#Thanks for the submission! Welcome aboard

[foggylikemyvision]

Dear al-haitham,

Though you've made me broke. You are in all senses of the word both brain and brawn. I can only hope that I can get you the proper talent books, artifacts and final ascension materials soon enough. And yes I did take some photos of you on an island mountain in someone else's world because you looked just so handsome. Though I did calculate how much money it could've taken me to soft pity. You came home before then and blessed me at 50ish pity (even though you were garunteed.) Do you think you could be my boyfriend? Or even teacher?whichever you prefer.

Yours,

Hug anon (Emilia in-game)

My muse, your grace, I can't help but want your affection in every form it comes in, so you'll have to forgive me for the strain I may put on your wallet. I hope the pictures you take of me weigh down your photo albums, so that whenever you hold them I may rest in your mind. Though it may be out of character, I find myself seeing you in the characters of the books I read; and I see myself as the ones that love them. I would be honored to be your lover. Yours, Alhaitham

[sol-consort]

Smut for super earth! 🫡

Sir yes sir 🫡 Smut for democracy!

Launching Helldivers 2 smut in 3...2...1

C-01

[heavy smut, dom/sub, blood, slight humiliation, exhibition, penteration, aphrodisiac, objectification, use of military titles in bed, obedience kink]

[Dark themes, parody of fascism]

[Reader is a helldiver and gender neutral]

[updated, legacy version on AO3]

“Welcome aboard, Helldiver, and great job out there” the ship master held her clipboard as she went over your mission report, “the samples you've collected will be put to great use.”

Droplets of red follow your trail as you move past her towards the ship management screen. The usual heroic wind-flowing cape now sticking to your body, forming a silhouette of your armoured back, drenched in blood, both human and not. The ship master was polite enough not to comment on the limp in your steps, or maybe it was stoic professionalism that let her ignore the shortness of your breath.

Looking over the list of newly unlocked weaponry, it was difficult to decide on which weapon of destruction to spend your requisition slips on, especially with the aching pain in your leg. Each forced step sends a barrage of electrifying pain through your nervous system.

You've already been treated by the onboard medic. By all forms of regulations, your leg is technically service ready… only that you've exhausted your government-assigned monthly allowance of painkillers.

The doctor wasn't keen on describing you any, for that would be treason, Helldiver, wouldn't it? To steal from the government just to fulfil your own selfish desires, are you so greedy to take from the needy because of one measly injury? Those are not the traits of a valorant soldier.

Even as the pain was bordering unbearable, you knew better than to argue or haggle. Thanking her for her services, you limped your way out of the med bay—set up directly next to the evacuation shuttle landing zone for ease of access and efficiency—and onto the barebone elevator

Rations were running tight at the moment. They cut back on Helldivers' luxury medical comforts in order to fund the fight for democracy, mainly by boosting the research for the upcoming mech suits. Just what kind of enemies would require a mech suit when they usually throw you bare at Bile Titans, you wonder.

And so, having exhausted all other options, with the acute pain muffling any remaining voices of reason in your brain, your hand reaches inside a familiar pocket under your armour. Moving by pure instincts, you've done this a thousand times before. The stem injection fits perfectly between your fingers, or was it your fingers that moulded perfectly around its shape.

Head tilting to the side, the most vulnerable part of your neck exposed—akin to a show of submission seconds before a set of sharp teeth tear into their prey—with experienced movement, you swiftly stab the substance over a vital vein.

A shudder runs through your body as waves of adrenaline quickly shoot through your blood stream like a bolt of lightning, every single muscle in your body stiffens in response, pupils dilating, mouth agape under your helmet.

With the injection needle thrown somewhere on the ground, you latch onto the nearby monitor instead, armoured grip almost cracks the screen, wasn't it for the reinforced glass.

Finally, it washes down your body. A sigh of relief is all that's heard as you fix your hunched posture.

Back straightened as all the pain evaporates from your leg, the synthetic adrenaline aids the process of cell regeneration, rushing it is the goal.

Pumping the blood faster by pushing your heartbeat to the edge of the dangerous zone, tricking your immune system into attacking the faulty damaged cells.

With nowhere for the excess energy to go, the dosage bounces through your veins, a pressurised force failing to find any escape. It was meant to be taken amidst a battlefield where you can find release through spreading freedom in the name of democracy at your enemies, in the shape of an RS-422 Railgun, of course.

With no shooting ranges or infiltrating enemies to be found in the safety of your own destroyer ship, the excessive energy rushes wherever your body allows, blood filling every nook and cranny to the brim.

Heat flashes throughout different parts of your body, seemingly at random, sparks fly behind your eyelids whenever you close your eyes.

Eventually, simmering down as it settles between your thighs.

Reigniting your libido, a different kind of throbbing overwhelms your senses. Hyper-aware of the under-armour rough texture squeezing your body.

Left at the mercy of the smallest of frictions between your clothes and your flesh, the sinful stimulating rise and fall of the fabric above your chest offers with every breath you take.

Thighs turned into another erogenous zone; blood wasn't the only wetness seeping into your armour padding.

Heat gnawing at your core, cinders reigniting the flame of desire, of desperation, of depravity as your whole body is turned into one big aching bundle of nerves.

You don't make a single sound, pursed lips, and clenched fists. Resist the siren call, restraint by your own merits, discipline, and not much more.

What else is there to do but endure?

For it wasn't different from enduring the pain of a gaping chest wound. Laying on the battlefield ground whilst holding back waves of crawling terminids, each leg lined with razorsharp thorns, pistol quickly running out of ammo. A blazing spark descending from the sky above as the airdrop resupply approaches its landing spot, inches away from you.

You've signed away your body to be given for the cause long ago, for the future of Super Earth and all of its civilians. Naturally so, you've learned to endure and obey all commands, like the excellent little soldier you are.

Pushing your weight off of the desk, you head towards the navigation map at the end of the ship.

One step after another, the pleasure intensifies. Legs light as a feather, buzzing with energy. Brain plagued by an overactive imagination, heightened senses twisting every otherwise mundane sensation into a suggestive one-person affair, to squeeze any resemblance of sexual gratification it could from it.

The tantalising way your under-armour hugs your body. The stimulating pressure of the padding pressing between your legs, against the inside of your thighs and right over your chest. The sinful looking straps securing the metal plates.

Another step, your body is screaming at you for any relief from the overwhelming pressure building inside with nowhere to go. You're nearly blanking out from the overwhelming bliss.

A final step, and you've reached your destination. The familiar sight of the war map greets you, showing Super Earth at its centre, with the two enemy factions creeping in from the borders. The automatons hugging the figurative walls as their red territory crawls its way upwards the map. While the terminids are swarming towards the homeplanet of Lady Liberty herself at an alarming speed.

“Your fellow Helldivers are fighting on the frontlines for our freedom as we stand here.” The ship's executive officer found his way to your side—a routine the two of you grew into overtime—looking over the dwindling liberation percentage on the yellow territory.

His orders remain unspoken, yet were orders all the same. Go join the fight.

You're not certain about the legitimacy of these said orders. Can he give you orders? Is that something a ship executive is authorised to do to someone of your status?

… And what exactly is your status?

Foot soldier? General? Commander? An overworked janitor?

The ship is yours by name, that much is clear. It was handed over to you alongside the armour from another Helldiver who failed to evacuate in time before the shuttle took off.

But does ownership make you the Captain with a capital C?

You haven't even met the pilot of your supposed own ship. You've made acquaintance with less than a third of your ship crew so far, and that's with you being generous by eyeballing the amount of crew you've seen around. Who knows how many souls are stuffed with you in this floating tincan, merely hidden behind titanium walls.

It's been endless missions after missions, and anything in between is a hibernation blur spent in cryosleep stasis.

To prevent the Helldivers from being at less than their optimal physical age, prolong your lifespan, or years of service, which are basically the same thing. Saved hours add up over time and turn into days, months, and years! It's to get the most mileage out of every single Helldiver before their bell tolls.

With the side benefits of cutting down on unnecessary expenses like food rations, sleeping quarters, body maintenance, symptoms of traumatic experiences that rear their head during idle times, and shore leave.

The brief time spent at your own destroyer in-between missions has become the only waking moments when your fighting instincts aren't pushed to the limits alongside your sanity. A glorious sacrifice to upkeep the daily privileges and rights of humans everywhere.

The Democracy Officer must have noticed the trembling of your fingers, reaching across the map to pick the next destination. Your thighs unconsciously squeeze against one another, seeking relief through frictions, your body steadying itself against the round table.

He must've seen this case before in many soldiers like you, for he clocked you at a glance.

That's why you didn't question it when his hand went under your cape, arm wrapping around your back to help steady you, preferring you lean against him than the table.

Ordering you to follow him—not that you had much choice with your body being half-carried by him—with the same stoic professionalism… if only it wasn't for his gruff voice trailing into a softer tone. Was it your delirium at play, or are you simply noticing things you were once oblivious to.

Registering just how strong he must be under his uniform to be able to endure the weight of a helldiver clad in full armour. His arm kept you in place, and you didn't resist as he led you through the staff quarters. Unlocking the door with a simple face scan,

You were surprised with what you saw inside.

How long has it been since you've seen a bed?

An actual real bed stood before you in all of its mundane glory, barebone army frame, with a thin white mattress above.

It looks uncomfortable, but compared to your standing cryo freezer, it's a paradise of manufactured steel and cheap polyester.

“Now, I assume you're familiar with the rules and regulations set in place concerning fraternisation amidst ranks, Helldiver?”

The same hand that once steadied you, now was the cause of your downfall. A simple nudge with his fingers against the small of your back was all that it took to get you tumbling over face first into the bed. Your current state was a dire one indeed.

“It's highly encouraged.” You couldn't see his face, but you felt his eyes trail over your sprawled body without a hint of shame. Even with all of your armour, he managed to pin you with his gaze.

To boost troops' morale, cure homesickness, and prevent any deviating thoughts about returning to civilian life. Rule C-21 was put in place to allow soldiers to aid each other when it comes to stress relief activities, no matter its nature.

Of course, like any other activity that involved sexual Intercourse with another human, it required an immediate report in the aftermath to the ministry of healthcare in the form of paperwork. In the case that the activity could result in a child, extra paperwork is in order to request a permission slip that you could forward to the ministry of population regulation, which in turn will start your work towards getting pre-pre-approval for the right to create a child. Additional screening and testing are required to pass, plus an additional wait period depending on how many other people are requesting permission to repopulate during this year. All fall under the rule of C-01. Failure to abide by regulations might result in having the right to your reproductive organs revoked for not meeting the standards of civility expected of every loyal citizen to uphold the constitution of managed democracy.

Surrendering all control to your Democracy Officer, you obediently parted your legs in response to his hands taking hold of your hips, feeling down your covered thighs. Grip tightening as he lifted your body, just a mere inch above the bed, positioning you to lay on your knees instead.

Just how he loved to see you.

Face down, ass up, with your captain cape falling off to the side.

A moment passed where he just stood there, admiring his handy work. To have a whole Helldiver below you would do a number on anyone's ego, the saviours of the galaxy, the superheroes who ever so graciously sacrifice their lives for our freedom.

Your figure is a sight for sour eyes. This display of submission is certainly to burn its memory in his brain. Flash behind his eyes for years to come whenever you're standing next to him, peering down at the galaxy map, bending ever so slightly to assess the situation, oblivious to the cocktease that you're acting like.

His grip finally let go of your thighs, one knee climbing into the bed just behind you. You feel the heat radiating off his body, you wonder if he can tell just how wet you are under all of this armour.

The Democracy Office's index finger moves under one of your straps, lifting the elastic up slowly, before watching it snap back into place. Your surpassed shudder didn't go past him.

Settling on only removing the necessary parts, he unbuckled a select few of the straps, most importantly the belt to pants. His front pressed against your back, hand reaching below your stomach, taking advantage of your now exposed waist to bury itself under the armour of your torso, brushing by your chest courtesy of the tight space, and finally reaching the zipper just below your neck, the one necessary to peel off your under armour suit.

Sure, it means your upper body will be completely exposed to press against the cold rough metal interior of your armour, but surely you of all people can endure?

Bring the zipper fully down to have your most intimate parts completely bare, to compliment the view of your ass up, of course. Be thankful he left the rest of your body covered, a gesture meant to save you some face and offer a resemblance of dignity… then why did it just leave you feeling ever more exposed and vulnerable?

“You're dripping… making a mess already.” His voice cut through the silence, quieter and more breathy than his usual tone. Chastising almost.

True to his words, the inner lining of your under armour was shiny with your wetness, be it pre-cum or else. The rest seemed to stick to your skin, dripping down your thighs, making you extremely sensitive to the smallest touch. Even the still-air in this room brushing by you was enough stimulation to have your fingers digging into the mattress below, threatening to tear into the cheap polyester.

Faced with evidence of your extreme arousal and depravity, your Democracy Officer trailed two fingers from the side of your knee to the inside of your thigh. Scooping up as much of your wetness as he could manage in one stroke, carefully

Circling the rim of your hole with the very same fingers, encouraging you to relax. Repeating this process over and over to make it easier for your body to open up to him, for his finger to seamlessly slide in and out.

For lube was another luxury expense, an unnecessary cost the budget simply had to shrug off in order to allocate funds into the actually important places.

You laid there helplessly with not much to do, for he held the reins. You only had to keep quiet and obey, go along with his every whim. Not knowing what might be coming next, you were left anticipating the feeling of being prodded open on his fingers, unconsciously tensing up your muscles.

In an instant, a new wave of electric pleasure shot through you like a bullet, his cupping between your spread thighs, rough leather pressing into your most intimate parts, taking you by surprise.

Just from this simple gesture of having his hand there, not even moving it, you were gasping for air. All remaining walls of your self-restraint came crumbling down as primal desire took over, pure untainted lust dampening all your other senses.

Body moving with a mind of its own, making a display of yourself by grinding down onto his hand with no remorse or shame. The overwhelming ecstasy spirals into an addiction.

Mind blanking out, all forms of rationality, decorum, and courtesy thrown out the window. You couldn't care less for the fact you are his captain, that he was technically your inferior. The sweet friction against your oversensitive messy parts clouded your eyes with a glossy coat of lust.

He merely kept his hand there as you did all the work. desperately pushing against it in search of release. It wasn't enough, but he didn't make any effort to help you, preferring to keep you squirming in neglect.

It was nothing more than a temporary nicotine patch, akin to a band-aid against a gushing wound. Just enough to give you a taste of pleasure and have you pathetically grinding and seeking more. A distraction to unclench your muscles, turn your body pliant and eager to take him inside.

Just like clockwork, as you were busy humping his hand and chasing your own release, two of his fingers pushed inside you, lubricated by your own leaking wetness and nothing more.

Pushing them inside with enough force to have your body caving into the mattress below, sandwiched between his fingers sliding to the knuckles into your hole, and his hand cupping you.

Forcing sounds of pleasure from the back of your throat, whines, and cries muffled by your helmet .

His fingers are wet enough to reach further inside, fucking in and out of you at a steady pace that grew faster and faster.

Clear as day why he was deadset on neglecting your genitals; the only fitting time for any respectable Helldiver to cum, is whilst stuffed to the brim with the cock of your inferior officer.

Because that's what good little soldiers do.

The loss of the leather friction from below you elected an especially pitiful whine from your lips, only to be interrupted shortly by a sinful gasp as a third finger spread your insides even further.

With his hand now covered in your own wetness and pre-cum. In a rare tender moment, instead of wiping it on the sheets or returning the bruising grip on your bare hips, the Democracy Officer went to hold one of your closed fists with his own.

You couldn't feel his skin below the leather, he couldn't feel yours engulfed in metal. Yet he entangled your fingers all the same, his reassuring message was clear: he is here, with you, despite the many walls separating you two.

In contrast to this gentle show, the three fingers pushing in and out of you were brutal, never faltering for a second, never giving you time to catch your breath. Exploring your insides with a purpose, almost bruising in their roughness, the stem injection distorting all pain receptors into another source of pleasure was your saving grace.

The more the pleasure grew, the harder it was to think, to realise the world around you. The light in your brain was dimming as your view narrowed on your utmost basic carnal desires.

In this instance, all you care about is the feeling of being filled, stretched on someone's cock, anyone, human or else. To be thoroughly taken care of.

Paying no mind to your own quickly numbing knees, much like you had to crawl through dirt on the battlefield, kneel amidst the mud and viscera to achieve better accuracy on your machine gun, you could endure staying in this position for hours.

You were made to fight, your body honed for combat, endurance, and stamina.

Every scar painted across your flesh with a sharp brush is proof of every near-death experience you escape, with nothing but its claws scraping your skin as you slipped by. Celebrating another day of living by getting sent to an equally dangerous mission immediately after.

It puts things into perspective, doesn't it? How it is within your Democracy Officer's every right to act as rough and brutal as he wants with you. Because you'll take it, you'll take it with obedience, you'll take it with no fuss or qualms, you'll take it like you took all those souls without a hint of sympathy.

You'll take it like you took everything else the world throws your way.

Because taking it is your sole purpose in life.

It was decided for you, like everything else in your life. You don't need to ponder or get curious about anything. You don't even need to think because your government will do the thinking for you.

Relax, stay pliable and malleable. Just like you are right now. Put this position on a pedestal, and remember to present yourself in a similar manner whenever any governing power approaches your way, even if you outrank them. That this is exactly how you should be facing any difficulty and hardships in life, face down and ass up.

You're clearly not capable enough to make these decisions for yourself; you don't know what's better for you, we do.

You don't even need to touch yourself, just say the word and the closest democracy officer will bend you over the nearest surface to fuck your brain out In front of everyone, even with other helldivers in the room. It's their job, looking out for the helldivers’ wellbeing is a vital role all democracy officers must adhere to.

The armoury is already placed in the middle of the ship, after all, exposed for all to see much like your dignity each time you get ready for a mission. Everyone's already seen everything you have to offer, multiple times, all your officers and engineers, from the lowest ranking crew member to the highest ranking ship master, they know what you look like naked as the day you were born.

There is very little courtesy offered in times of war.

So, really, this whole ‘taking you to a secluded place’ ordeal is frivolous at best, a luxury, a privilege.

What difference would it make to have you pressed against the armoury wall? Haven't we already established that you have nothing to hide? It's more time efficient for the democracy officer to administer your stress relief in the middle of the ship, for any passersby to witness.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, drool seeping from the corner of your swollen lips as his fingers press down your tongue, holding your mouth open, preventing you from speaking coherently.

The engineers on the deck behind the railing resume their work like nothing is happening. As if the wet sounds of every thrust into you isn't echoing in their brain, as if your downright obscene pornographic moans aren't causing a fuse to fry in their brain, a dusting of pink to cover their cheeks, a tartness in their dipping productivity.

Don't worry, you won't have to face them. The second you're stuffed with the cum of your democracy officer, he's zipping you up and shoving you into the nearest landing pod. We can't have you missing your mission, Helldiver.

Landing on the planet with your legs all wobbly, body aching, your hole sore and gaping. Desperately attempting to keep all the cum inside, to no avail. You're too used, your hole can't close long enough before the cum leaks out, dripping down your legs, seeping into your armour padding and staining it permanently.

You're just going to have to fight like this, running for your life from falling meteors, gunning down nightmare fuel looking aliens that would love nothing more than to feast on your flesh, to trample you into a mush of blood and cum below.

Having to work with the teammates who just watched you take a generous load inside. Who heard the sounds you make while struggling not to finish embarrassingly soon with so many people watching you get fucked.

Then join them like it's nothing. Eyeing you up like a strung piece of meat, a predatory gaze hidden behind a shaded helmet, allowing them plausible deniability.

You know that they know what the growing stain between your legs is made of.

Circling you like wolves, under the guise of covering your flank. Their touches start to linger, pinching your thigh whenever one lends you their stem injection, groping your ass as you help them reload their heavy weapon, letting you go with a demeaning spank as a parting gift, just before another breach arrives.

You're the first on the evacuation shuttle, they insisted. Guiding you by the nape of your neck, giddy voices as they gave you an encouraging push inside, causing you to tumble onto the floor of the shuttle.

Not waiting for you to get up before filtering from behind you, one by one. By the time the shuttle takes off, you're kneeling its floor.

Face to face with their spread legs, all three heads turn to look at you. Using you to their heart's content in the brief journey to the main ship. Helldivers are supposed to cooperate together, so help them vent out the aftermission adrenaline from their bodies while the Pelican 1 pilot enjoys the sound of your gagging.

That's the humiliating fate that you could be subjected to. That's the life of a soldier you signed up for.

Instead, you're here, laying on a bed, in the privacy of a secluded room.

Having the luxury of getting prepared beforehand, of being taken on a subjectively soft mattress instead of the cold metal floor.

The privilege of working with such professional Helldivers that would never do such a thing during missions. I mean what's next? Helldivers throwing down eagle strikes right before boarding evac shuttles, or using the reinforcement as stratagems by throwing you into hordes of enemies?

Don't be so absurd, those things never happen; your overactive imagination might just land you a mandatory trip to a freedom camp for re-education, as a way to quell your… paranoid tendencies.

Taking you to his own quarters, giving you the exemption of privacy. Going out of his way to treat you with thoughtful kindness, your Democracy Officer must really care for you.

Just don't think too hard about how he's the one to call down the missile strikes on you whenever you stray a little too far outside your mission zone. Charges of treason of all, you know how it is.

How about… don't think too hard ever again?

That would solve so many of your problems, it would make your life so much easier if you'd simply give up this rotten part of your brain.

When has thinking ever done you good?

Stay the way you are, endure everything life throws your way. Keep saying yes to every order, saying no to every break. Keep showing up everyday and obey all commands. Fulfill everyone's expectations of you, and never dare have expectations of your own towards anything. Numb your brain, muzzle your conscience.

Be the good obedient little soldier that you are deep down.

An eager overachiever. A glorified breeding puppy with a cape. A killing machine that's powered by army rations and cum. A medal decorated floormat.

Three fingers pull out of you with a wet pop, your now empty insides desperately clench around nothing. As if you were robbed of a vital organ, a part of you that made you whole.

In all of your haziness and arousal drunk mind, a moment of clarity descends down as you scrounge enough self-will to stop yourself from whining pathetically like a bitch in heat, because it's not becoming of a ship captain.

Patience is a virtue you must embody, laying there with your ass lifted in the cold air. The sound of a zipper pulled down offers you a glint of hope.

Something big and warm slots against your back, squished between your ass cheeks. It slides back and forth, collecting your wetness along the way.

Your throat goes dry, breathing shallow, an agonising hollowness inside as you swallow down. You want to rub against it, want it to spear you whole, you need it inside you more than you need air.

It recedes far enough to rub its swollen head against your once-tight hole. Now gaping in response each time the head gives it a wet tap, slapping it against your opening, making your body quiver.

In your entire life, you've never wanted something more than you wanted this big mean cock inside you.

To feel it stretch you out and finally push you towards your release. Afterall you can't cum on your own, it's not within your democratic rights.

You must wait for permission in the form of your democracy officer's cock fucking you until the lights in your brain turn off.

Very early in training, you're taught never to beg. Be it for your own life against an enemy or anything else, for death is preferable to cowardice; cowardness is treason, and treason is bad.

Even when every nerve in your body feels like it's on fire from anticipation, even when you're being deliberately teased and toyed with for nothing more than another's amusement.

You're a Helldiver, and your job is to endure and follow orders. That's the only thing you're good for.

“Good job, soldier.” Your democracy officer's praise is shortly followed by the head of his cock splitting you open, the delicious stretch of being filled with something so large that it forces your legs to spread apart on their own just to make space for it.

If you reach down, and press on your tummy, you might just feel its silhouette rearranging your guts.

“Thank-” you attempt to stutter a reply, but the air is pushed out of your lungs as he bottoms out inside you. You've never been this full in so long. The less than ideal lubricant amount makes it burn oh so sweetly. For the second time, what was supposed to be pain gets turned into overwhelming pleasure yet again. You keep clenching around him as you adjust to his size. “Thank you, Sir.”

Adjusting your position, the democracy officer closes the remaining distance between you two. Your arms are pulled back, body forced into submission as they're held in place behind your back.

While the hand that was once inside you grips onto your exposed hip, what a docile little being you are, to be manhandled and bent around. Allowing yourself to be put in such a compromising position, truly helpless and left at his mercy.

Fingers dig into your hip leaving their marks behind, as if desperate to etch themselves into your skin, to leave some kind of trace behind, a showcase of ownership for all to see, a sigil that'll be displayed each and every time you change your equipment.

They'll know that you were the one being fucked and not the other way around. That you were the one bent over taking it inside like a champ.

Every thrust pushes you upwards the bed, moving your entire body with its sheer force before he drags you down by your hip and restrained arms as if they were a makeshift handle. Bouncing you back and forth, the creaking of the metal bed frame fills the room.

Your panting and moans would've joined, wasn't it for the helmet muffling the sound to everyone except your own ears. Forcing you to hear your own loud cries in crystal clarity as they echo back at you.

Every hiccup and groan digging into your ego, chipping at your self image, painting you as the obscene slut more than the heroic guardian of humanity.

Thankfully your ego is used to the bruising from being put in place each morning as you stood up and swore allegiance to super earth. They really do unfreeze you each day without prior notice, only for 10 minutes tops.

Ten whole minutes of you repeating how you're nothing more than a servant for democracy, carved stone to be stepped on for a brighter future in the ladder of liberty. Retaking your oath of complete servitude and obedience, a reminder of the autonomy you've surrendered to join the most special of army forces.

His thrusts are powerful and deliberate, a steady pace that doesn't leave you any room to meet them or wiggle away. Making it evidently clear that he is the one in charge, your inferior Democracy Officer. He could do anything to you, strip you naked and devour you like a beast in this bed, mark every inch of your body with his teeth and coat it with his cum.

And not only will you never object, but you'll thank him for it, accept his praise, and take it to heart.

Just how many details about this encounter will go in the report, you wonder.

Is it mandatory for him to describe how he defiled you? Precisely word and phrase how he fucked you? Conduct sentences to give justice to the way your insides milked him dry, spasming and squeezing around his cock with every thrust as if it was your first time getting properly dicked down.

Detail just how you felt, how your body fit against his own like a missing puzzle piece, how your fingers entangled, how he didn't have to jerk off, for he was stone hard the second the two of you stepped into his room. Pushing you head-first into the mattress to conceal the poking boner in his pants from your view.

Maybe he didn't want to scare you, maybe he did it so you wouldn't feel used. It's supposed to be him getting you off by filling you with his cum, then clock off.

Ideally, he should be the epitome of sterile professionalism.

You're supposed to think that this is solely about you. It's against regulations for him to enjoy this as well, let alone how blasphemous it's for him to dare and look forward to it, to get turned on at the sight of your own arousal.

Will he have to specify how he prepared you beforehand? How he didn't use any lube—not that there was any—just your own sticky wetness instead because he knew how much of a slut for pain his Helldiver is.

His Helldiver. You're his responsibility, afterall. Him, and the ship and the crew, they all belong to you, and you belong to Super Earth.

Is it note-worthy to mention how obedient and patient you were the whole time, how you didn't whine or make a fuss? How you still adorably addressed him as sir despite outranking him. How you let him tug and throw you around like you were a common whore instead of an honourable disciplined soldier.

Or does he only have to refer to the time-period in which he defiled you on his bed?

Management can just pull the surveillance camera footage, the same one in the corner of this room right now. Mandatory in each compartment of any ship, because you never know when a cowardly robot or a nasty bug could infiltrate the Helldivers' ranks. So there are cameras everywhere to ensure the safety of the collective, no exceptions made, ever.

For privacy is a small price to pay for liberty and freedom! Or are you so selfish to prefer having your entire crew killed without warning by a bug? Just because you didn't want to give up something as insignificant as personal space? Shame on you, Citizen.

As we all know, it's the people with nothing to hide who have nothing to fear. Could you imagine what people might get up to in their own time if it wasn't public knowledge for all to see? That's why it's important for the government to monitor everyone. It's for the safety of the collective.

For the many shall suffer for the sins of the one.

By now most of the stem injection aftermath has been fucked out of you. The adrenaline is wearing off, and you're growing more exhausted by the minute. How long has it been? You've lost track of time, brainless and limb, only aware of the cock abusing your overstimulated swollen insides.

The same brutal pace that he used with his fingers, only instead, it's a thick cock now, melting your brain into a mushy puddle of pleasure, rewiring your very being to memorise this moment for eternity.

You'll never be whole again once this ends, you've tasted the apple, and now you'll be cursed with the knowledge of just how good it can feel. A sprouting addiction nursed and nourished by your Democracy Officer.

You will always seek this out. He has ruined his Helldiver to everyone else.

You could fuck yourself with your fingers all you want, use toys or gun barrels. Nothing will ever match the real thing.

Let your fellow helldivers use you, sit on their lap and grind down, let them fuck you standing up, it will never be enough.

But… maybe, if no other human can… then maybe an alien—No. No, absolutely not. You will not dare go there. This is undemocratic thinking. Be grateful the liberty tracking brainchip is still in development, otherwise you'd be charged with the worst of crimes for having these oppressive thoughts. Even in the delirium of climax, you must be held accountable for all passing throughs in your brain at all times, whether your own or not.

This is as good as it will ever get. This is what true happiness feels like.

This is your purpose.

You belong with him, you belong to your Democracy Officer.

You're so close. The sweet relief you've been so desperate for is barely out of reach.

Collecting your remaining brain cells to try and form something coherent between all the moaning and whimpering, you manage to make a full word at last.

“Sir-I” a hoarse cry is forced out of you, his cock pressed against a rough patch of skin inside you that lights your nerves up. Almost pushes you over the edge, biting your lips you force yourself to resist the painful temptation to cum.

You attempt again “I'm close, officer. Permission to-” it's burning and clawing at your core from sheer intensity, threatening to burst at any seconds. You put all of your self control into holding it back as tears collect in the corners of your eyes.

You're pulled upwards by your restrained arms, now kneeling on the bed instead. Manhandled by your officer like it's nothing, despite all of your armour. Much like you ragdolled whenever a charger flung you around as you attempted to dodge being crushed by its claws.

Immediately, your body collapses. Deflating down, your vision shakes as you blink away the dark spots clouding it.

He steers you to fall back against his chest. Your neck limb as his shoulder carries the weight of your head instead, turned upwards staring at the ceiling.

With his chest pressed flush against your back, cock buried to the hilt, you meet his eyes through the tinted windshield of your helmet, not that he could tell.

With your arms released, they ache in protest before falling limb to your sides. He scoops you into his arms, wrapping them around your front, to steady you for the second time today, to keep you from falling to the side with your jelly-like knees.

How much the gesture resembles a hug isn't lost on you.

You trace the beads of sweat glistening against his face. A choking sound leaves the back of your throat as he begins moving again, thrusting in and out of you with his cock. Rocking your body up and down. With him caddying most of your weight, you're reduced to a fleshlight in his embrace

One of his hands brushes slightly below your stomach, pressing, pressing into your flesh, changing the angles of his thrusts. It takes you a moment to realise what he's doing.

Attempting to feel his cock bulging from inside you, to trace its shape below your skin with his fingers.

“Permission granted.” His own voice is breathless, unlike the collected tone you've grown used to. The very same one that you returned its greeting with comfortable familiarity whenever you approach the map.

The same voice praising you at the end of each mission, encouraging you before the start of another, that very same voice is giving you permission to cum, a subtle order that you will obey like all the others.

You've held it in for so long, it takes a massive toll on you. Stretching itself long as tears fall from the corner of your eyes, a miserable cry of overwhelming pleasure followed by another. Words of gratitude turning into an incomprehensible mess of yes-sirs and thank-yous

You look him in the eyes as you climax, he must notice your helmet slightly turning to get a better look at him.

Your executive officer watching waves of intense pleasure going through his captain's body, making you spasm, add to the mess on his bed.

He fucks you through it, cradles and rocks you through your painful jarring orgasm. Your once limb body is now a trembling overstimulated mess, all the whines you've tried to suppress so far are pouring out of you, mewling and hiccuping. Clumped eyelashes and glazed-over eyes.

All the injection has been flushed clean out of your system, now you must experience the sour aftermath of a sore overused hole, aching joints, and a dull throbbing pain making your intimate parts pulse against the sharp sting of exposed air.

Except, you're not done yet.

He is not done yet, your Democracy Officer must finish inside you to seal the operation.

You're much more honest when you're completely fucked out and drained of orgasms, much more reactive and vocal. It's highly stimulating for him, he can't tear his eyes away from you, can't register anything but the feeling of your malleable body still shaking against his own, your insides still convulsing around him as if you're still cumming.

“Sir, I need it. I need your cum inside me. I—” you don't want to beg, you can't beg, but you can't take much longer either. You feel like you're going crazy. “Ple—”

Hand cramping over your helmet where your mouth should be as if to shut you up

With one last thrust he makes you swallow your word before it's fully out. Pushing his cock as deep as he can, pressing down your stomach harshly, you feel a warm fluid filling out the deepest of your insides.

His last thread must have snapped.

A ring of white forms around the base of his cock, overflowing cum attempting to leak, as he empties himself inside you, refusing to pull out.

Your knees scream at you, numb legs and heavy feet.

His remaining hand on your stomach gives an experiment press, and your back immediately arches, a choked whine leaves your lips. The more pressure he adds, the more your insides convulse around the cock plugging you, involuntarily spasming and attempting to push it out with no space left for the cum to go.

The hold on your stomach turns softer, letting go of the pressure. Opting to gently rub circles around the now slightly-pudgy part of it. Enjoying the short-lived bulging while it lasts, the second he pulls out, all the cum will pour and deprive him of his favourite view.

Moving down to your hips and thighs, he squeezes them tightly, messaging the cramped muscles with a firm touch. Easing you into a sense of safety, melting away your stiffens, slowly pulling his cock out, inch by inch, dragging the whole process as your frantic breathing slows down.

Only the head is left inside, a sigh leaves him at the feeling of pressure weighing down against the tip, his cum desperate to flood out.

He almost feels bad about what he's about to do.

You thought it was over, anticipating the loud pop of his cock. Except it thrusts back inside, pushing in so fast when you least expect it, while your muscles are still relaxed, fucking his cum back into you.

It's too much.

You're cumming again before you realise it, now an involuntary reflex not under your volition anymore. Your cries sound less and less human, more that of a wounded animal. Your dry tears stain your cheeks, your body drenched in sweat and cum.

He's mean, he's so mean. You thank him for it, thank your Democracy Officer for his cruelty, stutter out a reply of gratitude because that's what good little soldiers do.

You're completely spent in every sense of the word.

One thrust, it took one thrust to steal your breath, to have you overpowered by your own orgasm again.

He pulls all the way out, watching the cum pour out, dripping down your legs, making a small puddle between your kneeling figure, feet completely drenched in the sticky fluid.

Before your insides could close, the same two fingers thrust back in and keep your hole spread open. The other hand continues to rub and squeeze your thighs reassuringly, as you push all the cum out.

Aware of his eyes watching you through this whole thing. Of his fingers buried deep inside, scooping the cum off your walls, much like he did to your wetness at the start.

It's humiliating, plain and simple. There is no other way to describe this. You had to be guided and ordered throughout this whole activity from the moment your ass was up until the second you're having your insides cleaned by your inferior officer.

After what feels like an embarrassing eternity of probing, you're finally pushed forward to lay flat on the bed. Your knees give out instantly as the blood rushes to them. Your arms ache, and your thighs are all sticky and wet.

He picks the hem of your cape, offering you a resemblance of dignity by covering you with it like a blanket.

Even now, laying on a bed, in a puddle of cum, you're reminded of how more comfortable it is than being frozen to sleep each night in your cryo chambers.

Your racing heartbeat slows down. The officer leaves the bed for a moment before coming back with a warm wet towel, wiping between your thighs and cleaning you out as you lay there.

You didn't see the point, any cleaned body part will just get dirty again the second he laid it back on the mess-covered bed. Still, he tried his hardest to wipe away all the sweat, cum, and even some of the crusted blood from your last mission.

He fixes your armour back afterwards, pulling your now ruined underwear back up. It's completely drenched, making you wear the mess you've made.

Your pants follow after, then under armour padding and finally strapping the armour pieces back into place.

The screen monitor on your wrist flashes, an invitation request to join a mission from a fellow helldiver.

You just laid down, but it seems the world can't give you a break. With no time to relish in the bliss that follows an orgasm, that luxury, too, must be sacrificed. Pressing the option to accept the mission, the coordinations get sent to the entire team as the destroyer prepares to make the jump across the galaxy.

The democracy officer extends his hand to you, and you hold on to it as you slowly get up from the bed. Taking the towel and wiping away any stains on your armour.

Your body pulses with soreness and aches in pain. Protesting your every move. You can't tell where the blood ended or cum started in the mess that is your cape, proudly showing off your Helldiver status as Captain on the back.

The Democracy Officer cups the side of your helmet, turning your head to face him. There's a look in his eyes that you can't place; it's too perfect of a poker face to make any details from.

He knows you can't feel it, and yet his hand caresses the side of your helmet with softness all the same.

Knitted brows above his glistening eyes as he attempts to meet your gaze behind the tinted windshield. Searching for a pair of human eyes behind the endless dark void of the helmet.

Do you remember the colour of your eyes? The destroyer doesn't have any mirrors.

Is he looking at you with pity? Or is it pride? These days, you can't tell these two emotions apart, be it in yourself or others.

He tilts his face closer to yours, eyes fluttering shut. time slows down, and you could count the wrinkles on his hardened skin.

Just what kind of life did he lead? What hardships did he endure?

What is the price for surviving this far? What is the cost of keeping one's life during a galactic war? Did he pay for it with his sanity, body?

Or heart?

Chapped lips press against the cold metal of your helmet, a small kiss. tender and fragile like a single snowflake amidst a hail storm. No one will bear witness to it, and yet it's beautiful for having existed at all.

It's over, just like that. Barely having lasted a second. A vulnerable show of intimacy.

“You did well.” There's more he wants to say, more questions he wants to ask, more time he wants to spend holding you. Give you a proper bath and bury you in his chest as he works out all the knots in your muscles. But it's clear he can't, not without repercussions, not with his position as your inferior.

Especially not with the camera watching.

And so he steps to the side, politely waiting for you to finish tidying up your uniform. The once clean towel is now ruined and stained, he doesn't mind.

His uniform was as pristine as ever, except for the few wrinkles standing out where he held you against his body. Still, he looked more put-together than your dishevelled state. Thankfully your crew have never been anything less than professional no matter what state you show up in.

He speaks one last time, the same reassuring hand going under your cape to pat your shoulder lightly “I'll take care of the paperwork. The galaxy needs you to save it, Helldiver.”

You're reminded of each time a fellow helldiver waited for you to reach the shuttle before boarding, each time one hugged you after a successful mission, tight enough to almost lift you off the ground as they laughed from the sheer joy of being alive.

Each time someone watched your flank for you, fistbumped you after an especially difficult fight. The weight of their heavy helmet on your shoulder during the evacuation take-off, stealing some seconds of rest, of actual real sleep and none of that frozen crap, dozing off cuddling to your side.

A stranger behind a mask, holding your hand and reassuring you that everything is going to be fine, knowing that making it out alive is nothing more than an optional bonus in all of your assignments.

His touch doesn't linger, and the world becomes colder after it's gone. Like someone turned off the sun, a familiar freezing numbness barrows in the hollows of your heart, urging you to forget the sweetness of Eve's apple and move on.

“Thank you.” Is all you manage to reply before the announcement chimes, requesting all helldivers to report to the hell pods. A timer starts counting down from 30 seconds on your wrist monitor.

Walking ahead of your democracy officer, your cape trails behind in a show of authority. Another Helldiver is off to save the galaxy and defend Super Earth.

[barbatusart]

Do you have a recommendation for a specific book of your work for folks who showed up for your Bg3 stuff? (Also if you read the parts out of order would that be an issue?)

welcome aboard!!! thank you so much for checking my bg3 stuff out, it's a pleasure to have you

as i said in my other post over here, im predominantly an extreme horror artist! i 100% decline to call myself an eroguro artist because personally i dont find the kind of gore & horror i do particularly erotic, but im super fascinated with the horrors of the body & the darkness of the general human experience, so thats the kind of stuff i tend to make. it isnt the worst most heinous Ever you'll find out there, but im fully aware that it's A Lot, so everything i make with @meanbossart is thoroughly warned for so nobody goes into our body of work unaware & gets a nasty shock.

bg3 in particular goes some pretty dark routes (some bits in a dark urge run even made me kinda reel back and go "jesus"), so id say for people coming in from bg3 your mileage may heavily vary. if torture & really extreme body horror doesnt bother you, you may be OK with SAD SACK (sus.space/sadsack) and its current wip sequel SORTIE (sus.space/sortie), but i would still recommend reading each book's individual content warnings thoroughly before choosing to spend any money. (everything is paywalled to further deter minors.) if you're on the fence about how much horror content is too much for you, or if you're curious about these titles but find the content warnings to be concerning, my DMs on tumblr+twitter and my IMs are always open if you have any questions about particular CWs or even need specific page numbers so you can either skip that bit of gore or be informed enough to approach the page number(s), take a Deep breath, and proceed when youre ready! for these 2 titles in particular, unfortunately they do have a linear story, so to fully grasp what's going on requires reading the books in order. again if it's something youre curious to the point of wanting to try but on the fence about, i am always welcoming of inquiring DMs to help make the experience thrilling + chilling but Not genuinely upsetting.

if you're OK with a little violence and body horror but not as splatterfest as these titles, im currently chipping away at the preliminaries for my giant project LOVOS4017 (lovos4017.the-comic.org) which is a love letter to TNG scifi and 80s cyberpunk anime. im currently on pause with the roughs since last year due to COVID frontline burnout, but ive by no means abandoned it; this IP is my baby that ive been workshopping the show bible for for over a decade & i want to see it through to the end B)

finally if you would like to read our work but want to avoid gore and extreme violence entirely, we do have some stuff that is violence-free! POOPPIX@YAHOO.COM (suscomics.itch.io/pooppix) is a comic with a really bonkers premise but no violence and no visible onscreen poop i promise about finding genuine human connection over unusual shared interests on the internet. ATTACK DOG (suscomics.itch.io/attackdog) is also a short solo comic i did myself about sex, quasi-submission fetish, & the requirements of true love (theres some mild gooey body weirdness but no gore i promise)

overall i thank you for showing interest in what @meanbossart & i do! we tend towards strange & unusual premises and presentations, but i hope that you find something within our body of work that entertains you. if you every have any questions about anything, please please please feel free to DM me at any time; my goal in life is to entertain & provoke thought!

[duplicitywrites]

Hello duplicity, first I want to tell you how much I love your work and I am now a complete tomarry shipper .

In the start I was used to be into tom rare pairs and used to hate tomarry because it's biggest tom ship. I was super into bellamort, tomdraco and tomxsnape and I still love my old ships but I can get the hype of tomarry now.

Harry I believe is the only canonical character who would dominate tom as he is his equal and put him in control. As a submissive Voldemort truther I cannot see draco, snape or Bellatrix controlling tom neither emotionally nor mentally (physically all should dominate tom🫢) . But after reading one tomarry fic I now cannot read anything other than them.

awww thank you so much! and welcome aboard one of the best ships 🚢

i don't blame you for hating it at first lol. the rare pair life is a tough one... you gotta make your own content or die of thirst (like tomdric). actually, tomdraco (taco 🌮) is a rarepair i like! i will definitely encourage you to stick with that one 😂

harry and tom | vee are absolutely soulmates to me 💘 their enemies lovers arc is so unparalleled. their similarities and differences mesh together in such a beautiful way, and for that reason they will be my otp for this fandom always 😌

[intrualityweek]

hiii!!! :3 i'm so excited to see an event centered around intrualityyy and i just joined tumblr recently so i could properly participate in ship weeks

i’ve had a couple weeks to think of prompts, and i’m fond of: stitches, flowers, sharing clothes, plushies, fairytale, realization, and costume

thank you for coordinating this!!

Welcome aboard!! These are wonderful!!

We’ve gotten so many lovely prompt submissions!! A poll or other deciding device is coming soon to help make the final choices!

[p-artsypants]

Blurb #15

I'm going to try to share 70 blurbs from my WIPs and unfinished fics to celebrate reaching 70 posted fics! To help with this endeavor, please feel free to send me a word or a fandom you know I write for, and I'll share the blurb. IDK if I'll get 70 prompts, but let's try it! Send as many as you want!

New Paris, the jewel of the stars. A luxury ship with only the finest crew for the most regal of clients. After all, not just any star ship could sail through the heavens. It took a Cracker Jack crew, led by an experienced captain to traverse the vast expanse of ever changing space. A hull ornately detailed with rich blue paint and gold leaf molding. Five ivory star-sails, only the most technologically advanced to propel the ship at hyper speeds. And three engines, bolstered with nuclear power that beat the cosmos into submission.

This was the pride of Andre Bourgeois, the ship’s captain.

This was to be Adrien Agreste and his father’s new home for the next six months.

It was daunting, but rarely was change in life not so.

Adrien stood at the dock of the station, staring up at the massive ship with nervous eyes and a quivering stomach.

“Take one last look at that place,” said his father’s cold tone. “It’s likely you will never see it again.”

‘That place’ being home. The colony on which he was born and raised. A beautiful place, with teeming gardens and mountains of crystals that glittered in the duel sunlight. His mother had loved it here in their quiet villa.

But now he was 21, and the rest of his life was beckoning.

Steps thundered down the ramp leading to the ship, coming from two large men and a tiny woman. One man wore a fine blue and gold suit that matched the ship, and a wide brimmed hat with a feather.

The other followed a few steps behind, wearing just a white shirt and trousers, with a red belt around his waist. He had a mustache and kind eyes.

The woman wore a nice black dress with a white apron.

“Welcome welcome!” Said the first man. “Duke Gabriel of Agreste, and Prince Adrien of Agreste, it’s an honor to have you aboard my vessel. I am Captain Andre Bourgeois. You may call me Captain or Andre, whatever you prefer.”

“Thank you, Captain Bourgeois. My son and I are grateful to you and your crew.” Gabriel then gestured to the woman standing with them. “This is my steward, Nathalie Sancoeur. She will also be joining us.”

“The more the merrier.” Said the captain with a smile. “This is Tom Dupain, our chief cook, and his wife Sabine. They are in charge of hospitality aboard the ship. If there’s anything about your living quarters that does not meet your standards, please speak to them.”

Tom said, “I will be taking your bags to your rooms, and then I will be making one last trip to the market before we set sail. Any allergies I need to be aware of?”

“My son is allergic to feathers, and I can’t eat mollusks.”

“No escargot then? No complaints here.” Tom smiled broadly.

“Please,” began the Sabine. “If you will follow me, I’ll show you to your quarters.”

The group climbed the ramp, and surfaced on the deck, where crew were hard at work preparing for launch.

The captain blew a whistle and shouted, “attention!”

The crew hurriedly fell in line by rank, rushing to their designed spots.

Once they were all accounted for, the Captain spoke again, “I will repeat this again for anyone who wasn’t listening the first seven times I briefed the mission.” He gestured to the guests. “His Royal Highness Prince Adrien, and his father Duke Gabriel of Agreste are our esteemed guests for this voyage. We will be escorting them to the settlement of Agreste for the Prince’s coronation. This will be a six month journey, with seven ports of call. During this voyage, I expect you all to treat our guests with as much honor and dignity that a group of spacedogs can muster. Shenanigans and tomfoolery will not be tolerated. All those who break this rule will be locked in the brig and then escorted off the ship at the next port. Do I make myself clear?”

The crew answered in perfect unison. “Sir, yes sir!”

“Then as you were.”

Just as they had assembled, so they departed back to work.

“They are a good group,” the captain assured. “You just have to keep expectations high.”

“Certainly.” The duke agreed.

“Now, I will make brief introductions to my most essential crew, who you may be interacting with during your stay.”

A stout, red headed man with a smaller hat stood hovering nearby, awaiting orders.

“This is my first mate, Roger Raincomprix. If you can’t find me, please consult him with any concerns.”

“I am specifically in charge of the crew. If someone is out of line with you, Your Majesty, please notify me and I will make sure they meet just punishment.”

“Thank you, sir,” Adrien bobbed his head.

���Second Mate Nino Lahiffe is in charge of Navigation. He’s up on the half deck by the wheel. The auburn woman next to him is his wife, Alya, the cartographer.” He pointed to the couple, who were peering at and discussing a star map.

[not-poignant]

Underline the black has a happy ending? For some reason I thought it was a dead dove do not eat fic where Efnisien was going to be put through it relentlessly. I also thought Dr Gary was a villain? But now I'm not sure. I'm further intrigued if there is hope in this story! Really love the tension so far, thank you for sharing!!

Anon, I beg you, please start reading the additional tags section of all fics on AO3, because you get a lot of answers right there! For example, in the additional tags section of Underline the Black (which is above every single chapter up access) these are the main story tags:

Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Darkfic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Disturbing Themes, Omegaverse, A/B/O, Omega Verse, Alpha/Omega, Medical Experimentation, Medical Trauma, Dominance/Submission, Dystopian universe, Second class citizens - omegas, Forced bonding, Forced relationship, Imprisonment, Nonconsensual medical procedures, PTSD, Flashbacks, Nightmares, Chronic illness, Mating cycles / In heat, Restraints, Miscommunication, Trauma recovery, Mind control, Child abuse, Knotting, No mpreg, Age gap, Disordered eating, Additional tags to be added.

You'll notice I've highlighted angst with a happy ending, which answers your 'will it have a happy ending question.'

You'll notice that no where did I tag this with 'Dead Dove Do Not Eat' (also these fics can have happy endings?? Dead Dove Do Not Eat can have a lot of meanings, but it doesn't - by default - mean a fic is going to have a tragic ending, it just means 'you were warned to expect this' re: darker or disturbing tags)

Dr Gary is a villain at first, but he's not going to stay that way. I've also bolded the tag 'trauma recovery.' If Efnisien/Gary are the main pairing, and trauma recovery is part of the story, it usually means that the main characters (or in this case mostly Efnisien) will recover from trauma during their relationship.

I figure you must be new to AO3, and possibly my writing as well (hi hi and welcome aboard!), so definitely make sure you read not just the warnings but ALL additional tags on a fic on AO3 to make sure you know what you're getting yourself into! Some authors (including me) will also use the 'hopeful ending' tag to indicate that while everything isn't fixed, everything's hopeful at the moment.

But I do know this will have a happy ending. That's why it says so in the tags in every chapter. :D

[dexmas-month]

Hi! I've written something I'd like to submit to the Dexmas Drabblefest, but I'm not sure it meets the qualifications? It's a 583 word fic in which a couple of modern-day gay teenagers watch "The Gambler" and discuss Thomas's and Guy's relationship. I'd understand if it's too off-prompt since it stars two original characters, and Thomas and Guy aren't really proper characters. But I figured I'd take a chance!

Let's assume that the Dexmas Drabblefest code is more what you'd call "guidelines" than actual rules. And so...

As long as the thing in question has a recognizable element of Dexmas and can be reasonably called Dexmas-themed, there's no such thing as off-prompt. And even if there was, your fic seems to perfectly fit one of the Dexmas Bingo squares: Thomas becomes a historical figure. See? It totally works!

As for the word limit, oh dear. We'll take it as long as it's short-ish and the first digit seems vaguely right. Yours is five? Yep, we'll gladly add that to the hoard, thank you very much! If anyone wants to keep to the word count perfectly, of course they can and we'll be duly impressed, but we're not so picky nor strict as to reject works which do not keep to that.

And so... Welcome aboard the Dexmas Drabblefest, Dragonss-in-the-north!

We'd like to remind you all that Dexmas Drabblefest submissions will be accepted from February 12th to February 14th, Sunday to Tuesday, 00.01 GMT to 23.59 GMT. Now, that one is more what we'd call an actual rule. ;)

[dhrdoublethetrouble]

Claiming for Artists is OPEN

Claiming for artists is now open! You can claim a prompt here.

Claiming is open right up to the submission date, which is 30 April, 11:59pm EST. Please remember that prompts can only be claimed once by an artist, so if you see that it has already been claimed, please choose another one! Artists are welcome to claim more than one prompt.

If you need an extension or some flexibility, please do not hesitate to message this page or contact one of the organisers in the Double the Trouble Discord. There are now three of us! Little Ivy#3393, mistresslynn#1535, and K.#7086. Huge shout out to them for coming aboard (@mistresslynndramione and @vertraymer), and also to K for making the image you see above! (Original credit to Ri | Aetherios for the base image).

Apologies to any artists who already claimed a prompt prior to this post. Due to some miscommunication, there wasn't clarity on when the claiming goes live. We have now updated the schedule with times, so if you had claimed a prompt, please go through and claim them again! Thank you xx

Love, Ivy

[tua-masked-author]

The masked author returns!

[I.D. a GIF in the shape of a domino mask shaped cut out, with moving footage of the hargreeves siblings inside]

Season 2: Shocktober!

Full details will be given later, but to help you get your gleeful scheming off to a good start, here the basics:

The event will take place in October - circa 8th-30th but the exact dates to be confirmed closer to the time!

Season 2: Shocktober will have an optional halloween theme. We know October can be busy for fandom events (particularly the ever popular whumptober), so provided your fic fits the masked author requirements, you can use your fic for masked author too. So it's up to you if you write something delightfully spooky, deviously misleading, heartbreakingly whumpy, or even just an idea that you’ve always wanted to explore.

Based on the feedback we received on Gen June, we have decided to keep the gen requirement for Shocktober. Most respondents to our survey found that keeping the event gen allowed them to read and enjoy more fics than if shipping had been included, and a few authors said they enjoyed challenging themselves to write non-ship fics. [If you want to know more about what a genfic is, check out the tvTropes page]

A notable change for shocktober will be a lower wordcount cap, set at 10,000 words maximum during the event (there is no minimum word count requirement). You can still submit up to two fics, which can be up to 10,000 words each, and you are allowed to update fics during the event providing the 10,000 cap is not exceeded prior to the un-masking. After the authors are revealed, you are free to make your fic as long as you please! We have made this change based on feedback and the overwhelming popularity of Gen June - you created 57 works and over 250,000 words during the last event, which is a lot of story to read in 3 weeks! Hopefully this change will allow readers a chance to read more fics within the guessing period, giving your fics a wider audience, and allowing guessers to submit more complete guessing ballots.

We will once again be taking community prompt submissions, and [you can submit your prompt here]. Prompt submissions will close on 31st August. You can view prompts that have been submitted [here] (although the list will be updated periodically). You can also view the prompts submitted for Gen June [here] for even more inspiration.

Once again, the prompt list is optional and is intended as inspiration for the authors. You do not have to write a fic based on a prompt if you don’t want to.

Our organising team has shuffled slightly - @not-celestial​ and @littlerit are still here as co-ordinators of chaos, but we welcome aboard @flecket to the team, and release @melivian to join in the fun as a guessing participant for round two, (and thank her for all her hard work on Gen June!)

🎭We look forward to seeing you all at the next masquerade!🎭

(Credit to @circumstellars for the beautiful GIF!)

[airplanned]

Trill AU Part 5

Such Drama!

***

Part 1

When the hail cut off, they both scrambled at their consoles, Zelda probably trying to get the deflector dish working, Link throwing together a couple of fail safes in case things went very--

They both turned at the sound of a transporter behind them, and Link stood, straightening his jacket and straightening his spine.  The three intruders who materialized on the bridge had absurdly large pulse cannons.  There was no way they needed those to incapacitate Link, Zelda, and a ship full of sleeping people.  They just wanted to look intimidating and ended up looking ridiculous.

"Welcome aboard," Link said.  "I'm Lt Link.  This is Lt Zelda.  My apologies that we're not proper hosts at the moment."

They punched Link in the face.

Zelda squeaked and grabbed him as he stumbled, keeping him on his feet.

He blinked to clear the stars that danced in his eyes.  The punch had loosened his sinus infection, and his first foolish thought was that Zelda was going to see his snot.

The Trill who was clearly their leader smirked at him, hefting his pulse cannon across his shoulder.  "I'm Admiral Kohga, and I'm claiming this salvage operation."

Link wasn't going to argue that their ship, which still had power and a crew of six hundred people could in no way be defined as a salvage operation.

He cut his eyes to Zelda over his shoulder, who gave a fractional shake to her head.  She hadn't heard of this guy either.

"Perhaps we can reach an agreement," Link said.

Kohga slung his pulse cannon down into Link's face.  "Perhaps I can kill you and take your warp core anyway."

Link held up his hands, swallowing down the fear that prickled the back of his throat, fighting with his tongue to keep the words coming.  "If you want the warp core, you can take it.  Just take it and leave."  They could get another.  They weren't too far out.  A rescue ship could be there in 48 hours, maybe even sooner.

Zelda's fingers bit into his arm, and he shot her another look to see her begging with her eyes, her teeth sunk deep in her lip.  She'd done extensive modifications to their warp core.  It was a prototype and maybe one of the most advanced models in the fleet.  He tried to convince her with just a widening of his eyes that they could get another, she’d only be set back a month, but her fingers bit harder into his arm to tell him that wasn't good enough.  

Did she not want to lose her life's work, or did she not want these people to have it?

It didn't matter.

In a rush, he said, "Computer lock: authorization Fi Alpha 284," and managed to get it all out before he was punched in the face again.

"What did you do!?  Unlock the computer!"

Link rubbed his jaw and glared at them.  "Get off my ship."

With a growl, a pulse cannon was aimed so close to his face that he had to lean back.  "Unlock it or I kill you," Kohga said.

"You kill me and you'll never get access."

The intruder narrowed his eyes.  Then he aimed his weapon at Zelda.  "Unlock it or I kill her.  Aren't Federation types like you supposed to do anything to protect each other?  You're a joined Trill.  You're not going to let me kill a symbiont, are you?"  He dropped the weapon from Zelda's face to her stomach.

Link swallowed.  "That's right.  I'm not going to let you hurt her.  Which is why the computer needs her authorization too."

"What?  You're lying."

Link jerked his head towards his console, inviting them to look.  Kohga glared at him and then jerked his head at the console too, ordering his lackey on the right to go check it out.

"He's right."

Kohga swore, turning away and stamping his feet.  Again and again.

Zelda's hand stroked his arm.  A sign of thanks.  An unconscious gesture of support from another lifetime.

When Kohga calmed down, he sighed dramatically and turned to give Link a suspicious look.  He pointed a finger, bobbing it as he thought.  "Authorization Fi.  Your name is Fi."

Welp.  He tried.

"I've heard of you."  Kohga took a step closer.  "Ha!"  He turned to his lackey.  "You know what this guy did?"  He wiggled his fingers.  "The taboo.  Reassociation!" He sounded almost giddy.  "This guy married another bonded Trill, and then what does his next host do?  Goes straight back and marries them again!"

"We didn't get married again," Link corrected.  Ravio didn't think it was necessary as they were still married in his heart (that sap).  Tetra liked saying they were living in sin.  Which was admittedly pretty funny, considering.

"This guy gives up everything and gets banished by the Symbiosis Commission, and then what happens?  They break up!  It's too funny."

Link shrugged.  It wasn't that funny. 

Kohga gestured around the bridge.  "Do they know?  Does she know?"

Zelda pulled her hands away, stepping back as if she was too shocked and disgusted to be near him.  As if she wasn't banished the same day he was.

Kohga gave her a sympathetic look so fake Link wondered how he thought anyone would buy it.  "Can you believe that?" he cooed.  "He sentenced his own symbiont to death.  He spit on our traditions. Everything we stand for!  Those traditions are there for a reason, you know.  Symbionts should live many different lives!  Not the same one over and over!  They shouldn't lock the host into a life they didn't choose.  That's cruel.  And then there's the memory seep. Doing the same things they’ve done in other lives over and over.  It messes up a host's brain until they don't know which host they are, what planet they're on, what day it is!  And then the symbiont takes over and the host doesn't even matter anymore. Just the symbiont. The whole power balance is disrupted!  You really want to throw your lot in with this guy?"

"I..."  

"If you unlock the computer, I'll take him off your hands for you."

She swallowed looking very small and fragile.  In a shaking voice, she said, "I can't let you have my warp core."

She was such a pro.

"Arrrrgggggh!"  Kohga clawed at his hair.  Then huffed a breath and turned back to Link in confusion.  "How do you get new hosts without going through the Symbiosis Committee?"

"Why? Do you want to join up?  You probably should.  I doubt they'll like it when they hear about your life of crime."

Kohga waved that away as if it didn't concern him in the least, which meant he either had no idea of the consequences that would rain down on him in his next life or he was putting on a show.  "You know...we're both outlaws," Kohga said, wheedling at him.  "Why don't you help me out?  Give me the warp core?  I'll split it with you.  50/50."

Link stared at him.  "No.  You see this is my ship.  And I don't feel like sharing."

Kohga's face wrinkled up in rage.  "Take them," he ordered.  "We'll just go rip the damn thing out!"

And with that, the intruders grabbed them by the arms, shoved them into the turbolift at gunpoint and dragged them down to the engine room, where they were pushed to the floor and watched by one of the lackeys while Kohga and the other Trill tried to override Link's lockout and did a lot of swearing and banging their fists against the console.

Zelda flinched with every bang.

He tapped all his fingertips against the floor.  What have you got?  Or in this case, Are you okay?

She took a deep breath, eyes on the fools messing with her engine.  She nodded, but made it look like she was rocking to soothe herself.

He fluttered his fingers in a soft wave--I’ve got nothing.

She responded by tapping the side of her hand against the floor as if neatening cards.  Two face cards. They could make something work if they played it right.  She had a plan.

What that plan was, she couldn't say in front of their guard, and instead demanded, "How the hell are you in Starfleet if you were banished?"

The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile, because that sounded a little bit like she was interested in his life.  "I'm an Orion citizen."

"What."

"There's a large Trill ex-pat community there.  I was born in part of the capital city called Terry Town that's 90% Trill.  We even had a bluefish deli and a Klonek festival."

She nodded.  "One time I visited Little Trill on Axanar."  

Anaxar. She'd made her way to Axanar.  He could see here there with all those evergreen trees stretching up to touch the sky.  He was strangely relieved that she'd found safe harbor.  

"They had the worst ralband pie I've ever tasted,” she said.

Link grinned and shook his head.  "I won't hear a word against my mother's abomination of a spice bread recipe."

Zelda snorted, something that might count as genuine humor.

"It was my favorite food growing up," he said.  "And then I was joined and learned what it tastes like if you have ingredients actually grown on Trill."

"And not freeze dried into submission."

"Or replicated.  The tang never has the right bite."

She caught his eye, and for a moment they just stared at each other.

She tapped the side of her hand again.  She had a plan.

Part 6

[thedilucharem]

Update (+ Announcement)

Wow. Just wow you guys.

I literally finished the 20 Follower Special not even a day ago and then there y'all go, making that number 30.

Speaking of which, life has started to hit in full swing, leaving me with less time to write some of these longer posts. So expect more bulleted headcanons, little drabbles, and maybe quotes in the future. This isn't to say that the long posts are going to stop entirely, but they'll be coming out a bit slower than usual.

I'm extremely happy that there are 30 of you that are happy with my little headcanons and posts! I'm glad you guys keep sticking around and laughing along with me and if you're new, welcome aboard!

Thanks again for the love, support, and enthusiasm!

And, as per usual, the inbox and submissions are always open!

[thetorchwoodarchive]

[Image Description: a banner for the Across the Bay Crossover Fics You Didn’t See Coming fest, featuring beach signs on a tropical island, reading “Cardiff by the Sea”, the name of the fest, “authors”, “torchwood” (partially obscured), and “one shots” (partially obscured), and a warning sign where Myfanwy chases a swimmer]

ACROSS THE BAY: CROSSOVER FICS YOU DIDN’T SEE COMING MASTERPOST

Thank you everyone for submitting your crossover and fusion fic  recommendations. Below are all submissions and some of our favorites! 

Is it Insensitive for Me to Say by aliciajazmin (EstherJohnTosh | complete | 2441 | T)

Toshiko Sato and Esther Drummond absolutely will make fun of their boyfriend for deciding to attend an audition, while also attending said audition with him. 

Crossover With: The Outer Worlds 

Golden Apples and Norse Gods (Or How Ianto Got His Groove Back) by blackkat (JackIanto | complete | 1592 | G)

Ianto finds himself back from the dead and, apparently, in the position to double-cross a power-crazed Norse god intent on conquering the Earth by taking out a team of superheroes. Must be a Tuesday.

Crossover With: Avengers/MCU

The Magic of Torchwood by Bella the Strange (JackIanto, IantoJohn, JackOther, Non-Torchwood Ships | wip |  546,512 | T)

The Torchwood team have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Set between Adam and Reset. Rated T because of Jack Harkness, swearing, mature themes, slash etc… it’s Torchwood!

Crossover With: Harry Potter

Welcome to Torchwood by Jackdaw818 (Gen | complete | 1601 | T)

A strange creature behind the Ralphs, a break-in at the Museum of Forbidden Technologies, and visitors in Night Vale. Overall, a slightly unordinary day for Cecil Gershwin Palmer

Crossover With: Welcome to Night Vale

Torchwait for iiiiit by lady-demacabre (Gen | complete | 3k | K+)

When Shawn and Gus are called in on a case for an eccentric collector of alien objects, they get more than what they bargained for. One shot, Psych oriented.

Crossover With: Psych

Theme and Variations by nemo_baker (JackIanto, GwenRhys, OwenKatie | 5817 | T)

Time Agent Jack Harkness is sent back in time to solve the mystery of a mysterious train bombing. The problem is, he only has eight minutes to do it.

Written for Reel Torchwood screening 8 on Livejournal. Movie Prompt: Source Code (2011)

Crossover With: Source Code 

Day Tripper by Croquemboucheballpit (Gement) (JackBessie the Third Doctor’s Car, Bessie the Third Doctor’s CarLightening McQueen (past) | complete | 2360 | M)

Bessie’s like any other companion: far from home, more than she appears, and always up for an adventure.

And Jack Harkness really will seduce anything that moves.

Crossover With: Pixar’s Cars 

An American Volunteer by That_one_kid (SteveBucky, BuckyJackSteve | Complete | 4395 | T)

What if Captain Jack Harkness met Steve & Bucky during the war? What if he ran into them again, present day?

AKA

Captain Jack Harkness and his mission to seduce the two gorgeous, capable soldiers who keep running into him.

Crossover With: Captain America/MCU

Statement #0041708 - Future Sight by Jackdaw816 (Gen | complete | 1690 | T)

Statement of Lisa Hallett regarding a peculiar mirror found at a car boot sale

Crossover With: The Magnus Archives

(Un)Welcome Aboard by Jaune_Chat (Jack | Complete | 4,154 | T)

To make ends meet, Mal listens to a suggestion from Inara than he rent out the other shuttle. She has the perfect candidate, a charming Companion named Jack…

Crossover With: Firefly 

Death and the Definitely-Not-A Maiden by Odsbodkins (JackIanto | Complete | 3,6K | PG-13)

When Jack dies, Death is there to meet him. Every time. Written in 2008 for the Doctor Who Crossover Ficathon. Takes in Torchwood to end S2, Doctor Who to end S3, Discworld to Soul Music.

Crossover With: Discworld 

Remarkable by snowwhiteliar ( JackIanto, IantoLisa | Complete | 20.971 | PG-13)

Summary: Once upon a time, in a small village in a distant province of a peaceful kingdom, there lived a boy called Ianto

Crossover With: Fairy Tales 

Got That Friday Feeling Again by NancyBrown (OwenOther, JackIanto, GwenRhys, GwenOwen | Complete | 18.3K | R)

HELP HELP HELP HELP

I AM TRAPPED IN A TIME BUBBLE

The magic marker all over the nice chintz wallpaper bled and smeared as Owen wrote in increasingly desperate lettering across the walls. Ls and Ps dragged down, wiggly at the end or drawn out in slashed strokes.

He ignored the pounding on the door frame. He’d shoved the wardrobe in front, which always kept Jack out for twenty three and a half minutes. He ignored the sweat and tears and snot dripping down his face, down his mouth. He ignored the high-pitched singing from his own throat, “If you want my future, forget my past,” chanted over and over.

HELP

Crossover With: Groundhog Day

Back, and Back, and Back a Little More (Future Optional) (JackIanto, JennyVastra | Complete |  32591 | M)

Accidentally shot into the past by a time-travelling car, Ianto has to fix his own mistakes or he won't have a future to go back to.

Crossover With: Back to the Future 

Truth, Justice by NancyBrown (SupermanOwen | complete | 414 | M)

The green shit does not work. Warnings: dubcon (AMTDI)

Crossover With: Justice League Unlimited/DCAU/Superman 

Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodies, or, A Humourous Interlude Between Epics by  copperbadge (Gen | complete | 749 | T)

Ianto neglected to introduce himself as he informed the senior staff that Atlantis was now under the jurisdiction of Torchwood, whatever Torchwood is.

Crossover With: Stargate Atlantis 

Never Have I Ever by  st_aurafina (JackIanto, JackDoctor (past/implied), PepperTony (implied) | complete | 1714 | T)

Written for the prompt Ianto, Donna and Pepper end up at a secretaries'/assistants' conference and have a conversation about their bosses.

Crossover With: Ironman/MCU

Beware the Sparkles by elisi (JackIanto, JackEdwardBella | complete | 4793 | T)

It's terribly simple. The good guys are always stalwart and true, the bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and we always defeat them and save the day. No one ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after. Oh and Jack has sex with sparkly vampires.

Crossover With: Twilight 

The Death Note Discovery by KaibaGirl007 (JackIanto | complete | 18,992 | T)

“You’ve clearly just got a notebook belonging to some geek, a rather sick geek I’ll give you that, who likes to keep note of people’s deaths.” - Will the team resist the urge to use the Death Note or will one of them give into temptation? 

Crossover With: Death Note 

A Confluence of Personalities by  galaxysoup (JackIanto | complete | 4839 | T)

Conner Kent’s body might be dead, but his soul has apparently decided to take the scenic route.

Crossover With: DC Comics/Young Justice Comics 

Imposters Among Us by  gwendolyncooper (JackIanto, GwenRhys | complete | 9117 | M)

The Torchwood team (+Rhys) are out for a night of fun when they end up on a spaceship with no power, no info, and no crew. Known only as THE SKELD, the team tries to fix the ship and figure out what happened to its previous occupants.

But something out there is killing them.

Something that may be someone they know.

Crossover With: Among Us 

Traitors (Among Us) by princessoftheworlds (JackIanto | complete | 440 | G)

In a happy future, the team plays Among Us, and Ianto suffers.

Crossover With: Among US 

Tagline: I saw the VIDEO. Got the CALL? What Next??? by  BricklingGhost (TeamGwenee) (JackIanto, JackSamara | complete | 2424 | Not Rated)

'Tagline: I saw the VIDEO. Got the CALL? What Next???

Bollocks. That’s just a myth. Some git showing off and claiming to be the one person alive who Samara doesn’t bump off. He’ll be boasting that he’s been chosen to kill Voldemort next.'

When another unsuspecting victim falls foul of the cursed tape, he is pointed towards Captain Jack Harkness as his only hope for salvation.

Crossover With: The Ring

(My God, He Just) Came and Went by  Brokenpitchpipe (SteveBucky | complete | 1591 | M)

It starts on a cold, snowy September night in 1916, on the day Winifred Barnes walks to Doris Lindow’s house to see her new telephone and catches the eye of a handsome young man on the other side of the street. He tips his hat as she sees him, and she flushes scarlet and nods in return.

And nine months later, a little baby boy screams his way into the world.

But that’s not when it starts. Not really.

Crossover With: Captain America/MCU

Beast Inside by Flamingbluepanda (JackIanto, OwenTosh, GwenRhys | complete | 26934 | M)

"Argue with anything else, but don’t argue with your own nature.” - Phillip Pullman

Inside us all, there is an animal that expresses our soul. How would the world change were those animals outside?

Crossover With: His Dark Materials

Rifts and Robots by Paycheckgurl (JackIanto | complete | 3021 | G)

Jack and Ianto’s date at the movies is interrupted by two robots with no theater etiquette.

Crossover With: Mystery Science Theater 3000

The Jack and Ianto Show by Paycheckgurl (JackIanto | WIP | 7392 | T)

Jack and Ianto are a regular couple, living a quiet life, and trying to fit into the quaint Village of West Castle. Sure they're keeping the secret that Jack is an immortal time traveler from the future, with a fantastical machine called a vortex manipulator that can manipulate time and space around them, but they have much more pressing concerns. Such as strict bosses and nosy neighbors. Everything is perfect, a dream come true.

And Jack is going to keep it that way.

Please Stand By...

Crossover With: WandaVision 

Mutually Assured Uncooperation by  princessoftheworlds (JackIanto, OwenTosh, MarthaMickey, FitzSimmons, LincolnDaisy (past) | complete | 31547 | T)

Aliens, time-travelling, resurrections. These are all experiences familiar to not just one but two top-secret organizations that have a hard time keeping a low-profile. Figures that they would encounter each other eventually.

Or: the five times that SHIELD and Torchwood had an encounter that neither were pleased with, and the one time they had to work together when two of their own were taken.

Or: There's Kree running amok in Cardiff, including a murdered one, and Torchwood is on the case, but so is SHIELD. Also, don't forget the memory-manipulating aliens there too!

Crossover With: Agents of Shield/MCU

all i know is (infatuations) by  princessoftheworlds (JackIanto, JackJohn,  OwenTosh, LisaIanto | complete | 439 | T)

Seventh-year Slytherin Ianto Jones handles a break up, getting a boyfriend, terrible emotional misunderstandings with his best friend Jack Harkness, being miserable, and reconciliation. (Not precisely in that order.)

Crossover With: Harry Potter

[rae-does-stuff]

Day 7; Sunrise and Sunset: Romano x Nyo!Luxembourg

Sup dudes! So this is my last entry for @aphrarepairweek2021 I'm glad that I got through until the end and I was able to share my works and see everyone else celebrate their rare pairs!

Prompt: Sunrise & Sunset

Pairing: Roma x Nyo!Lux

AU: Human

Human Names:

Romano: Lovino Vargas

Nyo!Luxembourg: Sarah de Vries

Italy: Feliciano Vargas

Nyo!Belgium: Beau de Vries

Spain: Antonio Fernández Carriedo

Nyo!Netherlands: Mienke de Vries

————————————————

The train made a whistling noise. It was a rather picturesque scene. A train station, tons of noise, a beautiful sunrise in the background; the stuff you'd only see in artworks.

Lovino wasn't sure if he was ready to go yet.

"All aboard!" Called the conductor.

Scratch that, it wasn't that Lovino wasn't ready, it was that he didn't want to go. He didn't want to leave Feli and his little brother but Antonio and Feli insisted, he needed a break from work. New scenery and all that crap.

And so they booked a crosscountry train ride across Europe for him. It's supposed start in Spain and go through France, Switzerland, Italy (his home country) and other countries.

Antonio gave him a pat on the back, "Well then mi amigo, go on! See the world! Find amor!"

Lovino grumbled, "Don't touch me."

Antonio didn't seem to mind his tone, "Go or your going to miss your train!"

Lovino picked up his suitcase, "Well, see you later you b*stard."

And with that he boarded the train.

————————————————

Sarah wasn't listening to her older brother's fretting.

"Just stay safe okay?"

Sarah blinked, "What?"

Beau gave her a small sigh and smiled, "Nothing. Just be careful okay Sare Bear?"

Mienke offered her two cents, "Keep yourself and your money safe. You never know who's dangerous and who's not."

Sarah laughed a little, "Don't worry I'll be fine."

The conductor yelled, "All aboard!"

Sarah jumped up to hug her siblings, "Goodbye big bro, bye big sis!"

Mienke wasn't used to the affection, "Ahem, you should get to your train."

Beau said goodbye and Sarah was off to find adventure in Europe.

————————————————

Lovino was in awe of the train, although he'd never admit it. Feli would love to paint it.

Time flew by until it was sunset.

Lovino decided to take a walk around the train cars.

That's when he saw a woman with long light brown hair trying to drag a hefty suitcase around. She looked as if she was apart of the aristocratic crowd and part of hair covered her right eye.

Lovino, being the nice person he was (well, pretty much only to women) decided to help her out.

He went over and helped her out.

Luckily, they weren't that far from where she wanted to go.

Once they moved the suitcase, the woman said, "Thanks!"

"You're welcome. What was I supposed to do when I saw a pretty bella such as yourself struggling with that suitcase."

The woman giggled, "I'm Sarah by the way."

"Lovino. Lovino Vargas."

Sarah offered, "As a thank you, maybe I can buy you breakfast tomorrow? Or dinner?"

Lovino panicked for a minute. Usually whenever he helped a girl out she didn't offer him dinner, he didn't expect Sarah to actually offer him breakfast or dinner.

"I- I would like that."

Sarah gave him a smile, "Then it's settled! I'll see you tomorrow at the second dining car." She turned around and opened the door to her room, "Bis Muer*!"

She shut the door behind her leaving Lovino mumbling a weak, "Arrivederci bella*."

————————————————

Sarah waited at a table the next morning. She had faith, perhaps too much, that Lovino was going to come. She had even dressed up in her favorite blue and white pinstripe dress for the occasion.

A few things stood out about him from other people. One of the biggest was that he didn't recognize her as a de Vries sibling.

She was spacing out when Lovino sat at the table in front of her, "Sarah?"

Sarah perked up a bit, "Yes? Oh Lovino! I knew you were coming. I was looking forward to this!"

Lovino looked down, slightly embarrassed (why, Sarah didn't know), "Grazie*."

Sarah asked, "So what brings you on such a big trip?"

Lovino shrugged, "My little brother and a friend of mine told me that I needed a break from work so they booked me a ticket. What about you?"

"I needed to get away from home. Don't get me wrong, I love my home and my family, I just feel like I need to figure things out for myself."

Sarah asked another question, "Where exactly do you work Lovino?"

"I own and run an Italian restaurant. Not one of those cheap bullsh*t knockoffs but a legitimate one. I should know I am Italian myself."

Sarah gave a polite smile, "An Italian? I'm from Luxembourg myself. I'm a bit of a businesswoman too."

"Luxembourgish and a business woman Sounds fancy."

"Indeed it does."

————————————————

It was the last day of the trip and Lovino was having fun with Sarah. He hoped that Sarah was having fun with him.

Lovino sat down and Sarah plopped in the seat in front of him.

It was sunrise and they were almost back at the train station in Spain.

Sarah sighed, "I wish that this trip wouldn't end."

"I know, I wish that too."

And he really meant it. As much as he missed his family and friends, part of him wished that he could stay here with Sarah, a woman he had known for less than a week.

Sarah asked abruptly, "What if we never see each other again?"

Lovino panicked a bit at the thought, "We will see each other again after this trip ends. I promise you that, bella."

Sarah let out a dry laugh, "You still haven't told me what 'bella' means. I also don't know your last name or anything similar. It's funny how this stuff works."

"To be fair, I also don't know your last name or anything similar. Also, I didn't tell you what 'bella' means?"

Sarah shook her head.

Lovino explained, getting redder as his explanation started to turn into a ramble, "It means beautiful and well, you are beautiful so I called you that and it stuck. And you really are beautiful and smart and funny and all that sh-"

He was cut off by Sarah kissing him. He pulled her closer and kissed back. Boy, was he a good kisser.

Sarah pulled away, “My name is Sarah de Vries. That’s my last name, de Vries.”

Lovino told her, “My name is Lovino Vargas.”

————————————————

Sarah left the train holding hands with Lovino. She never expected to find a lover during her trip.

It was a pleasant surprise.

The End

————————————————

So that’s my last submission!

Translations:

Bis Muer: See you later in Luxembourgish

Arrivederci bella: Goodbye beautiful in Italian

Bye!

- Rae 💜🖤

[p-artsypants]

Stars for le prompt game... thingy

OOOOHHHHHH GOOD ONE

New Paris, the jewel of the stars. A luxury ship with only the finest crew for the most regal of clients. After all, not just any star ship could sail through the heavens. It took a Cracker Jack crew, led by an experienced captain to traverse the vast expanse of ever changing space. A hull ornately detailed with rich blue paint and gold leaf molding. Five ivory star-sails, only the most technologically advanced to propel the ship at hyper speeds. And three engines, bolstered with nuclear power that beat the cosmos into submission.

This was the pride of Andre Bourgeois, the ship’s captain.

This was to be Adrien Agreste and his father’s new home for the next six months.

It was daunting, but rarely was change in life not so.

Adrien stood at the dock of the station, staring up at the massive ship with nervous eyes and a quivering stomach.

“Take one last look at that place,” said his father’s cold tone. “It’s likely you will never see it again.”

‘That place’ being home. The colony on which he was born and raised. A beautiful place, with teeming gardens and mountains of crystals that glittered in the duel sunlight. His mother had loved it here in their quiet villa.

But now he was 21, and the rest of his life was beckoning.

Steps thundered down the ramp leading to the ship, coming from two large men and a tiny woman. One man wore a fine blue and gold suit that matched the ship, and a wide brimmed hat with a feather.

The other followed a few steps behind, wearing just a white shirt and trousers, with a red belt around his waist. He had a mustache and kind eyes.

The woman wore a nice black dress with a white apron.

“Welcome welcome!” Said the first man. “Duke Gabriel of Agreste, and Prince Adrien of Agreste, it’s an honor to have you aboard my vessel. I am Captain Andre Bourgeois. You may call me Captain or Andre, whatever you prefer.”

“Thank you, Captain Bourgeois. My son and I are grateful to you and your crew.” Gabriel then gestured to the woman standing with them. “This is my steward, Nathalie Sancoeur. She will also be joining us.”

“The more the merrier.” Said the captain with a smile. “This is Tom Dupain, our chief cook, and his wife Sabine. They are in charge of hospitality aboard the ship. If there’s anything about your living quarters that does not meet your standards, please speak to them.”

Tom said, “I will be taking your bags to your rooms, and then I will be making one last trip to the market before we set sail. Any allergies I need to be aware of?”

“My son is allergic to feathers, and I can’t eat mollusks.”

“No escargot then? No complaints here.” Tom smiled broadly.

“Please,” began the Sabine. “If you will follow me, I’ll show you to your quarters.”

The group climbed the ramp, and surfaced on the deck, where crew were hard at work preparing for launch.

The captain blew a whistle and shouted, “attention!”

The crew hurriedly fell in line by rank, rushing to their designed spots.

Once they were all accounted for, the Captain spoke again, “I will repeat this again for anyone who wasn’t listening the first seven times I briefed the mission.” He gestured to the guests. “His Royal Highness Prince Adrien, and his father Duke Gabriel of Agreste are our esteemed guests for this voyage. We will be escorting them to the settlement of Agreste for the Prince’s coronation. This will be a six month journey, with seven ports of call. During this voyage, I expect you all to treat our guests with as much honor and dignity that a group of spacedogs can muster. Shenanigans and tomfoolery will not be tolerated. All those who break this rule will be locked in the brig and then escorted off the ship at the next port. Do I make myself clear?”

The crew answered in perfect unison. “Sir, yes sir!”

“Then as you were.”

Just as they had assembled, so they departed back to work.

“They are a good group,” the captain assured. “You just have to keep expectations high.”

“Certainly.” The duke agreed.

[panemdirectory]

New Submission Form and New Mod

Hi Everyone!

We took a brief hiatus to absorb the new book, and reassess some stuff, but we’re ready to get back to business. With that, we have created a brand new submission form for submitting a fanfic! Here at Panem Directory, we’re very well-versed in Everlark fics, but we know there are a ton of stories set in Panem that may feature other pairings, or even Everlark themselves, that we may be missing. With that, we are asking for your help! If you know any good stories (and we know you do!) that should be featured here, please visit the form here, and we’ll use your submission to update the blog!

Submission form: https://forms.gle/qn9AXi7yYT4dDvyg9

Please consider reblogging this post as a signal boost. We would like to reach all corners of this fandom, so the more we can promote this blog, the better.

Please also welcome our new mod, @norbertsmom! She recently approached me about helping with the blog, and we are thrilled to have her aboard. 

Thank you everyone, and have a great weekend!