#sweet meat syndrome

[doughguts-art]

Bandit, Sweet Meat Syndrome Flavor!

Sweet Meat Syndrome is a story/world created and developed by @lilyanswan, and I was so inspired by it that I doodled up an AU version of Bandit to fit it. Please check it out, I won't go into detail about the larger story here because I want ya'll to support Lilyan and check out her wonderful work yourself! I will say tho that the bandaged face guy in the 4th image is Romeo, one of the many awesome official SMS characters (and a faaave)

But YES, this Bandit is even more of a bastard than his Elsen counterpart. This one's a bit of a Sadist, unafraid to solve any problem with violence. Sweat Meat Bandit is a part of the Secret Police, enacting 'torturous justice' on citizens who dare to try and circumvent laws like the Meat Ban. He's an evil guy through and through! His outfit is inspired by a British Soldier's uniform from 1939! The X in this version doesn't move and is the beginning of the corruption towards his Memory Form.

The concept for that Memory Form is below the cut it's got some major uncanny horror/ body horror, so don't go any further if you'd rather not see that stuff! If you like uncanny horror tho, Sweet Meat Syndrome is definitely a story for you. Can't help but gas it up it's so good.

Anyway ~

Memory Forms are a combination of symbolism representing the person's personality and past live's memories, so Bandit's Memory Form has a lot going on lol

This design's got a lot of hands, and that is supposed to relate back to his Greed. Sweet Meat Bandit's still a corrupt capitalist, so that definitely informs his Memory Form

The striped shirt was drawn with an Auctioneer/Circus Ringmaster in mind. Half for him as a salesman, and half for him having a flair for the dramatic/cinematic. He has an inflated ego here too

The stripes of the shirt pop out into a 3D form, and turn into some intestine-like organs. He's got Guts? This part I did more for horror lol

The cage because as a part of the Secret Police. He's disappeared a lot of people, though if they're actually jailed.. well....

There's a pair of glowing eyes in the darkness of the cage, and that's a part of him being two-faced. The uncanny face/head of this form represents the maniacal, violent aspect of him, and these little tiny eyes represent any nicety he had. The scary face (and therefore the evil aspect of him) is wayyy more dominant. The tiny eyes do belong to a face, but no voice can be heard, and it just passively looks on

The rest of the body is as if his regular skin/clothes/ect was rolled down, like a sock. His old arms just hang limp

yaaaay spooky! Hope ya'll enjoyed, and check out Sweet Meat Syndrome for yourself if ya did!!

[powdermelonkeg]

Slowpoke Tails - Shed vs Chopped

Okay, so there's something of a discrepancy between how Slowpoke tails are treated by the Pokémon franchise. Initially, it was understood that these are a tasty, unethical luxury item, starting in Gold/Silver/Crystal and mirrored in Heartgold/Soulsilver:

The whole plot here is that Team Rocket has taken the Slowpoke in the Azalea Slowpoke Well and chopped their tails off to sell on the black market. These run for a whopping 1,000,000 PD a pop ($10k in USD).

But then, in later generations, it's said that Slowpoke tails fall off naturally. In fact, they're a crucial part of both Alolan AND Galarian cuisine:

The curry ingredient even sells for a measly 2,200 PD ($22 USD).

So what gives? Why is it a Million-Poké black market item when you can get a package off your local hiker?

Easy. Sweetness.

Slowpoke use their tails to fish for food. Typically, they do this by dipping their tails into the water, then letting the current catch the sweet sap they give off and bring it to hungry Water-types.

When a Slowpoke sheds its tail, it's because the tail's ability to generate sap has dried up. It's no longer useful as fishing bait, so the Slowpoke has to either get rid of the tail, or starve.

Shed Slowpoke tails, the ones commonly available for cooking, aren't sweet in the slightest—they're more like heavily-marbled tuna steaks, somewhere between beef and fish with a lot of fat dripping from them, and a rich umami flavor.

Chopped Slowpoke tails, the kind you find on the black market, are a completely different experience. The meat is more tender, the flavor a lot more delicate, with a sweetness permeating it that's a lot like the honey glaze on a ham.

Naturally, chopped Slowpoke tail then becomes a novel experience. Because you have to take it from a Slowpoke, you can't just find it lying around.

So why, then, is it illegal enough for Rocket to move in on? Why is Slowpoke farming or hunting for those sweet tails not a thing? They still grow them back afterwards, so what's the deal?

The problem with chopping a Slowpoke's tail off is that, even though it regenerates, its body wasn't ready to do so. This can cause a whole lot of complications for the poor thing.

A tail doesn't regenerate from nothing, for starters: every time you cut a tail off unexpectedly, the Slowpoke's body rushes to make a replacement, using up its body's fat reserves. This causes VERY rapid and dangerous weight loss, and a frankly ridiculous amount of stress.

Incorrect cuts can cause deformities, like a tail growing back too short, not being able to make enough sweetness to bait fish Pokémon, or even Espeon-tail syndrome, where the tail splits into two at the end.

And, perhaps most egregiously of all, a cut too high might mean the Slowpoke never regrows its tail at all. If you cut into anything that's not specifically tail tissue, the body will begin the scarring process over the wound, removing the Pokémon's ability to fish and evolve. And while it can learn to survive by fishing manually, like its evolutionary counterpart is required to, oftentimes, Slowpoke will just sit by the water and starve, not realizing that they aren't getting a bite because there's just nothing to bite.

In short: Shed = ethical, chopped = unethical, possibly lethal.

Slowpoke responsibly, guys.

[youryanderedaddy]

War Prize

pt. 1, pt. 2

Tw: female reader, dub-con, somnophilia, stockholm syndrome, possessive behavior, hinted kidnapping, threats, commissioned piece

It had been so long since Raven captured you - five or six years in total, although you couldn't be quite sure of the exact amount as you had no access to books, calenders or even ink to write with.

Nowadays it was mostly calm around the occupied territories - almost domestic in a sense. You let yourself be pampered more often than not - you drunk the silky, bitter coffee Raven's slaves left out for you, and bathed in the sweet oils he picked for you. Long gone were the days when you fought him over the slightest injustice, long gone were the days when you stopped to think about every miserable soul who had to suffer so you could live in luxury. 

It was easier this way really. The barbarian was good to you, even if it wasn't in his nature initially. The hands that once bruised and hit and wrapped around your hair were now caressing your skin softly, the lips once sealed tight with furrowed hairy brows were leaving hot, wet kisses down your throat, feverish to the touch. You could wear the finest furs and dresses, your body covered in stolen gold and plundered diamonds from head to toe. Raven had made it clear - he loved you, and that meant that the whole world belonged to you the way you belonged to him.

Your life was simple, you had one purpose now - to please your master. You didn't have to work long hours on the field or take care of  a big, starving family ever again. All you had to do was spread your legs at any given moment, and stay soft and pliant in his rough, muscular hands. 

***

You'd usually wake up early in the morning from the slow, deep thrusts inside your hot wet cunt - stars dancing in your eyes as his length brushes against your cervix, filling you up to the brim. Your wrists are pinned above your head with little opportunity for movement, keeping you tightly into place. 

Raven starts slowly and keeps turning up the pace until he is practically shoving himself sloppily against your overflowing hole, his nails digging into the meat of your thighs so he can have more leverage over your quivering body.

“I love to see you fall apart beneath me.” He'd growl in your ear, his forehead resting against yours as his nostrils flare - eyes filled with sick, animalistic need to possess you fully. You moan, closing your eyes - too overwhelmed with pleasure to form a proper response. “Ah, ah, ah - no hiding from me. Let me see you, pretty girl.” Raven hisses, spreading your legs even wider, bouncing your hips up and down on his throbbing cock. 

Your lower lip trembles, desperate to stop another wave of wanton moans - but to no avail. Your sweet voice fills the tent, echoing beyond the thick walls.

“Look at you, all cute and teary for me. Aren't you just precious, slave?” The barbarian chuckles condescendingly, all while groping and slapping your ass lightly - playing with the hot doughy skin. “I want everyone to hear you.” His gaze darkens as his fist wraps around your neck possessively. “I want every single one of my men to hear you sing for me. I want their robes to strain with greed and jealousy with the knowledge that they'll never have my most prized possession.” 

You inhale sharply, lost in a cloudy headspace of dreams and red - hot pleasure. You feel your master's hand squeeze your throat tighter, and your pussy flutters around his length, slick running down your thighs and towards your asshole. It doesn't make sense - he is using you for his own satisfaction with little care for your personal comfort, but his touch makes you feel so warm and floaty, fuzzy butterflies tearing at your stomach - proud to belong to such a strong, powerful man. 

“I want you completely broken. I want to fill you up with my love and ruin you for any other man out there.” He'd groan, sinking his teeth into your neck and aiming for your sweet, sweet blood. “I want everyone to know that I tamed your pretty little brain and made you all mine, now and forever.” Raven kisses you, stealing the breath out of your mouth, sucking in all the panicked little sounds coming out of it. “Say it.” He orders, both threatening and desperate like a lovesick child. 

You can't stand it anymore - you throw your arms around his shoulders. You need to feel him against you, skin on skin. “I'm yours, all yours.” You cry out, holding on for dear life. There is no point denying it now - you can't imagine life without your master, no matter how cruel or difficult he may be. Who else would warm your bed? Who would give you purpose? Where else could you even go now that he has claimed you - and everybody knows?

“Say you love me.” His voice breaks, hands shivering as he holds you painfully close to him - as if the moment he lets go, he'd wake up and you'd be gone just like before. “Say you love me like I love you. Say you'll never leave me - or I swear to the Gods I'll chain you up here to never see the sun again.” He blubbers on and on, thrusts getting fast and frantic, pushing in and out of you with the ferocity of a lover and the fear of a man possessed. 

“I love you.” You whisper, laying back like a good little doll - letting yourself move and twist just the way he wants you to. He pulls you up into a standing position and all but swallows your sobs and wails, his tongue fighting yours for dominance. He lowly commands you to keep repeating it over and over again - until he gets sick of it (if ever), and paints your velvet walls all white and sticky with his seed. 

You take a couple of short shallow breaths, trying to resume your normal breathing. His hand rests on your neck - his eyes finally lose the furious, jealous spark, and he reaches out to stroke your hair gently.

“Good girl.”

[gremlingottoosilly]

Slasher könig with a darling who just absolutely adores him, gore an all. They won't help, not wanting to be messy, but they're surprisingly supportive? Maybe it's Stockholm syndrome? Or maybe his darling is just fucking crazy.

You cook him dinner while he is busy with slashing his victims open. Always ask for what he wants - always meat with added vegetables because you're trying to make him eat healthy. He is grumpy when noticing, but doesn't say anything - the taste of a home-cooked meal too much to pass on. Smiles as you ask if he wants to add some human meat to the pile - it's a joke, always. You just cook extra bloody beef for him, although you hate the mess. Bring him little lunch boxes when he is too late for dinner and stays in the basement for long. You pout, asking him if he likes his victims more than you. He grumbles, grumpy again - fixes a kiss on your forehead and smears blood all over your face. You get to the bath together, after he is done disposing of the body. You wash his hair and do his skincare, smiling when he frowns at all the sweet fragrances smeared around his face. He doesn't understand the sentiment - you simply laugh, peppering his face with kisses. He is too fucking adorable. He helps you clean yourself up because you don't like touching blood, and it always ends up with him fucking you. You lift your hips up, allowing him to get to a deeper angle. Buckling your knees and smirking when you beg him to be slower - he is always too intense after a good killing. Forgetting how soft his wifey is. You clean up his clothes, folding the laundry as neatly as possible. Kinda hate him for getting so much guts dries up before you could get to cleaning everything - but you can't be mad at him for long. Want him to have a good day too, want him to feel somewhat nice. Somewhat tolerable. You kiss him on the nose and he hugs you, holding you for more than necessary. Flicks your bra in his hands and you yelp in embarrassment. What a bastard of a man he is. And not even because he kills people.

[yandere-wishes]

༄｡° Ice on Ice ༄｡°

𐙚 Yandere!Capitano Drabble

𐙚 Warnings: Stockholm syndrome, gore, manipulation

𝄞 Song: Kill V. Maim by Grimes

⋆˙❅ He's molded you into his perfect darling. His perfect weapon ❅⋆˙

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚‧͙̩̩͙

It's always snowing in Snezhnaya .

Even in the dead of summer.

Capintano glides across the castle like a shadow. Shying away from the moonlight gleaming through the towering windows.

Ice slithers up his arm, forging into the hilt of his glacial sword.

He can smell your bloodlust in the air, good, you've already commenced the integration.

The lower levels of Zapolyarny castle speak only of terrors.

It's where the faithless come to die.

Traitors to Her Majesty.

It was where he'd kept you upon your initiation, where he burned you down and fabricated you anew.

His pretty little deadly thing.

So eager to please.

So loyal

The salty tang of blood permeating the air has his heart racing, furious war drum hammering in his chest. He follows the embers of your rage, standing by the threshold watching as you dig your knife deeper into the traitor's shoulder. Capitano basks in your raw fury. Your anger sweet on his tongue.

"Darling"

His voice is low, a whisper among the screams. Snowflake on ice and yet you still jump to attention. Run up to him with a sweet smile that doesn't quite suit the crimson specks adorning your cheeks.

His eyes glide across your taut body, spine straight, fingers up in salute. Your pyro delusion glowing gently at your waist. Ready to engrave his commands upon your bones.

"Master, the prisoner has confessed to carrying out treason against the crown. But he's yet to disclose the whereabouts of his fellow rebels."

"He will."

Capitano hands you his coat, relishing the delicate way you clench the heavy thing. Cradling it in your chest as if it's more precious than all the constatations above Tyvat. He pulls his helmet up, ever so slightly, enough to press his frigid lips against your cheek and lick the specks of blood. You freeze, fingers grasping the fuzzy pelt.

"Come watch, my darling"

He stalks towards the bloodied man, twirling his sword, letting the tiny ice splinters impale the traitor at random. The man cries, voice hoarse and weak. The slim glaciers replacing blood with frost.

You trail after him, lovesick and devotion in every step, his coat hanging from your shoulders.

Heavy burden upon frail shoulders, such a perplexing thing you are...

Capitano can't help but smile in satisfaction. He's molded you into perfection, sculpted you from the purest ice. He studies your work rigorously. Pain painted across the vile canvas. The traitor's right eye is missing, the socket scorched, torrid flesh pealing from his arms. His shirt ripped, rude stab wounds still fresh, still dripping ruby.

He's trained you well.

Trained you to make nation topple and archons bow. To bend the stars and flames with your fealty.

Maim and kill.

Because this world is too cruel for righteous little boys and naive little girls.

Kill and maim or else it will be done to you.

You pull the informer's hair back as Capitano lands a metal-clad punch to his face, blood sprays unceremoniously, spoiling Capintao's black-silver armor, followed by the familiar clatter of a tooth hitting the thinly iced floor.

Capintano steps back, braces himself for a moment then thrusts his sword into the rebel's thigh. Marring the sturdy hoar a rotten red. Frost blisters skin ripping the soft tissue underneath.

Ice chips bone

Meat falls to the cold ground.

The man screams, crying out locations and names in jetted tongue. His eyes slowly grow darker.

The blood continues to pool.

You clap your hands cheerfully. Letting the man's head fall forward "Well done master."

For a fleeting second, as you skip towards your master, you catch the traitor's picture in the odd light. You gulp, the creature staring back wears your face, your body, your skin. You see yourself in the dead stranger. Stubborn face and blank eyes. You blink and it's gone, a trick of the dark, one you're too eager to forget. Those days have passed, left to decay in snow-covered tombs. You are someone else now, more importantly, you are Capitano's lover, his most devoted soldier. No longer a gullible thing chasing after empty ideals.

Capitano towers over you. A stone pillar etched of ivory paragons. His iron fingers wrap around your smaller wrist as he pulls you forward. Your fingers lace through his ebony main, while your other hand pulls up the helmet, desperate for his kiss. Biting his lips and letting the blood from his armor stain your uniform. He pushes pain and loyalty down your throat with metallic spiced kisses. Replaces the pearls of your spine with molten lava and brimstone. His touches are frostbite running rampant across your body. Peeling away skin and inscribing mortality and ethereal strength into the soft tissue of your organs. Leaving your lungs corked with icy doctrines.

He has sculpted his style of blade work into your blood. Your veins pump explosions through your body.

Capitano's lips trace the expansion of your neck, savoring your essence between harsh kisses and harsher lovebites. You feel like a sword in his hands, meticulously forged with the finest steel. He has killed many apostates with you. Used you to serve the Tsaritsa without fail

Weapon of war, built from the corpse of a little lost girl.

The frenzy in your eyes, the cosmic thumb of your heart, the way your fingers claw, and the silver of skin of his neck.

Deadly deadly deadly.

He plays the role of the virtuous knight.

Only he's come to learn that many mistake virtue for pacifism.

No.

Love and loyalty are delicate threads entwined with massacre and pain.

You must kill to protect loyalty.

You must kill to protect love.

And how better to express both than in love letters penned with fresh scarlet and decay?

"Get rid of the body, we have much work to do." He raises his sword up to the thin ray of moonlight. For a second your reflection flashes across his icy sword, broken and damaged and perfect in every way. He gives you a final kiss on your templet. Before retrieving his coat and turning away. Disappearing in the dark.

You sigh, breath observable in the chill. Your fingers ignite, warmer and warmer. Preparing for another cremation.

Capitano smiles, ridged, grotesque. As a putrid sickly saccharine scent wafts through the castle's dungeon.

He's raised the perfect lover.

Devoted to a fault and stronger than any weapon.

He's looking forward to unleashing you upon the rebel's nest.

Looking forward to the dance of savage carnage.

It's summertime in Snezhnaya 

Although you couldn't tell from the snowy blizzard outside...

When is Varka coming out? I want to be caged between the two of them so badly 😭😭

Also, guys, what if Capintano is Rustam or Arundolyn?? 🤔 I feel like I'm onto something

°🪼° @choueries @animelover6000 @viannasthings

[toxicanonymity]

i need more raider joel more than i need air in my lungs

Night air.

3500 words, raider!Joel x f!reader | ✨gif

Raider master list ⭐ Joel master

reader-curated playlist | sweet pea (smut songs)

“‘s’too cold out here, sweet pea. put on a shirt, would ya?" Your heart flutters at the implicit invitation and you return with a flannel over your nightie. . . He makes room for you, but doesn’t take his eyes off the fire as he lets you climb into his lap. You study his face and see something new flickering behind it. Worry.

You want to ask him what’s wrong, but you don’t.  "When are you gonna come to bed?” you ask instead.

SUMMARY: Joel brutalizes a bad guy, gives it to you hard, then works on something for you and gives it to you slow. His POV is revealing. WARNINGS: I8+, POV alternates, ANGST, Joel's trauma, overkill violence, dubcon (stockholm syndrome) unsafe P in V x2 (hard then soft), dark fluff, f masturbation, somnophilia, staying inside, NO Y/N. A/N: ty @milla-frenchy for Qs & recs 🖤

—--- JOEL——

Yeah, Joel killed two of his own men, and they had it coming.  He caught them red handed on their way into your room in the stash house. It still makes his blood boil to think about. If they hadn’t walked into that room talking about you like a piece of meat, those two men would be alive. Joel would do it again in a heartbeat.  

He’s not surprised when the others are shaken, but if they’re good men, they have nothing to worry about.  When things remain tense longer than he expects, Joel rounds them up for a group meeting. He puts you in the usual room with his trusted guard Carter posted at the door.  The meeting becomes heated. 

“No one’s gonna be left at this rate,” one man barks.  “They ain’t gonna say it,” he gestures behind him to the other men, “but I will. She shouldn’t be here.” 

Joel’s voice raises with his blood pressure. He asks, “What’d you say to me, Harold?" as he stands up. 

Louder, maybe loud enough for you to hear, Harold repeats, “She shouldn’t be here.  It’s bound to happen.” Bound to happen? These low-lifes are bound to put their hands on Joel Miller’s girl? Joel can feel the beat of his rage in his veins. All his muscles tense. 

He takes a deep breath, exhales sharply, then says matter-of-factly, “I’ll show ya what else is bound to happen.” 

Joel picks up his rifle. 

"Yeah, kill me," Harold chides. "Kill us all."

Joel shakes his head no. His voice is deep and flat.  "Not until ya beg me to." Now he’s gotta make an example out of someone. 

Joel forces Harold outside, then puts his rifle behind his back and lets Harold take a swing at him, just for fun.  When Joel gets this wound up, he needs to feel something. After getting clocked square in the jaw, Joel beats him until he’s barely conscious. Then, Joel hoists Harold, who is not a light man, and impales him on a sharp, severed fence post. 

Joel puts his rifle around front again, leaving Harold alive but doomed, and heads back toward the house.  He’s almost to the door when Harold manages to groan through his gurgles.  Joel turns around, calmly raises his rifle, shoots him in the head, then keeps walking. He goes back inside, chest heaving, wiping blood splatter off his face with his wrist. The rest of them are still inside. No one came to Harold's defense or ran. Joel stares down the men, and based on the faces he sees, he’s not worried about any of them.  

“Rest of ya got nothin’ to worry ‘bout,” he reassures them. “long as ya leave her ‘lone.” 

The men nod. Joel thinks about adding, and I’m not the only one you’ve gotta worry about, tempted to warn them that you know your way around a pistol and can handle yourself. One bullet, right between the eyes of that fucker. Joel thinks about it all the time. There’s something about his little sweet pea being a badass. And thank god, because he almost lost you. 

“Now back to business.” 

They discuss the rival crew they think sent two guys to Joel’s trailer, only for Joel and you to kill them. Joel doesn't think the crew is stupid enough to cause any more trouble, but agrees someone has to keep watch Just in case. 

Joel almost reminds his men that he holds all the smuggling routes and contacts, just in case they’re concerned enough to pull something.  But he doesn't need to say it. He dismisses them and grabs a duffle bag before collecting you from Carter. Carter asks what to do with Harold, and Joel says leave him for a while.

–

When the two of you get back to his trailer, Joel is ready to fuck out his anger. He sees himself in the mirror, chest heaving, veins about to pop, blood splatter on his hairline. God damnit, Harold. Joel  showers because he doesn’t want any part of Harold getting close to you. Not even his blood. 

You’re in the kitchen getting a glass of water when Joel walks out of the bathroom in just a towel.  He crosses the kitchen, drops the towel, and pins you against the counter, pressing his hardness against your ass. He backs up enough to scrunch up your dress and growls, "good girl," when he finds you panty-less and wet. You knew. You were ready for it. 

He grunts as he shoves himself into you, and he gives it to you good. "No one’s," he thrusts, "gonna," he grunts "touch ya." He plunges into you twice more, breathing heavily, then adds, “but me.” The power of his hips sends you to your toes with each thrust. He wraps an arm around you to hold you steady and watches over your shoulder as your tits jiggle with each punch of his hips. It doesn’t take you long to come.  Then he curls his hands under your arms to hold your shoulders down from the front and begins to pulse with a low groan. He leans his head against yours and cradles it from the other side as he catches his breath, then asks, “you good?”

You nod, “mm-hmm,” and he pulls out, feeling better. 

“Good.” 

-

In the following days, things settle down in Joel’s group and get back to normal. The rival crew doesn't show up.

—--

One night, Joel leaves you inside the trailer while he sits out by the fire, as he often does.  What you don't know is that he's not just sitting, drinking, and thinking.  He’s working on something.  He’s been making things for you. He hasn’t given you anything because nothing’s good enough, and it’s probably not going to get any better, but he keeps doing it.  Sometimes he feels a little silly, but they’re things that will help both of you.  Practical things. 

He made a thigh holster for your gun. There was an old one without the straps in the weapons cache which is just a small room of chaos in the stash house, no telling what else is in there.  He used part of a belt for the top strap and some black ribbon on the bottom, for the time being.  It would be better than nothing, but he hasn't given it to you in case it wouldn’t work. Maybe it doesn't matter. As the weather changes, you'll probably need new clothes, anyway. Maybe even pants, he internally grumbles. Sweaters, too, so your chest won’t be exposed. 

Tonight, Joel has another strap of leather with him, one that wasn't right for the holster. He also has a pot of water and a steel nail with a makeshift handle so he doesn’t burn himself. He heats up the tool and uses the hot nail head to emboss the strap with bold letters. He’s been working on it all week, and he’s only on ‘E.’ It’ll be first name only at this rate. You might not wanna wear it anyway, but it’s for your own good.  

Joel’s almost lost you twice now. If there’s anything he can do to make someone think twice about touching or taking you, he’ll do it. Because Jackson, may he burn in hell, was right. Joel can’t have his eyes on you every single second. He's told you before: you tell’em you belong to Joel Miller. They’ll back right off when they hear it.  But it doesn’t hurt for them to see it, too. And of course Joel wouldn't mind seeing it himself. 

Joel’s fingers are too big for work this small.  He accidentally makes the vertical line of the E slanted. Ah hell, this whole thing is no good anyway. You may never see it at this rate. But it feels good working with his hands, especially on something he thinks could help keep you safe and keep you his. You're a good girl, his good girl. 

He should be thinking strategy, what’s going to happen with these warring crews, but that’s just not where his head’s at.   

—--- YOU 🌸🫛—-----

You listen to the fire crackle and pop, longing for Joel to come to bed, longing for him to hold you, and more.  He seems to stay outside longer than usual. When he adds a new log to the fire, you get impatient and decide to go out. You put on your shoes and go to the door, pushing it open just an inch. The rail to the stairs is blocking your view, but he's looking down at something. His jaw clenches in the firelight and he raises his eyebrows as he looks up.  You slowly open the door, stepping out onto the stairs in your nightie.  He puts something down on the ground, out of view.  

“‘s’too cold out here, sweet pea. put on a shirt, would ya?" Your heart flutters at the implicit invitation and you return with a flannel over your nightie.  As you approach, he takes a swig of whiskey and puts the flask down.  His eyes are dark as he watches the flames.  He makes room for you but doesn’t take his eyes off the fire as he lets you climb into his lap. You study his face and see something new flickering behind it. Worry. You want to ask him what’s wrong, but you don’t. 

"When are you gonna come to bed?” you ask. 

His brows knit as he looks at you. For a few seconds, he concentrates on picking lint off the flannel and smoothing your nightgown. 

“I dunno, sweet pea. Got some stuff to figure out.”  

“Can I help?”

He shakes his head no. You put your arms around his neck and rest your cheek against his shoulder. Then you slowly roll your face against him so your lips touch his warm skin and your nose rests on top of his shoulder muscle.  You close your eyes and stay like that for a moment.  He doesn’t stop you. Then you dare to press your lips ever so slightly into his skin before pulling your face back to look at him, your lips disconnecting with a barely perceptible smack. Joel’s still looking at the fire, but he allows himself a subtle smile as he exhales a silent laugh, then cradles your head.  “Go to bed, sweet pea.” He kisses your temple. “I’ll be there in a li’l bit.” 

You take the flannel off and get in bed, still smelling like the fire. You think of getting naked, eager to feel Joel however he wants you. But maybe he likes undressing you, and it’s chillier than normal, too.  You lay under the covers getting wet and tingly thinking about what he'll do when he comes to bed.  

The fire is still blazing.  There’s no sign of him putting it out.  It doesn't seem like he's coming in soon, but you're too turned on to just go to sleep. You close your eyes, recalling the feeling of Joel’s warm skin on your lips by the fire.  The way his eyes sparkled. The way he always opens his arms for you to get in his lap–that seat is always yours whenever you want it. 

You think about how handsome he is. Even, or especially when he’s looking rough.  All dirty and beat up when he got home that one night, muscles pumped up. His sexy stitches. You play a montage in your head of all the times you’ve heard him yell, seen him stomp around ordering guys to do this or that. How fiercely he protects you. Your lip creeps under your teeth and you close your eyes. 

All the way turned on, you slide your hand down between your legs and imagine him walking in and ravaging you.  You recall how urgently he fucked you at the kitchen table after he thought you almost died.  You recall the time he fucked you naked in missionary and and marked your neck.  You try to visualize the look in his eyes.

And then, when you’re just about to come, you remember that one morning. Those few seconds you kissed, when he kissed you back. He had pulled you into him before he knew what he was doing. You still savor that fleeting moment he was grinding against you, his plush lips locked with yours. You can practically feel it.  And that’s enough to put you over the edge. You turn your head into the pillow and brace for your orgasm. 

—----- JOEL —------

You must think Joel can't hear your pretty little sounds when you touch yourself, but over the crackling of the fire he could swear he hears you moan into a pillow. His nose can't help but twitch into a little smile. He lets the fire die as he finishes the 'E',  then he comes inside and washes off the smoke in the shower. By the time he gets in bed, you're asleep on your back with your left arm on your chest. 

He carefully gets into the bed, spreading his weight out to not jostle the mattress. He's to your left, lying on his side, facing you. You’re so pretty and peaceful with your eyes closed and your sweet lips just slightly parted. An urge has been growing in his chest. He’s tried to push it away, but it's only grown, and he's afraid he can’t stop it happening. 

He can’t bring himself to do it when you’re awake. He can’t let himself see how happy it makes you. The loss feels inevitable, and it gets closer and closer.  The panic he felt when FEDRA had you on the ground.  The devastation when it sounded like you were shot outside his own trailer. It gets worse every time. And last time, there was something new. Two losses flashed before his eyes.  The loss of you (in the present and future), and the loss of what could have been–at least for a while, when he had the chance. The worst part is, he doesn't know which would hurt more.  

His eyes fall on your mouth again. 

If he does it now, it won’t mean anything. It won’t change anything. If he does it now, maybe this urge will stop pulling at him every time you’re close.  And then he can tell himself it never happened. Yeah, if he does it now, it can be like it never happened. Like he never let himself get that close, never gave you hope that he could be anything more than the terrible man he is. 

His lip twitches as he watches you sleep.  Then his breathing syncs with yours, and for a moment, everything fades away but you and him and the physical need that's tugging at him.  

Joel leans over you, careful not to wake you, and he hovers over your pretty face. It's happening. His heart races as his face drifts toward yours, drawn to you like a magnet. 

He closes his eyes, presses his lips gently into yours, and something rushes through his blood to every part of his body.  Fuck.  He's instantly soothed. With your lips still locked, he takes one breath through his nose then pulls away. He takes a deep breath, expecting the buzz to fade, expecting to hate himself. But you're so pretty and your lips were so soft. He almost chokes on his own saliva.  He's quickly gotten hard.

Still fast asleep, you sigh and your nose twitches. You hum the prettiest little "mm," and roll over on your right, facing away from him like you normally sleep. 

He pinches his eyes shut tight. He has to have you. 

–

Joel curls himself around you, inhales your hair, and cups your breast. He presses his cock against you, hardening to full strength by now.  He lets out a deep but quiet, "Mmm," not enough to wake you up. The exposed skin of your back and shoulder is so inviting, he's salivating. His arm slides from your breast down your nightie to your mound and you sigh. He lifts his head to see if you're awake as he aimlessly caresses you over your nightie. Your brow furrows with his light touch. Aw, sweet pea, he thinks to himself. You're just so cute. He presses a gentle kiss into your neck where it meets your shoulder, and he begins to ghost your clit through the fabric. 

You sigh again, but still don't seem to wake up yet. He presses your mound so your hips tilt for him, and he pulls up the nightgown. He tests you with a finger and finds you wet but pulls back and pauses to add saliva to his tip.  He teases your entrance with his cock, and you sigh "Mmm, Joel," as you begin to stir awake. He pushes the curve of his tip just slightly inside, then holds your breast. 

He asks, “You 'wake?” 

“Mmm,” you answer weakly. 

"wake you up?" His cock prods at your tight, wet entrance, pushing in a little further.. He's itching to be inside you, but he's taking his time, captivated by your peacefulness. 

Your spine arches and you push back on him, taking another inch of his cock in with a moan as you stir awake. "Joel,” you sigh. 

He presses his lips into your neck and lets them linger.  You ask, "are you awake?" 

"Mm-hmm," he answers, his voice deep and gravely.  He groans softly as he pushes his cock into you. He takes a deep breath as your insides make room for him. It dawns on him that he's never taken the time to savor the moment your bodies are joined, but shit, it feels good. He didn't know it could feel so good like this. He’s feeling every groove of you in slow motion. Each centimeter of you greets him with a tight, warm hug.  You push back on him with a moan, bringing your bodies together. 

Oh, sweet pea. You want it so bad, and you take it so good.

—---YOU 🌸🫛—---

Joel’s cock spreads you apart and he buries his length in you slowly at first, palming your breasts. He pauses, all the way inside you, and removes your nightie so your naked bodies are flush. It feels like a dream. The way he kissed your shoulder, the way he’s fucking you right now with his whole body cradling yours, each thrust so deliberate, you can’t help but still wonder if he’s truly awake. If you're truly awake. He grunts softly each time he bottoms out. His sighs and moans are deep and gravely. 

“Sweet pea,” he whispers against your neck, “ohhhh, you — ohh, you take it so good, baby.” His hand slides down your stomach, between your legs. He whispers in your ear,  "God DAMN, youfeelsogood,” he inhales sharply, then sighs your name.  Your nipples harden and you get goosebumps. 

“Joel,” you whimper at his fingers on your clit.  The fullness of his cock was enough, and the addition of his hand has you twitching already.  

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he whispers, and his voice is so soothing, you relax again. He slows down his pace, his length sliding snugly into your warmth slow enough to feel the drag of his tip inside you. He touches your clit and you whimper again. He adjusts his hand to touch it less directly, pulsing his flattened fingers.  That’s what you need. You moan. 

“Good girl.” 

You wanna ask him again if he’s really awake, but you don’t want to break the spell. You let the silence linger, peppered with moans and sighs from each of you. You’d love for this to last forever. You love every way he gives it to you, but the newness of this is something to savor. After a few minutes, sweat begins to bead and run between your bodies.  You’re both breathing heavily. He gropes at your breasts and the entire front of your body, like he can’t get you close enough. His breathing gets ragged.  You memorize the feel of his cock dragging thick and slow inside you.  Then he adds his hand again. His thrusts become more powerful.  “Come for me, I want you to– nnngh.” 

“Joel,” you whine. 

‘Ohh,” he moans. 

“Joel, I’m–”

“Go ‘head, baby—ugghh—-you can do it”

Your upper back presses into his chest.  He groans and holds you tight as you convulse against him and choke his cock with your climax. “Ohhhh, baby, mmmm.” He bottoms out and pulses inside you as you’re still coming.  He sighs "ohhh," as he fills you up with his warm release. Your body hugs him more with every pulse of his cock.  

When you’re both finished coming, your bodies are still joined. You relish the fullness of him inside you.  You expect him to pull out any minute, but his breathing regulates with yours. 

At some point, Joel's breath stutters abruptly, and you realize he's fallen asleep like this. Holding you close, body curled around you, cock gradually softening inside you. It isn't long until you drift off, too. 

-

Smut continues here: asleep inside

Next major chapter: hunger

-

Thank you so much for reading and engaging. Please consider commenting or reblogging to show raider Joel your love, even if this post is old. 💖 Love you guys. I love your passion for him. Your engagement motivates me. <333

Friendly reminder that there will be no pregnancy in this fic, Joel was snipped pre outbreak. 

----

@toxicfics for notifications, make sure your phone is set to enable push notifications from tumblr. Some of my fics are pretty dark!

⚠️ Since so many people are saying tags aren't working, I may discontinue the tag list soon, sorry ⚠️

All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda  @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname   @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @milla-frenchy @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @am-3-thyst @may-machin @pedromania91 @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret @bean-is-reading

[cherry-pop-elf]

BAKING WITH THE WEASLEY SIBLINGS

William ‘Bill’

Since he is the eldest, he had to do a lot of cooking with his parents. He was a victim of ‘third parent’ syndrome. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t find comfort in baking. It still fills a void in his heart when cooking and baking. His favorite thing to make, with you, is something he learned in Egypt. Baklava. It’s super airy, and the right amount of sweet. Given being partially turned has made his senses heighten, it makes for a good treat to share with you and his siblings. It’s nice to do normal things, when your life is so abnormal. He also learned to make some mean meat pies. Just know not to ask a slice on the full moon. That shit is raw. Thats what you get for dating a curse breaking werewolf. Eh. More protein never hurts in a diet, most of the time

Charlie

As the second oldest, he also had to do a lot of baking as well. There is also the fact that being a Dragonologist has left him fending for himself in the wild. So he’s had to get pretty creative if he wants something sweet. Hey. He’s a Weasley. They are famous for being creative. A treat he enjoys is Romanian Dessert Salami. Though, often times he uses the term liberally and often makes a rather fruity bread roll instead. Gotta use what ya got! Also, hope you are prepared to see him using his wand a lot for cooking. Don’t have much when chasing dragons. It is rather fascinating to learn how to make desserts from so little. Your little adventure man

Percy

Being the third child, you would think he wouldn’t be as responsible as his older siblings. You are wrong. The moment the two older brothers were out the door, it was his turn. Desserts were never a passion of his, so he’s not the best at it. But he won’t deny the fact he can make a mean pie. It’s a secret talent he has. You can count on him to make any pie your heart desires. He won’t say it out loud, but making pies is very therapeutic to him. He has a pie for each sibling even. Bill is meat, Charlie is mixed berries, Fred is Chocolate while George is Peanut butter, Ron is Pumpkin, and Ginny is Peach. Him? …..What was your favorite type of pie again~?

Fred

Fred isn’t really much of a baker. He’s more of the cooking type. You are better off seeing him make breakfast, despite being a night owl, compared to making any desserts. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t find his loopholes. Like how Percy is great with pies, Fred is amazing with Bread. Fred Bread! As proxy, he has his siblings favorite bread types memorized. Bill likes dark chocolate types, Charlie likes anything with berries, Percy is rather boring with banana, he loves grape while George will like orange, Ron likes hers with some pumpkin, and Ginny is the cinnamon type. Expect plenty of fresh bread with him. He’s got you covered

George

He IS the baker in the family. Who do you think brought up the idea of selling bake goods at WWW? He can, and will, bake ANYTHING! He has everyone’s favorite treats memorized. He is constantly handing out free samples to kids. He WILL find an excuse to bake. You want cookies? Hot and fresh from the oven. It’s three am and you want a cake? It’s now four am and you got a cake. He IS the baker. He loves to bake so much, and is always making sure the shop has fresh supply. If you can’t ever find him anywhere, follow your nose to the kitchen. He’s got something in the works. For someone!

Ron

Like Fred, he’s not really a baker. He’s a cooker. Doesn’t mean he can’t make a dessert if he has to. He’s become pretty good at making tarts, custards, and puddings. Very much comfort food. Something he picked up again when going to school with Harry. Given, ya know, the Dursleys. He won’t lie, it was also a cheap way to flirt with Hermione without breaking his wallet. Funny thing is she was never one for such desserts. Now she can’t get enough. He makes those comfort foods with a lot of heart, and is willing to make them if you have a bad day. He does get a bit anxious when cooking around other people, but he warms up eventually.

Ginny

Like Fred and Ron, she doesn’t really bake either. She was the baby of the family, after all. She does, however, like to make cookies for her team. There is something so nice about having a warm cookie after a cold rainy day of Quidditch practice. Helps that you convinced her to pick up the habit again. She likes to make cookies with fruit in them. To try and have them on the healthier side, given she’s an athlete. So a tart cookie is a good cookie to her. It’s simple, basic, and quick, but nothing wrong with that. A quickly made cookie, with love, is better than a drawn out dessert of labor. It’s also easy to blame her love of fruity desserts on Charlie. She’s the baby girl in an army of boys. She picked up some habits

[abbyromanoff]

Dark request~ Dark Agatha stalking, drugging and kidnapping R

STOCKHOLM SYNDROME

PAIRINGS: Agatha Harkness x reader

WORD COUNT: 1,175

WARNINGS: smut, dark fic, dark!Agatha, kidnapping, drugging, stalking, Stockholm syndrome, face riding, cunnilingus, somnophillia, bondage, mommy (A), masturbation, praise, degrading, think that’s all :)

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

Agatha had been watching you for months now. Every time you entered the bar, she was the one to serve you, it gave her a sense of pride seeing how you relaxed in her presence. Your weeks were tough, something that she hated, but she was always the one to bring a smile to your face on a late Friday night.

“Hello, sweetheart.” She greeted you, the rest of her guests slipping from her mind as her focus drew in on you. You looked flawless, just like always, but she could see the darkness under your eyes.

“Hey, Agatha,” You returned, dropping two dollar bills on the counter before requesting your order. She prepared the two shots for you along with a small cup of water.

“Thank you!” She smiled at your kindness, nobody else in this place ever cared to thank her, they didn’t even appreciate her for anything other than her form. The men ogled her like a piece of meat, but you cared to go deeper, accidentally digging into her heart on your way. It saddened her that she couldn’t have you, she knew you’d probably never agree to go out with her anyway. She was your bartender, that’s all; only she wished she could be more.

“You’re very welcome, dear.” The two of you continued a small conversation, giggles being heard from around the room. The other mixologist had to take care of the customers with an annoyed scowl, but she was already getting used to Agatha being like this.

“I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?” She asked with furrowed brows, already feeling cold without your warm embrace. You were like the sun on a winter's day, or the rainbow after a rainstorm.

“Just to the bathroom, I’ll be right out.” She waited a moment before following you, telling her coworker exactly where she’d be.

The door closed behind her with a squeak, her eyes trailing to find your legs showing slightly beneath the stall. She bit her lip, remaining quiet until you stepped out.

“Oh, Agatha, you scared me!” You put a hand over your chest and chuckled, shaking your head before heading towards the sink. You washed your hands in silence, looking through the mirror and spotting the woman who had not moved an inch.

“Uh, did you need something?” She hummed, trailing her eyes up and down your figure before stepping forward. She placed her hands on your waist, her lips landing on your neck as your breath became heavy.

“What are you-“

“Shh, be quiet, sweet girl.” You pulled away from her, shoving her to the side with a glare. Her arms dropped to her side, a small frown forming across her lips.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You yelled, wiping off the lipstick stains that started to appear on your neck.

“I- I thought-“

“Well, you thought wrong. Look, you’re great, you’re amazing, but I’m not willing to risk losing this bond we have. I like you, I do, but I don’t want to do anything about this, alright?” You stressed, running your hands through your hair while she stepped forward. She couldn’t understand why you were denying her, she didn’t do anything wrong, why wouldn’t you want to give in?

“Y/N,”

“I’m sorry, I need to go-“ She rushed to your side, grasping your arm in her hand and trying to pull you forward once again. You tussled against her, trying to wiggle your way out of her stronghold that she refused to release.

“Agatha- let go of me!” You felt a needle press into your neck, causing your body to freeze in shock before you went limp. You tried fighting for consciousness, only to fail as you struggled against your eyelids.

“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t want to do this, but you forced my hand.”

You felt yourself awakening, your vision immediately being greeted with darkness. You questioned if you were even awake for a moment until you heard the clattering of heels against the floor. You tried moving your body, that was until you felt the chains tugging against your wrists. You did the same with your legs, only to notice they were the same.

“You’re finally awake, good.” You felt a heat building up on your lower half, looking down only to see her tongue tracing circles on your clit. Her fingers shoved into you with a slow pace, her eyes full of hunger and lust as she stared up at you.

“Fu- stop! Agatha, s-stop!” You couldn’t tell if you were really begging her to stop or if you wanted her to keep going, it just felt so good.

“Shh, baby. My little girl is too dumb to think, you just need Mommy to do all the thinking for you, huh?” She withdrew from your cunt, leaving you to express a deep whine. Her digits repeated their action while her free hand explored your open breasts, your nipples hardening in the cold breeze of wind. Nonetheless, you gushed around her and let a soft moan escape you.

“Yeah, let Mommy hear all of those pretty noises.” Purple wisps of magic replaced the coverage of your breast, bringing further stimulation as she led her hand down to her pants. She teased her clit softly, nearly choking on her next statement as she chased the euphoria.

“Mhm, fuck. God, you’re so fucking perfect.” She licked her dry lips before pressing them onto yours, groaning as you refused to return her advances. She bit down on your lip, causing blood to plummet to the surface before you let them part, but not without a fight.

“So warm, and so damn tight! It’s like you wanted this to happen.” You squeezed your eyes shut, your hands balling into fists before your orgasm came crashing over you. You hoped that was the only one she’d force out of you, but then again, it’s Agatha, whatever she wants, she gets.

“That’s it, good girl.” She started, “Shit, Mommy’s gonna cum. Mommy’s gonna cum all over this pretty little body of yours.” A hum left her as she rode out her high, watching through hooded eyes as you hid the moans to your best ability. You failed; of course, you did.

“You think you can give me a few more?”

“No! Please, no-“

“Shh, such a silly little thing. Why don’t you find a better way to use that precious mouth, hm?” She didn’t give you a choice before straddling your chest, leaning forward, and brushing her clit against your tongue in a feather-like motion.

“You need Mommy’s pussy? Oh, that’s alright, I just want to hear you beg me for it. C’mon, be the dirty fucking slut you are and beg for a taste of me.” You whined pathetically, knowing you had no choice but to give in to her.

“Please, Mommy! I…I want to- to taste you.” She smiled warmly, stroking your cheek before leaving a soft slap to the skin.

“So obedient, I knew you’d be so easy to train.”

[applejuicebegood]

All My Love - Platonic!Gaz x Teammate!Reader

Fem!Reader

Summary: Stressing over the cooking for that evening and bad memories, Y/N finds Gaz who talks them through what their feeling. A/N: Wrote this for the very sweet @midnights-song and @kaoyamamegami for their very kind words on my last fic. This one is a sorta fallow up, please enjoy! Masterlist

Cw: Descriptions of absent + alcoholic mother, mentions of PTSD-related flashbacks, elder-child syndrome Word Count: 1960

The smell of cedar smoak and garlic clung to your hands and hair. A dull ache snaked its way up the back of your knees and into your thighs. Wringing your hands with a damp tea-towel you looked over your kitchen, the results of your labour tucked away in the humming oven and boiling on the stove top. Flour and spices swirled together across every vacant surface, oil-stained pots and bowls crowded your skink, and potato skins and egg shells were crowded in a pile across from the filled compost bin you were meaning to take outside to feed to your chickens. You puffed out a long breath, resting your wrists on your hips. You had finally finished all of the cooking for tonight's supper for your teammates. 

Your experience with cooking has been relegated to that of your small family. The distant memories of your aunts and grandmothers crowded in the same kitchen where you stood now, knives and peelers making quick work of the harvested meat and potatoes your farm had cultivated. It was the only thing you recalled as you struggled to discern the cramped handwriting of the recipes left behind by your family. Their jovial laughing and quick gaelic speak now distant memories carved into the cabinets and countertops. Smeared on the vintage china and cast iron skillets hung on the oak walls. If you stayed still and concentrated enough you could remember the feeling of your grandmother's rough palm on your supple cheek and her lips on your forehead. The smell of milk and wheat wafting through your senses. 

You were much younger then. Your fingers easily slipping onto the knife's blade and your wrists burned from boiling pasta water. You needed to use your baby sister's step stool to stand over the cutting board properly. Your mother was too busy passed out on the couch with a bottle of whiskey slipping from her limp grasp to worry about feeding her children. You were the eldest, therefore it became your job to try and emulate the effortless dance you watched your female relatives perform every holiday season or family reunion. 

Now you were quicker, easily controlling the tools in your scarred, tattooed hands. Your time in the military proved helpful in quickening your reaction speed, allowing you to cut through the squash and potatoes faster than before. You had begun the cooking process that morning, refusing the offered help from your teammates. Insisting that guests shouldn’t be expected to cook and that you could handle it. And you could, although it resulted in the ache in your thighs spreading into your lower back, causing a hushed groan to escape from your throat as you tugged at the roots of your hair. 

You quickly turned at the harsh thumping of boots on the creaking wooden stairs. Drawn out of your spiralling stupor. 

‘Holy.. smells fucking amazing in here lass..’ ‘Language! Johny!’ You say through clenched teeth, motioning to the living room couch where your baby sister was supposed to be sitting next to your captain. The volume of the football game on the TV turned down. Johnny winced in apology, hushing his booming voice to a whisper. ‘Sorry.. Sorry, here you go sit.. I’ll clean’ 

Johnny says after looking you over and taking the towel from your hands. Your team had gotten good at noticing when exhaustion or strain worked its way into each other's bodies. Your hunched shoulders and wide eyes giving away your building stress. ‘Oh Johnny no.. you don’t have too-’ ‘Yea.. yea, Go sit lassie.. After mak’in all this food I’m surprised you're still standing’ Johnny says ushering you to the living room before patting your shoulder and turning to find a starting point in the stack of dishes. 

You sigh. The instinct of obeying your higher ranking sergeant hadn’t seemed to wear off yet. Walking to the couch you expected to have your little sister squeal and jump into your arms. Only to find her little body curled against your captain’s side. Her hands bunched up under her chin, the delicate skin of her eyelids shut. Price’s head rested on the back of the couch with his arms stretched out over the cushions, his mouth slightly agape. You quietly leaned down to brush your sister's forehead, as if in response she snuggled her cheek against Price’s side at your touch, not wanting to be woken up just yet. Price twitched in his sleep, pulling Emi closer against him. You kissed the side of her head, pulling the knitted blanket up over her shoulders and across your captain's lap. The warm prick of relief spread across your skin at the realization that your baby sister had grown comfortable enough to fall asleep in the circle of your captain's embrace. Hoping that she had found someone other than you to admire and emulate.  

You made your way to the back porch, pulling on a leather overcoat to protect your warmth from the bite of the winter air. As you swung the glass door open, the brush of cold against your warm cheeks soothed you, your breath clouding up in front of you. You looked out onto the backyard of your farm, a few metres of blanketed gardening space trailing out to the fenced off cliff side. The clothesline pole used in the warmer months stood to the right, the cable attached to the house swinging in the swirling wind. The fence built to keep your cows and sheep and your sisters from roaming too close to the cliff edge poked out from the dull white snow. Past the drop of land, you could see the storm-grey waves churning and thrashing against each other like fighting children. Stretching further into the distance. You slowed your breathing and shut your eyes, trying to test if you could hear the water slap against the cliff side. When you were little, you would climb through the wire fencing and peer over the cliff's edge, never realizing how if you took only a few more steps death would embrace you like the waves embraced the fistfulls of grass and pebbles you would toss over the edge. Sometimes you wished you could return to that state of not even being afraid of falling from a cliff face. 

‘Hey.. Y/N?’ ‘Oh! Kyle.. shit you scared me!’ 

The jolt of surprise at Gaz’s voice ran up your spine and over your chest. In your daze, you didn’t realize Gaz settled on the porch's couch, a book from the living room shelf open in his lap. The deck held a few mismatched outdoor chairs and a couch, crowded with old throw pillows and spear blankets. Small metal lanterns hung overhead, painted and decorated by your sisters when they were both in primary school. The dwindling candle light gently swayed over Gaz’s smooth brown skin, a warm break from the multitude of grey stretching out before you. 

‘Heh sorry, here.. Sit. You look like you need a break’ Your boots scuffed against the deck floor as you settled yourself by Kyle. You tucked your legs up underneath you with a groan. The pain settling in your legs. You were still fixated on the blurred horizon line stretching beyond the haze of clouds that were beginning to roll in from the town harbour. Gaz’s presence beside you blurring like the apparent ending of the surrounding oceans. ‘Hey.. you alright?’ Gaz asked with the snap of his book shutting. ‘Yeah.. yeah of course.. Just, just thinking about.. Ya know, I mean… I-I just want things to be good for you guys’ You say, looking up at him. Folding your arms over your chest. ‘What.. What do you mean? Y/N.. things have been perfect, I honestly don’t know what else you could do to make this trip more enjoyable’ ‘I know.. I mean- I think, I don’t know Gaz.. I just worry that.. that this isn’t.. Ugh! I don’t even know what i’m saying’ You chuckle, gripping your head as you run a hand through your hair. Glancing at Gaz you notice him scratching the jagged scar on his forearm. 

It was during a mission in your last deployment that an enemy soldier split his skin open with a combat knife. Your stitches were frantic and clumsy, being that you were in the back of a moving helicopter for the evac and you had to watch the consciousness drain out of your friend's face. You noticed how as the cut started to heal Gaz would scratch at the scar absently, something that annoyed you being that it would remind you that the split wouldn't be so gnarled had you been able to keep your shaking hands steady.  ‘You really have no clue how to stop worrying..’

His tone was sad, grey like the ocean waters.

‘Worrying ‘bout you lot is my job.. It’s not something I can just.. Turn off’ You were frustrated, picking at the loose threads of the embroidered pattern lacing around your skirt. ‘I get that. I had that during my first break home, not being able to remember how to.. Ya know.. Be normal. To be a person and not a soldier. God, it would drive Ma mad, how I could only get up at five in the morning and.. Ya know.. The flashbacks’ You watched him as he talked, his rich brown eyes cast down at his hands. ‘There really isn’t a proper way to “be normal”, not after what you've been through, what you’ve seen. But that's not something you have to figure out on your own.. I mean hell, most of us would be dead if you weren't on this team Y/N’ ‘Ha.. I know’ ‘Exactly, what I mean is.. You've got people around you who would do anything for you. And we are probably the only ones who know what it’s like to be stuck in trying to remember who you were before deployment. It’s something we’ve all experienced, so don’t you believe for a second you should go through it by yourself.’ Gaz leaned forward, placing his hand on your knee. You instinctively took his fingers into your own, his hands cold. You forced yourself to meet his eyes, gently nodding your head. Your smile tight, trying to hold back the growing dampness in the corners of your eyes. You squeezed his hand, running your thumb over his knuckle. He squeezed your fingers back, a silent language you shared when words were too daunting to put together. You always found it shocking how this kind of comfort felt like it was being directed at someone else. Like it was a puzzle piece ripped in half, it could still fit in the piece but it appeared foreign. You weren't used to it, and how easily it appeared to flow from Gaz. In his words and in his viable willingness to help you. The unusual sensation of being understood made it hard to express your gratitude for it, Gaz knew this. Which is why you both sat there, in a shared understanding only the both of you as colleagues and friends could have. ‘You smell great by the way’

His blunt comment caused a ripple of laughter to fall from your lips, a tear drifting down the bridge of your nose. ‘You dick..’ You scoffed, leaning your head onto his shoulder, tucking your arm under his. 

‘Do aingeal den sórt sin’

You mumble, directing your attention back to the grey horizon line. ‘What does that mean..?’ Gaz asks, following your gaze outwards. You respond with a simple sigh. The stress and aching dissipated for the moment, something you didn’t want to risk losing with your supposed inability to properly thank Gaz for his tenderness and care.

A/N: ‘Do aingeal den sórt sin’ translates to 'your such an angel' in Irish Gaelic

[ohbo-ohno]

Serial killer AU and the contrast between how Ghoap treat us and other victims. Maybe they're holding our friend group hostage in the basement, and every day we're forced to see pain and torture of our friends and then Ghost drags us upstairs by our hair and....

The softest pillows ever, Soap helds pur hands so we won't struggle as Simon tortures us with cumming over and over again. We're literally covered in blood, they are covered in blood, and Ghost is so mean with everyone( Soap laughs as our friends struggle against his axe and then covers our face with kisses because we're adorable and he wants us to cry forever((

Scaredy cat whiny wet napkin reader who constantly needs to drink because we cry our daily hydration worth, and we don't really get used to them or fall into Stockholm syndrome, we're just terrified enough to comply with them. It's my favorite dynamic tbh, not just falling in love, but mostly submitting out of fear. Ghost is so soft with us, gots us sweets and vegetables even though Soap is moody because of the lack of meat, because we can't bring ourselves to eat normally after we saw what they did to our friends

🎷🐛

i am fucking LOSING IT

you're so real for preferring scared submission over stockholm syndrome btw. stockholm syndrome can be fun but something about complying only because you're scared... it's so delicious...

also... soap wanting meat... if any of you want a cannibal ghostsoap apocalypse au go read this it's sooo good. ghost kidnaps soap and takes him back to his cannibal compound to keep him :( it's written as a love story from ghost's perspective and a horror story from soap's lol it's great

anyways more about serial killer ghoap below the cut :) listened to bilgewater by brown bird while writing this if any of y'all like gothic country music

soap torturing someone with you in the room (because he hates letting you out of his sight) and he keeps taking breaks to come comfort you and gives you kisses IM :((( wipes your tears away and gets streaks of red all over your face, wants to fuck you cause you look so pretty but his victims don't deserve to see you that vulnerable, that's just for him and simon. ties you up in the corner so you don't run, maybe locks you in a little cage (i will put petplay into everything i write like god has challenged me to it personally). gags you because you get real scream-y and tend to beg for their lives, but sometimes has to tug it out so you can throw up :( tells you to close your eyes when he does something particularly nasty, the gore and your terror in the corner nearly enough to get him off without even touching his dick

being soft with you is like their reward to themselves for torturing people so well lmfao. like, they did so good making those people's last moments agonizing and now they get to cuddle up with you <3 washes off their hands and your face, bundles you up real close to them, gets to lay in all the nice soft warmth now.

ghost is so so tender when washing you off (when he doesn't want you covered in blood - sometimes he leaves it for hours, until it flakes off and you nearly scratch it away until you bleed). he's cooing to you while brushing a soft washcloth over you face, humming a little and saying things like you were such a good girl for us. such good bait, led our toys right to us, thank you so much, doll. look so good covered in their blood, wanna paint you with it sometime. that sound nice to you? no? ok, ok, deep breaths, honey, calm down. just relax for me, you're safe. gonna be real sweet to you now, you don't have to be scared anymore.

and they are sweet. place you on a mattress covered in the softest most plush blankets you've ever seen. they set a little stuffed animal in your arms, let you curl around it and hide your face in it. they know it makes you feel better, and they're nice enough to let you hide your face from them for now :( content themselves with pulling you right up into them (making you hold the stuffed animal when they kill people, look at you all smiley and say make sure he doesn't get dirty, baby, picks it up out of a pool of blood and tsks at you all disappointed, tell you to clean him and say gentle, like we are with you whey you get too rough)

actually can't stop thinking about this au it's like a curse

[doughguts-art]

SMS Bandit SMS Bandit is the dumbass

Animating a meme of 705 and SMS Bandit's dynamic because it is so funny to me. They are both idiots

[workingforthewidow]

Woah look at me actually posting 2 things within the same month lol- this is a part 2 to the Otis fic i posted a few days ago. You don’t HAVE to read it to understand this but it does help! I have honestly fallen in love with Otis and his Princess so I might start doing small one-shots in this universe so if you have any ideas or request let me know!

Warnings: as stated reader is in deep for Otis like so much Stockholm syndrome going on. Slight smut. Reference to non-con. This is Otis we are talking about so he can be a warning himself. But also OOC Otis like he’s super sweet but still in an Otis way. Blood. Lots of blood. Killing people. Knives. If there’s any major i missed please let me know! But yeah- don’t like it don’t read it.

She/her pronouns for reader. I tried to keep descriptions to a minimum, did mention pulling readers hair a lot but I mean i pull my husbands hair a lot and he has short hair so yeah.

18+

Word count 3,698. Link to part 1

She woke up to hear steady soft snores in her ear and the feeling of shallow sleepy breaths under her. A long pale arm wrapped around her waist held her securely to him. He stayed. He really stayed this time like he promised. Usually he was gone by the time she woke up. Maybe it was still night and she had just woken too early. But she could see the rays of light streaming in from the window. It was morning for sure. She lifted her head as much as she could and luckily she could see the clock on the wall. One of his few gifts to her. He wouldn’t give her a calendar but he at least got her the clock so she could have some time awareness. The hands of the clock read 1:49. They had gotten home at 1:30am. And by the time all was said and done she imagine she fell asleep no later than 2:30am. They had slept for 11 hours. He never slept that much. She was about to try to wake him when his grip tightened on her waist pulling her against him. He brushed his nose against her hair and kissed her forehead.

“Stop fucking moving and go back to sleep Princess.” He mumbled against her skin.

She relaxed against him and hummed contently. “But it’s almost 2 in the afternoon. We’ve been sleeping all day.”

“And if I say go back to sleep you fucking go back to sleep. Sleep for the next week if I say so.” He grunted out at her.

She nodded her head against his chest and closed her eyes again. What game was this? For sure a new one, they had never played a game like this before. Maybe it was the calm before the storm and next time she woke up he’d have her hanging from meat hooks on the ceiling or thrown back in the basement.

She was never able to fall back asleep. She just stayed very still against him other than occasionally tracing her fingers up and down his chest lazily like she was in a dream. Finally once the sun was setting did he stir awake. She was mid way up his chest near his heart when his hand clutched hers. If she wasn’t so use to him it would have hurt but she knew his grip was stronger than an alligators bite.

“Mornin’ Princess.” His still half asleep voice was low and rough. She laughed a little and shook her head.

“Ain’t mornin’ anymore. Almost dinner time.”

As if on cue Baby’s voice could be heard from the bottom of the stairs, “Otis! I haven’t seen my little best friend in two whole days. It’s about time you let her down here to see me and Mama.”

Otis groaned and rubbed his face before flinging her off him onto the floor. He stood up and looked down at where she had stayed on the floor like his good little girl. “Put some clothes on.” He threw her a pile of fabric at her. She separated it to reveal her shorts and one of his ‘burn this flag’ tank tops. Another change to the game. He never let her wear his clothes outside of the flannel she got to wear during the winter. Even then it was just the one and she had to keep track of it or else it was taken and hidden from her in a wicked game of hide and seek. She slid the clothes on without questioning him. “Perfect.” He grabs her face and kisses her harshly. But not as harshly as during a game. It wasn’t a true romantic kiss like the one from the night before but it wasn’t a one sided “I own you and can put my mouth anywhere I please” kiss either. “Come on Sweetheart.” He took her hand and led her down the stairs to the table.

The family were already seated and she noticed four guest sitting on the far end of the table. Two men and two women. One of the men looked extremely excited to be there while the other man and the women looked like they’d rather be anywhere else.

Mama immediately got up at the sight of them and floated towards them. She was so elegant and graceful.

“Oh my sweet Otis and little Darling. You joined us. How special is this? Come sit, sit. We have guest and it’s Halloween. I am blessed today.” She cooed before returning to her seat. “Masks on everyone.” She announced placing her own masks on her face. The others followed suit with the expect of one of the women and Otis and his girl.

“Put the damn mask on or she won’t let us have dessert!” Grandpa huffed from across the table.

The women sneered towards Otis and her, “They don’t have masks. Why do I have to do it?” Oh she was an entitled thing. Otis hated that kind of girl, his princess was never like that not even when he first got her.

“Playin’ by different rules sugar.” Otis spat out at her with venom laced words. She looked at him shocked before placing the mask on her face. The group ate in silence for a few minutes before the man who was acting like he was at DisneyLand spoke up.

“So uh any of you heard of Doctor Satan?” Everyone’s eyes shot up and glared holes into his head. She looked around at Mama and then to Otis who cleared his throat. He went on to spin the tale of Doctor Satan as if it were just that, a story. But she knew better. She knew the truth. Before anything else could be said Baby rang the gong. Time for her show.

Everyone filed into the show room and watched as Baby did her performance. She was a natural talent. She could even be in the picture shows. Baby was dancing close to one of the men and the woman next to him seemed to be jealous. She thought that’s probably what she would like that when Baby was all over Otis if she didn’t know the truth about their relationship. Sure they had done things in the past but once Otis brought her home and finally into his room and Baby claimed her as her “little best friend” all sexual acts between them stopped.

“A girl doesn’t two-time on her little best friend, Otis. She’d get all upset and cry. Best friends don’t make each other cry.” She had told him once he tried to get handsy with her. He didn’t care if the stupid girl got upset. He just wanted a good fuck and the girl locked in his room had yet to truly prove herself to him. Sure she could spread her legs and open her mouth but she wasn’t as exciting as Baby. Until one day out of the blue she was. She was doing everything just how Baby did it. Turns out the poor girl had begged Baby to tell her what to do to keep his attention on her. And boy was she a quick learner.

Lost in her head she didn’t realize all the movement going on around until screams hit her ears and she was picked up, thrown over Otis’s shoulder. He threw her into one of the empty rooms that only held a bed and a dresser. He pushed her onto the bed and held his knife to her throat.

“You move out of this room. You die. You scream or make a noise. You die. You do anything that’s not staying in this room and shutting your fucking mouth. You. Die.” He pulled her by her hair to lock eyes with her. His eyes were even more blood thirsty than usual. “Understand me, Princess?”

Her lip quivered, what was happening? She had never seen guest end like this. Yes they killed and took their cars and money but this felt different. He pulled her hair harder and pushed the knife deeper into her throat waiting her response.

“Yes, I’ll be good. Stay here and be quiet.” Her wide eyes glistened with tears threatening to fall from the pressure on her head from her pulled hair. He nodded and let her hair go, running his fingers through it for a moment.

“Good girl. If I haven’t come to get you by morning you can come find me okay?” She nodded again quickly. He grabbed her chin and pulled her into a kiss. “I love you Princess.”

He said it again! Twice in one day! She happily kissed him back and smiled wide at him, “I love you, too.” He brushed her hair out once more before leaving the room making sure the door locked behind them.

She didn’t even realized she had fallen asleep until she woke with a jump. Had it really been that long? After Otis had left she paced the room before she decide to explore the dresser a bit. In the top drawer was an old worn copy of some book she’d never heard of but from the picture on the cover it looked to be some cliché romance. She sat on the bed resting her back against the wall and started reading, having nothing better to do. She must have fallen asleep mid-read. She looked out the window. Sunshine. It was morning and Otis hadn’t come back for her. What if something happened? Was he hurt? Did those guest hurt him or Baby or Mama? She was even worried for Hugo. She leapt to her feet and bounded towards the door. Just as she was about to fiddle with the lock she heard the click of a key and the turn of the doorknob. She jumped back so the door wouldn’t hit her when it swung open.

On the other side of the door stood her Otis. Her sweet, loving, blood covered, Otis.

“Sorry I’m late Princess had to clean up someone else’s mess. But I got a surprise for you.” He smirked and took her hand. He led her back to the room they shared and covered her eyes to keep her surprise from her. Was this a real surprise? Like a present? “It ain’t much but we gotta start ya off with something easy, okay?” He removed his hands from her eyes and she blinked at the sudden light from the darkness. Once her eyes adjusted she saw the surprise. Tied to chairs and knocked out sat two of the guest. The man in glasses that Baby had sang to and the women she assumed was his girlfriend or wife.

Otis pulled her against his chest and kissed the top of her head. “I have an idea for these two fuck ups and I need my pretty little Princess to help me. Gonna teach ya to be a real artist not just my muse.” He handed her one of his knives and took one in his own hand. “You get the girl shes more your size. Don’t fuck it up Princess.” He moved over to the man and bent down by his ankles, “All it takes is a clean up to the ankles.” He swiftly sliced the knife threw the mans skin causing him to pop his eyes open with a scream. His screaming then woke the woman. “Your turn Princess.”

She twisted the handle in her hands and looked at him nervously. “Come on Princess, it ain’t hard.” Somehow she only heard his voice. She knew the people were screaming and crying but she was focused on him. Tired of waiting he grabbed her hand and pulled her to the floor and held her smaller hand in his. “Like this.” With a flick their wrist the knife cut one of the woman’s ankles. “You do the next one.”

She took a breath and moved closer to the other unharmed ankle. Her eyes flickered to his for a moment before exhaling and cutting through the skin. She hit a vein just right and blood splattered on her face and chest. She stood up as Otis whistled at her.

“Damn didn’t think you could get any prettier but I was wrong. This is how you’re meant to look Princess.” He pulled her close and licked some of the blood off her face. “Let’s give the happy couple some alone time. Should be done by the time we come back.” He smirked and jammed his knife into the woman’s thigh. He looked at her than to the man and back to her. She got the message. She walked to the man and stood above him.

“Wait, wait, wait! I know you. You’re that girl who went missing last year. The millionaire’s stepdaughter. Just let us go and we can take you home to your family and away from these psychos.”

Otis growled and almost pounced on the man but she raised her hand to stop him. “This is my home. This is my family. This is all I need. You don’t fucking know me. You know my face and you know my name but you don’t know me. Only my family knows me. Only Otis knows me.” She screamed in his face so close it fogged his glasses before stabbing him the thigh twisting the blade a few times for extra hurt.

The man and the woman continued screaming and begging for their lives as Otis took her away. He took her to the bathroom and ran the shower. Peeling off her blood soaked clothes slowly before removing his own. He pulled her under the water and watched as it mixed with the blood on her face and ran down the drain. Wordlessly he titled her head back and let the water run through her hair.

All of this was so new. Never had they done this before. And if they had she was sure it would have just been about sex. But he was being gentle and soothing. She could his erection plan as day but decided if he wasn’t making this about sex she shouldn’t either. She hummed as he brushed through her wet hair getting all the blood out. Normally he would be smearing all over her. She always let him do it. She always let him do whatever made him happy. But as soon as he was done with her she would run to the shower as fast as she could to clean herself. But now he was cleaning it off her. Gentle rubbing his hands down her body in a non-sexual way. Once he was satisfied with how clean she was he moved their places and let the water trail over himself. All of this done in silence. Only the water running and their breathing could be heard. Finally he cut he water and stepped out leaving her standing in the shower.

“Feel better Princess?” He asked wrapping her in a towel that was honestly probably dirtier than them when they entered the shower.

“Yes, thank you.” She smiled at him wide eyed.

“Have another surprise for you while we wait for those fucks to finish up.” He walked her back to their room, “Get your clothes on. Whatever you want.” He said as he went to inspect the people in to the corner who’s yelling had turned to whimpers.

She dug through her clothes finally able to pick her own outfit. She quickly put on a soft lavender purple matching bra and panties then looked over to him.

“All your clothes. We’re going back down stairs.” Oh she really got to pick her own outfit. This never happened. She went back to drawers and dug again finding her blue jean shorts and a black shirt. She slipped them on and looked to him again. “That’s better Princess. Now down the stairs.” He gestured to the door and followed her down the staircase. “This way.” He pulled her outside and towards one of the sheds where they kept the extra clothes and other items from guest who never left.

He opened the door and pushed her inside. He lit a match and fired up a lamp hanging from the ceiling. She stood still as he rooted around looking for something. She thought about asking him if she could help him find whatever it was he was looking for but as soon as she opened her mouth to speak he turned to her box in hand. “Come here pretty girl.” He called her closer and held out the box to her. “A pretty princess needs a pretty jewel. Take whichever one you want.”

She looked inside the box and gasped. Inside were tens if not hundreds of shining rings. Some silver, some gold, some with diamonds, others with colored gems, and some that were just metal. She dug around looking for any she might like and took a few in hand. She went to try and size it to her right hand finger but he stopped her.

“Other hand Princess.”

She cocked her head to the side in confusion, “But that hands for a wedding band.”

“Just do it don’t fucking argue with me.” Hell for once in his damn life he was trying to be genuine and she had to run her mouth.

She nodded and moved to her other hand. She tried a few too small. A few too big. And a few she just didn’t like how they sat on her finger. Otis was starting to get impatient with her once again, always taking forever. He looked around in the box and found he liked and grabbed her hand sliding the band over her finger. She looked at her hand then to him and back at her hand again. The gem was a deep ruby red similar to his ever beloved blood and the band was the same silver as his knives. It was perfect. Just like her Otis was perfect.

“It’s perfect.” She whispered as if it would break if spoke too loud. “But why?”

“What can’t do a fucking nice thing for you?”

“No. No. Thank you. I just don’t understand what’s happening.”

“I’ve told you a hundred times. You are mine forever.” Why couldn’t she get that through her thick skull?

She fiddled with the ring on her finger, “I know. And I’m happy to be yours forever. But, but this feels like you wanna marry me or something. And I…”

“Well we ain’t having no big ole party and it ain’t gonna be legal. But married and forever are the same things,” he interrupted her.

She took a deep breath, she imagined he wouldn’t like what she was about to say and needed to muster up all her courage. “I know I get that. But married also means one and only forever. You are my one and only but am I yours? Married means no other girls.”

Otis put the box holding the rings down and grabbed her face in both hands making her look up at him.

“Princess, ain’t had anyone in my bed except you since I brought you in it. Knew you was something special. A man’s gotta settle down sometime. Get him a sexy little housewife. Hell maybe even knock you up have little brats running around. Mama and Baby would love that.” Sincere. He was being sincere and true and kind and all the things she didn’t even think Otis Driftwood knew what the definitions were.

Tears flowed down her cheeks flooding over his hands. “Really? You want a family? With me?”

“Fuck yeah I do Princess. Any woman that can slice an ankle that clean and not flinch when the blood hits her face is a woman I wanna keep.” He kissed her and rested his forehead against her, “Don’t mean I’m gonna be nicer. I will still cut your throat if you leave or do anything stupid. Still gonna pull you by your hair. And fuck you how I like whenever I like.” He grabbed her hair and yanked her to slide before sinking his teeth into her neck. There was the Otis she knew and, in a sick twisted way, loved. He pulled back and grinned at her with her blood running down his chin.

“Let’s go back and finish our art piece.” He led her back up the stairs and found their models ready to pose.

After working on the art piece for hours she was again covered in blood and guts and pieces of someone else’s flesh were stuck to her. Otis gave the piece a once over and turned to her, equally as messy as she was.

“I don’t think I’ve seen anything more perfect. Besides you Princess.” He smirked at her and winked.

She didn’t know what game this was but she hoped they played it forever. All the sweet words he had been whispering in her ear, as he guided her hands showing her how to work on the art piece and use his many tools, were sounding more and more like a dream come true. He wanted to marry her, well he had ‘married’ her, and wanted a family with her. That was something she always dreamed of- being a mother and having a family. Even if her family was messed up and sick in the head. She was excited about the future.

“Let’s get you clean up and off to bed, Princess.” He kissed her forehead and took her to the shower to clean again. She truly felt like she was in a dream. Once they were clean he took her to bed and let her curl up on him like he did the day before.

“We‘ll take them to Spaulding tomorrow. I’ll bring you with me.” He promised her.

“Thank you. For everything you have done for me. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy in my whole life.” She looked up and pressed a kiss to his jaw.

“Me either, Princess. Me either.” He held her face and kissed her forehead. “Now sleep and don’t fucking wake up until the sun is shining.”

[myth-of-light]

Sorry to bother you a second time with an ask(none of my friends know kid Icarus so I got no one to talk to about)

But when hades pokes fun at pits inability to fly palutena states “his wings just don’t work right”

I googled “wing deformities” and the first thing that came up was angel wing, a deformity where rapid wing development causes the wing to outgrow proper bone support, causing the wing to bend out at an unnatural angle and a permanent inability to fly

And what’s it caused by?

An unhealthy diet of rich protein and carbohydrates.

And we know pit loves food. Specifically things like sweets and fast food, based on his distaste for veggies as stated in Palutenas Revolting Dinner

I rest my case

Well apologies, but I am going to challenge your case! A year late! (I am always happy to receive ask dw)

And if anyone notices mistakes below please comment! espically with formatting.

Angel Wing Syndrome

Angel Wing Syndrome is a deformity that effects aquatic birds, such as ducks and geese. Angels, like Pit, are typically inspired by the Dove and other birds that are typically non-aquatic birds. But let's say Pit is a swan or something, this still doesn't fit.

Angel Wing Syndrome also limits or completely restricts a bird from flying, which isn't the case for Pit, he can flap/glide on his own and with assistance from the Gods, can fly. If he had Angel Wing Syndrome he would mostly likely not be able to fly at all.

Not to matter that was make Angel Wing Syndrome so recognisable it the physical deformity is has on the bird. Having vitals feathers pulled to the rear. Pit clearly does not have this.

Though I will agree Pit doesn't have the best diet.

There are 10 possible food to have for health, this includes:

Fruits: apples, melons, grapes,

Meaty Foods: meat, hamburgers, sushi

Junk food: cakes, ice cream, doughnuts, bars of chocolate.

There is no vegetables! Unless you count anything in the burger haha.

But this ask did make me wonder, why can't Pit fly? And if there is any evidence in game to why.

I seem to find in an answer in by comparing when Pit can fly vs when he cannot.

Pit's Wings

In the original game he looks like this (oh gods the quality I apologise)

His wings go along his upper back, though pretty small right? Only reaching the neck when stretched out.

But now look at him with the Wings of Pegasus, they reach his head. Now while this could just be a visual to show the Pegasus' Wings Superiority, but perhaps Pit's wings aren't big enough to carry his weight.

But before I came to a conclusion, I looked at Uprising

First two (top layer) are Pit's wings normally where as the last two (bottem) layer is when the Miracle of Flight is activated. It may be hard to see but his wings are bigger when the Miracle of Flight is activated. You can see this when Pit jumps out at the start of a chapter, but can also see this in the cutscene in Ring of Chaos , when Viridi activated Flight.

You can see his wings grow. As seen in the images below and at the beginning of the clip.

I also looked at the pegasus wings for Uprising, but they are turned off because of potential unreliability, according to Palutenas(see image one below), hence they aren't any bigger than normal miracle of flight(image two below).

Note: when Pit is extracted from battle his wings do not change. (image three below)

So when Miracle of Flight is activated, Pit's wings grow? It that just a special detail or does Pit need bigger wings?

Dark Pit's Wings

To figure this out we can also use Dark pit for when he gets Pandora Power.

Pre-Pandora, his wings are similar to Pit's(see first image), but when he gets Pandora they almost double in size (see second image), you can really feel the difference.

But what is fascinating, is that when you fight him again, his wings are back to the average size (see third image). At first I thought this was an inconsistency, but no, as after the battle he seems to activate his wings, become big again (see fourth image).

Dark pit doesn't gain/have better wings, he gains power to activate his own infinite Miracle of Flight, which also make his wings bigger. He seems to prefer smaller wings for flighting (as they probably make them both lighter on their feet).

This makes me think that the Pits don't have big enough (or at the very least strong enough) wings to carry them. So the Miracle of Flight acts as an aid that give them these things while in flight (as Dark pit chooses to deactivated on the ground).

This is probably the answer.

(more speculation below)

But if that is the case, the biggest question is

Why does Pit's Wings Burn/Why is there a limit to the Miracle of Flight?

This part now is just speculation. (Also I am ignoring the last scene of 15min flying for this post, as I just think it's just a credit thing.)

Is seems that if the Miracle of Flight is used for too long Pit gets burnout both metaphorically and physically, his wings catch aflame due to the limit. So why is there a limit, and why does Dark Pit not have it?

The only difference between Pit and Dark Pit is how they gain their miracle of flight.

Dark Pit absorbed Pandora's power, making it his own. Therefore the power he uses to fly is (temporary) his own that he can control and regulate. Whereas Pit has someone else acting upon him, gods for that matter. Who cannot regulate their power being exerted upon him as well as Dark Pit can on himself.

I think it's the different between external vs internal regulation that is the difference between Pit and Dark Pit here. Dark Pit can know exactly how much power/usage he needs for flight whereas the gods made be just shoving a bunch of power in Pit's wings, not knowing how to regulate it correctly to Pit's needs. For the Miracle of Flight to be safe and unlimited, Pit has to be the one giving power to his wings.

But in order to get that power he has to steal it, which has been shown to be unsustainable as Pandora lived on in Dark Pit's wings. Not only that but it had to be all of Pandora's power, who was a goddess. So I don't think Palutena can simply give this power to Pit, as is has to be the power of an entire deity, but if you absorb that power, the deity lives on. While the circumstances of Pandora's revival were rare, there no certain way to know that there isn't other ways an absorbed deity can get their power back.

This makes in unlikely that Pit could one day fly on his own indefinitely. Though can offer explanation on why Dark Pit can fly. But alas, this part is more speculative than the other (hence under the cut). But it is interesting to think about.

Thanks for the ask!

[lackablazeical]

Unlike a certain group of teetles, the miyamotos have morals. And seeing the horrors mona lisa goes through im now wondering what they think of all the messed up stuff their respective teetle counterparts do. Im especially curious about ishida’s view on mona lisa and what don did to her.

Also, I will inhale any raph and chizu crumbs like a black hole.

The bunnies do have morals, but they also have survival instinct. With Mona, she is unable to be freed really because of how her muzzle works, and how Donnie has broken her mentally, Mona isn't working to escape because of Stolkholm syndrome, and she'd starve or lose her teeth if she did escape.

Chizu has actually never met Mona, they put her in her cage if Chizu is over bc Chizu would throw a fit over it. She knows Raph has anger issues but hasn't ever SEEN Raph hurt someone else. She'd be more cautious if she had.

Ishida kinda uses himself as a meat shield because he doesn't like Donnie experimenting on other creatures, especially ones who clearly don't consent (so he'll, say, take the place of a dog Donnie was gonna test on). He hates that Don has locked up Mona and broken her so deeply, but is unable to do much about it, so he mostly does what he can to make her life as nice as possible (like feeding her from the dinner table or bringing her markers w/o Donnie knowing).

Usagi became completely numb to Leo after a while, after the standard horror and all-consuming terror that meeting the Hamatos brings. Usagi treats Mona nicely, but also tends to treat her like a pet like the Hamatos do, perhaps a bit nicer but she makes him uncomfy. Mona is very sweet and caring to Usagi, she knows he's stuck like she is.

Kenichi doesn't interact with her much but is in the same boat as Ishida, he doesn't like it but can't DO much. Kenichi is a fixer in the end, he knows and hates a lot of what Mikey says and does, but he wants to fix Mikey and make him better and give him a good influence, so he stays and tries and savors every minor slight glimpse of humanity Mikey shows.

[rennorthernlights]

I’ll Take Care of You

Don’t Feed the Strays

Overall Warnings For This Series: MINORS DNI+18 and over only! Kidnapping, dub-con, smut, kinks will be added to their respective chapters, obsessive behavior, yandere behavior, manipulation, death, near-death, threats, blood, medical inaccuracies, burning alive in the first chapter, scars, burn scars, drugging, being kept against your will, and Stockholm syndrome. The preview to the chapters that will be written. Ghost is not good but he’s not all bad…ish. Growing an obsession overtime as his self-control deteriorates. All he needs is one little push to make you his. If only it didn’t have to be so brutal to have you all to himself. But it’s okay. He’ll take care of you.

This is a Ghost x Reader/(Y/N) Word Count: 700 words No physical descriptions except scarring on body, no use of names for Reader/(Y/N), She/Her pronouns for Reader/(Y/N).

You never should’ve looked at him the way you did. Should’ve kept your head down when Soap told you that he doesn’t warm up to people easily. Should’ve kept your sweet smiles to yourself. Should’ve stayed away but you didn’t.

No, no, no, like a stray you kept coming to him. Kept putting yourself in his jaws. Feeding him kindness that he didn’t deserve. Didn’t your mother tell you to not feed the strays? Didn’t you mother warn you about dogs that bite even when you give them the best meats? Stupid, naive girl don’t even realize how he’s got his teeth into you. But you’d let him bite. You bare your neck so sweetly to him and you don’t even know you do that, do you?

He could eat you whole and you’d let him, wouldn’t you? You should’ve stayed away, why didn’t you stay away? Was he not rude enough? Was he not cold enough? Gruff and cold shoulders and yet you stay. A stern glare from him makes all the recruits and transfers leave him alone but not you darling. Months of you trying, chipping away at his self-control, chipping away at his restraint. And what little restraint he has when it’s you, but he manages, tries to manage but you make it hard.

The mornings when you’re sleepy and tired, yawning and rubbing your face, how you perk up when he hands you a cup of tea. Staring up at him with surprise but you’re grateful for it. Grateful for his little kindness and it makes him want to scoop you up. Saying your thank you’s like a good girl. His good girl. You chatter and speak about your day, your week your shift, it, doesn’t matter. He’ll listen even if you talk about the different types of mechanical pencils. He went from loathing your voice to needing to hear it. Seeking you out like a dog to a bone.

Glaring at the snot nosed brats that try and take your attention from him. Standing behind you like a black void as the brats get increasingly nervous as you smile and laugh. Giving you some form of touch when your bodies are close enough. Even if he’s just passing by, he’ll let his hand graze against your back. He’s never been one for touching but god does he need to touch you. Knees touching yours during briefs. Arms on the back of the couch when you sit next to him, his thumb and index finger rubbing the ends of your hair idly. You lean into him, and it takes everything in him to not have you on the couch. Push his mask up and bite an kiss marks into your neck as he grips your hair but no. No, he’s got good enough impulse control.

He’s always had restraint until you. Always in control until you. Always levelheaded. Always, always, always.

And then you got hurt. Hurt so badly that you were forced out of the military with an honorable discharge. That day burned into his brain, his memories, his nose. He nearly lost all of his restraint at your screams and cries of pain. One bad day and it was over. His poor girl. His sweet girl. His.

The halls of the base are darker, mess hall is too loud, recruits are too dependent, everything is out of order. Keeping tabs on you through cameras that he’s secretly installed. It’s just to keep you safe. Who else is going to watch over you? It’s not like your family is even helping you. It’s not like they’re trying anyways. He watched over you when you were on base and he’ll watch over you when you’re at home. There’s no difference to him. You’re his and you need someone with you even though you stubbornly try to do it all on your own.

He’s been getting more and more aggressive on his missions the more he thinks about you. Blood on his mask that makes him more monster than human when he spots his reflection. It’s always you he looks for. You, who became a part of his daily routine on base. Walking pass your room on base where some fucker has already moved in and taken it. Someone replaced your position, but they could never replace you. You, who sneaked so far into his heart. Captured the last pieces of Simon Riley that he wonders…

Who’s actually the stray?

[ch1-kasak0]

Oh hey look I'm done🔥🔥

Anyway uhm I don't have a lot uhhhhhh it's 4am nearly for me so I should probably sleep but I can't be assed what do I do🤕🙏

Whoo dee doo♪♬

✭Bendy

•his horns are bendable, even when he isn't actively liquifying, but not as much. For example when he’s normal you'll be able to at the very least bend the tips, but not much beyond that, same with the spiky things on the side of his face

•hay fever. (Fuck summer)

•gets colds easily (fuck winter)

•double jointed knees, freaky🔥

•secretly reads magazines, specifically like fashion and entertainment ones, he's embarrassed by it for some reason

•would probably be a Lana Del Rey listener, only like 3 songs though, maybe he'd like rock lobster, his sense of music is all over the place but loves swing the most

•thrives at dusk, loves sunsets, especially in remote/forested areas, GRGRGRGRGR!!!!!

•is slowly overtime starting to forget what the lake looks like, along with silly vision as a whole, he'll never forget the dancing lady though<3 (is that what it's called? HELP)

✭mugman

•doesn't really like sweets, I mean he likes them, just not as much as the maniac he calls a brother, prefers pies and pastries

•during cups 3 days when he first got the demon blood and died(?) mugs didn't sleep much if at all, he had to be sedated to get any sort of sleep because he was so worried

•Insomnia, exploding head syndrome, sleep paralysis, he's just as horrible at sleep as cup is.. 🤕 he also sleep walks..

•Would text like an elderly person or :), ><,(ʘᴗʘ✿), ˙˚ʚ(´◡`)ɞ˚˙. No in between

•allergic to red meat, little man got attacked by a tick when he was younger (I don't remember which one it was)

•was obsessed with Quadratus when he first met the thing, tried to swim in it but soon learned that was a bad idea (it was COLD❄❄)

✭Sheba

•Chappell Roan and lady Gaga, maybe a little bit of Evangelion or Kendrick Lamar, depends 🙏🔥

•prefers sweet popcorn over salty or sweet n salty, absolute psycho

•does NOT know how to cook, milkshakes she's amazing at, actually cooking is a bit of a struggle, it's edible but not the best🤕

•actually likes licorice fizz wizz

•had appendicitis at some point in her life

✭Marcus

•his favourite anime would be devilman crybaby and devilman ova, prove me otherwise

•when he first got his wings and the little face wings he ripped one of them off, literally out of his head, that shit was BLOODY, he thought it was funny. And he actually keeps it in a jar

•he occasionally fills that jar with watered down shampoo, then opens it and flicks some of it at king dice and pretends it's (.), dice loses his shit everytime, Marcus finds it fucking hilarious but also gets told off by the devil, it's worth it (I would too tbh)

•likes analog horror a lot, his favourite would probably be the painter(if that's right) and the Mandela catalogue

•has a really nice apartment, but like it's modern, VERY modern, you'd see it in 2024 and think it's from the same era

•prefers winter over any season, but prefers Halloween over any holiday

•also likes licorice fizz wizz, he likes all the flavours<333

•bi, maybe pan

•is WAY too sharp on corners, he'd wait until the last second to turn it's terrifying because he's always going over the speed limit, especially if the roads empty🤕 sometimes definitely been thrown out of a window before

✭Oswald

•his hair is about shoulder length (not fur, hair, there's a difference) and he isn't very good at taking care of it, just kinda put it up one day and doesn't take it down until his next shower

•during the time when Ortensias death was recent he would wear her Nightgowns to bed if he could fit in them, still does that sometimes

✭Finley (happy late birthday my little fennec<33)

•took WAY too long to learn how to tie laces, his parents tried to teach him, but it just never clicked for him until he was about a teen

•also has to deal with hay fever 🤕

•also hates winter because his ears get cold

•used to absolutely cherish anything anyone got him, even if it was cheap shit, he'd love it anyway

✭Charles Harris (“Lucky”)

•Prefers champagne over any other alcohol, maybe some gin and lemonade as well, yum

✭Other

•brownies aren't really popular for Grannys house, but Red and Cuphead like them a lot so really they're the only ones eating them other than granny herself

•Marcus and Metatron have met at least once. Even if only briefly.