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metranart · 2 months ago

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The sound of Hawk's voice was something you still hear when you close your eyes, undertones of something deeper, something similar to devotion... almost too caring... asking you to bare his children and become completely and irrevocably, HIS.

ft. Hawks centered, Hawks x reader, Slight! Dabi x Hawks, Slight! Bakugo x reader, Slight! Dabi x reader (in future chaps)

Hawks x UA Student! Reader (Part 14)

Warning tag: obsessed! Hawks, possessive! Hawks, naive! student reader, violation of trust, dubious consent, mating cycles, rut response, obsessive behavior, uncontrollable thirst for reader, manipulation, forced, thigh riding, hormonal minds out of control, sexual content, first time, cock riding, teenage fuck, Dabi's toxically interested in you, Bakugo bestie yet secretly inlove wit you, love confessions, cock-drunk, Hawks trying to be good but failing miserably, gaslighting, HEAVY plot, lots of smut.

Hawks felt like a glorified asshole for keeping an eye on you instead of doing his patrols. But he couldn't help it... he was just drawn to you like a magnet. Now, you were the gravitational force of his entire universe.

A loose gray sweatshirt covered up to your thighs, it was large and easily hid your identity. Those honey marbles that he called eyes, followed you closely bouncing from solitary tops of buildings, wondering where you were going in such a hurry and with so much stealth.

"What are you up to, baby bird?"

After all the commotion created in the dorms the night the Nomu attacked you, the last thing you wanted was to attract more attention.

The days to come it was difficult to find a moment alone especially with how overprotective your friends got, but you finally managed to shake them off a little, making up a credible enough excuse to go out alone even when Bakugo insisted proficiently on tagging along.

You reassured him, and quickly claimed that your parents wanted to see that you were okay in person. Actually, this web of lies was only due to you didn’t want Bakugo by your side when going to the drugstore in search of that, vital and inculpatory, item.

You moved at a fast pace; it surprised you how sharp you were even when had been unable to close your eyes for the last nights. The thought of already being carrying Hawks' child in your womb plagued you mercilessly.

“I'm gonna stuff you with my chicks, you are gonna look soooooo pretty all swelled and heavy…” you remembered his words, you could even feel his warm breath against your ear.

The sound of his voice was something you still hear when you closed your eyes, undertones of something deeper, something similar to devotion... almost too caring... asking you to bare his children and become completely and irrevocably, HIS.

“I can barely wait to come home to my pretty little wifey, waiting for me—” he had claimed, reverently—as if you were meant to be his most prized person, “...round belly, full of my chicks and big, pretty smile on your face,” his daydream, way too chaotic, way to visceral… “-SO ready for me to fill you again.”

Your favorite Hero had come inside you more times than you could keep count, since you stopped doing it when he reached five.

You even remember, now like a bittersweet and faraway, fond memory…. that Hawks was your first sexual awakening, at the tender age of fourteen, it was his golden curls and his captivating, carefree smile, that had made your heart skip a beat, that had set your hormones on fire... he, alone had been the protagonist in your first sexual fantasy, your first masturbation session in the privacy of your room, your first fictitious boyfriend, your first crush with a man-.... So, was expected, that this situation should be a dream come true for you, but it wasn't…. Because you were no longer a naive and dreamy girl, and he was no longer the idealized, unattainable Hero. Everything had fallen into place in the most painful way possible.

“Here you go miss, thank you for your purchase."

The cashier replied as dry as a martini, prejudice peeking out of her cold stare, to which you only gave a soft thank you. Without a doubt, she and her unjustified reaction was a clear example of what to expect in a teenage pregnancy.

A heavy sigh escaped from your lips as you left the drugstore, you hated the situation you were in. The contents of the paper bag resting on your hand, your best kept secret so far, or so you thought.

Keigo’s skin crawled, the entire time you were inside the drugstore. Pinching the bridge of his nose, the winged hero felt like throwing up. He had used one of his feathers with a hidden microphone, so he could listen to what you ordered at the pharmacy, and his fists had clenched almost homicidally when heard you order 'morning-after pills' and a pregnancy test.

You were his mate, Goddammit! You were supposed to be happy and proud to sport his seed inside your tummy. Hawks sulked feeling highly wounded and offended, and not just for this… but also for yesterday's incident. That Bakugo guy was brazenly prickling at his infinitive patience, the bastard had overstepped his welcome yesterday and now, Hawks got him on his radar.

The winged blond paced from side to side like a bull seeing red, like a lion caged… yet eventually, after seeing how miserable and slouched you looked while searching for a public bathroom to make the test, his heart softened for you.

“I’m the worst trash that ever existed," The blond chastised himself, "nevertheless, I'm HER trash now."

Hawks didn’t even try to deny his bizarre infatuation. He, almost proudly, admitted that this was not the end for the two of you-

He gifted you a month out of the graciousness of his heart, even when he doubted his ability to keep that promise. You were freely looming, in his mind, taunting his every thought.

So, he kept watch, waiting for something he didn't even know what it was. Nevertheless, his watch has begun, and it shall not end until his dying breath.

His mind had been set. You were his and he was yours, he could easily overpower you no matter how hard you tried, no matter who you ran to, what you did to try to protect yourself.... there was nothing you could do to stop him, and that simple truth was what was keeping him at ease. Granting you certain freedom from his iron grasp, from his sharp claws.

Finally, you found a public bathroom and ran in, this time the winged hero chose to give you the privacy of urinating on a stick, alone. You deserved that much. So, he patiently waited on the nearby roofs, he would then go get the pregnancy test from the garbage can, without a doubt, you wouldn't take the proof of his sin back to the dorms. So, all he had to do was wait.

You pee on the blessed plastic stick and wait. The instructions said one minute but you felt like two hours had already passed.

"God! Can't this take any longer?!" You complained loudly, nerves eating you alive. The minute passed and suddenly all your courage disappeared along with your desire to know the result.

The plastic stick left abandoned on top of the sink, you just had to take a look at it, but you couldn't move, you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t fucking blink.

What was there would change your life three hundred and sixty degrees.

"Dammit!" you heard yourself curse, burying your face between your hands to massage your temple burdensomely, "...Grow a fuckin' pair and be done with it, (Y/N)-"

"-If you want, I can tell you the result."

You suddenly heard a bubbly voice say, and your hands fell from your face to reveal a girl standing there. A cute brunet with something akin to a smirk, or a very self-indulgent grin on her face.

“I really don’t mind,” she giggled, all teeth and bubbly energy, “nor I will judge you, I’ve been there myself.” Her smile twisted reassuringly, and you sighed, embarrassed at having to resource to a stranger to do this.

“You are way too kind but-”

“Don’t overthink,” the girl stepped closer, offering you her best winning smile, “I’ll look and then you can tell me if you want me to tell you the result, okey?”

Somehow, her odd and unrequested company felt better than face this alone. You ended up, nodding stoically and she peek at the pregnancy test.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” you repeated, quizzically. “Is that a good ‘Oh’ or a bad ‘Oh’?” your voice sounded weird even to you.

The girl cracked a wide smile taking the test in her hand. “Well that depends on you, do you want to be a mommy or not?”

You heart fluttered awkwardly at the bold use of term mommy. You shook your head anxiously, and she hummed in understanding.

“I see.” The girl conceded in a weird resignation, “too bad, you're so pretty... they would have been very cute children."

Oxygen refilled your lungs again, and you felt as if your life with dreams and hopes, was turned back on. A devastating feeling of relief washing over you.

“Thank god!” you beamed with so much relief, you even felt like hugging this opportune strange, girl. “That means, I’m not with child.”

“Nop.” She corroborated, handing you the test back, yet you refused to touch it.

“I don't want to have one of those in my hand again for a long time,” you admitted, honestly, “you can throw it away.”

“Sure,” the girl did, and after an unholy and vast blast of thank you’s, you parted ways with your anonymous hero. Almost skipping on your feet all the way out.

“Thank you again.” You screamed back, once at the exit door. “Sure, it was my pleasure...-” You left, and the door slowly swayed until it closed completely, and the girl added, “-(Y/N).”

Once alone, she reached into the trash can and retrieved the pregnancy test, giggling the whole time.

"A heroine-to-be shouldn't be so trusting." A macabre smile spread across her face, and she tilted her head at the test in her hand, "...I wonder why Dabi is so interested in Hawks' toy?" Toga wanted to rip her face off, but she had chosen one so pretty that decided to stay in costume a little longer. "Well, it doesn't matter, Dabi said he’ll pay me for this, anyway."

Still, in disguise, pocketed the pregnancy test and left without raising any suspicion.

Hawks kept pacing on the roof, desperation clear in every stomp of his boots. He was doing his best to be patient while searching. The blond had been looking for the evidence for more than half a day, the damn pregnancy test, he sent a dozen of his feathers in search of it, but nothing... had you taken it with you? One would only keep a test if it was positive, right?! Were you pregnant with his nugget?!?... Was he really that lucky?

“Hawks, where are you? over.” His radio came to live, once again and this time felt he couldn’t dodge his Hero responsibilities anymore, “We have not had any communication from you all day, over.”

Hawks inhaled sharply before answering. “I am on surveillance, please do not use this channel unless it is an emergency.”

“It's not an emergency, but I thought it was prudent to let you know before accepting, over."

The night was already upon him, and the cleaning man was just leaving his shift. Hawks sighed, heavily. He had lost his chance to find anything.

"Speak."

"You have to say over when you finish talking." Hawks deadpanned; he wasn’t in the mood for this.

"Speak." He repeated, sternly, patience close to its limit. The person on the other end sighed, "UA Academy is calling for reinforcements for this year's sports festival, over," the voice on the other end said and suddenly he felt very interested, "continue."

The radio biped again, "They fear an attack from the League of Villains, since yesterday someone managed to throw a projectile through the shield and break a gym window,” Hawks listened attentively, an impious smirk slowly twisting his lips up, apparently his little outburst had had interesting consequences. The person on the other side continued, “and therefore, they request the help of Pro-heroes to avoid any incident. Endeavor, Mirko, Best Jeanist and Ryukyu have already been confirmed," the voice explained, "I think It would be an overkill if you were to-"

"I accept, confirm my attendance immediately." There was an awkward silence before the radio biped again, "Are you sure? We have no intel of an attack from the League, you would be the first to know, I think they are overreacting-"

"Better safe than sorry."

Long silence, and then.

"If you say so, over and out."

The memory of yesterday's incident made his blood burn again, he knew it wasn't your fault but that of your little friend: Bakugo, that shameless son of a bitch, that made him foam at the mouth like a mad dog, it made him want to kill someone... it made him need to get even, and suddenly, the blue eyes and stapled skin of his lover in turn, spark in his brain... Dabi could take it, he'd even love it.. Hawks left the roof in a rush of crimson feathers and sent a text message.

Hawks. -

See you at the agreed place.

Dabi. -

So fast, birdbrains?

Hawks didn't answer, just heading to the agreed upon location.

“Give it here, Toga.” Dabi entered the room where Toga was upside down on the couch, scrolling through her cell phone. He needed to close that before meeting Hawks. "...I assume you have what I asked for?"

Toga sat up straight and stretched her back soundly, before answering. "I got it," she assured, "...where's my payment?"

Dabi took out a box of fine sweets, from the best store in town. Store that at this moment was being put out by firefighters after the sudden and unsuspected electrical short that set it on fire. If only.

"First give me the evidence and I'll give you the box." Dabi offered with a bored grimace, and Toga pulled the coveted item out of her backpack.

"At the same time?"

Dabi shrugged, unconcerned. After both snatched the precious items from each other’s hands in a quick exchange, the pregnancy test rested in his scarred hand. Without ceremony, Toga ripped the box open and stuffed her mouth, making her words difficult to understand.

"Why aw-re you interestwed in Hawks' girlwfriend?"

A pierced eyebrow rose on the dark-haired man's face.

"How many lines for positive or negative?" the turquoise-eyed asked, openly ignoring her ramblings.

Toga shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, I never knew how to read them." She admitted in all honesty, stuffing her cheeks with more candy.

Dabi grimaced, and luckily for him Kurogiri’s timing couldn’t be better. The dark purple mist appeared out of thin air behind the bar. Misty's hands beginning to clean glasses, absentmindedly.

"Oi Kurogiri, do you know how to read these things?"

The dark purple mist's yellow eyes stared sharply at the item in his hand before meeting his eyes for a brief minute, and then returning his gaze to the pregnancy test. "I have some knowledge about it."

Dabi stepped closer, handing him the test. Kurogiri’s eyes fixed on the stripes and Dabi’s lips pursed, unable to know if he was smiling or scoffing when he ended up saying quite politely.

"Congratulations, Dabi."

COMING SOON PART 15....

➡️ NSFW Artwork of this story

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bahablastplz · 2 months ago

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All in | Chapter 15.5 (Chan)

pairing: Lee Felix x f!reader (mafia au)

summary: You didn't know what you were getting yourself into when you started dating Yang Jungwon, notorious mafia boss. Your life gets flipped upside down when you're found beaten and bloody by SKZ, the rival mafia group, and you're quickly integrated into their lives. What will happen when you try to leave your old life behind and start anew?

chapter summary: How did Chan come to join SKZ?

chapter warnings: depictions of childhood abuse

warnings: please see series masterlist for all warnings

series masterlist ~~ series taglist ~~ main masterlist

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Bang Chan:

People have always said that violence is a learned trait, that your child doesn’t just come out of the womb with no sense of morality and the desire to do evil. This is something I can attest to. I remember personally the first time I ever saw my father lay a hand on my mother.

When I was five years old, my father slapped my mother square in the face. And at the moment I wasn’t exactly sure what was happening or what I was feeling, but I knew that I loved both of my parents very much. I knew that hitting was bad, my parents told me that themselves–but then why would they engage in that very same act they told me that I should never do? I threw myself in front of my mother and told my father to stop. I had that innate desire to protect my own mother at that young age, even with a snotty nose and tear-streaked face, and though my own sense of right and wrong wasn’t completely developed yet, I knew it was wrong when my father hit me in retaliation. When I looked at my mother in awe, expecting her to say something or confirm that my father had just done a terrible thing, she had just turned a blind eye.

So no, I didn’t come out of the womb with the desire to do evil, but if you were to ask my father, he would have sworn up and down that I was the devil reincarnate. And I sort of felt that that’s who I needed to be–I was the oldest of four. My parents continued to have children when we certainly could not afford to have them and they shouldn’t have continued to have them. There’s always that rage as an older sibling, the one when you know you’re the one who’s going to have to take care of your siblings and protect them from your parents that’s indescribable to anybody who hasn’t experienced it.

So, whenever my father came home drunk and wanted to take out his anger on my siblings or my mother, I let him take it out on me instead. I encouraged it–and tried to become the target of his anger so that nobody else in my family would ever have to know what that feeling was like. I bore that burden all by myself when nobody asked me to and my father hated me for it. Countless nights I went to sleep beaten and bruised and likely concussed all to keep my family safe.

If you were to ask me what my childhood felt like, I would have told you that I felt utterly powerless and alone. Although every choice I made was my own, it never really felt like it was a choice. Because how could I just sit back and let that monster lay a hand on my own younger siblings who can’t stand up for themselves or protect themselves?

To begin with, my parents didn’t bring home a lot of money. My father did some sort of hard labor and my mother was a teacher. With four children, we were just barely scraping by most days. When I turned 14 years old, I picked up a part-time job on top of school in order to help out with funds.

When I was 15 years old, I caught my father cheating on my mother with a prostitute. I never was able to tell her what I saw. How could I? I loved my mother but she was very weak, fragile taking care of us four. She was already a shell of herself after putting up with my father’s physical abuse and drunkenness for years. I didn’t think she could handle the truth so I did not tell her.

My father finally stopped beating me after that–but somehow I still felt like he was the one with the upperhand.

One day when I was on my way home from work I heard some commotion in the alleyway outside of our house. Upon closer inspection, I realized that the whimpering lump of body I had come across was none other than my father who had been beaten to a pulp.

I saw him weak and vulnerable in front of me, the life slowly starting to drain from his body. He begged me, his eldest son and his ‘pride and joy’ to help him and give him a second chance. I didn’t have to ask him to explain himself to me, but as if he knew he were on his deathbed, he admitted all of his wrongdoings to me. The large amounts of money he’s been taking out and borrowing, gambling away, how he had lost his job months ago and they had threatened to take the house if he didn’t pay for his life.

“Oh shit, there’s a kid,” I had heard. A few men turned down the alleyway, holding bats and guns and a bag of cash. These were the men that had done this to my father. They made him look unrecognizable beyond repair.

“He’s probably going to beg for his daddy’s life,” one of them laughed.

“Me?” I blinked at the men, looking in between them and the form of flesh in the alleyway. “I was actually going to thank you. You’ve made this a hell of a lot easier on me.” And while my father was begging for his life, I bashed his skull in and felt good while doing it. And while the loan sharks watched, horrified but also a little bit impressed, I left my father in the alleyway as if he were just any other piece of trash. I would let the police find him and assume that all of his debts had finally caught up to him, and the crime would never be connected to me.

I never felt any remorse. Not when my mother and siblings mourned his death. Never,

When I was approached by the same men that had beaten my father, I thought for a moment that maybe they would want me to take on his debt and I was already thinking about thirty different ways I could kill them and never get caught. On the contrary, they were hoping I could join them and become a loan shark. At the time, I didn’t really know what I wanted to do with myself at first–all I knew was that I wanted to make a lot of money. But I realized quickly that that wasn’t the only thing that I wanted to do, nor was that all I was capable of. If I played my cards correctly, I could rise the ranks quickly and gain a lot of power for myself. I knew I didn’t want to be someone at the bottom of the chain, but rather someone delegating responsibilities and handing out punishments.

I would weed out the weak and make the organization my own, in time. It would mean leaving my family behind–and I didn’t regret it, knowing that I’d be doing better things. I dropped out of school and never saw my family again, becoming a lackey for the same people my father owed money to. I spent years beating and killing people, proving myself within our own organization that I was worthy of being trusted, gathering my own people and intel and rising up in the ranks just as I wanted–until I killed the leader and took over his position.

It was here that I was able to reframe things the exact ways that I wanted. We became SKZ, known for our organized and violent crimes, and slowly but surely my hand dipped into almost every bar, casino, and nightclub in the city. My business handlings and financials grew exponentially, and it was as if I had everything I had ever wanted. I was at the top and I had all of the power.

Until I had met Yang Jungwon’s girlfriend, that is. When I had met with the opposing group ENHA for the first time, something about Y/N L/N drew me in in a way that I couldn’t explain, and she was temporarily out of my reach. I wasn’t below kidnapping or lying in order to get my hands on her, but it seemed I didn’t have to. It took two weeks of thoroughly watching her before Jungwon knocked her out–and I found her unconscious outside of ENHA’s bar. I immediately swooped in and rescued her, knowing that I could have her as my own and use her to my advantage to gain the upper-hand on the ENHA situation.

I had felt powerless a lot when I was a child, but that was because my father had made me feel that way. Now, I felt powerless around Y/N, and it was because of the way she made me feel… Like I wanted to never let her leave my sight, like I should leave her trapped where she could never get hurt and nobody could ever see her or talk to her. And everytime she talked back to me, I got chills all over my body, and I went to sleep each night dreaming about ways that I could get her to submit to me, to be loyally mine and only mine.

I realized I was in love and I didn’t like the way it made me feel.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

A/n: tomorrow comes our last mini chapter and then at some point on Sunday we will get our main chapter!! The finale will drop shortly after. I realized it made more sense as I was writing it for our mini chapters to appear back to back <3 thanks for the patience with my break last week

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longhardtransitionreturns · 10 months ago

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Twilight Sleep

Colonel Hutcherson's blonde bombshell wife has been making waves in our small town since the moment she got off the train in a bright red pin up dress with more creamy cleavage on display than our poor farm boys had ever seen. Her sea green eyes, red lips, and shapely hips on top of the longest set of gams in stilettos to ever set foot here immediately made her gossip fodder for the bar flies and the busy bodies.

They said she couldn't buy bras off the rack because her breasts were so big. That she sent all the way to New York for her stockings. That her hair was falling out because of all the peroxide she bought to keep her hair a brilliant platinum white.

Either she already had a baby growing in that flat belly of hers when she came to town or Colonel Hutcherson put one in her right quick because it wasn't long before Ashley Hutcherson’s already obscene titties were spilling out of her tops and her belly was growing straight out like a bullet. She wore her dresses so tight the whole town knew the very day her belly button popped from an innie to an outie.

I knew Ashley, of course, because I was her OBGYN. One thing I figured out quickly is there were no thoughts behind those pretty eyes. Ashley was so dumb she could barely string a sentence together and I had to explain to her how her baby was going to come out of her tiny little fuck hole. The look of horror on her face when she realized she was going to have to push a watermelon out from between her legs was priceless.

And that was without me telling her that she had an extremely narrow pelvis and Colonel Hutcherson made such large babies his last wife had labored for 3 days to squeeze a 14 pounder out. She could barely walk for weeks and she was a regular size farm girl.

Ashley was so relieved when I told her about the miracles of twilight sleep I almost popped in my pants right there. She was delighted she’d just go to sleep and wake up with a baby, none of the mess of having to push it out.

When the time came, Colonel Hutcherson delivered her to my home surgery when her pains were regularly five minutes apart. She was so swollen by that point she was wearing nothing but a white silk robe trimmed with lace over her shoulders. Her pretty face was screwed up in discomfort when I opened the car door to help her out.

Her eyes lit up with relief when she saw me.

“Oh, doctor, I’m so glad to see you. I’m ready to go to sleep now. I don't like how my tummy feels. It hurts!”

She clutched my arm with one hand and her massive, straining belly with the other as we walked inside. We bid goodbye to her husband at the door and I promised to call him. Her kissed her on the cheek and told her to mind the doctor.

She shivered when I led her into the delivery room and she spotted the steel table in the middle of the room. Her eyes went immediately to the stirrups.

“We’ll put your legs up there to help the baby come, honey, but first we have to get you ready to go to sleep.”

I coaxed her out of her robe, taking a moment to admire her dark, swollen areolas and how the baby had settled low in her elongated belly. She was so big I had to help her up on to the table. She let out a grunt of discomfort as she lay back and the full weight of her overloaded womb and her massive milk laden tits settled on her small frame.

She was pliant as I strapped her legs into the stirrups but she gasped sharply when I ran my finger through her folds.

“Let's get you ready, Ashley.”

I didn't bother to explain what I was doing or apologize for the cold temperature of the shaving cream as I spread it over her vulva. She had just a smattering of blonde curls but I ran my razor over them anyway just to have a clean work surface.

“That's a good girl,” I reassured as Ashely moaned through a contraction while I wiped the cream and hair away. She was a groaner but she was clearly trying not to writhe too much in the stirrups.

I let her recover from the contraction while I prepared the enema supplies. When I approached her with the tip of the tube and a bit of lube, I saw fear flash across her face for the first time.

“Where's that gonna go?”

I smiled reassuringly. “We need to clean out your insides to make room for the baby.”

I slipped it in quick, shushing Ashley's yelp of protest, and allowed the warm water to start flowing. She was dumb but quickly figured out what was happening when an urgent pressure started to build in her bowels.

“Ow, ow, my belly, it's too full already! It hurts!” She rubbed the underside of her aching orb, trying to twist to the side to alleviate the pain in her gurgling gut but stopped by the straps on her ankles in the stirrups. “I feel like I need to poop, why are you doing this? Ow!”

I pressed my palm against her pelvis, rubbing firmly. She cried out in protest.

“We wouldn't want you to poop on me or your baby's head, no would we, Ashley? I can't believe you're being such a bad girl. I'm sure the Colonel told you to do as the doctor says.”

Ashley looked betrayed now, scared, in indescribable pain, exposed on a table with no way to know what was coming next or to do anything to stop it.

As if to illustrate the point a contraction gripped Ashely's roiling abdomen and she screamed, full throated, as tears streamed down her face. The agony of contracting with a full bag of warm, salty water in her ass broke any last semblance of composure and Ashley started begging me to make the pain stop.

I secured the catch bag underneath her and prepared the drugs I would need to administer twilight sleep while Ashley screamed and pleaded her way through three more contractions. I realized quickly she would need extra restraints while under because she was tossing her aching body wildly, huge tits swinging.

When I finally removed the plug the noise the laboring woman made was so erotic I got hard instantly. It was a groan of agonized relief followed immediately by a yelp of pain when yet another contraction closed around her middle.

Ashley was spent, legs splayed limply, her bowels empty and her ass clenching. The baby had dropped so low by this point she was starting to feel him in her aching hips. She was unimaginably full and the ordeal of the enema had taken it out of her. After the pain passed, she gathered her composure enough to look up at me beseechingly.

“Put me out now, please. I don’t want to hurt this bad anymore.”

I had to adjust my rock hard cocktail before moving to her side to slip my special cocktail into her IV. I stroked her face as she started blinking and nodding her head from side to side. I watched as awareness left her eyes and her mouth dropped open with a weak groan.

“Ashley?” I tapped her cheeks, moving her jaw from side to side. Her green eyes stared up without recognition. I reached down and tweaked her engorged nipple and her lips opened to emit a moan of pain.

This was my crowning, pun intended, achievement. I'd perfected a scopolamine cocktail that turns the patient’s brain to mush but leaves her aware enough to feel and respond to the pain of labor in order to be a beautiful, brain dead birthing doll for my and my patron's pleasure.

I left Ashely lying on the bed, contracting now about every three minutes and really feeling it, measuring by her noises, to make a phone call. Then I put an oxygen cannula under her nose, cleaned her up between her legs, checked her dilation, and wrapped her wrists and ankles in towels so there wouldn't be any questions about bruises.

When John Hutcherson arrived, he looked as eager to get the night started as I was. We'd met during the war when I served as the chief medical officer of his battlefield command. We found out one pregnant local girl later that we shared some frowned upon predilections and now, ten years and a lifetime of experience later, we partake of his wealth and my medical genius as often as we can without raising suspicions.

It's John's wife so, of course, he gets to go first and however he likes. He loses his pants quickly after he walks in and sees her strapped spread eagle, her arms straight out and tied to the table and her legs secured in stirrups. She's screaming through a contraction and oblivious to our presence.

John moves on her like an animal in heat, plunging his generous, throbbing member into her exposed, dilating cunt without any preamble. She shouts as she is brutally and unexpectedly skewered on his cock while a contraction is still ripping through her. He doesn't give her even a moment before he starts pistoning in and out of her so hard her back is slapping up and down on the steel table.

Her titties bounce lewdly, slapping from side to side atop her grotesquely swollen belly, as he rails her with all his strength. I finally go up and hold Ashley’s head to keep in from hitting the table due to the force of her husband’s pounding. Her leaking green eyes are filled with fear and pain but it’s also clear the struggling woman isn’t capable of understanding what’s happening to her. Her world has narrowed to the pain and fullness in her tits, hips, and cunt, and as far as she is concerned, it’s never ending.

Hutcherson blows his first load when she has an especially hard contraction on his cock. He lets out a surprised gasp and then he’s jerking as he’s milked by his wife’s laboring uterus. Their cries blend in the air, one of utter pain and the other of blissful pleasure.

When he’s finally able to pull out, his flagging cock plops loose with a squelching sound. His cum mixed with blood and amniotic fluid floods out of her and on to the cloth below.

The brutal pounding leaves Ashley listless and moaning with a little bit of drool making its way down her chin. It’s part of the beauty of the drug that even though she’s blasted out of her mind, her body is going to push the baby out no matter what.

Over the next several hours, we take turns playing with her engorged nipples, sucking them to induce contractions. John sticks his hand up her through a couple, shivering with arousal when she cries out and tries to get away from the intrusion. Eventually her agonized sounds change to desperate screeches as transition hits and the contractions become longer and unbearable. We each dip into her a few times while she endures the most painful part of labor and both barely keep from cumming when she clamps down on our dicks and wails.

It takes her hours to get the baby down but it’s huge in her tiny pelvis and when it gets lodged in her hips, she starts vocalizing low, loud grunts as her body tries to expel the huge head. I almost blew my load too soon when I wedged my dick up against her massive stomach and rolled her hips side to side to help urge the huge load down.

She screamed bloody murder when it finally crowned and John held it there for a good long while, stroking her engorged clit and easing the head out so she didn’t tear. The body was huge, however, and we had to put her legs as far back as we could to help her deliver the shoulders. Her cries of pain echoed off the walls as I roughly jerked the rest of the body out of her sore cunny. A huge flood of liquid shot out of her bloody slit and she was left with her pussy bared, gaped open and dripping birth fluid.

I handed the baby off to my loyal nurse who maintained the nursery in the next room and turned back to my friend. He was hard a rock, stroking his wife’s ruined cunny. She was still visibly hurting, both from the sheer size of what just came out and the after birth contractions.

I climbed on top of the beg, squatted over her deflated belly, and put my dick in between her massive tits. Behind me John let out an erotic groan as he sunk his massive length deep into his wife’s loose, bleeding pussy. It made a nasty squelching sound when he pulled all the way back out and slammed back in as hard as he could. He proceeded to brutally rail his wife’s post birth pussy and I came all over her tits while she flopped up and down on the bed, screaming from the pain.

The next time I saw Lucy, she was back in her white silk robe, a 17lb baby suckling at her ample breast. She’d reapplied her lipstick but her eyes were bloodshot and she looked like she’d been through hell. She woke up initially screaming about the pain in her pussy and she was still sitting awkwardly, an ice pack on her bruised and throbbing sex.

That being said, she was thrilled she didn’t remember a single bit of it. She thanked me profusely and told her husband she wanted me to deliver all of her babies. Once her poor little cunny healed, of course.

Josh and I shared a look over her head. We were already counting down to Ashley’s next labor and delivery.

#birth kink #maesiophilia #preggo kink #painful birth #hospital birth #medfet #labor and delivery #giving birth #birth #twilight sleep #medical malpractice #preggo fantasy #fantasy

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burstingwithbellies · 4 months ago

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You need a surrogate. You sought out an agency for one and apparently, you got hooked up with one of the best. Funny, you didn’t know that surrogate parents could be ranked.

Uh, but anyways. Stepping into the facility, you weirdly felt like you were in a frat house. Many overly friendly pats on the back, raised eyebrows whenever your chosen surrogate was mentioned, sneaky smiles. There was a weird air around.

Mind that you have yet to see this person. You had communicated with them through a chatroom a bit and looked at their profile. You did see a profile picture for them, you know what their face looks like but… something felt off. Something felt off when you walked into the place.

I mean, they seemed experienced. Their health was great and they have had many successful pregnancies.

Many. An impressive bit actually. You guessed passingly that maybe they were just proud of their most productive and fertile employee. But then, you saw her.

You have NEVER seen a surrogate like her before. Or any pregnant woman like her ever for that matter. A ball of overtaxed flesh conquered her and sat triumphantly on her form. She was pregnant; she was very pregnant. You can’t believe how pregnant she was.

She was wearing nothing. Not that you think she could wear any clothes. You don’t know what size there is out there for a woman of her magnitude. The only thing that was somewhat keeping her dignity was her belly oddly enough. You couldn’t see her lower half because of it.

You nearly caught a glimpse of her engorged, furiously red tits ( that matched the color of her belly too ) but she grabbed a blanket and covered up what she can.

“Come in,” She invited. Transfixed on her entirely, you followed.

You would come to learn the reason that she’s so swollen was because she had multiple wombs and at the moment, 13/14 of them were occupied. Each womb was at a different gestation stage.

2 wombs have 9 months along babies, 3 wombs hold babies that are 7 months along, most are half way through and the remainer are in the early stages.

Now, that explains how they amassed so many pregnancies and babies. Now, the question is if you want to occupy the last spot inside of them.

When you asked you that, that broke you out of your trance. You sat there in silence for a bit and they impatiently tapped their fingers on their tit.

“Well, I am waiting for an answer,” She groaned. You blushed red when they then asked: “Do you want me inseminated or are we looking at the old fashion way. Know that I want extra for the latter.”

#fpreg #feeling really kinky ~ 😈#pregnant fantasy #hyperpregnancy #pregnancy kink

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cupcakeinat0r · 11 months ago

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Broadway Baby

Ch.1

Nueva York.

The city that never sleeps.

You moved here when you were just 18, with a suitcase and big dreams.

It would’ve been when you were 14, your parents had taken you to the big city to watch a musical on Broadway. It was that faithful night you realized your calling. That moment changed the entire trajectory of your life.

You fell in love with it. The music, the lights, the sets, the performance of it all. It was pure magic. You were entranced from the first note of the overture to the very last bow of the lead player.

There was just one problem: you had the confidence of a chicken nugget.

Since the womb, you’d been a very quiet child, extremely soft spoken when acknowledged, so when you told your parents your dream occupation, they were a bit skeptical. Nonetheless, they were both extremely supportive, especially after that one night when your mom overheard some singing in your shower.

She had been in your room, collecting dirty laundry when she heard a beautiful melody coming from your bathroom. Curious as to what song it was, she pressed the shell of her ear against the door. Still not able to hear the lyrics exactly, she cracked open the door, looking around for a speaker, only to find none. It clicked. It wasn’t some blue-tooth equipped music, but her daughter’s voice. Your voice. You’d been singing the songs from the show they took you to. Her jaw fell open. Never had she heard you produce such beautiful sounds. She made sure not to make her presence known since she knew if she did, you’d surely stop vocalizing out of embarrassment.

You were signed up for voice lessons immediately.

Ever since then, you’d been training, dance and acting classes following shortly after that. It became clear that your talent was a blessing from above after hearing teacher after teacher praising about your prodigious abilities.

4 hard working years later, you decided to spread your wings, kiss mom and dad goodbye, and start your career. A small apartment in Nueva York became home. It was lacking a good AC system and the floors were creaky, but it was an affordable start.

It’s been another 2 years since moving to Nueva York. Each phone call home, your parents are delighted to hear about your accomplishments, happy to hear that you’re in a steady place on your path to stardom. You’ve been in a few shows now, landing supporting roles, featured dancing gigs, and so on… but you’ve yet to land that big lead. Your big break. It’ll come though. Patience.

Raw talent could only get you so far in this business. The only thing that seems to matter nowadays is connections and nepotism. You had to stop cowering in your shell and start networking yourself somehow. It was difficult, being the introvert that you were. If only the persona you embodied on the stage carried over into your every day life. When you’re on stage, you’re a complete different person; almost a character. That’s why you loved doing what you did so much. You felt comfortable on that stage, free to be whoever you wanted to be. It was your sanctuary.

Life in the arts was never safe or secure, and you knew that when you decided to sell your soul to this industry. Despite the endless auditions (rejections) and multiple part-time jobs, you loved your life. You loved being an actress in Nueva York. It gave main-character vibes. You had a part-time job as a waitress downtown during the day, and at night, you’d switch out your apron for a costume that didn’t leave much for imagination. You were currently a featured dancer and supporting character in the city’s most popular musical. You’d remind yourself that many aspiring actors would commit heinous crimes to be in a similar place in their careers as yours. It wasn’t no starring role, but hey, it was something.

Life was good. You were happy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was just another day, alike all the others on the 2nd year of your 3-year contract in the Musical you were in. It was simple really:

You wake up, do your day time skin care routine, warm-up your voice, brush teeth, put your apron on for the Stardust diner, wait a few tables from 9-5, your house call was at 5:30 so you’d take the train and show up at 5:25, stretched, warmed-up your voice some more, and be ready in the wings by curtain call.

This was the part you looked forward to every day. That minute you stand behind those velvety curtains, heels and exaggerated lashes and all. The sticky residue of the tape that keeps your mic attached to your neck. The sparkles on your body that never seems to come off, even though you shower after every show. The astronomical amount of hairspray that you’d have to brush through when you got home. You loved it all.

When those curtains opened, a new person was born. Ingrained into the crevices of your brain, the muscle memory within your body would perform the dance moves you’ve been repeating for 7 nights in a row for 2 years.

And you’d deliver the same lines you always delivered ( and ate all of them like you always did), and your voice, like an angel. You sang your heart out, the applause fueling your energy and nourishing your soul (and maybe even your ego).

The beauty of live theater is that every show is different. One of the many aspects you loved about it included the audience members; each night, the crowd was different. Today, in particular, there was a young girl in the front row, sitting right in front of where you were dancing. She looked up at you in the same way you looked at those actors all those years ago, with that same awe in her eyes. Noticing her, you flashed her a wink and a smile while performing. You even managed a small wave, which granted an excited expression from her. The little girl, practically bouncing in her seat, then looked up to the large, dark figure sitting next to her, enthusiastically pulling on the black jacket of what seems to be her guardian. “The pretty lady waved at me!” is what her lips read.

This was a normal occurrence for you. You made it a priority to at least engage with some of the youth in the audience if you happened to pass by any. It was for them you performed, after all. It was always so endearing seeing their cute little reactions to the show.

This time was a little more special, though. She reminded you of yourself when you were that age. Down to the tan skin, brown eyes, and dark hair, pulled into a tight ponytail.

You felt this connection to her. It was inexplainable. In one of the dance numbers, you sort of gravitated around that relative area in front of her, interacting with her. You made that girl so happy. This was a night she’d never forget.

With the show coming to a close, you take your final bow for what seems like the millionth time, but it never ceases to feel like the first.

Curtains close, the cast comes together, and you all rejoice in another victorious performance.

You all retreat back to your dressing rooms, hastily wiping off make up, the stripping of fishnets and jazz shoes taking up majority of the already small dressing room.

It wasn’t abnormal for people to come up to you after the show and congratulate you on such a successful portrayal. Sometimes, though, it could be a lot. Sometimes, you just wanted to go home and body slam your twin bed. Not tonight, though. Standing yay high in a line of audience members awaiting autographs was the little girl. When both of your eyes met, your face instantly brightened, hers twice as much. She jumped up and down, again tugging at the towering figure’s jacket, exclaiming, “Look, papa! It’s her! It’s her!”, and you followed the direction of the adorable juvenile voice with a wide smile.

You walked up to her and knelt down to her level, speaking with a voice that could be compared to that of a Disney princess. As you approach the precious young girl, your maternal instincts slowly kick in. You couldn’t help it; you loved engaging with the kids.

“Oh, I remember you! You’re the pretty girl sitting in the front row! Did you enjoy the show?” You ask with a friendly smile. The girl looks at you all starstruck, her cute smile reaching from ear to ear as you tell her you remember her. “H-hi! I loved it! You were really good!” She professes, her dimples adorning her face. “Can I have an autograph?” She asked shyly, presenting the playbill that the ushers hand out to the audience and a pen. Just when you’re about to happily oblige, you see a hand reach down to her shoulder, followed by a low, soft voice,

“That’s not how we ask, mi Vida.”

Your eyes begin a path from the strong hand that rests on the little girl’s shoulder, up a Herculean arm clothed in what looks like black cashmere (it was cold out), next were his broad shoulders, preceding a sharp jaw and the most plump, dark pair of lips you’d ever lay eyes on, across a tanned, sculpted face, until you got to those deep brown, almost crimson eyes. You stared for a little too long, only managing a smile and a soft chuckle, a combo that you’ve practiced in the mirror countless of times in case an agent wanted to make their presence known.

The man looked like a model. Couldn’t have been over his early 30’s, easily standing over 6 feet tall, and from the looks of it, took very good care of his body. He was covered in a black trench coat, more black, yet much more fitted clothing worn under, but you could tell he was hiding massive muscles under it all. You just knew it. The man was freakishly huge, towering over the both of you, making you feel small especially since you were on your knees. His luscious dark hair was slicked back, a hint of greying on the sides, and one strand detached from the rest, falling down his forehead.

“Oh, sorry, papa. May I have an autograph, please?” She corrected herself, holding out the playbill and marker further out. You looked back down at her again, regaining your composure. Taking that she just called him ‘papa’, you assumed he must’ve had a mrs waiting back home, so you clocked this as an admire-from-afar situation. You tried to steal a glance at his hands to see if maybe there was a ring, but he was wearing gloves. Womp Womp. Oh well, whatever, back to the adorable girl in front me, you think.

“Of course you can, beautiful!” You exclaim, accepting the playbill and pen from her. You speak as you write your signature and a short note, “so what’s your name, mama?” (‘Mama’ can be a way of referring to someone younger than you). She looks at you with amazement as you’re focused on writing on the cast list page of the playbill, “My name is Gabriella”, she responds, to which you say, “What a gorgeous name! My name is y/n. How old are you Gabriella?” She seems to be so shocked that you, the coolest person she’s ever seen, wanted to have a conversation with her. “I’m six! I’ll be seven in seven days!” She says proudly. “Oh, such a big girl you are! Happy early birthday! What‘s your favorite thing to do, Gabriella?” You ask her as you finish the note, closing it and letting it sit in your hand as you focus on her now.

She visibly thinks hard, pursing her lips as she comes up with an answer. “Hmm… I really like to draw. I also like to play outside when I leave school and-and…” she twiddles her fingers as she adds,” -and I love to dance! Me and my papa dance at home a lot! You’re a way better dancer than him!” She giggles, looking up at him with a playful grin. He looks down at her with a loving smile, letting a velvety chuckle slip from his lips, allowing a perfect view of his dreamy smile. You could tell the two shared a beautiful relationship. He looked at her like she was his whole world, his hand caressing the top of her head affectionately. This little girl had this big strong man wrapped around her tiny finger, and you softened at the sight. He was probably an amazing dad… Jesus, who ever is sitting at home waiting for him really has scored the jackpot. Lucky.

“Aw, that sounds like fun! And as for your father, it just takes lots of practice, that’s all, mamita. As a matter of fact, I practiced for six years!” I say, holding out six fingers as I say it. She gasps at this fact about your training, her eyes wide. “Six years?! That’s like, forever!” She says. “Do I have to practice for six years to be good like you?” She inquires, her brows raised, waiting for your educated and professional answer. You carefully think of an answer, knowing anything you say could forever stay with this sweet girl. Words that you feel you would’ve appreciated at her age came to your mind, “Well, Gabriella, that’s hard to say. Time is different for everyone. The best thing to do when you want to follow your dreams is to simply be the best version of yourself. No need to copy anyone else. If you do that, you can absolutely do anything your lil heart desires, okay?” You finish, nodding your head, awaiting her confirmation.

You don’t notice, but her dad is watching the two of you interact, and he simply smiles at the exchange. He could tell you had a way with kids. He studied the way you spoke, the way you smiled at her, both being so genuine. He was entranced by you. He loved how engaging you were. You were truly creating a magical core memory for his daughter, and he was beyond appreciative of that.

Her mother had passed away of cancer when she was only 2, so she never truly got to meet her, or had a maternal figure in her life for that matter, so seeing her interact with this kindhearted actress was nice. Seeing the two of you interact reminded him of how important it was for Gabriella to have a female figure in her life. There was no doubt that you were a drop dead gorgeous woman as well, and by the accent he picked up on, it was evident that you were of Latin descent. You had that natural motherly charm to your essence. He was captivated by your presence on the stage already, but now that he was up close with you, he was beginning to feel like a high school boy with a crush. Stunning? Talented? A Latina? AND Gabriella was crazy about her? It had him thinking for sure.

Gabriella absorbs your words like a sponge, clinging on to every syllable. She smiles at you, breaking out in a fit of precious giggles. “Okay!” And with that, you give her playbill back, as well as her pen.

“Take a picture with her, sweetie.” You hear the mysterious, definitely-not-on-the-market dilf say. Gabriella nods eagerly with a, “ohmigosh, yes!”, and you reply with a warm, “definitely! How would you like to pose? Is this okay for you, mama?” You ask her, your hands hovering over her shoulders as she stands in front of you. You didn’t want to touch her unless she gave you an ‘ok’. Once she nods, you gently place your hands on her shoulders, still kneeling on one knee as you smile for the phone her dad was holding. You lower your face down to be next to hers. In the couple of seconds you sat there frozen for the picture, you could’ve sworn her dad had looked you up and down, his eyes stuck on your butt, but you decide to dismiss it. He might’ve just been making sure you were in the frame, is all.

Let’s be real for a second, the photo wasn’t for the record of Gabriella’s memories more than it was for her father’s own indulgence. He was totally thinking about looking back at this picture later and gush about your looks.

Gabriella turns around and asks one more question. “C-can we hug?” She asks timidly. You visibly melt at the request, “Aw, yes, of course we can, mamita!”, she quickly wraps her tiny little arms around you, and yours around her, “Thank you so much for coming to the show! I’m so happy you enjoyed it!” You say, her face still nuzzled into the softness of your sweater as you caress her tiny ponytail. When she pulls away, she only smiles, looking up at you like you were a fairy princess out of a storybook and a unicorn was gonna pull up and carry you away.

“What do we say, mija?” The beautiful man said.

“Thank you, y/n!” She sweetly adds.

You stand now, smiling down at her with your hand gently lifting her chin,“Remember, mama, you can do anything. Don’t let anyone tell you different, okay?” The cutie patootie nods, her smile still plastered on her face and her now signed playbill held tightly to her chest. “Okay. Have a goodnight, Gabriella,” you stand up straight now, your face only reaching up to the chest of her dad, giving him a warm smile as you try to maintain casual eye contact with the Greek god in front of you. Even now that you’re standing, he still towers over you. Lord have mercy, this man was makin you nervous in all the good ways. Thank God you knew how to act. “Thank you so much for coming to the show!“

The man looked down at you and flashed you a dashing smile in return, his gaze narrow yet soft. He then had the audacity to throw in a wink, opening his mouth to say, “No, no, thank you for a wonderful performance. You were absolutely breathtaking.” His gaze was borderline flirtatious, a blush creeping up on your cheeks, but you had to stay professional. Besides, he was totally married already. This was a simple, friendly compliment, one of hundreds you heard each night.

You look down at the floor for a second, in efforts to cover any blushing, a humble wave of your hand leading your reply, “Aw, I really appreciate that. You’re too kind, Thank you! You two get home safe now, I’d hate for either of you to get a cold!” You say, closing the conversation. You wave at the both of them, Gabriella waving the hardest of the three. Her father, on the other hand, seemed like he was distracted by you, not realizing his daughter was yanking on his coat to leave. The dad quickly snaps back to reality and says goodnight to you, and they make their way into the bustling street.

As you’re about to tend to other autographs, you can’t help but overhear Gabriella talk to her father as they leave. You could’ve sworn Gabriella’s words were, “Papa, were you making googly eyes at y/n?” To which her father replied with a chuckle and, “What? That’s silly, mi vida, now look where you’re going and hold onto my hand, por favor”, he said, brushing off her question. “She’s very pretty.” “Yes, she is, isn’t she?” He admits. That was the last of the conversation you heard. You found yourself smiling, internally celebrating because this fine ass man finds you pretty. Too bad he’s taken…right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After signing a few playbills and posters and bidding a farewell to some other audience members, you made your way back to the little studio apartment you called home, instantly beginning to knock out the second your head hit the pillow.

Before falling asleep, thoughts of the mystery man filled your mind, recollecting that chiseled jaw, those soft lips, muscles begging to break free from his button down dress shirt. His deep silky voice rang in your head, doing the opposite of lulling you to sleep. Your mind starting settling in the gutter, imagining that deep voice saying sweet yet disgusting things in your ear and those large, calloused hands removing your underwear instead of your own dainty hands. You can imagine his huge body just completely enveloping yours on the bed, him on top, and those soft lips planting wet, lazy kisses along your neck and other much more sensitive places. It was creating a heat within your core, your thighs shamefully pressing against each other to help relieve a growing tension that crept up from a single thought of his intense gaze; those eyes that could make your inexperienced self burst within seconds. You liked to think he’d talk you through it, only igniting the fire in between your legs even more.

Am I seriously fantasizing about a man I exchanged like 3 words with right now? You say to yourself. I don’t even know his name.

He was just so goddamn fine.

You’ve had your fair share of attractive men in the city. It’s Nueva York. And you worked in the performance industry. You were bound to see a 10/10 or two. But this guy… This man would’ve made you drool had you not had an adorable munchkin there to distract you. This man was a 10000/10. He had you contemplating whether or not you were gonna slip a hand into your panties tonight he was that good looking.

You were a virgin. You had spent half your life devoting it to the arts and your craft, so much so that you never got to the whole dating thing. You almost completely forgot about that part of the thing called ‘social life’. All you knew was practice, eat, workout, repeat. The opportunity definitely has presented itself, but you’ve declined because:

A) You weren’t ready to share yourself with someone. You wanted to focus on your career. Or

B) The man wasn’t up to your standards. You couldn’t be with someone unless you saw a future with them. You never really understood hook up culture. You could care less if other people preferred it, it just wasn’t your style.

So here you were, in bed, a hesitant hand slowly making its way to the now wet spot of your panties. You can’t remember the last time you let loose like this…

Yea, you gave in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, you didn’t have your 9-5, however, you were called to perform both the matinee and late night show. You showed up early to the house, stretching and warming up along with the rest of the cast.

Already in your own head space as you meditate in a child’s pose, you start picking up some whispering amongst your costars. You lift your head, opening your eyes to eavesdrop.

“Did you hear about the donation this morning? A whopping $10k. I wonder who was it!” One of them says. Another one notices your attention and includes you in the conversation.

“Y/n, do you know about it?” but you only shrug, this being the first you’ve heard about it.

Another one chimes in, “heard it’s a hella loaded guy from Alchemax… he’s like a CEO or something-“ “Alchemax? As in the Laboratory? What’s a science nerd want with a theater troupe?” “Well doesn’t matter, what matters is we can finally update our sets and costumes, hallelujah.”

Your eyes dart from one cast mate to another as more information and whispers flood the stage.

Another one, who’s currently in a middle split, interjects, “Y’all do realize this means he gets a part of the house, right? He’s basically a producer at this point.”

“I thought it was just a donation-“ “the directors thought so, too, but then I overheard them discussing business plans. He wants in for sure, why? Have no idea. Total eye candy, though.” “Well, it might be good for us to have a businessman on our side-“

“Good morning, everyone!” Everyone looks over to your bright eyed and bushy tailed director. How can someone be this energetic at this waking hour?

“I don’t mean to interrupt your mingling, but I do bring some stellar news. I want to introduce ya’ll to our new patron of the house!” They say, and next to them appears a familiar tall, dark, and handsome figure adorned in a white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and jeans; A man that you remember inappropriately touching yourself to the night before. You inwardly thanked him for blessing you with a better view of the outline of his body: those broad shoulders sloping into the sluttiest waist ever to be found on a man. You had to physically hold back moan from the sight.

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Miguel O’Hara.”

You’re gagged. The gorgeous man that thought you were pretty last night was the CEO of Alchemax, and he just became a partner of your theatre. The sudden realization that he’ll be around regularly tied knots in your stomach, but the good kind.

“Now I want you all to make him feel welcomed. He basically just opened his wallet wide open for us, so this show better be flawless.“ your director reprimands, as if y’all aren’t the city’s finest performers already. People around the world came to see you guys.

“Oh, don’t be so harsh on them, the main reason why I donated in the first place was because of the raw talent you have here,” his eyes fell on you when he says this. His voice pierced through the air like a hot knife on butter, his slight accent adding a bit of heat that sent everyone’s heart fluttering. You fought back a blush once again, looking down at the floor due to his powerful gaze. He smiles at your reaction, “It’ll be a pleasure working with all of you. Now, I know it might be strange, seeing that a scientist has just partnered with your house, but please, don’t let my line of work mislead you; I’m a lover of the arts and… all things beautiful.” His eyes once again fall on you for those last few words with that same narrow yet easy gaze. His smirk alone could make you swoon. He had creases that accentuated his brow lines and cheekbones that only added that much more suave to his look. Could be from the surely scowl he constantly held at his work. To the majority, this would just been seen as a sign of aging, but to you, it was hot.

“I look forward to our partnership. Break legs.” And with this he turns and walks away, stealing one last look at you before he’s out of sight. I’d rather you break my back. Your eyes shamelessly follow him, admiring that tight ass in those jeans of his. Dios mio, you think, biting your lip.

You know, for a virgin, you had the mind of a whore.

You couldn’t believe it. Your cast mate next to you could, though, as they shot you a knowing look, to which you nudged them embarrassingly.

“Seems like our hot new patron likes you, y/n.”

“Stop it!” You rebut along with a roll of your eyes, your friend stifling a laugh. You were in denial. You’d be lying if you said you disagreed. The man was definitely eyeing you, and now you were a flustered mess. However, now that he wasn’t wearing gloves, you can confidently say you don’t remember seeing a ring…

bingo.

A/n: Hope u wike it <3

Enjoy this appetizer, more to come<3

Mwah<3

Ch. 2

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ac3may · 1 year ago

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" the wag diaries "

The Orgin Story

~ Charli Grant ~

~~~~~~~~~~

growing up as Sam kerr's little sister sporting greatness was practically expected from you

you were always striving to do better and be better

despite the age gap between the two of you competition was always strong in your household

and that didn't start or end with football

you and Sam had been challenging each other since you left the womb

who can eat breakfast the quickest? who's fastest to the car to ride shotgun? who can basketball throw the candy wrapper in the trash first?

by the time Sam had left Aussie Rules in exchange for football you were just starting to play sports

so you followed in her footsteps, therefore starting at a younger age than she had

this led you to challenging each and every record she set

progressing age groups ahead led you to play on the some team for several years

one of the reasons you both became as good as you were was due to the challenge of each other in games and trainings

who can score the most goals? who can run the furthest? and the quickest?

as much as the two of you competed though you were each others best friend

when Sam left to play professionally while you were still stuck finishing school neither of you were pleased but knew it was for the best

but at 14 you got called up for the National team, making your Matilda's debut a whole year younger than your sister had

as soon as you could after leaving school you made your way out of the country to continue your love of the game

initially rejoining your sister in the States, becoming a player for Chicago Red Stars

alongside Sam again!

after an incredible first NWSL season in Illinois Y/N is suddenly approached by an onslaught of clubs globally

your agents encourage you to move to Europe while your young talent is still so greatly desired

you don't wish to leave Sam after just reuniting though

it's not until a late night discussion where she discloses to you her discussions with Chelsea that you reconsider

reflecting on how competition improved both yours and Sam's talent through your life you pulled out the only obvious contract to ensure prime progression

within the year you had officially signed with your new club and found yourself proudly dressed in red

yes. Arsenal.

what better competition for the Kerr's than playing at rival clubs across the city from each other

when you told Sam about your choice all she could give you in return was spluttered laughter

her flabbergasted reaction come at great amusement to you

"sorry, what?!"

"but is fine cause we're both in London, so we can still live together!":

"oh. we can, can we?"

but of course you did

you were still each others best friends

and if your stint living apart had taught you anything it was that you enjoyed living together for more than apart

there was never a quite moment in your household

that was for certain

so you found yourselves a place between your two training grounds

...well maybe not exactly directly, your managers wouldn't let you live in Slough

but Richmond was a good compromise

an important move to considering the lockdown that followed shortly after your move

the chaos was constant but you both preferred it to the otherwise silent alternative

"Sam?! what did you order? this box is massive!"

"ah, I was wondering when the bouncy castle would get here"

revenge definitely followed after she showed your new team your underwear

*sam walking past several 'Do Not Disturb' signs*

"hey, Y/N/N. are these yours?" *red snoopy boxers spin on her finger*

*Y/N flushing red* "sam! i'm training!" *laughter booms from your laptop*

~~~~~~~~~~

Ngl I fully haven’t written anything in days, not even thought about it tbh. So if things are dry or I haven’t replied to stuff that’s why. BUT origin stories are on the way. Some are established, all are free for suggestions so feel free to give feedback and ideas

#ace writes stuff #wag diaries #charli grant x reader #woso x reader #woso blurb #matildas

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levis-coffeecup · 4 months ago

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chapter 28| The Aftermath

WC-4.5k

Summary

The underground is filthy and dark. Dim lights, dull alleys, and desperate hearts. A place Levi knows as well as the back of his hand, and a place he would do anything to get out of.

Chapters of life roll by and with the turn of a page, things drastically change. In front of him is the opportunity to live on the surface. And the flimsy bridge that he has to cross. From an uncivil criminal to a disciplined soldier.

But life on the surface seems tougher amidst all the mockery, civilities, and the gaping hole left in his heart, after the demise of his dear friends Isabel and Farlan.

Content/Warnings

canon- compliant, canon-typical violence, spoilers for No Regrets OVA, descriptions of PTSD, grief, depression, heavy angst and themes, strong language, self-hate, physical assault.

Author’s Note

Hiii guyssss,

This is the last chapter of the storyyy! And I can't wait for you guys to read it! (it's so hard to believe that I've finally completed this)

To everyone who's continued to put up with my erratic updates, I am so so grateful to have you here!! I hope this story was as enjoyable for you to read, as much as I enjoyed writing it!

This chapter takes place after the Rumbling, (aftermath refers to the aftermath of the Rumbling)

I hope you like this chapter as well! And this ending gives you all the feels lol!

Song for this chapter is The Joys And Sorrows Of Life by Johannes Bornlöf

Chapters

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

Masterlist | Playlist | Other Works

JUN 854

The city of Jinae looks different without the walls.

The sun is scorching, and the streets are a blur of the heat waves rising from the cobblestone. And somewhere in the distance, someone argues about the morality of the Rumbling.

Mae is tired, maybe it's the afternoon heat, or maybe it's just the baby in her tummy that has made her womb so big. She drags her feet through the alleys of the market, wiping the sweat on her forehead with the back of her hand.

The produce looks fresh, excellent for the apple pie she's planning to make.

Raz trails behind her too, with a pained look on her face. She rests her hands on her knees, taking a moment to catch her breath. "Mae...You need to be at home resting... Instead of wandering in this horrible heat for a pie you want to make."

Mae halts for a minute, throwing a wistful look ahead at what's left of her lover. "But I want to make something for Levi... Don't you see how miserable he looks? He's not even spoken a word to me since he's come back from his mission."

And Raz presses her lips into a thin line, silencing her frustration.

"You know, the smell of my pies always made him happy. He would always take an extra slice when I wasn't looking." A warm smile crawls on Mae's face, and she remembers all the good times spent over pies and tea.

Her gaze falls down at the growing swell of her stomach. It's huge now, so huge that she can't see her toes when she looks down. And a cheeky grin spreads on her face.

She can't wait to make pies for both him and their child.

"Mae please," Raz sighs, tears well up in her eyes, and she increases her pace and catches up to her. "It's painful to watch you like this."

"Don't worry about me Raz," She beams with pride. "I'll be patient with him, I've always been patient with him."

What stands in front of her, is a ghost of what Levi used to be. His face is gaunt and pallid, and his sunken eyes are filled with emptiness. And yet she smiles back at him, patient and faithful.

The love in her eyes never fades, no matter what condition Levi might be in.

A couple meters away from her is an old lady sitting with baskets of apples. "Don't these apples look wonderful!" She exclaims, hoping to pull a reaction out of Levi.

The old lady smiles. "They are very juicy and crunchy, the best batch we've got in months."

"Ahh!" Mae exclaims. "It would make an amazing pie filling then, am I right?" She looks at him again, but no matter what she does, the lifelessness in his gaze never changes. And his mouth still remains pressed in a grim line, devoid of any hint of a smile.

Her patience runs thins, and her pregnancy hormones catch the best of her,

"You know it's rude not to reply back, DON'T YOU?" She yells, agitated. She's dripping in sweat, carrying her 6 month pregnant belly, and he can't even acknowledge her presence.

The people around her turn, caught off guard by her sudden outburst.

And Raz pinches the bridge of her nose. "MAE STOP IT!."... She scolds, as she grabs her wrist, and drags her towards the end of the market.

The walk is short and soon the scenery changes. The liveliness of the market drifts into the haunting silence of a cemetery.

And Raz pulls Mae through the hundreds of headstones planted over the grass, until she finds the one of the Lance Corporal. She knows the route like the back of her hand now.

The Lavender flowers they kept on his grave 2 days ago have wilted.

And Mae shudders as she steps closer to it. All her illusions shatter and she's held hostage to the cruelty of the world once again.

"N-No Raz," her voice crumbles, and she takes a step back, nodding her head in denial. " H-he was s-supposed to come back after the w-war."

The silence is haunting. And Mae recalls seeing this scene a million times before, in the dreams that would terrorize her sleep.

"I-its a bad dream... it's just a bad dream." she croaks, almost tripping on another gravestone behind her.

And she waits for Levi's arms to pull her out of this never ending nightmare. She waits to feel his tight embrace.

But there's only silence.

"He wouldn't have left me alone." The disbelief in her voice is palpable.

This is the reality of war. Some are lost, some are sacrificed, and some survive.

But rarely, do they remain whole enough to thrive.

"Enough of this foolishness Mae," Raz snaps.

It's the same routine everyday. With Mae pretending that Levi is next to her and alive, and Raz dragging her to his grave until she breaks down over and over again.

Her fingers latch onto Mae's wrist and she pulls her away. "It's been 2 weeks, and y- you need to take better care of your child.... come home with me right now."

But Mae stands paralyzed,overrun by the possibility of what could have been.

Her mind drowns in dissonance, and her heart outrightly rejects the thought of him leaving.

They were supposed to have two kids. They were supposed to open his tea shop as well. There were dreams she had nurtured with so much patience.

So how did they wilt before they got the chance to bloom?

And how did the plans she held so close to her heart become unattainable?

She feels numb. And she hides her voice in a broken whisper. " H-he can't leave me Raz... I-I gave him everything I could... A-all my love... All my e-energy a-and time."

Far away on the ground, lies a crumbled newspaper.

'Humanity's Strongest shattered to pieces due to a thunder spear explosion' it says. And just below the heading is an illustration of him, bleeding on the grass with scars on his face, and 2 fingers amputated.

The earth trembles. The lavenders grieve beneath their violet blooms. And the roses quiver by the tombs, lamenting the departed who rest beneath the hush of the graveyard.

"Fine then," Raz resigns, as she starts walking away ."If you're gonna keep being such a wreck then go be it. Come back to me when some sense has been knocked into your skull."

And Mae turns to the stone that is left of her lover. The moment draws, there's silence, loss and an unfinished promise.

Its gray falls dull compared to his eyes.

And then she breaks. Falling to her knees on the grass.

Grief leaks from her so violently, it frays her voice.

She sobs like a child who's lost in the dark. And his name falls from her lips like a dying wish. She whispers it over and over, as if saying it enough could bring him back.

Her ears crave to hear his voice. But there's nothing.

Languidly her arms drape around his stone. But the stone is cold. And Levi Ackerman is gone

A shining star in the colossal sky. So beautiful, so unattainable.

And just like she'd told him that day, he ran too fast. He left her behind.

When she opens her eyes again, there's rage in them. She wants to scream. She wants to hurt all over her body like it does deep inside her heart.

"You didn't come back to me, Levi," Her bitterness burns her into the edge of destruction and she punches his stone, until it makes her knuckles bleed. "How dare you break my heart like this?"

The wind turns cold, and darkness envelopes.

The grass is lush, and below that is Levi.

With no more loyalties, promises and responsibilities.

For years she loved the remnants of him. What was left of him after the Survey Corps took his best.

There were tales he didn't pay attention to. There were letters he didn't respond to. And she waited for years, hoping that one day he would come back with his duties behind him.

But the war consumed him before she ever could.

She didn't even get to see his body, before he got buried underground.

"I was saving all along to buy you your tea shop," Her voice shatters... "I almost had the entire amount." She traces over the carving of his name on his stone.

The walls are gone, and the world is at peace, but there's chaos in her life. And peace shall never touch her, not when the pain of losing her lover drags her into hell.

"What sins am I being punished for?" She weeps. Damned, absolved, condemned by her love. "Why am I always the one being left behind?"

The petals of the Lavenders she kept, fly off with the wind. The cold claws at her skin.

The road back is long and home is nowhere to be found.

And Mae lays down on his grave, with the harrowing void in her heart. Hoping the god of death blesses her with a visit soon, just like he did to her lover.

_______________________

The Survey Corps headquarters stand long forgotten.

The bricks, once a vibrant red, have faded to a muted rust, some crumbling and others overtaken by ivy and moss. The windows are translucent now, their glass fogged with grime, and dust.

The sun is long gone, and the headquarters look ghastly. But Mae doesn't want to go back to Raz, not when the sight of her and her husband living happily burns holes through her heart.

It takes her all of her strength to open the heavy door. The handles are rusted, and a cloud of dust welcomes her as she manages to push it open.

The interior of the headquarters is doused in darkness.

The fire from the torches is long blown off. The air is thick with the scent of decay and there's dust everywhere.

These hallways that were once vibrant with laughter and activity, are now soulless. Everyone's gone and an eerie silence has taken their place.

Levi would have hated seeing things this way.

Soon she reaches the gate of his quarters, and her heart shudders as she pushes it open.

The darkness is overwhelming, but she walks into it nonetheless. Just like the cemetery, grief awaits her here too,

All the time she's spent in these quarters makes them familiar. And even through the darkness she manages to walk to Levi's desk and pull a candle out from the first drawer.

The room comes alive with the flickering light of the candle. AndMae's eyes rove around, vision blurred with tears.

The ghost of his love haunts the bedroom, ever present in the bed that they made love in, and the couch where countless minutes were spent in silence.

It's a bitter reminder of how much she has lost.

And she wants to trash this place around.

His promise to save the world, ended up destroying hers.

And now she doesn't know how to live anymore.

Her grief comes crashing down on her, all over again. And Mae sulks, close to regretting her decision to be with him years back.

His room is exactly as she remembers, with a single bed under the window, and a small wooden cupboard on the opposite end.

And as she walks closer to it, her attention is caught by the fabric of his shirt that is pinched between the doors of his cupboard. He must have left in a rush.

She walks towards it, to shut it close. But as she opens the doors, a pile of his clothes falls to the floor.

He must have really left in a hurry, unless someone came in and snooped into his room.

It's a bit of a struggle to bend down, with her pregnant belly. But Levi hates messes and so she sits amidst the clutter of his clothes. Folding them in the same meticulous way he did it.

And that's when she notices the big cardboard box far at the back, kept at the bottom shelf.

It's probably all his belongings or a dump of his paperwork, but she pulls it out nevertheless, hoping to find anything that could give her closure.

The box is heavy and she puts it down on the floor.

The first thing she sees are all the letters she's ever written to him. Stacked in a tidy pile, in one corner.

Her breath catches in her throat. And the more she sifts through the box, the more she realizes that everything inside is just about her.

There's an empty box of a premium tea she got him for her birthday, and there's containers of all the spices she would get to make his food at the Survey Corps less bland.

There are books that she would read to him, and even a tag of a pair of socks she got him for the winters.

Her hands start to tremble.

Levi has preserved everything she's ever given him. Even the dried petals of the flowers she would gift him on his birthdays are neatly kept in an envelope.

Time slows down- and every moment is like a stab through her heart. Their entire journey as lovers passes through her eyes in a painful flash.

And she remembers being beyond the moon when she heard about the successful mission in Marley. Levi was alive, and he'd come back valiant.

She couldn't wait to see him again.

But then he wrote her a letter saying that Sasha was dead and to keep her distance, since Zeke was around.

She never thought that was the last time she would hear from him.

Everything that she once held close has been snatched, ripped apart from her heart. His presence has assimilated back into the soil that he came from

And she can only suffer, until she forgets the texture of his voice, and the butterflies she gets from his calloused touch.

It feels like the weight of the world has come crashing down on her shoulders. The feeling is agonizing. And she buries her head into the teddy bear she gifted him on the day he was shifting.

At the bottom of the box is an unassuming white envelope. It's paper isn't yellow like that of all her letters. And she gulps as she sees her name written on top of if, in his neat handwriting.

It feels heavier than usual, and her hand trembles as she breaks the seal open.

Inside is a single sheet of paper, folded neatly. And as she tilts the envelope to take the letter out, something metallic tumbles out, clinking softly against the floor.

Her eyes widen, and she slaps her hand over her mouth.

It's a wedding ring.... the same expensive, pearl ring that she saw in the market at Mitras.

Guttural sobs leak out of her mouth, and she wonders if the clenching inside her heart will ever stop. Because right now, her grief feels larger than the life she has ahead of her.

And with the last of her strength she opens his letter and reads it.

To my dearest Mae,

I remember the last time I was with you. The morning before I left

There was a heaviness in the air, wasn't it? You were busy making breakfast for me. And I could see the sadness that you were trying so hard to hide. For some reason I was scared to wipe your tears away, because a part of me knew I was the reason behind it.

It pains me to see you sad. It pains me to be away from you as well.

Today as I'm writing this, the world around me is on the brink of collapse. The future is so uncertain, and we don't know if Eren is on our side anymore.

I can't seem to read through anyone's intentions. Zeke is still an emotionless bastard, pretending to have compassion. And Eren... for once all the sacrifices I made seem useless. My squad died for this... Erwin died for this. A war seems inevitable, yes... and that is the only thing I'm sure of.

But this letter is not about me, it's about you.

War....Its destructive, its quick decisions taken against the fear clawing your mind. Its finding a way to win with a blade pressed to your neck. It's something you can never process until it finally ends. All my life I've known war. All my life I've won things through violence. I've taken quick decisions, not having too much time to ponder. But I hope you know that after a million of quick decisions and unforeseen hurdles , you're the only one that's felt right.

Sometimes I wonder how I got to have you by my side for so long. I can't believe we've come so far together. But I believe my luck has run out and my reprieve is over. I'm a sinned man after all.

Lucky would be the man, who gets to come home to you.

All my life I've known to survive. But you taught me to take a break and live. Thank you for staying by my side, when I gave you a million reasons not to.

You asked me if I believed in the afterlife. And I said yes, because somewhere the concept of all the people I have lost being together, and me having the chance to meet them, gave me comfort. But what is gone is gone. It can never come back. And fantasies like the afterlife hardly bring much solace to me, now that I stand at the edge of this war.

But I still hope that one day I get to meet you again. If not in the afterlife, then in another lifetime perhaps.

If you're reading this letter, then I'm probably dead. There's now way I'd let anyone touch this letter if my body was alive.

So go and be with someone, who'll have the courage to wipe your tears away. Go be with someone who'll be able to give you the love that you gave me. Be with someone who'll write you letters everyday.

The promise we made that night is still etched in my head. And you know how I am with my promises. You best believe that I've kept my part and now it's time for yours.

This letter is long, I can't believe I've written all this much. I hope it makes up for all the things I've kept bottled all along.

This journey has been painful, but if given a choice, I would do it all over again.

I hope that we have left this world a better, a safer place.

So go, live your life. I know you have a habit of sulking, and you're probably crying as you're reading through this. So stay with Raz and be kind to yourself.

Go walk on the grass, when the sunlight is warm.

I'll be watching over you.

-Yours always,

Levi

_______________________

The sunlight slithers past the gaps in the curtains, forcing the darkness of the bedroom to fade away.

The light is overbearing and unwelcome. And Mae struggles to blink her eyes open.

It's been a week since she's caged herself in his room. And she's still here, lying in a pile of his clothes that are slowly losing his scent.

She believes she's cried so much that she's out of tears.

It feels like the pain she feels, has found its abode in her heart and permanently

settled there.

She's lost the privilege of being able to trace over his scars. Or taste his lips as she captured them in a kiss. She'll never be able to hear his voice again. And no amount of memory can make her feel the warmth of his skin.

He's gone from this world, and she has lost him forever.

The storm that ripped her life apart, has finally settled down, and Mae is getting used to living in the destruction it has caused.

She believes that the entire world's grief has been spilt through her eyes.

And the state of Levi's room tells. It's as chaotic as her mental state.

There are pages scattered all over the floor. His cupboard is open, and its contents are littered all around. The bed is a mess as well, filled with the clothes Levi once used to wear. And his blanket is wadded at the foot of the bed.

It's quiet as usual, devoid of the sound of his movements. Outside the window, a twig from a tree drops to the ground.

And Mae watches its fall, still devoid of the strength to step out.

Knocks on the door startle her and she stirs, forcing herself to get up. It's probably Raz.

She came looking for Mae, the next day, awfully guilty and embarrassed for leaving her all alone at the cemetery.

Raz was nice enough to get her food twice everyday. Without her, Mae's corpse would have been rotting on the bed.

But what awaits her on the other side of the door is not Raz. Instead, in front of her stand two burly men, armed with guns in their hands.

They size her up and the mess of the room behind her.

She must be someone close to the Captain. Her state can tell.

All of a sudden, one of the two is stepping closer. With his fists balled at his sides, and an evident scowl on his face. "Who were you to that Traitor of a Captain?" he spits.

And Mae narrows her eyes at him.

They called him a hero before and then they called him a traitor.

The courageous captain. He was rude and selfless, deadly and kind. Proud, humble, strong-willed and reckless. And he was also so much more.

He was the lives he carried on his tired shoulders. He was the strength to keep moving forward even in the moments that broke him

But at the end of the day, when he took off his ODM gear, and stood in front of her without the weight of the world on his shoulders. In his scarred skin, and his broken bones. With the tidiness of a maniac and the patience of a ticking bomb.

It didn't take a genius to realize that Levi was so much more than the glory of his battles.

All of a sudden Mae can taste the salt of her tears on her lips. "He wasn't a traitor...He fought for humanity, all of humanity," she chokes.

He was his bravery, but he was also his restless mannerisms. He was the piece of his mom's gown that he wore as his cravat. And he was the pink on his cheeks when she called him beautiful. There were parts of him that were only hers to love, and to accept.

He was her pride and joy. Her hope in this godless world. And if the Yeagerists weren't around, maybe Levi could have gotten some medical assistance and survived.

"If you are one of the Yeagerists, you're not welcome here." She hisses, absolutely appalled. And then her voice turns into something sadder. "It's not like he can harm you anymore."

And just as she's closing the door, the other soldier steps in, putting his body in the closing gap.

It doesn't take him much strength to push the door open. Afterall he is a member of the military and she's weak from all her grief.

Mae's eyes widen with fear. She would have never thought they would stoop low enough to hurt a pregnant woman.

But he has a softer look on his face, which somehow contradicts his rough appearance. "Ease off, miss. We're not Yeagerists." And then he throws a glare at the soldier before he huffs. "Also Samuel... cool down please."

"We're not Yeagerists, but it wasn't fair for Commander Hange to kill her comrades, and to side with the outside world." Samuel scoffs, brimming with resentment.

Turmoil is thick in the Eldian Empire now. There's always been two sides of a coin, and hostility has spread its claws, holding it's people in the vice grip.

"Sorry, his brother was killed at the Paradis Harbour... in the fight to take the flying boat."

And Mae stays quiet, replaying his words in her mind. She has no consolation in her heart for his loss. The flying boat took off... but Hange never came back, nor did Armin, Mikasa or Jean... For all she knows, they were also crushed, just like the outside world.

Ships were sent two days after the Rumbling to see what was left of the world. But it's been a month and there hasn't been an update yet.

Guess that tells plenty about the extent of destruction caused by Eren. She can't believe she used to once feed snacks to that nervous little child.

"We're the Royal Queen's guards." The calmer soldier speaks out again. "My name is Claus. And we're here to empty out the headquarters... The Survey Corps no longer exists, and so it's the Queens Order-"

"The Captain's belongings will go nowhere." Mae cuts him off. " I'm taking everything with me."

And Samuel laughs sardonically, eyeing her pregnant womb. "And who exactly are you to the captain... a road gig? I'm pretty sure the Captain never married anyone."

And Mae knows she's supposed to defend herself. But she can't. The thought of putting together a few words makes her feel like she's going to plummet.

The world has given her so many trials. It has tested her at every age. She's tired now, so tired that she just wants to rest.

Get up and face the world. The message comes to her like a ray of light, in pitch blackness.

Get up and face the world. That's what Levi has always done.

It's as if she can hear his voice thrum somewhere in the back of her mind.

And that's what she will do. For the part of him that's growing inside of her.

She raises her right hand to make their allegations stop. And the pearl ring in her finger shines bright in the sunlight.

"I'm the widow he left behind."

Author's note:

I see you've made it to the end:)

I know some of you must be surprised with Levi being dead, but Floch was the only one who thought Levi might still be alive, and Floch died, so I think the news that would have gone out to the newspapers would be of Levi dying.

Also let me know if Mae being pregnant came out of nowhere.

I had left small clues of Mae being pregnant in the last chapter (her crying so much because Levi was leaving and wanting him to stay, and her placing his hands on the swell of her belly). Don't know if it was obvious though, please let me know if I should mention it more directly in her thoughts in the previous chapter.

Please let me know what you thought of this chapter. Any comments really make my day, and I would love to know what you thought of the fic!

Many thanks!

Also since I'm a graphic designer and I really want to get into illustration, I will make a book cover for this book and get one copy printed for me (let me know if you would be interested to see that, just incase)

(PS: this is not the last chapter lol. I was just messing with you all lol. Last chapter will be out in 2-3 weeks as I'm still not done with it)

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lauriegraham01 · 1 year ago

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i'll never smile again

pairings: 40s!bucky barnes x reader, nurse!reader

summary: with you and bucky away to fight in the war, you both can't wait to come back home and begin the rest of your lives together. what's left of your plans when a mission goes sideway? could you and bucky have been born so unlucky?

w/c: 1,423

c/w: takes place in CATFA, ANGST, major character death, themes of grief

a/n: this has taken me the longest to edit, not sure if im completely satisfied with the ending but it's enough. hope u enjoy, lmk if you like :)

Time of death: 14:37

You hang your head low in defeat, the death of another soldier baring on your soul. There truly was only so much that you could do. He had come in completely mutilated from barbed wire and eyes blinded form tear gas. With limited options, you and your team of fellow nurses ensured that he could be comfortable for his passing. One of the other nurses raises the white sheet to cover his face, and you gather yourself to move on to the next patient.

You had joined the army nurse corps a little over a year ago. There was news that we were loosing soldiers faster than we could kill enemies and you decided to join the war effort, believing you could do some good for your country. Nothing prepared you for the horrors you faced daily, the chaos and death that surrounded your every breath.

However you weren't alone in your pain. Your two best friends, Steve and Bucky had too joined the war. They along with the rest of the Howling Commandos were going on missions targeting Hydra bases. There was only so much they could tell you, but the little they did still left you uneasy. It just seemed so dangerous and you worried about the both of them- especially Bucky.

Bucky and you had only been dating for two years when news of the U.S. joining the war broke out. Yet after a lifetime of friendship you felt like he knew you better than anyone else in this world. You two had agreed that when the war was over, you would finally get married. These days it was your future plans with Bucky that gave you the strength to survive the war. That, along with the letters that he sent. Writing in detail about what missions he and Steve were on and how things were looking on his side of the war.

The rest of the day had passed by in a haze. By the time you returned to the nurses quarter on base, you feel the full weight of the day in the way that your back aches. Upon looking in the mirror you wince at the amount of blood that's caked into your face and hands. A shower lifts your spirits as you feel the stress from the day drain along with the water. Stepping back into the sleeping barracks, you squeeze past the crowd of nurses until you reached your cot. As you tuck your uniform away you see a letter placed on the pillow. Lifting it up with curiosity, you flip the envelope and a smile tugs at your lips.

Bucky.

You tear open the letter eagerly, it had only been a week since you had last heard from him but it felt like eternity waiting between letters. Unfolding the pages within your hand you read each line carefully, hearing his voice with each word, imagining as though he were reading it to you. As he told you about his latest mission, fear threatened to creep its way into your heart. Yet as you got to the last page, you inhaled a sharp breath- the world around you seeming to go quiet in that moment.

“Doll, I’ve done enough thinking, and I know what I want. I’ve loved you for a lifetime. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me and I know that there's no one else for me but you, y/n. I wish I could ask this in person but I cannot go another day without you knowing how much you mean to me. When the war is over we’ll get married and I’ll grow flowers like you, and your womb will carry the most beautiful girl in the universe. Make me the happiest man alive - will you marry me?”

You fell backwards onto your bed and closed your eyes, Bucky's words burned into your mind. Tears began to well up at your eyes as your heart soared at Bucky's proposal. Bucky wanted to build a life with you. You began to imagine your wedding day. The familiar faces that would gather to celebrate your love, what it would be like to become the mother to his children, and to be able to grow old with him. As you thought about this, you couldn't contain your excitement anymore. Hastily rising from bed, you make your way to the center of the room before grabbing the attention of your fellow nurses.

"I'm getting married!" You shouted, all the nurses turned to look at you before ensuing in cheerful screams. They all congratulated you and gave you and Bucky well wishes for the future.

As you and the nurses were still caught in the excitement of the news, you were suddenly interrupted when a knock rang on the barracks front door.

As everyone scurried to stand in formation, you felt relieved when you saw that it was Steve and Peggy who had walked through the door.

"Officer y/n, would you please come with us for just a moment?" Peggy speaks up.

Stepping out of formation, you grab your coat as you follow behind the two, stepping out in the cold winter air.

"Steve!"

"Angel." He coos as he brings you in for a hug. It had been about 8 months since you'd last seen him. While you were happy to see him, you were slightly taken aback to see him here.

"What on earth are you two doing here?" You breath out as you go to pull away from his embrace. When Steve's grip on you suddenly tightens, you're slightly confused. Looking up at Peggy and seeing the solemn look on her face you know that something was wrong.

“Steve?”

"I'll give you two a minute." Peggy excuses herself, making her way toward the field to give us some privacy.

“Steve, hey, hey, what's going on?" As he finally lets you go you look up into his eyes to see that they were glossy with tears threatening to spill over.

“Hey,” you hook a finger underneath his chin fixing his gaze from the ground onto you, "talk to me. I'm here, what's wrong?"

“It’s Bucky, he’s… he’s gone.”

A dreadful weight settles deep in the pit of your stomach as Steve looks at you in a way he's never before. So full of regret and heartache. You search his face for any type of deceit, any indication that what he said had been a terrible lie and that Bucky was alright- but to your avail you could find none.

Steve went on about the mission leading up to Bucky's final moments but it fell on deaf ears as your mind was anything but tethered to this reality.

"No, no." You mumble underneath your breath as you stumble backwards a bit.

"Woah-hey," Steve grabs a hold onto you, steadying your grounding. "I'm so sorry y/n."

“He can’t be gone," your voice comes out strained in a high pitch, "he just can’t be.” Your vision blurred as the crushing weight of reality settled within your head and within your heart.

Bucky was gone- for real this time. There was no rescuing him, there was no saving him.

You felt Steve wrap his arms around you as you buried your head into his chest. That seemed to be the tipping edge as before you knew it a sob began to wrack out of your lips. You cried for all the plans you've made. For the memories and time now stolen from you.

"We were supposed to get married." You manage to choke out between ragged breaths.

"I know, angel," he said softly. "I know."

When you returned to the barracks, it was lights out and you wanted nothing more than to go to sleep and wake up from this terrible nightmare. You found it cruel how the last time you were within these walls you were an engaged woman, and now you return a widow. Memories of Bucky plagued your every thought as your own grief made you restless, sleep evading you.

Bucky and you had shared a lifetime of memories. Growing into the versions of yourselves that both of you had come to love. Now they'll forever be a hole left where the rest of the story should have been written. When you return home, you'll return a widow. You'll never be able to hold him, to touch him, to marry him, have a family with him-

"I'll never love again", you thought to yourself. "There's no getting over you."

#40s bucky #bucky barnes #marvel #mcu #marvel fanfiction #bucky angst #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #sebastian stan #40s bucky x reader

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magicalchaosnut · 3 months ago

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My English class TED Talk script

TED Talk Title: Why We Shouldn’t Become Soup

Neon Genesis Evangelion is an anime that covers the relationships between several people with volatile personalities in a post apocalyptic world, uniquely fighting otherworldly beings while returning to the womb and experiencing intense pain, and suffering through their view of themselves and their idea of others’ perspectives.

The buildup of the series comes to a climax during the movie, leaving some philosophical questions to ponder over. For example, the Human Instrumentality Project and a look at whether individuality is a gift or a curse by showing the alternative: eternal togetherness or unity. Once this project is put into motion, all of humanity is subject to be a sea of ‘LCL’; soul fluid that melds into one eternal ocean of consciousness. The reason for this is the universal fear of loneliness, which was touched on earlier in the show with a discussion about the hedgehog's dilemma: the fear of hurting other people the closer you get to them, similar to a hedgehog trying to find warmth amongst others in its species during the winter.

Shinji shows this fear by continually running away from his caregiver, Misato, and his responsibilities as a pilot because he doesn’t want to get closer to the other pilot, Rei Ayanami, who he has started to care for. This is similar to his father, Gendo Ikari, and his fear of being a poor father. Instead of getting closer to his son after his wife’s death, he leaves his son behind which damages him more than his father’s presence would have.

Misato, the most recurring adult main character in the show, is afraid of getting close to Ryuuji Kaji because she is confident that she cannot open herself to him. Her personality is so cheerful on the outside, when in reality she has been stuck as a little girl who was sent away by her father who died in a nuclear explosion. She is afraid that Kaji will be like her father and leave her to fend for herself, and that she will be unable to reciprocate his feelings in the way that it matters. Ultimately, he dies and leaves Misato alone. Her fears are confirmed, but she is able to brave them through the closeness of Shinji as her pseudo-son in her final moments.

Asuka has a fear of others as well, taking it out more violently than Shinji by forming relationships where she thrives off of her superiority complex (which is really an inferiority complex) and can be considered the best. As she was a child prodigy who graduated college at age 14, she has all of the knowledge of an adult but little of the maturity that is expected of her, making her the extreme example of being a teenager: having all of the burden with none of the respect of experience that others want you to have already. She gets close enough to Shinji to be in sync as a fellow pilot, but never talks about her true drive to be considered good enough: her mother committing suicide while holding a doll of her, symbolizing that she wasn’t enough for her mother to stay alive for and would be more beneficial if she had been exactly as her mother wanted.

The will of God was sent to turn everyone into LCL to rid all people of the inescapable loneliness that they feel because they cannot understand each other. Like the angels before humanity, that are single entities of a species and nothing more, becoming one in the ocean of consciousness would eliminate loneliness and the social suffering that so many people in the post apocalyptic world fear. To retake the importance of being the central descendants of god, humanity feels they must ascend individuality. But in doing so, there is an infinite amount of unwavering suffering and no amount of time to alleviate the pain of one's sense of self when there are no other selves. Similar to how we can fight with our family members, but if we were to be only one self, we would be alone. You can’t be a family if you are just one person. In an effort to curb the societal loneliness felt by an entire population, the will of the few has caused an incurable loneliness that rids all of humanity of the chance to love another and try to understand by turning everyone into one thing. In summary, it is better to suffer for the sake of possible happiness and hope that you will understand people and make friends, than it is to give up and wallow in your own solitude.

The movie ends with Shinji understanding the sacrifice to live as an individual, which is the loneliness of consciousness. He lets the rest of the sea of consciousness decide whether they live for opportunity rather than be essentially comatose in an emotional stasis. The message of the series is that it's better to be lonely and try to be happy than it is to give up and be nothing at all. Even if everyone is unified in that nothingness.

#evangelion #end of evangelion #misato katsuragi #asuka langley soryu #shinji ikari #rei ayanami #gendo ikari #analysis #a cruel angel's thesis #anime analysis #neon genesis evangelion

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greatwyrmgold · 3 months ago

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With Jujutsu Kaisen wrapping up, I decided to put my thoughts on each arc into words.

Cursed Child Arc aka JJK Zero

I can certainly see why this short series earned Gege Akutami a spot in Weekly Shonen Jump. Unfortunately, I don't find it that compelling.

I don't consider Yuta to be a compelling protagonist. Maybe I'd like him better if his relationship with Rika was in any way interesting, but it's not, and it's also central to pretty much everything about him.

Suguru Geto is great, though.

Fearsome Womb Arc Chapters 1-18; Episodes 1-8

It's a much stronger start! Yuji's a step up in terms of protagonist interest. Gege also does a good job of explaining the basics of his worldbuilding and power system, and finding interesting ways to train Yuji.

It's also the arc that does the most with Sukuna. If he kept taunting or annoying Yuji from within the prison of his flesh, I'd probably like JJK better. Especially the last arcs.

It's mostly just the intro arc, though. It does a good job of establishing characters and themes and plotlines, and all of that is necessary, but it's mostly solid execution of an unexciting necessity.

Vs. Mahito Arc Chapters 19-31; Episodes 9-13

Mahito is a really fun villain. He's shallow, without any well-reasoned ideology or complex plans, but he has a clear personality and desires that make up for (and explain the absence of) that sort of long-term thought. And that personality is a ton of fun, pairing well with a borderline do-anything powerset.

Mahito hasn't reached anywhere near his true potential (that comes in the anime adaptation of the Shibuya Incident Arc), but this arc is a strong start for him.

But despite the name, this isn't just the Mahito arc. It's also the Junpei arc! Seeing an ordinary person getting dragged into the secret world of jujutsu sorcery provides an interesting new angle on both the world and Junpei's guide. And then Junpei befriends Yuji, and Mahito kills Junpei, and it's just a really good little tragedy.

Kyoto Goodwill Event Arc Chapters 32-54; Episodes 14-21

This is a relatively lighthearted arc. There's technically a threat to Yuji's life, but mostly it's just a game with a cursed spirit fight in the tail end. A bunch of characters are introduced, including the unforgettable Mechamaru and the inimitable Aoi Todo.

It's a functional arc, a lighter moment for pacing reasons and a chance to expand the cast, but it's enjoyable. Especially the baseball chapter.

Death Painting Arc Chapters 55-64; Episodes 22-24 & 30

Eh. It's also a functional arc, but I find both the function and the arc less interesting. It introduces one character who does stuff later and establishes the main trio's current capabilities and has a few fight scenes. Okay.

The most interesting thing I can think of about this arc is how the anime adaptation toyed with the order of events a bit.

Gojo's Past Arc Chapters 65-79; Episodes 25-29

A highlight of the series. We get to see the origin of the series's most interesting villain (Geto) and his tangled past with the world's most powerful man (Gojo).

We see a crucial mission for the young jujutsu sorcerers, one which plays a critical role in turning them from the boys we see at the start of the arc to the men we see in JJK0. We see them playing around together, reveling in their friendship and power and the certainty that they could change the world together. We see them realizing the limits of that power, we see their visions of the changed world diverging, we see the friendship fall apart.

We also see a couple important characters get introduced, and some cool action scenes, including perhaps the first time Gojo goes all-out. But that pales in comparison to the character work done here.

Shibuya Incident Arc Chapters 79-136(!); Episodes 30-47

Some people consider this arc to be Jujutsu Kaisen's peak. I have...mixed opinions. When it hits, it hits hard, but it has some serious flaws.

I want to start with some compliments, though. The fight scenes are cool, some of the character moments are good. Mahito is at his peak of both power and creativity; his fight with Yuji and Todo is a blast. Nanami's sacrifice is moving. And that's about all I can give unalloyed praise to, so let's move on to some big criticisms.

First and least profoundly, the arc is entirely too long. It's about 40% of the entire series up until that point, and over a fifth of the entire series. An absolutely comical length of time. Which wouldn't be too much of a problem if I liked all 58 chapters, but. Well. I do not.

Second, around this time I was starting to develop a profound distaste for shonen battle manga "war arcs". You know, the series tries to escalate its stakes by moving from little battles to really big battles with most of the significant characters. That's a topic for another post, but I don't like the plot structure.

One big problem that "war arcs" have is that there are entirely too many superfluous fight scenes. "War arcs" don't usually have larger or more complicated fights, or at least not for most of the runtime. They just have more fights, sometimes running simultaneously, occasionally interacting. And a lot of these fights are either between two minor characters with little to no pre-established relationship, or between one important character and one jobber. Filler fights.

Also, you know how I praised what a good villain Suguru Geto is? This is the bit where we discover that the Geto of JJK0 and Gojo's Past is a different character than present-day pseudo-Geto. Also, you know how I praised Mahito? He gets a great swansong, but then pseudo-Geto eats him and extracts his cursed technique. In the course of one arc, Jujutsu Kaisen throws away its two best antagonists. This doesn't cause problems until later arcs, but I'm still counting it against the Shibuya Incident.

Who's left? The boring shadow of pseudo-Geto, and Sukuna. Who also makes a showing in this arc, but it's kinda dull? Not visually, of course, but he doesn't do much. Sukuna kills some sorcerers who disrespect him, then a cursed spirit who doesn't respect him enough, and in the process kills enough civilians that Yuji questions whether his execution would have been a good thing. That's a good character beat, but Sukuna is just kind of a bad guy who does bad things.

...

Oh, right, the Mechamaru swansong was technically part of this arc. I liked that. It was a neat twist (we get why Kokichi made that deal and thought he could make up for it by beating the bad guys once he was healed), and made a pretty decent tragedy. It's not enough for me to forgive the arc throwing away Mahito and Real Geto.

Itadori's Extermination Arc Chapters 137-143; Season 3?

The setup is solid. The elites of Jujutsu Society are reacting to the Shibuya Incident, mostly by excommunicating people who could threaten their power. They order Yuta (the JJK0 twink) to prove his loyalty by murdering Yuji.

The execution...eh.

Perfect Preparation Arc Chapters 144-158; Season 3?

Wild that this is considered one arc. It feels weird to both combine them into one and exclude Iradori's Extermination. This is definitely my favorite post-Shibuya arc, though!

First, Yuji and company contact Master Tengen. This is an exposition arc, but it reveals a lot of interesting worldbuilding details and explains the interesting parts of pseudo-Geto's plan.

Next, the jujutsu elites execute Principal Yaga. They threaten him, try to make him reveal the secret to creating cursed dolls like Panda, making it clear that this was about nothing more than their power. Even in a time of crisis, that's all they're good for—seeking more power.

Third, Maki gets revenge on the jujutsu elites who happen to be related to her. It's awesome, both because of the cool fights and because it's a good peak for Maki to conquer. The family that shunned her for her weakness is ruined by her strength.

And it's one of the keystones holding up jujutsu society as we know it, the society that so thoroughly failed to do anything about obvious crises in favor of consolidating power. This arc alone does more to correct a rotten status quo than everything that happens in MHA combined.

Finally, the weakest part. Panda and Fushiguro convince some Jujutsu High student we've never heard of to help them. It's fine. I guess.

Culling Game Arc Chapters 159-221; Season 3/4?

Take everything I dislike about the Shibuya Incident, remove the villain shuffle, and turn it up to 11.

It's even longer than the Shibuya Incident. It has more fights, and the fights often involve characters who matter far less. It's also less structured than a "war arc," which can be good or bad, but here it means the plot often feels directionless—especially when one of those pointless fight scenes is going on.

The arc has a good concept. Setting up the Culling Game is the only interesting thing pseudo-Geto does. Some of the fights involve characters with interesting powers, and some of those powers are important to the last arc.

The Higuruma/Yuji fight does some interesting character work (and Higuruma has one of those important powers). Hana Kurusu seems like she should be a good foil for Yuji. But every good thing in this arc is drowning under a deluge of stuff, so Hana did not leave an impression on me. I can't even remember what her or the angel actually want.

Shinjuku Showdown Arc Chapters 222-271; Season 4?

Maybe I'd like this arc more if the Culling Game hadn't exhausted me. I doubt it.

Gojo is freed, and next chapter he starts a two-volume-long duel with Sukuna. It's supposed to be cool, and maybe it would be if it didn't take two volumes to wrap up.

Then there's the fight between the other good guys and Sukuna. It's arguably JJK's best "war arc," since it isn't a series of disconnected fights between minor characters. It's a semi-planned engagement between a bunch of minor characters (and a handful of important ones) and Sukuna. But it also goes on too long, and so much time is spent explaining the jujutsu mechanics of everything going on, and so many minor characters attack Sukuna and get wrecked, one at a time.

I think they beat up pseudo-Geto somewhere in there? Or was that

I actually dropped the series for a while in this arc, so you could argue I can't really judge its quality. On the other hand, it's the only arc that made me drop the series. On the first hand, that had as much to do with the Culling Game as the actual Sukuna fights.

Which JJK Arcs Did I Like Best?

My favorite is a tie between Vs. Mahito and Gojo's Past. Each of them explored one of JJK's two great villains, each told a recently self-contained tragedy, each moved major characters' arcs forward. If I had to pick, I'd pick Gojo's Past, but I don't have to.

Third place goes to the Kyoto Goodwill Event. It introduces some important characters, moves Yuji forward, and was absolutely essential for controlling the pace and tone of the early series.

Perfect Preparation is a close fourth. It's not really a cohesive arc, but I love some of what it does and like some of the rest.

In the middle are Fearsome Womb, then Cursed Child, then Itadori's Extermination, then Death Painting. They do what they need to do well enough.

Third-to-last is the Shinjuku Showdown. Out of my three least favorite arcs, it feels closest to being enjoyable. There's a lot of fat to cut, but nothing needs to structurally change about it. And it probably wouldn't come off so bad if the prior arc hadn't left me exhausted.

Speaking of which, the Culling Game is next-to-last. I like the concept, I like pseudo-Geto's plan (less than Real Geto's though), but there are too many filler fights and cul-de-sacs.

My least favorite arc is the Shibuya Incident. It had higher highs than anything below the top two, but it set the tone for the worst excesses of the Shinjuku Showdown and the Culling Game. Worse, it removed the two great villains headlining the old villain squad, while also gutting the B-tier baddies like Dagon and Jogo. It left the series in the hands of Sukuna and pseudo-Geto; Sukuna has many hands and Kenjaku has had many sets of hands, but none of those hands are as capable as those of Mahito and Geto.

If someone stopped reading JJK at Shibuya, if they never watched past season 2, their opinion of it would be way higher than mine. But I didn't stop. I kept reading. I saw the fruits it harvested turn to mold and lamented the potential it squandered. The Shibuya Incident isn't my least favorite arc because of anything in the arc, but because of its impact on the series.

#jujutsu kaisen #tier list #random thoughts #with regard to that JJK post I reblogged earlier: year 70-something great chapters is a good estimate

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49-ibr · 7 months ago

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14 DAYS REMAINING!

49: VOLUME 01 is out on May 7th 2024!

A caged princess. A too-trusting hero. A blood-drinking pirate.

A secret to uncover.

And, just in case that isn't enough, here is a oneshot set in the world I've only just begun to explore! How does it relate to the book coming out? You'll see...

(NO CONTEXT NEEDED)

“What do you know of the gods, Adonis?”

A gentle wind whistled through the berry-scented air, pulling delicate leaves from the gnarled twigs they grew from. Each fluttered through the sky like feathers in the breeze, and then slipped from their branch-woven balcony, disappearing into the mist below.

A table and two chairs were planted on this balcony, planted being a literal term. Flowers wound around wooden legs, and the bumpy bark-covered table had perfect indents to hold glasses of wine.

Adonis ran his fingers over the crystal-encrusted hilt of his sword, humming to himself. “I know much,” he said. “But who doesn’t?”

There was not a being in this world that did not believe in the gods, and how could there be? Mankind would not exist with no creator, and their magic-wielding followers were further proof of the divine.

Silent, the storyteller took a moment to ponder, and Adonis took the moment to sip at his brimming cup of wine, finding it oddly tongue-tingling and sweet. It was far from what he was used to.

The storyteller’s lips parted once more. “What do you think of the gods, Adonis?” he finally asked.

As he lowered his wine, Adonis quirked an eyebrow, though still ran his other thumb over the most starlike of the sword’s jewels, tracing a beloved constellation. “What I think of them, sir?”

“Yes, Adonis. What do you think of them?”

Adonis found himself pausing, as pensive as his mentor. “I think... they’re more forces of nature than anything. They aren’t something to praise or to battle or to scorn, more... something to live amongst. I respect my god, of course, but I don’t consider him to be anything more than an equal. My equal.”

A chuckle slipped from the storyteller’s lips, especially as he lifted his own mug of dark wine, taking a long, slow sip. “And who taught you that particular mindset, Adonis?”

“I taught myself. Is there something wrong with it?”

“Not at all.” The storyteller took another sip of his dark wine, staining his lips like a bruise. “But I have a tale of sorts that just might change your mind, Adonis, if it doesn’t confirm your every belief.”

“What kind of tale?”

The storyteller hummed a low, deep tune. “A belief, something rooted in both mythology and fact. But I won’t criticise you if you choose to believe in every part of it, nor if you refute it all.”

Adonis laughed lightly, and sat back in his wooden chair, adjusting the sheath at his hip. “And do you know if it’s true, sir?”

“No,” said the storyteller in a tone that spoke of finality. “I don’t.”

“Then I’ll gladly uncover this great mystery with you.” Adonis crossed one leg over the other, taking on a posture that was a little more relaxed. His hands were far from his sheath. “Go on.”

A moment passed. Two. Three.

The storyteller placed both hands onto the table, interlocking his scarred fingers in a manner that brought great attention to them. For a moment, Adonis could focus on nothing else at all.

It looked as if several rings had once donned those dark fingers, but that all of them had been violently stolen away.

Had the storyteller once been wed? More than once, even?

“Many men say that the first creation of the gods was not the land, nor the air, nor the fire in their hearths,” said the storyteller, speaking as if to the sky, “but the water that stretches into infinity and cradles every island of Ungode, like a mother embracing her dear womb.”

Adonis nodded slowly, and said not a thing.

“Those who say this,” the storyteller continued, in that same slow, pensive tone, “are incorrect, though the foolish believe them to know all. Those folk think far too literally.”

“And you don’t?”

The storyteller’s wine-stained lips quirked, though only a little. He leant in, just slightly, holding Adonis’s gaze. “I’ve always been better at seeing the bigger picture than most, seeing magic over matter. My god doesn’t bless those who don’t deserve these gifts, after all.”

Adonis’s tongue darted to wet dry lips, before he realised he still had his cup of wine. Raising it to his tongue, he took a hearty sip.

“You cannot begin with only the physical, Adonis. You cannot begin with the land and the sea and the sky.”

As Adonis lowered his half-empty cup onto the table, he half-smiled at the man sat opposite him. “How could they begin with anything but the physical, sir? We need earth below our boots, after all.” The irony of this statement emerging from his lips in a kingdom of Air did not escape Adonis’s notice.

“What would be the point to a flourishing forest without a single beast? Would be the point to a city without any human to fill its homes? What would be the point to a physical world with nothing alive lurking inside? The living aren’t the physical, after all.”

Adonis’s brow furrowed, but he had nothing left to say, nothing but questions he was sure were about to be answered, or ignored no matter how much he pestered.

He simply listened without another thought in his mind.

“The gods did not make land first, and then the soul, Adonis. The gods made land for the soul, for mankind in its entirety.”

Another moment passed. Two. Three.

Even the wind was silent, though in this kingdom of Air, it was usually as plentiful as a heartbeat. Not a thing kept Adonis from listening to his mentor. His mentor he still hardly knew.

The storyteller finally leant in. “Do you think man worships the gods, or do you think the gods worship man?”

#my post #49ibr #writing #writeblr #fantasy #adonis nightlin #a feather in the breeze #writer #writers #my writing #gods #magic

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captaincaptainfisher · 8 months ago

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Growth records, entry 14.

Recording begins.

Today has been a very eventful, and *very* exciting day!

Several adaptations to my chamber have occurred since my last recording. The first, a small den in the side of my can, mimicking the dens in the caves surrounding my superstructure. There's a soft, bioluminescent moss for Socks to use as bedding, and a vine of modified blue pupae that replenishes itself each cycle. I've been very inspired to increase his quality of life lately...

The second... I completed the machine.

I have finally responded to NSS to apologise for my silence and reassure them that both me and Socks are okay. They were present when I turned on the machine, but unfortunately, has missed the fruits of it's labours.

I tested it out first with the three tufts of fur that Socks brought me from, ah... Wherever he was. I'm still unsure. There are multiple chambers, or "wombs" in the machine, and I put one in each. I did not document this process, unfortunately... my scientific work seems to be slipping lately... But, the process was rather dull. They developed a rubbery sack around them, not unlike the one that appears in a womb. My guess has been that they are filled with amniotic fluid. They have been rapidly growing in size for about two days, reaching about the size Socks was when he was born.

Today, two of them burst.

Two new Slugcats were born onto the floor of my chamber. I am unsure of the problem with the third, but it has remained both alive and in vitro.

The adaptations on the two born are... Extraordinary.

One is a dark, vibrant blue, with one bent ear and strange creamy brown frills on the side of it's face. Slightly spiky fins poke out of it's back, leading to a frilly tail that would make it easy to manoeuvre itself in the water. It's hard to test when in my chamber, but... I believe the frills on it's head are gills. This is a pup with aquatic adaptations I have never seen before. He also seems to have quite powerful lungs...

The second pup is equally unusual and fascinating. He's covered in short, soft grey fur, and his body is quite lengthy, at least a foot longer than Socks was when he was born. Amazingly, he seems to have two sets of arms, one in the usual place and one at his belly... both pairs seem to be completely functional. This makes me very excited to see what sort of creature will come from the third... assuming it lives, of course.

Socks has taken this whole thing in his stride. He seemed thrilled to have others of his species on my structure and quickly accepted the role as caregiver. When they were born, he scooped them up immediately, licking them clean and dry and even pulping some blue pupae to feed them.

They have big personalities for creatures just born... the blue one has been very demanding, warbling at either me or Socks for... Whatever he wants. I'm not sure. Perhaps he just likes the sound of his own voice. The second has been much quieter, and lies at this moment curled up against Socks's stomach, sound asleep despite his brother's noisiness.

It has not escaped my notice that all three are male... I'm beginning to wonder if bioengineering is more likely to produce males as a product? Perhaps the white will yield a female, and that's why it's taking longer in vitro... for some reason? I do not know. Perhaps it is only coincidence.

Regardless... This is bound to be an interesting development, and I am happy Socks is no longer alone... I am hoping for the good health of the third specimen.

SRS has been trying to contact me again. I do not want to talk to him. He missed his chance to be part of this discovery.

Recording ends

#slugcat #slugcat oc #scug #scug oc #scugsona #slugpup #slugpup oc #scug rw #rain world scug #rw scug #rw iterator #iterator oc #iterator #SOC growth records

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brown-little-robin · 11 months ago

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Get to know the OC Asks for your clones:

TWO: 11. What does your OC believe in? God(s)? Monsters? Love? The power of unbreakable bonds of friendship to overcome any obstacle? The ability of money to open any door? Or are they indifferent?

THREE: 4. Does your OC have a failed friendship or relationship they still think about? What happened? Is it an unresolved regret or is there a chance for reconciliation?

FOUR: 12. Is your OC cynical or optimistic? Who or what shaped their outlook on life?

FIVE: 20. Has your OC ever done something terrible and lied about it? Did they run away or blame someone else for it? How long did they maintain the lie and did the truth ever come out?

SIX: 6. Does your OC know magic? Were they born with magical ability or did they train to acquire it? What is their favorite type of magic? Least favorite?

SEVEN: 9. Is your OC laid back or do they thrive on drama? What role do they play in their group of friends/associates?

EIGHT: 15. What places hold significant meaning or memories for your OC? Do they have a positive or negative association with those places?

NINE: 14. How important is friendship to your OC? Do they prefer to have one or two close friends or a large group of casual friends? Or do they prefer their own company over that of others?

TEN: 10. Is your OC sentimental or pragmatic? Do they keep mementos or only what they need to survive? Have they always been this way or did something happen to make them change?

The clones!!! I'm opening the clones drawer of my blorbo nightstand and weeping happily to see them again!!!

TWO: 11. What does your OC believe in? God(s)? Monsters? Love? The power of unbreakable bonds of friendship to overcome any obstacle? The ability of money to open any door? Or are they indifferent?

Two believes in good and evil, and in the power of love, but he's coming to this from the villain side. He thinks of love like a sun that warms others and burns him. He's like a little cave-dwelling newt who can't take too much goodness and love at once. He's used to cruelty and revenge and selfishness, and that's his default.

THREE: 4. Does your OC have a failed friendship or relationship they still think about? What happened? Is it an unresolved regret or is there a chance for reconciliation?

Yeah, Three stole Six's speed and now Six won't speak to him :(( it's unresolved right now because I haven't firmly plotted that far. I don't know if it will ever be resolved. Three doesn't regret it. But he does understand that it's not entirely Six's fault he was so horrible that Three felt he had to disable him. Meanwhile, Six hates, hates, hates most of the family for letting this all happen to him. Time will take some of the sting out of that wound, but.... yeah.

FOUR: 12. Is your OC cynical or optimistic? Who or what shaped their outlook on life?

Cynical. He flinches at everything. He has to take a moment to let every good thing sink in, convince himself it's not secretly bad. He was raised spoiled by President Thawne and abused by his CRAYDL, leaving him with attachment and identity issues like whoa. Also, he helped to plan and execute the abuse of his own brothers, so he has no illusions that he himself is not evil. He can't say the world has kindness in it because it has me in it, because he does not think he is kind.

FIVE: 20. Has your OC ever done something terrible and lied about it? Did they run away or blame someone else for it? How long did they maintain the lie and did the truth ever come out?

Sighhhh... I mean, Five killed a lot of clones, but that wasn't exactly a secret. The only things he's kept secret from people he cares about are 1) the exact nature of his abuse at the "hands" of Craydl and 2) the fact that he was keeping Nine in his old nutrient womb tube for a while. The first thing is just a lie of omission. He lied through his teeth about Nine, because he knew Seven would tell the family that he was raised with another clone and that Five appeared to kill him. (Five very nearly cut Nine in half right in front of Seven.) I don't know exactly how Five dealt with that yet, though: [LORE PENDING].

SIX: 6. Does your OC know magic? Were they born with magical ability or did they train to acquire it? What is their favorite type of magic? Least favorite?

YES! Six has magic! I'm afraid I have to say [LORE PENDING] again, though. Six is a narrative whirlwind disrupting the neatly laid leaves of my story. Six. PLEASE. Let me nail down a detail. ONE detail about you. please. ANYWAY. his favorite is shadow magic, because he gets to feel soooo emo and cool about it.

SEVEN: 9. Is your OC laid back or do they thrive on drama? What role do they play in their group of friends/associates?

Seven!! Baby boy. Baby. He hates conflict. He hates drama. He will physically run away if anyone even sounds likely to start an argument. He's the baby brother everyone would die for. He's the shy kid in any hypothetical future friend group, and then the quiet kid. Seven is just... sweet. He likes to communicate with gifts and acts of service, since he's not very good at extended conversations (he typically gets overwhelmed & leaves abruptly).

EIGHT: 15. What places hold significant meaning or memories for your OC? Do they have a positive or negative association with those places?

Eight...... baby....... His old lair is a site of fond memories, as is Max's house. Most of his memories are fond memories, even though most of them are also painful. Eight just... loves life. He likes to hide in the closet at Max's house! He used to do that when he was stalking Max. Steal a nap in there. The scent of the cotton sheets brings back memories. Nice ones.

NINE: 14. How important is friendship to your OC? Do they prefer to have one or two close friends or a large group of casual friends? Or do they prefer their own company over that of others?

Once Nine gets a bit bigger, he's gonna discover a miraculous thing known as ""friendship"", and he's going to be hooked. He wants so many friends. All of the friends. You know that post where it goes, if you've been lonely for a long time and you suddenly meet people who like you, you are going to behave like a golden retriever on crack cocaine and there's nothing you can do about it? That's Nine. Dogboy suddenly discovers friendship and goes insane, is openly happy and excited and dumb, more at 11.

TEN: 10. Is your OC sentimental or pragmatic? Do they keep mementos or only what they need to survive? Have they always been this way or did something happen to make them change?

Ten has a definite sentimental streak. Things are important to him. He used to couch it in "CRAYDL wants it", but he just. He likes stuff! He likes soy sauce bottles and vinyls and fabric scraps and stickers! Ten doesn't throw anything away if he has a choice about it.

#clones..... <3333 #clones asks

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see-arcane · 11 months ago

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Dead Dove Venting below, Do Not Read

I'm aging another decade every time I see any update on the state of things at this point.

Winter as a season is melting into nonexistence. Within a decade we'll likely be past the point of no return. Corporate pollution continues pumping up into the air, boiling away the future and drowning the generations to come.

Devices are being made to slot in people's brains or to lock around a head to filter company training and duties into you as you sleep.

AI is eating people's art and work and faces and shitting them out in corporations' desperation to excise human involvement from creation just to pinch another penny.

American education is sliding down the toilet between book bans, strangled sex ed, and 'history' lessons edited to erase the reality of human atrocity and variety.

Bodily autonomy has became a joke since Roe v Wade was stabbed in the back. A Texan woman--a mother already--a mother-to-be who was heartbroken to discover the guaranteed painful death of her unborn child and whose full term 'birth' would only mean agony for the newborn before its end and a risk to herself and future attempts at carrying a child--who met every possible exception set forth by Texas' abortion ban, jumped through every legal hoop, and finally was told she could go through with the abortion...only to have the state's attorney general declare she couldn't do it. She had to flee--flee--her own home state to get a life-saving procedure because the 'pro-life' movement showed its full colors to her and the country as it wiped its ass with hers (and every other person with a womb's) human rights.

Pro-life is not about preserving life. Not when its supporters are so rabid as to demand a woman risk her life for a fetus destined to die within moments of exiting the womb.

Pro-life is about forced birth and always has been. For the sake of making cattle of women and adding numbers to the population, willingly or otherwise.

And in that vein, of course child labor is making a resurgence. Now your 14-year-old kid can serve in the grease trap or bar of their choice, dishing out food full of microplastics and booze full of bad decisions to grown adults ready to wink at a high schooler and ask what they're doing after work. Heartwarming! 12-year-old is mowing lawns for the chance to save up for college where they'll get into loan debt for a degree that won't get them a job because every position in their field requires ten years' experience! Gets a new mower donated to the cause!!

Artificial inflation, price gouging, and wage stagnation have eaten the promise of independence out from under an entire generation, their little siblings, the next generation to come. We're living in cars, in sardine-packed apartments, under our parents' roofs. Probably until the day we die, ancient and hobbling inside Walmart's sliding doors as greeters and cashiers, at least until the jobs get taken by smiling hotel bots and self checkouts. Retirement no longer exists as a concept.

Genocides on top of genocides, funded by vulture governments, against their citizens' will, using money that has magically appeared to funnel aid and weapons to the mass murderers slaughtering innocent people with a brutality of such scale and evil that it cracks the mind to try and measure. A shame that money wasn't around to help the tax payers or the people in need at home. Guess how many people go hungry in America, the Greatest Nation. Or don't guess! Look.

Nausea and shame and bile.

Bile bile bile at the thought of this country, with its masturbatory obsession with World War II, with its endless marathon of 'war hero' films showing the plights and heroics of our brave soldiers sent to fight for our rights!

(Because they were drafted. Because they were poor. Because they were lied to with myths of glory and valor. Because they would be killing and dying for the Greater Good.)

All this. All this. When we are living through the proof-positive that if Pearl Harbor hadn't happened, kicking the self-absorbed hornet nest of our government into frenzy, the good ol' U.S. of A. would absolutely have jumped on Adolf's dick and applauded the Holocaust start to finish. Hell, we might have handed them every killing tool but the nukes.

Now here comes 2024.

Voting Day looms. And of course, Joe's poll numbers are shitting the bed the way Trump is shitting himself in the various court battles still chewing on him like spray-tanned cud.

In 2020, we had the vigor of the country shouting as one: VOTE BLUE NO MATTER WHO. Because we were living in a different, far more intense, borderline fascist state. We felt the pressure of the stakes of a second term with the despotic Cheeto.

But now as more blood spills and our blood boils, there are, of course, people clamoring again about how voting is a sham. What kind of sucker is still convinced that voting red or blue, no matter who, is anything but giving candy to a genocidal joke? Both parties have proven they're corrupt. Complicit. Why fucking bother? We need to do more!

And we do.

We absolutely do need to do more.

But for the love of every god I no longer fucking believe in, do it after voting for whoever Is Not the Republican Candidate. You don't want to vote for Joe? For any of the potential Democratic candidates? For whoever is blue, no matter who?

Fine! Fuck it! Stick to your guns! Vote for fucking no one! Play chicken with the top office of the entire country all over again! 2016 the Sequel!

And when every MAGA shithead votes in Trump or one of his sycophants and plunges us into Diet Tyrant Rule 2.0, at least you can wear a little badge of pride--but no actual pride badges, ha ha, DeSantis has already declared rainbows ~too gay~ for Florida schools ha ha ha--that says, 'Well, Both Candidates Were Shit, So I Did the Morally Spotless Thing and Voted for Neither! Surely This Will Earn Me a Good Grade in Martyrdom.'

I hope I'm just making too many assumptions about how literal some people are being about 'why bother' and 'hold your vote hostage' kind of talk. I hope I'm reading too much into hyperbole and not seeing the rise of a new wave of bots, undercover right-wingers, and genuinely self-sabotaging moralists who think not making time to go click a button to Participate in the One (1) Guaranteed Expression of Power We Have as Citizens short of en masse protest and/or outright civil war.

I want there to be a magic switch to flip to unfuck all of this. Half of it. Even a fraction. Every day I wake up and things are worse. Even here, on the one website I regularly dip into to try and escape into silliness and personal passions, there's no avoiding the realities of the world as they get worse and worse and worse and fucking worse.

This is as close to cosmic horror as I think we can get short of Cthulhu finally getting out of bed and wiping us out.

Everything is getting worse.

All the 2024 vote has to offer at this point is a choice between Current Bullshit (Democrat) and Exponentially Worse Bullshit with a Side of THIS CANDIDATE WILL TRY TO BECOME THE FOREVER-KING OF 'MURRICA AND WILL BE EQUALLY MONSTROUS (IF NOT MORESO) IN THE GENOCIDE GAME (Republican).

But I will still drag myself into the booth. I will still vote blue, no matter who. And I will still support Palestine, still protest against evil, still raise my voice. And I'll do so in a country that won't be run by people who want to double down on regressing society to the Dark Ages with a crossover between The Handmaid's Tale and Orwell's nightmares. Who will take dissent as an offense worthy of violence and violation. Who will take every scrap of progress made by the left or by the citizens themselves and set it all on fire.

I'm tired. I'm afraid. More tired under that.

There's such bliss in the idea of flipping the bird and then flipping the table when it comes to the small important steps we can still make as people in our society. It all feels insignificant. Lackluster compared to the bombastic moves of on-the-ground protest. But you can do the small and the big steps. And we need to.

This is not Mad Max. This isn't a comic book or an action movie. There is no utopia waiting on the other side of dismissing elections as ~not worth the bother~ when it was an election that put Trump in power and another that kicked him out.

If anyone out there has a magic switch to flip that will unfuck this country? That will unfuck the entire planet's degradation? Flip it. Right now. Hammer it until it breaks and all the withheld Grace and Sanity pours over everything like a miracle tide and we can all wake up from this group night terror.

But if that switch doesn't exist?

Inch along. Do what you can. Vote in every election, big and small. Act. Support. Boycott. Scream. Fight. Do not shrug and sink into apathy. Little steps to big steps and all the intermediates in-between.

We're not in Hell, despite the weather. Sweating in December. Another massacre per minute. No, not Hell.

Hell has justice.

All we have is this.

#vent post #depressing bullshit Do Not Read #sorry for making this #genuinely #but I needed to scrape this out

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