#Triple-lock solution

[sapphicrot]

“TRIPLE AFFIRMATIVE, BITCH!”

i’ve been trying to learn how to draw the scugs…not sure if it’s going well but i’ve learned i fucking love drawing enot lol

[pekoehoneyncream]

Ghoaptober # 3

Prompt: Hurt

Words: 5100~

TW: Distressing/Negative Sexual Experiences, Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Restraints, Intersex Omegas (NOT sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

Please note that all the Distressing/Negative Sexual Experiences are not between Ghost and Soap. I think this one is right on the line for dub-con, so proceed with caution if that's something that might trigger you. If this is missing any trigger warning please do let me know!

I've always had an itch to subvert the 'omega desperately needs to get fucked during their heat' trope, so I honestly shouldn't be so surprised that this one got away from me like it did.

Enjoy!

As an omega, Soap had started preparing for his heat a good month in advance, he’d gathered up his favourite nesting blankets and made sure they were freshly laundered, he’d scouted a good Heat-Hotel that was nearby and booked a room, he’d even secured a partner. Some of the other omegas on base had been touting this new matcher app, that they’d reportedly had massive success with, so Soap had decided to give it a whirl and signed up. What’s the worst that could happen, he was no doubt better trained than any of the civvies he’d be meeting up with. 

He’d been talking to an alpha named Dominic Wilckes and when the subject of his heat had come up, Dominic had asked if Soap was looking for a partner. With no reason to say no, Soap had said yes. He’s spent heats with and without partners before, and found accompanied heats to be much more manageable. 

Soap was in his room at the Heat-Hotel now, securing a layer of waterproof Heat-Sheets over his carefully arranged nest. When his heat was spiking he didn’t care, but when he was in a lull or was coming down, he hated having his nest being a messy, sticky, uncomfortable, ruined heap of blankets. So he’d learned how to weave a sturdy nest and had invested in specialty sheets that would keep it clean. 

His phone buzzed rapidly on the table, it was Dominic.

“here”

“safe n sOund solotions?”

“in the lobby”

“whr r u”

Dominic was a nice guy, but Soap could admit that the way he texted was a bit annoying. Having his messages open to send Dominic the room number reminded him that he hadn’t texted Ghost yet. He pulled up his location and sent it to his Lieutenant along with a quick text,

“At Safe & Sound Solutions, Room 348, Booked for three days, Should be back Tuesday.”

His message showed as being read within the minute and while he was waiting to see if Ghost would reply another message came in from Dominic,

“come down”

Soap reread the message, why would he need to go down to the lobby? Maybe there was an issue Dominic needed help with? Confused, but willing to help, Soap texted back a quick ‘On my way.’ and headed out, his riled instincts insisting he double and triple check that he’d locked the door to his room. That he made sure his nest was safe from intruders.

In the lobby, Soap found Dominic leaning up against the wall next to the lifts with a bag at his feet. Walking over, he tried to spot where the problem was. 

“Dominic? Whit’s wrong?” Soap questioned,

“Hey, John. Some of the people were giving me weird looks. I needed you to come to show them I’m not some creep hanging around for nothing.” Dominic stood from his lean and stepped into Soap’s space, bringing his arm up to rub a wrist over Soap’s nape. Scenting him. Soap let him, tilting his shoulders so the other man wouldn’t accidentally brush his mating glands, they got heinously sensitive when he was heating.  

“Oh, alrigh’,” Soap privately thought that Dominic was overthinking it, if anyone was looking at him weird it was for loitering around in the lobby, but not actually sitting in any of the many chairs scattered throughout. The lobby of every Heat-Hotel that Soap had ever visited always looked like Moses had called a plague of plush chintzy furniture down upon them. 

Soap led Dominic back into the lift, pressing the button for his floor. A chime from his phone brought his attention to the fact that Ghost had replied, he’d reacted to Soap’s message with a thumbs up and had sent back,

“Rog.” 

Ghost had a habit of reading his notifications as soon as he could, but often didn’t have the time to actually reply until later. 

“Who’s that?” Dominic asked, peeking over Soap’s arm to get a look at the screen. 

Soap locked his phone, the smile that had pulled up the corners of his mouth falling away. 

“Mah L.T. He likes tae know every’hings guid.” Soap replies, watching the numbers of the lift ding over to his floor and stepping out as the doors parted.

“Your L.T? What’s that?” Dominic crowded up against his back as he tried to finagle the keycard into scanning properly and unlocking the door. 

“Mah Lieutenant.” Soap pulls the door flush closed, grips the handle to make sure it’s sitting straight, then tries sliding the keycard through at a snail's pace. The light flashes green and he whips the door open before it can change its mind, sending a silent thanks out to Price for teaching him how to sweet-talk card readers. 

“Oh yeah. You're in some kinda military army thing right?” Dominic’s realization carried a strange tone of praise. 

“Yeah, U.K.S.F,” Soap clocks Dominics blank gaze and spells it out for him before he can ask, “United Kingdom Special Forces,”

A light comes on behind Dominic’s eyes, but a skeptical look crinkles his nose. “But can’t only U.K citizens join?” 

It's Soap’s turn to stare blankly, “Aye?” the answer carries a subtext of ‘you dumbass’ that Soap couldn’t have stopped if there were hostages at stake.

Soap watches Dominic’s confused look intensify. Good, they could be confused together.

“But aren’t you Irish?” 

“Nae!” Soap refutes, that idea in need of immediate culling, “Ah’m no' Irish. Ah’m a fuckin’ Scot!”

“Oh, I didn’t know Scottish people could join the British army?” 

Soap searches Dominic's face for any sign that he’s joking, Dominic looks earnestly back at him. 

Jesus Christ.

He’s not joking. 

“Scotland’s a par’ ae the U.K,” Soap says hesitantly, leadingly, begging Dominic to spend one brain cell on remembering his First Year geography lessons.

“Oh, Alright.” Dominic shrugs in a ‘whatever you say’ manner, that makes Soap think he’s doing it more to drop the conversation than he actually believes what he’s been told, “Are you already set up? When does your heat kick in?”

Dominic glances around the room, looking over Soap’s preparations, dropping his bag off his shoulder onto the desk pressed against the wall. Why a Heat-Hotel thought its room's occupants might need a desk, was the true mystery of the night. 

Soap shakes himself free of the disbelief clogging his brain, and checked his watch, “Wi’hin the ‘our, mebbe twen’y minutes?” 

Dominic shoots him an odd look again, clearly thinking something over.

“Whit? Whit’s wrong?” Soap glances around himself, but nothing looks wrong to him.

“Your accent’s cute, John, but it’s a bit hard to understand you. You know?” Dominic's tone is assured, almost complimentary, “It’s gonna be hard to know what you want if I can’t understand you.” He coaxes, like a parent reasoning with their toddler to not bite electrical cables. Like it’s what was best for everyone.

Baffled, Soap stares at him. He’s never gotten flak about his accent from his previous partners, everyone else had seemed to enjoy it. At least, Soap had thought they’d enjoyed it. 

“Aye,” Soap swallows hard, his stomach roiling “Eh- Uh- Yes. I can- Um- I’ll try tae- to speak,” Flustered, Soap stutters through his answer as he tries to flatten his accent, “I’ll try to speak more clearly.”

“That’s all I’m asking.” Dominic nods at him, “Now,” he slaps at his own thighs, “Where are we setting up? On the bed?” He walks over to the bed, toting his bag, and starts rummaging through the nightstands, “They don’t have anything here, it's a good thing I brought my own stuff.” 

Soap eyes him as he approaches the nest, wincing as his tossed bag knocks free a carefully stacked pillow. Dominic clatters around a bit more, checking the minifridge and all the drawers in the desk. 

“Where’s your stuff?” He turns back to Soap.

Soap points wordlessly at the gutted dufflebag he’d carried his blankets over in. 

“Oh, you don’t use toys? A good omega? Like whining on your fingers instead?” Dominic’s voice dripped with sudden lascivious intent, he dropped his head to eye Soap through his lashes, licking his lips and petting his hands over his bag, “That’s okay, baby. Alpha will take care of you. I’ll give you everything you need.”

Soap inhaled shakily. He must not laugh. If he laughed he’d be out of a heat partner and his instincts would insist on him moving the nest. If he moved rooms he’d have to update Ghost. Ghost would worry about why he moved rooms and insist on checking on him. If his L.T came within one city block of him when he was on his heat Soap was dragging that alpha into his nest and not letting him leave. Soap did not want his L.T to write him up for fraternization. 

He must not laugh. 

“Oh yeah?” Soap eked out. Dominic must take the breathiness of his voice to be anticipation as his look only grew more seductive. 

“Yeah, baby. Come get comfy in your nest and Alpha will show you the presents he brought.” Dominic pats a hand on the nest, then gives it a surprised glance, “These are the blankets you want? They’re not very soft.”

Soap explains about how he doesn’t like his nest getting dirty as he crawls up onto the bed, petting a proprietary hand over his nest. It’s not like the blankets were scratchy terrycloth or anything, they were Heat-Sheets, they were made specifically for heats, they wouldn’t sell if they weren’t comfortable. 

“Here,” Dominic reached forward and Soap frantically knocks the hand away before it could tear into his nest. The judging look that Dominic shot him was completely uncalled for. What kind of psycho fucks with an omega’s nest. 

“What?” Dominic furrows his eyebrows at the omega, “I was just gonna show you a better way to do it. You could put a soft sheet on top, so you’re not laying on something so rough. I know omegas are super sensitive about that kinda stuff.”

“Nae- No. No, it’s fine like this. Thank you, Dominic.” Soap assures, sliding over to sit on the bed directly in front of Dominic, firmly between his nest and the alpha. 

After eyeing him for a moment longer, Dominic shugs and turns back to his bag, muttering something about omegas being so picky under his breath. 

“I got you that water you like,” he says, pulling three one-litre bottles of Volvic mineral water out of his bag and setting them on the nightstand. Soap felt warmed and a touch shocked, he’d only mentioned that he likes Volvic best in passing. The warm feeling vanished when the next item Dominic pulled from his bag of tricks was a tall omegaen guard-collar.

“I know it’s usually that alphas wear muzzles for heats and omegas wear collars for ruts, but the skin on my face is super sensitive and I’ll get a rash if I wear a muzzle,” Dominic explained, handing over the collar when Soap hesitantly reached for it. 

It was made of good thick leather, fastening with two buckles in the back instead of a cheap zipper. The things that were throwing Soap off were that it was much taller than the typical guard-collar, how it flared out at the bottom to cover over his trapeziuses, and the four D-rings spaced around its middle. It honestly looked more like a posture-collar. 

“I was looking into the failure rate of guard-collars and this one has amazing reviews and no accidental bites,” Dominic supplies, tapping at the collar in Soap's hands, “Do you need help putting it on?”

Soap absently nods, not really processing what’s being said to him, and finds the contraption out of his hands and strapped around his neck within two heartbeats. Hands coming up to scrabble at the new pressure squishing his mating glands Soap gives a startled yelp and Dominic quickly grabs his hands. Shushing and cooing at him, giving his hands a firm squeeze when he tries to pull away. 

“It’s alright, omega. You’re doing so well.” Tuning out Dominic's crooning, Soap focused on calming his breathing.

In for four, hold for four, out for four. In for four, hold for four, out for four.

With his breath under control, Soap can admit that the collar isn’t as restrictive as he’d feared, he can breathe fine, and turn his head. Looking down or up presses a bit, but it’s not terrible.

Focusing on himself for a moment also revealed to Soap that he’d been so busy judging Dominic that he’d completely missed his body cresting through pre-heat. Taking another deep breath Soap warns the alpha that he’ll be going into full heat in a minute or two and watches the shocked look take over Dominic's face. It’s not surprising to Soap that Dominic hadn’t noticed, Soap’s scent has never been particularly loud and he’s not throwing himself at the alpha like the needy heat-drunk omegas do in films. 

The next few minutes are admittedly blurry to Soap as his body plunges into full heat, when he comes back to himself he’s face down with his ass up in the air and Dominic is playing between his thighs. By the wetness dripping down his legs Soap guesses that he’s already cum once, that or Dominic drools more than Eas A’  Chual Aluinn. 

Giving a pitching whine, Soap tries to get up onto his elbows and finds that the guard-collar wasn't Dominic’s only gift for him. There are soft leather cuffs secured around his wrists, latched closed with simple carabiners and attached to one of the D-rings of his collar with a short chain. Stopping him from lifting his head more than about twenty centimetres away from his hands and, consequently, the bed. 

“Do- Dominic?” He pants through his confusion and feels the man pull his tongue and what felt like three fingers out of his hole. 

“Back with me, omega? You’re doing so well. Getting so wet for me. Cumming so pretty.” Dominic rumbles, reverent fingers coming back to pet over Soap’s twitching hole. 

Soap pushes back into the touch, feeling achingly empty, his lower belly cramping with the need to be filled. 

“Alpha, please,” he whines “Need your knot, please, please, knot me, ple-”

“Hush.” Dominic commands and the omega’s jaw snaps shut, “I’m not done with you yet, omega. Be quiet and settle down. Take what alpha gives you.” 

Tears prickled behind Soap’s eyes. He got his elbows under himself and lifted his head up off of the nest as far as he could, breathing easier without the blankets in his face. He yelps when hot suction suddenly seals around his cocklet with three fingers plunging back into his hole to bully his sweet spot. Thighs shaking, Soap is pushed into another orgasm, face falling back into the sheets, muffling his squeals when Dominic doesn’t let up. Hard sucks and forceful strokes propelling him through one orgasm and directly into the next. 

His honest yelping coaxes Dominic off his cocklet, “Poor omega,” The alpha croons, petting over his thighs and grabbing at his ass, “So needy. It’s okay, alpha’s here. Alpha will give you what you need.” 

“Knot- Knot me. Alpha, please. Need it.” Soap begs shamelessly, the heat roaring through him stoked by his untied orgasms, his body painfully demanding for him to be knotted and filled.

“I don’t know,” comes Dominic’s teasing reply, leaking more false sympathy than Soap’s hole was leaking slick, “Have you been a good omega? Do you deserve my knot?” 

“Yes, Yes.” Soap nods as much as the collar allows, still careful to smother his accent, “Please, need it.”

“Okay, omega. Alpha will help you.” Dominic’s fingers pull out of him and an actual sob escapes Soap when instead of a cock, he feels a tongue push into his hole. He purposely turns into the sheets to muffle his cries, his instincts rioting and his climbing temperature making him feel sick.

A brief unwelcome stroke over his asshole yanks him from his spiral. His head snaps up, eyes wide and stinging with unshed tears. Did he imagine it? His chest heaves and he freezes perfectly still, staring blankly down at the tangle his nest has become. 

A finger, wet with what he can only assume is his own slick, prods past his rim up to the second knuckle and Soap gives a startled yowl, “Nae! Nae! Donnae do tha!”

“No?” Comes Dominic’s skeptical tease, his free hand squeezing goadingly at Soap’s hip, “My poor Omega doesn't want all his heated holes nice and full?”

Soap frantically shakes his head, lacking words, but filled with denial. Tears knocked loose and coursing unseen down his cheeks.

“Alright,” Dominic agreed, no less skeptical, but slowly withdrawing his finger regardless.

When Soap felt that same finger slide down to line up with his hole’s entrance the omega is willing to admit that he may have come a little unglued.

He snarled, wriggling and kicking back at the alpha, yanking bruises into his wrists in the shape of the cuffs that bound them. Soap managed to thrash his way upright and huddled up against the headboard. Hissing at the flabbergasted alpha knelt at the foot of the bed, giving another throat tearing snarl when Dominic tried to reach for him. His instincts in full control and having decidedly assessed the alpha to be a bad heat partner. 

Keeping his full attention on the man, Soap brought his wrists up and bit open the carabiners, untethering the cuffs from the collar then unfastening the cuffs to slide them off altogether. His freed hands immediately moving behind his neck to unbuckle the collar, fumbling blindly and growling with bared teeth when the alpha made a move towards him. Managing to finagle the first buckle loose, he unhooked the second with much more finesse. Tossing the collar aside, Soap heaved a breath of relief, hands coming up to rub at his sore mating glands, the glands feeling nearly bruised from the constant pressing of the collar. 

“John, Calm down,” Dominic spoke up, voice slow and hesitant, “Everything’s fine, stop freaking out,”

Soap would have liked to close his eyes and regroup, but really didn't like the idea of leaving Dominic unsupervised. Instead he started up his breathing exercises again while keeping the alpha firmly within his sights.

In for four, hold for four, out for four.

“That’s good. Just calm down,” Dominic praised, stretching forward to reach for Soap’s drawn up knees. 

Soap tossed the idea of regulating his breath out the window and drew himself up, “Dominic,” He ground out of a throat that only wanted to produce growls, “Do. Not. Touch. Me.” 

Dominic sat back on the bed, stymied, thoroughly confused, and a little offended. 

Soap’s temperature was spiking, though the want to be knotted and filled had completely vanished. Falling forward onto his hands, Soap panted for air, sweat pouring down his skin. His vision was fading, the sound of Dominic saying something coming through muffled, like his ears were stuffed with cotton. Chills and prickles raced up his spine to dance over his scalp. His throat felt like it was shrinking to the size of a straw. 

Something wet touched his bottom lip and he was automatically gulping down the water before he consciously made the decision to drink. The ringing faded from his ears just enough for him to hear Dominic.

“-hn, I called the emergency line. There’s a nurse comi-”

Soap’s vision blacked out.

When he blinked back to himself he was flat on his back with something cold pressing against the nape of his neck and his legs being held aloft by a beta woman that was standing beside the bed. Struggling to get his eyes to properly focus, he grunted his confusion.

“Hello, Mr Mactavish. I’m Kelly. How are you feeling?” The beta, Kelly, spoke with a voice that was friendly, but not perky. More of a matter-of-fact warmth. 

“Pre’y shite,” He groaned out, letting his eyes fall closed again as he rubbed at his face. Dimly registering that a thin blanket had been draped over his hips to cover his unmentionables.

“Yeah, I’d guess so,” Kelly commiserates, gently lowering his legs back onto the bed, “Could you keep your knees up for me? Just like that. Perfect. So, Mr Mactavish, you’ve just had a rather bad bout of Heat Rejection,” Kelly informs him, while keeping a grounding hand on his obediently raised knees, “It’s completely natural and not at all life threatening, the symptoms should level out within the next twenty-four hours. You’re welcome to ride it out in the medical suite here with us, or if you have someone that you can call that can sit with you for that time you’re free to leave.”

Soap slowly thinks this over, cracking open an eye and blearily noticed that the room is empty of anyone but Kelly and himself. “Dominic,” He grunts, not quite managing to make it pitch up into a question.

“I asked Mr Wilckes to wait in the hall, as I wasn’t sure if his presence would make you uncomfortable.” Kelly is a consummate professional, but Soap thinks he can detect hints of scorn flitting about the corners of her eyes, “I can call him back in if that’s what you want.”

“Nae.” Soap denies, “Nae, I dun wan’ ‘im ‘ere. If ye coul' pass me mah phone I’ve someone tha’ can take me outta y’ur hair,”

Kelly kindly fetches his phone, though she doesn’t let him sit up to make the call. Eyeing Simon’s contact, he mentally apologizes to everyone on the base for the chaos he’s about to unleash, then hits dial.

He’s barely had the time to move the phone to his ear when the call is picked up.

“Johnny?” Ghost’s harried voice barks down the line, “What’s wrong?”

“Why’s some’hing gotta be wrong fer me tae call ye, L.T,” Soap bitches, trying to calm Ghost down from the lather he’s no doubt already worked himself into, “Gonnae gi’ a man a complex,”

“What’s wrong, Johnny” The voice that rumbles from the phone is pure domineering alpha and it kicks a reflexive placating whine from Soap’s chest. 

“Si, ah need ye tae come ge’ me,” Soap mumbles down the line, his bravado drowned by the sudden twisting need he has for Ghost to be here with him. 

“I’m coming, Johnny.” Is the immediate reply, and by the rustles coming from Ghost’s side of the call, Soap knows he’s hauling ass, “Can you stay on the line? Are you hurt?” 

“Ah’m fine, Si. Ah’m no' hurt,” Soap lets his eyes fall closed again, ignoring the judgmental look Kelly shoots him for his little fib. In his own defense, he’s not physically hurt. From what he knows of Heat Rejection, his body is just gonna be all kinds of outta wack while his hormones try to rapidly bring him back down to baseline. For now, he’s content to listen to the sounds of Simon snapping at any unfortunate soul that dared get in his way. Soap only realises that he’s begun purring when a quiet answering purr comes from Simon. 

The slam of the room door opening jolts Soap out of the calm daze he’d fallen into and he reflexively punts the most pertinent object at the intruder. Unfortunately, that object happened to be the phone he’d been holding, even more unfortunately, the intruder was Ghost. 

Ghost easily ducks the unconventional projectile and covers the distance to the bed so fast, Soap could have sworn he teleported. From Kelly’s jump she also wasn’t expecting a man of Ghost’s size to move with that speed. 

Spooky bastard, his L.T.

“Ghost!” he cheers and is climbing up the alpha to nuzzle into his neck before he can rein in his rampant instincts. 

Omega and alpha freeze, Soap midnuzzle and Ghost with his hands reflexively clamped around his Sergeant’s bare thighs. 

Kelly, the blessed angel she is, gently clears her throat. Effectively snapping the awkward tension.

“Mr MacTavish is experiencing Heat Rejection and needs someone that is able to stay with him for the next twenty-four hours, or until his symptoms abate.” She looks up at Ghost, clad in his full skull-plated balaclava and half his field kit, without fear. Soap must have called while he was busy terrifying the rooks, “Can you do that?”

Ghost gives her a solemn nod, “Yes.” 

“Perfect,” Kelly starts listing symptoms, proper care practices, and things to watch out for when dealing with Heat Rejection and Soap is man enough to admit that he didn’t listen to a lick of it.

He was busy oscillating wildly between bone shaking horror that he was clinging to his Lieutenant while bare as a newborn, a deep seated greedy pleasure that Simon had come for him without question, and the brainless need to purr and rub against this perfect alpha until the rejected alpha’s scent was gone from his skin.  

Ghost’s hands gently squeezed his thighs, then loosened as he leaned forward a bit to encourage Johnny to stand on his own. Soap gave a petulant whine, but a reassuring purr and a gentle pat to his thighs had him reluctantly hopping down. Before his instincts could coax his better sense into indulging in a full blown pout for having to give up his prize, he was distracted by the sight of Ghost knelt at his feet holding out a pair of trackies for him to step into. 

If the mere thought of any kind of sexual touch didn’t currently make Soap want to run all the way back to Alba, Ghost on his knees for him would be a very enticing image, he couldn’t guarantee that it wouldn’t be the only thing on his mind the next time the need to let off steam hit either. For now, however, Soap was tired to his core and was pitifully grateful for the help as he stepped into the trousers, letting Ghost draw them up over his hips. 

Feeling like naught more than a bairn, Soap threw his arms up at Ghost’s gesture and let the man pull a shirt over his head. The impression was not helped by Ghost then immediately picking him up and perching him on his hip. The man was only eleven centimetres taller than him, where did he get off manhandling him like he was some kind of waif. Soap grumbled to himself, but was disinclined to actually demand he be allowed to walk on his own. Content to wrap all his limbs around Simon, like a particularly lonely limpet, and purr like a motorbike while rubbing their jaws together. 

There was a bit of a scuffle when Ghost had to convince him to let go and get in the car, but by the time the car was parked again Soap was barely conscious. He dully registered Simon picking him up out of his seat, the tension falling out of his muscles when he recognized the smells of their base. He thought he heard Prize and Gaz, but their voices were far away and the rumble of Simon’s chest was nice against his. 

Johnny cracked open an eye when he was plopped onto a bed, content to drowsily track Simon as the alpha threw his duffle, once again stuffed to bursting with blankets, next to the laundry bin. Simon heading for the door sent an unpleasant jolt through him and he whined forlornly, desperate to keep his alpha here with him.

“I’m going for drinks and food, Johnny,” Simon assured him, coming back to pet a hand over his warhawk, “I’ll be right back, I promise,”

Johnny whined again, but did nothing more to stop Simon from leaving. He could also do nothing to stop his instincts from insisting that he had disappointed his alpha and the man was never coming back. Trying to appease the gordian knot his logic and instincts were tying themselves into, Johnny started rumpling around in the bed he’d been deposited onto to make up a new nest. A deep rolling purr bursting from him when he realized it was Simon’s bed. No doubt the alpha’s instincts were also going haywire, demanding he protect the omega.

No better place than the heart of his own territory for that, Johnny supposed. 

The door opened and Johnny’s reflexive hiss broke into another purr, the mere sight of Simon cutting through his anxieties. He actually barked a few ecstatic chirps when the alpha dropped lovely soft clean scentless blankets onto the bed. Johnny hadn’t chirped since his age was in the single digits, but Simon bringing him blankets -his alpha contributing to their nest-, was really doing it for him. 

Johnny lost himself in weaving the perfect nest, as he always does, and once he deemed it faultless he looked for his alpha. 

Simon was standing, backed against the wall on the other side of the room, with his hands palms out and his chin tipped up to expose his throat. His bare uncovered balaclavaless throat, to match his bare uncovered balaclavaless face. 

Oh, Johnny's alpha was perfect.

The omega might have gotten a bit overwhelmed by the sheer excellence of his alpha as he immediately went limp to flop and roll in his nest. Catching a glimpse of Simon flinching forward at his abrupt fall before realising what Johnny was doing and assuming his non-aggressive stance again, with a perfect peachy pink blush creeping up his throat to bloom over his cheeks. 

“Alpha,” Johnny called him over, patting invitingly at the nest.

Simon took a hesitant step forward and was pulled the rest of the distance to the bed by Johnny’s delighted chirps. The omega was still flopped, but curled around just enough to snag the loose fabric of Simon’s pants, retracting his hand and shaking it out with an unhappy whine when the fabric’s rough texture offended him. In the next second Simon stood before him in only his knickers. Johnny doesn’t think he’s ever seen Simon strip that fast, including that time when Simon's clothes had actually caught fire. 

Johnny gives a surprised meep, gazing wide eyed at the alpha stood vibrating before him, waiting for permission to enter his own bed. Then gets over it and hauls the man down into the nest. Pushing him around until he was in the perfect position for cuddles. Johnny purred, burying his face into the warm nook between Simon’s arm and his side, whining inconsolably when the alpha lifted his arm to give him more room, only purring again when he put it back where it was.

A hand comes up to hesitantly pet over his back, creeping upward to scratch across his nape and dig into the base of his warhawk. Johnny feels his purr drop down his throat to resonate in his chest. Announcing for all who cared to listen that Johnny considered himself to be perfectly safe, cared for, and comfortable. An answering purr kicked on in Simon’s chest and Johnny let himself drift off. 

Knowing Simon wouldn’t hurt him.

Thank You For Reading!

Let's all pray that Dominic wasn't still in the hall by the time Ghost got there, or pray for the opposite, depending on how much you hate Dominic.

So, did y'all know that Tumblr has a "4096-text-characters-per-block limit." ? Cause that was a fun discovery to have while I was trying to put this post together.

I'll admit that this one got minimal editing, if you spot something wrong lemme know!

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Tiptoe Through the Tulips-Tiny Tim

Okay so after the prologue yesterday, I figured I'd post the first chapter and see what you guys think. Do you want to see more of this story? Do you like it? Please let me know!

TWs: slavery, ABO

Wordcount:

Art from This Post

Story below the cut

Tiptoe Through the Tulips-Tiny Tim

The crisp autumn wind whistled through the tunnels, howling out a wretched cry of despair before leaping onto the platform to stalk a wrought iron bench. On said bench sat a shivering woman carrying nothing but a briefcase and a sign. The sign was furled around the edges, and there was a stain of coffee on the upper corner that someone had obviously tried to get rid of but had decidedly given up upon, focussing more on keeping their fingers warmed up against their sides.

You sneezed and checked the overhead clock to see if the delayed train was on its way anytime soon. Your fingers were bright red, knuckles white from gripping on the sign firmly enough to crumple it. You gulped, the ticker’s orange lights above indicating that the train would indeed be another fifteen minutes before arrival. It seemed that there had been some sort of incident on the tracks. You wouldn’t have been surprised, really. Despite the fencing and the guards in the station, it was hard to prevent someone from slipping through the cracks. One would have thought a more effective solution would have been put in place by now, but it seemed such was not the case. In a way, you envied that ghost of your mind, freed from the world of shackles and hierarchies. And yet, you shuddered to think of all the bones that had been left behind on the rails.

You looked down to the briefcase and fiddled with the locks. There, inside the briefcase, were all the papers needed to ensure the entire arrangement went smoothly. There were your identification cards, the legal documents (already signed, you triple-checked), even the personal papers that your father had painstakingly wrote out to ensure that the guards would be sure of your identity, as if the chip in your bite collar wasn't enough proof. You thumbed the collar, mindlessly. You had your other ID card in your wallet, but most people liked to use the collar. You just wished you had an arm bracelet like the alphas and betas around you, but they said that the collar was more convenient. You just considered it an insult every time you had to present your neck just to buy some groceries.

The autumn air was brumous, doing nothing to really comfort you as you shuffled on the cold wooden bench. You checked over your shoulder, and saw naught but the staircase leading to the rest of the station. Behind you on your right was a cafe where a young beta B woman was sweeping some fallen leaves to the side. She didn’t seem tall, but you worried about how quick she might be. She certainly had long legs. It wouldn’t take much to come over and take you out from behind. It wouldn’t take much to collapse your trachea as she choked you out, and she could easily hide the body in the dumpsters. Damn the security cameras, when had those stopped anyone? Not when it was a crime against an omega, at least. You had been raised on warnings from your parents to be on guard. You needed to be on guard, you were an omega. Omegas were weak, omegas were pathetic, omegas were dead meat-

You slapped your leg, relishing in the pain that followed. You needed pain to focus. Pain was clear, simple. Pain had a cause and an effect. Easy to take, easy to understand. If you could still feel, it meant you were here, in the present. You were breathing, you were alive. And if pain meant you were alive, then by that logic, it meant that you could breathe, which was what you settled on doing.

You didn’t really understand why your father had to be so busy on that particular day. Normally, he would have been perfectly fine to go out and handle the legal proceedings himself. It would have been fine! Why was it that the cafe had been busy that day? Why did your father decide that his daughter, his omega O daughter,  needed to take responsibility and do something on your own? It was far too much pressure, and frankly, it was really not the brightest of ideas. After all, why were you here? You didn’t understand the legal logistics of all of this nonsense. You didn’t understand much of anything about this whole situation, if he was to be perfectly honest.

And yet, you sat on the bench regardless. You sat on that blasted bench with nothing but a sign and a briefcase. It would have been nice to have a coffee, but it wasn’t like you had the money to buy one anymore. Your father had always been tight on money, meaning he didn’t have much to spend paying his daughter. You had long since accepted that you’d work at the cafe for free until you inherited, if you inherited anything at all. After all, family helped family for free, didn’t they?

You sneezed. There wasn’t much around to really keep your mind off of the whole situation. Now that you noticed it, the train station was oddly quiet. It was midday on a Wednesday, certainly, but it still had your skin crawling. Save for you, the cafe worker, and the ticket taker, there really wasn’t anyone else there to take your mind off of why you were there.

Mind you, you supposed your grandmother wouldn’t have wanted you to be so anxious. She was always telling you that the only thing to fear was fear itself. There was no reason to be upset about someone sneaking up on you in a back alley. Why be worried when there is so much to do? Your grandmother probably would have been ashamed of her you for being so afraid… Oh, if she was here right now, she’d certainly hang her head in shame at what a wreck you were!

You slapped your leg again and let out a long shuddery breath. She wasn’t here right now. She would never be here now. No, Grandma was long gone. She had left this world with not much save a few precious belongings, which had been divided amongst the dwindling remaining family. She had always been a fair woman, if a bit harsh, and had seen to it that everything she owned went to the relative that had needed it most.

Jeremy, the eldest of your father’s family, was left her library. She had books collected from all around the world, in all sorts of languages in all states of being. In her collection was a series of bibles that had been out on display for all to see. Of course, her personal copy of the King James was by her bedside, but the display of bibles had been left to the eldest to learn from. Having been a man of God, Jeremy had been grateful about what had been left to him.

Amanda had been left in charge of the manor. The manor was truly an incredible estate, sprawling with unkempt wild gardens and a weird mish-mash of architectural styles to come together into a rickety castle of windows, arches and spires. It hadn’t seen much care in the final years of Grandma’s life, but it was still nothing to scoff at. Having struggled with obtaining a divorce from her overbearing husband, Amanda had been glad to finally have a place to call her own, to start a new life.

The youngest, your father, had been left with one allotment. A lump sum of money, the only remnant of the wealth the family once held onto. Years of the late Grandpa’s cunning business ventures and bold moves in the stock markets had led to quite a bounty to be had. However, once Grandpa had passed, much of his money was donated to local charities, with the grim remainders that were smuggled away left to his late wife for a safe life without him. Your father was glad for any money that could be had to support his coffee business.

The final recipient was a surprise for everyone. It had been none other than her youngest grandaughter, you. You were given the charge of your grandmother’s slave and closest companion, König. He’d been there as long as you could remember. Caring for Grandma in her twilight years, diligent and powerful, König had been her beloved slave. You had always found the gigantic man to be incredibly intimidating, what with his broad and deadly muscles wrapped around his tall, sturdy frame. Intimidating and always hidden behind an exectuioner’s hood. If one had thought to question the power in such a form, any doubt would have been quelled by the firm resolve held in those tired eyes. One had to question what lay beyond those eyes, what thoughts he had, what history lay behind him, who the slave really was. If there was one thing König was, though, it was loyal. Despite his biological tendency towards violence and the battered scars of past battles decorating his arms like medals on a soldier's chest, he was the gentlest and most caring man towards Grandma. You were absolutely terrified of him.

König, as he had been officially named, had done everything for Grandma Tweak without a single bat of his eyelids. He had been there to get her groceries, prepare her food, feed her and go so far as to wash her in the final years of her life. He had taken these burdens with pride and held his head high. He followed your fiery grandmother everywhere she went, taking care of personal matters and ensuring the elder was safe at all times. Grandma had supposedly died in his arms as he was reading her passages of the bible before bed.

However König, for all his care towards your grandmother, had not been one to extend any of his hospitality towards anyone else he came across, family member or otherwise. In fact, on your last visit to your grandmother’s home (roughly five years ago, if you counted correctly), you had been slammed against a wall for daring to disturb her during an afternoon nap. You had been seconds away from being torn to shreds when a small bell had pulled König away to stand behind your grandmother, who scolded you softly for making such a ruckus. You had wanted to argue that calling her for tea was not a reason to be thrown into a wall, but had simply stayed quiet, and accepted your punishment.

For the rest of the visit, you had been (understandably) nervous around König, who snarled if you so much as took a step out of place. Your grandmother had let it happen, and waived off your  father’s urges to call off her dog. He tried explaining that you were family. She had giggled, and replied, “Family means nothing in the eyes of vultures.”

You had been desperate to get your father to sell on the slave when you learned of your grandmother’s will, but your father had been keen on the extra pair of helping hands around the shop. Indeed, it also helped to deal with an ongoing issue within the cafe, which had led to many conflicts with the customers.

You knew that you couldn’t control who you were, or who you turned out to be, but you still couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly guilty about how you had turned out. After you had started presenting as an omega omega, customers had been eager to see what they could get away with. Some had taken to mocking you, others turned to flirting with you, encouraging you to run away with them. Others had taken to scenting the cafe, becoming violent towards other customers, and on one occasion attempting to pin you down to mark you. After that incident, you had been forced to work alongside your father, who had been less than pleased to be at the front counter. Your father was much more inclined to work in the back-end of the cafe than to be forced to work with customers, and had made sure that you knew of his displeasure at every waking moment.

Indeed, life had started to become a sort of living hell for you now. You were constantly on edge around customers, barely had enough money and time to go to the pharmacy to get scent represent medications, and you were forced to endure the wrath of your father whenever you so much as clinked a glass. The one light in your life also had suffered, as your mother had fallen ill with a disease that your father couldn’t cure with over-the-counter pain medications.

You knew that if your father had more time in the back and away from you and customers, he would surely have more time to help your mother. So thus, if an extra pair of (unpaid) hands was what it took to ease up on the workload, your father was glad to jump at it. In the end you had little say when you were forced to inherit the bodyguard that had once looked over your frail grandmother.

Thus, this led to you being sat where you were, where you prepared to hand over documents to ensure that König was taken into your care. This entire exchange was what brought you to be sat out on a wooden bench, freezing and sneezing away while you waited for a delayed train to arrive and deliver the one person you’d hoped you’d never had to see again. And because your father refused to leave the cafe, he’d sent you in his stead. So there you sat, waiting and praying the train never arrived.

In the end, the wait for the train had proven to be far less painful than you’d expected. Being lost in thought, you’d shot nearly five feet in the air when you heard a loud tolling of a bell, then the low roar of an incoming train. The heavy clunking and chuffing of the wheels grinding on the tracks groaned to a painful halt in front of you. The doors of the carriage opened like a can to let out a stream of passengers fluttering by. You winced from the sound, stiffened up as the small throng of people piled out of the train and onto the platform, buzzing around you like blackflies, shooting you stinging glares as they passed you by.

In the end, you were left with three people standing in front of him. Two men dressed in grey suits were situated on either side of a tall, looming beast of a man. His face was encased in a ferocious mask, and he’d been stripped down to only a pair of dirty canvas pants held up by a hemp rope. One of the men in suits stepped forward, calling your name.

You nodded, trying but failing to suppress a particularly violent tic in your neck.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. We offer our condolences upon the death of your grandmother, Andrea Bower. However, we are glad to announce that you are now a proud owner of one König. Please understand that there are some papers for you to sign before we can let you go. And, of course, we do believe there are some payments to be made,” the first man said and stood back.

You handed them the briefcase. They opened it to examine the contents, and after a cursory glance they nodded and shut it with a click. They looked back to you with twin barren expressions. If you weren’t so nervous, you might have been able to strain yourself to describe their faces as smiling, but as it was you couldn’t read anything past their dark sunglasses. They passed you a leash that had been fastened to the muzzle of the slave, and the other patted his back.

“Please understand that as Andrea did not leave much to König, so we had to take back many of the items that König once ‘owned’. The only objects legally listed under König’s name are a mask, his personal files, and your grandmother’s diaries and paperwork. These will be brought to your home by tomorrow evening.”

The other man handed you a card, “If you have any further questions or concerns, please call your local Slave Department Headquarters for advice.”

You nodded. The man waved over his shoulder as he turned to walk out the door.

Left there on the station, alone again (aside from the other aforementioned staff), you were left holding König’s leash. With nothing left to do, you figured you needed to go home. You expected some resistance from König, but the man simply followed behind you like a dark shadow. You tried to ignore what you presumed to be König’s glare, and fished out your wallet. You had a little bit of cash, the remnants of your birthday money, then looked back to König’s (lack of) shoes. There was no way he could be comfortable walking home with just a mask and pants. No, you couldn’t let that happen.

You made your way onto the street when a sudden breeze had you shuddering. You turned back to look at your new slave. 

At that moment, with you looking at König shivering in the autumn  breeze and you tucking your jacket around you, you saw a man discarded by society. Maybe he was taken off the streets after being unable to pay for his identity card, maybe he was sold into slavery. Maybe, you shivered, he was born into this life. All you really knew was that this man had suffered enough. You couldn’t hurt him.

So thus, instead of listening to your father, you decided that you would do your best to take care of König. You turned to him shyly.

“So, you’re probably really cold. I’m cold at least. So… I’m going to get you clothes, okay?” you said as confidently as you could manage. Your father had always told you that you had to be strong in front of your slaves. Had to show them their place.

König didn’t respond, and you were left awkwardly holding the leash and shuffling from side to side in the cold. You tried to stand still, but quickly broke from the glare when a car horn startled you. You sighed and accepted defeat. This wasn’t a great start, but it was the start you got. You huffed and spun on your heel to lead König out into the small town.

Once you both were on your way, you got a chance to take a good look at König. This new mask on his face was somehow worse than the one he usually wore. He looked like an insect now. The eyes were a cavernous black, not even the blues of his eyes being able to find light in there. The rusted metal tube from his mouth was covered in a fine grate, looking almost like some crusted proboscis. When he moved, his bones twitched and stretched under his thin paper skin

He was your grandmother’s shadow, now yours. You could feel him following behind you as you walked through the streets. He haunted you as he moved. You felt like if you let go of the leash, you’d fly somewhere far away. Maybe somewhere nice and warm. Maybe somewhere where slaves were outlawed. You could fly away and never deal with König or your father or mother or anyone. You would be free.

The thrift store came up sooner than you expected. Had you really been so lost in thought? It’s a wonder you even made it. A part of you wondered if König had guided you here, but that was impossible. König had never been here before. Hell, had he ever left your grandmother’s side? You didn’t think so. It didn’t seem right.

The bell twinkled as you walked inside with a sneeze and a shiver. This was not a safe place. Only a thin layer of glass covered the antique knife set on display, and there were rows upon rows of clothes to get lost in. You had to be on your guard here. With that in mind, you grabbed the nearest basket and brought König over to the largest size of clothing you could find.

“You can’t go out in fall like that,” you muttered. You shook your head and dropped your hands to your side, limp and vapid. You took in a deep breath before turning to König.

“Let’s get you some clothes,” you offered, “it’ll be safer for you that way.”

König stood still. You felt so terribly small compared to this giant man, but you had to be brave. You had to be strong. So thus, you threw a few large shirts into the plastic basket, followed by a couple of pairs of pants, a jacket or two, and some socks and boxers. It was hard to find things in König’s size, but you were happy when you looked at your basket. But it wasn’t enough. You looked at König’s feet and frowned. You’d need to do something about that. How his feet weren’t already frostbitten was a wonder. 

You guided König over to the shoe section and glared at the unimpressive selection of footwear. The best you could find was either a pair of  red crocs, pink wellingtons, or a very heavy set of workboots. Crocs and wellingtons wouldn’t be enough to insulate König’s feet in the cold, nor would they look professional in a cafe. With a sigh, you bought the roughened work boots. You could imagine König taking these massive boots and using them to smash your head in. Shuddering, you came to the checkout and placed the clothing items on the counter. The cashier looked at you, and then followed the leash in your hand all the way up to König. She silently nodded and scanned the meagre selection you’d been able to gather. The steady beeping of items passing the scanner and being tucked into a bag was the last thing you cared about. You were far more worried about how König stood over you so hungrily.

You gulped and grabbed the bag quickly before hurrying out of the store, accidentally tugging on König’s leash along the way. You didn’t even notice how you were gasping for air once you burst out of the store. You sheepishly looked up at König. You grimaced and whispered a small apology before you turned ahead for the long walk home. You were careful to not tug on the leash anymore, or at least as much as you could be. König seemed like he was still adjusting to the new boots. You tried your best to hurry home, occasionally glancing up and startling whenever you’d lock eyes (or so you supposed, it was a bit hard to see his eyes under the muzzle).

You carefully led the man through the corridor of streets and houses. You’d lived her your entire life but you felt like you could ever really relax. You would jump at every car horn, you’d shudder when someone talked too loudly around you. You were terrified that your scent would attract someone wicked to your front door. You tried to move quickly to not let your scent really linger in any one area, but there was only so much you could do when you were forced into a coffee shop. As you neared the store, you tried to contain your urge to just book it and leave König behind in the dust.

It took ages to get to the cafe. The sun was about to duck beneath the horizon by the time you walked through the front door of your home. This small little coffee shop was probably the only place in the whole city that you could come close to calling home.You were here more than you were in your own room. If nothing else, at least you liked the coffee shop. Day and night, soothing music played through crackling speakers in the corners of the room. It was a nice, cozy cafe. This little shop had become your own little slice of paradise, and hell.

You were able to take in a deep breath, taking in the warm smell of spices and baked goods. Everything was quiet. All was right in the world.

You turned to König with a smile.

“Well, welcome home I guess,” your smile faltered as you looked at his blank mask.

You looked around the room and took it all in. Now that you had König, everything seemed different, but just the same. Now that König was here, you could have someone dust the rafters after work. Your dad was always harping on you to get it done, but even with a ladder you couldn’t possibly reach. You tried to explain that you were an omega, and omega O at that, but your father wouldn’t have it. He swore up and down about it, but there was nothing he could do to change your biology.

You were looking at the rafters when you heard a series of thuds coming from behind you. You could feel the hairs on the back of your neck raise as you turned to face the opening door.

Your father looked König up and down with a frown. He ran one hand through his full beard and looked at you.

“What’s this?” he asked gruffly.

“I got König from the train station sir,” you offered hopefully.

Your father glared at the bags in your hands.

“I got him some clothes,” you explained nervously, “I just thought he needed to look presentable for the cafe.

Your father narrowed his beady eyes, but he gave you a curt nod.

“Good thinking,” he grumbled, “but still, the money comes out of your paycheck. König’s your responsibility, not mine.”

You nodded shakily as your father made his was across the floor to stand in front of König. He glared at the mask before turning to you.

“What’s with this?” he raised a meaty hand to König’s mask.

“I didn’t put it on,” you furrowed your eyebrows as you looked at König, “I think they put it on him when they were transporting him.”

Your father slipped a hand into his back pocket and gave König a once-over.

“Whelp, he’d better do his job,” your father shrugged, “I’ve had it up to here with those sick fucks coming into the cafe.”

You nodded along. For once, you couldn’t agree more with your dad. Ever since you’d presented your tertiary gender, you hadn’t had a day of peace. Everyone seemed like they wanted a piece of a newly presented omega O. It was just unfortunate that you were on the receiving end of it all.

Your dad reached up and grabbed König’s chin, turning him side to side before plucking at hsi shirt with a grunt.

“Is something wrong?” you asked as you watched your father unclip König’s leash.

“He just seems… Different,” your dad muttered, “smaller. Did they do something to him? He looks like a scrawny wimp now. You sure he can manage to take care of you?”

“I mean, I think he must’ve lost a little weight after grandma died,” you offered, “König was always really close to her.”

“Too close, if you ask me,” your father added as he stepped back. He put his fists on his hips with a frown. “You’d better go get him settled in. You’re both up early tomorrow. And König,” your father’s eyes narrowed to mean slits, “don’t fuck this up.”

König gave him the slightest nod, but it was enough to satisfy your father.

“You go get your room ready, alright?” your father started up the stairs as you squeaked.

“My room? Isn’t König getting his own room?” you asked.

“What?” your father cast you a glare over your shoulder, “and put him where? There’s no more space.”

“But don’t we have the spare-”

“No.”

You watched silently as your father plodded back up the stairs. He slowly trudged up and out of view, leaving you alone with the buz of the heater and the smell of burnt coffee beans.

“So, that’s my dad,” you said, shuddering and turning around to look at König, “I guess he hasn’t really changed much since you last saw him.”

You looked up at König and frowned. You couldn’t really see much in this lighting. Maybe tomorrow you’d get König to change a couple of the lightbulbs. With the thought in mind, you fumbled around in the dark to follow your father up the stairs, only stopping briefly to flick the lights off once you reached the top.

You slowly made your way past your father’s room and to the kitchen. You looked at König and then at the fridge.

“Do you want something to eat?” you asked.

König stared at you blankly.

You nodded and turned ahead to your room, “I’ll get us something later then.”

You made your way to your bedroom without another word. Once inside, you glanced around the cramped room before looking back at König.

“Do you want to sit down?” you asked softly. “It’s okay to sit. I know you’ve been on your feet all day.”

König didn’t look at you. You didn’t think he even heard you until he lowered himself to lightly perch on the very end of your tiny bed. You glanced at your bed, and then at König. 

Without another word, you carefully pulled out a file from under your jacket and flipped it open. The first pages seemed to be detailed notes of König’s body. From the looks of it, König was only about five years older than you. With the way he looked, you’d thought he was at least a decade older than that. You glanced at the next set of stats. At the very top it listed König’s height, a startling six foot ten that completely dwarfed you’s meager frame. You looked down at your twin size mattress again. It wasn’t like König could sleep on the floor. You could, but you didn’t want to do any more damage to your already aching back. This room was crammed as tightly as it could be. The wardrobe at the foot of your bed only had just enough room to open enough to squeeze into the drawers and the table and chair to the left of your bed served a dual purpose of being both a desk and a nightstand. It was so packed in that you couldn’t imagine where König could possibly fit in.

You looked around and bit your lip. The ground was cold and hard. You internally cursed your father for not just setting up a cot in the stockroom at the very least, but it was of no use. You figured you’d just have to get used to König very, very, quickly.

You turned to said man, and stared at his heavy mask. “Hey, um, I’m going to take that off, ok?” you said and stood to face König.

You leaned in and tried to undo the fiddly clasps. There were so many hooks and rings and clasps and buckles; it was ridiculous. How did they even put this on in the first place? Why did they put it on? König had never been muzzled by your grandmother, even though he was an alpha. You never understood how brave she was, but you admired it anyways. If König could be good with your grandmother, then maybe you could trust him without a muzzle too. You let out a little harrumph and crawled onto the bed behind König to continue. God, it was complicated even from this angle! You shook your head and continued using your nimble fingers to undo the straps, wincing as you saw the red imprints they left behind. You finally managed to make a breakthrough and returned back to standing in front of König.

“Nearly there!” you chirped and continued to fiddle away. You cursed under your breath when you accidentally made a strap tighter and hurriedly undid it with a muttered apology. You had no idea why they would have this on so tight. Something wasn’t right about this.

You gave a final yank and winced when the final buckle was undone. The mask was now splayed open like a pair of perverse butterfly wings, still was held firmly in place. Your face slowly dropped in horror. There’s no way… That would just be too much…

“Did they… Did they glue this on?” you whispered, but König shook his head ever so slightly. He hesitantly raised a weathered hand and gestured at his jaw underneath the mask.

You were a bit confused and looked under his jaw. You could really barely see what you were doing in this light. You gingerly traced your fingers along his neck but didn’t feel much besides a greasy beard and tough skin. You pulled back and hummed. You were so confused. What was König trying to tell you? You gripped the mask firmly and pulled hard. König was wrenched forwards but pulled back on the post beside him. You put a foot up on the bed to pull back harder, and grunted with effort. Why was this mask on so fucking tight?

You let out another grunt but stopped when König let out a low, growling moan. “Shit, right. Sorry König,” you whispered and stepped back. You put a finger on your chin and hummed again. “What the fuck is keeping that thing on if it isn’t glue?” you paled, “Oh my God do they stitch it in place?”

König shook his head, again gesturing to his jaw. You clucked your tongue and checked König’s jaw again. You looked closer, closer and closer until you gasped. You saw a small set of straps firmly embedded in König’s jaw. A thin line of blood was flowing out from when you’d pulled on the mask.

“Your jaw… You can’t even open your mouth with this on, can you,” you whispered and König bobbed his head, jabbing the straps in further.

You turned to rummage through your shelves for a bit. You grinned when you came across a pair of scissors and turned back to König. 

“I’m gonna be as gentle as I can be here,” you whispered and carefully moved the scissors under the strap.

König tensed, but he held still as you managed to snip the strap off. You carefully tugged the barb out of König’s jaw, hissing as it kept coming out. In total, you estimated the barb to be at least an inch long. You shuddered at the sight.

König shuffled and leaned his face to the other side so that you could get a good view in the yellow-orange light. It was easier the second time, but you still winced as you pulled the barb out of his jaw. You’d have to get the medicine kit in the bathroom after this for sure. 

Despite the resistance, the straps in König’s jaw were now off and the barbs were out. Evidently, this was some primitive way to force König’s jaw tightly shut. yYu supposed König wasn’t meant to have the barbs so deeply buried in, but you had a stronger feeling that König didn’t give a damn. The fact that he hadn’t even winced once through the entire walk home blew your mind.

With König’s jaw now able to open up, you were finally able to pull the mask free. You pulled it down, and stared in horror at what was inside the mask. Right where König’s mouth would be was a short metal pipe. The inside was caked with what looked like mouldy food. Even from at arm’s reach you gagged at the smell. You rushed to the bathroom and rinsed it out, feeling more than a bit sick as you pushed your fingers down the pipe to get all the gunk out

You held the mask in your hands and shook your head. After a minute, you looked up in the bathroom mirror. Your eyes looked puffy. When you touched them, they felt wet and sore. At some point you must’ve been crying. When did you do that? You looked down at the mask in your hands. Slowly, ever so slowly, you raised the mask up until it covered your face. In the mirror, you looked like a monster. You looked so frightening that it was hard to remember that there was a human under all of it. You stared in the mirror, debating if there really was a person under the mask after all.

Konig Dump

Konig Alternative Universes

A/B/O Sci-Fi Slavery

[batnip]

Reversed Karma AU

A Rainworld Alternate Universe.

...

 The.. triple affirmative has been found- the affirmative that a ..solution has been found, the affirmative that the..solution is portable, and the affirmative that technical implementation is possible and generally applicable.

I remember that cycle... ancients swarmed the stuff, only privilege given to the founder, Sliver of Straw, was leaving us first.

And then cycle by cycle, our parents left..

Spoilered for absurd about of text, and general spoilers.

Saint never wanted to ascend anything. And by the time every last ancient was dead and gone, cycles passed, and structures fell. The green fuzzy thing was not once fuzzy, growing a coat as the rain sent by iterators stopped.

- - So it trailed along, guilty for what was not its fault, bringing iterators to life again. With a new name, [Pilgrim].

-- Footnote : Karma needs are reversed with the Pilgrim. Dying will up their karma, surviving will lower it. Secret passages will be added to cross gates you cannot with low karma, as it is needed to progress. =======================================

Rivulet is an odd case. I wanted them to obviously give rarefaction cells, as they did to Moon originally. So the tale goes they were created by a rebellious, younger Ancient who was fond of life and the cycle. One who refused the common ideals.

-- The swift little mouse they created, was given their own ability to create low-density rarefaction cells (singularity bombs) and refine them into more high-quality cells which the Ancient learned themself.

-- As soon as the news was spread to the general public of the triple affirmative, they sent the [Technician] out into the world, wearing several pearls describing their mission. ===========

Monk and Survivor lived with their colony, and were sent to scout a new home for the colony by the [Mapmaker]. They are named [Guard] and [Scout] in Reversed Karma. They brought Scout's two slugpups with them, even if the journey was dangerous, finding a new home for Scout pups was important to both Scout and their Sibling.

-- They find the tree in journey's end, Guard staying with the pups there as Scout tells the rest of the colony, including the leader, Mapmaker.

-- Footnote: Monk still brings Moon her cloak and several pearls. =========================================

The [Mapmaker] replaces Gourmand in Reversed Karma, making a map for their colony to follow. They are the leader of their colony.

-- Very similar to vanilla, leaving current living to the tree, showing the colony to the new home.

-- Footnote : Rain is beginning to return to normal, without cold mechanic. =====================================

The [Traveler] replaces Hunter in Reversed Karma, created by Five Pebbles to check on the local group. They spawn in the grounds of Unparralled Innocence. They do not have the Rot due to Five Pebbles more careful creation of a purposed organism compared to No Significant Harrassment.

-- Footnote : Cold mechanics are in work in these areas, as UI and CW were revived later than LTTM and FP.

-- Footnote : You may optionally visit Chasing Wind. ==========

The [Mother] replaces Artificer in Reversed Karma. Their slugpups are both alive, with the same explosive quality. They give Pebbles back his cloak and become a citizen after Sofanthiel locks onto them.

-- Footnote : Mother has bad reputation with scavengers due to passing tolls without payment before the campaign. They get a backspear due to one less hand slot having two pups.

-- Footnote : Rain has returned to normal.

-- Footnote : Mother has reduced food needs compared to vanilla Artificer due to needing to feed their pups. ===============

The [Messenger] replaces Spearmaster in Reversed Karma. They were created by Seven Red Suns to send messages between them and their friends, similar to [Traveler]'s check-ins with other iterators.

-- Footnote : Messenger has a mouth, and cannot duel wield spears.

================================================

A note from the OP: I hope you like them.. I've been wanting to show them off for a while. One of my headcannons for iterators was that the natural urges are coded into them with anti-ascension stuff. Like. Make ascension for us, but not for you. This is why they were wildly unsuccessful in finding the triple affirmative. Also.. Tumblr nuked quality of my image :c If u read all this and liked it perhaps a rb?? also hehe funny number thank u all

[sixeyescurseuser]

Thinking about figure skater Gojo who tirelessly trains to qualify and compete at the next Olympic Games.

Gojo is such a legend in the skating world, very well known for his jaw-dropping, difficult performances, handsome looks, and charming personality! He was built for the spotlight.

Naturally, he has many global fans, fan accounts, and ordinary people who follow his career.

People who meet Gojo in-person after having only seen him on tv are shocked at how tall he is, yet manages to skate so well. All those triple and quad axels? And the amount of grace and power he skates with is insane considering his build. 

Once, an interviewer asks Gojo what other skaters he admires? Gojo talks about a few current big names, then sneaks in a mention of, “Oh, Suguru is also in my list , hehe.”

The interviewer chuckles alongside him, yet can’t help but ask, “Suguru…who?”

Later, Geto Suguru nearly spits out his water while watching the interview posted on Youtube. He doesn’t hesitate to text his boyfriend.

Geto: “Why do you keep bringing me up? I literally just skated in high school 😭”

Gojo sends back an old video of Geto’s skating routine from a regional competition: ❤️❤️

Geto: “WHY DO YOU STILL HAVE THIS?”

Gojo: “heyyy >:(“

Gojo: “It makes me happy 🥰 I loved watching you”

***

Growing up, Gojo and Geto skated at the same club.  But while Gojo continued skating as his professional career after, Geto dropped skating in order to focus on his academics in college.

Gojo often reminisces on the long practices they had where they would watch each other run through their routines and give each other feedback, when they would mess around and throw the craziest combinations just for shits and giggles.

He didn’t realize their time together on the rink would be so short in the long run, but they began dating when they were only sixteen, and have been going strong together since.

Gojo is still lucky to have Suguru to come home to after his long days at the rink.  

After college, Geto went on to become a marine biologist, where he does a lot of work in ocean wildlife conservation. He’s either on a boat collecting data for research or in the lab analyzing his sample results. 

Gojo is not only busy training in Japan, but he also frequently travels to train in different countries. Gojo receives lots of updates from Suguru in the form of selfies and blurry photos with ocean wildlife or results from the lab.

Suguru in the lab with his ppe (personal protection equipment). Suguru wearing his wet suit while investigating algae farms. Suguru smiling while holding a crab.  

Gojo makes the last one his lock screen. Suguru just looks so cute with his hair pulled back, and when Gojo holds his finger down on the live photo, he can hear Suguru’s voice talking in baby to the crab.

(Geto’s wallpaper is a selfie of them when they were teens.)

Geto gets super excited telling Gojo about his new findings, taking the time to explain different facts and technical terms. Gojo eagerly nods along on the phone and asks questions, commenting, “No way! The algae increased nearly double the amount with your XXX solution? That’s amazing!”

***

Gojo loves what he does, but it’s always a relief to come back home and find his comfort place in Suguru’s arms. 

Nothing beats taking a shower and raiding Suguru’s closet after, cooking dinner with his boyfriend, and then cuddles on the couch.

The first thing they see when they turn on the tv is a sports reporter announcing Gojo Satoru's third national championship title, and what it means for the road to the Olympics.

“Oh wow, this guy is on a roll. He should train for the Olympics or something,” Geto says.

Gojo simply buries face in Suguru’s neck and snickers: “Or something.”

***

Once, while getting ready to sleep one night, Gojo whispers in Geto’s: “Remember that one time you ripped your pants during the Junior Grand Prix?”

Geto doesn’t react at first.

Then, without warning, he tries to smother his boyfriend with his pillow.

***

One of the best memories is when Geto surprised Gojo by showing up in-person to one of the abroad competitions. 

In the middle of his post-win interview, still in his competition suit, makeup dewey and hair fluffy, Gojo suddenly spots a familiar face behind one of the paparazzi. 

Gojo is literally mid-answer when he locks in and SPRINTS to get his boyfriend in his arms.

“Suguru!!” Gojo shouts. He’s already leaping and oh, Suguru’s arms readily catch him. 

Geto laughs with his whole chest, squeezing tightly around Gojo’s middle.

“Hello, darling.”

Gojo has to finish the interview but he’s so bubbly now because teehee Suguru is right there and watching proudly. 

Gojo needs him in his bed immediately.

After the interview, Geto explains he got his lab assistants to cover their project for the next week so he could fly out and visit Gojo in Australia!

Gojo happily drags Geto back to his hotel room,  giggling and babbling about the plans they could have for the next week. The couple excitedly discuss outings to art and performance events, to the beach, even the zoo - which Geto is ecstatic for. 

Upon entering the hotel room, Geto quickly drops his luggage off in the corner. Gojo is still yapping when Geto suddenly walks him backwards to the bed. 

The back of Gojo’s knees hit the edge and he falls back with an “oof!”

Geto smoothly crawls on top to lay his whole body weight on his boyfriend’s. 

Gojo chuckles. He combs through Suguru’s hair and continues his talking, knowing Suguru is tired from traveling and this will help them both relax.

Gojo gradually runs out of things to say, and the soft breaths against his neck tell him yep, he unfortunately needs to poke his boyfriend awake so they can both shower and freshen up before bed.

Gojo pats Geto’s lower back. “Suguru, wakey wakey.”

No response.

Pat pat on the lower back again, then smoothing his hands up to pat the upper-back.

“Babyyy, wake up. We need to shower. And eat.”

Geto offers a protesting grunt, then nuzzles against Gojo’s neck.

This leaves Gojo no choice.

He sneaks a hand down to pinch Geto’s ass.

“Ouch- hey what the fuck?”

Gojo yelps when he feels Suguru pinch his nipple in retaliation, then rolls off Gojo’s body to head toward the bathroom.

Five minutes later, the couple shower together while casually recapping the results of the skating event.

“Any feedback for me today?” Gojo asks. Geto hums, more focused on massaging the shampoo into Gojo’s hair. He applies the perfect amount of pressure that makes Gojo moan in appreciation.

“The only feedback I have is that you look amazing out there, Satoru. All the hard work you put into training clearly pays off. I am so so proud of you,” Geto says, dropping a kiss to Gojo’s nape.

Gojo preens, and completely surrenders himself to his boyfriend's tender touches.

[vossprime]

20 Questions: Writing Edition

Tagged by the Inquisition herself ( @inquisitornocturn ), thank you, this looks so fun!

How many works do you have on ao3?

23!

What’s your total ao3 word count?

102,210

What are your top five fics by kudos?

Mechanical; Medicinal (Rogue Trader)

Absolute / Obedience (BG3)

Systematical; Sacrificial (Rogue Trader)

I don't know where to put my hands (Metro 2033)

Blood in the Water (WH40K)

What fandoms do you write for?

WH40K, broadly speaking.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! I try to respond to all of them simply because they spark an endless well of joy in me and most often inspire me to say something in return. Also whenever I comment I love replies as well, so I try to keep that going.

What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Once I fucking sit down and continue Blackwater Days you will all see-

From my recent ones, on the principle of want (RT, Achilleas x Heinrix) comes to mind. Not for the plot, necessarily, which is more sorrowful than angsty, but the last line:

For a moment Heinrix wants to kiss him awake, kiss him goodbye.  The Interrogator breathes once, twice, then turns on his heel and leaves the room.

It was a deliberate choice to contrast Heinrix with his title here, that was my special little treat to myself. I gain another health bar anytime someone points it out.

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Ironic, given the title, but Bellicose Hearts (Horus Heresy). It was written as a gift and a challenge for @mortallyperfecttimemachine and the theme was humor and fluff, so it ended on a nice note. A photo together. The remembrancers are happy. Keeler is there. Karkasy is alive. Isstvan is far away.

Do you get hate on fics?

Not directly! My comments are locked to registered accounts only, that seems to dissuade the obvious bots and trolls. Always fond of the ask I got that was just a "👎" tho.

Do you write smut?

In theory yes, in practice I have been told my smut is just character studies in disguise. My most popular fics stay the ones that were exclusively written with my [redacted] though.

Do you write crossovers?

Not really - most often they don't hold any appeal for me.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

No, but I'm already being vagued /j - SOON.

What’s your all time favourite ship?

You're asking someone who has a brain like a sieve and triple-wields ships until polyamory is the only sensible solution :D

What’s the wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

None. I plan to see everything through. If it takes 10 years, it takes 10 years. Farseer grindset.

What are your writing strengths?

Prose, poetry, evocative imagery.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue. Who came up with this. Is it not enough to communicate through 4-6 intricately crafted metaphors and call it a day? Hell world.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

Provided I am writing in English, I provide translation in the footnotes and try not to have it drag on for too long. I do enjoy some language variety in fic, though. Dirty Talk in another language? Elite. Sadly I come from the language the absolute least suited for writing this.

First fandom you wrote for?

The first one I published for was Metro 2033, the book. The first one I wrote was for a mobile game called The Arcana. Don't judge me, a bitch saw tarot themes and a pointy-toothed nonbinary vivisection freak and decided he just might. A true freak from day one - you can tell why I like Tervantias.

Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

I'm going to level with you. It will always be the last one. I grow and evolve with each piece and whatever I have last put out will be my pride and joy at that very moment. However, Blackwater Days (which I still plan to bring past chapter 1, it's just sitting in my drafts all disjointed and none of like 5 chapters empty but none ready either) will always be close to my heart for how much planning, fantasizing and worldbuilding happened around it. Those three hour discussions with my roommate on military strategy are sacred.

Tagging: Let me gather my irl squad for a second: @definitely-not-iorveth @mortallyperfecttimemachine , @goofgoofdildo , @ineadhyn , I'd be really interested to hear if you feel like it!

[wellspilled]

three’s a crowd ⚾︎ a. volpe + a. wells

three's a crowd, you've come to find out. kind of welpe x reader if you squint really hard. this has a happy ending (eventually)

"Want a sip?"

Your head lolls off of the cheap hotel pillow, trying to see what Austin is offering in your sideways position. A can of what looks like a Twisted Tea is held in his hand, and you shake your head.

"Game's early tomorrow," Anthony chimes in, saying what you were thinking. He does it a lot, somehow always beating you to the punch.

Not like you mind.

"Where did you even stow that in your luggage?" you question, forcing yourself into a sitting position as Austin grins.

"Not my secret to tell."

Your phone buzzes with an unread text. A quick glance says that it's from Aaron. You're not sure if it's Judge or Boone.

The three of you had never been assigned a room together. It was always Austin and Anthony, or you and Austin, or you and Anthony. Tripling up on rooms was incredibly rare with the Yankees' stupidly high travel budget.

But the three of you always found yourselves staying over together anyways. The lonely third would gravitate towards the other two, and you'd spend the night getting drunk off of the hotel minibar and pretending not to be hungover on the flight to the next series.

Rinse and repeat. It was a comfortable routine.

You had a feeling that the team knew. Nobody was mean about it, not really, but a few too many "Where's your third?" questions towards Anthony and Austin made your skin crawl.

The three of you weren't dating. That had been made clear. You'd asked, only once, when Austin let you wear a pair of his boxers to bed. Anthony was asleep, and the two of you had to roll him over to try and squish three major league baseball players into a double bed.

"What is this?"

You'd regretted it as soon as you asked, when you felt how the hand that was warming your hip twitched in surprise. Your face warmed with embarrassment when Austin scrubbed a hand down his face, and you instinctively forced yourself as far back to the edge of the bed as you could go.

"Do we have to talk about it right now?"

And that was that.

You watch as Anthony takes a drink, and you force your eyes down at your phone once more. It's Boone, you finally realize, sending you game footage to review for tomorrow. A weird, angry, turmoiling part of you wants to leave the room. Make up some bullshit excuse about your roommate (it's Giancarlo this time) locking himself out of the hotel room.

You busy yourself with watching the footage, gnawing on the inside of your cheek. You'd made a stupid error today, bobbled a throw to get a runner out at third, and you were still irritated about it.

You lean back against the headboard, partially listening to Anthony and Austin talking. You really should be paying more attention to the game footage. You're still young, have a lot of obvious talent and opportunity, but you'll get nowhere messing up routine plays.

You glance over at your teammates, who seem to be watching a video on Anthony's phone. You're not sure what it is, but they're giggling like it's the funniest thing they've ever seen.

It's weird, to be near them like this. You're in their inner circle, but you somehow still feel like an outsider. It's how it feels on the field, too. You, deep in the outfield, watching the two of them work the infield like magic. You don't mind most of the time- you've always been an outfielder, and it's where you're comfortable.

They played together for years, built a tight bond, even lived together. You all got called up at the same time, and you cemented yourself into their lives. Two turned into three.

It doesn't feel like that now. Not anymore.

You turn your phone off, footage abandoned. The solution is simple: get your head out of your ass.

"Think 'm gonna go back to my room," your murmur, sliding off of the bed and rubbing at your eyes. It's nearly two in the morning, and you all have an early call at the stadium tomorrow.

"Why?" Anthony asks, frowning like a little kid. It would be endearing if you weren't so exhausted.

"Just need to be alone. Or something," you comment, waving a hand in the air like that'll explain everything. They're both staring now, and it makes your stomach hurt.

“You okay?" Anthony asks, and you nod. Austin's silence unnerves you, but you decide not to acknowledge it.

"I just feel shitty after today. G's gonna be asleep anyways, so," you comment, forcing your shoes on as you search for your room key. Anthony hands it over wordlessly, and you thank him under your breath.

They let you leave without another word.

The next day finds you lingering in left field, feeling the sting of a sunburn settling on your cheeks. You adjust your stance as you watch one of the Rangers hit a popup directly towards Anthony.

He catches it with ease, and you watch as the Rangers player on third base bolts home after tagging up. The crowd roars as Anthony throws it home, Austin finishing the job with a tag to his hand.

Unease swirls in your chest as they meet each other just outside the dugout, giving a quick high five and pat on the back. The two of them. Just them.

Before you can even blink, Trent and Aaron are at your side, seemingly confused that you'd remained in left field after three outs.

"You good?" Aaron asks, patting your shoulder as a polite way of saying 'get your ass to the dugout.'

"Fine," you nod, pulling your cap down further over your eyes as the three of you break into a jog, "just watching."

-

robin's notes: wow okay this was so fun! originally this went a challengers route but i abandoned it for misery instead. lmao. might have to do a challengers type thing at some point though ;)

[violetmuses]

Fool Me Once - R. Reigns ❤️‍🩹

Fandom: WWE

Character: Roman Reigns

Pairing: Roman Reigns + Female Reader

Author’s Note: Hi! Should I continue ideas with this pairing? Feedback would be greatly appreciated and thank you so much for reading my work! - V. 💜

@thekittysmeow 🏷

======

Called to travel out of nowhere, your footsteps moved with purpose this evening as you headed to the training hall. Even officials and longtime security guards almost held their breath.

After losing this surreal Triple Threat match between rivals Seth Rollins and CM Punk, modern legend Roman Reigns hadn’t faced serious injuries, but locked himself in one of the medical rooms.

You didn't know what to think yet, especially when the production team stopped rolling cameras.

“Hello, may I come in?” Gently knocking on this private door, you tried to introduce yourself. Maybe someone else with a different voice would turn his attention elsewhere.

Before you considered talking inside, the door creaked open.

Still walking shirtless, Roman slowed the arrogant march of custom-made sneakers as tribal ink would scale down his muscular frame.

As this graying beard welcomed that perfect jawline, dark tresses shadowed near his chiseled features.

To make matters even worse as you faced this one man, his deep and powerful brown eyes just looked hollow, exhausted.

Damn. You thought. What can I actually do?

Soon enough, haunting eyes locked with your gaze and everything paused. You never crossed paths with him before, yet tales and nightmares flashed whispers of his dark side.

Nothing about this encounter seemed terrifying.

In fact, Reigns himself could be troubled.

“We have to go..” His Southern accent nearly wavered through shaking breaths when Roman looked at you.

“What, what’s wrong? The building hasn’t closed yet.” You tried to meet this chance halfway. There’s no other option until Roman explained himself.

“I just lost everything.” His tone almost trembled and started drifting piece by piece. “Do you think I'm a failure?”

“No.” You answered this complete stranger as those brown eyes latched each word. “Just follow us out of here first.”

“Yes, Ma'am.” Pulling himself together by miracles, Roman straightened posture and found this t-shirt in the medical room, trailing your lead with respect.

*****

Joining this hotel for “Wrestlemania” at the last minute, you struggled to move along as Roman walked down the hallway and still looked defeated.

“Rest.” You tried one solution. Experts couldn't figure out his immediate problem. “I'll have to leave unless…”

“Don't…” Reigns stepped forward and almost towered beyond height, but his glare kept shattering your presence.

Tired. He looked so tired.

And you realized that no amount of dreams could change what just happened.

______

“Who are you?” Roman's question lingered between shadows of moonlight while you both laid down on the floor and watched this chandelier, grounding concentration. Distractions might help for a while.

“Professional…” You said, quietly guiding his direction back up. Reigns understood.

“No. Outside of work, who are you?” Roman leveled the importance back.

“Just another person.” Though feeling grateful about your own life, there's nothing special.

“That's not true.” Roman would offer his perspective now. "You booked a random flight just to help me.”

“I couldn't refuse.” You'll never forget that unexpected number on your phone. “You wouldn't budge.”

“Thank you.” Reigns helped you stand up and moved to the kitchen table, offering distance for boundaries.

“Of course.” This evening moved deeper than assistance. “Do you feel any better?”

“No, but I could be. Good night.” Reigns watched you straightened up and walked back down the hall, giving Roman space for this time since meeting each other.

Fuck. Reigns closed the door, breaking down in private.

[sleepingdeath-light]

yandere hcs ; astronaut cookie

requested by ; anonymous (08/12/24)

fandom(s) ; cookie run

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | specific

character(s) ; astronaut cookie

outline ; “can I request yandere astronaut cookie or agent jjajang cookie hcs?”

warning(s) ; subtle yandere!astronaut cookie, paranoia, obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour, clinginess

astronaut cookie is someone who is very familiar with loss and with just how dangerous space can be. sure she’s still enamoured by the beauty of the cosmos and is still deeply passionate about learning all she possibly can about other worlds and their inhabitants, but after being separated from her crew and witnessing the destruction of planet xylitol she’s painfully aware of how bad things can get — and now that she has you she’s terrified of losing you as well

for the most part she masks these fears well, or at least well enough that you don’t notice anything out of the ordinary aside from her occasional vivid night terrors and how strict she is about you following safety procedures whenever you step foot out of the ship

but outside of that your relationship with her isn’t all that affected by her yandere state — primarily because she’s extremely aware of the fact that her behaviour isn’t normal and she does whatever she can to try and correct or minimise it so she doesn’t ruin your relationship

… aside from her slightly possessive streak. how she always either sticks right by your side or keeps her eyes locked on you whenever you’re talking to someone. how she signals in every possible way she can, across language barriers and cultural norms from planet to planet, that you’re taken and they have no chance of taking you from her. how, while she would never resort to cruelty or violence or disrespect, she’s quick to ask one of your crew mates to step in for you next time you need to talk to that person because seeing you that happy with someone else horrifies her (she can’t lose anyone else)

… and her obsession with keeping you safe and close by. how when you’re on the ship she insists on you sitting and sleeping right beside her. how she double, triple, and quadruple checks the ties and locks on your suit and helmet, and has the bots check over your vital systems a dozen times over, before she even considers letting you off of the ship. how she always makes sure to place herself squarely between you and any new life forms you meet just in case they’re not so friendly. how she always needs to be touching you in some way when you’re relaxing together (hand holding, grasping your thigh when you’re sat side-by side, sitting or standing so close to you that the lack of space borders on suffocating, etc.).

… and how she acts whenever it’s clear that another person is trying to get close to you. how her demeanour shifts from polite but curious to cold and cautious, barely perceptible except to those who know her the best. how she makes a point to call you her partner in ways that her translator will consistently pick up on in just about every sentence until they get the picture. how she’ll insist on the two of you going off alone for an impromptu date while the boys deal with the locals, making sure that it’s clear that you’re an item and the other person never had a chance with you. how quiet and withdrawn and agitated she gets whenever she feels like you’re being too friendly with someone else (obvious even though she never mentions it to anyone else; she knows how irrational her thoughts and behaviours are, after all, she just can’t stop herself)

… and how much more receptive she is to your assurance and praise than she is anyone else. how she clings to you like she’s afraid you’ll disappear the second she let’s go or looks away. how you’re able to soothe her troubled mind after a nightmare or a horrid mission with as little as a few words and a hug. how she always looks to you first for praise whenever she finds a solution to something that the crew have been struggling with. how she draws in on herself whenever you offer that same encouragement and praise to others (especially other women in the group), and how she’ll come back out of her slump when your attention is solely back on her once again.

but none of those things come up all that often, so it’s all too easy to brush them off whenever someone brings them up to you

after all, it’s not like she’s ever going to hurt anyone so what’s the harm in her being a bit clingy sometimes?

[aita-blorbos]

Am I The Asshole For Trying to Ascend, Lying to my Local Group, and Hurting The Senior of The Group?

⭕️❌ To find later hehe

I’m unfamiliar with this entire “site” thing. However I will do my best to use it.

So. I’m something called an iterator. I, as well as my local group, were created to help solve the Great Problem. To shorten my explanation and put it simply; the Great Problem is being locked into a endless cycle of life and death. The Solution to the Great Problem is escaping the cycle and ascending or permanently passing on without reincarnating. One iterator of my local group, who we may call Sliver, figured out the Solution and gave us all the Triple Affirmative before cutting communications and from what we all believe, ascending. Sliver has been to only iterator that I know of to ascend successfully. With her ascension came a small following of iterators who wish to replicate such an event. They are called Sliverists and I am not entirely proud to call myself one. Considering my relations with other iterators, I decided to interact with a small group of Sliverists under the alias of Erratic Pulse or EP. As I masqueraded as this EP, I learned more about ascension and gained theories and ideas as to how to achieve such a thing. Once I knew enough, I decided to cut communications off with everyone and start extracting more fuel than usual to prepare for my attempt at ascension. You may think “Alright, this isn’t bad, how could this iterator be an asshole?”, however I am located close to our senior iterator who we can call Moon. Moon and I share a power source so to take more fuel is to threaten her functionality. However, if I get to ascend, she’d be fine. So when I gained more fuel, I began my attempt at ascension. I consumed quite a large amount of fuel; enough to cause Moon to be alerted and try to reach out. Of course, my communications were off so she couldn’t reach me. As I continued and was close to finally ascending, Moon forced a message through and distracted me. I believe after this, she lost power, but I haven’t tried to talk to anyone since my failed ascension. Anywho, as she interrupted, I was distracted and it led to my attempt failing and this thing that I have decided to call Rot formed. Rot is a disgusting, parasitic disease-like abomination. And it had formed and latched to me. So due to Moon’s interference with my ascension, she is powered off and I have Rot. So, Am I The Asshole?

[inkformyblood]

something sweet something new (CWFKB #15)

Fill for Tender kiss, obligatory coffee shop AU, modern setting @codywanfirstkissbingo

The bell above the door chimes and Obi-Wan swallows back a groan along with the scaldingly sweet dregs of his drink. The limited edition syrups wash over his palette with all of the subtlety of the line woven around the scant handful of tables, expectant eyes locking onto Obi-Wan. It isn’t too far away from how he watches Cody; a desperate clawing hunger that can only be blunted and never satiated, and Obi-Wan smiles at the next customer in the queue, an old ache beginning to burrow into his cheeks. 

“Welcome! What can I get for you?”

In the moments between, amongst the hissing rush of steam from the failing coffee machine and the whir of the grinder that makes its displeasure known each and every time it deigns to function, Obi-Wan watches Cody. His apron is neatly tied around his waist, the deep red of the festive accessories perfectly complimenting his dark eyes and hair, the golden wash of glitter streaked over his cheekbones, and his shirt has something emblazoned across it beneath his apron that Obi-Wan can just make out the shape of. A mug lands on the saucer in front of Obi-Wan, mismatched red to the delicate floral pattern emblazoned around the rim of the plate, and he blinks down at it, his thoughts disrupted and crashing into each other in one glorious pile-up. He has the large iced mocha already set to one side, just waiting the whipped cream and skin-staining sprinkles to adorn it, and the triple shot latte which barely passes muster but he knows the dead-eyed stare of the regular well enough by now and he can remember his own days as a student vividly so he doesn’t argue, so what is the newest concoction that Cody had delivered to him? He glances up, raising his brows at Cody in a silent question. 

“It’s for you,” Cody calls, grinning widely over at Obi-Wan and his heart stutters to an expectant stop in his chest, restarting when Obi-Wan coughs, a flush overtaking his face, and he looks away. Cody continues, unperturbed. “Let me know what you think.”

There isn’t much of a lull during the festive season, what would have been long stretches of time with minimal foot traffic and too many hours since his break and to quitting time at once are now disjointed and impossible to predict. The mug sits untouched until the current rush subsides, barely enough space to think let alone hide behind the bulk of the coffee machine to sip at the mug. It haunts him, however, the thought of it innocently huddled on the counterr, doing nothing more than existing but Obi-Wan is consumed by it. “Thank you!” Obi-Wan repeats, his grin verging on plastic, as artificial as the sweetness lingering over the back of his tongue and the canned music spilling from the speakers. It is a small mercy that it is a collection of instrumental tracks instead of the hit singles that would make his ears bleed by the second shift. 

Cody hums along with the music, punctuating the beat by tapping a pen against the top of the register. It is a heavyset machine, the buttons polished to high sheen, and the gentle hits from Cody reverberate dully beneath the offbeat tune. Obi-Wan drifts back to his usual spot and picks up the mug. It’s cooled somewhat but still has some warmth lingering so Obi-Wan sets his back against the counter as he picks it up, shielding himself from any potential customers who would wander in for the next couple of minutes. The drink is sweet, warmed through with spices and Obi-Wan groans into the mug, tipping his head back as he drains it. 

“Good?” Cody slides along the counter, picking up a cloth from the cleaning solution and beginning to wipe down the already clean wood. He’s a line of heat against Obi-Wan’s side, a blessing given the thin fabric of his shirt as he had discarded his jumper into the breakroom several hours ago. 

Obi-Wan nods, his teeth knocking against the edge of the mug as he does so. He licks his lips, chasing remnants of the drink. “Very. What is it?” 

“You know how we got that gingerbread syrup that tastes more like faintly sweet nothing?”

Obi-Wan nods, shifting to lean further into Cody.

“I made my own.” Cody shrugs, trying to downplay his creation, but there’s a flush over the tips of his ears and his gaze sneaks back to inspect the mug in Obi-Wan’s hands too many times to be pure coincidence. 

“You are a wonder, Cody.” 

The bell rings and they both lean out around the machine, relaxing back when they recognise a familiar face, Rex’s blonde hair mussed from the damp cap held in one hand as he knocks his boots clean. Rex snorts and Cody leans back out, the cloth balled up in his hand and ready to be thrown despite the deliberate casual lean against the clounter. “What’s funny?”

“You know you’re beneath mistletoe, right? Bad luck to break tradition.”

It doesn’t save him from the cloth thrown at his head and Rex ducks with a laugh. Cody rocks back onto his heels but Obi-Wan isn’t looking, tracking his movement out of the corner of his eye. Rex is right. The plant is innocuous, a cluster of pale berries amongst the dark green sweep of the leaves, all tied up above Obi-Wan and Cody with a neat red ribbon. 

“Fuck,” Cody sighs. He scrubs a hand through his curls, biting at the tip of his tongue. Obi-Wan waits, his heart in his throat, his mind empty, and Cody glances over at him. “Would– Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.” 

Cody cups Obi-Wan’s jaw, drawing him down into a kiss. It’s everything Obi-Wan had hoped it would be and his hands fall to Cody’s waist, gathering his apron in the desperate press of his palms. It’s soft and sweet and Obi-Wan hums low in his throat, leaning closer. Breaking away, Cody leans back in and kisses Obi-Wan once more, his grin wide enough to hurt.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” Cody murmurs against Obi-Wan’s mouth. He rocks back on his heels and tugs the neck of his apron down to reveal a graphic of mistletoe inverted. “Started to feel a little desperate.”

“You’re welcome!” Rex calls and Cody curses at him as Obi-Wan folds into laughter, pressing his hands to his burning cheeks. 

[sailtomarina]

I want to see it

cw: depression, substance abuse

She thought she’d escaped notice, losing herself in the crowded hallway and slipping away to splash her face. She’d triple checked the stalls, then locked the main door for good measure. She just needed a moment to gather herself.

Hermione should have known better.

He undid her spell as effortlessly as when he’d caught her unawares at the start of eighth with this new version of himself, one she barely recognized from the boy she’d grown up hating. Silent. Blank. Unwilling to bring any attention to himself. His attempts only served to catch her eyes even more as she tried to puzzle out why she even cared.

She had her own demons.

They stared back at her from within her own eyes. They wore the same clothes and shared the same unruly hair. They kept her awake at night and haunted her during the day. Hermione would throw herself into her studies, and, still, they waited to pounce the moment her mind was left to wander free from the pages of her books.

She tried to ignore them, at first. Then, she’d attempted to exorcise them like real demons, bathing herself in pure waters and breathing in smoke that only made her eyes water and throat burn.

When she’d dared to ask Harry and Ron about how they coped, they’d responded very differently. Harry’s eyes fogged over like he’d gone somewhere else, leaving just his body behind in the room. When he finally returned, his gaze sharpening and focusing on her once more, he shrugged and said he’d left them all behind where they belonged. Hermione wasn’t sure what he meant about that, but perhaps it had something to do with his time with Death. 

Did she need to die?

Ron gave her an answer she knew at her core wasn’t the right one, but appealed to her more than she was willing to admit dying did. His solution was found in the bottom of a bottle, drinking enough to deaden the senses. How could demons torment someone who felt nothing?

Drinking didn’t appeal to her, not with the different ways she’d seen other students react under the influence. While Ron was a happy drunk, there was always the risk she’d be one of those angry sods, or, worse, sappy and crying everywhere and in front of anyone.

No. Hermione wanted a more predictable fix.

First, she mastered glamour charms. Glamours to hide, glamours to mask, glamours to perfect every flaw. She’d been so disdainful of other girls over the years, but now she could cast her charms wordlessly and wandlessly with the best of them.

Next, she researched potions: elixirs to induce euphoria, draughts of peace, pain potions, and, yes, the occasional sober-up. She learned and she brewed and she kept a steady supply to rotate through and avoid dependence.

She thought she’d been clever. Nobody noticed her new potions hobby aside from assuming she paid even more attention to that area of study than she ever did before. They did pay compliments to her looks—did she do something new to her hair? What moisturiser did she use? She was safe for the first few months of her new routine. She could look in the mirror and see nothing looking back at her.

Somehow, Malfoy noticed.

He’d gone months without acknowledging her or anyone around him, but now he stared at her with an intensity that should have frightened her. Instead, it only pissed her off. She took to sitting wherever she could to block his gaze. She hadn’t talked to him since their return to school, so her change in seating arrangement didn’t seem to bother anyone.

She’d been slow to gather her things after one lesson, and, when she finally stood up, she realized he had waited for her.

“What happened to your scar?” He pointed a slender finger to his neck, indicating the spot where his aunt had pressed her knife into Hermione. He knew the knife was cursed.

“It’s none of your business, Malfoy,” was all she’d said in response, brushing past him towards the doorway.

He’d breathed in deeply and tutted in recognition. “You’re on a calming potion today. Yesterday, it was euphoria. What’ll it be tomorrow?”

“Sod off.”

So what if he could pick out whatever potion she used off of smell alone. She wished he’d just keep his sharp nose to himself.

Unfortunately, naming her drug-of-the-day turned into a daily exercise of his. Every day, without fail, he’d find a way to drop his infuriatingly accurate deductions. She’d taken to making her own additions to standard ingredients to try and throw him off. Peppermint, thyme, Lady’s Mantle. Her variations brought odd little smiles to his face and he’d hum in what almost sounded like appreciation before guessing correctly yet again.

Worse, her coping methods were starting to fail her.

Despite all her glamour charms, she’d started seeing her scars like phantoms on her skin. She could cast the spells in her sleep and had taken to doing so the moment she awoke before even getting out of bed.

Even her concoctions seemed to be failing her, and she placed the blame squarely on Malfoy. They’d been perfectly fine until he’d woken up from his stupor and started tormenting her with his little game. She shouldn’t have cared so much; she should be floating on clouds, completely at ease with the world around her. 

And now, he’d followed her into the bathroom.

“I want to see it,” he said.

“See, what, exactly,” Hermione snapped, looking at him in the mirror’s reflection from where she leaned against the sink. 

“The scar Aunt Bella made.” Silvery eyes glinted in the dim light.

“You first.”

She hadn’t expected him to concede. She thought he’d leave, maybe say something spiteful.

Without breaking eye contact, he unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up the sleeve to bare his left forearm. Hermione finally turned around then, if only to get a better look at the Mark still burned into his skin. She’d wondered if it had disappeared over time, or, at the very least, faded.

The skull and snake stood out sharply against his pale flesh, looking as fresh as she imagined it had at the start. She wouldn’t have known. There hadn’t been an occasion for her to see back then. She wouldn’t know now if he hadn’t followed her and she hadn’t taunted him. 

She stared and she stared and she stared.

And then he stood in front of her, having walked forward into her space and now holding his arm up in some kind of twisted offering, one that she took without even thinking about it. The moment her fingers touched his skin, he brought his hand up, ignoring her flinch, to push aside her hair and press two fingers against the exact spot where he knew her scar lay hidden. “Here?”

Hermione’s hand rotated so she now gripped his wrist lightly, thumb rubbing circles across the skull’s dome. She dragged her eyes up to look into his and nodded, then she closed them and released her magic.

This time it was his palm against her neck, cupping the curve, and his thumb running along the silvery white cut now visible to his eyes.

Even though she’d dropped her glamours and someone else’s eyes could see her imperfections, the demons in her head stayed quiet. Maybe they sensed their brethren within Malfoy. Maybe they’d return the moment she was alone again. Maybe it was pure shock from his touch, gentle in its study of her.

When his hand slipped away and he stepped back, Hermione prepared for a return to privacy, for his curiosity to be satiated in proof.

He surprised her once again.

He slowly uncuffed and rolled up his other sleeve, shifted his bag more securely on his shoulder, and jerked his head towards the door. “Let’s go, or we’ll be late.”

Within this bathroom where the faucet leaked and the candles flickered, casting shadows against the glass, she stared at Draco Malfoy and chewed her lip in indecision. She couldn’t read his expressions, but she thought his eyes might have softened.

He rolled both sleeves back down and waited for her to recast her glamours, before saying lightly, “Let’s do this again sometime, yeah?”

He walked to the door, holding it open for her even though students passing by double took at the sight of a boy walking out of the girls’ washroom. 

Hermione could handle five minutes of mutual vulnerability every now and then. Maybe those five minutes would lengthen into fifteen, then into an hour, and then maybe, just maybe, one morning she’d wake up and not need glamours or potions at all.

She glanced out of the corner of her eye at the boy with his own impeccable mask and starched cuffs. She still thought his nose was too pointy, the pale scruff on his jaw in dire need of a shave.

“Same time tomorrow?”

WC 1494

Prompt taken from Twitter dramioneprompts

Cross-posted on AO3

I place all of the blame of my little jaunt here on all the angst I’ve been reading lately, particularly Colubrina, whose works I’ve been slowly going through on AO3 over the past few days. I typically stick to romantic fluff, but now and then consecutive days of rain puts me in a more subdued mood. Did I mention this is my favorite time of year?

[letiel]

Ty Leaves/Khasar Dreams - Werewolf AU

CW: Graphic Images, Torture, sad werewolf

He didn’t like leaving in the middle of the night. It wasn’t smart, safe, or reasonable in the slightest, but time was against him, and Ty wanted every second he could get. The saddlebags were only half full and he left them that way. Less weight, more speed, more ground he could cover, and it would take a couple towns to find any leads.

The cinch creaked and the horse snorted when he pulled the leather tight and started running through his checklist in his head. Before every job, every hunt, Ty would triple check everything. He tapped his scarf, his coat, his bracers, bow, sword, kneepads, and pack. He checked the bridle, saddle, food provisions, water, and medkit.

He adjusted the stirrups and started to mount up when his horse skittered to the side and a firm tug pulled on his heavy coat. Ty reached for his sword and turned but relaxed the second Kai’s giant muzzle let him go to tilt his head.

“What are you looking at?”

Kai leaned forward to nudge Ty’s chest with his nose and Ty roughly pushed him off.

“What do you want, Kai?” he asked irritably, and Kai tilted his head again.

Ty sighed and scratched under his chin. “You know if you really wanted to stop me, I would be hard pressed to fight you off… I have to go, Kai. The last time I caved and let Khasar have his way, you turned into this, and I lost my very best friend. I’m listening to my gut this time.”

The wolf’s ears kept flicking back at forth, listening to Ty talk but otherwise he didn’t react much.

“You know I wouldn’t go if I didn’t trust you,” he whispered to the wolf, reaching up to rub those fluffy ears. “The vampire is up to something, they always are, and Khasar won’t listen to reason. It’s up to us now.”

Kai licked Ty’s nose and he smiled just a little and scratched Kai’s cheeks.

“I’m going to head north. There are tales there of werewolves that can turn back into men for a short while. It may bring you some relief if true and it’s the best lead I have right now.”

He dug around under his scarf for the iron pendant that Evie had made some time ago. It was a symbol of his faith in his brothers, the closest thing they had to a religious relic. With it wrapped up tightly in his fist he tapped Kai’s nose for luck. The wolf licked the back of his glove.

“I’ll be back before the next full moon with a cure for Khasar. He can keep being angry with me until then, just, keep him safe while I’m gone.”

Ty gave Kai another pet between the ears, not even sure if Kai had understood anything he had said. He tucked the pendant away and mounted up on the unhappy horse. The wolf didn’t try to grab him this time.

“Two weeks,” he promised, “I’ll be back in two weeks.”

And then he was racing down the road.    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s the only solution we have!”

“It’s not a solution! It’s plugging a hole in a dam with your finger. What happens when cracks form? What happens when month after month the flood waters grow? What happens when the wall breaks? This was NEVER a solution!” Ty snarled. It was the angriest Khasar had ever seen his brother. Ty was shaking, he was so angry, fists clenched, face contorted in rage.

Khasar met that rage with his own. “You’re only saying no because it’s Ori who suggested it!”

“There is no such thing as a benevolent Vampire. He’s tying you to him, Khasar, and I would rather see you turned wolf than be in the arms of a snake!”

Angry tears welled in Khasar’s eyes as they studied each other with fury. He was shaking now too. Ty could be firm and would raise his voice against others that threatened their family but never, not once, had he ever turned on Khasar with such malice and venom.

“Like YOU have my whole life?” Khasar bit back, “keeping me locked away like a fragile thing! Ori has been nothing but kind and supportive to me since I met him! I love him and trust him! More than I do you! If you don’t like it, then you can leave!”

They glared at each other in silence until the air between them felt too thick to breathe.

“I am,” Ty finally hissed, “and when I get back with an actual cure, I am going to chase that monster away.” Stiffly, with purpose, Ty turned and stomped away.

“I hope you don’t come back!” Khasar yelled after him, caught up in the heat of the moment.

-

Ty slumped forward, his weight supported entirely by the metal cuffs around his wrists, hanging him from the walls, and the hands of the vampire lord cradling his face. Blood matted his hair flat on one side and crusted his cheek and chin from the empty, bruised eye socket.

He was shaking intermittently in staggered shivers and every time he quivered the lord’s thumb would brush lovingly across his cheek beneath his remaining eye. Spindly fingers with long, sharpened nails, the skin of them black to his palms caressed in time to gentle whispers and the flickering candlelight.

Their lips moved, talking to one another, but there was no sound. Ty tried to recover his footing and the dragging chains were eerily quiet when they should have clattered along the stonework. He was still defiant through his exhaustion and the vampire lord smiled; bright red lips on alabaster skin curled in a wicked grin. The thumb brushed over Ty’s eye and the hunter recoiled, but those long and cruel fingers held tightly to his hair, ear, and jaw, further bruising the flesh.

The vampire leaned forward and whispered something in Ty’s ear while he struggled against his bonds. Then he slowly leaned back, tightened his grip, and those long and deceptively strong fingers pressed into the edges of Ty’s eye.

He screamed.

-

The first sound of the dream cut so loud and so full of agony that Khasar bolted awake feeling like he was trying to breathe underwater. He choked on his own panting and coughed until he could suck down a panicked breath. Like all dreams, the details were already fading and only the most emotional sensations remained.  

It took Khasar a second for his eyes to adjust to the dark. The candle had burned out, but the moonlight still trickled through the window filtered by the surrounding forest. He could see Evie sleeping on the other bed, but Ori and Kai were gone. They must’ve gone to get food.

It was suddenly too hot under the blankets, the room too stuffy. Khasar felt haunted and uncomfortable. He got out of bed and stumbled through the house until he was outside and throwing up in the bushes.

Ori had said that the drugs to suppress the wolf could have unexpected side effects. They were three days past the first full moon since Khasar had been infected and the pills had done their work. Khasar was still human albeit a troubled one. He could still feel a squirming under his skin when the moon was high, a patient threat reminding him that Ty had been right about one thing. There was a dam inside him, and the wolf was waiting for the cracks to grow long. If his brother didn’t return soon with the cure he had promised to find, Khasar would surely drown. Maybe not next month, maybe not even for a year, but eventually the medicine wouldn’t be strong enough to hold back the wolf.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stumbled back to the porch to sit on the stoop with a sigh and to work through breathing exercises. It was so important that he stayed calm, even with those horrible words playing in his head like an echo. The memories he couldn’t do away with, but the subsequent dream? It was nonsense born of his fears, better to forget. Perhaps they could laugh about it when Ty returned to them.

The unease in Khasar’s gut churned and he ran his fingers through his hair for comfort. It had been nearly three weeks since Ty left, he was coming back, right? He resolved to talk to the others in the morning. Maybe it was time to find their brother themselves, scold him for his stubbornness, and get back to being a family.

He waited until his heart stopped racing and the cold was nibbling on his toes. Feeling a little better, Khasar went to the kitchen for a snack, and then back to bed.

[groupalpha]

WARNING

This comic contains themes of isolation. If you are sensitive to such, please skip this comic.

If you wish to proceed, comic is under cut.

13ES: I have it loaded from my memory conflux now. ... I apologize if this is upsetting to anyone.

Loading memory from Memory Conflux

Please stand by...

Memory loaded successfully!

. . .

EPS: Misunderstandings are not something I take lightly.

EPS: It's my job to prevent such misunderstandings from my part. I sincerely apologize for such incompetence.

13ES: Prism that's enough, your work does not equal your worth. You don't need to be so hard on yourself because of a simple mishap.

EPS: With all due respect, that doesn't excuse my actions. I know... that... Stories?

13ES: Prism, something isn't right. The communication towers are... trying to send a signal?

EPS: Stories, your communications are-

13ES: Prism?!

[LIVE BROADCAST] - [ANNOUNCEMENT] COMMUNICATIONS MANIFEST to Group Alpha

[[ERROR]]

CANNOT OBTAIN LOCAL GROUP ID - ATTEMPTING AGAIN. PLEASE STAND BY...

...

. . .

. . .

[[ERROR]]

LOCAL GROUP ID UNOPTAINABLE - SENIOR ID FOUND

ATTEMPTING TO CONNECT...

13ES: I don't... did the communications break? I don't think it... !

[LIVE BROADCAST] - BROADCAST ANNOUNCEMENT - SLIVER OF STRAW

TRIPLE AFFIRMATIVE

AFFIRMATIVE - THE SOLUTION IS PORTABLE AFFIRMATIVE - THE SOLUTION IS FOUND AFFIRMATIVE - THE TECHNICAL IMPLEMENTATION IS POSSIBLE AND APPLICABLE

13ES: Sliver of Straw? But... what-

[EQUIPMENT MANIFEST] Grabbing data Loading Holograms Please stand by...

13ES: Holograms?! But-

[EQUIPMENT MANIFEST] Thirteen Elder Stories - Second Generation Group Senior of Group Unidentified has been added to hologram announcement

[ 13ES: Who else is out there?

STOU,CF: ... . . . You and the future of your group are all that exists. ... Senior Thirteen Elder Stories, do not ask me this again. ]

13ES: ...

. . .

It was a lie. T-there's more of us out here.

They never...

They... they wanted to keep us behind locked doors... they didn't want us to...

Everything... every single thing. It was all a lie. Everything was nothing but a lie.

[LIVE BROADCAST] - COMMUNICATIONS MANIFEST to Thirteen Elder Stories

[[ERROR]]

ID CODE LOST.

ALL PARTICIPANTS IN BROADCAST ANNONCEMENT BLOCKED.

13ES: WAIT!

I...

I never got to even speak to them...

(You can ask questions on this if you'd like)

[diliwriter]

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[gfguren]

amber!!! am dropping by to wish you a weekend that is full of light and love 🥹🫧💗

i am back w my curious sel glassies 🤓 (pls feel free not to answer if uncomfy) — what’s a habit you’re most proud of? what habit of katsuki’s is one you admire?

sellie!!! light and love, pls you're sooooo sweet!! 💕 and omg pls my good habits are so few and far between aksjdhfjh! but! i guess im pretty decent at picking up after myself?? i don't let things pile up, like? i finish eating - immediately put the plate in the sink, i take a book out - put it right back where i found it when im done, those kinds of things?

but with bakugou!!

ah! this is such a fun question, i think about mundane things like this for him all the time. i feel like bakugou has such good habits, king of going to sleep on time, king of sticking to his routines, king of having his shit together - i think it just comes naturally to him and honestly, i'm terribly jealous lol.

i've said he could fix me before as a joke but askjdfhs i'm lowkey highkey serious abt it - i feel like his habits would rub off on you just from being around him.

you forget to eat? good luck with that when he's being noisy as shit in the kitchen - morning, noon and night, makes better food than some 5 star restaurants - at some point, you're stomach starts growling at the sound of pots and plans clinking, almost on command, like you've been conditioned. you struggle with keeping a schedule? good thing he has a great memory and absolutely no qualms about nagging you six ways to sunday.

oh, you're a night owl? not anymore, suddenly you're awake at 6am on a saturday, of your own volition - you're not sure how it happened, when the switch flipped and you began lazily dragging yourself out of bed along side him. maybe it was when you grew familiar with the katsuki shaped warmth beneath your comforter, followed after it when he shuffled out of bed each morning to steam up the bathroom mirror - sometimes he lets you join him, most times you sit on the counter and listen to him grumble about all the things he has to do that day.

or maybe it was because he'd made it a point to kiss you goodbye whenever you bothered to wake up on time, eventually the rest of your day began feeling wrong if he didn't - like it became a habit itself. more than likely though, it's because that's just the way bakugou is, hot temper and can-do attitude so incredibly frustrating at times, but also oddly invigorating. when he says he'll do something, he does it - makes you think it really is just that easy. (it isn't of course) as much as he tries to convince you that it is - but it does make you want to try.

and as for the habit i most admire! i think one of his most admirable habits (to me!) is how well prepared he is. bakugou is always thinking ahead, prepared for anything, always and (as good as he is at coming up with solutions on the fly) i feel like he would never leave the house unprepared or ill-equipped. of course this applies to his work life - lays his costume and equipment out before bed, eats a healthy breakfast each morning so it doesn't affect his performance on patrol, etc.

but it also translates to his home life and relationships. like? you're on your way to spend a night out with him, and you already know he's headed for the closet, off to grab a coat for himself (and for you), even if it's mid summer, even if the weather is fine - because what if it gets cold, and what if the car breaks down, and what if both of your phones stop working - and you laugh at him sometimes, because it does feel a bit ridiculous, his overthinking, his over-planning, how he makes sure you leave 30 minutes early, and triple checks the locks before you leave for real.

but sometimes, you do find yourself in a pickle, and you're so thankful for him being the way that he is.

you nick yourself on something while the two of you are out, and before you have a chance to react, he's slipping a band-aid from his jacket pocket, shuffling it into your hands, grumbling something about it being a coincidence when you shoot him a big, heart-eyed look - little do you know, it's not a coincidence at all, that he'd been sure to grab a handful of them each time the two of you left the house since that time, months ago, when you cut yourself on something you can't even recall, don't seem to remember, but he does.

that's just the way he is, takes note when something goes awry, and plans accordingly so it doesn't happen again. you're a bit clumsy with your hands? he's ordering extra straws and napkins when you eat out. you blistered your feet last time you wore 'those' heels? he's stuffing a pair of your trainers in the trunk the next time, and every time after you decide to wear them. it's just so sweet and thoughtful! even if it basically becomes muscle memory at some point! idk idk it just makes me feel really full thinking about it!!!

askjdhfsjfh anyway! ty for giving me an excuse to gush abt him sel!!!! i hope your week is absolutely lovely and filled with more writing inspiration than you know what to do with!! 💓💕❤