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sideblogformindtrash · 3 years

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CW: Descriptive torture; mentions of body fluids; finger whump; whipping; branding; deshumanization; conditioning; pet/slave whump; creepy whumper; mentioned human trafficking; stress position; restraints; panic attacks; mentioning death/wishing for death.

It’s probably the goriest one I’ve written yet, so viewer discretion is advised and read content warning(?)

I think I’ll stop hurting poor baby Haru for a while after this, I’m almost feeling bad about it. And honestly mr. generic whumper here is so evil it’s boring;

He was curled up against a white, familiar wall, waiting for hell to break loose.

He had spent the night walking around the city, cold, hungry and lost. People stared at him weird, because he was disgusting and worthless.

And the more he walked the more he got lost, and all he wanted as to go back… Back to before he had done what he did.. He had run away… One of the worst offenses he could have ever committed. Useless, stupid, stupid.

It was already early morning when he saw one of the Black Coats, tall and scary, all dressed in the uniform of people he remembered so well. People who worked with… With taming and selling… those like him, who should never, ever be considered people.

He ran up to the scary person, and instinctively grabbed the side of their coat, wide eyed and desperate, pleading blue eyes. They took one look at him and looked at his collar with the contact for his owners.

The person thought he was lost and led him to the facility. Well he… He was a runaway. But telling that to the handler wouldn’t help him on any way, it would only make that handler treat him worse... And look at him with disappointment.

He knew he deserved every bit of it… But he wasn’t even sure he would survive what was planned as his punishment once he was............... home. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to survive.

He missed being in the facility. It was… familiar. It was also safer than he had ever felt at that mansion. He would never have dared escape the facility, he wouldn’t even want to. Where would he even go?

So he crawled up to the corner, hugging his knees, tired and scared. He tried to sleep, but the anxiety was too much. All he could do was cry, bracing against the comforting familiarity of those walls.

…But soon they came to take him back.

The same handler opened the cell, grabbed him by the collar and dragged him into the main hallway. He lifted his pale blue eyes just for a moment, just to see Young Master’s face. He was… calm, and smiling.

He lowered his head immediately, as the handler threw him to his knees and removed the muzzle. Master gave him a deadly glance, while he signed off the papers and paid the retrieval fee.

Part of him had prayed Young Master decided to give up on him and just… Let him be sold again.

But he knew he wouldn’t get off this one so easily.

…It was raining outside. He went for the trunk, but Master held his arm and pointed.

“…Go on the passenger’s sit” That calm, gentle tone was unfamiliar and dangerous. He shivered, but obeyed. He couldn’t be stupid and do things worse for himself. He looked upwards, trying to prevent the tears from falling, almost choking to swallow the sobs. He wished he had been kept muzzled.

Young Master turned the radio on, cheerfully humming the tune. He curled up on the car sit, not even interested in looking outside. He just wanted so bad to disappear. He was expecting Young Master to be screaming, furious, like he always was… But seeing him smiling like that was more terrifying than anything.

“You want to speak, little bird?” He was looking at the pet with the corner of his eyes “Well, you won’t. I’ve been wanting some really some good reason to hurt you for some time now, you know? I have some different things that I would like to try, but normally, it would make dad angry. He likes you more than you deserve…. Well, now I have a reason. Isn’t that wonderful, little bird?”

His eyes widened. Breathe. Breathe. A sob escaped. He quickly hid his face on his palms… Master kept humming the tune, driving idly trough the city.

“Oh, little one. Don’t look so sad now. If only you weren’t so stupid…” he laughed “I was just messing with you yesterday. I wasn’t really going to cut you open. Just make some markings, here and there, the usual. But today… I’ll make sure to cut off your little wings so you never dare to cross that door again.”

Young Master savored the sheer panic on his face, as he struggled so much not to beg, his heart beating like a drum, the air seeming so scarce he couldn’t breathe. Safe for his sobs and the song, the rest of the car-ride was silent.

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The servants gave him some pitiful, pale looks as he was guided to the basement. Young Master wasn’t being rough with him. He was just… gently pushing him, a hand on his back, still cheerfully humming… and that terrified him far more than he would if he had just been dragged. Young Master was never kind. Kindness wasn’t free. His kindness was poison.

He closed the heavy door behind them, guiding him to the center of the room, where he fell on his knees. He had to be good. He couldn’t be dumb and make things worse.

The basement was always a bit dark, walls made of wood and a floor of stone. A lot of scary things hanging from the walls and shelves, and large hooks they could be chained to, a fireplace and old carcasses of cars.

“Hands”

He raised them as fast as he could, despite how much effort that took… they were shaking so much… So pale and so weak, against the heavy metal shackles master locked them with. Young Master lifted him without any difficulty and hang the chain on one of the hooks, leaving him hanging on his tip-toes.

He picked up a whip, first.

“Now… This one is for vomiting over my shoes” Master walked behind him. He ran his fingers over the scarred back, where bruises and marks from other beatings hadn’t healed yet, throwing the long hair over his shoulder so it wouldn’t get on his way “…Twenty. Keep count. Don’t speak, but keep count, or we start over.”

…The whip stroke hard. He whimpered, but otherwise managed to keep composure. Twenty wasn’t so bad. He could take twenty. The second one was worse than the first, and the one after that made him sob. Then again, and again, blood rushing to his back, warm, stinging.

“How many?” Master stopped hitting, he walked closer and led the whip over his back slowly, just, letting it slide over the wounds.

“F-five”

“Good” Master whispered, stepped back and hit again “You are allowed to scream, birdie”

He felt dizzy, he wasn’t strong enough to keep balance. His wrists hurt. The next hits were drawing blood. He wanted to scream but… He didn’t had the strength to do it. He let his head hang low and allowed himself to whimper.

“How many?”

“..A-a…S-six..teen..” words were hard “P-plea”

“A-ah” Master said, grabbing his cheeks, his nails digging on his skin “We barely begun. You’ll be allowed to beg later. Now you can only scream and cry. I want to hear your pain.”

Master was so close to his face now, entangling his fingers on the white hair.

“Did you understand me?” he nodded “Good. Sixteen, is that your answer?”

He lifted his head slightly. Master had a mocking, dangerous smile… he… He was sure it was sixteen. He had been counting. Had he missed one? Was Master giving him a chance? Was this so he would get it wrong?

He couldn’t begin again. Not when this was just the start. He couldn’t he-

A hard slap, turning his head to the side. Fingers marked on his face.

“I made you a question, mutt” …anger. This was familiar. He nodded quickly. He wasn’t sure but… What else could he do? There was no time to think. Master smiled again “…You are correct. Four left.”

He sighed, relieved. It was a taunt after all… The relief was gone with the next hit, more vicious than the other ones, crossing so many of the other marks. He gasped, closing his eyes shut. Three more and he was sobbing once it ended.

He�� Should be able to endure more than that. He had before. Was it the fear that was making it worse? Or… the fact that he really deserved it this time? He deserved every one of the hits – and more. He hated himself for being bad, and stupid and dumb, just like Young Master said he was. He deserved it, and all that would come later too.

Young Master walked around him, admiring his work. He was still smiling, still calm, hiding… It wasn’t anger. It was excitement. Master hang the whip back on the wall. He dragged… an arm chair to the center of the room, before letting him off the hook and onto it. A chair that belonged to the dinner set upstairs, he recognized it. Young Master must have brought it to the basement before going to pick him up.

He dry swallowed, wondering how much thought had been put into this punishment.

“Now, stay still for me, will you?”

He made his best to, only slightly shivering as the handcuffs were removed and replaced by rope, so tight it dug into his skin. There was no room to move, except for his head. He let the hair fall over his face, trying to hide… But that prompted Master to pull his head back.

“Smile for the camera dear…” Camera? Was there one? He didn’t knew and it didn’t matter, really. Master pulled his hair, dragging his neck backwards so much it hurt. He whimpered, but didn’t resist. He wanted to be good. He deserved this.

He deserved this. It would help him. It would make him better.

He didn’t like pain if it wasn’t to make him better, to correct his mistakes… But this one was. It was pain he deserved. He needed to be grateful.

He swallowed hard, and tried to be grateful.

But it was too scary, and now he couldn’t really see, as tears and panic where clouding his vision. So when Master approached again, he wasn’t very sure what was he was holding. A gentle touch over his hand caught him off guard. He almost relaxed a bit as Young Master rubbed gentle circles on his hand… And then excruciating pain.

…He passed out.

…A second, equally terrifying pain brought him back to reality a few seconds later.

“Don’t you go passing out on me, darling. You know how angry that makes me”

Dizzy… Hurting. Hurting so much it made the lashes on his back seem like nothing. Trembling, he looked down, the world swirling around him, almost incomprehensible… Red.

Young Master lifted something to his field of vision. A pair of bloodied fingernails. His… His fingernails.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe couldn’t breathe couldn’t breathe couldn’t breath-

Master took the pliers to the next one. He wanted to beg, he tried to lean forward… He finally screamed.

Blood. Red. Pain. No air. No air no air no air. Red. Pain.

“please”

A slap. He doesn’t care, it feels like nothing compared to what just happened. His eyes are wide, teary and shocked.

“Ah-a. No begging yet. I haven’t allowed it.”

“Mercy. P—lease. Mercy? I-it will-”

Another slap, and his head was pulled backwards. Young Master runs his thumb over his face, cleaning tears and sweat while the other hand is firmly tugging his hair.

“Now now, you crossed every single limit yesterday, dear little bird. You disrespected me. And I’ll make sure you never dare to do it again”

He lets his head go, taking some time to admire his pet’s face. He moves to the next nail, an almost childlike smile.

He is fully aware this time. No shock and no adrenaline rush to coat a bit of the pain. No feelings of being lost, just the pain of flesh tearing. He feels sick. He can’t choke his screams anymore, not when they are being pulled, exposing the tender, bloodied skin underneath. Master praises him, but it’s mocking. It doesn’t really matter; his voice is distant behind a wall of pain.

Time seems to slow down. All he has now is agony, his body trembling, pulling hard against the ropes.

“Last one now, baby” Master says “Then we move to your little feet.”

…A strangled whimper is all he can manage. At some point, his bladder gives out, much to Master’s amusement. He is mocked for it but can barely understand the words.

He stares into nothing, wide eyed, as the minutes drag themselves. Everything is red. Everything is pain. Everything is blood.

And at some point a hand… full of bloodied nails is placed in front of his eyes. He has no strength to react… No voice to scream anymore. He stares, wide blue eyes, drenched in sweat and tears, shaking so much his teeth clank.

“I should start collecting those” Master says… returning to the table. Sounds of metal. He shivers, trying so hard to just… breathe. It’s not over yet? What is it going to be now? How will he survive?

He can’t breathe, he feels like he will die, he wishes he would die.

Master comes back without anything. He holds the pets chin, gently pulling the hair off his face, using his sleeves to clean the tears, sweat and snot. He smiles.

“This was… very fun. You look so pretty now little bird. I think I can finally understand why father thinks you are beautiful” he laughs “…Now you think you have learned your lesson?”

He needs a moment to realize he has to… to answer.

“y-ye-s I-“ he sobs “P-please I, I … It will neve-r, nev-er, i-it it is… Mas-master, p-pleas-“

Master places a hand over his lips, shushing him. He tried to lean closer to Master, but is held back by the ropes. The burn they cause seems so minor in comparison to the sheer agony right now, he barely notices.

“There there, pet” Master smiles “Just one more thing, and we will be done. “

He whimpers.

“N-no…m-more…no…” His voice is broken. He mouths please, over and over and over even if his voice has given out.

“Shush, don’t discuss with me now, bird. I need to make sure you know your place” He smiles, the pet follows him with his eyes, terrified to even blink “It will be quick.”

Master moves away. He has no strength to hold his head up when Master lets his chin, but looking down is bad, he sees the bloodied fingers. Thankfully there is nothing on his stomach to throw up. Red. Blood. Pain.

“Tell me little bird” Master appears back in his vision field “You’ll never run again, will you?”

…blazing iron, held so close to his face he can feel the heat.

“i-iit w-wil n-ev-er run f-from… mas-master…ple-ase” so, so hard to speak. So hard to breathe. Nothing in the whole world exists anymore. Just Master, burning iron, the bloodied fingers and the pain. “it-is is is yo—rs f-for-e-vv-ver. M-mer-mercy…”

He can’t anymore. Teeth clank as he shivers. His tears have stopped, even. Master smiles, contempt with the answer.

“Good boy. Now let’s make sure you don’t forget”

…He presses the iron against the sole of his feet. His vision goes black, and then covered with spots of red pain. And he feels cold. A terrible shiver runs down his spine, as the heat seems to be drained from his whole body, except that one, awful burn. The smell is nauseating.

It’s just a few seconds, but it feels like hours. It’s only removed to be placed on the other one.

Everything seems to fade again, and he wishes… He wishes he was dead.

It’s all… Red. Burning. Blood. Pain.

…Cold water on his lips brings him to tears again. He barely realizes as the ropes are cut off. Young Master is speaking a lot, but he can’t make sense of it.

He is lifted from the chair, scooped by Master’s arms. He wants to grab Master’s shirt, but the bloody fingers hurt too badly. He lets his body limp, his head resting over Master’s shoulder, and the world goes dark again.

Taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpzone

#i have to write a paper on vermins im sad #whump writing #oc whump #orfeu and haru #this so big me ded #Farlan B)#pet whump #nail whump tw #finger whump tw #urination tw

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oooooocheshirecuntoooooo · 3 years

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In the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere ..... Oh the adventures we had with a hooker. All. Night. Long. 😂

It involves me, my husband, our 18 & 3 year old daughters, a cop and the hooker ... oh and a store clerk and her son. And for real. All night from like 12:30am to 7 am. And now I am home, but without the van and three of the kids didn’t make it home with us.

The following story is absolutely, 100% true. Although it’s not the kind of exciting you’re used to hearing from me, it’s still pretty bizarre. 😂

Just to give a little back story to help paint a clear picture .... So, we always go to my in laws for Christmas but we usually only stay maybe 3-6 days or so depending on how things fall together. This year we decided to stay through New Years because of some drama back at our home. My mother lives on our property and is mentally ill, and we’re pretty sure dementia is setting in. She’s never been an easy person to be around and we have always fought constantly but I have tried to take care of her anyway because she’s the only mom I’ve got, ya know? The last couple years though she’s gotten a lot more aggressive. In July she assaulted her doctor over the mask requirement and even had to go to court over it. Then in august she assaulted me, tried to choke me to death in my own home and in front of my kids. Of course I over powered her and forcefully pushed her out of my house, so yes she sustained bruises and such from that but that’s the extent of it. (She told all of Facebook in a public post that I beat her up every day and that kind of thing. She posts almost every day that she’s being abused, etc. Shes called the police at least 4times in three months. She tried to accuse me of elder abuse and even said I neglect and abuse my kids. Four times they have come out and investigated and not only said they see no signs of child or elder abuse, or anything to backup her claims. They talked to the kids and quickly agreed they were all fine too.

So fast forward to Christmas Eve. We were trying to load up the van to leave for our trip. We couldn’t hardly get it done because she was hounding us so much. When we were done I sent the kids to the car while hubby and I grabbed the last few bags. I blinked and she was charging toward the kids and yelling things at them like “you’re going to be a whore like your mom when you grow up. You wanna suck dick for a living?” And “I hope you die slowly and are alone and afraid for hours before you die.” The oldest child there that day was 12. And no, I’ve never worked in prostitution before. She began to charge toward me when I yelled at her to get away from the kids. Hubby told her to go back in her house and she wouldn’t. Kept coming toward us. So he pulled out his pistol, didn’t cock it or anything, and said again to go back in her house. So she called the police again .... 🙄

So we stayed longer trying to talk to the family lawyer and get a game plan. We’re following through with pressing assault charges so I can get a restraining order, and we’re filing for eviction. So we got all packed and ready to go and noticed liquid under the van. The power steering pump went out and the line busted all over everything. So that set us back another couple of days but we got the line and the pump replaced and tested everything and it looked good. It was late but we decided to set out anyway. We knew we’d get in late but the advantage to that was my crazy mother would be asleep and we could at least get in and unload the van in peace.

About 12:30 the battery light came on and we weren’t near ANYTHING. Somehow we made it another 20 miles or so until we got to a small town we’ve never stopped in before. We stopped at a gas station and barely got in the lot when it died. Hubby tinkered with some things and it looks like the alternator. Apparently some power steering fluid got in it when it busted but we couldn’t see that at the time, including the mechanic neighbor friend helping with it.

So we’re an hour and a half from home and totally stranded in the middle of the night with, thankfully, only two of our kids - the 18 & 3 year old. We make the calls for roadside assistance and I begin calling everyone I know that might can come help us. It’s freezing and none of us packed coats because it’s not usually this cold down here this early in winter. Hubby was wearing shorts even. So we take turns going in the store and sitting in the van with our things - there’s a large fully loaded cargo bag on the roof and a bike rack with two bikes on the back. Figured if we left it alone for a long time those things at least would disappear, essentially given the atmosphere of the place.

In all the moving around and the cashier asking questions and getting to know us and the situation we were in, this big eyed, buck toothed, scraggly little older, black lady who looked like she hasn’t bathed in years starts talking to hubby about what’s wrong with the van. He goes back to tinker with it often hoping he’s wrong about the alternator or that he missed a loose connection - anything that might help us get out of here l, if not home. I am watching cars like a hawk because you wouldn’t believe how many would pull in, loop the parking lot while staring at us and leave again. It started feeling like sharks circling and a feeding frenzy building up. So I’m on edge and I make sure the pistol is within reach at all times. So this little trashy lady keeps talking to him about the mechanics and trying to troubleshoot it. Lemme pain a more accurate picture: this spun out little crack whore was chasing the dragon, looking for it inside the oil reserve, the transmission fluid ..... she keeps pulling out the dipsticks, shaking them like a Polaroid picture and slinging fluids everywhere and then says “I think it’s your starter.”

No doubt she’s trying to hustle some cash and once even asked for some gas money when’s we see the car she rode in pull away and leave her there. She said it was her brother. After awhile, hubby has had enough. He’s usually pretty patient with people who are too fucked up to reach reality but this isn’t the time for all that. Not only is she a hindrance, she keeps snatching his tools and once even his phone out of his hands. I was in the car and I heard him yell “carry your ass already!” If he’s talking to even an annoying stranger like that, I know shit is hitting the fan. Me? I’m Irish. I would’ve done popped off at her which is why I was avoiding her completely. So I got out and joined him and started yelling at her to fuck off. She will take a few steps away and come back but she does finally go all the way back in the store, both of us cussing her the whole way. I blink and she back in his face again. She keeps saying random shit like “anything you can do I can do better” and “I helped you and you just turn me away. That’s not what the Bible says” and “God got me. I don’t need you. I pray for you”

I’m beyond pissed. I’m cold —- and I loath being cold — and I’m tired, it’s now like 2:30 or 3, I’m feeling vulnerable just by being broke down and especially with the toddler who can’t do anything to protect herself or understand what’s going on and who is extremely sensitive to any type of anger or tension (she cries hysterically when her siblings tickle fight or pillow fight and are laughing) and with all I’ve been dealing with with my mom lately I just have no give a shit left in me. So I jump out and say loudly “should I get the gun for you?” He said “it’s starting to look like it.” And I handed it to him and he put it in his pocket - more just wanting to communicate and it wanting to draw on her because that could invite charges for him potentially and we already have enough legal drama waiting at home. She slowly starts walking backward and keeps running her mouth. I forget what she said but she flipped my bitch switch again and I found myself screaming “Don’t make me cut a bitch!”

She said “what did you say?” And I pulled out my pretty pink and Pearl, large and extremely sharp pocket knife and extended the blade, “I said if you don’t carry your ass I WILL cut a bitch!” She nodded that smug kind of nod and kept going, “aaaiiignt”

The car that brought her there and left came back. She got in it and it left, stopped about 20 feet from the parking lot and she appeared to be forcefully shoved out from the way she rolled in the grass. But she goes walking the other direction so we figured she was gone. Meanwhile though in that amount of time I already dialed 911. The operator connected me to the local station and I spoke to dispatch. I kid you not, less than 60 seconds later an officer was there. We later learned he parks in a dark spot across the street of this divided highway. He even saw some of the commotion but couldn’t tell from the angle that it was heated. He tells us all about her, how she’s the local “hooker” / crack whore, along with her sister and mother. When I said we could tell she was drunk or inebriated or something he said, “more like high as a kite in with a jet pack!” I have seen a lot of people high in my years but I’ve never seen anyone act like she was so I asked, “On what?” He just shrugged “likely a combination of things. She’s a non discernment, equal opportunity junkie.”

Would you believe she showed up again while he’s talking to us? She tried to act like they were friends “hey! I know you. You’re married to my kin ...” He kinda yells at her and smirks “you a damn lie and you know it. I’m not even married.” Tim and I both glanced at his hands, his wedding band plainly visible. I got back in the van because my teeth are chattering so bad I can’t speak anyway. He puts her in the back of his car and talks to my husband again. He tells him he’s use to her and is going to take her to a relatives house where she goes when she needs to sleep it off for a day or two. He leaves and about 20 minutes later he’s back. Apparently he almost ran out of gas and he wanted to check in on us again. The jokes flew about how awkward that would look if he ran out of gas and was on the side of the road with the town hooker and all. He was a really nice guy and stayed with us most of the rest of the night. He said he got off at 7 and if we still didn’t have any help to give him a call, giving us his cell number.

So, at the same time I’m trying to get something done about the tow truck that needs to come get the van and find someone to come get us. The first wrecker — BROKE DOWN ON THE WAY TO PICK US UP! I was starting to feel cursed! The second wasn’t informed this would be a “long haul” tow and he only does local. Third times the charm right? Apparently so this time. He was a nice guy as well and took extra steps to keep the bikes and things secure on the trip.

We even had talked to hubby’s parents when we very first broke down. They were asleep but I was able to text my kids that stayed behind to spend another day or two with them, and they were coming up anyway to do some work on the property up here and file the eviction. So the boy, who will be 11 tomorrow, and the 12yo girl woke them up and told them we broke down. Apparently the 8 year old had already gone to sleep. His parents got up and talked to us and they were like, we’ll work on it and let me know what you find out. What the insurance company will do. So when the tow truck showed up, at 4:30, we asked if one of them could come get us because all the insurance company said was “MAYBE a supervisor could make an allowance for a Lyft or something like that but it didn’t seem a highly probable option. I realize we were 3 hours from his parents but they got up and stayed up from the first time we called and father in law could’ve gotten us and most of our stuff in the van and gotten us home, and him back to his house, before lunch and then slept or done whatever work he felt was more important than our safety. I’m kinda ticked about that. So we get what things we can’t live without immediately and head into the store to wait for a solution to arise, or friends to wake up! I was the last one going in and I was shivering so bad I dropped the things in my hands. I bent down to pick them up when two large shoes stepped in to my view, directly in front of me.

I stand up and then continue looking up to find the eyes looking back at me - a huge ‘cornfed’ red neck man who almost is convincing at appearing to be tough as nails, but I see the gentle kindness in him immediately. However, when he named the itty bitty, no red light havin’ isolated little farm town we live in I was flabbergasted. I actually stuttered and just made noise instead of words when I tried to respond. He even chuckled and playfully’ mocked’ me but was even kind about it. It was more like he got a kick out of how taken off guard I was. He said “Do y’all need a ride to (hometown)?” in that extremely slow, drawn out way the redneck Southerns do. In a minute I nodded and said “How do you know that?” I continued walking in the store as I spoke and of course he followed and opened the door for me. Hubby had run back and flagged down the tow truck before it left, remembering the car seat was left in it and that would be essential to getting us home. He had already talked to the man but j didn’t know that. In fact, in all the in and out that night hubby and my older daughter had told the cashier bits and pieces of the situation and it hit a point where she realized help wasn’t coming very fast and didn’t want to see any more trouble fall on us like with the oh so classy hooker we had already met. So she called her son, knowing this was the kind of thing he was always looking to do. He kept telling us that he just really liked to drive and it was no big deal and that he had time to get us there and back home before work even. After debating over it for what felt like hours but was probably only 5 minutes hubby and I decided it was probably the smartest option. He usually has a pretty keen sense of a persons character pretty quickly and so does my 18 year old - although it still needs to be fine tuned a bit but that will come with time, maturity, and unfortunately, heartbreak. We felt like we had a read on the kind, older lady cashier too and she even said “It’s ok. He’s my son. He’s not gonna hurt you or anybody that doesn’t try to hurt him first.”, laughing the last few words out and the glances between them revealing some inside joke / event. So we went ahead and got in his little car - which was more like a jumbo Geo Tracker and I honestly wondered how he ever fit inside. It wasn’t the best looking thing, kinda shabby and needing a lot of TLC, but for us it may as well have been luxury. It was a diamond in the rough, symbolic of the man who offered to drive us an hour and a half to get us home, and then back, before he went to work that day. By the time we got him we knew his life story - 33 and already a survivor of the heart attack they call ‘the widow maker’. We instantly fell in and we’re good friends. By the time we got home - at 7am - we hated to see him go. Of course we had a little Christmas gift cash on us and gave him a little something for his trouble, especially since he wouldn’t come in and let me make him something for breakfast. As I hugged him bye I told him “I will forever call you ‘My Angel Michael’. He said, “Well thank you ma’am. It was my pleasure.” and with that, he drove away.

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faelapis · 4 years

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so... i’ve seen people use snow day, little graduation and prickly pair as proof steven is definitely 17 going on 18 now and... tbh i don’t know if i buy it. like. admittedly, i haven’t cared enough about this to research it in-depth, but here’s just some feelings and initial instincts, and it’s open for commentary.

so, little graduation. i never got the sense it’s such a 1-to-1 to an actual school they only do graduation once a year. that seems really impractical considering gems can join whenever and they’re not constrained by set, regulated summer and winter breaks the same way humans are. i get the sense that it’s WAY more fluid - gems graduate when they’re “done” with their education and adjustment, whatever time of year that happens to be. that also fits with how the gems would do a school without human norms - how amethyst can just tell everyone to do whatever while she hangs with steven, for instance. it’s not a very high-stakes, pretentious or rigorous place.

it’s also probably not a place with time-set graduation considering the off-colors graduate without the ex-corrupted gems that would have started at the same time. which leads credence to the notion that they graduate based on when they’ve internalized the lessons and grown enough as people, NOT based on typical school year graduation dates.

i also don’t really vibe with using snow day as proof, cause like... beach city has always been portrayed as somewhere that is pleasant and with standard green cartoon trees most of the year. there’s only rare snow days. hence one bad day would be enough reason to shut down a school. i can tell you as a northerner, we do Not shut down school because of snow. we’d lose months of education. so i don’t really buy that it’s summer or anything near it in the first few episodes - and it no longer being snowy in the next ep doesn’t mean many months have passed. snow can melt fast, especially if you live somewhere slightly warmer.

if i were to guess, the movie is right after steven’s 16th birthday (august), and then future starts up just a couple months after, maybe around late october-early november. then snow day is in december, and with the eps after that, now we’re ~around february. maybe early march at the latest.

i know some have also used the plants in prickly pair as proof, due to how fast the plants grew, but... that’s something where i honestly think it’s the cartoon logic where steven is just a very good gardener, so he manages to grow lots of stuff in a short time. how long X plant would take irl has very little bearing on it. different universe, different rules.

the pacing of the episode makes it feel like it takes place over a few weeks, at most - certainly not several months. and maybe he started on some of them before graduation (there Are some plants in there from before, even back when the movie aired!). point is, more plants = looking busier, and i think they were more concerned with having appropriate plants for the people steven were projecting onto (connie, lars, onion, etc) than measuring Exacty how long each would take to bloom irl.

so... yeah, with this loose framework, steven would be around 16 and a half. i feel like that’s a fine timeframe for his stagnation, and I feel like it’s supported by how the concept drawings of this steven always refers to the design as “16 yr old steven”, not older teen steven.

i could be wrong! this isn’t a topic i am super concerned about, so i haven’t done the deepest of research... but i’d still argue that if your proof is “in the background there’s this one plant that would take 6 months to grow irl”, or “irl graduations usually happen around may/june”, i don’t consider that substantive proof. they rely too much on SU’s universe working exactly like our world, and ignore evidence to the contrary (such as off-colors graduating on their own - being excited about earth from the start, they were most receptive to its lessons and how to adapt to their newfound freedom).

#steven universe #su future #on the topic of steven's age

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writeintrees · 3 years

Text

Carter Part 1 of 4

Summary: This is it, Carter is going to die here. His torturers are relentless and no one is coming for him. At least that is what he thinks until a mysterious stranger busts into the building searching for their sister. Carter is brought to the rebels, who surprise him, keeping him on his toes and helping him to work through a few things. This group is so happy and kind and better than he could ever dream of.

Found family, trans mc, chronic pain mc, trauma, hurt/comfort

Content warnings: torture (simple physical injury and neglect), blood, low self esteem, negative self talk, history of physical and mental abuse from family and a partner, self harm scars, panic attack, getting triggered, derealization, dissociation

3155 of 15060 words total

part 2, part 3, part 4

“Just kill me.” Carter says, his eyes staring at the floor. “I’m not going to tell you anything.”

No one knows he is here. Hell, it will probably be days before anyone notices he is missing. And his neighbors or boss would not know where to look even if they did care about him. Everything about his life is shallow attachments and long hours at home alone. No one will even miss him when he is dead, he thinks bitterly. There is no use in stringing this out.

“We have ways of making you talk.” The woman says with an oil slick of a smile. Two box braids run down the back of her head. The hair ombres to platinum blonde as it goes. She reaches to run her finger reverently over some metal instrument. Which one it is does not make much of a difference to Carter. He is sure it will hurt. They can hurt him in a thousand ways, he is not doubting their skills. He just has significant experience with pain.

He has no idea why this random vase is so important to them. He just knows he hates these people to his core and does not want them getting whatever they want. They will likely kill him anyway so what is a little more pain to cause these fuckers further frustration. Maybe his life is good for something after all. He would not hate going down fighting for something even if he does not know what is going on.

“I’m sure you do. But any pain you inflict will either be something I’ve felt before or it will make me pass out. Pain isn’t new to me. Just do yourself a favor and save your time and energy. A clean body is easier to dispose of anyway.” He cringes a little at the self loathing that creeps into his voice. He hopes they will not keep him alive just because of that.

The woman does not seem to hear his words though as she grabs a blade. “You’ve never had to deal with me before.”

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

Cuts litter his exposed skin, oozing clotting blood over the textures of existing scars. Some he is proud of and some he is trying to accept as part of his story. The one that puckers around his right shoulder. The twin curves under his pecs. The cigarette burns and parallel white stripes along his wrists, belly, and thighs.

He breathes steadily and stares straight ahead. The woman brushes the flyaways angrily from her forehead. “Fine. Let’s kick it up a notch.” Her eyes are wild when she pulls out the pliers. Before he registers what is happening, she grabs his hand tight to the point of feeling his bones shift against each other. With a sickening tug there is the feeling of a thousand paper cuts. She grins as he gasps. She inflates with confidence at being back in control. She walks slow circles around Carter’s heaving body while preening, taking in his pain while she sips from a water glass. He scrunches his eyes closed for a moment, struggling to breathe through the newfound pain before it settles into the background with all of his existing pain.

After a minute he looks up at her with newfound boredom stemming from dissociation. Mostly through depression and having to accept the pain because it does not fucking stop.

She grabs his hair roughly and tugs his head back at an uncomfortable angle. He stares at the ceiling beside her head. There is a crack in one of the tiles and another has a brown stain on it. Must be from water damage. Or some other fluid, knowing this place. He does not actually know this place, has no idea if these torturers have set up shop here or if it is just an abandoned building they are using as a one-off.

“Hey!” She spits. “Look at me while I’m talking to you!” She pulls him out of his thoughts. He hadn’t even realized she was talking. “As I was saying, you’d better tell me where the vase is or I’ll have to make things worse for you.”

“Don’t waste your time. I’ll bleed out before I tell you.” His voice betrays just how tired he is. He hopes it lends him credibility.

With a yell she grabs both of his shoulders and… he is on the floor and his chest refuses to expand. The room is spinning and his head has a sharp pain at the back. He dully remembers a loud crack and now his head is against the pavement, his chair toppled with him still tied securely to it. It takes him a few dizzying minutes to be able to breathe again and when he is able to it hurts like a motherfucker. His ribs and abs hurt with each intake of breath. He thinks she might have kneed him in the gut but he is not sure.

“Be ready for more tomorrow.” She laughs callously. There is a clack and the screech of a door barely on its hinges. “Get him into his cell.” Her voice is distant and reverberates through the passageways outside this concrete room.

There are two sets of footsteps. It is too bright with the lights bearing down on him, but then there are shadows over him and wrestling his arms and legs out of their restraints. They fumble with the ropes across his chest before one of them makes an irritated noise with a low voice. Carter reflexively cringes at that sound. No matter how many years later, he always cringes, wants to stay small and quiet. That is probably why he doesn’t cry out or have a witty comeback when the world goes tipping on its axis again. He hangs his head and focuses on not throwing up from the vertigo. His ankle hurts and he shifts his leg to see a large strip of skin has been taken out by the rough edge of the chair leg as he was righted.

The rope comes loose and he almost goes careening to the floor. It seems too close, like gravity is pulling him from two directions. It is a good thing that the two guards -- or whatever they are -- grab him by the shoulders and manhandle him to his feet. When he stumbles they jab sharply into his ribs but the increase in pain makes him even more out of it. He is way beyond the point of pain sharpening his senses. His brain is floating miles away and watching this whole scene play out through a small screen.

The cell is concrete too because of course it is. This whole place is gray and sharp and uncomfortable. Heat immediately begins seeping from him when he faceplants onto the unforgiving ground and embeds grit into his knees and the heels of his hands.

As the door scrapes closed he tries to come up with something witty to say. He is stuck on what he had been telling the torturer for hours. “You don’t fucking listen to reason do you?”

And with that he is closed into the room.

It is more of a closet in dimensions. Maybe they split a normal room into smaller cells. All he knows is it is small and dark. The only light comes from the seams around the door and from a crack in the wooden ceiling above him. And all the light reveals is the texture of the rocks petrified in the walls and the thick, wet dust in the air. There is the muffled sound of screaming through the ceiling.

He is still shirtless. The air is room temperature but he finds himself shivering. He wraps his arms gingerly around his sides as he lies down on his side. Sitting causes a hot, sick feeling to rise in him from the torn muscles in his abdomen. His throat constricts and he mumbles to himself “don’t throw up don’t throw up” until it passes. He pulls his knees up one by one with his hands, not trusting his hips to do the work. The blood across his skin is mostly dry and he still has his pants. It could be worse, he thinks as another shiver wracks through his body and causes a dull oof to escape his lips when his abs tense. The cuts itch and he closes his eyes tight against the memories.

The next day is more of the same. Cuts and burns and a lot of punching. Every time he makes a sound she has this slimy smile that scares him more than the pain to be honest. She looks at him like an ant she is about to set fire to and he knows that she will draw this out for as long as she can.

He is able to stay on his feet the next time they shove him into his cell. That is a victory. He smiles and keeps eye contact with the guards as they heft the door shut. This time there is food and a ratty old blanket waiting for him. The wrapped hamburger is cold but he eats it so fast that his stomach hurts. The blanket smells like dogs and piss but he wraps it around his shoulders anyway. He is unable to lower himself to the ground so he sits propped up in the corner and the blanket takes the skin gouging power of the concrete down two notches.

There is a jittery feeling under his skin that he recognizes from the times he has forgotten to fill his pill case. Withdrawal. It fucking sucks but when all of the medications leave his body over the course of the next few days he realizes with a pang that most of them did not help anyway. Well that is one way to rule them out. The ones meant to work towards his fibro at least. The rib pain is back with a vengeance and fire streaks through his joints with the pangs of emotion.

As it nears a week he gives up on them listening to reason. He does not give up on the witty retorts though. Even if there is no reaction to them. He feels delirious, spewing out half-formed comebacks that might not even make sense. Sometimes they are in response to what the torture lady has done in his dreams. Reality is frayed at the edges and he has no reason to work to repair it again. He just laughs in the face of it all. Maybe if they see his sanity slipping they will give up on him finally.

Instead he just gets new forms of torture, them ramping up their techniques thinking he will talk. Even the thought makes him laugh. The worse they are, the more resolute he is that he will never give them anything. They cannot take away his spirit and he will fight until his dying breath. He revels in their frustration just as they revel in every flinch and gasp and scream that comes from his mouth. And there are more than he can count. More injuries across his skin than his many moles and more bruises beneath. He throws up blood one of the many times they make the pain bad enough for his stomach to empty its contents. He spits the acid onto his torturer’s boots and she plants her toe into his diaphragm.

Back in the cell he is leaned up against the wall. His pants are tattered but not in a trendy way. They are also stiff with blood. His skin is blotchy with cuts and burns and bruises. Some of the older ones have gone to green-yellow between where new ones overlap.

His eyes follow up the grey wall to that cracked floorboard. He used to rock climb once upon a time. Maybe if his abs heal he could try scaling up to the ceiling and prying the board loose. Even though every part of his body is worse each day than it was the last, he clings to that impossible fantasy of escape as he drifts into fitful rest.

In the morning of his eighth day he hears noises. He is no sooner conscious than the door is thrown open. He prepares himself to make the guards’ jobs as difficult as possible but the scowl on his face gives way to confusion. Instead of the two normal guards, there is someone entirely new. They are wearing all black but hold themself with authority, hand-gun poised at the ready. Their brown hair is tied into a ponytail down their back that swishes as they turn to move onward.

“Wait! Who are you?” What is going on?

They stop with only one foot visible through the opening of the door. “Do you know where the others are kept?” Their voice is cold.

“I think there’s someone in the next cell over.” He tries to push himself to stand but his vision spots and slants and he is back on his hands and knees. Heat splotches across his skin sickly. He focuses on his breathing.

“Hey, are you okay?” They have entered his cell and are knelt in front of him, one hand on his shoulder.

Carter laughs bitterly. “Do I look okay?”

They grimace, their eyes wandering over the cuts and bruises and brands that litter his skin. “I’m looking for my sister. Do you want to come with us?”

He looks into their eyes, astonished. Why would they help him? He had already come to terms with dying here. There was nothing beyond getting through the day. Now the unknown opening up in front of him is dizzying. He nods, not trusting himself to speak past the flood of thoughts and emotions through his mind. He tries to get up but has to fight the sudden nausea that sweeps over him. That causes a little panic. He needs to not fall behind. He needs to not slow them down. This is his only chance.

A hand grasps his upper arm -- with a grip so unlike the guards -- and helps him to his feet with care. He thinks that the hard mask from before must have taken a lot of concentration for them to keep up. It has fallen into concern which settles naturally onto their features. The stiff blanket has come halfway off but he pulls it up with him anyway. Once they see that he seems steady on his feet, they walk back to the threshold and glance back at him to check if he is following. He hurries into the hallway, pulling the blanket tight around him.

It is an incredibly different experience from the days previous. He is able to walk freely and take in the details that he was oblivious to amid his fear and pain. His rescuer types in a code to the door and is pulling at the handle before the latch even clicks open. Light floods the room to reveal a shape in the corner.

“Tasha?” They call tentatively. The person bolts upright, looking towards them with unfocused eyes. They run to her side and fuss over her in a blur of hands. “Tash. Oh my goodness what did they do to you? Where are you hurt?” They keep pulling their hands back, drawn to the visible injuries but scared to touch them. Her body looks much the same as Carter’s own with cuts and bruises. She has on torn pants and a sports bra. Her hair is the same shade of brown as her sibling’s but shorter, more of a bob.

“Em? Emille, how…? What?” She mumbles out.

Emille is frantically struggling out of their black jacket. They tug the sleeves off inside out then try to force it onto their sister whose eyes have fallen onto Carter. He shuffles awkwardly, hoping his presence will not crowd or overwhelm his fellow torturee. Her head lolls slightly as her sibling manhandles her. Her eyes are glazed over in a way that tells him she is not hearing much of what they are saying.

Emille is unraveling before them. “God damn those fucking bastards are going to pay. Tell me everything they did so I can do ten times worse I swear to fucking-”

“Can you stand?” Carter interrupts.

Tasha’s eyes focus slightly. He wonders if he just imagined it with how the silence stretches on. “Yeah.” She rasps finally. She grabs onto her sibling’s shoulder and they stand together, walking towards the door with Emille’s gaze concerned and unmoving from their sister.

“Alright then. I assume you didn’t incapacitate everyone so we should get going, yeah?” Carter waits for Emille’s response. They nod and start striding confidently back into the hall. He follows their lead. The way Tasha steps on only half of her left foot leads him to believe at least a couple toes are broken. She does not complain though. If she did it would probably cause Emille to stop on the spot. She might realize this or she might just be used to hiding the injuries to keep the torturers from that satisfaction. He would understand that too.

Carter has never been to this side of the building. There is very little that he has seen, to be fair. They go up a back staircase slowly. The way Tasha swings her legs up makes him think that her hips have been injured.

When the door opens the light is blinding. But he has very little time to adjust because no sooner does the door swing open than there is yelling echoing behind them. The siblings shuffle out and he follows blindly and almost eats it when the ground drops out from under him. He catches himself with a straightened leg and the shock echoes all the way through his body and rattles his already concussed head. He sucks in a breath and steadies himself. Alarms start blaring from the building behind.

Emille is helping Tasha into a red SUV. Carter walks himself to the car and lets himself into the back seat.

Emille rushes around into the driver’s seat. “Let’s get the hell out of here!”

Carter’s head knocks against the headrest behind him. He shuts his eyes against the headache that blossoms around the back of his skull. He keeps his eyes closed for most of the jolty drive. He is pretty sure Emille runs some red lights and takes turns way too quickly. Eventually the drive evens out into a gentle drift from start to stop and back again.

It is comforting knowing he gets a break and feeling his body heat being bounced back by the fabric of the car seat. He hopes he is not getting blood on it. He can always come back to clean it later. For now he is just taking slow breaths and reveling in it all.

next chapter

#writeblr #writing #oc #original story #milo's stories #hurt/comfort #chronic pain #fibromyalgia #fibro #pain

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domesticatedantelope · 5 years

Text

an exercise in patience

Pairing: Colt x MC

Rating: Explicit | NSFW 18+

Word Count: 6,400

Summary: The one about patience; or, Colt and Mercy are familiar with ropes.

@brightpinkpeppercorn @choicesarehard @desiree-0816 @leelee10898 @client-327 @octobereighth @liamzigmichael4ever @mskaneko @navigatorholmes @lovehugsandcandy @anxious-arliah @zaffrenotes

Mercy seals her own fate with one short and hurried text:

Be home late tonight. Group project is taking forever.

Halfway through the next dense data set, her phone jolts with his even shorter answer: I’ll be waiting.

Something like anticipation simmers in her stomach. She reads the text, rereads it twice, three simple words that feel somehow so filthy, full of promise. Waiting could mean anything; her traitorous imagination wrestles loose from her control and scatters off into a hundred different tempting possibilities. The warm pink of a blush unfolds across her cheeks, and lingers long after she tries to sink herself back into Russian phonemes and the presentation looming ominously at the end of her week.

Colt is rarely the more patient between the two of them, but now that Mercy has his vague, distracting promise bouncing wildly around her thoughts -

She’s feeling a little impatient herself.

Try as she might to silence it, Mercy retains that eager tension, driving too restlessly into the remnants of her work. She likes to hold herself and all things penned under her name to higher standards, but her concentration ambles and starts to lag behind; her mind is lost among the hills and hatch mark scars that shape Colt’s knuckles and how good they feel when they are bent around her wrists, her thighs, the hymnal sighs rising her throat. She spends the next few hours fidgeting, on tenterhooks, three little words and suddenly her evening stretches out into eternity.

Impatience carries her through all the clockwork motions of her travel home: gathering her books with clumsy hands and brief goodbyes thrown carelessly over her shoulder, the hastened pass from library to parking lot to highway with her boot against the gas pedal, the hand of her speedometer that inches ever higher, swinging quickly toward the legal limit.

She watches as the needle soars past 85, and tries not to imagine what her dad would have to say about the recent detours in her good behavior.

You drive like you’ve got something to outrun.

It’s an old and tired wound, her mind biting down on itself, but she knows better now. She rolls the window down and lets the howling wind grip fiercely at her hair, drowning the echoes of her father’s voice into white noise and city whispers. There is solace in the reckless and the tangible: the steering wheel beneath her fingers, the blur of streetlights flashing by as she flies down the freeway, her heartbeat kicking wildly within the cavern of her ribs.

She knows better now.

It’s not about outrunning when there’s someone to come home to.

The house is dark and quiet when she parks, the dim flicker of candlelight glowing between the curtains. Mercy slips through the front door and into distant trills of jazz, drifting an invitation from the living room, and her face smolders with sudden understanding - a learned reaction, practically Pavlovian at this point, borderline embarrassing if not for the excitement rising with it. A long day’s worth of worries falls away, quickly caged and quarantined into the corners of her mind as she hangs her coat and wanders with the steps of the possessed into the next room.

A record spins a slow rotation in her player, needle skating lazily along the grooves, filling the open room with the slick wail of sax riffs, tickles of piano keys and climbing basslines that are sure to stick in Mercy’s head for hours after. She knows every second of this album, every drumbeat and swing of bow on strings imprinted in her memory like marks against the skin. Eyes falling shut, she slows her breathing to the drawn-out, sleepy tempo, hummingbird wing flutters of percussion in her ears.

She knows he’s there before he even speaks. No one has ever had presence to her like Colt Kaneko, some brutal force of magnetism, gravity within his hands. She bites her smile back before turning to face him, the blush still hot across her face.

Colt leans an easy slant against the doorframe, forearms loosely crossed over his chest and two red loops of rope that dangle from his neck. Dark eyes work slowly down her body, like he might derive her very thoughts from the stiffness she holds in her shoulders, and after all the time they’ve spent together - this same room, this album, that rope - she has no doubt that he sees everything.

“You look like you sped home,” he says at last, and there it is, lips tilting up into the same smirk that has drifted through her thoughts all evening long. “You miss me, brat?”

The words lift from her mouth as if compelled, her smile breaking loose. “I always do.”

Her swift response earns a satisfied gleam from the black of his eyes. “Come show me how much.”

Grinning, Mercy hurls her bag aside and beelines for his open arms. He catches her against his chest, where she curls her fists around the ropes and drags herself as close to him as physics will allow. He breathes the lowest ring of laughter before capturing her mouth beneath his own, gentle first, then deeper, blunt with teeth and resolute, lips moving so pointedly slowly. The lazy pace of it suggests a lengthy night, but now that she is here, against the familiar warmth of his body, she might as well have all the time in the world.

When she is blushing red and sufficiently breathless from his attention, Colt leads a string of teasing kisses down her jaw, testing his teeth against the sensitive rim of her ear. Long fingers fold a solid grip among her hair and hold there, firm and undeniably secure, not quite enough to hurt. He tips her head back and regards the arch of hunger in her features with a knowing smile. “You should stretch,” he advises her calmly, conversational, with an undertone that broaches no amount of protest.

Sometimes she is tempted to resist; Colt has only ever been obliging, and she knows he will indulge her if she wants to play at biting back.

Tonight is not that night. With his grasp held fast around her hair, she might as well be liquid in his hands, fluid in form and moving to his influence. He watches acquiescence soften out across her face and sinks one final kiss against her mouth before releasing her.

Somewhat lightheaded, Mercy turns away, escaping the intensity that heats his gaze, making a show of gathering her hair between her fingers. In a few practiced twists, she slings the long sweep of her tresses up into a messy coil, baring the nape of her neck, and she’s put only half a step between them when he yanks her back into his hands and sets his mouth against her shoulder, branding a searing kiss there, edging in with teeth and sucking hard until she gasps and arches and her knees feel weak under her weight.

Budding bruises throb beneath the skin as she steadies herself, blushing to the sound of his laughter. He has a habit of surprising her - something about the smile she gets on her face, he told her once, though she suspects the upper hand it earns him might have more to do with it. Her heart tattoos a rapid double-beat inside her ribs, tolling her anticipation as she rolls her arms above her head, stretching out the stiffness from the hours she’s spent hunched over her textbooks in the library. Her body bends into familiar steps, arching up until the softest flares of strain spark in her nerves and muscles, yawning back to life.

She can feel him watching her, the pressure of his stare like a physical touch, a hum of strings and zigzagging piano chords that usher in “Stella by Starlight” as she settles on the floor. “Have I ever told you jazz is a weird soundtrack for this?”

There’s a muted brush of footsteps behind her, rounding her in slow consideration. “The jazz is for you,” Colt informs her curtly, two degrees defensive. “Music snob.”

“I think it’s pretty clear who’s driving here,” she jokes, and he gives the briefest snort of laughter. “You can pick something you like instead.”

His pacing lapses, landing him between the open stretch of her legs, where he kneels to meet her gaze. “It’s not about me,” he says simply. Catching her wrists in one broad hand, he draws her toward him until her thighs ache with the strain and she is nearly close enough to kiss, denying her the last few centimeters it would take to bridge the distance.

Mercy pouts, but swallows down a tempting flicker of complaint. He coasts his thumb along the soft curve of her mouth, humming low under his breath, warm and amused. He pushes in to part her lips and stroke the rough pad of his thumb over her tongue, and she blushes crimson, sucks him deeper like a reflex, giddy trickles of delight skipping in her pulse.

“Now,” he says, and fucks his thumb in lazy thrusts across her tongue, his smile sharp with all the edges of a smirk. “Knees.”

She holds his gaze, folding her knees obediently beneath her.

Satisfied, Colt drags his palm once down the smooth line of her thigh, rough fingers catching at the softness of her stockings before rising to his feet. He resumes his languid study, eyes flitting thoughtfully along her limbs and joints and muscles, planning and blueprinting all the angles of her body.

Meanwhile, Mercy waits.

Her mind begins to wander, and she wonders how she looks to him, when he observes her with that all-consuming focus - she feels at once no more than bones and skin and heartbeat, instinctual, utterly human and yet wholly exalted in the same breath, beyond any perception she could ever carry of herself. She feels beautiful; her anxious thoughts all ease apart and disentangle, shaping into words like worshipped and immortal.

Because Colt looks at her as if he can see masterpieces etched in every curve and bend and feature of her body, and he intends to map each one of them by hand.

He starts with the haphazard jumble of her hair, freeing the elastic from her bun with two gentle, decisive tugs, letting the tresses tumble loosely down her back. Knowing fingers glide the drop of her spine, parting dark waves of hair and winding them more fully at the crown of her head, tying errant waves back into place with a skillful twist of hands. His fingertips descend her neck, tracing the bruises from his teeth, the heartbeat crashing in her throat. And then, abrupt, possessively, he grabs her by the hips and slides her back into his lap, biting a laugh against the softness of her throat.

Mercy squeaks in surprise, clutching at his hands as her stockings slip against the hardwood floor. Her cheeks suffuse with heat at his proximity, his breath against her skin and no amount of space between them. She longs for even closer, but if Colt has proven anything to her over the years, over the slow rotations of that record in the player, she has faith he will provide. His palms and fingers grip securely at her hips, shifting to drag slow paths along the gentle curve of her stomach, the warmth from his hands sinking through her blouse.

“Comfortable?” The word rumbles a pleasant sound against her skin, followed by an indulgent draw of teeth along her shoulder. He may bite and grab and fuck his thumb into her mouth, but he always, always asks, keeps constant measure of her limits and reactions. Colt will only ever hurt her just enough to make her come, and the comfort of that understanding floats with all the buoyancy of lifeboats in her heart.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

His touch follows the soft slopes of her forearms, curling in with tempered strength around her wrists, and she lets her hands fall trustingly into his lead, lets him guide each arm behind her back and cross them one over the other. She lets him hold her captive, helpless to his grasp, relinquishing against all instinct, and her voice catches somewhere beneath her throat, a rush of anxious pleasure twisting through her, pulsing hot between her thighs.

The first coarse length of rope slinks rough over her forearms. She fidgets at the familiar itch, sensory memory arising in its wake: the thrill of rushing blood, suspension, spinning and Stella by Starlight. Resounding calm sinks through her thoughts, slicing a path of soothing nothing as he loops the rope around her wrists and forearms, locking them together, cinching tight against the muscle. Pleats of jute dig lines into her arms, biting in just deep enough to feel the pressure of their hold. She knows they will leave trails behind, trench warfare forged across her skin in brutal red and blue.

He will be touching her for days until they fade.

He finishes the first knot with a final tug, and no amount of shimmying wrests any give from its control. His grip is certain while he tests and crosses and adjusts, slipping his fingers underneath the tension there until the rope fits snug against her skin. When he’s ensured the measure of his work, she feels his touch tracing across her open palms, and her fingers wiggle silent reassurance back at him.

A sense of stillness settles in as he continues, leading crimson cords of rope around her arms, her chest, weaving them back into the web of knots he’s formed between her shoulders just to double back and steadily retrace his steps with more.

Already she can feel the pressure when she breathes, a thousand forceful fingers pushing, pulling into place, the shape of the divine in crimson red against her skin. He teases teeth at the base of her throat, taking taut-wound rope into his fist, moving her body to his whim with sinful ease. She lolls between his hands, like every limb is molten liquid. The pull of his ropes have eroded at her worries, doubts, decisions, locking them firmly beyond her reach.

Colt spins her by the knees to face him with a suddenness that leaves her dizzy, and her eyelids flutter open to the utter focus etched across his features. “How are you feeling?” he asks, far too casual. “Big words,” he’s sure to add, his fingertips against the inside of her thigh and climbing higher, vanishing beneath her skirt. “Something pretty.”

She can’t think when she’s tied up, when he’s touching her like that, and fuck him, he knows this. But she meets the challenge in his eyes with vain determination, trying to compile all the fraying remnants of her senses. Her thoughts bound off and stumble over words that won’t compare until at last the proper syllables click blindly into place.

A well of triumph sings in her like music. “Resplendent.”

He smiles then, his fingers pressing deeper, sliding past her stockings, finding flesh and hems of lace. “Not bad, brat,” he allows her, but his voice is pleased as he shapes languid pressure in against her through the soft lace of her thong, and she sighs a sound that borders the obscene at the sharp tides of pleasure rising to his touch. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

She breathes another desperate noise when he releases her, left wanting and unable to reach out for more. Tension pulls taut among the ropes behind her, and his hand exerts only a fraction of his strength at the base of her spine, pushing her down against her knees.

Mercy complies, bending smoothly to his guidance. She wades into the dark behind her eyelids, and she is adrift, existing solely through the filter of sensation, wracked with pain. Pressure flays along her arms, her thighs, nails biting lines across her palms, her heart a wild thing beating for freedom in her chest. Everything aches, and deep beneath her gut, the hurt, the heat, the helplessness compound into the sweetest pull of need.

She has, maybe, a strange relationship with pain.

And there is no pain quite like this, the slow, molasses agony where rope sinks into skin. She steadies her resolve with another easy breath drawn in between her teeth, releasing on the falling end of a moan. She counts to ten in French, then backwards. Miles Davis plays the trumpet. Inhale, hold, and exhale. Familiar. Secure. Calm.

By the time Colt hauls her back against his chest, Mercy has found her footing in the struggle, and she has the sense of mind to answer when he murmurs something heavy with concern.

“It’s good,” she slurs, and nuzzles lovingly against his neck.

“Good.” He laughs, fastens a hand among the soft roots of her hair and tilts her head back, baring her throat to his mouth. He kneads with teeth and gentle, teasing kisses until she whines and wiggles uselessly against him.

He keeps her pinned against his shoulder as he works with quiet diligence, winding his ropes into sharp angles like a cage across her sternum. Beneath his touch, her consciousness is whittled down to ever-present tension, leashed to stillness, blissful limitation. The world around her slows and cycles at a different pace, as if he is unwinding all the tangled threads of time itself, suspending them somewhere among the knots that bind her. He focuses intently on each inch of rope and all the places where they twist and loop together and she doesn’t think at all.

There is no resisting him when Colt angles her head back. She peers up at the silver ring that hangs and glints with candlelight above them as he teases roughened cords of rope over her neck and shoulders and the soft slope of her cheek. When he wedges them between her teeth, she opens to him, biting down with an airy moan.

He tips her face one way, and then the other, tilting her head to catch the light and properly appreciate the bound and blushing mess he’s left of her. She can’t imagine her expression when she’s tied and trying not to lose all sense of clarity, but it must be what he’s looking for, because it wins a hungry sound from somewhere in his chest.

When he stands, the cavern of his absence yawns behind her. She whines for him, blindly, hears the dark curl of his laughter somewhere above her before he lifts her to her feet with one firm and certain push. Her head spins as she sways against his chest, dizzied and helpless to catch herself, his hands the only steady harbor in the rush of blood that throbs up to her brain. He pulls the rope free from her teeth and gently cups her jaw against his palm, rolling his thumb over the muscles there.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he teases, nudging his lips against the warm flush in her cheeks.

Mercy can only summon the parched whisper of a laugh. “You’re so funny.”

“I’m hilarious.”

Head falling back against his shoulder, she stares up and up to watch that slowly spinning ring, the comforting familiarity of Colt’s hands as he shackles loops of cording into place, metal clicking against metal. Tension trembles in the bonds around her with the last few knots that spiderweb across her back, straining beneath his strength when he tugs each one to completion, and it never matters how much she may brace herself - the first lift upwards always takes her breath.

The ropes manipulate her body like a lover, crawling taut against her skin, siphoning the air from her lungs as he hauls her skyward, and suddenly she’s soaring, floorboards disappearing underneath her toes.

Colt steadies her between his hands, and she begins to understand how planets are compelled around the sun; her center of gravity shifts in his grasp, drawn to the tips of his fingers as they follow a trajectory that he has penned like verse across her body. He knows every inch of her by touch, by lips, by heart, but he luxuriates in learning her again, wandering the canvas of her body with wide palms and knowing fingers, tracing the snaking lines where his ropes restrain her.

With her arms locked and criss-crossed in crimson knots behind her back, Mercy can only watch the slow progression of his hands as he tugs her legs apart and makes himself at home between them. It’s presumptuous and arrogant and so unbearably smug, the way he handles her, the tilt of his smirk as he works another love bite into the sensitive flesh of her thigh; Colt is most in his element when he is in control, and she has put herself entirely at his mercy.

His fingers edge the hem of her skirt higher, past her hips, leaving her squirming and exposed to the cool air between her legs.

“Did you think about me?” he asks, rough of hunger fraying at the edges of his voice. His eyes glint with amusement, like a joke when he already knows the punchline.

But he’ll want to hear her say it.

“Yes.” She whines into her teeth, thoroughly distracted by his touch. “I could barely concentrate, thanks to you.”

A wicked smile curves across his face. “That’s too bad,” he laments, but no amount of penance shakes the humor in his voice. His fingertips continue undeterred, inching higher between her thighs, finding the flimsy lace of her thong and nudging the material dismissively aside. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve been thinking about touching you since you left in that fucking skirt this morning.”

The first brush of his fingertips against her skin tears a gasp from the depths of her lungs, and she writhes under the spiral of sensation flaring hot across her nerves. She’s spent the whole of a distracted evening thinking of those very hands, and god, they are precisely as relentless as she remembers.

“I wear this to class ah-all the time,” she protests, whispered between soft shivers that descend her spine, chasing the bliss of his touch.

“And I’m the criminal.” He casts one last teasing glance at her before he grips her by the hips and swings her closer, dragging her against his mouth. All at once his lips and tongue are wet and hot against the slick between her thighs, and Mercy arches, biting out his name in shattered gasps. He groans and guides her legs over his shoulders, pinning her open with a touch so firm she might as well be tied there too, his fingers pressing into flesh, desperate and demanding. Sharp, knife-edge pleasure gnaws between her legs, and everything strings tight with pooling tension, pressure, need where his devilish mouth meets her body.

“Colt…!” Searing embers heat beneath her skin, stoked to flames by the tip of his tongue. “Oh, god-!” Her hands curl into fists behind her back, and every labored breath swells in her chest, pushing in protest at the brutal lines of her restraints. Candles flicker soft halos of light in her peripheral, Colt’s gaze rising slowly up to meet her own as his lips part between her thighs, and there’s a flash of tongue before she feels him lashing long, determined strokes over the slick folds of her sex, and her eyes sink shut instinctively against the devastating pleasure that wracks through her.

Her fingers flex, impatient, aching for more contact; she wants to grip his hair and tug until he moans, wants something solid in her hands, fuck, anything to anchor her among the rush, but she can only hang, trust, wait, and the sense of incapacity is freeing and infuriating all at once. Her voice trembles out fractured sounds, pleading and praising, echoes of his name that make him hum approvingly between her legs.

Mercy writhes within her bonds, her eyes caught longingly on the shape of his hands, the almost bruises where his fingers leave impressions in her skin. Her legs stiffen and twitch to clench together, but he hinges them apart with knowing ease, his laughter low and muffled and unquestionably pleased.

For all the time he’s savored her impatience, Colt doesn’t hold back now. His mouth rounds heavy shapes against her skin, pulling white-hot wrings of pressure that draw sunburn shudders down her vertebrae, the flat of his tongue rolling in around her clit.

“Please,” she pants, the phonemes ragged in her voice. Her hips tremble against his palms as he propels her closer to that line, the gut-wrenching sensation of impending climax starting to ignite. One coarse hand climbs her thighs, easily finding where she throbs for him, thick fingers edging in to fill her with too-languid increments. When he crooks them, seismic shivers ripple through her, summoned to his touch, dull pleasure punctuating sharp tugs of his mouth until everything pulls together in the sweetest fullness, cords of rope locked tight around her body as she sobs and comes undone.

Strung-up and suspended from the ceiling, coming always feels like falling, plunging endlessly into an open void, weightless in her restraints as Colt devours her through all the lightning flickers of her high. Her broken voice lifts in a whimper, baby, baby fading like a mantra on her tongue, her lungs aching for breath while blinding pleasure overtakes her.

For a few crashing heartbeats, there is only the true freedom of release.

And then Mercy is slumping limp against the harness of her bindings, nudging him away with shaking knees and panting in the feathery descent that follows after climax. Little curls of bliss still pulse between her thighs as Colt eases her legs down from his shoulders, christening the muscles there with gentle kisses. His mouth is warm and wet and slick with her, and when his teeth graze softly at the nylon of her stockings, indignation prompts a whine through her exhausted stupor.

Dark, wanting eyes roam her expression, and he teases with a playful tug along the silky hemlines of her hosiery. “I hope you’re not attached to these.”

She shouldn’t laugh - he doesn’t need encouragement - but tipsy giggles rise her throat before she can resist them. “Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

He smiles, unrepentant, as she feels him wind another coarse tendon of rope around her hips. For now he leaves her stockings thankfully intact, his focus honed once more on her containment. She watches him from under heavy eyelids as he strings her up like so much precious artwork, and by the time her racing heart has settled back to resting rate, her knees hang snug and cradled in red jute, anchored in winding rings that lock her thighs apart, each hard line fastened and redoubled with the utmost certainty.

She’s never felt so small as when she’s tied here, tethered into stillness and suspension. Her thoughts have all been thoroughly dissolved under the agonizing feeling of the binds against her skin, and there is only void, a tranquil darkness where her worries once held fast.

Like an earth in slow rotation, Mercy spins. Colt runs his palms along her open thighs, his gaze spanning her body as she turns, and there is an immensity of satisfaction in his eyes - like he has shaped her into his entire world, and he could spend a century surveying his domain.

Then his fist curls tight around the ropes above her knee, and his free hand sinks into her hair, angling her head back for a kiss that feels like being claimed. Gingerly he loosens the elastic from her hair again, and a whisper of relief sighs on her tongue at the brief sense of liberation. His fingers are demanding as he conquers the slope of her waist, rolling his thumb over the ropes that hold her captive with devotion in his touch.

“Jesus, Mercy.” A strangled laugh, his hands mapping a tantalizing trail across her skin. “If you knew how fucking good you look…” He swings her close against his chest, forcing her knees open around him. The rough of denim scrapes her thighs, and in the space between them she can feel how hard he is, twitching beneath his pants. He grits a curse out when she squirms against him, hips pitching a frantic thrust in response.

The click of his belt resonates behind her ribs, flickers of anticipation squeezing at her heart. She whimpers her impatience, and he soothes her with a clumsied hand between her legs, two fingers sliding over slickened skin and pushing in, working against that perfect point inside of her until her hips are trembling around him.

Broken pleas bounce on her tongue, and he bites a groan against her shoulder, catching his lip between his teeth as finally he frees himself. His knuckles brush her first, the heavy head of his cock prodding in against her, and her mouth spills open in a tortured noise as he angles his hips and nudges in, guiding her down around him.

Colt moves slowly, knuckles white against red ropes and the bronze of her skin. Her nerves exult with yes, finally, yes, the sweetest ache of taking as he pushes deeper. She would be embarrassed by the sounds that bubble up her throat if she weren’t consumed with brute force pleasure when he comes to rest against her, and she feels him everywhere: the darkness between heartbeats, at the height and fall of every breath that filters through her lungs; her senses are all filled with Colt, his grip, his ropes, his cock, pleasure and pain in blissful counterpoints across her body.

“Oh, fuck.” He shivers out a laugh, hips trembling a lazy thrust that draws another groan up through his teeth. “Mercy. You feel so good, sweetheart.”

Affection warms the center of her heart, but her words seem to be strung up with the rest of her. Half-bitten syllables ring in her throat, short nonsense sounds all shaped around a breathy moan as rapture tightens like a fist inside of her. She cries out when his hips lock hard against her own, the warmth of tears brimming along her lashes. Her body sings with overstimulation, agony and ecstasy, throbbing under future bruises and the ruthless slice of pleasure rocking through her.

He fucks another urgent thrust, dropping his fingers to the slick point where they fit together. Raw and tender in the fading embers of her climax, she recoils, anguish chasing every vibrant lick of pleasure as his thumb spirals relentless pressure at her clit. Blissful tears track silver down her cheeks, plumes of searing pleasure lashing out like lightning from his touch.

“I can’t, I can’t-!” She sobs a string of frantic noises, trembling in her restraints, but Colt persists until the thinnest lance of panic claws up through her. Writhing only reinforces the extent of her confinement, and there is no retreating from the overwhelming flood of rapture, pinned between his clever fingers and the rigid weight of him inside of her. It’s all too much, too soon, more than her fraying nerves can take; some primal part of her fears she might shatter into pieces if she didn’t have his ropes and hands to hold her all together.

His fingers curl around the column of her throat, holding with the faintest pressure as her eyes open to meet his own. “One more time,” he groans, and for a moment, he sounds almost pleading. “Come for me again.”

The need in his voice wracks a shiver down her spine. Against her seething instincts, Mercy grits her teeth and eases all the tension from her muscles, letting herself fall into his touch. Her body reels under the onslaught of sensation, jerking with each scorching stroke his thumb slides in against her clit, and she is on the brink of crying out for mercy when a cinder of anticipation catches somewhere in the pit of her gut.

Colt watches recognition cross her features, triumph lighting in his eyes as the muscles in her hips begin to tense. Adrenaline drives wild through her veins, the familiar leap in her pulse when she’s done something far too reckless and the threat of losing all control looms overhead. Her heels dig in against his thighs, coaxing him closer with the last dregs of her strength until his hips shudder against her, fingers gripping tight around her thigh. The sharp tearing of nylon sounds as the first stocking gives way to his urgency, and the sudden roughness of his fingertips against her bare skin has her pleading restlessly for more, desperate for closeness when his ropes have kept her so unbearably contained.

Clutching his fist among the bonds that cross her shoulders, he obliges with a hard swing of his hips, driving in to the hilt and groaning at the feel of her around him. “Mercy,” he breathes, her name surrender on his tongue, and with that ragged whisper, climax crashes over her.

Riving pleasure crests and pulls her under, swaths of heat expanding out to scour every atom of her body. The tender branches of her nerves all spark with bliss, her eyelids screwing shut until the dark of rorschach flashes dance behind them. She feels herself clench tight around him as her lungs expel a strangled sigh and she is plummeting, untethered - whole.

Colt twitches inside of her. His hips shove swift, erratic thrusts, fucking her with rough abandon as he tenses, curls against her, teeth nicking a fervent sound into her throat when he tips over after her. Shivers clamber up his shoulders, and his hands cling desperately along her hips, pressing almost to the point of pain as he comes apart with a shuddering moan.

The waves of rapture gradually recede and leave her gasping to regain her breath, itching with the cooling sting of sweat as Colt leans heavily against her body. Her senses register in slow succession, trumpets fading in as if over a vast and winding distance. Residual endorphins bathe her through with numbing warmth, and in the mindless bliss that follows, Mercy feels like she is truly home.

Colt’s fingers travel softly down her cheek, grazing the heartbeat at the hollow of her throat as he looks her over. “You’re all right?”

She’s fallen somewhere far beyond the capability of speech. She bobs a dreamy nod instead, his breathless laughter more than compensation for the effort.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Beneath the satisfaction in his roughened voice, there is a tenderness that sinks like easy tides around her heart. “Sit tight, brat.” His lips brush her forehead, her cheekbones, the dimple that corners her mouth when she giggles under his attention. “Let me take care of you.”

A deep exhaustion washes over as he begins to free the knots that tether her in place. Her feet have barely touched the floor before he lifts her into his arms with deliberate ease, red ropes hooked loose around his knuckles as he carries her to bed.

The bedsheets harbor an exquisite coolness when he sinks her down against them, though she’s rapidly descending from the high of her euphoria. Her shoulders ache behind the joints, the muscles in her legs giving a spasm of protest when she attempts to move them.

“Easy.” Colt soothes his palms over her quaking thighs. “I’ll get it.” His touch borders on reverent as he sweeps her hair aside with careful fingers, baring the bouquet of knots he’s fashioned down the center of her back. He pauses, drinking in the sight of her, and she blushes to imagine what she looks like: corded crimson with his claim, skirt rucked above her hips, the insides of her thighs slicked with the both of them.

He frees her hands first, and she can’t help sobbing in relief, tears rolling down her face as he nestles a kiss into each palm.

The tying is an anchor, sanctity of structure, safe and sanctuary.

The untying is ritual release.

The longest sort of worship, bleary-eyed and blissed to stupor, limp against the sheets as he unwinds her knot by knot.

Mercy sprawls an aching arch across the bed when she is finally unbound, but Colt is far from finished. Gentle fingers peel her clothes away, exposing angry tracks of red that he attends to with the barest touch of lips, soothing where his love has left its mark. The tatters of her stockings he discards with only a smug look before proceeding, pressing his affection into every trench his ropes have carved across her body.

He’s taken a detour along her collarbone when finally she finds the strength to move, lifting her palm to cup his jaw and drag him down into a very tired kiss.

“Thank you,” she breathes, tracing her fingertips along the confident shape of his smirk. “I needed that.”

“I know.”

And Mercy laughs, rolls lazily onto her side to smile up at him. “Because you know everything.”

“You’re not wrong.” He grins and nips with gentle pressure at the bare skin of her shoulder. “But I know you best. When you didn’t text me fifty kiss and heart emojis, I figured you were in your head and overstressing again.”

“I stress the appropriate amount,” she protests, and then he’s laughing with her. “And be nice. It’s midterms. I’m Type A.”

“I’m being extremely nice.” His fingertips pause in their idle tracing to stray pointedly over the ridges left imprinted on her skin. “Hence, rope.”

“Mmn, and candlelight, and jazz. I must be spoiled.”

He shrugs, his smirk returning with a sinful edge. “If I’m gonna tie you up and fuck you, I might as well do it right.”

The blush resurges in her cheeks, as he intended, and he chuckles as she hides her face in the crook of his neck. Pressed against his body, she can hear the rhythm of his heart behind his ribs, steady and slow, a perfect constant when the world is moving far too fast around her. There will be more midterms and more deadlines and more late nights speeding home, but right now she has everything she needs between her aching arms.

As far as Mercy is concerned, the rest can wait.

#ride or die #choices ride or die #colt kaneko #colt x mc #rod #ns*fw #ship: power couple #mc: mercy castellano #sometimes date night is candles and jazz and a few sets of rope #stress relief takes many forms in the castaneko household #as always please do let me know if you'd like a tag removed or added!#thank you so much for reading!#dom writes

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asrafucker69 · 5 years

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Arcana social dance headcanons

If you can’t ho and switch partners every dance, what’s the point?

Asra: Lindy Hop

That fast pace, that zany energy is made for him. He'd be the type to have an unexpected amount of strength in him; I hope his partner is good at keeping up, because his arms are gonna be like goddamn rebar. You go along or you go along. But he'd be pretty good at dancing with the noobs, always smiling, always encouraging, hey watch your timing, it’s alright.

This jackass will abso-bloody-lutely turn up in clothes that are technically vintage-accurate in cut and fit, but have some neon lining or something. Definitely mastered both leader/male and follower/female roles, probably pitches in with teaching the baby noobs.

Julian: Salsa

Boy, he shines there, though his long limbs make the inevitable tangle of limbs a little hilarious at times. The fast pace and drama, perfect for him. Oof, clear the dance floor, he's gonna set this shit on fire. If you're his partner, get used to staring at his collarbone all dance while he simultaneously manages to show you off... somehow. He's actually really good at showing off his partner.

Pray hard you draw him during a competition, he will make you look amazing.

Nadia: Bachata

Of course she knows all the proper dances like waltzes and whatever. But as for her preferred social dance - bachata. Sensual, close, utterly controlled. The dance floor will be embers by the time she's done. There's a queue of leaders/usually men wanting to dance with her, much to the envy and delight of the other poor followers/usually women who have to actively go ask the men to dance.

Dance with her, and you best be prepared for her to steal the limelight.

Lucio: West Coast Swing

He is actually great at it. The improvisation, the flamboyance it allows from the men, and he probably learned both roles. He's actually shockingly gentle as a partner, but he's a goddamn diva, so while he'll be nice enough to noobs... it's still not the greatest idea for them to dance with him. He'll suddenly pull out a pirouette from somewhere while in heels while his poor noob partner is just. Standing there, not knowing what to do.

In his beginner stages, he probably was the type to put his partner through like five fucking turns in a row because he panicked and that's the most flamboyant move he remembers how to execute, and they're like FML, FML SO HARD.

Muriel: West Coast Swing, again

It's one of the more 'decent' social dances, you actually keep a good distance from your partner a lot of the time. He's surprisingly gentle for all his size, more a guide than anything (Asra's the one you have to watch out for), and tends to fade into the background of his own dances while his partner (with plenty of help from him) steals the limelight.

Oh, and I really hope you have a thing for collarbones, because even in heels, you're gonna be staring at his all night. He's almost too nice to the noob babies though. While he won't actively seek to dance with them, it's rude to turn them down, but he's also unlikely to correct their mistakes because he's just. Too shy.

Portia: Salsa, again

Watch her GO, holy shit. Actually, watch her with JULIAN. She's got the fire for it, the sass and extroversion. She'll leave her hair loose and it gets tossed everywhere, watch her toss her head and laugh before her partner pulls her through some impossible execution. She is heaven to dance with tbh, fluid and easygoing. Yeet the noobs at her, she'll take care of them.

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skulfuggery · 5 years

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Playing The Nice Killer

Request: the legion's frank cornering an amab reader and threatening them w/a knife? lots of blood, crying and knifeplay, maybe wound fucking/blood as lube?

I stray from cozy pastures to bring you this, my first Legion fic and certainly not my last. Rated Grapefruit for gore & light n-oncon, read it on Ao3 here.

Frank had no issue admitting to himself that he had a bit of a god complex. To say he was a control freak would still somehow be an understatement; there was so much more to his method than pure control. There was fear, the panic when his prey realized that he held their life in his hands. There was capitalizing on that fear, toying with the idea of mercy and letting them think that if they begged, pleaded, and bargained with all they were worth, Frank would let them crawl away.

That became a bit more complicated in the Entity's realm. Under normal circumstances, nobody would live to fall for that trick twice. But once the survivors caught their first wind that Frank wasn't known for his merciful moments, their deaths became more resigned, a grim acceptance. Those who did beg stopped, and those who didn't made it a point not to respond to his verbal jabs.

He thought it a shame. The Entity's realm was both a gift and a curse, allowing him never-ending sovereignty over those weaker than him while losing half the fun of chasing them down. Eventually he just held his tongue, straining to hold in his taunts and give the same silent treatment that he was always received with.

He didn't make the connection when another killer--the first new one since his arrival--joined them by the campfire. He didn't think much of it when he materialized in a trial. It wasn't until he caught sight of the new arrival, focused intently on the moving lips of the pig-tailed girl, that the opportunity before him spelled itself out in his mind.

Someone who's never died before.

Frank's fingers twitched. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat, he fell forward and his feet were suddenly moving faster than his mind, knife flipped overhand and raised high in the air.

He broke into the conversation with a single slice, running from the girl's shoulder all the way down to her elbow. Underhand grip, Frank whirled around as she screamed and lunged for you. Your hands flew up to defend yourself, not totally helpless even if you were no match for him. With practiced precision Frank forced a grimy blade inside of your guts, then quickly yanked back.

You stumbled backwards, clutching your new open wound and screaming bloody murder. Fresh fear. Not practiced or restrained or in any way prepared for what was to come. Frank didn't realize how much he missed the sound until it sent tingles coursing throughout his entire body.

While you panicked, Frank turned his attention back to the other girl, who had managed to get a good head start in the opposite direction. Killer instinct said to follow. The glowing crosshatch that she left in her wake was tempting. But not so much as his own hedonism.

You had pressed your back against the brick wall behind you, shirt pulled up and wordlessly staring at your new wound. As though it fascinated you, the narrow window into your own inner working. Frank closed the distance in two steps, drawing your attention up in the same instant he shoved two fingers inside your newest opening.

Again he trembled at your cry. Blood squelched between his digits and flowed out the small gap. He placed his right hand against the wall to steady himself, knife loosely pinned beneath his palm. Waited calmly for you to finish screaming before he opened his mouth. "I can tell you're new here."

He watched the flurry of emotions cross over your tear-stained face, everything from terror and pain to pure bewilderment. Frank's grin beneath his mask widened. "What'd she tell you?"

"Fffucking--She just--!" Frank tilted his head. You were pushing your voice awfully deep when he was sure you were on another octave just a moment ago.

"Mm, cute." His fingers spread, stretching your narrow wound apart. But you didn't scream, this time you clenched your teeth and inhaled sharply, tears bubbling over with twice the intensity. "Not a very convincing tough guy, are you?"

You exhaled as Frank brought his fingers back together. He was slow to push inside of you, savoring every new expression it gave. Soon his hips were twitching, bringing himself closer to you until your bodies were nearly pressed together and his mask rested firmly in your hair.

And though you grunted and howled and everything in between, you never fought back. Because you knew it would get you punished, knew that he was the one with the power, knew that you were at his absolute mercy.

"You know, the others will know how to fix this," Frank wiggled his fingers to show what he meant though he knew he absolutely didn't have to. You whimpered, tilted your head down further.

"Others?"

"Oh, sure. " Frank pulled his knife away from the wall and jabbed it down into a nearby crate, well within arms reach. "Couple others, they can mend you up and get you out of here. And since I'm so nice--"

He pulled back and grabbed the bottom of his mask, sliding it up until it was pressed up into his hair. The Entity gurgled in the back of his mind, and he was all too happy to ignore it.

"I'd be willing to let a newbie go." Your head snapped up, eyes immediately falling to his smug grin. He finally pulled his fingers out of you, looking first over his bloodstained fingers then at your wound. They never bled out as fast as they did in the real world, but his time was still limited. "I just need one thing from you."

Your eyes narrowed. "No."

"Don't want to hear my generous offer?" Without the mask there was no hiding it, Frank knew his excitement was written all over his face. Yet you shook your head again. He sighed without a hint of disappointment and moved his bloody fingers to his jeans, pulling down the zipper.

And just as he expected, that simple noise changed your attitude in a heartbeat. You shrank away as you watched him undress, tripping over your own words until you could hardly speak at all. Once he tugged his jeans down his boxers were worthless, his cock springing up and poking out of the open fly. At the perfect height to push forward and rub the tip of his cock against your wound.

You tried to squirm away and his free hand snatched your wrist, pinning it to the wall beside your head. Meanwhile he swiped away blood from your gushing wound to wet himself, shamelessly jerking himself off in your fluids. Your eyes met, and he broke away from biting his lip to smile.

“Why don’t you give me a kiss?” You no longer hesitated. You shut your eyes and puckered your lips up, and Frank took a moment to simply admire that sight in itself before diving in. He grabbed you by your hair and pressed you to his lips, holding you there as his other hand slowly worked himself to orgasm.

He held that for a long moment, amused as he watched your eyes slowly open and fill with betrayal as you realized that this wasn't going to get you out of this. He didn't want to break your hopes so soon, he wanted to let you go this time just so he could get one more out of you. So, with an annoyed roll of his eyes, he broke the kiss.

"Well, a deal's a deal," Frank muttered on your lips. He felt you shake beneath him and he hoped you felt how it made his cock twitch. He pulled his head up and planted one more kiss on your cheek, brushing his lips over your ear as he pulled away. "You were a good boy."

You tried to pull away from him but his grip in your hair tightened, holding you still. "Don't like when I call you that?"

"Just...fucking...." Frank let go of your hair and you collapsed to the ground, your blood loss finally getting to you. You slumped against the wall, face going pallid as blood slowly pooled around you. Frank stroked his cock a few more times, really fighting the urge to finish himself all over your face.

Then again, what was stopping him?

You were barely conscious enough to feel the warmth splattering over you. First your forehead, then your cheeks, until you were covered in him. He wiped the last strand off on your lips, the head of his cock leaving a smudge of your own blood as it went.

"I'll point the others your way." The voice was faint, muffled by his mask and growing dimmer every moment. "But if I were you, I wouldn't want to be saved looking like that."

#dead by daylight #dbd #the legion dbd #frank morrison #grapefruit #skulfic

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thranduilsperkybutt · 5 years

Photo

While You Were Sleeping --- A Supernatural AU

Gif source: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Series Masterlist

Pairings: Dean Winchester/Reader; Sam Winchester/Reader

Warnings: Flangst in the first chapter, but there will be more Fluff than angst to come!! Me being a cheesy sap! Writing that will never be as good as the movie, but hell I tried! [Technically the first chapter involves Sam getting hurt… but don’t worry it’s not too angsty!]; Possibly OOC characters?

Word Count: 3,290 words

Reader Gender: Female

Author: Meg

Summary: You live a simple life. You go to work at Charlie’s Coffee House, you pay your bills, you fantasize about finally bucking up the courage to speak more than three words to the tall, attractive regular who you knew only by the name that gets scrawled on the side his coffee cup. Simple. Up until the minute you wind up accidentally becoming his fiancée, that is... and he doesn’t even know it yet. [While You Were Sleeping AU, Coffee-Shop!AU? --- I’m playing fast and loose with the plot.]

A/N: Don’t judge me! I love While You Were Sleeping and I really wanted to write this AU for SPN! I added in a coffee shop because I love coffee shops! This is shameless self-indulgence and not much else tbh... I plan on this being several parts, but I don’t have how many pinned down yet! Second part is in progress right now, so I decided to post this one. [Also, due to school, it may take some time for me to post chapters, so please be patient with me!] Give me feedback to let me know if I should keep this going, or what you’d like to see in later chapters!

| Part 1 | An Accidental Engagement

Your name: submit What is this?

Just the sight of him was enough to have your breath catching in your throat. He moved through the coffee shop familiarly, with a confident grace as he arrived right on the six-thirty dot as had become routine. He looked crisp in his dark suit, which was no doubt expensive if the glance you got beneath his heavier winter coat was anything to go by. It was the height of winter, in that freezing limbo between Christmas and New Years, but the murky clouds above were determined stay, bordering on the threat of snowfall. Long, leather-gloved fingers push back the chocolate locks of hair that had cascaded into his vision as he ordered the same thing he always did, before moving to the side to wait on his order, completely oblivious to the way you had barely been able to function since he came in the door as he turns his attention down to his phone.

“Sam!” Charlie barks out not three minutes later, her fiery red hair tied up into a bun that was already falling down her neck and would most likely fall to pieces before her shift was over. Your heart skips a beat as the tall man looks up from his phone before taking his nonfat soy latte from the pass and hurrying towards the door in long, fluid steps without a second glance behind him, instead focused on whatever important text he was tapping away on his cell.

You sigh, watching him leave. There he went, your future husband, in all his mountainous glory. You could see it now, the two of you together. You could fit perfectly under his arm, thanks to his height. Maybe you could even warm to the idea of having a few rugrats running around eventually, if it was with him. Of course, it would be after he inevitably proposed and you had your own luxurious, fairy-tale wedding. You hoped they would look more like him, with his hazel eyes, and dark hair---

Charlie swatting playfully at your butt with a dishtowel brings you out of your fantasy, forcing the empty coffee mug in your hands back to the forefront of your attention, “Hey, lovergirl, quit drooling and get back to work!” Thankful the door had just closed behind Sam, you jump a bit at the smack. You shoot her a light glare, but still feel the pang of embarrassment at having been caught. Charlie just snickers at you, looking back to the line as Cas takes the next customer in her absence, “Look, chica, I don’t know why you don’t just go on and talk to the suit already! You've nothing to worry about. I know a billion girls who would think they went to heaven to be on a date with you! You’re gorgeous, and a super cool friend, which is a diamond in the rough to find nowadays.”

“Don’t butter me up like one of your croissants, Char! I don’t think talking to your online girlfriends would be the same as bucking up the courage to talk to him,” even though you roll your eyes, you can’t deny the gratefulness you had for her compliments. She single-handedly boosted your self-esteem half of the time, but you doubted it would ever actually grow enough for you to actually make a move on Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome who frequented her coffee shop.

“If this Friday goes well, it won’t be online anymore! I’ve got that date with Ruthy, remember?” Charlie reminds, adding a slight, happy squeal to the end of her declaration as she pulls the lever to the latte machine, a tuft of air accenting her giddy excitement as she froths the next order’s milk.

“And you’ll totally knock her socks off! But, me?” Finishing up the order you had, you send it to the pass with a call of, “I’ve got a black coffee for… Chuck,” before looking back to your boss, “I can’t make it past three words when he comes in! You know that you and Cas have to handle his order all the time, because I’m completely useless when it comes to actually speaking more than one singular word to his stupid, beautiful face.”

She glances back at you skeptically, in the midst of making the espresso order Cas had sent her way before taking his next customer, only to chuckle at your pout, “But have you even tried---?”

The sound of tires screeching violently and people shouting interrupts Charlie and pulls you away from the conversation, your attention shooting towards the glass door to focus on a commotion beyond the windows of Charlie's Coffee House. Your heart jumps into your throat, a sharp fear rushing through you as you realize what is happening in the parking lot.

You didn’t know you could move that fast, as you hadn’t a reason to in the past couple of years, but you closed the gap to the door quickly with how you found yourself running. Disregarding anything else in your haste to get to the scene outside, you pushed out into the winter morning without a care for the way the wind whipped through you, unable to settle it’s chill into your bones with the heat of the adrenaline already warming you.

Not bothering to stop at the driver, you dart past him, barely catching the stunned explanation, “He--- he just walked right out in front of me, on his phone! I didn’t see him until he was right there!” There, on the ground not three feet from the grille of the driver’s Audi, was your favorite customer, his nonfat soy latte scattered and soaking slowly into the unforgiving asphalt.

“Sir? Sir!” you rush to his side, slightly out of breath as you gently press at his shoulders. When you get no response, your gentle pressing grows rougher in an attempt to get him to stir, your voice coming more frantic and scared at the lack of response, “S-Sir, are you okay? Please, say something if you can hear me!” That’s when you notice the blood beginning to pool from beneath his head. Heart hammering in your chest, you turn towards the driver and shout with far more assertion than you ever had in your life, “Call 9-1-1, right now!” Looking back to him, you don’t dare move him, freezing up in a horrifying moment of uncertainty. What do I do? What do I do?

“Oh my god,” you faintly recognize Charlie’s voice from beside you, watching her grey converse sneakers step closer in your peripheral as your hands press into the asphalt, cold and wet beneath your fingers, while you try to get enough of a grip to be useful at all.

Mustering up his name, you urge, hearing the desperation to your voice, “Sam? Sam, come on, buddy… tell me something!”

“I don’t think he’s breathing,” comes gruffly from Cas, who looked on from the sidelines, but still managed to notice something that you hadn’t. You were beginning to draw a crowd now, and Sam still hadn’t stirred yet.

Glancing around frantically, catching the eyes of anyone who would look at you directly, you ask, “Is anyone a doctor? Or nurse? EMT?” When you get only a collective, resounding murmur in response, you look back to Sam, unresponsive and most certainly not breathing at this very moment. You knew you needed to act fast.

If the CPR class you took for kicks last summer was ever going to do you any good, now would be the time.

“Oh, god. Okay. I got this. I got this,” hands shaking you wipe the gravel off your hands before you press them, hard, one atop the other, in the center of his chest, silently praying that you don’t break any ribs, “Sorry, Sam…”

You were still shaking by the time you got to the hospital. Whether it was from the ordeal or from the chill that had finally soaked into you, you didn’t know. Charlie urged you go with the paramedics who took Sam, and they needed someone to tell them what happened anyway. She excused her motives as liability reasons, since the accident had technically occurred on her property, but you figured otherwise. Either way, you were too worried about him to refuse, especially in the split second you had to decide as he was getting hoisted into the ambulance.

Following after the doctors and nurses as they wheel him through the emergency room, you’re quickly stopped by one of them as you come to a set of large double doors, which Sam quickly disappears behind, “Sorry, only family past this point.”

“But---”

“Are you family, ma’am?”

“N-No, but---”

“Then, you can’t accompany him.”

“I’m--- I’m his fiancée!”

Your hand goes over your mouth as soon as you’ve said it. Shit, why did you just lie? The guilt is immediate and you’re about to backtrack, but the nurse changes his tune at the information.

“Oh! Well, why didn’t you say so? This way, please!”

You don’t know why your feet follow him or why you keep to yourself the fact that you weren’t, in fact, this stranger’s fiancée, but the deeper you find yourself going into the hospital, the more you convince yourself that this is only until you make sure Sam is okay. He didn’t have anyone with him, so you were the only one there to check in on him. After all, what harm could it do if you just stayed long enough to make sure he was okay?

Besides, it was too late to tell anyone otherwise now, right?

You wrestle with the realization of your deception until you’re drawn out of it by a different nurse than before, a shorter, kind-looking older lady who smiles sympathetically at you, “Mr. Winchester has been transferred to the third floor, so you can go to his room, now. I can take you, if you’d like?”

“Oh, no, I can find it. Third floor, right?” you confirm, wishing to be out of the family waiting room as quickly as possible. You knew that you don’t belong there, and the guilt was already eating at you for having lied earlier. It put you on edge, but the slight worry made everything much clearer as you sought out his room, as if it were a task to complete.

You’d just make sure he was alright, then you’d leave, and go back to being the girl at the coffee shop that he didn’t know existed. That’s that. The way it was meant to be.

When the elevator dinged, signalling the third floor, you find the nurse’s station easily enough, and they give you his room number freely since you’re his fiancée, after all, and it was just so wonderful you were there to stay by his side. It was a smaller room that they had him in, lined with glass so the nurses could monitor him at their station, which made you feel a little more at ease that maybe he wouldn’t be as alone as you thought. At least the nurses would be keeping a watch over him. It also made you feel a bit less awkward, as if you weren’t doing something wrong by staring through the glass to make sure he wasn’t currently on the brink of death anymore.

By the time you become satisfied that you’ve done all you can, nearly ready to turn and leave, you’re caught by an older man in a lab coat who had headed your way, “Ah, you must be Mr. Winchester’s fiancée. I’m Dr. Stanton. Why don’t we go in, so I can get you up to speed on what’s been happening with him?”

“Oh, uh,” you glance away from the doctor, trying to come up with an excuse to leave and failing, before you inevitably follow him into the room with a meek, “okay.”

“I know you must be very worried right now, after an ordeal like you’ve been through--- I understand you performed CPR after the accident?” Dr. Stanton was a mature-looking man, with kind eyes and a receding hairline. He fixed you with a sympathetic stare, over the glasses which must have been for reading, as he didn’t seem to need them to watch your reaction.

“Yes--- Well, I tried, at least. I only took a layman’s class last summer, because my friend, Charlie, got on a worst-case-scenario kick,” you admit, before adding with worry, “I didn’t hurt him any, did I? No...” you linger on the words, sparing a worried glance to Sam and fixating on his chest, though you can’t see any bandages through the hospital gown they had him in, “broken bones, right?”

“Oh, no, no! You didn’t break any ribs, thankfully. In fact, you may just have given him the time he needed to get to the hospital---”

“Oh, my god!” wails from the door to the hospital room, drawing yours and the doctor’s attention to a blonde woman who rushes to Sam’s side immediately, trailed after by a tall man who had a salt-and-pepper beard, and two others. “What happened to my boy?”

“Sam?” the second man, wearing a worn-looking baseball cap, calls out, to no response. He looks towards the brunette woman at his side, “When was the last time you heard from him, Ellen?”

“You know that boy hasn’t been home in over a year, Bobby! I haven’t heard from him no more than you,” she huffs, before moving towards the blonde woman to offer a comforting hand on her shoulder, “He’ll be fine, Mary. I know it. That boy of yours is strong.”

“Excuse me, but who are all of you?” Dr. Stanton huffs, clearly a bit perplexed by the sudden influx of people into the room.

It’s Salt-and-Pepper who speaks, all firm brow and frown as he fixes the doctor with a stern look, “I’m Sam’s father, John Winchester, and this is my wife, Mary,” he gestures to the blonde currently grasping Sam’s hand, “What happened to him? We were told on the phone he was in some sort of accident---”

You ease towards the door, hoping to slip out relatively unnoticed now that Sam’s family had arrived, but you’re stopped in your tracks by a girl who appeared to have been at the back of the pack, lingering by the door. She was about your age, maybe a bit younger.

Looking you over, apparently sizing you up with a scrutinizing look, she states boldly, “You aren’t dressed like a nurse,” which draws the attention of the rest of the family, as her arms cross over her chest, “Who even are you?”

“I’m… (Y/N),” you manage dumbly, noting the growing silence at your lack of real explanation, “I’m, uh…”

“Mr. Winchester’s fiancée,” Dr. Stanton clarifies slowly, as if to remind them, as he looks on incredulously.

“Fiancée?!” John nearly shouts, anger boiling under the surprise in his tone, “That’s just like him! Moving off! Not even bothering to tell his family he’s getting married!” John’s hand grabbing the end of the bed roughly makes a loud, banging noise that makes you jump in surprise. Wow, looks like things are not peachy in this family dynamic.

“You don’t think you have anything to do with why Sam doesn’t share with the rest of us how he lives his life? You just had to keep pushing him about the family business,” Mary shoots back, quieting her husband with one cold look. That doesn’t stop John from scoffing, or glaring his attention back to you in a way that put you on edge at the fire behind his dark eyes.

“He woulda’ told Dean, though! And Dean woulda’ told me!” the girl currently standing between you and the exit huffs, still not buying it.

“Jo, honey,” Ellen begins, moving from Mary to her daughter, a slightly wistful glint in her eye, “I wouldn’t be so sure of that nowadays. You know how private Sam’s got. I don’t even think Dean talks to him like he used to.”

“It’s a surprise… but it’s not like Sam’s ever been too keen on bringing home his girlfriends before,” Bobby adds softly, looking on sadly at Sam before his eyes are drawn back to you. “At least you seem more level-headed than the last one. She was a handful.”

“Can we please get back to what, exactly, happened to my son?” Mary demands from the doctor, getting his attention with her snap of annoyance. “Why isn’t he waking up?!”

“He’s in a coma,” Dr. Stanton frowns, before following up the swift blow with, “but his brain waves appear normal. There was some brain swelling from the concussion due to the car accident, but luckily there are no broken bones. He’s a tough one, your son. We expect him to heal adequately, but these things just take time. We’re keeping him heavily medicated as well, which can contribute to the sedation, but we want him to use as little energy as possible while he heals. It truly would have been much worse had his fiancée not given him emergency CPR at the scene.”

“You… you did that?” John’s glare softens a bit at that, astonished at your life-saving efforts, only for you to be cut off from forming any response when a pair of strong arms pull you into an embrace that knocks the wind out of you. Awkwardly, you lean into it, giving a tense hug in return to Mary, who had a deceptively good grip that forced you to linger until she was ready to pull back.

She blinks away the tears that brimmed her lashes just as quickly as they appeared, but you still catch it, as well as the slight strain to her voice when she thanks you, “Thank you for caring so much about Sam. He would… he’s going to be so grateful when he wakes up. He was… lucky you were around.” The way she says it, like it was almost hard for her to admit, makes you acutely aware that she must not say things like this too often. You were about to tell her that, no, you did what anyone would have done, but you don’t have the chance to formulate your words into an appropriate response, despite the lingering pause that permeated the hospital room, accompanying the repetitive beeping of Sam’s vitals on the monitor.

“You know what, why don’t you come to the family dinner on Sunday?” Ellen offers you a smile, trying to lighten the mood and fill the silence, “After all, you’re gonna’ be family soon enough, and we have some getting to know each other to do.”

“That’s a great idea, Ellen,” Bobby chips in with a laugh, giving a familiar pat to Sam’s calf, “This boy’s kept ya’ all to himself for long enough!”

“Wow, that’s...” you find yourself at a loss for words yet again. They all were so welcoming, so ready to take you into their homes, all looking so hopefully that you would accept the offer. Once again, your mouth does exactly the opposite of what your mind was telling it to do, and accepts the offer, “That sounds... great, actually.”

“Oh, Dean’s gonna’ love this,” Jo’s sarcastic tone draws your attention to her.

“Jo,” Ellen warns, but Jo ignores it.

“What, Mama? You know it’s true!” You raise a brow as she looks down at Sam with a sigh, “He’s gonna’ go crazy when he finds out Sam’s kept this a secret. They used to tell each other everything before, well… before. If Dean didn’t know about this, he’s gonna’ be crushed.”

“Sam and Dean are close?” you ask tentatively.

Jo looks at you like the answer is clear, before she adds, “Well, duh, they’re brothers.”

#dean winchester fanfic #sam winchester fanfic #supernatural fanfic #au fanfic #supernatural female reader insert #female reader insert #newstuff female reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic by me #author meg

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sethkate · 5 years

Note

savannah A to Z pls

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

well in the beginning, since she and caleb were usually putting their clothes on and hurriedly being like ‘ok thanks bye!!!’ which savannah hated, i think now that they are Grown and in a relationship, she takes more advantage of the time they can spend together?? the only exception to this is, if time prevents them from doing aka if they spend 1 more second in bed they’re gonna be suuuper late to work. otherwise she’s all about cuddling, maybe just talking and catching up on each other’s lives since they have really opposite schedules and what not?? probably with a shower thrown in and definitely donuts in bed.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

savannah likes her legs because caleb loves them tbh. her favorite body part on him is probably his dimples. also like…..every bit of him that is tattooed which i know is a lot but IDC.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

sav isn’t grossed out by it as much as some girls can be??? she doesn’t throw a fit you know, if it’s in her hair or on her clothes or anything. and when it comes to swallowing her feelings can be summed up by this gif:

and on that note the rest is gonna be under the cut lmao

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

there was One time when sav had to be treated for an sti and it still haunts her to this day. like she was pressured into not using a condom (and i say that loosely bc she was prob pretty drunk so didn’t need much convincing tbh) and then unfortunately a week or so following the incident she found out what a true piece of shit the guy was. and then slashed all of his tires and broke his car windows in true savannah fashion :)

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

she’s more experienced than she would care to admit. for a long time, sex was just sex to her, so she used it to fill different voids. she didn’t really treat her body like it was something that needed to be earned and gave it out a lot more willingly than she ever would now. so honestly she’s a bit embarrassed by the number, but it’s a good thing it will never get any bigger because she’s only going to be with caleb now forever yay!

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

if they are having sex just to fuck around and get off (x) (x) cause they’re probably on the couch or in the car or something but y’know if they’re actually like makin love or whatever def something more like (x) so it’s more personal and they can ‘bond’ and what not lol.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

in life in general i think she’s way less serious than caleb, so she’s probably a bit more playful and goofy when they’re in the moment together. there are probably times when things are a bit more dire like their many, MANY instances of break-up, apology, or angry sex which wouldn’t call for that kind of humor, but for the most part she keeps it pretty light and probably tries to bring it out of caleb too.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

savannah keeps up with shaving pretty regularly. most of the time she’s hair-free, but when life is nuts she might occasionally have a little stubble here and there.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

for not having like A+ role models to demonstrate how to be soft and tender and intimate with someone, sav is pretty good at it. she loves caleb so she’s very into making sure that his needs are met?? which is crazy bc savannah would usually be selfish af and only care about herself. but she’s really attentive at making sure caleb gets the attention that he wants and that he walks away satisfied.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

both she and caleb are good at getting themselves off. once skype sex had to come into the picture because of the long distance thing and it was the only thing they could do, savannah became comfortable with touching herself and also adjusted to having someone else watch her do it. where before it may have been more of a private thing, once caleb moved to boston, all bets were off so sav got pretty into it.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

exhibitionism and agoraphilia are probably the biggest two coming to mind, mostly because of the riskiness that each of them involves. sav will eternally be an adrenaline junkie so anything that gives her a thrill like that will be something she’s into.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

hotels probably!! ever since their first anniversary thing, there’s just something sav loves about spending a weekend in a place with a view, a massive bed, someone to clean the sheets daily, big showers/bath tubs and room service. it just has lots of luxuries that they don’t regularly have when they are at home, so whenever they make a reservation somewhere savannah goes big or goes home.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

honestly a few shots of tequila and a beer or two and she is Ready To Go. but it’s because she’s already suuuper attracted to caleb. like his almost quiet cockiness, lil bit of hard exterior/bad boy look, the tattoos. he really just has to look at her and smile and she’ll melt the big damn sap. but she is 100% about ass grabbing too. that’ll also do the trick.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

other than like..the real gross bodily fluid nonsense sav probably wouldn’t ever consider a threesome. like maybe she had a stupid meaningless one before and i’m sure she can caleb joked about it in the past (him obvs wanting to have two girls and sav saying she would prefer two guys) but i don’t think it’s something she would ever do with caleb. the thought of him with another girl drives her nuts, let alone seeing it up close and personal and having to go along with it?? no way jose!!

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

usually giving because in her experience a lot of guys don’t know wtf they are doing lmao. so she’d rather just get off a different way or by herself bc nothing is worse than lying there and either waiting for them to figure it out or having the mood killed bc you’re trying to explain to them in detail wtf they are doing wrong. sav’s extra giving when it comes to caleb though and she’s never really been shy about her talent with it either. so lucky him!!

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

depends on how much time she has. she’s proficient when she needs to get the job done quickly and knows what works and what doesn’t in a time crunch. but if there’s time to draw things out (although it’s usually hard for her to move at a slow pace in her life in general) sav has the capability of mellowing out a bit during sex.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

i feel like with their lives, probably a good 70% is probably quickies simply because they just can’t ever get the timing, the place, the circumstances, etc. right. so it’s kinda just something that they are used to. but it’s always so nice when they actually can take their time with things and thoroughly enjoy each other. i imagine they probably make time to have sex 4-5 days out of the week, but more if they can manage it.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

savannah’s entire life is a risk??? so she’d be pretty down for anything.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

for a smoker and someone who is 100% against working out, her stamina is pretty good. she can probably go 2-3 times in a day and she usually lasts about as long as caleb does. they’re pretty in sync with one another!

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

sav probably had to invest in some when they were doing the long distance thing. like before caleb if she wanted sex she could just go out and get it, but when her bf lived hundreds of miles away she had to get a little bit more creative. so she’s probably got a collection of a few things after trying different ones trying to find something that did the most comparable job to caleb haha. probably made darren go with her into the store too and i am literally Dying at the visual.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

i feel like savannah teased caleb a loooot more in the beginning?? because there was that whole cat/mouse chase element to their relationship. but now that she has him, she doesn’t need to lay it on super thick the way that she used to. but she’ll still do it in small ways if she needs to get his attention or something.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

savannah usually doesnt restrict herself in volume when they have sex, which is just one of the trillllion reasons her neighbors hate her lmao. i mean she has a loud mouth outside of the bedroom sooo if that’s any indication. usually it’s just a lot of moaning, panting and probably swearing too knowing her.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

i’d say savannah doesn’t remember probably more than half of her sexual experiences. i feel like since she didn’t take them very seriously, most of them were liquor/drug fueled some probably even borderline consensual since there’s no way she could have had any idea what was going on.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

(x)

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

it’s always kinda been on the higher side and then i think once she got with caleb and saw how good sex could be, especially when it was with someone you care about, it went up tremendously to the point where she can be pretty insatiable at times.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

it depends.... because usually sav and caleb are running on -138 hours of sleep so if that’s the case, they can fall asleep pretty quickly afterward. if they have more time to kill and more chinese food to finish they’ll probably just take a break and sleep it off later.

#ch: savannah caldwell #ship: savannah & caleb #sammrps

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mnemememory · 6 years

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small clouds (chapter 1)

Frumpkin is Caleb’s dæmon. Obviously.

It starts with something small. A slow, creeping ache that worms it way into the back of his skull, blood drowning his lungs. There are so many things that could have set it off, but it’s this: a moonless sky, and the world sings of rain.

Yasha is outside, head tilted towards the sky, bruised clouds obscuring the clouds. Caleb leans back in the cart and tries to see more than three feet in front of his face; it’s a loosing battle, but he’d volunteered for first watch, and took the job seriously. He blinked heavy water out of his eyes and pulled his makeshift hood up further, so that it obscured his face and made breathing a little easier.

Around them is an endless expanse of grey-green grass, ankle-high and as abrasive as broken glass. It’s taken them two weeks to make it out here, and they’ve learned by now to wrap their legs in extra linens to keep from drawing blood. There were things that swam deep in the earth, and none of them wanted to chance an encounter after the first. Every morning, Jester wakes up with more lines around her ankles than Molly has lines across his chest.

Thunder rumbles. A flash of lightning bursts to life in the near distance, silhouetting the clouds in silver light before fading once again to darkness. Even with Caleb’s less than perfect vision, he can see the dips and arcs it makes behind the smoke before dropping off.

They are camping underneath him, the Mighty Nein. Nott is curled up next to Jester, who is curled up next to Beau, who is the very picture of stoic manliness as she refuses to cuddle up to Fjord. Molly has no such compunctions, and is squeezing himself into as much of Fjord’s personal space as possible, much to sleep-Fjord’s obvious annoyance.

They look so small, this way.

Camping on the hills has been made impossible due to rough terrain, and they’d been forced to take shelter on the narrow road that winds across the tops of the hills.

Yasha has been standing there a long time.

Caleb lifts his head to do a full turn, anxiety prickling his gut. There’s something he’s missing, something he can’t quite make out –

“Yasha,” he says, but she doesn’t appear to hear him over the roar of the rain. “Yasha,” Caleb yells, firmer, and she turns slowly to stare at him.

Her lips move, posture soft and questioning as she takes a few steps towards him. It’s too loud. Everything is too loud. Caleb can feel his shivering vibrate all the way down through the cart. Absurdly, he thinks: if this keeps up, I’ll wake them up. Which is impossible. If they’ve managed to sleep though this din, there’s very little that’s going to wake them up now.

Yasha is closer, now. “What?” she says, barely audible underneath the weight of it all.

Caleb shakes his head, and then shakes the rest of his body. He can’t stop. With a trembling finger, he points up at the hill behind them, a magnetic tug that jerks from the center of his gut. There’s something hollow in his bones. If he tried to step off a tall building, at this moment, he would be weightless.

Yasha shields her eyes of the rain and stares at the distance. Caleb follows his own pointed finger, but there’s nothing. There’s less than nothing. A smudge, something dark. Everything is dark, here, with the rain beating hammer-like to the ground. As the glass-grass bends, slick and humble, there is a single abnormality. Lightning splits across the sky, the grass sparking with a thousand fractals, and it’s gone. Caleb is imagining it.

Yasha says, “I don’t see anything,” in her slow, deliberate voice, but Caleb doesn’t really hear her.

It starts with something small.

(

“You look wrong.”

“I look fine, Caleb. You’re the one who’s wrong this time.”

“No, no, don’t be stupid. We’re not stupid. You’re smarter than this, anyway. They’re never going to accept us like this.”

“Of course they are. We’re too good not to be accepted.”

“They’re looking for –”

“I know what they’re looking for, and I’m saying it doesn’t matter. We’ll just blow the others out of the water.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“And what you’re asking me to do doesn’t work like you think it does! You should know better, Caleb.”

“Just change. Please. Anything but this.”

“I rather like this form, though.”

“It doesn’t matter what we like. We need to get there. We’ve been training our whole lives for this.”

“I’m not going to mess it up for us. Relax, Caleb. It’s like you have no faith in me.”

“I have quite a lot of faith in you. But this isn’t a matter of faith. Please.”

“I’d rather not. Look at my lovely feathers.”

“Please.”

“…oh, well. I mean. I suppose I could try.”

)

Something a little bigger, this time.

Caleb isn’t even on watch, jammed up in the roots of a large tree and trying to sleep past the sun burning a hole in the sky. He’s too warm, with Nott at his side and his cloak a humid weight on his back. It is late in the afternoon, but not late enough – travelling by night is taxing in a way Caleb has never experienced. With Nott, they had always been too small a target to worry about, unless pickings had been especially slim. They tried to avoid those kinds of areas, in any case, so highway robbery had just been a waste of time. A haggard, homeless man and his daughter? Not worth the effort of an ambush. For the most part, of course.

With the Nein, however – well. The Nein are a far more tempting target. Their cart can’t go too fast, and it’s often accompanied by a loud cacophony of curses that split through the air, loud enough to wake the dead. Mostly from Beau. Three nights in, and Caleb is ready to give these people up for dead and go back to a life of crime. Well, less institutionalised crime.

Irritated, Caleb looks into the trees. Beau is on last watch, alone with Fjord, who is circling around the side to try and get away from the oppressive vacuum of heat that has cloyed its way into the clearing. She’s sitting on one of the far branches, arm looping around the trunk as she leans over to survey the surrounding area. Thace is set at the foot of that particular tree, thick coat gleaming with sweat.

Sleep is a thick weight on Caleb’s skull, hair pulled taunt and greasy. They haven’t had a proper bath in weeks – none of them, at all, and it really shows. Caleb is used to living without the comfort of cleanliness, but he must admit, travelling with a pile of stinking bodies was never high on his list of “fun things to do when he grew up”. Sonia had always –

Caleb shuts his eyes and counts. One. Two. Three. There’s a pile of coins in front of him, and he’s counting it all. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

He knows better. Caleb knows better than to try and dredge up old memories. Even now, he can feel his muscles burning with fatigued memory, can see Sonia laughing at him in his mind’s eye. We have to catch up! she says. We can’t let Astrid win!

Eight. Nine. Nine. Nine.

Caleb is just about to give up when something lazily movies to his peripheral. His glazed, half-closed eyes snap open, and he’s on his feet and pulled forward before he even recognises what’s happening.

Thace snaps to attention, on his feet and prowling towards the source of the. The thing. The shadow. It’s something – it’s something, Caleb can’t quite get his eyes around it. Something big. As big as Thace. Bigger. He can’t quite make out the details, his mind just fuzzes over the corners. Before he’s even aware of it, Caleb is running.

“Caleb!” Nott cries from behind him. Beau drops down from the trees. Yasha is close, so close, close enough to – she’s got her sword out –

Caleb stares into eyes of green ice. Matted fur hangs around the creature in long, thick clumps, dried blood and other…things…sticking out from its sides. Oh, Caleb thinks. Oh, oh, oh.

Fire burns at his fingertips, and he brings his arms up. Terror spikes cold in his gut, and he’s reacting without thinking. He can’t think, because if he thinks right now, he’s going to go insane.

Yasha is on the ground, the thing’s teeth at her throat. Frumpkin, who had been curled up beside the woman all day, is clawing and hissing and trying to distract the thing, but it’s relentless. Caleb feels dim affinity with the one-track, bloodthirsty rage, before he lets loose a fireball.

The creature throws up its head and screams.

Caleb drops to the ground, shivering. He can’t stop shivering. He tries to speak, tries to say something, anything, but everything’s moving in fast-forward and slow-motion at the same time. Nott is at his side. Nott is saying something. He should listen to that. It’s still there. The creature. Caleb should try and –

Caleb closes his eyes.

One day, Caleb wakes up with a hole in his head and a hole in his heart.

“My boy,” Trent Ikithon says, bending down to stare at Caleb’s prone form on the table. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Here, hold Frumpkin for me,” Caleb says, and pushes him into Yasha’s hands.

He drops to the ground, fishing through the knee-high mud in annoyance. There’s only so much coin he has on his person, and that stupid monster had made him drop it. He combs his fingers in a grid pattern, grinning with every piece of metal he snags.

Everyone is covered in various fluids of thankfully unknown nature, for the most part. There’s enough shit on Nott to fertilize a field of corn, and Jester’s dress has certainly seen better days. The only one to come out of this little adventure with any semblance of decency is Fjord, who somehow had gotten out of the splash-zone before things had. Well. Gone down the drain, so to speak.

“Caleb,” Yasha says.

“One moment, please,” Caleb says, stacking his coins on the ground next to him. One, two, three –

“Caleb,” Yasha says, a little more urgently.

“What is the matter?” Caleb says, not looking up from his task. He’d lost seven pieces. There were five here. He slowly begins to dig around, this time with more purpose. They had all fallen within the same general vicinity, so that meant –

“I don’t think I’m allowed to touch him,” Yasha says. There’s something strange about her voice that makes Caleb look up properly this time. Yasha is standing rigid, Frumpkin balancing on her arms like two bands of straight iron.

Caleb frowns at her, pocketing his five gold without bothering to thumb off the dirt. “Touch what? Frumpkin? He doesn’t mind.”

Frumpkin yawns, teeth flashing at Yasha’s throat.

“Isn’t he…” Yasha says. “You know…”

“I know what?” Caleb says, standing up. “If you’re not a cat person, you can just say so –”

“No, no, I like cats just fine,” Yasha says. “I’ve never met one before Frumpkin, but I just assumed…”

Caleb gives her an unimpressed look.

Yasha ducks her head a little. “Caleb, isn’t he your dæmon ?”

Oh.

There are only two humans in their merry little band of misfits, and Beau had made no secret about keeping Thace out in the open. There wasn’t much of an option about it, really, because Thace was a waist-high silver-black wolf, so concealment was of her dæmon was a little troublesome. None of the others had dæmons – Nott would sometimes wax poetic about one, or Jester would try to pet Thace and get a very irate Beau telling her No, that’s not polite, you can’t just –

Caleb is human. Caleb is very, very human.

“No, Yasha,” he finally says. He snaps his fingers, and Frumpkin is out of Yasha’s awkward arms and curled around Caleb’s shoulders. Yasha doesn’t shrink back, but it’s a close thing. “He is not my dæmon.”

“I’m sorry,” Yasha says. “I didn’t mean. I know that’s a very personal question, and I didn’t. I shouldn’t have.”

“Frumpkin is my familiar,” Caleb says, slow and gentle. “See?”

Caleb snaps his fingers again, and Frumpkin is on Yasha’s right shoulders, balancing easily on the broad space. Yasha glances up into Frumpkin’s eyes, and tentatively reaches out and presses her fingers to his head. Frumpkin once again begins to purr.

“Dæmons cannot do that,” Caleb says. “Surely you know that.”

Yasha starts to shrug, and then seems to think better of it. She makes a vague gesture with her hand instead. “You’re a wizard,” she says, like that explains everything. Caleb tries to smile, but something sticks in his throat, and he can’t make himself do it. The rest of the Nein are arguing in the background about whether or not to go back down and get the rest of the treasure. It’s a split decision between getting filthier than any of them had thought possible, or going and renting a bath. At this point, even Caleb is getting tired of the dirt.

“I do not have a dæmon,” Caleb says, and he does not choke on it.

“At all?” Yasha says. She is still gently petting Frumpkin.”

“No,” Caleb says. “Please do not ask about this again.”

Caleb doesn’t wake up.

He can hear them, though.

“It will be fine, Nott,” Jester is saying. “You’ll see. We just need to get Caleb to a doctor.”

“Try healing him again.”

Something warm and soft brushes up against Caleb’s skin, but he can’t force his eyes open. He doesn’t want to force his eyes open. Everything hurts.

#critical role #critical role campaign 2 #caleb widogast #frumpkin #nott #yasha #the mighty nein #daemon au #fusion #sort of #idk wtf this is #it was fun to write though!#fic: small clouds #part 1!#more to come #more nott in the next chapter #i write too much yasha hahaha #fanfiction #my writing

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ghanagrape91 · 3 years

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What Occurs Inside Your Body Throughout Yoga Exercise Method.

What Yoga Exercise Can Do For You.

Content

Group Exercise.

Essential Educating Variables.

Pilates Vs Yoga: The Distinctions And What'S Right For You.

Just How Do I Produce My Very Own Exercise Strategy?

Slope Strolling Vs Running.

Noom.

There are other factor the number on the range might have risen. Prior to taking creatine supplements, it is essential understand the kind of weight gain you may experience, as well as what you can do to reverse unwanted weight. When it pertains to these drinks, it is necessary to be knowledgeable about what you need. While it might appear appealing to assume it's all you need to grow, you must keep in mind that weight gainers are still supplements, and that is what they will certainly provide for you-- supplement. Some gainers will certainly also have creatine in them too, which functions particularly well with the quick-digesting carbohydrates in the shake since they help in the absorption of creatine into the body.

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Shakes developed for weight gain generally include protein and carbs as well as can be exceptionally efficient. For example, in addition to replacing your regular healthy protein drinks, weight gainers will certainly have great fast-acting carbohydrates-- perfect for after an exercise. Building muscle is something that needs intense dedication, both in and also out of the cooking area. Personal trainer Amersham comprehend that to develop muscle, you require to lift some weight, yet a lot of individuals may think that's it. The most fundamental part of building muscle, however, depends on the foods you eat-- and also not simply what you consume, yet just how much you consume, as well.

Lifting weights and toughness training-- as a supplement to your routine cardio program-- uses tremendous advantages. Weight-lifting builds your muscular tissues as well as endurance, enhances your metabolic rate, aids avoid condition and also even improves your mood. Protein can help in reducing cravings and also stop overeating.This is a detailed short article concerning exactly how eating healthy protein for breakfast can aid you drop weight.

Team Workout.

The team over there supplies an exam pass guarantee and overall will decrease your study time by 50%.

I reached continue a profession in physical fitness, create my PT skills, and find out exactly how to train with all sorts of new and ingenious package.

Take A Look At Trainer Academy for the very best research study products for either certification.

Can you really make an excellent living as a personal trainer?

It could seem like a strange subject for a PT site yet we wish it'll aid others that are having similar uncertainties.

There is lots to learn more about prior to you end up being a personal trainer, with courses readily available to not just obtain certified, yet likewise expand your knowledge.

I additionally have my own complimentary NASM study overview as well as free ACE research overview that you people might find practical.

Lean muscular tissue mass is the amount of muscle mass that composes your body make-up. In regards to expanding I would certainly remain at an associate range in between 8 to 12. I would take into consideration 6 associates still in the toughness training range. For that reason in my viewpoint I would certainly save my power from that fourth collection and also carry on to the following workout.

Important Educating Variables.

This is an in-depth article about whey protein-- what it is, exactly how it works and also just how it can aid you attain your physical fitness as well as wellness goals. Water weight is a sort of weight gain that can occur with creatine. Also known as fluid retention, creatine can create rapid water weight since the supplement draws water right into your muscle mass' cells. It holds true that creatine can create some weight gain, yet the weight gain might not be because of fat.

Pilates Vs Yoga Exercise: The Differences And What'S Right For You.

If you're attempting to lose weight, added protein from drinks can assist you really feel much less starving, aid you slim down faster and reduced the probability of restoring the lost fat. Actually, high protein consumptions were never revealed to create any type of kidney damages in healthy individuals.

In other words, people with a great deal of muscle mass as well as some added body fat were less likely to pass away than their skinny-fat counterparts. You see, you can only establish the muscle definition the majority of us are after by first developing a moderate quantity of muscular tissue mass and afterwards reducing your body fat portion. Skinny fat explains a condition in which a person is a fairly typical weight, yet has inadequate muscular tissue and way too much body fat.

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It's suggested that you consume 0.14-- 0.23 grams of protein per extra pound of body weight (0.3-- 0.5 grams/kg) soon after an exercise. The rate at which this occurs depends on the workout and also your degree of training, however even well-trained professional athletes experience muscle healthy protein failure.

Living the healthy and balanced lifestyle can be an actual pleasure if you make it so-- as well as it'll aid you to get to where you're going if you enjoy the trip. In the medical area, loss of muscular tissue mass is referred to as Sarcopenia. This is specified as the age-related loss of skeletal muscle mass and is a reputable factor connected with reductions in muscle mass toughness as well as impaired wheelchair.

The potential repercussions of sarcopenia are frailty, handicap, loss of freedom and the clinical depression that can accompany this; and also the decreased ability to handle major ailments. Lean body mass is related to your Basal Metabolic Rate, the amount of calories you melt at remainder. The better amount of Lean Body Mass you have, the better your BMR will be. This suggests that people with greater quantities of Lean Body Mass will certainly have a higher power expense while doing nothing, helping to prevent calorie discrepancies, and also inevitably, excessive weight.

Nonetheless, lower-protein diets may be valuable for those with existing kidney issues. Moreover, a number of testimonials report equivalent quantities of weight loss with use whey, soy, rice or egg-protein supplements. Healthy protein's result on metabolism, cravings and also muscular tissue mass may likewise maintain you from reclaiming the fat you worked so hard to shed. After 6 weeks, those on the higher-protein diet plan gained 2.4 lbs (1.1 kg) a lot more muscular tissue and also lost 2.9 lbs (1.3 kg) a lot more fat. That's in part since a high-protein diet plan-- specifically when integrated with strength training-- might assist you develop muscular tissue.

Eating a big meal can leave you really feeling bloated, and if you're having this dish pre-workout it can drastically impact your capability to train. Additionally, you might not really feel starving sufficient after the health club to eat a big macronutrient abundant meal article workout. This is where consuming liquid nutrition in the form of a mass gainer protein powder can make things easier. Bananas are loaded with fiber that keeps you complete for longer and also are likewise reduced in calories. Obtaining leaner and also trimmer does not take place overnight, or perhaps after a week or 3.

How Do I Develop My Own Workout Plan?

Anybody looking for weight gain, majorly in the type of muscle mass and also lesser fat mass. Research studies have actually shown that ingesting 20-- 40 grams of healthy protein seems to take full advantage of the body's capacity to recuperate after workout.

I comprehend the need to consult with a healthcare provider before changing current way of living or eating habits or starting any brand-new diet plan and/or training strategy. Skinny fat describes a problem where a person is a reasonably typical weight, but has extremely little muscle and too much body fat. Remember, when you state you wish to "drop weight," what you truly mean is you intend to shed fat and not muscle mass. high-protein diet, this deficit allows for rapid weight loss while additionally protecting muscle mass. and it always does at some time), you'll be attracted to eat even much less or do even more cardio exercise, which will certainly further accelerate muscular tissue loss.

Eating the right nutrients not long after you exercise can assist your body get this done faster. It is especially important to eat carbs as well as protein after your exercise.

Consuming way too much whey healthy protein can trigger gastrointestinal concerns such as nausea, flatulence, looseness of the bowels, pain and also cramping. However, people with existing kidney or liver problems may intend to prevent whey healthy protein or at least talk to a physician prior to taking it. Healthy protein can increase energy expense by 80-- 100 calories each day, and also make individuals immediately consume to 441 less calories each day. It's well known that protein can aid weight loss, as it's without a doubt one of the most satiating macronutrient.

Incline Strolling Vs Running.

It's a lengthy procedure and also it takes perseverance-- and also you'll give up if all you're searching for are results on the scale or in the mirror, especially if you do not take pleasure in the workout and also excellent consuming. If you really want to get lean and fit, you need to stick with it for the long run, which indicates you require to do it because you enjoy it. https://easyfitpersonaltraining.co.uk/results/bicester/ do it if you dislike it (however, give it a pair weeks before you choose-- usually it obtains a lot easier as well as much more pleasurable after a pair weeks). Find exercise you enjoy to do, that you anticipate doing.

Change from lightweight to heavy weights in the weight area or look into a physical fitness class that focuses on core and also strength training. Yogis may also incorporate weightlifting into their yoga technique making use of pinheads as a full-body exercise to shape muscles.

Background Of Life Mentoring

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Also, bear in mind that unless your diet regimen is already doing not have in protein, supplementing with whey protein is unlikely to have a significant effect on your results. Whey protein has actually been shown to be especially effective at increasing muscle development when consumed right before, after or during a workout. Muscle protein synthesis is usually taken full advantage of while period after training. If you have troubles enduring concentrate, or you're attempting to highlight healthy protein while keeping carbs and also fat reduced, whey healthy protein isolate-- or perhaps hydrolysate-- might be a far better alternative. A lot of flavored whey healthy proteins are additionally rather scrumptious as well as can be used to add an incredible preference to healthy and balanced recipes like shakes.

Whey healthy protein is an extremely healthy means to add even more healthy protein to your diet regimen. It's a quality protein resource that is absorbed and also used efficiently by the human body. However normally talking, whey healthy protein has a superb security profile and lots of people can eat it without problems. If you can not endure normal whey protein concentrate, isolate or hydrolysate might be better suited. Alternatively, you could merely stay clear of whey protein as well as consume various other protein-rich foods instead.

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