i know folks are gonna call me a pedo for this one, but i grew up seeing my mom and grandma naked. they had health issues and at times needed care and help showering. and i truly think more kids need to be shown the nonsexual reality of naked women at a young age. there is nothing sexual about my grandmothers breasts, they were simply body parts. more women die of heart attacks because people are too afraid of breasts to do real chest compressions, because they are scared to touch their breasts. the sexualization of our bodies literally kills us. i need people to be more normal about naked bodies and i'm 100% serious.
People send me asks every week informing me they’ve seen my fics used for ai chatbots or that they themself on alt accounts are scraping my fics to generate ai writing(which is seriously messed up)
At first I stayed quiet, not wanting to bring it up because I know it’ll just cause more people to scrape my works.
But I’m so tired. I’m tired of my hard work being stolen. Why do you do this to us? Haven’t I given you enough free stories? Do you know how much I love all of you, how happy it made me when people commented on my fics and said they liked them?
Now that AI is more popular, I’ve seen in real time how people started treating writers like they were just a content farm. People abandon us or feed our works into AI if we don’t pump out stories fast enough.
It’s exhausting. The last few years I wrote so much that I ended incredibly burnt out to the point I’ve barely written anything in the past few months, but it’s still not enough.
Nothing is enough.
Please, for the love of god give your favorite writers some love. A lot of us are so close to giving up. I know I am.
cw: major character death, grief, very vague descriptions of gore, the first year of extermination where no one knew what was happening, depression
Imagine being Vox’s partner in both your lives and afterlives, and you’re the only one who can calm him down and make him feel like he doesn’t need to be all powerful to be important. He dotes on you, and every Overlord knows not to mess with you because it wouldn’t matter if Vox was the strongest or weakest Sinner in Hell: he would not let any harm ever come to you, and would burn the world down for you.
Of course, that doesn’t mean you don’t have your little fights. Vox can hate your temper as much as he loves it, especially when you’ve both had bad days.
This little fight, however, was started because of him, and it escalated badly. You storm off, and he rolls his eyes, but accepts it’s his fault and he’ll apologise when he sees you later. You’re probably just in your office, or in your shared bedroom, ranting and raving just like him.
Vox doesn’t question VoxTek going into lockdown without his authorisation. Not when Velvette runs into his office and clings to him in a terror he hasn’t ever seen from her. Valentino is close behind, so scared he keeps speaking in Spanish, unable to think clearly enough to translate. Vox does hear what Velvette says though.
There are angels attacking. Exorcising. It’s a bloodbath out there. Vox doesn’t even think before running to your room. You were always so scared that you weren’t safe in Hell, no matter the empire he’d built for you.
You don’t answer. Maybe you’re still mad. After all, there aren’t windows in your room, so maybe you can’t see the utter carnage going on.
Vox stays against the door though. He knows VoxTek’s security can ward off demons, but not angels. If they do get through, Vox knows he’ll fight as long as it takes for you to escape. Your only Sin was loving him. It damned you once. He wouldn’t let it be the thing that got you killed again. Without you, he was nothing but the Overlord he portrayed himself as. The part of him that was Vincent Whittman would go away forever.
He stays against the door, telling you he’ll go down fighting for you. His cables are wrapped around Valentino and Velvette as he sees them both truly afraid for the first time, and he bitterly wishes you didn’t insist on making your bedroom the one place he couldn’t teleport into at will.
You don’t reply, but he doesn’t care. Even if you’re so angry you never speak to him again, he’ll die for you. Power is worth living for. You’re worth dying for.
When bells start to ring so loudly they can be heard even in the tower, Vox waits a few minutes before Velvette whips out her phone and starts calling everyone she knows, asking if anyone else knows what’s going on, and if it’s safe now.
After a minute, she gives the all clear. The angels are gone, presumably back to Heaven.
“You hear that, baby?” Vox laughs through the door. “It’s okay! We’re okay! Can you not be mad at me anymore? We did just have a neat death experience, and that does qualify as more important than a fight.” He’s rambling and he knows it, but you always make his tongue twisted and his screen overheated.
“I’m taking the tower out of lockdown,” Velvette says. Then she notices him still waiting against the door. “Vox, people are gonna wanna know what the fuck just happened. Go outside and talk to them. We can monopolise this.”
He doesn’t listen. He waits for you like a dog. Velvette sighs.
“She’ll be out soon. She’s just pissy and probably doesn’t know what’s going on.”
After Val basically forces him away from the door, Vox can’t focus on anything but how you’re still giving him the silent treatment. He was ready to die again for you, and you didn’t even speak? Okay, maybe you weren’t in your room, but where else would you have stormed off to? There were few places outside the tower you liked.
He smells the blood before he sees the body. Maybe it’s his shark senses. Maybe it’s just how attuned he is to you, and how he swore he’d never let any harm come to you again.
That doesn’t matter now.
There’s blood on the doors that make up the entrance to Vee Tower.
Velvette stops first. Her phone falls out of her hand.
“Vox.” He doesn’t know if she’s saying it as a question or a warning or acknowledgment. He doesn’t care.
Val is the one who realises Vox is shaking, dead still in the corridor. If Vox wasn’t stuck in his own mind, he’d feel Val’s hand on his shoulder as the moth demon tells him they don’t know - they can’t know until they get outside because the glass is tinted.
But Vox knows. He knows you no matter what. You’re his and he’s yours. Whether as husband and wife, or as mates in the shark terms he so often loves to use. You’re a bonded pair, not meant to separate. There is no Vincent Whittman without Y/N Whittman, and there is no Y/N Whittman without Vincent Whittman. That is simple. That’s a fact.
So why are you lying there with your body so broken?
He breaks out of Val’s grasp like it’s nothing, and ignores any and all reporters coming to him to ask what’s going on. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters but you.
The door doesn’t open until he forces it to, using his body like a battering ram until it breaks.
Then he sees you. It is you. Of course it was. Why wouldn’t he know his wife?
It would be a lie to say you looked grotesque now, even if every other Sinner would describe you as such. You could never be grotesque in Vox’s - Vincent’s - eyes. No, you’re simply still as beautiful as you were the day you’d first met him.
“Y/N? Baby? Angel?” Fuck the crowds outside of the tower. His voice glitches out. “Y/N, please get up. Baby, wake up.” Vox drops to his knees and shakes what’s left of your body. You won’t wake up and he knows it, but he can’t think about that.
“Wake up,” he repeats. He forces himself to be quiet in case you’re still mad at him. “This isn’t funny. Regenerate already.”
Velvette screams as she finally gets outside. Vox doesn’t pay attention, but he can spot Valentino stopping and clamping his hand over his mouth before wrapping Velvette in his wings so she can’t see.
“Y/N, don’t you dare leave me.” His voice is angrier but he doesn’t care if you yell at him so long as you get up. “You promised me we were in this together. You can’t go back on that. You swore that when we got married. You can’t just leave me after ninety years. What do you expect me to do? I can’t be without you.”
When he doesn’t get an answer and his screen is glitching out from the tears running down it, he silently picks you up before shoving past Val and Velvette. The least he can do is take you home.
But that’s what you were trying to do, wasn’t it? When you realised what was going on, you’d tried to get into the tower, but it was already on lockdown.
Vox was right about you being on the other side of the door. He just didn’t know which one.
“Vox.” He grips your body tighter and doesn’t even bother to look at Val.
“Shut up.” If you were here, you would’ve chided him for that. No - you are here. You’re just… gone too.
“Vox.”
“Val, shut up!” The power goes out completely. Not only that, but the cameras all around the building explode, along with Velvette’s phone. “She’s cold,” Vox whispers. “She hates the cold. She - she always wanted to be near me when she was cold. Said it was good I always overheated when I was with her.” He holds you even tighter, though he makes an effort to not bruise or scratch you. He’d never hurt you.
And yet he’s inadvertently killed you. If he didn’t start the fight, you’d be safe in the tower.
You two had met when you were his coworker in life. Eventually you’d realised he was picking off competition, and asked him to his face if he was going to kill you. That had been what made him fall for you even more. It had been so easy to kiss you and promised he’d never ever hurt you, let alone kill you.
And now he’s done both.
Vox goes back to your shared room, holding you the entire way. It’s completely dark now, as he’s pretty sure he’s just exploded every electrical item in Hell. Good. The light has gone from his afterlife, so no one else should have any.
He places you gently on the bed like he did on your wedding night. And also just like your wedding night, he lies beside you and holds your hand.
“You’re not coming back to me, are you?” he asks. “Would you have fought them more if I’d been better?” He regrets the question as soon as he asks it. This isn’t about him. You would’ve fought until your second death to survive. For not just him but the other two Vees, who adored you almost as much as he did.
“I can’t - I can’t...” His screen and subsequently voice box glitch into nothingness from the water soaked into them. He can’t finish his sentence. He can’t do anything without you.
Still, he forces a few more words out before his voice gives out completely.
“I’m here with you, baby. Not going anywhere. Not now, not ever.” He kisses your forehead and pulls you into his arms. Blood stains his clothes and he doesn’t care. He won’t ever wash this suit. It has pieces of you etched into it now.
Vox doesn’t know how long he stays there with you. Maybe it’s a minute or an hour or a day. He doesn’t know and doesn’t care.
But you feel lighter now, and he forces himself to adjust the way he’s lying with you. When he sees what’s happening, he freezes. Any power that did come back goes away again.
You’re fading. Irreversibly, slowly fading. Like you never existed at all. Like Vox never had a beautiful, wonderful wife, who he adored and laughed with and thanked God for every day.
He opens his mouth to call your name, but not a sound comes out. His voice box is destroyed.
So this is what happens when a Sinner dies again. Oh. Oh, he can’t even bury you. What is left of his heart breaks.
Cables come out and wrap around you as he pulls you closer to him, trying to hold you until the very end. He doesn’t blink despite every instinct telling him to. He won’t waste even a fraction of a second not looking at you when he knows this will be the last time he sees you.
He wants to tell you so many things. He wants to say that he’s not angry, that he hopes you’re somewhere as incredible as you, and that it’s okay, and he loves you so so goddamn much that Vincent Whittman has died right alongside you. It’s only Vox left - and even Vox has so little of himself left without you that he’s only a splinter remaining from a tree.
When Val and Velvette finally get into his room a month later, they complain about how he’s disappeared at a vital time and how he’s hiding, but then they see him. He hasn’t moved from the bed, his cables and arms still positioned like they’re holding you. Neither of them know what’s happened, but they know one thing: you’re gone and you’ve taken your husband with you.
“Vox?” Velvette cautiously says, though her mascara is running as she processes that you’re really not coming back. “Vox, you need to come back.” He barely stirs, and when he speaks, his voice is distorted from disuse.
“Not without her.” Velvette forces herself to speak and power off her phone that has the background of the four of you all together and laughing at a club.
“Things have changed outside. We’re holding the fort without you, but there’s something up with the broadcasts. There’s been no radio. Alastor’s… missing.” That catches Vox’s attention enough, and he moves the slightest amount.
“Alastor’s gone? You think they got him too?”
“Don’t know,” Velvette replies. “But it’s a power vacuum. We can be the four - three - most powerful Overlords now.”
Power.
If Vox had more power, would he have been able to see through cameras that you were outside? Would he have been able to save you? Could he have gotten through the lockdown defences and saved you?
Could power bring you back? If he was a god, he could control who was alive and who wasn’t. Would he be able to see you again if he was all powerful?
Vox sits up in bed.
“Yeah. Let’s get out there. We have a lot of work to do if we want to see Y/N again.” Neither Velvette or Valentino comments on that last sentence. They know that even a mention of you could have him bed-bound with grief. So they just swallow back their own heartbreak at your death and continue on.
They’ll get enough power for four Overlords instead of three. They’ll get more than that if it means you come back.
And Vox swears as he steps into the studio for the first time in a month that if God is the one who controls life and death, he is going to find a way to rip down everyone in Heaven and become a god to bring you back. No matter how long it takes.
Warnings: Suggestive Nature + Language, Swears, Lights his own warning lol
SFW
I imagine L and Bodyguard reader being strictly boss and employee at first
Years of working under L have been interesting. Accompanying the stoic man to countless meetings and investigations. A surprising amount of which heavily needed your intervention. Stationed by his side, silently watching with an insightful eye.
Minimal casual contact is made in your first couple of years. Overtime, staying late at L's door led to pleasant chats with Watari, leading to simple conversation with your boss. Small talk really. "How's your morning?" "Any weekend plans?" "Sooo, sweets".
It wasn't until one meeting a couple years before the Kira case that L felt truly safe with you. A deal gone wrong you could say. A trade off where L had overanalyzed a suspect, out of exhaustion he had completely forgotten about the possibility of the suspect pulling out a weapon.
Bang rang through the building, L's eyes snapping shut awaiting a painful protrusion. Slowly opening one eye at s time, he looks straight, then up and sees a bullet hole pierced through the ceiling. Hearing struggled grunts, you have the gunman's arm in your hold, forced up towards the ceiling. Wrestling the gun, throwing it down far away, knocking him down the ground and securing his hands behind him with handcuffs.
Of course L trusted you, Watari highly recommended you and you had already worked for many high-status employers, but that event really opened his eyes.
After that, L gradually opened up more and more. Your post leaving his door and moving towards his chair, right by his side where he liked you. Late night talks left you both as close friends until it became too much for you both. A detective and his bodyguard. Once was there a hierarchy between you two, now a mutual respect and equality.
Now throughout this investigation, you've had to hide your relationship. Hide is a strong but correct word. L had hired Kira to solve the Kira case, of course the stakes were higher.
During the day, you either remained at the task forces office doors, watching silently or making your rounds around the general vicinity of the task forces' floor. While watching the group, your eyes rarely leave L and Light. Your job is to protect L, and Light is his biggest threat, and you'll be damned if anything happens to him.
During working hours with the task force, you try your hardest to prevent any hatred from leaking through your voice when addressing Light and Misa. Simultaneously needing to control your honey coated words when speaking to L.
NSFW
L is such a slut for your strength to put things frankly.
Feeling your strong hands linger on his waist, his thighs, his neck. He's strong on his own and trained in multiple types of combats but something about knowing that your strength is controlled and lessened around him makes him leak.
Knowing that if you chose to pin him down with one arm, he wouldn't be able to escape. His perverted mind is so conflicted. On one hand he loves the moments you're spoiling him with pleasure, letting him cum as much as he wants and taking such sweet care of him afterwards...but on the other hand, he can't get enough of that predator like gaze in your eyes, looking down at his exposed body like you're about to eat him alive.
He thinks about how you look after a harder day, tired, suit half coming off as you get ready to join him in bed. His red tip leaking in his hand imagining your heavy breathing that he knows so well, those same ragged breathes happening when you cum.
You're soooo good at your job, making L feel so safe and protected. His favorite way you relax him is when he wakes up needy from a wet dream, only to feel a warm and wet pressure around him, eyes sleepily opening, glancing down and seeing your mouth greedily pleasuring his aching cock. Huh, so you caused his wet dream.
Food play is a must with L; you soon find out that his sugar cravings don't stop at pastries and candies
During Japan's late hours, you can find your stressed detective enjoying licking the whipped cream from your chest, down your navel, tongue making small circles around your stomach. You can feel yourself getting hotter hearing his quiet hums of enjoyment, soft dark eyes never leaving yours until they softly close when his teeth pull down your underwear, peppering small kisses on the inside of your thighs. You can feel his warm breath pick up once he gets closer to his favorite dessert <3
Note: I really like the whole bodyguard reader take, personally I resonate more with strength focused readers, and this was a nice post to type up. I hope to write similar pieces in the future :)
What could he have done? How could he have done this? The pungent smell of iron wafting into his nostrils. Black claws now carrying a crimson tint. Jack's mind racing almost as fast as his dead heart. Your body lays lifeless in front of his shaking form.
"Fuck...I thought...FUCK!" he yelled "Wake Up!" quivering hands applying as much pressure as he could to your ripped apart body. This was all his fault; he should have just listened to you.
Twenty minutes prior, Jack had woken up from an eerie nightmare. Flashes of his past ever prevalent and his silent panic was only worsening, days of only this. If he wasn't awake for days on end worrying over both of your safeties, then he was pushed too far to the point of exhaustion. He never slept long, stirring in the night and waking up drenched in a sweat and fear. "Jack?" You yawn, sleepily rubbing your eyes, having been awoken by movement coming from your partner's side of the bed. "E-everything is fine, go back to bed hun, just a nightmare" he said quietly, a hesitant hand pulling the covers back over your tired body. Leaning back into your ruffled pillows, you question him "Another nightmare? Do you want to talk about it-" "No, I'm fine, sleep now please" A sigh releasing from you, "Please Jack, maybe it will help, you never want to talk about it, it's not healthy to bottle so much in" A hand rests on his shoulder, weight shifting on the bed, "I hate seeing you in so much pain, exhaustion consumes you and I am powerless. I want to help-" "You can help by getting rest" Frustration building in you both. Standing from the bed, you walk to the kitchen, throat dry and fists lightly clenched.
Left in the dark and quiet bedroom, a piercing ringing strikes through Jack's head, his clawed hands shooting to his temples and hissing in pain. Breathing growing heavy, foot hanging off the bed and thumping against the carpeted floor. Walking back to the bedroom, "Jack I brought you some- Jack!" You rush to his side, setting down the glass of water you brought; arms draped across his shoulders "Honey? What's wrong?" Worry evident in your voice. "Fuck, I don't fucking know everything hurts" He goes to grab your hand, black sharp nails dragging across your forearm, a yelp coming from your mouth as your eyes follow the beads of blood bubbling from your arm, yanking your arm away from his hand in pain. His breathing stuttered as he watched your eyes slowly tear up. "I'm sorry I-I didn't mean to-" "I-I know, its alright, e-everything is alright" Slowly inching towards him, he pulled back like a frightened animal, the ringing ache in his head growing to an ugly pulsing behind his empty eye sockets. He can feel your hesitance, your growing thoughts and fear of the monster in your bed. Tar oozing down his anxious face, composure leaving him as quickly as your hand withdrew. "Jack, I'm right here-" "You shouldn't be" his defeated mutter cutting you off. Quiet and rushed. "What?" "Leave, I can't-Fuck" he retreats further into the bed, as though wishing for the now cold bedsheets to swallow him whole. Head pounding like his brain is trying to escape from his thick skull. His 'sight' following the still dripping blood, creating a small puddle on the edge of the bed, the once white bedsheets turning a dark red. As you move closer, you feel like every movement is being judged. Like you're cornering a wild animal. Jack wasn't an animal though; sure, he's been through his fair share of traumatic events and every Sunday night you'd help him hunt, but that doesn't make your partner an animal.
"Jack-" "Leave" he grunted through clenched teeth. Gray hands gripping the sheets. "I can help, everything is okay", reaching out your none injured arm almost like a lifeline to him. An angry, almost pain-filled noise omits from his throat and a sudden feeling of dread building in your stomach.
"If you stay, I will kill you." Eyes widening, you step back, arm raising to your injury protectively. Were you pressuring him too much? Were you the reason for all his pain and stress? Your arm burning from his previous contact and your nervous thoughts distracted you from the shadow advancing forward. As though ready to pounce, Jack reared back, no longer conscious of his actions. The pain in his head spreading down his body, images flashing into vision. Maybe if he did open up more this wouldn't have happened. He wouldn't have lounged at you, pushing you off the bed and onto your bedroom floor. Your legs knocking into your dresser, the sounds of perfumes, the glass of water and trinkets cluttering to the floor. Jack's snarling face, mostly hidden by the dimly lit room. His hands pressing down on your chest forcing a pathetic wheeze from your lungs. Your palms pushing against his front, desperate to get out of the mess you started. Nails digging into him in an attempt to free yourself, fruitless except for the pressure moving to your neck, defenseless and bare as blood trickles down the area he used to kiss. His legs trapping yours, shins and thighs bruising under his weight. A hand leaving your blood covered throat, red fingerprints smearing down to your barely hidden stomach as you hear a harsh puncture. He's killing you. He's actually doing it. Blood staining his arms, grotesque squelches heard as your breathing slows to a nonexistent pace.
Here we are. Crimson liquid oozing from your open mouth as you spit it up, choking on the thick liquid. Jack's unrelenting hands continue digging into your abdomen, frantic and delirious. Ten more minutes of his huffing breath and the sounds of tearing flesh and muscle. Squelch..Squelch…....Squelch, the noises slowing down, Jack's mind clearing. Gasp "No", looking down at trembling hands. What did he do. This wasn't him, it couldn't be! Frantically he wiped his soiled hands on his pajama pants, his love's blood was covering him! Tar rapidly gathering on his body, collecting beneath him and on your legs, "Theres so much! Why is there so much!" Yanking the cover off the messy bed, putting pressure on the giant hole he made in your body, pink intestine and torn muscle visible, deep red almost black soaking the sheets. His silent pleas only met with your distant, lifeless eyes. Ones he remembered being filled with love and care. Now as cold as the rest of your soaked body. You were only trying to help; this wasn't your fault. Your adamancy was from months of seeing him stressed, coming home late injured and tired, never even finding an escape through sleep. "Honey, Y/N wake up, don't mess with me come on" palms against your chest, a fleeting attempt at chest compressions, the deafening sound of your ribs cracking. "It's okay, you said it'd be okay!" Voice going raw with anguish, "Wake Up! Wake Up!" Rising to his feet, the smashing of your shared mirror, hundreds of small pieces looking back at him. Crazed mutters leaving his mouth "...disgusting...monster...murderer..." Fingers tangling into his brown hair and yanking at the roots, a desperate try to ground himself. It's too late. Gathering himself in the corner nearest to your closet, your clothes peeking through the small gap. He stares at your mangled body. He's ruined you. Everything you two had built. All that's left is a damp stain on the carpet, trailing behind him and soaking into the house you both resided.
Nobody ever did find out what happened. Friends never received another call; neighbors could only watch as mail gathered on your porch and the dew-covered grass grew to new height. A distinct odor of decay wafted throughout the abandoned house.
Jack left as sirens closed in, the house next door calling 911 about heavy noise and animalistic sounds. Covered in a dark hoodie, hiding his face while struggling to ignore the smell of you on his body. Clutching his mask in one hand and a small, crumpled photo of you two in the other.
today the icebreaker question at work was "what are you dressing up as for halloween" and everyone's answers were "i don't think I'm dressing up this year" "i don't really dress up but my kid wants to be spiderman" "um i don't know maybe a zombie or something" and then it got to me and i had to be like "im being cloth mother and my roommate is being wire mother from the 1950s sociological experiment"
if you’ve never seen V For Vendetta please at least watch this clip, this is one of the best alliterations i’ve ever seen, i could watch it over and over
For some reason the versions of this where he gives two salutes is being deleted and replaced with a version with a quick cut to a cheering crowd so I’ll just share it here 🙃
if you or someone you know might need it in the next few years, purchase plan b. the shelf life of plan b is 4 years, and we might not be able to access it as easily as we can now in the days ahead.
if you are larger/plus size: go online and purchase ella instead of plan b. plan b is less effective if you aren’t under 160 pounds.
if you can, purchase books that project 2025 is looking to ban.
mass deportations are starting. if you see ice vehicles or agents, yell ice raid and la migra as loud as you can.
if someone asks who you voted for, keep your mouth shut. they’re fishing for traitors.
if anyone, anyone at all asks about your neighbors or their legal status in the us, you know nothing. don’t be the reason that their family is separated.
if anyone asks about your religion or lack thereof, keep it vague. this administration will look for any excuse to persecute you.
your friends are trans or queer? for the next four years they’re not. don’t expose anyone’s status as a trans or queer person to anyone else, even if you think you can trust them.
did someone you know get an abortion? no, they didn’t. they were never pregnant.
in short, don’t be a snitch, and keep to yourself these next four years. we’ll make it through this even if it seems hopeless at times.
this is all i can think of at the moment, but i’ll be adding on to this as the day continues.
we can survive this. we’ve survived before, and we’ll survive again.
now that trump has tiktok, twitter, facebook and insta in his pocket, get ready for a massive wave of internet censorship. one of trump's greatest weapons has always been misinformation; it's going to become harder and harder to spread facts and criticism going forward. posts that aren't made invisible will be magically ignored by the algorithm. dissidents will have their accounts deleted and voices erased.
this is a suppression tactic. this is another stage of fascism.
