim brings Shadow back to Damian's greyscale & gold color scheme, but with one critical difference: where Damian had pops of red, Tim uses very light touches of purple.

(Tim also keeps Steph's bat symbol, so here's a quickly thrown together contrast. Tim has no Moonbeam, so he gets no light/metallic accent on his bat symbol.)

The second major tribute is that Tim adds a cloak, specifically taken from Steph's original Spoiler design. Tim's version is black with a purple lining, and gold trim around the edge of the hood, calling back to both Steph's dual-tone hood & her hair. The cloak itself is ankle-length; not practical, but evocative & stylish.

(So this style cape, and massive thanks to the Stephanie Brown Costume History page, y'all are lifesavers.)

Tim relies on the cloak to disguise his form, with the costume itself being much closer-fitted than previous iterations. The top is a black bulletproof vest with short sleeves added not dissimilar to his traditional Robin costume, but the weird stripes are actually places for him to tuck gadgets he expects to grab in a hurry.

(Basically this, but all one piece, with the Robin sleeves, and obviously lighter on detail to keep from being visually cluttered. No one wants to draw or look at all those lines & straps, or that little wheel-velcro-thing.)

Tim wears a dull grey chainmail body suit between his black undersuit & outer costume. It shows mainly on his arms, between the top sleeves & his gloves, but if his pants tore it'd be visible there too. The gloves themselves are his spiky gauntlets from more modern costumes, in black but with a gold hem at the very top to reflect the band on his hood (paying tribute to Steph's thick hems & blonde hair, while also bringing back Damian's color scheme.)

(These bad boys.)

Tim sticks with the neck gaiter Steph switched to, but does not keep the greasepaint. Instead, Tim has a headset styled after ski-goggles. He was originally designing it for becoming Moonbeam, hoping an AI scan of his opponents' moves would help him predict what they were going to do (allowing him to better mimic Duke & Cass's skillsets.) It's still a pretty rough prototype by the time Steph dies, but Tim's put a hell of a lot of work into it, he's not not going to field-test the thing, now is he?

(You meet the new Shadow, and this stares back at you from under the hood [lightly edited for appropriate drama])

Below the utility belt (grey with gold snaps/buckles,) Tim wears black heavy-duty cargo pants tucked into knee-high armored boots. The extra pockets even further emphasize that Tim is a character with a diverse set of skills and especially gadgets, and the slight puff caused by tucking not-entirely-fitted pants in at the knee calls back to Damian's "Infinite Frontier" outfit that inspired my original Shadow design.

(Not quite that puffy, but that would probably be down to the artist.)

For the boots, I do really like the ones Tim's been recently wearing in comics... mostly, at least. The ones on-panel have a little tabi toe-stripe most of the time, which either appears to be decorative (just a notch in front of the toe, which I don't like the look of) or does weird things to the depth (making his feet look flat.) Also, as someone who cannot even wear flip-flops without getting bloody blisters, it just looks uncomfortable to me. I really like the version Tim wore on that cover with Damian—the shape looks more comfortable, it looks like it has better grip & heavier armor, and looks like a shoe it'd really suck to get kicked by—but the stripes are nearly invisible, and the weird spike of armor above the knee is a bit much.

Combine the foot from the cover-boots with the shape & highlights from the panel-boots. Make the stripes & knee-pad border gold, and add a gold trim along the top edge of the green sole; the sole itself should be dark grey.

And that's Shadow Tim!

A little higher-tech to foreshadow his ascendance to Oracle, while also reflecting Tim's canonical love of weird gadgets through the ages.

Pays heavy tribute to Steph, but not in any way that'd be super-obvious if you weren't in-the-know, without directly ripping off her designs or looking so much like her that the other Bats could mistake Tim for Steph out of the corner of their eyes.

Pays light tribute to Damian, but aside from being a Shadow costume, Duke & Cass have about as much influence on the changes Tim makes (see: chainmail, glove style, face covering) as Damian does.

Misses a few important details of Shadow's design (see: no longer visible eyes, no more grease paint, dramatically changed silhouette) showing Tim wasn't prepared to step into this role but is doing his best anyway.

Extra armor & pockets shows that Tim's got even more protection than previous Shadows, hinting through design alone about the impact Steph's death had on the family.

Sticks to Tim's fashion tastes without going overboard.

Adds a cape for him to go swish.

I'm pretty happy with it!

[yourbestpalpercy]

(TW: Uncomfortable themes/Implied SA, if that makes you uncomfortable, do not read this or just avoid the first paragraph if you want to still learn some trivia about her)

Glitch is done! Though I might’ve forgotten to mention her tail is COVERED WITH SPIKES LIKE SHE’S A STEGOSAURUS

As Glitch has a history with being touched (thanks to her job at a club), she’s started morphing spikes onto her body to keep people away. Since she also works as a singer for a local group in Albutist (Yes, I finally made her and Soul canonical to My Story (The original name for Minty’s story)), she’s used to having these spikes on her. The only person that can touch her is her girlfriend, Soul, as she places full trust in her.

When the spikes aren’t there, though, her fur is actually super fluffy.

Glitch is a total party animal and she talks like one of those popular girls in High School. Unlike the majority of that kind of person though, she’s incredibly nice and means her words fully. She’s an honest person. In fact, you’d probably never predict she was a murderer as she’s not the sinister type.

Another bit of trivia, Glitch was originally a Night in The Woods Oc before I switched her to a Dark Deception Oc. In recent years though, she’s just a character for my own story, no longer having roots to either game (except a reference to Night in The Woods in the form of her town name, Nightingwood).

[deputyclover]

EX

*Rose and Martlet come off of the elevator, and approach Clover.

Clover, I'm coming with you.

Thanks Mom, I really need the support.

Come on Daddy! Onward to the Core!

Yes! Onward!

*The trio go to the door leading to the Core and eventually get to Mettaton.

OH YES. THERE YOU ARE, DARLING. IT'S TIME TO HAVE OUR LITTLE SHOWDOWN. IT'S TIME TO STOP THE "MALFUNCTIONING" ROBOT. NOT!!! MALFUNCTION? REPROGRAMMING? GET REAL. THIS WAS ALL JUST A BIG SHOW. AN ACT.

WHAT??

ALPHYS HAS BEEN PLAYING YOU A FOOL THE WHOLE TIME. AS SHE WATCHED YOU ON THE SCREEN, SHE GREW ATTACHED TO YOUR ADVENTURE. SHE DESPERATELY WANTED TO BE A PART OF IT. SO SHE DECIDED TO INSERT HERSELF INTO YOUR STORY.

Like a self-insert OC.

SHE REACTIVATED PUZZLES, SHE DISABLED ELEVATORS. SHE ENLISTED ME TO TORMENT YOU. ALL SO SHE COULD SAVE YOU FROM DANGERS THAT DIDN'T EXIST. ALL SO YOU WOULD THINK SHE'S A GREAT PERSON... THAT SHE'S NOT. AND NOW, IT'S TIME FOR HER FINEST HOUR. AT THIS VERY MOMENT, ALPHYS IS WAITING OUTSIDE THE ROOM. DURING oUR "BATTLE" SHE WILL INTERRUPT. SHE WILL PRETEND TO "DEACTIVATE" ME, "SAVING" YOU ONE FINAL TIME.

So she's deceitful... WAIT!

What is it Mom?

Ceroba! She said Alphys had her kid over ten years ago right?

Yeah... OH THAT MOTHERF*CKER!

GOOD, NOW YOU SEE, I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS PREDICTABLE CHARADE. I HAVE NO DESIRE TO HARM HUMANS. FAR FROM IT, ACTUALLY. MY ONLY DESIRE IS TO ENTERTAIN. AFTER ALL, THE AUDIENCE DESERVES A GOOD SHOW, DON'T THEY?

Yeah, so you connected this room to some bleachers or something, and then everyone will watch this.

EXACTLY. AND WHAT'S A GOOD SHOW WITHOUT A PLOT TWIST?

*The entrance is blocked as Alphys yells muffled.

SORRY FOLKS! THE OLD PROGRAM HAS BEEN CANCELED! BUT WE GOT A FINALE THAT WILL DRIVE YOU WILD!!

Want me to shoot at you?

SURE!!

*The platform starts to rise as Clover pulls out a blue and rose cowboy hats and hands them to Martlet and Rose as Mettaton talks.

Wear em'.

*Clover hands them both guns as Clover starts an act. as the stage rises to bleachers of monsters.

YEEHAW FOLKS!! WE'RE DOING A WESTERN SHOOTOUT!!!

*Clover hears multiple yeehaws and turns to see Starlow, Ceroba, Dalv, and the Fiesty Four yeehawing.

HI GUYS!!

Starlow: CLOVER!! YOU GOT THIS!!

Ceroba: You got this Clover!

Moray: We believe in you!

Now that's what I needed. HEY METTATON!! LOOK BEHIND YOU!! YOUR FANS!!

OH! MY FANS!!

*Clover sees a switch on Mettaton's back.

A switch? I wonder...

*Clover flips it.

DID YOU. JUST FLIP. MY SWITCH?

*Mettaton shakes violently and the area flashes as fog machines turn on.

OH YES!

*Spotlights shine on fog as a silhouette appears.

Ohhhh my.

What the-?

If you flipped my switch, that can only mean one thing. You're desperate for the premiere of my new body. How rude...

*Clover pulls out his golden wrench in his right hand.

I fliped a switch, I thought it would be cool.

Good, I've been aching to show this off for a long time. So... as thanks, I'll give you a handsome reward. I'll make your last living moments...

*The smoke clears as lights go off.

ABSOLUTELY beautiful.

WHAT.

OH NO, HE'S HOT!

???

NOW DANCE!

*As the four fight Clover incorporates dancing into his attacks as Rose and Martlet make a decent attempt.

*Clover is shooting at Mettaton's projectiles, and the heart he uses and eventually loses his arms.

A... arms? Wh... who needs arms with legs like these?

*Mettaton prepares an attack but Clover stops him with a timeout symbol.

Timeout!

... What.

*Clover grabs the arms that fell off.

Stand still.

*Clover sets an arm down, puts the right arm where it goes, throws his wrench upwards, catches it, and hits the arm, fully fixing it.

What is this?

Magic wrench.

... How?

No idea, it just fixes stuff when I hit it.

*Clover gets the other arm and puts it back with his wrench.

This... This. This! THIS IS INCREDIBLE!!!

*Clover repeatedly hits Mettaton with the wrench.

WE WILL DANCE NOW! NO MORE FIGHTING! JUST PURE

ENTERTAINMENT!!!

BRING YOUR FRIENDS DOWN HUMAN! WE WILL DANCE!

YEEHAW!

*Clover uses metal bending to make a path for his friends.

Ceroba: Clover, how-?

Not important now, I'll have a story later.

THIS WON'T BE THE LAST SHOW! GET TO THE SURFACE AFTER THIS HUMAN!

Ok!

*Clover's friends decide to push it to the side as Clover pulls out instruments as the stage fills with Clover's friends as they dance happily for ten minutes but Mettaton surprisingly powers down as the stage lowers back down.

Mettaton?

*The door opens, and Alphys enters and sees Mettaton and walks over to him concerned.

*Clover can't hear her.

*He doesn't care.

WHERE IS SHE!?!?!

*It seems someone else yelled with Clover.

WHERE IS KANAKO KETSUNE!!!

Wh-what?

Ceroba: WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER!?

O-oh no...

TELL ME WHERE THE FLYING F*CK THAT GIRL IS ALPHYS!

I-I-I... I need to go.

*Alphys runs away.

ALPHYS YOU SELF INSERTED BAST*RD!!

*Clover and Ceroba chase after Alphys but can't fond her.

Ceroba: WHERE IS SHE!?!?

*The two appear to be in front of Sans and Papyrus's house.

Undyne: Hey, what's going on?

*To be continued...

[jess-total-mess]

Hey @nekioe—hopefully this fulfills the prompts you requested. I have a habit of going a bit off-script. AO3 link here

He was getting close, George could tell. The compass was flicking back and forth, making rapid minute adjustments with every chunk he traversed, Dream close enough that just a chunk or two made the needle spin. They were far enough out that the compass George had that pointed towards Sapnap hadn’t moved in days, the needle pointing directly to the Greater SMP, far enough away that they would have some time. It had been spinning wildly at the start of the week, but had steadied early only, and hadn’t moved since.

The needle swung from side to side as George left the forest, stepping out into a meadow of flowers. Across the sunlit grasses he could see a figure, leaning against a tree. A probably-green sweater, knit, not woven, darker than George was used to, no hood. Darker hair, lighter than George’s own, interspersed with white. Like it always had, the hair moved around Dream’s head, floating like he was underwater, waving with the breeze.

He secured the compass in one of his pockets, and made his way across the field. As he drew closer, Dream’s shoulders tensed, his head lifting up, clearly listening to George’s footsteps. He made no effort to be quieter, even as he saw Dream’s hand lift and flex, getting ready to access his inventory.

“Dream.” He said, close enough to reach out and touch. Immediately, Dream spun around, a netherite sword forming in his off-hand, and swung. George, having predicted such a reaction, summoned his shield, fully enchanted and repaired, and blocked the hit, throwing the sword off with a single sweeping push.

Dream recoiled, and George’s shield rippled into nothing, as he reached out and grasped Dream’s wrist, fingers closing around the sleeve of his sweater, the wool itchy but soft on his worn hand. He twisted the wrist, and Dream gasped, mouth wide open as the sword dropped to the grass.

For a moment, there was silence, before Dream snarled, animalistic and raw, and ducked, driving his shoulder into George’s stomach, padded with leather. He grunted, taken to the ground, and held up his forearms to take the brunt of the punches he knew were coming. They didn’t feel as strong as he remembered, not as painful to take.

He opened his arms and grabbed Dream by the shoulders, throwing him to the side and rolling so he was straddling his former… something, holding him down with his weight. Dream thrashed under him, bucking and trying to kick, unable to get George’s somewhat insignificant weight off of him.

Something ugly curled in George’s stomach. Something was deeply wrong.

The hesitation was enough for Dream to throw his hand up, through George’s guard, and grasp him by the face, fingers spread across his cheek, thumb across his lower jaw. The grip pinched, and something hot burned from the point of contact, skin on skin, flooding George’s body. He twisted his head up and away, but Dream’s hand came with him, not even sliding off in the slightest.

Darkness spread over him, like he was falling into an endless ravine, stone walls closing in above him. And everything started to hurt.

When his vision cleared, George could do nothing but let out a weak whimper. His stomach was caved in on itself, like someone had taken a giant spoon and scooped his muscle and insides away, carved away at his thighs and forearms, taking the hollow of his throat and the rolls of his upper arms away from him. And it hurt, like nothing he’d ever felt before.

“George?” Someone with an accent said, blurry and confused. He managed to open his eyes, faced with… the ground was different. Darker, yet more vibrant. It was reminiscent of the effect those old googles he’d gotten as a birthday gift from Dream years ago had, but so much more. And it was familiar. They’d switched.

It had been so long since he’d seen green.

“Dream,” he said, flinching at how his voice sounded. Deeper, scratchy. His throat was sore, parched, as if someone had forced him to drink lava and wash it down with gravel and sand. “Dream, something’s wrong.”

A face appeared in his vision, slightly tanned skin and dark hair, shirt blue and leather armour on their shoulders, decorated with netherite scales down their arms. It was his armour, he realised through the fog of pain, breaths shallow in order to not strain his ribs. He could feel at least three of them slide in and out of place, clean breaks down his side and front, the bones pressing down against his lungs whenever he exhaled.

“George,” they said softly, in that same accent. A soft but worked hand cupped his jaw, and he leaned into it with a soft breath, feeling the hollow drop to his cheeks. It felt like he’d been starved and beaten for weeks on end. His feet ached, but the pain below his stomach seemed less severe, more numb. “Oh no. Please, no.”

There was something familiar to the tone, and a head collapsed onto his chest, making him wheeze. His hand, the arm that felt like it wasn’t as broken and bruised, reached up to cup the hair, familiar after long nights of nightmares where Dream’s fear and insomnia kept them both awake, Dream’s eyes silently leaking tears as he whispered apologies for keeping George up.

Every single part of his body, hollow and holy, hurt. 

“Dream?” He got out, choking on the spit he’d swallowed in an effort to soothe his throat. The weight left his chest, and Dream, seemingly in George’s body, wormed one arm under his knees and one arm under his shoulders, lifting him up easily. It was reminiscent of the good times, despite the haze of pain that blanketed George, the nausea that coated his mouth and throat as he was lifted. “Dream, what’s happening.”

“Nothing’s happening,” Dream said, in that way that meant he was trying to get George to go back to sleep when he’d just woken them both up with a nightmare. “It’s okay. Go to sleep.”

George, locked in Dream’s battered and broken body, fumbled with the arm that felt like it had been broken repeatedly and forcibly healed, and latched onto his shirt collar with aching fingers, clutching at Dream in his body. He managed to lift his head, finding Dream’s face—his face—staring ahead, fear carved into the part of his lips and the blown-wide angle to his eyes.

George’s gaze fell to his own, current body. Dream’s body. The sweater was darker, more vibrant. And George realised, in a quiet corner of his mind that flooded his entire body in a brief sense of childlike wonder every time he saw it, that this was what green looked like.

“This is your favourite colour?” He said quietly, turning his hand over, seeing the rippling scars across Dream’s knuckles and the back of his hand, but focused on the way the wool felt on his body. It felt so soft, the itch barely a concern with how terrible the body he was in felt. “It’s beautiful.”

Dream already knew that George thought that. It wasn’t the first time they’d switched, but it had been actual years. George couldn’t remember the last time they’d done it, but it was probably before the L’Manburg elections. He’d missed being able see green, even through Dream’s strange, glowing eyes

Dream glanced down at him, stumbling slightly, unable to see where he was putting his feet, unused to George’s body after so long. But he responded all the same, in an accent George recognised as his own. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” George said, his head lolling against his body’s shoulder. “Like you.”

“You’re delirious.”

“Because you’re in so much pain,” George whispered, hand falling into his lap, filling out where Dream’s stomach should be, where there was nothing but an empty feeling where flesh should have been. “It hurts so much. What did they do to you?”

Dream-as-George stumbled to a stop, panting. George knew his body wasn’t like Dream’s was—like Dream’s had been—wasn’t as strong or enduring, much less when it came to carrying someone. It wasn’t overly surprising that it hadn’t taken long for it to tire.

George was settled down on the forest ground, back pressed against an old birch tree. It was easier to breathe, sitting up. He looked up into his own eyes, Dream already chewing on his thumbs nail, not tearing the edge off, just nibbling. Stressed.

It was a habit George actively suppressed but had never gotten rid of. Whenever they switched, Dream tended to get caught up in it, the same way George got caught up in Dream’s whirlwind of a brain, the way they both marvelled over each other’s vision.

“Dream,” he said, and Dream crouched down, wobbling slightly as he balanced on the balls of George’s feet, a position Dream found comfortable but that George never liked. “Why does it hurt so much?”

Dream closed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, like when he woke George up through one of his nightmares. “Here—“

He reached for George’s face, hand settling on George’s—Dream’s—cheek. But this time, the heat didn’t come. Dream hissed, pulling away as if he was burned.

“Switch back,” he demanded, falling to his hands and knees, “Switch with me, it’s my body, give it back—“

“I don’t think you want this back,” George said knowingly. Dream, for all his stubbornness, had been in such pain for weeks. It was the least George could do to give Dream a reprieve from this beaten, starved, corpse of a body. “Dream, what happened?”

Dream shook his head, twisting a bit of George’s hair around his fingers. George could feel Dream’s hair against his neck and throat, dirty against his scalp. It hadn’t been brushed in who knew how long, much less washed. It hung painfully from his scalp, even as it floated around his head. Dream usually kept it much shorter, as when it was long it would float into his face, forcing him to tie it back.

“Dream,” George said, speaking as clearly and firmly as he could through the pain, “It feels like you were tortured.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Dream said quietly, drawing back, just out of reach of George’s newly-long arms. He rocked back, hugging George’s knees to his chest, picking at the dry skin of George’s lips with his teeth. “It wasn’t that bad.”

His eyes faded out, the brown taking out an unseeing sheen. George cursed, and tried to sit up properly. His back protested, aching and sore like after a hard manhunt, only several times worse. His hand slipped against the relatively smooth, papery bark of the birch tree he was pushing against, and slid sideways, collapsing to the ground. It sent waves of pain through his body, his hips protesting at the new angle in a way they hadn’t done before, his broken ribs cracking unpleasantly under him

Dream’s breathing had become harsh, rapid and heavy. Usually, when he panicked, it was a silent sort of thing, kept inside by carefully regulated breathing and perfect bodily control. If Dream could control his physical self, it was easier to control his mental self. It was rare for him to visibly panic. And it was not easy to calm him down.

George grimaced, and suppressed a wince when doing so pulled at the skin of Dream’s face. His entire body felt dry, deprived of any sort of moisture, like a corpse in the desert, skin not yet leathery but still clinging to his bones all the same.

He managed to roll onto his stomach as Dream whimpered, sucking in a louder breath before continuing to pant. Pushing himself up with his hands and knees was an ordeal he never wanted to repeat, hyper aware of the fragility of his arms, the way they shook violently with the insignificant weight of his starved body. It took less effort to crawl to Dream than it did to push himself up, but the joints of his hands and wrists were jammed together, tightly locked against each other, the bones rubbing and leaving a painful ache throbbing up his arms.

The only thing that could make the situation worse would be if Dream’s body had a migraine. Thankfully, he didn’t, despite the clear need for water, which was usually Dream’s trigger for headaches and migraines.

“Dream,” George said, pushing at Dream’s shoulders. The netherite scales were cold against his hands, and Dream uncurled without hesitation, moving to lay on his side on the ground, legs stretching out, head lifting to expose his throat. “Dream?”

He said nothing, but George could see the tears well. He’d only ever seen himself cry when Dream was in his body, those rare few times when they accidentally switched after nightmares or similarly terrible experiences, when the need to be close to each other was strong enough in both of them to trigger the switch.

The effort of staying sitting up was too much for George, unused to being so weak. How Dream had not only escaped the prison in such a state, but fled so far out that the chunks were newly generated terrain, was nothing short of a major miracle. He’d had help escaping prison, and Sapnap had mentioned Dream wasn’t acting the way he usually did, which had been enough for George to track his… something down, but that didn’t account for the distance covered in less than a week. He’d kept ahead of George, who had barely stopped to sleep, in a body so beaten and bruised George had already thought several times over that it would have been a kinder fate to just be dead.

He settled his upper body on his own body’s chest, cheek over his heart. He could feel it pounding even through the leather armour, or perhaps that was Dream’s own pulse, ringing in his ears. Hands instinctively came up, one wrapping over his side to loop around his back, the other coming around the back of his head to cup his skull. Familiar, even in the throes of panic.

“Shhh,” George soothed, tracing little circles with his thumb onto his collarbone. “Shhh, it’s okay. Nothing can hurt you here. You’re not in pain anymore. You’re safe, okay Dream? You’re safe. Shhh.”

He continued to whisper, his voice quickly growing hoarse, as if it hadn’t seen much use. According to Sapnap, few people had visited Dream in his solitary confinement. There hadn’t been much point to talking.

Slowly, Dream came back to him. His eyes cleared, and the two of them, laid on their sides, yin and yang around each other, George’s head on Dream’s chest, able to feel each others exhales on their own lips, watched each other in relative silence, the bird song and wind rustling the leaves around them. The hand on George’s back slipped away, and he whined at the loss of contact, but it came up to his cheek, tracing the cheekbone and dipping into the hollows of his skull, where bones never were.

“You’re in pain,” Dream said quietly, and George laughed, soft and hyper aware of the bruising on Dream’s lungs, the separated ribs that had been snapped. “I’m sorry. Can we switch back?”

“You want to be in pain again?” George asked softly, and knew that Dream would answer with a yes, because it was him in pain. For him and Sapnap, Dream would do anything to keep them safe. “You’re an idiot, Dream Was Taken.”

“Maybe,” Dream said, fond. It sounded strange coming out of George’s lips, in George’s accent. There weren’t many traces of fear left on George’s face, just immense affection and adoration. “I don’t want you to be in pain.”

“Only if you don’t run away again,” George said, settling his bruised and scarred hand on Dream’s wrist, fingers easily wrapping around the lower arm, touching together like a bracelet. “And let me take care of you.”

“Okay.” Dream agreed, and they sat up, George groaning as Dream carefully helped him, George’s back pressed against Dream’s chest, a reversal of how it usually was. Dream’s body, and whoever inhabited it at the time, was usually the big spoon. In such a tall body, George wasn’t used to being the small spoon, but it felt nice to not have to support the aching body.

Their hands clasped together, and the heat spread through Dream’s aching body from the point of contact. George’s vision clouded with darkness as if he was about to pass out, but without the wall of pain to impact his psyche, he didn’t, the pain melting away as if it had never existed.

Now, he was the big spoon. It was still weird, being in his own body and holding Dream from behind, but it wasn’t a bad weird. Just a bit strange. In his arms, Dream groaned, tilting his head back.

“Want a potion?” George asked softly, already knowing the answer. From the moment they’d agreed to switch back, he’d been trying to remember if he’d brought any health or regeneration potions with him. With access to his inventory returned, instead of access to Dream’s, it was easy to know that he indeed had several of each, tucked neatly away.

“Please,” Dream whispered. His head was tilted back so that their eyes were connected, and George didn’t break eye contact as he summoned a regeneration potion, knowing that Dream’s ribs would thank him for it. He took the cork out with his teeth, not wanting to let go of Dream’s hand, and helped Dream sit up slightly more.

It caused Dream to groan, eyes closing with the shifting of his body. He accepted the potion easily, years of living together and spending days in each other's bodies enough to allow George to know exactly how much he needed in each sip.

“When it gets bad again,” George said, in a tone that left no room for argument. A rare sort of tone. He liked arguing with Dream, it was always fun. But this time, there was nothing fun about it. “We’re switching. Even if just for a few minutes.”

“It’s not that bad,” Dream whispered between sips. He was tearing up, making George aware of the dried tears on his own face that Dream had let out during his panic. “I just… got used to not feeling it for a bit.”

“We were only switched for fifteen minutes.”

“It felt like hours,” Dream admitted, the potion finished. George discarded the bottle in his inventory, not wanting to leave any trace of either of them for someone to find. His eyes slipped closed, tears leaking out. If he didn’t feel so awful, George was sure he’d be sobbing, chest-wrenching gasps of air and all. But they both knew, cathartic as that would be, it would only make things worse. “I haven’t felt okay in so long.”

George dipped his head down, pressing his lips to Dream’s forehead. “Once we’re settled, we’ll switch.”

“But you’ll be in pain,” Dream said, selfless and sacrificial.

“It’s always worth it for you.”

[stedes-incredible-library]

hey there! thank you so much for this gem of a blog. I look forward to your posts. my fav type of fic is really tropey dubcon (think sex pollen / something made them do it / non con drug use, etc) where they both actually do want it so, even tho one always feel guilty, there’s a happy ending. do you have any recs along those lines? Thank you 💕

Hi Nonnie! You didn't specify a ship so we've included a variety. We're also not sure if you have read these before, because we started our hunt in some predictable tags (sex pollen, fuck or die, bad guys made them do it, etc). You didn't include omegaverse in your trope list, but some has been included here because heats provide a lot of fodder for this type of dubcon. The dubious-ness of the consent varies in the fics listed here so please read with care and attention to ships, summary, and tags for content. There is also our previous dub con rec list to review from back in August!

Pollen Season by Dracothelizard [E], 8k

An exploration mission Stede goes on with Roach and Lucius goes terrible wrong.

Or terribly right.

The Fucking Tea by Dracothelizard [E], 21k

Calico Jack gives Stede some aphrodisiac tea and leaves to shore with the rest of the Revenge crew, whoever can possibly help Stede with his unbridled horniness?

(It's Ed.)

Unnamed mutual noncon (Ed/Stede) by Dracothelizard [E], 686

This is a ficlet that ends before anything explicit occurs, and therefore before there's any chance to discuss and come to a true happy ending. There are a few other dubcon ficlets in this collection - sift through and proceed with attention to the chapter titles.

We Do Not Follow Maps to Buried Treasure by CartoonMayor (aka @zombee) [E], 5.6k

Stede is taking Ed on another treasure hunt to some supposed sea god's cave.

Things do not go as planned.

Let your yes be yes by emzash [E], 3.9k

Can’t we talk about this?” Stede asks, like there are any words that exist to solve this problem.

“What the fuck, no we can’t talk about it,” Ed says. “I need you. You’re here. Can we just get on with it?”

“You need me now,” Stede tells him. “But what about when your heat is over? What then?”

“You can leave me again straight after,” Ed says, refusing to let the hurt surface over the desperate need in his body. “Don’t worry Stede. I don’t expect anything else."

Do You Need Anybody by sinuous_curve [E], 4.6k

Heat catches Ed by surprise as a cramp that cuts him deep down in the pit of his belly.

Ed does not need a helping hand. Stede's offering anyway.

lord, my body has been a good friend by mtothedestiel [E], 4.6k

Stede is like a walking nest.

A Push, A Shove by LeatherCropTop [E], 25k

Stede was never particularly good at being an alpha. He thinks of himself as others always have, a worthless, incapable excuse for an alpha. After he meets Ed, that starts to change. The two of them fall in love, circling each other for days on end, but neither of them makes a move. Then Stede's behavior begins to change in a way like never before, unbeknownst to himself. The alpha instincts begin to trickle out until, like the flick of a switch, he suddenly goes feral.

Even for an alpha like Stede, turning feral is ravenous and being anywhere near them is dangerous, but the only way for a feral alpha to go back to normal is for them to mate and if the alpha doesn't mate in time, they will die. Ed isn't going to let Stede die.

who would trade that hum of night by CyborgShepard [E], 8.8k NOTE: not quite a fully happy ending, but not not

He’d thought the boy dead. Was glad for it, for a time, too. Murdering is one thing, but this — what’s happened to Spriggs now — it doesn’t sit right with Izzy.

He can imagine how he’d spluttered his thanks, wheezing up half the Atlantic like he was wringing a cloth, when Calabran’s lot fished him out of the water. He can imagine how Spriggs would’ve said it all, in that lilting, dour way. He might’ve demanded a blanket, or a berth, or water. Can imagine that he didn’t stay thankful for all too long after. 

It’s not sentiment, Izzy tells himself. 

release in sodomy (one sweet moment) by calicojackofficial [E], 3.3k NOTE: happy ending somewhat author's note reliant

The crew of the Revenge gets captured and during an interrogation attempt, Edward gets dosed with a sex pollen serum. That's not what they meant to do, so the guards lock Ed up with a bound and helpless Izzy. Izzy gets something he's always wanted but could never ask for. For as long as it lasts.

soft spot (for hard stuff) by bitethehands [E], 1.9k

“He’s much sweeter like this,” Stede is saying, even though Ed’s clearly not listening, “isn’t he?”

Ed has given him no indication of anything even marginally close to recognition in several minutes, now, because he’s been busy staring. Staring at Izzy, who so far doesn’t seem necessarily aware that Ed’s even here. It’d almost be normal, the strangeness of his being in Stede’s cabin aside. Except he’s naked and blushing from head to toe.

the promise of the joker and the fool by @thesoulundone [E], 7.1k

He's here, in a shitty little tavern, in a shitty little corner, drinking liquor that burns all the way down, stoking the fire he's already got burning in his belly. He's sitting on the other side of the table to Jack - Jack, who's got his arm slung casually around Izzy's shoulders. All Ed can think about, the persistent thudding pulse of his brain, is getting in between them.

Izzy. Izzy who's a fucking omega, revelation of the fucking year. Izzy, whose second heat aboard ship had been just as unpleasant as the first, who'd barely come out of it when they made port, whose dark-ringed eyes and stiff movement made Ed's fingers itch with the need to tear someone's throat out about it. Izzy, who's wearing a fucking collar now; shiny, good quality leather, wide and thick and cleverly made, though the craftsmanship doesn't do anything to disguise the fact that it's locked shut.

Let us know if you enjoyed this list! Did we skip your favorite tropey happily-ever-after dubcon? Chime in!

As always, please let the authors know that you enjoyed their fics with kudos and comments.

~Mod A