#ems training program

[obeymeluv]

Octavinelle w a Southern!Reader? A lot of the pet names and the common phrases are pretty affectionate and soft, so I think seeing the more composed bunch get exposed to such a sweet reader would be cute!

Before we begin, two notes: 1) I will also be playing with the creature traits of the Octo Trio as I see fit. 2) I personally call the three "Corelians" because they're from the Coral Sea. I am from the South so hopefully I answer this to your liking, haha. Sweet is a loaded term to me. Sweet is both the first taste of wispy cotton candy dissolving on your tongue and the sugar-coated demise of 'Oh my god, this is so good! I should really stop. Ah, fuck it. I'll deal with it later,' knowing you're going to complain about the miserable overload in an hour. If you have any kind of serving/retail/waitressing experience (especially in the south), you'll also know that 'sweet' is kill them with kindness and scream in the walk-in when you can't kill them for real. As for the Octo Trio? Have some random blurbs :)

Two of Azul's three hearts are sent cartwheeling and quivering when you so much as look at him! He doesn't know what to do with you! You're...you're so nice! In truth, he doesn't get you because he can't seen an ulterior motive or an end game. Part of the reason he can't understand you is because there IS NO END GAME. How does that work? He doesn't understand it. The only thing he understands is that your many ludicrous pet names make him writhe and wiggle and question the efficacy of that damnable lander potion! Surely they wouldn't cheap out on quality and compromise the future of a bright, young entrepreneur, right? He can mock them all he wants, his face smushed into his hand, but it doesn't stop his cheeks from reddening. You made him disgustingly warm inside and he has to use short words before the ink starts to pool in his mouth (the tweels noticed that and take great joy in it). "Yes, they're all so terrible. Terrible enough to make you rant," Jade muses as they settle into a brief respite with tea before opening the Mostro Lounge for the afternoon. "Frequently." "More like say 'em in the mirror as a pep-talk," Floyd boots the door open with a mocking laugh, gold eye shining as he flops down on the couch. He effortlessly catches the spill, much like he'll flip an omelet without looking, and keeps his eyes trained on Azul like the prey he is. Azul felt the heat rise in his cheeks and his chest. His feet untangled themselves subconsciously as his reduced limb-brains tried to figure out which one was close enough to bop Floyd. Jade leaned forward and pressed the cup handle against his palm to quash the punching instinct and remind the limb it was full. He snorted, adjusting his glasses with his free hand. "Isn't that right, sugar dumplin'?" Floyd flashed a toothy smile at him as Jade stuck an empty pen in his mouth to stop him from drooling ink into his tea. Floyd knew that one was his favorite.

---

The Corelian-Land Exchange Program prepared him for a lot of unique human experiences but didn't prepare Floyd for you. But that's to be expected because there is no chapter on 'dimensional strangers' in the curriculum. He's constantly having to remind himself of things like less resistance on land so the fights are in his favor. Or that he's not as fluid when he turns and those pinky thingies hurt like a BITCH and he doesn't see why he can't just cut it off because it HOOKS ON EVERY FUCKING THING. He also has to remind himself that hunting instincts are rude here. You don't stalk people, you meet them. But you're just so nice and bob along! It almost seems wrong not to keep an eye on you, what with how small you are. That's what he tells himself, anyways. He doesn't know quite how to describe it but your sweet words are funny with their little dips and drawls. They call him like something shiny and give him this burst of energy that makes him want to fling his long limbs out and twirl like a whirlpool. You can tell when he needs encouragement and aren't afraid to clamp up and be cold when he doesn't deserve any coddling. You call yourself a southerner and he's not quite sure what you mean because you have no home here and no one knows what direction your home is in. You and the apple-toting Guppy are a lot alike but Floyd doesn't get the same kind of feelings out of following him or plopping an arm down on his head. Matter of fact, the last time he plopped an arm down on Guppy's head, Guppy put him between some tree roots with a fancy shoulder toss Beta Fish taught 'im.

But when he does it to you? It's always different--just like him. Some days it's linking your elbows together and joking that he's stuck with you now. Other days you just wrap an arm around his middle and hug him for a few seconds where his cold-blood self squirms in the warm casing being incubated by you. On the rare and very amusing occasion that you aren't in the mood when his arm touches your head, you give him a warning smile before nipping at him. It doesn't hurt, honestly. Hardly enough to feel through fabric. Nothing at all to a Corelian predator. Cute for trying, though. He doesn't dare tell you that his blood can make humans sick.

Floyd just leans down and grins at you, ignoring the bit of fabric in your teeth, and whispers 'My turn,' just enough to show you all his glistening, pointy teeth. You always let go and he always bites air, but his legs are damn near knotting themselves together in glee at the thought of you letting him mark you for real. You scurry down the hall as Jade weaves himself between the students, following the scent of his many emotions. Landers had a theory about twins being connected; that's one of the first things he learned about them. Jade didn't see the whole scene but seems to know enough.

"Morays are opportunistic cowards at best, my dear brother. Don't feel bad." Jade gives him a closed-lip and a closed-eyed smile. And just like that, like when they were elvers, he and his brother are tangled and biting.

----

Jade knows it's a baser instinct to keep an eye on someone not like him. Not only from a safety standpoint but in the vein of him being the perceived threat to your...benign. He can't help but laugh and see you as soft when you're trying to hide your ragged gasps for breath as he turns to observe your footing on the incline. He was more comfortable in his lander form now and thought this would be an easier trail for you to navigate, coming from a foreign land and all.

Perhaps he was wrong.

But still, to see you struggle and flush, to see your hair come undone just a touch as you begin to glisten is quite a sight. It reminds him all over again that you're human like these landers on Sage's Island but you're not one of these landers, exactly.

You're the only one of your kind. The rarest of rare specimen.

You push up the incline, fixing your hair as you breeze past, and excitedly point to a patch of greens Ruggie told you about before. They are edible and coming home with you! You know how to prepare them!

Something ugly and gnashing wells up in Jade. Makes him want to suck the little Savanaclaw mongrel up in his pharyngeal jaws but he doesn't have them in this form.

Mmm, but he's thinking about the wrong jaws, isn't he? A bit rude to be thinking about his. It's best to put nutrition in yours. Yes, yes, that's very good. Jade's smile almost twitches as his back spasms where one of his more active fins would be. "Greens are a bit of an insult compared to the bounty of the Mostro," he lets you slide down the incline with barely a pull as he grinds his walking stick into said patch of greens. "Though no less important. Come, I'll even make you tea." "But what about the hike? It's only been, like, thirty minutes!" Most of that was waiting on you to traverse the terrain, but still! Jade didn't even have a single mushroom to show for it! Jade prides himself on his composure and quick wit. Here lately he's been applauding himself for holding onto all of it--any of it--around you. You have no magic but seem to do something akin to his signature spell. "There's more moisture in the air," he grips his walking stick and surprises even himself with the smooth stumble of his words, "there's rain coming. I can smell it." That did sound plausible to your lander self. He could see you contemplating it. Was it really going to rain? Who knew. The weather on Sage's Island was as unique as it's occupants. Your relent is reluctant but Jade pays that no mind as he stamps down an errant root and taps your foot politely away from it. "What a gentleman!" you tease, kind needling almost costing you a face full of green leaf from a bent tree. He chuckles as you bat the leaves from your face in a fit of self-preservation.

The flailing really is quite adorable.

You huff at his laugh and stomp almost petulantly after him to the flat and familiar of Sage's Island, the impressive point of the college a mere smear in the distance. After a near twenty minute walk, you change generously in Mostro Lounge's bathrooms (as in: Floyd annoys Azul enough to keep him unaware) and clean up enough to meet dress code, cramming your hiking things under the table. Floyd catches you, you both know. He knows the deal. What you don't know is that he waits for you to bat your eyes at him like you'll inevitably do and he revels in it. Mostly because his mushroom-huffing brother doesn't know what to do when you do that, but he thinks your eyes are pretty too. Jade coughs into his hand.

When that doesn't get the desired result, he gently turns you into your side of the booth and seats himself. There's a bristling only known between brothers and those who have a territorial bone in them. Floyd smirks and checks his brother's fingers for signs of webbing or claws. "What're ya havin'?" Jade lets you order first, of course. He orders next, not even bothering to grab a menu Floyd didn't offer. "And for drinks?" "That's supposed to be first, brother dear." Jade smiles. "Actually, appetizers first." he snorts. "I'll be making her some tea, actually." Jade excuses himself and walks in-step with his brother to the kitchen. "Makin' time for tea but no time for truth, heh?" Floyd's eyes are suddenly sharp and Jade growls. Jade realizes this is an unsafe situation as there are many knives around them. He's just as keen with a pot if it's all the same. The thought crosses his mind. "Gonna feed her before ya confess? Seems I'm not the only one who does things out of order, huh?" "I am providing." Jade hisses, opening his mouth wide.

"Best remember to provide some dish pit time because you owe me." Floyd taunts. "I covered your tail and got your little lander love a table!" In that moment, Floyd doesn't know why he turned his back. It felt good, maybe? Felt right for the moment? All he knew is that one hand full of menus didn't do anything against a hefty grab to the back of his neck as he was almost shoved into the hot water part of said dish pit. "How much time would you like?" Jade mused, bracing one arm against the other as he leaned his weight into his brother.

"Ah shut up and go make your leaf juice!" Floyd tries to nip him as he wriggles beneath his brother, only one set of shoes fit for the kitchen. Satisfied, Jade relents. It may cost him somewhere down the line but in this moment he's happy. Happy and put together and providing. Just for you.

[witchpassing]

my sister, @empress-em-kaldwin, has requested that i make a small announcement on her behalf: as of tonight, she is retired from the craft of writing.

i will not expand here on her reasons for doing so, as i wish neither to put words in her mouth nor infringe upon her privacy, but i will say this much: it is my opinion, as one who loves her dearly, that the course of action she has chosen is for the best.

what she has already shared remains publically available via her blog, and will remain so for the foreseeable future; works hosted elsewhere on the web will, similarly, remain as they are.

to those who have found catharsis in my sister's body of work, i offer my condolences and my gratitude. attached to this post are her notes on how she planned to conclude there is no allegory. there is no more to come after this, and there never will be.

thank you, and goodnight.

Morgana backfills current events. Fascist administration is actively self-cannibalizing and will lose control of the press soon, which will be the last straw. Multiple demihuman holdouts across the country are experiencing great success, except the ones who tried nonviolence. Time passes. The administration loses its grip due to main incompetence, and as the chain of command shatters the officer responsible for besieging St. Clotilde's decides to push into the compound as a vanity project. The firefight claims twenty U.S. infantry and six of the private security team, including, as graphically as possible, Val and Lito. The push ends as news breaks that there's been a mass shooting in the Cabinet Room and the administration no longer meaningfully exists. The opposition party steps in immediately to restore order, offering pardons to nonviolent demihuman resisters and "fair trials" to others. Insert a direct reference to the theft of homes historically experienced by people displaced to and subsequently returned from concentration camps. The St. Clotilde's fighters hold conference. Sophie says she's leaving the country to hop train cars in Europe and maybe reconnect with her heritage in Ukraine. Director Lynn, via Isperia, announces his choice to comply with the new administration to reintegrate the hospital into society to continue what he sees as his medical mission. Emily thinks about disappearing into a quiet life with Cordelia. Cordelia indicates lucid understanding of the tragedies they've undergone and a clear unwillingness to accept a return to the previous status quo, again citing the lifetime of abuses Emily has faced. Thus encouraged, Emily and a large portion of the St. Clotilde's team shake hands, exchange contact information, and disperse into the city to continue a program of violent resistance. End. If I were writing this again, I'd be more careful to introduce people longer before killing them, and I'd include an arc about Emily continuing as a camgirl during the siege.

[rottenpumpkin13]

Somehow (Gaia knows how) Sephiroth managed to get a cult following. Like a genuine bonafide cult in the SOLDIER program that's quickly spreading to the infantry and other Shinra personnel. Sephiroth isn't sure where it started, but he's not complaining; the cult is less weird than the Silver Elite

He's touched. Unlike the Silver Elite, these people actually respect him, not some glorified hero Shinra carefully sculpted for public consumption. He even attends their meetings—where they mostly just talk about life and training—and offers advice to the younger ones. There's a sense of community, of belonging. It's nice. He doesn't understand why Lazard is standing in front of his desk at 9 AM on a Monday, looking like he's aged ten years overnight.

Lazard: Sephiroth, I need you to explain something to me.

Sephiroth: Of course.

Lazard: Why do you have a cult?

Sephiroth: I don't have a cult.

Lazard: Really? Because I have reports of people gathering in secret at 3 AM to chant your name in a candlelit conference room.

Sephiroth: That's just team bonding.

Lazard: A grunt tried to walk into the training room blindfolded because, quote, "I have faith in Sephiroth, and Sephiroth will guide my blade."

Sephiroth: That's just confidence. I encourage confidence in my men.

Lazard: They built a statue of you at the entrance.

Sephiroth: They're creative. I support artistic expression.

Lazard: They called it "The Great Ascension."

Sephiroth: Dramatic, but not technically illegal. We're doing nothing wrong, director. You're acting as if I'm forcing these people to do my evil bidding.

*Zack enters, wearing ceremonial robes*

Zack: Hey boss! The boys wanna know when we're kidnapping Hojo to sacrifice him to the Cosmic Mother for your peace of mind.

Sephiroth: I was thinking maybe after lunch.

Zack: Cool I'll let 'em know.

*Zack leaves*

Lazard: ………

[objectumnonsense]

robot oneshot, as requested VwV

The lab was dark, save for the dim neon light filtering in through the curtains and a singular work lamp in the corner of the room. Every few minutes, a train passed overhead, making the ceiling groan with the weight, but it was otherwise quiet. The lab's only two occupants sat without speaking, one in maintenance mode on a table and the other wearing thick, elbow-length rubber gloves and wielding a variety of delicate tools.

The Mechanic worked diligently and in near silence, save for softly humming a tune and occasionally blowing their hair out of their face while they worked on SN-0407-67. The only sounds coming from 67 were the hum of its fans and the occasional buzz of a wire being put in the wrong place, quickly corrected by the Mechanic.

After about half an hour, the Mechanic said, in a voice rough with disuse, "Exit maintenance mode," and a line of small lights blinked to life on the back of 67's neck. Its shutters flicked open and it turned its head right around to face the Mechanic.

"Is there a problem?" it buzzed.

"Well, I don't wanna catastrophize, but I'm lookin' through your lower back complex and I'm seein' some stuff that looks an awful lot like buzz bug eggs. Can you run a diagnostics check for me real quick?"

"Affirmative." In a blink of its shutters, it received data from all of its main systems and most of its secondary and tertiary programs and responded.

"Small loop errors in primary memory arrays. Minimal damage to recursive power wiring. Buzz bugs may be a possibility. Suggestion: analyze sample of offending material."

"Will do. Wanna go back to sleep?"

"Negative. We are almost done, correct?"

"If this don't turn out to be an infestation, yeah. What's got you so eager to leave?"

"Nothing. I simply do not enjoy being in maintenance mode for extended periods of time."

"Oh? Why's that?"

67 turned back around and allowed the Mechanic to pry open its back panel and delicately reach through its wiring with a pair of tweezers.

"I dislike being unaware of my surroundings for so long. It is against my purpose."

"It's necessary though, ain't it?"

"As is sleeping. But you are avoiding that now."

"Fair 'nuff."

The silence returned for a few minutes. The Mechanic extricated some pieces of material from 67's wiring and the gaps in their chassis while it sat perfectly still and nearly silent.

Abruptly, a small yellow light on their shoulder lit up and they said, "Your heart rate and breathing have increased."

"Huh?"

"Are you in distress? Is the infestation worse than you expected?"

"Oh, no, nothin' like that. If this is buzz bugs, we caught 'em real early. I could probably get all of this outta you before dawn."

"That is good."

They continued without speaking for a few moments more, the yellow light still turning on and off rhythmically, before 67 spoke up again.

"Your heart rate has not decreased."

"And I suppose I can't ask you to ignore that?"

"Negative. It is against my purpose."

"Right. First aid robot."

The Mechanic pursed their lips and tried to continue their work, but 67 kept talking.

"You hands are shaking slightly. Allow me to check your blood sugar content."

Before the Mechanic could respond, 67 had already completed the check.

"Blood sugar content within healthy range. Brain scan indicates higher than normal levels of oxytocin. Heart rate and breathing rate are increased, but have plateaued."

"Can't keep anythin' secret from you, huh?"

"Negative. You have poor control over your responses to emotion."

"Well, can't say I didn't try."

"Correct. You are still avoiding telling me the reason for your heightened emotional state."

"Would it hurt so bad to let this one go unmentioned?"

"A key to maintaining healthy relationships is communication between constituents. I am curious why you are acting differently."

"It's... complicated. It's a human thing."

"Mechanic, "human things" are my area of expertise. I will understand whatever you tell me."

"I just..." They sighed, but set their tweezers aside and brushed their fingers along a piece of 67's circuitry. "Can you feel this? When I'm workin' on you?"

"To an extent, yes."

"And does it... hurt?"

"Not unless something is damaged. It feels almost the same as when my exterior is touched."

"Almost?"

"There is a level of... trust involved. I trust that you will not break me, you trust that I will not close myself or shock you to injure you."

"When I do this..." the Mechanic traced the column of 67's spine with their index finger, "what is that like?"

"I fail to see why you are asking me again. Did I not just explain it?"

"I know, I know, just.. tell me what you feel me doin'."

"Alright."

A moment's pause.

"I feel you touching the outer shell of my spine. It holds much of my central processing power, which is why it's covered by thick metal plating. But I know you will not try to damage it."

"And now?"

"Now you're moving towards my power cell. It's a very powerful battery, and very fragile. But you will not damage it."

"Now?"

"You're reaching up through my chest cavity towards my transform arrays. This is where most of my proprioceptive senses are processed. It's also highly sensitive to touch. But you will not damage it."

The Mechanic let out a shaky sigh. The blinking yellow light on 67's shoulder began flashing more quickly. They noticed it was in time with their heartbeat.

"Your breathing and heart rate have increased steadily. Is there something you aren't telling me?"

They abruptly pulled their hand out of 67's back and stammered an apology.

"Sorry, I'm - sorry, that - that was kinda weird. I shouldn'ta -"

"It was not unpleasant."

Their words ground to a halt and they stared at the back of 67's head.

"You... motherfucker, you knew this whole time, didn't you?"

67 made a beep that sounded like a laugh.

"Negative. I only realized when I scanned you."

The Mechanic leaned their head against 67's shoulder with a clunk.

"And I couldn't get you to delete this whole interaction from your memories?"

"Negative."

The Mechanic sighed again and leaned back, rubbing their temples.

"Well, that's about it for your checkup anyways. We should probably get goin'."

"Mechanic, I would not refuse if you wanted to take this further."

The Mechanic froze. "Whuh?"

"I do not have the capacity to feel it the same way you do. But I understand it would be enjoyable for you. My purpose, after all, is to ease suffering."

"Wh - but - I - I'm not sufferin' about it, I just -"

"Mechanic."

67 rose and walked around the table, standing very close to the Mechanic and resting a careful hand on their hip. They swallowed thickly.

"We are the only ones in here. We have time."

The Mechanic let out a nervous, breathy chuckle. They raised a hand to 67's face plate and brushed their thumb along it.

"You're amazin', you know that? Just... incredible."

"I know," 67 replied, a playful lilt in its voice. "Tell me if you want me to stop at any point."

"Alright."

67 stepped even closer so that one of its legs was between both of the Mechanic's and they had to lean back against the table. One of their hands rested on 67's shoulder and the other settled on its hip.

67 hooked a thumb over the Mechanic's waistband and tugged down. Its other hand worked its way up their shirt and cupped their chest. It leaned its head down and bonked it gently on the top of theirs.

"Was that supposed to be a kiss?"

"Affirmative."

"You're such a dork."

67 hummed. Its movements remained smooth and steady, but the Mechanic distinctly heard its cooling fans pick up when it tugged their underwear aside.

"Could it be you're enjoyin' this too, 67?" they purred, lifting the hand that was on its shoulder to the back of its head, where they brushed over some of the exposed wires there. Its lower shutter twitched upwards.

"You do look... very nice. Under me like this."

"Mmm. Kinky." They spread their legs further and gasped when 67's searching hands found their bare skin.

"Are you alright?"

"Y-yeah. It's just been a while. Go slow."

"Understood."

Gently, 67 started working its hand, and the Mechanic let out a quiet groan. They rolled their hips into 67's touch, grip tightening on its neck and making its shutter twitch again.

"Is - fuck - is that hurtin' you?" they asked.

"Negative."

"Want me to - to stop?"

"Nnegative."

At the stalling of 67's voice, the Mechanic raised an eyebrow. "Is it gettin' you off or s-something?

"N N N N - Unsure. My proproprocessor has encountered an error."

Experimentally, the Mechanic chose a wire and tugged on it - not enough to break it, but with enough force to pull it partially out of line. 67 jolted forward, making a buzzing sound the Mechanic had never heard before, and its hand dug harshly into their flesh, making them gasp.

"Arrre you alright?" it asked, stopping all motion. The Mechanic whined and pushed against its hand.

"Don't stop," they pleaded.

"One moment. I nnneed to check -"

The Mechanic tugged on the same wire again, creating the same reaction, and sighed with satisfaction.

"Memememechanic," 67 scolded, though the effect was somewhat lost due to the skipping in its voice.

"Keep goin'. I didn't tell you to stop."

"Make me."

The defiance caught the Mechanic off guard, but only for a moment. They glared up at 67.

"Y'know, you're real disobedient for a robot," they growled, finding a different wire and wrapping it around their finger. 67's shutters closed completely this time, its entire body jerking randomly for a moment before the Mechanic let the wire go again. "I thought you were s'posed to follow directions?"

"Youyouyou haven't said the magic word yet," 67 replied, though their hand had begun to move again.

"Make me cum, 67. That's an order."

"Affirmativvve."

The Mechanic cried out at the dizzying pace 67 suddenly set, hips rocking helplessly into its touch. Its name flowed from their lips like a hymn. 67 bore down on them, chest pressed to theirs, free hand supporting their back so they didn't fall.

"Yesyesyesyes, just like that, yes -!"

With a drawn-out moan, the Mechanic came hard, slumping back so that 67 had to adjust its hold on them, completely at its mercy as it kept up the harsh pace of its hand. It slowed to a stop the moment the feeling became too much and their groans of pleasure turned into whimpers.

The pair stayed like that for a moment, the Mechanic struggling to catch their breath and clinging to 67, whose fans were still going at top speed. It stared adoringly down at them, privately recording a short clip to replay later.

"Holy shit," the Mechanic finally breathed, pushing themself upward off of 67's arm. "That was... wow."

"I trust you enjoyed yourself?"

"Yeah. Jesus Christ. Are you... can I - is there anythin' I can do for you?"

"Negative. No part of me can experience anything close to sexual arousal, but I appreciate the consideration."

"So, just outta curiosity, what were the wires doin' to ya?"

That gave 67 pause.

"I'm... unsure. It's not a sensation I've ever felt before."

"Was it bad?"

"Negative. It was... novel. I'm not sure what to make of it."

"So what... would it be okay if I did it again?"

Another pause.

"...Affirmative. Please be careful."

"You know careful's my middle name."

The Mechanic lifted both of their hands and rested them on 67's neck. One slid its fingers over the exposed wires, still slightly out of place, making 67 beep and twitch.

"Why don't you try tellin' me what you feel?" they purred, finding a wire and winding it around their finger. 67 took a moment to respond, its voicebox making nonsense sounds before it could gather it to something intelligible.

"I I I I feel... dizzzzy? I think that wiwiwire has a role in proprioceptive data transfer. It's hard to to to to rrrecall at the moment."

"Mmm. And what about now?" the Mechanic asked, parting the wires and reaching deeper into 67's neck. They felt their finger make contact with cool metal, and 67 made a long, low tone until they lifted it.

"My my my my my centrrrral spinal casinnnnng. It's very sensensensitive to touch, which is is is why it's underrrrneath everything ellllse."

"You're startin' to sound pretty rough, 67."

"Hard to to to prrrocess speech at the momoment. Unsure how to parrrrse sensory dadadadata."

"Still don't want me to stop?"

"Affirrrmative. Want you you you touch furrrrther in me."

"Fuck, that's hot."

The Mechanic moved upward this time, under the plating on the back of 67's head with a muttered "keep your head down." 67's head briefly dropped limply downward, chin hitting its chest with a dull thunk, before the Mechanic hastily removed their hand and it looked back up at them.

"Why did you you stop?"

"That wasn't bad?"

"Negative. Want morrre."

"Oh, I see how it is." They resumed their probing, 67's head falling again, its voice struggling to express exactly what it was feeling.

"Hannnds in my in me touch ch ch ch mind feel I feel your hands," it managed, and the Mechanic bit their lip, looking up at it with adoration in their eyes.

"God, you sound fuckin' wrecked. I wish I knew I could do this to you sooner," they confessed. 67's optic flickered.

"Want want hands want touch morrre so so so much so want want want wannnnnnt -"

Abruptly, its voice dropped so low it was almost a buzz, its optic blinking out, hands in a vise grip on the Mechanic's hips while the lights on its body turned off all at once. Its fans continued on high for a moment more before they lowered to a more normal level and a noise like a dial-up played.

"Shit."

The Mechanic waited nervously while 67 rebooted, slowly releasing their hips before its optic blinked back to life, immediately zeroing in on them.

"Are you okay? Did I touch something I shouldn't've?"

"Negative. I am still processing. Please give me a moment."

After a second or two, 67 spoke again.

"Last sensation recorded before shutdown: foreign object inside cranial casing. Pressure applied to central tactile nerve. Systems overwhelmed." It blinked. "No memory lost. I am in no pain."

"So that tactile nerve thing -"

"I felt... everything. It's hard to explain."

"I think I get it. Don't worry."

"It was... good. I felt good. I would like to do this again sometime."

"Is right now a good sometime? 'Cause that was fuckin' hot."

67's optic widened slightly, disbelief creeping into its voice.

"Causing a temporary shutdown... made you aroused again?"

"It was more like making you get there. But yeah."

"Interesting. In that case..."

67 opened the maintenance panel on its chest, exposing a crisscrossing maze of wires and circuits to the Mechanic, who practically drooled.

"Help yourself to me."

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Jan behind the cut; "the one where Clark is trans and Kon is not". tw: internalized not-technically-transphobia-but-it-kinda-reads-that-way. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

The team’s meeting up this weekend and Kon didn’t have anything else to do before said meet-up, so she’s at Mount Justice earlier than everybody else and trying to be, like–trying to be a boy about it. Like, just–however she’s supposed to do that. 

However he’s supposed to–supposed to– 

She goes to the training room and punches the reinforced heavy bag ‘til it splits. 

That’s what a boy would do, right? If a real guy were upset, or frustrated, or–whatever, he’d go take it out on a punching bag or something like that. 

Except a real guy wouldn’t be upset about this, because this wouldn’t be happening to a real guy. 

Part of Kon thinks she’d probably do that kind of shit anyway–punching out her problems and whatever instead of talking to somebody about ‘em or anthing like that–but would she? Like, for real? Would she really do that, if everyone didn’t think–if everyone hadn’t always thought– 

Everyone calls her a boy. Everyone’s always called her that. Cadmus was trying to make a man when they programmed all her mental uploads and education and Serling talked about cooking up hybrid-effective hormones for her and Mickey told her they could work out the surgeries for her when she was old enough–even if she wasn’t still working there, even–and–and– 

Kon’s not a boy. She’s not. 

But she’s not Supergirl either. 

And she’s never gonna get to be. 

Kon leaves the split-open and wrecked heavy bag hanging there leaking ball bearings and sand and leaves the training room without bothering with hitting the locker room, wishing she could just strip off the binder she isn’t supposed to wear when she works out anyway and ditch the packer and the Superboy suit and–and she doesn’t know, exactly. Maybe grow out her hair, or just cut it different. Get a fucking pixie cut, for all she cares. Try out–try some things. Paint her nails, or buy some eyeliner or lipstick, or just . . . whatever. Wear something different. 

She could pierce her other ear, maybe. She could get a different costume. She could . . . she could just . . . 

She couldn’t do any of that. She can’t do any of that. Kara gets to wear a skirt and have long pretty hair and be–and Match just could if he wanted to, because it wouldn’t matter because why the fuck would anyone at the Agenda care as long as he kept being an asshole for them when they told him to, but she–she– 

How even would she, when– 

Kon crashes on the couch and turns on the TV and puts on Wendy the Werewolf Stalker for all of four seconds before Wendy pops up on-screen in a cute little crop top and ruffled skirt like Kon could never, ever wear and it takes literally all of her self-control to not dissemble the remote. Or the TV. 

Or the base. 

She turns off the TV, buries the remote in the couch, and storms off to the kitchen to, like–get a fucking snack or something, she doesn’t know. The others are gonna be here soon, it’s gotta look like–like a boy was here. So like–breaking the heavy bag and leaving a mess and vegging out in front of the TV and raiding the pantry and–and shit like that. That’s what a boy would do, right? Take over the space, take up space, be–be–

Just be one, Kon guesses. 

But she’s not, so she just has to do what she thinks other people would expect her to and hope she’s getting it right. 

She digs through the pantry and gets out, like–the greasy, salty snacks, and leaves the sweet ones behind. Doesn’t go for any of the chocolate or the candy or–just, just what a boy would eat, would like, would– 

This is so stupid. She’s so stupid. She–she knows it’s not just–just stupid shit like if she eats fucking chocolate instead of chips or pretzels. She knows it’s not just if she flirts up other girls or takes up space or makes a mess or if she’s loud enough. 

If she was actually a boy, she’d just be a boy, no matter what. 

But she’s not. 

Kon rips open a bag of pork rinds, eats exactly two, and then just spits them out in the trash and leaves the whole messy pile of snacks on the counter and stalks off again, her hands jammed down hard in her jacket pockets and shoulders hunched up and glasses shoved up tight on her face. She just–she just wants to go. She wants to leave. 

She wants to be like she’s supposed to be.

[fearfulfertility]

PRIVATE CHAT LOG

Participants:

Lt. Gen. [REDACTED], Superintendent, [REDACTED] Academy

Director [REDACTED], Department of Reproductive Compliance

[Start of Chat Log - [REDACTED] Timestamp]

Lt. Gen. [REDACTED]:

Director, I reckon I’ve tolerated this circus long enough, but my patience ain’t infinite. That surrogate compound (Paternity Compound 111) y’all set up right smack on Academy grounds is underminin’ discipline and morale among my cadets. These boys are future military leaders, yet instead of focusin’ on their trainin’, they’re distracted by the sight of their comrades—men they’ve served with—blown up like balloons and confined to them facilities.

Director [REDACTED]:

General, the compound was established on Academy grounds because of its proximity to high-quality medical facilities and secure oversight. It ensures optimal care for the surrogates while maintaining their safety and the integrity of our program.

Lt. Gen. [REDACTED]:

“Optimal care,” my ass. Director, these were soldiers—my soldiers. They trained, fought, and bled for this country, and now y’all got ’em lookin’ like overstuffed parade floats for everyone to see! My cadets are whisperin’, wonderin’ if they’re next in line. I’ve already had [REDACTED] reports of desertion, and let me tell ya, this situation ain’t sustainable.

Director [REDACTED]:

Your concerns are noted, General, but let me be clear: these soldiers were conscripted because their fertility metrics met the criteria established by federal law. This is not a matter of personal sacrifice but a matter of national necessity. Our population numbers are critically low. Every surrogate conscripted is another step toward ensuring the survival of this nation.

Lt. Gen. [REDACTED]:

Now don’t you go lecturin’ me ’bout necessity, Director. I’m out here fightin’ to protect this nation while y’all gut my forces and turn ’em into surrogates. And now you got the gall to do it right in plain sight of my cadets? How the hell am I supposed to keep order when they’re watchin’ their brothers-in-arms waddlein’ around like Thanksgiving turkeys?

Director [REDACTED]:

Perhaps your cadets should take this as a lesson in duty and sacrifice. After all, isn’t that what military service is about? They should understand that sometimes, service to one’s country takes forms they may not have anticipated.

Lt. Gen. [REDACTED]:

That’s rich comin’ from someone who’s never set foot on a battlefield. You wanna talk about sacrifice? Try watchin’ your men—the same ones you trained and deployed—reduced to nothin’ more than breeders. This whole operation reeks of arrogance and disrespect for the uniform.

Director [REDACTED]:

General, your emotional outbursts are unbecoming. The DRC operates within the full scope of the law, and our actions are approved at the highest levels of government. Your soldiers are fulfilling a vital role in safeguarding this country’s future.

Lt. Gen. [REDACTED]:

And y’all are ignorin’ the bigger picture. The longer this mess goes on, the more strained my forces become. I’m warnin’ you, Director: if this nonsense don’t change, I’ll have no choice but to pull my troops outta FEMA Zone 8. Operational security, you’d understand. Without ’em, your precious paternity compounds—124, 120, and 126 I believe—will be sittin’ ducks for rebel attacks. Let’s see how y’all like defendin’ ’em without us.

Director [REDACTED]:

General, are you seriously suggesting abandoning your post?

Lt. Gen. [REDACTED]:

I ain’t suggestin’ nothin’. I’m tellin’ you how it’s gonna be if y’all keep underminin’ my command and destroyin’ morale.

Director [REDACTED]:

General, I would strongly advise you to reconsider. You seem to have forgotten that your eldest son, [REDACTED], is currently classified as “conditionally exempt” from conscription due to his academic achievements. That exemption is not permanent. Should I choose to revoke it, he could be conscripted into the program by the end of the week.

Lt. Gen. [REDACTED]:

...You wouldn’t dare.

Director [REDACTED]:

Wouldn’t I? Sacrifices are necessary to maintain order, General. Your family is no exception. I suggest you weigh your next steps carefully. Any disruption to FEMA Zone 8 would jeopardize not only the compounds but the entire region's stability—and, consequently, the status of exemptions granted to your son.

Lt. Gen. [REDACTED]:

...Fine. The troops’ll stay in Zone 8. But mark my words, this ain’t over.

[End of Chat Log]

Director [REDACTED]:

It is for now, General. Your cooperation is noted and appreciated.

----------------

[Start of Chat Log - [REDACTED] Timestamp]

Participants:

Director [REDACTED], Department of Reproductive Compliance

COO [REDACTED], Black Ops Command

Director [REDACTED]:

COO, I’m sure you know the situation with Lt. Gen. [REDACTED]. The man had the audacity to threaten the withdrawal of troops from FEMA Zone 8, jeopardizing three critical compounds. While I managed to remind him of his place with some carefully applied pressure, his resistance poses a long-term problem. He’s a liability—one who can’t be allowed to disrupt operations any further.

COO [REDACTED]:

Understood, sir. What’s your directive?

Director [REDACTED]:

I want the Joint Chiefs to have no choice but to remove him. Engineer a situation—something undeniable—that paints him as unfit for command. Whether it’s financial misconduct, a security breach, or even a staged lapse in judgment, I leave the specifics to you. Ensure the replacement is someone more… pliable. Preferably someone who understands the importance of our work and won’t get squeamish about visible surrogacy compounds on military grounds.

COO [REDACTED]:

Acknowledged. I’ll assemble a task force immediately to identify vulnerabilities. Any limits on collateral damage?

Director [REDACTED]:

Minimal. I don’t need a scandal large enough to attract civilian oversight—just enough to force the Joint Chiefs’ hand. Make it clean, make it fast, and keep my name far away from it.

COO [REDACTED]:

Consider it done, sir. You’ll have my preliminary plan within 48 hours.

[End of Chat Log]

Director [REDACTED]:

Good.

----------------

Addendum

Subject: Resolution of Lt. Gen. [REDACTED] Situation

From: COO [REDACTED], Black Ops Command

To: Director [REDACTED], Department of Reproductive Compliance

Date: [REDACTED]

Director,

Per your directive, Lt. Gen. [REDACTED] has been successfully removed from his command. During our investigation, we uncovered verified evidence of an extramarital affair between Lt. Gen. [REDACTED] and a subordinate officer under his command. Unlike fabrications we initially considered, this discovery required minimal manipulation to weaponize. The evidence was quietly leaked to the Joint Chiefs, and Lt. Gen. [REDACTED] was formally relieved of duty following an internal review.

To ensure continuity, Major Gen. [REDACTED], a long-time supporter of the DRC’s mission and policies, has been promoted to assume command of [REDACTED] Military Academy. Early reports indicate that morale among cadets has stabilized, and operations in FEMA Zone 8 are no longer at risk of disruption.

As for Lt. Gen. [REDACTED] 's son, his exempt status was revoked following his command removal. Fertility screenings confirmed high viability, and he has been conscripted into the surrogacy program. He is currently 25 days pregnant with quattuordecuplets (14). As requested, he has been transferred to Paternity Compound 124.

I would be remise to point out that this facility is only [REDACTED] miles from the FEMA Zone 8 Combat Zone and [REDACTED] miles from the front lines.

----------------

Respectfully,

COO [REDACTED], Black Ops Command

Click Here to return to DRC Report Archives

[bakudekuficlibrary]

Does anyone have hockey player X figure skater Bakudeku fics? it dosent have to be katsuki as hockey player and izuku as figure skater it can be one or the other for any of them!

BakuDeku: Hockey Player/Figure Skater 6 Works

Shut the Puck Up and Kiss Me, You Lutz! by SweetSide ( E | BKDK | 30,826 | 10/10 )

Bakugou Katsuki's not the first hot-headed hockey player Izuku has encountered in his figure skating career, but he's certainly the loudest.

At first, Izuku can't believe such a guy has the power to turn his head and his heart, but there's just something about him and it doesn't take much for Izuku to realize he can't resist, because he doesn't want to.

skating on the thin ice (of modern life) by starkliquors ( M | BKDK | 40,121+ | 7/9 )

Bakugou Katsuki. Alpha. Hockey Captain. Doting Father. Media Disaster.

Midoriya Izuku. Omega. Ice Staking Champion. Badass Coach. Media Darling.

Eri. Unpresented. Along for the ride.

[Hiatus] Winter's Fray and Dulled Blades by Reapz ( Not Rated | 58,781+ | 9/24 )

Izuku, championship winning solo skater, is expected to perfectly land quads if he hopes to make it passed the Olympic qualifiers and seriously compete for gold.

The issue? His coach had decided he would be eliciting the help of Katsuki, center and captain of UA’s competitive D1 hockey team.

Estranged childhood friends are reunited after years for this new training regimen.

Triple Axel by serenetaflowers ( G | 2,724+ | 3/? )

Izuku Midoriya wants nothing more than to be a pro ice hockey player, and with selection for Japan’s Winter Sports Association Under 21s Program less than 3 months away, Izuku is under a lot of stress with practice being his only form of escapism.

Katsuki Bakugo has been figure skating ever since he was a ‘brat’ and his only goal is to become the number one figure skater on the planet; he too wants to be selected for the program.

The program has a brutal selection with only 50 spots up for grabs so the pressure is on for both Katsuki and Izuku.

The only problem is that UA campus’ rink is only available for a set number of hours after its closing time.

Tensions rise and will both put their differences aside so they don’t end up biting each others’ heads off before the actual selection process?

all I've seen since eighteen hours ago was green eyes and freckles and your smile by wonder_lyn (orphan_account) ( T | 2,415 | 1/1 )

Hockey player Katsuki Bakugou and figure skater Izuku Midoriya are in love.

The rest of the world just doesn't know that yet.

aka the reason my search history is full of hockey rules and ice skating techniques

[Abandoned] The Rink Rats by bookaddicted74 ( T | 7,599+ | 8/? )

Izuku Midoriya begins his journey at UA University at the ice rink. Between being a hockey fan and figure skater himself, he finds himself constantly in the same place as a certain short tempered, blonde hockey player. On top of his athletics and fanboying, Izuku sees Bakugou in section 1A of Physics where it seems like everyone knows each other. How will this relationship develop? Read more to find out!

In less dramatic words, all of class 1A is in the same section of physics and a lot of them are involved in figure skating or hockey. Bakugou and Midoriya are the Romeo and Juliet of the ice rink and a lot of shenanigans ensue. This fic’s main plotline follows the relationships formed in class 1A (both platonic and romantic) with Bakugou and Midoriya being at the center of it.

Fanart, AUs, & Special Mentions:

habken (battle of the blades AU) figure skater bakugou hockey player deku

starrywhitewall figure skating AU

limesicle ktdk figure skating AU

jollykings_ bkdk ice skating AU

'tis the season to read about fictional gays on ice. if I missed any, feel free to comment 'em below!

~ Gabs ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

[httpvomitello]

If it's okay with you can we please have a reader who has wings instead of hands x rise turtles where the reader likes to pick them up and fly with them at random. (Probably has to perch on raph but oh well.)

But anyways they'll get the turtles to do stuff for them they can't do. (Like microwaving food.)

Owwn, that's cute. Hope you like it! ♡♡♡♡

Feathered Love *⁠.⁠✧

The first time you swoop down and grab him mid-stride, he lets out the loudest, most dramatic scream

“¡Dios mío, I’m too young to die!” he yells, flailing until he realizes it’s just you.

Once he calms down, he plays it cool, acting like he wasn’t terrified. “Oh, you wanted a piece of this? Understandable.”

Secretly loves the thrill

He’ll start teasing you with fake warnings when he knows you’re about to fly off

“We flying to the moon today, featherbutt?”

Once you perch him on a rooftop, he immediately pulls out his phone to take selfies, claiming it’s for “mission intel.”

At first, Leo is confused when you ask for help with small tasks, like microwaving your food

“Wait, you can fly but you can’t press a button?” he teases, already on his way to help

He’ll make a show of it, dramatically placing your food in the microwave. “Behold, the Great Leonardo, Master of the Microwave!”

Secretly loves being able to help you, even with simple stuff

He’ll even start adding little flourishes, like garnishing your food before handing it over.

The first time you lift him, he’s completely stunned. “WHAT THE—PUT ME DOWN!”

But once he realizes you’re strong enough to carry him safely, he relaxes (sort of)

“THIS IS AMAZING!” he smile, loving the view.

Definitely becomes your personal perch

His broad shoulders and solid frame make it the perfect spot to rest after a flight

If you swoop in while he’s training, he’ll roll his eyes but allow it. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Low-key protective. “If you get tired, don’t push it, alright? I don’t need you getting hurt.”

The moment you ask for help, he’s already doing it without a second thought

“You need this heated up? Got it.”

He’ll carry your plate back to you carefully, grumbling about how the microwave beeps too many times

If anyone teases you about needing help, Raph is quick to shut them down. “They’ve got wings, what’s your excuse?”

Starts learning what you like so he can prep stuff ahead of time. “Made you some noodles earlier. Just need to heat ‘em up.”

The first time you pick him up, he’s annoyed. “Excuse me, I am conducting highly important research!”

Mid-flight, he’s already analyzing the physics. “Fascinating. Your wingspan must generate significant lift to carry my weight.”

Once he gets used to it, he starts requesting flights for “aerial reconnaissance” of his inventions

Loves the practical applications of your abilities, but don’t expect him to admit he enjoys the experience

“For science, of course. This has nothing to do with the exhilaration of flight.”

If you drop him off on a high rooftop to test one of his drones, he’ll praise your precision but remind you: “No sudden drops, darling. My heart isn’t built for such shocks.”

Donnie initially suggests creating a custom gadget for you to handle small tasks. “Why rely on others when technology can assist?”

But until then, he’s happy to help, albeit in his own way. “Your reliance on me has its perks. Now, let’s adjust your caloric intake.”

He’ll program the microwave to the exact time and temperature for optimal results, refusing to let you settle for less

“Perfection takes precision, my feathered love.”

Also insists on taste-testing anything you ask him to heat up. “Quality control is essential, after all.”

Absolutely loves it from the get-go. “WHEEEE! I’m flying, baby!”

He spreads his arms out like he’s Peter Pan™ every time you lift him, fully embracing the ride

Constantly begs for “airtime.” “C’mon, Y/N! Just one more lap around the lair!”

You often catch him jumping up and down, yelling, “Take me, winged guardian!”

Loves being perched somewhere high, where he can “survey his kingdom.”

If you fly him at night with a great view, he’ll insist on having a mini picnic up there. “Best date idea ever, right?”

Mikey thinks it’s adorable when you ask for help. “Aww, don’t worry, I gotcha!”

He’ll happily microwave your food and even plate it up like a five-star chef. “Presentation is key, my love!”

Sometimes he gets overly enthusiastic and starts adding sauces or sides without you asking. “Trust me, this combo is fire.”

If you ask him for anything else—like reaching for things or opening jars—he does it with a little flourish. “Mikey at your service!”

Will absolutely turn it into a fun routine. “Okay, Y/N, what’s today’s special?”

[koshkamartell]

Training Day

summary: one shot set in AU, no outbreak. You get more than you bargained for after trying to make Joel jealous. My first submission for @romanarose's Dead Dove December fic event, I'm so excited for this challenge!

warnings: degradation, noncon oral sex, noncon PIV, talk of anal, forced DP training, reader is feminine but not described, slut shaming, unspecified age gap between reader and the Miller brothers, manipulative!Joel, mean!Tommy, good cop/bad cop dynamics, brat taming.

word count: 7,700

You had a long day at work, forced to work overtime to complete the workload left by several colleagues that were out of the office on sick leave. Your feet were aching from tottering around in your heels all day. You had spent the whole drive home fantasising about the luxurious bubble bath you were going to have once you reached the house you shared with Joel. He had finished work early today and you couldn't wait to cuddle up with him and order take out, maybe watch a movie until you passed out on the sofa curled against his chest.

But when you arrived home and walked through the front door, you were immediately met with the unmistakeable sound of company. Male company. The intermingling of loud voices, laughter, clinking of bottles, and the obnoxious commentary of some sports program playing on the television. Suspiciously similar sounds to guys night. 

You frowned. Joel hadn't said anything about seeing the guys tonight. What was going?

You trotted down the hallway and into the living room, the clicking of your heels along the ground alerting whoever was there of your presence. When you appear at the entrance of the loungeroom, your heart sinks with disappontment.

Joel was sitting on the sofa, manspread with a beer in one hand, inbetween his brother Tommy and one of their friends Mike. There were two more men in the armchairs and one sprawled on the floor by the couch. When they saw you they all turned to greet you warmly. 

"Hey baby," Joel said, glancing from the television to you. He took a swig of his beer. "How was work?"

"Hey." You gave him a small, tight smile. "It was long."

"Hi sweetheart," Tommy sang out, tilting his head up in a gesture of acknowledgement. He gave you one of his charming smiles, his brown eyes dancing with a hint of mischief. You always liked the younger Miller brother, the more charismatic and sociable one of the duo. "How are ya?" 

"Pretty tired," you sighed softly.

You catch Tommy and two of the other men look you up and down discreetly, and you know they are checking you out. You feel strange, oddly on display. Your black skirt sits just above the knee, displaying the smooth length of your stocking clad legs. Your white blouse is fitted and accentuates your breasts, the buttons straining against your chest deliciously. You wear a smartly tailored black jacket that doesn't hide anything, instead complimenting the curves of your body. Despite not being overly revealing, you know the outfit tends to have a favourable effect on most men. 

Tommy is more bolder than the other men, letting his gaze rest on your eyes as he lifts his hips ever so slightly to readjust his crotch. You blush and look away from him and clear your throat. "Uhm, so, did I miss something? Is it boys night tonight?"

"Game's on," one of the men said vaguely, as if that explained anything. You roll your eyes.

"Joel?"

Joel turns from the television to you and sees the unimpressed confusion on your face. He quickly gets up off the sofa and takes ahold of your elbow and leds you to the kitchen.

"Baby, the game's on tonight." He whispers, as if it's a secret.

"Yeah, I know. But why are the guys here watching it?"

Joel frowns slightly before a sheepish expression passes over his face. "I invited 'em here to watch it. Wanted to show 'em the new flat screen."

You cross your arms over your chest and glare at him. "We were supposed to be having a quiet night together. I wanted to get dinner and just hang out with you. We talked about it this morning, remember?"

Joel sighs deeply and rubs his palm over his face. "Shit, baby. I'm sorry, I forgot."

"Gee, thanks Joel," you grit out. "Didn't even fucking consider me before you just make plans with the guys."

"Sugar, it ain't like that," Joel says calmly, gently. "Come on now, don't be mad. You go relax and take it easy, have a bath or somethin'. I'll be up when the game is finished."

"What about dinner? I'm hungry." You pout.

Joel stares at you blankly for a moment, then clears his throat and looks at the ground.

"What? Joel?" 

He rubs the back of his neck and winces as he mumbles. "We got some pizza delivered. Didn't know what you wanted, figured you might wanna make somethin' else."

"Oh," you say flatly. A mixture of anger, disappointment and hurt swirls in your chest, and it takes every bit of restraint for you not to slap Joel. 

"I'm sorry, baby. I wasn't thinkin'." He says softly, looking back at you and reaching out to cradle your face. You pull away from his touch and he sighs again.

"Yeah, no problem, Joel," you mumble, wrapping your arms around your waist, feeling small and worthless. Yeah, fuck you, too. 

"Can I make it up to you tomorrow night? Maybe we can go out somewhere fancy and you can wear one of those little summer dresses I like." Joel purrs at you. He's trying to be soft and placating now, his way of apologising and trying to right his mistake, to sooth the sting of his lack of consideration. 

But it just makes you more angry. 

The thought of you dressing up for Joel's pleasure so he can whisk you off to some restaurant to wine and dine you as a consolation prize doesn't entice you at all. Joel making a show out of seducing you into forgiving him for his lack of attention isn't what you want. Especially not after him neglecting you over the last few weeks because of a big project his company has been working on. 

But now isn't the right time to argue, so instead you appease him.

"Yeah, sure, sounds great." You flash him a fake smile before turning away to go to the fridge. Joel smiles back, seemingly relieved with how the conversation turned out, and walks back to the living room. You seethe alone in the kitchen.

You hate that Joel didn't grovel for your forgiveness. You hate that he doesnt kick the guys out in favour of spending time with you, even though you know how irrational it would be. You feel spiteful and jealous. It makes you want to show Joel that he is being a neglectful asshole, prove to him that you are hot enough to get another man's attention, that if you really wanted to you could easily fall into the lap of someone more caring, more attentive. 

Then an idea comes to you. 

You take a serving tray from the cupboard and set a single bottle of beer on-top of it. Then you take the clip from your hair and let it fall over your shoulders, combing your fingers through the locks to give it more volume. You remove your jacket and then unbutton the first two buttons of your blouse so your cleavage spills and the lacy black trim of your bra peek out. You hurriedly search through your hand bag and retrieve one of your more expensive brands of lipstick; the vampy shade of red that you've only worn a handful of times. You carefully apply the crayon to your plump lips and smack them together.

Perfect.

A moment later you sashay from the kitchen to the lounge balancing a tray on your palm, the click of your heels echoing through the hallway.

When you enter the room once again all of them, including Joel, are too occupied by the game to divert their gaze to you. Except Tommy.

His eyes widen when he sees you. His dark brown eyes lock on yours, then slowly wander down to the swell of your breasts on show. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip slowly as he stares, a slow smirk spreading across his mouth. He spreads his legs a little wider. You notice how he is clutching his near empty beer bottle on-top of his crotch, and the way his thumb is slowly sliding over and circling the mouth of the bottle.

"Well, hello again, honey," Tommy drawls. "You playin' hostess for us tonight?" 

You smile sweetly at him and bat your eyelashes coyly. "Something like that. Are you feeling thirsty, Tommy?" 

"As a matter of fact, I am, little lady," Tommy purrs. He's actually fucking enjoying this, you realise. And you are starting to find that lazy, mischievous grin of his quite seductive. "How about you pass me that drink you got there?" 

Here's your chance, you think. You straighten your posture so your tits pop out. You slowly slink across the living room towards him, your eyes focused on him. Tommy watches your every move intently.

You stop in front of Tommy and lean down to place the bottle of beer on the coffee table by his knee, the plush of your tits on display for him. His hand reaches out to gently caress your wrist.

"Thank you, sugar," Tommy murmurs, gazing up at you with that grin that makes your knees weak.

"Welcome, Tommy." You smile brightly.

You were too concentrated on Tommy to notice that Joel and the other men are now staring at you, too. You straighten up and walk back across the living room, not bothering to glance back at the other men in the room. As you're about to enter out into the hallway, you're shoved from behind.

"What the fuck do you think you're doin'?" Joel hisses.

You can't even turn to see his face before he manhandles you down the hallway and to the stairs. You don't need to see him to know he is pissed off, though. Joel grabs your wrist and pulls you up the stairs with impatient ire.

Shit. You didn't expect this reaction. You weren't even really sure what reaction you were wanting from Joel, or to what extent you were going to flirt with Tommy. You suddenly feel silly for the impulsive idea.

But knowing Joel, you should've really thought it through before taking such a risk. You knew he could be possessive and jealous, occasionally irrational, always quick to anger. Maybe if you'd apologise and explain yourself he would understand.

"Joel, I'm sorry, okay?" You plead desperately. His large hand is wrapped around your wrist as he drags you to the bedroom, and you try not to stumble over your own feet. "I didn't mean it."

"Too late for that now, don't you think?" Joel spits angrily. 

He hauls you through the door and shoves you onto the bed roughly. The force pushes you onto your back on the mattress with a thud. You scramble to sit upright and look at Joel with wide eyes, willing him to listen to your apologies and see you're truly sorry. He slams the door shut and  rounds on you.

"I didn't mean it to go that far," you blabber. "I'm sorry, really--"

"Shut up," he snarls, glaring at you with any iciness in his dark brown eyes. "Shut the hell up." 

With tears welling in your eyes, you purse your lips and look down in your lap, gingerly rubbing the stinging red skin of your wrist. You know you're in deep trouble. The rage radiating off of him is palpable, filling the room with an electric kind of energy that makes your gut anxious. Joel stands with his hands of his hips, his nostrils flaring, his face twisted in a scowl.

Oh, he's mad, alright. Really fucking mad.

"Just what did you think you were doin'?" He growls. "You think that little fuckin' stunt you pulled was funny?" 

You quickly shake your head and a tear slips and falls into your lap. You can tell by the harsh drawl of his voice that he won't accept your answer anyway, too consumed by his anger to even try go comprehend the reasons behind your behaviour tonight.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?" Joel barks. "So hungry for attention you gotta go flirt with my goddamn brother? Is that it?" 

"I just wanted your attention, Joel," you argue back.

"That mean you gotta act like a slut infront of all my friends?" He retorts sharply.

A slut, seriously? Just from a little flirting? You scoff and get up off the bed, slightly unsteady on your heels but prepared to storm out and leave the house for the rest of the night. 

But you don't get that far. Joel doesn't let you even reach the door before he lunges and wraps his hand firmly around your throat. It stops you in your tracks and you gasp in shock. Joel yanks you back to face him. You squirm and try to escape even though you know you can't; the strength he possesses in one hand far outweighs the strength you have within your entire body. 

"Stop," Joel barks. "Fuckin' stop movin'."

He squeezes your pulse point in warning and you quickly obey, stilling in his grasp like captured prey. His dark eyes wander carefully over your face, as if assessing you. His jaw ticks in irritation.

"You know I love you, baby," Joel scowls with reproach. "But goddamn, why do you provoke me into hurtin' you?"

Joel releases your neck from his grip and you swallow thickly, the bundle of tangles nerves thick and cloying in your throat. You love when Joel is dominant, when he is a little rough and commanding during sex; but his demeanour right now, coupled with the menacing way he towers over you, has your thighs trembling. He is so close and he's never looked so pissed towards you. It scares you.

Joel's fingers skate over your collarbone and down to the crease of your cleavage. "Thought you'd get your pretty little tits out, huh? Show the guys how lucky I am to have you?" His voice is soft but there is no gentleness to it. It is taunting, dripping with cruel condescension. 

You shake your head. No, you want to say, I just wanted to show you what was waiting for you. 

"Nuh-huh," Joel tuts, "no lyin' now." 

"I wasn't lying." 

Joel grabs a handful of your hair at the base of your scalp and tugs it so that your head tilts back. The move is swift and painful and has your eyes pricking with tears instantly. You sob loudly. 

"Yes, okay!" You admit. "I was trying to make you jealous! I was angry at you!"

Joel scoffs. "What? Ya think showin' off your body like some kinda whore is a good idea? Just cos you're angry with me?" He sneers at you.

You shake your head tightly.

"So what, you like men lookin' at you? Seein' what's mine?" 

"No, Joel," you whimper. "Just want you."

Joel huffs a laugh. He releases your hair and takes a step backward to let his eyes roam over your body. All you can do is stand still, frozen on the spot, your eyes brimming with hot tears. The darkness in his brown orbs is disconcerting as he studies you, causing a stab of fear twists in your stomach. Whatever is going on in his mind is not wholesome or loving or kind.

Joel grabs onto the collar of your shirt with both his hands and rips it apart with alarming agility, the buttons flying off and the material ruined. You squeal. He wrenches the shirt from your arms and it falls to the ground, leaving you in your skirt and lacy black bra. 

"Joel, what're you doing?!" You shriek. He gives a little shrug and cracks his neck. 

"If you wanna act like a slut, you can dress like one." He says matter of factly. 

The coldness in his voice spurs you to move. You try to weave past him and spring to the door to escape, but Joel wraps his strong arm around your waist and captures you. He is so powerful that bringing you to a halt is easy, like he's swatting a fly. You squirm and yell and beat his chest with your fists but it's no use. 

"Seems like I gotta train you to act right," Joel mutters. His hand holds you steady at the waist while you struggle. "Walkin' around here flirtin' with whatever man will look your way, right in front of me, fuck sake. Like a little bitch in heat."

His words sting. How dare he say these things about you when he was the one to provoke you, to ignore your feelings and needs so selfishly? 

You reach up and slap him. "Fuck you, Joel!" 

Joel's face turns slightly to the side from the impact of your smack. 

Oh no.

Oh fuck.

That was a mistake, and you realise it straight away. 

His jaw ticks for a moment. Joel slowly turns his head back to the centre to face you. His eyes appear black now, glinting with a sadistic iciness that makes you whimper and shrink away. He lets go of your waist and you quickly back away from him. 

Joel momentarily shuts his eyes as he inhales a deep breath and then exhales, as if trying to centre himself. "Fuckin' knew it," he mutters to himself. "Too fuckin' young and stupid to know how to behave."

He opens his eyes again and narrows his gaze down at you. 

"This is what's gonna happen. You're gonna listen to what I say and do exactly what I tell you." He commands firmly. He doesn't wait for you to respond. "Take off your skirt." 

You stare at him defiantly. 

"Do it," he says through clenched teeth. 

When you don't move, Joel reaches out and lands a slap across your face. You wobble on your heels. Your head jerks to the side and you cry out in shock, your ear ringing from the impact. You cradle your stinging cheek.

"Take off the fuckin' skirt.' 

The tears are cascading down your cheeks now. Dumbed by the shock of Joel's slap, you shakily unzip your skirt and let it fall to your ankles. You are left only in your bra and matching thong, along with your stockings and heels. Although Joel has seen you naked many times before, the energy and emotion surrounding this moment is starkly different - you feel weak and exposed, not at all sexy or aroused. You stare down at the carpet with your palm still cupping your cheek.

"Good girl," he murmurs. "Now, where's that cute lil cheerleader outfit you got?"

You frown and lift your head to look at him. He's surely not talking about the costume you brought last year, the sexy cheerleader costume you  surprised him with one night?

Joel looks at you with raised eyebrows expectantly. 

Oh. He does mean that costume.

"Its in the closet, to the left." You whisper.

Joel slides open the closet and rummages through your clothes until he finds the set. It hangs neatly on the coathanger; a tight white crop top with the words "babygirl" written in pink block font, and a very short pleated pink skirt to match. You remember how crazy it had driven Joel to see you dressed and roleplaying as a slutty cheerleader, something he'd always fantasised about. It was exciting and fun. But now, as Joel holds it out for you to take from him, there's nothing fun about wearing it again. Not in this situation.

"There. Put on that skirt." Joel orders you. You dare to look at his face.

"I dont want to," you say weakly.

"Aint got a choice in the matter, sweetheart." Joel clicks his tongue. "Gotta suffer some kinda consequences for your bratty behaviour. Gotta teach you some life lessons. Can't have the boys thinkin' you're a cock starved little slut whose daddy can't control her."

"I don't care what they think!" you snap at him.

Joel suddenly clutches your face inbetween his thumb and fingers and squeezes your cheeks, silencing you. "Stop fuckin' arguin' and put on the damn skirt. Now!"

Joel gives your face a tight shake before letting go. You are weeping freely now. You take the hanger from him and put the skirt on, stepping into it and slipping it up and over your legs. It is incredibly short, only covering a few inches of your thighs, the bottom of your ass cheeks exposed. You go to remove the tank top from the hanger but Joel stops you. Even with your blearly vision you can recognise the lust written on his features, the feral hunger in his eyes.

"Don't need it," he mutters. "Look like a perfect lil whore just like this."

Your cheeks heat at his words. "What now?"

"Look at the mirror." Joel growls.

When you dont move fast enough, Joel grabs your upper arm and hauls you towards the full length mirror in the corner of the bedroom. He stands behind you and positions you directly infront of the mirror. Joel's front is flush against your back and you can feel his hard cock poking your ass through his jeans. With horror, you realise he is actually fucking enjoying this, and what's more, he finds it arousing. His hand snakes around your front and palms one of your breasts.

You watch your reflection. Mascara is streaked down your flushed cheeks, your lipstick is slightly smeared around your mouth, and your lips are swollen from Joel's slap and the tears you've shed. Your vacant expression coupled with the scant outfit you wear makes you look like a cheap whore, you think. Joel smirks at you when your gaze meets his, as if he can read your exact thoughts.

"Pretty little thing," Joel whispers, his mouth close to the shell of your ear, his beard lightly tickling your skin. His large calloused hand squeezes your breast roughly. "'Specially when you're bein' obedient. Shoulda been more tough on ya from the beginnin', trained you properly from the first time you took my cock."

You glare at Joel in the mirror. "I'm not your damn dog, Joel."

He suddenly bites the side of your neck, sinking his teeth into your skin. It is painful and sharp, making you scream. Then he relaxes his jaw and begins sucking hard, bursting capillaries and bruising your flesh.

"Stop!" You beg. You thrash around and his grip on your breast tightens. Joel's other hand tangles in your hair and wrenches your head backwards. "Fucking hurts, Joel!"

Joel breaks the seal of his mouth on your neck with a wet pop, then licks at the dark reddish purple spot that is left in its place. "Needa know whose boss here, baby," he rasps. "If I gotta treat you like a dog for you to learn, then I will."

You sob helplessly. The strength has drained from your body and you subconsciously relax back against him. Joel hums in approval, taking this as a sign of you accepting defeat, of your submission to him. He loosens the hold on your hair so your head flops forward and your eyes meet his in the mirror.

"So here's how this is gonna go," Joel says cooly, "If you don't do what I say, then you'll be punished. Simple as that."

"Punished how?" You dare to mumble, wondering what could be worse than the slap or his bite. Joel chuckles darkly and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek.

"Trust me, darlin', you don't wanna fuck around and find out. I got no problem turnin' you into my own personal fucktoy and violatin' every one of your little holes. And when I'm through punishin' ya, you're gonna wish you never opened your fuckin' mouth."

This cannot be happening, your mind screams. How could this possibly be Joel, your Joel, who is usually so soft spoken and caring and kind to you? Has he been hiding his true nature this whole time?

"And so when I say kneel, you're gonna drop to your knees. Aint that right?" Joel murmurs.

You nod halfheartedly. A smile of satisfaction spreads across his face and he smooths his hand over your hair affectionately.

"Now, turn around and get on the ground and kneel."

Your mind is muddled, unable to process just what is happening and unable to move your body quick enough for his liking. Joel sighs and twists your nipple through the lacy material of your bra, causing you to squeal and buck your body forward.

"What'd I just fuckin' say?" He growls lowly, impatient.

The pain snaps you into action. You weep as you turn around and carefully lower yourself to kneel on the carpet. You bow your head, meek and dejected, while Joel unfastens his belt and unbuckles it.

"I'm the only man you look at, the only man you serve." He tells you while pulling his belt from the loops of his jeans. "You'll keep your eyes to the ground whenever Tommy or the guys are over. And you'll speak only to me. You got that?"

You nod miserably. It's only when you feel Joel's warm calloused hands on your neck that your head snaps up to look at him, panicked and confused. He bends down and deftly slips the leather strap around your neck and pulls it tight, taut enough that it isn't cutting off your oxygen supply but still serving as a threat. You whimper and your bottom lip quivers.

"Joel, what are you doing?" You whisper through tears. You are desperate to know what his intentions are for making you dress this way, why his belt is around your neck, what is he planning on 'teaching' you.

"Gotta do it, baby," he murmurs and strokes your cheek with his large thumb. "This ain't just for my benefit, either. I'm doin' this to protect you, sugar. There's plenty of guys out there that won't hesitate to abuse you and throw you away once they've got what they want. Ain't no other man who will protect you and love you like I do. And I'm gonna prove it to ya."

He gives the belt an experimental tug. "Come on, we're goin' downstairs."

You want to protest and refuse, to put up a fight, but you also don't want to face the wrath of defying Joel. So when he moves toward the bedroom door with the end of the belt firmly in his hand, you crawl on your hands and knees behind him. He takes you to the stairs, and you feel more and more degraded with each burning shuffle of your knees across the carpet.

Downstairs the house is quiet. The low hum of the football game is the only thing audible to your ears. It's as if everyone has left. You're not sure what is going on, but when Joel leads you to the living room you stop suddenly.

"Joel, no!" you whine. You can't face the men dressed like this, crawling on the ground like an animal on a leash. Joel wouldn't really force you to do that, would he?

"You're okay, baby, just trust me." He says calmly. He jerks the belt tightly and you have no choice but to continue behind him.

When you both enter the living room, you're surprised to find that the only person left is Tommy - the other men have disappeared, no where to be seen. When Tommy sees you and Joel he quickly jumps up from the couch.

"What the hell is goin' on here, Joel?" Tommy demands. He frowns as his eyes dart from you to Joel. You stare at the floor, ashamed.

"Had to have a bit of a talk with my girl," Joel grunts. "Where'd the guys go?"

"I told 'em to go to the bar and we'd meet 'em there. But her," Tommy gestures to you. "Bit of a talk, Joel? About what? You got a belt around her neck like a damn dog!" Tommy snaps at the older brother. "Why's she dressed like that?"

Joel gives a slight shrug of his thick shoulders. "She didn't give me a choice, Tom. Said she was flirtin' with you and puttin' on a show cos she was pissed off with me. I had to put her in her place. "

Tommy's mouth drops open and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," Joel mutters resolutely.

There's a few long moments of silence as Tommy seems to process the reality of the situation before him.

"Can't let her be doin' that shit," you hear Joel whisper. "Gonna need your help here, Tommy."

You glance up to see the men looking at one another as if in mutual contemplation, like they are silently communicating with each other.

"I hear ya," Tommy whispers back. Then he shakes his head and let's out a wry chuckle. He no longer looks concerned for you or outraged at Joel. Infact, he looks amused, and it makes you feel sick.

"Tryin' to get you jealous cos you made her angry?" Tommy muses with a smirk.

"Yeah. So I told her I'll be teachin' her a few things. Like how she can't walk around actin' like a desperate slut, unless she wants to be treated like one." Joel mutters. He sounds so nonchalant and cold, speaking about you as if you were a disobediant pet. It's humiliating.

Tommy tilts his head to the side and smiles down at you, his beautiful brown eyes gleaming with roguish excitement. "So you were just teasin' me? Can't say I ain't disappointed. Was startin' to think I finally had a chance with ya, sweetheart."

Shame heats your cheeks and you look down at your fingers as they figet with the hem of your skirt.

"But my big brother's right, you know," Tommy adds conversationally. "Ya can't be showin' off your goodies to just any guy for attention. Wrong person could really take advantage of you."

Despite not looking at Tommy you're listening intently to every word he's saying. Joel hums in agreement.

"And ya know what? I'm feelin' generous today, sweetheart. I'm gonna help you remember to be a good girl, okay? Show ya just what could happen if you're not careful."

"What...what are you going to do to me?" You ask meekly.

Tommy chuckles but there is no mirth or warmth in his tone. "Don't you worry about a thing, Joel knows I'm a great teacher."

Your mind screams at you to run but you can't.

A minute later Joel is standing with his back against the wall and his arms folded, his biceps straining under the material of his shirt. His eyes are fixed on you, his expressjon unreadable. You are still kneeling, but this time you're positioned in front of Tommy. He has sat back down on the couch with his legs spread wide, only now his jeans are pulled down his thighs and his hard cock stands naked. He fists himself with languid strokes as he stares at you. His other hand holds the end of Joel's belt.

"Come closer and suck my cock, honey." Tommy croons. "Show me what that sweet lil mouth can do."

You turn your head to look back at Joel. "Joel," your voice warbles, "please, I'm sorry, don't make me do this."

He just shakes his head stoically. Tommy jerks the belt sharply to redirect your focus back to him.

"Come on, I'm bein' gentle with ya right now," Tommy admonishes. "But I ain't playin' around, kid. Suck my dick."

He wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and angles the fat wet head slightly downwards toward you.

"Do it, baby," you hear Joel encourage you softly. "Show me how sorry you are."

You sniffle and let out a shuddering sigh. You're still not exactly sure how this is supposed to be teaching you a lesson, but you're determined to prove yourself to Joel. Because you love him too much to let him go, because you'd do anything to make him happy, even if that means letting yourself be degraded by him and his brother.

You creep forwards a little more so you're right in between Tommy's legs and close to his cock. You purposely avoid meeting his stare; you want to get this over and done with quickly, and hope that by treating it like a chore, a task without intimacy, it will be easier to endure. You open your mouth and give the head of Tommy's cock a kitten lick.

"Come on, no more teasin'," Tommy drawls.

You obey and lick a long stripe up the underside of his length, making him moan lowly. He isn't as big as Joel but he's still well endowed, still thick and veiny. You press a few wet kisses along his shaft, your red lipstick smearing across his skin.

"That's it, sweetie," Tommy sighs, his voice rough with lust. "Put it in your mouth now."

You open your lips and take the head into your mouth, then begin to suck. Tommy brings his hand to your head and grasps a hank of your hair to gently coax you to bob further down. You follow his silent instruction but feel yourself start to zone out, your mind drifting.

You can do this.

Then the warm touch of Joel's hands slide over your thighs and your ass, his rough skin prickling along the sheer nylon of your stockings, and you realise he's now crouched behind you on one knee. You freeze. What's he doing now?

"It's okay babydoll," he cooes. "Keep goin', you're doin' so good."

Tommy bucks his hips a bit to puntuacte Joel's command. You continue to suck around Tommy's cock, bobbing your head up and down lazily, only taking him halfway inside your mouth. You're too absorbed with Joel's hands caressing your ass to really pay attention to Tommy. You still don't look at him, instead focusing your gaze on his stomach.

Then you hear the tearing sound of your stockings as Joel suddenly rips the material apart with both hands, leaving a large hole at the crotch. He yanks your thong to the side and you feel his fingers splay open your pussy lips from behind. Your pussy clenches involuntarily and your body tenses. You make a muffled noise of alarm.

"It's just me, baby," Joel whispers soothingly.

"Think I've given her enough time, brother?" Tommy interjects above you, the amusement in his voice evident. "Think I've been plenty patient."

"Yeah," Joel mutters in response. "She's ready."

Ready for what?

Your mind buzzes with dread. You start to pull off Tommy but his grip on your hair tightens.

"Hey, where you think you're goin'?" Tommy laughs. "We're just gettin' started, sugar. Now open your mouth wide like the little whore you are."

Tommy suddenly pushes your head down onto his cock forcefully, stuffing your mouth full of his girth. You splutter and choke on him, tears immediately pricking your eyes. You flatten your palms on his legs and try to push away from him but he holds your head still.

"Fuck yeah, there we go," Tommy groans. "Right in there."

He restrains you for a few more moments, then yanks you off of him. You gasp and cough, lungs burning. You barely have a moment to recover before you feel the head of Joel's cock prodding the entrance of your pussy. Joel gives you no opportunity to protest; he pushes himself inside your pussy in one swift, agonising stroke, stretching your hole so painfully that you scream raggedly.

Tommy laughs. "Aw, that hurt ya, sugar?"

Joel remains buried fully inside you as he sinks his hands into the flesh of your hips to stabilise himself. "Always so tight," Joel grunts. "Usually work her open first."

"You're a lucky man, brother," Tommy grins. He takes his dick and rubs the tip over your lips, smearing more of your red lipstick. "Me and the guys still can't believe you get to fuck this sweet lil thing."

You sob and screw your eyes shut. Joel slowly rocks his hips back and forth in an effort to stretch you out, gradually letting you adjust. Your body trembles uncontrollably while you whimper loudly.

"You're alright, baby," Joel murmurs. "It's okay, you're doin' so good for me."

You hear Tommy scoff.

"Stop bein' soft on her, man," Tommy barks. He gives you a sharp slap on the side of your face and you wail. "She's gonna finish what she fuckin' started."

Using both hands to hold your head in place, Tommy shoves his dick back into your mouth and begins pumping his hips rapidly. He fucks your face with short brutal thrusts, the head of his cock knocking the back of your throat with each stroke. You struggle to breathe around him and clutch the bunched material of jeans around his thighs. Your eyes are still shut tight as the tears run freely down your face.

Joel continues to fuck you at an unhurried pace, your pussy slowly adjusting to the unexpected intrusion. Although his movements are not anywhere near as rough as Tommy's, the mere sensation of fullness borders on overwhelming. You feel surrounded by them, your body possessed by them, split open and violated like you're an object, a toy. The room is filled with the sounds of Tommy's panting, Joel's heavy breathing, and the obscenely wet gagging noises your throat makes. If your stomach wasn't empty you'd surely vomit all over him.

Tommy is rentless as he fucks your mouth. He doesn't give a shit that you cannot properly breathe, and you fear you may pass out.

"Oh shit," Joel moans, his voice deep and rumbling. "Pussy fuckin' squeezin' me so good."

Tommy slams his hips into your face so that his entire cock is buried down your throat, and stills. Your throat constricts around him as your body is robbed of air. Joel's fingernails dig painfully into your flesh.

"How about now?" Tommy asks Joel with a breathless laugh. "She get tighter?"

"Uh-huh," Joel moans. "Chokin' me like a fuckin' virgin." His hips start to move faster and he begins to slam into you with more force, getting lost in the intense pleasure of defiling your body.

"Yeah? Well she's chokin' on my dick like a fuckin' pro." Tommy releases you with a sigh.

You cough miserably and try to suck in gulps of air. Tommy gathers the saliva dripping from your abused mouth with his fingers and rubs it over your face.

"Stop!" You manage to screech through the rawness of your throat. You use all your might to rear your upper body back. "Stop it! Joel, please!"

Joel slows his thrusts hesitantly, but doesn't halt altogether. You wish you could see his face, wish you could read his expression; maybe he would take pity on you if he could see how wrecked and sorry you are. His thumbs stroke your hips lightly, as if reassuring you he's still there, that the man you love so much is still with you.

"Joel," you sob pathetically, hoarsely.

"Baby," Joel drawls. His voice is thick and slurred, the way it gets when he is engrossed in pleasure while fucking you. "Ain't finished yet. Just a little longer, I promise."

"I can't!"

"Oh no," Tommy suddenly growls. "I ain't done with you yet, bitch. Joel might be soft with ya, but I don't give a fuck how much you beg."

He grabs the back of your head and manhandles you back toward his cock. He takes advantage of the split second when you open your mouth to take in a breath of air and then shoves his cock past your lips. He begins brutally fucking your mouth again, simultaneously pumping his hips and moving your face in a punishing rhythm.

"Won't be lookin' for another man's attention now," Tommy pants heavily, "not after I fill that throat."

Joel's hips pick up speed and he drives his cock faster in and out of you. He doesn't speak though, seemingly too preoccupied with fucking you doggystyle to add to his brother's words. The slap of his skin against yours echoes around the living room. He isn't fucking you as hard as he usually does; this tempo feels almost tender and loving, like he's going easy on you, a small gesture mercy. A few groans and moans slip from his mouth, but otherwise he remains a quiet dominating presence behind you.

You can't do anything but allow Tommy to violate and bruise your throat. It only takes couple of minute for him to reach his climax, although it feels like forever to you. He grunts loudly, like an animal, as his dick pulses and a warm load of semen shoots into your mouth. When he pulls out you are quick to swallow it, desperate to be able to breathe unobstructed once more. You splutter and sob, your windpipe thick with cum and tears and pleghm.

Joel orgasms soon after. You feel his cock throb and then spurt hot ropes of cum deep inside your pussy. You clench around him and moans rumble through his chest.

"Good girl," he says breathlessly. He pats your hip.

Tommy rolls his eyes and shoves you backwards to stand up from the couch. He pulls up his jeans and underwear and tucks his softening dick back into his underwear. He tsks as he wipes his red stained fingers on his jeans.

"Messy little whore," Tommy mutters to himself.

Joel removes the belt from your neck gingerly and lets it fall to the ground. He then withdraws from you and stands, his knees cracking as he straightens up. The abscence of his large frame bracketing you makes you collapse on the carpet, body weak and wracking with shivers, wanting so badly to be swallowed up by the ground disappear completely.

Tommy scoffs and stares down at you with cold hate in his eyes, a frightening juxtaposition to the sweet Tommy you have always known.

"Stupid cunt," Tommy snarls with disgust. "Next time ya even think about playin' up, remember how I wrecked your mouth." He fastens his belt, the large metal bullhead buckle glinting. "Joel's the only man who'd ever put up with your bullshit. If I were him, I'd throw ya out on the street, let the fuckin' dogs have you."

He steps over you, uncaring as his boot treads on your hair, and murmers something quiet to Joel. Joel responds but you can't hear what is said. Then Tommy walks out of the room and leaves the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

The house is deathly silent apart from your heavy breathing and weeping. Your throat feels raw and scratchy, and your lips feel puffy and sore. Joel's cum is beginning to seep out from your pussy but you can't bring yourself to move.

"How ya feelin', baby girl?" Joel asks as he crouches down beside you. His large hands smooth the hair from your face and his big puppy dog eyes roam over you, studying you closely. "Are you okay?"

When you don't move or verbally respond, Joel slips his hands underneath your body and lifts you into his arms. He grumbles with exertion and his joints crack when he stands up to carry you out of the room. Your head rests instictively against his broad chest and one of your hands clutches at the collar of his shirt.

"I want you to get in the shower and get yourself clean," he instructs you sternly. "But don't take too long."

Joel carries you up the stairs and you feel like a broken doll in his strong arms. He reaches the bathroom but just before he is about to set you down, you whine pitifully.

"I'm sorry," you croak tearfully. "I won't do it again."

Joel sighs and carefully deposits you to stand on the tiled floor. You wobble like a newborn foal on your heels and he steadies you with his hand around your arm. A gush of his cum runs down your inner thigh.

"I know you won't," he admits. "Because if you do, I'm gonna fuck your ass so hard you won't be able to sit for a week. Might even let Tommy or one of the others have a go, too."

"No!" You grip his shirt tightly in your fist and shake your head vehemently. You stare at Joel with wide, panicked eyes. The thought of either brother punishing your ass terrifies you. You've only tried anal once with Joel, and his dick was too thick and fat to even breach your asshole. He was understanding when you cried and told him to stop. He has been wanting to try again but you haven't been ready yet, and although he has been patient, you know deep down he desperately desires to claim your ass. And after tonight, you know Tommy wouldn't hesitate to stick his cock in without any preparation. He would most likely get off on your screams, the mess, the blood. It sends a shiver up your back.

"You've learnt your lesson?" Joel cocks an eyebrow at you inquisitively.

You nod eagerly. "Yes Joel, yes. I swear, I promise I won't do anything like that again."

He nods, satisfied, and gives you an affectionate slap on your ass.

"Get cleaned up and wash your mouth out. I'm stayin' home to watch the game. And I want you downstairs pourin' me a glass of whiskey in ten minutes. Understood?"

"Yes, Joel," you whisper timidly. His jaw ticks as he gives you one last, lingering look.

"Good girl," Joel drawls. Then he stalks away, leaving you alone in the bathroom.

You start the shower and stare at your reflection while you unclasp your bra. Your red rimmed eyes are glassy. Your cheeks are filthy with the remanents of smudged mascara and lipstick. Your lips are swollen and bruised.

You look used and broken.

You step into the hot shower. You scrub your body zealously with a soapy loufa and wash your mouth out thoroughly with water and mouthwash. You worked quickly, mindful not to be any longer than necessary, just as Joel had instructed you. He needed you to serve him and you couldn't keep him waiting.

After all, you had learnt your lesson.

The end.

I hope you guys liked it! A massive thank you to the legendary @romanarose for coming up with Dead Dove December and for giving dark content writers a safe space to explore and share their work.

[licensed2faint]

I said like forever ago that I would make tier list for dragon types, and I've finally gone and done it. Big thanks to @veterantrainerray for suggesting I do this like a month ago.

These lists are directed at newbie trainers, specifically younger trainers. If you're thirty-two and have a twenty acre property and all the time in the world to read up on the care and training of a Salamence, go for it. I'm not your dad.

I've ONLY added Pokemon I have personally trained, so I can try to explain each list. I made two lists, one for captive-bred 'mon and one for wild-caught. Captive-bred pokemon tend to be hardier and less temperamental, so the list is a bit different. ALSO, while I used the final forms, this list is assuming you got them in their first form. I do not recommend trying to train a fully-grown wild Salamence. For any reason. That's a catch-and-release beastie.

honourable mention: Gyarados. Not a dragon-type, but temperamental as one. My recommendation is that this is a very strong guy who (probably) loves you very much for taking care of him when he was weak, and also he hates everyone else. Train him to wait for your command, and also socialize him while he's still a Magikarp to avoid the 'us vs. them' mindset as much as you can.

~~~

First up, the 'domestic-bred dragon list!'

Explanation:

Acceptable Starter: Swablu and Dratini are not very aggressive pokemon, and domestic-bred ones are usually much hardier than their wild counterparts. Dratini are a little more intelligent, and thus easier to train, but a domestic Swablu is pretty intelligent itself. Neither of them evolves into a pokemon known for aggression, so I think overall they're pretty well-suited travelling companions.

Fine with experience: Horsea is Horsea. You know him, you love him. Domestic ones, are, again, hardier than than their wild counterparts.. Honestly, the reason I have them here rather than 'acceptable starter' is because of Seadra. All the good breeding in the world can't guarantee a calm Seadra. You have to make sure your Horsea is well-trained BEFORE it evolves. But if it is? Your Kingdra is gonna be a breeze. Way more chill than Seadra, if not a bit snooty.

Druddigon get a bad rap, which is unfortunate. I love them. Might be my favourite dragon type. Domestic breeds are hard to come by, since they're not very popular, but the ones I've met are wonderful. They enjoy sunbathing a lot. The reason I put them here is actually because they tend to be stubborn. And while it takes a lot (compared to other dragon types, NOT most pokemon) to get them irritated, they CAN AND WILL use their strength to solve a problem. So the difficulty lies in getting them motivated enough to train them well. But if you're just looking for a guy who sits out in your yard sunbathing and looking scary, maybe give a breeder a call...? (you should still train them not to attack without a command, though!)

Flygon is actually usually really sweet-tempered. The reason he's so low is actually because of Trapinch and Vibrava! Trapinch, even domestically bred ones, are not all that intelligent, and thus hard to train for people who don't know what they're doing. The digging instinct can be very, very difficult to train out. They're hard-wired for it, it's how they survive in the wild! Vibrava are much more intelligent, but when they first evolve, there WILL be accidents with the wings. They're still figuring things out. Give 'em time, teach them to only do that stuff outdoors, etc etc. But if you can get through that, Flygon are wonderful companions! Every now and again in Hoenn you'd find a family with a pet Flygon instead of the typical Skitty or Poochyena. Love em.

Might need outside help: Domestic Gibble tend to be much less wantonly destructive than wild-caught, since having that bred out of them was a big goal of the original breeding programs in the first place. That said, instinct is instinct. If you aren't giving them their proper exercise every day and making sure to train them, they are going to wreak havoc. You need to be paying attention to it at all times. They're also pretty curious lil' guys! This means they will see something neat, like a fire hydrant, go 'hey, what's that?' and then answer that question by destroying it. They tend to get labeled 'aggressive' which is. Well it's not really true, but the difference between 'playtime' and 'this little guy hates you' doesn't matter so much when you're human and a Gibble is chasing you, open-mouthed. Domestic Gabite are much more calm on that front, and fully-trained, domestic Garchomp tend to be remarkable bastions of self-control. Again, it's all about surviving and training that first stage.

Pros Only: Both of these guys are here for similar reasons: Their instinct in their final evolutions has a tendency to override their training, so you're gonna have to not only have a firmer hand then a lot of trainers are comfortable with, but train them pretty continuously throughout their lives. They're fiercely independent, so forming a bond based on respect very early on in their lives is direly important. Otherwise you ain't getting them to do anything for you. Thankfully, at the very least the domestic breeds tend to not be too violent/destructive.

Salamence has an added difficulty: most people don't train their Bagon or Shelgon correctly. Bagon is one of the most easygoing dragon types out there, and Shelgon have a tendency to be pretty placid. This leads to trainers not taking their training too seriously early on, which leads to disastrous consequences once they're fully evolved. Just because your Bagon listens to you doesn't mean your Salamence will. Practice your recall training. Or Else.

You put that thing back where it came from or so help me: Hydregion is smarter than you. You may be able to train a Deino. I don't know you. They're bitey, but not the worst out there. But you do NOT have the resources or the know-how to handle a Zweilous. Straight-up. They have high energy levels, need a LOT of food, and can and WILL injure themselves via infighting. There's a reason Hydregion is rare as hell, and it's because a lot of them don't make it to adulthood due to injuries. It's a survival of the fittest tactic. I love Hydregion. I have one. If you don't have a damn mountain range in your backyard, don't get one. They NEED a place to go off and be destructive, and they're territorial as all hell. Just don't. Please.

~~~

Next up, the Wild-Caught List!

As you can see, there's nothing on the acceptable starter list. I'll get into why in the next categories.

Fine with experience: You're looking at basically the same thing with the wild Kingdra line as you would be with a domestic breed, with one notable difference: Wild Horsea tend to be a lot less hardy and a lot more timid. It'll take it longer to start trusting you, but honestly just doing the upkeep to keep it happy and healthy should start winning it over. They're more intelligent than most people give 'em credit for. Your eventual Kingdra is probably also gonna be more headstrong, but honestly for some trainers, that's a good thing.

Dratini suffers from the same problem. They have pretty specific habitat needs- but if you're at the point in your journey where you get your hands on a wild Dratini, honestly I'd trust that you're able to provide what it needs. Bonus, though, is that while wild Dratini can be cautious, they're very curious, too! And if your vibes are good (lookin at you, Ray!) they're usually more than happy to come along with you. And as our dear friend Ray is learning, one that is eager to battle is a ready and willing student! There's a reason they have such a great reputation.

Might need outside help: Wild Druddigon tend to be pretty territorial, on top of all the stubbornness. They're usually also a bit more proactive in expressing the classic dragon type temperament. You're looking at more intensive training to get recalling down and increase their tolerance for being bothered. No shame in asking a dragon-type expert. That said, I still love these guys. If you can read their body language, you could probably get through a cave of them no problem.

Oh, Swablu. Swablu, what will we do with you? Wild Swablu are flighty little critters, and kind of frail, to boot. And wild Alteria are stubborn. They will not get dirty. They think they are better than you. This isn't to say they're awful! An Alteria is usually pretty affectionate with its trainer, wild or domestic. A properly-trained one isn't going to be raging any more than a Dragonite or a Kingdra. But trying to train a Swablu is harder than it seems, just because they're not great listeners. If You've got patience and a guide, you're fine, but really I'd suggest asking an expert.

I don't know how to say this without sounding mean. Please understand I've raised five Trapinch. They are. Difficult. and a little stupid. Wild ones especially don't really have any sort of grasp on the world of training. You are looking at one hell of an uphill battle. But they're kind of a rite of passage for Hoennian trainers, and if they can do it, you can too! Really, you're going to be doing most of the 'basic training' for these guys in the Vibrava stage. You should still be taking the time to get your Trapinch used to being balled and the sound of your voice, obviously, but the traditional way to train a Trapinch is to do double battles until it evolves. Then do a lot of the indoor-outdoor distinction, once it can understand what a building is. And if you can deal with a Trapinch, you can deal with a Flygon. They're pretty relaxed, especially for a dragon type.

Pros Only: You don't have the patience for a wild Gibble, and you almost certainly aren't capable of tying down The King of the Caves when he wants to rampage. That said, if you do manage to train one right, and you've got a firm hand an a certain kind of attitude, you've got a partner for life. A wild Garchomp's respect is a tough thing to earn, but it's worth it. I was debating putting him on the final tier, but honestly... if you're really, really dedicated it's certainly possible. But you NEED to get in contact with somebody who knows what they're doing. Trying to freehand training is going to get your arm torn off.

Honestly, with Salamence, you're looking at about the same issues as you would be with a domestic, with two exceptions: your Bagon's gonna be a bit more of a wild child (but still nothing crazy) and your Salamence is gonna be aggressive. No way around it. Keeping it trained is a full-time job. If you're not looking to make a trained team of six and would rather just focus on a few, then you might have the time to dedicate to making sure the training sticks. Otherwise, leave it.

You put that thing back where it came from or so help me: Look at me. Look at me. Do not go near a wild Hydregion. Do not attempt to steal a Hydregion's baby. You will die, and it will hurt the whole time you are dying. And then that beast is going to start rampaging, and if there's a human settlement on or even near its territory, they are going to pay the price for your stupidity. Then they'll call the rangers in, and IF they can subdue the Hydregion, they're not going to be able to release it, because Hydregion can always find their way back home. They'll have to put it down. Don't fucking do it.

You can probably keep and train a wild Axew. Just make sure it has an everstone, because you are in no way, shape, or form prepared for a wild Haxorous. See the above, minus the rampaging parts. They're usually content with just you and anybody in a direct line-of-sight. If you train it well, it'll probably just run off into the hills instead of attacking you, at least. They've got really powerful instincts, and need things most people can't provide. 'Oh but Laser, don't you have a wild-caught Haxorous?' I do and I also have an entire nature preserve, complete with mountain range. He loves me, in his own way. I know this because he is willing to wait for food and not attack everything in his territory. I can go into his territory without being instantly vaporized, and he's willing to come out of his territory and interact with me. This does not mean he is safe to be around. It only means that I have twenty years of experience. If you want one, get a domestic breed. There's plenty of Axew breeders all over Unova.

~~~

I hope this was informative! Please remember that pokemon are individuals, and not all of them will conform to what I've laid out here. Please also remember that your life is not worth the possibility that you could get that one in a billion, super nice Hydregion. Dragon types have their reputation for good reason, and I simply can't stress enough that you need to do a lot of research before owning any of them.

Good luck!

[goldenherc9]

Superbowl Pre-Game Training (Part 1)

The gym reeked of sweat and protein powder as Ares ( @goldengod-ares10 ) and Hercules—identical twin behemoths, linebackers for the Golden Army—pounded through their final set of deadlifts. Clad in their gleaming golden compression gear, the brothers were a living testament to brawn over brains, their thick, rippling muscles flexing with every rep.

“Bro, we’re gonna wreck the Emerald Titans,” Ares grunted, veins bulging as he hoisted the barbell up, his face scrunched in pure effort. “Ain’t no way they stopping us.”

“Dude, facts,” Hercules agreed, bouncing his pecs in the mirror, admiring his own reflection like it was a religious experience. “We’re like—unstoppable, bro. Like, a force of nature. Like, a golden hurricane or somethin’.”

Ares slammed the weights down with a loud clang and pointed at his twin, his brow furrowed in intense thought. “Bro, hurricanes aren’t golden.”

Hercules paused, mouth slightly open as if he had just been hit with the most mind-bending revelation of his life. “Yo. That’s crazy. But like, we are golden. And we bring destruction. So we’re kinda like… if a hurricane was made of solid muscle and touchdowns.”

Ares nodded solemnly. “True.”

They turned back to the squat rack, where their coach had programmed an ungodly number of reps. Both brothers cracked their necks in unison, a synchronized display of pure, dumb power.

“We gotta get even bigger, bro,” Hercules said, adjusting his golden jersey, which clung to his massive chest like a second skin. “Coach says mass moves mass. More mass, more touchdowns. Simple science, bro.”

Ares, never one to question such flawless logic, grabbed the protein shake sitting on the bench and chugged the whole thing in three seconds flat. “Bro, we need, like, double the protein. Maybe triple.”

“Yo, we should just eat straight-up cows,” Hercules suggested, rubbing his chin like a scholar deep in thought. “Like, whole cows. Just grab ‘em, bite ‘em. More protein, more power.”

Ares slapped his twin on the back, grinning. “Dude, genius. You should be a scientist.”

Hercules beamed, flexing his arms. “Already am, bro. A scientist of PAIN.”

They erupted into laughter, a deep, booming sound that echoed across the gym as they threw more plates onto the barbell. The Emerald Titans didn’t stand a chance.

Come join the team bruhs message @brodygold @polo-drone-001 @goldenherc9 for ya golden brocess today dudes!

[gremlinmodetweeker]

The Base of the Mountain is the Hardest Part to Climb

Y'all I got something stuck in my head: Centaur!König. I've got terminal brainrot. Somebody save me from myself.

Tws: PTSD, military background

Wordcount: 2.6K

Art from This Post

Rest of the Story Below the Cut

The Base of the Mountain is the Hardest Part to Climb

“Johnny, what am I looking at here?”

“Your new therapy centaur, sir,” Johnny clapped you on your flank, “she’s perfect, isn’t she?”

Price looked you up and down, his ears pinning back as the sides of his mutton chops pulled down while he took in your stature.

“Johnny, you know how big König is, right?” he crossed his arms, “he’s a bloody shire.”

“So he’s a gentle giant!” Johnny urged you to walk behind him.

Once you were standing in front of Price you were able to make out the skeptical look in the bugbear's blue eyes.

“I’m just worried he’ll hurt her if he has another panic attack,” Price gruffed, “it's expensive enough to hire one properly trained centaur. Don’t wanna have to go and find another one.”

“Sir, I think you might find this little haflinger’s temperament to be a good match for our big boy,” Johnny offered, “she’s been properly trained in my program to work with centaurs with König’s sort of conditions. Right?”

You nodded politely.

"I've been training here for the past three years with Johnny. I'm pretty used to dealing with all sorts of centaurs."

“She’s perfect for the job!” Johnny grinned wolfishly as he adjusted into a more comfortable stance.

“You really think she can hold her own against a veteran centaur with anxiety and PTSD?” Price growled, “I don’t want another dud.”

“May I remind you sir that you hired the other one off of Facebook Marketplace,” Johnny said, “I’ve known this lovely lady for years now. You trained me yourself, right? You’re not saying you don’t trust your best student?”

“Kyle is my best student,” Price scoffed as he scratched his chin, “but if you’ve been her trainer, then maybe.”

“Simon just hired another one of my students,” Johnny put his foot up on a bale of hay, “if you really don’t trust my work, call him up. He’ll vouch for me.”

Price scoffed, “It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s that I don’t trust König. He’s…”

“He’s a tough nut to crack,” Johnny offered.

“Sure.”

“Well look, did you bring the big boy over?” Johnny asked and looked over Price’s shoulder.

“He’s in the trailer,” Price nodded to his truck, “but I’m not sure about it just yet.”

“We can put ‘em in the south field,” Johnny offered, “we'll watch and see how it goes. You remember the safety signal?"

You held up three fingers.

"Perfect," Johnny beamed at you.

“I want König tied up,” Price grunted.

You looked at the rusted teal trailer. Through the slits you could see a giant shape nervously moving from side to side.

“Sir,” you meekly cut in, “if König’s got such intense anxiety, I think the confinement might make things worse for him.”

Price looked you up and down. With a sigh, he shrugged and walked back to his trailer and said, “Your funeral.”

Johnny nudged you in the side, "Alright, time to get your gear ready.”

You grinned and trotted behind him to the barn.

When he had you settled in place, he handed the saddle pad over to you and helped to tuck it into place. After that came the pack bag fashioned into a neat little vest on your chest and back, the words ‘THERAPY ANIMAL’ in bold white letters on a black background. You smiled as you admired it on your back.

“You show ‘em you earned this,” Johnny patted the vest fondly.

“I will,” you said with a smile, “I’m sure I can handle this guy.”

“Just remember what I told you about him. Run it down for me?”

“He’s a veteran from the KorTac unit, employed in hostage rescue scenarios overseas. After his last mission, he had a breakdown that resulted in his expulsion from the army. He's since been diagnosed with social anxiety and severe PTSD,” you rattled off.

Johnny took your hand and nudged you forward, “You’ll do great.”

“I will,” you said firmly, “I can handle this.”

“It’s not your first case,” Johnny reminded you as he led you to the pasture, “but he’s not like Simon’s clients, he’s a bit different. Same unit, different centaur, right?”

“Right.”

“Price handles the most difficult cases from KorTac,” Johnny ran a hand through his short mohawk, “trained me and the other 141 team to help these soldiers reintegrate back into civilian life. He’s good at what he does, but sometimes things are too big for even him. If Price is asking for help with this one…”

“I’ll be safe,” you promised.

“Good,” he opened the door to the pasture and let you in, “now remember what I taught you.”

You nodded and trotted over to the far side of the pen.

In the distance, you saw Johnny trotting over to Price to help him lead König over. Even now you could see him straining against the rope. He looked around frantically, his ears pinned to the back of his head as he took in his surroundings.

“It’s okay,” Price muttered as he soothed König’s sides, “just be good. Please, please be good.”

The moment he was let into the pasture, Price took off the rope and let him free.

It seemed that König didn’t even notice you in the pen, far too intent on kicking the gate and snarling out curses.

“I’m not meant to be here!” he yelled and kicked at the metal gate, “I’m supposed to be on base!”

“You’re not in the army anymore,” Price called back tiredly.

“You lying sack of-”

Deciding enough was enough, you trotted over lightly to introduce yourself. As soon as König noticed you, he stumbled back.

“Careful,” you warned him as he backed up.

“Who the fuck are you?” he snapped.

“I’m your new therapy friend!” you chirped.

“Therapy?” König snorted, “I don’t need therapy. What I need is a mythical animal rights advocate. I've been taken against my will here!"

"It's court ordered," Price called back.

You sighed. This was already shaping up to be a tough case.

“I’m sorry König, but I can’t really help with that,” you told him gently, “but maybe you could stop kicking the gate and we can talk things out?”

König, surprisingly, lowered his back hoof and settled. He glared down at you from behind the dark shroud he wore on his face.

“What’s with the hood?” you asked.

He gestured to the scars that covered his body.

“Right,” you bit your lip, “makes sense. So, my name is-”

“I don’t care what your name is,” König spat, “you’re just a pet, aren’t you?”

“A-a pet?” you spluttered, “I’m a trained and licensed therapy centaur!”

“And I don’t need your help,” König chuffed, “so why don’t you go off and play your little mind games somewhere else.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, “I’m sorry, but neither of us really have a choice in this. It's literally my job to be here."

“I could snap you in half,” he snarled, “I don’t need to listen to some little pony who thinks she can change the world by being nice and cute and sweet.”

“I didn’t say I could,” you replied as pleasantly as you could, “I’m just here to help you deal with your emotions.”

If looks could kill, you’d be eviscerated on the spot.

“Okay, so, I appreciate that maybe this isn’t something you really want to do right now, but maybe we could start by getting to know each other?”

He narrowed his eyes into slits and stepped back.

“Your name’s König, right?” you asked, “did Price tell you who I am?”

“He told me you were going to be a pain in my ass,” he snapped back.

You shot a glare at Price.

“I told him you were a therapist animal to help him calm down!” Price called back. He turned to say something to Johnny and shook his head.

“You’re a pain in my ass,” he repeated, “my personal thorn.”

“If it helps, maybe we could try talking about boundaries?” you offered, “one of my boundaries is being called slurs, like apple or grazer. I think it’s a degrading term that dehumanises our species, don’t you think?”

König stared you down.

“Is that alright with you?” you asked.

“Sure,” he nodded, “Apple.”

You glared at him.

“My boundary is that you’re not going to tell me what to do,” König’s ears pinned flat against his skull, “and I don’t want you getting in my way.”

“If I don’t get in your way, would you be okay with me helping you?” you offered.

König glanced back over to Price, then back at you. Something about the way his eyes traced your form unsettled you to your core. Unfortunately for you, you had a job to do.

“I’d consider it,” König offered.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Maybe we could try this again,” you said hopefully, “I’m going to be your therapy assistant. I’m here to help make your life off the battlefield a little bit easier.”

“And how is that supposed to work?” König scoffed, “what are you going to do, tell me to talk about my feelings?”

“If you want to talk about your feelings we can do that,” you offered, “but that’s not what we have to do. We could talk about anything you want.”

“And if I don’t want to talk?”

“Nobody’s going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do,” you said with a smile, “honestly, some veterans just find the physical company good enough.”

König slowly stepped forth. As he approached, you realized just how much bigger he was than you. Once he stopped in front of you. He loomed over you like a spirit of death itself.

You looked around him to see if Price and Johnny were still there. Johnny gave you a thumbs up behind Price.

König lowered himself down, down, down until his hood blocked your view. You could feel the hot air of him sniffing your head, and then he took a step back.

“You’re a strange little thing, Apple,” he said slowly as he straightened up, “but something tells me you’ll be fun to keep around.”

“So, you want to keep going with our services?” you stepped back to give yourself some breathing space.

König nodded and crossed his muscular arms over his chest. Even through his black long sleeve you could make out the definitions of his biceps.

You leaned around and gave a small thumbs up to Johnny. He cheered and clapped Price on the back, making the older bugbear grimace and shake his head. Johnny ignored him to open the gate and walk over to your side. Beside him, Price held König's lead.

He stepped up to König and grit his teeth. You watched powerlessly as he tied the rope around König’s wrists and stepped back. König glared down at the lead and snarled.

“C’mon,” Price sighed, “let’s get you back in the trailer.”

König growled deep in his chest, but there wasn’t much he could do. You followed the pair up to the trailer and watched as Price shoved König into the little thing. You realized that you didn’t have anywhere else to go.

“I’m going in with him?” you asked as Johnny packed your belongings in the car.

“Is that a problem?” Price asked carefully.

“No, not at all!” you laughed nervously as you looked at König’s massive bulk, “just might be a bit tight.”

“Sorry about that,” Price said, “only have the one trailer. Other one’s in the shop.”

You nodded and stepped up the ramp. You squeezed in beside König and looked up. He didn’t even bother looking down at you. You watched the door close behind you, shutting out all the light as it did. When you looked around, the only patches of light came through the high windows and the light scars on König’s black body.

“Cozy in here,” you said as you tried to avoid squeezing into König’s side.

König didn’t say anything, simply stared out the windows. You noticed his hide twitch when the truck started. Without a word, you reached over and stroked his fur.

“What are you doing?” he asked snapped.

“You look pretty upset,” you said quietly.

He glared down at you, then stomped one fluffy hoof and turned to look out the windows again.

The truck lurched into action and König jumped.

You didn’t tell him that you could feel him leaning into you.

—

“How long is the drive?” you asked after about fifteen minutes.

König glanced down at you and shrugged, “About an hour?” he offered, “that’s what Price told me.”

You nodded and let yourself lean back on König. You looked around, seeing flits of green flash through the windows.

“It’s kinda nice in here,” you said, “cozy.”

König snorted, “It’s horrible.”

“You think it sucks?”

“It’s…” he took a deep breath, “it’s too small in here. Dark.”

You nodded and tried to step to the side but he closed the gap immediately.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he snapped.

You flinched and pinned your ears. König snorted at your display.

“You didn’t like that?” he laughed, “I didn’t even raise my voice.”

“Why wouldn’t I be upset?” you countered.

König rolled his neck and said, “There’s no reason to take it so personally. I just said I was fine.”

“Yeah,” you said, “but you were mean about it.”

“I was mean about it?” he chuckled.

“Yeah!” you huffed, “you were mean!”

“If you think that’s mean then you wouldn’t survive a day in the army,” König puffed up with pride, “it’s that sort of weakness that gets stomped out.”

“But I’m not weak,” you furrowed your brows together.

“You’re not?” König scoffed, “could’ve fooled me,” he raised his fingers up and mockingly said, “let’s talk about our feelings today! Let’s all be friends! While we’re at it, let’s go pick flowers in the fields and dance together!’”

“I mean, that doesn’t sound so bad if you ask me,” you crossed your arms.

König looked at you as though you’d just told him you were actually a human in a centaur costume. He blinked and shook his head.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered.

“What?” you said, “that all sounds really nice!”

“It’s nice,” König snarked, “until you realise that it’s all a joke.”

“How is being nice a joke to you?”

He slowly turned and lowered himself to loom over you menacingly.

“Nice things come at a cost, Apple,” he snarled, “you live in a bubble. You know what?” his eyes flashed, “I’ll do you a favour! I’m gonna tell you how the world works.

“People like me live by stomping people like you into the dirt. Keep living in your little fantasy land all you like, I’m going to face reality and actually live a real life.”

König looked into your eyes, searching for any sort of meaningful reaction. Unfortunately for him, you refused to give him one.

“Maybe that’s what you were told,” you shrugged, “but that’s just not how the world actually works. I’m sorry, but the only person living in a bubble here is you.”

König rolled his eyes and turned away.

“One day you’ll wish you thanked me,” he sniffed as he straightened up to look out the windows again.

“Sure König,” you sighed, “sure. You keep telling yourself that.”

König’s ear flicked, “You really think you know better than me? You’ve never seen the real world.”

“And what’s the real world like?” you asked.

“It’s…” König’s ears drooped and his eyes softened, “it’s cruel.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” you whispered, “it can be better.”

König shook his head sadly, “No. No it can’t.”

“Maybe not,” you shrugged, “or maybe it can.”

“How?” König scoffed.

“That’s up for you to figure out,” you said.

“That doesn’t help me.”

“Not right now,” you admitted, “but you’ll figure it out eventually. It just takes time.”

König stared out the window for a while. His eyes narrowed until he scrunched them tight, then relaxed and slumped his shoulders.

You heard him whisper one thing.

“I hope so.”

Konig Dump

Konig Alternate Universes

Centaur!Konig

[polo-drone-039]

Golden Sync – Training the Trio 🏐🖤💛

....

The door slid open.

Both boys froze as Master Xavier,aka PDU-039, stepped in— body wrapped in gleaming black compression latex gold seams tracing his chiseled form like circuitry. The air thickened.

“You two,” Xavier’s voice purred—calm, dark, dominant. “You’re both serving me perfectly. And this little argument?” He glanced down, eyes glowing with intent. “It’s hot.”

Izzy @isaac-gold-45 bit his lip. Isidor grinned, cheeks flushed with pride. But before anyone could pounce, the tone shifted.

“Isidor,” the drone continued, stepping forward, “you pulled excellent analytics from the Hive network using PDU-999 protocols. The Orange Ocelots favor sharp crosscourt spikes and compressed defensive boxes. We’ll dismantle it.”

He tapped his visor—schematics lit up. “Triangle formation updated. Izzy—you’ll drill serve sync and deep backline coverage. With me.”

2 - Let’s make ‘em sweat

The court pulsed with golden light and bass. This wasn’t a gym—it was a conversion chamber. Everything shimmered. Everything demanded perfection.

Izzy stretched, his golden compression shorts hugging each perfect contour as he bounced the volleyball off his thigh with a teasing flick. “You ready, Master?” he asked, voice half-taunt, half-devotion.

The drone didn’t reply. It executed.

Gleaming in full Hive gear—black latex polo with gold-trimmed seams tight across his chest, rubberized knee guards gleaming— PDU-039 processed Isidor’s latest update.

“Trajectory data locked. Izzy—shift ten degrees deeper. Leap intensity: plus 12%. Begin synchronized serve-receive drill.”

“On it,” Izzy whispered, already moving.

On the sideline, Isidor observed, seated cross-legged, tablet glowing. “Ocelot defense forms tight diamonds. Break with Line B flood—Izzy rotates mid-flank.”

“Acknowledged” PDU-039 responded.

(image by Isaac Gold)

The whistle blew.

Izzy launched.

PDU-039 slid into stance, feet planted with machine precision.

The volley smacked sharp into the air—Xavier’s set was low, fast, and lethal. Izzy twisted mid-air, slammed it home.

Boom.

Isidor didn’t flinch. Just tapped notes. “Five percent late. Reset.”

Again.

Again.

Again.

Sweat gleamed. Muscles locked. Latex clung.

The court became a circuit board. Xavier the conductor. Izzy the spark. Isidor the algorithm.

“You feel that?” Izzy panted between sets, flushed, wild-eyed.

PDU-039 stepped close, fingers brushing Izzy’s side. “I feel unity. You’re becoming what I require.”

Izzy exhaled, trembling.

Whistle.

Drill.

This wasn’t training.

It was programming.

Ready to join the Team? All you need to do is contact our recruiters: @brodygold, @goldenherc9, or @polo-drone-001

[ellaa-writes]

Good Dog

author note: Part 3 yay!! Series list found here. I actually edited this one, I know! Probably still mistakes lol, I love writing this type of Simon but mean Simon is still my favourite. Reader and Simon parts are going on at different times, weeks apart, just in case of any confusion of time line. Enjoy!

summary: His favourite words include; down boy, good dog, heel, fetch and his most favourite, get 'em. Well trained, and listens good. Loyal through and through. Always striving to be the absolute best. Ready to attack at all times, always on guard. Loves discipline, either giving or receiving. Working for a criminal mastermind, lurking in the shadows. You both trying not to be seen or noticed but after one unlucky night, all you both can see are the ghosts. He invades your life, if you both like it or not.

tags: Alternative Universe. Female reader. A/B/O dynamics. Alpha Simon, Beta Reader, Bad Scottish lingo (I tried). Very tame and a chapter filler.

You hadn't seen Simon in a few weeks, must have gotten bored you thought, eventually everyone leaves so why wouldn't he. Things felt different with him, like timed slowed down and life finally had a meaning.

You stopped in front of a news stand, big bold letters. OMEGA POPLUATION HITS AN ALL TIME LOW; leading scientists may have found a solution. You snatched the paper and handed the worker $5 telling him to keep the rest as you rushed back home paper in hand. The title wasn't what caught your attention, it was a few paragraphs down the words doctor and experimental procedure. Tossing your belongings on the dining table soon as you entered your grungy apartment.

Reading the article fully, then once more. Doctors have developed a experimental drug that could alter a Beta women's chemistry. Tricking the body into thinking its an Omega, a few experiments have been conducted and results have so far been proven successful. But they are searching for more Beta women to submit themselves into the program.

Those words playing over and over in your head, becoming an Omega, and having a loyal and supportive Alpha. Not having to worry about all the small things, not having to work and struggle to make ends meet. You could leave your pathetic life behind.

All Simon did was follow orders, being the good dog, he is. A successful mission out of the way, the Boss left before he did. Having to hurry back cause of his Omega. Simon used to have dreams about settling down, but that was before he became ghost. Stupid child aspirations, but mostly because he felt like he didn't deserve one. And who would want him as an Alpha, all teeth, and hard edges. It would be a punishment to be stuck with him until death, and death would be the reward.

You jotted the number down on a piece of paper and stuck it to your fridge. You didn't have to decide now, but you were tempted to.

Dealing with Makarov was easier than expected most of these men act tough on the outside but soon as you start pulling out their insides, they change their tune. He wasn't in too much of a hurry to get home, it's been two weeks since he last saw her, he's been keeping his distance, not wanting to poison her cause that's what he was poison.

It was very late into the night when he finally arrived in the city, driving down the desolate neighborhoods till he found himself parked in front of his apartment. Not the one across from hers but the one he bought himself soon as he had enough money too. The only thing that remained from his previous life. Cutting the engine and walking inside.

He still had a landline, hard wired into the wall next to the thermostat. He's never used it and has never had anyone call it. Not like many people have the number anyways, emergency he told himself when he bought and installed it all those years ago. Having the number updated in his file, but now it hangs there mockingly. Much to his surprise when he walked into his quiet home, a little red dot glowing from the device.

He ignored it at first, taking his clothes off to take a quick shower. To wash away the memories that still plague him, the water never being hot enough. He stood there in nothing but a towel around his waist. Staring at that glowing red light, missed call.

He should just delete it, but he decided to play the message. A voice came through the small speaker, one that he thought he'd never hear again. John Price.

"Oi Simon, it's John. Ain't sure if this dog and bone's still on the go. Tried your mobile, but it's saying it's disconnected. Anyways, thought I'd drop you a bell 'cause we're gonna be in the city for a bit. Fancy a chinwag, like the old days, yeah? So, give me a call, same digits as ever. It'd be proper nice to catch up, Simon."

It was silent for a while afterwards, only Simon's heaving breathing filling up the space. Not once did they call him while he was locked up doing time, not once did they reach out and say they cared. They were family once, at least he thought they were. Stupid.

All the rage simmering up inside of him finally boiled over the edge. Simon grabbed the stupid phone and slammed it into the wall as hard as he could, again and again until there was nothing left but broken pieces of plastic, wiring and now a hole in his wall.

It only took you three hours of pacing back and forth in your tiny apartment, the small piece of paper stuck to your fridge door taunting you. As the line rang you debated on hang up, forgetting any of this happened but it was to late. The reception answered your call, redirecting you to the head of the project. Giving a little info over the phone they scheduled you in for the same day if you could make it. It was on the other side of town, the side you hardly went to cause there was no need. Unless you wanted to make yourself feel even more shitty about your life.

He debated if he should call, be the bigger person the little voice in his head called out. They had their reasoning for abandoning him, for treating him like the plague, they had to, right?

You were on the bus, watching as the fading sun descended and the moon turned brighter. The glow of city coming to life, some many people out and about. You barely had enough money to and back, getting off at the stop further away. Walking the rest to save a bit of cash and take in the scenery. The air was crisp, it never got too cold during the winter season. Also, long as the wind stayed away it was a mild year so far.

To say this was awkward was an understatement. Simon sat across from the beta Scottsman, not much has changed he thought. The group of men still joking around like nothing happened like good ol' times, they kept trying to get him in on it. Simon soon realised that this was a mistake, all of it. Calling Price and picking out this bar. They weren't his pack anymore, they ditched him soon as things went south.

Simon's grip on his glass of bourbon tightened when Johnny yelled "Right Lt." the group getting quiet afterwards, Johnny knew he fucked up. Simon got up abruptly, taking a big gulp of the burning liquid amber, polishing off his drink before slamming it back down.

"Goin’ for a smoke." as he grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair. Marching towards the front door. He could hear Kyle's faint call of his name, the beta man always playing mediator, Price holding Johnny back like an Alpha would a misbehaving puppy as Simon made his way outside.

"Bunch of fuckin' pricks." it was a whisper to himself, digging out his pack of smokes and shoving one into his mouth. Lighting it with ease as he sucked in a big lung full. The door to the bar opened and closed, fully expecting to smell the cigar-soaked Alpha but instead it was Johnny tail between his legs.

"I ken ye dinnae wanna gab about it." he tried but Simon cut him right off. "I don't." blowing a huge cloud in the betas face. "Weel, someone's gotta." he just wanted some fucking peace and quiet. "The start talkin’ or shut the fuck up." dropping his finished cigarette to the ground, giving it a good stomp before putting another to his lips.

"Things have changed, ye've changed. Ah ken everything's aw fucked up right now. We tried-" Simon huffed out a stiff laugh, not believing a thing the Scott was saying. He could see his lips still moving but he couldn’t hear what he was saying as a familiar scent caught his nose.

Before Simon could think a small body collided with Soaps as he stepped out towards the curb with a hand to the back of his neck. "Ah, fuck, sorry ‘bout that, lass." Simon watched in slow motion as you got knocked off balance. Johnny reaching out to help the poor thing but before, he could feel the growl coming from his chest and throat. Pushing the Beta to the side as he took a hold of you, bring you to his chest.

He could hear your lower whimper, there was something different about you. Your scent was sweeter, it was pulling him in like a bee to a flower. "Simon?" letting out in a shaky breath. "What are you doing here?" you looked up into his eyes. Your hands resting against his chest, the hard muscle underneath flexing, a low rumble coming from within. You’ve never seen him like this, so casual but also feral, eyes blown and panting.

"Am I interrupting ye in the midst of somethin'?" Johnny didn't know what the hell was going on. Looking at the Omega flushed against the old Alpha, he was just happy that after everything that happened it was nice to see his old lieutenant finally settling down with such a sweet thing. Simon finally broke his gaze from you, settling it on the Beta. “It was a nice chat, gotta go.”

"Come, I'll drive you home." he stated, gripping your upper arm as he moved you towards his car. The more you stood outside surround by people the more Simon got irritated. He couldn't put his finger on it, the changes within you. He'd been away from a couple of weeks; it was hard staying away but he had a responsibility and a job to do. "I can take the bus." you tried moving around Simon, spotting the other man who was now gawking. "Like hell." Simon held onto you firm, walking you to his car.

"See you around." the Scott yelled from somewhere behind. He couldn't wait to tell the other two men of what he witnessed. The grumpy old Alpha had found himself a sweet Omega.

The drive home was in silence, not even the radio to help ease the awkward tension building up in the car. When Simon pulled onto your street you gathered your belongings. "Wait." you snapped your head to the driver's side.

"What were you doing out so late?" he was trying to interrogate you "I had an appointment." you held your hands in your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. "Hmm" Simon grunted out, the whole way back to your apartment he had to stop himself from pulling the car over and pouncing on you.

Something wasn't right and he didn't like it or maybe he did. It confused him nonetheless and he wanted answers.

"You want to come up?" you don't know why you asked, why those words spilled out of your mouth. Simon was surprised too, cocking his head to side. "Sure." he cut the engine.

Once inside your apartment you didn't bother asking him if he wanted anything to drink. Unless he's into expired milk or tap water. The hulking man walked around your small place, picking things up and putting them down. Take in his surroundings, he already didn’t like you living in this area. He’s scoped out your apartment, the front door was a piece of shit, with a little bit of a jiggle and it popped open.

Walking towards your dingy couch he noticed the paper on the table, picking it up he scanned the words. You didn't.... His eyes found your form, busying yourself around your small kitchen. Shoving dirty dished into the sink to be forgotten about till later. Simon sniffed the air again, there was that familiar scent again. The smell of an Omega, the similar one that clung to his Boss, that filled every space of his home.

Omega.

He felt is heart quicken, his blood run thin. He's only had this feeling a few times, he was going to throw up and pass out at the same time. You noticed his completion pale, worrying you, grabbing a glass and filling it with your last bottle of water. Rushing to his side and calling his name.

Simon was so far away; he was in the middle of the raging ocean. The waves crashing over him, pulling him deeper under every unforgiving wave. Lungs full of burning salt water, gasping with arms stretched to the sky.

You could do the only thing you could think of you climbed into his lap. Curling yourself around him, rubbing your scent glad over his nose and mouth.

[metalmachination]

hi! secret valentine here! i have a question; between ur OCs, Dog/Sirius vs Dusk/Dawn, who would win in a fight against the other?

also i would love to hear more about ur OCs in general if you wanna share anything about them :D

here's MY question. what's 'updog'? (actual answer + info below the cut lmao)

you've given me an excuse to talk about em so here it fuckin comes

(i like to refer to both dusk/dawn together as flipscreen or flip. i've had an intro post for them sitting in my drafts forever now. gotta finalize and publish it. soon.)

they (probably) wouldn't fight. dog has no animosity towards flip, and flip's not (usually) the type to be outright aggressive.

dusk is a coward and a pacifist. dawn, on the other hand... may very well throw himself at someone in a fit of rage if he's pushed past a tipping point.

dog's been rebuilt over and over, refined and trained... specifically for bot fights.

flip is like half of dog's weight, and their only experience with fights is prying screaming children off each other as a daycare attendant. they don't have, uh, 'security protocols'.

dog would fucking obliterate flip </3

i'll give you a basic rundown on their personalities! i wanted to withhold most of the info until i published my fic at first, but i've decided idgaf.

dog: quiet. comes off as rude or irritable, but. honestly he's just fucking weird and can't interact with others outside of a 'performance' situation. in fights he's loud, cocky and quick-witted with taunts, but its just a part he's playing.

dusk: pretty fussy and nervous, excessively eager to please. a little too eager - he might get overbearing! fucking chill out man. he's undyingly curious about the world but doesn't really have an outlet for that hunger. optimistic. and he likes... hyperpop and vocaloid...?

dawn: very good at keeping up a cheery, bright front. professionally kind and courteous. and an absolute nuclear-meltdown-level of a hater. never to a person's face; but he is so full of pent-up rage he is practically boiling inside at all times. hates the world and everything in it. pessimistic.

dusk is actually a 'sun', and dawn is actually a 'moon' - but due to some programming issues, the personalities were put on the wrong sides. dusk deals with quiet-time activities when he'd rather be running in circles and yelling, and dawn has to deal with the yelling-circle-running kids.

[cultfriends]

what are your opinions on the uprise of ai and how it's changing art as a whole

it aint just AI but the current streaming era that's threatening artistry and drastically shifting the landscape. The pro rata system / collaborative filtering model on many streaming platforms push artists to homogenize their sound, and be more generally palatable in order to become discoverable and make any money in existing platforms. only thing AI cant do is form deeply personal, parasocial connections, which is ( unfortunately) now the driving factor behind an artist's success in the streaming/ social media-driven industry

but with programs that use an artist’s catalog to train generative AI models and “recreate” their voice.. oh god. that is basically an unauthorized commercial exploitation of their identity. kill em