#commandie

[skettchyartendevours]

I challenged myself to make a Beanie Baby inspired plushie of the Gobot's Command Center in one day... and this is the result :]

Very happy with how this silly little loaf turned out! Especially considering the fact that I did most of the sewing by machine (I'd usually opt to hand-sew a lot of the trickier seams since the machine feels very easy to make a mistake on)

There isn't much to say in terms of features, this fella's basically just a funky bean bag with legs. I did add a little tag as well, I wanted to experiment a little bit with features I don't typically add

Small bonus:

A few little sketches I did while playing around with the Gobot Beanie Baby idea (BeanieBots, if you will)

[hiyari8]

comes out of yt-dlp covered in blood

[toucan-rede]

Just seen a postcalling out the Abomination aspects in Dune 2 as pro-life and fr, ??? I understand nothing about the situation eith the preborn is explained bcos "hurr durr we must mass market appeal the intricate worldbuilding and vast, layered plot out of existance" but truly, even in this book written in the sixties w/ literally thee worst queer rep physically imaginable, where every female character IS actually trained to be manipulative sociopath ripped from an incels strawman wet dream, jessica can only read to me as frank herberts ultimate proponent to bodily autonomy and the fact that can apparently be missed in the film is just another tally in my long amassing list of how the bene gesserit were done a disservice by this film. What would be your alternative? For jessica to have no command over her body? For the cult which raised, indoctrinated and conditioned her against any form of love, to have their final say and "prune" another child out of line w/ their eugenics program, against her explicit wishes? Being uncomfortable with the presentation of this plot line is understandable, and i agree that jessica is characterised as far weaker in this film than the books in such a way that strips her of some agency, certainly removes her as the active agent she should be in Pauls "fremenization" for lack of a better term, but if your take on pro-choice is wanton and disregards the wishes of the mother, i doubt theyd call that pro-choice

[dindjarindiaries]

Sergeant Sunny (CT-1113)

Welcome to Sergeant Sunny's first official concept sheet and character details! I cannot draw, so doodling over Rex and this incredible template made by Madskillz793 and Thomasblack1 on Deviant Art is what helped me bring this to life. Sorry Rex, and sorry Sunny that your curls are lifeless. I tried my best! 😭

MEET SERGEANT SUNNY

Sergeant Sunny (CT-1113) is the commanding officer of Sunshine Squad, a member of Ghost Company that serves under General Kenobi and Marshal Commander Cody in the 212th Attack Battalion. He was initially separated from the rest of his batchmates aside from his “twin,” Thunder (CT-2232), who he got to serve with during his shiny days in the 212th until Thunder tragically met his fate on a mission. Sunny was eventually granted the rank of sergeant for a new squad, Sunshine Squad, assembled and named for his bravery on the mission that saw his brother's fate. Eventually, Sunny was trained to be an ARC trooper, though he continued to serve Sunshine Squad and Ghost Company as often as he could.

Incredible art of a younger Sunny done by @batuubaby7567!

More below the cut!

PERSONALITY & TRAITS

Sunny was named for his bright disposition and neverending smile, even in the darkest of situations. He can light up any room, and is often commended for his positive attitude. This, however, doesn’t mess with his ability to discipline; he’s a chosen leader for a reason. Some say that the streaks of bleach blonde in his hair leaked into his brain and is what keeps him so happy in the midst of such a grueling war, but those who know Sunny know he was like that well before the war even started. He has the biggest heart in the whole GAR.

RELATIONSHIPS

Thunder (CT-2232) - Sunny’s batchmate/twin who dies early in the war. He was named for his broody nature, a stark contrast to his twin's namesake.

Marshal Commandy Cody (CT-2224) - Sunny grows close with the commander of his battalion, mostly due to what they endured on the mission that got Thunder, and many other 212th clones, killed. Sunny may or may not be the captain of the Codywan ship...

Sergeant Hunter (CT-9901) - Sunny is the only one who befriends Clone Force 99’s commanding officer, who was younger than all his fellow classmates, during their specialized melee/close range combat classes back on Kamino. Hunter comes to see him as an older brother figure and even paints him a 99 on his armor.

Unnamed Jedi - More on this later...

SKILLS, EQUIPMENT, & ABILITIES

Sunny is a dual wielder who favors his left hand, though he also specializes in melee (particularly knives) and close-range combat.

Sunny’s armor is painted with stripe meant to represent rays of sunlight that are portrayed in 212th gold. He also has a raincloud on his right pauldron for his twin/batchmate, Thunder (CT-2232), and an Aurebesh 99 on his left pauldron painted by Clone Force 99's Sergeant Hunter (CT-9901).

Sunny has some of the best communication skills in the entire GAR. He's an expert at constructive criticism and always knows the exact thing to say in hard situations. He won't rest until his men are at ease, and he's the last to ever leave even just a single brother behind.

WEAKNESSES

Sunny is so intent on helping his brothers that he often wears himself down. It's hard to tell with his constant energy and positivity, but there have been multiple occasions where the people closest to him, like Thunder and Cody, have had to coax him into taking some extra rest. This is especially the case when he's concerned about any of his squadmates.

Sunny cares so much about his brothers and others that he can have trouble taking devastating losses. He maintains a positive outlook, but sometimes the pain is so tangible for him that he can't eat or sleep easy for days. It becomes easier after ARC training, but it still sticks with him.

Sunny is still very much in development, so more to come on him in the future! Always feel free to ask any questions you would like, or even offer your own interpretation of Sergeant Sunny!

[pittsick]

now that you wrote submissive scene emo pat, what about sub metalhead art..???

cw: +18. mdni. submissive art. afab soft dominant reader. praise. handjob. messy blowjob. fingering (art receiving). strap-on sex (art receiving). anal sex. drooling. spanking. nipple play. slight oral sex on strap. slight choking.

taglist: @blastzachilles, @lvve-talks, @jordiemeow, @222col, @soulxinxthexsky, @diyasgarden, @jinxedbambi, @lexiiscorect, @religionlost, @bluestrd, @jclolz22, @imperishablereverie, @lovefaist, @shahabaqsa0310, @prismozo, @jesuistrestriste, @grimsonandclover, @nozhdyved, @artstennisracket, @yardofbrunettes, @hangels, @sweetheartfaist, @lacelottie

It started the way it usually did—with Art slouched on the couch in a ratty tank top and boxers, guitar across his lap, hair tangled like he’d been shaking his head to a silent riff. You walked into the room, wearing just one of his old tour shirts and nothing underneath but panties. He glanced up from his tuning, eyes heavy and lips parted. You knew that look.

He wanted something. But Art never asked first. Not directly. Not your good boy.

“Something wrong, baby?” you asked, voice dipped just low enough to make him shiver.

He blinked, caught, fingers pausing on the fretboard. “Nah. Just... thinkin’.” You tilted your head, stepping closer until you were between his legs, one hand brushing his knee. “Thinking about what?”

Art's breath hitched. “You.”

God, he was already hard, as if he had been thinking about it for minutes. You smiled, soft and slow, brushing your fingers up his thigh. “Yeah? What about me?”

He looked up at you through his lashes, teeth digging into his bottom lip. “Dunno. Just… kinda want you right now.”

You pushed the guitar aside, careful but deliberate, letting it thunk to the carpet. “Take your shirt off, Art.”

He obeyed instantly, tossing the tank top aside. The lean lines of his pale chest and the faint trail of hair below his navel lit you up inside. You kissed the corner of his mouth, gentle, then pulled back just enough to speak against his lips.

“Good boy. Lie back for me.”

He did, arms behind his head now, hair fanned across the cushions, cheeks already flushed. You straddled his thighs, hands dragging down his stomach, taking your time.

“You always get like this when I’m not giving you attention, huh?” you teased, palming him through his boxers. The outline of him throbbed against the cotton, and he whimpered.

“Yeah… I like it when you—fuck, when you take care of me.”

You slid his boxers down slowly, letting his cock spring free, flushed and leaking already. He wasn’t big, but he was beautiful; pink and sensitive, and you loved the way he gasped when you wrapped your fingers around him.

“Such a mess already,” you murmured, stroking him lazily. “Is this all for me?”

Art nodded quickly, lips parted, hips twitching.

“Use your words.”

“It’s all for you,” he whispered. “Please…”

You leaned down and licked the head, tasting pre-cum, then sucked him in halfway just to hear that breathy moan. You pulled off with a wet pop, dragging your tongue up the underside while your hand jerked him slow and steady.

He looked ruined already.

“You’re drooling,” you pointed out. Art's cheeks turned redder, spit slick on his chin. “I—sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry,” you cooed. “I like you like this. All needy and messy.”

You spit into your hand and smeared it down his cock, jerking him faster now. His moans got louder, desperate, the way you liked them. Your thumb rubbed against the slit, smearing pre-cum around in a slow motion.

“Fuck—fuck—I’m close—”

“Don’t you dare come yet.”

He whined, but obeyed. His thighs were trembling under you, hands gripping the couch cushions in a death grip. You leaned in again, mouth open, tongue dragging along the slit. You took him all the way this time, nose to the base, swallowing around him.

Art cried out, hips jerking up before you held them down with a firm hand and pulled away just enough to talk.

“Stay still,” you said, voice calm and commanding.

He whimpered, nodding frantically as you went back to his cock. Your tongue swirled around, messy as you drooled on his cock while sucking him off.

When you pulled off, his cock glistened with spit, slicked to the base, twitching. His face was a wreck—lips swollen, hair stuck to his forehead, cheeks wet. You kissed him again, licking the drool from his chin as he moaned into your mouth.

“You wanna be good for me tonight?” you asked softly.

“Yes. Please. I’ll do anything.”

You kissed down his chest, pausing to suck a bruise over his sternum, then another just under his nipple. He shivered at that, back arching. “I know you will.”

You reached for the bottle of lube you kept tucked in the side table drawer for moments like this one, and slicked up your fingers.

“Spread your legs for me.”

Art obeyed instantly, knees falling open, cock twitching in the air.

You started slow—one finger circling his rim, teasing him while he moaned and squirmed. He was so sensitive there, you knew, and he always got desperate so fast. “Please, please—inside, I want it—”

You pushed in one finger, slow and steady, watching his face twist in pleasure. “There you go, baby,” you whispered. “Taking me so well.”

He gasped, mouth open, eyes fluttering shut. “F-fuck…”

You worked him open with practiced care, adding a second finger, scissoring gently just how he liked it. He was dripping onto his stomach now, forgotten cock twitching helplessly as you fingered him. “You’re such a good boy for me,” you murmured. “Look how easy you take it.”

“Only for you,” he breathed, head tipped back, neck flushed red.

When you crooked your fingers just right, his whole body jerked. “There,” you said with a soft smile. “There it is.”

He nearly sobbed.

You pulled your fingers out gently, before you leaned over to press kisses on the inside of his thighs, watching his cock twitch. Then you stood, slipping off your shirt and walking to the bedroom drawer for the harness.

Art sat up shakily, eyes wide and greedy when you came back to the couch. “You want it?” you asked, showing him the strap-on from the drawer and slicking it up with lube.

He nodded like he was praying. “Please. I want it so bad.”

You stepped back to him, now in just the harness, the silicone cock glistening. He reached out to touch it reverently, moaning when you let him wrap his lips around it.

“Good boy,” you whispered, brushing his hair back as he sucked. “Even when it’s fake, you love having something in your mouth.” You moved your hips gently, watching the fake cock slid in and out of his mouth as he whimpered around it.

His spit was already dripping down your thigh by the time you pulled him off, his lips red and raw.

“Turn around,” you ordered. He obeyed, climbing onto his hands and knees on the couch, ass in the air, thighs still trembling. You lined up behind him, spreading him open with both hands, just to look for a second. “So fucking pretty,” you murmured. “You ready?”

“Please,” he begged. “Please fuck me.”

You pushed in slowly, letting him feel every inch as he cried out. He was so tight, so warm, and you paused once you were buried to the base, letting him adjust. “Tell me how it feels.”

“So full,” he moaned. “Feels so good—so fucking good.”

You started to thrust, slow and deep, one hand on his hip, the other reaching around to stroke his leaking cock again. Art was a mess—moaning, drooling onto the couch cushion, clenching around you with every thrust.

“Taking me so well,” you praised. “You’re perfect like this.”

He cried out, body shuddering. “I’m close—please, can I come?”

“Not yet.”

He whimpered, and you picked up the pace, fucking him harder now, spanking one cheek lightly. He gasped. Your hips angled down and you searched for his prostate.

“Oh god—yes—again, please—” You spanked him again, watching the way his ass jiggled under your thrusts. Then you leaned forward, one hand wrapping around his throat, just enough pressure to make his breath hitch. His back arched when you rubbed against his sensitive spot with the fake cock.

“You’re mine like this, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he gasped. “Yours—yours—yours—”

You reached down and rubbed his nipples, pinching gently while you thrust deep, and that was it—he was shaking apart beneath you, coming hard all over the cushions with a scream. You fucked him through it, strokes slow again, letting him ride the high.

When you finally pulled out, he collapsed forward, body boneless, panting into the fabric. You climbed up beside him, pulling him into your lap, kissing the side of his face.

“You did so good for me, baby,” you whispered. He blinked up at you, tears in the corners of his eyes from overstimulation, face still wet with spit.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I love you.”

You kissed his forehead. “I love you too. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

[iamnotoriginalphil]

The Hurt (Kate Stewart x gn!Reader)

Synopsis: You're just a little too in love with your boss.

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: unrequited feelings, like one swear word

AN: I loved how much Kate we got to see in the last season so I figured I'd see if anyone else loves her like I do.

It shouldn’t be so difficult. It shouldn’t. You sat, and you worked, and if you were lucky you got to go out in the field. You were living your dream. Science that made a difference. Science that could one day change the world. Science unlike anything you could imagine when you’d been doing your undergraduate degree all those years ago. 

It shouldn’t hurt. 

And it wouldn’t, if not for her. The woman who turned your dreams into something not quite so sweet. The only one who made your work torture.

Kate Stewart. Your boss. And the only person in the room you couldn’t look away from. 

She was electrifying. So passionate. When she spoke you couldn’t help but listen. You’d follow her into fire with little more than a single look. The perfect leader, a mix of compassionate and hard working and so smart it blew your mind. She lit up the room and made everyone want to work that little bit harder. 

It didn’t hurt that she was beautiful.

Her commanding presence only added to it. She was intriguing, drawing you in, and if she wasn’t so passionate about her work she wouldn’t be nearly so enticing. Just being in her presence was enough to turn your knees to jelly and have your heart beating too fast. 

The hurt was deeply embedded in your identity, you weren’t sure who you would be without it. 

You weren’t anyone important. One of the brains down in the labs, analysing the tech that came in and learning to replicate it. You doubt she even knew your name. But you knew her and it was slowly destroying you from the inside out. 

You kept thinking that maybe if you put in more hours, if you proved your worth, if you had some massive breakthrough, she might learn your name. 

That was until the love of the job pulled you in again. You were, at your heart, a scientist. Alien technology was like showing a child a magic trick. You were determined to figure out how it was done. It was the kind of playground most scientists could only dream about. And you were one of the lucky few that got to be in the sandbox. 

The point was, it was easy to get lost in your work. You didn’t realise how late it had gotten until you looked up and realised you were completely alone in the lab. Stretching your arms above your head, you felt the ache in your spine. You’d been hunched over too long, fiddling with all the tiny bits of a something that had been dropped off to you that morning.

“I see I’m not the only one burning the midnight oil.”

You startled, almost falling off your stool. Grasping the edge of the bench you righted yourself before turning around. Kate, in all her resplendent glory, not even having the decency to look as tired as you were beginning to feel, was making her way towards you. One hand in her trouser pocket and a small smile on her face, you felt like a deer in the headlights under her amused gaze.

“What are you working on?” she asked.

“Oh, uh… I think it’s some kind of energy… convertor… thing,” you replied, “I’m still figuring it out.”

“Did that come in from the York site this morning?” she asked.

“Mmhm,” you hummed, looking back down at it.

You only looked up when you saw her taking a seat across from you. Even now, in a mostly dark lab, she didn’t look half as tired as you felt. Blonde hair still sleek, brown eyes with the twinkle of curiosity, dressed impeccably. It wasn’t fair when you were sure you looked a mess. 

“You’re often here late,” she said, those warm brown eyes landing on you. 

“There’s so much to learn,” you replied with a small shrug, “sometimes it’s hard to drag myself away.”

“Now that’s a sentiment I can understand,” she said with a small chuckle. 

You weren’t really sure what to say. It was so easy to feel tongue tied around her, basking in her commanding aura, the way she wielded her personality like it was nothing, like it wouldn’t fucking wreck you. When she looked at you the way she was now, all soft edges and familiarity and intimacy, it made your head spin. 

But maybe that’s what made her such a good leader. She could talk to the grunts as if they were just as important as the leadership teams. She could make you feel like she was interested in you. Which was dangerous for a number of reasons. 

“Sometimes I miss being in the lab doing the science. Truth is, this place feels more like home than my desk upstairs,” she said into the silence, looking around the darkened space. 

“You could always come back,” you said then immediately felt a wave of embarrassment. Of course she wouldn’t. She had more important things to spend her time on. Like saving the world, mostly. 

“If I had the time, believe me, I would.” The small smile she sent in your direction had your heart fluttering. 

“I can’t imagine ever giving this up,” you said, not sure if you were talking about your work or the moment you were sharing with her. 

“There’s really nothing you think might be more important or worth your time?” The twinkle in her eye was really beginning to make you feel breathless. 

“I like being in the guts of the thing. Other people are better suited for the brain,” you replied with a small shrug. 

Her laugh was throaty, warm, intimate. The kind of thing you’d hear while sharing a drink in a secluded bar. Not like your boss asking you about your work. Not that she really was. But looking at you from under lowered lashes, in the dim light, lit up by the lamp sitting on your desk to highlight the alien tech, the soft look on her face, it was hard to remember she was your boss.

“Although I think you’re the heart of the whole thing,” you murmured. 

Something in her face brightened, gratification softening every line of her body. The way she smiled was enough to make you willing to do anything to see it again. It was dangerous, the way you would give her every part of you to earn that smile. 

“When I was a little girl, I resented UNIT so much. It stole all of my father’s time and attention and he had none left for me. I didn’t realise what he was building. All I knew was that it was more important than me to him,” she said, voice soft as her mind drifted. 

You froze, listening to her, wanting to hear more.

“But when I did see him, the stories he told. Oh, they were wonderful. Stories of aliens and time travel, and a man in a small blue box. I wanted to know more. I craved it. I dreamt about the universe out there and all the things it held. I wanted to know it all.”

You lent forward. 

“It took a while but I got my degree and I joined UNIT. And I got to do science like I’d never seen before. So many species I'd never even imagined, coming here to Earth and I had access to them here. Not in this exact lab. Back then we were more hidden and a few decades behind technologically speaking, but one like it. I spent hours here. Nights. Weekends. You couldn’t drag me out of here. And then I understood why Dad spent all his time here. It’s an addiction.”

You were nodding. Because you got it. This job, the things you saw, the puzzles you got to take apart and put back together again, it was like nothing you’d ever experienced. Just look at what you’d been working on when she’d found you. You wouldn’t get that working at Google or for a pharmaceutical company. This was the kind of stuff science dreams were made of. 

“It’s that moment when it all suddenly makes sense. The fog clears and you understand how something works. All of the long hours and the frustration and the confusion are worth it. And then you know more about this universe and how it works and no one else on the planet has that information. There’s no feeling like it.”

Your breath caught. The way she spoke about it was like she was reaching into your chest and grasping your heart in a tight fist. Twisting your guts. Because that was it. That was exactly it. 

“And that’s not even the parts that make me love science. Unravelling the secrets of the universe is wonderful but it’s not what gets me out of bed in the morning. It’s satiating my own curiosity. It’s understanding the world we live in better. It’s getting the chance to ask questions and find the answers as I give in to my own need to know. It’s looking at something like this…”

One finger tapped the top of your alien device. 

“And knowing just a bit more than the day before.”

Your lips parted as you dragged your gaze back up to her, finding her already watching you. She was leaning towards you, over the bench and you realised how close your faces had grown. You blinked, ready to draw back, put more space between you.

“My father always said ‘science leads’. A quote from the Doctor. But it’s the work being done in this lab and others like it that make my job possible. This work guides the decisions I make for this organisation. And through it I can continue my father’s legacy and build something he would be proud of,” she said, her fingers still on the unknown device on the bench. And still looking at you. 

“I think he’d be very proud of you,” you said.

“Thank you.” Her hand drew back, putting her back on her side of the bench, “I know what I do is important, but I still miss this.”

“Do you want to help with this? Might scratch that itch,” you offered.

When she settled beside you, on your side of the bench, you felt your heart flutter. Shoulder to shoulder, you bent towards the wiring and the metal, her hair brushing against your skin. It was strange, the conflict you felt inside, sitting there with her in the small circle of light. 

On the one hand, she was so confident in the work, almost as if she was able to read your mind. She could predict what you were thinking and what you were going to do with ease. On the other, she was close enough you could smell the perfume that clung to her skin, and the warmth of her body washing over you. It was a very specific kind of torture and one you would willingly submit to every night for just one more moment like this. 

“Your work on that laser bomb was brilliant,” she murmured, “and that report you wrote on the blue tree was beautiful.”

You startled, dropping the tiny screwdriver you’d been holding. Her warm chuckle against your ear was enough to have your heart fluttering without pause. 

“I didn’t think you knew who I was,” you admitted, picking it up again, trying not to let her see the shockwaves of her laughter still moving through your body. 

“You’re one of my best,” she said, so unaware how that one little word made your heart skip a beat. My. A claiming you hadn’t known you’d wanted. Even more than the compliment. 

You turned your head, finding her so close. You were practically sharing the same air. Noses close to brushing. You froze, not sure what to do when she was so close. Her lips quirked up in a small smile and your gaze darted down to them then back up, embarrassment curling in your stomach. But you were only human. And she was so very tempting. 

“Of course I know you,” she whispered.

The moment hung between you, strung out until it was taut. Any moment it would break, time speeding up once more to compensate for the stolen time between heartbeats. But for now, you could marvel at the way she was looking at you, like you’d split open right down the middle, baring your soul to her. Those eyes, never missing a detail, looked at you as if she could see you. Really see you. Right down into all the crevices no one ever bothered looking at. You were splayed open for her to see. 

The way her eyes burned, you thought she might like whatever it was she could see. 

One of the night guards rounded the corner of the hall, whistling loud in the night’s silence. Your breath stuttered in your chest and she lent away from you, disappointment swimming in dark eyes. 

“It’s late,” she said.

“It is,” you agreed, not able to say anything else.

“You should return home, get some sleep,” she said.

“Is that what you’re going to do?” you asked, surprised by the need to know, to be able to picture her once she was no longer standing in front of you.

“I hope so,” she said, that same small smile back on her face.

“Goodnight,” you said with a small nod.

“Goodnight,” she said, her hand coming to rest on your shoulder, “sweet dreams.”

Her hand squeezed, lingering a moment longer, sending heat licking over your skin. She turned, a hand in her trouser pocket, and you watched her walk away from you. The shadows swallowed her, heels echoing down empty hallways as she left you with your work.

The hope that had welled in your chest remained, slow to drain. You could still smell her perfume on the air, feel the warmth of her body, hear her chuckle soft in your ear, more vibration than sound. 

And maybe that was the truth of it. That hope, when it came to Kate Stewart, hurt worst of all.

[hold-him-down]

One Day

Notes: Maybe like 9 months in?

CW: vague references to noncon, references to noncon drugging, all the typical CW for this story.

✥ ✥ ✥

Leo is shivering as he pulls off his sweatshirt; he feels another wave of dizziness wash over him and he swallows. It took three days of skull-splitting headaches and increasingly persistent nudging from Luke before he agreed to go visit Rob. They left with a prescription for antibiotics and a word of caution to take it easy for a few days. Leo waited in the car while Luke got the medicine, and, while his desperation for relief was palpable, the bottle of pills that he turns over and over and over has his stomach in knots.

The relief will be worth it, Leo tells himself, closing his eyes. It will be worth it. On the peripheries of his worry is the pain that constantly accompanies being drugged, the disorientation, the nausea. Further back is the feeling of hands on him, of not being able to lift his arms, of people looking down at him whispering that it’s okay while lower, his legs are prised apart. And then, the one where everything is dark, and everything hurts, and he doesn’t know what’s real. That one is even further, so far back that Leo blinks the thought– no, the memory– away as quickly as he can, as he swallows and puts the bottle down. Luke won’t hurt you. 

He wraps his arms around his stomach and sits on the edge of the tub, waiting for it to pass. He hears Luke’s footsteps down the hall. If he can act okay, he thinks, maybe Luke won’t make him take them. Maybe, if he can make himself feel better, or at minimum, if he can make Luke believe he’s feeling better, then Luke won’t be worried, and he won’t make him take them.

He swallows again, and his shivering fingers moving to grip to the side of the tub; he sucks in a deep breath through his nose and holds it. His vision swims as he blinks against the fluorescent light.

"Leo?" Luke knocks softly on the door before pushing it open.

Leo opens one eye, squinting in his general direction. His grip tightens on the ceramic, trying to keep himself both upright and still. He’s okay, he tries to say with an easy half smile, but his vision is a little blurry, and he’s distantly aware that unshed tears are the culprit. He can’t pinpoint when that happened, but it’s too late to do anything about it. He shakes his head, offering his best approximation of a smile.

Luke drops to a kneel in front of him, his hand brushing against Leo’s forehead.

"I'm really okay," he hears himself saying, his voice warbled in his ears. He knows he isn’t convincing– not to Luke, and not to himself– but his words come out ahead of his thoughts. “I’m feeling… I think a little better.” He swallows, pinching his eyes shut again. “I think I can… I think it’ll be okay without–” 

At Luke’s expression, he trails off. 

"Right.” Skepticism colors Luke’s tone, but he smiles warmly in spite of it. “You still dizzy?"

"Mhmm." Leo presses his head into Luke's palm, a half-hearted bid to ease the tension there, as Luke brushes the hair away from his too-warm flesh. It's Luke's favorite way to show concern, or, if he’s lucky, sometimes affection. It's become one of Leo's favorites, too. He lets his eyes close, even though he knows there’s danger there. His body, his mind, have been forced to accept this, and to find comfort in it, and to long for it. But he’s never been forced to let his guard down, and he’s never been forced to find safety in this. 

“You’re shivering,” Luke whispers, pressing his fingers into Leo’s palm and uncurling his fingers gently. When he withdraws, he places the plastic bottle in the void, then wraps Leo’s fingers around it.

“How bad is it?”

“Better than before,” Leo replies carefully. “I probably can just… sleep it off.” The bottle in his hand makes the shivering more noticeable.

No response immediately comes from Luke, but he squeezes Leo’s forearm. There’s a long silence, where Leo knows that Luke searches for the words to convince him without commanding him. 

“I don’t want to take them,” Leo eventually whispers, so soft that he’s not sure Luke even registered that he was speaking. He shrinks back automatically, his body readying itself for the pain that’s sure to follow. Slowly, he brings his eyes up to meet Luke’s.

Luke nods, but he’s not happy. 

It’ll help–You’ll feel better– Take these– It doesn’t matter if you want to or not– You can swallow them or I can force them down your throat– We gave you something to help calm you down– We gave you something that’ll make it difficult for you to eat for a few days– We gave you something that might make it hard for you to stand– Take them, Leo. 

Take them. 

Take them. 

Take them.

His head is pounding, the lights are too bright, the sounds too loud. His arms are wrapped around a bucket with doctors surrounding him, he hasn’t eaten in days. He wakes up restrained. He doesn’t know where he–

“Alright,” Luke says, wrapping his fingers around Leo’s, which are gripped tightly around the bottle. They both stare at it.

It doesn’t matter if you want to or not. 

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’ll– I shouldn’t have said that. I’ll take them, just… just give me a minute?”

Luke takes the medicine and sets it on the counter. The absence of the bottle in his hand is an immediate alarm bell, and he reaches out to Luke. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I want to take them.” He clears his throat, wincing as he does. He has more planned to say,  but Luke cuts him off.

“Hey.” Luke pushes his fingers into Leo’s hair. Something in Leo’s face, which, Leo suspects, is half a decade of anxiety manifesting itself in unshed tears, must have Luke on edge; he tries to fix his expression. “If you want to take them, take them. If you don’t, it’s fine. You’ll survive either way,” he says, his tone overtly lifting. He moves to sit on the ledge of the tub next to Leo, nudging his shoulder with his own. “Probably,” he amends, and Leo forces a smile. 

There’s a silence as they both stare at the pill bottle, innocent-enough looking but wreaking absolute havoc on Leo’s anxiety. 

“You don’t have to take them,” Luke says again. “Why don’t you lay down for a little bit, and once you’re in a better headspace we can reassess? I’ll grab dinner?”

Leo nods, and Luke squeezes his arm. And then, at the risk of unraveling every ounce of confidence he’s gained in the last six months, he says, “It used to be a whole thing.” He stares straight ahead, but he can feel Luke’s eyes on him. “They knew, I think. Early on, that it fre– That it scared me. So they–” He shakes his head. He swallows. His fingers tangle together in his lap. “I don’t know. I just… I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Luke eventually responds, when it’s clear that Leo doesn’t plan to go further. “I hope you do, though. That one day, you’ll tell me what happened?”

Leo nods, taking a deep breath and blinking back the unshed tears, and stands. He picks up the bottle from the counter and turns to face Luke.

“One day,” he says, nodding. 

Luke trails behind him as he walks back toward his bedroom, and at the door, he says, “I mean that, Leo. I’ll help you, in any way that I can. But I need you to know that you can talk to me, and it won’t go anywhere you don’t want it to go.”

FIGHTER TAG LIST: @whump-cravings, @afabulousmrtake @crystalquartzwhump @maracujatangerine @pumpkin-spice-whump @distinctlywhumpthing @thecyrulik @highwaywhump @batfacedliar-yetagain @finder-of-rings @dont-touch-my-soup @skyhawkwolf @suspicious-whumping-egg @also-finder-of-rings @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @peachy-panic @melancholy-in-the-morning @urban-dark @nicolepascaline @quietly-by-myself @pigeonwhumps @whump-blog  @seasaltandcopper @angstyaches @i-msonotcreative @mylifeisonthebookshelf @anonintrovert @whump-world @squishablesunbeam @considerablecolors @whumpcereal @whumperfully @pirefyrelight @whumpsday@whumplr-reader@lonesome--hunter@darkthingshappen

[incorrect-hs-quotes]

Sollux: pro tiip: army recruiiter2 wiill fuck off entiirely iif you tell them “my dii2daiin for thii2 country’2 government and iit2 miiliitary ii2 2o great that iif you gave me a gun ii would iimmediiately 2hoot my commandiing offiicer”

[endurettrpg]

This is the most recent commissioned artwork for endure a post post-apocalyptic TTRPG. It is set in an alternate history, Earth an undeterminable amount of time after and asteroid storm triggered the eruption of every super volcano on Earth.

Now we got mutants robots and the remnants of humanity trying to build communities and survive in the harsh wasteland.

Inspired by older sci-fi such as planet of the apes thunder the barbarian and commandi last boy on Earth.

[igneous-croc]

Dual rulers further spoilers

NO MY FANFIC HELP HELP!!!!!! HELP HANDS ON HEAD

it was built on the premise sin COULDN'T control gears.... aurhg... im going to have to rewrite everything

ITS SO COOL SEEING SIN ALL BERSERK AND SEEING HIM ALL COMMANDY BUT WAAAHHHH 😭😭 ALL MY PLAAANS

Also FUCK YOU I CAME UP WITH THE DANTE/MILTON JOKE TOOOOO WAAAHHHHH WAAAAAHHH 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[skettchyartendevours]

I took a few pics of Commandie while on a nightwalk with some friends tonight :]

[alectoperdita]

Trying to figure out if this is going anywhere.

More mob smut under the cut

---

The first time Seto's phone rang, they ignored it until it stopped.

The second time, growling, Seto reached over to silence, never even dismounting from Katsuya's cock.

But when his phone went off a third time not even minutes later, he snatched the device off the nightstand, where it had been balanced on the edge, and glanced at the caller ID before snarling "what?" into the receiver as he slammed himself downward. Katsuya bit his lip to stifle his moan, digging his nails into Seto's skin until it bruised as he tried desperately not to buck into his lover's convulsing heat.

For a second, he feared Seto might keep riding his dick hard and fast enough for him to see stars.

Mercifully, Seto settled back on his haunches, somehow taking Katsuya even deeper. Fuck, he was still so achingly tight. Except for the occasional, involuntary twitch of his hips, he stilled as his phone call stole the majority of his active attention.

Katsuya breathed easier, too. He was still closer to coming than comfortable, but at least now he could quietly enjoy the warmth enveloping his cock.

He wasn't even mad at his lover. They hadn't seen each other in what felt like forever. Seto had been buried under pretrial prep for one of his cases (it blew Katsuya's mind how many he juggled at once). It was a major one, with big players and criminal amounts of money on the line. So when Seto texted earlier, out of the blue, asking if he could come over, Katsuya dropped everything to receive him.

Nothing was more flattering than his lover spending his precious free time with him.

The conversation flew over his head. Based on Seto's increasingly waspish tone, though, something had Gone Awry. Something, it seemed, someone expected Seto to fix. Something was missing? Or misfiled? Whatever happened, Seto declared it'd take at least two business days to get sorted, if they started rectifying it now. But the damage was done. It would negatively impact their case from the onset.

The frustration shown plainly on his face, and Katsuya longed to kiss it away. Gently, he loosened his grip and rubbed soothing circles into his lover's hip bone, while almost rocking into him. The annoyance in Seto's expression disappeared for a second, rewarding Katsuya with a faint smile.

His heart skipped a damn beat every time he coaxed a grin out of him, no matter how small.

The call dragged, though, wearing thin on Seto's limited patience. A frustrated Seto was never one to sit still, either.

A whine clawed at Katsuya's throat as Seto lifted up, slick insides dragging along the length of his cock, until his tip catching on his rim. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself back into his depths, making them into one now and forever. He almost begged him not to leave. Not to dismount from the seat of power where he commanded Katsuya's devotion. But he made not a peep, simply gawked as Seto narrowed his eyes and slid the other direction at an equally agonizing pace, engulfing him to his root again.

Seto's eyes, clear and assessing, flickered over his face. Whatever he saw convinced him to continue. The rhythm was regular and disciplined, unlike Katsuya's wildly thumping heart, paired with brief pauses when he decided Katsuya was becoming too riled up. His ass cheeks slapped Katsuya's thighs each time. His voice grew louder, both to cover the noise of his riding and to express his displeasure at the caller, gaining a notably vicious edge.

The pattern of rising, building, deliciously mounting pleasure followed by an abrupt drop-off had Katsuya clawing at the sheets to not bruise his lover's thighs.

Don't nut. Don't nut. He thought to himself with increasing desperation.

The one-sided call washed over him in a haze. It didn't matter. He'd already found nirvana, one with Seto. A litany of praises dangled on his song, begging to be sang. Swallowing them passed a thousand needles over his throat instead.

A commanding hand over his sternum brought him back to reality. Seto loomed over him, red-faced and nostrils flared, as he rested more of his weight on him. Automatically, Katsuya clasped his warm buttocks to help steady him. Seto's angry, red cock now rubbed against the underside of his navel with each stroke, slicking his skin with pre-come. Despite his best effort to hide it, he was short of breath.

Something the caller also noticed because Seto snapped, "I'm fine." He locked eyes with Katsuya and flashed a mean, little smirk. "I'm on the treadmill. You should worry about yourself first. I'm not going to stop what I'm doing simply because you screwed up."

Elated, Katsuya swallowed a laugh and rolled his hips, admiring how Seto's eyelids fluttered shut momentarily as his mouth rounded in a sharp inhale. He got the message loud and clear. His lover wanted him to move, and Katsuya was powerless to do anything but obey.

[piraterefrigerator]

commandier a big ol' pirate ship so that we can kidnap all our mutuals and live at sea together with

awwwwww <3

[learnmaart]

Meta Commandies Llama 4, una nueva cosecha de modelos insignia de IA | Learnmaart https://learnmaart.com/meta-commandies-llama-4-una-nueva-cosecha-de-modelos-insignia-de-ia-learnmaart/

[cyberbenb]

We asked Ukrainian soldiers if they'd fight Russia 'with their bare hands'

CIA Director John Ratcliffe on March 25 gave a rousing assessment of Ukraine’s desire to achieve an acceptable and lasting peace, insisting its people and armed forces would fight Russia with “their bare hands” if they had to.

“I want to say that with regard to the Ukrainian resistance, the Ukrainian people and the Ukrainian military have been underestimated for a period of several years now,” Ratcliffe said.

“From my reflections in observing, from an intelligence standpoint, I’m convinced that they will fight with their bare hands if they have to, if they don’t have terms that are acceptable to an enduring peace."

His comments came amid U.S. President Donald Trump’s ongoing efforts to broker a ceasefire and a broader peace agreement between Russia and Ukraine, a process which so far appears to be favoring Moscow’s goals over Kyiv’s.

While there is no indication at present that the U.S. intends to end military support for Ukraine, it has already paused it briefly during the peace talks process.

Adding to nervousness in Ukraine about what a peace deal could look like, comments last week from U.S. special envoy to the Middle East, Steve Witkoff, suggest the White House views occupied Ukrainian territories as part of Russia, something that Kyiv has said it could not agree to.

If an unacceptable peace deal is forced upon Ukraine, and it decides it has no choice to keep on fighting potentially without U.S. support and only “with their bare hands,” the country’s soldiers will have to carry out this order.

The Kyiv Independent asked five Ukrainian soldiers how they feel about the prospect. Some of them are only identified by callsign due to security reasons.

‘Architect,’ drone operator

I am sure most of us will stay no matter what. This is a tough topic when talking to relatives — such talks always boil down to the “When will you return home?” question.

It is necessary to stay. It is necessary to fight. It’s not that I want to spend more years in the army, I just realized it’s better to out push the Russians now. To finish and forget.

“It is better to end the war, spending a few more years on it, than prolong it for the rest of our lives and the lives of our children.”

If there is a real ceasefire at the front and we could have a rotation and some rest for a year or two at home, I would agree. Who wouldn't want to take a break?

But I understand — and whoever hasn't realized it yet should admit to themselves — that the war will not end as long as Russia has the resources for it. It will always have the desire. For Russia, war is fine, as is killing, stealing, and occupying.

Therefore, it is better to end the war, spending a few more years on it, than prolong it for the rest of our lives and the lives of our children.

We can fight and are already doing it. It's just the Western world, as one collective draft dodger, wants to close its eyes and expect everything to be resolved when it opens them.

Medics evacuate a wounded soldier who tripped on a petal mine in complete darkness in a damaged forest on Jan. 27, 2024, in the Kupiansk frontline, Ukraine. (Kostiantyn Liberov / Libkos / Getty Images)

Serhii Koniukh, military anesthetist, medical forces command

I agree with (Ratcliffe) — everyone said Ukraine would last three days and then everyone would scatter, but as you can see, we’re now in the fourth year.

And at the beginning, the aid was minimal — Javelins, NLAWs, Bayraktars. Of course, this isn’t the same war as three years ago — we depend a lot on U.S. assistance, especially air defense and shells.

But now we’re in the era of drone warfare, and we are the number one drone producer in the world. Nowadays, even the most advanced tank won’t last more than a few minutes on the battlefield against a drone operator — even if he’s hungover — who will still hit that massive machine.

I support his opinion that people can fight even with their bare hands, but there are certain things they won’t accept. We’ve "paid" too much and lost too much over these years.

The conditions for a ceasefire should include a buffer zone with a peacekeeping contingent to guarantee that the Russians won’t resume their offensive at any moment.

As Ukraine, Russia agree to ceasefire at sea, Moscow’s battered Black Sea Fleet is set to get a reprieve

The White House on March 25 announced that Ukraine and Russia had agreed to “eliminate the use of force” in the Black Sea, returning the spotlight to a theater of battle that has been relatively quiet for more than a year. Throughout 2022 and 2023, Ukrainian strikes against Russian ships,

The Kyiv IndependentMartin Fornusek

Myroslav Hai, officer, Ukraine’s Armed Forces

I want you to remember the experience of Chechnya — It was a very bad experience for a little country, a very proud country, but they won two wars with Russia. They lost in a political sense, but they won in the fighting.

Chechnya didn't have any weapons or any big army — they had only a proud people who decided to fight against Russia's aggression. And they only lost the political battle because no one in the world helped them. No one.

Thousands and thousands of Russian soldiers died in Chechnya.

In Ukraine, a million Russian soldiers are dead or wounded. And when in 2022, the world's intelligence agencies thought Ukraine would fall in a few days, we beat the Russians without any help, with Ukrainian weapons and the Ukrainian army.

I don't think the world will stop supporting Ukraine. Why? Because Ukraine fights not for money, not for territory — Ukraine fights for democracy. Maybe we will be the last country in the world that decides to fight for the principles of democracy.

This is a war of democracy versus dictatorship — Russia wants to build the second Soviet Union. That's why Ukraine has no other option. We have only one way, we must fight for our independence, for our families, for our country, and for our children.

As for a ceasefire — I have fought against Russia in various roles for 11 years. I've seen different presidents in Ukraine, the United States, and Europe, but only one president in Russia who has never kept a ceasefire for more than a few hours.

Artillery crew of the 37th Marine Brigade fires with 2S1 Gvozdika self-propelled howitzer on the position of Russian infantry in Donetsk Oblast on Dec. 24, 2024. (Ivan Antypenko/Suspilne Ukraine/JSC "UA:PBC"/Global Images Ukraine via Getty Images)

'Foucault,'  soldier with the 66th Prince Mstyslav Khorobyi Brigade

I have no doubt in Ukrainians' motivation to fight for their land. However, modern warfare is significantly different from any guerrilla war of the past.

First, this is a war of technology, and second, it is a very expensive war. Therefore, the allies' key role is to supply technology and finance it.

This war can only end when one side is so dominant over the other that any resistance will not have any significant meaning. For this, we inevitably need the support of our Western partners, because this is not just a Russian-Ukrainian war.

It is a war for everything that lies at the heart of European civilization against Russian necrophilia, which is only a simulacrum or a shadow of civilization.

Serhii, a drone pilot stationed in Kharkiv Oblast

Yes (we will fight with our bare hands), and we have no choice but to continue the fight. Genocide is already being carried out in full swing in the occupied territories. So yes, the fight will continue until everyone is killed.

And considering how well Trump makes deals, it’s a shame. On the one hand, we are fighting with the bastards, on the other hand, the allies decided to almost side with the Russians.

I don’t know how but Europe should get its act together now and help us as much as is needed. Because the Russians have no reason not to fight further west now.

Now we will sign the surrender, go home and the Russians will have the only army in the region capable of fighting. Good luck negotiating with them later.

Explainer: Some Ukrainians speak Russian language – it doesn’t make them Russian

Born in Crimea and raised in Kherson, journalist Yevheniia Virlych grew up speaking both Ukrainian and Russian in her daily life. It wasn’t until 2022, when she and her family lived through the Russian occupation of Kherson Oblast, that they made the definitive choice to abandon speaking Russian alt…

The Kyiv IndependentKate Tsurkan