#still needing to replace the cuffs to make them longer | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vasito-de-leche · 6 months

Note

okay I read your analysis on Forget Me Not and I'm in tears now thank you. (No but really thank you, it's such a touching piece.) Can you PLEASE for salvation of our fans souls write anything to like,,, give him hope? Forget Me Not x reader but it doesn't have to be actually all-out with hugs and kisses. We may,,,,,,,, just show him a new hobby? Any hobby of your choosing or idk play an instrument together. Just to give him something else to focus on, to channel at least part of his energy from self-destructive activities to something less hurtful. I'd personally like to bandage his (not actually wounded but still) hands as if they were bleeding. Something of the kind. Sorry for mistakes writing is incredibly inconvenient cuz tears aaa.

;R1999 FORGET ME NOT - "hands, fingers, scales"

Forget Me Not x Reader. 2.3k words. self-harm implied You've befriended Forget Me Not the same one befriends a rabid, beaten, old dog. And while he's much too busy fighting his inner demons, you're more worried about stopping these "pernicious habits" of his. A casual afternoon trying to make sure he's taking care of himself turns into something deeper.

thank you so much for the ask, nonnie!!

I got a little carried away with this request because thinking about how fucking insufferable and confusing FMN has to be just to indulge in HAND HOLDING and GETTING A FUCKING HOBBY made me so deranged and feral as if hes not fucking TOUCHSTARVED lmfao. this guy's love language is straight up worshipping, mf is not subtle about it

either way, hope you like it! here's the lil preview!

Sometimes, Forget Me Not understands the reason men and women kneel at the pew to worship and pray.

Devotion is something arcanists and humans share, whether honest or not. He's witnessed the rich and the poor, the pure and the depraved, and every binary that rules this world - all of them begging, pleading and praying at the end of their lives, casting away the pride they've held on for so long for the chance of salvation. Once stripped down to their core, there is nothing to do but hope God has enough love in His heart to look their way.

And sometimes, Forget Me Not prays that you’ll find someone else - anyone but him - to fill the role of devotee.

The gentleness in your eyes whenever you look at him is enough to bring him to his knees, and Forget Me Not doesn't know what to do with himself but to worship and pray. Praying that you'll continue to look at him for a little longer, silently begging for your attention until you finally tire of him. Do you think yourself holy enough to replace the vitriol in his veins?

He does.

On good days, he even hopes that you can save him.

You never asked him to become your one and only believer, of course. You're not even aware of the space you take in his mind, nor the conflicting images he keeps conjuring of you at night, he's certain of this. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, holding his hands and inspecting them for any injuries. This role is one of the many self-imposed tragedies in his life.

Your thumbs knead and massage his palm, as if you could soothe the pain away, and yet you refrain from pressing down hard. He's at your mercy, why hesitate? What do you see that he cannot?

Something is bothering you. It's obvious in the way you touch him, like you're afraid of hurting him, as if you were the one with a body count between the two. Every so often, your movements come to a halt and you both sit in silence, until you return to your ministrations, filling the nothingness with your sighing and humming.

All he needs is to look up, right at your face, to know everything he wants to know - but he's too much of a coward for that. Instead, light grey eyes follow your index finger as it slides under the cuffs of his shirt. You trace over the bone of his wrist and continue upwards.

He can't tear his eyes away.

Normally, Forget Me Not wouldn't mind. There is an addictive thrill to witnessing the shock of anyone who dares get so close and personal, but he feels himself shrink when you brush against his scales and recoil away on instinct. That's when he raises his head and finds your eyes in the dimly lit staff room.

That expression on your face - surely, you were regretting every choice that led you to him. By now, you might've surely realized that there is nothing for you to salvage in this shipwreck he calls a life. All attempts to check on him were surely a façade for whatever ulterior motives you continued to withhold from him. He's stubborn, believing that he can read you like an open book, but now he's just as lost as you are. When he opens his mouth to speak, you beat him to it and he grows a little restless at your words.

"Sorry, sorry! Did I, uh, hurt you? Dumb question, you would've definitely told me if that were the case. Anyway, it looks like you're okay! I don't know why I was so worried, actually."

His silence prompts you to continue, and all Forget Me Not can focus on is the absence of your warmth.

You raise a hand to gesture dismissively at your behaviour, brush it off to ease your embarrassment, that much he understands - though it's painful to watch you fumble like that, to deny what he hides under his clothes. Forget Me Not thinks of filling the space between your fingers with his own, just to drag you back to that quiet, albeit suffocating, moment of peace. Instead of doing that, he retreats and places both hands neatly on his lap.

"Thanks for indulging me and, yeah uh, again - sorry about that? It just caught me off guard. I should've been more careful."

But you were never careful with his space or his rules, plunging in and out of his life and leaving him to figure out where he stood in his game of push and pull. Why were you being careful now?

"It's nothing, I understand," he lies. Everything you do means the world to him and he doesn't even understand why. "It cannot hurt to know what sort of things the person pouring your drinks might be hiding under their sleeves."

The word "hypocrite" lingers at the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill out with as much venom as he can muster, but it stays lodged behind his teeth because he knows he's even worse: Forget Me Not prays that you'll stay with him, while also opening the door right out his life for you. As much as he wants to, he has no right of calling you out.

He's not used to receiving apologies and so he chooses not to think too hard on yours - though he's dreamed countless of times for the perfect situation in which he finally rips out one apology after another from the throats of those who wronged him, this one feels different. Undeserved, even.

His heart, that wretched lump in his chest, finally settles down and he prepares to end this interaction to save you the awkwardness of addressing his "deformities". But then you go and surprise him once more.

"Come on, I already told you..." You sigh and he inhales in tandem, but you're much too busy rolling your eyes to notice. "That whole thing you do, when you start scratching or, like, picking at your hand? You've been doing it more lately. It had me worried you might've been doing, I don't know - something."

Forget Me Not's eyes widen in surprise. The audacity to notice such things about him? And to put them on display without a warning? What else did you find out?

Part of him wants him to embrace his nature and scare you away, but that's the side of him that's been slowly losing this battle of attrition in his heart - you're a bad influence for him, after all. The other part... Well, it's still trying to sort itself out.

He settles for slowly undoing the buttons on his sleeve. It only takes a moment to roll up the fine fabric to his elbow, knowing you're staring right at him, through him maybe. The expression on his face is one of indifference, one he fights to maintain - this is the most vulnerable he's felt in decades.

That unsightly pattern begins exactly where his sleeves usually end, coiling around his forearm not unlike a snake and traveling upwards. The scales are dark, an iridescent black that reminds him of an oil spill in the middle of the ocean, and the ones at the edges fade away into lighter hues until they mix with the pale, sickly tone of his skin. He knows the sort of beauty he holds, one that can only be admired at a distance, turning into a grotesque imitation of a man when up close.

Forget Me Not presents himself to you and, with his free hand, gets ready to pluck one of the scales off.

"Wait, don't do that-!"

Seizing his arm and holding it close to your chest, you deprive him of the catharsis that comes with this level of self-mutilation. He knows you're connecting the dots, feeling the scattered, empty spaces from all the times you saw him pick himself apart and more. Your fingers brush against his bare skin looking for said spaces, counting them in your head, mourning their loss.

Some scales are in the process of regrowing like unwanted parasites, and he wishes he could feel anything at all just to be closer to you.

"God, what is wrong with you?! What was the point of that?"

Something compels him to laugh (perhaps it's your heartbeat reaching out to him loud and clear through your clothes, he feels it faintly) it comes across as sinister and condescending, the only way he knows how to express joy. Like he's making fun of your concern.

"Apologies," Forget Me Not begins to say, readjusting his glasses. The way you try to keep his own arm out of his reach doesn't go unnoticed. It's such a petty, childish gesture that makes his grin widen and your frown deepen. "I was under the impression you found this little oddity distasteful. There's no need to worry - they will return in a few days, they always do."

"Still, don't do that. It's not funny. It must...hurt a lot."

"Ah, but it doesn't. If else, I'd compare it to being pricked by a very small needle."

"You're just going to find something to nitpick and contradict everything I say, aren't you?" It's the least he can do to repay all the headaches you've given him, and for forgiving his transgressions too easily.

An intrusive thought makes itself known from the depths of his mind - would you forgive him just as readily if he were to kill someone in front of you? If he showed you just how destructive his arcane skills could be when given free reign? Where would you draw the line? And how much could he continue to push his luck before he lost you?

Before Forget Me Not realizes it, you've loosened your grip on his arm and returned to that previous moment of suffocating peace - the only difference is that you've gone from being deep in thought to troubled and miserable, one hair away from darting out the room and refusing to speak to him. At this, his pinky finger wraps around yours and neither of you mention it.

"Can't you... I don't know, do something else?"

"I could be doing my job, but alas, you're keeping me prisoner here." He says, like he's not delighted to be given your undivided attention. There are no complaints when you step on his foot with a huff, he deserved that one.

"I'm talking about the scales thing! You could wear gloves. If it happens when you get distracted then, I could hang around to make sure you stop in time." A pause, and then the sound of your voice becomes unsure and so very small. "Maybe if we covered them with bandages...? But that could be annoying. Band aids? No, no - too unprofessional. It would ruin the whole aesthetic you're going for."

You continue to trail off, coming up with many different ideas and solutions to a problem he caused. He doesn't understand why you'd even bother in the first place. For you to reciprocate the attention he gives you, to care about him? That's the hardest pill Forget Me Not has ever swallowed - it's something he twirls around with his tongue, as if deciding whether to poison himself with bliss or spit it out and continue latching on to his doubts and insecurities.

Outside, in front of everyone at The Walden, he's the one leading the crowd and talking for hours on end, commanding their attention and manipulating the flow of every conversation.

Behind closed doors, all he does is listen to every nonsensical thought, unnecessary opinion and strange anecdote you throw at him.

"...No, that won't work either." Absentmindedly, you fix and button his sleeve back into place.

You've grown used to his silence the same way you've adapted and grown used to his flaws.

"I mean, it worked on me - getting a little slap on the wrist whenever I started biting my nails, but..." Without even thinking, you rub circles with your thumb across his knuckles.

You might as well be the stupidest angel in heaven.

"Why don't you just get a hobby? That's good enough, right? It's been so long since I've heard you play piano, the one by the stage." And just like that, you're on your feet attempting to drag him outside for a demonstration. "You could teach me! That way, we get to do something fun and I get to keep an eye on you."

Forget Me Not knows he has nothing to offer to this world, but when his saint looks at him with such hope, he cannot refuse. The path to recovery seems almost doable when you bump your shoulder into his, challenging him to play the hardest song he knows.

The stars in your eyes whenever you recognize all the songs he plays becomes intoxicating, more so than the sweet, sweet revenge he's yearned for since he spiraled into decadence.

Some days, his patrons join with their own singing or humming, and he forgets that he hates each and every one of them for as long as his fingers dance across the keys - a momentary reprieve from the constant stream of negativity. It doesn't take long for his body to remember his training and soon, he's improvising.

A melody for gloomy, rainy days. A whimsical tune here and there for celebrations.

A song for you and himself - the first one he teaches you and the only one he plays in private, when he's all alone with nothing but his thoughts. Solitude has gone from a noose wrapped around his neck to the perfect time to compose and hone this long forgotten passion. For the first time in forever, he doesn't dread the silence of an empty room, the endless wait between his shifts at The Walden - not when he can simply fill them with more and more music.

And so, Forget Me Not plays, hoping that you'll continue to cheer him on. Hoping that this tiny spark you've ignited in him can truly become his salvation.

#reverse 1999 #reverse: 1999 #r1999 #reverse 1999 x reader #reverse 1999 fanfic #reverse 1999 forget me not #forget me not #outing myself as a huge fuckin religion/devotion as a metaphor for relationships freak #and as a hand freak as well. love it when the smallest acts of intimacy are the BIGGEST FUCKING DEALS for characters who are touchstarved #i love writing reader inserts from the pov of the character instead of the reader like #what goes in their head and shit??? THE INNER MONOLOGUES AND DRAMA ?????#FORGET ME NOT'S WHOLE ACT IS A COVER FOR THE FUCKING MESS HE IS WHEN YOU LOOK AT HIMMMMM!!!!!!!#soggiest wettest most pathetic man at manus vindictae #i hope i got his whole fuckin two faced and contradicting mentality across. mf is not having a good time healing but my GOD hes. trying #he hates you but he loves you but god he hates you so much but yeah he'll still worship the ground you walk on #the title is a pun btw. scales. musical scales. his snake scales #IM VERY SMART

98 notes · View notes

mediocre-shark-tales · 4 months

Text

Fated by the Stars (7)

Straykids ot8 x Reader

Warnings - Mentions of Abuse, Mentions of Wounds/Injuries Traumatic Past, Violence, and Mentions of Non-consensual Molesting. Swearing

Summary - The boys are busy, so they invite over a friend of theirs. This friend makes sure to help you look beautiful for the party tonight. No way you new omegan best friend would let you go not looking like an absolute goddess.

Masterlist

Today Jisung and Minho were taking me to Jisungs fashion studio. Since both of them had the most knowledge when it came to fashion, they had taken the lead over my outfit for the company's coming together party. When we got to his studio, that had me stand on a podium in the middle of the room. Minho sat in a chair off to the side, next to him on the table was a suit for each of the pack mates. They were trying to pair my dress with their suits, so we looked similar like a pack but everyone still had their own style. The common color among the boys was each suit was many black, but they each suit had something colored in a bright red. That color would them match them with my dress.

Today I would get to find out what my dress was supposed to look like as they had finally finished it. So I was gonna get to put it on and they would pin where they need to make some adjustments to better fit me the way they wanted it to.

Chan's suit was just the pants, shoes, and the coat. He liked to wear his suits without a shirt and tie. The less he had to wear the happier and more comfortable he would be. The buttons on his suit would match my dress color. Minho had a classic suit style where it was longer on the back of the coat. He had a handkerchief in his pocket that matched my dress. Hyunjin would wear a pin stripe suit, the stripes being the same color as my dress. Felix would wear a regular black suit except he wore a turtle neck under his coat, the color being the same as my Dress. Changbin would wear a typical suit as well, except he would not be wearing the coat part, just the regular white button up and tie. The tie had a red love heart on it. Jisung also wore a regular suit and tie, however the cuffs and bottom of the jacket were adorned with red lace decor. Seungmin wore the full typical suit style, he was the only one who had the waist coat as a part of his outfit. His waist coat was the same red as my dress. Finally Jeongin, wore nearly the same outfit as Chan, except his coat was mainly red with black lace detailing all over the main part of the coat.

Jisung opened a small closet, pulling out a dress covered from view by a black plastic cover. He pulled off the cover and handed me the dress. The two looked away allowing me privacy to take off the hoodie and shorts I wore, replacing it with the dress.

I smiled seeing the dark red sequin dress. It had a deep v neck, and was double slit around my legs. When I stop still it seemed like a regular red aline dress. However when I would walk, both my legs would pop out and be visible at times. This dress almost hugged me in all the right places. The places that didn't would eventually hug me as that was why I was here today. Jisung was finally going to finish my dress so everyone was finally ready for the party in two days.

The boys turned around both smiling seeing me all dressed up. Jisung got to work right away with pins already sitting between his lips, only pulling one out to pin pieces tighter against me. Minho on the other hand, took this opportunity to distract me.

His hands ran along my arms to my shoulders as he stood directly behind me. I could feel his breath on my necks he sensually rubbed up and down my arms. It felt great making my omega preen as her alpha gave her his love. However once he began kissing at my neck, I could feel myself slowly dropping. My omega tried her best to come forward, but now was not the time. I tried to fight my drop.

Finally Jisung had finished, whispering to me from in front. I was now sensually sandwiched between the two boys. "It's okay to drop now 'mega. Let us spoil you with our love. You earned it." I nodded and let go. My mid becoming fuzzy and hazy with the boys. They slowly begin to undress me, Jisung taking it and putting it away in the closet. When he returned he had my hoodie and shorts. Placing them back on me as they continued to kiss and caress my through out our shared moment.

Once I had been clothed, Minho turned me around and picked me up. Wrapping my legs around his torso and holding me by my legs. Together we left the building, returning to the car. Jisung sat in the passenger seat and Minho placed me in his lap. While Minho drove us home, Jisung slowly rubbed circles into my back, lulling me into a nice mid afternoon nap.

A glance at the clock told me it was currently 3pm, this left me with 3 more hours before we would leave for the company ball. The boys were all currently running around getting thing handled before they could get ready themselves. Being the hosts of the party they still had a lot to finish and make sure got done. Someone knocked on my door and I yelled they could come in. Looking over I saw Chan peek his head inside. "Hey sweetie, I have someone for you to meet." Opening the door he brought in a smaller male, I could smell that this male was an omega like me. "His name is Wooyoung, He's a friend of Changbin and Jisung. We thought you could use a friend who is also an omega today. So Wooyoung here is going to take you with him and one of his mates to get ready for the ball." Wooyoung waved at me. I smiled and waved back before quickly getting my things put away. "Okay! I'll be ready to go in a moment then!" Chan left probably to go finish up some more things. Wooyoung walked in a little closer and started to chat as I grabbed some thing I thought I might need. "It's nice to finally meet you y/n! Changbin and Jisung both talk about you all the time." I smiled. "I'm glad to meet another omega myself, may I ask how you know those two?"

Wooyoung nodded and began to explain while I slipped on some shoes. "Well Changbin and I grew up in the same neighborhood, we hit it off well and have been friends ever since. When we found most of our mates at the same time, we both got super excited but also overwhelmed. We found and escape in venting to each other so our bond has been able to stay strong. Jisung is different. He and I joined Minho's company at the same time, we both were dreaming to be designers. One day Jisung came up with the idea of working together to do something different. We could design clothing lines for each sub gender but have them release together during the seasons. Typically there was an alpha clothing season, Beta season and Omega Season. Since one designer would only be able to handle designing for one gender every few months. It was a few months into our success when I realized he was a pack mate of Changbin and from then on my pack and your pack have been close friends." Finally I had the shoes on and we began to walk out the door.

"Will I get to meet your pack today as well?" Wooyoung smiled while helping me I not his car. "Yep! We just didn't want to overwhelm you immediately, So I will help you get ready for the ball and then you an meet them when we get there!" I nodded and he hopped in the drivers seat. Pulling out of the driveway we were off to our first stop.

We pulled up to a hair salon, Wooyoung helped me out and inside. The beta lady smiled seeing us both, "Hey Woo, is this the levanter pack omega!" Wooyoung nodded. "Yep it sure is, I have been told by the pack that she had a rough start to life, so it's up to you what to do with the hair and make up." She squealed. "Well hello darlin' My name is Charlie and I just love it when I get to choose the hair and makeup, Don't you worry darlin'! I'm gonna make you so beautiful your pack won't know what to do!" She quickly hopped over to a chair pulling it around for me. I sat down and she placed this plastic bib like thing over me.

"Woo, what's her dress look like so I make sure to match the vibe?" She asked, Wooyoung came over with his phone showing her a picture. She squealed once again before playing with my hair a little.

"Alright girlie! I have the perfect idea. just spare me some time to work my magic." And with that she got to work on my hair first. She rolled me over to give my hair a wash. Scrubbing different soap int my hair before rinsing. As she took a dryer to my hair, we watched as it began to curl on its own. "You just have the best hair girlie"

Finally it was dryer and she began to loosely braid my hair back to the middle of my head. The braid on each side shaped as if they were part of a flower crown on my head. She curled up some of the part that stayed down. It was quite a beautiful half up do hairstyle. Next she brought over all her make up. First she used her foundation and such to even out my skin tone. Then brought back some of that natural redness with the blush. Next she focused on my eyes, swiping the cat eye style liner. She applied red eye shadow as a base then gradient that into black glittery eyeshadow. Finishing by giving me rose red lipstick.

Looking at myself, I felt beautiful even with the random hoodie and shorts I had on. Charlie spun me around and I was now looking at Wooyoung who stood there. When he saw me, he was suddenly awestruck. "Well if this is how she looks without the dress on then we are gonna be seeing 8 dead men tonight. Cause you are stunning y/n!" I blushed and looked away shyly.

Charlie gave me a small side hug, but Wooyoung quickly said goodbye and we were off again. This time we went straight to the fashion studio to pick up my dress and accessories. "Okay, so first I'll help you get in the dress. Jisung has given me full reign over your shoe choice and accessories. So I already pulled out some options and I'll give you what looks the best with you." I nodded "Okay, can't wait to see the final look. I'm excited to feel pretty." Wooyoung scoffed chuckling a little. "Oh you sweet innocent thing. You will not be looking pretty, You are gonna be drop dead gorgeous. Like the fucking moon goddess!" I giggled. "okay I trust you."

Finally we pull up to the building. While walking in, I was once again fascinated by the beautiful architecture on the inside. Beautiful art lined the hallways, must be to help inspire those with artist block. We entered a different room, this must me Wooyoungs. He handed me my dress, "Let me know when you ready for to tie it up for you."

I nodded and he turned around allowing me some privacy to change. It took me a second to get everything off and get into the dress. To make this dress look as pretty as it could, I had to be braless. But I wore some red lace underwear just because I was feeling extra confident today. Wooyoung came over when I told him I was ready. He pulled the strings to tighten it up, making sure it hugged me perfectly before finishing tying it. I smiled seeing myself in the mirror. Wooyoung had me sit down so he could help me put on the heels. They were these glittery red block heels that gave me an extra 4 inches of height. The straps of these heels wrapped up my calves about half way to the knee.

Next he handed me this small sparkly red clutch with a silver chain strap. He helped me put in some ruby red teardrop earrings, that pried with the silver chain necklace that also had a red teardrop ruby.

Finally he let me stand back up and look in the mirror. Now was my turn to be starstruck, I looked and felt gorgeous like woo young said. I glanced over to Wooyoung, "You were right, I feel gorgeous." He chuckled. "told you y/n. Now give me a minute to change and we can head out." I smiled and nodded. Pulling out my phone, I sent a quick text to my pack. 'I can't wait to show you my outfit, I think you guys will really like it.' Feeling this gorgeous had given me a new sense of confidence when messaging the boys. They were quick to reply back, the youngest wanting nothing more than to see me right now, while the eldest held back wanting to enjoy the surprise.

When woo young came back, He looked even more handsome than I thought possible. "You look fantastic Woo!" He blushed a little before quickly replying back. "Well no one is beating your beauty tonight y/n, I'm excited to see those idiots on their knees for you sweet thing." I giggled.

Once he had cleaned up his room, we began to head back out to the car. This was gonna be great. "hey Woo? Mind if I put on a song?" Looking to me with a smile, he simply told me. "Be my guest gorgeous." I smiled and connected my phone and quickly played the song. "Oh this is perfect for this moment y/n!" I smiled and we began to sing along as 'Spicy Margarita' by Jason Derulo and Michael Bublé played in the background.

#alpha beta omega #bang chan #childhood trauma #han jisung #hwang hyunjin #kim seungmin #lee felix #lee minho #omegaverse #seo changbin #yang jeongin

22 notes · View notes

echo-goes-mmm · 9 months

Text

Divine Intervention AU #1

Masterpost

Warnings: implied past and future non-con, implied past torture

The best part about being up for sale, in Plaything’s opinion, was the time off. No chores to do, no entertaining a master’s sleazy friends, and no whip. After all, who’d buy damaged goods? Aside from the permanent scarring, of course. It was only fresh marks that were off the table.

Even more fortunate, he was still too valuable to be sold at auction. Auctions were for manual laborers and cheap brothel fodder. Plaything used to be for nobles’ amusement and bedservice. He still had his beauty and unusual coloring, even though his back was considered ruined by now.

It was nice. The merchant had him chained by an ankle to the stall, and the cuffs around his wrists weren’t too uncomfortable. He could sit as he pleased, stretch when he needed too, and he had a great view of the market.

The worst part about being up for sale, in Plaything’s opinion, was the groping. Customers had to inspect the product before they buy, but Plaything hated it. His old masters didn’t share him sexually. Plaything had gotten comfortable servicing only one person, not dozens of strangers. Even though technically he only had to stand there. Some of them weren’t even serious about buying him.

But the two men walking up to him now looked very serious. Their clothing was strange and foreign, yet the deep colors told Plaything they were rich.

One of them beckoned him to stand. He grabbed Plaything’s jaw, yanking it open. That was new. He let him go after a moment, then grasped his wrists by the chain, forcing his arms up. The man lifted his shirt, and said something to his friend in a language Plaything didn’t know.

The man dropped his wrists and shirt, opting instead to look down the waistband of Plaything’s boxers. The merchant hadn’t given him pants or a skirt and Plaything desperately wished he had. Thankfully, he passed on touching him.

The man checked his back, and Plaything could feel his hand running up his spine. Usually his back was a deal breaker, but the stranger didn’t seem to mind.

Finally, the merchant came over.

“See anything you like?” he joked. “This one’s the only slave around with such pretty white hair. I’m sure he’ll make a lovely addition to your bed.”

“What is its temperament?” said the second stranger, with an accent unfamiliar to Plaything.

“Docile. Don’t let his back put you off; the previous owner used the whip for entertainment. He’s really quite obedient.”

“How much?” said the first stranger.

Plaything’s heart sank. He’d hoped to be on the market for longer than two weeks.

But they settled on a price within minutes, and Plaything was too lost in thought to even hear the number. Shit. Now he didn’t know how close he was to becoming brothel material. This could be his last sale before that happened, and he missed it.

His ankle was unchained, and ropes replaced the cuffs around his wrists. They used another rope as a lead, and pulled him forward.

His masters led him to two horses tied at a post. One of them fastened the lead to his horse’s saddle.

Plaything resigned himself to a very very long walk.

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em

#whump #my writing #ambrose and elliot #divine intervention au #slavery whump

38 notes · View notes

blurryeyeswhump · 9 months

Text

When I hear the knock at the door I know it’s him immediately. Even the sound of his knuckles against wood is weak, hesitant, terrified.

It’s after 11 pm. He isn’t expected, and apparently couldn’t even be bothered to call or send a text first. He’s just hoping I’m awake and not busy and in the mood for him. I am. I set down my third glass of whiskey I’ve barely had a taste of and walk to the door in no hurry.

I open the door to him pocketing his hands quickly, no doubt wringing them just seconds ago. There’s a warm wind whipping through his long, messy, dark, hair. He’s uneasy.

“Hi, Milo,” I say. He’s looking behind me expectantly, hoping to be let in.

“Hey,” he says quietly, “I was hoping- I mean, if you were up— I just wanted,” he stops and tries to swallow down the anxiety gripping his throat before wincing a nervous smile at me.

I’m going to make him say it.

I lean against the door frame and cock my head a little. I say nothing. I want him to do it by himself. He’s a big boy despite the way he has to look up to meet my eyes.

“Silas,” he says, defeated, and it’s a plea all in itself. His stormy eyes now staring straight through my chest. Those eyes are something else. Like pitted cross-sections of steel.

“I need you,” he says.

“To what?” The words leave my mouth before he finishes.

“To hurt me,” he says before sucking in a shuddering breath. He’s looking at the ground now.

I let the silence sit between us just a few moments longer and then I speak.

“Alright,” I say. I step back and hold the door for him to slink inside. I shut and lock the door and watch him stare at the now closed exit. Reconsidering?

He looks back at me and I start walking wordlessly toward the cellar door. I whisk the glass of whiskey from the table and down it on my way down the hall. He follows me. When I open the door I gesture for him to go first and he does.

It’s been a little while since I’ve seen him. He’s only ever come here. I’ve never been to his place and the only time I ever saw him out in the “Real World” was when I unknowingly showed up at the restaurant he works at. He looked like he’d seen a fucking ghost. Taking mine and my date’s order, beads of cold sweat forming on his temples, stumbling over his words, and still likely covered in bruises under his white collared shirt. I ran him ragged that night and the uppity, blonde bitch I was entertaining was all too willing (or too engrossed in her phone to care,) to allow me to abuse the waitstaff. I haven’t been back and he’s never mentioned the fact that I stiffed him.

I follow him down and when he’s three steps from the bottom I plant my hand between his shoulder blades and shove.

A cry rips through his throat and stops abruptly when he hits the ground. The sound is replaced by coughing as he gags against the the dust wafting up from the impact and gasps to find the air that was knocked out of him. I step around him and set my now empty glass on my workbench.

“Jesus, Silas,” he sounds almost annoyed.

“Undress,” I say.

“What?”

“Take your. Clothes off.”

This is new. I’ve never made him do this before. I’m feeling adventurous. He might act shy but he’ll do it. I find it hard to imagine something he wouldn’t do for me. He’d lick the dirt off my shoes if I told him to, I’m certain of it. I’ll tuck that idea away.

He’s pulling himself to his feet. Nothing broken from the fall it seems. He turns and looks at me, maybe gauging how serious I am.

“Do you need help?” I ask.

He huffs through his nose and turns his back and starts unbuttoning his shirt. While he’s busy I grab a pair of cuffs and hook them through a latch I drilled into the wall. I did it just for him. I pop the latch shut and turn around to see him standing now in his underwear and socks.

His cheeks are red hot.

“Everything?” He asks.

“Everything.”

He looks down and uses his heels to drag down and step out of his socks, and then he looks up at me once again. It takes no more prompting and his thumbs dip into the waistline of his boxers. He peels them off and I steal a glance at the dark little trail of hair and his nervous cupped hands hiding the rest. I meet his eyes and smile a little.

“Knees.” I say jingling the cuffs attached to the wall.

He sighs through pursed lips and walks over to his spot.

“Back facing me,”

He kneels facing the wall and rests his forehead against it after offering his hands up to me. I lock him in and step behind him. He’s got a cute, fat little ass. Almost girlish. I never would have guessed.

I crouch down and he shifts uneasily. My fingers trace down his back, up his arms. I’m searching for evidence that I’ve been here. Some already yellowed bruises are still just barely visible. Like I said it’s been a little while. Some thin shimmery scars as well. What to do?

I could take a belt to his back. Open his skin up with a box cutter. See how red I can turn his ass.

Maybe I should keep him forever this time. The thought is amusing enough that I say it out loud. He huffs out the ghost of a laugh that’s bound up tight with a nervous apprehension.

“Would you like that?” I ask, and before I reconsider, I press my lips against his spine and goosebumps erupt down his back.

“I bet I could get really creative if I had you here all the time. Maybe I could even out-crazy you, hm? How long would it take for you to have enough pain that you get sick of it?” I speak against the back of his neck and then bite down hard on the spot where it meets his shoulder. He chokes down a whine and pulls weakly at his restraints.

“Hey, Milo?” I coo softly.

“Yes?”

“Would you ever want me to fuck you?”

It hangs in the air and he seems to hold his breath as the chills down his back reignite.

This has always been one thing. Since the moment I met him, he wanted pain. He wanted to hurt and cry and scream and be denied the mercy he begged for. Nothing else has ever come up.

Maybe it’s the liquor, maybe it’s not but I’m tired of wondering if he wants more and imagining the sick, delicious ways I can use it against him if he does.

“Speak, Milo,” I slide a hand around him just let it rest on his thigh. He leans back against my chest, gasping when I touch him.

“Yes!” He says as if I reached down his throat and dragged the word out myself.

I snicker against his ear.

“For how long?” I ask, and he answers immediately.

“The whole time,” he’s breathless.

“Oh you fucking little pervert,” I say and I kiss his neck while he squirms, “I have an idea,” I continue.

“Maybe, one day I’ll bring you upstairs, I’ll tie you up and gag you and throw you in the bedroom closet. Then I’ll fuck someone while you listen. That might be fun.”

I hear him sniff and I grab his hair and crane his neck back so he’s looking up at me. Tears. Just barely, but they’re there.

“Awwww, no? You don’t like that? You want me all to yourself? I was thinking about the blonde girl I brought to the restaurant. Remember her? Gorgeous, right?”

He nods weakly.

“Yeah, I thought so too,”

If this was going to work, it worked by now so I decide to check. I slide the hand on his thigh closer and closer to the center. He starts to whine and I cover his mouth with my left hand. My right hand inches closer and closer to its destination between his legs and ah! — there it is. He’s hard, painfully so. He winces and closes his eyes. I give him a little squeeze.

“Ohhh. You are really fucked up, huh?” I say before kissing the back of his head and letting him go. I stand up and he presses his forehead to the wall again. I cannot even begin to imagine the humiliation burning in his veins right now, let alone imagine enjoying it.

I’ve had my fill of psychological torment tonight. We’ll revisit this next time. I want screams now.

Without another word I grab the belt I left draped over a chair down here last time, fold it on itself, and start in on him. He screams and starts crying immediately since he was already so close to begin with. After ten or so consecutive strikes to his back I pause and he’s wailing out something nearly unintelligible. I can only tell from spending so much time with him in this state that he’s begging for me to keep going. He’s shaking violently and his arms are yanking at the cuffs hard enough to leave marks but he’s begging, so I oblige. I can feel myself hitting harder than normal but he’s really inspired me tonight. A few more and I pause only long enough for him to hear me speak.

“Tell me thank you,”

He does and I can tell he really means it.

#whump #whump blog #whumpee #my post #whumper #intimate whumper #masochist whumpee #masochist #asking to be hurt #non-sexual sadomasochism (gone sexual???)#silas and milo #nudity #psychological torture #belting #cutting mention #improper restaurant etiquette

35 notes · View notes

blackquillchillin · 25 days

Note

For the prompts: 16 or 20 or 42!

20: "Please. For me." "...okay. For you."

Bobby waited, arms crossed as the door opened, and a pair of guards went in. they emerged a few minutes later, one on each side of the Prosecutor, each gripping an arm. heavy chains were set around his wrists and a set around his ankles as well. After three days in solitary, the man looked positively demented. His hair was no longer tied back, flying out in all directions, and his grey eyes, usually clear and bright, glaring out from the shadows cast by his bangs, stared straight forward, focused on....Bobby couldn't tell what. The ever-present shadows under his eyes were larger and darker then ever. The guard on Blackquill's right nodded to Bobby, who returned it, and fell into step beside them, as they headed down the hallway.

Once they reached Blackquill's regular cell, the cuffs were removed, and he was more or less shoved inside, the door clanging shut behind him. Bobby watched him though the bars as the guards moved on, to some other inmate, some other task. Blackquill said nothing, staying more or less where he had stumbled when pushed. It was only after several minutes that Bobby broke the silence.

"Why did you do it?"

The other man did not answer, but he did finally move, sinking onto his cot, and staring once more, past Fulbright, past the stone walls, past everything. Bobby hated it, he wished Blackquill would just close his eyes, or move his gaze, or something-but he had to know. He had to know why. they had been doing so well.....

"Sir. Why did you attack a guard? you were doing so well, I really thought we were making progress-"

-He cut off when Blackquill started to laugh. a single, mono-syllabic "Heh." followed, a moment later by a second one, then a third. Bobby frowned, and found himself holding his sleeves tighter.

"it's not funny."

"Come now," The Inmate's eyes finally focused on Bobby, and he found himself wishing they hadn't, "Asking a prisoner why they bite the hand that beats them? You know the answer to that, surely."

"No! No I don't! Sir, please, rehabilitation don't involve-"

"I'm in no mood to argue with a figment. Move on, move on, I've other apparitions to see."

"w-what?"

"Do you believe yourself the only man who appears to me? the only being who haunts my subconscious? Nay, though the lack of blood is pleasant at least. a whole figment, for a change." His eyes moved past Bobby again, and the awful, crooked grin that had formed disappeared, his brow furrowing. "it's too soon for someone real."

Did....Did he not think bobby was real? Suddenly Bobby's uneasiness was replaced with-well, joined by-concern.

"what..what do you mean by that?"

"It's too soon. No one visits directly after solitary. I won't see anyone real until mess....or time in the yard. I wonder which is next...."

"Won't you see the guards?"

"Oh, yes, how silly of me to overlook my escort who shoved me in a cell and walked away. Bloody hell, you're daft today."

"Today? Do I appear to you on other days?"

"Not usually. Come now, cease the questions. If you ARE real, tell me something I wouldn't know."

"like what?"

"Mm....Tell me of..Tell me of the outside world. What are the lawyers doing? the judges? the little ladies who need to cross the street?"

"I'm....not sure..."

"Please. For me."

"....okay. Okay, I'll tell you."

And that is how Bobby Fulbright spent the last few hours of his day, regaling Simon Blackquill of tales of the free world, with all its mundane normalcy, While Blackquill, eyes half closed, listened to every word.

I hope you enjoyed! I had fun writing it. I don't have a lot of practice writing scenes that take place in the prison, so I hope I did alright. Thank you again to @gigimirasol for sending an ask! I still owe you one more prompt!

#bobby fulbright #simon blackquill #ace attorney #aa5 #aa fanfic #fanfiction #hurt/comfort #my wrtitng #my work #ask game #send asks

7 notes · View notes

fandomfluffandfuck · 1 year

Note

S, can you make a post with images of which ones do you think would be Evanstan's favorite sex toys? 👀

Sure! I can do a quick thing.

First, though, I feel like there are lots of options for them. Like, I headcanon Sebastian as being more experienced than Chris with power dynamics as well as kinkier sex in general. So, I think Seb would more likely be the one to ask for toys or to bring in the toys he already owns to their relationship. And, obviously, Chris lets it happen--he's used sex toys before (don't get him wrong). But, Chris' not used them in the way that or to the level that Sebastian uses/enjoys them--the way Seb has used them in the past with other partners.

Then, as they use them together--as Chris becomes more intimately acquainted with them--Chris finds that he very much enjoys them as well. He thought he might eventually run into the socially encouraged idea of being a man and not liking sex toys or being jealous of them because it somehow amounts to thinking your partner is replacing you with toys, but... he doesn't get there. Which is good. So, they use toys. But they also appreciate each other. It's good. It's better with toys.

For both of them.

No need for insecurity.

And, depending on what you think of as a sex toy, there are different options, too. So, just a few ones that they use a lot would include:

*not in any particular order

Wrist/anklecuffs

This picture is from cuddlez.com (blue option).

Sebastian already has cuffs when he meets Chris, but... Chris eventually buys Seb a new pair for his birthday (a present for them both really) not because the old ones are falling apart or anything, but because Chris really likes the way Seb looks in blue. The idea of Seb's eyes being accented by a pretty red blush and red-rimmed eyes from tears then also accented by blue leather... it's too good to pass up. He has to buy them.

(Also, there's something to be said about Chris tying his sub up in cuffs he bought. His. It makes Seb totally his.)

Collars

This picture is from etzy (again, in blue... but pretend the shades of blue match the cuffs above. Not because your toys all have to match but because Chris has a thing for his sub all in blue. Looking so pretty.)

A collar may not traditionally be considered a sex toy, but it is to them. It falls under toy/gear/additions to sex that makes it more exciting. Seb doesn't always wear his collar, but when he does... the scene is always just that little bit better. Seb gets sweeter and goes deeper. Chris loves to push him there. He loves to watch him there.

Rope

This picture is from knottydesires.com

(Twisted cotton rope! Cotton is good for them because the rope is easy to work with and the knots are soft. So, even though cotton isn't the strongest rope for bondage, it doesn't matter. It's not like Chris is suspending Seb, and Seb isn't stressing it so much. He's not really trying to get away, he's just moving around, enjoying it intensely.)

For when cuffs or Chris' orders alone aren't enough to keep Sebastian still 😏

Gotta keep him from squirming somehow...

A fleshlight

This picture is from fleshlight.com

Sebastian doesn't particularly enjoy using fleshlights/strokers himself, BUT he is the one to get Chris into them. Sebastian gets off on watching Chris use them, the clear ones, especially. Getting to watch Chris fuck something--watching his cock but also his face, God, it's the best.

Also Seb will never, never, never turn down the opportunity to watch Chris fingerfuck lube into a stroker. He loves the way those hands look ❤️‍🔥

Nipple Clamps

This picture is from loversstore.com

More often, these are used on Sebastian, but Chris does enjoy having his nipples stimulated. So... maybe, for a little while, he'll get in on the action (the pair they have are adjustable clamps for that reason 👀). He's too sensitive to have them on for long, though, but God, does he look good in them 🤤

As does Sebastian. Seb squirms and pants and likes them with or without the chain. With the chain attaching them, Chris can pull on both at once, which makes Seb's cock twitch needily every time.

Buttplugs/Dildos

This picture is from corner69.com

This picture is from loveplugs.co

This picture is from adameve.com

You don't need me to explain why these are on this list... 😏

And, by the way, they're (mostly) going in Sebastian. I didn't link/show any vibrating ones but you KNOW they own some vibrating ones (even remote controlled ones) that fuck Sebastian So Good. He loves having someone else in control of his pleasure--having someone tell him what he can and can't do, when he can or can't cum, or what he can feel and what he can't feel.

Also... metal plugs because they have a good weight and are good when they go in at body temperature or when they go in cold 👀 it's fun to play with those sensations. Body-safe silicone dildos because it's just soft enough while remaining hard and durable.

Anal Beads

This picture is from loveplugs.co

Anal beads/beaded dildos are 🥴🥴🥴 because of the feeling they make when popping in and out of Seb's rim. He can't help but turn into a mess, begging for it to be fucked into him and pulled out of him again and again and again. Chris likes to watch him swallow one bead, then another and another and another, always getting wider and wider, making his body struggle harder and harder.

Glass because...... it's see-through. It's fun for Chris to watch Seb take it that way.

Urethral Sounds

This picture is from oxy-shop.com

Just because... sounds. Yes. It's not an often thing, not even a semi-often thing, but when the mood is right. The mood is right.

Why wouldn't Chris want to fuck his sub open everywhere he can? His mouth... his ass... his cock 👀

*Now that I've run out of photos (there's only 10 per post allowed on Tumblr mobile), I'll just be linking or describing the rest of the toys I thought of!

Vibrating Cockring/Cockrings

Chris sometimes uses cockrings if he's feeling extra frisky and knows he's going to want to make Seb cum again and again and again without having to have his own stress about getting hard multiple times. Chris can't always hold off his own orgasm. Seb feels so good. Seb looks so good. Seb sounds so good. And Seb is so good. Irresistible.

Gags

Okay, so I'm cheating a little with this one... because I feel like they don't use actual gags. Instead, they just wad up clothes, scarves, or ties. They don't own, like ball or panel gags. Chris likes Sebastian's sounds too much to shut him up. He also likes being able to pull the gag quickly out of Sebastian's mouth to push his fingers into his mouth--Seb loves having his mouth full of Chris, and Chris can't deny him.

Blindfolds

Again, like with gags, when they play with blindfolds, they don't have actual made-for-sex toys. Instead, Chris will use a tie or scarf. They don't have a particular dedicated blindfold or hood or anything. Just pervertables.

Impact Play Instruments

Specifically, I feel like they love paddles. I mean, Sebastian loves regular bare-hand spanks the most. But paddles are his second favorite thing when being spanked. Sometimes, it might just be a nice wooden hairbrush they own, or it might he an actual paddle.

Whether a regular leather, strap leather, or any other kind of paddle.

(Eventually, I feel like Sebastian also surprises Chris on his birthday (or maybe on Valentine's Day) with a wooden paddle that has his initials carved into it so that when he spanks Seb with it... it leaves marks in the shape of his initials. It gives Seb and Chris just the perfect feeling of possessiveness and ownership.)

Occasionally, Chris breaks out the flogger they own, but it isn't often. Seb has to be in a really needy, horny mood. Like, extra tapped into his masochism. It feels good, but it's not an every day, not even an every week or month activity.

(The flogger I linked is made of deerskin, which is known for being pretty soft (like cloth) without much sting or thud, so I think it'd be something they purchase when Chris is still a little unsure of how to wield a flogger. However, Seb likes the overwhelming feeling of floggers with lots of tails, so it still ends up being a large item. Also, Chris doesn't initially feel ready for a super intense one, but... as he figures out how to use it... this flogger is one he can use intensely. He gets better and better at making it sting and even thud. He throws his weight into his hits, and they go for longer, stretching out the feelings. It's good, very good for Seb.)

Woof, that was longer than I thought it would be! Oops? I get kinda nerdy when it comes to toys/equipment in BDSM. I hope you enjoyed, at least!

Also--

If you made it this far, it's worth mentioning that I have a series on AO3 that has evanstan exploring BDSM & Kink™️ in this fashion. Seb as the more experienced partner despite being the submissive and Chris as the less experienced but eager-to-learn partner. I'd recommend it 👀

"For Beginners" by fandomfluffandfuck

#asks #fandomfluffandfuck #chris evans #sebastian stan #evanstan #rpf #real person fanfiction

19 notes · View notes

angelic-writer · 1 year

Text

Strategy

((Hoo lordy, here I am back from the depths of writer’s block briefly to bring you this thing. Now I know you all are gonna scream at me “Angel, when’s the next chapter of Risk? Where is it? I need it!” Shh. It’ll come out when I finish it, okay? Be patient. For now, enjoy this thing I’m about to torture you all l with. Once again, thank you to @serickswrites for the plot of this. :) ))

It had been days since they were trapped in the church. It had been days since they were kidnapped from their families. Why haven’t the police found them yet? Surely four people going missing would attract some sort of police attention, but of course in Mandela, the police were just as useful as a disinterested teacher.

“We need a strategy to get out of here.” Adam said to Cesar as the shorter man huddled against Jonah.

Cesar could only nod. Heavy bags had clearly formed under his eyes. He was exhausted from standing for the last two days in cuffs. He stroked Mark’s face as he leaned on Jonah. The look his best friend had threatened to break his heart. His face had a pallor that he hadn’t seen before, his fair skin turned white as snow. The breaths he took were ragged, interspersed with coughs. There was nothing he could do to alleviate his pain, just whisper to him that it’ll be okay. Which is exactly what he did. “It’s okay, Mark. We’re gonna get out of here soon. Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

It felt like such a lie.

Mark had yet to wake up since O’Brien left them.

O’Brien. The bastard that fooled the group into thinking that they could trust him. When they were at their most vulnerable, he struck. When Cesar had been strung up, he had been forced to watch his trusted pastor choke his best friend. Choke him until his face turned red, drool run down his chin and his struggles slowly subsided. During it, he noticed that O’Brien had a smile that stretched wide on his face. The kind of smile a normal human would not make. It was only after a few rounds of this that O’Brien began to drown Mark. Repeatedly.

“I’m baptizing him.” He said.

Cesar had screamed and fought against the restraints as did Adam and Jonah. Bruised their wrists. But they were powerless to help Mark. Powerless as they watched him sputter and gasp for air as his head was brought up. Powerless as they watched him go limp in the tub. And powerless as they watched O’Brien revive Mark repeatedly. All while still smiling that crescent moon smile. It was like a game to him, toying with his subjects. His pitiful humans.

The real O’Brien had died a long time ago and was replaced by this... thing disguising itself as him. The others found it funny that they realized that now.

Only after O’Brien had his fun did he cut Cesar down. He had crawled over to him, crying out his name. He had to know if Mark was still alive. Thankfully, he was.

That was hours ago. Cesar had pulled Mark into his lap and held him close as the others came over. The pastor had clearly released them from their restraints. “Now, you four be good now.” O’Brien said. “I’ve got a service to attend to. After that, there is plenty more fun to come. And who knows,” He looked to Cesar. “Maybe you’ll join in on the fun too. You wouldn’t want to leave your precious Mark alone now, would we?”

The smell of warm water still wafted in his nose as he stroked Mark’s damp hair. He still hadn’t stirred. Just coughed and wheezed in his unconsciousness. Cesar adjusted his body so it would make it easier for him to breathe, still whispering words of reassurance to him. He wanted to believe that what he was saying was true, but with the situation they’re in, it was hard. Of course, that only strengthened his resolve.

They needed to get out of here. Cesar wasn’t sure how much longer any of them could last, especially Mark. They all had to get out for him. As he was about to open his mouth to speak, it was Jonah who spoke. “What are you thinking?”

Adam signed and looked at the silver haired man. “It... may be risky, but if we time it right, it might work.”

-----

Cesar knew that Adam and Jonah still needed to iron out the details of the plan. Their argument after the initial pitch clearly proved that. He knew that they would all escape together as soon as they could. But he didn’t like having to wait. Not when O’Brien had taken a special interest in only torturing Mark now.

The poster child of Mandela Community Church. He always came to their services and prayed to the Lord nightly, clearly ready to spread the gospel when he was older. O’Brien had always treated him like a son and so, Mark referred to him as his second father. If only he knew what happened next...

Mark had been quiet when he finally woke up. He had a persistent cough that left him breathless and shaky. Cesar had to gently hold his shoulders and instruct him to breathe. Mark followed his example shakily and was only rewarded with more coughing. The older boy clearly knew what that meant. He was suffering from secondary drowning and if they don’t get him help soon, he will die. The more he coughed, the more his hatred for O’Brien grew. When he sees him again, he was going to strangle him. Beat his head to a bloody pulp.

No one hurts my best friend and gets away with it.

Soon, Mark caught the sight of O’Brien returning and clung onto him. Cesar held him tightly as he glared at the pastor.

“Woo! What a service! There were a whole lot of people there. Dare I say, it’s the greatest turnover we’ve ever got!” He spun around, causing his robe to flutter. “Got the whole congregation out of their seats during the last performance! Heh, it felt... empowering, y’know? According to the other band members, that’s never happened before. Made me feel real special...” Cesar gritted his teeth. Who do they think they are, trying to act like the O’Brien they know?

He looked to the others. “Now... Where were we...? Oh right!”

He strode over to them causing Mark to shout “Y-You bastard! I-I won’t let you hurt them!”

Cesar held onto Mark tightly, both Adam and Jonah had already been restrained by O’Brien. “I won’t let you take him! Take me! ME! NOT HIM!”

But Cesar’s pleas fell on deaf ears. The pastor only had eyes for Mark. He wrenched him away from his grasp and grabbed Cesar by the shirt collar, pulling him to stand. Before he could have a chance to fight back, he was quickly cuffed back up, though he did try.

“LET HIM GO! TAKE ME! ME!” Cesar roared as he pulled on his restraints, wrists raw and painful.

As O’Brien dragged Mark towards the tub, the younger boy was vehemently shaking his head as if telling Cesar to stop. That didn’t stop him from crying out, tears streaming down his face as he tried again and again to break out of his bonds. At this point, his wrists would start to bleed.

O’Brien turned back to Cesar and said “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll go next.”

Mark’s eyes widened. No. He can’t. He can’t hurt him. It was only supposed to be him. He was the one that was supposed to be sacrificed. He can’t let this thing hurt him.

Mark struggled against the pastor, but he was so weak that it made no difference. Figures. I was always weak. He coughed harder and wheezed as O’Brien shoved him towards the tub. Mark didn’t get to take a breath around his coughs as his former father figure shoved his head below the surface.

Cesar, Adam and Jonah shouted and cursed at O’Brien, begging him to let Mark go, to take them instead, but it was useless. They couldn’t escape. And as Mark went limp in his arms, Cesar felt something snap inside of him. A primal rage that had built up inside for the past three days.

You... You killed him. You killed Mark.

You murdered him!

Cesar’s arms were shaking. His legs were quaking. His whole body quivered with rage. He should be tired from standing, but pure adrenaline was rushing through his body now. O’Brien must pay. He must pay for what he did. But the logical side of his brain took over, telling him that he had to hold on a bit longer. That Adam and Jonah knew what to do. They would hatch his plan. He just needed to hold on so they could help Mark.

After what felt like days of watching O’Brien drown Mark in the tub, he finally stopped. He tossed the brunette aside, him flying through the air before landing in a heap face down. There, he remained unmoving. Cesar couldn’t see his face. Couldn’t see his breaths.

Fuck, hurry up! Hurry up so I can help him!

“Hah, I think he’s been baptized now. Shame. He was such a good boy. Oh well.” He looked to Cesar who was still staring at Mark with gritted teeth. “Oh, don’t be like that! I told you, you’ll be next. Think about it. You’ll finally be reunited with your best friend, hand in hand. Isn’t that a joyous thought?” He kicked Mark onto his back, rolling his body further away from Cesar and the rest of the group’s watchful eyes.

He slowly made his way to him, no doubt to release him from his restraints. But he didn’t dare to look at him. He couldn’t take his eyes off Mark. Couldn’t stop straining to see the rise and fall of his chest. He wasn’t stupid. He knew Mark could not be breathing after an ordeal like that. He knew that he was far from okay.

He killed the one person he cared about. His best friend. His brother.

He let his instincts take over. He caught O’Brien off guard and put him in a chokehold. For a short man like himself, he had a strength that surprised even himself. He threw him onto the ground and started raining down punches on his face. With every punch, all the anger burst free like a dam. He screamed in pain, in sorrow, incomprehensible words flowing out as all sounds faded away.

When he came to, he was covered in blood. Beneath him was O’Brien, still with his face swollen. He wasn’t getting up from that anytime soon. He glanced over to Adam and Jonah who were staring at him in shock. Numbly, he got up and released them from their restraints.

“Holy...” Adam whispered before Cesar interrupted.

“Just take Jonah and get out of here. I’ll get Mark.”

Adam nodded before pulling Jonah’s arm across his shoulder and started to hurry from the room.

“Wait! Mark... What about Mark?!” Jonah weakly said.

“Cesar has him. Let’s just focus on getting out of here.”

Jonah tried to turn around. Tried to stop. But he was dragged forward by the blonde’s hurried footsteps. He turned his head to see Mark hanging limply in Cesar’s arms, limbs flopping with each step the older boy took. Jonah could see Mark’s eyes were slightly open.

That should tell him he was fine. He was alright. But he knew better. He knew better than to make a hopeful judgement like that. Upon closer inspection, he saw that Mark’s chest was unmoving. His eyes were empty and blank. And worst of all... He was quiet. Quieter than they had been since O’Brien started torturing him days ago. “C-Cesar... A-Are you...”

“He’s fine, Jonah. He’s fine. I got him.” Cesar replied, his voice holding an edge to it that he and Adam hadn’t heard in a long time: Regret. He was lying.

“Well, what are you waiting for?! Help him! Do the thing they do in movies! Help him!” Jonah pulled against Adam.

“We will. Once we get to safety, we can help him.” His grip on the dark skinned man tightened. “He needs to be safe too, Jonah.”

Jonah closed his eyes as he allowed Adam to pull him forward, the sounds of Cesar taking deep frantic breaths and blowing into Mark’s mouth filling his ears from behind. They would be safe. Soon.

By the time Adam slowed down, Jonah was out of breath and shaking. He could barely move. Both of them were exhausted, but none of that mattered. They needed to help Mark.

“I-I think we’re safe here.” Adam huffed to Cesar.

Cesar nodded, his face pale and chest heaving. He clutched Mark tightly.

“Please, help him.” Jonah begged as he collapsed to his knees. He couldn’t stand anymore. His body was giving up. But not yet. Mark needed them.

The group was safe. They were all safe. They had escaped. Gotten to freedom. Now, they just have to wait for the police to find them.

Before Jonah could even move, Cesar was already pumping his chest, his skin slick with sweat. He could tell he was about to collapse at any moment. Cesar was running on pure adrenaline at this point. All he has on his mind is Mark Mark C’mon breathe Don’t leave me.

When he inevitably collapsed, Adam took over compressions while Cesar stroked his head. “It’s okay, Mark. We’re safe now. You can wake up now. You with me? Hey... You still with me?”

His broken voice only strengthened Adam’s resolve. After everything they’ve been through, he will not let his best friend die. He won’t let down Cesar. He won’t let down Sarah.

Several minutes passed and Mark’s condition didn’t change. They had switched multiple times, but nothing seemed to work. It was only when Jonah could no longer give rescue breaths as he was so out of breath did all of them realize their efforts were futile. They had executed the escape plan far too late for Mark.

“What... Why isn’t this working...? It was supposed to work. He was supposed to come back...” Cesar whimpered.

“Ces... I don’t think he’s...” Adam started to say.

“No! W-We can’t give up! We have to keep going until the police arrive!” Jonah shouted.

“Jonah... He’s been down for several minutes. I don’t think he’s gonna wake up...”

“No... W-What about Sarah? We can’t just tell her that Mark’s dead!”

While the argument continued, Cesar stared down at Mark’s face. His eyes had remained partially open, his jaw slack and mouth open with the rescue breaths, but he was utterly still and deathly pale. He knew why.

Death had already claimed him.

He recalled all the times he told him that everything will be okay, he wouldn’t let anything happen to him... All of that felt like one giant lie.

He wanted to protect Mark, but he failed. And because of his failure, his best friend is dead.

Letting out a gut-wrenching sob, he closed Mark’s eyes one final time. Adam and Jonah gathered around Cesar as he took his former best friend into his arms and whispered words of sorrow into his drenched hair. “I’m sorry... I’m so sorry... I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you...”

Adam pulled Jonah into his arms as the latter began to sob. As much as they didn’t want to believe it, the truth was right in front of them. They had employed the strategy to escape and it had worked. They were free of O��Brien and the torture had ended. But their loss was greater than any one of them could bear, their grief all consuming as they each realized that Mark had needed them, had needed the plan, and they had failed to follow through until it was far too late.

And for Cesar, nothing could fill the hole that Mark left. It was a neverending darkness that was left by his presence. An indescribable ache was left in his heart. He didn’t just lose his best friend that day. He lost what he considered to be a brother. The person he grew up with.

All the memories, all the happy smiles and fun times they had together... No one could ever come close to him. They were like glue, refusing to be apart. O’Brien forced them apart and he paid the price. Of course, that won’t bring him back. It was already too late by the time they got him out. They were too late...

Something began to swell up in his chest. A warm, painful feeling. It was a mixture of grief, anger and...

No.

It can’t end like this. It can’t. He couldn’t end it like that.

He won’t let it end like that.

With a newfound vigor he didn’t think was possible, he resumed compressions, his brows knitted and his teeth gritted. He won’t let him go. He won’t.

“Cesar, stop! He’s not coming back!” Adam shouted, but he didn’t hear him. He tried to pull him off, but he pushed him back, barking “Don’t touch me!!” He pressed harder, feeling his ribs give away with a loud crack. Doesn’t matter. It’ll heal. He just needs to breathe.

Jonah sobbed and buried his face in his hands. Why is Cesar in denial? They already know the truth. Mark’s gone. They failed. So why is Cesar still trying?

“C’mon, Mark... Please... You gotta wake up... Please come back to me...” He breathed into his mouth once again, letting his air fill up his lungs. The coldness of his skin didn’t deter him. He will keep going until he is forced to stop. One minute passed. Then another. And another. Cesar’s strength didn’t fade for a second. He was determined to keep Mark here.

“C’mon, Mark, breathe! Please wake up! I need you! Please breathe for me!” He pleaded to his shaking body as he continued pressing down. New tears fell from his eyes and splashed onto his soaked hoodie. Adam and Jonah stared at the scene in complete hopelessness. Cesar is clearly lying to himself. He believed that with a few shouts of encouragement, Mark will come back just like that? They can’t deny reality. They can’t deny the fact that he had gone without air for too long not to mention that he had been drowned multiple times. He’s never gonna come back from this drowning. Cesar just has to face reality.

He didn’t know how many cycles he tried. Maybe fourteenth? Fifteenth? He lost track, his mind laser focused on Mark. For a moment, he thought he saw Mark’s hand twitch. Could it be...?

“Yes. That’s it. C’mon, you can do it. Come back to me, Mark. C’mon!” He continued compressions, not letting up for a second. Just a few more...

Adam placed a hand on his shoulder. “Cesar... I’m sorry, but he’s gone.”

Cesar shook his head. “No. No, I won’t let him die! I can’t fail him!”

His grip tightened which caused him to shake him off. He noticed his eyes were beginning to flicker. He felt himself begin to smile.

“Come back to me, Mark. I need you. We all need you.” He gave him a couple of rescue breaths for good measure. As he began another round, a miracle happened.

Mark began to spasm as water began to spill out of his mouth. Cesar immediately rolled him onto his side and rubbed his back as he coughed. A torrent of water spilled out of him. He gripped his stomach painfully as he vomited. “That’s it. There you go. Just breathe. Let it all out.” Cesar whispered, stroking his hair.

Adam and Jonah both stared in shock. “Wha... But, this isn’t possible... There’s no way he would...” Adam trailed off. He blinked his eyes, trying to convince himself that it was just a dream, a hallucination. When he touched Mark’s hand though, he realized it wasn’t a dream. Mark had come back from the dead.

Mark slowly opened his eyes. “Wh... What...?”

“Hey, hey bud. Can you hear me? W-We’re safe. We’re okay. You’re okay now.” He gently hugged him, allowing himself to sob.

Mark hugged back and stroked his hair. “Yeah, I can hear you.” He wheezed.

Somewhere in the distance, a police woman appeared. After a second of staring at the scene in shock, she immediately went to her radio. “Guys, contact Davis and Weaver! We found them! They’re near St. Gabriel’s Church!”

“About time...” Mark muttered before he and Cesar pulled away. “Listen, I-I know this is gonna sound crazy, but I swear I heard you. I was knocked out. You were telling me to wake up and that you needed me.” He smiled. “I... I guess our friendship really did beat death itself.” He grimaced. “Ugh, my chest hurts...”

Cesar chuckled. “It’s okay. They’ll fix you up.”

“I hope so.” Mark said before he coughed.

Cesar rubbed his back as the coughing fit subsided. Mark gave him a weak smile and he, too, smiled back. He pulled him close to him, holding his hand tightly. Mark held his hand back, his grip just as strong as before. They both stayed in this embrace as the police sirens approached.

#the mandela catalogue #mark heathcliff #cesar torres #adam murray #jonah marshall #do not tag as ship #This takes place when they're about college age

18 notes · View notes

devoraqs · 2 years

Text

The Experiment 🍋

Pairing: Jinacha (Jinana x Alexander) Word Count: ~1375 Content Warnings: PWP, nipple play (lots of it), marking Summary: In which Jinana and a scientist run an experiment

@the-iron-orchid

MINORS DNI

Jinana’s eyes roved over the exposed flesh of Alexander’s chest, his bare pectorals framed artfully by the carefully tailored shirt he had selected. Technically, he was still fully clothed, but the dark blue satin lined with silver embroidery parted at the top of his rib cage and snaked round under his pecs, up over his shoulders, and rejoined at the hollow of his throat leaving the majority of the skin bare. The marks that Jinana had left before were still just visible, though before long they’d be joined by fresh ones. His trousers and small clothes were pushed down around his hips, and while Jinana had no intention of touching him just yet, s/he had a perfect view of the effects hir administrations would cause. All part of the experiment, after all.

His arms were bound simply behind his back with matching leather cuffs; this had the dual purpose of making sure Alexander kept his hands to himself while Jinana put their hypotheses into practice, and pulling his shoulders back just enough that his chest was pushed out.

“Those are new,” Jinana remarked, when s/he took in the piercings Alexander had put in his nipples. The usual plain gold bar had been replaced by silver rings with a short chain hanging off them, rounded off with a half moon charm that had a small hinge on it.

Alexander nodded, letting the corner of his mouth twist into a wry grin,

“The half moons are more than decorative,”

“I see,” Jinana replied, pleased, “I’m sure I’ll make good use of them, then.”

S/he flicked hir eyes to the small array of instruments and toys laid out on the table beside them. He wondered if they’d even get around to using them, if he’d need even more stimulation. Part of the beauty of the experiment, he supposed. The excitement of the mere concept made a pleasant rush buzz through him.

Jinana reached out and ran hir thumb over Alexander’s bottom lip, and Alexander’s eyes lidded slightly, breath catching in anticipation as he met hir gaze,

“Your eyes stay on me,” s/he said, quietly but firmly, and then s/he began.

With one hand s/he travelled across the expanse of skin before hir, fingers carding through the fine red hair. S/he felt rather than heard the soft puff of air as Alexander sighed at the touch, his eyelids flickering ever so slightly. A good start, a promising one, but no results as of yet. A stroke of fingers around the stars of the Aquarius over his heart, circling the neat lines that connected the small white diamonds of stars together, then down to just brush over Alexander’s left nipple and the chain that hung from it.

The touch, light as it was, sent a tingle down Alexander’s spine. Jinana circled the rosy skin as it peaked beneath hir fingertips, and this rendered a small sound from the back of Alexander’s throat. A light, almost delicate flush began to spot his cheekbones, and though his eyelids fluttered and grew heavy, they stayed trained on Jinana even as s/he took in every detail of his body as it shifted under hir ministrations. Experimentally, s/he closed hir thumb and forefinger around the peaked bud and pinched, not too firmly yet, just enough for Alexander to feel the light pressure. The result was instantaneous: Alexander keened into the touch and his cock jumped. Jinana smiled,

“Well, Laal, it seems that our hypothesis shows promise after all.”

“A strong start to the proceedings,” Alexander replied, voice slightly tight where his breathing was becoming laboured, “though at the moment results would be inconclusive.”

Jinana pinched again, harder this time, and Alexander let out a small yelp followed by a longer moan when s/he began to roll hir fingers slowly, deliciously agonisingly slowly. The rosy spots on his cheeks blossomed out across his face and licked down his neck under the deep blue fabric of his shirt, emerging to creep across his chest. He felt heat wash over his skin, beating across him with every thump of his slowly accelerating pulse, and pooling and tightening in his core.

He saw Jinana’s gaze fix on the pulse point in his neck and s/he leaned down to suck at it, tasting the thrum of his heartbeat under hir tongue, but as soon as Alexander let his eyes roll back into his head and savour the feeling, s/he leant back again. After all, that was not part of their experiment as it was, but instead posed a query for the future: if this proved to be a success, then what else could Jinana test on him?

And judging by the way Alexander’s cock was already more than half-hard before Jinana had even given the rest of his chest much attention, this experiment was certainly on track to success, though neither Jinana nor Alexander were keen to reach any firm conclusions just yet. As it happened, the pair of them when discussing the experiment decided unanimously to draw out the process as long as possible, and by now Jinana had come to know what on Alexander’s body would cause catalysis and so s/he knew how best to control the rate of reaction.

Jinana continued to roll the nipple between hir fingers, varying the pressure as s/he did. Alexander’s eyelids fluttered blissfully, though as soon as they closed Jinana released him entirely and stepped back. Alexander, batting his eyes open wide, made a soft noise of protest at the loss of contact. Jinana raised an eyebrow,

“Now, now. I did say to keep your eyes on me, did I not?”

“You did,” Alexander’s voice was rasping at the edges, “I’ll be good, I promise.”

Jinana hummed, reaching out and tucking a loose strand of Alexander’s hair back behind his ear,

“And I know you can be. You want to continue?”

A wordless affirmation, and Alexander shifted his position a little to make sure Jinana still had both a good view and enough room to work.

Jinana bent and kissed the hot skin of Alexander’s forehead before sliding hir hand down and across his chest once more. Alexander’s eyes, the pupils blown with desire, traced hir every move. An experimental gentle flick here, a more forceful raking of nails there, and Alexander was squirming and writhing under hir touch as every bit of contact sent electric tingles straight to his spine. This juxtaposed quite wonderfully with the ache in his now stiff cock, and while he wasn’t quite pushed to his peak yet (Jinana seemed to be meticulously making sure of that), release was visible yet hanging tantalisingly out of reach.

Really, he thought, they could probably call the experiment a success already. Their theory, that Jinana would be able to get Alexander off and make him come just by touching his chest, was as good as proven at this point.Jinana almost certainly thought the same, but that by no means meant stopping. Not when Alexander felt pleasure pulsing through him, and Jinana took in every detail of his face, his trembling body with an approving, satisfied smile. S/he praised him each time a moan or hiss escaped his lips, and reprimanded whenever his eyes strayed from what s/he was doing. Some of the toys were trialled; a dainty feather proved to be ticklish rather than titillating, some spare ice that they’d collected for aftercare made Alexander shiver pleasantly.

Jinana let hir fingers play with one of the soft chains and pendant dangling from Alexander’s piercing, humming in thought,

“These half moons, you said they’re more than decorative?”

“Aye,” the monosyllable was just about all Alexander could manage, “I see,” Jinana replied, toying with the silver pendant, “how do they work?”

S/he twisted the chain slightly, and a garbled moan tumbled from Alexander’s lips before he could any coherent words out,

“The catch at the back… they open.”

Jinana made a noise of pleasant surprise, and deftly flicked the tiny catch open. The half moon opened out into a perfect circle, with the catch twisting into what looked like it could be a tightening mechanism,

“Now, that’s quite clever,” Jinana said, raising hir eyebrows,

Alexander, flustered as he was, managed a small grin,

“One of my better designs, I think.”

“Let’s put them to the test, then.”

They fit perfectly around the piercings, and Alexander keened into Jinana’s fingers as s/he slipped the rings onto each nipple and began to experiment with the tightening key. A string of curses slipped from his lips in succession, dissolving into a moan.

“You do make the loveliest sounds, Laal,” s/he remarked softly. S/he was so close to him now that the utterance was a scattered breath against skin as red as his hair, as red as the ruby that s/he’d named him after, and he shuddered. Another tweak, and another sound was drawn from Alexander’s mouth. Almost as a reward, Jinana pressed hir lips to one of his pectorals in a languid kiss, but then nipped sharply with hir teeth and sucked. S/he repeated this again, and again, and again, leaving three darkening pink rosettes scattered across his chest. Alexander felt his head almost begin to spin.

Jiana occupied hirself with the twisting and tightening mechanism for a while; s/he alternated hands, tweaking with one on one side, and stroking feather-light circles around the pinched skin on the other side with hir other hand. S/he had found an effective balance, easing off when the pressure became too much, and soothing while still being sure that hir touch was working Alexander into a frenzy. His throat bobbed as he swallowed dryly, keeping himself focused became more difficult by the second. It took all the resolve and determination he could still muster to concentrate, even as he felt like his skin was set alight and he wanted nothing more to close his eyes and let the flame wash over him. (Luckily, he noted in he small part of his brain capable of logic, there were no lit candles in the room at present, lest his control slip and an unexpected bolt of magic would result in some singed wallpaper.)

But concentrate he did, breathing deeply and heavily, his pulse thudding under Jinana’s fingertips. He was certain s/he could feel it, could see how good he was being, and the little noises of approval s/he was making in the back of hir throat confirmed it.

Another kiss, another bite, another reddening rose of teeth marks and flushed skin. Alexander swore, shuddering from head to toe. He was just now becoming aware of a twinge in his knees and legs from his position, and in his shoulders where his bound arms held them back. The taut muscles shook slightly. Jinana paused ever so briefly, “Do you want to stop?”

Alexander shook his head,

“Keep going. Please, keep going.”

He offered her as wry a smile as he could, which s/he returned,

“Ever a diligent scientist, Alexander. Determined to see this experiment through to the end?”

“Aye,” he breathed, “I -ah, fuck,- I believe we may… may be close to a breakthrough now.”

Alexander almost felt Jinana’s eyes trace down his body to his straining prick, and s/he hummed in agreement. Alexander half hoped s/he’d take pity on him, but that wasn’t a factor in their experiment and Jinana was right, he was determined to see this through. It wasn’t such a matter of ‘if’ anymore, definitely a matter of ‘when’, but the ‘when’ in question seemed both far away and blisteringly close.

Jinana loosened the half moon clamps, letting them fall back to dangling. S/he kissed around the sensitive skin, laying hir palm flat over the aquarius tattoo. Hir eyes slid briefly over to the table, gauging whether to try another toy, but ultimately decided against it. Alexander was glad for it, the frisson of skin on skin, lips and teeth and tongue, was by far the best.

His breaths were rendered shallow now, and ragged. His pulse thundered in his ears, and an incoherent sound passed his lips.

“There, Laal,” he heard Jinana almost whisper, hir breath cool, “come for me. There’s a good boy.”

Barely four gasps of air, and he was pushed blissfully over the edge. That pleasant tingle of fire finally engulfed him, his head fell back onto his shoulders, a groan of something that may have been words, may have been a curse, may have been Jinana’s name, or may just have been an expression of pure delight spilled from his throat.

It took a second for him to come back to himself and try to wrangle his breathing back under control, Jinana was also breathing heavily but smiled, pleased. The haze of orgasm gone, he could feel the soreness in his joints, on his nipples from the clamps, and where the skin had been scratched. The satin of his shirt was clinging to him and darkened with sweat, and would certainly have to be cleaned thoroughly. Nevertheless, boneless and sated, he sagged contentedly back onto his heels. Jinana waved hir finger and the leather cuffs sprang open, freeing his wrists. He lumbered to his feet, flexing his wrists and rolling his shoulders. Jinana reached up and undid the button at his throat, and peeled the shirt off of him.

They sat down on the plush settee that had been pushed against the wall, Jinana applying ice and a salve, and they finally relaxed into the soft cushions (and into each other). There were several minutes of comfortable silence while they cleaned each other up, caught their breath, and tended to the reddened, tender skin on Alexander’s chest. Then,

“Results conclusive?” asked Alexander,

Jinana laughed, “Exceedingly. Although, I’ll admit to this one fault in our proceedings.”

“Oh?”

“Meticulous as we were with method, I notice neither of us were keeping time.”

Alexander raised his eyebrows in mock shock, “Ah, a fault indeed. Well, this can only mean one thing. For the sake of validity of results, I’d suggest a repeat in the future. What say you?”

Jinana kissed his temple, “An excellent proposition, Dr MacRionnag.”

#jinacha #jinana aditya #apprentice alexander #lemon #spicy #my writing #yes he *did* design himself some artsy nipple clamps #and had an artsy slutty tiddy window top made #dedicated to the Science (of horny)

12 notes · View notes

oumaheroes · 2 years

Note

I love the recent Brit-Brothers fic you just wrote, you captured their mannerisms and personalities so well. Like, yes! *yes!* LMAO poor Wales though, antiques are hard to replace...Ireland and Scotland's banter...England doing fuck-all, but chiming in everytime they call him forgetful (which makes me wonder, what makes him the *most* forgetful or the *worst* forgetful out of the brothers?) Also I just wanted to ask how long it usually takes you to write things. Because I've been still writing the Longbow fic. I'm only on chapter 1. I'm a big perfectionist unfortunately, but I'm thinking of publishing it one chapter at a time, but eh. Progress is being made - Longbow Anon.

Ahhh, thank you Longbow Anon, glad you liked it! I very much enjoyed writing them quibbling

England is forgetful because he's usually focused on something else and zones out and away from anything he deems as unimportant. Off the cuff work meeting or quickly made plan to meet someone for dinner? Locked and loaded, he's there five minutes early. But his phone? His keys? Eating three meals a day?? No chance, and anything not physically attached to him has a high chance of being entirely lost somewhere unfindable

Wales is forgetful because he's more of a dreamer and puts things and thoughts down and neglects to pick them up again because isn't his neighbours bush flowering so nicely this year? He'll have to ask him how he does it- oh! The postman... he needs to post that letter, better go to the study for a pen and write it out, it needs to go out today. Oh look, he left his tea here and now it's cold. Better make a new one... what was he doing again?

Scotland is forgetful because he functions very happily on autopilot and long held habits and so will subconsciously follow these habits without paying too much attention. Hence windows being left open (he likes to leave his open at home), or lights being left on (his lights are a different switch in a different place) or cars being left unlocked.

Ireland actually quite on it with this sort of thing but terrible with keeping times and booked events

By and large, England's more of a noticeable mess and so is deemed the worst of them all

As for how long it takes me to write things, it depends! If it's a short story I really want to write and currently have buzzing in my brain I can get one out in about an hour or two, depending on how detailed. Longer ones take about a week or two of short writing bursts if I'm in a determined, focused headspace, but sometimes the time between updates can be anything from weeks to years (Reset took two years to update, almost 8 years to complete from beginning to end lol). Long multichapter works always take me ages because some chapters are easier than others

I personally like going one chapter at a time for long boiz because it suits my wayward procrastinating, but I know other authors who write the whole thing out entirely before they post (and I am in awe of them). Both ways are good so don't be hard on yourself for how long it takes you to write, multichapter works or any work at all is very difficult!

You've got this Longbow Anon, I can't wait to see what you've got!

#aph england #aph scotland #aph ireland #aph wales #aph brit bros #aph uk bros #hws british isles #heroes answers #longbow anon #heroes headcanons

20 notes · View notes

trishmishtree · 1 year

Text

In which I can't seem to stop revisiting old projects I'm dissatisfied with, instead of moving on to new projects...

Remember the lacy Gibson girl-esque shirtwaist with the high collar I made last summer? I've only worn that thing once, because I hated the collar. The blouse was front-closing, which makes it tricky to have a high collar because you need to figure out a front closure for it. I wound up making it close at the side instead, so the center front would be an unbroken row of lace. Except, the part where the lace wrapped around the front was unattached and gaped pretty badly, so I had to sew multiple hooks and bars to close it, and it still gaped. I also hated how I made the cuffs too tight so they bunched up around the elbows, and it was a pain to get my arms out of the sleeves.

And I figured, why make a blouse if I'm not going to wear it because I'm not happy with how it turned out?

So I ended up going back and ripping off the lace collar and cuffs and replacing them with interfacing-backed cotton. I made the cuffs wider and longer and interfaced them so they wouldn't bunch up. And then I self-drafted a Peter Pan collar, interfaced that, and added a ruffle. I don't think I got the collar pattern quite right, since I feel like the bottom edge still needs more flare in it, but this was my first attempt at a high-necked folding collar and it wasn't as disastrous as I'd feared.

(Idk if this style of shirtwaist with this type of collar was all that common in the Edwardian period, but it's historybounding. Wearability matters more to me than being HA. And now I totally want to make more Peter Pan collars, some with embroidery, maybe some detachable ones to move from outfit to outfit. This collar could be removable too, since it's just loosely whipped on. And I might just do that, since I don't love how it's covering the lace and tucks. More brainstorming to come on how to salvage this blouse. Maybe I'll try to make a detachable high standing collar to swap out with it...)

#historybounding #sewing #hand sewing #tricia sews (kind of)

6 notes · View notes

0perfectimperfections0 · 2 years

Text

Friend: Why is your chapter so long? It's just fanfiction.

Me: Well...

<><><><><><>

The dolls looked behind the replacement with wide eyes. The new Lou turned to see his replica walking toward him, a disturbingly calm look plastered on his face. His hair had been fixed to its original form, clothes fully adorned and untainted by the toils of everything he’d been through the past few days. He looked brand new. The replacement clenched his fists and snapped his fingers. The robotic arms snaked their way toward Lou quickly and stopped short. He calmly proceeded on as they scanned over his form, and the light flashed green.

It worked.

Lou smirked at the shock on his copy’s face and proudly adjusted his cuffs as the robots slithered away. “I had a little glow up while I was gone. How do I look?” He gave a charming smile to his copy.

“You should be burning by now,” the other growled.

“That’s a weird way to say hello.” All he had to do was buy Nolan and the others time to get into position. The longer he kept his psychotic twin talking, the better chances this plan of theirs would see through. He walked along beside the cages, inconspicuously keeping track of where the locks were.

He was stopped abruptly by his replacement grasping one of the bars to block Lou with his arm. “You don’t belong here, remember? There’s a new leader.”

“Last time I checked, I’m the one with more experience in how to run this place. Unless you think you could do better. But, believe me, the isolation will eat at you.” Lou didn’t seem phased by the dominance his copy was exuding.

There was a laugh. “I’m not weak like you. This is our job. We wake up, we teach, we sleep and then do it all over it again the next day. It’s like clockwork.”

“Well, this clock doesn’t work like that,” Lou retorted. “These dolls don’t need you any more than they needed me. And they’ll realize that, too. You can hide it all you want to, but we’re worthless.” He leaned closer to the copy; eyes narrowed. “We’re nothing more than a money racket for the factory to promote their products—test subjects. You’re a lab rat, is what you are. Stuck in a cage to be experimented on while the products of your existence get to go on.” He walked around past the copy, “You’ll wake up, train, and sleep…and you’ll die here, too. If the depression doesn’t kill you first then the factory will.”

The other Lou blinked at the ground before shaking his head, “You couldn’t do it, but I can. I’m better. Mr. Everett made me stronger than you!”

“Did he?” Lou turned. “If you were stronger than me, you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t even exist. The factory doesn’t make stronger prototypes; they make weaker ones. Ones too vulnerable to stand up against them. Ones too stupid and brainwashed to realize they have a muzzle around their mouth and a leash around their neck. We’re their puppets, slaves, lab rats, whatever you wanna call it. But we’re not their equals and certainly not their higher power. Even if I died—if all these dolls were destroyed—you’d still lose. Because at the end of the day, the entire means of your existence is to submit to the factory.”

<><><><><>

An excerpt from a point (IDK at WHAT point, exactly) in my novel. My friend told me to go ahead and write the scene I wanted to and this came out so...

Why do I feel like there's a deeper meaning behind this?

#uglydolls #fanfiction #wattpad #writing #lou #story #excerpt

12 notes · View notes

rinwellisathing · 3 months

Text

You're Awful, I Love You: Part 28

Enver Gortash/Trans Male Tiefling Durge

Sentry returned to The Feast, continuing to lovingly detail the fur and finery on each gnoll in the picture. Each little droplet and splatter of blood adorning their beautiful clothes and jewels, every stray rivulet of saliva. He sighed gently, relaxing into the serene peace of his art. He thought of guiding a little long nailed hand across canvas, holding a little body up to reach the very top and make a marking. He thought bitterly of how that had not been his childhood, of the breeding cage, of his visitors. He shook it off and inhaled deeply through his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. Another headache, another 'gift' from father for his defiance. It was getting worse. Something small and soft rubbed against his leg and he paused, for a moment the pain in his head faded, replaced with a serene calm. He opened his eyes slowly and looked down. “Oh, hey Malta. Still haven't headed home, huh? Well, you can stay as long as you need to, I'll smooth it over with Wysp when I have a chance to visit him...” The cat let out a sad little mew and pawed at Sentry's leg. The tiefling sighed and set down his brush a moment, picking the cat up in his arms and burying his face against the soft fur. “It's alright, buddy, when I come back from this little outing, we'll go straight away and talk to Wysp. Whatever you two fought over can't possibly be that bad.” He carried Malta over to the bed and set him down on the pillow before returning to his painting.

Back at Gortash's home, Enver was preparing for the excursion, taking another item stolen from The House of Hope, a fine bag of holding, and beginning to place potions and throwing devices inside of it. He was just beginning to wonder what weapon he should carry on his person, when there was a timid knock at his door. With a sigh of annoyance, he set his things aside and crossed the room, opening the door and giving the servant standing there a look that plainly said this disturbance better be important. The well dressed dwarf stammered anxiously before swallowing his fear and taking a deep breath.

“My lord, some of the um...the patriars that you've reached out to, some of them have sent meeting requests...The Jannaths have in fact sent an invitation to the theatre....Two tickets, in fact. Yourself and a companion. It seems they wish ask your advice on...” Enver couldn't help but roll his eyes. Of course the old fool and her clueless husband were all but under his thumb. That had been easy. Still, he supposed it would be best to put in an appearance and the illusion of being a useful 'friend of the family' for a bit longer, enough to grease the wheels on his way to a place of real power. Besides, it might be amusing to bring Sentry with him. It could be amusing to see the elder Lady Jannath realize what actually drew his attention, especially when she couldn't make a fuss about it without confessing to her husband. It would be an afternoon's amusement at least. Besides, Sentry would enjoy the artistry, it might, perhaps, inspire him. “Yes, good. I'll attend. Now leave me, I'm extraordinarily busy at the moment.” He waved the servant off, shutting the door in his face before he could protest or try and relate further duties and responsibilities to distract from tonight's important work. Enver approached his wardrobe and thumbed through fine jackets and robes, reaching all the way to the back. Another little trinket stolen from his 'adoptive father'. Raphael's best coat for visits home to Cania. It was lined with the heavy fur of a dire polar bear and enchanted with a warming spell from some of Mephistar's own resident wizards. The material was a rich deep red with that heavy white fur around the cuffs and collar and lining the inside. Along with the coat, he packed a pair of thick goggles that would shield his eyes and finally decided on a hand crossbow to carry with him. All of this, he packed into the bag of holding for the trip to The Devil's Fee. Sentry, meanwhile, was just finishing up today's work on 'The Feast' when he realized he ought to leave for The Devil's Fee. He'd read a bit about Cania while looking for inspiration for his paintings, but wasn't entirely sure what might be useful other than winter clothing and his faithful halberd. Then again, he supposed Enver would have planned for it, so with a shrug, he simply grabbed a rich purple coat lined with soft black fur from a displacer beast, the neck and cuffs trimmed with thicker black werewolf fur Sentry had decided to add himself from an early victim. He packed his usual satchel with art supplies and a few poisons and healing potions and stepped out of his room. Gabraela stopped him again, arms folded across her chest. Sentry raised a brow, matching her posture. The older tiefling pointed to Fel and gave Sentry a stern look.

“I was going to bring him. Gods, Gabraela.” He groaned. “Fel! We're off on quite an adventure tonight, you're up for it?” “Always ready and willing to go where I am needed, young master.” Fel bowed low. “Where will tonight's devious plot take us?” “Mephistar...well...hopefully...here's hoping it doesn't deposit us right in some snow drift in Cania where we'll absolutely freeze before we get anywhere near the glacier.” He shrugged. “My rotted master, are you sure you're dressed for the weather? Bundled up all nice and snug? Perhaps a hat...some gloves, maybe a scarf?” Fel suggested, hurrying after Sentry as the tiefling simply walked straight past him on the way to the door. “I'm fine. Now hurry up or we'll be late meeting up with Enver...do you remember which sewer grate lets out nearest the graveyard?” He asked, frowning as he tried to settle on a path once they were outside the temple.

#baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #oc #tiefling #durge #dark urge #writing #fanfic #gortash x durge #durgetash #lord enver gortash #enver gortash

1 note · View note

hanniballover67 · 6 months

Text

“Ma! Why’d ya keep this one?!”

Daniel dropped the handful of pictures back into the box apart from this one.

This one!

Daniel shuddered as his dragged raspy breaths into his lungs.

Thirty-seven years and he still made Daniel blush harder than anyone, made him want to punch that smug face then kiss the brattiness away.

Their one kiss had seared the memory of Johnny fucking Lawrence into the very fabric of Daniel Larusso.

The two of them standing side-by-side with the bike Johnny worked all summer long to buy - washing cars, topless save for his tiny grey sports shorts. Daniel swore the moms and dads equally gave him a bigger tip to assuage their guilt for eye-fucking the jock who gave their kids karate lessons on a Saturday. Daniel’s hand resting in the handlebar as Johnny straddled it. He’d ridden it straight over from the bike shop, breathless and sweaty from his excitement pushing him to ride faster than he should have.

He’d always been reckless where Daniel was concerned.

It had been two years since Johnny drank himself to death. Sadder still that he’d been practically sober for six. Running their own dojo, taking down Kreese and Silver, getting Robby through his high-school exams and then watching him work his way up from truck-driver to floor supervisor within two years and three months had been some of the happiest and proudest times of Johnny’s life.

Cirrhosis of the liver didn’t care that you were changing, making it better, making a life for yourself.

He’d been on the waiting list for a transplant but it hadn’t been enough. Daniel had insisted on paying for dialysis twice a week in the hope he’d buy Johnny more time.

Johnny had grown weaker, jaundiced and swollen over the six months before his death. No longer able to teach he’d sit in the zen garden and meditate! Johnny Lawrence meditated!! He said it was bullshit but he enjoyed the sun on his face.

Daniel swiped at the tears streaming down his face.

The bike Johnny replaced after knocking him down a hill.

Fuck John Kreese.

Fuck Sid Weinberg!

They’d reconciled long ago and made their friendship solid on its shaky foundations. Johnny was still prone to petulance and Daniel was still prone to being an “officious prick.” Daniel had choked on his La Croix water, going puce in the face and trying to deflect Johnny’s far too enthusiastic back-pats.

“It’s officious P R I G!”

Johnny laughed as he funneled cashew nuts into his mouth. “I said what I said.”

Daniel laughed now as he remembered the glee in Johnny’s impossibly blue eyes.

“I hope you’ve found someone else to tease until I get up there, Johnny!”

He wiped a finger across Johnnys face in the black-and-white Polaroid.

“Hey, Daniel? The car’s are here.”

Daniel coughed as he let loose another sob from his soul.

He’d only meant to be two minutes, getting the cuff links his father had saved for him. His Ma said they didn’t have anything to leave in a Will but he’d been adamant Daniel had these. Daniel left them in his Ma’s jewellery box when he wasn’t using them so she’d have something to hold of his father’s.

Amanda appeared in the door, bright pink hat on top of her perfectly coiffed head matched sublimely with the full-length pink maxi dress and high-healed wedges.

“Whatcha got there?”

She entered the room in a veil of expensive perfume and exquisite grace.

Daniel held the picture out to her.

“Ahh. Was that the night?”

Daniel nodded, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I’m sorry you were hurt but I’m glad I got you. Is that shitty?”

Daniel shook his head as she wound her arms around his middle.

“It wouldn’t have worked. I think he just needed someone who knew all of his shittier parts to still want to be close to him.”

Amanda’s nodded over his shoulder. “Makes sense.”

Serenity waddled into the room, a slice of thickly chocolate’s toast in her hand and as much of it round as her face again.

“Hey sweetie. You all ready for the big day?”

The two year old nodded as she licked more chocolate from the toast.

She had Johnny’s hair and Johnny’s eyes. And after dinner last night no-one doubted Johnny’s temper!

“Mama and Dada go!”

Daniel scooped her up and placed a kiss on her head.

“That’s right darling. They’re getting married today!”

Tory and Robby had made it work and today they were saying their vows in front of those they loved.

Serenity reached out for the picture so Daniel let her hold it. He could always wash the debris off.

Serenity’s eyes shine brightly as she took in the two young men standing as close as can be.

“Papa!” She waved the picture around and almost dropped her toast.

Amanda cooed “Well done! Clever girl!”

Serenity beamed as she brought the picture to her mouth and kissed Johnny’s face.

“Love ‘oo Papa!”

She kissed the picture again before wriggling to her down.

“I d’ess me. I d’ess me!”

Amanda pressed a wet kiss into Daniel’s neck as Daniel’s own tears flooded his cheeks.

Serenity rubbed the toast against his bare leg as she said “No cwy. Love ‘oo.”

Daniel leant down to kiss her curly blonde hair.

“We’re happy crying, darling.”

Serenity clapped her hands together, the toast sandwiches between them.

“Yay.”

She turned to the door and made her way through the house.

“Pwincess day!”

Daniel nodded as he straightened back up with a wince and crack in his knees. Daily Kata couldn’t stop the aging process even for him.

“Coming, angel.”

He pressed his own kiss to Johnny’s face and pocketed the grimy picture. He’d wipe it later but for the ceremony he’d leave Serenity’s declaration of love where it belonged.

He was here in spirit and very much loved.

1 note · View note

pharmpakau · 10 months

Text

Why Choose Powder Free Vinyl Gloves?

Vinyl gloves were introduced decades ago, and since then, they became among the widely used personal protective equipment for various commercial and household applications. Today, they are still the most popular disposable safety gloves for their lower price point compared to nitrile and latex ones. Plus, they are easy to use in situations where they are required to be frequently worn and replaced. They come in different options, with vinyl powder free gloves as the best choice.

Is powder-free better?

Powdered gloves were the norm for many years, but recently, more manufacturers are offering powder-free options to increase safety. Most disposable gloves have a cornstarch coating to make them easier to wear and reduce the risk of tearing. However, cornstarch is a potential hazard when it carries airborne particles and causes contamination. Moreover, there’s the risk of causing respiratory problems to workers and others in the same space.

To avoid those issues, more businesses and healthcare facilities are using vinyl powder free gloves. Instead of cornstarch, these gloves are manufactured with a special polymer coating to make them easy to wear. Plus, they come with beaded cuffs and tapered wrists for a better fit and reduced tearing.

Avoid latex allergies

Powder-free vinyl gloves are perfect for those allergic to latex, especially in food and beverage preparation or manufacturing settings. These gloves are also suitable for house cleaning, hairstyling, assisted living facilities, maintenance, cooking, and washing. They are economical for low-risk and short-term tasks as they provide a reliable barrier against low-risk bodily fluids. Additionally, they protect the skin from direct contact with harsh cleaners, detergents, and dyes.

Safe to use

High-quality vinyl powder free gloves are generally safe for situations where there is a risk of latex allergies. They rarely trigger allergies, but when they do, it’s usually caused by contact urticaria, which happens when you wear gloves for extended periods, causing insufficient ventilation to the skin. In addition, their longer shelf life makes powder-free vinyl gloves easy to store, so businesses can stock up on many boxes without worrying about them expiring or deteriorating soon.

Be sure to get high-quality powder-free vinyl gloves!

Get vinyl powder free gloves at PharmPak to ensure high-quality protection and reliable comfort for various applications. They carry these gloves in standard sizes like S and M to suit most wearers. Spend over $99 and get free delivery on your order from this leading PPE supplier in Australia.

About the author:

PharmPak is a trusted supplier of high-quality disposable gloves, sticky labels, personal protective equipment (PPE), and other hygiene products. They offer a wide selection of products to meet the needs of customers in both residential and commercial settings, including hospitals, laboratories, and other industries. Their products are designed with top-quality materials to ensure durability, comfort, and optimal protection against hazards, whether it's spills, splatters, or other dangers. They take pride in our commitment to providing exceptional customer service and high-quality products, and they strive to make the ordering process as easy and efficient as possible.

#Vinyl Powder Free Gloves

0 notes

crispyfuryarbiter · 2 years

Text

Do you have the right shirt?

Autumn has arrived, now only wear a T-shirt is not a little cold, and sweatshirt is not good to put on and take off, very inconvenient, and the shirt will not be convenient at the same time, but also very good with, this weather wear just good, let me recommend some shirts for everyone, so that the autumn does not lose warmth at the same time very fashionable trend. First of all what is the history of the development of the shirt? At first, the shirt actually refers to the clothes worn close to the inside, referred to as underwear, and its origin can be traced back to the ancient Roman era of chunik. The chunique was a tight fitting one-piece garment, somewhat similar to the current ladies' skirt. Throughout the Middle Ages, the form of the chunik as an undergarment did not change much, and only shepherds or prisoners wore them outside. By the beginning of the European Renaissance in the sixteenth century, a modern version of the blouse emerged, but it still could not be worn outside and was made mainly of linen or silk. But at the time, shirts were loose and did not yet occupy a major place in men's wardrobes. Shirt collars were concealed by a kind of crewneck, and cuffs were covered with lace and cinched with a band at the neck and wrist where the shirt could be seen, which is why modern shirt cuffs are a centimetre longer than the outer garment. In the 17th century, the exposed trim of the collar was a symbol of status and noble dress. This being the case, the aristocracy applied the effect of the detachable ornamentation of the shirt collar to no end. The collar became a detachable accessory on the shirt. By this time, the two-piece collar had become popular among the people, and although it was less ornate than the nobleman's shirt, it was both functional and decorative, and took on the shape of a modern shirt. By the 1740s, as the large, stiff and ornate collars did not allow for ease of movement, the design of the shirt began to be simplified and the exaggerated collar shape was no longer pursued. The use of the shirt as a vest continued into the 18th century, when buttons also appeared on the design of the shirt. Because of the use of buttons, forms of fastening such as knotted cords or pleats receded from history. It was not until the 19th century that the revealing of the shirt became popular, and people were free to mix and match and show off without the coyness of dressing at the time. However, this was a time when shirt collars needed to be slubbed, and in the 1920s shirts began to be softened as the traditional slubbing was too stiff and so was gradually replaced by soft collars and shirts made from soft fibre textured fabrics. The Windsor collar, popular in the 1930s and made famous by the Duke of Windsor, had an opening angle of between 120 and 180 degrees to accommodate larger tie knots. By the twenty-first century, the shirt had become popular at home and in the office and began to replace the three-piece suit as a classic style that could be worn outside and even with a suit as one of the classic styles not to be worn for formal occasions. Printed shirts

Printed shirt, trendy print pattern brings a kind of hip-hop wind, manifesting personality, fabric wearable, non-pilling, smooth and delicate feel, soft and comfortable to wear on the body, fashionable and versatile shirt to bring you a different autumn colour, make your autumn vibrant. Striped shirt

Striped shirt, vertical stripes loose version, can cover the meat at the same time and visually thin, loose version gives a lazy cozy feeling, very suitable for the autumn season, this shirt can be used as a jacket to wear, in the case of the sun is more sunny, can also be used as a sunscreen wear, can also be used as a tie in the waist, giving a sense of hierarchy, a kind of street style, with a variety of methods, different methods Bringing a different style to the table. Plain white shirt

Pure white shirt, small V-neck design to reveal the charming neck, no buttons also let people not so tight, let people relax, the chest cross twist design, so that the clothes add out of the highlights, give people a sense of temperament and elegance, and then with a small suit, proper workplace women strong people. Today's share everyone still like it, there are like clothes click on the link can be purchased, or into the shop to see more good-looking versatile shirt, shop clothes more quickly come in to buy it!

#Satin Shirt #clothes #Solid color shirt #Pure white shirt #loose shirt #hoodie shirt

0 notes