#i wish my cw verse made sense to me

[livedtough]

"And yet, dear boy, here I am. Hence my comment on mistakes. Keep up. We don't want that brain of yours growing dull, now, do we?" Clark's eyes settle on him, and his eyes do not move from Clark. "You've grown up, haven't you? I even hear you have a couple of boys of your own." Even a simple observation manages to sound almost threatening coming from him, as though every piece of information learned is something stored away to be used later when it's most beneficial--which, of course, is exactly what happens. "And speaking of death, I was very sorry to hear about your mother." (Genuine? Yes. But he's baiting, too. Testing the waters to see what sort of man Clark Kent has become.)

( @oftomorrow )

Now there was a voice Clark had never thought he'd hear again. He'd thought the Luthors were out of his life for good -- all of them. But of course, the multiverse would never be so kind.

"Lionel Luthor." He turned slowly to take in the man across from him. "You're supposed to be dead."

( @livedtough )

[mothiir]

yknow what??? fuck it. im not even gonna turn on anon. IM NOT EVEN GONNA DO IT!! because at this point you'd clock my ass a nautical mile off for who it is just bc im gonna ask for exactly what you caught me for on anon LAST TIME.

SO,,,, haha,,,, heyyyy mothiiiiir,,,, pllllleeeasse more nasty ass rabbit/emp headcanonnns OR writing or anything,, you always cook and im one starving ass loser.

thank you ily and your writing once again ok ok ok BYEEE

cw: angst, not what you intended but this got me thinking about the emperor and then uh. we got this. not set in the little rabbit verse, which will soon become obvious. playing loose with the canon timelines because i don’t know exactly how the burning of monarchia went down.

—

—

Monarchia burns — and three days later, Guilliman and his sons make planet fall.

—

It takes a great deal to surprise a Primarch, and yet here Guilliman is, blinking at the charred rubble of your former capital, struggling to find words.

“Say that again,” he says, at length. You sit up from your prostrated position, lifting your head just enough to address his shins rather than the ground.

“There is no penance great enough for the crime we have committed against the Emperor and the Imperium,” you say, your voice soft, but ringing clear. “There is no punishment that we do not deserve for such blatant defiance of the Imperial Truth. I can state that we were misled — which is true — and that we were ignorant, but that is no excuse. All I can say is that when I discovered that my Lord Husband was acting in defiance of the Emperor’s wishes, I acted as swiftly as I could to remedy it.”

It makes even less sense the second time around. The once-glorious city is wreathed in flames; the sun blotted out by a miasma of smoke. The same story is repeated across the entire planet. A revolution almost overnight — temples torn down, idols cast into the sea, believers put to the sword. The few Word Bearers that remained had died at their posts; they had slaughtered thousands of their kinsman, but died all the same. Bears torn down by hounds.

“You did this,” he says. You shake your head minutely. Your hair — once a glorious braid almost to your waist, always ornamented with some fancy that Lorgar had gifted you — has been chopped into an unkempt bob around your shoulders. Guilliman vaguely remembers a tale amongst Lorgar’s adopted people: of a queen who had lost a great battle, and shorn her locks in penance.

“No my lord. I did nothing. My people acted against the rot in our ranks. They carved it out.”

“Millions have died.”

“It is no great loss that those who would espouse the evils of theology perish,” you say, your voice as flat and featureless as a windless sea. “All I ask is that those that remain…”

For a moment, emotion returns to your voice, colouring it.

“All I ask is that some of them be spared. Please.”

You lift your face for the first time since his arrival. Your lips are lined with blood, shadows hung beneath eyes sunk deep into their sockets. In the space of three days, you seem to have aged decades — from a fresh-faced woman in the bloom of youth, to a crone who has seen the ending of all that she loves.

—

The seas do not boil. The sky does not burn. Another battle is brought to a shuddering, decisive end as the Ultramarines join on the side of your rebels — no, you cannot think of them as such. They are not rebels; they are vindicated. They are fighting for the truth, for what is right and good. They are crusaders.

You — you are not a crusader. You are not sure what to call yourself. Lorgar called you a goddess; a title that always disquieted you, but you accepted it, for his eyes shone so when he looked at you, and he made love to you as though you were the only thing that mattered. Now, you have lost count of the number of men and women who have died for referring to you as such.

You are not a widow either. Your husband lives, though you do not know where he is. Once, Lorgar pressed his hand to your chest and felt the thrum of your heart against his palm and said that no matter where you went there was a golden cord that bound your heart to his; that no void nor fire could split asunder what was joined in love.

You dream that you wind a golden chain around your hands, pull it taut, and bite until your teeth chip, until your tongue bleeds, until it frays into dust on your lips.

—

When you meet the Emperor, you press your forehead to the cinder-warm flagstones that used to be a marketplace, and you wait for death. You know, in a distant dreamy sort of way, that you should be afraid, but you are not. You accepted your death what seems like a lifetime ago — in reality, it is less than four days since you gave the order to start burning the temples.

The irony of it all. People answered your call to arms, to not-so-holy war, because you are Lorgar’s bride, because you are the woman once called goddess. And what did you do with the power that he gave you? You ordered that his greatest works be destroyed.

But what else could you have done?

Colchis is your home. And in his arrogance — in his endless childish arrogance — Lorgar would have let it burn to ash rather than do as he had been bid. Did he truly believe his father a god? If so, why would he not obey his commandments as soon as they were given?

Thinking this way hurts you — not only because it stirs anger like a wounded animal in your breast, but because it throws into stark relief how Lorgar’s mind contained chasms and corners you never saw. How even though you gave yourself to him as completely as a woman can, he always kept parts of himself hidden from you — but you will not waste time delving into that labyrinth. His beliefs are inconsequential. Only the facts matter. Lorgar worshipped his father as a god. Lorgar was told to stop. Lorgar did not.

You visited the day of judgement upon Colchis before the Emperor got the chance, betting everything on a single desperate gesture. You do not regret it, though you will dream of the dying wails of your people until the end of your days. If you had not acted, all would have died. Now, maybe — just maybe — some may live.

“The girl acted in the best interests of her people,” the Emperor says, and it is only then that you realise precisely what was happening: he was rifling around in your head, subtly enough that you could not see the intrusion; mistaking his exploration for an ill-timed moment of navel-gazing. All at once, pain rushes into your knees and thighs, knife-like cramps. How long have you been kneeling there?

Then, inexplicably, a wash of frustration: girl, he calls you. Girl. You are staring down your third decade of life — nothing for one such as him, of course, but really.

Girl. You carved out your still-warm heart and laid it on a flaming altar and he refers to you as girl.

“Stand,” he says, and you obey, fighting the hysterical urge to snort with laughter — you’re exhausted, swooning, and starting to feel the after-effects of the universe’s most powerful psyker reading your thoughts. Blood drips down your chin. “I am satisfied with the efforts of your loyal Imperial citizens against the primitive cultists.”

“Thank you my lord,” you say, keeping your gaze fixed on the ground — thus missing entirely the swift, puzzled look Guilliman gives you, for ‘I am satisfied’ is more praise than the Emperor normally gives anyone.

(And perhaps it is just a trick of the light, or the wild shadows cast by the afterglow of battle, but Guilliman swears that just for a moment his father smiles.)

“Heracles,” says the Emperor, addressing one of the gigantic golden sentinels standing to attention beside him. “You will escort her aboard the Bucephalus. We will speak further when I have dealt with my son.”

The golden sentinel inclines her head, and you try your best to stay upright, your legs shaky as a newborn colt. You do not think of what the Emperor will do to Lorgar; you cannot.

“It goes without saying,” says the Emperor, almost as an afterthought. “But your marriage to him is annulled.”

Eight years. Your life; your heart; that golden cord. What love has joined together, none may tear asunder - except that is not true, was never true.

“Yes my lord,” you say.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Over The Phone

Dad Bod!Professor!Miguel x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Just... NSFW. So much NSFW. Phone sex, masturbating, sexy selfies, sexting, all that shit.

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: God this took forever to churn out but I finally got motivation to finish it!!

Taglist: @cupcakeinat0r @tojishugetiddies (if I forgot to tag anybody let me know, pls! I lost the saved list I had for people alshldhd)

Divider by @/across-the-art-verse

Miguel art @ meeee

The day had dragged on for what felt like far longer than usual for him; the usual students who showed up late, tried to sneak out, slept through the lecture or just ignored whatever he said.

The students who listened and actively engaged with the lesson were few and far between, and the almost silent lull between classes felt felt almost too short. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered, especially with the growing list of students who were disinterested in his class, or those that only signed up for extra credit and didn't want to do the work...

But, getting cards and thank-you post-its from students who felt like they wouldn't have been able to graduate without him kept him on in this tedium. He loved to hear from his former students about how their new careers were going--careers they credit hi to helping them achieve.

It never failed to make his heart all warm and fuzzy when he thought about them.

Miguel ran his hand across his beard, and a thought came to him about maybe shaving it off. He had grown it out; rather rugged if he had to admit it. But, he quickly shook that thought away--you loved his beard. Oftentimes he would wake up from a nap, you snuggled perfectly against his solid frame, your nails dragging through the short hairs with a content smile on your face.

Oh, he couldn't say no to you, his pretty little wife, could he?

Speaking of which... it was your day off. He couldn't help but wonder what you were--

When his phone pinged, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and unlocks the screen to see a text from you;

Hiii baby, how's work going?

He chuckled and replied, Same as usual. Only two students slept through class this lime

*time

Your reply was swift.

Awww I'm sry :(

If it makes you feel any better, if I were in your class... wait. I wouldn't get any work done either. I'd just be lookin at you :p

He laughed, his belly shaking a little bit as he grinned at his screen, his massive fingers fumbling the small keys once again on the too-small phone screen.

Yes, you would mafe a very door student, wouldn't you, amor?

*made *poor

Miguel rolled his eyes. He was tempted to try and see if they didn't make phones built for someone with his giant hands in mind... Damn this tiny screen!

Awww my Miggy gettin all frustrated?

Yes.

For what felt like too long, his message was left on "read". He quirked a bushy brow, scratching at his beard curiously at what was keeping you.

And then, his phone pinged again.

Here, maybe this'll keep you entertained ;)

*Image attached. Click to view.*

He hummed in curiosity. Maybe it was one of those silly little doodles you liked to send to him? One of your memes, maybe? Though, it didn't make sense why the image was blurred, when--

His heart lurched up into his throat and he instantly slammed his phone against his desk, screen down; looking around pointlessly as if he were worried someone was standing over his shoulder when the image finally cleared.

Cursing himself for acting like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar, Miguel slowly lifted his phone to his face and looked at the picture you'd sent him.

You were nude, laying belly-down in your bed, the blankets askew around you. Your feet crossed one over the other as you smiled at the lens--you must have moved the full body mirror from the living room to your bedroom to achieve this shot--and your back was arched slightly to show off your bare ass.

He felt his cock twitch to life as he examined every pixel on the screen; wishing so badly he were home right now, to touch that soft expanse of flesh he loved so much. To cup your ass in his palms, feeling the warmth of your skin in his palms as his fingers massaged and groped the skin.

He could feel your hands slide up the soft pouch of his belly, scraping your nails delectably through the short, curly dark hairs that ran up his abdomen and covered his chest. He could feel your teeth scrape and tug his nipple before kissing your way back down...

Dios, mi amor. You're lucky I am not in the middle of a meeting! He hastily typed, pretending he wasn't practically salivating over that selfie.

Aw, didn't you like what I sent? :'(

I didn't say--

But before he could finish typing and send the text, he got another attached image from you.

He swallowed hard at the lump in his throat and his thumb hovered over the image hesitantly. He looked towards the clock above the door to his classroom. He had half an hour left...

When the image unblurred, he felt his heart damn near stop.

You were perched on the edge of the bed, your legs spread wide; one hand was holding your phone while the others spread you slick folds with nimble fingers and a cheeky expression on your face.

How bout this one?

Miguel groaned, loudly. He actually slipped a hand over his plush lips, cringing at how damn near pathetic that sounded.

He immediately clicked your contact information and hit "call".

The phone rang a painfully long, droning tone until your bubbly voice giggled on the other end of the line, "Heyyyy Miggy~"

"You are going to kill me, baby." He hissed into his phone, pressing the heel of his palm into his throbbing erection, "I'm in the middle of a school day! The students are at lunch!"

"Ohhh, did I get you all hard and excited for me?" You sigh dreamily into the phone, your voice dropping into a more sultry tone.

"Naughty boy, popping a stiffy in the middle of class."

He grunted, his head dropping back against his chair, the leather creaking under his weight as he tugged the ends of his button-up out from his rapidly-tightening jeans, "And whose fault is that?"

You gasp theatrically, "Mine? Oh, baby, I was just trying to provide you moral support, I swear!"

"Of course," Miguel huffed, eyeing the doorknob, waiting to see if he was unlucky enough that somebody were to walk in right as he pulled his cock free from his jeans, running his fingers over the swollen tip, smearing his precum around it.

He could hear in your voice, the way you were biting your lip in excitement as you spoke. "Baby, are you touching yourself?"

"You tell me, first." He replied, his voice strained as he gave himself a few tentative strokes; trying to gauge if the risk was worth it.

"Oh? Want me to tell you that I'm playing with my pussy?" You croon. "That I'm imagining you, and me, in bed..."

His teeth snagged his plush bottom lip briefly as he sped his hand up to your words, then slowed back down again. The friction wasn't right; too dry. So, he sucked on his tongue until he had a nice glob of saliva; bringing his hand up to his mouth to wet it before slicking his throbbing length up.

"Go on." He grumbled into the line.

"...ooooh." You giggled, your voice a little breathless. He could see you now, laying back on the bed, your fingers plunging in and out of you, pulling out to stroke your puffy clit; your pussy drooling into the blankets beneath you.

"Mmmm~ I'm also imagining you on top of me, my legs on your shoulders..."

He felt the oxygen squeeze from his lungs as he upped his pace, the vein in his cock throbbing and thumping in time with his rapid heart rate.

"Yeah, bebita?"

"Yeah." You huff, a small moan coming from you; "'m imagining you pinnin' me down, fucking a baby into me."

"Dios." Miguel groaned, thrusting his hips up to meet his fist. "You want a baby, hermosa? Want me to make you a mami?"

"Mhmm... want you to fill me aaaallllll the way up." You whined, your panting hot, even through the phone.

Miguel dared a glance up at the clock. Still had some time... He needed to do it quickly; needed to milk his cock so he wouldn't appear "improper" with a massive erection straining his pants.

As if enough of his female students (and even some of the male ones) didn't have enough difficulty paying attention in class...

He'd be lying if he hadn't gotten a few love confessions from students, present and former. He'd always politely turn them down, and then, if they were currently his pupils, politely and quietly have them sent to another class to avoid any improper behavior in the future.

It was as if none of them ever paid any mind to the gold band firmly secured to his ring finger--the matching mate to the one you wore on your own softer, delicate hand signifying your matrimonial bonds. Or... maybe they had and assumed they could tempt him from you.

Well, those assumptions were always wrong. The only person he could imagine bouncing on his cock, sucking it, milking it, stroking it--was you. You and only you.

Sometimes thinking of you when he was alone was the only ways he could get off, before you started dating. Even finding porn of a woman who looked like you wasn't enough. It had to be you.

And after the first time he felt your pretty pink pussy swallow his cock whole? Oh, he was addicted. Addicted and whipped, a few of his colleagues would say...

The professor and the school nurse; a bit of a cliche; but it was a nice one. The two of you had even played with a slutty nurse outfit or two.

You not always being the nurse...

"Fuck, Miggs, 'm so close." You whine loudly. He could see in his mind's eye how fast your fingers would be working your clit, maybe even giving in and plunging one of your silicone toys in and out of your tight hole for him.

In fact, he could imagine it so closely he could hear it.

"Shit, baby..." He hissed, his hand working his length furiously, now, almost in a race with you to see who would cum first. "You on speaker??"

"Mhmm~" You whine, your air leaving your body in wet-hot pants, the sound of your slick pussy being fucked--by your hand or your toy, he couldn't place--but the sound of it had his balls tightening up already.

"Gonna cum for me, mi amor?" Miguel huffed and puffed, more thick precum dribbling down from his tip. He smeared it over himself, using the fluid as lube to help hasten his impending orgasm.

"Yeah, baby~"

He snarled, the sound of stroking skin lewd and loud; your moans the best pornography his ears could ever be graced with.

"Cum for me, honey." Miguel whined, his glasses slipping further down his nose as he released his cock long enough to yank his shirt up over the soft, rounded edge of his tummy.

Immediately after, his hand returned once more around the thick pulsing shaft of him; stroking, tugging, milking himself like he knew your sweet cunt would. Your tight, wet, needy pussy that was dying for a drop of his cum.

As you wantonly moaned; he could imagine you splayed out in bed, legs wide and mouth open as you shout your orgasm out for him to hear, drowning out the outside world... and as his eyes would drift down, he could imagine your belly, cute and round; a baby kicking out at his hand as he caressed the stretched-out skin.

The image of you carrying his baby sent his mind into a blazing fire, the tightening in his balls and swelling of his cock too much to bear. Miguel arched his back, the wheels of his chair squeaking faintly across the floor as he curled his toes in his polished shoes, hot, thick ropes of cum shooting out to coat his belly, fingers, and even the underside of his desk; your name leaving his lips in a flurry of obscene prayers.

His mind was fuzzy as he slowly came down from his high, the sound of your giggle snapping him back to reality:

"See you when you get home, Miggy~"

The phone hangs up, and Miguel is left with his pearly white mess coating his belly, making his skin and hair sticky. At least he didn't get any on his shirt. This time.

The bell rang, suddenly, shaking him to full lucidity from his post-coital haze, his hairs standing on end and making him jolt up straight.

He hastily grabbed a few tissues from his desk drawer and began cleaning up, shoving a few stray stands of his graying hair back into place as he began to hear the chatter and footfall of students in the halls.

Oh, you would pay for this when you got home, all right.

[star-suh]

will you ever give me winwin and yangyang with top male leader

Cruisin' for a Fuckin'

winwin & yangyang x male reader

cw: top m reader, verse winwin. bottom yangyang, double penetration, cruising, public sex, unprotected sex, breeding, yangyang is a bit needy, pwp, cum eating.

an: no idea if the title makes sense but it just came to my mind and it sounded cool there lol.

—

y/n was using a dating app as an easy way to find a hookup, lucky him, he found not only one but two people to spend a heated night, "i've never wanted anyone to fuck me this badly" yangyang said to him after seeing his dick pics "don't worry, that ass is gonna eat good tonight" answered y/n "do you mind if i bring a friend with me?". "as long as you give me your cock i don't care" replied yangyang.

the three agreed to meet in a park with huge trees and bushes that made a perfect place to give in to their horny desires. "this is very exciting," says winwin, "just thinking that someone can see us gives me a lot of adrenaline" murmured yangyang. "calm down you hoes, if you both keep talking someone might discover us" says y/n "use that pretty mouth for better things" he continued pushing yangyang down and pushing his face to his bulge, yangyang like a bitch in heat was sniffing and feeling the heat of y/n's cock "it's not gonna suck by itself" says y/n looking down at yangyang with a raised eyebrow. the man didn't wait for more and went straight to unzip the top's pants, pulled down the underwear and started to lick the cock, up and down.

winwin and y/n started to kiss with the later massaging the bulge of the other guy, "go help my friend down there" whispered y/n, winwin obeyed and went down to suck cock along yangyang. both licking a side of the cock and occasionally kissing between them with the cock in the middle of their mouths, "such good sluts i found" thought y/n who was trying to contain his moans. when the cock was coated fully in saliva yangyang begged to be fucked first "i need you right now.. please" he says whining "then what are you waiting for? hop on this cock" says y/n slapping it against his hand. with no hesitation the bottom put all of it inside him at once "woah… a greedy one" mentioned winwin who was jerking off. skin slapping sounds filled that part of the park at this point they didn't care if they get caught, they want just to cum and use each other for pleasure. minutes later y/n was fucking winwin while he was fucking yangyang "such a tight hole fuck" grunted y/n "fuck it until it gets the shape of your cock" said winwin, "right there fuck~" says yangyang feeling the man's cock brushing his prostate. some minutes passed and y/n lifted yangyang with the help of winwin and put his cock inside the hole waiting for winwin to do the same "let's stretch this hole together" says winwin "we're gonna fill you up so good that you gonna come back asking for more". tears streamed down yangyang's eyes he had never felt so excited and horny in his life, fuck it, he loves those cocks and would do anything for them "fuck yes please, fill me up, re-arrange my insides, do what you want but just start to thrust already" he says making both guys laugh "so needy for our cocks, what a slut" says y/n who was playing with yangyang's nipples. "as you wish" answered winwin who thrusted first making yangyang squirm "you like it?" asks winwin licking yangyang's neck. "bet he does" says y/n jerking off yangyang.

the guy was so cock drunk that he started to says nonsenses "who's a good cocksleeve?" asked y/n cupping yangyang's face "is-ishh me?" said the bottom with hooded eyes and drool spilling form his mouth, "of course you are" answered the top then both kissed. the thrust started to get sloppier. signaling that both tops are about to cum and they did inside of yangyang when they pull out the cum dripped down his hole and fell to the ground, winwin sucked on his hole making sure to leave the hole clean while y/n was sucking and jerking yangyang to make him cum, seconds later he cums in y/n's mouth who swallowed it all "tasty" he says to yangyang and then kisses his forehead.

yangyang was to tired so they decided to sit on a bench and let the guy rest a bit there. "is your friend ok?" asked a lady who passed by "oh yes he is" winwin quickly replied "don't worry he's just tired" he smiled at the lady who resumed his walking "he just got his insides re-arranged" mocked y/n laughing along with winwin.

[burialbunnys]

CW: A RANT

this isn’t going to be anything new, or that hasn’t been touched on before…but i genuinely feel like so much of the tcoaal hate is because of the overall lack of media literacy these days. at least online, that is.

i feel like my head is going to explode if i have to read one more post about ‘incest bad, characters bad, game so edgy😣😣’ LIKE BROOOO

ik in general there’s like a decline in literacy with younger gen z/gen alpha,,,but i feel like there’s a certain group of ppl online that are just so obsessed with everything needing to be socially acceptable and morally correct. like i feel that a big part of the reason everyone hates on tcoaal is bc they aren’t able to realise that just bc a piece of media is showing something doesn’t mean they’re endorsing it.

like to them tcoaal having incest, cannibalism, murder, etc. is AUTOMATICALLY BAD AND EVIL, unless the game like directly tells us in the most dumbed down fucking way that those things are bad. like you shouldn’t need the game to spell it out for you to realise that killing people = bad

and even beyond that most of the complaints towards themes in the game are just like,,,if you played the game you literally would not be saying that. Or i should say if you played the game AND COULD LOOK AT MEDIA CRITICALLY you wouldn’t be saying that

just ugh i feel like such a hag whenever i bring this stuff up bc i feel like i just sound like ‘back in my day👴🏻👴🏻👴🏻’ type shit

i’m saying all this as someone who is not only gen z, but also like not that well versed academically. (i am not very bright or good with words but it’s okay bc my brain is smooth and soft and juicy 😍😍)

I DIGRESS, i just wish ppl didn’t get their panties in a twist so easily. like i wish more people had the ability to engage with media that wasn’t just ‘pure’ and sanitised yk

idk it just makes me sad bc there’s so much incredible content out there (TCOAAL!!!) that you can analyse and understand and really look deeper at. yet people just seem to have lost the ability to do any of those things…ANYWAYS HOPE THIS MADE SENSE LMAO

[companionwolf]

Prompt 14 for central?

prompt: 14. discussing your futures

au/verse: isekai AU

cw/tws: uhhhh I dunno

summary: Wolf and Central talk about that nebulous place, that thing just out of their reach for now-- after the war.

Central finds them standing out on the flight deck, drumming their fingers against the railing and staring absently up at the sky. Out here, in the wilderness, there's little light pollution-- the stars gleam overhead, and Central wishes he felt the same sense of wonder they must feel.

Instead the stars just make him sick.

As he approaches, Central calls out quietly, as not to startle them with silence-- "Commander."

Wolf turns, looks at him, and for a moment he sees their face alight with terror. Then they calm, inhale, exhale.

"Hey, Central," they say as he joins them at the rail. "I know why I'm awake-- why are you awake?"

Central places a hand on the rail, feels the cold of the metal bite into his palm. He does not look at them. "Just couldn't sleep," he says finally.

Wolf hums, gazing back skywards now. "Same."

For a while the pair stand in the quiet, and then Central begins to point out constellations, planets. Wolf listens with rapt attention, nodding and asking questions.

"You know," they say after another stretch of quiet lengthens between them, "I used -- where I came from, I couldn't see stars." Their voice chokes a little; Central frowns at them.

"Before the war, yeah," he agrees.

Wolf shakes their head. Central frowns deeper.

"I mean, yeah," they say. "But I-- my body--"

They cut themselves off, obviously trying not to cry. For a moment they struggle to keep composure, and then they ask, voice cracking, "Is this forever?"

"I'm not following," Central says.

"When this is done," Wolf explains. "Whether we win or we lose, is this-- am I this forever? This body, this world? I don't-- everything I know isn't here. All my friends, all my stuff, everything."

Central hesitates, gingerly reaches a hand to cover the one of theirs still tap tap tapping fingertips on the railing. The noise ceases.

"You have the troops," he offers. "The senior staff. Me. We can find somewhere nice for you; we can make this a place that you know."

"But this would be after," Wolf presses. "If there even is an after--!"

"There will be, Commander," he says, and his face softens. "I wouldn't... I wouldn't be building the house if I didn't believe there will be."

Wolf looks at him, teary eyed. "You're building the house?" Their voice wobbles something bad.

"It was a personal project I was doing just to fill the time at first," Central admits, "but when I met you, I realized I had a actual reason to make sure it got done. Give you somewhere to live, after."

"By myself..."

Central shakes his head. "I'll be there."

Wolf rubs at their eyes with the back of a wrist. "But is that what you want? After?" they ask.

"Honestly, yeah," Central says. "Some peace and quiet when this is all done would be really nice."

Wolf gazes past him, at something he can't see. "Is it what you'd imagined?" Their voice is quiet. "Did I screw it up for you? By taking their place, being here instead?"

"No," he says, "it's not quite what I pictured. You're much nicer than they ever were." He smiles a little. "I think you made it better, really."

"...Why rescue them at all, then?" they question.

Central leans against the railing.

"First it was just a sense of duty," he says. "Not leaving a man behind. Then I thought maybe if I could save them, we could-- I don't know, I could make a better impression."

He shrugs. "Doesn't matter now, anyway."

There's quiet again.

Then, Wolf whispers, "I guess in a way I'm free now. Right? It just... I'm without everything I had. The cost of it is everything I knew and loved."

"I'm sorry, Wolf," Central says, and it feels odd, to use his superior's name, but it feels correct too. "None of us asked for this-- for the war, for you to get caught up in it, but it's here and so are you."

Wolf sighs, meets his eyes. "I'm not gonna ask you to promise," they say shakily. "I'm not, but..."

"But what?"

"You're set on being there? With me? After?"

"It's one of the few things I know for sure," Central answers. "I'll be there, Commander."

"Don't say it like a certainty, like it's a promise," Wolf says, and their face is in his shoulder now. "Don't say it that way; you'll jinx us both, Central."

Central cautiously reaches around them and brings them into a hug. For a second he feels them stiffen, and then relax again.

"Okay," he says. "Okay, no certainty, no promise."

Wolf doesn't reply, just cries softly against him. Central holds them, and stares past at the moon.

If there's a God in this place and he's actually listening for once, he thinks, let us have after.

[matfinishfuckstheworld]

answering the entire selfship ask meme for hugo due to sunday blues, please excuse me.

cw: everything. nsft.

forgot the link to the original lol

How well does your F/O know you? How well do you feel you know them?

he knows me better than i know myself! it's his job, after all. of course, out of character, i know a lot about him and i have very strong opinions and headcanons, but in character, he is a very mysterious presence whose primary feature is just... an overwhelming sense of authority and control.

Were there any traits or things about your F/O that you didn’t know about until after you got together?

the fact he keeps captives for his unethical experiments and that i caught his fancy as exactly that? i guess that's the big one :')

Have you influenced each other’s hobbies/interests? Do you feel you’ve “rubbed off” on each other’s personalities?

yes, most definitely.

almost all of my f/os are middle aged men, and i apparently love lots of media enjoyed by old men (especially music), so i do like to imagine that we can learn to appreciate those things together. hugo is generally a very stereotypical Well Read Villain who will reference the classics and go to the opera so i guess i would do that with him! i did study classical music, so i could keep up relatively okay

(i would be nonthreatening to his own inflated ego and belief in his own intellect, because while i can keep up with his conversations okay or at least give off that impression, i'm naive and inexperienced in ways that he can easily take advantage of, the same way most undergrads don't write groundbreaking papers because they just dont have enough context of the world at that point. he may find it tiresome to need to stroke my ego so much to gain my affection, but he'll be very excited to undo that part of my psyche, erase all that knowledge and education from my head until i can't think a word he doesn't tell me.)

i think that hugo would be interested in my fascination with and production of erotic art because it would be very relevant to my 'treatment', and it is after all such a window into the libidinal psyche, albeit perhaps an obvious one.

in some verses, i am his college student and i become very enamoured with his theories and trying to butter him up in my papers. he loves it because he loves the sound of his own voice, and i love it because he gives me headpats for being such an attentive student (metaphorically and perhaps literally too).

Does your F/O believe in astrology? Bonus: what does your astrology compatibility say about you and your F/Os signs?

no he thinks it's bullshit lol

i think like, he doesn't really like to leave anything to fate? he wants to seize his own fate and force everyone else to yield to him.

i am aries and he is a scorpio (not canon, i made it up a while back based on glancing at a horoscope stereotype cheatsheet lol. i do want to settle on a birth date so i can celebrate his birthday :') )

this is, according to google, the road towards a 'passionate and aggressive' relationship. the scorpio is usually the more low-key and introspective one whereas the aries is super emotional and fiery so they kind of balance each other out. i do think astrology is bullshit but i do fit the aries stereotypes so well and i would absolutely fucking LOVE to let him tame me.

How casual is the relationship? Has much changed since you got together?

hugo would never really call it a 'relationship' because it's really more like owning a sex doll. so, of course, he would sleep around if he gets a chance, but it's pretty much guaranteed that i am his one and only because he is a fucking freak lol. no one wants to spend much time around him. i do think, though, that earlier into my conditioning he would assure me of his loyalty in order to gain my trust.

Did you leave a good first impression on each other? What were your initial thoughts on each other?

on our first meeting i would find him beguiling, intimidating, and pompous in a way i wish wasn't so sexy and authoritative. i would get bad vibes immediately but i would ignore them because he is so attractive and because i find his thoughts on the world so interesting.

he would probably approach me at first from a professional relationship standpoint (usually he is my therapist, boss [either as a criminal, or perhaps i could be the personal assistant for his therapy clinic], professor, sug4r daddy... it always starts off professional), just another distraction with symptoms to manage... until he figures out that i am attracted to him (it's not going to be hard for him to tell), and then the cogs would be turning on how to take advantage of that and make me hang off his every word.

Would you ever move in with your F/O? If you already live with them, who suggested the idea of living together? Does one person’s interests dominate another’s in the shared living space, or are they about equally represented?

oh, i don't get a choice in that :)

What would the ideal future with your F/O look like?

my needs are simple. i just wanna live in his basement, mindbroken and dead to the world and barely human, and get taken care of and fucked.

Is there anything you’ve wanted to tell your F/O, but haven’t been able to for some reason?

i have never actually written out a love confession to him because i get sooooo embarrassed thinking about it i just wanna bury my head in my hands. i know he would be so manipulative and incisive about it. we would do that fanfic thing where i would try to avoid his gaze and he would tilt my chin and force me to look at him while i tell him how badly i want him to fix my broken brain so i can obey his every word, but i also just hope he'll kiss me sometimes.

and i want him to call me a poor pathetic thing and embrace me with open arms and promise that he will make that my destiny because i am such a good and compliant patient, and i deserve to be self-actualised.

of course, he could also just inject me with enough sodium pentothal or drop me deep so that i couldn't even hope to be embarrassed about it.

side note: one of my favourite tropes in hugo narratives is when he uses weapons from his 'therapy toolbox' on his enemies. he does use drugs occasionally for guarded patients, to help them become more sleepy and compliant and trusting uninhibited when talking.

What sorts of things do you like doing together? Have either of you picked up any new hobbies because of each other?

hugo is not really a hobbies person. he would probably not need to commit crimes against humanity if he just took up crochet (or even... regular, consensual bdsm). but he wouldn't be hugo if he did that!

so, of course, our shared hobby is to plumb the depths of my psyche and remodel it in his image. it's a mutual activity - it's so mutual that he has to make it more of a challenge for himself, so of course i would be first in line for all the radical therapeutic techniques he's developing, the side projects and the idle fascinations. im not the most useful subject for figuring out the effectiveness of a method, because of course i am so very desperate to please him, even before all of the brainwashing. these aren't useful field notes, these are... extracurricular projects, and i am the most malleable and fun to watch because being his subject is so arousing to me. it's fun to bend my personality and beliefs in all sorts of weird directions through such a dizzying amount of psychological manipulation and torture so he can see just how much he can scramble my brain like an egg.

but, i also think he enjoys wining and dining his fuckdoll, visiting social gatherings, letting me be his arm candy. making me act like a person with my own agency and intelligence while i am of course anything but and everything i do and say is only because he has allowed me to.

What’s an often overlooked or unknown trait about your F/O that you adore? What’s your special trait that they love?

he has an amazing sense of style!!! he's so like... old school in a lot of his fashion choices. a well tailored, subtly patterned three-piece suits him so well and i would be constantly complimentary of his outfits while i still had the right to speak.

he would be so excited to have someone so sexually maladapted in his clutches, someone who takes such great pleasure in psychiatric methods he very much intended to be painful. it disgusts and tempts him all at once, because while he has the impulse to erase the pathology entirely in his pursuit of the psychological norm he knows he can never exemplify himself, it also means he can do anything to me and i will ask him for more.

Would you trust your F/O for a trust fall? Could they trust you to catch them?

in either case, i wouldn't have a choice. i have to trust him, and he has ensured i will never betray him.

How much do you tell each other? Are you the type of couple that doesn’t keep secrets from each other, or do you value your privacy?

if he ever felt i wasn't telling the truth he would drug or hypnotise me until i was. eventually it becomes reflex to automatically answer him with the first answer that comes into my head. no filter, no repression. there's no psychic defences left.

he keeps lots of secrets from me, because there's plenty i don't need to know, but he also likes to confide in me the way you would confide in a rubber duck to fix a bug in your coding. there is no expectation of any response, he just likes to monologue and seethe aloud because he is a very stereotypical supervillain.

Does your F/O show you a side of themselves that nobody else gets to see?

i get to see the raw desire and anger behind the cold facade. he would take everything out on me and it would be so fucking hot knowing that im that disinhibiting for him, it's just that sexy for him to have a perfectly compliant object upon which to exact his will.

What would the ideal dream date be for you? What would be your F/O’s ideal dream date?

i would love to travel with him... occupy liminal spaces with him... go on a red eye flight with him and be programmed through headphones in my sleep while the other passengers surround us having no idea what is happening to my mind. he will stroke my leg occasionally, perhaps even stealthily play with me as i sleep with the tray tables down so no one can see...

hugo doesn't bother himself with dream dates. if he wants it, he will make it happen, one way or another.

Do you have an open or closed relationship?

open by necessity of what i am to him, which is an object. it's not like sex toys get jealous.

i think he would fuck some of the other rogues and perhaps even invite a trusted rogue to take advantage of me alongside him, or as a gift to their ongoing collaboration. when he fucks other rogues, it's kind of a whole different thing. it's like he gets to spar with them, because they're more on an equal level, and then i get to be his punching bag, unresponsive. the drives that each satisfy are different, so it doesn't feel unfaithful for either of us.

Is marriage in the cards for you, or do you prefer not to get married? If you’re already married, who proposed, and what was the wedding like?

it is more convenient for him if i am scrubbed from all government databases so no one will look for me or confirm my existence. why add another paper trail?

Would you and your F/O be interested in starting a family?

family stuff makes me SOOOO uncomfortable. we would never ever ever have kids, whether through procreating or adopting, and thats my final answer for absolutely all of my f/os. it is very uncomfortable to me to even have to acknowledge my f/os who have canonical children LOL, and i would be completely uninvolved in their upbringing because i'm not there for that!

hugo does have a biological son, but i'm not sure if that was only in new 52 canon because afaik he's only ever come up in one comic arc. i dont know if we ever find out who carried him. i personally much prefer hugo as childless, because his real children are his experimental subjects. he doesn't need family in a traditional sense, he has so much better.

i've always thought of frankenstein and the monster as having a deeply homoerotic but also deeply paternal relationship, and it would be like that with me and hugo. and it's like that with him and most of his subjects, really, but im extra special because he fucks me on the daily 🥰

a pretty early call will be to get rid of my uterus so he can [censored things that are most definitely not safe for this site]. luckily, he is a skilled surgeon and will do it himself, right in his own home. he would ONE HUNDRED PERCENT be weird about 'breeding' though, and incorporate it into his dirty talk, even after there's no chance of pregnancy happening.

What is the pet policy in the relationship? Is one of you a cat person while the other is a dog person? Are either of you allergic or disinterested in animals altogether?

as above, i do not like this. i think in both cases of having kids or having pets with my evil fucked up f/os, i do not like involving 'innocents' in my fantasies, even if they are just on the periphery. wayyyyy too close to my own trauma lol

What is your love language? What is your F/O’s love language?

i don't really think 'love languages' are real lol, and hugo is definitely soooo averse to touchy-feely pop psychology (and just regular relationship psychology too). he is an old-school psychoanalyst who prefers to find fault in the individual - it's much easier to convince them he's right that way.

but, i mean. he loves power play. so i guess his is acts of service ;) he wants to be served and worshipped like a god.

and mine is i guess physical touch and words of affirmation. i would be SO easy to operantly condition!!!

Do you celebrate anniversaries? If yes, how so?

i think that he would actually encourage me in the early stages of my captivity to keep a tally on the wall of the days as they pass. it's to give me false hope that i might one day be released - that he is just doing this for my own good, and right now i just need to endure and take my treatment so that i can get better.

both when i begin (because this in itself means i am amenable to his suggestions, even now knowing the truth about him) and when i inevitably become too brainfucked to remember to do this every day, or i just lose track of time too badly, it's a great indicator for him that it's time move to a deeper stage of conditioning.

Who is more likely to borrow the other’s clothing? Can either of you fit into each other’s sizes?

i would borrow his, he would not borrow mine. i like to dress smart, but i think he would still find my wardrobe too casual and cheap. i don't exactly have the budget for a million tailored suits and he would probably love to throw it all out and buy me a whole new wardrobe that he finds me sexy in.

his live action actor and i are around the same height so i have a chance of fitting his suits <3 i would love him to put one of his nice longcoats on me as i fall asleep somewhere unusual.

What does your F/O smell like?

expensive cologne with floral notes, tea, and a faint scent of labs and hospitals - the disinfectant they use, presumably. none of the scents are overwhelming, but they are comforting.

if he is physically, uh, exerting, i think his sweat would smell really good in that pheromonal way. so would other fluids.

How much of a pushover is your F/O for you? Would you say that your F/O could get away with murder with you?

oh he is unyielding. if i beg him for something, he would only give in if that's what he wanted to do in the first place. i don't ever get what i want unless i have been told to want it in the first place (and sometimes not even that... oh he would be soooo cruel) and it is wonderful.

Have you shared a bed before? What is sleeping with them like?

one persistent fantasy is lying in the same bed as him with a sleep mask and headphones to remind me of my role. him lazily playing with me as his voice plays in my ears on a loop reminding me to relax into it and that i am just an empty object awaiting commands. then he can also monitor if i am having any bad reactions or if im resisting too much for his liking, so he can ramp up the positive reinforcement.

How do you tell each other “I love you” without using those three words?

he would say things like "you are such a good subject" and "you are safe with me" and "this is for your own good".

and i would say things like "thank you for curing me, professor" and " "i feel much better like this" and "i obey". (god, im so cringe and tropey :'))

How sentimental is your F/O? Do they keep every little gift you give them? Do they carry your picture around with them?

he's very much like 'oh i am past the NEED for sentimental objects, everything i have is something i need' and then he so fucking isn't. he cannot keep much evidence to tie me to him, of course, so this limits his options in terms of objects he can keep. i am certain he likes to pore over the patient notes he made of me, possibly one-handed, thinking about how thoroughly he has broken me. it's like i died, but i became something better, and that is so hot to him.

How open are you both about your relationship? Is PDA allowed?

the start of our relationship is necessarily clandestine, because we are typically never supposed to be intimate... hugo's therapy office is soundproofed and keeps a strict 'do not arrive early for your appointment' policy, ostensibly to help encourage free flowing talk, but it comes very much in handy for fucking me as part of my appointments. or if i'm his student, he has to be very cold and critical to me during class until i come to his office for a little after-hours tuition. it's fun, it's a little bit of push and pull and rivalry kind of like hill and west from r3-animator, because it only adds to the sexual tension when he gets to fuck my brains out and tell me he likes me better that way.

when we can be open, as stated, he likes to play with me as though i'm there by choice. brief diversions for my caged personality to try occupying the harsher, subdued form he has carved out for me. it's fun to have him lead me with an arm around me and introduce me to his colleagues and friends while, when we have a moment alone, he is tweaking different aspects of my performance or praising me for imitating personhood so well. giving me a kiss on the cheek as a reward, or pushing one of the covert pleasure triggers he installed in me (perhaps intertwining our hands a certain way, stroking my cheekbone or simply whispering a particular trigger phrase in my ear).

Have you met your F/O’s family? Have they met yours? If not, is that something either of you are interested in?

hugo is typically depicted as an orphan, or if his parents are alive they are SHIT, so... nope.

my self insert is usually disconnected or has a found family. i would be way too nervous to explain such an unorthodox relationship to my family! so i just wouldn't, and he'd disappear me and it would make it even easier to turn into an unsolved disappearance because there would be no evidence of his involvement with me. he is very thorough and very well-connected.

Have you met your F/O’s friends? Have they met yours? If not, is that something either of you are interested in?

oh hell yeah i want to meet the other rogues. but i imagine hugo gets into lots of beef, having lorded over and tortured so many of them at 4rkham. so perhaps i can be used as his olive branch, a needy set of holes for the evil and sexually repressed, as well as a thinly veiled threat that he could have permanently mindbroken them the way he did to me if he wanted to, but he didn't, so maybe they should be grateful for the mercies he afforded them in their 'treatment'.

What is a go-to gift that your F/O knows will never fail to make you smile? What are your go-to gifts for them?

i-i don't think i can post the real answer on tumblr.................................

obviously the best gift i can give him is my devotion. i also just would not have any financial freedom to buy him anything, unless we're talking specifically the sugar d4ting au lol. but i'm sure he would appreciate handmade tokens of my affection. i could write him page after page of my own brainwashing mantras just to really nail the neural pathways down.

i'm not much of a cook, especially when it comes to the fanciful foods of the performatively affluent, but i'm sure i could be taught, and i brew very good tea. i could probably make some good blend recommendations, and that may be something he would keep close to his heart by the time he's broken me down completely. a keepsake of something that is no longer a part of me.

What is your F/O’s sexuality?

a thing that will forever make me salty is people who somehow look at this man and decide he is straight. he is SO queercoded it is unreal. (to be clear, this is a personal bugbear, you can headcanon him however you want!!)

so, i do think that hugo is mlm, and primarily attracted to masculine people. in many iterations, he is often closeted and attempting to date women, and i think some versions are definitely on the spectrum of bi or pan. i believe that i would be a nice midpoint for him. he would enjoy my androgyny because of the fact he can play around with societal restrictions and really just use me to play out all his own psychodramas around gender and sexuality. it is very useful to him that i don't have to have all that baggage, that i can just be an 'it', and that objects don't mind how they're presented, they can simply be dressed up like store mannequins.

of course, kink-wise, he is just. completely off the rails, the cruelest most fucked up sadist in the world who gets off to torturing me in every way imaginable, but if you've read this far you already know that

Does your F/O fit your usual “type”, or did your attraction to them come out of no where?

hugo is literally the epitome of my type. there is not a character that speaks to my sexuality as well as he does. i don't know if there will ever be one as strong as him. i guess probably in the sense that i needed different things from my previous character obsessions, i will one day 'outgrow' him. but right now it feels wonderful to spend hours a day imagining what it's like to be his dollthing.

Does your F/O feel safe you be vulnerable around you? Do you feel comfortable doing the same around them?

ohhhh yes. this is kind of the whole crux of our relationship. i know very little about him, he is very guarded, but as he peels back my psyche and strips it of its own free will, he will get more comfortable with revealing parts of himself he doesn't to others. his morbid sense of humour (i'm thinking about him cracking jokes while he is doing open brain surgery on an unresponsive ed), his fury, his lustful impulses, his doubts, the things that really get him off to have me do. it is all very personal and i will not remember a thing, because he cannot possibly be vulnerable to another person. he only knows how to break down their defences, and to craft very formalised kinds of vulnerability, to help his clients know in a comforting sense that they are not alone.

How much faith does your F/O have in your relationship? Is jealousy ever an issue?

i think hugo would be initially concerned about revealing what i am to others. not because he is particularly attached to me specifically, but just because he put a lot of love and work into my creation. my brainwashing is truly a labour of love and it reveals a lot about him, perhaps more than it reveals about me. i am perfectly catered to his every desire. so... i guess then it would add a little friction to those exchanges, to those who know precisely why i am there.

when he uses my body to help appease another sick twisted villain (not even supervillains, but think a high-ranking official he wants on his side, which i think is the more likely thing with hugo - pretending im a professional there of my own will, and he's willing to splurge on all the bells and whistles to grease the wheels of a power deal), he likes to remind me afterwards that i'm his. he has no need to claim me roughly. he would give me some aftercare, and reinforce my conditioning that night to remind me that i only ever service others in order to service him better.

Are you your F/O’s first relationship? Are they yours? How much experience do you both have?

mat always sleeps around, but is inexperienced with committed relationships. luckily, fucking hugo isn't really something you have to consciously commit to; he will make it your sole personality trait and it's so easy, you just have to relax into it.

hugo has definitely had relationships before, but they have always fallen apart for similar reasons. he has gotten lost in his work, they found out about his experiments, or simply taken them for granted and treated them like just... an accessory. i imagine him enjoying fwb type arrangements, and i think probably he will have fucked some of the other rogues by the time he ends up fucking with me.

of course, he often has his manikin, and i like to think of myself as the natural upgrade, a living doll. he gets the best of both worlds - the sexy, illicit nature of his control over me, but he also gets to avoid the secretive shame of fucking a lifeless doll, because i can masquerade as a human when he needs me to. i will never leave him because he has taken away my capacity to do so, and i am incredibly proud to be his accessory, his punching bag, his set of holes.

Are they more verbally affectionate, or do they believe actions speak louder than words?

like i said, he loves the sound of his own voice, and he would immediately notice that i respond well to verbal affection and approval, so of course he would flood me with that to keep me overwhelmed and needy and desperate. i am certain he would find ways to make his words even more powerful, whether by referencing my confessed trauma in all the most painful and earth shattering ways to make me sob with the catharsis of a cult exorcism, implanting trigger phrases to install total control over my emotions and sensations, and of course reinforcing my obedience with praise.

Do you or your F/O believe in love at first sight? Do you believe in soulmates?

honestly this is a tricky one to answer.

i suppose that seeing him truly was love at first sight. i always knew he would get me from the moment i found out he was a mindfucker. even with the latent sexuality of teen me, with a fetish i didnt know what to do with, i knew there was something captivating about him. i had to just wait a decade or so to come back to him and understand him fully.

i do feel to some extent that the hugo in the prey comic arc was basically made for me. there was something that just shifted within me as soon as i saw his fucking doll. something intended to make him a creep who was objectifying women the Wrong Way (as opposed to the rest of the comic, which was objectifying women the Right Way) made him infinitely desirable to me.

How do both of you take care of each other when the other is sick?

answered already! :)

What relationship tropes would you say best describe your relationship with your F/O?

okay that is actually a great question because i was thinking of fanfiction tropes, but many aren't actually relationship tropes. so for generalised fic tropes... whump, hurt/no comfort, hurt/maybe a little comfort, angst, mindbreak.

for more clearly relationship-oriented tropes: obviously stockholm syndrome, d/s (of course, but we aren't talking rack here), i guess technically enemies to lovers because he has only the worst intentions for me and has no interest in keeping me as i am, and i of course have some degree of self-preservation, maybe, and don't necessarily want to live out the rest of my life in his clutches until he convinces me it is actually the perfect and only place for me...

[bunnygrl-femme]

I'm going to interrupt my horny and sad posting, cause I need to ramble about a song, identity, and the fucked up playground of trauma and healing.

CW for dysphoria, suicidal ideation

So, without further ado:

Trans Soul Rebel: Dysphoria, Discovery, and Living As a Revolutionary Act

About a year ago, I discover Against Me!, an incredible punk band headed by Laura Jane Grace. Now, I discovered Against Me! several years after Laura Jane had come out as a trans woman.

I am 19 years old.

I'm a sophomore in college, majoring in history. I enroll in "Introduction to Women's, Gender, and Sexuality Studies," primarily to fill an elective spot. 6 weeks in, I hear the term "transgender" for the first time. I hear the term "dysphoria" for the first time.

I am 13 years old.

Puberty is starting, and I am growing facial hair. Little ribbons of fuzz sprouting on my lip, my chin, beside my ears. I know this is normal for boys my age, but nothing about This feels normal to me. I shave it, I pluck it. Anything i can get my hands on, to make it go away. But it always comes back.

In 2014, Against Me! releases "Transgender Dysphoria Blues," an album analyzing and deconstructing the traumatizing process of coming out as a trans woman. Included on the album is the track "True Trans Soul Rebel."

I am 20 years old

I've sat with these new words, "transgender," and "dysphoria," for one year. Mulling them over in my mind, tossing and turning them as much as I do before sleeping. I don't know why these things stick to me, clinging to my brain and my past like barnacles. Journeying through my life, I sense the struggles, the conflicts between my self perception and my presentation.

I am 16 years old

I don't feel boy enough. Man enough. Masculine enough. Something is wrong with my masculinity; it doesn't fit. It falls off my shoulder, it's too tight around my waist, it's too short in the legs. I force myself into it, thinking that if I do it more, do it bigger, do it harder, it'll make it fit. I grow my beard long, moisturize it. I buy three piece suits, collared shirts, long ties. I leaned into learning about cars, and computers, football, professional wrestling, Anything to make this "boy suit" Fit.

The second verse of "True Trans Soul Rebel" goes as follows: "Yet to be born, you're already dead.

Sleep with a gun beside you in bed.

Follow it through to the obvious end.

Slit your veins wide open, you're bleeding out."

I am 17 years old.

I'm not doing well. I'm sad and angry all the time. Every slight, no matter how small, makes me furious. Every backslide, bad grade, shitty comment, cheating girlfriend.

I self harm for the first time.

A cut on my arm, and I can stop feeling everything else in my life for one moment.

I am 20 years old

I identify my anxieties and disconnects as dysphoria. I know why the masculinity suit doesn't fit. It wasn't made for me. It was put on the wrong form, stored in the wrong closet. I experiment with new things. Feminine things. Nail polish, long hair. I buy my first bralette and dress. I buy them in secret, wear them in isolation. I do this for weeks, months, until I learn how they fit. And God, do they fit. The sit square on my shoulders, don't cinch my waist. The legs are just right. It's a new suit. "Femininity," "woman," fits how I wished all my clothes had fit all my life.

The chorus of "True Trans Soul Rebel:"

"Who's gonna take you home tonight, who's gonna take you home?

Does God bless your transsexual heart?

True Trans Soul Rebel."

Does God bless my heart? Does the word "woman" include me? People like me? Is motherhood, being a wife, in my future?

"You shoulda been a mother.

You should be a wife.

You shoulda been gone from here, years ago.

You should be living a different life."

I'm gonna make damn sure. I'm going to make sure that woman-ness includes me, and people like me. I'm going to make space, hold space, for women like me; women who weren't born, but who built themselves. Women who fought, tooth and fucking nail, clawed their way from the dark place, to be women.

I'm going to make sure that I Am a mother, a wife. I'm going to honor the sisters and mothers and daughters before me, the ones who brought the words into the world. I'm going to make my body a sanctuary to myself, a haven to all I wish I had before. I'm going to build my future into a home, with a foundation of self love and a roof of community.

In a world that tells me I'm worthless, or broken, or down-right non-existent,

I will make my life a revolution.

I'm a Trans Soul Rebel.

[virusinfected-memes]

MIDNIGHT MASS SENTENCE STARTERS, PT. 4 OF 4 ;

E07 - ❛ Book VII: Revelation ❜ // 45 starters. CW: cussing, death, religion (general, bigotry, trauma). Feel free to change words and pronouns as needed! [PARTS: 1 - 2 - 3]

“We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Where are we gonna go?”

“This isn’t the way. This is never the way.”

“Maybe it buys us a few more minutes alive. And it might come down to just a few more minutes. Maybe seconds.”

“Never made much sense to me. We all say there’s a heaven. And it’s waiting for us. Then we claw, fight, beg for a few more minutes at the end.”

“It isn’t about us anymore.”

“Dying for people we haven’t even met. No greater love than that.”

“What’s that for, _____? Please, don’t tell me that’s for us. We’re past all of that now.”

“_____, I want you to listen to me. Because your whole life, I think you’ve needed to hear this. You aren’t a good person.”

“Well… That was uncalled for.”

“God doesn’t love you more than anyone else. You aren’t a hero. And you certainly, certainly aren’t a victim.”

“I wouldn’t lecture, _____. Not until you pull the plank from your own eye, as it were.”

“Why does that upset you so much? Just the idea that God loves everyone just as much as you.”

“It’s okay. You’re gonna be alright, _____. Look at me. You’ll be up and about in no time.”

“Every moment of every hour of every day, a deluge of death, so loud, how could He hear my whispered prayers over that thundering roar of deaths?”

“I didn’t want you to die.”

“It never felt like a sin, that was the thing.”

“I would go with you anywhere in the world.”

“I was never going to do that, _____.”

“We made our choices. We lived our lives.”

“Can you think of a miracle more amazing than that? I mean, curing… Cure blindness, sure. Or part the seas, alright. But a second chance? That’s a real miracle.”

“Let it burn. Let all of it burn.”

“Is that what I’ll become, just an animal who can’t resist?”

“Whatever this is, it don’t change who you are.”

“Why would they do that? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Who will decide who is chosen? And what will happen to the rest?”

“I was wrong. We were wrong. We are wrong. And this needs to stop.”

“They need leadership. Look at them. They’re lost without a leader, without a shepherd. That must be you, _____. It has to be you. It has always been you.”

“I suppose virtue isn’t a virtue if it doesn’t cost you anything.”

“You were always gonna be the last, the hardest, test of my faith. You.”

“They’re all gone, aren’t they?”

“Look at the state of you. Must have had a hell of a time with it, you poor man.”

“I don’t know what’s happening. What’s happening?”

“It’s the end, _____. The end of all things.”

“This is monstrous.”

“All have to be welcome or this isn’t really God’s house!”

“There’s this verse in the Bible, just kind of stuck with me. “He makes the sun rise on the evil and the good.””

“Myself. My self. That’s the problem. That’s the whole problem with the whole thing. That word, ‘self.’”

“How did I forget that? When did I forget that?”

“I thought I’d despair or feel afraid, but I don’t feel any of that. None of it.”

“I remember I am energy. Not memory. Not self. My name, my personality, my choices, all came after me.”

“Life is a dream. It’s a wish. Made again and again and again and again and again and on into eternity.”

“I am everything. I am all.”

“I can’t feel my legs.”

“Forgive me.”

[jaskierswolf]

My dearest darling Wolfie, I saw your idea for game gerlion friends to lovers in @thewitcherbog horny chat and I am here to ask you to write the fic. Pls 💜😘

Tada!! I can't remember if this was exactly what I had planned... but it's what we're getting. Lovingly beta'd by @comfyswitcherblanketfort.

CW: probably rated M? Briefly mentioned masturbation more horny than smutty.

____

A retirement at Corvo Bianco had never been what Geralt expected of his life. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told a young Dandelion that witcher’s never retire, but in recent years between looting caves and haggling for contracts, he’d managed to save quite a bit of coin. He was, objectively, rich. He had the best armour on the Continent, the most deadly swords and crossbow bolts, and thanks to B.B., his house was beautifully decorated, with the exception of the rather garish portrait of his most loyal friend. Yet, he was still gaining more money than he knew what to do with. He’d started investing in merchants and refusing payment but the vineyard brought in a steady income and Geralt had to admit that his life was pretty luxurious these days.

So it wasn’t exactly a surprise when Dandelion had turned up, in fine, brightly coloured silks and the elegantly decorated elven lute from so many years ago. Geralt sometimes wondered whether Toruviel had enchanted her lute. There was barely a scratch and Geralt couldn’t even recall Dandelion ever having to change the lute strings in all the years he’d known the bard. Geralt was no expert but he was pretty sure that you were supposed to change the lute strings.

The sun was shining over the fields of Corvo Bianco, and Geralt felt at peace. Perhaps that was why he was feeling so nostalgic, pondering over the events that had led him to this moment. His life had always been so busy, but with Ciri off touring the multiverse, and Yennefer doing whatever Yennefer did these days now the Djinn wish had been broken, he was… well… bored? He had every Gwent card currently made, and no one would play him. It was just him and the bard, living the bachelor’s life in Touissant.

So was it any wonder that Geralt had started to develop feelings for his friend? Perhaps they’d always been there, clouded by the wish that tied him to Yennefer, or perhaps their newfound domesticity had awoken something in Geralt that he had never expected. Dandelion spent a lot of time in the makeshift study, working on his latest book, but they always ate together and sometimes the bard would even accompany Geralt on his contracts in the fields, for old times sake. After long nights of drinking too much wine or vodka, it wasn’t unusual for the pair of them to fall asleep together, curled up in one bed just like they used to in their youth. Those were Geralt’s favourite nights, because despite his protests of being better alone, he enjoyed the familiar warmth of another body pressed against his, and Dandelion had always been a cuddler.

And as if on cue, the bard burst through the doors onto the patio where Geralt was watching the world go by.

“Ah, Geralt, old friend, there you are. I’ve been looking all over for you!” Dandelion announced with a flick of his wrist. “I was just in town.”

“Dandelion,” Geralt groaned. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Dear Henrietta will forgive me in time, my friend,” Dandelion winked, his tongue flicking out between his lips, “and until then I have plenty of friends who will offer me shelter if the guards are around.”

“You look like a man sized peacock,” Geralt scoffed. “How the hell does no one see you?”

“Ah, dear witcher, you forget that I used to be a spy,” Dandelion laughed, putting one hand on his hips. “Now, stop interrupting, Geralt, or do you not care about the gift I picked out for you in town today?”

Geralt hummed, knowing that it didn’t really matter whether he cared or not. Nothing would stop Dandelion once he was in the middle of a story. Some things just never changed. “Go on.”

Dandelion beamed, and from behind his back he produced a wooden box. The poet cocked his head as he opened the lid, revealing a set of tiny vials neatly lined up. Geralt almost choked, his breath catching in his throat.

“Oil?” he spluttered. A man such as Dandelion had to know of the more promiscuous uses of oil. Whilst Dandelion had never explicitly said as such, the way he talked of his lovers had always led Geralt to believe that he was rather flexible in his tastes, much like Geralt himself.

The poet blushed as he pulled a single vial from the box, his long lutist fingers wrapping around the glass. “Bath oils, Geralt.”

“Oh, of course,” Geralt cursed internally. Dandelion had bought all sorts of expensive oils and lotions when they had been on the path together, neither of them were shy with their bathing habits and the poet was a highly skilled masseur.

Which was not helping Geralt’s sudden rush of arousal as he remembered the feel of the poet’s hands on his skin. They’d laughed off awkward erections in the past, it was just a thing that happened… but Geralt was starting to wonder what would happen if, for once, they let it happen.

“This one will probably be a bit much for your witcher senses, my friend, but I rather like it,” Dandelion continued, oblivious to Geralt's inner turmoil. “This one,” another vial was plucked from the box, “however, I think you will like, and I managed to buy this,” Dandelion pulled a scroll from his pocket, “from a local mage. It’s supposed to move the water around the tub, like a massage!”

“And you’re telling me this, why?” Geralt sighed, rolling his eyes. As much as he adored his old friend, the man could take his sweet time getting to the point. It was even worse when the poet and Regis got together, Geralt honestly thought he might never know peace again.

“Because, Geralt, I am treating my dearest friend to an extravagant bath time experience!” Dandelion exclaimed with wide arms, almost knocking off his own hat in his enthusiasm. “Friendship and love, art and wine, Geralt. What more could you want in life?”

Love.

No, friendship. Geralt needed to focus on that. How many times had Dandelion called him his friend? Too many to count.

“Assuming you have wine, what’s the art?” Geralt smirked, enjoying the offended noises Dandelion made.

“Geralt, I’ll have you know that-”

“Relax, Dandelion. I’m teasing. So how about this bath then?”

The two men made their way upstairs, peeling off their outer clothes as they strolled past Geralt’s bedroom, and picking up a robe each. Dandelion had filled the room with candles, and there was a soft floral scent hanging in the air, roses, the oil vial that Dandelion had initially held up.

“I thought this one was too much for my ‘witcher senses’?” Geralt scoffed, peering at the magically bubbling water.

“Well, yes, but I did also say I liked this one, and I’ll admit that I got a little carried away. You don’t mind, do you Geralt?”

Geralt shook his head as he stripped off his final layer of clothing and settled into the tub. Dandelion sat in a chair, still wrapped in his robe, and picked up his lute. He plucked idly at the strings until he was seemingly happy that they were in tune, and then he began to sing. Geralt sighed as he sank deeper into the hot water, the enchantment really did feel like a sort of massage as jets of water pulsed against his skin, but he couldn’t help but wonder. The oils, the candles, the romantic ballad…

Was his friend trying to tell him something?

It was time for Geralt to test the waters as it was. He trod the water with his hand, gently splashing to the beat of Dandelion’s song. Normally, he would close his eyes and let the poet’s music fill the room, but instead he was mesmerised by the way Dandelion’s finger caressed the lute strings. Geralt could feel his cock harden as he pondered what other uses his friend’s delicate hands could have, the way they found their mark with such precision. The poet could make any instrument sing to the gods in his hands, Geralt was sure that he was no exception.

“Practicing your fingering?” he asked Dandelion with a tilt of his head.

The strings twanged unpleasantly, making Geralt grimace as the sound reverberated in his head. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Geralt smirked. “On your lute.”

“Right, yes, of course,” Dandelion muttered. “I’m just trying to figure out the next verse. I could use a hand, or an ear if you’d be willing to help.”

“I have a hand you could use, or two,” Geralt muttered not really intending for Dandelion to hear him but the poet had sharp ears and he spluttered incoherently as he set down his lute.

Geralt hummed and let his hand drop beneath the water, stroking his cock lazily. He wasn’t really chasing any real pleasure, but it was a good feeling, sending warmth across his skin. The bath, the candles, the song, they had to mean something even in Dandelion’s subconsciousness. The man was an insatiable flirt, and yet never seemed to notice when others’ affections were cast upon him, not unless it was blunt in its honesty.

So Geralt would be blunt.

He closed his eyes as he continued to stroke the length of his cock, the motion causing the water to ripple slightly, but not yet enough to draw Dandelion’s attention. The poet was too busy wittering on about his rhymes, only noticing when Geralt’s breath hitched as he cupped his balls.

“Geralt?”

“Dandelion,” Geralt grunted softly, his pleasure beginning to build from a warm ember to a roaring blaze that burned through him. The poet’s cornflower blue eyes were on him, dark and hungry. His cheeks were flushed rosy, and it seemed his dear friend was finally catching onto what was happening.

“I- I can leave, my friend, if you would prefer…”

“Stay,” Geralt insisted. “This not what you had in mind?”

“Well,” Dandelion laughed. “I had hoped, but I never thought it would actually happen, and well, really I thought it might take a little more convincing. Who knew all I needed all along were a few cheap candles?”

“Just get in the bath, Dandelion,” Geralt growled.

“Okay, okay,” Dandelion said with a roll of his eyes but shrugged out of his robe, allowing Geralt to admire his slender form. The poet’s cock remained soft as he stepped into the water. “So… how long?”

“Hmm?”

“How long have I been more than just a friend to you, Geralt?” Dandelion asked, settling into the water with a soft moan. His hands resting on Geralt’s thighs, fingers drawing patterns on Geralt’s skin under the water.

It wasn’t an easy question to answer. Could he even pin it down? Geralt wasn’t sure.

“Hard to tell, our friendship has never exactly been normal, Dandelion,” Geralt admitted.

Dandelion laughed, leaning forward in the tub, his hands stroking up Geralt’s thigh, the movement forcing the air from Geralt’s lungs. “You know, you’re right, and I think we should celebrate.”

“Celebrate?”

“Mhmm, and how about we start with a kiss?” Dandelion winked, before falling into Geralt embrace with a splash.

[ficrecsbybu]

WinterIron fic rec 2021: Part I

Note: this fic rec consists only of Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark fics. the only Stucky & Stony you might see is as past relationships but that’s it. it’s also complete works ONLY. also - no underage stuff 🔪.  if you have any requests for Winteriron fic recs (for e.g non-superpower au, only one shots, series, hardcore smut, post-tws, college au, not team cap friendly fics, bodyguard au etc.) you can send me requests ^^. anyway... enjoy 😉 

✨ The Guiding of Death by RayShippouUchiha

“That whole Merchant of Death thing,” someone off to the side faux whispers, “makes a lot more sense now.”

It echoes across the bridge like a gunshot. 

Rated M, Hades & Persephone AU, Canon Divergence, always female Tony Stark, not Team Cap friendly. word count: 41391

(note: listen... I know het pairings and/or gender bend is not popular and I never really read those in general BUT this is straight up one of the best fics I have ever read so I NEEDED to share this with y’all...✌️)

✨ Forms of Love by bear_bell

Tony's the bad guy, after all. He's used to it. He's fine with it. He's good at it.

Only now, there's something far worse loitering around the tower - The Winter Soldier. No one notices the guy at first, but when they do, Tony figures that he should have the soldier's back.

Birds of a feather should flock together, and the bad guys should start a book club.

Rated E, Post-CW, Bucky Barnes & Winter Soldier are Different Personalities, Team Iron Man. word count: 33591

✨ Looking at You by NotEvenCloseToStraight

Bucky looks for so long that now all he wants to do is touch and hold and fix everything. But Tony can barely be in the same room as Bucky, cant even look him in the eye. So Bucky doesn't know what to do about Tony, but he is determined to do something. Because all he wants is to look at Tony, and see Tony looking back with a smile.

Rated E, Post-CW, PTSD, team heals, mental healing, forgiveness, angst with a happy ending. word count: 28,168

✨ I'll Be Your Bodyguard (If You'll Be My Security Blanket) by NarutoRox

When one of Loki's pranks gone wrong leaves the team with a young Winter Soldier in their care, they know they're going to have their hands full. Especially since this newer, tinier version of Bucky seems to have a bodyguard complex - and a particular attachment to Tony.

Rated T, kid fic, age regression/de-aging, de-aged Bucky, tiny bodyguard Bucky. word count: 4,993. 

(note: finally something CUTE. Im so sorry for being such a slut for angst and heavy stuff 😅)

✨ Fate Strings Not Required by Akira_of_the_Twilight

Tony took the hint.

Tony wrapped his hand around the new guy’s elbow. He kept his touch light and breakable in case he’d misread the cue.

“Just some guy claiming to be my soul mate, babe.”

The new guy’s eyebrows rose to his hairline in surprise. He chuckled and gave the first guy a smirk. “Strange. Last time I checked we were soul mates.”

Rated T, AU - no superpowers, AU - soulmates, Bodyguard Bucky Barnes, age difference. word count: 7,032.

✨ Shameless  by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)

Tony isn’t actually sure which of them starts it—he’d like to take credit, but if he’s learned anything it’s that Barnes is by no means a wilting flower. Besides, the start doesn’t matter as much as figuring out who’s going to actually finish it.

rated M, flirting, dirty talk, sexual tension. word count: 2,560

✨ Winter Wooer by salytierra

Winter may not be the most pleasant guy to live or share your body with, but he isn't nearly as destructive as everybody expected him to be either. He likes to brood in the corners, watch British TV, and freak people out. And Tony. He really, really likes Tony Stark. There's just one problem – Bucky's pretty sure he doesn't feel the same way about the guy.

Rated M, Bucky Barnes & Winter Soldier are Different Personalities, team as family. word count: 8,726

✨ Even Darkness Must Pass by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)

“Fake it till you make it,” Bucky whispered to himself, swallowing around his panic. Sam had drilled the idea into him, and it had become a mantra of sorts, something to hold onto when all he wanted to do was blend into the shadows and disappear.

“You’ll be fine.”

Steve placed a warm, strong hand on Bucky’s shoulder and squeezed, his super soldier ears having picked up Bucky uttering the now familiar saying.

Bucky nodded, tried to believe his own words, and followed Steve onto the common floor, a wall of sound hitting them as they entered.

rated M (but mild sexual content), parent Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes recovering, team as family, of love and hobbits 🧝🏻‍♂️. word count: 15,289

✨ Paths Are Made by Walking by Potrix 

The road to recovery is long, winding and a different one for every person walking it. Bucky chooses to help himself the only way he knows how; by doing what he does best.

Or, alternatively; the one in which Tony is a mess and accidentally kick-starts Bucky’s protective mother hen instincts.

rated T, post-TWS, fluff, humour, getting together, idiots in love. word count: 4,744.

✨ Rise In Perfect Light (Be Not Fearful Of The Night) by RayShippouUchiha

At first, the new element singing in his chest, Tony doesn’t understand what he’s done.

Doesn’t understand the full consequences of his actions.

But, to be fair, there’s no way he really could have.

Not even a futurist like him could have ever seen this coming.

rated G, post-CW, past Stony, angst with a happy ending. word count: 3,589.

(note: this fic is SO BEAUTIFUL. lemme just asjkdjnsjkdm)

✨ and amidst the ruins, there was you by TheKitteh

With everything resolved - post the Berlin conflict, Siberia and the rogue Avengers' return - Tony relishes in the clarity of what the team is now. He can finally see the well-defined lines, he can rely on solid rules and the chain of command. He's settled into his life like never before.

That is, until one day, an unhinged sorcerer with no grasp on his magic shatters that new-found balance.

As a result, half of Tony's soul is now gone, but he's willing to do anything to get it back.

rated T, post-CW, canon divergence, au - Dystopia, Dimension Travel, magical accidents, slow burn, getting together. word count: 36,976

✨ and so we unfold by TheKitteh

Senbazuru. Thousand Cranes.

An ancient Japanese legend that promises anyone who folds a thousand origami cranes will be granted a wish by the gods. Some stories believe you are granted happiness and eternal good luck, instead of just one wish, such as long life or recovery from illness or injury.

Bucky’s not big on believing in any legends, not after all that has happened. He just wants to create something for a change, not destroy.

He needs to prove himself that he can be trusted to handle something delicate. He doesn’t need a promise of a wish come true. He just,- needs to do this for himself.

He doesn’t need noticing how sad, tired Stark looks. Doesn’t need to want to do something for the man, when he can barely do anything for himself.

rated T, CACW canon divergence, getting together, reconciliation, POV alternating, Bucky Barnes recovering. word count: 14,449

✨ Spilt on the Ground like Water by tisfan

Tony has been black-bagged and illegally held at the Raft. Steve has no intentions of going to rescue him.

But the Winter Soldier isn't going to leave him behind.

rated E, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, implied/referenced torture, frottage, dub-con, mention of part non-con (HYDRA trash party), not Steve friendly, suicidal thoughts, touch-starved. word count: 10,853

✨ Norns, Save Us (From Ourselves) by phlintandsteel

It’s been ten years since half the universe was dusted.

rated E, post-IW au, A/B/O verse, Omega Tony, Alpha Bucky, Soulmates, Peter & Harley playing matchmaker, still recovering Bucky Barnes, not Steve Rogers Friendly, angst with a happy ending. word count: 37,324.

✨ Change You Like A Remix by ficlicious 

No one ever said Avenging would be easy, but Bucky could have really used a memo about the weeks where the hits just didn’t stop coming. He’d probably still have signed his soul away to the gods of spandex and paperwork, but a heads up woulda been nice before he nodded and smiled and took up residence in the house sanity fled when the Avengers moved in.

---- Soulmates, misunderstandings, snark, genderswap and sleep-deprived Avengers abound. Tony's a woman. Must be Friday.

rated E, AU - soulmates, established relationship, temporary gender swap, jealous Bucky Barnes, misunderstanding, miscommunication. word count: 10,494.

✨ Getting to Know You by orbingarrow

It had been an adventure, navigating the sweetly apologetic Bucky Barnes, who haunted the tower most days, and the the Winter Soldier, who occasionally inhabited Barnes’s body. The Winter Soldier was not apologetic; he was scary. And he was currently chilling out, uninvited, in Tony's lab.

“Leave,” Tony said, because Tony was either a dead man or not, and there wasn’t much he could do about it before coffee.

“Or you could give me permission to be here,” the Winter Soldier suggested.

“I don’t let strangers poke around my stuff,” Tony grumbled, as he walked past the Soldier to take a seat at his workbench.

“Easily solved,” the Soldier deflected. “Get to know me.”

-This is what happens when Tony does.

rated G, Bucky Barnes & Winter Soldier are different personalities, fluff, Clint Barton is a good bro. word count: 9,470

✨ Safe House by ali_aliska

For years, Tony had successfully kept his secret. Neither the world nor his team knew he was Iron Man and as far as he was concerned, everyone was better off that way. On his best days, Tony Stark was not someone people liked and trusted, so the last thing Tony wanted was to tarnish Iron Man’s good reputation by revealing the truth.

But then SHIELD falls, the Avengers face disarray, and a stray Hydra assassin forces Tony to go into hiding—and where better than the safe house he had just crafted for the Avengers and their own ex-assassin ready to come in from the cold?

Tony plans to hide away from everyone in his makeshift workshop until the coast is clear and he’s safe to go home. No one would care to spend any time with the reclusive, arrogant billionaire anyways, right? Iron Man is the one everyone wants around.

Bucky Barnes, on his own journey to reclaim his life and identity, seems to disagree with that sentiment.

rated T, post TWS, canon divergence, au - Secret Identity, mutual pining, team as family, slow burn, misunderstandings. word count: 89,533

✨ Versace on the floor by withered

The modern man’s armor is his clothing, and Bucky wants Tony out of his.

rated T,  post CW, Bucky Barnes & Winter Soldier are Separate Personalities, Barnes & Soldier & their hard-on for Tony, not team cap friendly. word count: 2,127 

[outofangband]

Masterlist/Explanation of the Dark Arafinwë verse

Other masterlists

Next

Maedhros is attending a formal event near Alqualondë and is accosted by another elf. Unable to wrangle the truth from the ages of pre-existing biases and feuds, Teleri wardens arrest both the accoster and Maedhros who finds himself fighting against his own memories. When, to his very great surprise, Arafinwë himself intervenes on his behalf, Maedhros is brought back to the palace to be kept under supervision until the matter is investigated. (More details at the end notes)

CW: forced stripping (non sexual), abuse of power, callous disregard of past trauma/exploiting trauma responses, dissociation, gaslighting 

Edit: I’ve had some people tell me that the gaslighting in this story is very difficult to read so I wanted to give an extra warning for that element

Tag list: @iwenttomordor @elarinya-nailo @mozart-the-meerkitten @tears-and-lilies @much-ado-about-whumping 

“Strip.”

There was no malice in the command, simply an almost weary calm. Nelyafinwë was aware of his own eyes widening just as a sense of unreality came over him. The soft warmth of the evening felt suddenly oppressive and the clean and comfortable room he had been lead into twisted and distorted. He took a step backwards and his half uncle raised an eyebrow.

“I know you carry weapons upon thy person, Russandol. For rather obvious reasons I cannot allow you to keep them.”

The room did not come back into focus but Maitimo gave a small sigh, apprehension as much as relief. He raised one booted foot and undid the laces, pulling out a small blade and handing it over to Arafinwë who pocketed it with a small nod of acknowledgment. Maitimo then undid the other boot to show there was nothing in it.

Arafinwë looked impassively at the other elf, fingers pressed together at his chest.

“It would not be very prudent to simply take thy word, Russandol. Remove the rest, I will give you something to wear.” Maedhros’s gaze traveled to his face, his own expression of startled disbelief. He waited for a few moments for Arafinwë to leave or turn away. Arafinwë does not. 

Maitimo swallowed, aware of the tingling, almost trembling in his arms or legs. He started on the buttons on his tunic so it fell into two sides, revealing the scars on his chest. Including the numerous iterations of kinslayer carved or tattooed into his flesh. He winced as he thought about this, not wishing to force Arafinwë to view another reminder of what had happened here so many years ago.

But he handed the tunic over over. Arafinwë set it and his boots on the bed, more of an examination table than for rest. He gestures for Maitimo to continue when the Noldor prince pauses again. Next come the trousers, slightly scuffed from the altercation that had landed him here in the first place. The heat rises to his ears and he can no longer maintain any sort of eye contact, directing his gaze to the floor instead.

Maitimo procrastinates pulling off his leggings until Arafinwë makes a soft sound of impatience, jarring him back to the present. The present where he is standing almost completely naked in front of the king of the Noldor in Valinor.

“I was there when Angamando fell and I have worked as a healer. I know you are scarred. Please remove the rest.”  

Maitimo hands over the last of his clothes and finally Arafinwë looks away from him, gathering up his leggings, tunic, trousers and boots along with his jewelry. 

“Stay here, Russandol. I will bring these to my guard to examine.” He starts towards the door.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Maitimo sees that the beaded bracelet Rôg had crafted for him is visible in the pocket of his trousers. He longs to hold it, to rub the smooth stone between his fingers as he does when the memories of the past intrude so vividly into the present.

“Lord Arafinwë?” He starts to say but the look on his half uncle’s face, that same impassive, cool interest, prevents any more words from leaving him and he merely shakes his head and waits as the other leaves.

...

Arafinwë returns nearly half of an hour later and Maitimo has not dared to move, even to try and cover himself. Loathe as he is to admit it to himself, any scolding or reprimand he might receive is likely worse than the shame of being so exposed. The door is closed, perhaps it was locked. 

The king moves past him to take up his previous position. His expression has not changed. 

“I am afraid you will have to be restrained for the night, Russandol. I do not have guards to spare.” Maedhros looks up at him, his heartrate spiking again. 

“I do not need to be restrained, My Lord” he says slowly, carefully, “I am hardly going to attack you nor anyone else, naked and with no weapon.” 

Arafinwë studies him. “I have absolutely no idea whether or not you will attack another should you become frightened or angry. I cannot afford the possibility that you enter such a state and harm someone. Lay down,” he gestures to the narrow bed before continuing, “This is a process that would typically be done by our wardens. Are you not grateful you are not suffering this under the hands of strangers?” 

Maitimo was more acutely aware than ever of his nakedness as he took the few steps forward and lay down on his stomach. He hears rather than sees Arafinwë come to his right side, using a strap made of a soft leather to fasten his hands down. He urges himself silently to breathe through his nose, to remain calm. By the time his ankles were also strapped down, he had to actively count his breaths to keep them steady.

“Open your mouth.” This next command is spoken as calmly, coolly as the others, it is only Maitimo who is experiencing the dizzying panic. He doesn’t obey this time. Arafinwë approaches him again, kneeling beside his head and holding out what seem to be more of the leather straps. 

 “Your teeth are a weapon, Russandol,” now there is something like sarcasm, mocking in the king’s voice, Maitimo is sure of it.

 (Is he sure?)

“You can hardly be surprised that you are not trusted here. Do you not understand I have made this process significantly better for you? Open your mouth. This will not hurt you and it is only until the morrow.” 

Maedhros tastes cleaned leather as something is forced into his mouth, preventing him from moving his tongue. More straps are fixed around his head. Arafinwë is careful to keep his hair out of the way of them so it does not become caught or tangled. But the parts that press against his face irritate the old scars made when less considerate hands strapped similar devices over him. 

Finally, Arafinwë takes a step back. Maedhros’s shallow breathing is softened slightly by the piece in his mouth. 

“Good. Get some rest, Russandol. I will check on you in the morning.”

To be continued

Author’s note: This type of gaslighting used both implicitly and explicitly throughout here, the “no, of course there’s nothing sinister about me doing these things, that’s just how you’re interpreting them because of Angband and it’s really offensive of you to compare me to the Dark Lord” is incredibly insidious and makes me really angry! Unfortunately it will only get worse from here. 

Author’s note: Maedhros was caught off guard here and his shock as well as his guilt is used to manipulate him into thinking this is legitimate procedure however he soon starts to understand more how dangerous Arafinwë and please know that he becomes an absolute nightmare to hold hostage. Or well he’s not currently a hostage but he’s soon to be

There is more about why Ara is doing this linked in the AU masterlist and more will become known as the story progresses! 

More backstory here:

Maedhros is attending a formal event near Alqualondë and is accosted by another elf. Unable to wrangle the truth from the ages of pre-existing biases and feuds, Teleri soldiers arrest both the accoster and Maedhros who finds himself fighting against unpleasant memories of being confined and restrained.  He’s alone in his cell, trying not to flinch whenever a guard comes by and alternating rapidly between the instinct to fight and scream and lash out and the instinct to hide and be subdued. He sees the guards stop and bow and he stands and walks to the door and sees Arafinwë. To his astonishment, he’s told that Arafinwë has agreed to have him released into his custody. He can’t leave the city for a few days, at least not until the matter gets sorted out. Maedhros starts to refuse just on instinct, saying it’s not necessary, etc. Arafinwë looks loftily at him.

“Do not speak foolishness, Russandol. Come with me.” And the guards unlock the door and nod to him and he can’t exactly insist on staying in prison especially because he is actually innocent in this encounter so he agrees reluctantly and follows Arafinwë to his carriage.

[fandomandangstlover]

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[bombyxluna]

Omega Mammon X GN!Human MC 

This is more of an intro to the series, which is why is a lil bit longer and more explanatory.

We’re here to break sub gender norms! 

I don’t know how many parts this will have but I want it to be angsty.

No NSFW yet :P

CW: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Talks of heats/ruts/sub genders

The Devildom is, for a lack of a more fitting word, strange. Though, you suppose, being surrounded by demons should be. 

There’s too much you don’t understand still. Three months have passed since you arrived - or were kidnapped? the jury is still out on this one - and it feels like an eternity of time and too little all the same. 

Demons, as it turns out, have very different customs and rituals from humans. So do angels. You are in the least thankful for the classes, but every other student in them seems well versed in the basics, while you float about unsure of what’s happening. Hell, even Luke knows more than you, and he hates demons. Not to mention he’s a child. Double low blow. 

The classes would be going a little bit better if you only had time to actually study for them. Though you do suspect that Diavolo doesn’t actually give a shit about grades and this entire school is a mockery to appease his peaceful plans, you're still stuck in what’s basically hell and having to go to what’s basically hell’s undergrad school. Great. 

The least you can do is prod around for some demon knowledge. You know, just in case. Because things are getting weirder by the day, and sometimes it feels like it’s all an ongoing inside joke you’re not really a part of.

Also, because of them. 

Living with demons wasn’t exactly unexpected, but living with the Seven Rulers of Hell - well, six of them, was. 

Despite initial impressions, you’re quickly figuring out there’s more to each of them than the public eye could see. Something lurking below their perfectly crafted personas, that is reserved only for the ones in close proximity to them. Only for family.

You’re not family, but you’re definitely in close proximity. 

It��s easy to tell how much they hide behind masks. Lucifer, as far as everyone else knows, it’s the always serious and stern big brother that will never crack a joke or play around. The entire foundation of that statement could be torn down with one single picture you had, of him playing with Cerberus. 

Leviathan, despite actively trying to kill you over a book series since - no, you’re not over it - is more than the shut-off otaku who is otherwise known as the Admiral of the Devildom’s marine. He is also clumsy and shy, and he goes on tangents about what he likes, and he is friendly. 

Satan, known as the hot-headed brother who has a tendency to overwork himself into humor changes and explosive arguments, is a reserved person, a cat lover, an erotica reader, and an absolute dork. 

Beelzebub, though he whines about food a lot, is far more than just the hungry brother who also happens to be a jock. He’s a carebear, a very attentive listener, has great movie recommendations, and an amazing cook. 

Asmodeus, who may look lust-driven and shallow to the onlooker, but is caring, a hopeless romantic, a good friend and brother, and even a little insecure. 

And then there’s Mammon.

At first, you didn’t know what to think of him. He acted high and mighty, too strung up in his high horse to look at a human such as yourself. When Lucifer put him in what was basically the task to babysit you, it’s safe to say you were annoyed. 

But then, you started to pick up on things. Small things. Unnoticeable to those who aren’t looking, but that become increasingly clearer once you realize them. 

He’s clingy. With his brothers, with you, even with his credit card. Though he never lets himself linger, when he hugs you, it’s tight and crushing, like he needs to be as close to you as possible. When your arms brush together as you walk about, he blushes. 

His brothers tease him. A lot. To the point, it’s painful to even to you sometimes. He laughs through it all, but you can see the drooping at the corners of his mouth, and how the giggles don’t reach his eyes.

And he’s scared. At least, that’s what it seems like to you. He puts up a front of being this big, angry, scary, and powerful demon such as his brothers, and though you certainly don’t doubt the powerful part, the angry and scary seem faulty. 

It’s intriguing. One day he’ll be all over you and the next he’ll act like he barely knows you, avoiding your eyes and only answering in curt answers. Sometimes his PDA is off the charts - he’ll throw arms around you, stick close, pull you closer when you’re walking together - and others he acts as the smallest of touches burns him like it pains him to be so much as near you. 

And there is that smell. It lingers on him but not on his brothers, like a perfume stronger than anything else. It doesn’t make any sense, though, because you’re pretty sure it’s not perfume. You’ve seen him spray himself before leaving in the mornings and it’s not the same smell. It’s something else, a light waft that emanates from him in waves, but no one else seems to pick up on. 

He’s a puzzle that refuses to fall in place, and all you want to do is figure him out. 

Solomon sits down in front of you with a loud gruff, dropping a small pile of stacked books on top of the wooden table in the library. The librarian shushes him when the sound echoes through the empty halls. Asmodeus hot on his trail, carrying nothing but a bag. He sits down as well, eyes all but sparkling.

“MC!” He sings. The librarian shushes him. 

“Hi, Asmo,” you make space on the table, putting your bag on the chair next to you.

“Ready to cram years of demon biology in one afternoon?” Solomon asks. He smiles wickedly as if he thinks it’s actually possible to do so, and you feel a little bit like a prey caged in by a much, much more astute predator.

You asked for help with the subjects, and maybe you’re already regretting it a little. “Sure,” you answer, trying to sound determined. 

He smiles. “What are you seeing in your class?” 

Solomon picked different classes for the year, and while you were fine with not doing whatever the hell goes on in advanced alchemy, it’s a little bit of a bummer to not share even one class with the only other human around. 

“I’m not… really sure,” you slouch on the seat, ready to give up. Why can’t the world be like the movies and you can spend an entire year just looking out the windows and being pretty? “Subgroups? Or sub genders?” 

“Oh,” he says softly, flipping through one of the heavier looking books. 

Next to him, Asmodeus is pulling out a notebook filled with post-its and notes made in glitter pens. You suspect he didn’t come to lecture you, and that suspicion is confirmed when the notebook is discarded as soon as it showed up, apparently being pulled out only because his bag was on the smaller side and his pink switch-like video game was at the bottom of it. He sighs dramatically, lowering the music coming from it, and laying his chin on Solomon’s shoulder.

Yeah, definitely not here for you. 

Solomon slides the open book towards you, marked on a page titled Subgenders then starts flipping through the next. 

Asmodeus watches as you read over the basic introduction. 

“It’s not hard,” he says, voice bubbly even though the words game over can be read on his screen, “It’s a little tricky to separate, but you get the hand really quickly.”

-

It’s not actually all that hard to figure things out. Solomon, despite the borderline chaotic ways he chooses to explain things, is a fairly good teacher. You manage to grasp the three sub genders and the differences between them in no more than a couple hours - a record if you’re being honest. 

And Solomon had been right. It’s not hard to separate them. Alphas are, generally speaking, the “dominant” gender. They’re easier to anger and natural born fighters. They experience ruts, can mate, and have knots. Most of the royal court are alphas.

Omegas are the “lower” gender - though according to Solomon, the idea that one is lower to the other is being more and more fought againts and discussed in the realms - they’re conflict solvers and are seem as sweeter and more fragile. They experince heats and self lubricate. Most of the common demons are omegas.

Betas are a middle ground. They don’t have scents as strong as alphas or omegas, and aren’t easily affected by ruts or heats. They can still mate, however, and are often seem as level-headed and good right hands for alpha leaders. They’re rare. Barbatos is one of them.

And then there’s the Apex, the “alpha of alphas” as Asmodeus described them. An alpha so powerful he stands above all others, in the top of the “food chain.” That’s the category that fits Diavolo.

“So… what are you then, Asmo?” You ask, folding your arms above the book Solomon had highlighted to you.

Asmodeus perks up, bright as ever. “I’m an alpha, of course! Can’t you tell?” He gestures to himself, manicured nails gleaming under the bad lighting. 

“What about you?” You turn to Solomon. He hadn’t mentioned anything about humans having sub genders, but you kinda wish that was possible, although you couldn’t tell why.

Asmodeus pulls Solomon closer by the arm and beams. “He’s my omega!”

Solomon shrugs him off with a low chuckle. “Don’t make me slap you.”

“Kinky,” Asmodeus points a finger to him, smiling wide. He pulls Solomon again, by the shoulders, and lowers his turtleneck, revealing a bite. “I didn’t lie, though.” 

Solomon pushes him off with a scowl, covering the mark with his hand. “Yeah, yeah.” He waves Asmodeus off, adjusting the clothing.

You chuckle at them but say nothing. It’s clear Solomon doesn’t want you to.

Asmodeus pays his scowl no mind, resting his head on Solomon’s neck. Solomon sighs. “I’m not anything. Humans don’t have sub genders. We didn’t evolve to them, so we end up in somewhat of a grayscale. The closest thing to us would be betas.”

“Then we… claiming and that stuff… we can’t do it?” Your eyes trail to Solomon’s neck, but the bite is covered. 

“Not really,” he sighs, “this was an exception.”

“And why’s that?” Asmodeus hums, leaning over Solomon. Their faces are almost touching. 

Solomon sighs again, an amused smile playing on his lips. “Because I’m a demon’s whore.”

Asmodeus smiles, so much that little dimples show up at the corners of his lips, and he claps. “I love you so much.” 

You roll your eyes, making a vomiting sound when they kiss. Lowering your gaze, you read over the title of one of the chapters. 

“Hey,” you look up again, catching their attention, “what about your brothers? Mammon has a different scent, is he an omega?”

Asmodeus splutters, looking exaggeratedly shocked. He chuckles, strained. “Of course not!” He waves hands in front of himself, almost hitting Solomon in the face, “We’re all alphas.”

“Oh,” you say. It doesn’t make sense. None of the others have a scent like Mammon’s. It’s a little sweet, but seems clouded, slightly sour in the corners. 

“I don’t get it,” Asmodeus muses, tapping a finger to his chin, “humans don’t really feel our scent, how can he be different?”

His gaze is closed off on you, analyzing a little too much. It makes you feel like an ant under a magnifying glass, “I uh… he just does.” 

Solomon stares at you but doesn’t comment on it, even if it looks like he wants to. 

Asmodeus hums in thought, gaze still sharp on your every movement. Then, he smiles, almost artificial in its wake, “Well, whatever!” He slaps a hand to the table. At this point, the librarian gave up on shushing you.

Solomon is still staring at you. You move a little. Being watched like this makes you feel kind of squeamish.

Asmodeus is staring at Solomon, and then at you, resting his head on a palm. He hums again, stretching his arms over his head, and then he’s up, pulling Solomon with him. “We should get going!I wonder who’s on dinner duty.”

You blink. Dinner was still far away. Your study session just got cut short, and while you have no idea why, it feels like it’s your fault.

As you close the book and gather your things alongside them, the word seems to call you again. “Being an omega sounds painful, though,” you close the book, “heats and all.” 

Solomon scoffs. He closes his notebook, sliding his bag over a shoulder. “That makes it more fun.”

Asmodeus tsks, waving Solomon off, “Don’t listen to him he doesn’t have a soul.” 

Solomon neither confirms nor denies this statement, instead only giving you an amused chuckle and a tilt of the head. 

The feeling that you did something wrong, crossed a barrier you weren’t supposed to, clings to you. But still, it makes no sense. 

There’s something different about Mammon. You have to figure out why. 

-

The first thing you notice is that you’re missing a pillow. You’re back from a week filled with classes, ready to drop in bed and sleep the entire weekend when you realize something seems off. You look everywhere, but the pillow is nowhere to be found. 

Then, a couple of days later, the thin blanket you keep for movie nights and long study sessions is gone. 

It progresses like that. The throw you use to warm your feet. Your favorite stuffed animal. A fluffy winter jacket. 

When you ask, fed up with this little prank, none of the brothers seem to know where your things went. 

Your pact with Mammon is still somewhat fresh, but you find yourself going to him, if not for a solution, maybe to complain. 

The door is open when you arrive, pushing it inside without ceremony. 

“Mammon, you’re not going to believe-” 

The words die on your throat. There, spread on top of his bed, twisted and fluffed together into a carefully crafted bundle - no, your mind provides, a nest. This is a nest - are all your missing items, and, sitting on top of them with a flushed face and big eyes, is Mammon. 

Oh. 

Turns out you were right. 

“MC, I, I…” Mammon fumbles upwards, all but stumbling in the mess of blankets and pillows he has apparently snatched not only from you but from his brothers as well. There are even some pillows you don’t recognize, cow patterns all over them. 

“Mammon…” it’s all you can say. You have never dealt with this before, but the answer to your question was clear as day, right in front of you. 

Omegas nest when stressed or needy. Came Solomon’s voice, a memory from the lecture just a week before. 

“You’re an omega.” You say, in a surprised whisper, cogs turning on your mind and finally fitting with each other. 

Mammon’s face falls and his breath hitches. “How do you know about that?”

“In class… we went over the basic biology of demons and…”

He gulps audibly, eyes darting to the floor. “Then you know.”

You can almost feel the question marks forming around your head. “Know what?”

“How disgusting this is,” he gestures to the nest. His face is still reddened, voice bordering on wet, “I took your things without telling and I… I used them, my scent is all over them and now… I’m sorry, MC.”

“Mammon…” you reach towards him, but he steps back.

“You probably want them back, right?” He chuckles dryly with no real humor. “It’s okay, I get it. People don’t like when omegas get all needy, I know that.” He scratches at the back of his neck, a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes tugging at his lips. “You can take them, I’ll just…” he points to the door, “yeah.”

And then he’s gone, leaving behind the same smell you came to associate with him, only much sour in its wake. Your pact mark burns, glowing a faint yellow tone. You stand next to his bed, confused and feeling like you managed to fuck up even more.

Masterlist

[companionwolf]

Fill #1 for Flufftober

Prompt: 25. Nook + 29. "Hey, wake up!"

Fandom: XCOM 2

Verse: uh based on my canon? (I'm kin); NOT shipfic

TWs/CWs: None

The Commander drifts.

They know vaguely they lie in the space under the bar where it turns, curled up with their tail over their nose in the little nook.

Central tends the soldiers, thinks his CO can't see him go to nip a drink straight from the vodka bottle, flinches when they growl softly and sets it back down.

They're here on the Avenger in 2035, a few months post freedom. At least, here enough. With their eyes shut and neurons slow, the Commander could be anywhere else. Could convince themselves of it.

They could be back at HQ, taking shelter under the Hologlobe, listening to the idle chatter and noise of the personnel around the room.

They could be on the run, the fire behind their eyes and smoke in their lungs still, pressed close to Central under a rotting blanket as the cold bites at them both through walls of a decaying house.

They could be in the simulation, any iteration of that, tucked away somewhere in the false halls of a false Anthill, taking a moment of respite.

But they're here.

Here in the future, still not quite accustomed to quadrupled form and lack of humanity. Here, where they have lost. Here, where they are still running. Here, where dream and unreality mix with stark cold truth. They wish they knew some much for sure-- what was sim, what wasn't.

All they can do, they suppose, is keep asking.

Did Pettachi ever feed me a spicy thing-- sime kind of prank, a joke? I don't know, Commander. I don't remember those details well anymore. (Mark that one down as a maybe, then.)

Did Rivera save us when base fell? Yes. (Mark that as real.)

I traveled with you, right? Yeah, I got this scar from those days. (Another check mark.)

We had MELD, in 2015? What the hell is MELD, Commander? (A no.)

Central leans against the bar; the Commander, eyes closed, inhales-- his scent mixes with the alcohol and the ship itself, and their heart slows.

Somewhere, they are still human. Somewhere, they are lying on a operating table? Or maybe a strecher. It doesn't matter. What does matter is he is there too, younger but still him, holding their hand.

God, they wish they could smile the way humans do. All they can manage now is a facsimile of it.

Did they want this? They were dying. Did they ask for this? Why was it this, and not...? Their head hurts, sense of phantom pain and ache.

Footsteps, distantly.

The Commander's ears swivel toward them. A rag tag mix of OG A Team and Alpha Squad-- Fisher, Guzman, and Johnson, to be more precise. They come into the bar loud, Johnson and Guzman laughing at something Fisher has said. Central greets them gruffly.

Oh, Central, thinks the Commander. Their heart swells with love for their XO, for their crew. Oh, humanity.

In their chest the thud of a false thing, made to function the same but never falter. Whatever they had first, it's long gone-- the aliens upgraded much of their internals when they were captured. Whatever it took to keep them alive.

The Commander feels a grimace across their face, knows it's not real, knows it's their human mind covering the reality of their pseudo canine face up because otherwise they'd be barely functional, they'd be lost to themselves entirely.

They mentioned this to Tygan once. "It's covering everything up," they'd said. "Pretending nothing's different." They guess it's too much to ask their mind to adjust so quickly. They spent less than a year in this form before they got caught, before the tank, the simulation.

And in there? They aren't sure what they were, human or this, whatever this is they are now.  They remember being on all fours in some of the hazy bits and pieces, but is that real, or just through the filter of their current self perception?

The Commander thinks.

They don't see themselves as bodily human. There is no overlay of a human self-- their mind is not that desperate. Sometimes it is, like with facial expressions and the sense of missing hands, but usually their self maps properly. 

To be honest, they weren't ever really that comfortable in a human body at all. It was fine, they mean. It was a okay body. A good body. Just not quite right. Just not really theirs, them.

The bark of Guzman's laughter brings them back. The Commander imagines they hang on her mirth like a lifeline. She centers them here, with the sound of her living and breathing and--

Central's voice calls down to them: "Hey, wake up."

The Commander opens a eye, looks up at him. He's studying them, a expression they can't read on his face.

They unfurl slowly, stretching as best they can in the small space, brushing against his legs. "What do you need, Central?"

"Fisher wants you," he says.

The Commander snorts, stands and shakes themselves as if they're drying off from being wet. The collar Guzman gave them jangles.

"What does he need, then?" they ask.

Central shrugs. "Something about a bet."

They roll their eyes. Or at least it feels like they do. Isn't that the same thing, in the end?

"Oh goodie, I love when my soldiers have scores to settle," the Commander says through a yawn.

They see Central shift uncomfortably, don't understand why--

"Sometimes I forget," he says, mostly to himself.

But they hear it. Of course they can hear it. Their head hurts; they feel like they can feel the inner mechanics of their throat, the voicebox, the connections. Obviously they can't. But they feel it anyway. A glitch in their mind's erratic defenses.

The Commander takes a breath-  false air into false lungs; everything a facade of a biological system, all tailor made to keep the brain running.

"Okay, let's go see what the Wonder Ranger wants," they say, half to Central and half themselves.

When they glance back at him as they come out from behind the bar and apporaches Fisher, the Commander sees Central lean forward, his eyes flicking from them to the younger troops, back and forth, taking in the situation.

Something about knowing he's got their back, just like after base fall, just like during the transplant, makes them breathe a little easier.

He's here. The soldiers are here.

They're here.

That must mean something.

[pairofmelaninkweens]

Nostalgia

Characters: Kuroo Tetsurou x Natsumi Myaski (oc)

By: @sweet-darling91

Summary: (Post time skip )Kurro has been looking for a chance to possibly reconcile with an Ex, but soon comes to learn that nostalgia can realy lead you down a path of thorns instead of a bed of roses.

CW/TW: Angst, vanilla sex,  and cunnilingus.

Wc: 4783

art by: twi.night on Instagram! one of the pictures Kuroo kept on the wall of his condo of Him and Natsumi.

The subtle warm scent with fresh citrus notes alerted his senses. It was mixed with that perfectly unique smell and feeling that only one person in existence could provoke, Natsumi. It sprung memories of late-night lovemaking in his dorm, as the rays of moonlight illuminated your cocoa brown skin, highlighting its cinnamon undertones.

 The buns you swept your hair up in were removed when he pulled the hair ties free, sending your dark curly tresses tumbling down past your shoulders. Wrapping the curls around his fingers as he tugged them, groaning when you bowed your back as he took you from behind. Remembering the way your ass pressed against his pelvis, the way you would keen when he spread your buttery smooth thighs further, watching your essence coat his cock as he plunged it deep into your quivering cunt.

 He remembered the way your silken walls would quiver around him as you moaned his name, the way your small frame would tremble as he sunk balls deep into you, your cum would drip down his balls. Fuck, you were so perfect. He would get lost in you night after night. Even now, years after you left his life. He would still fantasize about you, craving the way your warm body clung to him. It broke his heart when you lost contact with him, because like it or not you were a pillar in his life.

 You were the one that brought him to accept parts of himself he neglected. The origin of most of his kinks and preferences. Especially the first girl he endearingly called Chibi-chan. Of course, he ignored the fact that it was indeed the same name he teased his Orange haired buddy with over his height-or lack thereof.  It was different for you though; it was meant to be endearing. The most important detail is after all this time and secret pining, he found you, mere feet away far enough not to be in direct contact thanks to the layout of the patio, with the decorative shrubbery around, and the angle his table was stationed at. He had the vantage point in observing you, and it made his cock twitch remembering the way you made his blood heat. The memory of the connection you once shared painfully squeezes his chest.

 Natsumi Miyazaki, a name that was burned into his memory forever. Now sits with perfectly crossed legs poised in your seat. Hair cut into a bob, parted on the side, with bangs framing your slender face. Hazel eyes sparkled when you beamed at the man cracking jokes over coffee. He couldn’t be that funny to be making you flash your smile like that he thought as he turned up his nose, letting his lips sink into a frown and eyes narrow at the sight of you with him.

 The cashmere top with the sweetheart cut highlighted your delicate clavicle and the swell of your breasts. Your form-fitting skirt accentuated your small waist, hugging your hips and thick thighs. Kuroo began biting his tongue wishing he could get a better view of your ass. The white and cream outfit was cute, clean, and professional. It read that you meant business, that, and the subtle tells in your body language confirmed it. The way your eyes analyzed the orange-haired man, and the all too polite way you sipped at your latte, made him laugh darkly.

 Whatever Shoyo was saying must have given you the answer you were looking for, and your response was subtle pettiness. He recognized that polite smile was a mask, the exaggerated nods and the batting of your eyelashes was used to do to supress rolling your eyes. This happened when you asked him questions you already knew the answers to. A cleaver warning and it seems that went over Shoyo’s head. What were you up to? Why were you out here all dolled up with a new outfit and hair styled completely different than when it was back in college? Why change your appearance to shortcake? Then it dawned on him, information. You were working, he knew you were, but was distracted staring at you. The longer you took probing Shoyo, the more impatient he became, fidgeting in his seat and glowering.

 Leaving a tip for the waitress he made his way to your table; he was only 5 feet away when the rhythmic tap of 4 manicured digits followed by a double-tap of your index finger against the glass table halted his stride. It was your sign to him; acknowledging his presence and warning not to interrupt. This shouldn’t surprise him. You were always the most astute in class, rivalling him for the top academic grade and overall performance. Along the way to those achievements, you spent so much time together you were well versed in each other’s non-verbal cues.

 That’s what got him so interested in you, seeing how your mind worked. The way you would speak volumes with so few words and see everything with a glance. Now pointedly walking past the table, he answered your rasp with two taps of his umbrella against the cobblestone patio floor. “Looks like rain” he remarked as he opened it out, and started walking up the street.

 Five minutes later he heard the quick taps of heels and the gentle, beautiful fragrance returned when you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind. “Is this a good time?” he asked, eyes still trained forward, steps returning to their previous pace.

 You release a contented hum, and then raise your head to ask, “Which one is yours?”  releasing your hold on him and motioning towards the parked cars.

 “The black Audi,” he responds, as you smile to yourself eying the 2017 R8 model. “Of course, the flashiest car for the former prince of Nekoma high.” You say as you playfully shove his shoulder. He looks down at you and curls his lips shrugging at the tease. “ I mean, were they wrong?”

 Rolling your eyes you open the passenger side door, settling in the seat and sliding off the bob-cut wig and cap that encased your curly tresses. Kuroo watched the curls spill down your shoulder as you rub your scalp and sigh in relief, only stopping to spot the time on the dash. “Ok, let’s go, my schedule’s free after that meeting.”

 His eyebrows raise in surprise, “Always so forward."

 “There’s no time to beat around the bush, if you have something to ask me, go ahead,” you quip, with a sharp side glance at him, before pulling the visor down to adjust your lipstick in the mirror.

 “I just missed you,” he admitted.

 “Missed me or missed what I could do for you?” Closing the visor, you turn and look him in the eye, your gaze piercing through him. His shoulders slump slightly, and a bitter chuckle escapes his lips. “Is it always going to be business with you? Even after everything?”

 “It’s always going to be business with you because of everything. You're the one that said ‘lets just be friends. Realistically that's the best option because I’m too dangerous to be a stranger to you with all that I know." You finish, chest burning with your bitter pettiness and disgust in sympathy for his masked pain.  "You were one of the greatest loves of my life. But not THE love of my life.” you continue, thinning your lips and turning away and closing your eyes to soothe the burning in them.

“I still love you too. But it’s not gonna happen, our time is over.” You finally say.

“I figured that you became an information broker to get Kiyoomi’s attention recently.” He interjected with jealousy clear in his tone.

Snapping your gaze back at him. “I chose my career to be independent, so no would hurt me like you did.  I don’t want to take orders from someone because I’m no goon. I stand by my policy. It would do you well to stand by it too.” Ignoring his pained reaction, you continued. “Taking me to your place, right?  Then let’s get on with that instead because I don’t owe you any of my personal details.” The thought crossed you mind, and the words slipped past your lips before you could stop them. “That information is a premium charge if you’re that curious.” you stated holding out your hand.

“it’s in the glove box” he sighed. “I know you didn’t seek me to purchase information for your ‘work.’ you wanted my time, didn’t you?”  looking up to see him nodding in reply with a dejected smile. You weren’t finished though, thinking to yourself as you exited the car, followed him through the underground garage, past security and into his penthouse. You had a point to prove with your hidden agenda, and you weren’t leaving here until you got what you came for.

  Stepping through the threshold was like sinking into the warm comforting depths of the deep sunlit seawater. Warm, familiar, and comforting. Immediately you could tell that nothing had changed, relief washed over you with the realization that dramatically increased your advantage and success rate for your target. Just like the deep-sea waters though you knew there were dangers the deeper you sank into this familiarity. Shoving that thought to the side you slid off your shoes and began walking through the hall, hands grazing the walls observing pictures of him and his family. Passing one of you in a group shot together cleverly placed in the collage on the wall, slipping into the living room, passing the pictures of the old gang and snapshots of you studying with Sienna, and Kenma. Then seeing yourself standing in the rain in the background of a team group shot mocking Bokuto who was trying to duck out of the shot but failed to. Blushing wildly covering your best friend from the rain with his jacket and hiding his face that was covered in tinted lip balm. “Always the gentleman Bo.” You grinned at the shot, roaming over other pictures of his MSBY friends, the rival teams, some shots included new coaches, vice-captains, fellow higher-ups and the team medics. Then you saw the generous helping of pictures of your time together though, the two of you studying with Sienna and Bokuto, who was flustered looking at Sienna instead of the textbook. Shots of you riding on Kuroo’s shoulders, a cute one that you vividly remember Sienna taking of you covered in your own lipstick when Kuroo put it on and smothered you with kisses all over your face and arm, a flustered expression clearly focused on the camera. You remember the way he was focused on you, only looking to the camera to smirk before he continued his assault of kisses on you. Finally, the last picture was of you landing that ‘Oikawa serve’ in one of the final games before leaving college. Once again you closed your eyes, trying to soothe yourself from the melancholy trip down memory lane with his display.

Slipping open your lids you accepted the fact that the burning in your throat and prickling in your eyes would not cease, letting the cool tears flow freely.  “you cruel bastard. You kept all of it. Why?”

“Because You’re always on my mind, you never left.”

 “is that all?” you say turning to face him, hating the conflicting feelings swarming through you all at once, the nostalgia was warm, sweet, and welcoming. But the result was bitter, cold and lonely. Logically you should stick to the job, but your emotions were forcing you to focus your mind elsewhere.

“Nope, your here too.” He points to his heart. “Every time I close my eyes it’s you, I see. Wishing that it’s your voice calling out my name, your hair that fanned out on the pillow next to mine. Your arms wrapping around me. If I take them down. If I remove all the stuff. It would be leaving a void in the middle of my life. I can’t have that, I’d crumble.” He admits with his eyes locked in your gaze.

You answer him by bounding into his arms like old times and breathlessly kissed him. He deepened it, holding you tightly, cradling the back of your head gently letting his free hands travel down your back and firmly grabbing your ass pulling you close to his body and rolling his hips into you. Groaning as he feels your warm body. Relishing in the smooth suppleness of your skin under his hands.

 "Your skin was always so smooth, so soft." He murmured into your neck. Trailing open mouth kisses down it. Leaning your head to the right, granting him more access to your throat. Fluttering your lashes enjoying the feeling of his lips on your skin again. Your brought back down onto your feet, as he sinks to his knees, unzipping your skirt and letting it pool around your ankles. You grabbed his tie and pulled him flush against your pelvis, slipping one leg over his shoulder and angling your puffy lips to align with his mouth.

"Kiss me, show me how much you missed me." Winking and smiling at him sweetly. His face heats at your sudden boldness, a contrast to the usual blushing submissive side. Leaning forward he obliged and kissed you through the thin crotch of the lacy fabric separating his lips from yours. Flattening his tongue, he laved it down your wet slit. Biting your bottom lip to stifle moans threatening to echo through the apartment, you began rocking your hips back and forth, craving more friction. Sensing your eagerness Kuroo pulls at the material with his teeth and lets the elastic snap against you. Humming in pleasure when he hears the responding gasp melting into a soft muted moan. He missed the sounds you made, and he wanted to hear more of them. Slipping his index finger past the ruined panties he sinks his index finger knuckle deep, groaning at how eagerly your gummy walls wrapped around his digit. "God, your so tight Chibi-chan, did u miss me?"

 Whining in response you wrapped your fingers around the strands of raven hair pulling harshly. "Mmmm more" you demanded, he smiled noting the lack of answer and obediently slipped the second digit in, pumping the fingers in and out, taking pleasure in the feeling of you clenching around him, the sweet taste of your slick and skin. But what really got him going was the sounds spilling from your lips when he swallowed your clit into his mouth hollowing out his cheeks and grinding his fingers against that spongey spot that had you bucking her hips and crying out. His breathing started to get obstructed when you yanked at his tie, tightening it around his throat. His vision getting blurry and the sound of his blood rushing through his veins filled his ears. Then on instinct you released the tie, fresh air flooded into his lungs, the rush of oxygen and the dopamine surging through his system delivered an indescribable high.

 He freed his cock from his pants giving himself slow soothing pumps to his throbbing length. Its head swollen, pink and dripping pre that he used as a lube before grabbing your hips and easing you to sit on his face. He bucked into the empty air craning his neck and slipped his tongue into your quivering pussy. Your legs gave out as your orgasm surged through you like a flash fire, igniting every blood cell in our body with hot pleasure that clouded your mind and mad your eyes roll to the back of your head as you released a litany of curses and Kuroo’s name. He gripped your hips with a bruising force, drinking in your cum as it spilled into his mouth, embracing your trembling form.

 As you caught your breath Kuroo brushed the stray strands of hair free from your face and immediately searched your face for signs of discomfort. His lips stretched into a smile when you started smoothing your hands through his hair. “I’m not a dog, you don’t need to pet me he nipped at your hand. Standing, and stripping off his shirt and shooting you a wink. “Well at least dogs are loyal.”  Returning his wink as you get to your feet and watch him as he flings his shirt and tie over his shoulder, grasping his chest and looking down at you through his lashes. “Ouch, you aren’t here to play nice, are you?” he croons as he slips his hands on your waist and back steps toward his room.

 “Not at all.” you answer while pointing over to his bed, “have a seat,” waiting for him to do so, your request before you slipped out of the top, revealing the strapless bralette and flinging it his way, grinning when he caught it in his mouth, shooting you a wink and growling. Releasing a playful “woof” before dropping it onto the floor to watch you close the space between you two. You slid your palms up his thigh bracing the other hand on his chest, coaxing him to lean back  allowing you to slink up his long body letting your glistening pussy lips slide up his hardened shaft and muffled his groan when you pressed your plump lips over his pulling back to whisper, “shhh, don’t get too excited too soon” you tease trailing kisses down his neck, leaving blossoming bruises in your wake, kissing down his chest and finally sitting back up halting your hip to search his face. You could feel the way his heart was hammering in his chest against your palm. “Don’t be shy now Natsumi.” He bucks his hips and you sink your teeth into your lip to stifle the moan rising from you.

 His hands fastened to your hips in a death grip, his fingers and knuckles white, his pupils blown, his chest heaving with anticipation. He nodded and bucked his hips, slipping his shaft through your delicate petals and being rewarded with a sweet soft moan. “Lean forward Chibi-chan, I got you,” he assured. Reluctant to trust him for much, you relented with a sigh and obeyed.

Feeling his swollen velvety tip breach your entrance, you couldn’t hold back from slamming your hips down, enveloping him in your warm, hungry pussy with a moan that made him growl low in his throat. “D-don’t move, ok?” you struggled through whimpers at how the stretch sent pleasure flooding your senses. Your body flushed with heat, goosebumps flashing across the surface, nipples pebbling before his eyes, and that plush bottom lip being tortured between your pearly teeth as you bit down on it to suppress moans threatening to spring free but still reaching Kuroo’s ears. Your hips bucked forward, working your waist in slow delicious circles that edged both of you just right. The friction your swollen clit got from grazing his hilt urged you to close your eyes and twerk your ass cheeks, the sudden movements caused his dick to grind against the walls of your tight core, which clenched him snuggly inside you. He gasped each time you jerked and rolled your waist, bouncing up and down his cock, building a punishing speed that drove him wild and bow his back up off the bed. “Chibi-chan that’s it, fuck yourself on my cock baby.” he moaned thrusting his hip up in time to crash into yours when you thrusted your hips down, making him moan out in bliss, lolling his tongue out as your hips jackhammered down onto him. “Kurooooo, I’m gonna cum.”

 He eased the pressure on your hips, his breath stuttering and sweat collecting on his brow as he watched the way you raised your body up the length of his dick and dropped onto it. Your swollen lips swallowing him deeply, convulsing around him. “Mm cum on this cock Chibi-Chan!” he growled demanding your attention and compliance. “I’ve been dreaming about this for so long when you would finally come back and ride me and let me fuck you into this mattress. Ffffff fuck Natsumi.” You throw your head back as your pussy convulses and your orgasm ripples through your body. Radiating waves of intensity surging through your body sending your eyes rolling to the back of your head. He sits up to let you rest your forehead against his, both of you panting for breath. He laid slow soft kisses across your flushed cheeks, smoothing his hands up your back and down your sides slowly but gaining in pressure. You also feel his cock harden inside you as he starts brings his lips against your, kissing your deeply and letting your taste yourself on his tongue.

Rocking your hips in slow motions you let him take advantage and toss you into the mattress, sinking his incisors into your neck and his cock balls deep “you feel so good baby~ I wanna cum deep inside you, look at me Sumi. I want to see your face when I fill you.” He ruts into you setting the delicious pace of pulling out and pounding into your dripping cunt, the chorus of hips crashing into each other, the squelching of your wet pussy milking him, and wanton moans filled his ears. He forced his eyes closed trying to burn it all into memory. The beautiful pitch your voice took when he hit that perfect spot deep inside you, lacing his fingers with yours, he crowded your frame with his broad upper body. Balancing on his elbows he used every muscle in his thighs to push into you, bringing tears to your eyes as flashes of black and white cloud your vision, all the breath left your body as Kuroo sent you tumbling into a prolonged orgasm. A wild blissful ride rendering your body weightless, gravity no longer existed, lost in the incredible sensations coursing through your body and spasmed when Kuroo thrust almost painfully deep into you pumping you past your limit with hot ropes of cum pulsing into you. You felt warm everywhere, there was tingling under the surface of your skin, movements reduced to the speed of warm molasses. “I’ve got you Natsumi.” his voice sounded so far away but the sound was followed with gentle soothing strokes up your sides, slowly grounding you. Soon after the feeling of him caressing your cheek and feeling him planting a soft kiss on your lips brought your mind back to the present, just like he would back then. Bringing you back down to earth after fucking your soul out of your body filled him with pride knowing he still could do this to you. The bitter pangs of his heart told him that one day the person doing this wouldn’t be him. The gentle sound of your voice thanking him grasped his attention and gave him the chance to appreciate your raw beauty. The lipstick had long been kissed away revealing plump two-toned nude lips, the even tone of her golden chestnut skin and deep chocolate eyes made his sting with tears. “It’s been a long time, nostalgia’s hurting, isn’t it?” you teased reaching your arms out for him to pull himself into an embrace, sighed at the feeling of you nuzzling into him and kissing his jaw. “Seeing you like this hit hard. It’s like seeing my dreams and memories merge together and play out in front of me, yet the actual thing, still pales every single image, every thought, every memory in comparison.” Pulling back to see his face you arched an eyebrow. “oh?”

 “Every time I have someone next to me, I wished it were your body warming that side of my bed instead, your curls fanned out across my pillow, your voice filling the room when you call my name, and your lips I taste when I kiss. I shouldn’t have hurt you the way I did Sumi, I’m sorry.” He breathed. You closed her eyes and hummed. This was supposed to hurt more. But it was just a dull ache of sympathy, the bond that you had with him had long frayed and snaped, well at least you hoped. You truly moved on. It was a relief and a pity. A relief that you felt nothing, a pity for him, that he was feeling everything.

 “That connection had long since ended Roo, the love I feel for you now isn’t the same. That level of devotion was gone the moment you left me. Understand? I only give that out to those deserving. This was sweet, to an extent. But by no means is it a sign of any kind of romantic reconcile, ok?” his eyes swirled with remorse, and he numbly nodded. Finishing the water he gave you, you placed it on the side table as headed to the bathroom to clean yourself up in the hot shower, rinsing the feeling of him off your skin. Breathing the hot steam deep into your lungs to refocus your mind. Inwardly thanking him for not following you in there. After the shower you grab a town and dry of, return to the room finding him sitting on the bed.  Looking up at you a smile flashed across his face along with a faint blush on his cheeks. “Your hair, it brings me back to when I would help you with drying it out, detangling and oiling your scalp.” You shook your head. And cast him a side glance. “And?”

“Well, it was my favourite, you know I always thought your hair was cute in those buns" he muses, she glared at him. "How childish. People grow Kuroo, I have long grown out of that. You know it was cute walking down memory lane with you, but it revealed one thing. You haven’t changed, your out here fucking girls that remind you of me, holding onto the past while I, and the rest of the world move forward. Grow up, you should try it sometime." You spat, spinning on your toes to invade his closet, boldly slamming the door and reef through the clothes for something to wear only to come up to another nostalgic discovery, with out uttering a word you grabbed the old uniform and put it on, gathering up his travel bag and rummaging through his drawers, eyes scanning every free surface. Noticing that he was not making a sound made you suspicious. “You alive?” tensing waiting for his reply.

 “Yeah, just giving you space-” he was cut off when he saw the college uniform hug your curvy figure. He truly felt like if he blinked, you’d vanish, but when you realized what was going on you yanked the bundles of hair free, shaking the damp curls and sweeping them up into a messy bun letting stray strands frame your face. “I may be a vision from your memories, so take a good look. This is the last time you’ll see me like this. Once I leave this room you won’t have this chance again. So, I do hope that your ‘hoe phase’ was an enjoyable one.” you finished slipping on a pair of runners. “I really can’t believe you kept everything here, that isn’t healthy, and if you have other women wearing my things, that’s- disturbing.”

“What should I do with the clothes you came here with.”

“Burn it. Toss it, it’s of little consequence to me, my job is done.” You shrug on the travel bag on your shoulders.

“But I didn’t tell you anything, you never asked any questions. Did you even get what you needed?” Cupping his cheek to look into his eyes. “Thank you for being one of my greatest loves Kuroo, you really should stop putting yourself in danger trying to steal glances at me. Turning up in places where you think I will be or following my potential targets. You’ll end up putting a target on your back if you keep that up, I’m grown. I can handle myself.” you warned, “bye Sumi.” he closed his eyes and felt you kiss him, when he opened them again his heart sank to see the room empty, but then it sank into his belly realizing what exactly she did. Running into the walk-in closet he yanked open his draws in search of his files and the dossier. No surprise, they were all missing, the dossier, all the files including the first classified drive he had in there.  Damn, He really paid her to rob him. He smiled bitterly to himself admiring the finesse. He attempted to buy time to plead his case, only to be out of luck with love, and now possibly his job.