#early time-restricted feeding

[healthglorious]

Eat Early for Better Blood Sugar Control

Introduction For general health and well-being, it’s imperative to maintain healthy blood sugar levels. Low blood sugar levels can cause symptoms including weariness, dizziness, and disorientation, while high blood sugar levels can raise the chance of developing type 2 diabetes, heart disease, and other metabolic problems. Despite the fact that there are numerous elements that affect blood sugar…

[hiddenlongingsfanfic]

Just His Luck (Lucky Boys 1)

The viscous liquid drip…drip..dripped off of the tip of a clawed finger.

Landing on the bricks below, it sounded incongruously like rainfall.

The acid green substance defied gravity with its tendrils creeping out and then into the porous surfaces of a badly maintained sewer system. His hands were covered in tight fitting gloves, still glowing white even amongst the filth. They lay lax, palms up, and fingers loosely curled to create a small divot in the center.

It took a long time, and it hurt this waiting.

Slowly, though, his patience began to bear fruit.

In his slightly cupped hand pooled the unnaturally rippling ectoplasm.

Danny laboriously, in fits and starts, managed to bring his hand to his chest and tipped the meager liquid directly into his organs. He whined softly with relief as he felt this new world’s ectoplasm nourish him. He didn’t know what would happen if he had a direct source to guzzle from, though. He couldn’t even really describe the difference that he felt. he just knew that it was present and almost alien.

Although Danny smiled slightly, he supposed at this point, he was the alien life-form.

He grimaced then at the feeling of the restrictive plastic that was still strapped to his face before he was forced back to stoicism when it cut painfully into his skin. It wouldn’t be pretty if he had to try and projectile vomit through the thin metal bars that pierced his skin. He finally heaved a deep breath and gingerly wrapped his arms around his torso, doing his best to avoid any sutures, before he pillowed his head on the sinuous length of his tail. Curled into as tight of a ball as his battered body would concede, Danny finally allowed himself to start crying. Tears streamed down his face, and if he had had the ability, he would have screamed.

Wailed.  

At the loss of everything.

His jaw wouldn’t move, held in place by some sort of wire that wound its way through his gums and bones held in place by the plastic of the muzzle. Whatever Fenton invention they had used on it made it nearly impossible to remove. It refused to phase through walls with him and was strong enough that he couldn’t manage to snap the wire into pieces. 

They had learned their lesson early on with him.

They hadn’t wanted to hear what he had to say anyway. Had only cared about what they could discover next. What they could find as they tore through him with methodical, scientific patience. He was a ghost. Long dead. Why would they waste the supplies on feeding him? They had tried something different.

Something…bad.

This shallow pool was a slow method of collection, but it also gave him time to recover his strength, and it didn’t hurt anyone else. He wasn’t being forced to harm anyone just to survive. He couldn’t remember when the portal had started to fall to pieces around him. Cobbled together as it had been, a mixture of human and animal blood used by his friends in a desperate attempt to free him from the laboratory that he had been imprisoned in.

Danny had appeared amongst the clouds and didn’t have the strength to stay afloat.  Danny’s ghost half was supernaturally hardy, but even he needed time to recuperate after plummeting from that high in the air. He had tried to control his fall, but he had just been so tired. Normally, floating felt more natural to him when he was like this than walking. But his injuries even before he had escaped had left him weak. At least he had managed to avoid skewering himself on the steeple of a church. Had felt something close to horror at the thought of being killed (again? fully?) by the sharp points of a metal cross.

A sudden noise distracted him from his agonized sobs.

Danny growled low in his chest as he heard something splashing through the sewer water. Gross. That water couldn’t be sanitary. Seemed questionable to him. He wanted to disappear away from whatever was making that much of a ruckus. Sure, he could technically still turn himself invisible, but that wouldn’t hide the trail of ectoplasm that he had left in his wake. Better to make himself as scary as possible. At this point he’d probably have trouble fighting off the ghost of a fly, let alone whatever monster was roaming through near pitch black tunnels with apparent ease. He couldn’t bare his teeth anymore, but he let the sonic rumbling coming from his chest turn up a gear. There was another splash, and this time, it was followed by a curse. Someone had just fallen face first into that foul water.

Okay.

That helped the fear a little bit. 

Danny let the growl ebb away with a quizzical chirp. He’d have to be even worse off than he currently was to not recognize that “ Mother Fucker!!” that echoed off the brick walls for a moment.  The tinny sound of some sort of earpiece let him hear the faint sound of the feminine laughter of whoever was on the other line.

“Shut it, O. It’s your fault I’m down here anyways.”

The voice was raspy, but it also didn’t sound completely natural. Some sort of mechanical modulation that gave him the heebie-jeebies. 

“ I told you. Cameras caught something falling out of the sky. I found the furrow that it left.”

In the goddamn cemetery.”

“ Yes, but you saw the same thing I did.”

“Yeah, something dragged itself away from the impact site.” “

Satellites saw whatever fell. They literally survived a fall from low atmosphere space and then had the strength to pull themselves into the sewers.”

The damned muzzle meant that there was no way for Danny to run away from whoever was looking for him. Every other piece of clothing went intangible with no issue; but the Fucking Fenton Wire™ made it literally impossible for him to get his face through anything. Forcing himself through would probably end with him missing a bunch of teeth and a good portion of skin from his face. It might be worth it; Danny had taken enough blows to the head that he knew his teeth grew back eventually. Maybe he’d get lucky and the man would give up after his impromptu dip in sewage.

Has he ever been lucky in his entire life?

The abrupt blast of light as the man held up a small penlight felt like it pierced him solidly through both of his eye sockets.

“Hmmm, I’m seeing some sort of liquid.”

“ Blood?”

“I mean the splatter marks. They match up to what I’d expect to see if someone managed to drag themselves through Gotham city water.” 

“ But?” “

"But this shit is looking a hell of a lot more like  Lazarus Water?”

There was a long buzzy pause that came out of whatever kind of earwigs these two weirdo’s were wearing. Danny forced himself to lay even flatter to the ground. He took in a deep breath and fully stuck himself into the corner. Maybe his ratty old hazmat suit would let him pass as a pile of dirty laundry or a trash bag. It wouldn’t work, but Danny hadn’t had too many great ideas about how to talk to a man without showing off his wired. shut. teeth. He also seemed familiar with ectoplasm. Though it didn’t seem to be a happy association.  His modulated voice had dipped into an even lower register. 

When a hand forcefully landed on Danny’s shoulders, the tips of his gloved fingers caught against the concrete of the floor and threw out sparks as he was dragged backwards by ungentle hands.

“ Wait! Hood, be care…!! ”

Danny had had more than enough of being manhandled in his lifetime (afterlife?) and he didn’t even let the woman on the other side of the microphone finish her warning before he whipped his body around and smacked his clawed fingers across the face of his unknown attacker.  It wasn’t exactly like a hot knife through butter, but Danny could feel the way the tips first caught in the metal of the full face helmet that the man was wearing and a push of ice into those cracks shattered the rest of the man's headgear. In a normal situation (for Danny) this would be the point where the person, ghost, being of unimaginable power, etc, etc would either turn tail and run in the other direction or at least shrink away from whatever had just ripped apart what looked like it had been a very expensive piece of body armor. This time, though, he didn’t even have time to react before being punched straight in the nose.

His head snapped back hard for a moment before he twisted sinuously around and launched himself at whoever had hit him. Only for the much taller man to nimbly spring away from where he had been and leaving Danny crouched in the grotty water that was already up well past his shins. At least his feet had decided to reappear. Small favors and all that.  Danny swung out in a wide arc with his claws bared rather than in a fist and let out a little growl of frustration as he hit nothing but air. The other man was quicker on his feet than Danny was used to and he didn’t want to put his full force behind the blow anyways. 

He’d gotten into plenty of fights with ghosts, in their form of rough and tumble play, and a little less regularly by humans that meant business.

This felt like a combination of the two and that was fucking weird man.

Not to be trusted.

It's time to try and actually fight his way out of this situation since this asshole wouldn’t just leave him alone to sulk in the sewers.

Danny instinctively tried to open his mouth wide both to show off his sharpened fangs as well as to hopefully wail into his attacker's face. Of course, the wire cut that off hard, and he had to pull back with a sharp, frustrated whine as he pawed at his face for a moment. Scrabbling to get that stupid mask off so that he could defend himself.  His claws caught on the edge of the plastic, but it didn’t budge. He only managed to snag a finger through a small loop of the metal before it shocked him hard enough to drop him completely in the water, the muzzle sparking and pulsing in punishment and making it impossible for him to keep on his feet. He could feel the way the water around him electrified and was relieved when the other man had the good sense to jump out of it.

This time when a hand came down to grab him the stranger had at least gone for a limb a little further away from whatever fuckery was happening on his face and he felt now much gentler hands wrap around his ankles.  They gently dragged him up and out of the water, plopping him relatively softly on the cement again before relinquishing his hold and backing up with his hands in the air. Danny flopped onto his belly and pushed himself away as quickly as he could. He ended up on all fours with his forearms flat on the ground so that he could hold his head up away from the ground but not have to try and hold onto his teetering balance.

Electricity flashed through his face and left him seeing stars and smelling burnt flesh.

He was gasping for air.

Air he knew that he didn’t really need anymore, but it still felt so necessary.

Deep inhales and slow exhales to try and calm himself down and to get the equipment on his face to stop fucking zapping him. It took several long seconds before he was able to get the courage together to look over and see what the stranger was doing while he was having an electricity induced panic attack. He hadn’t heard the other man leave but that didn’t mean much when this sort of stuff happened. He couldn’t hear much of anything with the way it felt like electricity jolted through his brain. It brought back not only recent memories of this being used as a punishment but older, harder memories from his deathday.  But no, the stranger hadn’t had the decency to leave. Instead he had just taken a seat across the stream of water from him and was watching him carefully from behind another smaller mask that still hid a good majority of his facial features.

Who wears two masks?

Seriously.

He could see the black hair with a shocking patch of white, turned a little brown gray from the muck of the sewer water. 

The sight made his core hum inquisitively.

That was a very distinctive sort of mark to have. Danny cocked his head a little further and, this time, let himself reach out with tendrils of inquiry from his core to see how the other man reacted.

At first, he didn’t.

React that is.

Didn’t seem to have any sort of idea about what was happening, and then Danny felt the first flutters of a very, very new core as it responded with a stressed chatter of noise. It said don’t hurt me…I’m just a baby…Just a baby . Be calm. Safe. safe. Danny’s eyes blazed green as he reacted to the placating emotions the man was obviously sending his way unintentionally. Even after everything he had gone through, Danny didn’t want to be a bully. Sure his face, hell his entire body, fucking hurt, but he had all but face planted into the other ghosts territory. He hadn’t known where the portal had been going to take him. All he had been able to gather from the abrupt conversation that he had had with Jazz was that it was somewhere the GIW would never find him.

A dimension far far away, where he would be safe.

Alone.

But safe.

He had grabbed onto that with both hands and hadn’t let himself think about what he might be losing. So he had managed to get away from an evil government agency, lose his remaining friends and family permanently, only to land smack dab in the middle of some powerful baby ghosts haunt.

Just his fucking luck . 

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Jason wasn’t often at a complete loss for words.

He had words to spare.

Profanity laced, but still, available for use at all times. 

When the call had come through from Oracle, he had felt cold dread start to creep down his spine. Some thing had landed in Crime Alley and walked away from the impact. It was late enough that he had been considering turning in for the evening. When he had heard the subtle ping of his earpiece. Jason had almost considered declining the call. Whatever it was that Oracle needed at this time of night wasn’t going to be good. Even the criminals went to bed eventually.

He clenched hard on his motorcycle's handles before he accepted the call with a gruff. “What is it?”

“ We’ve got something or someone that just landed hard in the Gotham cemetery.” “

Why aren’t you sure if it’s a person or an object?”

“ They fell from literal space. Some sort of portal ripped open the sky and dropped something through it. I’d say the only person that would be able to survive that kind of a fall would be Superman.”

“But it’s not him because?”

“ Because Superman is currently working a case with B, and he was the first person I called. Present and accounted for.” “

And you don’t think it’s a random object falling from a portal because?”

“ First. When has it ever just been a random object?”

“Hn.” Jason grunted in agreement.

“ Secondly, it’s not there anymore. Camera’s went a little fuzzy, but somebody pulled themselves out of the impact site and slid through a sewer grate.”

“Hn.” This was not a grunt of agreement. This was a grunt of displeasure. Oracle had worked with enough bats and birds throughout her lifetime to be able to tell the difference immediately. “

Yes. I literally mean through. It looked like liquid, but it moved under its own power.” “

Hn.”

“ Don’t whine. It’s not befitting a crime lord.”

Jason didn’t even bother to respond as he pulled in through the cracked open gates of the cemetery. Better to park his bike here rather than on the street. B would actually never let him hear the end of it if someone tried to steal his tires.

It didn’t take him long to find the impact site.  There were spatters of sinister glowing green liquid, and the sight of it made Jason’s gorge rise. There was no way that was what it looked like. As he circled around the deep divot in the earth, Jason could make out what looked like handprints in the earth.

Whoever had landed here had hit the ground with enough force to dig several inches into the loamy soil before it looked like they had crawled out with clawed fingers digging deep divots into the dirt as it dragged itself towards the slim opening that led into the Gotham sewer system.

“Yeah, there’s no way I’m fitting through that opening.” Jason drawled. “We’ll have to call in one of the Robins. What a shame.”

“ Nice try. There’s a manhole less than 50 feet from where you’re standing.”

Jason let his face drop forward with a dramatic sigh before he strode over to the manhole. With a grunt of effort, he pulled the thick metal up and to the side before he peered down into the darkness. Thankfully, his mask helped him see through the pitch black, and he was able to locate a ladder without trouble.

He curled his lip a little with disgust before dropping down into the muck. The ladder was made out of a sturdy metal, but he could still feel flakes of rust coming off underneath his leather gloves, and his boots slipped a little on some sort of slimy algae. Jason could hear Oracle breathing quietly in his ear, but they had both gone quiet as he had gotten closer to whatever fresh horror had arrived in Gotham city this time. The water was as disgusting as he had feared when he finally hit the floor, but it was still less slippery than trying to walk on the slick sides that slanted inwards to direct the water. Hood’s mask would have had trouble distinguishing the dark stain of normal blood from the filth that coated the surfaces around him but the bright neon of whatever this creature was dripping stood out in stark contrast to everything around it.

It looked toxic.

Malevolent.

His impression of danger only deepened when he felt his chest rumble like he was standing next to a speaker thrumming with bass.  He was so focused on following the small trailing drops that when Jason tripped over some sort of submerged trash he didn’t have the wherewithal to catch himself.

“Mother FUCKER!”.

Thankfully his mask was sealed tightly enough that none of the disgusting water actually got into his mouth or eyes but he knew that as soon as the mask was taken off he was going to be able to smell himself. Hell, regular civilians would be able to smell him coming before they heard his motorcycle. The thrumming noise came to an abrupt halt when he hit the water, and then Oracle's laughter rang out across the line. Jason had to grit his teeth hard to hold back an annoyed snarl.

“Shut it, O. It’s your fault I’m down here anyway.”

“ I told you. Cameras caught something falling out of the sky. I found the furrow that it left.”

“ In the goddamn cemetery.”

“ Yes, but you saw the same thing I did.”

“Yeah, something dragged itself away from the impact site.”

“Satellites saw whatever fell. They literally survived a fall from low atmosphere space and then had the strength to pull themselves into the sewers.” 

“Hn, I’m seeing some sort of liquid.”

“ Blood?”

“I mean the splatter marks I'm seeing. They'd match up to what I’d expect to see if someone managed to drag themselves through Gotham city water.” 

“ But?”

" But this shit is looking a hell of a lot more like Lazarus Water?” 

Jason had been feeling more and more sketched out as he stepped past what felt more and more like he had stepped into an evil Jackson Pollock painting. He could see handprints in the smears of green that looked almost human. But there was something wrong with the edges. Like whatever had made them didn’t have just normal fingertips. Little indentations in the brick marked the spaces where claws had dug in a little too forcefully to be human.

When Hood finally turned a corner in the sewers and found the source of the Lazarus water he barely even paused when he saw the dirty frayed edges of some sort of black rubbery suit and just reached out to drag whatever the hell had been stupid enough to show up right on his fucking doorstep out of the darkness.

“ Wait! Hood, be care…!! ”

The clawed hand that whipped out of the darkness shone off-white even in the darkness of the sewers, but Hood didn’t have time to dodge before they caught hard in the alloy that covered his left cheek.  He felt the fine cracks as they started to form before he was hit with a sudden icy cold that burned ferociously for a moment before he felt his helmet completely shatter. Jason could only see a vague shadow of whatever had just hit him, but it was more than enough, and he aimed a hard punch directly where somebody's nose should be.

If it had a nose.

He felt cartilage snap under his knuckles and smirked when his opponent's head snapped backwards. And continued backwards further than any human spine should be able to bend. It twisted sinuously around and sent another swiping blow in his direction. This time Jason had enough time to dodge the uncanny blow, and he leapt backwards to give himself some space. He heard a low growl of frustration from the man across from him, and Hood’s eyes widened as he caught sight of the other man's face for the first time. The clear plastic of the bite mask was deeply embedded in the skin around the stranger's face. 

No.

Jason’s breath caught.

Not embedded.

Sewn.

The edges were sewn into his skin with what looked like a thin wire. Where the metal bars that would usually be in front of his lips had instead been wound through them. Sealing them completely shut. The young man’s eyes glowed the same neon green as the Lazarus water. Eerily similar to his own eyes when the Pit rage took over; but brighter, almost incandescent.  His hair swirled in violent waves around his head as though taken by an unseen riptide, glowing white in the gloom. His skin was almost as pale as his hair; though the filth of the sewers had spread a disgusting film across his face. Jason could see the tear tracks that had sloughed off the dirt in ghostly pale streaks. 

The rumbling growl that Jason had heard was coming from deep within the man’s slender chest.  He could see the way the man’s jaw clenched hard as he strained to open his mouth against the tortuous contraption that was entrenched in his face.

He hoped, God did Jason hope, that the mask was a new fixture because whatever he had been trying to do, the young man jerked his head sideways and pawed ineffectually at the edges of the plastic. Clawed fingertips caught and held but weren’t able to pull the fucking muzzle off of his face. With a newly frustrated growl, the man changed tactics and looped a finger through the metal x’d through his lips and pulled. Jason couldn’t see where the electric shocks that started to spark across the mask came from. There didn’t seem to be any sort of electronics attached to the mask itself but wherever they had come from the shocks were enough to drop the man where he stood.

He was nearly covered by the sewage that he had fallen into, and Jason had years of training to thank for the fact that he managed to get out of the water before it became dangerously electrified. He scrambled up into the tunnel that the other person had emerged from while he tried to figure out how he was going to help this poor fucker without getting electrocuted for his troubles. After several long seconds Jason finally managed to reach out and snag the, hopefully rubber, tattered ends of the guys pants and dragged him up and out of the water with a grunting heave.

Jason curled himself away from the sparks that were still coming off of the guy.

Jesus.

Were the electronics in the man’s mouth?

It took several heaving breaths, nostrils flaring and chest racked with silent coughs, before the guy managed to get up on his knees and elbows. He rested his forehead on his fisted hands for several long seconds as they both tried to decide how best to handle the situation going forward. Green eyes slid over to him, and Jason felt a completely foreign crash of emotion sweep through him in a wave. The top notes of whatever this being was sending his way were aggressive!mean!GETAWAY! But underneath that was a wave of agonized terror that left him nearly breathless.

Jason held back a snarl of fear when he felt something shift in his chest and respond without his conscious permission. Something that felt a little bit like the Pit but a lot like when he was trying to sooth his siblings after a hard night. Safe…safe here. Jason slowly slid further down the wall and took a deep deep breath to try and calm himself down.

They both lay, covered in filth, as they tried to recover from the sudden cessation of violence and stared into each others eyes. “

So…uh Hood? You okay?”

Jesus, now he’d have to talk to Oracle about everything that had just happened in the space of several silent minutes.

No.

Worse.

He’d have to explain what happened to Da…Batman.

Jason let his head fall back against the dirty brick and groaned aloud.

Just his fucking luck .

[specialgradefckr]

Heatwave: Day 5

tw: explicit content, noncon/heavy dubcon. 4k+ words. Satoru/Reader/Suguru poly. afab!omega!reader, alpha!gojo, alpha!geto. yandere gojo and geto.

mind games, de-socialization/infantilization, caregiver/dependency kinks, piss kink, humiliation/control, captivity, stockholm syndrome, physical restraints, force-feeding (briefly), restricted bathroom access, suggestions of heat/breeding/pregnancy, reader has a panic attack.

Prompt: An omega is made to regularly piss themselves to show submission to the alpha(s) around them.

It’s for different reasons that Gojo and Geto force you to piss yourself during your captivity, but it always ends the same.

Laughter in your ears. A teasing joke – kinder, if it was from Geto – and perhaps they force you to sit there, soaked, for a few minutes until they tire of taunting you and carry you to the bathroom to wash it off.

They never leave you in there unsupervised, so it’s not like you’re ever relieving yourself without either of them present, as awful as the thought is.

That had happened only a couple times, early on.

Gojo had snapped that if you wanted to be left alone so badly, then he’d do it, even as Geto frowned in disapproval.

He’d continued to deliver you meals but otherwise went along with Gojo’s plan… even though you were chained to the bed, unable to so much as go to the bathroom on your own volition.

It was in part due to your own pride that you didn’t ask one of them to help you. You held it as long as you could – surely Geto would have to know.

He’d even asked if you needed anything one day in, and you were just about to ask him to take you to the bathroom when someone – Gojo, presumably – dragged him away.

Then you’d been left in the humiliating position of being forced to soil yourself. Literally, there’d been nothing else you could do.  

Afterwards, you’d gone on something of a hunger strike. Couldn’t have your bodily functions and sanitary conditions held hostage if you didn’t eat or drink, right?

You would have been proud of how long you lasted, were it not for how it ended.

It was hard – very hard – to keep on declining food after Gojo started to get desperate, realizing that you really were starving yourself.

He started bringing you offerings of all the best food and drink you could think of. Tempting you with a picnic on the balcony, what would’ve been the first fresh air you’d gotten since they kidnapped you.

That might have been his rut coming on, which would explain his shitty attitude. Being possessive over Geto, over you.

Wanting to provide for you, feed you, growing utterly distraught that you refused to eat the food he presented. Going through a thousand options to please you, like you were his mate.

He was scary. Gojo had always been scary, so upfront and outright with his desires, so unwilling to ever hold anything back.

And it pleased you, somewhere in the dark part of your heart, to make your displeasure – your rejection – so plainly known to the alpha before you.

Later you'd realize that Geto was the scary one. He’d come in one last time, made a final offering and a strict but firm warning.

You turned him down again and he’d returned with a cloth soaked in chloroform.

When you woke up, it was to a tube down your throat and your arms and legs strapped down.

Geto waiting patiently at your bedside for you to wake up, shushing you as you struggled and tried to choke it out, holding your head down gently so you didn’t hurt yourself.

He cooed that you were just so helpless, you couldn’t take care of yourself, couldn’t even eat without being made to, so you absolutely needed to be taken care of.

Couldn’t you see? This was for your own good. You were literally starving yourself, and for what?

Geto reeked of alpha pheromones, which was worse. While Gojo had been inconsolable, seeking your approval and acceptance, Geto’s scent was all delight and satisfaction at having given you what you needed.

Your alpha who knew what was best for you, better than you did yourself, and he was easily able to wrestle his stubborn little omega into submission.

It hadn’t been all his patronizing rambling and smug proclamations.

It had been the fact that you were physically incapable of talking back, telling him he was wrong, telling him you were starving yourself because they did shit like this and you didn’t want to fucking LIVE LIKE THIS –

The fury had choked you, leaving you coughing around the tube for Geto to fuss over you some more, inordinately pleased with the situation.

He’d left you with the tube for two days. You’re sure he would have done it longer, would have left you miserable and uncomfortable like that, forced you to soil the special bed padding made for elderly patients, forced you to endure even more sponge baths like you were an actual invalid.

But Satoru whined about how lame it was to have to change and clean and check your tubes instead of sharing a nice meal together, how boring it was that he couldn’t speak with you, that you’d definitely learned your lesson now, right? Right?

You weren’t even embarrassed to nod as they both stared at you. Look me in the eyes, darling. You wouldn’t put us through that again, right?

Put THEM through it. Like you weren’t the one starving, locked in a room, treated like an actual fucking animal for not wanting to be cozy with your captors.

It’s worse because it plays into your instincts. That’s why they have these expectations, why they go along with all these insane things.

At first you’d been angry, as reluctant as any abductee would be, but the longer you were exposed to their scents, the more you grew accustomed to them.

The more they tried to take care of you, the more you wanted to let them. Two beautiful, strong, lovely alphas who wanted so badly to be good to you, isn’t that what any omega would want?

They knew it, too. That was the worst part.

Your heat was coming up, the first since they’d taken you away, and you weren’t proud or delusional enough to think you’d make it even a day without begging one of them to knot you. If Geto wanted to hold out, you knew Gojo would give in, all you had to do was whine for him.

It fucking stung, the fact that you’d already thought about it so thoroughly. It stung to know their plan was working, that you knew and expected yourself to fuck them during your heat, even as sexual encounters with them became more and more commonplace.

None of them were really consensual, but you weren’t confident calling them rape, either.

Not when they always did stop when you’d asked them to, even once or twice when you’d wanted it bad so so fucking bad.

Pheromones hot and sticky in the air, the scent of pleasure and desire tugging you in. Making everything perfect and right and safe with your alpha for just a few precious moments.

Just by his scent, you knew the alpha was just on the cusp; it was the most arousing thing you’d ever felt in your fucking life and everything inside you screamed to make them cum and give you more of those comforting, arousing, pleasurable pheromones… and you’d told him to stop anyways.

Just to prove that you didn’t actually have any power, this was all because of them. They were in control and they’d fuck you whether or not you wanted them to.

But they did stop.

Even when Geto’s impeccable self-control was in tatters, even when Gojo had gone feral with need fucking you hard; if you told them to stop, they would.

If you told them to get off you, they did. If you said not to touch, then they wouldn’t. At least, not for sexual purposes.

It didn’t stop either one from jerking themselves to completion in front of you; your alpha moaning and whining with a flushed face as he locked eyes with you.

What a tease, Geto would say, Needy little omega wants me to put on a show?

Gojo was no better, Fuck, babe, you kill me, you really do… but what my omega wants, my omega’s gonna get.

Utterly unfazed by rejection, by denial. It wouldn’t even stop him from cumming, from finding release as he gazed at you. The scent of his arousal was more than enough to keep you hot and wanting, hand moving to rub yourself without your permission at the sight.

Sometimes the other one would come and help your partner out, drawn in by the heated noises and obvious arousal thick in the surroundings. Eager to assist with a warm hand or a wet mouth, even locking eyes with you while he did it.

Something dark and possessive flaring inside you at the sight of the alpha that had been inside you seconds ago brought to completion by another. 

Something almost worse filling your core with heat at the sight of your alpha being ravished, and another alpha your alpha fluttering his lashes at you as if to say don’t you want to be next? Next to cum, next to us? Inside us, around us, a part of us, like we’re entwined now?

Insane. Insane insane insane they’re driving you insane with this behavior. This façade of care and consideration.

Like you’re really lovers except for how you’re not allowed to choose what room you want to be in at any given time.

You can’t go to the restroom without permission. Can’t eat except for what they feed you. Can’t pick what show to watch, can’t go on the internet, can’t read a book or do anything to entertain yourself without their say-so.

They’ve arranged it somehow so that one of them is always with you. Even your bedtime – in the king-sized bed in the main room of the penthouse – is determined by them. No doubt they schedule it intentionally, so that if they both need to be gone, you’ll be asleep.

You can’t choose anything for yourself, but that’s not an omega’s place. Your alphas will present you with everything you need or want. It’s their duty to know you well enough to keep you satisfied always.

And when you do need to make a choice, when you need that element of control, they’ll give you the options to pick from, so you don’t get too overwhelmed.

Fucking archaic. No one thought that way about omegas anymore. No one treated omegas – anyone ­– like that anymore.

Nobody but Gojo and Geto, the only alphas in the world with both the power and the perceptiveness to provide so perfectly and so thoroughly.

But even those little moments where they offer you some choice, something they’ll actually follow through with, where your opinion truly counts – even that is just the illusion of power. They decide what to give you, when to give it to you.

And they do what they want, ultimately, hence the current situation. They like to make you drink, bring you glasses of water throughout the day for you to finish, “keep you hydrated”, and it’s laughably transparent what it’s in the service of.

But what can you do? They’ve proven they’re not afraid to force things down your throat. This is infinitely more comfortable than the alternative.

Sometimes if you complain enough they’ll bring you something other than water. Once or twice, Geto would let you pick – “Apple juice or orange, darling? You can always still have water, if it’s too hard to choose.” – and to your utter despair, you felt grateful.

Gojo, you think, genuinely gets off on the scent of your piss.

He’s a bit of a freak, though you’d known that from the beginning. Prone to nuzzling into the scent glands on the side of your neck while he took you from behind against some surface.

Inevitably, he pressed you into it, hard enough to pressure your lower abdomen. Between the pressure of his cock filling you entirely, and the press from outside your body as he fucked you against it, all you could do was whimper.

“S-Satoru,” He’s nicer when you call him by his first name, “Satoru, please, please, I – I have to go – ”

Another thrust, hot, heavy, harder than the rest you think, a grin you can hear, teeth against your ear, “I’ve got you, baby.”

“Eugh – please Satoru I can’t hold it – ”

“If you gotta go, baby, go,” He purrs into your ear, “Just follow your instincts. You can do that, right? Just let go.”

His words make it all the harder to hold back, the innate desire to please an alpha surging through you as your release approaches.

And you’re close, too, about to cum even as you can feel the urge to pee swelling with it. It’s gross, it feels awkward, but you just want it to be over –

“Aww, little omega needs some help? Let alpha help you along~”

Fingers trace over your clit and you squeak, Gojo just laughs while he rubs tighter against you, bringing you all the way over the edge. You cum with a cry, a shudder, clinging to him at your involuntary, humiliating release.

“That’s it, there you go, baby,” He pants, deep breaths as he thrusts his own release into you, “Piss all over my cock. Mark your territory. I can smell you.”

Heat shoots up your body, your cheeks. A sigh of relief as your bladder empties itself. Burning shame. It roils, churns; your thighs feel sticky with more than just cum.

You quiver, burying your head in his neck to avoid the smell. Gojo’s scent is sweet with delight as he rides you through the aftershocks.

He strokes your back while he coos, “There you go, wasn't that nice, baby? Didn't that feel good? Don’t worry, just leave the rest to your alpha.”

He made you do this. But it’s no use getting angry, tensing up or doing anything, really. Your omega instincts are telling you to give in, go limp and obedient and he’ll take care of you.

And you do. It’s either that or soak in your own piss. Gojo’s breaths are deep and he hardens inside you at the scent in the air, and all you can do is whimper.

You don’t complain when he fucks you again in slow strokes to avoid overstimulating you. When he gets fully hard again, you’re starting to clench against your will, and he starts pressing into your clit again in short circles.

His fingers are wet, warm, and it’s not long before he brings you to another peak, warbling high, soft noises while he purrs in satisfaction.

You try not to think about the mess on the inside of your thighs, on his cock. Gojo brings his finger from your clit to his mouth. Blue eyes boring into yours, grinning, while he licks it clean.

So you wait a little while before you whine at Gojo, “Bath,” leveraging the alpha’s need to coddle you.

It usually works. You’re usually only made to sit in your disgust for a few moments of hot, sticky, uncomfortable pleasure before he scoops you up and takes you to the bathroom.

You have a surprisingly thorough skincare routine. Geto likes routines, you think, and Gojo likes sweet-smelling soaps and lotions, and they both like pampering you.

Pretending that you’re their sweet little omega girlfriend they spoil rotten instead of a prisoner who can’t leave.

It could almost be nice. Gojo’s large form in the tub beside you as he carefully scrubs you clean, massages his favorite fruit scented shampoo into your hair.

Grooming you with a diligence that you wouldn’t expect from him, all soft hands and gentle circles. Rinsing everything out.

Your tongue darts out over your lips, purely reflexive, as he cleans you up. For his part, Gojo doesn’t even try to resist the desire to lick over your scent glands when he towels you dry.

You smell like him, after. It makes him hard, but it’s easy to make Gojo hard, like that’s his default state whenever you’re around.

Your bare neck does things to him, you think. It’s stranger that smelling Gojo on you makes Geto hard, when he comes in to make sure he's following your routine correctly.

Gojo kisses at the corner of your mouth before he pops out the cleanser. You sit down obediently for him as Geto walks in, like he can tell you’re going to be put to bed soon.

They fuss in unison; Geto wants a leave-in conditioner for your hair, Gojo thinks that’ll weigh it down. Taking turns massaging your face, your hands, with one product or another. You feel like a doll sitting there – they certainly treat you like one.

Neither of them ask for your input on anything. Gojo styles your hair as he likes, using the hair dryer on you. The one time he hadn’t, Geto threw a fit, saying you could catch a cold.

It feels nice. Hands running through your hair, brushing it. You could almost catch yourself purring. And then Geto will mention a trim, of Gojo will suggest some styling, and you’ll remember with frigid clarity that it’s not really your hair anymore. Just the hair on their pretty little omega doll.  

Frighteningly, the thought makes you wet, sometimes. Sometimes you think you’re conditioned to get wet when you feel helpless, because that’s the only useful thing you can do. Get wet enough to make one of your alphas purr and kiss and fuck you into blissful comfort.

Gojo thinks it’s cute, thinks it’s darling, he’ll usually give in to you right away.

Geto actively tries to make you feel helpless. You think that’s what it is, when he makes you piss yourself, that’s what he gets off on. Making you drink more and more, knowing you can’t really refuse. Asking you to hold it just a little longer.

“Come now, we don’t want to make a mess, do we? Just another minute, little omega.” Geto likes it when you make a mess.

Or rather, he likes when you need him to clean you up. When you need him, in general.

“Needy little thing.” He sits you on his lap. The arm wrapped around your waist pressing against your abdomen. “One more minute, love, then we’ll head to the bathroom.”

He doesn’t encourage you like Gojo, but he wants the same thing. You’re not sure which one you hate more. He’s only pretending to fix your hair. Gojo and him are the only ones who see it. It’s not remotely critical, not like your bodily needs –

But you don’t get to decide what’s important. Geto does, and he says you stay here, even when you desperately, desperately need to go.

“Suguru,” You whimper, squirming. You just want it to be over. “Suguruuuu.”

No pretense, anymore. His hand that isn’t constricting your middle darts down between your legs. Rubs your clit over your underwear.

Rock hard. You can smell the arousal on him. But Geto’s worse than Gojo, because Geto doesn’t always care about getting off. Sometimes he’s happy just to finger you. Sometimes he either jerks himself or gets Gojo to get him off. Sometimes he’ll eat you out for hours, claiming you were too fussy, and if he puts his dick in you, you’re not awake for it.

The scent of his arousal has you dripping quickly, it’s not even worth it to stave it off. The best you can do is get him to do it faster, and even that’s not really up to you.

The pleasure comes beneath his fingertips, but it’s sharp, tapered by friction, and he keeps a steady pressure around your abdomen that has the pressure building in your bladder. It’s a painfully familiar feeling.

“Hold it.” He commands, your alpha, and you do, you really do. You don’t want to piss yourself, but you know he does, and he’s just fucking toying with you while he gets you there. “Hold.”

It’s hard, hard, pulling against the tide, fighting the promise of release that swells beneath his touch. You can’t do it long. Full to bursting.

“There you go, just a little more.” He finally drags his fingers beneath your panties. You’re ready to start crying. “So wet. You don’t want to make a mess, do you? Just wait a little longer.”

Lying lying he’s lying and the thought makes it so much harder to control but you don’t WANT to. You don’t!

You really do cry, a sob that catches in your throat when he dips a finger into you and you feel a dam begin to swell against the increased stimulation.

“What a good omega,” He purrs, like he’s noticing your discomfort and trying to relieve you, instead of enjoying it, “Hold it. Hold it.”

Another finger in. So full, you’re so full, it’s like his cock is inside you, there’s so much that it hurts, you just want to let go. He starts rubbing faster against your clit, a sweet friction that you have to fight not to buck into, muscles spasming, control faltering.

“Suguru,” Reduced to pitiful mewls. Just how he likes you.

“Hold it.” He says, and he knows, he fucking knows, he must know –

Fingers darting deep inside you, arm clenching violently against your lower half. Squeezing, squeezing, so hard, all while he pinches tightly at your clit. White hot pleasure pours through you, heady, flooding, and all you know is relief.

“Oh,” He says, like he’s surprised, even though you can feel his smile widen against your neck, “Oh, poor little omega. Had an accident, have you? It’s all right. It’s okay.” He prods tenderly at your clit, nursing you through it.

“I know how it is. You can’t help it, can you, baby?” He kisses against your neck from the left. “Poor thing. Don’t worry. Your alpha will take care of it. It’s only natural, silly little thing like you, you just couldn't help yourself.”

It’s a constant refrain they both like to repeat. Not to be ashamed of your instincts, your body, your needs.

You know why. To your great misfortune, you were born an omega, and so once you go into heat you’ll be struck with the insatiable desire for their knots, and it’s in their best interest for you not to resist that.

The less you resist, the better the chances their claiming bites will stick. Gojo already loves to chew at the glands on your neck – you think he’s even ‘called’ the right side, gnawing at there lazily while Geto is in the room.

For Gojo, it’s just dirty talk, but Geto likes to lecture you. There’s no one in your tiny world who has any level of disgust for your bodily functions.

They’ve seen it all, seen you helpless, sick, all kinds of messy, and they loved you, loved taking care of you. It was an honor for them to see you so vulnerable, an honor only your alphas deserved.

Sometimes he calls it desensitization training, like there’s a purpose to making you piss yourself besides getting high on control and making you humiliate yourself into submission to their whims.

But you do think there’s more to that for Geto.

If they had their way, you’d be a complete degenerate, an invalid, helpless by choice and totally disinterested in changing that.

A spoiled, mewling omega just a few steps away from ferality. They already don’t let you do much on your own, attending to even the simplest things all by themselves.

Knowing only to whine for your alphas to entertain you, provide for you, comfort you, because that’s all you ever needed to do. Utterly incapable of functioning in normal society, and unable to see anything wrong with that.

It’s coming. Soon. You know it is, and you’re sure they do, too. Geto in particular probably knows your body better than you do; probably tracks your hormones and cycles, may even be feeding you suppressants or stimulants.

You can only pray he’s bothered to give you contraceptives, too. Gojo’s a lost cause, he’s probably chomping at the bit to put a baby in you, but Geto would at least be concerned with the implications.

They’d chained you to the bed and locked you up for a couple days alone but they couldn’t leave you alone if you were pregnant. Their instincts just wouldn’t permit it.

Thinking about it makes you shake, uncontrollably. In your shared bed, in their arms, even with their voices cooing in your ear and their purrs and cuddles desperately soothing you.

Your heart trembles. Your heat is coming, it’s coming, and after that you could get pregnant.

They couldn’t leave you alone if you were pregnant. No alpha would ever be able to tear themselves away.

Alone, alone, locked in that tiny room. Chained up. You couldn’t even relieve yourself. Stuck in your own filth, abandoned by your alphas, the ones who were supposed to love you, protect you, provide for you.

They couldn’t, they wouldn’t. No alpha could abandon their omega. But they had once. They had once. They do whatever they want with you, no matter how much you hate it.

You tell yourself desperately you don’t want to be bred, and even you can’t tell if you mean it, excuses flashing back and forth in your mind.

What if they got you pregnant and decided you didn’t deserve their company? Decided you weren’t grateful enough for the calming presence of an alpha during your most vulnerable time? What if they thought you’d look cute, all pregnant and desperate and crying for them?

There’s no fix for this, nothing you can do about it, they’ve taught you that you can’t control anything in your life anymore.

Realization after realization crashes down, each little thing, can’t stop them from leaving, can’t stop them from breeding you, can’t stop them from fucking you in your heat, can’t do anything can’t you can’t you can’t –

They’re going to leave you. You’ll be heavy with child, longing for comfort and affection.

They’re going to make you need them. They’re going to make you weak in the worst possible way. They’re going to use it to hurt you.

Jerking, sniffling. Someone comes closer – it’s warm, paler, probably Gojo – but the shivering just gets worse.

Come closer, leave you alone. They’ll do whatever they want to do. You’ll just have to accept it.

They’re going to leave. Leave you alone. All alone. All by yourself. Locked up, in chains, unable to do anything. They made you need them and they’re going to leave –

Wetness pools in your eyes, and you blink it away without really trying, without noticing so much how the tears roll down your cheek.

The numb terror overwhelms everything. Cold, it’s cold, and somehow so hot. Your heart is trying to bolt out of your chest.

A name you distantly recognize as yours rings in your ears, but you don’t notice, don’t understand.

You’re too busy trying to breathe through all your panting, all the adrenaline rushing through you with the panic.

You feel helpless, completely helpless. Pinned between the two of them.

Larger, stronger, alphas who can subdue your resistance just by existing, emitting pheromones that send you into dizzy complacence or heady lust.

Alone. Alone, alone, they’re here now but it’s not because you want them they don’t care what you want they do what they want you can’t have anything can’t do anything you can’t you can’t you can’t.

The thoughts coil endlessly through your mind, spinning, spinning, spinning in place. A hand rubs against your back, a desperate purr in the distance.

Background noise. You're alone, trapped in your head, trapped with thoughts that won't stop coming.

Spiraling despair that just goes deeper and deeper, new fears unearthed with every thought.

You feel like throwing up.

Would they feel like cleaning you up? You’d be at their mercy, caked in your own vomit.

You feel like you’re dying.

Mabe you are. Maybe this is how they kill you, from the inside out.

[anipgarden]

Un-Actions, or Restriction of Activities

This is my first post in a series I’ll be making on how to increase biodiversity on a budget! I’m not an expert--just an enthusiast--but I hope something you find here helps! 

There’s a good handful of ways you can help increase biodiversity in your yard that don’t require buying things--in fact, these may actually help you save money in the long run! They may seem small and simple, but every bit counts! Whether you can do these in totality, or just limit how often you do these actions, it’ll make a difference.

Not Mowing, or Mowing Less Often

Turf grass lawns are considered a monoculture, meaning they don’t provide much opportunity for insects to find habitat--so few other creatures find them enjoyable either. An expanse of turf grass is, in many ways, a barren wasteland in the eyes of wildlife--too exposed to cross, with few to no opportunities for food or shelter, leaving them exposed to blazing hot sun, freezing cold, or any predators that may be lurking nearby. A place to be avoided. The simple act of letting your grass grow unbothered gives a chance for wildflowers to grow, and for your grass to grow taller--providing more habitat for insects, which then provides more habitat to birds and other creatures that feed on said insects. Wildlife want nothing more than to skirt by unnoticed, so even leaving the grass tall along the edges of a fence or yard can help a little. Even restricting mowing to every other week, or at a higher blade setting, can be a huge help. If HOAs or city ordinances are fussy about lawn length in the front yard, you can likely still keep grass higher in the backyard. Or, you can create a ‘feature’ where grass is allowed to grow long in a specific area. If it looks purposeful, people are more likely to accept it. Not mowing under trees or close to shrubs not only leaves space for wildflowers to grow, but also means you don’t have to deal with mowing over bumpy roots and other difficulties. Cutting different areas at different times can be an option for letting grass grow long in some areas while still having available places for play and entertainment. I’ve seen some people plant flower bulbs when pulling up weeds, so in the future they'll bloom in early spring before mowing is usually necessary. This could be another fun way of adding biodiversity to a lawn without--or before you--begin mowing in spring.

Not worrying about mowing, or doing it less often, saves you in time, money, and energy. You won’t have to buy as much gasoline for your mower, and Saturday afternoons can be free to be enjoyed in other ways aside from being sticky and sweaty and covered in grass stains. In addition, you’ll likely be lowering your own carbon emissions!

If you do have to mow your lawn, I’ve got ways you can use your grass clippings to boost biodiversity later in the post series!

Not using pesticides, herbicides, fungicides, etc.

One of the next-biggest non-actions you can do asides from not mowing is using fewer fewer to no herbicides, fungicides, and pesticides in your yard. This’ll easily allow for more biodiversity. Allowing more insects and a wide array of plants to thrive will feed back into the entire food chain in your area. In addition, these types of chemicals have been tied to algae blooms, death of beneficial insects, harm to birds, fish, and even humans. Soil is supposed to be full of fungi, especially fungal mycelium that essentially acts as a network for plants to communicate, share nutrients, and support each other--fungicide kills that, and typically makes all other lawn problems even worse in a negative feedback loop. It may take awhile to see the benefits of avoiding these chemicals, but once you see it, it really is astounding.

However! I can’t lie and say that there haven’t been points where I needed to use pesticides at some points in my gardening journey. In these cases, try to use products that are organic--like diatomaceous earth, neem oil, etc--and use them accurately, correctly, and sparingly. Follow instructions on how to apply them safely and responsibly--for example, on non-windy days and during times when bees and other pollinators aren’t likely to be out and about. With some pests (read: oleander aphids, in my experience), a simple jetstream of water is enough to force them off the plant where they’ll be too weak to get back. Eventually, you should have a balanced enough ecosystem that no one insect pest causes a major issue with the work you’re doing to boost biodiversity.

If you can bear to, try handling pests manually. Squishing pest bugs in your hand is a pretty foolproof way to get rid of some problems, or spraying them with a mix of soap and water can do the trick on some insects. Alternatively, picking them off your plants and into a bucket of soapy water is also a valid option. You’ve heard of baptism by fire, now get ready for… baptism by soap?

But also! Try reconsidering what you consider a pest! Tomato hornworms are hated by gardeners, for devouring the foliage of beloved tomato, pepper, and potato plants. But killing the tomato and tobacco hornworm means getting rid of sphinx moths, also known as hummingbird or hawk moths! Hawk moths are vital to the survival of many native plants, and are sometimes even the only species that pollinates them. If you can bear to, consider sacrificing a few tomato plants, or growing a few extras, so we can continue having these beautiful moths for years to come. After all, they may not even do significant damage to the plants!

With that in mind, be friendly to your natural pest managers! Lacewings, ladybugs, praying mantises, wasps, birds, bats, and more will help manage pest populations in your environment! Encourage them by planting things they like, providing habitat, and leaving them be to do their work! Avoiding pesticides helps make your garden a livable environment for them, too!

Letting Weeds Grow

Many of the plants we know as 'weeds' are actually secondary succession species and native wildflowers. Milkweed was regarded as a noxious, annoying weed for a long time, and now people are actively trying to plant them after learning about the important role they play in our environments! Weeds are adapted to take over areas that have been cleared out of other plants after a disaster, so they're doing much of the initial work in making a habitat for other creatures. In fact, many of them will simply die back as the environment repairs itself.

An important thing to note is to please make sure that your ‘weeds’ are not invasive species. Work on learning how to identify native and invasive species in your area, and pull out what’s harmful to leave room for what’s good!

Don’t Rake (Or At Least Don’t Bag Your Leaves)

Many insects overwinter in piles of leaves that we often rake away and bag up in the fall and winter. By doing this, we are actively throwing away the biodiversity of our neighborhoods! If you can, leave the leaves where they fall! 

If you do need to rake, put the leaves in places wildlife can still access it instead of bagging it up. Move your leaves into garden beds to serve as mulch, or along the edge of fences to rest while keeping egg cases and hiding bugs intact and free to release come spring.

Leave Snags Where They Are

Snags are dead trees/dead branches on living trees. They provide an important wildlife habitat--many birds nest in them, or use them to seek cover from rain, and many insects will also live in snags (making them an additional food source for birds and other creatures). Tree cavities are used as nests by hundreds of bird species in the US, and many mammals use them as well, such as bats, squirrels, raccoons, and sometimes even bears. Some trees form cavities while they’re still alive, but in conifers they’re more likely to form after death. Crevices between the trunk of a dead tree and its peeling bark provide sun protection for bats and amphibians, and leafless branches make great perching areas for birds of prey to hunt from above. The decaying wood is home to insects and fungi, who then feed birds, mammals, amphibians, and reptiles.  Do check on the snags regularly to ensure they don’t serve a threat to any nearby structures, but whenever possible, leave them be! 

Keep Your Cat Inside

If you have an outdoor cat, consider making the adjustments to have it be an indoor cat. If you have an indoor cat, keep it as an indoor cat. Free ranging cats impact biodiversity through predation, fear effects, competition for resources, disease, and more. Keeping little Mittens inside does a lot more to help than it may seem from the outside.

That’s the end of this post! My next one’s gonna be on things you can add to your space that aren’t directly related to growing plants. For now, I hope this advice helps! Feel free to reply with any questions, success stories, or anything you think I may have forgotten to add in! 

[austinbutlerslovers]

The Hunt

Label Mature 18+

🔗 Blood Bound Sequel

Summary Invited to a mysterious banquet after being secretly initiated by Austin Butler, you arrive at a grand, secluded manor alongside dozens of other women, all drawn by the promise of a lucrative career.

However, as the night unfolds, the glamour gives way to a darker purpose when you slowly come to the horrifying realization that you and the other women are not merely guests at this lavish banquet —you are the main course.

🚨Depraved Smut 🚨 drugged with aphrodisiac • fed to appease the pallet of a vampire •hunted• bitten•taken by force • held against will•mentally manipulated • vulnerable• mind spell•breast play •breast bitten•blood exchange •orgasm bonding • blood bonding��vampire feeding during orgasm•creampie•forever his 🔗 Masterlist

Special Thanks @thejoywillburnoutthepain 🥵 Mentions of blood 🩸 Mentions of needle for IV 💉

The Hunt

You awaken in your dim apartment, the early morning light barely filtering through the curtains. Everything feels wrong—as though something essential has been drained from your veins. You pull your robe tighter, fingers trembling as you reach for your phone, squinting at the screen seeing a string of missed calls from your agent and a few urgent texts.

You tap to dial him back, your heart a confused mess, torn between the remnants of a surreal dream—were Austin was drinking your blood—and the dawning, realization that it wasn’t a dream at all. The phone rings only once before your agent answers, his voice vibrating with enthusiasm.

“Darling, you were absolutely incredible last night!” He gushes, practically tripping over his words. “I don’t know what you did, but everyone is talking about you. You’ve been personally requested for an exclusive event at the end of the month. I mean, the event, the kind that cements your name. So, listen carefully—no work, no public outings, and absolutely no partying until then. This could be the break we’ve been waiting for.”

His words hang in the air, dreamlike and surreal, as if your agent is talking about someone else. You’re about to question him when he adds as an afterthought, “Oh, and a nurse is on her way to check on you. She’ll be there any minute now.”

“A nurse?” You ask the confusion in your voice warranted, but he’s already hung up, leaving you in a whirlpool of disbelief. You barely have time to process his words before the intercom buzzes, announcing the nurses arrival and with hesitant fingers, you press the button, the beep echoing through your empty apartment as you let her in.

Moments later, the nurse appears at your doorway, her presence chillingly professional. Dressed in severe black from head to toe, her demeanor is as icy as her expression.

Without a word, she unpacks an IV bag with your name labeled on the packaging, hanging it with mechanical precision. “Your arm, please,” she says, her voice devoid of warmth.

You extend it hesitantly, feeling her cold fingers brush against your skin. “What is this for?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly as she aligns the needle with a prominent vein.

“Your hemoglobin nourishment,” she replies, offering no further explanation.

The sharp prick of the needle is more than a sting; it’s an ache that deepens, spreading an unsettling warmth through your arm. You wince but say nothing as the needle settles into place, watching as a crimson liquid flows into your vein with an almost hypnotic steadiness.

While you wait for the IV to finish, she hands you a list of dietary restrictions—foods you are allowed and foods you are to avoid.

Scanning the list, you notice odd details such as no lactose and —“Vegan cheese pizza?” you mutter out loud with a confused look on your face despite yourself.

“These are the requirements for the party,” she replies coldly her face a blank mask.

A chill slips down your spine. “Party of vampires?” You say gaining an understanding of the situation.

For the first time, her icy facade cracks. “Vampires don’t exist,” she says, but there’s a smirk at the edge of her lips, her eyes glinting as though she knows a secret she’ll never tell.

In the weeks that follow you quickly regain your strength feeling better than ever. As you become accustomed to your new found energy Austin’s face seems to haunt every corner of your life, glowing and youthful in every premiere, every Q&A every television interview.

His charisma practically leaps from the screen but theres something unsettling about his expression, something painfully familiar—the way he speaks his words, the light in his eyes, even the way he tilts his head as he laughs, his giddiness and curiosity an exact replica of your own and you realize with sickening clarity he’s taken far more than your blood, he’s captured your very essence.

When the end of the month arrives, a black limousine pulls up outside your building. The driver, silent and stoic, holds the door open for you, offering no answers as you settle in for the long, winding journey. As the city fades away, you’re taken through dense woods, the road winding tighter, the shadows thicker until finally, an immense, sprawling mansion looms on the horizon.

The manor is a striking blend of gothic elegance and timeless luxury. Stone and iron dominate its towering structure, with shadowed turrets reaching skyward toward the glowing full moon.

A beautifully landscaped driveway winds around a grand, illuminated fountain, the water cascading in perfect symmetry, adding an unexpected touch of serenity to the imposing estate.

Sleek black limousines pull up in a steady procession, coming to a stop along the curved driveway at the front of the manor. Drivers in crisp uniforms step out to open the doors, their movement precise and rehearsed.

As you step out, other young women emerge from their own limousines, each one casting bewildered glances at the manor. You recognize some of them—fellow actresses, models, internet celebrities, women you’ve seen on magazine covers, television screens, and countless social media apps. Each one looks as dazed and unsure as you feel.

Women clad in black stand vigil at the entrance of the mansion, their expressions as severe and unyielding as the nurse who first visited you.

Each one steps forward, assigned to their guest. Yours approaches with a sharp, assessing gaze, gesturing for you to follow. Her movements are smooth as she maintains an unwavering silence leading you into the mansion.

Your steps echo through the cavernous entryway, the weight of the place pressing in on you as she leads you down a corridor into a private wing.

Each turn is disorienting, the cold marble floors polished to a mirror sheen, reflecting the dim lighting. Dark, arched doorways line the halls, each one closed, each one a mystery.

You feel his presence before you see him—a faint tightening in your chest, a pounding in your veins. Austin is here— his presence a prickling unease slipping beneath your skin as you walk, his essence saturating every inch of your body, pulling at you, drawing you forward.

Your heart races as you reach the end of the corridor where a massive door stands, and you know, just beyond, it he’s waiting.

The woman pushes open the heavy door, and you step into an empty room adorned only by a large, lavishly made bed and a mix of antique decadent furniture of dark wood.

Shadows play in the corners of the room between the draped windows as you inspect each one, thinking you will discover Austin.

Anxiety prickles along your skin as you peer into the grand bathroom, fingers skimming the cold marble of the sink knowing he is here somewhere just out of sight.

The woman, now standing near the door, interrupts your search.

“You have followed your dietary requirements precisely?” She asks her voice steady, her eyes sharp.

“Yes…” you answer, a hint of uncertainty in your tone as you turn back to her, watching as she pulls a strange outfit from the armoire—black leggings, a matching sports top, lightweight zipper jacket, and a pair of tennis shoes.

Confused, you accept the clothing with a question, “Are we exercising?”

The faintest smile flickers across her lips, more unsettling than reassuring.

“Please put on your attire so that I may escort you to the banquet,” she says, her tone quick and precise, offering no further explanation as she turns to leave the room.

A chill settles over you, intensifying when the door thuds shut. The creeping sense of unease thickening, making you question just what you’ve stepped into.

Once you are dressed, the woman enters the room as if she had been waiting just beyond the door.

Her sharp eyes sweep over you, assessing your appearance with an air of cold detachment. Satisfied, she gestures for you to follow her.

The journey through the winding corridors feels like a maze, the dimly lit hallways stretching endlessly.

The ornate surroundings of rich tapestries, heavy curtains, and intricate carvings do little to ease the nervousness growing in your chest.

Finally, she stops before a set of grand double doors, their surfaces carved with an ancient, intricate, almost hypnotic pattern.

She pushes them open with surprising ease, revealing the banquet hall beyond. The golden light spilling out is warm, but it does nothing to soothe the dread pooling in your stomach.

Inside, the banquet hall is filled with the other women, all dressed in identical workout sets. Your stomach twists at the sight, a foreboding knot tightening as you scan the room, the giddiness on some of their faces unsettling in contrast to the dread settling over you.

The only man in the room steps forward in a pristine black suit. He has an authoritative air, his cold gaze sweeping over you all as a bell rings, pulling everyone’s attention to him.

“Please be seated,” he commands, voice devoid of warmth. Some of the women practically bounce with excitement, as if they’re at a themed event, but you can’t shake the gnawing sensation that every move, every breath is being watched.

You take your seat as covered dishes are placed in front of each guest. You can’t hide your surprise as a servant lifts the silver lid to reveal a simple peanut butter jelly sandwich on an ornate plate.

Around the table, other girls find similarly strange items, childish meals of nostalgia on elaborate dishes, and excited whispers start to spread across the room.

The young actress beside you rolls her eyes. “It must his favorite.” She mutters.

“Whose favorite?” you ask, blinking in confusion.

She tilts her head with a look at you that’s almost pitying. “The one you belong to.” She says rhetorically.

The words drop like a stone in your chest, the realization hitting heavy as a dreadful connection forms in your mind.

“Ladies, you may begin eating your meals,” the man in the suit announces —clearly the host of the evening, his gaze sweeps over you all, cold and watchful.

Reluctantly, you eat a few bites of the sand which until your stomach churns and you set it down.

Servants enter through the room, placing goblets beside each guest. The liquid is thick and black, a shimmering swirl of gold catching the dim light.

Giving it an easy look you whisper to the servant as he places it. “What exactly is this?”

The servant merely bows and moves on, ignoring your question entirely.

The host checks his watch, then lifts his hand. “Drink from the goblets entirely,” he says in a tone that garners no defiance. “Then you are to continue with your meal.”

The last thing you want is to drink the mysterious black liquid, but under the sharp, watchful eyes of the host and the female attendants, and the exclusivity of the event, you reluctantly take the goblet to your lips.

The liquid is sweet like honey, coating your throat as you drain the glass.

As soon as you set it down, a warmth begins to spread through you, intensifying with each passing second. Your breath quickens, lips parting as you feel a tingling feeling in your core. Your thighs press together involuntarily, feeling a pulsing ache that refuses to subside in you, as an overwhelming sense of desire floods your body.

“What the hell…” the actress gasps beside you, her voice shaky. She presses her hands to her flushed cheeks, eyes wide in startled excitement.

“Oh my god,” another sighs, leaning back with a blissed-out laugh as her hands glide along the tablecloth. All around you, the women are reacting, some whispering breathlessly, others laughing, touching their own arms, their skin hypersensitive to every touch.

A horrifying realization dawns—you’ve been drugged, and aroused, prepared as prey. Panic grips you as you push back from the table, the lustful haze battling the panicked need to escape.

You’re not the only one; a few other women understand and leave their seats, with terror flashing in their eyes as they scramble for the doors, pulling at them in desperation but the doors are locked tight.

The host watches, a smirk playing on his face as he presses a button. “No need to be in such a hurry ladies,” he says smoothly, and the glass doors along the far wall slide open, revealing the sprawling grounds outside. “The best one to hide will receive a reward beyond her wildest dreams.” He says.

Before the words even fully register, the room erupts with excited screams, the young women spilling out into the night, each one believing they’re part of some elaborate game.

Your heart pounds as you glance at the host one last time, his smile lingering as he watches you. With a shudder, you bolt out with the others, adrenaline flooding your veins.

Outside, the manor has an endless expanse of trees and dense gardens. You sprint, weaving past hedges and statues, your heart racing as you search for cover. The moonlight glows faintly over the grounds as rows of marble statues and manicured flowerbeds appear briefly as you run, disappearing into the shadows with the other women behind you. You push forward, darting between archways and tall hedges, searching desperately for a place to hide.

Spotting a small stone gazebo, you dart inside, pressing yourself against the cold, damp stone as you strain to catch your breath. The night is filled with the sound of footsteps, voices calling, and laughter echoing in the dark.

Suddenly, the crunch of gravel and the rustle of leaves grow louder near you, impossibly close. Your chest heaves as you listen intently, hoping the shadows will conceal you.

You freeze as you hear a girl nearby, her voice high-pitched and excited as she talks to someone. “There you are,” a male voice responds, his tone carrying an unsettling mix of eagerness and satisfaction.

You press yourself harder against the stone, your pulse pounding in your ears as you try to stay silent, your every muscle tense with dread.

Peeking around the corner you freeze in horror as you watch the girl being cornered by a familiar face—Timothee Chalamet, his grin almost playful as he closes in on her, eyes glinting with an unnatural hunger in the moonlight.

She giggles as he grabs her, his mouth descending to her neck, and you’re frozen, watching as he drinks from her. She moans in pleasure her body weakening in his arms as he guides her to the floor, then he turns to another man who appears from the shadows— one of Hollywood’s older stars, an actor you recognize instantly, though his name frustratingly escapes you.

“Isn’t this fun?” Timothee grins at him, wiping his mouth with a satisfied sigh.

The older actor chuckles darkly his voice filled with amusement, “The enhancement makes them taste so much richer. It’s intoxicating—almost impossible to stop once you start.” He reveals.

Timothee laughs a sharp, delighted sound, and the two slip away into the shadows, searching for their next victim.

Your stomach turns, revulsion and terror twisting within you as more screams and laughter split the night, the other girls becoming prey in a twisted hunt.

Frantically, you glance around the gazebo, hands groping along the stone ledges until your fingers close around a piece of jagged iron, part of the gazebo’s old railing. You grip it tightly as desperation flares in your chest realizing this is your only weapon.

Holding your breath, you peek out, eyes darting as shadows flicker between the trees, figures moving with inhuman grace. With trembling hands, you press yourself deeper into the shadows, clutching your makeshift weapon and praying that you’ll find a way out of this nightmare.

When your surrounding quiet you exit the gazebo with trembling steps, heart pounding as you make your way to the girl laying on the cold ground. You kneel beside her, pressing two fingers to her neck. Her pulse is weak but steady, her skin deathly pale, her breaths shallow—she’s alive, but only barely.

You glance around, the sounds of distant laughter and haunting cries echoing through the night in a terrifying symphony. Shadows slip between the trees, vampire silhouettes stalking their remaining prey. You have to move before you’re discovered, but as you rise to your feet, you feel a familiar presence.

A heavy silence settles around you, and your pulse thunders in your ears.

You turn, already knowing who you’ll see.

Austin stands just a few feet away, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. There’s a wildness in him, something dangerous simmering beneath his calm, poised exterior, and yet he doesn’t advance. He watches you, chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths, his gaze intense.

“Austin…please ” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath, the mingling of fear and yearning twisting in your stomach.

His eyes never leave yours as he grins, a flicker of joy in their depths, genuinely excited to see you.

You raise the spike of iron, gripping it tightly to keep him at a distance, but it doesn’t stop him from stepping closer, his movements slow, savoring the moment.

“I told myself I wouldn’t get attached,” he says, his grin slipping, almost painfully. “But you…” He reaches for you and when you lift the iron spike, his eyes softens. “I want you more than anything.”

He gestures for you to drop your weapon, and your hand releases it involuntarily, the iron piece clattering to the dirt as you struggle to maintain control over your own movements.

You can feel his power, a subtle, unbreakable hold, allowing you only the faintest control as he tries to override your will to bend you to his command

“Let me go,” you plead, your voice trembling. “Please! You don’t have to do this, Austin.”

He closes his eyes for a brief moment, as though his mind is too clouded to make the decision clearly.

Then his eyes open, his gaze is sharper, darker and filled with barely restrained hunger.

“Let me taste you ,” he rasps his, voice low and dangerous. “I need to have you again … .” He says stepping closer, his eyes locking onto yours, pulling you into their depths.

“They’ve enhanced you,” he reveals, his voice softening briefly as his eyes lock onto your neck. “Your blood, your essence… it’s perfect now. Perfect for me. It’s like you were made for me.” His tone shifts, the restraint in his voice desperate as he steps even closer. “And I need you more than you could ever understand.”

The weight of his presence fills the space between you, magnetic and terrifying, yet impossible to resist.

Your heart stammers as his words settle over you, your pulse hammering wildly in your veins. “Please just… just let me live,” you whisper, your voice barely audible from the panic rising within.

A smile curves his lips at your willingness, and he closes the distance in an instant, his fingers trailing down to your neck, where your pulse beats frantically.

“My sweetest one,” he whispers, his voice soft and possessive and you’re trapped in his gaze, the world shrinking to just the two of you.

“I could never take your life,” he says softly, his voice laced with a dark promise that makes your breath catch as his mouth descends to your neck.

His breath is warm and intimate against your skin as his teeth graze your pulse point, and then, with a groan of satisfaction, he sinks his fangs in.

A shock of pain mingles with a rush of pleasure that pulses through your entire body.

Your senses are overwhelmed as the sharp sting fades into an intoxicating warmth that spreads through you, a sensation that is both terrifying and thrilling, igniting something deep within you that you can neither resist nor fully understand.

You grip his arms, your nails digging in as you pant, feeling every beat of your heart push against his hold, against the intensity with which he drinks from you.

His moan vibrates against your skin, his hands gripping you tighter as he drinks, each pull making your pulse thrum in your ears with a heightened, feverish ache.

Your eyelids flutter as a euphoric haze settles over you and he draws from you even deeper, his strength growing with your every heartbeat.

He’s becoming too powerful, his moans vibrating against your skin, his bite intense and consuming. It’s overwhelming, and instinctively, you claw at his arms, your body writhing as the need to break free grows.

But he’s relentless, his grip tightening as he drinks deeper, the pull of his hunger making you whimper against him, helpless under the force of his need.

Your head grows light, the night spinning around you in a haze of heat and shadows. The pounding of your heartbeat in your ears begins to slow, muffled and distant, your limbs growing heavy and unresponsive.

You try to speak, to push him away, but the energy to resist has completely diminished, leaving you weightless in his grasp, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

Your breaths become shallow, each one a struggle as your vision blurs at the edges, fading into darkness.

—You promised me— is the only thought that lingers in your mind, a faint, desperate echo, as you begin to fall unconscious.

He continues to drink from you, each pull drawing you closer to the brink. Your vision dims, the edges fading into a consuming blackness. Your pulse becomes faint and your body weakens to the point of slipping away.

—I will always keep my promise— he finally transfers in to your mind and as the world falls away his presence anchors you, his words threading through the haze with an almost comforting certainty.

Your body grows limp, the last remnants of strength fading as a strange warmth envelops you, soothing you into an inevitable surrender as your mind fades to black.

Somewhere, deep within the void, a whisper of acceptance rises—silent, unspoken, but clear and you let go, giving in to him, to his promise, to the connection that feels inevitable as the darkness swallows you whole.

Your mind swims in a haze, the darkness giving way to the faintest flicker of light as your consciousness slowly returns.

You realize you are in an ornate bathroom, the air fragrant with hints of vanilla and orange blossom. The sound of water trickling fills your ears, and a warmth surrounds you—comforting, soothing. Your head lolls to the side, and through the blur, you see Austin kneeling beside the large, clawfoot tub you’re submerged in, his hands carefully guiding warm water over your skin.

“You were so cold,” he reveals, his voice low and tender, tinged with something that sounds almost like worry. His gaze is intense, his movements gentle as he brushes damp strands of hair from your face.

Your lips part, but your voice is barely audible. “What… what happened?”

He hesitates, his jaw tightening briefly before his expression softens again. “Your blood was so sweet… so perfect,” he admits, his voice low, almost reverent. “I almost drank too much—almost let you slip away.” His tone is steady but quiet, carrying the weight of his regret. “I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t lose you.” He says with conviction, his eyes locking onto yours ensuring you understand the depth of his promise.

The words tug at your memory, fragments of his voice in your mind, but everything feels fractured, out of reach. You blink up at him, still dazed, the warm water cradling your weak body.

“I feel… heavy,” you whisper, your voice faint, every word an effort.

“Shh,” he soothes, his hands skimming the water as he washes away the remnants of blood from your neck and shoulders. “Don’t try to talk. Just rest. Let me take care of you.”

The heat of the water lulls you further, your mind drifting in and out of focus. You hardly register when he carefully lifts you from the tub, his strong arms cradling you as if you weigh nothing. The cool air brushes your damp skin as he carries you to a chaise lounge draped in dark velvet.

He lays you down gently, his hands precise as he removes the towel wrapped around you. “Stay still,” he murmurs, reaching for a thick, soft blanket. He guides it over you, his touch firm but comforting as he wraps it around your body.

Your gaze flickers toward him, confusion clouding your thoughts. “Why… why are you doing this?” You ask.

He pauses for a moment, his hands lingering at your shoulder where the blanket rests. “Because you’re mine to protect,” he answers, his voice steady, but there’s a depth to it, an emotion he doesn’t fully show.

You watch through half-lidded eyes as he stands and begins to undress, his movements unhurried, deliberate. His shirt falls away, revealing the lean, chiseled planes of his torso. His pants follow, and then he steps into the shower. The sound of water cascading fills the room, and despite the fog in your mind, your gaze lingers on him. The water runs down his perfect form, tracing the contours of his back, his muscles shifting with every movement.

Your breaths are shallow, the weakness in your body anchoring you in place.

“You’re… so beautiful ,” you whisper faintly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

He glances over his shoulder, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re delirious, you need rest,” he says gently, his tone amused yet soft.

When he finishes, he dries off quickly, the towel wrapped low on his hips as he steps toward you. Then, without hesitation, he drops it, standing bare and unashamed as he picks you up in his arms once again.

His skin is warm, the faint scent of soap clinging to him as he carries you into the dimly lit bedroom.

The bed is massive, draped in dark silks and accented with ornate carvings. He lays you down gently, adjusting the blanket around you. His movements are precise as he sets up an IV, his fingers deftly working to place the needle in your arm.

You flinch slightly at the prick, your eyes fluttering open fully to meet his. “What are you doing?”

“We need to replenish your blood,” he explains, his voice calm but firm. “This will help you recover your strength.”

Your gaze flickers over him, taking in the softness in his eyes, the way he moves with gentle urgency.

He looks at you, his expression softening. “Rest now” he says, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I need you stronger.”

The weight of exhaustion pulls at you again, and as your eyes drift shut, his voice lingers, soothing and steady. “You’re safe with me.”

You awaken slowly, the heaviness in your body gone, replaced by a strange sense of strength. As you sit up in the massive bed, the silky sheets slip from your skin and you realize you’re completely naked.

The room is dimly lit, luxurious and unfamiliar, and a sense of disorientation washes over you realizing you have no idea where you are—or even what time it is.

Your eyes fall to a tray covered with an ornate silver cover sitting on the bedside table. Instantly, you reach out and lift the lid to reveal a peanut butter sandwich, a bar of dark chocolate, and a chilled bottle of almond milk.

A famished hunger gnaws at you inside and you waste no time, devouring the sandwich entirely, swallowing the almond milk in quick gulps, and finishing the chocolate bar in a few eager bites. The food satisfies the deep hunger within you, grounding you slightly, though questions still swirl in your mind.

Just as you set the empty bottle back down, a sudden chill prickles at the back of your neck, and you freeze. You sense him before you see him—a shift in the air, making your pulse quicken.

Austin climbs onto the bed behind you, his blue eyes glinting with a predatory edge, and though his expression is calm, there’s an undeniable intensity radiating from him that sends a shiver through

He’s naked, just like you, his presence commanding and intimate, and your heart races at the sight of him.

“You’re awake. That’s good,” he says closing the distance between you. “You’re stronger now. You’ve healed faster than I expected.”

Your breath hitches, and instinctively, you shift back against the headboard, suddenly hyper-aware of your vulnerability.

“Austin…” you whisper, a flicker of fear returning as you see the hunger in his eyes. “You’re going to… you’re going to drink from me again, aren’t you?”

A small, smile touches his lips. “You already know the answer to that,” he replies, his tone calm, almost soothing.

Panic grips you, and you throw off the blanket, attempting to leave the bed. But he moves faster than you can comprehend his arm wrapping around your waist, strong and unyielding as he pulls you back down onto the bed.

You struggle, your hands pushing against his chest, your breath coming in shallow gasps. “Let me go!” you cry, but his voice cuts through the chaos, low and commanding.

“Look at me,” he says, cupping your face and forcing your eyes to meet his. His gaze holds yours, steady and penetrating. “We share blood now,” he says

“I can feel it in you,” he continues, his voice dropping lower, rich and intimate, his eyes never leaving yours. “Your heart races for me, your body answers to me, and you can deny it all you want… but you can’t fight what’s already inside you.” His words wrap around you like a spell, powerful and inescapable, pulling you deeper into his control.

“It binds us completely, stronger than anything you could understand,” he reveals, his voice a dark promise as his fingers trail down the side of your neck, lingering just above your pulse point reminding you of his hunger.

As his words seep into your mind, they lull you into a sense of surrender, the tension in your body loosening against your will.

Your breath slows, your resolve faltering as his presence overtakes your will.

His gaze intensifies watching the shift in you as a slow knowing smile spreads across his lips. His eyes seem to pierce through you, pulling at the deepest, most hidden parts of your mind, leaving you completely exposed for him.

A warmth begins to unfurl in your core, spreading through your body like fire. Your pulse quickens from an undeniable growing arousal that steals your breath and leaves you helpless against him.

A soft, involuntary moan escapes your lips, and his eyes flash with satisfaction, his grip tightening as he pulls you closer.

“There she is,” he rasps, his voice low and reverent, filled with a dark tenderness. “My sweetest one.”

He lifts you effortlessly, guiding you up into his arms before settling you back down, his body pressing intimately against yours as he moves between your legs.

The coldness of his skin against yours is intoxicating, his presence overwhelming as his hands slide along your hips, holding you close.

“You feel it again don’t you?” he whispers his voice a dark mix of tenderness and hunger. “I’ve craved you—every part of you. And now that you’re mine, I’ll never let you go.”

Before you can respond, his lips capture yours, slow and deliberate, claiming you completely. His kiss is deep and unrelenting, sending surges of pleasure racing through your body, his hands grounding you and binding you to him all at once.

His lips trail lower, his kisses grazing the sensitive skin of your neck then your collarbone, before descending to your breast.

His hands slide down, caressing your supple flesh with a slowness that sets every nerve on fire.

He scrapes his fang against your hardened nipple and a gasp escapes you as your back arch’s instinctively. Your hips push up as you whine your body already anticipating what’s next and he eagerly bites down on your breast.

The sharpness of his fangs blends with an overwhelming wave of pleasure, the sensation so arousing it draws a moan from deep within you.

Your hips press upward again, the wetness between your legs sliding against him, driving both of you into a fevered state. His moan vibrates against your skin, his mouth still on your breast as he tastes not just your blood but your growing pleasure.

“My favored one,” he rasps, his voice low and reverent, filled with a dark tenderness as he pulls back slightly.

His tongue teases the small wounds before he brings his lips to yours. “Taste yourself,” he whispers, his voice low and filled with dark satisfaction.

His mouth presses to yours, and the metallic tang of your blood mingles between you, stirring something feral within him.

Your heart pounds as he pulls back, his dark eyes gleaming. “Now that youre mine,” he says, “It’s only fair you taste me too.”

Before you can respond, he tilts his head, exposing his neck. With deliberate slowness, he drags a sharp nail across his skin, releasing a thin line of blood that glistens in the dim light. “Drink,” he commands softly, his voice thick with need.

Your lips meet his neck, your tongue darting out to taste him. The moment his blood touches your tongue, a wave of heat and power floods through you, the sensation so overwhelming that you moan against his skin. “That’s it,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips, guiding you closer. “Feel it… feel us.”

The intensity rises as he pushes his cock into you, his body perfectly aligned with yours, his thrusts deep and claiming.

His blood surges through you, blending with your own, binding you in a way that feels inescapable, eternal. “You’re everything,” he rasps, his voice rough and thick with emotion. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. There is no one else, nothing else.”

His hands grip your wrists possessively pulling them over your head as his thrusts grow deeper, more passionate. His strength overwhelms you, his cock pushing into you with perfect precision, each thrust sending shockwaves through your core.

His hands tangle in your hair pulling your head back, as a soft cry escapes your lips, and he lowers his mouth to your neck, his fangs grazing your pulse as his voice seeps into your mind. Come for me sweetest one….Give me everything.

His fingers slide down, finding your sensitive clit nestled between your thighs, moving in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. The pressure is unbearable, the sensation so intense that your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving faint marks on his skin.

“Austin!” you gasp, your voice trembling as the coil inside you tightens beyond control. He responds with a groan of satisfaction, his finger pressing into your clit, his thrusts driving deeper, pulling sounds from you that you didn’t know you could make.

Your body tenses as the sensations peak, and together, you both come, his fangs sinking into your neck again as you orgasm , your cries mixing with his groans.

The connection between you burns brighter than anything you’ve ever felt, his blood and yours mingling together, his release and yours merging in a perfect, primal harmony.

His mouth moves against your neck, savoring the taste of your blood as his fingers continue to work their magic on your clit, drawing your pleasure higher and higher creating more sweet blood for him to drink.

Your body begins to weaken, the intensity of his bite and the pleasure merging into something that leaves you lightheaded and disoriented. Just as you feel yourself slipping too far, his fangs retract, and he pulls back with a gasp, his lips red with your blood. He tilts your jaw up with his hand as his tongue tenderly licks over the marks on your neck, soothing the faint sting.

“So perfect,” he praises, his voice filled with satisfaction and restraint. His eyes meet yours, heavy with a mix of desire and control. “I could have taken more… but I won’t. Not until your stronger.” He reveals and kisses your neck softly, his breath warm against your skin.

As the waves of ecstasy subside, his lips tenderly brush your neck, his voice barely above a whisper. “You will never need anything else now because you are mine.” He confesses.

His words seep into you, sending a ripple through your very being. You feel it—this connection, this pull—as if every part of you is no longer your own, as though your blood aligns in harmony with his.

Your mind races, grasping at the edges of what your life was before this moment—your ambitions, your plans, your identity. It feels distant now, like a faded memory compared to the vivid, all-consuming presence of him.

How did it this happen? You ask yourself and as you remember, your heart pounds understanding there is no going back.

Beneath the fear, you feel stronger, more alive than you ever have, as if the pieces of your fractured world have rearranged themselves into something new. Something terrifyingly inevitable.

I’m not the same anymore, you think, a shiver running through you at the realization —I’ll never be the same again.

His gaze holds yours, unrelenting and filled with something deeper as the warmth of his thoughts pulses through you, filling every corner of your mind.

You’re mine now, completely just as I am yours. There is no going back … but you wouldn’t want to, would you? His grin widens, the intensity of his presence filling you as his words vibrate through your thoughts, binding you further, the connection growing deeper, consuming you entirely.

You’ve already changed, the reality settling over you like a dark, undeniable truth.

You don’t want to escape it—you don’t want to escape him. You know now, with every beat of your heart, you are his, as much as he is yours, and you will never leave him again.

🩸 END 🩸

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[furiousgoldfish]

While growing up in an abusive family, a part of me strongly refused to grow up, in fact it's still resisting it. I thought at first, it was because I was taught that I am less and less valuable as I age, but it wasn't only that. It turns out, growing around mostly abusive people, can give you some horrifying notions of what it means to be an adult.

I am going to write down how I perceived adulthood, as an abused kid, because I need to work on it myself, and if there's somebody else feeling this, know that these are not your only option for a future:

All adults are stupid, unkind, boring, bitter, aggressive, obsessed with money, do not understand people around them at all.

All adults have to play specific roles assigned to them and don't step outside of these roles. For instance: mother, grandma, father, aunt, teacher, uncle, neighbour. All roles are restrictive and people can only do whatever is assigned to this role (cleaning, cooking, working a job, going to army, being married, etc)

Adults can't play, be curious, or have fun. Adults have to be focused on their role and stay grumpy, serious, bitter and busy. They don't laugh except when drunk.

Adults are having it tougher than children. They are unloved, uncared for, nobody considers them nice or pretty, nobody wants them around or gives them gifts. Adults are permanently unwanted and undesired everywhere.

Adults have good opinions only of people who are already dead. Everyone alive is constantly being humiliated, shamed and criticized. It's better to be dead.

Adults don't care about children, and only think the worst of children. Adults think children should only exist to work and to be yelled at. Adults are dangerous.

Adults don't care about friendships, loyalty, kindness, courage, bonds, closeness, care, or love. Adults friendships are drinking and smoking in the same room while talking badly about every other person in their life. They don't play, laugh or share things. It's a big game of pretense that the other has it better.

Adults lie and fake everything. They lie about their home life, about what they know, about money. They lie about, and to their children. They tell lies confidently. They make things up if they don't know and then tell those lies as if they're truths. They don't feel guilt if caught lying and instead double down on it.

Adults have money but they can't spend it. They have to keep paying bills and they never have enough money for bills and food. They will buy alcohol and cigarettes though, but they're always stressed about bills. They consider it children's fault.

Adults are endlessly stressed about having to 'feed a family'. This is so bad that they actually end up hating their families. They wish all of their children were dead so they wouldn't have to feed them. They can't seem to stop having children but also hate feeding them. It's like they're forced into it.

Adults have to work constantly. They work their jobs and have to do endless chores when they get home. They have to get up early to do chores and do them late at night. They have to do everything alone, unless they can get a child to do it for them. They can't select not to do it, they have to shift it to someone else to avoid it. Adults have no free time, or hobbies. They have to work at all times and always know what needs to be done.

 Adults have bodies that work less and less. They can't run, climb or jump. They're always having surgeries and can barely walk. Their backs and hips hurt and they complain about the pain every time they need to do anything. They blame the work for this but can't stop working. They're still somehow stronger than children when they want to hurt children, and then they're fully mobile. But at all other times they appear sickly and need stuff done for them.

Adults never get over anything that ever happened to them. They're always victimized by everything that ever happened to them. We the children have to get over things instantly, but they are angry and bitter about the past forever. They hold grudges against family members forever. They freely take things out on other family members. They never forgive or forget or calm down.

Adults are not passionate about anything. Their main priority is looking good in front of others and convincing everyone they're better than they are.

Adults selectively care when someone is crying. If it's someone they don't know, they'll act nice about it. If they know the person they will tell them to shut up and stop annoying them. It's like they fall for strangers tears but see through anyone else's as pretense. I don't understand.

Adults die and then other adults get drunk at their funerals. They say you need to cry but they're only serious for the public part and then go and have parties where they just laugh with everyone. Adults don't care about the dead people but say you're not supposed to say anything bad about them now they're dead. They pretend they cared while the person was alive but they didn't. They obsessively clean and decorate graves just for others not to think they 'didn't care'.

Adults will betray anyone's secrets. Adults will tell other adults whatever you told them in confidence. Adults cannot be trusted with information.

Adults judge and badmouth anyone who doesn't act the way they think people are supposed to act. They will impose their own rules and morals on others and shame anyone who doesn't agree. They insist that everyone needs to follow their assigned family role even though they complain about hating their own. They use the most horrid slurs for people they consider 'bad at their role' and write these people off as parasites and worthless people

Adults all agree children should be obedient, quiet and never want anything or disturb them. They want children only to present them with achievements and work for the rest of time.

Adults have sex but nobody is supposed to say anything about it. It's unclear whether they want to be doing it. If it's a part of a role it doesn't seem like they can say no.

Adults can't be cared for or pampered like children can. Adults do not get candy or chocolate. Adults say it's because children are cute and they're not. Adults are jealous of children. Adults complain about not being cared for.

Adults don't understand how hard children have it and always say being a child is the easiest and best time of life. They seem jealous and tell children to be grateful because it's only going to get worse. I can't imagine surviving worse. They claim their childhood was better than anything they deal with now because food was free and they didn't have to have a job.

Adults have no freedom. They have to stay with family and play their role. They can't survive otherwise. They leech off of each other and hate everyone. They live by imposed rules that force everyone to stay together even if they hate each other. They hate everyone around them. They feel loyal to no one. They bring misery to themselves and people around them and don't feel shame or responsibility for anyone they've hurt or ruined.

Adults don't see others as people with their own inner world. They insist that everyone except them is stupid, shallow, mindless and worthless.

Adults are all cowards who will submit to anyone who is stronger and louder. They'll only fight those who are weaker. They don't care about justice and will happily punish victims in unfair fights. They themselves are bitter and upset if they don't get the justice.

Adults only ever look out for themselves. They don't care about other people. They want money and others to admire them and to serve them. If that is not happening they are angry and bitter at the entire world.

Adults don't see good in other people. They don't see what someone else needs or deserves. They don't care about adventures or magic. They don't have wonder or awe inside of themselves. They don't even look at beautiful things in front of them. They don't care about nature, animals or trees. They don't care about books or knowledge, or reading. They don't care about stories or legends. They don't care about people who suffer so badly they want to die. They judge people for suicide.

They don't care about creating or making something unless it can be sold for money. They don't even tolerate others doing it.

They love no one. Everything they do is a drag and a pain to them and they want to push their work on someone else all the time. They don't care about anything except money and how to get more attention and keep pretenses. They have no true friends or care for anyone. All they have is work, rules and roles they need to act. Their lives are meaningless. Even though they have money they cannot travel or use it for fun or joy. They don't think anyone should be free to do as they want. They have no dignity or honor but pretend they do when in company. They yell but pretend they're victims for 'having to yell'.

They don't care if someone wants to die because of their actions. They don't care for anyone who wants to live differently. People who live differently are worthless and stupid to them. They think they're the only ones who are always right even when they're always wrong.

Adults are convinced that when I grow up this will all make sense and I will grow up to be exactly like them

If you felt as a child, or still do, that these are the truths of adulthood, and something you'll end up becoming, it's not true, and it's mostly just abusers who live their lives in this manner. If this is the only thing you've ever known and seen as a child, adulthood would be terrifying and feel like you'd have to lose your soul in order to become like this.

I'll write another follow-up debunking these and writing what I feel adulthood is right now. It's just definitely not that. And living around people who act like this is normal, is traumatic.

[cannabiscomrade]

It's Gastroparesis Awareness Month

Hi! I have gastroparesis and I'm an insufferable know-it-all so let's talk about it!

Gastroparesis, or a paralyzed stomach, is a condition that causes delayed gastric emptying.

This can cause a range of symptoms and complications:

nausea

vomiting

early satiety/fullness

upper gastric pain

heartburn

malabsorption

dehydration

malnutrition

Gastroparesis can be treated by a gastroenterologist, but often needs to be managed by a motility specialist due to a lot of misconceptions about the condition. Providers, especially in the emergency department, will commonly misdiagnose gastroparesis as cannabis-hyperemesis syndome, cyclic vomiting syndrome, gastritis, food poisoning, etc.

There are several commonly known causes of gastroparesis like vagus nerve damage from diabetes, injury to the stomach, and stomach surgery like hernia repair or bariatric surgery. There are also idiopathic cases with no known cause. Other causes of gastroparesis are:

Connective tissue disorders like HSD and EDS (commonly hEDS and cEDS)

Post-viral (like COVID, viral gastritis, mononucleosis/Epstein-Barr)

Restrictive eating disorders

Autoimmune diseases like Systemic sclerosis (scleroderma), Lupus, Hashimoto's

Central nervous system disorders

Gastroparesis also has common comorbidities with conditions like:

POTS and other forms of dysautonomia (POTS, EDS, and gastroparesis are a common triad of diagnoses)

MCAS

SMAS (which can also present with similar symptoms to GP)

Intestinal dysmotility and esophageal dysmotility disorders (known as global dysmotility)

PCOS with insulin resistance

Endometriosis

SIBO/SIFO

Chronic intestinal pseudo-obstruction

Migraines

Certain medications like Ozempic and other drugs in that class act on the digestive system to delay gastric emptying, which has caused people to be diagnosed with gastroparesis. Some people report that their cases have not gone away since stopping the medication, others report feeling better after stopping. Other drugs like opiates and narcotics can cause delayed gastric and intestinal motility as well, but these are commonly known side effects of those painkiller classes.

Gastroparesis is classed based on severity and graded based on how you respond to treatment.

Severity of delay ranges from mild to very severe, and this is based on your actual stomach retention calculated at 4 hours into a gastric emptying study.

The grading scale ranges from one to three, one being mild and three being gastric failure.

There is no consistent single treatment that is proven to work for gastroparesis, and there is no cure. Treatments can consist of:

Diet changes (3 Step Gastroparesis Diet, liquid diet, oral sole source nutrition)

Prokinetic (motility stimulating) drugs

Anti-nausea medications

Proton-pump inhibitors

Gastric stimulator/gastric pacemaker

Pyloric botox and dilation

G-POEM/pyloroplasty

Post-pyloric tube feeding

Gastric venting/draining

Parenteral nutrition

IV fluids

Other surgical interventions like gastrectomy or rarely, transplant

Gastroparesis is a terrible disease and I hope that if any of these symptoms resonate with you that you can get checked out. I was misdiagnosed for a long time before getting a proper gastroparesis diagnosis, and all it took was a gastric emptying study. This is ESPECIALLY true if you're having post-COVID gastrointestinal problems that are not improving. I almost died from starvation ketoacidosis because of how serious my GP got in a short period of time post-COVID (I had GP before COVID), and now I'm tube reliant for all my nutrition and hydration.

Stay safe friends!

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

TOM GLYNN-CARNEY INTERVIEWED BY AV CLUB MAGAZINE.

KNOWING WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN TO AEGON IN EPISODES FOUR AND FIVE, HOW DID YOU WANT TO PLAY UP HIS STATE OF MIND BEFORE HE DECIDES TO RIDE ON SUNFYRE STRAIGHT INTO BATTLE? WHAT WERE THE CONFLICTING EMOTIONS YOU WANTED TO TAKE THE TIME TO DEPICT?

"I think the focus was to show he’s pushed to the limit in a way he hasn’t before."

"He’d just been painfully reminded about his biggest insecurity of being seen as weak and useless."

"Alicent said that to him in no uncertain terms."

"So I think he felt like he was backed into a corner and felt this was the only thing he could do."

"At least that’s how I justified his actions."

"And in doing so he realizes he’s not naturally a warrior."

"He doesn’t have that sort of brave, fearless mentality of some of the other characters."

"So he needs something to numb his fear and gets absolutely blind drunk and gets around to it."

HOW MUCH DO YOU THINI IT WEIGHS ON AEGON THAT HE HAS TO FOLLOW IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF HIS FATHER?

"Viserys [Paddy Considine] was the only sort of positive male figure on the show."

"Not positive to Aegon necessarily, but at least to the masses, so that’s his experience."

"I think seeing the way the small folk responded to Viserys while he was growing up showed Aegon his father was a good king who was liked and well-respected."

"He’s forged good and healthy relationships with people, so I definitely think it’s an element Aegon wants to replicate."

"You see that in episode one."

"But there’s a very, very quick realization that Aegon isn’t Viserys."

"He’s a completely different beast who has to play to his strengths."

IN EPISODE FOUR, AEGON IS FIGHTING MELEYS AND RHAENYS, THEN FEELS RELIEF WHEN AEMOND SHOWS UP, AND IT QUICKLY TURNS TO FEAR. WHAT WAS IT LIKE TO PORTRAY THIS RANGE IN SO LITTLE TIME? WHAT TALKS DID YOU HAVE WITH ALAN TAYLOR ABOUT YOUR PERFORMANCE IN IT?

"Yeah, as you said there wasn’t much time."

"We did like bullet points of moments we wanted to bring to life and what needs to be a priority."

"Yes, he sees his brother coming on Vhagar and the goal is to show that Aegon thinks it’s to rescue him."

"But the melee continues because that’s how the dragons are and that’s how the fight is going."

"There’s no escaping that fire and whatever else is coming Aegon’s way."

"Of course, people can make their own decisions on what Aemond’s intentions are, that bit is up for grabs."

"We didn’t want to fully spoon-feed that either."

"We spoke at length about these moments, especially seeing fear in Aegon’s eyes but also showing that he’s driven to prove himself."

EPISODE FIVE REVEALS THAT HE'S ALIVE BUT BADLY BURNED. THERE'S ONLY ONE LINE OF DIALOGUE YOU GET, WHICH IS "MUMMY." IT FEELS VERY VULNERABLE AND UNDERSTANDABLE THAT HE REGRESSES TO THIS CHILD-LIKE STATE AND CALLS AFTER HIS MOTHER.

"Exactly."

"He’s completely disfigured."

"He can’t breathe or see or talk. talk."

"I’m sure we all would regress to a child-like state."

WHAT WAS IT LIKE TO PLAY THIS VERSION OF AEGON NOW AND HOW LONG DID IT TAKE TO GET INTO CHARACTER IN TERMS OF THE MAKEUP AND PROSTHETICS?

"There’s less acting required of course but it didn’t feel too different or that I was doing less work."

"Getting the makeup done took a long time though, especially in the early stages."

"It was taking seven hours and we gradually got that down to fewer hours."

"It’s still a long time, and I was also in that armor for the full day."

"Luckily, I was surrounded by a gorgeous team who were so accommodating, helpful, and encouraging."

"It was great when it could have been more difficult, let’s put it that way."

A KEY SCENE FOR AEGON IS WHEN HE FIRES OTTO HIGHTOWER (RHYS IFANS) AS HIS HAND. DO YOU FEEL LIKE IT MARKED A TURNING POINT IN HOW HE SAW HIMSELF OPERATING AS A RULER? WILL HE REGRET DOING IT NOW?

"I don’t think he regrets it because Otto was restricting and filtering Aegon."

"He was slamming the brakes the entire time, he was like a handbrake."

"And as soon as that happened, he sort of snapped free."

"He felt like he could make progress even if it wasn’t an immediate success."

"So no, I don’t think he regrets it."

"It’s for sure a turning point as well because I think finds strength in it."

"You really see him step into being the king and using his power."

"He’s been in the same room as Otto many times and knows he’s one of the most powerful people."

"That status shifts at that moment for Aegon."

"I find it so stimulating because here’s this person who is the patriarch of the family and is just being reduced to a little boy who has to take his badge off and give it to someone else."

WHAT'S IT LIKE TO WORK WITH EWAN MITCHELL, ESPECIALLY AS AEGON AND AEMOND'S BROTHERLY RIVALRY COMES TO A HEAD THIS SEASON?

"Oh, yeah, I love Ewan."

"He’s great, it’s always a joy to scare scenes with him."

"We both dive in and take it seriously when we’re living in these characters, but it’s a lot of fun."

"As for the brotherly bond, everyone thinks Aegon is ripping Aemond, but then he calls him out too at the small council meeting [in Valyrian]."

"It’s the same thing. It’s bullying as well."

"So what happens in that brothel scene."

For example, if you walk in and find your brother there, you’re not going to go: — 'Sorry guys, I’ll leave you alone.'

"You’ll make fun of him, too."

YOU'VE SAID BEFORE YOU WATCHED THE ENTIRETY OF GAME OF THRONES IN THREE WEEKS ONCE YOU GOT THE HOTD ROLE. DID WATCHING IT INFLUENCE YOUR PERFORMANCE IN THIS SHOW AT ALL?

"No, I find that dangerous, in that you can start to try and replicate a template that’s already been set for some by someone else."

"The beauty of a show like ours is that we’ve got a lot of actors jumping into it with fresh ideas."

"And we’re not making Game Of Thrones even if it’s part of the same world."

"It’s a different show entirely."

"What has been great to see this season is the newer characters and people working on it come in with their own opinions and brave, bold choices."

"It’s multi-layered and colorful."

YOU'RE ABLE TO BRING MORE LAYERS TO AEGON THIS SEASON, AND IT'S EASY TO FEEL BAD FOR HIM AT TIMES. WHAT'S IT LIKE TO BE ABLE FLESH OUT HIS COMPLEXITIES SO HE'S NOT A ONE-NOTE VILLAIN?

"It’s great to be able to spend longer with a character because you end up getting to know them more and your choices become more informed."

"Aegon feels more lived in now because I’m coming at it from a greater depth and investigation."

"A lot of that work has been done."

"So yeah, it’s great because the character becomes a part of you in a way."

"After all, you’ve played them for so long."

"Aegon has increased responsibility this time so I like riding the wave of where they’re going with it."

"It’s brilliant that he’s a pivotal character in the story even now after episode five."

[gorbalsvampire]

we only come out at night (v:tm city meta, 3/?)

Published World of Darkness material is of... varying usefulness, when you put your city together. Sometimes, your city will have a By Night sourcebook, and a lot of top down design will be done for you, but you'll have to build up from your PCs to do that. Sometimes, your city will have a paragraph or page in something else: you'll know that the Prince of Manchester is named Charles Shawlands, is a seventh generation Ventrue, and rules over a damp and gloomy domain that gets more attention from Changeling writers than Vampire ones.

And that's the way, uh huh, uh huh, I like it.

worked example: building your Prince

I usually start by rattling through the history of the city at surface level. looking for hooks. In this case: Manchester wasn't really a city that warranted a Prince or a Kindred population until the late eighteenth/early nineteenth century, so it's likely that the first Kindred to have settled there ended up Prince by default.

I wanted to roll with an older Prince than I had last time, due to game circumstances. I'm building Manchester for a one or at most two shot game for my sister-in-law and her husbando, and a chronicle for my D&D group, which includes a complete newcomer who's drifted in off LAbN. As such, I want a classic Prince; Ventrue, conservative, and old/powerful/authoritative enough to be scary, but not older than the Camarilla.

When I was looking around on the ol' Wikipedium, I found that Manchester had been a manorial township and, during the Interregnum, was seat to a major-general (a military governor) who achieved a lot for the Parliamentarian cause... but died young. And his name was Charles. He'll do.

So. Embraced 1656, possibly in London. Probably returned home after the Restoration, and squirrelled himself away as an isolated neonate in a backwater domain that abruptly grew a hundred years later, when our man was catapulted to praxis and did well enough at it.

worked example: choosing your Rack

When I studied in Manchester, on and off for three years, I spent a lot of time on Oxford Road. The top end of that fine, bustling, deathtrap-for-cyclists thoroughfare is home to the Gothic Victorian heartland of the University of Manchester, the sprawling postmodern village of Manchester Metropolitan, and the plate-glass elegance of the Royal Northern College of Music.

Where there are students, there is drinking, and underneath the elevated tracks and platform of Oxford Road station, you will find four boozers: the Thirsty Scholar, the Zombie Shack, the Salisbury and the Grand Central. It's an ideal spot for a thirsty Kindred to hang out at the start of a night.

Dead opposite, however, there's the magnificent Refuge Assurance Building, now home to a gallery, restaurant, florist, hotel (in the clocktower). Brick and terracotta, red as a scar, early Victorian grandeur. Architecture of heft and presence. Grade II listed. Room 261 and a back stairway of the hotel are said to be haunted (child ghosts and a suicidal widow). Screams Ventrue.

So, that's the Rack. I don't know if Shawlands resides up there himself, but his Keeper or Sheriff certainly do: some public official who's as high-and-mighty as the hoi polloi playables are ever likely to meet. Someone who needs to keep an eye on the feeding grounds over the road, and pull the occasional wayward little Kindred up for a chat. Maybe this Ventrue has a feeding restriction to do with scholars; maybe it's all a red herring.

Oxford Road doesn't appear on the map I assembled last week; it sits between the Gay Village and Castlefield, not a formal domain that's been granted to anyone, just there.

If I hadn't known about Manchester from first hand experience, I'd probably have started by looking at listed buildings, concentrations of night life, or specifically looking up the districts. Like, say...

worked example: making a domain

NOMA? Never heard of it. Oh, North Manchester. This is like BoJo or RiRi, isn't it? Something annoying invented by journalists, or something-in-marketings. The former Co-Operative buildings sit at the heart of a massive new development, centred on Angel Square, and its No. 1 building - a giant sliced egg shape in glass and steel.

There's a lot of money being ploughed into what was, when I first lived in Manchester, a run-down area (and I've stayed in some right shiteholes further north still). A few ideas suggest themselves for this area.

Second Inquisition (the sourcebook) pitches Gentrifiers as a hunter archetype, using redevelopments like this to undermine the general state of decay favoured by the Kindred. If my players want to go Anarch, it's tempting to site them on the top side of the city, and have their extant domains be whittled away by these Projects with Money behind them that are outside context problems for the Kindred as a whole.

Alternatively, we could give the Anarchs a leg up for a change; give them Angel Square as their crown jewel, a new domain for the new power, contrasting against the weathered Victorian establishment of the Camarilla in the south. They'd need a bankroll, of course. A Kindred of extraordinary wealth and dynamic vision. What has the Anarch movement recently gained that's lending these qualities as vital infrastructure? The Ministry. And a property developer Setite would be a nice change from the usual smut peddler nightclub owner writhing pliant yearning bodies blah blah blah get an imagination. Hubris, ambition, greed, even an element of the gambler's fallacy in investment. Angel Square - a new Eden, with the Serpents at its heart.

Do that for every district on the Central map, come up with either a single Kindred or a Coterie Type who's doing their thing in that domain, remember to leave space for the players...

... oh yeah, space for the players. Next time, we'll break out my handouts: the player packet and domain guides I like to assemble at the start of a chronicle.

[darkpetal16]

Oh so gracious Petal, won’t you please feed us some Swap W.D. head canons? 🙏

Open wide, here comes the HCs!

He’s callous and generally unsympathetic. His past experience has left him cynical, pessimistic, and deeply mistrustful. Humans and monsters can and will lie / cheat / manipulate and go to any dirty lengths for their desires. He refuses to accept what they say or do at face value.

The only thing he trusts is their SOUL. The body can lie, but a SOUL? It only knows honesty.

And he knows every way to make it talk.

He enjoys studying biology, anatomy, SOULs, and chemistry. While he might peruse other subjects, those four are his main love. When he is in his lab conducting experiments or pondering a new thesis, he is truly in his element.

Loves his brothers to an arguably unhealthy extent. Their trauma left a deep scar on him and he developed an unhealthy codependent relationship with them. The three can’t be separated for long, so you can expect a package deal for the first few years you’re together.

This dependency also leads to bouts of anxiety and paranoia for their wellbeing. This will extend to you very shortly.

And this will, inevitably, lead to him spying on you as he does his brothers. GPS / trackers / creating obedient dolls using stitched up SOULS to guard you he’s just kidding don’t be mad unless maybe you’re open to the idea— / Asking Undyne to hack into nearby security camera / etc

He won’t forbid or restrict your movement. He just craves the instant reassurance that you’re okay. This will be a bigger issue early on in the relationship, and while he adjusts to being on the surface with so many humans. It’ll ease over time.

Speaking of humans. . . It will take him time to get used to being around them. All of his previous encounters with them ended in violence or death. He’s not sure he could ever trust another besides you, but he’ll. . . Try. In time.

The only form of human content he’ll readily consume is their entertainment and food.

Enjoys watching dramas. The more ridiculous or outlandish the premise / twists, the better. The few times he takes a day off—and not to go on a date with you—he’ll sit on the couch and marathon soap operas. He’ll get into it, too. Expect thrown popcorn and tissues to litter the living room while he watches (don’t worry he will clean up once done!).

Big fan of spicy foods. The spicier the better. If it’s turning his face blue and orange, he’s a happy camper.

Like Stretch collected honey, Thread collects spicy chocolates. He can be bribed for a new kind of spicy chocolate he hasn’t had before.

And if you make him spicy chocolate? He’ll swoon.

Dates with him are meticulously planned out. He’ll have reservations, schedules, and back ups made if anything falls through. This makes them grander, but it also means it takes a while before the next date is ready.

You can expect literal fireworks as part of your dinner show. He’ll get a boating license to take you out for private midnight swims. He’ll work for days to craft an indoor garden complete with a zen waterfall in your basement.

Does not like spontaneity. Especially if it involves going to public, unsecured areas.

Does not get jealous, per se, but does get anxious about your wellbeing. His discomfort with anyone close to you stems from fear they’ll hurt you, rather than him thinking you’ll cheat on him.

That being said, he does feel that it’s disrespectful to knowingly court someone in a relationship. He expects you to express that boundary and if you need help keeping it—like someone ignores your rejection—he will readily step in.

He knows he’s a lot to deal with at first, but please be patient with him. If you stick with him through the rocky start, he’ll stand with you through anything.

PLAY HIS ROUTE IN IF - UNDERSWAP HERE

MASTERLIST

[sinful-karateka]

I'll bite and talk about something that doesn't get enough spotlight in general, which are Demetri's and Eli's family life. So obviously several fic authors have their own twists and flavors to this, but if I may sell you something for a sec.

So far into the series, what we've got are these facts:

Demetri's Mom is the only family member to be mentioned in the show.

Eli's parents were mentioned a couple of times.

That should be enough context to deduce two things:

Demetri could be an only child to a single mother, and;

Eli's parents involve themselves in the stuff that he does — including karate, who knows — though they tend to be tone deaf with his actual needs.

There's strong evidence to why the boys act the way they act (brain functions notwithstanding, but this isn't the post for that), which is why I think these deductions make sense. How their hypothetical upbringing is part and parcel to how characters behave in this series. Of course societal influence comes in second because obviously you've got a show that encourages learning karate as defense against bullies, but this show is also about generational chains and traumas! So why wouldn't their home life inform the way it informs the LaRusso's, Lawrence's, and Nichols'? But I digress.

In the span of the entire series, I've held onto this headcanon that Demetri's neuroticism and ability to anticipate his actions carefully stem from a household that needs these systems in place, much more for someone who likes to be on top of things. Since he's just a student, the only authoritative figure who can make executive decisions... is his mom. Add to the fact that she may be a working mom, so when Demetri tells Daniel about certain restrictions in learning karate, what could have made her decide to just write a letter instead vs. taking the time out to go with his son herself? I know I know it's narrative writing but like do you seeeee where I'm at here

Eli's family life is by far gave us early indications of his dynamic with his mother — but not so a father — in earlier seasons. It's possible that his mom is a stay-at-home one, but if I were to push the bounds of this box even further, I'd even speculate that she's retired early if it meant that Eli's dad is the one making most of the living. Like of course they'd get mad at Hawk for getting a tattoo at his age, I think any parent would! But the way he tells Aisha to exclude him from her stories tells us that there's not a lot that his parents know about the life he lives as Hawk. At this point we all know the kind of effort it takes to successfully carry it out because he has to go home every night. It's either he a) puts in a lot of effort into concealing this identity once he gets home, or b) his parents are rarely ever home, which again, feeds into another assumption that maybe Mrs. Moskowitz works certain hours.

All we know is they're never around a whole lot for these boys, which is sad! and also again, very Indicative of their classification as awkward nerds pre- and early karate. When I read along certain fics that consider and include how the rest of their characters besides the found families they've formed, it gives much more depth and potency to writing them, their flaws, and how they think.

For all we know, Mrs. Alexopoulos could be a lesbian making fun of her son for not slinging pussy like she does being rizzless unlike her, but don't let me explain that when we have @demetriandelibinaryboyfriends!

[autisticnotartistic]

TW: EATING DISORDER CONTENT

When I saw the first season of Heartstopper, I had not yet read the comics. I had no knowledge of Alice’s work, and was unaware of any of the major themes within the show beyond queerness. I remember stumbling across the early hints of Charlie’s disordered eating and feeling crazy.

I thought for sure that I was reading too far into this scene, and that I was projecting my own past struggles with anorexia onto him. After finishing the season (in one sitting, of course), I flew to Google and found the comics online, and read them all that night (which I have learned is common within the fandom).

Within the comics, I learned that Charlie’s eating disorder was canon, and I sobbed. I cried both for the pain I had endured and from relief that I was not crazy. I wasn’t projecting my feelings onto him. I wasn’t making a big deal out of nothing. I was just seeing myself (and my struggles with mental illness) represented on television in a sensitive and compassionate way for the first time.

I remember hearing the lyrics to the song that played with this scene (“I didn’t know any other way”) and knowing exactly how he felt: that skipping meals and restricting was the only way he could cope with the situation he was in. It was the only way for him to feel a sense of control and power.

That realization awoke something in me: forgiveness and empathy for my teenage self. I had spent so many years blaming myself for my eating disorder, and hating myself for the medical complications it likely brought on, as if I had chosen to be sick… but that’s the trick of anorexia nervosa. It feeds into your need for control and slowly overtakes you. Charlie didn’t choose this. I didn’t choose this. No one chooses to have a mental illness.

Self-compassion and forgiveness is so difficult as an adult, because we look back at our teenage selves as if we were adults and judge ourselves by the same standards that we would now (which are often still far too harsh).

I was a child. You were a child. We were children, and we did not choose our suffering. I would never blame a child for relying on harmful coping strategies to survive, so why am I blaming myself now? I’m done blaming myself for how I survived horrendous circumstances that were out of my control.

TL/DR: Charlie’s eating disorder being canon taught me empathy for myself, and this is a beautiful scene with a perfect song choice.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: The fall of Reservoir

From the audio recording of Frin Yuel Retired Artark, Recipient of the Stone of Valor, Hero of the Battle of Reservoir Recordings restricted from public distribution by order of Central Command.

“I have been called many titles over my years of service, but there has been none more insulting to me than the “Hero of Reservoir”.

There was nothing heroic about that engagement; at least not from our side of the battle.

Yes, yes, I know; what madness do I speak against our glorious people to not call us all heroes on the field of battle. Hear this old soldier out and decide after if your judgment is as strong as you think.

We were half way through the first contact war with humanity when we stumbled upon their core world of Reservoir. It was a backwater colony planet that had just transitioned from a colony into a functioning world of their empire when our fleets darkened their skies.

By that time I had been in several intense battles with the humans, but this was the first time we were attacking a well-established metropolitan world of theirs. At best our early skirmishes had been in space or along resource worlds that had their mining operations established.

The orbital battle was over quickly. The human planet had no orbital defense platforms and only a small fleet was present which was quickly swept aside. No sooner had the last of the human ships been destroyed in low orbit above the world did the ground invasion begin.

I remember watching as the first and second wave of our infantry forces detached from the troop carriers and began their descent below the cloud cover. My war host was in the third wave so while we waited for deployment we watched the video feeds of the first and second.

It was not a smooth landing.

The moment they broke the cloud cover they were met with withering barrages of anti-aircraft fire from emplaced redoubts and mobile vehicles. Scores of dropships were violently ripped apart or had their engines damaged and spiraled out to the surface below. I can remember hearing troops in the latter calling out for help right up until the moment they impacted the ground and the feed went silent.

It is not easy to listen to your comrade’s die….. I can still hear them sometimes in my dreams. Even now after all these years I can close my eyes and listen to their tortured souls calling out to us again and again……

……….

Apologies; I got a bit side tracked there.

Eventually the second wave was able to carve out safe landing zones and signaled the third wave to deploy.

We launched with vengeance in our hearts and fire in our bellies. Our one purpose now to avenge our fallen friends and shatter whatever human fools had slayed them.

The humans for their part did not make our task easy. Over the span of several weeks we had to grind their resistance down meter by bloody meter, losing thousands of warriors with the capture of each one of their cities. Yet our resolve was unwavering and though our losses mounted the day finally came when I found myself standing outside the final human bastion of their world.

Even when cornered like vermin the humans refused to surrender. We shelled their city for days, reducing their towers of stone and metal to rubble and yet they only burrowed deeper and became that much harder to dislodge. Vehicles that went into the city were beset on all sides by craven hit and run attacks, while our scouts were ambushed and cut down by well concealed snipers. This went on for several days until our commander had finally had enough.

When the order finally came to storm the city a great war cry was let out from our warriors and we poured into the city. I wish I could say there was some battle plan or larger strategic picture we were following, but the reality was we were storming one building at a time before advancing to the next.

That is where I found my worthy foe.

Within the heart of sector G17 there were reports of a lone human soldier causing untold damage to our attack. I ignored the reports at first, but as the day progressed the reports continued to come in only far worse. Now they said the human soldier had slain a hundred warriors and still stood their ground. By the end of my fourth block cleared I was hearing that an entire cohort had been wiped out and now warriors were avoiding the area.

At this notion of fear spreading through the ranks of my brothers I was filled with a seething rage and made my way to sector G17 to confront this human champion myself. It was not hard to find them, as the trail of bodies led straight to them. As I followed the trail I realized that the reports had not exaggerated the casualty list; if anything they had underestimated the dead.

Standing at the entrance to a metal bunker of some sort stood the foe I sought. They wore power armor standard to their people but damaged in several places. The paint had long since been scorched away by ricochets, their once proud cloak torn in a dozen places and hanging limply from their waist; yet their rifle was still firmly clutched in their hands so tightly I wondered if even the gods themselves could pry it from their grasp.

While I approached the warrior I saw three of my fellow soldiers come forward and try to slay the human first. The first went down with deep hole in their chest where the human’s plasma shot had carved through them. The second warrior used this opportunity to close the distance with the human but with a swift backhand from the power gauntlet their neck was snapped and they collapsed to the ground. The third soldier made it close enough to land a blow against the human, adding to the collection of gashes already dotting the armor. Their combat blade dug deep between the leg joints and the human let out a cry of pain. The third soldier twisted the knife inside the joint, reveling in the victory to come. I watched as the human let their weapon fall from their hands and clasped the third warrior’s head between their mighty gauntlets. In a grueling and morbid motion the human crushed the third warrior’s skull like a grape and let the broken body fall to the ground.

The human stood motionless after the melee, which to my surprise had taken less than a minute to complete. They made to pick up their fallen weapon as they finally registered my presence but the blade wound had done more damage than they expected causing them to tumble to the ground in a loud bang.

I watched for a moment as they crawled towards it in an attempt to bring it to bear before I casually kicked it out of their reach. It was then that more of my warrior brethren began to flood into the area and saw me standing over the human that had done such horrendous damage to our forces. One by one they began chanting my name as if I had been the one to bring the foul beast low and called for me to end their life once and for all; but all I could focus on was the human before me.

Through their visor I saw the face of the human looking up at me. A thin red stream of blood ran from the corner of their mouth with specs of blood dotting the inside of the helmet from where they had coughed it.  Their eyes…….even though their body was broken and defeated their eyes never once showed a hint of remorse or pleading as they fixed me with a death glare. If it was possible I half imagine they were trying to kill me with their stare right there and then before I emptied my clip into their chest cavity.

I just stood there with my finger held down on the trigger as round after round of plasma energy burned into them while the surrounding soldiers cheered. The human died half way through the clip but I kept my fingers firmly on the trigger until every shot was emptied.

As you know after that I was given the title “Hero of Reservoir” for I had seemingly killed the human butcher all by myself. There were of course the video feeds from the warriors helmets that came before me that contradicted that sentiment but central command quickly quashed that notion; erasing or restricting what footage there was while fabricating their own that made me out to be the ‘Hero” after all. With the substantial losses they had taken claiming the planet they needed someone they could hoist up and show the homeworld to as a sign of admiration and prowess in our war against the humans.

Like I said before I never cared for the name. Not because it was based on a lie, but from what I discovered when I went to investigate the bunker the human soldier had been so ferociously defending.

It took several explosive charges to pop off the hinges but with a loud thunderous boom the door finally gave way and I led a war party inside. We had expected some sort of redoubt or military bunker and went in with our weapons firing on anything that moved; which was fortunate as the door led into a series of tunnels dotting the city filled with humans.

My fellow warriors were lost to the blood lust and carved their way through the humans as if they were made of paper while I stopped and examined the nearest fallen human.

They were a frail thing, not half the size of a normal human adult. I believe they were called “children” by their cultural standards and were designated as the youth of the species. The child lay huddled in a corner they had attempted to hide in when the breaching charges had gone off but were caught by the explosion nonetheless and died.

As I gently pulled on them to turn them around I saw that the child had been holding something tightly against their chest. When I saw what it was I recoiled and nearly fell over another dead human from my realization.

The child had been clutching a stuffed toy animal, not a side arm as his fellow warriors had believed.

With a grim realization I came to the conclusion that this was not a military bunker or the last vestiges of the human military lurking within the walls of these tunnels. They were human civilians who had been led into the depths of their city in the hopes they could survive the coming battle.

I tried to call off the attack into the lower levels but by then our warriors were lost to the haze of battle. By the end some three hundred human civilians were massacred in that bunker; their bodies sealed within a rocky tomb when we detonated charges to collapse the bunker complex.

That is why I hate being called a hero for that awful battle.  I am a pretender, a charlatan, a fraud; held up to justify the deaths on both sides as if a statue of me will someone make us forget what we had done.

The real hero of reservoir died by my hand, giving their life to defend the defenseless.

[imitationgame77]

ART and Human Adolescents

~ Reason Why ART Befriended Murderbot in AC ~

A sort of theory...

In Network Effect, Murderbot notes several times that ART likes adolescent humans. For instance,

I'd noted that ART's tone when it spoke to Amena was completely different than it was to the other humans. [...] Whatever else ART was, the classroom space and bunk-rooms said it was actually, on a regular basis, a teaching vessel. And before this when I was stupid and we were still friends it had talked about human adolescents in an indulgent way.

[Network Effect, Chapter 9]

Murderbot uses ART's soft spot for adolescents to its advantage!

And then, a couple of chapters later,

Amena still had questions. "Then why did you do it? You didn't - you don't care about me. You didn't really even know me then."

Why does ART like adolescent humans? This was exhausting.

[...]

ART must be recovering because it had to butt in with, Tell her you care about her. Use those words, don't tell her you'll eviscerate anything that tries to hurt her.

[Network Effect, Chapter 10]

ART does show protectiveness towards Amena's feelings, and urges MB to do the same.

ART also shows indulgence towards young people, who probably have left adolescent recently. In Artificial Condition, Murderbot's young client Tapan gets herself into a dangerous situation (again), then in a relatively safe environment of a hotel accommodation, inadvertently upsets MB with personal questions. ART helps MB calm down by playing its comfort media's soundtrack, then

In my feed, ART turned down the soundtrack to say, Young humans can be impulsive. The trick is keeping them around long enough to become old humans. This is what my crew tells me and my own observations seem to confirm it.

[Artificial Condition, Chapter 7]

An American psychoanalyst Erik Erikson has developed a theory of personality development which consists of 8 stages from infancy to old age. Each stage has a central theme with basic conflict. Successful resolution of conflicts at each stage results in development of healthy personality and acquisition of virtues.

Adolescence (12-18 years) is defined by its conflict of Identity vs. Role Confusion. Adolescents search for a sense of self and personal identity, through exploring values, goals, interests, and so on. If they are not given enough support and/or restricted in their exploration, they are left with role confusion - struggle to identify their purpose in life, not knowing who they are and what they want. Social relationships are also important in finding their roles in society. Successful resolution of this stage will lead to the virtue of fidelity that involves being able to commit one's self to others on the basis of accepting others even with differences.

The next stage is Early Adulthood (19-29 years), whose basic conflict is Intimacy vs. Isolation. This is when people learn to establish intimacy and relationships with others. If an individual can successfully form intimate, reciprocal relationships with others, love is the virtue to be gained. But, unsuccessful resolution in earlier stages can cause failure in this stage, resulting in isolation. Isolation can be the result of unresolved identity crises, fear of rejection, etc.

This stage thoery was developed in the 1950s. Since then, societies have changed somewhat and many young people can afford to be in "not a child, but not quite grown-up yet" stage for longer.

Presumably, machine intelligences, however sophisticated like ART, do not need to be influenced by physiological changes associated with hormones. Humans are largely influenced by nature part of nature/nurture, but for AIs, nurture (experience) is a lot more significant in forming their personalities. Having been "brought up" in loving human family environment with Iris as its "sibling", ART has developed very good understandings of human development as well as enormous tolerance. Having been interacting with many, many university students (presumably still 18-22 ish), it knows how important adolescent is to their later development in their characters.

One of the fundamental reasons why ART immediately took to Murderbot, in my view, is that it recognised adolescence in it. Whatever its human-equivalent chronological age was when they met, MB had only been governor-module-free for 4 years or so, and its experience of interacting with real people autonomously was very limited. MB was smart and competent in its functions, but also extremely vulnerable and awkward. It fits the definition of adolescence of not knowing its new role (not an appliance anymore)in the world.

So, ART's initial interaction with MB and protectiveness it exhibited were largely because ART was basically kind to vulnerable young people and MB was one. (Their 'relationship' evolves rapidly, but it is getting too long, so I stop. For now.)

----

Addendum

ART was not exactly gentle to Three which had had less-than-1-cycle of experience at being autonomous. It was more like a colt than a human adolescent. Must have been stress and anxiety talking.

Does an advanced AI have an equivalent of adolescence?? (probably mild, being hormone-free)

[darcytaylor]

I think I’m more devastated that it seems like Nic has changed up how she is also using social media and presenting herself, and that just makes me so sad. People pointed out that she used to be way different about posting even while working, and maybe because this is a bigger project with big names, she has restrictions or put on some for the sake of the job, but I just feel like she got burnt in all this as well. Like, we know she loves Luke no matter what, and I can’t imagine she loves what she’s seeing online (we know her TT feeds her the delusional content). Ugh, I almost want to hate the promo tour now because it seems like, long-term, it just broke something amazing.

I think that as far as Nicola's social media presence and posting, it is too early to tell if she has 100% changed course. While she has been more distant as far as posting goes, and it could be because she was burnt in all of it, BUT it could also mean that she is just burnt out.

She has been working non-stop while also being in the public eye. This could be her taking some well deserved time off in the only area that she actually can. And yes, I could be way too optimistic, but you never know.

I have said time and time again that Nicola is fantastic at her job, and I believe that the reason she is choosing to not post as much, is for the betterment of her career and for herself. Could it be a sad situation and this is the new normal? Yes. But I think we have to wait it out a bit to come to any conclusions.

[b4tasquad]

can you write a pov with Aj forgetting your birthday and then making up for it?

BIRTHDAY: AJ SHABEEL

Authors note: finally something for my boy Aj.. I can’t believe I haven’t written something properly for him…. So disgusting of me honestly😒😒 but here it is. Also it’s more of a sad one because I feel like I only write happy things🤷‍♀️

Warnings: mention of shitty parenting, reader being emotional, Aj shabeel being overly sweet

…

A feeling of deep hurt had permanently taken refuge in the pit of your stomach. Your mind was working on memory, as you went about your day, as if it was just like any other. Every few seconds, a notification sound would pop up on your phone, causing you to snap your head in the device’s direction, hoping with everything in you that it was him.

But no. Every single time, the same sound of sheer sorrow left your lips as you tried shaking away the disappointment of being forgotten. It wasn’t unusual really. All your life you had become accustomed to being insignificant, in your household, during your years at school, and even amongst some of your friends. Your restricted personality alongside anxious habits you’d caught, making it easy for people to just disregard you.

Aj had never made you feel like a background character, someone who simply existed to feed into someone else’s needs. He always made you feel like the brightest star, and the sole attention in any room you stepped in. Through Aj Shabeel, you had learned to not settle for only being in the corners, but daring to step into the center at times too.

It was funny how the person that had made you feel the most special was also the reason you carried yourself with such indifference on your birthday. For the 2 birthdays of yours the two of you had been friends, he had been the first to congratulate and treat you, but the year you’re finally his? He completely ignores you as if he couldn’t care less about this unimportant day.

You felt stupid for how you had spent your early hours of the morning, expecting something, anything, to come from him. During your breakfast, you made sure to check, double-check, and even triple-check for a new message, but there was nothing. Radio silence. As you moved from the morning into work, there was no time for you to even be on your phone. You could vividly remember feeling awful as you did your work on the computer, hand itching to reply to a call or even a message you knew would be there.

When lunch had finally approached, you had turned down a lunch offer from your friends as they were in a rush, and you were sure you’d have to call Aj to thank him. How stupid you felt, checking every app for anything. In a last attempt, you had even opened Instagram, an app you never even communicated on, only to come to the same two conclusions.

He had either not woken up or forgotten. How you hoped it was the former.

But doubt turned into confirmation once you saw him post on Instagram hours later. He had even texted you after your shift, simply informing you he’d come over to yours after he was done with work. But there was no mention of your birthday, and now you were completely sure your boyfriend had missed it.

Even in your angry state, you could never have it in your heart to believe he just didn’t care enough to mention it. That wasn’t like him.

Usually, you would be ecstatic to know your boyfriend was coming over straight after work, that meant him telling you about everything he did which was something that fascinated your mind. His lifestyle and work were something that you’d always loved, Aj creativity and passion for it fuelling your interest. But now, you walked home with such dread, shoulders slumped in defeat.

You knew you should’ve made the best out of your day even without Aj, but it was just so hard to look past the fact that the most important person in your life had just neglected you like that and continue with your day. Your closest friends had gratulated you and you answered with the same faux tone of happiness. Even Aj’s family members, those you had met because of him, sent you countless nice messages.

Currently, you were just moping around, watching a rerun of a romantic movie that played on your tv every night. A bowl of popcorn was laid in your lap and you occasionally threw one in your mouth. It didn’t matter how many times you watched this movie, every time you were left flabbergasted at the plot twist. It was just that dramatic.

A notification sound on your phone interrupted your little movie night, and you hated yourself for how quickly you grabbed it, thinking it was Aj.

Anna:

What you doing tonight?

You knew where this was going, and a part of you wanted to lie your way out of the obvious plans about to be made. Another part of you felt bad though, here your best friend was, trying to show you how loved you were on your birthday and you were just gonna lie your way out.

You:

Nothing much, why?

It doesn’t take more than 20 seconds from when your message is sent for your best friend to reply.

Anna:

I’ll be at yours in 30, get ready!

And there wasn’t much you could do after that. In just an hour you found yourself seated at a fancy restaurant, Anna sat across from you. You had came with a slightly dampened mood, ready to not enjoy the evening and go home still feeling down. But that was not the case. There was just something so beautiful about Anna that made everyone around her smile. From the way she laughed to the way she talked, Anna had everything it took to get a laugh out of you.

There was the occasional glance at the phone, but other than that you spent 2 nice hours chatting away with Anna as you ate the luxurious food. You were extremely thankful for her and made sure to thank her extra on the ride home.

“I’m your best friend. Now stop thanking me!”

Opening the door to your flat, you had been ready to take off your makeup and outfit and just spend a lazy night in bed. It was 10 pm on a Friday, and as a woman in her early twenties, this should not have been what you were doing. The door closes with a thud behind you as you’re too eager to throw off your heels, but a set of other shoes alongside yours catches your attention.

“Why are you dressed up?” Aj asks from the doorway, his voice simply curious. You don’t even spare him a glance as you finally get rid of your shoes and shrug the jacket off. At the rejection, Aj looks at you weirdly, noticing how off you seemed. As you try to walk past him, he stops you by stepping in front of you.”

“Babe, what’s wrong?” A part of you breaks at the fact that he genuinely didn’t even know. Your boyfriend is confused, eyebrows furrowed until you look at him with disappointment and suddenly it’s everything he can think about. By his eyes widening, you can tell he finally remembers.

Scoffing, you just step away from both him and the conversation, feeling as if you might’ve cried if you stood in front of him any longer. As a child, your parents had made it a regular thing to forget about your birthdays. Claiming they didn’t forget, but simply planned something good. Being the gullible kid you were, you always believed them, waiting for that big surprise. It was finally after your 10th birthday you realized it was their fucked up way of trying to make their nagging child shut up. There was no such thing as a ‘big surprise’.

Fair to say you never asked, but just took the love you got on rare occasions.

As Aj walked behind you to the bedroom, muttering apologies and excuses, you felt like a child again, hearing the same words from your parents. Seeing how you were making your way to the connected bathroom, Aj took hold of you, afraid you’d lock yourself in there and refuse to talk to him. You’d never do that, but he was stressing and thinking of every possible outcome.

You don’t pull away from his hold on you as he sits you down on your bed. He’s stood over you, hands on his hips as he tries to think of a way to make it sound less… wrong?

“Y/n, I genuinely don’t even know how it managed to slip my mind. I just woke up late and was rushing to get to the studio to film, and it ran later than I thought. It’s no excuse because I’m your boyfriend, and I shouldn’t prioritize work over something so important like your birthday- oh my fucking God, I can’t believe I forgot your birthday.” Rambling was one thing Aj did once nervous. He had done it when the two of you knew each other as friends and continued to do so far into your romantic relationship. Usually, you found it cute, but right now you didn’t have words to describe it.

His genuineness softened the pain and by the way his eyes lightened up, you could tell he saw the change in your behavior. Even with the slight empathy for his situation, there was still a feeling of neglect that you couldn’t shake off. You don’t know when, but somewhere during the speech, tears you’d kept in all day, quietly started to slip down your cheeks.

When your boyfriend notices, his voice wavers, truly seeing how much he had messed with your whole mood. Aj was the petty type, one to stay mad and drag things out for far too long. You were a clear contrast from him with your forgiving tendencies, and not being able to hold a grudge.

The fact that you were sitting on the edge of your bed, crying your eyes out on your birthday said something about how much you had been hurt. “Baby, no please don’t cry.” Aj pleads with you, but you’re far too gone to stop crying. When your sniffling gets louder, he crouches in between your legs, pulling your hands away from your face.

You don’t fight his grip but simply gaze at him. Aj kisses the palm of your hand in his hold, holding it against his cheek in a way of showing affection. “I’m so sorry, please don’t cry.” He wipes at your eyes. “ I love you so much, I’m sorry for being such a shit boyfriend. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, genuinely, I don’t know what I would do without you. Please just don’t cry.”

Too deep in your feeling, you don’t think twice about wrapping your arms around your boyfriend’s shoulder, needing comfort even if he was the one to hurt you, to begin with. Being an over-sensitive person, you weren’t always too in touch with your emotions. They sometimes got too much to bear on your own, and therefore you found it easier to process them with the help of Aj.

With just a comforting touch or a few reassuring words from him, you always managed to feel better. And right now, as funny as it sounded, Aj was the only one you wanted to comfort you.

“I felt so alone.”

Your words are like daggers being thrown into his heart, twisting and digging an even bigger wound in his already vulnerable state. He knew he had no right to feel gutted like he was feeling now, but hearing your broken whispers and knowing he was the cause of your defeated words was a hard pill to swallow.

“You’re not alone.” Aj takes a seat beside you on the edge of the bed his hold on your hands never faltering. In a futile attempt to show you the reality of his words, he opens his arms. You fall into his hold holding him as close to you as you possibly can.

The warmth he supplies you is a unique thing you’ve only felt in the arms of your boyfriend and you can’t help but snuggle closer to get more of it.

Aj wipes your tears, holding your cheek to make you look at him. A faint smile appears on your lips as you hold eye contact. The faint feeling of hurt is still present, and there’s no way you’re just letting it go. But all you want to spend the last moments of your birthday doing is be in his hold. In his protection. With a soft peck to your slightly tear-coated lips, Aj speaks. “Happy birthday, beautiful.”