#and it would kill as a standalone post

[theonekierce]

what if i started posting full comic pages here as well instead of just previews with links. . . 🤔

[coridallasmultipass]

.

[syluses]

ataxia

sylus x fem reader

⤷ sylus wants kids, sweetie. lots of kids.

kind of a part 2 to this piece, but it can still serve as a lil standalone as well ♡ DAD SYLUS DAD SYLUS DAD SYLUS

cw ▻ nsfw, dubcon, breeding, pregnancy mentions, daddy kink, im a strong believer in sylus wanting a big family, whipped sylus, characters depicted are 18+, stockholm syndrome, yandere/obsessive tendencies, ~2.5k words

notes ▻ eeee they fr live in my head rent free </3 anyways take this crumb while i work on like other fics. daddy sylus is actually KILLING me like always on the noggin 😵‍💫

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

There’s a certain peace you feel, curled up on the leather couch, in watching your husband sit on his knees as the little ones crawl around the carpet, playing with them no different than a toddler would.

Not exactly a pleasant peace, by any means, but a simple, sort of resigned one. Your muscles seem to lose the tension, shoulders always piked high, ready for attack- or some other (meta)physical blow- slumping into rounded blades. You sigh.

Perhaps it’s the knowing that whatever bad thing that could’ve come- already has. Now, you’re experiencing the sloping aftereffects of it.

And this—

Sylus, with a beaming grin, letting out an almost breathless laugh as he scoops up one of the boys and twirls him overhead, the other kept by a protective hand at his side so he won’t bump on the corner of the coffee table—

Is just the fallout.

Ruby-red eyes flit over (and they always do sooner than later, like you’re a beacon in the middle of a dark sea) and crinkle at the edges. You’ve told him before that you don’t like when he throws the babies up in the sky like that, that if they were to suddenly fall, they can’t take flight like Mephisto. He must remember, because he lets out a little, woeful noise and carefully lowers him.

The smile remains, though, kilowatt and wide, a little starry-gazed like he’s inviting you to slip off the sofa and join him on the fluffy rug with your children.

The fatigue natural to post-pregnancy has already claimed you tonight, though. Truth be told, you’d have hesitated even if it didn’t. It’s fine, tending to your children on your own; his long absences leave you with massive windows of alone time with the little ones, and you actually enjoy it (save for the huge toll it takes on your energy, of course, but Luke and Kieran lend a hand where it counts- where they’re allowed).

That sentiment changes a bit, though, when your husband does get home. With his presence comes the cold reminder of how things really are, how you’re still an unwilling counterpart in all this- frilly gowns and jewels and the private chef he hires for fancy dinners (because he has the money for it) be damned.

You want to go home. That wish, hollow as it is, still stands.

…Even if it’s started staggering, in these last few months.

He’s always been more than content with just the two of you, but in the last several weeks, you compare Sylus’s emotional state to a suitcase packed too full, joy spilling out the sides. Evidently, he doesn’t try to close the zipper; he lets it happen with gladness, with his hands open and lifted, but you’re not sure he entirely knows what to do with himself. With these significant developments that are just as new to him (possibly even more, as much as that flummoxes you) as they are to you.

It’s as weird as it is endearing to see what having two children (twin boys, funnily enough) will do to your husband. But if there’s one thing you learned about Onychinus’s illustrious leader in the past couple years of your marriage—

It’s that he does not settle for less.

And when he draws closer, both little ones secured in his lap- dozing off because it’s already thirty minutes past their bedtime- and lifts your hand to place a chaste kiss there, rubbing your knuckles dotingly…

You can tell there’s something more he’s craving.

✿

“A girl,” he moans.

Sometimes- after you’ve just put down the boys for four consecutive nights in a row before collapsing in bed, your lover hardly having the opportunity to show his affections, all but guilted into letting you catch up on your sleep- it’s almost easy to forget how Sylus feels, your brain willing it away. How good he fucks you.

If you’re being more general- how good he takes care of you.

“Give me a girl this time, sweetie, just-“ a gasp, “one more.”

And vaguely, in the haze of sweat and burning hands, his thick, long cock plunging in and out of you deeply- slowly- your juices and his pre slicking between you, sticky as molasses, you wonder to yourself if he’s even convinced of that himself.

Just having one more, you mean.

The twins were unexpected: that right there is an understatement. You were hardly prepared for one rascal- all the countless evenings he spent buttering you up, so attentive, and then cumming into you with whispered vows to knock you up be damned— but when the xray revealed not one misshapen, little form in your womb, but two?

It was a bombshell.

Sylus, beside you (on the leather couch downstairs with your personal doctor he paid God knows how unreasonable a sum to show), had squeezed your hand in his and tried to mask half of his joy. The priority was in comforting you, helping you to realize that this was a good thing- a beautiful thing- that your life was not officially over and- hey, don’t worry, hasn’t he taken good care of you thus far? Surely, adding a couple little ones into the equation wouldn’t suddenly make it impossible.

You’re both very capable people, honey. Even more so together, with him. (Well, he assures you as much, anyway.)

Whether or not he could take care of you was never exactly the worry, though. The worry was that you’d be under his hand forever— and a baby? (two, you strictly correct. Two babies) You could kiss the last hope you had of ever weaseling out from his grip, or luxurious manor, goodbye.

He must know it, buried deep in the back of his head underneath the genuine layers of desire to simply start a family with you, his beloved girl, and flesh out more of a solid, burgeoning life; the silent promise underlying the pregnancy tests and inpromptu housecalls of your poor, overworked doctor.

That a family ties you to him forever.

A tether that’s damn near impossible to cut yourself loose from, even if you stood a punching chance at it to begin with. Glues you together in a way that even marriage doesn’t quite scratch the surface of. Your bond is perpetuated by blood, now. Flesh and bone. Your DNA, warped with his to create—

Monstrosities—

No, a harsh voice in the corner of your skull surprisingly snips back. They’re not monstrosities, far from it. All previous qualms nudged aside (and you had a lot, to be clear; hours spent sobbing and pushing helplessly at his chest as Sylus crooned and wrapped you in his arms proves that), doubts surrounding parenting and your own self preservation- your children are beautiful, that’s true. Healthy. Perfect.

If you’re being honest with yourself, and choose the high road here (the high road means willfully forgetting how involuntary this whole arrangement was in the first place)- they’re positively adorable. With his white hair spiking on their heads but your eyes and lips- and a shared penchant to land themselves into trouble, places they shouldn’t be before either of you stoops over to lift them out. Albeit, you’ll admit that their noses are still up for debate; it’s hard to pinpoint the resemblance when their faces are endearingly round, too chubby to really tell in this stage, but you secretly hope they’ll take after you in that regard.

You… don’t know how you’ll continue to operate if staring at your children is like staring at a mirror image of their father.

But… I mean, they’re fucking innocent in all this—

Your precious boys aren’t like their father. They… won’t be. You’ll make absolute sure of it.

“One more,” he chants, sucking in a long, thin breath through perfect teeth. And damn it all he feels good. So good. Maybe he had more than just one selfish, substratal reason for populating your otherwise fairly quiet home. Because you’re more obedient lately, wanting for it, almost… It gets him riled up in ways he could not begin to articulate. Hesitant still (sometimes he has this awful, basal fear that it’ll never go away, your trepidation towards him)- but sugar-sweet when you lie on the silken bed and present yourself with bashful cheeks that tell Sylus you hate yourself for it but have no real control in the moment.

You moan so prettily for him when he pries your thighs apart and presses them either side of your head, fashioning you like a butterfly, to slide in and out of you with ease. Melodic. Maybe he’s tone deaf to all songs save for you because he knows you, knows you like the back of his hand, pitch and lilt; he could pick out the voice of you in a crowd full of whooping people, he thinks.

Again, you blame your excitement on what he’s done to you. The twins’ pregnancy, the fluctuating hormones that have you bouncing between hysterical sobs and yanking your wide-eyed husband into impulsive, suffocating kisses before his fingers quickly settle around your middle. All the gentle erosion that he’s guided you through across the span of almost two years has left you worn and vulnerable.

But you suppose if something were to ever encourage a deeper bond- strengthen it- what else would it be than to take a man’s seed inside your womb and gift him with a bunch of unruly but cute kids? That’d gnaw away at just about anybody’s inhibitions, even if it grudges you to admit that. It lessens what remnant you held onto of this idea of ‘autonomy’, makes you fully lean onto him.

Sylus takes that news much, much better than you.

It’s… got to be more than physical between you now, you think distantly as he bullies his cockhead against your smooth walls, stroking a spongey spot in the bulwarks of you that makes your head go kaput. Like something spiritual, perhaps. He’s joined his soul with yours and that’s why you’ve been so obedient lately, so needy, clinging onto him and making his back your own personal scratching post as he plays at the idea of impregnating you again.

Oh, fuck, he’s such a bastard you hate him you hate him you—

You suppose your baby girl, inevitable to come somewhere down the line- whether that means during the next pregnancy or the third- won’t be like him, either.

She’ll be a sweetheart, and soft. Perhaps she’ll inherit her daddy’s crimson eyes or his smooth, sharp tongue, his inclination for success, but she’ll carry her mother’s heart with her. She will be kind.

Until someone like her daddy comes along. Flips her world on its head.

(And you know that having Sylus as her daddy would be the simple fact that staves off all potential men intending to prey on her, but still, the thought remains, niggling and bitter.)

“Take daddy’s cock, sweetie,” he goads, breath shot right from his lungs as he traps you beneath him- not that you’ve much the will to resist anymore- and moans over you. “You’ll take what he has to offer, won’t you? Your pretty belly will take all of it in?”

Tears prickle at your eyes when his flit down to your tummy, pupils swelling wildly as his jaw sets tight. He hisses through clenched teeth, cock giving a hot pulse accordingly.

It’s not difficult to imagine the bump there, the mound that’s not yet formed over a for now slim belly and wrinkled skin (stretch marks that you loathe but he worships on most nights, with your heels over his shoulder and his tongue lapping greedily at your pussy, palms kneading the flesh with reverence). It’s hardly been six months since you had the twins (a home birth, he’d insisted, because it was safer that way, more sterile, less stressful for you), but Sylus finds himself pining for your body to adapt to his seed again, for your breasts to plump and your stomach to round, your skin to glow.

(Your hands to reach for him because your emotions have been sat on one long rollercoaster ride and you can’t help whatever the fuck is going on inside you.)

“Sylus—“ You mewl, panting as he knocks his forehead to yours- with a whit more force than you think he’d meant, but he’s a little dazed right now, and your pussy feels so good, so don’t hold it against him, kitten- and grunts back. “Yes?” He breathes, and you liken the sound to a gust of wind, powerful and shaking.

“I- I don’t know,” you all but wail, desperately trying to tamp down your sounds of pleasure before they can escape. You’re failing.

Your reticence is for a number of reasons. First of all, your boys are just down the hall, swaddled in their respective cradles under their rotating airplane fixtures and sleeping soundly. You don’t have any intentions of changing that- especially for something as stupid and pathetic as essentially whoring yourself out to their father (and you’re not a whore, but you can’t help but feel like one when you start to bask in the attention he gives you- your hormones post-pregnancy compelling you to do all sorts of wild things).

And secondly, Luke and Kieran don’t renown you as stubborn for no reason, or your husband, lovingly, as a drama queen— and there’s a defiant part of you that does not want to see the satisfaction on his face when you start to crumble under his ministrations and open your mouth about it.

But all that, for Sylus, is a wonderful work in progress.

And if we’re to be crystal, for as much as the N109 Zone’s number one magnate prioritizes the end goal, he thoroughly enjoys the process.

“You don’t know what, Sweetie?” He whispers. It’s all he can manage right now, you’re squeezing him so tight. In that moment, the fog parts, and he knows with a hundred percent certainty that you do not want him to leave. Yes, your cunt is saying as much, and he rewards it with a carefully angled thrust right against your g-spot, but your face tells no different a story.

You’re beautiful. Perfection embodied. Makes him lose his breath a little.

“I-If I want a girl,” You heave. “If I want one at all.”

Something like dejection passes across his handsome visage then, or maybe it’s uncertainty that weakens the tight knotch in his brow as he inwardly struggles- between his approaching climax and the single mind he’s got to stuff you full of his release- for an appropriate answer. He doesn’t want to anger you. Doesn’t want to make you hate him, no, especially not when you’re finally starting to dip your toes in his waters after all his painstaking efforts to make you comfortable. Oh, God knows Sylus would kick himself for that.

…But this will be good for you. Having another, he means. It’ll be good for the both of you and if you’d just let him show you—

He’s painted the perfect demonstration of that quite well with the boys, hasn’t he? In this past handful of months, you’ve never looked happier and you’re positively glowing and all Sylus has ever wanted was to see your pretty face light with that dazzling, little smile. The twins he’s given you, unbidden as they initially were through your lens, make you so, so happy.

This will be so, so good.

Perfect.

If you’d just give in.

Oh, you’re so maddening sometimes but he adores you, every part and piece. He stoops over so his damp lips brush the lobe of your ear, the perspiration dotting his temple wetting your flushed cheeks. He croons, “You do. You do want it. I’ll show you, kitten, just how bad you need it. The twins need a sister, don’t you think? They won’t know anything other than playing rough, if not.”

Your fingertips squeeze into the lean planes of muscle of his back. He’s burning up, near feverish what with the heat sweltering between your sandwhiched bodies, but he gives a shiver in response like he’s enduring temperatures below freezing.

Panic, beneath the misty veneer of pleasure that makes your face go slack- and the subtle, inexplicable flash of something that almost convinces you Sylus is right, that you do want it- slips into the forefront of your muddled brain. Reaches a hand through the dirt and revives itself, reminding, no, no, you don’t want this, you don’t want him, you don’t want—

You let out a delicious gasp as he spears into you, the flesh of your thighs dimpling as he presses down the undersides of them. Firm, but gentle. It’s true, you’ve become considerably more flexible since meeting him- since having to accommodate him- but he’ll never give you anything more than you can take.

You’d never admit it, but there’s almost a little bit of comfort in knowing that.

“I-I’ll make sure they know how to play nice,” you force out, taking your lower lip in your mouth and suckling as the telltale rush of your climax draws nigh, hardening in your belly as it builds. “I’ll make sure they know how to be gentle, Sy!” Foreign to your own ears. Your voice is horrid as you belatedly register it, all sniveling and gasping- downright pathetic as you cling onto him for dear life and he ruts into you like a dog in heat.

You’re grasping at straws now, you know, but for as feeble as your excuses are, you hope they hit their mark. That they’ll get him to reconsider-

“But sweetie,” he breathes tenderly, “you’re already making sure I’m gentle,” he reminds in a pleasant voice, edged with the remnants of a self control that unravels at a steady pace. “How will you juggle between the three of us? Hm?”

His cockhead, fat and precise, catches on that spot in you that makes you go positively crazy and your eyes flutter back. You let out a strange, choked sound that he marvels at before he capitalizes on the reaction completely, buffetting away at the final walls you’d erected against him tonight.

All are near crumbled.

“I’ll find a way,” you nearly squeak- high-pitched and unconvincing because his mind’s already made- before he’s lolling your jaw back towards him and smashing his lips to yours in a decadent kiss, silencing your protests- for as weak as they are.

It’s close to visceral, the contact, wet lips melding hungrily with yours, trading groans and mewls as he effectively pistons his hips into you and paints colorful stars across the black span of your eyelids. In a word- invasive. Torpefying, all your limbs unfurling and slipping away from him in favor of curling into the sheets as your release approaches at whirlwind speeds, blunt fingernails clinging onto you so tight there’ll be bruises formed tomorrow- as well as an apologetic, rueful sigh on Sylus’s end, because he swears to God he’s trying to hold back—

Fucking mind-numbing.

And isn’t that just what you need? A quiet conscience? A shot of morphine fed through a needle straight into the veins, an emotional kind of tranquilizer or- or something to moderate the snarled mess your heart’s become all because of him—

It seems he’s cognizant then, pupils dilated madly as he finally blinks, of the hands that clench too tight- withdrawing them immediately from your thighs (regrettably, they remain cleaved open in a willing offer for him, shaking and red with his prints) to loop your wrists either side of your head. Holding your hands. Ever the romantic. You almost laugh, seconds off from that white-hot tidal wave of pleasure, at the irony of it all. Onychinus’s formidable, takes-no-bullshit leader, fucking you with all the grace of a big clumsy dog but all the love of one too— loyal and determined, bleeding heart on his sleeve.

He’s still kissing you, sucking on your tongue filthily, and all you can think of is waking the boys sleeping soundly next door how exquisite it feels, his thick member dragging in and out of your walls like it’s his right. Sylus certainly believes as much.

He’s ruined you too good for anyone else; you’re starting to believe it, too.

“There you go, kitten!” He gasps. “Let go. Just- fuck- let go for daddy. Such a good, good girl. Such a good mommy, you are. Our- oh, fuck, that’s it, that’s it, perfect- Our little girl will be so, so lucky to have you.”

When he comes, you do, too.

[blindmagdalena]

You Let Me Complicate You

18+ 4k homelander x f!reader. bickering, post-breakup sex, dubcon/coercion, angst, jealousy, emotional manipulation, implied murder, stalking, boundary smashing, breaking and entering, cunnilingus, penetrative sex. read on AO3. written as a follow-up to the breakup, but can be read as a standalone. gif credit.

Breaking up with Homelander is... complicated. After all, it is a god that loves you.

"What do I taste like?" You asked him once, drunk on pleasure and those early honeymoon days of loving him. He’d been slow to answer, thinking it over. "Love," he said at last. "Like you love me." You wonder if that holds true. If he can still taste love in you. If that’s why he’s so eager to devour you, or if the absence of it has made him even hungrier.

Homelander is an aberration.

Stronger than a hundred men, faster than a bullet and sharp as a tack all paired with a teaspoon’s depth of emotional maturity. He’s volatile, twisted, broken in ways no amount of therapy could ever hope to duct tape back together. He’s no better off than a dog that bites to kill. No matter how he got to this point, the best thing for him–for the world–would be to put him down by any means necessary.

Too bad you can’t seem to stop fucking him.

It’s late when you hear the front door open with a distinct crack. You’re sprawled out on the couch in the living room, one leg draped lazily over the armrest. What comes next is no surprise to you–a shock of primary colors filling the narrow doorway, a handsome face made ghoulish by the haunting light of the television in an otherwise dark room.

“You nailed the door shut,” Homelander says, the inflection of his voice somewhere between a question and a statement.

“Because you broke it,” you throw back, a stale Twizzler balanced between your lips. It had tasted good enough when you started eating it, but now–in his presence–the sweetness of it has turned sour.

“You changed the locks,” he says with a light shrug, cape swaying as he meanders towards you. “My key didn’t work.”

“Your key? Stealing a key to my house does not make it your key,” you say tersely, lifting your foot to press it firmly to his thigh, stopping him in his tracks. 

He glances down, a mirthless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before he catches your ankle in his gloved hand, yanking you down the couch so suddenly you lose your Twizzler to the floor with a gasp. It’s one thing to know that Homelander has strength enough to throw cars like frisbees. It’s another to feel it. It sends a rush of adrenaline through you like a jolt, followed swiftly by something hotter low in your naval.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking,” he begins, dropping your ankle. He lifts his knee and slots it between your legs, his opposite boot on the floor, his hand braced on the back of the couch, pinning you in place.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you cut in dryly, moving to shift up the couch, away from him. He snatches your shoulder, halting you with ease. His thumb strokes your skin idly, goosebumps erupting beneath his touch.

“And I’ve realized that this whole… thing between you and I, this ‘will they, won’t they,’ ” he says, bobbing his head side to side. “It’s getting stale. Don’t you think it’s about time we progressed the plot?” He asks, leaning in close.

You brace your hand against his chest, holding him in place as ineffectually as you did earlier. You both know it’s all a game. It’s all pretense. There had been fondness between you once–love, even–but you’re done with that now. You have to be done with it, or Homelander will swallow you whole. He’s a black pit, a murderer, and his need knows no end. He’ll destroy you and everything you know and love if he thinks it’ll satiate that need.

You’ve lost enough. You can’t afford to lose any more of yourself to him.

“Jesus Christ, you even think in TV script,” you say, pushing on his chest. He leans back, but not by much. It sends a terrible little chill down your spine. “I’m starting to think the only thing that might actually kill you is an original thought.”

His eyes narrow and his bright white teeth flash predatorily in the darkness. “You’re lucky I haven’t broken your neck,” he says, hand slipping from your shoulder to your throat. The sharp press of his thumb into your windpipe steals your breath, makes your thighs tighten on either side of his leg snug between yours. His lips split into an unkind grin. “Or maybe not. You’d probably like that.”

“You’re disgusting,” you spit, gripping his wrist with your other hand. Your pulse is starting to throb against the leather of his glove. He moves his thumb from your windpipe to your jaw and turns your head away, leaning in with a deep, pointed inhale along your neck.

“Is that why your hormones are going haywire? Because I disgust you?” He asks, grinding his thigh between your legs in a way that makes you gasp. “Y’know, given how full of it you are, I was sure I’d smell the bullshit on you. But all I smell… is how fucking wet you are.”

He grabs your hip and the memories come to you like muscle memory. How good it feels to be gripped and fucked and loved by someone beyond your comprehension. To feel as if you’ve stopped the world turning and called the sun itself to shine on you alone.

You twist your chin out of his grip and level him with a heated stare. “I hate you,” you hiss, grasping for the knife you know will twist the deepest. 

It works for a second, his smug expression faltering, but only for an instant. His jaw sets, and his lips curl into that same unkind smile. “C’mon, babe,” he coos, the intimate familiarity woven into that pet name making your skin crawl. “We both know that I can always tell when you’re lying.”

He kisses you like he always has. Like you belong to him. In a way, you suppose you always will. There’s nothing you can do to pry your throat from Homelander’s jaws. Nowhere you can run that he won’t eventually find you. Like quicksand, the more you fight, the tighter he clamps down. Truth be told, though, that isn’t the worst of it. The worst of it is that the tighter he grips you, the less you want to fight him.

His tongue slithers into your mouth like a serpent into the garden and you bite down hard. While pliant between your teeth, the flesh doesn’t yield. It never will. He never will. Instead he moans a little chuckle that fades into a rumble against your lips.

“That how it’s gonna be?” He asks, the words rasped into your mouth. “Y’wanna bite and claw? Play hard to get?” He laughs, the sound of it reedy and light, like it’s all a silly little game of make-believe. “I can do that.”

He reeks of his own desperation for what he says to be true. More than anything, he wants to dress up his desires as yours. He wants to believe he’s giving you what you want. That way, he can trick himself into believing you need him.

He bites the middle tip of his glove and tugs it off with his teeth, tossing it aside. His bare thumb brushes your lip, smearing his spit and yours. “I saw you with that fucking loser,” he says, the airiness suddenly gone from his voice.

Your stomach drops. Two days ago you’d been with a man. You’d been so desperate to forget him that night that anyone would have done the job. You stumbled out with some nobody from the bar who’d been good enough for a sloppy makeout session in the back of his truck, but not good enough to bring home. It hadn’t ended well.

How close of an eye is Homelander keeping on you?

“I’d be angry if it hadn’t been so fuckin’ pathetic,” he says through his teeth.

“Liar,” you say tightly. You feel his fury in the tension of his body. He’s pissed that you’d seek this out anywhere else. As if he still has a claim over your body. Your pleasure.

His eyes flash up to yours. He sneers, pushing his thumb between your lips. “I watched you bite his lip until he bled. I watched him slap you,” he says, dragging the pad of his thumb along the ridges of your bottom teeth. The memories come to you as he speaks them, every moment of it made bleary by alcohol. “You wanted it rough, but he couldn’t handle you, could he? Because you’re used to something better. You’re used to a god.”

You sneer right back at him, yanking your head to the side, his thumb slipping from between your lips. “Could you be any more in love with yourself? Go fuck yours-”

“I still had to kill him, of course,” he continues nonchalantly, grinding your thoughts to a screeching halt. He laughs humorlessly. “For kissing you. And, well–for everything else, obviously. Slapping you,” he says, brushing his knuckles down your cheek. The same one the man had struck. “Humping your leg like a fucking dog.”

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, throat tight. Bile burns at the back of it. All you wanted was to get away from this. The blood, the horror of it. Yet no matter what you do to dissuade him, he brings death to your doorstep. “You have everything. You could have anyone. Why are you–”

“Because I want you,” he hisses, words so sharp his sharp teeth snap together. “Because I love you, and that’s what you do when you love someone,” he says. You can feel the accusation building in his words. “You don’t give up on them. And if that means cleaning up every dirty little mistake you make,” he says softly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “So be it.” 

A cold shiver rolls down your spine. You stare woundedly at him, lips parted, brows pinched together, the misery of it all etched into every line of your face. He stares at you in turn, and after a beat, his own hard expression softens.

“Hey, hey,” he says, the heat of his breath a ghostly kiss on your lips. “It’s okay,” he says, brushing the tip of your nose with his. “I forgive you.”

He kisses you again, more tender now. Your eyes prickle with tears. His gentleness hurts so much more than his violence. It disarms you, carries you to a time when things were simpler between you. Sweeter and warmer. 

Homelander makes the world feel wonderful and dangerous, like standing in the middle of an electric storm. Being loved by him is the feeling of having your ribs cracked open, your heart cradled in his bare hands, possessive and bloody. What had been thrilling grew stifling, a feeling you realize now never truly went away.

He’s inescapable, literally and figuratively. Even when he isn’t inviting himself into your home or lurking in the periphery of your vision, Vought’s hero is plastered on every billboard and screen in the city. You haven't been able to breathe without inhaling the thick miasma of him.

Tears roll down to your temples as you kiss him back, both hands fisted in his soft hair, tugging. He makes a pleased little sound against your lips, teeth grazing your bottom lip. He’s always kissed like a man possessed–like every brush of your lips is a drop of salvation–but the hunger he’s developed since you tried to leave him is unparalleled. He kisses you like he means to devour you whole.

You bite back a sob, but the hiccuped noise of it catches his attention nonetheless. He breaks from you, looking down at you with a feverish mix of yearning, impatience and something that almost resembles pity, which might be the closest thing he knows to sympathy.

“Hey,” he coos, dusting your jaw with feather light kisses. “Don’t cry.”

“It’s awful,” you choke out.

“What is?”

“Your love.”

“I know,” he says after a prolonged pause. “It’s all I know.”

You look at him, the image of him bleary through your tears. There’s a morose resignation in his ocean-storm eyes, a distance that makes him seem far, far away from you, even as you taste the heat of his breath on your lips.

Focus returns to his gaze, and suddenly he’s present again. “It’s all I know,” he says again, his tone made of wood, stiff and splintering.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you lift your palm to his cheek, hovering just shy of touching. He’s pulled to it like a magnet, nuzzling into your palm, eyes closing. His hand slides down the familiar slopes of your body, settling at your hip, where his fingertips sink in like claws, the pressure of them shy. For as vicious as things have gotten between you, he’s never hurt you. A fact he lords over you as if he should be applauded for it.

I love you more than anything. You know that, right? That I would never do anything to hurt you? He’d asked you during that first fight. When everything went wrong. 

You’d only been able to nod then, trapped with a man you didn’t recognize wearing the face of the man you loved.

That’s right. Of course you do. Because if I wanted to hurt you, I would have. It would have been easy, huh?

Despite how desperately you’ve tried to fortify yourself against him, it’s still so easy.

Homelander is an aberration, but so too is he a man, and there was a time when the man was all that you saw. When the monster at the core of him reared its head, bloody and unrepentant, that became all you could see in him. Now, the two are so irrevocably tangled in the sinew of the other, you’re never sure which you’re looking at.

“I miss you,” you confess to the man in him, voice so soft only his ears possibly could have discerned the words. As if you can hide the words from the monster lurking behind if you speak them quietly enough. 

He looks as confused as your own aching heart. “I’m here,” he says, everything in his tone willing you to believe it. He doesn’t understand that you miss who he was before you knew what he was.

A mournful noise swells in your chest, but he kisses you before it can escape. “I’m here,” he says again, the hand at your hip turning into a fist in the fabric of your clothes, tearing them at the seams. “I’ll make you feel better,” he says between presses of his lips, hungry and rushing, like he can outspeed your miserable grief. “Let me make you feel good.”

Sex has always been an avenue of redemption for Homelander. Whether he’s frustrated, anxious, wounded or a combination of them all, he’s sought to remedy it through a good orgasm. He treats you as though the notion should hold true for you: the fight doesn’t count so long as he makes you come.

Yet again, you’re left stricken by him. As you have a dozen times before, all you can do is nod. Deep in your core, you know he’s right. He can make you forget this horrible ache in yourself, the grief and the fear. He can take you away to the dream you’d lived before you met the beast in his shadow. 

Coherent thought turns to water slipping between the cracks of your mind as Homelander’s bare fingers brush your inner thigh. You suck in a sharp breath that leaves you as a shudder and you clutch at his collar, twisting the fabric, unsure if you mean to push him away or pull him closer.

Homelander makes the choice for you, closing the distance and kissing you too gently, too sweetly. You spur him with your teeth, needing it faster, harder. Needing it to hurt just enough to not feel entirely right. He ignores your prompt, focused wholly on tasting you, on sliding his fingers up into the waiting warmth between your thighs. He presses the pad of his middle finger to your clit, deft and familiar.

You sigh, closing your eyes, ready to lose yourself to the feel of something good. He slides serpentine down your body, kissing you through your shirt, nipping at your skin through the fabric for the way it makes you jump. His lips trail down until they pass the hem of your shirt, finding where he’s stripped you. His mouth is unbearably warm, breath hot huffs on your bare skin, goosebumps erupting everywhere.

He mouths at your hip, sucks the skin dark before trailing further down, leaving a constellation with his lips. The scorching wet heat of his tongue feels like a brand on your clit, replacing his hand with his mouth. 

You thread your fingers into his hair, widening the spread of your legs to allow for the way he shoulders under and between them, lifting your lower half. He nuzzles into the nectary sweetness of you, moaning unabashedly for your familiar taste.

What do I taste like? You asked him once, drunk on pleasure and those early honeymoon days of loving him. Everything about him fascinated you; did his super smell lend itself to super taste? Could he pick out each note of you, dissect your profile into sections?

He’d been slow to answer, thinking it over.

Love, he said at last. Like you love me.

You wonder if that holds true. If he can still taste love in you, if that’s why he’s so eager to devour you, or if the absence of it has made him even hungrier. If he plunges his tongue to the core of you in the hopes he might discover lingering shreds of what the two of you once had.

A moan escapes you. His fingers bite into your thighs, tongue coaxing more. Restraint dissipating, you tighten your grip on his hair and tug, grinding hard against his mouth. He knows the stepping stones of your pleasure as well as you know yourself, knowing just when to suck, when to lick. He’s more relentless than any other man could hope to be, never needing to stop for breath, never succumbing to aching muscles. He maintains a pace that sends you careening so viciously towards release, you give a choking gasp when it hits you, your head thrown back against the couch as euphoric relief rolls through you in waves.

Homelander shrugs out from under your trembling thighs, his mouth slick and shining, eyes predator wide. You’re both panting, silently gauging the other. You’re first to break the standoff, his hunger infectious. You climb onto your knees and grab his shoulders, pushing his back to the couch, straddling him. He keens when you kiss him, an addictive sound that gives you a deceptive sense of power.

He murmurs your name in fervent repetition, dragging his mouth along your skin, inhaling you like a drug. You unbuckle his belt with the ease of experience, unzip his pants and slip your hand inside. Curling your fingers around his cock, you find it already hard and dripping in anticipation.

“Anything you want,” he breathes, the words coming between the prayer-like recitation of your name. “Money, diamonds, anything, I’ll make you a queen,” he says, eyelids fluttering at your touch. He pledges these things like an act of devotion, but you recognize this Faustian bargain for what it is. It will cost you your heart and soul.

“I’ll make you a god,” he moans at a particularly deft twist of your wrist.

Making you come will have to be enough for now.

“Fuck me,” you tell him breathlessly. “The way I like it.”

Like flipping a switch, the dazed pleasure in his eyes sharpens. The corners of his mouth tug, his upper lip twitches, eager tension slipping into his touch as his hands slide up your thighs, grasping your hips. His fingers sink in tight enough to bruise, despite the gentleness of his touch. The immeasurable power lurking within his unassuming frame is a novelty that never wears off, a thrill that shocks you to your core no matter how many times you experience it.

Like a vicious storm, he’s beautiful and terrible in equal measure. Caught in the eye of his maelstrom, the only thing left for you to do is weather him.

He guides you down onto his cock in one slow, agonizing pull. Even with his spit and your orgasm easing the way, it’s too much all at once. Relishing the aching burn of being split apart by him, you make a noise that gives him pause. You don’t let him stop. You brace your hands on his shoulders and lift off of him almost entirely before sinking back down deeper than you had before, wringing a moan from him in turn.

Homelander’s fingers dig securely into your back as your bodies slot together and find an old, familiar rhythm. By now he knows exactly the angle to take to best pleasure you. You let out a shaky sigh at the warmth that spreads through you, the pressure of your climax building, his heat sinking into you like the light of the sun itself.

You’re used to a god.

You cup his face and kiss him. You bite his lip until you should taste blood. You dig your nails into his skin so hard your knuckles ache. If he notices it, he’s only pleased by it.

“I’d move heaven and hell for you,” he swears between kisses, ripping the shirt from your body. The cool air hits your damp, hot skin like a shock. 

“I don’t want them,” you say, voice catching on one of his sharp and sudden thrusts. He’s close. You can feel it in the tightness of his muscles, in the erratic, merciless way he drives into you.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, voice reedy, tight. He kisses down your chest, scrapes his teeth over the swell of your breasts. “They’re yours. It’s all yours. I’m yours.”

Those words should hit you like a prison sentence, but they don’t.

They make you come.

Homelander holds you tightly as he, too, breaks into pieces, filling you with light and heat. He chokes more promises against your skin, kisses the salt from your skin and licks it greedily from his lips. You spin in place in his arms, dizzy on your own orgasm, riding out the aftershocks with his cock throbbing against the quiver of your cunt.

For a long while there’s nothing but the sound of your breaths and the distant din of the television. The tremors wracking your body gradually fade, and the chill of the open air begins to set in.

Homelander holds you tight as the sweat on your skin cools. He kisses a trail from your neck to your shoulder, nuzzling there before he rests his head down, face tucked into the crook of your neck. You feel wrung dry, eyelids heavy. You card your fingers absently through his hair, body boneless against his. Your eyes ache from crying, but you don’t mind it. Strung out like this, the aches left in the wake of pain and pleasure both feel equally good.

“It’s late,” he says warmly, a smile in his tone. He sounds lovesick, the way you both did once upon a time. Back then, you thought you knew every dark corner of his insatiable heart. “We should sleep.”

“Okay,” you agree, voice frayed. He lifts you gingerly from his lap, adjusting to cradle your naked body to his chest. Despite how Homelander unspools himself before you, you’re always the one left reduced. Bare and vulnerable both physically and emotionally. You slip your arms around his neck as he stands, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I could take you to the tower,” he whispers, sending a chill down your spine. “My bed’s bigger.”

“No,” you say, remembering a door you cannot reach, no matter how many times you grasp for it, and the god’s hands that sent you spinning. He’s already so capable of turning your home into a prison. You’re not sure you’d ever escape his penthouse. “I want mine.”

Perhaps the most terrible fact of all is that Homelander is neither a god nor a monster. 

He is simply a man without limitation.

“Sure,” he says, kissing your cheek. The touch lingers, dripping with his adoration. “Anything you want.”

So long as it includes him.

[all-with-angel]

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃. •°. *࿐

Summary: You come back to life, but you're not the same. Or Kenjaku reanimates YOU and uses YOU as his vessel :3 Part 1 here but this can be a standalone!

Including: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Sukuna Ryomen, Shoko Ieiri

Tags: Post-relationship, Angst, why did I write this, gn!reader

A.N. A little lore I gave this one, Kenjaku is using the reader to lure out our dear characters :3 He's either gonna kill/seal them or something...probably...

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI. smau masterlist

A.N. This would do SOOO much better as a fic tbh... But this is a good starting point atleast

Taglist 💞: @mikorinstan

[axelsagewrites]

Main Masterlist Here

House of the Dragon Masterlist Here

Warnings/Guides

【P】Platonic【P】 🆇Smut 18+🆇

Request Line Up and Request Rules

♡ Jon Snow ♡

🆇What he's like in bed🆇

Blind date

🆇Milady🆇

🆇Home Alone🆇

🆇Price of My Secrecy 🆇

Relationship Moodboard

🆇Couldn't Resist🆇

♡ Robb Stark ♡

Best Friend

Marriage night

🆇Dream🆇 🆇part two🆇

Frey Girl 🆇part two🆇

🆇I miss you🆇

Cloak

Honey Cakes (cloak part two or standalone)

Comfort

Sweet Girl

🆇NSFW Alphabet🆇

🆇Good girl🆇

Yearbook

Don't Die For Me

🆇Little Secret🆇

🆇Can't Catch a Break🆇

Goodnight Dear Husband

♡ Sandor Clegane ♡

Most People Say Goodbye Part One - Part Two

🆇Brat🆇

♡ Beric Dondarrian ♡

Home

♡ Thoros of Myr ♡

Favourite Friend

♡ Brienne of Tarth ♡

【P】Queen in the North and South【P】

♡Ned Stark♡

🆇MiLord🆇

🆇Wife🆇

♡Ramsay Bolton♡

🆇My Father Would Kill Me🆇

🆇Catch You🆇

🆇How Far Would You Go🆇

🆇Appreciate You🆇

🆇Bath🆇

🆇Little Mouse🆇

♡Roose Bolton♡

Perhaps

Not Yet

♡Edmure Tully♡

【P】Who We Call Family【P】

My Queen My Love

♡Theon Greyjoy♡

Dream of Sweet Memories

🆇Give it back🆇

♡Sansa Stark♡

Roommates

🆇NSFW Alphabet🆇

🆇What's This?🆇

Surprise Visit

♡Podrick Payne♡

🆇Praise🆇

♡Daenereys Targaryen♡

🆇My Queen🆇

♡Jamie Lannister♡

🆇Extra Credit🆇

♡Oberyn Martell♡

🆇Duty🆇

♡Margaery Tyrell♡

🆇Ropes🆇

♡Cersei♡

🆇Morning🆇

♡Tormund♡

🆇Real Man🆇

🆇Use your words🆇

♡ Yara Greyjoy ♡

Flirting

Preferences/Multicharacter

🆇Company🆇 - Yara and Ellaria threesome

🆇What they're like in bed🆇 – Robb, Jon, Sandor, Podrick

How they react to teasing – all

🆇What They're Like in Bed🆇 – Margaery, Sansa, Danny, Yara

Share pt1 🆇Competition pt2🆇 🆇Wait p3🆇 - Robb and Jon

🆇Hook ups🆇 - Theon and Jon

Love Languages - Jon, Robb, Bran, Tormund, Podrick, Oberyn

Thanks for any support I appreciate it all xoxo Sage

Dividers from here and here from @saradika

Post topper made on Canva

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: GUILTY CONSCIENCE

✩ ‧ ˚. serial killer!au: ever since that first night, you can't get him off your mind—and even though you handed him over to law enforcement, it looks like he still wants you too. PART 1 | NSFW

contents: fem!reader. porn with plot, dubcon, semi-public sex (in a bathroom), oral (m. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), pet names (detective, princess, smart girl, pretty girl, etc.), gojo cums in your mouth. non-sexual threatening. non-sexual usage of knives/guns. more plot than porn. this is not good for you btw !!! 4K words.

author's note: pls appreciate your smut writers bc this shit is hard !!!! the sk!series might be over after this one bc i'm not feeling it anymore, but nothing's set in stone yet. posting this for the ppl who wanted a part two, but personally i would've just left it as a standalone.. oh well, i didn't want 4K words to go to waste, so enjoy 🤍

“satoru gojo, what are we going to do with you?” your subordinate asks, resting his hands on the table dividing the dim interrogation room in two. you and your coworker sit on one side, facing the serial killer on the other side—who also happens to be the man you fucked in an alley two weeks ago.

ever since that first encounter, you haven’t been able to get his face out of your mind. at work, his ice blue eyes haunted your every move. at home, he was all you could picture as your mind strayed back to your time beneath him. and now, as you and your boss interrogate him, all you can think about is how good satoru’s hands felt roaming over your skin when you cornered him—or, more accurately, when he cornered you.

“i dunno,” satoru replies, leaning back in his chair and resting his hands behind his head. he grins shamelessly, looking you up and down with interest. “so, pretty girl, how’ve you been since we last met?”

you slip your hands into your pockets to stop yourself from doing something you’ll regret and ignore the curious look your coworker gives you. “this meeting isn’t about me. this is about the people you killed and the punishment you’re about to get,” you answer through gritted teeth.

satoru laughs, eyes locking with yours and seeing right through you. “that’s funny. so, who’s this shrimpy guy next to you? your boyfriend?” he jeers, grinning unnervingly at your coworker. you shoot your subordinate an apologetic look, which he responds to with a nod.

“i’m her boss, actually,” he clarifies, running a hand through his blonde hair and narrowing his eyes. “kento nanami. and i’ve been referred to as a lot of things, but shrimpy is a first.” satoru makes a face and laughs, as if he’s amused by the whole scene. 

“really? i’m surprised,” satoru replies easily. “i mean, whatever. i’ve seen better looking officers… like the one next to you.” he looks back at you, a careless smile still dancing on his lips. kento frowns and looks back and forth from you to satoru, and you force yourself to maintain a poker face in order to detract any suspicion.

“do you two know each other?” kento asks, crossing his arms. satoru starts laughing again, to which you roll your eyes. even if satoru were to tell kento what you hadn’t—that you two had fucked when you were supposed to be arresting him—you doubted that kento would believe him. after all, what’s the word of an obnoxious criminal compared to yours?

you shake your head and ignore satoru. “i’m the one who’s been leading the investigation on him for the past couple months,” you answer. kento meets your eyes and cocks an eyebrow, so you continue, “we met two weeks ago. i cornered him, but he escaped—”

“she let me,” satoru interjects, clearly enjoying the death glare you shoot at him a second later.

“you held a gun to my forehead,” you remind him pointedly, tapping the spot on your head where you vividly remember the cold metal resting against. 

“yeah, but i kissed it aft—”

“we’re getting off-topic,” kento interrupts, shooting you a warning glance. “detective, i’ll handle the interrogation from here.”

you hesitate, not liking how smug satoru’s expression is—but, seeing as you don’t have a choice, you dip your head in assent and exit the room. 

now that satoru’s been caught and is now in the grasp of the law, you don’t really have anything to do for the rest of the day. he was your case, and now, it looks like it’s closed, especially if your boss is the one interrogating him.

kento nanami has a reputation among law enforcement—he’s known as the stoic, serious man with a perfect record. there hasn’t been a single criminal he’s interrogated that hasn’t cracked, although the knot in your stomach tells you that this might be the first.

a sharp knock sounds on your office door, summoning you back from your train of thought. “it’s open,” you call, holding a piping hot coffee with both hands. kento opens the door and steps inside, eyebrows unusually tensed. his hands are balled into fists, too, in stark contrast to his characteristically calm demeanor. 

“something wrong?” you ask tentatively, studying your boss’s troubled eyes.

kento takes a seat in the leather chair in the corner of your office and rests his elbow on the armrest, rubbing his temples. “detective, be honest with me. what happened the night you were supposed to arrest satoru gojo?”

for the first time since satoru pinned you to the wall of a darkened alley, your heart drops. kento’s knowing eyes watch your every move, from the subtle twitch in your eye to the way your fingers tense around the cup of coffee. “what do you mean?” you ask carefully, surprised at how steady your own voice is.

“detective, don’t play games with me,” kento asserts calmly, hand casually drifting towards the side of his waist. you know him well enough to know what he’s reaching for—the same instrument that another man pressed against your forehead just two weeks ago.

despite your mind being clouded with fear and uncertainty, you manage to rationalize your way through the situation. what proof could your boss possibly have besides the word of a criminal? 

it’s your word against his—and you both know whose word kento’ll believe.

“that night, he threatened to kill me,” you start, repeating the story you told the authorities when they came ten minutes too late to catch satoru. “and he must’ve drugged me or knocked me unconscious because next thing i knew, he was gone.” your confidence grows with every word, and you start nodding as if you believe your own lies.

kento’s eyes narrow, and you force yourself to hold your poker face as he scrutinizes you and your words. three long, painful seconds of silence pass before his hand moves away from the holster strapped to his waist, and you internally sigh in relief. he stands without a word and makes to exit the room, but before he does, you risk it all. “why do you ask, sir?”

your boss pauses and turns back to you, eyebrows lifting in mild interest. he doesn’t answer immediately, and you tentatively ask, “...what did he tell you?”

kento exhales a soft huff of air, a look of dread in his brown eyes. “detective, for your own peace of mind, i assure you that you don’t want to know.”

well, fuck.

“i trust your judgement, then,” you reply, feeling your poker face start to slip away. you lift your now-cold cup of coffee to your lips and take a sip, attempting to hide the grimace that threatens to make an appearance. “have a good night, boss.”

“you too, detective. stay safe.”

“i’ll do my best.”

kento nods and heads out, and through your open window you watch him tell another one of your coworkers about how he’s planning on heading out early to make bread for his family, a gentle smile on his lips. eventually, he waves bye and exits the building.

you finish off your coffee and stand up, fishing out your key card from your pocket. you figure that you should head to the bathroom before you go home, just in case. a couple of your coworkers congratulate you when you come out of your office, praising you on the capture of your suspect. you take their compliments with a smile, ultimately wishing them a good night and escaping to the bathroom.

the door clicks shut behind you, and the comfortable quiet eases you at once. but before you can even appreciate the silence of the confined room, a sultry, familiar voice interrupts your thoughts. “aw, you weren’t gonna say bye before you left?”

you turn and your mouth drops open—standing before you, in the flesh, is the criminal you swore you last saw handcuffed to a chair.

“what the fu—”

satoru reaches out and grabs your wrist before you can scurry away or grab your phone. he pulls you into his chest, and you can feel his heartbeat against your back—at least, that’s what you notice before he clamps his hand over your mouth to stifle your yells.

“shut it,” satoru hisses, breath hot against the side of your face. he turns you towards the mirror of the bathroom so you can see how he’s holding you—one hand over your mouth, and one wrapped around your waist. “don’t try anything clever, sweetheart. i wouldn’t wanna have to hurt that pretty face of yours.”

you turn your head and glare at him furiously, cussing like a sailor against his hand. you eventually try to bite it, but your meager attack is essentially useless against his iron grip. satoru raises his eyebrows sternly and hushes you again, ice-blue eyes boring into your own. 

“i’ll answer your questions, honey, but be careful,” he pauses and nods at his pocket, where the handle of what appears to be a knife—how the fuck did he get his hands on a knife?—pokes out of the cloth. “okay, i’m gonna take my hand off your mouth now,” he murmurs, purposefully lowering his voice.

true to his word, satoru removes his hand from your mouth. you take a long breath and hesitate—again, there’s not much you can do in this situation but play along. if he’s telling the truth, you can ask questions and he can answer them, so you try your hand at getting some information and biding time. someone would have to walk in the bathroom eventually, right?

“by the way,” satoru starts, a grin curving the corners of his lips upward. “nobody’s gonna come save you, princess. the door’s locked from the inside.” he also removes his hand from your waist, letting you take a step back.

“how?” you ask suspiciously, unsure if he’s telling the truth or not.

satoru laughs—his hair falls into his eyes, and immediately shakes it away with a huff of breath. “i’m good with my hands. but you already know that, don’t ya?”

you back away towards the other side of the bathroom, where sinks line the quartz countertop. “why aren’t you still in the interrogation room?”

“you think you’re the only girl i can convince to let me go?” satoru tuts, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. he reaches into his pocket—not the one with the knife—and extracts a badge of some sort. satoru flicks it at you, and you catch it in midair. to your surprise, it’s the badge of one of your superiors who was supposed to be keeping an eye on satoru. the coy smile on satoru’s face confirms what you’re thinking, and his nod seals it the next second. 

“okay,” you say carefully, drawing out the word for a couple seconds. “how long have you been waiting here?”

“long enough,” satoru answers vaguely, not bothering to elaborate.

“thanks a lot,” you deadpan.

“nice to see that you’re still feisty—”

“and what the hell did you tell my boss?” you interrupt, suddenly remembering the dread-filled way kento had looked at you. the way your voice rises is unexpected enough to force satoru to involuntarily take a step back. it’s not much, but the step you take forward a second later to assert your position brings you a small feeling of satisfaction. after all, he’s only human—and all humans get surprised by loud noises.

satoru holds up his hands in mock surrender and eyes you skeptically. “you’re really worried about your boss’s approval, aren’t you?” he asks dryly, white hair falling into his eyes again. “heh, desperate much?”

you roll your eyes and curl your hands into fists—unfortunately, your action only seems to amuse satoru, but you ignore the little “aw” he coos and continue glaring at him. “answer the fucking question, satoru.”

“language,” he snorts. a second later, satoru cocks his head and thinks for a moment, and when his eyes land on you again he asks, “so, you’re still callin’ me satoru? cute.”

your face involuntarily heats up, and even though you’re sure satoru can tell, you pretend not to notice—again. “answer the question or i’ll scream.”

“you wouldn’t dare.”

“wouldn’t i?”

you don’t get the chance to fufill your threat, because satoru sees that you’re serious a second too early—everything’s a blur as he grabs your wrists and bunches them into one hand, firmly securing your hands behind your back. his chest rests on top of your back as he folds you over the bathroom counter, and his reflection leers at you from the mirror. “nice try, baby. but remember, you’re dealin’ with a world-class serial killer.”

“world-class? how humble of you,” you snap irritably, craning your neck to glare at satoru out of the corner of your eye. “you asshole, get off me or i’ll—”

satoru interrupts you by prodding at your lips with two of his fingers, forcing your mouth open and slipping them inside. you instantly attempt to bite him, but his fingers are so long that they trigger your gag reflex instead. “missed me, detective?” satoru coos, curling his fingers downwards and pressing on your tongue. a little whine involuntarily slips out of your lips, and satoru takes that as a yes. “yeah, i can tell,” he continues, studying your heated face in the reflection of the mirror. “i bet you couldn’t stop thinkin’ about me since that night, yeah?”

he doesn’t bother waiting for a response before he extracts his fingers and leaves you gasping for breath. you watch as satoru lifts his now-soaked fingers to his lips and runs his tongue over them, ice-blue eyes boring into your own. it’s disgusting, filthy even, but that doesn’t stop your thighs from clenching together in a futile attempt to hide your arousal from him.

“y’know, i think you’re wearing too many clothes,” satoru sighs, resting his chin on top of your head and smiling coyly. “wanna fix that for me?”

“do i have a choice?”

“no.” satoru pushes himself off of you and gives you enough space to start removing your clothes without his smothering presence. the idea of running away or screaming crosses your mind, but the serial killer’s smile makes you certain that you’d regret it—and that’s even disregarding the knife that’s still shining at you from his pocket. 

seeing as you don’t really have any other option, you slowly shrug off your coat and let it slide down your body and onto the floor. your collared shirt comes off next, followed by your pants, until there’s hardly anything shielding you from satoru’s hungry eyes. the feeling stirring in the pit of your stomach is hard to describe—it’s something like a mix between longing and fear, two emotions you hadn’t felt since that night.

and maybe, even though every instinct you have insists that this is the last thing you should be finding pleasure in, you want to feel that way again.

“you really coulda been anything in the world with that body,” satoru sighs, leaning back against a wall and taking his sweet time looking you up and down. his eyes narrow slyly as he watches you shrink away from him instinctually, and the next thing you know, he’s on you again, hands tracing over your skin and lips unbearably close to yours. “although, i guess it’s a good thing you’re a detective, ‘cause i wouldn’t have met you if you weren’t.”

you shouldn’t be agreeing with him, and as he lifts you up onto the counter, you also know that you shouldn’t be letting him do this. it goes against everything you swore to protect when you joined law enforcement, and if this ever got out—no, when it got out, you’d be the pariah of the city.

but even after thinking it through, one, two, maybe even three times, you can’t find it in your heart to care about much else than the hands pushing apart your thighs and slipping inside your shamelessly wet cunt.

“heh, how long has it been since we last did this?” satoru coos, eyes glazing over with a mixture of lust and adoration. his face is redder than you’ve ever seen it—the blush spreads all the way up to the tips of his ears, and it’s even more prominent underneath the overhead lights as he eyes you. “two weeks, right? feels like it’s been twenty.”

“do you ever shut up?” you mutter sourly, averting your eyes from satoru’s. he responds by curling up the two fingers he has inside your cunt, a mean little smile on his lips. 

“careful with that mouth of yours,” satoru warns, pushing his fingers in farther until he’s practically knuckle-deep inside of you. his thumb rests firmly against your clit, toying with the sensitive skin. “it’ll get you in trouble one day, pretty girl…” satoru withdraws his fingers in one swift motion with a soft, wet pop. he lifts his hand to his lips and licks off your slick, swiping his tongue over his fingers a couple times with a smile. “y’know what? i’ll let you go if you can do one thing for me, ‘kay?”

he waits for your response, raising an eyebrow patiently for you to catch your breath. it almost feels like deja vu, or some cheesy movie from the 90’s: the pretty little detective getting fucked by the big bad serial killer, and you know how these films always ended—not pretty.

“what?” you ask halfheartedly, expecting him to ask you to do something like erase him from the police records or sabotage the investigation. satoru cups your face with both hands, leaning in close enough for his lips to brush against yours, and his smile is almost mocking when he replies.

“suck my dick.”

part of you wants to ask “that’s it?”, but the glimmer in satoru’s knowing eyes makes you certain that he won’t make this easy for you. 

“what if i say no?” you ask tentatively. it’s a stupid question—now you’re just playing russian roulette with his rationality, and either way, you already know your decision.

the past two weeks have been torture. every waking moment of yours was spent thinking about the man you fucked, and every time you thought of his carefree smile and feather-light touch, you just felt guilty for wanting more. after all, when you first became a detective, you swore to prioritize your job and not make any personal relationships with your subjects. and yet, here you were, almost too eager to get on your knees for the serial killer who you swore to incapacitate. 

satoru shrugs nonchalantly in response to your question and not-so-subtly shoots a furtive glance at his pocket, where the handle of his knife still pokes out. “you’re a smart girl. i think you can guess, yeah?”

and that’s how you ended up with your lips wrapped around satoru’s dick for the seventh time (if you include every fantasy you’ve had about giving him head). it’s almost funny how he switches up the second you run your tongue over his blushing pink tip—his face goes red, all the way up to his ears, and the little breathy moans that slip out of his lips would be adorable in any other context but this.

“f-fuck, wasn’t expecting you to be this good,” he manages to mutter through gritted teeth, eyes fluttering open and shut. “where’d you learn to suck dick like this, heh—”

it’s been.. a while since satoru first helped you get on your knees in front of him and unzipped his pants, and even though it could’ve just been a couple minutes, it feels like this is all you’ve ever known. satoru’s ice blue eyes have barely moved from you since you started, and it looks like it’ll stay like that until you finish—or, more accurately, until he finishes.

satoru’s foot bounces on the floor as you lick a long stripe from the tip of his dick to the top of it, and the way his nails dig into his palm makes you absolutely certain that he’s close to cumming down your throat. “shit, don’t— don’t stop,” he chokes out, threading his fingers through your hair and involuntarily pushing down your head. “fuck—”

when satoru finally cums, it’s pitifully obvious—actually, it’s almost embarrassing. last time, you were the one in shambles when he was done with you, but now, it looks like it’s the other way around. his eyes flicker as they almost roll back from the sheer pleasure of you sucking him dry, and when satoru’s cum shoots out of his painfully hard dick, it’s a hot mess that leaks out of your mouth and down your chin. 

“y-yeah, good girl,” he murmurs shakily, reaching down and swiping his thumb over your cum-soaked, swollen lips. you lick off the thick, viscous liquid from his fingers instinctually, a dazed little smile on your face as you watch satoru tilt his head back towards the ceiling.

it’s interesting, seeing the city’s infamous serial killer like this. he’s leaning back against the white tile of the bathroom walls, chest heaving from his orgasm, and in that moment, you realize that his attention is on everything else but you. 

so, naturally, you stab him in the back.

not literally—that’d be a pain for your office’s custodian to clean up, but you extract the knife from satoru’s discarded pants and, before he can register the sharp object in your shaky hand, you press it to his blush-red throat. 

satoru’s hazy eyes widen in disbelief as he realizes what’s going on before they narrow in what looks almost like a mix between anger and shock. it’s stupid, foolish, and almost naive, but somewhere in your chest, it feels like a dagger pokes at your softened heart when you categorize the look in his eyes as betrayal. which is, by all accounts, entirely unreasonable—did he seriously think you wouldn’t take advantage of him like this?

at the end of the day, no matter how good the dick was, you weren’t about to sacrifice your well-paying job for a man on the run from the law.

“what the fuck?” satoru snaps, hand twitching in a movement to throw you off of him, but thankfully, the sudden shift in atmosphere heightened your instincts to a point where nothing could possibly catch you off-guard. you dig in the knife a millimeter deeper into his throat, avoiding eye contact with the man you just made cum with your mouth. “are you—”

“yeah, i am,” you assert, biding time. as much as you’d like to pretend that you’re completely in control of the situation, there’s only so long that you can hold up this stalemate. satoru’s stronger than you physically, and the second he figures out a way to handle the knife pressed to his neck, he’d get his revenge.

satoru comes to this conclusion about as fast as you did, and his lips curve upwards in a jeering smile. the look in his eyes is borderline insane when he snarls, “nobody’s gonna rescue you from me, princess. just you wait—”

and, with perfect comedic timing, the bathroom door opens, and one of your female co-workers steps in. you’ve never talked to her much, but thankfully, her instincts are even faster than yours.

what happens next goes by in a haze. your co-worker holds a gun to the side satoru’s head, and calls for backup. then, a handful of sleepy-eyed police officers haul away a cursing and fighting satoru to who-knows-where.

but just before he’s out of sight, satoru shoots you an unsettlingly calm look. and as if that wasn’t concerning enough, the last words he mouths to you are “this isn’t over.”

[holylulusworld]

Bad Hugs

Summary: You didn‘t want a gender reveal party.

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Warnings: angst, awful mother-in-law, remorse, fluff

A/N: This is a scene I wanted to use in Monster-in-law, but it didn’t match the story. It’s a standalone drabble with no connection to the original series. Inspired by a SM post.

A gender reveal party. You never wanted to do one of these. Getting to know the gender of your baby should’ve been between you and your husband.

Winnifred Barnes, your mother-in-law, had a different opinion. And, as always, at one point Bucky gave in. He organized the party and invited your family and friends.

At first, you hated it, but the closer you got to the revelation, the more you got excited to share the best-kept secret with your family and close friends.

People chatted and ate cake, you got lots of gifts, and it was an overly nice and happy day.

“Alright,” Bucky cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. He took your hand in his to press a soft kiss to your knuckles. “It’s time to reveal the gender!”

Everyone clapped their hands as you expectantly looked at Bucky. He held a gender-reveal confetti powder cannon in his hands, looking at you.

“Just tell us,” Steve called from among the guests. “Do not kill us with anticipation, Buck. We all want to know.”

“Okay, okay!” Bucky huffed. He aimed the cannon upwards, twisting the bottom of the rod. Blue. It’s blue, and you could cry because you’re so happy.

You jumped up and down and squealed. Bucky wanted to hug you, but right when you wanted to hug him too, Winnifred shoved you aside to hug him first.

You stood there, frozen to the spot, gasping audibly. It took you a moment to realize that Bucky called your name. He wanted to hug you, and you let him. “Oh, so you do remember me, your pregnant wife.”

Bucky nodded against you, still overly excited after getting to know he was going to have a baby boy.

The room was silent after what Winnifred did, and even more when you turned toward her. For years, you shut your mouth and let her walk all over you, not today.

“Why do you always have to be like this?” You snapped at her, making Steve chuckle. “Why couldn’t you let Bucky and me have this moment?”

“He’s my son, Y/N,” she bit back and dared to look hurt at your question. “I wanted to share his happiness.”

“Oh, are you the one carrying his child?” You put your hands on your swollen belly, stepping toward Winnifred. “Fine, you can celebrate together. I’m out of this.”

Everyone gasped when you grabbed one of the cakes to throw it in Winnifred’s face. “Have the cake and eat it too,” you snarled before storming out of the room.

“Doll, please open the door,” Bucky sighed outside the master bedroom.

You went straight to bed and locked the door. It didn’t matter to you that your family and friends were still at the party. They’d understand you had to leave after the stunt Winnifred pulled.

“Baby doll, please let me in.” He tried again. “I know you are mad at me.”

“You can bet your ass I’m mad,” you growled from inside the room. “You let her steal the show! A show I didn’t want in the first place. You begged me to do this shit only for her to ruin the moment.”

“I know,” Bucky murmured your name and pressed his forehead against the door. “Everyone told me so tonight. I was just stunned when she hugged me.”

“She ruined the moment for us, Buck. It has always been like that,” you sniffled and turned around in your bed. “Since the moment you introduced me to your family, your mother has tried to get all the attention. Even when I broke my arm on Christmas, she faked a terrible migraine, so everyone would care for her.”

“Mom always needed a lot of assurance and attention. I’m sorry she did this today. This was our moment, and she shouldn’t have come in between us. I told her so. Dad told her so. Hell, all of our guests told her so. Sam even threw a second cake at her.”

“I love Sammy,” you sniffled.

“He’s a punk, but yes.” You giggled because Bucky only calls the people he likes punk. “Baby doll, I swear this will never happen again.”

“Yeah, because this was a once-in-a-lifetime moment, Bucky,” you snapped at him. “We can’t redo the gender reveal. She ruined everything once again.”

“I know, baby, I know.” He whispered your name and scratched at the door. “Please let me in.”

“No. You can sleep on the couch tonight. Alpine and I will sleep here alone. This time, you should’ve stepped in, but you didn’t…”

“Baby doll, how are you feeling? Is everything alright? Do you need anything?” For days, Bucky followed you like a kicked puppy. He tried to make things up to you, but you were still hurt.

It was Winnifred’s fault, but you wished, Bucky stepped in this time.

“Do you want me to throw a cake at my mom again?” He asked, watching you pat Alpine, the stray he found before he found you. “I’ll do it.”

“What?” You blinked a few times. “I thought Sam threw a cake at her.”

“Uh—it was teamwork,” he laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to set her straight, and Sam looked at the cake. It was a silent agreement that he hands me the cake, and I throw it in her face.”

You snickered. “This doesn’t mean you are forgiven.”

“It was a blueberry cake,” he sneaked closer to whisper in your ear, “her dress was ruined, and she hates blueberries.”

“I consider forgiving you,” you said and patted Alpine’s head. “But I do not want to be near your mother…like ever. She just proved that there’s no way she’ll respect boundaries. I won’t have it. You can choose. Her or me and your baby.”

“You,” he immediately answered. “And the baby…and Alpine,” Bucky added. “I don’t know if she’ll ever change. If you do not want her around you or our baby, I’ll make sure she stays away…”

[feralrabidcrow]

I remade the silly TF2 base that lives inside my head in The Sims 4 for the 3rd time

And this time I'm actually happy with it!

Behold, the base that I use for a reference for when I write fanfiction! Photo spam incoming under the cut as well as me yapping.......

Some basic exterior shots, in short this is the main home base that the mercenaries all live in when they aren't currently deployed at a battlefield, ex. 2Fort or Badwater. Those battlefields all have much smaller bases attached or nearby for the mercenaries to temporarily reside in while they're in between trying to kill BLU.

This is the floorplan of the basement, with its primary features being the medbay, the workshop, the laundry room, and two sleeping quarters, which belong to Medic and Heavy.

The hallway outside of the medbay has a waiting area set up. There is an elevator that travels between the medbay and the garage for convenience.

It's worth noting that I am working here within the confines of The Sims 4, and can only do so much to achieve my actual visions of this base. Where the skeleton is, would be a scale of the type you would usually see in a doctor's office (Medic prefers to keep his skeletons in the closet, you see.) And the weird set-up of counters in the middle of the room would be a proper operating table, with his Medigun attached to the ceiling above it, among other strange contraptions.

The medbay has this little side room, that Medic mainly uses for storage. Though it works well as a quarantine room, if the need arises.

Closet Skeleton™!!!

Here we have Engie's workshop, which looks as you would probably expect.

Here we have some utility areas in the basement, consisting of the laundry room, a basement-y maintenance furnace type room, and a washroom.

I would rather keep all the mercenaries' bedrooms together, so I'm gonna skip Heavy and Medic's sleeping quarters for now and head up to the next floor!

This is the main floor of the base, where most of the action happens. It features the garage, meeting room, training gym, showers, a large washroom with multiple toilet stalls, a kitchen and dining area, a small living room, and four sleeping quarters, belonging to Demoman, Soldier, Engineer, and Pyro.

The garage is a bit of a mess, and its most noteworthy feature is the armory, where the mercenaries keep most of their gear during time off. Though clearly not all of them care about the danger of tripping hazards.

There's not much to say about the gym and meeting room, at least in this physical version. Once again, I am held back by the game I built this in. In reality, the meeting room would have a large round table, more centered in the room, and the gym would just generally have more going on for it, but I tried my best to capture what purpose they served.

You'll really have to use your imagination on this one and believe those weird pipes are showers, because I don't own any packs with standalone showers. Anyways, these are the communal showers, where you get to experience the joy of pretending you're in prison and staring at your coworker's butts!

I have a feeling Tumblr won't let me share all the bedrooms in this already ridiculously long post, so I'll probably have to attach them in a reblog. If Tumblr doesn't let me do even that, I guess I'll die? I sure hope it does! I do not know how Tumblr works.

But here's a little peek at some of the sleeping quarters......as well as the floorplan for the top floor even though it's basically all personal quarters. Sniper's, Spy's, and Scout's, to be exact.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The first days of Boss Politics Antitrust

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by Wil Wheaton.

"Boss politics" are a feature of corrupt societies. When a society is dominated by self-dealing, corrupt institutions, strongman leaders can seize control by appealing to the public's fury and desperation. Then, the boss can selectively punish corrupt entities that oppose him, and since everyone is corrupt, these will be valid prosecutions.

In other words, it's possible to corruptly enforce the law against the guilty. This is just a matter of enforcement priorities: in a legitimate state, enforcers prioritize the wrongdoers who are harming the public the most. Under boss politics, priority is given to the corrupt entities that challenge the boss's power, without regard to whether these lawbreakers are the worst offenders. Meanwhile, worse wrongdoers walk free, provided that they line up behind the boss.

This is how Xi Jinping prosecuted his purges in the run up to his lifetime appointment as Party Secretary (2012-2015). Xi prosecuted the guilty, but not the most guilty. The public officials who were defenstrated and/or imprisoned during Xi's purges were all corrupt, but they were also the power base of Xi's rivals. Meanwhile, corrupt officials in Xi's own orbit were untouched:

https://web.archive.org/web/20181222163946/https://peterlorentzen.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/Lorentzen-Lu-Crackdown-Nov-2018-Posted-Version.pdf

Trump is a classic boss politician – that's what people mean when they call him "transactional": he doesn't act out of principle, he acts out of self interest. The people who give him the most get the most back from him. This means that Biden's brightest legacy – militant antitrust enforcement of a type not seen in generations – is now going to become "boss antitrust," where genuine monopolists are attacked under antitrust law, but only if they oppose Trump:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/12/the-enemy-of-your-enemy/#is-your-enemy

We're now living through the first days of boss antitrust. Remember all those monopolistic tech billionaires who donated millions of dollars to Trump's inauguration and arranged themselves in a decorative semicircle behind him on the dias? Trump just went to Davos to speak up for them, arguing that EU and other offshore prosecutions of these companies were attacks on "American businesses" and saying he would defend them with the full might of the US government (this is the same government that, under Biden, secured multiple convictions against these same companies for monopolistic conduct):

https://gizmodo.com/trump-returns-big-techs-ass-kissing-at-davos-2000554158

The Federal Trade Commission has lost its Biden-era chair, the extraordinary Lina Khan, who did more in four years than all her predecessors did in the preceding forty years, combined. The new chair is Republican Andrew Ferguson, whose first day on the job was a bloodbath, in which he killed off multiple, significant actions aimed at producing real, material benefits from Americans who are being absolutely screwed by corporations:

https://prospect.org/politics/2025-01-24-executive-action-reaction-day-4/

Ferguson killed off a public comment process on "surveillance pricing," where companies spy on you and then reprice their goods based on their estimation of how desperate you are:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/11/socialism-for-the-wealthy/#rugged-individualism-for-the-poor

Uber pioneered this when they started increasing the cost of cab rides for riders whose phone batteries were about to die. But other companies took it way further: McDonald's is co-owner of a company called Plexure that sells companies the ability to charge you more for your normal order at the drive-through if you've just been paid:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/05/your-price-named/#privacy-first-again

But surveillance pricing is even worse for workers than it is for shoppers. Nurses in the USA increasingly work for Uber-like nurse-on-demand apps like Shiftkey, Carerev and Shiftmed. These apps can buy nurses' financial data from the unregulated data-broker industry, and then offer nurses with overdue credit-card bills lower wages, on the grounds that they're so desperate they'll take a paycut:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/18/loose-flapping-ends/#luigi-has-a-point

Ferguson also killed off a notice-and-comment action on predatory pricing – when companies sell goods below cost in order to destroy competitors, then drive up prices. This is what Uber did, setting $31b of Saudi royal money on fire over 13 years, losing $0.41 on every dollar they brought in. This killed off all the regular taxis, and convinced city governments to abandon public transit investment on the grounds that Uber was cheaper than a bus. Once they'd captured the market, Uber doubled the price of a ride and halved the wages that they paid drivers.

So this is what Ferguson has killed off. In its place, Ferguson has instituted an internal action, aimed at rooting out "DEI" and "wokeness." The agency's top priority right now is running a snitch line where FTC officials can rat each other out for being anti-racist. This isn't just offensive, of course – it's also deeply unserious. Even if you stipulate that "woke" has some meaning (it doesn't, but go with me here), then killing off all the "woke" at the FTC will not make Americans more prosperous, let alone protect them from corporate predators.

In his dissenting statement, FTC Commissioner Alvaro Bedoya didn't mince words:

Andrew Ferguson could have made his first public act as Chairman a motion to study the rising cost of groceries. He could have acted on a pending public petition from a group of wall and ceiling contractors to investigate how lawbreaking contractors can effectively rig contract competitions in the commercial construction industry. He could have moved to investigate a pending public petition from shrimpers from Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama to investigate potentially false and misleading claims about shrimp imports from India that are farmed with forced labor and shot full of antibiotics…

I have met with corn growers and cattlemen in Iowa. I have met with shrimpers in Biloxi. I have met with pharmacists in Knoxville, grocers in Tulsa, and patients and their doctors in Charleston, West Virginia. I met with the men who build Miami’s million-dollar skyscrapers in 110-degree heat.

Let me tell you what they didn’t talk about: “DEI.”

What they do talk about is how powerful companies are skirting or abusing the law to force farmers, workers, and small businessmen to do what they want, when they want, or else. How the government isn’t doing anything about it. And how they’re going broke because of it

But Chairman Ferguson seems uninterested in the challenges that regular human beings face.

https://www.ftc.gov/system/files/ftc_gov/pdf/bedoya-statement-emergency-motion.pdf

Bedoya is still hanging in there at the FTC; these administrative agency appointments outlast the presidents that made them. It's common for agency heads to step down when there's a changeover – Lina Khan didn't stay – but the commissioners often hang in there. I hope Bedoya stays at the FTC: he's one of the good ones and we're all better off for his presence.

There's one Biden agency head who hasn't left, and surprisingly, it's one of Biden's best appointees: Rohit Chopra, head of the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau. Chopra is the first CFPB head to explore just how much power this new-ish agency has, and has seen his far-reaching, muscular regulations upheld unanimously by the Supreme Court.

Trump's corporate backers hate the CFPB, and Elon Musk really hates the CFBP, and crypto grifters really, really hate the CFPB. Ironically, the demonization of the CFPB seems to be the key to Chopra's enduring tenure. According to David Dayen at The American Prospect, no one in Trumpland wants his job. The Supreme Court ruled in 2020 that presidents can fire CFPB heads, but there's no one who wants to replace Chopra and take their turn in the barrel:

https://prospect.org/economy/2025-01-24-rohit-chopra-still-has-a-job/

Chopra's using his time well: he's brought a flurry of new actions, most lately against the credit bureau giant Transunion. And in the final weeks of the Biden administration, Chopra launched a whole boatload of enforcements, investigations, and other actions against the most predatory companies in America. As Dayen notes, over the past four years, Chopra has forced American rip-off businesses to pay back $6b in stolen loot, and to cough up more than $3.2b in fines.

Replacing Chopra is hard for Trump in part because Trump has imposed a federal hiring freeze. That means that anyone who replaces Chopra has to already be working for the US government, and all the finance grifters are cashing out of the government to go work for giant financial institutions they've been carrying water for while drawing a public salary. Even the people who might take the job can't, because then no one could be hired to do their job – for example, there's a ghoul at the FDIC who'd fit the bill, but if he takes over from Chopra, then the FDIC will have just two members. If the GOP stooge on the FCC quits to take the job, then the Democratic commissioners will have a majority. You love to see it, really.

But – as Dayen points out – they're almost certainly gonna give Chopra the axe eventually. When they do, the CFPB will continue to do some enforcements. It's likely that Ferguson will eventually direct the FTC to do something apart from peering under their beds looking for "woke." When they do take action, they'll probably take action against companies that are wildly, lavishly corrupt. After all, that describes basically all of American big business, a sector that has festered thanks to 40 years of antitrust negligence.

It will be tempting for Trump's opponents to decide that if Trump hates these giant, evil companies, well, then, they must be good. Think of when "progressives" fell in love with the "intelligence community" just because a couple spooks decided they hated Trump. The FBI isn't your friend, folks – this is the agency that tried to blackmail MLK into killing himself:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/FBI%E2%80%93King_letter

The enemy of your enemy? Still your enemy, provided that they're a big, predatory monopolist. Boss politics is about punishing corruption – selectively. Trump-style antitrust is going to target a ton of bad businesses. That won't make them good.

Check out my Kickstarter to pre-order copies of my next novel, Picks and Shovels!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/24/enforcement-priorities/#enemies-lists

[ahhhwomen]

Hiii I ADORE your Vampire Empire series. I first found it through your spin off fills on ao3! I love the sweetness & gentleness of Nat / Wanda/reader & how subtly protective & caring they are with girlie. I LOVED the length & detail of “Sweet” & how it felt like a standalone story. & was wondering if you were accepting new prompts? If so: what about one where homegirl needs to visit the doctor / have her teeth cleaned / something that’s maybe new or has been sad & scary to her in the past? & how WandaNat would talk her through it, take care of her & make her feel protected?

if not: thank you for your service to the Wanda/Natasha/Reader community. Keep up the good work!!!!!

A/n: You are so sweet! Though I fear this isn’t quite as long or detailed as “Sweet”, it is even more nauseously loving (with angst to begin with because I am me after all). I hate writing comfort, but I figured I would butter y’all up a little before I rip your hearts out and leave them to dry with the next chapter of Vampire Empire. Omg, who said that? :)

Contains slight spoilers for unreleased chapters of Vampire Empire

Warning: Reference to unethical medical practices

His hands are cold, like the plummet of water just offshore, sweeping you inside its waves.

Your eyelids stick together, barely letting a sliver of light through the gates of tiredness as you lie there. The metal table is unforgiving; it pushes against your weak ribs with every heaving breath that forces its way from your gaping mouth.

There is pain, blossoming as his palms brand bruises wherever his touch sears, but you can hardly feel it. His hands are rough, but his choice of weapon is far crueler as needles of countless sizes litter your spine.

It was a trickle of pressure, pulling you this way and that, repeating in endless succession. Skin breaking with a tiny crack as countless syringes emptied inside your bloodstream.

The world fades and appears in spotty memories—one second, his touch glided against your cheek, the next, below your feet. His face blurs, just as your surroundings shift and stretch.

You can’t feel your body.

You’re just…

Cold.

Not the type of cold that leaves chills down your spine or renders you useless with sniffles.

No, as hands press and pry, forcing you closer to the biting surface of the metal table, the sensation remains secondhand. Almost as if it’s not you feeling it, but another creature, vaguely connected to the husk of flesh you never called home.

On the rare occasion you are lucid enough to think, you wonder what’s inside the multitude of drugs he pumps into your system.

The doctor doesn’t visit often; more times than not, his echoing footsteps represent the hollow wails of death as pet after pet leave in body bags after his visits.

Today may be the day you get to leave, too.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

A huff settles in the tense silence of the living room.

The treat inside Wanda's hand has turned sticky with the warmth of her fingertips. It slathers, greasy and disturbing, with a scent of beef she will never be able to wash off properly.

“Your dramatics are adorable, baby, but we are already ten minutes late. So, would you please get out? Natasha is waiting in the car.” The silence continues without a single acknowledgment on your end.

You had been ignoring her for well over an hour at this point, yet Wanda never left her station, determined to get you to leave on your own terms, even if dragging you out herself would be far less frustrating.

The shit she does for you.

“He isn’t going to kill you, you know.” She grumbles beneath her breath like an afterthought as she continues to dangle beef jerky in front of your upturned nose.

You almost scoff aloud at that but think better of it and settle for a half-hearted eye roll. It was quite literally the reason you were upset to begin with. If they were going to force you to endure this torture, they might as well let him kill you while they were at it.

So, no. You were not leaving your post under the plushy inanimate object that you considered your safe haven, also known as a couch. It had become a favorite spot of yours when you knew something was amiss. Natasha had started calling it your “free sone”, and made some reference to a silly sounding game called “tag”, whatever that was.

Wanda didn’t know whether she wanted to coo or reprimand you as your eyes heaved at her comment. She settled for an indulgent chuckle; your time at the Maximoff household had left you with a bit of an attitude.

Fine, if this was how it was going to be.

Time for the ultimate triumph card.

“I will let you have some chocolate when we get back.” Your ears perked up at that. The redhead knew it was less about the chocolate and more about sharing it through kisses that caught your attention.

The three of you were packed in the car and on the road in less than five minutes after that.

Which is how you find yourself now-

A chill running down your spine as a man with comically large glasses grips your arm, intending to check the bend of your joints. You weren’t a big fan of men, especially not the kind with large hands and fake smiles, which this man was chock-full of. However, it hadn’t taken long before you realized how gentle he was.

His touch was strictly professional, but not unkind. And you found yourself getting more tense with each second that ticked by.

There was comfort in pain, an acknowledgment of existence without the shame of onlookers. The way it burrowed beneath your skin like a second layer of protection burned brighter than any somber light you had spent your life surrounded by.

It was guidance above all.

A path drawn in blood was better than walking blind.

So, this, this in between of suspense where neither pain nor comfort existed, was like being pulled out of the ocean after you finally grew gills.

It gasped inside your chest with each touch and clipped word, heaving for breath where there was none to catch- As if you were choking on the gentleness of it all. Panic pulsed in tandem with your heartbeat as he moved on to your jaw, the rush inside your ears growing louder until it was all you could hear.

The edge of your vision blurred.

Your palms grew clammy.

Your mouth dry.

Then there was a pinch.

Not harsh, but there.

It stung a little.

And suddenly the water returned. You weren’t drowning in an ocean, per se, more like floating in a swimming pool. But it helped, enough to let a breath, then another, rush into your gills and fill you with the existential dread you called calm.

A press of warmth followed the pinch, Natasha gluing herself to your side to draw your attention to her fingers gripping the flesh atop your thigh instead of the grip clutching your jaw.

Relief, not easily felt, replaced the taste of blood that clung to your tongue as you slumped slightly into her.

The emotion that followed was strange. The doctor was stubborn, pulling you this way and that, leaving you dizzy with the movement. It seems he was determined to check every bend, twist, and sound that your body could make. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he was scared for his life with the way he didn’t miss a single detail.

Which he was, of course. Wanda was standing just outside of your view, staring at the man she had paid far too much money for, like he was one wrong move away from becoming dinner, but you didn’t know that.

After the third time of spinning you around, he was pissing you off a little. An emotion you had never considered yourself capable of.

Your hands press into the cold table, knuckles whitening as you tighten your fits in defiance. Half-moon indents form while your nails prick like needles. The pain helps, a little. Yet, anger still lingers, building beneath your skin like a storm brewing on the horizon, displeasure growling inside your mind like thunder.

As quickly as it builds, it dissipates; a warm chuckle quickly washing away your annoyance as Wanda throws her head back with a snicker poorly hidden behind her hand. You turn toward her as sterile lights catch on her golden rings, leaving you mesmerized for a moment. The grumble you hadn’t realized was very much loud and clear inside the small office dies down, and an embarrassed flush tints the tips of your ears.

She was laughing at you.

With a groan, you bury your face into Natasha’s stomach, the doctor forgotten for a moment, her heat helps to alleviate some of the goosebumps that litter your skin. Your shame doubles as the younger redhead chuckles at the whole display. Her stomach vibrates with her silent joy, heaving you up and down as you press closer and whine louder.

It’s strange, even as embarrassment threatens to eat you alive, you can’t remember a time you were this carefree—the man with the silly glasses- nothing but an afterthought in your bubble of resilient joy.

It’s… nice.

Little did you know, Wanda had also made a dentist appointment for you tomorrow… what a bitch.

[maikissed]

Kylian Mbappé oneshot

this was supposed to be a part 2 for when was the time for Kylian Mbappe to explode but I lost the idea somewhere, so I'd say it's more of a standalone with a few hints here and there…yup warnings: smut

She was bored during the Olympics. The event was grand, beautiful and festive. So many people striding the streets, Paris was colourful and very much packed. She loved the stir, the energy, the hubbub. She was busy, there was so much work. But she was not exactly present here, checking socials in the meantime, her thoughts far and messy. His latest post popped out first thing as she opened Instagram and she sighed wondering why she started to feel something close to longing as she focused on her grumpy humour as of late. Her own desires unknown.

She wondered if there’ll be a chance to see him again, she enjoyed his presence, the sight of him, his eyes, however dangerous his gaze was endearing, she missed the way his enigmatic presence made her feel. She wondered if she might have grown some form of attachment, an infatuation even. He was electrifying, that she knew for sure. She enjoyed putting herself in front of the fire, maybe there was some masochism hiding behind it, but she was curious how fast would she burn.

And she in fact spotted him, a week later, during a fundraising gala, when she was convinced he was still enjoying his vacation - she came across some new photos posted by another media account. She was looking for her boss but she stopped in her tracks to observe him, as he was engaged in a friendly conversation with some men. Fingers nervously tapping on her little clutch bag, she was considering if she should wait for a proper moment to approach him. Many people started to gather around him, making her doubt if it was a good idea. Just as she was about to turn around to focus back on her job here, his eyes landed on her suddenly, he was saying something and there appeared a gentle smile on his lips as he recognized her. Because he did. She realised she was staring at him, he nodded gently her way, she send him a delicate smile and waved. He looked sharp, handsome, clad in very elegant black tuxedo, every element dark, even the shirt under the jacket, neatly fastened all the way up. Out of nowhere some more people blocked her sight then, so she composed herself and started to walk. In the opposite direction.

She was focused on the stage in front of her, she was counting the seats, analysing the tables and making sure no vires were peeking out from the carpet when a low voice behind her made her jump slightly.

“Bonsoir” there he was standing, his hands in the pocket of his pants, the material of his clothes looked expensive “You look beautiful”

She blinked at his compliment, fixing her posture, flashing him a warm smile.

“Thank you, you look handsome” a simple pleasantry, she felt nervous “Did u have a nice vacation?”

“It was alright” he shrugged not taking his eyes off of her. He was standing tall, but he seemed somehow weary “How was your vacation?”

“Busy” she nodded.

“I can see” he looked around “Where do you sit?”

“I’m staying here. Currently I’m making sure everything goes well with the plan. It’s about to start”

“Right. See you later, then, I hope”

She smiled back at him as he strode off to the centre of the room. That stupid pleased smile not seeming to leave her face.

The shoes were killing her, the dress suffocating her, the crowd turned more pressed and louder than from before the start of the event. She wondered where all these people came from so suddenly. The bathroom was a nice escape for some time, but she could not stay there forever. After freshening up a little she headed back, before her boss would chastise her for leaving her post. She had about a half an hour more to finish her duties. Just as she turned around the corner from the hall, she collided with something hard and swayed on her legs before she could process what has just happen. A huff leaving her mouth as she grabbed somebody’s arms, protecting herself from falling. There was an arm around her middle, keeping her steady.

“Now you’re falling into my arms, I see” she looked into Kylian’s eyes, a little breathless.

A small chuckle leaving her mouth as she still clung onto him, her eyes big and round, her heart beating faster, caused by the little accident.

“Technically I bumped onto you, I’m sorry”

“Don’t worry about it” he murmured and a second later she realised how close they were. She straightened up, her palms falling down his arms and she stepped away.

His hand placed on her back disappeared and she missed it already.

“Shouldn’t you be back there, with all these people so desperate for your attention?” she joked.

“They started to bore me, it’s tiring to keep up with their conversations. I was looking for a way out, and for you, to be honest”

Excitement rushed over her once again.

“Yes, it’s a little bit crowded now” she acknowledged.

“Should we sneak out?” he looked around them as if to check if someone might be lurking in the corner.

The question surprised her. She bit her lip considering what would happen if she left now, while her boss might in fact be looking for her. She had her phone, she would call her if she was needed. Maybe she’ll forget.

She didn’t suspect that they would end up in her apartment later that night. As they went out in the chilly night for a walk, she brought up the idea; she in fact lived nearby. It was an expensive area, so her apartment was a small studio in an old tenement.

“You well organised this place” his voice low, sounded much deeper in such noiseless surroundings “I like it” he took off his jacket to sit more comfortably on a little sofa in the middle of the living room.

There was ringing in her ears. She watched him a while, he seemed relaxed, no tension, no disguise. Calmness.

 “I had to separate a bit of space to arrange the bedroom. It’s minuscule, but it’s serving it’s purpose”

Looking for glasses she peeked his way to notice him unbuttoning the top of the black shirt he was wearing. The room was hot, she reminded herself that she has to open a window, but then the scent of his perfume hit her senses and she changed her mind quickly.

“Wine?” she asked innocently and he brought his eyes back to her.

“Sure”

She sat down on the other end of the sofa, very aware of his eyes following her movements. She wondered what kind of message was sent the moment she invited him to spend some time at her place. It was a friendly time. Or she thought so.

Her dress tightened as she sat down. She took a sip of her wine, slowly realising what kind of persona she was hosting at this hour at night. In her little apartment.

“It’s a nice place, how long do you live here?”

“Two years”

“Aren’t you tired of Paris already? Some say it gets suffocating after a while”

“It’s a wondrous city. Though it can get a bit lonely after some time” she shared, observing his curious gaze.

“Do you have someone?” his question was unexpected but voiced out in simple curiosity.

She smiled softly at him before brining her eyes down to her glass.

“No” she dragged “I don’t do dates” her comment made him laugh softly.

She frowned before her face broke into another smile.

“And you, Monsieur Mbappé? I can ask you the same”

“I don’t do dates” he smirked, a glint in his eyes.

She could smell another wave of his scent when he moved. She adored it, the heavy tones in his perfume were alluring.

“Oh, don’t you?” she jested “Smells like another lie”

“I’m too busy” he shrugged and it was her time to laugh.

“What about the sex?” she voiced it out loud. Yes. She was too nosy for her own good. And honestly, she loved to poke him places.

“I can ask you the same” he got back at her. She blinked, biting her lip timidly.

“I manage” she uttered bringing the glass back up to her lips.

“Oh, wow, sound exciting”

She sent him a chiding look, eyeing the amusement on his face as he examined her. She feared her lie was too much obvious. She was way too lonely, and her bed cold. And mostly because she was as well way too busy for any endeavours.

“As weird as this might sound, the sex can turn boring and predictable at some point. Or I don’t find it so compelling anymore. Or maybe I fail at choosing the partner” he stated confidently, she realised he opened up about a very intimate subject. But it stunned her.

“You’re twenty-six years old. Shouldn’t you enjoy it?” she questioned in surprise.

“It’s pleasant while it lasts, it’s a short moment, this quick shot of excitement but then it ends quickly and things turn uncomfortable”

She hummed in acknowledgement and he observed her lips flex into a smirk. She considered.

“Maybe you’re rushing it” she pointed.

“How so?”

“I’d say…” she started carefully, wondering how to chose her next words “Sex is the most intimate connection of the bodies, most importantly of the minds. It tastes the sweetest when you don’t reach for the grand part at once. You want to draw it out, build the tension, the want, by engaging all your senses with touch, caress, focus on the speeding heartbeats, deepening breathing, skin heating. It’s pleasant when the foreplay is longer than the act itself. But it’s not just about the foreplay being present, it’s about how you savour it, how you connect with the other person, how you see them experiencing it, how you build it all up. You delay the finale to the point of breakage, your limbs shaking, your head spinning. So when you reach it, the orgasm can be shattering. And the partner of your choosing have to awaken these kind of excitement for you, because if you consider it only a deed in order to reach your relief, it could turn predictable and uncomfortable, I think.”

Her eyes focused on the wall, her glass empty now. She risked to look his way and he seemed intrigued. His eyes dark, the room turned quiet.

“I don’t mean that you’re a bad lover” she stammered a little, bit embarrassed “It’s not like I know of it, it’s just…”

“Relax, I didn’t get it that way” he interrupted “It was captivating, you’re very passionate”

His presence here, in her little private setting and this conversation made her feel uneasy. She felt an urge to move closer to where he was seated. To whisper that she wants it all with him. Her breath stuck in her lungs when she realised, when he called her passionate. He was suffocating at this point, his big, manly figure on her little couch, his perfume. She knew how to make him feel it. And something in his face told her that he wanted her to.

She stood up reaching for the empty glasses with intention to fill it again. But he stopped her by grabbing her wrist. She knew this touch, yet this time it was gentler. His fingers glided down her skin to hold her own. He leaned back on the couch again, sitting like before, his posture relaxed, his eyes deep. She was burning.

“When was the last time you felt something like this?” he asked, she wanted to hear his deep voice closer to her ear.

She focused on the gentle touch, his fingers now playing softly with hers as he stared into her soul. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to speak out now, her voice locked out somewhere deep in her chest. She breathed through her lips slightly ajar.

“Right now” her voice much steadier than she thought.

His chest rose at her answer. He looked at their hands connected still.

“Show me, please”

Oh, God. She stood above him awkwardly for a moment after he let her hand fall back down. A gentle caress over her knuckles before he let go. Her knees weak as she took few steps back, her shaky fingers reaching the zipper of her dress. That was the moment, she was about to strip in front of him. She wanted to, badly. And the scene was powerful: him seated down, clad in finest clothes, his legs spread, his dangerous eyes drinking her in as she opened the back of her dress.

Her movements slow and delicate, her fingers keeping the straps of her dress for a moment before it fully slid down her body. His eyes followed it’s track, he didn’t move, she wasn’t able to read much from his face before his gaze met her own back again. In the first moment there was pure fascination and simple, almost childish like adoration in the glint in his eyes, but when he blinked it was all gone, and she could see his throat moving, ferocity in the darkness of his irises. He had all the power to break her, yet her purpose was to tame him.

She was bare, unveiled in front of him, only her most intimate place covered by a soft material of the thongs she was wearing.

“You are heavenly beautiful. How come you don’t already have all men howling at your feet?” his words surprised her, there was a bit of playfulness in his features, but honesty and admiration in his deep voice.

She chose to seduce him to the point of having him at her feet.

“Who are all these men compared to you?” she sang as she took little steps to where he was seated.

A cheeky smile broke on his face and she adored it.

“Are trying to play with my ego?” she was standing close, almost between his knees and he kept looking straight into her eyes.

“You don’t need me to, Kylian” she whispered “Everybody knows it for a fact” after these words she turned and carefully sat down to place herself between his legs, her back facing him.

She wanted to lead him, but as soon as his warm palms rested on her waist any words died in her throat and she sighed closing her eyes, delighted by the way the energy flew between them both. The touch was sweet. He leaned into her, his breath close to her ear and cheek. The material of his clothing soft, rousing with the contact of her bare skin. His hands glided lower, caressing her hips and then her thighs. She looked down and hummed at the sight of how big they were, she felt so small.

“You have pretty hands” she breathed, her eyes closing on it’s own as his palms slid up and then back down on the skin there, very slowly. She savoured the closeness of his body, his touch.

“Oh, you like them?” his breath hot on her skin, his words vibrating on the shell of her ear, she shivered “Where do you want me to put them?” said gentler, into her skin.

She leaned into him, relaxing limbs pressed into his torso.

“Do you want me to fuck you with my fingers?”

A whimper almost broke out of her, but she fought it, her eyes wide open and he moved his hands higher up her hips, resting them on her stomach.

“Yes” she answered, making sure to sound composed and confident, but her voice broke a little when his fingers moved up and gently stroked her nipples. She writhed against him. He was gentle, she was close to lose her mind. He knew what to do. He was doing it perfectly.

One of his hands moved up, roaming her throat and she placed her head back on his shoulder. She was floating in his embrace, his perfume intense, he indeed was her desires impersonated. It was turning her mad. She wanted all of him, badly.

“But we want to savour it, darling, don’t we?”

Long and tender fingers reached her jaw, moving higher, butterfly touches on her lips, she let him caress them before she timidly opened her mouth. He put his thumb in her mouth and her chest fell. Her breathing deepening, she sucked on his finger but he didn’t linger long, instead moved his hand back down, placing moistened digit on her nipple. Did the same thing with the other hand, his wet fingers playing so tauntingly softly with delicate buds. Her breathing sped up, he kept stimulating her, she was lightheaded. Her thighs closed on it’s own, her breathing was the most prominent sound in the room. Her spine bending, a mewl left her mouth as she could feel herself clenching around nothing.

“Ah, are you in need, love? Tell me” amusement in his voice, he enjoyed her struggling.

“Please” she whined weakly, opening her thighs to bring his attention there “Touch me”

His chest rumbled with a short laugh. Oh, he was a menace.

“You’re a sweet thing”

Using his hand he reached for her leg and hiked it up, wrapping it around his thigh. She anticipated. The first light touch of his fingers there made her wriggle into him. She could feel him, hard, pressed against her bum.

“So wet” in a low voice, her hand grasping the material of his pants, she was so patient, dying to keep up with it “You’re giving me everything I wanted and more”

She moaned, the sound much surer now, freed, with no intention to hide her arousal out of abashment. He was testing her, learning how to play her body, she was louder when he was gentler with her, delicate rubs against the material of her knickers. Her hand reached behind to hold on his neck. Her backside moving against him, he hummed, content with the friction there. His thumb hooked over the band of her thongs. She hoped.

“Kylian…” a soft whisper “Let me…”

“Should I?” few delicate pecks of his moist lips under her ear “Or should I… delay it?”

She cried out desperately in answer.

“How much can you take? The night’s still young, I should know before I make you take me in every possible way that comes to my mind till the very end of it” his fingers finally disappearing under the material, she gasped at the contact.

“Everything” she breathed “I’ll take everything”

“Now, you should be careful with such words” he pushed one finger inside her, swiftly, then another, she slumped onto him knowing that she’ll be finished in no time, he worked her up so well.

She no more had any kind of control over her own body. Just few quick pushes and she came on his fingers. Breathless, yet still wanton. Her legs were weak but she was brave, after few calm breaths she turned to face him. And she realised that she opened the darkest and the most dangerous doors he kept hidden and locked. She could see it in his eyes. Absolute elation, almost obsession. And she wanted to see it unleash. Wanted for him to let it all out free. She had a wild idea in her mind. 

She straddled him carefully, her hands wandering over his body, feeling his muscles, resting on his neck as she placed her lips near his ear.

“I mean it, you can take as much as you want, I’m yours for the night” she whispered, next bringing her face closer to his, thinking about kissing him right now “How do you want me, Kylian?” her voice even sweeter now as she looked into his eyes “Do you want me on my knees? Do you want me to put it in my mouth? I can go for hours”

There was a lazy smirk pulling at his cheeks. He seemed to not expect such words from her. But she wanted to keep going. She moved her hips forward to finally meet his, he grunted at the contact, she smiled in victory. He was so very ready. But they were playing their game now. He was good, she aimed to be even better.

“Or I can fuck you like this” and again, back and forth, dry humping him but slowly, dosing the sensations “Oh…I would love that. You don’t have to do anything. I can do everything for you, you deserve it” she purred, her lips so close to his, almost touching.

He chuckled and his eyes closed. She weakened him, he turned spellbound.

“Fucking hell” he murmured and she moved once more against him.

She wondered who will win this game at the very end, something was telling her it will most definitely be him, even if she had her sweet little moments right now.

He was trying to catch her lips but she shun away from him, testing him, tempting him, with a fierce smirk plastered on her face. A sharp spark in his eyes and she knew he had enough. He reached with his fingers and clasped them on her jaw, bringing her closer, a little roughness to it. But the kiss was gentle, delicate, so sweet she sighed into it. He grasped her hips and pressed her hard onto him, the kiss deepening, she moaned when their tongues met. He hummed and after few moments let go of her, sitting back comfortably, his hands spread on the back of the sofa, he was smiling at the sight of her flushed state.

“Go on then, baby. On your knees”

Her heart jumped in her chest at the sound of his deep voice. Excitement rushed all over her and she bit her lip when pictures of the pleasure she wanted to bring out of him run through her imagination. Her ears already full of the sound of him moaning her name. She slid to the floor, her shaky fingers reaching for the top of his pants, he observed her. When her fingers caught the zipper, one of his hands already rested on her nape and she knew he would not go easy on her. Her mouth watered at the thought of him using her, fucking her mouth, forcing her to choke on it to the point of tears running down her cheeks. She knew he would win, from the very start.

[my-stories-vault]

Purgatory Series. (Series Masterlist.)

Pairing: American Dean Winchester X English Y/N L/N; American Dean Winchester X American Y/N L/N.

Blurb: Purgatory suits you, to be honest. Plenty of distractions to choose from, you can kill as many as to your heart's content. And your heart is one insatiable bastard—it'll do anything to keep the memories of your ex away. Until a face much similar to his struts up into your territory, looking for you, promising you a home you lost too long ago. Your heart melted once before, do you think you would be able to risk it all again for the same criminally handsome face?

Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): Supernatural Wars spoilers, major and minor character deaths, mentions of previous major character deaths, violence, gore, tons of angst, (sort of, but not really) love triangle, language, self-sacrifices (not exactly suicide), betrayals, etc.

{ Main Masterlist ; Dean Winchester Masterlist }

Mini Series:

Part 1.

Part 2.

Part 3.

Part 4.

Part 5.

Part 6.

Part 7.

Part 8.

Completed!

Extension:

Love and War.

Love and War: Purgatory Bonus.

Completed!

Disclaimer time:

This two-parter was a challenge with an author-in-crime (as my lovely friend, Heps, likes to call it 🙃) on Wattpad. This is the link of the book with that story under the same title. We did a flip challenge where she wrote the first part of "Love and War" in the Reader's perspective and sometime after, we flipped the point of view so I could write the same story in Dean's point of view.

Except, there was a surprise ending - that's where the Part 2 comes in. It's the chapter that connects the Purgatory Series, The Supernatural Wars, and another series in the works. That twisted storytelling was all me 🫣👀.

Anyhow, the Part 1 can be read as a standalone. While both of them would be recommended reads for these three interrelated series.

Also, I won't be usually posting so many stories altogether, but since I'm starting out with an interconnected series, I thought it best to catch Tumblr up.

A/N: Hope y'all have an angsty happy reading ❤️🙃!

Tag List.

@hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @globetrotter28 @aylacavebear @globetrotter28

@bettystonewell @jollyhunter

[genshinluvr]

Well, Shit.

Pairings: Various Honkai Star Rail Men x Toddler!Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: Well, Shit. This isn't supposed to happen. How did this even happen in the first place? Yanqing was tasked to watch over you while General Jing Yuan and your traveling companions were out on a mission. Who knew it would end up with you turning into a toddler?

Note: This is a short fic. I guess this can be part 2 of "Yanqing's Babysitting Service" since I mentioned the reader getting hit in the face by Luka's arm situation in this fic. I've had this idea in my head for a while, and I think it would be a cute and fun spin-off to Yanqing's Babysitting Service. I'll link it down if you want to read it— this can be read as a standalone if you're not interested in reading the first part. Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: None that I know of

Word Count: 4k

Part 1 of Well, Shit. [Yanqing's Babysitting Service] (Can be read as a standalone fic)

Yanqing looks at the sight in front of him in horror before looking around to see if anyone else was around when it happened. Yanqing gulps nervously before running his fingers through his hair and closing his eyes. This cannot be happening right now. Especially when he is the one that’s tasked to watch over you while the others are away on an important mission on the Xianzhou Luofu. What could have caused this mess?

Yanqing collapses to the ground, covering his face with his hands as he tries to calm down. How would the General react to this? Heck, how would the others react to this? Everything was going well until this happened! The first time Yanqing was tasked to babysit you, you ended up in the medical center in Belobog because Luka’s arm flew off and knocked you out cold. Then again, Yanqing would rather have that happen again because it’s better than whatever the heck is going on right now!

“Please, this can’t be happening. General is going to kill me if he finds out that [Y/N]—” Yanqing’s inner monologue is interrupted by someone tugging on the sleeve of his hanfu.

Yanqing uncovers his eyes to see large eyes staring at him curiously. Standing before him is you— only it’s not really you. You’re not the adult you were. You’re a child, no, a toddler no older than three years old. 

“Y-Yanqing,” you whimper out softly.

Aeons… you’re an adorable baby, and Yanqing doesn’t know how to react. Should he laugh? Should he cry? Yanqing is supposed to be the child here, not you! And yet, here you guys are— the role has switched, and Yanqing doesn’t know what to do. The others should be back from their mission in a few hours, and Yanqing has no idea how to turn you back to your normal self. Wait a minute. If you’re physically a toddler, does that mean you think like one too?

Your bottom lip starts to quiver as tears start pooling in your eyes. Yanqing’s eyes widen with panic as he gently shushes you, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you. Yanqing lightly bounces you, patting your back while looking around for help. You grab Yanqing’s hanfu and rest your chin on his shoulders, whimpering occasionally.

“It’s okay! Don’t cry, [Y/N]! I know it’s scary right now, but try to be strong for me, okay?” Yanqing coos, peeking at you to wipe your tear-stained cheeks.

You sniffle and nod, bottom lip jutting out. Yanqing smiles and lightly pinches your cheek before walking around the Xianzhou Luofu with you in his arms. It’s a good thing your clothes shrunk with you because Yanqing wouldn’t know what else to do if the clothes didn’t shrink with your person. 

“Aw, man. What am I going to do?” Yanqing whispers. “How are we going to turn you back to normal?”

You bury your face on Yanqing’s shoulders, rubbing your eyes with your fist. Yanqing stops in his tracks and looks at you worriedly. You yawn and blink at Yanqing slowly. Fuck, was he supposed to know what that means? You begin sniffling, a small cry emitting from you. Panic kicks in as Yanqing tries to figure out what’s wrong.

Yanqing lightly pats your back and bounces you, his eyebrows furrowing with worry. “What’s wrong, [Y/N]?” Yanqing asks softly, quickly wiping the tears that threaten to roll down your cheeks.

You whimper out, “I‘m sleepy.”

“You can sleep in my arms for now, okay? I’ll find a place for you to sleep,” Yanqing coos, patting your head.

You nod glumly and rest your head on his shoulders, holding onto the fabric of Yanqing’s hanfu, and close your eyes. Yanqing isn’t around children often, but when he is around children, he’s not the one who’s dealing with the needs of children. Instead, he would be the one to stand there awkwardly while the mothers and fathers of the children tend to their needs.

Yanqing walks into the Seat of Divine Foresight with you in his arms. You have yet to fall asleep, and Yanqing is glad you haven’t cried or thrown a tantrum yet. Yanqing doesn’t know where to take you, so you can take a nap other than General Jing Yuan’s office. Mainly because there aren’t many people in the General’s office and because the General’s seat is the first place to pop up in his mind when he thinks of a place for you to nap on.

Yanqing sits you down on the seat where General Jing Yuan’s desk is, and you sprawl out on the chair before curling into a ball. Within seven minutes, you were out like a light. Yanqing sighs in relief and rubs the back of his neck as he paces back and forth in front of the white-haired General’s desk. 

“What am I going to say to the General when he and the others return? I don’t know how this happened in the first place!” Yanqing screams internally.

Yanqing walks over to the chair and sits at the end of the seat, resting his chin on the armrest and sighs. Yanqing peeks at you from the corner of his eyes, making sure you’re still asleep. How in the world did you end up aging backward? You were fine earlier today until a little less than an hour ago.

The doors to the Seat of Divine Foresight open, startling the poor blond boy. General Jing Yuan, the Stellaron Hunter, the foreign merchant, the Astral Express crew, and the people visiting from Jarilo-VI enter the white-haired General’s office. Yanqing stands up and looks over at you worriedly and then at the newcomers.

Thankfully, they’re too distracted to notice Yanqing’s presence. Yanqing debates on whether he should carry you out of the General’s office without being seen or let everyone discover the predicament you and Yanqing got into. Yanqing chews on his thumbnail, watching the group converse with one another, still not noticing Yanqing’s presence. 

“Yanqing! I see you and [Y/N] have returned from your day around the Luofu early,” General Jing Yuan says, startling Yanqing.

Blade crosses his arms over his chest. “Speaking of [Y/N]. Where are they?” Blade asks, raising his eyebrows at the blond boy.

Yanqing feels his heart gets caught in his throat. Yanqing laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. What is he supposed to say? It’s not like he can make an excuse and say you’re in the restroom when you’re sleeping on the General’s chair right behind him. Yanqing subtly covers you and adjusts his ponytail, still trying to find a way to answer Blade’s question. 

“[Y/N] told me they will not be making an appearance until they get Immortals Delight,” Yanqing lies, internally wincing when the words come out of his mouth.

Almost everyone raises their eyebrows at Yanqing’s response. Dan Heng and Welt Yang coincidentally hold the sweet drinks up for Yanqing to see. Yanqing exhales loudly— the others mistake Yanqing’s sigh as relief rather than defeat. Yanqing purses his lips and nods slowly. Great, okay, so what is Yanqing going to do now? 

It’s not like he can hide you any longer. Yanqing gestures for the others to wait a moment before turning around. Yanqing bends over to wake you up from your sleep. You crack your eyes open, whining softly. Yanqing quickly shushes you, trying his best not to panic when he knows the others are watching him with eagle eyes. Yanqing looks over his shoulders, giving the audience an awkward smile.

“Please give me a moment! Maybe turn around and don’t look yet!” says Yanqing, gesturing to them to turn and have their backs facing his and your direction.

Luocha raises his eyebrows at Yanqing, crossing his arms over his chest. “What are you hiding from us, Yanqing?” Luocha asks, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

Yanqing ignores Luocha’s question and continues to lift you and carry you in his arms. You wrap your little arms around Yanqing’s shoulders and bury your face into his neck as you try to go back to sleep. 

Yanqing would have melted from the cuteness, but he’s too busy worrying about how the others are going to react to seeing a miniature version of yourself. Yanqing turns around to see the others staring at him. Yanqing bristles and glares at the group, pointing an accusing finger at everyone, ignoring the gasps and wide eyes from them. 

“Hey! I told you guys to turn around and not to look yet!” Yanqing exclaims.

Sampo points at you. “Why do you have a random child in your arms? Where’s my Gumdrop, Yanqing?” Sampo demands, making his way toward the blond boy.

You peek from Yanqing’s shoulders, rubbing your eyes with your knuckles. Sampo stops in his tracks when he gets a better look at your face. You stare at Sampo and blink at the gobsmacked indigo-haired man. Sampo begins sputtering, pointing at you and looking at the group with wide eyes. You lay your head on Yanqing’s shoulder, eyes glazed over before yawning. 

“[Y/N]?” Welt asks softly, tilting his head to the side.

You look at the brown-haired man and look at him curiously, mimicking the brunette by tilting your head to the side like a curious puppy. The brunette sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, nodding when March, Dan Heng, and Caelus look at him quizzically. Despite the trio not saying anything, Welt knew what they wanted to ask.

The child in Yanqing’s arms is indeed you. Aside from the clothing, your hair is the same, and so is your face… but younger. Dan Heng looks at the nervous Yanqing, pointing at the dozing-off child in Yanqing’s arm.

Dan Heng clears his throat to grab Yanqing’s attention. “How did this happen?”

“That’s the problem, Dan Heng! I don’t know how all of this happened! One minute, [Y/N] and I were hanging around the Luofu, and the next, poof! [Y/N] is de-aged!” Yanqing explains, tapping his foot on the ground anxiously.

You squirm in Yanqing’s arms, kicking your feet lightly. Yanqing puts you on the ground before looking at the men (and March) nervously. You look around the Seat of Divine Foresight, eyes bright with wonder and curiosity. You look at the large group of very tall people before cowering in fear and hiding behind Yanqing’s legs, peeking from behind.

Caelus steps forward and squats down, smiling at you. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, [Y/N]. Do you recognize any of us aside from Yanqing?” Caelus whispers. 

You grab Yanqing’s pants and nod hesitantly. Of course, you remember the really tall people! Despite turning into a toddler and not being able to think and communicate like your normal self, you recognize everyone’s face. Gepard squats beside Caelus, looking at you curiously.

“Do you know how this happened?” Gepard murmurs.

You shake your head. “No,” you mumble.

Luka pouts and turns to the others, clutching his chest. “They’re so cute and tiny! Their little ‘no,’” Luka coos, cupping his cheeks and squealing softly.

You lean against Yanqing and rub your eyes with the heel of your hand. You tug on Yanqing’s hanfu to get General Jing Yuan’s blond retainer’s attention. Yanqing looks down and sees you holding your arms up in the air. Yanqing lifts you up and carries you in his arms while you bury your face into his shoulders, mumbling into his shoulders.

March bounces over to you and Yanqing, looking at you with curiosity. You peek from Yanqing’s shoulders and look up at March. March smiles widely and waves at you, cooing softly when you shyly smile at her and wave in return. March squeals softly and pokes your cheek. You bury your face against Yanqing’s shoulders after, making March laugh.

“You’re so cute! Yanqing, let me hold [Y/N]!” March says, holding her hands out for the blond boy to hand you over to her.

Yanqing’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head. “What! No way! I’m not handing [Y/N] to you until they return to their normal self!” Yanqing protests, taking a step back.

March’s jaws drop, and she stomps her foot on the ground. “Huh!? Aren’t you going to feel tired if you hold [Y/N] for a long time?” March exclaims, propping her hands on her hips. “Mr. Yang! Yanqing refuses to let me hold [Y/N]!”

Yanqing and March continue to glare at each other while Welt and General Jing Yuan sigh in unison, pinching the bridge of their noses. Not only do they have to figure out how to turn you back into your normal self, but now they have to deal with March and Yanqing arguing over who gets to hold you.

General Jing Yuan clears his throat. “Yanqing, I believe you should put [Y/N] down. We should reintroduce ourselves to [Y/N] so they won’t feel uncomfortable around us despite knowing who we are,” says General Jing Yuan.

Yanqing makes a disgruntled noise before complying with the white-haired General. Yanqing puts you on the ground and holds his hand out for you to take. You place your little hand in Yanqing’s bigger hand and let the blond boy guide you to the center of the Seat of Divine Foresight. 

You and Yanqing walk down the stairs— Yanqing makes sure to go slow and help you down the stairs, making sure you don’t slip or trip. You stick close to Yanqing, gazing at the group curiously. Everyone looks friendly, especially the two men holding Immortals Delight. Your eyes are glued onto the sweet drinks, tempted to ask the two men if you can have the drinks. 

Luocha chuckles. “Despite turning into a child, [Y/N]’s love for Immortal’s Delight remains,” Luocha comments, turning toward Dan Heng and Welt.

You point at the drink, glancing up at Yanqing. Yanqing looks at the two men holding the beverages and at General Jing Yuan. You tug on Yanqing’s hanfu to grab his attention, silently asking if you can have the sweet drink. 

Dan Heng hums, stroking his chin. “I’m not sure if someone as small as [Y/N] should be drinking two Immortal’s Delight,” Dan Heng murmurs.

Upon hearing Dan Heng’s hesitation, you pout and give Dan Heng puppy dog eyes, your bottom lips quivering. Dan Heng looks away, sighing. How can he say no to your puppy dog eyes? Dan Heng looks over at the brown-haired man, who’s also looking away from you. Welt clears his throat, not saying a thing.

You continue to point at the drink. “Please…” you trail off, blinking away the tears forming in your eyes.

Welt sighs in defeat. “Alright, you can have this drink. But you can only drink one, alright?” Welt says, walking up to you before kneeling before you.

You stare at the older man before looking at the Immortal’s Delight in his hands. One drink? I mean, it’s better than not having any, right? 

You nod. “Okay,” you say softly.

Welt hands you the Immortal’s Delight, patting the top of your head as you latch onto the straw and sip the sweet beverage happily. You look at Yanqing, smiling widely. Yanqing smiles and ruffles your hair before looking at the white-haired General pleadingly. Blade points at you, his eyebrows raised. You stare at Blade, pointing at the Stellaron Hunter while looking at your blond babysitter.

“Baldie?” You squeak.

Sampo and Luka pucker their lips and look away, stifling their laughter. Blade stares at you blankly, trying to process what you just said. Were you trying to call him Bladie? Did he mishear you by any chance? Given the facial expressions on everyone’s face, Blade, in fact, did not mishear you.

Sampo whispers to Luka, “[Y/N] just called Blade ‘Baldie.’” Sampo wipes the tears forming in the corner of his eyes as he tries to keep his composure.

“And they said it with confidence, too,” Luka snickers.

You’re confused about why the others are trying to hide their laughter after you said Blade’s name, but you didn’t question it. You’re drinking Immortal’s Delight, and it tastes amazing. The drink is so good, and you want to get your tiny hands on another Immortal’s Delight. 

Blade clears his throat, slightly glaring at you. “I think you mean Blade, not Baldie,” Blade corrects you.

You shake your head stubbornly, pointing at the long-haired man again. “Baldie,” you state.

Caelus nods, pointing at the now irritated Stellaron Hunter. “Maybe [Y/N] knows something that we don’t!” Caelus says, walking over to Blade and reaching for Blade’s hair, only for Blade to slap his hands away with a scowl.

You soon finish your Immortal’s Delight. Soon enough, your eyes land on the Immortal’s Delight that Dan Heng is holding. You point at the drink, glancing at Yanqing. Yanqing laughs nervously and scratches the back of his head.

“I think you’ve had enough, [Y/N]. It’s not good if you drink two Immortal’s Delight. It’ll make you feel sick,” Yanqing says, squatting down beside you.

Almost immediately, you pout and look at the blond boy with teary eyes. Yanqing starts to panic and looks at the others, alarmed. General Jing Yuan walks to you and hands you a Steamed Puffergoat Milk. You look at the drink curiously before sniffing it. You lift the cup to your lips and take a small sip of the Steamed Puffergoat Milk. 

Gepard chuckles. “It seems like [Y/N] likes it,” Gepard says, watching the white-haired General and his blond retainer panic and make sure you don’t chug the Steamed Puffergoat Milk. 

General Jing Yuan wipes away your milk mustache and carries you in his arms, chuckling. You wrap your arms around General Jing Yuan’s neck and rest your chin on his shoulders. The Immortal’s Delight and the Steamed Puffergoat Milk filled your stomach up really well, and now you’re in need of another nap. You yawn and close your eyes.

“Has [Y/N] eaten?” Dan Heng asks.

Yanqing nods. “That’s the thing! [Y/N] and I had something to eat before [Y/N] turned into a child. The downside is that I have no idea what caused [Y/N] to be de-aged,” Yanqing explains, crossing his arms over his chest. 

March turns to look at the Xianzhou men worriedly. “There is a way to turn [Y/N] back to normal, right?” March asks. “I don’t know if I can handle seeing my best friend as a toddler for more than a day.”

You peek at March, blinking at the pink-haired girl. You yawn again and rub your eyes with your knuckles. General Jing Yuan pats your head and has you rest your head on his shoulders. You comply and snuggle up against the white-haired General. 

“No need to fret. We will try to find the solution to bring [Y/N] back to their normal self,” Luocha says, giving the pink-haired girl a reassuring smile.

It shouldn’t be hard to find the solution, right? You being a toddler for a few days doesn’t sound so bad. So far, you’ve been a pretty good kid aside from your love for sugar, especially your love for Immortal’s Delight and now Steamed Puffergoat Milk, thanks to General Jing Yuan. Not only that, but you have grown quite close with the General’s blond retainer. 

You’re an absolute angel to Yanqing, but you can be a little bit of a pain in the ass to the others. Remember how it was mentioned that you’re a pretty good kid? Yeah, well, you’re a good toddler for selected people. You continued to call Blade “Baldie” despite the number of times you have been corrected by the visibly miffed Stellaron Hunter. 

“Do you think [Y/N] is messing with Blade?” Gepard asks, watching the long-haired Stellaron Hunter chase you around the Xianzhou Luofu while you’re giggling mischievously.

Sampo nods. “Oh, for sure! There’s no way [Y/N] doesn’t know what they’re doing,” Sampo replies, sipping on his Immortal’s Delight.

Blade manages to grab you by your biceps and yanks you up. You thrash around in Blade’s grasp, face scrunching up with annoyance. Blade ignores your kicks and tosses you over his shoulders. You grumble and lightly punch his back, which feels like a thump to Blade. General Jing Yuan stops in his tracks and raises his eyebrows at Blade.

“I see you’re not too fond of [Y/N],” General Jing Yuan comments, smirking at the annoyed Stellaron Hunter.

Blade huffs, “They do nothing but cause trouble and drink Immortal’s Delight until they get cavities.”

Welt walks to Blade and holds his hands out. “Here, hand them to me if you don’t want to deal with [Y/N]’s shenanigans anymore,” Welt says.

Blade stares at Welt and then at the older man’s hand before walking off, leaving Welt standing there quizzically. General Jing Yuan chuckles while Welt rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. Welt was merely offering to take you out of Blade’s hair, and yet Blade didn’t want to hand you over. For someone who isn’t too fond of the toddler version of yourself, Blade sure has a funny way of showing his distaste for your toddler self.

“How much longer is [Y/N] going to be a child for? Don’t get me wrong, [Y/N] is adorable! But I miss messing with March with [Y/N] by my side,” Caelus says, frowning.

March does a double take, glaring at the silver-haired man. “You and [Y/N] have been teaming up to mess with me?!” March screeches, propping her hands on her hips while glaring at him.

Caelus opens his mouth to reply when he sees a familiar face walk into the room. Caelus nudges March and gestures toward the long-haired Aeon. Nanook walks over to you and Blade, snatching you off of Blade’s shoulders and holding you to eye level, your feet dangling in the air. You and Nanook stare at one another in silence. 

“You ate that dessert, didn’t you?” Nanook mutters, eyes narrowing.

Luka looks at Nanook skeptically. “Huh? You knew what turned [Y/N] into a child the entire time!?”

Nanook ignores Luka’s question and continues to stare at you. You smile at Nanook sheepishly and nod. Nanook sighs, giving you a disapproving look. You pout at Nanook and kick your feet in the air. Nanook tosses you up in the air before catching you in his arms. It happened way too fast for the others to comprehend what had happened.

“Make sure not to eat something you’re not familiar with, alright?” Nanook says.

You sigh and nod. “Okay, I won’t. But can you really blame me? It looks like a regular Xianzhou dessert, and I didn’t think it would turn me into a toddler!” You say, attempting to get out of Nanook’s arms.

“Let this be a lesson for you not to eat too many sweets. It’s not good for you, especially Immortal’s Delight,” Nanook says, looking over at Mr. Yang and Dan Heng with a pointed look.

You reluctantly agree to Nanook’s comment. You can cut back on the sweets, but you’re not sure if you can cut back on the number of Immortal’s Delight you ingest. March stomps up to you, her hands on her hips and her eyebrows furrowing. You can practically see steam coming from her ears.

“You have some explaining to do! You pull pranks on me with Caelus!?” March asks.

Your eyes widen, and you peek over March’s shoulders, looking at Caelus. Caelus smiles at you sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders. Well, shit. Just when you thought that turning into a toddler was bad enough, dealing with March’s wrath is even worse. 

You turn to Nanook, whispering, “Can you turn me into a toddler again? Just so I can get away from March’s wrath.”

“No can do, Little One,” Nanook replies.

You groan and look at March with a sheepish smile while she continues to glare at you, tapping her feet on the ground while waiting for you to give your side of the story.

Note: I start school soon! Yay! 🥲 I am officially a senior in university, and that means I need to focus on school and try to graduate on time. I'm not sure if people read notes at the end of my fics, but I wanted to let you all know that I'm going to be on hiatus, meaning the Genshin and HSR isekai fics will be paused. I'm going to try to post something every now and then, but I (and the isekai fanfics for both Genshin and HSR) will be on hiatus. I'll announce it in a separate post soon. Since school is starting soon, this will be the last time I post invite links to my Discord server, and I will not be giving out invite links after the link expires. If you want to join, you can click the temporary link to [Zhongli's Abode]. Anyway, to all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist for the HSR one-shot series: @ashwasherelol, @mompt2, @elegantnightblaze, @lunavixia, @jadedist, @reversearrowhead, @pinksaiyans, @aurelia-xyt, @lilliansstuff, @starrry-angel, @kaoyamamegami, @kodzuvk, @for3very0urs, @a-cosmicdawn, @g3n0dtt, @theblades, @wntrsblvd, @raaawwwr, @immahuman, @irisxiel, @siaracarroll, @crazydreamcat, @sen-nes, @sagekun, @orichalcumthief, @dyingsweetmackerel, @rosiesareblue, @ichikanu, @undecidingfate, @asoulsreverie, @angelmican, @misdollface, @4-34-am, @sxftiebee, @hispasian-otaku, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @vox34, @tsukkikeisimp, @inapileofbooke

Read more of my works on my Masterlist / Masterlist 2 | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

[moonlefey]

Are we still sharing lambsonas? I feel very late to the party lol

My lambsona's name is Eden! She becomes the God of Dreams and Reality after she dethrones Nerys. The majority of the story stays the same. Nerys, my beautiful maned lioness version of Narinder, wants to have all of her siblings killed for trapping her in the Dreamscape. The Bishops get rid of all the sheep and Eden is the last sheep.

I'll ramble about only Eden in this post because I have a feeling it will get very long lol. If people are interested about Nerys and Inara (Eden's first spouse) I will make separate posts about them and their designs.

Here's some standalone drawings of Eden's design:

Some Eden lore!

In this world, sheep are nomadic and live in large herds. Each herd has its own traditions and customs. Eden's herd was unique in their braid symbolism! This is why she wears a braid.

In Eden's herd, braids were a coming-of-age symbol for rams. When rams were first budding into adulthood, they would keep their wool short. As they came of age, they would be sent on a mission to be victorious in something. It could be anything from a contest of arms, wits, or discovering something new! Once they returned with their proof of victory they then braid their wool. The strongest of rams in the herd wore braids and were more likely to be chosen as mates. When a ram and ewe mated, they would each weave smaller marriage braids into their wool(this is why Inara has a small braid on her design since she is Eden's spouse). Their braids showed their legacies, both familial and personal.

When Eden's herd was killed, they were the last sheep. She was sacrificed by the bishops on a burning pyre. When they awake in the space between worlds, the Dreamscape, Eden is surprised to see a tall figure looming over her. Nerys, the Bishop of Dreams greeted them and told them of her deal. Wear Nerys' crown, become her vessel, and kill her siblings in exchange for Eden's life and freedom. Eden, of course, accepts.

Now, some clever souls may be wondering, "Moon? If Eden died how did she go to Nerys if Nerys isn't the God of Death in this au?" What a wonderful and complex question! I'll get more into that in a post about Nerys specifically.

Eden's body is reconstructed and they arise from the ashes of the pyre. Reborn she now bears twisted and foreboding horns. From then on, Eden becomes a ruthless and merciless force. They slay each Bishop one by one being given many monickers.

"The Ewe", "The Unbowed", "Mother of Dreams"... With each Bishop slain, she grew her wool longer and longer in remembrance of her herd. This is how long her wool is when she slays the last Bishop. This is when she braids her wool to symbolize her victory over her oppressors.

Eden was not a good leader at the start. Inara, one of her first followers, saw Eden's madness firsthand. They were far more concerned with killing the Bishops than taking care of a cult. But when cultists began leaving and her power dwindled, she knew something had to change. Inara helped Eden become a more compassionate and present leader and thus her power grew, and so too did the relationship between Eden and Inara.

After Eden becomes more stable, they are seen as a somber and serious leader. The Ewe is the mask Eden wears amongst her followers and it is the gloomy and reserved face that she normally expresses. Aside from Inara and Nerys, no follower alive currently has even seen them express any other emotion. Not even the Bishops see them express anything else.

When the last Bishop is slain...we all know how this story goes. Eden returns to the Dreamscape to tell Nerys of her ultimate victory, the ancient goddess demands her crown back and for Eden to sacrifice themself to her. Eden, confused and betrayed by this request, refuses and stands to fight. After a long and grueling battle, Eden slays Baast and Ala (Nerys' protectors and this au's version of Baal and Aym) and thus, defeats Nerys.

Nerys pleads for death but Eden cannot grant that to her. Instead, Eden uses their power over reality to erase her memories. Eden decides to give Nerys a fresh start, not wanting to look at or interact with the goddess that inadvertently ruined her life. There's more nuance and complexity to the way Eden and Nerys see each other but that will ALSO require its own post and some doodles to go along with it. If people are interested, and even if they may not be, I will post something going into this lol.

Same for Eden and Inara's relationship. That could also get a whole post of its own. As you can tell, I have made a lot for this au and there's still a lot more worldbuilding and character creation I still have to do!

As for what happens after Eden defeats Nerys that's still in the planning stages. I have to figure out how this version of the Mystic Seller is going to get Eden to bring back the Bishops and if that even is a feasible thing they can accomplish. It's all very messy lol.

Anyway here are some random sketches of Eden because I draw her a lot lol. Oh, and plus a little game accurate sprite of them :)

Anyway, that's all! If literally anyone actually reads this far, you have my eternal gratitude and my soul! If that interests you. /j

[xxtha-blog]

Why Horrortale Sans is Definitely Evil

Horrortale Sans is evil. This is the opposite of a defence post, I am calling out this character and his many misdeeds! I do not know how people legitimately defend his actions or claim he’s just a normal guy who tries really hard not to eat people. I do not think we read the same comic. This is a comprehensive deep dive into why Horror is evil.

First a chronological look at Horror’s dubious actions. Not all of theses are evil and some have good justification as standalone events, but provide wider context for things:

1. He has to be convinced into helping repair the Core which he knows is broken, and has inside info he knows could help get it fixed, only when Grillby begs him to because as revealed on another page, the loss of the Core means “the fire eats at [Grillby’s] very soul like acid, perpetually burning him alive”

2. He spends a total of 12 months trying to figure out how to repair the Core but based on Undyne’s statements about how he rarely works, either means he’s a. Not actually putting enough effort into it (if we believe her and not Sans) or b. Not telling Undyne and Alphys how his work is going which is probably pertinent information for them to have (If we believe Sans, but want a reason as to why Undyne has that impression)

3. He finally brings her a solution to the Core after knowing he’s going to die (but if you want to be generous, maybe it was just really bad timing and he really did only needed a few more days to bring her a solution) and claims it’s a “long shot” meaning he doesn’t even know if it will work.

4. Undyne, thinking that is an insane plan, tells him she has a different plan. Sacrificing him to save everyone. Sans makes it clear he would never let himself die to save everyone.

5. When a guard begs him to sacrifice himself to save his wife and children, Sans launches him into the stratosphere saying: “fuck off.”

6. Even though Undyne attacks him first, it’s actually Sans that takes out her head and eye first.

7. Sans brutally murders the guards who helped Undyne.

8. When Alphys, showing Sans that her plan has objectively work and he is not dead (bonus!!), Sans destroys the Core.

He destroys the thing that will keep him, his brother, and literally every person in the underground alive. Grillby now suffers eternally, and everyone will die a slow and painful death. This does not help him in any way, does not change the fact his head is broken, he does it purely out of malice. The equivalent of getting shot, surviving, and then nuking the town you were shot in. He does not take his eye back if you thought it was to take his eye back. It’s still in the broken Core.

9. He lobotomizes Alphys

10. He gets Aliza to become a cannibal

11. He tortures and maims Aliza (let’s her get cut in half by a bear trap, pulls her hair so hard it bleeds, let’s her freeze to death in a puzzle, sends her to Grillbys where she gets partially cooked alive, cuts her arm off)

Really great guy here.

Secondly let’s get some of the common defences out of the way:

1. Sans had a plan that would save everyone! Undyne was therefore making a bad decision by trying to killing him

a. Sans says his plan IS A LONG SHOT

b. Alphys explains Sans’s plan would have taken a lot of time and magic ie. time that would get a lot of other people killed

c. Undyne’s plan actually goes better that expected! What was assumed would kill Sans doesn’t end up killing him at all. Literally a win-win for everyone involved.

d. Undyne/Alphys’s plan works, and therefore objectively saved more people. 0 net casualties if Sans had a single ounce of humanity.

2. Sans worked really hard and Undyne betrayed him. Undyne should have told him first

Undyne doesn’t tell him because she doesn’t want to consider hurting Sans despite monsters dying. Moments before Sans shows up, a child dies in a mother’s arm. Then Sans explains his plan is to dismantle the Core, which ‘might’ work, and will take a lot of effort and magic to do so, which is time they do not have (it’s been 12 months. He has had 12 months.). He also blames Undyne for getting them into this mess and mocks her for letting people die. She then attacks him. They end up both losing half their head and eye in the fight, making them perfectly even. The core’s power is restored.

But, whether or not Sans feels betrayed or not is irrelevant to the fact that Undyne makes the most reasonable and moral decision in this moment and also Sans has kind of done everything in his power to not sell his idea and piss off the person he knows is considering killing him so big L on his part for that one.

It also does not in any way shape or form justify destroying the Core, which is probably the most evil thing you could possibly do in that scenario.

3. They both are at fault for the Core/Both Evil then

There is literally a world of difference between:

“Sacrifices 1 person who ends up not dying, to save everyone. Which succeeds.”

And

“Destroys the thing that will successfully keep everyone alive, thus dooming everyone including yourself to die a slow and agonizing death, because you are angry your friend tried to kill you in an effort to save everyone”

That’s not even including the 10 other things on my list that are definitely also evil, but I cannot take people seriously if they put these two things on some sort of a moral equivalence. Undyne is in the right. 1 person for everyone is a worthy sacrifice. If anything Undyne’s only flaw is waiting so long to do it.

4. (Unrelated to the Core incident) Sans is actually morally grey, he doesn’t eat humans like everyone else which is a complex character motivation

You’re right, Sans doesn’t eat humans. Instead he finds enjoyment in torturing them brutally, a much worse thing than eating to stay alive.

His fight with hunger is also entirely self-made. Both because it’s not morally wrong to eat another living being to survive (and it’s not cannibalism to eat a human as a monster) and because he is the reason this is still happening 7 years later. It is literally his fault he is hungry. There is no interesting moral conundrum here, he does not care about hurting people. He is just out of his mind.

In conclusion, Horrortale Sans is a deeply selfish and uncaring person. Whatever minor good deeds he does throughout the comic are so immensely overshadowed by his absolute depravity that they might as well not exist. He is the reason every single monster in that underground continues to suffer, including himself, and while in his mind maybe there’s some weird justification, no outsider observer should look at these actions and think, yeah, that was reasonable. Much less think Undyne or Alphys are somehow WORSE. He destroys the Core because he didn’t die after everyone is saved, solely to be vindictive. He does not gain anything by doing this. He doesn't even take back the eye he lost which is still in the broken core! He lobotomizes Alphys because he’s mad he looks like a freak. He murders people who wants him to help everyone stay alive. He maims and tortures children and no amount of not eating them afterwards makes that any less morally apprehensible.

None of this is meant to say you can’t like him as a character. It is just to explain why characterizing him as a poor lil guy who did nothing wrong, is a little… wrong.

i believe this is an extensive look into why Horrortale Sans is evil.

Thank you for reading :)