#Air Force Nutrition

[supp-up]

Workout Nutrition DIY: THIS is Better Than Caffeine for Workouts.

Workout Nutrition DIY: THIS is Better Than Caffeine for Workouts. #caffeine #workout #gym #workoutnutrition #supplements #workoutsupplements #suppup #supp_up #workouttips #nutrition #nutrtitiontips

If you’ve ever served in the military, or had a work week that demanded crazy hours from you, you’ve probably run out of time in the day to get what you want/need to get done outside of your work hours. I’ve been guilty of it, and over the years I had to find a way to navigate sleep deprivation before my body forced me to rest. So many of us take sleep for granted – we count hours and minutes…

[digitalsymbiote]

Disconnect Syndrome

There’s a reason they put restrictions on how long a Pilot is supposed to be deployed out in the field. They say that being synced with a mech for long periods of time can have detrimental effects on a pilots psyche. Disconnect Syndrome is what they call it, because the symptoms don’t really start to hit until you disengage from your mech.

Sometimes emergencies happen though, and mechs are designed to be able to support their pilots long past the designated “Safe Deployment Time.” The cockpit is equipped with an array of stimulants, vitamins, and nutrient paste to help minimize the physical effects of long deployments. The onboard Integrated Mechanical Personality has largely free reign to administer these as needed to maintain its pilots well-being.

Which is why you’re still able to make it back to the hangar after roughly 36 hours, over four times longer than the established safe period. Your mech had kept you going, helped to keep the exhaustion at bay long enough for you to make your way back from behind enemy lines. You were starting to feel a bit sluggish, but you knew the worst effects of Disconnect Syndrome were yet to come.

An older man in a long white lab coat has joined the usual retinue of crew rushing into the hangar as your mech settles into its cradle. You feel the docking clamps wrap around your limbs, and you know that’s not a good sign. Your IMP whispers comfort into your brain-stem, assurances that things will be okay. It’s probably lying, it’s programmed to help keep your mental state stable, but the thought helps anyway.

There’s a hiss of air as the seal on your cockpit breaks and it decompresses. Suddenly you become aware of your flesh and meat body once again, and it hurts. Pain and exhaustion has settled into your mostly organic bones, and your organs are churning from the strain of the past 36 hours.

Then your interface cables start to disconnect, and it gets worse.

It feels like parts of your mind are being torn out of you. You feel the ghost touch of your IMP in your thoughts as the ports disconnect and you lose direct communication with it. The oxygen mask and nutrition tube pull themselves away from your face and you can’t help but let out a scream of agony. The separation has never felt this painful before, but then again, after 36 hours together, you and your IMP were more intertwined than you’ve ever been before.

Physical sensation finally starts to register again, and you realize tears are streaming down your face just as a technician jabs a needle into your neck.

Immediately your senses start to dull, the pain eases as your thoughts turn sluggish. You slump out of your pilots cradle into the arms the tech who dosed you. Just before your world goes black, you see the doctor standing over you, a grim look on his face.

--

When you wake up again, you immediately know something is wrong. You try to ping your external sensors, but you get no response. You then try to run a diagnostic, but that fails too. In a desperate, last-ditch effort, you try to force access to your external cameras and suddenly light floods your senses. Your instincts catch up first and you blink, trying to clear the pain of the lights, and that’s when you realize it’s not your external cameras that you’re seeing.

It takes a minute or two for your vision to adjust to the light, which feels too long, and when it finally does, the world doesn’t look quite right. You’ve only got access to such a limited spectrum. No infrared, no thermal. The presence of your IMP is notably absent, and your skin feels wrong. You try to sit up, and it’s a struggle to figure out the correct inputs to send to your muscles to get them to do what you want.

The harsh white light of the infirmary grates against your visual processors, you feel like you’re having to re-learn how to control this body. Your body. Technically, at least. Something doesn’t feel right about calling it that anymore. You felt more comfortable crawling back into the hangar after 36 hours deployed than you do now.

The pale skin of your body catches in your vision and you glance down at it. The body's limbs are thinner and more frail than usual, and its skin is paler. Consequences of being in the cockpit for so long, subsisting on nothing but nutrient paste. It’s a far cry from the solid metal plates of your mech, its powerful hydraulic joints, its mounted combat and communication systems.

There’s a button on the side of bed you’ve been deposited in. You think it’s red, but you’re not sure you’re processing color properly right now. You try to reach over and push it, and it takes you a moment to realize you were trying to do so with a limb you don’t currently have.

There are so many things about this body that are wrong. It’s not big enough, or strong enough, or heavy enough. You don’t have enough eyes, sensors, or processors. You have the wrong number of limbs, and they’re all the wrong size and shape.

And there is a distinct void in your mind where the presence of your IMP should be.

The door to your room opens suddenly, and you instinctively try to fire off chaff and take evasive maneuvers. None of that translates properly to your flesh and blood body though, and all that happens is you let out a dry croak from your parched throat.

The man who walks through the door is the same doctor who was present when you disengaged from your mech, and he wears the same grim look on his face as he looks you up and down. You think there’s pity in his gaze, but you can’t quite read him properly right now. The jumbled mess of your brain tells you what he’s going to say before he says it, anyway. The harshest symptoms of Disconnect Syndrome don’t hit until after the pilot has disengaged from their mech.

You’ve already heard the symptoms before, and they map perfectly onto what you’re experiencing. You never thought it would be this painful, or this… discomforting. Your mind reaches for the presence of your IMP, searching for comfort, but you are only reminded that the connection is no longer there.

The doctor gives you a rundown that he’s probably had to do dozens of times, and he tells you that you’ll be grounded for the foreseeable future. That hurts more than anything else. The knowledge that, after all this, you won’t be able to reconnect with your true body, your partner, your other half, for who knows how long.

By the time you realize you’re crying, the doctor is already gone. The longing in your chest and your mind has become unbearable, and through sheer force of will you’re able to push this unwieldy body out of bed. Walking feels wrong, but you’re able to get to your feet and make your way out of the room in an unfamiliar gait.

You have to get back to your partner, you have to make sure it’s okay.

You need to hear her voice in your head again, her reassurances.

The world isn’t right without her presence in your mind.

You stumble into the hangar almost on all fours. How you managed to make it without alerting any personnel feels like a miracle. At least until you catch the eye of a technician lounging in the corner. The look she gives you is full of sympathy, and she jerks her head in the direction of where your mech sits in its docking cradle.

She’s a majestic sight, even through your limited spectrum of vision. 20 meters tall, 6 massive limbs, and bristling with weapons and sensor arrays (all of which have been disarmed by this point).

She’s beautiful.

You clamber frantically up the chassis, easily finding handholds in a frame you know better than the back of your hand. You pull the manual release on the cockpit hatch and stumble into it in a tangle of organic limbs.

Shaking hands grasp the main interface cable from above the pilot’s chair, and you move to slot it into the port in the back of your head. You’ve never done this manually before, usually you’re locked into the chair and the system connects you automatically.

Something about doing it with your flesh and blood hands makes it feel so much more intimate.

The cable clicks into place and your eyes roll back in your head. Tears start to stream down your face as you feel the comforting presence of your IMP rush in and wrap itself around your mind. Your thoughts reach out and embrace it back, sobbing at the relief you feel from being whole once again. You realize you don’t ever want to feel the pain of disconnecting from her again.

There’s a reason they put restrictions on how long a Pilot is supposed to be deployed.

[frostbitebakery]

Loud.

Part one two three four

“Yes.”

Cody crosses his arms, one of the cameras in his visor rotating as if in a huff. He’s standing casually but securely. Casual enough that he’s probably ready to sprint, dodge, roll, jump, dive at a microscopic moment’s notice.

“I apologize,” Obi-Wan signs, perhaps widening his eyes into an innocent expression very slightly. “I did not mean to offend.”

“You didn’t offend me,” Cody says, his lovely voice distorted with the vocoder. “You asked if all the antennas were truly necessary. I replied.”

Replied with a long, static silence followed by a single word.

Obi-Wan struggles not to smile. He inclines his head. “Very well.”

.

“Each of them serves a purpose.”

Obi-Wan nods sagely.

.

“Having one signal receptor isolated from the main system makes it possible my suit can scan for hostile or foreign frequencies without the threat of corruption a pointed hack through this antenna could provide.”

Possibly the longest sentence Cody has ever spoken in Obi-Wan’s presence.

Obi-Wan slowly swallows the nutrition gruel the mess has provided for him. The artificial trachea and esophagus need replacing soon, he can feel it.

“Also,” Cody continues, drinking his soup and eating the accompanying sandwich.

Obi-Wan attentively listens to explanations going in depth how Cody theorized a web of communication arrays and double-back-up frequencies, and the best slicers and techs across the clones made it a reality. “Better than I could have ever imagined,” he adds, pride making his eyes shine and soft. “The parameters they took into consideration…”

Cody’s voice washes over Obi-Wan like a gentle tide, carrying him to the shore, the ebb and flow.

.

“It’s crucial I remain in contact with my troops even in a planet-wide attack or defense operation.”

Obi-Wan nods to that, head pillowed on Cody’s chest.

“Sleep,” he taps but he’s asleep before he can make it to the last tap.

.

“The strongest short-range comm in the whole GAR. Every Commander has one of these now.”

It’s a little robust antenna, hidden in a pauldron compartment.

“It has saved our lives a tremendous amount of times,” Mace nods, letting the steam of the tea wash over his face in visible bliss.

Now that Mace is obviously in on reprimanding Obi-Wan and his innocent if amusement-fueled question, Obi-Wan possibly has to apologize again.

.

“It’s less about signals but a bundling of wireless energy to support the tech in a worst case scenario,” Cody explains.

Obi-Wan’s legs dangle in the air, Cody’s hands - secure gentle Force-loving inescapable - holding him up against the wall.

Obi-Wan nods with a weak smile behind the mask and swallows.

The helmet tips down. Up. “You like that.”

It’s Obi-Wan’s turn to be miffed. Cody sounds too disbelieving. “I like being held,” he signs with a shrug and raised brows.

He slings his legs around Cody’s waist and hauls him and, subsequently, the massive clone armor close. Kit and his rigorous pilates only deserve the highest of praise.

“I can hold you for hours,” Cody says over his blush giving his cheeks a rosy hue. It’s too earnest to be a flirt, too drenched in a careful offering.

.

“I can hold you for hours,” Cody gasps, their sweat mingling. “But I know to let you go.”

.

“Let go,” Obi-Wan signs, struggles against the grip, struggles to catch his breath even with the mask. He circles his flat hand over his chest again. Countless times, not that it has made a difference. “Please.”

The fight has weakened him. Sparring with Cody has let him glimpse what lies behind the softened blows, the possibilities of destruction of Cody not holding back. It’s worse than he could have ever imagined.

“Please.”

“Good soldiers follow orders,” the vocoder grates out, the blank wide eye dripping blood staring at him from the destroyed visor claws a shiver down Obi-Wan’s back.

Cody rips off his mask.

[superhaught]

Gym Class Heroes

Pairing: Regina George x Reader

Warnings: head injury, blood, homophobia

Word Count: 1600, Part 1/?

Part Two

Anonymous asked: Hey hun, sup? can i make a lil' request? i'd like to ask for a Regina George x Reader (reader is afab but kinda androgynous) where a fight breaks out at gym class and Regina steps in breaking out the fight because she gets really protective of reader (even though they never spoke before that day but both have like this unspoken attraction to one another) and takes care of reader's injuries? might lead to kissing. it's fluff with a bit of angst mixed in pls? Thanks a lot!!!!

It was your least favorite part of the day: gym class. 

You hated it. Hated it.

Not that you didn’t like being active or didn’t enjoy learning about exercise and the human body and nutrition, that was all fine.

You hated the locker room. You hated the jocks. You hated getting sweaty and smelly halfway through your school day. You hated the stench of the gym and the feel of the rubber floors. You hated fitness tests. And you didn’t particularly enjoy Coach Carr. 

But… It wasn't all bad. 

There was always Regina. 

At first, you were terrified to have gym with her. You were certain that she would find ways to make you feel self-conscious the entire semester, not necessarily intentionally, that was just her way. But, that didn’t end up being the case. 

You still never spoke to her, but every once in a while, you caught her glancing at you. In the locker room as you changed into your cutoff shirts, when you were running laps or doing sit ups, even when you were just taking notes, you could feel her eyes on you. 

You would look, and she would look away, and you’d get all flustered by her cropped tank tops and high-waisted leggings, then you’d look away again, trying to hide your reddened cheeks. 

You had to be delusional, though. There was no way that Regina George was actually crushing on you. You had to be making it up. 

Thank goodness for small miracles. It was Friday and when you entered the gym, Coach Carr yelled out that it would just be a free gym day. No particular lesson or game to worry about, everyone could just pick an activity and do what they wanted as long as they were being active. You breathed a sigh of relief and went to go grab a basketball.

You posted up at one of the hoops with a few others who were just going to practice taking shots quietly. You put your earbuds in and started playing music on your phone and began to just blissfully zone out. You took turns with your peers practicing layups and free throws while sneaking glances across the gym at Regina who was lobbing a volleyball back and forth with Gretchen. You couldn't help but notice how good she looked.

You didn’t notice Coach Carr leaving the gym to take his daily smoke break. 

You didn’t notice Shane Ohman and his buddies approaching you. 

You didn’t notice them hollering insults at you, not until it was too late. 

“Hey! I’m talking to you, you fucking dyke!” 

Shane chucked his basketball through the air at full force and it smacked into your temple. You saw stars and went straight to the ground, feeling the sting of the skin of your eyebrow splitting and the warm wetness of fresh blood pouring down the side of your face from the wound. 

One of Shane’s friends said, “ohhh shiiit.”

“That’s what you get for fucking checking out my girls’ ass, you lesbo!” Shane shouted. 

The group of guys were only egging him on, and as far as you knew, everyone else was stunned into silence. You vaguely saw the shape of Shane hovering over you before a flash of blonde ponytail entered your vision. 

“Your girl!? Now I know you better not be talking about me you fucking piece of shit. I dumped your smarmy ass so what fucking business do you have coming to my defense against someone who’s half your size? Get the fuck out of here before I get your dad and Principal Duvall in the same room and tell them you committed a hate crime and get your athletic scholarship flushed down the toilet or worse!” 

You heard the sounds of feet quickly sprinting away on the gym floor and then saw the blonde crouch down beside you through your good eye. 

“That looks bad,” she winced, lightly touching your shoulder. She turned her head to speak to someone else, “Gretchen, go get Coach Carr and tell him what happened, yeah? We’re going straight to the nurses’ office.”

Before you could process, Regina was helping you stand up and was acting as a crutch for you. She helped you make your way out of the gym through the locker room. She stopped for a moment to grab a clean towel and pressed it against the wound on your head and the pressure made you feel faint.

“Fuck I need to sit…” you gasped. 

“Okay, okay,” she quickly guided you down to a bench and sat beside you, still holding the towel to your head, “There you go, take it easy.” 

You peered at her as she slowly came into focus.

“Regina, why are you helping me?” 

“Why not?” 

“Well… because you’re you?” 

The corner of her mouth raised into a little smirk, “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“I don’t take you for the helping kind.” 

“How about you worry less about talking and more about staying conscious. Do you think you can walk with me to the nurse?” 

You made a solid effort to stand back up but you immediately felt lightheaded and plopped back down, shaking your head lightly. 

“Alright, we’ll stay here then.” Regina looked around the locker room and located a first aid kit on the wall, “okay, I need you to lie down slowly on the bench, slowly, and hold the towel, I’m gonna get the first aid kit just hang in there.” 

You replaced her hand on the towel with yours and held it against your head as you lied down and she got up. She came back a second later holding the first aid kit. 

Regina carefully peeled the towel away and winced along with you, “okay, I’m not a doctor obviously but I don’t think you need stitches? You probably have a concussion, though, so I think you should go to a doctor or something but I don’t want to move you for now.” 

She started fussing with things in the first aid kit and explained, “I’m just going to clean the cut and bandage it up for the time being, okay? It looks like it’s not bleeding anymore so that’s good.” 

You nodded and watched her, “you’re surprisingly caring…” 

“What did I say about talking?” 

You snapped your mouth closed. 

“Little sting,” Regina covered your eyelid with her hand and sprayed antiseptic solution onto the wound then gently wiped it with gauze. 

“How do you even bandage an eyebrow?” She muttered. 

“The butterfly ones, or the strip-type bandages to pull the edges together, and then gauze over it.” You offer. 

“Huh, okay.” 

Regina took her time finding the right things and carefully tending to you. 

“Do you think I’m going to have a scar?” 

“Maybe. Probably,” Regina answered, “it’ll look cool if you do. Very rugged.” 

“Stupid story behind it…” 

“I’m going to have Shane roasted on a spit for doing this to you, I promise you that.” 

“Oh jeez, Regina. You don’t have to do that.” 

“Did it sound like I was asking?” 

You swallowed and tested sitting up slowly after she finished bandaging you up. 

“Slow, slow…” she commanded, holding onto your upper arms.

You nodded and came to an upright position without feeling faint, “I already feel a lot better. Thanks, Regina.” 

“I still think you need to leave school and go to the doctor to get checked for a concussion. You don’t need an ambulance or anything like that, probably. We can call your parents or honestly I can drive you if your parents are working…”

“Oh… that’s really nice of you. I’ll call my mom and see what she thinks.” 

She nodded and checked your bandages again. She was fussing over you in a weirdly concerned, maternal way. 

“Regina?” 

“Hmm?” 

“How come no one sees this side of you?” 

She raised an eyebrow, “most people don’t earn this side of me.” 

“But I do?” 

“Sure.” 

You didn’t really have a good response to that so you just stayed quiet while Regina got up and got you some water and then texted Gretchen updates. 

“Gretchen will bring Coach Carr in here in a sec to check in, is that okay?” 

You nodded. 

Regina examined you again, “can I ask you a question?” 

“What’s up?” 

“Were you actually checking out my ass earlier?” 

Your face flushed like crazy, “wh-what?” 

“Shane said you were checking out my ass. Were you?”

You just stared at her. 

“You can be honest, I won’t be upset either way.” 

“I…” you took a deep breath, “yes. I was. You look incredible in those leggings.” 

Regina smiled, “good. I mean, not good that you took a basketball to the face for it, but good that you were checking me out.” 

“You’re not upset?” 

“No. Why would I be upset?“ 

“Because… I dunno, I guess because I’m no better than a gross guy?” 

Regina rolled her eyes, “no. Trust me, it’s a compliment from you.” 

Coach Carr came into the girls locker room while unnecessarily covering his eyes and quickly checked in with you, saying, “alright chief, we already called your mom and she’s on her way to pick you up, okay? We’ll get you to the front office to wait. After that, Regina, Gretchen wants you to come with her to Principal Duvall’s office to tell him what you saw happen, k?” 

Regina nodded. 

“Go team,” he added before ducking back out. 

Regina looked at you, “Did he just call you chief?” 

You shrugged, “I guess so.” 

You both laughed and Regina walked you to the front of the school to wait for your mom. She waved at you as you got into your mom’s van and you watched as the blonde turned and angrily stormed in the direction of the principal’s office, now on a new mission. 

Next Chapter

[carionto]

Hardcore Space Parkour

Some Humans are worryingly agile. And stupidly driven to endanger themselves. For no reason we can understand.

________________________

Within the Coalition governing station of the segment of the Galaxy where the Sol system is are countless embassies for each member civilization. Each is designed to accommodate their respective species (or multiple in certain cases) to the fullest while also being able to host guests from any other member.

Then there are the communal areas, set for a galactic standard that is viable for the majority - gravity at 0.6 Earth, far less of that dangerous oxygen, and slightly more humid and cooler than what Humans are normally comfortable with. In fact, Humans technically fall outside the Galactic standards and are all equipped with a partial breathing assistance unit and pressurized clothing to stimulate their circulation. While they can function reasonably well despite what we assumed would be too draining without assistance, most Humans do make use of these gadgets.

Some, however, prefer to "stimulate" themselves a bit differently.

There is a small group of individual Humans many have dubbed "Leaping Cortix" after an infamous invasive fuzzy gelatinous centipede-like pest species that always manages to make a hive on any sufficiently large space station or vessel given enough time. Everybody swears they're some kind of magic, and it's hard to dissuade such a notion when there are fairly common reports of ships on deep isolation missions, without making contact with anyone or anything else for years at a time, still one day find themselves with a pack of Cortix skittering about near their nutrition supplies!

This group of Humans, found the title amusing and have embraced it. One of them even made a hooded sweater with the name and a stylized Cortix jumping off the letter x.

The reason for the name is simple - despite becoming integrated into the Coalition just around a year ago, Humans seem to appear everywhere within this segment of the Galaxy. Mostly in small groups for tourism reasons, but the point still stands. And these Humans in particular appear to make it a habit to appear out of the most unexpected places.

The leaping portion comes from how this group tends to move around the communal areas. Most Humans adapt to the lower gravity and eventually (rather quickly actually) change how they move around when outside their embassy - the movements seem more relaxed, fluid, some even appear to exert almost no effort at all in their steps. This group on the other hand utilizes the full force of their incredibly dense musculature.

First, they jump good. Real good. Then they bounce and pivot, real fast. After a few days they started a game - get to any place without touching the floor. Not even a day later they managed to always be in the air.

At first it was impressive and quite mesmerizing. Quite a sight to behold as they got better and quicker at chaining their jumps and bounds together into one smooth motion that took them from one part of the station to the other in mere moments.

Then they started getting bored. And one of them had an idea. An "awesome" idea.

Add flying robots and moving obstacles.

Chaos ensued. Naturally.

As the Humans leapt off of one of the maintenance machines they programmed to hover between several distant structures, it could not compensate for the sudden recoil from the movement and crashed down on the floor. Thankfully it was above a small garden and only some artificial plants were damaged, as well as itself, but that was enough to call in the peacekeeping units to put a halt to their antics.

We deliberately brought a Human peacekeeper along to make the reprimand stick. The Leaping Cortix, most of whom are junior staffers and one is a retired military veteran now serving as a consultant, looked ashamed, but also sad. At least they seemed to understand the gravity of the situation (though perhaps not as well as the physics of gravity) as the wreckage was cleared in clear sight of everyone.

After the offending member was issued a token fine (as it was their first offense), the group as a whole became less active. Initially, most people felt relieved, but as the incident grew more distant in memory, the sight of the flying Humans started to become missed by quite a few.

Some from the more physically able races were even inspired to try this "parkour" the Humans had demonstrated and found it quite thrilling. When done in a lower than their normal gravity that is. Trying it at their standard caused a few broken bones and cracked shells.

There is currently a petition by the permanent residents to dedicate a large open indoor field for such extreme physical sports as well as to commission the design of a variety of machines to facilitate, as written in the official documentation - "stimulating courses to improve the physical well being and readiness of all participants".

I.E. - Humans introduced a new sport to us and many are hooked.

[barefoothighlander]

Not sure if anyone has thrown a request in like this before but how about one where Ghost is on leave and hanging out with Civvie girlfriend for lunch/shopping trip when they bump into her handsome coworker who is quite obviously into her. He just awkwardly stands there while they converse and seething with jealousy when he sees how this coworker is blatantly flirting

When they get home….well you decide what should happen ❤️‍🔥🧎‍♀️💦

jealous ghost makes my brain fog

warnings: mdni (18+), smut, unprotected pinv, creampie, oral (fem rec), biting, hickeys, est relationship, light choking, dirty talk, jealous!ghost, slight possessive!ghost

Ghost had been home a week, one whole week of pure bliss, going to bed beside each other every night only to wake up tangled in the sheets, he was happier when he was home, more himself.

You had spent the majority of the week together in your flat, maintaining a domestic routine of cooking and cleaning, just being with each other after having barely any contact for months.

"I have to go to the shops today, did you want to come?"

He peaks his head around the corner, eyes glued to your form as you get dressed, his gaze lingering on your bare legs for a moment.

"What are you getting?"

"We need food, all out of pretty much everything"

"Yea I'll come"

You smile at him, that smile that he fell in love with years ago, the smile that he dreamed of when he was on deployment, the smile that called him home.

Your walk to the store is filled with laughter, giggling at his awful jokes, your hands entwined as you walk down the cobbled streets, deciding that the weather was just too nice to drive. Shopping with Simon was a chore all on its own, he always wanted to pick out biscuits and sweets rather than anything of actual nutritional value, he argued that he never got treats on base so he deserved them when he got home, he typically won the arguments.

After too many minutes spent wandering the aisles, you find your way to the checkout, assigning Simon to pack the bags of groceries as he insisted on carrying them for you.

"Fancy seeing you here" A voice rings from behind you, breaking your conversation with the cashier, turning to face your coworker Robert.

"Oh, hi, how are you?" You smile politely, he doesn't answer your question instead extending his arms and closing the gap between you, his arms wrapping around your back as he lifts you into the air in a hug.

"Who's this?" His eyes set on Simon, standing quietly, staring at the two of you as he lets you down.

"My boyfriend, Simon this is Robert, we work together"

Simon nods his head, his eyes piercing into Robert, "Dick"

"Awh man, you're a lucky guy, everyone in the office has been trying to get a piece of this little firecracker for years" He playfully hits your shoulder causing you to cringe internally as you give pleading eyes toward Simon who doesn't say anything, just stands there with the grocery bags in his hand.

"Well, we've gotta go, lots of chores"

"Of course" He nods, "Take care of this one aye?" He winks, pointing at Ghost who spares a glance at you before turning to walk away.

"See you at the office Robert" You chase after your boyfriend who flees the shop in a hurry.

"Si"

"He's a good lookin' bloke"

"Don't do that"

"Just observing"

"Simon come on"

"I didn't say anything"

"I know, that's what scares me"

The walk back to your flat feels longer, the silence between the two of you melts into a thick tension has you cursing yourself. Arriving back at the apartment Simon drops the groceries in the kitchen, leaving in a fury towards the bathroom.

"Are we gonna talk about it?"

"About what?"

"Don't be that way, there's nothing going on between him and I"

"I know"

"So why are you so jealous" You throw your arms up, widening your eyes at him, your words set him off. He crosses the room, forcing you to stumble back against the wall, your spine colliding with the wood as his forearms press beside your head, caging you.

"You're mine"

"I'm yours"

His lips crash into yours, his hands cupping your head as his tongue pushes past your teeth, swirling with yours, it's rough and needy. His hands move to grab under your thighs, lifting you against the wall as your arms wrap around his neck, keeping yourself steady, he walks you toward the bed, dropping you onto the mattress as he leans over your form, your legs locked around his waist as he deepens the kiss.

You're both breathing heavily into each other, your fingers working to take his shirt off as his lips move to trail kisses down your skin, nipping and biting at the flesh.

"Mine" He repeats the word in between bites, his hands pushing your shirt up your torso to sit above your breasts, tugging your bra to free your breasts, his lips moving to suck at your nipple, your arousal pooling in your core as his fingers move towards the hem of your pants, pulling them down your legs.

He wastes no time in travelling to your core, pulling your panties to the side to lick a thick stripe between your folds, causing your body to twitch under him.

"Need to taste you" He groans into your core, his accent thick, dripping in desire as you thread your fingers through his hair, arching your hips toward him. He latches his lips around your clit, sucking at the bud as his fingers push into your entrance, pumping into you as you crumble beneath him.

Your core is weeping, your slick coating his chin, dripping onto the sheets below you as he brings your orgasm quickly, he knows your body better than you do, knowing how to get a rise out of you, how to curve his fingers to hit just the right spot. Flicking his tongue in time with his fingers your orgasm washes over you, tugging on his roots as he groans into your pussy, the vibration helping you ride out your high as you cum on his fingers, clenching down on the digits.

"Please Si, need you"

He moves over your form, his clothes length grinding against your core causing you to moan,

"Yea, need my fat cock to fill this little pussy"

"Yes, fuck"

"Need me to stuff you full, stretch you so no other man can fuck you" His hand snakes up your body to settle on the base of your throat, his fingers teasing over your pulse point.

"Need it so bad"

"Gonna ruin you for anyone else, you're all mine"

"All yours"

His hand moves to undo his pants, pushing them down as his cck springs free, his tip red and dripping as he teases it through your folds, he lines himself up, pushing in slowly as your jaw falls open, the stretch of him burns deliciously, filling you as he pushes in inch by inch.

"Little more love, gonna take it all"

His head falls to your shoulder as he bottoms out, your fingers scraping against the skin of his back as your legs cling to him, he sets a brutal pace, thrusting every inch into your dripping cunt as your arch into him. His hands roam your skin, tracing over the marks from his lips on your chest as he fucks you.

"So fucking tight, so wet" He grunts

"All for you" You manage through moans

"All fucking mine" He punctuates his words with harsh thrusts, his tip brushing against your cervix. He's fucking you with every ounce of pent-up anger, every emotion from his deployment, every bit of spite enforced in his assault on your core.

Your nails drag across his back, sure to leave streaks of red as he brings your second orgasm with minimal effort, he feels the way you squeeze him, the wiggle of your hips as your push against him, snaking his hand down your core so his fingers can toy with your clit.

"You wanna cum? Wanna soak my cock?"

"Yes, please Si"

"Who else can make you cum like this?"

You're squirming under him, the coil inside you threatening to set your skin on fire, "No one, only you"

"That's right, show me how much you need my cock love"

Your orgasm tears through your body, your fingers digging into his skin as your legs tense around him, holding him to you, his fingers work circles around your bud as his eyes stare into you, watching you thrash under him, your head falling back into the mattress as you become a mess of whimpers and moans.

"That's it, good girl"

You ride out your high, his grunts filling the air as his thursts become sloppier, he's chasing his own high as you buck against him.

"Gonna fill this little pussy, let everyone know who you belong to" His fingers squeeze your hips, holding you still as he bottoms out, his abdomen straining as his cum floods your walls, thrusting it deeper into you as the mix of your spend leaks from your pussy, coating his shaft. He keeps his softening cock inside you, leaning down and lifting his mask from his face to kiss you, it's sweeter this time, less needy and more loving, his hand cupping your jaw as he pulls back.

He leaves you for a moment to grab a small rag, wetting it before returning to you, gently swiping around your core to clean up the mess, placing small pecks over every love bite he left on your skin before sliding up the bed next to you. His arm snakes under your waist, tugging your back against his chest as his nose settles against your neck, his legs tangled between yours as you trace the tattoos n his arm, catching your breath.

"I am not jealous" He huffs against your skin

"Could've fooled me"

"He shouldn't talk about you like that, that's all"

You turn to face him, "Well you did call him a dick"

"It's a fitting nickname"

"Simon" You warn with a smile,

"I don't like when other people touch you"

"Okay"

"Or think about you"

"Seriously"

"It's not fair he gets to see you every day when I only get you for a short time"

You reach a hand to stroke his cheek, smiling as he leans into your touch, "You know I'm all yours"

"Yeah but next time I'll kill him"

You turn your body fully, burying your head against his chest as his arms cradle your back, "I'm sure you scared him off"

"Better hope so"

[peachesofteal]

Oh my gosh imagine! Imagine Johnny wakes up first so naturally he goes to check on you and you’re just gone! So ofc he goes to wake up Ghost in a panic. And naturally they search the whole house before realizing that the front door is open and then they just lose it. Bc their omega isn’t just outside, she’s outside IN HEAT other alphas will jump at the chance to mate and breed what’s theirs. And poor you has no clue what’s happening. All you know is it’s hot and loud and everything is so scary and you just want Johnny & Simon to come back and take care of you and keep you safe. All you can do is sink down on your knees in the middle of the sidewalk & cry. Johnny & Simon are finally able to find you, less than a block away sobbing your poor hear out on the dirty ground and their hearts just break bc their poor sweet darling is like this. Simon just scoops you up and carries a whimpering, sobbing you back to the apartment, tucking you back into your nest and promising a hovering Johnny that they’ll discuss this with you when you wake back up.

(I’m sorry for how long this is your last post just really got me)

HEY hi hello this is 🤌 let us indulge. Takes place after this.

🩵

18+ / MDNI / dead disco omegaverse au / Mature themes

Johnny wakes instinctively.

There’s a buzzing in the back of his mind, a gnawing, biting sound that’s fissuring across his soft tissues and down into his cerebral cortex. It’s bothering him, dragging him further and further to consciousness.

Wake up. Wake up, wake up, wake up-

“Johnny.” Of course, Simon has woken at the same time. They operate on the same circuit, same wave length, same state of being. It is no surprise that as soon as Johnny’s eyes are blinking open blearily, his partner’s, his mate’s, are doing the same.

They were so fucking tired. Not having slept in over twenty four hours, and then thrown for a loop when they got home to you, found you, suffering, terrified, in the beginning throes of your heat, hiding in the closet.

He tried not to think about what it all meant. He’s still trying.

His brain snaps to life just as Simon is sitting up, both of them groping in the dark. His hindbrain is screaming at him, urging up forward and up. Something is wrong, something is wrong, Omega, Omega-

“Darling?” Simon calls out to no answer. No sound of you breathing, or coming awake between them in the bed. No sound your whimpering, or the little soft moans that you had making in your sleep.

Your scent is still present, but not tangible. Not real.

The bed is cool in the middle. His fingers stretch across his, hoping to feel the curve of your body, the heat of your skin.

Simon’s already got the light on by the time he’s swinging his legs over the mattress.

Johnny’s heart plummets to his stomach.

You’re not in the room.

Where are you?

Simon strides over to the closet door and eases it open, crouching on his knees, brow furrowing.

You’re not there. Your scent is even older in the closet too, sour distress faded amongst clean linen.

“Si-“

“Be calm.” The other Alpha instructs, but how can he? You’re not here.

Where are you?

He bolts from the room with his mate hot on his heels. You’ll be in the kitchen, he decides. Possibly trying to eat, your mind forcing you towards nutrition in preparation for breeding. Or, you’ll be curled up on the couch, half asleep, trying to smother your noises or soothe your pain by yourself.

“Darling?” It echoes, with no response. He sniffs the air on instinct, just to confirm the worst. His fear.

You’re not in the flat.

“Fuck.” Simon growls, and Johnny turns, nearly pushing into him.

Simon stands rigid, staring at the end of the hall.

Where the front door is hanging wide open.

“No.” It’s the ghost of a whisper, denial clogging his throat. “No, no, no.” His entire body, his brain, roars.

He yells your name. Shouts it, while Simon storms back into the bedroom and nearly rips the bathroom door from its hinges to look for you.

“She could be anywhere.” Johnny is not stupid. He’s incredibly intelligent. His expertise highlights his strengths, his tactical awareness, his patience, his problem solving and critical thinking skills. He’s not some impatient, newly packed Alpha with the hindbrain of a peanut. Outside of a rut, he stays fairly in control.

Or at least, he usually is.

But right now, his instinct is hard to shove down. It’s pushing through his mouth, forming across his tongue in fearful, rage filled snarl.

His Omega, their Omega, is gone. You’re gone, and could be anywhere. You could be hurt. You could be in danger. another Alpha could have found you. Could be trying to mate you, breed you. Could be trying to take what is theirs. Could be hurting you.

You’re out there, alone. Without them.

Something desperate, something scared and worried, breaks from his mouth.

Simon’s operating within the same window. He’s practically vibrating, pheromones filling the flat with the off taste of distress.

“Get dressed.” Simon snaps, and Johnny follows him into the room, moving in lock step.

They track your scent for almost an hour before it becomes strong enough to get a lock on it. Everyone steps out of their way, shying off the sidewalk and casting curious glances towards them, but Simon stops for none of them.

He’s only focused on one thing.

Omega.

“Close.” Johnny murmurs, Simon jerks his head in confirmation. Your scent is getting more and more pungent, rotten stone fruit permeating through his skin like a sickness.

You’re scared. You’re confused, panicked.

He tries to think like you would, but if he’s being honest, he doesn’t understand you right now. He doesn’t understand anything, doesn’t know why you’ve been lying, doesn’t know what’s been happening in their own flat. He doesn’t know what drove you to leave in the middle of the night, during your heat, and it’s driving him a little insane.

Where are you? His heart weeps when he thinks about you, their little Omega, on the street somewhere. Scared. Alone.

We’re coming, darling.

It doesn’t take too much longer, after that first hour. The full strength of your scent hits them like a truck when they turn down a block, and then to their relief, and subsequent horror, they find you kneeling on the sidewalk, sobbing. Your body shaking, eyes wide with fear as an Alpha towers over you. They can smell everything, your slick, your sweat, the evidence of your too vulnerable state, and Simon wants to rip this intruder to pieces.

The knife finds his hand like it’s always belonged there. Like it was born there, like it’s an extension of his body.

“Alpha.” You sob openly, eyes glinting in recognition when you blink up at them, and his instincts scream, hindbrain urging him to slaughter this fool in front of them so that he can tuck you into his arms.

“Get the fuck away from her.” Johnny growls, and the other Alpha straightens, clearly sizing him up for a fight.

“Piss off. Found ‘er first.”

“Don’t think so.” Simon grits out, and it’s enough to give their opponent pause, his gaze darting back and forth between the two of them.

Simon lifts the knife. Just enough to catch his attention, just enough to convince him to turn tail and run.

Leave him. His scent is strong, kill him another day. Omega needs us.

Johnny’s already moving towards you as soon as the offending outsider splits, and Simon tucks the blade away. For another day.

You cry, your wailing shattering his heart, splintering across his hindbrain, forcing him down towards you.

“Darling.” They both crouch, and your hands reach, seeking, shivering in the night. “Shhh. It’s alright now, baby.” Simon’s body instinctively seeks yours, looking to provide you with safety, with comfort, to cease your crying while Johnny’s does the same, and they both press you between them, holding tight while you hyperventilate.

“Try to breathe, love. We’re here now, it’s okay.” Johnny rumbles, setting up a deep vibration from his chest, soothing harmonics radiating from his body. When you don’t calm, he looks to his mate in worry, still trying to calm you. “Alpha’s here, right here. We’re with you, darling.”

It’s clear, you’re not going to calm down out here. Your body is in fight or flight.

They need to get you back to the nest.

Johnny tugs you forward, maintaining full contact and tucking your face under his chin until Simon stands, when he bends forward and plucks you into his chest, tucking you away protectively while they trek back to the flat.

You cry, aloud, during the short trip. Sobbing into his neck, chest gasping for air while your hands try to hold onto Johnny at the same time. He tries to keep your face pressed to his gland, arms banded around your back, cradling your head to his neck. It hurts him, both of them, and Simon churns out soothing, calming pheromones in bucketloads, desperate to break through to you.

“Shhh, darling. Shhh.” He coos against your trembles, Johnny running ahead to unlock the door. They don’t even turn the lights on as they find their way into the bedroom, seeking the nest that you had previously abandoned.

When he puts you down and they pull away, you scream.

“Hey, we’re here. Everything’s alright, you’re safe now.” Johnny whispers, and then curls around you. You shiver, still reaching, and Simon molds himself along the other side, your body between them, sniffling and crying while you paw at their clothes. “She needs a bath.” Simon agrees, but he’s not sure if now is the time. Will you even let them bathe you?

“In the morning.” You need water, and food. It’s probably too late to even try to delay the rest of it, though he’s not sure either of them should be trying to fuck you in this state.

“What are we going to do?” Johnny worries aloud, voice teetering with anxiety. Simon knows that he’s scared, unraveling, only keeping himself at bay because you’re in his arms.

“In the morning, Johnny.” Simon reaches, stroking along the Alpha’s gland to soothe him, settle him.

He shifts, pushing off the pile to go to the kitchen and your scent spikes, noxious panic singing out into the room. You whimper, eyes peering through the dark at him, one hand clutching onto where Johnny has you pressed to his back, his mouth lapping over your gland, again and again, and the other, reaching for Simon.

“Alright, alright. I’m here, we’re here darling. We’ve got you.”

He folds your small fingers into his grip, sinking into the nest as he too, presses his lips to your neck to soothe you, strengthening your instincts until you’re softening, small whimpers purring in your chest.

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (17)

She never thought she’d be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Spencer and Y/n try to outsmart the situation. wc: 3.5k Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide, mentions of SA A/n: this took longer because trying to come up with a climax scene was SO hard, I hope I did some justice here

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16

HER BODY ACHED. Every muscle seemed to join a protest, sending out persistent signals of pain. The cold air seemed to snake through her limbs, and the chains that bound her wrist seemed to cut into her flesh. The bed underneath didn't do much to ease things—it was as stiff as a board, offering about as much comfort as the floor.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been here. It was likely no more than a week, but it felt like months. Maybe hunger messed with her head, making everything feel fuzzy. The lack of nutrition had her feeling delirious. For someone who claimed to be in love with her, Eric showed no mercy for her well-being.

Of course, he didn't, she thought, because there was no love in the first place, no genuine care, no honest affection—just an illusion crafted by his distorted mind.

Her eyes drifted shut, and a sigh escaped her lips. The air in the barn was thick, almost suffocating, with its heavy, musty scent. It offered no peace for her tonight—or was it already early morning? The darkness seemed to stretch endlessly, blurring the line between night and dawn.

But something felt different.

The atmosphere shifted abruptly, a quiet change that quickened her heart. The unmistakable sound of a vehicle reached her ears before it abruptly stopped on the other side of the wall. A car door creaked open, accompanied by distant voices. Then came the purposeful footsteps, growing louder with each step as they approached her.

The barn door groaned in protest, creaking open slowly, letting in a thin ray of dim light. Her breath caught as Eric stepped in. Yet, it wasn't his presence that shocked her; it was the man he dragged along, someone she least expected to see.

Her eyes widened. Spencer?

He was here. He was really here, right in the flesh, making it harder for her to breathe. Because he looked worlds apart from the last time she saw him—his shirt dirty, bruises marking his face, clear signs of whatever ordeal he'd been through. It also seemed like he hadn't slept for days. His eyes appeared hollow and vacant, yet as they met hers, she noticed a glimmer of relief.

Tears welled up in her eyes. All she wanted was to run into his arms, find comfort in his embrace, and let out the tears for everything that had gone wrong. But she couldn't do anything when she was bound with chains while his hands were tied behind his back. And as glad as she was to see him, it registered her to why he was even here. Anger suddenly flared through her body as she leveled her gaze on Eric with a glare.

"What the hell are you doing?"

He pushed Spencer forward, forcing him to stumble, landing him on his knees. "A little present for you," Eric taunted. "Aren't you glad to see him?"

Spencer looked at her with concern, his eyes slowly assessing every inch of body. His stomach churned when he took in how fragile she looked. She seemed so weak, so helpless, being held captive with those repulsive chains binding her wrist.

“Are you…” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. “Are you okay?”

It was a dumb question. Of course she was far from being fine. But he had to say it, he needed to interact with her to make sure she understood how much it pained to see her like this.

But before she could respond to him, Eric noticed the interaction and pulled out a knife. Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched him circle Spencer, the glint of the blade caught in the dim light, sending a chill through the air.

The cold steel of the knife traced sinister patterns in the air, and she couldn't tear her eyes away from the dangerous dance. "What do you want?" she demanded, her voice shaking but defiant. "Let him go. This has nothing to do with him."

Eric chuckled and shook his head. "Oh, but it does. He's hurt you, and I need to do something about it."

"Eric, please," she pleaded. "You don't need to do this."

He ignored her pleas and narrowed his eyes on Spencer. "What do you think, Dr. Reid? Should I let you go? Let you free while I'm left alone with her, doing anything that I please." Spencer glared at him and Eric's smile grew wider. "That's what I thought."

He started pacing between them again, casually playing with the knife in his hands. "You know, I usually kill my victims before I write anything on their bodies, but tonight I'm making an exception." His eyes glazed over to her. "I think it'll be fun to do the other way around."

The ominous threat hung heavy in the air, and her heart pounded wildly in her chest. Spencer's eyes flashed with defiance, though his bound hands limited his ability to physically intervene. She locked eyes with him. They both knew the odds were stacked against them.

“You don't have to do this,” she begged once more, desperation lacing her voice.

"But I do Sweetheart, I really do." He focused his attention back on Spencer. "Now, what do you reckon I should choose for you, Dr. Reid?"

Eric continued to circle, a predator reveling in the vulnerability of his prey. "What do you think of Proverbs 11:21?” He spread his hands out as if he was imagining the words were written in the sky. “'Be sure of this: The wicked will not go unpunished, but those who are righteous will go free'."

When he was met with silence, he approached Spencer with a menacing glint in his eye. "No? How about Proverbs 21:15 then? 'When justice is done, it brings joy to the righteous but terror to evildoers.'"

Spencer finally looked up and retorted, "Justice isn't about inflicting pain for the sake of satisfaction."

Eric glared back with a sadistic resolve. "The only way to cleanse the evil here is through suffering. Proverbs speaks the truth, whether you like it or not."

At that moment, Spencer's mind suddenly shifted gears, deciding to try a different approach. His narrowed eyes showed he was honing in, not just reacting but strategizing. He was about to do what he did best—understand people, especially those on the brink. Instead of just reacting to the danger, he aimed to get inside Eric's head. He wanted to observe Eric with an intensity that went beyond the immediate threat.

"You're a smart man, Eric,” he started, his tone measured and analytical. “I can see that you've been through a lot, maybe more than most. I don't think this is about justice anymore.”

He noticed Eric stopping from his casual pace around the narrowed space, and Spencer continued. “It seems like you want to reverse the roles. To be the one inflicting pain instead of receiving it."

Eric, though still wearing a facade of defiance, couldn't completely mask the flicker of unease that danced in his eyes. Spencer's words seemed to hit a nerve.

"What do you even know about my past?" He retorted, a hint of vulnerability seeping into his voice.

Spencer, maintaining his calm and analytical demeanor, continued his probing. "I don't need to know the specifics to recognize the signs. People who inflict pain are often trying to regain control over a part of their lives where they feel helpless."

Eric's grip on the knife tightened, his jaw clenching. "You're making assumptions, Dr. Reid. You don't know anything about what I've been through.”

Spencer met his gaze evenly. "I actually do, Eric," He paused, letting the words linger in the air. "Or should I call you Henry?"

The name hung in the air, a heavy silence enveloping the barn. Y/n’s eyes darted between the two men, her confusion mirrored in the furrow of her brow. Henry? His real name was Henry?

"Henry Wyatt," Spencer continued. "Troubled childhood, juvenile records. You changed your name and tried to leave the past behind."

There was a moment of silence as if Eric was weighing his next words. "I no longer associate with that name," he finally insisted, the defiance in his voice trying to mask the vulnerability that lingered beneath the surface.

"I don't think so,” Spencer remarked. “You're still him despite having a different life now. Your current action shows how you're still bound by the past."

Eric vehemently shook his head. "No."

"Your attempt to leave it behind is what brought us here."

"No," Eric shot back, frustration lacing his voice. “You’re wrong.”

"Your sense of betrayal is the root of your actions," He pressed. "Are you deeply hurt by Oliver that you seek revenge this far?"

A growl rumbled in Eric's throat, the grip on the knife tightening. "You have no right to bring that up," he spat out.

"I do, because I want you to realize that your need for revenge is a sign of weakness," Spencer continued with a calculated intensity, his words aimed at striking a nerve. "Not strength."

Eric shot a fierce glare at Spencer as his frustration reached a crescendo. "You know nothing about me. Don't pretend to understand."

"I do understand that inflicting pain won't change anything." His words hung in the air, a challenge that dared Eric to confront the truth.

The subtle tremors of Eric's clenched fists betrayed the storm within him. The knife, once held with purpose, now seemed almost precarious in his grip. Spencer's next move was strategic, pressing on despite the mounting tension. "Romans 12:21—Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good."

Eric's anger boiled over. "Stop talking."

But Spencer saw an opening and seized it. "Hurting others won't bring you the closure you seek."

"I said," Eric snarled, his patience wearing thin. "Stop. Talking."

"Ask yourself, Henry," Spencer goaded, deliberately emphasizing the name. "Is this really about justice, or is it about masking the pain you refuse to confront?"

"Fucking shut up!"

Eric's outburst reverberated through the barn as he grabbed onto the only source of lighting, an old lamp sitting on a nearby crate. He smashed it onto the floor towards Spencer, the crash of the lamp echoing like a gunshot.

Fragments of glass sprayed across the floor, some landing dangerously close to his knees as the room dimmed further, the broken lamp's feeble glow casting eerie shadows on the walls.

"You thought you could defy me?" Eric seethed, his voice low and menacing, closing the gap between them. "You're fucking wrong."

With a sudden, swift motion, Eric brought the knife dangerously close to Spencer's face. Y/n’s mind raced. She couldn't let Spencer get hurt. She had to do something, anything, to protect him.

"S-Stop!" she stammered, trying to intervene. The chains rattled as she tried to move. But Eric kept going, and she tried again with a desperate plea.

“Eric! Look at me! Please!” She begged. “I-I'll do anything!"

There was a slight halt in his steps. "What?" Eric paused.

"What are you doing?" Spencer's voice filled the air. 

She glanced over to him, prepared to see the panic in his eyes. But despite the concern in his voice, he responded to her gaze with a silent plea, as if urging her to keep going.

He was onto something; she was sure of it, even if she wasn't sure of whatever plan he had in mind. She could tell by the slight shift in his demeanor before he quickly looked away. She sent him an understanding nod and redirected her attention to Eric, who was slowly turning toward her, oblivious of their interaction.

"I-I'll do anything you want," she repeated her words. 

A sinister smile played on Eric's lips. "Really? Anything?" he taunted, a cruel glint in his eyes as he considered her offer.

"Yes, just—please, let him go.”

Eric's gaze shifted between her and Spencer, contemplating the power he held at that moment. "You'll do anything to save him?"

Her nod was hesitant but determined. 

Eric's eyes gleamed with a malicious delight as he absorbed her desperation. "Anything, you say? That's quite a tempting offer."

"Just tell me what you want," she pressed, her voice quivering. "I'll do it, but you let him go. He doesn't need to be a part of this."

A wicked grin etched itself on his face. "Oh, it's not that simple, Sweetheart. You see, actions speak louder than words. I need a demonstration of your commitment."

Her mind raced, searching for a way to navigate through the situation. "Tell me what you want me to do," she pleaded, her eyes pleading for mercy.

He bent down and picked a shard of glass from the broken lamp scattered on the floor before throwing it to her feet.

"First, you're going to have to convince me that you're willing to endure pain for his sake." Eric gestured toward Spencer with the knife. "Hurt yourself, and maybe, maybe, I'll consider releasing him."

A chill ran down her spine as she comprehended his twisted demand. She shot a quick glance at Spencer. He met her eyes with a subtle nod, indicating that he was ready to seize the opportunity when it presented itself.

As Eric watched her, a maniacal excitement burning in his eyes, she knew she had to play along, at least for now. With trembling hands, she reached for the shard of glass, but she hesitated for a moment.

"Come on," Eric urged, the sadistic anticipation evident in his voice. "Prove your devotion."

Summoning every ounce of courage, she finally pressed the glass against her palm, wincing as it broke the skin. A suppressed gasp escaped her lips, but she fought to maintain a facade of resolve. 

"Now, that's dedication," Eric mused, enjoying the spectacle of her distress. "But we're not done yet. I want more."

She fought back the nausea, the pain in her skin throbbing with each heartbeat. With a deep breath, she tightened her grip on the glass shard, her hands trembling as she looked up at Eric.

"What more do you want?" she demanded, desperation still present in her voice.

His eyes glinted with sadistic pleasure. "Cut deeper. Prove to me that you're willing to sacrifice for him."

Spencer's eyes widened in silent horror, but she shot him a reassuring glance. The shard pressed against her skin once again, but this time, she hesitated. The internal struggle was evident on her face.

"Do it!" Eric barked, reveling in his perceived triumph.

With a swift motion, she sliced the glass across her skin again, the pain intensifying. A muffled cry escaped her lips as she felt warmth seeping through her fingers. 

"That's more like it," Eric praised, his eyes gleaming with madness. "Now, drop the glass."

She complied, releasing the shard to the floor with a gasp, her eyes never leaving Eric's. The room felt heavy with tension as he considered his next move.

"Now tell me you regret nothing, that you'd do it all over again for him," Eric demanded, the twisted satisfaction evident in his tone.

In a desperate attempt to stall him and buy time, she played into his game. "I regret nothing," she forced the words out, her voice steady despite the pain and fear. "I'd do anything for him."

Eric's triumphant grin faltered for a moment as if he expected her to break. But then, a cruel glint returned to his eyes. "Well, well, well. Seems like we have a devoted lover here.” A chuckle followed through. “But the night is still young."

A chilling silence took place as Eric continued to stare at her, his eyes traveling the line of blood dripping down her skin. His gaze traveled upwards to her shaking body before it settled on her pleading gaze. A sinister smile took hold of his face and she shivered at the sight.

"You know," he began, taking a step forward. "You look rather tempting covered in blood."

Her skin crawled at his words, and she fought to maintain a façade of compliance. The barn seemed to shrink around her as Eric advanced, his eyes fixated on her like a predator closing in on its prey. 

"Look at you, all frightened and desperate." Eric continued, walking closer to her. "I'd say you're quite adorable now."

Every step he took sent a chill down her spine. Eric's sinister smile widened as he reveled in her discomfort. "You thought you could outsmart me, didn't you?" he sneered. "But here we are, and you're at my mercy."

In response, she swallowed her fear and shot back, "Your twisted games won't break me. I-I won't let you win."

His laughter echoed through the barn, a haunting sound that seemed to reverberate within the walls. "Oh, I'm afraid you've already lost, Sweetheart."

Her stomach dropped when she saw him unbuckling his belt with his free hand, the sound of its clinking metal echoed through the suffocating silence. Fear gripped her as Eric's intentions became painfully clear. She struggled against her restraints, her mind racing for a way out of this nightmare. "Y-You promised to let him go," she pleaded, her voice shaking.

"I said I'll consider releasing him," he corrected her. "And right now I'm considering giving him a show."

She felt a wave of nausea and revulsion. Fear clutched at her chest, threatening to overwhelm her. Every inch of her body ached, both from the physical torment and the psychological torture. The chains that bound her seemed tighter, cutting into her wrists.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He taunted. "You'd let me use you while he watches how good I can make you feel."

He unzipped his pants.

“How you’d be screaming my name,” he grinned. “Secretly begging for more.”

His looming figure cast a shadow over her, his attention remained fixated on her. He was too focused on her that he didn't notice Spencer's stealthy movement behind him, and just as she braced herself for the worst, the unexpected happened.

"What do you think, Spencer? Let me—"

A sudden shot echoed in the room. The deafening sound rang through the barn, causing a momentary freeze in the air. Her eyes widened, pupils dilating in shock, as she watched a dark stain spread across Eric's shirt before he crumpled to the ground.

The gunshot rang in her ears and she blinked her eyes, trying to focus her attention on her surroundings. Then Spencer took over her line of sight, sitting on the floor with one leg stretched out. The time she had bid managed to help him escape from his restraints. 

Her gaze then shifted to the subtle holster snug in his sock, revealing the hidden firearm he was carrying all along. Her eyes met his, his expression a blend of exhaustion and concern, and a heavy breath escaped him as he slowly lowered the gun.

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. The weight of the situation hung in the air, and she couldn't find words to express the whirlwind of emotions coursing through her. The fear, the desperation, the relief—they were all tangled together. It was like a tornado had torn through, leaving her standing in the aftermath.

Spencer moved on instinct. Without saying a word, he stumbled towards her, sinking right on the mattress as he reached for her face. His hands were warm against her cold cheeks, and his eyes held a depth of regret as she stared into them. 

"I'm sorry," was the first thing he said as he held her gaze. When the first cry escaped her lips, a raw and unfiltered release of the pent-up anguish, he pulled her into his arms without hesitation. Her wails echoed in the hollow space of the barn as he held her close and continued to utter his apology like a desperate prayer.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he choked, his voice sounding strained. "I'm so sorry."

Her sobs vibrated against his chest. She clung to him, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, her blood staining the material. The scent of hay and the earthy musk of the barn intertwined with the warmth of his presence.

"S-Spence.." she murmured, her voice a mere whisper.

"Shh, I've got you." Spencer continued to cradle her, his lips pressed gently against the top of her head. His fingers traced soothing circles on her back. "It's over. I'm right here."

Between her cries, she managed to nod, clinging to him as if her life depended on it. And maybe it did. She wasn't sure she could function properly without his presence. So she focused solely on him—the rise and fall of his chest, the soft beating of his heart against her cheek. She shut out everything around her, not even bothering to ask how the authorities knew their location when she heard a faint siren coming from the distance.

The sound of people entering the barn didn't even faze her moments later. Or the way someone came up to them, insisting the two for a medical check. Instead, she shook her head and tightened her grip, and Spencer reassured the medics they’d come to them in a while.

Time seemed to stop at that moment as she pressed herself further into his arms. The world outside could wait, but for now, all that mattered was him.

>> NEXT PART

a/n: his escape scene is kind of a nod to that truth and dare episode, idk i felt like putting it into the plot :D

.

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Don’t forget to interact with the story!

[beardedalcoholic]

Battle Gods

First Medical officer of the Galactic Union Revka Jihar looked on in awe as the human zipped from one console to other.

Sliding her chair from one side of the room to the other only to go back she displayed a true mastery of her job. Coordinating rank upon rank of human shock trooper forces into position, confirming approval of Human Medium Force Allowed, checking and double checking the health status of hundreds of humans, receiving reports from multiple divisions of engineers and mechanics about the status of one drop group or another…it was overwhelming to the Kalarian to watch.

“Shock Troopers stand by to stand by for final approval on drop, med squads confirm ready stations for injured, eng corps get those fucking launch tubes in the green before I come down there and fire you out one by one until I am satisfied my boys won’t hit atmo looking like strawberry jam, Hell Jumpers get to your pods and strap in we have yellow light on drop and I am not waiting for any Late Lucys should we get green.”

The rapid-fire communication of the humans had never ceased to amaze Revka, how they could say so much with so few words using only inflection, context, tone, body language and a myriad of other factors that they themselves seemed un-aware of.

Keys rattled like gunfire beneath First Rank Orbital Shock Drop Coordinator Amelia Hargrove’s nimble fingers, screens bloomed in thin air only to be replaced by others as they were dismissed. Within barely a handful of human minutes Frist Rank Hargrove sat back limply in her chair with her arms hanging down the sides as she breathed deeply in seeming exhaustion, Revka knew better though, he had seen this human go cycles without rest or nutrition.

An alert from the single remaining screen in front of the human grabbed her attention and her head snapped up from its slumped over position, the gleam of anticipation and sudden movement reminding Revka of the humans’ predatory lineage. Jumping to her feet with enough force to send her division command chair sliding back on tracks laid into the floor to the edge of the large room they occupied Amelia commed the captain of the ship.

“Captain Shelsa, Shock Trooper Command…I have green on all drop requirements, personnel and approval…Awaiting Final Command.”

Amelia Stood disturbingly still and focused as she awaited the order from her captain to release the humans upon the world beneath them. Revka stood in the back of the room next to the abandoned chair, furiously making notes upon his digital clipboard without even looking down at it.

Being the first species other than human to witness the deployment of Shock Troopers into an active battle field Revka was not about to miss a single documentable moment of what he was witnessing. The tension in the air radiating from the human in the middle of the large room was almost enough to choke him, the human had not moved in the slightest since her last communication, her muscles seemed to bunch beneath her skin tight command suit as the micro-cycles slid by, until…

“Shock Command, Captain Shelsa…you are green for trooper drop, repeat you are green for drop…Amelia!” First Rank Hargrove’s head snapped up at the sound of desperation and pain in the captain’s voice.

“Yes Captain? I am here.”

“…Amelia, these, monsters attacked earth…they struck down schools and hospitals…these invaders took my baby girl from me without warning or reason given…invoke the Battle Gods….”

First Rank Amelia went dead silent and painfully rigid from this last command. It was well known humans had music for all occasions and that they would perform different tasks with more or less efficiency depending on if music was being played to them and depending on the task or musical selection.

Revka felt his feathers bleach of all color at the last command…it was not a command given with hopes of leaving survivors, the Battle God Queen was something of a legend among different species due to the effect said music had on humans…but these last words were spoken with such cold venom Revka had to grip the deck plates with his talons to keep himself from bolting in fear. Revka watched as the Orbital Shock Drop Coordinator calmly answered in the affirmative, slipped an Augmented Reality Visor over her eyes and seemed to deflate as tension left her body.

Walking to the middle of the room First Rank Amelia began to glow softly as synaptic relays lit up across her suit, lines of light racing from her toes to her visor and everywhere in between, muscles slid with liquid grace beneath her suit as she stalked forward.

It started gently…hands lifting to flow through screens only she could now see through her visor…hands and arms moving like the conductor of a symphony Revka had seen on earth. With each movement a new small screen came to life around Coordinator Amelia, each screen containing a new face…the faces of her boys…the faces of humanities most feared ground-based battle troops…the Orbital Shock Troopers known only as the Hell Jumpers.

No words were spoken at first, Amelia simply stood there under the gaze of over five hundred trained, battle hardened, soldiers. Soldiers that were about to be dropped from orbit onto a planet light years away from home into a raging warzone with nothing but a small pod made to break away on impact to protect them from the heat and violence of atmospheric entry. None looked scared, no tears were shed in fear or pain, this was simply another good day to die for these individuals Revka realized.

“Kikiki! Kakaka!” The suddenness of Coordinator Amelia’s cry and movement nearly had Revka molting a full tails worth of feathers. Amelia slammed one foot down to her side so that she was bent at the knees.

“Kauana kei waniwania taku tara” Hands slapped into her thighs and stomach muscles in time to her chant.

“kei tarawahia, kei te rua i te kerokero!” Feet stomped and hands slapped as she continued her chant, voice raising to echo throughout the room.

“He pounga rahui te uira” Amelia’s voice rang with a clarion call to battle, it vibrated with the rage of an entire race that had been wronged as she raised a fist and slapped her arms.

“ka rarapa ketekete kau ana” Revka felt sorry for himself as he watched the display before him as he had not thought to make arrangements for his newly born clutch of whelps should he perish on this mission.

“To peru kairiri mau au e koro e!” Looking at the many images of the Shock Troopers arrayed before and around the still stamping and chanting Coordinator Revka could see that each one was focused upon her with a burning intensity.

” Hi! Ha! - Ka wehi au ka matakana,” Eyes narrowed, teeth were bared in rictus smiles, pulses throbbed in necks, nostrils flared in anticipation as the chanting grew somehow louder and more fervent.

“ko wai te tangata kia rere ure tirohanga” First Rank Amelia stamped and pounded her feet into the ground as if to defy fate to move her, as if she was seeing the future and challenging it to be anything other than what she demanded it to be.

“ngā rua rerarera” Hands slapped and struck with force that would shatter the bones of Revka’s species like she was trying to beat reality into submission and bend it to her will.

“ngā rua kuri kakanui i raro! Aha ha!” With one final strike First Rank Orbital Shock Drop Coordinator Amelia Hargrove let loose a sound that would haunt Revka’s rest cycles for the rest of his life.

The sound that echoed throughout the room seemed to contain all the suffering that had been felt at the hands of the enemy, all the pain of loss and the rage of those who could not do anything to seek retribution for those wronged. Screens lit up as each trooper dropped from the belly of the ship into the planet’s gravity well, each and every face pulled into a mask of rage and determination beneath face shields snapping into position.

Revka thought that perhaps the spectacle was over now that the humans had been sent planet side…until Coordinator Amelia’s arm snapped out and with a few deft movements brought up a simple non-standard screen.

The media screen floated barely a hairs breadth from the end of Amelia’s finger tips as she scrolled down a list of songs. With little more than a thought a song was selected and broadcasted to every shock trooper, soldier and crewman.

Drums beat and strings were plucked with a sense of anger lurking behind the sounds, after only a few seconds of this First Rank Amelia began to sing in a tone of voice unlike anything Revka had heard from the normally bubbly and flirty Coordinator, like gravel grinding in honey and rising into an angry cry tinged with desperation.

I feel the pressure is building in me

 My stomach's sick, it's getting harder to breathe

 I hear the screaming, I feel the disease

 It's burning me up and there is nothing to breathe

Will you crawl with me

 Will you stand with me

Would you follow me

Would you believe with me

Tell me you'll breathe with me,

 tell me you'll die with me

Come on, get on, let me hear your war cry!

Come on, get on, let me hear your war cry!

Come on, get on, let me hear your war cry!

Yell it out, do or die

Let me hear your war cry!

The battle that followed after the start of this terrifying song was less a battle and more a chaotic slaughter of the enemy. Humans that had been forged of star matter and tempered over eons of living on a death world and driven by madness channeled from a world in pain through musical Battle Gods dark and ancient tore across the land. They fell from the skies in gouts of flame like avenging angles come to strike down the very gates of Hell, no enemy was spared, no mercy given nor asked.

The battle had been long and hard, the final count of the dead had come out to one hundred and seven troopers lost out of over five hundred…a small number but one that was felt like a hammer blow among those that knew them.

Revka had stayed and watched the entire time as Coordinator Amelia somehow split her attention between directing troop movements and battle plans all while continuing to dance and sing to various songs of battle and victory. When the final call of victory came over the open channels the music was allowed to stop and First Rank Amelia fell still. Her arms hung limp at her sides…screens showing haggard and haunted faces of her soldiers, her troopers, her boys signing off one by one as they went to seek medical aid or further orders, synaptic relays dimming from a fiery blaze to a pale glow until they too fell silent and dark.

Revka walked slowly from his position in the back of the room towards the silent and still figure of the human known among the crew as Battle Siren…the one human who was expected to endure the responsibility of coordinating hundreds of war machines, who was given authority to make decisions in battle and who had to carry the weight of those decisions. As he got closer Revka noticed a new taste on the air, sharp and salty…not sweat, he didn’t have sweat glands and the skin suit Amelia was wearing prevented her body from needing to sweat…tears? Yes, Revka could taste the salt of tears on the air.

Slowly coming around to face the Battle Siren Revka was somewhat surprised to find a river of tears slowly falling from under the AR visor. With a deep breath as if she was emerging from deep waters Amelia lifted the visor from her tear-soaked eyes and seemed to stare through the bulkheads and deep into the void, then in a soft whisper she said a single sentence that would be taken to the Galactic Council and repeated again and again among those who thought to strike out against the humans.

“They sowed the wind with their strike against our young and injured…so too did they reap the hurricane of our vengeance.”

With that single sentence spoken a new sound began to emanate from the Coordinator, a long drawn out note not unlike the tune of a bell. Revka backed away and made his way out of the room, the Battle Siren had begun to sing a new song but not one of war and conquest, rather a song of pain and history filled with conflict but also about seasons changing and hope prevailing. The humans may have had a great pantheon of voices to channel inspiration from when going into battle, but so too did it seem that they had ones for peace and healing.

[supp-up]

Merry Christmas 2023 from SUPP UP.

Merry Christmas 2023 from SUPP UP. #merrychristmas2023 #militarychristmas #merrychristmas #bingcrosby #veteranschristmas

Merry Christmas 2023 from SUPP UP. Every year I always see a stats spike on the blog around this time of the year…and that’s significant, because it makes me happy knowing that people still love to read the various Military Christmas poem renditions of ‘Merry Christmas, My Friend – A Marine’s Poem‘ over the years (6+ years and going strong) and continue to pick up the print versions of them over…

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: remoras

Sometimes you just want to go with the flow and let someone else do the work. That's the mindset of a remora, this week's topic. Remoras are eight species of the family Echeneidae, divided into three genera. These fish are famous for suctioning onto a larger animal and going for a ride.

(Image id: a remora attached to the shell of a sea turtle. It is a long, slender fish with a black stripe going down its sides. Its lower jaw is pointed and facing upwards. End id)

Remoras differ in size depending on species, with the largest reaching 110 cm (43 in) in length. Their most famous feature is the disc on their backs. This disc is a heavily modified dorsal fin that consists of flexible membranes. When pressing the disc up against a surface, the membranes can be flexed to create a vacuum and provide suction in a similar manner to a suction cup. The Remora can then scoot backwards to increase suction or swim forward to release the suction and detach from its host. Remoras also lack a swim bladder, forcing them to actively swim to maintain their position on the water column. Fortunately, remoras don't really need swim bladders where they're going. While they can swim and survive on their own, remoras prefer to attach to a larger animal like a bigger fish, shark, ray, or cetacean. When there is a close interaction between two organisms it's called symbiosis. There are three types of symbiosis: mutualism (both benefit), commensalism (one benefits, the other is not positively or negatively affected), and parasitism (one benefits, the other suffers). The relationship between a remora and its host is likely either mutualistic or commensal as the host appears to suffer no downsides.

(Image id: a remora seen from above to emphasize its disc. The disc is oval and takes up about 30% of the upper body, starting just behind the mouth. The disc has many rows of darker stripes where the folds are visible)

A remora gets several benefits from being attached to a host. Being in close proximity to a larger animal protects it from predators closer to its own size and gets it a free ride. The ride also helps force air over its gills, keeping the remora well-oxygenated. There are two main methods fish use to keep water flowing over their gills. Ram ventilation occurs when a fish is swimming and their motion through the water forced the water over the gills. Active ventilation requires the fish to actively move water over its gills, often by repeatedly opening and closing its mouth. Both methods require the fish to expend energy, but tests on remoras determined that active ventilation is more energy intensive than ram ventilation. A remora on a fast-moving host can get the best option, using ram ventilation while letting someone else expend the energy of moving forward. Multiple remoras can live on a large enough host and it is speculated that sometimes mated pairs will share a host. It was previously believed that remoras would feed on scraps of food from the hosts meals, but it is now known that they derive most of their nutrition by eating the hosts feces. They also consume bits of dead skin and parasites from the host, which is a lot less gross. This cleaning of skin and parasites is why remora relationships with their hosts are considered mutualistic rather than commensal. There have been reports of hosts attempting to dislodge their remoras through methods such as breaching, so its possible there are situations where the relationship is unfavorable to the host, such as too many remoras attaching. While remoras are very streamlines, too many of them would produce drag, which would be a bad thing for the host.

(Image id: a manta ray or similar species seen from above , with two remoras attached to it just behind the cephalic fins. End id)

While remoras are most famous for attaching to a host, they are capable of living on their own. Juveniles are known to live in shallow coastal or reef areas, sometimes acting as cleaner fish. As adults, they move out into the deeper waters, in search of hosts. Most knowledge of remoras come from their behavior when attached to a host, so there isn't a lot we know about how they behave on their own. They are believed to have different diets, being more active hunters who feed on small crustaceans, squid, and fish. We don't know a lot about non-attached remoras, but we know even less about their reproduction. While remoras attached to the same host might become mated pairs, their mating season, mating habits, and what happens to their offspring is not known. All we know is that eventually juvenile remoras will turn up in coastal areas, but what happens between then and spawning is a mystery.

(Image id: a manta ray seen from below with many remoras attached to it. End id)

Remoras popped up in roman folklore as the echeneis, a small fish that could attach to boats and slow them down. Pliny the Elder blamed the echeneis for Mark Antony's loss in the battle of Actium, where poor maneuverability was one factor in his loss. A use for remoras has been in fishing, where a remora is caught, has a line tied to it, and then released. When the remora attaches to a host, the angler can pull in the line, pulling the larger animal in with the remora. The IUCN classifies all species of remora as least concern, except for one, which is data deficient. The largest threat to remoras seems to be threats to their hosts, so conservation of hosts like sharks, whales, and sea turtles will help conserve remoras by default.

(Image id: a remora that attached itself to a diver's leg. End id)

This was a shorter and less intensive WBW than most of my posts. What can I say, I felt lazy and decided to put in little effort, instead coasting on larger, more successful posts. If only there was an animal I could use as a metaphor for this situation. Can't think of anything, though.

[satomatto]

. //NSFW!vers PACK | nutrition; SFW!prev

ch: suguru geto; nanami kento; okkotsu yuta; sukuna ryomen.

tw: nyotaimori; foodplay (?); alcohol. Sukuna has his own warning and I don't think I need to clarify that.

wc: 960

GETŌ SUGURU

You are well aware that Geto prefers healthy food. He doesn't like to be fooled at meals, and he's really good with food, carving the rules of table behavior on his forehead. And just think how good he can be with you, especially when you are lying on his table, so beautiful and neat for him.

Your soft tummy heaving from your ragged breathing, your chest trembling as he thoughtfully guides his chopsticks across your thighs, where the lines of sushi rest in neat rows. Occasional gusts of warm air here and there: his sleeve inadvertently touching your thigh, a piece of sashimi resting on your chest that he's long since eaten, and now he's just wandering his chopsticks thoughtfully over you. He doesn't even touch you, but you're writhing with desire when he finally grazes your skin, you sniffle softly and your pussy squeezes hard, making a loud popping sound.

His chops roll over your clit, tingling and twitching as you tearfully press your thighs together, trying to keep quiet, still covered in sushi, but Geto seems to have lost interest and is now just playing leisurely with your needy pussy. As the wetness pools between your thighs, it's not very comfortable to move the chopsticks - you're gripping them too tightly. It's probably time to do a little rearranging, don't you think?

You wrinkle your nose at the discomfort bubbling somewhere in the bottom of your belly as he forces you into a rather humiliating pose - with your legs spread wide apart, forcing you to support your own hips in the position he wants and placing the remaining food on your tummy. His cock sits comfortably between your slippery labia, moving slowly between them and slipping out immediately, hitting your tortured clit each time.

Someday, this man will drive you crazy.

NANAMIN

The man is not a fan of such things, but if such a case comes up - why not? Anything you ask for (within reason, of course). Oh, darling, do you really think he'll ignore such an important stage as preparation? Honestly, he will definitely take care of it personally, take you to the shower and rub your back. His foreplay is always pleasant and almost sweet.

That's why he chose the liqueur especially for this occasion. The way it spreads over your skin - a sticky sensation trailing between your thighs, the almost luscious taste on your tongue, and his tongue slowly following the dark paths - makes you bite your lip, muffling another moan.

Wet muscle dances on your thigh as the man works his tongue between your legs. Your back arches with a pleasant shiver rolling down your spine in waves, meeting the soft support in his hands. The bottle has long since been emptied, but his interest still hasn't waned - it's only gaining momentum while you feel terribly exhausted by the entire thing. As it turns out, it can last a lot longer than you thought. You want to ask Kento to end it there, but as you look down, you realize that he's aware of your condition and is just finishing what he started. Perhaps, at times, you're actually glad for the level of understanding you've reached.

OKKOTSU YUTA

Yuta is a sweet boy, he loves to please you and if you decide to treat him to a strawberry ice cream on a hot day, he definitely won't say no. Even if that ice cream is smeared all over your boobs and dripping down your belly, while you twitch every time he sucks on your exhausted nipples.

More to the point: you can lay out a path of strawberries on your body, letting him pick the places he'd like to give his attention to, he's more than happy to support you in your little endeavor. Mixing your secretions with strawberry juice while he rolls your clit over and small berry in his mouth? Push a few berries into you so he can then scoop them out of your hole with his own tongue? Ah, maybe this time he should add some chilly syrup on top? Come on, baby, you're a real picnic for a hungry guy.

Okkotsu has a genuine desire to please you, your preferences are of as much interest to him as his own, he'll fuck you with a goddamn cucumber if you want him to, but it's not really... With his hands gripping your hips so tightly and his tongue pushing into your hole enthusiastically, slurping near it, you just can't help but look down.

That smile won't leave you any peace...

RYŌMEN SUKUNA

You feel fingers in your pussy, they curve, twisting, scratching the soft walls of your vagina almost desperately. The screams in the background make the tight knot in your stomach clench even tighter, you hear the crunching of bones as Ryomen moves that hand to penetrate deeper into you, curving those fingers at some incredible angle and still pointing perfectly into your sweet spot. "Too little for you, baby? Shh, I know," the mouth on his belly licks up and a heavy tongue flicks out of his huge mouth. Sukuna knows your sobs are a mixture of pain, humiliation, and fear, but isn't that beautiful to him? Smirking, he licks the slimy substance off your thighs - it's horribly messy, but you can't resist, jerking back and forth as his hot breath overtakes your pussy. You're sickened by how well Sukuna knows your body and how good he makes you feel, but in what a way!

Chuckling quietly as you desperately shake your hips, thrusting them up sharply in an attempt to get more attention to your neglected clit, Ryomen yanks the other man's hand up and licks your juices that are flowing down those wrists. The man's twisted arm still thrashes weakly in his grasp, but Sukuna pats his limbs back with ease as he continues to purr to himself and savor your taste. The crunch that cuts through the damp silence a couple seconds later is drowned out by a frantic scream. The big tongue on his belly, which he's replaced with someone else's fingers, is already pushing you to the edge, the heavy lump in your stomach finally dissolving, seeming to mingle with your arousal as you cum on his tongue, after hours of such frantic handling.

In fact, that's what food is to him. You know, he was even kind enough to share it with you. Isn't he anything but a generous ruler? As the salty, metallic-flavored liquid spread in your mouth, you weren't so pleased anymore. Your whole body was bathed in blood, it was starting to dry and tingle unpleasantly, but his lustful gaze, obsessively sliding over your smooth curves, made you tingle inside.

As his huge tongue licked you from head to toe, you felt like you were about to drown in drool, but when Sukuna lingered in a spot - kneading your tight muscles with his massive tongue - you felt a pleasant sense of relaxation gradually envelope your body.

[gem-magpie]

Look at how much of a fat, out of control pig you let yourself grow into without even trying. Through your own natural gluttony and greed you managed to stuff yourself huge.

Now, you've finally admitted to yourself that you love being fat and you love getting fatter even more. You even started gaining on purpose. You added more meals, more snacks, more everything to your already bloated daily routine. You purposefully buy food with more calories, carbs, fat, and sugar. While everyone else is reading nutrition facts to watch their diets, you're trying to set a personal record. You get excited when you check out at the grocery store and see just how much you plan to eat, and you don't eat anything that you don't know for sure will make you swell even fatter. You stand in front of your fridge, feeling your gut swell between your fingers as you chug heavy cream until you're huffing. Each breath is a heaving effort to lift your plump, ample chest and suck air into a space which is usually occupied by your overfed stomach. You sit in front of your computer all day, fat hips hugging the armrests of your chair, and look up more ways to get fat, fast. You look at how much fatter other gainers are, and you daydream about what it will be like when you inevitably match them. You pass the hours watching shows, playing games, but most of all, eating. You are never hungry, but you couldn't stop yourself from binging every waking moment if you tried.

You can't help but rub your belly, fondle your soft rolls, and wobble your gigantic thighs while you fill yourself. It makes you feel so proud to see the fruit of your unrestrained voracity piled heavily across your frame. It makes you hungry. All your impassioned self-care sometimes causes raucous, tummy quaking belches to force their way out. Once they might have embarrassed you, but now they excite you. They show just how much of an truly indulgent fatty you've become. You're in love with your own massive body, and you love it even more with every pound of fat you put on. Don't worry, There's no need to beg for more, although that is such a cute look on a bloated piggy like you. You're going to get so much bigger, and it's going to happen fast.

Shout out to @xavfox for really supporting me and my current brainworm, and happy birthday!!! I hope you had a wonderful day 🎂🎉

[captain-mj]

The Vampire AU

The au no one asked for but by God will I deliver

Soap laid on the luxurious bed, the robe around him fluttering and exposing most of his body. It shimmered, a dark red color, and across from him was Ghost. His Ghost. The Ghost. 

The skull mask made it hard to see his expression, but Soap could read the hunger in his eyes without a problem. A desperation that would make a lesser man nervous. But Soap could never be nervous. Not of Ghost. 

He crossed the floor quickly, the air around him bending slightly. It made him glow. And then he was on Soap, touching him with his gloves and feeling him up. His large hips pressed between his thighs, forcing his legs further apart. 

Pulling the mask up enough to expose his fangs, Ghost sank his teeth into his throat and ripped it out, blood spraying everywhere. 

Soap’s alarm clock broke him from the dream and he buried his face in the pillows and screamed for a few minutes. 

Interviewer: So, what exactly do you like about your…

Soap: The technical term is Master, but everyone keeps insisting I just call him Ghost.

Interviewer: Got you. So your Ghos-

Soap: Well, he’s not really mine. I’m his but he’s not really mine. I just kinda work for the guy.

Interviewer: And in exchange he…

Soap: Will turn me into a vampire!

Interviewer: So how long have you been working here?

Soap: Six years. 

Interviewer: Uh huh. And what do you like about Ghost?

Soap: Oh, he’s perfect. Tall, dark, mysterious. Never actually seen his face, but I’m sure he’s handsome. Never takes the mask off unless he’s feeding. He could kill me easily. He has a very sexy voice. His accent is from modern day Manchester instead of being centuries old! Apparently he changes it every few decades. I wonder what his original voice sounded like and-

The Interviewer stopped taking notes and tried to politely withstand the next thirty minutes of Soap gushing about anything and everything he could think of about Ghost. They decided not to ask about the whole “could kill me easily�� part. That was this guy’s prerogative. 

Interviewer: So, what’s Ghost like?

Rodolfo: He’s a fucking loser.

Interviewer: Really? His familiar-

Rodolfo: Is lovely and all, but he has terrible taste in men. I’ve seen Ghost lay on the ceiling for six hours straight, during the night no less, because he was pouting. 

Interviewer: And why was he pouting?

Rodolfo: Soap was doing laundry. The laundry Ghost ordered him to do. So Soap couldn’t hang around him. Then, he wasted what time he could’ve spent with Soap on the ceiling.

Interviewer: oh…

Rodolfo: Like I said. Fucking loser. You’re not allowed to call him that though. Only me.

Interviewer: Yeah… Okay.

Soap did like he was told and ignored that there was a person watching him. He woke up a few hours before sunrise and dusted just like every other morning. He also put out an ad online pretending to be a single woman looking to lose her virginity. Usually the men that came would be sleazebags so it both cleaned up the streets and meant easy meals for the vampires. 

Gaz would always say hi to him when he left for some party. Sometimes, he’d try to stop him and get a rise out of him, but Soap had long since learned how to put a pause on his feelings. If Gaz fed from him, Ghost would get all weird. Talking about nutritional value and that Soap smelled funny. 

Soap had taken four showers the first time it happened but eventually he put it together. 

Then, he woke up Ghost. Well, wake up was a loose term. Half of the time, Ghost would already be up. He more went to Ghost. His room had blackout curtains so if he got up during the day time, he didn’t have to risk scorching himself. It was also the plainest. Rodolfo and Alejandro’s room was gorgeous, full of rich colors and soft fabrics. Gaz had strobe lights and neons. Tons of weird furniture too. He insisted none of them were a sex thing, but Soap didn’t believe him. 

Really, really, did not believe him. 

But Ghost kept his plain and usually only had candles. For once, he was still in his coffin when Soap came to get him at sundown. 

Soap gently knocked before he lifted the large lid. 

Ghost was… large. Very, very large. Besides being 6’4, he was broad. Big arms, big shoulders. Just… big. It definitely did not influence any of Soap’s decisions. Nope. Not at all. 

Thick black fabric covered every inch of his body, besides leather gloves on his hands and a ski mask on his face. Soap silently thanked God he had managed to get him away from the loose fitting balaclava he wore originally. It looked… 

Anyway, the sky mask was an improvement. It had a skull design on it, though there were fangs added. 

Soap only snapped back into himself when he noticed Ghost’s eyes were open. 

“Johnny. Are you just going to keep staring? You’re blocking my way out.”

“Oh, of course, sir.” Soap stepped back and offered Ghost his hand. Sometimes he took it, sometimes he didn’t. Really depended on the day. 

Today was one of the good days where he did. Even through the leather, Soap could feel just how cold Ghost’s skin was. It was borderline frigid and he wondered, not for the first time and definitely not the last, if it would hold heat or simply give him frostbite if they pressed against each other. 

Ghost’s hand left his once he was on the floor. Sometimes, Soap wondered why he walked the way he did. There was something stiff, like a general, about his posture but he had a certain amount of grace that didn’t match how the other vampires walked. All vampires were graceful. Cat like. But Ghost always seemed like he was floating. Feet barely touching the ground. 

Soap helped him out of the thick robe he slept in. It felt soft and he assumed it was used a bit like a blanket. Ghost pulled on his jacket but his eyes followed Soap. 

“Did yo-”

“Laundry is done. Place is dusted. And I’m currently setting up a virgin guy to come visit.” 

As if something heard him, his phone dinged. Someone responded to the ad, asking how soon he could come over. 

What a fucking loser. 

He was using photos of a girl from only fans (with her permission, she made him pay a small fee, but when he explained it was a “To catch a predator” type thing, she thought it was cool), so it was a hot woman, but still.

Soap checked it and responded to the message, saying the sooner the better. 

Ghost reached over and slowly patted Soap’s head, making him beam. It was the closest thing he got to praise from the guy. 

“So, what would you like to do, sir?” Soap smiled at him. 

Ghost hummed, looking away. There was a large mirror and while his clothes could be seen, nothing else could. Soap couldn’t see his mouth, but he knew he was just about to speak when someone knocked at the front door. 

“Go answer.” Ghost ordered. 

Soap nodded quickly and went downstairs, noticing Alejandro and Rodolfo when he passed their room, in various states of undress, he decided to just ignore that. So no one they were expecting. 

He opened the door and had to look slightly up at the man in front of him. 

The man had a fishing hat, a shirt that said “Fish fear me, women love me” and a pair of military fatigues. He stared into Soap and there was a brief pause.

“Hello, sir.” Soap noticed his ears. They had a large point and when he glanced at his hands, he noticed the dark claws.

Interviewer: So what do those features mean?

Soap: Means he’s an older vampire. As I’m sure you noticed, my vampires look mostly human, besides their fashion. But once they start getting older, they look less and less human. So the less human they are, the more respect you’re supposed to show. 

Interviewer: Oh. Got it. 

“Price.” The man responded before just simply staring at him.

Soap winced and looked back. “Uh… Master? Alejandro? Rodolfo?” He half shouted. “We have a visitor!” 

“Uh. Little familiar. Invite me.” Price didn’t sound rude, maybe a tad impatient, but not quite rude. 

“My name is Soap.”

Price tilted his head. “Uh… Okay. Anyway, is Simon here?”

“No?” Soap frowned. He ran through everyone in the house. “Yeah, no. We don’t have a Simon here.” 

Alejandro shoved Soap out of the way. “John! I didn’t know you’d be visiting! Come in.” Now that he had been welcomed, Price quickly stepped in the door. 

“Ale. Very, very nice to see you. How have you been?” Price smiled. His fangs flashed, wicked sharp and a pearly white, just like all the other vampires in the house. 

Soap quickly stepped back to let them talk, but he didn’t leave, pretending to be doing anything besides eavesdropping, which is exactly what he was doing. 

“I haven’t seen you since they invented lightbulbs.” Alejandro grinned. His clothing was a little more old fashioned. Closer to what was expecting for a vampire at least. Soap thought it was funny that the youngest of the three vampires (not including Gaz, but Soap felt he didn’t really count), was the only one that still wore clothes from his own era. Alejandro was still up there in age, almost two centuries, but with Rodolfo being over three centuries and Ghost being around eight, well… it didn’t seem that old. 

Soap couldn’t really talk that much, because he was 26, but semantics.

The two of them babbled on about the changes in technology and how hard it was to keep up and how touch screens were so unreliable because they only picked things up half of the time. 

“They have gloves.” Soap interrupted, not thinking much of it until Alejandro glared at him. 

“Gloves?” Price frowned. 

“Yeah, they have stuff in the finger tips to let you use a phone. It’s because when humans wear the gloves, they can’t use the touch screen either. Gh- My master uses them.”

Price hummed. “Might have to get me a pair. Phones look so fun! I see why you keep him around, Alejandro. He’s not as dumb as most humans.”

Soap decided not to take offense to that, as a human.

“Oh, he’s not mine. He’s Simon’s.” Alejandro put his hands behind his back, altering his stance a bit.

“Nevermind. I guess he is a little stupid. He said there was no Simon here.” 

Soap felt like he was short circuiting. “You mean Ghost?”

Alejandro snapped his fingers. “Oh! That’s right! We never told you his name. He doesn’t exactly need to know it, ya know?”

Price hummed. “And he never asked?”

“I did ask!”

“No, never thought to ask us.” 

“But I did! You told me familiars don’t get to know!!!”

“Wow. Humans.” 

Soap got the distinct feeling he was being fucked with. 

Then Ghost appeared. Or more accurately, came out of his room. The world shifted, Soap’s focus, like always, being on him. Ghost quickly made his way down the stairs. His boots hugged his legs, going all the way up to his knees. He had chosen one of his longer coats so it fluttered around him. 

Soap quickly wiped his mouth and tried to focus on something besides how devastatingly hot Ghost looked at all times. 

“My little batling!” 

BATLING

LITTLE 

BATLING

Soap choked and half expected Ghost to kill Price where he stood, vampire or not. Alejandro wheezed a little. 

Instead, Ghost visibly shrank down. “Sire… I am not a fledgeling anymore.” There was an accent there, and not his usual Manchester one. It was almost lyrical. Soap wished he’d use it more. “I’m also almost a millennia old.”

“Yeah, but you’re still the spunky soldier I turned! Still wear the mask I see.” Price’s disappointment was palpable, but Ghost, Simon, just shrugged it off.

“Yeah. Well. Don’t like my face being seen.” 

Alejandro chipped in. “Awe, are you anxious, little batling?” 

Ghost hit him so hard Alejandro’s head popped off and Soap let out a small scream.

“Suppose it’s better than when you first turned.” Price completely ignored that Ghost just fucking killed him.

Rodolfo fluttered down the stairs. “Hello John! You look lovely!” Price smiled immediately.

“And you look just as lovely as the last time I saw you.”

Soap was shocked. They were married for decades!!! And he just moves on?

“Get your nasty mitts off my husband!” Alejandro’s decapitated fucking head started to yell. 

Rodolfo rushed over. “Mi noche! Mi pobre amor!” He scooped up his head and kissed his cheek before reattaching it. 

Soap tried not to gag. 

Alejandro’s limbs quickly started to work again and he kissed Rodolfo several times. 

Ghost was already pulling his sire far away from him, the two of them falling into line like old friends. 

“Do you have anything to eat? Your familiar looks delicious but I know how hard good help can be to find.”

Soap flushed and it only got worse when Ghost gave him a passing glance. “Didn’t you say someone would be coming over soon?”

“Yes, around 10. It’s 9:30 now, so shouldn’t be too long, sir.” He beamed at Ghost and Ghost just shrugged him off to keep walking. Soap tried to not let that get to him. He never liked when Ghost was in his moods like this and this new guy seemed to trigger them.

Price and Ghost disappeared and Soap was left standing there awkwardly. Alejandro had wandered off, probably back to Rodolfo. 

He sighed and started to tidy up. If he knew a guest was coming, he would’ve prepared more. Probably tried ot get multiple guys to come. Or ladies if that was more this guy’s taste. Luring women in was a lot harder, but he could’ve tried! He still had a tinder set up that he could’ve used. 

Soap fiddled with his hands, not sure what to do with himself. By this time of night, usually he hung out with Ghost, keeping him entertained. Without him, he didn’t really have anything to do. He already cleaned the place up before he went to bed the morning before.

Soap sighed and sat down, trying to lure more people to the house. 

Around midnight, after all the people who came in were dragged downstairs and eaten with Soap not having to lift a finger, the vampires decided to have a night out. Ghost grabbed on to Soap’s arm and tugged him along, clearly wanting him to come too. He pulled away from him just long enough to change, ignoring that his foot kept tapping and his growing impatience that Soap wasn’t willing to go out in what was basically pajamas. Soap also ignored that Ghost didn’t leave the room, but he clearly wasn’t looking at him undressed. 

When he was done, Ghost yanked him along and Soap had to jog to keep up. They fell in line with the other three and went to a nearby nightclub. Soap noticed it was for humans, not one of the vampire focused ones they usually went to, but just brushed it off. 

Ghost quickly scouted the darkest corner table and went to hide there, Soap followed along. He sat next to Ghost. Rodolfo went to sit with them and Alejandro quickly grabbed him and yanked him to the dance floor, immediately grabbing a handful of his ass. The two of them were dressed like people from the 1800’s and Soap tried to pretend he didn’t know them because it was honestly a little embarrassing. 

Rodolfo’s tongue ended up down Alejandro’s throat. 

Embarrassing. 

Alejandro said something that was clearly horrid in Spanish. The bartender looked positively horrified. 

Very embarrassing. 

Very fucking embarrassing. 

Soap looked at Ghost, suddenly making eye contact with him. Ghost must’ve been staring at him. He tried not to let that thought get to him. 

“Can I get you anything, master?”

Ghost clearly grimaced. “Ghost or sir, Johnny. Master thing feels weird.”

“Need anything, sir?” 

“Unless you’re willing to drink bourbon and let me suck you dry later.” 

Soap choked on the scotch he had. “What?”

“I’d have to kill you though. To really get a good taste.” Ghost said it so matter of fact that Soap was pretty sure the sexual way it sounded wasn’t on purpose. “And that would be a shame.” 

Soap quickly drank his scotch. “How do you even know what bourbon taste like?”

“There was a similar drink when I was alive. Also, for a couple of years, I lived near a bar that only served bourbon. Once your blood has enough alcohol in it, I can taste it.”

“Can it get you drunk?”

“Yeah. Don’t like getting drunk though that’s when bad stuff happens.” Ghost moved away. “You should enjoy yourself. Go talk to people.” 

“And leave you alone?”

“Yes. Leave me alone.” 

Oh. 

Soap watery smiled at him and nodded, quickly leaving. He went to the bar and ordered another drink. 

Price glanced at him, but already a woman was trying to flirt with him and Soap didn’t want to interrupt the two. Instead, he just took the drink he ordered and downed it. 

Soap made sure not to get more than tipsy. Even if his vampires didn’t get drunk, unlikely, he wanted to be alert in case he was needed. 

Someone moved closer about an hour after his little exile. Handsome guy. Tall, built. If he looked a bit like Ghost, that was between Soap and God. He talked and it was clear he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the shed, but Soap didn’t care about that. As long as he was a good lay, that would work. And if he could make it quick. Maybe they could just go to an alleyway. 

The man, Craig? Greg? Caleb?, went pale and looked up right as Soap felt Ghost’s hand on the back of his neck, grabbing him like a puppy he was scruffing. The cold leather pressed tight against his skin, making him shiver. 

“Ghost?”

“Johnny.” He said it with an exhale. “Wait outside.”

“What?”

“Wait outside for me.” Ghost forced him up and away, unnatural strength and where he grabbed him combining so Soap couldn’t exactly fight back. He frowned at him but did go outside after deciding to just not question it. 

Soap sighed and leaned against the wall near the door and lit a cigarette. He had been trying to quit, but it was hard. He took a deep puff and watched the smoke then drift to the sky. 

Soap started to count down the minutes before breaking and getting his phone out. The thick concrete walls around the nightclub kept it pretty much sound proof. It was so the music wouldn’t bother everyone on the street. 

Ghost didn’t usually ask these things of him. He didn’t like it. 

Soap got on tinder and wanted for someone to be rude to him or condescending. He scheduled dates in areas that were secluded enough the vampires could snatch the victim but not so secluded as to ring alarm bells. 

Rodolfo stepped out, Soap could tell by the sound his shoes made. He grabbed him and Soap flushed. “Maybe we should have you for dessert huh?” 

Soap shivered in his grasp. “Don’t think Ghost would be too happy about that.” He turned around and had to resist the urge to flinch back. 

Rodolfo was soaked in blood. He must’ve realized the state he was in because he let go. His hands had left bloody prints on Soap’s clothing. “Thought it’d be fun to clear the place out.”

“Ah… That why Ghost told me to wait outside?”

“Told him he shouldn’t bother, but he wasn’t sure if we’d recognize you if you got scared. Would you have gotten scared?” Rodolfo smiled at him. “I don’t think so. I mean last time I ate in front of yo-” 

Soap got flustered and grabbed his cross necklace through his shirt. “Rodolfo!” He kept it on for the exact scenario Rodolfo mentioned. If one of them ever had too much bloodlust, ever didn’t realize it was him, he could pull it out. Never had to use it before, luckily. But it was always there. A weight on his chest. 

“The sex we had was phenomenal.” Rodolfo assured, as if that was why Soap interrupted him. Maybe to him, that’s what it seemed like. They were so… shameless when it came to sex. Soap was almost jealous of it. Catholic guilt and the devastating fact he was human kept him from ever having that. “I can see why Ghost keeps you around.”

“Oh, Ghost and i have never…”

“NEVER???” Rodolfo laughed. “Seriously?? Huh. Guess it makes sense.” 

Ghost came out with Alejandro hanging all over him, the two of them carrying each other basically. “I think that last guy… had more than just alcohol.” Ghost said while Alejandro made a motion to his nose to show it was likely cocaine. 

Rodolfo laughed. “I told you two he smelled funny. Where’s Price?” 

Alejandro opened his jacket to show where a bat was hanging on the inside of it. “Got tired and decided to take a name.” 

“Old fucking man.” Ghost grinned, mask still pulled up. Soap took in what he could. Even bloody, he could make out more features than he could before. 

Soap followed slightly behind and Rodolfo led them. Alejandro started singing some old drinking song in Spanish and Ghost hummed along, stumbling a little. Without thinking, Soap put his hand on his back to right him, only realizing when he felt Ghost stiffen beneath his hands. Before he could pull away and apologize for touching him without warning, Ghost’s arm was around his shoulder, yanking him closer. He used Soap to help balance himself and Alejandro. 

“Ghost, if I turn into a bat can you carry both of us?”

“No.”

“What if we all turn into bats and Soap carries us?”

Ghost paused and looked at Soap, as if asking permission.

“Oh… Uh… Sure?” Soap had a hoodie on but he managed to fit Price and Alejandro in his hoodie pocket. Ghost wiggled directly into his hoodie before he could offer to let him ride on his shoulder, instead poking his head out of the neck of it, right under Soap’s head. Rodolfo, not one to walk if it could be avoided, hid in the hoodie. 

Soap decided not to point out they could just, ya know, fly home. Instead, he gently carried his family back to the house. He thought about a few things and wondered briefly if Price would be his grandsire when Ghost turned him. 

Would they do things like this with him? He also wondered what Gaz was doing. For good reasons, they didn’t go to the club he was at, probably not wanting to mess with him feeding, but he kinda wished he was there. Gaz probably would’ve waited outside with him. 

Ghost suddenly moved and Soap put an arm on him through his hoodie to support him. He felt him get cozier in the hoodie before stilling again. 

Once home, they all disappeared to their respective rooms. Sunrise was a lot closer than he realized and he suddenly felt sick for not rushing home faster, even if none of them cared. 

Fuck, he’d probably have to burn the hoodie. It was disgusting. All of them had so much blood on them and it was now all over all his clothes. 

He grumbled as he shoved his clothes and all of the vampires’ clothing, after they so graciously gave them to him to clean, into the bathtub and dumped a bunch of hydrogen peroxide and cold water. 

Gaz came home and had brought coffee for both of them. Must’ve been a great night because he was glowing and didn’t even try to steal a bite from Soap, which he was grateful for. Soap started to clean and Gaz watched him. 

Interviewer: Oh, we didn’t talk much earlier.

Gaz: Yeah we did.

Interviewer: I don’t… 

They notice they have notes from them discussing how Gaz is an energy vampire that feeds off excitement and happiness. And how after those feedings, memories can get fuzzy about them. 

Gaz: So yeah.

Interviewer: So why did you bring Soap coffee?

Gaz: The happier he is, the better the house vibe. Plus, his happiness and gratitude is delicious. Not for a meal, too sweet, but he’s a nice little snack. 

Interviewer: Huh. 

Note to self, they’re all kinda selfish assholes. 

[llondonfog]

diasomnia month // prompt 11 — au (star wars)

His father lurks in the Force like a chirodactyl, ever watchful and patient. It's an act of preservation, to draw the leathery wings of his mind close and neat, to appear blind and passive in the vast darkness as if he were merely a forgotten relic to pass over instead of the lair of a great beast itself.

It used to be a game, when Silver was younger, a ruse his father came up with to both strengthen his burgeoning abilities and pass the grueling time spent in gritty freighters as they planet-hopped— hide and seek among immaterial galactic forests where nighttime reigned supreme. No one had ever been as successful at it as he, his father would tell him afterwards with an odd smile upon his face, looking at Silver as if seeing him for the first time, each time. Silver didn't quite understand his father's surprise— no matter how the man tried to hide, it was as if his presence created a gravitational pull, a bond snapped clear into Silver's heart, leading him straight to his father as a small moon seeks the comfort of the planet it orbits adoringly.

Now, however, his father's wings are opened, and they rip the fabric of the world to shreds.

Silver flinches as much as the binders slicing into his wrists and the dull pounding in his head allow, the howls of screams outside crackling through the air in tandem with the shockwaves of painagonydeath muddying the Force like a purpling bruise. It rankles and seethes with his father's maddening rage, a culmination of sleepless days spent tracking down the scum who would steal his son from him and sell him to the highest bidder. The chirodactyl in his mind's eye screeches with an ancient, predatory satisfaction as those who would deal in human life are cleaved in two by the Force itself, his father wielding its power as judge, jury, and eager executioner.

When the door slides open with a snap-hiss, he does not see the extent of his father's gory rampage, the dissection of limbs and blood-splattered, filth-lined walls. He does not see the dark tendrils crooning in well-fed contentment, fattened like milk-heavy loth-kittens, as they eddy around his father's feet.

All that his small moon needs kneels before him, cradling his cheeks in clawed fingertips as delicate as a feather, and peering down at him with crimson eyes of raw concern as his father murmurs assurances of safety with the same tongue that curses his swift retribution to the once-slavers outside when he notices the faded mark on Silver's temple.

"—m fine," he manages to whisper, pushing gratitudehappinessfather into the shrieking maelstrom that wraps around the frayed edges of his mind with wrathful protection, leaning heavily forward into his father's hands. "They only tried to intimidate me, that's all—"

mysonmychildhurt his father's presence slinks around him, ever watchful as Lilia makes short work of the binders around his limbs, slicing through them with a viciousness as if they had done him a great personal injury. Silver sways on his feet, unsteady from the lack of nutrition and uneasy sleep, and his father catches him with ease before he can tumble to the steel floor below. He can see it without focusing, the wing unfurling to drape over the aches in his mind, drawing him down into a creature comfort of childish innocence.

sleep, it whispers to him, and in the arms of the dark Jedi, the only man who he's ever known as father, Silver cannot resist.

[saddayfordemocracy]

Hiba Kamal Abu Nada (24 June 1991 – 20 October 2023)

Hiba Kamal Abu Nada was a Palestinian poet, novelist, nutritionist and wikimedian. Her novel "Oxygen is not for the dead" won second place in the Sharja Award for Arab Creativity in 2017.

She was killed in Gaza strip  by an Israeli airstrike in the 2023 Israel-Hamas war.

Abu Nada was born in Mecca, Saudi Arabia on 24 June 1991 fom a refugee family from Beit Jirja, which was displaced in 1948.

She received a bachelor's degree of biochemistry from Islamic University, Gaza, and a master's degree in clinical nutrition from Al-Azhar University.

She worked for a time at the Rusul Center for Creativity, associated with the al-Amal Institute for Orphans. According to Al-Ayyam, she was "preoccupied with justice, the uprisings of the Arab Spring, and the realities of Palestinian life under occupation."

She published a number of collections of poetry, and a novel, titled al-Uksujīn laysa lil-mawtā (‘Oxygen is not for the dead).

In 2017, she won second place in the 20th annual Sharjah Award for Arab Creativity, held by the United Arab Emirates, for her novel. The book was republished by Dar Diwan in 2021.

Her last post online was on 8 October 2023, when she wrote:

Gaza’s night is dark apart from the glow of rockets, quiet apart from the sound of the bombs, terrifying apart from the comfort of prayer, black apart from the light of the martyrs. Good night, Gaza.

On 20 October 2023, she was killed in the Israel-Hamas war, during an airstrike by the Israeli Air Force, which hit her home in Khan Yunis in southern Gaza. She was 32.

Rest in Power !