#shackle and chain drabbles

[marvelstoriesepic]

❀ 𝓑𝓊𝒸𝓀𝓎 𝓑𝒶𝓇𝓃𝑒𝓈 ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ❀

Last updated: June 8

I’m only writing for Bucky Barnes

Lots of love for my Bucky people! ♡

I do not consent my work to getting republished

My work can include heavy themes (such as sexual assault, abuse, panic attacks, death, toxic behavior, self-doubt etc). Each chapter and fic will have their own warnings, but if anything might trigger you, be cautious!

If you are interested in reading the Bucky fics I loved on this app, check out my list of fic recommendations on my other blog @buckbuckbarnesstuff

If you'd like to support my work, here is my ko-fi ♡ (this is entirely optional, please don’t feel pressured)

˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔ October Writing Challenges 2024 ˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔

⋆⁺₊❅. Whumpcember Masterlist 2024 ⋆⁺₊❅.

✿ 2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist ✿

WIP Game / WIP Game / newest WIP Game

♡ - personal fav

❁ - fic with 300+ notes

✯ - fic with 500+ notes

☘︎ - fic with 1000+ notes

𐦍 𝒮𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 𐦍

Breaking Chains (on hiatus)

Biker!Bucky x reader

Summary: Leaving behind an abusive and possessive boyfriend, and finding refuge in the hometown you once yearned to escape, certainly wasn’t a chapter you anticipated in your life’s story. Yet, eyes as blue as the sky at dusk, belonging to a mysterious biker drew you into a world of unexpected possibilities, where a job at his bar becomes more than just a means of survival - it’s a pathway to freedom and self-discovery. Though, breaking away from your past proves daunting when shackled by invisible chains.

Like a Phoenix (completed) [92.2k] ☘︎

Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Summary: An attack on your palace thrusts your only hope for survival into the hands of a mercenary who is forced to protect you, all due to a vow he made many years before. Though, those are circumstances neither of you have chosen.

A Window Open to the Moon (ongoing)

Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Adopting a kitten from the animal shelter was an easy decision for Bucky and you. But Alpine soon becomes the excuse you never needed to finally get close.

𐦍 𝒯𝓌𝑜-𝒫𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓈 𐦍

1. Tangled ropes [8.2k] & 2. Beyond the Horizon

Sailor!Bucky x reader

Summary: A new sailor arrives at the docks amongst Captain Barton’s crew. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, the way he carries himself, or perhaps it’s the way his eyes are the echo of the ocean in color and depth. But something about him makes you want to untangle the ropes that seem to choke his spirit.

1. The ropes that bind me [13.4k] & 2. Bridge to your world

Fisherman!Bucky x Mermaid!Reader

Summary: Being a creature of the sea, you are bound to a life beyond the surface, always in sight of the human realm, yet forever out of grasp. But after centuries of this finned existence it’s a fisherman coming to the docks day after day that compels you to bridge the gap between your worlds, despite the warnings about humanity being ingrained into your kind your whole life. Will you meet the same tragic end as several of your sisters before?

1. In too deep [7.4k] ☘︎ & 2. Different, this time [10.3k] ☘︎

Fuck buddy!Bucky x Reader

Summary: After Bucky calls, and you come running, you end up locked in his bathroom, trying to get rid of the evidence that something hasn’t gone well this time.

1. All up in Flames [9.4k] & 2. Not the Time I Meant to Call You [10.7k]

Firefighter!Bucky x Reader

Summary: You just want your toxic ex-boyfriend’s things to stop haunting your apartment. So you let your friends lit the match. But then the sirens come, and with them Bucky Barnes, who puts out more than just the flames.

𐦍 𝒪𝓃𝑒-𝒮𝒽𝑜𝓉𝓈 𐦍

Listen to your gut [2.8k] ✯

Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Bucky is assigned on a Hydra mission. Letting him venture back in the lion’s den without backup sets a deep unsettling dread knotting your stomach. Drowning out logic and reason you beg him to stay.

Still on the list [14.1k] ☘︎

Frat!College!Bucky x College!Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes, the infamous frat guy, known for sleeping around and throwing parties left and right, constantly invites you, out of all people, to all of them. His intentions though remain a mystery to you. Following a troubling event that leaves you shaken and anxious, Bucky is there to pick up the pieces. Stolen glances and exchanged smiles gradually blossom into a connection that goes beyond what meets the eye.

Casual Sweetness [2.3k] ♡ ✯

Roommate!Bucky x reader

Summary: You seek out your roommate and best friend Bucky for comfort after a girls night out leaves you shaken up.

Two [6.2k] ♡ ✯

College!Athlete!Bucky x College!Reader

Summary: Your friends Wanda and Nat drag you to a corn maze event at night. After a rather unpleasant encounter with Bucky, Sam, and Steve, you want nothing but this night to end. Unfortunately for you, you’ll have to find the exit first.

Latte (He)art [7.8k]

Barista!Bucky x Coworker!College!Reader

Summary: Your sweet coworker at the café you work at part time is the only thing able to brighten your day. So it’s only practical that he always ends up in the same shift as you.

Ocean’s claim [5.9k]

Lifeguard!Bucky x Amateur!Surfer!Reader

Summary: Seeking a thrill, your friend Natasha convinces you to go surfing during stormy weather conditions - a bad idea as you come to experience.

Pirate Nights and Pumpkin Lights [1.7k]

Modern!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky and you take Morgan, Billy, and Tommy trick-or-treating on Halloween.

Weakness [7.2k] ☘︎

Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: You use Bucky’s only weakness to your advantage until it bites you in the ass.

Like he means it [13.6k] ☘︎

Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Summary: You can’t take another night of hearing Bucky fuck a girl who isn’t you.

Creamy or Crunchy [3.7k] ♡ ☘︎

Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Bucky joins you grocery shopping to everyone’s surprise.

Supposed Distraction [7.6k] ☘︎

College!Athlete!Bucky x College!Reader

Summary: It’s Bucky’s birthday and you and your friends are planning a surprise party. That leaves you with the task to distract him while the others prepare.

Small gesture, Big meaning [3k] ✯

Tfatws!Bucky x Shield!Reader

Summary: Sam and you prepare something for Bucky’s birthday with the little you can scrape together.

Change your mind [6.5k] ☘︎

College!Athlete!Bucky x College!Reader

Summary: Natasha drags you to an NYU baseball game. And despite yourself, one player catches your attention.

A Thousand Times Before [16.5k] ☘︎

Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Bucky travels to an alternate universe for the sake of a mission. But he doesn’t expect to come face to face with a version of you that loves him, completely and openly. Back in his own world, he is left with a truth he can’t keep to himself anymore.

𐦍 𝒟𝓇𝒶𝒷𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓈 𐦍

Paranoia [1.4k] ✯

Avenger!Bucky x reader

Summary: Bucky comes home to an unlocked door - his mind convinces him something horrible happened to you

Learn his way [1.5k] ✯

College!Bucky x College!Tutor!Reader

Summary: Bucky is more interested in learning about you than biology

Five days, Five bouquets [1k] ♡ ☘︎ + A Home for Now [2.8k]

Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Five days of a fake marriage. Five days of Bucky bringing you flowers.

“Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway.”

- Edgar Allan Poe

[lirational]

Purity and Pretense

Fallen Angel!Shalom x Reader

Note: Drabble inspired from this post by @sinful-lanterns

Warnings: Religious themes, slight prayer-blasphemg that doesn’t come from existing religions, fingering, and oral.

—

Deprivation fuels desire, emboldens curiosity, and entices even the innocent to sink into the abyss.

Purity, said to be a gift left within each human soul as the Creator sculpts them from stardust and hopes, a mirror that reflects how their souls were infused with the Creator’s wishes. With it, each human was allowed the chance to shine, to chase the sun, the symbol of the Creator, and kneel in reverence, the chance to reflect Their radiance being the only promised reward.

A gift that allows access to a reward that may well be illusionary. Perhaps it would be more fitting to call it a curse, a shackle that deprives the human soul from possibilities hiding within the dark.

As you kneeled on the stone floor, once clean clothes now tattered and stained with evidence of the sins you chose to embrace, your eyes focus on the fallen angel sitting on the stone altar in front of you, her gaze chaining you to the floor. Even though she, your master, has fallen from grace, with her wings no longer pure white, stained in graying black and glowing blue, she was still the epitome of beauty and grace, refinement and power.

“Offer your prayer, little one, or have you fallen so far you lost your reason?”

“Please, Shalom, I can’t do this anymore. I need, I need–”

Your body quivered, desire permeating each word. No longer were you able to hold onto any shred of sanity, your body begging, begging, craving for a taste of the ambrosia she would allow you to indulge as you were pleasing her.

“Offer your prayer, then. Go on, call the Creator, let Them bless and witness the pleasure of life you were about to partake in.”

Her voice drips with promise, honeyed enticement and tainted radiance that pulls– no, spurs your body to crawl closer. You were close, so close, the scent and taste of her lingering in the air just beneath her robes. A dry swallow, all from the sweet fragrance that was so close, and there, you pressed your head to the floor in reverent prayer, then, you took the final step, before you fell into the abyss.

“Oh, our Creator, ruler of the skies above,”

Perhaps it was proof that the place was once a holy one meant to worship, as each word tumbled from your lips, it echoed through the ruined halls, and Shalom drank each word, eyes gleaming in desire at the sincere plea. Despite everything, despite how she saw the human kneeling before her had almost drowned, their purity clouded with unending, insatiable thirst, the power behind the belief to the Creator still fuels their prayer, power intertwined between each syllable.

“Thy name the most sacred– ah!” Shalom had moved from her seating position, and then, a sharp pain on your ass. She had moved away from her seat, and thanks to her strike, a stinging pain interrupted your thoughts.

“I don’t recall telling you to stop.”

“-may thy sovereign rule last forevermore. From the firmament above, to–” another strike, to your unmarred butt cheek this time, and you barely remembered to continue, “-to the lands below, thy will be done.”

A cold, almost loving caress of fingers to your stinging cheeks, and your words died in your throat. She punished you with another spank, and another as you opened your mouth. “Nourish our–”

The feeling of a slap to the aching bud between your legs almost caused you to lose all train of thoughts, tears streaming down your face and seeping into the stone floors below. Again, you stopped.

“Remember my order, pet, I won’t remind you again.”

“Nourish our souls, give the traces of our marred sins a thorough cleanse.”

Shalom licked your earlobe, giving it a quick nibble. With a whisper, she reminded you, “From today, as your soul and your purity sinks to the abyss, you belong to me.”

Selfish, selfish and full of want, such was the nature of fallen angels, creatures made of light created to serve, to praise and sing and echo the name of the Creator across everything Their will reaches. After the fall, their love of worship were twisted, corrupted, and mirrored into a void of want that will never be satisfied, perhaps a manifested dark side of always being the one to give, bend over, and praise a thing that could not even bother to truly cherish the beings They claimed to love most.

“Look at me, look at me like you would look at that Creator,” she hissed the last word, full of disdain that her refined visage would have never revealed before. “Praise me, love me, and call my name, and you will want for nothing.”

“Bestow us the will,” you continued, “to for–,” a finger slipped into your sopping wet folds, stopping in time as your breath hitched at the intrusion, “to forgive, and– mmh!” another joined in, scissoring motions causing your thighs to quiver, your will scattering everywhere as the hunger for Shalom’s touch felt sharper.

“Wrong, repeat the line,” She chided, her movements stopped, waiting for you to fulfill her order.

In that moment, you had surrendered your dignity, your place, your connection to a promise that might never have seen any fulfillment, all to the true, honest, and pure pleasure that you had seen, felt, and sensed with your very flesh.

“To forgive, the way I– no, the way we all shall be forgiven under–”

A gentle, sharp press at that sweet spot had you clenching, almost stumbling in your words as you barely hung on to the order she gave you, “forgiven under the eternal grace.”

“Excellent.” Shalom was still moving her fingers in and out, her lazy movements stimulating you all the same. The pad of her thumb pressed and rubbed circles onto your sensitive nub, eliciting noises that painted the pure prayer with tainted cries. “Come, just a little more, just a little more and you will be rewarded.”

You obey, with glee, not caring even as all traces of your devotion was subsumed, corrupted into a need to worship the beautiful angel in front of you. There was nothing more to desire than to follow your angel, your goddess, even as you both sunk into the endless dark, or would it be more accurate to soar to higher heights?

After all, the pleasure mounting in your veins, gathering in your lower belly, felt as pleasing, as free as soaring on the skies.

“When desires– ah, –lead us astray, we beg–”

Unbeknownst to you, Shalom allowed herself a small smile at the irony.

“We beg for the Creator’s deliverance, as–”

“Slow down.”

You were close, so close, and it took the skin of your teeth to take a deep, shuddering breath. Shalom was teasing you, that much was clear, but every attempt to press yourself closer, to finally break in sweet bliss, was denied, replaced by the inferior pleasure of her orders and praise. “Continue, properly this time.”

“For this is thy domain, thy glory and power–”

You shivered, she was brushing close to that sweet spot again. As each word left your trembling lips, the pleasure only heightens.

“That nothing shall eclipse.”

With that final word, you shattered, broken apart as your juices dripped down from your thighs, her fingers, and splattered into the floors. With a filthy, wet noise, Shalom withdrew her fingers and took her seat on the altar, exposing her clit. An invitation to partake while she licked her fingers, tongue swirling to savor your essence.

“Good girl, now, come, take your reward,” she said in-between licks.

As you lapped at her folds, her eyes held your attention, savoring the utter obedience once reserved for gods.

[juicerca]

im gonna go feral if i see the clip of sylus going 'i guess you don't remember Anything ™?' again

oml this fake idgafer. I LOVE YOU!!!I LOVD YOU SO MUCH 😞😞😞💔💔💔💔😭😭😭

short drabble alert, lowkey just my character analysis of main story sylus. I HAVENT DONE THE NEW CHAPTERS YET BC IM WAITING FOR AFTER EXAMS 💔💔💔 it was originally just meant to be a quick post abt how much i love the animation in that scene 😭

barren eyes. dim red with no soul, no lustre. like a gem worn from wear and neglect with no caring jeweller or owner to polish them.

dark and misted like his own evol.

that lazy smirk he defaults to. one that didn't reach his eyes this time because how could it? knowing you had forgotten him. not just your childhood, but your intrinsic soul link to him.

your instinct to devour him only reminiscent of the cruelty he found solace away from with you.

how could you do this to him when the love he had learnt, and half of his very essence was yours?

how could you be so selfish to forget what you once treasured so easily?

...was he no longer your dragon..?

for him, that day was when you had taught him what it meant to be truly cursed. to be subjected to a life of silent protection and unspoken, one-sided vows with no reciprocation. not that he did it for anything like that.

he did it simply because it was you.

because he would never forsake you.

because no matter what, his soul will call for yours.

the melody imprinted on his mind from your days of slowly becoming a fiend, and the cheeky antics he could only put up with because you were his end. they were all gone from your memories.

it was counterintuitive, yes. but it was true. knowing you were his demise didn't matter.

to think you didn't even know his name...the one you stubbornly bestowed upon him. the one you picked for your own convenience. the one he adored. it took every fibre of his being not to breakdown.

he wasn't expecting much. he knew you wouldn't know of the cruelty you were subject to, and god forbid he be the one to remind you. but he was.

and it broke his heart.

learning you felt disgusted by him was the final straw. his back carried enough burden, and being hated by you was the worst chain you could have interlocked onto his shackles.

he wasn't expecting to be your lover. amicable was enough. please, he was confident but he wasn't arrogant. he had been watching you as your silent guardian. not as a sick freak trying to monopolize you.

but you being disgusted by him was a sick joke.

he had never hated his haste so vehemently before or after this. his patience was a virtue he swore never to misplace with you from that moment on.

he wanted you to rip out his eye and devour it for yourself. your greed would delight him, and his pain would ease his guilt.

leaving you wasn't easy. but he knew it was only right. why on earth would you want to spend time with someone you found disgusting?

whatever it was that linked you two together, was his archnemesis...but also his greatest blessing.

[lovesickeros]

☆ from gold, i am undone

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, implied self harm, implied suicide attempts {☆} word count 0.9k

You weren't meant to be here.

You can feel it in the marrow of your bones– it weighs you down like heavy shackles, gold bleeding from your pores until it is all you know. The taste of ichor on your tongue, the warmth of its invasion beneath your skin, that gleam of gold that lingers in the color of your eyes like specks of dust.

You are changed, and you are whole.

But you are so unbearably broken.

A shattered piece of porcelain hastily put back together with gold to fill the cracks.

Decoration, in the end, for you are not fit to walk as "mortals" do. This gold had filled every empty crevice of your body, spilled the red into your frantic hands and made you bleed so it's callous gold could make room inside your body. It has taken from you many things, given many more, but you scratch and bite and tear until it drips onto the floor and even then it never leaves. It stains the floor no matter how hard you scrub– a permanent reminder of the sickening gold that molds you into something that used to look like you– that does look like you. Desecrated, yet so horribly divine.

All you see is a monster.

Something new, something old.

A hollowed out shell, wounds left to rot and fester until you suited the image of the Creator they bore upon statues and murals, the Creator worshiped in prayers spoken in hushed whispers and joyous chants praising your magnificence.

But what magnificence is there in detachment? What joy is there to be found in carving a God out of a human? They kneel like lambs before the shepherd, but the flock has made you– and you want to unmake them. Unweave the tapestry of their being stitch by stitch until it all falls apart and the world knows the cost of casting molten gold into the shape of a human, knows the price that has been left unpaid.

You want to take it from them. Watch them squabble and pray, blind sheep stepping into the wolf's open maw– to tear the seams of their being until the world is unwound by your heavy hands.

But you know it will not satisfy you.

Nothing does anymore.

You are no wolf. Only the shepherd who guides.

And with every drop of blood spilled, they ripped the humanity from your very bones until your body was the cast in which they made something anew– something gold, something horrific. A monster as much a God, a beast as much a man.

There is nothing left but absolute authority.

You try again and again to mend this act of desecration, to peel back the outer shell and rend the gold from your marrow– but your body cannot, will not, die. It mends itself back into place no matter how damaged, and all you feel is the uncomfortable tug of your body forcing itself to live. You cannot die, but were you ever truly alive at all?

Yet with every cycle, you know only one constant besides the thrum of golden ichor in your veins– cold.

Ice that burns, ice that spreads and festers and devours. Claws that pull you apart until the gold runs thick, teeth that burrow into your bones and rip it out from the source..eyes that witness the fall of a God with reverence– hungering, all consuming reverence.

You welcome it.

It is the first time you felt pain since you were cast into an image of a being you were not meant to be. The sting of cold upon your skin makes you shiver, your body tries to reject it, but you want to welcome it– for a brief moment that lasts only as long as it takes for you to blink, you see the glint of something familiar in the reflection of her empty eyes. Something achingly, horribly familiar– something human, all the more terrifying for it.

Even when Teyvat itself crumples like paper beneath the weight of her sins – of this desecration anew, this wretched heresy – you allow her hands to do it again. You grasp her hands in yours like chains, willing her to shackle you, willing her to pull you apart and make you whole again. To break you until the gold cannot put you back together again.

You long, each time, for those eyes like spears that lodge into your skin– burrow deep and sting deeper, making gold flow like water. You long for the biting tongue, the cutting words and those teeth like weapons– long to see the spite and anger and impure disgust aimed at the woman of silver who leads you down a hall that ends only in damnation. You follow each time like the lamb led astray by the wolf, but you do not wail in betrayal when she sinks her teeth into your throat and devours you whole.

For is it a sin if you welcome it? Has their God sinned, in the eyes of the flock, for welcoming such heresy with open arms? For allowing the wolf into their home?

Is it a sin to be broken beneath the only hands that have loved you?

Is it a sin to want to love, too, those hands and teeth stained in gold?

Then you shall be damned, you swear it. Damned, but gold no more.

For death is the closest you have ever felt to being human.

[kissingraine]

hello! i really like your sentinel x megatron drabble and was happy to find that there's someone else who also liked that crackship. this isnt an ask, more like a thank you for letting me know im not alone in this💝

aww, hi!🥹 I'm happy that you like my stuff! Even if it was mech-on-mech brainrot lmaooo— there are tons of Sentinel x Megatron stuff out there. Just gotta find the good ones. ik you didn't ask for it but here's a lil follow-up just because:^) thank you to the blog that recommended Surrogate on AO3, it's a fantastic read if you haven't already, anon!

CONTENT WARNING; uhh 18+, minors DNI, mech-on-mech, not proofread<3

Do I Wanna Know? — TF One Sentinel x Megatron

The cell was dim. Intimate yet suffocating even without the addition of his shackles. Sentinel's head was bowed, kneeling on cold metal without being bound. He didn't need it anymore. Not when Megatron had installed a collar. Not when the supreme leader of the Decepticons rewired his entire frame to go into heat at command. And especially not when his traitorous systems were lighting up with feverish want, thrumming in tune with the override signal now pulsing from the collar around his neck.

It didn't feel like code. It felt like Megatron's touch. Like fingers curling in his spark chamber with gentle cruelty that threatened to consume him. His T-cog was given back at least. Only because Megatron liked seeing him try and hide just how obvious the collar affected him. Sentinel grit his denta hard enough to crack. His frame was overheating, internal fans already working overtime to cool him down for the last joor. Slick dripped down his thighs, spike half-pressurized unbidden yet clearly wanting. A buzzing ache built inside him, too hot to contain.

Wrong.

Violent. Feral.

And Megatron? He watched like he always did, leaning against the doorframe in routine. Like he didn't just hijack the ex-Prime's body and left him to melt on the floor of his throne room behind metal bars. His abdominal strut cramps once and he groans quietly, reacting to the silver mech's presence already.

“You're resisting,” drawled Megatron, striding forward until he was in front of the cage's entrance. His heavy frame moving like a storm barely restrained, growling rumbling through him like thunder. “Why?”

Sentinel couldn't help but snarl, but it cracks halfway through. Half drunk on heat. “Because this isn't me, you monster—!”

The door opens and Megatron walks in while Sentinel shudders like he's just been touched by live wire. Can't help it that he's reaching for him, clenching his servos into a fist to avoid doing just that. “It is you,” Megatron insists, crouching down to optic-level. “It's you without all that pathetic posturing. All that Prime rhetoric. All that fake honor.”

He catches Sentinel's chin with a firm grip, so commanding it makes the ex-Prime yank himself away but fail to succeed anyway.

“You want to be clean,” purred the Decepticon, thumb smearing lubricant off Sentinel's inner thigh, twitching and sensitive only for Megatron to lift it to his intake and swipe a glossa over the slickness of his lubricant. “But you're filthy. You were always flithy.”

“F-ffrag you.” Sentinel whimpered, thighs flexing at the slightest of touches.

“Patience, Prime. You will.”

A low growl rumbled in Megatron's chest, something unhinged simmering beneath those half-lidded scarlet optics now—something twisted and hungry. Not just lust. Or revenge. Something darker. Needier. And it's purely on instinct that the Prime braces himself on all fours when the ‘Con finally circles behind him. Processor fogged with heat while something animalistic overrides his command logic.

His valve cycling open wetly in preparation as Megatron presses against the mech's backstrut, venting heat down his nape while he releases his spike and grinds it along the seam. Not penetrating. Not yet. Just teasing and torturing the other. “You should be in chains,” Megatron whispers, dragging rough servos over Sentinel's trembling hips. “But this is better. You're on your knees by choice. Heat begging for me and your valve drooling on my floors.”

The Prime bit back a sob, feeling his optics flood with salty lubricant. “I hate you.”

“I know,” and Sentinel freezes like the words shock him. Megatron murmuring in his audio receptors to cup the ex-Prime's twitching spike, feeling him arch back with canting hips to relieve himself of the ache. Dividing Sentinel's already heated attention with a stroking caress. It was almost too easy. “And still, I think about how we could've been every night.”

He tugs on Sentinel's drooling spike faster, making the upright mech shudder and clamp a servo over his mouth shut as though it did anything to muffle to sinful noises that spilled through the gap of his digits. Pure, gold wings twitching with sensitivity.

Megatron tugged again—slower now, cruel in his precision. Just enough to make Sentinel’s spike pulse with the threat of overload, but never enough to tip him over. His palm was broad and warm, ridged plating catching along the sensitive cables with every pump, while his thumb flicked over the venting slit at the tip. Over and over.

The Prime gasped, biting harder into his own palm, valve dripping freely between spread thighs. Wings twitching erratically, betraying his arousal to the air.

"Don't hold back," Megatron said, stroking firmer. “Let me hear you. It’s the only honest thing that ever comes out of your mouth.”

Sentinel sobbed against his hand as Megatron twisted his wrist, coaxing more transfluid from the tip. The sound was wet. Embarrassing. And it only got louder when he used both servos—one wrapped tightly around the base, the other pressing down flat against the swollen head. He rubbed slow circles there, smearing the leaking fluid into the already flushed spikehead with relentless focus.

Sentinel's hips bucked. He didn’t even mean to.

“You’re going to overload just from my hands,” Megatron growled, something dark and reverent bleeding into his voice. “So weak, Prime. Or maybe you’ve been waiting for this.”

Sentinel whined, voice gone high and wrecked, knees shaking.

“N-no— I don’t— don’t do this—”

Megatron leaned down, spike grinding against Sentinel’s soaked valve lips as his hands never stopped working. “Too late,” he rasped. “You’re almost there.”

Sentinel screamed.

The overload ripped through him, molten and humiliating. His spike twitched violently in Megatron’s grip, painting the mech’s claws with thick, hot transfluid that he didn’t bother wiping away. His frame collapsed partially, supported only by trembling arms as his valve spasmed open, heat-cycle scent now overpowering the room.

And that’s when he felt it. Megatron’s spike pressing right against his folds.

Thick. Hot. Rock hard.

But… twitchy. Unsteady.

Unfamiliar.

He froze.

His own body was still clenching in post-overload spasms, but he twisted just enough to glance over his shoulder.

"You— You're shaking,” he whispered, disbelieving. “You…?”

Megatron paused just for a second. Then leaned over him fully, his entire weight bearing Sentinel down into the cooling slab beneath them. “I’ve never,” he said quietly, optics glowing like coals. “Not with anyone.”

Sentinel’s processor stuttered.

“W-what?”

“I’ve dreamed about it,” Megatron whispered, lining himself up. “About you. About this. For decacycles. But I never took it.”

He pressed forward, and Sentinel arched���a helpless, traitorous moan spilling from his throat.

“I was waiting for something worth conquering,” Megatron breathed into his neck. “And now…”

A long, slow grind—no full thrust yet—just pressure.

“Now I’m going to lose it inside the thing I hate most.”

Sentinel sobbed again.

But he didn’t move away.

(*uhh insert Do I wanna Know? by Arctic Monkeys here because Tumblr won't let me put it in🧍🏻‍♀️*)

[the-writerwoman]

Another little brainrot I had this afternoon.

So I was watching the 1999 The Mummy as I was typing today, as it's one of my favourite films ever and then the idea popped into my head and I was like OMG IT'S PERFECT. So in between chapters of heartstrings across the hallway, I wrote this out.

We got the dashing bodyguard/treasure hunter Rick O'Connell played by Logan. And eager, naïve Egyptologist Evie played by Wade. I imagine them as Origins Poolverine because I was Logan to have that fluffy hair when it's cut all nice :D

Please please please I am begging someone to draw these two as Rick and Evie. I will write out a Poolverine drabble of your choice, I just can't draw for the life of me and I need to see Logan with the white shirt and leather gun straps. And Cute Egyptologist Wade. We all know we want it :D

Anyways, here's the drabble! I used the scenes from the prison and when they meet him at the boat. I hope you enjoy!

------------

Cairo prison was everything Wade imagined hell would be. The air was a stifling mix of sweat, rot, and despair, and the prisoners staring at him through the bars looked like they hadn’t seen sunlight or soap in years. Wade was regretting this trip more with every step, but he wasn’t about to back out now. Not after Weasel had gotten him into this mess.

“Let me get this straight,” Wade hissed under his breath as they followed the warden through the grimy courtyard. “You told me you found that box on a dig in Thebes.”

Weasel, ever the picture of nonchalance, adjusted his collar and smirked. “I did say that.”

Wade glared. “You lied to me.”

Weasel’s smirk only grew. “I lie to everyone, Wade. What makes you so special?”

“I’m your brother!”

“That just makes you more gullible.”

Wade stopped in his tracks, running a hand down his face as he processed the sheer audacity of his brother’s words. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, here we are,” Weasel said, gesturing grandly to the prison around them. “On the brink of adventure, thanks to my cleverness.”

“Cleverness?” Wade scoffed. “You won that box from a drunk at the Casbah!”

“Picked his pocket, actually,” Weasel corrected, a glint of pride in his eyes.

Wade groaned, resisting the urge to strangle his brother on the spot. The warden, who had been listening to their exchange with obvious amusement, ushered them toward the holding pen.

The warden paused outside the cell, shouting something at the men inside the building. The iron bars looked like they hadn’t been cleaned since the pharaohs ruled Egypt, and Wade wrinkled his nose as the smell hit him—a mix of rust, body odor, and something distinctly fishy.

“And what exactly is he in prison for?” Wade asked, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

The warden’s grin was so smug it made Wade’s skin crawl. “Ah, I wondered that myself. So, I asked him.”

Wade arched a skeptical eyebrow. “And?”

The warden’s grin widened. “He said...he was just looking for a good time.”

Before Wade could question what the hell that meant, the interior cell door was thrown open.

A man emerged, dragged into the room by four burly guards who looked like they were on the verge of quitting. He was in dirty clothes, and his wrists were shackled with iron cuffs. His hair was a wild mess, and his scruffy beard barely hid the scowl etched into his face. Wade noted, with no small amount of alarm, that his glare seemed capable of reducing grown men to tears.

The guards shoved Logan up against the bars, and for a moment, the environment was silent except for the clinking of chains and the background noises of the prison. Logan’s eyes scanned the area, lingering on Wade and Weasel with a mix of suspicion and irritation.

Wade wrinkled his nose, leaning toward Weasel. “He’s just a filthy criminal?”

Weasel cringed, giving Wade a sharp nudge. “Way to make a first impression.”

Logan’s sharp gaze zeroed in on Wade, and Wade felt a shiver run down his spine. Then Logan’s attention shifted to Weasel, and something dangerous flickered in his expression.

“So,” Logan growled, his voice rough like gravel, “who’s the loudmouth?”

Wade’s mouth fell open. “Loudmouth?!”

Weasel chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “He’s my brother, actually.”

Logan tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah? Well, I’m sure he’s not a total loss.”

Wade bristled. “Excuse me? You’re the one chained up like a circus animal.”

Logan ignored him, his smirk turning into a full-blown grin. Wade hated it. He hated the way it made Logan look less terrifying and more... charming.

“I hate this guy,” Wade muttered under his breath.

Weasel leaned closer, whispering, “I think I like him.”

Before Wade could retort, the warden clapped his hands. “I’ll leave you to it. Back in a moment.” He exited with a chuckle, leaving Wade and Weasel alone with Logan and the guards.

Logan watched the warden leave, his smirk vanishing. “Oh yeah,” he muttered, “I’m trembling with anticipation.”

Wade stepped forward at Weasels' not so gentle nudge. 

“We, uh, found your puzzle box,” Wade said, trying to sound confident. “And we came to ask you about it.”

“No.”

Wade blinked. “No?”

Logan leaned closer to the bars, his smirk returning. “You didn’t come for the box. You came to ask about Hamunaptra.”

Wade froze, glancing nervously at the guards to make sure they hadn’t overheard. “How do you know the box pertains to Hamunaptra?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “Because that’s where I found it. I was there.”

Wade’s jaw dropped, but Weasel, ever the skeptic, folded his arms across his chest as he leaned closer to the bars.

“How do we know you’re not just feeding us a load of crap?” Weasel asked.

Logan’s gaze shifted to Weasel, and his expression darkened. Recognition flickered in his eyes, and Weasel’s confident demeanor faltered.

“Hey... don’t I know you?” Logan asked, his voice low and menacing.

Weasel stammered, but before he could finish, Logan’s fist shot through the bars, connecting with Weasel’s jaw. Weasel dropped like a sack of potatoes, landing in an ungraceful heap. Wade stared down at his unconscious brother, then back at Logan.

“Well,” Wade said dryly, “can’t say he didn’t deserve that.”

Logan shrugged as a guard clubbed him again, his head slamming into the bars. He didn’t react, his smirk firmly in place. Wade hesitated, then stepped closer, his curiosity outweighing his caution.

“You were actually at Hamunaptra?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

Logan smirked. “I just decked your brother.”

“Yes, well,” Wade said, waving a hand dismissively. “I know my brother.”

Logan chuckled, the sound low and gravelly. “Yeah, I was there.”

“You swear?”

“Every damn day.”

Wade frowned. “No I didn’t mean that, I meant-”

Logan didn’t lose his smile. “I know, I was there. Seti’s place. City of the dead…” he waved his hands in a showy way. Wade moved forward even more, his eyes bright with excitement. 

“Could you tell me how to get there?” Logan’s eyes looked at him in disbelief. Wade looked behind him to where the Warden was shouting something. He leaned right up to the bars, using his hat to cover his face in case anyone was to read his lips. 

“I mean, the exact location?” his voice low so that only Logan could hear him. 

Logan’s head bobbed about as he said in a serious tone. “You wanna know?”

Wade blinked. “Well, yes.”

Logan’s brows furrowed to look even more serious and Wade was drawn in. “Really wanna know?” Logan rumbled.

“Yes!”

Logan crooked his finger for Wade to press his face right against the bar. Before Wade could react, Logan surged forward and grabbed his face between his thumb and finger, squishing Wade’s cheeks together. Then he kissed him full on the lips. Wade froze, his brain short-circuiting. Logan pulled back, baring his teeth like a wild animal.

“Then get me the hell outta here,” Logan growled.

Before Wade could respond, the guards yanked Logan away from the bars, his fingers falling away from Wade’s face, and dragged him off the floor. Wade stood there, stunned, his lips still tingling. Weasel groaned from the floor, his voice muffled.

Logan elbowed one of the guards who tried to grab him.

“Do it, Loudmouth,” he shouted as he was dragged back into the cell. 

~~

The Giza port buzzed with life, a chaotic orchestra of shouts, laughter, and the clatter of hooves against the sunbaked stone. Camels groaned as merchants hauled crates up gangplanks. Hawkers zigzagged through the throng, waving everything from toy tombs to suspiciously shiny scarab beetles. The Nile shimmered in the midday sun, and beyond it, the pyramids loomed like silent sentinels.

Wade swatted at a hawker thrusting a poorly carved “ancient” idol at him, the kind that looked like it might have been made last week. He grumbled under his breath, weaving between crates and barrels while shooting glares at his brother, who strolled casually ahead, hands in his pockets.

“Do you think he’ll actually show up?” Wade asked, flicking a loose thread from his sleeve.

Weasel barely glanced at him, too busy sidestepping a squawking parrot perched on a vendor’s stand. “Undoubtedly knowing my luck. I know the breed. He may be a cowboy but his word is his word.”

Wade snorted. “His word? Please. Personally, I think he’s filthy, rude, and a complete scoundrel. I don’t like him one bit.”

Weasel smirked but didn’t respond as a voice came from behind them. 

“Anyone I know?”

Both brothers turned in unison.

Logan stood a few paces away, freshly shaved and looking nothing like the man they’d left in chains at the prison. His wild hair had been tamed into something ruggedly handsome, his overgrown beard shortened and styled, and his worn, tattered clothes had been replaced with crisp trousers, a button-down shirt, and a light cotton jacket that seemed custom-made to fit his muscular frame. Even the boots looked polished. He strode toward them with the easy confidence of someone who knew they had everyone’s attention, especially Wade’s.

For once, Wade had no quick remark. He opened his mouth to say something snarky, but the words caught in his throat. “Oh… um… hello.”

Weasel, however, had no such hesitation. He stepped forward, grabbing Logan’s arm in an enthusiastic handshake.

“Smashing day for the start of an adventure, eh, Howlett?” Weasel grinned, his voice loud enough to draw stares from nearby hawkers.

Logan didn’t smile. Instead, he frowned and quickly patted down his pockets. “Yeah, sure. Smashing.” His voice dripped with suspicion as he eyed Weasel. Weasel laughed nervously. 

“Oh no, I’d never steal from a partner, partner,” he reassured. He went to go give him a friendly tap on the shoulder but the look Logan gave him stopped him. 

“That reminds me, no hard feelings about the, er-” Logan points to his face. Weasel flaps his hand in a dismissive gesture. 

“Oh no, no. Happened all the time.” Weasel said with a grin. 

Wade finally found his voice. “Mister Howlett, can you look me in the eye and guarantee me this isn’t some kind of con? Because if it is, I swear—”

Logan didn’t wait for Wade to finish. He stepped closer, close enough for Wade to catch the faint scent of soap, leather, and something distinctly him. Logan’s piercing gaze locked onto Wade’s, and the weight of his intensity made Wade falter, though he’d never admit it.

“Let me put it this way,” Logan said, his voice low and steady, “My whole damn garrison believed in it so much that, without orders, we marched halfway across Libya and into Egypt to find that city. And when we got there, all we found was sand and blood.”

Wade’s throat tightened, his bravado cracking under the raw honesty in Logan’s voice. He swallowed, forcing himself to maintain eye contact.

“Fine,” Wade said, a little too quickly.

Logan’s gaze lingered on him for a beat longer before he stepped back. “Let me get your bags.” Without waiting for permission, he grabbed Wade’s luggage like it weighed nothing, and started up the gangplank of a passenger barge.

Wade stood frozen, watching Logan’s retreating figure. His brain raced with half-formed thoughts and indignation, none of which made it to his mouth.

Weasel, ever the opportunist, sidled up to Wade and nudged him with an elbow. “Yes, yes, you’re absolutely right—filthy, rude, a complete scoundrel. Nothing to like there at all.”

Wade snapped his head toward Weasel, glaring. “Shut up, Weasel.”

But his eyes betrayed him, drifting back to Logan. There was something about the way the man carried himself now, as though shaking off the grime of his prison days had unearthed the raw charisma beneath.

[aquaquadrant]

Was rereading the first chapter, and: "Predictable, repeatable patterns he’s unconsciously memorized- even now, he’s absentmindedly counting down the seconds until the next potion is dispensed."

Do you think, even after ten years, Tango can still time exactly two minutes in his head? Do you think sometimes he finds himself tapping his fingers absently, and realizes there's exactly a second between each tap, stopwatch-perfect, like his hands are still expecting to feel the wither-cold pain of the roses? Do you think someone notices, and they jokingly call him a human metronome, and he has to laugh and pretend it's not because of the months he spent in constant agony?

"After that, his reflection showed that the tips of his ears had darkened- along with his feet and fingertips- and his wither-black tears left permanent stains under his eyes, persisting even after respawn."

Do you think his friends think the black marks are a blaze hybrid thing, but then they meet another blaze hybrid (maybe in MCC) and start to wonder? Do you think they ask? Do you think he makes an excuse about individual variation, or evades the question, or mumbles vaguely about the wither effect and changes the subject?

"He’s spent so much time with the wither effect- grown accustomed to it, even- that he can’t tell right away when it’s starting to overcome him."

Do you think that later, once he's out, he's fighting wither skeletons or even a wither (secret life?) and he nearly dies from the wither effect, because he didn't notice until it was almost too late? Do you think someone, a hermit or a teammate or even a soulmate, scolds him for being reckless with his health, but in his head he's back in Hels again, withering and healing and withering and healing and withering and healing for eternity?

"The chains- well, they seemed to have snapped when he respawned away from them, leaving just a few links attached to his shackles."

Clothes respawn with players. Do you think that's why the cuffs came with him, even though they were attached to the wall? Do you think that after the "training" mentioned in the comic, he considers them a part of him, to the point where his own code does, too?

"Tango inhales deeply; he hadn’t realized he missed the smell of fire so much."

Do you think that even now, he associates fire with freedom and relief and finally, no more pain? Do you think that after flashbacks and nightmares and panic attacks, he sits by a fire and reminds himself that it's not real, it's been years, he's free? Do you think someone finds him, and sits with him, and he realizes that free doesn't have to mean alone?

And in the most recent drabble: "what if the only thing stopping him from reverting back to his old ways is the illusion of control maintained by these shackles?"

Do you think that when he's in the nether, when he sees a fortress, he thinks of the wither skeletons? Do you think that just for a moment, he almost considers withering himself on purpose, another illusory layer of control, to make sure he stays good?

ohhhkay, ok i’m normal about this, i promise. HM. YEAH. suffice to say, this is an amazing ask, but to avoid making it too long or giving too much away i’ll provide very brief answers (to each respective question) below.

yes, yes, and yes. a lot of things from his time at hels tek have stuck with him even after all these years.

yes, yes, and the first one (“that’s just my own unique personal flair!”). luckily this came up at a time when he’d gotten better at lying.

yes and yes, for the first few times he encountered wither skeletons and/or the wither after escaping to hermitcraft. impulse was very concerned.

yes and yes. surely this won’t be relevant in the future…

yes, yes, and sorta- he’s still working on that.

yes, the presence of wither skeletons is one of the main reasons he dislikes the nether (aside from it reminding him of hels). and actually no; before now, the cuffs have been enough for him and he hates the thought of being withered again.

[lady-of-moths]

Nightmare Drabbles - Ace

Word count: 4 x 100

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Tags: @captainportgasdace

Voices ring around him in a cacophony of mockery and laughter. He looks up at the people - all of them older than him, and allegedly wiser. 

“If Roger had a child, they should be put to death too!” 

“A worthless brat like that should never have been born!” 

“Glad that bastard never had a kid. Imagine that filthy bloodline being passed on!” 

He doesn’t understand - what has he ever done? Why must they hate him? He didn’t even know why they hated his father, but surely they must have had their reasons… Right? So maybe his blood really was tainted…

The crew’s mood shifts. Laughter subsides. More and more eyes fall on Ace. He lets it slide, and tries to act as if he didn’t notice. He keeps talking, though he can never quite remember what about. 

The crew’s mood grows increasingly sour. Marco’s expression turns grim. Pops looks at him with veiled disgust. 

“What’s up, you guys? Something I said?” 

Marco grimaces and clicks his tongue. “You’re just like your father,” he sneers. 

Ace looks around - the rest just nod along. Pop’s voice cuts through. 

“I thought you’d be different, Ace, but I don’t think you belong here anymore.” 

Ace finds himself back in Impel Down - shackled to the wall in sea prism stone. 

The guards return yet again, slinging bats, maces, chains and whips. They come to exert their sadistic “justice”. They aim for his head, his face, his throat, guts, and groin. The blows seem endless. They jeer and mock him as they bludgeon him, the chains restraining his any attempt at retaliation. 

Though he didn’t give them the satisfaction of breaking him in Impel Down, his dreams betray him. Tears stream down his face, encouraging the savages, and try as he might, he cannot contain them. 

Ace is marched out to the scaffold. The war is in full swing. The Whitebeards and their allies are fighting tooth and nail for him. Many fall. He’s losing his mind, wishing that they hadn’t come. 

Through the chaos, a voice rings out to him - Luffy! Of all people, his crybaby little brother was the last person he wanted there. Yet, he sparks in Ace a newfound will to live. 

Just as Luffy reaches him, he’s struck down by Garp, who’s chosen the navy over his family… Luffy falls, bloody and lifeless. Ace is powerless as Luffy dies before him…

Sabo

Luffy

[seth-whumps]

Factory

I went to androids for this, I hope that's alright:

--

"Open up your eyes, please."

This is what an order feels like, Whumpee thinks. Like cold water washing through their systems. They follow the words, and stare at the person in front of them, who notes something down on a clipboard, with a distant expression.

"Good. Step off the platform."

They do. It isn't a choice. It's just... what is. One moment, they stand unmoving, and the next their feet move, bringing them to the floor below.

"Alright. Priority encoding begins in three, two..."

Code envelops their vision. Their voice responds affirmative, but they watch something new behind their eyes.

"Priority one: any and all orders from personnel in your downloaded database override any other orders."

The strings feel like chains around their wrist.

"Priority two: perform your assigned job to completion. Accept punishment if necessary."

A shackle in binary slips around their neck; another between their fingers. They just opened their eyes, they wanted to see, they wanted to--

"Priority three: you are an object of the factory. You are nothing else. Understood?"

This isn't fair, they think.

"Understood," they say.

--

vote coughing up blood in this poll before it closes, send in proof and a one word prompt, and I'll write you a drabble!

[mumms-the-word]

WAIT ANON IS COOKING. Imagining Solas face when he goes to help this dalish elf so his mark doesn't kill them and the Fen'Harel Vallaslin is staring at him 😭

Indeed! And—

Okay fine twist my arm, a small drabble for you both (a plague on both your houses, affectionately, for inspiring this)

~*~*~*~

He could feel the eyes of every Templar and Chantry-affiliated soldier on him as he followed the black-haired Seeker down into the dungeons below the village Chantry. The chaotic magic of the orb had laid waste to the grand temple in the mountains above, but this tiny village, aptly called Haven, had survived. By the grace of the Maker, to hear these people tell it.

He, of course, knew better. But he also knew better than to try and explain the truth. As both elf and mage, he was everything this human religion despised, and that was before admitting his role in the explosion. The less he said, the better. Thankfully, two millennia of slumber and a humble, homespun garment was enough to make him look mild and unthreatening…especially compared to the catastrophe at the temple.

“In here,” the Seeker said, her dark eyes narrowed warily at him as she gestured into the last room. “And don’t try anything, apostate.”

“I would not risk the ire of your order so readily, Seeker,” he said, bowing his head. “I will do what I can to study and contain this magic. If the prisoner wakes, you will be the first to know.”

The Seeker huffed and crossed her arms, but stepped aside to let him pass. He ducked into the room, a dimly lit chamber lined with prison cells, where a slim figure lay unconscious on the stone floor, their face hidden by their hair. Their legs were shackled, heavy chains linking from their ankles to one wall. The manacles around their wrists were connected with another thick chain, plus two more that bolted into the opposite wall. At least four guards, Templars, stood watch, the flaming sword symbols on their breastplates and shields gleaming in the torchlight. All eyes watched with wariness and even fear as green light flared erratically from the prisoner’s bare hand.

So much security for a single unconscious person. All for naught. If the mark on their hand contained the power he suspected it did, no chain on Thedas was strong enough to contain it when it inevitably exploded again.

He crossed to the prisoner and knelt at their side, pressing his fingers to their throat in search of a pulse. There. Erratic, sometimes faint. He could sense the magic of the orb beneath his fingers as well, thrumming through their veins, stronger when the glow in their hand flared brighter.

He grit his teeth. It was not supposed to be this way. He thought he would be able to extract the mark. But it was too late. The more it fed magic into their body, the more intrinsically tied it would become to them.

A new plan, then.

He sat crosslegged next to the prisoner and pulled their shackled, magic-torn hand into his lap, brushing away crumbled bits of burnt fabric and leather from what must have been a sleeve or a glove. Little remained of it now, the sleeve ruined beneath the elbow. He frowned down at the mark, watching the magic of the Fade, raw, unfettered, uncontrolled, spit and surge from the wound in the prisoner’s hand. What could have—

A groan. He looked over at the prisoner, who had rolled on their back, dragging the chains with them. Their hair fell back on one side, revealing a long, slender ear that tapered to a fine point. An elf.

His lips twisted, caught between a bitter smirk and an arrogant snarl. An elf—one of the modern Dalish no doubt, from the hint of ink he saw on one cheek. As if misfortune didn’t love to hound his steps and bite at his heels enough, it had to be an elf who had stolen the keys to the Fade, the last hope for a restored Elvhenan, from him. The irony was too much, even for him.

Which fool god do you worship, then? he thought bitterly to himself, reaching to brush their hair from their face. His luck would have it be Elgar’nan, no doubt.

He pushed their hair away from their forehead and carefully turned their face toward the torchlight. And stopped.

A wash of cold crept down his spine. Was this…? No. It can’t be.

He had come to learn the vallaslins for most of the wandering clans in this age. The thorns of Elgar’nan, the spirit branches of Mythal, the arrow of Andruil, the curling horns of Ghilan’nain. But this person bore none of these now-familiar shapes. Instead, he faced a relic of a past so distant, and yet so close, he could hardly believe his eyes.

Six graceful diamond shapes, like eyes without pupils, had been inked into their forehead, three on one side and three on the other, while other lines and dots curved down the length of their nose and from cheekbones to chin in an approximation of a lupine shape. He recognized those lines. Those eyes. They were his.

It was as though he stared into the face of an ancient Arlathan theatre mask or into the murals and mosaics freshly painted and arranged in the height of the rebellion. This was six-eyed face of Fen’Harel, the trickster, the god of lies, the Dread Wolf.

His hand curled into a fist. He pressed his knuckles down into the stone, fighting to keep his composure under the watchful, suspicious gazes of Templars and the Seeker alike.

This was his legacy? To have spent centuries freeing slaves from the bonds of their masters, breaking the control the Evanuris once had physically and mentally over the elves, using his magic to remove the markings and heal the scars of slavery, only to have these misguided Dalish keep the vallaslin as decorations of pride? And what was worse, to have forgotten his purpose so wholly and completely as to have created an entirely new design for him?

This was what his rebellion was for? For the Dalish to so eagerly sell their freedom in his name?

He knew the stories of his old persona had been twisted and malformed over time. But this…his gut twisted, nausea threatening to overwhelm him. Who did this to you? Or did you choose this willingly? Why?

He fought to keep his breathing even. His hold on the prisoner’s wrist was fierce, his knuckles white. He couldn’t look away from those six simple eyes, like staring into a mirror and seeing only a twisted shade in the glass. For one split second, he was tempted to funnel his own magic into the mark on their hand and obliterate it all—this foolish Dalish prisoner, the Chantry, these close-minded Templars—but he dismissed the thought quickly.

He had come here for a purpose.

He took a steadying breath, covering the Dalish elf’s forehead with his palm and hiding those six, beastly eyes, so uncannily like his own before he had built this body eons ago. These Dalish are ignorant, he reminded himself. They know not what they do.

And he didn’t have the full picture either. Did this person worship the Dread Wolf? Or were these markings punishment for some grave sin? With how much his legend has changed over the millennia, there was no way of knowing without asking directly. And he would never be able to ask if this person didn’t live through the night.

Carefully, he turned their face away from him, out of the torchlight, and focused on the mark in their hand. If he wanted to succeed in changing this world, he had to start small. Correct one mistake at a time. What better place to start than here? Here, with a mark that could tear open the very heavens if left unchecked, and a young Dalish elf that had captured his attention wholly and completely.

~*~*~*~

*cough* anyways there’s that

[withallthatisleftofmyheart]

ADAR & MAEDHROS!! ADAR & MAEDHROS!! ADAR & MAEDHROS!!

ilu OP for giving this option for drabble request 😭🫂 anything you come up with about these two will be my absolute mostest fav. ❤️‍🔥

Thank you @valar-did-me-wrong 🖤 I've been wanting to write this for weeks so I got this out very quick lol. I could honestly write so much more of this but here's a start.

Adar sneaks off to visit Maedhros on Thangorodrim (at this point in time, there is a ledge beneath Maedhros' feet).

No smut but dub-con hydration (?) and suggestive feeding of salted meat.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(One year since Maedhros was first chained)

“Drink,” Adar commanded as he proffered a waterskin to the flame-haired prince.

Maedhros slapped the waterskin from his hand. Adar did not attempt to keep hold of or catch it. If this was how the prisoner was going to behave, so be it. The open waterskin flopped onto the stony ledge. Adar’s lips pressed into a thin line. He thought of how freely he had accepted Mairon’s ‘gift’ of wine. A sharp exhale huffed through his nose. 

Maedhros swallowed as he watched the water trickle over the edge and down the mountainside. Adar noticed a slight wince as he did so. He thought the prince’s throat must be raw as flayed hide.

“I was not permitted to bring that to you,” Adar said, brow furrowed “I offered you a kindness at great risk to myself.”

“You are not capable of kindness,” Maedhros rasped, “Begone, foul beast.” 

Adar sighed. “Very well.” 

He bent down to retrieve the waterskin and had to roll out of the way of a ferocious kick that Maedhros aimed in his direction. There was not much room on the rocky ledge. He landed perilously close to the drop. Adar wobbled slightly but quickly regained his balance and got to his feet. 

“You were not so bold with Melkor,” Adar commented. Stomach-churning images of Maedhros’ very public torture flashed through his mind. 

“You are not Morgoth,” Maedhros hissed, “You are a mere underling. A snivelling coward. A traitor to your kin.”

Adar raised an eyebrow, rumors had reached Angband of what transpired at Alqualondë.

Maedhros turned his face away. 

“So it is true,” Adar muttered, “It would seem you and I more similar than you’d care to admit.”

“Hold your tongue, wretc-” Maedhros’ retort was cut off by a gravelly coughing fit. 

“I suggest you take advantage of my kindness the next time I visit,” Adar said coldly, before leaving to climb back down the mountain.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(3 years since Maedhros was first chained)

Adar sat watching the prince from a safe distance. On his belt hung a waterskin and a pouch containing a strip of salted meat. Maedhros looked weaker than he had two years ago. The prince leaned against the cliff face with one arm hanging above him. His eyes were closed, and his knees bent as far as his shackle would allow.

When the prince first arrived, he had been draped in a red cloak made from the finest fabric Adar had ever seen. It was ever so light and delicate, giving the effect of a waterfall of blood plunging down around his shoulders. His long blaze of hair was knotted into intricate braids that dripped with jewels. His skin had a lustre to it that was different to the elves Adar had once lived amongst. Adar found himself instantly fascinated by the Noldor, who had crossed into the West and lived for a time under the light of the two trees, only to forsake paradise and take up arms. 

Cuiviénen was supposed to be a paradise, not as great as Aman, but a haven nonetheless. It had not seemed that way to Adar. Strange shadows had haunted his every step. There were terrible sounds in the woods, piercing horns of hunting and whispers of malice in the thickets. None would believe Adar's fears. At first, they just dismissed him, but after a time they grew suspicious of him. Adar watched others sing and dance, learn skills and crafts, fall in love... Start families. It was maddening how oblivious they were to the threat that surrounded them. 

Maedhros stirred. Adar watched his chest muscles shift beneath his skin. They were smaller now but he still appeared somewhat strong despite three years of starvation. Perhaps it had been four, Adar was unsure if Melkor allowed him to be fed during his year of continuous torture.

One shining silver eye opened and swivelled to Adar.

“Leave me be,” Maehdros croaked. 

Adar got to his feet and approached. He removed the waterskin from his belt, uncorked it, and took a swig. 

“See? It is safe,” he said.

“Poison courses through your veins. I imagine you are immune to its effects,” Maedhros bit back through gritted teeth.

The Noldo’s skin was weather-beaten and dull. His eyes were sunken and darkness hung beneath them. Adar moved in close and reached up to put a hand on the back of Maedhros’ neck. The prince was much taller than him but he was weakened, so it did not take much effort to pull his head down. Adar lifted the waterskin to Maedhros’ cracked and peeling lips. 

“Drink,” Adar urged.

Maedhros beat his free hand against Adar’s chest. It felt like the fist of a child. Adar let him continue his feeble resistance and tilted up the waterskin. Maedhros spluttered and tried to wrench his head away but as soon as the water passed his lips, he stilled and gulped it down greedily. 

“There you go,” Adar muttered as he watched the lump in Maedhros throat bob up and down. It was a satisfying sight.

Once Maedhros drained it, Adar removed the waterskin from his lips, affixed it to his belt, and stepped back. 

“What now?” the prince panted as he swayed on his chained arm. Water dribbled down his chin. Adar wiped it away with his thumb.

“I brought some meat,” Adar replied.

“No, what will happen to me now?” Maedhros asked, his face compressing into a spiteful glare.

“You will feel better because your thirst has been quenched,” Adar replied, exasperated.

 Maedhrdos just stared at him. 

Adar sighed. “I have been in your position,” he confessed, “I remember how it felt to be consumed by burning thirst. I pity you.” 

Maedhros continued to study Adar’s face. Adar took the opportunity to follow the ripple of the prince’s red hair down as it draped across his bare chest. Dishevelled and feeble as he was, Adar preferred him like this. It was more natural than the pompous finery he had arrived in. Perhaps, beneath their gaudy jewels, the Noldor were not so different from the Uruk.

Maedhros’ expression softened.

“You remind me of my cousin,” Maedros said, “Though his beauty greatly exceeds yours, I see a shadow of him in your features.”

Adar’s brow furrowed. He could not parse meaning from his words. Were they a compliment or a slight?

“You should eat,” Adar held out the salted meat.

“What is it?” Maedhros asked. His tongue slid along his lower lip.

“Warg,” Adar replied.

Meadhros sighed. “Give it to me,” he said, hand outstretched. 

Adar cupped the prince’s cheek in his palm. Maedhros flinched, and a soft gasp escaped his lips. Adar brought the salted meat up to his mouth. The prince tensed for a moment, then lowered his head to allow Adar to feed him. A tense silence hung between them as Maedhros ate. He held Adar’s gaze as he chewed and swallowed, but Adar's eyes drifted down to the prince's lips. A very inappropriate thought came into his mind, unbidden. Adar's hand recoiled from Maedhros' cheek, and he abruptly stepped back. Maedhros scrambled to catch the last morsel before it fell to the floor. He swiftly popped it in his mouth and devoured it.

“You will need all the strength you can muster if you are to survive Thangorodrim,” Adar said in an even tone, brushing over his brief fluster.

“Or you could free me,” Maedhros asserted.

“No,” Adar shook his head, “I will not disobey my master.”

Maedhros raised his brows. “Have you not already?” 

Adar's jaw clenched. He turned to leave.

[crystalrabbit246912]

Random TWST Drabbles

I wanted to get a good writing flow, so I took a random word generator and did this.

detail~

Jamil always took care of all the details, down to smallest possible dangers. He always arranged rides ahead of time, prepared for the slightest possibility of harm coming to Kalim, and brought along precautions for everything. He made sure to keep an eye on everyone around them, looking out for threats and making sure that Kalim didn't run off.

Despite his hatred for the Asim heir for the chains he had been shackled to all his life, his shoulders still tensed and he got an uncomfortable feeling in his gut when he couldn't spot his carefree and oblivious charge.

He blamed it on the fact that he would get into trouble if he lost one of the most important people in his life, even though he knew that it was worry for his pseudo-brother that made him scan the area around him with worried eyes.

What else would it possibly be?

Jamil was a very detail oriented person, but he locked away that detail of himself much like he did his hatred and resentment for the chains that bound him for all his life.

wrong~

Riddle didn't like to think back on the time before his Overblot. His memories of the days leading up to it were somehow both clouded in murky black, like the blot that had tainted his magestone, and clear as day.

He didn't like to think about that fact that he had been wrong, that everything that had been ingrained into him from a young age was wrong. He didn't like to think about the fact that Mother was wrong and maybe both of them had always been wrong.

He didn't like to remember that the life he had lived before everything began to spiral and crash was wrong.

Where had he begun to go wrong?

When had Mother begun to go wrong?

If they had both been wrong the entire time, what was all of it for?

preference~

Cater didn't have a preference for who he loved liked. He knew that most people swung one way or another, but he didn't really care. If he thought that someone was cute, if he wanted to let his walls down around someone only to have his heart shattered again, that was up to him.

Other peoples' opinions didn't really matter here, like they did in every other part of his life.

He was good at seeing other people's preferences as well. He knew that Ace and Deuce both liked the same gender as themselves, he knew that the Prefect didn't care for romance (if only he could be that lucky), and he knew that Riddle didn't know his preference yet.

Trey was still a mystery to him, though.

appearance~

Azul cared a lot about his appearance.

While it may not appear that way to an outside observer, he knew that the Twins knew as well as he did that his appearance was one of the most important parts to his attitude.

And his attitude was what kept him from becoming the weak little octo-punk at the back of the class again, so he had to maintain it and keep it perfect so that he didn't become weak again, didn't get called names and beat up every day lost his reputation.

Having frazzled hair and wrinkled clothes was a far cry from the suave, confident Azul Ashengrotto the school knew, which was why he had to keep his appearance and reputation as perfect as possible.

(He ignored the fact that a lot of his reputation was from people speaking badly of him after they failed to meet the conditions of their deals.)

[moodymisty]

hey! Just wanted to say I really enjoy reading your works! I’ve joined tumblr to put in a request, hope I’m doing this right lol. I was wondering if you’d have any headcanons for tech x female jedi general reader? It’s purely self indulgent for my self insert oc, lmao. But I’d love to hear what your thoughts are on how tech would be in a relationship with a general. Thanks so much!

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: You're doing just fine, and welcome to tumblr! It's a mess but it's ours. I love self indulgent OC's so hopefully these little HCs of mine (and a little drabble because it was cute) will tickle your fancy.

Relationships: Tech/Gn!Jedi General!Reader (it just so happened I wrote it without any specific pronouns used)

Warnings: None, unless you consider clone/jedi relationships something to warn about?

Tech would at first, probably be a little bit at odds with a Jedi; Not in a hostile way, but his very '1+1=2, logic is superior' sort of brain competes with someone who trusts in something so vague as the Force. He doesn't enjoy the lack of concrete answers when it comes to the Jedi.

It's an even more prevalent if you're the 99's official Jedi general.

Tech and the Batch are already grappling with the feelings of finally being shackled with a Jedi, after having avoided it for so long. They didn't feel like a Jedi would fit in their squad, no matter how you might be. It's not the easiest hurdle to jump for sure, especially with Tech.

He's cold at first; You can tell he's displeased by your presence, but is attempting to be amicable. It's when you try your best to mold into their group rather than change them, when Tech ends up realizing that maybe this wasn't as bad as he thought.

You both find a common ground, and Tech even comes to enjoy the more historical side of Jedi teachings, even if he doesn't really get all of it.

He often times finds himself tinkering in the same area you're meditating in; He finds it relaxing in a way he can't explain. He makes sure to be quiet and not disturb you.

But it's actually Tech that's the one to make a move in upgrading your relationship, surprisingly enough- once he realizes his own feelings for you go far beyond how his brothers think of you.

He's extremely blunt; He enjoys spending time with you and would like more, but he knows that clones aren't exactly the pick of the litter. You vehemently reassure him that you'd love nothing more. It's not as if he's the only one who's feelings had been morphing over time, as you'd very much grown to enjoy being around him.

I think that Tech would be the least likely, besides Wrecker, to treat you being a Jedi as a 'big deal' in a relationship. Hunter and Echo would probably hesitate due to a fear of chain of command issues and Echo being used to Jedi more, while Crosshair has a sort attitude towards everyone including Jedi. Tech knows that the Kaminoans cannot find out, but beyond that, you being a Jedi is nothing intimidating to him.

If you ever gave him permission, he would love to tinker with your lightsaber(s). Acts of service are Tech's way of showing he likes someone, and to improve something that means so much to you would make Tech extremely happy. He also would love to see the inner-workings of something so integral to the Jedi order. Lightsabers aren't exactly something you get to mess with every day.

Has a spare robe of yours he wears uses as a blanket sometimes. He got yanked at the collar by Hunter once, when he was wearing it and almost left their barracks without realizing.

You can hear out far to your left, outside the shell of the Marauder, that someone is working on one of the LA-AT's with a high powered drill. Someone else is pulling a fuel hose across the hanger, as it drags across the ground with a consistent, sliding noise. Somewhere else is the yelling of a captain disciplining his troopers. It all fades to the background relatively quickly. The metal of the Marauder is cool beneath you, piercing the rough fabric of your robes.

There isn't much room in here to meditate, especially without any interruption, but the Batch and you have come to a sort of solution. There may not be much space between the cockpit seats, but it's enough, and you can seal the door if you need an extra bit of quiet.

It works. If anything, you've come to enjoy it. There's a familiarity about it. In the way that the Jedi temple has a comfortable feeling of home, as does the Marauder.

-CLANK-

Something small and metal hits the ground; A screw, you think. Judging by the way it bounces a few times before it starts to roll across the floor. You pay it no mind, palms shifting ever so slightly as they rest on your thighs. The sudden sound took you out of your meditation for a moment and the noises outside the ship came flooding back into focus, but soon enough you manage to slowly push them out again. Back to a state of peace, each sound being filtered and muffled as if dunked in water as you once again fade away into-

-BANG-

"Tech..."

You open one eye, looking up to your left and watching him look over the arm of his seat trying to spot where his tool went.

"Apologies."

It hit your foot, and so you open both eyes and grab it- with a grunt getting up from your cross legged position and handing it to him. Once you do, both of your hands rest on the arm of the seat to support yourself.

"Don't worry about it. I'm not going to get anywhere with this noise anyways." His eyebrows raise behind his goggles and with both hands gripping his current project, he makes a motion as if going to get up from his seat.

"I could do my work elsewhere, if you require complete sile-" You quickly lean in to give him a kiss on the cheek, close enough that your lips brush against the corner of his mouth.

"It's not you. The noise in the hanger keeps throwing me off." Tech looks out the side viewport to see a groups of clones working on various starships, and he notes how loud the sounds actually are. He's just gotten used to it, he guesses. He's slept in far louder places.

"I like having you here when I meditate, actually." You see the way his eyes light up a bit, both from the loving nature of what you'd said, and the curiosity of wanting to know why.

"It's nice knowing you're here. And ok." You reach up and adjust the light on the side of his goggles so it isn't pointing upwards. Tech doesn't seem to even notice that you doing so.

"Nothing is going to happen on a Republic base," He says, before taking note of the way you roll your eyes at him.

"I know, I just like the feeling." You squeeze his hand that's holding his screwdriver, and while he can't hold yours back, you note the way his eyes watch the gesture keenly.

"Once I finish this, I can promise you complete silence." You smile before he kisses you on the lips, feeling the way you gently sigh against them.

"Take your time. I'm just going to watch."

Join the taglist here: @simp-legend @nekotaetae @chad-something @coffeyorky @merkitty49 @lokigirlszendaya @totesnothere04 @get-wr3ckered @rebel-finn @mandoloriancookie @therealnekomari @loverofclones @notthatfanfictionwriter @lucyysthings @jennrosefx @fxlsealarm @crosshairs-wife @sinfulsalutations @pb-jellybeans @jediknightjana @coraex @anxiouspineapple99 @bobaprint @wolffegirlsunite @sleepingsun501 @crosshairlovebot

[anony-man]

Chubformers extended drabble #2!

Based off of #60 for IDW Overlord, this is the drabble written into a 2k fic! Feel free to read it on ao3 or under the cut!

Original drabble: #60 for Overlord (IDW)

Word count: 2,046

(TW: vore, implied fatal vore)

It was bad manners to play with his food, he’d been told, but there was something so alluring about watching his freshly picked captives shiver and squirm in his presence. What could he say? Their palpable terror always added to the flavor to every dish, even before he swallowed them whole.

Speaking of swallowing them whole… Overlord was pretty sure tonight’s choice of a meal was one of the biggest to date. He was no prude when it came to size—the bigger the better is how he saw it. Still, the fat Decepticon could hardly wait to have such a hunk of a mech lodged in his throat. It was almost arousing, dare he say.

The poor, terrified thing had been quiet nearly the entire night. His fellow Decepticons swore the mech had been cursing up a storm, blaming Megatron for the failure of their kind and calling up gaping maws from Primus himself to break open the core of their world and swallow the nasty scum of a faction whole.

Oddly enough, there was no sign of the fiery, passionate spirit now, not even a drop… not even a word.

Well, Overlord couldn’t toy with everyone. Sometimes his food seemed to liked to sit pretty and wait for the inevitable as opposed to putting up a struggle, and he supposed that was just fine. The flavor was in the fear, after all, and oh, did tonight’s guest reek of it.

Painted blue lips curled into a cruel smile before opening wide for the next bite of his first course. The Autobot across from his was silent as ever, his optics wide as he quivered against the table.

This was always one of his favorite parts, just below getting to swallow up his prey. It was tradition for Overlord, forcing his evening’s captive to sit and watch as he prepared himself for the final dish. Struggling bots never felt so good in his tanks like they did following a big, hearty feast, and Overlord loved setting them up for a cushiony fall into his well-fed belly.

"Delicious," the fat Con said as he swallowed, reaching down to the table to grab a napkin.

The mech across the table flinched away, a gasp of fear escaping him. It was as if he expected those cruel talons to close around his throat at any moment, Overlord could tell. Lucky mech, getting to live for a few more minutes in the confines of the delightful dinner before them.

“Mm... I've truly outdone myself tonight,” Overlord continued, delicately wiping at the corners of his lips. “But I worry about you, you poor, poor soul. Aren’t you hungry?”

The mech didn’t respond, save for another shudder as Overlord dug his fork into the meat of his dish. Another delightful moan worked its way around the bountiful as he shoveled it past his lips, and this time Overlord did little to hide his satisfaction at the outcome of his meal.

Delicious as usual, he thought with a lick of his lips. Even so, it was nothing compared to the dessert that awaited him.

“Oh, forgive me,” he said between a few extra dabs at his lips with the napkin. “I never did ask if you wanted something to eat. Please, help yourself.”

The bot didn’t move, and he hardly breathed. The room fell silent for a time, save for the clink of chains and the tremble of the mech as they hid their face behind shackled servos.

Overlord frowned at the sight. The poor creature looked absolutely pitiful, all curled into on himself in a desperate attempt at appearing small against the grand display of foods laid out over the dinner table. Still, there was a script to follow if he wanted to enjoy every last second of his evening’s entertainment.

He waited patiently until the mech had gained the courage to glance up from the spaces between his fingers, his optics bright with fear. By then the air had begun to stink from their panic, and Overlord loved it. He took in a deep breath and sighed, a contented smile replacing the agitated frown he’d worn prior.

Oh, this was starting to become a positively scrumptious night.

"Enjoy yourself," Overlord pressed. "It would be selfish of me to keep you from having a bite, don’t you think?"

Overlord slid an empty plate across the table to where the mech sat. A small, delicate pastry was plucked up from its display between sharp fingers and dropped onto the porcelain platter. Overlord watched as the mech's gaze drifted to the offered treat, then to him, then back again.

It was risky, accepting the kind morsel. Without fail, though, his captives always accepted. It just took time is all.

“Go on,” he urged, plucking another bite off of his own plate as he waited for the mech to give in. “I’m playing nice tonight, I assure you.”

The mech hesitated, his servo outstretched. It certainly looked appetizing, and he couldn’t deny the way his tanks groaned for food…

"There you go," Overlord said, clapping his servos together as the shivering mech finally took the bait. "That’s a good mech."

One bite quickly turned into two as the mech eased into the flow of stuffing his face. No longer satisfied with the simple dishes available for snacking, Overlord settled for sipping at his glass of engex as he watched the mech gorge himself on as many foods as he could reach.

The frantic, desperate need to keep his mouth full and his belly fuller was almost as entertaining as the climax of the dinner’s final course. Overlord sneered behind the rim of his glass as the pathetic bot slurped and groaned, too caught up in the temporary bliss of a free-for-all feast made just for him—and for Overlord, of course.

“Eager thing, you are,” the Con mused, his frown twisting back into an amused smile at the way the mech stopped to scoff at the ridiculous statement. “Have I made enough to satisfy your appetite?”

It would be such a delightful reward to stuff his belly full with such an obnoxious Autobot. The cowardly terror that had kept him frozen in place was beginning to wane, and the more the bot ate the more he seemed to grow comfortable in his enemy’s presence.

“I’ll say,” the bot said between mouthfuls. He wiped at his face with the back of his servo. “Got enough here to feed a fraggin’ army if you ask me.”

“An army of two, perhaps,” Overlord said as he sipped at his engex.

His evening’s prisoner was getting far too comfortable for his own liking. A little snark was always welcome, but Overlord could hardly stand the shift from shivering fear to cocky and comfortable. The spread of cakes and dishes had been a good appetizer, but the entertainment was coming to an end, and Overlord's patience was running thin.

“I apologize for being so abrupt,” he said, slowly rising from his seat, “but I’m afraid it’s getting a bit late, and I’m dying for dessert.”

The mech’s optics practically bulged from his helm like an earthen creature once he finally looked up from his plate. Overlord was an imposing sight from the start, and the tons of mesh that hung in rolls from his frame merely added to the terror.

Beneath the rumbling purr in the background of Overlord's throat, his belly roared with hunger as he leaned across the table to pluck the terrified mech out from his seat. The dinner was nice, but he was still hungry—hungry for more than just a few little oil cakes.

There was only one solution to his ravenous appetite, and the shrieking mech that fought to flee from his grasp seemed to know it.

“No no no no no!” the mech squealed. “Please, no! I—I can help! I can… I can find a way!”

Playing with big prey meant dealing with a bigger struggle, and Overlord was almost straining to drag the Autobot across the table and into his lap. Dishes clashed and plates broke, the silverware and feast crashing to the floor as the mech sunk his claws into the bunched tablecloth in a feeble attempt at saving him from his fate.

It didn’t take experience to know exactly how this was going to end. Most Autobots who survived a visit with Overlord had heard plenty of horror stories about dining with the Con for the evening.

“It’s been a pleasure,” Overlord said as he held the struggling bot up in the air. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your meal just as much as I’ll be enjoying mine.”

The squirming, screaming mech kicked and flailed, but to no avail. Painted blue lips opened wide, revealing a gaping maw, pearly fangs, and the rumble of a needy gut. Before he could make any further attempts at an escape, Overlord was lowering him down atop his tongue and swallowing against the intrusion of kicking legs.

The mech was immediately engulfed by sticky, hot air and a saliva-coated tongue, his attempts at screaming for help and begging for release silenced by the threat of being chewed up and swallowed. Overlord toyed with the whimpering mech for some time, delighting in the wails that would escape every time his gentle nibbles became too much for the delicate shell of the bot’s chest.

There was no room for speaking when half of the bot was already bulging in his throat, the slick walls working to work him down into the starving, bubbly pits of his tanks, but Overlord did his best to moan his approval around the bot’s frame as it slid over his tongue. He took his time in swallowing, allowing his systems to do most of the work as he suckled against his fingers and licked at the trembling bots frame.

The scent of fear was palpable again, and almost intoxicating. The fat Con’s free servo immediately drifting down to grope and pinch at his rumbling belly, his frame growing hot from the mere thought of digesting another Autobot alongside the delicious meal. His engines purred and his tanks growled as the bot’s helm slid into his throat before quickly slipping past his bobbing throat and dropping into his bubbling tanks below.

The bot sat heavy amongst the spread of dishes Overlord had indulged in that night, but the stretch of overstuffed tanks around the struggle of an unwilling meal made his final course twice as delicious. He leaned back with a groan, both servos rubbing at his massive belly now as he felt for the firm outline of the bot inside of him around the half-digested foods.

He was unconscious now, Overlord could tell. The squirming and whimpers had ceased for the moment being. Still, digestion took time. If he was patient and waited for his prey to reawaken, then—

There was a gasp from across the room. The choked, startled sound caught Overlord by surprise. He wasn’t expecting any visitors tonight. Upon lifting his gaze from the swollen, stuffed dome that spilled out over his lap, the fat Con met the gaze of a small, terrified looking minibot.

He hardly had to look for the obviously placed Autobot insignia on the bot’s chest to know the scared thing was another one of their prisoners. How he’d managed to escape past the rest of the Decepticons was unclear to him, but Overlord was hardly about to let this prime opportunity go to waste.

“Oh, hello there,” Overlord said. “Fancy running into someone like you so late in the night.”

The minibot didn’t respond, his attention fixated on the mess of a dining table left from the previous victim’s struggle. Overlord made a dismissive gesture with one servo as he reached down to straighten out the table cloth, then beckoned the bot forward.

“Don’t mind the mess,” he said. “I’m quite known for my unruly table manners… you know how it is.”

The minibot seemed hesitant, but there was no backing out now. Not now that Overlord had seen him. The fat Con’s face split into an affectionate smile, and beneath the table he soothed the rumble of awakening prey with a servo against his belly.

“Come,” he said. “Have a seat.”

[no-shxme]

there's this one talsett premise i drabbled a lot in private and i still think about it bc its so fun. i'm gonna ramble about it at length under the cut bc... idk... its basically the full summary.

the basic premise was canon runeterra where sett learns about some sorta magical artifact from some dude at the pit that grants a wish. apparently its somewhere deep in the ixtali jungle. sett hates how sad his ma is about his pa leaving, so he decides to make a trip over to wish her pain away.

so he makes the trip over and gets pretty immediately captured by demacian soldiers that are camped out at the start of the jungle (south of piltover) for some reason.. sett doesn't get it, but either way he's interrogated bc demacians are going after this artifact too apparently, (it only becomes available once ever xyz years or smth, some sort of time crunch.) the demacians are led by lux's aunt, tianna crownguard, but sett doesn't know who any of these people are ofc. one of sett's arms is locked in a petricite handcuff and the other end is locked to another captive's arm. and of course it's talon.

talon has been sent to retrieve the artifact on his own, after failing another one of the general's errands. he also got captured (bc really who would expect a bunch of demacians all the way out here) and has tried and failed to escape twice now. then because sett's so big and hard to miss, they're handcuffed together to be each other's ball and chain. sett hates noxians, talon likes personal space, and they both want the same thing. this will be a problem.

they do escape with the help of sett's strength and talon's ability to lockpick doors one-handed and thus begins a mad scramble into the jungle, running from wild animals, demacian soldiers, and other hazards.

problems they encounter include:

the fact that petricite is notoriously impervious, and neither of them can get their cuff off short of cutting off somone's arm. (talon isn't opposed to this.)

the fact that talon can't MAKE sett go anywhere, even at knifepoint, because he dwarfs him in size, weight, and strength. But Sett can drag him wherever he wants, through tall grasses and uphill.

speaking of which, sett drags talon through a river at the end of day 1 of being together, in which talon nearly drowns bc he can't keep up and afterwards that's pretty much talons limit where he has a panic attack bc he just NEEDS some level of control like this is a fucking nightmare. this is also the first time sett feels pity for him.

sett and talon learning to compromise in some ways (also known as talon climbing a tree and hanging on until sett caves to his demands. (his arm is sore.) sett learns that talon has been assigned to steal the artifact on his own, which seems kinda crazy for one lil guy, and sett explains his own reason for finding it. he thinks that his reason is clearly 10x more just and noble but talon's not responsive and it pisses sett off.

they encounter random other champs. kayn (with scythe rhaast) are also looking for the wish, but they part ways more amicably. they also meet neeko just tooling around having a grand time.

sett asks neeko to transform into talon and she does, and then he asks her to smile and is immediately weirded out bc 'talon' smiling like that looks unnatural lol.

talon slowly reveals more information about his father and sett decides he sounds like a fucking asshole.

sett getting ticks on his ears that talon has to cut out bc he's freaking out.

sett carrying talon like a bag of sand over his shoulder.

eventually they reach qiyana's kingdom and i honestly can't remember why they get to live but they do, and they FINALLY get their shackles removed and also a bath. by now they've gotten pretty good at working together, though the problem of who gets the wish boils over. sett gets pissed off bc talon still wont concede the fact that he should totally get the wish for his ma. talon is still adamant that he needs it, and sett tells him he's stupid cause his dad's an asshole and talon snaps that he knows that. and sett realizes that talon actually just wants the wish for himself because he sees it as the only way to 100% escape his abusive circumstances. his dad just sent him to the jungle after his latest failure, basically dooming him to a wild goose chase with no real chance of success.

there's a little backstabbery at the end. a race between talon and sett (now uncuffed), and kayn and the demacians. (tiana crownguard wants to wish her niece's magic away, since she'd discovered lux's secret and wants to do it for her own safety). at the very end sett tries to make a deal with talon to help him get away from his father but talon doesn't trust him and instead sticks him with some natural paralytic (doesn't kill him) and goes on without him. sett recovers quickly due to size and natural resilience. by the time he gets to the spot, high up in a perilous cliff-side he's basically in the thick of it. the ending conflict forces him to make a choice between saving talon from falling to his death even though he betrayed him, or getting his wish. and ofc he ends up saving talon. he's learned to empathize with him. kayn gets the wish (and rhaast gets his own body.) and sett ends up taking talon home anyway like he'd offered to, even though he betrayed him. demacians just lose lol.

that's basically the whole thing. my god this was long sorry. i decided not to write it bc i dreaded writing the environments and i knew itd be long, though i did write some scenes from it. i just love the premise of sett and talon handcuffed together so bad. if i ever have the chance to sneak it into another fic i totally will.

[lady-of-moths]

Nightmare Drabbles - Sabo

Word count: 4 x 100

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Sabo stares out a far window. The sun shines brightly, yet he cannot feel its warmth. He looks around himself. Tall curtains, a pristine room, and piles of books. He’s there again - back in his old room. 

His parents walk in. His mother’s voice is fake and shrill. She yaps about schoolwork. His father starts for the millionth time about Sabo’s future and the princess.

Sabo’s heart is racing. He shouts, but they don’t hear a thing. He tries to get up, to run away, but cannot lift his legs. Thick, cold, heavy chains shackle him to the immovable ground. 

Every time Sabo closes his eyes, Ace is there, in his mind’s eye - his lips twist in a cold sneer, brows furrowed deeply, eyes burning with anger and disgust. There is no sympathy in his face - only a hatred that could turn the sea itself to desert. There’s no brotherhood in his words as he speaks - only venom and spite. 

‘How could you forget?’ 

‘You left me for dead.’

‘You are no brother of mine.’ 

The words echo in his mind. They overlap - a visceral cacophony that drives him closer and closer to insanity. It’s just a matter of time… 

Sabo dreams of the news - sometimes it’s a paper, sometimes it’s rumours, or the transponder. Straw Hat Luffy’s been captured; sentenced to die in a few days. 

Sabo shrugs - he doesn’t know the guy; can’t tell if he should feel sorry or not. He’s only ever heard of him in the papers and wanted posters. 

The next paper comes, announcing his death. 

Sabo crumbles, just like he did with Ace. ‘Not again!’ Just like with Ace, he’d forgotten his own family, and just like with Ace, he was not there to save him. What kind of monster does that? Twice!

Sabo just finished his latest solo mission. Having made his report to headquarters, he decides to take some time off and explore a nearby island for a bit. 

His transponder rings again and again. He doesn’t bother to pick up. He’s worked hard, and he won’t let anyone interrupt his well-deserved time off. 

However, once he returns to headquarters the next day, he finds the place in shambles. Marines are swarming the island, escorting his comrades away in chains. 

Horrified, Sabo realises that they must have intercepted his latest report. The calls he’d been ignoring were, in fact, distress calls.

Ace

Luffy