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wheneverfeasible · 2 months ago

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Based off this post because I’ve lost all control of my life.

cw: sex trafficking, reference to non-con

Modern au. FBI au. Stobin became inseparable when they both started training in the FBI around the same time, though it started as a bit of not-so-friendly rivalry at first. Robin felt like she had to prove herself as a woman in the FBI, while Steve felt like he had to prove himself as a legacy who has always been a disappointment to his father. A fateful rookie hazing that went a little too far bonded them inseparably, however, and now years later they are the go-to team amongst the younger agents.

Also if you try to separate them then all hell will break loose.

Anyways, so one day there’s need for undercover work. They’ve been tracking this sex trafficking ring for a while and they finally believe they’ve discovered the mastermind behind it all, some newly famous rockstar called Eddie “The Freak” Munson.

So someone needs to dress up like a prostitute and infiltrate their ranks to get hard evidence to put this lowlife away once and for all. As she’s really the only girl on the team that fits the age demographic, Robin is picked as the fake prostitute. Except…well, let’s face it, she’s never been the most feminine of girls. Not a true butch or anything, more a soft futch than anything, but dresses and high heels and makeup? Yeah no.

As soon as Robin wobbles herself out (falling face first in the process) it’s not just Steve immediately telling her no and to go change back into her FBI kit because she looks super uncomfortable and there’s no way they can make her do this, whether or not she could even convincingly play the role to begin with.

And so comes in Steve.

Now, Steve isn’t exactly femme either. While he’s certainly not the butchest agent on their team, he was a jock in high school and even now still picks up the occasional game with civilians or other agents when free time allows. What had once been a respectful firmness to his stomach was now a verifiable six pack, his biceps and thighs filling his clothes out nicely as his FBI workout regimen added some muscle mass.

But there was more to Steve than just the stereotypical musclehead jock. Steve had also been a bit of a prep in high school, and even now still brought some of that with him in his civvies and beauty regimens, especially with his hair. He also opposed to a bit of a shiny lipgloss when the mood hit. And secretly? He’s always wanted do undercover work like this. And it’s not like the victims were only girls.

Plus, though Robin would call him sexist for it, he didn’t like the idea of sending Robin or any other woman into the pits of hell alone like that.

Steve struts out of the changing room wearing the skimpiest outfit he’s ever seen in his life (think like, Julia Roberts’s first outfit in Pretty Woman), except he didn’t shave at all so his hair thighs and chest hair still poke out. There’s no hiding his physique, so he’s going for the whole hairy thing, and he knows it works for him. For any gender.

With a grace that might belie that this isn’t his first time in heels, Steve is on his way to the hotel where all this is going down, slipping in easily, Steve starts casing the place and compiling evidence before the big event that night where hopefully they catch Munson in the act of selling victims to the highest bidder.

Except, while sneaking around trying to gather as much evidence as possible, he runs into Munson himself. Not in some big penthouse full of drugs and weapons and whatever else used to keep the product in line, but in a small little unused room Steve had slipped into to avoid one of the muscled “bodyguards” Munson kept on hand.

No, Steve slipped in and found an anxiously pacing dweeb of man in Garfield sleep trousers and what looked like a homemade shirt with the graphic of a devil face on it, black polished nails being gnawed at by the hunched over form. The figure with frazzled hair matched the images of the mastermind he had seen, though he looked startling different from the persona he put on in public.

Munson’s eyes bugged out a little when he walked in, his eyes taking in Steve’s form with an appreciation that made Steve smug at being the correct choice for this sting after all, but then Munson was groaning in a less appreciative way and slapping his hands to his face.

“I told Dad I didn’t want a fucking hooker,” he mumbled to himself, before dropping his hands with a wince as he held up his hands beseechingly. “Sorry, nothing wrong with prostitutes, darling, I just…now is really not a good time.”

And…huh. Okay. This was the Big Bad Boogeyman who had been giving them the slip for almost a year now? He looked like a wet rat despite being completely dry.

So Steve struts some more, plays his part, simpers and encourages Munson’s eyes to focus on his bare skin and not the slight bulge to his thigh high heeled boots where his gun and handcuffs were hidden. And Munson looks, because Steve is hot and he’s only human, but he also looks really really nervous and lets out a choked giggle when Steve pulls out his charm.

And then Munson again apologizes, says he never met a prostitute before he and he seems like a really nice boy but that he wasn’t the one who hired him and he’s not looking for sex right now, just wanting to get through tonight and go home to his cats, Smaug and Shelob.

Which is unexpected. Even more so when Munson claims he didn’t even want to be there in the first place, that his dad was in charge of setting up the event, though he did so in Munson’s—Eddie’s—name, just as he had been doing ever since Eddie first caught a break for his music in high school. Had dragged Eddie away from his garage band and friends and instead threw Eddie headlong into being a solo artist and creating the persona of The Freak, acting as a kind of shadow manager. Working behind the curtains so that barely anyone even knew he existed.

And…oh. Ohhhhh. Suddenly, Steve didn’t think Eddie was the mastermind they were after. He just looked like nervous kid (who was technically older than Steve but whatever) thrown into the a spotlight not of his own making and made the scapegoat for all of his father’s illegal activities.

Not that Eddie knew anything about the current operation, that was more than evident. He thought it was an actual auction for like antiques and shit. Thought the only person being sold that night was a date with him, his father’s idea. It was why he was hiding out in an unused room to have a little freak out away from everyone treating him like a doll to do whatever they wanted.

But his father had suggested bringing in some hookers to help him calm down, which Eddie had rejected, but which he now thought was what Steve was. Just a hooker his father had bought for the night to help his son relax.

And Steve thought his father was a piece of work.

They talk, Eddie’s nervousness and discomfort in his life causing him to spill secrets he otherwise never would have, not just about his father’s past but also his own, talking about how much he missed his high school band, the Dungeons & Club he used to run, his uncle he hasn’t seen in years, and just a life where he could live it how he wanted.

Much to his surprise, Steve also revealed some truths about himself. Not about his real job, of course, but about his own father, about not ever being good enough for him or his mother, about how they had always held his inheritance over his head until he’d told them to stuff it and that he wasn’t going to marry some socialite of their choosing. He smudged some details about his work, which he felt weirdly guilty for, but needs must.

And well, Eddie’s babble reveals that they really have to change the focus of the sting, which means Steve needs to get a message to Robin pronto. Luckily, she should be nearby undercover as one of the hotel staff with a couple other agents.

Steve does get the message out, but in the process the truth is accidentally revealed to Eddie and he is devastated. He had known his father wasn’t a good man, but he hadn’t realized just how evil he was. He was also, surprisingly, hurt by the knowledge that Steve was just doing his job and the connection he had thought they’d formed wasn’t real.

Except, as Eddie worked with the FBI to take down the operation, getting shot by his own father in the process in a misguided attempt to protect Steve, Steve can’t help but wonder if maybe there was a genuine connection after all.

Later, Steve visits Eddie in the hospital, bypassing the armed guards outside because, while they have proof it was Al Munson behind the sex trafficking and forcing the victims into prostitution, Eddie is still a person of interest as a witness and they still need to fully clear his name regarding any knowing involvement.

Robin, of course, was sick of hearing Steve mooning about Eddie and encouraged the meeting, though she later regretted it when it just caused Steve to talk more about the former rockstar—Eddie was quitting, hating the lonely fame, and wanting to reach out to his old friends and apologize for abandoning them. She was fond of the man’s cats, however, going with Steve to make certain they were taken care of while Eddie was convalescing in the hospital.

Later again, once Eddie is cleared and the trial is over and Al is rotting behind bars, Steve meets up with Eddie when it’s no longer a conflict of interest. He also reveals that he kept his undercover outfit and the two of them put it to good use.

Robin, meanwhile, has likewise grown closer to one of the former victims, a young woman by the name of Chrissy. She had helped her and the others deal with everything, especially those who felt uncomfortable around the male agents. Eddie of course apologizes profusely to her when they meet, but Chrissy knows he wasn’t a part of it and actually helped save her and the others in the end, bringing him into a hug that helps heal the both of them a little bit more.

Steve and Robin and the rest of the team are honored for their work, but to them the real honor is in the loving embrace of those they saved, and who in their own way saved Steve and Robin too.

Hostage tags: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump

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geraskierfanficprompts · 7 months ago

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Prompt 23

Jaskier wishes on dandelions every time he sees one. He wishes for inspiration, his hair to look nice during this next performance, his rivals to lose, Geralt to be unwounded in his next fight, he wishes, he wishes, and he wishes. One day, he wishes that Geralt would love him back. When Geralt starts being nicer to him in what Jaskier can only assume is his awkward attempts at flirting, Jaskier begins panicking over the possibility his wish came true and he unintentionally brainwashed his friend into feeling romantic feelings for him. Geralt, meanwhile, is wondering why Jaskier has flirted with him for a decade at the least but suddenly seems so confused at Geralt's courting attempts.

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what-have-i-unleashed · 2 months ago

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continuation of this because i want more angst :3

(cw: obsession, gaslighting/mindfuck, emotional manipulation, horrible people doing horrible things essentially)

even after dust sold his soul to nightmare for his dream, he's still unruly and disobedient, especially when it comes to killer. dust wouldn't kill him. he wouldn't capture the traitor or drag him back to nightmare screaming. even though nightmare always gives him opportunities to engage with killer one-to-one on battlefields. dust couldn't bring himself to do it, to deprive killer of his happy ending. but he's also conflicted, because he's supposed to be killer's happy ending. he's in a perpetual ping-pong game with his own desires. he wants killer, but he also wishes for killer's happiness. maybe this is the best way to keep killer in the rest of his (hopefully not short) life. determination to see his light again. perseverance to keep living under nightmare's rule.

and dust's disregard of nightmare's orders constantly puts him under nightmare's wrath. nightmare knows about dust's afflictions - and while they feed nightmare well, it is a pain to deal with dust's unpredictable outbursts whenever killer appears or is brought up. he's a glass cannon basically. dust sports more and more injuries over time, both from nightmare's punishments and his own unchecked self-destructive tendencies. more bandages over his body, like temporary fixes to a problem that won't go away. he looks more vulnerable that way, which nightmare finds some uses for - bait for bleeding hearts over the multiverse. they don't know the sharks that circle the pretty mermaid they have invited into their homes.

and nightmare can tell dust is getting worse, marginally so but it's still frustrating. would be a shame if he loses a valuable spawn, just enough stubbornness and loyalty to keep in his inventory. so he tries to reward dust with little things to keep the lovesick fool function. killer's old room is now dust's, of course. dreamless nights, even though dust rarely sleeps. little tidbits about what killer is doing, from his spies. the occasional hearty meals, to keep dust well-fed. new "toys" for dust, even though he rarely cares about them. sometimes nightmare shapeshifts into his killer to give dust little gestures of affection, like letting him sleep on his lap or hugging him - dust is observant (and obsessive enough over killer) to notice the ruse anyway. dust often encounters daydreams and hallucinations of his loved ones, and if he listened to them he wouldn't be here at all. he calls nightmare out on them every time, angry like a cornered injured wild animal, but nightmare only finds the reactions cutely amusing. maybe one day when dust is finally desperate enough, he'd allow nightmare to erect the occasional fantasy dates with "killer". even though it's not real, it's just enough to keep his delusion going, to keep his will to live longer.

just as long as he's aware it's a dream and not slip down any further down the edge.

just as long as he's still cognizant that the killer doesn't love him back.

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aaron-is-comatose · 2 months ago

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Do we remember Vesselle

extra sketchbook spread under the cut :3

#AAUUGHHH #this took longer to finish because i ended up getting busy with work #BUTTTT shes finished now !!#later i might wanna draw a full version of her #but for now I'm happy #i love you vesselle :33 #hopefully i remember to draw her more #sleep token #sleep token fan art #sleep token fanart #sleep token vessel #vessel #bunny's art #bnuuyposting #vesselle

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loviestoki · 3 months ago

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echoes of us — kang haerin x f!reader

warnings: angst, breakup

word count: n/a but it's a short read !!

"Here," Haerin said, her voice barely above a whisper. She gently pushed a brown cardboard box into your arms, its contents heavy with the weight of your shared memories. For a moment, Mother Nature held her breath as the world around you slowed. Internally, time accelerated, your heart a ravenous beast, pounding mercilessly inside you, devouring every ounce of your love and hope. You stared into her dark eyes, now repulsive, like two black holes of despair swallowing the warmth you once held. Your breath caught in your throat, leaving a bitter taste of regret. One year. A year of your life that you had spent endlessly loving and devoting yourself to Haerin, all in vain.

...

"Why?" was all you could manage to say as tears streamed down your face, carving deep paths of betrayal into your cheeks.

"...I'm afraid," her voice trembled, her eyes filled with sorrow, now avoiding yours as she looked down, "of how people would react if they saw us together." You scoff, wiping the tears from your face with a shaking hand as you gather the rage from within you and morphed it into the courage you needed to speak up for yourself.

"I thought you loved me-"

"I do!" She cuts you off, her nonchalant facade now gone as her own face has become a barren wasteland, her tears like rain in a drought.

"No. You were always more afraid of what others would think than of losing me; that's not love, Haerin." She shakes her head at you, a silent plea for understanding.

"Forget it, I love you." You whisper for what would be the last time. Your heart subconsciously replays your happiest memories of her, trying to convince you to stay. But the pain was too much. You turned away from her, the desolate street stretching out before you. The wind whipped at your face, a taunting echo of the serenity that had been ripped away from you in the matter of minutes.

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