#where the gag was that the worst thing in the world that could have happened to the fat character was him getting a neckbeard

[dullahandyke]

Oh also I've figured out why I jive w calling myself a neckbeard so much n I think its bcos of the reclamation of it all. Like 'neckbeards' r mocked and belittled as unmanly, repulsive, and perverted, and while I certainly understand the archetype and the reason why the men it targets (violent gamergaters and so on) need to be scrutinised, I keep getting hung up on the fact that they are near unanimously represented by an image of a fat man with a neckbeard and struggling hygiene. Many of the traits that I see in my myself are used as visual shorthand for bigotry, and are used to inspire disgust in those watching. The reality of the matter is that men of all appearances are guilty of perpetuating bigotry, harassment, and violence, and by pinning our imagery on those we deem ugly, we only reinforce older ideas of what a man should and should not be (ugly, fat, nerdy). Even in liberal spaces, this imagery is proliferated near and far (cough cough ironic soyjak), and whenever I see it, it is a reminder that in a lot of people's views, appearance does reflect morality. I will defend neckbeards to the grave, certainly not because of their politics or character, but because I hate to see people falling into the same traps of appearance-based evil which can be used to draw a line to bigotry.

Like, I'm a fat slob of a girlboy, and my beard hasn't yet graduated to my cheeks, but still I adore it. Despite my adoration of it, however, when I look long and hard at myself in the mirror, I see soyjak and people making fun of the amish for not shaving and every stereotype of the gross fat nerd. My facial hair will one day be more typically attractive, and I'll have that coveted gentleman-lady appeal, but until then, it sets me apart even in genderfuck spaces when I see people laughing at Emperor Nero not for his atrocities but for his chinstrap.

I don't know where I'm going for this. Fuck it, I am dirty and gross and perverted, and the fuck are you going to to about it? When I buy an oppai mousepad, it'll be a lesbian win operating on so many levels of subverted norms that it'll make someone's brain explode and it'll make me very happy.

[thepixelelf]

superhero cheol x tech whiz reader warnings: coarse language. food. wc: 1.0k

[anonymous nights] As Seungcheol ducked behind the world’s most disgusting, foul-smelling, gag-inducing dumpster, he thought this was perhaps — no, definitely — the worst idea you’d ever had. His full-head mask was starting to itch, and he felt stupid in his suit sneaking through alleys and hiding behind trash cans.

“Remind me again why I’m following this random ass dude instead of Seo Jewon? What happened to catching the city’s ‘fourth most dangerous villain’?”

A bit of static tickled Seungcheol’s ear through the communication device implanted in his suit, which he knew meant you were getting further and further away the more he pursued the target. He had no idea where you parked your small van, aside from knowing it was somewhere in the city — a precaution put in place so Seungcheol would never be able to give away your location. Or, more accurately, so he wouldn’t risk losing the petabytes of information you’d collected over the years.

“Seo Jewon was a total red herring, this is our real guy,” you said through his earpiece.

The man he was following kept walking, and Seungcheol almost thanked him because he had to get away from whatever was polluting that dumpster. “And you know that because…?”

“Hey, who’s the brains of this operation?” You sounded slightly garbled, but Seungcheol could hear your mouse clicking in the background. “That’s right, me.”

Seungcheol rolled his eyes even though he knew you couldn’t see it.

“I can feel you rolling your eyes, Solar Flare.”

Okay, maybe not.

“How do you always do that?”

He could hear your smile through the device. Maybe it wasn’t so hard. “I told you. Brains.” You tapped your mic twice, and Seungcheol winced at the plosive sound. He was about to complain when you spoke again. “Eyes up, Solar, you’re losing him.”

Glancing around, Seungcheol realized he did, in fact, lose track of the target, and he cursed under his breath. He heard you holding back laughter before you muted yourself. Picking up the pace and getting heavier on his feet, Seungcheol searched for your supposed ‘true villain’. Your silence only spurred him on; he knew you were making fun of him in your head.

You’d been assigned to him about a year ago, a decision made by the higher-ups because Seungcheol was apparently “too much of a handful” with his fiery powers (plus an equally fiery attitude), and you were the prodigious tech newbie they could force into working with him. Little did they know, spending too much time with him made you just as annoying. Hence why you and him were out tonight, chasing a completely new suspect instead of the one the bosses sent you after.

“Check your two o’clock.”

Seungcheol slipped into another alleyway, sticking close to the walls, though a load of good that did. “You know,” he said, a little breathless from his efforts to catch up to the target, “it might be a bit easier for me to tail this guy if I wasn’t dressed like Guy Fieri.”

“Hey, I didn’t design the suit, I just built it.” Your words sounded weird again. “Blame the fashion department, not me.”

“Okay, one, we don’t have a fashion department, and two, are eating cup fucking ramen right now?”

He could hear you slurping noodles up. “What? I can’t have dinner and save the city at the same time?”

“Dinner?! It’s like one in the morning!”

“I'm a busy sidekick.”

“You are not my sidekick.”

You snorted into the mic, an undignified sound you never held back from making when it was just you and Seungcheol. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

“Whatever. Tell me you at least had breakfast.” The line went silent, and Seungcheol cursed again. “You’re a hazard.”

Seungcheol could feel your greasy smile through the comm as you cooed. “I’m your hazard, Solar Flare.”

After working together for almost a year, you still hadn’t called Seungcheol by his name. You said it was “keeping things professional”, but Seungcheol was pretty sure you just liked to tease him. Before you, no one had ever made jokes about his destructive superpowers. In fact, most people stayed away from him as much as possible. Then you came along and started saying he was your personal barbecue grill or space heater, never once afraid of his tendency to catch things on fire.

Seungcheol never told you how much he appreciated that.

“Shut up,” he mumbled.

“You lost him again.”

“God damn it.”

Seungcheol spent the next twenty minutes tailing your suspect through the city with you piping in every few turns, letting him know what he couldn’t see. He was beginning to think this was stupid. Of course this guy wasn’t the culprit, you must have been wrong — it wasn’t like you’d never been wrong before.

But then the guy turned a corner where almost no one ever went. He walked through another totally gross alley and went down some rusted outdoor basement stairs, glancing around. Almost like he didn’t want to be followed. Seungcheol silently pleaded it wasn’t what it looked like. (Though he probably shouldn’t have, considering this meant he was about to catch the bad guy.)

After the man entered the door, Seungcheol walked up to it, peering through the tiny barred window. He couldn’t see anything, so he opened the door just a crack and stepped through as quietly as he could. A dark hallway was all that greeted him, but down it, he could hear angry voices going at each other over something he couldn’t quite make out. Peeking out of the hallway, Seungcheol immediately retracted when he saw everything. A bunch of men and piles and piles of… well he didn’t know exactly what, but it didn’t look good.

“I fucking knew it!” you cheered through his earpiece. You must’ve already taken a picture during the millisecond Seungcheol had poked his head out and scanned it. “Alright, I’m calling backup.”

“What’s our cover story tonight? That I just so happened to stumble across the city’s fourth most dangerous secret lair?”

You clacked away at your keyboard. “No cover story this time. I found this guy fair and square.”

part 2 | part 3

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part six

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Six - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 1.5k

The three of us walk up a gradual hill, the incline barely noticeable as we climb. I lead the way, trying to discern where we’re headed, but my mind is elsewhere, tangled in thoughts. The air is thick with unspoken tension, and I keep mostly quiet, letting Logan and Wade carry the conversation, if you could even call it that. Their words are strained, almost like they’re both trying to avoid something.

Logan breaks the silence first. “You said Logan was a hero. What happened?”

Wade, who’s been unusually subdued, answers without missing a beat. “He died.”

Logan grunts. “Oh.”

Wade continues, “Well, technically, you were chest fucked by a tree, but really, you just ran out of batteries trying to save someone.”

Logan’s voice hardens. “Who?”

“The shit heels that grew her in a lab, called her X-23. But she was just a kid. A younger, daintier, somehow meaner version of you.” Wade’s tone is lighter than the words he’s saying, but there’s a flicker of something more serious in his eyes. “He died trying to save her and—” He trails off, his eyes briefly glancing at me before he looks away. I frown, feeling the weight of his unfinished sentence. “It was beautiful.”

Logan stays silent, and I can almost hear the gears turning in his head as he processes Wade’s words. The only sounds are our footsteps crunching against the gravel path.

Wade suddenly shifts the tone, his voice adopting a mock-seriousness. “Look, miho, I know you’re hurt. My blind, elderly African-American roommate, Blind Al, always says that pain teaches us who we are. Sometimes we need to listen to that pain instead of running from it.”

Logan stops walking and stares at him. “Holy shit.”

Wade looks at him, feigning ignorance. “Yeah, she’s wise.”

“No, no,” Logan says, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s her name? You call her Blind Al?”

Wade shrugs, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Well, she’s blind.”

I can’t help but let out a soft chuckle, though it feels out of place in the somber air. Wade’s absurdity is almost a comfort, something solid to cling to in the middle of everything that’s falling apart. But as I glance over at Logan, I can see the conflict in his eyes. We keep walking, but the silence that follows isn’t as comfortable as before. 

I hear a small bark up ahead, and my heart stutters as I look up. A mangled puppy, dressed exactly like Deadpool, sprints toward us. My pulse quickens, not out of fear, but because a part of me dreads that I might have led us straight to the Deadpool Corps. My eyes dart to Logan, who seems just as wary, and for a brief moment, our eyes meet, and I can’t help but feel a pang of something.

The puppy leaps into Wade’s waiting arms, licking his face and even partially getting into his mouth. I gag and look away, Logan doing the same. His disgust mirrors mine, but beneath it, I sense his discomfort—a small, almost imperceptible shift in his posture.

Wade grins, oblivious to our revulsion. “Look at you. She’s coming with us.”

“No, she’s not,” I say, more forcefully than intended.

“Oh, yes, she is,” Wade insists, cradling the puppy like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

“Fuck, no,” Logan says.

Wade doesn’t back down. “Oh, yes.”

As if summoned, a man dressed almost identical to Wade approaches us, though he’s got long flowing hair and an unmarred face. The difference is striking, and I can’t help but steal a glance at Logan, wondering if he’s comparing them too.

“Sorry. Sorry about that,” the man says, his voice smooth, almost charming. Oh, he’s very Canadian.

The man beams at the dog. “Come here, girl.”

Wade narrows his eyes. “Who are you?”

The man smiles, all too friendly. “I’m Deadpool. And I guess you’re Deadpool too. But in here, everybody calls me Nicepool. Oh my goodness, wait till you see Ladypool. She is gorgeous. She just had a baby too, and I can’t even tell.”

Wade snorts. “I don’t think you’re supposed to say that.”

Nicepool waves it off. “That’s okay. I identify as a feminist.”

“Right,” Wade says, eyeing him up and down. “Are those gold-plated, 50 caliber Desert Eagle pistols?”

Nicepool grins proudly. “Of course. To match my ear huggy.”

Wade’s eyes light up. “Can I have them?”

“Over my dead body. You’re fun,” Nicepool laughs, glancing at me briefly before turning back to the dog. “And I guess you’ve already met Mary Puppins, AKA Dogpool. Careful where you put your hand, she’s 90% G-spot, and she’ll let you know it. You let this little flirt out of your sight for one second and she starts shopping for a new papa.”

Wade chuckles. “If you can’t be a responsible papa, then maybe you don’t deserve this little unicorn.”

“Guilty on all charges, Your Honor. Shan’t happen again,” Nicepool says, still grinning.

Wade raises an eyebrow. “Why are you so nice?”

“It costs nothing to be kind,” Nicepool replies smoothly.

Logan, who’s been silent for too long, finally cuts in. “Shutting the fuck up is also free.”

Nicepool gives him a once-over and smirks. “Caliente.”

I glance at Logan, silently agreeing with Nicepool's assessment, though I wouldn’t dare say it aloud. 

Wade, oblivious to the tension, introduces Logan with a smirk. “This is Logan. He’s usually shirtless, but he’s let himself go since the divorce.” My eyes flick to him, Divorce? He only shakes his head at me, seemingly lost to what Deadpool is saying.

Nicepool’s eyes flicker with recognition. “Oh, a Veil. We’ve had one of you. Yeah, I remember her, she was so sad without her little Loggie.” My head whips to him.

Wade rolls his eyes. “Where’s your mask?”

Nicepool laughs, tapping his unmarred face. “Come on, guys.”

Wade just shakes his head, but Logan isn’t here for pleasantries. “We’re looking for the Borderlands. You know where it is?”

Nicepool nods, a sudden burst of enthusiasm lighting up his face. "Borderlands, yeah, that’s 12 clicks due west. I can lend you my ride if you like. It would be my honor."

I narrow my eyes, not buying into his cheerfulness. "I don’t entirely trust you not to kill us." My voice is edged with suspicion, but he just shrugs it off, completely unbothered.

"Hey, you don’t have to trust me," he says with a carefree grin. "But I’ve got the perfect car for you."

I shoot Logan a glance, and I can tell we’re both thinking the same thing—whatever Nicepool considers perfect is probably anything but. Logan huffs, clearly resigned to whatever nonsense is about to unfold. "We’ll take it," he mutters, his voice laced with irritation.

He leads us through a cornfield, thick and dense, the stalks towering over us as we push our way through. The rustling of the corn is the only sound, and it’s almost suffocating how the plants seem to close in on us from all sides. I keep close to Logan, my senses on high alert, while Wade babbles on about something I’m trying hard to tune out.

We finally reach a small clearing where a car sits under a dust cover. With a dramatic flourish, Nicepool whips off the cover, revealing a vehicle that makes Wade recoil in horror.

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, absolutely not. Uh-uh, what the—? No, no,” Wade protests, his voice rising in disbelief.

Logan gives him a withering look. “Just get in the car.”

“This isn’t a car,” Wade insists, throwing his hands up. “This is a Honda fucking Odyssey. Throttle response sucks a cock. Dated infotainment system. When Honda saw that untreated chlamydia was making a comeback, they invented the Honda Odyssey to compete.”

Logan’s patience is clearly running thin. “Get in the fucking car.”

Nicepool, ever the optimist, smiles warmly. “She’ll get you there safe and sound. Betsy always does. You’re gonna have to give me my dog back, though.”

Wade, suddenly somber, lifts up the puppy. “I know, listen.” The dog reaches a paw out to him, and his voice softens. “Yes, child. If you ever wanna give her up, or if she needs a new home, or if something should happen to you, I’d love to be her papa.”

Nicepool chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh, what will ever happen to me?”

Wade looks at him, deadpan. “Lots of stuff.”

I can’t help but huff in exasperation, stepping forward to take the dog and return her to Nicepool. But Wade, ever the drama queen, clutches the dog closer. “No, we’re running away.”

He makes a half-hearted attempt to flee and after a few futile steps, he admits defeat with a sigh. “The corn was too dense, girl.”

Reluctantly, he hands the dog back to Nicepool and slinks into the car. I take the back seat, stretching my legs out along the seats. Wade plops into the front seat, grumbling. “Fuck.

Next Part

A/N: I have plans to make the next few parts very angsty with some sad flashbacks, you have been warned (:

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw @100percentlazybonez @obsessedwthdilfs @sun7lowxr @corvid007

(lmk if it worked)

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 39

Geralt is standing above the unconscious bloodied body of his beloved, Jaskier. The mage Geralt was tracking down to kill had meant to blast Geralt, but Jaskier had tackled the mage and things got ugly. The mage chuckles, eerily, and prowls closer. "So the mighty witcher has a weakness after all. Perhaps it'd be best if I do let you both live. Eternal sorrow is far more delicious than a passing trifle." And Geralt falls unconscious. He relives his entire life through flashes of memories, though they're all cruel and wrong. Things happen differently, skewed and twisted. The first time he meets Jaskier, he punches him in the stomach. Jaskier is standing beside him, near a body of water, as Geralt insults his voice. His passion, his livelihood, his reason for living. Jaskier standing outside awkwardly as Geralt fucks Yennefer. Geralt can see him in his peripheral, and yet he doesn't stop, nor even have the decency to pull the curtains, he just continues. Soon enough, the blur of colors at the edge of his vision disappears as Jaskier runs into the distance. Geralt however thinks that the worst memories are the quick three-second flashes of him just endlessly needlessly insulting Jaskier throughout their decades of companionship. It's not banter, it's not teasing, it's just abuse. Then Geralt is suddenly on a mountain, and he's yelling at Jaskier. "If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!" ... Nevermind. This is the worst one. Geralt is sick to his stomach. Jaskier's eyes widen, and begin to tear up. His face pales of blood, he looks like he's about to faint. His lip even quivers, the way it does when he's well and truly devastated. And Geralt did that to him. "Right.. Uh.. I'll get the rest of the story from the others. I'll see you around Geralt." But then he wakes up in Yennefer's hut. "Where's Jaskier?" he asks immediately. "That bard you hated? The one that followed you around for a few years? I don't know. It's been years since you've even thought about that wretch." He explains that this is wrong. That he loves Jaskier. He adores him. And she tuts sympathetically before explaining that it was a spell the mage put him under. Fake memories of a life where he paired up with the bard. She mimes gagging at the sentiment and he feels hot with anger. As if Jaskier is such a bad choice of romantic partner. He storms out of her place and races off to find his bard. He needs to know for sure what their standing is, and even if he has been cruel, he can at least apologize to the poor bard. "I don't know what to do, Yenna!" A bandaged Jaskier shrieked as the afformentioned witch examined Geralt for the fourth time that hour. Geralt lay comatose in her guest bed, under some sort of spell. Every once in a while, Geralt frowns or winces in his sleep, but that's all they can get from him. "He hasn't woken up since we were fighting the mage." She has a feeling she knows what sort of spell it is. A very cruel trick to play. The mage was smart enough to trust Geralt's self-flagellation. That upon waking from a fake world he perceived as real where all he did was harm Jaskier, he'd most certainly distance himself from the real Jaskier in fear of becoming the version of him in the curse. The mage was dumb enough however, to not think of how far Jaskier would go to save his beloved.

[sunfyresrider]

The King's Wife

Aegon II Targaryen X Fem!Reader

Summary: After the miscarriage of the king’s first born child you must go through your grief alone. That is until he summons a dinner where all truths are revealed. Tags: child loss, semi toxic relationship, fluffy ending. Author’s Note: Hi anon! This is for your lovely self<3 I rewrote this like ten times I'm sorry

You loved your husband more dearly than anything in this world and he loved you all the same. It is rare that a person enjoys their betrothed let alone loves them. It was a perfect match, created by complete accident. The Hightowers needed allies, an army, and for their king to have heirs. You needed a husband, a home and a family to replace your own. Truly, it seemed impossible everything worked out so beautifully.

Until it didn’t. The old king died after your marriage, the one he did not attend. Within a week your entire world had been uprooted and torn apart. You had yet to produce an heir, but it had only been a handful of months. The Hightowers either waited too late or the king died too soon, you didn’t know which. One moment you were lying in bed peacefully with your husband, the next you were standing in the dragonpit adorned with a crown. 

The coronation was masterfully crafted to be an affair of the ages. To be remembered by all the small folk and Lords who attended, to prove Aegon was the one and only rightful heir to the throne. And you were his beloved queen. You never expected Aegon to wholly embrace his new duties, to faithfully serve the realm. In the several years you had been married he never once showed care for any of it. Obviously, there was a side of him you hadn’t yet seen.

For every hour in the past weeks since a crown was placed atop his head, he had been busy. He would scheme in the council room meticulously making plans to destroy the Blacks. He worked tirelessly to ensure the small folk’s love, to coerce lords to join his cause and dispose of those who did not. 

Needless to say, your husband had become a complete stranger. You saw him at night when he dragged himself into bed with a large sigh. You attempted to comfort him, to love him, but were. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just so exhausted I can’t bear to move.’ An excuse, you thought to yourself. You took to sleeping on the edge of the bed, facing the wall instead of the man you were supposed to be. You tried to remind yourself this was not intentional, he was a new king in the midst of the war, it wasn’t your fault he could not be bothered. 

Mayhaps you should have been more understanding, maybe you should have forced him to give you the same attention as he used to but there were now other more important things. As the days flew by you became increasingly ill with something you could not name. You rarely left the bed now, too fatigued to fathom moving. 

In fear that you may be contagious, you have started sleeping in separate chambers. If your mind wasn’t so dazed by whatever plagued you, you would be far angrier. The vomiting began on the third day and seemed to not stop. Every food or medicine placed in front of you made you gag. It was impossible to keep anything inside when it all wanted to come out. 

The fourth day was when you realized something was horribly amiss, though you told no one. It started in the morning, the worst cramps you had felt in your entire life. You panicked at the sight of the blood but forced yourself to bite your lip. You couldn’t risk bothering everyone during such a time filled with turmoil. It lasted three hours, the pain, the blood, and the tears mixing into your sweat. A babe no larger than your foot was born, deceased. 

You couldn’t put into words the feelings that were boiling inside you. The signs of pregnancy were barely there, this couldn’t be happening. It didn’t feel real, watching your single trusted handmaiden wrap the babe in cloth and take it away. It didn’t make sense; you hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary to cause this. 

There were no signs of pregnancy in the past months. No growing belly or swelling feet to accompany all of the other king list of ailments that came with being with child. This was cryptic and it needed to remain that way, no matter how much pain you were in. 

There were far too many things to take into account. You failed to birth a child, the one thing women are praised for in this realm, and you couldn’t do it. If the council discovered the truth, they may have your marriage annulled and you discarded. What is a queen’s worth if she cannot produce heirs? What is a wife’s worth if she cannot produce a family for her husband? In this world you would be seen as no better than a whore. 

Thus, you distanced yourself from him entirely. You would mourn alone, sleep alone and heal alone. If you told him only worse could come from it and you simply couldn’t handle it. The hours turned into days, days into weeks and weeks into one month since you laid with your husband… It was past time you ventured outside of your chambers. 

____________________________________

When you had first met, Aegon believed your love was one that could withstand any dissension. However, it was becoming increasingly clear he was wrong. Very few people in this world loved the king, a surprising fact considering he was THE king. You were the first to show him true love and probably the last… Slowly but surely his insecurities were becoming all consuming. The feeling of his heart being gutted out increasing by the hour. 

What had he done to scorn you so? Ever since you wed, he had changed his behavior, became a better son, a more dutiful king and adoring husband. Mayhaps he should have reached out to you more but how could he when you were so determined to be alone? Aegon had his downfalls but surely it wasn’t so bad you stopped loving him. Was it?  

He forced you to attend supper, alone… You sat at the far-left end of the table, as far from your husband as you could. The table was set with luxurious food from across the realm, none of which interested you, all of which made you nauseous. It was eerily silent; the only sound being made was Aegon’s silverware hitting the plate. 

He was detached from this dinner, his mind was elsewhere, somewhere, anywhere but here. His eyes remained fixated on his food attempting to ignore the tension between him and you. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t noticed the growing distance, the refusal to share a bed with him, the constant look of apathy plastered on your face at all times. You were growing to hate him, and it became increasingly clear every day… 

It was a miserable affair. Occasionally he glanced up from his plate and your eyes would meet. He gave a small smile and nod, which would be met with a faux smile on your part. Your plate remained empty; you remained almost completely still as if completely disassociated from the world around you. It was harrowing, watching his wife lose all interest in him. It didn’t matter what he did, you remained in constant dismay. 

“Is something bothering you?” He sighed, dropping his fork on his plate and gazing into you. “Nothing is bothering me, your grace. Is something bothering you?” He raised his eyebrows, sinking back into his chair. You’ve never referred to him as your grace let alone any formal titles. “You’re deflecting.”

“If I was deflecting, I would have changed the conversation.” You spoke in an irritated tone, avoiding all eye contact. Perhaps you truly did not love him anymore, he thought to himself. 

Aegon's eyes hardened, his lips thinned. He stared at you for a few moments, before he slammed his hand down on the table, making dishes clatter together.

"Yes, something is troubling me!" He shouted. This was the first time he ever raised his voice to you in your entire marriage. "For the past few weeks, you've barely spoken a word to me. I have tried to start countless conversations with you, but they all go nowhere. You refuse to share a bed with me, you refuse to accompany me to meetings…” 

You stood up from your seat, tears beginning to form at the corner of your eyes. “I? For weeks I tried to lay with you, to comfort you, but you refused my affection at all times and swat me away like a fly,” you shouted. Aegon's nostrils flared, and he clenched his fists on the table. ”Oh? And what sort of 'affection' do you expect me to give you when you're laying here like a corpse! Sulking about the entire keep like a ghost!" His throat caught, and he took a few seconds to breathe to hold it in, but his eyes were red, rimmed with tears. 

“You don’t care at all do you?” You yelled, fingers shakily gripping the edge of the table to keep your balance. "No, I don't care!” A deafening silence fell across the room. You stopped crying, regained your composure. “I believe it is time for me to go to bed. Goodnight, your grace.” You walked out of the room calmly, ignoring the hurricane of emotions in your heart. 

Shit

“Wait!” Aegon made chase, but you picked up your speed. “Leave me alone!” You lifted your dress so you would not trip as you made a dash to your chambers. “No!” The sounds of your voices carried through the keep as he chased you down. The guards and select nobles watched the chase in shock, disapproval and embarrassment for you both. 

Your feet scurried across the floor, tears freely flowing from your face. You ripped the door to your chambers open, flinging yourself inside to try to escape him. As you tried to will the door shut his body slammed against it, throwing you back. Aegon forced himself inside, slamming and locking it behind him. You stared at him, too heartbroken and angry to speak. He panted, “no more. No more running. We’re going to have this out.” 

You turned to walk away, further into your chambers. Aegon grabbed you by the wrist, surprisingly gently. "Please, stop hiding," he spoke between breaths. "Every day I have not had a moment's peace since you’ve gone away. Every night I have not slept because you are not there. I- I’m sorry I raised my voice, I’m sorry I did not pay you enough attention. I’m sorry for whatever sin I have committed to drive you away.” 

You turned to face him, tears streaming down his face, cherub cheeks painted a soft hue of red. “I can’t go on like this. I can’t live not knowing if you still love me.” His words broke you, reopened the wound your lost child left. You loved him, you loved him more than anyone in this realm. "I had a miscarriage," you whispered. "I didn't know how to tell you.” 

“W-what?” Aegon was confused, ceasing all of his movements the second you uttered the words. You began to sniffle, guilt eating away at your heart. “I- I didn’t know I was with child. It happened so suddenly and I- I” You couldn’t finish your sentence between the sobs. He pulled you close, burying your face in his chest, “i-i’m sorry. I’m sorry” you wailed like a newborn babe. 

“Shhh, don’t say sorry.” He pushed down his feelings of regret to comfort you. “I should have been there. You should have never gone through that alone.” Aegon held you tightly as you cried, tears streaming down his own face. He murmured soothing words in your ear and stroked your hair until your sobs subsided. Finally, you lifted your head and looked into his eyes. They were filled with love, concern, and a hint of fear. "I still love you," you said softly. "More than anything."

Relief flooded his face, and he pulled you into a deep kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of the past, present, and future. It was a kiss full of forgiveness, love, and hope. When the kiss ended, Aegon brushed a strand of hair from your face and smiled. "We can make another babe if you’d like." His poorly timed inappropriate jests normally fell flat but to his surprise and enjoyment, you laughed. it was a happy, pure laugh, the kind that he hadn't heard in a long time.

[forwhump]

a/n; a radio station in my town took out a massive highway billboard that’s just a huge sign that says LONG LIVE COWGIRLS & I pass it on my way to & from work everyday & GUESS what it makes me think of LOL

anyway I can’t see any of the asks I’ve ever gotten for some reason so I can’t remember if somebody actually asked for more wren pov or if I was just scrolling the folder for fun but regardless here’s some more wren pov <3 a horrible little drabble, as a treat :’)

tw/cw: rape, noncon, transphobia, misgendering, sexual violence, captivity, psychological torture, medical torture, dehumanization

military whump, creepy whumper, mentions of living weapons, sexual servitude

There was a time, not even all that long ago, that Wren’s biggest fear was standing too close to the microwave while it was being used because he had a thing about it blowing up in his face. He would never stand directly under street lamps or traffic lights on the off chance they would fall and crush him. He didn’t like to drive behind logging trucks. He wasn’t a good Texan, and he’d always been a little afraid of horses.

Seems like such a fuckin’ joke now.

It’s pretty pathetic, actually, and Wren’s already crying but he sobs with this, too, muffled by the strip of lacy material they’d gagged him with. It wasn’t even all that long ago, and still, it’s hard to think back on a version of himself that thought the very worst thing that could happen to him was a microwave blowing up in his face.

He doesn’t even think I want to go home anymore. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. He thinks, I want to go back to bed. He thinks, I want Silas.

But he’s in bed, where he’s supposed to be safe, and Silas had been shot so many times in the face that even Medic couldn’t help him. He’d been handed over to the biomedical surgeons so they could try and salvage his brain. Nobody was sure if they could.

Point, of course, is delighted. All of his men are. Silas likes them the least, and there’s less of a threat to their lives when he’s dead. They can relax. They can play with Wren, and they don’t have to worry about his guard dog.

This time, they might not have to worry about him again. They’re celebrating. They use Wren’s body to do it, as they always do.

For the first time in a long time, Wren thinks, I want to go home. He sobs again.

As a kid, he’d been really scared of quicksand and of snakes crawling out of the drain to bite him. As an adult, he’s gagged as he’s gang raped in his prison cell by military guards. As a teenager, a teenage beauty queen in Texas, he had started to transition and that had come with a lot of real world fears that never came close to touching on this. It’s hard to imagine anything worse than this.

Silas is dead, and there’s a part of Wren that resents him for leaving him here but there’s a bigger part that’s desperate to join him. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t wanna do this. He’s so dehydrated the tears had stopped hours ago but he hasn’t stopped crying the whole time. Sometimes he wishes he could. He wishes he could get angry and stay angry and not give them the satisfaction. Sometimes, most of the time, Wren is weak and pathetic and scared and it hurts, it always hurts, and he can’t help it. He cries. He gives them the satisfaction. He wants to be where Silas is.

Point watches from the chair he had pulled up from Wren’s desk. Vineyard is behind him, chest against Wren’s back, holding him in his lap with a broad arm curled around his waist. His other hand is curled around Wren’s throat, not hard enough to cut off his air, not completely, but hard enough that it hurts. Hard enough that Wren will bruise around the throat in the shape of his handprint.

Hurt is between the spread of his thighs, pulling chunks of flesh out of his hips with his fingernails, frantic and feral to Vineyard’s calm and dominating. It’s overwhelming and they’re everywhere, they’re on all sides they’re in all of his senses they’re inside him, and they’re both so much bigger than him and Wren has never felt so small and helpless in his life. It makes his chest feel tight, it makes his chest feel the tightest it has ever felt and he can’t take a full breath in but he still finds it in himself to sob, somehow.

It’s a familiar sort of panic, thinking of Silas in times like this, but this time it snags on the cracks of that tightness in his chest and start to break it open, to fill him with something so desperately empty it has him gasping for breath.

Silas is dead. And what does that mean, really, when Silas is Silas, when Silas dies all the time? But Silas hadn’t just died, Silas had been slaughtered, and it wasn’t a matter of trying to bring him back from the dead but of trying to salvage his brain. To salvage it. He had died so completely Point felt comfortable celebrating the loss of him, and Point was never comfortable when Silas was involved.

I want Silas, Wren thinks, and that’s familiar, but Silas doesn’t come to his rescue this time. Wren has to fend for himself, and he’s so fuckin’ tired. He’s so tired. He wants to go where Silas went, and it’s not fuckin’ fair because he also just wants to die and he doesn’t even get that much. He’s wanted to die for longer than Silas can remember and Silas, of all people, beat him to it? Fuckin’ Silas?

He screams and he doesn’t know why, it’s too hard to narrow it down. Maybe a bit of everything. It’s muffled, anyway, by the gag, and it’s answered only with the rumble of Vineyard’s laughter against his back.

Silas had somehow brought out in him again that idiot kid that was afraid of drains because snakes might be hiding in there, waiting for him. Silas had made him stupid. He’d promised Wren he’d get him and he’d die to do it, if that’s what it took. Wren had made him promise right back not to die, that he had to come with him — he’d hardly doubted that Silas would get him out of here, away from all this. He had a resolve that was inhuman and a strength that outweighed it. He never said it like he was gonna try, he said it as a matter of fact, and Wren had believed him. He’d thought about introducing Silas to his mother — what would she say? She’d been a bit of a judgemental bitch when she was Wren’s mother, but how much had she changed?

Would she even want to see him? What would she think of him now? What would she think if she knew?

Point leans in close, too close, and Wren tries to flinch away but he takes a fistful of his hair and keeps him where he wants him. Wren’s wrists have been tied behind his back so long he hasn’t been able to feel anything but static in his fingers for hours. Point mouths along the line of his jaw, the edge of the gag, and murmurs, “that’s my girl.”

Silas loved him. Silas loved him so completely it killed him. He’d lived and died underground and nobody outside of this place will ever know he’d lived at all, but he had and it had been a life that was short and gruesome and miserable. But he loved Wren so much he died for him, and it’s not fuckin’ fair. How is that any fuckin’ fair? Wren spent a lot of his time reading, and he’d read enough that he knows this is not how this is supposed to go. A love like that is supposed to have a happy ending. A love like that was supposed to save them both.

He sobs and it gets stuck in his throat. Point smiles against his skin. “I’m sorry we had to put your dog down,” he murmurs, just as soft, and the warmth of his breath makes Wren’s skin crawl. “We gave you so many opportunities to be good for us. All you had to do was be a good girl.” Wren tries to turn his face away and Point bites his cheek so hard it makes him cry out. He hiccups out a sob, humiliating, and Point coos against his skin. “Look at you,” he says softly. “How could I stay mad at you?” He kisses Wren’s cheek so gently it gives Wren goosebumps and he sobs again. “You’ll forget all about the freak,” he murmurs. “We’re gonna fuck the memory of that thing right out of you, cowgirl.”

Wren tastes blood and he thinks his cracked lips are finally bleeding. His chest is hitching with trapped sobs but there are still no tears. Hurt groans, long and low and it makes Wren gag under Vineyard’s hand.

He wants to go back to sleep. He wants Silas. He doesn’t want to live like this anymore.

What a privilege to be afraid of the microwave. What a stupid little asshole he’d been.

But he’d been a whole person once, a human being. Somebody with feelings and regulated emotions and irrational fears. He doesn’t know what he is now, not really, but he’s less than human, he knows that much. He isn’t worth nearly as much, either. Nobody even knows he’s here, nobody that’s still alive or that’s not down here with him. Nobody’s coming to his rescue. Nobody’s gonna save him this time. When Wren’s finally allowed to die, he’s gonna die down here, cold and pathetic and worth no more than warm flesh.

It isn’t fair. It’s all so fuckin’ unfair.

He wants to go where Silas went.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Sorry if you've already talked about this but I just found your blog and I have a question. I basically stopped watching the show and Gang of Secrets but I'd like to know your thoughts on how the show handles secret identities?

Personally I really like secret identites as a trope and the way you can use it to make different character dynamics, and I feel like the show underutilizes it at best and at worst seem actively annoyed by the constraint they gave themselves.

Like this is somehow a show where when Alya and Nino found out each other's identities, it directly contributed to them each getting taken out in Heroes' Day, and when Marianne got Akumatized she instantly spilled the Guardian's existence, and both time the two leads have had identity reveals it lead to a world-destroying catastrophe, and yet half the fandom and seemingly the writers act like it's at most and inconvenience?

Let me know if I'm off or seasons 4 and later do anything to contradict me but it was one of my issues at least and I felt like there were so many fun things they could have done with the set up. Sorry again if this is too long/rambly or whatever lol

Long asks are fine! Heavens knows I tend to make long posts. It's why I use the queue instead of just posting things as I get them.

Anyway, secret identities and identity shenanigans are the things that brought me to this show. They're nothing new in superhero setups, but most shows in this genre have the identity stuff as more of a fun bonus element than the main focus. The idea of a show that was more centered around these concepts via a romance plot sounded like a blast!

It has not been a blast.

The main problem with the identity stuff is that the show's guiding rule seems to be maintaining the secret identities at all cost because a reveal means no more love square and, at this point, it's pretty clear that thy're going to drag the love square out until the bitter end. This means that they actively avoid anything which puts them into a position to push a reveal. The problem with that is that the love square isn't some cute running gag that has no real impact on the plot. The love square is the show's main focus, so you cannot treat it the way you normally treat an identity shenanigans setup.

To give an example for contrast, the show Phineas and Ferb has a running gag involving the titular characters' pet platypus Perry. Unbeknownst to the boys, Perry is a secret agent who saves the world on a regular basis while his "owners" remain oblivious to the fact that Perry is anything more than a normal pet platypus. It's a good running gag because there's no reason why the boys need to find out Perry's secret. There is no overarching plot that's in limbo until this moment happens. It's just a silly thing that could be completely removed from the show without any major impacts.

Consider the difference between that and the love square. You remove the love square and you have a wildly different show because the love square isn't a gag, it's a plot and plots need to progress to feel meaningful. Marinette and Adrien should be growing closer on at least one side of the masks and they should be doing so in a way that makes it feel like the reveal is drawing ever closer.

For example, the fact that they're now dating should be a source of tension. The last time these two dated someone, they both ended up single due to the lies that come with a secret identity. But while Lukanette and Adrigami both lasted a few weeks at most, Adrienette got a whole season without a single identity-based conflict because acknowledging the identity conflict means progress on the reveal and we can't have that because the reveal is apparently being saved for the end of the show.

We don't even get much in the way of developing their relationship because letting them grow closer in a meaningful way means knowing more about each other which, once again, means that a reveal becomes inevitable. This is probably why we got the Derision retcon where Marinette suddenly couldn't talk to Adrien while dating him. No talking means no growing meaningfully closer means no reveal.

It's incredibly frustrating because reveal plots simply aren't structured to be long running plots. This is why most identity shenanigans media either focuses on the reveal and ends up relatively short (ex: the movie You Got Mail) or does the running gag thing where the identity stuff is a source of comedy, but the actual plot is something else that would technically work perfectly fine even if you removed the identity hi-jinx (ex: the anime Spy X Family).

When it comes to the love square, my preference is to take the first option and make it resolve within the first few seasons, but if we must draw it out until the show's end, then I would make all of the following changes to turn the square from a serious plot to more of a running gag:

Do NOT let Chat Noir confess. Instead, make it that he's always setting up romantic dates or confessions for Ladybug that end up stopped because of an akuma or fans or whatever. This would make Marinette's ongoing failures feel more balanced as they're both doing the same thing. It would also turn the confession into more of a comedy element instead of a dramatic one.

Focus more on plot elements unrelated to the love square, distracting the audience from the romance with shinny subplots like a Lila take down.

Don't have the secret identities be a source of conflict. Have Chat Noir totally uninterested in a reveal.

Have Hawkmoth be someone other than Gabriel. The less serious the show's basic setup, the less serious audiences will expect it to be

Of course, all of those are pretty massive changes to the show's basic setup, which is why I say they should have just let the reveal happen. Then they could have actually let all sorts of fun moments happen as we build to the reveal because it's no longer a thing that they writers have to avoid. As someone who has written multiple stories with a reveal, the fun really is planning it all out so that the tension and/or the comedy builds and builds to a dramatic crescendo where everything feels oh so satisfying.

When you live in fear of the reveal and awkwardly shoehorn things in, you get boring things like Gabriel's identity being leaked from a random play, Marinette's crush being revealed by freaking Andre, and Nino's identity reveal leading to nothing interesting because it can't because then we'd be drawing closer to a love square reveal and, well, you know the drill. It's also why you get messed up crappy episodes like Chat Blanc and Ephemeral. Episodes that are just there to prove that the reveal is a bad thing you shouldn't want!

There actually is solid logic as to why a reveal might not be the best move, but we don't even get to see that discussed. Chat Noir just pushes for a reveal because love while Ladybug stays focused on risk mitigation and it's so boring because a good show would let them have an honest discussion of the risks verses the rewards to help drive the conflict leading towards a reveal as a lot of the rewards are only realized if these two already know each other, which is a great tension build! But we can't build tension like that because then you'd be letting them have actual team dynamics where they talk about things and talking about things means bonding which means a build up to reveal and I think you know the drill by now...

This was a bit of a ramble, but hopefully it addressed your question! This is a broad topic that has a lot of ground to cover, so feel free to clarify if you wanted my thoughts on something else. I love identity reveals, so I am happy to babble about them. There's nothing more satisfying then setting up a good one, even if it takes tens of thousands of words to make it hit just right!

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

Okay so since ❄️ is finished I'm gonna replace it with ⚡️ since I REALLY need to finish that chapter. Enjoy!

48 for 🔼:

---

“And if it takes Buck with him…” Chim says.

“We might never find him,” Hen finishes. 

Bobby grits his teeth. “Then let’s pick up the damn pace.”

🔼

Buck bangs on the side of the metal walls of his makeshift prison.

“HELP!” He screams. “HELP! HELP ME!”

He feels sort of pathetic, if he’s being honest. He’s supposed to be able to help himself. And honestly? Usually he can. He spent years on the road, bouncing from place to place, with only himself to rely on. But here he is, for the second time this year, trapped and helpless. Except last time, his team was there. This time…

He’s on his own. 

“HELP! I’M HERE!”

This is probably useless. 

He should probably give up. 

Except, then he starts spiraling about giving up, a little. Because, what if he dies? What if he actually just dies out here? From his perspective, he’s just dead. But what about Shannon and Chris? They’d be, like, kind of traumatized, right? If he died immediately after helping them. And Eddie! Eddie would feel bad. Eddie made him leave the house. Then there’s Maddie. She’d be pretty bummed to lose her only sibling. She was pretty pissed when he had the damn embolism. So that’s, like, at least four reasons not to stop trying. 

Buck has to survive. God, what a chore.

He keeps banging on the side of the metal.

“HELP! I’M TRAPPED!”

And then something strange happens. Something that makes him sort of feel hopeful, but in a cautious way. Like, the hope could also be dread very quickly. 

The water levels start to decrease. 

It’s not sudden. Not a huge, swirling drain. 

---

48 for 🧟‍♀️:

---

“They were firefighters?” Athena asks. 

Chim nods and points at the ground below. “He was my old captain.”

“The racist piece of shit?” Hen asks.

“The very same,” Chim confirms. 

“They came here to take our kids,” Hen says. 

“What?” Bobby demands. 

“They wanted child soldiers,” Athena adds. “To train up for some new world order.”

“Oh my god,” Karen exhales heavily. 

“What’s worse?” Athena adds. “I think there’s probably more of them where these two came from.”

▪️▪️▪️

There are three possibilities. 

First - the best option - Sal and Gerrard, as Chim says he was called, are anomalies. Two batshit individuals who thought they were starting something. Delusions of grandeur. Meaning, the threat is over. Possible? Yes. Likely? No. 

Second - slightly better - they’re not alone, but their ranks are small. Maybe this was a real body blow to them. Whoever they are. Maybe the loss of two of their men will be enough to deter them from trying anything. At least for a while. Maybe the library will be seen as strong. Not to be trifled with. 

Third - and this is the worst option - all this will do is piss off a heavily armed group of ambitious men. Not a great position to be in. Especially considering the two automatic weapons their dead members carried with them. 

They can’t ignore the possibility that the latter option is the truth. They have no way of knowing for sure, so they have to operate under the worst case scenario. That’s how you’re prepared enough to survive. As brutal as it is.

Athena and Hen clean themselves of Sal’s blood while the others get to work preparing for option three. They hide the evidence of children that’s visible from the outside of the building. They go through their intruders’ things. Guns. Ammos. Knives. Bindings. Gags. Anything they can keep and repurpose, they do. The rest, they leave in the Hummer. 

---

15 for ⚡️:

---

Eddie’s not entirely sure what to do. He’s not up for a lot, to be honest. Moving and work in what has felt like an endless rotation these past two weeks has left him sore and tired. But he wants to make a good day of it. Just the two of them. 

“Is there anything you want to do today?” Eddie asks Chris. “We could say goodbye to the house? It’s our last day with it.”

“Say goodbye to the house?” Chris asks. “What would we even do? Wave?”

Alright. Sass.

---

15 for 🪞:

---

 “It hurt. It hurt seeing other mothers with their babies when I wasn’t with mine. When… I don’t know. When I guess I didn’t trust I ever would be again, in a permanent way.”

Chim crosses the kitchen to give her a hug and a kiss on her temple. 

“That was never going to happen,” he tells her.

“I know that now,” Maddie says. “And I know that Eddie will get Christopher back, too. But maybe he’s in more pain than he’s saying. And maybe he thought he could be there for you and Dove, but when faced with it, it’s too much.”

Buck sighs. “Yeah, that… That makes sense.”

“Damn,” Chim mutters. 

[hornyfor-redacted-onmain]

Jeongin - Taste

In Your Past - Chapter 3

Stray Kids OT8 x reader, Soulmate AU

Living in a world where soulmates are real, and everyone deals with it differently. Prequel to 'Pieces of My Heart'; how each member dealt with their soul marks, and first meetings.

Masterlist | Pieces Of My Heart

Jeongin always had a deep appreciation for food. Even before he turned 18, he liked to savor the food he ate, enjoyed the taste of his favorite foods and the comfort they brought him. He was always so conscious of the food that he was eating that he realized immediately the day after his 18th birthday when he started tasting things he didn’t eat. His mouth would suddenly explode in flavors, and he knew immediately that it was his soulmate.

The others were very excited to hear about his revelation.

“Our little maknae is all grown up!” Changbin had exclaimed.

“What are they eating right now? Wait, no. Are they eating something right now?” Han questioned.

Jeongin laughed. “They’re not eating anything right now, but I think they had something sweet earlier. It tasted like chocolate.”

They thought it was the coolest thing ever. They would randomly ask him about it, wondering what his soulmate was up to, and he found himself offhandedly mentioning the random tastes that he would experience when it happened.

“Oh, they’re eating peanut butter.”

“Hmmm, meat? Might be a hamburger.”

He remembers the particularly bad timing of one of his soulmate’s meals. They had just eaten a nasty combo of food, right in the middle of filming, and he had to resist the urge to gag for the next 20 minutes until the taste finally wore off. Channie-hyung and Lee Know-hyung then teased him after the shoot.

He was embarrassed, worried that he had ruined the entire thing (and also worried about the sanity of his soulmate to eat something so disgusting), and the company ended up editing out most of his faces for fear of someone finding out what soulmark he had. His manager told him it wasn’t his fault, but he still felt guilty for the extra time the editors had to put in to work around it. Still, he understood the necessity.

While soulmarks were so common that it was almost expected for celebrities to have them, but for idols it was expected to maintain the illusion of accessibility. To reveal a soulmark would essentially isolate a group of people from delusional believing they were made for their bias, and to ruin that illusion would ruin the popularity of a group.

It was disgusting that neither he nor the rest of the boys could talk about something so integral to their entire personality - his soulmark was the reason he always carried gum on him, and Felix’s soulmark made it impossible for him to utilize color schemes without the help of another.

Sometimes he found himself wishing he could talk about it. His soulmark was so odd, one of the most uncommon sensed based soulmarks, and he knew it would be next to impossible for him to find his soulmate based on it alone. He worried about it sometimes, whether he would ever meet them. He knew it was stupid, but he often found himself scrolling through forums, reading through posts made by other people with rare or ‘useless’ soulmarks.

‘I have a smell based soulmark … but my soulmate has the worst sense of smell! It took us nearly 30 years to finally meet, and that only because he had my first words. Can you imagine if he had initials, or taste, or something else equally vague? We never would have found each other!’ ‘I’m 58 and have yet to find my soulmate. I have initials, and despite my best efforts to get to know the names of everyone I’ve ever met, I simply have yet to find them. I’m convinced that my soulmate has to have a bad soulmark as well, otherwise they would have come looking for me by now, right?’ ‘Don’t worry too badly, I was 75 when I met my soulmate. Already happily married and with children, but they became one of my closest friends in such a short amount of time. When my wife died a year later, it was their support and friendship that kept me going. They showed up in my life right when I needed them, and I can’t imagine what I would do without them.’

He knew it was selfish, but he couldn’t imagine having to wait 30 years, let only 70 to meet his soulmate. There was this longing that felt like it had dug a permanent hole in his chest and left him with a gaping hole, pulsing with need strong enough that it consumed his every waking thought.

Would his soulmate like this?

What would his soulmate think about that performance?

What’s his soulmate doing now?

He wanted them. He wanted them so badly that when someone came running up to him on the street claiming to be his soulmate, he only hesitated long enough to make sure they were telling the truth before he finally let that deeply held longing consume him.

Pulling them into his arms felt like healing, and suddenly he was whole again.

He couldn’t hold his excitement when Channie-hyung called him, so eager to share the news. He wanted the members to meet you, wanted to show you off to them, to his parents, to the world. He wanted to scream it from the rooftops. He was unable to stop smiling, fingers laced firmly around his own the whole walk back to the hotel, practically vibrating.

He felt a lump grow in his throat when you told him that you had other soulmates. It made his stomach feel fluttery when he had the same realization as you, watching as you walked towards Hyunjin and Seungmin’s shared room without a thought, eyes firmly on something he couldn’t see.

He wasn’t sure why he hated the thought of sharing you so much.

You were his, sure, but you didn’t belong to him. He wasn’t even sure your soulmate bond would ever be anything more than platonic, and it would be selfish of him to keep you all to himself. But even as he plastered on a fake smile, he was secretly hoping you would agree to wait to meet the others.

He just wanted you to be his, only his, just a little longer.

But then you looked up at him with a dazed look, eyes darting across his face with childlike wonder, and he felt something melt inside him.

“I’ll always be yours, Jeongin.” You whispered.

And suddenly he wasn’t so afraid of losing you anymore. The lump disappeared, the butterflies settling down in his stomach, and he gave you a genuine smile. It was only later as he watched the rest of the members surround you, watched as everyone’s faces became dazed with happiness, and saw the way your eyes held the stars as you looked at each and every one of them, that he realized maybe it would be so bad to have someone to share this feeling with.

And who better than his members to make sure that his soulmate would never have to be alone, never have to deal with the longing he himself had felt? For the first time in a long time, Jeongin wasn’t worried about what the future held. He was happy.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Vampire vs Werewolf Forced Fight for Human Entertainment part 1

Warnings: violence, blood, pain, forced fight, fantasy whump

Poor Felix, an innocent young vampire gets caught by some nasty humans who needed a new monster for their blood sports, dragging him into a world of cage fighting amd violence... Whatever will happen to him? 👉👈

The last thing Felix remembered was going for a nightly stroll down the street, before he'd been ambushed by hunters. He didn't have much fight experience, and was rather young for a vampire, so he was easily taken down and pinned by several strong humans. He thought he'd be killed on the spot, and when a tranquilizer dart hit his shoulder, he never expected to wake again.

But he did. He awoke cuffed and restrained being hauled through a thick crowd of people. He started struggling hard, trying to twist and wrench free from the iron grasp of the hand on his arm.

"Mff!" He tried to scream for help before realizing there was a cloth gag in his mouth, muffling his cries.

"Shut up, freak," a harsh voice barked, and Felix instantly stopped fighting. "You're going to be the center of attention today. We lost our best fighter last minute from a medical emergency, so you're the replacement. Lucky us."

Felix's stomach churned with dread as chaos roared all around, excited conversations and cheering coming from the crowd he was being dragged through. But the worst part of the ruckus had to be the shrieking. Something was in excruciating pain. And the crowd seemed even more excited by it, growing ever louder.

"Round three winner is... Diego!" The crowd roared.

What was happening? Felix had barely gotten his bearings when he found himself being hauled up to his feet and shoved forward, the gag ripped out of his mouth. "What's going on? What are you doing to me?!" He shouted, his voice pitched high with fear. It was the first thing that tumbled out of his mouth.

"You're in the underground fighting rink," a man laughed cruelly, uncuffing his hands. "We catch monsters like you and pit them against each other. Good luck!"

"Wait--what--?" Felix tripped and fell clumsily forward after a rough shove from behind, finding himself in an arena completely caged in by thick chain-link fencing. He gaped with wide eyes to see the hundreds of people surrounding the fence, all watching him with bloodthirsty, eager expressions.

"No--T-There has to be some mistake! I'm just a kid from town! Not a monster!" He pleaded.

"Nah, we all know you're not human," another man sneered. "You're not fooling anyone, bloodsucker." He and his friends laughed at the shock on Felix's face. How did they know his secret?!

Felix didn't have time to ask as his attention was snatched by the sound of scraping metal coming from the opposite side of the arena, where he saw a group of men working to slide a large metal cage to the door. The cage was made of thick metal sheets, so Felix couldn't see what it was holding, but he could tell that something alive was in it, judging by the growling and snapping of teeth.

One guard jabbed an electric baton into one of the cage's breathing holes, and a bellow of agony split the air. "Behave, you useless mutt!" He barked angrily. The others worked to open the arena and push the entrance of the cage up flush against it with no room for escape... before sliding the metal door of it up and out of the way.

Adrenaline flooded all of Felix's senses as he watched something truly massive and covered in white fur come staggering out, towering at least eight feet tall and wearing a large muzzle. It almost looked like a wolf, with a long snout and tail, but it stood on two hind legs like a human. Its limbs were lengthy and muscular, its hind legs shaped more like a wolf, but with arms that were slightly more human-like.

Werewolf. The frightening word rang in Felix's head. He'd read about werewolves in kids books, but seeing one in real life was bloody terrifying, all fur and teeth and claws... and muscle. The kind of strength of an apex predator nature designed for ripping things apart.

"You--You can't expect me to fight that thing!" He cried and banged on the door he'd been shoved through. "Please, let me out! That thing will kill me!"

"That's the point, freak. One lives, one dies. Bets are already placed, and unsurprisingly they're not in your favor," a burly man laughed cruelly from the outside of the cage, and the vampire sprung back as a buzzing electric baton was pushed through the chain link, jabbing at him. "Get back over there and give us a show!" The man prodded.

Felix jumped out of his skin as a loud speaker crackled.

"Gooooood evening, folks! For our next fight we have werewolf against vampire, another classic fight like many we've hosted before! Vampires are known to have the winning streak, but we found a fresh bloodsucker tonight and paired it with a beast who's already seen its fair share of violence. How fun!" A bell rang. "Let the fight begin!"

Felix's blood went cold as his eyes darted to the hulking beast of a wolf on the other side of the cage, watching in horror as the muzzle beeped and fell off, revealing razor-sharp teeth and powerful jaws. The monster was set loose.

Felix was frozen to the spot, paralyzed with fear as the enemy charged and slammed into him, driving every ounce of breath from his lungs as all five hundred pounds of muscle crushed him into the chainlink wall of the arena.

He choked and wheezed as he tried to suck in air, before sharp claws sliced through his side, tearing a strangled shriek from him. It was enough to snap him out of the trance. He dropped to the floor and rolled, narrowly avoiding the blow as the wolf took another vicious swipe at him with its giant forepaws.

He immediately lurched to his feet and ran to the other side of the arena, pressing himself against the furthest wall away from his opponent, trembling so hard he could barely stay standing as he wrapped an arm protectively around his injured midsection.

"Aww, don't be a chicken, vamp!" The announcer's mocking voice sounded.

The werewolf swiveled around with a snarl, ears pinned back and lip curled.

Oh man. I am dead. I am SO dead. Felix squealed and dodged as the werewolf charged him again, barely scrambling out of the way in time while the human crowd cheered and jeered at him. He just focused on staying as far away from those dangerous claws as possible

In his mind he knew he wasn't getting out of here alive unless he fought for his life. He was pretty sure he would lose, but he had to at least try.

Felix darted in at an opening and punched the werewolf in the side, making it roar in pain as a rib or two cracked. But the beast whirled around impossibly fast before he could get away and clobbered him on the side of the head in retaliation, sending him flying with an agonized scream. He hit the ground hard, jarring every joint in his body, and let out a ragged wail as sharp claws scooped him up a second later and tossed him to the other side of the arena. Like a plaything. A predator toying with prey.

Felix moaned as he dragged himself back to his feet, shaking all over, absolutely terrified. His eyes were wide with fear as he forced himself to rush toward the monstrous werewolf, diving to the floor and aiming for its hind leg. He grabbed it and sank his vampire fangs in as hard as he could, holding on for dear life.

The werewolf yelped, and brutally kicked him off, and Felix's head exploded with pain as his teeth ripped away from warm flesh. He spat out a mouthful of white fur and blood when he landed, before lurching to his wobbly feet to try again. He feigned a dash to the right before going left, hoping the beast would take the bait, but the werewolf was there to block him, snapping its powerful jaws down on his forearm and shaking its giant head, tossing him around as though he weighed no more than a leaf.

Felix shrieked in pain as the teeth latched on, but a tiny part of him felt like it should still hurt more if the bite was at full-force. Maybe adrenaline was numbing it. Or maybe the monster was intentionally drawing out the fight for the crowd. It felt like his arm might be ripped off his body at any second from the strain.

The wolf finally threw him to the ground, and he rolled onto his back, ready to spring up, when a huge front paw hit his chest and roughly pinned him down on the floor.

"NO! I don't want to die!" Felix cried, hyperventilating as he helplessly struggled beneath the heavy weight crushing him. Scared tears slid down his cheeks as he whimpered and groaned.

The werewolf's head leaned down, close enough that hot, rancid breath gusted over Felix's face, bared teeth inches away from his nose, and he screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the final blow.

"Play dead."

Felix's eyes flew open in shock as a gravelly female voice rumbled, barely coherent in a scratchy growl.

He stared up into blue lupine eyes, which were dilated with adrenaline -- but he also saw a flicker of... sympathy? Pity? The werewolf's face was twisted with aggression, but its eyes were softer, desperate and urgent.

"Play dead and I won't have to kill you. Faint." The voice spoke again, almost too warped to understand. Mercy. He was being offered mercy.

"Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!" The crowd was chanting, riled up by the hesitation. All eager for blood and death.

Felix couldn't believe what was happening, his mind reeling. But some part of him distantly registered what the she-wolf was saying, and he closed his eyes, going totally limp and lifeless. Putting his life and trust in the enemy.

"Stay down." The weight on his chest lifted, but he didn't dare crack his eyes open for fear of ruining the illusion.

"Out already?" The speaker crackled. "Looks like we got another fainter on our hands. Disappointing." The human crowd groaned and booed in annoyance, some shouting angry curses.

Felix's sensitive ears picked up on the sound of the arena doors scraping opening, footsteps approaching. He almost flinched when his hands were grabbed and metal cuffs were clamped on, but he kept himself limp. He was being dragged away... but to where? He tried to piece together his surroundings with his ears alone, hearing his captor's voices arguing.

His whole body ached with excruciating pain, but he eventually felt himself being tossed carelessly on the ground, before a door slammed shut. He was left hopelessly alone, wounds singing with agony.

Next ⏩️

Masterlist

Masterlist #2

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump @otterfrost @sausages-things

[thevegandarkelf]

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Nineteen

Masterlist

AO3 link

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3 (18+ only, MDNI)

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, panic attacks, mention of scars, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death, PTSD

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, an intense hangover from blacking out while drinking, vomiting, nausea, gagging, discussion of nightmares (being tied up, being held at gunpoint), brief mention on gangrene

Word count: 2.7k

I felt myself starting to fall into my nightmare, my eyes blinking furiously and the feeling of my hands tied above my head coming into focus. Before I fell all the way into it, before everything in my view cleared up and the gun was forced into my mouth, I was awakened.

A hand stroked my arm, shaking me very gently, just enough to wake me. "Vec. Vec, wake up."

The pain in my head hit me like a hurricane. Words like throbbing, pounding, pulsating didn't feel like they even came close to describing the pain in my skull. I blinked my eyes open, and the light coming in from the window was blinding, somehow making the already intense headache worse. Daryl's usual sweet and soothing voice scratched my brain like nails on a chalkboard.

"Shh, why are you talking so loud?" I hushed. I rolled myself onto my back and realized I was still in bed and hadn't fallen out. I pulled myself back and up against the headboard. My entire body was sore.

"I'm whisperin'," he said, taking a seat on the bed at my feet.

"Fuck, my head," I groaned, leaning over and holding my head in my hands, "what the hell happened last night?"

"Ya blacked out," Daryl explained, "what's the last thing ya remember?"

The panic set in as I thought back to my last memory from the night before. It was very early in the night, after only one drink, where I reiterated to Rosita how drunk I was trying to get. It was the middle of the night now, probably around 3 or 4 in the morning, so there were somewhere between 8 and 10 hours completely unaccounted for. My stomach started doing somersaults, and the nausea began to set in.

"Umm, talking to Rosita when I got your drink for you," I said, "really early in the night. Daryl, what did I do? Did something happen?" My heart started racing, pounding against my ribcage and sending adrenaline surging through me. He must've noticed my panic, and he crawled up next to me and put a hand on my shoulder, drawing little circles with his thumb.

"Hey, you're ok. Nothin' happened," he reassured, "ya ever blacked out before?"

I shook my head, which was still in my hands. "No. Not even close. How did I get in here? Could I even walk? God, I'm such an idiot." I wanted to drink enough to numb the pain, so I got exactly what I asked for, but I got the world's worst hangover as a consequence.

"Brought ya in myself," Daryl assured, "ain't gonna let no one else touch ya when ya's that drunk."

"You had to carry me in here? Fuck, I'm so sorry. I mean, if anyone was going to have to carry me inside, I'm glad it was you." It was then that I realized I was no longer wearing the dress from the night before. "How did I get changed?"

"Maggie 'n Rosita helped ya with that," he explained. I picked my head up and ran my hand over the shirt sleeves, feeling the soft flannel under my cold fingers. I didn't recognize it as one of mine.

"Daryl, is this shirt yours?" I asked.

"Yeah."

I felt a little giddy inside knowing I was wearing a piece of Daryl's clothing. "Cool. It's mine now." There was a cramp in my abdomen, and I held my stomach in agony. "God, I can feel my liver being damaged." I turned my head to look at Daryl, whose beautiful blue eyes glistened in the moonlight. "So what happened last night? Did I make a fool of myself or say anything silly?"

"We can talk 'bout that in the mornin'. Ya should get back to sleep." My stomach churned, and the waves of nausea were quickly picking up speed.

"Move, move," I demanded, waving my hands in front of me like I was shooing him away. "Get out of the way, I'm gonna throw up." I slipped out of bed and sprinted to the bathroom, haphazardly slamming the door closed behind me. I barely made it to the toilet before I started, what felt like, projectile vomiting.

I'd never thrown up so much in my life. Not even the nastiest things I'd seen in the ER, the most foul-smelling gangrene, had me reacting like this. My hair cascaded around the sides of the toilet bowl, enveloping me in a curtain of shame as I continued assaulting the toilet with the contents of my stomach. I heard the door open, and my face quickly became very, very hot and red with embarrassment. I wanted to die in that moment.

The vomiting stopped for a moment, and my esophagus was thankful for the break. I had my arms folded up on the toilet seat, resting my forehead on my interlaced hands. "You don't wanna see this," I croaked as I heard Daryl step around behind me. He knelt down behind me, his left leg on the floor and his right one up next to me. He reached around and tenderly grabbed my curtains of hair, bringing it back and holding it like a ponytail with one hand. The other hand was gently caressing my back.

I couldn't deny it any longer—I was in love with this man.

"God, I could kiss you right now," I said. My voice caught in my throat, and I was kicking and punching and choking myself for letting the words in my brain slip off my tongue. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that." I could feel my stomach lurching again, and I continued throwing up, Daryl still rubbing my back all the while. I cringed wondering what he could've been thinking after that stupid statement I just made.

Not untrue, but stupid.

I thought I was never going to stop puking. My head was spinning, and the smell coming from the toilet bowl only made me dizzier and want to puke more. The sound of my heaving felt like nails being pounded into my skull with a hammer. I wanted to keel over and pass out just to make it stop. The only thing that was keeping me grounded in reality was his hand on my back. He didn't even so much as flinch every time my body heaved.

I was sure hours had passed by the time I finally lifted my head, nearly gasping for air as I closed the lid and flushed the toilet. I steadied myself as I caught my breath, one hand on the toilet bowl, the other absentmindedly on Daryl's knee. He still had my hair in a ponytail, and he never stopped rubbing my back once, reminding me that he was there.

"Fuck," I said once I was breathing normally again, "sorry you had to see that. And hear that."

"Ain't no thing," Daryl assured. He took my hair and draped it over my shoulder. "Ya feelin' any better?"

"Well my stomach is," I said. I used the toilet and his knee to help lift myself up so I could brush my teeth. I could feel the acid doing its work on my teeth, and it was vile.

Daryl stood with me, keeping a hand on my mid back and taking one of my hands with the other one to make sure I didn't fall over, or that he could catch me if I did. God, I'm such a baby, my brain said over and over again as he walked me to the bathroom sink.

"Where's your water bottle?" he asked.

"Umm, I think it's in the kitchen," I replied. He walked off once I was steady on the sink and brushing my teeth. He returned a couple of minutes later as I was finishing up.

"Ya ok to walk?" The room was spinning so hard that I couldn't keep my eyes open.

"I don't know," I lied. I didn't want him to feel like he had to carry me into bed again. But he was one step ahead of me.

"C'mon," he said as he wrapped an arm around me, already leaning over to scoop my legs up with the other one, "I got ya." "I got ya" would've had me swooning a lot harder if I didn't feel like the inside of a dumpster.

It was nice to be present this time when Daryl carried me to bed and to be able to appreciate it. He was so warm, almost suffocatingly, and I was being cocooned in it. The feeling of his broad chest rising and falling against me was heavenly. I wanted to stay here forever. I never wanted him to put me down.

I heard him kick the door open and felt my mattress underneath me as he set me in bed. He took my now-full water bottle off my dresser and went around to the other side of the bed, crawling in next to me.

"Stayin' hydrated will help," he said, holding my water out to me, "ya eat anythin' 'fore ya started drinkin'?" I took my water from him and shook my head.

"Not much, no," I explained, "I'm such an idiot. I'm literally a doctor, I know better." I sipped at my water slowly, making sure not to chug it too fast and make myself sick again.

"Nah, not an idiot. Just got a bit shitfaced. We've all done it." I laughed a little at his description of my blacking out as "a bit shitfaced." He scooted closer to me until we were almost right against each other and snaked an arm around me.

Daryl was always so tender, so respectful when he touched me. He only ever touched my arms, shoulders, my back only above my waist, and sometimes my head, other than when he had to touch my legs to pick me up. When he did, his touch was so light, like being tickled by a feather, and he handled me like I was glass, like I was fine china. He was such a gentleman and expected nothing from me in return. At first, he was not touchy at all, avoided it and kept a few feet between us at all times, if he could help it. It was like once he tested the boundaries and saw that I was ok with it, the floodgates opened, and he became very touchy when we were alone. There was always so much care behind his touch, even when it was something as simple as brushing a hair out of my face while I was cooking or tapping on my arm to get my attention. The man who could be a bit hotheaded at times around others and was a self-proclaimed tough guy was a massive softie in private. And I loved it.

"Daryl, can you tell me what happened last night? I'm too anxious to wait," I said. I was biting at the inside of my lip in anticipation, afraid of what silly goofy things I might've said or done. What sort of feelings I might've confessed to Daryl in my drunken state.

"Ya spent almost the whole time with Rosita, Maggie, 'n Michonne, so I dunno what happened there, ya'd have to ask 'em. There's some gate asshole, tried to get ya alone with him." He pulled me a little closer with his arm. I couldn't tell whether it was intentional or subconscious. “Don't worry, I got in his way. Brought ya inside after that. Maggie 'n Rosita helped ya change. Then ya passed out."

A man tried to get me alone when I was so drunk, I probably didn't even know my own name. Couldn't say I was surprised. Just disappointed. I was grateful to know that my friends were there & that Daryl intervened. However, it was upsetting that even in the sanctity of the walls, I still had to be worried for my safety. And given my nightmares, that made it all the more upsetting. A single tear escaped my eye, and I tried to quickly wipe it away before Daryl noticed.

"Did I say anything goofy?" I asked. I was both afraid to know and dying to know at the same time. He was quiet for a while, looking down at his feet at the end of the bed, like he was trying to decide what to share and what to keep a secret. "Tell me everything. I wanna know."

"Ya kept insistin' ya's just tipsy. Wanted us to leave ya outside since ya's too dizzy to walk," he explained, "ya's humming a lot. And ya told me I was real handsome. Insisted ya meant it."

I knew getting inebriated would have me saying some things I maybe didn't want to. I told Rosita to stop me if she thought I might say something, and while I wanted to think she tried her best, I wanted to die knowing that I had actually expressed to Daryl how attractive he was. But this flirtationship had essentially turned into a relationship, minus the confession of feelings and more intimate physical affection. One of us was going to have to make a further move, or else we'd just be going in circles forever.

"I know I was blacked out when I said it, but I did mean it," I said, "you're a handsome guy, Daryl. You deserve to know that."

It was nearly pitch black in the room, even with the moonlight coming in through the window, which was now minimal as clouds had taken over the sky. He was blushing, I was sure of it. I closed the very small space that remained between us and rested my head on his shoulder. His lack of response made me nervous, but I could understand it. Daryl wasn't the best with words, and being sheepish when it came to the field of romance, he probably wasn't sure what to say. Eventually, though, he found some words.

"Thanks. You too." A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth in amusement. "Shit, I mean pretty. You're real pretty." I was blushing hard, and I wondered if he could feel the heat radiating off of my face on his shoulder.

"Thanks Daryl," I said, letting out a relaxed sigh and closing my eyes, "your shirt's real comfy by the way. It's like a blanket." A soft chuckle escaped his lips.

"Funny. Ya said the same thing earlier," he said, "Rosita told ya it was mine, and ya thought ya's gonna get in trouble 'til Maggie said I brought it in for ya." I let out a small snort-chuckle.

"That sounds like something I would say when I'm drunk," I laughed, "I mean, I've never been that drunk before, but it just feels in character for me." The pain in my head made its way to my eyes, reminding me of its presence. “Ugh, and I'm never getting that drunk again."

"Probably a good idea," Daryl said, "you'll feel like hell for a while, but it'll pass. Sleep'll help too." I let out a very long yawn, my body reminding me of how tired I was, though I figured there was no way I'd be able to sleep with this headache.

"Catch me in bed all day. If anyone needs me tomorrow, tell them not to," I groaned.

"Speakin' o' tomorrow, I got overnight watch," Daryl said, "was wonderin' if ya wanted to join. Keep me company." I'd never been up in the watchtower in all my time at Alexandria, and being up there alone with Daryl up in a tower would certainly fulfill my princess fantasy.

"Yeah. I'd really like that," I said, "that sounds nice." I continued sipping on my water to hopefully help quell the burning in my throat from my bathroom incident.

"Ya want me to stay in here tonight?"

"Daryl, be real with me. Did you actually plan on not doing that?" I leaned forward to grab my blanket and brought it over my legs, draping a bit across Daryl's as well.

"Nah. Ya wanna lay down?" he asked.

"Nah," I said. I nuzzled my head into his shoulder a little further, "unless you do. I'm comfortable right here."

Taglist: @raddydaddydude

[beechersnope]

Summer of Cum Days 19/20/21: creampie, orgasm delay, pillow humping

arthur/oscar & charles/oscar, warnings for accidental voyeurism (involving brothers), jealousy, angst, bad/painful sex, & the dumb top charles agenda, 1403 words

***

Arthur comes to slowly. It takes him a minute to remember where he is, why it’s dark, why the walls feel like they’re pressing in on him. 

He’s lying under one of the beds in the guest bedroom of the cabin, tucked almost all the way up against the wall with his shoulders compressed tightly between the floor and the underside of the bedframe. He doesn’t remember why he’s there, not drunk enough anymore to recall why it had seemed like a good idea at the time. 

It doesn’t seem like a good idea anymore. Arthur can hear the easily identifiable sounds of skin against skin coming from the bed on the other side of the room. He carefully scoots over to the very edge of the bed, wondering if he can slip out without being noticed, or whether he’s stuck here until whoever it is gets their rocks off. 

It isn’t until he inches almost all the way out from under the bed that he finally catches sight of the two figures on the bed opposite. Someone had the bright (ha) idea to decorate the rooms with Christmas lights around all the windows. They provide the only source of light now, as the darkened silhouettes move in tandem. 

Well—that's being a bit generous, Arthur thinks to himself as he squints through the darkness at the other bed. The person on top is active, engaged; the one underneath is hardly moving at all. 

At first, all Arthur can hear is the sound of heavy breathing; languid, breathy moans. Then a voice, low and undeniably familiar. “Merde, you’re so fucking tight.” 

Arthur feels his body go hot. It’s Charles. Of course, it’s Charles. Because God knows his brother can’t manage to go more than an hour without getting his dick wet. He almost feels relieved at first. Out of all the people he could have unintentionally caught in the act, Charles is far from the worst. Not least of which because this isn’t the first time this sort of thing has happened. Charles never remembers to put a sock on the door. 

Arthur breathes out a quiet sigh and hooks his fingers into the slats of the bedframe, using it to start to pull himself out from underneath. He’ll make his apologies for the interruption, play up his drunkness, and pretend to forget the whole thing in the morning. Charles probably won’t remember it either.  

Then a strangled voice emerges from the body pinned under Charles. “Can you—slower, it’s too much.” 

Arthur freezes in place. He undergoes a series of emotions, all coursing through him like liquid fire running through his veins, then immediately doused by icy realization. Oscar. His brother is fucking Oscar.  

Arthur didn’t know Charles even fucked guys. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he thinks this doesn’t count, because he’s drunk, or because it’s Oscar, or—Arthur screws his eyes shut and tries to pretend this isn’t happening. Maybe it’s a drunken nightmare and in a second, he’ll wake up with his face mashed into Oscar’s sweaty armpit, and all will be right in the world again. 

He doesn’t wake up. Charles doesn’t slow down either, at least not enough.  

Arthur knows—he wishes he didn’t, but he knows—that Charles isn’t small, that his partners have trouble sometimes taking him. He also knows that Oscar is—was—a virgin, and that all of the masturbation in the world isn’t equivalent to the real thing. 

Oscar keeps making these horrible little moans, sounds that go straight to Arthur’s dick. That should be him, he thinks. It should be his dick inside Oscar. He’s wanted it for so long, practically gagging for it in every single interview they’ve done as teammates. Arthur had thought it was obvious how much he wanted Oscar, but Oscar had never shown any indication of reciprocating, so Arthur had resorted to pining privately and hoped against hope that someday he’d get over his stupid puppy crush.  

“Can you—ah!” Oscar yelps as Charles fucks down into him. He’s face-down with a pillow wedged between his thighs, his face squashed into the duvet. “I need.... Please.” 

“You want to come?” Charles gasps against the back of his neck. Arthur can practically taste the sweat against his nape. It should be him, he thinks again. It’s not fair. Charles always gets everything. 

Oscar tries to worm a hand in between his body and the mattress, but Charles grabs at his wrist before he can manage it, pinning it up against his lower back.  

“Want you to come on my cock,” Charles says hoarsely. He fucks into Oscar harder, slowing the pace of his thrusts so he’s pushing in balls deep every time. 

Oscar writhes under him like he’s being skewered, but it’s impossible to tell from the noises pouring out of his mouth whether he’s in pain or whether he’s already on the verge of coming the way Charles wants him to.  

Arthur is hard now, his dick throbbing in his jeans. He watches as Charles’s thrusts get sloppier, deeper, as Oscar’s moans get louder, more desperate, but he doesn’t dare touch himself. He doesn’t even think he can, the space under the bed so cramped that the tip of his dick is practically brushing against the underside of the mattress between the slats. He thinks maybe, if he lifted his hips just a little.... 

“Fuck, fuck,” Charles hisses as he pounds into Oscar so hard Arthur worries the bed might not survive the encounter, let alone Oscar himself. “Fuck, gonna come. Want you to come for me, baby. Come on.” 

Oscar lets out a high-pitched cry as he bucks his hips back against Charles, who responds by pressing his hips down with both hands, spreading him open as he pushes in as deep as he can get, wringing feral howls out of Oscar’s throat that escalate in volume and urgency with every excruciating thrust. 

Arthur can tell immediately when Charles comes, though not a sound emerges from his mouth. His face is pressed against Oscar’s heaving back, forehead to the center of his spine, and it takes him another minute before he finally pulls out with a wet smack. Oscar lets out a pained moan, his whole body shivering at the loss.  

Charles flops over onto his back and falls almost instantly asleep. 

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut and counts to ten in every language he knows. When he finishes, he opens them again and looks over at the bed, trying to gauge whether it’s been long enough that he can safely make his escape while Charles and Oscar are asleep. 

But Oscar isn’t asleep. He’s hunched over, both pillows between his legs now, hips working frantically as he breathes out quiet little panting breaths into the relative silence of the room. Arthur can’t be blamed for the way he raises his own hips to grind the hard ridge of his erection against the mattress through his jeans, the movements mimicking Oscar’s perfectly, like Arthur is fucking him the way he wants, like he’s always wanted.  

It becomes apparent as Oscar jerks against the pillow with a stuttering series of groans that he’d been faking it with Charles. 

Arthur bites his lip hard, enough to taste blood, and comes in his jeans. He lies there with his dick throbbing, warmth flooding the inside of his briefs, as Oscar finally stills, the muscles in his back and along his ass twitching every few seconds with the aftershock of his orgasm. 

A minute passes. Then another. Then Oscar peels himself away from the wadded-up pillows and slowly pads out of the room. He closes the door behind himself with a soft click.  

Arthur waits exactly fifteen seconds before hauling himself out from under the bed. He starts for the door, then stops, turns. He approaches the bed silently, treading across the floor on just his tiptoes. He ignores his brother, passed out cold and letting out quiet snores muffled by the sheets.  

Arthur’s eyes instead linger on the slick come covering the pillow he’d just watched Oscar ride to orgasm. It’s too dark to tell whether it’s from Oscar or his brother, and maybe he wouldn’t be able to tell anyway. It doesn’t matter. He stares down at it, desire tinged with disgust pooling in the pit of his stomach, and he wants something he knows he can’t have. 

[duck-newton]

one of the reasons I enjoy steeplechase so much is because they sound like they’re just genuinely having fun

its reminiscent of the first few balance arcs where there wasn’t really any pressure for deep, life-changing storytelling and they could for the most part keep it light-hearted

but like after balance ended there was this pressure to keep on telling these incredible, larger-than-life stories about preventing a cross-dimension war or saving an entire town from monsters or trying to navigate a post-apocalyptic world. and yeah there was still goofs and gags of course! but behind it all is still a highly fantastical story which seeks to prove something or teach a lesson

but steeplechase is just pure, unfiltered fun. It’s just guys getting up to shenanigans and the worst thing that could happen is they get caught and go to fantasy Disney jail.

and I’m not saying that one is better than the other! but I do appreciate Justin for giving us something that we haven’t really seen since the early balance days

[chickenkurage]

A few CS!CorruptionAlan AU stuff I thought of!

Considering how this alan will be more attached to null than ever, that could even mean he doesn't even want to leave her side at all after literally witnessing her getting shot but is luckily alive and okay in this AU, maybe not exactly being with her all the time but more like.... Checking up on her too much and keep asking if she's okay or fine maybe? Something like that though!

Started to think about slate... Probably the same thing happens by him escaping with mauve and alice during when alan was corrupted and was causing a lot at the facility expect it's just null out of the picture, after all of that everything is mostly the same like blank slate but instead slate is willing to find alan and null to help since he knows halo will somewhat come after them both so he is again willing to help them out, he didn't help them when they were about to escape together so now he actually will when he finds them

Speaking of alan and null, I was thinking about where those two would be going now.... I was already thinking about back to null's house but it feels like they could be found easily located if the location is obvious enough for halo, so I was thinking of another place in the city or some sort of hideout.... Yeah I'm not entirely sure so I will probably need some help on that- ^^"

As for the absolute bastard halo..... I feel like in this AU he actually wants to find alan and get him back because he does seem to be one of halo's favorite fighters/pets, so halo is willing to get him back because he doesn't want to lose his favorite fighter.... Not again (which could end up giving alan far more worst punishments than just shocking him with a collar, fantasizing worst possible outcomes for alan... Oh halo you sadistic little b- THIS JUST FEELS LIKE HE'S WILLING TO TAME A "BEAST" AT THIS POINT-)

There's more thoughts in mind but I wanna keep them in for now for another time or to think about it more! So hope y'all enjoyed reading these so far!!! :DD

AWWW It's Null and Alan against the world. I like this mother son duo so much that it's making me cry since it's been a while since I've seen these two in one sentence TOT

As for the hiding place, if not Null's house (which right decision cause ain't no way they are going to get caught early on the story) maybe it could be somewhere outside the city, far away so that they couldn't be immediately spotted? Although it would probably take time to get there ;-; Probably it would be best for them to hide deep in the mountains and forest where Alan could probably hunt all the food he could get :PP

Grrr not Halo again... ALL MY HOMIES HATE HALOO GRRRR >:((

But demm, I guess we'll be looking forward to what will happen next in this CS Corruption au. Like I'm quaking in my boots on who will find the two first :00

Like... WHO WILL FIND ALAN AND NULL FIRST? A RACE AGAINST TIME!! We first have here Halo >:(( wanting to find Alan just to *gag* tame and make him his pet... AGAIN. Next, we have Slate, together with Alice and Mauve, trying to find them before Halo could ever reach them. Lastly, and let's not forget, the Hollowhead kids! Pick a team and bet your money who will find them!!

This whole situation just gives me this whole vibe ToT and thank you for the food hehe X33 - JM

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles December challenge.

Sometimes Dead is Better

Prompt Day 2: Came Back Wrong | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Canon Death, Monster!Eddie, Body Horror | Tags: Horror, Hurt/No Comfort, Dark, Pet Sematary Vibes, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Post S4, Steve POV

Steve doesn't know what he expected, but it wasn't this. Eddie, if you can even call this thing Eddie anymore, isn't right. He didn’t come back right at all. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen.

The ground is sour. 

Steve knew that. He was told. Warned against trying this. And he did it anyway.

Dug the hole with his own bare hands, breaking and bloodying his nails. He should have brought a shovel. He didn’t. So he had to scrape down past the softer loam, and into the rocky dirt beneath. He dug until his hands were worthless, clawing desperately into the earth, displacing gravel-laden clay. Making room. It takes a lot of digging to bury a grown man. Far more than you’d expect. Steve didn't realize. Didn't know. 

He knows now. He had plenty of time to ponder it, as he's waited and waited. He just sat down on the steps of the trailer, holding vigil. Hoping Eddie will know to go home. Steve hurts all over, his shoulders and back aching, his hands destroyed. By day three, he thinks that maybe it didn't work. Maybe the myth wasn't true, wasn't real. That this last ditch effort wouldn't work. 

He doesn’t leave, though. He’ll wait. He has nowhere else to be. If it didn't work, at least he buried him, he supposes. Even if he did it in the hardest way possible.

He’s sure they’re frantic up top, unsure of where he’s disappeared to, without warning. This was a plan nobody else was involved in, Steve knew better. There’d be no talking Robin into this, or Nancy. They’d want to commit him to Pennhurst just for considering it. 

This was his idea, and he owns it all, he gets full credit. If it goes good, or bad.

Either way, he sits alone, still waiting.

He waits with the red sky overhead, and the bats that no longer seem to give a flying fuck that he's here in their world. Swooping and fighting amongst each other, shrieking, but leaving him alone. 

And eventually, days later, Steve heard the shuffling of feet before he could really see him. He could hear his ammo belt, knocked loose from his waist, dragging behind him in the silence. The demobats swoop around him, curious, but eventually flee back into the hellscape of a night sky. Uninterested.

When Steve finally gets eyes on him, he can see that he's dirty, caked in dried, black blood. His open wounds, no longer bleeding, but now festering. The gash across his cheek is hanging open, loose; his neck, torn to shreds. His long hair is matted, clothes torn, filthy. He's…

It's. Not he. Not anymore. It’s an abomination. 

Monstrous.

Steve stands. 

No wonder the bats showed no interest. This thing that was once Eddie is wholly part of this world, now. Part of the tapestry of increasingly grotesque horrors, now woven into this awful place beneath their feet.

From beneath you, it devours.

And the shambling continues. Its eyes are unseeing, one milky, the other dark black. Steve knows Eddie’s eyes were dark brown, but this is beyond that. This is a monster. 

Zombie, Steve's brain supplies. 

Eddie, his heart argues. 

It's getting closer, and the smell is overwhelming. Sour is a goddamn understatement. It's putrid, the smell of decaying flesh, and he takes an involuntary step back. The cloying smell of decomposition is filling his nostrils. It's sweet, but in a horribly sickening way. He’s never smelled anything so awful in his entire life.

He gags. 

Maybe his mistake was doing it here, beneath the real world, in the Upside Down. Maybe it would have worked perfectly in the Right Side Up. If he could have somehow hoisted Eddie’s body through the gate, and gotten him to the burial ground on the normal side. He couldn’t, so he did it here and hoped for the best.

This is not the best, it’s the worst. Eddie not coming back at all would have been better than this. Clearly, the Upside Down had other plans, and Steve should have known that there was no good to be found here. 

This place is hell. He shouldn't have expected to get anything back other than this monster. 

Eddie came back wrong. It came back wrong. 

It's approaching, dragging its foot at a horrible angle. Heavy boot slowing down its already unsteady gait. Steve doesn't know what to do. He grips the handle of his nailbat tighter in his fist. He spins it in his hand, a reflex, winding up to take aim on his target. But he can't. He can't. There's no way. 

This isn’t a demogorgon. Or a demodog. It’s Eddie. Or at least, it used to be.

He knows he should do it, that he should end this thing’s misery. He’s never seen anything this awful in his life, but it still looks like Eddie, at least if he squints, and he can’t imagine cracking him across the skull with his bat. Can’t imagine being the one to bring him back to the earth, one final time.

“Eddie?” Steve asks, hoping. Maybe he looks like death, but isn’t, inside. 

It makes a noise that sounds inhuman, wretched. But it sounds a little like Steve.

And Steve knows, with a sudden clarity, that sometimes dead is better. 

He takes one more look. That's it. A final, horrible glance at what could have been, if only. At what was once the boy with the pretty long hair, and big, kind eyes. The freak who was just another lonely boy who had been kicked around for sport by this shitty town.

The boy he fell a little bit in love with, a broken bottle held to his neck. A little wave in a boathouse. A flirting leer, in an RV.

A loaded goodbye, right here in this very spot.

Steve didn’t make Vecna pay, he’s paying, they all are.

This thing raises its hand, and reaches towards Steve. 

And Steve runs. 

Notes:  "From beneath you, it devours" is a Buffy reference. This fic idea came about when I got the app notification for Pet Sematary: Bloodlines. I haven’t watched it, but it made me go, hmm. Then I realized it would be perfect for this prompt. So, yeah, I went dark with it, but came back wrong screams Pet Sematary to me. And it was written in October, so Halloween vibes were in the air, and...here we are. Sorry. Or not sorry. Depending on how you feel about it, haha. (Fun fact: This was actually the first prompt I did for this challenge!)

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my tag, right here!

[prayers-to-hyliarceus]

Musharna mail! A nightmare. 

You don’t know where you are, or when you woke up. Time exists on a continuum and you are only privy to this moment, nothing more. 

You’re strapped down to a table, blindfolded and gagged, more a lump than a person. It’s cold and numb and the numbness is the worst part, if you could only manage to see a sliver of light or even press your fingernail against your thumb, you’d have some sensation to work with. But there’s nothing. 

“No eyes to see evil, no voice to cry suffering,” rasps a voice, and smooth fingernails trace their way down your cheek. You shudder, involuntarily trying to shift away, but nothing. 

The blindfold feels slightly looser now. As if there’s more room now. As if your eyes have simply vanished— which is impossible, your captor has to be getting to your head or maybe it’s drugs. Probably drugs. 

“No touch to cause harm,” and now there’s a razor thin line of something so cold it burns, traced along your upper leg. Is it poison? You can’t feel it. No, you can, there’s something like stone creeping up your body from the edge of the scratch like scales. You can’t stop it. What were you trying to stop? Why?

“No heart,” the voice rasps, “to feel the end!”

You open your eyes to a world with the inverse of color, where light is dark. You step forward. 

The thing has the inverse of a face, blank and pale like a mask waiting to be worn.  You reach out to it. You know what must be done. 

Zelda?

ohh gh n o n oonono onono onoo mkno p elase pelase pleas pelasleasepaselaseplease helpej ehelpe ehlepe helepme helpe me ehelpe ehlp me

we're here, we're to help.

slcaes

scale s

bod yd ins tmien isnt mine im faidng img gonigy to die i cnabt dje again heleprnrme i can t go bkadc

You are not going to die, little bird, and I will stand in the path of a raging sandstorm before I let that happen.

We will protect you, always.

always.