#the punishment fit the crime but went way too far

[3rdsday]

This is a request for a c! Tommy rant

PLEASE YOUR PERSPECTIVE IS SO INTRIGUING I NEED MORE

thank you:))

Okay I've sat on this for a few days because I didn't feel like I was coherent enough to answer it but I think I'm ready now. This is probably still not super coherent but here we go:

The two rules Tommy was given when he joined the server were “no griefing” and “no stealing”.

Obviously these rules stopped being enforced pretty quickly, but it’s worth noting that Tommy immediately and blatantly disregarded and broke these rules. And I think that Tommy as a character gets punished for this throughout the rest of the story, in a sort of karmic retribution gone overboard way.

Tommy took things from others and destroyed their things, so he is not allowed to keep anything he cares about ever again.

Obviously the discs are the biggest example of this, with how many times they changed hands and were fought over and were used to taunt Tommy. But it goes so much further than that.

L’manberg gets destroyed. He gets exiled by Schlatt. Henry gets killed. L’manberg gets destroyed again. Wilbur’s dead. He gets exiled by Tubbo.

Every day in exile, Dream destroys everything Tommy has. It’s not subtle. There he is, isolated from everyone, no friends, no items, nothing. And he breaks in exile, for many reasons, but the fact that everything, everything has been taken from him, and continues to be taken from him, is a big part of that.

He leaves exile and teams up with Techno, but ultimately decides that L’manberg (Tubbo) is more important to him.

The second Tommy chooses L’manberg, he’s not allowed to have it anymore.

And that’s the thing, right? Everything Tommy loses, it’s not about what those things mean to other people, it’s about the fact that Tommy cared about them. Sure, Techno had his motivations for destroying L’manberg, but Dream? The one pulling the strings? L’manberg needed to be gone because it was what Tommy cared about.

Which was kinda Dream’s whole deal right? If he controls what people care about, he controls the server. If he has Tommy’s discs, he should be able to control Tommy… right?

Except, for as much as the discs matter to Tommy, they are far from the only thing he cares about. He gives them up willingly for L’manberg’s independence. He gives them up a second time when he realizes he’s gone too far, putting them above Tubbo and fighting his best friend. Dream can’t use the discs to control Tommy because Tommy always has other things to care about, other things that would matter to him even if the discs were gone.

So what does Dream have to do?

Take everything else away.

What started with exile comes to a head during the final disc confrontation, with Dream once again making Tommy give up all his possessions the way he’d been conditioned to do. L’manberg is already gone, Dream dealt with that before, so all that’s left is Tubbo.

But things don’t go to Dream’s plan, Tommy convinced the rest of the server to come to his aid, and Dream was defeated.

(Don’t even TALK to me about the disc confrontation being staged by Dream, I don’t want to HEAR IT. It’s not canon to me and if you think I’m wrong. No I’m not <3)

Here’s the thing, though. When Dream was about to be killed a third time, Tommy is stopped by the chance that Dream could revive Wilbur.

Tommy has lost so much, over and over, and the chance to get his brother back is too much for him to go through with killing Dream.

Maybe Dream lost the confrontation, but he still found a way to use Tommy’s attachments against him.

So Dream is put in prison, Tommy has his discs back and, more importantly, Tubbo back. Maybe it’s not everything he once had, but it’s a lot more than he once did.

And then he goes to visit Dream. And Dream kills him.

Limbo is different for every character, but it’s generally supposed to be an experience that’s torturous. And all it takes for Limbo to be the worst thing Tommy has ever experienced is… nothing.

His Limbo is empty.

For all that he lost during exile, during the lowest point of his life… he’s left with even less than death.

All that’s there is the voice of a brother he couldn’t give up attachment to, who is no longer the brother he knew and loved. Who taunts and torments him during his time in that empty void. Wilbur might be there, but Tommy doesn’t even have his brother in Limbo. Not really.

And it kills me because Tommy is, or rather was, such an optimistic character. Not so much in the sense that he had a constant positive outlook, because clearly that wasn’t the case much of the time. But he could have his home destroyed and his friends turned against him and his possessions taken and his pets killed over and over and over and over again, and still find a way to keep going. Still find things to care about.

It generally took very little to make Tommy happy. He loved dirt huts and cobblestone towers and spiders and things that meant nothing to anyone else, that anyone else would treat with neutrality if not negativity.

But in Limbo there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Everything he had, gone.

Even his life was taken from him.

And in the aftermath, after his revival, he was never the same. He didn’t belong among the living, another thing that was taken from him. Wilbur was revived, but Wilbur was so different from the brother Tommy knew. Even then, Wilbur left him in the end.

I hate the finale for a lot of reasons, so I’m not going to go into it much. But the story ends with Tommy dead, again. Is he in Limbo again? Who knows. But Tommy was never allowed to keep anything, and the ending solidified this as true.

I started this by saying that Tommy was punished for breaking the rules of the server. And I think it’s interesting to read the story that way, where Tommy’s relatively small crimes end up resulting in him losing everything again and again and never breaking free of it. This is a story where gods and higher beings exist and are willing to interfere with the lives of the characters, so I don’t think it’s too far fetched to see this as a warped degree of karma. But I also think that what Tommy is punished for, perhaps more than the rule breaking, is the fact that he cares so much. He found joy and love in everything, so he was left with nothing. Because the Dream SMP is a cruel world controlled by a cruel man who became obsessed with Tommy. And Tommy paid the price, but he also never stopped caring for the things that mattered to him. He could be broken but not defeated, not as long as there was more for him to love.

Unfortunately, the story demanded his defeat, one way or another.

And that’s why his Limbo is empty.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Vampire Captures Vampire Hunter to Use as Bloodbag part 19

Warnings: escape attempt gone horribly wrong, aftermath of violent vampire attack, broken bones and lots of blood

It sounded like he was trying to beg, but all that came out was strangled gurgling. Maybe Alex had taken it a bit too far in his fit of rage.

Once the human’s arm was mostly healed he moved on to the other severe injuries, licking them closed one by one as fast as he could to stop Mallory from bleeding out. Cocky idiot.

Mallory was only semi-conscious when he finally finished, eyes rolling back in his skull as he shuddered and shivered from blood loss.

“That's what you get for trying to kill me,” Alex barked impassively. “Let this be a valuable lesson to you–” he scoffed as Mallory suddenly went limp, passing out from the pain. He hadn't even gotten to scold him.

Alex scoffed in annoyance before scooping the human up and carrying him back to the basement. He’d learn to be obedient, in time. But Alex had learned a lesson too, to not underestimate the hunter again. He’d make sure this never happened again.

He dropped the human carelessly on the cold stone floor, letting him flop lifelessly on his side, before tossing the blanket over his bloodied form. Then he left and returned with two pairs of metal cuffs, cuffing Mallory’s ankles together and restraining his wrists in front of him. He wasn't going anywhere now.

Then Alex stormed out of the basement to fume and take his anger out elsewhere. He'd have a lot to say to Mallory when the human awoke.

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

*Mallory’s POV*

Everything hurt. It was the first thing he became aware of as his consciousness trickled back. The ache of his body, the blasting heat ravaging him…

Mallory cracked his eyes open with a weak moan. The world was spinning and swirling in strange ways, and it took a few minutes for his vision to clear and focus.

Then he remembered. His failed escape attempt, the brutal beating he’d endured – he shouldn't be alive right now. He instinctively tried to sit up to check himself for injury and assess the damage, but didn’t even make it an inch off the floor before collapsing with a raspy scream as piercing pain flared through his torso, vicious and hot. He breathed hard through gritted teeth, waiting for it to subside.

His arms twitched, and he realized he couldn’t move much, cold metal biting into his wrists and ankles. So Alex had decided to keep him alive, for now, no doubt to torture him later as punishment for his grave crime. Maybe he'd let Mallory heal just barely enough to endure sessions of torture, letting him recover after each one to stretch out the suffering.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy @floral-comet-whump

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @nevermore-ramblings

[ratherembarrassing]

2024: weeks 36 through 38

here are some things i had thrown into a note

beetlejuice beetlejuice (2024). cute! enjoyable but not mindblowing, but representative of a the middle class of films that no longer exists and which i miss dearly.

corridors of power (bbc, 2024). i'm still making my way through it, but if you're excited by seeing formerly powerful people say absolutely batshit crazy things about the exercise of that power, this might be for you too.

maria abramovich's this or that for GQ germany.

and now: LONDON (a chronological series of happenings)

airplanes: still miserable. i do think that we need to rethink international airtravel, because 23 hours in a plane is just ridiculous. nonetheless, in keeping with tradition, i had a pretty good 8-9 hours sleep, which i measured by having hotd on and every few hours waking up to wonder what all the screaming was about.

immediately spent money on clothes: it could not be helped. i've been staying walking distance from brick lane and these things happen. now i own a levis jacket that's as old as i am that fits me perfectly, as god intended.

food: part 1. took my cousin, who is also in london on holiday rn, to dishoom, per literally everyone's recommendation. you were all entirely correct.

food: part 2. abuelo in marylebone, served me some vanilla fig jam on a plate of random other foods that was, without exaggeration, the most delicious thing i have ever eaten. i literally asked if i could buy a jar. i could not, and i will feel sad about this for the rest of my life.

punished for the crime of being interested in a crime: the british museum. the parthenon room was closed, so what even was the point. anyway, i was generally unimpressed, with some exceptions (who amongst us is not moved by the existence of the rosetta stone, also a very good prints and drawings exhibition). but also my god, would it kill them to install some aircon (a sentiment i have felt applies to almost everywhere i have been in london thus far)?

very far away: kingsmeadow. opening week for my beloved chelsea, i could have wept from happiness. sat next to a local woman and her husband who come every week and talk about the team like they are each girl's parents and biggest stans, and it was entirely perfect.

did i mention: CHAPPELL FUCKING ROAN. yes, i queued for like five hours. i was 68th in the priority queue, which is behind the vips but in front of everyone else. all i did to get in that queue was buy an o2 sim card for £20, which i needed anyway. it was fun, everyone made friends, you could come and go as you pleased and we all made sure everyone got their spot back even as we were repeatedly shuffled up the side street behind the brixton o2. it was nice and wholesome and exactly what you would expect from the 99% of people who aren't assholes and also into this lovely woman. the rest is just a blur of askldhjalsk. objectively, she's not the best performer going right now, the show's not overly produced beyond a set list of songs and a bit of banter, and absolutely none of that matters in the face of how quietly charismatic she is and the absolutely insane set of pipes she's got. it was fucking intense, man. zero regrets about the time and money (oh my god, the money) it took to make this happen, delighted to have corrected my grievous mistake of choosing not to go to her show in melbourne last year.

i don't think my insurance covers this: ebiking across north and east london. first attempt was, uh. ill conceived, and i will never recover from seeing my phone go flying in one direction into the street as i went skidding along in the wet, still in the bike lane. phone's fine, i'm fine, not sure why i decided today was the day to ride a bike for the first time in 15 years. second attempt went much better.

sportsball 2: this time bigger! like the absolute turncoat that i am, i also went to arsenal's opener at emirates with 40k other people. sat next to a woman with her 13 year old daughter who come every few months and who noted early on, pointedly, that it was unfortunate we weren't sitting on the other corner, where we would have been closer to the WAGs. love this mum for this kid.

food: part 3. i just ate the most delicious burger i've ever eaten, wtf???

coming up: i fought a battle with booking.com, and i won, and tomorrow i'm off down the south coast for a few days. LA's roads didn't kill me, but london's might.

[fraudulent-cheese]

Do you think they made Dave a bit of a straw man near the end of Pahkitew? Like it always felt to me they needed someone to use as a hate buffer you know since they couldn't use any of the antagonists they had already made. And this is coming from someone who likes Dave. He was just a pathetic guy who had some charm to him if explored and used them correctly but in the end he was... Mauled by a robotic bear? The punish may fit the crime, the culprit sure doesn't.

-Pahkitew anon

Total Drama in general has a problem with over punishing it's antagonistic characters in general. I mean, Heather's head getting shaved off is fine imo? It's harsh, but also a punishment in line with her character; if her hair's the hottest thing about her, taking it is a fitting punishment (again. Really fucking harsh). Same with Justin's downfall, caused by him actually liking a girl instead of just charming one. I haven't watched the ending of Action so i can't say anything for how Courtney's elimination is treated.

However, as the series went on, the antagonist punishments started going... way too far. I think the writers just thought that making Ezekiel a weird creature was funny and the volcano erupting would've made for a dramatic finale, but making Alejandro both get burnt alive by it and then stuffing him in a robot suit for over a year is just overboard. Same thing with Scott in ROTI; the trauma chair's implications just get worse the more you think about it - at least Alejandro could speak in the machine at first!

I won't cover the Reboot in this context, but i will cover PI: mostly because this season seemingly has 2-3 antagonists, and most don't carry the plot. Scarlett's an actual antagonistic force for a single episode and doesn't get any punishment on screen outside of elimination (and being sent with Max). Sugar is who im pretty sure the writters wanted to treat as an antagonist? But she doesn't feel like an overarching vilain since she's mostly just doing her own thing all season and the show's just... really mean to her? The narrative repeatedly treats her as unattractive, annoying and dismisses her abilities (specifically in singing) when she's like. Fine. in those aspects. She's also not the smartest, but knows how to use the rules to her advantage (see Ella's elimination, probably the worst thing she does all season)

Getting to the actual topic of your ask now, Dave's heel turn to murder just... feels a little off. Oh sure if the writing insisted on the conditions on the island wearing him down and having Sky be the only positive connection he had (especially considering his attitude towards relationships), having it torn down like this could make it work? At least a little better? But by the episode he's eliminated in he seems to be doing ok.

In general the finale just seems to exacerbate Dave's worst traits for either comedy reasons or plot reasons (pre and post Sky-has-a-boyfriend reveal), but i could personally excuse it if his reaction was more akin to one he'd have before. He would not have reacted well to the reveal, hell him trying to stop Sky from winning could've worked but like??? Not like this man! Im not asking the Total Drama teenager to have a reasonnable reaction, im asking the Total Drama Writters to stick with the character they wrote, and frankly it would be funnier if he failed miserably in trying to get back at Sky or something. Out of all the seasons i feel like either TDAS or TDPI should've ended with the contestants fighting back against Chris instead of the actual endings we got.

Also, as a final clarification: Dave wasn't mauled by a bear (onscreen), Scuba bear was just standing behind him as the entire season ended. I guess my big problem is that he gets consequences for his actions during a single episode and not actions from over the course of the entire season; frankly Sky rejecting him is enough consequences, the dude's pathetic and didn't listen to her 'but', multiple times.

[starguardianniom]

Shadybug and Chloé

So I read that many people were peeved that Chloé Bourgeois got namedropped when Shadybug was ranting to Ladyfly about how she didn't have a good life and only knew pain and suffering at the ends of Chloé and well, I feel like it kinds of fit though?

Hear me out first before branding your pitchforks please.

In Shadybug and Claw Noir's world, Betterfly says that any forms of mutual aid is a CRIME.

So let's just say that probably shades some lights on why Shadybug is so angry and bitter and jealous of Ladybug, she has no one to turn to but her partner who tries to backstab her constantly and wouldn't mind killing her off without a second thought if she pushed her luck too much.

If helping someone else is a crime in their world, it would probably explain why Shadybug has no friends, the girl squad trying to comfort her back in Derision the year before and Socqueline standing up for her would probably get them in serious trouble and it wouldn't be with just Chloé, but probably the teachers and other students witnessing them help Emonette in any way.

No idea what would be the punishment, but most likely something they don't dare to try to chance it.

So they are not close to Emonette and don't befriend her, so she is really alone to face her bully.

Who is probably worse than the actual Chloé if there is really no one stopping her from making Emonette feeling even worse.

The Supreme being the main villain and not Gabriel changed some stuff in their world, and it starts with different laws and views on some things, and one of them is helping others in any way is seen as criminal.

Apparently being decent in that universe makes you a pariah or something like that.

That might also explains why Shadybug says she doesn't have a nice mom, her mom probably doesn't dare to do anything against her bullying, or even if she is maybe concerned about it, can't help her because again it's a crime to help others in that universe apparently.

Not that even if she did try, Chloé is most likely still the daughter of the mayor in that universe too and can get away with it while probably having Emonette and Sabine being punished for any perceived slight against her, weither she is in the right or wrong. We saw several examples in the show of her doing just that, and some where before and after she became Queen Bee so.

And let's not forget that Emonette doesn't have Alya either, so she probably went through what Marinette went through 4 seasons with Chloé on a different scale, given there are no heroes but Betterfly to defend them and inspire them, and since helping others is not acceptable, Chloé has no one to look up to and idolize and wanting to be better, this universe seems to encourage people to be worse instead of better and anyone thinking the opposite becomes a criminal.

Again, their universe is quite different from the one the show takes place in and maybe it would help to remember that.

Sure it sucks for all of Chloé's fans to have her name dragged in the mud again it seems, but it's a different Chloé from quite a nasty piece of work of a universe as far as I can tell, so to me it checks out.

Because at the beginning before Marinette heard about Adrien and he becoming Ladybug to save Paris her biggest concern was Chloé Bourgeois.

She had known Chloé for years and was her favorite target, and given she was a normal teenager back then, her bully being her biggest source of angst, given how nasty Chloé is and with her father's name backing her up, seems to have it big on her plate.

Because the only person who ever gave Marinette a hard time was Chloé, never the others students, until that one time in Derision with Kim but well we're not gonna dwell on that anymore.

So it makes sense Emonette's biggest concern who made her life horrible was also Chloé Bourgeois until she got her miraculous from the Supreme, if no one else was willing to being marked a criminal for daring to help her via actual laws.

Because if people forgot about it the Supreme had no problem using two 14 years old teenagers to become his enforcers while also hiding the fact that using their powers for evil would destroy them, and those kids were fucking working for him willingly, so imagine how other 14 years old kids (mainly the class) would fare if they dared breaking the law for Emonette by helping her in any way?

Not much better it seems, given the Supreme was willing to let 2 teens die slowly despite their loyalty to him it means most likely being a kid isn't an excuse to break the law.

Gabriel said people lived in fear of the Supreme, I got a pretty good idea of why when thinking about it all.

I'm legit scared of Emonette's universe not gonna lie.

Helping people being a crime there, think about it for a second.

Chloé would have no reason to change for the better unless she would want to have problems with the actual ruler of the world.

Sounds far fetched but then again the Supreme was also able to prevent people from making a wish with Gimmi, aka the actual top god so yeah, it sucks but it's how it is in that universe.

BUT. BUT.

Doesn't mean that Emonette can't make Chloé change to become a better person in the future, but we probably won't see that happening if we ever see her again, or if we do it will probably just be mentionned quickly, or they will have bigger concerns to deal with.

[vaporwavebeach-writes]

Punishments

BTAA Scarecrow x gn! Reader (NSFW)

(1,567 words)

Summary: You are punished by the Scarecrow and he’s a complete menace about it.

Warnings/Tags: 18+, vibrator, handcuffs, dom/sub dynamics, punishments (duh), fear play, light nipple play, blood, penetration, rough sex, teasing/orgasm denial, crane being a sadistic asshole (but in a hot way)

Notes: I think I went a little crazy with this one, but I’m happy with it. also threw in some more reader-having-a-spine rep bc it’s fun to write and we all deserve it. enjoy the fic

-

“You asshole,” you moaned exhaustedly.

“That may be true,” he crooned, “but I’m not the one who decided to start the marathon early.”

Hearing the soft hum of the vibrator power back on, you braced yourself once again for the incoming onslaught of delicious agony.

How did we get here?

More importantly, how did you get here?

-

With a click, the cuffs that held your hands over your head against the headboard, were fastened.

You could only imagine how vulnerable you looked right now. In addition to the restraint of your hands, you were in nothing but your underwear and an old t-shirt. Behind you was a pillow, which kept you sitting upright to the bed. You kept your legs shut to maintain some level modesty, but with a partner like Jonathan Crane, your modesty was the last thing you needed to worry about.

Feeling his fingers tilt your head up, your eyes met his. A mischievous grin spreads across his face.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this, but you left me no choice,” Jonathan sighs with false disappointment.

“Jon, you were gone for like, 3 hours,” you retort. “The Midnight Movie Matinee was already starting, what was I gonna do? Not watch it? It’s a live recording.”

“Fair point, but you know I’ve been looking forward to this one all week.” You feel his cold and calloused hand trail up your leg, stopping dangerously close to your inner thigh, making you shiver. “…And also, I just needed to find an excuse to punish you, it’s been far too long.”

“But I was planning on filling you in anyway,” you shoot back.

“Aw,” he chuckles dryly, “that is such a sweet sentiment, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind the further we get along.”

“The further we get along?” You raise an eyebrow.

Crane says nothing as he rummages around through the drawers. Your brain runs wild with the endless possibilities of whatever it is he’ll use to torment you tonight. With a wolfish grin, he turns around. You quickly spot the small vibrator he was now equipped with.

“What the hell is that?” You ask tensely.

You know full well what it is; you’re not stupid. The question more so implied the notion of what exactly it was he would be doing with it.

“Oh don’t look so nervous, it’s just a bullet vibe.” He says matter-of-factly. “I figured to let the punishment fit the crime, you were, what? 3 hours in? That should be sufficient.”

Your eyes widen to the size of dinner plates followed by a nervous chuckle. “3 hours? Did I say that?” You begin frantically. “I mean, if you really wanna get specific, it was um, really more like, uh, 2 hours and 26 minutes?” You plead, attempting to realistically shorten the time of your impending torture and hoping to God that he wouldn’t detect the uncertainty laced in your voice.

With a sadistic snicker, he gently coaxes your legs open. “You’re cute, begging like anything could get you out of this.” He grins maliciously, softly tracing over your clothed sex.

Trying your best not to move, your breath hitches in your throat. By giving him a reaction- any reaction at all, you would only be making it worse for yourself by giving him what he wants. As turned on as you were getting, you weren’t one to submit so willingly.

“I don’t beg,” you sigh, “I negotiate.”

Jonathan lets out an amused hum while getting onto the bed. His eyes remain dark with lust as he leans forward to take in your scent, his mouth beginning to pepper your neck with hungry kisses. When he moves forward, you feel his knee dig into your arousal, where a quiet moan exits your lips. Quickly snapping your mouth shut, Crane looks disgustingly satisfied when he pulls away.

“Oh really?” he drawls, “because from where I’m sitting, you are in absolutely no position to even try to negotiate.” His irritatingly smug voice rings through your ears.

Dammit. He’s fucking right, but you don’t cave.

“2 hours and 26 minutes, doctor.” Your gaze locks with his. “I’ll admit, I was very bad for starting without you,” you allow your voice to drop an octave, continuing to maintain eye contact with the increasingly aroused Jonathan Crane sitting before you. “… But, I will not let myself be punished for a second longer than I need to be.”

Crane stares at you with an expression mixed with curiosity and respect. There’s a brief silence in the room, save for the shuffling of the sheets as he shifts his position. He towers over you, but you are not intimidated.

“Fine,” he grins. He lays a quick kiss on your cheek and begins to slowly make his way down to your neck. The pseudo-tenderness of him kissing into you is sharply contrasted by the venom in his voice when he leans back up to whisper in your ear. “But I won’t make this easy for you,” his hand reaches down, rubbing you through your underwear. “…And if I find out you’ve been lying to me, you are going to catch so much hell and it’s going to be fucking beautiful,” he all but moans the last word when he finally reaches the spot that makes you jolt.

You shudder at his threats; the fear and arousal rip through you like tidal waves. After several minutes, his movements become jerky, lightening up the friction on your sex, causing you to buck into his hand. Letting out a chuckle at your desperation, Crane powers on the vibrator and you can only shift in terrified excitement.

“Nervous?” He asks, pushing your leg to the side, “you should be.” You brace yourself for nothing as Jonathan unexpectedly runs the vibe along your inner thighs. Apprehension spikes within your chest the closer and closer he moves to your core, only for him to snap it away.

Fucking tease.

You begin to squirm as he traces up to your sternum, making his way across your chest. You let out a restrained mewl, arching your back when the toy reaches your nipples through your shirt.

“Don’t quiet yourself,” he growls, “I want to hear every single sound that leaves your impatient mouth.” He continues ghosting over your sensitive buds. You writhe in delectable anguish, remaining defiant as you attempt to stifle any moan he tries to force out of you.

Growing frustrated, Jonathan finally drives the vibrator down to your aching sex, causing a loud and pornographic moan to erupt from your throat. Your face burns with shame.

“See?” He smiles wickedly. Crane slips the vibrator past your underwear, and presses it off, much to your chagrin. He coats the toy in your fluids; your cheeks flush at how embarrassingly turned on you are. “Not feeling so brave now, are we?”

“Go to hell,” you chuckle hoarsely.

“Oh wow,” Crane laughs. “You really don’t know when to quit do you?”

“I figure if you’re going to punish me anyway, I might as well get my digs in too.”

Jonathan’s gaze pierces into you hungrily. He’s quiet for a moment, huffing out a laugh until he meets your eyes once again. “…Fascinating,” is all that he utters.

Giving you no time to process, you see the vibrator swiftly set to the side. Jonathan grabs your face as he slams his mouth into yours. The kiss is sloppy; the sounds you two make are filthy as they echo across the walls. Your tongues messily bump into each other’s. Nipping at one another’s lips, you begin to taste the flavor of metal in your mouth, not giving a shit if the blood you were tasting was his or yours.

You catch your breath heavily as the air around you grows thick with arousal. Frantic sounds of a belt buckle unfastening, pants dropping to the floor, and the tearing of a condom wrapper invigorate your senses. The newfound urgency for lust seems to have infected Jonathan as well, as he all but crumples your underwear off your legs, leaving you exposed.

His mouth continues to ravage yours when he finally enters you. Your lower half aches deliciously, feeling yourself be spread apart by Crane’s cock. He pounds into you ferociously, eliciting moans you never thought you were capable of making begin to tumble their way out of your throat. His pace is violent, yet his hands find their way to yours, which are still firmly locked above your head. His fingers interlace with yours for a surprisingly intimate moment in the midst of one another’s chaotic passion.

You feel yourself begin to unravel. As you wail pathetic obscenities into his mouth, Jonathan begins to slow down significantly. You whine when he stops completely, desperately longing for his touch.

“Oh come on now, did you really think I’d let you finish that easily?” Letting out another one of his signature sadistic chuckles, Crane pushes your retrained hands further into the headboard for emphasis.

As if you weren’t already sweating enough, you can certainly feel the perspiration forming at your temples. Feeling exhaustedly fucked out, but unsatisfied, you glare at Crane.

“Don’t give me that look,” he laughs huskily, “You’re being punished, we still have 2 hours to go, remember?”

“You asshole.”

“That may be true, but I’m not the one who decided to start the marathon early.”

[warrior-cats-rewritten]

You punish Bramblestar just enough. Enough to make up for all the times canon and its authors kissed his ass, putting an abusive tyrant on a pedestal over all other characters. It’s both satisfying, compelling, and kinda funny; a fitting end for someone so blatantly yet subtly abusive and corrupt, but somehow also petty and childish in a way no other character is. My favourite staple of Warriors rewrites to show how far their stance is from canon is giving Bramble actual, at times genuinely REALISTIC consequences for his actions. It’s a deserved spit in the face to the idea of hyping up some toxic fragile asshole as a noble hero, like the cognitive dissonance that persists in the books and the authors seem to genuinely believe. Did I mention the lightning is SO funny, it’s like a fire scene in terms of iconicness to me. Deserved. Bramble stans stay loosing, y’all can’t even form an argument.

In terms of the Holy Firestar Lightning Attack, I wanted something quick, "divine looking", and just strange enough that it crossed the border of possible magic. Something I feel fits into Warriors.

I'll never "over punish" a character. Thistleclaw gets a fitting end, ripped open like a bag of doritos by Snowfur, realizing his ideals have actually pushed her away, and that after all this time, Snowfur changed. He dies in complete shock and betrayal.

Tom The Wifebeater gets eaten by One Eye, mind you it was in front of poor Sparrow Fur, but afterwards One Eye uses his dark Sun God magic and consumes Tom's soul as well.

Clear Sky is pancaked on the side of the road by two Twolegs, his body left in the small ditch (respectfully, as they are humans who felt terrible for hitting a kitty and had no way of burying him) before they look out over what is going to be Skyclan's land, realizing how nice it would be to expand Chelford into that area.... Thus setting in motion the events of Skyfall. His spirit is used by Bright Storm to BECOME the Dark Forest barrier.

Gray Wing dies alone and bitter when he pushes away all forms of help, becoming a hateful spirit that perpetuates a curse that's timer has finally hit 0 on, resulting in the death/displacement of all 5 Clan leaders, starting with Riverclan. He also manifests himself through the unlucky offspring of 2 cursed bloodlines (Tigerkin and Applekin) Curlfeather. I'm not giving away his defeat yet though!

For Brambleclaw, I wanted that classic Warrior cats feel, and I think getting smote by holy lightning similar to Mudclaw fits that.

A lightning bolt during plain daylight is already considered a freak event like that has only ever happened once before in Clan history, to the magic user Ṣ̶̫̅n̴̹̯̾̒o̸̜͛ẁ̷͍t̵̰̎ủ̴̲͝f̷̙̳̆t̸̼͐ who got magic BANNED because he used it to ruin Sunningrocks and put generations of bloody wars and pointless fighting in place.

The only cat I've ever gone "too far" with is in an in-universe example of a cat who was punished for her mother's crimes, as her mother had murdered an apprentice. When her apprentice went missing later, she was blamed, and exiled. She also didn't go to Starclan, or the Dark Forest, but rather, somewhere much, much more dangerous.

[cdroloisms]

j!Dream and freedom. What does it taste like. How does he sleep. He knows where Sam’s island is.

just remembered that i had this ask ive been saving since before i went on my trip HALLELUJA H

j!Dream and freedom :(( he meets up with Punz and tells him nothing. Been a while, huh? Sorry, sorry, things went a little--yeah. Thanks. His new armor doesn't fit very well, and one of his first tasks is just roughly grinding it down to fit better. Netherite is heavy. He is...not.

Daedalus in JMAH comes and goes. It lasts a little longer than canon, until j!Dream realizes that he can't fucking think about Sam as long as he's in the prison, as long as they're under the same roof, and kills him with an axe to the heart. It should keep him from thinking about Sam so much. (It works some. Just not as much as he'd hoped.) He sleeps worse, though, with Sam out there. With nothing to anchor himself to. The inside of the prison leaves his heart hammering, sometimes, the adrenaline making it impossible to get any rest--a few times, he collapses outside when Pandora is too much to bear, only to wake up to mobs at all sides. He's lucky that no one else finds him, he supposes. (He wishes--)

The problem with killing Sam to put him out of his mind is that he knows where he is. Always. He keeps a boat in his inventory justincase, finds his feet carrying himself towards beaches leading towards it when his mind wanders. (His mind wanders a lot. He feels like he can't keep his damn head on straight anymore.) Some stupid, sick part of his head is always keeping track, a compass pointed north, a goddamn rope around his neck no matter how far he flees. He's not sure what he would do, if he found Sam for real. He's not sure what the Warden would do with a new scar over his chest. Better to not know, really.

He keeps a notebook on him, fantasies and nightmares and memories all overlapping. He hates looking at it, and sometimes it feels like the only thing keeping him sane. (He keeps a collection of potion bottles on him as well, despite the demand on inventory space. If anyone asks, well, sometimes, the only thing that can clear his head is a sip of harming, but hey. Who's asking? Not Sam, anymore.) He'd never been one to pride himself on his handwriting, but between broken fingers and the wither damage and the way that his hands won't stop shaking, it's gotten quite a bit worse. Half of the words are scratched out anyway, so it's not like that matters. It's not like anyone else will be reading this. (Sam...would sometimes give him books to write. A stupid punishment, obviously, but Dream learned to look forward to them--something to do other than sitting and staring at a wall. Even if the thing to do was just writing down his crimes a hundred times, or whatever.) There's a page that's just the word eat written a couple dozen times in an effort to reproduce the sound of the Warden's voice in his head. And so it goes.

Dream is free, his own prison falling into disrepair around him. Sometimes, he can almost pretend that he's not still waiting for Sam to come back.

[sarahmadisonxoxo]

The Heartless King

There are many qualities that Steve is well loved for, but none comparing to the compassion he has for people. At his core as an individual, his ability to care for others safety and wellbeing, many times before he considers his own is what distinguishes him from what can usually be a cold world.  Steve’s bleeding heart is a staple to his character, it’s easily recognized by anyone who truly stops to watch him. However, with his past mistakes that good was sometimes easily overlooked in favor of accepting the bad things that easily overshadowed. One negative thing could be easier to accept than a dozen positives. Steve couldn’t believe it himself sometimes that he was worthy of love in any sense. Platonically with those who’d slowly become like family to him, those who gave his life purpose and meaning.  Romantically well. Addressing his own romantic life felt like a joke. There were people he’d felt at one time could be for him. Often those relationships stranded him in ashes, memory’s and promises torching at the slightest heat. He’d long accepted that it would never be in the cards for him.  It hardly mattered these days. Steve was set to be married to Nancy Wheeler, a noble woman who’d seemingly make the perfect bride for Hawkins future King. A brilliant mind. Lovely face. Given by her father in addition to land and other various things that Steve guessed he was supposed to care for. With enough of his own riches those gifts in tandem to the hand of his daughter felt strange. He understood his place. Marrying Nancy was just apart of countless duties that came with the crown.  Nancy was a wonderful girl. In the short time they’d been engaged Steve was able to find that for as far as arranged pairs went they made a good one. Love blossomed  between the pair. Steve and Nancy both found peace that despite the lack of desire in their pairing, there was room for a friendship. He’d never have the love that kept him awake at night, but the person at his side wouldn’t just feel like a stranger.  The engagement period was short. Everyone eager for a royal wedding, a shift in the dark and dreary day to day lives. It served as a beacon for the people to look upon. Filling the stoned streets with chatter that held more light than the usual talk of death and crime. Which execution would serve to be the most interesting.  Steve agreed everyone deserved the distraction. From his place in the castle he couldn’t see the horrible things his father’s policies were doing to people. Hidden from those things out of the hopes of others that Steve could be convinced this was just the way of the world.   George Harrington hadn’t taken fondly to the idea that his only son was so soft. There were things he believed Steve would never understand. The world had winners and losers and those people should never intermix. It was the job of the privileged to convince everyone else those differences didn’t exist. Letting few move up to the ranks of nobility through marriage or establishing businesses. Those lucky few were still seperated. Walking amongst the upper class with the permission to pretend they fit in. Quietly mocked amongst those who pretended to let them in.  Steve’s heart had been too much like his mothers. So much that George had taken the matters of fixing the issue in his own hands. Striking a deal with the devil himself. Edward Munson. An immortal creature who’s name would strike fear amongst Hawkins bravest.  Such dealings were forbidden under the penalty of witchcraft. Met with the harshest of punishments imaginable.  What were rules to a King?  It would be set. Upon Steve’s marriage the curse would begin it’s effect. Taking the burden of Steve Harrington’s heart with it. Steve would no longer feel emotion. Joy. Sadness. Love.  George Harrington’s kingdom would be safe.  Steve would never know the day’s he had to share moments with his friends were numbered. His only hope to forgo his duty or bargain with the devil with nothing more to offer.  “ Three more day’s” Robin muttered under her breath, staring at the deep red tinted cherry wood of Steve’s bedroom chambers.  “ You can still talk to her Robin” Steve felt horrible for Robin, her crush on Nancy blossoming almost the second she saw her. He hated knowing in public he was the person that Robin felt jealousy toward. There was a difficulty to being engaged to his best friends crush. He hated being apart of the reason Robin couldn’t confess her feeling’s to Nancy.  There were rules. Homosexuality was forbidden, but Steve couldn’t find himself able to care. Robin deserved happiness, Steve was almost certain the feelings were reciprocated.  “ There’s no use...” her voice barely above a whisper struck him like a bus. “ Steve you marry her in three more days. Even if you weren’t it’s not like we would have had a chance. “  “ Robin” Steve tried interjecting, his brain screaming to fix it. That’s what you did when things were broken right? You fixed them. Robin’s heart was breaking and it was his fault. “  “ I love you Steve... I am going to be okay”  The weight of her hand as it came to set on his shoulder felt like a ton of bricks. He just wanted so bad to stop her pain.  “ I love you too Robin.”  “ Platonically of course..” “ Do you really always have to point that out? Can’t we have a moment” 

[recklesslycaffeinated]

Okay, so I knocked this out over lunch because it wouldn't get out of my head. No promises on spelling or grammer, but it's canon.

It's another in the Don and Angus saga! First drabble was here: https://www.tumblr.com/recklesslycaffeinated/694764394947723265/for-the-sake-of-argument?source=share

*SPOILERS FOR CHPT 21 OF SKELETON CREW*

Don collapsed shakily at his desk as the office door closed behind Sans. He only needed a moment, but he knew even a moment was too long to waste. He picked up his office phone and smashed the button for reception.

"This is Galbraith. Alert security. There's a escaped fugitive in the building."

An hour and an extensive search later, and Don was dragged in front of his bosses who demanded to know what he was playing at. Unsurprisingly, no sign of the short-assed Skeleton Sans had been found. And despite Don's protests, the receptions security footage didn't back up him.

Don was sent home early due to 'stress'. He clicked his tongue, frustrated. His bosses had never seen fit to allow him a half-day when he was stressed, but this they send him home for. Angus had the car today due to Don losing a bet over the outcome of a High Court appeal, so he stood grumpily waiting for a bus.

He went over the meeting over and over again in his mind. Nasty little creep. Comedian. Thinks he's better than everyone else. The idea any of that had been anywhere near you...

It wasn't until the bus pulled up Don remembered the paperwork he'd hurriedly pushed into his suitcase. He'd removed the file from his office before anyone could get in there and ask awkward questions. Sitting on a grimy seat, avoiding the chewing gum and leaning away from the man who smelt like fish, Don opened his briefcase on his lap. Everything was there, as far as he could remember. No doubt the Skeleton had made copies, though. That's what Don would have done. There would be a lot of very interested officials who'd love to run him in for distributing confidential documents.

Don felt a dismal lurch. This, right here, is why you didn't fuck around with the rules. He loved his job. He didn't want it taken away from him by a jumped up little psychopath.

Visions of what Sans might have done to y/n to get the file off of her... only added to the nightmare fuel his overactive imagination had been supplying him for the last three months.

He hadn't known when he'd got up today he'd be face to face with one of the three Skeletons by lunchtime. Didn't know he'd be trapped in his office trading barbs and debating the nature of justice with a serial killer. Not that anything the little creature had said had been particularly new or impressive. Don heard it all the time. In many ways, hearing an intelligent person justify their crimes was so much duller than an unintelligent one. The last murderer Don had dealt with had killed his next door neighbour because 'he annoyed her'. Blessedly simple, really.

Justice for the little guy. Is that really what Sans thought? An eye for a eye. So many think that if the implementation of law and punishment is taken away from government, the world would become a fairer place. Bull. Don came from a privileged background. And he knew that in anarchy, the wealthy would just pay for their version of warped justice. It can't be left to those with the biggest stick.

All those Monsters who'd been killed and their attackers just got away with it...

Don cursed the stupid little Skeleton for putting him in this dark mood. Just as he was shutting his briefcase, he noticed an envelope. It only took him a moment to recognize the handwriting.

~*~

Don was back home and well into the wine by the time Angus got home. A slight tilt to his eyebrow was the only suggestion that he was surprised to see him home so early. Though in true Angus style, he didn't ask but waited to see if Don wanted to tell him.

"I was sent home. For stress." He spat. "Because a homicidal bag of bones can apparently appear and disappear at will." Don caught the slight pause in Angus's moments. His eyes narrowed. "Is invisibility a Monster thing?"

Angus hesitated. "Not invisibility, I don't think."

"But?"

The Monster shrugged. Don sat in silence, fuming. It was always a bone (ha-fucking-ha) of contention between them. Angus kept him at a distance when it came to all things Monster. And while Don and Angus argued all the time - made a sport of it, in fact, there were some arguments which weren't fun. Some arguments, Don feared, which might make Angus realize what an incredibly swallow racist he really was. And if Angus left, now y/n was gone too, Don didn't know what he would do.

He flipped the letter across the table and picked up his glass of wine again.

Angus sat opposite and read through it slowly. "She seems happy."

"Good for her."

"This is what you wanted, isn't it? A sign she was okay?" His head tilted, his patient expression sharp as always. "Are you annoyed that she's okay?"

"No! Of course not. Maybe a little. I'm relieved she's alive. I'm relieved she's okay. I just... wished she had come to her senses." Don glowered. "This has nothing to do with the fact it's three Monsters."

Angus leaned over, covering his hand with his massive one. "I know that, Donnie."

Mollified, Don rubbed his brow. "I don't know what to think." Except for one, horrible, nagging thought. He'd assumed that Sans had threatened y/n into giving him the file. But she seemed genuinely smittened by her boney boys, if the letter was anything to go by. Would she have given it to him? Don couldn't, wouldn't believe that y/n would torpedo his life like that.

Faith came hard to Don. He'd been battered and bruised too many times. Something in him never allowed him to stop moving forward, but he walked more carefully than he had as a boy. Angus always said it was because he had a Purple Soul. Whatever that meant.

"Are you going to keep petitioning the courts about Sans?"

Don waivered, scowled. Shook his head. "That bastard all but admitted he killed at least the last three. How am I supposed to ignore that? Judge Dent may be a disgrace, but she got it right this once. Sans belongs in jail. He's a murderer. I..." his eyes flicked to the letter and away. "I don't know what to do."

[sinnohsiblings]

Okay, we've heard Galadriel's side of the story but what about Shae? What brought him to infidelity? Was the relationship failing before that? Did he just want power so sought it elsewhere? Of course, there is no justifying such acts. I'm just curious as to why things went the way they did

Ari: "It's not really my place to share, but Shae will always be too proud to actually talk about it. But he has every right to dislike Galadriel. He doesn't hate her for dumping him. He hates her because of everything that he really lost and missed out on because she couldn't control her own hate." Ari: "He was traded to another universe because she wouldn't stop hunting him to kill him, taken from what family and friends he had, and tossed into a place where he had nothing. The universe we are staying in until I am able to make one is so far away it takes at least a month to travel to. He missed the births of family members and the deaths of others...he missed his own father's funeral because of how long it took to receive the letter. And you people wonder why he can't stand her? He's only here because I wanted to come."

Ari: "Galadriel was wronged in the past that is true. Shae has never lied about that or shifted blame for that fallout. You guys don't have to like him. I know he's not everyone's cup of tea. But the fact some of you are actively attacking my husband who already has received a punishment that didn't fit his crime is so disturbing to me."

[somcthingliminal]

⸻ ♤ 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⟨ the details ⟩

Name: Nicola Grimm

Nicknames: Nic, Nicky, Cola

Pronouns: she/her

Age: 34

Neighborhood: Deer Park

Occupation: detective for Illinois State Police, Division of Criminal Investigation

Orientation: bisexual

Status: single

Residency: local, left at 18, returned 11 years ago

⸻ ♤ 𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘 ⟨ the past ⟩

trigger warnings: murder, death, agoraphobia

With a name like Grimm some would say she was destined for doom and gloom in her life. Her path to getting there wasn't quite linear but the shadows were always there. Born and raised in Blue Harbor, her father a blue collar man and proud, and her mother a teacher, Nicola came into the world as the third of four children. With two older sisters and eventually a younger brother, she sometimes slipped through the watchful eyes of her involved parents.

In school she played basketball and was a great forward and defender until size became too big of a factor. She was average at best. School bored her but she did well enough to keep her parents happy. They'd always stressed the importance of going to university one day, especially following in her older sister's footsteps. Though, Nicola always considered them overachievers.

Went off to university at Northwestern where she was pre-law with the intention of becoming a civil litigation lawyer. It changed when she'd been witness to a crime and would later see the defendant get off scot free. Even with her testimony, the defense outshined the prosecution. Nicola became determined to be the best prosecutor ever seen, but again that would change when she'd receive a call from her sister that her best friend had been found murdered.

The case would go on to become a mystery and remain unsolved, giving her a first hand view of the destruction something horrific like that could inflict on a family. Her own sister's mental health deteriorated and she became agoraphobic, afraid to leave her own house.

With her law degree in hand, Nicola found herself with a badge as a detective with the Illinois State Police, as a part of the Division of Criminal Investigation. When it comes to the job she's relentless and tenacious, unwavering in her pursuit of the truth. She understood through personal experience that punishments rarely ever fit the crime, what people wanted/needed most was answers. So, she works and works to give that much.

First heartbreak came at 13 when her crush turned her down after she'd asked him to the dance. Years later he'd end up marrying her but at the time he wasn't allowed to date and eventually the rumor went around that his best friend had a crush on her and he was just doing the right thing. 

At 19 Nicola had been reunited with her teenage crush from home when they crossed paths at a party in Chicago. He was going to another big school not too far away and they decided that fate had intervened for them. They married a year later. After a few years the young love couldn't survive the hardships of life, not when Nicola had been so affected by the tragedy that changed the course of future careers. When she needed to go home to Blue Harbor, he decided that he couldn't follow and that was that.

It took time for her to work her way up the ladder and to gain respect with her fellow agents. Most considered her overly passionate about her job, that she had an inability to turn it off at the end of the day, and her colleagues were right. The first few years Nicola had trouble sleeping at night with the things she'd known and seen, but as time wore on she walled up as a way to protect herself.

One after the other, which hadn't been all that surprising, her parents passed. It drove her sister deeper into herself. With her agoraphobia she'd been living with their parents so to keep her safe and from any kind of institution, Nicola moved her into her home. With work and her dedication to it, she's not there as much as she should be anyway, so it felt like a deal to have someone living in and taking care of the place.

Every time she's tried her hand at dating or relationships or love it's failed. The job demands too much of her, takes up too much space within her, that she's understood she can't give someone else what they need. Time and attention.

After eleven years she's gotten to a place of looking ahead and she's become weary, wondering if she's even made a difference or if she needs to continue the fight she's put herself into through a different side of the law. She’s kept her law degree active but has never acted on it, never worked a day as a lawyer, yet it has come in handy or in play from time to time. Sometimes she thinks of making the switch, wondering if it would free up other aspects of his life.

[paradimeshifts7]

Playing around with the idea of a Steddie Criminal Minds AU — maybe each chapter plays like an episode, like a monster of the week kind of thing. Wrote a little bit just to see how it’d feel: 🔍

———

It was never easy to see.

It never got any less gut-wrenching, regardless of how many bodies piled up in memory. And as far as crimes scenes went, this one really was relatively tame. No disfiguration. Fingers and toes intact. Skin still on the body. Certainly not nightmare-inducing, given what they were used to dealing with.

“Jesus, overkill much?” Max grimaced, hands braced on her hips as she surveyed the body from top to bottom.

“What did the initial ME report say?” Steve asked, crouching down to examine the form sprawled on the dirt, half covered with leaves and shoveled dirt in a haphazard fashion that told Steve the ubsub must have been in a hurry.

“Multiple stab wounds to the torso, initial cause of death is blood loss.” She sighed, folding her arms across her chest. “I don’t get it. This guy is way outside our unsub’s victimology. And this is the first time he’s left the body for us to find — right on the side of the road. This is a pretty busy stretch, too.”

Steve produced a blue rubber glove from his back pocket and pulled it on over his right hand. Reaching carefully across the body, he gently pulled back the blood-stained button up to expose the chest.

“Well, it’s definitely our guy,” Steve remarked, eyes catching on the bloodied red ‘X’ carved across the skin. “Unless we’ve got some crazy copy cat on our hands.”

“Who even is this guy? All of his targets have been female, this is a huge departure.”

“I don’t know. But our unsub is definitely accelerating. Two kills in one week.”

“This was found with the body,” one of the local policeman informed them, coming closer to offer a beat-up looking leather wallet to Steve.

Steve stood, slipping his cellphone out of his pocket. With a practiced motion, fingers moving with little thought, he placed the call, setting it to speakerphone and taking a few steps towards Max.

“Hit me, baby cakes,” Eddie chirped over the line.

“I’m gonna need everything you can find on a…” Steve trailed off, glancing down at the wallet now propped open in his gloved hand, “Richard Morten.”

“Maybe if you ask nicely-“ Eddie cooed, all sugar and syrup, but Steve jumped in before he could finish.

“Munson, we don’t really have time.” Steve glanced towards Max, whose lips had quirked into the barest hint of a teasing smile.

“Right. Okay,” Eddie said, clearing his throat before he continued. Steve could hear the clacking of his keyboard in the background, practiced fingers jumping wildly from key to key. “Richard Morten, of Colorado fame. Married father of two from the Boulder area, he’s been working as a lineman for the past ten years outside Savannah with his family.”

Steve frowned, studying the picture on the man’s driver’s license, rifling through the various items inside with his gloved hand. Credit cards, a punch card to what he assumed was a local sandwich shop, insurance card, and a picture of two little blondes in red and green Christmas sweaters.

“Anything stand out on his rap sheet?”

“Nada. Guy’s squeaky clean. The worst I can find is a late tax return in 2007, and a parking ticket from last month.”

“What about his family?” Steve asked, leaning the wallet towards Max so she could see the picture.

“Wife Andrea, daughter Ruby, 5. Son Isaac, 8. Everyone checks out. Totally normal working class family. The American Dream, you could say — if you believe in that kind of stuff. They even make regular donations at their church, I’ve got the receipts.”

“What would our unsub want with this guy?” Steve asked, walking himself back through the profile, trying to make this piece of the puzzle fit. “There isn’t anything to punish here.”

Max bit at the corner of her lip, eyes darting around the crime scene, wandering in small steps until she stopped abruptly and turned back towards him.

“Maybe he saw something he shouldn’t have,” she said, vague recognition coloring her features. “Eddie, did you say he was working as a lineman?” She was already walking away, and Steve had to chase after her to keep up.

“Yeah. Since 2012. Went to lineman school after getting laid off in 2011. Looks like his wife went back to work to help support the family while he got certified.”

Max stopped at the foot of a telephone pole nearby, neck craned to look towards the top.

“Steve, come look at this.” Steve took the last steps necessary to meet her where she stood, glancing upwards. “Think you could see the dump site from way up there?” She jerked her chin towards the top of the pole.

“Eddie, can you see how far the dump sight is from mile marker…89?” Steve asked, craning his neck and squinting to make out the white lettering on the mile marker post next to the crime scene.

“Piece of cake, sweetheart,” Eddie replied, muted clacking noises springing to life once again. “That would be…12.3 miles.”

“Not close enough to see anything sketchy happening,” Max said, head rolling to the side in contemplation.

“Let’s roll with this for a second, though,” Steve pushed, the inklings of a theory prickling at the back of his mind. “Say he was working on a line, and he did see something. Maybe our unsub moved him. He would’ve left behind some kind of equipment, right? Our guy might be good, but he’s not that good.”

“Way ahead of you, hot stuff. Checking for police reports about abandoned lineman-related equipment.” There was a brief pause before he began again. “Once again, you are right on the money, my friends. There was a police report filed this morning about an abandoned pick up and a ‘bucket truck’, whatever the hell that is, a few miles down the road. A lot closer to the dump sight, actually. About 2 miles.”

“Our unsub probably spotted him when he was dumping the second body,” Steve nodded, gaze drifting back to the body lying not twenty feet away.

“Forensic countermeasure,” Max agreed. “But it’s weird. He takes the body a little ways down the road to throw us off, but makes no real effort to hide it.”

“He’s playing with us. Guy might be smarter than we thought.” He locked eyes with Max, getting the distinct impression that this case was about to get far more complicated than was originally anticipated. “Thanks, Eds.”

“Anytime, baby girl,” Eddie managed to say before Steve hung up, the tone of his voice betraying the playful grin that no doubt adorned his face — dimples on his cheeks like twin canyons.

“Since when are you ‘baby girl’?” Max scoffed, subdued disbelief in her tone matching the eyebrow that crept up on one side of her forehead.

“I don’t pretend to know why Munson does what he does,” Steve halfway grumbled, feeling a telltale heat rise to his face as he shoved his phone back into his pocket and turned in the direction of the car.

“Are you blushing right now?” Max teased, trailing after him, but he only picked up the pace, reaching the car before she did.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he snapped, pulling the driver’s side door open roughly. “Get in the car.”

“Oh my god, you totally are!” She tittered, lips pulled back in a taunting grin. Steve rolled his eyes, sliding into his seat.

“In the car, or I’m leaving your ass!”

[dionaeia]

who? @nicolasxbianchi​

where? the pyramid’s training grounds

notes: mama elephant just found out what they did

Rage is familiar, an echo that remained on her chest, awakening every time her captors went too far, every time she heard another’s screams instead of her own. It had never been extinguished, despite her belief to the contrary. Dionaeia had thought her rage gone, but she had been proved wrong. One of hers, bound for bits and pieces of mischief caused. One of hers, given a punishment that did not fit the crime, a punishment she would not wish on any of hers, even if they had bloodied their hands. She had assumed the Pyramid had been shaken without her presence, but there is disarray and then there is harming those she had chosen to protect in the only way she could.

Teeth gritted, she stalks through the halls until she narrows down on the Jackal’s presence, crossing the room on an instant as any other druid chose to vacate the premises, her movements screaming predator. Once within reach, she moves to grasp his chin and turns his head one way or the other, trying to find any recent damage she could rage about.

“It seems that the Keepers forgot themselves in my absence,” she mutters with a huff as she steps back and glances him over. “Do you hold your memories? Or did a random lady just did something insane? I can give you context regardless, but I need to know where to start.”

[casspurrjoybell-33]

Blue's Rose - Chapter 22 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Boys Will Not Apologize

Blue Cavanaugh & Kulap 'Kool' Somboon

Taking deep breaths, he walked into his room, shut and locked the door behind him and walked directly towards the bathroom, stripping his clothes off as he walked, dropping them wherever, not caring.

He made immediately for his jacuzzi tub and turned the water on as hot as he could stand it.

Walking naked back into his living area, he went to the small fridge and grabbed a bottle of beer, carrying it back with him to the tub.

He stepped up into the sizeable depths and lowered his feet into the slowly rising water.

With a deep sigh, he squatted and lowered his rear delicately into the heated water, leaning his shoulders back against the acrylic bath and shifting his hips upwards, letting the natural buoyancy of water do the rest.

He sighed again, his lower body for the first time today, feeling no soreness, pressure or pain.

His arms splayed along the tub's edges on either side of him, his beer still clutched in one hand, he took a sip, before leaning his head back on the soft waterproof pillow and closing his eyes.

As soon as they shut, so too did his worries, instead he was flooded with mental images of the last thirty-six hours, one by one they danced through his mind.

A smile played at his lips, as almost every image had a smiling Blue, a cocky Blue, a passionate Blue.

'A passionate Blue.'

He moaned low in his throat as his mind replayed highlights from the weekend, one being their very first time.

Kulap felt his face flush and not just from the heat of the water, his cock, despite enjoying multiple orgasms this weekend became semi erect.

Their first time had been near as perfect as he could have imagined, even the moments of awkwardness had been perfect, playful and fun.

Throughout, from start to finish... multiple finishes it had felt incredibly right, they had connected physically, mentally and emotionally in a way that blew his mind and any preconceived expectations.

Kulap took another long swill of the beer, thinking he should have grabbed two, he had no desire to leave the hot jetting water pulsing over his well-used body any time soon.

Despite what his mother had said, Kulap was completely prepared for work tomorrow, the large business deal that would be finalized.

He had been for over a week, Kulap never worked last minute, all deals were thoughtfully planned out and executed save for final signatures well before deadlines, it was his 'modus operandi', it's what made him so good.

His mother, the fun thoughts of earlier retreated as her angry face came to the forefront of his mind, she seemed to be getting worse, she seemed to want to control every aspect of his life up to and now including his weekends.

Never before had she questioned where he went or what he was doing, granted he did usually go to work on the weekends and he had never stayed out all night and come home in the same clothes but her reaction to it was out of proportion.

The punishment, his hand reached up to rub at his cheek, had not fit the crime.

So, he had missed a family dinner, stayed out overnight somewhere and hadn't gone into the office this weekend, her three accusations, even if they were all true and he had done every last one of them they didn't equal up to a tenth of bad behavior that she had lay at his feet.

He was dumbfounded by her over the top treatment and disappointed in his father's lack of support, had he not by now at least earned a little of that?

His brow wrinkled as he thought about his mother and her fury, he was going to have to be more careful.

She was becoming more demanding and obviously more watchful, he had been unaware that she kept track of his every movement.

If he continued to make her suspicious would she go so far as to have him followed?

He swallowed, appalled at the thought but unable to put it past her considering her behavior tonight, it was clear her control having gone unchecked for so long was getting out of hand but he had no idea how to counter it.

He could only be more careful if he wanted to shield Blue from her wrath and protect their remaining time together.

Kulap swallowed the last bit of beer from the bottle and lay a few minutes more.

Knowing he needed to review the finalized contract one last time as was his habitual practice the night before any deal was signed off on, he forced his exhausted body up out of the tub.

A few minutes later, towel wrapped around his waist, teeth brushed, he walked back out of the bathroom and headed to his desk.

Opening his lap top he quickly accessed the encrypted file he had his secretary send to him Wednesday afternoon after he made a few changes.

He had already reviewed it that night but he would review it again and again, in the morning.

Despite his mother's accusations, Kulap's business work ethic was second to none, he didn't slip up, he didn't fail.

Kulap sighed as he shut the lap top off and turned off the desk light, he only wished the same could be said for his personal life.

Maybe, he conceded as he threw the towel down to the floor and crawled naked into bed with a groan, that was why he was so good at his job.

He had no control, no say over his personal like, so in business, where funnily enough his family gave him open reign, he thrived, his business acumen on point.

Profits tripled the last few years all because of him and his choices, 'the irony.

Kulap closed his eyes, he was drained, a small smile teased his lips as he remembered all the pleasurable reasons for his current languid condition, his mind wandered to thoughts of Blue, wondering what he was doing now.

On impulse he leaned up on his elbow and stretched for his cell-phone, pulling it in close to him he quickly accessed Blue's number and sent him a quick text.

[Soaked in the tub with a beer. It would have been more fun if you were with me. 😉]

Grinning, Kulap lay the phone down on the mattress and lay his head back on the pillow.

He started counting, he had only gotten to fifteen when his phone vibrated next to him.

His grin widened, the response had come quicker than expected.

Grabbing up the phone he read the text and burst out laughing.

[I think there was a typo in your last text. Don't you mean it would have been more fun with me in you? 😊😉]

Kulap quickly texted back.

[Same thing.]

Propping his hand behind his head, still holding his phone he waited for Blue's next text.

He loved the sassy boldness of Blue, the things that came out of his mouth sometimes thrilled the naughty boy hiding deep inside Kulap.

Being with him this weekend had given Kulap a freedom, even if only for a few hours, to reciprocate that playful brazenness, wicked words rolling of his tongue, saucy impudent behavior rolling off his body.

Having a lover was exhilarating, having Blue as that lover was priceless.

The phone buzzed.

[Have to agree to disagree. I will be sure to show you the very DISTINCT difference, when I see you next.]

Kulap's body physically reacted to the promise, he groaned, he was not going there tonight, he was too tired for sexting but the imp still roaming freely inside him since being woken up yesterday couldn't help replying.

[Promises. Promise. Just make sure to bring your A game.]

His phone buzzed almost immediately, he was half afraid to look.

[Another typo I see. Don't you mean 'bring your F U game?' You're obviously tired babe. Get some sleep. I'll see you when you 'get off' tomorrow. See what I did there? LOL 😉 Night.]

Like a grinning fool, Kulap read the message three times and the entire exchange once more before flopping his phone screen side down on the bed.

He thumped his pillow with his fist and determinedly turned over on to his side to finally go to sleep though his mind was full of the mischievous man who was now his lover.

He didn't know how long it would take him to fall asleep, exactly four minutes.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Commander's Omega"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: alpha/omega, dystopia, sex slavery, forced breeding, mutilation, rape, corporal punishment, fascism, hurt/comfort, power imbalance, mpreg, age gap (38/23)

Summary: After years of a mass infertility crisis, the United States is overtaken by religious fanatics, and Bucky Barnes finds himself thrust into a brutal world of survival. When he's discovered to be fertile, he's forced to serve as a vessel: a caste of omegas who bear children for the political elite.

Chapter II. Ofsteven

Story Masterlist

Before:

“We’ll have order please.” A 'knock' of gavel on wooden block. “Mr. Gamble, for the state.?

“Yes your Honor.” A thin, reed-like man gets up and addresses the judge. “The accused stands charged with terrorism against the state, in violation of Romans, chapter thirteen, verse one through seven. By His word.”

“And do you swear by His name that the report you have submitted is the truth entirely?”

“Yes, I do so swear.”

“Then, in the name of God and his servants here on earth, the accused is hereby found guilty.”

Another 'knock' on wood, somehow more final than the last.

“Registered vessel 32-257, true justice for your crime would see you condemned to death. But God has seen fit to make you fruitful, and by that we are bound. So, you are hereby sentenced to redemption.”

'Knock!'

All it takes is three minutes. Three minutes in front of a judge and three knocks of said judge’s gavel, and Bucky’s fate is sealed. The same guardians who brought him into the courtroom guide him out, back down the long hallways, and outside to the waiting van. He’s shoved into the back, and they drive and they drive, and when the doors open again and he’s pulled back out to stand on his feet, they’ve parked in front of the hospital. No time wasted.

The guards escort him inside. The hospital, Bucky's been told, is one of the few places left in society where one might be likely to encounter people from all walks of life, all levels of ordained class. There are blue Spouses and and green domestics, gray laborers and brown caretakers, pink and white children, and red vessels.

Bucky's never seen a vessel up close. He still isn't sure he believes it, the things he's heard. Sex slaves. Broodmares. Even for Gilead's shiny new nation, it seems far-fetched.

... But he gets a sinking feeling when he looks around the waiting room and realizes that every single man and woman in red is visibly pregnant.

While the guardians sign him in at the desk, Bucky looks around. Some of the people in the room are hurt, others seem ill. Four of the five vessels look to be in active labor. No one but him is handcuffed. His attention falls on a little omega toddler who's there with her nanny, having her tears wiped away and soothing words murmured into her hair. Bucky's only aware of her designation because of the color of her clothes, the Ω insignia on her citizenry armband.

Used to be, a person's designation went unknown until puberty. But with things the way they are now, infants get blood tested to find out. It gives them more time, Bucky supposes. Allows them to get used to their enforced roles in society, and—if they're not alpha—to not get their hopes up too high.

It's sad. She’s young, probably no more than three years old. Young enough that she’s never known anything other than the world how it is now. She's a true, birthed citizen of Gilead, and something about that injustice breaks Bucky’s heart. More so even than the injustice that’s about to be done to him. This little girl, all dressed in pink and tear-stained, will never know what the world used to be like. She’ll never read, she’ll never work, she’ll never know freedom. And worst of all is she won’t care, because she never had it to begin with.

“Come on.” The guard on Bucky’s right grabs his bound hands and tugs it forward so that the admissions nurse can thread a hospital bracelet around his wrist. She clips it shut, the printed tag reading his name, age, blood type, and the procedure he's there for. The sight of it against his skin is jarring to Bucky. He doesn’t fail to notice how it’s been placed on his right wrist and not his left. Bucky's always been right handed.

Thank God for small favors.

He almost busts out laughing, but the guard startles him out of it as he yanks on his arm and gruffly says, “Let’s go."

They start walking in the direction of the elevators. They go up to the fifth floor of the hospital. Bucky’s told to take a shower and wash himself using antiseptic soap. He does, and then he’s given a hospital gown to put on. The guards stand watch while a nurse directs him to get up on the stretcher. They strap his legs and chest down to it, then wheel him down the hallway towards the room that’s marked with a sign reading: Surgery. The guards post themselves on either side of the operating room doors while the nurse pushes the gurney through.

There’s a doctor inside. She’s scrubbing up over by a little sink along the wall. Three nurses move about the room arranging things. The nurse that’s brought Bucky in pushes the gurney to rest underneath the bright lights. He has to blink to adjust his eyes to the glare. When he does he can see what everyone’s doing. The doctor has finished washing her hands and is allowing one of the nurses to put sterile gloves on her. Another nurse is calibrating the general anesthesia machine. Bucky’s eyes search for the third nurse and land on the metal tray table that he’s arranged and is rolling over. It’s lined with white paper towels, and on top of those are a number of medical instruments: forceps and tweezers, cotton balls and gauze. And a surgical marker. And a scalpel. And a bone saw.

Bucky’s vision wavers from fear. Someone abruptly covers his mouth and nose with a rubber mask. "Take a deep breath and count backward from one hundred."

"One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight, niny-seff—"

“—oing to get him transferred to the bed right here. Be careful.”

“—and set the morphine drip up like this. Apostates like him shouldn’t even be given this stuff if you ask me.”

When Bucky wakes up, he’s alone in a hospital bed, in a hospital room. He's nauseous and his throat is dry and he’s in pain but his foggy brain can’t make sense of why. He drifts in and out of consciousness like that for over an hour. Then, when he wakes up fully, he realizes that his left arm is what hurts, and he remembers. He tips his head to the side and looks down.

His left arm is gone.

After:

The car ride to the Commander’s house is quiet. Bucky’s alone in the backseat while Commander Rogers sits in the front passenger seat. Commander Rogers’ house is a large, brick and stucco Tudor outside the city. A soldier posted at the front gate lets them in and they drive around to the back of the house where there are gardens and a garage. Commander Rogers gets out of the car and is already in the house by the time the driver comes around to let Bucky out of the locked back seat.

Bucky stares at the guy. He’s white, not much taller than Bucky is, with short blond hair and guardian's attire. There's a SIG Sauer holstered at his hip. Bucky gets out of the car and fights the urge to sneer at him—not just for the fact that he's carrying cross draw, but because his citizenry armband bears the mark of omega. Bucky doesn’t think he’s seen a single guardian of the faith who’s omega since this whole thing started, and it’s been almost four years now.

“Blessed day,” the man says, offering out his hand for Bucky to shake. “I’m Clint.”

"I'm ..." Bucky hesitates, unsure of the protocol. Omegas are allowed to shake other omegas' hands, but not guardians'. He errs on the side of caution and chooses to nod respectfully, rather than accept the handshake. "I'm James," he says. then hesitates all over again. "Erm, I mean ..." Shit. He peeks up at Clint with a wince. "What's his name?"

Much like Commander Rogers had done back at the red center, Clint's features tighten in something akin to discomfort. "It's Steve," he says. "Commander Steven Grant Rogers."

Bucky averts his eyes. "Right, then," he says dully. "Nice meeting you, Clint."

"And you ... Ofsteven."

Inside the house, it’s dim. The hardwood floors and moldings on the walls make the dwelling seem old, but it’s nicely-furnished. Rich.

Bucky’s been left on his own to explore, trailing from one room to the next. If Commander Rogers has a family, Bucky doesn’t encounter any of them. He finds the kitchen on the main level and sees that there’s a domestic in there, kneading dough on the island countertop. She catches sight of him and looks up. “Oh. Hello." She doesn’t stop her work, hands digging into the dough over and over again. “You must be the new one.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “New one?”

The woman doesn’t answer him, but she really doesn’t have to. Obviously, Bucky’s not the first vessel to be posted to the Rogers household. This isn’t his first posting either, though, so he tries not to read too much into it. The previous omega mustn’t have been able to have a baby during their time here, just like Bucky hadn’t at his first posting. “I’m Ofsteven,” he volunteers to the domestic, when it seems that she isn’t going to make the effort.

Her eyes flick up to him again, and Bucky doesn’t miss the way she takes in his lack of an arm. “What did you do?” she asks, rather than give her name.

In another time, Bucky would’ve been offended, but things are so different from how they used to be. He’s gotten used to not being respected very much at all. “I fought,” is all he says. It’s all he needs to say, too, because the woman nods.

“I’m Sharon,” she offers. She stops kneading the dough and balls it up, dumping it into a bowl. She swipes the flour off her palms and holds up her left hand: There’s a finger missing. “Tried to run, that first year.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything to that, just nods. He wonders if she would’ve lost more than a finger if she hadn’t been beta. Domestics do need hands to get their work done, after all. And what a strange world they live in now, that people can form comraderies over severed limbs. It produces within Bucky the slightest urge to snicker, but he refrains from doing so. Instead he says goodbye to Sharon the domestic and leaves the kitchen.

He makes his way up the grand staircase in the foyer and explores the second level of the house. He peeks his head through the door to what is obviously the master bedroom, if the size of the bed is anything to go by. But he doesn’t dare go in. He isn’t sure if he’ll be asked to sleep in the same room as Commander Rogers or not. At his last posting, the commander had had a spouse, so Bucky had been given his own room far away from the master suite. He’d liked it that way too, as Mrs. Putnam had been a woman who could be quite jealous. She hadn’t liked Bucky’s presence in her home at all, and Bucky had made a concerted effort to make himself scarce at all times. Well, all times except for ceremony nights, that was.

A little more exploring, and he finds a bedroom on the third floor that seems to be unoccupied. It’s so small and under-furnished that it gives Bucky hope that the space might be intended for him. He certainly won’t complain if he’s required to be kept away in here. The room’s one window faces the back of the house, and there’s a comfy window bench where he could sit and look out on the gardens if he wanted to. No, Bucky thinks, he wouldn't mind that at all.

Not knowing what else to do, he sits at the window and looks out. He can see the garage and the guest house from here, and the trees and flowers that make up the garden. It’s pretty. Very manicured. Commander Rogers must have a gardener on staff. There’s partial visibility of the house next door as well. It looks to be of a similar style to Commander Rogers’ house. Bucky’s heard stories of property being taken from non-believers and given to the faithful. That’s how it’d been at the Putnam’s. He wonders whether Commander Rogers started out with this house, or if it’d been stolen from some unfortunate Jewish family, or secularists, or perhaps even a pair of well-to-do, queer omegas. Had someone else lived here once? Entertained a happy life until it was taken away from them?

It’s a morbid train of thought, and Bucky decides to put it from his mind. That’s largely how his thinking goes, these days; ignoring things, burying them under other, less dangerous thoughts. It’s the only way to stay sane, really.

He sits there for a long time, enjoying the feeling of the September sun coming through the window. Bucky likes the weather, the change of seasons. It's comforting to him, because it's one of the only things that hasn’t changed. Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall: An eternal order that not even the Faithful can take away. It’s a small comfort, and a safer resistance than fighting in the streets, or back-talking a Commander.

A knock comes at the door, and Bucky’s eyes shoot over. There’s another domestic, this one with red hair. She’s got Bucky’s suitcase in her hands. “Your things,” she says. She doesn’t smile at him, but she seems marginally less hostile than Sharon had.

“Thanks,” Bucky says. He gets up and takes the suitcase from her. She nods and makes to leave. Bucky figures he was right in assuming that this little room was set aside for him. There’s a small closet set into the wall right next to the door, and Bucky goes over and opens it. He pulls the chain that dangles from a single bulb in the ceiling, illuminating the tiny space. Sighing, he opens his suitcase and begins taking out his things.

Before, Bucky had had quite a liking for clothes and fashion. He'd considered it a great hardship when he'd had to work with the miniscule closet space of his first college dorm.

Now, he has only a few items of clothing, and none of them are things he'dve willingly worn in his life Before. They’re all assigned to him, the same clothes that all vessels are given to wear, to mark them as other. He’s got precisely five of everything, from the plain cotton briefs and undershirts, to the hand-stitched pants, shirts and sweaters. Everything’s modest, of course, the shirts all having the same high collars to hide his neck. Bucky hangs the clothing up piece by piece, silently hating each and every one.

Red was never his color.

Story Masterlist

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