#but the alternative is worse. at least this way i can be kind.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 13: Piece Me Back Together

Summary: Your pack deals with the aftermath of your heat.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader, Ghost x Soap

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, handjobs, anal fingering, anal sex, unprotected sex (please practice safe sex irl), spanking (it’s like once), choking (kind of), light Dom/sub dynamics, Johnny's praise kink, excessive use of the word cock, heat cycles, mating cycles, brief mention of blood, brief medical stuff, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, and of course a little fluff

A/N: Well folks, we've made it past the heat portion of the fic. Now things can really start moving. Lots of aftercare, some world building, and of course a little spice at the end for you all to enjoy (as if the last chapter wasn't enough lol). I tried to catch all the possible tags for this one but as always, let me know if I missed one. The smut happens in the very last scene, so if you'd prefer not to read it, then skip that last little bit. You won't really miss much. Also, there's a lot of jumping around in time in this one so I tried to mark when things are happening relative to the present moment in the fic.

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MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

6 Days Ago

“Looks comfortable.” 

Kyle glances up as Johnny closes the door to his room, blanket and pillow in hand. “Slept on worse.” He shrugs, glancing down at the cot set up in the hallway before looking back up at Johnny. “Moving out?” 

“Camping in Si’s office for the next week. Keep our distance.” He nods at the closed door. 

“Probably for the best.” Kyle says. “Have fun!” 

“Don’t enjoy yourself too much.” Johnny winks at him before making his way down the hallway and disappearing around the corner. 

Kyle shakes his head, starting to sort through the many bags of supplies they’ve stocked up on in preparation for their omega’s heat. They’re well prepared, all of them, for the next week, Kyle especially. He’s spent the last few days reading up on what to expect, how to best help and support his alpha and omega, and what to look out for in case things start going wrong. He doesn’t think they will. He has a lot of faith in Price and he knows Price will take good care of their omega. 

Still, he can’t help but feel a bit nervous. He has a big job to do, even though there’s not much to do until after the heat is over with. He just has to ensure Price doesn’t hurt you accidentally, or maul you to death. He doesn’t think that’s likely to happen, but then again, one can never know. 

Kyle lets out a shaky breath, grabbing the bags with the electrolytes and nutrient bars before heading for your door. 

It’s going to be a long week. 

Present Day

It’s quiet. Has been for almost an hour now. Kyle rises from the cot, slipping his phone into his pocket. He slowly approaches the door, leaning in to listen for a moment before putting his hand on the knob. He lets out a breath before pushing the door open slowly, slipping in and closing the door quietly. The smells in the room are worse than they had been last night, a toxic mix of omega, alpha, sex, and sweat. He takes a moment to breathe, adjusting to the scent. 

You and Price are spooned together on the bed, asleep, or at least you are. Price had pulled the blankets up around you, tucking you in. Kyle approaches slowly, not wanting to accidentally step on a wrapper and startle either of you and risk you getting scared or Price getting territorial. He brushes the damp strands of hair from your face, your body temperature significantly lower than it had been even last night. He pulls the forehead thermometer from his pocket, taking your temperature quickly before sending a text to Dr. Keller. 

He carefully lifts the blankets, checking beneath. You’re still locked together as he expected, and he lowers the blankets back down, tucking you both in again. He unplugs Price’s phone from the charging cord that he’d plugged in last night, rotating it to your phone. He knew the chances of either of you being aware enough to use a phone for anything would be low, but just in case, he kept them both charged. 

He tiptoes through the mess of wrappers and bottles, grabbing the bag of trash that he had started a couple days ago. He picks up the mess on the floor, cleaning off the nightstand as well before setting out a new bottle of electrolytes and a couple nutrient bars. There’s still quite a few left, but those could be saved for your next heat. 

Price stirs a bit as Kyle sets the bag of trash off to the side next to the bag of things that would have to go to the wash. He hurries over, gently keeping Price from moving too much. 

“Easy. You’re still knotted.” He says, putting a hand on Price’s shoulder as you let out a quiet sound. His skin is warm and sticky from sweat, and probably other things. 

Price rubs his eyes before blinking up at Kyle. “What day is it?” 

“Morning of the sixth day.” He answers, passing Price the bottle of electrolytes. “I think it’s over. Her temperature’s back to normal. Just waiting on Dr. Keller’s opinion.” 

Price hums, unscrewing the cap from the bottle before taking a long drink. “Feel like shit.” 

Kyle grins. “Been a long week for you, Cap. How do you feel?” 

Price screws the cap back on the bottle before leaning over you to place it on the nightstand. “Like I got hit by a truck and rolled down a hill.” 

“Speaking from experience, sir?” Kyle smirks. 

Price gives him a look before closing his eyes again, relaxing against your back. He lets out a groan as his knot deflates, his cock slipping from your folds. “Christ, that's going to hurt later.”

“Let me get the bath started.” Kyle says, going into your bathroom. 

He starts the water, making sure it’s warm enough before he grabs the epsom salt off the counter and adds some in. He leaves the water running as he moves back to the bedroom, helping Price off the bed first. The alpha groans as he stands, leaning heavily against Kyle’s side. Kyle wraps his arm around his shoulders, supporting Price as they make their way to the bathroom. 

“I’ve been beaten, tortured, shot. I’ve jumped out of moving cars, been in helicopter crashes.” Price says, grunting as Kyle helps him down into the bath. “This might be the worst I’ve ever felt.” 

“Not quite as spry as you used to be, old man?” Kyle teases, making sure he’s comfortable. 

“Plenty spry, but god I forgot how energetic omegas can be.” Price leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. 

“Just relax.” Kyle says, turning off the water. “I’ll bring her in.” 

He heads back into your room, approaching the bed. You’re shivering, eyes squeezed closed and eyebrows pinched. Kyle kneels down next to the bed, placing a gentle hand on your arm. You start a bit at the touch, a quiet whimper leaving your lips. 

“Shh, easy love.” Kyle tries to soothe you as you shake. “You’re alright.” 

You let out a whine, seeking out your alpha in your disoriented state. The bathwater splashes as Price shifts in response to your call, his own instincts still on high alert. 

“Let’s get you into the bath.” Kyle says before gently slipping his arms under you and lifting you up. 

You let out a whine in protest, your body sore and aching from the last six days. Kyle quickly carries you to the bath, easing you into the water between Price’s legs. You’re trembling, quiet whines leaving your lips as he eases you back against Price’s chest. The alpha wraps his arms around you, a quiet rumble sounding from his chest as he tries to ease your disorientation and discomfort. 

Kyle leaves you and Price there to soak as he heads back to the room to strip the sheets and start the laundry. Most of your pillows and stuffed animals are stacked in the corner of the room by your desk, spared from the mess that the bed has turned into. The sheets are still wet with a concoction of fluids, and he knows they’ll need to soak for a while. He stuffs them into the bag with your clothes, along with your blankets, before he heads down the hall to the laundry room. 

He checks on you and Price when he returns, both of you content still in the bath. He can’t help but smile as he watches the two of you, pride swelling in his chest at the sight of his alpha taking care of their omega. 

Their omega. 

It seems almost strange to think now. They’d gone so long without an omega, and thought they wouldn’t be getting one. Now, six weeks later, they’ve all fallen head over heels for a little omega none of them even knew they needed. He can’t imagine life without an omega now, how well you fit into their pack, how well you fit with all of them, how you’ve only served to make them stronger and more efficient. 

He hates to admit that perhaps Laswell was right. 

Maybe they did need you after all. 

Kyle bags up the plastic mattress protector, glad to see it did its job. He replaces the sheets and blankets for now, knowing you’ll want to nest once you’re more aware. He checks his phone before heading back into the bathroom, kneeling down next to the tub. Your shaking has subsided, reduced to a shudder here and there as you’ve slowly relaxed in the hot water. 

Kyle grabs a cloth and your body wash, starting to gently clean your skin, or at least get the sweat and other fluids off. Bruises litter your skin and the claiming mark on your shoulder is scabbed and angry. Kyle carefully washes it, not wanting to apply too much pressure as he cleans off the dried blood still stuck to your skin. He knows it’s going to hurt for a while. 

“What did Dr. Keller say?” Price asks as he helps ease you up so Kyle can wash your back. 

“Said if her temperature is normal then the worst is over.” Kyle answers. “She wants to do a check up soon, make sure everything’s alright. Said she’d come here to do it, if that’s alright.” 

Price grunts quietly as Kyle starts to wash his chest. “That’s fine. Easier than going all the way to the medical building. Simon and Johnny?” 

“Fine.” Kyle answers. “Been keeping busy running drills and stuff. Johnny’s been keeping Simon occupied.” 

Price hums, letting his eyes close as Kyle washes his neck and shoulders. “Good.” 

Kyle makes sure to get all of the soap rinsed off before pulling the plug on the water, carefully lifting you up to stand. He lets you lean against him, grabbing one of the towels to dry you off as best he can. Price gets himself standing, drying himself off as Kyle helps you back to bed. Price joins you, wrapping his arms around you tight as Kyle tucks the blankets up around you both. 

“Can I get you anything?” Kyle asks as he sets a new bottle of electrolytes on the nightstand. “Real food maybe?” 

“I’d kill for some bangers and mash, maybe a pint.” Price says, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“I’ll see what I can scrounge up.” Kyle says, glancing at you one last time before he leaves the room. 

Your body aches. There’s a deep soreness in your muscles, and a painful throb between your legs. Your skin feels raw and tight, and there's a steady pulse behind your eyes. A quiet sound leaves your lips before you can stop it, the sound cracking and broken from your raw throat. There's a desert in your mouth again, your tongue dry and heavy in your mouth.

Your thoughts are dragged away from the agony in your body as a quiet rumbling starts somewhere in front of you, your brain going quiet except for the need to seek it out. You press yourself closer to it, meeting warm skin as you try to get closer and closer. You want to bury yourself in it, seep into its depths until you can feel the vibrations of it in your bones. Arms wrap around you, pulling you in closer until you're squished against a bare chest. 

You press your face against the soft skin, trying to get closer to the rumbling purr vibrating from deep within. You let out another sound, body going lax as the purr lulls you into a relaxed state. The tension leaves your body, easing the ache in your muscles a bit. Not much, but enough to pull a relieved sigh from your lips. 

“Easy, love.” A quiet voice says, another hand touching your back. 

You tense slightly at the intrusion on your safe space, but quickly relax as the hand stills on your skin. The calming scent of beta overtakes you, easing your mind to a quiet hum as your alpha and beta work to calm you. You feel a bit disoriented as reality slowly begins to return, seeping back into your brain. 

You went into heat. 

You remember waking up with the blistering inferno burning hot within you, the insatiable need pulsing between your legs. You remember Kyle being there, the soft scent of him as he helped you prepare, pulling off your clothes and making you drink some of the electrolytes. You remember John entering the room, the way his scent made your brain feel like mush. You remember him sinking his teeth into your shoulder, his knot forcing you open before everything went dark. 

Everything else is a dark blur, wiped from your memory after your instincts took over. 

You shift against the body you’re pressed close to, a deep ache rippling through you. It hurts, everything hurts. Your hips are sore, your shoulder is throbbing, every muscle feels like you just did a triathlon with no training, and there’s a sharp throbbing between your thighs. 

You’re crying before you even realize it, the tears uncontrollable as they slide down your cheeks, the quiet sniffles and sobs aggravating your already aching body. The arms around you tighten, the purring getting louder, but you can’t stop the onslaught of tears. 

You flinch as something tickles the skin of your forehead, chapped lips pressing a soft kiss to your hairline. You let out a whine as you continue to cry, your mind a swirl of confusion and disorientation as you try to come to terms with everything that’s happened. You don’t know how long it’s been, what day it is. You don’t even know what happened to you in the last week. 

You continue to cry, oblivious to the conversation happening over you, the gentle purring in your ears lulling you into a dazed state as you float in and out of consciousness. The pain of being moved momentarily brings you back before you settle again, laying back against a chest. A baggy shirt is pulled over your head, smelling of your alpha. The fabric feels different than it had days ago when you’d woken up in the throes of your heat. It’s soft, not offending, and it offers you warmth and comfort. 

You don’t want to move, you don’t want to do anything. Exhaustion pulls at the edges of your mind as you lay there, the tears still streaming down your cheeks.

He hasn’t stopped purring since you woke up. The low rumble in his chest hasn’t stopped, and neither has the ache blooming there since you started crying. Even in your dazed, half asleep state, the tears still roll down your cheeks, quiet shaky breaths catching every so often. He’s not sure what to do, how to help. He’s never been with an omega that’s cried before. Not like this. 

His purring kicks up in volume as you startle awake when the door opens, letting out a broken whimper as your space suddenly gets invaded. He tries to soothe you, his arms tightening around you to try and ground you in his presence. 

“Hi, honey.” Dr. Keller says, kneeling down next to the bed, her voice soft and the scent of beta thick in the air. “Still a bit out of it, huh?” 

“She hasn’t stopped crying since she woke up.” He says, rubbing gentle circles on your arm with his thumb. 

“That’s not unusual.” Dr. Keller says, digging through her bag to pull out a thermometer. “There’s a lot going on right now for her. Besides the exhaustion and the confusion and the pain, there’s a lot of rapid hormonal changes happening. Some omegas can just wake up and hop out of it immediately and be just fine.” 

John frees one of your arms so Dr. Keller can take your pulse and blood pressure. 

“Others might struggle a bit more.” She continues. “Purebred omegas especially have a hard time coming out of it. They’re more sensitive to those instincts and the sudden cut off of them is rather jarring.” She puts her equipment back in her bag. “Her vitals look good, which makes me confident to hold off on any further examinations until she’s more alert and aware.” 

“Are there things we should look out for?” Kyle asks. 

“She’s going to be drowsy and fatigued for a while, but if you can’t wake her at all, call me. If her breathing gets shallow or her pulse weakens or she starts developing a fever again, call me. Also check for blood the next time she uses the bathroom. Her vitals aren’t showing any indication of internal injuries, though, so I think she’ll be just fine.” She pulls a pill bottle from her bag. “I’ve prescribed some muscle relaxers for her. There’s a week’s worth in there. It’ll help with the pain and discomfort, but they will make her sleepy. The best thing she can do right now is rest and recover. Once she’s more aware, you can try some soft foods and lots of liquids. If she’s really struggling, I can set up an IV and get some fluids into her, perk her up a bit.” 

“Thank you.” John says, shifting you slightly so Dr. Keller can look at the bite mark on your shoulder.

“How are you feeling?” She asks him, pulling out a disinfectant wipe.

“Sore.” John huffs out a laugh. “Nothing I can’t handle, though.” 

Dr. Keller hums as she cleans the wound on your shoulder. “I know I’m not here to give you medical advice, but as your omega’s doctor I feel the need to remind you not to ignore your own symptoms. She needs you right now, more than ever. So don’t try to macho man your way through anything. You need to rest just as much as she does.” 

“Yes, doctor.” He grumbles, adjusting your shirt once she’s done. 

Dr. Keller gives him a smile. “You did a good job.” She turns to Kyle. “Both of you. Don’t hesitate to call me. It’s what I’m here for.” 

A smile tugs at John’s lips as Kyle practically beams from Dr. Keller’s praise. He did do a good job. You’re both still breathing after all. 

3 Days Ago

“I cannae take anymore.” Johnny pants, his breaths near wheezes as he rests his hands on his knees. “Ye said you'd go easy on me.”

“I never promised anything, Johnny.” Simon says, standing behind him. 

“Hell's bells, L.T.” Johnny groans, dropping to his hands and knees. “Gonna kill me at this rate.”

“Don't be dramatic. C'mon, again.” 

“Uh uh.” Johnny says, flopping onto his side on the ground. “Am pure done in! ‘S almost lunch anyway.” He rolls onto his back, looking in the direction of the barracks as he wipes the sweat from his brow. “Think they're havin’ fun?”

Simon looks down at him, looming over him like a shadow. “Probably seems like it right now. Be a different story when it’s done.”

“Sometimes I wish I knew what it was like.” Johnny says, turning his gaze up to Simon's face. He can't see much under the mask, and right now is one of those moments when he wishes he could. 

“You really don't. It's messy and gory.” Simon offers him a hand, helping Johnny to his feet. “Gotta be prepared to pick up the pieces afterwards.” Simon turns, heading in the direction of the barracks. 

“That why you've never taken an omega?” Johnny asks, following him.

Simon stops dead in his tracks, turning to look at Johnny. Johnny's back straightens at the look in Simon's eyes. No, not Simon. Ghost. He's looking at Ghost again. 

“Drop it. Or I'll make you do another lap.” Ghost says, his voice taking on the low rasp he gets when he's shifted into the laser focused headspace of the Lieutenant. 

“Yes, sir.” Johnny says, following after Ghost as they head back towards the barracks. 

Ghost slips into the showers once they enter, Johnny heading to the corner to peek down the hallway towards their rooms. It's quiet now. It hadn't been when they left earlier. He could hear it as they passed the hall to go out the door, the distant sound of moans and the bedframe knocking against the wall. He had fought the erection threatening to tent his shorts all the way to the field. He knows heats are no light matter, but the mental image he's drawn up of you blissed out, mouth open as you moan, back arching in pleasure has been plaguing him for nearly two weeks. He's desperate, practically chomping at the bit to get a chance to see it himself first hand, to see the real thing putting his mental image to shame. 

He makes his way down the hallway, keeping a respectful distance between himself and your room. Kyle looks up from his spot on the bed where he'd been scrolling on his phone.

“How're they doin’?” Johnny asks, wiping the sweat from his face. 

“Alright. Sleeping for the moment.” Kyle answers. Johnny can only imagine the torture of having to sit and listen to nonstop fucking for the last three days. 

“We're gonna grab lunch soon. Want us tae bring ye somethin’?” 

Kyle nods. “Sure. That'd be great.” 

“Ye got it.” Johnny nods, passing a glance at your door before looking back to Kyle. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, mate.” Kyle says, watching his fellow beta walk back down the hall. 

Johnny glances up from his phone as Simon huffs out what's the tenth sigh in the last three minutes. The alpha is seated at his desk, clicking away at something on his computer and occasionally mashing away at the keyboard rather harshly. Johnny's surprised he hasn't cracked a key yet, or just thrown the whole thing out the window. The beta can see how tightly his alpha is wrung by the tenseness in his shoulders, the hard set of his brow, the set line of his lips, the occasional tick of his jaw. 

“What's got ye all riled up?” Johnny finally breaks the silence, setting his phone aside. 

“Nothing.” Simon grumbles, ignoring Johnny's gaze.

Johnny’s brow furrows and he pushes himself to stand, moving over to Simon’s side. “Doesnae seem like nothin’ to me.” He puts his hands on Simon’s broad shoulders, squeezing them, feeling the tension in his muscles. “Awful tense, Si.” 

“Leave it, Johnny.” Simon grumbles, trying to swat the beta away, but he’s insistent. 

“Wouldnae be a little omega getting you so tense, would it?” Johnny teases. 

Simon turns to him, his eyes darkening. His jaw clenches, hands closing into fists where they sit on the armrests of his chair. “Don’t push it, Johnny.” His voice has that deep rumble to it, the threat of his alpha coming through. 

Johnny stares at him, feeling the danger prickling at the back of his neck, but at the same time, he wants to push that boundary. He wants to see just how far he can push his alpha until he finally gives in. 

“I don’t know why ye keep torturing yourself like this, Si. Ye know ye like her. She’d be more’n willing-” 

“That’s the problem.” Simon snaps, pushing himself up from his seat, forcing Johnny to take a step back. “She’s not doing this because she wants to. She’s only doing this because she’s been told to do it.” 

“She’s an omega. Her whole life was going tae be people tellin’ her what to do and forcin’ her tae do things, even if she didn’t want to. Ye think things would have been different if she’d been put with a different pack?” Johnny doesn’t back down from Simon’s glare, having been on the receiving end of it enough times now he’s almost immune to it. “Things could have been a lot worse for her. She might not have wanted to be here, but she is. Ye can’t change that, Si. No matter how badly you might want to.” 

Johnny can tell by the slow fall to Simon’s tense shoulders that he’s struck home. The situation wasn’t ideal, but it’s what they were dealt. You’re here with them, and he’s going to make sure you feel as comfortable as possible. 

Simon lets out another sigh, turning away from Johnny to crawl into their makeshift bed. He lays down with a huff, closing his eyes. Johnny smirks, slowly crawling onto the two cots pushed together, laying down right next to Simon. He rests his hand on Simon’s thigh, feeling the powerful muscle flex under his hand. He slowly begins to drag it higher, Simon’s eyes opening again. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Simon rasps, but he doesn’t move, even as Johnny reaches the junction of his hip and thigh. 

“Yer all worked up, big guy.” Johnny says, leaning his head on his hand, slowly moving his hand over Simon’s very prominent bulge. “Thought I’d help ye.” 

“What makes you think I want your help?” Simon says, still laying still. 

Johnny lifts his brows, slowly rubbing Simon through his pants. “This looks rather painful, and I seem to be the only option to help, since everyone else is rather occupied-” 

Johnny’s words are cut off as he finds himself suddenly on his back, Simon’s hand around his throat. The alpha is leaning over him, a deep rumble vibrating through his chest. “You talk too much, Johnny.” Simon rumbles, leaning close to the beta’s face. 

“I’ve been told tha’ before.” Johnny says, leaning up to try and kiss his alpha, but Simon backs away before he can make contact. “By you if I remember correctly.” 

Simon’s fingers flex around his throat, a moan spilling from his lips as Simon grinds his hips against Johnny’s. His cock is hard in his pants, has been for a while. He’s not sure if it’s from the lewd thoughts that have been plaguing his mind since you first kissed him, weeks ago, or if it’s just a response to the knowledge that you’re currently fucking their pack alpha like your life depends on it. 

Johnny lets out a whimper, bucking up against Simon desperately. Simon tuts at him, pressing against his throat to keep him still on the bed as he sits himself up on top of the beta. 

“Naughty little thing.” Simon says, staring down into his blue eyes. “Know you’ve been thinking about sinking your cock into the new little omega for weeks.” Johnny lets out a whine, his cock twitching in his pants. “I don’t think you’ll even make it that long, will you pup?” Simon chuckles. “Gonna cum in your pants as soon as you see her tits, huh?” Simon presses down, putting more pressure against his cock as he rubs it through his pants. “Gonna cum in your pants just thinking about it.” 

Johnny holds his breath, trying to focus anywhere except for Simon’s hand. He squeezes his eyes closed as Simon undoes the button on his cargo pants, releasing his throat to tug the fabric down around his knees. 

“Bloody hell.” Simon says, wrapping a hand around Johnny’s hard cock. “Prettiest cock I’ve ever seen.” 

“I thought Kyle’s was the prettiest.” Johnny says, opening his eyes to glance down at his alpha. 

“Kyle’s just pretty.” Simon says, slowly stroking Johnny’s cock. “You have the prettiest cock.” 

“Christ...” Johnny breathes as Simon continues to jerk his cock, his hips bucking as he can feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge. 

A pathetic whimper leaves Johnny’s lips as Simon pulls his hand away, sitting up on his knees over his beta. He undoes his belt, tossing it to the floor before undoing his pants, pulling them and his briefs down to release his own throbbing cock. Johnny licks his lips as Simon fists his own cock, slowly stroking it. 

“Turn around. Let me see that pretty ass.” Simon says. 

“Yes, sir.” Johnny smirks, wiggling himself until he’s flat on his stomach, pushing his ass into the air as best he can with his legs trapped between Simon’s. 

Simon purrs quietly at Johnny’s response, running his hands over his beta’s pert cheeks. “Prettiest ass too.” He murmurs, gently spreading his cheeks. 

“I’m startin’ to think I might be the prettiest.” Johnny says, gasping quietly as a glob of warm spit hits his hole. 

“Give me a night with Kyle and I’ll get back to you on that.” Simon says, pressing a finger into Johnny’s ass. 

Johnny groans, pressing his face into the pillow. “Fucking Christ.” 

“You can take it.” Simon soothes him, reaching down to fish the lube out of the bag he’d tossed it in last night. He squirts some on his finger before pressing further in, spreading Johnny’s ass open. “Good boy.” 

Johnny nearly melts into the cot, letting out a pathetic sound as Simon adds a second finger. He’s still sore from the last three days, but his drive to please his alpha pushes away any sensitivity he’s feeling. That, and the lust burning hot in him. Betas don’t have heat cycles, but he might as well be in the middle of one with how horny he’s been these last few days. He knows part of it is Simon being worked up by the knowledge that there’s an omega in heat nearby, and his own body reacting to his alpha. He’s never been around an omega in heat, and he doesn’t think Simon has either. 

He’s not sure Simon has ever been with an omega at all before. 

More cold lube hits his hole, a second finger pressing in. He gasps at the stretch, squeezing around Simon’s thick fingers. Simon’s other hand trails up his back, pushing his shirt up as he goes. Johnny pushes himself up slightly, tugging the fabric over his head before he relaxes back down against the blankets. 

Simon presses a third finger in, working Johnny open with what still won’t be enough, but Johnny won’t complain. He’s taken his alpha before. He’ll do it gladly again. 

“Fuck, Johnny.” Simon grunts as Johnny squeezes around his fingers again. 

“Cannae help it.” Johnny whines. “Feels too good.” 

“Didn’t say you could cum yet.” Simon says, removing his fingers. “Naughty pup.” 

Johnny lets out a pathetic sounding whimper, pressing his ass up to try and chase Simon’s fingers. He yelps as Simon’s hand meets his skin, his hips dropping back to the bed at the force of Simon’s spank. 

“Stay still.” Simon growls, the cap of the lube popping open again. 

Johnny does as he’s told, keeping himself still as Simon prepares himself. He groans as the tip of Simon’s cock presses against his hole, his hands fisting the sheets at the stretch. Simon’s hand rubs his back, trying to get him to relax. Johnny breathes, forcing himself to go lax, letting Simon slip in further. 

“Good boy.” Simon groans, bracing himself on the bed as he presses further and further into Johnny’s tight hole. “That’s my good boy. You can take it.” 

“Fuck!” Johnny groans, practically preening from the praise. 

“That’s it.” Simon groans, pressing in until his hips are flush with Johnny’s ass. “Bloody fucking hell.” 

Johnny’s mind goes blank as he’s filled, all thoughts leaving at the feeling of his alpha inside of him. He’s panting already, stretched open around his alpha’s cock. Simon begins to move, rocking his hips slowly, drawing his cock out before pushing it back in. Johnny whines, pushing back against Simon, needing more. 

“Please...” Johnny begs. “Please alpha!”

“Fuck.” Simon grunts, bracing himself further before snapping his hips against Johnny. “Like that? That what you want, pup?”

Johnny almost yelps at the sensation, hands fisting the blankets as his body rocks forward on the cot. “Fuck, yes!” 

Simon sets a brutal pace, hips snapping against Johnny’s ass. Pleasure numbs Johnny’s mind as the sensation of Simon inside of him. His cock is trapped between his body and the cot, dragging against the blankets with every thrust. He’s going to cum soon, he knows that. He won’t be able to hold it, not with how sensitive he already is. 

“Gonna cum, can’t hold it!” He whines, pushing back against Simon’s thrusts for more friction. “Fuck, alpha!” 

Johnny cums quickly with a groan, the blankets getting damp under him as he shakes in his release. Simon doesn’t stop, undeterred by Johnny’s clenching around him in his orgasm. He’s going to ring a few more out of Johnny before he’s done. 

They’re both in for a long night. 

Taglist:

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx @protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai @redwites @kattiieee @141trash @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @linaangel @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10 @cassiecasluciluce @darling006 @sheep-from-rad @ohgodthebogisback @willow-sages @scythemood @daniblogs164 @mirzamsaiph 

#call of duty #call of duty fic #task force 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #x reader #captain price x reader #John price x reader #gaz x reader #Kyle gaz Garrick x reader #soap x reader #John soap mactavish x reader #Simon Riley x reader #Simon ghost Riley x reader #a/b/o #alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics #Omegaverse

[juneofdoom]

What up, whump fam?!

June of Doom 2024 Prompts!

We've brought back some old favorites/ popular prompts from last year with a healthy dash of new!

Please feel free to participate with original or fan works of any kind (writing, photos, gifs, mood boards, videos, songs, whatever creative medium your heart desires!). You can do one or all of the prompts on any given day, and if none are to your liking, check out the alternate prompts!

Two rules this year!

As with last year, tag your stuff with appropriate warnings, plzkthnx.

AI-created content is highly discouraged and frowned upon. I have no way of "checking", but I respect the time and effort people put into their crafts and encourage everyone to do the same. This isn't a contest for best written or prettiest art — it's a challenge, so challenge yourself.

Text list below the cut for easier crossings-off. And don't forget to tag @juneofdoom so I can reblog your awesome here! Have fun!

“Help me.”                                        | Failed Escape | On the Run | Fetal Position |

“It didn’t have to be this way.”             | Scream | Double Cross | Made to Watch |

“Well, well, well…”                            | Hiding | Ambushed | Stalking |

“Does that hurt?”                               | Impalement | Fracture | Punishment |

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”              ��  | Bite | Swelling | Disfiguration |

“They don’t care about you.”               | Flinch | Broken Promise | Abandoned |

“What happened?”                            | Nightmare | Isolation | Stumbling |

“This is your last chance.”                    | Drowning | Chair | Prisoner Trade |

“I made a mistake.”                            | Accident | Acceptance | Blame |

“Can you hear me?”                           | Fear | Smoke | Phone Call |

“We’re out of time.”                           | Bleeding Out | Collapse | Flatline |

“I can’t stand seeing you like this.”        | Dehydration | Grief | Coma |

“Wait!”                                             | Sacrifice | Adrenaline | Cornered |

“What were you thinking?”                  | Surrender | Human Shield | Outmatched |

“Get me out of here!”                         | Rescue | Chainsaw | Presumed Dead |

“At least it can’t get any worse.”           | Secret | Stranded | Setback |

“You don’t want to do that.”                | Struggle | Blackmail | Desperate Measures |

“I’m fine.”                                         | Self-defense | Allergies | Headache |

“This can’t be happening!”                  | Sobbing | Straitjacket | Dissociation |

“I can handle it.”                                | Scrape | Panic Attack | Neglect |

“Let’s play a game. “                           | Stairs | Pressure Points | Trap Door |

“What’s the bad news?”                      | Poison | Bedridden | Cauterization |

“You’re doing great.”                         | Trembling | Gaslighting | Rules |

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”                  | Blankets | Stitches | Bandages |

“I should have listened to you.”           | Guilt | Backseat | Failure |

“Don’t lie to me.”                               | Rage | Choke | Paranoia |

“Or what?”                                       | Defiance | Display | Last Resort |

“Say something.”                               | Numb | Cold Shoulder | Gag |

“I’m so cold.”                                    | Delirium | Fever | Exposure |

“Breathe, damn you!”                         | Shock | Asphyxiation | Emergency Room |

ALTERNATE PROMPTS

“Who did this to you?”

“Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not okay.”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“You poor thing.”

Attending Your Own Funeral

Broken Glass

Mask

Whip

Obedience

#june of doom 2024 #june of doom #juneofdoom #masterlist #whump writing #whump stuff #summer of whump #whump things #whump prompts #writing prompts #whump #masterpost #writing challenge #events #whump event #whump community #whumblr

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Supersons +1 prompt answer

If you asked Danny, 12 year old half-ghost hero of Amity Park, how half-life was going, he'd tell you things were mixed.

On the one hand, he had just spent the last three or four months in family/scientist/'this house is a death trap waiting to happen' therapy with Jazz, and by some miracle, it worked. He wasn't sure if this was some kind of dream as his parents poured over years upon years of research, crossing out lines, rewriting equations, and reevaulating everything they thought they knew about ghosts.

Was the shudders family therapy worth not going over how they'd like to dissect him? he's still not sure. The horror.

Not to mention the attention. Danny was sure he was going to throw up if his parents drag him away for more bonding time, only for a ghost to attack and for him to run off to transform. What made it worse was when the Fentons came barrelling out, guns blazing, alternating between getting mad that he'd interrupted their family time, and asking him questions about "Your suspicious spook culture, if you even have one you dangerous delusional delinquent!"

At least they were trying, but Danny was very much comfortable not spilling the beans on the whole half-ghost situation, thank you very much.

And that's why, when Dad proposed to take him to Gotham to show off their latest invention, he jumped at the chance. The home city of the Batman, one of the greatest heroes known to man (except for Martian Manhunter and Superman of course) and Dad promised to take him to Gotham Observatory too. Not to mention how much he wanted to get away from Jazz's smug looks of superiority. Gotham here he comes!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian Wayne scowled as he scanned the crowed of scientists with more smarts than sense. Really, a flying toilet seat. For what deviant?

"Maybe they're for people who can fly." Kent piped up beside him. Father had let the two of them run off together, and his company was mildly more appealing than being alone with his thoughts.

"Why would Superman ever need to relieve himself mid-air. I do not believe you would appreciate your father's rear end being on display for all the world to see."

"True." Jon hummed. His voice lowered to a whisper. "You think indecent exposure is what your dad meant by "scoping out any potential future villains?"

Damian gave Jon a flat look. The sooner this convention ended, the better.

The crowded shifted, and the mass of visitors pushed toward a certain corner, where a man large enough to rival Superman's build stood upon a podium, with a boy their age off to the side.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce to you the latest in FentonWorks' innovations, the Fenton Ghost Zone Radar, soon to revolutionise the study of ghosts!"

"I thought ghosts were a magic thing." Jon said. "You know, stuff Constantine and JLD deal with."

"They are."

"Mixing magic and science is like, like, oil and water. No way this guy's serious, is he?"

"His name is Jack Fenton. That's Daniel Fenton, his son." Damian pointed to the boy in question, looking like he'd seen this scene a hundred times before, but with that knowing glint that promised something deeper. "They're normally spotted alongside Jack's wife, Madeline. Widely regarded as quacks by the larger scientific community for chasing paper-thin theories about ghosts, they've nonetheless gained funding from the government. This is the first time they've left their base of operations in Amity Park for years."

"Woah, you know your stuff, Dami!"

Damian glared at the young Superboy in disguise. "I read the briefing files. Didn't you?"

Kent looked uncomfortable and looked away. "Uhh, maybe?"

"Typical."

"Well, if he's so crazy, then why'd your dad even let him in." Upon another scathing glare, Kent relented. "Oh right, the whole supervillain thing."

"Enough chatter. We'll zero in on the younger Fenton. I intend to squeeze him like a grape, and make Father proud."

"Dami maybe you should be a little nicer-" Only for Damian to march off without him.

Honestly, inane niceties were above someone of his status. Those things were Superboy's job, and if Daniel Fenton wouldn't crack, then Damian was itching to try a new torture technique.

@impyssadobsessions

#damn that was a good ride guess #we'll die now that's pretty cool #dpxdc #danny fenton #danny phantom #dcxdp #dp x dc #damian wayne #jon kent #i don't nkow what im doing #im an amateur writer plz forgive me #inspired by prompt #still dont know how to do this stuff #uhh the only media i've watched with these kids is Battle of the Supersons 3D movie #it was pretty good #but man the fact that the kids just chill on the watchtower as it crashes to earth and they're like and i'm like WHAT YOU'RE 13 YEARS OLD N #unless ur name is Danny i guess since the original show has him be hilariously chill about a lot of things including his parents trying to #bitchslap him with ghost guns #supersons #soup persons

[heartpascal]

masterlist. . .

collection of my writings! more to come… stay tuned

alternatively, read over on my ao3!

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

JOEL MILLER

▹ late spring, f!reader — you and joel didn’t exactly see eye to eye, but things have started to change, at least for you. [2.2K words]

▹ the gold, f!reader — you don’t like the person joel’s become. [2.1K words]

▹ i’ll be brave, platonic!f!reader — an infected attack leaves you fragile, in more ways than one. [2.4K words]

▹ i am good, platonic!f!reader — joel finally sees the darkness in himself reflected in you. [2.4K words]

▹ the crooked kind, platonic!f!reader — you were sarah’s best friend, and you reunite with joel years after outbreak day. [2.5K words]

▹ the tunnel, platonic!f!reader — joel gets hurt, and in the face of losing the only person you have left, something inside of you breaks. [2.7K words]

▹ to an empty house, niece!reader — tommy hasn’t been your dad for a very long time. [3.0K words]

↳ something is rotten, niece!reader — part two, arriving in jackson brings painful feelings, and even worse conversations. [4.0K words]

▹ so far from it, platonic!f!reader — you get yourself into some trouble, luckily, you know who to call for help. [2.3K words]

▹ all my faith, platonic!f!reader — joel and tess raised you, in a moment of anger, he nearly loses you. [5.3K words]

▹ if the door wasnt shut, platonic!f!reader — months of travelling with joel and ellie come crashing down on you, the fear is suffocating. [5.1K words]

↳ i would let you in, platonic!f!reader — part two, after being abandoned in jackson, tommy and maria take care of you. joel and ellie’s return hurts far more than their departure. [7.5K words] ↳ lock it when you leave, platonic!f!reader — part three, tensions rise in jackson, leaving you scrambling to find your place. [6.9K words] ↳ check under the doormat, platonic!f!reader — part four, settling down fully in jackson means new friends and more patrols. what could go wrong? [9.7K words] ↳ you’ll find the key, platonic!f!reader — part five, after feeling hopeless, you decide it’s time to heal [10.5K words]

↳ please don’t lose it again, platonic!f!reader — a what if one shot, the aftermath, set in tlou part two [2.7K words]

▹ the world is brighter, platonic!f!reader — joel is trying to be someone he’s not. [13.0K words]

▹ weight too heavy to hold alone, platonic!reader — joel’s life in jackson is much more complicated than he thought it’d be [4.0K words]

↳ hoping there’s somewhere to go, platonic!reader — you try to navigate life after the rejection of the only family you’d ever had [3.9K words] — Recent Work!

▹ break beneath the weight, platonic!reader — joel struggles to deal with someone who isn’t as emotionally constipated as he is [3.9K words]

▹ carved over the door, platonic!reader — you’ve been hiding something, and joel finally finds out what. his reaction is… not what you expected [2.1K words]

▹ forgive the sea, platonic!reader — after a trip to the outside world, you come back different [3.0K words]

▹ when the sun goes down, platonic!f!reader — joel doesn’t talk about you, until he does [3.6K words]

▹ the sun was collapsing, platonic!reader — joel thought you moving to a college halfway across the country would be the worst thing to happen to his family [6.6K words]

▹ fight the tide, platonic!reader — you face the consequences of going to seattle, set in tlou 2 [3.3K words]

▹ i was born waiting, daughter!reader — you’ve been looking for your dad for as long as you can remember, is this really him? [8.1K] — Newest Work!

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

TOMMY MILLER

▹ be your armour, platonic!seraphite!reader — after escaping the seraphites, you find that the world is not as they described it. [9.2K words]

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

SPIDERVERSE

▹ is it freedom?, platonic!reader — after losing everything, you struggle to accept the one thing you needed all along [8.0K words]

↳ or is it loneliness?, platonic!reader — you need closure, and information. two visits kind of give you that [9.2K words]

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

. . .check out howl’s song association!

and my platonic joel miller recs!

#heartpascal #masterlist #heartpascal masterlist #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller imagines #joel miller x reader #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #tlou imagines #pedro pascal angst #pedro pascal fluff #heartpascal writes

[batmanego]

Dear Generic Cough Syrup Manufacturer whose product I consumed at 12 am last night desperately seeking relief,

I’m sure that this message will reach you in vain as the only way I can possibly imagine you committing such a transgression would be intentionally, on purpose, to be cruel, but I have to try anyway.

Are you aware that ‘mint’ and ‘cherry’ are two distinct flavors that do not need to become one within your liquid?

You can just choose one. It’s okay. I don’t need both. I’m not that greedy. In fact, I really barely need a taste at all. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, as I’m sure the natural taste of this medicine is awful, but honestly at this point you’re kind of overcompensating and creating something that might actually be worse than the alternative.

Whatever rogue alchemist you have concocting your brews really needs a talking-to because the experience I had last night was as follows: I could not breathe because there was so much coughing happening. I stumbled out into the kitchen desperate for any kind of intervention from a higher, medicinal power. I found your creation. It was bright red. Perhaps where my first mistake lay was that I did not have an accurate measuring tool by which to dole out your dosage. I had to eyeball it in a shot glass. Generic Cough Syrup Manufacturer, I’ve never drank due to a history of addiction in my family, but consuming your products might drive me to it.

The first thing that I experienced was the sticky and unpleasant medicinal “cherry” flavor. I put cherry in quotes because I don’t think it’s at all accurate to how cherries taste, but it is red. So it has that going for it. This would have been bearable, if it was not for the fact that shortly after my tastebuds became acquainted with cherry (grimacing and shaking hands politely but uncomfortably) that you decided mint had to come along too, like some sort of wayward fraternity reject intent on crashing the party. My tastebuds recoiled. It was nauseating. I felt like I was going to throw up. I dry heaved at least once.

Generic Cough Syrup Manufacturer, you are aware that in order for your product to take effect, it has to stay down, yes? People have to be able to stomach it. It should not make me compulsively go through the “I’m about to be sick” motions. It should not have an aftertaste that haunts my mouth for eight long hours during a fitful sleep (because your product did not even do what I wanted it to do) and reminds me of its presence in the morning.

Why did you do this? Why did you decide that these two flavors have to coalesce? Were you coerced into doing such a thing? Have you simply never eaten food before and don’t know what tastes are? Are you cruel and trying to punish me further? I don’t know. I really don’t. I’m going to have to take two more eyeballed shot glasses of your repulsive, awful, mint-and-cherry’s-bastard-lovechild-bursting-out-of-mama-like-alien concoction tonight. I’m not looking forward to it. You sick bastards.

[captainmera]

ok but Caleb saying " I do not want to rob my son of his life" is heartbreaking.

It so bittersweet that he sees him like a son especially since he never got to meet his own child. I really love the scene where he gives hunter his cloak when he puts him to sleep, I think he would've been a good dad...

The way I've written Caleb's fatherhood-ness is this:

He was a parental-figure brother to Philip, but he was a child himself when he started doing that. I am sure Caleb grew painfully aware that he wasn't equipped to take care of Philip; 'nor in maturity or ability, but what's the alternative? There isn't one. You do what you gotta do with the knowledge and power you have.

Which means he probably didn't raise Philip exemplarily. You can blame the adult-Caleb for not adjusting to it; but then you're asking him to control his brother with a whole new set of rules and reshape their set and working dynamic, which is easier said than done with a teenage little brother. And you cant really blame child-Caleb for not knowing better.

Caleb acts quickly on his fears or intuitions out of terror that things can escalate for the worse. He thinks he knows best because that's who he had to be, regardless of if he actually does knows best. He never had anyone to turn to, he just had to figure it out on the fly.

I think his worst bully is hindsight, and although he acts out of love (embraced by fear) he, too, can see retroactively that his actions are at best clumsy and at worst consequential.

Nobody's perfect, I don't think he would've been a perfect dad (just as there are no ideal person or people, people are just.. people! trying their best) But I do think he'd be a very loving one. And for someone like Hunter, I think that's pretty much all Hunter wished for.

But yes, I think Caleb, with the person he discovered himself to be in the BI, is someone who would do a good job as a dad. He does care, he does love. Even if it kind of comes out like a hiccup and a slap on the back that's a little too rough.

centuries of watching his doppelganger (sons) live their lives I'm sure he also picked up on a few things to advise them on. He's better on giving advise as an observer than being the one to interfere. (clearly)

But all in all, I think he is very proud of Hunter and already considers himself a father to him. Hunter is, technically, his flesh and blood.

My version of Caleb is a very flawed person. His fatherhood and continues attempt to be a martyr or take on all the load is.. also.. Reflective on the Noceda family trauma of losing Manny.

Luz and Camila both try to shoulder the burdens in the family. Wanting to be the one who makes life easier for the other.

Caleb sees and recognises this, especially in Camila. That's why he seemingly hold no qualms in laying out the hard cold cards for Luz the way he did in chapter Modern Times.

Anyway, I like Caleb. At least the way I write him. He's a little scatter-brained and wheezing, but dangit he's pulling the plot onwards. :'D

#toh #caleb wittebane #tgb #tgb talk #the owl house #toh hunter #hunter wittebane #hunter noceda #ttocw #toh caleb

[qqueenofhades]

what gets me is whenever any of these people says not to vote, and you ask them what the alternative is, they usually throw some tantrum about how it shouldn't be their job to fix this country and they're not expected to know (or start calling you a neoliberal or a bootlicker lmao) and i just. i don't get that? not voting, especially in the current climate, is a big deal. i don't think it's unreasonable to ask anyone who advocates for that what the alternative is. i'm not expecting you, online leftist, to magically know how to fix everything. i am expecting something from you if you're gonna tell me not to vote, especially when we both know that helps the gop. like, how dare we ask them to defend this big choice they're telling us to make?

their position boils down to helping trump and the republicans but any time you remind them of that they get upset. what is the alternative? what plan do they have? it would be one thing if there was another option that they'd come up with, but they haven't and don't seem interested in doing so. mutual aid and organizing is only going to take us so far and it'll be a hell of a lot easier to do it with biden in office than trump

The whole "it doesn't matter who's president/in charge of the government because mutual aid and organizing is the only valid way to do community engagement" is the leftist version of the Brexit nutcases who, and I swear I am not making this up, argued that it was fine if the UK left the EU trading sphere/single market/customs union with nothing to replace it, because "Britain is a nation of farmers and can grow food in our back gardens!!!!" Yes, because you're so devoted to your stupid ideology that you think the large-scale collapse of society, a major world power, a western democracy, and everything else will have no effect, and you can just do your little Facebook mutual aid groups and happily shout on Twitter at anyone who disagrees with you. Never mind the fact that this would obviously and immediately harm vulnerable people the most and that nobody, not even the Online Leftists themselves, actually wants to live in the Violent Revolution Total Anarchy World they masturbate to. Maybe this makes me a neoliberal corporate shill, but I'd rather that the world got better, instead of worse. I would actually prefer that myself, my friends, my family, my whole life, the whole country, and the rest of the world wasn't sacrificed on the Great Revolution Altar, but I shouldn't worry. We have mutual aid. At least as long as a) you have never said anything the Online Leftists even slightly disagree with, since they're sure as hell not the kind of people I would trust to have my back in any large-scale societal collapse, and b) I guess they'll all be growing food in their back gardens too, rather than using any of those dirty "government" or "society" things to supply their basic needs. We're saved! No need to worry. Bring on the anarchy.

Aside from the fact that Online Leftists, as I have said before, think that moral action begins and ends with posting the Right Opinions on social media at the correct timeframe and any other action or engagement with a flawed system or basic reality is heresy, they don't like being challenged -- i.e. "if we don't vote, then what do we do?" -- because a) it questions their authority as supreme arbiters of morality, and b) it means that there should actually be an action in place of cutting out something so consequential as voting, which likewise clashes with their "everything will be fixed by Magical Thinking" viewpoint. They don't want to be asked what to do in place of voting, or in anything at all; they want to think their correct thoughts and judge anyone who doesn't, regardless of how logically incoherent these things are or the inevitable outcome of those decisions, because nothing bad is ever their fault, or even the Republicans' fault, or anyone else at all except for the Democrats and/or "the West." I mean, yeah, if they're going around to preach the Don't Vote Because It's Actually Evil gospel, it's the bare fucking minimum to expect that they have something to offer in return besides Ye Olde Bolshevik cosplay fantasies. Since they don't, they get tetchy when you point that out.

Also, while I know it's the social media fashion that everything has to be the worst thing ever and we have plenty of the "Biden is also a genocidal fascist but I guess vote for him or something" utterly-minimum-standard posts going around, I will point out why that rhetoric is a) wrong and b) unhelpful. (Not that I expect it will make a single difference to anyone who has to get their internet cred by yelling about how Biden is a fascist, but still.) No, Biden is not a fascist by any logical definition of the word, you would have to do a lot of work to convince me that he is personally genocidal beyond what is demanded of any post-1948 American president who exists in an extremely complicated international sphere with long-standing alliances (such as, yes, with Israel) and indeed not quite a bit more progressive than literally every one of his predecessors, and it makes those actual words useless. If you claim that "Biden and Trump are both genocidal fascists," you are utterly effacing those categories as any kind of critical or useful distinction. You can't argue for any difference, you can't point out policy essentials or nuances, you can't make the most basic of empirical observances or come to a judgment on whether any part of that statement is true, because language has been deliberately stripped of meaning and used to score Cool Internet Leftist points. How can we explain what fascism or genocide actually are and what to do about them, if it's just what you call everyone as a matter of course whenever they disagree with you? You can't. That's the point.

Once again: I strongly disagree with the idea of just giving Israel/Netanyahu a blank check to keep committing atrocities, but I also need to repeatedly point out that Biden isn't doing that. His initial unconditional support of Israel after October 7 (which at the time was the correct response) has shifted to a much more measured and conditional approach where he has muted the overtly pro-Israel statements and started talking about a two-state solution and the need to protect the lives of civilians and trying to keep a lid on what could become a REALLY bad situation with all kinds of war-hungry powers eager to jump into the Middle East and blow it completely to hell. As I have said in my other posts, Trump will not do this. Trump will do the exact opposite. Which is why Netanyahu, who doesn't like having his hands tied precisely in the way Biden is doing, is trying so hard to get Trump back in. This also extends to the people who think that the West/the U.S. is the source of all evil in the world, but they're somehow the only people that can make actual choices or have real agency. Everyone else is just an American puppet; everyone is being lied to or manipulated by America/the West; nobody ever chose anything of their own free will; America/the West could roll in and put a stop to everything bad if they "really wanted to," but choose not to because etc. etc., Evil. As such, this completely fact-free belief is basically the central starting point for Online Leftism, which as I have also said, is now beyond useless and verging on just as deranged and actively dangerous as the fascists, especially since they are 100% willing to enable far-right fascism however and whenever they can because something something, That Will Show Us.

Anyway. Yes. Whew.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts #israel hamas war #okay i think i'm done talking about this for today #but yes

[just-a-creep-babe]

A Demon’s Ache — Part 13

Eyeless Jack x Reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

Commissioned by @cookiereblogss — thank youuuuu, I hope you're enjoying the way the story's progressing!! <333333

Requests are closed but commissions are open!

Masterlist: x

Blood runs down his fingers

He clenches his fist around the organ, hears it squelch in his grasp as more of the fluid drips down his forearm, and then he takes another bite

His teeth slice through the organ like butter

A burst of its juice fills his mouth, and he snarls into the meat

Eating has always helped calm him down

It satiates his bloodlust, if but for a moment, which clears his head and makes it easier to think straight

He’s almost ashamed he has to resort to this, but the alternatives are worse; he’s either tense and borderline feral until he tires himself out, or he actually ends up hurting someone because he can’t keep himself in check

And while he isn’t too upset at the prospect of hurting Hoodie right now, he knows he probably shouldn’t

He takes another bite, lets the heady taste fill his mouth, and then he swallows it in one easy motion, practically devouring it whole

He doesn’t know how the fuck he’s supposed to bring Hoodie’s favor up to you

The very next day you sleep with him, he has to arrange some perv-fest so that another guy can creep on you?

What if you’re revolted—what if you want nothing to do with him afterward?

He releases a frustrated sigh, takes the last bite of his food, and then he starts pacing back and forth in his room

It’s been a few hours since he's had that conversation with Hoodie, and the sun has since set, but no matter how many times he turns it over in his head, he can’t think of a way to get out of this

As far as he’s aware, he has no other option

He shouldn’t have taken that deal so lightly

He’s almost relieved when a knock at the door finally interrupts his pacing

Or, at least, he would be relieved if the knock wasn’t so familiar in its loud, urgent impatience

There’s none other than an uncharacteristically worried BEN on the other side of the door when he opens it

Scarlet irises wide with panic, he doesn’t wait for Jack to ask what’s wrong before he speaks

“It’s—it’s Jeff”

Being the mansion’s main doctor for as long as he has been, Jack’s come to understand the severity of an issue just by gauging the creeps’ reactions

Nat, for example, swears a lot when it isn’t serious, but she gets exceptionally quiet when it is serious

Masky gets annoyed when it’s just a flesh wound, and he hisses and grunts a lot when it's a deeper kind of pain

BEN, on the other hand, is hardly ever fazed by any of it

Being dead, he can’t get injured like the rest of them, and even when he does witness someone get hurt, it’s like he’s completely desensitized to it; he either just laughs it off or ignores it

Jack can’t remember ever seeing him this shaken

And when they make it to the infirmary, he can understand why he’s so affected

Jeff’s body is on one of the tables, unconscious, unresponsive

His clothes are ripped and soiled with blood and grime, his skin looks unnaturally pale and clammy—even for him—and although he is breathing, it looks like he’s just barely clinging on

“Christ, what happened to him?” Jack asks, wasting no time inspecting the most obvious wounds

“I-I don’t know,” BEN stutters, “I hadn’t heard from him in a couple of days, so I tried texting and calling, but he wouldn’t answer”

Jack presses his fingers to Jeff’s neck, feels his pulse—faint but present—and makes a quick mental list of the treatments he’ll have to administer

Judging by appearances alone, he realizes he has his work cut out for him for the night

Wasting no time on scissors, he rips Jeff’s clothes off with his hands, the fabric shredding like wet paper, and the full extent of his injuries are revealed

“Shit,” Jack mumbles under his breath at the sight

As if by muscle memory, he maneuvers through the clinic, grabbing all the necessary supplies, and then he quickly gets to work

“I tried checking through his phone, but I couldn’t access it,” BEN’s eyes follow Jack’s movements as he speaks, “so I-I did a scan of the areas I thought he might be in”

“Pass me one of the bags of clear liquid next to that jar of bandages,” he interrupts, holding his hand out, and BEN quickly obeys

There’s a tense, silent pause as Jack loads up a needle, then injects Jeff with whatever that liquid is

Once the contents of the syringe have fully been emptied, BEN resumes

“I found him passed out in an abandoned building, and no matter what I did, he wouldn’t wake up. I thought—I almost thought—“

Jack doesn’t say a word as he gets to the nitty gritty of fixing up Jeff’s broken body

“Is he… is he going to be ok?”

Jack huffs out a bitter, sarcastic laugh

“For better or for worse, he’ll live”

The process of stabilizing and patching Jeff up is slow and tedious work, but all things considered, Jack’s thankful for the distraction it provides

BEN helps however he can, mostly by handing him supplies, but he eventually leaves to check if Jeff left any online traces of his activities

And then the demon's inevitably left alone with his thoughts once more

He tries not to think back on his deal with Hoodie, and instead, he focuses on carefully extracting bullets from the various layers of skin they've penetrated through

The shells clang every time he drops them onto the metallic side table, and while he'd usually keep track of the number of bullets he pulls from someone's body, at this point, he's lost count

He's been shot too many times

Absent-minded, Jack wonders what kind of mess he had to get himself into for things to get this bad

Was he trying to get himself killed?

The last few shells finally come out, and with a sigh, Jack places the now-sticky forceps onto the blood-soaked towel accommodating the various bullets of various shapes and sizes

32, he counts

32 bullet wounds—and that's not even including the rest of his other injuries

If he didn't know any better, Jack would think it's a miracle he survived

But he does know better; he knows the killer's abilities, and he knows he'll be able to shrug this whole thing off with little to no problem and no permanent damages

He knows he won't learn his lesson

Steady hands begin working on the stitches, meticulously pulling needle through skin one thread at a time

He's around halfway through working on one of the larger gashes—going from his shoulder, across his collarbone, and down to his chest—when Jeff starts stirring awake

He shouldn't even be able to wake up with the severity of his bloodloss, but Jeff's body, like Jeff himself, is obnoxiously persistent

EJ considers giving him more sedatives, but he figures he might as well quickly finish these off first

Jamming too many sedatives into someone's system isn't good, and he's almost done with this part anyways

Thankfully, it's only once he's finished the last biggest stitches that Jeff seems to become more lucid

He snips the final remaining black thread, silently hoping Jeff won't tear through them as quickly as he usually does, and then he makes his way to the sink, turns the tap on, and lets the warm water rinse away the blood-soaked stains on his ash-grey hands

He feels Jeff's eyes on his back, but he pays him no mind as he begins cleaning and sanitizing his tools and equipment

Jeff mumbles something under his breath, groaning and cursing with a raspy, dry voice, and Jack sighs

He definitely needs more sedatives by now

He starts getting to work on filling another syringe, and as he presses the needle a few inches deep into Jeff's skin, the human hisses and weakly struggles against him

"Stop moving," Jack commands, his voice quiet and low, but firm and commanding

“You... you think you’re hot shit, don’t you?” Jeff retaliates, his words shaky and uneven as EJ empties out the entirety of the contents into his bloodstream

“You’ve suffered severe blood loss, minor head trauma, fractures to your ribs, collarbone and wrists—not to mention the varying degrees of injuries from multiple knife and bullet wounds," Jack states, "It’s in your best interest to rest right now”

He hopes it’ll be the end of it; Jeff will take the hint, close his crispy burnt eyelids and pass out, but of course, it’s never that simple with someone like Jeff

“You think… just cause she chose you over me… that you’re better than me—don’t you?”

Jack's ears perk up at the dazed accusation

So that's what started all of this

Suddenly intrigued, he looks down at him; damaged, mostly naked, vulnerable and drugged up to the second degree

When people are in this kind of state, Jack knows they tend to be open and honest to a fault, which usually grants him the perfect opportunity to pry whatever information he pleases out of them

“What happened between you and (y/n)?”

He decides it's the best question, the one he's the most curious about, and while he knows he could just ask you about it, he wants to hear what Jeff has to say

The man in question huffs, looking up, and Jack doesn’t fail to notice the unfocused look in his eyes

“I had her,” he mumbles, “I had her…”

His eyelids fall close, his brows furrowing, and Jack recognizes the look as someone struggling to stay awake despite their body shutting down

Jack watches him pass out, watches as his breathing grows deeper and his muscles slacken with sleep

And then, with a dismissive shake of his head, he turns and walks away, leaving him behind on the uncomfortably cold and hard operating table in the grungy clinic

Throughout the night, Jack intermittently returns to check up on him

He does so partially because he needs to refresh his bandages and check up on the fluids hooked up to him, but also because he's curious if he'll mention you again

He, however, doesn't wake back up, so Jack can't pry more information out of him

The next morning, after being in and out of the clinic, Jack prepares himself a dark brew of coffee, and sits down at the empty kitchen table

He hasn't slept much in the past few days, and he still feels fine, but he knows he should probably rest before leaving for that mission

He takes a sip of his drink, the bitter liquid stinging his tongue

Despite everything, it’s a peaceful morning

He’s enjoying his solitude in the empty kitchen when Hoodie suddenly walks in, pouring himself a drink from the still-warm pot, and Jack gets the feeling that his luxury of peace and quiet is just about to run out

“So?” Hoodie starts, taking a seat right next to him, “you ask her yet?”

Jack resists the urge to act on an unsavory impulse by taking a long, deep sip of his coffee

“...No. I haven’t,” he eventually answers

He wants to walk away, wants to avoid this conversation at all costs, but he knows how persistent Slender's proxies can get

Whatever he wants to say, Jack might as well let him say it and get it over with

Hoodie hums, bringing his own drink to his lips, and when he sets his mug back down, there’s a coy, self-satisfied smirk on his face that Jack wants to rip off

“Y’know, we have to leave for that mission soon”

“…”

Jack takes another sip to mask the way his body’s burning with that familiar demonic rage

“If you don’t ask her by the time we leave, I’m asking her first thing as soon as we're back”

Even despite being part demon, Jack doesn’t usually consider himself an angry person

He’s by far incapable of controlling his emotions, unlike Jeff or Masky, for example

But when it comes to you?

You're his weakness

And he swears he’s about to lose it when Nat suddenly walks in, spots the two of them, and grins deviously as she bounces over to them

Jack grits his teeth, trying not to let his anger show through in front of Nat

“Mornin’ chumps!” she exclaims loudly and excitedly, almost like she's actively refusing to read the tension in the room

“Mornin,’” Hoodie answers, reclining in his chair with that obnoxious smirk still plastered on his face

“What’re you two conspiring about? Something related to (y/n), I presume?”

She looks over at Jack, a wicked grin on her face, and he has to hold back a groan

He’d suddenly rather be anywhere but here right now

“I gotta keep an eye out for my homegirl,” she continues, “if I find out either of you are planning something, you’re fucking toast—I hope you realize that”

If Jack could roll his eyes right now, he would

Hoodie, on the other hand, chuckles

“Relax, Nat, we’re not planning anything bad,” he assures, drinking through his coffee

“Nothing bad, but you are planning something?” she quirks a brow at him

Hoodie’s about to open his mouth to speak, undoubtedly to give another non-answer, when Toby notices them from across the room, and also decides to join in

Jack resists the urge to smack his face into his palm

All he wanted was a bit of peace this morning

He swears the creeps have a herd mentality sometimes; despite being predatory creatures, they always gather up in packs like sheep

“Hey! What—what’s everyone t-talking about?”

Toby jerks his shoulder, popping it, and as he sits down, his Tourette’s nearly has him pushing over Jack’s mug, but Jack’s instincts are, thankfully, fast enough to catch it before anything spills over

“Crap, sorry,” he apologizes, “bu-but anyways—are you guys—are you guys talking about w-what happened with—fuck—with Jeff?”

Jack’s ears admittedly perk up at Toby’s question

Where’s this conversation about to go?

“Jeff?” Nat repeats, “What happened with Jeff?”

“B-BEN told me—t-told me that he—fuck—almost die-died or something. Said he had to—had to teleport him here, and Jack—Jack spent almost all—all—a-all night last night trying t-to fix him up”

Everyone’s eyes turn to Jack, who swallows down another mouthful of hot, bitter coffee, but doesn’t say anything

“That true?” Hoodie asks

“Mmh,” he answers

“B-BEN—BEN said it was pretty-pretty bad,” Toby continues, popping his jaw, “s-said he hadn’t seen—hadn’t seen it be that bad in a—in a while”

“Huh,” Nat says, “I wonder what’s been up with him. I guess it has been a while since I’ve seen him around. How long was he out for?”

Toby shrugs, his shoulder jerking again

“Beats me”

There’s a brief moment of quiet as the creeps sit around the table in silent contemplation

But then Nat breaks the silence with a scoff

“Well, whatever,” she shrugs, rolling her eye, “he’s always been a whiny bitch, he’ll get over it”

The topic of conversation shifts after that, and when they’re all enraptured in their discussion, Jack uses the opportunity to quietly slip away

He brings the rest of his coffee to the backyard garden, next to the roses and tulips, and he remembers this as the spot where you told him you wanted to stop seeing him

It feels like a lifetime ago by now, and it brings him a bittersweet kind of relief thinking about how things turned out between you

He wonders what made you change your mind—why, one moment, you didn’t want to sleep with him, and the next, you seemed perfectly content with your arrangement

Not that he’s complaining

He sits at one of the benches, enjoying his solitude once more as his head floods with the thought of you

The thought of you usually never fails to make him feel better

But now, he can't stop thinking about what Hoodie just said to him

Two days

He only has two days left to ask you before that fucker takes matters into his own hands

He runs his fingers through his hair, and then eventually, he realizes that, just like before, the more he waits, the more it'll stress him out

Maybe he should just rip the bandaid off in one fast motion

He takes the very last sip of his coffee, looks around the garden, and nods to himself, trying to hype himself up

He'll be upfront and honest about the whole thing, and he'll make it more than clear that you can refuse

Really, the chances of you agreeing are probably slim to none, anyways

And the sooner he can get this over with, the better

Tonight will be as good a time as any, he decides

He'll ask you tonight

#creepypasta #eyeless jack #eyeless jack x reader #creepypasta x reader #crp

[sluttywoozi]

For Worse Or For Better Part Three

Summary: Wonwoo's got a big question to ask his wife.

Rating: M (18+ MDNI) | Word Count: ~3.5k

Part One | Part Two | Alternate Part Two

Warnings/Notes: fem reader, set six months after part two, not as edited as normal, food cooking and eating, fingering, clit stim, piv sex, bulge kink, breeding kink (no impreg), lmk if i forgot anything

Wonwoo can feel your eyes on him from where you stand in the kitchen. He’d just come out of the shower and attempted to help you with dinner, but you (gently) swatted his hand away from the seasoning rack with a wooden spoon before he could touch anything. So, he accepted his exile and took a seat on the couch. 

From here, he can’t watch you cook unless he turns his head, which is probably for the best.

Something about seeing you dance around the kitchen, singing over the soup and shaking your ass when you thought he wasn’t looking, always got him going. Maybe it’s because that was the start of him falling for you, maybe it’s the way your ass looks in those tiny shorts, maybe it’s how your singing voice kinda sounds like your sex voice. 

And the way you move throughout the whole process? It's like a dance, and your timing is always perfect. 

Just now, you’d made it to the fridge and back in fifteen seconds, grabbing exactly what you needed without a second glance and returning just in time to turn the soup down as it came to a boil. 

Wonwoo doesn’t know why exactly but it does something to him. 

You’re just so natural when you cook; you always know exactly what you’re doing, even without a recipe. 

Especially without a recipe, he thinks. You’re much more confident when you get to decide what goes in and how and when. He’d learned that with the first (and only) Hello Fresh meal box he ordered for you. You’d read over the recipe at least fifteen times and made yourself too nervous to even start. 

Wonwoo canceled the subscription that night and brought the box of ingredients over to Seokmin’s the next day. He’d returned with a gift card to your favorite italian market and all was right in the world. 

He’s pulled from his thoughts when you bounce down onto the couch and throw your legs onto his lap, Mr. Mittens and Queen Bea immediately jumping up to lay on your stomach. His hands move instinctively to hold you, thumb rubbing over your ankle and ears red like a stoplight. 

“Soup just needs to simmer for ten minutes,” you explain, letting yourself fall to your back on the couch, your eyelids fluttering shut. Your breathing gets a bit deeper, not enough for him to think you’re sleeping, just enough for him to know you lied about not being tired. 

Wonwoo’s never more frustrated at his absolute ineptitude in the kitchen than times like these. He wishes he could cook for you, wishes he could care for you in this way, wishes he could take some of the load off. But it’s truly a disaster every time, and whenever he tries, the both of you end up tired and starving. 

He hasn’t told you, wanting to preserve the surprise, but he’s been secretly taking cooking classes for weeks at a local test kitchen. It was daunting at first, being in a kitchen without you around, but he pushed through and recently, he’s even gotten kind of… okay at it? The dishes he makes (under the chef’s careful supervision) are edible and even, dare he say, enjoyable sometimes. 

Wonwoo’s not ready for you to know though, needs to perfect your favorite meal first, and he hopes he’ll have it down by your birthday. It’ll be the first you’ve ever shared with him, and nearly a year to the day since he’d met you and married you, and he wants it to be special. He has a lot of plans for that night, plans that include an engagement ring and two tickets to Paris, and it all needs to be perfect. 

For now, he’ll just trace your soft skin with his fingers and eat your delicious food and make sure the kitchen is spotless after every meal. 

You’ll be home from class soon, and Wonwoo’s a whirlwind of anxiety and speed as he flits around the kitchen, checking temperatures and stirring sauces and lighting candles. The table is already set, your wine glass adorned with a charm and the ring he’d painstakingly picked out, and Wonwoo’s trying to pretend he’s not about to have a cardiac event while he waits for you. 

Everything’s done, and as perfect as he can possibly make it, and he hears the key turn in the lock just as he’s setting the main dish down on the table. 

You look beautiful, sighing as you hang your keys on the shelf and shed your coat, your pumps kicked off immediately and your hands reaching up the back of your shirt to undo your bra. You remove it somehow, an ability Wonwoo has always marveled at, and tiredly make your way down the hallway towards him, stopping short when you see the dining table and Wonwoo standing nervously next to it. 

He’d changed into a different suit, the one he wore to the company gala that had changed everything, and you tear up before you even catch sight of the wine glass held in his hand. 

You float to him, walking your way straight into his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist, and, hugging you back with his free arm, he presses a kiss to the side of your head and whispers, "Hi baby, happy birthday."

Queen Bea yells a meow, weaving through your feet and rubbing up against you until you break away from Wonwoo and lean down to pick her up, scritching her under the chin and letting her jump from your arms when she starts wriggling away. 

You sigh, “Thanks, honey,” and faceplant into his chest again, and Wonwoo worries you won’t be up for a dinner like he’s got planned tonight. He’d be a bit disappointed but he just wants to make you happy, so if you decide to throw your jammies on and watch White Collar for the fifth time, he’ll support you. 

“You look so handsome and you smell so good and I love you so much, let me go put my dress on, I’ll be right back,” you mumble into his pecs, and he releases you and watches with fondness as you stumble to the bedroom. 

You emerge with tired eyes and messy hair, clad in the silk dress you’d worn that night, and Wonwoo doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone prettier in his life. Pressing a kiss to his cheek, you take the wineglass and swallow a big gulp with a hum, barely noticing the clinking of the ring against the base of the glass. 

He’ll let you see it on your own time and pulls out your chair, gently pushing it back in once you sit and lay the napkin down on your lap. Your eyes rove over all of the steaming plates and dishes, growing wide when you look around and don’t see any takeout containers. 

“Where’d all this come from, babe?” you ask, confusion quirking your brow though you pick up the fork as Wonwoo serves you. 

He bites his lips before answering excitedly, “I made it!”

You pause with a bite inches from your lips, your mouth open and your eyes caught on him. Eyeing your fork pensively, you observe the way he’s nearly vibrating in his chair and slowly place the fork in your mouth, keeping your gaze on him as you chew. Your eyes narrow, your brows furrowing, and Wonwoo feels his heart drop into his stomach. Fuck, you hate it, it’s awful, he’s poisoned you, he’s poisoned his wi-

“What the fuck, Wonwoo, this is fucking delicious!” you breathe, still glaring at him as you bring another bite to your mouth, chewing suspiciously. 

He feels like he could fly, but also like he could sweep all his work off this table and fuck you stupid on it, so he settles for beaming and saying, “I’ve been taking classes, I wanted to surprise you for your birthday! Do you like it?”  

You lay a hand on his arm and swallow with a dreamy sigh before responding, “Wonwoo, I love it, I would kiss you if my mouth wasn’t so busy.”

He smiles his most pleased smile and dances in his chair, serving himself and letting out a low woah when he tastes the food he’d made. 

Of course Wonwoo tasted it while he was cooking, but the end result is so much better than he expected and now he knows why you were suspicious. It is good, and he makes a mental note to send flowers both to the chef who taught the classes and to Mingyu for recommending them. 

You take a sip of wine, the ring still unnoticed, and Wonwoo starts to feel a bit antsy. He’s not sure how to draw attention to the charm without being completely obvious, and he wants to know what you’ll say! Based on the past six months, he’s fairly sure you’ll say yes but there’s always the chance you won’t.

Wonwoo thinks he’d be able to bear it if you said no (lie). 

You chat about your day through bites of food and hums, trying a bit of each dish and complimenting every one, finishing off your wine and holding your glass out for more when he offers. It must have been a tough lecture today, and Wonwoo remembers that you had a meeting with your thesis advisor too, and asks how it all had gone. 

You groan, your head tipping back before you tell him that you’re on track to graduate but that you’ll need to rework your thesis a bit and you’re dreading finding more sources. He can’t do much to help besides offering you his hand and promising to go to the library with you whenever he can, but that seems to be enough and you relax with a squeeze of your fingers around his. 

You’re on your third glass and Wonwoo’s on his second, the both of you delightfully tipsy as you finish up dinner. He figures it you haven’t seen the ring yet, tonight’s not the night, and rises to start clearing the table. 

You stand to help, pulling the strap of your dress back up when it slips and following him to the kitchen with all the dishes you can carry, wine glass held in the crook of your arm. 

You pack away the leftovers while Wonwoo sheds his jacket and rolls up his sleeves, donning the dishwashing gloves before starting to wash up. He can feel your fond gaze on him and soon enough, your hands wind around his stomach and your body presses to his back in a hug. He squeezes your arms with his elbows and carries on with the washing, moving with you when you start to sway to the music you’d turned on. 

Wonwoo’s still in disbelief a bit that he gets to be so domestic with you after six months of dreaming about it, of you cooking alone and him washing the dishes alone, of not being able to touch you or love you out loud, and suddenly, he’s desperate for you to see the ring, so he asks, “Can you take the charm off of your glass? I can’t with the gloves.”

You hum and let go of his abdomen, trailing a hand around his waist as you move to his side and take the wine glass carefully. You blink sleepily as you bring it closer to your face, freezing when you catch sight of what’s attached to the charm. 

“Wonwoo… is this-,” you begin slowly, too slowly for Wonwoo, and he interrupts you, “It’s a ring. An engagement ring. I know we did the married part already but I- I never actually got to ask you.”

Your lip quivers, your eyebrows screwing up as your watery eyes meet his, your hand clutching the glass so tightly he fears the stem will break. With shaky fingers you remove the charm and hand him the ring, the metal cool in his palm and the tile hard under his knee as he kneels and looks up at you. 

You’re already holding out your hand, bouncing on the balls of your feet and beaming tearily at him, and Wonwoo takes a deep breath before whispering, “Baby, I love you more than anything. Will you please stay married to me?” 

You shriek a giggle and wiggle your fingers, inching closer to him as you nearly shout, “Yesyesyesyesyes, Wonwoo, yes!” 

The laugh bubbles up out of his chest along with all of the stress and fear he’d felt leading up to this moment, and he slides the ring on your fourth finger with confidence, catching you when you drop down and straddle his knee. Your hands fly to cup his face and pull him into a deep kiss, your tongue swiping along his bottom lip and sliding inside his mouth when he opens for you with a groan, clumsily setting his glasses on the counter and shifting so he can sit cross legged on the floor and tug you into his lap. 

Wonwoo can already feel his dick swelling in his dress pants, the zipper pressing uncomfortably against his hardening length when you grind down. He doesn’t mind, your heat is enough to distract him and he realizes he can feel it, feel your wetness starting to seep into the material, and slides his hand up your thigh to cup you, his palm meeting your bare pussy. 

“Fuck, have you been naked under this dress the whole time?” he breathes on a moan, two fingers sinking inside you with ease and his thumb starting to glide over your clit when you nod with a smirk. 

You’re so warm and fucking soaking wet already, and Wonwoo’s so obsessed with you, so lucky to be your husband, so ecstatic you want to keep being married to him, and he’s not sure he can wait. He wants to be inside you right now, needs to feel your heat wrapped around him, needs to be close to you, so he slides another finger inside and spreads them, rubbing insistent circles around your clit with his thumb until you cry out and your walls start to flutter around his digits. 

Wonwoo fucks you with his fingers through your orgasm, thrusting in and out of your clenching pussy and pushing through the tightness when you squeeze down harder, his fingertips hooking into your g-spot and drawing the pleasure out. 

You’re whining, shaking under his touch, and he tugs at one tie on your shoulder until the bow comes loose and your dress dips to expose your breasts, dropping his head to wrap his lips around a nipple and start working you up to a second climax. It’s easy, always easy after the first and with just a few more curls of his fingers and a bit more pressure on your clit, you’re pulsing around him again, whining into his neck and jerking your hips into his hand. 

Your hands shoot down to undo his pants, pulling his cock out and shoving your dress up enough to line him up and sink down, your pussy swallowing his whole cock in one swift motion. 

It normally takes Wonwoo a bit longer to work his way inside you and the molten velvet that suddenly surrounds him has his head spinning, lost in you and the heat of your cunt. You start moving immediately, hips swiveling and breasts bouncing and Wonwoo leans back, braces himself on one hand and pulls you closer to his chest with the other, holding you to him as he starts fucking into you harshly. He bottoms out with each thrust, your pussy so slick that wetness splatters his cloth covered thighs every time he drives himself into you and your head tips back, your plush lips opening on a long moan, your voice wavering with the rhythm of his hips. Fuck, you’re so-

“You’re so fucking pretty, baby, my pretty little wife, shit,” Wonwoo groans, his chest rumbling against yours and he really wishes he could feel your warm body against his, feel your nipples dragging against his skin, feel your soft breasts pressing into pecs, and he tries desperately to unbutton his shirt but finds his fingers aren’t working. He’s almost frantic with the desire to feel you, fingertips scrabbling at the buttons before he gives up, grunts a fuck it, and rips his dress shirt open and off, pings echoing around the kitchen as the buttons fly against the cabinets.  

You moan and tighten around him, your pussy clamping down, sucking his cock deeper, and Wonwoo just can’t get close enough so he wraps both arms around you and shifts forward until he can fuck you into the tile, tattered cotton shoved underneath you so your bare back doesn’t touch. 

He lifts your legs into the crooks of his arms and bends over you, folding you in half and placing his palms by your shoulders, thighs nearly straddling yours as he drives his hips into you. Wonwoo’s face is inches from yours like this, and he can watch every flutter of your eyelashes, every quiver of your lips, every twitch of your brow while he fucks you. 

Your arms weakly twine around his neck and you cry out with every thrust, the noise punched out of you by his cock and when his stomach presses flat to yours, he swears he can feel something bumping against him. There’s not enough space in his brain to think too much about it, his mind reeling with every sound you make, every expression that crosses your face, every clench of your perfect pussy around his throbbing cock. 

On the next dig of his cock into you, Wonwoo angles his hips up just a bit and feels that bumping again, realizes it’s his fucking dick he can feel through the muscle and fat of your tummy, and thank fuck you’re cumming because he is too, his cock jumping and swelling and flooding you with searing hot cum. Your walls pulsate around him, milking his dick of every drop until it coats the base in a ring of white, his still hard length plugging you up and keeping the rest inside you even as your tight cunt tries to push him out. Your eyes are squeezed shut, your mouth stuck open in a silent scream, and when he roots his cock deep inside of you one last time, you suck in a wet gasp and flutter your damp lashes open to look up at him. 

Wonwoo returns your gaze, his eyes half lidded and his face slack with pleasure, lungs expanding and contracting rapidly against yours as he tries to catch his breath. You send him a sleepy smile and crane your neck up to peck his nose, making him chuckle and press his forehead into your sternum, sighing at the feeling of your fingers running through his hair and scratching at his scalp. He could fall asleep like this, wants to, but he’s still got you twisted up like a pretzel and you must be getting uncomfortable by now so he pulls back slowly, releasing your legs and rubbing over your thighs as he starts to withdraw his cock from you.

Your hands shoot down to his hips and drag them back into you, and Wonwoo looks up in question and concern just before you whine, “It’ll be so messy,” with a pout. 

You’re right, and Wonwoo knows neither of you will want to clean cum off of marble, so he scoops your hips up into his lap and tugs the shirt down to lay under your ass, setting you down and gently pulling out, his cum dribbling out of you and onto the cotton. 

He shakily helps you up, his knees not much stronger than yours, and lets you stumble off to start the shower while he cleans and disinfects the floor. 

Gasping when he realizes he still hadn’t told you about the tickets to Paris, or the month-long trip around Europe he’s got planned for your graduation, Wonwoo speeds to the bedroom to place the tickets on top of the pajamas you’d set out. 

He heads to the bathroom and catches sight of you through the fogged up glass doors. You’re wearing nothing but your wedding and engagement rings, and Wonwoo’s eyes slide down your body with the suds, loving gaze lingering on all his favorite spots. He watches you as he strips absentmindedly, awed that he gets to have this, have you, every day. 

And now that you’ve said yes, he gets to have you for the rest of his life, too. 

AN: Okieeee im gonna take a lil break to deal with some things and hopefully come back with chapters of it's nice to have a friend and part three of like a cowboy

i might check tumblr periodically but i won't be around much, please be kind to me in the meantime!

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[goodday-goodmorn]

Alright! Starting this shitshow of a blog off strong with a platonic yandere Bruce Wayne fic!

Heavily inspired by- @blughxreader and their batman stuff! Go check ‘em out- (specifically the one with poor reader and the rooftop escape, those are my fav’s <3)

———————————————-

Also inspired by this qoute:

'They can't do that,' she said finally. 'It's the one thing they can't do. They can make you say anything -- anything -- but they can't make you believe it. They can't get inside you.' (Gorge Orwells, 1984)

“You know, i’m pretty sure that you helping me right now would be going against natural selection.”

Bruce sent you a look, something dark in his eyes. You knew it was coming however and shamelessly avoided looking at him for that exact reason. Under normal circumstances you wouldn’t have said that, he never was one for jabs or jokes that hinted in any way about you dying.

“You’re kind of a mother hen ya know that? I mean, i knew before but this is really solidifying it ya know?”

It was a deflection and you both knew it, usally Bruce wouldn’t let you get away with those. But once again, these were not the usual circumstances. Truth be told he was probably just glad you were talking again, that you had some life back in your eyes, albeit only a small amount.

“Your soup is getting cold.”

Ah damn it. You were hoping he wouldn’t notice. A stupid hope, consdiering he notices fucking everything.

“So it is.”

…

A sigh, “Kid, you need to eat.” You knew what it meant. It was a silent question, ‘are we gonna do this the easy way or the hard way?’, because either way, you would be eating.

You swallowed, truth be told, you didn’t have the motivation to eat. Nor the appetite, but the alternative was him talking you through every bite and you really didn’t want that right now.

So with a sigh of your own you picked up the spoon, at least you didn’t have to cook anything, all you had to do was eat what was in front of you. You could do that. Barely any effort. It was simple.

So simple.

The spoon stays in the bowl, your hand resting on it as you stare at the soup.

It’s delicious, you know it is, Alfred's food always is, and he’d made one of your favorites too. Something nice and hearty so you would be full for a while and wouldn’t have to go through the effort of eating again too soon.

Bruce was watching you when you looked up, ever watchful, ever observant, waiting to see if he had to intervene.

You swallowed, you never liked it when he stared too hard. His gaze was always so intense. With heavy limbs, you scoop a spoonful of soup and start eating.

Bruce’s gaze softens and he lets out a soft, “Thank you.” He ruffles your hair and you don’t have the will to stop yourself from leaning into it right now.

Give and take, give and take…

You eat in silence, you’re propped up on some pillows on the bed, Bruce is sitting next to the bed on a chair.

Maybe it had been a stupid idea to ask for him, a very stupid idea but at the time you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t deal with the boy’s clinging, not like this. Not when you woke up feeling like anything but a person.

See, a few hours ago, you woke up and felt fatigued, and apathetic. Two oncoming signs of a depressive episode.

It only got worse as the day went on, you tried to be alright- you really did but, you just couldn’t do it. This whole act of playing house with the Wayne’s was already tiring enough, but for your own sanity you had to keep it up.

After all, if you fought hard against all their afflictions they would only dig their heels in and make your situation a lot worse so- you always figured from the beginning it was better to give in early.

At least, on the surface anyway. Not resist their affections, hell you hadn't even once pulled any sort of escape attempt, or tried anything. You’d barely even argued either.

Your lack of resistance was met with open arms and eagerness. Of course- they knew you were only pretending, that you didn’t view them as family, but they knew it was only a matter of time until you came around.

After all, if you act for something long enough, your brain will eventually start to believe it.

Alas, you were a stubborn little shit, and giving in voluntarily had only seemed to help you keep up this mentality longer.

Until this morning anyway.

When you woke up, feeling like shit and simply couldn’t deal with playing house with your ‘brothers’. So, in your moment of weakness, when you didn’t want to do anything or let them drag you around or cuddle or watch movies, you had done something rather unexpected.

Which of course, was to simply shut down.

They were worried as shit, but when they finally did manage to get you to talk, your shaky whisper of, “I want dad.” -Had been shocking, worrying and exciting all at once.

(It had also been a touch too real, your voice had sounded so small, so far away, and in that moment you really did just want the comforting presence of Bruce.)

So now you were here, so deep into the throws of not being a person you barely felt like moving; sitting in your bed with none other than Bruce Wayne by your bedside, stroking your hair lovingly.

You were done with the soup now, as much as you could eat anyway, before Bruce could even say anything you reasoned with him, “I’ll eat more later. Promise.”

Promises held a lot of weight here. Something practically unbreakable, Especially with Bruce. Especially with you, maybe that’s just because you liked when they had weight. It was nice; To have a concrete thing to swear on that you knew would not be broken.

Bruce probably used them to build trust in his words or something, you didn’t know, and quite frankly you didn’t care right now because well- you got to use them too so…

He thinks for a moment, and then nods, agreeing easily, “Okay.” And with that he takes the bowl from you. He’s… he’s rather agreeable right now, usually he would confirm or try and fight you more on that.

Maybe he was being more lenient because you willingly came to him? Or because you were being open right now, or maybe because he felt bad for what you were going through or-

Gods you don’t have enough energy to ponder this.

You nod and lay back down, he guides you down most of the way. Now you’re back like before, lying in bed, cheek smushed against your pillow, starting at him blankly.

You break the silence as he pulls the blanket over you.

“What type of bird do you think everyone would be?”

He looks back to you, a small upturn of his lips and eyes crinkled slightly in an amused manner. “Why do you ask?”

You shrug, “Bored.”

A partial truth. In reality you were thinking about all that poetic shit about you being like a bird in a fancy golden cage. A very very well cared for bird with access to some deep fucking pockets but you know, still in a cage. Even if the cage is real fancy and has amazing food, even better wifi, and a home movie theater.

(You think Bruce would let you install an indoor pool? Or a jacuzzi. …He probably would. You should ask sometime, ah- you’re getting off track here.)

So anyway- fancy bird poems and then you started thinking about what type of bird you would be and then it kinda spiraled from there.

“Hm. Well, that depends, who do you wanna start with?”

“Mmm… Alfred, cause i think he’s the easiest.”

A little amused quirk of his brow, “What bird is he then?”

“Penguin. Cause he’s always dressed all fancy, and penguins got that sleek fancy vibe about them. They are kinda short for Alfred though…”

Bruce nods, as if taking your words into consideration, “Emperor penguin then. They’re the biggest penguin species.”

Contuiting on just to have something to blabber about you confidently say, “Jason is an emu.”

——————

After a very engaging deep dive into what types of birds everyone was-

(Tim was a woodpecker on account of all the times you’ve seen him slam his head into his desk while working; Dick was an ostrich because if Jason was an Emu then those two had to match; Cassandra got the honor of being a crow; Damien was a kinglet, a ruby crowned kinglet, purely because they are small and for some reason you only recall pictures of seeing those bird look annoyed, Bruce was a harpy eagle because they look big and grumpy, And finally you were a pigeon.)

-You were now half asleep as Bruce read to you like you were a little kid.

It was… nice. Like all the other times you were forced to hang out with the Wayne family. (Only this time you hadn’t been forced, you had called for him.) Nice but with that ever present little weight in the back of your mind, reminding you of just how much these people had taken from you.

Right now though, that little weight was… it was a lot easier to ignore.

You let Bruce’s calming voice wash over you, you were barely listening at this point but he paid no kind to your lack of attention.

This was nice.

No one had ever taken care of you when you went into one of your episodes before. Usually you had to suck it up and work yourself up to go get some food and water before laying in bed until the feeling went away.

It was a terrible feeling, a staggering sensation just on the edge of emptiness. But not there enough for you to not feel anything, it was almost as if everything was muted. All sensations dull, your thoughts weren't but you were apathetic to them.

In short, it sucked. Majorly.

But now, here you were, tucked into bed, fed a warm hearty meal, and being read to with such tenderness and care.

You didn’t even notice that your eyes started to water. But Bruce did. He noticed everything.

Gently, so gently, he wiped away the tear about to fall from your eye. His own were soft as they stared at you. Soft and filled with a look you couldn’t decipher, a look you didn’t want to decipher because the closest thing you could even begin to compare it to was- …was love.

Love.

Fuck- love.

You knew there was something wrong with this family, of course you did- they kidnapped you for pete’s sake, but- but they also had been unconditionally kind to you didn’t they?

You… You couldn’t-

“-do this anymore.”

Your voice was soft, just barely above a whisper. A quiet confession.

‘I can’t do this anymore.’

Bruce sighed, his voice level, but quiet, fitting of the atmosphere. “You don’t have to, it’ll be so much easier if you just give in kiddo.”

He cupped your face in his hand. His own skin was scarred, rough, callous, and yet he held you with such care. It was almost reverent. He gazed at you with an almost sad look, as if your passive struggle hurt you more than him.

(It probably did. He didn’t have anything to worry about after all, you would break eventually. You could only keep telling yourself this was pretend for so long.)

“…”

Stubborn. Always so stubborn in the most muted way; silence. You weren't one to make large outbursts, or outwardly resist, but even so, passive stubbornness. It was something Bruce was fond of; how resilient you were.

You look away from his gaze, not meeting his eyes. His eyes, always so intense, always so much behind those icy blue scaleras.

“Is it-“ You start, the chemical imbalance in your brain making you honest right now.

You realize suddenly that this is the first real conversation you’ve had in months. There was no keeping up the act here. No holding your tongue or dancing with your words, no overthinking about what response would make you the perfect sibling, the perfect child. No catering, no push and pull of deciding how much of you you want to put into your words.

This was honest. The most honest you’ve been since you were kidnapped.

Bruce tilts his head slightly, patiently waiting for you to continue. He could sense a breakthrough, and he always did know when it was better to hold his tongue.

“…Is it worth it?” You say, eyes filled with so much emotion simmering just under the surface.

Bruce has a good idea as to what you’re asking. He knows you. Knows the way you think, the way you come to conclusions, your speech patterns, he knows you well.

(And yet it’s not nearly as much as he wants to. He wants to know more, to know everything, he wants for you to share such details about yourself willingly. He wants you to come to him after a rough day and listen to you rant. He wants to hear you laugh as you discover a new interest. He wants-)

“Yes.”

He strokes your hair gently, voice impossibly soft.

“It’s worth it.”

He answers your asked, unasked questions without a moment's hesitation.

‘Is it worth it to do all this? To keep me here against my will? To have me locked away like some canary in a gilded cage?’

“If it means you are safe and happy.”

“Is this really happiness?”

“It can be if you let it.”

“…”

“Don’t you like it here? You have a loving family, a nice house, you never have to worry about food or safety ever again.”

“…”

He cups your face with both his hands now, making you meet his gaze. Always intense. Too intense. You can’t handle the weight of his love for you.

Flicking your eyes to the wall you mumble, “There’s a saying. If you love something, let it go.” It’s weak, half hearted, you aren’t even sure you really mean it. (You aren’t even sure if you want to be let go anymore… you can’t imagine returning to a life before all this.)

(And Bruce knows this.)

You look back at him, meeting his eyes because you- you just- you know it’s stupid to ask but you can’t stop yourself-

“Why?”

You don’t need to explain any further. Bruce always seems to know what you’re asking.

‘Why me? Why do any of this? Why go through all the trouble just to keep some random kid?’

“Because I love you.”

He says it so easily. So simply, so calmly, as if it is undeniable fact, so once more you ask with more feeling this time,

“Why?”

You can’t stop yourself from leaning into his hold as he gently presses a kiss to your forehead. It’s childish, it’s stupid, it’s dumb, it’s humiliating-

He wipes away new forming tears, still cupping your face, “Because you’re precious.”

You choke out, “You don’t even know me.”

“So then, let me know you.”

Weakly, you shake your head, his hands fall from your face as you choke out, “I- I don’t- i can’t.”

“Hey, look at me sweetheart.”

You do, looking up at him and seeing only the love of a father. You don’t know how to handle such a sight. It’s foreign and it burns and yet, you are drawn in like a moth to a flame.

“We already love you kid. Nothing could change that.”

“You love the idea of me.” You counter, shuffling to prop yourself up a bit because laying down for this just seems too- too vulnerable.

He sighs, “If you think that then we seriously should have had this talk sooner.” He mentally tsk’s, he knows he’s been putting it off for so long because well- you’ve been good. And the family was happy and you were adjusting better than anyone expected you to.

It seems his negligence has resulting in this problem growing however.

He says your name, folds his hands and looks at you calmly, “-If the family wanted another child, then we would have gone to an orphanage.”

You swallow, he continues, “But, we didn’t want just any old person. We wanted you.”

You try to deny his words, no one’s ever wanted that before, and yet you can’t. Because it’s the only thing that even begins to make sense in your head. The only logical reason any of this would have happened.

You can’t deny it.

They love you.

They’re insane, they kidnapped you and yet- yet they- it doesn’t-

“-make sense.” You whisper, even though it’s the only thing that makes any semblance of sense.

“I know, you’re confused and not used to this and scared, but you’re the only thing holding yourself back. If you just let yourself believe we’re a family, you’ll feel so much better. This mindset is only hurting you sweetheart, you need to let it go.”

You look at him, eyes wet and so vulnerable as you whisper in a small voice, “I don’t know how to.”

And he pulls you close now, into a hug, it’s a bit of an awkward angle because he’s on a chair next to the bed and you’re on the bed, but you barely even notice with the way he’s pressing you to his chest. He’s warm as he wraps his arms around you and gently strokes your hair, consisting, comforting.

“We’ll be there every step of the way, start small.”

You shudder. The weight in the back of your mind is back in full force. He's asking you to give up your last bit of resistance. Your last act defiance. He’s asking you to give yourself up voluntarily. To fully endorse the idea that they are your family.

The worst part is, you don’t find yourself all that horrified with the idea.

If anything, you’re more scared that you’ll mess up somehow and piss them off with the real you and end up locked in a basement or something.

You don’t- you don’t know how to have a family. How to have siblings, a father- you don’t know how to interact or what to say and what to do- what if you fuck it up? what if you aren’t acting enough like a family and-

“-breathe with me kid. Com’on, in for 5.” He’s stroking your hair still, talking with you as he counts. You find yourself unconsciously following the deep rumble of his words.

“That’s it… hold for 4. One, two-“ It’s actually really nice to listen to him. Pressed so close like this you can hear the purr and rumble of his words in his chest. You can feel his chest expand with his own steadying breaths.

“Exhale for 6. One, two, three-“ You repeat his number sequence until you find your breathing is back to normal. Not that you had noticed how frantic it got to begin with.

Bruce hums, you feel the vibrations. You can hear his heartbeat like this. It’s nice, being held in his arms. “Good job kid, better?” His voice is a smooth rumble.

You nod weakly against him.

The two of you stay like that for a bit, him holding you as you listen to each other's heartbeats. You ground yourself with his and find your eyes drooping once more with sleep.

You make a noise; a hum of sorts and he sends you his own in return, soft, questioning.

“I-“ You clamp your mouth shut, thinking about what you’re about to say, thinking about if this is what you really want.

In the end you settle on this being the best choice, “I’ll try.” You swallow, mouth suddenly feeling dry, Bruce doesn’t give you any time to regret it though. He presses his face to your hair, affectionate.

“I’ll make the transition as comfortable as possible.” He promises against your hair, not being able to hide the smile in his voice.

You swallow again, starting up with slight nerves clear in your voice, “B-but i told you i’m not exactly very likable s-so don't regret it when i start speaking my mind and-“

That gets a laugh out of him, an amused kid huff, “You can’t possibly be any worse than Jason or Damein.”

You give a weak smile, “I dunno old man, think I could give ‘em a run for their money in bluntless.”

Bruce is smiling, you see it when he pulls away and looks down at you with such adoration. “We’ll have to see then.”

He’s happy, more than happy at finally hearing you be you. As much as he wants to keep you in his arms and listen to you for the rest of eternity however, that was a rather exhausting conversation. You look more than ready for some rest.

Gently, (always so gentle with you, as if you were somthing to be treasured), he laid you back down on the bed.

You let yourself be tucked in. You let him press a kiss to the top of your head. You let him turn off the lights.

“Um hey B- D-Dad?”

Bruce notices the slip up, but he lets it go. You’ve just made a lot of progress, and you’re clearly trying.

“Yes?”

“Do you uh- can i call you something else? Dad just feels really weird and kinda artificial at times so I was thinking maybe something more natural like maybe Pops? Or something like that i don’t know i just-“

“Of course you can.” He cuts off your nervous ramble easily, “You can call me whatever feels most natural, kid.”

You suck in a breath, soothed by his clam tone.

“O-okay. Cool… cool cool cool. Uh well then, could you maybe- maybe er- read to me? If that’s- if that’s alright..?”

Bruce was so proud of you. So much progress was made not too long ago and you were already trying to push yourself out of your comfort zone. You were trying so hard, bless you, you precious darling child.

He turned on the bedside lamp and took his seat on the chair once more, picking up the abandoned book.

Truth be told, Bruce was a busy man and he should be leaving because he has patrol in an hour, but he’ll be damned if he can’t carve out time for you. Especially when you asked to see him today.

(Especially when you were finally willing to view him as a father.)

“Would you like me to continue this one or do you want a different book?”

You jerkily nod, “That one’s fine.”

So, he begins to read once more, his voice a calming drawl that washes over you. Your eyelids grow heavier and heavier, and soon you are yawning and drifting off.

Once Bruce is sure you’re asleep he closes the book. With such a soft gaze he gently brushes the hair out of your face, smiling to himself. Then he gets up and turns the light off, walking out of your room and letting the door close with a soft click.

He isn’t surprised to find all of his boys camping out at the door.

He sighs, looking over the lot of them. From the looks of it they’ve been camping out here all day, or have been continuously coming back.

The only one who even has the decency to act sheepish that he’d been caught is Dick, and even then, he barely looks sorry.

Bruce shakes his head fondly at his boys, ushering them all out of the hallway to your room to let you sleep in peace

#reader insert #fanfic of a fanfic #fiction #bruce wayne #platonic yandere #Dad Bruce wayne #i can’t believe i’m posting this #this is very self indulgent #inspiration #Wrote this after reading some of Blugh’s stuff late one night #fanfic #Erm- Blugh if ur seeing this hi? #platonic yandere batfam #Darker undertones #(?) kinda #dark themes #not super tho

[phoenixyfriend]

Calls for Action, Call Your Reps: 2/13/24

This is USA-specific, as that is the place I live and know.

Find your elected officials.

Today, much of my information is coming from Democracy Now!, which I generally listen to as a podcast (functionally, it is a radio news broadcast, like NPR or BBC), and I am quoting from the text versions on their website.

The Senate passed a $95 billion military funding package for Ukraine, Israel and Taiwan in the pre-dawn hours this morning. But the bill’s fate remains unclear after House Speaker Mike Johnson dismissed the measure over its failure to include hard-line immigration restrictions. This comes after Johnson and other Republicans rejected an earlier version of the bill which did contain the border crackdown they had demanded. Johnson has told Republican congressmembers he will call a House vote on a stand-alone funding bill for Israel.

From the same page, we are hearing that President Biden is urging Israel to refrain from invading Rafah, where a million or so Palestinians are currently sheltering, but is not actually threatening any kind of repercussions for said invasion. Reports from both official sources (e.g. the Hamas-run health ministry) and less official (e.g. American doctors returning from relief services in Palestine) indicate that over half of the deaths in Palestine are children.

I am not going to pretend that I know what is going through Biden's head.

Both House and Senate:

Reinstate funding for UNRWA. While the claims made by Israel that employees of the relief agency were involved in Oct. 7th are troubling, THEY are not well supported, and western officials did not do their duty in investigating the claims before cutting funding. This arm of the UN is currently providing food, water, shelter, and medical care to the 2.3 million displaced peoples of Gaza. It is especially disturbing and concerning that the many children of Gaza, who are already suffering due to this conflict, are now having this support revoked. Many sources are also claiming that the evidence is flimsy at best.

Urge both Senate and House to refrain from funding Israel, or to at least put some strings on it. The IDF cannot be given funding without some regulations on what they can do with it. They have proven that they are unwilling to take steps to protect civilians.

FOR THE SENATE: Urge your senator to put their support behind Bernie Sanders and his motion to restrict funding to Israel until a humanitarian review of the IDF’s actions in Gaza has been completed. Cite it as Senate Resolution 504 if your Senator is right-wing enough to react negatively to the mention of Sanders by name. NOTE: This resolution was TABLED by the Senate on 1/16, but it is being brought back in as conditions continue to escalate.

FOR THE HOUSE: Urge your representative to put their support behind Rep. Rashida Tlaib’s petition for the US government to recognize the IDF’s actions in Gaza as ethnic cleansing and forced displacement, and put a stop to it. ALTERNATELY: recommend that they support House Resolution 786, introduced by Rep. Cori Bush, Calling for an immediate deescalation and cease-fire in Israel and occupied Palestine.

On the House Floor this week, to call your rep about:

H.Res. 994: Married persons tax break. Vote nay. Loses billions in tax revenue and explicitly targets green energy.

H.R. 2766 and H.R. 4039: Condemnation of China's actions against the Uyghurs. Can't tell you which way to talk on this. Seems good on the surface, but given who's presenting it, I worry there's something worse tucked into the text. Hopefully someone can provide a better take.

H.R. 3016: IGO Anti-Boycott Act. Vote Nay. This appears to be intended to force US companies to do business with US allies instead of participating in boycotts. This appears, to me, to be an attack on movements like BDS. To Dem Reps, argue that this refuses the right of peaceful protest to US citizens. To Republican Reps, argue that this is a dangerous government overreach and that it is not the right of the government to force US citizens to purchase products and materials from specific foreign partners.

H.Res. 966: Condemnation of sexual violence perpetrated by Hamas against Israel on Oct. 7. Vote Nay. We know sexual violence is bad. Hamas has already been condemned for their actions. This is, at best, lip service. It is a waste of time. There are much bigger, more impactful things to work on, and this is going to waste time and resources in the Senate if it passes.

If you wish to support my political blogging, I am accepting donations on ko-fi.

#Phoenix Politics #current events #united states #are you guys interested in me continuing to do this? should I start including my ko-fi link? #Israel #Palestine #Gaza

[tired-fandom-ndn]

I completely agree with gravecest having a breeding kink but I'm so obsessed with an AU where they break into the house and learn that their parents decided to try one more time with having kids and they run into a baby in their parents new place, clearly left to fend for itself while their mom was doing that grocery run. So many mixed emotions about being replaced but also knowing that even with this one they were fucking up, and wanting to prove they were better than their parents by raising the kid together (which also sells them as "Mr. and Mrs. Graves). And also makes them weird dark mirror reflections to A Series of Unfortunate Events :)

ANON YOU GET MEEEEEEEE

But god, the Graves parents completely restarting EVERYTHING. They have new jobs, a new house, new lives, why shouldn't they have a new child too? A perfect, normal child for their new, perfect lives? One that isn't fucked up like their other two, because obviously the problem was that Andrew and Ashley just Weren't Right, the Graves parents would never consider that their own parenting could've played a role in how their children turned out. Everything will be right now.

(They adopt instead of trying to have another on their own; pregnancy sucks and the agency was more than happy to help a pair of grieving parents start over.)

Except babies are loud and they're gross and they're annoying and they're so needy. They can tolerate working from home on alternating days, because they don't have an older child to dump their baby on and a babysitter is just a waste of money, but neither of them like it and the baby is left to cry in its crib more often than not, the monitor turned off because it's just so annoying. And sometimes Mrs. Graves just needs a break. Babies are sturdy, it'll be fine if she just runs out for a quick grocery run, 30 minutes, an hour at the absolute most.

When Andrew and Ashley find the baby, it's obvious that this isn't the first time it's been left alone like that and that the abandonment isn't the only way it's been neglected. The nursery is half-finished and nearly empty compared to the master bedroom and living room, it needs a diaper change badly, and it clearly hasn't been washed or fed as regularly as it needs to be. This baby is an uncomfortable look into their own childhoods but somehow worse and it makes both of them see red.

Keeping that baby is so fucking stupid, they both know it would be smarter to leave it at a hospital or on a neighbor's doorstep, but. . . they want so badly to be better than their parents. They want to prove that they're capable of the love and kindness that their parents refused to give them, and it'll sell their story better! People are always more sympathetic to a young couple with a baby, even if it'll be more expensive and make them more vulnerable. Their parents had enough basic supplies, formula and a car seat and a baby carrier and all that crap, that they won't have to spend too much of the money on baby stuff right away at least.

(Andrew is frantically googling infant care and trying to figure out the logistics of raising that baby, meanwhile Ashley has a dozen tabs about inducing lactation and thinking about how the more like a "real" family they seem, the harder it would be for Andrew to abandon them.)

At dinner, Ashley gives the baby a few tiny sips of broth from the soup, wanting it to experience something it wouldn't get a chance to later, consuming their shitty parents like its older siblings and new parents get to. Andrew just sighs and reminds her to cool the broth first and not too much, damn it Ashley, it's not old enough!

#Anonymous #tcoaal #coffincest #gravecest #child neglect tw #child abuse tw #ask to tag #shipcest

[currentfandomkick]

So previous part here

Danny’s adoption as far as GZ in concerned requires Plas to indergo some trials to prove himself as Danny—debated between being the Future King or exalted as the Will of the Infinite—‘s majority caretaker on the mortal side.

A mentorship is one thing—parenthood is taken far more seriously. Especially for a traumatized child ghost.

So, premise aside, lets begin!

Phantom had been beaming for a while. Everyone knew that. Between the JL spot and having a mentor, Amity “Mittens” Park knew her guard was more content than he’d been in a long, long time.

The city spirit was proud for him. Few kept their cool when it came three ancients appearing on their doorstep.

Her guard had chosen his mortal fright well. Between Undergrowth’s High Priestess and the Pharaoh reincarnation his choice of peers, though limited, was good… but he lacked suitable guiding presences.

There is only so much Amity can do herself. She’s not quite physical enough to manifest, no idea to form her base around. And she is not mortal, so how could she ever help?

As the witness to her guard’s life and death, her vote would hold the most sway, regardless of the Trials’ outcome.

Her wonderful guard found himself a father, she would see that this bond is acknowledged.

Nerves flooded Phantom’s form again. He twisted his tail around Plas’ arm and held Cujo close to his chest.

The JL light side hadn’t caught the implications of his potential adoption. They didnt have the whole story on Danny’s place in the Infinite’s pecking order…

Plas does.

Unfortunately, so does the JL Dark. Which is why Plas was checking over anything he should prepare for them by customs and for the usual rites for Living adopting a “Curtain Child” as Constaintine’s text dubbed Danny and his cohorts.

He’s not sure if he should just… ignore the scholarly term for his kind or not. On one hand, he’s been calling himself a halfa since he stopped saying he was a living boy with ghost powers. He’s hyperliminal—functionally dead on command, as far as Yeti were concerned atleast. He straddles the line of liminal and death, while remaining a living being. Three for one deal and passable as all three and not at once.

Halfas aren’t super rare naturally so much as exterminated en masse in the past, and the word for ‘too dead to be liminal’ that survived was, well, halfa. the slur used to justify genocide.

But his alternative was hyperliminal (which he barely qualifies as given he transforms and liminals just exist as ‘merged’ with the opposite natural state (be it mortal side or infinite) and the bucket of issues of using the wrong medical term as a species indicator. Or “Curtain Child” which. No.

Where was he? Oh right, finding Plas before the Trials and his death day and the ‘clock’ starts.

“Patro?” Danny began as he flew into the room.

Zatanna’s eyebrows shot up. Constantine turned to him slowly. Deadman was too happy for Danny’s taste—the off-ecto leaving a sickly sweet-bitter blend in the back of his throat.

“You good kiddo?” Plastic man ran a hand though Danny hair while Danny looped his tail around his arm.

He leaned into it.

“Just nerves. Mittens already approved, but Grandfather can be… intense. So can Auntie Dora, and Nocturne is a wild card on a good day… those three claim parental fright rights and all over me and my dumbass agreed before i understood since i was new and Ember and Kitty and Johnny didnt know i didnt know and—“

Plasticman hummed louder than usual, glancing at his phone and opening one of those boring adult apps Danny can’t be bothered with at the moment.

Patro whistled. “No wonder, why don’t we head back home? Ellie and most of your fright will be there.”

Danny made a small noise of protest, but let his Patro lead the way to the zeta tubes.

“Your doctor said if you can’t be in your usual haunt for this, you should at least be in your nest back home, before the symptoms get worse.”

Danny huffed, looking about the stars. He wanted to fly among them but Patro said not until after his Death Day and they can see the affects.

So two days.

Basically forever.

—

Jazz raised an eyebrow at Ellie, Sam and Tucker. All flopped down in Danny’s “not a nest” of blankets and star projection lamp.

The stray cacti pots and tech were not unnoticed.

Not were Ellie’s pictures of her travels.

Jazz put bearert and danny old lego starships in before he got back.

“Any preferences on what disaster smoothies we give Danny?” Jazz began. “He’s not allowed chocolate during this time—and we cant give him caffeine so no teas, energy drinks and coffee…which Nasty Shake horrors are we unleashing?”

“Lunchlady already swung by with some sandwhiches,” Penny answered from the hallway.

Jazz opened and shut her mouth, forgetting that she didnt need to be in charge of things this time.

They have reliable adults.

Weird.

Good weird, but still weird.

“That covers ecto food, not what he needs on the living side,” Sam answered while typing away on her phone. “Best Red agreed to watch Amity for the week solo and send any updates of GIW and Fenton activity.”

Patrick slipped in with an anxious, seven tailed Danny in ghost form.

“And Technus is in their tech, so he’s having a blast destroying their mainframe and plans.”

“Good for him.” Patrick herded Danny into his blanket nest.

“Patro,” Danny huffed, looking to his frightmates for help.

“Oh no, your dad, your problem, remember?”

“Don’t make one excuse for you when you got caught hacking sulker and this is what i get?”

“Yep.”

“Some best friend,” danny grumbled, rubbing his arm as he began to burrow under a galaxy blanket and turned on his lamp.

Patrick turned off the lights.

“So as the lead of in best friend olympics—“

“Hey!”

“—i say we plot our revenge. Jazz, Ellie, you two dont have to join but we will accept suggestions.”

Jazz smiled as Danny relaxed, skin bursting with nebula freckles more puddle than person.

—

Patrick isn’t dumb.

He knows he’s being tested by the gods the second he closes the door.

He has to get the Master of Time, the Guardian of Hope and Sleep Soother(? He’s still not sure what title to use for this flavor or sandman) to approve during a trial each of then get to run.

He smiles at Penny before time freeze and the cursed Eyeballs nab him and complain about him ignoring procedure and blah blah blah.

Do they ever get tired of hearing themselves talk?

He doesnt think so…

A familiar council appear before him, for once less riddled with the eyeballs of bureaucratic nonsense and attempted murder. On one side a too familiar yeti waved enthusiastically at him from the side, while the horned cosmos man next to him flopped onto the table unmoving.

On the other side there was a familiar set of armor on an excitable giant who should be on Danny-Sitting a week after his death day. his least favorite trickster had the same grin on that meant Plas would be refereeing Dan and Danny’s “visits” where Dan chose to be a menace about fixing paradoxes and demanded Danny ask more questions while Danny just… did as the weird ageshifter asked before stealing another batch of cookies for himself and hoarding them from his frightmates.

The blue four armed lady in the middle clapped her hands together, waking up the other occupants in the room.

Plas still wasnt sure if said being was related to Wonder Woman or not. both were (sort of) daughters of Zeus but something about dead one being made from all the greek gods available? He tries not to think about it, and roll with the Infinite’s insanity.

“Welcome Plasticman,” a four armed woman began. “We have gathered here to test you to your limits and judge your worthiness as our little star and his moonbeam’s mortal-side parent.”

“Told you we should have tested the first ones,” grumbled the horned man. “Their subconscious was a hot mess and we all know what they turned his holidays into.”

The armor suit made disgruntled sounds on the side, grabbing for a dimension dumping sword.

“Danny was not ready,” the trickster stated. “If he was to leave his caregivers, it will always have to be on his own terms. Especially given his core’s state.”

“He would have accepted it if you let me have Jazz bring up the idea sooner,” Nocturne complained, turning to Clockwork’s child state with a scowl.

“But no. Not part of the plan. Like all your plans actually work out Mr. time madness”

“I have it under control.”

“For the moment,” Frostbite added in. “But you have relapsed before, and now the Great One acts as the counter and has lessened the load.”

“You’re forgetting my second ward.”

“We dont speak of him when it is not a matter of his parole,” Pandora interupted. “Especially when we are here to be certain that Danny is not allowing another, what was that word he like to use to describe the other halfa?”

“Fruitloop,” everyone else chimed in.

“… yes. To ensure no kore fruitloops and otherwise unfit parental figures are able to mistreat, neglect or abuse Danny and Danielle.”

“So, do i need a number 2 pencil for the test, or is it trial by combat or,” Plas listed off absently, watching the five carefully.

“We have each designed a trial or test of our own design. You will begin now.”

Next here

So, any ideas for the trials Plas has to go through?

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#mentor plastic man #mentee danny #plastic man #dp x dc fic #dpxdc #dp x dc #my writing #plot bunny #plastic man is a dad now

[love-toxin]

Retrieval - entry II

entry I

plot: forging on through the horrors you've endured thus far, you venture deeper into the plagas cult territory to find something waiting for you there. more than something--someone.

(cws: fem!reader, blood, body horror, gun violence, knives, mention of a car accident, hurt-comfort, wound tending, raccoon city flashbacks, passing mention of smut)

word count: 5.3k

Even if you did plan out a route on your map, you've quickly realized that the landscape has changed so dramatically in your time away that it likely wouldn't have made a difference. In no uncertain terms, you are completely and devastatingly lost.

By now, the afternoon sun has long started beating on you from overhead and the sprinkling of rain this morning has turned the air thick and uncomfortably muggy. Each step up the incline of the dirt path and by extension the shifting of your clothing is a constant reminder of how sweaty you are, your stretchy shirt damp and sticking to your chest while beads of sweat pour down your neck and cling to your eyelashes. Your gloves have had to come off and Leon's jacket would've followed if the alternative wasn't to carry it–but regardless of those small choices you just have to accept the discomfort and keep trudging forward. You've got no idea where you're headed now but you won't get anywhere by sitting around, and at least you can try to peek through the trees and rocky inclines that line the road to see if you can spot any discernible landmarks. While you still have the task of finding Leon, returning to the village is no longer an option after what you saw this morning.

A shudder runs through you merely at the thought of it, your mind fuzzy with the memories like your brain is trying to protect you from the sight of that massacre. And it's almost worse to ponder that act of senseless violence than it was to witness the aftermath of it, not just because you recognize that some of those bodies were villagers that you'd cut down yourself, but also because you can't envision what kind of monster would have spread out such an unholy image for you. None of the creatures you remember seeing would have the patience or planning to do such a thing, and if it had been the work of a particular monster you'd faced off with, you're certain that if they knew you were there they would've killed you outright instead of trying to–what? Scare you?

Your boot meets a rock and you absentmindedly kick it up, watching with a passive interest as it skitters and tumbles its way around the path before rolling to a stop in the grass beside it. Was it to scare you? Could it have been a fluke, and you'd just barely missed the rampage of a vicious and callous monster? Or was it the will of the Plagas that called them there, and either ended them from within or had them hack each other into oblivion? You've got a feeling you would've heard something if either of those things were the case, but then again your sleep had been….preoccupied.

You shift the straps of your bag to ease the weight from one shoulder to the other, your gaze fluttering from one end of the path to the other like the presence of someone else would somehow allow them to be privy to your thoughts. The intense sweating you've been doing for the last few hours has masked over that wetness between your legs that you've been dealing with, the two forces intermingling so you can't really distinguish one kind of dampness from the other. It certainly doesn't make it any less uncomfortable, and it's an unfortunately clear-headed reminder of the shame you often feel after having one of those dreams about Leon.

After all, he is–was–your best friend. You met before Raccoon City went to shit, you lived through it together, and you faced the same hardships that came after when the world around you wanted to forget the cruelty of that horrid night. You knew how to joke around and keep the air light, you could drag each other out of your depressive episodes when nobody else could reach you, and Leon knew every ugly bit and piece of your life just like you knew his. Your friendship had always been something precious and you could never imagine throwing that all away by admitting to him that you're in love with him. He had been the only person in the world that you knew cared about you, the only person that would go to the ends of the earth to defend you, and to lose that would be equal to a death. It's what's made this loss all the harder, feeling like you've lost him twice over and having to mourn it all alone. And the guilt hits you even more when those feelings bubble up inside you again, because all you want is for them to just go away so you can grieve Leon as what he was, not what you wanted him to be.

You're always tempted to think he'd see you as gross for imagining doing those things with him, to him, but in reality you know that if you ever told Leon he would get the biggest head about it. Feelings or no, he'd be so smug he'd tease you until the end of time and it would stroke his ego to the heavens and back–and whenever you think about it, it just brings a smile to your face on instinct. He could be such a bastard sometimes, but there's no better person you could've called your best friend. Which, of course, makes the pang in your heart hurt all the worse when you're reminded that he's gone, and that he took his last breath in a place like this.

Speaking of which, it dawns on your senses that something absolutely reeks. Granted, the whole village smells of shit and blood–but this smell is different, it's almost worse, and it's to the point that you almost feel the need to pull your shirt up over your nose to block out the invasive wretchedness of it all. It's somehow getting worse as you walk, which can only mean you're getting closer to the source of it–and if it wasn't obvious by now, it becomes obvious with the crack of an aging engine roaring up and the sound of tires scraping over dirt and gravel. Fuck.

The raspy chorus of voices reaches you over the crest of the hill, and within moments of you halting in your tracks the vehicle comes barreling into view. On two crooked axles your imminent death approaches in the form of a truck gunning down the hill at top speed, two Ganados in the seats while God knows how many more growl and shout from the back and behind, brandishing their tools like weapons and vying for your blood.

It only takes seconds for your choices to dawn on you, but even that time isn't generous enough to give you much chance for a successful retreat. With two steps back you finally feel the panic whack you in the chest, but it powers your legs before you can think to move them and soon enough you're sprinting back the way you came. Your feet feel too light to control on the slope but you can't just stop, the heat of the engine is already at your back and if you hesitate, you know you're dead.

Fishing down the opening of your top, your fingers jab the secret pouch you sewed in there and two bullets come back out in your palm, warm steel forcing a calmness into your frayed nerves as you frantically load them into your gun. Those bullets are for emergencies, and you've encountered worse outcomes than this, but dying here would mean failure and there wouldn't be anyone left to try and bring you back to life this time.

You throw your arm back behind you to shoot, and everything flashes a bright, hot light to blot out the world–and then, just as swiftly, it all goes black as the ground falls out beneath you, pain shoots up your spine, and your eyes finally snap shut into total darkness as flame engulfs you.

"Officer! Wake up, officer!"

You haven't been called that in a while, but it still feels familiar–the voice, however, is different. There's only a distant wisp of something you recognize as you struggle to open your eyes.

"S'okay, I'm fine-" Your mumbling rings soft and faint over the crackling of fire and rain, barely audible–but the soon-to-be familiar face shakes his head and huffs a sigh as he pulls you back up to sit straight.

"You are not fine, officer. You're bleeding."

You see now what the situation is, your vision coming back into focus as Leon's warm hands steady you against the alley wall. Your memory's still fuzzy, but the pain shooting up and down your left leg is all you need to remind you of what just happened.

You'd been running down the street, escaping from a herd of the zombies with a bag slung over your back–the artillery from the station had been spread out all over the city and the medical supplies had run dry, so for almost half a day you'd been gone from the station to scout for supplies and redirect survivors towards the safehouses you and your fellow officers had staked out. One of them being the station itself, which had just come into view after you'd skidded around the nearest street corner and spotted those bright lights illuminating the front gate.

But after that, your recollection gets a little fuzzy. You'd heard a screeching sound on your left from behind, felt the tremor of something shaking the ground as several pairs of rotted hands reached for you from over your shoulder…and from there everything is a complete blur. A flash and a wave of heat had rushed over you, the blaring of a horn sounding from behind, and you vaguely recall the ground falling out from beneath you–although, based on the stiff soreness of your back, you suspect the impact of the truck that had hit you had sent you flying and you somehow wound up in this alley, or close to it. You've got a pretty good feeling you didn't just end up sitting back against it with your head propped up, else you've got the devil's luck for certain.

"Leon," You rasp, your throat dry and cracked from the heat and your laboured breathing. With that worried expression painted clear on his youthful face, he holds up a bottle of water to your lips–and you drink gratefully, feeling refreshed even by the wasted droplets dribbling down your chin as you struggle to swallow. "You can call me by my name, y'know–unless you don't remember, in which case my feelings are a–nngh, shit–little hurt." You cringe at the feeling of cloth scraping over your open wounds, nails digging into your other leg as Leon grazes the gash on your opposite thigh with a bit of medicine in hand. It's deep, you can tell that much, and if this were a movie you're morbidly certain that this would be the moment your partner has to put you down before you turn. Maybe you're already getting there, if the feverish heat crawling up your chest is any indication.

You shift your gaze over to the lump beside you, and find that your hand has been resting on the same bag you'd risked hide and hair for. It's half unzipped and looks like it's been rummaged through. It dawns on you that the water, gauze, and other medical supplies he's got rolled out are all part of the stash–and how embarrassing is that? You made so many promises to Marvin and the others that you would come back with hope in your arms, and yet you're the one using what you brought before you've even returned. Clipped by a fucking truck of all things. Yet, when Leon rolls your name off of his tongue with the ease of someone that's said it a thousand times before, your heart flutters and calms all at the same time.

"You're pretty relaxed for someone that just got hit by a car." He reaches out to squeeze your hand, and does so even tighter as he presses an alcohol-soaked pad into your jagged, bloody flesh. It stings like shit immediately and rips a string of curses out of you, but it's a necessary evil, so you just grit your teeth and bear it to try and make it easier for Leon to work. Being a newbie, you figured he would freak out…and yet, somehow, he's even calmer than you and he's doing a damn good job of keeping you distracted for him to tend your wounds.

"Truck, excuse you. Get your facts straight, rookie. Sounds cooler if you call it a truck-" Your half-joking reply is cut short as a sharp cry erupts out of you without warning. Burning pain shoots through your leg, tears immediately welling in your eyes and speeding down your cheeks as the searing sensation overwhelms almost every other sense. Your body jolts with it and Leon's hand comes down firmly on your thigh to keep you still, his other hand pressing warmth into your wound over the cloth he's smeared some herbs into. When the agony eventually starts draining out of you, it takes your strength with it and leaves you slumped back against the wall, lungs tight and burning from you panting and gasping for breath. With another wave soon to come and several more to follow, you have nowhere else to brace yourself but on Leon's shoulder, which you grab hard and squeeze tight as he works the medicine in and goes through the painfully considerate process of disinfecting the wound and bandaging it tight with a tourniquet to stop the bleeding.

"Anything in there?" You finally manage to pant out, forehead dripping with sweat that he takes care to wipe with the other side of the cloth.

"No, don't think so."

"Thank fuck. I'd rather die than yank it out. You're a lifesaver, Lee." You're trying not to whimper as you speak, you don't want to come off as weak, but Leon really doesn't look like he minds nor that he's gonna use it against you in the future. His concern is written plainly on his face, thumbs gentle but firm as he wipes your tears like a brother would do for his younger sister. Or a friend for a friend. A partner for a partner.

"...Lee?" He murmurs, repeating the nickname for you both in a teasing way and a surprised one. You've only met a handful of times, haven't even gotten to know each other aside from the general pleasantries–but he seems happy. Relieved, really, that you don't mind his help or his company.

"You prefer 'rookie'?" You huff right back, anticipating a bit of sass or a rebuttal in some way. But he just shakes his head, seemingly unperturbed as he starts briskly packing the medicine back into your bag as the rain patters against it.

"No, no, just…I've never had a nickname before. Call me whatever you like." He speaks with a smile on his face and it would be irritating, if not for how sincere his words are and how much joy he clearly gets from the smallest gesture. As much as you'd like to dwell on it and humour him with a dozen questions, the zzzzip of your bag beside you and the shuffling as he lifts it up and pulls it snug over his shoulder brings you back to reality. Your very, very unfortunate reality, if the groaning and gnashing sounds in the distance are any indication.

"I hate to say it, but there's no way you're walking on this leg." He says that so ominously but his baby face really isn't doing him any favours, and you're not one to just back away when something needs to get done. So, despite his advice, you grip the wall behind you and stagger to get to your feet, bracing yourself against the warm brick as you hiss in pain and raise yourself unsteadily on only one leg–which, of course, has Leon holding out his hands to steady you as you do, exasperation passing over his features as you make no effort to use him to stabilize yourself.

"Hey! What did I just say?" Leon clicks his tongue like a mother hen, but doesn't leave you high and dry at all. He grabs the arm on your bad side and manhandles you into pulling it over his shoulders, his strength and the hand bracing your opposite hip giving you a very inconvenient shiver. Focus. "You're so stubborn."

"I'm not just sitting out here to die."

"I didn't say that. Here," With one step forward, it's clear that you're not gonna move fast enough to make it to the station unscathed. In a case like this, you'd expect to be left here while the more able-bodied of the two of you goes ahead with the medicine and sends backup when he can–but obviously that isn't quite what Leon has in mind. Instead, he bends down to slide his arm up behind your knees, counts down from two, and sweeps your legs out from beneath you with a careful swiftness to lift you up in a bridal carry. "It's okay, I got you." It's embarrassing and humbling all at once, a squeak smothering itself behind your teeth as you immediately cling to him with your arms around his shoulders. But he doesn't seem at all fazed, and doesn't even stumble as he starts walking towards the edge of the alley. If anything, he walks with more balance while he's carrying both you and your precious cargo to safety. "I'm not just gonna leave you behind."

Leon's got more integrity with one day of the force under his belt than most officers you've known. He's a blessing and an anomaly all at once, precious and potent like both an antidote and a poison mixed as one. But however unclear your feelings about him were that night, you know for certain that you would've died cold and alone in that alley if not for him. He rescued you without any inkling as to what he would get out of it–and even if it kills you, you're going to repay that favour by rescuing him.

"Well hello, miss stranger."

Your eyes flutter open, the ceiling of a room the first thing to meet your gaze–and the second being a man hunching over a table opposite from you, your head turned so far you nearly stumble off the makeshift cot you've been laid out on. "Had a nice nap? Figured as much–you took quite the nasty hit to the skull. Lucky you're still breathing!" He cackles jubilantly, and if nothing else that raspy laugh is what clues you in to that small shred of remembrance.

"Merchant? Wh…What are you…?" You shake your head in disbelief, a soft 'nevermind' passing your lips as you just elect to take this all in at face value. You never understood this 'Merchant' guy when you were here before, so you can't expect to pick him apart for answers now. With measured steps you approach his counter and try to shake off your limp in the process, your eyes scanning over the crowded shelves of his wares–and the inner pockets of his coat that he flashes open to take you by surprise.

"Uh…you got anything for my pistol?"

The Merchant chuckles heartily, and out comes several boxes of the convenient ammunition from beneath his rickety little table. With what little you've got to trade that you spread out on his counter, you can get about two boxes with twenty bullets each for most of what you're carrying. The money for airfare, a cab to the station, and some light supplies you picked up once you landed in Spain has cleaned you out pretty good, but he's fair as always and even offers to clean your gun for you while he's at it.

"Ooh, before you wander off–I've got somethin' extra for you, missy."

With a flourish befitting....him, he pulls out a decently sized piece of equipment out from a box behind him, and turns to lay the shotgun flat across your hands, the weight sinking into your palms as his half-gloved fingers retreat and he lets you get a feel for it. It's pretty hefty on its own, polished and substantial with a trigger that's got the kind of resistance you're used to. With a gesture from him to encourage trying it out, you take a decent step back from his table and lift the gun up into the crook of your arm, eyes lining down the length of it towards a very convenient lantern propped up on top of the crumbling stone wall opposite to you.

One cock of the shutter, a breath in–and a bang erupts from the courtyard, the lantern shattering into a thousand pieces and the Merchant's raspy laughter rising like the flock of crows that take flight from further into the castle grounds, cawing like mad at the sound that echoes like thunder throughout the canyon.

"She's a beaut, ain't she?" The hunched man chortles, clearly prideful of his work. You lower the gun back down to your hip, the smell of ashy powder filling your nose, and nod quietly before turning back to him and holding it out over his counter.

"It's great, but you've got all I had. Maybe I'll come back for it."

"Naw, missy–you keep that. S'on the house this time." Your brows raise in shock and a touch of confusion, along with a little seed of distrust that you can't help but entertain. You know better than to trust people blindly, especially strangers, but then again the Merchant doesn't exactly conform to any expectations you could've had. At your hopeful confirmation of "really?" he nods your way, the bandana that covers his face slipping a bit as he tilts his head forward and reaches behind him.

"While you're at it, have this too–not gonna be much use to me, I'm afraid." With a flourish, he unveils a sheath he'd been hiding only god knows where and sets it down in front of you. From just one glance as you strap your new shotgun to your back, a glimmer of recognition wells up inside you and your hands find the hilt in a matter of seconds. Raising it to your face, you gently tug on the handle to slide the blade all the way out….and sure enough, you do recognize it. The engraving on the side is about as familiar as your own handwriting considering how often you've been on the sharp end of this knife–a product of endless close-combat training sessions that your best friend insisted on practicing with you. It hits you right then–Leon would've died before he let go of this precious thing.

"Where did you find this? Here?"

"Just up the stairs there," He jerks his thumb back towards the entryway behind him, hazy memories of that winding path coming together in your mind as you recall going down it before. "Picked it up from a bloody puddle in the main hall. Return it to your friend, would ya? He's my best customer." You can feel his grin from behind the mask, and a pang hits your heart as you consider breaking the news to him….but the adrenaline is kicking in now and you just have to go, you have to briskly bid him goodbye and excuse your hurry as you rush out towards the stairs and mount each set in record time as you make a mad dash for the foyer.

By sheer luck, your frantic sprint through the winding courtyard betrays no hint of activity since you were here last. The cannon still sits perched at the top of the tower for a raven to crow atop it, and while the stairs are littered with bits of crumbling rubble they're still relatively easy to climb as you come out on the other side, mere feet of space separating you from the smashed-open gate you'd both fought so hard to get into. Down the looming path overshadowed by two huge, towering walls on either side, you hurry up the last few steps and brace both hands on the heavy doors, grunts of effort foregrounding the scrape and rusty squealing of the hinges as you slowly push them open to reveal the place Merchant had directed you towards.

"Hngh-!" With one last shove, you swing them out slowly and step back to catch your breath, before clambering through the entrance and slowing your run to a jog and then to a stop, eyes roaming in wide sweeps around the massive entrance room to look for some kind of clue. It's just as misty around the floor as it was before and the lights fortunately haven't gone out, yet the suits of armour, vases, side tables and weapons scattered everywhere don't alert you to anything immediately out of place. You do find yourself plucking a chunk of loose stone off the ground and slinging it at the nearest knight, however, just to watch as the plates of silver armour clatter with a hollow sound before crashing into a heap on the floor. It's better to be safe than sorry considering what you and Ashley went through last time with those things.

In doing so, and in stepping over to kick aside the helmet with a bit of indulgent violence, something catches in your eye in your peripheral. With a glance, you spot a few dribbles of otherwise un-noteworthy blood and slot your gun out of its holster just in case. But when you kneel down to check it out and wave a bit of the mist away, your eyes widen in disbelief as you see the speckles of blood lead toward a puddle–and beyond that, a trail that guides your line of sight all the way towards the set of doors leading to the inner sanctum.

Is this Leon's?

You shuffle quietly towards the pool of it a bit further away, realizing only upon getting closer how big it really is. Aside from the puddle itself there are smears drawn through it and radiating out to paint the unmarred floor, as if someone had either stepped through it and slipped or had sat down completely and let themselves bleed freely where they lay. Based on the trail, it resembles the evidence of an attack, an injury or death, and then the person being dragged off towards a second location. But no matter how weak he might have been, you just can't picture Leon being hurt like this and not fighting back, not winning in general, because when you pull out the knife and hold it over the puddle you can clearly see the spot it had been lying in when Merchant had picked it up.

There's only one other option you can think of, though, which is somehow more gruesome than the thought of your best friend being stabbed and his body being dragged away to be disposed of…

…Did he try to cut the parasite out of his body?

The scene in front of you paints a horribly gruesome picture with that idea in your mind. Did Leon sit here, bloody and injured from the explosion, and attempt to cut the Plagas out from his body? If he did, did he succeed? Or did he simply put himself through more torture before he met his inhuman end, and was dragged off by some other force to be used for more of their sick rituals? Following the trail of blood where it leads is your only option, but it is an option, which is something you've slowly started believing you weren't going to find after all.

"Leon!"

You call out his name as you get back up to your feet, your voice ringing through the hall in haunting echoes. It doesn't matter if you draw whatever's hiding out into the open. At least you'll know what's waiting around the corner to strike–and in the case that Leon hears you, you want him to know that you tried. You're trying. You want him to realize you want to find him, you're thinking about him, you care for him and that you didn't leave him behind just to forget about him. You're here now and you'll do anything if it means getting him back.

"Leon, I'm here!"

The next set of doors part somewhat easier than the ones that lead outside, your shoulder more than enough for you to push through and slip into the next room to track the trails left behind. Your legs stall once you've wound through the interconnected room between and laid your hand on one of those huge doors around the corner–you know exactly what could be waiting there, and what you'd had to deal with last time–but it just isn't enough to stop you, even though it should. You push through it and take a step into the long, massive room that stretches out into many key areas for an ambush, and breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of the wheels still in place and the staircase already lowered. Perhaps you have been lucky and nothing else has really changed aside from Leon's presence, but that still doesn't allow you to give yourself pause as you hurry up the steps and hop over the pedestals with your gun drawn. The blackened, muddy water doesn't scare you, nor do the half-ajar doors up on the catwalks that could burst open and spill out with bloodthirsty cult zombies. The trail Leon's left for you is getting thinner and sparser, however, and that does worry you as you approach the next set of doors and take them each in stride.

You can't lie to yourself, your hope is dwindling just as quickly as it came on. Only splatters and splotches of the trail remain and nothing else has alerted you of his presence yet–no notes, no scraps of fabric torn off his clothes, not even a hair in sight for you to inspect and try to determine whether or not it's Leon's. Maybe it was just a stray dog or a wolf after all. Maybe you really are grasping at straws.

"No. He's here. Don't give up yet." You whisper under your breath to yourself, praying in the very back of your mind that the self-reassurance is enough to keep your feet moving as you head in the direction of the courtyard. You just keep repeating it in your mind. He's here. He's here. Leon's gotta be here. I know he's here. I'll find him. Your inner voice grows so strong as you walk through the chilly air of the night that you really start to feel that way, to the point that it feels like Leon's eyes are piercing into you.

In fact, it really feels like you're being watched when you start thinking about it. It's probably just paranoia, and understandably so considering this place's gruesome past. Your knuckles brush over the handle of Leon's knife at your hip out of habit, but even with that thought in mind you still stop in your tracks right at the gate into the courtyard.

You swear you just heard a cough. It couldn't be. Monsters don't cough. Not like that.

The blade slings out of its sheath with a shiiing that could cut the air itself, and your fingertips are just barely brushing the grip as it flies in an arc out of your grasp–that's the moment you get a glimpse of the person standing behind you, and your breath chokes itself out of your mouth as the tip of that bloodied blade meets their throat.

You could've anticipated almost anything…but not this. Anything but what's standing before you, staring you down with eyes that could burn you down into ashes and blow you away in the breeze.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #yandere leon kennedy #plagas!leon #plagas!leon kennedy #re4make #resident evil #series: retrieval #ellie writes #5k

[mixelation]

oh no reborn au au (this time it's sillier) ate my brain

kakashi and tori meeting goes the same as reborn au. read that if you haven't yet for context

****

ANBU Mantis was dead, and his body was being slowly eaten by his kikaichu. The little black insects swarmed over him, a fuzzy black cloud of clicking wings moving over his form, and they were not the least bit bothered as Tori experimentally stuck her forceps into the mass. They only parted for her, revealing pink, partially chewed skin. 

So that was… she didn’t want to say “gross.” Kakashi was across from her, clearly upset, and it would be polite of her to remember Mantis was his teammate. A real person. 

It still made her stomach roll. She’d seen worse– done worse– but that didn’t mean she was having fun. 

There was a sudden shift in the room, eerily familiar. A cold breeze passed over her back. Kakashi looked up, and his shoulders slumped with sudden relief. 

“Took you long enough,” Kakashi said, even as Tori’s stomach dropped all the way. 

Obito was standing not three feet from her. The glimmer of kamui closing distorted the tent wall behind him. 

“I have things to do,” Obito replied. “Not my fault you’re a perpetual damsel in distress, Bakashi.”

Obito looked… he looked good, Tori thought. His face was whole and unblemished. He had both eyes, explaining why Kakashi had no sharingan, and both were blood red. He wore a standard Konoha flak jacket unzipped over an Uchiha-style black shirt and black pants. His posture was completely at ease, his hands shoved into his pockets. 

He did look kind of annoyed, with a little crease between his brows. He turned his vaguely irritated gaze on Tori, and she watched as his sharingan relaxed from a mangekyou to three tomoe. She clutched her forceps tightly in front of her, like that might protect her if Obito decided she needed to die. 

She didn’t need protection. She watched, millisecond by millisecond, as Obito flicked his eyes over her face, took a detour to study her hair, and then slowly widened with recognition. A grin spread across his face, centimeter by centimeter. 

“Bakashi,” Obito said slowly, not taking his eyes off Tori’s. He sounded like he could burst into maniacal laughter at any moment. “Who is this?”

“She’s… helping me,” Kakashi said, blandly. “ANBU Mantis is dead–”

Obito obviously didn’t give a shit about ANBU Mantis. 

“Does she have a name?” Obito asked, borderline hysterical. HIs grin hadn’t slipped an inch. 

“I’m Tori,” Tori said quickly. “Um, you’re– Konoha…?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Obito agreed, stepping up beside her to survey Mantis’s body. “Don’t worry, strange child I’ve never met before, my name is Uchiha Obito and I’m here to rescue you!”

Kakashi twitched. 

“Ah, so this is…” Obito started, raising his face to meet Kakashi’s. 

“He was my teammate,” Kakashi stressed, voice cracking. “Keep it together, Obito.”

“Right, right,” Obito said. “Uuuuh, what are we doing with him…?”

Obito was still an asshole, but he helped them find the queen without complaint. Once it was safely in a test tube and Tori had stored the body in a black scroll, Kakashi outright sagged into Obito’s side. Obito’s face turned downright smug as he supported him. 

“Can I pass out now?” Kakashi asked. “Or are you going to make me get us out of here myself?”

Obito snorted. “Pass out if you need to, Bakashi. I’ll only make fun of you for a couple weeks this time.”

“Asshole,” Kakashi muttered, and then indeed passed out. 

“Um,” Tori said, watching as Obito flipped Kakashi over into a fireman’s carry. “So, I, uh.”

“Are you a fucking ninja now?” Obito asked, and then laughed so hard he nearly dropped Kakashi.  

Outside, there was another explosion, followed by some screams. Deidara was getting closer. Would it be better for Deidara to meet Obito, or would it be better to delay this inevitability…?

“Wait, so you stayed in Konoha?” Tori asked. The Fourth was still alive. Clearly Obito had made some alternative decisions. 

“Mm-hm,” Obito answered, eyes glinting. “I didn’t realize you could be reincarnated, Tori-chan. Where were you hiding?”

“Otogakure, obviously,” Tori replied, and confusion flashed briefly in Obito’s eyes. 

“Man,” he said. “Guess I should have been keeping better tabs on Orochimaru… hey, you should come back with me to Konoha. Way better than Oto.”

“I think I’ll pass,” Tori replied. “I don’t really want to stay in the ninja game.”

“Come oooon,” Obito whined. “It’ll be like old times!”

“Exactly,” Tori said. 

“But it’d be hilarious,” Obito pressed. “You’ll give Itachi so much anxiety.”

“Is Itachi–” Tori started, but then there was an explosion directly outside their room. Welp. She guessed Deidara and Obito were meeting whether she wanted to or not. “I’ve been hanging out with Deidara.”

“No way,” Obito exhaled, suddenly outright giddy. He was across the room and pushing open the flat in half a second. “DEIDARA-SEMPAI~!”

A lot of screaming followed. Several Kusa-nin died in the process. Tori followed Obito out to find him sitting on Deidara, Kakashi still limp over his shoulders. 

“You’re both so cute,” Obito cooed. “Hey, watch Bakashi while I go burn down Kusa, would you?”

“NO,” Deidara protested immediately. “GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME, YEAH!”

“Do you want to help?” Obito asked, comically serious as he stared down at Deidara. “I do have to kill everyone for touching my teammate, but I’m not picky about how it gets done.”

Oh good, he’s still insane, Tori thought. 

“Did your Hokage order that?” Tori asked out loud. Surely Minato wasn’t just letting Obito be all… all… Obito-y. 

Obito looked up at her, face frank. “Obviously not,” he said. “But… eh, it’s Kakashi. He probably secretly wants me to.”

Oh my god, Tori thought. How did anyone survive the Third War?

How much did she actually care about Obito not slaughtering a whole village? She could probably pitch a fit and make him stop, or she could otherwise distract him, but it would be a lot of work, and also it would be… humiliating. 

“There’s an Uzumaki family here,” she said instead. “You should probably, like, not murder them.”

Obito cocked his head to the side. “How do you know?”

“They were here… before,” Tori said slowly. “And Kusa used Uzushio seals on us, so they’re probably here again.”

“Neat,” Obito said, hopping to his feet like Kakashi weighed nothing. Deidara immediately rolled over and aimed a kick at his ass, which made Obito yelp but not even stumble. 

“Okay,” Obito said. “Redheads off limits, then.” His eyes shifted back into the mangekyou. “But I’m still burning down the village. Hold Kakashi, would you?”

He dumped Kakashi’s unconscious body on her, knocking Tori right off her feet. Tori wanted to protest that she was in no position to defend anyone from anything, but by the time she’d rolled Kakashi off of her, everyone else in the tent was dead. It was eerily silent. 

Deidara shoved her shoulder. “Hurry up and take this seal off, yeah,” he said. “I want to blow up the village first.”

How is this my life? Tori wondered, even as she searched her weapons pack for one of the scalpels she’d stolen.

#my writing #reborn au #reborn au au: it's gotten sillier

[runawaymarbles]

Would you be comfortable sharing that flow chart you mentioned in the tags about different ways Black and white people start conversations? It seemed really interesting and practical, but of course no worries at all if not! Thanks!

it wasn't about Black vs white conversation starters specifically: it's about making small talk at work without starting off with assumptions or putting them in an awkward position of having to explain something they shouldn't have to. (E.g. I do not outright ask people where they're from, what they do for work, etc.)

Context: I photograph newborns for work.

Example: Grandparents are usually good for at least three minutes of conversation, but you cannot ask about the baby's grandparents, because there's a non-zero chance that they are deceased (worse: recently deceased) or on bad terms with the baby's parents. So instead I'll say something vague like "is everybody very excited about the baby?", which gives the parents the choices of saying something like "Yes, all my friends are texting me for updates" (inference: they do not have close family; I might follow up by asking if many of their friends have children already) or "I didn't tell anybody I was pregnant" (got that once, it was fascinating, we had a good time discussing how she planned to spring it on people) and "Yes, she's the first grandbaby on the dad's side so his parents are thrilled"

The last one unlocks dialogue options like: oh do the grandparents live in town? No, they live in Nevada? I went to Reno as a kind and it blew my tiny mind. Is that where you grew up, or did they move there later?

Then they'll either say "yes that's where I grew up" and I can ask what brought them here (potentially opening such topics as: their jobs, if they say they came here for work; whether they miss sunnier weather, and so forth) or they can say "no, I grew up in Scranton but my parents retired to Vegas" or just "they moved later" and not mention where they grew up, if that's not information they feel like sharing. Then I can ask if their parents are enjoying wherever they've moved to, possibly fall back on some vague and unoffensive personal anecdote about said place, or go on to my next pre-programmed question* without anyone feeling awkward about it.

Some people are happy to tell me about how they grew up in Ethiopia and where their family is living now and how they came to the US to study microbiology and whether or not they like it here and if they'll be getting the baby dual citizenship and so on and so forth: some people do not, and this usually lets me skip around that without sticking my foot in it. (I'm pretty sure a lot of people don't want to say that they're Russian, for example, which makes me sad.)

The TL;DR is that I try to ask vague/open-ended questions that people can narrow down themselves, if they choose to, or make sure that a question is sort of an either/or so that they don't feel like there's a wrong answer. And I try not to assume anything about them whatsoever: sure, 99% of my clients with Indian names and Indian accents are in fact from India, but once in a while they're not. *"Do you guys have any pets? if yes: Do you think your pet knew you were pregnant?" [Most people think their dogs noticed the pregnancy, and some suspect their dog was the first one to notice they were in labor. It's fascinating. Alternately they say "no my cat's an idiot," and I can tell them about the time my aunt's cat stuck his face in a candle twice, and so forth.]

#my job #first person shooter #asks #op #sorry i think i lost the thread here a bit #anyway like I always say: when you assume you have to kink tomato out of telepathic space vampire mindfuck noncon