#might continue it/flesh it out more in the future

[theferal-possum]

hey so nobody knows this blog but i got out of control while telling my friend about a writing a prompt i thought of and so now im giving it to you fire emoji (below the clip)

au where lance had his schoolbag for some reason (he doesnt know why he grabbed it, he likes to think it was the universe letting him have things from home to remind him that yes, he will make it back) and as they reach the edge of the solar system, his bag starts to ring, his familiar ringtone playing throughout the lion.

he's not quite sure why he decided to go on a hunt to find a charger to get it's battery up, maybe fate playing with the strings a bit to get it to happen, he's not sure.

it's what the paladins have deemed as "night-time," around 9pm back on earth. he was nearly asleep but is now clambering for his bag, worn from the years he's spent using it in space. he rips the phone from it, staring in disbelief that he was able to get a signal from all the way out here.

the words are clear on his screen, though his eyes are blurring them, tears threatening to fall.

MAMÁ

his hands are shaky as he clicks the accept button. the heart threatening to beat out of his chest the only thing assuring him that it isnt a dream.

it's quiet for a moment, before his mother's quiet words ring through his ears.

"..mijo?"

she sounds as if she's aged 10 years in only 5, but her voice was still heavy with that slight spanish accent, worn from years of english, that used to scold him and tell lance how much she loves him. but it's everything he's missed. and he can't helps the way his voice breaks when he says,

"mamá. oh mamá we're coming home."

----

lance doesn't know why, after the call with his mother ends, he calls keith. sure they're friends now but he hasn't been sure if theyre that close yet.

but he does anyways.

it only rings for a second, the image of keith appearing on his screen. pajamas on, and kosmo laying their head in his lap, with his comm pad held lazily in one hand. the screen lit up with one of the crosswords allura had given them to help with their altean.

"hey man, what's up? you alright? you look like you've been crying."

he leans forward in the chair, much to kosmos dislike, his eyes squinting and brow furrowed in concern.

lance suddenly feels concious of how he looks, eyes red and puffy, but just wipes at his eyes, looking at the side of his controls rather than the screen.

"yeah, it's just uh. i got a call from my mom, from my old phone. and i just, i don't know."

keith sits up fully in his seat, although knocking kosmo's head off fully, and clicks his comm pad off and setting it onto the floor.

"dude, really?! i'm surprised you got signal all the way out here. but i'm glad for you! how was she doing?"

keith looks genuinely happy for him, not something lance often had the privilege to see.

"she's uhm."

he takes a moment to steel himself. taking a deep breath as he reminds himself that he won't have to talk about only memories of her the next day. it won't hurt to talk about her.

"she's doing good, she was uh. really happy to hear from me. says she called me every week just to see if i would maybe pick up."

and lance's heart can't help but break, as he thinks about his mamá, face creased with worry, sat with her phone in hand, hoping her son would pick up. hoping that he would come back. that he would come home.

"she uh, only starting calling once or twice per month after the first year, so i guess i got lucky. it was really nice to hear her voice again. i almost forgot."

(his face falls, as he thinks of the countless nights that he'd try. try to hard to remember what she sounded like. how she rolled her r's, how she sounded as she yelled at him to do his chores faster, how she said i love you. he could never get it just right.)

"it's funny honestly, i used to hope for the day that i wouldn't have to hear it as much. i'd mock her voice from behind my door after an argument. but now i can't even imagine that. i guess, you don't know how much you'd miss something until you lose it.

and i know it seems silly to miss her this much considering we were gone only 2 years. but for her it was five. and at some points i wasn't–"

his voice begins to crack, his hand gripping the edge of his seat so hard that his fingers were white. the tears in his eyes threatening to fall.

"–i wasn't sure if i'd ever see her again. if i'd be able to tell her that i was coming home."

lance gives a watery laugh, rubbing his hand on the back of his head as he realises that he just dumped that all on keith.

“sorry that was, kind of a ramble.”

he finally looks back up at the screen, tears pricking the back of his eyes as he tries not to cry again. keith is staring at seemingly nothing just behind the screen, face drawn up in an expression lance can't decipher. thoughtfulness? he's not quite sure. but he doesn't have time to figure it out before keith speaks again, his gaze falling down to the floor as he starts to fidget with the string on his sweatpants.

"i understand what you mean. and im not trying to make this about me but, after spending two years on a space whale, i learned theres a lot of things you don't realise you'll miss."

he looks up, his face almost determined as he looks at lance directly now.

"but hey, you'll get to see her tomorrow, you won't have to miss her for much longer."

lance nods, smiling as a warmth spreading through his chest. he feels a renewed hope for the next day. he was going to go home.

(little note but the idea that theres a big group that surrounds the lions after they land, which the paladins get lost in immediately

and so lance is desperately searching through the crowd trying to find his family, before seeing keith waving and pointing almost frantically, but a smile on his face.

and as the crowd moves his mamá comes into view, standing next to keith

she calls out to lance, and he immediately runs over, engulfing her in a hug that lasts, definitely more than 20 seconds, and once he pulls away she starts tearfully rambling about how much she missed him, how she always knew in her heart that he'd come back, etc. etc.

but after a moment wipes the tears from her eyes and cheerfully exclaims that she was struggling to find him before keith had helped her, saying how nice he is, mother stuff yk

and keith is looking away blushing slightly from the compliments, and lance just looks at him and thanks him with such a genuine tone that keith cant help but smile fondly at him)

[fractallogic]

You know, I haven’t fully wrapped my head around how I’m going to incorporate it, but I had a great idea for this grant proposal that’s making me very excited

Because I think. finally. I will be able to justify testing arabic-speaking children. I will get to find out what kinds of errors THEY make learning my arabiclike made-up language.

And plus I’m realizing that I like portland more than eugene, and oops, the two Islamic schools and the one Arabic-medium school are all in the portland area oh no I will have to spend so much time in portland if I get this grant oh well

…plus I just really want to be able to stay in one place for three more years, and let scone live in Oregon like he’s really wanted to for YEARS.

I love arabic and I love my pastry and I love how kids do language. I am very excited about this part of the project and I just. The likelihood of it happening is vanishingly low. But it’s more likely to get this grant than getting a TT job. So.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 37: The Silence

Summary: Tensions are at an all time high in the pack as an eerie silence settles over the cottage

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,069 words

Warnings: Angst, heavy emotions, arguing, medical stuff, injuries, descriptions of pain, brief discussion about strangulation, so much crying, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, panic attack, PTSD, language

A/N: Uh yeah, this one did emotional damage. Prepare yourselves.

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They stand there watching like four knights in a tower guarding their kingdom. Their eyes are glued ahead, staring through the glass out into the backyard. They’re alert and watchful, eyes assessing and scanning for any threats. There are none except for your trembling legs. 

They stand there watching like four knights guarding their princess. None of them are brave enough to move, none of them dare break the moment. They can’t help but wonder what’s going on in your head, what drove you to push past the pain and exhaustion to shuffle your way outside. 

Panic bubbled in Kyle’s chest when he saw you shuffling your way across the living area. He’d nearly intervened when you stumbled, but John’s hand on his chest stopped him. You were in your own world, oblivious to everyone and everything as you shuffled determinedly toward the back door. They’d silently followed you, Johnny and Simon joining them when they descended the stairs. 

All you’ve done is stand out there. It feels like it’s been an hour, but it’s been less than five minutes. You’re frozen there, all except for the tremble of your legs and the subtle shake of your shoulders. 

You’re crying. 

It hurts his soul. It tears through his very chest as he watches you. He wants nothing more than to run out there and take you in his arms and soothe your tears. 

He can’t. 

He lost those privileges when they left you, when they betrayed you, when they abandoned you. It may have been John’s choice, but they were all complacent in it. None of them fought that decision, none of them questioned it. Would John have changed his mind if they did? Could they have avoided all of this if they had just questioned their alpha, their captain? 

Not all of it would have been unavoidable. 

You would have still been hurt. You would have still been traumatized. There was no guarantee Graves would have held off, even if they came for you in the first place. Things might have been worse. Graves might have gotten impulsive as soon as he realized the outcome of his own situation. 

Shepherd fucked him over too in the end. 

Things happened the way they did and they can’t change that. That’s what Christine keeps telling them. The past is the past and you can only work to build the future. 

It’s going to take a lot of work. 

“How long has she been out there?” Christine asks, stepping up next to them. 

“About four minutes.” Simon answers. 

“She shouldn’t be out there like that.” Christine goes to move to the door, but John stops her. 

“Let her have a moment.” He says, still staring out the window. “She needs it.” 

Christine lets out a quiet huff but she doesn’t move, turning her gaze out the sliding glass door as well. 

You continue to stand there, frozen like a statue. Time passes slowly, all of them captivated by the silent moment they’re witnessing. It’s almost hypnotic. The fading light, your figure standing there surrounded by grey skies and green earth like some sort of painting. 

Pain and bliss. 

That’s what he’d title it. He knows that’s what you must be feeling. Pain, visible and invisible from wounds that go far deeper than the flesh. Pain in its purest form as you stand there under heavy grey skies that echo the heaviness in your mind. The bliss echoes from John’s words, his reveal of your desire to see the ocean again, to stand on its shores and let its essence consume you.

It all makes sense now. No wonder you would cling to him the most, press your face into his neck and just breathe. His own briney scent was a gateway to what you desired in your landlocked position. How long had you been holding that desire in? Were you disappointed when you rolled up on their doorstep to find yourself still far away from the sea? You hid that desire from the knowledge that, as an omega, your wants and needs would always come last, in the knowledge that their jobs would come first and you would be at the mercy of that job. 

His eyes burn with tears as he stares at you. 

You begin to tremble more and more the longer you stand there, shifting on your feet. It breaks the haze they’ve all been frozen in, the five of them snapping back into reality. Christine is out the door before any of them can move, hurrying to your side. She wraps an arm around your back, careful not to touch your left arm as she steadies you. Kyle jumps into action automatically after her, hurrying to your new designated room to grab the wheelchair. With how much effort it took to walk out there, you won’t be walking back in. 

He wheels it out, holding it still as Christine maneuvers you into it. As much as he doesn’t want to, he turns, slipping back in the door as Christine wheels you towards the house. The four of them watch as she passes, time pausing as they stare at you. You don’t look up at them, don't acknowledge them at all. Your gaze is turned down in your lap, head lowered as you hunch, shoulders rounded.

Pain and exhaustion are weighing on you from your exertion as Christine takes you back to your room. How heavy the world must seem from the combined weight of your physical and mental injuries. The state of your mind would be one thing, but being stuck in a temporary handicapped state due to your physical injuries must be driving you nearly insane. There’s no getting away, no isolation. You can’t even walk fully unaided yet. 

There’s no freedom.  

All of them share a look in the heavy silence, understanding without even needing to say a word. 

The mug is burning his fingers but he can’t bring himself to care. His gaze is locked, mind focused elsewhere. He hasn’t moved in so long his joints are aching, but he can’t find it in himself to even shift his position.

“Drinking it black?” His fingers twitch as Kyle takes the seat next to him, his own mug of tea in his hands. It clunks as he sets it on the table before he lowers himself into the chair with a sigh. “That’s low even for you.” 

Simon lets out a grunt, eyes still focused out the sliding glass door. 

“She’s fine.” Kyle says, pulling out his phone. “The Doc won’t let anything happen to her.” 

“Don’t like that she’s out there alone.” Simon says, finally releasing the mug, squeezing his burning fingers into his palm. 

“Technically she’s not alone,” Kyle says, giving him a sideways glance. “We’ve been over this. We’re perfectly safe here.” 

“For now.” Simon lifts his mug to his lips, ignoring the burn of the tea on his tongue. He’s long become numb to that sort of pain.

“No one knows we’re here except Kate and my sister. Neither of them would say anything, no matter what.” Kyle turns his gaze back to the sliding glass door, to your figure huddled in the chair outside. “She’s where she needs to be right now.” 

Footsteps thud down the stairs, John letting out a groan as he reaches the bottom. He takes a moment to stretch before heading for the kettle in the kitchen. 

“Rough night, sir?” Kyle asks, taking a sip of his tea. 

“I’ve slept worse.” John grunts, grabbing a mug from the cupboard. 

Both of them had tossed and turned last night. Simon had listened to the occasional creak of the bed frame as they turned. He knows that’s what it was. They’re not ready yet. None of them are. Things are too fragile, too frayed. 

“Anyone thought about breakfast?” John asks. 

“Still some eggs left, and some bread. We need to make a store run soon.” Kyle says. 

“Today.” John says, pouring water into the mug. “A lot of things we need to pick up.” He turns to face Simon and Kyle, leaning against the cupboard. “Simon and I will go.” 

Simon shifts in his seat, his hand tightening around his mug again. “That’s not a good idea.” 

“What, you’re doubting our ability to watch the house?” Kyle says, turning to Simon. 

Simon glances at him, his eyes hard. “No, There should just be an alpha here at all times.” 

“Really? Because that sounds a lot like you don’t trust Johnny and I.” Kyle says, getting angry. 

“Enough.” John says, setting his mug down on the table. “We keep fighting amongst ourselves, nothing is going to get better. Tensions are high, but none of this is about us. We have to keep our heads on straight for the sake of our pack, and our omega. Simon and I will go to town today. That’s final.” 

Kyle and Simon both lower their eyes to their mugs of tea as John takes a seat at the table. He is right. Fighting amongst themselves will only make things worse for you. You’re already struggling, and the bonds fraying further will only cause more damage, more stress for you. Their bonds with you are delicate enough. They can’t risk the bonds between themselves getting any thinner. They have to be strong for you. They have to be strong for each other. They have to be strong for the pack. The whole pack. 

It falls silent between the three of them as they sit there, sipping their tea. Johnny is the only one still in bed. He cried most of the night last night. He’s cried most of the night the last three nights. He’s probably shed more tears than you have. 

Simon feels stuck in the middle, like he’s being torn in two separate directions. He got up in the night to free himself from the sounds of Johnny crying just to hear your own quiet sobs through your closed door. Each broken sob had his heart splitting in half, the ache in his chest getting worse and worse. He was sure he was having a heart attack that first night, his chest compressing and squeezing, his hands going numb from how tense his body was. 

He wants to reach out and make it better, but he can’t bring himself to. Johnny will just shrug him off, and you won’t even look at him. Even John and Kyle are distant, gravitating further and further away. The gravitational field in the center of their pack continues to get bigger and bigger, forcing them further and further away from each other, and none of them know how to stop it. They’ve lost their point of equilibrium. They’re all spiraling further and further away. Eventually that gravitational field will dissipate and they’ll be left free-floating through space and time. 

They all turn to look as the sliding glass door opens and you crutch your way in. Dr. Keller is right behind you, closing the back door before guiding you back to your room, the blanket you had been draped in folded neatly over her arm. You’re moving better, even just in two days since their arrival. Steadier on your feet, walking better with the crutch. You even look a little better, more alive than you were when you arrived here. 

They all watch you walk to your room, but you don’t spare a glance their way. You haven’t looked at any of them in two days. You haven’t spoken a word to them, to anyone, in two days. 

Kyle gets up to make breakfast as soon as you’ve passed, broken from the spell as Dr. Keller gets you settled in your room. You’re almost hypnotic now, all of their gazes drawn to you as soon as you enter the room. They’re all thinking the same thing every time you pass. Maybe this will be the time you finally look at them, when you finally glance their way. What he wouldn’t give to have you smile at him, give him that cheeky little grin after sassing him. 

Little shit. 

His hand tightens around his mug again as guilt floods him. You’ve sunken into an empty shell because of them. They sucked the life right out of you. They dragged you into this and failed to do what they were supposed to do. Anger bubbles in him as he thinks back to that moment. He should have fought back. He should have used his position to change John’s mind, or forced him to change it. He should have stepped up for you. 

He’s not your alpha. 

He almost wishes he was. 

He stares down at the scabbed imprint of your teeth on his skin. He should pick up a bottle of ink in town, tattoo that mark on his skin forever as a reminder of both you and what he did to you. 

“How is she?” John asks when Dr. Keller enters the kitchen. Simon’s shoulders square as she passes him, having been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t even noticed her enter. 

Bloody hell, he’s as bad as you.

“As good as she can be.” She sighs, grabbing a can of soup out of the cupboard. You won’t get the eggs and toast Kyle is making. Your diet consists of soup and only soup. 

“Hasn’t said anything still?” John asks, turning to look at her. 

“Not a word.” Dr. Keller shakes her head. “I’d be worried, if it wasn’t expected.” She pulls out a pot, opening the can before dumping the contents in. Chicken noodle. The staple soup in your diet. “Strangulation can be a hard thing to recover from.”

“I know.” Simon winces, taking a sip of his tea. 

The doctor gives him a sympathetic look. He doesn’t want it. “She had some mild damage done from it, which will take time to heal. And, everyone deals with trauma differently. Silence isn’t that unusual of a response.” She puts the pan on the hob, turning the heat on. “If I was worried, you would know.” 

“Thank you for looking after her.” John says, nodding at the doctor. “You didn't have to stay.”

“I made a promise.” She says, stirring the soup. “She's still my patient, even if the initiative was bogus. I still have a duty to perform as her doctor. Kate wouldn't have chosen me from the start if I was the type to just up and leave as soon as I found out my job wasn't actually real. I care about her a lot, and I want to help her get through this.”

“We all owe a lot to you.” John says. “We wouldn't have made it this far without you.”

“No,” The corner of her mouth twitches. “You probably wouldn't have.”

Christine lets out a quiet sigh as she steps into your room. You're in the chair by the window, your usual spot when it's too damp and cold to sit outside. 

It's dark in the room aside from the light coming through the window. It’s always dark in the room, except at night when you sleep with the bedside lamp on. She flips that lamp on, not wanting to blind you suddenly with the overhead light. You’ve been blinded by enough bright lights over the last week. Nearly a week and a half. It feels like so much time has passed, yet it still feels like yesterday when she was coming to in her office after being attacked and drugged. The terror she’d felt upon finding you missing still fills her stomach, and she finds herself getting up in the middle of the night to check and make sure you’re really there. 

She’s not the only one that does it. 

The paper bags in her arms crinkle as she carries them over to you, setting them on the other chair. Your gaze is far away, staring off at the grey, stormy sea in the distance. How fitting the weather is, both for you and the members of the pack. The tension between them is still palpable, all of them moving stiffly around each other. They’ve lost the natural fluidity of a pack comfortable in their bonds. They’re stuck, and they can’t, they won’t, heal until you do. They won’t allow themselves to until they know you’re willing to at least try. 

“John and Simon went to town and did some shopping. They picked up some things for you.” She says softly, breaking the heavy silence in the room. 

You don’t even turn to look at her. 

“More warm clothes.” She continues, looking in one bag. “As well as some boots.” She pulls a box out of another bag. “A nightlight, so you don’t have to keep using the lamp.” She looks in the third bag, the heaviest one of the three. “Another stuffed animal.” She says, pulling out a stuffed bear. It’s a nice thought, but she’s not sure you’ll even want to touch it. “And some books.” She says, pulling the stack out of the bottom of the bag. 

There’s three of them, ones not in the collection on the shelves in the living area. Some of your favorites. They’re trying, putting in efforts to try and make you as comfortable as possible in the only ways they can right now. She sets the books on the side table next to you, taking a long look at you as you sit there. 

You haven’t picked up a book in the two days they’ve been at the cottage, though she’s not surprised. You’ve been in and out of it, sleeping off the pain medicine, or sitting in a haze, mind far away from the cabin. She wonders where you are, where your mind is going. Out on the water? Out on the beach? Or maybe somewhere back in your memories where it’s safe. Receding back somewhere when life was easier and safer. 

Are you thinking of your mother? Are you imagining her here with you? 

Her heart hurts for you, being torn away from her at such a pivotal moment in your life. If she had the ability to find her she would. If she could track down your mother and bring her here for you she would. 

You begin to sniffle, almost as if you can somehow read her thoughts. The tears are falling, streaming down your cheeks again. She doesn't say anything, she doesn’t have to as she stands there beside you, gently stroking your hair. She’s seen many things in her time as an omega specialist. She’s had patients that have gone through things that would make even the most seasoned doctor’s stomach churn. She’s helped omegas that have been pushed to the brink of insanity, omegas pushed to the brink of death. Yet none of them have affected her the way you have. Maybe it’s because she’s never been quite so invested in an omega’s life before, never been quite so inserted into an omega’s reality. 

If she was a better doctor, she might have refused to stay here, keeping distance between herself and your pack. She’s gotten too close, pushed past the barrier of professionalism. If she was a better doctor, she’d distance herself, stick to the decorum and expectation of doctor/patient relationships. She knows omega specialists can get too close. She’d been warned over and over about how easy it is to invest too much into the lives and well beings of omegas. There’s a boundary that must be kept, both for the professional and for the sake of the omega. She won’t be around you forever. 

Eventually she’ll have to distance herself. She’ll have to go back to America, return to her practice. Now that the initiative is over, now that her job doesn’t even exist, she’s running on borrowed time. She’ll have to leave you at some point, close your case and move on. 

When is the question there. When will it be the right time? When will she decide you’ve healed enough to be graduated from her care? When will she be confident enough to break the bond that has formed between the two of you. 

Will she be able to? That’s the deeper question. 

Those are thoughts for a different day, she decides, pushing them aside. Instead she pulls you into her side, resting your head against her hip as she continues to stroke your hair. 

You look just about as happy to be at the table as they do. It's quiet in the room aside from the clanking of dishes in the kitchen and the occasional sizzle of food in a pan. Your gaze is in your lap, assuming your normal position of a drooping head and rounded shoulders. 

Your back and neck have to hurt from being in that position for so long. 

The only time you're not in those positions are when you're outside. Then your gaze is out at the sea in the distance. You sit there and stare, almost like a statue. You’d make for a good painting, seated still enough for long enough a skilled artist could make a masterpiece of it. 

He's surprised Johnny hasn't even sketched you like that yet. Perhaps if you can ever come to be more comfortable around them, you'll allow him to paint you. You’ll be taking up residence out there in that chair as often as you can. 

He’s not even sure rain or storm would deter you, if it wasn’t for Christine’s intervention. 

Kyle sets a plate of chicken on the table as Christine brings over your soup, setting it down in front of you. Always a bowl of steaming hot soup. How you’re existing off of mostly liquids is beyond him. Maybe that’s why you look so fragile and frail. 

“There you go,” Christine says as she sets a spoon down beside the bowl. Chicken and rice, a changeup from your normal chicken noodle. “I know you don’t want to, but you need to. You’re not going to feel better without food in your system.” 

You let out a quiet noise, just barely audible over the shuffling of bodies as they sit at the table. Simon is to your left, Kyle next to him, Christine and Johnny on the other side. He’s on the opposite end of the table, staring right at you. No wonder you don’t want to move from your hunched position. 

They keep their eyes off of you as they begin serving themselves. The food they’ve managed to make is decent with the help of their combined cooking skills. They’d had a long discussion about the intricacies of British food versus American food the first morning after their arrival. Christine advocated for more American-based dishes, with Johnny taking her side purely out of spite for the three Englishmen. 

John has caught Christine sneaking seasoning into the food every so often. He hasn’t said a word.

“Come on, eat up.” Christine says, gently nudging your hand where it rests over the spoon. 

Your face screws up in a grimace as you stare down at the steaming soup. It’s a breath before your fingers wrap around the spoon, lifting it to the bowl. Every movement feels practiced and calculated as he watches you sink the spoon into the bowl, just barely sinking below the surface to get just broth. He watches as you lift the spoon, holding it halfway to your mouth. There’s a subtle shake to your hand, not much but noticeable to him. You stare down at the spoon for a long moment before lifting it the rest of the way, quickly putting it in your mouth before your hand starts shaking too much. 

You grimace as you swallow, a quiet grunt leaving your lips. He can’t bring himself to look away as you sit there, taking in a couple deep breaths. He can’t bring himself to eat as you stare back down at the bowl, your fingers trembling around the spoon. 

Fuck. 

You sniffle as you sink the spoon into the bowl once more, the spoon shaking more now as you bring the second spoonful to your mouth. It’s like watching some kind of sick, twisted children’s windup toy as you feed yourself, following the pattern of spoon in soup, soup to mouth, pained grimace, quiet sob. It gets worse and worse with every bite, John barely able to stomach his own food as he watches you with every bite.

You stare down at a chunk of chicken on your spoon, a fearful look on your face. Your hand is shaking enough that soup is dripping off the bottom back into the bowl. Christine had cut the chunks up smaller, yet you stare down at it like it might jump off the spoon and bite you. 

Tears start rolling down your cheeks as you bring the spoon up to your lips, forcing it into your mouth. You chew and chew and chew, delaying the inevitable. The face you make as you swallow nearly breaks him. He lowers his gaze to his own plate, barely touched despite the fact he feels like they’ve been eating for a lifetime. 

“Take a break.” Christine says quietly, lowering your hand with the spoon back onto the table. 

None of them can bear to look at you. Johnny and Kyle are busy staring at their plates as they eat while Simon glares holes into his water glass. He’s watching you just as closely, he’s just not brave enough to stare at you so openly. 

The tears continue to fall as you start feeding yourself again, Christine watching you as your hand begins to shake more and more, the pain starting to get to you. John wants to reach out, to take the spoon and feed you himself, but he can’t. It’s destroying him inside, seeing you struggle so openly. Christine won’t intervene, she won’t do anything as she sits there. Rationally he knows why. You need to get used to feeding yourself again, you need to work past the pain and exhaustion to keep yourself going. 

His alpha is screaming. 

Your hand is nearly vibrating as you hold another spoonful up, this one full of rice and chicken. You let out a quiet sob as you stare at it. That’s going to hurt. He can nearly sense your pain, the agony you’re feeling. Your scent is like a cloud fogging up the air, sour with fear and pain. It’s sinking right into his brain, his alpha clawing at him to do something. You’re in such open distress in front of him but he can’t move. He’s frozen, staring at you in shock, unable to look away. 

It’s Simon’s quick reflexes that save you, his hand darting out to flip the spoon onto the table before you drop it on yourself. It lands with a clang, startling all of them out of their ruminations as it hits the bowl of peas, splattering rice and chicken and broth across the tablecloth. Christine is on her feet almost immediately, checking you over for burns from any of it that might have landed on you. 

“You're okay.” Christine says, wiping your face with a napkin as you sob loudly, openly crying now. “It was a good try. Come on.” 

She helps you to your feet, grabbing your crutch before leading you back to your room. 

All four of them sit there in silence, still as statues as they process what they had just witnessed. 

“Fuck,” Kyle breaths, his eyes glued to the half-eaten chicken on his plate. 

Johnny starts to sniffle himself, his gaze locked on his own plate. Simon's eyes are on the spoon he'd flipped where it lays on the table. 

He had no idea just how bad things really were. He knew they were bad. 

He just didn't think they were this bad.

You’re sitting outside in that chair again. It’s a lovely morning, cold but the sun is rising up over the hills, casting a pink and orange glow across the sky. You look almost ethereal out there, even if he can only see the back of your head. Your eyes are cast out at the sea in the distance, where your gaze always seems to lie. 

His fingers itch in a desire to draw you, the art supplies Simon had picked up for him sitting unopened upstairs. It’s the first time he’s felt the desire to draw in weeks. Not since your heat when he’d sat there by your side, drawing to keep the thoughts away. The pictures are probably still up on his wall, the pieces he’d done to keep his own distress away. Had you laid there and stared at them after they left you? He can picture you laying there numbly, eyes glazed as you stare at them, picturing yourself far away. 

You don’t need his drawings now to imagine yourself far away. 

You’re still as a statue as you sit there, the thick blanket he’d picked up in Texas tucked around you. It warms his heart, even if he knows it was Christine who wrapped you up in it. The mug of tea beside you is still steaming in the cool air, untouched as it will remain until Christine eventually brings you back inside where you’ll recede to your room to sit in front of the large bay window to stare out at the sea. 

He wants to take you. 

He wants to load you up in the car and take you the short drive down the road to the beach. He wants to let you stand there in the sand, see the waves as they crash onto the shore. Hell, he’d let you walk into the water, let it soak your shoes and pants. Whatever you need to do, he’d let you do it. 

John would have his hide if he left with you like that. 

Simon would eat him alive. 

He won’t do that, though, mostly because he knows you wouldn’t be strong enough to make it down to the beach, nor stand there for a long period of time. Carrying you would be out of the question. You’d never let him that close. 

Instead he takes a gamble, getting as close as he dares as he slides open the door, stepping out into the cool morning. You don’t move, don’t even look up as he takes a seat in the chair next to you, the one Christine occupies when she’s out with you. He’d volunteered to watch you through the door to allow her some time to herself, something she hasn’t been getting much of. She’s been caring for you nearly 24/7, only getting breaks here and there while you sleep or nap, or on the rare occasion she trusts one of them to watch you. She never complains, but he knows she’s tired. Anyone would be after everything they’ve been through, after everything she’s had to see and experience over the last week and a half. 

It’s the least they can do, even if you won’t allow them to do more. They all wish they could. They wish they could ease some of your suffering, take some of the strain off of Christine’s shoulders. Kyle even went so far as to invite his sister to visit over for the weekend in hopes she might be able to lighten the load, and to see if you’ll allow her closer than you’re allowing them to get. 

He moves cautiously like he’s approaching a wild animal, not wanting to startle you and cause you more pain than you have been in. He can be a bull in a china shop, or he can be silent and deadly. He chooses something in the middle, making his footsteps just loud enough to be heard across the wooden planks of the porch, but he moves slowly enough he won’t startle you as he appears in your peripheral. 

Your gaze never leaves the horizon, focused and far away even as he takes a seat next to you. His mug of coffee is warm in his hands, fighting off the chill outside. It’s a natural response to the sudden temperature change after being inside in the warm house. He almost wishes he had his own blanket, but then again, he’s not sure he’ll be outside very long. 

He’s prepared for yelling, screaming, getting hit with your crutch as you tell him off, chasing him back inside. He’d almost prefer it over the eerie silence. He has to glance at you just to make sure you’re breathing, make sure the blanket is rising and falling over your chest. He follows your gaze out to the sea, sitting there silently as he gazes out at the dark blue water. Silence is hard for him. He can feel it throbbing in his ears, the ringing that fills his head when it’s quiet. He likes noise. He needs noise. 

He just wants to hear you speak again. 

He needs to hear you speak again. 

He wants to talk to you, he wants to say something, he wants to drop to his knees and beg forgiveness. He wants to feel your touch again, even if it’s just a brush of fingers across his hand. He wants to get something out of you, some kind of reaction. You’re an empty shell, a ghost of what you were. 

Tears fill his eyes as he stares out at the blue water. The silence is deafening as he sits there with you, still and quiet. 

He might as well be sitting alone. 

It’s the dead of night. The stars are out, or they would be if the clouds weren’t blocking them. It makes the world seem so much darker without their light. The fire is out, the curtains drawn closed. The only light is from the porch and the lights on the patio out back. The house is quiet, not even the hum of appliances filling the silence. 

Kyle’s breaths are quiet and even, finally asleep after laying awake for far too long. Their backs are turned towards each other, yet the double bed forces them close enough they can feel the warmth radiating from the other. It’s the only position they can sleep in, even if they’ve woken up cuddling a few times in the night. It’s almost as if their brains are subconsciously trying to force the bonds back, to force the healing. It’s as if their instincts are laughing at them for trying to deny what they want deep down. 

John lays there in the silence, his mind racing. He can’t sleep again for the fifth night in a row. He hasn’t been able to sleep since they left weeks ago on their mission to track down the missiles. No, it’s been longer than that. Not since you revealed the cameras to them. How long ago that seems now. How inconsequential it feels. If he knew back then what was going to happen, he would have changed a lot of things. 

You can’t undo what was done. You can only change what happens going forward. 

Things happened the way they happened. Now he has to make up for it. Now he has to prove himself not just as a capable alpha, but as a trustworthy human being. Your omega is screaming. He knows it. He had sensed it at dinner with your quiet sobs, the pain flooding your scent. He can still smell it, the sourness permeating his nostrils and sinking right into his brain. His alpha is still clawing at him angrily for just sitting there, for just letting it happen. 

Simon intervened. Simon saved you once again. 

He had barely comprehended the quick movement of Simon’s hand as he knocked the spoon out of your grip. He’d gotten soup on his hand, the droplets visible, yet he hadn’t moved as he sat there, letting it burn his skin. Better his than yours. He could almost hear Simon’s thoughts at that moment. 

What a good alpha Simon is. 

What a failure of an alpha John is. 

Your omega must be screaming in your mind, clawing at her cage. It’s almost like he can hear it rattling in his ears, reminding him of the pain he’s caused you. The pain brought on by his failures. 

Something is rattling in his ears, piercing through the silence. 

It is a scream. 

It’s your scream. 

NEXT ->

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[gtgbabie0]

helloo could i request a cregan stark x reader? Where the reader has the ability to see the future or possible outcomes? I hope it isnt to bad of a idea😅 Thank you so much 🫶🏻

-Cregan Stark x Dreamer!Reader

{Your dreams are often plagued by nightmares of events that are yet to unfold, Cregan is always there to hold you}

Love this! Thank you for requesting, enjoy lovelies💕

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺

It was not lost on Cregan Stark that Rhaenyra’s daughter was… unique to say the least. It was known way before your engagement was planned, a quiet ceremony hidden away in the woods near Winterfell, it seems love still prevails even through war.

Although this never deterred Cregan, he was utterly head over heels for you yet confused at the same time whenever you would whisper cryptic insanities into the cold night air with wide fearful eyes full of knowledge about events that loom over the horizon like dark storm clouds.

He would spend hours brushing your white hair, speaking gentle, loving words against your shoulder when your mind seemed to have wandered too far from your grasp.

He was just as lost as you were when it came to figuring out what exactly it all meant and the Maesters were no help, especially on nights like this when you were awoken by such horrific sights that infest your mind.

“Aliments of the mind are far more trickier than those of the body, my Lord.” Maester Owryn says, still adamant about just giving you tea to help you sleep.

His words only serve to annoy an already exhausted Cregan, he can’t count how many times he has been told the same thing with a look of pity. It killed him that he could not provide you with more comfort, he cannot help but feel as if he has failed you.

“Do you see her, do you?— it’ll take more than damn tea to calm her from this.” Cregan scolds, looking down at the Maester with dark narrowed eyes. He glances back over to where you are curled up on a chair, your fingers buried within your messy locks, clutching harshly as you mutter the same words over and over again.

The Maester shuffles, fiddling with the small piece of parchment, his brows pulled together in confusion. “Might I suggest milk of the poppy?” He whispers, clearly unnerved by the glare that Cregan was scrutinising him under.

“No, bring her the tea.” The Lord settles, his tone rough with irritation. He did not want to subject you to the horrible drowsiness that the sweet milk brings, numbing your mind was not the answer.

With the Maester gone Cregan tries once more to approach you, drawing closer to you like he would with a wounded animal, he wraps his fingers around your wrists in an attempt to stop you from pulling at your hair, his touch is gentle despite the callouses on his palms.

“Not so hard my love… you’ll hurt yourself.” He whispers, eyes searching your face desperately for any signs of the woman you were before you woke up from this nightmare.

Although he finds nothing of the sort, you are all glossy-eyed and chapped lips, blankly staring at the floor like you were miles away.

A moment of silence settles around the room, the sound of your heavy breathing and the soft crackle of firewood is the only thing breaking through it. It takes a few moments and soft words of encouragement before you allow him to lower your hands down to your lap, your fingers still clutched tightly into fists.

“Dragon breath… burning flesh.” You whisper fearfully, a gasp escaping past your red-bitten lips. The same words you’ve been muttering all night, it unsettles him, calling to something deep within him.

Cregan hums, brushing your messy hair behind your ears. “I know my love.” He sighs, grazing the rough pads of his thumbs across your knuckles.

“Come back to me y/n, come on…” he whispers into the backs of your hands, closing his eyes as you continue to whisper the words madly.

The mumblings stop, your breathing coming back down into a steady rhythm as you begin to unclench your fists slowly. Relief hits Cregan like a gust of wind, his expression softening when your gaze meets with his own.

“… burning… bedevilled crown.” You try to explain to him all too quickly, stuttering over your words in a panic-stricken manner. Your hands trembling against his own rough ones.

“Slowly now, breathe for me first, my love.” He whispers, reaching over to cup your jaw to keep you grounded on the here and now, his thumb caressing your cheek.

Your senses soon come back to you making you aware of your surroundings, the softness of your nightgown and the warmth of your husband’s hand against the side of your face.

The Maester walks in with a small cup of soothing tea, placing the ceramic down on the dark oak table before taking his leave with a curt nod. The herbal aroma brings you into the present moment, keeping your mind occupied.

You watch with tired eyes as he gives you the cup, minding the way your hands still shake ever so slightly. He guides you to take small sips, smiling gently in encouragement.

“There were two, but I could not see— the smoke and flames— screams.” The words are a struggle to get out and it pains him to see you like this, the pain and fear in your eyes.

Your words are too vague to try and make any sense of them, after all, it was a war between Targaryens, and the involvement of dragons and their formidable flames was inevitable.

“I want to stop it… to prevent the pain but I do not know how.” You whisper, voice strained with unshed tears.

“That may be beyond you. I won’t have you shouldering blame for anything that transpires.” He says, his tone full of love despite the roughness of it.

You nod softly, looking down at him from where he is kneeling in front of you. The soft glow of the fireplace flickers against his features, highlighting the exhaustion that hangs below his eyes.

“You can go back to sleep…” you suggest softly, clearly feeling too shaken up to go back to bed.

At your words he immediately shakes his head, taking your hands to pepper gentle kisses along your knuckles, his beard tickling your soft skin. “Not until you’re okay…”

You know there is no point in arguing the point, he is as stubborn as a mule. Instead, you shuffle over, giving him room to sit down next to you. The warmth between you, as he pulls you onto his lap, calms the restlessness that has built up within your chest, allowing you a moment of respite.

[angelcake10023]

Curious MK 💛 and the Man In The Red Scarf 🧣

This au is everything to me… be ready for me to not shut up about it.

If you want a little explanation on the au look under the cut

The au pretty much follows the beats of the movie with some twists to fit the world of LMK a bit better

Tang works at his College’s museum, doing tours on a lot of historical exhibits which heavily align with his special interests (lots of JTTW like stuff)

Pigsy is the local school teacher that takes his class to the museum every week- to learn obviously. Not cause he has a big crush on this pathetic museum nerd.

Anyway the museum is loosing interest and funding you know the gist, Tang somehow agrees to go on an expedition to flower fruit mountain to maybe find something worth putting on display. Probably something related to Sun Wukong

Tang is out of his element, but also this is his hyperfixation and he can tooootally find something of note surely. However what he doesn’t know is that a few certain spider henchmen in disguise have made their way onto his expedition crew and are hoping to find something powerful to bring back to their queen.

Once they get there they do a lot of fruitless searching, set up camp for the day, and an exhausted Tang is quickly ambushed by a newly awakened baby Monkey MK. He’s very curious about the bright color of Tang’s scarf and steals it when Tang takes it off to eat.

Tang has never seen or heard of this type of monkey on the mountain before, thinking he resembles Sun Wukong but thinking it ridiculous to think more of it. They play for a bit, Tang playfully wagering for his scarf back.

Anyway the expedition continues and they’re still unable to find anything and have to leave empty handed, (except for two pieces of a little monkey shaped rock.)

Mk ends up with Tang’s scarf as he’s leaving, deciding to secretly follow them back. Wholesome shenanigans ensue just like in the movie. Tang struggles being a dad to this monkey who’s attached himself to him, while also learning he might not really be normal monkey. Add in some Monkey power shenanigans hehe. Also some spider henchmen repeatedly trying and failing to capture Mk (comedically managing to also go unnoticed every time)

Of course in the climax, Tang is pretty worn down. He’s homeless, jobless, and a disappointment. He doesn’t think he can handle taking care of MK, and that’s when Sun Wukong shows up. He’s been keeping an eye on them and knows MK has mystic powers that are probably too much for a human to handle- so he’s willing to take him off Tang’s hands.

Tang reluctantly agrees, much to MK’s confusion and sadness. Trying to reach and grab onto him repeatedly as Tang holds back tears and begs Wukong to take him. Wukong does and Mk, who’s been struggling with any speech up to this point finally manages a soft and scratchy “no” just as Wukong’s cloud zips away with them both.

Tang immediately regrets it, his regret fueled after he talks with Pigsy. He made a mistake and he needs his kid back.

Unfortunately, The Spider Queen and co managed to ambush Wukong similar to the show and capture baby MK. Cue Tang, Pigsy, and Sandy teaming up to rescue the monkeys

Rescue ensues, Tang and Mk reunite wholesomely, Wukong is impressed by Tangs determination to save the kid despite his mortality. Wukong gives him some cool treasure junk that they can take back to the museum

The day is saved, Tang and MK are a family, and Tang finally got Pigsy’s flirting through his dense head lmaooooo

Dad Tang and Baby MK are so special to me… thank you for reading haha. Itll probably be fleshed out more in the future as well

[justanotherrpmeme]

After-Action Patch-Up starters

"Hold still, [name], this might sting a bit." "You're lucky it's just a few scratches. You need to be more careful!" "Don't be such a baby. It's just a flesh wound." "I can't believe you jumped into that fray without thinking! What were you trying to prove?" "Here, let me help. I've had my fair share of battle wounds." "Ouch! Warn me before you start cleaning those cuts." "You're a mess. How did you even get into this situation?" "I never thought I'd see you so vulnerable. It's strange." "Let's patch you up before anyone else sees you like this." "You really need to work on your combat skills. I can't keep playing nursemaid." "I've got the first aid kit. Sit down, and let me take care of those injuries." "You did well out there, but you're not invincible. Let me help." "I told you not to charge in without a plan. Now look at you." "It's nothing serious, just a few cuts and bruises. You'll be fine." "I can't believe you're complaining about a little pain. You should see what I've been through." "Hold on, I'll get the antiseptic. This might sting a bit." "You're surprisingly fragile for someone who fights so fiercely." "You really know how to ruin a perfectly good day, don't you?" "I never expected to see you in need of my care. Life is full of surprises." "I suppose I should thank you for saving me, even if it means playing nurse now."

[CLEANS] The sender takes a cotton swab and gently cleans the dirt and blood from the receiver's wounds. [BANDAGES] The sender carefully wraps a bandage around the receiver's forearm, securing it to protect the cuts. [SCOLDS] The sender scolds the receiver, shaking their head as they tend to the injuries. [REACTS] The receiver winces as the sender applies antiseptic to a particularly nasty cut on their cheek. [COMFORTS] The sender reassures the receiver, offering comfort while tending to the injuries. [DISINFECTS] The sender pours antiseptic on a wound, causing the receiver to inhale sharply at the stinging sensation. [INSPECTS] The sender inspects the wounds, noting any deeper cuts that might need more attention. [LECTURES] The sender lectures the receiver, advising them to think before acting to avoid future injuries. [SMILES] Despite scolding, the sender smiles reassuringly, trying to ease the tension in the room. [COMPLAINS] The receiver complains about the pain, prompting the sender to roll their eyes and continue their work. [WORRIES] The sender expresses worry, sharing their concern for the receiver's well-being. [TREATS] The sender skillfully treats each injury, showcasing their competence in basic first aid. [ADMONISHES] The sender admonishes the receiver, emphasizing the potential severity of the situation. [ASSESSES] The sender assesses the overall damage, silently noting the toll the fight took on the receiver. [DISAPPROVES] The sender expresses disapproval, stating that putting oneself in danger is not acceptable. [ASSURES] The sender assures the receiver, claiming that despite appearances, the injuries will heal quickly. [HESITATES] The receiver hesitates as the sender reaches for a needle and thread to stitch up a deeper cut. [SYMPATHIZES] The sender sympathizes with the receiver, acknowledging the pain while praising their efforts. [SCANS] The sender scans the receiver's body for any hidden injuries, ensuring nothing was overlooked. [GRATEFUL] The receiver expresses gratitude to the sender for taking care of them amid the discomfort.

[girlboylintjrwi]

Honey, do you need a hot meal?

Troy is hungry. Lint is the meal.

trigger warnings for cannibalism and gore

hey guys..... i wrote this little thing in one day..... btw.... llintroller save meee... title is from Your body, My Temple by Will Wood

Troy and Lint are standing in In the middle of the living room. Lint has just told her that he wanted him to eat them. Not even that he could, but that he wanted her to.

And Troy can't deny, the idea is appealing. She thought maybe this was just some sick joke, Lint can be a little strange at times, but no. Lint is entirely serious. And Troy wants to eat.

Lint must be a genius, Troy thinks to herself. She doesn’t know what he wants to say in this moment, but she knows more than anything what he wants to do. What he needs to do.

“Dude, are you sure? Cause like, you could die, man…” Troy’s desire doesn’t mean he won’t hesitate. This is his best friend, after all.

“Your dad turns people into clocks, doesn’t he?”

She lunges towards them, straight for his cheek. He bites down and tears a bit of flesh away, and it’s even better than she could have imagined. She can’t even describe it. It’s just the kind of taste that you savor for as long as you can, especially when it’s someone as important to you as Lint is to Troy.

Troy sees Lint’s face before going in for another bite, this time the flesh of their neck. He looks shocked, maybe he expected her to say something before going in for a taste, but that doesn’t stop a small grin from appearing on their face.

And Troy just continues to tear away from Lint, bit by bit, piece by piece. He feels like an animal, but can she really help it? This is Lint. This is her best friend and he tastes so good.

This might just be the best thing he’s ever tasted. Lint isn’t just good, he’s perfect. The blood in Troy’s mouth is warm and the metallic taste makes him want more. He can’t stop, and surely Lint won’t survive much more of this. Troy knows that.

And yet, his tongue begs for more of that wonderful flavor. He can’t stop.

She loves Lint. In this moment, right now, she loves Lint more than ever before. Maybe it’s because Lint is all there is right now, or maybe he just likes the way they taste as she rips chunks of flesh away from their body. Either way, he loves Lint so very much. And they say actions speak louder than words, don’t they?

She barely even gives herself time to chew, he just keeps on taking more and more, relishing in it. The texture, the flavor, it’s all perfect to Troy. There isn’t a world where Lint isn’t perfect. Not in Troy’s eyes.

Tears fall down Lint’s face, he feels his life fading away from them, but this is Troy and this is all they’d ever dreamed of. They can’t think of a better way to go out. He wonders if Troy even notices that they’re dying, or if she’s too busy tearing him apart.

Eventually, Troy finishes his meal, but Lint is long gone by then. She doesn’t know when it happened. It’s hard for her to think about anything else, part of him wants more, but he knows it’s time to put them away. Maybe next time she’ll try a bit of cooking.

Should Troy feel bad? He just ate her best friend, after all. But no, Troy doesn’t feel anything but love for them. The consequences of her actions haven’t hit him yet, so why should it matter?

Lint, what’s left of them, barely fits in the freezer. Troy needs to go out and buy a bigger one. And some ice. She figures she should clean up first, though. He washes the blood from her hair and skin, gets a different outfit, wonders if the stains will ever leave that shirt, and he’d be on his way if he didn’t hear a quiet voice behind her. It has that bug-like quality to it, like someone Troy knows; knew. Lint.

“Did I taste good?”

--

ERM!!! END NOTES I GUESS??????

i have never ever written anything like this and MAN it was fun.

lint is a freaking ghost now by the way because i have so many Thoughts about ghost lint and clockwork lint......... may write more in the future too. just like about ghost lint/clockwork lint sometimes and troy shenanigans

i hope you had fun reading this. hope it was a hit for the lintroller nation

[tired-biscuit]

18+ mdni, fem!reader // cw: pregnancy, husband!bakugou, domestic comfort

bakugou changes after he finds out you're pregnant.

it's mostly for the better. he's attentive and kind in that rugged sort of way only he can make work, as well as surprisingly tolerant and patient. he cooks for you, carries you up the stairs whenever you're feeling too lazy for it, satisfies your weird cravings, and insists that he do most of the chores whenever his job allows him to - vacuuming the house is always done on sundays because of that reason alone.

the dad-to-be even endures all of your ups and downs; trying to appease you in whichever way he can, whilst you continue to grow and carry your future little bundle of joy inside of your belly. even most of the hormone-induced emotional outbursts and tantrums that tend to overtake your sound state of mind from time to time are taken care of and sailed across pretty smoothly because of his sudden change in demeanor. it's great - for the most part.

but above all that, bakugou also becomes careful.

during sex especially.

actually, now that you think about it, the once ravenous brute that your husband used to be - the one with a foul vocabulary you'd constantly snicker at whenever it came out to play, and the fierce eyes that paired so well with that signaturely feral grin you rarely get to see nowadays - now turns completely wary whenever you feel in the mood as of late.

safe to say, it's pretty peculiar. however, you're not quite sure yet if it's the good kind or not.

because even now, as you sit on his lap completely naked; with your skin dewy from sweat and the baby bump barely showing, his hands are still calloused and rough to the touch, yes, but are also awfully gentle as they wrap around the curve of your hips. slow and unsure whilst stroking you, they remind you nothing of the near death-grip he had once used on you to leave your skin bruising with passion until the early hours of the morning.

no, instead, this particular touch is so feather-light that it feels like it's more of the phantom kind. and to be completely honest, that 'barely there' feeling is beginning to drive you nuts.

and not in a good way.

especially because he's got that soft look in his eyes, now. the one that you love, of course you do, but for which you're just not in the mood for right now. it's the one that makes him treat you like fragile glass instead of his woman; that makes him make love to you like you're an inexperienced virgin despite the fact that you're literally carrying his child and that he's managed to bend you over nearly every flat surface inside your cozy home during the course of your relationship.

it's the look that makes you want to anger him just so you can get fucked by him all mean and raw like he'd done back then; with you bent over those exact flat surfaces, or rather splayed wide open on top of them. the one that makes you yearn to bounce on his cock with all your might and fervour just so you could prove him wrong.

however much to your dismay, he doesn't let you do that; of course he doesn't. no, to make matters even worse, he's not even allowing you to take his dick in its glorious entirety anymore. instead, he reckons that a little over half of it should do just fine to soothe your needs.

from his perspective, it's looking out for your wellbeing. from yours, it's pure bullshit.

so as you wrap your arms around his neck and sneakily attempt to get a pass at fully sitting down onto him by tugging onto his hair, you're disappointed to feel his hands slide downwards just as fast; right to the underside of your thighs. because just like you, he's pulled the same move. the same tricks.

still, you moan prettily as he stops you by grabbing handfuls of the plush flesh and gently spreads your cheeks apart, making you shiver from the shortly-lived stimulation nonetheless. you watch with tired eyes as his biceps flex, oh, so deliciously when he uses force to make you halt just a few inches from accepting his entire length.

the ripple of muscle is almost like torture for your feral state of mind.

you lick your lips as you tug on his hair again and whisper, "kat-"

he closes his eyes for a second at the touch before he opens them again. his pupils are so big by the time he looks at you properly.

"mm-mm." it's all he offers now. still, a small smirk ghosts over his lips when you pout and consequently begin to glare at him because of the denial.

fucker.

"but-"

"nah." he shakes his head this time, a twinkle of mischief and caring; such deep, profound caring dancing in his eyes as he looks up at you.

"but, i-i-" you sigh, breath quivering when he readjusts on the couch and unintentionally pushes deeper inside of you by a mere inch as a result. both of you seem to have trouble biting back the groans of pleasure climbing up your throats as you add, "...i wanna."

"so?" he pauses, his cheeks dusting pink. "we've been over this... you know what my answer is gonna be."

"kat, c'mon," you repeat, blinking in a way that makes your eyelashes flutter all endearing-like, "please?"

"no."

"pretty please?" you pout again, bottom lip jutting out cutely, the gears in your head turning. "i wanna be pounded properly this time. by you; my amazing husband..." you take a second to stroke the stiff column in the side of his neck as you watch his adam's apple bob, "my big, strong pro hero."

his pupils dilate again. you're so close to winning, you can nearly taste the victory on the tip of your tongue as you feel his fingers twitch just like his dick does, and his hips falter before they push slightly upwards.

so close, you're so close; he just needs a little-

"jesus christ, let me have this, woman... just this, c'mon." he grunts in protest all of a sudden, his voice straining slightly when you wiggle your hips to try and persuade him further. he holds you steady now, his grip strictly solid again. "i already do everything else exactly the way you want me to... can't ya just go easy on me, at least for this one thing?"

you blink, your purpose forgotten. "what on earth do you mean by that?"

and he rolls his eyes. "what on earth do you mea- well i don't know, who else had to go to the fucking mini-market at 3am yesterday, just 'cause someone was craving a weirdly specific brand of bananas?"

"well, that's not fair," you quip back in an instant, brow furrowing. your tummy tingles because his cock is literally throbbing inside of you, but you still gather enough focus to stand your ground. "as far as i know, i didn't ask you to go get them."

"no, you just moped around and kept doing that little sigh thing - the one that you know damn well drives me absolutely fuckin' crazy, by the way, until i got out of bed and drove there like some goddamn circus monkey of yours."

a beat of silence passes between you at that.

"circus monkey?" a pause. "really, katsuki?"

"shut up... it's 'cause of the stupid bananas."

you want to laugh now and so does he, you can tell by the consistent twitch at the corner of his mouth. but you're both just so stubborn. unyielding.

childish, like the baby you're carrying will surely be.

"well, i-" his fingers dig deeper into your skin the moment you open your mouth to tell him off again, his blunt nails burrowing themselves into the softness as you yelp and press your palms against his chest to try and stabilize yourself.

"we're doing this my way." he smiles up at you, showing you his teeth. "okay?"

"whatever." your eye roll is dramatic as ever before you stick your tongue out at him. "you're mean."

his eyes glimmer at the jab. the red shade is so rich that it makes your heart beat faster. especially when he purrs, "i thought you liked that about me, baby?"

"oh, you little- mmph!"

he pulls you in for a kiss before you can even begin to object again.

better luck next time.

[hazbinshusk]

blitzø x fem!afab!reader. during a lazy day on the couch, the imp decides to distract you from your work in a way he just knows will work. and despite your protests, how could you possibly resist when he's just so good at what he does?

featuring: imp reader, tail play, sex, orgasm denial, cream pies, dom!blitzø, I use the word 'fuck' too much, and degradation because calling you a whore is just how blitzø's broken ass shows affection.

anon request. 2.25k.

Hell might suck in large amounts, but times like this weren’t so bad.

You were curled up on the couch, some terribly cliché action movie playing on the TV in front of you. Blitzø was stretched out at the other end of it, legs kicked up over the arm the couch and his head propped up on pillows. Honestly, you had no idea how it could possibly be comfortable for him to lay there with his neck twisted towards the screen like that, but he seemed content. And honestly, it was nice to see him so relaxed.

Your tablet pings on the coffee table and you sigh, straightening reluctantly in your seat. Its yet another alert from the other organizers of the Lust Ring’s annual Fertility Festival, and you scoot to the edge of the couch cushion to swipe the device up off the table and check the latest in the long list of requests they’ve had for you to handle. Apparently, a day off doesn’t exist when you’re running errands for one of the Seven Deadly Sins.

Scrolling through the new list of potential vendors you need to go through for approval, you glance up as you hear Blitzø shift beside you, reaching for the remote.

“You don’t have to stop it,” you assure him apologetically, but he does anyway. He groans quietly as he sits up, and you smile softly as you feel him crawl across the couch and slot himself behind you, thighs on either side of yours. Your body warms as he wraps his arms around your middle, hooking his chin over your shoulder. “I promise I’ll be quick.”

“Eh, I’ve seen this one before,” you feel him shrug, the heat of his body pressed against your back. “Helpin’ you pick out porny-ass stalls for this slut fest?” he presses a quick kiss to the side of your neck. “More fun.”

“Fertility Festival,” you correct him patiently, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. “And I don’t know if whatever you’re gonna suggest is exactly the vibe we’re going for.”

He snickers, breath tickling your collarbone. You feel his tail slide up to curl over your thigh, the spade of it tapping slowly against the side of your opposite knee.

“Oh, yeah?” he challenges, pointing at the screen in your hands. “Tell me what exactly the fuck is wrong with ‘Aunty Annie’s Aphrodisiac Ass-Pops’?”

“Aside for the godawful name?” you reply with a wrinkle of your nose. You tap their file, scanning the information provided. “How about the fact that the main ingredient in this shit seems to be ‘Auntie Annie’s’… ewww.”

He cackles, arms tightening around you. One hand plays with the hem of your shirt, claws just grazing your bare stomach as he lifts it slightly.

“I don’t even want to know why they think that would help turn anyone on,” you continue, quickly marking the stall as a no-go for all future Asmodeus-sanctioned events. You lean over to grab the remote, pressing ‘play’ again, before you continue scrolling through the list of vendors, checking each one as either a potential ‘yes’ or a firm ‘no’.

Blitzø watches the movie from over your shoulder for a while before you feel his lips return to the side of your throat, dusting soft, teasing kisses over the sensitive flesh. You raise your shoulder to ward him off, laughing despite yourself as he simply switches to the other side of your neck. His teeth graze over your pulse point, tongue following the mark he leaves behind. Heat trickles through you to settle between your thighs, your eyes closing for a moment as you feel his hands play with the waistband of your pants.

“Dude.”

“Hmm?” Blitzø hums the question against your skin, and your breath catches as he gently sinks his teeth into your collarbone. A shiver runs through you as he presses a lingering, teasing kiss to each individual mark his teeth have left in your skin. His tail edges up along the inside of your thigh.

“…Dude.”

“Fuck do you want?” he asks, the words at odds with his innocent tone. Still, you can hear the mischief at the edge of his voice, feel it in his smirk against your skin as his tongue slides up the side of your neck to the corner of your jaw. “I’m tryin’ to watch something here.”

“I know what you’re doing, B.”

He snickers against the nape of your neck, claws dipping beneath the waistband of your pants. “And I knooooow you like it…”

“I’m working, Blitzø.”

“And you’re makin’ this into fuckin’ work,” he retorts. “Are you gonna take your pants off or am I wreckin’ these ones too?”

“Satan, you’re an asshole.” you eye-roll and Blitzø reaches up to take hold of your chin. He turns your head towards him roughly, claiming your mouth in a hungry, heated kiss. He slides his tongue into your mouth, his hand moving from your chin to encircle your throat.

“And you’re a fuckin’ tease,” he replies against your mouth, the last word almost lost as he kisses you again. He squeezes your throat reflexively, and you whimper into the kiss. You can feel him hardening against the curve of your ass, his other hand moving down to clutch at your upper thigh, fingers dipping between your legs to tease over your denim-covered cunt. “Bein’ all sexy and professional like a slutty little— fuuuuck…”

You’d wrapped his tail around your fingers, and squeezed, pulling it firmly enough to make him groan, loud and drawn out. His head fell back against the back of the couch, hands taking hold of your hips. He pushed his own hips up against your ass, grinding into you.

“Bitch…”

“Oh, c’mon, Blitz-baby,” you taunt, turning around to kneel between his thighs. You slide your fingers up along his tail, stroking the length of it with your fingertips, and squeeze again. He whines through grinding teeth. “I know you like it.”

He lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a chuckle and a growl. “Oh, you filthy fuckin’ whore.”

“Sweet-talker,” you laugh, the sound cut off as he grabs ahold of you and kisses you fiercely again. Blitzø manages to keep kissing you as he manhandles you across the couch, fumbling with the fastenings of your jeans. He manages to undo them and have the pants and your underwear shoved halfway down your thighs before he turns you around to face the other end of the couch, baring your ass to him.

“Oh, now you’re gonna get it,” he warns you, his body pressing against your back. You hear the rustling of his own pants, feel him slide his erection up between your thighs. You whimper, bracing your hands against the arm of the couch and arching your back so your ass is pushed back against him. He growls again, low in the back of his throat, his cock throbbing and so fucking hard. “Shit, you’re a needy little slut…”

“I’m sorry,” you say, the way you feign casual ruined by the breathless anticipation in your voice. You shift your hips, and the two of you moan quietly as the head of his cock presses into you slightly. “Were you planning on just insulting me all day, or are you actually going to fuck me? I’ve got work to do.”

Your dismissiveness has the exact effect on him that you want it to, and Blitzø thrusts hard into you with a snarl, bottoming out in one brutal, toe-curling thrust.

You moan throatily and he agrees with one of his own, his tail curling around your middle. His claws clutch at your hips, digging into the flesh.

“Christ on a titty-fuckin’ stick, always so fuckin’ tight…” he groans, withdrawing almost entirely before slamming his hips back into your ass. Your fingers tighten on the arm of the couch, your own claws digging into the fabric. “Feels fuckin’ good, doesn’t it, slut? How’s my cock feel in your tight little cunt?”

There’s that thread of affection under his harsh words that you know he’d deny, but it still makes your eyes roll back. “Blitzø…”

You move to reach between your thighs and he catches hold of your wrist, pulling your arm up behind your back. His tail unwinds from your waist to instead wrap around your wrist and hold it against the small of your back. He scrapes his nails down over waist, dark lines forming under his touch, squeezes the curves of your ass.

“No fuckin’ way, princess. You wanna cum? You’re gonna milk every drop of cum outta my dick first like a good little cock-sleeve.” he sneers, and you bite back a needy whine, unwilling to admit just how much it’s turning you on. “Now answer the fuckin’ question: how’s my cock feel?”

“So good…” you whimper, your own tail entangling with his around your wrist. “Sooo fucking good, Blitzø…”

“Damn fuckin’ right it does,” he replies, smugness torn with his own arousal. He’s thrusting into you so hard that your whole body bounces forward each time his hips meet yours, and he grinds deliciously against you on each stroke. It’s enough to bring you to the precipice and keep you there, an infuriating tease of almost enough. You push your hips back to meet his, forehead pressed to the arm of the couch. “Take it so fuckin’ good…”

“Thank you, baby,” you moan, eyes rolling back. Blitzø curses, hands tightening on your ass. You know damn well the effect praise and gratitude can have on him during sex, and the sincerity burning through your breathless voice is enough to make his hips stutter against yours. There’s an ache in the way he’s stretching you, filling you, and your thighs are quivering. “Shit…”

“You want me to cum, slut?” he taunts, his voice betraying just how close he is. It’s reedy and gruff, and he groans as you flex around him on the pull back. He rewards you with an even harder thrust back in, the sound of his flesh meeting yours well and truly drowning out the sounds of the TV. “Wanna feel me fill you up? You gonna get all quivery and moan like a good little whore when you feel my cum dripping out of your cunt?”

“Please, Blitzø,” it almost comes out as a sob, your whole body tight with your need to feel that release. “Please, I want you to cum…”

“Where?” you can hear the smirk in his voice, and he laughs brokenly as he sees the hand he still has behind your back shift to give him the finger. He rolls his hips into yours the way he knows makes you keen in retaliation. “Say it, slut.”

“Fucking… shit, Blitzø, cum inside me.” you beg, eyes squeezed closed. “Please, baby… I need you to… fuck…”

Blitzø snickers, and you feel him lean over your body to press an open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder blade, his teeth grazing over your skin as he tells you, “Good girl.”

Between the husky cadence of the praise and the way his fingers finally find your clit, you can’t help but curse, collapsing forward on the couch. Blitzø’s grip on your hips keeps you on your knees in front of him, and he thrusts into you in one final, hard slam of his hips to cum deep inside your quivering, swollen cunt.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he groans, a growl sounding under the words, and he keeps himself buried fully inside you as he quickens his fingers over your clit. Each flex of your pussy around him milks him further, and you can barely register the sound of the string of curses it elicits from him over your own moaning.

Your thighs do shake as your orgasm finally crests, your voice catching slightly as Blitzø grasps a fistful of your hair and jerks your head back so you can’t muffle it in the cushions. Your moan is rough, too-loud for the apartment, and Blitzø laughs, cum-drunk as he releases your hips and you collapse, boneless onto the couch in front of him.

You hum a breath deliriously, rolling onto your back with some difficulty as your legs tangle with his. Blitzø straddles your hips, running his hand up over your hip and up, over your waist and your ribs and to your breast. He squeezes it teasingly, flicking his claw over your nipple, and he smirks as you jerk under his touch.

“Asshole,” you mutter breathlessly into the cushions, feeling his hand smooth up over the swell of your ass.

He squeezes, kneads the flesh, and you hear him exhale admiringly as he watches his cum slowly drip out of you. “So fuckin’ pretty…”

“So... can I get back to work now?”

Blitzø laughs at your attempt to sound impatient, pinching your nipple and leaning down over you to catch the resulting gasp with his own lips. He kisses you languidly, hand grazing up over your chest and the side of your throat to cup your cheek. The… tenderness of the gesture surprises you, but you let yourself relax into the embrace.

“Depends…” he says against your lips, kissing you again before pulling back to meet your eye. That infuriating smirk is playing on his lips again, an eyebrow arched challengingly. “You gonna sit there and do your work like a good little girl while my cum drips outta you? Or are you gonna come and get your freak on in the shower like I know you want to?”

[sciderman]

Sorry if someone else already asked this but out of the Deadpools in any animated adaption which one is your favorite?

fortnite

okay kidding, i've never played fortnite but i love watching him do the dances. i'll rate all of the animated deadpools i guess. all the animated deadpools that i know of.

hulk vs wolverine

5/10 i think this might be the first animated deadpool i'd ever seen. and he's okay. i don't like nolan north's voice, really. i know a lot of people love him. i think his voice is pretty plain jane and his delivery is nothing special. mind you this wade doesn't have a lot of funny things to say anyway. this whole film is so very mid and so forgettable. marvel animation generally is really mid and forgettable. also he's such a scrawny little twink. i like my wades beefier. 5/10 for being one of the most ordinary, inoffensive, mid portrayals of deadpool ever.

deadpool (the game)

3/10 yeah i don't know, i hate this guy. nolan north yet again but his voice is slightly less plain jane and more rocket raccoon here. not into it. this game sprouted all the worst interpretations of deadpool ever and for that it must pay dearly. three stars because at least his tits are massive. but i hate his stupid pinhead.

ultimate spider-man deadpool

8/10 yeah he's the best one the west has to offer. sorry. he is. his jokes are funny. he is completely insane. he upstaged spider-man in every way a deadpool should. he's a scene-stealer. he has the presence. he has the hips. he has the thighs. he has my heart. one of my first ever exposures to deadpool and the start of a downward spiral for me. he loses two stars because DEAR GOD his voice is UNBEARABLE but. the episode is a masterpiece if you hit the mute button. i wanted to write a fic about him to flesh out his lore because honestly i'm really interested in this specific presumably teenaged wade wilson who was digested by the shield system and came out of it a mercenary. wade i was a teenage mercenary wilson. i want to know everything about him. i'm obsessed with him.

marvel disk wars

10/10 he is SO cute and i think i'd die for him. he lends himself to anime so so well, and the japanese just know how to do deadpool. he's a spider-man fanboy and every bit the attention whore he's meant to be. he knows how to give his chimichangettes what they want. the crotch shots. the unrelenting barrage on the 4th wall. but he also has a good heart at the end of the day. he's everything to me.

marvel's future avengers

10/10 obligatory, for being basically just a continuation of the prior deadpool but in a new series. he is very wife. the art is better but the animation isn't. but he's so. so cute. look at him. look at his gwumpy little faaaace look at HIIIIIM...

the japanese do just know how to do deadpool. his sole motivation in all of these is literally just to hog screentime. that's literally all he's there for. he's just a spotlight hog. all he wants is attention, and for them to make cute anime figures of him. he's the most valid deadpool ever. i think.

[sorchathered]

Strip that down

Pairing- Club Owner!Jake Seresin x Dancer!Reader (Nightclub AU)

Warnings- mentions of stripping, language, light smut

Summary-I’m gonna be so serious y’all I blacked out writing this, might make it a series of drabbles in the future bc I went feral for the concept.

“I swear you have got to be the most pig headed, arrogant son of a bitch I’ve ever met” you say as you storm down the hall, a very disgruntled Jake Seresin hot on your heels. He hadn’t intended to start a fight but goddamnit it seemed like no matter what he said lately caused an argument.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? It’s not like I was asking for that girl’s number or anything, she was all over me! What did you want me to do? hit her? Come on Cherry just stop and look at me please?” He said as he jogged in front of you to stall you. You two weren’t even dating, you’d been very adamant that this was just hooking up, so why were you so pissed? Unless…

“Cherry look at me. I can’t keep fighting with you like this, it’s driving me insane. If you want to break things off we can, I can’t say I won’t miss you but I’ll get it. We work together and it’s hard to be professional when shit like this happens. But…if you want more, all you have to do is ask baby girl, you know good and damn well you’ve got me totally wrapped.”

He had you crowded up against the sticky nightclub wall, bass thrumming through the room straight into your chest as he skimmed his hands up and down your sides. You’d been in the middle of your set when you watched some fresh faced new hire throw her arms around his neck and get way too close for your liking, but of course you had to be professional and continue on, trying to school your features as you danced on stage. The second you’d finished and gotten your tips you’d slammed his portion on the bar, stomping off to the dressing rooms, the fire in your eyes enough to burn the whole room down. He wasn’t yours, he was your boss and you should’ve known better than to let him get under your skin like this.

You were trying to get your bearings but your head was spinning, had he really just said he wanted more? You opened your mouth but promptly shut it, how were you supposed to respond to that? Of course that’s what you wanted but you never would’ve suggested it, you’d been in love with him since the two of you had started this whole arrangement, how could you not be? He was charming and charismatic, and don’t even ask about his looks; the man knew he looked good. He was making it harder and harder to focus now, those damn hands of his couldn’t seem to stop grazing over whatever exposed flesh he could get to and it was making you dizzy.

He cocked his head and smirked that smart ass smile at you, leaning in to whisper against your lips, “Gotta use your words baby, you want us to keep going like we are? Or do you want me to make you mine? You say the word and I’ll make sure every girl in a 100 mile radius knows you own me, but I need to hear you say it.”

“You know I do, I love you, you’re such an asshole but fuck I do, I love you Jake.”

He groaned as he pressed himself to you, kissing you hard as he continued to run his hands all over your body. “Goddamnit Cherry, you can’t just drop a bomb like that on me, making me fucking crazy, I ought to take you right here where everyone can see.” His words sent fire through your veins, you cried out and bucked into him at the thought of him fucking you right outside of the main stage, anyone could walk by and you weren’t sure you’d even care. He chuckled against the shell of your ear as he continued to press his palm against your core, he could feel you soaking through the thin fabric of your costume, again he briefly considered following through with his taunting and fucking you right here, but thought better of it because after all you were still at work. He kissed you again and removed his hand from your shorts, watching your pretty doe eyes blink at him in shock, you really had thought he’d do it.

“Oh come on now don’t look at me like that, go change and grab your stuff, first I’m gonna take you out for dinner and then you can be my dessert, whadd’ya say Cherry Pie?” You rolled your eyes but let him scoot you down the hall, and when you walked out with his hand on your ass you made sure the new waitress caught a glimpse of your tongue down his throat. Jake could definitely get used to this side of you, and the private dances just for him every night didn’t hurt either.

🏷️ Tagging- @mamamaystbr @mamachasesmayhem @sailor-aviator @attapullman @bobgasm @sebsxphia @goldenseresinretriever @bradshawssugarbaby @roosterforme @mynameismckenziemae @sarahsmi13s @hangmansgbaby

[zombie-hickey]

[Dead and Unburied]

-

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

-

Warnings: MDNI, Zombie!Ghost, Gore, Violence, Reader is a bit messed up, Angst, Hurt mostly without Comfort

-

Summary: Ghost is dead but you just can't let go.

-

You feel disgusting... Sick in the head some might say.

Your hands shake as you stare down at the rusted chains, wrapped around the man's ankles and wrists... Could you even call him a man anymore?

×🩷×

"Damn it. Get the fuck out of here- now."

A large chunk taken out of his arm, the stench of rotten flesh and the burn of fresh blood infects your senses, it's enough to choke you... You're no stranger to infected, you know how this all goes. You've watched it over and over...

You can't lose him too. He's all that's left in this shattered world. What's the point if you're completely alone?

"Live for me. Survive this."

It's a command and a plea all at once, pleading with you to go on in hopes of a better future... Maybe you're weak though. Too weak.

×🩷×

You know this is all wrong- nothing about this is logical. You can't help but imagine what the others would say if they could see you now.

"Ya gotta let him go."

"This ain't right. That isn't him anymore, lass."

"It's okay, Strawberry... Just breathe."

Price, Soap and Gaz... Their voices haunt you as well as the screams of so many others, you don't even know if they are out there somewhere or not.

Suddenly the sound of low gurgling disrupts your train of though, glancing over to see Ghost shifting against his restraints, clouded dead eyes meeting yours... Those beautiful eyes you used to get lost in now make a shiver run down your spine.

But it's still technically him, isn't it? It's still him. You have to believe that.

"Simon... It's okay. It's me."

His broken jaw shifts slightly and you'd like to imagine he'd be speaking right now if he was capable... However, something shocks you down to your core. There's a hint of recognition in him- like he has some form of humanity left, a shred of awareness of his past. Awareness of you.

You could just be imagining it though... After all, you were crazy enough to capture him to keep even though he's a zombie now. Just to chase off the loneliness.

×🩷×

Seeing him like that- walking the streets in aimless search of flesh... It broke you in a way you didn't know possible. Yet a part of you just needed him. Needed him back. Even if he can't speak to you any longer or can't recognize you as friend not food- you needed him.

You managed to sneak up on the giant of a man with a crowbar in hand, smacking him with it earning a low growling groan, part of you feels guilty as you restrain him... Especially guilty as it sounds as though he still experiences pain, his jaw dislodged from the harsh blow.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry... I'm so sorry."

×🩷×

Despite your better judgement you move a bit closer to him, he doesn't attempt to attack you which you take as a good sign, raising your hand to cautiously touch his cheek- feeling the cold flesh beneath your fingertips.

"You're still in there, aren't you...? Si... Please tell me you're still in there somehow."

You receive a grunt in reply- though much more hoarse and growly, it's still recognizable as Simon. An actual reply to you...

"Oh my god... You're still-"

Before you can continue cup his face lovingly in your hands, a maggot wiggles out and lands on your knuckle, you immediately scramble away and frantically shake the bits of rotten flesh and the hideous little critter off.

"Ew!!! Ew, ew, ew..."

Simon leans forward to watch what you're doing, he seems a bit apologetic for what just happened... This definitely can't be easy for him, having some form of consciousness trapped inside this zombified shell, rotting away while still walking... Does he still feel pain from it? Is he numb to the sensation of his flesh wasting away? Is he in mental and physical distress right now and can't tell you?

Part of you feels guilty now. Perhaps you should have killed him for his sake- you're being selfish.

"M'sorry, Si... I'm so sorry... I just... I need you."

×🩷×

"Shoot them in the head."

He knew he had to look out for you no matter what, he refused to let anything touch you. You're the one pure thing that found its way into his heart and life, saw past the Ghost and saw Simon. You'd listen to his puns for way too long at a time, never seeming to get sick of him.

The thought of anything happening to you made him sick inside, his guts twisting into multiple knots. He's known loss his whole life- even before the apocalypse... Now it's him and you against the world it appears.

"Stay behind me."

Putting himself in harm's way for you came so easily, however regret seeps into his bones when he's unable to shield you from his own demise, seeing that look in your eyes when you acknowledge he got bit. The pain in his arm couldn't possibly compare to the heartbreaking terror reflected in your gaze.

His final moments spent knowing he can't protect you anymore. There's nothing that can be done- only hoping you'll listen and carry on.

×🩷×

The sound of other voices scare you senseless, scrambling up off the safe house floor and grabbing your crowbar, all out of ammo at this point so your gun is useless. Simon growling lowly and wriggling against his restraints but you just shush him.

"Sh... Shhh... I've got this. You don't have to protect me, it's okay."

Your reassurance makes him settle slightly but he's still rightfully worried... Until you recognize one of the voices.

"Someone's definitely in here..."

His voice is low and smooth... Gaz. You're not alone. They're alive. They came back for you- they...

"Bloody hell!!!"

The door was pushed open to reveal a stunned Soap at the sight of a restrained zombie Ghost.

"I- I can explain..."

-

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Guiding Hand 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, violence, abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won’t let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: My dudes.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your shoulder hurts. Your ribs too. You keep your arm across your middle as you drag your feet down the pavement. The impact of the bed frame continues to throb tenderly in your flesh. 

The embarrassment is worse than the pain. You barely hold back the hot tears behind your eyes. You can still hear Professor Smith’s voice. He was mortified, just as much as you. How can you ever face him again?  

You’re not going to. You give up. Lee is right. You’re too stupid. You’re useless. You’re destined to end up just like your mom. Not quite. You doubt there will ever be a man who would waste his time. 

You dab away the moisture along the brims of your eyes before you enter the convenience store. You nod at the cashier and duck down the middle aisle. You find a canister of your usual brand and linger before the shelf. You don’t want to go back yet, but you know the longer you take, the more reason there is for Lee to complain. 

You pay and head back out into the street. The sky is grey and clouds dampen the air. There’s a rainstorm coming. It’s a perfect setting for today. 

The apartment rises before you and you sigh in resignation. This is it. The rest of your life. Well... 

One day your mother will cast you out. It might be sooner than later with how Lee hangs around, how he commands her. He doesn’t see a place for you there. You don’t see one for you anywhere. What will you do then?  

As it is, all you have to your name is your laptop, your ratty clothes, and the debt you won’t be able to pay back when you fail this course and drop out. You’re defeated by the time you get to the top of the stairs. You keep your head down as you enter the apartment and slide the chain into place. 

You’re met with thick grunts and the slap of flesh. Your mom’s whimpers are muffled but Lee’s carnal noises are untethered. Your breath traps in your chest and your skin razes hotly. You try to ignore it as you enter the kitchen and set the canister on the counter, leaving the change on the lid. 

As you back up, there’s a glimmer of movement from your left. The bathroom door opens, revealing the back of Lee’s rutting body. You cover your eyes in horror as he huffs and puffs, your mother’s strangled cries trickling out as she’s hidden behind the door, between him and the sink. 

“Put a pot on,” he demands as he grips the door and bites his lip, putting more into his thrust, “we’re almost done.” 

He smirks and winks before he snaps the door shut. Your stomach stirs with nausea and you quickly spin away. You shake as you near the counter. You have no other choice. You know if you ignore him, he’ll make sure it all gets worse for you. He’s already ruined so much. 

You put the change aside and uncap the canister. You peel back the freshness seal, your bandaged hand making it all the more tedious. The coffee grounds catch on the gauze. You fill the tank of the machine and set the pot in place. You measure out the coffee and flip the lid down, hitting the red button before you walk away. 

You can still hear them. Even as you shut your bedroom door. You face your room and turn on the light. It’s worse than when you left. 

Your bed is half off the frame, your bookshelf’s been cleared onto the floor, your laundry basket is overturned, and your laptop... It’s under the chair. You cross the room and bend to pick it up. You examine it; loose hinges and the frame is peeling away from the monitor. Your heart plummets and you drop into the chair. 

You have to prop the screen up against the wall to keep it open. Awkwardly, you reach across the desk to reach the keyboard and hit the power button. To your surprise, it boots and the screen lights up. The colours are all off; the dark is now light and the reverse. The mouse pad doesn’t work, or half the keys. 

It takes you twenty minutes to sign in. Aside from your burnt hand, the state of the laptop is more than enough to deter you. You watch the desktop load helplessly and several notifications pop up along the right side of the screen. You don’t read any of them as you see the name; Dr. Raymond Smith. 

You know what they are. Just like before. He's repulsed by you. By the way you live. He saw the truth and you can't hide it any longer. It's not worth it to deny it any longer. 

It was all a stupid idea. As stupid as you. It's easier to just give up. You don't know why you tried in the first place. 

You'll put in a request to drop the course. If you can. You can't do much given the state of your laptop. You can't do much at all in life. That's the way it will always be. 

📓

The last... however many days you've been awake. Waiting. Dreading. Expecting Lee to burst in and humiliate you again. 

Every time you try to close your eyes, you swear you hear the door knob. You put the chair under the knob. You're so tired. Exhausted to the bone. You need sleep badly. 

You lay down, head swimming with agony, and your eyes close without another thought. You can't resist the heavy blanket of fatigue that drapes over you. There is nothing. A void of sheer desolation that wraps around your body, submerging you like dark water. 

You wake with a start. The vision of blue eyes fade in an instant. Eyes you know. Not the vivid irises of the sinister man in your mother's room, no a pair of almost crystalline orbs, soft and diligent. You shake of the thought and rub the stitch from your forehead. 

You smell. You've been wearing the same clothes since that day. How long ago was that? You can't count. You haven't showered, the room is the same mess he made of it, your life too. 

You don't move. You don't want to. Not until the gentle tap comes at the door. You groan as the handle turns but the chair keeps the door lodged in place.  

"Sweetie," your mom calls through, "will you let me in?" 

You stare at the door. Your limbs refuse to move. You can't lift even a finger. You close your eyes and listen to her beg. You hate that. You hear it constantly, the way she begs him to stop, to listen, or just to be kind. 

Go away. 

When you open your eyes next, there's a banging on the door. The chair lurches and the legs scrape on the floor, but the door stays shut. You hide again, pulling a pillow over your head. 

Time flows into vague droning and shades of grey. Your head is foggy and thick. Suddenly, you're awake and staring up at an angry face. You're torn out of the bed and dragged to sit at the edge. Only Lee's unbreakable grip keeps you from flopping onto your back. 

You stare up at him dumbly then your eyes search past him. The chair is broken on the floor. You look back to him, head lolling. You blink as he snarls. 

"What're ya doin'? You're drivin' your ma batty! And I gotta listen to it so you get your ass up." 

You try to swat him away and whimper as your hand pulses and fire course through your skin. You force your spine rigid and try to shrug him off. You shake your head and cradle your hand in your lap, the bandage stained and smelly with puss. 

"Get on you fucking feet," he lifts you as if you weigh nothing. You as good as dangle from his grasp, "cupboards are empty." 

"Sweetie," your mom's birdish cheep comes from the doorway, "we got the credits. I wrote a list for you." 

"Laying in the dark all day, what else you got?" Lee scoffs and lets you go. You waver on your feet and look dully over at your mothers shadow. "Fucking stinks in here." 

You shuffle past him silently. You don't know what to do, you just know you need to be away from him. You feel sick. You're dizzy and drained.  

You put out your uninjured hand to take the list from your mom. Your stench ripples off the hoodie. She smiles through a curled lip. 

"Sweetie, you should get changed first," she slurs and give a doelike flutter of lashes. Drunk, as always. Maybe you should start. Maybe you wouldn't have to feel so much. 

You nod and go to the closet. Lee prowls around your desk but you're too hazy to care. You pull out a new hoodie then go to the dresser to find some loose sweats.  

You stop and stare at the man standing by your bed. The thick silence strangles you as he growls under his breath. Your mom trills with nervous laughter. 

"Lee, come on, she gotta put new clothes on. Honey, can you make sure you grab an extra chop for him?" 

You shrug and you hug the rumpled clothing with one arm and stare at the floor. He can have yours. Your stomach is so empty, the very idea of food makes you want to wretch. 

"Mmm, stop dragging your ass," he snarls as he stomps to the door, "fucking starving." 

You wait until he slams it. You expect that. You don’t even react. You lay the clothing on the desk and peel off the dingy layers. You pull on the sweats and swoop the sweater over your head. If you keep the hood up, you won’t have to worry about your hair or face. 

You take the list and stuff it in your pocket. Each step is a stagger. Your body is stiff and sore. You go out into the hall and brace yourself for another attack. You only hear your mother murmuring in the kitchen. You edge away and sit on the floor as you put your shoes on.  

You stand and fumble with the locks on the door. You can barely get your fingers to co-operate and your burnt hand is in flames. The bandages barely cling to the flesh. You shut the door behind you without using the key and head down the hallway. 

Down the stairs, you can see the yellow sunlight seeping in through the front doors. You emerge, squinting into the shine, and raise your hand as you try to see through it. Your head pounds at the intensity of daylight.  

You trod between the freshly mowed plot of grass before the building and stop by the sidewalk. You sway and try to shake the cobwebs out. You look one way then the other. The heat gathers under your sweater and you hunch down even more. It’s an unusually warm day. 

Your name startles you before you can find your bearings and set off for the store. You must be delirious. Maybe you should’ve found some stale bread to chew on. Rings of colour form in your vision as you turn around to face the echo of your name. 

The figure moves decisively towards you. You have to be hallucinating. It can’t be him. It’s probably that guy who always asks for a light between puffing smoke towards the doors. 

“I’ve been emailing,” Professor Smith says. You lean back on your heel and grimace. He isn’t real. “You... are you well?” 

You stare at him. You try to see through the delusion but can’t. You look down at your trembling hand then turn to peer down the street. 

“I have to go,” you croak over your dry tongue. 

You turn away, feet tangling, and stagger on. You can hear him following. His steps are fleet and light. In a moment, he’s at your side. 

“Please, you look ill, slow down,” he touches your arm and you rip away from him. 

“Leave--” you stumble and throw your arms out to balance yourself, stopping short as you nearly keel over. “I’m okay.” 

“You clearly aren’t. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for over a week. After our last meeting, I’m certain you can understand my concern--” 

You face him and scrunch up your nose, “Professor,” you stammer out, “you don’t have to worry about me. No one does.” 

You quickly veer past him and fall into a clumsy sprint across the street. You barely dodge a car on your way to the other side and you’re out of breath as you meet the curb. You keep your head down as you hurry away, hoping he’s not persistent. He’ll go away. He’s not real, so you just have to stop thinking. 

[foolsocracy]

Hi, hello, I’m new to your blog. I’ve made myself at home. Lovely carpet.

Can I please know more about your spider Robbie pie? Can’t seem to find the silverware.

but of course, kind anon

Spider Robbie is an au in which Robbie Robertson takes up the spider mantle after the death of the one before him. He is the third, following Ben Urich and, most notably, Peter Parker.

This au is very much canon divergence from Eyes Without a Face, where Peter makes it in time to save Robbie from his original fate but dies in the process. Peter is shot while rushing Robbie and the others out. In his panic and elation at finding Robbie physically unharmed, Peter outs himself as the Spider Man to his best friend. Robbie stays with him as he bleeds out and resolves to continue to hide Peter's identity.

Peter is buried and remains that way for... an undetermined amount of time.

Robbie is left with a mask, a jacket, and the question of just who was this other half of his friend. As he learns more of who this... Spider Man was, he gets more and more involved in the spider's cases and conflicts. Robbie gets more sure of his own abilities and makes a bit of a name for the Spider Man within his own community, though the people of Harlem are largely unaware that the appearances of a masked vigilante match the interests of one Robbie Robertson.

It is to be noted that none of these aforementioned abilities are spider-god-induced powers like Peter's. Robbie, especially at the beginning of his spidering career, leans more into Urich's role than Parker's. To me, Robbie has been passionate about the press and journalism in a way that Peter never was. For Pete, his job as a photographer and reporter was a job he took until he could get into college and study science. Robbie has a way with words and communication that Peter frankly lacks. Of course, that isn't to say that Robbie won't be kicking ass, because he will. It will just take him a bit of time to get some of those skills as he's, well, a normal guy. Not everyone can get their biology scrambled like Pete.

And just because Robbie hasn't been scrambled doesn't mean he's completely separate from all things supernatural either!

I think the marvel noir universe is at its best when there's a magical, supernatural undercurrent. This concept isn't super prevalent in the actual comics, but HoplesslyLost on ao3 has done some really cool world building with it.

I think in Robbie's case, where he would be the narrator, "magical realism" would be an interesting avenue to take it. I use this term in particular because I most closely relate it to Toni Morrison in my head, when I first learned about it through her work in high school. For Morrison, the concept was inseparable to blackness and I think for Robbie, where his blackness is so central to his character and his motivations, drawing on that could be more of a service to his character. It feels better to do that than ignore how incredibly racialized his society and story is. It will make his relationship with the spider god, Peter (who I will get to very very shortly), his community, and his own mythos as The Spider Man really interesting and complex.

So it's been established that Robbie doesn't have spider powers. And we all know that Peter did-- or should I say does. One of the spider god's abilities is to bring Peter back to life. She does this in the comics, but not in any of the runs from 2008-2010 (the runs that make up this au). When Peter dies on Ellis Island, he does not think he is coming back from that. Waking up again is a surprise.

Here's where I think the au really takes a left turn. Do I think the Spider God is purely evil and spiteful and has it out for Pete? No, not really. Will I be ramping said traits up to 11 for the au? Yeah, I guess I might. This is because I love a little bit of horror and the came back wrong trope. I will hopefully be fleshing the spider god out in the near future, but I really haven't given her the many hours of thought I have the other characters. For that I'm sorry spider god </3

Peter digs himself out of his grave, more spider than he ever has been. For much of his new, waking life he is more animalistic than not. There is clearly something wrong with him; his joints are too flexible and loose, he's got some eye-shine going on, his skin is pale and his veins are starkly dark beneath it. He's possessed. Someone is puppeteering him, someone who knows a lot-- almost everything about him, but it's clear that the someone isn't him.

And Peter--- the body, it can't be Peter. At least, that's what Robbie thinks when the figure catches his eye the first time. Because Peter is dead and buried, and he has been dead and buried for weeks.

[what-even-is-thiss]

i've been reading some of your arguments for why you wouldn't be vegan and just wanted to point out that you have a lot of fallacy in your arguments. might want to do a look in there to make sure you are stating your morals/prose properly, and aren't using any arguments that can be easy to shutdown. appeal to tradition. appeal to futility and the argument that personal pleasure(taste etc) allows us to do what we want to others without consent to their bodies is a moral issue i don't think you align with but i could be mistaken. a lot of people who enjoy sex don't rape for example.

i also liked the taste of animal flesh and organs but realized my personal pleasure i got from consuming them pales when it is placed against the value of someone's life and what they have to endure for me to get that on my plate, it's easy to have a disconnect when you don't know. health, animals, earth all benefit from a plant based diet. a plant based diet can feed more people for cheaper, helping to end hunger.

you can say you cook "more vegetarian" but i implore you to continue your growth and align your actions with your morals and continue to strive for a plant based diet in the future. you don't seem like a cruel person but i could be wrong. i've been vegan for 15 years and i cook so many amazing meals and can tell you from experience you don't have to limit yourself to oatmeal. if you have time to watch/listen id implore you to check out gary yourofsky "the most important speech you will ever hear"

good luck to you on aligning your moral values with the actions you take daily/what you pay for.

Okay. Do you say these same things to vegans that wear cotton? That also kills a lot of animals. Like a lot of them. It hurts entire ecosystems.

There’s no way to buy stuff in our current economy that doesn’t hurt somebody or something. I know how to cook tasty and cheap and mostly healthy meals for myself and the easiest way to do that is with pre-cut veggies, eggs, and the occasional poultry.

Yeah I’m wasting plastic. Yeah I’m eating animals. Vegans eat almonds and quinoa. Those are bad farmed at an industrial scale.

Being an omnivore is natural and I don’t feel bad about it. If you look me in the eyes and ask me if I could kill a chicken the answer is yes. I’ve done extensive research on how to do it safely, actually. If the apocalypse comes I’m raising hens for meat.

Also comparing animal agriculture to rape? Couldn’t find literally anything else to compare it to? Really?

[comicaurora]

Out of curiosity, how far ahead are you on the comic? I mean, you must have it all planned and written out, but I imagine that you are drawing the future of Aurora even while we're reading it.

So is Arc 2 already illustrated and ready for upload while you're on like Arc 5 or something? I'm by no means undermining your need for a break; I'm shocked that you've been uploading continuously for over 4 years at this point. I'm just interested to know how long it takes a person to make something this great. And also if you change any details in the final edit?

Basically: what's the workflow like?

Also I think you low-key inspired me to pick up painting as a hobby. I'm ready to pour so much money into creating things that I know I'll hate. :)

God, arc 5? That's a very generous assessment of how fast I can draw!

Typically, when the comic is updating regularly, I keep a buffer of 10 to 20 completed pages. Right now, in the interest of taking a break, the buffer is 0 completed pages.

Chapter 1 of Arc 2 is completely storyboarded, meaning it's sketched out, the dialog is all mostly finalized barring last-minute rephrasements, etc. It can be read in its current form, it just looks unpretty. In fact, just for fun, here's a sneak peek!

In the next month I'll go through and finalize as many pages from this chapter as possible - which means locking down the panel borders, fleshing out the backgrounds, lining, shading, coloring, polish, etc. - which will be the process of building up a new buffer for when the comic starts back up again in January. During that time, I'll also be storyboarding Chapter 2 and as much of the following parts as I can manage.

I have the next several chapters and sub-arcs planned out in loose timelines - event A happens at location B leading to consequences C and D, stuff like that. Chapter 2, being the closest, is a little more fleshed-out, with a more detailed bullet-pointed timeline and various character ideas I've had that might or might not make it into the final version.

What exactly the chapter breakdown is going to look like is a little more complicated. Initially I'd planned for Chapter 1 to be low-stakes downtime and Chapter 2 to quickly kick off the high-octane adventure again, but when I started bullet-pointing out the stuff I wanted to do in Chapter 2, I ended up with a big pile of slower-paced character moments I thought were well worth exploring, so the runtimes might stretch a little.

Translating those brainstormed notes into storyboards and dialog is what I would classify as the "writing" part of this process. It happens at an erratic pace largely determined by the whims of whatever muse decides to get me in a headlock that day; sometimes I go weeks with no storyboarding progress, sometimes I hammer out fifteen pages in one day.

It's kinda like weaving, to me. The soon-to-be-arriving parts of the story are the most finalized, the most densely woven. A little ways beyond that, things get looser - some patterns may be locked down, but the actual work that'll hold it together hasn't been done yet. And in the far-flung future arcs, it's just the basic bones of the story and a pile of the threads I've planned to use. I know the shape of it, but in order for it to be fun and engaging for me to make it, I need to give myself room to be creative when I'm putting the whole thing together.

I actually have a file called the "Toolbox" that contains every random character or subplot idea I've had, and sometimes when I'm debating where to go with a chunk of story, I'll crack it open and scan through to see if anything jumps out begging to be used. Lotta fun stuff in there that may or may not ever see the light of day. Dropping stuff in the Toolbox is one of the most fun and freeing parts of the process for me!