#it should all be digital from here on out!! it was just easier for me to sketch it all out on paper today

[goldendoodlerlockerlove]

Woohoo!! I finally have the next part of my comic ready (finally).

I can't even remember how long it's been since my last update (too long, I think).

I changed up Gene and Alexis' designs because I think it was high time for an update in their look. I'll always kind of be nostalgic for the original, digital designs, but I feel as if I've improved a lot as an artist since then.

Tumblr didn't feel like cooperating with me today, so I had to use a Google Drive link to show this off.

[ID]: Paper fanart of Gene from Bob's Burgers and Alexis, an OC. Alexis wears large, curved glasses, and has a tall and skinny frame with a skittish demeanor. A comic can be seen, with the first page consisting entirely of Alexis. They are sitting sideways in a chair with a concerned expression and thinking God, I hope Gene never finds out I wrote that note... I could never live down the embarrassment... Can you imagine what his reaction would be?

On Page Two, an imagine spot of Gene can be seen with an angry expression. He's saying, "Us? Together? Pfffft, maybe in an Alternate Universe. No way, Alexis." Then, in the next panel, the actual Gene can be seen trying to get Alexis' attention. He asks, "Alexis? Do you want to come over after school?" Alexis has a shocked expression on their face on the next panel, and says, "You actually want me to come over? Me? Are you sure?" Gene responds off-page, "Yes, silly!"

On Page Three, the last page, Gene can be seen again, a grin on his face and sporting a casual pose. He says, "My sisters really want to figure out who's been sending me random, secret, sweet notes in my locker. When we got back from lunch, we found another one. They think you're a good mystery solver." The next panel shows a note to back up Gene's claim, and it says: I hope you keep playing your music more than anything. ~Your Secret Admirer. The note is also adorned with music notes, and there's a heart after the words Your Secret Admirer. The next panel shows Gene and Alexis together in a side view, and Alexis says while blushing, "Wow, it could really be anyone." They are thinking at the same time: Oh my God. We're so close right now. Gene responds, "I know, right? That's why we need your help. Are you in?" The next panel shows just Alexis, still in a side view, and looking very nervous. They're thinking: Don't say yes, oh God, I can't go to his house yet. But at the same time, they say, "I... uh... I'd love to." Then they think: Dang it.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

You should be using an RSS reader

On OCTOBER 23 at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, GEORGIA, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

No matter how hard we all wish it were otherwise, the sad fact is that there aren't really individual solutions to systemic problems. For example: your personal diligence in recycling will have no meaningful impact on the climate emergency.

I get it. People write to me all the time, they say, "What can I change about my life to fight enshittification, or, at the very least, to reduce the amount of enshittification that I, personally, experience?"

It's frustrating, but my general answer is, "Join a movement. Get involved with a union, with EFF, with the FSF. Tell your Congressional candidate to defend Lina Khan from billionaire Dem donors who want her fired. Do something systemic."

There's very little you can do as a consumer. You're not going to shop your way out of monopoly capitalism. Now that Amazon has destroyed most of the brick-and-mortar and digital stores out of business, boycotting Amazon often just means doing without. The collective action problem of leaving Twitter or Facebook is so insurmountable that you end up stuck there, with a bunch of people you love and rely on, who all love each other, all hate the platform, but can't agree on a day and time to leave or a destination to leave for and so end up stuck there.

I've been experiencing some challenging stuff in my personal life lately and yesterday, I just found myself unable to deal with my usual podcast fare so I tuned into the videos from the very last XOXO, in search of uplifting fare:

https://www.youtube.com/@xoxofest

I found it. Talks by Dan Olson, Cabel Sasser, Ed Yong and many others, especially Molly White:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MTaeVVAvk-c

Molly's talk was so, so good, but when I got to her call to action, I found myself pulling a bit of a face:

But the platforms do not exist without the people, and there are a lot more of us than there are of them. The platforms have installed themselves in a position of power, but they are also vulnerable…

Are the platforms really that vulnerable? The collective action problem is so hard, the switching costs are so high – maybe the fact that "there's a lot more of us than there are of them" is a bug, not a feature. The more of us there are, the thornier our collective action problem and the higher the switching costs, after all.

And then I had a realization: the conduit through which I experience Molly's excellent work is totally enshittification-proof, and the more I use it, the easier it is for everyone to be less enshittified.

This conduit is anti-lock-in, it works for nearly the whole internet. It is surveillance-resistant, far more accessible than the web or any mobile app interface. It is my secret super-power.

It's RSS.

RSS (one of those ancient internet acronyms with multiple definitions, including, but not limited to, "Really Simple Syndication") is an invisible, automatic way for internet-connected systems to public "feeds." For example, rather than reloading the Wired homepage every day and trying to figure out which stories are new (their layout makes this very hard to do!), you can just sign up for Wired's RSS feed, and use an RSS reader to monitor the site and preview new stories the moment they're published. Wired pushes about 600 words from each article into that feed, stripped of the usual stuff that makes Wired nearly impossible to read: no 20-second delay subscription pop-up, text in a font and size of your choosing. You can follow Wired's feed without any cookies, and Wired gets no information about which of its stories you read. Wired doesn't even get to know that you're monitoring its feed.

I don't mean to pick on Wired here. This goes for every news source I follow – from CNN to the New York Times. But RSS isn't just good for the news! It's good for everything. Your friends' blogs? Every blogging platform emits an RSS feed by default. You can follow every one of them in your reader.

Not just blogs. Do you follow a bunch of substackers or other newsletters? They've all got RSS feeds. You can read those newsletters without ever registering in the analytics of the platforms that host them. The text shows up in black and white (not the sadistic, 8-point, 80% grey-on-white type these things all default to). It is always delivered, without any risk of your email provider misclassifying an update as spam:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/10/dead-letters/

Did you know that, by default, your email sends information to mailing list platforms about your reading activity? The platform gets to know if you opened the message, and often how far along you've read in it. On top of that, they get all the private information your browser or app leaks about you, including your location. This is unbelievably gross, and you get to bypass all of it, just by reading in RSS.

Are your friends too pithy for a newsletter, preferring to quip on social media? Unfortunately, it's pretty hard to get an RSS feed from Insta/FB/Twitter, but all those new ones that have popped up? They all have feeds. You can follow any Mastodon account (which means you can follow any Threads account) via RSS. Same for Bluesky. That also goes for older platforms, like Tumblr and Medium. There's RSS for Hacker News, and there's a sub-feed for the comments on every story. You can get RSS feeds for the Fedex, UPS and USPS parcels you're awaiting, too.

Your local politician's website probably has an RSS feed. Ditto your state and national reps. There's an RSS feed for each federal agency (the FCC has a great blog!).

Your RSS reader lets you put all these feeds into folders if you want. You can even create automatic folders, based on keywords, or even things like "infrequently updated sites" (I follow a bunch of people via RSS who only update a couple times per year – cough, Danny O'Brien, cough – and never miss a post).

Your RSS reader doesn't (necessarily) have an algorithm. By default, you'll get everything as it appears, in reverse-chronological order.

Does that remind you of anything? Right: this is how social media used to work, before it was enshittified. You can single-handedly disenshittify your experience of virtually the entire web, just by switching to RSS, traveling back in time to the days when Facebook and Twitter were more interested in showing you the things you asked to see, rather than the ads and boosted content someone else would pay to cram into your eyeballs.

Now, you sign up to so many feeds that you're feeling overwhelmed and you want an algorithm to prioritize posts – or recommend content. Lots of RSS readers have some kind of algorithm and recommendation system (I use News, which offers both, though I don't use them – I like the glorious higgeldy-piggeldy of the undifferentiated firehose feed).

But you control the algorithm, you control the recommendations. And if a new RSS reader pops up with an algorithm you're dying to try, you can export all the feeds you follow with a single click, which will generate an OPML file. Then, with one click, you can import that OPML file into any other RSS reader in existence and all your feeds will be seamlessly migrated there. You can delete your old account, or you can even use different readers for different purposes.

You can access RSS in a browser or in an app on your phone (most RSS readers have an app), and they'll sync up, so a story you mark to read later on your phone will be waiting for you the next time you load up your reader in a browser tab, and you won't see the same stories twice (unless you want to, in which case you can mark them as unread).

RSS basically works like social media should work. Using RSS is a chance to visit a utopian future in which the platforms have no power, and all power is vested in publishers, who get to decide what to publish, and in readers, who have total control over what they read and how, without leaking any personal information through the simple act of reading.

And here's the best part: every time you use RSS, you bring that world closer into being! The collective action problem that the publishers and friends and politicians and businesses you care about is caused by the fact that everyone they want to reach is on a platform, so if they leave the platform, they'll lose that community. But the more people who use RSS to follow them, the less they'll depend on the platform.

Unlike those largely useless, performative boycotts of widely used platforms, switching to RSS doesn't require that you give anything up. Not only does switching to RSS let you continue to follow all the newsletters, webpages and social media accounts you're following now, it makes doing so better: more private, more accessible, and less enshittified.

Switching to RSS lets you experience just the good parts of the enshitternet, but that experience is delivered in manner that the new, good internet we're all dying for.

My own newsletter is delivered in fulltext via RSS. If you're reading this as a Mastodon or Twitter thread, on Tumblr or on Medium, or via email, you can get it by RSS instead:

https://pluralistic.net/feed/

Don't worry about which RSS reader you start with. It literally doesn't matter. Remember, you can switch readers with two clicks and take all the feeds you've subscribed to with you! If you want a recommendation, I have nothing but praise for Newsblur, which I've been paying $2/month for since 2011 (!):

https://newsblur.com/

Subscribing to feeds is super-easy, too: the links for RSS feeds are invisibly embedded in web-pages. Just paste the URL of a web-page into your RSS reader's "add feed" box and it'll automagically figure out where the feed lives and add it to your subscriptions.

It's still true that the new, good internet will require a movement to overcome the collective action problems and the legal barriers to disenshittifying things. Almost nothing you do as an individual is going to make a difference.

But using RSS will! Using RSS to follow the stuff that matters to you will have an immediate, profoundly beneficial impact on your own digital life – and it will appreciably, irreversibly nudge the whole internet towards a better state.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/16/keep-it-really-simple-stupid/#read-receipts-are-you-kidding-me-seriously-fuck-that-noise

[honeytonedhottie]

financial literacy⋆.ೃ࿔*:･✍🏽🎀

so i released a poll if you guys would like a post on financial literacy and the results are here. so im gonna share some things that i learned while taking a financial literacy course…💬🎀

WHAT IS FINANCIAL LITERACY ;

financial literacy is handling ur money wisely. the google definition of financial literacy is the ability to understand and apply different financial skills effectively, including personal financial management, budgeting, and saving.

ALL ABOUT BUDGETING ;

when u hear the word "budget" its rly easy to think "omg limiting belief" or think of it in a negative light but a budget is just a plan on how u manage ur money. its not always constrictive and negative like u may or may not think of it to be.

budgeting : keeping track of how much $ ur bringing in and how much ur spending…💬🎀

planning a budget is ez pz. you can use some paper and sparkly pink gel pens to create an adorable budget, or u can download different sheets online and just have your budget digitally. theres a plethora of resources out there so just choose whichever is easier for u.

something else that i learned about during this course was the 50:30:20 rule. its called the 50:30:20 rule because 50% of ur money goes towards ur needs, 30% goes towards wants and 20% goes towards ur savings. and this isnt concrete, its just a good framework and u can adjust to ur own specific needs and goals.

for example if u manifested $4000. ur 50% would be $2000, ur 30% would be $1200 and ur 20% would be $800…💬🎀

HOW DO U KNOW WHAT UR NEEDS/WANTS ARE ;

things like ur rent and groceries are ur needs and things like vacations and going out with ur girls are wants. and to apply the 50:30:20 rule you first have to...

♡ calculate ur needs, wants and savings budget

♡ compare ur expenses to ur budget

the way u do this is to subtract your expenses from your budget. this is your budget balance. if your budget balance is zero or positive, that means you are living within your means and have some extra money. if your budget balance is negative, that means you are spending more than you should and may have a budgeting problem.

let me know if u guys want more content about this cuz i had a lot of fun writing this…💬🎀

[ma1dita]

bedtime stories

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: bitch this was supposed to be a blurb. 2.4k

summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where night shift with him runs late, but you don't mind at all. You won’t admit a lot of things to Luke Castellan, but perhaps he knows something you don’t. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader

warnings: none, banter and fluff on a night shift

a/n: Introducing luke castellan x trouble!reader… this is just gonna be ongoing blurbs and one shots of an idea in my head (and my latest hyperfixation) reader is essentially reformed unhinged bitch now camp mom and it’s enemies to friends to lovers. Working through reading the pjo series hehe

(posted 1/16/24, beta’ed by the lovely @ttulipwritezz @mrsaluado & @lixzey thank you bunches)

—

Dragging your feet across the dirt of the forest floor, you sigh to yourself in the quiet night air. It’s gonna be another long night and with the beep on your digital watch, you blearily peer at the time and sigh. Almost 11. Swaying slightly, you whistle a familiar tune as your nimble hands straighten out the deck chairs near the firepit, pick up trash to toss into the receptacle, and turn off the lights in the dining hall. All on the way to check Cabin 7, mind you, and the Apollo kids will undoubtedly loop you into singing a song with them before you shut the lights off and close the curtains.

Gods, your dad is definitely gonna hear about this in the morning.

It’s not like Mr. D ever really cares, or listens, more focused on droning on about missing his wife and playing pinochle even when you rattle off his…your to-do list for the week to keep Camp Half-Blood running and the younger demigods in mostly one piece. Honestly, he should be grateful he has you, and even if he is, he’ll never let you hear it.

At least you’re Chiron’s favorite.

A shadow passes your field of view, and before you can rub at your sleepy eyes, strong hands pin you to the side of a tree on the dirt path you were supposed to take across camp.

Sorry, let’s correct that—you’re one of Chiron’s favorites. The other all-star camper stares at you like you’re a three-headed dog under the beam of his flashlight.

“Just me, Castellan,” you grumble, a bit winded as you blink harshly at the bright light. “Still doing checks.”

“You’re losing your touch. You making a habit of going to bed late?” Luke smirks, and it’s actually annoying how he always looks like he knows something you don’t.

“You always pin campers to trees?”

“Just the pretty ones.” His smirk turns into a sly grin that makes you roll your eyes.

“Okay loser, I’ve got cabins to check,” you drone as you push off from the tree. “6 cut into my time after staying there longer than I had to. The little ones kept asking these otherworldly philosophical questions and Annabeth just laughed at me while I tried to not pluck my eyelashes out one by one.”

Your clipboard taps lightly against your hip despite the aggression in your voice and Luke laughs much like his little sister, a burst of sunlight overflowing into the dreary and mundane. Your lips quirk upward before you can stop and remind yourself of who you’re talking to. The tall boy reaches behind him to scratch the nape of his neck and sighs, sucking at his teeth.

“You’re always doing the most, huh?”

“Who else is going to, my dad? He’s probably already out like a light.” Once, you found your dad asleep at his desk after dinner, snoring loudly instead of keeping watch. You started taking more night shifts after that.

“Well, no. You know I’m here to help you, even if you’ll never admit it.” Luke extends a hand to you so it’s easier to navigate the step back onto the dirt-trodden path, but there’s no fun in that, so you hop around him and start walking away. The sound of his footsteps fall and match yours as he follows you, both in tandem like the sound of a steady heartbeat.

“The day you catch me admitting anything about you is the day the Underworld freezes over. You should know that by now.”

“Woooooow, so I don’t get a thank you for singing the Apollo kids to sleep? You should’ve seen the look on their faces when I walked in and not you. They ended the song pretty quickly after I opened my mouth to croak out a chorus,” he says, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth and nudging your side as you both laugh.

He’s a terrible singer, to be honest. Not even the Fates would’ve expected that from someone who otherwise seems like a perfect boy. Sometimes you wonder what he’s done in a past life to have it so easy–to look like he’s been chiseled by Michelangelo, have the athletic prowess of ten Spartan soldiers, and the heart of a hero only legends could get right. He’s probably the closest thing to an actual hero here at camp. You often find yourself looking at him in hopes of finding a crack in the porcelain of his perfection, but any fault of his seems to just build up his endurance in his quest for glory.

Maybe that’s why your dad doesn’t like him, his aspirations for something greater than the camp that’s kept you safe all these years, though the multiple complaints and headaches the both of you have given him as squabbling teenagers must’ve added onto that. Sometimes, though, the way he helps ease your load prods a funny feeling you do your best not to acknowledge in your stomach. Luke walks ahead shining the flashlight onto the dark path so you both don’t trip. It’s there now, at the sight of him offering an arm for you to latch onto to hop over fallen branches.

Mental note: tell the satyrs to move that in the morning.

As you hurdle over the brambles, you let go immediately after you steady your feet, moving his hand that’s holding the flashlight back towards the path with no other words. You are your father’s daughter after all, and he knows this—stubborn and your name have the same face.

Moving further towards your destination, the light reveals a teenage couple entangled within each other’s arms at the base of a tree out there for everyone to see in the moonlight.

“Jeez, guys, alright— pack it up, wrap it up! Could’ve at least found somewhere private… It’s curfew already, if I see you two again it’s a citation.”

The boy blushes and mumbles an apology to you, scurrying back to cabin 7, and you raise an eyebrow at a sheepish son of Hermes who swears they were all in their beds when he was singing to them.

“I don’t wanna go back to my cabin, all the boys are gross…” the girl whines, cheeks flushed from embarrassment as she flutters her eyelashes at you and Luke. You sigh. What has the world come to that young demigods are entrusted to the care of two people who barely consider themselves adults?

“Well, if you’re still in 11 with this one,” you simper, blatantly pointing at Luke, “I can’t blame you. He’s gross. Come by mine tomorrow and I’ll get you privacy curtains, okay? Trust me Yvonne, you don’t think boys are all that gross if you like kissing them.”

She nods, smiling charmingly at the two of you, before brushing past Luke and winking, “See you inside!”

Your head swivels to look at Luke with a coy expression, “There’s no way she’s not an Aphrodite.”

Luke huffs as he clicks his flashlight on and off. His hands are always fidgeting, always searching for something to do. He’s more like his dad than he thinks, carrying the quieter traits of quick fingers and more obvious ones like his constant search for amusement. Talking to you consistently satiates that itch.

“Aphrodite isn’t the only god that attracts attractive people, you know.”

“Oh? Do tell, because if she’s one of you, your cabin’s gonna be extra trouble,” your mouth curves into a smile, and he thinks he likes it more when you’re trying to be mean to him like this because the back and forth between you two is a comfort Luke cherishes. The words have lost their bite over the years, and there are no more cuts and bruises besides an occasional wounded ego, but it’s still entertaining, to say the least. He can’t imagine a day without hearing the teasing lilt of your voice, always easy to prod at and always wanting to have the last word.

“My dad is the god of thieves and messengers. We’re fast, smart, charming, and also good-looking. Do the math.”

“Also apparently the ones with the biggest egos, but okay.” There it is. He shoves you and you trip over your own feet falling fast.

“Hey! Jerk.”

“Definitely a daughter of Dionysus, crazy as always, and clumsy too.” Luke’s nose crinkles at the sight of your crumpled frame.

“Your hand is like the size of my face, what the fuck was I supposed to do with that?”

A fleeting thought in the back of your mind reasons that maybe violence is the answer, but he’s still not finished making fun of you even after he helps you up.

“And vulgar! What a shocker.”

“Ugh. You better hope your dad stops populating because if there’s any more that come here and act like you? I’m quitting.”

Luke watches you gaze at the heavens, probably looking for a fuck to give and he snickers at how easily you give in nowadays. Maybe he’s the one losing his touch—usually you’d put up more of a fight to argue.

“You wouldn’t. You love this job. Camp. S’why you’re not as fun anymore, Trouble.”

A noise of agreement leaves you as you glare at him and the stupid nickname back from when you used to wreak havoc just because you could, a direct juxtaposition to the honorary position you hold today. Finally following him up the front steps of Cabin 11, Luke opens the door and beckons you in, pushing at your hip with his knuckles.

Checking this place last has become a habit with Luke helping you out, and all the kids—Hermes’, minor gods’, and unclaimed, love it when you come to stop by before lights out. They especially loved the later bedtime, but hugs and cool stories from you were a close second.

“Everyone good and ready for bed in here? Sorry it took so long guys,” you say, visually scanning the perimeter and matching faces to bunks, seeing them all settled beneath their sheets, all except for one Luke Castellan. He’s still leaning against the doorframe, breath grazing your shoulder as he hands you a copy of his log from the other cabins he kindly relieved you from.

“What, no bedtime story this time?” He says through hooded eyes, and though he won’t admit it, he adores the sound of your voice. Luke does anything he can to get your attention to hear it more. It almost has a calming effect on him, and maybe it’s the fact that your dad can cause and cure madness, anxiety, and all alike, so something in him believes you do the same, powers or not. One look from him has you sputtering out snarky remarks; different strategies, same results—works every time.

“Castellan…” He grins at the look on your face, and tiny voices pop up from around the cabin, all asking for a bedtime story. Chris even starts a chant from his top bunk, making you want to hurl your clipboard at his head. Hypnos is calling your name at this point, and you’d do anything to crawl into your own safe haven in Cabin 12, but your heartstrings pull at the sight of the little ones pouting, hoping for you to tuck them in with a blanket of comforting words and stories of something more than what these walls meagerly provide. Camp Half-Blood only keeps them safe for so long, and not a lot of them make it out of here alive. You and Luke both know that being two of the oldest at camp, and his smug expression as he settles into his bed is confirmation that you’re about to give in.

“Fine. One quick story, and then everyone goes to sleep okay? Who wants to sit on the floor with me?”

You take your place sitting on the ground next to the foot of Luke’s bunk as he lays upside down on the twin-sized mattress, peering at you through one open eye as the younger children, mostly the unclaimed ones—drag their blankets and form a circle in the middle of the room, waiting patiently for you to start enchanting them with something to occupy their tired minds. Acting— that’s the gift your father had to give you; this time you decide to tell the story of Atalanta and the golden apples, how she ran from love and it still found her in the end, and how some stories can have good endings, despite what’s often found in Greek legend.

Multiple tired eyes droop closed as you finish the story and carry the ones who’ve fallen into Hypnos’ embrace back into their bunks, tucking them in with kisses on their foreheads and it leaves you with a warm feeling that will help you brave the chill on your walk back.

Admittedly, this next part is your favorite part on nights like these. The overflowing cabin of rowdy pranksters and babbling children is as quiet as the secret you hold close to your heart, tiptoeing back towards Luke’s space and draping his blanket over his muscular frame, exhausted from another day of trying to achieve greatness. Your hand brushes a dark curl away from his forehead, fingertips ghosting his pale skin like a kiss you’d never have the guts to give. With everything you have in you, you summon thoughts of serenity and peace, hoping whatever keeps him up at night lets him rest for even a few hours. You don’t pray often, finding yourself spiting your father instead of honoring him on most days, but in the dim light of Cabin 11, you find yourself making time to do so for a pain in your ass called Luke Castellan.

Perhaps he knows something you don’t after all, the crease in his forehead relaxing as you pull your fingertips away.

“Sweet dreams, angelface.”

Mental note: Put his ass to work tomorrow for falling asleep halfway through the story.

It’ll only give him another excuse to ask you to tell it again a few nights later. You find yourself not minding that, a sliver of a smile pulling at your face as you walk towards the door and shut the lights off, a sleeping son of Hermes illuminated by the gentle shine of the moon.

You’d never admit that, though.

—

“you steady me and stir me

all at once.”

-Tanya Wright

ask to be added to luke/general taglist!

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings

[meow-xine]

Ohhh I am so obsessed with him 😫

Shota Aizawa x Fem reader

Cw: smut, some plot… oral (F! receiving)

Background: Aizawa is your husband but you haven’t seen him in WEEKS due to him being caught up in work.

Shota has just been so busy as of late. Truth be told, with the two of you sharing so many aspectual responsibilities – many stemming from Shota’s job, you had felt a strain on your relationship. Shota rarely had time for you anymore, him spending more time now than ever at work, trying to make sense of villain attacks and dorms. Sometimes he would be gone for weeks, the only interaction being a text or a late night call. Of course you kept yourself busy, going to work during the day then occupying yourself with small things around the house; cleaning, crafts. No matter how much you distracted yourself though, there was no way to stop the yearning for your husband. You knew it was necessary, and you would in no way ever try to stop him from doing what he needed to, but you just wish he could take one day off. Life just hadn’t been the same.

“I just miss you so much.” you sobbed into the phone resting next to you, laying down curled over a pillow. This had become a sort of routine, Shota calling you up later than he should, knowing that you would be awake and expecting to hear from him. “I know, I miss you too. It’s.. it’s just been so complicated trying to balance everything. Know that if I could come home to you I would.” He sighed. It wasn’t much easier on him, and you knew that. You often found yourself getting off the phone feeling more guilty than anything. He had a lot on his plate, and you were sure your complaining wasn’t of much help. There was just something about the late night that seeped into your words, taking control and slurring your speech. You weren’t used to staying up so late.

“I’m sorry baby.. I just don’t feel good without you here. It’s too quiet and dull.” you continued your earlier recurring thought. Silence interrupted by your small hiccups filled the air. It was stagnant and dense, but not uncomfortable. “You know it breaks my heart to hear you like that honey.” He interrupted the silence, followed by a sigh. “I’ll do what I can to see you as soon as possible.” he continued. “You promise?” “I promise. Now get some sleep love, it’s late.” And with that you hung up and fell asleep, remaining in the same curled position. 

That was two weeks ago, and since then you had been carefully watching the news reports and attacks against both Shota and his students. It was scary stuff and you constantly had to remind yourself that he would be okay– that they would all be okay. Even with reminders though, you couldn’t help but feel anxious and out of control, sometimes forgetting to breathe until Shota got a break on TV. You followed up with texts and phone calls afterwards too, needing more than just a digital image showing he was safe. 

Finally, amongst the sea of phone calls you had gotten, it was your husband.

“[Name]? Baby?” it was Shota, he sounded happier than he had in a while and you swore you could feel his smile through the phone. “Hi Sho, I’m here. How are things going?” you smiled too, not being able to contain yourself after hearing him. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Things are going good, especially today. I rarely ever take time off work so it was pointed out that I am long overdue for some PTO.” “Oh yay! Do you know when exactly you might be getting some days?” You stood up from the couch you were sitting on in your shared home. “Well…” He started, but before he could finish his sentence the doorbell rang. “Oh, I’m sorry, give me one moment, someone’s at the door..” He chuckled, “Sure.”

You made your way to the door making sure to hold your phone to your chest before answering. Upon opening the door, the phone in your hand was long forgotten, falling to the floor. It was Shota on the other side, lazily holding his phone to his ear. He hung up and opened his arms, allowing you to run into them.

“You’re here! Oh I’ve missed you so much.. I wish you would have told me you were coming ,I would have worn something nicer.” You rambled feeling embarrassed for just wearing one of his shirts and PJ shorts. Not leaving enough time for you to finish a thought, Shota wrapped his arms around you, one snaking around your waist and the other rubbing your back. “Hi baby..” 

You released yourself from his embrace, taking a moment to look at his face and notice the small differences. He looked tired and weary, no thanks to the battles he had endured. Despite everything, it was still your Shota standing in front of you. Your eyes moved down to his lips and before you could think you were all over them. You pulled back, apologizing, “Oh! Sorry,” you knelt down to pick up some of his bags, “let’s let you get settled in first.” 

The two of you carried his bags to your bedroom, placing them on the floor. Before Shota made an effort to unpack, he walked over to you and brought you in for another hug, this one tighter than the last. One of his hands was wrapped warmly against your head, bringing you closer to his chest. You inhaled, making a mental note to lock his sweet musk scent away for when he inevitably had to leave again. “I missed you so much baby, you have no idea.” he spoke, his voice soft and gravelly. 

You loosely pulled away from him and looked into his eyes, one of your hands holding his cheek and his hands still lingering low around your waist. “I missed you too Sho. It felt impossible without you here. I’m just so happy you’re okay.” He smiled down at you and planted a small kiss on your lips. He deepened the kiss, disentangling your entire being yet somehow making you feel more full than you ever had all at once. His hand was now placed against the nape of your neck, all the while slowly backing you up into the nearest wall. 

Once you felt your back touch the wall you couldn’t help but break free of the kiss and gasp, being too entranced to notice the position you were in until now. Shota wasted no time in returning to the kiss, using the hand on your neck to bring you closer to him. The two of you melted into the kiss, a mix of small groans and whines left Shota’s mouth as he lost himself in you. He broke away from the kiss, taking a moment to look at you beneath his frame before speaking, “Baby I need you right now..” he groaned, searching for approval in your eyes. You displayed agreement through a nod and took a step forward. Shota, before beginning to take off your clothes, gently let his hands run across your body longer than he needed to. It had been so long since he had been able to feel your skin underneath him, he wanted to savor it. 

He took off your shirt, admiring what was underneath as he lifted it above your head. Once he discarded it to the side, he worked on removing your bra. You were now completely bare from the waist up and your dark haired husband couldn’t help but stare. “Oh I’ve missed you so much.” He lowered his earlier kisses down to the side of your neck, bending his knees as he moved down to kiss your exposed breasts, one hand massaging the other as he worked. You let out soft moans, the pleasure slowly surging through you. It was more intense than usual, it had felt like eons since you had been touched by him, yet it seemed he still knew exactly how to please you. 

‘C’mere baby,” he led you to your shared bed, sitting you on the edge. You were almost laying down, your elbows propped up stopping you from doing so. Shota got down to his knees in front of you, sliding his hands on either side of your thighs and he slid your shorts off, your panties being the only remaining article. Upon seeing your wetness seeping through the cloth, Shota chuckled  “Awh baby, you’re soaked.” He looked up at you with lust clouded eyes. “Let me touch you, please love.” It took you a moment to fully process and respond to him, you were far too distracted by the sight of your usually dominant husband kneeling before you, so undone. “Yes-yeah, of course you can.” you responded after far too long of a pause. 

He returned one of his hands to its earlier position, slid against your thigh only now massaging you slowly. His other hand moved up slowly to your clothed pussy and you gasped when you felt him touch you. He used his hands to spread your legs open and teased small traces along your inner thighs, moving his face closer. You shivered as you felt the warmth of his breath close in. He planted a trail of the most gentle kisses up your thighs, pausing once he got just close enough to make you antsy. You whimpered, “please Sho..need you..”

“You know I can’t say no when you ask like that.” he smirked, then slid your panties off, gliding a finger down your slit. He inched his face closer, attaching his mouth to your clit after a few small licks. The wave of pleasure crashed down on you all at once, “Oh Sho…” you moved your hands to grab his head, tangling your fingers in his hair. Once his gentle demeanor faded, he was devouring you like a madman, groaning and mumbling into your arousal. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed this..” he lazily groused, slipping two fingers into you. He curled them up into you, the sheer amount of unfamiliar pleasure was almost overstimulating.

Your grip on his hair tightened, indicating he must have been doing something right. He paused to look up at you, “Yeah? You like that? ‘Course you do..” he trailed off, his mouth finding you again. Your nerves heated your entire body, that combined with the growing knot in your belly was enough to push you over the edge. You bucked your hips, now riding his fingers more than anything. He pulled his face up to look at you again. “Oh baby you look so pretty coming undone f’me right now.” his fingers sped up reaching places you didn’t know could be reached. “So pretty.”

“I’m- fuck.. M’ so close Sho..” you couldn’t control yourself anymore. Rolling your hips at the same speed his fingers were fucking you, you couldn’t help but toss your head back in satisfaction, your release smashing against you. “That’s it baby.. good girl..” Shota spoke, his fingers never once slowing until you were worn out. You whined due to the absence that filled you as he removed his digits. 

He stood up, looming over your relaxed frame. He knelt down to kiss your forehead, grabbing one of your hands to help you sit upright. “You did so good baby.. So good.” He sat next to you, stroking your hair. “Oh I love you Shota, so much.” you whined into him. ”I love you too [Name].” He smiled, honestly not wanting to get up. “Now let's get you cleaned up, it’s late.”

“What about you though? I feel bad not returning anything..” You said, feeling a mix of pleasure and guilt all in one go. “Don’t worry about me, we have plenty of time.” Shota responded. He walked to the bathroom, starting a hot bath with a mix of calming oils; then returned to you and brought you to the tub.

The two of you were slipped in you got comfortable in the middle of his legs, your back resting against his chest. “I love you Shota.” you closed your eyes, feeling relaxed enough to go to sleep right in the tub.

He wrapped his arms around your torso. “I love you too, [Name].”

[smallestapplin]

i drop to my knee to ask of thee, prowl smut please!!

i have a vague idea and might go off but ive never seen anyone play with seatbelts imagine going on a drive with prowl and he just gets a little excited and bounds you to the seat with his seatbelt

and omg- if hes brave enough, tells you to touch yourself in his seat and you can see his car rear view just cranking itself just to see you do it

anyways i run now thank you for your time!!

I hope you enjoy! ^^

warnings : reader is GN no genitals described, semi-public, even Prowl can be a menace

🔞mdni 18+Only!🔞

-

-

Prowl merely offered to drive you around, you've been cooped up at base for so long you need to get out, and your sweet boyfriend was more than happy to have a moment away from everything, with you. You were so excited to sit in his driver's seat, so happy to not have to be the one driving.

"Safety first."

Was all he said before the seat belt came down around you, clicking in place, securely around your body, ensuring you stay in your seat. You chuckle at his behavior.

"Prowl, with you as the driver I doubt I'd need it." You're not wrong, Prowl would do anything to keep you from harm, so why would you need to worry?

The bot grumbles under his breath but doesn't lighten up on it, in fact you swear the seat belt got tighter around your chest.

The drive is peaceful, just what you wanted too! You get some nice quiet time with your lover, with no one to bother you two, or demand their own attention. You place your hands on his steering wheel, pretending to be the one driving in case anyone caught a glimpse into the car.

Prowl nearly groans, your hands are much softer than he's use to, he can never seem to get use to your touch, feeling your hands on the leather of his steering wheel, rubbing against it.

It feels so nice-

"Prowl?"

"Hm?"

"The uh....the seat belt is a bit too tight."

He's glad you can't see his face, or how his optics linger around your chest that's now puffed out more. The gears in his brain module turn, until a devilish idea forms.

"Sweetspark, can you do me a favor?"

"Yeah?"

"Touch yourself for me, and I might loosen the seat belt."

Your eyes widen in shock at his request, here? Right now? You look around, it's evening right now and you're still in town, anyone could look around and probably see you! You try to wrap your head around it, until the cab starts to rumble, the bastard focusing the vibrations to your seat.

You squeak, body now shaking with each purr of his engine. If you move your hips just right, you can feel the vibrations right where you need it most-

"Why don't you pull your pants down for me, and show me how needy you are."

His voice is so low, almost a growl as he seems just as needy as you are. You should be telling him no, you're in public, anyone could see you! But you want him just as bad. Prowl lets out an appreciative hum as you carefully wiggle out of your pants, taking your underwear down with them.

You pull your pants down just passed your knees, letting you spread your legs wider so your bot could get a good look at you, already dripping with need. Your sex twitches at the sound of your beloved's deep groan at just the sight.

The scent of your need fills the cab, clouding Prowl's mind.

"Already? It's like you want me to pull over and frag you where everyone could see."

He chuckles, feeling your need slowly drip onto his seat. Your hand slowly making its way between your legs, fingers dipping into your juices to cover them, before you lean further back, allowing yourself easier access to your hole.

Prowl can feel the energon flowing through him, his spike pressurizing ready to fill you and his valve clenching around nothing, much like your own.

"That's it, be a good lil doll for me."

"Prowl..."

Primus, your whimper makes him rev his engine.

"Mm...it's not enough, it's not you." You could cry as your fingers slowly push into your clenching heat, it's not Prowl, just one of his digits fills you up so nicely, stretching you and prepping you to take his spike.

Yours aren't enough anymore.

"Perhaps I spoil you too much."

You thrush two of your fingers deep, desperate to press your sweet spot. Your hips buck, trying to fuck yourself on your digits. You spoil him more than anything, he doesn't even realize he's speeding out of town, needing to find the first hiding spot he can just to take you.

[starkeysprincess]

I just got a gr8 idea with Dom!Drew.

Reader is on a weeklong punishment of no cumming and going feral, she gets an idea to trick him into giving her what she wants by ordering a new toy. Once he’s less angry a few days in, she brings the package in like “wanna see what I got, daddy?” Drew acts all interested and when she asks if he can help test it out, he’s like “sure” and starts getting her all worked up but he knows better. And so does she than to think she can pull one over on him. He finally edges just enough to keep her wanting more but not enough to cum within a second; like halfway, but then stops at the last second like “you really thought I wouldn’t remember? Nice try. That’s another week. Get over my knee.”

you thought you could handle a weeklong punishment of no cumming but you’re such a needy little thing when it came to your boyfriend and it was merely two days in when you realized how much it affected you.

an idea popped into your head as you thought about what would make him break and forget about the punishment, resulting in you buying a new toy.

luckily, when your package arrived, his anger subsided, making it easier for you to go through with your plan.

“wanna see what i got, daddy?” your voice pulled him away from the tv in the living room and he eyed the package in your hands, tipping the neck of the beer bottle to his lips, “sure princess, show me what you got”.

you plopped onto the sofa next to him, opening the package to reveal a vibrator, and noticed his attention shifting to the toy resting in your palm, “there a reason why you bought that?” he grumbled.

“bought it for when i‘m lonely while you’re away filming” you mumbled, “yeah? is that so?” drew chuckled, earning a small hum from you as you toyed with it in your hand, “wanna help me test it out?”.

the smug look on his face as he pushed you to lay back should’ve made you aware he wasn’t going to give in as easily as you thought he would.

your legs were spread open, one resting on the sofa back while the other dangled off the cushions. the buzzing noise paired with your small moans filled the air as drew’s thick digits were stuffed deep in your cunt, the vibrator nestled against your clit.

the faster he pumped his fingers in and out of your tight hole, the higher he’d turn the setting on the vibrator.

“look at you…look so pretty when your little clit is being played with. is this what you wanted, baby? wanted daddy to play with your pretty little pussy?”.

the persistent abuse on your clit along with his fingers working and stretching your cunt open had you writhing under him, your thighs threatening to close as the knot in your lower stomach tightened.

“f-fuck daddy…’m close—“ you whimpered, rolling your hips against his fingers and the vibrator. you grasp at the cushions, nails digging into the material as your eyes roll back.

drew’s fingers slipped out of your cunt, turning the toy off within seconds and you couldn’t help but whine when your orgasm was ripped away from you.

“you really thought i wouldn’t remember and give in?” drew tsked, “nice try, princess but that’s gonna be another week”.

he settled back onto the sofa, “get over here and get over my knee, that little brain should know better than to think you could pull one over me”.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

End Game 12

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: Andrew.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s midnight. The blue digits above the console burn into your irises. You yawn as the headlights flash against a garage door and Andy steers up the driveway. Is this it? His home? 

You sniff and run your hands over your face. Andy shifts into park and kills the engine. He rubs his nose and glances over at you. “You awake, sweetheart?” 

“Mhmm,” you grumble. Regrettably. So much as you would have liked to sleep the whole way there, your mind wouldn’t stop. 

“Right, well, welcome home,” he says, “I’m sorry it took so long.” 

Should you tell him it’s okay? It’s not. You don’t want to be here but worse, you don’t want to go back to where you came from. Your grandmother doesn’t care at all. She didn’t bat an eye at this middle-aged man or that you just left. And you’re stupid. It’s this very man who crushed what was left of your naivete so no, you won’t believe that he cares either. 

Hell, maybe you don’t care. 

“I know it’s late but you could hop in the tub. It’ll help you sleep,” he suggests as he unbuckles his seat belt. “Get all fresh, settle in.” 

He sounds hopeful, almost excited. You’re happy you can’t see him through the dark. Or that he can’t see you. You know he’s smiling but if he could see the look on your face... 

“I’m tired, I just want to lay down.” It’s as much as you can say without lying. 

“Of course, honey,” he reaches over to squeeze your knee. You nearly slap him and scream. You hold back, instead putting your hand over his.  

You slowly pull away and undo your own seat belt. You open the door and he lets go of you reluctantly. You get out and he does the same. He meets you around the hood and you slow as his shadow lurks in the night. His fingertips trail down your arm and he takes your hand in his. 

“We’ll worry about the bags in the morning,” his keys jingle beneath his voice. “You can wear one of my shirts for tonight.” 

You don’t argue. You don’t try to get free of his grip. You just follow him. This is what it’s going to be like. You’ll do what he says and just hope he can’t feel how much you hate it. 

He unlocks the front door and drags you inside. He flips on the lights and you wince in the bright glare. He lets you and you kick your shoes off, leaving them on their sides. You shuffle forward and wander to the archway to your right. 

You take a step and he catches your arm, “hey.” 

“I’ll sleep here...” you point to the couch. 

“What? Bed’s upstairs, sweetie,” he tugs you back, “come on, let’s get settled.” 

You don’t resist. You let him take you upstairs and down a hallway. He opens another door and turns on another light. The bed is draped in navy and ivory. You slip free and trudge across the hazy room. You fall face first onto the mattress. You’re still at last. No more driving. 

“Hey, why don’t you get changed?” He asks as he opens a drawer. 

You don’t react. You turn your back to him and lift yourself to free the blankets from beneath you. You push your legs under it and slump back down. He huffs and his shadow appears on the wall as he closes in. 

“Come on, I got a shirt--” 

“Too tired,” you grumble and pull the blanket to your chin. 

“I know, sweetie, but you’ll feel better. I can still run you a bath.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut and pull the blanket higher. He clicks his tongue and lingers behind you. You shrink down until you think you might just be able to disappear. The floor groans beneath his weight and he finally backs up. You peek out from beneath your lashes. No, you’re still there. Stuck. 

He moves around as you hide in yourself. You sink down into fatigue. Your mind is a storm of anxiety but even that cannot keep you awake. More than anything, you need sleep. You’re tired to the bone. More tired than you’ve ever been in your life. You could sleep forever. You wish you could. That would fix everything. 

Andy fades into you conscious. Your mind turns to static, like a television. There’s only a monochrome crackle between your ears. The world is gone and for an instant, you are not afraid or hurt or angry. Not long enough. 

The hours pass in a blink. When you wake, the digital clock reads just before seven. You close your eyes again. You don’t want to be here. You want to be anywhere else. Yet, you have no escape, only this. Only sleep. Only the void away from feeling and thought.  

The next time you wake, it’s after nine. The other half of the bed is empty. You still don’t move. You sleep even as your head begins to thump. Another hour, and another, and another. Each time you open your eyes, time slips by. Not quick enough. 

“It’s noon,” Andy’s voice cuts through the fog. “I think it’s time to get up, sweetie.” 

His weight dips the bed in front of you and he rubs your shoulder, “come on, you want a coffee? A hot bath? I’ll make you pancakes.” 

“No,” you say and pull the blanket over your head. 

He huffs, “sweetie.” 

“No,” you repeat. 

“What’s going on? You have to at least get up and change. You’ve been in those clothes for two days.” 

“I don’t care.” 

“Sweetie, come on, I know it’s a big change. I thought... I thought we were past this. We’re going to work together,” he coaxes as he yanks on the blanket. He frees it from your grasp and uncovers your face. You squint at him, temples pounding. 

“That’s what you said,” you utter. 

He closes his eyes and puts his chin down. He takes a deep breath and pokes his tongue into his cheek. He lifts his head and his cheeks pinch with tension. 

“I’m being patient. I have been. And generous. I saw the way you were living--” 

“I didn’t ask you to fix me,” you say. “You can’t.” 

“That’s... you’re not broken, sweetie. I’m not trying to fix anything. You’re young and lost and I know it’s a lot but I’m trying to help you build a life--” 

“I’m young and stupid,” you glare at the wall, shuddering under his touch. “Because I believed you. I fell for your fucking lies--” 

“Sweetie, don’t--” 

“And you’re just some old man. I might be too young to know better but what’s your excuse?” You snarl. 

He’s silent. He retracts his hand and turns to sit straight. He drops his shoulders and another exhale slowly wafts from him. 

“My wife died. My son too.” He says, “I was alone and I found you. So don’t sit here and mope like you’re the one who knows pain. We’ve both lost people, I’m trying here, sweetie.” 

You want to laugh. You want to scream. You want to smack him. No, you want to sleep. You turn and roll onto your other side. 

“I’m tired,” you say. 

He grabs your elbow and you expect him to wrench you back. He doesn’t. Instead, he rubs your arm. 

“It’s okay, sweetie, I get it. I’ll be here.” He leans over and presses a kiss to your head. “Waiting for you.” 

He nuzzles your hair and draws away. You lay locked in place until he unlatches from you. The bed moves with his weight as he stands. 

“There’s a whole life waiting here with me.” 

You don’t move, you don’t speak, you don’t breathe until he’s gone. Then it all falls apart. You devolve into hiccuping sobs. You cocoon yourself in the blanket and weep. Its more than just him, more than just the weeks of doubt and self-hatred, it’s a whole lifetime of helplessness.  

The people you want to want you will never and the one person you could never see again won’t leave you alone. 

🎮

A soft weight lands by your feet. A sigh precedes Andy’s appearance as he strides up the side of the bed. He crosses his arms and glares down at you as your eyelids flutter. 

“You need to get dressed.” 

You wince and rub your forehead, “I’m tired.” 

“You’ve been in bed for two days. That’s long enough. Get up.” He demands. 

He's not coaxing anymore. There’s not an ounce of gentleness left in his voice. Or his stance. As you peek up at him, he seems bigger than ever. In that moment, you realise how truly big he is. He might be older but it doesn’t make him weaker than you. 

“Please,” you whine. 

“Look, I don’t want to treat you like a child, but that’s what you’re acting like,” he snips. “So come on. Sit up. I got a bath drawn for you. You’ll get washed up and feel a lot better.” 

“Andy,” you cover your face. 

He moves quickly. He grabs your wrist and pulls your hand away. “No, up.” 

“Hey--” you try to free yourself but he’s too strong. 

You kick and fight, trying to resist him, but he twists your arm and yanks you out of the bed. He holds your hand well above your head. He grips you tight enough that your bones creak. 

“Ow, you’re hurting me--” 

“I’m helping you, sweetie,” he lets you go at last. “So come on. I’ve been working hard to get everything read for you. You’re not going to rot away in bed.” 

You rub your wrist as you hug it to your chest. You’re a mess. You don’t need a mirror to tell you that much. Your hair feels grimy, your skin too, and your clothes stink of your sweat. You’re embarrassed at the realisation. 

“I’m sorry,” you shrink down. 

“I’m not mad. I’m worried,” he insists as he wraps his arm around your back and guides you forward. You don’t get how he isn’t repulsed by you. Deep inside, you hoped he would be. 

You’re pathetic. You’re gross. You're dumb. But he’s still there. He’s persistent.  

Are you ungrateful? 

It’s a nice house. Nicer than your grandmother’s. What is he even asking you for? To change your clothes and wash up? Basic, human acts. You are disgusting. How can he stand you? How can he want you? 

You feel the heat behind your eyes and a tingle in your nose. You need to be alone. You don’t want him to see you crack but you can’t keep it in much longer. 

“Okay, I’m sorry, Andy, I’ll... I’ll clean up,” you try to pull away but he doesn’t let you. 

He takes you into the bathroom. A nice sparkling bathroom with pristine tiles and clawfoot tub and fluffy mat and shining mirrors. It’s more than you could ever hope for or even dream of. 

He lets you go and you draw away at last. You hug yourself as you approach the tub, water lapping up the walls as it fills. He looms behind you. 

“There’s a towel for you,” he says. 

“Sorry,” you apologise again. “Can I just be alone?” 

“Sure, but I’ll check on you. If you need anything, just yell.” 

“Fine, sure, yeah,” you rub your neck and refuse to look at him.  

You’re embarrassed. You always hated the feeling that you were a loser. That you’re the dirty kid. You always smelled like your grandmother’s house and your clothes were always slightly wrinkly and you never had nice hair or new shows. You were always just the kid your parents left behind and your grandma wanted to forget. 

The door shuts and you turn to fall onto the closed toilet seat. You bend and cradle your head, bawling as you smother all noise in your hands. You hate yourself so much. You hate that you fell for his trick. You hate that you let it get this far. Even if it means Kara is safe, it doesn’t feel worth it anymore. 

You get up before the tub can overflow and shut it off. You undress and step into the steaming water. It’s too hot but you don’t care. You lower yourself in and close your eyes. Even if you feel unnerved by this strange house, the heat is soothing. 

In the moment of calm, you try to sort through it all. The grief, the fear, the anger, the doubt. You can’t let him take everything. You have to figure out what you can hold onto. What he will give you. He keeps saying he wants to give you everything, that he’ll take care of you. So, you’ll ask nicely, right? 

You sit up and grab the soap. You lather up a loofah without much attention to the act. He says you’re in this together. He’s making promises and you’re just asking that he follows through... 

You never asked anyone for anything. You never could. You were never afforded the luxury of expectation. This feels weird. It’s like you’re selling yourself for simple things and yet, he’s offering you more than you ever had before. 

Compared to what you know, the unknown might not be so bad. 

[yeyinde]

OK but i need to know if price allows his wife to trim his beard …can you please write a drabble on it to feed my price addiction

Oh, absolutely!! I bet it’s easier for him to have someone he trusts cut his hair for him. His beard, though—I imagine he grooms it himself (too many oh, sir, you should cut it this way—), and he prefers a straight razor over a blade. If he really, really trusts you, he'll let you do it for him, but he's been grooming his beard since he was 28, and so. No one does it better than he does. 

His hair, however? He considers it a free cut.

》 WARNINGS: Um. Just some domestic bliss, really. Bantering. Allusions to sexual content, PTSD, and trust issues (not as serious as it sounds; just briefly mentioned). This is basically just gratuitous fluff. This was written with absolutely no discernible characteristics for the Reader—gender-neutral reader 》 WORD COUNT: 1,9k

"Hold still."

"Holdin' as still as I can, love."

His words are thick—little more than a grumble rasped into the collar of his shirt, distorted from the tilt of his head, chin resting on his sternum. 

To someone else, his tone might be misconstrued as waspish; a scathing snap sawed between his clenched teeth, and coloured in a thick paint of impatience. 

But you know him more than most, and the huffiness of his tone only serves to amuse you. 

(Your irascible man.)

Still. 

Your fingers snake through the overgrown locks on the top of his hand until you have a fistful trapped tight between each of your digits, and then you tug just so. A warning. Not enough to hurt him, of course, but enough that it makes him tense—makes him groan. 

His voice loses the surly pinch, and sounds decidedly breathless—a fact that makes you stifle a grin. 

"Gonna start somethin' you can't finish, you bloody minx."

"Gonna cut your skin if you don't stop wriggling around," you volley back. 

He huffs, shoulders slumping down with his sharp exhale. "Just get on with it. Getting stiff sittin' like this."

You ease off the clutch of his hair, but keep the locks between your fingers, eyeing the length, before nodding to yourself, and bringing the scissors close to the tuffs spilling out. 

The snipping sound of the shears cutting through his hair fills your small washroom. His shoulders seem to relax, if only slightly, as you work. 

You cut the locks between your pinky and ring finger shorter than the rest, and wince. 

"You know," you murmur, brows furrowing as you try to gauge whether or not it's passable enough to be overlooked, or if you'll need to cut all of it shorter to match. "You could go to a barber. A professional."

He grunts. You know what he's going to say before he says it, and you wordlessly mimic the words that leave his lips:

"Cheaper this way, ain't it?" He drops his chin when you nudge his head. 

Cutting his hair has become a small tradition between you, one that started a few months into your relationship when he showed up at your door, three hours late to a planned date with a bucket hat on his head, and a package of forget-me-nots in his hand (seeds, he said, because flowers will wilt and die in a day but if you plant them in your garden, they'll regrow forever). His hair was longer than usual, curling just under his chin, and the sight of him—so frazzled and unkempt compared to how put together he normally was—made something inside of you ache.

He'd rushed here as soon as he could, complaining that his flight was delayed, and his barber quit on him, and all the while, your fingers itched with the urge to run them through his overgrown locks, to feel the silken hair against your palm. 

(To grip tight and not let go.)

The words slipped out with very little conscious thought: I can cut it for you. 

He seemed almost caught off-guard, but the obvious discomfort of having his hair tickle the nape of his neck made his acquiescence much easier. 

You discovered that night just how much you liked having his hair in your hands, and he seemed to realise that fucking you against the wall, while you tugged on his freshly cut hair, in lieu of payment was much more preferable than dealing with a barber. 

"No," he grouses. "They're always goin' on 'bout undercuts, and tryin'a get me to shave my chops, and I ain't dealin' with that when I 'ave you." 

"Free labour?" 

"Hardly." He scoffs. "Gonna break my damned back one of these days, you bloody—"

"—hold still, love," the stolen endearment makes him shudder, but he quiets when you rest the flat of the blade over the crest of his ear, cutting the overgrown hair around his sideburns. "That's it. Good boy."

"Keep playing with me, love, and I'll show you who's a good—" 

Another tug. His scorching words taper off into a growl. 

"You don't seem to complain much when you pull me in for another round—ah, ah—" You tug his hair again when he moves, fighting a wide grin. The plastic handles of the scissors slide back until it arches off the back of your hand, thumb brushing the loose hair from behind his ear. "God, you're so stubborn. You want to get cut, don't you?"

"Trust you not to leave me a bloody mess by the end of this." 

With his chin dipped so far down into his collar, his words are honey-thick and robust, and the deep cadence alone makes your toes curl in your slippers. 

"Trust me that much, hmm?" 

Despite the transparent barb, the tease in your slightly breathless tone, he doesn't hesitate. "With my life." 

"Aren't you a charmer?" 

"Almost done? I'll show you how charming I can be—"

"Nearly. Would've finished an hour ago if you'd keep still."

He grumbles again, but the words are swallowed by the snip of the scissors. An impasse blooms in the scant space between your front, and his broad back. Comfortable, like all silences with him have become. Despite your griping, cutting his hair is soothing—intimate in a way you'd never come to expect it to be. 

It might be the explicit trust he places in your hands when you direct him to tilt his chin for you at a mere tap against his jaw, or the crown of his head. Wordlessly following your commands as soon as they're conveyed. 

To anyone else, such a display is commonplace, but you've been through the thick of everything to know that exposing his neck in such a vulnerable way to you, and so soon after a mission, is more meaningful than any declaration of trust could ever be. The innate drive to protect his fragile pieces from harm often leads to him flinching away from the sharp end of the shears, but it diminishes just as quickly as it rears, and he sits, docile and accommodating, for you. Allowing you this minuscule power over him. 

Maybe that's why he refuses to see a barber, opting to let you chop his hair in whichever style you deem attractive instead. Explaining to someone else why he's so tense, why he sometimes can't stifle the small jerk when cold metal kisses the nape of his neck, seems tiresome. The unneeded opening of a barely healed scab. 

It was a battle getting him to open up to you, to let you invade his space, and squeeze through the splinters in his resolve when it became clear that you weren't going anywhere that wasn't with him. 

The thought of it alone warms you. The ache in your joints from holding your hands still, cutting through the thick tufts of hair, feels like a small burden in comparison to what he's shown you with this. 

It's been barely five hours since he touched down at Heathrow. His duffle bag is still packed. His fatigues are still on. He hadn't even showered off the stench of the mission, or scoured the blood and dirt from between his nails, and yet—

You tap his cheek. His head lifts, and then lists to the side. The smooth curve of his neck is exposed. His exterior vein throbs through his sun-kissed skin. 

Affection blossoms in your chest. 

"Missed you." 

The words are barely a whisper, but his eyes peel open, icy blue finding yours as you lean over him, getting the last patch of hair near his temple. 

John says nothing in response, but he doesn't have to. You see it all—feel it. The vein in his neck throbs more intensely as his heart rate picks up, and that alone is more than an echoed sentiment in return. It's enough. 

But still:

His hand lifts with a deliberate slowness until the pads of his fingers kiss your wrist. He burns red-hot—skin just as fiery as his temper—and the warmth of his rough skin bleeds into you when he wraps his full palm over your arm, thumb brushing your flesh in a distinct pattern. 

When you recognise it, you falter. 

It isn't quite Morse code, but it's something he taught you on the eighth date when you asked if the wordless hand signals were accurate in the movie you'd just seen. His hand found yours as he led you out of the theatre, and down the cold, wet streets of Liverpool. 

"No," he snorted, derisively. And then spent the three blocks back to your flat showing you the different commands they used in the SAS, and the ones he taught his men. "If you can, skin on skin is better. Less likely to be seen. We save it for hostage situations. Like this—"

Blisteringly intense cerulean never wavers from yours as he lets you feel the words he rasps over your skin. 

You try not to tremble with the shears pressed too close to his skin, and quietly pull them away. He watches as you place them on the ledge of the vanity, hand never releasing yours. 

You brush the loose hair from his shoulders, trying to hide a smile.

"All done." 

John hums, the noise a crackling ember that fills the hush in the room, and notches between your ribs where it sticks against your thudding heart. 

"What's the verdict?"

"Why don't you see for yourself?"

Loose hair falls from his shoulders when he stands until it dusts across the tile below his feet. He leans over the sink, shaking his head above the basin, before settling, angling his chin as he takes in your shoddy handiwork. 

"Looks good."

You snort. "Sure. I'll have to go over it once you finish showering because someone wouldn't sit still long enough for me to clip around your crown, and—"

He turns to face you, and the playful diatribe is cut off when his warm palms fit against your hips. It's his turn to tug, and he does so with a sharp jerk of his wrists, pulling you taut to his chest. 

His eyes bore down into yours, mirthful blue. "Yes, yes," his eyes roll briefly toward the ceiling, lips curling into a soft smirk. "But someone kept tryin'a clip my ears, and pullin' on my hair."

"Someone, eh?" You volley coyly, reaching up, and curling your fingers into the bristles of hair spilling from his cheeks. 

At your gentle touch, his expression shifts to contemplative. His chin tilts when your nails graze his skin. 

"You like my beard, don't you?" 

Your brow lifts in question. "Yes, you know I do. Why? The boys making fun of you for it?"

"Gaz said I looked like an Edwardian lord—" you snort at the comparison. He pinches your side. "Watch it."

"Is that all?"

"Soap said they're grabable."

"Yeah, they are," you purr, taking in as much as you can in your fists. "Very steerable, too. But why is Soap concerned about that?"

"Said someone could grab 'em. Drag me by 'em, and—"

"Like his mohawk?"

He concedes your point with a flash of teeth. "You don't think I need to trim 'em?"

"And lose my handlebars? No way—"

His darken. "Dirty little thing, aren't you?" 

"For you? Always." 

"Mmm," he tilts his chin down, and presses his mouth to yours, teeth nipping your bottom lip. "Insatiable little minx."

"You love it." 

"You know I do." His hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging into your flesh. When you peer up at him, his pelagic gaze turns turbid with desire. "Now, about your payment…"

[yuri-is-online]

I’d like to hear a little about Idia’s Yutu. I bet he was pretty startled to see his hair suddenly catch fire + any other physical changes associated with the curse. (Do you think the yellow eyes and shark teeth are even caused by the curse?)

Idia is a popular boy and I have a lot of thoughts about him in general; I feel like I gave him a lot to deal with in this particular au... Jade is probably having a worse time mentally but Idia has a bunch of work I know he wasn't asking for.

As for the talk about the curse, I kicked it around in my head a bit and I am going to say yes the teeth are caused by it but the eyes are just something Idia got from his parents. I know I talk about thinking there is something wrong with Trey, but I don't think that's because of a curse and his eyes are definitely yellow. Idia's do seem to glow a bit so if you want your Yutu to have different colored eyes I think it would make sense if they had a bit of a glow to them, but that's just me.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, for context on the fyuuture kid au can be found here and here. For this post, I would recommend reading this explanation of what happened to the boys as Idia has a pretty big role in the bad timeline, and his actions will be somewhat referenced here.

Idia has the benefit and the literal curse of being in charge of S.T.Y.X., meaning that when blot investigations are conducted he tends to be in the know. His Yuu and Yutu should have been safe from anything the Marshall's decided to do but they weren't. Unlike pretty much everyone else in this AU, Idia learns what happened to his family. He knows that Yuu was cursed, he knows they were sent back to their world. But that's about it, he tries to find some sort of way to make contact with your world so he can bring you home but then things go to shit and his progress is severely delayed. By the time he has to help bury Leona it's stopped completely. Ortho tries his best to help, but Idia doesn't really want him to. As much as he wants to see you again, he doesn't want you to have to suffer through any overblots again, nor does he want to raise a child in a dying world.

Sometimes when he is alone, energy drinks scattered around his desk he'll look over to the little digital photo frame he loaded up with pictures of you, from back at NRC all the way up to your wedding and wonders if he should just let you go. There's a chance you being forced to forget about him means you would have moved on, maybe met someone else and had other kids. Was his kid anything like him? He hopes they ended up looking mostly like you, and knowing there is no way for the Shroud curse to reach them does make it slightly easier to sleep at night. He tells himself when he comes back to work tomorrow, he'll put the frame in a drawer along with his wedding ring but he never does. In his mind, he is still your husband, just waiting for fall to come so you can try to be together again. Fall might be another life, but Idia surprisingly doesn't mind. He can wait for you.

Idia! Yutu was a massive crybaby when he was a baby. Very clingy to Yuu and very afraid of his own shadow let alone his teachers and peers. He grows out of the crying as he gets older but not the social anxiety. Yutu wants friends, he just sucks at making them and is extremely stressed out by being around people. I could see Yuu maybe getting an animal of some sort to help with the stress and anxiety their son was feeling. And just by typing that I have become attached to the concept: Ida! Yutu gets a dog Yuu feels inclined to name Cerberus. Yutu adores her and takes very good care of her without any fights about his chores.

Yuu remembers Idia as being more of a cat person, but they tell Yutu they think he really would have approved of Cerb. They remember him as being a socially awkward, but extremely passionate about his work and hobbies. His love of retro games causes a lot of Yuu's cursed pains, they know he liked those sorts of games but they can't for the life of them remember the titles. Yutu tries to reassure his parent it's just nice knowing a little bit about his dad and that he doesn't need the specifics. Hearing about his dad's interests motivates him to learn about emulators as he gets older, and he builds Yuu a nice family computer after scrounging for parts.

Yutu prefers single player or local co-op games, but makes an exception if Yuu has a long term MMO or something like a genshin account because he does like playing with Yuu. It helps soothe his social anxiety to talk to people while he knows his parent and Cerberus are near by, but when they aren't online he's essentially a solo gamer.

Unfortunately for Yutu's potential inner gremlin, Yuu also remembers Idia's shut in tendencies and is determined to get him outside from a very young age. Cerb does her best to help with that too, it's Yutu's job to walk her and he swears she keeps trying to introduce him to people. He's had so many awkward conversations with the people in his neighborhood because of her. His other chore used to be helping out in the little vegetable garden Yuu started to help cut down grocery costs, but that quickly ceased being a chore and became a full blown passion.

Idia! Yutu loves flowers. He fills his windowsills with plants that are safe to be around dogs and has Cerberus help him dig a flower bed around your home so he can plant more of them. Sure the veg garden is nice too, but he loves the significance of and variety that can be found in flowers. If you live in a place that can keep bees then he will absolutely bug you about wanting to get some.

Twisted Wonderland looks horrible to Yutu. It's dark and cold, he's been snapped into a room full of people in a place he doesn't recognize, and his parent has gone non responsive as he tries desperately to shake them awake. He tries snapping at the fancy looking man that comes to help and accidentally bites his tongue, and that's when he notices it.

Mostly because Cerberus tackles him and tries to put him out.

"Owowowowowowowwww-" Yutu tries to push Cerberus back but she keeps whining and trying to lick at his face. She yelps as Yutu catches his breath as he sees what she's trying to paw at. His hair is on fire, or to be more accurate his hair is fire. He can hold it, he can tug at it, it's warm and is not burning his clothes but his hair is on fucking fire-

"STAY." The voice is so commanding that both Cerb and Yutu freeze, the strange man from before with his dual colored hair looks oddly nostalgic at his little command, eyes obviously softening at the dog as he shakes his head. "Good girl, no need to worry. Your little master is ok, he isn't going to combust." Cerberus whines, but she relaxes and Yutu stands shakily. "Though full warning you might feel like you are once I am done explaining things to you."

Idia and Ortho are called to NRC for an emergency and debriefed on their way over. Yuu holds on to life just long enough to speak with Idia a little, the first time Yutu meets his dad the two of them are saying goodbye to a now comatose Yuu. The silence is awkward, but the hold Idia has on Yutu isn't. I like to think that Idia and Yuu had talked about what they would have wanted to name Yutu, and that memory had carried across the world so there was no awkward introduction phase between the two of them. The sort of fall into each others lives immediately, the want for the other to exist overriding anything else.

Cerberus helps too. Idia might be more of a cat person but cute doggies are good too. ESPECIALLY one with such an awesome name, she's the most spoiled girl in the entire apocalypse. She's an old dog at this point, so Idia takes her back to S.T.Y.X. where she becomes a sort of unofficial mascot for the research teams. Idia makes her a uniform and everything. He regularly sends pictures to Yutu while he's busy at school.

Because of Yutu's love of gardening trumping his interest in technology, he ends up in Heartslabyul instead of Ignihyde. He is very embarrassed about this at first (he really hates the uniform) but Idia reassures him that he doesn't care about that. His kid could probably kill someone in front of him and he would not care, especially not at this point. So long as he is able to talk to his child about manga and games he doesn't care what extra circulars they're into. I can't see him being super excited about having to go to sports games, but then again maybe he would just think about it like a sports anime to help psych himself up to go (his kid would obviously be his favorite character).

Bad timeline Idia is a lot calmer than his younger self. He still loses his temper and goes on smug rants, but in general he speaks exactly like he does in book six to the S.T.Y.X. employees. His true personality only really comes out when he's alone with Ortho and Yutu, but he tries to keep his more pessimistic side in check. He wants Yutu to have some hope for the future, but the more he runs the numbers the bleaker things look.

Ortho is beyond excited to have his nephew back. He always liked hanging out with Yuu because of the lack of data he had about them. Every conversation he had with them was unique, and he was really looking forward to having the same experience with Yutu. He was just as if not more distraught than Idia when you both disappeared, so having Yutu back brings a bit more spark to his soul. Yutu was so stressed out from all of the changes he was experiencing that meeting Orhto felt weirdly normal. What's weirder: having an artificial humanoid for an uncle, technically being part alien, having fire for hair, or having a spell that literally opens the gates of hell. Yutu is not taking option one that's for sure.

Ortho and Idia are the ones who propose going back in time, but when it's their Yutu who is making the journey the suggestion is extremely difficult to make. Idia doesn't like the idea of asking his son to do this, it feels selfish. But then, Idia also feels like bringing him into existence before he could break the family curse was selfish, no matter what Yutu was always going to be doomed. But that just means he should be the one taking responsibility for this... Ortho volunteers himself for the mission but Yutu points out that that would probably be even more dangerous than sending him. It's a tearful goodbye, everyone knows that if the missions succeeds this timeline will cease to exist and they will never get to see each other again. They have a little party at NRC and Idia takes Yutu aside to visit Yuu's grave, firstly so they can say goodbye and secondly because he has a confession to make

"I was mega cringe when I was at NRC." His dad can't even look him in the eyes, and Yutu swears he sees him shaking. He has to blink a few times to make sure he is seeing things right, this doesn't look like overworked dad, or stressed dad, or angry at something mundane dad. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he was-

"Well isn't everybody?" The tips of Idia's hair turn pink at the question and Yutu's quickly mirrors him from feeling like he's done something wrong. All he's done is repeat his dad's own advice back to him though. "You're always so cool and confident-" Idia wheezes and Yutu almost has to catch him. "I mean I'm sure you can't be bad as me-"

"Oh you are going to regret saying that." His dad can't really bring himself to elaborate further but the thousand yard stare does all the talking for him.

Idia! Yutu was given three very simple instructions by Uncle Ortho about going back in time:

1) don't try to lie to me about who you are, I will run scans and figure it out. Grandma and Grandpa finding out would probably be bad and just complicate things. Easy enough, having Uncle Ortho on his side makes the transition between future and past a lot easier. Current Ortho might be a lot more innocent? Naive? He isn't sure if those are the words he would use, but he is certainly less used to having a soul and being his own person than his Uncle is. Not that this makes him any less accepting of Yutu... if anything he is even more excited about him than he was in the future.

2) try to keep who you are a secret from Yuu, but get close to them. We need them to stay alive, even if we don't know why yet... Less easy than hanging out with Uncle Ortho, but still easy enough. I tend to write all Yutus as not fully realizing how much they missed or loved Yuu until they got to see the younger version of their parent... but out of all of them Idia! Yutu is certainly up there for just how hard it hits him. Mostly because of Rule 3:

3) I am so fucking sorry for what you're going to have to deal with please be patient with me!!! I promise I love you and your parent so much I'm just not going to know-

So that obviously came from Idia and not Ortho, but Yutu really disregarded that warning until he accidentally ran into his dad while trying to find Ortho and saw him take out a tablet? That he used to talk with and got very panicky about when he asked a very simple question about it. Uncle Ortho helpfully tells him later that Idia uses it to help him speak in public because of his anxiety, and is very pleased to learn Yutu has never seen him use it in the future. But that doesn't really change how things are now...

On the one hand, Yutu gets it. He has bad social anxiety himself, but because he had a very supportive parent who worked with him to challenge himself in healthy ways he never got to the point that Idia is. He also was a lot older when he had his first experience with a traumatic loss and had Idia (who is a bit too experienced) and Ortho (who is just so understanding) there to help him through it. He knew that was not the case for his dad, they talked about it a lot in the future because Idia felt like he had a right to know, but I don't think he fully comprehended how bad Idia's mental health was.

Because no matter how much he might get it, this guy is still his dad and Yutu really wants to interact with him. He wants to impress him and maybe finally beat his high score on Star Rogue, Yutu just knows there are a bunch of stories he never got to hear because his dad was too embarrassed to tell him and this is maybe his one chance to find all of them out. But his dad is such a shut in he barely even interacts with Yuu! Yutu was always way too embarrassed to ask him about how they got together and now he swears he'll never know because him being in Ramshackle seems to have scared his dad off.

That's only half true, Idia doesn't really see Yutu as a romantic rival... like Cater he assumes you are related in some way because of the similar appearances and tastes in manga. Even when the two of you deny it he shrugs it off, hey maybe Yutu is just you from a different reality? He thinks he read a manga like that once... either way not his monkey not his circus. But like. It could be, Ortho really does like to remind him that Yuu is much less judgemental than everyone else on campus so if he wanted to make some progress on his journey of self improvement talking to them might not be such a bad idea. wink wink nudge nudge! But going over there still means he has to interact with someone other than Yuu and Mr. Grim and that's stressful.

He doesn't think about it at all when Yutu keeps finding excuses to not be there when Ortho drags him to visit because of how relieved he is to not have to socialize with him, at first anyway. He notices when Ortho excuses himself too, they certainly seem to be buddy buddy which isn't something he's going to complain about but as Idia does get closer to Yuu and *ugh* admits to himself he's got some feelings he starts to feel like he should at least know something about the kid other than his name. He does not completely figure it out, but he notices all of the relevant data points before he's slapped in the face with who Yutu is.

Like Lilia! Yutu's reveal, I think Idia finds out about who Yutu is in the middle of a fight. Yuu gets injured by a really strange blot phatom Idia has never seen before and Yutu absolutely looses it. His hair flares up and for snaps his hood to cinders as he's roaring out spells and trying desperately to make sure that thing doesn't touch his parents. Something you both hear loud and clear.

At first this makes Idia beyond excited. He probably joins the little fit his son is throwing except in raw joy because he's fantasized so much about this! He even has a little sims save where Yuu and him are married and they've got a kid and a cat and wow just look at Yutu he looks even cooler in real life than he does in a life sim! Yuu look at him, you guys have a-

A kid. You have a kid. With him. One that's got his teeth and hair and your nose and is sobbing in his arms about how much he missed you both and doesn't want to watch you die again. The sheer worry eclipses his second hand embarrassment at his own smugness as he awkwardly holds on to the sobbing Yutu and looks towards you for help. He's never been good at this whole emotional comfort thing, pls assist. So you pick yourself up and join the group hug and all three of you just sort of sit there for a bit while Yutu tells his story. About growing up in your world, how he came to NRC and his friends in Heartslabyul (Idia is blaming that on you, as a joke ofc he doesn't care what house his kid is in), and the plan to go back in time because of how hopeless the future is. It's not a story Idia takes lightly, especially when Ortho confirms it and sends him all of the data he and Yutu have collected so far. Idia is a bit gloomy and prone to complaining, but if you are in a bad place there are few people more reliable. He is a lot like death in a way, he'll always be there in the end.

Idia is a bit awkward around Yuu for a bit after the reveal, I like to think of you as being newly together at this point so Idia hasn't really revealed just how... detailed some of his fantasies about you are just yet. There are a lot of them, he has uh. Maybe written some of them down, pleasedon'tmakehimreadthemoutloud and most of them are perfectly normal and respectable (lies). It stops when you tell him Yutu had to come from somewhere and he dies, buries himself under his covers, and rises again a changed man. Yeah that's right, his kid did come from somewhere NORMIES. He had se-

He's not super big into PDA but he is comfortable being clingy around Yutu and Ortho, though he tries not to be overly cheesy around Yutu. He hates seeing his parents be all lovey dovey with one another and he likes to keep his compliments quiet and for your ears only anyway. I do like the idea of Yuu being a tiny bit more outgoing and embarrassing him a bit around "the kids" (Grim and Yutu) so his hair is in a damn near permanent shade of pink any time he's around Ramshackle. It's one thing to have your younger brother think the world of you, but to have a kid think so highly of you that he travels back in time to save you from an apocalypse? Idia feels super unworthy, it fuels his determination to work out the "problem" Yutu has given him even if his natural pessimism makes him want to give up.

"... Just leave it to your dad." It's an echo of the only other promise he 100% intends to live up to. He really does mean it, Idia is not loosing this match. Just you wait and see...

[kanagenwrites]

Hey folks. My name is Kanagen (It's pronounced Ka-na-ngen. Kana is fine.), and I'm a writer. I mostly write sci-fi with a more or less sapphic bent, and I'm not shy about putting lewd content in what I write because fuck petty moralism.

I'm active in the Human Domestication Guide writing community, where apart from being an author (see below), I'm also a Loret, which means I help maintain and update the lore of the setting, help new creators with questions about it or how to fit a story into it, and so on. All of my publicly available fiction at the moment is HDG content, but I plan on working more on my own original settings and concepts in the future.

I have a patreon, where I post my current long-form project's drafts chapter by chapter, once weekly. I also occasionally talk about my writing process. I'm hoping to expand content there in the future as well.

I don't use social media very much because I remember what the internet used to be like before walled gardens and techbros ruined it. (You kids really don't know what you're missing.) Nevertheless, the life of a freelance writer rather demands I put myself out there somehow, so here I am. Ask me questions, behold the weird stuff I reblog, and try not to get too parasocial with me. I'm just a weird lady who puts words in funny shapes.

Bibliography

Long-Form Fiction

No Gods, No Masters - A revolutionary leftist copes with the subtle differences between her own idea of the perfect world and the just-a-little-off version of it the Affini offer. First novel-length work in the Tillandsia Trilogy; highly suggested you read this before The Floret in the Mirror and especially Freedom's Ember.

The Floret in the Mirror - A mystery/thriller about identity, digitization, and impossible simulated lewdness. Content warning for amnesia resulting from traumatic brain injury as part of the setup. Sequel to No Gods, No Masters.

Freedom's Ember (ongoing) - Sixty years after the Affini conquered her world, a woman clings to her independence; sixty years after being frozen for cryogenic flight from the Affini, a woman struggles to discover who she really is when freed from her father's influence. What is freedom, and what does it mean in the context of the Compact? Sequel to No Gods, No Masters and The Floret in the Mirror, conclusion of the Tillandsia Trilogy.

Sui Generis - A martian attorney living on Earth finds adjusting to life with the Affini easier than most; she was already keeping her wife as a pet before they arrived. The real question is, where's that strange jealousy coming from?

Short Fiction

Mainspring - A Terran secret agent is captured by the Affini, trapped by artist for whom his body is a canvas, and she means to make of him her magnum opus. Wind-up doll content, and probably my most commonly cited story for "this rewired my brain"-style reactions.

Reading the Leaves - A tea-obsessed barista, an affini new to humanity, and a sweet (if awkward) romance culminating in a very raunchy ending. Entry for the HDG February Fluff Fic Jam 2024.

The Fifth Fundamental Force - This story is a silly joke. It should not be taken seriously, though many inevitably do.

Aftertaste (stalled) - A former quadrillionaire and epicure who just barely avoided domestication is tracked down by an affini culinary anthropologist who wants to use his brain to reconstruct a lost flavor using his long-buried memory - he was the last human to ever taste bluefin tuna. This fic is only sporadically updated because the stars must precisely align for my brain to be in a state to write boyliker fic. Sorry, I'm just really gay, y'all.

[actuallyjustabiscuit]

PART EIGHT

Listen. Listen. Listen.

I will go over everything between Kinger and Pomni’s convo in Hell in a more in depth analysis, amongst other significant things that happen in the episode.

But before all that, these are the last little bits that I just wanted to mention.

Again, lighting is hella (lol) dark, but I’m in love with this extreme wide shot view of Kinger and Pomni staring into the hallway of the damned because it’s very similar to this shot with Pomni and Gummigoo in ep 2 when they were stuck under the map👇🏽

Both scenes make the characters look so small.

And, incidentally, both locations happen to be “underground”!

These are quite literally the low points of the episodes, and in both instances the characters experiencing emotional turmoil are able to resurface with newfound hope from the help of a friend.

It really drives home Kinger’s point about how their current existence may seem pointless, but having people who care about you can mean a lot.

These characters are trapped in this massive virtual world with so little control over their lives, yet they can still find comfort in each other.

We know this is physically painful for Pomni.

We know because she tells us right at the beginning.

Anyone who has ever held their breath for a long time, either while swimming underwater, avoiding noxious fumes, or just for kicks, understand that when your body is screaming to take a much needed breath your brain is instilled with the fear of suffocation if you continue to deprive yourself of oxygen. Ya know that thing people normally need to live.

However, we also know that, because the player’s digital bodies aren’t real, that fear is now rendered unwarranted. Pomni has been told that she should have no fear of death if she doesn’t take a breath, yet she still feels it, because she is still afraid of it.

Now of course this is much easier said than done, but it is what ultimately helps Pomni in the end. And it’s done almost accidentally because just as Pomni is beginning to feel the fear of suffocating…Kinger starts to glow, and as a result creates a sort of distraction for her to make it through the hallway. She is no longer thinking about how she should be afraid of dying. Kinger, just by walking through "hell" with her, helped her become a little braver.

It’s not only visually beautiful, it’s also thematically heartwarming.

This overhead shot of Pomni approaching Ragatha is so funny to me cuz it feels so unnecessary.

We already know she smol, the angle here is almost rubbing it in!

Look at this loser. Absolutely enamored with this girl finally giving her positive attention.

Meanwhile Jax’s literally stuck in the background watching this sapphic saccharine scene playing out against his will thinking

[lets-try-some-writing]

How would the first meeting between the Autobots and the humans have gone? With their more alien and most likely more imposing forms (due to their Cybertronian vehicle modes) I assume the government agents / military personnel sent to investigate were rightfully afraid. (Personally I think seeing 15-30 foot robots with optics that pierce through the presumably kicked up dust would be a little scary) Perhaps they would’ve spoken in a mix of Cybertronian and English? Would they have simply stared and watched, like in your Grim Dark Archives AU? I dunno it’s just something I thought would be interesting, but I already sent you a few requests, so feel free to delete this one. (To clarify this is a request for a longer writing post)

I have thought about this probably more than I should have. Writing The Grim Dark Archives gave me ideas for this ask, hence my IMPOSSIBLY slow response. Annnnnnyway, here you go!

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

The Autobots had plenty of time to prepare for their inevitable interactions with humanity during their journey. At the time the team consisted of Ratchet, Optimus, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee. As such, they were too few in number to go for any real intimidation tactic, not that they would have gone that route anyway. There was no choice but for them to learn to communicate.

But of course, due to the HIGHLY varying methods of human communication across Earth, it was decided that each of the team would specialize in different methods of communication to ensure that at least someone could talk. Ratchet went the technological way and learned how to communicate in human morse code, the various computer coding languages, and digital texting. He hated every single moment of having to figure it all out, but at least he wasn't Bulkhead. Poor Bulkhead was tasked with learning the more physical methods of communication just in case things went south. He spent hours upon hours watching traditional dances and physical activities from around the world meant to express certain intentions. Let it be said that he is not a good dancer.

Bumblebee of course went down the route of non verbal communication for obvious reasons. He learned all the various sign languages available, practiced miming, learned various whistles, and familiarized himself with music in order to create ambiance as needed. Some species worked differently after all. Optimus for his part actually learned the spoken languages of Earth. Being a former archivist made the process far easier than it otherwise would have been, but he still spent a ridiculous amount of time practicing to get it right. With all of this having been done, when the team finally arrived on Earth, they felt they were ready.

They were incredibly wrong in their assumption.

They spent a handful of weeks undercover, but a few too many security cameras ended up getting them caught. Soon enough they were confronted with quite a few armed vehicles surrounding them and what had to be around a hundred soldiers with weapons raised. The team had learned what surrender looked like and so raised their servos up to show they passivity. That action seemed to give the gathered soldiers pause, and not too long later, a speaker was sent before them.

"I am Agent Fowler from the Department of Defense. What are you and what are you doing here?"

"We are Autobots. We come from the stars."

"You are aliens?"

"Affirmative. We arrived in a spaceship."

"A spaceship?"

"Affirmative. We came to find our bullies."

"Your... *wheeze* bullies?"

"Is that the incorrect term? We seek our... brothers?"

"Right, you came here to find someone. What do you plan on doing here while you hunt them down? Are you planning on blowing anything up?"

"Negative. Combustion of native structures and lifeforms is not on our wishlist."

"Wishlist?"

"Affirmative? Is that not how the term is used? I apologize."

"No no its fine. Let's talk this out."

Optimus did his very best to get the point across, but due to the many similar words in the English language, his ability to use words in context was rather limited. It also did not help that he spoke as though every single word was coming from a script, which unknown to Agent Fowler, he absolutely was reading from his translation program. He was disturbing and hilarious to speak to and Agent Fowler had to step aside and laugh more than once before going back over to the bots to continue talking in a secure facility. But this was noticed rather quickly, and so eventually the team swapped tactics. Optimus stood quietly and stared to try and figure out how to adjust his speech patterns while the rest of the team worked in tandem to communicate differently.

Fowler was not pleased when he had to fetch a technician to try and translate what Ratchet was typing up, which largely amounted to very very complex code going into the extreme details of their situation. Ratchet almost flipped a table when the technician gave up two lines of code in. The medic was not at all happy to have to think about learning the native language. At least with code he could fudge it a bit. But if the squishies couldn't even read the most "basic" of code strings, he was doomed. Bulkhead didn't fare much better in his attempts to dance in various American styles to show how the Autobots were trying to be friendly. His moonwalk was the only thing he was able to do right and all it did was leave the entire collection of human personnel laughing themselves half to death. Humiliated, Bulkhead made way for Bumblebee who managed to convey more vital information through sign language. He got across about as much as Optimus did, but finally there was some sort of answer for the humans present.

Then of course, there was the mess that way asking for names.

"The military will decide what we are going to do with you, but for now you all can stay here. Do you have any names to do with your files?"

"Affirmative. Our names are not pronounceable in your language, but they can be translated."

"Well lay it on me."

"This is Bumbling Bee. Or perhaps Honey Bee? Striped insect? I am afraid I do not have a proper translation."

"Bumblebee it is. What's next? Cargo lift?"

"Negative. This is Dividing Wall."

"Dividing... wall."

"I believe that is the most direct translation. A close synonym would be Bulkhead."

"Right... who is the red one then?"

"My companion is named after a tool on our homeworld. I do not believe you have the exact same tool here. The closest object I could find was the tool you call a ratchet."

"So his name is Ratchet?"

"It is close enough. Is "he" the correct referral for us on your world?"

"You look more masculine, so unless you want to be a she-"

"No, your masculine referral is sufficient."

"What is your name then big guy?"

"I am... Best First? I believe that is the most direct translation of my designation."

"Best First? You must have quite the ego."

"I did not choose my designation, it was given upon my rise to my station. However as my designation seems to be offensive, I will attempt an another translation."

"Wait-"

"Optimus Prime is sufficient. That is the designation by which I believe I can be referred to."

"Alright then. This is going to be a headache."

The Autobots were kept in a facility until the military questioned them more and understood their intentions. But there were more than a few miscommunications and both Ratchet and Bulkhead lamented the many hours spent learning what they now knew to be a useless form of communication.

[lost-inthedream]

SF9 favorite positions for cockwarming

Pairing: sf9 x female reader

Genre: fluff-smut

Warnings: penetration

Bonus song rec: Deep Ocean, by WayV

Read under the cut

Youngbin:

You are sitting on his lap wearing your favorite oversized t-shirt and your panties are placed aside "You don't have to do anything, baby". He loves how domestic that is: the TV is on, maybe it's a reality show or a romcom. His dick is all the way inside you and he can tease your clit with his fingertips from time to time. But just by brushing over your delicate nub, a small tear of arousal pours out of you. You are supposed to enjoy quality time, after all.

Inseong:

He is very fond of staying naked for a while after you had sex. During this time he may pull you close as if he would cuddle you, your big spoon. Instead, you and he are just waiting until he has a new erection so he can push it inside you and keep it there. Your sex is still sensitive from the intercourse but he shushes you "Please, let me stay close to you".

Jaeyoon:

He likes his sweetheart on top of him on lazy mornings. It's easier to become intimate with him because he sleeps with few, if any, clothes. Climbing on his chest as he grabs your ass is natural. You ask why he is hard just to have him chuckling and immediately making himself fit into your humid hole. "Why are you wet?"

Dawon:

Sanghyuk can't stay much in the same position when he is inside you. As a result, your cockwarming sessions will be a bit chaotic with you asking him to persist a bit more. Being close to him is so delicious, his muscles feel nice against your skin. You normally get to be on top, using your weight as an instrument to keep him still. You kiss his cheeks, stroke his scalp and consequently earn plenty of "love you's" from him.

Rowoon:

Okay, you all took some time to figure that out. Yet, based on the fact that Rowoon loves getting his dick sucked (and also giving oral because of his blessed oral fixation) he enjoys having you warming his cock in your mouth. The way both you and him feel intimate in such circumstances fascinates him. You can even close your eyes and give in to the scalp massage he gives you. "Sugar, you can stop whenever you feel like".

Zuho:

His baby girl looks so pretty wearing a skirt with no panties, especially when you motion him to make room for you to sit. He smiles and straight up pulls his shorts down so there's no barrier between your sexes (he didn't have any underwear either). Juho keeps working on his songs while you smell his neck and get sleepy.

Yoo Taeyang:

Taeyang stirs more than he should when you are trying to warm his dick but you find it lovely. You often convince him to get naked and let you take care of him when he is exhausted. So you sit on his cock and kiss him lazily. You shush him with open-mouthed kisses and pin his wrists onto the mattress.

Hwiyoung:

Youngkyun places you on his lap, none of you are wearing bottoms. His thighs feel soft under you and he toys with yours, sinking his digits in your flesh here and there. His breath is so slow, so deep and soothing, it's like meditation. You feel yourself melting on top of him, moaning low at the soft stretch his unmoving thickness causes in you. "Is it too deep?" he asks. "It's perfect" you answer, pinning yourself more to his body.

Chani:

Warning: light degradation

He doesn't have a favorite position because he hates cockwarming. The maximum you get from him is making him punish you with it. I mean, he makes you hold your mouth still with his length inside while he is scrolling down on Instagram (of course he kisses you gently after he is satisfied). On another occasion, he pushes himself all the way into your pussy from behind and makes you answer a call.

[snexy-the-snail]

Beach Snacks

Percy found that he ended up on the beach more often than not. More so when Annabeth wasn’t at camp. He sighs heavily as he shifts on the sands, wincing as the chill of the night settled into his skin. Cold sand sucked. It always seemed to suck the life out of your and...and slow things down- Percy sat up quickly, bile creeping up his throat at the rapid memories shoving to the front. He was fine, he didn’t need to focus on golden sand, the cold calculating feeling of eyes staring at him- 

“Hey Perc-” He swung his sword out of reflex, on his feet in seconds. He looked around wildly for the source of the voice, his sword point lowering when he spotted the supposed attacker. “Woah, easy there squirt.”  

“Hermes?”  

“In the flesh.” Hermes chuckles, lowering his hands. The mortal form he had taken was still of a mail man, well sorta, the jumpsuit always through Percy off. His heart slowly stopped racing as he stood there in silence before capping his sword. “What brings you here? Don’t you have packages to deliver?” he asks, pocketing his sword. The lack of light made it a bit hard to see the expression the god wore, but his body language conveyed a deep-seated exhaustion. The god’s shoulders slumping inwards a bit. 

“I could ask the same of you, aren’t you supposed to be asleep squirt?” Hermes prompts, not answering the question. Despite being the god of lies Percy often found that he was the most honest of the Gods simply by not straight up answering anything. The nickname, however, made him snort, crossing his arms. 

He had grown a bit, more so from the summer Hermes had approached with gifts and oh so subtly prompted them to give it a go. He was a good head taller than this mortal form the god had taken as well. “I don’t think the nickname fits anymore, I’m a bit taller than last time.” He points out avoiding the question asked to him. In the limited light he could see Hermes' lips quirk upwards, leaning forward a bit. It was an action that promised mischievousness to follow and yet it didn’t make Percy’s stomach churn. 

“You forget dear little cousin, that I can change that in seconds.” Came the sing song reply, Percy mentally bracing himself as the gods form grew rapidly. Soon a kneeling giant. He felt absolute tiny in comparison, a feeling he hadn’t had since his first meeting of the gods. The memory prickling the back of his head as he puts his hands on his hips. “Mmhm, wow, so scary.” He mocks, smiling at himself. 

Hermes' laugh fills the night air with a warmth, not the type of Percy would have liked but it was good enough. “You’re a riot Percy.” the god muses, fingers curling around his body as he was lifted up. The feeling always made his stomach flip, like the few times it had happened before. He rolls his eyes, resting his hands on the massive digits encircling his waist. “Yeah yeah, I’m hilarious. You going to put me down or just going to chuck me halfway across the world?” He muses.  

He wasn’t sure what was happening. Sure, Hermes would briefly visit, but it was always for his children, sometimes him, and occasionally to annoy Mr. D. He looks up at the gods face now, taking in the features now that they were massive and easier to see. Hermes seemed...tired. Not in need of some rest sense, just exhausted to the bone. He had seen his dad gazing at him like that a few times before. The comment still got a wayward smile out of the god, so he counted it as a win.  

“I just came...to see how you’re doing.” The fingers briefly tighten around his waist. “You took up a heavy mantel, two prophecies all within a brief span of each other.”  

“Exhausted.” Percy answers honestly, swinging his legs as they dangle. Open air should terrify him, the sensation of falling causing his breathing to hitch slightly at the memory. But just as quickly as the panic came, he was cupped against the god's chest, both hands protectively pressing into him. “Ah...Hermes?” He prompts after a second. This action he could see from his dad, Triton now too, but the trickster god?  

“You cry out a lot in your sleep now.”  

The silence around them didn’t seem too comfortable now. Percy swallowing thickly and casting his gaze aside. How would Hermes know? He was pretty sure his own father hadn’t noticed yet. “My kids are worried, you’re a great teacher to them and kept them alive. They pray for you all the time, how tired you are, how you rarely truly smile. Travis says you lie more often than not, and Conner swears that you rarely sleep.”  

Damn. Percy really hadn’t realized how...bad he probably other seemed to the other campers. No one really approached him about the topic, the older campers treated him the same and the youngers would stare at him in awe. Chiron wouldn’t say anything and Mr. more times than not would just give him a nod and raise his Diet Dr.Pepper at him. “Well...they could all be lies; I mean they are your kids.” He tries, ignoring the annoyed fond look in the Gods eyes.  

“Tell lies to me? Hmm, so my whole cabin is saying that Percy Jackson screams at night and more often we find him at the beach than in bed?” Hermes asks. While there was amusement the concern bled through. “They could be exaggerating.” Percy points out, pausing when has pulled away from the gods chest and up. 

He frowns, his face scrunching as he got used to the chill of the air brushing past him. “Then why aren’t you in bed?”  

“Maybe I took a good nap.” He shoots back shivering when he’s lifted up higher, more above the god’s face. He jolts when warmth rushes past him. Was...Hermes seriously going to... No, he wouldn't. 

“Then why do you look so tired?” The warmth encircled him, the moonlight peaking from behind the clouds finally giving some light. Percy’s heart dips when he sees his legs completely engulfed in the gods mouth, saliva soaking through his shark pj pants quickly after. “H-hey! Gross-” He hisses out, trying to yank his legs up, surprised when a rolling pressure simply tugged him down, followed by a ‘glking’ noise. His heart skips a beat, grasping onto the fingers around him. “Hermes! Put me down- seriously this is- stop!” He snaps, yelping when another gulp tugged his body down further into the god’s gullet. He couldn’t even squirm, the pressures of the muscles keeping him firmly in place. His hands move from the gods' fingers to his lips, pressing firmly against eh flesh, trying to kick up and out of the tight space. It was unsuccessful in the worst ways possible, another swallow forcing his arms above him, as he was sucked deeper inside.  

“Hermes!” he hisses out wriggling the best he could in the tight space, the fleshy tongue shielding the back of his head from the god’s teeth. He scowls as the gravity shifts, the feeling of falling accompanying the next few swallows. The slick flesh pressed into him, forcing him further into the core of the God. Soon his feet press against the tight entrance, and he slips in with no issue. The space was different than his dad’s and Triton’s for that matter too. Hermes stomach was dark, and breezy in a sense. The muscle was softer, more like pillows than anything in comparison. It didn’t move much either, if anything the muscle held him in place, the flesh rippling over him like it was surprised.  

“You’re pretty salty squirt.” Hermes replied, echoing all around him, and almost tinkling like wind chimes. “Ew don’t even talk about what I taste like.” Percy grumbles, trying to shift positions, grimacing when the muscle held him in place. “Why not? My kids find it thrilling, they have a chart of who tastes like what.”  

“That is literally so weird.” Percy says rolling his eyes, hating how heavy they felt now. It was something he had discovered recently with Triton. Apparently the closer to divine energy he was, the less his nightmares would affect him. Guess that spread to other gods as well. Hermes laugh shakes the space he’s in, an outside pressure squishing against him, most likely Hermes’ hand.  

He shoves back against it, letting a breath out. It was awful how tired he got even after a little bit of time. “I can’t believe you stole me.” He continues crossing his arms. He could practically see Hermes smug look, another chuckle coming from the god. There was a small lurch, the god no doubt on the move again and yet..he didn’t feel the usual rocking movement that would accompany a god moving. Huh... Maybe it was just a sea thing. “I am the god of thieves my dear little cousin.” came the response. 

“I am so telling my dad.” Percy mumbles, a yawn nearly cutting him off. He scowls again, his eyes nearly shutting. The breezy feeling of the stomach was different than he was used to. In the sea family’s stomach..well at least Triton and his dad’s it was almost heavy inside, like being in a pool and breathing water. He stretches a bit, the small movement accompanied by the muscles firmly cradling him back in place. “Seems like you’re a bit tired for that now, aren’t you?”  

“This is totally cheating.” Percy shoots back, his eyes fluttering shut, the familiar noises slowly soothing him to rest. He hated sleeping now adays, but it didn’t seem so bad within a god. “Like putting a baby down for a nap.” Hermes teases, a pressure that had to be the god patting his middle coming and going.  

Percy scowls, trying to fight the pull to sleep, eventually losing the battle. 

Hermes sighs when he hears Percy’s breathing evening out, deeper breaths indicating the boy had finally fallen asleep. “Sleep well kiddo, we all know you need it.” He murmurs, a hand resting over his middle. Everyone in the sea palace was terrible gossip, and Poseidon was still rebuilding meaning he was constantly traveling to the deep blue sea. It wasn’t hard to get information that the little prince only slept within a god, and given how fiercely protective Triton had gotten made him connect the dot.  

“Uncle P is totally going to kill me if this gets out, so maybe let's keep this between me and you.” He muses, before pulling out his phone, George and Martha pulling up the various deliveries he would need to make that night. The steady snore from Percy becoming wonderful background noise as the night carried on.  

[uselessmicrowave]

kinktober day four

tfp knockout x starscream

tws/content- overstimulation, teasing, sounding, gags, bondage, aftercare, mentions of kobdss, edging

“Oh, poor Starscream,” Knockout mocks, “All tied up and helpless.” he walks towards the seeker, doing his best to look menacing.

He, tied up like a present and shaking, is trying so desperately not to rock or grind against the huge fake spike half inside, half under him. He can’t voice any of his wants because of a ball gag stuffed in his intake. The magnetic vibrator loudly hums against his anterior node, it’s driving him insane. His spike is stuffed with a ridged metal rod. Starscream feels so fragging full.

And all that’s needed to end this was a single comlink message. Then he would be cleaned, fed, massaged and cuddled. But… if Starscream could withstand a cycle (roughly an hour) of this, there would be a repeat session, only their places would be swapped.

He can’t wait for the solar cycle when he wipes that dumb, attractive, arrogant smile off of Knockout’s stupid fragging faceplates.

“Not much longer Star,” the mech slowly walks behind the seeker. “Unless you want to give up. That’d be much easier for you than being teased.” a servo brushes Starscream’s wing, making him whimper. Knockout traces the transformation lines at the base, moving outward on his wings. The shaking from his wing pushes the servo away, Knockout looks disappointed.

“Here, how about we try… this.” he dials the vibrator down, roughly taking the air commander’s wingtip in a servo. The pinch makes Starscream tense up and moan around the ball gag. “Want to speak?” Starscream nods weakly.

“Then stay still.” his servo glides from the air commander’s wing, over to his shoulder, up his neck cables, to the back of his helm. Two digits slide under the leathery strap.

Knockout, with his other servo, squeezes the other wingtip testing the seeker’s will to stay unmoving. A surprised yelp comes from him, but he does stay still, and Knockout said that he would have a chance to beg for an overload…

“Good bot.” the shiny mech flicks the buckle on the gag away from Starscream’s helm. The mouthpiece falls to the ground, Starscream’s oral lubricant spattering the floor where it was dropped. He pants with an open intake, lubricants dripping out of it. Starscream barely gets a couple vents before, “Aren’t you going to thank me?” the medic sneers, standing up. “Maybe I should put it back on.”

“No! Mphm- thank you, Knockout.” Starscream continues to pant heavily, he closes his optics and tilts his helm back in the relief of having his jaws relaxed. The air commander doesn’t pay attention to the footsteps of his counterpart. “Thank you…”

Unbeknownst to Starscream, Knockout was kneeling in front of him, reaching for the ring on the metal rod in his spike. Sharp tipped digits brush under the tip, through the thin ring. The seeker groans, stirring against the touch.

“Ah- Stay just like that, Star.” Knockout tips his helm back again. “Be a good bot for me.” the medic purrs, pulling and teasing at the rod, creating waves of bright pleasure.

“Hhnnn…” he bares his denta, whining, helpless and sensitive. “Hng- ah!” Starscream’s vocalizer cracks in a response to Knockout shoving the rod deeper into his spike, rubbing the tip, then slowly pulling it out of him in a repeating pattern.

A beeping sound comes from somewhere within the room, signaling the time was up. That would be all the teasing he had to endure.

“Mm-m Knockout…” the medic gives a quick kiss to shut him up, gently pulling the sounding rod out of his spike.

“I know, I know. No more. Just one last thing I want to try.” the shiny mech unties some of the knots around the seeker’s body, ropes droop from his lower half. Starscream relaxes his frame, causing him to sink down on the faux spike with a groan.

“Knockout…” Starscream whines.

“I know.” Knockout stands tall in front of the bot, still on his knee struts. “This time, you’ll be allowed to overload.”

“Really?” the shiny mech nods sweetly, taking Starscream’s faceplates and opening up his own panels. The half restrained bot needs an overload badly. It’s the least Knockout could do.

Starscream opens his intake, slowly starting to take the faux spike farther inside of him. He moans around Knockout’s spike, spreading his stabilizers wider. The seeker presses his glossa against the spike, trying to get some sort of praise or attention out of the red mech. Bouncing on the fake spike creates all the movement needed for the task at hand. Starscream groans, sending pleasant vibrations down Knockout’s spike.

“Be a good bot and overload for me.” an overload hits Starscream’s frame like a truck, he drops down onto the faux spike and tries desperately not to bite down on Knockout. His whole frame shakes and shudders.

The seeker’s transfluid soils the floor, making a mess of Knockout’s pedes as well. His wings droop, finally relaxed. The medic steps back so that Starscream can vent properly, smirking at the relieved expression on the commander’s faceplates.

“You were very good for me.” Knockout purrs, untying the few knots around Starscream’s frame, letting him ease onto the ground. The red mech snickers at him, helping the spent second in command up to their berth.

“Don’t laugh at me…” his words are slurred, Knockout can’t help but chuckle.

“Okay, fine. You want me to spoil you now?” Knockout mocks lovingly, knowing what the answer would be. He reaches for the little kit he set out beforehand. It’s full with energon candies and other treats, along with raspberry scented wax. Knockout isn’t sure what a raspberry is, but the wax smells nice.

“Knockout…” the seeker mumbles, faceplates in a pillow.

“Hm?”

“C’n you use the pads instead of the buffer?” Starscream mutters with a piece of candy in his intake.

“Yes, only for you.” the red mech applies some wax on Starscream’s spinal strut, making him sigh of ease. “And also maybe Breakdown…” Knockout quietly adds.