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megamindsecretlair · 15 days ago

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Dance in the Dark

Pairing: Ghostface!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, Dom!Terry, mean Terry, SMUT, PWP, PIV, oral (male receiving), fingering (female receiving), knife kink, hair pulling, praise kink, degradation kink, breeding kink if you squint, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some.

Summary: One drunken night, you giggle with your friends as you dared each other to sign up for a fetish dating website that matched your kinks with others. The site took its reputation seriously so you knew that the man on the other side of the screen was real. And he really was that gorgeous. Terry acknowledges that it's time to meet and he makes sure this Halloween is unforgettable.

Word Count: 6,350k

AO3 Link

A/N: WHEW. I'll see myself out on this one. Chilleeee. I need to hose myself down. Enjoy and Happy Halloween, my loves. Taking a much needed break after this one! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

📥 New Message

You continued to swing back and forth on your gamer chair, grabbing your phone and immediately swiping on the message.

TJ: I look forward to tonight.

You shrieked and bit your nail, pulling your legs in towards you as far as they would go. When that grew uncomfortable, you lifted your sock-clad feet to the edge. It dug into your arch but your mind was only focused on one Mr. Terry Richmond.

It shouldn’t have thrilled you so much to receive a message from him. It had started out as a simple dare with your friends, each of you making a profile on a fetish connection website and laughing at all the desperate men.

You never expected to actually run across someone who looked like him. You thought he was fake or a bot. You thought AI had crept its way into the dating scene, preying on unsuspecting lonely people. The checkmark next to his name let you know that he was, in fact, very much real.

The website took its privacy and its reputation very seriously, vetting all members that signed up. You included. Anyone could message first, the app offering potential matches based on answers to the questionnaire on start up.

You and your friends had giggled, deliriously drunk while you answered the questions. Some you kept to yourself. Not because you were embarrassed, but because you were kind of taking it seriously. You wanted to see what was out there for someone like you, someone who desperately wanted to hand over control to someone capable of leading.

You: Me too.

TJ: Did the box arrive?

You sucked in a rush of air since you forgot to breathe. Over the course of the past few weeks, you shared many messages with Terry. Told each other everything really. You always managed to skirt around talking about the obvious. That you were on a fetish dating website and looking for someone to take control.

You discussed books you’ve read or music you listened to. No matter how silly your tastes, Terry wanted to hear it all. You always felt heard with him. Understood by him. And it made your crush sink further in your chest and take root. Blossom into a full on obsession with his pictures.

He was a private man, evident by his profile that you visited at least ten times a day. Eleven if you had enough time to stroke yourself to his pictures. He didn’t have many, but he had a few of him in the gym and of him hiking. He had one thirst trap picture of him in a berry shirt, staring at the camera with crushing intensity.

As you grew more serious, Terry began to switch up the conversations. Naturally sliding in his dominant nature by telling you to do things. He did it so subtly, so minutely, that you hadn’t known what was going on until he was ordering you not to touch yourself anymore and you actually obeyed. All from texts.

You stared at his latest message, panties growing damp from how excited he made you. The past week, he decided that it was time to meet in person. You were obviously nervous, but every time you thought of it, your thighs tingled and your pussy throbbed.

You: I got everything.

TJ: Good. I want you to relax tonight.

You giggled breathlessly in the comfort of your room, chewing on your nail. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be your life. It would be hard to relax knowing that Terry could slip in at any time. Show off those mysterious Marine skills he talked about on his profile.

You: You really don’t find this weird?

TJ: What’s weird about it? It’s healthy.

TJ: Besides, I’ve been fighting an erection all week thinking about tonight.

“God,” you moaned out loud.

It turned you on even more that he was so open with his desire for you. You were used to weak men constantly trying to play it cool. Play it smart. Act as if they were doing you a favor by being with you. You always knew that a real man wouldn’t pretend. He’d be real. And Terry was real.

You: It’s been so hard not touching myself. 😣

TJ: You didn’t, did you?

You: Noooo 😇

TJ: Am I sensing a brat? A little late in the game to introduce curveballs.

You giggled at your phone, nearly kicking your feet. You were obsessed. You had a job where you couldn’t even try to sneak and be on your phone. Rules were important and you always felt like you had a neon sign professing your guilt whenever you broke a single one. But you were always itching to look at your phone. To see if there was a new message from him or a new command.

Once, he made you stop what you were doing and go to the nearest bathroom to edge yourself. You’d never done anything like that before and you had been so nervous, but fuck, you had been close to cumming. It was impossible to stop yourself but somehow you did.

Another time, he wanted you to take your sexiest picture. You had been fussing and fawning over the correct one, loving them all but you weren’t sure which one would appeal to him. Then it dawned on you. It was about what appealed to you.

After that, you took a teasing photo showing just enough but hiding a lot more. You wore a black bra and panty set and sat on your haunches, letting your thick thighs widen. You tilted your head and gave him a shy smile. The minute the picture went off, you knew it was a good one.

You sent it to him and he sent you a picture back five minutes later showing a puddle of cum on his office desk. This man drove you wild, stimulated your brain in the best possible way. You hadn’t ever known a man to seduce your mind the way he seduced all your other senses.

He sent a few voice notes, enough to understand the cadence of his speech while he issued out small orders. It wasn’t always sexual. Sometimes he wanted you to go to bed early, grab you some tea, or run you a hot bath because you had a body ache earlier.

You: Moi? A brat. I know not what you mean.

An alarm went off on your phone letting you know that it was past time to start getting ready. The first part of Terry's carefully thought out night was that you took a bath, paid attention to your body, relaxed with a glass of wine and unwound from the day.

Hell, that sounded relaxing just on general principle. You took your phone with you into the bathroom, turning on the light and getting the bath started. You added your favorite scent, pouring a healthy dollop of bath soap into the steaming water.

You hummed as you moved around the space, gathering a plush cream towel big enough to fit around your body. Comfort items had to be one of your platonic love languages. You loved soft things. From blanket hoodies, to bath towels, to throw blankets.

You lit a candle as the water ran, white bubbles foaming on the surface of the water. You went to the kitchen and poured your favorite glass of wine, swirling the liquid in your wine glass. You sniffed the glass and took in the subtle notes and highlights.

You hooked up your phone to your bathroom speaker on your way back to the bathroom, turning on some grown and sexy music. Terry wanted you to relax, then you were going to relax.

You told him you were hopping in the bath and he responded quickly.

TJ: Take your time, beautiful.

Your heart fluttered and you sighed, wondering how the hell you got so lucky. Truly, what kind, divine act did you commit to land someone like Terry? You had to pinch yourself as you took off your clothes.

Your silk short shorts and tank top slid down your body, tingling in some areas from how hyper aware you were. You sat on a hand towel on the edge of the tub and ran your fingers through the water. Just a few more minutes before it was perfect.

You grabbed the last candle you used, the smell of spearmint eucalyptus filling the space even if it wasn’t lit. You used an electric lighter to light it. The soft glow played across your hands and you took a deep breath.

Tonight already did wonders for your frayed nerves. Taking the time to soak everything in helped you relax in a way only journaling could accomplish. You needed more nights like these, nights that were just for you.

You tucked your hair into a bonnet and then sunk into the bath, moaning at the hot water touching your cool skin. The water sloshed as you carefully sat down, leaning your back against the back of your tub and moaning once more.

This felt entirely too good. “Falsetto” by the Dream played and you sank further into the water, lighting washing yourself at first. You started with a face mask, smattering the cream on your face. You let that sit while you washed the rest of your body.

With every area that you washed, you wondered which areas Terry would pay attention to. Was he an ass man? Titties man? Thighs man? You had your impressions but you didn’t want to get too caught up in the fantasy. If tonight went well, you hoped to turn this into a full time thing if he was game.

You didn’t have to date on top of it, but god, you wouldn’t say no either. Wouldn’t say no to living life the way you needed to. Being at the mercy of someone who knew what to do with it. How to handle you. How to take all of your stress and worries and let you know what peace felt like. You wanted to do the same for him.

You wanted to be the one he sought out when he had a bad day. Or when he just needed some stress relief. When the world got too loud and unfair and the only thing he could control was whether or not you came.

You wanted that push and pull and you wanted it desperately with Terry. You only hoped he was game as well. He said he wasn’t talking to others on the app and you wanted to believe him. You also wouldn’t blame him if he were lying. You only needed him to be safe and careful.

He sent over his latest test results showing that he was clean. He told you from the onset that he hated condoms. He enjoyed the feeling of pussy wrapped around his dick. You were on the pill and showed him your results as well. Somehow, he even made getting tested sexy.

After your bath, you took time shaving the important bits. You rubbed your favorite lotion and perfume together and then rubbed it into your skin. Your skin prickled. When would he do it?

When you were in bed? When you were in the kitchen? When you were on your way out of the bathroom? You looked towards your bathroom door. It was slightly ajar, your dark hallway beyond.

He could be there now, watching you just beyond the shadows. It should scare you. Yet it only made your skin flush with heat. Your breathing turned choppy and you forced yourself to return to that sense of calm you had before.

You finished lotioning up and brushed your teeth, adding on a mint just in case. You blew out the candle and then pulled on your robe, returning to your darkened room. The blackout curtains worked well. The darkened room felt more intimate than normal.

Terry’s preferred outfit lay across your freshly laundered comforter and sheets. You hoped after tonight, that it would be good and filthy again. You slipped on the lingerie Terry shipped to you, taking your time to pull on the purple metallic bra with fleur-de-lis decorations in black and turquoise blue. The matching panties and skirt set glided smoothly across your dewy skin.

The skirt connected to thigh high stockings and you hurriedly pulled those on as well. You leaned down to pull on high heels, strapping it around your ankle. You’d never felt sexier. There was something deeply erotic about wearing an outfit someone else picked for you.

You took off your bonnet and shook out your hair, arranging it just how you liked. You walked over to your closet, opening the door to look in the long mirror. You turned from side to side, appreciating how well it fit. How sexy it looked on you.

The heels felt like stepping on clouds and you walked around your room, getting used to the feel of it. Hell, you’d fuck you in a heartbeat. You hoped Terry liked it. Speaking of…

You went over to your dresser, cleaning up some of the mess you made while getting ready for work. You grabbed your phone, charging, and switched the song to Under by Pleasure P.

You opened the new message by Terry, tingling pinpricks shooting up your inner thighs.

TJ: See you soon, beautiful.

The message was sent when you began your bath so you had no idea if he was just now leaving or if he was already there. Not knowing had you clenching your thighs. You had to calm down. Had to return to a relaxed state.

Final steps. You dimmed the lights in your bedroom, setting it to where you could barely see. You transferred the music from your bathroom to your bedroom’s speakers. Then you grabbed your wine and took a few more sips until you emptied your glass. You pouted at the missing liquid and then sighed.

You turned around, trudging to the kitchen to the nasty croon of Pleasure P. singing. You hummed as you opened your fridge, bringing out your wine and pouring another healthy glass.

You stopped pouring and lifted your head, an awareness of being watched creeping into your senses. You slowly turned around but there was no one in the kitchen. You fought the urge to turn on the overhead lights, letting the backlighting guide most of your way.

There was no one behind you, yet you couldn’t fight the urge that he was there. That he was near. “Terry?” You called out. Your house never seemed so empty before. You stepped forward, your heels clicking on the tile.

Your phone buzzed in your hand and you jumped with a shriek, laughing as you saw Terry’s phone number flash across your screen. You swiped it to answer it and brought it to your ear.

“Don’t you know you’re not supposed to call out who’s there?” He asked.

“Terry?” You asked, breathlessly, looking for any sign of movement. There was nothing in the pitch black night outside your house and not a peep from the one level house.

Terry’s deep chuckle made you shiver and bite your lip. This man was too sexy for words. Too fucking sinful. He was the total and complete package, driving you crazy with a few well placed words.

“Are you scared?” Terry asked, dropping his voice to a low, purring tease.

“N-No,” you said. You abandoned your wine and then went snooping around your own home, staring at closet doors warily. How did he get in? If he got into your place without a disturbance in the air, you hated to be an enemy of his. Hated to see what he was capable of when he was focused on a mission.

Terry chuckled. “Don’t lie to me,” he said.

“A little. I’m a little scared,” you admitted.

“That’s better. I’d be worried if you weren’t. You smell good by the way,” he said.

Your gasp was a mix of a whine and a moan. Where was he? Where would he pop out? You walked towards the back of the house, towards your room and your bathroom. You checked behind the doors and everything.

“You’re playing with me,” you said, with a breathless giggle.

“A little. Remember our safe word?” He asked.

You nodded and licked your lips but then it dawned on you that he couldn’t truly see you. “Yes. It’s Halloween,” you said.

“Good girl,” he purred.

You whimpered, pussy fluttering. Your essence pooled in your panties. There was no way that you could play it cool tonight. No way to remain cool, aloof, and alluring. You were down bad for Terry Richmond. Down atrocious. There was nothing that you could deny him. Nothing he couldn’t ask for that you wouldn’t try to provide.

“Want to play a game? I have a few questions,” he said.

“What kind of questions?” You asked. You searched high and low but you couldn’t determine where he was. If he was in the house or if he was right outside. You were not dressed for outside so you didn’t even attempt it.

Instead, you went around to check the locks on your doors. All still locked. Nothing amiss. You pulled back the white curtain on your back door window and peered out into the foggy evening. Nothing moved. Not a single leaf or blade of grass.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” He asked, a dark rumble in his voice that made you bite your lip once more. This was why you could never seriously wear lipstick or lipgloss. Maybe for about ten minutes before you were biting or nibbling or picking at your lips.

You giggled. “Really?” You asked.

“Don’t want to play with me?” He asked.

You sighed and relaxed a fraction. He couldn’t be in the house yet. He was only toying with you and you were letting him get to you. He told you to relax and that was what you were going to do.

“The Frighteners,” you answered.

Terry chuckled. “That doesn’t count.”

“Sure it does. It’s classified as horror and it sure freaked me the hell out,” you said.

“Do you get scared easily?” He asked.

“Depends. I can watch movies but being scared in real life sucks,” you said. Which only made this whole exchange all the more surreal. But you were already a dripping mess. Forget prep time. Terry would have no issues just sliding right inside you.

“Can you guess which room I’m in right now?” Terry asked.

You gasped, turning around. Didn’t you just check all of the doors? You stepped back into your kitchen. You could hear your gasping breaths, heart thumping against your rib cage. “You’re playing with me again,” you said.

“Am I? You’re cold by the way,” he said.

You released your breath in slow increments, stepping forward through your kitchen with blue cabinets making the kitchen darker. You peered around the corner, looking towards the living room. You took a step forward and Terry tsked at you.

“Freezing,” he said.

You giggled nervously, turning around to your hallway. Your steps turned from clacking to pattering on the runner as you walked down the hallway. “Getting warmer. Warmer,” Terry teased as you walked closer to your bedroom.

Your heart was in your throat, beating a thumping rhythm against your neck as you traveled closer to your room. Why had you turned the lights so low? You inched closer, wanting to get close but not wanting to be blindsided by Terry jumping out.

“Burning up,” Terry said as you passed the linen closet. You stopped and reached out a hand, turning the handle slowly and then opening the door. You flinched, prepared for Terry to jump out.

“Found you,” Terry said.

You giggled, relief flooding through you now that you knew he wasn’t on the other side. You closed the door and then walked to your bedroom just fine, putting your hand on your hips. “You’re not really here. Because if you were, you’d be able to tell me what I’m doing right now,” you said.

You made an L on your forehead and twisted around in your room. “What am I doing?” You called out. “What am I doing?”

You giggled and lowered your hand, turning around just as a shadow passed in front of your door. You squealed and tripped over your heels trying to backtrack away. Escape, escape! Your mind flashed warning bells in your mind.

A man stood in front of you wearing black cargo pants, black boots, and a black tank top. Tattoos caught in the low light of your bedroom window and your pussy clenched looking at his powerful arms. The Ghostface mask seemed to float in the air but you knew just beneath that was Terry’s fine face.

“Boo,” he said.

Your mouth turned dry at being scared but heat flooded through your system taking in every delicious inch of him. He was incredibly tall and he had to duck to cross into your room.

You backed away even as your mind screamed for you to move forward. Terry raised a knife in his hand, the metal glinting. It was a standard chef’s knife and you whimpered looking at it.

This was the dumbest thing you’d ever done. The wildest, stupidest, most asinine thing ever. But it was also a wish that came true. You were already a puddle, a mix of adrenaline and arousal confusing your senses in the worst way. You didn’t know if you wanted to scream from frustration or fear.

Terry tilted his head, making the mask go sideways. He stepped closer to you and brought his hand up to caress your chin. He pulled you closer to his mask and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. Couldn’t look away at the ghostly visage as he took a deep breath.

“You smell good enough to eat,” he said.

You sighed and finally blinked. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” you said.

“Safe word?” He asked.

“Halloween,” you said.

Terry nodded and then walked around in a circle, perusing your body as if you were on display. He hand followed behind him, reaching out to run his rough, callused fingers across your bare belly. “Gorgeous,” he said.

Fuck, you were ready to burst right out of your skin. This entire week had been nothing but foreplay to you. He gave instructions and a list of things to obtain for him, things he wanted you to choose so that you knew exactly what was coming.

“What are you going to do now?” You asked. You felt like he could hear your audible gulp. Swallowing around the thick cord of lust zapping through your body and making it hard to breathe properly. You were on the edge, itchy with the need to cum, but knowing that it would only happen when he decided.

“Where’s the rope?” He asked. You felt behind you on the dresser for the silk rope he asked you to pick out. Something soft and easily adjustable so that you could escape at any moment. If this continued, you’d work your way up to more hardcore stuff. Hand over more and more of yourself.

Your fingers clasped clumsily around the rope and held it up. Terry leaned to one side and tilted his head once more, playing with the edge of the knife. “Put it on,” he commanded.

You licked your lips and slipped the silk rope around your wrists and tightened it. Terry crooked his finger and you walked forward immediately. No use pretending that this wasn’t exactly what you craved.

Terry had set a neat trap in his messages and voice notes to you. The late night calls where his sinful voice rocked you to sleep. He made it easy to surrender. To give in. To cast off all of the doubt and anxiousness. Now you just wanted to feel. To listen. To shut your brain off for half a second and enjoy yourself.

Terry tugged you forward by the silk rope, testing the limit and resistance on it. You almost hated that you couldn’t see his pretty face. But you’d cum so many times to his pictures that you had it committed to memory.

Terry pulled you forward with the rope, pulling you over to your bed and pushed you down. You bounced with a gasp, your titties bouncing with the movement. Terry stepped into your personal space, leaning down and pressing the cold metal of the knife against your throat. You moaned, feeling the knife slide across your skin. He barely grazed you but it was the dark promise of it that turned you on.

That you were a hair’s breadth away from mortal danger. That at any moment, he could press deeper and draw blood. You whimpered as your body overheated. You burned from the inside out, sweat breaking out in patches all over your body.

“Terry,” you moaned.

Terry moved the knife down to trail over the swells of your breasts. Your chest rose and fell in choppy waves, getting too excited before he had a chance to do anything. He slipped the knife beneath your bra and you moaned, arching your chest into the knife.

“You’re too trusting,” he said. He palmed your breasts roughly, finding your nipples through the fabric of your bra and squeezing painfully. You cried out, trying to close your legs but he had encroached upon your space without you realizing. You had been too busy focusing on the knife and his mask.

He tossed the knife onto the bed and gripped your thighs, spreading you open and yanking you to the edge of the bed. The music still playing in the background only added to the scene, getting you further into the mood.

I know you like it nasty.

Nasty by Joshua Williams began to play, juices slipping between your legs and soaking your panties.

Terry pushed the seat of your panties to the side, trailing his fingers through your wet folds. “Oh, fuck,” you whispered, whimpering as your hands flew to his to stall his movements. He ignored you, smacking your hands away.

“Push them titties up and keep your hands there,” he said.

You grabbed your titties and pushed them together. Terry groaned, leaning forward. His thick fingers played you like a fiddle, gathering up your slick. He shoved two fingers inside and you cried out, body arching. Your hands slipped from holding your titties.

“Put your hand back. Don’t make me tell you again,” he growled.

You whimpered and replaced your hands on your chest. You turned pleading, doe eyes towards him. Terry leaned down and rubbed the mask against your cheek. You shivered from the unexpected coolness of it. It did little to dampen the heat in your veins. The fire in your lower belly.

“Nice and fuckin’ wet. All of this for me?” Terry asked.

You nodded. “Yes, yes,” you said. His fingers worked liquid magic on your pussy, making you soak his fingers with how long and deep his fingers went. You opened your mouth, arching your back and grinding on his fingers. He stroked until you were shaking and moaning on his fingers.

“Gonna stretch the fuck outta this pretty pussy,” he promised. He withdrew his fingers and then shoved his fingers into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself. Taste how wet he made you. Taste how turned on you were under his control.

He ripped at your panties and you gasped at the shredding sound, knees trying to close around his massive frame. His narrow hips kept you spread open. He moaned, getting his first look at your pussy. “Look at that shit. My needy little slut,” he groaned.

Your pussy clenched as he unzipped his pants, jerking it down his hips and revealing his long, thick dick. Your eyes widened taking in the size and girth of him. His balls were big and heavy, drooping and tapping against his strong thighs.

He slapped his dick against your pussy, competing with the music. You moaned with each wet smack, hearing how turned on you were. Your taste was still on your tongue, in your nose, and you closed your eyes to all of the sensations.

Terry pushed you onto your back and slapped his dick against your pussy once more, your juices jumping from the action. Your teeth chattered, unbridled desire coursing through you and driving your pleasure higher and higher.

It’d been too long since you came. Too long since you felt that rush of relief and you were ready to leap from your skin.

Terry grabbed the knife and slipped it beneath your bra. He cut it loose and you cried out, your titties free and spilling out from either side of the cups. Terry groaned, pushing his hips in before catching himself.

He palmed himself with his other hand and guided himself inside, placing the knife against your skin but keeping his fingers there as a barrier so that it wasn’t directly on you. Just held above your skin as a silent threat.

He was so big, you cried out, holding up your hands. Terry ignored you, pushing in deeper and retreated to give you a tiny breather. He grunted and tried again, getting deeper this time.

“Too big,” you moaned, your eyes turning watery at the slow burn working its way through your midsection.

“I’ll make it fit, don’t worry,” he cooed. He dived back in, giving you shallow strokes. It became easier to take him with every downward stroke, and your thighs clenched around his hips.

He used his left hand to slide down your thigh, up your calf, and pull your foot to his face. He rubbed the mask against your foot, lifting your leg higher to sit against his chest. It opened you up further to him, allowing him to nearly reach the base inside you. He was close to bottoming out.

You were crying, whimpering, shivering on his dick as it throbbed the more it slid in and out of you. Terry’s moans rivaled yours. He threw his head back and sank in deeper.

“Oh, fuck, god, damn, fuck, shit,” you whimpered, out of breath and half delirious. The stretch was perfect. Stuffing you completely full of dick.

“That’s a good pussy. Taking what I’m giving you. Feel me in this pussy?” He asked.

“Yes, yes, I feel you,” you cried, tears gathering in your eyes once more. You were driven out of your mind. Body weightless, limitless, stretching your awareness beyond what you could sense. It was metaphysical. Like your soul found his and stitched you together the more he stroked deep inside.

Terry moved the knife up to your cheek. He pushed your face to the side, exposing your neck. He trailed the knife close to your neck. You clenched around him and he moaned, picking up the pace and ramming inside of you.

He fucked you like you had him fucked up. Like he missed you. Like you intentionally kept yourself away from him and he was back to stake his claim. To draw a line in the dirt and dare you to disobey.

“Oh, shit. Ouee, shit. Ouee, shit, fuck you feel so good,” you moaned.

“You look so pretty taking dick. Getting my dick fuckin’ creamy. Can’t stop staring at how much every time I pull out,” he said.

You lifted your hands, intending to push him away. You were close to another orgasm and it was coming too fast. Too fast for you to brace for.

“Move that hand or I will,” he huffed, harsh moans and panting making you sick with desire. Your pussy squelched from the pressure of him entering you.

You moved your hands, holding it above your head. “Ouee, fuck. That dick feels too good,” you whimpered.

“That’s all yours,” he said.

You tensed up, careening head first into the orgasm and crying out, screaming to the ceiling from the intensity. You flopped around on his dick like a fish out of water and Terry continued to fuck you through it, moving the knife when necessary when it appeard you’d get too close.

Terry withdrew and tossed the knife back on the bed. He gripped your hips and flipped you over, re-entering you and you screamed. He matched you with a moan. “Fuck. So fuckin’ good. So fuckin’ wet. Fuckin’ me getting you this wet?” Terry asked.

You nodded and stretched your hands above you. You arched your back, giving him full access to your ass. His large hand came down to smack your ass, causing it to sting with pain. You hissed, not expecting the bite of pain. You flooded his dick once more, fresh juices leaking out of you.

“Oh fuck! Terry! Please, no more,” you cried out. You didn’t have another one.

Terry leaned down, pressing his lips close to your ear. “Aww, you think I care. Come on pretty girl, move that ass. Come get yours,” he said.

You shook your head. You didn’t have enough to hold yourself up with. Each thrust sent you into the bed, fucking you into the matress with unrelenting speed. Your body flushed with heat, great licks of fire. Still, you managed to throw it back on him. Matching his thrusts.

“That’s it. Soak this dick, pretty. Bouncing pretty on this fuckin’ dick. Unf, fuck. Takin’ me very well. You takin’ what I’m giving you?” Terry moaned.

How did he expect you to answer him at the moment? Your mind was gone, down into another plane of existence. He gripped your ass cheeks and spread them. He lifted his right hand and then quickly pressed his wet digit against your asshole, pressing in. You fell forward and he followed you down. He continued to stroke, sliding in and out of you, punishing you with his dick whether you could keep up or not.

The pressure was new, weird, but oh so fucking good when he pressed in deeper. You felt full. Stuffed completely.

“Give me another one,” he commanded.

“Can’t,” you gasped, your face smooshed into the comforter.

Terry gripped your hair with his free hand and yanked, bending you at a weird angle. He didn’t care. “I’m gonna paint this fuckin’ pussy with this nut. But you’re going to give me another one first,” he said, voice low and scraping against your eardrums in the most pleasurable way.

He wiggled his finger in your ass and you moaned, tensed up, and screamed with your orgasm. Your eyes burned as you screamed, loudly, shaking uncontrollably on his dick. “There it is. Fuck you think you are making me wait?” He asked and yanked on your hair to the point of pain.

“Sorrrryyyyyy,” you moaned as you came and came. He fucked you through it, chasing his own pleasure in your body. Burying his dick to the hilt and unloading with a deep, powerful growl erupting from his thick chest.

His cum shot inside you like it was a race to get you pregnant then and there. Your brain turned fuzzy, eyes turning black in the corners and he came and came with seemingly no end in sight.

“That’y my good fuckin’ slut,” Terry growled low in your ear.

“Fuck,” you whimpered.

Terry pumped his hips a few more times before withdrawing from your body. He stepped back to admire his handiwork. Your pussy clenched as you pushed his cum out. He encouraged you, telling you to try to work every drop out.

He flipped you back onto your back. He grabbed you by the silk rope still tied around your hands and pulled you to your feet with one bicep curl. You moaned. Fuck. You’d go another round if you were able. You needed him back inside. Your pussy was unbearably achy, twitchy, needy.

You whimpered and cried as he pushed you to your knees. “Open your mouth,” he ordered.

You opened, staring up at him. He dug his fingers into your hair, pulling you forward. He tapped his dick against your lips, painting it with a mix of his cum and your essence. He shoved his dick inside and moaned, throwing his head back while you sucked him off.

You braced your fingers around his long legs, dusted with hair. You held on as he face fucked you, feeding you his dick.

“Get it nice and clean,” he cooed, at complete odds with the way he shoved past your resistance. You moaned, turning watery eyes to him. His mask was frozen in fake sympathy. He tilted his head at you, thrusting along with fucking your mouth.

“Perfect. You’re perfect,” he moaned. You reached out and touched his balls. His hips jerked forward and you gagged, body rejecting him. “Fuuuck.” His moan tugged at your throbbing clit.

Saliva dribbled down the sides of your mouth, onto your chin, and dripped onto your titties still bouncing in the bra he cut through. You felt his cum leak out of your pussy, likely falling onto the floor.

“Pretty fuckin’ mess too. I’m finna bust. Swallow it,” he said.

You nodded on his dick. He thrust a handful more times before he burst in your mouth, stuffing more cum into your body. You swallowed it all, letting the sticky substance slide hungrily down your throat.

His hips stroked absently, like he couldn’t make himself stop even if he wanted to. He slowed down, pulling his dick past your lips slowly. You let him go with a wet pop. Terry cleaned the corners of your mouth with his fingers.

He dropped into a squat, as much as his pants would allow. He took off the mask letting you get a glimpse of that beautiful, sexy face of his. His eyes were narrowed, intense, focused as he smirked at you. He had permanent bedroom eyes. As if he were just waking up or just falling asleep. No in-between.

He smirked at you. “Ready for round two?”

The end.

Ya'll know I can't leave this man aloneeee. The Secret Terry Richmond Files

Taglist: Ya'll.....I'm overwhelmed by all of the love!

@planetblaque @chaos-4baby @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide

@browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @00aijia00

@judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @xo-goldengirl @superhoeva

@avoidthings @lovedlover @blackgurlnhermoods @flydotty @sageispunk

@semi-yah @halfreal-and-halffiction @motheroffae @melaninpov @pinkpantheris

@slutsareteacherstoo @blackerthings @dreamsinfocus @brattyfics @mermaidchansons

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@misskiki90 @miyuhpapayuh @satoruya @starcrossedxwriter @yamst3rdamctrl

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@thegreatlibraryofalex @amyhennessyhouse @hihellogoodbyebruh @becauseimswagman1

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ikkosu · 9 months ago

Text

SOME WORDS UNSAID

(prowlxfem.reader)

author’s note : hello yes, I bring another angst. whew another long, long fic I’ll probably never look at agn. a draft that's been rotting for like months now. had the chance to finish it now. (a bit inspired by the prowl headcannons)

summary : prowl soon realizes the extent of his own loneliness is something he pushed away for far too long. (alternatively, the three times he's asked you to stay; you were never able to.)

warnings : a bit of smut. death. blood. emotional manipulation.

[i]

He's yet to understand these patrons. Why they frequent the bar so often. Drink away to forget their problems.

Prowl leers at the purple ripple, watching it crest before it breaks out into a wave. His digits were deft and tense, wrapping around the mug, rims caked with the same kind of sludge. Pressed against the table, his helm buzzes with the clamour of the bar.

'It's simply illogical, how can someone be so reeled into their thoughts it becomes a plague? 'He'd chastise Chromedome once.

Now, his face is a clear visage on the engex, seams of a frown present, yet the more he glared, the more it churns into something different. Into something alien. Into something unlike him.

"I think it's time we open up that box of problems," Rung's voice was gentle. Unbiased. Not sickly sweet, not monotone, just a clean middle ground where it doesn't ring a bell to punch.

"There are two ways a Cybertronian choose to store their memories." A digit juts out, perking in tandem of his list. Prowl holds back the urge to roll his optics.

"One is much like a gift, wrapped with an abundance of colors. Sparkly and bright. All the good things you'd want to store. The other is a safe haven. A comfort you can dwell when weather comes hard. The last—''

"Let me guess, garbage?" He says dismissively, unbothered to hold the spectacle-looking bot his gaze.

He’s looking at the wall behind him, at the certificates and little ‘toys’ lodged up on the shelf. Is he even a licensed psychiatrist? He'll have to review his profile in full.

"If you want to put it that way, yes." He eventually voices, then seemingly with a more cautious tone he edges on. "Are you bitter about what transpired?"

"Don't even try." Prowl grips the armchair with a vice "There's no point talking about this. What's done is done; it's all in the past. Locked away, tucked neatly from where it came from. I don't get why some people think it's a good idea to re-open up the memory lane."

Rung smiles, often directing his gaze back to the scribbles on the datapad. "I'm sure to you it won't mean much but it helps to understand the underlying emotions of your own grief."

"Yeah? Well, what' it going to do, bring back the dead? " An accusing digit juts out to Rung's chassis. "So, immediately after I open up, it's all sparkles and glitter and everyone lives happy? Is that it? You think it's going to do something?"

'bring her back to life?'

"Loss is something we inevitably face. Avoiding that prospect only broils more complications." He tries to explain.

"Oh, forget it. Why did Rodimus thinks he can be bothered enough to urge you to 'talk' to me about how 'oh-so-feel'?"

"It wasn't his orders, actually. It's Chromedome." He fixes his spectacles, still treading on the gentle tone.. “ He was, ah, in his own terms, worried about how you'll approach the situation...."

Prowl grits his teeth, bristling. "You think I'm mad? You think I need help?"

"Prowl, please." The datapad is laid on his lap as Rung tries to reason. "Nobody thinks that way. In fact they're all worried about you despite your unnatural disposition—"

"About me." He laughs. A bitter one. "About me?"

Prowl stands up with a kick of the chair. It's sent sprawling to the other side of the corner. Momentarily lost, Rung doesn't notice Prowl inching up close to the psychiatrist, snarling much like a jaguar.

"Listen here, goggles." Every enunciation pelts him like a bullet. "If they're so worried about me they would've listened to my concerns the moment I tell them something's about to go wrong. You think I want this? You think I'm mad enough that I need help?"

Rung winces when his helm hits the headrest, avoiding prowl's domineering gaze when he leans in. Nose to nose. Up and personal.

"I'll say it once and I'll say it again. So don't pester me with all this ridiculous requests. I. Dont. Need. His. Help. Yours, either. Everyone's too. So, don't expect me to come back here."

[ii]

None of his business.

Prowl grips the hinds of the door, staggering out from the bar. The engex pounded his helm. It reeled him senseless, mindless. The ground spins beneath him. He's dizzy, close to stumbling. He ignores whatever the bartender chattered about as he left. Something about straightening out the local punks causing trouble. Something about graffiti.

The city lights are a mingled mass of blur as he sauntered across the pavement. Funny looks were thrown at his expense. The ironic visage of his own authority dawdling off like a drunkard. Every organic he sees churns his spark. Forget about transforming, he can't even think straight. Can't even discern which left was his right, or which right was his left. Or if anything was anything, for that matter.

Wherever his mind wanders, his pedes too follows, and against his better judgement, he finds himself stumbling onto your bed. His nose dives into the soft cushion of your pillow, satin silky, a citrus kind of cushion. He closes his optics.

It still smelled like you.

"perhaps it is time you should come to peace with it..."

Maybe, just maybe. Now?

Not yet

[iii]

"You're what?"

"Leaving." You say, a cheery disposition bounces off your tone as you're packing your things, shoving and stuffing whatever you could nab from your desk and into your bag. The leather satchel you're so fond of.

"Leaving? You're kidding me." He scoffs and bristles when you're also grabbing the snow globe from the counter. "Look at me for a second and would you put that thing down? You're seriously leaving."

The snow globe dawdles above the pouch. "Uh huh."

He reels away, mollified. "You're joking."

"Not this time I'm not."

"You too? First, Ratchet, Chromedome and now you? Did he bribe you to come along? Is this some horrible stunt you're pulling to piss me off again? If it's about the time i—"

"What? No! Just..." You look up then away. "Look, Rodimus made a good deal—"

"A lie is what it is!" He grits out, following, as you pawed around your workstation for your trinkets. Those little boxes you marked with stickers. Insides are souvenir of your travel off-world.

"—Sugarcoat, sweet, crafted lies meant to reel you along to ridiculous shenanegans. And for what? A waste of time! An officer of the law like you should know better than to trust those kinds of bots!"

You whirl to face him, clutching the duffel bag like a barrier. "And, as the officer of the law I'm obligated to aid my people into doing right."

"Your people?" He scoffs. "By joining a ship filled with, Primus knows who, on there?"

"That's exactly what I'm going to do."

As you're about to turn away he grabs your forearm, grip unrelenting. "You're making a mistake."

"What do you want me to do here?" You manage to break free, exasperated at his eagerness to coop you up in this place. " The war is done. All opposing factions already withdrew. Organics and Cybertronians are living with each other now. There's nothing to be done anymore!"

"Why does everyone say that?" He equals your look of irritation, servos gesticulating abrasively to prove his point. " No, it's. Not. Just because the war is over doesn't mean the repercussions are gone. We're living off the effects of the war. I need officers, soldiers, anyone who can listen to rebuild the structural order of society." His hand holds out, placatingly. "I need you."

"You don't."You look away. " You need someone better."

"You're better."

"Prowl, please."

"Look, I just." He looks away from a moment, chuffing out a quick vent. It's all transpiring so quickly his emotions pass through the filter in almost a sporadic breeze. "Can we talk?"

You kick the ground, not holding his gaze.

"What's there to talk about?"

The wide, spanning glass, overlooking the myriad of buildings were veiled by the darkness of space, freckled with an occasional shimmer of stars. You're looking off to the side. He's turned away, fixed on the datapad on his table. It's his list. A list of your travels.

His mouth opens. Then, it closes, uncertain. He wants to say those words. Purge them out like his spark is on its last grip. Maybe you'll stay. Maybe, you won't. It doesn't matter because, despite the strange churning in his spark, he can't find himself to do it.

"Stay." He tries for a last grip of hope. It's almost imperceptible to your ears. A daunting whisper. He doesn't bother regarding your apologetic eyes.

"I can't."

[v]

He's lying but he thinks about you a lot. He thinks about how different you are to him, an oxymoron of some sort, baring the usual 'opposites attract' kind of shtick. It was ridiculous, really.

"Who's this?" Prowl waves off the profile dismissively.

Chromedome holds it up with a raise, "New recruit from Iacon. Heard she's a heavy hitter. No, actually— I meant in Forensics. Uh, the Organic department. You know, like, ah, dog sniffers?"

Prowl does a slow one eighty turn. "....Dog sniffers?"

Silence.

"Forget it." He tosses the datapad to the desk. " Just be nice."

"I'll give you a week max before she quits."

And in typical Prowl fashion he'd already did a background check on your profile, pulling up a list of your 'miniscule' crimes, like missing the crosswalk by a second when the signal churns red, or eating in public when you're not suppose to.

Those kinds of stuff.

Chromedome stares at the datapad, scrolling down the 'list' as they trudge towards the conference room. These aren't even illegal. They're just insanely normal things to do. He's not sure how Prowl thinks they are.

"Primus, Prowl. Isn't that a bit kind of creepy?"

"You're a Mnemosurgeon, Chromedome." A mocking croon pelts back. "You go through brains. Isn't that kind of creepy?''

Like a newly wrapped gift, you turned up in front of their office, dressed in a neatly tucked police uniform, wide smile and sparkling eyes, hands primly folded behind your back. The desperate detective wannabe.

"It'll be a pleasure working with you both."

Intuitive yet naive, idealistic yet grounded. He hated that you couldn’t choose a middle ground.

"It won't be, trust me."

[iv]

Under the autumn tree, you held up one leaf to your eye as you peer over to prowl, sizing him up with child-like curiosity. He's hunched over his shoulder, grimacing at the data pad. Sometimes, he thinks if you're even capable of dropping the act.The typical junior constable, laughing under the shade. The occasional spool of light from the crevices, reflects the white of your eyes.

“You know the people that sat next to me on this bench..." You begin, pelting a rock across the river.

It skidded three times before it dawdles off.

"Are mostly held up in vases. Those customs where they put the dead's ashes in. Keep them on a table and light an incense stick to honor them."

He leans against the bench overlooking the lake. In his servos, his digits clamp around an ice cream cone, half melted. He'd spent more time scrutinizing the germs on the sludge, more than he indulged in the taste.

"Y'think you can beat that?"

His tongue shoots out warily, curling up to lap at the cream. "Beat what?"

You threw another rock. This time it doesn't skid. It just sinks, the water rippled after, breaking into a gentle wave.

"Turning up dead."

[vii]

“Wait!”

"Why are you still here?" You snap back, legs unable to upholster your balance.

He managed to grab your arms but you struggled, wrangling away from his grip.

“You don’t care about me." You laugh. A bitter one. "Wait, why should you? I thought we were friends, Prowl. Friends. friends don't do this. Friends don't disrupt the only trust you have with them!"

The sky thundered, dark clouds rolling. The gentle pitter patter of rain prickles your uniform. The cold seeps into your back. You're too messed up to care. He made you mad. Made you angry. He'd call you useless, a martyr. You’re slurring, staggering.

You’re upset.

"Is that why you wanted to leave? To see if I cared enough to ask you to stay?”

"You think I'm asking you to care? You think I wanted you to care?" You jabbed a finger to his chassis. Alcohol reeks from your breath, sweet and ozone tangy. He doesn't move, the scowl on his face undeterred. Your lips quiver, nose scrunching, eyes misty.

"You know what's funny? You always go on about this and that, paranoid about the people who'll betray you, when you're exactly the type to— actually, no the person who went behind my back and tampered with my files—"

When he opened his mouth you cut him off with venom.

"—And don't you even try to cover it up. You know what Red Alert told me this morning? That I was an anomaly! That I couldn't go in!"

"I ensured your files were of proper order. Nothing beyond that is tampered."

"Stop— when will you stop lying to me!"

Against his better judgment, his servos fisted your collar and he reeled you in, "You think I enjoy doing this?"

Before you could reply, his lips catches your own, pressing you up against the wall. The rain is pelting now, soaking you both. Your lips, mingled with the alcohol, tasted sweet. Almost, electric. He can't get enough. So soft, pliable.

You try to break away. He only deepens the kiss, pushing his tongue into your mouth, suckling your own, forbidding you the chance to speak.

His digits curl into your waist, clutching the fabric, holding you close. He needed you to stay. He needed you where he could see your face. Where you're there. Somewhere, close to him. You can’t leave him.

You can’t.

“I don’t care.” He breathes against your lips, "I don't care. Not now. Not yet."

It was a blur. Before long, you find your back dipping against the cushion of your bed, servos palming your thighs, chassis against your bare chest. Uniform fumbled and peeled away to the ground.

Maybe it was the alcohol talking. Or maybe you were too tired to protest. It didn't didn't matter. His lips latched onto your neck, suckling on a light bruise as he rolled his hips, yours moving in tandem, rocking against the bed.

“Prowl—“ He kisses you again.

Don’t speak yet.

Even when you’re pulling the sheets, arching against the soft bed, whimpering, straining out every sound he wrangles out from you, he's erratic, just how he’s rutting you up against the headboard, gripping your wrist, not your hands, face pressed up against your neck

“Stay.” Is a breathless whisper against your flesh.

"I—I can't."

He pulls you into a deeper kiss before you could say anymore, transfluid unspooling, purging the bedsheets mauve.

[viii]

The next morning he’s gone.

You’re alone.

You curl into the blankets, cheek against the pillow, not sure what to think. Perhaps it's a better goodbye than whatever you had in mind. It's not like Prowl is the sentimental type.Theres a note on the floor though, but it’s crumpled, torn apart, pieces littered in a clean pile. The pen is discarded in the kitchen counter. A last reign of control.

Tiptoeing across the cold floor, you scrape it against your palm and dropped it in the bin. It was better not to pry his thoughts. But there was something there, a glimpse of the words you always wanted to see, but still. You don’t believe it.

It's better when things are left unsaid.

'yes, yes. Hello! This is Rodimus speaking! Heard your files were a bit in a pickle yesterday. No worries! I managed to convince Magnus to let you in. Apparently, the system is now of working order. Strange, huh. Should hire better engineers, am I right? Anyways, how about a tour round the ship?'

[viiii]

It’s been months.

You were tinkering in your habsuite, a screwdriver in hand, fisting the electrical cord on your lock, the mini-enabler (a made up name as per Brainstorm's insistence for it to be so) when the communicator on your table pinged. A quick glimpse of the name blared out five familiar characters : Prowl.

Prowl? Your Prowl? What's he doing at this hour? He's, like, miles away. In that space station or whatever. What could he possibly want?

You were tempted to ignore it, reminded of your last meeting with the cop-bot that's likely to grant an awkward reunion. Then, you think with a grimace. What's the point? He'll probably forget about it, avoiding his feelings like the purge of the black plague.

So, you went through and now you're both staring at each other. Expression, neutral. Not sure what to say.His military-like stance contrasted your casual one. Though, he loosed up when the scowl on your face deepened. The holographic display did an impressive job at scaling his actual height. You had to crane your neck to see the light, cyan blue fizzle of his face.

One of Brainstorm's better invention, if you must say.

He looks around, scanning the interior of your habsuite, taking note of the cluttered books on the table, the snow globe you perch on your desk beside your datapads. A complete replica of the cubicle beside his own before you left.

"You’re not..." He trails off, unsure if it's safe to proceed. "...living alone are you?”

With a you huff, you cross your arms.“If you’re here to be a piss baby about it, leave.”

He vents, "I'm not here to be a 'piss baby', I'm here to check up on you."

“Right. So, you can what? Go behind my back and do something stupid again?"

He stiffens up on the immediate defensive. "Fine. I admit it. I did that. But you have to understand—"

"Yeah, well there's nothing to!" You throw up your arms, "You think you can just, I don't know, leave me hanging by a thread then call me five months later when you feel like it? Don't you care about how I feel? Or—"

"Can you listen for a moment?"

"Oh, now you want me to listen. What else, you want me to hear you voice out your justification of being an ass?"

"I did that because I..." The hologram looks away, glitching slightly, "...Because I don't exactly trust the crew enforcing their responsibility over you."

The thrum of the generator lulls over the silence. You stare at him, exasperation fading away. He's no longer staring at your feet, directing his gaze firmly to your eyes.

"It's not that I don't trust you." He says. The hologram takes a step close. You don't turn away, basking in the attempted touch of his servo on your shoulder. It phases through your arm, anyway. Even when it's an affectionate gesture, his expression is strained.

"You've got the knack to pull yourself in unpredictable situations."

You turn away with a huff. "If this is your way of trying to butter me up it's not working."

He looks off to the side, fixed on the snow-globe. "How about a tour of your room for a change?"

You're silent for a moment. "...We can start with the trinkets. "

[viiiii]

The alarm blared before you could think.

Prowl is half-way inspecting another faulty contraption upon your urge when the room is flared in a dark, crimson red, a sporadic bursts in tandem of the swirling siren. The connection is momentarily lost and the hologram fizzles away.

"What's going on?" His voice is a warbled glitch from the datapad. The visage of prowl in his office greets you.

"...The alarm sounded." You stammer, clutching the datapad close, a desperate reign of touch for him here, "That...that doesn't happen often. Well, sometimes . I think. But that was false alarm.

"Then, stay in the room." He commanded. "I'll try to get in touch with Magnus. There's a probable breach going on."

"You think so?" You pace around, a nervous twitch of your fingers, glancing to your door. "But this is. This is different. Usually, Magnus would pinge us. Tell us the situation. Last time, with the sparkeater—"

"Sparkeater?"

"Oh, you can arrest everyone later!" You huff. "My lock's broken, Prowl, what if—"

A distant explosion sounds, rattling the ship just slightly. It's muffled. You vaguely hear the clamour of pedes running, the yelling, the clang of metal scraping — then the storm. It's footsteps. Quick, loud footsteps pattering along towards this hall. Louder and louder. Heavier and heavier. Something clenched your heart tight. Whatever's raging through the ship can't be heading this way, can't it?

Prowl seemed unnerved. "Stay where you are."

"I'll try to close the lights. Maybe it'll disguise me here."

It's proved futile as the moment you reached your door, the shadow does as well, and you're sent sprawling across the floor as your habsuite door is torn wide open. The perpetrator tosses the flimsy metal to the side.

"Oh, dear. Wrong room." The familiar drawl dances through the air.

Your head swivels up, trailing along the path of the navy blue paint scheme, to the notorious curve of a grin, then to the eyes — blood lust.

Over lord.

"My, my, my. Have I seen you before? You look quite familiar."

He starts sauntering towards you. The datapad is clutched taut against your chest. Your eyes flail around for an exit. You're crawling, backing up against your desk.

"I was hoping it was the dreadful warden. You see I've got unfinished business with the latter — but you'll do as well."

"Get out of there!"

Prowl's yell was enough to deter his focus for a moment. You lunge for the space between his legs, rolling across the ground to the other side.

"Feisty little thing!" You hear him croon.

It wasn't long before you pick up the pace and start belting. Boots pounding the metal floor. At the end of the hall, you spot two figures from your periphery : Chromedome gesturing to the trapdoor on his side. Rewind jumping to get your attention.

"Lead him here!"

You yell back. "I've got a better idea!"

"Absolutely not!"

"But he's behind me, Prowl! We can't keep him here forever! Uhnf—"

The momentum of your sprint sent you stumbling into Chromedome and the Archivist, Overlord, following along, clattering against the wall of the hull. The one meant to trap the six phaser. You feel your lungs give out, grime scraping your elbows. Prowl's visage momentarily glitches as it clatters to the ground. Chromedome managed to toss Rewind out in a fit of panic. When it's your turn to grab his servos, you realized it's a spliced out limb from the swift shutting door, energon spooling out from the chafed sockets.

Rewind's staring at the window with despair. Chromedome is slamming his fist against the window, yelling.Prowl grips the screen tight, digits denting the rims of his datapad. He's not breathing. He's lightheaded. He can't get you. You're out there. He's here. You're there. Get out. Get out. Get out!

"Prowl?" Your voice is shaky as you speak. You're hunched over the datapad on the floor. He can see the shadow looming above becoming more prominent. More darker. More daunting. Two crimson flicker for eyes.

“Stay."

Don't let go yet.

Don't let go just yet

“I can't."

#transformers #maccadam #transformers x reader #idw prowl #transformers idw #prowl x reader #Overlord #idw prowl x reader #mtmte x reader #mtmte prowl

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aquostrainer · 4 months ago

Text

Supes' been really into yoga lately 🧘🏾‍♂️

I often look back on art from a few months ago and pick it apart, but I'm kinda obsessed w/ how I did this w/out a reference. I'd argue this face is still my best side profile to date, whew 😮‍💨

#and the cake of course 🍑#my art #fanart #art #comics #comic art #artists on tumblr #dc comics #digital artist #ibispaintx #superman #clark kent #gay butt #gay superheroes #gay art #muscle #muscle gay

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notveryimpressed · 6 months ago

Note

I love your writing! But I understand if you want to delete everything and have a clean new blog

What's the name of your webtoon, and what's it about?

Good luck with your exams! I hope your parents become less cranky and let you have some freedom at least

Best wishes,

@heroes-villains-side-blog

ya know ive been reading your writing for a long time but i never actually knew it was you. I remembered your profile picture but not your blog name, and i saw it right, and i was like - fuck it is you. Before i tell anything you should know i was and still am absolutely hooked to your writing.

Ok, so here’s the thing, like I’ve mentioned before, I’m making a webtoon right, and some parts of the story that may have major spoilers and all are uploaded here right, and I absolutely despise my writing, so I thought that I’d delete everything. But I can’t bring myself to do it, cus ya know, I put effort into this, I made this. I can’t just delete everything. Ok maybe I can. I came online to do that, but I can’t bring my self to do it. And even if I do my meticulous dumbass has already made a backup blog with all the posts on it. So if this goes, the other is still there. Therefore the stories, snippets, prompts, everything is safe ( for now) ;)

and as for the webtoon, doesn’t have a name yet, i mean, I saved it as- gfdyrdtydyt13257, on google docs. The name will be given after it is completed.

the webtoon is about a villain ofc, the guy from the mittens series on my blog, the story is based off of they/him/her/it. It is also based on a paranoid supernatural theme(cus I’m obsessed with supernatural shit). That’s all I can tell rn.

whew, the exams, I’d rather not talk about it

my parents are generally ok but just go cuckoo in the head about the exams every now and then. My laptop isn’t taken away entirely, I can use it for 45 min, so there’s that.

this turned out longer than it should have, but that’s fine I guess.

thank you for writing, I normally don’t get a lot of mail (I love answering mail tbh),so this was a pleasant surprise. Thank you for liking my writing, normally the people I’ve shown it too never liked it, so thank you so much.

#ask #answer

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munchymuchy · 11 months ago

Text

First Stinkface story-part 2

{This is part two of my first story, hope you enjoy it.}

Jason lay on his bed facing the ceiling "Did I really just do that? did I actually just do something like that???" Jason couldn't believe he had given in to his urges and it somehow worked out? Jason couldn't believe his dick was between the most famous cheeks in the world.

He started thinking to himself "Holy fuck... is he gonna tell anyone??" Jason sat up in a worry knowing that he could be most likely exposed. This worrying thinking was cut short when his phone got a notification. He quickly grabbed his phone and said he got a notification from Instagram..it was from Rikishi.

Jason gulped and opened it with the first message popping up saying:

Kish-Hey there bud! Had a great time yesterday, hope I didn't push you too hard lol.

Jason: Hi, look what happened yesterday was just a one time thing and was very professional on my part. Also i would like to keep this out the public eye. thanks

Jason put down his phone and shut his eyes thinking that was the end but that was a lie. His phone buzzed one time but he ignored it. It buzzed again and another time "God dammit what is it" Jason said getting annoyed by the notification. He picked up his phone and his eyes widened on what was on his screen.

Kish- Aw. Why so professional? Don't you miss this ass?

Right under that message were two pictures of him. One was him showing the side profile of his ass with clothes on, but that still made Jason's dick twitch a little. The other picture was Rikishi with no pants or underwear on but it still has a side profile. In the other picture, you could see those stretch marks and dimples that made you cum 4 times. Jason almost pulled his dick out but then a final message came up.

Kish- tell me doc? you do home calls?

Jason sat here staring at the message staring with his cock leaking precum and twitching. He typed yes but didn't send it at first out of hesitation until he remembered rikishi knows what he is. Jason sent the yes and rikishi sent his address.

[Time skip to when jason arrives at rikishi's house]

Jason stood at the door hearing what sounded like soft R&B music? Jason started to head back to his car thinking to himself "What am I doing? Am I crazy or something?" Just as he said that he heard the door click open behind him and a voice yelled out to him "Hey! Where do you think you're going?" Jason turned around to see Riksihi in the doorway wearing nothing on besides a robe. Without thinking Jason turned around and went into the house. The home was dimly lit with candles and the R&B music being louder in Jason's ears.

Jason felt two big arms wrap around his waist and then Rikishi leaned in and whispered in his ear "You ready for me to back.this.ass.up....again?" rikishi said licking the man's ear lobe in the process. Jason nodded his head and then Rikishi let him and started to put a chair in front of Jason. "Sit." and with that command, Jason sat in the chair quickly. Rikishi smirked at how obedient the man was, he also notices that the man's dicks was almost bursting out the seams of his pants. "looks like you're pretty excited there, here lemme help" Rikishi pulled the zipper from Jason's pants, and pulled it down exposing his leaking dick. His dick even popped above his boxer giving a clear view of everything.

"Whew, would you look at that you really excited to see me? Hope you're because i gonna milk every last drop of that cock" As he said that he turns around drops the robe revealing his bare ass to Jason. Without warning Jason lunges forward and puts his face between the cheeks and licks his hole. Rikishi was surprised by the sudden ass eating he was receiving from Jason but he didn't complain, having something warm and slimy at his hole felt amazing. All the stimulations to his ass caused a couple small farts to slip out. Jason didn't care about the rotten smells coming from the big ass he was making out with, he loved the smell and taste. Rikishi moaned as the boy was still going to town on his ass but suddenly stopped because he felt a short sharp pain in his gut.

This big man reached from behind and pushed Jason's head away by a few centimeters "Ooh man, you really wasted no time there boy" Rikishi said chuckling and looking back at Jason whose mouth was covered in saliva and crack sweat. "Now let's get started with this" With that rikishi lowered his cheeks to wrap around the man's rock-hard cock. Jason moaned at the feeling of his big Samoan again on his dick. The cheeks were warm and the stickyness from his spit started to make his dick wet. Rikishi started to go down with his cheeks still around the dick almost like he was twerking. Wet slapping filled the room and Jason felt like he was getting close so he started grasping at his ass cheeks until Rikishi stopped and clenched on it causing the man to yelp out.

"Hope you're ready for this gas son, it's gonna be a long one," Rikishi said feeling the sharp pain in his gut again and then letting a sputtering fart out vibrating on Jason's dick. The smell instantly caused Jason to cum quickly in Rikishi's crack, causing the large man to chuckle "That was quick, Hope you don't expect to stop were just getting started" Rikishi said looking back at the man and resuming back to the up and down motion.

*A minute later*

More farts and wet sounds filled the house. Jason's felt his vision getting blurry and his legs getting weak. "Fuuccck how many times have I cum? A-am I still alive? What day is it?" Jason asked in his mind as a 400-pound ass kept his dick warm and wet. Not only was there a bunch of cum stuffed in the wrestler's crack but it also dripped on the floor. Jason started to feel his eyes getting heavy, like he was gonna pass out until something was shoved into his mouth. It tasted tangy and almost bitter and the rotten cheese smell almost made his eyes pop out of his head.

It was one of Rikishi's thongs! kish chuckled at the man's reaction when he shoved his dirty and partially shitty thong into his mouth "Don't need you passing out on me just yet, you gonna miss the best part." Jason looked at him confused "What do you mean by bes-" Rikishi got up but still was bent over showing all the jizz that was trapped between his ass. Jason had no idea he could produce that much cum THAT many times, the way the cum dripped on the floor from the man's ass caused Jason's dick to stand up. "Holy shit, you got more in ya? Haha welp don't worry ill let you go you're way...after this!" He spread his asscheeks wide so Jason could get a clear view of how much he came. Rikishi grunted and pushed a 5-second bubbly fart spraying jizz on the man in the chair. Jason quivered feeling his already raw dick cum one last time before completely passing out.

*An hour passes*

Jason groggily opened his eyes thinking everything was a dream but to his shock, he wasn't dreaming. He tried springing up but he couldn't something on his back wasn't letting him. It took him a second to realize it was a hefty arm. He starts to process where he is and what's going on. He was on top of a sleeping rikishi in the bed. All Jason just sat there wondering "Wow...maybe this could..this could be a great thing."

#stinkface #rikishi #asseater #male farts #gassy #wwe rikishi

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emieclat · 2 years ago

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i’ve always always ALWAYS wanted to animate the scene where lovelace and eris meet but the idea of it is pretty...a lot and i have a Lot of projects going on

BUT i thought i’d start making a bit of progress on it. here is one of my least favourite parts of character design, the turnarounds. i just have trouble drawing profiles 🥴 and i KNOW some animators get away with Not having a profile view and just having the front and back but in the storyboards there are definitely multiple shots where they’re seen from the side so i can’t just cheat it.

but now they’re done (WHEW) and the next step is building the actual rigs. i might tutorialize that. who knows

and i also remembered i never finished the storyboard which is another part of production i hate doing myself (there’s a reason i’m an animator not a storyboarder) but from what i recall it’s 70% done so when i have time i can power through it

ALSO cutter is in the scene for like 3 seconds and i’m too lazy to build another build so he’ll probably just be handdrawn.

these are going to be 180 builds instead of full 360!

#emieclat #wolf 359 #isabel lovelace #eris

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tea-with-evan-and-me · 7 months ago

Note

“Oh gosh I was reading comments under this post and in a reply to a comment about Emma abuse some lady said "Evan is a big boy not easily beat up. Enjoy her work. She donates a lot to animal rights." I go to her profile... it's Emma's aunt ☠️ (Not Julia, someone from her mom's side, I think sister)”

First of all she needs to [redacted]. Second of all, why the hell did I see someone say that the fact Emma was arrested because of witness statements and that Angelica said that Emma was making jokes about it is misinformation. It’s literally the most factual part of any info from what happened. The stuff about the witnesses came straight from the police’s mouths and same with Angelica, this is easily googlable. That aunt though actually extremely pissed me off. Have fun with your abusive niece, I hope she doesn’t bite you in your sleep tonight…or pace around you with a knife

you said it, anon. whew..

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antisocialxconstruct · 2 years ago

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dropping this here mostly context-free because whew I've been chipping away at this for most of the month

7.5k words, CW: restraint, isolation, physical trauma (mostly blood and broken bones, some implied but not described gore right at the end)

In which Maksim has a bad time due to an unfortunate miscommunication.

---

He should have noticed sooner. Letting someone follow him for this long was a rookie mistake, and under the circumstances one that could easily get him killed. You’re getting careless, Maksim admonishes himself, keeping his pace but stealing a sidelong glance at a storefront window reflecting the thin crowd on the street with him. Maybe it’s not an entirely fair criticism, two years ago he could have depended on a telepathic radar to ping anyone whose attention lingered on him just a little too long. But two years ago he also had far fewer enemies.

There. A face he’s glimpsed four times in the past hour. It had only seemed remarkable the first time because he thought they looked like…

Черт. The stranger dips out of sight again and Maksim is left with a decision–try to shake them, or try to lead them into a confrontation.

He breaks away from his planned route–whatever he decides to do next, he’s certainly not going to lead them back to his apartment–and slips down a side street onto the next block. Then he ducks under the awning of a pawn shop, slumps back against the wall and makes a show of checking his commlink. In truth he’s pushing his senses outward, searching. It’s a risky maneuver in such a crowded area, one that leaves him gritting his teeth against the potential drain as he skims for a sign of intent… of malice…

And he finds it. And, albeit distantly… it’s familiar.

His eyes dart up, off to the left. There’s a human further down the sidewalk, gazing incuriously through the window of another storefront, and Maksim’s mind offers up the same label as before. Your shadow. His features would be conventional and unremarkable, impossible to pick out of a crowd, if Maksim wasn’t actively looking for him, but the profile is a little different than he remembers… either his memory has drifted a bit, or the man had some work done after Maksim slammed his face into a countertop in Chicago.

Then the shadow’s gaze drifts away from the window, and he locks eyes with Maksim. At this distance it’s difficult to be sure, but it feels like he smiles.

Not a shadow, then, not anymore. A pursuer.

A spark of fear lights in Maksim’s chest, though he swallows it down as best he can. There’s no doubt in his mind this is one of the men who confronted Ilya, they must have given up on subtlety entirely when that backfired. Could they have been watching him that long, waiting for a chance to move in like this? He really doesn’t want to do this here, so he pockets the commlink and pushes away from the wall to begin walking again, scanning his surroundings as surreptitiously as possible along the way. He doesn’t know this neighborhood as well as some, and to his mounting frustration no promising ambush point seems to be presenting itself along his route. All the while his pursuer has been closing in, managing to keep up just enough distance and outward disinterest not to look like he’s currently stalking someone. Maksim might have been impressed by the fact that he’d gotten subtler, if he wasn’t the one being stalked.

On an impulse he cuts right, ducking around the side of a building and through the attached parking lot, assuming he’ll be able to double back to his original route and get somewhere more familiar. Instead, he pulls up short when he finds himself face to face with a sturdy chain link fence. Pulls up again when he turns around to backtrack and finds the other man approaching him at an easy pace.

“Oh now this is a little embarrassing,” the man laughs, glancing over Maksim’s shoulder at the fence that confounded his escape attempt.

Maksim meets the provocation with a glare, running some hasty calculations as he shifts his weight ever so slightly… and in the next instant he makes a run for the fence. He’s gambling on the certainty that he can scale it before his pursuer can close the remaining distance between them.

He can’t.

He makes it halfway up before he feels an arm hook around his throat and drag him backward as the man hurls him to the ground. He turns it into a roll, gets his feet under him and springs forward, claws out, aiming to shred whatever flesh is closest. His opponent brings an arm up, accepting the damage there to protect anything more valuable. When he swings his other fist around Maksim darts away easily, senses buzzing as the reflex trigger pumps a burst of adrenaline into his system. He's still looking for an opening to escape, but the other man has now maneuvered himself between Maksim and the fence. And considering the speed with which he closed that distance to begin with, Maksim has to assume running in the other direction isn't an option either.

"You look nervous, runner," the man taunts, adopting a loose posture. There's a marked lack of blood where the sleeve of his coat has been torn apart. Maksim wonders idly how much cyberware he's armed with, and then wonders less idly why he didn't capitalize on that in Chicago. Best to end this fast, before he has time to answer either of those questions.

"Just irritated," he shoots back, rapidly changing his focus. Running’s not a viable option, that only leaves one choice open to him.

His attacker laughs. "Guess I’m not trying hard enough," he says, and then he lunges. Maksim dodges back again, ducks under the follow up blow, and in the narrow moment where his opponent is overextended he moves in–fist to the jaw, elbow to the ribs to unbalance him, then he’s got the man pinned to the wall with an arm across his neck and his other hand poised to gouge out an eye at a moment’s notice.

To his credit, the other man is smart enough to freeze. It’s not so different from their first confrontation after all–he hadn’t had much fight in him then either.

Maksim bares his teeth in an indignant snarl. “I thought I said I’d kill you if you ever tried this again.”

A smirk flutters hesitantly at the corner of his opponent’s mouth. “I think your exact words were ‘if I see your face again I’ll split it in half.’”

“And did you not believe me?” Maksim growls. He can feel the minute pressure of skin breaking under his claws, drawing forth thin rivulets of blood.

“Oh no, nothing like that.” And now the other man is smiling properly, managing to sound smug even through the growing pressure of Maksim’s arm against his airway. “In fact I was counting on you to try.” He grabs a fistful of Maksim’s collar, yanks him in close as he reaches up-

It takes just a fraction of a second for Maksim’s mind to disengage from the bloodlust to register danger-

A fraction of a second too long. There’s an instant of pressure, something clamping down on the back of his neck-

And with a sudden flash of agony the world whites out.

His senses only start to coalesce back into focus slowly, one sensation at a time.

He’s on the ground. Feels like smooth concrete against his cheek when he shifts experimentally. Cool but not cold, and not the asphalt of the parking lot.

Someone is speaking, words incomprehensible and distant.

Something is.

Wrong.

His head is pounding.

It slipped in coiled up and writhing and unwelcome

When he tries to blink his vision clear everything still looks flat, skewed off center. He rolls forward, gets his arms under him to push himself up. But it doesn’t feel right, doesn’t come naturally. Every action feels sluggish, like he’s pushing through sand or pulling against resistance, limbs responding delayed and reluctantly.

slow at first, resistance, disorientation, before the cage came down around him

Panic hits him like a wall the same instant the nausea starts to well up, and he grits his teeth as he silently wills himself to move move move get up get out of here. But the sickness wins out as he falters and curls in on himself, abandoning the effort to rise.

and he fought and he screamed and he begged for someone to stop him and no sound ever made it past his lips as his hands closed around Ziggy’s throat

It’s impossible to say how long he just lays there, staring blindly down at the gray floor beneath him, unwilling to try to do anything more. Unwilling to fail. The question of what happened and where he is sits ignored somewhere in his mind, smothered by the memories of other horrors, other failures of control.

and he just kept going and the first spray of blood was hot across his face and it’s not what he wanted not what he wanted not what he wanted not what he wanted

“...rse he’s still alive.”

The voice finally, slowly takes shape, a drip feed filtering through the confusion.

It’s something to cling to, letting him claw his way up out of the trenches of memory and back into the moment at hand. They're close. Lingering impassively as he struggles.

Help me. Why aren't you helping me.

“I know how to follow basic fucking orders.”

Another voice, shot through with static and too small to make out.

“Because you didn’t tell me it was gonna lay ‘im out and I wasn’t planning on hauling an unconscious trog through the Heights. Even a small one…” Movement, footsteps approaching from a short distance as the second voice responds. Then “wait shut up, I think he’s awake.”

Someone plants a boot on Maksim’s shoulder and shoves him onto his back, turning the world blaring white again as the overhead light floods his vision. The pressure increases, tips over into pain as weight comes down to flatten him against the hard floor and he groans, grabs blindly at the toe of the boot in a feeble attempt to move it. “Sure enough,” comes the voice, and before he can make sense out of any of it a hand closes around his upper arm and yanks him upward. He has to gather enough sense to try to right himself again in a hurry, just to alleviate the sharp pain that blossoms in his already bruised shoulder. Shakily, elbow against the ground and then feet and then he’s upright, if only barely. He’s almost grateful a second later when he’s pushed back to stumble gracelessly into a chair.

“Damn burnouts… Guess we underestimated just how much of your meat you’d replaced,” his attacker laughs. Maksim bows his head and listlessly rubs his eyes, and it takes a long moment for the comment to burrow its way in through the bleary fog of pain still blanketing him.

“What…” he rasps, hating the way his own voice rattles through his head. “What did you do to me…”

The other man grabs the wrist of the hand shielding his eyes, pulls it away from his face and wrenches it around behind him. “Just a little safety precaution,” he’s saying, pinning Maksim’s other wrist behind him as well. “Switched off all your chrome for the time being.”

With a soft click Maksim feels cold metal close around his wrists. There isn’t time to panic about that alongside the dawning terror of understanding. He tilts his head to the left and draws his shoulder up, just barely able to isolate the irregular shape of something nestled against the back of his neck, and he doesn’t know what that is but it’s enough of a clue for it all to come together. The reason his vision seems off, lacking depth, why he can’t move right, why there’s a constant ache sprawling out through his body.

No eye implant. No skillwires. No pain inhibitor. No cyberware.

He screws his eyes shut and tries valiantly to steady his breathing, but his head is still aching and any semblance of focus keeps slipping out of his grasp. An experimental twist of one wrist confirms the handcuffs are fixed in place somehow, maybe threaded through the rungs of the chair. It’s the only investigation he’s allowed to do before his captor grabs him by the chin, forcing his head up until he’s squinting against the glare of the overhead light again.

“You’re lucky my only instructions were to bring you here,” the man is saying, his voice taking on a new hint of bitterness. “Where I come from, if a dog went rabid and started going after its own-” he places the first two fingers of his other hand against Maksim’s forehead–“we’d put a bullet in it.”

Maksim holds his gaze as best he can, silent except for the pained, shaky breath he pulls in through his nose. Which one of them did you know? He wonders.

Then over the man's shoulder he sees the corner of a door swing open and close again with a soft metallic groan. "That will do for now, Nav," says a new voice–one Maksim realizes he should know only when the other man releases his face with a sneer and steps away. The new arrival is an elf with a slender build, a crisp suit, and an immediately familiar face. He carries himself with the same lifted chin and squared shoulders that had defined him when he was playing gofer for Alabast, and he might have come across as sophisticated if it weren’t for the impressive gray-yellow welt of a nearly healed bruise across one side of his face. Even in his disoriented state Maksim has the sense to hold back a satisfied smirk at that–Ilya’s handiwork.

“Callahan,” he bites out, though it’s a challenge to sound suitably resentful when it’s taking all his focus just to form the words right at all. “You’re a long way from home.”

"Well you're a hard man to pin down, Avos," the elf replies, eminently pleasant as he folds his hands behind his back. "Or… Danila, wasn't it? Danila Maksimov?" Maksim must not hide the flinch as well as he'd hoped, as Callahan’s smile widens in satisfaction. "I suppose you haven't heard that name in a while."

It’s unsettling, but probably not the winning hand Callahan expects it to be. Maksim wrinkles his nose, grimacing with distaste. "Is that supposed to scare me into cooperating? The GRU's not coming all the way to California just for me."

Callahan exhales a light sigh, unclasping his hands to fidget with a sleeve cuff. "It wasn’t meant to threaten you, I just hoped to give you a bit of perspective on how deep we had to dig to track you down. I was hoping you might be a little more sympathetic to our plight here." He pauses, but Maksim sets his jaw and lets his gaze drift wearily down to the floor. He’d like to think it was a defiant silence, but the truth is he still hasn’t shaken off the disorientation and Callahan’s words are sliding off his mind with only the barest level of comprehension. The elf sighs again. “You know we could end this whole cat and mouse game right now, if you simply tell us where the reliquary is.”

That manages to push through the haze… but it doesn’t clarify anything. Confusion creases Maksim’s brow as he continues to eye the floor, another couple seconds passing as he half-expects Callahan to say more. Then, with a hesitance he doesn’t relish but can’t help in the moment, he asks, “... why would I know that?”

Callahan’s demeanor cools instantly and noticeably. “It would be in your best interest to remember,” he says.

Maksim finally drags his gaze back up to meet Callahan’s eye, but his confusion only deepens as he faces down the elf’s expectant frown. He shakes his head slightly. “I don’t- What are you saying? You know we didn’t finish the run.”

Somewhere just behind him he hears Nav scoff. He doesn’t like someone in the room being outside his line of sight, but he resists the impulse to look over his shoulder in order to keep his brittle focus on Callahan. The elf’s smug pleasantness has entirely evaporated by now, as he studies Maksim in return with a sort of cold impassivity. “It seems the intervening years have muddied your memory of events somewhat,” he says, “but I’m sure we can help you straighten them out.”

Just as Maksim opens his mouth to say something else he feels one of Nav’s hands close around his right wrist and the other around his pinky finger, and in a flash of ice-cold clarity what he ends up saying is a breathless “no no no-” as he instinctively tries to pull away. A split second later he’s met with a snap and a bright jolt of pain and he chokes out a curse as tension coils up through his arm. He had forgotten how much even a nominal broken bone could hurt, how it could light up his brain with panicked impulses to run shrink hide without the inhibitor to tamp down on his body’s responses to it. Then he hisses, “I don’t know anything.” Callahan tsks quietly and Maksim feels the pressure move to his ring finger next. “I don’t, I don’t!” He insists, the tension spreading instantly to the rest of his body as he braces for another break. “I never even saw it!”

“An interesting claim,” Callahan says, “considering there’s security footage of you returning to the warehouse site the day after your team’s run.”

Maksim just stares back at him.

There can’t be. It’s not possible, he knows that’s not possible. He was barely conscious for three days after being dragged out of that warehouse… which unfortunately doesn’t leave him with much of an alibi, but it’s the truth.

Callahan’s smile returns then, slowly, as he clasps his hands behind his back once more. “There, see? Now we can save ourselves whatever remaining time you would have spent playing dumb,” he says, apparently misinterpreting Maksim’s silence as an admission of guilt.

Nav lets go of him then and steps around to linger at Callahan’s side instead, and it’s enough to nudge Maksim out of his stupor. “I- …” He shuts his eyes tight, gives his head another sharp shake. Astoundingly, even with the threat of a second broken finger gone, the pain radiating through his hand is not helping him think straight. “Who… gave you that footage?”

Who set me up?

All Callahan says is “it’s none of your concern who our sources are,” which doesn’t help. Then something changes in the room’s atmosphere, as he shifts his weight slightly and gives Maksim an assessing once-over. “If you’re not interested in talking right now then so be it,” the elf says. “We’ve been very patient tracking you this far, we can spare another day or two for you to really mull over your options.” He tilts his head slightly, flashing Maksim an indulgent smile. “Please understand that you don’t have many.” Then he catches Nav’s eye and nods toward the door, and a moment later they both step out, leaving Maksim immobile and alone.

A minute passes.

Then another.

When Maksim is fairly certain they aren’t coming back he breathes out a string of curses as the tension drains out of him. He allows himself to slump forward again as far as his pinned hands will let him, and instantly regrets it when the added pressure sends another wave of pain up his right arm. He twists his wrist experimentally, gritting his teeth, but there’s no position that will free him from that constant reminder of how dire the situation is. Instead he can only focus on pulling ragged breaths into his lungs and silently begging himself not to slip below the surface of the panic that’s choking him.

It’s not helping.

Maybe there’s a camera on him, maybe they’re watching his composure fully break down with cruel satisfaction. He doesn’t have it in him to care.

He should have kept running. He never should have dared to think he could start putting down roots here in the first place. He never should have gotten attached to-

Some tiny, still-rational part of his mind rebels against that thought before it can fully form, but it still cascades into a wave of guilt. It’s not Ilya’s fault, they never asked him to stay and wouldn’t have questioned him if he didn’t. The only one he can blame for this is himself. Not smart enough to ask the right questions. Not careful enough to get away. Framed for something he didn’t even know had happened and he’s spent the last two years unknowingly making himself look exponentially guiltier.

What is he supposed to do if they don’t believe him?

The room has no windows and no clock. That’s the first thing Maksim determines once he calms himself enough to actually properly assess the space. No way to know where he is, what time of day it is, or how long he’s been there. Or how long he’s been alone. And in the aftermath of everything that’s happened, he doesn’t trust his internal sense of time any more than he would trust a random guess.

Beyond that observation, there isn’t much to be learned. The space is small, its former purpose hinted at by the second chair by the door, the metal desk and empty shelves shoved up against the wall on his left. All of it is faded and dusty in the way that old and forgotten things are, which is the only clue he can lift from his surroundings. Wherever he is, it went abandoned and disused for some time before he found himself there. On the desk is a little pile of things, which it takes Maksim a long few seconds to finally realize are the contents of his pockets. Commlink, credstick, and pistol, all right within arm’s reach and yet so perfectly beyond his grasp.

Not a lot of options, other than to sit and wait.

Without thinking, he tries to flex his fingers only to be instantly reminded that one of them was unceremoniously snapped in half. But beneath that burst of pain he noticed something else, and once it begins to ease he turns his focus as best he can onto his left hand, shifting and tensing muscles experimentally before pressing two fingertips cautiously to the pad of his thumb.

Somehow… his claws still work. Whatever miserable bit of metal is sitting on his neck, meddling with his implants, it hasn’t done anything to his hands. Maybe it’s distance. Maybe they’re just too low tech. He retracts the claws again and takes a slow breath, wondering how he can use that.

At two separate intervals Callahan returns with Nav in tow and starts his questioning over from the top, leaving Maksim with no option but to reiterate his complete lack of useful information.

By the end of the second interrogation he’s frustrated, answering Callahan’s questions with curt hostility right up until Nav breaks another one of his fingers.

By the end of the third interrogation pain, fatigue, and the first stages of dehydration have left him disoriented and subdued, and he barely answers Callahan’s questions at all.

Eventually, during another bout of increasingly oppressive solitude, his hands start to go numb. He welcomes this, albeit a little reluctantly, if only because it provides some relief from the dull throbbing and a new, creeping feverishness in his right arm.

At some point, against all odds, he manages to doze off, which he realizes only when the door slamming shut jars him awake again. Nav stands a few paces away, arms crossed over his chest and a distant, unreadable expression settled over his features. This time without Callahan. The jacket he’d been wearing previously is gone, and Maksim can see that the long gashes he’d left in the man’s arm have been sealed with what looks like some kind of silicone paste. No swelling, no stitches… that feels relevant, but Maksim is struggling to follow the thread of it to its logical conclusion as he blankly meets Nav’s stare.

At length Nav finally speaks, drawing Maksim’s attention in a little tighter. “Lockjaw always thought you were the team’s weakest link… Too distant.”

“Oh.” There’s one question answered, though it raises other idle curiosities. How close were they? Would he have met Nav before, if he hadn’t made a concerted effort not to learn anything about the rest of the team? Why is Nav here now? Alone? Maksim has a nagging feeling this visit wasn’t at Callahan’s request… He squeezes his eyes shut and then blinks several times in a feeble bid to sharpen his thoughts just a little more. If Nav wants to chat privately, maybe he can pan the conversation for something useful. But only if he can focus. “I always thought it was Strikeout,” he says, keeping his tone and expression as carefully neutral as he can manage. “Too clingy.”

Nav unfolds his arms and takes an aggressive step closer. “At least Strikeout never eviscerated two people for no reason.”

Maksim offers him a humorless smile. “Neither did I.”

Without another word Nav punches him hard enough to feel the room spin like it’s about to dump him back on the floor. If he hadn’t been cuffed to the chair it probably would have, but it does leave his ears ringing and his vision swimming all over again. He works his jaw, tastes copper. “You know as well as I do that’s not true,” Nav spits, and he sounds inexplicably far away even as Maksim straightens again to face him.

“When someone gets shot do you question the gun?” He retorts, earning himself another blow that snaps his head back against the chair with a burst of sensation behind his eyes. Then he pitches forward with a wet cough, pain radiating up through his nose as blood spills down over his lips and onto the concrete between his feet. If Nav had been a little more focused that could have killed him. Maksim figured he’d talk more freely if he was angry, but he needs him talking. “What w-... were you hoping to get from this?” he manages to choke out, voice thick inside his rattled skull.

“From where I’m standing it all seems to be going as planned,” Nav fires back.

Maksim shakes his head and lifts his eyes back up to meet Nav’s. “No… I know what Callahan is asking for but you… you don’t want to interrogate me. I think you… just want to be my executioner.”

Nav scowls down at him. “There’s still time,” he says, biting out each word sharp and crisp.

“You think?” Maksim arches his eyebrows, although even that slight bit of emoting lights up his face with fresh pain. But he sees the uncertainty flicker behind Nav’s eyes so he presses on. “Now I know the only thing stopping you is… whatever Callahan wants… why would I tell him anything?”

“You son of a bitch!” Nav barks, shoving Maksim against the back of the chair and pinning him there. “You do know where it is!”

“I guess we’ll never know. Does that bother you?”

In an instant the manhunter is off the desk in Nav’s hand and jammed against Maksim’s head. He flinches, screwing his eyes shut… but when a beat passes and his head remains graciously intact, he opens them again and exhales shakily.

Then inspiration strikes.

“If you pull that trigger you’ll be the next one in this chair,” he breathes. “You can see how Alabast handles people who ruin their plans.”

“It might be worth it,” Nav growls, and the gun doesn’t move.

Maksim chews his lip as he carefully formulates his next response. He’s playing with fire, and he doesn’t need to pretend to be scared. “You- maybe you could uncuff me first,” he suggests, flashing Nav a weak smile. “Say I slipped out of them somehow… you had to kill me in self defense. Callahan’s probably not smart enough to notice if it doesn’t line up.”

Nav holds his ground, gun never wavering and eyes burning with barely concealed hatred, just long enough that Maksim starts to worry he may have gambled too hard. Then finally with a snort he straightens and steps back. “Nice try,” he scoffs. “I bet that little mind control trick was pretty impressive back when you could actually do it.” Then before Maksim can respond he turns and stalks back out of the room. He takes the manhunter with him.

Once again in isolation, Maksim exhales sharply and lets his head fall forward. He coughs, gags on the thick red spittle his stomach churns up as his skull tightens with a needling headache. It would have saved him some time and effort if Nav had actually taken him up on that idea, but it’s not what he was hoping for.

It’s enough that he thought about it. Just for a second. Hard enough to envision the scenario in his head, too tempted by the prospect to notice Maksim pressing himself in to watch it play out alongside him. He was only looking for one thing.

Now he knows Nav still has the key to the handcuffs, and he knows which pocket it’s in.

Callahan clicks his tongue disapprovingly as he tilts Maksim’s head left and right to take in the mess. By now the blood on his face must be an ugly brown crust down his lips and chin, and he doesn’t know how bad the damage is but he knows half his face is nothing but dull ache and he can’t breathe through his nose anymore.

“I do apologize for Nav’s… behavior,” Callahan sighs, pressing his lips into a thin frown as he glances over his shoulder at Nav lingering by the door behind him. “I certainly didn’t approve that little discussion.” He sounds genuine enough that Maksim might have believed him, if he hadn’t been left to drift in and out of consciousness for another few hours before anyone came to check in.

“Alabast used to have higher standards,” he mumbles as Callahan lets go of his chin and steps back. The only response the elf offers him is a flat, wordless smile. He, at least, is a professional, it seems to say, and not about to let any personal feelings slip through. Maksim presses on regardless. “What are you going to do when I die without giving you anything and you have to go back and tell them you wasted two years on a false lead?”

“Oh, are we still keeping to that narrative?” Callahan asks, raising his eyebrows in a mockery of casual interest. “We can circle back to that, but I actually wanted to talk to you about something a little different.” He pauses, reaching into an inner pocket of his suit jacket to draw out a small datapad, and in the absence of any contribution from Maksim continues easily while he taps at the screen. “You’ve been keeping interesting company here in the CFS. Before arranging this meeting I had a conversation with an associate of yours and they were… very helpful.”

He holds the screen up and turns it around to show Maksim what looks to be a candid photo of another elf, taken surreptitiously in the low smokey light of a bar.

Ilya.

Maksim’s lip curls in disgust at the implication of Callahan’s words. “No. They weren’t,” he says. But when Callahan just pauses to consider him for a second, and the smile on his lips turns subtle and thoughtful, Maksim suddenly wonders if, somehow, that response was a mistake.

“Well… maybe not in the way we had hoped,” he concedes, turning the datapad back around to find something else. “In fact they were quite resistant to any bargaining, which I found interesting. They were clear that it was just the offer itself they found insulting, but… after some reflection I think there might be a little more to it.” He turns the datapad around again to show Maksim another image–this time it looks like a photo of a terminal screen, several lines of text alongside a staged head-on photo if Ilya, all of it overlaid with some kind of watermark resembling a multi-pointed starburst. "Are you aware that one Ilya Kasharin is currently wanted by NeoNET for breach of contract and several counts of theft of company property? There's quite a substantial bounty on their head, it's been compounding for three years now."

All at once it feels like the air has been sucked out of Maksim’s lungs as he stares at the image in front of him. The information itself isn’t especially shocking–he may not have known the specifics, but he knew Ilya had been running from something just like him. The real, gut-churning revelation here is the unspoken threat lurking beneath Callahan’s idle conversation. Maksim swallows, wincing as his dry and ragged throat protests, and when he speaks the words are soft, almost pleading. “Leave them out of this…”

“Really now, Avos,” Callahan sighs indulgently. “You have one very simple way to ensure I do just that.”

“I don’t. I don’t, I swear,” he insists, voice cracking. “I don’t have the reliquary, I never did, I never knew anything. Someone set me up and they wasted your time and there’s nothing either of us can do about it now.” He wishes he could sound angry, he wishes he could call up all the fury this affront deserves. He just sounds scared.

Callahan takes another moment just to watch him, features impassive. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he begins, “if… I believed you-” and Maksim has just a single hopeful second to think maybe, maybe- “then I’m sure you can understand how simply going back to New York with that report and nothing to show for it is out of the question. But,” and here his smile returns, as he tucks the little datapad back into his jacket, “I imagine a two hundred thousand nuyen bounty would soften the blow.”

He turns to leave.

“No- no no, wait-” Maksim strains forward, even in spite of the pain it sends arcing through his arms. “Callahan-”

Callahan pauses in the open doorway to glance back, only just long enough to say, “perhaps if we bring Ilya into this conversation directly you can explain that to them yourself.”

“No- no! Don’t- Callahan! Alright fine fine I’ll tell you what happened!”

The words are out of his mouth before he really comprehends what he’s saying, but… it has the desired effect. Callahan had just stepped out of sight but he’s back a second later, a nauseatingly satisfied smile on his face as he comes to stand before Maksim once again. Behind him Nav has perked up as well, all too ready to finally hear the confession he’s been stewing over. Maksim looks between them for a moment, with the dawning horror that now he needs to tell them something.

And more pressing than that, he needs to accelerate his plans.

“I- I found out the rest of the team was planning to edge me out after the warehouse, they… they didn’t trust me.” He punctuates this with a wan smile, acknowledging what would have been cruel irony. Might as well give them exactly what they want to hear. “So I figured I’d turn things around, stick with them until we breached security and then finish the warehouse run myself and take the pay in full.”

“Piece of shit, I knew it,” Nav hisses as he steps closer, looking for all the world like he wants to take another swing whether Callahan approves or not.

That’s fine, that’s what Maksim was waiting for. That swell of vindication makes his guard thin, the last thing he’s expecting Maksim to do now is fight.

Maksim locks eyes with him, hauls himself up inside Nav’s head and then brings the full force of his will down on him in the form of a single command.

Uncuff me. Now.

This.

Wasn’t the plan.

The plan was to do this with some degree of subtlety, the way he’d been trained. Map out someone’s mind and then simply erase, redraw, tweak details. All he had to do was take Nav’s own mental image of unlocking the handcuffs, simplify it, plant the notion somewhere in his mind of simply taking the key from his pocket and passing it off to Maksim, then cloak it in some other more palatable impulse. Let Nav become his accomplice without ever realizing what he’d done.

He knows what he’s doing now. And he doesn’t want to.

Maksim’s never done this before. Never tried to wrest someone out of their own control, never taken hold of the writhing, biting animal of someone’s consciousness and let it tear and shred and shriek but refused to let go. But he holds tight even as his own body protests in turn, like laying his hands down on a stovetop and watching them blister. Nav was already moving toward him, he had momentum, that made the first step easier and it meant Callahan didn’t think to question what was happening right away. “What do you think you’re doing?” distant and muffled as Nav moves behind the chair and stoops down. Close close close but the fine motor skills are hard when the body is fighting him and he can’t afford to let an ounce of focus slip, can’t afford to worry about what Callahan sees and what he’s going to do. He just leans into the command harder and ignores the way it sets the inside of his skull alight just do it do it do itand Callahan’s stepping closer too saying “that’s enough, I didn’t ask you to-”

And the instant the pressure falls away from Maksim’s left wrist he lets go of Nav and lunges.

He sends Callahan toppling sideways into the old desk and then down to the floor and pins him there, blind to the pain of his battered fingers as he wraps his hands around the elf’s throat and digs his claws into the back of his neck. Callahan kicks under him and pulls at his wrists, choking out something unintelligible as his eyes roll. Maksim just tightens his grip. A hand snags in his hair and he yelps as Nav yanks him backward and throws him to the ground. It takes him a precious couple seconds to get his bearings again, rolling over in time to see Nav looming over him with his own gun in hand.

Nav trains the pistol on him where he lays. “That was a mistake.”

Maksim jackknifes and drives his heels as hard as he can into Nav’s stomach. He staggers, fires a shot that just barely goes wide and smacks into the concrete by Maksim’s head, and when it looks like he might not go down Maksim kicks him again in the knee. He has only a momentary opening to scramble to his feet, and a wave of vertigo nearly takes him down again before he hauls himself up by the chair that had been his prison for so long. Red-faced and wheezing on his knees, Nav tries to level the gun on him again but Maksim yanks it out of his hand by the barrel and brings the stock down on the side of his head. Nav hits the ground hard, and without waiting to see whether he’s still conscious Maksim brings a boot down on his skull and hears bone fracture against concrete. He does it again. Again. Again.

Then the room is silent.

For a single beat he stands dazed, gulping in air, before his vision tunnels and he pitches backward as the full weight of his imprisonment and this desperate, suicidal act of magic finally come down on him. His shoulder catches the wall and he tries and fails to keep himself upright against it, only to end up back on the floor. Instead he rolls over and manages to prop himself up on his forearms as he retches, although there’s nothing for his stomach to expel except bile.

He has no idea how long he stays like that. It feels like minutes but for all he knows he could have blacked out and woken up an hour later. The first coherent impulse that finally surfaces in his mind is to reach up and grab whatever Nav installed in the back of his neck. It comes away with the barest resistance and a sensation not unlike several hypodermic needles being drawn out of his flesh. Maksim shudders and tosses into a far corner of the room without any closer inspection, desperate to be rid of it. The effect is not dramatic but it is immediate–the first thing to come back online is the pain inhibitor, laying a gentle blanket of distance over his aching body and allowing him to think just clearly enough, move just confidently enough, to sit up and look around.

Nav is dead. It doesn’t take any performance of closer inspection to be certain of that. Callahan, unfortunately, is long gone, a weaving trail of spattered blood leading out the door providing fairly conclusive evidence of his escape. Maksim’s eyes drift from that back to the desk, his belongings scattered onto the floor in the chaos, and when his attention comes to rest on his commlink he finally remembers, with a sudden sinking dread, why he had to do this in the first place.

There’s no point in trying to stand just yet, he only has to scoot forward and stretch across the floor to pluck the commlink from its resting place. He thumbs the screen to life and grimaces as it informs him the battery is nearly dead. Still, surely he can make one call…

It rings twice before he hears Ilya’s voice. “Hey where the fuck have you been, Violet’s-”

“Ilya-” he winces at the ragged tone of his own voice. He sounds half dead. “Where are you right now?” There’s a momentary confused silence on the other end, just long enough for Maksim to belatedly realize his mistake, so when Ilya starts “I-” he cuts them off, “wait don’t answer that. I…” he turns the commlink over, stares at it blankly. Would he even know if it had been tampered with? “I don’t know if this line is secure anymore.”

Another second of silence. Then, “are you okay?”

Maksim makes a sound in the back of his throat that lands somewhere between a laugh and a cough. “Послушай,” he continues. “Где бы ты ни был, мне нужно чтобы ты ушел. Иди в безопасное место. Не говори мне ничего. Хорошо?”

There’s a commotion on the other end, the muffled feedback of sudden movement and a clattering Maksim can’t identify, and for a heartstopping few seconds he worries that he reached them too late, until Ilya’s voice comes through once more. “Да, я понимаю.”

Maksim ends the call there without another word, erring on the side of paranoia before either of them can say anything more incriminating.

It still takes him far longer than he would have liked to get his feet under him again, and every carefully measured movement required to pocket the commlink, retrieve and holster his gun, and fish his credstick out from under the desk feels like a gamble with impossibly unfair odds. The process is made all the worse by the fact that he’s working one-handed, his right arm clutched protectively against his torso now that the adrenaline is bleeding out of his system. At length he staggers out into a nondescript hallway.

He follows Callahan’s trail as best he can, banking on the coward having fled rather than bunker down somewhere to wait for him, an assumption which rewards him with a brief tour of a dusty workshop filled with the derelict skeletons of several machines he doesn’t recognize and then, at last, a half-open roller door. Outside he’s greeted by starlight on a paved lot, weathered and scarred with potholes, and a narrow road past several similarly shuttered buildings.

It’s an excruciatingly slow and unsteady walk to the nearest main road. But once he starts seeing signs he realizes, with a thrill of relief that threatens to overwhelm him, that he knows where he is–he’d been shunted into Bayview on arrival in the city, and it wasn’t a place he’d ever spent a great deal of time but it had been easy to build connections on the simple solidarity of them all being in the “trog slum” together. Hopefully some of those connections are still holding up.

#shadowrun #ghost city #mine #maksim girard #ilya kasharin #(remotely)#thinking so so hard about THIS being the first time Maksim uses 'ты' when talking to Ilya.... the ImplicationsTM........#rom fiction

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cyarskaren52 · 1 year ago

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This sketch of the “kidnapper” of her children is giving racial profiling and stereotyping and it pisses me off

I wasn’t born in nor grew up in 1994 but As soon as I saw that sketch, even I knew it was bullshit

Could’ve been a modern-day Emmitt Till incident, throwing blame like that.

If ever there was a stereotypical sketch, it’s that one. She was willing to let an innocent man go to jail for her evil actions.

Whew! It's been 30 yrs. since Susan Smith gave police this description after killing her two little boys. Not clear how many lives she ruined before her story fell apart. Innocent black men were given the side eye and endangered because of her lies and her ex husband had to live with the fact that his former wife was locked up for a long time for two murders and he can’t comfort his sons because the reason why his ex wife is in prison is because she killed them for the affection for another man and tried to pin it on a black man

Now, she's petitioning the court to get out of jail, as if nothing happened. #NeverForget

She needs to be denied parole!

I remember hearing about this.

They were stopping every Black man.

I didn’t even live in the state. 😡It didn’t matter if Black people matched the description or not.

Then to find out she killed her own kids. 😡

For a man who didn’t want children

To you it’s history and conversation.

To us black folks it’s our lives.

She deserves to rot.

She murdered her own children, because a guy she was dating didn’t want kids.

Then claimed a black guy stole her car, and made a sob story campaign about it for a week.

Before it was ultimately revealed that she drowned those kids.

Imagine choosing a man over your own kids

Then imagine killing your children for that man

Then imagine covering up your crime by saying a black man kidnapped your children knowing that you killed them

I’m not a hew biiiiitch like Susan smith so I can’t relate and I’m good with that

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0xochitlsketches0 · 2 years ago

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Okay, I basically wanna know everything you’ve got to tell 😂

I’d like to know more about Sawyer and his dad. Like personality or anything like that.

And they fight monsters? Very cool. Is that like their job, or just part of the world they’re in?

And if you’ve got any sort of info on what the story overall is about?

WHEW, HERE WE GO!

Basic plot!

Monsters are everywhere! Every single scary story and ghoulish tale that’s ever fueled your nightmares is real!

But you've never seen one because of a secret organization that's been hunting them down since the dawn of time.

The organization is small and elite. Most members are born into it and are expected to have families to further the line and keep it a secret. Damien (Sawyers's father) was born into one of these families and grew up ridding the world of these unsightly beasts.

After the success of a high-profile mission, Damien cut ties with the organization (unheard of) and immediately went into hiding to start a new life in the small port city of Mulligan's Bay, a quiet coastal town in Northern California.

But cutting ties with an organization that demands your complete loyalty till the end of time isn't an easy task and the monsters you spent decades hunting down aren't so quick to forgive either. Damien was able to spend a few good years in peace until a random monster attack thrust both him and his son Sawyer back into the family business.

Tensions are high as they both adjust to their new environment, all while trying to balance a normal life.

Especially since both the organization and monsters have taken a special interest in Sawyer 👀

Personality!

Damien:

Damien likes to keep to himself.

He is incredibly inquisitive with a strong intellectual drive. He can read people incredibly well.

Despite his reclusive nature, he has an interest in the private affairs of other people, especially his son's social life. He can be nosey when a certain topic catches his attention and often lacks delicacy when discussing potentially sensitive topics.

(For example, if the other parents in town want to throw a local BBQ. Damien will not be attending because he does not want to talk to anyone but he Will find out everything that happened there through secondhand accounts and listening to gossip while minding his own business waiting in line at the grocer. (People exhausted him but human activity does not)

He has a rocky relationship with the townspeople, most of them finding him and his family strange and off-putting, but due to his current line of work and personal ties with important socialites, they are forced to put up with him.

He is often emotionally distant and prefers to busy himself with his own hobbies and work but he still cares for his son deeply.

Sawyer:

Sawyer is an outgoing and energetic teenage boy. He is unconventional in his thoughts and hardly turns down a bad idea, he's usually the one who suggests if we’re being honest.

This, of course, lands him lots of trouble, good thing he can jive talk his way out of most ( key word most) situations due to his sharp wit and quick thinking. He is intelligent and very resourceful, though most people overlook it because of his harmless appearance and attitude. Sawyer always looks on the bright side and tends to find humor in non-humourous situations. Much to the frustration of his father. He is impulsive but also a fast learner.

Due to his troublesome nature, most adults tend to find him hard to deal with but his classmates seem to like his adventurous spirit.

#anyways….#I hope this doesn’t disappoint you 👀👉👈#there’s more to add but I thought maybe this was a good start #personal #orginal character #story idea #oc #eureka drabbles

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kankuroplease · 2 years ago

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Tobiramas side profile whew

Him in general. I love a man with a good glare

#ask #thank you Butsuma for busting it down and giving the world hot sons

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twig-tea · 1 year ago

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I'm back!

Whew it was a wild week. Saw tons of family, spent a lot of time on the beach and drinking local wine.

And of course playing with my parents' dog, the old lady in my profile pic whose name is Princess Patch aka Patches (please note she has zero patches on her fur, this is the name she came with when my family adopted her from rescue):

I'm ~28 hours of tv behind lmao so catching up before I dive into everyone's posts (and thank you for tagging me, I'm super excited to read everyone's thoughts!

Other than both seasons of the Uncanny Counter (which I just binged with my family instead of watching my shows--it was great btw, so much found family feels!--I came by this amount of tv watching honestly), I've managed to finish:

Stay Still (I liked this short series, though it fell into the evil female trope, and was tragedy-coded, it was also well done and ended happier than I expected)

Stay By My Side (cute but messy);

Jun & Jun (kind of ditto? Too many dropped threads);

Wedding Plan (really turned around for me; it's not my favourite series but Nuea is one of my favourite characters and Lom's apology worked for me. I still don't love him but I'm much happier with a main character who lies to others to be able to stay with his partner than lying to his partner so he won't leave);

Laws of Attraction (!!!! I got almost everything I could have wanted. More Nawin being allergic to shirts, more Rose & Maya, more unhinged Charn being too smart for his own good, Thaentai literally hissyfitting his way out of getting kidnapped/banished to the States, ridiculously in love photoshoots, a baller speech about marriage equality, a puppy pile of my favourite queers, supportive grandma...and if I couldn't get the only thing I asked for [Nawin, Maya and Rose in the same room] then I'm happy to have gotten Nawin thinking about being in the same room and crying about it as second best)

The Star S2 (did anyone else watch this? It was.... something lol)

Now that I'm in my gloriously empty apartment, I am catching up on the shows that haven't finished yet! Prioritizing Only Friends, Hidden Agenda, Dangerous Romance, My Personal Weatherman, and I Feel You Linger in the Air since I think those are what most folks are writing about these days, and then I'll start reading posts again. This week is also nuts because a really close friend has two (2!!!) debuts at the Toronto International Film Festival this year (and I'm so proud of her) and will be going to screenings of both, so I'll be easing back in lol but looking forward to reading what y'all wrote this past week!

#twig talks #not gonna tag this #too much of my own prattle and not enough about the shows mentioned

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a-problematic-writer · 2 years ago

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New and Improved S1 Jesse Profiles

Like it says on the tin! Just the improved versions of my S1 Jesse profiles. Got all of their lore sorted and am happy with where they are! A few got new names. That’s about it! Under a read more because, dear lord, did I have a lot to say.

Jemma! (Yellow Clip/Highlight)

Chaos incarnate because she's a child at heart. She's aloof and a bit of a loner and socially selective. (Yes, this does make running Beacon Town hard, but she manages) Only certain people have been able to get into her circle. And it's only then that her more chaotic traits jump out. She has more sense and self-control than other Jesse's who may try drinking lava, though the curiosity would be there. She prefers to doodle than participate in meetings or do paperwork. (However, she does know to an extent she's supposed to do those things) Always down for a game of tag. A 4'11'' can of whoop ass. She's kinda like a small dog. Can and will pick a fight and win. Professional at hide and seek. A whole Lesbian. So into women it HURTS. Left-handed! Her weapon of choice is a trident and WHEW. It's probably custom and enchanted to the nines. That's her BABY. Despite not quite understanding redstone to the fullest, she thought Ellegaard was the coolest. Family life wise, she was raised by her grandparents.

Her nickname's include Jem, Emma, and Em. [Em is typically exclusive to Petra <3]

She would honestly be the one playing with the kids around Beacon Town instead of making the big decisions for the city. This is one of the few Jesse's I imagine leaves with Petra. She doesn't want routine! She wants to explore and have fun! Her Beacon Town was like canon standard BT. *Chaos.* Just the way she likes it.

She’s dating Petra and, besties, they are the sweetest couple. They’re out there having fun together exploring the world!!!!

Josiah! (Red Suspenders)

He's tired. Really tired. Let him sleep, please. But if you do, know he sleeps like a rock. And is super cuddly in his sleep. He likes, like, 5 people, maybe (Aiden's one of them). Despite that though, he's like super personable. People like him a lot even if he likes none of them. If Josiah likes you, though, he's likely to tell you how much you mean to him. Super affectionate to his friends. Doesn't want to even be touched by other people. He's kinda grumpy. I suspect it's because he's always tired. Sarcastic to everyone. Except his friends. As I said, he loves his friends and would lay down his life for them. He prefers animals to people, but says that; "Some animals are just as jerk-y as humans. Those animals are cats. They are surprisingly my favorite of the not-pig animals." A bit of a griefer, ngl. Can and will destroy you (and your minecraft house). My tallest Jesse coming in at 6'0''. Absolutely ADORES bracelets. Wears several. Pansexual. Anygender goes, babeyyyy. Right-handed! Weapon of choice is your standard diamond sword preferably with Sharpness and Knockback. Enemies are gettin' FLUNG. He thought Gabriel was the coolest, hands down. He lived with Axel and his family until he was old enough to be out on his own.

His nicknames include Jo, Si, and Siah. (Siah's rare and might get you punched unless you're Aiden in which it will get you stabbed [Guess who still calls him Siah and starts to get away with it])

He likes Beacon Town a lot, but running it is a hassle. He leaves with Petra with some serious reservations because f r i e n d s but he knows they'll be there when he gets back. (He ends up catching up with an old rival while out and about anyway and makes 3 new friends) His Beacon Town, just like Jemma's, was pretty canon standard. Though, I definitely think he kept things a BIT more uniform!

Ngl, he’s likely dating Aiden. They’re both mean and get to be mean together. On the flip side, I could also see him and Axel together. I’m not willing to officially choose. It’s one of them.

Jasmine! (Red Clip/Highlight)

The absolute brightest ball of sunshine you'll ever meet! An optimist through and through! Though, not quite in the morning. Let her get awake though and she's back to herself! She LOVES to dance and you best believe if you're her friend dancing is a must and required, with or without music! She's extroverted to the MAX. Collects friends like baseball cards and cherishes them even more. Kind of a flashy/glamorous person! She can totally run in heels and loves wearing nice clothes. 5'6'' and loving it! She's fun-sized :> Has the patience of a saint. And is so forgiving it's insane. Forgive and forget to the max of the phrase. Though she doesn't let people step all over her in the slightest. Pansexual :> Right-handed! Loves a nice gold sword [Flashy, remember?] Definitely a dual wielder. They're enchanted to the max and she can do DAMAGE with them. Definitely learned from Isa. Thinks all of the Old Order were the coolest. She grew up on her uncles farm.

She is known as Jazz to everyone and that's what she prefers to be called! [On the rarer side there's Jazzy which is exclusive to Aiden and Stella]

Beacon Town is her pride and joy! So, of course, she stays. She's ready for a quiet life. Hers definitely has a more modern, cyberpunk, solarpunk vibe! Glitzy and flashy but in the most down to earth way with plenty of room for the citizens to vote on projects and include their own!

She’s dating Aiden. They’re the sunshine/grumpy trope, wholeheartedly.

Javier! (Green Suspenders)

He's the type to joke about/make light of minor inconveniences and big problems. He's very sarcastic but in like the nicest way possible? He's serious despite his constant joking, I promise. He loves hats? Beanies, ball caps, etc. he owns them, he wears them, he loves them. Also hoodies! He owns like 50+ ("What? They're comfy!" is his number one defense to people's questioning stares at his hoodie collections) He's not all that into sweets. Will occasionally eat one or two. He really likes jazz music; more often than not that's what's playing on his jukebox. He's 5'5'' and mad about it. Honestly, he's just like your average older Gen Z. You know, the one who's over the age of 16 and shitposts about how shitty life and the world are. The definitely not okay but pretends they are kinda Gen Z. That's Javier. Architecture buff. He really knows his stuff! Another Pansexual :> Left-handed king! Just hand him any kind of weapon he'll learn how to use it with finesse <3 Thought Soren was the coolest and incorporated a lot of his architecture style into his own [suffered a horrible version of "never meet your heroes"] He was raised by his two moms and they lived happily in town.

He goes by the nickname Javi more often than not. Friend or foe. He's Javi. (Or Jav [said like Javi without the 'ee' sound at the end] by close friends/a partner)

He's dedicated to leading Beacon Town. He likes the stability the routine of it gives him. So, he let Petra go off on her own but not without swearing her into writing at least twice a month. His Beacon Town is very lush and soft on the eyes. Brick and terracotta are used liberally and he's always happy to include citizens in the planning of new expansions.

Javi’s either with Aiden or Lukas; maybe Aiden and Lukas. I don’t have much else on the matter except that he likes his men tall and wearing a leather jacket.

Jaime! (Blue Clip/Highlight)

She's probably one of the kindest people you'll ever meet but she is so sad. She's afraid of being alone and often wonders if she's good enough. Needs a hug fr fr. A long one, at least an hour of being held. She might cry though. Despite this, she tries to be upbeat and jokes a lot. And can be a menace when she wants to be. None of her friends are safe from pranks and teasing. Also, she's super loyal to her friends! Definitely a ride or die. So brave! Sometimes a bit reckless, but she gets the job done. Definitely has a bit of a temper. Though it's rare it shows through. Very curious! Can sometimes seem nosy, but she just likes learning things! This plays well into her ability to sleuth things out and solve mysteries. She's a clothes thief, 100%. Shirts are the number one thing she takes. Owns at least a couple from all her friends. A really good piano player. It's a hobby she doesn't often get to take part in. Reading and adventuring usually take precedence. Mostly because she can't say no to a good book or new adventure. A decent enchanter and potion brewer! Another Pansexual <3 Right-handed! Sword and shield is her forte. Definitely uses a diamond blade with Sharpness on it. Ivor's her favorite Old Order member. She's learned a lot from him. She was raised by her parents who were the Minecraft equivalent of governors/mayors/politicians.

Jaime's typical nickname is Jay! Aime is another one though on the rarer side. Typically used by Olivia, Axel, and Stella. The rarest goes to Jaybird and Blue Jay. Jaybird coming from her parents and later being adopted by Lukas and Blue Jay coming from Aiden <3

She adores Beacon Town and wants a life of peace after S2 so she chooses to stay despite hating watching Petra go. Her Beacon Town is Steampunk and super lush and green and filled with flowers. It's a center for travel and an adventurer's stop!

She’s, of course, dating Aiden, currently. They’d had a will they/won’t they dynamic for some time. Also, she and Lukas had a small stint as a couple. A few months or so, methinks.

Javon! (Yellow Suspenders)

Has a bit of a temper and that makes him seem really mean but he's actually so nice. Like so so so nice and super gentle. He just usually doesn't like strangers and that makes him seem very unapproachable. He loves his friends though. Would commit crimes in their favor. Would also kick someone's teeth in for them. He's really good with redstone and rigging traps; specifically explosives. A griefer sometimes. Definitely loves Boom Town. He loves playing the guitar and learned at a young age! Likes collecting rocks; has all sorts of cool ones. While he dislikes strangers he's still super polite. And great at moving a crowd! Another Pansexual for the Pansexual Jesse tally. Right-handed! Nothing beats explosives when it comes to weapons however he's a decent archer! Loves his crossbow dearly. His favorite member of the Old Order is Magnus. He was raised by his dad. They lived in a little cabin on the outskirts of town.

His close friends call him Von! It's the only nickname he really has.

He also stays in Beacon Town. May or may not have been for a blonde, no one can prove it though. His Beacon Town is full on Steampunk. Greenery can be seen in some places. It's kinda like an extension to Redstonia in a way. Redstone and technological advancement are appreciated in both—with a side of destruction also being achieved in BT.

He’s dating Lukas. That blonde has had him in a chokehold for years and, tbh, who would blame him?

#kyler rambles #my headcanons #mcsm #minecraft story mode #mcsm jesse #my jesse’s

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