#and then you have to sort through whats left to find something decent that actually focuses on their relationship

[snek-snacc]

I'm starting to suspect the only way to get quackcicle content is to write it myself

[eufezco]

you meet joel again after the outbreak and he finds out you have a daughter

seeing joel again after the outbreak was something you thought would never happen, but there he was, twenty years later, with almost completely gray hair and beard, and looking more tired than he used to. his brown eyes shone when he saw you, thinking that you were some sort of hallucination produced by tiredness, but your arms hugging his neck felt so tight and your head against his chest felt too real to be a creation of his mind.

he gulped nervously and took a few steps backward when you took the little girl in your arms as if he was scared of the little human. you had always been very good with children so he wasn't surprised that you were now taking care of them in jackson. because that's what it was, wasn't it? you were looking after someone's child, right?

"this- this is my daughter, joel." oh shit. your face expressed concern, waiting for a reaction from the man in front of you, but his eyes were locked on the child in your arms. he should have guessed. enough time passed, you were a grown woman and life was good in jackson, probably the best place on earth right now to start a family. he softly nodded his head, trying not to show how shocked he was. the baby was sucking on her finger, cooing and doing that stupid baby sounds like she was mocking him. "congrats" was all he could say.

he was waiting for you to introduce him to the father of your daughter, but you never did, it was as if you were torturing him slowly. maria wanted to put joel and ellie in the house across the street from hers and tommy's, but you offered them to stay with you.

"oh, that place has been untouched since the outbreak, i actually think only the heat works." you cut tommy off when he was saying that it was decent. joel was gonna decline your offer but ellie, who had been tickling your daughter's belly and playing with her tiny hands until that moment, was quicker than him on saying that they'd love to.

he hated to see that baby. joel hated her chubby cheeks and her small hands trying to reach for him every time he was near. he also hated tripping over her toys around the house and how she cutely laughed when ellie played with her. he hated seeing her wrapped in a towel like a burrito after her bath and he hated to see her cheeks and nose red from the cold weather, and how she stomped when she was wearing her big coat and fell on her ass in the snow.

"so, where's the dad?" ellie asked you with her mouth full of food. joel gave her a look that would have killed her and huffed. there was truly no way this kid was shutting the fuck up. "you don't have to -" "no, it's fine." you assured joel while making sure that your daughter was liking her food. you threw a glance at joel to see his reaction and he was looking at you with his face more relaxed than usual. his brow was not furrowed and his eyebrows were arched, trying not to show how interested he was in your answer but at the same time very annoyed because of ellie being so nosy. "he left." "shit- i'm sorry." you shook your head. "it was before she was born. it's better this way, you know? if he was gonna be a shitty dad, i prefer him not to be around." "hell yeah. fuck him." ellie said while nodding her head in agreement with what you were saying. joel threw another deadly glance at ellie after she cursed in front of you and your kid. " i bet you are the coolest mom, right joel?" ellie's words made you giggle but you were also waiting for joel's answer. it was easy for him to empathize with you since you were going through the same thing he went through with sarah. he found it very easy to be a single parent. sarah was the best kid and he had you and tommy to help him. but you were alone, you lived alone, you had to go to work, and you had to take care of your daughter. he clenched his jaw. "that's right."

when you showed them your house, ellie loved it. she lay down on your couch, she opened your fridge, she sat in front of the fireplace, she turned the lights on and off multiple times, checking that they were indeed working. joel told her to stop but you assured him that it was okay, you liked seeing the girl so excited over such small things.

joel on the other hand was static next to you while ellie played around. your daughter was looking at him with her head resting on your shoulder, and joel looked at her from time to time only to find that the baby was still staring at him.

you showed them the rest of the house. ellie had her own room, which was meant to be your daughter's future room but she could have it, and you would share your room with joel. but after seeing his face, you thought it might have been a better idea to offer him the guest room.

"we also have a guest room. there's no bed but there's a couch and the heat doesn't work there but if you want-" "oh no, old joel will be great here." ellie appeared behind him, giving a few pats on his shoulder. you smiled at the girl but waited for an answer from joel. he was trying so hard to ignore the crib next to your side of the bed and how the little girl was sitting in the middle of the mattress, playing with her stupid little toys and violently sucking on her pacifier. instead of that, he decided to remember all those nights sleeping with ellie either in the woods or in the car, and the way he could hardly move when he woke up the next day because his body ached so much. but joel also remembered how good it felt being your little spoon and waking up next to you. of course, he didn't expect things to be like they used to be, but probably sleeping next to you was the only thing he had left of what once was his home. "this is okay." "great! and it's not as if we haven't slept together before, so..." you added trying to downplay the issue. "woow." ellie was so interested in this. "how is that?" "no-" "we were neighbors, and sometimes we-" "enough."

you knew why joel was so distant with your daughter. meanwhile, ellie loved to be around her, joel tried as hard as he could to keep his distance. you lived next to them and in the afternoons you helped sarah with her homework. you stayed with them for dinner and then enjoyed a movie or played some board games with them. the night the outbreak started, joel knocked on your door and told you to go inside his truck immediately. you were familiar with the relationship joel had with his daughter and you knew what a shock it had been to lose her. that's why you didn't blame him for his behavior.

"is she okay?" joel asked you half asleep and you hummed in response. "she's just hungry. i'm sorry. you can go back to sleep." you sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep of your eyes and picking her up in your arms. you mumbled something to her and kissed her forehead while you started to softly rock her in your arms. "no. how can i- how can i help?" joel sat on the bed and waited, noticing how she calmed down after you took her in your arms. the light coming from the street illuminated your silhouette and allowed Joel to appreciate your daughter's wet face. "hm- i need her bottle. it's ready in the kitchen. if you could heat it in the microwave for like a minute, that would be great." while he waited, he couldn't help but think of baby sarah in his arms. her cheeks were wet and her eyes were wide open, joel had to leave early in the morning for work but he didn't mind staying with her up all night if it was necessary. joel was trying to distract her until her bottle was ready, letting her small fingers wrap around his big one. joel had to take a few seconds before going back to the room with you, his hand pressed against his chest trying to control his breathing. once he came back with the baby's bottle, he sat by your side, handing it over to you and nodding after you thanked him. he watched as she enjoyed her meal and as you softly rocked her in your arms. your head fell on joel's shoulder and he didn't know what to do so he just stayed with you like that until you finished feeding her.

"i'm late. i'll see you at lunchtime." you couldn't be late another time, maria will literally kill you. you placed your daughter in joel's arms before you could remember how hesitant he had been with her and he had no other choice but to hold her so she wouldn't fall.

"are you okay? do you want me to take her?" ellie asked after seeing joel's shocked face. he held the little girl with outstretched arms, keeping her away from him. the baby cooed and extended her arms wanting to reach joel. she opened and closed her fist, getting really impatient and starting to make sounds of discomfort. the man frowned and had no other choice but to hold her against his chest. "shit... well done, joel. look, she even seems to like you." ellie added when the girl hid her face in joel's neck.

a few days after that he seemed to be closer to your daughter, you even caught him playing with her rattle, your daughter lying in her crib and with her arms up in the air trying to reach the toy. he was serious, not allowing himself to show how he really felt. your baby laughed with him and you decided to leave the room carefully to not interrupt the moment.

he started with small things like letting her hold his thumb between her fist every time he noticed she was staring into his soul again, and always keeping an eye on her when ellie was helping her to walk in the snow in case she fell or got tired of trying. then joel started feeding her, cutting the fruit into very small pieces, making sure that the milk wasn't too hot or too cold. at first, just sitting by your side but she was too distracted by his presence to eat so he had to start feeding her eventually.

you sighed in exhaustion once you entered your house. "i'm so tired." you sighed again and rested your head on joel's shoulder. your baby was half asleep on joel's arm, visibly comfortable by the way she cooed every now and then and by the way she rubbed her face against his arm. joel was rocking her softly. using one finger you tickled her belly to let her know that you were home. he put her in her pajamas, fed her dinner and you would even say that he had bathed her by the way her little curls were still damp. "she likes you." you said. he brought the pacifier to her mouth and with closed eyes, she quickly caught it with her lips. "she likes you more than me." "that's not true." joel spoke with a low voice, being careful not to be too rough and wake the child up. he turned his head to look at you, his eyes finally leaving your daughter to pay attention to you. you also looked at him with your head still resting on his shoulder. "you like her more than me." you pouted, trying to stay focused on his deep brown eyes and not on his lips and how close his mouth was to your face. "also not true." you smirked and moved one of your hands to play with your daughter's. she squeezed your index finger tightly between her tiny fist while joel kept looking at you. all that you had now should have been with him. your daughter, your house, your life. before the outbreak happened, one night drinking a few glasses of wine at his house after sarah went to sleep, you told him what you hoped your life would be like. you wanted to find your person and maybe even get married, you wanted to travel, moved in with them, start a family, raise your children, have movie nights. not much different from what you had with him at that time. you were almost there, touching your dreamed life with your fingertips, if you only had more time... when joel realized, your eyes were on him again and you had his chin between your thumb and index finger. your thumb brushed his lower lip, testing the waters, and his eyes slowly closed. you understood that as a green light to continue so, you leaned towards him and pressed your lips against his. just like that, no need to move them or rush things. you just missed feeling his lips against yours as much as he did. the kiss lasted ten seconds at most, but it was enough time for your breaths to mix and for joel's body to truly relax after months. you showed a little smile to him after the kiss and the soft look on his face let you know that he was satisfied. you went in for another kiss and he had his eyes closed already but then all of a sudden, your daughter on joel's arm started crying. "oh, i think someone's jealous."

[ohbo-ohno]

Kinktober Day 15 - Noncon

Ghost x Reader - 4.6k (on ao3)

summary: You find yourself cornered in a Maze of Mirrors. (Reader POV)

cw: noncon everything, face fucking, pussy slapping, degradation, kinda a wedgie? like a front wedgie? is that a thing?, orgasm denial

note: if you like this (or hate it but like the concept) read Halloween Haunt by Harley Laroux <3 her erotica is top tier

You’ve always loved Halloween - always been the kid with the scariest costume in class, always had the house decorated with uncomfortably realistic decorations. When your sorority sisters dressed up as black cats and sexy witches, you spent hours painting the most realistic zombie makeup you could. (Your sisters complained for months that you ruined the pictures, but the frat boys had all thought your makeup was far more interesting than theirs. God, you do not miss college.)

Regardless, you’ve always been known to love any and everything scary. There’s something about the thrill of a scare - the creeping horror as you start to realize what’s coming, the ultimate reveal - that always gets you a little squirmy in your seat. Your first crush was Skeet Ulrich in Scream - specifically the scene where he’s covered in blood, licking his fingers. 

You get all those ooey-gooey good scared feelings as your friend drags you through the decently crowded fairgrounds. The actual fair - the one that comes yearly, that no one ever calls anything but the fair - had left only two weeks ago, so this travelling fair had set things up in mostly the same arrangement and, you suspect, to trick certain people into thinking they were the same company.

You’ve already forgotten what your friend said the event was called. She hadn’t needed to give many details to convince you - you heard travelling circus, horror themed, interactive workers, and you were in. The branding isn’t very strong anyways, the only place the name was displayed was the entrance booth, and none of the workers seem to wear any sort of logo, so you don’t feel too forgetful for letting it slip your memory so easily.

You’re not very impressed with the fear factor so far. You hadn’t done too much makeup (hadn’t wanted to risk being mistaken for a cast member) but since it’s the night before Halloween you’ve got a half-done costume on - a clown. Just some white face paint, black lips, and overdrawn triangles around the eyes, a little smudged to make it look like you’ve been chasing someone down and working up a sweat. Your hoodie and tennis skirt look a bit out of place, but you’d wanted to be comfortable since you hoped you’d be spending your night running from actors.

But even a face full of makeup feels like it might’ve been too much effort for this place. Most of the costumes look like they’re from Party City at best - some of them even look very lazily hand-made - and none of the workers seem particularly interested in scaring people. Still, the crowd is easily amused and even a wave or a feint towards a customer has shrieks ringing in the air every few minutes.

You sigh a little disapointedly as you and your friend linger on the edge of the fairgrounds, off to the side and in the dark so you don’t have to deal with the crowd. She pulls out a cigarette and offers you her light.

“I’m sorry,” she says, lighting the stick between your teeth when you lean forward. “I really thought it would be scarier than this. Some of the posters…” she exagetates a shiver. “I thought they’d at least have better costumes.”

You eye a man in a werewolf mask across the pathway, pissing into the dirt. He’s got a flannel and jeans on, and the mask is a little bit crumpled like he pulled it out of a Walmart bin this morning. You’d bet money the flannel was just a happy coincidence he noticed when he showed up for work.

“Yeah,” you sigh, blowing out a lungful of smoke and watching the actor try not to get his dick stuck in his zipper. “Not really your fault, though, these things always look scarier in the ads. Wanna get out of here soon?”

You pass the cigarette to her. “In a bit,” she replies. “I want to try and find some food first. You hungry?”

You shake your head with a grunt. “I wouldn’t trust anything cooked here, honestly. Might just pick up something on the way back.”

She passes you the cigarette for one last breath. “Well I’m too hungry for that. You good on your own for a bit?”

You crouch down a moment to stub out the cigarette, leaving the butt in the gravel. “Yeah, sure. Might see if these fun houses have anything worth seeing in them.”

“You should!” She smiles over her shoulder at you as she starts off to a more well-lit section of the fair. “You never know, maybe they stick the real scares in there!”

You give her a final wave and shout, “Here’s hoping!” at her back as she leaves. 

You linger outside for a little longer, scanning the few structures nearby to decide which one you want to waste a few tickets on.

There’s a Freak Show, but you already know you’d be horribly disappointed if you went in there, something labeled a “House of Horrors” that you’re sure is as much a scam as the freak show, and a few games that have cheap prizes lined up above them.

Across from you, with no lights around it and just one attendant - slumped over, hopefully sleeping - at the front, is a House of Mirrors. Figuring it’s the least likely to be a waste of time (and knowing the kid won’t wake up to charge you), you head over to the building.

The closer you get the more you worry about if he’s asleep or dead, but his snores rattle the little tickets resting on his desk so you figure he’s just a slacker. It’s almost too easy to get by him with all your tickets safe in your pocket. There’s no one else around the darkened corner of the fairgrounds, but you’re quite sure no one would bother snitching on you this late at night. All the parents with little kids left hours ago, leaving mostly teenagers and adults of varying ages left to wander the park.

There’s music playing from speakers that you can’t see, an old clown-themed song that sounds like it’s playing on a scratched up DVD. You’re pleasantly surprised as you make your way through the dusty lobby and into the main section of the building, creatively labeled MAZE OF MIRRORS.

Their branding could definitely use some work, but you’ll give them points for ambience - the lights are turned so low that it’s nearly too dark to see, making all of the mirrors even more difficult to spot. You find yourself a little spooked as you start to make your way through the maze, grinning to yourself.

It’s a shockingly difficult maze, you quickly discover. The music is so loud in some spots that you can hardly hear your thoughts, and so faint in others that you think it might be turned off. The maze itself is a series of either tight, tiny hallways or large open rooms. Whoever designed it clearly knew how to take advantage of the space they were given, the maze feels ten times bigger than it looked on the outside as you wander through.

You know the trick to mazes - keep one hand on the right wall and eventually you’ll find your way out - but it’s fun to just wander around the place, so you let yourself get stuck wandering in circles. You’re glad your friend isn’t here to see how many times you manage to walk into a mirror fully confident that it’s not there, only to whack yourself in the face. For how low maintenance the rest of the fair is, you’re surprised that the hall of mirrors is what they focus their upkeep on.

You’ve been in the maze for about five minutes when you see him.

He scares the shit out of you at first. You spot him behind you in a mirror - one you’d just walked into, which is the only reason you can see well enough to notice him - standing at the entrance to the hallway you’d turned down. He’s clad in all black, except for the skull mask over his face. You think he’s just something taped onto the wall with the way that he blends in, but then that mask titls to the side and you’re struck with the bone-deep knowledge that you’re being watched.

“Shit!” You shout when it first registers that he’s not a piece of paper, one hand coming up to clasp at your erratically beating heart while the other steadies you against the mirror. He doesn’t move past tilting his head a bit further, and after a moment you relax.

You don’t turn around, but you study him a bit in the mirror. It’s too dark to see much more than the outline of his body, but he’s big. He looks like he’s wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and jeans with the mask, and he must be wearing gloves to cover his hands since you can’t see them.

You huff out a laugh as you let both of your hands fall to your sides.

“You got me good,” you call, glancing over your shoulder. You almost jump again - he’s closer than you’d realized, but too far away for you to touch. “I didn’t even see you follow me in here.”

He doens’t say anything. You turn around more fully, leaning back against the mirror and crossing your arms across your chest.

“You gonna start chasin’ me now?” You ask, cocking an eyebrow. You’re playing up the sass, but it’s always fun to mess with theme park employees.

The man takes a few steps forward, heavy boots thudding against the cheap wood flooring. He really is an intimidating bastard, far scarier than any of the other actors you’d seen so far.

“Well?” You call out, standing up from your spot. “Do I get a head start?”

Still no answer. He rolls his head on his neck, then steps to the side and walks into one of the connecting hallways without sparing you a glance. When you step closer to see which direction he’s chosen, he’s already gone.

You huff another laugh to yourself, shaking out your limbs and bouncing a few times on your toes.

Now that you know there’s someone in here with you, the thrill of a scare is starting to get you worked up. You hope they don’t have any rules against physical contact between actors and customers, just imagining the skeleton man tackling you has shivers running up your spine.

You don’t bother to be any quieter as you keep wandering through the maze. You bump into just as many mirrors, continue to question the speaker placement, and keep an eye out for any skeleton masks lingering behind you.

You see him a few more times, always behind you, always just out of reach. He gets progressively closer everytime you spot him. You're reminded of the Weeping Angels from Doctor Who - every time you look away, he gets closer.

It’s fun. More fun than you’ve had all night.

He finally catches up to you what you guess is about half an hour later. Youre just turning another corner, thinking about how it’s been a bit since you’ve seen your shadow, when a hand plants itself firmly between your shoulder blades and shoves.

You’re sent to the ground with a cry, palms scraping against the floor. There’s a gloved hand collaring your throat before you can think to do much more than catch your breath, hauling you up and holding you in the air.

Your eyes fly to the mirror less than a foot away, staring wide-eyed at the image reflected.

There’s you, in your messy clown makeup and hoodie, being held up by a giant swath of black behind you. He’s not ducking down at all, his feet planted on either side of your splayed legs as he towers above you. The way you’re being held up, your head doesn’t even reach his belt buckle. The contrast of your shock and discomfort to his plastic mask has your thighs clenching, just a bit.

He doesn’t duck lower, just tilts his head in that now-familiar way of his and pulls you a little further up. His hand is absolutely massive, thumb resting beneath one ear and his fingers resting below the other. You choke a bit as you’re lifted, knees scrambling beneath you.

This close to the mirror you can see his eyes - bright blue, surrounded by black paint, and staring back into yours.

He lowers his head, his free hand tugging your hair until you lean back and look straight up. The hand on your neck shifts to hold you in that position, his other hand lifting to pull the black part of his mask up.

He’s white, with thin lips and a broad jaw. You pant as you stare up at him, incapable of processing what’s going on.

His jaw works for a moment, lips twitching, and before you realize what he’s about to do you feel something wet splatter against your cheek.

He spit on you. Who the fuck does that? Being tackled and manhandled is one thing but spitting? You recoil reflixivley, lips curling as you reach up to try and wipe disgusting liquid off.

“What the fuck-” You start, but before you can even finish your sentence you’re yanked forward by your neck.

You yelp as you’re thrown from between his thighs, hips twisted awkwardly and head slamming back against the mirror. You cry out at the sharp pain at the back of your skull, but before you can think of doing anything there’s a hand around your neck again, a body crouched in front of you - over you - keeping you from doing anything.

You gape up at the actor, panting and surprised. None of the other employees even got close to touching customers - half of them didn’t even look like they wanted to be there - what the hell is this guy’s problem? Does he just take his job way too seriously

He’s far too close to you now, your nose nearly brushing where his shoulder be, his boots on either side of your thighs, his chest pressed so close that you can’t do anything with your hands.

The hand not around your neck comes up to your cheeks, grabbing them both in one hand and pinching until your lips pucker up. You squirm, letting out a noise of surprise and pain when his thumb and pointer finger dig in between your teeth to force your mouth open. One eye squeezes shut at the ache, but there’s nowhere for you to go with him caging you in.

This time when he spits, it lands right in the little hole he’s made for himself. With how close he is, you see the way his lips twitch up in the corners.

You try your best to get out from under him, hands pushing at his shoulders and legs desperately kicking. But he’s like a statute above you, hard as stone and immoveable. 

He leans so close that his lips nearly brush yours, meeting your glare with a spark of amusement. 

“Like how it tastes?” He purrs, chest rumbling against yours.

You make a noise somewhere between offended and annoyed, trying to throw yourself every which way for even an inch of freedom. All you manage is a tighter grip on your jaw and neck, leaving you wincing.

“Lots more where that came from,” he promises.

It’s insultingly easy for him to manhandle you, and you curse all the times you swore to yourself you’d finally start taking self-defense classes. You can barely manage a single blow, and when your hands or feet do make contact he doesn’t even flinch.

There’s absolutely nothing you can do as you’re wrestled to the floor. He gets you flat on your back then kneels over your head, his knees so close that you worry he’ll squeeze them together and pop your head like a berry.

He doesn’t give you a chance to sit up, planting one heavy hand in the center of your chest and leaning his weight forward, knocking the air out of you. You finally regain the ability to speak when his other hand moves to his belt, undoing it right above your face.

“What are you-? No, no, get the hell off me!” You shout, desperately pushing at his arm and trying to get enough leverage with your feet to squirm away. “Don’t you fucking dare- help! Somebody help!”

Your screams go ignored, blending right in with that stupid clown music and bouncing off the mirrors just to come straight back to your ears. Your noise doesn’t deter him at all, and he’s got his belt off and jeans yanked down despite your resistance. 

“No, no, no, don’t- stop, please, you can’t-” you gasp, eyes flying wide as you find yourself staring up at his cock above you. 

He doesn’t give you any warning, just grabs your jaw, holds it open, and sheathes himself down your throat.

Your limbs spasm, every instinct in your body screamin to get away as he slips right past your gag reflex. You’re terrified that you’ll vomit and choke on his cock, the fear dousing you in icy cold and leaving you limp for a minute. All you can think about is breathing around the intrusion in your throat, finding some way not to suffocate and die on a sticky mirror maze floor.

“Finally,” you hear him grunt from above you. He grabs both of your wrists, easily ignoring your weak pulls and tying them together with his belt. “Somethin’ to shut you up.”

You try and make a sound around his cock, yanking your hands away and panicking even more when you feel how firmly tied they are. You make another sound, insitively trying to cry out even with something stuffed in your mouth.

He moans above you, lowering himself to his elbows over your body. “Yeah, just like that,” he pants. “Mouth feel’s fuckin’ heavenly.”

You go silent, determined not to give this piece of shit anything he wants. Tears pour down your temples and across the tops of your ears, and your throat burns.

His hips move slowly against your face, grinding himself as deep as he can get before pulling out just a few inches and sliding back in. He’s got an unfairly large cock, and there’s already an ache developing in your jaw from just seconds held so wide open.

His foreskin catches on your teeth when he pulls the whole way out just to fuck back in, and you’re sharply reminded of the fact that you have teeth.

When his cock bottoms out, his balls resting against your eyes, you bite down, praying it’s enough to break skin.

It’s not. Instead of blood pouring into your mouth and a screaming man falling off of you, you hear the man snarl, pulling his dick out entirely and slamming it back down your throat so harshly that it feels almost like he’s punched you in the face.

“No fucking teeth,” he snaps above you, and you feel his weight shift back onto his knees, then his hands grab at your thighs and throw them open. He flips your skirt up and before you can think to bite down again lands a stinging slap against the gusset of your underwear.

You nearly scream around his cock, hips snapping closed to try and smother the pain. He only growls another sound, using one hand to hold you open and the other to rain down a series of progressively harder smacks.

Your breath hitches as you sob, hardly able to get any air in around his thrusts as he starts them back up again. Every time he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, he lands another hit to your poor pussy. You can’t help but wail around him.

“There it is,” he moans, the sound loud and unrestrained. “God you feel good screamin’ around my cock. Good fuckin’ hole, huh?”

He punctuates the last four words with slaps, leaving his length inside your throat and going back to that horrible grinding against your face. You go silent again, using all of your willpower to keep from screaming. What little thought is left in your head is used to figure out how best to breathe through your nose without choking on snot.

He doesn’t smack you again, but you feel his fingers trace around the edges of your panties. Your hips wiggle against your will, just trying to get away from the violation. One of your legs is pinned to the floor by the thigh, but the other oscillates between going limp and trying to get leverage and force your body up.

His fingers hook around the gusset of your underwear, but before you can even worry about him touching you there, he pulls them up towards your body.

He does it with such force that you’re left squealing, hips flying off the ground to try and lessen the pressure against your clit. His hand pulls so far up that you feel it resting nearly at your belly button. You can’t help the little gasping, gagging noises as he starts to thrust in and out of your mouth again.

You hear - you feel - him laugh, swaying his hand from left to right. Your hips try to follow naturally, just desperate to alleviate any of the pressure you can.

“Like a little puppet,” he murmurs, yanking even further up, moaning when you scream.

He lets them go only a few thrusts later, big hand smoothing the fabric down over your cunt. You can feel that it’s stretched out, a little looser around the meat of your pussy, and the thought only makes you cry harder.

But you go silent again. It’s the one thing left in your control - even pinned to the floor, hands tied, legs useless, mouth stuff, you can decide how much noise you make.

He doesn’t like that. He groans a little when you go quiet again, tapping your thigh sharply.

“No, come on, make your little noises again. Feels real nice on my cock.”

This time you’re ready for the smack against your vulva, and you remain silent. You stay silent for the next three too.

His hips work with a little more force again, balls smacking against your face and leaving you to squeeze your eyes shut. After the next slap his hand doesn’t lift again, just rubs over your vulva slowly.

It’s pure luck on his part that he happens to rub over your clit. It’s a pure lack of luck on your part that you moan at the sudden and unexpected pleasure, completely taken off guard.

He stills above you, then slowly repeats the movement. You’re helpless to the little whimpers coming from your throat, and you curse the fact that you’ve always been loud during sex. He zeros in on exactly how to rub your clit unreasonably quickly, fingers sure through the fabric of your underwear.

“That what you need?” He rumbles a laugh above you. “Pain won’t make you noisy, but pleasure will? I can work with that.”

Before you can even begin to question what that means, your underwear are tucked to the side, and there’s a face buried in your pussy.

He doesn’t bother taking any time to explore or try and learn your body, just dives tongue-first to your clit. His technique of lick first, figure out what feels good later unfortunately works on you, and you’re left writhing beneath him, eyes rolled back in pleasure and moans muffled.

He groans agaisnt you, too, lips vibrating against your clit in a horrible and delicious way. “There you go.” You can barely hear him over the sounds of your own choking, especially with his own voice muffled in your folds. “That feels good, keep going.”

You don’t want to, but the magic he works against your clit leaves you no choice. You can’t help the hitched cries spilling from your lips, even if they make you cry all that much harder as you hear them.

He doesn’t take much longer to come, and you’re torn between resenting the fact that it’s your sounds that get him off and being glad that he does so he can get off of you.

He comes with a loud groan, sent right into your cunt and dragging you far too close to an edge you do not want to see, and sends thick ropes right down your throat. It’s almost a kindness that you can’t taste him, only have to swallow as quickly as possible so you don’t choke. The movements of your throat only draw out his orgasm though, and you’re locked in a terrible cycle for what feels like an eternity.

He doesn’t get you off. You’re not sure if you’re thankful or not.

You gasp when he finally pulls out of your throat, taking uninhibited breaths for the first time in far too many minutes. You can’t shut your jaw from the pain, but you also can’t kick your legs when he kneels up more fully.

He’s silent as he takes back his belt, and no matter how much you beg your arms to move, they remain still on your stomach. He shifts off of you, and you whine wordlessly when he grabs a handful of your hair, wiping his flaccid cock off in it.

Still, you don’t move.

He stands and redoes his belt silently, the jingle loud even with the clown music still playing. You stare up at him, and he holds eye contact with you. For some reason, you can’t look away.

He crouches down again before he leaves, and you can’t help but flinch away. He doesn’t touch you sexually again, though, only reaches out and pushes your jaw closed with two firm fingers.

You hate that he still has the mask pulled up, because it means you can see his smirk.

“That was fun. Maybe we’ll do it again sometime.”

He’s gone before you manage to understand what he’s said, and the tears start all over again when you do.

—

It takes you a while to scrape yourself off of the floor. You only catch sight of yourself in one mirror before you stare at the ground.

Your makeup is ruined, teartracks running down your temples and both cheeks. There are smudges along your jaw where his hands grabbed. Your lips are swollen and red. It could not be more obvious what’s just happened to you.

You plant one hand on the wall to your right, and keep your eyes firmly planted on your sneakers as you leave the maze. You feel almost detached from yourself, unable to truly understand what happened, what it means.

The throbbing between your thighs is distracting. You worry you might chafe from how soaked your panties are.

It doesn’t take long to find your friend once you finally make it out. She takes one look at you and laughs, teases you about having fun without her. You can’t bring yourself to correct her, and she picks up on your tone quickly, dropping the subject.

The two of you walk silently to your car. You hate it, but you can’t help but scan every actor. Thankfully - or maybe not thankfully? You don’t know anymore - none of them are even close to as big as the masked man in the hall of mirrors was.

You tuck your hands beneath your armpits as you finally make it to the parking lot, walking as quickly as you can get away with without running. Your limbs go a little looser as you get to your car, mind relaxing as it recognizes how close you are to safety. 

You freeze when you finally make it to the driver’s side door, lungs going still and heart beating so quickly you worry it’ll pound right out of your chest.

There, sitting in the driver’s seat, is a skeleton mask sewed onto a balaclava.

[ghouljams]

I must (politely) demand more animals for Bee - ☀️

You stare at the little yellow peepers under the warm light in the supply store. Their fluffy bodies and teeny little wings are the cutest things you've ever seen. You want one. You could handle a chicken, chickens are super easy(you think) people in the suburbs keep chickens.

But what if it gets lonely? You can't bring a little baby chicken home and leave it all by itself! Who ever heard of having one chicken? It's absurd. You'd have to get it a friend. But what if they get in a fight and stop talking? Ok three chickens...

You leave the store with five chicks peeping away in a cardboard box. You swing by the feed store and are so astonished by the price of feed that you actually ask about a discount. Which apparently was the right thing to do given how excited the owner looked. Plus there was a nice guy in line behind you who let you know haggling was kind of the thing to do in the feed store.

You get home with nothing you'd planned to purchase. You call König from the car. He doesn't answer, which is weird, but he's probably busy. A text works just as well, youll do that when you get home. You pull up to your house and find someone already parked there. Also weird.

There's a woman leaning against the cab of the beat up truck, chocolate brown hat tipped low over her eyes as she scrolls through her phone. She also has a cardboard box under one arm and a baking tray resting on the top of the cab.

She looks up when you step out of your car and gives you just about the friendliest smile you've ever seen.

-

"Wow you're really fixing this place up," the woman, Goose, she said to call her Goose, says with a low whistle. She'd pretty handily forced her way into your home, handing you a tray of brownies which you suppose are sort of a decent entry fee. They tasted good enough.

“Doing my best for it,” You say around a mouthful of brownie. You set your box of peepers on the coffee table, eyeing the box she sets on the ground. "Hey you know anything about chickens?" You ask her, nudging the box for her to peak into.

"Oh cute! You know you got five of these suckers in here right?" She asks scooping a chick out of its carrier, you nod. She shrugs and puts it back. "You got an anything with a roof on it and some chicken wire? I got some milk crates in the truck but that's about it."

"I was going to wait for my neighbor to come by and help," you tell her watching her roll her sleeves up.

"Probably not a good idea considering the cat." She nods at the box she'd brought, you stare at it.

"Who?"

"Our barn cat had kittens, thought you might need a housewarming gift." Goose crouches and tugs the cardboard open. Almost immediately you're yelled at by a very orange kitten. It's tiny meow making the chicks peep nervously. Goose scoops it up with little fanfare and deposits him in your waiting hands. You love this woman.

"I think I'm in love with you," you tell her, half joking.

"I get that a lot," she grins, "Alright you watch the cat, I'm gonna raid your shed." You nod quickly, and point her towards the back.

You stare at the kitten for a second, watching him purr up a storm and listening to him yell at you. Spot. You boop his little pink nose and settle him on your shoulder.

-

König has never felt panic like getting out of the shower to a missed call from you. No message left, no follow up text, He can't hear you over the bugs... best case you must've been in town and had a question. Worst case you're dead or dying and he missed his one chance to save you.

He does his best not to run to your house, doesn't want to spook the horses, but the extra truck in your driveway certainly makes him hurry. Then he hears you laugh and his heart nearly stops he's so relieved.

König follows the sound of your chatter around to the back of the house. You're perfect. Glowing in the sun, crouched in the grass as you play with a kitten, chatting with a woman he's never seen before. He opens his mouth to say something and- his mask.

Shit. He'd been in such a rush getting dressed he'd forgotten his bandana and thrown on his hood like he was used to from so many years with KorTac. You couldn't see him like this. Most importantly the woman you were with couldn't see him like this. He could see the gun she had tucked under her clothes, and he knew well enough how threatening he looked.

At least you were safe. And making a friend, that was good. You need friends. König rips the hood off his head and considers his options. He'll go back for his bandana, then come over and introduce himself. Or better yet maybe this new woman will be gone by the time he gets back.

You make a noise of surprise and he watches you pull your phone out, typing a quick message. His phone lights up as you put you phone back in your pocket.

From: 💕

Forgot to text you! Picked up some chicks but I'm handling it don't worry!!! Help me with names when you get a second

König smiles at his phone, he'll let you finish up your fun and swing by to check on your work. You're growing quite the little farm for yourself. Which is good, you'll need to know how to do these things once you're married. Although he isn't sure if you've quite grasped what all these animals are for yet...

[sydnikov]

saw you were asking about requests and if that’s still the case: something hurt/comfort where the reader is comforting svech when he finds out he has have to surgery, and helping him through the recovery process.

either established relationship or a feelings realization maybe? whatever you’re most comfortable with.

In Five || A. Svechnikov

Author: Sydney / @sydnikov

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov/Reader

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: Cursing (mild this time), sports injury (torn ACL/ligament), steamy kissing, bad proofreading, so much angst, but don’t worry there’s fluff at the end

A/N: I really tortured myself writing this. The emotions are still high, I hate the Bruins (sorry Bruins followers), and I hope you guys get all the feels as you read this. In all seriousness though, THANK YOU to whoever sent this in because it got me out of my writer’s block. (p.s. I’ve now opened requests to get me more inspired… so go submit stuff!!) anyways, I hope y’all enjoy 😁

It wasn’t bad. Not at first glance—at least that’s what you told yourself from the stands, clenching your fingers so hard they left nail indentations in the middle of your palms.

But you knew. You knew your best friend because you could read him like a book. Every twitch of the eye, a quirk of his lips, they all were a glimpse into his mind of what he was thinking. Andrei is your favorite book, and you just reached the chapter where everything starts to fall apart.

He was trying to hide it, the pain he was feeling from the quick stumble he took at center ice. It was just a small muscle pull, though, right? That’s what you thought, but then you saw him skate to the bench, favoring his right knee with the expression of one who knew he messed up.

Andrei played the rest of the game, but as you headed down to the locker room you couldn’t fight the feeling of dread steadily creeping up your heart.

“Hey,” you greeted a few of the girls leaning against the wall, waiting for their significant others to finish interviews. You were sort of an outcast in that manner, because Andrei wasn’t yours… No matter how much you wanted him to be. “Has he come out yet?” you asked.

The solemn shake of their heads gave you your answer, and you didn’t even bother trying to hide your worry when you leaned back against the wall with them, anxiously chewing your lip. The time came and went, seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to an hour of watching the other Hurricanes players come and go—none of them the man you wanted, no needed to see.

It was times like these where you questioned how you got here, waiting on Andrei like a girlfriend but being firmly stuck in the friend zone. He had never made you feel like anything less because of it, but you felt it aching in your very bones when he’d flash a smile to the girls at the bars you frequented, or when he’d ask you whether the blue shirt or the red shirt would look better on a date with the cute girl he met at a shopping mall.

It was funny, too, because you hadn’t met him any differently than he’s met the other girls he’s taken out. It was at a bar, actually, one in downtown Raleigh not too far of a drive from PNC Arena, and you were nursing a drink with a few friends from work when the place exploded in activity because players from the Carolina Hurricanes had just arrived.

You didn’t ask “who?” like one of your coworkers asked, because you loved hockey and went to a decent amount of games, and you could confidently answer which player had which number. In one game you’d even managed to snag glass seats, and that had been the best night of your life.

Never had you actually met any of the players, though. Odd, considering you had always made it a habit to go out at least once on the weekends, but one fateful Saturday night was when you finally were able to get a good look at the players outside of their hockey uniforms. You were content to merely watch them from a distance, but soon you realized they were just like any other regular bar patrons and soon lost interest in eyeing them a few tables back.

It was as you were ordering another drink that you caught from the corner of your eyes a body settling down on your right, too close to be convenient because there were other open seats far from you. You hadn’t been looking for a hookup that night, though, so you figured playing hard-to-get might ward off any men looking for a quick one-night stand.

“Hi,” the man suddenly spoke, accent too thick to be attributed to intoxication. A foreigner? You met his eyes, your gaze colliding with warm brown that reminded you of the hot chocolate you’d buy to keep your hands warm in the winter. “Drink not up to standards?” he said, leaning against the bar counter to get a better look at you.

Your brain had short-circuited, because wow this guy was good-looking, and it only took another minute of analyzing his features with your tipsy brain to realize you were talking to Andrei Svechnikov, or rather, he was talking to you.

“Not much of a drinker to begin with.” you had replied smoothly, shocking even yourself because talking to attractive men had never been a strong suit. “What about you? What do you drink?”

You and Andrei, who had later introduced himself and to which you responded with a cheeky quirk of your lips, “I know”, had hit it off immediately. You talked for hours that night, unable to shake the undeniable chemistry you had between you until one of your friends ran into you slurring her words and stumbling in place that signaled your outing time was up.

You exchanged numbers that night, and unbeknownst to either of you, your hearts were beating in tandem for days after, and brains spiraling with ‘what ifs’ and ‘I think they like me’. Unfortunately… It had never gone beyond that, because communication was hard to begin with for Andrei without the added challenge of having to speak English, and well–past relationships have made it a little hard for you to put your trust in people.

So, here you were. Confidently able to say that Andrei was one of your closest friends who you just so happened to be in love with, but knowing it would never go beyond that. You’d rather have Andrei in your life as a friend than not at all, right?

That’s what you told yourself when you finally heard the familiar sound of Andrei’s deep voice from the locker room, coming closer and closer as the distance between you decreased.

“No, no,” Andrei said, firmly, finally making his appearance. “No hospital. I feel fine.”

“Son, you’re favoring your knee. You need to go, now.” Head Coach Rod Brind’Amour marched in right behind the left winger. “I let you wait out the rest of the game, that’s what we agreed.”

Andrei remained in place, stubbornly glaring at the older man with the two looking like raging bulls getting ready to charge the other.

“‘Drei?” you finally found the courage to speak, hesitantly stepping forward and breaking the heated glare between the two men. You didn’t even notice until now that the athletic trainer was waiting behind them, phone held to his ear. “What’s going on?”

Immediately, the Russian’s eyes whipped towards you and he stepped back from Rod immediately. He said your name in slight confusion, even embarrassment at being caught in the metaphorical pissing match between him and his coach.

“I—” he licked his lips, struggling to find the words in English. “My knee. It is… Messed up.”

“Messed up?” you said. “What do you mean?”

That’s when Rod popped in. “He took a bit of a stumble on the ice, it didn’t look too serious at first but his knee is hurting.” He turned to glare at Andrei. “He can barely stand on it.”

Andrei clenched his jaw, attempting to shift his weight onto his right knee, but he could barely manage to stand before his face twisted up in pain and he had to use the wall to balance himself.

You stepped up to the Russian, worriedly wringing your hands together before stilling them to grab your stubborn friend's arm. “You’re too stubborn for your own good,” you smiled wryly, attempting to mask your worry with a small tease.

Andrei towered over you, but his size had always made you feel safe rather than scared, and that applied to now, roo. “I am fine, darling,” he murmured the pet name in Russian, his voice matching the softness of his eyes he could never hide when looking at you. Sometimes he’d speak in his native tongue in front of you because he knew you didn’t understand, and the scowl on your face afterward always made him laugh.

But, even though he was definitely not fine, he could barely take having to bother his teammates and coaches with his issues, nonetheless you. He didn't want you to see him so weak, at least not like this.

“My knee is just stiff. Sore.” he shot a look towards Rod, who up until this moment had been staring at the wall to give the two of you privacy. “It is not that bad, I am sure of it.”

“Then you’ll go to the hospital to get it checked out since it’s ‘not that bad’.” Rod deadpanned, finally breaking the bubble of tension that always seemed to surround you and Andrei when together.

“I agree with him, Andrei,” you said, placing another hand on his arm to gain his attention. “You need to get it looked at, at the very least.”

You gave him your best puppy eyes, peering up at him as he stood over you. You could see the hesitation on his face, knowing his protesting was mostly because he hated bothering others with his problems.

“If not for your career, do it for me?” you said, attempting to bring back his smile by poking him in the chest. “Please?”

A moment of silence, you staring at Andrei and Andrei staring at you…

“—fine.”

He agreed, but his knee was not fine as he said it was. It was bad because it wasn’t actually his knee that had been causing his pain, but rather a torn ligament connected to the knee that turned out to be the ACL in his right leg.

And Andrei was devastated. You weren’t allowed to be in the room with him while they checked him out because he needed an MRI, but Martin and Seth were and it was them who came up to you in the hallway, grim looks on their faces as they broke the news. You could hear the raised voices of both Andrei and Brind’Amour shouting from the room.

You couldn’t see Andrei’s face, but you felt your heart breaking for him anyways as the doctor probably told him how long his recovery would take, the physical therapy he would need to endure, and the amount of time he wouldn’t be able to play hockey for.

“Nine months,” Andrei said, angrily typing away on his phone to his brother, Evgeny, probably. “Maybe six if I am lucky.”

You remained silent, watching him from the kitchen counter at a loss for words. You had offered to drive Andrei home, unofficially taking on the role of caretaker since Martin lived with his girlfriend and Seth was, well… Seth.

Andrei was on the couch, dressed in an old Hurricanes hoodie with shorts, his right leg propped up on a stool wrapped in a temporary cast. His face was flushed, and his hair messy from all the times he had run his hands through it. You knew he was in pain, both mentally and physically, but it really was unfair how he still managed to look so attractive all throughout.

Leg cast and all included.

“Is that what the doctor said?” you asked, finally gaining the courage to speak as you crossed the room. You carefully sat on the couch next to him, not wanting to jostle his leg.

The Russian dropped his phone on his lap, bringing a hand up to rub his eyes before gazing at you with determination. “Yes. But I’m going to be better in five.”

You finally cracked a smile, there’s the ‘Drei you knew and loved, your first one since hearing the news and bringing him back to his house. Andrei couldn’t help but grin, feeling the fondness for you in his heart grow. You were so good to him, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to keep his feelings to himself while you stayed with him.

He wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t mind having you stay with him for the rest of the year, though. Andrei was selfish, and he was also possessive, so he liked having you to himself. He considered Martin and Seth and Sebastian his good friends, his teammates, his bros if you will, but you were his. His best friend, his best girl—you were the only one he wanted, and maybe this new living situation would give him the opportunity to finally tell you.

Andrei just hoped you felt the same. He wouldn’t be able to stand losing you because he couldn’t keep his heart under control.

“Well, you know I’ll be here to help you get through it.” You stated with conviction, reaching over to give his hand a squeeze and your heart beating all the while.

You held your unspoken promise, especially on the day of his surgery a little less than a week after his prognosis. It was an early surgery on a Thursday morning, and you even called off work so you could be at the hospital with him when he woke up.

You already knew most of your friends and family were wondering why you were putting so much effort into caring for someone who was just a friend, and if you were being honest you didn’t have much of an answer to give them. They had a point after all, right?

You and Andrei were just friends. That was it. You may be in love with him (now more than ever), and you definitely omitted that little detail during past conversations, but still. Friends move in with each other to help recover from big injuries all the time.

This time with Andrei was no different, and you had to repeat this mantra over and over again in your head as the anesthesia slowly wore off and his eyes were so soft and droopy, mumbling his words and his accent was thicker than ever and your heart was beating so fast it was going to jump out of your chest–

“Thank you for being here with me,” Andrei slurred, gazing up at you with those warm, half-lidded eyes.

You grabbed his hand, gently, lacing your fingers together and squeezing once. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Andrei squeezed back once before losing consciousness, his eyes closing and his head lolling back against the pillow. “That’s normal, right?” You asked the nurse, who was busy writing on a clipboard. She only had to look up once to take in the situation before responding.

“Everyone responds to anesthesia differently. Your boyfriend is just one of many who has to sleep it off.”

You felt your stomach drop, your eyes widening only slightly at the nurse’s casual use of ‘boyfriend’. Of course, that’s what you and your best friend must have looked like to her, right? You, holding Andrei’s hand, and he gazing up at you like you hung the stars and the moon.

It was probably just the drugs in his system. Definitely.

Andrei was cleared to leave the hospital the next day, and you heard the news from the group chat you, Martin, and Seth were in. It was comically titled, ‘Andrei’s bobble-leg’, courtesy of Seth, of course, and it was essentially just the three of you coordinating who has Andrei duty on the days you weren’t able to be with him.

Unfortunately, the day he was able to go home was the day you had to be back at work, so Martin and Seth left their morning skate early to drive him home. And so, here you were now, finally off from work and driving down Capital Blvd road to Andrei’s home.

Martin, Seth, and surprisingly quite a few of the players were already there when you arrived. You knocked on the front door before letting yourself in, curiosity written all over your face as you walked closer to all the noise.

Happy shouts of your name rang across the room when you appeared in the doorway, and your face flushed red in embarrassment at all the eyes suddenly upon you. “Hey guys,” you said, eyes scanning around the room looking for the only man you really cared about.

Finally, you found him. Andrei was seated on his couch, leg safely propped up on the ottoman and wrapped in tight bandages and a brace. He had an Xbox controller in his hand, the video game he was previously playing on pause.

“How was work?” Sebastian asked from the right of Andrei, also holding a controller. There were several bags of chips laid out across the ottoman, and both men were currently snacking.

It was probably against their diet, but you weren’t going to be the one to tell them that, especially Andrei.

“Work,” you finally responded, rather dry. Most of the population, including you, unfortunately, were not lucky enough to play the sport they loved as their job.

A few chuckles and about an hour later, everyone began packing up to leave. Somehow, you had gravitated toward Andrei during this time of catching up with his teammates and ended up on the couch next to him, on his left. His arm was casually strewn across the back of the couch, fingertips playing with the ends of your hair and occasionally brushing against your neck, sending shivers up your spine.

You liked to pretend it was just you harboring feelings for him sometimes because it was less scary, but every day that fantasy was getting harder and harder to live… Especially when you would turn your head to catch a peek at his side profile, and he was already staring as if knowing the effect he had on you.

“How’s your leg feeling?” You asked once you heard the front door shut, signaling the exit of the last guest. It was silent other than the TV playing softly in the background, it having changed from Call of Duty to a rerun of Friends some time ago.

Andrei sighed, attempting to hide his emotional turmoil with a smile. Bringing his arm down from the back of the couch, he tentatively rested it on your shoulders, gauging your reaction before bringing you to his side. He’s been an affectionate person since you first met him, so you were used to the random hand-holding or hugs, but it still never failed to make you long for something more.

He patted his leg gently, careful not to disturb it from where it rested. “Hurts. But that is to be expected, no?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it can’t suck.” You said, your voice nothing more than a murmur. You rested your head against his shoulder, tugging at a loose string on one of your sleeves.

The hockey player didn’t respond, instead, he placed one of his big hands on your shoulder and squeezed, a sign he at least heard your attempt at reassurance. Time passed quickly like this; Friends continued playing, as did your position tucked into Andrei’s side.

You felt at peace, and while he didn’t say it with words you could tell the Russian beside you felt the same. Hopefully, the next few months of healing will just fly by.

And they did, at first. But even though the Carolina Hurricanes were missing one of their star players, the games must go on. His teammates went out on the ice, each and every one of them feeling Andrei’s absence keenly.

You felt it too, as the Boston Bruins scored their fourth and final goal of the night, winning the game in a shootout. The hope immediately dissipated within your chest and in rose frustration and disappointment to take its place, but you were sure that was nothing compared to what Andrei was feeling beside you.

The entirety of the game, your hand was wrapped in Andrei’s, his squeezing down when the Bruins scored their first goals in regulation and releasing to clap when we were finally able to tip the puck in. Then the team came back in the third period—you weren’t sure what Brind’Amour had said to the boys during the second intermission, but whatever he said had worked.

The Hurricanes had been controlling the puck in the Bruins’ zone, something they had failed to do in the first two periods. They were passing, aiming, shooting, scoring, first by Skjei in the corner of the net and then by Aho on a tight pass from Martinook that slipped right past Swayman’s shoulder.

It was looking so good because Andersen had finally gotten his head in the game and the defense had stepped up, but then we went past overtime scoreless, and then to the fateful shootout.

You had felt the anxiousness from every fan in the arena. If anyone was an avid Hurricanes watcher, including you, they knew shootouts had never been this hockey team’s strong suit.

Andrei’s frustration was palpable next to you. His left leg was bouncing up and down for the entirety, and you could see the muscles tensing and untensing in his right leg as if he had wanted to move. It only got worse when Brind’Amour sent Burns out first, something that had you, Andrei, and every single Hurricanes fan in the arena watching on in confusion.

“No, no,” you had heard the Russian mutter from next to you. “Why is he sending Brent? He needs to send Fishy, or Turbo—” the words then died in his mouth as Brent missed as everyone knew would happen, and sadly Teuvo, who went out next, did too.

Unfortunately for us, the Bruins had good goal-scorers. Coyle had slipped the puck past Andersen, as did DeBrusk, and then it was done. Game over. Just like that.

You finally turned to face the man next to you just as his head fell into his hands, tugging at his hair and messing up the gel you forced him to put on because no, Andrei, you can’t show up with bedhead. He was muttering words you couldn’t understand, most likely the creative Russian curses you heard him say on occasion.

If this game had been hard to watch for you, you couldn’t even begin to imagine how Andrei was feeling.

“‘Drei,” you said, tentatively. “Are you—”

“No. Don’t.” He snapped, rubbing at his eyes before unsteadily rising to stand. His right leg shook, but he refused the arm you held out and didn’t dare to look in your eyes to see what look they held. As he tried to reach for his crutches, his leg buckled from underneath him, and this time you ignored the hurt of him lashing out to put your arms around his back to steady him.

“Can we— Is it okay if…” he struggled to speak, his accent thick with emotion as he struggled to find the words. Andrei had never been good at communicating when upset, literally, because everything always came to him in Russian naturally, and this time was no different. “Leave? Can we leave?”

“What about—”

“No. No team. No reporters.” he said, digging his fingers into the back of his jersey you were wearing.

You softened, gently maneuvering your body so you could face him better. Now you were chest-to-chest, your arms still wrapped around his midsection to keep him steady. “What do you want then, Andrei?”

“Home,” he murmured. “Home. With you.” he wasn’t able to convey it right at this moment, but his heart was pounding as he said the words. To him, to anyone in his culture, this was the closest he could come to expressing his love without outright saying it.

He found he wasn’t scared about finally admitting this out loud, either, because you were his home. Everything about you was home because he wouldn’t dare let anyone else except his brother and mama see him so vulnerable.

Of course, you were oblivious. He normally found it cute, but right now he wanted to shake you because all he wanted right now was to hold you in his arms and kiss you as he found comfort in your presence.

“Okay,” you finally whispered, the double meaning of his words flying right over your head. But something emboldened you, gave you the courage to raise your hands to his shoulders so you could reach up and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, right next to the corner of his lips.

“Let’s go home, ‘kay?”

The ride home was silent, comforting even despite the rough loss the team took. By the time you finally managed to get to the car, the two of you were struggling to keep your eyes open and also keep your hands off each other. Andrei tangling your hands together, you gently leaning against his side…

It was all surface-level, neither wanting to speak the words out loud but yet not wanting to sacrifice the innocent, physical intimacy you found with each other. This was all racing through your mind the closer you got to Andrei’s house, and you were almost positive he was thinking the same.

Andrei, in fact, was actually contemplating the one-hundred different ways he was going to kiss you, if he ever gets to that stage with you. He was currently facing the window but left enough room at the corner of his eyes to take little peeks at you, only fuelling his determination to do something about the tension between you.

And, yeah, maybe he was hyperfixating on you to distract him from the fact his team lost and if he was down on the ice he knew he would have been able to fix it, been able to score. His emotions had skyrocketed since the game ended, and everything felt so much more intense than usual.

Maybe that was just the pain medication he was on, though…

After you finally arrived at Andrei’s house, it took a little bit over an hour to finally get yourselves ready for bed. The problem? Neither of you were ready for any sort of sleeping, and you both knew it.

Currently, Andrei was leaning back into the couch, his right leg once again propped up on the ottoman and a blanket haphazardly thrown over his lap. You were next to him, legs comfortably tucked underneath you with a few inches of space left between you and Andrei.

There was half a family-sized bag of Doritos in between you that he said was in his pantry, so you were both currently snacking on them while watching the NHL channel. It was quiet other than for the TV, for neither of you were speaking a word for fear of breaking the thick silence between you.

The tension was so thick you could have cut it with a knife, and what made it even worse is that you didn’t think Andrei even noticed. He was wrapped up in his phone, most likely watching the game recap because his face was twisted up and his whole body seemed tense.

You shoved another Dorito in your mouth. Fuck. You were so, so screwed. You needed to get it together before you said something you regretted, especially since you had temporarily become his roommate.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore and spoke. “Andrei?” you said, hesitantly looking towards him.

“What?” he responded after a moment, not taking his eyes away from his phone.

Now you felt uncomfortable. Before, in the arena, he was looking at you like he loved you, but now he was snappy and tense and worse than normal because his team lost without him being able to play.

Picking at the skin around your nails, you attempted scooting down the couch before just giving up and moving to stand. “Nevermind,” you said with a mutter, feeling withdrawn and defeated. If he didn’t want to open up to you, fine, but you didn’t deserve to have him take out his frustration on you.

At least, not like this.

Andrei didn’t even respond, furthering your feelings of bitterness towards the man you had so many feelings for. Wrapping your hands in the long sleeves of his hoodie you were still wearing, you shuffled down the hallway and into the guest room you claimed as your own.

You could still hear the TV playing in the background, but that was the only sound in the otherwise silent house. You blinked the frustration from your eyes and crawled underneath the bed sheets, scrolling on your phone until you fell into a dreamless sleep.

Hours passed of restless tossing and turning, and then suddenly it was three in the morning and you were being woken up by countless knocks on your door.

“The fuck?” you muttered sleepily, crawling out of the cocoon of blankets you were in to answer your door. For whatever reason, your sleep-addled brain wasn’t able to comprehend that it was probably Andrei on the other side. “Andrei?” you said, confused as the Russian leaned against the wall.

He looked rather sheepish, slightly embarrassed. His hair was ruffled, and the TV was still playing so he probably fell asleep on the couch.

“Oh, shit,” you said, suddenly realizing that he was probably here because he needed help. Of course. That was all it was. “I’m such an idiot, sorry,” you breathed, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you stepped out of the room. “C’mon, I’ll help you get in bed.”

Andrei stopped you with a hand, opening and closing his mouth as he struggled to find words. “No, that is not it.” he finally settled on.

Okay, now you were curious. “Huh?”

“I am sorry.”

What?

“For what?” You asked, staring up at him wide-eyed. You were honestly too tired for a heavy conversation like this so you were struggling to keep up.

Andrei swallowed the lump in his throat. His leg was currently throbbing, but it was nothing compared to the throbbing in his heart as he looked at you. Your hair was all over the place in the most endearing way, and your eyes were droopy in a way that told him you were just sleeping.

“For not treating you right, for—” He cut himself off, sighing in frustration. Why was English so complicated? If only you understood English. “English is stupid.” he muttered, then released a big sigh and steeled his resolve.

Stepping closer, he brought the two of you chest-to-chest and brought his arms to cage you against the wall.

And you, you meanwhile, let out the most embarrassing noise possible when he suddenly got close, and then Andrei was everywhere and nowhere all at once. His body was trapping you in, and while your senses were on overdrive you strangely enough didn't feel like fleeing.

“Andrei?” You squeaked, sinking further into the wall if it was possible. Your eyes dropped, finding the center of his chest to firmly set your gaze. His eyes were so dark, intimidating, and swimming with an intention you were nervous to find out. “What are you doing?”

“Look at me, please?” A large hand smoothed against your skin, gently tilting your head up. Your eyes automatically locked with his, and the emotion on his face had you gasping. “There’s my girl,” He said.

Okay, yeah, your body was frozen, the breath leaving your lungs in a torrent of sharp breaths. This… This was new territory, for the both of you, and you couldn’t help but wonder how Andrei looked so calm while you looked like a startled deer—an unattractive one, at that.

He started speaking, heart thundering while the words poured from his throat like warm, melted butter. “I’m in love with you. You are my person, I knew from the very first moment I saw you in that bar so many months ago. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but tonight, having you next to me… You’ve always been next to me, and I’ve taken advantage of that. Darling, I want to make up for all the times I never kissed you senseless, and I want nothing more than to have you as mine, and I yours.”

Your favorite music, your favorite voice, words so filled with emotion and yet you couldn’t even understand him as he looked at you like you were his sun, and he a plant desperately seeking your warmth. Andrei had only spoken in Russian a handful of times in front of you – most being curses or quips exchanged with Pyotr – and never had he spoken so much of it.

You’d always thought Russian was rather harsh. The sharp whistles, clicks of the tongue, hissing of certain words; you admired anyone who could speak it, but it had never been an easy language to listen to you. But, when Andrei spoke Russian… It was soft, almost musical, and expressive to the point you felt like you could understand the very subject at hand if you thought about it. Maybe you were just biased, but you swore you fell more in love with him every time he spoke it.

“No words?” he said, a grin on his face that made you realize you’d maybe been silent for a little too long.

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You were breathless— literally.

“I show you, then, what I said,” Andrei brushed his fingers against the side of your neck, almost fully grasping it as he gently brought you closer. You had no complaints, though. “Yes?”

He said your name again, looking at you with those warm eyes so full of depth they hypnotized you and had you nodding yes, almost instinctively.

Andrei sucked in a breath, tightening his grip on you only slightly as he slid his hand around the back of your head. Your lips were slightly parted, shiny and red from where you’d been biting them previously, and that cupid’s bow that always drove him crazy when you smiled was quirked upwards as if it was asking him to kiss you.

He waited a moment, stared into your eyes, his fingers merely a whisper of a touch against your cheek, and finally took the leap. The first touch of his lips was shy, testing, but then you whimpered with need and tugged at his shirt to bring him closer and Andrei had an internal moment of fuck it where he realized just how crazy he was for you. Pressing you into the wall, he nipped at your bottom lip and was granted entrance with a gasp drowned out by the sound of his own groan. He put every ounce of his passion and love and relief into this kiss as if trying to convince you to stay because this, this here? It was worth it—you were worth it. Fireworks, electricity, butterflies, and everything all at once was igniting in your gut and caused you to let out a pathetic whimper the moment your lips finally detached. He was clearly skilled at this, wholeheartedly controlling the moment as his lips left a trail of kisses down your neck, nipping at the skin that met your collarbone.

“‘Drei,” you gasped, clutching the hair right at his scalp – when did you move your arms around his neck? – as he sucked a mark under your jaw. “Hm?” he hummed, not stopping with his ministrations.

“What,” you said, throat dry and raspy as you tried to speak over the sound of your beating heart. “What did you say— oh,”

Andrei’s grin was almost feral as he drew the beautiful sound from your lips. “Found it,” he said, voice full of pride as he brushed his fingers against the newly-found sweet spot on your neck.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore and grabbed his head in between your hands, bringing his head to yours so you could press a quick, affectionate kiss to his lips before pulling back to gather your thoughts because you had a lot of them.

Andrei pouted the moment you pulled him away but respected your boundaries and merely rested his hands on your waist to keep you close. He said your name gently, his tone bordering on questioning. “Did I… Did I push too far?” he said.

“No, no, not at all,” you rushed to correct him, already having caught the guilt in his eyes. “I just want to know what you said earlier, before you— you know.” It felt almost taboo to say ‘before you kissed the life out of me’, not wanting to break this delicate balance you found yourself in.

The Russian hummed, already catching on to your bashfulness and deciding to tease you for it. “No, darling, I think you need to remind me,” he brought a hand up to loosely wrap around your neck, the contact keeping you grounded. “On what I did before what?”

“Andrei,” you said, immediately dropping eye contact as your face flushed red. “You’re being a tease,” you muttered.

He dipped his head, brushing your lips together as he spoke. You felt his breath against your skin and had the sudden desire to taste him again. “I can do this all night, but the question is can you?”

You gave up at that because the moment he spoke he drew back and you couldn’t stand the feeling of not having him close to you anymore. “Andrei,” you sucked in a breath. “What did you say before you kissed me? In Russian?”

“I love you,” Andrei didn’t miss a beat as he crept his other hand farther up your waist. “That is mostly what I said. And more.”

“More?” you squeaked out as he drew closer.

The hockey player hummed, then suddenly stepped back and grabbed your hand. “Much more,” he confirmed. “Now—bed?” Short, sweet, and to the point Andrei always was…

Just one of the many things you loved about him.

Twenty minutes later you lay in Andrei’s bed, swallowed in another one of his shirts, and curled into his chest. His arm was wrapped around your waist, stroking gentle circles into the skin exposed to the room. It was silent, null except for the steady hum of the air conditioning and the gentle breathing of two humans reveling in each other’s presence.

“I miss it,” he said, suddenly speaking up. You lifted your head only slightly from his chest, already missing the sound of his heartbeat lulling you to sleep. “Hockey. And I miss playing with my brothers.”

Brothers. Your heart broke at hearing the longing in his voice, because every single player on the team he played with was his family, in one way or another, and now he was being forced to watch them play the sport he had no chance of helping them win.

You couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain he was feeling.

“I know, Andrei,” was what you finally settled on. Your voice was soft, gentle, trying to convey your understanding with actions rather than words. You drew tiny circles on his chest, taking pride in the way goosebumps rose in your fingers’ wake. “I know.”

He tightened his grip on you, holding you closer to him as if he were afraid you’d disappear. “Will you be here?” he suddenly asked, frowning. Andrei knew he was being slightly irrational, feeling so vulnerable, but he really hadn’t felt secure in himself since first tearing his ACL.

What was his purpose in life, really, if not to play hockey and have you with him?

You hadn’t yet spoken, so he quickly clarified. “In the morning. And all the mornings after.”

A smile broke across your face as you buried your head into his chest. You felt the rumble of his chest as he chuckled, and then he shifted to where you were laying on top of his chest so he could see your face. “All the mornings, huh?” you asked, feeling bashful.

Andrei grinned, his tongue poking out from behind his teeth, knowing the effect he had on you. “Every one,” he replied. “If you will have me.”

“There’s nothing I want more.”

And you meant it, truly, with every fiber of your being. The next months were going to be rough, the ones where you’d have to be there for Andrei as he watched his team ultimately compete and fall through in the playoffs especially.

But you knew the two of you could do it. Andrei was nothing if not committed, even through all the arguments, tears, and emotional breakdowns, you were there for each other through the long haul.

And Andrei, meanwhile, after many difficult months down the road, had the biggest smile on his face as the doctors told him it was a miracle.

Because he had healed from his ACL injury in five.

fin

A/N: Before my medical professionals come at me, YES I KNOW acl injuries take up to a year to recover from almost all of the time, but for the sake of this fic just pls ignore that little fact 😭 in all seriousness though, I can’t wait till our favorite Russian gets to play again bc I miss him sm. As always, please leave likes, reblogs, and comments. Ily all <33

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[tonysslut]

just your boss

pls do not copy or repost my work

this is kinda long but i'm so obsessed with it and i hope you guys love it just as much!!

tony stark masterlist

you internally rolled your eyes as you watched as everyone started to leave for the night. it was a friday night and most of the work had been given to you, like usual—countless documents to go over, meetings to set up, and a plethora of emails to be sent.

the vast majority your coworkers despised you, especially your female coworkers. they were all under the impression that you were having an affair with your boss. the he looked at you, brought you coffee every morning, and even gave you your own office was proof enough for them.

if it weren't for you overhearing them talking about you, you would've never realized why they treated you the way they did.

"she's such a whore. sleeping with tony just to keep her job." she said with disgust in her tone and a not so subtle eye roll.

you weren't totally oblivious. you were aware he treated you a little differently than everyone else, but you just assumed it was because you were new, but that treatment continued as the months went by.

and you definitely weren't blind, he was attractive—very attractive. he towered over you, his dark brown hair flecked with gray here and there. he had one ring on his pinky, the gold band always shined bright as he walked through the office.

with most of the office empty, you knew you'd be able to get a decent amount of work done, giving yourself a nice head start for the following workweek.

tony observed you from his office, your eyebrows furrowed in concentration, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as you read your screen. he smiled as you bopped your head to the music that played through your headphones.

he admired how hard you always worked, even when the rest of his employees attempted to make your job more difficult.

you were so lost in your work that you didn't notice tony leaving his office, standing in front of your cubicle. you let out a startled gasp as you looked up.

"sorry, didn't mean to scare you." he let out a breathy laugh, you laughed with him, feeling slightly embarrassed at your reaction.

"it's okay. i didn't notice you were there. can i do anything for you?" you ask, taking your headphones off to look up at him.

"what are you still doing here? you should've left a few hours ago." he stated, walking around to look at your screen. you felt his colonge seep into your system as he leaned in close to you, cocking your neck to see his profile from the side.

he sensed your gaze and turned to meet yours, smiling.

you turned red when his eyes met yours. internally cursing at yourself for staring like an idiot.

"um, i'm just getting ahead. i don't have anything planned tonight so i figured i'd stay a bit later and get some work out of the way. i can leave if you're on your way out." you offered, not wanting him to stay longer so he could close once you left.

you noticed tony's eyes drop to your lips for split second. he shook his head. "no, i don't mind." he stood up straight turning around to walk back to his office but he suddenly stopped. "actually, could you come into my office for a second? i could use you're help with something."

you nodded your head, followed him.

you loved the view he had in his office, big windows from the floor to the ceiling that showed off the beautiful city. the room was pretty dark apart from a small lamp that sat on his desk, illuminating enough to see what he needed to see.

he reached under his desk and pulled out a thick binder, flipping through it till he found what he needed.

"i like to keep track of sales here." he point at the spreadsheet. "but, it's not very organized. i used to know what was what but i lost track and want to sort it out. any suggestions?" he says resting his hands on the desk to be eye level with you.

once again you find yourself staring again but pull yourself together quicker this time.

"well, you can go by dates." you look down at the binder, noticing he has dates by each number. "if you don't mind, i can go through and but the dates in order on a new spreadsheet and have it ready by monday." you say with a smile, tucking your hair behind your ear when you look back up and find him already looking at you.

"thank you for the offer, but i can do it myself." he smiles at you. the lighting in his office enhances your feature and he can't bring himself to take his eyes off you. "you work harder than everyone else, no reason for me to pile on anything more."

you smile at his comment, realizing he does notice your attempt at being a good employee.

your smile made tonys heart skip a beat, he wasn't sure why but he started to lean into you, and you didn't stop him. his soft lips pressed against yours, leading you into a gentle kiss. you let it happen, tasting the mint gum he had previously had.

he placed his hands on your waist, pulling you into him. even with him bending down, you still had to crane your neck upwards to reach his lips. the kiss was quickly become more and more passionate. neither one of you could get enough.

tony pulled away at the lack of air, pressing his forehead against yours. "tell me to stop." he whispered, catching his breath.

part of you wanted to tell him to stop, you shouldn't be crossing the line on professionalism like this. but the other half wanted this, so you kept quite, locking your eyes with his.

your eyes told him all he needed to know, he rushed back in, kissing you harder, placing his big hands on the back of your legs, lifting you up and setting you on the edge of his desk.

his hands roamed your body, reaching the end of your shirt to pull it off you. he start to kiss down your neck when you pull of his jacket, quickly undoing the buttons on shirt.

the way he feels against you has you feeling dizzy. his touch feels so good. he reaches your bra and unclasps it, you move your arms so it falls right off.

"god, you're beautiful." he says as he pulls back away from you, slipping his shirt off.

you also take the chance to admire him, he was just pure muscle, sculpted by god himself.

he reaches around you and unzips your skirt, you lift your hips so he can pull them off, taking your panties off as well. he pulls you closer to the edge of the desk and kneels in front of you. your body feels like it's on a fire at this point.

he leans in and licks your cunt. your eyes flutter shut at the feeling. his warm tongue laps up your arousal, humming against you at your taste. he wastes no time, sucking your clit into his mouth and massage his fingers around your hole.

you lean back on your hands and watch as he eats you out, his eyes locking with yours when he pushes two fingers inside you. his thick fingers stretch you out in the most delicious way possible.

he thrusts them in and out before he curls them upwards. between his tongue and fingers, you can't hold yourself up anymore, dropping yourself onto your back. your hand finds it's way into his hair, slightly tugging at his roots. a moan vibrates against you at the action, causing you to arch your back.

you were embarrassed at how fast your orgasm was approaching but tony just encouraged you, moving faster, pressing his fingers deeper inside you.

your release hit you like a truck. vision blurring, stomach tightening, legs shaking around his head, hands tugging harshly at his hair. he didn't slow down his movements, wanting to prolong it for as long as possible. he only pulled away when you started to push him away at how sensitive you had gotten.

he rested his head against your thigh and watched as you catched your breath, he could still feel the subtle shake of your legs. pressing kisses against your leg, he made his way up your body to your lips. you moaned at the taste of yourself, sitting up so you could undo his pants.

you pushed them down and let him kick them off. grabbing his cock, you stroke him as you two continue to kiss. you could feel how big he was, throbbing in your hand. pulling away, you slightly lean back and line him up with your entrance.

he looks down at you, almost as if asking for permission. you nod your head and he slowly pushes into you. the moan that leaves your lips is involuntarily, he stretches you out in ways you never felt before.

you hear him curse under his breath when he's fully nestled inside you. he just rests inside you, letting you get accustomed before he pulls out. he movements are slow, letting you feel each and every inch.

"you feel so good." he groans, placing his hands on your hips.

his deep voice just turns you on more; the slow movements are like torture, you needed more.

"please. please move faster." you almost beg, gripping his bicep for extra support.

he puts his arms under your legs to push them upwards, almost pinning them against you. he thrusts faster, deeper. leaning down, he kisses you, letting you wrap your hands around his neck to pull him closer. the kiss is mainly the two of you moaning into each others mouths.

he suddenly feels bold and picks you up off the desk and walks towards the glass, pressing you against it so he can thrust up into you. the cool glass against your warm skin feels amazing and the risk of potentially being seen, excites you.

he reaches deeper inside you in this position, hitting your g-spot with each stroke. you throw you head back, pleasure courses through every part of your body.

tony leans forward and places kissing on your exposed throat, making his way towards your sweet spot, sucking on the skin.

"i'm so close. tony, please."

your whining spurs him on. he wraps an arm around your waist to hold you up and uses his free hand to rub your clit. the added stimulation has your toes curling. his movements speed up, deep moans vibrate through his chest.

he knows your close, he can feel your cunt squeeze his cock, making it harder for him move.

"cum, baby. go ahead." he whispers, choking out a moan when his own release hits him.

this one is 10x more intense then the first one. your entire body goes stiff, you can't control the moans that leave your mouth as it washes over you.

tony rests his head against your shoulder as he fills you up. he's never had an orgasm this stronger before. he gently places you places you on the floor, legs wobbling when your feet meet the ground.

"stay here, let me grab some tissues." he says before rushing over to his desk.

you lean against the glass, still catch your breath from the orgasm you just had. he leans down to clean the mess between your legs, doing his best to get you as clean as possible.

you smile at him when he stands straight, appreciating that he took the time to clean you up. he picks up your clothes and helps you get dressed after just throwing on his pants and shirt.

"let me go get you some water." he says, leaving the office.

suddenly it's like your mind clears and you realize what just happened, a wave of guilt washes over you and you find yourself panicking.

the break room was on the other side of the floor so you step out of the office and quickly grab your things from your cubicle, rushing into the elevator so you could leave.

you made a huge mistake sleeping with your boss.

likes, reblogs, and feedback are highly appreciated! ੈ♡˳

[webslingingslasher]

the way i just hurt my own feelings thinking about frat!peter and trouble during their break and her overhearing this girl say she’s been fucking around with him and thinks he’s going to ask her to be his girlfriend (it’s a lie or maybe she’s talking about some other guy named peter?)

but it kinda matches up with when frat!peter and trouble break up and she gets in her head thinking he just didn’t want her :(

puuur okay- this is close to something that will happen in the actual fic but i can't let this SIT HERE AND COLLECT DUST!!!!!

you hadn't felt fury like this before. it was pure boiling rage, it was enough to actually make you break your no contact rule with peter and go straight to the frat house.

banging on the door, peeved you'd given him your key back. if there was one time you needed to get in and catch him by surprise it's now.

when you were met with silence you pound again, the door swinging open before you could break a hole through it.

'jesus christ what do- trouble?'

you blink at ethan, then feel rage, he said he'd always be your friend. friends don't let other friends find out their kind of ex that couldn't commit, committed to someone that wasn't you.

'fuck you, ethan. you're a shitbag, just like that prick upstairs.'

his eyes went wide, shaking his head out when you shoulder check him stomping through the front door. before you could start the decent to peter's room, ethan held you back.

'hey, woah, what's going on?'

'i suggest you leave me alone and mind your own god damn business.'

ethan's left like a guppy watching you take each step with force, your body radiating an energy he wanted nothing to do with. he tried being nice, but fuck that, peter can handle that on his own.

----

you threw peter's door open, you would've knocked, but he didn't deserve your respect because he didn't respect you.

it's been weeks since you've been in the house, let alone his room. peter thinks he's hallucinating for a minute.

'do you know how fucking livid i am right now, peter? i am so god damn irate that i broke all my rules about never fucking speaking to you again, just so i could look you in the eye and tell you that i absolutely loathe you and i hope you get all sorts of cheated on.'

'woah, okay. i think-'

'no! you don't get to think! actually- no, i want you to think about this! i want you to think about how fucked up you are, and how you lead me on for jack shit!'

peter stands slowly, his hands raised in peace.

'i know you're mad at me, but you're saying some very hurtful things.'

it makes you boil.

'i don't care! because you know what's hurtful, what's really, really hurtful?' you didn't realize you were slowly walking to him until you were inches from his face.

'the fact you couldn't be my boyfriend but you can be someone else's. if you want to sit there and play the 'emotionally immature' card, that's your decision. but you don't get to say that and date someone else three weeks later.'

you poked his chest, 'that makes you a liar. and a dick. and unfair. and... it makes me hate you.'

peter carefully removes your hand, you have to look away. you've been nothing but vicious and he's delicate. his touch feels like love, it's unfair, you pull your hand and turn away from him.

'trouble...' he doesn't add more. instead you're held against him, you hate how warm he still feels, the sense of protection unfading. you fight against it, it's useless, he holds you tighter.

'i'm not dating anyone, okay? i'm not talking to anyone, i'm not fucking anyone, i'm not doing any of that with someone that isn't you, okay?'

'she said peter.'

'i'm sure she did, but she wasn't talking about me. i'm not dating anyone and i'm not looking to.'

peter's trying to comfort you but he said the wrong thing, you shove him away and sniff.

'thanks for the reminder.' you stomp towards his door.

'trouble,' you stop him, you don't need him thinking this is something else.

'this wasn't about residual feelings or wanting to get back together. this was about blatant disrespect.'

'you-'

'i still hate you, and i'm never talking to you again.'

peter's voice is quiet when you leave, 'oh- okay. get home safe.'

it shouldn't hurt as bad as it does when you leave.





[cq-studios]

This one screenshot has so much I want to talk about in it so I’m gonna babble about it below the cut

(TLDR: CQ geeks out about translating the Scala Language)

Okay, so first off I’d like to say how much I love the newspaper vibe they are going for and achieving with menus. It has me gnawing on the walls. There’s just Scala Script (the Scala language, for clarity’s sake) everywhere and my code breaking brain is eating it up.

Speaking of which here’s what I’ve been able to translate so far (out of what I’ve been able to make out… the writing is pretty scuffed up in places and it’s not the highest quality image lol)

So the first thing I’d like to focus on are the banners. Each one has something written in Scalian underneath. Those things in order of left to right are “Daily”, “Item”, and “Avatar”, which uh, makes sense lol.

I think it’s a little strange that “Item” is the only one that isn’t exactly translated… like did they just forget the “S”?

On a more interesting note though, this one for one translation here means we now have an official Scalian character for “V”. Unfortunately the character used is pretty scrapped away, so I can’t be 100% sure, but I do think I know which character is used.

(Click/tap on the images below… for whatever reason they were just not formatting correctly)

I also considered it being the one below, but because of the location of the flecks I lean more towards the first one.

I also might have translated another new Scalian character but I’m not sure…

See, on the bar at the top of the screen it says “[unknown character]ho[same unknown character]colates”. I spent at least an hour trying to find out all the possible English words what it could be. I just filled in the blanks tried anagrams, the whole shebang (except for trying that with the other languages that are most likely to be used. Those being Japanese, for obvious reasons, and Latin, which has been used in Scala Script before on the manhole covers in KH3 Scala) and came out with one possible word: Chocolate.

And I must be wrong because that makes no sense, but in case I’m right, it’s here.

I tried to cross reference with KH3 signs to no avail so I’m a bit stumped…

Maybe the little blurb on the other side makes it make sense but it’s too blurry for me to read.

Next up I’ll talk about the “Weather”.

The top text is decently clear so I was able to work that out pretty quickly (pros of being fluent in this fictional language I guess lol) and thanks to that clear text I was actually able to make out a bit more of what was below it than I would’ve otherwise. See, the smaller letters are pretty blurry but I’m able to vaguely make them out. The “L” and “W” were what I caught first and I filled in the blank between pretty fast with some pretty simple connections. Once I’d seen that I realized that there was probably a high there too, and there do seem to be “H”s on either side of the word above it… and a “G”… and an “I” (I think, I was trying to double check but my iPad has significantly worse image quality than my computer).

As for the temperature, I tried my best but the numbers are probably inaccurate. They are very blurry.

Last but not least, here are a few of my smaller notes.

I’m a big fan of the Moogle stamp, but I could not tell you what the first word on that thing is. The second is “news”, clear as day but the first word doesn’t have any characters I recognize other than the “S”. I tried coming up with possibilities through context but I’m drawing a blank.

I also love the little Potion and Elixir advertisement in the bottom corner. Like, I’m so charmed by the art for it. That being said though, I also have no clue what the text next to this one says. I’m sure it’s an onomatopoeia of some sort but once again my brain wasn’t working with me.

If you guys have any ideas please let me know. I always love to have discussions and help.

(Also I know I left a whole text box out… I honestly have nothing to say about that. Not enough characters I recognize to decipher anything at this point)

[sirfrogsworth]

Clark Bridge in Alton, Illinois

These were not the photos I intended to take.

They were not the photos I had in my head.

A new friend had offered to help me with various things and one of those things was my photography field trips. We had been planning this for over a week and the day finally came. I was feeling okay, but not 100%. It was nearing sunset and I was getting all of my gear together. Then I decided I needed to find my ND filters (sunglasses for a camera). Which were downstairs in storage. And, stupidly, I spent 20 minutes digging through things to find them. And by the time I found them, I noticed I was out of breath. Usually when I lose my breath that quickly it is a bad sign. My body is telling me I'm probably not up to anything physical at that moment.

But, I really wanted to take some new pictures. My mental health has not been doing great and I just needed some photography therapy. So we headed to the location. When we reached our destination there was an uphill path to where we needed to go.

It was a warm 85° and I was still not recovered from my scavenger hunt despite the car ride. But I had to get my photo, so I didn't listen to my body. As we walked up the hill I just kept going slower and slower. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. And when I finally got to the top my body had almost no energy left to power itself. And when that happens and all of your vital body functions still demand energy, you can feel quite sick. I tried so hard to tough it out. I took a few test photos. And then I realized I had to either lay down or collapse.

This was my first time meeting this new friend in person. And she was very understanding and helpful. But it was still embarrassing having to lie down on some grass next to a public bike path. There was a moment when I was convinced I was going to need to call EMTs to carry me off that hill.

But I just gave my body a moment and let the bugs eat me as I rested in the sharp grass. And I slowly started to regenerate some energy and felt much less sick. But I could not take another photo. The test shots were all I was going to get. And we had to call it a night and get me back home.

Thankfully walking down a hill is much easier than walking up it. But as I walked down I could see the sun kissing the horizon. I could see the photograph I wanted to take. I was able to get something sort of like I wanted with my smartphone as we walked down the hill (the top photo) but the wide angle lens made the bridge look tiny and I was just frustrated it wasn't what was in my head.

I got home and passed out. I woke up in the middle of the night feeling pretty drained from the experience. But my body seemed to be back to a stable state. I finally looked at the few photos I managed to capture and they actually surprised me. The smartphone snap was way better than I was expecting and with some fancy editing it looked pretty close to the quality of my big camera. And I got that cool boat without even realizing it.

So it seems I can take decent photos by accident during a health crisis.

New talent unlocked.

The actual goal of the evening was to get to know my new friend. And that was 100% accomplished despite my embarrassment. She was very kind and reassured me everything was fine and there was nothing to be embarrassed about. I appreciated that empathy and that's a pretty admirable quality to have in a new friend.

[greyspirehollow]

We lock eyes again [Request]

Pairing : Quaestor Valdemar x Reader

Fandom : The Arcana visual novel

Warnings : none

Summary : You do not remember how long it took you to finally find a suitable host for your soul, and go on a quest to find your long lost anchor to the mortal world ; the one who your thoughts inevitably converged towards, stubbornly holding you back from crossing the threshold of the afterlife.

It had been centuries. It had been too long. You'd lived many ages : through the eyes of the salmon, deer, and wolf. You would see it in your dreams ; the time you spent in limbo, waiting, patiently...Although, when you awoke, these dreams didn't make sense anymore ; only leaving behind a lingering sense of longing, a feeling that you had to find... What did you have to find? You couldn't put your finger on it...

You sighed, sitting up in your bed and stretching. Another one of those dreams... But you didn't have time to reflect upon them, today. Asra wanted to introduce you to the court of Vesuvia, as a sort of starting point to your journey as a magician's apprentice. You feel as if you've done this before. You got up, yawning, and rummaging through your wardrobe to find something decent to wear. Once you had your outfit all sorted, you decided to add a twinkle of jewelry, just to make it all a little less dull. You had heard about this kingdom's history : struck by a terrible plague that had decimated thousands, sacrifices, memory loss... It was all a bit confusing, so you had only paid attention to the plague bit. Asra eventually knocked on your door "Are you ready?" ; you quickly adjusted your attire before hurrying out of your room "yes! I... Do I look ok? is it not... a little too much?" the magician smiled, looking at you fondly "you look perfect. Now, let's go ; we shouldn't keep the Countess waiting." You followed, walking through the sunlit and busy streets of the kingdom, looking around with delight. You had not left the shop much when you had gotten here, and the lively markets, the colors, and the people actually did you some good (to your surprise).

Your eyes widened slightly as you and your master arrived at the Palace's gates ; you looked up at the shiny architecture with sparkles in your eyes. What snapped you out of it was the voice of the guards demanding you introduce yourselves. Luckily, the Countess had seemingly told them about you and Asra's arrival, as the guards let you pass after having heard the magician's name. You then advanced past the gates, still awestruck. You felt as if the sun was illuminating the Palace in a magical hue, and the more you approached, the faster your heart thumped in your chest. It wasn't just the Palace's glory : you had a feeling. Something that made you apprehensive yet eager to go inside. You felt as if you knew something, but at the same time it was missing ; you had to go in the Palace, but you couldn't figure out why ; it tugged at your heart, pumping adrenaline into your veins, as if strings were drawing you towards the place... However, you kept this to yourself, and quietly followed Asra as you both made your way towards the throne room. Now that you thought about it, you didn't see anyone guide you towards there, and you suspected Asra had come to the Palace before.

However, no one was sitting on the throne. You raised a curious eyebrow, but before you could utter a word, your master uttered a little "ooh" of realization, before saying : "She must be in the drawing room. I wouldn't be surprised if she wished to introduce you to the courtiers as well." You nodded. That made some sense ; even though you were slightly disappointed : you would've loved to meet the Countess in a more private setting. You followed Asra nonetheless. A few turns later, you both found yourselves in said drawing room. The Countess was elegantly sitting in a one-person sofa, while she conversed with five figures, which the diversity of... Struck you, to say the least. Despite your unease, you followed Asra inside, as the magician bowed to the woman whose purple hair draped over her shoulders with shocking delicacy. "Countess Nadia" ; you bowed as well. She smiled "Ah, Asra. And you are..?" she asked, looking at you with a soft yet undeniably authoritative gaze. You managed to stutter out your name, giving her a short bow of the head. "I am glad you two were able to join us for tea. Please, be my guests ; make yourselves comfortable. I will have a cup made for you this instant. Portia?" She called out to a servant, whispering to her something before the young lady hurried out the drawing room, to presumably go fetch the tea.

It is then that Countess Nadia gestured to the other people in the drawing room. So they were the courtiers, you thought, as she went over each of them, your gaze following accordingly. Procurator Volta. Consul Valerius. Praetor Vlastomil. Pontifex Vulgora. Quaestor-

You let out a soft gasp ; no one heard you. Your eyes widened as they locked with their red own. Suddenly, everything made sense. This is why you were here. This is who you had been seeking. The dreams connected themselves, perfectly falling into place at this exact moment. You remembered it all now, the limbo, your adventures from body to body, your struggle and ghostly tears, the longing, the waiting, all that for this person right there, sitting on this sofa amongst the others...

Valdemar.

They looked surprised as well, their eyes never leaving your own, as they seemed to be deep in thought. The conversation around you faded, your whole attention focused onto them. The memory flooded back in your mind, nearly playing out in front of you...

The little cottage. The lingering scent of herbs and wood in the air. The shelves with dried plants, stuffed birds and other animals, skulls they had found on their trips to the forest... And Valdemar themselves. They excitedly opened their journal on the desk, signing you to sit next to them enthusiastically. "Here ! -they said- I've found something ! I think you're going to like it..." You smiled and chuckled. "If I didn't know any better, I would think you managed to capture a frog" They snorted at your reply "I'm past that. No, look... I've managed to make an antidote with snake venom ! I just diluted it, added some... ah, I forgot the plant's name- it's all in my notes, look" they were smiling widely as you approached, standing mere millimeters away from them, your hand brushing against theirs as you flipped through their research journal. It smelled peculiar, it always did : a mix of something like oak and leather, with a hint of vegetation. "It's impressive..." you nodded as your eyes squinted slightly, having a hard time reading certain words because of their highly cursive and optimized handwriting. Valdemar looked at you expectantly. "It is brilliant" you finally said, looking back at them. Your heart skipped a bit at that precious smile of theirs, which pushed their freckles-adorned cheeks. Oh, how you'd kill to pamper those in kisses... "why, I'm quite proud of myself" they said, looking back at the pages. However, their grin faltered slightly "...but what if... what if all this disappears? what then?" your heart ached slightly. You knew how important their researches and breakthroughs were to them. You didn't resist this time : you wrapped their arms around them "do not fret. Your knowledge will not be lost." you spoke softly, hoping to soothe their worries, even temporarily. "...You're right... It and I will live on forever..." They say after a few beats of silence, embracing you back. You smiled, content to see them somewhat reassured.

With that, the memory faded. Your throat tightened and you had to excuse yourself. Your eyes hadn't left Valdemar's for all this time. You made your way to the bathroom, closing the door, but not locking it. You took in a quivering breath, the tears coming to your eyes despite your best attempts at holding them back. Tears of joy...

After a while, someone softly knocked on the door, but before you could get a chance to answer, the door opened, revealing the Quaestor. They stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind them without a sound, and pulling down their mask. As they set eyes on you, their expression softened somewhat. You sniffled, quickly wiping your tears away. You were about to say something, but suddenly stopped yourself. No. You didn't need to talk.

You looked at them... They had changed... You were unfamiliar with this lab-coat, those supposed horns wrapped in bandages, and this sickly green skin... But you'd recognize that thin nose and those thin lips, those freckles and those wide, curious eyes, even if they had turned red, anywhere. You had to bite back both your tears and a smile, as you felt them examine you. They took a step or two towards you and carefully lifted your hands into their own, as if to take a closer look at them. They were... Confused. And a foreign feeling tugged at their heart. They didn't know what it was. They just knew it was... Human. Which only confused them further. Scared them, even, although they wouldn't admit it.

Your eyes.

Your soft hands ; their thumb brushed onto the back of them.

Why do you feel so familiar?

This specific accent they heard when you greeted the Countess earlier.

Your warmth.

It's all so familiar...

Who are you?

Why can't they remember?

They remember someone, they can't say who. They remember them like an essence. A feeling. Nothing concrete. They don't remember their face or their voice but they know how they felt around them. They know they talked to them, even if they don't remember the words they said. It's all blurry. It feels like a dream...

Had it been too long? Did their deals make them forget? Why did you trigger their pseudo-memories of that someone?

They don't remember...

Their brows furrowed as despite their best attempts, the answer just wouldn't come back to them. Their grip on your hands tightened slightly.

But you do. You remember now. You can't help a soft smile from tugging at your lips as you look at them fondly. They haven't changed one bit... Factually, they did. But to you ? They were still the same. Deep down, they were still your sweet alchemist. You had missed their voice... You had changed as well, beyond recognition. You were aware of that. Those tedious years you spent in limbo had carried you into body after body, having to live as a wild animal once or twice as to not disappear... You wouldn't tell. Even if your soul was the same. They would either recognize you, or they wouldn't, and you were perfectly fine with both. Your alchemist... They were there, in the flesh. You had to hold back your tears of joy, yet again.

Valdemar sighed, briefly closing their eyes. "...I do not know who you are -they started-, nor do I know where you come from" your heart tickled in your ribs. They locked eyes with you again. "... But I feel as if I am happy to see you again". You nearly lost it, briefly closing your eyes and tilting your head down as to not burst in tears "strange, -you started- I feel the same about you" you chuckled. "Maybe... Forces we don't know of are into play?" you looked back up at them. They didn't seem to like that idea too much "I hope not... I would rather know who is playing with me like that" their tone held nothing negative. You couldn't help but chuckle again "w-well..." you cleared your throat, trying to keep your voice from shaking too much "Whether it is planned or... conducted by something in some way... I don't think this is too bad, eh?" you tentatively asked. They seemed to turn the thought into their head, their red eyes briefly flickering to your hands.

"...I suppose not."

You nodded, fighting for your life tears to not roll down your cheeks. You knew it made you look somewhat suspicious, but if they'd noticed, they didn't comment on it.

"...Say, -they spoke once more- what do you think after... the end of your meeting with the Countess, we spend some time in the library? I feel as if... We have... uhm... Something to catch up on." oh Gods, they absolutely hated when things were blurry and inexplicable. You nodded, practically beaming "I-I would love to." you said, once more looking at your hands in their own.

You both exited the bathroom, hand in hand. You softly let go once you had come back around the drawing room, and Valdemar did the same. However, they sat down next to you. While you joined the conversation between Nadia and Asra, their eyes never left your hand resting on the sofa, withing reach, and once more endless questions tossed and turned in their head... But it looks like the mystery of you was going to stay unsolved...

[slxsherwriter]

Damnation as a Saving Grace

Fandom: 31

Pairing: Doom-head x female reader

Word Count: 2,725

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of death and murder

Author's note: So, due to life circumstances, Nano didn't go the way I wanted it. My final word count for the month ended up 12,666. I'm not disappointed with that by any means. This fic ended up being mostly written within the month. I added the last 600 words today. My first shot at writing Doom. I purposely left his lovely, wordy, wanting to seem educated way of speaking out for the time being due to the circumstances. There will be a continuation, and he gets to show off there ;)

The ache and pains that plagued your body were all shoved in the back of your mind, not present as the beat of your heart seemed to keep time with the slam of your feet against the concrete. Your own personal hell. Words had never been more true than when they had been spoken by whoever the hell was running this sick and twisted game. They weren't the focus though either. If you survived, then maybe you would dedicate some time to figuring out who the hell these people were and why they did what they did. If there was a why. But now, when you were trying to find a place to make your last stand, was not the time to narrow down your focus to those that didn't matter. 

After a while, the makeshift prison started to look all the same. Something that you knew wasn't true given the few places that you had moved through. It was the panic speaking. And panic was a surefire pathway straight to death. Calming yourself down was easier said than done, of course, but if you wanted to make it out of here alive, you had to force it. 

Finding a small space to squeeze that seemed like it would serve as a decent hiding spot for the few moments that you would need it, you forced your body into the space. As quietly as you could, slow, deep breaths were taken in an attempt to slow down the way that you were sucking down air. Think. You had to think. 

Without weapons, you were at a bigger disadvantage. Already, you lacked knowledge of your location compared to whoever it was that they had coming after you. Lacking a weapon just left  you far more vulnerable than if you could at least defend yourself with something. If you could manage to get an attack in. A big if. This newest guy? The one that you hadn't seen yet? He moved real god damn quiet. Unlike the other Heads that had hunted you down, it didn't seem like he liked to play by taunting and building anticipation and terror. It was far more methodical and controlled. The three people that had made it with you through to the final three hours had been picked off one by one. Without warning and without the pomp and show that you had encountered up until then. Which made it that much more terrifying. You only knew it was a man when your friend had taken the chance to shout out loudly as he had died. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you murmured gently to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. "Think…" A sneak attack would give you the best advantage but how did you sneak attack someone that was practically a ghost? And what were you going to use? A pipe? Could you get something off of the wall without making a lot of sound? It was a thought, one that you might have to seriously entertain and take the risk of with such limited options. There wasn't any scrap metal laying around that you could use. For likely being an abandoned area, it was surprisingly well maintained. Likely for the very reason you were looking around if the people running this game were as smart as they had seemed so far.

"Pipe it is." You glanced up and cocked your head. Could you manage to get up that high? A drop down point would be an even better sneak attack. He would be less prepared to anticipate it. At least you hoped that would be the case. And a reaction to that sort of attack might be a little slower, giving you a proper chance to actually cause a little damage. Maybe enough to incapacitate him enough to get away and get out. A fresh wave of determination came over you, washing away the doubt and the worry. It was your best chance, and if it worked out, you would be able to get out of here. It was all you wanted. Plan in mind. You just had to figure out how it was that you were getting up there and quickly. There was no telling where he was. If he was watching, well, your entire element of surprise would be ruined. 

It was a struggle, but you managed to find a small perch that was relatively inaccessible from any sort of high walkway or ladder. It had taken far more time than you would have liked, but the drop down was directly below. Your arms were screaming, muscles burning with the effort that you had needed to exert to get to your spot. Enough so that you were worried about being able to swing the pipe that you had pried off of the wall. Given that it was likely your only chance to get a whack in and escape, you were going to have to make due and give it your all. Survival demanded it. 

Again, you had to work on slowing your breathing. Every sound made seemed to echo in your ears, and the exertion had caused you to all but pant again. It felt like each sound you made was a bright, neon beacon hanging over your head, telling him exactly where to find you.

Straining to see anything in the dark or hear anything above your own breathing and beating heart, now it was a game of patience. Something that was incredibly difficult with the sense of anticipation that kept adrenaline pumping through your veins. The creaking and movement of the building in general was enough to send a shiver down your spine, spiking that adrenaline thinking that it was him who had found you. It was a horrid way to exist, ready to jump out of your skin at the slight sound, but you were going to make it through this. If not for anything other than to try and prove these fuckers wrong, to be able to shove it in their face. And maybe, just maybe, figure out how to get a little revenge for the friends that had died for their amusement. 

Steps. Careful, measured steps were coming down the hallway from your right. It was all wrong. He hadn't made that much noise up until now. It was almost as if he was purposeful in how he was walking to make sure that you were alerted to your presence. Set on edge, your hands tightened around the cool metal, eyes darting in both directions to see if it was some sort of trick. While things had been straightforward up until now, it didn't mean that they would stay that way. Maybe this was some method to get you to come out of hiding to play. You were sure that they didn't want anyone winning. Heaven forbid. That would cause an issue for their game. You were going to be that exception, though. You were going to survive this.

Nothing. Just the sounds of the careful steps. No man. The hair on the back of your neck stood. What was going on? There was still no appearance after a couple of moments, and it was all wrong. The pipe nearly slipped from your hand as you adjusted your grip, trying to keep your breathing as slow and steady as you possibly could. The steps faded away, but the feeling of urgency and danger did not go away. It heightened instead, the overwhelming feeling of dread just seeping in deeper and deeper. Eyes were on you. You could swear that you felt them, but it would be impossible. Shit. Stay still. You had to stay still. Movement would alert him to where you were. It had to be what he wanted, to draw you out, make you panic, get you running around without a game plan. That would just make you easier prey. 

So, you waited. As difficult as it was. Seconds passed in long, drawn out ticks of the clock, making it feel more like minutes for every second. But finally, finally, the lanky frame came into view. Just barely silhouetted against the light, the footsteps were near silent. That let you know the initial thought you had about the audible steps before had likely been right. They had been a purposeful decision meant to draw you out. He hadn't found you. There was a chance that staying would let you win. A slim chance. Which was one that you weren't willing to take. These people couldn't let you live if you did manage to make it through the time limit that had been placed on the game. 

Timing was just off as you dropped down onto the man, catching his back and shoulder rather than knocking him completely off of his feet. You grunted as you swung the pipe with as much might as you possibly could before you stopped midswing. Blinking, you tried again but found the same result. You couldn't bring the pipe against his flesh. Frustration mounted, and the fact nearly made you cry. This couldn't be happening. The man turned and went to swing at you in retaliation during that second swing, but he seemed to have the same problem, the punch missing you by a mile.

"Fuck me…" He grunted as he tried swinging again before reaching for a blade. The blade swung by your face but didn't come close to catching any skin. Realization sunk in as you both seemed entirely incapable of harming the other. This had to be some part of the sick joke that was being played on you. There was only one reason that someone couldn't harm another. Soulmates. This fucked up nightmare had just become worse. Maybe having him kill you would have been the better sort of end game. 

The pipe dropped from your hand, and you took a step back, but it was the furthest distance that you could manage. Something stopped another movement backward. He was simply staring at you, an unreadable look overtaking his features. An emotion that you couldn't place. Did you even want to? Christ, what did you do with this situation? It wasn't like the two of you could sit down and talk about this like normal people. He had been just ready to run you through with his switchblades, and you had been ready to bash his head, or really any part of his body that you could reach. 

"Don't move," he growled out and lifted the blade in his hand, using it to simply point at you this time. "You fucking understand?" You were torn between listening and ignoring the demand that had been made. Just because he couldn't harm you didn't mean that there wasn't others and that he wouldn't be going to get them. Another step back resulted in a rather aggressive sound being released from the man.

"You think I'm going to listen to you?" Your voice came out stronger than you thought it would, giving yourself a mental pat on the back for that. If your voice had come out shaky, you would have felt even worse than you were right now.

"Yeah, you fucking are." He moved closer, that distance that you had established vanished with two quick strides by the man. There was no stopping the wince that came. Logically, now you knew he couldn't hurt you. That didn't stop the emotional and a primal part of your brain reacting to the very real threat that was still perceived. Distance would help you feel more comfortable, as comfortable as one could get in such a situation. That also led to better observations, better decisions, and better outcomes. Swallowing hard, you found yourself nodding in agreement. Just because you agreed didn't mean that you would do it. Figuring that your best course of action would be to follow behind him, hopefully unseen, you had to appear obedient before making the attempt.

"Good. Now, stay fucking put and I'll be right back." One last inspection was given to you before he turned heel and began back down the hallway. You waited just a few moments, listening closely as the steps just began to fade away before you.made your move. The entire maze was disorienting but he made enough sound by the slimmest of margins for you to be able to follow. Was it a safe assumption to think that he would be moving to some sort of exit? Maybe and maybe not. Time would be the only way to tell. 

Ahead, the sound of a door being opened echoed out. Well, that spoiled a lot, but it didn't exactly signal a complete end to the spying idea. If you got lucky and the door stayed open. Given how the night had gone, maybe you had used up all of the luck that a person was allowed in a lifetime. But, the risk was well worth the reward.

There was a sliver of light guiding the way, hinting where the almost invisible door was. If you weren't trying to stay quiet, you would have cursed, violently and loudly. That was how these fuckers were slipping around unnoticed. Of course. Nothing to be done with that information now. Rather pointless to focus on it when the important bit was the murmured voice on the other side of the door. For a moment, you thought that there might have been more than one. Straining to hear, eyes closed and leaned as far forward as you cod be without giving yourself away, you realized it was only one. His. Low enough that it was nearly impossible to fully make out each word but the timber of the voice that had just sent shivers down your spine was now unmistakable. Only every second or third word was caught. 

He most certainly was talking about you. But was he talking to anyone? Those sick fucks running the thing were clearly watching so he could have some way to communicate without their voices being heard by others. Right? Maybe. Your fingers, weak and injured from the long night, couldn't keep their grasp on the wall, causing you to loudly stumble forward, actually falling right to your knees by the door. Well, that certainly would alert him that you hadn't stayed put like demanded and promised. 

The door ripped open, and there he stood, eyes wide and alight with anger. 

“Told you to stay the fuck put!” The words came out in a growl as he swiftly reached down and grasped your arm, yanking you upward. “Dumb fucking bitch.” Off balance, the pull that he gave towards rhe room that he was in had you stumbling again, barely able to keep to your feet. You didn't know what was going through his head but he was leading you somewhere and you were far too exhausted at this point to give much more of a fight. If this was the end, so be it. 

After a few minutes, you noticed that you didn't hear any other sounds. No voices, no pipes banging, no hissing of steam. It was far more quiet than any other section of the hell maze had been. That piqued your interest just a little bit. Either he was taking you somewhere private to kill you or…

The possibility sparked that survival instinct once more, and your eyes moved to the tall man that was just ahead of you, jerking you around by the ironclad grip he had on your wrist. Could he possibly be getting you out of here?

“You say a word, I'll change my mind about it all. One fucking word and I'll happily give you to to those two clown brothers.” The words were final and for once, you decided that it was best to listen to what you were being told. It seemed that maybe, your luck hadn't run out entirely. You didn't know what this meant or what his ultimate plans were for you. Maybe you were better off dying but it was an unknown and one that you weren't willing to chance. “Rich old fucks are gonna end up taking half my fucking pay for this shit…” Getting outside served better for you to have the chance to escape anyway. Following your twisted, psychotic soulmate was the only path forward that you saw. Hopefully it would work out. 

[blood-mocha-latte]

stormy - a luztoye drabble

for an ask from @malarkgirlypop || request an edit/drabble || i loved loved loved writing this, thank you for the ask <3 <3

The apartment they've found is all brick, sturdy and warm, but George can still feel the shaking of the thunder under his feet.

He sighs down at the metal tin that holds rapidly cooling water and dissipating bubbles. The sad, soggy lump of washcloths in his fist serves as a makeshift mop, because for some reason, they don't actually have one. 

They were in the middle of painting the walls of the kitchen blue – a (hopefully) better colour change from the dark orange it was when George, of course, dropped a good half quarter of blue all over the tile floor.

The thunder rumbles outside again. George groans, like it's a queue, and bunches his ‘mop’ together better before dunking it into the pail.

Leaning his knees on a rolled up towel, avoiding the harsh tile of the kitchen floor, he scrubs rather absently for a while.

He likes menial tasks, like this. Turning his brain off, George feels, is something that is both long and far between as well as just. Absent.

When he thinks — always, always thinking, and talking even more — it’s almost always about the now. About needing to clean the floor, about when they’ll need to water the plant on top of the fireplace again, about how they need a new bedspread, because George got blood all over their old one when he accidentally sliced his palm open with a razor.

(A mishap, with shaving. Joe had dropped something in their bedroom, and George had jolted so badly he’d needed fourteen stitches.)

Sometimes, though, he thinks of everyday and it blends into what used to be everyday; disjointed thoughts that he’ll need to call Lip down in West Virginia and ask about confirmation for blasting a house in Hagenau, that he’ll need to get new running shoes because Currahee tends to get muddier with the rain, this time of year.

This time, he thinks about Joe. Who, admittedly, consumes the majority of his thoughts, now. 

He thinks of a joke, and thinks about telling it to Joe, and realises he’s already told it to him, because he’s the only one George tells anything, anymore. He wonders vaguely about something that existed when he was a kid, and has to go and find Joe to ask him if he remembers that thing too, just to listen to him talk. He walks by a shop window with all sorts of jewellery in it, and wonders what Joe would do if he brought home rings.

As he scrubs at the tile, blue paint chipping off and into the cloths and George’s hands, he wonders if Joe’d like it if he could find Flash Gordon Conquers the Universe. Maybe they could watch it. Maybe they’d watch it for two seconds and get bored. Maybe, if George talked through it enough, he could get Joe to shut him up with his mouth, anchor a hand in his hair—

“George.” Joe says from the other side of the room, voice almost frustrated. George looks up from the mess on the floor; made no better by his scrubbing, and drops the ‘mop’ back into the soapy tin.

“Something wrong?” He asks, wiping his hands awkwardly on the fabric of his pants as he makes his way over to where Joe sits on the couch, holding the paper against his good leg, pen in his left hand.

“No.” Joe says, too quickly, almost sharply. He huffs, once, through his nose, and shoves the paper up roughly when George comes to stand over the couch, bracing the palms of his hands against the back of it. “Just. I can't— fuck.” 

Joe gets like this, sometimes. Usually when it’s cold and it’s been a while since he last ate. Frustrated, sharp. More impatient than usual, maybe a bit clumsier.

George kneels behind the couch, grimacing slightly at the pop of his knees, and fights down the cushioning of the sofa to rest his chin on Joe's shoulder, skimming through the messy handwriting that Joe held up.

It's been easy enough to get settled in. The apartment is a decent size, both bedrooms are nice. George seems ecksausted

exosted

exausted

exaustid

“I don't know why the fuck I couldn't just say tired.” Joe says, dropping the paper back into his lap when George pulls back and noses absently against the shell of his ear to show he was done reading. His voice is strained, like he’s trying to make a joke.

“Well, you've got a big vernacular. Might as well use it.” George says lightly, using Joe’s good shoulder to push himself back up, grunting. “Christ, call an ambulance. Who let an old man get down on the floor?”

“You're only twenty-seven, George.” Joe says absently as George rounded the side of the sofa. “And I don't have a big fucking vernacular. Can't spell for shit. It's not like I use fancy goddamn words all the time.”

“You use fancy words all the time.” George retorts, plopping down onto the couch and slipping his hands under his legs. Joe’s eyes, dark against his skin and framed by even darker lashes, glare down at them. “You just said vernacular.”

“Because you just said vernacular.” Joe says darkly, posture slouched. “I can't even spell vernacular.”

“Well, neither can I.” George says amiably. “There's probably a ‘j’ in there, somewhere.” 

Joe frowns down at the paper. “Can you even read the damn writing?” He asks, flipping the pencil clumsily between his fingers. George leans further into him, jostling his ribs with his elbow. Outside, the rumbling thunder seems to make the glass in the panes of their windows vibrate.

“Well, sure.” He says. “Could tell that you kept misspelling exhausted, couldn’t I?” Joe doesn’t meet his eyes.

“It’s not legible.” He murmurs. George sighs, and gently pulls the paper out of Joe’s grip before he crumples it into a ball. 

“Well, it’s not easy on the eyes.” He says lightly. He tries not to lie, but he doesn’t like being any sort of unkind. “But you are, so it makes up for it.”

“George.” Joe says, same way he always does. Like the beginning of a prayer, or a story. George just shrugs. He lets his head drop to Joe’s bare shoulder, fingers smoothing across his wifebeater.

“‘S fine, Joe.” He says. He’s leaning against Joe’s bad shoulder, and he can feel the lines of scarring and tissue against his temple and cheek like streaks of lightning. He taps his index finger against the deepest scar; one that runs from the crux of Joe’s neck and shoulder and wraps around his bicep to halfway down his forearm. “I can read it fine.”

Joe’s quiet. He shifts against George, and dry lips press to his forehead. 

“I can’t write so good, anymore.” He says. George knows. George was there when Joe couldn’t even use his right arm without it hurting, could barely keep a grasp on a tennis ball. George also knows that Joe tends to get inside his own head, tends to think that things are worse than they actually are, that every event is the start of a chain of bad ones.

That’s alright, though. That’s what he’s got George for, whether he likes it or not.

“Writing doesn’t matter.” George says. “I heard somewhere that Mark Twain couldn’t hold a pencil. He just said stuff and had other people write it down.” Joe snorts.

“That’s bullshit.” He mutters. George spreads his fingers against Joe’s forearm, pressing his palm to the scar. 

“Yeah.” He agrees easily. “Who gives a fuck, though.” Joe huffs. The thunder rumbles, as if in agreement, and they both turn their heads towards the window.

“Still stormy outside, I’d guess.” Joe says. George hums, turns his cheek to press a kiss to Joe’s shoulder. Fuck the kitchen tiles. They can be blue. It will probably come into fashion at some point, anyways.

“Yeah.” He says. “Who gives a fuck, though.”

[prince-kallisto]

Very much agree with all of your thoughts on Playful Land. The ending really was lackluster...to be honest, when I first saw the trailer, I was soooo excited for what had the potential to be THE darkest, most disturbing event in all of TWST (I thought their card designs were already so cool and unnerving at the same time! Their outfits but also their eerily puppet-like poses...!). But at the end, none of the topics that you mentioned that could have been explored were explored. Like hello, you are dealing with fucking HUMAN TRAFFICKING??!? Also more emphasis on magic being used for something like THIS. Turning people into puppets is fucking terrifying.

Also, very much a minor nitpick, but I kiiiind of expected/hoped this event to take place during the same time as the Masquerade event? Since the Playful event involved everyone who stayed behind. Like, I'm just imagining everyone who went to the Masquerade coming back after a hectic near death experience, only to find that the people left behind went through a terrifying experience of their own at the same time and are now traumatized, and nobody had a fun Halloween. Lmao. Although I guess it didn't make much sense to expect this, since Yuu's in both events and they can't be in the other when they're already at one lmao.

I'm also not hating, all in all it was actually a pretty decent event all things considered! I also loved the introduction of Fellow and Gidel. And the song slaps imo. Still, if you make a fix-it fic or find any, think you could share it? I'd love to see your work if you do make one!

Ahhh I feel the same way too! It really felt like the Halloween events were about to get darker and darker every year- they are HALLOWEEN events for a reason! Their cards were so eerie too, it made all the characters look like puppets under control. Which is why it’s so strange that none of that actually happened in the event? ∑(ﾟДﾟ) The boys did get wooden masks and such, losing their own autonomy, but I thought the puppet theme would be a lot heavier than it actually was. Like, at least forcing the boys to fight against Kalim, Ortho, and Ace, instead of using random wooden puppets.

THE HUMAN TRAFFICKING BEING BRUSHED OFF HAS ME ROLLING 😭😭😭. What do you mean Fellow just sails away to open a school for children 😭😭😭 Like the game literally never elaborates on what happened to the people turned into human puppets. Are they dead?? Are they alive and forever trapped in this horrifying puppet-like state??? Like??? I definitely need to read up on the last parts of the event, but the idea that someone can even has this ability is horrifying, and I really would’ve liked to see the commentary on this sort of magic. How magic and human greed combine to create unthinkable atrocities that are only doable through magic. It’s just…wow. It blows my mind that this incredible concept was conceived, but never elaborated on.

Haha, exactly! I think it’s so funny that no one’s predictions on Playful Land came true. Nothing about Ace’s brother was involved, the Masquerade event theory didn’t happen. I don’t think it was even Halloween during this event either. Maybe it could’ve been a “Fairy Gala IF” type of event where Yuu can be at both events for alternate-universe type of thing. Although, to be honest, neither Yuu or Grim played a huge role in the story (*ﾟ▽ﾟ*) I’m always happy to have Grim with us, and him dressed up as Lampwick made me cry, but Yuu was more of an observer than usual.

And same here! I know I sound negative but I’m really not! I love the event for what it is, and we got amazing new characters and animations and costumes. It’s just a shame to think of what could’ve been. I haven’t seen any fix it fics yet, at least on Ao3! I have been working on drafting a rewrite though! ✌︎('ω'✌︎ ) I’m really excited to write my visions for this event, especially with Fellow and Gidel’s backstory, and I’ll keep everyone updated on this. Whenever I drop the chapters, I’ll always post about them on my blog and link my Ao3 updates. It will take a while before I get there, but I hope it’s soon, thank you for interest! ＼＼\\٩( 'ω' )و //／／ Thanks for your ask, I loved hearing your thoughts about this event!

[sehtoast]

From Ashes to Home (Depowered Homelander x OC)

18+

Word Count: 6.6k

Summary: Some ghosts aren't meant to be found, but the case of Homelander's mother is one that deserves to be revealed. He deserves a chance to know what's left of her. Chapter 11 of All of You is Left to Love. Not plot dependent.

Warnings: Smut if you squint, parental death themes, he's finally allowed to grieve. Vought's catalog of inflicted horrors.

OC: Benjamin Colyer (The Boys-verse Spider-Man)

Special thanks to @theonlymanintheskyisme for beta reading <3

Fic Directory

I just… I wish I knew anything about her.

Those words echoed in Ben’s mind for days on end, endlessly looping in that sad, defeated whisper. Somehow, the subject of Homelander’s parentage came up, and, well…

It always was a tender topic.

He hated the way John bit back his tears. The way he hid himself behind an air of indifference lest he let the last pillar of his defenses crumble to dust.

Even now, after all this time, he still struggled to really let it out. But Ben always knew. Could always tell by the twitch of Homelander’s lip, the scrunch of his nose, the way he wouldn’t blink as a way to hold back his tears.

He made a silent promise to find all that he could as he held Homelander that night. Each brush of his hand through his once god-like lover’s hair a vow to find something, anything that could bring him closer to the mother he never knew.

Every day that followed, Ben found himself more and more consumed by ideas on how to find her. Would he have to bribe someone? Money was certainly no worry. Would he have to intimidate people? Most likely, but it wasn’t particularly hard to get the staff in Vital Records to shit their pants.

Would he have to march into Stan’s office and make more demands?

Luckily, being the new head of The Seven came with many perks, even more so for actually being liked by the staff at Vought Tower.

What little information referenced John’s parentage only directly named Soldier Boy, who'd already revealed himself as Homelander’s father. Granted, that information was updated by Homelander himself after it came to light. Prior to that, the line for the father's name had been blank.

Perhaps sperm donor was a better title... He hadn't exactly been father of the year when he tried to go nuclear– much less a decent grandfather for leaving Ryan battered.

Ben admittedly had a chuckle over their shared first name, but he found it incredibly odd that Vought named the mother by a code.

1-G.

Benjamin spent several hours a day in the record center’s library of paper files. Many of them were scheduled to be destroyed after being recreated digitally, but it’d take an army to copy and sort decades of documents. He had plenty of time, and he’d rummage through every filing cabinet in the room if that’s what it would take to find even the slightest scrap of information about John’s mother.

The wall crawler drove himself mad trying to work off that one piece of information.

1-G. A code? A title? A fucking label designation for some petri dish somewhere?

Each night, he went back home to Homelander. Each night, he had to pretend to have been out prowling the streets for miscreants instead of playing librarian. He’d come home with dinner, sit down with Homelander, and pick at his food as each disgusting secret he’d uncovered entangled itself into his waking mind.

“What’s wrong?”

Ben jumped, looking up at Homelander with wide eyes and a piece of spaghetti dangling from his lips.

“That! That right there.” John pointed accusingly with his fork. “You’re not telling me something. What’s going on?”

“Nothin’,” the web-head shook his head. “Just– work’s been a lot lately, y’know? Stan’s a bastard, the team is acting up... Same headache, different day.”

Homelander’s eyes narrowed at him, suspicion nestled deep inside those beautiful blues.

“Bullshit! You’re not eating lately and you’re sure as fuck not talking. Did– Are you mad at me?” John pushed away from the table, standing. “You haven’t said more than five words since you got in.”

“Johnny,” Ben sighed, lowering his head. “I’m not mad, I just… I’m just really caught in my head right now, okay?”

“Right, right.” Homelander rolled his eyes, grabbing his carryout container. “Whatever. Talk to me when you feel like it, I guess. I’ll just give you your space.” Dejected bitterness laced every word.

Ben lacked the steam to chase him to the bedroom and talk some sense into him. Fuck, he could barely do it for himself, let alone John. So, he let the pot simmer. Cleaned up around the house and showered to kill some time before meandering back to their room.

Homelander had shut off all the lights and curled up close to the edge of the bed, blankets obscuring his form. Ben wondered if his love was actually asleep, or just hiding in the only way he knew how anymore.

A pang of guilt hit his heart.

It’d been roughly two weeks since he started rummaging through Vought’s archives, and quite likely two weeks since he’d paid enough attention to Homelander.

Ben eased into bed, curling around Homelander’s ‘sleeping’ form. He didn’t move to pull the covers away, opting instead to let love keep a layer of protection between himself and a source of pain. He knew times like these only stoked the paranoia that one day John would wake to an empty bed and home. That Ben would up and leave him after finding someone better, or realizing he wasn't worth the effort.

Something that would simply never happen.

Benjamin nuzzled close, lips hovering right above John’s covered ear.

“I’m not mad at you…” He began. “I promise, Johnny. I’m not. I just… It’s a lot to explain. I’ve got this… project that I’m working on. It’s really important, but I’m finding so many fucking horrors from Vought in the meantime that I just…”

He breathed a heavy sigh.

“It’s taking a lot out of me. That with everything else I see in a day, and… it’s a lot, y’know?”

Ben paused, waiting to see if Homelander would shuffle out from under the blankets. When he didn’t, Benjamin continued.

“I love you. I’m sorry if I worried you.”

He shifted away from Homelander, opting to give him space instead of smothering him. It took only a few moments for that bundle of blankets to shuffle his way. A hand snaked out from underneath, fingers joining with Ben’s.

The wall crawler shifted onto his side and pulled John closer.

No words were exchanged for the rest of the night. Ben dozed off with ease while Homelander fought against his drowsiness to bask in the moment. The rise and fall of Benjamin’s chest against his head, the steady beats of his heart.

He adored his little spider more than anything in the world. Even the slightest thought of losing Benjamin was enough to send him spiraling into paranoia and rampant imaginings of worst case scenarios. It’d been two years since he lost his powers, and every day he wondered if Ben would finally decide he wasn’t worth keeping around. Every day he had to remind himself that the wall crawler loves him. That he was more than the house pet his alter ego dubbed him as.

Where would he even be without his Benjamin?

Would he even be alive? Would he have made it out of that containment cell? Would he have survived another week of torture before that guard simply killed him?

Would there be a roof over his head, or the promise of regular meals? A warm bed and a devoted soul with whom to share it?

Would he have someone to protect him now that he couldn’t fend for himself?

Every swirling thought made him realize no, he wouldn’t.

He'd still be in the bad room. He'd likely be dead. Starved or beaten to death, surely. Tortured every single day until he succumbed.

But, god above, that only meant it would make sense if Ben grew tired of him - weak mess of a man that he was now.

Despite the storm of what-ifs pulsating in his mind, John dozed off fairly fast once he laid his head upon Ben’s chest. When he woke, his body was enveloped in heat– some areas more than others.

He was on the brink as soon as his eyes fluttered open.

He lifted the covers to peek, and the sight alone of Ben swallowing him triggered his release instantly, leaving him a writhing, panting mess.

“You,” Ben licked the length of his softening shaft, “and I are due for a date, sir. I called off. We have the whole day.”

Benjamin made good on his word, devoting the entire day to Homelander. He’d barely even thought about his little side project while they were out.

The dying warmth of an early September breeze swept around them as the pair passed all sorts of eateries. The openness of the streets in Queens kept Homelander’s nerves at bay, but John still struggled quite a bit with entering crowded spaces– especially stores. The smaller they were, the more his mind would linger on memories of both his childhood cell and the… other one. But, Benjamin’s presence, along with the duty of carrying the grocery basket, made it a smidge less stressful to accomplish their trip.

“Proud of you,” Ben nudged his shoulder as they walked home, each carrying a paper bag of goods. “Seriously. I hope you know how great it is to see you do all this.”

He couldn’t help but grin despite how vulnerable he really felt. He was like an open wound in public. Exposed, waiting for someone to pick at him or throw salt his way. What if someone recognized him?

What if someone realized the shame of his current state, and he was plastered on the screen of every device with internet access?

Hell, probably every newspaper, too.

Homelander Spotted Looking Half Homeless! is what he imagined the headlines would read. Though he began to allow Ben to trim his hair, he still found himself feeling subpar in appearance. Be it the weight he’d gained, or his casual clothing, he just wouldn’t be The Homelander anymore.

Christ, what if someone asked him to use his powers?

He took deep breaths as they turned another corner, counting each step as they made their way closer to home. By the time the front door closed behind them, he’d about reached his breaking point.

Ben, however, wasted no time in distracting him with banter and meal prep duties.

“Don’t cut yourself again,” the web-head warned as he sorted through pots and pans.

“Not my fault,” John countered, hand idly rolling a bell pepper along the length of the cutting board. “You showed me doing it fast, so I went fast.”

“Yes, babe. But I have actual experience with cooking.”

By the time they could leave the rest of the work up to the oven, the pair had made their way to the couch. John’s legs were strewn over Ben’s lap as he watched TV. Benjamin, however, had pulled out his laptop to browse that barebones document he’d found on John’s parentage.

The sight of the Vought logo snagged Homelander’s attention like a moth to a flame.

“Just that project I’m working on.” Ben hummed coolly, praying to whatever gods there may be that John wouldn’t press the issue. “Mostly just paperwork.”

Suddenly, an idea struck him.

“Hey, unrelated...” He began, hoping the little lie would go unnoticed– mostly because he didn’t want to admit to what he’d been doing and get John’s hopes up just to dash them with inevitable disappointment. “I was poking around in the paper archives the other day.”

Make up a new number… He’s definitely seen it before.

“3-F as a name placeholder mean anything to you? Like, is it a code or something?”

John’s brow pinched, and he sat silent for a while, raking through memories of decades of Vought propaganda and genuine fact.

“I think…” He trailed off. “I haven’t seen it in a while, but I’m pretty sure that’s how the first supe trial volunteers were categorized. There weren’t massive amounts of people signing up to get injected with V– if you can imagine.”

Ben quirked a brow as his brain raced to connect the dots.

“It was part of keeping their identities off the record, too. Liabilities and all that. Last I heard, all the files on ‘em were shredded once they got what they were looking for.” he continued, brows pinched. “Some fucked up shit went on there. Why?”

“I, uh…” Ben sighed. “Saw it in place of a name in one of the paper docs I pulled the other night. It’s just been bugging me.”

“Deep rabbit hole there.” John sighed, leaning back. “I couldn’t find anything besides the bullshit when I dug out Soldier Boy's old archives. Same thing when I… tried to find my mom– ‘cept everything on her was long gone. Whoever’s on that paper of yours is probably a ghost by now. Literally and figuratively.”

Ben swallowed thickly. Chances are that this 1-G person is certainly dead by now.

John’s mother was certainly dead by now.

But he wouldn’t jump to conclusions until it was time. Just as Ben was about to remote to his work terminal, the oven timer went off.

“Thank god.” John whined. “Staaaarving!”

Over the following weeks, Ben had become wholly consumed by the motivation to find anything about John’s mother. He’d dug through the paper archives every chance he could, even going as far as enlisting some help, but there was nothing.

Ben began to believe there was no trail to follow when one of the staffers he’d paid to assist emailed him a scan of a very old, yellowed notepad.

Pretty sure I found something, the email read. It’s hazy, but it looks like notes from old trial runs. Found it in a junk folder of blurry scans from one of the old ward doctors. Gonna keep looking for more.

True to her word, the staffer even went and drew an arrow to the section she’d found. Instead of 1-G, this Doctor James Waltz person wrote it as ‘Patient 1-G: Gillman.’ The writing was barely legible under the color of a coffee stain, but it was more than Ben had to go off of mere minutes before.

Gillman.

Ben immediately replied to the staffer, practically begging her to send anything else in that file– or at least give him details on where to find it. Blurry or not, he wanted everything he could get his hands on.

It was the gold mine he’d been looking for.

Despite the poor image quality and faded ink, Ben was able to find significant amounts of information on the initial test subjects for Compound V. He had to dive deep through hundreds of file folders to find anything about them– which left him concluding that someone hid these rather than follow the original order to destroy them.

The name Gillman had been his golden ticket. He’d found the liability waiver she signed, partially torn, left with only ‘illman’ remaining on the line – but still distinctly the same name. Ben cursed the record keeper of that era to hell for adding to his frustration.

It seemed everywhere he looked– old genetics testing records, ability documentation, and experimentation records, she was simply dubbed 1-G. All he wanted– needed was a first name. From there, maybe he could track her through public records beyond Vought, but there was nothing.

Except for the harrowing details in her record, that is. Despite the lack of a first name, Ben was able to piece together patient files with mention of her to create quite a… horrifying picture.

Enough to leave him sick to his stomach.

The Doctor Waltz fella who’d been all too kind and revealed her last name also had been to her what Vogelbaum was to John– if not a thousand times worse.

Downright evil, even.

Not every patient survived the Compound V trials. An exceptionally small number of them made out like kings, sporting powers with zero side effects. They’d received the same strain Soldier Boy was given.

Ben considered the dead to be far luckier than those who landed somewhere in the middle.

The unsuccessful strains of V had one of three outcomes: instant death, powers that killed the wielder shortly afterward, or– in the case of John’s mother– the body survives empowerment, but the mind does not.

His mother was left in a state of rageful madness.

As Benjamin pieced together mangled papers and deciphered blurred writing, he was able to construct a vague idea of what happened to her.

Roughly one day after injection, she’d come back to report malaise, but was written off by the doctors. By the second day, Vought had brought her back and contained her in a special cell.

Patient aggression exceptionally high. Engages with hallucinations. Refuses to eat and will not speak to psychological team. Containment failing, recommend sedation.

Notes following were conveniently lost, but picked up roughly two months later. Only problem being that they were almost entirely illegible from what seemed like water damage.

Because of course they’d be damaged.

What was left of her patient reports painted a devastating picture.

Homelander’s mother became a ward of Vought. She’d been the only subject to lose herself that Vought caught before she could come to harm. Waltz had found her ripe for experimentation after studying her abilities. They’d opted for round the clock sedation.

Keep her docile.

Flight, strength, and laser vision were among the descriptors they used. Damn near identical to Homelander’s abilities– lacking his invulnerability. A modern mind could look at this and realize that, along with Ryan’s inheritance of John’s powers, this meant there did exist a genetic component to the development of superpowers in those injected with V.

That understanding, though, was only a theory for Waltz back then.

–breed a new line of heroes.

Subject tissue sent for testing.

The possibilities … ……. mother of modern supes.

–extraction of eggs–

It didn’t take an exceptionally bright mind to realize what had happened to her. A shiver ran down Ben’s spine as he read more and more.

They’d used her as a fucking incubator for their experimental ‘purebred’ supes. For years, she was kept like cattle– artificially inseminated with sperm from promising supes until they’d written off her ability to carry children. After that, they simply harvested her eggs and used an undisclosed method of growing the fetuses to term.

The list of failed subjects was…

It was far too long.

Before Vogelbaum, there was Waltz.

Vogelbaum was not the father of the method by which John came to exist– but he was the first doctor to achieve a perfect creation.

Waltz had the blood of children on his hands. Infants, toddlers. Children beaten to death in combat tests. Children drowned in aquatic efficiency tests. A new subject every five to ten years, it seemed.

Killed in surgical procedures.

Destroyed by their own powers.

Murdered by a madman’s curiosity.

All of them lacking that one thing that made John the exception that he was.

Invulnerability.

Well, that and DNA infused with Compound V.

Waltz retired before his project saw success, passing on the mantle of monster to Jonah Vogelbaum.

Fuck, Homelander may not have even been Vogelbaum’s first subject…

The last note Waltz ever made on John’s mother was in 1986. A new hire slipped up during an operation on her brain.

She died that same day.

It had been the shock of a lifetime when, upon scrolling the dwindling remainder of Waltz's notes, he stumbled upon a faded polaroid. Though it was hazy, there was no denying what he was seeing.

Laid back in a reclined medical chair was an older woman. Long, gray hair. A gaunt face. Expression void of anything. IV lines leading into her arms reflected the flash of the camera.

If he squinted hard enough to combat the blur, Ben could thoroughly see a resemblance. He'd know that face anywhere– those big blue eyes, high cheekbones, thin lips. The curved bridge of her nose.

God, John looked just like her.

And now?

He’s all that’s left of her.

What they’d done with her remains was a mystery, but Benjamin almost didn’t want to know what more they could have possibly done to the poor woman. He felt sick. Bile burning in his throat as he pressed his face into his hands.

He goes out every day and represents Vought. Represents pure evil under the guise of heroism. Fell in love with one of their seemingly infinite amount of victims…

In the weeks it took him to find the end of her story, Ben would hold John tight every night. He’d stare down at his love’s sleeping form and go back and forth in his mind on whether or not to tell him. The thicker the file, the heavier his guilt. Each printout only made it worse.

Would it hurt him? Certainly.

But, it might also close a chapter in his life that John had been so desperately trying to decipher.

Alternatively, it could make everything infinitely worse.

He knew he had to tell Homelander the truth. The only problem was getting the words to quit sticking in his throat every time he tried.

He could tell there was a strain between them with this recent secrecy of his. Where he’d been so late at night, why he wouldn’t talk about it. He stopped pretending he was swinging around the city and just settled for saying work kept him late.

But how could he tell him?

Hey, I found your mom.

It seemed like a ridiculous statement, especially because he didn’t actually find her– just traces. There was no headstone, no urn of ashes.

There was nothing left of her except yellowed paper and faded ink.

As it happened, the pot boiled over one day. Ben hadn’t even realized how bad things had really gotten until the morning John clung to him in bed, preventing him from leaving.

“Is there someone else..?”

The question had taken him completely by surprise.

“Is that why you can’t tell me what you’ve been doing?” He followed up, voice cracking no matter how hard he tried to hide it. “Where you’ve been…”

“What?” Ben rolled over to face him. “John, I–”

“I’d understand.” Homelander shook his head, avoiding eye contact. Tears leaked freely from the corners of his eyes. The dark circles lining them let Ben know he hadn’t slept at all last night. “I’d hate it– I’d hate it so fucking much… But I’d get it.”

The dwindling of his self worth screamed so loudly in every word.

“No!” Ben gripped him, his own eyes clouding. “Never! No, god no– never!” He pulled him closer, burying his face in Homelander’s chest. “No. No, Johnny.”

He didn’t wait for Homelander to speak before he spilled everything. All of the guilt inside falling off his tongue in stammered confessions.

“I didn’t want to– I…” Benjamin breathed, shaking his head to collect himself. “I didn’t want it to hurt you, I just… Not until I knew it was enough to be worth the hurt.” He moved away to look at John, a hand at his cheek to thumb soothing circles. Wasn't sure if he was doing it more for himself or Homelander. “And even then– fuck…”

Ben took a deep breath.

“I’m… I found your mom– sort of, I mean. Not like I actually found her found her, but what happened to her, at least.”

He gulped when John didn’t reply. Instead, that unwavering, wide blue stare begged him to continue. There was something in his eyes… Fury, perhaps. Fascination– absolutely. But, mostly, fear.

Fear that whatever Benjamin was about to say would reopen a lifelong wound held together with makeshift bandages. A wound that would unravel and gush the second something picked at it.

“I found a paper trail. Buried deep in junk folders where nobody would ever think to find shit that matters. Been a big puzzle to put together but…” Ben sniffled. “I can bring home what I have, but I just… I didn’t want to drop that on you without a final answer– and, god, I didn’t want to risk hurting you either. I wanted to find her for you, but it took so long just to even get her last name and I still don’t even have the first na–”

“What is it?” Homelander demanded, eyes widened as though he were in a frenzy. Perhaps he was. “What’s her name!? Is she alive!?”

“Gillman.” Ben replied instantly, the weight of secrecy falling from his shoulders with every bit he revealed. “Her last name’s Gillman. And… by rights, I guess yours is, too, but… no. No, she’s… she’s gone.”

The realization he’d never know his mother crashed over Homelander in waves so violent Benjamin could physically see it happen. He watched John begin to crumble, gradually unraveling more and more until he choked back quiet sobs.

“S’why I asked you that one night about placeholder names… I should’ve just told you upfront.”

Homelander shuddered. “1-G…”

“Yeah,” Ben pulled him close. Of course he knew that name. “That’s her… I’m so sorry, honey.”

Homelander was fully prepared to find he’d been abandoned by the love of his life. Kept around out of sympathy, but abandoned nonetheless. He’d practically convinced himself entirely of it. He wanted to be angry– furious, even. He wanted to grab Ben by the shoulders and shake him for keeping this hidden, but god.

His mother.

The mere thought of her shattered him, and all he could do was plead.

“Show me. Please, Ben– I need to see…

Benjamin spent the day gathering everything he had, abusing Vought’s unlimited employee printing access to duplicate seemingly endless amounts of paper, piling it all into one big folder. He’d warned John about how ugly this would be. How horrifically they’d treated her.

He didn’t have the heart to tell him about the others just like him…

Benjamin felt almost awful walking through the door that afternoon, shuffling in to find Homelander sitting on the couch, simply staring into space. No TV, no book or phone in hand. Just lost in his own mind, leg bouncing restlessly.

“Hey,” he whispered, drawing his love back to earth.

John shot up from where he sat, making a beeline straight for Benjamin.

The web-head had the file extended for him to grab immediately. Homelander snatched it like a child does a toy they’d been excited to finally receive, though excitement seemed to be replaced with dread.

He looked at it for a time, staring at the dense rubber banded folder as though opening it would unleash a black hole that absorbed the whole world. He was afraid to know.

And Ben knew it, too.

“C’mon,” he rested a supportive hand against Homelander’s shoulder. “We’ll do it together.”

He guided John to the couch, heart clenching at the way his blue eyes never strayed from the folder. As the papers became harder and harder to read, Ben had to help fill in the blanks on smudged words he’d deciphered himself. He had half a mind to tease Homelander about never wearing his glasses, but it was far from an appropriate time for such things.

Homelander’s expression grew grim as he read on, and they’d barely cracked through an inch of paper before Ben was encouraging him to take a break.

John’s breathing was uneven, eyes stinging with tears, teeth clenched in fury. His body was too hot, skin too tight, his head pounded. The audacity of the request sent him over the edge.

“How the fuck do you expect me to stop!?” He roared, snatching Ben’s hand away from the folder. He bit his lip, desperately trying to don his mask to hide his emotions. “What, y-you hand me this and now you want me to– no!”

“Okay,” Ben breathed, hands held up in surrender. “I just don’t want it to be overwhelming, y’know? This took me months to get through, and I know how I felt. You’re getting all this right away, and it’s a lot, and–”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Ben gulped, recognizing a burst of rage that once would’ve triggered a crimson glow in those ocean eyes.

“You don’t get it! You don’t fucking get it!” Homelander grit, teeth bared. His eyes accused Benjamin of betrayal. ”You have a mother. A father. Brothers. You have a family. This is all I get! Just a bunch of goddamn paper! So don’t you dare tell me to fucking stop!”

He expected this, but it never did soften the blow to know it was coming. Benjamin knew damn well Homelander would lash out eventually, emotionally fragile as he was given the situation.

The wall crawler shut his eyes as more abuse flew his way, simply taking it.

The dam would burst as soon as the rage faltered. He could practically time it to the millisecond.

“You– I don’t–” Homelander stumbled over his words, breaths coming in and out erratically as he fought to pretend he wasn’t coming undone at the seams. “Nobody– god fucking damn it! N-No!”

When Ben opened his eyes, it was to the sight of John leaned forward, hiding his face into the folder as he fought the lurch of a deep cry.

“It was never supposed to be like this…”

His own eyes pricked with tears as he watched Homelander break.

“I always…” Homelander’s voice leaked in a tight, throaty whisper. “I used to imagine what I’d do if I ever… ever met her. All I could ever think of was hugging her, but… I couldn’t even picture it because she was never real. I used to think if I did find her, maybe I’d feel okay… Like it’d make up for all these years.”

He nearly flinched when Ben began to rub soothing circles between his shoulder blades.

“I always wondered if she’d be proud of me, you know? Her son is– was The Homelander, after all. She’d have been proud, right..?”

Ben didn’t know how to respond– or if he even should. All he could focus on was the sorrow twisted on Homelander’s face when he finally lifted his head. The tears staining his face. A streak of snot that would’ve humiliated him were he in a clearer state of mind.

"D’you think she would've loved me..?"

Seeing him break like this made Benjamin regret having ever gone looking for Homelander's mother. And yet… somehow this felt right. Watching him finally feel it. Filling in the pages of his missing parentage after so long.

No… he needed this.

"She would've adored you, pumpkin." Ben worked the file from Homelander's grip as one takes meat from a lion that trusts them enough to allow it. Almost immediately, Homelander leaned into him. He ran his fingers through John’s hair, rocking him slightly. “She’d have loved you more than anything in the world.”

He wanted to say more– god he wanted to say so much fucking more… But he couldn’t. Nothing came to mind. Nothing that would’ve dulled the hurt in his love’s heart to make it all easier, anyway. There was one thing, though…

She was never real. The line reminded the wall crawler of what he’d left out of the folder, fearing that it’d shuffle loose and be lost on the swing home. He was about to throw the egg beater into the already boiled-over pot, but this is what needed to be done. One more thing his discoveries could heal with fire-like agony.

"Johnny..?"

Ben slipped his hand free, reaching behind to his back pocket, pulling free a little photo. He'd printed and laminated it before leaving Vought Tower, just to make sure the incoming tears wouldn't stain it.

He handed it over face down, and the look on Homelander's face said he knew what this was.

"This is… That's her." Homelander stared for what seemed like forever. Fingertips danced across the smooth surface as the tears rolled freely down his cheeks. "S'my mom," he rasped over and over again. "My mom…"

"Takes a little squinting on account of the quality," Ben sniffled. "But you look just like her."

Homelander breathed a laugh, finally wiping the mess of tears and snot on his sleeve. In time, his breathing began to even out as his cries tapered off.

"She's so…" John paused, sucking in a deep breath, holding it tight as he took in every detail of her. "She's beautiful."

Ben wrapped an arm around Homelander once more. “Hmm. Like mother like son, huh?”

Homelander looked as though he’d been given the world and had it taken away all at the same time. Perhaps, though, that’s exactly what this was.

In the span of but a few moments, he’d lost her all over again despite never having had her to begin with.

It took some convincing for Ben to finally get Homelander to stop reading and take a break. Help me with dinner, he’d asked once his love finally calmed down.

John seemed worlds away as they worked, not even realizing how he was reacting to what went on inside his mind. Benjamin realized he probably should’ve just let Homelander relax and collect himself.

“Babe,” he murmured, thumbing away a stray tear on his cheek. “That’s not how we salt the pasta.” A joke was all he could muster to try to alleviate something. “You can go sit down or something if you’re still working through it, y’know. You don’t have to–”

“No,” Homelander interrupted. “I’d rather be here.” He reached up to hold Ben’s hand against his cheek, staring back into those chocolatey eyes that always warmed him to his core. “Can you just… I– Give me something that I gotta focus on. C’mon, spoil me a little.”

Used to be that he’d take that offer and sulk. Let his sorrows drown him bit by bit until he was right back at square one - just as miserable as the day he’d lost himself. Ben always encouraged him to channel his negativity into something productive, but he never followed through. Never picked up hobbies beyond reading history books and watching movies.

But now..?

“Chef Johnny,” Ben grinned, proud as could be of his love. “You’re gonna learn to make a mean margherita pasta today.”

He figured he’s changed quite a bit over the years after all.

Homelander struggled to balance his focus against the raging thoughts of his mind. Minding the aromatics sizzling in the pan while flashes of what they’d done to his mother jarred him. Focusing on Ben’s instructions on what to add, what seasonings paired best with the chicken, the gentleness of his love’s touch as he held his hand to show him how to properly rock a knife to cut fresh herbs.

In the back of his head, he saw her. His mother, wired to those machines just as the doctors had done to him. Instead of what he’d always imagined - hugging her - he saw something else. Heard something else as he saw her, felt Ben’s hands on his.

Mom… I made it.

In the weeks following, Benjamin helped him absorb the rest of what happened. Sat with him while he wept over the siblings he’d never know, the grief of knowing he wasn’t the first, the relief of knowing he was - hopefully - the last.

It was a lot. A lot of crying. A lot of anger. Misery. Resentment.

But he worked through it.

The web-head eventually returned to his regular crime fighting antics and balanced his home life once more. In the meantime, he’d commissioned a headstone. There was so little to go off of, and no body to bury, but it felt right to put her to rest in at least some way. This, he kept a secret from Homelander.

It was a surprise for later.

Once the time came that the cemetery notified him that it was in place, Ben nagged Homelander all day to go for a walk. Well, more like a swing.

“C’mon, it’s important!” He whined. “You’ll like it.”

“We can have a date inside, you know.” Homelander huffed. He was perfectly content not suffocating in crowds of people, and he’d like to keep it that way.

“Yeah, but inside doesn’t have what I wanna show you,” Ben stuck his lower lip out. “It’ll be quick. I’ll swing us there. Land in a nice smelly alley. Just a walk across the street, okay?”

Homelander sighed, pushing his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Fine.”

“Great!” Ben chirped, pressing an enthusiastic kiss to his cheek. “Be ready in a few.”

The swing there was leisurely. It included a stop by a flower shop for roses, which Homelander questioned endlessly.

”You don’t need to buy me flowers,” he feigned a complaint.

”You’ll see.” That was all Ben had to say on the matter before they were back in the air.

He clung to Ben like a leech as they sliced through the air, high enough to avoid being photographed, but low enough that Homelander’s renewed fear of heights didn’t have him on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He focused on the flowers he’d been holding in a death grip. Pressed them against Ben’s back and stared into the petals.

When they finally landed in the promised smelly alleyway, Homelander furrowed his brow. From the path to the sidewalk, he could make out a graveyard.

“Ben?”

His little spider held out a hand without a word, leading him out, across the street, and through the iron gate.

He had an inkling of what was coming, but it felt like something out of a movie. Holding hands with the love of his life, walking through a monument of lives long gone, feeling the autumn breeze gust through the knitting of his sweater.

Homelander practically fell to his knees when they came upon it. His legs wobbled as he approached, flower stems creaking under the grip of his fist. He let his fingers touch the stone, tracing the letters engraved into the face.

Gillman

192?-1986

He hugged it. Didn’t know what overcame him, didn’t even know he’d done it until the cold marble pressed against his cheek. Didn’t even care that it pressed his glasses harshly into his temple.

He hugged his mother.

Homelander didn’t hear the shuffling of leaves under Ben’s shoes, but the hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality.

“Thought she deserved it, y’know?” Ben murmured, thumbing against John’s blue sweater. Part of him worried his lover would’ve been upset - maybe gave him grief over the fact she wasn’t actually in there. ”You deserve this, too.” He pressed a kiss to Homelander’s hair, then stood. “I’ll give you some space…”

Benjamin was ready to go for a stroll until a hand caught him by the sleeve, tugging him back down.

John was silent for a time, simply resting his forehead against the chilled stone, warmed by Benjamin’s arms draped around his neck. Ben figured he was simply thinking it instead of speaking, but then…

“I made it, mom.” With the love of his life embracing him, and his arms around her headstone, he pulled from the depths of his heart.

“I’m home.”

[mayy-bby]

Idk if it’s just me, but I find that 911 has a hard time following through with their character arcs and this leads to redundant storytelling (in some cases). We’ve seen buck go through this journey of never feeling enough/wanted/loved time and time again and somehow we always end up right at the start of it? After buck begins is seemed like they’d keep us in the loop of buck’s therapy and do check ins to see where he’s at in terms of his belonging but they sidelined that and brought it back up now in season 6. Which some people see as them not forgetting the important details, but is that what it is? Instead showing his progress from last time, we get a whole episode on buck coming to the same realization he always comes to (that he is loved and wanted and enough/family is not always blood you you build it). And this isn’t to say I didn’t like the episode but we’ve seen this exact thing before, just with a different set up. And the thing is we always see this part but we hardly see what comes after that. The part he follows through with his realizations. The part where the progress is shown. I know some people are gonna “growth is not linear”. Well yeah, but first, it’s not completely stagnant either and two, this is a tv show and you have to move the story forward at a quicker pace and show progress for storytelling. This doesn’t mean the person can’t have the same issues arise again, but let’s not take the person right back to square one to where the lessons from last time become non existent. Now we have Eddie going on another date which most people are saying is going to be some sort of failed attempt at getting back into things and what will lead eddie to the final buddie realization. Ummmmm, what was Ana’s purpose then? That breakup was so pivotal but there was zero follow through/follow up. And I can already feel some people wanting to say, “well maybe the follow up will happen now after his date with marisol.” But no. We shouldn’t have to wait like this insane amount of time to see the the after math of something major. I can’t even recall if Eddie had a proper conversation about the breakup with anyone? Or even a decent passing mention? It’s like it never happened. Maybe if he continued to talk about it after it happened here and there, then him going on this date would make more sense. Like just knowing a little more about Eddie’s mindset when breaking up with Ana/coming to the realization (beyond the whole instant family thing which was sort of vague ngl) that she isn’t the one and why - it would be soo telling. I mean, they could have at least had Eddie mention something along the lines of “I don’t know exactly why, but I knew for sure Ana wasn’t the one for me. I think maybe because Shannon and I got together and then pregnant so young, I didn’t have that much experience with love and dating. I feel like I’m still figuring that part of myself out and dating Ana helped me find my footing even though she isn’t the one.” Blah blah, etc etc. By getting some insight into his mindset after the breakup, him going on a casual date like this one would make so much more sense. It still would be annoying but at least we’d have some insight into why he’s even trying this when things with Ana ended the way they did. But they just left us with a very ambiguous and coded breakup that said a lot but also very little. But anyway. I actually don’t know if this date will be a one time thing, but either they’re going to be redundant with his love life once again or they’re going to settle with her as the final love interest. Kinda annoying either way

[putschki1969]

hey puts, the captain of kalafina fandom XD i came across this instagram post which i think its talking about backstage stuff about wakana circulating in 2-chan. this is the post https://www.instagram.com/p/Bvy3CuchT-D/ can you share your thoughts about it ? or maybe you can help us what are they actually talking about since we can only use google translate.

Hello there, anon!

Ugh, you are throwing me a curve-ball here, I did not expect to get a question like this. Already feeling exhausted just thinking about writing my reply T_T

That Instagram post is from spring 2019, a - what I consider to be - particularly dark period in the Kalafina fandom. Wakana was in the midst of preparing for her first grand-scale solo tour after her official solo debut and Space Craft finally put their act together by releasing an official statement regarding Kalafina's state of limbo. In an attempt to put an end to a lot of uncertainty/speculation and to create a clear distinction between Kalafina and Wakana's solo activities, they declared a definitive disbandment. As you can imagine, everyone and their mother had something to say about that. Even Yuki Kajiura, Hikaru and Keiko made statements in response. All of this caused a lot of backlash against Space Craft and particularly towards Wakana herself. The fact that Wakana was still with Space Craft and dared to not address the announcement of Kalafina's disbandment with a statement of her own made many so-called fans very angry and disappointed - totally unwarranted of course.

Suddenly, there was an influx of certain internet trolls who got a real kick out of blaming and villainising Wakana, they made her into the bad guy and came up with a bunch of wild theories that mainly served the purpose of dragging Wakana's name and image through the mud. Needless to say, none of those claims were in any way, shape or form substantiated but as is the case with all negative content on the internet, it drew quite a bit of attention and some people even started buying into that bullshit. The Instagram user you linked to in your ask is a textbook example of one such troll. At that time, a handful of sock puppet accounts were created to feed into the smear campaign against Wakana. Those accounts regularly left nasty comments under Wakana's Instagram posts, pretending to be devastated fans and referring to all sorts of horrible things that Wakana had allegedly done. Most of those posts and accounts got rightfully flagged and suspended but some apparently managed to stay around for a while. They tried to continue their toxic behaviour but once they realised that Wakana's loyal fans would not stand for such horrible defamation tactics, most of them just disappeared again.

As for the information supposedly circulating on 2chan, I honestly give little to no credence to anything that is being said on anonymous text-boards like 2chan or its successor 5chan. As much as the Japanese are known for being overly polite and reserved, they can be incredibly nasty when they are allowed to act anonymously. I reckon about 10% of users who frequently post on these types of text-boards are actually decent human beings. 60% of them are either mentally handicapped, bored out of their minds or simply frustrated with their lives. The remaining 30% are scum of the earth sociopaths as far as I am concerned.

In order to do some research for this post, I went through a few old threads about Wakana containing hundreds upon hundreds of messages. I literally felt my brain cells dying with every new message I read. No idea how others manage to subject themselves to this level of stupidity but I really struggle to tolerate it. Out of curiosity, I would have liked to find a "source" for the specific accusations in that Instagram post but alas, I wasn't able to. There's just no way I can go through everything, sorry. Also, I will not dignify any of these messages or that Instagram post with a proper translation.

Believe me when I say that there is no incriminating material on Wakana out there, these people have zero authentic evidence (photo or otherwise) of her being a "stuck-up bitch", of her "mistreating staff members", of her "bashing Hi/Kei" etc. It's all just a ton of made-up gossip and rubbish. Everyone, please do yourself a favour and just ignore content like this when you come across it. Knowing what those people have to say does not add any value to your life, quite the contrary, it will only poison your brain.

That's honestly all I have to say about this topic.