#if you haven't read it fix that

[avoidcrowdraws]

Happy birthday @psiroller! <3

Why have I not already drawn fanart for Break the Lock??

[bonesandthebees]

sigh feeling nostalgic for my old fics/the old community these days. I miss it man.

[yujeong]

Time was at a standstill. Vegas was holding his breath without noticing, and continued to hold it when he did - he was afraid of what would happen if he exhaled loudly enough to draw attention to himself. His gaze was shifting between Pete and the man who was standing before them in the doorway, blocking their entrance. Vegas had never seen him before, but even so, he recognized Pete in him enough to know who he was. A dangerous aura surrounded him. There was an edge to his presence that Vegas would only come across people of certain circles. He was a fighter. A muay khao. Pete's father. Shame coursed through Vegas' body, smearing his skin, settling in his lungs, rendering him speechless. I thought he was dead, he wanted to tell Pete if he could. He wanted to scream at him, I thought you killed him. Pete was the one who broke the stillness. As if awakened by something, he took a half-step back and made a motion with his arms, almost raising them to his chest, but not quite. In an instant, Pete reverted into the pet Vegas had been keeping at the safehouse, bound by handcuffs and afraid of his belt hitting flesh and drawing blood. A lump formed in Vegas' throat. "Have you stopped practicing? Your form is off." The uncanny similarities between Pete and his father appearance-wise didn't mean a thing when it came to their voices. Vegas shivered. Was this what Pete would sound like in a few decades? (Were these the condescending words he'd choose to spew? Was Pete going to embody his father? Was Vegas embodying his?) "What are you doing here?" Pete whispered. "They let me out for a few days, so I came here to collect some money. Imagine my surprise when I found out my offspring left the job someone found him worthy enough of doing to... do what exactly? Yaai didn't want to tell me." He crossed his arms, waiting for an answer. Vegas didn't know what he was allowed to say. If he was allowed to say anything at all. "It's none of your business." "I'd say it very much is my business, as well as yaai's business who was dependent on the money you were making being some rich asshole's human shield." A choked sound scratched Vegas' throat. He didn't like getting reminded of Pete being the main family's bodyguard, even though he stopped being one mere months ago. Especially like this. That was the first time Pete's father stopped looking at his son and turned his head to look at Vegas. For a moment, there seemed to be recognition in his eyes. Did he know who Vegas was? Did he care? A snort came out of his mouth. He leaned on the door. "Oh, I see how it is." He laughed, scratched his neck. "I never expected you to whore yourself out for money. Tell me, is it preferable to the path I carved out for you?" Vegas could sense the disgust in his voice. He could also see it on Pete's face. He was too astonished to share it, but not enough to be unable to speak. "Khun, there has been some misunderstanding-" "Don't bother. I can recognize a faggot when I see one." Pete's movements were too fast for Vegas to stop him. A direct jab to the nose; his father fell like a pack of cards, groaning like a wounded animal. Surprisingly, no blood - Pete held back. Vegas didn't know what to think about that. "That was a pathetic attack, even for you." "Get up." "We're not in the ring, son." Pete growled. Vegas could see his hands trembling as he was keeping them in the air, maintaining an offensive stance. "That never stopped you before." "You were too young to understand what I was doing back then. What I was preparing you for." Pete was silent. "The world isn't kind. It'll fuck you over one way or another." He got up, spat on the ground. "You still haven't learned a thing. You're too old to afford being naive." He turned around, and without sparing a look at Pete again, said: "Now get the fuck out of my house." (For @musictooth, whose posts about Pete's father have reignited my passion for this specific concept and for @wretchedamaranth, whose comments on my writing are always lovely and precious ❤️)

[mumbledramblings]

[Trigun OC]

i do, in fact, think dick jokes and dick measuring contests are the highest form of humour

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

Hi? Gosh how do I even start with this :'D

I know it's been ages since I've last popped up on here. I've been debating when to post this for a while, but I kept adding to my draft more and more and now it's the end of JULY omgg I felt so guilty disappearing with zero updates but then thought my birthday would be the best day to finally address this considering it'll feel less random? idk but Ive always celebrated my bday with you guys and I'd feel so bad answering your kind asks without me at least explaining why I was gone for months.

Truth be told, I was dealing with a lot of stuff irl. health issues and sudden declining grades that left me stumped and drained for months now- along with technical issues like having to replace some parts of my computer that took a while for me to find to even draw digitally, which I didn't have the time for anyway with how tired and weary I felt every day.

I'm frankly shaken up by a lot of shit rn and I don't know how to be active online with this burden on my chest- Especially as it's been a while since I've even looked at utmv related content and my motivation dwindled. I swear I'd hype myself up to post or reblog something- but I'd see just how much I've missed or the overwhelming amount of posts I'd need to go through and I'd feel so swamped with exhaustion and most importantly guilt, for not clearing the air up sooner to reassure you guys that I'm, y'know, alive, and not dead in a ditch somewhere. And I'd procrastinate cause typing it all out is hard and I'd give up halfway every time and it's just not fair to you all!

I thought I was handling it well when I started going out and socializing more, instead of staying cooped up at home on my computer all day. and in the first draft of this post I made months ago I was gonna detail some of the fun plans I had, for my life and for this blog :D but relaxing my strict study schedule and letting go a bit of my tight routine, thinking it was better than wringing myself dry to keep it up, backfired horribly, to say the least.

I know right?? so silly to be hung up on stupid shit like studies of all things! but this is a very important thing for me considering my career plans and the competitivity encouraged by everyone I'm surrounded by, the pressure of keeping up adding to my already stressful days. I had to fix myself up first and I couldn't handle the strain nor interact with people and thinking of jobs and exams sapped my energy so much it's frankly embarrassing. writing this feels so cheesy too and it frustrates me to know I could've come back a month earlier if it weren't for that, but I also know putting all of this into words then would just sound like incoherent venting (not that this is very different tbf) and I wasn't in the right headspace to address my absence, or anything really- I didn't want everyone to see me return when I couldn't muster up a genuinely positive message, let alone talk to anyone with a shadow of my usual cheer

I feel like a complete mess and It drives me up the wall how depressed I've gotten. I debated deleting this blog so many times 'cause the fear of disappointing my audience and my friends, for lack of a more fitting sentiment, made me feel even shittier. I'm constantly thinking if this wall of text is worth posting, or if it's better not to burden you all with all my sappy troubles as if it's the end of the world. Trust me, I'll be fine. I'm not trying to dramatize this situation, but I don't think I'm up to pretending I'm all sunshine and enthusiasm you're all accustomed to.

So sorry for worrying you all! I'll try to catch up, deliver some missed birthday gifts, and answer some asks while I'm at it! Again, I can't state how much I appreciate your support throughout the years. It's frankly a miracle I kept any of you around with how much I keep popping and leaving at random with no warning. I definitely can't promise for my stay to be without a hitch, and if you don't mind an inconsistent schedule you're free to stay of course, but I'm afraid I can't sustain the pace I had when I first started this blog. I'll keep posting art, but lower my activity in the fandom sphere to reduce the strain on my mental health. so fewer rants and walls of text, more art, and less stress overall. Love you all and thanks for waiting for this long <3

[echo-goes-mmm]

Ambrose and Elliot #27

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: oral dub-con, implied non-con, starvation, violence

Master and his friends had passed out, finally. After hours and hours of drinking and sex and entertainment, they had fallen asleep. 

It was late, but he couldn’t bring himself to rest. He lay on the floor, naked and cold, dried cum sticky on his sore thighs.

He stared up at the ceiling. His throat hurt, angry bruises blossoming over his skin. One of Master’s friends, Mr. Horneswood, had slammed his head against the floor, and it was only now that his vision had quit fading in and out and his nosebleed had stopped.

Master had never let them be so violent with him before. Beatings and getting choked was nothing new, and Master had chastised them for going too far several times. But not today.

He really thought they were going to kill him this time. He’d never passed out from being strangled before, and they had never hit his head until now, much less slamming it into the hard marble floor. Twice.

Hunger rumbled in his stomach.

He turned his head to see the table. It was half covered in near empty bottles and glasses, but there was food at the end.

He licked his lips. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and if everyone was asleep…

He slowly got up, wincing as he went. Master wouldn’t notice if a few rolls went missing. 

Master had put out so much food, and his friends were more interested in getting drunk, so nearly all of of it was untouched.

He ate cheeses and fruit, pastries and rolls, and even dared to sneak some of the delicious roasted duck.

It wasn’t until he was full, sitting next to the table, that he realized.

Master had forgotten his chains.

Usually Master made sure he was in shackles when his friends came to visit, just to be certain he couldn’t get away from their lust.

Not tonight. Tonight he was unrestrained. He hadn’t even noticed until now.

He looked back at Master and his friends. They were still completely passed out, sprawled out on couches and slumped in armchairs.

He could run. There was nothing stopping him.

Nothing, except… what if Master caught him? He would be so angry. Master would beat him to death if he left.

They’ll kill you if you stay, said a tiny part of him. You know they will. You can’t keep doing this.

He bit his lip. Master was all he knew, his everything. It was the only thing he was good at; serving as his slave was his entire purpose. It was what he was made for.

What else could there possibly be?

You are going to die here.

The tiny part was right.

He grabbed his discarded clothes, tugging on the threadbare shirt, boxers, and pants Master had allowed him. 

He stole a cloak off the coat rack and ran out the front door, pulling the hood over his hair.

He ran, and ran, and ran, and his legs hurt and his head pounded but it was better than death and blood and Master.

___________________

He should have stolen some shoes. He limped along, blood from the pads of his feet staining his trail. 

Dawn had come and gone, but he didn’t stop moving. Couldn’t stop moving.

He avoided the roads, instead sticking to the woods. He couldn’t risk being seen yet. Master had horses, and money, and might pay someone to look for him.

It was a hot day. Sweat dripped down his face and soaked his clothes, the salt stinging the cuts on his legs courtesy of the wilderness.

He tripped over a stone early in the night, and torn a toenail clean off, which hurt like hell.

His legs were sore too, knees on fire and thighs chafing from the dried cum and fabric rubbing the skin. 

Maybe it would be worth it to find some water and rest.

___________________

After hours of trekking through the woods, he heard running water. He picked up the pace, jogging towards the sound.

It was a small creek, secluded and quiet. Good.

He stripped off his clothes and waded in. It was freezing cold, goosebumps forming on his skin. He crouched down and drank some of the water, soothing his dusty throat.

He splashed some of the water on his face, wiping away the sweat. He washed off the best he could, and crawled out of the creek. There was a flat rock nearby, and he laid the cloak down on top of it. 

A few hours of rest couldn’t hurt.

___________________

He followed the creek after his nap. It would get to a river eventually, and maybe lead to a town where he could beg for some scraps.

He should have stolen the rest of the food at Master’s house. Idiot.

The creek did get bigger, but instead of bringing him to a river, it ran by a traveler’s campsite. The road must be close.

The campsite had just been used, fresh but cold ashes in the firepit, and fresh horse manure still buzzing with flies.

There were berry bushes nearby (unfortunately inedible ones), and he was struck with a thought.

His white hair was identifiable. No one had white hair, Master said so. Master said he was so pretty with white hair. It was why he was allowed to exist; it made him good enough to live despite being a stupid slave who couldn’t do things right.

Master could find him if his hair was still white.

He pulled off the berries, crushing them in his hands. He slathered his hair with them, staining the white to brown. Much better. He pulled his hood back up and followed the horse tracks to the road.

___________________

The road led to a city, and he kept his head down passing through the gates. The guards didn’t even look at him.

There was a tavern just next to the gates, and the smell of food made him hesitate. It was a busy place, even had some stables attached.

He bit his lip.

He didn’t have any money. He went around the stables, and there was a dumpster out back. He peered into the trash, but he couldn’t see anything he could eat. Damn.

The back door to the tavern opened, and he backed away. Not fast enough, because the tavern owner spotted him immediately.

He scrambled away, but she grabbed him by the arm.

“What’re you doing?” She growled. “You a nasty little thief?” She shook his arm, and he whimpered, shaking his head.

“I- I was just hungry-”

She let go of him and he stumbled backwards into the ground. “‘M sorry! I just wanted to look in your trash!” He started to cry.

“Hmph.” She crossed her arms, staring him down.

“Please don’t call the guard,” he begged, sobbing. “I’ll go away, I swear.”

“I don’t like beggars,” she said. “So come here.”

She was going to hit him, and he deserved it for bothering her. He shakily got to his feet, and limped forward.

“There’s a pile of dishes in the sink. Scrub ‘em.”

“W-what?”

“You scrub the plates,” she pointed at him, “and you get food. That way you ain’t beggin’.”

“Thank you! Tha-”

“Shut up.” She turned and walked inside, and he followed.

There was in fact a sink piled full of dishes, and he got to work scrubbing them clean. The kitchen was hot, but he didn’t dare take off his cloak. He was so hungry he was lightheaded, and the smell of food was torture to the gnawing ache in his belly.

The dishes kept coming, and he ignored the strange looks from the wait staff.

After a few hours, the tavern owner handed him a package wrapped with paper.

“Get out.”

He left without argument, opening the package and eating as he walked.

The sandwich was the best thing he ever tasted.

___________________

The second town he came across, the innkeeper let him sleep in the stables in exchange for scrubbing stains out of sheets. 

The third city tossed him out before he could offer anything, and he stole some apples from an orchard by the road before getting scared off by barking dogs.

He had a bad feeling about this next town. 

The innkeeper was at the counter, and it was not busy at all. It creeped him out. “How many nights?” asked the keeper, a flat tone to his voice as he scribbled in his ledger.

“I, um. I don’t have any money,” he admitted, “but um, is there anything I can do for you?”

The innkeeper slammed the book shut, and he jumped. The innkeeper looked him up and down, leaning back in his chair.

“I’m just hungry,” he said weakly, “do you have any scraps?”

“Nope. Get out.” 

“Please,” he tried again. “I’ll do anything.”

The innkeeper stood up. “I said leave.” He began to shove him outside, and he stumbled, bare heels digging into the wood.

“I’ll blow you,” he blurted, and the innkeeper paused. He held his breath. Why did he offer that?

The innkeeper grabbed him by the arm, dragging him into the back.

The innkeeper tossed him across the room. He swallowed, his mouth going dry. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The innkeeper stalked forward, and he dropped to his knees, tongue lolling out. The innkeeper unbuckled his belt and he knew what to do.

The innkeeper was rough and impatient, and he let the innkeeper fuck into his throat. He just wanted it over. The man grunted, finishing into his mouth, and he was hungry enough to swallow the cum without hesitation.

“Good enough,” said the man, tucking himself back into his pants, and relief flooded him. “Wait here.”

He got a hunk of cheese and a loaf of bread for the trouble.

“Next time offer your ass,” said the innkeeper with a nasty grin, “and maybe I’ll let you sleep the night.”

He scrambled for the door, laughter trailing behind him. There wasn’t going to be a next time.

___________________

There was a next time.

There were several next times, all of which he tried to avoid but couldn’t if he wanted to eat.

He didn’t sleep in the cities anymore, too scared after someone forced themselves on him while he slept exposed in the stables.

That time, the innkeeper was even angry to find him still in the hay the next morning, and had used a horsewhip to punish and chase him out.

He trudged along the road.

Gods, he was so hungry. He felt faint, a chill to his bones despite the sun beating down on him.

He’d been heading north the whole time, and now the cities and towns were few and far between.

The last stop was pleasant, the woman who owned the lodge only asking him to sweep the floor in exchange for a bowl of chicken and rice.

That was a week ago.

The berry bushes along the road were bare now, the birds plucking them empty. He chewed on tree leaves and ate dandelions when he could, but it did little for his stomach.

Please, he prayed to the gods, I know none of you care, but please.

Maybe he should have stayed with Master.

He shook the thought from his head. Anything was better than Master.

Even if it was starving to death in the wilderness.

___________________

The road became thin and rough. It narrowed down to a single cart wide and he wondered if he had walked to the end. But over the horizon was a blurry shape beneath the setting sun, and he dared to hope it was either a village or that he was finally dying and was hallucinating.

He kept walking.

It was a village, with an inn.

He stumbled through the door as nightfall fell.

The tavernkeeper was at the counter, and there was a small crowd in the dining room.

“Please,” he slurred, ready to offer whatever was left of him.

But the tavernkeeper held up a hand to stop him.

“I’ve heard of you,” he said, and his heart sank. Did Master know too? “You’ll do anything for a meal and a bed for the night, right?”

Not necessarily a bed, but he nodded, the effort making his head pound. 

“I want a private conversation with you in the morning,” said the keeper, his expression hard to read. “That’s all. I'll even throw in breakfast afterwards.”

He stared at the tavern keeper.

“Yes, sir,” he rasped. No one had ever offered him breakfast. Was it a trick? Too keep him here longer, so that Master would come and drag him away?

The keeper gestured for him to sit at the bar, and disappeared into the kitchen.

He returned quickly with a bowl of stew and a crust of bread, and, of all things, a mug of warm cider. 

He never had cider before. Master never allowed him to drink.

The tavern keeper told him where his room (a whole room? with a bed? and a lock?) was, and left him alone to eat.

The food was amazing, and he had to stop himself from scarfing it down and making himself sick. He’d made that mistake before, and completely lost his meal. He remembered crying over the vomit.

The bed was just as good as the food, but he couldn’t close his eyes.

What if the innkeeper told Master where he was? How long would it take Master to come for him?

He rolled over in the bed.

Surely the tavernkeeper wanted more than just talking.

If he were smart, he’d sneak out before dawn. But the keeper promised breakfast, and he wasn’t smart.

He couldn’t pass up two meals in a row. It was too tempting.

He thought about the mysterious generosity of the cider, and the sweet taste of the apples used to make it.

This could be his last night alive before he died by his Master’s hands.

He cried himself into a fitful sleep.

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @starfields08000 @littlespacecastle @mylovelyme @whump-cravings @zeewbee @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @keepingwhumpwiththekardashians @fanastyfinder @roblingoblin285 @whumpzone @snakebites-and-ink @astrokea @magdalena-writes @latenightcupsofcoffee @tobiaslut @whumpsoda @loserwithsyle

[em-exceeds-change-zearu]

nishi-sensei please show us the forbidden wrath iruma

[lofan]

Happy Berlermo day everyone!

I present you a little something for the best fic I have ever laid my eyes on:

The Time Traveler’s Soulmate by @oreo-cookies-fan is wholly responsible for this. This gem of a fic left me speechless and in tears and forced me to do something. That's my only excuse.

[disposal-blueeee]

guess what ! doodles . again

edgar , nny and devi belong to johnen vasquez (even if i only drew nny and devi at the bottom)

scriabin by zarla-s

[kk-cats]

i think i should stop posting before i worry people or annoy people

[19calicos]

i fear i am gonna have to take a break from tumblr

[a-killer-obsession]

Do i do something for 500 followers? Im so close to it, but i still have five 250 event requests i wanna do sitting in my drafts 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 plus i gotta start kinktober prep soon ahh

Maybe I'll write that marooned x wavelengths fic ive been thinking about, i know a lot of yall read marooned by @nethhiri (and we love to mash our ocs together like dolls)

Im thinking double chapter uploads for wavelengths and isekai as well, since i have enough backlog to do that comfortably

[fuzzyhairedfreak]

Okay Larian here's how you fix your reputation wrt Wyll being SO ignored by y'all's writing: Give us a fancy ball DLC that he is the star of. Let it be all about his life and his backstory, let us meet his childhood friends and enemies, let us defend his honor in a dramatic duel, let us do a fancy dance with him in front of all of Baldurian high society (whether we're romancing him or not) (seriously even the straight guys on reddit were sad they couldn't dance with him in camp without it being a romance thing). It doesn't have to be as high stakes as some other well known fantasy rpg video game's masquerade ball mission, and in fact I'd rather it wasn't. Rather than the Winter Palace, I'm looking for more of a Citadel DLC vibe if you know what I mean. Let there be some drama, a little plot to solve maybe, but mostly good party times with my friends, and getting to learn more about Wyll as a kid and teen, and Wyll telling us all the best gossip from back then. More interpersonal drama than plot. But most importantly, give Wyll romancers our the Sound of Music Maria and Mr. von Trapp showing the kids a folk dance on the patio. Give us our Pride and Prejudice (2005) no one else in the room moment. Our Cinderella and Prince Charming 'So This Is Love' scene. I'm begging

[kazoosandfannypacks]

I think my new favorite hack to find a watsonian solution (explainable within the canon of the media) to a doylist urge (this happens because I, the author, want/need this to happen) is to just. assign your doylist desires to another character.

You need your characters to be sitting next to each other in the backseat, despite the fact that it's social norm to leave the middle seat empty? Oh, the driver of the car says, the seatbelt on that side's not working, you'll have to sit in the middle seat. Why's that seatbelt just happen to be broken? Oh, it's not. The driver just wants to see these characters together as much as you do.

[vulturevanity]

I know what you are

[can-of-slorgs]

are you the one with the nt series where sloth is all buff and hanging out with the user's twinky oc? there was something also about sloth turning into a snowbunny? was that you or another guy?

do you know what i'm talking about if it isn't you... because if not this is embarrassing...

Anon I have no idea what you're talking about.

I haven't publish (nor read for that matter) anything NT related in maybe a decade.

Now, that said... The what comic about dr sloth's twink??