#when i thought he couldn’t get anymore [REDACTED]

[keytaryourheart]

dougdoug… had a moustache??

[mosaickiwi]

(Sorry if i sound rude since english is not my first language 👉👈) 

I love your writing so much btw thank you for providing us with top tier quality writing, the way you write rendacted is just 🤌😍

I dont know if its allowed since its kind of specific, but can i please request a fluff/comfort for an insecure chubby angel that's not confident with their body and strech mark so they kinda doubt that rendacted really love them and thought they only playing with them and only dating for fun or smth 👉👈 😳 

Thank you soo much in advance (for the ping too) (≧∇≦)/

Thank you and you're welcome!! I love to cook this silly man 🥰 Appreciate da request <3

self loathing angst but it's just angel getting too deep in their own head

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Shorts

After a few weeks of dating, somehow [REDACTED] still smiled at you the same way. Still had that look of wonder and joy whenever you spoke. Still let their hand linger in yours for a second too long each time you parted ways.

As happy as he made you, you couldn't trust them just yet. 

Part of you was waiting—you'd been waiting the whole time—for everything to come crashing down. That’s how it always ended. You were surprised things even lasted this long.

He was sitting out in your shoddy living room while you changed for a date at the pier. As you looked in the mirror, your decision to wear shorts seemed like a mistake now. The horrid, uneven lines that patterned the skin of your thighs only made the choice worse. 

Of all the places to choose to live, it just had to be near the beach. You barely got by with loose shirts and pants for a while, but each day was more hot and humid than the last this summer. You couldn't go out like this. Let alone have him see all those flaws that glared back at you from your reflection.

Your heart thudded in your ears as you contemplated changing into something else. But you could feel it. The moment you'd been dreading was going to happen no matter what. Sooner or later they'd break up with you. What was the point of waiting for it? You could get it over with now, while you were in the comfort of your own home.

A few minutes of familiar, agonizing, embarrassment, then straight to bed for a pity party and a movie once your soon-to-be-ex left. Nothing new.

There was nothing else to do but face it. You breathed in and out at a steady pace to calm your nerves, then crept into the hallway. Despite the care you took, a floorboard creaked before you rounded the corner into the living room.

“Ready to go?” In an instant [REDACTED] was calling your name, draining away the confidence you held. You couldn’t bear to look up as he approached—to see that soft smile you loved fall into a frown. His footsteps were quiet, and you soon felt the warmth of his presence in front of you. “What’s wrong?”

Their voice never wavered in disappointment like you expected. It made your heart skip a beat like always, calm and gentle as he was with you. He was even concerned, reaching for your hand at your side but stopping short when you managed a few words.

“It’s nothing,” you mumbled. 

“Doesn't seem like nothin’, Angel. We don't need—” Whatever they were trying to say slipped right past you as fear set in.

Why was he treating you so nicely? Was the room too dim for them to see? Did he not see everything wrong about you on display? It didn’t even sound like they noticed the stretch marks. You weren’t sure what to do. Nothing was going the way it had with previous partners.

Arms cautiously wrapped around your now trembling form as he pulled you close. The sudden hug shocked you long enough to realize your cheeks were wet. And that he was rambling.

“—Upset you. If y’don't feel like goin’ anymore that's fine. We can stay here ‘til y’feel better. Or would you rather I leave? Get you somethin’? That store you like should still be open—” He took a step back.

You weren’t calm enough to speak, but desperately hugged your partner back when he tried to move away. They stopped immediately. A soft breath tickled your forehead, and the smallest sigh left him in relief.

“... Fuck. Had me worried there,” he whispered and tenderly kissed the crown of your head. “Should I stay then?” You nodded. Minutes passed in silence as he stroked scarred fingers through your hair to soothe you, occasionally murmuring quiet reassurance.

You couldn't see why he wasn't disappointed. His attempts to calm you weren't in vain, though.

Finally, you felt as if you could manage. “I thought that…” It was hard to say out loud when you clung so tightly that your face was pressed fully against his chest. You pulled back and sniffled. A small, damp spot on his black shirt got left behind as evidence of your tears. “Oops.”

The dark haired man let off a smile at your reaction and gently pried, “Thought what?” 

You bit your lip. Lying wouldn't do you any good. “I’m not that nice to look at,” you eventually admitted.

He frowned to himself, then gently cupped your tear-stained cheek. “You’re absolutely beautiful, you know?”

“Oh… um.” 

“Really. I promise I don't want anyone else." His blue eyes were dripping with clear adoration. "I’d stare at you all day if y’let me, love.”

The pet name had you at a loss, completely flustered. He never called you that before. “Can you really be sure?” Your voice got quieter and quieter as you tried to explain your worries further. “I just feel like…” With each word, your gaze drifted to the side in fear of his reaction. “You should've, uh… broken up with me by now?”

“Angel, I'd never even consider—” He cut himself off. "... ‘Been doin' a shit job of expressing m’self, if that’s what you’re thinking.” [REDACTED] hardly gave you a chance to react before he was leading you to the couch. He sat down, lacing his fingers through yours as he pulled you to sit in his lap. It felt more intimate than usual with his other hand resting on your bare leg. “I’ll get whatever you want at the pier tomorrow. Right now I need to make sure y’know how important you'll always be t’me.”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for setting a boundary on a Minecraft server that I didn’t want to interact with one of the admins after he quit my partner’s dnd campaign?

I (20, nonbinary) was on a lgbtq+ discord and had become friends with a trans guy (henceforth referred to as A) who was a minor. This was easy to forget as he made raunchy jokes, got drunk and high on call, and I have horrible memory issues (so I often opt to just remember people’s names and topics I should avoid around them via making little notes.)

We would very often end up in a vc together with others from the server, including our respective partners, chilling, playing games, sharing fun things we found. (His partner will henceforth be referred to as B, and mine as C) (I had known his partner before from another server and was happy to see them getting along then eventually getting together)

(C especially would always give advice like “if you’re drinking, make sure to eat/get some carbs, drinking on an empty stomach is bad!” Because they love researching medical effects to make their writing and worldbuilding feel more realistic)

There were a handful of incidents where I believe I was the asshole

I loved showing off games and musicals to people, and this has the unfortunate effect of sometimes unintentionally saying words that anger people.

Incident 1) I was playing a game and mindlessly saying location names- and I got a dm- I pause to glance at it- and I got a message saying “hey remember [redacted] is A’s deadname and he’s uncomfortable that you keep saying it”. I pause, make a mental note of “but. It. Wasn’t directed at him?” Then continue playing, dodging saying the name for the rest of my time showing the game.

Incident 2) I was showing off a musical I like- and there’s a cute scene where a character suggests a name for another character, saying that they don’t need it anymore, and it just so happened to be A’s deadname again.

Incident 3) I was playing Sea of Thieves solo- and struggling. I’d been hit by lightning, and now was being attacked by a shark. A and B were making fun of the fact I had slipped into an accent out of sheer panic so I (enraged and not thinking at all) said “I’ll name the damn shark after you, fillet and gut it!” (A really likes sharks. I also like sharks but apparently not as much as him)

(I apologized for this on call later, saying that I was emotional and mad, and if I’d been thinking I wouldn’t have said that. I also apologized for the previous incident about the deadname)

A and B had also joined C’s dnd campaign alongside another one of our mutual friends, D (who did not leave the campaign, but that’s not important right now). I have reason to believe C told the others they couldn’t be either of the two classes I said my character thought they were, but I don’t know. Things went great (or so I thought) we got some plot trails (one connected to the race of my character, one being D’s character’s family) and everything seemed fine- A was flirting with a lot of the enemies and NPCS (C found the character arts via google images and unfortunately ‘attractive’ seems to be a main character design commonality)

Then one day, I woke up to check the campaign discord because of a ping and noticed both A and B had left the server and there was no new messages- confused, I hopped into call with C- who explained that A had dropped a long list of accusations about Myself and C, essentially insulting us and accusing us of things like ‘sending NSFW things to kids’, ‘acting like the victim’, ‘naming a character A’s deadname’, ‘DM favouritism’, and a whole bunch of other things. I was- shocked.

(A also apparently messaged D and said something like “sorry for ending the campaign like that, if you want to use your character you can always write with me!” And got angry when D said they didn’t leave the campaign.)

(C is also a generally sex-repulsed Asexual. They were forcing themself to become more comfortable with it because of A’s raunchy jokes)

This was followed by some harassment from A and B.

A tried publicly calling out C on social media (which C had only used to make a single post sharing something they had made for someone’s art/design) for “sending nsfw things to minors” and on another platform for “being a fake ass bitch”, as well as both of them heckling a new haircut I’d been nervous but excited to try and get for years and just figured out how to ask for (responses such as “omg no ew why would you do that”), as well as A saying “no I don’t” a picture I shared of C and I going to see a musical together with the caption “you wish you were here!” (All were shared and reacted to publicly on the discord server)

(To be fair about the haircut- the stylist had cut part of it a little too short and it made my face look especially chubby)

This is where I start to feel less like the asshole

So I went on the discord for the Minecraft server and said “hey, I don’t feel comfortable interacting with A after the allegations they’ve been making”. A immediately got defensive and angry about me saying “allegations” and kicked me from the discord before I could defend myself (and C).

I explained the situation to the admin of the server we’d met on, who also owned the Minecraft server, and apologized to them that they had to moderate. Both A and I lost our mod privileges on the discord, and I also found out A had been given multiple “cease and desist”s for… saying/sharing vulgar/nearly nsfw things on the discord before. And they did it again. The reason they were never banned or kicked was that the admin had made it in hopes that A would make friends.

Now. To a part that still horrifies me.

A legitimately found out C’s mom’s number, and called her to insist that C sent NSFW things to minors. (C suspects that they got it from a time C called the police out of genuine concern for A who hadn’t responded to any messages in around a day)

C also told me that the most they had sent A was like. Attractive anime guys from the first page of google images because C really liked big anime man chests. A apparently sent C full on p*rn once.

The problem is- I feel like I was the asshole- even though most of the “incidents” were accidents because I try to not remember someone’s deadname because- it’s? Not their name anymore? And it didn’t help that I genuinely do not remember being told it was their deadname until after incident 1.

Was I the Asshole?

What are these acronyms?

[amelissaofficinalis]

#14DWY  Amour Sans Fin

#14DWY fanfic 

Amour Sans Fin: Endless Love

<traumatized Angel consulting Ren/[Redacted] about nightmare in the midnight>

Minors PLEASE Don’t Interact

*Headcanon

*Assuming this all happens after engagement

*Angel is gender neutral; mostly use he/him as Ren/[Redacted]’s pronouns

*My first language isn’t English. Excuse me for the unexpected funny confusion <3

Word count: 1000(+-)

----------

I used to toss and turn all night, devoured by fears and helplessness before I found you.

Two broken souls are now nestling together, dragging each other away from the abyss of the past.

We have each other now.

-----------

You were woken up by a slight movement, humming in confusion. Your eyelashes shivered faintly when the one beside you pressed a soft kiss.

“[Redacted]?” You squinted your eyes, and then you realized it’s 3 am. You could barely recognize his face in the darkness, only hearing his faint breath. The one near you remained silent, locking his ocean-blue eye on you.

“Are you alright…?”

“…’m fine.”

His voice was calm and comforting, but you had an instinct that something was off-track about him right now, so you struggled to get up, leaning yourself on him slowly and gently. His rapid heartbeat betrayed him, desperately revealing the truth for you, just for you.

He COULD act perfectly like nothing happened, but he hesitated because of the faint hope you gave to him as you said: “I’d love to know ALL of you, as how you saw me when I cried and grieved.” He knew you’d despise him if he told you, but what if, maybe, you would give him some… pity? This wasn’t enough because he CRAVED love, but he couldn’t dare to expect more if he revealed his past. Probably because of the confidence boosted by the fact that you two were engaged, this stupid idea echoed in his head. It was the first time he couldn’t be prepared before you checked on him.

For a long while, none of you moved an inch. As you heard his heartbeat stabilize, you reached out to hug him, rubbing your face against his collarbone.

“I love you more than anything or anyone else.” You murmured quietly, but you knew he could hear every word from you. “You have me now. All for yourself.”

His eyes widened in disbelief. He had just dreamed he was the helpless kid he abhorred again. He had just woken up in fear as the whole world abandoned him, but right now you just stayed beside him, confessing your love and affection to him. You were lively, warm, and soft.

This is REAL.

“I love you too.” He kind of choked on his words. He couldn’t think of anything else but just repeat this straightforward commitment again and again. Then, he quietly sighed, “I don’t deserve you, Angel.”

Your brow rose in disagreement. The fact that he saw you, the complete and real you, and still chose to love and devote to you for ages was far more than enough for you. He held you and hid you under his wings. If you stared at your photos with him, you would see bright admiration in both his and your eyes, but you knew that you couldn’t convince him with words. Instead, you snuggled with him, holding his hands.

He seemed to relax, and you started to wonder what happened. Your words slipped from your lips before you gave it a second thought. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” He tensed up again and shivered faintly. He suddenly felt he couldn’t hold back anymore, but he just bit his lip and shut his eyes close, not letting sounds escape from his throat. But you still heard those vague groans. He bit it too hard so that his lower lips became pale and might bruise. You couldn’t stand letting him hurt himself, so you caressed his lips, trying to comfort him by patting his back at the same time.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

He caged you by his arms tightly, unconsciously caressed your back when he buried his face into your shoulder.

 “I just couldn’t… I had no choice…I…I never wanted to…” He sobbed while feeling comforted and safe around your aurora.

You couldn’t understand what he was talking about, but you guessed it.

Vaguely, probably about the past. You were as broken as him before you met him. You used to curl up desperately inside the closet, whispering things you didn’t even understand. Your mind fell into a void and your vision blurred. Then he came along. He sat down on the floor, staring at the closed closet as if he could see through the inside.

“Knock, knock.”

His fingers gently knocked on the closet, but he didn’t say anything else, nor did he open the closet. You noticed him, staring back through the tiny gap. For a long while, he just sat there and waited patiently. Finally, you pushed the closet door timidly to test the water. He immediately reached out your hand, fingers intertwined. You couldn’t hold back burst into tears and dive into his hug. You cried out loud like a kid but with relief because you finally found long-lost soul fragments. He kissed your eyelids and told you he loved you and would guard you, again and again, and you almost melted in his embrace. The emptiness within was seamlessly woven whole.

And now you just wanted to cup up his shattered heart as well as he did.

So, before he covered up his indecency with embarrassment, you ran your fingers through his velvety hair with admiration and murmured, “[Redacted], I understand…I love you.” He violently shivered after he processed what you said. You cuddled him until his breath was even. He slowly pulled himself from you, wiping his tears awkwardly and looking deep into your eyes.

“Sometimes I feel we were meant to be for each other.”  He leaned forward to beg a long and soft kiss, caressing your engagement ring.

“Maybe we are.” You chuckled, and patted the bedsheet while lying down, “And I probably need a nice nap with my dearest SOULMATE before waking up for my job. Wanna catch some Z's??”

“’m in.” [Redacted] settled you by his chest and smirked. He fell asleep right after you idly yawned. He hid his most cherished treasure near his heart proudly, smug, probably dreaming about the upcoming wedding.

----------

Random thoughts:

* Kind of inspired by the “DiE4u” from the Spotify playlist of [Redacted].

I really want to share some lyrics:

“'cause I’ve died inside a thousand times               

    But still I’d kill myself for you

‘Cause the truth of it, you could slit my wrists       

And I’d write your name in a heart with the hemorrhage”

This is Ren/[Redacted]…

*Probably would add some suggestive content if I would post this in AO3

*English is devastating. I laughed out loud when I realized I had misspelled Angel to Angle (probably because the math professor brainwashed me with polar coordinate integral this week)

[no-see-um-incorrect]

Concept #R1 “my favorite kind of beauty” Sam/Darlin ⚠️insecure Darlin⚠️ Sam being sappy. ya know the good shit (this takes place directly after the summit)

TAG: @frog-0n-a-l0g @weepingredwillow @everything-redacted-and-others @evansotherthoughts @cyc-chilla (if I forgot anyone please  tell me  and I’ll Tag you on the next)

When the two got home they threw themselves on the couch. exhausted from the nights events. they laid there for about 10 minutes until Sam hears a strange noise coming from his partner.

“either my hearings going or that’s your stomach Darlin” darlin looked at him with an exhausted scowl ”Darlin~ when’s the last time you had anything to eat?” They drop their head into the couch armrest ”I had a donut hole and a Red Bull this morning”

Sam sighs and gets up from the couch pulling his partner’s arm with him “NoOooOOoo- sAm DoNT! If I walk anymore, I’ll claps!” Sam adjusts his grip, and lifts them up by their torso ”if you can answer the door while you’re bleeding out  you can stand up after a party. Come on get up”

They finally stood up, looking at their mate as if he killed their dog. Sam laughed at the expression and  softly kissed their Forehead. “you gotta eat Darlin. I’ll fix you up something quick while you go get changed” Darlin starts walking backwards into the hallway “I hate you, your evil and mean, and your moms a hoe” Sam laughs to himself, and walks towards the kitchen. About halfway there he hears Darlin yell ”I LOVE YOU!” he stops for sec trying to compose himself  he’d be busting a gut at the comment, but he was too exhausted for that right now ”I love you too darlin!”

They walked into the bedroom. Took off almost all their clothes (just underwear or underwear and bra u pick) and place them into the hamper. They grab their pajamas out of the drawer and stand in front of the mirror.

“…..” they remembered the events that occurred just hours prior ”…… Alexis” they spend a few minutes in the mirror, analyzing themselves. Tracing every bump, scar and bruise.  a mental image of Alexis, flashing in their brain.  they had not thought about it. not until this moment, at least, the whole night, they were so focused on making sure Sam and their pack members had a good time they didn’t focus on anything else.

But now they’re left with their thoughts. Going through in their head, every action every touch every little thing  said. They remember seeing Alexis talking to Porter. There was lots of hustle and bustle and noise, but they remember hearing her say one thing one thing that they had stored in the back of their brain since they heard it.

What is the compartmentalizing purposeful?  or was there just so much happening at once  they couldn’t focus on it. But now, in the quiet of their own house with the distant noise of their mate in the kitchen

 they hear it

it’s getting louder 

“Downgraded”

Porter didn’t look too pleased, but then again, he never looked too pleased 

“Downgraded”

Bruises, bumps, cuts, dents.

Alexis didn’t have any of that. Alexis was smooth.  she looks like a Victoria’s Secret model. Every curve in every right place.  she had no scars no bumps, no bruises or dents. she looked beautiful.

She looked beautiful

They didn’t feel beautiful

they didn’t look beautiful

“i’m not beau-DARLIN! FOODS READY!”

They were so occupied by their thoughts they completely forgot they were getting changed. they quickly get changed, and head to the kitchen. Their thoughts not totally leaving them. 

They walking to the kitchen as Sam is putting their food on the table “I told you I’d make something quick, so I made those goddamn Ramen noodles that you like so much” they sit down and take a whiff of the food in front of them “thanks Sam” they sounded occupied like their brain was somewhere else. And it was. 

 Despite how hungry They were their brain was to occupied to eat “does it taste OK darlin? Usually you would’ve inhaled it by now” they try to speak but the lump in their throat prevents it. All they can muster is a quiet “no, it’s good Sam….” That’s it he knew there was something wrong. Of course he can tell. he’s always been able to tell.

“everything all right darlin? you look like somethings weighing on you”

Their bottom lip quivered  as they held back tears. Hearing the concern in his voice felt like it was gonna tip the bucket. They know what they’re thinking is irrational, they know it’s stupid. They don’t want Sam to get upset or mad at the thought but  in the midst of trying to communicate  all they can make out is.

“I can’t tell you..it hurts” well shit now they have to tell him. “hey, what’s going on? you can tell me…I can’t promise that I can help, but something is better than nothing….if somethings bothering you I wanna know. I know there are some things you don’t wanna talk about and that’s completely fine but  I can tell that whatever you’re thinking about is putting a strain on you”

Yep there’s the bucket tipper. They rest their elbows on the table and cover their face with their hands. A few seconds past before they let out a quiet sob, they start trying to explain. Everything words melting together in between sobs at an almost incomprehensible speed. 

“Hey hey hey slow down. Shhh shhh. Take a deep breath darlin’ it’s OK” they managed to compose themselves “she’s so pretty Sam. Alexis…… she’s so pretty and so smooth and so perfect looking….. she looks like honey and glass…she’s so soft and she smells good….she’s beautiful……” they look down at their hands covered in calluses and cuts. “…..and I’m not…” Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Just hearing them talk about them selves like that brought tears to his eyes. 

“Darlin…you see the world through your eyes, your perspective, and that’s all well and good, but when it comes to looking at yourself, it’s about as good as being blind”  he softly reaches his hands up and holds their face looking them in their eyes 

(heads up, Sam is about to gush hard)

“when I see you and her next to each other it’s uncomparable…. i’m not just talking about personality wise. I’m talking about how every time I see your face I feel my face getting hotter. I’m talking about how I see you dancing I see you smile and I see you laugh and my heart stops… i’m talking about how under that moonlight the night we Met. My heart told me how much it loved you in a language I couldn’t speak yet. And it ain’t never felt like that with her….never. Not once” he pulled them closer making their foreheads touch.  “hell tonight you made me feel like a school boy on prom night…. I was waiting for you to get ready I felt all nervous…fuck Milo and Asher we’re making fun of me because I couldn’t stop staring…..I heard about what Alexis said Vinson’s partner told me….and I am so sorry that you had to hear that….I would’ve started a fight right then and there if Vincent didn’t advise against it”

He softly wiped their tears away. “ I know how you feel. because I felt it to…..and I know my words can’t fix everything. But I can be here whenever you need me even if you just text me even just a call and I’ll tell you how beautiful you are….Hell it’s embarrassing How long I could go on for about you….you’re my favorite kind of beauty….The kind of beauty With texture..kind of beauty with feeling, the kind of beauty that looks like they were carved from natures, favorite tree, the kind of beauty that gets even more perfect with every imperfection…” That smile. Shit that smile. they bury their face in his shoulder  “fuck Sammy!” they wrap their arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss. Both of their cheeks so red they’re almost glowing.  “shit you’re about to  make me cry for different reasons dammit!” he pulls them into his lap. And hold them tight, planting soft kisses up the shoulder to their jaw. “my darlin, my sweetie pie, my baby~” darlin giggles at the name  “sweetie pie! damn, you really are southern” they laugh with a small sniffle following.

“I think it’s time for us to put this day to rest… hold on tight darlin” he gently lifts them up by their thighs. As they wrap their arms around his neck. ”Sam I can walk” “just because you can doesn’t mean I want you to” he speeds to their room and lays on the bed. Still holding onto them as they lay their head on his chest. ”….hey Sam?” “yeah darlin?”  they hesitate for a moment. “can you do the thing?” he chuckles. “you’re gonna need to be a little more descriptive than that Darlin” they let out a sigh  “remember when I had that panic attack a little while back…and nothing was working, so you did the thing” he mouth and a quick oh OK and starts running his fingers through their hair slowly and methodically 

He starts to quietly hum a tune.

“🎶you are my sunshine🎶 my only sunshine🎶 you make me happy when skies are gray🎶 you’ll never know dear how much I love you🎶 please don’t take my sunshine away🎶 the other night dear🎶as I lay sleeping🎶  I dreamed I held  you in my arms🎶  when I awoke dear, I was mistaken, so I hung my head and cried🎶 you are my sunshine~ my only sunshine~ You make me happy~ when skies are gray🎶 you’ll never know dear how much I love you please don’t take my darlin away~🎶”  he looks down at his partner, snoring softly on his chest. Sleeping peacefully. his favorite site to see. He squeezes them a little tighter.  and kisses the top of their head.  “sweet dreams sleeping beauty. you deserve them”

Soon after Sam fell asleep. Holding his partner close. 

Oh wow. oh damn. (i’m not crying you are) moral of the story. Y’all are fucking gorgeous, Alexis is a Cunt and Sam is wifey, any questions……didn’t think so. Credits to @weepingredwillow for suggesting the song Sam sings (thank you mama) and yea hope you like it. Sorry if there’s any typos. 

 

[sinon36]

Ghost x undercover!reader (HC) Part IV

warnings: violence, blood, mistakes, badly written British speech, I got some inspiration from The Rookie for the undercover part

P.S. I loved Frenchie from The Boys and I just couldn’t help myself. Apologies 😊

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

- the fourth time you meet it’s no longer up to chance but up to your discretion

- the last mission scored you one of the most prized rewards in your field: a golden ticket; basically you get permission to retire from your field an choose another with less risk and a larger pay check, a “thank you gift card” from the director of the MI6, the King and England herself; it’s a type of mobility many dream of, having checked off the bucket list almost dying in al sorts of crazy situations and the young adventurous attitude toward danger having morphed into a veteran hesitant mentality; you are given plenty of time to decide where you want to go       

- a month later you hear rumours of a task force newly formed, one-four-one they’d call it; cheesy you think not really giving anymore attention; and then the briefing about some partnership between under cover specialised agents and this mystery task force for a top tier mission; you think about it, you haven’t had any action in three months now and anymore desk work will drive you up a wall if it continues; you skim over the file on the task force with disinterest, mostly because task forces like these were made up of brutes, eager to pick fights with the enemy and partially because most of the words had been redacted; a few are left out in the open among the sea of black ink: task force, covert mission, high-performance, low collateral casualties, you hum in thought

- what makes you not only volunteer with a manic grin, but actually consider having found the place for your relocation; under the captain’s name John Price, follow three more names; the last two are unknown to you and unimportant, two Sergeants, one John ‘Soap’ MacTavish, and another Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick; but the one is impossible to mistake: Lt. Ghost; no first name, no last name; the only person whose file you ever read to bear that name.

- your application for the mission gets accepted almost instantly your reputation proceeding you almost any briefing room now; you’re informed that you’ll depart within the hour and other things you need to know about it; nothing really matters as you know you’ll get the chance to confront that knobhead that has plagued all your waking hours and some dreams with his obscure choice of words as you departed;

- you’re ready in 30, not really owning much and usually being moved from HQ to HQ, or base, or house within small time frames, which doesn’t allow for many personal things anyway; you wait in the shade, dragging from a cigarette, to pass the time, until the heli lands on the heli-pad; you don’t get to wait much, the pilot is here a little early; good; you don’t like to wait

- the flight is short the base not, far from the MI6 HQ; you pass the time reading a book you took, some title that caught your attention at the library across the street of where you usually buy cigarettes; the story doesn’t raise to your expectations, the writing style is mediocre and the characters have as much depth as a glass of water; you contemplate throwing it out the window, but refrain when the pilot announces ETA: less than 5; you hum heart beating a little quicker at the excitement you feel for finally being able to decipher the meaning behind those blood words

- as soon as the heli touches down on tarmac you’re out the door, no words of goodbye to the pilot; he’s used to it’

- the welcoming committee consists of the two Sergeants, now finally connecting faces to the names you read on the files; they’re casual in your attitude towards you which is a little invigorating, but they wouldn’t drop the “ma’am”; they’ll get over it; you’re probably a little older than them

- John ‘Soap’ MacTavish is chatty Scott, who’s a little to nosy for your liking, but within reasonable limits; you’re not sure if is actually trying to charm the pants off of you or that’s just how he is usually, throwing compliments left and right, but those have no effect on you and slide right off without much care; he sports an unusual haircut for some of the strictest branches of army that’s ever existed, SAS you see the patch on his shoulder, and a wacky tattoo representing the Task Force 141 insignia on his huge forearm

- Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick is almost opposite to “Soap”, he’s more laid back, observing more than talking, making small comments when the Scott’s cascade off words gets interrupted, chuckling at his comrade poor attempts at complimenting you; he’s not as well built as Soap, but he stands a couple inches taller than you

- ‘He’s always like that?’ you direct your attention to “Gaz” as the two of them walk in front of you like two loyal guard dogs

- ‘Yes ma’am, though he get’s easier to ignore with time.’ You both chuckle, a huge disservice to the Scott that protests ‘Oi’ followed by a 'What's that suppose tae mean?' in the thickest Scottish accent you’ve had the chance to hear

- ‘You’re bothersome, bruv.’ Soap hits Gaz’s shoulder in brotherly fashion and the playful banter begins; you tune them up, and think about finally getting to change out of your civilian clothes and into something blacker, more unflattering and less eye catching than the light blue skinny jeans that have managed to flare out more than one whistle as you passed; arseholes and jar-heads come to the forefront of your mind

- you’re led first to your room and left there with the promise that one of them, most likely Soap, cause he already volunteered to do it, will come collect you for the briefing before supper

- you’re left alone to install, unpack, get changed and unwind from the irksome travel and the fact that you are being watched like deer in the headlights, fresh faces always attract the interest of the crowd in places like this

- the walk towards the briefing room is short but Soap manages to pour so many words in that interval that you’re almost sure he’s going to run out; once inside Soap’s chatter dies down and you make eye contact with the captain

- John Price gives off the energy of a strong father figure, his facial hair adding to his age; he not much older than you but the stress of leadership is visible on his face, eyes winged with crow’s feet; he gives a tight-lipped smile and a curt nod as you and the sergeant enter; he waits for Gaz to join you before he begins the briefing

-   as for the hulking beast of a man, clad in black, brown eyes surrounded by black army issued face paint and hidden behind that grotesque mask of his, oh no, you haven’t miss him, just ignored him; you felt his gaze burning your skin, searching for eye contact, which you vehemently denied; suffer just like I did, bloke

- Gaz comes in and is witness to the unthinkable; you the new face, pretty one might say without lying, so much different from these hardened man, more in common with the civvies than them, go and sit right next to Ghost, no space left in between the two of you; and what’s even crazier, you don’t acknowledge him; Soap and Gaz share a look; the captain seems amused by your actions and the sergeants confusion; no one, absolutely no-fucking-body ever sat next to Ghost, willingly and without starring dumbly and frightened at him; no one, never

- you take your seat, and place your notebook and pen neatly in front of you, facing the whiteboard as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened; the two chaps sit down slowly, eyes trained on you half expecting you to realize your mistake and jump out of the chair; but you surprise them once again when you finally decide to meet the glare directed at you head on and to crack a smirk at the lieutenant

- their minds are blown, mouth open in disbelief, they glance at one another; their minds are set, you get labelled as the agent who clearly lost their mind somewhere in some gone wrong mission; they’ll bombard you with questions later

- as for Ghost, he’s as still as puma waiting to spring to attack; if looks could kill, you’d be disintegrated to the last atom; you’re as unbothered as a new born foal, unaware of its impending doom

- Price clears his voice, catching your attention and diminishing the tension that clouds around the semicircle table

- he makes an introduction for you, stating the reason you’re here, and what you’re specialized in: undercover espionage; you give a nod to all the men

- on a laptop in the furthermost side of the table a connection is established and a blonde American woman greets you; she’s CIA, their handler and yours for the upcoming mission; you have no qualms to work with the other most prominent intelligence agency, the one from over the pond, as long as you get to do your job as you know best; you feel the respect the men have for her and the fondness in the captain’s eyes once they greet each other; they’re old friends, that much you can tell   

- you decide you’ll respect Kate Laswell and trust her, as much as one can trust when one builds their carrier on lying to others and distrusting everyone; she’s pleasant so far, familiar with the men, and cuts straight to the chase just how you like it

- the target is one drug overlord who decided to take things up a notch and deal in arms with terrorists; the goal: disrupt the block-chain and cut the heads off the snakes; simple enough nothing that you haven’t tackled before

- you’re given green light to propose how to approach and infiltrate this business; you explain that you have to get quite high in their hierarchy if you want a shot at real damage; you skim over the information available on his deals: fentanyl, the most recent drug that’s flooded the streets; you know how to “cook” it from a previous cartel you took down; you’ll enter as just that “a cooker”, but you’ll also need a bodyguard to make yourself seem more important, but more on that later; you point out the name of the current one, the first target

- if you manage to get that person out of the game, you’ll have a chance to fill that spot, maybe the most important chain link in the whole operation

- you already have in mind the persona you’ll assume, a chemistry drop-out that took to cooking drugs; you know that your skills far surpass the target’s and you know how to cook a purer form of fentanyl; as for your bodyguards’: a crook; fresh out of prison on the lookout for work that pays well; one with knowledge of guns and explosives, surely to pique the terrorist cell’s interest in their skill

- Soap offers for the role, impressed so far with your knowledge and method of operating; you’re through, and he’d like to learn more on infiltration; you agree hearing he’s got what it takes to be convincing enough

- Laswell, Price and Gaz all hum in agreement at your plan waiting to hear their part in it; simple: Laswell can help with credentials and all the raw materials you’ll need to pull this off; Gaz, the captain and Ghost will be your back up, providing fire power

- the first target is easy to take down: he’s a middle-aged creep, who likes pretty young women and heavy drinks, parties like he’s twenty not fifty something; they already have info on his preferred hotspots; you’ll go in lure him out for the men to bag him and make him disappear

- everyone agrees so far adding small details here and there; it’s only your first few hours or so and every single one understands why you’re held in so high regard; it’s all warranted

- Ghost is the only one who hasn’t said anything, allowing you to direct the briefing, already know you’re more than capable and have far more experience with such delicate planning

- once everything is settled you start planning out the preparations you’ll need to make beforehand; Soap will train under your supervision; you point out he already looks the part, a delinquent; the comment lacks any trace of ill intent, but everyone can’t help but chuckle at his huff of indignation followed by ‘ ’M not’; you sweeten the deal praising his charming nature and easy-going attitude; he smiles at that but it’s short lived by your next comment

- ‘You'll do fine as long as you let me do the talking. I doubt you calling anyone 'bonnie lass' will get you very far.’ That gets everyone to let out a chuckle, everyone knowing Soaps anticks; even Ghost lets out a grunt reminiscent of a laugh; the bruised ego Scott follows up with a ‘Pish off’ that’s met with laughter from you; you let the insult roll off in good humour

- the briefing ends, Laswell disconnects, and the rest of you stand up to make your way to the mess hall in time for dinner; Price holds you back, and you obey; you talk a little, mostly him, praises fly at you, for good planning, attention to details and overall how well you managed to fit in with them in such a short time; you thank him, having heard this all the time; you try, really hard, to be pliant and easy to work with; no need to be a hard-ass; you’re all on the same side

- he agrees with your well-spoken point of view; but he can’t help but ask what’s the deal with you and Ghost

- ‘Worked together before. We get along well.’ Your answer seems to put at ease some of his worries about the teams chemistry; with that out of the way he leads you to the mess hall where he gets you to sit with them at the table; you can feel everyone else’s eyes on you as the new face of the 141’s; but you ignore them chatting with “your” team; you kind of like the sound of that; you can quite imagine working along side them for the rest of your carrier, however short, as you know the death rates among undercover agents grow the further they go; very few get to retire in one piece, actually you can count them on one hand, at least the ones they tell you about at the academy

Previous part here.

Next part here.

[phocidine]

I just want to lend a perspective to this situation for people who are lucky enough to not have gone through something like this before.

I used to be a huge fan of the Yogscast. The Yogscast went through a shitstorm in 2019 because 3 separate pedophilic content creators were removed from their company.

The Yogscast did not handle these situations well at all.

The most talked about case, Sjin, had allegations against him since at least 2012. Thats seven years of no action against him, but not seven years of no action at all.

Infamously, Lewis Brindley, another content creator and one of the main managers of the company, brought up the allegations during a stream in 2016 and literally said “fuck you” to the people speaking about them, while implying that Sjin sexting teenaged fans was “not serious” and “just being flirty”.

Sjin was never technically publicly kicked from the Yogscast, either. He mysteriously made an announcement he was leaving and for awhile it was unclear whether his leave had anything to do with his allegations at all. On top of this, Yogscast promotional material continued to feature Sjin for another year.

I stupidly went back to the Yogscast fandom in 2020, believing all the problems were fixed. It was my comfort pandemic media for most of the year until I just couldn’t take the toxicity anymore.

That community went completely rancid after Sjin’s departure. He left, but his fans didn’t, and they were given so much ammunition from the Yogscast’s past and continuing failure to properly handle Sjin’s disgusting actions.

It’s easy to victim blame when just a few years ago the manager of the company did it for you. It’s easy to say it’s not a problem and everyone’s overreacting when clearly nobody thought it mattered for 7 years and Sjin is still present in the most recent highlight reel. It’s easy to claim the Yogscast was forced to make Sjin leave due to over-sensitive feminazis and cancel culture when other Yogscast streamers are constantly giggling about how they’re gonna get cancelled and some are making jokes about how they can’t talk about Redacted anymore.

The Qsmp team may be handling this situation with Forever quietly, but they reacted fast and made it perfectly clear where they stand on this issue. They’ve done a very good job so far. I think we’re all allowed to find some relief in that.

[gavinsdeviant]

Feel the Light

cw/tw- talks of past harm done to character, talks of torture, emotional distress, trauma response, a traumatic flashback, hurt/comfort, Quinn, insults and harsh language

word count- 1,645

pairing- Sam & Darlin

fandom- Redacted Audio

fic inspired by the song feel the light by Jennifer Lopez

@davidshawswife @daveysangelsposts @angelcactus @morgansplace @annahhopee @romeo-the-homeo @zozosrandomthings @miyowmiyow

hope you enjoy!

“Quinn doesn’t get to keep hidin’ from you, not now. Not anymore.” Darlin’ gives a small smile, squeezing his cold palm in theirs. He brings their hands to his mouth and kisses a line down their wrist.

Do you remember,

“I’ll be fine. They ain’t gonna know what’s hitting ‘em,” he adds, flashing them a toothy grin. They laugh, even as nerves bounce around in their stomach. They reach up to press a kiss to his cheek.

When we feel under,

“I love you.”

“I love you too, darlin.”

—

Fifteen minutes later the shifter and their Alpha are seated overlooking a drab, empty room. The air is cold, quiet.

Darlin’ scrunches their nose at the smell of stale coffee.

“Where is he?” David asks again. He’d been hounded Detective Clark as soon as they had sat down, hackles raised at the room that still appeared vacant. Their stomach churns.

The fluorescent lights hum, buzzing as they drum fingers along the cold rim of the table they were sat at.

Henry beckons them to look. The door slides open and a familiar silhouette steps out seconds later. *Sam.*

Hurry up, hurry up,

There’s no more waiting,

He shuffles over to take his seat, flannel sleeves pulled up to the elbows. They smile to themselves as their chest warms. ”Samual Collins. He’s your partner, correct?”

He glances back to the glass, saluting them, something akin to mischief alight in his eyes.

We’re still worth saving,

The scrape of a large chain rattles the door before they can find a way to reply and then, with a slow creak the door swings open. With dusty hair and a charming smile, the man in the door almost appeared normal.

Sam’s smile drops.

I left my pack for him,

I gave my heart to him, my fears to him,

I put myself second for him,

Everything for him.

All they had done had been to have him behind bars and now, they couldn’t even look him in the eye.

Coward, their mind hissed.

Feel the light,

Shining in the dark of night,

Their heart pounds in their ears as their cruel vampire ex regards the man who had let down his walls for them— had let them love him for who he was, even when it wasn’t pretty. “I keep these walls high so those feelings don’t get the better of me but… you climbed over them. And you’re in here. I love you, Darlin’. Deeply.”

“Is my little mouse here?” Quinn demands, leaving in as if in whisper. A vein throbs in Sam’s temple.

They knew he’d ask— knew he’d try and draw them out, to no avail.

“No matter,” he snarls, smile too wide,” I don’t need them here for the things I’m going to tell you.” He lets out a huff, fangs flashing. “My pretty little pet didn’t share the details, did they?”

Sam bites back a growl.

“You really don’t know half the shit there is to know about your darlin. Oh, now you’ve got me excited.” A pause.

“Ever notice their limp?”

With a sharp scrape, their chair goes flying back as they press closer to the glass. “He doesn’t get to do that,” they hiss, turning to the detective. He shakes his head. “We need this information out of him. We’ve got him talking… now he just has to keep talking.”

Slowly, they turn back to the creature, one they’d called “lover” so many years ago, its eyes faint with delight. “Oh, the things I’ve done. Seen the scar on their ankle?” He seems almost nostalgic, eyes cast to the ceiling in thought.

Remember what we forgot,

I know its a long shot,

“I broke them, bit by precious bit, and I liked it,” he mused. They swallow hard. “Broke that ankle five, maybe six times, until my name became a prayer.”

“You,” Sam bites out,” don’t get to pretend you’re still apart of them, that you know anythin’ about them.”

“You new bloods are all the same. Young and naive. Don’t know what you’re saying.”

In a flash, Sam has him pressed to the wall, breaths coming hard.

Quinn only huffs out another laugh. “I would’ve made an example out of them. For all the empowered and non-empowered humans dead at my hand, they’d be a living example. Say, ever heard of the blood eagle?”

There’s a silence, long enough for darlin to hear their pulse in their ears before he continues.

“The Brazen Bull then? Eaten by rats, perhaps? They will always be a pathetic fucking mutt, in my eyes. Meant to be taught a lesson—“

Without a word, the shifter slowly rises from their seat and pushes the door open, grimacing at the ache that creeps up their ankle. Sam had never asked and hadn’t wanted to push anything they weren’t willing to give, but oh how they had wished he did.

They were humiliated.

Here I go, here I go,

Their eyes burned with tears, ones that they furiously wiped away. He didn’t deserve their tears, not when he fed on their pain like a sadism demon took to brutality.

A few minutes pass, the cold wall pressed to their back as they breathe in, and out. Their heart still beat like a thousand drums in their chest and they couldn’t seem to make it slow. They glance at the door just as it opens, David’s muscled frame waiting.

Feel better now, feel better now,

He hesitates, face taut.

And then, with long strides towards them, wraps them up in his arms, head to his chest. They shudder.

“It’s okay,” he breathes. “You don’t have to go back in there, if you don’t want to. That fucker doesn’t get to take that choice from you too.”

They nod.

“Do you want Sam?” Again they nod, eyes burning.

“I’ll go get him.”

“He should be in there,” they try weakly. “Trying to save that girl.”

“I don’t care. There are other ways.”

Without a further word their friend pushes up from where he’d practically sunk down on his knees in front of them, and swings open the door. It shuts with a resounding click behind him as they slump back against the wall.

Here I go, here I go,

Feel better now, feel better now,

Their shoulders shake, chest heaving as they bite back tears. They were just messing things up— if it weren’t for them, none of this would have happened.

You’re his thrall… always will be.

And then, Sam is there, gently cradling their face in his hands and whispering soft words.

“Hey, hey— you needed me, and I’m here.”

They see the panic in his eyes, the hurt as if reflected mirror-like in front of them.

No.

They lay a gentle hand on his chest, pushing back. He doesn’t touch, only opens his palms instead.

“These hands will always be for you, darlin. Always. Never to hurt or bruise. To hold, whenever you might need it. We’re safe.”

”Oh pet, my name tastes so good on your lips… as you scream it. How’s your leg, hmm? Holding, and healing, I hope.”

They roll their ankle, over and over again, tapping along the ridge where the scar had healed.

Still here, still here.

Still here still here still here still here still—

“Darlin.”

”Nice and crooked. Shifter bones are harder to shift and clay, but this… Now you can never run away. Why would you? Such a masochistic wolf you are. And so the wolf traded their life for another. The fox and the wolf.” He smiles. “What a tragic tale. Sly fox, stupid wolf.”

“I had this horse on the farm I grew up on, way back, in Mont Blanc.” They blink, lights unbearably bright. “Athena, we called her. And me, bein’ the small stubborn boy that I was, decided that I could damn well ride her if I pleased.”

There’s a pause, the shifter tapping a finger along the bone of their left ankle as they look up at him, present now.

“I fell off a horse that day, and my mama was not impressed.” They smile, reaching a hand out to take his palm.

“I’m sorry, its just—“

“No apologizin’.” They shrug but gesture for him to continue.

“Well, Athena got up to a whole lotta trouble in my day. She loved goin’ out and never wanted to come back,” he smiles, somber. “Couldn’t really blame her.”

They take his hand in theirs, squeezing as if to say I’m here.

“We can go back,” they say suddenly, the quiet too big. He looks concerned by pulls them gently to their feet anyway, a stream of tears drying on his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” he rasps, voice raw. “You shouldn’t have had to live through that.”

They smile, a genuine smile, one they hadn’t felt in weeks.

From behind them Detective Clark clears his throat. The shifter and vampire both turn to him looking distraught, hands behind his back.

“Quinn lashed out. He managed to shatter the glass to the back room and has been placed again under a magical suppression. We don’t believe it’s safe for Mr. Collins to return back in there.”

He walks closer, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You did well. Thank you both for coming, we appreciate the patience in this difficult case in finding Mr. Fox.”

An hour later, Darlin and Sam are standing on the sidewalk, breathing in the cold evening air, feeling lighter than they had ever been.

Sam throws his head up to the stars, eyes bright.

“As long as those stars burn,” he points. “And as long as I live, I will always be here for you— morning, noon and night. Whenever you need me, darlin. I love you.”

Here we go, here we go

“I love you too, cowboy.”

Feel better now, feel better now

[siriuslysatorusimping]

*SHIBUYA SNEAK PEEK* TITLE REDACTED (future 'Another Level' installment)

HELLO I'M WRITING SHIBUYA RIGHT NOW AND SO MUCH HAS CHANGED FROM MY ORIGINAL DRAFTS AHHHHHH

Primarily because I wrote my original drafts before 90% of what these two have now been through was even an idea and those drafts just didn't fit anymore. So, because I'm both excited and terrified, here is a sneak peek into what you can expect!!

Preview below the cut 😊

If you haven't already, you can read Another Level on AO3 💕

“Rinko,” he said, turning his head to stare at her duplicate. “You need to get out.”

Swapping immediately, she crossed her arms as he sighed.

“Ijichi said you’d come in. You were only supposed to be scouting."

As they looked down, she saw the next curtain, the one she couldn’t send her duplicates into.

“My duplicates couldn’t get through that one. And if you can- I don’t like this. It feels like a setup-"

“Because it is,” he replied easily, grinning at her. “Baby, they’ve got hundreds of people screaming my name in fear at the top of their lungs. I’d be more worried if you thought this wasn’t a setup.”

“I dunno,” she said drily, watching his grin widen. “Seems like you’re pretty used to people-”

“You seemed to like screaming it earlier, even if it was for a different reason,” Gojo teased, chuckling when she scowled at him. “It’ll be fine, sweetheart. We’ll get dinner after this. Promise. I’m thinking Thai food?”

“Last of my concerns right now,” she said, rolling her eyes.

[heyitsthatonesmolgay]

Tagged by the illustrious Bods @nobodysdaydreams! They said to include my old AO3 account, which I will, but for safety reasons I will not be disclosing fandoms or fanfic titles from that one, as I…value what little anonymity I have saved from this account. I don’t wanna get doxxed again.

How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 17 under my new account, one anonymous crossover and the rest are MBS in one form or another. Under both my accounts…uhhh…I think it’s a little over 100. *does mental math* 105. Yeah. 105.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

Under both accounts it’s 223,211.

How many fandoms have you written for, and what are they?

I have posted a whopping 17 fandoms, but I’ve definitely written for more than I post. TMBS book and show, an RPG game of one sort or another, and 15 more redacted fandoms.

Top five fics by kudos:

So…I still have that old account, and I have the stats, I just don’t use it anymore. I can say the numbers, but the fandoms and fic titles will be redacted for my safety since they’re not from this account.

[REDACTED 1] - 252 kudos

[REDACTED 2] - 183 kudos

[REDACTED 3] - 169 kudos

[REDACTED 4] - 154 kudos

[REDACTED 5] - 144 kudos

Do you respond to comments?

Yes, I try to as a general rule. If I ever got a flood of them, I sometimes would have to sit down for a while before I replied, or just mark ones that I couldn’t respond well to (usually keysmashes or emoji strings) as read and just move on, but I do try to respond to the ones I get, because I cherish them all.

What’s the fic with the angstiest ending you’ve ever written?

This would be for [REDACTED FOR MY SAFETY] fandom. Both characters were left for dead after a ruthless battle, one of them shown to be alive only through his own narration. The other was not shown by the end of the fic to have made it. He did, ultimately, but that only came up in a sequel.

Do you write crossovers?

I like to contemplate them more than write them, but on occasion I have been known to attempt a writing of them. They never seem to leave my drafts.

Have you ever gotten hate on a fic?

*gestures vaguely at the intro of this post* Yep. Gotten doxxed, too.

Do you write smut?

Used to, once upon a time. People were not happy and I left that fandom behind me.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yep. Granted it wasn’t word-for-word, but I’ve been plagiarized and the person who did so used (in my opinion) weaker synonyms that didn’t get the same meaning across. I was. Unamused.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, on my old account, into Russian and Mandarin.

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

S.Q. Pedalian/Happiness

What’s a WIP that you want to finish, but don’t think you ever will?

I don’t like to say never, but tbh IDK if I can do justice for the Your Greatest Fear AU. I’d like to imagine I can, but if I don’t jive with the piece I’m likely not gonna post it.

What are your writing strengths?

I am most excellent at hurt/comfort. It’s fun to have the catharsis of comfort and most of the hurts are based (either very literally or very loosely) on my own hurts in life. It’s nice to read.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Honestly? Considering everything I’ve written both in this fandom and others? Knowing when to stop. Like, if I don’t give myself a hard stopping point and it’s not a one-shot I will…go on forever, because there’s just so much I want to explore.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fics?

I generally use italics for it, unless it’s ASL, because I’ve had Deaf people in the spaces I write say that they want it to be treated on the same level as English.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written so far?

On this account, probably Your Greatest Fear, because that story is just so fun to explore. Also villain!SQ is so underrated.

[pb-dot]

Spooktober Sunday Special: The Clockwork Monster V

Halloween is right around the corner, and I'm finishing off the Clockwork Monster for now. Jake and 13 go on the lam, and a twist of sorts presents itself.

16.09.552 Recovered from Site B after the incident I’ve had the opportunity to confirm the date since my last entry. Tempted as I am to try to correct the dating on my previous entries, I know it’d be mostly guesswork. Besides, I seem to have left my diary note behind when we left the coal cellar. I hope this mistake has not cost us our freedom. I hope there is no sensitive info for me to redact in the first place, but in hindsight, I realize I should have checked.

From what little 13 told me, he has been dodging a member of his organization, well I suppose former organization at this point, but she has been sniffing out his trail ever since. He and two of his fellow modified people, One and Two, were sent by their boss (ruler or religious head?) to capture me for this reason or another. I personally suspect it is because my work on clockwork limbs is relevant to their interests in some way, but 13 has been unable to confirm this. One had stalked me for an extended period of time in preparation, and the plan was for Two and 13 to move in to snatch me on the 8th.

13, however, had other ideas. He hasn’t said much about it other than that he didn’t want to stay with his organization any longer, and that he had temporarily disabled Two, kidnapped me ahead of schedule, and made sure to keep me somewhere hidden. I have no idea what caused the damage I repaired, but his ex-colleagues remain my main suspects. It is, for example, quite possible that One made his escape difficult after dealing with Two, but without knowing her abilities and strengths it is hard to determine for sure.

The night grows dark, and my head grows weary from exertion. I’ll get to discussing our escape and my plans on the morrow.

17.09.552 Recovered from Site B after the incident Our new hideout is considerably less cramped than it was upon first viewing. The sunlight and draft in the abandoned apiary make waking up here a mite shocking, as I had grown accustomed to the darkness of the cellar and we arrived here by moonlight. Apparently, buildings such as these small towers were built in an attempt to vivify the town’s dying greenery by the presence of a large population of domesticated bees, but needless to say, they’ve been empty for just about as long as I have been alive.

After sunset yesterday, 13 had unlocked the door to the coal cellar he had been keeping me. As I had suspected, it connected to one of the collapsing manors of the old Noble Quarter. The huge building was no doubt owned by someone on paper, but inhabited only by dust and decay. There were many of those after the nobility that knew sense sold off their assets and fled the country while there was still a country to flee in the later days of The Wars. The Spire owned most of them now, but seeing as restoring them was expensive and most everyone who could afford it lived comfortably in the spire itself anyway, the houses mostly just got lost to entropy until they could be torn down for cheap.

The Noble Quarter was eerily quiet as we left for the city proper. It was about at this point I realized that I thought about 13 and me as “we,” and the thought of ditching him and making a run for it just didn’t occur to me anymore. He could be lying about any number of the things he has told me, but for better or worse I believe him because - Entry ends suddenly with signs of being rushed by outside factors, see next entry.

17.09.552 (later) Recovered from Site B after the incident We couldn’t stay at the apiary. Two found us, and although I barely got a look at her as she scaled the walls of the little tower, climbing like half a spider might, I now understand why 13 had no desire to remain in her company. While the modifications done to 13 are considerable, there’s a certain level of effort put into making him move like a human. Two, on the other hand, have been outfitted with entirely clockwork-powered joints for the elbows and knees, with the limbs themselves being stripped to the bone. Hell, the way she climbed, it looked like her joints had been replaced entirely by mechanical ones, as she was both double-jointed, and much faster than a human could be. 13 spotted her a second later than me, and we wasted no time fleeing into the crowds. I couldn’t see her, but I’m sure somehow that One was also present somewhere in the area.

After the many days of isolation and skulking by night, it was chaotic and scary to be back in the crowded bustle of the city. If it was unusual and stressful for me, though, I can only imagine how scary it was for 13, who was out among “regular people” without his cloak for what must’ve been the first time. At one point he grabbed my hand, and I held on for dear life as I dodged and ducked our way through the lunchtime rush. I had no idea if Two had any compunctions about following us through the crowd, but a staccato of clacking from the roof somewhere over us hinted that she probably chose to pursue us that way.

While I’m no canny street urchin, I will say I am good at moving through crowds and navigating the city. It didn’t take us long to lose the clacking that I took to understand as the sound of Two’s pursuit, although it is quite possible we were still followed in silence.

I’m writing these words from our current hideout, a room in a semi-reputable inn in the Entertainment District. It’s noisy and it smells like stale beer in here, but the proprietor seemed like a decent enough sort. He may not be above selling us out to our pursuers, but he didn’t seem bright enough to connect the dots just yet.

13 is sleeping. After our mad dash through the city, he seemed disproportionately tired, so I let him take the first shift in the room’s one admittedly decent bed. If I can find the peace in my soul to get some sleeping done, the couch’ll have to do for me.

Peace in my soul does seem unlikely though, as I am starting to realize this problem is bigger than I assumed. 13 may not want to carry out his assigned task, but his former allies seem to have no problem with the parameters of the mission. I can’t return home, and I can’t return to my place of employ. My life as I know it is, effectively, forfeit. I guess 13 and me have that in common now.

18.09.552 (morning) Recovered from Site B after the incident To whoever may read this: My name is Jake, former Journeyman at Barker Automatics. For reasons I still don’t fully understand, I have been targeted by an organization that implants complex clockwork gadgets in human subjects to enhance their abilities. I believe it is my experience with clockwork limbs that has brought me to the attention of this organization as my expertise should allow me to eventually repair and replicate the modifications in 13.

My savior turned out to be one of my would-be captors who decided to take this chance to flee from his fellow modified in the hope that I would know or be able to learn how to maintain his clockwork parts. He has since introduced himself as Adrian, and let me know the number tattooed on his forehead is his production number.

Both Adrian and I know that we can’t hide out where we now hide forever. Our pursuers are clever, and there’s little doubt in my mind they’ll sniff us out before long. Adrian and I have come up with a plan of sorts, but for it to succeed we’ll need to visit my former workplace to secure my closing wages and a few personal effects. There is a good chance our pursuers will attempt to stop us, and there is every chance they’ll succeed, but I know in my heart that if it comes to that, we’ll make them fight for it. Adrian has asked me to promise to kill him if it looks like Two and One are going to bring him back in, and I can only be thankful that he didn’t press the issue, as I still don’t know if I’m capable of such a thing. I will say his intensity on the matter makes for a compelling argument.

If we succeed in securing my resources we will endeavor to The text ends suddenly here, as the remains of the pages were ripped out, possibly by 13.

Post Script I bring to you now this incomplete record of events, Oh Creator. It is unfortunate that I was not able to bring you the young clockmaker and your wayward creation as you have asked of me, but I beg your forgiveness in the matter as I am but a poor servant of your brilliantness. It is still not known to me whether Two is still alive, as she has not made her appointed check-ins since moving out on a lead to intercept Adrian 13 and the clockmaker. She may be dead, but equally possible that she is not, as she is mercurial even on her best days.

In my efforts to track down my quarry, I found 13’s former hiding spaces, the coal cellar, and the room in The Pelian Lady, Site A, and B, respectively. Apart from the documents I have attached, as whole and unmodified as they could be found, there was little trace to be found of 13 and Jake. I was unable to confirm the location of the disused sky-apiary mentioned in earlier entries, but I maintain my watch and vigil after it all the same.

While I am tempted to indulge in speculation, I know it to be folly in the face of such a mind as yours, and shall do no such thing. With that said, I personally suspect Jake may have tried securing charter on a ship heading towards Pelia or one of the former colonies. It is also possible that he and 13 are trying to make their way out of the city and try their luck with the Farmer Lords. With your blessing, I will follow these leads such as they are and attempt to secure that which you so desperately desire.

With Equal Loyalty and Admiration Your Slave One

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[from-ultra-space]

*you enter Andrew’s room to find he’s gone. Only a diary entry is left behind.*

no. don’t even think about it. they’ve said no. I know how they feel. Why even ask? I already know the answer. I want to give them the benefit of the doubt, but I can’t, knowing what I do. I want so badly for them to give peace a chance. I want so badly to tell them the truth, to let them know what’s really going on so that they’d trust me and them- but I can’t. That would break protocol. Every single day, the idea gnaws at me, though. What if? What if they were willing to cooperate? What if they knew? Dare I even mention Zero’s name anymore? I’ve seen how unreasonable they’re being, and I can’t do anything. There’s still so much I don’t remember. I feel helpless. Lost and alone. I’m here, on this planet, but it feels like I’m drifting once more, and if I let go, I’ll be back where I was before the fall. Nothing can change how they feel. Nothing can change what I know and remember. I’m stuck in this hell, forced to endure as I am powerless to change anything. I thought they would trust me. I thought they would listen when I said to “wait until the time was right” but I was wrong. Their actions are hasty, misguided, and it’s obvious why. They lack information. They can’t know the reasoning behind our actions. They couldn’t possibly understand that if we didn’t protect this multiverse the way we have, they would be long gone, a memory lost in time like everything else. Why should they? I understand how they feel. They’ve got a business to run, and our business isn’t theirs. So I’ll leave. Tomorrow, I will leave this facility, and they won’t see me again. They can’t trust me. It would go against everything. And I get it. But I wish they’d try, at least. It would make things easier. It so pains me, because without their support, we don’t stand a chance against the one who I share a name with. I am leaving, knowing full well that we have already lost. There’s no turning back now. We must simply let it be. In a month’s time, it’ll make no difference either way. What a joke. This is delta officer Andrew Reese Prower of the Zone Police, signing off.

(A signature is printed here, fancy and loopy)

// See you next month for the final part :) -Matthew

//additional note, from Carsten: We wanted to see how you reacted to the Zone Police message you last answered. Depending on the outcome of that ask, this diary entry wouldn’t have been made at all :) -Carsten

Oh what have we done. I know my partner comes off a confident and hasty but I know she usually plans better than this. He shouldn’t be out there alone, not so little time since his memory came back. They all misunderstood, between both sides lack of information and [REDACTED] being the way she is, well. …This is unprofessional of me. I’ll write a formal report to the council, that might be a start.

[Urgent message to the council of Ultra Megalopolis regarding the case on the “Zone Police”]:

In light of new information received by a trusted source, there has been a misunderstanding by both the URS and Zone Police. Andrew Reese Prower, a faller under my care, has committed dangerous and rash actions because of this misunderstanding and his current wearabouts are unknown. These actions were taken because he worried about the claims we made in regards to Zero and his associates. I believe the Zone Police have taken our case against them as an invitation for violence and have responded in what they believe to be an appropriate manner. While I still do not trust their leadership, nor many of their members, I do think we should conduct more research before coming to our final decision regarding their legality. There is still greed and selfishness under the surface of this entire situation but it is becoming increasingly hard to determine where and who is the cause. However, it is clear that we are “in over our heads”, as the human saying goes. [REDACTED] is on the case already and we should do our best to support her by making sure she is going into as safe a mission as we can make it. This is an unfortunate position to be in, especially with our lack of time, but contrary to my previous records I do not think now would be the time to act. Instead let the URS do what we were meant to do, reconasince. Thank you for your time and understanding,

Nori Phoris

[applesontheground]

your own prometheus 💉

CHAPTER EIGHT robbing me of my rightful chances | AO3

(MILD) NSFW | Word Count: 4,850 | Herbert West x GN Reader x Daniel Cain

contains canon typical/mentions of gore&murder, mentions of arousal, canon death discussion/the angst that comes from it, kissing, hurt/comfort at its finest

⬅ continued from something inside your head ➡ continued in as i have done, so will you

🎼: x (look at my playlist boy)

“So, tell me this.” You watched the officer open an old box labeled OCTOBER 1985 (COPY), sifting through a couple folders as you asked, “Why does Miskatonic have unredacted police records just laying around?”

Dyer replied, “It’s tricky. They got special clearance to hold onto evidence, as well. If you ask anyone here, they either weren’t working at the time, or they’ve signed a shit ton of NDAs. If what really happened at that bloodbath ever left these walls, or the walls of you paperboys holding onto the redacted versions… [Y/N], no one here would have a job anymore.”

You crossed your arms, glancing around to see no sign of Graves or even another staff member. The officer hadn’t even turned on the light, but just as you prepared to do it yourself, he found a light switch with the hand that wasn’t holding the folder he had finally tracked down.

“Here she is.” He held it out to you, almost eager in his grimacing flash of teeth that you supposed was a smile. You hesitated, giving him a single look of uncertainty before unfolding your arms and clasping your fingers around the worn paper.

“Herbert.” Dan rushed to the top of the stairs, throwing the door open. The man had been looking at one of the drawings done for him, quickly closing the book when he heard the urgency in his assistant’s voice. “[Y/N] isn’t here. I-I went to go see if [he/she was / they were] alright, maybe…maybe try to talk to [him/her/them] about everything,” Herbert’s eyes traced over him before jumping back up to his face, and Dan stammered through the overgrown garden of thoughts, “And…[he/she’s / they’re] gone. [His/her/their] jacket isn’t in the closet, and [His/her/their] car isn’t on the street.”

“…Well, they probably just needed the space to do some critical thinking. [Y/N] gets overwhelmed rather easily, if you haven’t noticed.” He brushed it off, but he wasn’t fooling Dan as he responded, “You know [he/she/they] have no idea what to think of us anymore, we’ve screwed this up. I’ve screwed it up by not telling them. What do you think…[he/she thinks / they think]?” Dan pressed his hand to his forehead, as if to try and physically stop the dams from breaking in his mind, “What if [he/she’s / they’ve] gone to tell someone? What if we just-“

“Dan, [Y/N] made me a promise.” Herbert interrupted, and he gave himself an unsure frown, hands clasping to the table behind him, “I know we can’t expect it to be kept by someone so naïve, and I can only try to find the faith that [he/she/they] is too scared to do it. Besides, who’d believe [him/her/them] if [he/she/they] went out there, ran [his/her/their] mouth on our otherwise impossible research? All recollections of that night have been scrubbed, and the world has never seen the likes of what we’re achieving.”

Dan furrowed his brow, “…[Y/N] made a promise to what?”

Herbert tipped his chin at him, almost smug in his answer. “To take everything to the grave, ideally.”

“Bogus.” You breathed, flipping a stapled page over because you couldn’t stomach what you were seeing. Dyer was leaning on a nearby metal shelf in the office, relishing in you scanning the documents, and to your quiet spat he crooned, “Whatcha see, sweets?”

You suppressed a disgusted face and muttered, “All of these death records have…they have discrepancies.” You slapped the back of your hand on the packet and scoffed, “This is a falsified record. Probably redacted it because it makes no sense to anyone who reads them for a living. I’ve been doing it for years, and it’s chicken scratch if you ask me. They didn’t even type the corrections! It’s all done in…ballpoint pen.”

“That’s the thing, kid. It’s not bogus.” He insisted, smile fading and eyes gleaming to you in the depths of the dim light. You couldn’t stop the bitter laughter, finally smiling and nodding in a sarcastic ferocity, “Oh, okay. There’s two dates and times of death for everyone on this list of casualties, officer. Are you telling me these people all died twice?”

Dyer held the silence, and you felt your stomach knot suddenly as he reached over and flipped the page. “This is the honest report, [Y/N]. In your offices, it’s redacted to the point of illegibility, but before you throw it to the wind – how ‘bout you tell me whose names are on these pages.” His finger tapped the paper, and with a final huff your eyes tore away from him, beginning to skim.

Daniel Cain’s statement illustrates that one of the cadavers, having been brought back to life from unforeseen circumstances, had put their hands around Megan Halsey’s throat. She was dead within the hour of the report from asphyxiation, and Cain had claimed to attempt to resuscitate her to no success. Fingerprints prove that Cain did not cause Halsey’s death. This is noted to be odd since there were multiple resurrections throughout the evening. This has yet to be investigated.

You could’ve heard a pin drop, the zipper of your jacket clicking as you sucked in a breath, but you kept going.

A Dr. Carl Hill’s head was found underneath a table in the morgue where the beginnings of the incident conspired. Evidence taken from the back of the body part reveal Herbert West’s fingerprints left on the scene. Will follow up: cause of decapitation still uncertain.

Your heart sank down, almost felt as though it was falling from your ribcage, dripping and shivering on the floor but unable to keep you from continuing. Like a car crash, you couldn’t stop; even as your might snapped like a spring, lip quivering as you flipped to the next page and you had to strain through tears.

West was one of two survivors in the situation alongside Cain, and these two are the only subjects that had not been affected by the massacre besides minor injuries. Neither of them will go into detail as to how they were able to perform so many resuscitations of the listed victims. Will follow up.

“What the fuck,” You whimpered, a tremoring hand covering your mouth.

“Sorry you had to find out this way, [little lady/sport].” He sighed, “You know, if those two were anything close to good people,” You cringed as he clarified, “And if they cared about you, they would’ve told you.” You tried to glare at him through your contorted face, but only shook your head and hid your chin in the crook of your sleeve for a moment.

Handing him the record, Dyer pat your shoulder. “It was an awful night for all of us.” He muttered, “Consider yourself [a lucky man/woman / lucky] that you didn’t have to see it for yourself.”

Caught in the whirlwind, you felt anything but.

For once, you didn’t try to keep your presence unbeknownst to the rest of the household. You pushed the door open, let it slowly screech from the aged hinges, stepping in unapologetically with wet boots and reddened eyes glaring around the dark.

You immediately caught sight of someone sitting in the living room, rigid in the armchair and waiting for this moment like he knew it would happen. “[Y/N]-“

“Dan.” You said his name in a voice you once couldn’t imagine even holding up to his warmth until now, “I think we need to talk about this living situation.”

“Where did you go?” He tried to divert, turning the light on when he stood, voice as fragile as it always was when in the mere sight of you. Dyer had gone through the liberty of photocopying everything in case you tried to forget, the disclosed information as good as yours. He barely withstood the look on your face as you held up the papers you had brought home; yet his attention was far from shaken, all the more concerned at your disheveled appearance.

“What the fuck did you do to those people? What are you doing to them now?” You sucked in a breath, the air rattling through your teeth as you seethed, “And why the fuck did you think I wouldn’t find out?” You threw the packet on the coffee table, a splotched photo of Megan Halsey’s bruised neck facing the both of you. He hadn’t seen it, or maybe he just chose not to because he knew what was going to be there.

When he tried to approach you, holding a hand up to try and calm the air around you, it only made you backpedal, eyes locked into his despite the aversion. “Who…what did you-“ He began, and you explained, “I’m a fucking record courier, how do you think I did it?” You ran the heel of your hand under your eye, catching some stray tears as you trembled through the next sentence, “I would love to tell you for the millionth time that I can live with what I just saw, but you…you and Herbert-“ Reminded of the other one, you turned towards the corridor where the basement lay and let the untapped rage barrel out as you screamed, “YOU AND HERBERT WERE THE ONLY TWO THAT WALKED OUT OF THAT MORGUE ALIVE!”

It was caught in your throat again, and Dan had no idea what to do in the face of you swallowing it, fighting it silently as you tried to calm down. You were frayed, shaking even harder and feeling the emotion go straight to your spinning mind, making you a little dizzy. With the yelling out of the way, you picked up the papers again and made a beeline for the other hallway.

“[Y/N], hold on-“ Dan tried to follow, but you ignored him and kept a pace impossible for him to catch up with.

The silence between one moment and the next was an eternity, or at least it felt that way as you reread the report for the fourth time in the hour. Still tearing up, still wondering what you would have the stomach to put into a cardboard box first, you knew it was no use trying to make sense of it tonight. You had closed the vent in your room and kept your jacket on, because you’d rather freeze than hear anything else.

This was a moment you wished you stayed out of other people’s business, Herbert’s chastising for once falling on your ears, echoing in the recesses of your mind as you stared at the wall. Things would be better if you stuck to your duties. Going back to the analogy, being an unswatted fly was a beautiful gig in the way you saw it now, a [man/woman/sucker] who just knew too much to keep going without something dire happening.

Dire. Dyer knew you’d have to decide where to go from here, and after tonight he could easily assume it would be to align with him. Another knot added to the collection in your stomach, making you grimace harder. You think you’d rather be murdered by your roommates that even begin to accept that betraying them was what you were meant to do right now.

A knock on the door shattered the silence, made you snap back to your own space, the only room in the house that you could possibly feel safe in. Whichever of them it was didn’t speak your name, but you could hear the pane shift a bit as they pressed their palm over it when there was no answer.

Another ache in your chest made you stand from your desk. You were upset, but you weren’t completely callous. Covering the report with one of your larger sketchbooks sitting by the edge of the desk, you walked up to the door and without another second of pause undid the latch.

How he kept trying despite being smothered by his own emotion, you weren’t sure. Still, you gave him the time of evening, standing before him with your arms folded over your chest. He was thinking, you could see it in the way his big eyes fell from your socked feet to your shoulders, then back again when he still couldn’t talk. You were about to tell him to take his time, unsure truly if you could stand there all night but tempted to promise it, but he finally spoke.

“When Meg was alive,” He began, already struggling to keep himself steady in the way his voice wobbled through the sentence, “I didn’t want her to know about this, either.” You furrowed your brow, but nodded through the way memories of her autopsy photos were burnt into your head. You didn’t know her, but you knew she must’ve meant the world to Dan in the way he’d talk about her. “I-I even asked her…to move on. Leave me…with Herbert, the work-“ He was stuttering, throwing a hand back down the hall. Looking into your eyes, he took another deep breath, and you uncrossed your arms and held the eye contact. No hard edges, because you couldn’t bear holding them up to him even if it was vital to your survival.

“I’ve made this mistake before.” Dan choked, and he took in a deep breath as he went on in a pang to his voice that sounded as though his world was shattering in a way he didn’t know how to stop, and in the face of it he could barely keep composure, “But I won’t…I know I can’t do it again. Not to you.”

Before you could even attempt to think of an answer, he leaned in and put his lips to yours. The unkept rage, the fear, and everything you could hold away from the world suddenly spiraled forward, making you almost rock on your feet as you let him cup your jaw, tipping your head to fit better and having his own tears rub against your face.

Between the both of you, it was unclear who needed the human touch and the warmth more. It made any bitterness you had been white knuckling to survive fall flatter than it already was, your own hands start clasping the bend of his arms, keeping the both of you steady and feeling the hurt of your fingers from being relieved to stop clenching together.

When you pulled off, Dan didn’t try to separate. He whispered against your mouth, “We’ll tell you everything. Both of us. I’ll make Herbert do it, he needs y- needs to as much as I do.” Though it was a new touch to feel his forehead against yours, the slender nose brushing past the tip of your own, you welcomed it with a weak hum of a somewhat dumb, desperate belief, closing your eyes and nodding against him as you tried to catch your breath.

He carefully felt for your hands down at your sides, holding them up so that he could intertwine his fingers with yours, eyes closed. “I know that it makes all the sense in the world, [Y/N], but I don’t want you to go.” He begged, and you finally broke your silence with a sniff, “Stop it, really think I could? I…I…” In the flip of a coin, you turned your head and took another kiss, not caring if both of you were practically crying on each other and finally letting yourself rest your hands on his shoulders.

It was something you had denied long enough, and if he was desperate enough to lay it out it only drew you in further. He smiled, a small weakened one at first that only grew as you closed the rest of the space between your bodies, settling into the comfort of his old sweater, feeling it for not the first time, thankful to not catch a hint of blood or anything deceased; the first time without too much fear embedded like the threads pushed against your soft skin.

“You know,” You sighed, “I almost thought you were coming to lock my door again, like you do on nights where there’s something happening in the basement, I’m guessing.”

Dan pulled one arm up to rub his eyes, “Huh?” You pointed at your doorframe and explained, “Oh, I hear you sometimes come in and lock my door from the inside, I’m guessing just to keep me away from the research going haywire?” He looked at your door, then back at you. “[Y/N], that’s not a bad thought, but I didn’t…”

As he trailed off, both of you came to the same realization. You then smirked at him in disbelief, trying to find a reason in his eyes as he merely took in the return of your smile with a fond chuckle. He nodded surely, “Oh, and I thought you said he didn’t even think about you.”

You shook your head and murmured, “At this point, every day is a fucking revelation, Cain.” He laughed even harder this time, finally at ease as he ran his thumb under your eye. The willingness to let him do it, even tipping towards the caress with flushed recognition that it was all you needed to calm down, taking it further and holding his hand to your face for the fleeting moment, only made him want to weep again.

If only he had known that it was so easy.

You hadn’t been able to sleep, waiting until the lights in the living room and hallway were shut off and no one was walking around outside your door before making your way to the kitchen with your sketchbook, the report tucked in the back.

It was something you were obsessing over, mulling over how it was written, caught between the original typed copy to the ballpoint scribbling – but at the same time, you kept the open slate of a blank page with you too, drawing just to keep your mind out of it while sitting in your inability to rest. Coffee was left to brew, but you didn’t even have an interest because there was something more powerful than caffeine coursing through you. Sure, it was fear, but it was this dissatisfaction that all you had gotten from Dan tonight was a kiss.

That was staying as still in your mind as the air in the house sat. You and it were quiet, an occasional creak or tap from the foundations settling falling over your cold ears – just as there’d be an occasional ache in your [pussy/cock] at the idea of Dan’s blisteringly warm hands lingering on your shoulder blades, sliding down your spine, turning the fabric of your shirt into a sweltering mess from both the body heat that was swapped from him to you and the way he stirred you up, made you want to lean into him until you could swear it’d mean you’d fit snug into his ribcage.

The grandfather clock in the living room rang a long string of chimes, eleven to be precise, as you leaned forward, elbow on the counter and hand covering your mouth to sit in a second of thought. The drawing hadn’t helped, multiple sketches of a neck showing up on the pages and making you want to tear it apart, snuff it out in the fireplace. Megan Halsey didn’t know, either. Not until it was too late, you shook your head at yourself, still grieving the woman you didn’t know enough about to feel much besides an unkempt pain for, and to feel for Dan’s remorse that filled in those cracks. The regret was practically shedding off of him whenever her name came up, or even the night she died itself did.

Why did you bring it up? You cursed at yourself, but before you could go back to the other side of the shore and remind yourself it needed to happen, you needed some goddamn closure, someone entered the kitchen.

“You’re still awake after all of those hysterics?”

You looked down at the sketchbook, silent. He didn’t take the lack of an answer, and immediately asked, “Why were you so irate, [Y/N]? You’re usually so keen on being unheard when you’re here that I almost didn’t recognize the sound of you starting a racket for once.”

“I…” You sucked in a breath, unable to cry anymore, so you merely breathed the frustration out in a dramatic cave of your chest, “I had to find out what happened that night in 1985. The massacre at the hospital no one wants to talk about.”

The movement behind you stopped, and from the corner of your eye you saw his back facing you, mid-motion in getting a cup of coffee but unable to continue with the information laid out. His hand delicately set the mug down, watch glinting in the shine of a single light left on by the counter, and he swiveled to stare back at you. “You what?”

Turning to face him in return, you insisted, “Neither of you were telling me anything that made me feel…okay, so I did what I needed to do in order to move forward. I think Dan was doing me a favor, keeping me uninvolved until I knew what I was really getting into.”

Herbert scoffed, “The report? A myriad of redacted lines that make it look like some sort of grasp at straws? An art project rather than evidence?”

“The unredacted report.” You corrected. He was lost for words again, mouth half open in disbelief as you carefully turned to the last page of your book, grasping at the stapled packet and unhesitant to hold it out to him, “The one with yours and Dan’s names all over it, something Miskatonic wants to hide along with any tangible evidence from that night.”

He was slow at first, but when you merely stretched your arm closer to him, he took the packet, perusing with a hard brow and a frown that was once again a rare glimpse into an honest, raw reaction. It looked scared, it looked inconvenienced, and it somehow made you want to clarify, “I was shown it in an attempt to make you two look like monsters, but…” You trailed off, and finally pulled the words from a drawer in your heart, your mind itself, “I don’t think that’s how I see it, Herbert.”

“I figured.” He said in a lost tone.

“If it means anything,” You murmured, “I would rather die than side with anyone outside these walls, let alone the cops. I…I’m frightened by this concept of…bringing people back, re-animating them, whatever you call it…” Herbert’s stare was back on you, and you let yourself shed a tear that had somehow come through, “But I don’t want to get in your way. I’ve said that since the beginning, or at least tried to.”

“Well. You’re still so uncertain.” He observed, and you only looked away. “Let me,” He then handed the report back to you, catching your eyes back on him as he pleaded, closing distance just like his counterpart had earlier on but no hint at colliding with you. Instead, he merely breathed, “Let me show you, [Y/N].”

“Right where we left off, hm?” You tried not to hug the wall as he was presenting those innards to you again, not even close to appearing any different than when you had seen them a couple days ago. You replied, “Sure. How did you preserve it?”

He looked up at you again, merely gesturing to the needle in his hand. You didn’t understand, but still you acted as though it made sense, nodding quietly and looking back down at the table. “Did you have the opportunity to take a look at any of the evidence from that night, [Y/N]?” Herbert asked. You almost didn’t hear him, so petrified as he neared the sharp, miniscule pin of the syringe towards the guts. Swallowing the bile drummed up at the very smell of what was in front of you back down, you mumbled, “N-no, I hadn’t.”

“Well, decay is significantly slowed when my re-agent is applied to the organic matter. I’m still finding the precise answer as to why that is, but it makes this even more convenient when in the wake of the more…long-term research subjects.” He explained, a closed-lip smile to himself that took you away from watching him insert the needle.

“Long-term?” You echoed, and his eyes snapped up to you. “Yes.” He stated plainly, as though you were the one who was daft by not understanding off the bat. You envisioned the photos from the massacre, merely nodding as you then looked down once more. In the short bout of eye contact, he had pushed the plunger, and the strange liquid that had seemed to haunt you from the hospital all the way down to this very basement was gone from one vessel to the other, its light extinguished.

The silence was heavy, almost as potent as the scent of blood. You eyed how close you and the other man were standing to each other, mindful to be quaint when you were aware his narrow shoulder was merely ghosting over your own. “Herbert?” You squeaked out, and though he hadn’t moved you went on, assuming he was listening. “What are we waiting for?”

“Life.” He replied, a fascinated twinge to his voice as suddenly the intestine twitched. In seconds, he had grabbed your forearm, keeping you standing where you were despite jumping terribly hard at the body part suddenly taking the movement of what you’d imagine a snake might. Coiling, shuddering all on its own.

“N-no brain,” You were lost, shocked as you forgot your own reservations to hold his hand to your arm, speaking the two words in a stupor. Herbert nodded carefully, and even added, “No pulse, either.” He looked over, expecting a scream or maybe even a desperate attempt to run back up the basement stairs.

His stomach nearly flipped when he saw that you had caught your breath, still heaving but almost beholding as the intestine jerked from the medical dish it had been sitting in, as though its slippery skin were feeling around the metal table to decide its next move. The silence coupled with the way you were securing his fingers to your arm for support, not able to stop watching, made him almost want to ask you.

Was this fascination, or was this terror? Either way, you were still standing with him, even wishing for him to stay close. He wanted to laugh, he wanted to prod…but merely looked back to his progress taking shape in the long organ feeling for a way through its new life.

You seemed just as new to the new world of possibility as the creature itself was.

When you were sure you were being watched in the hospital lobby, you took the course that you had thought in your head. Nose buried in the papers resting on your inner forearm, you appeared distracted as you walked along. As if on a cue, another body came colliding with yours. Keeling back, you yelled rather aggressively, seeing Dyer in your peripheral as you regained control again.

You slowly rose back to look at your assailant, a nasty expression taking over your face as the two of you pulled away from each other.

“[L/N].” Herbert spat.

“Dr. West.” You huffed, and he brushed past like you weren’t even worth the second look.

Dyer flicked his eyebrows, and you gave him a knowing glance, one that you strained to show a bit of hurt. He sneered, as if to say I told you so, and soon he was distracted by some commotion down the hall. Giving you a final affirming glance, you turned your back, once again busy with the documents in your hands. You even hung your head a little.

He quickly made off, and within seconds of him being out of the room, you heard the faint, throaty chuckle from around the corner, almost sadistic in its nature as it found its stride. It was like watching the ordeal was far more hysterical to him than anything else. Herbert’s honest laughter was a first for you, and you couldn’t help but smirk as you caught a shadow lingering from the other side of the corridor, still keeping your back towards the lobby.

“I can’t believe you were right. He’s none the wiser, and all it took was a little acting.” You murmured, watching the man step out from around the wall, returning to where the both of you had bumped into each other. He shook his head and replied, “Of course. It isn’t hard to tell it with someone like him. The slime of such an ego is palpable for miles.” He gave the direction that Dyer had hurried off to another daunting look, and then back to you. You smiled, fonder than you could ever remember being for the man in front of you but trying to hide the way seeing him in a rare spout of glee was utterly infectious.

“We have some work to do, don’t we?” Herbert asked, and you barely thought twice before nodding.

[messenger-of-stupidity]

After Love is Gone

Heheh I wrote genuine angst again. It’s been a while since I did that.

CW: Imp!Damien x Imp!Angel (if you’ve watched the imperium damien videos, you already know what to expect. Spoilers will be here.), cursing, arguing

Redacted Masterlist

Ao3 Link

Read below cut.

Angel pressed shaking fingers to their lips, stopping just short of actually touching them. Their eyes were staring blankly at the window and the moon that shown outside of it. Damien was pacing along the floor, ranting about something or other that had happened that he was upset about. Angel couldn't honestly care. Once upon a time they listened to his words, enraptured by the way his tone would fluctuate when he grew more passionate or wanted to press meaning onto specific words. They dropped their hand, still looking out the window. It didn't matter to them if Damien noticed their lack of attention. The world was ending and he was angry about the peasants or something. Angel couldn't understand how he didn't get that none of it mattered anymore. They leaned back to press their back onto the bed, their gaze falling up towards the ceiling instead. A feeling of vertigo swept through them and they closed their eyes, letting the spinning feeling sweep them away.

How many times had they done that? During the late nights where Damien's warmth felt more feverish than comforting, the nights where that was the only movement they were allowed to have as magic held on tightly to their body? Far too often. They had always thought that they would be the ones to tell their friends if their friends were in a toxic relationship. They had been the person to point out a bad relationship the earliest when it came up on TV dramas. And yet here they lay, only their mind being theirs while everything else belonged to the King Imperial. Consort. They reminisced from when they used to just be known as Damien's partner. They preferred being his unempowered partner than what they were now.

"Are you listening?" Damien's agitated voice pulled them out of their thoughts. Their eyes slowly opened again and propped themselves up on their forearms, a response already on their tongue. Not even their words were theirs anymore. They were tailored to whatever Damien wanted them to say, or to be nothing at all. They hated those moments, where his magic had a grip on their throat and they could only cry silently as he enjoyed the quiet. He didn't see anything wrong with it anymore. When he had first started stealing from them with his magic, he had felt guilty after a few hours. Now it was his given right to take from them. They regarded him quietly and he repeated his question. "I said, are you listening? Answer me." Not even a please.

"No." They said instead and their heartbeat picked up in speed as he frowned at them. They didn't care if he got upset at them for not listening. He didn't get upset if they lied, as long as the lie suited them. Great, he had also taken a good portion of their morals from them. They sat up fully and smiled down at their hands. Why were they smiling? There wasn't anyone to fool anymore. "Damien, can I ask you something please?" They asked softly. He sighed but sat down beside them, leaning back on his palms.

"Fine, if you must. What is it?" He asked. At least he still gave them the time of day. How long until that was gone too?

"When are you going to keep your promise for unempowered?" They asked. It was an age-old question at this point, and the frustrated groan that Damien emitted proved it. But this wasn't like the times before. This wasn't just checking for an update anymore. They didn't believe any of the updates. Not anymore. No, this was checking to see if anything was salvageable at this point. Because even after everything he had stolen from them, they still loved him. They still felt their heart flutter when he cupped their face gently in his warm hands, when he pressed a kiss to the apple of their cheeks.

"We've been over this already. The answer isn't going to fucking change." There it was. Confirmation. It didn't hurt as much as the fact that Angel wasn't surprised by the answer. They should have been surprised. They should have been upset that it was just another lie. But they weren't. Their heart gave a painful squeeze and tears gathered in their eyes as they bit down on their bottom lip. Their hands were still shaking. "Are you crying?" Damien asked and he sounded irritated by it. He didn't care if he was the cause of the tears anymore. He used to care how Angel looked at him. "I thought you wanted to have good nights." He added. Angel stood up and walked away from him, wrapping their arms around themself in an effort to self-soothe. They had no expectations that Damien would do it. He only got physical contact from them when he wanted it or decided that Angel wanted it. When they wanted space, he wanted to be in that space. When they wanted to be cradled within his arms, he would be too busy.

"I don't know anymore, Damien." They whispered. The room fell quiet bar the low buzz from the electricity. He stood up and walked towards them, hands going into his pockets.

"What do you mean?" He asked. Angel laughed as tears made little trails down their face.

"I mean what I said, Damien."

"What do you not know about?" He pressed.

"Everything. I don't know if I can be who you want me to be. I don't know if I can survive your love. I don't know if I can fucking stand you anymore. I don't know how I can love you." They said, their shaky voice raising as the dam for their emotions started to crack and fall apart. He stared at them, his brow furrowing before the corner of his jaw twitched and the temperature increased. Angel scuttled backwards, wary of the heat, their arms tightening around them. Their fingers curled inward as they gripped the fabric of the hoodie they wore. They missed the way his gaze used to flash with hurt when they did that. Now they only saw his frustration increase. Was he only angry nowadays?

"And what the hell do you mean by that?" He snapped. Angel sighed softly as they locked eyes with Damien.

"I don't love you anymore." They said. They saw the hurt and shock from the statement fill Damien's expression before it was replaced with anger. He moved towards them and they stayed still as he stopped a few inches from them. The wave of heat coming from him hit them and they felt their skin start to flush to combat against it. It didn't help that they were wearing their comfort clothing, not clothing made to specifically keep their body cool. They didn't back down though. They were done being meek.

"Stop lying." He said through gritted teeth. Even now he was trying to take the truth from Angel. They wouldn't let him.

"I'm not lying Damien. I don't love you anymore. I don't feel safe anymore. The world out there is falling apart and dying and you don't fucking care. You only care about holding on so tightly to your beloved fucking power. Well newsflash Damien, that power isn't going to mean shit when there's nothing left to rule over anymore. What are you going to do then? Are you going to go onto that damn balcony and survey the disaster you caused?" They were growing angry, but it felt good to let these emotions out. They didn't know how much longer they would be able to before the biggest imbalance between them and their lover came out to play. They could tell their words were hurting Damien and making him angrier. Good.

"You really wanna say that? You don't understand what power can do since you've never had any. And you want to know why you've never had any? It's not because I withheld it from you. It's because you don't fucking deserve it. You wouldn't know what to do with it. I do know what to do with it. You don't even know how you would go about changing what you so desperately want to. So don't act like it's so simple. You don't get it and you never will." Damien said, his voice raising with his temperature. It scared them, but it was also so freeing. No image-tracking. Just venting it all out. Except this time they wouldn't let it end with just continuing on like nothing ever happened. They weren't going to return to the life that was sucking everything out of them. They weren't going to be a husk to be manipulated like a marionette.

"I know I'm unempowered. You like reminding me a lot. But that doesn't mean I'm stupid. I'm not blind, like you are. I can see what's actually going on out there despite the fact you keep me locked up in this shitty cage you call a palace. I can see that whatever this is between us isn't working. You aren't willing to change anything and you aren't willing to let anyone try. You're such a... control freak! You have to control everything all of the time." They said and wiped this tears are with the back of their palms. Sweat had beaded up on their forehead, bridge of their nose, and above their upper lip. They took a step back from him, the heat combined with their vertigo making them dizzy and feel faint. Damien laughed cruelly and stepped away from them too, running his fingers through his hair.

"Oh spare me the pity. Does it look like I care if I'm a control freak? At least I'm able to control things, unlike someone else." It was an underhanded jab. Both of them knew why Angel couldn't control anything. It was a sore spot, and him pointing it was only hurting more each time.

"It's not pity. I don't feel anything for you Damien except contempt." They said, their voice lowering. Damien rolled his eyes, but he recognized the deflating. Angel wished they were able to do more. Argue more. But it was all moot points. Damien didn't have to care about what they said. He only had to wait until they made themselves tired, like a misbehaving toddler. A sob wracked their body and they fell to their knees, hands covering their face. They could hear Damien's footsteps pace a few times before he approached them and sat down in front of them. He pulled them towards him gently and Angel let him. They hated that they did, but comfort was comfort no matter the source.

"You know I love you right?" He said softly, his hand rubbing circles on their back as they clutched onto him tiredly. Their tear-filled gaze moved towards the moon again, the light blurry.

"This isn't love. Not anymore." They said back, their voice breaking. They felt him stiffen and tense, but they didn't care. "It used to be love, I know that. But that was before any of this. Before you were caring about the wrong things. When we were younger. Love is pure, kind, equal. This... this is a twisted dark form of love. If it can even be called that." They added in a whisper before closing their eyes. Their mind was made up. They were done with this. Damien held them throughout the night and well into the mid hours of the morning, but Angel's mind was made up and they were stubborn.

𓆩♡𓆪

Angel stared up at Damien from where they kneeled in the plaza. Their wrists were chained by magic behind their back. They were finally considered a threat, despite the fact they had no magic. They had spilled everything to the public, ruining the king's image. He wasn't someone who supported equality or change towards a better future. Advisors had tried to discredit Angel's claims by stating that they were just trying to get back at Damien because of an argument the two had gone through. The advisors had the facts right, but the timeline wrong. The argument had been a last straw, and Angel did want to get back at Damien. But it wasn't just because of the argument, it was because of everything that had happened that lead up to the argument.

Damien was looking down at them, panic and hurt in his gaze. No anger this time. They laughed bitterly. The Damien they knew now was a twisted form of what he had been. But so were they. They supposed this is what happened after love was gone. But that was okay. Because they were finally free. They said their piece and it would reach the right ears, even if the advisors' plan worked. They closed their eyes one last time. They let the vertigo sweep them away one last time. They never felt the sword hit their neck and they missed their head rolling as their body toppled down unceremoniously, blood pooling.

[dormienschas]

Top 5 Redacted Quotes!

Tagged by @lovelylonerliterature

This was honestly hard to do because I don't remember anything that's ever said in videos and never remember to write things down or anything. I reallllly had to do some hunting around lmao

"But the true answer is, I enjoy helping people. I genuinely feel good when I help other people finally find some measure of peace. So if there’s some way I can help you, I’d like to do that."

Soft Spoken Workplace Comfort From a Daemon

I get asked a lot on why I like helping people and if I feel obligated to do it. But this quote said my feelings about helping people on point. I just genuinely like helping. Nothing too complicated about it! I just like helping.

"What he did—and how he acted afterward—says nothing about the kind of person you are. It doesn’t inform anything about you. It does not make you less, or weak, or… gross, or whatever bullshit he might try to say to make you doubt yourself."

Comforted By an Arrogant Incubus

This quote is important to me in all sorts of ways. I had some personal trauma that happened to me a few years ago and this quote right here, hit the nail on the head made me feel validated and less of myself.

"My patience has been worn thinner than your morality, and that's saying something."

Confronting Your Technician

Pretty much something I deal with everyday and I say this quote a lot now ever since I heard it. It works every time.

"We were just around each other all the time. We don’t have that anymore. Now if we want to keep up with each other, we have to put in the effort."

Your Tsundere Boss Boyfriend Wants to Talk

This quote doesn't have to apply to just couples. It can apply to your friends and the people you care about. The past dates I've had had communication issues when we weren't seeing each other all the time. So, this quote resonated with me because it was thoughts put into a phrase that I can properly use now and actually make sense lmao.

"Meanwhile I vacillate wildly between either looking like an Adonis sent down like a gift or a literal gremlin that couldn’t pull numbers if his life depended on it, so I need all the help I can get to stay on the correct end of that spectrum and for you to deny me a vital tool in that regard is nothing short of cruelty and I hate to be the one to tell you that, I hate to be the one to tell you that, but I just can’t keep making excuses for you in light of these recent events!"

Your Chaotic Loving Brat Boyfriend Stole Your Hoodie

This pretty much sums up my personality all in one. Lmao. I'm a chaotic little shit and I'm glad that Guy understands me lmao.

[indira-korr]

More about GG and Nineteen 😊

Who's a Good Boy? (2117 words)

Chapters: 1/2

Rating: Explicit

Additional Tags: Banter, Kink Discovery, Praise Kink, Metafiction, Characters Reading Fanfiction, GG fanfiction because Nineteen is a pretty big GG fan, clone shipping, Clonecest, Explicit Language, Spoilers

Summary: GG knew people. And he knew how things worked around here. So of course, when rumors spread around the barracks that someone wrote a smutty little story about a Shiny getting railed for the first time, GG was going to find out about it. And he was going to enjoy it—thoroughly.

Little side note: Because I know at least one person who might like to read this, but hasn't finished the main series yet, I put the entire fic under the cut and [redacted] the spoilers. The uncensored version is here on AO3.

GG knew people. And he knew how things worked around here. So of course, when rumors spread around the barracks that someone wrote a smutty little story about a Shiny getting railed for the first time, GG was going to find out about it. And he was going to enjoy it—thoroughly.

It had been a while since GG had used his considerable skills to turn a Shiny into a panting and moaning mess. Nineteen wasn’t a Shiny anymore. Now, he was something else, something better. GG wasn’t sure how to describe it, but things were different with him. They’ve only met three more times after that first night, but GG could already tell that the kid was special. To be honest, he could already tell that first night. Nineteen was thoughtful, generous, kind, and so eager to learn. GG smiled when a warm feeling spread through him. He already missed Nineteen and couldn’t wait to see him again.

GG pulled up the Company’s duty roster. 3rd Platoon was out until 1800 hours today. And they were just doing drills, so he didn’t have to worry about Nineteen. He looked at his chrono. Two hours left. There was more than enough time to read this bit of smut, maybe have some fun with it, and then give Nineteen the amazing evening he deserved.

GG stretched out his legs, pulled out his data pad and made himself comfortable on his bunk.

Not a Shiny anymore

— by CT-1704/0406 —

You are alive. The battle is over. Maybe it was your first, maybe it was your fifth or even your tenth. It doesn’t matter. To your squad you’re still a rookie, the new kid, the Shiny.

Huh, GG thought as he realized that this was written from the Shiny’s point of view. This wasn’t exactly the perspective he had expected or was interested in. He wasn’t even sure it was something he wanted to get off to. But it’s kind of cute. Lets see where he’s going with this.

GG kept reading and had to chuckle a few times.

Remember, the only thing between you and them is experience.

And you? You are about to get some.

Hahaha. Yes I bet you are. Nicely put.

Your new squad lets you tag along for the night, but apparently this base is as boring as a Bantha’s butt, so they just hang around the mess hall, talk about the last battle, and complain about the food.

Yup, that’s sounds about right. I guess it’s not just us.

You don’t mind ration cubes. But then again, you haven’t really tried anything else so far. You look forward to finding out what real food tastes like.

Oh, I have something real right here that I could feed you kid, GG thought and snorted. This may not be what he had expected, but it was definitely entertaining.

“What’s so funny?” Mix asked as he peaked down from his bunk above GG’s.

“Nothing you’d be interested in,” GG chuckled and gave Mix The Look—the one that told him that it was in his own best interest to look away.

“Got it. I think someone just called my name. Bye,” Mix replied with an eye roll and got off his bunk. “And clean up after yourself. We don’t need this place to turn into a health hazard… again.”

“OH COME ON! That was ONE time,” GG grouched, but Mix was already gone.

So where was I, GG thought as he skimmed the page.

The troopers at the table behind you have been playing some card game for a while and when their group splits up, you hear one of them sigh.

“Well, if you want to keep playing,” the Trooper says to his only remaining squad mate. “We need a third man.”

“Hah, smooth!” GG called out and laughed. That’s a classic move. And, Oh Boy, does it work. Every single time.

Briefly, you wonder if you should volunteer. But you don’t know them or the game. And you’re not sure if they’re in the mood to babysit some random Shiny. Because, odds are, that’s what you are to them.

Awww, he’s shy. That’s cute. And—GG took a deep breath—pretty hot. Oh Shiny, I’d ‘babysit’ you alright, you’d only have to ask.

Wait, how old is that kid? GG wondered and reread the last few paragraphs.  

They say you’re still wet behind the ears or fresh out of the tube, as if it hadn’t already been at least nine years since you were decanted and all growth chamber fluids dried off.

At least nine. Okay good. GG couldn’t help think about the day, Nineteen and a lot of other Shinies joined Blizzard Company. They had been that same age, fresh off Kamino, and GG had been giddy with anticipation.

And then, everything had turned out even better then he could’ve hoped.

GG hesitated for a moment and contemplated just getting off right now while he thought about that first night with Nineteen.

No, wait till he’s back and just show him how much you missed him.

So, where was I?

Before you can make your decision though, you feel a light tap on your shoulder.

“Hey man,” the Trooper behind you says casually. “We need one more player. Wanna join us?”

He said Hey man.

Not Hey kid.

Not Hey Shiny.

This is new, you think and smile.

Damn, that guy is GOOD! Making the kid feel like a fellow Trooper instead of a Shiny. That’s exactly what I would’ve done. Well, I have done that… a lot. And this kid is eating it up. Awesome. Whoever wrote this really knows how to make this interesting.

GG felt an enormous grin spread across his face as he kept reading. This was just too entertaining. And it was interesting to see things from a Shiny’s perspective after all.

Maybe you already have a name, maybe you don’t. Whether you introduce yourself by name or number he just acknowledges it. This is also new. No stupid comment about being so new you don’t even have a name yet or what did you do to get a name like that. You can’t help like the guy already.

Yeah, he’s totally doing that to get into your blacks kid. I hope he’ll treat you well.

You let him know, that you’re eager to learn as much as you can. Maybe it sounds a little too desperate, but flattery probably won’t hurt your case.

Kriff, desperate flattery? That can never hurt, GG thought and readjusted his lower blacks that were starting to get a little tighter.

And it doesn’t. The Trooper wants to show you something pretty wizard, which apparently means awesome, and you follow him and his brother to a spot that’s supposed to have an amazing view.

Oh be careful kid, now it’s two of them. Well, unless one if them plays the wingman and leaves soon, GG thought skeptically.

This sounded familiar and GG’s frown only grew as he read ahead.

So you and the Trooper head for that place and he was right, the view from this tower is pretty amazing.

“Wait a minute!” GG said as he scrolled back and reread the entire thing. "Is that me?"

Inviting the Shiny to a game, saying ‘hey man’, telling him stories, and then taking him to watch something ‘pretty wizard’ from a tower???

GG scrolled down and skimmed the text to confirm his suspicion.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?”

“I can show you what it’s like.”

“If you tell me to stop, I will.”

Holy kriffing Banthanuts!!! That’s IS me! I said that! Exactly that! And the Shiny... it's Nineteen?!

That’s … Kriff!

Did HE write that? About us? About me?

Until now, GG had thought he’d figured Nineteen out. More or less at least. But he never would’ve expected to find something like this. He put the data pad down and thought back to the times they had spend together.

They’re was that first night of course, when GG had wooed him and [redacted]

The second time had been after [redacted] and GG had been in a piss poor mood. He’d even snapped at [redacted] who hadn’t even done anything wrong. Later that evening, Nineteen had come up to GG and sheepishly admitted that he'd been waiting to see him again. After a little bit of fun in one of the ship’s storage rooms, they had talked for a while, and GG had decided that he wanted to spend more time with Nineteen.

After their combat drills the next day, GG had gone after him to continue their little tryst. Afterwards they had spend some time cuddling in GG’s bunk and Nineteen had fallen asleep in his arms. He looked so adorable that none of GG’s squad mates had the heart to wake him up and kick him out. He still had to smile every time he thought about that.

The last time GG had been with Nineteen, things had been a bit different. [redacted] GG had been a mess, and Nineteen had just showed up out of the blue that night and taken care of him. He was still a bit embarrassed when he thought about it. Begging the kid to kriff you through the mattress while you’re sobbing about [redacted]? Not your proudest moment. He had planned to make it up to Nineteen ever since, but things had gotten busy and there hadn’t been time to sneak off alone. He was just glad, they’d at least had the chance to talk and clear the air. 

It was obvious that Nineteen wasn’t as hot-headed or brash as some of the other troopers. That and his wide-eyed curiosity were why GG liked him so much. Until now, he’d thought it was because Nineteen was still young and inexperienced. But there was obviously more to it. And there’s definitely more to him.

Maybe this could be an opportunity to find out exactly how to make it up to Nineteen and for GG to show him that he wouldn’t hesitate to give him whatever he needed.

GG picked up his data pad to read the story again. And this time he paid more attention to everything Nineteen was telling him.

You look forward to finding out what real food tastes like.

You’re a little embarrassed to admit that you really like the attention you’re getting and you’re also curious about what will happen next.

You wish you could’ve played it cool, but you really can’t help feeling a little overwhelmed by his interest in you.

He’s less careful now, and that makes it even more amazing than before.

You don’t want him to be disappointed, you want him to be pleased with you. And you also want him to say it.

The way he looks at you doesn’t make it any easier to form words. You see patience and fondness. Like a benevolent  ARF trooper looking at a Massiff puppy that still has so much to learn. You would never admit this to anyone, maybe not even to yourself, but you really want to be a Good Boy for him. Your face gets even hotter at the thought of that.

For a second, the image of you kneeling before him pops into your head, the image of him looking down to you, combing his fingers through your hair, and afterwards calling you a Good Boy for doing so well. You feel yourself harden at the thought of it alone.

“Oh Kark,” GG hissed as he tossed the pad aside and palmed his hard cock through his blacks.

He took a deep breath and looked at his chrono again. Less than an hour until Nineteen was scheduled to be back. You can hold out for an hour… right? Come on, it’ll be so much better if you do.

GG took yet another long, deep breath and picked up his data pad again. He read through Nineteen’s story a few more times while forming a plan on how to surprise him and give him everything he would be to embarrassed to ever ask for.