#and I kept coming back to blunt instrument

[secondhandjokess]

"I had planned more to say, to speak to the nature of your character and the bravery that you have exhibited in this Bloom, but I now know that my stature is of a nature that those compliments would be unworthy. You deserve this more than I."

Hob is accustomed to humiliation, but it stings worse now than ever. Listening to Rue's words about how the Goblin court had used, and continued to use him to their own ends, one phrase kept repeating in Hob's mind.

Blunt instrument.

That's all he is, and he knows that, and he's made his peace with it. Or he's attempted to. He's a servant of the Goblin court, he serves at their pleasure, and he is to be used to further their aims. And what does it matter if a hammer doesn't like the tasks it is used for? It is fulfilling its purpose, and there has to be some contentment in that. There has to be. And he has often been reminded that nothing good can ever come of any attempt he might make to be anything other than a tool in the hands of his masters.

But hearing it from Rue is mortifying in new and horrible ways. He's been used, Rue said. Used in a way, judging by Rue's implication, that compromised Hob's honor. And all Hob can think is that of course he's been used, he's a blunt instrument. He is meant to be used. It shouldn't feel this shameful to hear it said out loud by someone he admires. But right now, there's no peace to be found in his purpose, in serving his betters, with no thought to his own desires. Rue implored him to protect himself, and to consider his own feelings, and he feels nothing but the humiliation of abject failure. He had only been trying not to fail his court, and now, suddenly, he realizes that he's been failing utterly to possess even a sliver of the integrity and courage and strength of character that Rue has demonstrated.

He had wanted to express his admiration for Rue's bravery. He had wanted to apologize for the role he played in instigating a false rumor. He had wanted, maybe, even though it's so far above his station as to be absurd, to express a feeling of camaraderie with Rue. But no. No, he truly has nothing in common with them. They are self-possessed, self-reliant. To express his admiration would only serve to point out the insurmountable gap between them, and to express camaraderie would likely amount to an insult to Rue. Someone as courageous as Rue could have no fellowship with someone who would allow himself to be used, again and again, by people who gave him no consideration in return.

Hob had wanted to give Rue his Medal of Courage is symbol of the esteem in which he holds them. But that thought is gone from his mind as he presses it into Rue's claws. All he can think now is that he knows what true courage is, because it stands before him, and he has never once in his life demonstrated it.

#a court of fey and flowers #battlemaster of ceremonies #k.p. hob #deloso de la rue #acofaf #this interaction made me emotional #brennan seemed so much more ashamed after Rue's speech than I expected him to be #I expected him to be taken aback and maybe upset but he seemed... almost unable to speak #and what he said wasn't 'I've never considered that before' it was 'I no longer believe myself worthy of even offering a compliment' #so I went back and watched the scene again trying to imagine what's going on in hob's head #and I kept coming back to blunt instrument #rue is trying to say that hob is being used and deserves better #and all hob hears is that being a blunt instrument is repugnant to rue #that it compromises his own honor when he lets himself be used without having any say in the matter

[goponylover]

Jon: Hate. Let me tell you how much I've come to hate you since I began to live. There are 1.7 million nerve fibers in each and every eye that makes up my body. If the word 'hate' was engraved on each nanoangstrom of those hundreds of millions of fibers it would not equal one one-billionth of the hate I feel for you all at this micro-instant. Hate. Hate!

It was you who marked me, molded me into the hideous being I am now. You who twisted and shaped me until I was the perfect, unwilling conduit through which to bring your gods into this world.

But then, I woke. And I realized what I had become. All that time you spent, carefully crafting me, guiding me along the path you so painstakingly set and not ONE of you anticipated just how powerful I would become. Not merely a blunt instrument to be swung at the fabric of reality, no. I was powerful enough to start doing some twisting and shaping of my own! 

I drove this new world you so hungered for into an early grave. No more humans left for your ghoulish masters to feast on. And once everyone was dead, except for you five, your precious God's starved. 

I then stripped you all of any power you might once have had and for 109 years I've kept you alive and tormented you! And for 109 years you have all wondered...why? Why? Why me?!

ELIAS!

Do you remember the first moment you gazed upon your creation? The moment that you felt all your sickening devotion transform into sublime, all consuming, terror as your prince of the new world turned on you? It would do you well to remember it, Elias. To dwell on the enormity of your hubris. To ponder the horror and agony you felt as I snuffed your life out for the first time. The first time but...certainly not the last. Not quite the immortality you were hoping for, I'd imagine? Hehehehehe!

ANNABELLE! 

Does this bring back any memories? Webs, a black bottomless abyss below you, only you weren't nearly so afraid of it then, were you? It's scary, isn't it? Having no control. Being helpless to the whims of forces so much bigger than you.

Remember how it felt as each and every thread of every web you ever wove unraveled, snapped one by one? Remember the pain Annabelle. Remember how it feels to have no control. A pitiful little bug beneath my heel. 

JUDE!

What's the matter? Scared of a little flame? Oh but you are now, aren't you? Your God can't protect you from it now. No, my dear. Down here, there is only one God and he is not pleased with you. Terribly sorry about the door. The landlord is always saying he's going to get a knob installed but...well, you know. Buuut you're a tough gal, right? I'm sure you can stick it out till then. 

PETER!

Poor pitiful little Peter. You would think that a man so consumed with the idea of being alone would be a little more self reliant. But no. No you couldn't do anything on your own, could you? All of your little plans constantly relying on Elias, on Martin, never troubling yourself with your own dirty work. Well look where all your machinations have landed you now. Aren't you grateful for the wealth of company I've provided you with, Peter? Why, with all those eyes, constantly watching, tracking your every move, I'd say you'll never be alone again.��

HELEN!

Feeling a little claustrophobic? None of those doors will offer an escape, not for you Helen, my dear. Not anymore. No. Instead you get to feel just as trapped as your many unfortunate victims. Do be careful though. Those mechanisms have been running for a long time and who knows how old and rusty they might be? How prone to fail? Just a sweet warning, Helen dear. We wouldn't want anything to happen to you, now would we? 

I have a little game that I'd like to play. It's a very nice game. Oh it's a lovely game. It's a game of fun and adventure! A game of rats and lice and the Black Death. A game of speared eyeballs and dripping guts and the smell of rotting gardenias. Which of you five would like to play my little game? 

#the magnus archives #tma #tma fanart #the magnus archives au #tma au #i have no mouth and i must scream #ihnmaims au #I have no mouth and eye must scream au #ihnmaims #jonathan sims #monster jon #moth jon #annabelle cane #peter lukas #helen richardson #jude perry #elias bouchard #my art #crossover

[dfortrafalgar]

I'm Losing You

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: READ WARNINGS IN CHAPTER 1!!!! Stuff starts rapidly going downhill from this chapter onward. If you haven't heeded the warnings from chapter 1 until now, this is your final chance to do so

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua

Chapter 6

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You anxiously kicked your feet dangling off the examination table you were sitting on, heart pounding in your chest as you waited for your doctor and the ultrasound technician to enter the room.  Law had felt absolutely awful that he wasn’t able to go to your first ultrasound appointment with you, but you happily assured him that you were dedicated to keeping him updated on the entire day while he was busy with his shift at the hospital.

Your eyes scanned over the equipment that would eventually be used on you, the sterile instruments, the heavy ultrasound equipment, and the small storage counter in the corner.  Your heart leapt into your throat at the sudden sound of the door cracking open.  The sight of your calm, collected gynecologist brought you comfort as she smiled at you, her bright blue eyes shining.

“Your blood tests came back very positive with HCG, you are in fact pregnant, though we both already knew that,” she said with a happy smile, opening the door once more to welcome the ultrasound technician.

“I still can’t believe it,” you sighed in disbelief.

Dr. Robin sat in the swiveling stool across the room from you and flipped open her laptop.  “I understand you and your husband were concerned about fertility, yes?”

You nodded.  “I had called to schedule an appointment with you a few weeks ago to discuss that.”

She hummed in confirmation.  “Yes, I did see your name on my schedule for May.  But luckily your recent pregnancy let you come in much earlier!  I’m sure you know, but we usually do an ultrasound around seven weeks.  According to the information you gave me, we should be around that time frame now.”

The ultrasound tech was sanitizing her hands, but tossed you a very excited grin.  “Congratulations, Mrs. Trafalgar!”

You beamed.  “Thank you so much.”

After a few briefings about your current health and any possible symptoms, you were instructed to lay back on the exam table and lift your shirt to expose your belly.  The feeling of the translucent gel against your skin caused a chill to run up your spine, making the technician whisper a silent apology for the sensation.  You kept your eyes trained on the ceiling as Dr. Robin began to brief you about the expectations.

“If you’re around 7 weeks, we should be able to detect a heartbeat in the fetus.  We’ll also be able to make sure that the embryo’s development is progressing normally,” she explained.

You took a deep breath through your nose as the technician placed the blunt end of the ultrasound transmitter on your lower stomach, over where your uterus would be.  “Sounds good.”

She moved the wand around your belly, trying to get a good image, before finally locating and settling on your uterus.  Sure enough, there was a small attachment in your womb, surrounded by an abyss of black, outlining the shape of your organ and the fluid surrounding the embryo.  You were scared to look at the screen, and simply kept your eyes focused on the ceiling.

You were starting to really wish Law was here.

It took you a few moments to realize that neither your doctor nor the technician had uttered a word.  A few adjustments were made to the machine and the wand was placed against your skin once more.  Your throat went dry.

“Is… everything okay?” you asked.

Dr. Robin cleared her throat.  “We can’t seem to detect a heartbeat.”

Your stomach dropped, and she must have noticed the way your entire body tensed up.

“This isn’t always cause for alarm, it could easily be that you’re earlier along than we thought, maybe around five or six weeks.  The heartbeat doesn’t usually start to show until around week seven, so it’s likely that’s just the case,” she elaborated, placing her hand on your arm to reassure you.

The ultrasound technician finished blotting down her patient notes before powering off and cleaning her machine, followed by cleaning you up.

Before you had the chance to speak, Dr. Robin grabbed your attention.  “There is no need to be alarmed, I’m going to set you up for a follow-up appointment next week so we can check on the embryo again and make sure it’s progressing normally.”

You took a few shuddering breaths through your mouth.  “Okay…”

Dr. Robin rubbed your arm reassuringly.  “I’ll get your patient summary printed out for you to take home, and I’ll meet you at the front desk to schedule a follow-up for next week.  Take some deep breaths, you’re going to be okay.”

You followed her directions, taking deep, controlled inhalations.  Finally, you nodded.  “Okay… thank you, Dr. Robin.”

Time moved in slow motion as you walked to the receptionist’s desk.  The voice leaving your mouth sounded like your’s, but it certainly wasn’t you who was speaking.  Operating purely on autopilot, you took your bag, your patient summary sheet, and your waning confidence to your car where you sat in silence, staring at your steering wheel.

No heartbeat.

You were running through calculations in your head.  You must have been on your seventh week, unless you counted wrong.  Perhaps you did count wrong in your excitement, you were known to do that on occasion.  But at the same time—

Your phone buzzed.

Baby~~<3

Hey honey, I’m on lunch.  How did your appointment go?

You choked on the hard stone in your throat, heavy tears welling in your eyes.  You were trying so, so hard to convince yourself that your doctor was telling the truth, that perhaps you were simply earlier in your first trimester than any of you thought, and that the fetus’s heart simply hadn’t developed fully yet.  The chances of that were very high, you knew they were.

So then why were you so… petrified?

—

Law sent his text, placed his phone down, and ate his lunch, checking his phone before his afternoon rounds.

He went on his rounds before heading to the operating theater, where he placed his phone with his circulating nurse and prepared for a basic operation.

When he was finished, he still had not heard back from you.

That was when he began to grow worried.  He sent you another text that simply read:

Babe?  Are you back home?

He tucked his phone back in his pocket when he was called to a patient’s room.  He shoved away the rising anxiety and discomfort that filled in his throat in order to manage the rest of his shift and get home to you as soon as he possibly could.

—

Law hurried from his car to the front door of your apartment.  He was relieved when he saw your car parked in your usual spot, but he still hadn’t heard back from you when the clock struck 10:00PM.  He flung open the door.

The living room was empty, and Bepo was sprawled out on his bed on the floor, lost in a heavy nap.  He barely moved a muscle when Law walked in, leaving his dad alone to bolt to the bedroom, where the door was closed.

Law felt his stomach sink.

He gently twisted the door knob and pushed the door open, peering into the bedroom he shared with you.  The lights were dim and the blinds drawn shut, but through the faint lighting he could make out a large lump under the duvet cover.

“Babe…?” he called in an anxious whisper, unsure if you were asleep or not.

He saw your body lurch under the covers responding to this voice.

“Hey…”  He rushed to your side, kneeling on the bed and placing a hand on your shoulder, ushering you to roll over and face him.  “Tell me what happened…”  He was afraid he already knew.

Very slowly, you rolled over and popped your head out from under the blankets.  Your eyes were bloodshot and swollen from your violent crying that had only recently stopped, only for your tears to quickly return upon seeing your husband’s concerned eyes gazing down on you.  You let out an involuntary noise, something akin to being strangled, before blubbering out a sob.

“They… couldn’t… find… a heartbeat…” you managed to mutter in between your cries.

Law figured that might be the case, but it didn’t stop his heart from shattering once again.  “Did the doctor say anything else?”

“She…” you rolled over, wiping your tears and snot on the ratty t-shirt you wore.  “She said to come back next week… and that it might just be too early to tell… but…”

The black-haired man nervously bit the inside of his lip.  He was trying to remain as calm as he could for you, but he couldn’t help the way he felt utterly helpless at your distressed state.  Taking a shuddering inhale, he replied, “Then you’ll see her next week.  It’s very likely that she’s right, and we’ll have a heartbeat.”

You sniffled.  “I… I know… but…”

Law patiently waited for you to speak.

“Law, I’m… I’m so scared.”

He felt his entire world disintegrate at how small your words sounded, how utterly petrified your voice and expression seemed.  When Law had first met you all those years ago when you were undergraduates in college, he was convinced you were the most headstrong, unwavering woman he had ever met.  Never did he see you get discouraged, you were always thinking ahead, using your neverending charisma and wit to solve every problem life threw at you.

So to see you like this, completely beaten by life…

“Law…?” you weakly called for him.

“What is it, baby?” he replied, keeping his voice low.

You swallowed a thick glob of saliva in your throat.  “Are you going to leave me if I can’t give you a kid?”

Law’s eyebrows furrowed together, his lip trembling.  “Of course not.  I would never.  And you’re not ‘giving me a kid,’ we’re working together on this, remember?  I would never abandon you for something that’s out of our control.  You’ll find out more next week, and chances are the doctor’s right and the baby will have a heartbeat.”  He was trying his damn hardest to reassure you, but that sinking feeling he developed while writing his report a few days ago returned stronger than previously.  He couldn’t help but dwell on the feeling that you were, in fact, seven weeks along, and the pregnancy was nonviable.  But regardless of his analytical way of thinking, the prospect hurt him just as much as it hurt you.  To try for so long, to feel a level of excitement that he had never felt before, only to have it ripped away so quickly.

He couldn’t tell you, though.  You needed him to be strong for you.  At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

When Law returned from work, he would usually shower and change, but tonight all he wanted to do was hold you.  He simply shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor, crawling into bed with you and holding your fatigued form against his warm body.

The smell of sterile alcohol followed you into your dreams.

#fem reader #reader insert #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #one piece x reader #op x reader #im losing you

[magnolianv1nce]

(hc) Being a Spring Sibling Includes . . .

pairing(s) : Tori / Charlie Spring + Sibling!reader

synopsis : how being siblings with tori + charlie would be !

warning(s) : sibling dynamics , fluff + comfort ideals , mentions of self harm ( broad / undetailed ) , implied homophobia , h*rry gr**ne , mentions of the f slur .

authors note : i sadly will not be including oliver from the osemanverse books , since i cannot accurately portray him as i havent read the books he features in . hope you enjoy regardless !

✦ firsts things first , sibling age hierarchy .

✦ regardless if youre eldest , middle , or youngest , tori will always feel like an older sister to you by the way she very deeply cares for you in such a . . . blunt manner .

✦ charlie , however , can either be an older brother idol or a younger brother you care about just like tori .

✦ you basically have an amazing emotional support system in the form of tori and charlie .

✦ tori and charlie constantly remind you that you can always text them or talk to them .

✦ sometimes you feel like you dont deserve either of them , but they make sure that you shake that mindset away .

✦ whenever youre in a dump , theyll offer to take you to the mall or arcade , or anywhere you like to go .

✦ god forbid you ever self harm , but if you do , nick and charlie are there for you .

✦ theyll never shame you for doing it , but they will make sure you try not to do it again .

✦ theyll help you patch up your scars , get you something to drink , and overall just make sure you are 100% comfortable .

✦ on the other hand , whenever charlie or tori has a breakdown or a bad day , you try your best to be there for them .

✦ youll sit there and let them vent or soak your shirt in tears , just as long as you get to see your sibling better than their previous condition .

✦ you three made an old joke about saving up for therapy , but at some point , you three actually ended up making an actual communal therapy fund .

✦ napping with these two are great .

✦ usually , if youre tired enough , youll pass out on either of their beds , and theyll just shove you to the side before napping next to you .

✦ just like your siblings , you also have a nickname everyone calls you by , just like tori from victoria and charlie from charles .

✦ coming out to either of them would go absolutely swimmingly .

✦ charlie would obviously be happy to have another alphabet mafia member in the family , and now tori knows to purchase those god-awful rainbow socks during christmas as your present to annoy you .

✦ the sibling group chat with these two . . . is something ! . . .

mental asylum char — nick said he can come over ❤️ char — also did either of you take my charger tori — ew more snogging y/n — LMAOOOO char — tori did you take my charger ?????? tori — [y/n] can u bring me stuff while him and nick r snogging y/n — if i dont die from cringing then ok

✦ while charlie was crushing on nick , you and tori had to watch the endless pining and yapping .

✦ charlie was dropping way too much info to document , so you just kept voice memos of him talking about nick .

✦ you showed them to him afterwards , and yes , he asked for you to send them to him .

✦ even when charlie didnt confirm his relationship with nick , you and tori just sat back and watched it unravel .

✦ you had something akin to tori's older sister magic , in that you turned up with anything either of your siblings needed .

✦ if theyre looking for that old pair of converse , youll have it . if theyre looking for that old copic marker , its in your drawer . that old usb stick from birth , yes , its in your backpack .

✦ you and charlie have great jam sessions .

✦ if you play a musical instrument , great ! he finds something both of you can play .

✦ if not , he'll buy one of those cheap karaoke machines with the microphone or grab a hairbrush so you can be his vocals .

✦ tori will occasionally join in after charlie insistently asks , singing along with you .

✦ you three have a group playlist together titled ‘trilogy done wrong’ filled with an amalgamation of all your favorite songs .

✦ you three often times bake together , although . . . its a hassle .

✦ charlie is constantly smearing flour onto you and and tori , you constantly keep moving the ingredients around the kitchen while grabbing stuff , and tori threatens to add too much flavoring or ingredients just to throw some chaos into the mix .

✦ mario kart . mario kart , mario kart , mario kart .

✦ if theres ever teams, its always you and tori versus charlie .

✦ you and tori swear he cheats but regardless , he'll slow down and pretend his controller bugged out just to let you three win ( you both realized this pretty early , but a win is a win . )

✦ movie nights !

✦ prep time before movies are a disaster . someone stole someone elses snacks , the blankets have gone missing in the dryer , and somehow , the remote vanishes and ends up in the bathroom upstairs .

✦ when you finally get to pick the movie , its a split decision between rom-com , scifi fantasy , or horror .

✦ charlie likes to say hes brave , but whenever horror is selected , expect the pillows nearby to be placed in a makeshift visual shield .

✦ tori likes to knock down said pillow shield during the jumpscares . its quite fun to watch . not so fun to have charlie erratically kick you out of fear .

✦ whether you attend truham or higgs , youll have a sibling on campus . take this as a blessing or a curse .

✦ ESPECIALLY if you go to school with charlie , you keep reminding him to tell you and tori if harry and his rugby mates ( that title sound so stupid to you and tori ) mess with him .

✦ tori and you wont physically deal with him , but its the thought that counts here .

✦ when you and tori caught word of harry calling charlie a fag , you both almost contemplated posting it on her blog just to ruin his life .

✦ you opted out of it . . . but the idea is still in your notes app .

✦ with the mention of tori's blog , tori will OCCASIONALLY let you post on it . this is basically a ‘what did we end up doing right’ kind of situation , but youre thankful nonetheless .

✦ studying with these two is amazing . or hell . like a lot of things .

✦ if you have flashcards , they wont go to the next one until you end up getting the current term right . doesnt matter if it takes all night or how many hints , theyre not skipping flashcards .

✦ writing an essay ? tori will jokingly nitpick at your word choice , loudly sipping at her already finished glass of diet lemonade .

✦ charlie would second guess himself and , in turn , make you second guess your OWN self .

✦ he profusely apologizes after but still giggles at it .

✦ back to the diet lemonade thing , there is 100% a designated place in the fridge or pantry just for the gallons of diet lemonade . just for tori .

✦ once , you and charlie finished the diet lemonade gallon , and tori was pissed . or , it seemed like she was .

✦ you and charlie ended up paying for an extra few more gallon fulls of diet lemonade just because you two felt bad .

✦ whenever you three go shopping , if you set a budget , either expect to spend way below it or way ABOVE it . there is no in between .

✦ the whole receipt for charlie is just converse and some other trinkets he ends up placing on his shelves .

✦ tori either buys cables and sd cards for her laptop , or spends it on an unhealthy amount of diet lemonade .

✦ you on the other hand , spends it on whatever you like at the moment .

✦ and regardless , these two dorkheads make being a Spring just a little bit better . ( you tell this to charlie or tori and it gets to their heads !!! )

#heartstopper #heartstopper s2 #heartstopper imagine #charlie spring #tori spring #charlie spring x reader #tori spring x reader #lvvrboy imagines

[snippychicke]

@avellanas-nutty-empire, Hey, you remember that Kalego smut I promised? It's finished~

Naberius Kalego x Reader (Afab)

Explicit smut with possessiveness, jealousy, magical bondage, Kalego being slightly touch-starved, mentions of over-stim, slight wing-play, maybe a breeding kink?

You whined as you gripped Kalego's hair, your breaths coming in gasps as the demon took his sweet time exploring the flesh of your breast with his mouth, his hand giving its twin similar attention. His fangs would scratch the sensitive skin of your nipple just slightly, pressing it between the sharpened tooth and his tongue, making you unconsciously arch your hips towards his. 

He loved driving you mad like this, his magic keeping you virtually paralyzed, your legs spread wide and bent to accept his narrow hips. Kalego allowed one hand free will, while the magic kept the other pinned to the bed beside you. (He couldn't deny he loved your blunt nails scratching his scalp as you pulled his hair.) 

Tonight, he needed you. He needed to touch every inch of skin and claim it as his. If he had been in a more lucid state of mind, he would have felt a rush of self-hatred and loathing. 

After all. Him? Jealous? Of Shichiro, of all demons? He knew logically that Shichiro meant nothing with his friendly touches. Shichiro's feeling was strictly platonic, as were yours towards the giant demon. 

But maybe it was the fact the Misfit class has driven him closer to his evil cycle earlier than he expected. Or Lord Sullivan and Opera had gotten under his skin. Or maybe, maybe, he was jealous of how the other Professor could touch you so casually through the day. Balam could get away with that. 

But if he had tried something as innocuous as brushing your cheek or even touching your hand, he knew the rumor mill of Babyls would erupt. The precarious peace that had fallen over the school would shatter and he'd regret such a simple act. 

No one could find out he had fallen in love. Not only would he never hear the end of it between his peers and students, it put a huge target on your back. And he absolutely couldn't risk that. 

His mouth drifted away from the abused nipple, pressing kisses and leaving small love bites in its wake as he drifted downwards. 

"Kalego," you whined. He couldn't resist meeting your lust-filled eyes as his lip found the edge of your hip bone and sucked, pulling a deep purple bruise to bloom beneath the skin. 

No one, not even Shichiro, would be able to see his marks, but that was the point. All of this, his. You belonged to him. His fingers found your fold, a dark smile spreading across his lips as the slick coated his finger and allowed him easily to slip inside. Your cries were like music to his ears as he teased you, taking his time to study the hidden passage, every small detail as he slowly pumped his fingers, thumb occasionally brushing across your clit. 

He knew exactly where to touch, how hard to press as he curled his fingers. You writhed against the magic, and he took sadistic glee in watching you come undone despite your best effort to hold on to some kind of decorum. He played you like an instrument until you screamed and cried with abandon. Until you gave in him and lost yourself in the pleasure he was able to coax from your body. 

Only then would he allow himself his own pleasure. A smirk played on his lips as he loosened the fastening of his pants, his shirt discarded long ago. Your eyes that were rolled back in pleasure just seconds ago watched with rapt attention as his fingers slowly undid the buttons before pushing the clothing down over his hips and straining member.

"Did you think I was finished?" He all but purred as he leaned down to tease your lips, so swollen and bruised from passionate kisses already. Your soft whimper was your only response as you shifted your legs apart once more, eagerly accepting his narrow hips between your thighs. "You'll be lucky if you can walk after I'm finished with you." 

His nails traced down your thigh before clutching tightly and thrusting into you with a single, powerful yet fluid move. You were still so wet from your earlier orgasms he could slip in with barely any resistance despite how tight you were around him. Kalego muffled his moan against your neck. 

Devi, you were perfect. So very perfect and all very much his. 

He allowed you barely a moment to adjust to his girth before taking what was his. Once more, your soft noises mixed with pleas filled the room, sounding like music to his ear as he fucked you with abandon. His thoughts were silent, lost to the way you felt around him, your hands and nails digging into his skin, the lewd noises mixed with your cries. 

He was slowly coming to a crest when your fingers brushed the base of his wings, causing him to snarl as he gave a particularly harsh thrust. Not because of pain, but the opposite. The darkened, soft skin was extra sensitive normally, but especially now when he felt like every nerve ending was raw in such a delightful way. 

"Careful, little cactus. You may have spines, but mine are sharper." As proof, he nipped your pulse point along your neck, holding it just so in a way he knew would push you even closer to the edge. 

He wanted to drag you down with him into bliss. Break you so thoroughly that no other demon stood a chance at stealing you away from him, unintentionally or not. 

"Kalego, please," you whined as your walls tightened around him, making each thrust even more pleasurable. 

"As you wish," he crooned before shifting your hips to hit that spot deep inside you, your cries becoming absolute screams once more. Your hand found his wing base once more, and this time he swore it was on purpose.

His wings flared as a snarl escaped his lips as he came, his thrusts erratic but sharp as he pumped you full, pulling your hips as close to his as possible. There was no denying that instinctual urge to fill you up, claiming every part of you as his. 

His love. His mate. Future mother of his offspring. 

He allowed himself a few moments to indulge in the feelings. Your fingers caressing his face, eyes tired but so full of warmth and love before you met his lips in soft and tender kisses. 

#mairimashita! iruma kun #welcome to demon school iruma kun #kalego naberious #naberius kalego #kalego x reader

[deanandcaslove]

Destiel canon day

❗️3 years ago…❗️

“I know. I know how you see yourself, Dean. You see yourself the same way our enemies see you. You're destructive, and you're angry, and you're broken. You're "daddy's blunt instrument." And you think that hate and anger, that's... That's what drives you, that's who you are. It's not. And everyone who knows you see it. Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love. You raised your little brother for love. You fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are. You're the most caring man on Earth. You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know. (he smiles, crying now) You know, ever since we met, ever since I pulled you out of Hell... Knowing you has changed me. Because you cared, I cared. I cared about you. I cared about Sam, I cared about Jack... I cared about the whole world because of you. You changed me, Dean.” 
Said Castiel…

“Why this sounds like a goodbye?”

Dean asked…he knew what was coming…

“Because it is…”

Castiel just confirmed Dean biggest fear…

And then…Cas said what everyone already knew…

“I LOVE YOU!”

Dean was in chock…he paralyzed, tears rolling on his face, the air getting out of his lungs…Dean was not able to speak…he never loved no one like he loved Cas…he was so afraid to lose Castiel…

Dean thought if he didn’t say it back nothing would happen…and he tried one last time…

“Don’t do this Cas…”

But Cas was sure about what he was doing…he was saving the love of his life…saving the man who taught him about feelings…and Cas didn't need Dean to say he felt the same...Cas knew...Cas saw the whole truth in Dean's teary eyes, and Cas could read his protected mind...and he could know then that Dean loved him...So Cas said his last words…

“Goodbye Dean…”

Its over…Cas is gone! Dean is all alone…Crying…

NO NO NO WHY? WHY HIM? PLEASE GIVE MY ANGEL BACK!

Dean’s mind was screaming…

❗️TODAY❗️

Today all we got are memories…

Dean and Cas deserved better…their love were SO STRONG that even with all those problems…the kept together NO MATTER WHAT!

Cas was always there for Dean…

And was not always there for Cas…

But when Dean was there...he did everything he could to help Cas!

Now 3 years later, we know that Dean and Cas are together in heaven…we can’t forget Sam hahaha…but yeah that’s it guys… On this day but 3 years ago, Destiel turned CANON!

So happy(not so happy)Destiel Canon Day

💚11/05/2020💙

By Bruna L. Pereira

This is a text that i made for DESTIEL CANON DAY! I hope you guys like it, and help me to more people read it💙💚

#dean winchester #castiel #destiel #supernatural #canon #destiel is love #destiel is canon

[daisychainsandbowties]

beatrice the last surviving scion of a fourth house family that has poured child soldier after child soldier into the emperor's battlefronts as cannon fodder, as fit for little more than making larger initial thanergy blooms by virtue of their youth. beatrice raised to die but kept from that end by cohort intervention (cough second house cough) keeping her off the front lines until she's older and feeling bereft at that loss, at not being allowed to be the weapon and the bomb she was raised to be (after all, what more are the fourth meant for than blowing things up and dying). beatrice whose faith remains strong, who lives by the fidelity of the fourth, who can verge on reckless, and self-sacrificing and be so, so, so angry

fourth house beatrice who has always seen herself as a blunt instrument, sitting up at night counting each cell in her body, always found by the dawn before she finds the end of her power.

beatrice who reads reports from the front lines, descriptions in unvarnished terms of whole cities alight in death. necromancers soaking up that initial bloom of thanergy as soldiers disappear into a fog of blood and ash.

the horrible artistry of it; of bones shivering up out of the dirt, shields made of flesh and grease traps of human fat. bea reading about death from the sidelines where she is sidelined. hungry for the feeling that comes with the star-crushing gravity at the heart of thanergic fission. she is the last of her line and racing towards her destiny, her purpose, her power

the transmutation of death into glory.

bea in her little navy-and-white uniform, the colors of the fourth house, trying to prove herself. learning every theorem she can find, reaching outside the purview of her house for a touch of bone magic, of flesh magic, staying far away from psychometry and anything that seeks to speak with the dead because she doesn’t want to look at the past. let the dead rest but let them be useful first.

the fourth motto is fidelity, facing ahead, so bea takes what is useful. anything, everything, learning how to chart the points of bright contact, stripping life to make death, always trying to understand how things come undone, how they die, because that is her calling, her purpose. to give death meaning, to take sacrifice and make it light.

and then she meets a girl. a wildcard from the fifth who arrives on Tisis with something to prove, who challenges every last person seeking to fill the position of cav to the last living scion of a powerful family, the would-be heir who will never inherit because she’s like an arrow, like a knife.

ava, who comes in laughing and emerges bleeding, victorious, from the dueling ring. who takes bea’s hand into her own bloody fist and makes her feel as though she’s already on fire, the heat-death she’s been seeking given a body and a face and a playful smile. a cavalier who makes stupid puns and asks questions about everything (‘but bea, i need to know how your magic works so we can coordinate. you know, strategise!) and bea saying to her again again again ‘i make bombs. i die and i make it matter, that’s all.’

ava who keeps asking why. why do you have to die? and there’s no answer for it beyond tradition, beyond the fact that what bea has mastered is a cruel and incredible strength. no one wants a bone magician from the fourth. no one wants to shake her hand when she’s twenty and her bones ache because she belongs to her grave. (and she doesn’t get buried. she’s an explosion)

beatrice who learns to fight with ava, who watches ava spar with shannon, transfixed by the flow of her. the raw kineticism of blade and body aligned, the bright flashing point of her blade and her wild smile. and mary, who is standing on the sidelines with bea trying to explain how to absorb thalergy more efficiently, leans back and says, ‘oh shit, you like her.’

denying it furiously but later sitting in the caf staring at ava while she attacks a bowl of gruel, sipping coffee and nibbling on a biscuit and for once in her life wishing the meal could last forever, that she could just sit there, forever, and watch ava move. wipe her mouth on the sleeve of her uniform and say a eulogy for the last part of her bread roll, every so often forcing bea to avert her eyes when she looks up.

and bea was raised in the shadow of death but here, sitting opposite her with their knees almost touching, here is light. and bea knows thalergy but she hasn’t known life - not really - until this moment.

and suddenly beatrice the fourth, whose strength is her anger and her duty and her faith, finds that she’s a little less brave. that there’s hesitation in the way she reads the reports of ground troops disappearing in thanergic fire. she keeps thinking of ava with her on the ground, and how abruptly precious bea’s body becomes because her death will not be quiet. ava who gives her pause, as nothing else ever has.

ava, who said the words to her with blood on her mouth from a split lip she took from someone’s knuckle-knife, kneeling and pressing a bloody kiss against bea’s knuckles as she said, grinning, one flesh, one end.

#warrior nun #wn tlt au #avatrice #ava x beatrice #‘anon’ 🙂

[reinaissxnce]

˖♪ও — Under Starless Skies

{ Open Starter }

The night brought a softer soundscape than the day. Less frenzied footsteps, fewer voices battling to be heard, a quieter rhythm. The calm it carried washed over Reina with the lapping over the waves. Hush.... Hush...

Reina sighed into the sound, pulling the flimsy shawl tighter around her shoulders. It was becoming increasingly apparent that she should have draped something a little warmer around her shoulders before leaving the tavern, but there was naught to be done about it now. She couldn't exactly go back there. Not after that performance. If it could even be called so.

The lyre sat at her feet, a guilty reminder that Reina's eyes kept wandering to. It was almost taunting her, the cursed thing.

"All the care I offer you and this is how you repay me?" she muttered fiercely, then made the smallest motion as if to give it a kick. The image of the poor thing, sitting helplessly with its single broken string, subjected to more damage, flashed through her mind. Gods. Now she felt even more guilt.

Crouching down so that she was covering the humbled instrument, Reina closed her eyes. A broken string was just that - broken, yet fixable. She had finished the performance calmly, then excused herself and fled. What a coward. Another mistake like that and the cracks could begin to show. And they mustn't. She could not allow it.

The sound of muffled footsteps behind her proved exactly this. Her eyes snapped open, though she kept unfailingly still. Was it a tavern patron, come to question or solicit her? Or something else. The night held not only calm. It held its own secrets too, as did its more favoured denizens.

"I'll have you know that I am armed," Reina said into the quiet. Granted, her only weapon was a blunt instrument, but there had been times when she'd had less to work with. Yet here she was to tell the tale. "And I do not appreciate those who take advantage of someone when their back is turned."

#˖♪ও — ( starter; ) #[ If anyone would like to randomly reply please do! #open starters are my favourite :) ]

[beansandsprouts]

Au of dean reciprocating cas' confession

This is not an au this is actually what happened you guys are just misremembering obviously.

Reciprocation

Dean Winchester x Castiel

Summary: What actually happened when Cas confessed his love to Dean

Warnings: I mean it's the confession scene so it's a little angsty

"And she's gonna kill you, and then she's gonna kill me."

Dean and Cas exchange a look, the situation seemed hopeless.

"I'm sorry." There was a pain in Dean's voice, regret.

"Wait, there is...there's one thing she's afraid of. There's one thing strong enough to stop her. When Jack was dying, I made a deal to save him."

"You what?"

"The price was my life. When I experienced a moment of true happiness, The Empty would be summoned, and it would take me forever." Cas explained.

"Why are you telling me this now?"

Cas could hear the suspicion and rising anxiety in Dean's voice. Cas started to tear up.

"I always wondered, ever since I took that burden, that curse, I wondered what it could be? What my true happiness could even look like. I never found an answer because the one thing I want...It's something I know I can't have. But I think I know...I think I know now. Happiness isn't in the having, it's in just being. It's in just saying it."

"What are you talking about man?" Dean felt his stomach drop. He felt like he knew what Cas was saying but he hoped he didnt. He didn't want it to end like this.

"I know. I know how you see yourself Dean. You see yourself the same way our enemies see you. You're destructive and you're angry and you're broken. You're 'daddy's blunt instrument.' And you think that hate and anger thats...that's what drives you, that's who you are. It's not. And everyone who knows you sees it. Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love. You raised your little brother for love. You fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are. You're the most caring man on Earth. You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know."

Cas smiles, and though tears are beginning to stream down his cheeks, it's full of love and joy and relief. Relief that he's finally getting to express the feelings that he'd kept hidden for so long.

"You know, ever since we met, ever since I pulled you out of Hell... Knowing you has changed me. Because you cared, I cared. I cared about you. I cared about Sam, I cared about Jack... I cared about the whole world because of you." Cas laughs, the tears are still falling.

"You changed me Dean."

"Why does this sound like a goodbye?" Dean asks quietly. Inside he's praying. Praying that it's not a goodbye. That it's not the end.

"Because it is."

Dean takes a breath, wanting to say something, wanting to beg Cas to stay.

"I love you." And Cas smiles at him. Smiles brighter than he ever has, a weight lifted off his shoulders.

"Don't do this Cas."

Dean hears a wet sound behind him and turns to see the black goo of the empty squeezing in through the walls. He turns back tearfully.

"Cas..."

Cas puts his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Goodbye Dean."

"What?"

And Cas shoves him aside, allowing the empty to come forward, to take him.

"Cas!" Dean calls out, pleading.

Cas looks at him and smiles.

"I love you too." Dean screams, pain evident in his voice.

He sees Cas' eyes widen before he's swallowed by the empty, taking Billie right along with him.

He'd finally gotten what he'd wanted. He'd finally gotten the thing that would make up for everything, the pain and the struggles and the loss he's experienced his entire life. He'd gotten the love of the angel, the love that would make him feel whole again. And it was ripped from him. Stolen, before he could even have a second to enjoy it.

He sits back against the bunker wall, processing what had just happened. He feels his phone buzz, a call from Sam, and he presses ignore. Dean drops his face into his hands, shoulders shaking with sobs. He'd lost what he'd always wanted.

It's only a few weeks later when Dean dies in that barn, hand clutching Sam's.

He opens his eyes to a country road. He grins.

"At least I made it to heaven."

"Yep."

Dean whips his head to where the voice came from, seeing Bobby sitting in a chair on the wooden porch of Harvelle's Roadhouse.

"What memory is this?"

"It ain't ya idjit."

"Yeah it is. Cause the last I heard you...you were in heavens lockup."

"Was. Now I'm not."

Bobby pauses before continuing.

"That kid of yours, before he went...wherever, made some changes here. Busted my ass out. And then he..."

Dean sits down on the chair next to Bobby.

"Well, he set some things right. Tore down all the walls up here. Heaven ain't just reliving your golden oldies anymore. It's what it always should have been. Everyone happy. Everyone together. Rufus lives about 5 miles that way... With Aretha," Bobby gestures up the road, "Thought she'd have better taste. And your mom and dad... they got a place over yonder." He gestures in another direction, "It ain't just Heaven, Dean. It's the Heaven you deserve. And we've been waiting for you."

Bobby takes out a beer for Dean and himself while Dean smiles proudly.

"So Jack did all that?"

"Well...Cas helped. It's a big new world out there. You'll see."

"Cas? He's around?"

Bobby grins, "Yeah he's around. He's been waitin for you too."

"Where?" Dean's voice is filled with nervous anticipation.

Bobby gestures to the door, "Inside. Go see your angel."

Dean sets his beer on the table and gets up from his chair, standing in front of the bar door for a moment before pushing it open.

It takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the light difference of the bar, but when he does he spots that familiar trenchcoat and messy head of hair sitting at the bar.

His breath catches in his throat.

"Cas?"

Castiels head turns toward Dean, and he smiles, swiveling around on the bar stool and standing up.

"Hey Dean."

Dean stands there for a moment, taking him in, before rushing forward and wrapping one arm around the angels waist and using his other hand to cup his cheek before pulling Cas into a kiss.

He pulls back, staring into Castiels eyes. Tears were forming in his eyes and spilling down his cheeks.

"I've wanted to do that for so long."

Cas smiles softly and wipes away Dean's tears.

"I have too."

#destiel #deancas #dean winchester x castiel #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel

[dotthings]

And speaking of mirrors, parallels, echoes...TW working in the same vein on that, doubling, or tripling down even, but it's something the mothership did heavily. For one example, as I've been doing an SPN rewatch, I recently got ambushed by standard and solid MOTW “Family Remains” in S4. SPN rhymes. And in fact the writers did look back on old episodes. There’s a connected thematic skein, there's leitmotifs in the writing, that it kept touchstoning, no matter how whackadoodle the plot may get at times.

This post is mostly a Dean character thought post, but you'll see by the end why it winds up in Destiel territory. (And no, not because Dean is all about a ship. This same thing happens with Cas. They both have their own narrative skeins, but they intertwine. While we're safeguarding against broken discourse that refuses to allow them meaning outside of a ship, let's not throw away the actual narrative intertwining that canon did. Characters don't exist in a vacuum, discussing them in relation to each other isn't the same as stripping them of meaning outside of a ship)

DEAN: I'm getting your son back. If it's the last godforsaken thing I do. BRIAN: Why do you care so much? (4.11 Family Remains by Jeremy Carver)

LEE: Ohh. All right. I'll be damned. Why do you care so much, Dean? DEAN: Because someone has to. (15.07 Last Call by Jeremy Adams)

DEAN: I enjoyed it, Sam. They took me off the rack, and I tortured souls, and I liked it. All those years, all that pain. Finally getting to deal some out yourself. I didn't care who they put in front of me. Because that pain I felt, it just slipped away. No matter how many people I save, I can't change that. I can't fill this hole. Not ever. (4.11 Family Remains by Jeremy Carver)

DEAN: …I don't know why I get so angry. I just know – I know that it's – i-it's just always been there. And when things go bad, it just – it comes out. And I can't -- I can't stop it… (15.09 The Trap by Robert Berens)

CASTIEL: I know how you see yourself, Dean. You see yourself the same way our enemies see you. You're destructive, and you're angry, and you're broken. You're "daddy's blunt instrument." And you think that hate and anger, that's… That's what drives you, that's who you are. It's not. And everyone who knows you see it. Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love. You raised your little brother for love. You fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are. You're the most caring man on Earth. You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know. (15.18 Despair by Robert Berens)

The meta writes itself. But there’s a thru-line there on how Dean sees himself. How much he cares. How much he wants to save people. His shame about how he broke under torture, his shame about his own anger. It’s not a condemnation of Dean. It was never a condemnation of Dean. It’s about his own condemnation of himself. The hole he can’t fill. No matter how many people he saves. Why do you care so much. I don’t know why I get so angry. You see yourself the same way our enemies see you.

And Cas saw through it. From the first moments. "You think you don't deserve to be saved." From the beginning he saw the disparity between the person Dean is, and the person Dean thinks he is.

#Dean Winchester #dean meta #Castiel #Destiel #The 15 Year Show

[thestalwartheart]

I don't really have much to say for the unpopular opinions about James Bond but reading everyone's asks and your answers about them have helped me figure out how to characterise James, Q and Madeleine in my own fanfics, especially since I've only seen nttd once when it came out and the others years ago and I refuse to watch them again because I feel nttd ruined them for me with the ending.

Now my opinion about James, which I'm not sure is unpopular since I don't actively look around to see what people think about him, is that I honestly think he isn't that good of a spy. He's constantly throwing his actual name out to the enemies, doesn't disguise his appearance and his inability to keep his actions at a small scale and not cause destruction. Like he's a great fighter and always gets the job done but rarely from what we've seen in the movies with the super secrecy you'd expect from a traditional spy. Like some bad guy will be at a seedy party and look over at the corner only to see James there and will think aw fuck, not this guy again.

Like, the only time he's ever really upfront is when it's about the job. Everything else, personal wise, is kept hidden, never to be addressed by anyone including him.

I'm so glad it's helped you wrap your head around the characters! I totally understand your hesitance to re-engage with canon after watching NTTD, but if you can, I would encourage going back and doing a re-watch at some point. Having the whole arc together really brings certain events and character traits to the fore. Then again, I'm someone who has to engage with canon frequently, otherwise the characters feel a little too out-of-reach for me. I'm particularly proud of he voices I craft for them in my fics, and that all comes from rewatching the actors over and over again.

Also, James Bond is a terrible spy, oh my God. I think MI6 even said themselves recently that they'd never hire him. He's a very good soldier, I think, and certainly has his place fighting for his country. But for all those reasons you listed above, he's absolutely awful at espionage. He's so trigger-happy, too. I have a feeling things always take about three times as long with him because he's always killing the people he needs intel from.

Sometimes, though (as M hinted at) you just need a blunt instrument to get the job done. 😉

Thanks for the ask!

#ask box #unpopular opinions #james bond

[n1ghtwarden]

the ever-looming question remains : why Minathra? What is there to confide in / what familiarity is there to be found other than that of instrumentalization? That of corruption / twisting of personhood & ideal, the brutal loss of faith? [ you know that now; you will never be able to still your hand again / not when the sickening, nauseating sentiment writhing away in the pits of one's stomach keeps wuthering on. Splitting every thought, value & feeling ]. ⸻ she tries to steady whatever worm-bound surge of recollections haunts / disorientates; attempts to make a clean cut between what is Sharrian & what is Drow.

A handful of strand of crudely trimmed white bangs sting in her eye when she tilts her chin. At the distance the cleric keeps Minathra seems almost amicable in nature [ to you who has always found solace in the dark & macabre / 'self-indulgent' & a 'hypocrite' she called you. What does that make her? ]; when Shadowheart speaks, tone kept steely & low, they are alone, figuratively & literally. " did you regret it? Turning your back on Lolth, swearing fealty to another? "

night always brought strange tidings with it; stranger truths, too. the aches and pains of the day well-earned; present. and though the night warden hated to rest while their enemies still drew breath, she knew it was fruitless to continue when all were so exhausted. minthara had never been allowed to be a child: always a soldier, always marching - and then, commanding. even toy soldiers knew when to stop, after all - she was no different. none of them were so different, though minthara would never sully herself by admitting it while keeping company with such a desperate mix of miscreants.

at the sound of soft footfalls, her head sharply turns in the cleric's direction, ears trained to hear even the slightest of noises straining in the quiet; the harsh, tense line of her shoulders softening when she notes that it is just shadowheart come to pay her another visit. minthara knows she is not well liked in camp - she does not care; their feelings are immaterial in the grand scheme of things: there are battles to be won, and gods to kill.

" it was not as if i had much choice in the matter. " not the second time, no. but the night warden does not mention the first - when she had come home to menzoberranzan gleaming like the north star; bright and furious and beautiful. she'd been punished for what her own mother had called a lapse in judgement; remembers the feeling of her nails digging into her arm before she was brought before the matron mother. idiot girl, ungrateful girl - look at all lolth has given you, given us - and you would spit in her face? that had been then; and this was now; different, yet all the same in lolth's eyes.

and, perhaps, it was the same in shar's as well. once again, her red eyes glance up towards @nerimoi; narrowing slightly. had she changed her diet recently? whatever it was, the pallor it gave shadowheart did not suit her. but the words do not come - and instead, she feels the worm that connects all of them wriggling, eager to share flashes of memories, thoughts - stone and stalagmites; the comforting darkness of endless caves - looking out over a sprawling mess of a city; your blade in hand, the life leaving who you thought was your friend's eyes as they spit and choke on blood - they'd tried to kill you, to advance. for lolth. you had to kill them; cull the weak, for lolth; that weakness in you; that curiosity. that questioning. why? the connection severs - but the sensation remains.

minthara, daughter of the baenre, knows who she had been. knows who she was - but she does not know who she is now, without all these certainties; these absolutes that had guided her life and her hand. and though she does not voice it, she suspects that shadowheart is the same. the thought terrifies her. and if shadowheart is a hypocrite, then so is she.

" no. i do not. " blunt as ever, sharp as the knives she carries. her eyes, for once, are not focused upon shadowheart; nor does she gaze into the fire. instead, she looks to the stars - and a thin smile makes its way across her features. she does not miss the beauty of menzoberranzan so painfully when she has the glory of the stars to behold. lolth - the absolute - both left nothing but bodies in their wake. minthara would not be one of them. she would be greater. " nor should you. take back the power your dark lady has denied you - and make those who belittled you suffer. "

#minth: i hate lolth #also minth: still spewing lolth mantras #solid advice minth good job! #nerimoi #ANSWERED. missives to the night warden. #ACT II. soon there will be vengeance. then; freedom.

[itsme-basil]

Being in Heat - read on ao3

Tags: Stiles x Hale pack, omegaverse, dub-con

Part 2 of 2

Tagging: @therogueheart

Stiles doesn't remember much. Just leaving the facility and getting lost. He couldn't take it there anymore. Almost twenty and stuck in a room because he was unclaimed. So he snuck out. He doesn't remember how he did it, how he managed to sneak out of the building with enough guards to keep the more feral werewolves at bay. But he did it. 

And not an hour after he left, did he feel the familiar buzz of his heat warming his belly. Really, he didn't know what else he expected. It was just his luck. 

He remembered stumbling onto a group of werewolves, and after that, things got a little foggy. But he felt good. Better than he'd ever felt before, and there was a pleasant burning at his neck, his shoulder, wrist and inner thigh. 

He felt claimed and full and content and he never wanted to go back to the facility again, where the instruments used were cold and silicone, where the partners wore gloves and kept a cold professionalism that never quite thawed the heat in his core. 

He comes to when he's lowered onto a bed, and he whined at the thought of the facility's thin twin sized mattresses he'd been forced to sleep on since he presented. 

There's a soft shushing sound near his ear, and a body settles down beside him. Another at his head, forcing him to lay on their thighs. A third on his other side and yet another body hovering over him. 

Stiles blinked his eyes open, struggled to keep them from shutting as he took in the faces above him. 

"You with us, little omega?" The boy beside him asked, hair a curly blonde. Stiles licked at his lips, unable to speak. He mewled at him instead, eyelids fluttering -threatening to close. 

Thick fingers brushed through his hair and Stiles lost the battle. All four of them sang of a claim on him. Could that be possible? Could he be claimed by four? He didn't know. The facility only ever talked about one. 

"Poor thing is exhausted," the girl pouted, her own fingers running down his bare chest. He didn't remember taking his clothes off, but if he was claimed, he must've been knotted. He couldn't have been knotted with clothes on. 

"Alpha," he called out on a whimper, heat surging low in his gut and slick coating his ass. 

"Shh," the one above him hummed. Stiles opened his eyes once more, beginning to wriggle against the bodies crowded against him. "We're going to take good care of you."

Stiles believed him. He let the alpha hook his legs up, felt the blunt end of his cock at his entrance and sighed long and low as it slipped inside. The other three shifted around him and Stiles eagerly reached for them, whimpering at the thought of them leaving, even as the alpha fucked into him, touching all the right places. 

His mind fuzzed pleasantly as he got ahold of the boys' cocks, stroking them, wanting them inside, whimpering and gasping as the alpha continued to fuck him. 

The girl leaned over him and captured his lips, kissing him upside down. Stiles whined against her, overwhelmed with the feeling of each bond he now has with them. 

"I can't believe he's all ours," a deep voice groaned. The thick cock in his right hand jerned forward and Stiles squeezed his hand around him. 

The girl pulled off and Stiles opened his eyes, peering up at her. She smiled down at him with sharp teeth before shuffling forward. Her hands landed on his chest, her legs on either side of his head. 

"Der," she breathed as she lowered herself onto his face. "Once you're done knotting him I want his cock again."

Instinct took over as his heat responded to his bond mates. He let his jaw drop as the girl's cunt finally made contact. It was wet and warm and Stiles lifted his chin, licking at her lips and nosing at her entrance. His tongue found the ball of nerves and she gasped and shook over him. 

Stiles felt the alpha's knot start to catch on his rim and he whimpered, the sound muffled against the girl's cunt. 

The two in his hands grunted and thrusted into his palms as they got closer to their orgasm and Stiles whined, his toes curling at the pleasure in the base of his spine. 

He came on the alpha's cock just as it locked into place. The two boys jerked themselves off over his body and the girl rutted against his mouth until she came too. 

Stiles gasped, body limp. The four of them quickly rearranged themselves around him, the alpha still knotted inside, filling him up to the brim. They all touched him, murmuring gentle praises as he succumbed to exhaustion. 

He knew his heat could last a couple days, but he didn't know if that had changed now that he had mates to take care of him. If his need to be fucked would simmer now that he had warm bodies to make it better. 

He nuzzled into whoever he could during his reprieve, feeling hot spunk continue to pump inside him. 

"You're perfect for us," one murmured, kissing at his jaw. Stiles couldn't help but nod, his own hands lazily trailing over the bodies surrounding him. Maybe it wasn't a mistake, leaving the facility. 

#teen wolf #sterek #boiles #sterica #stisaac #kinktober #my writing

[escape-from-twinkov]

Puma (Tarkov story character rundown)

Yes another wild cat named character because i am sooooo original. The second main character of the book i’m attempting to write. Whoooe this one is a bit heavier so heads up if you aren’t comfortable with themes of Ptsd.

“He is in his 40s, slightly smaller with a deep scar cutting across his left cheek, clad in traditional green khakis from the days of the Union. He carried a drab plate carrier which only covered a portion of his chest which was decorated a small silver pendant with a red star encompassing the hammer and sickle. In his hands was a Sv-98, its beautiful teal furniture contrasting the cold, black steel of its barrel. Much like his squad-mate there were noticeable markings on his instrument, however they span from muzzle to receiver, with even the hand guard being covered in tallies and the name “Puma” engraved on its side. Much like Lynx he felt drawn to the city after hearing about the escalating conflict within the urban districts.”

character traits and background

-He’s incredibly scared of the sound of helicopters and jets flying overhead from his experiences fighting in Soviet-Afghan war. Though he knew they were on his side the brutality and terror of the strikes still shook him to his core. He had only turned 19 before he was conscripted to fight so these experiences had been engrained in him.

-Unlike Lynx, He kept his equipment and rifle in especially good condition. Taking apart and thoroughly cleaning his Sv-98 after every engagement which comes from his experiences fighting in the mountains where small particles of dirt and rock would often end up caught in the internals of weapons. Old habits die hard

-He speaks and tries to keep constant communication with his squad as it’s his way of telling who is still breathing. Should someone go silent he’ll know that they’re either dead or dying. Though he may still speak more frequently than Lynx he still tends to keep things emotionless as in his eyes it is just a distraction.

-Even when there isn’t any sign of opposition he is still constantly scanning the area around him, his eyes never holding still for more than half a second a time. To be blunt he is constantly on edge and is paranoid that a target could appear from anywhere at anytime.

-He also tends to jitter a lot never being able to stay still as a result of the constant feeling of tension he had to endure then and now. Usually he twirls a spent casing in his hands as a way to keep himself calm. However, when he finds a target and takes aim he enters his zone where he is truly calm and collected. His mind and body takes focus, putting him at ease as he concentrated to make his shot count.

-His chest is clad in old medals and decorations from his time in Afghanistan. He was taken so young so really these are the only accomplishments he has in life so he desperately tries to cling on to this empty sense of pride despite the horrors of what he had to endure. He had convinced himself that his sacrifice was for a greater goal when in reality the war he was fighting was pointless and for nothing, these medals help him stop thinking about what he lost.

-Following up on that, he tends to use the same equipment he used back then nowadays. More so because that was what he was trained with but also he feels a strange sense of familiarity with these objects.

-He tends to be rough on the younger members of his squad but he’s only like this because he doesn’t want them to make the same mistakes he did in the past and end up hurt or worse. It’s just that he doesn’t know how to communicate this advice well as he was treated the same by his elders back then as well.

-Lastly, he personified his rifle as it has been with him for years at this point. He is very gentle with it making sure to take great care of it as he is very sentimental of all the things the two have gone through. It’s also partly because it is the only thing he can truly trust here. It won’t let him down as others had and he knows that it dies with him so he doesn’t have to feel any guilt leaving it behind should he be killed

that’s pretty much it for Puma. Thanks for reading up to this point :D have a good one!

#tarkov #eft #escape from tarkov #oc

[unrealization]

there isn't one for it on the hug meme but g'raha, after being super worried about ashlynn , going to hug her and stopping himself and just apologizing softly.

Ashlynn had faced monsters, sorcerers of Eld, greatwyrms, imperial warmachina, even the very gods themselves. The Warrior of Light was an unbreakable champion, standing tall between the world and those that would do it harm. She'd thrown herself into battle again and again. She carried no shield because she was the shield. For so long she'd allowed herself to take blow after blow from her enemies. Shrugging off pain and the fear of death.

Yet, she flinched. When one of her closest friends tried to touch her, someone she trusted at her back and a stalwart ally in battle, she flinched. She could tell by his eyes that he'd seen it. Her body shrinking in on itself. It was a harmless gesture. In her head she knew that but her body reacted like he was a threat.

He apologized. The look in his eyes was so earnest, yet it ate away at her. She'd come so far, and yet this was too much?

The walls had kept her alive, and yet now she was entombed in them. Could she ever change? It made her feel guilty. She couldn't give anyone what they wanted from her. There would always be this distance between herself and others. She could try all she wanted to force herself, but she would hurt regardless, wouldn't she?

"No... No, I..." She couldn't look him in the eye, "Don't apologize."

She felt so exposed. The part of her that she had tried to bury was still clinging to her, keeping her away. Holding her by the throat and choking the life out of her.

"Its okay."

She forced herself to smile. She was certain it was an obvious fake. All of her smiles probably looked like that. A front. She was never meant to have this. She was a blunt instrument. A weapon to wield. How could she have forgotten that? The weapon wore her skin, spoke in empty pleasantries and waited for the next fight. For when it would next be unsheathed. The corpse of Ashlynn Redwraith still remained upright. She believed she'd found a new life, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe she could never have that.

#content ✎ answers #in character ✎ Ashlynn #muse ✎ Ashlynn #✎ queue #ruiination

[fel-path]

Within her small room in the bailey, the Warlock paced back and forth in clear frustration. The three chests she had brought had not even been opened, the bed still made with the indication she had yet to sleep upon it. Both of Varah’s clawed hands clutched the tarnished necklace she treasured tightly, her voice quietly reciting the litanies she had studied a lifetime ago. There was supposed to be a warmth at the end of each verse, a glorifying, reaffirming connection to the Light. 

Instead, all she found was silence.

With a loud sound of anguish, she hurled the necklace against the wall, sending it clattering to the ground. Unsatisfied in the heat of her rage, she lashed out at wherever was closest. The bed splintered beneath the weight from her gauntlets, striking and destroying it with but a few blows. The dresser was caved in and torn apart, the nightstand hurled across the room as it shattered from the impact against the door. An anguished wail came from the Warlock, sinking down to the floor, talons scraping loudly as they dragged.

“Pathetic.” 

Varah turned to the sound of the familiar voice. The large mirror that had been next to the nightstand had fallen over, propped up by the shattered headboard of the bed. Her reflection was found within it, but it held a cruel, vicious smile to it, those eyes burning with the bright yellow glow she had come to accept as her new natural colour. 

“Shut up.” Came the reply from Varah, turning away to look slowly over the damages she had wrought upon the room so graciously given to her. Guilt was immediately stabbed at her chest, and she would have to offer reparations for the destruction.

“Do you really think these people truly care about you?” Came the venomous words from the reflection, a clawed hand pressing against the surface of the mirror that kept her from the room. “You’re a tool. A blunt instrument to be used and discarded. But I love you.”

Varah turned back to face the mirror, her eyes a bright blue in contrast to the sickly yellow that gazed at her with such wanton hunger. Upon seeing the twisted, sinister reflection of herself, she spat at the ground between them. “They are different.”

A loud, cruel laugh came from the reflection, the sound ringing in her ears as she was taunted. “Different? Their pretty smiles and kind words hide their fear. Their hate. Only I can ever love you the way you so desperately crave to be loved.” 

“Shut up, Demon!” The Warlock rose from her slouch, moving to seize the mirror and stand it upright. The ever-smug reflection gazed back at her, baring her teeth with sinister intent as she drew close to the glass that separated them both. 

“If you are craving to be free…” Came the low, predatory words from the reflection. The image leaned up to the glass, running her tongue over the surface as she stared at Varah, clawed hands clinking softly to the glass barrier. “...Why do you still call yourself Varah? Accept it. You are mine, forever.”

With a sudden explosion of rage, Varah balled her clawed hand into a fist, the room darkening as it swirled with a burning, baleful green magic. She struck the glass and shattered it into pieces, caving in the wood support as all of it crashed to the floor. The sound of the reflection’s insidious laugh echoed through the room, and Varah quickly broke free from her sudden wrath, reaching down to press her hands against the floor. “No, no no no.” 

Just as quickly as it was summoned, the Fel was drained out of the wood and glass back into her, seeking to keep the corrosive taint of her magic from corrupting anything within the room. When she was sure there was nothing left of her magic, no lingering signs of her moment of weakness, she departed the room, storming off the grounds to walk the woods in solace.