#where is my ACTUAL BASTARD whump???

[turn-the-tables-on-them]

One thing I've noticed on Tumblr, is that most of the time, "Villain Whump" is usually an individual who was never really that bad, and was more a minor inconvenience and pest than actual danger, and was always frenemies or love interest to the heroes pre-whump.

And while this is a great trope, that is not Villain whump. That is shady dude whump.

Please. We need more actually once-terrifying Villain and Supervillain whumpees.

#Kit rants #I'm losing it #so many stories of minor inconvenience shady dudes getting whumped and broken #where is my ACTUAL BASTARD whump??? #WHERE? #whump #whump community

[campingwiththecharmings]

it's been too long since i've sent something debilitatingly horny to you, so here:

edit: im sorry its so long and plot-y 😭 i've never written for poe and got too excited.

imagine being a first order commander in charge of coaxing information from poe dameron. the first batch of interrogators (a couple stormtroopers) couldn't get a thing out of him so you were called in as back up.

GIF by antagonistenthusiast

you've had a few interactions with poe (as you're both renowned pilots), but you've never actually seen his face. you've only communicated through radios -- well, communicated is a strong word, you've taunted and growled at each other from a distance...

needless to say, you were intrigued to finally meet this 'poe dameron' that you've been chasing around since you became a flight officer.

you're shocked when you see him, not because he's battered and barely conscious, but because he's prettier than you expected.

GIF by one-blog-to-whump-them-all

of course, he's fucking pretty. he's the resistance's flyboy, the general's favorite, complete with a cut jawline, pouty lips and perfect curls.

it enrages you.

long dark lashes frame half-lidded eyes as you approach him. his body is strapped tight to a chair, but he doesn't seem bothered by it. he's so unbothered, in fact, that he immediately greets you with one of his annoying quips:

"you the good cop?" you're sure it would've sounded better if his voice wasn't so hoarse and broken -- not that you didn't enjoy that sound. there's something about a ruined man that immediately sparks a flame inside of you.

"no, they were the good cops." you refer to the storm troopers that left him this way. "i'm the bad cop, and i like to do things a bit differently..."

you can see it on his face: he recognizes you, or your voice, but he doesn't know from where.

"can't fly away anymore, can you, dameron?"

it finally dawns on him, "you." he almost looks...happy about the revelation.

"yeah, me." his stare is intense and interested, and he's not trying to hide it at all.

cocky bastard.

"y'now i didn't expect such a bea--"

you roll your eyes, "ok, let's stop with all this chatter."

there's a piece of paper sticking out of the breast pocket of his leather jacket, folded several times to fit securely in the space.

"you got something for me?" you coo, voice sickly sweet all of the sudden.

you reach out, gliding your hand from his shoulder to his chest, feeling the smooth leather rise and lower under your fingers as he starts to breathe harder. he pushes against your touch like he's touch deprived, like he's been waiting for this moment all his life.

oh, he's easy.

you snicker as you pluck the paper out, taking a second to wag it tauntingly in front of his face.

"what're you...HEY! THAT'S MINE."

bingo

you open it up, satisfied by how fluidly this interrogation is going. once you deliver this to ren, you're sure to get a promotion.

when you see what's inside, you glower: it's just a worn photo of some BB-droid.

"really?" you give him an unimpressed look. "what, is this your pet or something?"

"he's my driod! my little buddy!"

"ok...so we'll do this the hard way."

---

it starts with pain, but it never seems to be enough. he's -- laughing! he's taunting you, groaning out "is that all you got" or whispering a hoarse "i could do this all day".

you realize you're methods will have to be a bit...unconventional to get your point across. you saw how he reacted to your touch, how he looks at you, even when you're punching him in the face.

you know what you need to do, you're just not sure that you could take it.

GIF by joker1315

you take the step -- blurring the line between pain and pleasure.

it's for the first order, you tell yourself, but you're enjoying it.

you're breathing almost as hard as he is -- you need it just as much as he does.

you've been edging him about an hour now. he whines when you slow your hand again, leaving him right at the brink of release. metal clangs and groans as he pulls against his restraints.

"please, please, please..."

"you know what i need." you squeeze him, not tightly, but just enough to drive him wild. "just one word -- the planet -- and i'll give it to you. i'll let you cum all over yourself."

"c-can't."

"can't? or won't?" you swipe your thumb over his leaking tip. he's literally pulsing in your hold.

"fuck!" he yells out a name, one you immediately memorize, desperate voice and all.

;dlfsl;dfgk oh oh oh ohhhhhhh my goddddddddddddd

no but like, the fact that poe was also kind of into the whole thing though?? him arching into your touch, shooting you heated glances even when you're torturing him, like he likes being at your mercy?????? please send help 🫠🫠🫠

(**WARNING: here there be smut and it could potentially be considered dub-con so read at your own risk**)

if you thought he was pretty before, it's nothing compared to how he looks when he comes--his jaw slack, head thrown back, baring his glorious neck (a neck you just wanna bite), his sweaty curls deliciously mussed, eyes closed in ecstasy as he makes a mess of himself and your hand.

heavenly, you think. the sight is heavenly.

unable to resist, you kiss him softly, so contradictory to the rough way you'd been handling him. he sighs, sagging against his restraints as he kisses you back, his breath fanning across your cheek. you tell him he's a good boy when you pull away and he whines, trying to follow your lips, his mouth gaping, pupils blown wide with lust. he's so drunk on you, on the pleasure you've given him, he'd probably give you whatever you wanted right now; the knowledge fills you with glee. you smile, running a hand down his chest before tucking him back in his trousers.

he comes back to himself when you move to leave, his eyes growing a little harder, jaw clenching as you tell him that you look forward to working with him again.

unfortunately, ren isn't around for you to give him the intel poe gave you, so you hold onto it, intent on telling him when he returns. that night though, you can't sleep, can't stop thinking about poe's breathy whines and whimpers and how pretty he looked begging you to let him come. it's all you can think about, the urge to go to him so strong. so you go, shooing the guards from his cell and going inside. he's asleep, still tied up but removed from the rack he'd been on earlier, bloodied and bruised and beautiful. you allow yourself a moment to study him, eyes tracing the curve of his jaw, of his brow, his nose.

then you take him in your hand, squeezing and stroking, his pretty little noises going straight to your core. you want him, you realize, want to claim him, want to make him yours. the urge is so strong it makes you a little angry--that he could have so much power over you in this state is...well, it's unacceptable.

maybe you just need to fuck him, you reason, to get it out of your system. so you do, straddling him and sheathing his hardness inside your warm, wet cunt. he sounds (and looks) even prettier like this, beneath you, his moans breathy, breathing ragged as you ride him. he feels so good inside you, the stretch of his cock scratching an itch you didn't even realize you had. he watches at you with wide, attentive eyes, hips pushing up to meet yours as you impale yourself on him again and again.

you see stars when you come, cunt clenching around his cock as you throw your head back with a strangled moan. he's still hard and inside you when you come down, his ragged breaths reaching your ears. the look in his eyes is almost reverent when you meet them, and when he begs you to let him come inside you, a little piece of your heart crumbles.

you leave his cell, swearing to yourself that you'll never do it again, that you'll tell ren what you've learned and that dameron will be executed and it'll all be done.

but you don't. can't.

you keep the information you learned to yourself so your trysts with him can continue. every day you go to his cell, send away the guards, and fuck him. you start to look forward to it, to seeing him, to being with him. he starts begging you to let him touch you, and one day you cave and allow it. you groan when he cups your breast, arching into his touch as you bounce slowly on his cock. then his hand falls to your hip, his fingers dig into your skin, and a part of you hopes he'll leave behind bruises. when his thumb finds your clit, he circles the bud, groaning as you gasp, cunt fluttering around him. he whispers something as you fall apart, and it isn't until later that you realize...he'd called you beautiful.

(lmaooooooooooo many, many apologies for going overboard with this, i love me a subby man, especially when that man is poe dameron, hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng)

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron smut #em tag #i have a poe dameron problem #in case that wasn't obvious #thanks for sending this my brain went wild over it as you can see #please feel free to add some more if you want 🤭🤭🤭 #also sorry for adding feels at the end i have a tendency to do that lmao #ALSO please consider writing for poe! the world needs more poe!

[maesphantoms]

Breathless (Simon 'Ghost' Riley, John 'Soap' MacTavish, GN! Reader Plationic)

Warnings: Takes place during the mission 'Alone', talks of blood, injury, and death. Gunshots and knives. Medical and military inaccuracy.

Genre: Angst/Whump

Word Count: 5,511

I basically got up gameplay of this mission and ran through it so there is a lot of dialogue from the actual mission. Feel free to ignore this if that isn't your cup of tea :D I had an idea going into this, but very quickly lost it haha I'm not very proud of it, but hey I'm rusty so what can I expect?

Not proofread

For once in what feels like forever, Soap was finally quiet. You were sat next to him while Ghost followed Graves back to Alejandro’s base and as much as you loved the Scottish bastard, he just kept talking and teasing you. About a shot you missed or height or anything else he could think of. You could tell that it was getting on Alejandro’s nerves too, but he was far too nice to say anything to him. As for Ghost, you could tell he had checked Soap out long ago. Whenever you tried to catch his eyes in the rear view mirror you could see that he was far away in his mind, distracted by something in his head. You’ll have to ask him what it is once you’re all settled for the night.

 

Ah….I can’t wait to shower… You thought to yourself. It had, after all been a very tiring day. It’s not everyday that you get to blow up an oil rig. Especially one with a missile. Admittedly, yes, Soap and Graves did all the work in the ACTUAL blowing up of the thing, but hey, you and Ghost did a damn good job being a part of the team.

 

“Johnny…?” You heard Ghost finally speak, the first time since you all got back into the truck.

 

Raising your eyes back up the rear view mirror, you could see him trying to look at Soap but you could only see his eyes from the reflections from the headlights bouncing off the trucks in front of us. You glanced over at Soap to see him nodding off. Elbowing his side, you pointed to Ghost once Soap looked at you.

 

“You say something, L.T.?” Soap cleared his throat.

 

“Making sure you’re still breathing is all. I don’t have a good feeling..” The Lieutenant muttered the last part under his breath.

 

As if on cue, the truck in front of you pulled to a stop right outside the gates of Alejandro’s base. You all shared a look and began to get out. Graves hopped out of his own truck as some of his men began to walk towards him. Your stomach began to feel like it was filled with lead as you walked around the side of the truck to stand next to Ghost, Soap and Alejandro on the other side.

 

“What’s this?” Alejandro asked Graves, pointing to the men standing by the gate.

 

“This is the immediate future. Step away from the gate.” Graves responded, walking towards Alejandro.

 

Ghost glanced behind you as you heard the footsteps of someone walking up behind you. Your hand slowly inched towards your knife. This was going to be bad. You glanced at Ghost and both almost imperceptibly nodded.

 

“What?” Soap’s voice cut through the air. You may have wanted him to shut up in the truck, but you were happy he was talking now.

 

“You heard me.”

 

“You’re crazy, this is my base.” Alejandro motioned towards the base.

 

“It’s not a base. This is a sizable covert facility…and I admire it. So, I’m taking it.” Your hand closed on your knife, the other one forming a fist. This was going to be really bad. “You boys…and Owl.. have been relieved. Thank you for your service.”

 

“No, no, no. I don’t take orders from you.” You could feel the anger coming off Alejandro and Ghost in waves. Oh fuck, this is going to be really really bad.

You began to formulate a plan in your head. There was one man behind you and one man beside Ghost. Then from where you could see, two behind Graves. Out of your peripheral, you could see one behind Soap. You’ve seen how many men Graves could have with him so you couldn’t count on these being the only ones here. You couldn’t see on the other side of Graves’ truck and there could be more behind him. If you took the one behind you, Ghost the one beside him, you could get the ones behind Graves while Alejandro got him and Soap with the one behind him.

 

This plan could not work as the others don’t seem focused on the men as you. Except for Ghost, but you two were basically two sides to the same coin. You could communicate with just your eyes. A truly terrifying duo to be up against. As if he heard you, Ghost’s fists tightened and he followed suit in slowly reaching for his knife.

 

“What the fuck did you just say to me, pendejo…?” Alejandro began walking towards Graves, but Soap put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him,

 

“You’re out of line, Graves.”

 

“Don’t do that,” Graves stepped back and pointed a finger at Soap. Every muscle in your body was tense. “Don’t….do that. No one needs to get hurt here.”

 

“Are you threatening us?” Ghost’s voice slightly made you jump as he took half a step closer to you.

 

“Soldier, I don’t make threats. I make guarantees. So let’s not do this.” The cogs in your head were spinning at a rapid pace. Where are the weak spots in their armor? What happens if the other two don’t move as fast as you and Ghost? What if someone gets shot? Does Graves have more men posted where they can’t see?

“I’m calling Shepard.” Soap said, eerily calm, before turning around and beginning to walk towards the truck.

 

“General Shepard sends his regards.” Your veins turn to ice. Of course. Of fucking course. “He told me y’all wouldn’t take this well.”

 

“He knows about this?” Ghost sounded incredulous. All the pieces began to fall into place for you. You glared at Graves, you were going to skin the blonde bastard.

 

“He’s put me in command of this operation from here on out. So y’all need to stand down. It’s time for the pros to finish this.” Soap turned and made eye contact with you and Ghost. “And why the hell are we talking like this is some kind of negotiation? It’s NOT. I’ve got my orders and now you have yours.” Oh, you’re turning the skinny bastard into your toothpick.

 

“And who the fuck do you think you are, cabrón? My men are inside!” Alejandro yelled. The man behind you took a couple steps forward. You began to see red and your hands began to shake.

 

“I’m afraid not. Your men have been….” Graves sucks on his teeth, “Detained.” Alejandro lurches forward and gets thrown against the truck out of view. Fuck! You have to come up with a new plan….and fast.

 

“Graves, what the fuck?!” You yell.

 

Gunshots. No time to formulate a new plan. You lunge back and elbow the man behind you in the gut then stab him in his eye. Ghost shoves the man in front of him to the truck and sinks his knife in his neck as you hear Alejandro struggling. You can barely see Soap through the window holding a Shadow by the neck and shooting at Graves. Ghost pulls you to a kneel and you inch along the truck as Soap groans and falls on his back. The gunshots stop.

 

“Go Johnny, get out of there! Soap! Go!” Ghost yells beside you. You look over and see Soap get up and jump over the concrete barrier, the Shadows shooting after him.

 

“Your turn, Ghost. Go.” You whisper to him under the gunshots, pulling out your pistol.

 

“What?” He turns and looks at you.

 

“There’s not enough time. Go or I’ll kill you myself.” You push his shoulder and his eyes harden.

 

“You better come out of this alive, Owl.”

 

“That’s the idea, Lieutenant.” You smile as he runs off into the darkness just as the gunshots stop.

 

“You there, Ghost? Owl? That was a big mistake, folks. It did not have to be like this.” You heard Graves walking around the side of the truck so you made your way to the front, trying to find Alejandro. Fuck, he’s gone. “Son of a bitch… find em!” Graves yelled.

 

How the fuck were you going to get out of this situation now? You needed to distract them a little longer. You needed to find out where Alejandro is. Time to wing it.

 

“Graves! You fucked up big time, brother!” You yelled, watching the feet under the truck run to where you were. Just able to squeeze under it, you quietly and quickly moved to the middle then backed up until you could crawl under the one behind you. “I’m gonna enjoy making a rug of your scrawny ass.” You cackled.

 

“Owl…we will find you. And the two British idiots.” He mused. You continued to move around and under the trucks where they couldn’t see you. This was too easy.

 

“Oh, no you won’t. But we’ll find you. And you won’t see us until my knife is in your throat, pretty boy.”

 

You climbed on top of the truck that Graves was originally in. Grabbing a grenade of one of the dead Shadows on the way up, you whistled and as they all turned, saluted them before throwing it. Graves managed to shoot a bullet at you before running away and it found its place…somewhere around your collarbone. You bit back a screen as you ran off while it exploded. Gunshots and shouts following you.

 

 

 

Once you were sure you lost them in the woods, you began to head towards the town as that’s where you saw Soap run. You just had to hope Ghost headed the same way and neither idiot had gotten themselves killed. Every small action brought incredible amounts of pain to you, but the internal mission to find the boys overrode everything. That’s not to say you didn’t feel the pain, because you definitely did. In every single breath, every single step. You didn’t dare move your right arm.

 

As the street lights started to wash over you, you dipped into an open shop and sat down to catch your breath behind the counter. You could hear distant screaming and gunshots and had to hope it wasn’t Ghost and Soap. Bringing your left arm over your radio ripped a scream from your throat that you tried your hardest to keep quiet and you flicked through the radio channels. It was filled with random Shadow chatter. You kept flicking until you came across a familiar voice.

 

“-iper position in the church tower. Find your way there, and you might just make it. Then we can look for Owl.” You’ve never been so happy to hear the grumpy bastard’s voice.

 

“No need, Lieutenant. I’m here.”

 

“Owl!” Soap exclaimed.

 

“You injured, Owl?”

 

“Aww, look at you, Ghost. All concerned.” You teased, laying your head back against the counter. You needed to move. And soon.

 

“Answer the question, sergeant.”

 

“I caught a bullet to the collarbone. Luckily, it didn’t hit an artery.. Would’ve bled out a while back in that case.  I guess that’s what I get for giving Graves a grenade…even if the slimy bastard was able to run from it. Are either of you?”

 

“Hold on, your collarbone?!” Soap exclaimed.

 

“Very exciting, I know.”

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“Other than the potential to be bleeding into my chest cavity? Oh, I’m swell. Shall we go out for some drinks after all this?”

 

“Enough. Owl, get yourself to the church. I’ve set up a sniper point there and Johnny is on his way here. Where are you?” Ghost’s voice sounded tense.

 

“Umm…that’s a hard question. It’s some shop. I’m behind the counter right now.”

 

“Get a move on, and be careful. There’s Shadows everywhere.”

 

“Church….right.” You said, mostly to yourself. You closed your eyes and bit your lip, you pulled yourself to your feet. Even though you could now taste blood as you bit into your lip, you managed to keep quiet.

 

“Are you able to bandage yourself, Owl? Is it still in you?”

 

“No exit wound.”

 

The comms then went silent. Checking your gun, you counted how many bullets you had. Once you got yourself ready, you put your left hand over the bleeding hole and began to walk out the door. You could barely see the towers of the church over the other buildings. The screams and gunshots still far enough away that you felt comfortable running towards the gleaming building.

 

As you rounded a corner, you could see the carnage left in the wake of the Shadows. Blood and bodies filled the streets as the rain began to wash it all away. Not fast enough. Shaking your head, you attempted to focus on the mission at hand. You would get Graves for this, it didn’t matter if you had to to die as well.

 

“Graves is rounding up cops.” You heard Soap’s voice come over comms again.

 

“He’s judge, jury, and executioner now.” Ghost grumbled.

 

“Guess that’s what happens when you can’t make it in the real world. You have to kill an entire town to feel good about yourself. I can’t wait to skin the little bastard. Maybe stuff him and hang him on the wall for all of the Shadows to see.” You spit out, watching a pair of Shadows walk across an intersection in front of you.

 

“Just focus on getting to the church, Owl. Graves will get what’s coming to him soon, I can assure you of that.”

 

“You’re telling me, you see that big boy with the skull face and you’re not gonna start sweatin’?” You could faintly hear a Shadow say from nearby.

 

You smiled to yourself and continued to slowly sneak through the roads.

 

“I’m not going to see him.”

 

“You’re right, you won’t see him. It’s too late if you see him, you’re fuckin’ dead already.”

 

He wasn’t wrong. Ghost definitely was one to lurk in the shadows and take his enemies out from cover more than lunging straight into the fight. It was something you admired about him. Something you were inspired to try more. Now, you were nowhere as skilled with a throwing knife as he was, but you were able to sneak up behind enemies and slit their throat before moving onto the next. Something you’d have to put into action as you made your way through the death and blood riddled streets. You were cold and in pain. Every single breath hurt. You kept your hand on the wound as best as you could to apply pressure, pretty sure it wasn’t slowing down the bleeding. The church was still a ways away and the more you spent out in the rain, the more a sense of dread began to fill you. What if you didn’t make it…what if Soap or Ghost gets caught by the Shadows….what if YOU got caught by the Shadows…would they kill you right away or torture you to get an answer out of you as to where your companions were?

 

You shook your head again, you needed to keep your composure. Blinking the rain out of your eyes, you focused on the road ahead of you and the radio crackling in your ears as Ghost was teaching Soap about different tools and weapons he could make. Making mental notes, you kept a look out for the same things Soap kept finding. You just had to hope it would be enough.

 

“Feeling weak, are you, Johnny?

 

“A bit shaky, sir, yeah.”

 

“And you, Owl?”

 

“Never better, sir.” You grimaced as the pain flared up as if to make a point.

 

“Graves tried to kill us. Would stand to reason if you were a little off. Find a stim, it’ll give you a boost.”

 

Nodding to yourself, you began walking through a clothes store. A welcome relief away from the rain and the Shadow currently patrolling outside of it. A short break couldn’t hurt you. You needed to catch your breath. Sneaking around the counter, you found yourself in the changing room which was pitch black. Pulling yourself against the wall, you closed your eyes and focused on your breathing. How much longer could you do this…

 

Grabbing a shirt that lay discarded on the ground, you attempted to use it to stem the blood from your shoulder. Going through a mental checklist, you thought about attempting to find a needle and thread to just sew the wound shut and be done with it, but you knew that was a bad idea. Just as you mentally scolded yourself for the dumb idea, you heard a noise from the other side of the wall. Quiet footsteps, almost imperceptible with the rain pounding down outside. Pulling yourself back into a crouch, you tightly held your knife in your hand and stared at the door frame beside you. If you had to ambush the Shadow so be it. You figured he’d eventually come into the store and it appears now was the time.

 

Glaring at the door, you readied yourself to lunge at the man as soon as he walked through, but instead were shocked to see a man crouched down to the same level as you, backing his way into the dark room. He turned around and held up a bottle before sighing in relief.

 

“Owl, steamin’ Jesus you scared me.” Soap whispered.

 

You all but collapsed into the wall again. Thunder rumbled.

 

“You doin’ alright there?”

 

“Peachy.” You sounded breathless.

 

“Ghost, Owl and I found each other. They aren’t doing to hot by the looks of it.”

 

“Copy. Hurry and get here the both of you, and then we can find some help. Keep your head level, Owl, we need you.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Once again, you pulled yourself into a crouch and nodded at Soap while he began to search the room for anything of use, something you hadn’t gotten to yet. He could grab everything for all you cared. You just needed to get to the church. Let Soap do all the crafting he wanted.

 

Soap nodded to you when he was ready to once again ready to move. You both walked out the end of the hall where the changing room was which lead to what was obviously a backroom to the store. A dead Shadow sat against a wall next to a window, knife sticking out of his neck.

 

“Ghost, you missing a knife..?”

 

“Several.” You could practically hear the smirk. Laughing breathlessly, you shook your head.

 

“Think we found one.”

 

“Some of the dead Shadows are my handiwork.”

 

“You came through here?” Why is it getting more difficult to talk? Soap glances at you.

 

“On my way to the church.”

 

“And you left us?” Soap sounded hurt.

 

“I’m used to working alone.”

 

“So much for no man left behind.” You muttered.

 

“Just get yourselves to the church. Tryin’ to keep you two alive and get you here in one piece. One of us needs to survive and tell the tale.”

 

“Takin’ a shine to us then?” Soap teased, elbowing you to which you glared at him. He put his hands up in an apology.

 

“Not in the slightest. Still got a lot of ground to cover.” The radio crackled to silence.

 

“That’s that, I guess.” You laughed.

 

“Let’s get to work. Go through the window, I’ll be right after you.” Soap gestured to the broken window beside you.

 

Taking a breath, you readied yourself and jumped through the broken glass and landed on your feet with a low grunt. You could faintly hear a Shadow giving a sit rep to his radio. They hadn’t found any of you and were slowly getting more and more on edge. Much like you felt. Your nerves felt electrified. Sure, you’ve been on some shitty missions, but nothing like this. Nothing with this big of a toll. The screaming and gunshots were slowly quieting down. They were running out of townsfolk to slay, which meant they would be on guard much more now that they didn’t have any other targets to keep track of. You couldn’t see the church from where you were, but you hoped it was closer.

 

Soap followed behind you and spotted a crate at the end of the little alley you two were in. You both walked over to it and he opened it while you were keeping a lookout. Your hand was aching from how tight you held your knife, your gun sitting heavy in it’s holster.

 

“Seek and ye shall find.”

 

“Whatchya got?” You heard Ghost’s voice again.

 

“Black powder.” Soap began to put together a mine.

 

“Nice. This could get interesting.”

 

“God, am I happy you’re trained in that shit.” You gestured to him.

 

“As am I.” Soap smiled, widely. “Lt. About to play rough with the Shadows.”

 

“I like the sound ‘o that.” You raised your eyebrows at the tone of his voice.

 

“Fashioned a trip mine.”

 

“A man after my own heart.”

 

“Thought you’d like that.”

 

“You thought right.”

 

You stared at Soap in shock. Well all right then… For the third time, you had to shake your head to focus. You’d never get over how they jokingly flirt with each other in the face of danger. The first mission you did with them had you struggling not to laugh at how effortlessly they would fall into doing it. Ghost acted like he hated everyone, but you could tell that he and Soap were close friends.

 

“Oh, don’t let me distract you from getting to your boyfriend. By all means, lead the way Johnny.” You teased.

 

Soap shook his head and laughed before beginning to walk towards the other end of the alley and took out the Shadow you had heard talking earlier. You hung back a little and let him take him down. Looking through the different doorways you had passed in case he had any buddies with him.

 

“Killed a Shadow.”

 

“Nice.”

 

“Took his gun.”

 

“Good work. Moving up in the world, Johnny. Choose your shots and targets wisely, Johnny. Guns make noise.”

 

“I could’ve given you mine if you wanted it.” You walked into one of the open doors and spotted another dead Shadow.

 

Walking back into the alley, you let Soap take the lead again. Once the other Shadows in the area found the body, Soap looked at you before throwing a smoke bomb and you both ran forward and took out one of them and as you were pulling your knife out of the one you got, Soap got the last one. You bent over and attempted to catch your breath. A wave of nausea hit you out of nowhere. Soap grabbed your arm but you waved him off and stood up. How fucking far was this damn church?

 

Once you looked passed the Shadows you noticed a balcony that you had to jump off of. This would be fun. Steeling yourself, you leapt and landed on your feet with a slight slide with the slippery ground.

 

“It’s pishin it doon oot here.” You heard Soap say as he landed beside you. You just looked at him, confused.

 

“Speak English.” Ghost’s deadpan voice made you laugh.

 

“It’s rainin’ fuckin’ hard.” Soap sassily responded, making you snort.

 

“Then say so.”

 

“I did!” Soap raised his hands up in exasperation.

 

“Rain’s good. It’ll cover your tracks.”

 

“Covers theirs too..”

 

“Let’s worry about you two, Johnny.”

 

“So you do like me?” You teased.

 

“I like you alive.”

 

You laughed again then turned to open a door, Soap immediately pulling you to a stop. Turning to look in the door you saw a shotgun pointed straight at you. Backing up, you silently thanked Soap. You once again tried to catch your breath as Soap went around and disarmed the trap you nearly walked into. Absentmindedly, you put your good hand on your chest, you couldn’t tell if it was from the gunshot or if something else was wrong. Your chest hurt.

 

“Come on in, Owl.” Soap said, holding the shotgun. “Ghost, found a tripwire rigged up to a shotgun. Disarmed it. Took the gun.”

 

“Open hearts and minds with it, Johnny.”

 

As soon as you walked through the threshold of the doorway you heard a distant banging. You and Soap made eye contact and he headed up the stairs holding out the shotgun. Putting your pain aside, you followed him, knife tightly clenched again. At the top of the stairs, you were greeted with a long hallway, the door at the end being the source of the banging. It echoed loudly down the hall and, admittedly, made you jump slightly every time it came. Your mind was immediately filled with the images of zombie movies and how there’s always a scene like this. The survivors in a dark and spooky hallway while a zombie banged on the door, waiting until they put their guard down to smash through it and eat them. Your hair was already standing on end when the British bastard’s voice spoke through the radio again, making you jump and quietly curse him out.

 

“Johnny… Graves is burning the midnight oil to find us..why?”

 

“Graves and Shepard are both involved. No matter what, this is an unprecedented amount of fuckery.”

 

“We need to get to the bottom of it.” You chimed in, you didn’t know if it was your fear and mental image of a zombie on the other side of the door or whatever the fuck was going on with your chest, but you couldn’t get a deep breath in.

 

You were a hardened soldier and here you are, terrified of a fictional movie trope. Soap turned and looked at you again as you struggled to breathe in. Waving your hand, you two continued to look through the small house as the banging on the door continued.

 

“Accurate and deadly fire tends to resolve those things. Right now, we’re not safe here.”

 

“Right now, we’re not safe anywhere, L.t.”

 

As you rounded a corner, you saw a shadow on the wall the looked as if someone had been speared through and left there. Once again, your hand flew to your chest as you struggled to breathe, the thought of zombies came back. Forcing yourself to round the corner, you saw one of those stupid boxing toys next to the home’s…previous tenant.

 

“Owl, what is with you?” Soap asked, walking over when he heard you wheeze while trying to gain your breath.

 

“I’m fine.” You waved him off again, but this time he finally walked over and made you sit down against the wall so he could look at your wound. The bleeding had slowed with the shirt you used earlier, but still oozed when he untied it from around your shoulder.

 

“We need to hurry.” He muttered to himself. “You ready to head out now?”

 

“Only if you go first because my mind is convinced that THAT,” You pointed to the door as it banged again. “Is a zombie ready to eat us.”

 

“What the fuck?” Soap laughed at you as he retied the shirt.

 

“I don’t fucking know, man. Maybe it’s the blood loss. Because that screams zombie movie. Oh god. What if this is how we found about the apocalypse, on the run from Graves? That’d be horrible.” You winced as he tightened the shirt and made it into a makeshift sling.

 

“L.t., you hear this shit?” Soap asked, laughing again.

 

All you got in response was a grunt. Soap pulled the shotgun back into his hands and started to head to the door. You bit your lip as you steadied yourself. In the end, the cause of the noise would haunt you far more than any zombie. As soon as Soap turned the knob, a man fell through it and reached his bloody hand towards you two while dragging in a raggedy breath before going limp and lifeless.

 

“Poor bastard..” You whispered, stepping around him.

 

“Owl, over here. Found adrenaline stims.” Soap ushered you over to a nearby crate, making you tear your eyes off the dead man.

 

For the first time since you met up with Soap, your hand loosened around the knife. Your knuckles screamed as you put it down to grab the stim. Both of you nodded at each other and injected it.

 

“Good mornin’ Mexico..” Soap grinned.

 

The surge of adrenaline in your body made you forget about the tightness in your chest for a little while. You followed Soap into the next building, a coffee shop with a broken railing. Once again, the two men started their banter and you just laughed at them.

 

“The mask, take it off.”

 

“Show my face?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Negative.”

 

“Are you ugly?”

 

“Quite the opposite.”

 

“I doubt that.”

 

Soap helped you jump down onto the 1st floor and then you heard Shadows talking. The both of you went back into a crouch and you pointed the men walking around outside the window and Soap looked at you and pointed to the open door then put his finger up to his lips.

 

“Johnny, the town’s full of tunnels.” Ghost’s voice crackled over the radio once more.

 

Slowly, you and Soap began to take out the Shadows one at a time. When the last one went down, you winced and adjusted your arm in the sling. Soap looked at you as your wheezing became louder. He knew something was wrong, but you two needed to get to Ghost. You just needed to last a little longer then once you were all out of this situation, then he’d interrogate you.

 

The rain continued to pound on you both as you made your way to the tunnels, taking down Shadows whenever you had the chance. Soap continued to craft different mines, molotavs, and pry tools. Eventually, you two landed in the freezing water and began to make your way through it. You tried to fight your teeth chattering as you were slowly overtaken by a bone deep chill. The water you walked through had blood mixed into it. From you, Soap, or the carnage you’d never know. Probably a mix of the above.

 

As you two climbed up the stairs out of the tunnel, you were never so happy to see a fucking building. But of course, it’s blocked off. Never the easy way. You and Soap began to make your way through different shops, the adrenaline in your system almost depleted. Just a quick break. You just needed a quick break and then you could keep going.

 

You leaned against the wall as you saw Soap head for the door. He pulled on it and noticed it was locked so as he pulled out on of his homemade pry tools, you tried to say something to him. Tried to tell him to wait so you can catch your breath. You just needed to catch your breath and you’d kill all the Shadows that hunted you three. Nothing came out. A deep exhaustion came over you. You were cold and you were tired. And fucking hell did your chest hurt.

 

Everything moved in slow motion. Soap got the door open, but then was on the ground with a gun pointed at his face. You could faintly hear Graves voice on the Shadow’s radio. Reaching for your gun, you could barely raise it before the Shadow was dead.

 

“Holy hell, Ghost was that you?”

 

“Who else? Now go.”

 

Soap turned around to look at you and you could immediately see the panic on his face. Your eyes were half closed and a faint whistling was all that was your breathing. Guilt immediately started to overcome him. He should’ve stopped you earlier when he heard you wheezing. You could see him talking, but all you could hear was your heartbeat and your breathing. Suddenly, more Shadows started coming in and you did your best to shoot them, Soap put his hands around your waist and pulled you up. Pain shot through your entire right side. And then you two were running. You’d be lying if you completely knew where you were going. The world seemed to blink in and out of existence.

 

Whatever flashes you would get confused you. You were outside, then inside, then outside again. A large iron fence. Ghost was suddenly next to you. Then you were sitting in a truck. The truck slammed through barbed wire. Soap was undoing the sling again. Finally, your consciousness slipped through your fingers like sand and you were falling.

 

 

 

It felt like someone was sitting on your chest. You groaned as you opened your eyes. Immediately, you felt a hand on yours. Blinking away the bleariness from your eyes, you turned and looked to see Soap standing there. Ghost not too far behind him. You were clearly in a hospital.

 

“It wasn’t a zombie, was it?” You whispered to Soap.

 

He shook his head and laughed weakly.

 

“Damn. That would’ve been a good way to go.”

 

“Collapsed lungs and blood loss not good enough for you?” Ghost piped in.

 

“Hell no.” You smiled, “At least Graves didn’t get what he wanted. I bet he’s pissed.”

 

“You know it.”

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #modern warfare x reader #maesphantoms

[ltleflrt]

@clownsecret hells yeah I'll tell you ALL about it 😆

In response to this post - I'm making my own post because this leans into dark-fic territory, and I don't want to put that on your post if it's something you're not interested in and don't want to see in your post notes. General Warning for dub-con and violence and the really kinky stuff. Featuring Dom!Raphael and sub!Astarion.

The Kinks:

-BDSM, which comes with real contracts, which could be under-negotiated due to desperation, or meticulously negotiated but Raphael will still find a way to make it hurt worse than expected through language loopholes and fine print.

-And speaking of BDSM, SO MUCH SADISM. I am a huge fan of sadist/non-masochist pairings, omg so hot. Pain play of all sorts! Crying! No comfort! Someone's going to need a healer when it's done, but the orgasms were still fan-fucking-tastic! Unless no orgasms were allowed, which is also it's own kind of fun lol

-Wing kink! Imagine Raphael's victim ahem I mean his lover finding out that his wings are sensitive in a sexy way. His lover using that against him. Distracting him from all the dirtybadwrong things he had planned for the scene.

-Tail sex! See above. Plus double penetration, fucking his vict-LOVER I MEAN LOVER with his tail and not his dick, holding limbs in place with his tail so that both his hands are free. It can be used for bondage!

-Gentle, intimate sex as a reward for good behavior. YUM.

Now imagine all of that with Astarion! I am a massive fan of whump porn, and Astarion would add an extra layer to that kind of fun because he's already been through fucking hell with Cazador. This is exactly the kind of stuff he was trying to escape! And now he has to sign a contract agreeing to put up with it!

So you'd have to come up with a reason for him to put himself in that position. Raphael's not just going to snatch him up and start tormenting him. He's going to offer a deal that Astarion will have to agree to voluntarily. Maybe Tav was a dickbag and wouldn't help him with Cazador. Maybe he trades his service for a way to walk in the sun again. Something where he's so desperate that he'll turn to a devil for help even though he said he wouldn't do something so stupid in Act 1 and 2 of the game.

So Astarion signs a contract. He was a magistrate, so he might negotiate the fuck out of the contract, but not have enough leverage to get certain clauses he wants, so he has to give up some protections he tries to build into the contract for himself. And he's like "I can put myself through hell on purpose in exchange for this thing I want desperately. It's only temporary, not forever."

Then there's different ways he can act under contract. Maybe he's not able to turn off the sass, and he pisses Raphael off constantly, getting himself punished all the time. Raphael falls in love with Astarion's inability to just fucking behave, something that made Cazador just punish him more, but makes Raphael start easing off because otherwise he risks breaking his side of the bargain because there's really no taming Astarion and oops Raphael actually doesn't want him tamed anymore.

Or maybe Astarion locks himself down, reigning in the sass and the rebellion, because he knows how to avoid punishment, and unlike Cazador, Raphael can't punish him without reason. He tones his personality down so much that Raphael is disappointed in his behavior because he didn't want a sex doll, he wanted a challenge. He wants Astarion to fight back and risk failing to hold up his end of the bargain. So he starts going gentle, which confuses Astarion. Neither of them know how to handle this change in dynamic, and oh no now they're having conversations instead of sex.

And I don't want Astarion to fix Raphael. I want Raphael to make Astarion worse. Encourage his bloodthirsty side, cheer on his competitive nature, let him be a sneaky little bastard, motivate him to start participating in the politics of Hell. Oh, it turns out Astarion is good at infernal contracts? Let's amend our contract so that Astarion can trade working with his mind instead of working with his body.

And bonus if Haarlep and/or Korilla haaaate Astarion because he's getting all of Raphael's attention, and they're jealous.

This is exactly the kind of unhealthy fucked up dynamic that I LIVE FOR. (Which is really funny because all my writing is fluffy af lol)

#ltleramblings #reply #astarion #raphael bg3 #raphstarion #fic idea

[gendervapor14]

(update from previous ask — gotta send numbers for each hang on)

2, 12, 18, and 21 for crocodile!! and 2, 22, and 25 for doffy ✨

(here is the previous ask)

sweating and trembling. you want ME to answer things about crocodile and doflamingo??? okay let's do this

CROCODILE

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

i love how he punches holes through his newspapers with his hook. so uncalled for. you could totally just balance the pages between the curve and point but no, he has zero chill, he's gonna fuck up this newspaper so no one else can read it afterwards.

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

i think he has a special interest/connection with animals. a lot of animals feature in baroque works, especially his lovely bananawanis. animals are easy to trust and difficult to hold grudges against, so maybe their presence gives him some peace of mind? he seems to have no issues disposing of his human agents if they fail him, but i like to think he's more forgiving with animals.

18. How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

i'm a sucker for a devoted second-hand, (cough cough vergo) so i'm gonna go ahead and say daz bones and crocodile. i love how daz seems to be the exception to his cruel-streak. they're both there for each other and it's warms my heart. also gonna rec this fic real quick because the daz & croc relationship is so good...

21. If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

oh. this is tough. in general i enjoy crocodile's ability to deadpan his way through a comedic situation? especially since he's frequently in the company of rosinante when i write him XD so yeah i enjoy making him very serious or slightly annoyed when there's some sort of ridiculous situation. something i don't like is how i never quite feel like i have a grasp on his character 😵 croc i need a backstory for you so badly... it's killing me...

DOFLAMINGO

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

so many things. i think for now, i'll say my favorite thing is how he seems to love sitting incorrectly. in warlord meetings, he's always got his ass perched on the back part of the chair, and his feet are in the seat. provided he isn't sitting on the table!! he likes to sit on those too. also people. loves to sit on people. think he used king riku as a footstool at one point.

22. If you're a fic reader, what's something you like in fics when it comes to ths character? Something you don't like?

i'm actually really picky about how doflamingo is written. i don't read much about him unless i'm familiar with the writer. i'm not a huge fan of the manic-pixie-girl coked-up-to-the-moon mingo (although i do think that's a funny style at times) also not a fan of the stories where he's just used as The Big Bad to make someone (law) suffer for the sake of whump. i love fics where he's got some crackhead energy, but not TOO much, yknow. he's quite intelligent and very diligent with his schemes, so a lot of the more comedic/brutal takes on his character make his intelligence less believable.

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

OH i love this question. my first impression was the warlord meeting i think? i was fascinated. loved his character design (rip black V neck shirt. why couldn't he wear that for dressrosa. the white open shirt was Not doing him any favors) i thought he was just gonna be some Quirky crazy bastard, and he is! but when i saw dressrosa, specifically the backstory at spider miles, my brain opened up. his backstory, the brother trauma, how he spent his early life... it wasn't what i was expecting and i found him much more compelling with all that depth. that's probably why i tend to write him like more of a sleazy business man, spider miles mingo stuck in my brain XD

thank you for these questions!! ♥ so much good thinking for the sleepy brain muscles XD

#thanks for the ask! #character ask game #one piece #sir crocodile #donquixote doflamingo

[thegeminisage]

oh boy it IS. tng update time. tonight, just under an hour ago, we finished watching "chain of command" parts i & ii. i'm not differentiating between them even though one had. WWWWAY more nudity than the other. hey did you guys know tng can occasionally pop the FUCK off

to me this episode felt like a backdoor pilot to ds9 which we will be doing tomorrow because it had cardassians in it and basically the only thing i know about ds9 is that gay cardassian that wants to fuck the doctor. and he's like the definition of the predatory gays/predatory gaze joke from what i have seen from gifs. so i was expecting like, some minor cardassian shenanigans and mild flirtiness

holy shit.

like girl when i tell you my tits got blown clean off

normally i complain there's too much downtime and technobabble in tng. there was not an OUNCE of fat on this episode. from start to finish we went at 500mph

like, we open with the guy taking away picard's command. and you're like oh no a demotion! but then it's COVERT OPS and also a suicide mission???

and the guy who takes over is a war-mongering bastard with a dubya accent idk how they predicted that in 1992 but GREAT job. i really loved to hate him, and one of my only nitpicks with this episode is that he didn't get more of what should have been coming to him

we acted this episode. will riker grinding his teeth every time he spoke to this guy. deanna's worried looks. beverly feeling guilty for leaving picard behind. i was actually complaining about patrick stewart not emoting when she was stuck in that little hole but now i understand. he had to save it for the FUCKING payload

ROLE REVERSAL FOR THE WOMEN. deanna got to wear a real uniform and beverly got to flirt her way out of a Situation. i love deanna's uniform, even if it is too tight around the chest. i think that's preferable to it being too tight around her crotch and leading to the horrific c*melt*e situation (sorry to say it like that). her hair also looked great this ep. so did bev's weirdly??? women's rights.

data didn't have much to do in this episode except accidentally give geordi more work which made me sad but it WAS wild to see him in a red shirt. i'll miss him until it's time to watch tng again

the little infiltration was charming. worf and beverly teasing each other about heights and bats. even the cave-in. picard getting left behind because worf tried to hold the door open like that guy in narnia and got SHOT.

i loved the guy who was doing the peace talks. he had the most unsettling horrific smile i've ever seen in my life. STAN a legend.

truly though even though i enjoyed the first half of the episode and thought it was solidly watchable the second half is what elevated it into mind blowing territory.

and like first of all it must be said: picard buck ass naked. computer show me image

i want you to imagine that you are 1. profoundly sleep deprived 2. have been complaining about the lack of sex in this show for six and a half seasons 3. do not find this man remotely physically attractive 4. AND the only thing you know about cardassians is gifsets of the guy from ds9 wanting to fuck the little doctor guy 5. you are PROFOUNDLY sleep deprived. only then can you imagine a fraction of the depths of my hysteria

i actually laughed so shrilly and loudly discord MUTED me cathy was like youve been silent for like 30 seconds are you still THERE. i laughed so hard i quite literally cried. we had to pause it for ten entire minutes. not even because it was funny i was just like. SHOCKED.

THEY REALLY WENT ALL IN ON THIS. it was like something out of a fanfic. a BAD fanfic. like those whump fics where guys get captured and made into sex slaves. EXCEPT PATRICK STEWART WAS ACTING!!!!! like it got SO SERIOUS so QUICK

i just now skimmed an article that said patrick stewart himself did research on torture and also went all in ie filming nude fr. the dedication came through in the work i wish tng could be like this always

bro like. the part where he could have walked out but thought bev was still captive. the part where he was was like YOU'RE SIX YEARS OLD AND YOU CAN'T HURT ME. when he got the torturer to call him by his real name. when he ate the live worms or whatever they were i couldn't look. when they got to talking about that guy's daughter. like we literally got the best of both worlds. picard reverse uno'd him at every turn and kept his wits about him and then in the end he BROKE ANYWAY

THERE ARE FOUR LIGHTS, BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!

i was like. oh my god.

listen to me when he said it i was a little disappointed. i could see in his face given another 30 seconds he would have said five. i said OUT LOUD to catherine they should have showed us a shot of five lights and then had him say four anyway. but him saying four defiantly was still so so so good

BUT THEN. AT THE END. when he was like. deanna. i said four, but i saw five

THAT'S THE THESIS STATEMENT OF THE EPISODE. THAT TORTURE DOESNT GIVE YOU INFORMATION JUST WHAT THE TORTURER WANTS YOU TO SAY

AND THEN THEY JUST ROLLED CREDITS.

AND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! it's so wonderful-awful that that guy KNEW picard was getting release and STILL he felt the need to finish the conditioning, which i assume was meant to get picard to fake-confess to killing 55 men women and children like that one guy said. like, he didn't have time to record that confession. he JUST wanted to break him, and that was all. i bet he thinks about it all the fucking time. the one that got away.

again, i wish dubya knockoff hadn't been responsible for his release. i REALLY wanted riker to do a mutiny. but there just wasn't time. i am still glad riker got to give him shit but like we deserved more comeuppance truly bc he SUCKED SO BAD. also like lmaoooo at ANYONE saying starfleet is a science peaceful organization now. they're warmongers! they're no different from mirrorverse not really

aside from that though it was absolutely flawless. one of the best tng episodes possibly THE best tng episode. i feel so completely satisfied and also grateful that we will be watching ds9 next because going from this to another fucking barclay episode (the next tng one) would ruin me. i need TIME!!!

TOMORROW: ds9's "emissary," parts 1 & 2 !!!

we're going in release order, so now our watch schedule will look something like...

two at a time. that's gonna mess us up for "birthright" but we'll cope somehow

#personal #star trek blogging #tng lb #i'm so happy. it was so so so so so good why can't tng always be like this. sparks FUCKING flying

[themonopolyhat]

shoulder the sky au: helix whump

[ETA: this one-shot has become a round robin fic via the reblogs, but mind the tags folks!]

i have been dared by @shootingstarpilot to contribute to the helix whump “what-if” for his fantastic shoulder the sky series on ao3, so here we go.

pilot, you and i had the exact same idea on how to make helix’s life even worse than it already is -- namely, we both envisioned him on iwanaga along with obi-wan during dooku’s science project / torture spree.  this brainshare is hilarious all by itself.

(i should probably CONTENT WARN for torture, misery, and major character death right now haha)

my thoughts:

+ not sure whether dooku grabs helix on purpose or if it’s an accidental acquisition -- but since helix is along for the ride, and dooku is a bastard, dooku decides to make use of him.

+ therefore it is helix’s job to monitor vitals, update certain chart fields, and administer the antibiotics and pain meds while dooku’s minions or droids or whatever perform the experiments.

+ also because dooku is a bastard, helix has been outfitted with an explosive slave tracker right inside his skull. no escaping or even going where you’re not supposed to be on the base, pumpkin

+ so helix is in the fucking room with obi-wan when dooku questions him, and when dooku threatens him, and when the experiments begin. dooku threatens helix, too -- like shut up and do what you’re told or something real bad will happen.  obi-wan all but orders helix to comply because of course he doesn’t want anyone else to suffer on his behalf.  so helix shuts up and complies.

+ obi-wan is as quiet as he can be, quiet and straining at the restraints. it’s just another tuesday for helix, watching somebody he cares about fucking suffer while he’s unable to save them

+ helix loses his cool probably around the time that dooku proposes to drain obi-wan’s blood completely? or some other horrible thing, idk.  anyway helix responds as any horrified medic with his temperament might, and dooku has him knocked the fuck out.

+ helix wakes up in time to hear obi-wan screaming, and he gets to listen to the screams for a while before dooku wanders in like “oh yeah, if you’re not around to monitor obi-wan’s pain meds, i’m certainly not going to pick up the slack -- he’ll just suffer through the knives au naturel lol”

+ so helix goes back to work.  he gets obi-wan’s pain back under control, but of course he can’t do anything about the other sensations, or the sounds, or the smells, or the existential horror of being vivisected alive by your grandmaster who gave you tea

+ helix holds his hand, strokes his hair, tells him again and again: “look at me, look at me, don’t look down, obi-wan, you look at me”

+ they both quickly give up on apologizing for their mutual wracking sobs because they’re in this together, sweetheart

+ one night helix asks obi-wan how he can pray to the force and obi-wan (ever the teacher) haltingly talks about other force religions, the difference between praying and chanting for mindfulness, etc etc etc.  he quotes the guardians’ mantra: “i am one with the force, and the force is with me -- and i fear nothing, for all is as the force wills it.”  obi-wan seems to find it a little comforting (or maybe dissociative) to say it and hear it said, so helix bends over him and murmurs it over and over and over and over and over, even when obi-wan can’t speak the words himself. he can’t save his general but he can do this thing until his throat rips if need be

+ i don’t actually know whether sidious shows up, but if he does, he gives an Order via holo ahead of time and helix Goes Away for a little while. when he comes back to himself, obi-wan is blinded and deafened.

+ no help is coming. they can’t get out. dooku strips the skin from obi-wan’s hand and helix can only keep the meds at max, repeat the guardians’ mantra to his deaf ears, card a hand through his sweaty, grimy hair, hold his elbow, try so hard to be gentle so obi-wan knows it’s him

+ helix has had a particular intrusive thought since like day three, and he’s been shoving it aside because it’s unthinkable, but y’know, the unthinkable is becoming thinkable the longer he stays on as an accessory to the gruesome torture-murder of his general.  helix is a smart guy and figures out how to activate his explosive tracker at the time of his choosing.  useful information, under the right circumstances

+ around the time that dooku mentions breaking obi-wan’s spine for lols, helix decides he’s about had enough

+ no idea how he manages to get obi-wan alone in the lab, without dooku or droids or anybody else around, but:

+ the door is locked, the clock is ticking, they don’t have a lot of time before the window of opportunity will be lost.  helix undoes obi-wan’s restraints and climbs up on the table with him so he can prop him up in his arms and hold him close. he tucks obi-wan’s nose into his neck and rocks him for a few moments, whispering to him even though his general won’t hear, because he thinks obi-wan knows it’s him and he wants him to feel safe and loved

+ “see you soon, general,” he murmurs through his tears, and fuck, has he stopped crying even once in the past three weeks?

+ he activates the tracker

+ he saves his general

#my writing #shoulder the sky #shootingstarpilot #whump #torture #major character death #suicide #assisted suicide

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Are there any fics where John is gay?

Hey Lovely!

Ahh, hmm! None immediately come to mind, but I did find another old ask looking for Gay John fics too here, and there is two fics suggested on it, and a link to Alexx's Gay John list:

Performance In a Leading Role by Mad_Lori(E, 156,714 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE|| Hollywood / Actor AU, Secret Relationship, Falling in Love, Slow Burn, Romance, Coming Out, Fluff and Angst, Pining) – Sherlock Holmes is an Oscar winner in the midst of a career slump. John Watson is an Everyman actor trapped in the rom-com ghetto. When they are cast as a gay couple in a new independent drama, will they surprise each other? Will their on-screen romance make its way into the real world? Part 1 of Performance in a Leading Role

That Sudden Flood of Joy by apliddell(E, 7,124 w., 1 Ch. || Post-Mary, Friends to Lovers, Domesticity, Gay John, Healing, Flirting, Banter, Self Care and Love) – After John actually marries a woman he doesn't love, he realises he needs to start being more honest about his feelings, and things start to change.

-----

And I did a search of my MFL list for specifically "gay John", here are a couple more:

i read your book, you magnificent bastard by a_different_equation (M, 4,145 w., 1 Ch. || Writer Sherlock AU || Coffee Shops, Bookstores, Alternate First Meeting, Epistolary, Love at First Sight, Romantic Comedy, Metafiction, Falling in Love, Sherlock Wears Glasses, Gay John, Matchmaker Mike, Storytelling, Christmas) – In which John Watson, recently returned from the war, buys a book in Mike Stamford's bookshop and Sherlock Holmes is a famous, openly gay, crime fiction writer whose hero is in need of a partner. Part 1 of the Magnificent Bastard!AU series

The Killing Principle by Vulpesmellifera (E, 104,593 w., 46 Ch. || American AU || Gay John, Serial Killer Mary, Bum Appreciation, Sherlock is William, Dating Difficulties, BAMF Sherlock, Slow Burn, Thriller, Confessions, Whump, Angst with Happy Ending, Minor Character Death) – John Watson served twice in AmeriCorps, married his high school sweetheart, and then entered med school. A sudden arrest and accusation of multiple murders ends his promising career, irrevocably altering his life's trajectory. Acquitted of his wife’s crimes, John spends the next ten years as the maligned ex-husband of convicted serial killer Mercy Mary. A job offer draws him out of hiding and back to Connecticut - the very state where the crimes were committed. He needs the money, and the job is a dream. Then he meets the brilliant William Vernet, and it seems like he has a second chance at life and love. But the past has a way of catching up.

-----

Anyone have any others for Aurora?

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #john is gay #gay john #help steph find fics

[eltheabberation]

17 31 & 37 :)

17. Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

Start to finish! Sometimes the story evolves as I’m writing it, so I like to write it in chronological order so I can see what works best (also I’m not good at planning ahead ;-;)

31. Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?

Unless it’s an au, I tend to try and make my fics as close to canon as I can, but I do incorporate my own headcanons from time to time :>

37. Talk about your current wips.

ok uh in order from the one I’m most actively working on to least

Seiaki au fic based on a really shitty I read once. I’m still trying to work out a lot of plot stuff, and the scenes feel a bit clunky so far, but I feel like I’m making good progress and I just need to revise everything a bit more ;w; I’d summarize this fic as “Akira takes advantage of the actual plot-relevant stuff happening to break her boyfriend out of jail.” I’m still figuring stuff out, but I’m actually pretty confident in this fic :D

Takizawa family reunion fic!! I’m a tiny bit insecure about this one cause since we know so little about most of them beyond Seidou, there’s a lot of headcanons and stuff ;w; But that also means I can have fun with out so yay :D And now I can subject EVERY member of the Takizawa family to angst so Seidou doesn’t feel so alone :D I’m planning on writing 4 chapters (one from each person’s perspective) so let’s see how this goes :>

Shikorae and takizawa oneshot (oh boy can you notice a pattern here) based on one of Shikorae’s lines when he first meets Saiko. Idk I just wanted to see more fics of them being friends so I went “fine I’ll do it myself”

Yanhouji oneshot (finally one NON-SEIDOU fic) where I subject Houji to extreme amounts of angst while he tries to cope with the fact that he murdered one of the only people he cared about and who cared about him in return :> Ngl this is the one I’m most scared to post because there are like 2 other people in this fandom who ship this and usually not as their main houji ship and I feel like my interpretation of this ship is pretty different so ;-;;;

Uh ok remember when I said the last one was the one I was most insecure about? I lied it’s this one. So uh pre-canon au fic where Ryouko and Kureo meet back in the past when they were way younger. This is purely self-indulgent I just wanted to explore what I thought their personalities would be like when they were younger and also wanted to see them be friends. Not sure whether this would end up being a oneshot or a multi-chapter, also not sure if I’ll ever actually post it but just putting that out there

Non-tg one and also one I’ve already posted a chapter of, uh Fullmetal Alchemist future au where Selim and Elicia have to solve a mystery together while dealing with their respective issues. I am planning on continuing this eventually I just need to get back in the fma mood ;-;

Those are all my WIPs I’m planning to post or continue, I’ve also got another Seidou one but that’s more of a pure self-indulgent whump fic so idk if I’d ever post it unless you guys wanted to see me subject this poor bastard to various forms of torture and medical horror but idk

Tysm for the ask!! It was really fun answering everything :D

#ask

[toyybox]

Spiderwebs #5: Tape I (Hassle)

Masterlist

content: lab whump, captivity, defiant whumpee

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

“A tape recorder? Really?”

Jackie was still in the basement. This time, he was handcuffed to the table by his right wrist, which allowed him to gesture with his left hand and not much else. The sedative wore off soon enough. He almost wished it hadn’t—his body ached all over, and the basement was incredibly boring. Heather took her sweet time before she visited, that was for sure. He had already scratched all the polish off his nails.

“Yes, a tape recorder. They’re easy to dispose of in an emergency.” Heather set it down on the table while she prepared. The cassette slid into its hollow inside the small, rectangular box. It whirred to life with the push of a button. “Tape one. Subject is named Jackie Rockwell. Subject can withstand bullets, blunt force, loss of vital organs, and lethal doses of sedatives.”

“Lethal doses?” He stopped glaring at the recorder and glared up at her instead.

She didn’t reply. A hint of yesterday's manic grin traced the corners of her mouth. Jackie really wanted to punch her. That smug son of a bastard. A cat with her cream of the crop, all high and mighty. Jackie would do anything for a chance to punch her again.

In any case, Heather was unconcerned. She sat down on a chair across from him, then crossed her legs. “This is the second test, but the first recorded one.”

“Who are you even recording this for?" he asked. "Yourself? That's kind of redundant.” 

She reacted simply by checking her nails and replying, “Subject is still uncooperative. These tests are partly designed to put an end to that. Perhaps if the subject behaves, any future tests will be less painful.”

“You don't really have a husband, right? You don’t seem like the married type to me.”

“This is getting off track.” Heather cleared her throat and brought out a notepad. “Now, Jackie, please tell me your age and ethnicity, where you were born, your current nationality, and the names of all your immediate family members.”

“No.”

Heather slammed the notepad down on the table. “What, do you want me to drug you again?”

“Sure. Good luck asking me anything when I’m passed out. At least I’ll be more cooperative, yeah?”

It had been at least a few days since his capture. Jackie thought that calling the police would be a good idea. Unfortunately, his phone was missing, along with his wallet and keys. And his brand new pack of cigarettes! Not that he was a big smoker. He had simply been curious.

Heather tapped her fingers on the table. It was the best piece of furniture down there, which wasn’t saying much, considering the state of the chairs. “Jackie, this is a warning. I really do want you to be comfortable, but I also have the power to change that. Not every test I run has to be pleasant. For you, that is. Wouldn’t you much rather answer a few questions and go back to sleep?”

“Oh, no. This is torture.” He performed a dramatic gesture, clasping his hand to his chest. “My immediate family? Just chuck me in an iron maiden, won’t you?”

“I’ll count to three.” Heather stood up with an equally dramatic flair. “One...“

“I’m not seven years old, lady. I’m obviously not going to play your little game, so just let me go home.” He forced his voice lower, softer. “I can tell you’re tired. I’m tired. It was fun while it lasted, but this is where we both part ways.”

“Two...“

“Are you being serious about—” He swept his hand across the room. “About all this? What about the police? People will get worried. They’ll come after you. What about my friends? What about my landlord? Don’t you think my landlord will want rent money?”

“Three.” Heather sighed. “I don’t think anyone is coming after you, actually. You’re a very lonely man. Your friends are little more than acquaintances.”

“And—and you’re getting this information from where, exactly?” 

“I told you, I’m a psychic.” She pressed the tape recorder again, then picked it up. “I’ll see you again when you’re feeling a little nicer, hm? Same time, same place, tomorrow?”

“Isn’t tomorrow Monday?” Here was something to exploit. “Don’t you have a job? Don’t you have to go to work? Won’t you be busy?”

“Tomorrow's Wednesday. I don’t have to wait tables, if that’s what you’re wondering.” She walked away and opened the door before he could get another word in. “Good luck. Get some rest.”

“That’s it?” he called after her. “Fine. I’ll stay here and enjoy the silence. Or maybe I won’t!” He took a deep breath. “ONE HUNDRED BOTTLES OF BEER ON THE WALL—“ 

“Shut up.”

“ONE HUNDRED BOTTLES OF BEER!” He hit his palm against the table. “ONE FELL DOWN—“

With a click, the light died. She muttered something under her breath, and he heard the door shut and lock. The room was painted in pure, pitch black. 

Jackie slumped back in his chair. He supposed he could go to sleep. He could sing louder. Or...

The table had seen better days. He pulled his wrist against the handcuff, and its frame shook. He pulled again, harder. It was too heavy to lift up, but snapping a leg off would suffice. It would be a valuable weapon as well, for the next time Heather paid him a visit. What could she do, kill him? She could try. She could try, all right.

But would he be able to kill Heather? The thought of it was as absurd as kissing her. Despite the several attempts made on his own life, murder was a worst-case scenario. Jackie had never killed before. Jackie didn’t want to kill anyone. He just wanted to go home. If he had a gun, he thought it might be easier, but bludgeoning someone? With a table leg? That was as raw and bloody as it got. So, no, Heather would live. A few threats would suffice. If they didn’t, he would knock her out. Then he’d take a long, hot bath. That sounded nice.

The thought of collapsing into his own bed was motivating. He pulled harder. To his surprise, he heard the snapping sound of a crack. He felt for the damaged surface, careful about splinters, tracing the faultline in the wood. He jerked his wrist again, as hard as he possibly could. It brought about sharper bursts of pain, but he kept going, his other hand on the edge of the table to keep it steady. Another pull, another crack. He gave it a final shove, and there was a sudden release of pressure on his arm. Jackie stumbled across the dark room until he was braced up against a wall.

He exhaled, at last. The table had broken. Without anything to keep it in place, he could slide the splintered leg out of the handcuff. It rattled on his wrist like a cat’s bell, and for an absurd moment he was almost afraid that the noise would alert Heather. He shook the thought away and picked the leg up. It was no aluminum bat, but it would work. 

He swung the leg a few times, took note of the weight of it in his hands. He hit the wall on his third try—it sent a dull thunk echoing through the darkness. 

So he let the leg drop to his side. Keeping quiet would be the safest strategy. Once the door opened, he could start swinging again and go from there. 

But what could he do in the meantime? He had already searched every inch of the basement, even the bathroom at one point. Heather had thought things out, no matter what that said about her moral compass. There was nothing he could use, not a single flaw, not even any windows. 

Jackie sat down in the chair, still clutching the table leg to his chest. He didn’t want to turn the lights on. It would get her attention, and he wanted surprise on his side. So, what? He couldn’t sleep. He needed to be ready. He needed to be alert. What else was there to do, then? Cry? Keep singing? All he could think about was going home. What good was that? All it did was make him feel sick. 

Or perhaps that was hunger, knotting in his guts, an insistent pull getting louder with every minute. It was Wednesday. He’d first gotten into the whole mess on Friday, hadn’t he? It had been six days. He hadn’t eaten for nearly a week. It had only felt like a few hours. Somebody had to be looking for him by now. He’d be alright. These sorts of situations ended quickly, he was sure. He’d give it another week, a fortnight at most. Nothing but a brief hassle. 

Nothing but a slight inconvenience, maybe a funny story to tell at parties. It didn’t seem so funny now, but he’d laugh about it later. It would be over soon.

#I'm sure it will be :) #whump writing #lab whump #defiant whumpee #whump #Spiderwebs Toyybox

[seasons-beatings]

Happy holidays, @newbornwhumperfly!

From your gifter: A/N: This was super fun to write! I hope I did your characters justice, they’re all awesome. The way you write Morja is a beautiful mixture of thoughtfulness and fear, and I did my best to capture that. Enjoy and happy holidays! <3

Title taken from the song My Skin by Natalie Merchant

CW: military whump, mentions of war, injury whump, verbal abuse and threats, kneeling, noncon touch, mentioned past conditioning, non-graphic wound care, blood, references to suicide, gun mention, xenophobia

Promises Sweeten the Blow

Morja hears the cell door slam shut behind him, four locks clicking into place. He’ll be alone now, for who knows how long, while intel he gave up is analyzed and picked apart. Then, he’ll figure out if all the things the captain promised him are even a remote possibility.

The mission went well, for the most part. The infiltration had been easy. New Athens had made a bet on secrecy over defense, and they had lost it. It was the escape where things had gone awry. He’d clambered into the jeep with several new bruises and a massive gash down his bicep.

He sighs, picking himself up off the floor of his cell. He can still feel the ghost of a gun’s barrel on his upper back. A lieutenant had pressed into him the whole way back to base, while he whispered threats in his ear about what he dreamt of doing to “athenian bastards like you.” He’s about seventy percent sure the lieutenant's name is Cuthbert, but it doesn’t really matter. The chances he’ll ever actually use it are low.

For a prisioner’s cell, his room is surprisingly well furnished, though it’s eerily suicide proof. The faucet on the sink is too short to hang anything off of, the bed is smother proof, and his clothing lacks strings or ties. He isn’t even allowed shoelaces: his boots close with zippers and buckles. It makes sense, unfortunately, but the suicide prevention measures also mean that there's no medical supplies available to him to treat his wounds.

Not that he was expecting there to be, but it would’ve been nice, especially since he isn’t supposed to go to the hospital wing because he’s a security risk. Maybe he’ll get seen if the data proves to be fruitful, but he doubts that.

The wound isn’t mortal, and he’ll just have to make do.

It feels wrong to use up one of the shirts that the captain gifted him, but he couldn’t just leave it to bleed. Cleanliness was important. He wouldn’t want to disrespect the space the anóteros had given him by getting his blood everywhere.

He efficiently tears the bottom half of the shirt into strips, and he’s starting to wet them in the sink when he hears the heavy locks on the doors start to slide open. Nerves flare in his gut. Had the analysts finished already? Or was the lieutenant who’d pressed the gun to him back for more?

The door slides open, and Morja knows who it is the moment he catches sight of the gold rimmed glasses. It’s the captain, trailed by a woman carrying a large backpack, and leaning on a sparkly purple cane that matches her outfit. Another anóteros. Both of them step into the room, and the woman’s eyes go straight to the slice on their arm.

He freezes, wet fabric dropping onto the porcelain of the sink with a smack. His legs fold under him automatically and he collapses into a kneeling position with perfect posture. There hasn’t been time for the intel to be analyzed yet. The captain is here for another reason, and his mind races with all the tiny slip ups from the mission. He knew a correction was inevitable, but it still stings when he realizes it’s happening now. After a beat of silence, the captain steps forward and enters the cell.

“Good afternoon, Morja.” Their tone is serious but polite.

He doesn’t get why they act like this towards him, courteous and respectful, but his mind silences the thought before it can turn into something bigger. It doesn’t matter. They're anotero, they can act however they want. He should be thankful that they lean towards mercy.

They crouch down in front of him, and he suppresses a flinch. He hasn’t been with Tyrus that long, but he can feel his behavior already starting to slip. Just because he’s not in New Athens anymore doesn’t mean he can be disrespectful.

“I was worried that you might be hurt,” they start, referencing the blood caked patch of skin on their arm, and Morja swallows. Had he been that bad at hiding it? “Do you remember Sarai? She’s a doctor. She can take care of that, if you’d like.”

Morja doesn’t know how to react. It is a test? To see if he’ll let other people touch him? Or is he to be punished later for taking too much? But the woman is standing right there, and it would be rude to decline the captain’s suggestion.

“If you’ll permit it, she can look at it, captain,” he says, voice whisper quiet, hoping he made the right choice.

The captain nods and waves her over. She smiles and follows his instruction, bending down towards him.

“Hello, Morja, I’m Sarai,” she introduces herself.

“Thank you for offering your aid, anóteros,” he responds politely, averting his eyes.

“How about we get you onto your bed? That will probably be more comfortable for you, don’t you think?” she says, tone just as patient as the captains.

Once again, he finds himself unsure how to answer. But then again, “how about” was less of a question and more of a disguised order. “Yes, anóteros.”

Both her and the captain back away so he can stand, and he quickly rises and sits back down on the edge of his bed. He keeps his head down. If he can’t kneel, this is the next best option.

The doctor sets her bag down next to him, then goes to wash her hands. Once she’s done that, she throws on a pair of gloves and starts to examine the wound. She explains every move she makes, and asks permission to touch, and it's jarring.

Medical care is a privilege, and she is anotero. She doesn’t have to ask.

For some reason, the captain stays, maybe to remind him of his place, though they must have better things to do than watch over their captive diathésimos.

He gets off easy. No stitches are necessary, and the doctor simply uses some tape strips to close the wound after she cleans it. She asks him some questions about allergies and the like, takes his vitals, and checks him over for any other injuries. There's just some minor bruising, though, and the pair leave once he’s been tended to. The captain says they’ll be back later to bring him some food, and update him on the intel they recovered.

Morja wonders why they insist on doing things like that. It’s almost certainly below their station, so if it’s a ploy to earn his trust, then it’s rather see-through. The bandages are too soft against his skin as he lays on the oddly textured anti-suicide sheets, pondering the captain’s endgame.

For a stupid second, he can almost believe their intentions are true. Maybe, things could change.

——————————————————————————

Eventually, he hears the telltale noise of the locks being slid open again. He doesn’t know how long its been, since the cell doesn’t have a clock, but he perks up anyway. He’s absolutely ravenous after the mission.

However, the captain does not step through the door.

Instead, it’s the lieutenant from the boat, the one who’d pressed his gun to him.

Morja falls to his knees. So this is the correction for getting hurt. It was foolish of him to assume he was safe.

The lieutenant closes the door behind him, then walks across the room to where Morja is kneeling. His fingers grip Morja’s chin and pull it up, and he scowls deeper when he notices the fresh bandages.

“I don’t know what kinda game you’re playing, bitch,” he says, voice low and deadly. “But I can see you trying to wrap the captain around your finger.”

His nails dig into Morja’s cheeks as he squeezes his face harder. “They’re a good person, and they’re also smarter than you are.”

The pressure is nearly bruising now. “Whatever scam you’re running, it won’t work.”

He pinches even harder. “And if I catch you fucking with anything, you’ll pay.” The lieutenant pulls his hand away, then swiftly slaps Morja across the face. “Understand me?”

“Yes, anóteros.”

What else is he supposed to say?

Just as he was in New Athens, he is still underneath everyone.

#season’s beatings gift #whump #whump writing #season’s beatings

[dontbotherwiththepronunciation]

The queen wore a high-collared black silk gown, with a hundred dark red rubies sewn into her bodice, covering her from neck to bosom. They were cut in the shape of teardrops, as if the queen were weeping blood.

I love this part so much because my mind instantly goes "Bolton looks" and my Theon x& Cersei (interpretative dynamic I like ships when they are unclear) au involves a Tywin who didn't die and sent Cersei to be married off to Roose and everyone is miserable. She would be horrible to Theon, but I think it would be hilarious to witness this terrible contrast in the way both of them deal with public humiliation and overall distaste for life.

This is a dumb concept of course but I'm still fond of it. I know the theoncersei ship is mostly a joke but I read that one fanfic on life journal and I think it could actually be so interesting if it were taken as a serious idea. Especially if we have a Theon who has been at the hands of Ramsay, but not enough to be so visibly changed as to not be recognised anymore. The idea of him being suddenly trusted back into society with people expecting him to act like nothing has happened because there would be no visual evidence is so interesting and painful to me. It has the type of trauma one develops after a failed suicide attempt, but even more complicated. An AU where he is expected to be functional (or as functional as he was during agot-acok) while internally dealing with everything that has happened to him...

I think there is something liberating about the Reek persona in the sense that there is no one who expects anything from him anymore (Alexa, play Bob Dylan's "Like a rolling stone"). He was so indignant when Jeyne asked for his help and to me that was entertaining because there was anger and rage at his internal treatment of her (What had she been thinking, that he would whistle up a winged horse and fly her out of here, like some hero in the stories she and Sansa used to love?) How dare she demand something from him? And then there is even more of that during TWOW when he is mentally raging at her for not remembering Mikken's name (Really Theon? Are YOU going to get mad at someone for hesitating at names?). Anyways there is so much anger in Theon during and after his torture, but it is always purely internal. From the outside, he is every whump fan's perfect protagonist. Poor little soggy meow meow who has been rivalling Dante's concept in Journey through Hell. From the inside it's a completely different thing (I like both of them. He is a reversible sweater and you can find beauty on both options); The way he refers to his torturers as "The Bastard's boys" (a nickname he doesn't dare to speak out loud but has given them himself. He indirectly refers to Ramsay as "Bastard" even if he is terrified of him) , the snark, the "she'll pray for you to march, Reek thought, and she'll pray that you never come back to her bed.", the way he thinks about the spearwives.

And yet all of that has to be repressed in order to keep himself alive and (considering the circumstances) safe. He has to swallow his pride and fury and his defiance and endure and I love that. Swallow your pride, my friend, it's not the worse thing you could swallow.

Cersei is different. Cersei almost always openly shows her disdain and fury at everything and everyone surrounding her and even after going through the cruellest humiliation she has suffered (Alexa, play Bob Dylan's "Like a rolling stone" again but this time the live version where people are booing him and he is sarcastically telling them how wonderful they are) she still keeps her head high, or as high as she can.

I don't know, both of them are on my top 5 pov characters and I would like them to interact beyond comedic relief type of dynamics (although I like those too) and I think there could be interesting explorations. I think in this weird nonsensical scenario where she becomes Cersei Bolton she would probably act like an anti-Jeyne in the sense that she too would demand for him to act more according to her notions of Theon Greyjoy but replacing Jeyne's soft and tender pleads for help with unjustified harshness and cruelty and a mocking type of defiance. Jeyne pets the dog, Barbrey taunts the dog, Cersei just straight up kicks it. I like imagining she would steal him from Ramsay as to have something mildly diverting in her boring Northerner lifestyle and that could be fun to explore.

#kind of fanfic rec #a little bit of music I like #also kind of #prompts #I feel like †hyene is “I NEED to fix him if I want to get out of here” and she actually manages to fix him a little #barbtheon is “I could fix him” but she accidentally makes him worse #while theoncersei is “I could make him worse” but she accidentally fixes him #and †hramsay is just I could find him bind him Tie him to a pole and break His fingers to splinters Drag him to a hole Until he wakes up #naked clawing at the ceiling of his grave #oh look at that more music I like #rambling gambling damning drowning #wordvomiting #speaking #deberiariquing privatizariting ming blogging ening vezing deing cantaring Mazúrquicaing Modérnicaing como la violetica parraica #theon greyjoy #Cersei lannister #theon x Cersei #kind of

[bbygirl-aemond]

Hey! I Love Stormbreak, you make my Sundays less scary Lol. Keep writing!

I was wondering if you've ever written any original work or if you've ever considered becoming a traditionally published author?

aww thank you so much! always happy to help with the sunday scaries, i get them too and answering comments is an excellent distraction hehe

i have written some original work before, but none of it's published. when i was really young i wrote two novel-length original works. i don't remember them very well, but one was some elf-like fantasy world where the main character was the bastard slave child of an evil king, and the other was a modern setting with vampires and what i know as an adult to be some kind of illegal human trafficking? not like a sex kind, like a "humans are living blood bags" kind. so you can definitely say i've enjoyed whump and fantasy from the beginning?

in more recent years, i've written some short stories (<10k words). there's one about a society that uses happy memories as currency, with a mom giving up a memory of her daughter walking for the first time. there's another about an astronaut who's sent to mars to help terraform it, only to realize she's been tricked and the government is leaving her there to die. my favorite is about a closeted lesbian witch in a salem-esque setting who's driven insane by the ghost of her first love, who was a victim of anti-witch hysteria. so again... heavy on the angst lmao.

right now, i enjoy writing fanfiction because it requires very little actual effort and discipline. it's almost entirely wish fulfillment, and you get to jump in with fully-formed characters, world, and plot, skipping the boring exposition. it's also "safe" because any pressure to create, or criticism, is purely online, so i never feel trapped by it. i think this type of creative writing suits my current situation (sleep-deprived phd student) where i just don't have a ton of time or patience to deal with any of those things.

all that being said- i DO very much plan on spending the majority of my life writing and publishing original works of varying lengths. i'm in a very fortunate financial position where i don't actually have to work a regular job, and the older i get the more i appreciate how privileged that makes me in my ability to actually center my life around creating for creativity's sake- completely divorced from any need to publish by a certain date or appeal to a wide audience in order to make profits. so i only plan on really working up until i turn 30 (which will admittedly still give me 6 years post-phd in the workforce). after that i'll have full reign over how i allocate my free time, and that's when i'll be able to put in the elbow grease required for a longer original work.

...so like a decade from now, check back in and there will probably be some highly dramatic, psychologically intense, at least somewhat magical works hitting the shelves, written by yours truly.

#the more i think about it the weirder i realize i was as a child #what business did i have writing about fantasy slavery and human trafficking when my age wasn't even in the double digits??? #esp the human trafficking like i didn't know that was a thing i just MADE IT UP like???? #eldritch horror bella #let's go #anyways #ask #asks #answered #fic: stormbreak #fic #stormbreak #bella lore

[seek--rest]

hard agree on the MCU fanon that Peter is a softboy to the point he's idk,, useless?? there are so many whump fics where he's a babbling idiot that forgot he can easily lift cars. this is why I have to filter a lot of tags when searching fics, I got burned too many times I'm tired of ir*ndad fans doing my boy Pete this dirty 😭

You know what’s so hard about being a Tony Stark fan in 2023?????? This!!!! This right here!!!!! I like that war criminal bastard who is a colossal grade fuck up!!!!!! I LIKE the potential of he and Peter “the B stands for Bastard” Parker together.

What I DONT vibe with is this fucked up starker lite nonsense that passes for platonic fic.

I am not God’s strongest soldier to take on the psychic damage of browsing through the irondad tag raw to find some actually good shit to read because I know there’s a few dozen clowns out there writing Peter as the most woobified self insert version of himself and Tony as the glorified father to fix their own daddy issues.

#seek speaks #irondad #irondad will pay for its crimes

[samtheacesheep]

Milo Murphy’s Law Masterpost

Hi, I’m Sam! I am a massive Milo Murphy’s Law fan (and dwampyverse in general, but mml especially). I write mml fics, mostly in various aus. I really, really, really like angst, hurt/comfort and whump, but I do also write happy stuff. Sometimes.  On tumblr, all of my fics are tagged with: #I wrote a thing 

Any fanart is tagged #I drew a thing

I also sometimes post pictures of miniatures that I paint, tagged: #I painted a thing Masterpost list: 

Non Au: 

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/mmlNotAu/works

basically what it says on the tin. Not always canon, exactly, but not an au

Fantasy au: 

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3258273

#mml fantasy au Set in a world with wizards, dragons, sorcerers, ghosts and angst. The main fic in this series is A Cursed Boy, a Wizard and an Human, which is about Zack, a human from the ordinary world, getting trapped in the fantasy world and trying to find his way home.  2nd Dimension Au: 

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3133029

#mml 2nd dimension au 

Again, probably pretty self explanatory. Bucketloads of angst, Vanessa is pretty goddamn evil (sorry Nessa, I do love you), Milo is Sad.  Monsters Au: 

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3164559

#mml monsters au

whoa it’s angst. In a world where monsters like vampires, oozes and flying rhinos exist, a well respected containment facility thinks that Murphys are monsters. And they do something about it. This au also has a split timeline, and a few oneshots in spinoff aus. Incredibly angsty and painful, read the tags.  Dystopia Au: 

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3244065

#mml dystopia au

Milo and co are from the future, while Cavendish and Dakota are from the present. The future is dystopian, the corporation V-Tech controls everything. Melissa is a cyborg. The pnf cast are there.  Mage Au: 

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3164697

#mml mage au 

Another fantasy au. This time, magic is illegal, and the punishment for being a mage is a painful death. Milo and Melissa have been raised by their mage parents, while Zack was born to humans and raised in human society to hate mages.

Counteragents: 

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3192483

Technically set in ordinary Danville, but far removed enough that it counts. Cavendish and Dakota actually get a pair of counteragents from a rival time travelling organisation- which ends well for nobody.  The counteragents are my villain ocs Sally and Penelope, who are awful, terrible, evil bastards and I love them. Anything with Sally in it on tumblr will be tagged #sally, and “sally is back on her bullshit” on ao3.  https://archiveofourown.org/works/45343870/chapters/114080575 I wrote Cowboys and Counteragents with @hypersonicjd 

It’s a crossover between my Counteragents and his A New Frontier (space cowboys!!) series 

Ghost Au: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43118494

#mml ghost au

Milo is a ghost who is haunting Zack, but he isn’t very scary.  https://archiveofourown.org/works/43696911 This fic is a spin-off oneshot, in which Milo is actually pretty scary. The Loneliest Kid Au: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46438885

#the loneliest kid au 

Also an ongoing series. Zack joins Jefferson County Middle School, and meets Milo Murphy- who is kind and cheerful, but withdrawn, anxious when too close to people, and firmly opposed to being his friend. Zack is determined to change that. A slowburn friendship fic.  Epithet Jinxed: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/39095769

#epithet jinxed 

An Epithet Erased au! Milo, Melissa and Zack get locked in the museum after closing, during a robbery. They have to keep the Arsene Amulet out of the hands of dangerous people, and stop them from stealing Milo’s epithet - Jinx!  BoTT is Evil: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43541854

Again, pretty self explanatory. Currently just a oneshot but I do have a multi-chapter fic in the works to explore the concept more.  Soulmates Au: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40933884

A world where soulmates share injuries, and Milo, Melissa and Zack are platonic soulmates.  Champions Au: 

#mml champions au

Cavendish, Dakota, Savannah and Brick are ancient, powerful immortals. Milo, Zack, Melissa and Mort are their champions, mortals who save the world on their behalf. I haven’t written anything for this au yet

#mml fantasy au #mml monsters au #mml 2nd dimension au #mml mage au #mml dystopia au #sally #mml ghost au #the loneliest kid au #epithet jinxed #mml champions au #pinned post #masterpost