#jesus what ships do i even tag this this could be fucking ANYTHING

[shittyjakeenglish]

Day 38

a welldeserved nap after a long night of extensive trickortreating and general mischief! but im sure if any of them were awake, the first thing theyd tell you would be: HAPPY HALLOWEEN !!!

#dirk actually didnt dress up. roxy of course anticipated this and so prepared the Orange Cat Ears of Boring #also roxy did jakes nails! theyre matching pink :> #i worry it is unclear that jane was dressed as a detective hehe #jake english #dirk strider #jane crocker #roxy lalonde #calliope #jesus what ships do i even tag this this could be fucking ANYTHING #never drawn in this style but Expect More i love it #i mean the intentional ones were: #dirkjake #callieroxy #cotton candy #calliejane #calliejanerox #??? do they even have a name??? #homestuck #day 38 #my art

[adnauseum11]

Operational Risk Management (John Price x Reader)

Kate calls with some bad news.

1k words

CW: swearing, military inaccuracies

This work is part of the S.N.A.F.U. series, master list also pinned to my blog.

Masterlist

Ao3

John’s phone lights up in the center console with an incoming call just as you are returning to the flat. Two hefty shopping bags of new glitter-less decorations are safely secured in the back seat. His patience ran out about half-way back from your excursion, locked in a snarl of holiday traffic. When he began to grumble about the lack of common sense on display, you reminded him that he wanted to tag along with you. The look he gave you afterwards was dark, but you didn’t let it faze you, used as you are to his intermittent grumpiness. Still, you’re happy to claim your spoils and clear off so he can take his phone call in peace, his annoyance doing nothing to dampen your spirit. 

“Hello?” 

John’s tone is curt. The familiar sound of chopper blades swells and then he can hear Kate over the staticky line, immediately picturing her cupping her hand over the bottom of the phone as she clears the rotors. 

“John? Got some news, you aren’t going to like it. Can you talk?” 

She’s moving, likely just landed. John’s brain is leaping ahead, trying to fill in the gaps. 

“Yeah. What happened? Gaz alright?”

Kate cuts straight to the chase, apparently no time to waste on pleasantries. 

“The commander Gaz is working under is a younger brother to man killed in Las Almas - belonged to Shadow Company. He’s leveraged his position with Norris to start knocking on doors to find out what happened to his brother and he’s managed to get enough intel to hold the 141 responsible.”

“Jesus Christ Laswell.”

John’s palm comes down with a slap on the steering wheel, his mood worsening. He can feel his blood pressure rising as Kate’s terse voice washes over him.

“I suspect Norris is feeding him information. We’re going to keep working on that end, see if we can confirm anything. When you turned down the contract and that photo popped up, he tried a different path. The commander did basic training with your girl’s would-be-assailant years ago, before the dishonourable discharge. We think he’s currently switching tack again. Gaz is obviously compromised, and they’re about to ship out.”

“Ah hell Kate.” 

John’s violently pushing his fingers through his hair, the implications of Gaz being in the thick of this commander’s operation making his stomach turn to lead. 

“I didn’t know John, didn’t think Norris’ men needed further vetting. Lesson learned. I’ve got a potential intercept point. Right now, we’re handling some rendezvous communications for them as we’ve got friendlies in the field, Gaz being one. They’re going to be sent to recon a chemical manufacture plant in Lithuania for a potential raid.”

Kate’s tone suggests she’s well aware of her fuck up, and John respects her enough to leave it there, satisfied with her acknowledgement.

“There’s got to be a vulnerability we can exploit to get Gaz to safety.”

John’s instinct is to plan, even without any intel yet.

“Ghost is planning an avenue of approach for the potential intercept point before whatever the commander is up to comes to fruition out there. We urgently could use an extra set of hands in the know, Captain. Timing is critical here. Gaz’s assigned taskforce won’t be expecting us. If we do this correctly, we can bury this for good with no one the wiser.”

John looks up at the flat, can almost picture you flitting around, rearranging items to account for your new prizes. His heart sinks as he makes the only decision his conscience will allow. 

“Yeah, my bag is mostly packed. I can be at the base in a few hours for pick up if you can arrange liaison.”

Kate asks the question he’s been dreading since this conversation started. He can guess at the outcome and is in no hurry to be proven right. 

“Your girl going to be ok with the last-minute change of holiday plans?”

At the mention of you, John’s brain immediately pulls the image of you naked in the shower, flushed from the orgasm he’d just given you, admitting you’re in love. The center of his chest aches at the thought of leaving you alone during the holiday you’re so obviously excited to share with him. At one point, early on, he was confident that he knew exactly what he was doing. His emotions lately tended to be out of control and headlong, almost impossible to moderate. After years of relentlessly telling himself it was better to keep his distance, to stay platonic, he’s finally getting what he’s coveted after all this time. And still, he can’t stop his greedy heart from wanting more. He fights back the uncharacteristic swell of emotion and clears his throat, refocusing on the conversation at hand.

“I’ll handle it. Not leaving anything this volatile for someone else to clean up. I want assurance it’s over.” 

“If you’re sure. You’ve been moving fast with this woman John. I’m assuming you know what you’re doing here.”

His laugh is dark, the sound of a man whose best laid plans are unravelling in front of his eyes. 

“Gaz would do the same. I’ll sort it out on my end, set up the liaison for 19:00.”

John is all business, putting any indecision firmly to rest in short order.

“We appreciate the assist; I’ll debrief you further once you’re on route. And John?”

“Yeah?” 

He’s preoccupied, already trying to work out how to explain what’s about to happen to the woman he loves.

“Good luck, hope you bought her something nice.”

Kate’s tone is a mix of gentle teasing and honest concern. John’s foul mood refuses to rise to the occasion.

“Piss off Laswell.”

John grates out before hanging up the call and sighing deeply, gripping the steering wheel tightly. He shouts a handful of curses into the empty car, grateful for a mostly vacant street to witness his outburst. He takes several deep breaths to gather himself again before stepping out of the car to rejoin you in the flat and break the news.

Next Chapter

Tag list:

@deadbranch @beebeechaos @cadotoast @writeforfandoms @syoddeye @itr-00 @chloepluto1306 @batw3nch

#fanfic #captain john price #call of duty #john price #john price x reader #john price cod #friends to lovers #john price x f!reader #captain john price x reader #john price x you #captain price #captain price x you #captain price x reader #fanfiction

[darkhymns-fic]

Poor Reception

Husk is forcefully brought to the radio tower, where he finds Alastor injured after the battle. He's weak. He's vulnerable.

What better opportunity to finally be free of the Radio Demon's chains than right now?

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Characters: Alastor/Husk Rating: M Word Count: 4531 Mirror: AO3 Notes: I wrote more for this ship? I'm unwell for them. Once again, a note that this fic contains depictions of unhealthy relationship dynamics, past abuse, and violence. More tags are on the AO3 mirror.

--

The thing was, Husk was still bleeding when Alastor called for him. So, he didn’t appreciate the urgency.

The cuts over his arms and his right cheek stung, not to mention both of his wings were aching badly. One of the angels from the battle had grabbed at them, seeming particularly pissed off that he even had wings in the first place. (Not like it was his choice to begin with). It had at least been satisfying blowing its face with his newly upgraded dice, even if a few of his feathers had been ripped up, and his clothes were now splattered with the gold that flowed from the angel’s severed neck.

Well, not like anyone got out of a fight that was worth fighting for unscathed.

The hotel still needed to be rebuilt, for it was nothing but rubble. Support beams stuck out of the ground, and all those fancy chandeliers from the lobby had shattered all over, glass shards mixing with stone and wood. Husk was careful, even if his wings were basically out of commission now. He picked up broken furniture and the remains of his bar, watching as the alcohol had already seeped into the dirt. In a more desperate time in his life, he might have tried saving some of his booze as best he could, but it was easy to shrug it off now, to shoot a smirk at Angel Dust when the guy made dirty jokes as they worked, and to even give Charlie a reassuring smile as she helped him out. He dared to think it was all going to be okay.

Husk didn’t notice the shadows gathering when he turned a corner, too focused on the cleanup.

He didn’t notice how they formed under his feet like a dark whirlpool, and only the sense of dread that ran along his fur even gave him a hint to what was happening. Too slow, for the long tendrils he recognized had reached up, curling around his legs, grabbing at his wrists—all to pull him straight down.

The last thing he saw was Niffty, the little demon still carrying around her golden bloodied knife like a trophy, stabbing at skittering bugs she kept unearthing. She turned, hearing him choke, her giant eye reflecting the blackness that was their boss’ shadow magic.

“Niff!” was all he could get out. A hand, taloned and strong, clamped over his mouth, muffling his screams.

Niffty simply blinked. He saw his own terrified face in her gaze. Then, she smiled, jumping up and down maniacally. “Ooo, I want a turn too! Let me go next!”

Suddenly, he was struck blind.

These were one of those times he thought he was going through a second death. The complete darkness. The silence. The immovability. His arms and legs stayed locked in place, but he could feel the pain of his wounds that hadn’t fully healed, all while a hand kept his mouth shut like an iron muzzle. It was hard to tell if his eyes were open or closed, for there was only the dark, pulling him through hidden places that he might never return from.

It was endless. It was impossible to deal with. Husk had no other choice to even do anything else. The shadows wouldn’t let him go, wouldn’t even let him scream, no matter how much his teeth felt like they were going to crack from the strain.

This was it. He was truly dead, and it was far worse than anything else Hell had to offer.

And then he was spat out of the ground like garbage.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Husk coughed and gagged, grabbing at his side as fresh wounds reopened. Somehow, swearing in the name of the Lord still hadn’t set him on fire, like he’d expected to the first time he did so. He was too nauseous to keep in mind the list of acceptable curses, already vomiting up some of the pancakes the king of Hell had made them all just a bit earlier. All his earlier cuts went back to stinging like a bitch again.

To the right, he saw a cackling shadow on the far wall, its antlers taking crooked shapes like the branches of a rotten tree.

“You gotta be joking me… I told you I hate going through that shit!” Husk wiped his chin with the back of his hand, grumbling all the while. It took all his effort just to slowly pull himself to a sitting position, balancing his shivering body on his knees. “If you want me somewhere, just use the phone! Or send a goddamn telegram or whatever. Not this nightmare express!”

The shadow of Alastor continued to laugh silently, its smile stretching and making gaps in its mockery of a face. It even gave Husk a little wave before going back to laughter, bending its back in painful contortions.

Husk grimaced, hating what he now knew: that Alastor was indeed still alive. Fantastic. Couldn’t have even stayed in bliss for one day that maybe, somehow, he might finally be free. He was such an idiot.

His eyes were still getting adjusted after being engulfed in shadow for who knows how long. It was only then he realized the lighting wasn’t normal—at least as normal as it got in Hell. Blaring red light coated the entire floor and walls, but it flickered, occasionally making his boss’ shadow disappear and reappear like a magic act. Husk directed his gaze to the ceiling, finding several broken fluorescent lights, the ‘On Air’ neon sign having two letters working at most.

Husk felt the cold metal beneath his feet, finally noticed the shattered windows around him, and the cramped space. Yeah, he’d been here plenty of times. The same radio tower his boss would materialize wherever he fucking felt like it. But along with the hotel, it had also collapsed. The tilt of the floor was already giving him a headache.

The shadow moved suddenly, stretching bigger and bigger until it reached the length of the floor. Husk scrambled away from letting it touch him a second time. “Ugh, what do you want now?”

He kept his eyes on the shadow, but it didn’t reach for him this time. Instead, it slid towards the front of the broken radio tower, where the console had been broken in half, the dials and buttons having fallen off.

He only then noticed Alastor’s body leaning against its side, legs stretched out on the floor. His own shadow finally melded with him.

Husk froze. He didn’t know what to do or think. He worried if taking another breath would break the image right in front of him.

There was blood pooling around Alastor, staining the floor.

The lights kept flickering, reflecting off steel-toed shoes, the frayed jacket that still hung around the Radio Demon’s shoulders, and the broken mic cane where each half was clutched in a separate hand.

Husk waited a long beat before he finally decided to try standing.

Easier said than done. His body still hurt from where the shadows had grabbed him, including his jaw and teeth. But he tried to get himself to one foot, watching the blood from his cuts drip down his arm, reaching his knuckles.

Eventually, he stood. His own shadow from the red light stretched out to Alastor, falling over both his boss’ face and torso. Even in the dimness, he could see the long gash across the chest, ruining the button-down he always wore. But that same chest also rose and fell, slightly. The red light around them pulsed like a struggling heartbeat.

“You’re a complete fucking mess,” Husk muttered.

The room was quiet except for the constant electric buzzing, but Alastor didn’t respond. Maybe he was truly knocked out, otherwise Husk would have felt his neck tighten, brought back down to the floor as another threat to his soul loomed over him. But there was nothing, just Alastor sitting there, broken.

And healing, Husk realized. He was healing very, very slowly.

It was a mistake, but he took a few steps forward, avoiding contact with the broken glass. No other nightmare shadows played around in his vision, nothing but his own, which slowly engulfed Alastor until all that red darkened. He saw the demon’s eyes were closed, his head lowered to his chest, still clutching so tightly to the broken mic.

What was he even doing right now? Why did his throat dry up and his hands shake so? Especially if his boss was barely breathing—

Alastor raised his head. The sound of sparks was faint, but there. Eyes lit up in their familiar electric crimson.

“Husker…” He said the name as if dragging teeth across flesh. “Such a… s-surprise to see you…!”

A stutter. Husk wasn’t sure if he had ever heard Alastor stumble over a word in his life (or death). What radio host worth his salt would make such a rookie mistake as to stutter?

Alastor’s grin was tight, resembling more of a grimace. Maybe he realized, too.

Husk let his eyes examine Alastor again, from the fresh blood still blooming over his chest, to the jagged ends of his broken mic. The head of it crackled, picking up only noise and static. No hint of distant voices or music—no hint of those usual screams Husk would sometimes catch through the walls as he slept.

“Adam got ya, huh?” He took another step, even if the feeling of terror didn’t exactly pass. But he never claimed to be a smart man.

There was a sharp glint in Alastor’s eyes—a furious spark of electricity. It passed instantly, Alastor keeping up his smile despite his radio act going off the rails.

“Now, don’t… don’t be spreading some false rumors. I just… appear to be having some technical difficulties… Please stand by, I need… Please stand by…”

The tone in Alastor’s voice was unnerving. His boss was usually on top of his game, but this was something else. In all their time together in Hell, he had never seen his boss so beaten in both body and pride.

Husk clenched his hands, claws furling and unfurling rhythmically. “So, did you bring me here to help you out? Keep you company?” He held out his hands in abject confusion, because it wasn’t like he was good at either of those things. “What’s the deal?”

He expected some inane nonsense from Alastor, even if the situation wasn’t the usual. But the other was still holding tight to the broken mic, still smiling as if it was the last thing he could do to keep up the routine.

But there was a flicker along his expression, an interruption over the airwaves. “Bring you… Is that right?” He shook his head minimally, still laying most of his weight on the radio console.

Husk felt his fur rise on their hackles. “Is this another stupid fucking bit of yours? I didn’t come looking for you. You’re the one who summoned me here with your shadow shit just now!”

Alastor chuckled, but there was a curious twitch in his right eye. It made the static rise higher, sputtering in pieces. “Husker, you and…your poor attempt at humor. I didn’t…ask for you…”

His head started to throb. He could still barely forget the claustrophobic feeling of being dragged into darkness, hardly able to breathe or even know if he fully existed anymore. It hadn’t been the first time Alastor had done it to him either, but now after he did it again, he didn’t even remember?

Was tormenting Husk just fucking instinct to him?

Alastor was now muttering, which was a whole new realm of lunacy Husk didn’t want to understand. “Just experiencing—” Loud static that could wriggle its way into eardrums. “Experiencing technical difficulties. Please—” More static, like an ocean wave that was steadily growing bigger with each passing moment. “Please stand by…”

The mic kept glowing then dimming, bright and then dark. It reminded Husk of some sort of lighthouse, one that only illuminated red, making it that much harder to see and find the rocks just below.

He didn’t see his boss’ strange shadows anymore. But it must have slept within him, using the very last of his strength to keep Alastor intact. But then why was he even brought here? Just to sit and watch?

Alastor was still deeply wounded. The guy could barely even look at him, his words coated in awful static, as if the dial was stuck on an AM station. Husk lowered his ears, hating every second.

He didn’t have to keep listening to this.

Husk reached into his pants pocket, wondering if he’d be lucky enough. He felt the familiar edge of the card and pulled it out. One from his old deck that he had been allowed to keep, despite it all. Except now, it was coated in the same silver lining that the angel’s weapons had, courtesy of Carmilla Carmine.

He’d already used the rest on the angels, their numbers so great, it ate through his entire deck except for one. The constant blinking of the red light revealed it to be the Joker card. He didn’t want to think too hard on that meaning.

But, he could kill Alastor right now. It would be so easy.

He took another few steps, quietly, and he’d have to thank the stupid form his body took in Hell for that. His feet barely made a sound over the metal floors, and soon he was standing over Alastor, the shadow of his wings covering both his boss and the radio console.

Alastor’s breathing was hollow, blending with the static. The shaking in Husk’s limbs finally seemed to subside, seeing none of the magic coming to Alastor’s fingertips. No sight of roving shadows or poisonous green. Even the antlers on his head remained small and unassuming.

Just aim the card at his neck. Then it’ll be over.

Husk didn’t understand his own hesitance, barely giving any second thoughts to the angels from before. He’d ruptured several torsos and blown up some heads. Alastor was just another body to get through—and the wound he suffered from Adam showed he wasn’t invincible. He could die, just as much as the rest of them.

He had to hurry it up.

But maybe Husk was breathing too loudly, or his feet did make a sound, probably finding a weakness in the metal to make it creak. Because Alastor picked up his head again, aiming his bright red eyes at Husk. The static increased, loudly. Desperately.

The light roved from Husk’s face to his hand. Blood was leaking through his boss’ smile, staining his shirt even more.

“Well, now…” he started to say, the dial turning to find a stable wave. But the static never left. “Just… what… are you even trying to do?”

Husk said nothing. He stared down at the man who had spoken of ripping apart his soul like it was nothing at all. He gripped the card more firmly between his fingers.

“You… do you think…” And then Alastor lost a bit more composure, a cough leaving his damaged throat. The static jumped, the electric shock of it making Husk wince. “That you have the actual gall to—”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.” He’d had enough. Husk took another step, feeling the sharpness of the card against his skin. “I’m cutting out of our deal, whether you like it or not.”

He didn’t know what reaction to expect from Alastor—the man had several screws loose, ready to turn from charming to outright psychotic at the drop of a hat—but even Husk was surprised at the sudden laughter that tumbled from his mouth. It wasn’t any of his favorite audience tracks he loved playing, such as after he’d taken care of another Overlord, the screams and applause overlayed. It was his own, and it would then garble and crescendo in unsettling waves, even as his eyes fixated on the card Husk was holding.

“Such big words…” Another cough, the blood now dripping down his chin. “From a drunken has-been who had to come to me—”

Husk had always been a gambling man, and much of his gambles had always bit him right in the ass, his current situation very much a point to that. But after everything he’d gone through, after all the bloodshed and the humiliation of that leash around his neck all hours of the day, Husk took the gamble and stepped past the invisible line that was Alastor’s boundaries.

Not like the man had ever respected his own.

His free hand grabbed at a thin neck, his knee placed against the still bleeding chest, knowing it would hurt Alastor. Hoping it would. And from the flickering of Alastor’s eyes, along with the constant static, it really must have stung. Badly.

No shadows reached out to grab him. No chains. Alastor was too weak. Whatever shadow magic he’d used from before had been the very last of his strength.

“I’m not that drunk to not be able to saw your neck off with this.” Husk held the card high, its edge serrated, made to cut through flesh easily—one of the few things he was able to retain since his own Overlord days. “I can make it a quick, clean cut or slow enough for you to feel every muscle snapping. Your fucking choice.”

But even with the threat of a second death once again, still healing from his other wounds, Alastor kept his grin. It widened, the blood flowing more freely.

Something about it was more deranged than before.

Husk tried not to let the age-old terror seep in, the kind of terror he had never been able to drink away. Alastor couldn’t do anything to him. It was different now. He had the upper hand. His fingers pressed against the other’s neck, feeling the man swallow.

“Well?!” Husk barked, leaning forward, putting all his weight on his knee, hoping it would crack more bones, burst more vessels. “What do you have to say?!”

Alastor opened his mouth. The blood kept flowing from an abyss that was endless. An abyss that swallowed all sound and was constricting.

“Husker…” Alastor lingered over the little pet name he had given Husk all those years ago. He held it between his teeth, slid his tongue over the letters like they were irresistible. “Are you having stage fright?”

The claws, still clutching that throat, twitched. The bastard. Even on the verge of death, he still had to find a way to mess with him.

Maybe it was to prove it to himself, but he let his claws pierce through the flesh just so, watching as Alastor’s eyes fizzled and sputtered. Anything to make it hurt more. “You losing your memory? I was more on the stage then you ever were.”

Alastor’s shoulders hunched up. He leaned forward, pressing into that knee despite what must have been unbearable pain. But no, this guy had always liked pain, didn’t he?

“You always make excuses.” No shadows came out of him, but it didn’t stop Alastor’s face from transforming into an abomination, one barely seen in the dark. “Don’t keep your audience waiting…!”

The blood from Alastor’s mouth fell on Husk’s hand. Wet, hot, and burning. Husk froze. He stared back into the red, the light of it piercing right into his skull.

He didn’t understand what was happening. This should have been easy. With how often Alastor had demeaned him, had humiliated him, had broken his very bones for his slip-ups, torn up his wings for amusement, and would yank at his chain so hard he thought his own neck would snap from the strain—

Slicing the demon’s neck was a mercy out of everything.

Suddenly, all those awful memories came flowing back to him. He had learned to shut them away with drink, and gambling, and any other vices that fell into his lap. If he’d heard the screams from the tower through his walls, he’d just pull the blankets over his head. If Alastor gripped his chin during a conversation, to “Ensure you’re paying attention, my dear friend,” Husk would just roll with it if he felt a certain tension in those fingers. There were times he could push Alastor away, or shout back, but the demon was unpredictable, and the way the dice rolled lately had not been in his favor.

Except now. Except right fucking now. He didn’t have to remember the pain, or the threat of death hanging over his head, or the sick ways Alastor would invade his boundaries. He could tear this man beneath him apart with just his teeth and claws alone, before finally rupturing his heart with the power of angels bent on revenge. He could eat his flesh and feast on his intestines and see how Alastor liked to be on the other side for once—!

All the noise in his mind was so much, hypnotized by that red, by visions of blood and gore and viscera,        that he didn’t notice the hands gripping his wrist. They had let go of the broken mic, pressed their talons into his fur.

Then there was the weight on his neck, the links entwined around Alastor’s fingers. They clinked together delicately, almost gently.

It was enough to terrify Husk out of his mind.

And the way the chain pulled him in, as it always did, to fall into that abyss where the smell of rotten meat came from. The way a hand reached up to grip at his cheek, drawing him further down into that same darkness where he can’t scream—

Stop. STOP.

Husk leaped back, his wings outstretched to lift him away from Alastor. Somehow, miraculously, the chain dissipated, like a fog. He stumbled once he landed, gripping onto the card that was still clean of any blood. His wings instinctively furled around his body, trying to forget the hands on him and how their touch skittered across his fur, leaving him confused and horrified at himself.

From such violent thoughts of bloodshed that only Alastor would revel at, to wanting to sink against him.

The red lights of the radio tower continued to flicker. There was a monotonous drone, one that wriggled inside Husk’s skull like a maggot, searching for his soul. He just barely lifted his eyes to see it come from that broken mic, the one that Alastor had gone back to holding tight.

Or had he ever let go? Had Husk just been hallucinating the entire thing? Yet another look at Alastor, at the eyes that bore right through his, made him want to shudder. His wings furled tighter around himself, but he already felt so exposed, right down to his very ribs.

“What did you do to me?” he finally asked, barely able to go past a whisper.

In the background, he thought he could hear soft music play—a piano ballad, one that was played in those old swing clubs from a time he could barely remember, along with a woman’s singing voice. It would then drown in that static, overwhelmed, but it was getting stronger. Alastor was slowly coming to himself.

And the demon laughed again, the filter over his voice lessening just enough for Husk to not mistake his words. “Nothing that you didn’t want for yourself.”

Husk remembered the bloodlust, the texture of Alastor’s skin against his hands, and he wanted to vomit once more.

He didn’t, swallowing any bile as he scrambled back, not caring when he touched broken glass. “Shut up! I can’t even do this now?! I…” His throat was tight. “You’ve ruined everything for me.”

Alastor let his tongue seep out, like a black leech that had found its way to land, before retreating to the dark. “No, I only came to pick up the pieces.” The chuckle reverberated out of him, deep. “Such a naughty liar you are.”

Husk’s claws pierced the floor. The sensation was awful. Any euphoria he felt before from fighting off the angels, from the smiles of his friends, from the very thought that just for once he would finally find freedom—gone.

Alastor wasn’t near him, but he remembered the feeling of his hand on his face, the stroke of fingers through the fur, (the vice-like grip over his mouth to keep him screaming) all as the leash kept pulling him and his will along with it.

“Oh, sweet Husker. You can’t kill what you love.” Said so easily, with such glee that it made Husk’s vision spin. Even so, Alastor’s face stayed imprinted in his memory forever. “But don’t worry. This’ll be our little secret, and don’t we already share so many by now?”

Husk glared at the Radio Demon, but he did so like a cornered animal, hiding behind a worthless shield, remembering the taste of blood on his tongue.

“No one has to know a thing,” Alastor continued. The static wrapped around them both, dripping with mercury. “Let’s make all our new friends so proud.”  

Another deal, verbally made within the shattered tower. No one else needed to know of Alastor’s temporary weakness here, his close brush with second death, the loss of control he had, if only for a moment. And no one needed to know Husk’s true nature.

Secrets that would bind them together, strangling, choking, until the very end.

Husk felt a sharp sting on his right palm. He looked at the card he kept holding, at how he cut himself across the heart pattern over his fur. The front of the card was stained.

He gritted his teeth, felt tears prick at his eyes. He quickly put the card away in his pocket.

“Just hurry and fix yourself up,” he muttered as he got to his feet. His wings still stayed around him, gripping onto them like a tattered coat. “Charlie’s probably waiting for you.”

He felt the tears run down his cheeks. Great, now he was crying. For fuck’s sake.

Husk tried turning away, not wanting Alastor to see again how he had this hold on him, how easily he could do that while still bleeding out the floor. But the music kept playing, occasionally skipping a note, to the point that it was almost pleasant.

Sometimes, if he pretended, he could forget the awful things when a nice song played every once in a while.

Husk risked a quick glance, and saw that Alastor was no longer looking at him. Instead, the eyes of the Radio Demon were directed to the floor, to the broken mic cane, where the song echoed out from its tinny speaker.

An intermission.

Husk didn’t want to stick around any longer.

He found the stairs that led down from the half-standing tower. His hand gripped his wings still, before finally going down, and down, and down.

But before he left, he thought he saw familiar, convulsing shadows on the side. Their outlines were tinged in green, their teeth jagged and sharp. One had Alastor’s face, which stared right at him with the utmost glee.

And it winked.

#hazbin hotel #husk #alastor #radiohusk #fanfiction

[wetcatspellcaster]

very kindly tagged by @cursedhaglette, thank you for giving me a chance to talk about my writing :)

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

11! :)

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

lmfao. 985,659. That's nearly ten thesises (theses?) in the time of my PhD programme, so I'm going to just go quickly walk into the sea.

3) What fandoms do you write for?

the majority of my fic is for videogames with love interests and OC potential (BG3, Dragon Age) but I did briefly fall prey to the darklina disease, which I have to admit to here in order to answer some of the other questions

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1- Pieces Still Stuck in Your Teeth (bg3)

2- Party Favours (bg3)

3- A Bleeding Heart (bg3)

4- The Stars Don't Shine, They Burn (shadow and bone)

5- An Honest Lie (bg3)

5) Do you respond to comments?

as best as I can, I typically clear out a previous chapter just before I post something new (so that's one way to monitor or predict my posting activity lmfao)

6) What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Lmao. Sunblindness (shadow and bone) which takes an 'eye for an eye' approach to an amnesia AU. I actually wanted to end on a major character death but my pal's response was "jesus Emma, this is something people read for fun" so I watered it down :')))))

7) What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Party Favours currently!! Happier endings incoming, IMO.

8) Do you get hate on fics?

yes, occasionally, I'm still in single digits thankfully. i always find it so funny bc nobody is more critical of my fic than me. you think you can hurt me? babygirl, we're in the 5th dimension of insults in my brain, your surface level comment barely touches the sides.

9) Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

nope! call me the Astarion!spawn ending, the way I fade-to-black :')))))

10) Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I crossovered Stardust and Shadow and Bone, but it was not a straight crossover it was more a chewed up, swallowed, and digested version of both premises. I similarly wrote a Wintersmith/Shadow and Bone crossover that I never posted bc the sickness left me.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

lol. lmfao, even. :)))))

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have had requests made of me and given permission for that to happen, but I do not know if it was ever posted!

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

no, it's not for me unfortunately, I was that horrible kid in group projects who just wished she could work alone :')))))))))))

14) What’s your all time favorite ship?

honestly there are many but the two that are indelibly written on my soul are Howl/Sophie and Spike/Buffy like the simple bitch I am.

In terms of things I've written? zevran/surana, hands down.

15) What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Anything I post I will eventually finish, out of social anxiety alone. At the moment I'm worried about the stuff sitting unposted in gdocs.

16) What are your writing strengths?

hahahahahahaha i don't fucking know i think i can make character voices distinct so you can usually tell which POV I'm writing from once the perspectives are established?

I have been complimented on my dialogue.

I think I'm usually brave enough to take a risky decision, even if it doesn't pay off. These decisions also land more than they used to so it's a skill I've built with time and one I am proud of.

My jokes don't seem to just be for me anymore, I like it when other people say I made them laugh.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

If there's something that can be said straightforwardly in a sentence, you know I'll say it in three paragraphs instead. I wouldn't be surprised if people think I'm a purple-prosed motherfucker.

Smut and lack thereof

the repeat of 'conversation, stage direction, eye contact, expression, repeat' is not a weakness but it is something I become intermittently self conscious of.

18) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I am a fan of it and I appreciate it when its done well (pour one out for Naomi Novik's fic/writing where the language work is cringingly poor), but not something I can personally do. Admirer in others, of the skills I lack.

19) First fandom you wrote for?

*dabs* Dragon Age, the OG. It was the pandemic, and I didn't want to replay Wicked Eyes Wicked Hearts bc I hate timed sections, so I wrote a fic instead.

20) Favorite fic you’ve written?

I feel bad writing this on the blog that's currently 99% BG3, but The Stars Don't Shine They Burn. It was my first time plotting something that diverged greatly from source material, and I was going through some stuff at the time that I can feel viscerally when I return to it and read the words. It is a work of personalised comfort. There's one scene in it that still gets me, every single time.

I don't know, it's funny to see Pieces get attention and I'm very, very proud of Pieces, but some of what I'm thinking through in that was in its proto-form in the other fic, which is finished and I'm really proud of it... so let's see if anything comes along to bop it off the top spot once I have a critical distance and am not in the writing trenches lol.

Tagging wise, I actually want to do an open call on this one!! this was a really pleasant exercise, so anyone seeing this who wants to talk about their writing or celebrate their achievements can take this as my personal invitation :)

scared? do it anyway x

#tags #tag games #my writing #personal tag

[cirrus-grey]

I have now finished watching Good Omens Season 2

If you haven't already, please block the tag "good omens spoilers" - I won't post anything else until Friday night at the earliest, but after that all bets are off.

@albertinesimonet, I did not manage a full liveblog but I did jot down my reactions after watching each episode, and those are compiled under the cut :)

(SPOILERS!)

Episode 1:

Holy flipping fuck are they actually making the ineffable husbands canon???

Okay.

Look.

I saw that it was trending alongside Supernatural and OFMD. I suspected it was going this way, and the season had ended with some sort of confession/immediate separation.

That did not prepare me for the season to open with Crowley saying "hello gorgeous" to a nebula and Aziraphale being disappointed that Crowley wasn't talking to him. Or for Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy to be playing while Crowley rushed to Aziraphale's aid, like-

This is a fanfic. This is a motherfucking fanfic, and I am pleased to say that my brain is processing it as such, a well-written but ultimately non-canon fanfic (*puts on my "I still have book!omens brainrot" shirt*) that just so happens to have been written by one of the original authors.

Anyway, outside of my snorting disbelief that the first ship that I ever shipped is apparently going canon in one 'verse, I do actually have some legitimate theories, which run as follows:

A. I know this season is the plot-bridge between the original novel and what would have been the sequel, and B. I know the sequel was going to involve the second coming of Christ, therefore C. I suspect this Resurrectionist group that kept getting hinted at in the promos is trying to bring Jesus back, Gabriel found out and tried to stop it, and that's why he lost his memories. I'm a tad bit surprised Heaven as a whole doesn't seem to be involved in the return of their special boy, but I guess we'll see how that plays out as the season goes along.

Episode 2:

Oh hey, I've read this one before! "It's ancient Biblical times and Crowley and Aziraphale are angsting about their orders and finding solace in each other's company" may have never gotten its own tag, but there are certainly enough fics about it that it could.

"Can I be a blue one?" Weird kids are the best.

So the Resurrectionist is a pub, not a group. Still think they have something to do with the second coming, but I'm open to being proven wrong.

Gotta say, I didn't expect Every Day to be plot-relevant. I knew they had it for the soundtrack, but I'm really liking this sort of spooky-mystery-music-mixup they've got going with it - love the way its incorporated into the end credits, too.

Totally down for master-thief Jane Austen, btw.

How many people are writing fics about Crowley and Aziraphale getting caught in a rainstorm and hiding under an awning even as I type...

Episode 3:

How to run a bookshop, a guide by A.J. Crowley: Carry large stacks of books around aimlessly and then toss them on the floor when you get bored.

I'm honestly surprised his awning plan nearly worked. Curses be upon weak awnings, I suppose.

I do like that the Bentley recognizes that it has to play nice with whichever one of its dads is in the driver's seat lol

Okay so they keep drawing attention to the fact that there's flies in the bookshop, and now Beelzebub is acting off. Are the flies like... telepathically communicating Gabriel's worldviews to them? Is that how they figured out he was there?

That bit he said when Crowley mentioned tempests is definitely from the Revelations. I unfortunately don't know enough about the Revelations to draw any new conclusions from this. I know they deal with the apocalypse and the antichrist, but that was S1 stuff so there must be something else...

(That bit definitely sounded like Rapture stuff though, just saying)

Lotta talk about people coming back from the dead, here. It's doing little to dissuade me from my idea that this is all related to the second coming. Their "little" miracle was strong enough to bring 25 people back? Okay. How did Gabriel add his own power to it... and who did he bring back? (Does 1 Jesus = 25 normal people?)

...Okay yeah I just googled it and the second coming (and the rapture) is definitely in Revelations. Apparently the appearance of the antichrist is its herald. *insert 'oh yeah it's all coming together' gif here*

...

Several-hours later addition: When they were talking about gravity Gabriel seemed upset that the book didn't stay where it was put, "it goes down." And that flies go up.

...did he "go down," turning into a human, and is Beelzebub "going up," and that's why they're so worried about finding Gabriel? Figure out what happened to him, so it doesn't happen to them as well? Hmm...

Episode 4:

"The rumors that you two are an item..." Yeah holy fuck they're actually doing this. I don't know why it keeps catching me by surprise??? I guess it's not like, the forefront of the plot, so every time it comes to the front it feels a bit like a new thing, but still.

Aziraphale's smug fucking little eyebrow raise at that "I didn't think you were his type." He's like yeah, and what do you know, hm?

Did not expect the entire episode to be backstory, but that was very cute, especially given how much people fixated on the church scene in S1. That little showcase of their trust, both of them worried it'll go wrong but still willing to try because they feel safe with each other. I like that they managed to keep the tension of the setting, that "I'm pointing a gun at my best friend and this could go horribly wrong" feeling, even when it's well-established that the worst that could happen is paperwork.

Also, Crowley trying really, really hard to give Aziraphale positive feedback on his magic tricks even when he knows they suck. That's true love, right there.

Another showcase of people coming back from the dead. We've had the kids getting "brought back" from shape-shifting, the "resurrectionists" digging up dead bodies, and now actual honest-to-god zombies. I am Sensing A Theme.

...are the zombies still around? What's-is-face the demon did say eternal undeath...

Aaaaaand there's going to be an army of demons dropping in on the local business association meeting. I hope Aziraphale has enough tea cakes for everyone.

Episode 5:

SEAMSTRESSES SHOUTOUT ITS A FUCKING DISCWORLD REFERENCE

I know most people are probably going wild over the Dr. Who references but. It's the seamstresses guild...

I'm sure Mrs. Sandwich and Rosie Palm would get along famously.

In other news wow they're just being blatant about the ineffableness of these husbands now, aren't they? The great thing about that is I'm watching it with my parents and I don't think either of them have clicked that it's going canon - like, they're just interpreting it as a running bit, 'haha isn't it funny that everyone keeps mistaking them as a couple' kind of thing. The same thing happened when I showed them OFMD, neither of them realized Ed and Stede were actually going to be a real canon thing until the kiss. I mean, maybe they've worked out that this is going somewhere by now? But I don't want to ask in case they haven't, because I'd love to see their reaction if it blindsides them.

I am Not Normal about the dancing. Aziraphale's giddy little grin when he drags Crowley to the floor? The fucking. Hand presses. I've probably read too much Jane Austen if I'm going this insane about them just pressing their palms together.

And just... that whole fucking scene. The amount of queer people - either queercoded or just flat-out obviously queer - is making my heart feel full. When Aziraphale referred to the magic shop owner's partner using 'they' before we met them I thought it was just, you know, being polite, he'd never met them and didn't want to assume, but then they showed up in person and folks were still using they and they were so obviously giving a huge middle finger to gender norms I just-

Man I need to watch more queer shows I love this feeling.

And the army of demons is more of a large crowd but, well, still threatening. I like the use of masks to hide demonic traits, clever costuming detail there.

But. My dudes. Don't split up, what the fuck are you doing? You've been here for all of human history, you know how stories go, surely you know things always go wrong when you split the party??? I love protective!crowley, I do, but my dude taking off to bring this mess to heaven's attention is not the way to go about saving your angel. And Aziraphale, buddy, I don't know what you're planning to summon there but I really don't think it's going to go well.

...Maybe he's planning to teleport himself, Gabriel, and the humans up to heaven, too, to get them away from the demon crowd. It would be funny if Crowley and what's their name, Muriel, step out of the elevator and Aziraphale is just. There already.

(I don't think that's gonna happen though. I think everything is just gonna get Worse)

Anyway sidenote Lottie if you've read this far, when Gabriel started talking about feeling like a house I immediately thought of you, I know that's a theme you like ♡

Episode 6:

Jesus Christ!

(Called it!)

So I got a lot of the details wrong, but I was spot on with my two big predictions from the beginning. (Hey that ending reminded me of OFMD and Supernatural, I've got a great idea, why don't we all blog about the three of them and get them trending together-)

Gotta say, I'd only given a passing thought to Gabriel and Beelzebub being a Thing, their shippers must be going wild.

I knew there was a reason they kept drawing attention to that fly.

*Spots fire extinguishers* "Hey is that a Magnus Archives ref-" *Is brutally murdered with a lead pipe before I can finish*

I actually kind of love that Nina and Maggie didn't get together at the end of it all? I had felt like it was all going a bit too fast for them and I'm so glad they acknowledged that. They've got time, now, to work things out, and I love that they left it with the certainty that they'd be there for each other in the future... but not quite yet.

Oh! Oh! Oh! And they fit in the halos-used-as-lethal-frisbees-sequence! That was fabulous, I want to see more exploding headgear.

...anyway I think that's all the little bits I wanted to mention before getting to the Main Event.

I'm actually... not all that devastated about that ending? Like, okay, my heart was breaking watching it, the miscommunication and assumptions leading to a dramatic separation, it's tragic and angsty and oh my god my ship kissed my first ever ship kissed they did it they did the thing-

But. Two seconds after the credits started rolling my mind was already flying to, "oh thank goodness, they've got a Source On The Inside now and they might actually have a shot at stopping the end of the world instead of, you know, being blindsided by it because no one in heaven or hell is talking to them"

Like, sure, major breakup here, Crowley's gonna be pissed and Aziraphale might have to do their silly little "I'm sorry" dance three or four times before they can actually get down to business, but I don't think there's a question that both of them still trust each other immensely and know they can rely on each other to help out in a pinch. They'll be walking on eggshells for a bit, but it's pretty obvious that Aziraphale wouldn't have taken the promotion if he'd known Crowley wasn't going to come with him and as soon as he manages to properly communicate that fact they'll be fine.

(Sidenote, this, right here, exemplifies the difference between Book!Aziraphale and TV!Aziraphale. Book!Aziraphale is way more cynical about the whole heaven-and-hell system, he'd never say "heaven's still the good guys," and he'd be very, very suspicious of a sudden promotion landing in his lap after such a tumultuous sequence of events. TV!Aziraphale might not be the sweet little innocent bean fandom makes him out to be, but damn is he naive compared to his book counterpart. Makes me wonder how much of the hypothetical sequel has to change to work with this plotline - I'd bet my ass he wasn’t an archangel in that one.)

Can Crowley... hear the soundtrack? "No nightingales" like how does he know that's significant? Sir you are breaking the fourth wall-

(And how powerful is he? He's a nobody in hell but he keeps stopping time and could access classified documents up in heaven, something made his and Aziraphale's miracle blow up and apparently it wasn't Gabriel, and he also just brought a whole ass dude back from the dead??? Maybe those "Crowley is Raphael" theorists from S1 had a point)

Anyway, to cap it all off: my current predictions for S3 are the aforementioned ineffable husbands makeup and subsequent spy shenanigans as they scramble to try to stop Apocalypse 2: Jesus Boogaloo; they fail and Jesus comes back, but instead of following the Great Plan he instead chooses to side with "all of humanity against all of heaven and hell" (maybe Adam shows up too to help out?); and Crowley, despite his repeated protests, actually does end up running a bookshop because he doesn't trust Muriel to do it properly.

I summation, yes I am still alive, and very excited for the next season, whenever it happens. Also I need gifsets of the dance scene and that kiss ASAP please and thank you.

#im posting this and then going to bed so ill answer any comments in the morning ♡ #good omens tv #good omens spoilers #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #original post #my good omens stuff #<- good god i need to back-tag a lot of posts into that group

[sehtoast]

Writer Tag

Thanks for the tag @venus-haze <3

How many works do you have on AO3? 29

What's your total AO3 word count? 230k

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Tender Threads

Satisfy Me

One Big Wet Spot

Say Please

The Hand That Feeds

(All Homelander fics) ^

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Most of the time, but lately I haven't had the energy or the time. My social battery is pretty fucked, but I do read every single one of them and love them

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? So it's technically unpublished, but it basically ends with Ben (my oc) sentencing himself to die pretty painfully alongside Homelander with that thing that got revealed in Gen V. If you know you know

What’s the fic you've written with the happiest ending? Honestly, Envy.

Do you write crossovers? I've done an AU crossover for the same fandom, but not really

Have you ever received hate on a fic? Most of the hate I get is in my tumblr inbox. I haven't really done/said anything about it bc no one really wants to see or hear about it tbh, but I've gotten a fair amount of shit for pairing homie with a guy and then also more for pairing him with a trans guy. I think the only ao3 hate i ever got was barely even hate, more like someone bitching that my tender threads formatting wasn't to their liking bc it's Y/n formatted

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yessir yessir. Honestly just whatever i'm vibin with

Have you ever had a fic stolen? not that i'm aware although i don't think i've written anything steal-worthy

Have you ever had a fic translated? no, but @anon-nee has been my personal jesus christ in helping me make sure my english to german translations in tender threads has been accurate. love you nonnums <3

Have you ever co-written a fic before? technically no, but @homelanderbutbig did a collab with me and made this to pair with a fic i wrote, which i feel like is co-creation so i'm gonna say yes anyway. love you HBB <3

What's your all-time favorite ship? honestly i don't really have one, unless i can count my ocxcanon ship in which case it's benlander

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will? i have a depowered homelander fic where ben answers the door one day and ryan, now in his late teens, is there to finally see homie again after all those years went by. i adore the concept but i'm like NEVER in the mindset i need to actually write something like that

What are your writing strengths? yall got strengths?

What are your writing weaknesses? all of them

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? i think it's fine so long as there's clarification shortly after for the readers who may not understand, and also that you've somehow gotten it cross checked by someone who actually speaks the langauge so ensure you're not just saying some wild shit. but ultimately do whatever makes you happy idk bro i don't make the rules

What was the first fandom you wrote for? Prometheus! i was am down so bad for david omg

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to? astarion/tav. i wanna write something sooooo bad but i just can't get in the headspace for it

What's your favorite fic you've written? probably satisfy me because the role swap was incredibly fun and it's REALLY fucking cool to unbind homelander from his own behavioral patterns and manifest them into a reader's concept. like, of everything i've written, i could most clearly imagine everything that happened in that fic and i'd find myself grinning like a sick fuck while writing about literally eviscerating a man's chest cavity lmao

No pressure tags: @blindmagdalena @hom3landr @irenadel @slasher-smasher and anyone else who wants to participate

#tag game #sehtoast rambles

[sunwarmed-ash]

🔥Sinful Sunday🔥

The Eden Club

Chapter 6: You'll look for me in someone forever

Fandom: Detroit Become Human

Ships: HankCon(main), Hankvin(previous), Convin(secondary), HankConGav(eventual)

Rating: Explicit (adult sexual content)

Tags: Eden Club/Sex Worker!Connor Dead dove do not eat, undercover!Connor, post-revolution: hostile public opinion, Evil Kamski, Club owner Kamski, All the tragic Hankvin backstory you could ever want, eventual polycule, smut, followed by angst, spanking, edging, fingering, sensation play, Connor is a flirty horny little shit, emotional sex, unresolved feelings, complicated love triangle turned polycule

Summary:

“I don’t care how eager you are, you're eating before we do anything,” Connor shouted from the kitchen before he could say a word and Hank’s mouth dropped in suprise. Even if they had been sexting ALL DAY, he still wasn't used to hearing pointed flirtation out of his android. Well, not his like his property but you know… 

“Oh yeah? What makes you think you're in charge after the sneaky shit you pulled today,” Hank shot back, using his ‘Lieutenant voice’ as Connor has called it over a dozen times now. 

Hank took his time entering the house, extending out this little game. He hung up his coat and gave himself a once over in the front hallway mirror. He looked tired as hell. The bags under his eyes were darkening as the day went on, but he showered yesterday so his hair doesn't look greasy and his beard is only a little overgrown right now. Convinced he looked ‘good enough’, he continued through the entry way, skidding to a hard stop before even a toe could cross the threshold of the kitchen. 

Yup, its official, I’m gonna have a fucking heart attack. 

Because Connor is standing with his back to him in front of the stove, in Hank’s Knights of the Black Death Band Tee from 2027, and nothing else. That was confirmed a second later when Connor reached up to add time on the microwave and Hank could easily make out the matching half moons of the androids bare ass. 

Hank’s hand reached out and slapped the doorway trim to steady himself. 

“Jesus fucking Christ Connor...” he scolded.

Connor turned around then, a huge shit-eating grin on his face as he held out his spatula and blinked up at Hank innocently. He looked down at the borrowed, oversized shirt on his tall lean frame.

“I hope you don’t mind Hank, my clothes are in the washer. I can take it off, if it bothers you.”

Nope. Connor better fucking not. Because if he does that, Hank’s heart will stop. He’s just barely holding it together now. 

“It’s not you wearing it that bothers me,” Hank groans, unable to tear his eyes from the bottom hem of the time-worn shirt, just waiting for the moment Connor moved enough to show him more of that beautiful cock he already got an eyeful of today.  

Connor’s previously flirtaious face was suddenly replaced with worry. 

“I didn’t mean to genuinely upset you Hank, I’m-”

But before Connor could misunderstand Hank further, he was stopping Connor’s apology. 

“You’re not wearing anything under that shirt.” 

It wasn't a question. 

The side of Connor’s face began to raise again in amusement, understanding Hank now.  

“Nope.”

#sinful sunday #the eden club #detroit become human #hankcon #hankvin #hope youre ready for some hankvin feels #honnor #hank anderson #connor detroit become human #connor x hank #hank x gavin #hank x connor x gavin #connor rk800 #hank x gavin x connor #find me on ao3 #sunwarmed ash #kofi support keeps me out of capitalisms clutches #links in bio #i post new stuff every sunday #reblogs are free ways to support me! #chapter title came from the song love better by CVBZ #in case you were wondering or curious

[caitlynnrosespn]

Another Rant. More Like A Response.

So I was going to make a video about this because I have a lot to say. But I realized that the stutter I thought I had gotten rid of Freshman years comes out heavily if I'm pissed, which I currently am, so I'll just save use the headache and type this out.

Also tagging @apexious cuz they wanted to see this.

Look. I could totally tag people. I could name names. But I'm not going to. Because at this point everyone has probably either seen this post or knows who this person is. And goddamn do I have a lot to say about them.

Number 1: If you're gonna call me out call me out bestie. Coming after me for a post I made expressing discomfort at a NSFW self ship is fine and all, but then you go ahead and say stuff like "adult people can have adult thoughts about other adults" when my post was referring to a fanfic written by a KID? Get your facts straight before you say anything that's public. Here's the thing, was my post in poor taste? Quite possibly. Was there an adult way to handle it and get the results you wanted? Oh yeah. Did you do the adult thing? Nope! Instead of either A. taking it to a private message and explaining what was wrong or B. making a respectful post that highlighted what was wrong in a mature way, you made a disrespectful, arrogant, self righteous post bashing an entire fanbase despite the fact that only a few people were at large. So now, instead of placing the responsibility of accountable parties, which I would have been included in, and allowing to own up and apologize, you have now not only included yourself into the problem, but also blown the problem wayyyy out of proportion. May I remind you that we are a fairly tiny fandom based on a video game directed at children? I've been playing since 2012, so believe me when I say these games have come a long way. Hell, these characters now in fanfics didn't have names until The Traveler season happened. Remember the days of referring to characters as "the coach from One Kiss" or "Jessy's guy in Swish Swish" or "P1 in Lean On"? Yeah, that was surprisingly not that long ago. So it is responsible to believe that the concept of NSFW or self shipping in a fandom is relatively new to us. Shit, we are not going to act like a normal fandom! This fandom is very different then others, so if we make a mistake like bagging on things that are all normal in other fandoms, then be fucking patient! Call it out in a respectable way, and let us fix it! We always do!

Next, the other problems you discussed? Are they currently in the room with us? I have not seen these problems like, at all. There is no mass shitting on people who have comfort characters. People who fetishsize and disrespect characters? Hell yeah (we took care of people like youngjackissohot and others), but not genuine comfort/kinny characters. The vast majority of us have a comfort character and that's why we are in this fucking community in the first place! Maybe i'm just blind as a bat, but I have not seen anyone tear apart anyone watching maps on Youtube. Bitch, most of us don't have a Switch so those maps on Youtube are our saving grace to stay in this community. Is this happening on another site, like Reddit or Twitter? Cuz if so maybe you should have gone and bitched to them instead of complain on here.

And you don't think we should benefit from your presence in this community? Ok Jesus, sorry you're leaving! Seriously though, while I appreciate everyone in this community and think you make an impact no matter how big it is, this is a classic case of "someone got a little too big for their britches". Sure, we hate to see you go. But like you said, you haven't been active since Lover Coaster (which you couldn't even remember the name of btw-how in the absolute fuck are you going to get involved with Fandom matters if you can't even name the last season you remember?) and we all survived without you. So don't pretend all of a sudden you're some hotshot celebrity whose mere absence in this community will affect anything. I have a few good fics that I am updating frequently that I know people will enjoy, and I've active for a good while, but I know if I fell of the face of the earth right now my absence in the fandom won't cause any major issues. Get a reality check.

Lastly, you're dealing with a fandom here. A group of humans who are all flawed and all make mistakes and all have their moments. If you're not happy with the ugly sides of that, then I'm sorry but you don't deserve to benefit from the many good sides. We are by far the least problematic fandom I have so far heard of. For the most part, we are kind to each other and care for each other and we love each other. If we make mistakes we make sure to fix them and then we carry on. If you have a problem with us not always getting along and us sometimes having our moments then don't let the door hit you on the way out.

I'm sorry you have to see this side of me, but come after this family and call us nothing more than a group of fucking assholes and see what happens next bitch. Cuz next time I won't hesitate to nane names.

#just dance #love you guys #sorry for that

[conjectureand-gloom]

youreverydaydemikid -> conjectureand-gloom (15/01/24)

welcome to my personal diary!

hi! my name is alex, and i’m a non binary lesbian demisexual person (they/them).

@YourEverydayDemiKid on both ao3 and wattpad, not active on wattpad whatsoever.

i’m really just here to chill, i’ll mainly just repost things i like. which will mainly be theatre things, and these theatre things will mainly be hamilton things. i also give out little sneak peeks to my fanfictions, so enjoy that!

i’m a minor, so just don’t be creepy.

INFP-T

ACDT (GMT+10:30)

if anyone wants any fanfic recommendations, check out this post!

lyn lapid side blog- @tlit21c

my pinterest

discord- #youreverydaydemikid

spotify- nahh (taylor’s version) - bc i ain’t telling y’all my deadname, and my parents won’t let me put it as alex lol

2023-24 writing/posting schedule

FANDOM LIST, FANFICTION REQUEST MASTERLIST, WRITTEN WORKS, WIPS, ASKS, AND TAGS UNDER CUT

——————————————————————————————

FANDOM LIST

hamilton (feel free to request any ships for hamilton fics, i love them all so much. and alexander is a DREAM for any multishipper)

jesus christ superstar (jesus/judas or jesus/judas/mary mainly for jcs, but feel free to ask if there are any other ships you want!! and no, i am not religious. i do, however, have religious trauma. don’t question it, i’m confused about why i’m in the jcs fandom too)

a good girls guide to murder (any ship. but like. pip/ravi is my favourite. ravi is my comfort character, and nothing can change that. i just torture pip relentlessly)

nevermoor (personally i’m a morrigan/cadence girly, but i tend to write more gen fics in this fandom, rather than shippy)

in the heights (canon ships mainly, but feel free to ask if you want any other ships!!!)

newsies (i tend to write more gen fics for newsies too, but dave/jack is my fav. also LOVE angsty crutchie fics)

keeper of the lost cities (preferably keefe/tam or marella/linh. but, once again, feel free to ask!!)

hunger games (gen, preferably. but i’m team peeta, in case anyone was wondering-)

maze runner (newt/thomas. idrk about many other ships, tbh)

divergent (canon ships only. and no, christina/tobias is not canon.)

six (gen all the way. they’re found family 100%, no romantic feelings there. katherine howard is my preferable torture toy btw)

the song of achilles (achilles/patroclus? literally what other ship even is there????)

wednesday (wednesday/enid. i feel like this requires no explanation. also. angst fics. i almost exclusively write angsty fics about wednesday, rather than enid. and i love the whole of the addams family, and i love familial hurt/comfort)

harry potter (DISCLAIMER: as much as i have tried to leave this fandom, it’s what makes me, me. i have been in this fandom since i was 7, and this was before jk rowling was revealed to be a shitty person. i’m a queer teen. i do not agree with any of her statements. the only way i engage with the fandom is through gay angsty fanfiction. fuck jkr. with that said, i write for any gay ship really!! i love them all!!! also, harry is my preferred whump character)

descendants (ben/mal ig, but i LOVE the VKs friendship so much. alsooo mal is my little angst toy lmao)

——————————————————————————————

FANFICTION REQUEST MASTERLIST

i’ll write any fandom listed above! i’m not picky at all! i love them all!

i’ll write hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort, whump, angst, fluff, romance, anything that isn’t smut. any AUs that you could think of, and literally anything. i’m not picky, once again. whump is my personal favourite, but i will write any genre!

i won’t write romanticised abuse, non/con, or anything like that. that’s not to say the requests can’t have dark aspects, but i won’t write romanticised stuff like that. not even going to apologise for that.

actually, on that, i don’t write any non/con, romanticised or not.

also, i won’t write omegaverse, nor will i write y/n fics. nothing wrong with those genres, i just don’t write them!

——————————————————————————————

WRITTEN WORKS

It’s Only A Matter Of Time- A Hamilton watches Hamilton fic

i wish i could say that was the last time

call me son one more time

when they surround our troops

then a hurricane came

take a break

and his right hand man…

she was holding me

the great war

achilles, come down

steal into my affections

the fact that you’re alive is a miracle

fools who run their mouths off wind up dead

to convince you that i love you

my father wasn’t around (febuwhump 2023)

philip, you would like it uptown (febuwhump 2023)

i may not live to see our glory… (febuwhump 2023)

an outrageous demand (febuwhump 2023)

stay alive (febuwhump 2023)

my dearest, angelica (febuwhump 2023)

but this situation’s helpless

like mother, like daughter (agggtm)

“but now this room is spinning…” (whumptober 2023)

“i’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back” (whumptober 2023)

“like crying out in empty rooms, with no one there except the moon” (whumptober 2023)

the entire exposé (not an original idea, inspired and based entirely off of ‘the price of his war’ by jittyjames)

my world is burning (not an original idea, inspired and based entirely off of ‘the price of his war’ by jittyjames)

——————————————————————————————

WIPS

can you hear me, achilles? (au to my fic ‘achilles, come down’ where alexander was caught)

je m’appelle… lafayette? (non binary lafayette- last chapter is in work)

bloom like rose thorns (angst multichap)

judas’ death (jcs angst)

lams (taylor’s version) (requested, taylor swift songfics for lams)

baby don’t cut (lams angst based on a song with the same name)

you’re the one who disappears (agggtm multichap)

whumptober oneshots

baby it’s cold outside (hamilton christmas oneshot)

——————————————————————————————

ASKS

please ask anything you’d like in the asks box. literally, i have no limits- mostly. but i’ll just ignore anything else. please request fanfics in my asks box, i’ll get to you within 6 months at the maximum… i also love fanfic recommendations, so if you have any hamilton fics you want to rec, please do!!

——————————————————————————————

TAGS

asks- all the asks i’ve answered, these are also tagged with the url, or with anon dearest if it was an anon ask

akeyla ml- posts about/with my incredible incredible partner @autumnleavesforwinter ❤️

tag games- self explanatory, tag games :)

sleep is overrated- me trying to fix my sleep schedule (this was started because of my post that made it to 10k)

#intro post #lgbtq+ member #ao3 #fanfiction #fanfiction writers #hamilton musical #amrev #jesus christ superstar #jcs #a good girls guide to murder #agggtm #nevermoor #wundersmith #hollowpox #in the heights #newsies #keeper of the lost cities #kotlc #hunger games #maze runner #divergent #six the musical #the song of achilles #tsoa #wednesday #harry potter #anti jkr #descendants #multifandom blog #multifandom fanfiction

[maddsmallow]

hi im gonna complain about people seeing hank and connor as father and son under the break so if you see them like that maybe dont read. like you do you but if this is gonna upset you then. dont fuckin read it lmao

if tumblr puts this in the fucking tags even tho i didnt tag it 1) im sorry, and 2) im gonna be fucking pissed im just trying to vent on my own got dang blog

cropped out the person who made these tags because i dont even know them and also im not a fucking asshole thats gonna put someone on blast like that but. this is the EXACT problem i have with hank and connor as father/son. i dont even mind connor seeing hank as a mentor or something like that (even tho i personally disagree with using the term "father figure"), but it's the "connor is like a new chance for hank to be a dad" that fucking gets me. do you not see all the different CANON reasons why that works completely against hank's character, and takes away connor's say in the whole situation?? hank IS a dad. he's a dad to a dead boy. basically his whole fuckin personality is him mourning over the loss of cole because he loves him SO much. you think he's gonna cling to the first mentee he's had since cole's death and immediately have him replace his dead fucking child? that's like, making hank give into some kind of fucked up delusion. that's mentol illness luv. imagine misunderstanding a character THAT badly.

and that isnt even getting into the whole "you're taking away all of connor's agency as a fully grown adult man" thing. he's not a child. he's an android that was activated only a few months ago, sure, but he was literally created to be like 27-33 or something. he deals with guns. he looks at pole dancers at the eden club. he works with murder scenes. you literally ARE taking away all of his agency as an adult man by seeing him as some little puppyboy that needs a dad to take care of him.

i mean of course you can take these characters and do whatever you want with them outside of canon, they're basically just barbie dolls lmao. but to claim that it's CANON that hank would think of connor as his own literal son, that he thinks that before the game's even over?? absolutely fucking not. those jokes of hank being like "who's my son?" and connor answering "me:)" and hank's relationship bar goes up, it's cute i guess but if that happened in the game? if that was a real choice in the game? hank would've shot connor without a second fucking thought. hell no hank would've thought connor was anything CLOSE to what cole was to him. hank straight up would've murdered the real connor and not even been upset about it when sixty told him so. david cage can eat my entire ass for agreeing that they're father and son, he just said that because he's a homophobic piece of shit, and that's literally the ONLY thing ever to point at them having that sort of relationship.

and i'm not gonna sit here and be like "but anyways here's all the reasons hank and connor are TOTALLY in love" because i dont actually think that's canon either. i'm just playing with them like barbie dolls lmao. my problem is people taking subtext that doesnt fucking exist of them being "like father and son" and claiming it's the be all end all of their whole relationship. their view of them as father and son is the ONLY way to see them. which is just not fucking true. there's NOTHING in canon to support them as being anything but close friends or enemies. that's it. and then they come onto these posts about hankcon, which obviously have NOTHING to do with them since they dont ship it, and tell the OP who ships them "fuck you." like?? you could have just scrolled. you could have just kept fucking scrolling. you fool. you moron. what happened to ship and let ship. just fucking move on, jesus christ. stop taking the time and effort out of your day to go out of your way to 1) make yourself upset by seeing this content and not just blacklisting it and blocking the posters, and 2) making someone else upset that you took the time to be a shithead on something that obviously wasn't even meant for you but made THEM happy. just stop !!! log off!! touch grass!! and this goes for hankcon shippers who do the same!! what the fuck is wrong with you!! we're all just here to vibe and love on these dork ass characters!!!!! fuck !!!!!!!!!!!

also it's super cringe when bryan dechart is playing the game and you're all screaming "wow best father son duo everrrrr" in the chat as if that also doesnt make bryan uncomfortable because he's gotta be super fucking careful about how he fuckin speaks about his character to everyone and not piss off all the rabid father-sonners by insinuating they're only friends. just. shut the fuck up. hankcon shippers who try to shove it in other people's faces also need to shut the fuck up. jesus fucking christ

IN OTHER WORDS. old man yells at cloud is basically me rn

^actual pic of me

anyways here's a cookie 🍪

#the blogger says words

[radiantlyrey]

Thoughts on Uprising ep14 “Tagged”

- note: we are now in Unknown Territory, for me! I have not watched any episodes past this point! all I know is what I’ve seen chatter about; that’s it!! SO LET’S GET STARTED.

- cold open: I see we have a team of feral dogs libertarian street artists making trouble in Argon! good thing they got away from the cops, at least?? (in re: feral dogs: Night Vale references? anyone? anyone?)

- “my fanclub strikes again” “you mean my fanclub” Tron are you being SASSY??? I agree with Beck, this is an improvement!!

- I get the sense from this conversation that Beck is still a little testy about his encounter with Cyrus, hence his insistence on bringing the street artists into the fold. Tron is advising caution, but I think Beck is feeling a little stretched thin by all this Renegade stuff and wants some, y’know, help. can’t say I blame the kid.

- then we cut to Paige dealing with a bomb threat on a train and it is lowkey kind of hilarious how she shoves the bomb squad aside and fucking opens the bomb herself—like girl!!!!! we have the bomb squad for a reason!!!!!!! STOP. thank god it’s just a paint bomb, cause she would’ve been derezzed instantly if it wasn’t.

- then Beck catches up with the artists three and basically does to them what Tron did to him; poses as a Black Guard and questions them and then reveals himself to be “Tron” aka the Renegade. also the subtitles totally gave away Mara’s role in the Jolly Tricksters, which… boo. but I love Beck’s obvious shock when he sees her; he was not counting on that! also Mara kind of flirting with “Tron” makes me (and Beck) uncomfortable…..

- meanwhile back at Tron’s, Beck tries to feel out why Tron chose him and also tries to suss out what, if anything, Tron will tell him about the Stranger/Cyrus. (again, not sure Cyrus actually introduced himself in the previous episode; I think I was too busy cussing to actually remember….) anyway, Beck wants Tron to tell him about Cyrus, but Tron is apparently pretending that chapter of his life DID NOT HAPPEN. (also Beck’s weird wrist circuits are still freaking me out………. hope they don’t prove significant in the future……)

- back in the main plot (though I’m surprised that this episode is ALL A-plot! no charming sideplot required, apparently!): Beck gets the Jolly Tricksters to do a distraction so he can sneak in and get some intel from Tesler’s ship. he’s in and out with no trouble, but then: trouble arrives!! in the form of Moog and Rasket who want to put a tag on Tesler’s whole ass ship. Mara is the only one of them with any sense, and she insists on going with the Renegade to get them back.

- so Moog and Rasket (Raskay~~ whatever your name is Rasket) do their big tag, and get fucking caught by Pavel. and taken to a torture chamber, essentially. Pavel’s doing that thing where he swings between silly and deadly serious and it’s a little terrifying. the torture device is horrifying and very much Do Not Want from me, like……… holy shit. and they don’t even shy away from showing it onscreen!!!! WHAT THE FUCK, SHOW. it’s like the creators realized Disney wasn’t gonna do shit to promote their show and just decided to do whatever!!!!!!!! jesus.

- Mara and Beck-as-Renegade save them tho!!! hooray!! and then Beck gives them all an assignment—keep the gate open—that Moog and Rasket immediately give up on and Mara, I can’t believe you thought you could control these two!! my god!!! but she manages to buy time for the Renegade as Beck is fighting Paige (there were some good shots in that fight btw) and they all just barely escape and ooOOF.

- less great that Moog and Rasket are out, and that Beck, as much as he needs Mara, can’t afford to put his friend in danger and essentially pushes her away. sigh.

- and then Beck and Tron have a conversation in PUBLIC ABOUT THIS???? AND TRON DON’T EVEN HAVE HIS FACE COVERED???????? the FUCK are you doing Tron???? GODDDDD.

- that said the coda of Mara doing another tag is glorious, and I hope we see more of her efforts towards revolution in the future. Beck is absolutely right: she really truly believes in the cause, and if (who she thinks is) Tron telling her he doesn’t need her doesn’t make her give up, then nothing will.

- all in all: fun little romp of an episode, and a very nice breather after the sheer fuck-inducing intensity of the previous episode.

#tronblr #tron #tron: uprising #skye liveblogs things

[aintgonnatakethis]

Thanks for tagging me @judgeverse ❤️️

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

16

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

108,855, almost all of that coming from this year as I spent the last few months of last year getting back into writing by telling myself 'I'm just going to write. I won't post, so I don't need to worry how good they are'.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Stargate Universe because those guys are in my brain and I'd die for them, but my next fic I'm posting is going to be Stargate Atlantis. I also have 2 WIPs from Durham County as my brain went 'hey the SGU fandom is pretty small... You know what would be really funny?'

Back in the day on ffnet (*checks* 15 years ago jesus christ!) I wrote for Doctor Who, Torchwood, Star Trek: TNG, Blakes 7, Invasion, X-Men: The Movie, Demons, House, NCIS, Prison Break, and Being Human. 87 stories with 169,449 words. I'll have a quick look through them and see if there's anything worth reposting, but I doubt it. 14 years olds aren't usually very good, ya know? Though I do look at Reviews: 220 and think yikes, I did not have social anxiety when I was that age did I?

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

down here they call us animals has 32, but the rest of them are single digits because SGU is such a small fandom.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Always, love talking to people about my fics and it's not going to encourage people to keep commenting if they get no response from the author. Sometimes it takes a while because my spoons can get funky.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

so i bite my tongue and hope for blood, where Telford gets sexually assaulted by a drugged Rush, then goes on a killing rampage with none of the recovery (if there even is any beyond pretending it never happened) shown and nothing is really resolved.

there was a devil in my soul i think we activated, set during 2x07 The Greater Good, extends the scene aboard the derelict spaceship between Young and Rush. Young has a ton of trauma about Carmen, David, Riley, and P2S-569, and ends the fic in a pretty suicidal place.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

This was a bit tougher to answer as I usually have some angst hanging around, but i'm a stolen car in a parking garage, where at the end Rush and Telford are bantering back and forth, sharing-time is happening, and they also have their first kiss in this fic, after having been fucking for a while.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Nah, it's much better than it was back in the day. At least in the fandoms I frequent.

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Oh, do I! 😄 Every gay kind that takes my fancy, from vanilla to super kinky. There are of course a few kinks I avoid reading/writing about as I'm sure everyone does, but if anyone has a specific kink they'd like to see me write hit me up and we'll talk!

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I'm afraid not. I'm just not that into them. 🤷‍♂️ (The fact that if I filter out crossovers on the SGU AO3 page I lose ~400 fics is a crime!)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Back in the day me and a friend wrote many hundreds of thousands of words RPing the 10th Doctor and the Master. RPing isn't allowed on ffnet so I received a warning and they deleted the fic. Thankfully I still have every single one of those fics due to being anal about backing stuff up on memory sticks, so if you'd like them @chosennightmares let me know. ❤️️

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Telford/Rush, if I have to pick just one, though I could chuck Young in there and go through every combination possible and still be very happy.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Nothing currently posted as due to having a lot of unfinished fics on ffnet I'm adverse to posting things without at least having an ending in mind. But there's an SGU fic titled Your Own Worst Enemy which was started in August last year and delves into rape recovery for Rush, Young, Telford, and Destiny herself. I need to be in the right headspace to write it and despite having 8 chapters of it completed I don't know how it's going to end up.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Developing different versions of Rush, Young, and Telford and have all of them still be in character despite being so different.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Getting the end of the fic written, knowing how to sign things off. The promised SGA fic sat 95% completed for fucking ages where all I could do whenever I scrolled to it was stare.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Knowing the state Google Translate is in, I probably wouldn't risk it, no. It does annoy me when I'm reading and I'm told to scroll to the author's notes at the bottom of the fic to see what's been said and then having to scroll all the way back up, potentially losing my place. Much prefer people using the HTML hover text option.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Doctor Who. My mum was involved in putting together Who Cons when I was a kid, so I grew up watching the classic series.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

a memory, a distant echo I really enjoyed writing it, fleshing out David's character, and really digging into his psyche. It's a tough read, but I'm very proud of how it turned out.

tagging @thestorieswesay @no-more-pawn @chosennightmares @galadhir @sga-owns-my-soul

#tag game #about me #writeblr #mine #judgeverse #long post

[macamadamia]

Sometimes, You Can Meet Your Heroes Chapter One

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51511717/chapters/130187266

Chapter Fic - Chapter 1 / ???

Ship: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating: Teen and Up

Chapter Word Count: 1000

AO3 Tags: Parent Dean Winchester, Parent Castiel, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Claire Novak is hell on wheels, Minor Character Death (before the story starts), Teen Claire Novak, Kid Ben Braeden, Mute Ben Braeden, Ex-Con Dean Winchester, castiel is doing the best he can

It’s been a year since Lisa’s death, and Castiel is struggling to help his grieving children. Claire has taken moody teenager to a whole new level, while Ben has retreated into silence. Claire might not share his DNA, but he raised her from birth, meeting Lisa when she was already pregnant. He doesn’t know anything about Claire’s birth father, apart from his name, and that he was in prison when Claire was born. He doesn’t want to know anything else about the man. Until Claire disappears in search of Dean Winchester.

Dean faintly hears the doorbell chime of someone entering the front office, but since he’s buried elbow-deep in the engine bay of a 1970 El Camino, he ignores it. The college kid who works the front desk was in today, and Krissy might be small, but she’s fierce, and would run interference on any customers. Happily. With a rifle, if he let her.

Usually, Dean doesn’t mind the customer service side of his business. He likes talking to people about cars, and he’s good at it, but today was a day he didn’t want to face the public He would have stayed home, only he’d probably end up day drinking until he passed out. The five-year anniversary of Benny’s death wasn’t a day he should be spending alone at home.

So, he’d come into work, told Krissy he didn’t want to be disturbed, and went to work on the recalcitrant El Camino Bobby had dropped off, that’d been taking up real estate in his garage for the last few weeks. 

With AC/DC blasting on the stereo in the corner, head under the hood of the El Camino, he doesn’t hear Krissy’s footsteps until she’s standing by his elbow.

“Boss?”

Swearing, he jumps and barely avoids colliding his elbow with the engine block. “Jesus fuck Krissy!” Reaching for a dirty rag, he wipes his hands as clean as he can. “What are you doing sneaking up on me?”

Fixing him with a level stare, she doesn’t even flinch. Any other day, he’d respect it. “There’s someone here to see you.”

“Tell them I’m not here.”

“Don’t know if I can do that, boss.” Krissy goes from glaring at him to studying her fingernails with their fancy manicure, the kind that’s never been seen in the garage before she started working there. “It’s a girl.”

He rolls his eyes, turning back to the El Camino and throwing over his shoulder “You’re a girl, you talk to her.” Maybe if he ignored her she’d go away, and he could go back to diagnosing what exactly the hell is wrong with the piece of junk Bobby dumped on him.

She’s undeterred though, opening her phone and doing something with it that ends with the music in the stereo cutting out.

“Boss. She asked for ‘that asshole Dean Winchester’.” Her face is serious, even with the ridiculous air quotes. She stares him down, and its Dean who blinks first. 

“Shit. Okay.” He wipes his hands again on the already dirty rag. “Lead the way.”

They stop by the sink for Dean to scrub his hands as clean as they’re probably ever going to get. His mind briefly flashes back to his dad – coming home with engine grease under his fingernails and on his coveralls.

He scrubs harder, trying to shake the image away. He doesn’t need any more memories today. He’d already run the full gauntlet when he woke up.

Krissy isn’t wrong. There is a girl in the front office.  Waiting by the desk, wearing a school uniform he doesn’t recognise from any of the kids he sees in the neighbourhood. Her head buried in her phone, radiating teenage attitude even at this distance.

She looks up when he opens the door, and he sees the flash of uncertainty cross her face before she schools it back into disinterest. But there’s tension there, Dean can feel it. She isn’t here looking for a job, and she isn’t a rich teenager wanting a custom upgrade to the first car their daddy bought them.

Dean doesn’t know what this is, but he’s got a bad feeling. And his bad feelings are usually right.

Krissy barrels straight through the tension, snorting and folding her arms to lean up against the door frame. “You wanted to see the boss. I found him for you.”

“Yeah, thanks Veronica Mars, I’ll put my check in the mail for you.”

Dean reaches out an arm as Krissy bristles and takes a step forward, shaking his head at her. “Krissy, why don’t you go out to lunch? Charge it to petty cash.”

Again, with the staring competition, but this time it’s Krissy who breaks away first. “Sure thing, boss. But if you need anything, I’ll be right next door at Beth’s.”

She leaves, nearly shoulder-checking the teenager on the way out. The girl flips her the bird. He doesn’t know what went down before he arrived in from out the back, but he’ll quiz Krissy later. He’ll probably get an earful off Beth as well, knowing Krissy she’s next door telling on him to the café owner.

The girl leans back against the counter, sizing him up. She doesn’t appear to like what she sees. “You’re Dean Winchester?”

He pastes an easy smile on his face, going for the charm that usually wins over his female customers. “Yeah, apparently. What’s with the attitude, Miley Cyrus?”

“Eat me, Hasselhoff.”

Charm doesn’t work, so he tries a new tactic. “Okay, cool it. Yes, I’m Dean Winchester. I don’t know who you are though, where the attitude is coming from, or what you’re doing in my garage when we’ve got a big old closed sign on the door.”

She dodges the questions. He sees that uncertainty creeping back under the bluff and bluster. “Why are you closed on a random Thursday, if you and the receptionist are here?”

He can play the avoidance game, too. He’s probably been playing it since before she was born, god help him. “Look. You’re clearly here for a reason. Let’s start over. I’m Dean Winchester, and you are…?” He stretches out his hand for her to shake.

After a heartbeat of hesitation, she shakes it. “I’m Claire Braeden-Novak, and I’m 15 years old and an Aquarius.” 

Oh. Maths was never his strong suit, but the numbers fall into place quicker than he’d like them to.

“My mom was Lisa Braeden.”

Oh shit.

“And you’re that asshole Dean Winchester who bailed on his pregnant girlfriend 16 years ago.”

Fuck.

#supernatural #ao3 author #fanfic #casdean #macamadamia's fanfics #destiel #spn fanfic #ongoing story

[winchestersheaven]

So this happened. I don't write sex, I don't even write hinting at sex (anymore), and yet. Welp.

@brobonebang showed up on my dash, I laughed and loved the whole thing (Wincest is one of like maybe 3 ships I actually read smutty fics for, and the only ship of those that I actually properly ship), then I went to check out the prompts, saw the laundromat one, and my brain said "What if we wrote that? Right now?" and I did. I'm still confused, but also happy, because I actually wrote something that I finished and, more importantly, feel good enough about that I want to share it. And that last point made me even more confused, because, again, sex. What.

Anyway.

I had fun writing, and I hope you have fun reading.

Edited by me, with the help of LanguageTool. Thank you to @rieraclaelin for reading it through for me and reassuring me it's okay to post it! Any remaining mistakes are my own, please leave them alone.

Warnings: Aside from what's already tagged, there are some small things I didn't want to tag because they're too minor, but that some people might want to avoid. • There's an OFC (this is where the exhibitionism comes in). She doesn't really see anything, and the brothers stop when there's a risk that she will. • Very brief cocksucking (and talk about future face fucking). • Very, very mild incest kink, imo. • And lastly, some mild teasing. If you think any of these deserves their own warning tags, please let me know so I can fix it.

In the Laundromat ao3

1895 words | Explicit fandom: Supernatural pairing: Wincest characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester tags: Established Wincest, Brother/Brother Incest, PWP, Bottom Dean/Top Sam, Anal Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Sam Has a Large Penis, Cock Warming

“Hey, I’m bored,” Sam said and slid his hand down the back of Dean’s underwear, rubbing the pad of his index finger against his hole.

“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean muttered. “Here?”

They were in a laundromat late at night, and while the late hour reduced the risk of other people coming to do their laundry, it meant the place was fully lit up and everyone walking by could see them through all the many windows.

“We’ve done worse,” Sam said with a shrug., removing his hand, only to return it a moment later with spit slick fingers. Dean’s cock twitched, and he let out a small groan. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean rasped, and Sam pushed his fingers inside him.

The double row of washers were between them and the entrance, Dean leaning against one of the washers they used with his elbows on top of it, so people wouldn’t see what they were up to unless they came inside. They could probably guess, though, but Dean didn’t get much time to worry about that before Sam pulled his underwear down his butt just enough to push his lubed cock inside him. That sneaky bastard. Dean’s eyelids fluttered as he breathed out a moan, and Sam gripped his hips and moaned against his neck.

They must be a sight, Dean in just a t-shirt, underwear, and shoes, with Sam standing behind him, wearing jeans and shoes, his naked chest pressed against Dean’s back as he pushed him against the washer.

Sam slowly fucked into him, keeping them fairly still as he kissed and mouthed and moaned on Dean’s neck. He snuck a hand down the front of Dean’s underwear, grabbing his cock, and Dean couldn’t stop a low groan.

The sound of the door opening had them both freezing on the spot, but the woman didn’t even glance at them as she walked up to a washer. Sam slowly straightened up and pressed his groin against Dean’s ass, gently rolling his hips as he filled him up.

Dean turned his head. “You bitch,” he breathed quietly enough that only Sam could hear him.

Sam chuckled against Dean’s hair. “Jerk,” he said, just as quietly.

He pressed hard against Dean, against the washer in front of him, and his light grip on Dean’s cock vibrated with the washer.

The woman slammed the door of her washer while Sam rolled his hips, then she sat down with a heavy sigh and pulled out a dog-eared book. She looked far away as she stared at the pages of the book, Dean doubted she was actually reading, or aware of anything going on around her.

Sam seemed to agree as he fucked into Dean, bending his knees to get the angle right. He kept his movements small and slow as he pressed Dean against the washer. But then the woman furrowed her brow, and Sam stilled again, wrapping his free arm around Dean’s shoulders, making it look like he was just hugging him from behind.

Then they stood there. Sam gently stroked and fondled Dean’s cock, and he occasionally shifted his weight and rolled his hips.

Dean wanted to fucking weep, he was so hard. He wanted Sam to grab his hips and fuck him hard, to bend him over one of the counters and take him apart with his cock. But he stayed still, just clenched Sam’s cock in his ass as he closed his eyes and tilted his head to press his mouth against Sam’s forearm.

Then the centrifuge cycle started, and Dean couldn’t stop a whimper from escaping as Sam’s hand vibrated on his cock. Sam’s soft chuckle jostled him gently, and Dean opened his mouth to put his teeth to Sam’s skin when he pushed his cock deeper into his ass.

It was a few minutes of torture, standing there pressed against a vibrating washer with Sam’s cock inside him, while Sam rolled his hips and fondled his cock. Sam put the head of Dean’s cock against the glass of the washer, and Dean twitched at the vibrations and muffled a moan against Sam’s forearm.

But then the centrifuge stopped and their washer was done, and Sam slipped out of Dean and nudged him to the side so he could open the door.

“Fucking asshole,” Dean muttered as he righted his underwear and uselessly tugged at his t-shirt in the hopes it would cover him up more.

Sam just grinned at him and gestured to the other washers they had running that were finishing up too. They moved all three of their loads to dryers, Sam had to tuck himself away and button his jeans when they started to move around, but the outline of his cock was clearly visible. And distracting as fuck.

“Come on,” Sam said once the dryers were going, and tugged Dean back to the washer. He wrapped his arm around his shoulders again and pressed his clothed erection against Dean’s ass.

“Bossy,” Dean muttered.

Sam laughed softly and nuzzled the side of his neck while slipping his free hand in between them to pull his cock out again. He tugged Dean’s underwear down, then slowly pressed his cock back inside him as he slid his hand around Dean and down his underwear to grip his cock.

“You’re comfy,” he said, and Dean huffed out a breath.

“Mhm,” he said.

Sam didn’t move, just stroked Dean’s cock while he leaned against him like the big lug he was. He sighed, seemingly perfectly content standing there with his cock in Dean’s ass while a woman tiredly stared unseeingly at a book just a few feet away. Dean tilted his head forward to hide a smile against Sam’s arm. He clenched around Sam, and the little hitch in Sam’s breath had his smile widening. But Sam quickly got his revenge, as he stroked Dean’s cock in a firm grip, making his breathing pick up no matter how hard he tried to keep it even and slow.

“Did you get a chance to look at the Cockatrice stuff, by the way?” Sam said, his voice low but not whispering, as if everything was normal and they were just having a regular laundromat conversation.

Dean lifted his head. “Uh, yeah, what the fuck was that, a rooster dragon medusa?” he said.

Sam probably rolled his eyes, his head shifted slightly behind Dean’s, but he pressed his mouth to the side of Dean’s neck in an almost-kiss. “Yeah, pretty much. Could be it,” he said.

“Mhm,” Dean agreed and clenched around Sam again. He didn’t like talking about their cases while they fucked, because it always made him horny while working their cases. But on the other hand, he liked tormenting Sam with his horny and he liked stopping for quickies in the car, so really, it wasn’t so bad. Except when they couldn’t pause for some release, but they usually made time.

Sam squeezed Dean’s cock and ran his thumb over the head in revenge, and Dean muffled his moan against his arm, while Sam kept talking about the case. It probably was a Cockatrice, but Dean wasn’t focusing too well on what Sam was saying, not when he kept stroking his cock and shifting his weight, pulling out an inch or two and then pushing back in, on a couple of occasions hard enough to make Dean grunt. He managed to keep the conversation going, but it was mostly to keep up appearances, to make it look like they were just standing there, hugging and talking.

He really fucking hoped the woman wasn’t gonna dry her stuff too, or they’d have to leave hard, and he hated leaving hard.

When her washer was on the centrifuge stage, Sam put his mouth to Dean’s ear to speak. “I want to bend you over the counter and fuck you, let her see you take my cock,” he said in a low whisper.

His breath made Dean shiver, and his words made Dean’s cock twitch.

Dean turned his head towards Sam. “Want to show off your big cock, baby brother?” he asked, just as quietly, smirking when Sam breathed out a small whimper against his cheek.

“Yeah,” Sam rasped, “and show her how well my big brother takes it.”

“Yeah,” Dean whispered. Fuck, she needed to leave ASAP, or they would have problems.

As if hearing his thought, her washer slowed down and came to a stop, and both Sam and Dean stood perfectly still, only Sam’s hand moved on Dean’s cock. The woman twitched when her washer beeped, and she quickly put her book away and stuffed her wet laundry in a bag, then she left the laundromat.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Dean said as soon as the door closed behind her.

“Yeah,” Sam said and grabbed Dean’s hips to pull him back and start to fuck him properly, finally letting him feel the full length of him. “Oh, fuck, Dean, I’m so close, Jesus.”

“Yeah, come on, baby,” Dean said, and Sam did the little whine-grunt he always did when Dean called him baby when they fucked.

“I’ve got you,” he grunted, fucking Dean harder.

“I want you to fuck my face,” Dean said, and Sam swore and came with a loud groan.

“Oh, fuck, fuck you, fuck,” Sam said, and Dean grinned.

“Okay, maybe later, then,” he said.

“God, shut up, fuck, come on,” Sam said, pulling out of Dean and dropping to his knees. Dean hadn’t more than turned around before Sam’s mouth was on him, sucking him in, and he shoved two fingers up his ass too, making Dean groan.

“Oh, God, Sammy, fuck,” Dean said, and Sam moaned around him. Dean’s eyelids fluttered, but he looked at Sam and smiled. “Yeah, you’re so pretty on your knees for me, baby.”

Sam closed his eyes and moaned again, but he quickly looked at Dean again, his eyes big. He knew exactly what he was doing to Dean, looking at him like that.

“Fuck me, Jesus,” Dean said, and came down Sam’s throat.

Sam sucked Dean through it and swallowed it all with a pleased smile on his face. He pulled off and the smile turned into a grin.

“Not Jesus, but—”

“Oh, shut up,” Dean interrupted with a short laugh, and Sam smoothly stood up and tucked himself away, still grinning. A grin that only widened when Dean pulled his underwear in place and made a face at how sticky he was. “Good thing we washed my jeans, they totally won’t be ruined on the way to the motel.”

Sam shrugged and put his own sticky fingers in his mouth, sucking his own come from them from where they had been buried in Dean’s ass just a moment ago, and Dean pushed his arm hard enough to make him stumble to the side and laugh.

“You’re so fucking gross,” Dean said.

“At least my jeans are still clean,” Sam said smugly.

“I changed my mind, I don’t want you to fuck my face,” Dean said. Well, he did, but he wanted to make him come in his own pants more.

“Sure, whatever you say,” Sam said. He knew Dean far too well.

-

They hadn’t more than closed the motel room door behind them before Dean was on his knees, pawing at Sam’s jeans to get his cock out. Eh. He’d get his revenge soon enough.

#Wincest #samdean #deansam #Wincest fic #Smowkie's fic

[whumpcereal]

I posted 614 times in 2022

That's 614 more posts than 2021!

209 posts created (34%)

405 posts reblogged (66%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@darkthingshappen

@oddsconvert

@whumpcereal

@hold-him-down

@peachy-panic

I tagged 594 of my posts in 2022

Only 3% of my posts had no tags

#behavior modification - 144 posts

#jack kenyon oc - 117 posts

#joe prescott oc - 94 posts

#ivan peters oc - 63 posts

#i love asks - 54 posts

#whump writing - 53 posts

#whump - 40 posts

#poor sweet baby ben - 37 posts

#the kennel - 33 posts

#tw noncon - 33 posts

Longest Tag: 122 characters

#jake also needs to realize that he's human and that he couldn't have stopped any of what happened to benny that first time

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Joe giving Jack a bath, and Jack thinks Joe is going to hurt/violate him (early rescue).

content warnings for: bbu/bbu-adjacent content (including the actual unboxing), creepy/intimate whumper, vague references to past noncon and trauma, dubcon nudity, conditioned whumpee, brief emeto mention

Jack sits in the tub, his knees drawn up to his chest. He doesn’t like this bathroom. The lights are too bright, and it’s too small. From his place in the bath, Jack can see veins of yellow-orange cigarette residue poking through the cheap paint on the walls. The tub is shoved in the rear of the little room, bordered by a shower curtain that Jack doesn’t recognize. The toilet and vanity are crammed in practically on top of one another; there’s barely enough space on the floor in front of them for the pilly bathroom rug. 

It shouldn’t feel claustrophobic–Jack’s spent enough time in the leather sack to know it–but it does. 

This isn’t home. He’s supposed to be home. But maybe Joe wants to keep him separate. Maybe they aren’t going to live together anymore. He’ll keep Jack locked up here, so that he can use him whenever he wants. Until Jack’s proven himself. That’s why Joe brought him here. 

No. Joe didn’t bring him here. Jack was sent. Shipped, like they promised he would be. That’s why he’s in the bath. 

He hadn’t meant to make a mess. But he didn’t know how long he’d been in the box. It was too hot, and he’d been so dizzy. He didn’t mean to do it. 

That’s probably why Joe’s face looked the way it had when he pried off the box’s wooden lid. He thought Joe would be happy to see him, that Joe would be proud to see how good Jack learned to be–but he wasn’t. Joe hadn’t smiled. He hadn’t said anything. He’d just frozen, his face twisted into an expression that Jack didn’t know how to read. 

That’s when Jack realized he was covered in his own sick. 

“I’m s-sorry,” he’d said immediately. And then he remembered. “I’m sorry, sir.” His voice had sounded funny and far away, like he was hearing it from the next room. 

He had the distant feeling that he should have felt something, like he should have been excited to see Joe after the months apart. But he didn’t feel it. He was too disoriented. Too frightened. 

He didn’t think Joe felt it either. 

“Jesus Christ,” Joe had murmured. He’d barely even looked at Jack. “Jackie–oh, Jackie, no–” 

Joe broke to his knees then, and Jack knew: he’d fucked up. He hadn’t worked hard enough. He hadn’t done enough to change. 

It was all for nothing. 

Jack is nothing.

Joe took Jack out of the box and carried him straight to the bathroom. Joe left, but Jack waits in the tub because Joe told him to stay there, and Jack will do whatever Joe says. He has to. Maybe it won’t make things right, but it can’t make anything worse. He can show Joe what a good boy he is now.

The water plops into the bathtub, splashing as it collects on itself. It’s warm, and the feeling isn’t unpleasant. Ivan only ever hosed him down in the shower stall, and he never cared much if Jack was comfortable or all that clean.  It was more about what he could reach when Jack was tethered to the shower floor. What he could do. What he always did. What Jack was meant for. Is meant for. 

Joe must want that too. He does. Jack knows it. Ivan told him so. 

Jack hears something crash in a room he can’t identify, and Joe curses. Jack uncoils and lets his hands drop into the shallow water. He hitches his thumbs into his soggy boxer-briefs. They’re heavy with water when he pushes them away, a black wad in the corner of the dingy tub. Jack is heavy too. But still, he presses onto his hands and knees. Position ten. That’s Ivan’s favorite. 

Maybe Joe will like it too. He’s never had Jack this way before. 

Beneath the water, Jack’s wrists are shrunken and white without their leather cuffs. His joints tremble and his ears are warm, but he knows what he’s supposed to do. The skin on his fingers and toes starts to prune, and the water keeps pouring from the tap. 

Joe rounds the corner, and Jack closes his eyes. He can do this. He’s been selfish long enough. Joe deserves to have what he wants, and Jack can give it to him. 

“Okay. Okay, baby–Jack. Jackie. I’ve got–” There’s a soft thump as something hits the floor. “What–what are you doing?” 

It’s a direct question. Jack can answer. But he doesn’t. The tub’s non-slip bottom bites into his knees. He’s shaking. He can’t look. He can’t. 

He thought he could do this. He wanted to be good for Joe. 

He isn’t good. He is only afraid. 

But he doesn’t show it. He stays still, and he waits. 

Joe must turn off the water, because Jack doesn’t hear it anymore. 

“Jackie–” 

See the full post

104 notes - Posted September 1, 2022

#4

behavior modification

WRU has hired renowned behaviorist Dr. Ivan Peters to refine their training protocol for Romantic acquisitions. When Jack Kenyon--the brilliant young partner of one of Ivan’s med school rivals--applies to be Dr. Peters’ research assistant, he has no idea what he’s signing on for. Maybe reblog or leave a note if you feel so inclined? This is my first real whump offering, and I’m excited! 

part one: jack and ivan at dinner

content warnings for creepy whumper, implied future captivity and noncon, dehumanization, and vague references to childhood trauma and specific psychiatric disorders 

The restaurant is crowded, but not too loud. It isn’t the sort of place that ever gets out of hand. White linen table cloths, soft lighting, a gentle undercurrent of piano, polished stemware—everything exudes taste and class. Ivan knows it’s impressive; doing business here always gives him immediate caché with his potential interns. They want to be what he is. They want what he has.

Jack Kenyon is no different. At least, in theory. He is young and eager. He is looking to improve his resumé before applying to doctoral programs. He’s heard of Ivan’s work and wants to be a part of it.

But Jack Kenyon doesn’t know that he’s already been handpicked for a very special project.

Jack says all the right things, of course, and as he talks, Ivan lets his eyes move over the boy’s face, his body. Darling Jack takes pride in his appearance, that much is clear. Straight shoulders, lean jaw. Dark hair, thick, but neatly trimmed. Big blue eyes beneath a fringe of black lashes, the kind people always say are wasted on boys. Lips, sweet and pink; one corner lifts higher than the other when he speaks.

Ivan’s fly is tight just imagining what he’ll be able to do with those lips, the way those eyes will look up at him when sweet little Jack is on his knees where he belongs.

Ivan smiles at the thought and takes a careful sip of wine. “So, you’d want to focus on trauma work?”

“I do.” Jack nods eagerly. “I—it’s very important to me.”

He looks at Ivan for approval. It’s cute, Ivan thinks, how badly Jack already wants to please him. That will be useful. But Ivan will not tip his hand. Not yet.

“And why is it so important?”

It is a pointless question. Ivan already knows the answer. He’s done his research. But Ivan enjoys seeing the sudden alarm in Jack’s eyes anyway; it suits him. It is an animal’s unconditioned response.

“Oh, uh—”

“You don’t have to say, Jack. Not if you don’t want to.”

But darling Jack knows better. If he wants this position, he has to answer. And Jack wants this position.

At least, he thinks he does.

“No. It’s fine. I—well, I was in the system when I was a kid.”

“Foster care?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose you saw a lot of things.”

“I did,” Jack says softly. “I was a really angry kid. Oppositional-defiant disorder, intermittent explosive disorder—”

“Post-traumatic stress disorder?”

Jack nods, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

Ivan’s seen the boy’s records, of course. Seven foster care placements before he was twelve, then a series of halfway houses and group homes until seventeen. And a stint in juvenile detention at thirteen, for attacking his foster father. The man had gone after Jack, and not for a beating. And Jack, sweet little Jack—he’d fought back.

Ivan hopes Jack still has some fight left in him. It’ll keep things interesting.

“But I got help,” Jack is saying. “There was—one of the group homes, it was actually run by someone who gave a shit—” he winces, and it’s adorable, “I’m sorry—someone who knew what they were doing. They hooked me up—connected me with my first counselor, and it was maybe the first time in my life I didn’t feel like what had happened to me was my fault. I—I’d like to do that for other kids—other people like me.”

Ivan nods. Jack will never do any of that, of course. But that doesn’t mean he won’t have his uses. Ivan will make sure of it.

“That’s a noble goal, Jack. To be of service.”

See the full post

109 notes - Posted May 5, 2022

#3

behavior modification, part eleven

&lt;previous, masterlist here

content warnings: EXPLICIT NONCON (touch & forced orgasm), adult language, creepy/intimate whumper, forced nudity, muzzles, restraints, stress positions, shock collars, dehumanization, humiliation, emotional manipulation, noncon kissing, implied future noncon

Thanks to @darkthingshappen for letting me run a few things by her!

part eleven, jack's consequences

“Now, you’ll stay this way until I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson.” 

Fuck. Jack tries to shake his head, but the distended heft makes his neck feel like it’s going to snap. He can’t stay this way. He can’t. Jack may not be a doctor, but he’s damn sure that people aren’t supposed to be left upside-down. Ivan has to know that. Doesn’t he? He tries to look at Ivan, but he can’t get his eyes to focus. Too many shocks. 

Ivan’s phone rings. 

Please! Jack shrieks. The word rockets up his throat, but it doesn’t make it any further, because there’s a fucking metal plate trapping his tongue. The only sound that comes out is an animal’s groan. But they have to hear him! They have to!  

Jack tries again to raise his head, but he can’t. It weighs a fucking ton, and with his arms wrenched back the way they are, he has no way to brace himself–his entire body shakes with the effort. Of course, Ivan designed it that way. 

The thought traps Jack’s breath. 

He tugs at his cuffs, but the movement burns all the way down to his calves. Jesus.  He’s trussed like game, for Ivan’s pleasure. He’s mute, for Ivan’s pleasure. He’s burnt and sick and so fucking tired, for Ivan’s pleasure. And he can’t even scream. 

He tries to wrench his mouth open, but the bit stays in place, and the leather of his muzzle glues itself to his sweaty skin. For the millionth time in the last forty-eight hours, his eyes sting with tears–only this time, they run up instead of down. 

The phone rings again, and Ivan glares down at him. 

“Don’t. Make. A. Sound. Or I’ll push this button until you have more in common with a potato than a man.” 

The thing is, Jack knows he will. He’s already seen the way Ivan’s eyes light up in the split second before the collar throws him to the floor. 

But what Jack didn’t realize is that he already thinks it might be a relief. To disappear. To not feel everything that’s happening to him–or everything that will happen to him. 

Jack doesn’t know if he can take it. Not again. And he doesn’t know if it’s better to be good or bad. 

He swallows his whimper and lets his body go slack. The blood rushes to his head, but this time, he doesn’t fight it. 

Ivan nods at him and taps his screen. “Dr. Ivan Peters?” 

For a moment, the only thing Jack hears is the roar of the blood in his ears–and then Ivan’s breath hitches. 

“Oh, uh, hello, Sergeant.”

Sergeant. 

It’s the police. The police are looking for him. Joe is looking for him and– 

“Would you mind holding for just a moment, Sergeant Wade? I’m in the middle of some work, and I’d like to keep my hands free.” 

The police sergeant must assent, because Ivan lays his phone down on the floor next to Jack’s chair. He kneels down and cups the back of Jack’s head in his hand, raising it so that Jack can’t help but look into Ivan’s steely blue eyes. 

“Are you there, Sergeant?” 

Jack knows Ivan’s speaking to the person on the phone, but his gaze is for Jack alone. Don’t make a sound, Ivan mouths again.

“Yes, doctor.”  It’s a woman. The sergeant is a woman. Her voice is kind, Jack thinks. She’ll help him. He knows it.  “Sorry to interrupt your morning,” she says. “I’m calling in regards to a missing persons report on a Mr. Jack Kenyon.” 

Jack’s tears cut a salty path into his hair, but he manages to keep himself still. He squeezes his eyes shut. Joe knows–he knows Jack wouldn’t run off. Joe knows Jack. Joe loves him. Maybe–

See the full post

116 notes - Posted June 9, 2022

#2

Obligatory Intro Post

I’m Kay, and after lurking around whumblr for the past year or so, I decided to make my own discreet side-blog so that I could join in the fun too. Even though I didn’t know what “whump” was until very recently, I’ve been digging on whumperflies my whole life. You know that scene in Aladdin where Jasmine gets imprisoned in the giant hourglass? Yeah. It probably started there. The whump community seems pretty supportive of one another and enthusiastic about each other’s content, so I thought I’d give it a try. 

Favorite Whump Tropes: Thanks to tumblr, I’ve found that I like captivity whump, pet whump, intimate/creepy whumpers, psychological whump, and a lot of the nsfwhump content that bounces around out there. (My writing will include all of that and may also include some non/dub-con elements--heads up!). 

Things I’m Not Into: I’m not super into high fantasy stuff, but I’ll give anything a try if I like the writer. Generally, I’m not aware of my hard “no”s until I accidentally stumble onto them, so I suppose I’ll update that as I figure it out.  

Favorite Whump Blogs: Absolutely loving @darkthingshappen‘s “Brother’s Keeper” series right now. Fell deep in love with @ashintheairlikesnow‘s Daniel Michaelson months ago. Have reread @card-games-and-pain‘s “Lonely Barricade” and assorted sundries more times than is appropriate. Binged @deluxewhump‘s Zee stories and loved them all. 

I’ve got the first bits of my own saga outlined, and I’m looking forward to sharing them (soonish?). Until then, maybe I’ll post a random whump drabble to help introduce myself. 

Greetings, whumblr! 

121 notes - Posted May 1, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

behavior modification master list

WRU has hired renowned behaviorist Dr. Ivan Peters to refine their training protocol for Romantic acquisitions. When Jack Kenyon–the brilliant young partner of one of Ivan’s med school rivals–applies to be Dr. Peters’ research assistant, he has no idea what he’s signing on for. 

Please see individual chapters for detailed and specific content warnings. This story will contain noncon elements [*]; proceed with caution!

behavior modification pre-timeline content: organized in rough chronological order

past snippet: jack's fourteenth birthday

-/-/-

part one: jack and ivan at dinner

part two: jack and joe, before captivity

part three: jack's abduction

part four: ivan welcomes to jack to captivity

part five: worries for joe, bath time for jack

part six: jack's intake interview (part one)

part seven: jack's intake interview (part two)

part eight: past, present, and future

part nine: breakfast time

part ten: jack learns his positions

part eleven: jack's consequences*

part twelve: ivan's apology

part thirteen: jack's last chance to feel*

part fourteen: joe and his mother

part fifteen: prelude to punishment

part sixteen: jack's first treatment*

part seventeen: deprivation

part eighteen: jack loses joe

part nineteen: case notes*

part twenty: yes, sir*

drabble: statue*

drabble: bravo*

drabble: good boy, sweet boy*

-/-/-

See the full post

193 notes - Posted May 21, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #i love that I reblog myself so often it showed up on this nonsense