#pink anesthetics | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sansxfuckyou · 1 month

Text

karma's the judge

Summary: Clay learns that Viva is pink down to her very core- well, more of a magenta color right under her skin, the deeper into her flesh the more purple it gets.

Warnings: gore, near death, hospitals, agony, i cannot stress enough that this is not romantic, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: me and @ohposhers got talking, I'm legally not allowed to say anything else about the convo aside from the fact it inspired this fic. title from FØØL, specifically the INHUMAN remix. hope ya'll enjoy and if ya do consider dropping a like or reblog, or checkin' the Ao3 port.

It's only a mildly horrific sight for Clay to see.

He's lying actually.

The sound of the predator running off into the underbrush is still heavy in the air with cracking branches and rustling leaves. It echoes in his ears; that and the sound of Viva's laboured breathing. Her breath stutters as she wheezes, paw hovering over the bright blue shards in her chest and stomach. She's shredded in every sense including literal.

"C-Clay," Viva barely manages to get out, fat tears rolling down her face as agony surges through her. Neon magenta oozes out of rended flesh and seeps into fabric and slides down from her nose. Ears downturned and claws detracted, she's still in fight mode even though she should've ran with the rest of them.

Words are failing to form for Clay as he takes hasty, yet tentative, steps closer to his companion. Then she coughs, she sounds like death incarnate. Wet and shaky; phlegmy blood spills past her teeth and the gouges in her torso bubble up with her blood, the glass sinks deeper into her flesh. She's curling in on herself as she shudders and shakes and loose flesh trails on the dirt in stringy tendons. She grips for the shards to pull them out but even with adrenaline she's still fading fast. Her eyes flutter shut as the sharp edges slice her hands open to match the rest of her torn up body.

Viva falls limp and Clay is just frozen as he stares at their leader. Her chest rises and falls impossibly slow, she should be dead but she isn't and that gives just enough kick to get Clay to move and save her. Try to at least.

Clay drops down beside her and runs a paw across her wounds, checking the depth and the intensity aside from looking so bad it makes him feel nauseated. She shudders in her passed out state, tensing and flexing her claws against the unknown. The blood on his paws contrasts his own fur so much it makes him gag, the slimy texture of coalescing and cooling Pop Troll blood; it's lukewarm and drips but it's thick with bits of flesh. He wants to hurl as he shuffles Viva around a bit, she curls and shifts and hisses in her restless and forced state of sleep as he tries to help her.

Her cape is slowly wrapped around her body and her blood clings to the tufts of fur on the bottom and collar of the cape. The capes exterior doesn't hold in the blood, at all. Instead the magenta substance just slides off it, seeping through the fabric interior and slowly dripping down pieces of faux grass. Her breath heaves and her body is near entirely limp as it's restricted, Clay has to keep her head from hanging awkwardly and further straining her body as he carries her.

-/-/-/-

Viva jolts awake, body tingling with anesthetic that hasn't fully worn off. And as fast as she's shocked herself upright she's buckling in half due to an agonizing pain shooting up from her abdomen to her sternum. She clutches desperately only to find a similar pain resting heavy in her arm. Only then does she let her vision register as a train of thought in her head instead of bouncing from reflex to reflex.

White bandages wrap her arm and she isn't wearing a shirt, her entire torso is wound up in gauze that's a blend of magenta and almost purple with the darkness. She uses her other paw to touch it, and it's almost damp, that makes her stomach turn. She presses a bit more, higher up, and then she hits stitches left uncovered almost at her clavicles.

She glances down further and finds her leg covered in a thick layer of gauze, she can barely move her toes with how tight it is. And the magenta. She feels ill as the scent of drying and gelatinizing blood really sets in as hers instead of some other Troll in the medical ward.

Viva tries to move again, get off the bed and walk purely to spite the agony ripping through every wound on her (some unstitched but she can't tell with how much gauze she's wearing). Her paws rest shakily on the cot and so little effort leaves her winded, struggling to breath instead of cry out in pain. She's the leader. She has to be strong.

The second her toes hit the floor she swears she can hear something snap and she screams. Every torn tendon and string of muscle in her leg tries to fire all at once, preemptively activating to hold her weight, and the rush of blood darkens her gauze. It hurts enough to push her to tears as she falls back on the bed and clutches her leg. The agony in her arms and torso doesn't do much to deter her from holding the wound even as the sheets below her start to turn pink.

"Viva!"

Clay, it's Clay whose coming and closing the door behind him and rushing over. She bites back sniffles and pathetic little sounds as she lets go of her leg and relaxes just a bit. Her body lays prone on the cot, arms at her side and legs loose as Clay comes to her side.

"You were supposed to be out cold for fifteen more minutes," Clay said quietly. Then he laughs a little bit, awkward and forced, "I should've known you'd fight through the anesthetic though."

Viva laughs too even though there's nothing funny, "What happened?"

"You don't remember?" Horror rests heavy on Clay's voice as he speaks.

Viva rephrases, "How am I still alive?"

"Look, all I can't find any logical reason as to why considering how wrecked you were. But let's just take it and run." Clay's eyes linger on the darkness of Viva's terribly done excuse of a cast. He should've added more layers of gauze, or made actual casting materials.

"Did anyone else get hurt?" Viva asked, trying to sit up but pushed back down by Clay. She reluctantly stays still.

"No one else got hurt, the tribes really, really worried though," Clay said quietly, "But I have everything under control, just stay in bed till you're healed up."

Viva's blood goes cold at the notions of being bedridden for music knows how long. Her eyes widen a little bit and she stares at Clay, "What are you planning, Clay?"

Clay laughs nervously, "Nothing much, ya know, just taking reign until you're better."

"What."

"For your own health! It'll be fine!"

Viva gives a long sigh as she closes her eyes, "Don't mess it up, Clay."

"I won't! Besides, I've been doing the legal stuff, it'll be fine."

"Have fun socializing and being the funboy again."

Clay swallows hard. Right. Funboy. He'll have to be the funboy again. It makes hims stomach knot but he nods along because he knows. Being the funboy, he's pretty sure the notions alone make his mind flood with dysphoria.

But for Viva's sake?

He'll manage.

#trolls #trolls fanfiction #clay trolls #viva trolls #trolls viva #trolls clay #trolls fanfic #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #tw gore #tw injury #tw hospital

245 notes · View notes

porcelainseashore · 2 months

Text

Ghosts from the Past (7)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Agent! Leon Kennedy x Dancer! Informant! Fem! Reader

Summary: 7 years after leaving behind everything you’ve known, you’re suddenly thrust into facing a ghost from your past, Leon. Navigating where you stand with him brings up old memories, painful truths and countless questions. At the same time, you have to deal with a bunch of strange occurrences at your dance company. Set after Resident Evil 4 Remake.

Warnings: 18+ Swearing, Recreational Drug Use, Alcohol, Eventual Smut, No (Y/N), Canon-Typical Horror and Violence, Blood, Injury, Torture, Infection, Medical Experiments, Psychological Trauma, Nightmares

Content: Post-Resident Evil 4, Exes to Lovers, Partners to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, Romance, Fluff

Author's Note: Just a quiet, little chapter to bring this series to a close. I’ve returned to my fluff roots, so expect that, some hurt/comfort and domestic coziness. Thank you’s will be at the end!

AO3 Link

Chapter 7: Begin Again

It felt like you had been in the strangest dream, one which you couldn’t recall the contents of, the next time you opened your eyes. You awoke in the sterile brightness of a hospital room, tubes trailing from your arms and the steady beep of the monitor synching with your heartbeat. Everything was still in a haze and your mind was foggy, like you had been anesthetized.

Something was clutching your hand. Another hand? You wriggled your fingers, trying to get rid of the sensation of pins and needles that hung heavily to your entire body. The smell of earth, rusty metal, and sweat permeated the air, triggering a brief memory that encapsulated what had come to pass. Your gaze landed on a light blonde mane at the side of the bed, matted but radiant like a golden halo from the sunlight that filtered into the room.

Then, it shifted groggily, and a face which had initially been buried under the blanket and sheets, slowly peered up at you. Blinking a couple of times as if he couldn’t trust what he was seeing, his grip around your hand tightened.

“Leon?” You called out, your voice crackling and raspy, like a dry sheet of paper.

His face was bloodied and bruised, but a slanted smile lit up across it. You noticed that he was still in the same combat gear from the time at Silje’s underground lair, apart from his firearms and knife, which were unholstered and secured by the bedside table. He looked like he hadn’t showered for days. How long had you been here?

As you tried to sit yourself up, a dull, aching pain coursed through your left shoulder, causing you to emit a low groan in discomfort. Leon planted a hand gently on your chest, motioning for you to lay down. “No, baby. You need to rest.”

Brushing the back of his fingers against your cheek, he echoed the promise he had made to you, “I told you I wouldn’t let them get you.”

“I never doubted that.”

Closing your eyes, you cupped your good hand over his. He dipped his head and his silken lips met yours, soft and cautious, as if you were a precious treasure. Your noses nudged each other and his warm breath tickled your skin, as he kissed you tenderly, tasting and breathing every essence of you in.

The sound of someone clearing their throat sharply interrupted your private exchange. Leon pulled away at lightning speed, as if he had been caught red-handed stealing candy from a baby, and you observed a dust of pink spread over his cheeks, as he looked down towards the ward floor. It reminded you of the times when you were younger and he was still figuring out his feelings for you, so much so that you giggled involuntarily in response. He delivered a piercing side eye that came with a hint that you were going to be in trouble later. You bit your tongue, trying to reign in your laughter.

“Oh, great, I see you are awake,” the nurse who had chanced upon your clandestine moment sighed warily.

“Mr. Kennedy,” she nodded in his direction, both in acknowledgement and as a subtle indication that he had overstayed his welcome. “I still need to run the last screening tests on the patient.”

“Was just about to-”

“Hmph.” She wrinkled her nose, shaking her head in disgust. “You should do something about that god awful stench!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes as he got up to leave.

Turning towards you, he gave your hand another lingering squeeze. “I’ll be back within the hour.”

“Make that two,” the nurse asserted sternly. “Personal hygiene, Mr. Kennedy,” she pointed out again, as he waved her off dismissively, silently striding out of the room.

Eventually, you were informed that you had been cleared of the infection, largely thanks to the serum Leon had administered to you on-site. They had to extract the remaining lumps of mold from you when your body had stabilized after the blood transfusions. So, you were free, but still being monitored, just like the other dancers who had been infected. Except, they were kept in the dark about their treatments and were never told the truth about their symptoms.

Your snapped shin had healed up pretty well due to the mold, but unfortunately your shoulder would take a longer time, meaning that you wouldn’t be able to dance professionally for a while. It was too early to tell if this spelled the definite end of your career, but you tried to stay positive despite the obvious setbacks.

The theater base where The Connections had operated out of had been successfully closed down by Leon. Under the guise of discovering some unexploded World War II bombs, the area had been cordoned off, so that whatever remained of the place could be cleared out. It wasn’t as stealthy as the government had hoped for, but it did the job.

Things didn’t look so bright for Silje’s dance company however, as she was declared missing without any real leads, while your colleagues mourned her loss. The secret of what had actually transpired stuck with you, eating into you little by little each day, until you decided to steer the course of events in your own way. Before you were finally done with your life in Berlin for good, you had contacted the group of principal dancers, who were left lost without a leader. You attempted to convince them to take over the company as a collective, so as to honor Silje’s work as best as possible. In the end, she had become a monster, but you still loved her somehow. Maybe this would help to ease the guilt you felt, despite being thrown unwittingly into a situation you had no control over. You weren’t sure what results came out of your talk with your co-dancers, but you were hopeful that they would at least try.

The first few months of settling back into your home country was daunting initially. You’d not visited since you’d left. You hadn’t seen a reason to, only giving your parents a handful of calls each year, so that they knew you were alive.

Leon had been by your side throughout your adjustment, and you appreciated him all the more for it. He was there during the bumpy road of recovery, where every move or touch hurt. Coughing, sneezing, and even breathing aggravated it. You’d roll over in your sleep and wake up in pain. He was there to comfort you when your physical state started to affect you mentally. You weren’t the same person anymore, you felt weak and crippled. Then, the nightmares came to haunt you, causing you to shun what you had loved doing since you were young, which was to dance.

But Leon never gave up on you. He knew about the effects of muscle damage and the trauma you were suffering from, because he had been through it all himself. The main difference was that back then, he had no one with him to turn to, and he didn’t want the same to happen to you. As you began to heal, your mood lightened. It slowly felt like you could breathe again. You started taking turns caring for each other when the night terrors came. You’d learnt from him how to handle them and what the other person needed in the moment. You supported him as much as he supported you. And for that, he was grateful.

Even though blood no longer seeped through your dressing and most of your movement had come back, your body still remembered the pain. You’ve come to accept that it’ll always be a part of you and never go away. Now, you and Leon have matching pink scars on the same shoulder - a testimonial of the sacrifices you’ve made in the past. But you lived on to tell the story together.

━━━━━━━━━━━

It was one of those rare days where neither of you had woken up in the night with a start, sometimes screaming and breaking out in a cold sweat. However, you'd realized that such nights were gradually becoming less frequent.

The first rays of morning light slipped through the sheer curtains of the window of the bedroom you now shared with Leon, in the northeast of DC. It was a quieter, more residential part of town, that reminded you of where you grew up, though the irony of it was not lost on you. No matter how far you’d tried to run away from home, it still managed to catch up to you.

Casting a warm glow across the room, the light illuminated the dust motes dancing in the air and a couple of moving boxes stacked along the wall, which you had yet to unpack out of procrastination. A pair of arms were wrapped around your abdomen, cradling you like a bird’s nest; your very own sanctuary against the outside world.

You sighed in bliss, enveloped in their tranquil embrace. It looked like it was going to be another lazy Sunday, but you couldn’t complain. Recently, you had finally plucked up the courage to connect with your dance roots again, by teaching it at the college nearby. So, weekends were reserved for quality time with Leon, which you cherished, seeing as he could be whisked away for missions without much warning.

As the light crept over the edge of the bed, the body next to you stirred. Chasing away sleep from his eyes, Leon rubbed them and yawned, kissing your neck as he murmured into your hair, “Is this real?” He pinched your arm, causing you to yelp and smack his hand playfully in return. You felt his smile against the back of your head.

“Cut it out.” You couldn’t keep a serious tone and he knew it. Turning to face him, you raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Come to think of it, I should be the one asking you that question.”

“Oh?” He humored you, waiting for your comeback in mild amusement.

“Talk about seeing a ghost from the past,” you teased.

He scoffed, before claiming your lips lovingly with his own. Taking in the sight of the room once more, he discovered a new addition to the wall. It was a photo booth strip of the two of you pulling silly faces back when you were teenagers and best friends. You had unearthed it by accident from one of the boxes not long ago.

“When did you put that up?” He probed out of curiosity, seemingly surprised at your ability to collect and preserve memories.

“Just yesterday.”

“Mm.” He carded his fingers through your hair, reliving the happiness encased in those set of photos. “We’ll make new ones.”

New memories to decorate the rooms and hallways with. His apartment used to be cold and bare, merely functioning as a place to sleep, when he drowned himself in work as a distraction from the circumstances he had been forced into. He didn’t have someone to come home to. But now he had you. You started to fill the space with pieces of him and you - CDs of your favorite bands that you’d gifted each other like personalized mixtapes, old love letters containing your heartfelt confessions, a potted cactus plant from Hunnigan, a handmade greeting card from Sherry, a pile of vintage books from Claire, yellowed and worn at the edges… You’d arranged them diligently while he was out, busy at the office or in the field. As time went by, it grew more vibrant and bit by bit, it became a place both of you called home.

“You’re not going anywhere today, are you?”

You drifted back from your reverie at Leon’s question. “No?”

“Good.” He drew you in closer, pulling you flush against his bare chest. “I’ll have you all to myself.”

He couldn’t get enough of you these days. Maybe it was the near-death experience or the thought of losing you again. He knew he had to ease up on his overprotectiveness at some point, even though he was afraid that the idyllic bubble you had built together might burst. The government had retired you from your duties for now, as you were no longer infected and had been relocated for your safety. However, you weren’t far out of their reach. They still monitored you from behind the scenes and Leon knew it was only a matter of time before they came knocking on the door again. A government lackey never truly retired. But he would be there beside you, making sure you wouldn’t get the short end of the stick again, even if it meant giving up something else in return. Somehow, both of you would find a way.

This time, it was your peck on his nose and prompting that brought him back to reality. “Don’t forget about the call.”

Right. That call. He sighed hesitantly. “What should I say? They probably won’t-”

You caressed his jawline stubble with your knuckles soothingly. “They will,” you affirmed. “You’re their son, and they love you.”

He looked at you almost teary-eyed as you pressed your lips against his, coaxing a faint moan from his mouth. “I’ll be there with you,” you reassured him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, before a spark of recognition kindled in his eyes. “You hear that?”

The distant sound of a familiar guitar melody played on the radio alarm clock. As the male singer crooned in a husky tone, you grinned. It was cheesy, but it was the song you had danced to with Leon on your graduation night.

“May I?” He asked, offering his open palm to you, beckoning you to join him. Rolling your eyes in mock exasperation, you smiled and gave in. You grabbed his hand, rose to your feet and positioned yourself with him on the bedroom floor. Every now and then, he would try to help you form new associations with dancing, to replace the negative ones you had developed from the incident.

Your hands rested around his neck and his arms encircled your waist. He led and you followed, allowing him to guide you with each step and turn to the music, just as he had done so many years ago.

“What do you think our lives would’ve been like, if things were normal?” He reminisced out of the blue. “If Raccoon City didn’t happen?”

Gazing up at him reflectively, you paused for a moment in silence to contemplate the points he was raising.

“I guess I would’ve still been a cop,” he answered first, his voice tinged with bittersweet longing.

He pushed it down by cracking a joke at your expense. “But then I’d have had to see about that habit of yours.” Placing his mouth to your ear, he whispered, “My little pothead cheerleader.”

You groaned, punching his arm in a futile effort to wipe off the smirk that was plastered across his face.

He laughed in response, before his expression turned somber again. “I would’ve liked you to live with me though.”

“I know,” you admitted wistfully. “And if we could turn back time, I’d have said yes, over and over, undeniably.”

Nestling your head into his neck, you continued, “When you were gone, I would’ve done anything to bring you back.”

“Baby…” his voice trailed off as he tucked his fingers under your chin, tilting your face towards him.

“I know what we have now isn’t perfect, but I wouldn’t change it for the world,” you professed, ultimately realizing it was better to live with Leon in the present than the past.

“Neither would I,” he concurred softly. “This is more than enough for me.” Closing the gap between the two of you, he deepened the embrace, and his lips found yours, sealing them together like a bond that couldn’t be broken.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Endnotes

So, that was the very final chapter! In case you’re interested, I imagined Leon and Reader living in Brookland and the song they danced to was Iris by Goo Goo Dolls.

It’s been an amazing journey with each and every one of you. Thank you for all your kindest words and support, my heart is full! I’ve never ever completed any of my previous fics, so I’m ecstatic that this is the first of its kind 🥰

Special thanks goes out to:

AliBelleRosetta, whom I’ve shared many fun brainstorming and venting sessions with.

Cameron, who looked through my work whilst dealing with my Leon fangirling.

Another shoutout I’d like to do is for a fic I was inspired by, and got me thinking about creating my own series. If you like, check out Chance Encounter by Iabyrinth.

Finally, I’m still deciding what to write next. I have a couple of ideas for one-shots that I might want to try my hand at. But feel free to let me know if there’s anything else you’d like to see in the comments. Thank you once again!

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy fluff #re4 leon #re4 remake #resident evil 4 #resident evil #porcelainscribbles

119 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 10 months

Text

Unexpected 39

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, post partum, csection, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The doors of the operating room fade behind you as the anesthetic takes you under. The splitting pain dulls as you sink beneath the veil of artificial sleep. Laced within the clouds of your unconscious you hear the beeping of machines, the clinks of metal tools in the tray, and the deep voice of your unshakeable pest; Lloyd Hansen.

The dread and horror are equally muddled by the intravenous flow. You feel a distant tugging, a plucking deep within, and somewhere beyond, you hear squalling. You’re vaguely aware of the sudden weight taken from you, and that new one that settles in its place. Tight and tender.

You float back to the surface slowly. Wading up above the layers of oblivion until you hear that steady rhythm, feeling it in your chest. That incessant tempo of your pulse mirrored by a digital beep. You groan and suck back a dribble of drool along your lip.

A longer, louder noise rolls from your throat. The pain nips its way through and your lashes flutter lightly, giving short glimpses of the world that awaits you. You hear fussing, low whispers and the soft murmur that responds. Hushing and humming that draws you in.

“Grhhhhsh,” the gibberish slips from your lips and your hand bounces off the rail clumsily.

You open your eyes, vision fuzzy and ears thrumming. A shadow approaches as you turn your head, blinking as you try to see past the sheen of sleep. You smile dopily as your head swims. Your other hand lingers on your thigh and you cautiously feel higher; you’re now doughy where the flesh was once taught.

“Bay-bee,” you pronounce, “girl.”

“Ah, sweet cakes, yes, you have a beautiful daughter,” Dottie’s voice drips into your ears, comforting you as it pools in your chest, “she was just lookin’ for ya.”

“Dot,” you utter weakly.

“Yes’m,” she touches your arm gently, “you want the precious bean?”

“Dot,” you open and close your hand, reaching for her without finding her, “where… Lllllll.” you swallow and lean back heavily, “tired.”

“Here,” Dottie leaves you, returning in an orb of red and pink. She takes your arm and hooks it around the warm bundle she eases onto your chest, “there, there. Look at that cute little peach.”

You look down. You feel the tiny form squirm and your eyes pinpoint on her face. A baby. Your baby? Yes, your daughter. The girl without a name.

“Harlan’s just gone to get the nurse,” she comforts as she stays close, “we’re just waiting to get the paperwork done. She needs a name and all that.”

You stare at the infant. Your heart feels like iron. Still and cold. You curl your lip and turn your chin up.

“Take her,” you murmur.

“You okay, darling?” She rubs your shoulder.

“I said take it. Now,” you demand harshly, “I don’t… I can’t.”

“It’s alright,” Dottie lifts the child from your arm, “you been through a lot, we’ll just give you some time to get your bearings.”

You scowl and don’t say how you don’t think you’ll ever want to hold that thing again. The way it wriggles and whimpers, so quietly. It’s so light and small, it may as well be nothing.

“Well, whatcha wanna call her?”

“I don’t care,” you sniff, “ask him.”

“Well, we had some ideas but Marion didn’t say which he liked,” she explains as she lays the baby back in the small rolling crib.

“How about Marion? After the father?” You snap dryly.

“Hmm, I dunno,” Dottie hums, “you want some water, I got some here–”

“I don’t want to be here,” you retort and immediately cringe, “I’m… sorry, I’m just…”

There’s no way that baby is yours. You can’t remember anything more than the gripping agony in your gut. And now, the pain persists. All that and for what?

“I’m tired. Hurting,” you lie, only in that it’s not the reason you lashed out.

“Right, honey, that’s okay,” she assures once more.

“Just going to doing a check,” The nurse enters.

You glance up and see Harlan dip in behind her. You smile at him and search behind him, expecting another to follow. Nothing but an empty doorway.

“How’s the pain, scale of one to ten?” The nurse asks as she fiddles with your IV.

“Ten,” you grit out.

“Mmm, we’ll see what we can get you for that,” she says, “gotta make sure you’re able to feed your daughter.”

You frown. Feed? You look down at your swollen chest and moan at the fullness that throbs in your tits. Fuck.

“We can have an advisor come to help you with latching,” the nurse offers, “you should feed soon.”

“Fine,” you shrug. “When can I leave?”

“It’ll be a couple of days so we can keep an eye on your recovery. We’ll make sure you know the proper aftercare before you’re discharged.”

“Days?” You grumble.

“Yes, you have a new incision so you can’t be moving too much. Once you’re home, you’re going to be limited, no lifting, no strenuous activity…”

“Great,” you shake your head.

You stare at your body, deformed beneath the flannel blanket. You can feel it. You're totally ruined. You weren't ever a supermodel but the damage is done. Worn and loose and gross.

“Baby’s getting hungry,” Dottie says softly, “please send in the therapist so we can get her fed.”

You stay silent. The nurse leaves as you glare at the door. He has to show up any minute now.

“Where’s Ll–”

“Now we were just talking about names,” Dottie interjects, “Harley, why don’t you tell her the one you liked.”

“Oh, uh, hope I’m not to forward sayin’ so,” he says.

You look at him. Just say it. At this point, they can choose.

“I liked Luna,” Harlan says, “cause that little moonlight in her nursery, ya see… always liked the looka the moon.”

You nod. It’s pretty. You can’t think of much else and they definitely wouldn’t want you calling her the leech.

“I like Luna,” you agree flatly, “fine with me.”

“Well, that’s a nice name,” Dottie chimes, “yeah, Luna, it suits her. Shining and all.”

“Where is Lloyd?” You ask curtly.

Dottie smiles and looks at Harlan. His lips are straight and set. He swallows tightly.

“Now, hon, he… just went out to deal with some stuff, to make sure you can go home,” she explains, “I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

“Oh.” You accept bluntly. “Right.”

“Too bad you didn’t see him,” she takes out her phone, “but I got a picture.” She holds up the screen to show you the image of Lloyd holding the bundle child. His eyes are wide as he stares at her. “Baby looks just like you, sweetheart.”

“Does i– she?” You ask.

“Well, I think so,” Dottie says, “but you know, babies always take after their daddies early on.”

You nod and play with the string of the linen gown. You watch the door. Waiting. This isn’t your mistake, it’s his.

#unexpected #lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #drabble #series #au #sequel #the gray man

275 notes · View notes

typicalbrainchaos · 2 months

Text

Women in Gaza give birth by C-section without an anesthetic.

Their uterus is removed due to complications.

Their children die in their hands

They lose their husbands and families

Women in Palestine were subjected to rape and abuse, according to a report by the United Nations and countries, and all those who thought to them would throw away PINK AID!!!!!!

#gaza #free palestine #free gaza #palestine #gaza strip #gazaunderattack #fucking hell #save gaza #freepalastine🇵🇸#idf #palastinian women

82 notes · View notes

staydandy · 4 months

Text

Duel (2017) - 듀얼 - Whump List

List by StayDandy Synopsis : Jang Deuk Cheon, a hardened detective cop whose daughter is kidnapped, begins a chase against great odds to solve the mystery of his situation and find his child before it is too late. He starts to hunt down the suspect using the one clue he has: Two men with the same face were at the crime scene. (MDL)

Whumpee : Lee Sung Joon (right) / Lee Sung Hoon (left) played by Yang Se Jong

Country : 🇰🇷 South Korea Genres : Thriller, Mystery, Sci-Fi

Notes : This is a Full Whump List • This is the a revision of my Partial List, which only had 4 episodes listed, and only featured Lee Sung Joon as the Whumpee. • My favorite episodes are pink : 00 • TW : animal cruelty (dog fights)

Related List : Duel (2017) - partial list

Episodes on List : 14 Total Episodes : 16

*Spoilers below*

01 : Lee Sung Joon's hand is bandaged, kicked in the face, dragged by hair, thrown to the ground, beat up, hit with a mop-stick, scared, hyperventilating … [flashback] Lee Sung Hoon is in a fight, hand cut … [present] Sung Joon is handcuffed

02 : … continued from previous ep. ... Kicked, has amnesia, arrested … causes a car crash, head bleeding … almost falls off a building, thrown to the roof, choked, [flashback] in hospital bed, hand cut, in & out of consciousness … [present] interrogated … head pain, traumatic flashbacks … hooked up for a memory test, extreme trauma response; traumatic flashbacks, hyperventilating, extreme fear, drugged to calm down … wound on hand cared for … imprisoned … nightmare; tied down, tested on … bus crash, knocked out briefly … jumps off a bridge into a river

03 : … continued from previous ep. ... (replay) Jumps off a bridge into a river … dragged out of the river, unconscious, arm bleeding … trying to wash his wound … chest pain, trips & falls … wound on arm still bleeding … arm wrenched behind his back … stitches up his own wound … Sung Joon & Sung Hoon fight; Sung Joon is beat up, stepped on

04 : … continued from previous ep. ... Kicked several times … severe pain & difficulty breathing from injures … Sung Hoon has chest pain … Sung Joon has chest pain, trouble breathing, medicates … captured.. choked, traumatic flashbacks

05 : … continued from previous ep. ... (replay) Captured.. choked, traumatic flashbacks … beat up … beat up again

06 : Thrown to the ground, kicked, drugged, passed out … taken to a clinic, carried, seizure … Sung Hoon has a nightmare, head pain, traumatic childhood memory … Sung Joon is comatose … Sung Hoon is unsteady. chest pain, medicates

07 : Sung Joon stands up too quickly, unsteady, head pain … chest pain, medicates

08 : Sung Hoon has head pain … Sung Joon is nauseous, throws up, hallucinates, punches a mirror … head pain

09 : Sung Hoon is shot … Sung Joon is dizzy, unsteady … Sung Hoon staples closed his own wound, unsteady, blurry vision, passes out, fever … medicates … [flashback] Sung Joon is captive, barely conscious, drugged, tied up, mouth taped … [present] Sung Hoon is found unconscious, bleeding out

10 : Sung Joon is strangled … [flashback] Sung Hoon is tied up, mouth taped, bruised, slapped, strangled … [present] Sung Joon is beat up … Sung Hoon causes a car accident, Sung Joon is knocked out, Sung Hoon in a fight

11 : … continued from previous ep. ... Hit in the head with a plank .. Sung Joon & Sung Hoon fight, traumatic childhood flashbacks … Sung Joon wounded, helped to walk

12 : Pain, collapses

14 : (near end) Sung Hoon is in a fight.. panicking

16 : Knocked out with a shot of anesthetic … Sung Joon is captured … tied down to a gurney, mouth taped.. passes out … Sung Hoon is tied up … shot & killed

More Whump Lists for this show: love-me-a-lotta-whump

#whump #whump list #full whump list #Asian whump #South Korea #Duel #듀얼 #Lee Sung Joon #Lee Sung Hoon #Yang Se Jong

57 notes · View notes

sarcastic--metaphor · 7 months

Text

toxic yuri custody battle pt. 1

As promised, I'm trying to write a fic where bubblegum and marcy survive the fall at the end of The Star and Bonnie is stuck raising Finn.

This first chapter is just to set up the rest of the fic but in the future, I'd love for Bonnie to get intensely attached to Finn & for Marcy to constantly threaten to turn him just to get back at Bonnie (and maybe she likes them both despite them being prey...)

(There will also be lots of rage-filled toxic love/hate yuri)

Excerpt:

“...you could join me…”

All day, the only thing Bonnie could hear was The Star’s mocking tone echoing in her dome.

Her knuckles were bruised dark pink from punching vampires and, more than once, her own tank out of frustration. Repairs were going painfully slow, far longer than the original sixteen hours that Tank originally proposed. After all, she was working alone, was still recovering from her injuries, and had to handle attacks from stray vampires foolish enough to consider her easy prey.

And then there was the child.

Word count: 1822

+++

Bonnie only barely escaped with her life.

Her plan gone to shit, the fall, The Star…

In those moments of weightlessness, she was ready to accept her own death in exchange for The Star’s demise. When she was young, she had visions of rebuilding the world after the extinction of the vampires at her hand. A permanent home, perhaps even her own nation. Peace and prosperity under a blue sky.

But with the non-vampiric population crashing, with all plant life withering and dying out from the endless dark skies, Bonnie was willing to lay her dreams to rest along with every other ally she watched perish.

She was ready to put this all behind her.

But she didn’t die in the fall. And she couldn’t kill The Star, either.

The horde of vampires sent to save their princess pulled Marceline from Bonnie’s grip and left her to plummet to her death. Before she could think, her centuries of survival instincts kicked in and she unsheathed two of her stakes. Bonnie gouged them into the side of the vampire hive to slow her fall before making her escape into the decrepit tunnels and sewer system below.

The vampire drones chased her, of course. They sought vengeance for their princess and the approval of their king.

But even then, Bonnie refused to die. She returned to her tank with her clothes in tatters, none of her stakes or other weapons remaining. Covering in wounds oozing sugary syrup.

All she wanted was the armored safety of her tank. What she didn’t expect was that damned child.

“Ah, ma’am!” the Tank A.I. said, “Your heart rate is erratic and you are bearing at least five wounds that will require immediate-”

“Can it!” she said. Bonnie could feel her hands shaking. She walked past the baby playing on the floor, almost stepping on him. The interior of the tank was listing from side to side. Or was that her?

The panels within her mobile home slid open to reveal their stockpile of medical supplies. She sat herself in the little alcove and tried to focus on what to do next. Bonnie’s first instinct was to reach for the jet injector already primed with anesthetic.

She hesitated.

When she had a team, she could immediately dose herself with pain killers and trust that either Huntress or Martin would patch her up in her addled state. Now, she had no one.

Without a word, Bonnie grabbed one of the hundreds of stakes they had and clenched it between her teeth. She set to work cleaning and sewing her wounds herself. All the while, Tank kept talking to her. She was updated on the auto-repairs the tank was able to make on its own, primarily to internal systems. But the treads and other exterior damage would take at least two hands to fix. So on and so forth. She wasn’t really paying attention and Tank knew it, too. But it helped to have something fill the silence, something other than her labored breath.

When she was done, the stake she used as a bit was pockmarked with imprints from her teeth. She threw it to the ground, spat out some splinters, and finally allowed herself to reach for the anesthetic.

“Oh, ma’am.”

She snarled and clenched her fist. “What?”

“The baby!”

She looked. In between long and slow blinks, she saw the human child waddle across the floor. He was reaching for the stake. Bonnie didn’t think it was a big deal, she wielded a stake herself the moment she was big enough to hold one. But the pointed end was much sharper than the baby’s discarded toy sword, and because of her biting, the wood had splintered a bit.

Bonnie, unwilling to get up from her seat at the infirmary station, merely kicked the stake farther away. The baby paused and looked at her with bewilderment.

She narrowed her eyes and thought, If you start crying, I sweat to-

Then the child changed course and came right up to her. He put his hands on her bloodied boot and slowly raised himself to his feet. He smiled at her.

“Where… where’s the others?” Bonnie asked. She was beginning to slur her words. One way or another, she wasn’t going to keep awake for much longer. Her wounds and fresh stitches throbbed beneath their itchy bandages.

“What others, ma’am?” Tank asked.

Bonnie swore under her breath. Those strange outsiders from another world, they didn’t make it, then. And they left their fucking baby in her tank.

Tank said, “Please, you need to rest. I can keep watch over Finn.”

She blinked. “Finn?”

“My recordings indicate that at least once, our new friends referred to the child as Finn.”

“Oh,” she said, tired. Bonnie would have to decide how to handle the situation later. She finally injected herself with those blessed drugs and crawled into her sleeping tube. As she began to lose consciousness, Bonnie heard the hydraulic slide of her tube doors opening. She wanted to tell Tank to close them, but she could no longer find her voice.

What she did detect were two chubby hands feeling their way in the cool darkness of her tube, pawing at her dirty boots and ripped pants, before coming to rest near her hip.

Bonnie fell asleep to the sound of her guest’s shallow snoring.

+++

“...you could join me…”

All day, the only thing Bonnie could hear was The Star’s mocking tone echoing in her dome.

And then there was the child.

Against what would usually be her better judgment, Bonnie left the entrance to the tank open. She had to come in and out too frequently to keep it closed, but despite Tank’s best efforts to keep the child occupied, the baby was still determined to crawl outside and get himself killed.

There used to be a good few human settlements at a distance from the vampire hive. A handful with populations in the hundreds. One with a population in the thousands, well guarded and heavily armed. More than one would’ve been happy to take in the baby, to give him to some parent who’d lost their own child to disease or vampires.

But as Bonnie said to The Star, the population was crashing. Had crashed, even. Those settlements were almost all gone now. All that remained in this wasteland were loners and tiny groups of survivors.

There was no one else who could take in the child.

And as much as Bonnie was concerned with the big picture -slaying The Star and the Vampire king, driving their kind to extinction- not even she could simply abandon an infant to the elements.

That still didn’t mean she was happy to have him around. Humans aged slowly, it’d take at least a decade before he’d be able to fight.

Bonnie grunted and heaved as she refitted the tank’s metal plates, ignoring the way the stitches in her side pulled and ached. It wasn’t pleasant, but it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as when she had to replace the treads or get the tank off its side.

A little voice in the back of her head asked her, what was ten or so years to the hundreds she already lived?

She had survived alone, in groups, as a child, and as an adult. Martin and Huntress and all the allies she had before were all born into this world, too. And they put up a good fight. She still never would’ve condoned bringing a child into this world, but he was already here now. And he was stuck with her as much as she was stuck with him.

A shrill voice giggled behind her. Speak of the devil.

Bonnie raced back to the entrance of the tank and caught the baby before he could tumble over himself. She set him back inside.

“Stay,” she said, as if he were a dog. As if there were any dogs left in this world.

But the baby only cooed at her. He brandished a small, wooden sword and waved it through the air. It looked like a stake that Huntress hadn’t finished whittling, but in the hands of a little kid it might as well have been a mighty blade. Bonnie hadn’t noticed it when she first returned, but her tank was littered with ripped up toys and more than one damaged A.I. sensor.

It seemed like the baby ran out of worthy opponents in the tank and sought a greater challenge elsewhere.

Or he was just restless and Bonnie was merely projecting on him.

The baby babbled his nonsense and seemed to ignore her. He slapped his sword against the floor of the tank as he gazed up at Bonnie.

Then he hiccuped and made a series of alarmed sounds.

Bonnie felt a shiver go down her spine and spun on her heel, stake already sailing through the air.

She missed the vampire that’d snuck up on her. It hissed and lunged, but killing was like second nature to her. Bonnie had another stake in her hand before she knew it and a moment later, the vampire was replaced by a cloud of dust.

“Excellent eye, young man,” Tank said.

Bonnie went to retrieve the stake she threw. “Hey, I was the one who got it.”

She sheathed her weapons and absentmindedly touched her eye-patch. Since losing her eye, she was loath to admit she lost some of her depth perception. Hitting targets at even a mild distance was a little more challenging than she was comfortable with.

So she made up for it by expanding her arsenal and improving her hand to hand combat.

Bonnie returned to the child and picked him up for the very first time, examining him.

He smiled at her, his free hand grabbing at the air. He seemed interested in her pink hair.

“Sugar’s bad for babies,” she said.

The child ignored her.

Bonnie sighed. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to rebuild her team again, get herself some more people she could rely on.

“Sorry you had to wind up in this world. But maybe…” she said, staring at his innocent eyes, “Maybe you’ll do alright.”

Bonnie would never call herself the nurturing type, but she liked the idea of having someone who could carry on her work if she were ever to bite the big one.

The Vampire King had his ward, maybe what she needed was one of her own.

Letting his fist close around her finger, Bonnie said, “Welcome aboard, Finn the human.”

#fionna and cake #fionna and cake spoilers #princess bubblegum #marceline the vampire queen #bonnibel bubblegum #marceline x bubblegum #bubbline #finn the human #apocalypse au

100 notes · View notes

heartfullofleeches · 1 year

Text

Masked Confections

Yan + Masked Reader [G.N + G.N]

Synopsis: You notice your dear friend always staring at your mask. What better thing to do than gift it to them?

Warnings: Suggestive themes, author's poorly disguised mask kink

"Fuck... It's so difficult to eat with this thing on."

The conversation goes dead quiet. Shadows fill the empty space between your face and the cheap, plastic mask that conceals your features; your lips silhouetted by the light seeping through its eyes. The pinkness of your tongue adds color to the frey, sweeping over the fluids that drip from the inside of the mask. Your fingers drag the remaining mess on the front side into your mouth, tips glossy as you pull them from the abyss.

"Whew.... Maybe I should invest in one of those new ones that you can take the jaw off of.... Are you okay?"

Your eyes reflect the confusion spread over the rest of your face as you look over at your acquaintance. Theirs never leave the lips of your mask, anesthetized by the droplets in its crevices. Blood taints their blistered tastebuds as their clamp hard on their tongue.

For as long as you've been acquainted, that mask has never left your face. A blank white mask with its eye holes poked out and horns at each side of its forehead. You never explained why you wore it, nor had you ever taken it off in their company. That little tease and those bewitching, gorgeous eyes they could get lost in for hours was all they'd ever seen of your face. It was one of your greatest attributes, as well as a curse for all you'd met. If your face were to ever be revealed, they weren't sure if they'd be able to hold out for as long as they had, but at the same time the mystery of your appearance pulled them in like the finest bait.

"Yeah..." They wipe their mouth with their sleeve."I'm good. Just wondering why you didn't just use a napkin.

"You have a point..."

They dont want the conversation to end when its just started back up. It's a cool mask, wouldn't want it to get stained."

Your grin reaches yours eyes. The thought of it makes their jaw clench tighter. "Think so?"

"Yeah, I... I'd never lie to you, Y/n."

Your voice picks up in happiness. "I know you liked it! I catch you sneaking glances at it all the time."

Your friend chokes on the next breath they take. Had they really been so obvious with that? How much more did you know? A pat on their back stops from them nearly asphyxiating on thin air.

"It's alright. I know you wouldn't steal it or anything. Actually, I'm planning on retiring this old thing soon - and I know the perfect perfect home.

They wake in the dead of night to a knock on the door. They wanted to fall right back asleep, but with the previous nightly encounters from a certain individual, there's no way they could. Rolling out of bed, the energy of a full night's rest courses through your friend at the imagery of you waiting behind the front door. Speeding to the door, they're met with disappointment at your absence - and a box on the porch.

"Y/n?" They call in the darkness. Nothing but silence. Accepting the crushing defeat, they carry the box inside and set in on the coffee table. Their mood immediately shifts as they tear off the note taped to it.

"Hey Buddy, sorry I'm dropping this off so late, I had some stuff to do and this was the only time I could do this for you. Felt sorta bad for only giving you some second hand after all the things you've given me, so I picked up a cake on the way. I hope you take good care of it, since you seem to care about it more than me. I wiped it down once, but you might want to disinfect it after all the things I've done in it.

See ya around,

Y/n."

They tear open the box, ripping the lid clean off in their haste. Lo and behold, your old mask is atop a cake, covered in frosted and their disbelieving eyes. You attempted to separate the two with some napkins, but that function as well as your friend did when they tried to tape off the feelings they had. The first touch is heistant. Electrifying. This was basically your face, and you entrusted it to them of all people. This had to be a dream.

All the things I've done in it. That part of the note replays in their head like a broken record. They can hear your voice with each repeat clear as day, followed by a soft, most angelic laugh they've ever heard. The things you'd done, things you've left behind. Tears, sweat, saliva - your very breath. All embedded into this pale plastic.

They collect some of the frosting from the sides of the mask, smearing it over its lips. They connect their own with it, licking the sweetness clean. Their stomach fills with butterflies - but it isn't enough. Now that they'd tasted heaven, just one sample was far from satisfying. They want more. Need it.

They turn the mask over in their hands, looking through its vacant sockets. Holes once fitted with eyes capable of bringing even the strongest to their knees. They were unworthy, but the possibility of seeing the world through the same view that you had was just what they needed to seal the leaking cracks of their heart.

They lift the mask onto their face, hooking its belt around the back of their head. It lifts like a glove; a brand new face. They could see why you wore it. So secure and comforting. They felt safe, but that feeling also could just be because this was once yours.

"Y/n....."

Their voice is muffled by the plastic pressed to their lips. The memories of the event hours prior flood to mind. Your lips, your tongue - right in the same place where theirs now were. They lap at the areas you cleaned with your tongue. They wish you hadn't tried to clean it in anyway other way.

"Y-Y/n...."

It didn't matter how hard you tried to scrub your existence from the mask. Your trace would forever remain. In their memories, in each crevice of the mask. They didn't want it to be tainted by theirs, but this piece of plastic bonded you together in a way that nothing could break apart. A portion of your identity - in the palms of their greedy hands.

Vision distorted through the mask's eyes, they feel complete. They'd let this piece of you swallow them whole.

#yandere oc #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere blurb #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #yandere drabble #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere writing

363 notes · View notes

p3aches-n-cream · 2 months

Text

a self-indulgent post about my spiderverse oc ft. hobie brown

first off, some context !!

1. ✧˖°SPIDER SAGE! (✿ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)⁾⁾𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ✧˖° real name: eden avery, age: 20, race: african-american, ethnicity: west indian (bajan). hails from e-767, likes art, takes martial arts! her hobbies include reading, writing, making collages, and creating art! After an adventurous descent into the park with her brother, she’s bitten by a radioactive spider - courtesy of her universe’s Norman Osborn dumping toxic waste into the woods And with that, Spider Sage is born! She was inducted into the spider society around her second year of being spiderwoman ( she’s seventeen here ). Having just lost her brother to a supervillain, she has high hopes for the organization. Under the assumption she’s making the world a safer place to prevent tragedies like her brother’s from happening again. But towards the time when the movie takes place, she took on a more pessimistic view and became distant. The spider society lost the nobility she once saw. She regards Miguel’s words with a grain of salt. She doesn’t get how preserving the canon is more important than saving lives. But she relents. Until she hears Miles’s story.

2. Spider Sage moves → Webbed Rock: Fills webs with rock and or rocks and uses it like a flail, twirling it above or to the side. There’s also a variation to this on → Double Whammy: Sage twirls while swinging webbed rocks in both hands, knocking out her opponents! Typically used against two villains. Mother Earth: Places both hands to the ground and plants from below, ripping through concrete. Shield of Sanctuary: Twisted vines rise from the ground, forming a shield to protect her from onslaught. Breath of Venus:. emits a pink flowery fume from her mouth that can anesthetize her victims. Twisted Arm: Thorny vines encapsulate Sage’s arm, delivering one powerful punch! Butterfly Cocoon: Sage can wrap her opponents up in a “butterfly cocoon” consisting of flowery webs and or plants. And this isn’t really a power move but Sage grows plant life on her back too, which she used to create wings. This one I haven’t found a name for yet, but i imagine her in one of those old-fashioned video games for it, y’know the ones : A giant tulip sprouts around Sage, swallowing her up and plunges into the ground, before reappearing behind her opponent, blooming before disappearing again.

3. An ongoing strike that afflicts Earth-767 are environmental violations. Earth 767, rhymes with heaven *･ﾟ♫₊ ♪ *♬‧ I wanted to reference the number for heaven without it being too on the nose, since eden’s universe looks alot like it ( could also be a reference to paradise, or garden of eden ) it’s basically a greenery abundant bed-stuy adorned with flora and fauna. It’s a breath of fresh air. It’s wild and free. It’s ethereal, unique, and refreshing. Heavenly and euphoric. Spider Sage swings through the air with a complete loss of inhibition, as her organic web vines twist around her arm. And when she descends, she’s like an angel dropping from heaven.

a couple of fun facts! 🎀🐾🍮💕

- the spider that bit eden was not only radioactive but mutated with plant life from the forest, giving eden flower power 🌸 think of like a spider with a peony on its hump. I'd provide an example, but I really don’t wanna look up spiders :( she also has a peony on her spider suit, referencing the spider that thrust her into her newfound identity

- When Eden grows new flowers in her hair, a pop up caption appears to explain the significance of them. They symbolize how she’s feeling at the moment, for example yellow roses grow on her when she meets miles, which is an indicator of friendship! 🌼

- Spider sage’s theme sounds refreshing and peaceful with a touch or two of unconventionality! A couple of music rec’s to get a better feel would be puzzle by g.a.t instrumental or si un jour by la femme

- When she was still getting used to her powers, her flowers would sprout unexpectedly in HQ, sometimes sticking to others or objects

- Spider Sage’s nickname is ‘The Green Goddess.’

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧 SAGE PUNK 🐰🌷⊹♡ ‧ ( Eden & Hobie ) HEADCANONS :

1. Eden started out in the Spider Society around the same time as Hobie ( I headcanon she was seventeen, imma just make Hobie seventeen too since they’re around the same age. ) They’re polar opposites, Eden being shy and reserved and Hobie being able to find comfort anywhere. Eden warms up to be people once she gets used to them though, and she warms up to Hobie quickly. He doesn’t give her much of a choice. When Eden first sees Hobie, she thinks he’s cool. Because they’re both new to the spider society, they go on a mission together to start off. E and Hobie start to grow more familiar with each other, sharing aspects ( such as eden’s art and hobie’s music ) of their life with one another and get sent out on more missions. They make a good team, Eden being the one to drag Hobie back in when he gets too reckless, and Hobie encouraging Eden to go all out. They complement each other perfectly. After a while Hobie invites her to one of his shows, something he regularly does with others, but it’s meant differently when inviting her. He feels a connection and wants to see where this goes. little does she know she feels the same way :)

2. More on the first one, Eden was inducted to the spider society a little before Hobie was, and although he won’t admit it, her presence persuaded him to join. It’s no secret Hobie protects the ones he cares about, eden being no exception. Ugh, I can just imagine them stepping through the portal in Hobie’s dimension, Miguel attempting to recruit him. He’s not impressed by the tall man claiming to be Spider-Man, but the shorter girl peeping behind his shoulder catches his eye. So he reluctantly agrees. Little do they know Miguel plans to make them partners, thinking Eden would soften him up ( he was wrong ) and they’re sent off on a high-stakes mission to prove their worth. Eden’s incredibly moral so she ignores the red flags at first, but Hobie steers her in a more ‘oppositional, anti-authoriatrian ‘ ideology.

3. Eden always attends Hobie’s shows, making an effort to finish her homework on time. Sometimes she doesn't even bother. Hobie always laughs with a shake of his head, " I wouldn't want you to sabotage yourself. “ “ Nah, man it's cool! I'm a smart girl, I can handle it.“ she ends up paying for it later, stuck behind her desk at 2 am, struggling to keep up her energy. Hobie gives her a call, hearing the exhaustion in her voice " But it was worth it, " she tiredly whispers, belly churning at his deep chuckle over the phone.

4. Sometimes, people will joke about how Eden and Hobie even got together, being so clearly opposite from another

5. Hobie likes to serenade Eden with the songs that he’s made. Just don’t call it that, or else he'll get fussy. I remember I talked about this before with Eden showing up to his band practices/performances and cheering him on, but what about the times where it’s just the two of them? They’re sitting on Eden’s bed and the room is bathed in a warm glow from the candle she’s lit. He revels in the way her eyes light up as he plays his guitar, fingers effortlessly drifting across the strings as he maintains eye contact. Once he finishes the tune he sets his guitar down against her bed, enthused by her light clapping.“ jus’ a likkle ting I worked up, love. wanted you to be the first to ‘ear it. “ He leans back with his arms behind his head and a satisfied smirk on his face, gazing at her expectantly. Eden usually follows with loads of pleasant compliments with observant feedback and Hobie glady listens, taking in whatever she has to offer. He ignores the queasy feeling he gets in his stomach as Eden’s mouth stretches into a grin, showing off a dimple on her right cheek. “ Well I’m honored you’d share something this special with me. You’ve got such amazing talent. “ His chest reverberates with a chuckle, closing his eyes bashfully.“ Yeah, well..I wouldn’t ask if you weren’t special. Y’know? “ He tilts his head in her direction, meeting a pair of eyes filled with soft awe.“ Yeah? “ Eden stares back, searching for the affection she knows is there. A low breath escapes him and his eyes never leave hers. “ Yeah. “

6. I have a headcanon of Eden and Hobie from that one scene of Adventure Time, y’know where PB had kept the shirt Marceline gave her? Eden’s been to practically all of his shows before, and rocks his band’s merch proudly.

7. Hobie called Eden “Ed” once as a nickname and was immediately shut down. Sometimes he brings it back up just to annoy her. “ ‘ey ed. ‘ow you doin’ this fine mornin’? “ eden turns her head to the side and back around “ you talkin’ to me? I don’t see any ed around here.“ hobie also likes to torment eden with stuff he knows disgusts her. eden making a gross face at someone’s snotty nose? He’ll bring it up randomly, taking in her disgusted reaction. bugs creep her out? he’s already chasing her around the house, silverfish in hand. “ aw c’mon love, it just wants to say hi! “ “ Hobie get the fuck away from me!! “ he’s a menace, but it’s okay cause she always gets him back for it.

8. Organized girlfriend and Hectic boyfriend. 100%.

9. Hobie likes to show up at Eden's house unannounced, and she doesn’t even question it. She could be working on her latest assignment when Hobie comes in through her window, wanting to take her along on the newest adventure he’s dedicated himself to that day. And who is she to deny him? It’s always a blast hanging out with Hobie. Eden often finds herself reminiscing about the escapades they’ve gone on together. If he’s not taking her out to a party, a protest, or a music showcase run by some friends then he’s at her house playing with his guitar or listening to her ramble about anything going on with her life. Speaking of protests, Eden makes sure to pack backpacks with all the food, water and snacks they need - including a first aid kit in case of injury. Hobie takes it lovingly, kissing his thoughtful girlfriend for the trouble she went through.

10. Hobie and Eden are always willing to help each other, especially when it comes to their hair :) <333 this one is extra important !!

11. Eden loves to hug Hobie from behind while he’s playing his guitar. She smiles into his shoulder as she feels a light chuckle throughout his body.“ You’re awfully ‘andsy today. “ He tilts his head back, looking at her from behind. “ you need somethin’? “ Eden hummed absentmindedly, toying with the straps of his tank top. “ No.. just felt like touching you. “

12. Hobie is engrossed in a conversation with Pav. They’ve got a couple of hours until their next mission, so they’re chilling out in the cafeteria until then. That’s when Eden walks by, right on time for her morning cup of tea. A flowery scent wafts gently from her body that grabs his attention and he immediately turns his face in her direction. Quickly dismissing himself to Pav, he makes his way over to Eden, who’s dipping the tea bag into her cup. “Ey’ there. You’re smellin’ nice today.“ Eden turns to see Hobie who’s slipped next to her undetected. She grins at the compliment, eyes glowing. “ Thanks! I’m surprised you noticed.“ Hobie’s eyes widened at the unintentional jab.“ Ah, so you that’s the kinda guy you take me for, eh? “ Eden snorts and waves her hand dismissively. “ That’s not what I meant, and you know it. “ “ Suuure, love. Wha’ever you say. “

13. Hobie is not the type to get Eden flowers knowing that it stems from patriarchy. He follows no social quo. Plus Eden can grow flowers and plant life from her body so like why would she need more?

14. Eden turns her head in the direction of the sound, only to be pressed deeply into a red and blue shirt. “ Agh! Hobie! “ She giggles as Hobie hugs her and enveloped her in strong arms, picking her up from the ground. He swings her around earning a squeal, before setting her back down on the floor. “What’s goin’ on mate? How’s my fav gyal doin’? “ Hobie then slings an arm around her shoulder, his face dangerously close to hers. Eden ignores the heat flaring up in her cheeks, choosing to focus her energy into teasing him. “ You’re chipper this morning! What you just got back from a mission or something? “ “ What’d you mean by that, eh? Man can’ jus be chuffed to see you? “ He removes his arm from her side and Eden misses the weight against her shoulders. “ You di’n’t answer my question, love. How's your day been’? “ He folds his arms against his chest, leaning back coolly on the table behind him. Eden smiled, lifting her arms into a shrug. “ Eh. Can’t complain. Just got here actually. What about you? “ As the two continue to chat, Pav, Miles and Gwen can be seen watching them in the background. “ Can they.. not see how they act ? “ Pav questions, mirth leaking into this tone. Gwen gives a shake of her head and Miles laughs, shaking his shoulders.

15. hobie who notices when eden’s upset, offering her some candy he’s found cause he knows it’s her favorite. " strawberries your favorite, innit? " " yeah. " eden says through sniffles, wiping the tears from her eyes. " cheer up, supergirl. " hobie trails a tear running down her cheek and wipes it off. He rubs her back lovingly, staying with her while she rides her emotions out. Resting a head on his shoulder, she shakes out a laugh. “ Wha’s funny? “ “ Nothin’..you’re just..so good to me. “

16. Eden and Hobie like to rock each other’s clothes. Hobie’s wearing combat boots and ripped skinny jeans while donning a pink strawberry sweater stolen from Eden's closet. Eden’s sporting cutesy overall shorts, flower placed symmetrically in her hair and one of Hobie’s rock band t-shirts. They like to coordinate outfits. Hobie picks out punk elements that could work on her. Eden also tends to gift him necklaces and bracelets, and he enjoys putting them on with his outfits ( even if they don’t match. ) oh yeah, and he’d definitely steal eden’s skirts when she’s not looking. I can see him walking into her kitchen, strutting his long legs in her plaid red skirt just eating that shit up. And he’d be so nonchalant about it too, like sitting on her couch chowing down on a bowl of oats while his feet are kicked up on the coffee table. Eden’s used to it by now, so she doesn’t bat an eye, but she does hate it when he puts his feet on the table.

17. Eden actually believed him when he said he was briefly a runway model. How could he not be with his beautiful hair, eyes, lips and jawline? He doesn’t clarify for her, finding amusement in it, but eventually his stance on modeling becomes apparent and she realizes her misinterpretation.

18. Hobie would either piss Eden tf off when she’s drawing or admire it, there is no in between. I’m talkin’ resting his chin on her shoulder as she sketches while pointing out something he likes goin, “ Tha’ looks real nice. Maybe add some more lines ‘ere. “ He’s super sweet when he’s trying to be helpful. It’s that or putting himself in the way while she’s trying to finish a drawing/painting. “ Uh…Hobie, can you move to the side a bit? I’m trying to finish up here. “ “ Hmm…I dunno doll, I’m pretty comfortable where I am.”

And that’s all for now!! Thanks for indulging me >.< much more to come when i’m not swamped with homework!

#across the spiderverse #spidersona #self insert #hobie brown #miles morales #pavitr prabhakar #gwen stacy #miguel o'hara #original character #original work #oc #black oc #writing #headcanons

12 notes · View notes

tidekissed · 4 months

Note

u can tell me abt ur genshin s/i if you'd like!!!

HI I AM SORRY IM SO LATE TO THIS. I WAS DRAWING THIS STUPID MEME TO GO WITH THIS. @scroldie i think you wanted to see this too!

UHHH general warning for blood/murder/war crimes (kind of)/general fantasy violence.

I'll start this off by pasting a few of her character stories. In Genshin characters get several plus one that explains how they got their vision. This is Zale's Vision story.

Zale was only 15, but she carried the weight of centuries of suffering in her eyes that had already lost their shine as she slipped out of her house in the dead of night a few weeks after Ajax's disappearance. With a portable alchemy kit in hand, she carefully unearthed something stealthily marked with a trowel, digging until the snow and ice finally revealed a perfectly preserved dragon.

With shaking hands, Zale plunged her fist into the chest cavity, extracting the bleeding and still beating heart from the carcass. She squeezed it in her fist, the organ spurting blood onto her clothes from her show of force, and with a new resolve she set to work collecting the ruby red liquid in a beaker directly from the source.

She didn’t add much—just some slime jelly and powder from the dragon’s tooth—before she put the concoction over a small flame and called it done. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, before throwing her head back and downing the entire beaker in one go, frightened tears streaming down her face as she flirted with death.

Fire, red and noxious, spilled from her lips as she cried out in agony, clutching at her chest as if she felt she was being consumed from the inside. In her last moment of clarity, she ripped a scale from the dragon’s body and sliced herself down the middle of her chest, using the pain as a forceful anesthetic as the snow at her feet turned pink and red with her blood.

A Vision, red as the fire and blood, materialized in the fist still clutching the dragon’s heart."

So, essentially, Zale is born a few years before Ajax in Morepesok, Snezhnaya. Childhood buddies with him and my bestie @shimichazukes's insert Piper. Ajax is a little bit of a jokey jokester and gets himself almost killed falling into Abyss, aka a really fucking bad place to be. This makes everyone's lives explode. Zale, being the oldest and the one always yearning for adventure that egged young Ajax to take more risks, feels partly responsible for his disappearance. She grew up pretty sickly and wanted to go into academia, but Snezhnaya values the strong and not necessarily the bookish yet adventurous.

Due to feeling responsible for Ajax's disappearance and feeling helpless as Piper takes the fall for supposedly luring Ajax into it (his parents suck by the way), Zale gets desperate and decides to try something really fucking stupid—eat a dragon's preserved heart. She found said dragon preserved in Snezhnaya's endless ice and snow, marking it for herself for later study without telling anyone. This almost kills her, but she is granted a Vision and ends up pretty...scary. Zale changes dramatically, Ajax comes back but to the left, and Piper is left looking like

So long story short we all get drafted into the military. Piper enlists first because if you're an orphan in Snezhnaya and you make trouble you get sent to, in their words, "gay baby jail," aka the House of the Hearth. Ajax's parents want to get rid of him so he gets scouted second, quickly rising to Harbinger #11, Tartaglia/Childe. Zale is absolutely consumed with guilt and rage and is pressured more and more by the whispers of her parents/the other townspeople saying she's a monster and would do better being useful for her nation, so when the Fatui start playing the typical death cult card of making the very vulnerable and lonely person feel like they're part of a "family" she completely folds and joins as well.

Consuming dragon remains made Zale a little fucked up, to put it mildly. She's essentially superhuman, but due to being human FIRST really pushing herself hurts her. A lot. This is not helped by the fact that once some annoying officer of hers eggs her on to try and kill an Archon (aka a god), which happens to be Morax/Zhongli, and she nearly SUCCEEDS, she is promoted to Harbinger as well and dubbed #0, The Deceiver, or Covielle. (Harbingers are ranked by power, with a smaller number indicating higher power). Her main assignment? Murder of minor gods. She builds up quite a lot of what Genshin lore calls "god residue," and her pain is incredibly bad as a result. For anyone familiar, this is what Xiao deals with. Piper is infected with something similar later. Zale is so willing to carry out these murders because she feels cheated. Aren't gods supposed to protect or at least assist their subjects? If so, why have they forsaken her loved ones? If gods are so willing to abuse their power, she feels she should just take it away from them.

Eventually, she catches on to the fact that something is amiss with the Fatui. She realizes how badly Tartaglia is treated and how his unhealthy habit of viewing himself as simply a weapon is fed into by being used as one, sees Piper fall ill with Tatarigami poisoning as an intelligence officer, and sees how the other Harbingers seem hellbent on making sure she doesn't know the full extent of their plans, intentionally left in the dark and only used as some sort of goon to do the dirty work.

Thus, she leaves without giving anyone prior notice. This is described in another of her character stories.

She thought she was going to die. Fighting so many of her old coworkers all at once was the most taxing thing she had ever done, and she had fought gods for the Tsaritsa. Her Vision, rendered useless by something, hung grey at her side, her Electro Delusion shining a lurid purple as she fought relentlessly to keep from being apprehended. Scaramouche was particularly merciless—she was certain most if not all of the blood streaming down her face and arms was his fault. At least Ajax, her best friend, stood still, making no move to help or hurt her.

She certainly could have picked a better time to turn in her two weeks’ notice. But, of course, everyone was home and awaiting their next assignment when she chose to cut ties. To cut ties as a Harbinger meant your life was to be cut short as well, but Zale had never played by the rules.

For the first time in her life, the Iron Dragon ran. She stumbled through the snow, staining the countryside red with blood and lightning as she made for the border. She would not cause any more suffering. She would not be the reason for any more pain and loss. The gods were wrong, but so too was the Tsaritsa a god. Zale would be taken in by her ruse no longer.

She wasn’t sure how, but she managed to board a ship heading Archons knew where, desperately clinging to life as she lied through her teeth to the captain and said it was an Abyss Order attack that had her in such a state. The boat docked many hours later in some foreign port, and she fell to her knees on the shores of what she would later realize was Liyue.

All she remembered was someone calling to her before her body finally gave up and fainted.

She was battered, bruised, and bleeding, but those angry sparks in her eyes had dulled to cinders, her Vision grey and empty at her breast as she stumbled from the ship and slid to the floor with her back to a stone wall. Her wounds were grave, and she looked as though she were going to pass away quietly at the docks, but that familiar brown coat from years before hauled her to her feet, asking quietly where she wanted to go.

She woke in a home that was not hers to a voice calling her that most certainly was not hers. It belonged to a man who was kind and warm, the polar opposite of the chill back home in Snezhnaya that had nothing to do with the climate. He was saying something —something about needing to take pills—while he dressed Zale’s wounds, and in her bruised and battered state Zale could have cried at how gentle the man was with her. She could not endanger someone so kind with her presence that tainted everything it touched.

Zale slipped out of the house in the dead of night, leaving naught but a note to say thank you and to not come looking for her again…lest trouble follow.

Far more alert, she marched on, away from Liyue and then away from the city of freedom whose freedom her very presence could endanger. She wasn’t stupid. She had seen the Fatui agents the city was crawling with, and she knew there would be a warrant out for her head. If she wanted to survive, her place was not among others. Dragonspine Mountain—cold, lonely, and unforgiving—felt like a fitting place for her. She ascended to the summit, clearing out monsters, braving unusually strong gales, and setting up a makeshift home sheltered by what looked to be an enormous nail.

As she curled into her fur cape, the familiar kiss of the frigid wind lulled her into her first deep sleep in a long, long time.

So, essentially, she hightails it to Liyue, gets nursed back to health by Zhongli and is given god residue management pills that he also gives to Xiao, and then hoofs it to Mondstadt and climbs Dragonspine to live out the rest of her days.

Aaaand then the Traveler shows up. She doesn't particularly want to be their bodyguard, but she also sort of wants a chance to start over and see the world...and maybe learn a little bit more about herself. So, she accepts, and then her story is more intertwined with the plot of the main game. There are some big plot beats that diverge a little bit from what Genshin actually does, namely the Golden House fight and the battle against the Shogun in Inazuma, but this is already long winded enough.

Oh, and one last thing.

That dragon she ate?

She'll eventually learn its identity, and it's an important one. TFW you accidentally complete a burial rite for the king of dragons and end up with an ancient god's power essentially eating you from the inside and telling your body to either adapt and become less human or die. Fun stuff. Never needed that stupid Vision and Delusion after all and the Fatui were just keeping your identity a secret so they could drip feed you Abyssal energy to corrupt you from the inside out so that you would do their bidding!

If you managed to get this far I love you.

#tidepool chats #my god im so sorry i went OFF off

13 notes · View notes

needlekirby · 7 months

Text

"Foggier yet, and colder. Piercing, searching, biting cold." Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol, 1st edition, published 1843.

Chapter 6 of "Foggier Yet, and Colder" is going up today!

"Just below his lip, his top canines had become little points, just long enough to be noticeable and very white. He rubbed the sore gum above it and wondered when it had already turned slightly numb and cold. Like it had been anesthetized with ice. He vaguely tasted blood and recalled the pink toothpaste in the sink. That would have been alarming enough, but what he could not look away from, like Jon, were his eyes.

All the color in his iris was gone, drained out, replacing what had once been dark brown with a pale, silvery color. Even the little veins of muscle fiber were gone, hollowed out. He shuddered to remember a time when he saw Elias eating a halved grapefruit, using a spoon to scoop the pulp and separate it from a pale rind. They couldn’t even be considered blue or gray, even if one was generous. It was nearly white: the color of ash, the color of the fog that crawled over the streets and swam at his waist, the color- he thought- of fresh-fallen snow."

#tma #jmart fic #tma fic #foggier #martin blackwood

16 notes · View notes

candiedspit · 1 year

Text

Locking myself inside a star

Mikey’s Clam Bar was a hole in the ground.

Then, Joliet was a wondrous, sultry shit hole. The best kind of nightmare. I was twenty five and penniless. I was looking for somewhere to crash. I saw a poster looking for a singer at the bar; I went. When I tried out for the bar’s owner Sam, a tall balding man with intense hand motions, always at the end of a cigarette, I didn’t know what I was doing. I was a dirty fling. A blink and you miss it sorta thing. A good anesthetic. Good for quick fucks and reckless nights.

Sam was looking for a singer; didn’t have to be good, but had to carry a note and be nice to look at. I was scrawny and weighed less than a spare tire. I sang him a rendition of an old gospel song I heard as a kid, my voice slow and dark as molasses. Glitter stuck beneath my eyelids from the previous night. Sam took a moment, arms crossed.

Then, he sighed and told me I got the part.

I’d start for twelve dollars a night, paired with his piano man. I thought I’d stay there for the summer, make some cash and then flee when autumn rolled through with her fires and amber.

But it’s been two years.

And every night, you can peek in through the filthy glass and see me in my black gown, head shaved, skinny muscles shining beneath the lights. Singing like a grieving cat. Swaying like a tulip in spring wind. As the customers slurp oysters and get drunk as all hell on the cheap beer. Sometimes, a couple will get up and dance in the middle of the song. Sometimes, nothing happens. And the song finishes. I smoke a cigarette out back until the next set.

It was Tuesday; winter again–here, the winters are like curses, you can’t outrun them, you can only endure them–naked skinny trees and ferocious wind–and all the people want to do is drink. I did my set, a few disco songs slowed down to the rhythm of syrup, splattered in my signature glitter and black dress. Sometimes, when I sing I feel like a tropical bird; a blur of colors. Everything melts. Like turning down the volume on a picture show. And there is nothing–no ticking stove, no bad neighbors, no frigidness, no ocean to cross–but the noise streaming from my mouth. All of my coos and mutters and aahs. I live for that feeling. I would do anything for it.

Do you believe me?

In between sets, I went out back to smoke. A man followed me; a large, pink faced daddy wearing a white shirt and a brass wedding ring on his left hnad. He stood by the door for a moment as I stared back.

I like your voice, he said at last.

His voice was like honey falling into my mouth.

Yeah? I asked, tapping my cigarette with my thumb.

He smiled and sat beside me on a crate.

Yeah, he said. You sound like a drunk siren. Like, you’re lost and stranded on a rock and the seas are rough and all you can do is sing.

All you can think to do is sing. Am I wrong to say that?

I shook my head.

That night, I fucked him on my dirty pink sheets. What’s the saying about the bull in the china shop? He was gentle as a neon light. He touched me like he knew me. Afterwards, we smoked through my pack and watched Yogi Bear until our eyes burned.

What were you like as a kid? He asked, watching me as I crushed a cigarette into the carpet.

I was a little shit, I said. A toy car running on nuclear power. Nothing could calm me down. My parents were beside themselves.

What do you do? He asked. When you’re not singing?

This, I shrugged. I go out, sometimes.

Out where? He asked, lighting my fresh cigarette.

I don’t know, I said with a cough. Clubs, whatever.

I can imagine you, he said. In the club, dancing. I can see you there. You’re like a fire.

A fire?

Just, he said. You’re a light. I like lights.

He put his hand on my leg.

Where does your wife think you are? I asked.

Out, he said. I told her I was going with a friend to watch the game.

For a moment, it was quiet. And I studied his face, the flashing light from the television turning him blue, red, pink. He had serious features. A strict, long nose and pursed lips and smooth cheeks. What was he doing here? I couldn’t figure it out.

How old are you? He asked.

Twenty seven, I said.

God, he said with a chuckle.

He stroked my face.

You’re at the starting line, he said. You could do anything, be anything. So what are you going to do?

I don’t know, I said. I’m going to cross the ocean.

The ocean?

There’s an ocean, I said. And I have to cross it. So, I’m doing it.

He kissed me on my head. And then on my mouth. And I kissed back. Of course, I kissed back. And we kissed for a while, for years. Trading spit and tongues and heat. I liked the feeling. I liked being touched by him.

I wish I could help you, he mumbled between kisses. Nurse you back to earth. But I don’t know how to do that. I wish I knew.

When he left in the morning, as the yolk of the sun came out of dawn’s shell, he turned off the television. And didn’t say anything. I sat on the bed, watching the birth of morning. I listened to the silence; the weight of nothing. I sat with it. And wondered.

I went back to the bar that night. He wasn’t there. I sang my song as though I was shadow boxing. The polite smattering of applause wounded me. I sat out back with my cigarettes and bony knees and sliver of moonlight.

I sat there waiting for the thing which never comes.

#fiction #my poetry #for anon :)

30 notes · View notes

thesightstoshowyou · 2 years

Text

Compliant

Derek Goffard (TPOF) x GN Reader (NSFW)

Warnings: Sadistic reader, blood, torture, non-consensual touching.

It was easy enough, hauling a bleeding, cursing Derek to the hidden jeep in the desert. Easier still was dragging his half conscious form from the dusty vehicle to the mostly-empty warehouse. The hard part was stitching him up so he didn’t bleed to death before you had some fun.

It was like trying to suture a rabid raccoon.

“Not my best work,” you comment with a sigh, sitting back onto Derek’s trembling thighs, your fingers prodding at the sloppy stitches. The touch makes him twitch, the shackles around his wrists rattling as he fruitlessly pulls against them for the hundredth time.

He’s panting, chest heaving rapidly, sweat beading along his brow, blonde hair wet and plastered to his face. His expression is scrunched in barely concealed agony. You hadn’t bothered with anesthetic, after all.

Pathetically adorable.

“You really ought to vet your potential victims a little better, Scorpion.” The last word drips with condescension. Derek grits his teeth, prepares to spit some half-baked insult at you, but you’re faster.

His nose crunches under your fist, his words morphing into a startled grunt and a noisy cry that sends a jolt of pleasure through your gut. You can’t keep the smirk from your face.

Viscous gore pours from Derek’s crooked nose, staining his teeth scarlet. He coughs and splutters, choking on copper as it drips down his throat. Hmm, this looks familiar.

Turnabout is fair play, huh?

Leaning forward, you grip his vest, balling the fabric in your palms and shaking to get his attention.

“Eyes here, hunter. As I was saying….” You adjust, your ass grinding against his crotch so briefly it could have been an innocent mistake. Derek’s gasping breaths catch in his throat and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling. The action stings your split tongue but you barely notice. One-track mind.

“Those folks at the auction, did they tell you I was docile? Ordinary? Meek? I wanna know the word they used.”

Derek cracks open an eye—they’re already starting to bruise—begins to grit out a “Fuck you,” so you slap him, hard, right across the cheek. The action jars his broken nose and the squeaky sob he emits makes you moan aloud.

“What was the word, Derek?” you ask quietly, raising your hand again threateningly. He tenses, gasps, sucks in air through his bloodied teeth.

“C-Compliant,” he stammers quickly, voice breaking.

“There we go. That was hard for you, huh?” You roll your hips again and this time it’s obviously intentional. With a quiet little groan, Derek’s eyes clench shut. You bark out a laugh when his cock twitches in his pants.

“They must not have looked into my hobbies huh? Must not have investigated this warehouse? Why would they though, I suppose. It’s innocuous enough, and it’s under my uncle’s name.”

You move closer to him, drag your tongue up his chin, over his lips, under his nose to lap up the crimson staining his skin. The metallic bite sits on your tongue for a moment before you spit it back in his face. Drops of pink speckle across his shocked expression.

His snarl returns. Doesn’t know when to quit, does he?

You reach between your bodies, grabbing his half-hard cock through his pants, stroking quickly.

Forgetting about the fresh sutures in his side, Derek gasps, whimpers, and arches. The whimper becomes a strangled shout as he crumples back to the sticky floor.

“S-STOP! You—fuck, stop—

SLAP

The blow tears another scream from his bloody lips, but the sound is broken by a gargled whine when you squeeze his throbbing length.

SLAP, squeeze, SLAP, stroke, SLAP….

He’s shivering and gasping, his body and brain at war as pain and pleasure become one. Tears—beautiful, thick tears—spill down his messy cheeks, leaving trails through black grease and blood and sweat. Your own chest heaves, eyes bright and delighted at the beautiful show Derek puts on for you.

“Easy, easy, easy pup,” you coo, reigning in your breathing. You sit back, softly grinding against what must be a painfully hard cock.

Derek jerks and groans, wrists oozing where the shackles have dug into his skin. Wet, green eyes crack open, peer up at you. You see submission on the edges of his expression, but there’s still fight there too.

He’ll beg eventually. All in good time.

“Okay, Derek,” you chirp, licking your lips. You can still taste his anguish on your tongue. “Show me your best impression of the word ‘Compliant.’”

You squeeze his nose.

#derek goffard #derek tpof #derek #the price of flesh #reader insert #tpof #the price of flesh derek #thesightstoshowyou #derek x reader #derek goffard x reader #horror writing

306 notes · View notes

kaleidoscopic-quiddity · 5 months

Text

ok wait now i wanna talk abt weird/interesting things from my experience getting top surgery. ive seen other ppl talk abt some of these things b4 but not all of em

i thought my surgeon was gonna do the incision, like, underneath the curve of my tiddies?? he ended up kinda slicing thru the middle of them, so my scars run over the middle of my pecs, not underneath them

speaking of; ig my pecs are more developed than i thought since my chest isnt like perfectly flat but rather both my pecs have a layer of fat/flesh on them and i can feel the muscle underneath

also the dip/space inbetween from when i had tiddies looks p much exactly the same, my surgeon said sometimes it ends up buldging out and a revision is needed but thankfully that didnt happen to me

the discharge nurse let me know afterwards that my tits were 11 kilograms (right 6kg and left 5kg) like no fucking wonder i have back pain at the tender age of 19

so yknow how pain raises ur body temp and makes u sweat?? immediately upon waking up i was so warm and damp i told a nurse id soiled myself and needed a change of underwear, i hadnt! i was just really fucking sweaty lol

i also threw up twice after waking up (fortunately into containers both times), turns out anesthetic doesnt agree w/ me, also it was like a dark bottle green?? since id been fasting from the night b4 ig i was bringing up nothing but bile

pre-surgery they cldnt get the IV in my left hand and had to switch to my right and ig that made my heart rate pick up bc one of the asistants immediately came by my head and talked to me to calm me down, he was rlly nice :)

im p sure i conked out within seconds of them getting the IV in and starting up the anesthetic too, none of that 'count back from 10' shit, i took like 2 and a half deep breathes and was OUT

from a combination of the iodine and natural swelling/bruising my chest looked REALLY yellow for like 3 weeks after surgery

i got sent home the same day i got my surgery, they keep some ppl over night if theres complications but apparantly i was all good to go after resting in the post-op ward for few hours

speaking of, i woke up, puked, got some water, dicked around on tumblr, called my mum, took an 'i lived bitch' selfie, slept for a few hours, woke up, went on tumblr again, got dressed w/ some help from a nurse, pissed (by myself, woo!), and then got discharged

my scars are uneven! my left incision goes further under my armpit than my right one, and my scars vary in thickness, it actually looks kinda like ive got two scars on my left side bc it thins out so much in the middle for a few milimeters

my nipples are also a lil uneven and they ended up puckering up as they healed so i kinda looks like ive always got stiff nips oops, also theyre more brown than pink

apparantly that might be bc they took the nipple graft from my areaola bc they werent able to graft the actual nipple, idk ¯_(ツ)_/¯, obvi it doesnt look perfectly like a cis guy's nipples but i knew the chances of achieving that were relatively small + p dependent on how i healed so like im not too bothered by it

my surgeon used dissolvable stitches and one of em ended up poking out thru my scar a lil b4 it disolved, which was weird

showering w/ a plastic sandwich bag duct taped to ur chest so u dont get ur scars and nips wet is An Experience TM i'll tell u that

my scars stretched!! it happens!! esp if u raise ur arms, which u will inevitably have to do eventually, idk if they'll ever fade on their own or if i'll need scar revision treatment in the future but fortunately they didnt go keloid

my surgeon used what he called crosshatched stitching rather than drains so that saved me a lot of discomfort, i DID get a slight build up of like, i think around 40ish mls of fluid in my left side a few weeks after surgery, but my surgeon dealt w/ it by p much just poking it w/ a syringe and draining it out lol

which i didnt even feel him do at the time bc of the nerve damage lmao, which was weird asf since i could very much SEE him sticking the needle in but couldnt feel it at all

i regained my mobility like, straight away?? my surgeon said bc im young + relatively healthy it was likely that id bounce back from surgery quick but like,, i had none of the exhaustion, pain, or immobility ive seen ppl describe??

i couldnt lift my arms very high for a while obvi but like i was fine dressing myself and even washing my own hair if i just leaned over

having to sleep upright for a few weeks after surgery was v annoying since i usually rotate like a shawarma trying to find a comfy sleeping position

the post-op chest binder was sensory hell bc it was scratchy and it kept slipping down my back since it had no shoulder straps, also i accidentally bruised my ribs a lil bit by wearing it too tight oops, the fuckin relief i felt when they told me i cld stop wearing it

the post-op 'please wear these at all times so u dont get thrombosis' socks were p comfy tho, idk why they didnt cover my toes tho

regaining the sensation around ur scars is weird! my right side's been completely fine but ig bc my left scar is thicker + longer ive been getting some pain n tightness, its not a persistent issue or anything but its just kind weird bc ive never had any surgeries or major injuries to heal from before this one

u will have to get ur boobs felt up and examined probaby multiple times b4 surgery, this will feel very different from touching ur own boobs and, in my case, was ticklish??

my posture has improved somewhat since getting top surgey, what not having 11kg of weight hanging off ur chest and compressing it in towards ur ribs/spine for roughly 9 hours a day will do to a mf ig

#ftm #transgender #top surgery #og post //#uuuh fine to rb ig lol

8 notes · View notes