#not him fleeing the country twice for this

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

What Happens in Cars, Stays in Cars

dbf!jake seresin x fem!reader 9k words

summary: After a month-long deployment, Jake is finally coming back home. Well, not home home. You're too desperate to wait until you've actually got him home. But who needs home when there's a perfectly good car anyway?

a/n: porn with plot. a lot of plot. and a lot of porn. 18+ obviously. reader is twenty-five in this, jake is forty-seven. as always, a list of things to watch out for:

nudes. mentions of masturbation. pet names used in an unholy way. the word 'brat' is dropped twice. safe sex (yess they still have a condom!!! i feel like i deserve a round of applause for not forgetting it). car sex, so a tiny smidge of exhibitionism. dom!jake. a lot of begging, as always. a tad bit dry humping. first finger sucking, then fingering. any more, uh....? i don't think so. there's not much space in a car for anything else.

top gun masterlist | dbf!jake seresin masterlist

(the gif has nothing at all to do with the fic, but tell me that's not dbf!jake working out in his backyard knowing you're watching him istg)

It's a one time thing. That's what they told him. A one time thing.

He isn't supposed to do these anymore. He's supposed to be stationed permanently, sitting in his office and doing what an admiral does. Important work, surely. It's a high honour and he's proud, of course. But office work... Office work has never really been his thing. And if they'd deployed him for this mission four months earlier, he would've been thrilled.

He's the best of the best. The navy knows. He knows. Which is why he's an admiral by now. And also why they want him coaching the new hotshots for a month, halfway across the country.

And, yes, he would've been thrilled - four months ago.

Four months ago, when you'd not yet moved back home. Four months ago, when he hadn't yet met you. Four months ago, when he hadn't known what it was like to hold you, to touch you, to miss you.

His phone chimes and momentarily distracts him. It's not that he didn't mute it - he's standing in front of a bunch of twenty-something year olds who he does try to be a role model for - it's just that you'd tampered with it once and ever since then, you've had a personalised ringtone that still somehow works even when everything else is muted. (He could totally turn that off if he wanted to, though. Definitely. Ab-so-lu-tely. He just... doesn't.)

His jaw clenches and he has to restart his sentence, but other than that, he manages to pretend nothing happened. Nonetheless, he has to glare at the snickering wannabe-pilots in the first row, who remind him very much of a young version of himself.

You're three hours ahead of him and probably just got off work. It's likely nothing but a sweet "having a good day?" message or maybe a photo of you all dressed up, ready for dinner with your friends like you'd planned.

Either way, knowing your message is sitting unopened in your chat has him talking quicker. He finishes his lecture half an hour early and fishes his phone from his pocket before the first of his pupils have even got up from their seats - which turns out to be a horrible, horrible idea, because the photo attached to "don't know how long i'll stay out, have a nice night, admiral" with the winky face emoji is not one of you all dressed up for a night out with your friends, but one of you in just a pair of panties in front of the mirror. The mirror in his bedroom.

Fucking god-

He seems to let out some kind of choked up groan or something of the sort, because a few of his pilots turn to look back at him. One even has the audacity to ask if he's alright, which he certainly isn't. But that's absolutely not their problem.

So he grumbles something about how they should all use their free time to go to the gym instead of bothering him before he collects his things and flees to his room. One of the many advantages of being an admiral, of course, is that he doesn't have to bunk anymore, which is always the greatest nuisance for anybody who's ever looking for privacy. The times he's had to listen to guys jack off a foot away from him- fuck, the times they'd had to listen to him.

No, right now he is incredibly thankful for the privacy of his bedroom as he locks the door behind him and opens his phone again. Goddamn, why were you in his house? His fingers hover over the call button for a few seconds, but then he decides against it - you're going out with friends for the first time in months, he doesn't want to bother you.

He's popping the button of his jeans and sitting down on his bed right as you come online.

"Like the pictures, baby? I've got more"

And before he can even respond, you've sent a bunch more selfies, half of them in front of his mirror, the other half on his bed and none of them decently clothed. Fucking hell, in one you've got your fingers down your panties and Jake is really thankful for the privacy of his room then because he groans so loudly that a bunkmate would definitely have heard.

"Are you still at dinner?", he asks, his fingers flying over his keyboard while he tugs at his zipper with his left hand.

"Yeah, won't be home soon", you write back. "Sorry"

"Don't be", Jake responds, as quickly as he can, because he definitely does not want to make you feel bad for spending time with your friends. "Have fun"

"Have fun with the pics", you send. Jake can picture your grin, sitting all dressed up in a restaurant and ignoring your friends to text him. "Thought those could maybe make up for no phone call tonight"

He swallows hard as you log off, leaving him with those pretty pictures of yours that certainly improve his night by a lot. Hell, he's already moving his briefs out of the way and clicking on your photos again. Just seeing you half-naked in his room - fuck, the thought of you sneaking over there only to do a goddamn photoshoot... You're really unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. And he can't wait to get back home to you.

...

"I miss you", you mumble into the phone, blinking at the alarm clock on your nightstand. It's eleven thirty, not nearly late enough for you to feel as exhausted as you do.

"I miss you too, darling", you hear Jake drawl on the other end of the call. "I'll be back soon."

"Not soon enough", you whine - god, you sound pathetic and miserable to your own ears already, you must sound ten times worse to him. You fall back onto your pillows and let out a deep sigh. "Would it be rude to say I hope the mission gets cancelled?"

Jake chuckles. Fucking hell, you miss that chuckle so much. You miss him so much. You miss cuddling up to him under the covers and tucking your head under his chin. You miss running your fingers through his hair and having your hands on him. You miss seeing him, standing in the kitchen or working out or tinkering in the backyard or fresh out of the shower. Shit, you even miss sneaking around with him, because at least then you'd gotten to watch him from a distance, maybe steal a kiss when your parents hadn't been looking or spend a night at his house pretending to be at your friend's.

Now he's halfway across the country and absolutely, completely out of reach. You'd barely gotten to see him at all - twice it had worked out to video-call during a lunch break, once he even managed to show you around his office after work. The camera quality is hardly any good, of course, which means video-calls aren't all that great, plus the connection never seems to really be stable, so with a few exceptions, you've only seen Jake in pictures over the past two and a half weeks.

His deployment would take another one and a half and then, finally, he'd be back home. Back home with you.

"I won't answer that", Jake says, and you can almost hear him grin. "But I wouldn't mind either if they moved the mission up."

You have to bite down on your lip to hide a smile.

"So you think you're good to go?", you ask softly, not wanting to bring the mood down further, instead opting for the non-classified work questions. You've already been bringing down the mood enough back here at home - you don't need to fill the few minutes a day you get with Jake with your whining as well. Your parents already hear enough of that. Of course, they don't know why you've been in such a bad mood ever since Jake left. And they can't know, either. You can't tell them. You can't tell anyone.

You can't tell anyone because no one knows that you've been sneaking around with your dad's best friend for the past three months. So you resign yourself to moping around and keeping out of everybody's way as much as you can. For one and a half week more, one and a half...

...

Exactly one and a half week later you're standing at the airport in your best heels and a little yellow sundress and are positively buzzing with nervous energy. Jake's plane would get in at half, he'd said, when you'd last spoken to him six hours earlier. Then the plane had taken off and so had his wifi.

You're playing around with a strand of your hair and doing your hardest not to start chewing off your nails, which proves more difficult than you'd thought (even though you'd put on nail polish).

You're just so excited.

It's been a month since you'd last seen him. A month. And at the early stage of your... relationship, if you could call it that, that's basically half a year. God, how long it's been since you've run your hands through his hair, since you've felt his arms around you.

You miss him so much.

Your phone chimes and you fish it out of your pocket with trembling hands, only to be disappointed when it's not a message from Jake. It's not like you'd told him to text when he'd landed, just... A part of you is kind of scared you're waiting in the wrong place. Maybe he's on the other end of the airport - it's not a particularly small one. It'd take you hours to find each other if you were waiting in the wrong place.

Then again - maybe the plane is late. Maybe he's had to wait for his luggage.

You check the time, just to be safe. It's 11:46. For all you know, Jake is still in the air. Or less than a door away.

You bounce on your feet, nervously shifting back and forth before checking your phone again. The text you'd gotten is from one of your friends, who you text back only to distract you. It barely works anyway. You can't put it away again quickly enough.

It's not even that you don't want to distract yourself. You just physically can't pay attention. You've been a nervous wreck for the past three days, ever since you'd made the plan to pick him up from the airport. Which is probably why you almost don't spot him.

Almost.

He walks through the opened doors with his suitcase rolling behind him, his backpack slung over his shoulder and at least five other people rushing past him.

He sees you before you see him.

But then, then when you see him-

You're already sprinting towards him before your mind even tells your legs to move. You can't control it and you can't be bothered to. Why would you?

You don't care about the people glancing at you with raised eyebrows. You only care about Jake, about Jake who's standing there, pulling his hand from the handle of his suitcase and grinning at you. Grinning at you as you run at him and throw yourself into his arms.

He catches you effortlessly and steadies you as you cross your hands behind his neck and press your lips to his.

God, how you've missed him! How long you haven't kissed him!

His palms flatten against your back and he holds you tight, so tightly to him. You push even closer. He's here. He's back.

You don't realise you're crying until you taste the tears.

That's when Jake pulls back.

"I've missed you", he mutters, raising a hand and brushing the tears off your cheeks. You lean into the touch and tighten your arms around his neck. You're really touching him. He's really here.

"I missed you too", you try to say, but you're choked up and crying and it somehow comes out a blubbering, stuttering mess that you're not quite sure Jake can even understand. "Missed you so much."

He smiles one of those gorgeous smiles that you haven't seen in far too long before he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Your eyes flutter closed as you lean into him, your fingers trailing up the nape of his neck. His breath mingles with yours as he draws you in again and catches you in another kiss, tugging gently at your bottom lip as if he has all the time in the world to do it - slow and languid and real. Finally real again.

He pulls you in by your waist, his hands splayed wide and so, so big against your thin sundress. Your nails scratch against his neck and he lets out a groan and suddenly, he's got his hands on your thighs and you're wrapping your legs around his middle and tightening your arms around him and his lips are working against yours feverishly, heavily, messily. You're crossing your feet behind his back when one of them hits something hard. You've flinched away from him even before you can hear the dull crash of his suitcase kissing the airport floor.

There's blood rushing in your ears and you're sure if someone measured your heart rate right now, you'd be sent to the ER immediately. You probably look like a tomato with all the redness in your cheeks. But Jake stares at his suitcase silently for two seconds too, breathing heavily as his grip on you tightens further.

As much as he likes having you in his arms, his suitcase reminds him that you're still very much in the middle of a well-used airport. So he turns back to you and lowers his voice.

"I think we should get out of here, darling."

Your lips tug up into a grin and you lean in to give him just one last, quick kiss.

"Yeah", you breathe, carefully jumping back down onto your own feet. Jake lets go of you only reluctantly - if this wasn't a public airport, he'd never have let you go again. But it is, so he swallows hard as you brush your palms down your dress and blink up at him with a smile.

You're wearing heels. You're still shorter than him by quite a bit.

His amusement melts into a frown when you grab the handle of his suitcase.

"I've got that", he says, reaching his hand out to take the suitcase from you, but you're already maneuvering it away from him and starting to walk in the direction (you think it's the right direction) you'd parked your car in.

"I want to do it for you", you hum.

"Sweetheart, you're already doing enough for me", he says, and he really does mean it. You've driven all this way to come pick him up, you'd watered his plants while he'd been away, you'd even cleaned. That one mostly because you'd desperately needed something to do and Jake's house had always smelled like him, but still.

"Doing enough to you, you mean." Your grin borders on lewd as you dig your teeth into your lip.

"Yeah, that too", he sighs, but he has to grin as well. You're absolutely unbelievable. Instead of trying to argue (he knows it'd be fruitless anyway), he wraps an arm around your back and pulls you into his side, his hand resting on your waist again.

You glance at him.

"I'm not letting go of this suitcase", you warn, even as you lean into his side and swallow. God, he looks so good. And he smells so good. And he feels so good.

"Got it", he chuckles, brushing a kiss to your temple and pulling you even closer into him. He can't have you close enough. Does this fucking airport not have an end? He just needs a little more privacy, a little more space-

"This way", you say and point right. Jake smiles at you as you guide him down the halls. He can't help but watch, can't help but stare at you, at your dress in that soft shade of yellow and your matching heels. Autumn doesn't seem to have caught up with you yet. Then again - autumn hasn't caught up with this place yet. And he's used to Texas heat, he likes that it doesn't get cold here. Also, those sundresses... Yeah, he certainly isn't complaining about the weather.

You speed up when you finally catch sight of the doors, dragging him along with you, almost falling into a jog. The suitcase rumbles against the airport floor, the wheels click-clacking over uneven ridges and bumps and then, thank god, you feel the sunshine on your skin. His hand tightens around your waist.

"Home sweet home", you grin as you take the first step onto concrete. You swivel around and steady both palms against the handle of his suitcase behind your back, bouncing on your heels and looking up at him. "After about a three hour drive."

Jake chuckles and looks back at you with raised eyebrows.

"You'll drive?", he asks. You hum.

"Maybe", you grin as you turn away again and walk over to your car, parked only three rows away for whatever holy reason. You'd been incredibly lucky. And you'd almost run over a grandma. "Or maybe not."

Jake follows you with another low chuckle that sends a pleasant tingling sensation down your spine. It's been so long since you heard that chuckle behind you.

He's next to you again within a few long strides, reaching out for you and you slow your steps to intertwine your fingers with his.

His hands are so big. He's holding onto you so firmly. Fuck, you've missed him so much.

You squeeze his hand and walk a little quicker. Car, home. Car, home. That's it. Then you've got him all to yourself. You can see the car glinting in the sunlight already - and then it's three hours. Three hours next to him in an enclosed space before you've truly got him back.

You stop and let go of his suitcase to fish the car keys out of your pocket without dropping his hand. You push the unlock button and open up the trunk before you turn to Jake and grin at him.

You want to say something, really. It's on the tip of your tongue, still running through your mind, but you've completely forgotten it when you look up at him.

Because while you'd been dragging him to the car, he'd pulled his sunglasses out and put them on and for whatever reason... That kind of does it for you. Holy shit.

"Are those new?", you ask hoarsely and swallow hard, the car keys digging into your palm as you tighten your fist around them. Maybe it's just that you haven't seen him in a month. Or maybe it's the way the sunlight catches his hair, slightly longer than when he'd left. Maybe it's just that with the sun behind him, you've got no choice but to squint at his broad shoulders.

"The other pair broke", Jake explains, letting go of your hand only to wrap his arms around your waist. Fuck, you're just standing there, doing absolutely nothing and he already can't keep from touching you. He has to touch you. He's got to put his arms around you and pull you close. "Why? Don't like it?"

You steady your palms against his chest and let out a breath as your eyes drop to his lips - he's got that cheeky look on his face that's not really a grin but not really not a grin and that nobody but him can do.

"I do", you counter, because it's the truth, and there's no way you can lie to him. "I very much do."

"Very much?" Jake does grin then, raises his eyebrows and pulls you fully against him. "That's more than just a yes."

Your fingers fist his shirt, the car keys digging into his chest just as firmly as they're digging into your palm now. He doesn't seem to be too bothered. He really isn't too bothered.

"They look good on you", you mutter, pulling him even closer. It's been too long since you'd pulled him close... And he feels so good, smells so good, looks so good. Fuck, he's so big and broad and-

"Thanks", he mutters, his grin all cheeky and self-assured and god, is it really this hot? Do you just feel this hot? Because you feel really, really hot. Your skin is burning. How the hell are you supposed to manage a three hour car ride?

"Jake", you whimper, without even meaning to. It's barely above a breath, barely above a whisper, and still too much of a whine to sound anything close to appropriate. A sort of grunt leaves his lips before his arms tighten around you, before he slots his mouth over yours hard. His thumbs drag circles against the small of your back, catching on the fabric of your dress. Your fingertips dig into his shirt, into his chest.

The sun beams down on you, warming your thighs and your arms and every exposed inch of skin, brightness behind closed eyelids as you push further and further into him. He's so sturdy, all hard abs right in front of you, broad arms around you.

You don't even notice the breathless moan that escapes your tongue. You can only feel the heat boiling inside of you, the desperate heat inside of you crawling up your body, every inch of you burning. Burning with want for him. With need for him. Fuck, he's been gone for way too long.

And then he pulls back.

You need a few seconds to even blink yourself back to reality.

"Home?", he suggests, even though it's less of a suggestion and more just a fact. He's getting you home. Now.

"Please", you whine, already halfway through pulling back and dropping the car keys into his palm. Three hours. Three fucking hours, you... You simply won't manage to sit down behind the steering wheel with your skin crawling and your underwear soaked through.

You'll barely manage sitting in the passenger seat.

Jake presses another kiss against your temple before he grabs his suitcase and leaves you standing there, trying to pull yourself together. He's breathing hard and his muscles are tight, his jaw clenched as he heaves his suitcase into the trunk and drops his backpack into it right after.

You force your legs to work, to carry you to the passenger side, force your arm to raise and your hand to close around the handle. It's heavy and hard work. Your body feels leaden, entranced. You let yourself collapse onto the seat and close your eyes.

Fuck.

You'd forgotten how much... how easily...

"Seatbelt, darling", Jake reminds you as he climbs into the driver's seat and adjusts it. You swallow hard and strap yourself in, trying to even out your breathing and pull yourself back to reality while you fumble for the confirmative click.

"Three hours", you remind yourself breathily.

"Three hours", Jake agrees lowly and turns the key in the ignition.

You settle back in your seat and close your eyes, clenching and unclenching your jaw as the radio starts playing and the car rolls out of the parking lot. You just have to relax. Just relax. Relax.

So you breathe out deeply and open your eyes again. Jake glances over at you as you lean forward, flick through the radio channels and then adjust in your seat - it's touching too much, too little of your skin, and the way you're rubbing against it somehow doesn't help in the slightest.

Before you can tuck one of your legs under the other and press the heel of your foot against your core, Jake puts his hand against your thigh. Against your bare thigh. His big fucking hand against your bare thigh.

You bite down on your lip and look up at him.

God, he looks so good. His features are chiseled, his hair that sunny, beachy kind of blond-

"Stop that", Jake grunts, his eyes trained on the road in front of him. It takes you two seconds to even realise he's talking to you. You'd kind of lost yourself in staring at him there.

"Stop what?", you ask, voice hitching as his fingers tighten on your thigh. Damn it, he needs to stop that. He's hardly been driving five minutes, he can't already be teasing you.

For once, actually, he doesn't even mean to tease you - not that you know. He just can't help but touch you, not when he hasn't touched you in a month, not when you're sitting so deliciously, tauntingly next to him.

"Stop looking at me like that", he says, taking his hand off of you to change gears before grabbing even tighter onto you again. "Or I'll have to pull over."

You brush your fingers along his wrist. Your chest feels tight, so tight. It takes everything in you not to push his hand further up your thigh. And you'd actually thought you'd manage a three hour car ride.

"I'll stop", you breathe, even though pulling over doesn't seem like the worst idea. "If you want me to."

A muscle twitches in his jaw.

"Don't do that", he warns, his voice staggering into that indecent gruff of his that has you clenching your thighs together, trapping his fingertips between your legs.

"Don't do what?", you ask, trying your best to sound somewhat innocent while you continue this little taunting game, not as though you're deliberately riling him up. You aren't, really. It's more just a reflex.

He turns his head to you then. His eyes are narrowed and his jaw is clenched and honestly, the way he's meeting your gaze all serious, as though he's trying to reprimand you just by looking at you - for no more than three seconds, of course, before he drags his eyes back to the road - has your lips tugging up in a teasing grin.

"Jake", you whisper, drawing your nails slowly up his arm, all the way from his wrist to his elbow. "Baby. You've been away for so long. You know how lonely I've been, right?"

Jake glances at you again and grunts his agreement, eyebrows raising as he starts to realise what you're doing.

"You can't blame me for looking at you", you go on, digging your fingertips into a spot right above his elbow and drawing one, two circles there. "Or for touching you."

Then you shift in your seat, spread your legs a little and run your fingers down his arm again. You grab his hand and brush his fingertips against the soaked spot on your panties.

"Or for being this wet", you whisper, your breath hitching from the sting in your stomach. He lets out a low curse. "I've just missed you so much."

He sucks in a breath then and trails his fingertips up your panties once, just once, before he jerks his hand back and clenches it hard around the steering wheel, so hard that his knuckles turn wide. Fuck. Fuck! Fuck! You're driving him crazy. You're driving him fucking crazy.

He's supposed to be responsible here. Somewhat responsible. You're young, you've got that risky twinkle in your eyes that he knows so well because he'd seen it in the mirror himself for over twenty years. He knows the thrilling buzz that's running through your veins. He still feels it whenever he's in the air. And he feels it around you.

Which is why he's not responsible, not when it comes to you. Not when you're sitting next to him in that pretty dress, with no shorts on and completely fucking soaked through.

You grin to yourself as he pulls off the highway and bite down on your lip, shifting in your seat once more, fighting the urge to trail your own fingers into your panties.

You haven't even asked how his deployment had been.

But goddamn, you'll have enough time to do that once you've got home. Or got off. Or got him off. At this point, you don't fucking care.

He pulls into one of those parking lots that mainly trucks use, one of those where there's hardly ever a toilet and if, then one that hasn't been usable since the last century. Right now, there's two trucks right at the front that Jake just brushes past. He parks your car at the far end and turns the motor off.

The silence is heavy.

Your breath comes much too quickly. Your eyes are fixed on him. And every inch of your skin is crawling with heat. But you don't move. You can't move.

He rolls his seat all the way back.

"Jake-", you whisper, catching on his name when he looks up and meets your eyes. There's a ghost of a grin on his lips, but... Maybe you're wrong.

"Yes, darling?", he asks, raising his eyebrows and leaning back in his seat. You have to strain your neck to keep looking at him. Instead of an answer, you just softly shake your head. You're suddenly unsure of what to say. His eyes weigh you down. You're painfully aware of every inch of your skin under his watchful gaze.

"Come on", he drawls, the grin that's growing on his lips more obvious now. "You were all eager to talk just then, baby."

Your teeth catch on your lip as you let out a breathless sigh. Your fingers hover over the buckle of your seat belt. Can you? Or...

"I missed you", you whisper, letting your fingertips glide over the hard plastic. "Can I-"

You swallow.

"Can you what, darling?", he repeats, grinning widely now.

You chew on your lip as you push down and unbuckle yourself slowly, your eyes still trained on Jake, who simply watches you with raised eyebrows.

"Can I touch you?", you whisper, your breath disappearing into the thick air of the car, the seatbelt still caught between your fingers. The corners of his mouth only tug up further.

You look angelic with your wide eyes and rosy cheeks, so obviously desperate to feel him - but still you don't move. You sit there and wait for him to tell you what to do. To allow you to do something. Anything. It's almost endearing how well behaved you are in moments like this.

"Go on, darling", he drawls. "Come here."

Without hesitation, you reach over the centre console and grab onto his shoulders, steadying yourself against him as you throw one of your legs over his and climb into his lap. His hands find your waist, grab onto your sides, hold you softly against him. Your teeth dig into your lip as you sink down, your fingers trailing along the outline of his collarbones over his shirt, your dress riding up and pooling around your hips. You suck in a breath when your panties drag against his jeans.

Fuck. It's been so long. It's been way too long.

"Jake", you mutter as you lean in, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth, brushing your nose against his cheek. "You look good."

He lets out a breathy chuckle, his grip on you tightening.

"I know, darling", he can't help but say with a grin. "Thanks."

You giggle onto his skin as you trail your lips down his jaw. Sometimes he's incredibly unbelievable. I know. How cocky. Not that he shouldn't be - goddamn, he should be! You can't even fault him. And confidence is sexy. Especially on him. Though, then again, anything on him is sexy.

"I've missed you", you mutter, pressing another open-mouthed kiss against his skin, this time against the spot between his neck and his ear. "Missed looking at you. Missed touching you."

"Yeah", Jake breathes, digging his hands into your hips and pulling you harder onto him. "I've missed you too."

He's missed you so fucking much that he's hurting, straining against his jeans so hard that he feels like he might combust. And you're kissing down his throat, pressing your lips against his skin, wanting, needing to touch him, to feel him-

A month away from each other. A month too long.

"I need you, Jake", you whimper into his ear, all breathy and desperate, rocking softly back and forth in his lap and letting your eyes fall shut.

"You need me, baby?", he echoes, grabbing you as tightly as he can and dragging you against him, his head thumping back against the seat.

A filthy moan slips past your lips as your hips roll against his, finally, for the first time in weeks. God, yes, you need him so badly. You need him now. Here and now, in the driver's seat of your car.

"Please, Jake", you breathe, steadying one palm against his chest and grabbing one of his hands with the other. You wrap your fingers around his wrist and tug it off of you, but before you can drag it down to your panties again, drop it between your legs and beg him to fuck you, before you can do any of that, he's turning your grip around and taking your hands in his instead.

"You're getting ahead of yourself, baby", he chuckles, settling your hands against your thighs. He's painfully hard by now, yes- But that doesn't mean you can just drag him to where you want him. "Seems like you forgot your manners."

You're already shaking your head before he can finish. No, you haven't, you haven't, you just need him so badly... and you can feel him, you can feel that he needs you too, so why doesn't he just take you? Why doesn't he-

"I haven't, Jake, I promise", you whisper, looking at him and forcing yourself to still on his lap. It won't help you if you move. It definitely won't help you if you move.

"You haven't?", he asks with raised eyebrows, looking all but amused at you. You keep shaking your head no, no, no. "So if I'd told you to stay in your seat and wait, you would've?"

You bite down on the inside of your cheek and look away. He's grinning. He knows. He's not even really asking. But if you've learnt anything, anything at all about him, it's that he doesn't like to be ignored. If he asks a question, he wants it answered. So you'll answer.

"No", you breathe truthfully, because you most definitely wouldn't have managed a three hour car ride next to him. There's no way you would've managed a three hour car ride next to him. No fucking way.

His grin widens.

"No", he repeats lowly. "No, darling? You wouldn't have listened?"

"Couldn't", you correct, fighting the desire to rock against his thighs that's growing with every passing second. He looks so fucking good. He smells so fucking good. He feels so fucking good. And he'd fuck you so good, you know that, if he'd just finally get to it.

"Couldn't", he echoes, his fingertips rubbing circles onto the bare skin of your thighs. "That desperate."

It's just that he's that desperate, too. Desperate to feel you wrapped around him, desperate to hear you whimper and moan. He needs you as much as you need him.

"You want me to fuck you, baby?", he asks, all smooth and casual and your fingers dig into your thighs to feel something, anything. It's unbelievable how easily something so dirty slips off his lips.

"Yes", you gasp. "Want you so bad, Jake. Please. I'll be so good for you. I'll be perfect."

A muscle ticks in his jaw.

"You are perfect", he breathes, even though that hadn't been his plan at all. But he has to say it. He has to tell you. You've got him wrapped around your little finger, even if you don't know. And he's not all that sure you don't know anyway.

Your teeth catch on your lip, your hands dig harder into your skin and-

And Jake's thumbs trail along the inside of your bare thighs, brushing up naked skin, drawing a shallow breath from your tongue. A shiver runs down your spine as you clench your legs around his and force yourself to keep still. He's touching you. You have to remind yourself of that. He is touching you. There's no reason at all for the urge to defy him, to pop open his jeans and just sink down on him. He's touching you, he's touching you...

Yeah. Barely.

"Let me feel you", you beg, drawing your hands away from your thighs and trying to put them against his chest - but before you can, he's pulled his hands away from your thighs as well and grabbed your wrists. Again.

"You're not in charge here, darling", he chuckles, pushing your hands back down. He grabs for your waist again. "If you can't behave, I'm gonna put you back in the passenger seat and keep on driving, got that?"

You nod.

You want to be good for him. You will be good for him. God, there's no fucking way you could have managed the car ride already, and if you had to sit through it now, after this- No. You'll be good for him. You'll be so good for him.

He flashes you a grin and goes back to dragging his thumbs along your thighs.

"Ask nicely", he says. "Maybe I'll-"

"Please", you blurt out, your hips involuntarily bucking into his touch. "Can I kiss you?"

His eyes drop down to your mouth then.

"Yeah, baby", he mutters, his thumbs catching on the hem of your dress. "You can kiss me."

He expects you to jump at him, to slot your lips over his and lick into his mouth eagerly - but you only steady your palms carefully against his chest and lean in, your eyes focused on his, your breath meeting his skin. You kiss him softly, lightly, with your lips just so grazing his and your eyes fluttering shut. His fingertips run down the soaked spot on your panties.

That's when your teeth catch on his lip. You sink them into his skin gently and tug, your heart missing a beat as he groans into you. He hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them to the side just like you'd hoped, just like you'd begged for.

Jake's right - you're not in charge. But that doesn't mean you don't know what buttons to push to get what you want.

His fingertips trail through your wetness for the first time in a whole fucking month. It's long overdue. So long.

You moan into him, pressing your chest right up against his and fisting his shirt, and push closer. You need to be this close. You need to be even closer. You need him to fuck you, now, not only to drag his fingers up to your clit.

But he's too focused on you, getting too drunk on the feeling of you. He's finally got you here again, finally on his lap again, finally kissing him again, finally eager for him again. He's finally touching you again. And he has to touch you.

You're so fucking wet. You're soaked. He wants to take his time to notice that. He needs to take his time to notice that. He needs to touch you, to feel you. He doesn't even mean to tease you. He doesn't even realise he is teasing you. Not until you rock into his hand and let a whine slip into his mouth.

You really don't intend to. It's an accident. You don't want to rush him. What you want is to be good for him. But you can't help yourself.

And he knows you can't.

Which is the only reason he doesn't pull back and leave you high and dry. Well, that - and his desperation to have you.

So instead, he pushes two fingers into you and catches the languid moan you let out. Fuck. You sound so sweet. You feel so perfect. It's been so fucking long.

"Jake", you whimper, just because it's also been that fucking long since you've whined his name into his mouth. Into the low-quality mic of your phone, yes. But with his lips on yours? With his fingers thrusting inside you so precisely, hitting the right spot immediately? No, that's been too fucking long.

It's dirty. Not quick, like the other times neither of you had been patient enough to look for a better spot to have each other and had opted for the car instead. No, it's just dirty, with his fingers pumping in and out of you, his tongue running along yours and your knees rubbing against the seat.

Maybe it's because the radio had turned off alongside the car, or maybe it's just the long month you'd spent apart - either way, all sounds are louder than they should be, your ears ringing with your moans, your wetness around his fingers and his lips against yours.

Goddamn.

He's working magic. You don't know how he hits the right spot again and again and again, his fingers curling, his thumb catching on your clit - but he has you clenching around him, warmth pooling in your core, wetness dripping down your thighs and onto his jeans within minutes.

You pull an inch away from him, your eyes still squeezed shut, your palms flattening against his shirt, and the only reason he knows he isn't just dreaming of you again is because you're warm and wet around his fingers. Everything else about you is unreal.

You're gorgeous. You're so damn stunning, rocking your hips back against him and moaning his name, your lips parted and your skin sweaty.

"Fuck", you pant, your chest rising and falling so tantalisingly that his eyes drop right down to your cleavage. "Just like that."

He has to grin to himself, but he lets it slide, if only because you're looking so pretty holding onto him as he pushes his fingers into you and circles your clit - just like that. Again and again, until you're digging your nails into his chest and catching your lip between your teeth and moaning his name, Jake, baby, fuck, fuck, fuck, until you're clenching around him and shuddering in his arms, until you're reaching your high not on your own, but on his fingers for the first time in four full weeks.

"Attagirl", he mutters, straining so hard against his pants that it hurts. "I've got you."

You press your lips against his jaw sloppily as you come down, your breath shallow, your skin burning, just needing to get your mouth on him. You can feel your heart beating, every thud, thud, thud against your chest. God. You hadn't come like that in a month. You'd come, sure, to the low rumble of his voice over the phone, calling you all sorts of sweet names and telling you just how to get off for him. But nothing could ever possibly beat the way he works you.

And still - even as you come down from your orgasm, you already crave the next, long and lust and hunger for him inside of you, not his fingers, but his cock.

"Jake", you mewl, slotting your lips over his and desperately dragging your tongue over them before you draw back an inch, your breath meeting his. "Fuck me? Please?"

He pulls his fingers out of you and raises his hand and before you can even really realise what you're doing, you're parting your lips and watching as he grins and presses his fingertips down on your tongue. God, he fucking tastes like you. You suck his fingers into your mouth obediently and lick them clean, looking at him out of lowered, half-lidded eyes and he fucking grabs at your waist with his other hand like his life depends on it.

Goddamn, it's been too long since he's watched this. Since he's had this sight in front of him. And holy mother of hell, what a sight that is.

Your cheeks hollowed out, your gaze caught on his, your lips wrapped around his fingers. His jeans are too tight. Too fucking tight. He needs relief. Now.

So he pulls his fingers out of your mouth with a low grunt and fumbles with the button of his jeans, quick and hurried. He's barely popped it open before your hands slip between his and push them out of the way. You drag down his zipper, reach into his briefs, finally, finally, finally! and he lets you, steadying his palms against your thighs and watching you tug your lip between your teeth.

"Condom", you breathe, then you glance up at him and blink - once, twice, thrice to get yourself back to reality. Condom. Condom, fuck, you're sure you've got one, you know you've got one, somewhere-

Jake takes his hand off your thigh and reaches for his pocket, pulling out a condom before you've even finished thinking.

You grab it from him almost reflexively, your fingers closing around it, tearing it open - quick and frenzied now, because you're not sure how much longer you can hold out. How much longer you can manage without having him.

You glance up at him before you roll it onto him, waiting, checking, if you can, if he'll let you- And how could he not? Fuck, he's got to clench his jaw and grab onto your waist just to hold back, to stay still. He hadn't meant for it to be like this. He'd meant to fuck you back at home, slow and steady, preferably in bed where he could really see you, where he could see every inch of you, not in the front seat of your car that he'd probably have to get cleaned tomorrow. But he can't fucking help himself. He can barely fucking wait until you've rolled the condom onto him, already grabbing at your bare thighs, slipping his hands below your dress, grasping at your stomach.

You steady your palms against his chest and breathe out a whine as his fingers slide across your boobs, pushing the fabric of your dress up, up, up, circling your nipples and damn, you've missed him. You've missed him so fucking much. It's been so fucking long. And you're so fucking desperate.

So you slowly sink down on him and let out a moan, rolling off of your tongue so filthily that he has to groan. Shit, shit- You hold yourself against him, drop your head against his shoulder and an open-mouthed kiss onto his skin.

"Fuck", he grunts, his fingers working frenzied circles onto your boobs, trying, desperately, no, needing to touch you, to feel you. God, you feel so good around him. Finally around him again. You take your time sinking down on him, catching your breath and pressing your lips against his neck, your eyes squeezed shut. Inch by inch, you take him - and the only way he can keep from bucking up into you is by trying not to concentrate on the way you feel around him (so, so fucking perfect), but instead do his best to breathe. Just... breathe. It's been too fucking long. And you're too fucking pretty. And he'll go fucking crazy.

"Jake", you mewl, your lips dragging against his jaw.

Instead of an answer, he turns his head and catches you in a kiss.

You whine into his mouth, your legs clamping around his, stilling as you adjust, your tongue running along his lips, his teeth, your hands fisting his shirt, clenching and cramping and pressing against his chest.

"Go on", he urges, pulling away no more than an inch, his breath shallow, mingling with yours. "Take what you want, darling."

"Fuck", you breathe, arching into his palms and steadying yourself against him, your teeth catching on your lip as you move - up, slowly, steadily, then down, faster, quicker, and again, and again. Holy hell. Moan after moan rolls off your tongue. He feels so fucking good. You're so fucking full of him. You find a rhythm, then that spot inside of you. Your head tilts back, your fingers clench into the collar of his shirt, your nails scratch against his skin.

He watches you, every inch of him tensing. You're gorgeous, so damn gorgeous, bouncing in his lap like this. You're stunning, your dress pooling around your hips as he drags his hands back down to your waist, thumbing at your stomach, circling and drawing against your skin. He's touching you. Now, here. It's not just a dream. It's not just his imagination. It's you, you, wrapped around him, moving up and down him, your palms against his chest, your eyes fluttered shut, your teeth digging into your lip.

"Just like that, keep going", he encourages, all low and deep, smooths his hands down your body and can't help but grin as you let out a soft mewl. It's been so long since he's heard you whine for him - so long since he's heard it without hundreds and hundres of miles between you, without the microphone ruining what have to be the sweetest sounds he's ever known. "Feeling good, baby?"

The air is heavy, heavy and sticky. It presses down on you, pushes against your skin, settles on your body and flattens your breath. Every single one of your nerve ends is on fire.

"Yes", you gasp, your eyes fluttering open to take him in, him in all of his very, very real glory right in front of you. He looks so handsome, so fucking handsome. Your thighs tighten, clench. You can feel yourself growing closer and closer and closer with every stroke, with every time you sink down on him. Fuck, he doesn't just feel good, he feels heavenly. He feels like everything you need. "So good, Jake."

The grin on his lips sends sparks through your body. It's confident, self-assured... Yeah, you're on top of him, you're moving, you're taking what you want - but he's in charge, you can see it in his eyes. He's in control. It's in the way he breathes, in the way his hands grab at your hips, in the way he palms at your skin. If it weren't for the red on his cheeks, for the sweat beading on his forehead, you wouldn't even have guessed he's all that affected. But he's hard, he's hard as a rock, and it's taking everything in him not to just buck up into you and come right on the spot.

He prides himself on his stamina. In all his years, he's always prided himself on his stamina - on how he can keep going long enough to make you come twice, thrice. And he'll hold out now, too.

But you're gorgeous. And you feel perfect. And you're close, you're clenching around him as you lean in to press your lips to his, to slot your mouths together and kiss him with all your might.

So you're not making it easy for him. Not at all.

He brushes his hand down to the inside of your thigh, leaves a trail of tingles on your skin before his finger finds your clit. You breathe out a whine that he easily catches on his tongue, your nails digging into his chest as he draws circles on your clit, on that sensitive bundle of nerves that has you melting, your eyes squeezing, squeezing, squeezing shut.

Fuck, fuck, you're close, you're close-

Just for a fleeting second, Jake debates pulling his hand away again and leaving you there, on this edge you're teetering on. Not forever, only until you'd got home or so. But he's too desperate to come, too wound up already, too close himself, and there's a much bigger part of him that wants to just fill you up in the driver's seat of your car, in this random parking lot, a month after he'd last had you. The part of him that will revel in knowing that you'll be sitting in the passenger seat for the next three hours with soaked panties, probably leaving behind a wet patch when you'll get out, the evidence of two orgasms right there-

"Fuck, Jake", you gasp and your head rolls back, your lips parting as your entire body clenches, every single muscle cramping and tightening at once, your nails digging hard and harder into his skin, your eyes squeezing shut. His finger on your clit doesn't still, just keeps drawing circles, keeps guiding you through your high, through the foggy haze you're swimming in as your body writhes and tingles.

Jake is too entranced, too enamoured, too captivated by you to even realise he's spilling inside the condom, coming as you do. He can't feel, can't see, can't touch anything but you - his hand grabs at your hip, it palms at your thigh. Anything to feel you. Anything to be with you as you unravel.

"Jake, fuck", you breathe, a lot more softly now. Your grip on him loosens. He'd barely noticed how your nails had still been digging into his chest, but now that you're pulling them away, stretching your fingers and steadying your palms flat against him, he can't help but miss them. You blink at him with the sweetest smile, your lips plush and kiss-swollen, and the view of you is so disarming that he can just so resist opening his mouth and letting those final three words roll off his tongue. But it's too early, it's way too early, even as you're sitting in his lap, even as you're squeezing his cock, even as he draws his finger away from your clit. He's never been the type to say it early. He won't now.

No, instead he raises his hand and rests his fingers against your lips. Once more today, you part them obediently and wait until he's pushed them onto your tongue. Then you close your mouth around them - he still tastes of you faintly - and suck, slathering them in saliva in that sloppy, messy, dirty way you know he likes, your head bobbing as you clean them off. You pull back just far enough to dig your teeth into his fingertips and bite down on them playfully.

Your lips tug into a grin as he draws his hand back, eyebrows raising, his gaze settling on you - still so very heavy, so intense, so fucking full of sex.

"You're a brat, darling", he chides, but he's already brushing strands of hair out of your face, tucking them behind your ears and then wrapping his arms around you to pull you even closer, even tighter to him. Your grin only grows as your fingers clench into the collar of his shirt.

"Maybe", you laugh breathily, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips, one that's so addicting he thinks he might need to stay in this car, in this parking lot for the rest of eternity. "But you love it."

Jake chuckles as he chases after your lips.

"Such a brat."

[honesty-my-policy]

i'm so infuriated

I'm not Jewish and I'm so infuriated at the world.

I can't imagine how it must feel to be Jewish. Especially as this entire ordeal has made me dive more into educating myself about Jewish history and how the world truly has always blamed everything on the Jews.

How is everything their fault?

Even the crucifixion of Christ has been blamed on the Jews when it was a Roman tradition?

Martin Luther who is known as one of the original reformers in Christianity's history wrote a book called "On the Jews and Their Lies". In which he advocated for burning down synagogues, Jewish homes and if that didn't work, Jewish people!

Apparently, somehow, Jews caused the Black Death despite the fact that the most predominant modern theory is that due to climate change in Asia, rodents began to flee the dried out grasslands to more populated areas which ended up spreading the infected fleas they carried, thus spreading the disease. The fleas infected not just rats but ground rodents in general, so once the rats migrated the fleas could jump to any ground rodent and the infection spread.

Some of the craziest modern stuff though has come mostly from the Middle East (i wonder why)...

Apparently, Israel has remote control sharks that can attack Egyptian civilians and tourists, at least that's what a Governor of Egypt things. source

According to a fundamentalist group of Muslims called the Wahhabis, the Jews have a secret ally they've been conspiring with... the Gharqad tree. A tree, they call it the Jew tree. source Which is identified as either nitre bushes or Lycium which is part of the nightshade family, it's such a thing that the TREE WIKI PAGE TALKS MORE ABOUT THAT THAN THE TREE ITSELF source

Palestine once said that Israel was breeding super rats that could grow twice the size of a normal rat - just to chase Arabs out of Jerusalem, note this was in like 2008, where are these super rats NOW? source

The Nation of Islam (an organization) accused Jews of tricking people into thinking slavery exists??????? Sorry, "still" exists. This was originally in 1996, the gall this motherfucker had in 1996 to say "Where is the proof?" - oh, his name is Louis Farrakhan btw and there is an entire section dedicated to him on the anti-slavery website iabolish.org - his page

Also, Pokémon is a Zionist conspiracy plot to overthrow Saddam Hussein, at least, in 2001 that was what some Iraqi security personal reported. source

listen... I won't lie. I love a good conspiracy theory because to be honest, the amount I trust my government or anyone in authority is so small that just about anything could come out as true and I'd be so un-phased.

but blaming the Jews for everything when they make up an estimated 0.2% of the population versus say the 23% that is Muslim? Which there are approximately 50 Muslim-Majority countries in the world, though depending on sources the exact number differs.

If anything Christianity (32%) and the unaffiliated (16.3%) should be eyed at. Also, how come no one ever gives the folk religion people a hard time? Not that anyone deserves to be given a hard time as long as they aren't hurting anyone, it just boggles my mind to be honest.

sources for numbers cited came from this website: https://worldpopulationreview.com/

anyway, woke up this morning and just wanted to say this cause I'm mad and I want to show my support but also call out stupid people. I'm here to fight for Israel and the Jews, fuck off pro-palestine simps.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

When Skeleton does something too mean or bad S/O will wrap them up in a blanket burrito as a punishment. The blanket burritos are inescapable. All main boys except for Willow I don't want to hurt him

Undertale Sans - He's giggling the whole time, not regretting anything for even one second. He accepts the punishment as you're obviously encouraging him to nap. He lets you deal with Papyrus once he gets home to explain to him why he's sleeping instead of doing the dishes.

Undertale Papyrus - He's pouting in his burrito. You're ruining his routine and he's mad. Now he's late and he's going to have to do things twice as fast to recover. Please let him go, he's begging you! That's not funny, how did you even manage to make it impossible to escape? It's a blanket, not one of his elaborate traps!

Underswap Sans - He's struggling, growling, and rolling on the ground in his burrito, trying to free himself. It was funny for the first two minutes, but now he's losing his mind because he hates staying still for more than two minutes. You're laughing at his misery but do nothing to free him.

Underswap Papyrus - That's fine. He gives you the sad pathetic puppy eyes and waits for you to break down. Eventually, it works, only for him to betray you by immediately lunging at you to give you a taste of your own medicine. Now you're the one stuck in the burrito, and unlike you, Honey is very patient and not too much in a hurry to free you.

Underfell Sans - He makes annoying noises with his mouth to piss you off, smiling like a shark in his ridiculous blanket burrito. He's never going to stop. You can try to flee, he's going to teleport right behind you to continue to annoy you. You better let him go fast or he's going to do it even louder.

Underfell Papyrus - You want to annoy him? Good, he can do that too. Edge is screaming. Just screaming. Nonstop. Very loudly. He's going to ruin your day, and won't hesitate to puncture your eardrums if you dare to ignore him. Think of the neighbors, they're definitely going to call the police on you if you don't do something. Edge knows he has already won. You just don't know it yet.

Horrortale Sans - He whines. Not too loudly, but just enough to be annoying. If it doesn't work, he just falls silent, staring at you with sad begging eyes. He can even cry to make you feel bad. As soon as you free him though, he switches back to normal mode, like nothing happened, and you understand he manipulated you, fake crying and everything. He has no regret.

Horrortale Papyrus - He knows really well he can escape your death burrito thanks to his back problem so he teases his brother when he is stuck inside one. You swear they're children sometimes.

Swapfell Sans - Well that's fair. He accepts his defeat. You win this fight for now. But not the war. As soon as he's free, he goes back to his room, throws a blanket from the stairs and your pillow, and locks the door. You're sleeping on the couch tonight as he's pouting all night like a child.

Swapfell Papyrus - Oh come on! That's not funny. He's trading his freedom against date ideas. Don't you want to go to Disneyland? He can take you to Disneyland! Or to the mountain! Or to the dump if you want! Please let him out of this horrible prison!

Fellswap Gold Sans - He's displeased. How dare you put the mighty and terrible general of the royal guard in such a humiliating position. He keeps taunting you, asking you to fight him like a real warrior instead of hiding like a coward in the kitchen. You think he can't see you? And he swears if you take one more photo he's going to get really mad and you really are not going to like what's next! You challenged him to come at you. He gives you a death stare, so angry, as he desperately tries to free himself. You better find a way out of this country before he manages to find a way out of this.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - Oh well. Since he can't move and that he's comfortable, why struggle against it? Coffee simply falls asleep there. His brother passes by and says he can't believe he got caught this easily. If it was him, it would have never happened. Clearly, he's W E A K. He doesn't see you standing right behind him with a second blanket. Wine doesn't know it yet, but he's already a blanket burrito.

[fastcardotmp3]

future!steddie; long haul trucker Eddie; firefighter Steve ~1k words

It makes sense to Eddie, an obvious out when his world's gone to shit and he has to get away, that his escape route from Indiana is the same job his uncle left to settle down there and raise a kid with nowhere else to go.

Driving long haul means there's no one looking that close at a face that made it to the national news during his week on the run. It means living on the move, never stopping long enough to get stuck anywhere.

It means freedom.

It means loneliness.

He calls Wayne twice a week, coins in pay phones at rest stops while he's waiting for his hair to dry post-public shower, and that's enough for him.

Wayne has always been enough for him, and it would be hurtful to suggest otherwise; it would be disrespectful to the life Wayne helped him build, keeps helping him build with all that faith that had him never doubting an innocence questioned by everyone else in that God-forsaken town.

Twice a week. It's the only phone number he knows by heart.

Twice a week for weeks and then months and then years, driving cross-country and back again, it's freedom. He keeps telling himself it's freedom, that it's good, that he doesn't need anything more than that.

But driving long haul means there's a lot of time for thinking.

It means a lot of time for collecting thoughts up together and creating new meaning entirely.

It means that by the time he's twenty-one and twenty-five and thirty that he has tape after tape after tape where he's collected those thoughts aloud in the rumbling loud silence of an overnight drive.

Thoughts like who would I be if I'd stuck around? and thoughts like will they understand that this time running saved my life? and thoughts like I miss them, am I allowed to miss them, am I allowed to love them without ever really knowing them?

It means that when he stops for all but the first time in ten years, coming home to Wayne to find that Forest Hills is home to a couple more familiar faces than he expected, there's space for his words. His endless, looping thoughts.

Steve's got his own trailer these days, brings in Wayne's mail for him on the mornings he comes home from the night shift at the fire station and stays for coffee.

Steve's there across the way when Eddie drives up in a new-used flatbed truck he'd bought with his final paycheck on the day he hung up his hat and decided he'd been gone long enough.

Steve's there in stories Wayne only begins telling now that Eddie is home, endless retellings of a brand-new man who became a friend during a time when the name Munson was still a dangerous thing to carry.

Steve's there when Eddie starts transcribing all his dictated notes into something resembling narrative and character and prose and Eddie doesn't know the guy who jumped headfirst into another dimension, hasn't spoken to him since that week that forced Eddie to flee in the first place, but maybe he doesn't need to have those years under his belt.

Maybe it doesn't matter if Eddie knows a nineteen-year-old Steve Harrington, because he knows the twenty-nine-year-old one starting a matter of hours after he comes crawling back home, knows this grown and steady one who looked after Wayne when Eddie had to leave.

This Steve isn't stuck despite still living in the town that tried to kill him. He doesn't seem lost or without purpose.

He lives a simple life, working at the Hawkins FD and feeding stray dogs with the bowls he leaves out beside his porch. Robin comes and goes, seemingly dating her way through the Midwest's entire sapphic population and sleeping on Steve's couch in between live-in girlfriends.

There are old friends on the phone at near constant intervals in Steve's home, and there's that phone being pressed to Eddie's ear without giving him the chance to be terrified about what Erica or Dustin or Max might say to the guy who hasn't allowed anyone but Wayne access to him for a decade, what he might say back after so many years without proper human socialization.

Eddie has been moving for so long, stayed moving through the bulk of his acceptance of everything that happened to him, but there's a different sort of quiet here than what he found on the road, stillness, amongst the casual chaos.

There's similarities to life on his rig, sure, a certain routine to the comings and goings, only Eddie isn't hiding anymore and he's not thumbing through the same staticky stations anymore and he's not lonely anymore.

He doesn't know how to sit still yet, not really, but he stays up all night handwriting poetry on paper he once spoke onto tape on the porch of his uncle's trailer and sometimes when Steve gets home after dark, he'll sit with him.

He'll eat his dinner still in uniform and listen to the scratch of Eddie's pen and Eddie doesn't know him, Steve Harrington, but he's getting to know his neighbor Steve.

Ten years down the line and he's becoming solid right there in front of Eddie's eyes, becoming real, becoming something that can't possibly fit onto the tapes filled with nonsense and insights alike.

"You're never what I think you're going to be," Eddie admits to him one morning over coffee before Wayne or Robin have risen, before the phone has begun to ring, before the world wakes up and brings Eddie's life along with it, ready or not.

Steve smiles at him, amused and curious and cocky in the way he responds, "you're exactly who Wayne said you are."

It's an admission all its own, that Steve has thought about Eddie, spoken about him, in the time they've spent apart, even if it was only because he'd dared to keep Wayne Munson's company.

It's still an admission though, that in his absence, in his loneliness out on the road, Eddie wasn't forgotten by the watercolor skies over Hawkins, Indiana.

"Yeah?" Eddie breathes in those very skies, "and what did Wayne say I'd be?"

Ten years down the line and suddenly it makes sense to Eddie.

It makes sense in the morning dew on the lawn; it makes sense in the too-strong Harrington-brewed coffee; it makes sense in the wheels of his truck on a road that does end, eventually, and it makes sense in the collected thoughts and feelings, fears and dreams that he had to go away to decipher.

The freedom was in leaving, sure, but this? The coming home to Wayne and this porch and the man who lives across the way?

"Stick around, Munson," Steve Harrington dares on a morning like any other, "and maybe I'll just tell you."

Well. As it turns out, this might be the thing that saves him.

[yeonzzzn]

👑why is it so heavy?: choi soobin

pairing: soobin x afab!reader word count: 3.2k

synopsis: what is heavier than the burdens of being a princess with normal princess duties being forced to marry a man you do not want or have anything to do with? the heaviness of seeing the prince you want being forced to marry a woman he also does not want. what’s even heavier? the weight of not being able to do anything about it.

genre: royalty!soobin, royalty!reader, arranged marriage, forbidden love, modern day royalty au.

warnings: swearing, cheating, one make out session, mentions of sex, one d!ath joke, no happy ending.

You stared at him. Watching the way his hair parted perfectly and shaped his face. How his smile which showed how bright his teeth were, was enough to melt your heart. 

His cream-colored royal jacket with golden buttons and wave design covering his chest and torso made his tanned skin glow perfectly. His tailor really knew what colors looked and matched him beautifully. 

He shook hands with the king of the neighboring country, giving him a soft bow. 

You couldn’t hear what they were speaking, but that didn’t stop you from tilting your head to give your ear a better listen, even though it didn’t work. 

His eyes finally met yours, his already perfect smile growing even wider at the sight of you. 

But your smile faded seeing his future wife wrap her around tightly around his waist, causing his attention to be brought to her. His smile wasn’t as wide when smiling at her, but it was still perfect all the same. 

He leaned over and kissed the top of her head, her giggles being heard from where you stood. 

Prince Soobin, the man of your dreams. Love of your life. Someone you couldn’t have. 

You turned around, your hands gripping your royal blue gown. 

“Princess,” your caretaker softly said, “You’ll ruin your gown, be more gentle.” 

You adored your caretaker, she’s been with you since you were born. Was there when your mother gave birth to you and watched you grow up and even taught you everything you know. She even knew your secrets, and god bless her for keeping them. 

She leads you down the hall, taking you to meet your father for your daily lunch in the garden. 

If only you saw how saddened the prince's eyes became when you turned your back towards him, watching as you turned the corner and disappeared. 

—

“Princess,” Soobin sang, peeking around the pillar you stood at. 

The prince was no longer in his princely outfit. Now he wore light blue jeans, black Converse, a white button-up shirt with a black tie, and a brown jacket. 

It was what he liked to call his “normal people fit.” You had to admit, you preferred seeing him like this. Without all the royal glamor. Just normal. No titles. Or the reminders. 

Soobin also preferred you in “normal people outfits.” Mostly the one you’re wearing right now. The dark blue skinny jeans with white sneakers, a soft pink tank top, and a cream cardigan. It made his heart flutter. 

You tilted your head up and smiled at him, the moonlight making his brown eyes pop beautifully. 

“Come here,” he whispered, his hand reaching around your waist and pressing your body to his. Lips connecting to yours immediately. 

You’ve known Soobin your entire life. Your families are really close, both your fathers being lifelong best friends. 

You lived in the neighboring country and only took visits to see the royal Choi family when your father had time, which only happened twice to three times a year. 

But darkness fell to your country, forcing you and your family to flee. The Choi family took you in with no questions asked. Your father was grateful. 

The war happening on your territory was brutal, your family worried you would never be able to return. But alas the war ended a couple of years after. But obviously, your family never returned home. 

King Choi extended his home to your family, setting a good deal with your father for the two of them to just rule over this kingdom together. Your father accepted. 

You were so young when you fled your country, you barely remember what it even looked like. Your older siblings on the other hand, unfortunately, have to deal with that darkness for the rest of their lives.

So you grew up in the Choi’s castle. You weren’t super close with Soobin at first. You both were super shy and always hid behind your parents or siblings when forced to interact with each other. But as time went on, the two of you dropped the shy act and finally became friends. 

Soobin at the age of twelve was then sent off to a boarding school, following in the footsteps of his two older siblings did at that age. 

He was gone for years, not returning home until he was twenty. 

You were in the middle of your studies at the local cafe in town (that you ultimately snuck out to do) when the word got around that Prince Soobin had returned home after eight years. 

You rushed back to the castle, sneaking in through the garden and into your bedroom window, quickly changing into a nice dress and rushing out to greet him in the royal dining hall. 

The first thing you noticed was how much taller he was, your once best friend sprouted up. He filled perfectly into his body and you could tell he took into working out. His jawline was so sharp you swore it could cut into diamonds. He grew up nicely. 

To say that everything was back to normal would be a lie. Soobin was like a whole different person. He was a man, and oh goodness did he send butterflies in your belly. 

Your attraction didn’t go unnoticed by him. No, no, Soobin noticed the moment you two locked eyes again for the first time in eight years. He saw how your pupils dilated, how your chest raised and fell when you looked at him. The unease in your breath when you spoke to him. It sets emotions in place with you that he hasn’t ever felt before. 

Of course, when Soobin was away he had his fair share of other females to fit his needs, but none of them had that one thing he wanted. And all it took was locking eyes with you again after all these years to see you were what he always wanted. 

Soobin and you spent more time together than you normally did as kids. Sneaking out of the castle or into each other's bedrooms at night. It was obvious the two of you felt something. 

He’d steal quick kisses from you in passing during his and your royal duties. Passing notes to you in the halls with times and where to meet him next. 

Soobin filled your heart so quickly. Becoming your first of everything. 

You remember the night he laid you gently on the grass under the moonlight hidden in the corner of the garden. His hands softly undressed you until you were completely bare to him. Your hands help undress him. 

His hands felt so gentle against your skin as he touched you. He touched you with such passion, with so much love. 

The way his bare skin felt against yours sent you into heaven as his hips rolled into yours, biting the edge of his shoulder to keep your moans from getting too loud. 

Your secret relationship was beautiful, perfect, and filled with so much love and care. The two of you were finally ready to come forward about your relationship of almost a year. 

Unfortunately, that wouldn’t happen. 

Both your fathers had other plans. King Choi found the “perfect match” for his son, announcing the arranged marriage. And your father, bless his dear heart, found a suitor for you as well, arranging a marriage for you as well. 

Soobin remembered clenching his fist and yelling at his father at the dinner table that night. You sat silently beside him, eyes locked onto your plate of food. 

“And what if I don’t want to marry?!” Soobin snapped, his fists slamming on the table. 

“And that’s something you can’t control!” the king fired back, “It’s already been done. We didn’t send you off for eight years to enhance your languages and studies for nothing!” 

That angered Soobin even more, “So I am just some thing to be sent off for your own personal gain?!” 

The king sat quietly. Soobin’s mother also sat quietly, her hands in her lap. 

Your family also said nothing. Eyes glancing between the Choi family. 

“You’ll be wed by the age of twenty-four,” his father finally said, “You’ll be meeting your princess in two days. Fix your attitude before then.” 

Soobin said nothing and stormed out of the dining room. 

You were also to be wedded off by twenty-four. You were a couple of months younger than Soobin, meaning you’d be the one to watch him get married off first. 

It’s been two years since that conversation. Soobin was scheduled to be married off shortly after he turned twenty-four in December. Only seven months away. 

You and Soobin kept secretly seeing each other, only now you had to be even more careful than before. 

Soobin’s future wife moved into the castle shortly after they met. Thank god she had her own room though. 

You also met your future husband not too long after the other princess moved in. He was sweet, nice, very caring, could sing, rap, dance, and was a big ramen enthusiast. He looked at you like you put the stars in the sky. 

Unfortunately for him, you wanted nothing to do with him. A friendship, maybe? But nothing more. Soobin felt the same for his princess. She was sweet, and nice, could also sing and dance, and was even a painter. But he could only take so much being around her. 

You two had to fake it until you made it. Praying that one day your families call off the whole thing to begin with. But with only a handful of months left, it was clear your fathers weren’t changing their minds. 

Which just brings you two where you are now. 

Standing in your spot in the garden that overlooked the city below. Soobin’s hands slid up and down your body as he pressed you between him and the pillar. 

His tongue twisted around yours, mixing your salvia together. He rolled his hip into you, feeling his hard length against your stomach, “You never fail to get me so hard,” he whispered against your lips. 

You couldn’t help but giggle, “Now now my love, princes don’t speak so naughty like that,” 

Soobin smiled against your lips, “Can’t help it when you make me feel this way.” 

Soobin always had a small crush on you even as children, it was why he was so shy at the beginning. He took that small crush with him even when he was abroad, thinking maybe that’s why it never worked out with the other females he dated. 

But when he came back home and saw how grown up you become, the way your hair was so much longer, how your body filled out to its curves. The way your breasts look perfect no matter the outfit or dress you wore. You were a woman, a woman he wanted to ruin and keep only for himself. 

Soobin loved you, so so very much. You held his heart in his hands and held the very power to crush it at your will. 

You pulled away from his lips, leaning your head back against the pillar, “Want to hold me while we look at the stars?” 

Soobin kissed your forehead, his hands now resting on your hips, “Anything for you, my princess.” 

Soobin sat on the grass, his back against the pillar and your back against his chest. His hands are wrapping around you tightly. 

You two sat in silence, your head resting against his neck as he was on top of your head. 

“Have you had sex with her yet?” you don’t know what caused you to even ask that question. But with only several months left until Soobin was to be wed to her, your curiosity got the best of you. 

Due to the fact you're both arranged to be married to two separate people, you’ve both spent most of your time with your fiancés if you weren’t busy with normal royal duties. 

“YN…” he said, his arms now falling at his side, “We don’t have to do this.” 

You knew you didn’t. But your brain wouldn’t settle down until the question was answered. 

“I know,” you whispered, “I’m just asking.” 

Soobin bit his lip, leaning his head back against the pillar, “It happened for the first time the other night. She snuck into my room.” 

You just nodded. You weren’t mad or even jealous. You understood it was bound to happen. They’ll be married in months. And if Soobin shrugged her off it would be suspicious. 

“You and Yeonjun?” his shaky voice asked, “Have you?” 

You didn’t lie, just gave him a small nod, “Last night. I wasn’t feeling good and he brought me some tea and read my favorite book to me. It kinda just happened.” 

It would take everything Soobin had to not throw a punch at Yeonjun the next time he sees him. 

But same as you, Soobin understood there was no choice in the matter. Both of you fought your parents until the bitter end and nothing changed. You had to accept your fates. 

“No one can pleasure you like me though,” he said, wrapping his arms back around you, “Only I can.” 

You just rolled your eyes and leaned back into him. He was right, but hearing him act so cocky was silly to you. Soobin knew he was it for you. 

“YN,” he said with a kiss to your temple, “Let’s run away together.” 

You giggled, “That’s a funny joke, where would we even go?” 

Soobin just shrugged, “Anywhere you wanted. We could get away from all this. Live normal lives.” 

As tempting as that was, you knew your fathers would stop at nothing to bring you both home. You’d both be found out and permanently forced away from each other. It would cause too much trouble. You both knew it. 

“Bin,” you whispered, “You know we can’t.” 

He did know. And it killed him. Oh, the things he’d do to have a normal life with you. To leave behind this royalty bullshit. To give up his titles and money and status. He didn’t care. He just wanted you. 

“What if we just, ya know,” you shrugged, “Suddenly die in each other's arms?” it was a joke obviously, Soobin knew it too by the chuckle that left his mouth. 

“You mean like Romeo and Juliet?” Soobin couldn’t help but chuckle again, “That was such a depressing death though.” 

You giggled with him, “At least, we’d be together in the afterlife.” 

Soobin nodded, “Still a terrible way to go out, the way they did.” 

Your phone vibrating in your pocket pulled you back to reality. 

Soobin sighed, “It’s Yeonjun, isn’t it?” 

You nodded. You didn’t have to check to know that it was in fact Yeonjun. He probably went to your room and saw you weren’t there and was looking for you. 

“You should go,” he whispered, standing up from behind you, “What will you tell him?” 

Soobin helped you to your feet, dusting off the grass from the back of your legs, “That I was in the library or something. I don’t know yet.” 

Soobin just nodded, his hands cupping your face and crashing his lips to yours for the final time for tonight. 

“I love you, my princess,” he whispered between kisses.

“I love you too, my sweet prince,” you whispered back, pulling yourself away from him, his hands lingering on your hands as you walked away and his fingertips met with yours and then were gone, watching you quickly rush back inside the castle. 

—

The months flew by quicker than you wanted. Yeonjun sat beside you, his fingers rubbing against yours, “This is a very beautiful wedding venue,” he said, eyes wandering around, taking in the building and its Greek architecture as the snow fell outside and covered the windows, “I hope our wedding will be this beautiful or even better.” 

You just smiled at him and nodded, “I’m sure it will be,” 

Yeonjun couldn’t hold back his smile and leaned forward to press a quick kiss to your lips, “I can’t wait to marry you next week.” 

You tried to pull the most genuine smile you could, hoping he wouldn’t see the lies that were beneath it. 

How could you be happy right now? The love of your life was going to walk through those doors at any minute and wait for his fiancé. They’d be married soon and everything between you and Soobin would come to an end officially. 

The moment you dreaded finally happened. Soobin walked in, everyone gawking at how handsome he looked, asking if he was ready and nervous. 

If you didn’t know Soobin, you would think he was actually happy right now. But since you do, you could tell he was bullshitting his whole way through this. The sadness in his eyes and the way he looked at you with Yeonjun was proof enough as it was. 

Soobin walked over to you, Yeonjun quickly standing up to shake his hand, “Congrats, man. You’ll be a great husband, I know it!” 

You tried to not roll your eyes at your fiancé’s comment. Yeonjun knew you and Soobin were best friends and he tried so hard since moving into the castle to befriend Soobin too. Saying you’d all be a group of best friends soon enough. 

Let’s just say Yeonjun is still working on that. Soobin wasn’t giving him the time of day in that department. 

All Soobin did was nod and give Yeonjun a fake smile, his eyes darting to you, “You better be a good husband for her. She deserves the world.” 

Yeonjun quickly nodded, placing a hand on your back, “I’ll take good care of her, don’t you worry.” 

Soobin took one last glance between you two and walked away. 

“He looks nervous,” Yeonjun whispered as he sat back down. 

No, he just doesn’t like you because you get to marry me and he doesn’t and he’s being forced to marry someone he doesn’t want. 

The famous wedding music started playing, and your heart nearly stopped. 

The wedding went by quickly, the final vows being told, and Soobin and his princess officially being confirmed as husband and wife. The crowd clapped and cheered. 

Soobin took one final look at you, his eyes telling you how much he loved you for the last time before leaning in to kiss his now wife. 

You looked down at the floor, hands going limp in your laps. 

Yeonjun noticed you, him touching her back, “Baby, what’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?” 

You shook your head, quickly standing up after hearing the rest of the crowd stand as well. 

Except you were the first to leave your seat and quickly leave the venue. 

Soobin’s eyes followed you the whole way, his heart breaking into a million pieces. 

You stepped out into the cold, letting the snow fall onto you. You cried. You let the tears fall and your knees buckle down to the ground, your dress soaking up the wet from the snow. 

Soobin was no longer yours. 

And the weight of that was heavy. 

Why is it so heavy? You weren’t meant for each other in the end. 

So why was it so heavy? 

Why is everything so heavy?

[arcadianambivalence]

IWTV S2E2 and History

One thing I really appreciate about this show is how it interacts with its historical setting. I worried that when Louis and Claudia left New Orleans last season, the show would start to shirk the historical details, but the latest episode has given me enough historical tidbits to chew on (pun intended).

Hidden behind the humor of lines like "Paris is shit" and the thrill of meeting other vampires, there's a sense of foreboding lingering beside the recent traumas.

As with the first episode of season 2, Louis and Claudia are surrounded by reminders of war, even if they do not have the context (or empathy) for the survivors they encounter. Claudia complains that she has to pick twice as many pockets to get by, but the two are still able to afford an apartment. Meanwhile, food staples and clothing are still rationed, but people and pigeons are easy to come by.

"Paris was Nazi scar tissue at the time..."

Louis explains, but the scars historically ran deeper than a tourist (and Louis is The stereotypical tourist in this episode) could understand. Blackouts, food shortages, rations, soldiers, and refugees linger at the corners of the episode.

Even Madeline is introduced to us by a man warning Claudia that she was a collaborator or Nazi sympathizer (he does a subtle salute and points to the shop window), which will certainly influence how the next episodes take her through her narrative beats.

The plays performed by the Théâtre des Vampires cross 1920s to 1940s expressionism with absurdity and horror. Even after all this time, Louis is unenthused about the theatrical performances.

"The plays were weird. They always ended in death or some kind of cruel, barely motivated violence."

Armand's reply is dulled by the onstage spectacle:

"Life is cruel. Life is violent. [...] It was all a seduction to lure the cattle into a willing belief of disbelief."

It's a line that is all the more concerning if you know where the story is going...

Annika, the doomed woman onstage, is from Belgium, yet another country recovering from occupation and war. When she desperately tries to convince the audience to flee (not just for them to help her, but to save themselves), she speaks Dutch, so neither the French nor English-speaking audience members understand her.

Still in character, Santiago pretends to offer her a choice. She could live if she gives up someone to die in her place, if she, as the phrase goes, "turns someone in." First, he offers to take her husband, and she refuses. Then he offers to take her son, and again she refuses. Finally, he points to a man in the audience. She nods vigorously, but it's a cruel joke.

Santiago has already made up his mind about her. He addresses the man, warning him against trusting his neighbors:

"They'll give you up in a wink."

As if someone who spent the last five years in occupied France would need reminding.

The warning is for us, the viewers.

Later, the troupe takes Louis and Claudia to a mansion, ostensibly to eat people who, apparently, hoarded resources from the black market. Another show for Claudia and Louis, tourists who still think of themselves as the "good" vampires. Because why would a troupe of vampires concern themselves with that? They don't need anything from the black market. They don't eat anything from the black market. Where was this sense of justice in recent years?

As with Annika, it's yet another excuse to enact cruel and public violence against people they consider less than them.

So when Santiago's introductory prologue includes lines like:

"Being vampires, and by nature superior to you mortals, we can [...] disrupt your tiny ship called human decency."

"Our jobs, which is at the heart of it, to laugh alongside your misery while you cry and scream for more."

"Everything you're about to see is real. Remember that when you leave here tonight. You are all complicit [...] I love you for it."

You know things are not going to get better for Louis and Claudia.

[hermit-frog]

Louis, what do you mean it's not on him? Louis? What do you mean, it's just as your fault? LOUIIIIS? what do you mean, please, please stop this bs. yes, you'd brought her home to fill your growing emptiness and ease your guilt, i get it, but she was alive. she had to leave because of him, because of the abuse, and your neglect. you were so suffocated you didn't have her back until you had and almost died. she came back, broken but alive. she had figured it out, she made it work for herself. and he hated it. she came back to you, for you. but lestat views you as his property, still does. this bitch had abused both you and your daughter for years, he had almost killed you (not knowing if you'd even survive the fall), because if he can't have you, then no one can. if he can't force you, then he'll break you, like a child. both you and Claudia were oppressed to the point y'all had to take action in self-defense and flee the country, you have spared him, Louis, Loooouis. he came back for the trial, he rehearsed it, he watched her burn without even trying to save her. he only views her as his extension, her good qualities are because of him, his blood, and not whom she is apart from him. very logan roy of him to “admire” claudia's murder attempt, and defiance. if it's no about lestat, then it doesn't matter, then it's a mistake, a disappointment. if she's her own person, then she must leave or die. he makes her louis' lapdog, because my hysterical wife can't deal with an empty nest, abuse and depression, my housewife won't "pay attention to me", which i have 100% right to, as her husband (he complains to his, also abused, mistress). i mean, come on. Claudia had achieved her happiness/freedom twice, only for it to get snatched away from her at the last second. by Lestat, by the coven and Armand, and Lestat again.

Louis, he gave you to your and your daughter's murderer like you're a goat. he still thinks he owns you and has the right to make decisions for you, to punish you, to let you “learn”, like you're a child-wife and he's the all-knowing father. you stayed with this said murderer for years, not knowing the truth, because it was withheld for you as a lesson, he doesn't see you as an equal. you have wronged, Claudia, yes. many times. you have chocked her to save your abuser because you no longer know how to live without his suffocation, it terrifies you to get out of the boiling water. you're free but you keep drowning, in your guilt, in your attachment, trauma bond, punishing yourself. don't take the equal fault. y'all were forced to flee. do you hear me? both of you were forced to leave. she was forced to leave three times because of him! Looooooouuuuiissss aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah

they could've delivered this differently, i understand that this is loustat hurricane of a toxic abusive patriarchal relationship + the focus on that both Louis and Claudia are black and lestat as their white master, good exploration on that. and Louis as a character to say shit like this also makes sense (from his pov), his mother, his role in the family, scapegoat, all that., come back, separate, come back. like i said, he's used to this. but the takes on this scene online.....

am i overreacting?

[rememberthelaughtermp3]

This is Elaf, a once passionate medical student and the oldest daughter of a single mom with no job and a responsibility of 5 children to raise, I was awaiting the moment to graduate and reward my mother for all her sacrifices, but the faith had another claim, my mother, 3 sisters, brother, and aunt were forced to leave our house by the RSF under all kinds of violence and terrorism, they have occupied our house and left us with nothing. Thankfully, they made it alive to escape to Al-Gizera where they thought it would be safe and in peace. A few months later the RSF entered Madani, bringing with them destruction, chaos, massacre and the threat of unspeakable horrors. My family got displaced for the second time and trapped in inhumane conditions, in a place without shelter, internet, or basic human needs, but with all the possibilities of attack, sexual abuse, and even merciless death. It's really beyond excruciation to be displaced and refugee inside a country that supposed to be your home, isn't it?

I am terrified about my mother who is a hypertensive and asthmatic patient and could develop any further cardiovascular/respiratory diseases due to the unimaginable stress and fear, lack of medications, and limited access to food. I am scared about my sisters who aren't safe among terrorists who use sexual abuse against girls and women to remark their false and illusory victory. I am afraid of the unknown future of my 12 years old sister who is deprived of her rights of education and forced to be homeless while other children are going to school, and I feel the pain for my young brother who is doing labor work to provide what merely could make them alive while he is supposed to study and build his future, without forgetting the race and color based discrimination against him that could identity him falsely as a terrorist and then get massacred.

Now I am reaching out to you to help us in our fight for survival, to give my family the chance to live the life they deserve. Your donation will re-birth a dream that has been deprived, a life that has been stolen, and a hope that never been felt by my family. I am humbly asking you to help me reunite with my family in a safer place and help them flee Sudan to unite with me in Rwanda.

Funds will be used to pay for traveling from Port Sudan to Rwanda through Uganda, as well as to meet entry requirements and basic living expenses when in Rwanda. A specific budget breakdown is included at the bottom.

Budget Breakdown:

250 USD per person to travel to Port Sudan = 1500 USD

850 USD flights ticket to Uganda from Port Sudan per person = 5100 USD

30 USD per person times six people to board a bus from Uganda to Rwanda = 180 USD

4000 USD for rental arrangements for the first three months

150 USD for residency permit per person = 900 USD

3000 USD minimum cash show to enter Rwanda

1500 USD is for emergency as we pay all the transportation in Sudan in local currency and the exchange rate is not fixed as well as the traveling ticket itself, it depends on the field progress of the army between cities. From September to December the air tickets have been increased twice from 550 USD to 650 USD to 850 USD now!

Total of 16,180 USD.

$12228 / $17000

[sixeyescurseuser]

Bunjo

Thinking about canon but make it hybrid au - bunny hybrid Gojo and human Geto. 

The Gojo clan is very adamant about breeding within the same species of rabbit family. Something about maintaining a pure bloodline and having a mate that will instinctively know what’s best for you.

Then, THE Gojo Satoru goes off to Jujutsu High, and imprints on a HUMAN. 

The thing is, Gojo’s never had trouble controlling his bunny instincts - not since he was a kid. But whenever he’s around Suguru, his self-control goes out of the window. 

Meanwhile, Geto came from a small country town so he’s not used to this many hybrids there are in the big cities - and so many varieties!

It’d be so funny if the first time Geto “met” Gojo was when Gojo was in bun form.

Bun Gojo - “Bunjo” for short - gets restless when he doesn’t shift for more than a week. Upon wanting to explore the campus in his bun form, he lost track of time, aka the moment their new classmate arrived on campus.

So Geto comes across this snow-white bun snoozing in one of the chairs in the main dormitory room. He slowly approaches, unsure if the bun will startle or not.

When Geto cautiously reaches his hand out, his fingers brush against soft white fur, and the bun’s ears twitch a bit. 

Cute! Geto thinks. 

***

By the end of their first year, everyone now getting along very well, lizard-hybrid Shoko comes to find Gojo has SCENT-MARKED Geto, which is a big no-no between hybrids without consent. 

Shoko: “You idiot, you can’t do that!”

Gojo: “Huh? Do what?”

Shoko: “...have you smelled Geto recently?”

Gojo: “Duh. And Suguru smells the same.”

Shoko mentally facepalms. Gojo didn’t even realize he had scent-marked Geto? That’s somehow even worse. 

It seems that to Gojo, Geto smelling like him feels so right that he didn't even notice. 

***

Geto 24/7: “How are you a bunny hybrid but you hate veggies?” 💀

Gojo: “Say that again and I will bite you.”

***

Gojo turns into a bunny when he’s angy. Like when he stubbornly doesn’t want to talk to anyone and childishly runs away. 

Poof! He’s a bun and then HE FLEES. (Bun on the loose!)

Geto is usually the one to find him and bring him back. Even if Geto was the one who made Gojo angy by accidentally forgetting to meet Gojo at the new bakery he wanted to try. 

(Geto, chasing after the white blur: “Satoru STOP”

Hearing those words, the white bun speeds up impossibly faster.)

Whenever Geto finally convinces Gojo to stop running, he has to have a piece of clothing ready to carry the white bun back. Usually, that’s one of his sweatshirts, which he’ll swaddle bun Gojo in and scoop up into his arms.

Yet another sweatshirt Geto will have to wash because it has white hairs all over it now.

***

Geto gets cute aggression with Bunjo, starts squishing and pinching the cute bun. 

(Geto does that with human Gojo’s cheeks too.)

Gojo wouldn’t have it any other way. He loves pets, and Geto’s hand is sometimes the best reward. 

Bunjo will hop over to Geto and flip over onto his back - exposing his tummy. Geto doesn’t hesitate to stroke the soft fur, which smells so sweet somehow; he buries his face into Bunjo’s furry body and showers him with kisses. 

Whenever Bunjo has been running around for the day, he comes back all dusty. Cue Geto picking Bunjo up and patting the dust off like he’s a rug.

After one final shake, Geto finishes the patting session with a kiss to Bunjo’s head. 

***

Bunjo being a brat and dive-bombing Nanami during a training session. In bun form, he’s somehow hopping so high in the air and lands a kick right to Nanami’s ass. 😭

Nanami immediately yells, “GETO-SAN, COME PICK HIM UP. PLEASE. TAKE RESPONSIBILITY!”

Geto, who is busy helping Haibara train, shouts back, “Just indulge him for a bit!”

Nanami: “HAH?”

Geto: “Spar with him!”

Bunjo’s back leg thumps the ground twice as he launches himself into the air to push a paw into Nanami’s face.

Nanami: “GETO-SAN, THIS IS RIDICULOUS, WHAT DO YOU MEAN SPAR WITH HI-“ *gets kicked HARD on his face by Bunjo*

When Geto finally comes over, Nanami is on the ground holding Bunjo up by the armpits and as far away from his face as possible.

As soon as Geto takes Bunjo into his arms, the white bun melts against Geto’s body, ears twitching happily.

That’s the first day Nanami begins to lose respect for his senpais. 

After that, Nanami has war flashbacks anytime he comes across a wild rabbit that’s the same shade of white as Gojo.

***

w/ @no-one-says-hi

[toulousewayne]

Batfamily Shenanigans:Head-canons Pt: 4

The Wayne family attends Gala all the time. Some have for years, but that doesn’t mean that all enjoy them. Bruce and Damian attend them purely for appearances, Dick is there to kept his siblings from burning down the building, Jason always sneaks in as different undercover identities, Tim has to go because he has to also keep up appearances but most of the time you will find him indirectly call the investors idiots. Duke and Steph are at the snack table, Cass sticks next to Babs at the table and they watch the chaos together. Alfred joins them sometimes.

It comes as to no shock that Tim has severe Narcolepsy, but Dick and Bruce have insomnia.

Damian watched Tim while he sleeps. No one knows when he started but he always tells the other it’s because Tim is prone to falling. Which is lie but no one ever stops him.

Stephanie is very skilled mechanic, sometimes when there’s down time she’s found repairing or working on of the bat bikes or the Batmobile.

Dick Grayson is color blind. It’s only when he comments on Stephanie’s brown sweater that Jason points out to him. Barbara and Bruce knew the whole time and just thought he was doing it to be funny, it comes as a shock to Dick though.

Duke and Cass go to the flee market every Sunday. The buy fresh produce and eggs for Alfred. Cass even thrifts a few clothing pieces.

Speaking of Clothes, no one has all their clothes anymore. Jason’s hoodies are always stole from the manor, his safehouses in the city and out of the country it doesn’t matter. They’ll usually end up in Cass, Tim or Steph’s closet. Dick’s T-shirts are public domain at this point because all his siblings have at least one of them. Barbara can never find her fuzzy socks until she visit the manor next and find them on Damian and Stephanie’s feet. Tim’s jewelry is always around Cass’ neck. Damian is the only safe because no one can fit his stuff but he does get Duke and Tim’s clothes they’ve outgrown.

Cass will sometimes spend time with Alfred in the cave repairing the suits. She’s very good at sewing.

Selina is lactose intolerant, Bruce finds this hilarious.

Duke took dance classes sense he was eight. He can dance the waltz, break dance, ballet, jig, salsa, and a few others.

Bruce allowed Tim create the design of the newest bat tech.

Alfred enjoys his tea with sugar and crème, Damian of course likes sugar and lemon. They have weekly tea parties in the sunroom with Alfred the cat and Titus.

Dick has the most mixed playlist of songs. So, whether he’s on a steal out with Bruce, driving Damian to soccer practice, or even just cleaning his apartment by himself he’s got something for everyone.

Barbara loves Amy Winehouse, she plays her record several times a day in the Clocktower.

While on the subject of music, Tim can sing and it was very embarrassing when his family found out. Tim was in his room singing with his headphones on but his door was open and he didn’t realize how loud he was. Dick and Steph came across him singing. Stephanie record it and sent it to the group. Tim was embraced by his family for his beautiful voice and they wanted to hear more, but poor Tim wanted the world to swallow him whole. Jason can play guitar and Dick can’t sing well but he can also play guitar in addition to the bass.

Damian is able to find his family with little tech involved. The OG Titans came back to the tower after helping Donna with a mission and Robin was perched in their living room. He gave Wally a heart attack. Tim was having a game night with Conner,Bart, and Cassie and the scream Bart unleashed when they found Damian in the kitchen starring at the pizza boxes on the counter and questioned Tim on lack of a proper diet.

Clark has nearly broken the sound barrier twice over not being able to hear Bruce’s heartbeat. Luckily both times Bruce had to slow his heart rate to be near death to escape sticky situations and both were ended due to a worried Krypton.

“I wanted Red Claw to think I was dead, I had to slow my heart rate to throw her off.”

“AND YOU DIDN’T THINK TO SAY THAT TO ME, I WAS IN AUSTRALIA?”

Speaking of the Man of Steel, when Dick was freshly Robin and before Clark married Lois, the Boy Wonder tried to set up his father and Clark on several blind dates. Once he canceled a date of Bruce’s and rescheduled a business dinner for Clark and the two ended up on a romantic balcony date in Metropolis. They were both shocked and a blushing mess. It got worse when the waiter address the “Happy Couple” has was instructed from the reservation that Dick set.

Robin got an ear full the next morning from Bruce but to Dick it was worth it and even Alfred may have pulled a string or two.

Another time Bruce couldn’t watch Dick and Alfred was visiting London for the next week and Bruce had to Wayne Enterprises Event. He asked Clark if he could watch Dick for the night and of course he offered.

Not even five minutes after he left did Dick turn to Clark,”So, your dating my Father?”

Clark was as red as his cape and he tried to explain to Dick they are just friends. “Whatever you say Clark, but just curious would you take his last name or will he take yours? Because honestly I don’t see why you can’t use both—“

Clark cover his face as the young bird continued to show his support for his favorite ship.

“Are you also gonna adopt me too now?”

“Okay, time to see what time your Father’s coming back.” He sighed.

[fairystar111]

Dark New World

By: fairystar111

Rating: Gen

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia

Summary:

The age of heroes is over… the League of Villains had won the war and Japan was now under their rule.   Class 1-A is declared missing in battle and a hefty bounty is announced for any information leading to their capture.   What horrors will they face if caught by the League?

(A villains win AU featuring found family and forced family.)

Characters: Izuku Midoriya, Shouto Todoroki, Tokoyami Fumikage, Ochaco Uraraka, Asui Tysuyu, Tomura Shigaraki, Dabi | Touya Todoroki, Hawks | Keigo Takami, Spinner | Suuichi Iguchi, Kurogiri, Magne | Kenji Hikiishi, Mr.Compress | Sako Atsuhiro, Himiko Toga, Twice | Jin Bubaigawara.

CW/Tags: Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, Yandere, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Hostage Situations, Non-consensual Drug Use, Parental Yandere. Also all relationships between minors and adults are platonic! Fucked up but still platonic!

Start/Previous/Next

The age of heroes is over…the league had won the war and Japan was now under their rule. It happened so quickly the war had begun on an ordinary day, no one was expecting the country to be taken under siege so swiftly. Up until that point the League of Villains had seemed like a bunch of amateurs with only two known members. The heroes had been taken painfully by surprise and suddenly half of the hero population was dead and the rest had gone into hiding once All Might was killed. The number one hero had been their last hope to turn the tide of the war but the hero had died protecting his protege from All for One. At least that monster had died with him when All Might used his last of his power to pummel him into the ground, turning his body into nothing more than a pile of sludge. With All Might gone chaos spread through the streets, people were panicking and didn't know who to turn to or who to trust.

Government officials were being murdered on live television and no one was doing anything to stop it. A video of Hawks killing the president of the Hero Public Safety Commission was released shortly after he exposed the abuse he and many others had undergone in their care. With the HPSC gone, the heroes had no one to turn to to organize a large-scale attack on the league. Many died without the support while others took it as a sign to flee the country or go into hiding. 

Former heroes were being exposed for heinous crimes that were swept under the rug by the HPSC. The most shocking being Dabi or Todoroki Touya exposing Endeavour’s abuse to the public before slaughtering him with the former winged hero Hawks. The rest of Japan's government had forty-eight hours to report that they surrender and pledge allegiance to the leadership of the League of Villains or they would be slaughtered and their corpses used as a warning for those who commit treason.

As much as the remaining heroes tried they could not defeat Shigaraki and his army of villains. With All for One dead and Shigaraki inheriting his power, he and his league quickly overwhelmed them. Midoriya was only barely starting to understand how to use his power and was not strong enough to stop Shigaraki despite him thinking it is his mission to do so.

When Midoriya almost died trying to fight off a muscled quirk villain from Shigaraki’s army, Shouta and Hizashi had to make the hard decision to stop fighting and bring the class into hiding. Fully trained pro heroes were dying everyday and his inexperienced students were going to be killed if they continued to fight.

There was an old UA fortress hidden in the mountains Nezu had told him about, it was only to be used in dire situations so Aizawa had never actually been there before. But he knows the location where it is hidden and that it was an old stronghold from the dawn of quirks that had been modified for extreme post apocalyptic type disasters. The base should be strong and hidden securely enough to protect his students. With the help from Soaring, a hero that was visiting Japan when it fell, Shouta and Hizashi were able to get the kids there safely. They arrived with nothing but the clothes on their backs but they were safe at least for now. 

Something that struck Shouta as odd had been the difference in treatment they had gotten in the war compared to other heroes. While their classmates and fellow teachers were being slaughtered mercilessly, Shouta and his class were only mildly injured aside from Midoriya. In fact he could have sworn during the fighting he heard someone mutter “Remember not to hurt ‘em too the big boss wants ‘em alive.”. While he is worried about what the villains meant by that. He can’t help but be grateful for it because it gave him more time to protect his kids and make a plan to escape. Now he can only worry about what is in store for them if they are caught. He knows the League had it out for his class, he can only hope they were not being spared only to be captured and tortured by them later. 

===

For the last couple of months the League has been working meticulously to build a society they think would be fair to everyone and set up official laws and appoint figureheads to step in place of them in the public and run the country exactly how they want to. They have officials who handle the public but have no real power to change things. They follow their orders and the minute one steps out of line they are slaughtered and displayed for everyone to see. The League usually only makes public appearances when squashing rebellions or publicly punishing those who disobey their rule. They may not be the faces of the country but everyone knows who is truly really running everything behind the scenes. 

It has been months since they've taken over Japan and there have been no sightings of their targets. They would find them soon enough, no matter where they run or where they hide they will never be free. The League will always chase them to the ends of the earth. They take what is theirs and those children belong to them. 

“It's been ages since there have been any sightings of class 1-A. How far along are we on locating them?” Shigaraki growled out, frustrated beyond words. He hasn’t had a chance to see Izuku since the initial decoy attack on the USJ. Last he heard his baby brother almost died fighting a rogue villain named Muscular and he wasn’t there to save him. Said villain was then brutalized and tortured by Tomura on live television to show what happens to rouges. He needs to find Izuku soon. Clearly his little brother has no survival instinct in him at all and needs his big brother there to protect him. 

“They were last spotted boarding a plane escorted by the flying hero Soaring exactly three months ago, current location unknown.” Hawks replied, angsty to get his hand on his baby bird again. He doesn't know how the poor chick is surviving without him there to watch over him.

“Have any of our soldiers been able to locate and interrogate the hero?” Tomura huffed, miffed that they were able to hide so well considering the five million yen bounty they put on each of them. Surely some civilians will be selfish enough to report them for the reward, right?

“Soaring fled Japan shortly after helping the targets escape and is currently missing. We have had several plans to locate him but none have succeeded at this time.” Mister Compress replied gently, trying not to upset Tomura more than he already was.

“This is all taking too long; they could be anywhere in the world at this point. We’ll be lucky if they decide to hide in Japan at all.” Shigaraki rasped out, roughly digging his nails into the soft skin of his neck. The idea of his little brother hiding out in a foreign country made his skin crawl.

“Hey look on the brightside, they’re not dead so that means we'll always have time to catch them later. They can’t run forever. Eventually they'll slip up and we’ll be there to take back what is ours! ” Toga said, smiling brightly. She really wants to see Ochaco again. She had met the girl in the beginning stages of the war. Ochaco had saved her from her fellow heroes and Toga has been infatuated ever since. 

“Yeah! We’ll never stop looking for them. No matter how far they try to run or where they hide we’ll always find them. Who are you guys looking to take anyways?” Hawks asked, realizing after all this time they never actually talked about which kids they wanted. They had been so busy setting up an entirely new government they hadn’t had much time to really talk about it. He just knew they were all part of the same class his baby bird was in.

“Izuku is obviously coming with me.” Shigarki said sternly. No one is getting their hands on his little brother but him. Father had left Izuku in his care and Tomura promised he would take care of Izu whether the boy liked it or not. The kid was way too reckless and seriously needed to be reined in by his big brother.

“I'm taking Shouto.” Dabi replied easily.  Endeavor did a lot of damage to his family, to Shouto in particular, but Dabi was sure he could turn his stoic brother back into the adorable baby brother he had left all those years ago. He’ll probably fight a bit at first but he’ll realize soon how much better things are here. He can be a good pseudo-father figure for his little brother and help him regain some of the childhood he lost. 

“I don’t want to adopt kidnap any children personally. But I'm always happy to babysit for those of you who will.” Said Magne, the big sister of the group. She loves children but she is just not ready to have one of her own. And of course breaking the little heroes in, is not something her heart can handle. She hates seeing children in pain and she knows that the first few months will be a very harsh adjustment on the baby heroes. 

“I already have Himiko but it would be nice to have an innocent child at home that has no blood on their hands. I hate kids! Who would you like, koko? You’re not getting any siblings! ” asked Twice. While he does already have a daughter of his own and he loves her the way she is. Having a sweet non villainous child at home waiting for them while they're out does sound appealing to him. 

“I wanted Izu-chan and Ochaco,” Himiko pouted. She wanted Izuku to be her little brother, not Shiggy’s. She had seen the boy fighting savagely in the beginning of the war and liked him and he’s one of Ochaco’s best friends so that made him even better.

“No! My little brother is coming with me!” Shigaraki screeched from across the large meeting table.

“Okay well then Ochaco is better than Izu-kun anyways!” Toga said, sticking her tongue out at Shigaraki. Ochaco would make an adorable baby sister with a little bit of work from her and her dad.

“I personally want Asui. No one knows mutant quirks better than a mutant themselves. I would take the best care of that little girl.” Spinner explained. He originally had wanted nothing to do with the kids but when he found out that there was another animal mutation like himself he started to think it wouldn't be so bad. He also saw that there was a student with a bird mutation but he did not want to get killed by Hawks for trying to take his fledgling. He had never had any siblings or planned to have a child of his own; everyone in his life has always rejected him because of his quirk. So Asui would be his child to love and raise. 

“Well I for one do not need anymore children. My little magician is all I need. He’s made quite a bit of progress recently and he will be very happy to know he will be receiving new playmates soon.” Mr.Compress purred. He had gotten his little boy months ago and while he is still a little argumentative at times he is sure that is just part of his personality. He has already made quite the breakthrough with the boy, getting him to call him papa and rely solely on him for all his needs. The others will be so jealous when they meet him, they had only seen what the boy was like months ago when he had been originally captured.

“No need to brag.” Hawks drawled coldly. He is honestly really jealous that Atsuhiro was able to get his kid so early into the game when he is still struggling to find his fledgling. 

“Anyway I’m taking Fumikage but you all probably already know that.” Hawks said lazily. He had met his baby bird while he was doing his internship and found it hard to let him go. His instincts had reacted so violently when the boy had told him he was leaving, though he knew the internship was only temporary, the thought of his baby bird leaving him had made him feel so angry and empty. Hawks wanted to keep Tokoyami for himself more than anything. Fumikage had been the reason he had turned full villain. Since there was no easy way to take the boy from his family legally, he figured when the league eventually took over Japan he could finally get Fumikage all to himself. 

“And I will be taking Eraserhead and Present Mic. And no I will not be answering why.” Kurogiri said. Shirakumo is looking to complete his collection of friends. At least the ones that are still alive, poor Nemuri will have to undergo the same process he did when he died.

Just as Shigaraki was about to reply to Kurogiri, the doors to the conference room burst open and military personnel filed into the room.

“WHAT!” Shigaraki snarled, watching the general shrink back in fear.

“Sir we've just received info that there have been reported sightings of a large group of children and two adults living on Mount Yama. The descriptions of the children and adults match the 1-A students and teachers.” The man said.

“Send in a group of stealth operatives to get their exact location while we close in on them. Gather the troops and station them all around the perimeter of the mountain, and be ready to storm the mountain in case they want to put up a fight.” Shigaraki barked with a smirk. Their kids are coming home soon whether they like it or not.

===

It had been three months since they arrived at the camp and while it was hard at first they were mostly happy. Yes there are days where they were terrified about what would happen if they were ever caught but the kids were just happy to be alive together and have a home with their teachers. Because despite everything they went through their teachers love them all and would protect them until their last dying breath. 

There had only been enough viable rations for the first month because of this they had to learn how to grow and hunt their food quickly. It was very difficult for many of the kids, most of them didn’t even know how to cook yet let alone hunt to survive. They taught them how to cure and dry meat, how to fish and hunt for animals, how to plant a garden and how to preserve food to last for months. Their teachers were very patient with them teaching them all the skills needed to thrive in the wilderness.

They have been trying to get into communication with other surviving heroes to get them to come to their base but have had no luck. The few who had answered had been terrified of even being associated with them. Apparently the league had put out an announcement that anyone that was caught helping them would be charged with aiding and abetting criminals and sentenced to execution. But those with any information on them leading to their capture would be rewarded generously. While it was hard being treated as criminals they couldn’t blame people for not wanting to die. And while most didn’t help them in any way, they were kind enough to not immediately report them to the league for a reward.

One day while out foraging for food the class could swear they felt unfamiliar eyes on them but Jirou confirmed that there was nothing out of the ordinary that she could detect nearby so they went deeper into the forest. They were out hunting for pigs to make for dinner, the wild pigs are the best source of protein on the mountain but you have to travel deep in the forest to catch them. The deeper they went the more they could sense that someone was trailing them, it felt like they were prey being hunted by a dangerous predator. Aizawa would sometimes test them by stalking them in the forest and seeing if they could sense him but… these eyes did not feel like the teacher they loved, they felt malicious. They decided to head back to camp early and alert their teachers that there was something in the forest making them uneasy and unable to focus on their hunt. When they finally arrived at their base they ran as quickly as they could to find their teachers.

“Mr. Aizawa! Mr. Aizawa! Mr. Aizawa!” The students yelled frantically, finally finding their teacher.

“What's wrong?” Shouta asked, alarmed by the frazzled state of his kids. Most of them had tears in their eyes and were trembling, holding tight onto one another. As soon as he asked, all his kids started trying to explain what happened all at once.

“Shh, one at a time please. Iida explain what happened to get you all so upset.” Aizawa asked calmly, wanting to know why the students were back from their hunt so early and why they were in such a state.

“Sir there seemed to be someone following us on our hunt today. At first we thought it  might have been you but something about the presence following us didn’t feel quite right. It felt like someone was spying on us. We're worried that someone may have leaked the location of the safe house.” Iida explained voice cracking and shoulders trembling.

“Okay calm down your teachers will figure this out. Hizashi, it's go time someone found us. They might possibly already be on the way to our location with reinforcements. I need you to come here as soon as possible and help me get the kids ready to run. What is your eta?” Shouta said urgently into the walkie talkie. Actual phones are too easy to track so they have been mostly using radio to communicate.

“I'm coming Shouta, I can be there within five minutes. Please start getting them ready without me. I'll be there as soon as I can.” Hizashi responded, worried voice coming out distorted through the small speaker of the walkie talkie.

“Affirmative, alert me as soon as you arrive.” The teacher said, quickly signing off.

“Alright I need you all to be calm and pack a bag with a couple of days worth of food in it each and dress as warmly as you can. We need to be ready by the time Hizashi arrives. Then we'll need to run as fast as we can alright.” Aizawa ordered.

“But where will we go, sensei?” Shouta heard a teary little voice ask. 

“I don’t know yet but your teachers will figure it out. Don’t worry we'll be fine. I need you all to be brave right now. Can you do that for me?” Aizawa said, heart breaking at the sight of the frightened uncertain eyes of his students all being directed at him.

“Yes Sensei.” Twenty wary voices answered back.

“Good, now go pack your bags. We need to be as quick as possible.” Shouta ordered.

The students hurried to pack while the teachers wondered where they were going to go. With the temperatures dropping they weren't going to be able to camp just anywhere unless they wanted to risk hypothermia. They needed to find a secure shelter but they didn't know if there were any left that were not out in the open or in public use. They decided that they would just have to move into any abandoned building they see and keep moving so they do not get caught. It was going to be difficult hiding with such a large group but their priority for now was getting off the mountain without getting captured. The trip down the mountain would last at least three days on foot if they were lucky. It was a risky move but they needed to leave now. The teachers quickly backed their bags of food, once they were done they went to meet with the students who had gathered by the entrance to announce their plan of action. But before they could get to explaining they heard a banging noise getting louder and louder towards the door. They quickly dropped into a battle stance as the doors to the facility were blown off their hinges.

“Well well well look who it is. You heroes have been quite difficult to track down, you know. ” Shigaraki purred, smirking with the rest of the villains around them.

“What are you doing here? They're only children, you have no business with them! ” Eraserhead yelled, ready to defend his kids or die trying.

“Hey, no need to be so aggressive, we don’t have to fight as long as you give us what we want.” Hawks said with a lazy smirk eyeing Tokoyami. He looked ready to snatch the little bird up and fly him back to his nest.

“What do you people want?” Aizawa asked, trying to think of a way to get all of his kids out of here safely.

“The answer is simple really. We want you ,” Shigarki answered with a devilish smirk as Kurogiri opened portals underneath several students depositing them in front of different league members.

“Now no one needs to get hurt as long as the ones we call surrender to us willingly.” Shigaraki said, holding four fingers to Iida’s throat.

“Izuku Midoriya, come here or your friend dies.” Shigaraki said knowing the boy would always put others before himself. The boy in question walked forward on shaky legs with a determined look on his face. ‘Aw look how determined he looks, that won't last long’ Shigaraki thought as he snapped on the quirk canceling collar around Izukus neck. He can’t have his little brother hurting himself with a quirk he was never supposed to have. Oh well he can deal with that permanently when they get back to their base. He pressed a button and the collar sedated Izuku making him fall limp in his arms. He waved his hand to his teammates to quickly get this over with. He needs to go home soon to put Izuku down for a nap.

“What did you do to him?” The boys' teachers yelled, both charging at the villain but they were quickly handled by Kurogiri, collaring them and portalling them away. The rest of the students looked significantly less brave now that their protectors were gone, most dropping their battle stances and trembling, staring at the villains.

“Shouto come to Touya.” Dabi cooed with a soft smile, arms wide open. Todoroki hesitated, clearly this man is a villain that viciously attacked his school and fellow heroes but he's also Touya-nii and Touya would never hurt him.

“Come now Shouto don’t make me hurt one of your little friends here.” Dabi growled. That made the boy come running into his arms.

“Good boy Shou.” Dabi purred as he collared the boy and placed him on his hip. He didn’t think he needed to sedate Shouto; he's always been a good boy for his big brother. He gently rocked him, shushing him when he began to squirm as the others finished up.  

“Ochako come over here! You get to come home with me and dad!” Toga said happily, holding up her fathers hand. The poor girl they chose looked as if she was going to vomit over the idea of coming home with them. While that made Himiko a bit sad, she knew her baby sister wasn't going to like living with them at first. But it's okay she and her dad just have to train Ochako a little bit first then she’ll love them just as much as they love her. Twice quickly snapped the collar around the girl's neck and put her to sleep before the poor thing made herself sick. She couldn't afford to lose any more calories, she had already lost the adorable chubby pink cheeks she had in her photos. The poor girl barely weighed anything in his arms, the months in hiding must have been hard on his little girl.  

“Fumikage come here or else.” Hawks said, holding one of his hardened feathers to Shougi’s neck. The boy solemnly marched forward, he could not risk his best friend's life over his own freedom. Fumikage cried when he was collared and could no longer feel Dark Shadow. It hurt Hawks to see his nestling crying out for his quirk as the sedative started to work but Dark Shadow was simply too powerful to be allowed to roam free. Once Fumikage was a bit more settled into his new life then they could try but that won't be for a long time. 

“Um Asui Tsu can you come here please?'' Spinner asked and that was all the girl needed to march forward, while she didnt know why she was picked she could never risk her classmates' lives for her freedom. Surprisingly she did not receive a collar around her neck but she did get a bracelet that put her to sleep. She went limp in Spinner's arms wondering if she was ever going to see her family again.

“Are you guys done yet?” Shigaraki whined, tired of waiting and ready to go home. He signaled Kurogiri to open a portal back home when he received a round of eager 'Yes!’s from the rest of the league. 

“Gather and restrain the rest of them and bring them to location B. Place them in prison A and do not harm them or touch them unless ordered too.” Shigaraki barked at the troops he had brought along. The rest of the class would make great incentives to behave or rewards for good behavior.

“Alright guys, Let's go home.” Shigaraki said, smiling softly as he and the league walked into the portal with their prized possessions. 

Start/Previous/Next

[rowretro]

✧𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓✧

WARNINGS: Mentions of blood, details of violence and death.

✧THE PROLOGUE✧

The man smirked at Riki as he held a knife to Y/n's throat "Not so fucking cocky now are we?... what... cat got your tongue Nishimura?!" The man asked as Riki went silent. His girlfriend, who did absolutely nothing in the first place to be put in a position like this, was all bloody and bruised because of him...

His eyes darkened as he noticed how the blade was only slightly drawing an inch of blood at y/n's throat, her arms tied back by a rough uncomfortable rope. Yet no fear was evident in her eyes. "So... why don't we go through the list of demands I had held..." The man smirked as he let go of y/n, pushing her to his wife who yanked at y/n's hair harshly.

"Lets start with the first and foremost.... sell me your company. all that drug dealing you worked your blood sweat and tears into.... will no longer be yours I will get the full profit." The man smirked. "Then, I want you to flee the country without any of the money you made from the company." The man continued as Riki gripped onto his gun tighter, clearly enraged.

The man, Soobin continued with his demands as Riki cocked his gun "Ah du du du- now Riki... you're putting a lot at risk here..." Soobin said as he turned to his wife, the woman hit y/n around the head with the back of her riffle, kicking her to the ground and cocking her riffle as she pointed it at Riki.

Riki wasn't having it, such a lowly man, making requests to him. Not even thinking twice, Riki simply shot Soobin's wife in the head multiple times, as Soobin screamed in horror "FUCK NISHIMURA FUCKING RIKI-" The man screamed, as he was about to attack the younger male, but before he could, Riki shot Soobin to death.

y/n screwed her eyes shut, not wanting to see the two bodies... the eerie silence filling the whole room. She heard Riki walk toward her, he bent down to her level, hugging her softly "It's all over now sweetheart... you can open your eyes" Riki softly said... But she didn't want to, she just hugged him tightly, crying.

She knew exactly what she was getting herself into when dating him... but she just didn't think she'd have to witness him get blood on his hands... a sudden cry broke the silence. Rowan opened her eyes, frowning... it was the sound of a baby's cry.

She slowly got up, pulling away from Riki as she walked a little deeper in the building, there in a bedroom, in a crib was a little baby. She softly picked the littlun up, rocking him as she stared up at Riki "They have a baby ki..." Rowan trailed off as Riki dropped his gun.

His hands shaking as he realized the depth of what he did... he didn't just murder 2 people... he orphaned a baby, an innocent little soul. His father would likely have killed the baby and expect Riki to do the same thing. Suddenly stab wound in his back and other fresh slits and bruises weren't so painful anymore.

Seeing the innocent little baby in y/ns arms, crying, in hopes of being held by it's mother, clueless of the events happening around him. Rowan softly rocked the baby as she tried to read Riki's face... was he going to kill the poor soul?... or pay for his sins?...

✧𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓✧

[myocsfanfictions]

Run at least twice as fast - [Alice in Borderland Fanfiction]

[Masterlist]

Erica left everything behind to start afresh in Japan, a country she cherished from her childhood memories in Tokyo. Faced with parental pressure to dictate her future once more, she chose to break free. Despite the challenges of adapting to a new country without family support, Erica finds herself thrust into a brutal landscape where survival depends on playing deadly games.

Next 》

Chapter 1

“Erica-sensei, can I have a red pencil? There’s none on our table.”

Erica glanced down to find a five-year-old child looking up at her with big, dark eyes and a shy smile. "Of course, Daiki," she said, walking over to the wooden supply cupboard to fetch more colors. Daiki followed her as he always did, and Erica chuckled softly when he timidly bowed his head as she handed him the pencils.

Erica had been working at an elementary school in Ebisu for four months now. As much as she disliked being alone at home, the smiling faces of the children always brought her joy. The job was pleasant, and she had no complaints about the pay. She could afford a small home in Nakano and live a simple life, just as she had always wanted. However, she never expected to find herself completely cut out from her family.

She had arrived in Japan just five months earlier, fleeing a life that felt stiflingly controlling. Japan had always been one of her favorite places in the world. When she was seven years old, she followed her family to Tokyo because her father was the Ambassador of England. She spent five years there, cherishing many beautiful and meaningful memories of Japan. She still vividly remembered how sad she felt when she had to return to her country and how much she missed Japan.

During those years, as her family moved from country to country, Erica never stopped studying Japanese. As a child, she didn't feel the pressure that began to weigh on her as a teenager. Her parents had strict plans for her: achieve perfect grades to apply to the best university for International Law. Their control over her life was tight; she couldn't freely choose her friends, and if her parents disapproved of her friends, she couldn't spend time with them. She had to study relentlessly. But if she didn't like certain people her parents favored, she was expected to befriend them.

Erica had always strived to excel so that her family would be proud of her. However, when she expressed her desire to explore her own path and determine her life's direction, her parents didn't agree. They insisted she follow their plan. She understood they acted out of love, but they never tried to see things from her perspective. Despite this, she persisted, hoping the path would eventually align with her aspirations.

She succeeded in studying at Oxford University, but as she approached graduation, she increasingly felt her life slipping out of her control. Feeling trapped, she made the decision to leave. She hadn’t heard from her parents since.

“Erica,” the voice of her colleague Kyoko made her turn, “Thank you for today.”

The girl shook her head, “Don’t worry.” One of the teachers had a health issue that morning so they had asked Erica if she could cover for her in her fee day. There was not much Erica had to do and it was useful to work a little more.

“You’ve got your nail appointment, today?” Kyoko asked and Erica looked down to her hands.

“Oh yes,” she answered with a smile, “Take everything away from me but not my nails.” That made Kyoko chuckle.

“They are very pretty,” she said, “I should take an appointment.”

“Just tell me and I’ll give you the contact.” Erica exclaimed happily.

“Of course,” Kyoko assured, bowing before saying goodbye. Erica waved as she watched her colleague disappear inside the school. Adjusting her bag on her shoulder for comfort, she then set off toward Shibuya for her appointment.

That was a really hot day. Summer in Japan was merciless, but Erica liked to walk and she would have not let the hot weather win. She began her walk towards Shibuya, passing by sleek cafes where young professionals sipped on matcha lattes and meticulously arranged flower shops displaying exquisite ikebana arrangements. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the scent of cherry blossoms, carried on a gentle breeze that whispered through the urban canyon of glass and steel.

Pedestrians flowed like a river, each person immersed in their own rhythm amidst the symphony of footsteps and distant chatter. Bicycles zipped by silently, their riders effortlessly navigating the labyrinthine streets. Erica noticed the occasional shrine nestled between modern buildings, a serene oasis amidst the urban sprawl, where visitors paused to offer prayers amid the tranquil ambiance.

She was always mesmerized by the beauty of Tokyo, it was a sight that could never bore her.

As she walked, Erica took a look at her cellphone noticing that she had still sometime before her appointment. So she decided to buy something to eat. Maybe an onigiri with tuna and mayonnaise. Her favorite. She could already taste it, and she couldn’t wait to eat.

She stopped at the side of the road, waiting for the traffic light to shine its green light at them. Shibuya was always so busy and full of people that went in many different places: the mall, cafes, work… Erica liked to looked at people wandering where they were headed and what was their lives.

People all live under the same sky, but we know so little of one another. That was what she always found herself thinking.

Then as the green light appeared, Erica heard laughters from behind her, before three boys passed by: one of them was wearing an orange shirt and he was carrying on his shoulders one of his friends, with shaggy black hair and a green shirt. While the third followed them recording what his friends were doing. Erica observed them as they made their way at the center of the road. The sight made her smile, and as they started to spin she found herself laughing. They seemed to having so much fun. She wandered what that meant as she crossed the street leaving the boys behind. She hand never had such friendship. If she thought about it she felt really sad. Her comfortable life had been a lonely one too.

Taking a breath she made her way in a near convenience store. As she leaned forward to chose what onigiri she would have eaten she heard a girl gasping with joy, “Look! Fireworks!” Erica looked at the girl and her friend with their eyes to observe what was happening outside.

Fireworks in the afternoon? Erica frowned returning her attention to the onigiris. Maybe there was some festivity she still didn’t know about, even if fireworks in broad daylight were not an amazing sight.

Then suddenly, the light turned off, but it never turned on again. But what was even more strange was the unusual silence that she heard all around her. Shibuya was never a quiet place. That silence made her shiver. And the chills only grew colder when she noticed that she was alone in the store.

What is happening? She asked herself as she looked around the empty room.

Was she dreaming? Had she fainted in some way?

Taking a deep breath to stay calm, Erica walked towards the exit of the convenience store. Her feet moved slowly and uncertainly, the silence ringing loudly in her ears. It had to be a dream. There was no other explanation.

“Where is everybody?” She asked herself as she stepped outside.

The street was deserted—no people in sight, not a single soul. Abandoned cars scattered along the road stood empty, their doors left open. It was a terrifying sight. Why was everyone gone?

“Hello!” She tried, but the echo of her voice scared her even more. That had to be a nightmare, it was not possible for that to be real. It made no sense. Erica clenched her hands to stop them from shaking. If that was a nightmare soon she would have woken up. And if it wasn’t?

“This is a nightmare,” she assured herself, “Stop freaking out, Erica,” then she frowned at herself. “Perfect,” she exclaimed, “Now I’m talking with myself.”

What could she do? How could she wake up? She tried to pinch herself, but that didn’t woke her up, it only made her yelp.

This is ridiculous! She thought to herself. There must be someone around.

As Erica ventured further into Shibuya, the once bustling streets lay eerily deserted. Neon signs that typically illuminated the area with vibrant colors now flickered dimly, casting long shadows on the pavement. The famous scramble crossing, usually teeming with pedestrians, stood empty and silent, its traffic lights changing from red to green in vain.

She passed by iconic landmarks—a towering department store with its shutters drawn, a row of fashionable boutiques with locked doors, and cafes that once overflowed with chatter now stood eerily quiet. Shop windows displayed mannequins frozen in fashionable poses, their empty gazes mirroring the desolation of the streets.

Occasionally, a gust of wind would rustle through the quietude, carrying with it the distant sound of a door creaking or a loose sign swaying. Erica's footsteps echoed softly as she walked, the only audible sound in the empty cityscape.

With each step, the sense of unease grew. She scanned every corner, hoping to catch a glimpse of movement or hear a familiar sound. The absence of life in Shibuya was unsettling, leaving her with a haunting feeling of solitude in what should have been a bustling urban center.

Erica quickened her pace, determined to find any sign of life or a clue to explain the mysterious disappearance of everyone in Shibuya.

It had been hours when she set on a sideway, trying to keep herself from freaking out. She was not waking up, and it had been hours, actual hours. The sun had set for half an hour now, she hadn’t seen anyone and she had not idea where to go or what to do.

“Am I sleeping or not?” She asked herself with trembling voice. “Am I in coma? Am I dead? What the hell is happening?” That was all so terrifying. She was trapped there and she had no idea what “there” was. She felt her eyes filling with tears; she didn’t like all that unnatural silence, she didn’t like to feel so alone, without a way out.

Suddenly though from the window behind her, the televisions on display suddenly turned on, causing her to turn around. The pale light was the only cause of illumination in that street, making everything the all more creepy. But Erica’s attention was caught with what she read on the screen.

WELCOME, PLAYERS. THE GAME WILL COMMENCE IN A MOMENT.

Erica frowned, “Players? Game?” She read it over and over, but she was not mistaken. Who were the players? What did it mean that a game was about to begin?

“What the hell is going on?” She had lost the count of how many times she had said that to herself that day.

Then the words on the screens changed once again.

THIS WAY TO THE GAME ARENA.

“This is all so fucking creepy,” she muttered looking around. Still no one. So she read the words again. They were pointing in a direction and even if she had no idea what that all was about the words were talking to Players, which meant that other people were around ant that they would be gathering in the same place.

“I don’t like this,” she said to herself knowing that there was not much else she could do. She had to follow that indication, hoping that she would have found someone to have some answers. She finally took a deep breath and she made her way in the dark alley.

**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************

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[tomorrowusa]

Uganda is Africa's most homophobic country. And the hatred unleashed there by the government and extremist religious groups has led to violence.

A prominent Ugandan LGBTQ+ activist is in a critical condition after he was stabbed on his way to work on Wednesday by unknown assailants on a motorbike.

Steven Kabuye, 25, suffered knife wounds and was left for dead in the assault on the outskirts of the capital Kampala before being found by local residents, police said. Human rights defenders have been warning about the risk of attacks on members of the LGBTQ+ community after Uganda last year adopted what is considered one of the harshest anti-gay laws in the world. Kabuye told detectives investigating the incident that he had been receiving death threats, according to a statement issued by police spokesperson Patrick Onyango. “According to Mr Kabuye, two unidentified individuals on a motorcycle, wearing helmets, approached him. The passenger jumped off and attacked him, specifically targeting his neck with a knife,” Onyango said. “Kabuye managed to shield his neck with his right arm, resulting in a stab wound to his hand. Despite attempting to flee, the assailants chased and stabbed him in the stomach and left him for dead,” he said, adding that local residents had found him and taken him to a medical clinic.

You can in certain instances get the death penalty for being gay in Uganda. The assailants probably felt it was their duty to try to murder Steven Kabuye.

In May last year, Uganda adopted anti-gay legislation containing provisions making “aggravated homosexuality” a potentially capital offence and setting out penalties for consensual same-sex relations of up to life in prison. Homosexuality has long been illegal in Uganda under a colonial-era law criminalising sexual activity “against the order of nature”, with life imprisonment possible for a conviction. The new law added further offences and punishments. Kabuye had posted on X that he was deeply concerned about the consequences of Uganda’s Anti-Homosexuality Act 2023. “This law violates basic human rights and sets a dangerous precedent for discrimination and persecution against the LGBTQ+ community. Let us stand together in solidarity and fight against bigotry and hate,” he wrote.

Uganda is a good place to avoid even if locals just think you are LGBTQ+.

Uganda's homophobic President Yoweri Museveni seized power in January of 1986. That's so long ago that the Space Shuttle Challenger was still intact when he began his reign as de facto president for life. According to the journal Foreign Policy, Museveni may be looking to turn Uganda into a North Korea-style monarchy without crowns.

Politics in Uganda has become a parable of dynastic decay. For 37 years, President Yoweri Museveni has ruled with a supporting cast of relatives, army officers, and hangers-on. They see themselves as the only ones capable of running the country—and have profited handsomely from doing so. Museveni has twice had the constitution rewritten to remove limits on his rule. But he is now 78, and he cannot rewrite biology. Enter his 49-year-old son, Muhoozi Kainerugaba: a hard-drinking, trash-tweeting soldier who considers himself “the most handsome General on earth.” After a rapid promotion through the army ranks, Kainerugaba says he wants to run for president at the next election in 2026.

Uganda is part of the corrupt Axis of Homophobia which includes Russia and Iran. It deserves the same opprobrium which is directed at those decrepit régimes.

[jade-wyton]

It’s been 9 years since Ka’harja’s parents tried to murder him and he was forced to flee Heck’ne. It was by luck alone that he escaped over the country border and met Distro Nigelle; a young alchemist who raised him as her apprentice and son.

He should have known better than to get involved with Heck’ne again. But when a fellow runaway shows up on his doorstep with her mother and newborn son, Ka’harja doesn’t think twice about offering them refuge.

His kindness soon leads him to disaster as his new friends are followed by old foes and, with the loss of the home that saved his life all those years ago, Ka’harja has no choice but to travel to a foreign town to start anew.

Read here!

[trickstarbrave]

omegaverse 2 fic. part THREE!!!

part 2 can be found here (it also includes a link to part 1 in the post)

nerevar is not in any real danger. but he certain thinks he is. warnings for a i guess talks of death.

he is doing physically better enough to jack off a little bit though

If Nerevar was thankful for anything, it was his ability to plan. 

Leaving Resdayn was the best course of action, all things considered, but there were many options to flee to. He could have taken a way out through Blackmarsh, but he wasn’t sure surviving in the swamps was going to be easy for them. Sure, he did well on the Bitter Coast, but that wasn’t comparable to the alien home of the argonians. Not to mention, the argonians could be particularly hostile to the chimer, were good at ambushing, and more importantly: the Morag Tong wouldn’t think twice to look for him there.

Nerevar knew it wasn’t just a matter of time of laying low to get House Dagoth off his ass. No, if they couldn’t find him to drag him back for execution, they’d make due with the guild. They were pragmatic like that. They might want a proper execution to make a point, but they would just as easily allow the guild to hunt him and present Voryn with his severed head and heart. 

So Nerevar was instead making his way up north on the mainland, heading to the opposite corner of the country. He hid out in Mournhold for a bit, letting the chaos and crowded streets conceal his presence for a time as he made his plans and bought supplies, before continuing his uneven path to Blacklight.

Skyrim wouldn’t be the most hospitable place. Nords hated elves, after all, but no doubt House Dagoth expected him to take the easy way out and flee to either Cyrodiil or Blackmarsh where they could use the guild. They’d think twice about looking for him in the harsh landscape of Skryim or sending the guild there--they might anger the nords and start a conflict that wouldn’t be worth just securing Nerevar’s life. And he could simply claim in Skyrim that he was the bastard son of a nobody--someone lucky enough to have taken a chimer woman hostage, at least. It was common enough, and if he laid low and stuck to the wilds hunting for the most part, he should be able to survive there long enough for House Dagoth to give up and presume he’s dead. 

After that, Nerevar would be home free. He could go wherever he wanted to, so long as it wasn’t Resdayn. The Illiac Bay, High Rock, Elsweyr.

All he had to do was make it up to Blacklight, and he could cross the Velothi mountains. The biggest issue though would be timing. It had to be before it got too cold, and also he needed to plan around his heat. Normally he’d just count on suppressants for something as risky as this, but they were getting dramatically less effective. Even spending his heat in an inn room didn’t really seem viable; being around others was only exacerbating his worst symptoms. His uncle coming by his room to offer him food left Nerevar wanting to set himself on fire, and strangers constantly prodding him seemed even worse, he imagined.

The biggest issue though was Nerevar was… Slower than expected. As a canvasari he was used to walking long distances across the country, but it seemed the past few months had not been kind to Nerevar. He was sleeping, but woke up feeling unrested. He was still having trouble eating properly, even outside of his heat. Small attacks from wild animals left him recovering longer than he typically did, and no amount of fatigue potions seemed to get him moving any faster. 

Which is why he fell behind schedule of his plans. He should really make a run for it, heading through one of the smaller mountain passes, but the idea of waiting out his heat in a small cave in the mountain pass with no promise of reliable food, clean water, and not getting potentially frozen in there was… 

Well. It was terrifying and stupid. He has only two options: try and wait out his heat in a shitty mountain pass, or hunker down in Resdayn, wait it out, and take the larger pass near Blacklight with more reliable travel. 

Yet, once again, his planning failed him. He was at a town near Blacklight, cold weather settling in, when the tell-tale symptoms of his heat started coming on. Hot flashes, nausea, panic, fear, all of the miserable things he began associating with his heat. 

He managed to buy some supplies, rushing out of town, and finding an old cave to hunker down in. Nerevar tried to be optimistic; it was a good thing his heat had come on a week early. Now he could wait it out, recover a bit, and make his way to Blacklight or another town or city with a mountain pass. He didn’t have to worry about going into it while making the trek through the mountains. 

At least, that was what he attempted at first. Once the heat really set in, Nerevar wished more than anything it would simply stop. The suppressants either weren’t doing anything, or his heat had only gotten worse. Likely both, if he was honest, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t miserable. Even looking at food left his stomach churning. The weather was frigid, but he felt like he was running a fever, and all of his skin burned. At several points he grabbed handfuls of snow just to slather his body in it, trying to calm the burning, but all it did was make him shiver instead. 

And then, when he was at his lowest wishing for death, death finally found him. 

“... Shit, I wasn’t expecting it to actually be him.” A hushed voice said, and Nerevar jolted from his dazed half-sleep. It was familiar, though he was so disoriented from both a lack of sleep and food that he couldn’t place why. Was someone here? A hallucination maybe? 

“We don’t want him running. Send in the guards.”

“Odros even if he runs I doubt he’ll get far.” Nerevar felt his body tense, wanting to flee, but finding no energy to pull himself upright. 

People were close. Multiple people. He had to run, or else he’d be caught. He had to run--now. But somehow all of his limbs felt heavier than lead, and even lifting his head and squirming around was a struggle. 

Footsteps approached next, Nerevar’s vision hazy. Someone touched him gently, but the touch felt like knives on his skin, making him snarl and growl in a weak attempt at protecting himself. They sighed, before tilting his head back, pressing a bottle to his lips.

“Drink. It’ll help.” Nerevar’s lips formed a tight line, nausea making his face go pale and head swim again. The potion smelled sweet and bitter at the same time, a disgusting combination to his sense, his body objecting to the idea of downing it. Another sigh, before Nerevar felt a spell in their hand washing some of the nausea away, before the potion was fed to him forcibly. 

He coughed and choked, but they continued pouring it in, making him drink. The painful burning began to fade, and the restlessness that had been keeping him awake the past two days finally subsided, along with more of the nausea.

“There we go,” They said, “Stubborn s’wit.” Before Nerevar found his arms being bound behind his back, another growl ripping through his throat as he squirmed.

“It’s for your own good.” One of the people tying him said. “We can’t risk you running again, Nerevar.” His vision was still unfocused and blurry, before a hand touched his forehead.

“Why don’t you sleep for a bit?” And with that, his vision turned black, and his body slumped, completely unconscious.

--

When Nerevar awoke, with a slightly clearer mind, he realized how dire his situation was.

His thoughts were still muddled, but he did actually manage to get a semi-restful sleep in the back of the cart he was in, though his body felt weak and he still had no strength in his limbs. But the blankets and pillows in the cart were of a familiar color and pattern, all smelling faintly of the incense of House Dagoth, and even more faintly of Voryn.

He’d been foolishly caught by House Dagoth, something that made him want to curl up in shame.

Nerevar debated trying to break out and make a run for it, but he knew that wouldn’t do him any good at the moment. For one, he didn’t have a lot of optimism for his ability to break out at the moment. His hands were still bound, his body still felt weak, and not to mention, they took his weapons and most of his supplies, leaving him with only the essentials in the cart. 

Nerevar buried his face in a cushion that smelled particularly like Voryn, frustrated, antsy, and still dizzy. He tried to find a way out of it, his mind racing, but he was coming up empty.

Briefly, he remembered what they said about those born under the thief sign: incredibly lucky, until they weren’t. They were doomed, inevitably, to have that luck run out and their lives cut short. 

He supposed it was fitting, in the end. The past six months--half a year of suffering--had been nothing but bad luck. Healers that couldn’t help him, House Dagoth ordering his execution on top of the existing exile, the fact his illness wasn’t seeming to get any better… And to top it all off, he couldn’t get away fast enough. He was caught, tied up, and was being dragged back to Kogoruhn. At least Nerevar could hope that his heat would be over when they executed him. 

At the revelation this was really the end, his body slumped, numbness settling in again.

As pathetic as it was to lay down and accept death, Nerevar didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t think he could go up against Vemyn and Odros as weak as he was right now--he’d just get killed for trying. He didn’t know how he could escape and hide either; he was moving too slowly to get any distance between them, and being in heat would make that attempt all the more miserable. They’d likely find him all over again before he got far. 

Though perhaps… Nerevar simply wanted this to be over. Even if he did run away, even if he did make it to Skyrim, was that really going to be any better? Skyrim had worse magic users and healers than Resdayn as far as he knew; he didn’t expect them to find a cure for him, and it would likely be many more months--even years--until he could make it out of the country to see a different healer more familiar with elven physiology. Every heat he was getting worse and worse, his condition deteriorating rapidly. If not for the weird potion they forced him to drink, Nerevar imagined he’d still be pleading for death to take him. 

All Nerevar could do, in the end, was hope that his death didn’t crush Voryn as much as he thought it would. He hoped Voryn would be fine in the end; the dust would settle, he would mourn and then move on. 

“Alright brat,” Vemyn scowled, opening the cart’s door, making Nerevar jump and hiss at the bright light hitting him. “It’s time to eat.” He plopped down saltrice porridge with some meat on top. A typical meal on the road, but the very sight and scent had him nauseated. 

Nerevar turned his head from it, instead burying his face in the pillow that smelled like Voryn, breathing deeply in an effort to keep from dry heaving. 

“Oh don’t act stubborn like that.” Vemyn rolled his eyes. “I’ve made Voryn eat when he was throwing a fit too, I can make you eat.” 

“Please don’t…” Nerevar moaned, feeling a disgusting, hot feeling climb up his throat, a tell-tale sign of intense nausea as his stomach turned. “Please, please I don’t…”

Vemyn took this protest as one of defiance though, taking Nerevar by the jaw, grabbing a bit of roasted meat. Nerevar closed his mouth tightly, skin burning again at the unwanted contact, tears stinging in his eyes as he twisted them shut. Regardless of how much he protested though, Vemyn managed to pry his mouth open, forcing the food inside, and Nerevar immediately began gagging and retching. Impulsively, Vemyn dropped him as Nerevar spat the food out, before throwing up bile for good measure, his body shaking and trembling uncontrollably. 

He almost face planted right into his own vomit if not for Vemyn grabbing him again, swearing under his breath.

“Shit,” 

“I told you not to make him eat.” Odros called from outside.

“He looks like shit, he needs to eat!” 

“Omegas are different from alphas.” Odros snarked back.

“Well what do you want me to do, let him waste away back there?” Honestly, Nerevar would prefer it. What did it matter if they fed him? He was going to die anyway. He wouldn’t starve to death by the end of his heat, and they could just keep dragging him to Kogoruhn.

“The healers can look him over when we get back to see why he’s not eating.” Vemyn still pulled him from the cart, as much as Nerevar protested it. He grabbed the pillow in a futile effort to keep himself inside; the enclosed space was much better than being out in the open, at least instinctively. But Vemyn just tossed Nerevar over his shoulder, pillow and all, and walked out, instructing the guards to clean it. 

Nerevar was then plopped by the fire, shaking and trembling, but to his surprise Odros wrapped a blanket around him, covering his body and face. Maybe it was just because the man didn’t want to look at Nerevar, but to Nerevar it was a blessing. The blanket was soft, and smelled more like Voryn too, slowly putting him at ease. 

A restlessness came then, the desire to run out into the wilderness and head for Kogoruhn himself, his legs shifting under the fabric eager to take off. 

Ah, he wanted to see Voryn. He wanted to see him so badly it was hurting, his chest aching. His teeth were clenched from how badly he wanted him, his thoughts only on Voryn and all the little things about him Nerevar missed. The way his hands would often have ink or charcoal stains when he was up late studying, how he always preferred a mild tea blend with honey (that had to be imported, a little indulgence he couldn’t go without), the way his laugh carried and rumbled in his chest… 

“Here,” Odros stuck a potion bottle under the blanket. It was the same pinkish colored potion he remembered from when they found him, however vaguely. Was it an even stronger type of suppressant? If so, Nerevar would take it. It didn’t matter if it was also unhealthy for him or even poisonous after all; he was going to die anyways, though he didn’t enjoy the idea of eating anything with how sick he felt. 

Nerevar uncapped it, his stomach turning, before he closed his eyes. He imagined Voryn was there, pressing the potion bottle to his lips, gentle voice coaxing him to drink. Nerevar began drinking, groaning in displeasure at the taste, nearly gagging at one point, before he managed to down most of it. It coated his tongue in a way that left him feeling more nauseous, but slowly the restlessness and burning once again faded, leaving him slowly starting to feel… Relaxed. 

“It’s clean.” One of the guards announced, though Nerevar could tell in his voice he was annoyed at having to do so. Nerevar didn’t really know why they bothered either, if he was being honest. It didn’t matter if a prisoner being dragged back to the stronghold for execution had to ride for several days with his own vomit, did it? 

“Alright,” Vemyn then picked Nerevar up again, still wrapped in the blanket, holding him under his arm like a bag of rice. Nerevar had half a mind to bite him, but luckily couldn’t manage from underneath the blanket. “Back in you go.” He then plopped Nerevar back onto the pillows, earning a growl. 

“Glad he still has some spirit.” Vemyn added as they locked the cart once more. Nerevar freed his head, once more wishing he had bitten Vemyn.

“Asshole…” Nerevar muttered under his breath, before curling back up with the blanket and cushion, trying to get comfortable. 

“He has some saltrice crackers, let him snack on that until we get back.” Odros stated. 

“Omegas are so annoying like this…” Vemyn grumbled. “Whatever. We need to head back quickly. He can eat in Kogoruhn then.”

Nerevar wondered how long he’d be alive then to eat there. Maybe they’d give him a last meal? It was hard to say. Perhaps they wanted an official trial, though it seemed odd given how House Dagoth didn’t usually bother unless the situation was particularly murky. There was nothing really vague about what happened with Nerevar. He agreed to spend his heat with Voryn. He had sex with Voryn. Voryn tried to claim him. 

Ah, even thinking about it had Nerevar rubbing his neck, a shiver running through him. Maybe he should have let Voryn just claim him. It would have felt good, at least. The feeling of being claimed was supposed to be an orgasmic rush, and everything falling into place, at least for a moment. If he was going to be punished anyways, he should have just gone for it. Let them hate him and kill him for something he actually did, not something that almost happened. 

His hips were squirming at the thought, a shiver of desire running through him. He hadn’t been able to masturbate his last heat; he was too miserable to even try, but now that the restlessness and burning had subsided he found himself oddly aroused. He buried his face even further into the blanket as one hand slipped into his trousers, stroking and rubbing against his cock. 

“Ah~” Nerevar moaned softly, muffling it with the fabric. Sparks shot up his spine as he once again imagined being claimed, his other hand stroking at the spot Voryn almost bit him on. The pleasure wasn’t enough; gods he missed Voryn’s hands on him--even just his fingers was enough to get Nerevar off sometimes, and that was to say nothing about his cock or his mouth--

Nerevar’s eyes rolled back at the memory, rubbing faster as his breathing quickened. 

Voryn’s mouth on him, tongue lapping at him and moaning obscenely as he whispered and moaned about how good Nerevar tasted, before his tongue slipped up and rolled around his cock. His lips closed around the nub too, suckling gently at first, increasing pressure as his fingers thrust in and out of Nerevar, rubbing at his sweet spot…

His body trembled as he came suddenly, no doubt pent up from six months of being unable to get off, a strangled groan falling from his lips. And then, just as soon as the bliss washed over him, tears started to fall from his eyes, only frustrating him more.

He didn’t want to cry. Nerevar was fucking sick of crying. He had finally just felt good after so long, at least for a brief moment even if his nausea wasn’t going away fully. And now here he was, spoiling the moment himself, crying. 

Gods he missed Voryn. The longing seemed to only get worse after his orgasm, as he curled back up with the cushion and blanket. He wanted Voryn to scent him again. He wanted Voryn curled up with him, holding him tightly. He wanted Voryn kissing him and whispered to him. He missed the safety and security of Voryn’s arms.

He never quite felt this way before. Certainly he enjoyed spending time with Voryn before--Nerevar loved his laugh, all his weird little habits, the way he twirled his rings when he was nervous, the soft tender smile he reserved for very few people, one of which was Nerevar himself…

He didn’t know what it meant. All he knew was it hurt to think about how he’d never be able to have it again. 

--

Nerevar had been under the impression they were going to drag him all the way to Kogoruhn in a cart. It made sense, honestly; why bother with teleportation for a prisoner? But upon overhearing the guards talk, they weren’t going to head for a port to take a boat to Vvardenfell, and were instead heading to Blacklight for the propylon chamber. 

It was weird. They were in a rush to execute him, but were talking about keeping him long enough to feed him and let a healer look at him. Were they afraid he might die before standing trial? Possibly. Did they need something else from Nerevar? Not that he could think of, honestly. They kept most of his things and he didn’t have much value they could extract from him directly. If they wanted compensation from House Mora they could simply demand it with his head or shake down his uncle, couldn’t they? Maybe the cart and animals were on loan from House Redoran and they were eager to return them before they incurred any more debt, but House Redoran weren’t as cutthroat about money like Hlaalu or even Dres were. 

They were rested again, having made camp, Nerevar still curled up in the locked cart. By tomorrow they’d reach Blacklight. By around noon they’d no doubt be teleporting to Kogoruhn, where… Who knows what awaited him. 

He did realize he knew one of the guards. Not a canvasari, but an actual, proper guard in House Dagoth. The guards hadn’t been talking to him much; again, Nerevar couldn’t blame them. For starters, an omega in heat wasn’t one for much conversation. For another, he was a prisoner--why bother conversing with a prisoner? They could heckle him a little, sure, but he supposed they wanted to behave given they were traveling with nobility. 

Dagoth Beryl: fairly humble guard, less stuck up than most. Sometimes on trips where negotiations were important he was the official escort of Voryn or whichever Dagoth brother they were taking. Nerevar mostly protected items, after all, and being a proper guard of a noble required more intense training and education. For one, it couldn’t be done by outsiders; you needed to be an official member of the house, hence why Nerevar never got it. Outside of that you also needed etiquette training, education on politics, knowledge on poison antidotes and healing magic… Sometimes you were even required to taste food first to make sure it wasn’t poisoned. 

Again, not really the job Nerevar was cut out for. He could kill well, but he wasn’t skill in medical care or restoration magic, nor did he really care all that much about etiquette most of the time. House Dagoth had enough personal guards anyways, but were always in need of damn caravan guards. Most canvasari were flakey, ill mannered, and traveled from place to place in hopes of finding work. Nerevar was one of the few regular canvasari, someone that was reliable to have on hand.

Or well, he was. Not anymore after he seduced their heir completely unintentionally. Once again, Nerevar wished he had gone further and pushed for more. He would have at least earned all the shit he suffered through. Azura’s mercy, he probably would have suffered less because they would have just killed him faster! And he would have enjoyed it more! 

Beryl was the guard on duty for the night, and the potions they kept giving Nerevar were helping. He didn’t know what they were exactly--he was still in heat, and still struggling in many aspects, certainly enough that he couldn’t run away--but they were helping him not want to die if someone else so much as looked at him or spoke to him. He was even able to nibble on the saltrice crackers more reliably without getting nauseous, though anything more than that had his stomach churning in protest. 

“How does House Dagoth usually execute people?” Nerevar asked. A bit out of the blue, but he didn’t see a point in beating around the bush. They all knew why he was here, after all. He could start with small talk and work his way up to dropping the question, but it wouldn’t really soften the blow much for either of them. 

Nerevar knew he was going to die. They knew he was going to die. He figured he might as well ask how.

Beryl was quiet at that, falling absolutely silent. 

“Uhm,” Beryl began, “Normally in House Dagoth… Someone is simply killed for their transgression immediately.”

“And if there was an official execution?” Again, the guard was quiet. Nerevar couldn’t see him, but the tone of voice told Nerevar he was uncomfortable. Probably because it was a dark subject matter

“... I believe…” He continued, voice still hesitant, “ I think the official process is that they’re giving a poison that swiftly stops the heart,” he paused again, “And then they’re decapitated for good measure.”

Nerevar knew that poison. Voryn had brought it up once or twice. Every Great House had their own specialty poisons--though House Telvanni likely had too many to even count. This one was a colorless, extremely bitter liquid used on political enemies when they needed something fast and effective. First it quickly knocked the victim out, putting them to sleep so they couldn’t fight or vomit it back up, and then very quickly worked to stop their heart entirely. Within a minute they would be dead, passing without much hassle. It was important for him as heir to understand how the potion was made, keep its recipe a closely guarded secret, and also have antidotes on hand in the event someone tried to use it against him. 

It was, like all things in House Dagoth, fast and effective. Other houses delighted in torturing political enemies: selling them into slavery, extensive torture, whipping them until their bones were visible on their backs, or even nailing them to stakes out in the wilderness while guards watched animals come to eat them alive--or failing that, they died of exposure in the sometimes harsh climate of Resdayn.

It wasn’t a bad way to go, in all honesty. They could certainly do worse, and still might if he was being honest. They could give him the poison right now, but were probably waiting to drag him back to make a point of it, or because they thought Nerevar might have answers of what disease he gave Voryn. 

Nerevar could just tell himself it was a sleeping potion. He was having trouble sleeping lately, after all. He was back ‘home’ in Kogoruhn, just laying down to sleep, and when he woke up he could see Voryn again. Something nice as he faded into oblivion; a sweet lie to bring himself a bit of comfort. 

The numbness in his body spread at the revelation, static in his veins and his head even more foggy. Maybe thinking about it was bad for him. But he at least had a plan to make his death a little more bearable. 

“... Thanks.” Nerevar replied, before once again going silent.