#would wonder how long until something would make them break under pressure

[plasticfangtastic]

Dairy Girl

A Homelander X F! Reader fanfic

A/N: I am still working on my other projects but I just wanted to write something fun and light to get me back into writing. I hope y'all enjoy this short little piece, btw i aint got no kids so i have very little idea how milk banks work, this will be a 2 or 3 part story.

Synopsis: In order to provide a constant supply of fresh breastmilk for Vought’s number one hero, Vought has had to get quite nifty in order to prevent this secret desire out the press and the public– you have unfortunately discovered the truth.

Tags: Stockholm Syndrome, abusive dynamic, Homelander being Homelander, dub-con, dark, mild smut, breastfeeding kink, kidnapping, child-death mention tw, cheating tw, set in s4 but canon nothing, slow burn.

Word Count: 3K

Part 1– Heifer

Such a small box, smaller than a shoe box, just big enough to fit its contents with enough space for his ghost to move. You stared at the small box as its buried in the family plot… you never thought of visiting this place to ever bury the last shred of happiness you had left, his body was born weak, so small you wonder if you’d given birth to a child or a chick, 2 months ago you had come home to find your now ex in bed with his ex, he had turned this betrayal on its head and blamed you for it, something about your lack of desire lately, about how your pregnancy had given him amounts of pressures he'd never agreed with, talking endlessly about his needs and how much you’d ignored him.

Whoever this man was, you didn’t recognize him.

Time blurred into nothing but disconnected colors and shapes, all you know was that the stress and anguish lead to this.

A box under soil.

Days passed and in your empty apartment, surrounded by all the stuff you bought you stood in front of the sink, throwing a bottle of fresh milk down the drain feeling tremendous guilt, the doctor said you would dry out soon enough but your breast had swollen so much your bras no longer fit– even the spare ones you bought just in case they’ve grown a size too big from what you expected, you booked an appointment with your doctor hoping they could give you whatever cocktail of drugs to dry you out and save you from the pressure and pain in your chest, it had been nothing but a passing message from a worried neighbor who had stop by to give you some mail that had been sent to them by accident when she mentioned her daughter-in-law had donated her excess milk after her little one refused to latch, she gave you the name of the charity and after much thinking you gave in, you lost your baby but there was some woman out there who could end up experiencing your same grief if their baby starved to death, yours simply born too small and weak to hold your finger for very long.

It felt good, you met the women running the charity and even some of the faces of the women you helped, as you delivered your frozen packs to the women’s clinic where the charity operated, it helped you heal, it gave your pain purpose, but as the months faded behind you a part of you worried about how much you keep producing, less than before but still too much, yet you keep going knowing it would end soon enough. 

Perhaps somebody in the clinic or the charity had dropped your information to these people but you'd received some mail regarding some research trials Vought International was running and how they needed some donors to drop fresh samples, in their pamphlet they offered to pay a decent amount--your divorce had been costly plus having to move to a new place and breaking your previous lease had left your bank account quite dry, this was cheap money, you had given your milk for free, you looked at the few pouches you had collected for next week's drop you saw a wonderful opportunity to make some quick cash.

You went to the Vought Clinic and saw a few other women filling up forms, reading old magazines or dilly-dallying on their phones until some nurse called their numbers, you filled the medical form, waited less than half an hour before your number was called, brought into a small bleach scented room, the nurse read your form and told you she would take a blood sample, a doctor came in, reciting whatever script he’d been given about what this project was, giving you big words you had no interest in, this was about providing better milk formulas closer to natural milk than anything currently in the market apparently, thanking you for your donation, he looked at your form smiling as he saw your inked words.

“You're still producing 4 months after…” The doctor handed you a disinfecting wipe and a freshly steamed breast pump in a silver tray– we just need two samples, please press the alarm to let us know you’d finished, then follow Nurse Potts to the front counter to sort out your payment.”

It had been an awkward experience, but there you were 300 dollars richer, you probably should’ve read those papers a bit closer before signing but money was money and you were told to come back if you could.

You did it a couple times for 2 months, much like a man donating sperm for pocket money or plasma to pay the rent.

That was the first mistake, you headed home and woke up the morning after wishing you had stayed out for an extra hour or two, perhaps caved in to your friends pressures and tried going back to dating (after all your ex was whoring himself all across the lower east side without moral qualms) or hookups so you would had gone to a different address, maybe you should had taken a taxi instead of taking the train and walking home.

Regardless you woke in some strange empty room, the only thing beside your person was a pair of pale pink hospital gowns, grippy socks, clean underwear and a pair of thick large towels, you screamed and banged on the door for an ungodly amount of time but nobody ever came, you stayed alone in that room for what could have been 12 hours or more… maybe less… who knew it was all too much, suddenly a sharp sound cut into the silence a note had been slid under the door, you rushed to the note.

It was instructions, they wanted you wearing their clean clothes, you could not leave the room unless you did so, and as much as you hated the idea, you wanted to get out so badly, you knew if you wanted to escape your only chance came in knowing your surroundings, you begrudgingly and tearfully changed, waiting until anything changed– the doors hissed opened, a woman in a sharp cream coloured suit stood there with clipboard and an armed guard, at the sight of the heavy looking gun– you froze.

Then you took the first step towards hell.

You knew the following things: You lived in some basement area– there were no windows, only elevators. You weren’t alone, there were other women here and they made sure to keep your interactions at minimum no doubt to keep all of you submissive and not getting any ideas, sometimes familiar faces will fade and you could only speculate nightmares. Lastly… your purpose, the reason you were trapped here in the first place was… to lactate.

A plucky little thing that stayed optimistic despite your shared horror called herself a ‘Heifer’ she wasn’t wrong… you lived in a small cell where everything had sat on top of each other feed to keep fat and producing milk much like a cow, whoever developed this diet knew of all the ingredients known to help production, and you knew there were putting something else in the food for your breast begun to feel uncomfortable, for a little while you thought you could fight it by starving yourself, then two men with guns came into the room and told you to eat or else.

The time you spend outside this microflat hong-kong style cell was in the milking room and the shower room, you were ordered to stay clean and quiet, at least in the milking room you had some television and could spend time with the other women, but they keep you isolated, you could do very little, sometimes music would play and a book would be dropped with your food but your happiness wasn’t priority, you had to fill a quota.

After a couple weeks of this you simply accepted defeat, too many guns… not enough spaces to run, and nothing to come home to… a man that wanted to sue you for more feeling as if the judge had been unfair, a pestering family who acted as if they had been the only ones who experience loss, an empty cot you still hadn’t gotten rid off and piles and piles of bills, in this quiet cool room you had spend endless hours thinking, you didn’t love your job, you had been distant from most of your friends and you could only imagine that they assumed you had run away or killed yourself after what happened nobody could blame you.

Existing for the sake of existing until you could figure out what to do next.

“Good Evening… I’m glad you’re eating so well” The lady you met the first day said as the door hissed open, she watched you like a hawk as you process this sudden interruption, clutching at your paper thin blanket, you looked at the floral fabric in her arms and the clipboard under her arm– I need you to sign this before you’re allowed upstairs”

“Am I being let out?” You said anxiously, no way it could be that easy you thought.

The lady let her smile waiver, looking at the unseen guard then at her wrist watch as she handed you the clipboard.

“Your performance might determine how soon you'll be release…”

“You assume I won’t go to the police…”

“That wouldn’t be wise Miss L/N but we assure you that you’ll be sufficiently compensated for the inconvenience.”

You wanted to yell, but a voice in the back of your head thought of this but nothing but pageantry, you were dead either way, but perhaps this could be your opportunity to escape, whatever they wanted to do now meant being outside of these buried walls, you signed the sheet without thinking, briefly considered stabbing the bitch in the eye but is likely they would turn you into swiss cheese before you even took a step too close, she took the paperwork from your hands and in change handed you a long sleeved dressed straight out of the mormon section in target, she closed the door and you dressed up.

The halls looked so odd when you didn’t wear your prison clothes, the other few doors housed sleeping and bored girls, your plucky friend hidden behind one of them, the new girl hidden behind one of them and the girl you seen before in the milking room once hid behind one of them.

They took you to an elevator– it was old box, if you had to guess by the button’s design maybe built in the late or mid 70s, you never left their side until the elevator closed before them, the box moved slowly, a dingy silver box with low honey coloured lights, so dim… and you were alone, as the light chime as it went up you felt your entire being sink into your stomach, your heart beating so fast you were sure you were gonna have a heart attack before the doors opened once again, swallowing dry spit, your eyes opened so wide it hurt.

Quiet… it was so quiet when the doors opened, you expected something else, something menacing… something frightening– not an old house, an old house in the middle of some evergreen forest, everything screams old, untouched, museum like, like it's meant to present this idea that somebody lives here but not really, despite it being an elevator hidden behind a bookcase, you take a few cautious steps, your naked feet bury in the plush carpet, there’s bird singing outside and the sun is so bright and warm it hurts your eyes, the cool tones gone and this feels like a bad dream, pinching yourself but you’re awake, tragically awake, a weird wiry smile creeps on your lips, an almost laugh escapes your lips before you can feel tears burning your eyes.

“Hello…?” You ask and you don’t know why.

As you venture into the living room, hands firm against the tacky dark pink wallpaper, you found old floral couches that matched the drapes and despite how old school it was it had a charm to it.

Then you saw him.

Perusing the VHS collection filled the entire bookcase on the wall, just rows and rows of VHS boxes, some plastic and some cardboard, the TV boxy and just as antiquated but who cared— he was there.

You ran before you even realized you done it, crashing into him with desperation, tears staining your cheeks and you could barely breath as you tried so hard to speak.

“Homelander please help me!! I’ve been kidnapped!! Please!!” You cried, pulling on his suit– please!!”

Those endlessly blue eyes more poison dart hide than veronica flower bush the more they stared at you calmly, his lips into a thin smile and his hand thad taken your wrist inflicting just enough force to keep you firmly in his grip… to show you how he wasn’t an ordinary man, he looked at you as your tears changed meaning as if you were the most unfortunate creature he’d ever seen, his lips parted just enough to show those sharp canines that had looked so charming in sidewalk posters, now you could sense their presence squeezing at your jugular.

“You are so much prettier in person, Y/N.” His voice is disturbingly soft and calm, intimately quiet as he takes a whiff of your neck, moving you to make it easier, his free hand creeped towards your hip– I was so glad when I saw your picture and you weren’t hideous.”

Trembling against him, a nonexistent cold draft blew against you, your whole body shivering and covered in goosebumps.

His eyes fixated in your breast, mouth agape as his tongue dared to lick his lip, watching you like a starved man at a las vegas buffet, his hand slithering upwards, you know where this is leading, you can’t stop crying but you can’t scream either, you're just there as his hand avoids your breasts and creeps towards your back and presses your bodies together.

“I’m so glad you signed that sheet, I was getting sad endlessly waiting for one of you to agree to the deal” He says quietly, you stare at him and you realize you should’ve actually read that stupid sheet– why so scared? I ain’t gonna bite.” He bites the air as a joke and you could tell that that single bite could have torn your finger off cleanly.

His eyes shift to your clinging fingers that stayed so stiff against his padded suit, you stopped squeezing at him now they rested limp against him.

“Let’s watch a movie…” 

It’s an awkward dance concluding in sitting down on a couch, its surprisingly soft and you’re sinking on the cushion while your mind dissolved in the sky, the coffee table had a humbled spread of snacks, pizza and milkshakes, not once did you notice, you stared at him clutching at your dress as he picked something out of the shelve, watching as his hand worked the VHS player, the clicks and whirling all you could focus on. He sat beside you as the speakers began to play the included trailers, he took the drink urging you to do the same with a menacing look, filling you with incomplete thoughts as you obeyed.

Malt vanilla marinated in your tongue, you had a terrible thought.

‘Milk’ 

You were there to provide milk… to whom? Why just milk? You thought they would sell your body or your organs, experiment on you but… they wanted your milk, but who was buying it? Who was drinking it? Where did it go? You stared at the pretty blond whose arm kept your shoulders still, you saw the news– you’d known he had a child and who knows with whom but his kid was old enough to not need it… was it for him? You thought… thinking of it as ridiculous until you remember how 20 minutes ago  he was staring at your tits as if he was malnourished, you looked at his lips pursing as he took a long sip of his milkshake and wonder if that was milk… from a cow… not a heifer like you.

Homelander smiled at you.

“I don’t like ‘The mothman prophecy’ , never been a Richard Gere fan” he said casually.

“He was really good in ‘Pretty Woman’ . This one is okay…” You looked at the screen your voice so stiff– what’s going on…? Mr. Homelander… I…"

“Shhh… watch the movie” He leaned against you resting his head on your shoulder– you tasted the best… every batch perfection– such delicate custardy taste… So this is what we are gonna do… I’ll keep you in this floor so you’re not so bored ."

You swear he’s purring as he rubs himself against you marking you as much as he was making himself comfortable.

“There’s cameras everywhere… The glass is bulletproof, doors won’t open without a fob and code, and there’s no phones or internet, but if you do manage to get out of here just be aware I’ll know.” He said such terrible things as if it was nothing– if you tried to off yourself there will be 3 armed guards and nurses here in less than a minute but if you behave I promise you– you’ll be allowed out, but only if you gain my trust.” He looks up at you as you focus on those thin lips of his– there’s no kitchen but your meals will be delivered… if you want anything just tell the camera over there.”

He pointed at the corner tucked in between two VHS tapes was a small camera.

“I like you Y/N you're cute… you’ll behave for me, right?”

You nodded, too afraid to disagree.

“Now… let’s finish the movie… I actually like this part”

You stared at the pizza box, you could at least tell that the pizza was from an american restaurant, which made you feel safe ‘Select Pizza and Grill” said in the box and you knew you were somewhere in Pennsylvania, far from your apartment in Clinton Hill.

You looked at your boobs feeling his piercing gaze on them, you started drawing lines connecting weird things together, back when you were donating your milk, girls joked about people buying for medicinal and fetish purposes, this spelled itself out for you.

Maybe you could get out of here… but you had to do something weird… but as you heard the birds outside and the warm light peeked into the room, you realized maybe you could leave… no you’ll leave, you’ll go back home and you would find a way to ruin this man and those bastards beneath you, you’ll get them out too, so you took one courageous breath and forced a smile on your dried lips.

“You really liked it?”

“Huh?”

“My milk…” You mumbled– you know I never tasted it myself but am glad to get a review.”

“It’s really tasty” he bites his lip.

Your hand plays with one of the buttons on the dress.

“It hurts a bit… I usually get asked to pump around this time… dunno if you know this but it's a bit painful when they get this swollen.”

The look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know and as you leaned away from him pulling on buttons with slightly trembling fingers, you watched him follow your movements like a snake chasing prey.

“Would you help me out, mister superhero?” Is not flirty but is slightly playful and you’re surprised that you can lie that well, he’s so shameless as he shakes his head enthusiastically, mouth opening for you– please don’t bite.”

He gasps as you let him see all that he’d wanted from the get go, why he put you in that box, why you ended up in this place for.

His body was lighter than you thought as he sunk against you-- eyes closed, body limp against yours, he made the softest sounds it put you at ease somehow, for a moment you saw a very small being latched on your chest, you’d only experienced it once before, and it was seared into your mind as a painful yet tender memory, so you close your eyes dreaming of a fantasy far removed from this peculiar reality, half lid eyes found a man so blissed out your lips curved, this was unbelievable, the world most famous supe keeping you hostage just so you could indulged him.

But you knew now… that this was your way out.

[rotten-pomegranate]

Day thirty : abuse of power with chrollo x phantom troupe member reader

Tags: @aliceattheart @my-eyelash-flew-off

Warnings: chrollo uses you for sex often, abuse of power, threats of being fired/killed, smut, afab

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*come to my room*

You knew what that ment, he wanted sex, you had managed to avoid him for the first three days so you thought you where in the clear

Was he just playing mind games? Probably, letting you think he wasn’t gonna have you pinned under him in his bed while he fucks you

As you walk down the hallway past all the other members doors you wonder if they know, they have to right? He never lets you be quiet, doesn’t matter if the sound is you begging him to stop or keep going

Do they ever wanna stop it, help you while your getting defiled by your own boss? Or do some of them enjoy it, get off on it

Your pulled from your thought when you reach his door, you raise your hand to knock but he opens the door first

“Ahh good, I was thinking I would have to come get you myself” so you kept him waiting to long

“Come in” he takes your hand to lead you to the bed so gently like he hasn’t made you bleed so many times

While he’s gentle with you every other time during sex is the exception, he’s never gentle with you during sex

He doesn’t waist time pulling your cloths of and discarding them somewhere in the room so he can have you bare on his bed

All he had on where simple grey sweats that he took of just as quickly to favour climbing on top of you “you look lovely tonight dear”

He reaches down and sticks his fingers in you and all you can do is tear up and look away, your dry, it hurts so bad but he doesn’t stop until he feels his fingers become slick

“There we go, are you ready darling” he doesn’t wait for you to respond before he pumps his cock a few times and starts pushing in

“ahh my love you feel better every time” you try thinking of how you got here when he starts moving

Getting recruited when you where young and stupid, only to regret it for years after, to lay under your boss when all your job was to get info

He lets out a long groan that brings you back “ahh I could never put you out there, this is to good”

All you can do is look down at where your body’s connect “do you do this to all the girls in the troupe or just me” you nearly sob out

“Just you, only ever you” he speeds up

You start moaning when he hits you cervix with more pressure “see you like it, I don’t see wh-ahh why you complain so much” you know he’s not stupid enough to believe your moans are genuine pleasure but you can’t fight

His thrusts are getting sloppy, his forehead has a wet tint to it and his hand goes to hold you neck while the other squeezes you hip almost enough to break it

His hips star stuttering before you can even get close to getting off but he’s never paid much mine to your pleasure in these late night meetings with only you two present

You know he’s cuming before you can feel it by the way he collapses on top of you

You only feel his dick pump you full after, also an unpleasant feeling

All his weight makes it hard to breath but it’s gone quickly and you feel him floop down next to you

You both catch your breath for a moment before you speak up “I cant keep doing this chrollo”

“Hmm, I would hate to have to fire you over something as trivial as sex” your shut up that easy, being fired from the phantom troupe is code for being executed

You sit up to get dressed and he grabs your wrist “try not to avoid me next time, I’ll have to punish you if you do”

“Yes boss”

[mvltisstuff]

HI!! i was wondering if you could do a buck fic to where they’re working at the 118 and he just randomly starts getting really needy - like arms wrapped around reader’s shoulders and walking (waddling rlly..) while still holding onto them. then like a cute little cuddle session at home where he talks abt how he wants to marry reader and just talks about the future.

THANK YOU!!!!!!

clean - e.b

summary: request

evan buckley x reader

gif from @housewifebuck

a/n: guys!!! i love this i can’t wait for a new buck in s7 :)) anyway, 1989 TV SO SOON GUYS WTF, it feels like yesterday was red tv 😧

the lightning had taken care of the other fires in buck. he was different, and he couldn’t tell if he hated it or loved it at first.

the man he was was reckless and like a shiny new toy for someone to play with. he allowed people to string him along and pull at his arms until he did what they wanted. it almost felt like his purpose, to be a prop for everyone else.

he thought y/n would leave him soon after the strike. everyone else liked to do the same thing. his parents giving up on him after his youthful mistakes, abby fleeing because he wasn’t enough for her, aly fearing her future with him. he thought y/n would crack under the pressure of almost losing someone like buck, now he hates himself for second guessing her.

he started to appreciate the smallest things in his girlfriend. the softness of her words, the light reflection of sun in her eyes, the cotton-like skin on her hands as they grazed over it. he almost didn’t want to face her after the accident, but she was clutching onto his hand when he woke up. and, there hasn’t been a day where she hasn’t reminded him that she’s going nowhere.

she knew bucks scars as she watched them all get handed to him. she knew how silently fragile he was. he could see it clearly in her as well, noticing each fear of hers and the love she’s pushed away. it was foreign to both of them, the tenderness of each other.

it’s been years since they began dating, and somehow every day is brand new with them. y/n doesn’t ever believe that buck has something to make up. but, he thinks so. he’s been spending years begging for love, and now he has it. now, he wants to show the world what he has after it tried to strip him of everything.

it doesn’t matter how long a shift was, when buck was back to work, every free moment was spent on her heels. he used to go through work, only looking around to see who maybe looked at him. now, he looks forward to see his girl waiting for him wherever he may be.

today was no different, y/n was stocking the engine full of brand new supplies from the new shipment. the trucks glazed red popped out from her perfect polishing on the sides.

“this truck looks almost as good as you,” buck whispers, placing his hand on the side of her waist, making her jump in place.

“and what are you supposed to be doing right now?” she teases back.

“taking it easy, like you and bobby told me!”

“so you come and flirt with your already girlfriend? professional hours baby, remember?”

“those are boring, though. i just want to take you home and never leave.” he sighs, placing his chin on her head.

“just a few more hours, i believe in you!” she encourages, making him smirk and land his lips on her cheek, running away like a little kid.

y/n stood with buck at the island of the kitchen, smelling over bobby’s new dishes that he had prepared for the team. he made several things for a feast amongst everyone, getting a well deserved break.

she could practically feel buck breathing on her neck as he peered over her shoulder. normally, someone doing that would be insufferable, but buck makes it seem normal. it makes her smile, knowing how close he always wishes to be.

“if i didn’t know any better i’d think you were conjoined twins.” chimney takes a turn at his own joke, trying not to laugh at himself. he gets a smile from y/n, but the fakest look you ever did see from buck.

“i’m gonna slap you and i hope it shocks you.” buck snaps back, half joking but also half annoyed as well. chimney takes his plate and scurries away.

buck makes two plates as y/n grabs them drinks from the fridge, moving over to place it in the seat next to her. before she can even think about sitting, buck slightly runs into her with his hip. he places the plates down perfectly on the mats before pulling her chair out. she gazes at him, noticing the cheesy grin on his lips. the team stops to notice his abruptness on pulling out her chair, and kissing her head as she sits.

as the dinner closes, and the sun dips lower, the calls come in slower. luckily, the shift is just ending, so it’s just buck and y/n left in the kitchen as she scrubs away at a bowl. he sneaks up behind her, grabbing a dish to dry from her.

“hi, honey,” he says, looking down at her.

“hi, buck,” she smiles back, noticing the excitement on his face just getting to be near her. “do you wanna talk?”

“about what?”

“i just want to make sure you’re okay, baby,” her kindness and concern comes through her angelic voice, buck almost getting distracted by the sound of her.

“i’m fine!” he replies. “just been thinkin’”

“we can talk about it if you’d like.”

“maybe later, i just can’t wait for us to go home together.” he dries the plate as y/n scoops them all up, buck wrapping his arms around her waist and tucking his face into her neck. he locks his fingers together and rests them on her belly. she just giggles, waddling over to the cabinet where she slides the dishes in. it would’ve been easier if she wasn’t like a tree to a sloth, but easier isn’t always for the best.

the car ride home in his truck was nothing less than romantic. his hand was rested on her thighs the whole time if it wasn’t on the gear shift or the wheel. she practically had to keep touching him somehow to make him keep his eyes on the road.

when the duo finally arrived at home, she looked over at buck and could tell how sleepy he was. his eyes told her everything, and she can read him like a book now that she’s admired him for so long. “hey, go shower and come back down here.”

buck agrees, taking a quick shower and changing into some more comfortable clothes. when he walks back down the stairs, he can smell the sweetener of his favorite tea wafting through the living room, as y/n sits down in her soft sweater and places the mugs on the couch. they’re matching LAFD mugs that y/n’s parents bought for them. she turned on reruns of new girl as she moved to grab a blanket from the basket, leaning against the arm of the couch.

“come on,” she sweetly curls his lips up at him, signaling for him to come lay with her. he happily obliges, going to sit between her legs on his side, the side of his face buried into y/n’s warm chest.

the tightness of her arms wrapped around him eases any weight of the day or stress on his body. he lets himself relax in her hold, knowing she’ll keep him safe from whatever might come his way next.

one of her arms is rubbing his back as the other cups his face as he appears to be intently watching the show, but he’s not.

he thinks of small y/n and buck mixes running around a small house in los angeles, the sun shining through the curtains early in the morning. he thinks of the smell of ice cream and the reflection of the moon on the windows as they get ready for bed. he thinks of a warm vacation with a shining rock on her ring finger.

“i can’t wait to see you in a big, white dress,” he mumbles into her shirt, smiling just at the thought of seeing her on a carpet, walking down an isle to greet him.

“what is going on in that mind of yours?” she teases, brushing her fingers through his hair.

“i just- i don’t want anyone else but you,” he begins. “you could’ve ran. you could’ve left me in the dark, but you didn’t. you’re the only person who hasn’t done that to me. i trust you, and i know you won’t. it’s my turn to show you that i’m here to stay, and that we’re forever.”

“listen,” she starts next, the clear adoration in her eyes. “i would lay on this couch, all day, every day, if it meant you’d come back to me. id do anything, and literally anything, to spend the rest of my life with you. im sorry for every other woman who can’t be with a man like you.”

he doesn’t know how to compete with sentences like that. it feels brand new, even though she tells him all the time. it feels different after the lightning strike. someone above tried so hard to ruin the best things he had going on, but he pulled through. he wants to think he’s strong on his own, but buck knows he wouldn’t be here if y/n wasn’t next to him. if she hasn’t picked up the pieces that everyone left behind, if she hadn’t taken the time to put him back together.

now, buck barely thinks of all the shit that’s happened to him. how could he, when the future is definite right in front of him? he used to just assume his life would be the same forever, but y/n’s flashlight guided him out of the cave he was in. he sleeps in her arms without a fear that she’ll disappear from him, and without a fear that things are out for him.

[whumblr]

Hey! I just wanted to say that I absolutely love Home is Where the Hurt Is, I've been rereading it over and over again for literal days, it's great. You're a really good writer! I was wondering if you would be willing to do a drabble with restraints for Jay? Idk i just think that Zayne would have fun with that. feel free to ignore this, ofc, if you don't want to do it no pressure.

“Whoawhoa, wait! Wait!”

But already spinning in midair with the wall approaching at breakneck speed, there wasn’t much to wait for. Besides the unavoidable crash right into said wall. Which he managed to break, just about, catching himself with his free hand. He grunted at the collide, dazed for a second, time that Zayne used well by snatching up his other wrist and twisted it to his back.

“How about a something like this?”

Zayne pressed further up against him, pinning him to the wall with his body. He clamped both Jay’s wrists together in one hand, keeping them firmly to the small of his back. With his free hand, he pulled something from his pocket. Jay immediately snapped from his daze.

“Oh, no! No, no, no, absolutely not!”

Zayne wiggled the long piece of plastic around. A zip-tie. “Absolutely, yes.”

Jay struggled with all his might, pulling one hand free from Zayne’s grasp, only to be caught again and renew his struggles to break free. A dance they continued for a bit until Zayne leaned his full body weight against him and forced one wrist up to his shoulder blades.

“Then I take you want me to rip your arm from its socket. Only a little more slowly,” he said, actions following his words, slowly forcing Jay’s wrist further up in-between his shoulder blades, relishing the bitten off cry. “Twisting it until it finally grinds free and—"

“NO!”

“You give such mixed signals, you know.”

The sharp pain in his shoulder subsided and Jay mentally called himself – and Zayne – all the worst names he could think of as he voluntarily, under threat, pressed his wrists together.

A zipping sound crinkled the air, filled his stomach with dread before he even felt the plastic pull his wrists together, biting into the skin. He yelped out an indignant sound.

Zayne grabbed him by the collar, yanked him back and with a simple tap to the back of his ankles pulled him right over.

Jay flailed—or well, didn’t. His intended wild swing of both arms was restricted, the force absorbed by the plastic around his wrists. Unable to break his fall, and not wanting to land on both arms, he twisted best as he could and landed with a grunt on his shoulder, the shoulder that he was glad still remained in its socket but shifted precariously against the sudden impact.

The plastic hadn’t given at all at the sudden yank, but his skin had. He hissed at the sudden pain.

“Take it off!” He tried not to struggle, knowing it would only make things worse but the discomfort made him automatically twist his wrists. “It's— Agh!— It’s too tight!”

“I might consider it if your fingers are turning purple.”

But by then it would be too late… Though Jay didn't say as much. Because the immediate future – Zayne now unfolding his knife – demanded much more attention than the near future.

Fearful eyes met cold eyes looking down on him.

He scooted a few inches back in retreat, feet scrambling, shoulder sliding over the floor, pushing himself away and keeping his eyes on the threat. He was vulnerable as fuck, barely able to move. All he could do was buck like a fish on dry. And even those small movements caused nothing but pain. His arms were screaming in protest, straining as his own body weight pressed them down.

His hand already started to feel numb, the added pressure sending a tingling sensation to his pinky finger. Like bubbles creeping up over his hand, coating every finger one by one until his whole hand was pins and needles.

But as he struggled for a form of relief, a single heavy footstep made him go still.

Zayne stepped towards him, raised one leg, and Jay could do nothing but watch as he slowly rested a boot heavily against his shoulder. He ignored the soft pleaded ‘no…’ and forced Jay over onto his back.

Jay winced hard, both arms crushed under his own weight, tendons straining, hips pressing his wrists painfully against the floor. Every pointy bit of bone protruding grinded hard against the floor, wrist bones, elbows, shoulder blades…

Zayne smiled down on him, slowly forcing more of his weight down, leaning forward, taking in every wince, every struggle. Watched as Jay’s hips bucked up, how his face twisted in pain. And only when a soft cry of pain scraped out of his throat, he let up.

For merely a second. The boot retreated, but was replaced by Zayne’s full weight as he settled over Jay, straddling his waist. He pulled him up by the front of his shirt. Almost an relief, as the pressure lifted from his arms. But now the knife teased into his line of vision, moving down his jaw line, making him go still as the tip scratched over the vulnerable skin of his throat.

He knew that even with his arms free he still couldn’t do a damn thing to make Zayne stop. But struggling or at least being able to put a hand on Zayne’s shoulder to give the illusion he was holding him at bay was better than absolutely nothing at all.

“Don’t,” he settled on, voice his only defense as he hung limp in Zayne’s grasp.

“I quite like this,” Zayne said, voice soft. “Not having to catch flailing hands for a change, having both hands free for—” He dipped the blade under the neck of Jay’s shirt letting it rest just above his clavicle – “other things…”

“Don’t! AGh!” His head fell back, teeth clenched as Zayne excruciatingly slow let the tip sink into his skin and dragged it across the length of his clavicle. Blood tickled over the bone, dripping down his chest, staining his white t-shirt.

A soft chuckle. The blade retreated and just as sudden Zayne let go of him.

Jay hissed as he landed on his wrists again. He immediately rolled over before Zayne could stop him, with a groan of relief as the pressure lifted from his arms.

“I think my hands are about to fall off…”

Zayne stepped over him. “Oh, stop your whining. I’m sure it’s not that ba— oh shit.”

“What?”

“Damn, I’m sorry—I…”

“What?!” Jay nearly twisted his neck trying to look over his shoulder what got Zayne to fucking apologise.

“Here, let me just…” The cold of the knife touched against his skin and with a quick flick upwards, the plastic broke.

Jay’s hands shot back to his front. He twisted his hands back and forth. Going by the numb feeling and Zayne’s words, he expected purple fingertips, ready to either fall off or explode due to a lack of blood. He turned his hands up and down, left, right, back again, and wiggled his fingers. But besides the red circles around his wrists, everything was in working order. Nothing dying off.

Panicked eyes turned exasperated, and he shot a glance of rage up.

Zayne had pressed his lips together in a badly hidden smirk. “All fine.” He rustled in his pocket again and pulled out a handful of zip-ties. “Meaning we can safely try this again.”

-

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully @rougenoirofthepurpleterror

@susiequaz12 @whump-me-all-night-long @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime

@freefallingup13 @whatwasmyprevioususername @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @firewheeesky @redstainedsocks

@hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @break-so-beautifully @approach-me-and-ill-cry @painsandconfusion

@afabulousmrtake @wormwriting @soopytime @whumpedydump @pickleking8

@itsmyworld98 @whumpifi @painless-and-colourful @withdrawingramen @lolrpop

[rin-vana]

⠀⠀⠀⠀───◌┈┈─── ♡ 𝇄 𝇃 𝐑𝐄𝐉𝐔𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄 ┋ 𝐅𝐓. 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐄

⎯⎯ ( 𝙋𝘼𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎 ) : Blade x Reader

⎯⎯ ( 𝙎𝙔𝙉𝙊𝙋𝙎𝙄𝙎 ) : Blade needs relief from his racing mind, and it's in between your legs that he decides how to relieve himself after his duties.

⎯⎯ ( 𝘾.𝙒. ) : Lots and lots of oral, Blade is a munch fr, implied multiple rounds, watersports (squirting), mentions of bondage bec readers hands are tied, implied established relationship, as always black reader

⎯⎯ ( 𝙒.𝘾. ) : 1,003, a drabble

⎯⎯ ( 𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀𝙎 ) : This is for a friend after I promise I'd write this and here it is. I'm tryna get more consistent with posting I promise <3

”𝑆𝐼𝑇 𝑆𝑇𝐼𝐿𝐿. '𝑆𝐴𝐼𝐷 𝐼'𝑀 𝑁𝑂𝑇 𝐷𝑂𝑁𝐸.”

What has it been, hours? Blade continuously lapping in between your legs, his bandaged hands keeping you in place.

A numb feeling crept where his hands gripped your thighs, knowing that without his support they’d fall limp. You don’t know what has him so worked up like this, but it’s the least of your problems when you feel a harsh sting hit your side.

”Blade— oh my God, please.” You pleaded yet they fell deaf on his ears, his tongue working wonders on your engorged clit and you flinched every time he would do so much as flick it slowly. Not to mention his fingers, two of them plunging in and out of you, curled just the right way that had your brain turning foggy.

He wouldn’t even let you touch him, having your wrist bound and pinned above your head. He knew how to get you weak in the knees whenever he needed, whether it’d be a whisper in your ear about something mundane, or his habit of brushing hair past your shoulders to let his hands graze the skin on your neck.

Blade wants what he wants in that very moment, and very little hinders him. So your useless begs and pleas did go in one ear and out the other.

You were writhing so much that the navy blue haired male knew you were close, detaching his mouth from the swollen bud with a pornographic pop. His fingers continued applying pressure until you coated them in your milky essence, eliciting a satisfied hum from Blade that hardly looked at you, but at your fluttering and spasming pussy instead. ”Good, you can do one more for me, right?”

You only let out a mewl, words being stuck in your throat because Blade hardly gave you time to respond. The choice wasn’t yours to make. He was going to get what he wanted regardless if you were a crying mess or not.

This time his mouth replaced his fingers entirely, lips suckling ever so harsh to push you over the edge again. Your back had long since been arched off the soft duvet he had you on, with Blade on his knees. Your body was buzzing all over, vision blurred from the amount of fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

His hands were more-so gripping onto the edge of the bed, sheets becoming wrinkled under his touch, so you slowly pulled yourself back for any form of break, to get away from his warm mouth. But Blade was quick to pull you back to him, his lithe hands squeezing the underside of your thighs until they wrapped around your legs as a whole. ”I thought..,” he started, chest heaving from being breathless, ”..I said to sit still. You like making me feel good, don't you?”

”Yes-! Yes I do.. But—”

He promptly cut you off. ”Then you’d listen and let me indulge.” It was useless to fight against him when he so easily overpowered you in terms of strength. Your body was already shuddering and weakened from the amount of times he was able to make you cum from his fingers and mouth alone.

Not once did his grip falter, spreading your legs apart so he could get a better look at how he left you. Your slightly agape hole fluttered around nothing, and Blade reveled in the sight. It was practically crying for him, gushing your addictive flavor because of how badly you yearned for him to stuff you full.

Nothing compared to this, not even Kafka’s voice repeating like a mantra in his head. Your body was the temple he wanted to protect, to worship, to give his time towards. He wanted to watch you fall apart and be the reason for it, yet put you back together in the quiet of night.

You crumbled for him, voice whining about it “being too much” or you’re “getting close!” Blade wanted to see every bit of it. His tongue licked from your clenching hole up to your clit so slowly it felt like torture, closing his lips on your bundle of nerves as he looked up to your tear-stained face. He’s painted the expression in his mind countless times, but each was better than the last.

His groans and pace pick up and so does your movement, your upper body failing to keep still because all you want to do is close your legs, but Blade keeps you wide open. You’re close again, you don’t really want me to stop. It’s obvious by how loud you’re getting, a sheen building up all over your skin.

”Blade… Blade Blade Blade– stop.” You repeat his name over and over, but all it does is push him further. He’s groaning nonstop, sending so many pulsations throughout your lower body that it gets harder to hold back.

Your hands struggle further against your restraints, nails digging into the palm of your hands. If only he would answer you, but he clearly has a goal to reach.

One hand retracts from your thighs to give your clit more attention, two bandaged fingers giving it just the right amount of pressure. Blade’s tongue dips into your hole again, warm and wet and so good. All it takes is a few more rolls of his fingers and your spewing all over his face. Clear liquid squirts from one hole and another your cum that Blade damn near moans at.

From his nose down, Blade’s face is covered in you. Most of your cum dripped from his swollen lips, but he finally pulled away from your spent and sore hole. Your movements ceased and once he finally let go of your thighs, they fell limp onto the bed. He rose from his knees, undoing the belt around his waist and letting his coat fall from his shoulders.

You looked at him with tired eyes, clearly in a stupor as he loomed over you. ”I already told you, I’m not done.”

[bluehoodiewoozi]

DRABBLE MARATHON #15:

WEN JUNHUI + first love

1.5k words // warnings: alcohol consumption.

This party would be fun – at least so you had been told. It would just be a cute little celebration of a year well-spent, complete with only the best drinks and culinary goods. Dress code: ugly Christmas sweaters recommended but not mandatory.

And yet, you felt like you were trapped, stuck in a vast ocean of Christmas decorations, gingerbread cookies and Vernon’s holiday remixes of all the best songs. 

It’s not that you didn’t like socialising or meeting people. Minghao’s house was full of your friends and acquaintances and you were having the time of your life until he drunkenly told you a secret: Junhui would be coming to the party too, right as soon as his plane landed.

Junhui – the first man to ever make your heart pound, the first man to kiss your lips,  the first boyfriend you had had in college, the first everything. And while he wasn’t the last, no one else compared. 

You hadn’t seen him in two years. Your last memory of him was the day he left for his hometown a week after graduation. 

“I’ll come and find you again one day,” he had sworn that day as the two of you shared tearful goodbyes, giving the other a piece of your shattered hearts to keep. 

For reasons unknown to the both of you, you had decided to not continue your relationship at a distance. Long distance being painful was the excuse you gave when someone asked. 

But now, after two years, the distance would be no more. No more excuses, no more longing – in just a short time, he would be in the same room as you again. 

“How much have you had to drink?” Mingyu wondered and plucked the glass from your hands. “You’re all pale.”

“Jun’s coming,” you whispered, panic restricting your chest while butterflies fluttered their wings in excitement just the same. “He’s coming to the party.”

Mingyu hummed in thought. “Yeah, I think Hao mentioned something about that.”

“Do you think he remembers me?” 

“He promised he would, didn’t he?`” He nudged your side gently before offering a reassuring smile. “Junhui doesn't break his promises. Besides,” he sighed, “he always asked about you when we called.”

The butterflies won, for now. “He did?”

“Every single time. You’ll be fine.”

Just as you were about to come to terms with the words — or fight them, perhaps –, Soonyoung’s voice broke your little illusion of there being more time. “JUN! OH MY GOD, YOU ACTUALLY CAME?!”

He squealed and and jumped around and screamed like a little kid receiving his favourite toy for Christmas before dashing through the lines of guests and tackling a tall figure in a hug. 

“I missed you, man!” he cried, now sobbing into the man’s shoulder – no doubt drunk out of his mind. “Don’t ever leave again, Junhui!”

Junhui laughed – god, had you missed his laugh. “I missed you too, Soonyoung.”

“It’s Tiger,” he was promptly corrected by the crying  man. 

Junhui blinked and patted his back. “I– Sure. I missed you, Tiger.”

‘Tiger’ sobbed louder at that and hugged him even tighter, causing his poor victim to groan under the pressure. “I missed you and so did Hao and Mingyu and Jihoon and– Oh! And (Y/n) missed you the moist–” he hiccuped while you tried your hardest to hide behind Mingyu, “most!”

You were going to be sick from nervousness and it only got worse when Junhui’s eyes immediately began searching for something – someone – in the crowds upon hearing your name.

His gaze caught yours before you could hide away properly. Your breath caught in your throat and your heart stopped for a moment before fluttering at the speed of a hummingbird’s wings. He offered you a smile.

Before you could find the strength to return the gesture, he was pulled away by Seungkwan. As they disappeared into the kitchen, you finally found your breath again.

“You should talk to him,” Mingyu told you but he didn’t sound as playful as he usually did when he told you things like this. He sounded almost… Sad? Disappointed? Mournful, perhaps? The smile he put on hardly looked genuine. “I bet he’s missed you as much as you missed him, you know?”

“I–” you gasped and the room seemed to be spinning as reality slowly set in, “I’m going to go get some fresh air.”

“Here,” he sighed and shrugged off his blazer, “at least put this on. I don’t want you catching a cold before New Year’s.”

You thanked him, shrugged on the blazer and headed out to the balcony. The chill of the air was a welcoming change – it lulled the butterflies back to sleep, just like you preferred them. 

He was really here, in the same building, breathing the same air, and he was as handsome as always – if not even more. The years had been kind to him and you didn’t doubt he must have a wife by now.  She was probably pretty and kind and a little aloof like he was – the perfect pair, his ideal other half like you never could be.

And you? You were alone still, holding onto a silly little hope that he’d still love you as much as he told you he did when you had a breakdown in the middle of your last finals’ season. To the moon and back and all around the world, as bright as the stars in the sky – that’s how he had described his feelings for you and you doubt he even remembered. 

The door creaked open and you tense up in anticipation of what was about to come. You didn’t dare turn to see who it was – perhaps it was Mingyu urging you to come back inside, or maybe Soonyoung coming to beg you to join him in karaoke, or maybe–

“I figured I’d find you here,” you heard him speak and your whole world shook. Junhui shuffled to stand next to you, leaning against the railing to look out at the city. “It was a little loud inside, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you agreed quietly but really it had been your own heart that had been so loud.

He chuckled. “I had forgotten how loud the guys were. I missed them though.” 

You nodded, unable to form sentences now that he was so close. You were staring at your hands – just a few centimetres and you could hold hands with him again. 

“I missed you,” you then heard him breathe out and the butterflies came to life again. “I missed you so much, every day. I guess it’s true what they say: you never forget your first.”

“But you can always move on,” you replied solemnly.

He hummed. “Have you? Moved on?” He seemed to regret the question as soon as he said it.  He cleared his throat. “I mean, I’m sure you did. Mingyu seems nice. He always did like you.”

Your heart dropped in shock. “Mingyu?”

“You’re wearing his jacket right now,” he laughed wistfully. “I always figured if it wouldn’t be me, it would be Gyu.”

“Oh!” You rushed to correct him now that you knew what he meant. “No, no, Mingyu and I– We aren’t– We never– I never. I haven’t moved on.”

“Really?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “You haven’t?”

“Well,” you started with a gulp of air, “I tried, but… no one compared.”

“Me too,” he breathed out and you saw that sparkle in his eyes you had missed so much. “There was no one like you, so I just waited… and waited…”

“Waited for what?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered and he seemed to be closer to you all of a sudden, your noses brushing together, “but I’m done waiting.”

You didn’t need to ask him what he meant by that, nor did you have the time to. He leaned closer and closer until you felt his lips against yours. Your fingers rose to play with the hair at the nape of his neck as his arms lowered to pull you closer to his chest. You faintly noticed your – Mingyu’s – blazer falling off your shoulders as Junhui embraced you closer, and closer, and closer, until you could feel the familiar fluttering of his heart against yours.

You expected it to feel foreign – years had passed, after all – but instead, it was as if he never even left. As if he had been here with you all those years, holding your hand and laughing at your dumb jokes while fighting off Soonyoung’s attempts at playful flirtation. 

As if there was only him and you in the world and that was all you would ever need.

“I missed this,” he all but gasped out once you pulled apart again. “I missed you.”

“I can’t believe you left me here to suffer alone for all those years,” you told him with a disbelieving laugh, “and then you come back and kiss me dumb?`”

A smirk on his lips, he shrugged. “But you’re not complaining, are you?”

“Only on one condition.”

“Anything,” he whispered and pecked your lips once more as if to seal his promise.

You believed him. “Stay. Here. With me.”

“With you? Forever.”

You had spoken in a daze of hopeful delusion but here he was, replying as if it was the only truth he knew. Your eyes widened. “What about your life back home?”

“My home is where you are,” he confessed with a small smile. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realise.”

[sa1808fi]

I sent it in tags already but I also wanna send it as an ask:

5 years is honestly a crazy amount of time if you pull in real world logic. In a lot of medias you have characters stay trapped for 30 or thousands of years in prison, and while it's an impressive amount of time it's not that easy to sympathize with - unless you're a convict ig 😭

5 years is a lot easier to visualize, though, a lot easier to relate to and sympathize with. No angst for the sake of angst. A realistic, 4-5 time frame that would make sense for a toy to go missing in.

Idk about anyone else, but my views on people or troubling situations can change in the span of DAYS, weeks or months at best.

So the fact it took two entire years for Emmet to even START breaking is truly a testament to how strong his will is, and just how much pressure from all sides it takes to shatter it. Constant "proof" that his friends never cared about him right in his line of sight, and yet he remains optimistic for over 730 days. Seven hundred and thirty days of holding onto hope. Some would call that naive. I think it's inspiring.

...it really sounds like a lot when you put in that perspective, huh? And that's only year two. Out of five.

No wonder Rex is the way he is. He stops being so violently out of character to Emmet once you put it into perspective just how much it took to drag him down to this point

Probably around 60 months, 260 weeks 1,826 days, 43800 hours, 2628000 minutes, and 157788000 seconds.

Long time to be paralysed and stuck with your own thoughts, watching as the people you called friends move on without a second thought.

It's just angst.

That's the whole thing about those 5 years, it's just Emmet suffering.

Compared to tons of other media where characters are trapped for a long time by themselves, it is pretty common for them to go insane or go on a whole villain arc as revenge to the people who wronged them.

On some occasions, said characters come out the 'same', but that should be taken with a grain of salt, since those times a lot of what was their life has been torn away, and they have to help another group of people.

The thing is, is that these characters that are trapped are usually able to do something while trapped. It really the isolation that’s a common appearance between them.

Emmet had a chance to watch the world move on. He wasn’t able to do anything during those 5 years but watch and think.

I say he starts to break after 2 years because while he’s able to stay optimistic through the first stretch of isolation, the reality of the situation eats away at him.

Some people might say "Oh that's not the worst, apocalypseburg lasted 5 years as well." Which... okay it did last 5 years too, but all of those things that happened over those 5 years also transferred to the years in undar.

Emmet finally breaking and deciding to change his whole personality and sense of self was the after-effect of his treatment in the first movie, apocalypseburg, and undar.

It wasn't just Undar that broke him. Everything before that piled ontop of him until that one event finally made him snap.

I guess at the end of the day that's all he really is. A man. One that has gone though way too much and finally cracked under all the pressure.

Emmet is an individual that possesses a lot of willpower to be able to keep up his cheeriness for most of his life, especially in the face of dangerous or depressing situations that would otherwise end with other people giving up.

But that cheeriness was also making him push down any negative feelings he had. Emmet is the reliable ray of sunshine in everyone's eyes, he had to ignore all the hateful comments to keep up that happiness.

[novasintheroom]

139. Bullet

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 1.3k

♡ Warnings - reader held hostage for a brief moment

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

Part 1 ---- Part 2 (you are here!) ---- Part 3 ---- Part 4

The bullets buzz past and shatter the wood framing around the bar. Bottles explode, and you aren’t sure who’s shaking more – you or the bartender holding your midriff.

“I’m gonna die,” the bartender mutters. He’s a man in his forties, skinny build, and his desperate eyes look up at you. “We’re gonna die.”

You give him a look and shuck him off you. You have no time for that kind of talk. Not when your bodyguards are doing their best to fight off the thieves trying to get your research. On your knees, you crawl and peek around the bar counter.

The saloon’s a mess. Tables turned over for cover, people cowering in different corners or trying to make their escape. You see the red, hunched back of Vash behind one of the tables. You can’t see Mac or Don anywhere, but hear one of them call out to the thieves, “You ain’t gettin’ away with it! Not with us around!”

There’s four of them – thieves, dressed in brown and grey with bandanas around their faces to keep them anonymous. One of them is hiding nearby, ducked into a booth, and looking out with wide eyes. You wonder for a moment how young he is; if this is his first attempt at a robbery or if he just wasn’t expecting so much pushback for some pieces of paper. He spots you for a moment, the two of you staring each other down. Then, bullets fly again, and you duck back into your place.

Someone yelps, and you think it’s one of the thieves that falls to the floor. If it was Mac or Don, you’re sure the floor would have shaken more. You peek out again. Yes, one of the thieves, groaning on the floor and curled into a ball. Funny, there’s no blood. You look for Vash, and see he’s gone from where he was. Another crash and groan comes, followed by bullets hitting the ceiling. Carefully you crawl out more.

Before you can see anything, though, someone grabs you. You think it’s the bartender again, kicking out to knock him back. But then you’re hauled up, and something cold and metal is pressed to the underside of your ear. “Don’t move, and give me the papers.”

The thief from before. The young one.

Now that you’re standing, you see the full situation. The other thieves are down and out; Vash dispatches the last one with a knock to the head before he sees you. Don and Mac are hiding behind some debris, peeking out when the commotion dies down.

Vash is wide-eyed and approaches slowly. “Don’t do anything stupid, friend,” he says.

The kid behind you tightens his grip. He smells like cigarettes and sweat. His heavy breathing is loud in your ear. “Don’t move,” he growls out. You note the timber of fear in his voice; he’s scared. “Don’t move, or I shoot her!”

Vash is the first to raise his hands in placation. Don and Mac don’t lower their weapons. You feel the barrel of the gun on your neck, shaking. It brings goosebumps to your skin. One wrong move, and this trigger-happy boy will end your life.

But you haven’t been alive this long without some tricks up your sleeve.

You swing your head back hard, feeling his nose crack and break under pressure. You hear the click of his gun before it fires, and somehow, someway, you dodge the bullet. Bodily shoving yourself backward, he stumbles and falls, and you roll to your feet and bolt out the back way of the saloon. It’s all you can comprehend – escape.

It isn’t until you reach the back door of the shop next door that you hear him calling for you to wait. Vash is hot on your heels, and with the ringing in your ears from the shot, it’s hard to understand him. You put up your arms; you’re ready to fight, even as you recognize Vash.

Vash pauses, his hands once again coming up to placate. “S’alright,” he mutters, making small steps toward you. “They’re taken care of; you’re safe.”

You read his lips more than anything. The ringing in your ears is loud. But your shoulders slowly lower. Then your arms, your hands, until you’re standing there, breathing like a beast who’d outrun the hunter.

“Are you alright?” Vash starts circling you. He reaches out, touching your shoulders, your elbows, your back. “Did you get hurt?” He pauses at your left side. “There’s a bullet hole! Where are you hit?!”

Surprised, you look down. There, in your satchel, is a little hole the size of a bullet. You blink, fingering it. Then you lift your bag and look at the other side. No exit holes. Opening the bag, you look inside. There sits the bullet, having gone through several of your books and papers. You take out two of the books, the papers you’ve been working on for McDonough. A fine tunnel burrows through them ‘til nearly the end, where the bullet finally stopped. You groan. “It got my research and drawings!”

Vash pauses. Then, he huffs out something like a relieved laugh. “Is that all?”

You round on him. “This is our ticket to our paycheck! If anything gets more damaged, I’ll have to start all over!” Then his words register, and you flush with embarrassment. “I…I’m sorry. I…Yes, that’s all. I’m not hurt.” You bring a hand to your head and sigh. Then you start. “Are you hurt? Oh my lanta, are you okay?”

Vash waves you off, but lets you circle him like he did you. You’re more handsy, lifting his coat to see his back and the backs of his legs. He protests but doesn’t force you away. There’re scratches, a few close grazes from bullets, but nothing bad. You sigh and place a hand on his arm. “You’re fine.”

He gives a wide smile. “’Course I am! What kind of bodyguard would I be if I got hurt on the first shoot-out we had?”

And you don’t know why – maybe it’s the fact you just survived something traumatic, or that you’ve grown fond of this kind, gentle man in the past two weeks – but tears come to your eyes, and you’re suddenly sobbing into your hands. Your ears still hurt, and you wonder if you’ve lost some hearing in them. Why are gunshots so loud?

Hesitant arms circle your shoulders. Gently, when you don’t react, Vash pulls you to his chest and starts shushing you, rocking you on your feet. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” he says. His hand moves up and down your back. You let him. Some part of you cringes that you’re letting an essential stranger comfort you right now. The other part is a hurt little kid who just got the snot scared out of them.

Vash stops and talks to someone over your shoulders. Must be Don and Mac. You try to pull yourself together, spinning around and facing your other bodyguards. Their faces are hard; they have no sympathy toward you right now. “Do y’still have the papers?” Don asks, low and gravelly.

A part of you feels bitten, their words obvious toward what they really care about. But you nod, placing a hand on your satchel. “Some of them have holes, but I can redraw and rewrite them.”

“Good. Let’s go get the sheriff. He owes us a bounty now.” Both men turn back and head toward the saloon. Probably to make off with some whiskey while the poor bartender still cowers. You assume they’ve taken care of tying up those robbers as well.

An awkward silence descends now. You rub your arm and refuse to look at Vash. “Thanks,” you mutter, scurrying after Mac and Don, cursing your social ineptitude with men.

He surprises you, though. A hand takes hold of your arm, and you look behind. Vash looks over the rim of his glasses. “Are you okay?” He asks. Genuinely, with worry. It almost makes you tear up again.

But you nod, a small smile forming. “I will be. Just shaken up is all,” you say. Then, when he finally nods, you both head toward the saloon again.

[ghosty-writes-23]

lmao can I get some Crack fic of Reader (preferably male or gn) being called out and and just the most out of pocket threat comes out of their mouth before continuing what they were doing?

some possible threats for ya:

-I will rip out your spinal cord

-I will knit a sweater using your goddamn nerves

-it takes roughly 45 pounds of pressure to pop and destroy a testicle, wanna test out how much my grip strength is?

-I will harvest your bones boy.

anyways, hope your doing well! remember to have fun with the threats, the more out of pocket, the better.

-🦀

Sergeant V's Favourite Insults.

Ghosty's Notes: Hi, this is my first time doing a 'request' sort of thing, This is to be read in either a Male's POV or GN so hopefully you like it.

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

"The human body has 206 bones, I wonder how many of them I have to break, for you to shut the fuck up."

Sitting in the back of a truck, V could feel the tiredness wash over their body, it has been a successful mission, nobody was seriously injured and none of their team mates died, all the young sergeant wanted was to get back to base, shower and sleep, they would eat when they woke up.

Resting their head on the window, they let out a soft sigh, which caused Soap to look at them worried. "You alright mate?" he asked looking over at the younger sergeant, how just nodded and closed her eyes, hoping to sooth the headache that was coming on.

It was a long drive back, which V would hope would be peaceful, until a small group of Rookie's decided to cause a rucks in the back. Feeling as if their last nerve has been touched V spun around in their seat and looked at them with a glare.

"the human body has 206 bones, I wonder how many of them I have to break, for you to shut the fuck up." they said looking at each of the rookies, they knew they shouldn't have yelled at them like that but they where getting on their nerve, even after Soap had warned them.

Let's just say, the car ride back to base was quiet and peaceful, just the way V wanted it.

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

"You Have 2 Seconds Before I Rip you're skeleton out your ass."

Soap knew he fucked up, when he ate V's last cookie, that he knew they had been saving, at first he went into denial of course V would be mad, until he pulled his big blue puppy dog eyes, nobody could be mad at him when he pulled that face, but then Ghost brought up the time Konig accidently eat something of theirs and they didn't see him for 2 days afterwards.

One V arrived back to base, he knew he was a dead man, not even a minute later, Soap felt the tempter in the room drop as V walked in, They has a sweet smile on their face, but under their mask was a psychotic grin.

"Soap want to tell me something." they said, their voice as soft as silk, Gulping slightly the older sergeant shook his head. "No." he said not meeting their eyes, walking over to him, V stood in front of him, their arms crossed over their chest. "You sure?" they questioned and Soap looked at Ghost for help, only for him to stand up and walk off, leaving the two of them alone.

"I'm sorry." Soap quickly said when he noticed nobody was going to help him, hearing them chuckle he gulped. "You have 2 seconds before I rip you're skeleton out your ass." they said their voice still sweet and soft as they moved a piece of hair out of his face.

After that day, Soap learnt to never take the last of V's things.

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

Bonus Insults.

"your not a clown, your the whole fucking circus" throws confetti and walks away*

"If I saw you where first prize, I would start walking backwards."

"its seems your last two brain cells are bright for second place."

"Splish splash your opinion is trash." (Personal Favourite.)

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

©Ghosty-writes-23, 2024. all rights reserved. Do NOT translate or repost my work, or make AI Bots without my permission.

[mizuki-foreshadowing]

Secret Distance

The first post I made for Secret Distance is about the message that Mizuki's outlook of living life in the moment and making sure she's always enjoying herself, stems from her insecurity that she isn't someone who can have lifelong friends. Mizuki grapples with this no longer being true of herself, and realizes that she does want them.

This post explores the foundation that message relies on, that Mizuki keeps a secret distance from her bandmates emotionally.

The event story opens with just another day at N25. Mizuki remarks to herself that she wouldn't have things any other way. Immediately after this though, she reflects that if things do stay that way, incidents like the caged marionette triggering Mafuyu, or Ena breaking under her father's attempts to stop her from pursuing art professionally, would keep becoming crises, because they would never learn those things about them. The underlying message of Secret Distance is that Mizuki yearns to have lifelong friends, so her response is to break routine and organize a trip for everyone.

The second stop of the trip is a haunted shrine. The story goes that two sisters who were inseparable died looking for the other and curse people who visit with somebody they're close to. Mizuki asks each person if they have anyone they're so close to they might curse happy pairs out of envy, and each of them answer that they don't.

Without thinking, Mizuki says that's a wonderful thing. Ena catches her on it, and Mizuki says that she's happy because it means the four all have something in common. Mizuki's lived her life since middle school believing that she isn't somebody able to have those kind of bonds and shouldn't bother trying. It would be happy for her to hear she isn't alone in something so sad.

The story of the third haunted site is one that hits Mafuyu too close to home and Mizuki got too caught up in the fun of telling it (or of planning the trip destinations) to notice it. Mizuki realizes her mistake only after Mafuyu runs off, and she goes to SEKAI to look for her.

There, Meiko gets Mizuki to admit that she doesn't consider herself close with the other N25 members and doesn't put special emphasis on the bonds they share. To Mizuki, they're people who make music together and get along well. Mafuyu being a gifted student who almost took her own life from all the pressures she took on, is a dynamic Mizuki already knew about, but she didn't catch it in time because she keeps her friends at a distance still.

Because Meiko keeps her own distance from the others, she picked up on Mizuki hiding a burden from her friends since the beginning, and tells Rin as much. Meiko's line, that Mizuki thinks it would be nice if she could stay with her friends, sticks with her, and Mizuki flashes back to it while her stomach is turning from the dread that she does in fact want to be lifelong friends with the other N25 members, which would mean telling them that she's trans and making herself vulnerable for the first time in a long time.

Ena woke up for a moment on the train ride back and caught Mizuki having this internal dilemma. She gets the perfect opportunity to ask Mizuki about it when they're walking back from the station after Kanade and Mafuyu leave.

She doesn't let Mizuki brush off the issue since she knows for certain something is wrong, but Mizuki doesn't know how to open up yet and doubles down that she's fine, until she finally resorts to her usual response, of making up an excuse to run away.

[ya-zz]

First non overwatch post? Who'd have thought. This was started sometime at the beginning of May and completed around the 18th. Just a small thing...

You can find the full art piece over at @yore-donatsu's blog!

We can blame her for the sudden obsession with Dead Cells ANYWAY, I would highly suggest wandering down her blog to learn more about this guy, he's just too charming to resist... I mean, I know nothing of him, yet here I am...

King Conrard x Reader //Part one//

Word Count: 1210

Surely he’s used to it, no, of course he’s used to it; he has been king for how long now? I’ve lost count. It was a reoccurring thought whenever you saw him adjust the crown upon his head. A small lift to relieve the tension that had been building up before it would gradually settle back down. 

He tilts his head back against the throne he’s seated on, a groan escaping his throat as he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“There is nobody around if you want to take it off.” You say quietly as to not irritate him anymore than he already was. 

“Perhaps later.” Was all he said in return with a slight smile, though the pain behind his eyes was evidence enough that he wants to remove the crown sooner rather than later. 

Another grumble escapes him as guards come and go. It was the same news each day; the Malaise was spreading, several more infected, several more dead. No matter what he tried to do to save his people, it didn’t work. 

Frustration was building and the tension around his head only seemed to make matters worse. Noticing this, you place your hand on top of his, thumb rubbing gently across his knuckles. 

He looks down at your hand, how fragile and small it was compared to his own. 

“Take a break, Conrard.” It wasn’t a suggestion as you look at him, concern laced in your tone.

Mid afternoon and there was still so much to do. Maybe a break won’t be so bad. 

He sighs, looking back towards the room. It’s quiet, until you break the silence. “Come.” When you stand and pull him up, dragging him away from his seat and down the hallways, he follows without any argument. 

The clacking of heels on tiled floor echo through the hallways as he’s dragged along by someone much smaller than him. He can’t help but grin at the notion, especially the confidence that you have. You were nowhere near his hierarchy, so below him but yet, he keeps you around; a friend, perhaps. Though, he wouldn’t admit there was something else bubbling inside of him if someone were to ask. A secret he may take to the grave should it never flourish into something else.

Of course, those around stood and stared as the two of you passed but the moment he glared at them, they went back to their duties. They knew better than to piss him off, having seen what he has done to prior ‘victims’. 

The king just wanted some privacy, some time to relax. Having been on edge the last few weeks, all the pressure and tension was beginning to seep through the cracks. He was irritated more often than not, only your words and gentle touching helped calm him. Except from your presence, he was alone the other times and it was starting to get to him, going back to that state of loneliness was something he never wanted to go through again. 

Bringing him back to his quarters catches him by surprise, though he stays silent as you open the door and pull him inside. 

As the door closes behind him, he stands there and stares at you, wondering what you had in mind.

Looking up at him, you smile softly, hoping to reassure him that your intentions were pure. “Do you trust me?” 

He nods once, eyes locking with yours. 

His chest tightens when your hands touch him, moving up to slip under the shoulderpads and collar, unbuttoning them and letting them lay limp before removing them completely. After settling them down on the cabinet, you then move your hands to unclasp the buckles on his chest piece, sliding them off and putting them beside the shoulderpads. 

The armour on his forearms were next, unclasping the buckles one by one. Gentle fingers trace over the scratches before placing them beside the other armour on the side. You slip off the belt that held the armour at his hips and he was finally free of the heavy weights. His body slowly relaxes from being so tense carrying it around all day everyday.

The man wants to move his arms, to hold you and pull you close but your hands grab his right arm, thumbs smoothing over the scars on his hand before pulling him over to the bed. 

“Your confidence is admirable.” He watches as your ears perk up and redden, a hidden smile and blush. So cute…

Sitting down on the bed, you pull him that little bit further. “Come and rest your head on my lap.” 

He waits as you shuffle backwards before he kneels down onto the mattress, turning over and letting his head rest against your thighs.

Careful hands lift the crown from his head, his hair sticking up which you brush down with your fingers. A simple and gentle motion that makes him close his eyes, a satisfied hum escaping his throat as he adjusts his position to get comfortable.

“This-”

You cut him off. “Hush. Relax, Conrard.”  Pressing your fingers against his temple and massaging his head, you feel him relax into your touch. All that pressure and tension were slowly evaporating from his body. 

His hand adjusts the collar of his shirt before resting it on his chest. 

“You work too much, you need to rest more.” 

“If only it were that easy.” The king admits sheepishly, he didn’t want to seem weak but there was something about you that makes him open up. He feels safe with you. “I am trying so hard to protect my people…”

“I know. You’re doing what you can and I’m sure they see that.” 

He sighs. “I fear they don’t.” A huff of angered amusement escapes him. “They think I’m stupid, the guards, I mean. I hear them talking about my views and my actions.” 

Your hands don’t stop massaging his scalp, fingers brushing through his hair as you listen to his words, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. His brow furrows in frustration though his eyes stay closed. 

“They’re lucky that they’re still here.” He states, your movements calming him down significantly.

“I think they have a wonderful king to protect them and it would be wise of them to honour that.” You say softly, brushing out a small knot in his hair. 

“You may be the only one who thinks that.” He admits with a chuckle. 

“I will continue to believe it no matter what happens. Should the Malaise take over my body, I will be with you until I can no longer see and breathe. I will be by your side until you must discard my body.”

“Your loyalty runs deep.” Conrard finally opens his eyes, soft emerald irises looking up at you. 

“As it always will.” You smile down at him as his hand comes up to caress your cheek. A moment of intimacy.

“You have been by my side for months now.” His eyes flicker between yours. “My voice of reason when I needed it most.” 

“And I hope to always be there, even in your darkest times.”

He offers a soft smile, a warmth spreading through his chest. “I would like that.”

[argisthebulwark]

Once you become guild master there's a dark elf new recruit who will say "so youre the one everyone's falling over" when you walk by him and holy shit i can not take that in any other way that brynjolf is not the only one who has a crush on tld, especially now that she's their boss. Now it's pretty much canon that everyone in the guild's in love with you. When you're not there they argue who would be a better partner for you.

"She's mine."

"She's your boss, she's my future wife."

"The Guild Master wouldn't marry you."

"Break it up, kids." Vekel groaned, placing a round of ales in front of the thieves against his better judgment. They were all completely sloshed - Brynjolf's face almost as red as his hair and Vex wobbling in her seat but he knew better than to get in their way.

Every time the new Guild Master left on a job or some extended trip they had the same argument. Vekel had heard it so many times he and Tonilia could recite it word for word. Despite their constant bickering none of them had yet approach the Guild Master with their feelings and it drove the poor bartender mad.

"Vekel." Brynjolf wheeled around, grabbing Vekel's arm. "Don't you agree that she's sweet on me?"

"She's your friend, you mentored her." Rune hiccupped, finger wagging in Brynjolf's face. "But who does she come to when she's upset? Or bored? Me. She sits next to me and talks for hours."

"You're both wrong." Vex sounded smug, curling into the seat of her chair. Delvin's hand subtly reached out to steady her before she fell on her ass. "Whenever she gets a job from one of you she comes running to me for all the dirty little details."

"So, you're helping her to her job? I'm the one who shared a bedroll with her when we got stuck in Windhelm."

"You're still going on about that?"

"Oh for gods' sake." Vekel muttered, shaking Brynjolf's hand off and returning to the bar. Tonilia shot him a quick look but he was exhausted and wanted nothing more to retire for the evening. Knowing this argument they'd be stuck in the Flagon for hours, downing ale until their words slurred together.

"You have some input, Vekel?"

Unexpectedly, the thieves hushed. He felt all of their eyes narrow on him and he drummed his fingers on the bar as he thought through his options. He could make up an excuse about some spill and let them keep going as usual. Or he could finally say something.

"You're all sitting here proclaiming that you're in love with the Guild Master but have any of you told her how you feel?" Saying it after months of hearing their bickering felt like a weight lifted from his shoulders. "Have any of you bothered to ask the Guild Master how she feels about all this?"

"Well,"

"I don't want to pressure her into -"

"Yeah, I don't want to push her."

Their overlapping excuses was just as annoying as the fighting. Brynjolf turned back to the others and Vekel caught sight of Ravyn sneaking toward the Cistern. He couldn't hold it against the poor bastard but his offhanded compliment had lit the fire for this entire situation - "so you're the one everyone's falling over." So simple yet it had earned Vekel many nights of their droning voices.

"Why don't you all just grow a pair and talk to the Guild Master?"

"Talk to me about what?"

Tonilia's eyes were as wide as dinner plates and Vekel was certain he heard Ravyn skittering back into the Flagon when the Guild Master's voice cut through all the chatter. Every pair of eyes shot to her - eyes hardly visible under that damned hood, hands on her hips and staring down the table of thieves. The timing was so perfect he wondered how long she'd been listening.

"Anyone going to speak up?" Her foot tapped and she tossed back the hood, glaring around at the thieves. Wide eyes stared back at her, cheeks flushed from alcohol and the embarrassment Vekel knew hit every single one of them. Good, it was about time they owned up to their feelings. "What do you need to tell me?"

Absolute silence fell upon the Flagon. Vekel tried to guess which one of them would say it first - maybe Brynjolf since he'd been flirting with her since they met, or Vex would have some backhanded compliment for her. Vekel had his suspicions about Delvin - he always seemed to float around the argument without actually engaging.

"Oh, come on." Ravyn's flat voice broke the silence. "Haven't I already told you this? They're all into you."

Pandemonium broke out in the Ragged Flagon. Excuses and accusations flew back and forth while Vekel watched the Guild Master's shock cool into something more dangerous. One by one the thieves noticed her glare, the way her arms crossed over her chest and quieted once more.

"None of you thought to speak to me?" Her voice was deadly, cold. Brynjolf turned in his seat, clearing his throat as if he could appear sober.

"We didn't want to sway you, lass. You know, didn't want our feelings to change how you feel about us."

"How very kind of you all." Her tone conveyed that it was anything other than kind. Vekel started to pity the poor fools - they looked like they were in for a verbal beatdown. Sure they were annoying but he hadn't anticipated this. "Next time, come to me as adults." Her tone softened when she turned away, heading for the Cistern. "I'll tell you how I feel."

A few thieves chugged their ale before heading after her, others scrambling out of their seats the moment she exited the Flagon. Vekel winked at Tonilia, knowing that they'd have a new game - guessing which of these hopeless romantics she'd choose as her lover.

[anony-man]

Got a little carried away with this one… nonetheless, hope you enjoy!

Chubformers drabble #40!

Character(s): Vortex (and First Aid - IDW)

Word count: 700+

Vortex’s beloved medic had been taking well to the near-constant treats and pastries pushed his way, but to the Combaticon’s surprise, his little feedee wasn’t the only one fattening up. It was a little shocking to realize at first, especially since Vortex’s focus had been on fattening First Aid—and not the other way around. However, the more time went by, the more obvious it became.

Bites of goodies snuck in here and there were fair enough, of course, and Vortex would admit to disposing of imperfect recipes the organic way (via his belly, of course). While he was so focused on lavishing First Aid’s belly in various new recipes and flavors, though, Vortex failed to realize he had begun sporting his own growing gut… and it was all thanks to his snacking.

The day was a casual afternoon inside for the two of them, and the Combaticon had been happily stirring up a mixture of creamy ganache to compliment the rich chocolate cake he’d pulled out of the oven some minutes before. First Aid had snuck in from the berthroom sometime between his frantic rush to pull the cake out of the oven while trying not to overdo his chocolatey mixture, and the pair of arms snaking around Vortex’s waist was the only signal he caught that his partner had come by to check up on his progress.

“How’s it looking?” First Aid asked, his voice muffled by Vortex’s plating as the medic nuzzled into his shoulder. “Mm… smells delicious.”

“Better,” Vortex said, pausing his stirring long enough to grab one of First Aid’s servos and give the knuckles and tender kiss. “First try didn’t fare so well, but I know how much you love this stuff. Might as well try again, right?”

“Ahh… round two, then?” First Aid asked. When Vortex stopped stirring again, First Aid couldn’t help but sigh. “The ganache, ‘Tex.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled under his breath. “Something like that.”

Gentle servos drifted down to rest against Vortex’s belly, and Vortex could feel the soft pressure of First Aid’s helm resting against his back. It was nice, he thought, and he enjoyed the sweet moment… until—

“You know, maybe I should make you take a break from all the baking,” First said giggled. “You’ve got quite the belly going for you these days, babe. It’s almost as big as mine.”

Immediately, Vortex dropped his whisk into the mixture. That was unexpected.

“What?” He spluttered, both embarrassed and alarmed.

Sure enough, First Aid’s prodding servos melted into the soft, pudgy mesh of his belly. He wasn’t huge by any means, but… well, it was certainly a belly. Vortex groaned aloud, his pitiful frown verbalized by the sound as he stared down at his middle in defeat. No wonder First Aid had suggested they take an armor-free day… he was just looking for another chance to cop a feel!

“Aww, Vortex. Don’t be like that.” Gently, First Aid tugged at Vortex’s arm and spun him around. “It’s adorable on you. Besides, I was getting a little lonely being the only chubby bot. I like seeing you enjoying yourself.”

“This is adorable,” Vortex cut with a pout, one finger poking into the soft pudge of First Aid’s own rounded belly. “This—“ he went back to pinching at his own, his servos roughly grabbing a handful of the mesh— “is not.”

“Vortex—“

“I’m a big scary bot, Aid. I’m supposed to be lean and aggressive and intimidating, not…” he shrugged, servos falling down at his side, his gut jutting out as he slumped in defeat. “Not fat.”

“You’re not fat,” First Aid said. “You’re just—well, you’re just chubby.”

When Vortex didn’t seem convinced, First Aid pressed on.

“It’s cute, ‘Tex,” he assured him, reaching out to grasp at Vortex’s servos. “I like it on you. It’s very fitting, you know.”

Vortex huffed and grumbled for a few moments, hesitant to accept the praise as his gaze settled anywhere else but on the puppy-eyed look First Aid was giving him. In the end, he eventually relented.

“Yeah,” he said, giving his poor belly another poke, “I guess you’re right.”

Content with his success, First Aid pulled him into a hug—then spun him back around to the stove.

“Enough of that,” he said, happily going back to wrapping his arms around Vortex’s middle and watching from over his shoulder. “Your ganache is gonna burn if we don’t stop talking soon. Unless…”

“No more scrapped ganache,” Vortex said with a wave of his servo. He got right back to stirring, a sheepish grin settling on his faceplates as he glanced back at his lover. “I want that cake next.”

[pacifymebby]

I think it was his ambition to break America (he mentioned it in an interview in 2022). I think a lot has changed for him since then. He initially seemed gassed up on the fame and attention - understandably as he'd been ploughing away at his music for so long with a lot of hurdles - but since then, he has experienced the downsides and the bad habits he picked up during. Plus, going through a pile on after the JD picture really affected him imo. The pendulum is great when it's swinging your way but nasty when it isn't. Once the dust wares off, fame is VERY isolating, and he clearly is haunted by it. Then add on label pressure for sales, etc. He seems to be having esteem issues with his appearance also, which is no doubt a factor in his reluctance to be front of a camera (imo he looks absolutely fine btw) so I don't think there's gonna be RS covers and the like, negative comments have also not helped with this, especially when your job involves bring public facing with a camera on you. He loves playing, but his health issues prevent him from being the touring beast he (and clearly his team) would like him to be. His team makes money from ticket sales, the label from album sales. I, for one, would think it better for him to do a Jake Bugg, mentally and physically. But his natural ego would also like to be bigger in other markets. I think it depends on this whole cycle . It will determine what happens next. The album will do v well,the concern, I guess, is how he will cope with touring, too. It's unpredictable. I'm sure he's under a lot of pressure and really worried about not disappointing people combined with not feeling comfortable in his own skin atm. I do wonder if he is actually even enjoying himself anymore? He seems happiest in the studio creating with his friends. Everything else around that seems really stressful. The new songs are not really doing it for me, but I hope he does really well and feels really well - then he will have a clearer picture how HE (not the label or his team) wants his career to look. Sorry for rambling, but I think we should cut him some slack, y'know? I can't imagine how much pressure he's under with too many voices around him pushing 'whats best' xXX

I too think we should cut him some slack for sure, I think like it's a bad day when your fans who are on Tumblr are happy to talk absolute shit about you to one another and over not v much at all haha.

I pretty much agree with all this btw, I think you're probably right about how it used to be something he wanted but that the stress and pressure is a lot to handle. It must be exhausting for him, and like such a head fuck too to come from his kinda background and have his kinda issues and then have all this thrust upon you. And imagine the guilt too of thinking "but isn't this what I always wanted aren't I being ungrateful" every time you have a bad day.

Cancelling gigs cause of his health must be rough too. I fear he's probably having a really rough time right now and like potentially not recieving much forgiveness. It's a massive shame.

I think Sam's albums/singles are always growers for me? People Watching I did love straight away, I'm not mad about Me and the Dog, and I wasn't bothered by wild long lie until one day I just got it and was like fuck actually this is good. But that was actually the case with 17 as well, didn't like much of that at first listen and then grew into it.

And yeah for sure he'll have all kinds of people telling him what he should do without considering whether that's best for him or them and it will be so hard for him to know what to do I guess xx

[wri0thesley]

nat I don't know if you've ever said ir or if it's something you find interesting it but I've been reading your alhaitham x kaveh yandere stuff and I can't stop wondering how did they take their darling? I imagine it must've been alhaitham, but how..? I've always imagined it as alhaitham brought darling to his home and kaveh just slowly fell for them but it doesn't make much sense in the long way... at least in my mind.

anyway, I really enjoy your writing, and I look forward to being able to commission you once I'm employed and your commissions are open again! <3

i do find it interesting, don't worry! i once got an ask about kaveh being the one who originally brought home darling, and panicking about it (done in a moment of passion) and alhaitham manipulating him to keep darling because 'how would you explain this?' - which, whilst not my own personal headcanon, is a thought i would like to explore more one day!

personally, with the dynamic i write where it isn't mentioned, i do imaging alhaitham bringing darling to his home. it's reasonably early into his cohabitation with kaveh, and he leaves darling in his room bound and gagged to 'get used to' the environment, rather like how one leaves a dog in a crate for the first few hours, so it grows used to the new scents and smells. alhaitham's reasons for taking darling in my fics are generally that he 1) finds them attractive, 2) finds them charming, 3) thinks they have more potential than they are currently showing, 4) thinks they are doing a horrible job of taking care of themselves and 5) thinks that they would be far better off away from the pressures and confusions of the akademiya and with him as their provider.

when kaveh finds out, of course, with his bleeding heart, he wants to confront alhaitham. he can't allow this to happen under the roof he's staying beneath! but alhaitham is ruthlessly precise. lists off the reasons he thinks darling is better off here, reminds kaveh he is the one sharing alhaitham's home, reminds kaveh that his position as scribe could prove to be a very large headache for kaveh if things started going wrong. and kaveh is forced to reluctantly accept it - and with this reluctant acceptance, and his general desire to help people, he does initially begin trying to give darling a break with only benevolent reasons in mind.

but . . . it is hard, eventually, for him to not begin to think of them like a pet. for him to fall in all of the ways that alhaitham expected him to fall - darling doesn't deserve this, darling is victim to alhaitham's personality too, darling is so soft and lovely and sympathetic to him and grateful - until kaveh falls into the kaveh that i write about, the one who is indeed torn, but also ultimately selfish. alhaitham didn't necessarily want to 'share' darling, but as long as they both remember who's the one ultimately in charge . . . well. he can let it happen. i hope this makes sense, anon! <3

[winterpinetrees]

Interrogation (The Gap Years part 31)

July 21st 2019

Project Excalibur Ruins , NV.

Sierra's a prisoner of war. Interrogation is too easy when magic is in play, but she still finds a way to be a pain.

..................

In the movies, mind control is always something epic. It never works, or if it does then the main characters break out before long. What better way to show how much the heroes care? It’s not that Sierra’s fantasized about it or anything, but it is something else to dwell on as she lies on the ground under the cot in her cell after failing to put up any fight at all. 

She expected better, honestly. Her dad always had confidence that came from being too rich to even spell the word consequences, but she thought she’d have picked up some sort of spine from her mama. She's survived twenty years married to the nation’s weirdest billionaire, after all. Not that he was ever a problem, but everyone else is. Sierra thought that learning how to argue, sneaking into lectures and doing well enough to stay, and braving the media would be enough to at least make the elf hesitate for a moment. It wasn’t. 

Maybe she was just tired, stressed, and scared out of her mind. Zerada had gotten her to the engineering booth easily enough, and then Sierra had done her part well after the elf ran. She played the message, unlocked the main doors, and sat with her gun pointed at the door to wait for rescue. There couldn’t have been more than a minute between the magic coming back and an armored guard reaching a hand out to her through a half-open door. She expected the spell to take time to grow, but it was like flipping a switch. One moment she was standing over the control terminal and trying to decipher the elvish words, and the next she was kicking her gun and speaker across the floor as she dropped to her knees. Was there a vague sense that she didn’t want to be curled up behind a cabinet when so many elves charged into the room, and most of them were shot down by the defending guards? She must have had some hesitation when they hauled the bodies away and had her walk behind to a waiting plane. 

If there was, Sierra doesn’t remember it. She remembers wondering how the nearly silent plane took off without a runway, and swinging her feet after an elf had buckled her into the seat. She remembers handing over her headphones and jacket for a scratchy uniform that smelled like bleach, and not complaining until the cell door locked and the spell broke. Then she remembers tucking herself under the cot and crying herself to sleep, but she won’t judge herself for that. There is no clock, and no natural light either. She paces the cell dozens of times and yells a whole lecture through the two-way mirror before a faceless guard delivers a meal, but it could be any time at all. (It’s actually pretty good food. Sierra doesn’t know what to make of this and she chalks it up to being a pretty important prisoner). 

She hardly recognizes herself in the huge mirror. Her headphones and wire bracelets are gone, they took her boots before she could try and kick a guard’s kneecaps in, and she doesn’t even have anything to tie her hair up. All that’s left is an eighteen year old girl, short but not that short, with loose black hair around her face, trapped in an honest-to-god alien prison. She doesn’t look like a hero. Sierra doesn’t think she looks like anything at all. 

It’s boring, mostly. It’s uncomfortable as well. The light in the ceiling is very fluorescent and audibly humming and she can feel every seam in her uniform and didn't elves have better technology than that? She eats a second meal, and then that headache she’s been living with since getting shot comes back. Usually the pressure builds behind her eyes, but now it’s everywhere. 

She holds her head in her hands. It’s an external weight, and Sierra wonders if elves have the technology or magic to increase the gravity in the room. She had been sitting on the cot, but the three feet to the ground feels like a mile.  Sierra sinks to her knees in the center of the cell. It’s a weird thing to do. This time, she realizes that it’s weird as she does it. Sierra sees her eyes glowing deep red in her reflection before she folds completely and lays her head on the hard floor. It���s so stupid. She’s already a captured, helpless, prisoner. What sort of interrogator also needs this? The door slides open, and she gets her answer. 

The last time Sierra saw Amedi Kebero, it was outside of Vya, Nevada and the elf was chasing her on a hovering speeder bike. She’d been precariously trying to shoot through the open sunroof of the Audacity when Kebero caught the bullet and shot her back with something like a magical suggestion of an arrow. Ever since, she’s had headaches, a bad arm, and maybe she’s been spied on. Now, out of combat, the elf wears a long knee-length tunic and tall laced boots instead of red-veined armor. It’s hard to see the details of their face while lying on the ground, but it’s clearly the same damn elf who’s been watching her for the past month. 

Kebero sits down on the cot with a self-conscious little smile. Sierra focuses on their right ankle instead. In the memory she saw, Kebero managed to stagger away from a fire with half of a broken dagger in her foot and at least two other flesh wounds. Her? Their? The boys have been defaulting to nonbinary pronouns, and maybe she should as well, but Marin and Zerada haven’t said anything conclusive and she has her own reasons.

“You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, little artificer” they say. Kebero is maybe six inches taller than they are, depending on if Sierra counts hair. It’s not enough to brag about. It kinda rocks that the elves call her an artificer though. 

“Well behaved women, yeah?” replies Sierra inanely. If Clay were here, he’d shut up and not do anything stupid. Brian would already be yelling insults, and her mama might do the same. Instead, she makes a single reference that no elf will understand. 

Kebero’s ears tilt downwards and they say something to their noble vambrace. 

“What has Marin promised you? Did he even make promises, or were you just running because you were scared to stop?”

“Well, getting shot and cursed is a good motivator. Also we don’t want to die of smallpox,”

Kebero sighs. “So he’s offered nothing. Humans were endurance hunters, but you’ve managed to build a society that drives even your kind to exhaustion. We have something good in the elven world. Hundreds of millions of humans live here, using our technology and living long, happy, lives. You could be one of us, you will be one of us, but this way you avoid the trouble of surviving a plague first”. 

The weight on her shoulders eases and Sierra rises to her knees. She has to remind herself not to trust any offers they make to a prisoner. 

“I’m not betraying my friends, and before you say that they’ve been captured too, Clay’s briefed us all on the prisoner's dilemma and not talking to cops”. She didn’t really follow that last part. In her defense, she’d have gotten brainwashed eventually.  

Kebero stretches like a cat and taps their vambrace again. It flashes faintly, and Sierra really hopes it isn’t going to do anything harmful. “I am a councilor to the apex. Our world doesn’t even have cops, not since Lazarus restructured society thousands of years ago. It was a long and difficult process, but when the dust settled, elvenkind had a way of enforcing the law that didn’t warrant jokes from children".

Sierra can see the connection between the two ideas. She doesn’t need the voice of the boys to remind her that elves won’t treat new human subjects as well as they treat each other. She also knows that the elven noble class murder each other regularly as a result of that same Lazarus, so she's not listening. 

Sierra rises to her feet “So you’re offering me a chance to skip ‘the long and painful process’ and be what, someone’s robot-assembling pet?” 

Kebero’s dark eyes are level with hers now. She looks young enough to be a college student, but the scar by their hairline and the causal hunter’s posture makes it impossible for Sierra to imagine them in a classroom. This is a young adult from another culture, one where being twenty-one (one hundred and twenty one?) and powerful means war instead of getting to drink legally at the fundraising galas. 

“Let's ignore the Sondaica and Adust heirs for a moment, what are you now? You are the daughter of the man who fancies himself Daedalus and a strange woman who was never supposed to endure your American nobility. You code games and make trinkets. You have a handful of friends in equally as many timezones and hope to make more at the university your father just made a very large donation to. You are a pet, Sierra. One running off void knows where, but still owned”.

“I’d rather have that than stumble away from a wildfire with three stab wounds,” Sierra snaps.

“Two stab wounds and a slashing wound, actually. Betrayal bites, I won’t lie to you! But everything I have, I earned-“

She knows she must look and sound like a small dog barking at a guest. “You have the magical strength of a noble. That’s a genetic thing, or at least environmental”. 

“Where did your mechanical skills come from then? I was part of the lower nobility. Provincial types. Statistically speaking, it’s my demographic that dies the most at the Conservatory. I conquered instead”. Their eyes glow faintly, red with a core of indigo like the sunset fading at night.  “You want it too. You want to mean something, and know what everything means. This quest, this single human gap year…you could have left at any point! Instead, you stayed because you want to be one of us”. 

There is something compelling about the warrior on the cot. Sierra wants to glow, and not because she's been brainwashed either. Kebero rests their case. “This is a generous offer. My fellow councilors have made other proposals... they're worse for you”.

“I want to talk to a human first, and I want the curse gone”.

Kebero considers it for a moment, then flexes their fingers. The headache vanishes. Instead, her eyes go red in the mirror and Sierra finds herself sitting cross legged on the floor. Not again. “What did you just do to me,” she says, panicked but also fully aware. 

“The actual interrogation. The prince really hasn’t told you anything, has he? You learned about his mother from another elf, deduced his true goals alone, for Lazarus’s sake, you’ve seriously considered turning him in!”

While she reels from this, Kebero holds out her arm so the vambrace is towards Sierra. “You may speak to my seneschal, that means a secretary and personal assistant. Her name is Esther. She’s twenty-one, and I think she’s taken a liking to you”.

“I meant talk to a human privately”, Sierra mutters. “She can’t exactly be honest with you here”. 

 A voice plays from the vambrace. It sounds like it belongs to a girl, and the accent might even be a bit Russian.  

“Sierra Bracken, I am going to have to explain the entire history of ‘well behaved women seldom make history’ to Amedi after this, because of you”. 

“Good. You can distract her from conquering the world or brainwashing me more”. She’s very self-conscious about the fact that Kebero is three feet away. 

“Them. The councilor does not care for linguistics, but that is what we have decided on for the English language”.

Okay. One point for the boys. “Cool. They’re still plotting to kill our entire civilization”. 

“Not the entire civilization. The council has set a ceiling that no more than half of humans alive now can die due to any elven cause, which is still horrifying, but lower than what wild humans have done to each other in their own conquests”. 

Sierra nearly laughs. Esther's voice is so serious, but there's also humor in it. She seems nice. “Like, how are you gonna enforce that?” She can't quite imagine elves keeping track of how many people die of disease, or war, or whatever. 

“Better science and a wider perspective,” Esther replies. “The ceiling used to be even lower”.

Sierra glances at Kebero. “Great. So was it your idea to kill even more people?”

Kebero bares their teeth. “The old apex had been the sympathetic one. She set a ceiling so low that anyone who proposed a conquest would hit their heads against it, but eventually the common folk ran out of patience. You understand wanting progress, don’t you?”

Clay was right this whole time. At least she won’t ever see him again to hear him brag. “So Emer had been trying to take over the world". 

Esther speaks up. “It’s open for debate whether she was actually trying. Her Eminence openly planned a conquest during the Second World War, but seemingly changed her mind after it ended”. 

They cover their vambrace with a hand. “What my seneschal is trying to say is that the Sondaica had a bleeding heart. My Apex killed her, put a new plaguekeeper on the council, and got to work”.

“We were talking...” Sierra grumbles uselessly.

“I’m sure we’ll get to speak again soon,” the muffled voice replies, then says something else in an elven language. 

Kebero rolls their eyes, but responds in turn. Then they stand up from the cot.

“I’ll see you in a few days, artificer. For your sake, I hope you accept my offer. It might be hard to take you away from Eburos once the symptoms start”. 

“Hey! What the-”

They flash a predatory grin from the exit, and Sierra rushes the door as it closes. She doesn’t get anywhere, of course. The door locks heavily, then the cell is quiet again except for the sound of air circulating through the vents above her. She won’t be able to crawl through them this time

Symptoms. She's so screwed.

............................

Does this chapter imply Esther and Amedi created a ranked list of all the nonbinary pronouns to decide what they'd be using? Yes. It does. That's what they did. Multiple times, for each human language they need to speak.

Next chapter will be the season finale. It may not be done by next week.

@lokiwaffles @reggie246