#he’s trying to save not just one world but every world

[ominouspuff]

No Man Left Behind / Something Worth Dying For

REQUESTS / BLOG EVENT

Request from @razzbberry - Palette #1 - Alpha-17, Cody - Death of the Cynic in Me

Notes and close-ups beneath the cut!

Notes: I think Seventeen would, both subconsciously and consciously, keep his cynicism as long as possible. It’s how he thinks the world works, but it’s also a survival tool. It’d be a very, very slow death.

It’s put to the test with Cody — not because Cody is special among his fellow clones, but because he’s one of the first that bothers to fight Seventeen on his own terms. The argument is always the same. Cody wants to talk about what he hopes to be, someday, after he is a soldier. Seventeen thinks he’s stupid to think that’s possible, or that he’d be capable. Cody knows it, and he, might not be. Seventeen thinks it’s even more stupid, in that case; what a waste of energy.

It develops. When they’re older, and in the thick of war, one day Cody risks his life for the chance to save a brother that was going to die anyway. Seventeen yells at him for fifteen minutes once he’s conscious about luck and stupidity and the trouble it’s causing Seventeen and the false hope it’s engendering in others. Cody says he can disagree all he likes, but he doesn’t give a fig, respectfully. Seventeen thinks Cody can go try to get blown up again, if he thinks so.

There’s no point fighting for a better tomorrow; they’re bought and paid for to fight for something else, FOR someone else. Seventeen is prepared for being fodder, as a result. He’s prepared for unfairness and the bleak life that they’re living. Instead he watches as Cody defeats odds time and time again, somehow managing to balance being an exceptional military leader with a secondary war to live for something more, running himself ragged and — inexplicably — gaining ground. Each of those little victories are a little death for Seventeen’s cynicism; a chipping away. A little seed of Cody’s brand of hope takes root, awkward and begrudging, fond and tentative.

Then Order 66 happens. Cody’s efforts for a better life are in vain, and Cody himself-

Cody may never know that Seventeen was right abut just how helpless they were. Now he only knows that Seventeen is a traitor, apparently, because Seventeen — for once in his life — was the lucky one and his chip malfunctioned.

And Seventeen could say ‘I told you so’. He could rest, vindicated and resigned, in the fact that every dream Cody built up and everything he thought was worth dying for is pointless, now — as he always suspected it would be.

But it isn’t fair, even by Seventeen’s standards.

“What are you doing,” Rex will rasp, caught in a strange role reversal as Seventeen paints an armor set with Cody’s golden colors. “He’s not coming back, Seventeen. He can’t. It’s pointless to keep going after him, you need to stop.”

“No,” Seventeen will answer, unbothered, “I don’t think I will.”

“We can’t — we can’t keep hoping,” Rex says, because he means he will probably have a breakdown if he imagines there is even a pitiful possibility he could save his brothers and then have to turn away from that scrappy chance for the greater good and Rebellion, and all that. “We’ve got to move on.”

“Go on.” Seventeen will invite sincerely, one brow raised because he knows Rex better than that.

“Do you want him to shoot you?” Rex will finally yell, all knotted up at the thought of losing Seventeen too, even though it’s funny because Seventeen was never kind to Rex.

“He can try,” Seventeen will say, touching up the last of the paint. He will stand, wiping his fingers, and pick up his pack. “See you when we get back, then.”

Alt version:

#artists on tumblr #fan art #star wars fanart #star wars: the clone wars #commander cody #alpha 17 #Interactive Art Week March 2024 #Palette Challenge #Alpha-17: Life sucks and it always does you dirty #Alpha-17 @ Order-66: …Well that was just UNNECCESSARY #Kinda offended kinda inspired to pitch in and maybe die just like normal but this time with Personal Investment #Normal people: I came for you [relieving/sounds like a promise of loyalty and dedication] #Alpha-17: I came for you [Grim Reaper Vibes] #It’s just his attitude but he means it well

[izzyreadingblog]

I didn't knew love (till I found you) (1)

Alexia Putellas x Reader

tags: Angst / Internalized Homophobia/ Strangers to Friends to Lovers

“What do you mean, you want me to buy the Soulmater? Do you know how much it costs?" Robert’s voice was tinged with disbelief.

Yes, of course you knew. The device cost was astronomical, but that paled in comparison to the turmoil churning inside yourself. You needed to be completely sure of your decision to marry your long time boyfriend Mark. It wasn’t just cold feet; it was a gnawing uncertainty that clawed at your heart and hasn't stopped worrying you for some time now.

“You can take the money from my share of the inheritance. I don't care about that Robert, but please help me with this, I’ve never asked you for anything before,” you implored, your eyes brimming with a mix of desperation and hope. You approached your brother and grasped his hands, forcing him to look into your eyes. “I need to know. I need to be sure about this, please Rob help me.”

Robert’s gaze softened at your words, but his words remained firm. “If you really need to know then that means Mark isn’t your soulmate. If he were, you wouldn’t be so consumed with doubt and worries.”

“I don’t know, it’s just that something has been feeling off for a time now…” you shook your head, a gesture of frustration and confusion, unable to articulate the storm of emotions inside you.

“Why don’t you go buy it yourself then? You’re old enough to make your own decisions; you don’t need to drag me into this, I don’t want to get involved.” He pulled away from your grasp and stood up, ready to leave the room and the weight of your request behind.

“I don’t want Mark to find out and you are the only person I trust to do this. Robert, please, do this for me. I promise never to ask you for anything else.” you mustered your most convincing expression, the one you knew your brother couldn’t resist. And just like that, you saw the familiar resignation in his eyes. Despite his protests, he would be always there for you no matter what.

“Okay I would do it, but this is the last crazy thing I do for you.” The both of you knew it was a lie, but it didn’t matter. You lunged forward, enveloping him in a hug, your smile radiating pure joy. “I’ll stop by after work and bring it to you tonight.”

“Thank you, thank you! I love you so much; you are the best brother in the world,” you exclaimed, your gratitude genuine and boundless.

Once Robert had left, a wave of anxiety washed over you. What if Mark wasn’t your soulmate? What if your true match was already married to someone else? Or what if he was single? Would you have the courage to introduce yourself as his soulmate, hoping for a fairy-tale ending?. Taking a deep breath, you tried to lower down the rising panic. There were too many questions and too many uncertainties, so you decided to scour the internet for stories of others who had used the Soulmater, seeking guidance for the myriad of potential outcomes that would come once you know the name of your soulmate.

The Soulmater, according to its creators, was an infallible computer algorithm that boasted a 100% success rate every time. The device itself was really simple: a screen where one entered their name and date of birth, and within moments, the name and birthdate of their soulmate appeared. It has a hefty price tag of $100,000 so it’s meant only for a few who had the means to try it, but those who did were unanimous in their praise. Upon meeting their soulmate, they were instantly certain the device had not failed. You found nothing but happy endings in the reviews, save for one heart-wrenching account of a man whose soulmate had passed away before they could meet. A chill ran down your spine, and instantly you regretted delving into these stories. Now, your doubts hadn’t been calmed, they had multiplied.

Your phone buzzed with a message from Mark: ‘Where are you? We’ve been waiting for you for half an hour!!!’

You had completely forgotten about the meeting you had planned with your boyfriend and your future mother-in-law to set the wedding date. ‘I had to take care of something important at home. I’ll be there in 10 minutes,’ you replied, your heart not in it.

When you arrived at the coffee shop, the sight of Mark sitting alone stirred a sense of nervousness. A tight knot formed in your stomach, the kind that no amount of rational thought could untangle.

“Hey baby, where's your mother?” you asked, planting a kiss on his cheek, trying to mask your concern with a casual greeting. The kiss was a mere formality, a gesture devoid of the affection it once carried.

“She left a while ago! you know my mom is too important a person for you to be wasting her time,” Mark replied, his tone laced with irritation. His words stung you, a verbal slap that echoed the growing distance that exists between the both of you.

But you didn't let those words stop you and unfazed, you countered, “Well, we can decide on the wedding date ourselves.” you signaled the waiter to bring her the same drink Mark had, seeking some semblance of normalcy. Cause normalcy was a facade, a thin veneer over the chaos of your inner thoughts and worries.

“There is no need for that, we've already decided,” Mark declared, his voice cutting through the hum of the coffee shop.

Confusion clouded your face. “What do you mean is already decided?” you asked, your voice a mix of surprise and apprehension.

“The date will be June 25, there’s nothing else to decide about that” he stated matter-of-factly, as if he were discussing the weather, not your future.

“But that's in less than a month!” Panic rose in your voice, a crescendo of fear and disbelief. It was too soon; you wouldn't have time to prepare everything. The words 'too soon' echoed in your mind, a cruel reminder of the rushed decisions that had led you here with little chance to change anything.

“Please, the only thing we need to do is show up on the wedding day. Leave the rest to my mother, she knows what she does and she is excellent at making events” he dismissed your concerns with a wave of his hand. His indifference was a chasm that widened with every word he spoke.

You clenched your fists under the table, struggling to contain your frustration. “It's my wedding too, and I want a say in how it's going to be. I think I have the right to decide what I want for my wedding too.” Your voice was firm.

“Don't get upset. I'll ask my mom to involve you as much as possible. You can choose the venue, the catering, everything you want, my love. But the wedding will be on June 25. That's final.” His words were a gavel, pounding the final nail into the coffin of your hopes.

The coffee shop was a quaint little place, nestled in the heart of the city, its walls adorned with vintage posters and shelves lined with an assortment of colorful mugs. The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans mingled with the scent of baked goods, creating a cozy atmosphere that usually brought comfort to her. Today, however, the familiar setting did nothing to ease the turmoil within. As you sat across from Mark, your mind replayed the events leading up to this moment. You remembered the countless times you had walked through these doors, hand in hand with Mark, laughing and planning your future together. But now, as you gazed out of the window, watching the world go by, you felt a disconnection from those memories. They seemed like scenes from someone else’s life, not yours. Mark was talking, but his words were a distant hum in your ears, you watched his lips move, observed the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and yet, you felt an inexplicable void. 

You thought about the Soulmater, that small, unassuming device that promised to unveil the mysteries of the heart. It was absurd, really, to place so much faith in a piece of technology. And yet, the possibility of discovering a connection so profound, so intrinsic, that it could be deemed a ‘soulmate,’ was too tantalizing to ignore. Your thoughts were interrupted by the waiter, who arrived with your drink, a caramel macchiato, the foam artfully swirled on top. You thanked him with a smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. As you took a sip, the sweetness of the caramel was a stark contrast to the bitterness that lingered on your tongue from the conversation. Mark’s impatience was palpable. He checked his watch, tapped his foot, and sighed heavily, all signs that he was ready to move on from the coffee shop and from the topic at hand. You knew you should be present, should engage in the discussion about your impending nuptials, but your heart was elsewhere, lost in a sea of what-ifs and maybes. 

The coffee shop began to fill up, the lunchtime crowd bringing with it a buzz of activity. Couples sat at nearby tables, some in deep conversation, others comfortable in their silence. You envied them, envied their certainty and the ease with which they seemed to fit into each other’s lives. As the afternoon wore on, the sunlight shifted, casting long shadows across the floor. The change in light marked the passage of time, a reminder that life was moving forward, with or without your consent. You glanced at Mark again, trying to picture your future together, but the image was hazy, obscured by doubt. 

When the time came to leave, you followed Mark out of the coffee shop, the bell above the door jingling in their wake. The city streets were bustling, people rushing about their day, oblivious to the internal struggle that weighed heavily on your shoulders. Going back home was a blur, your mind preoccupied with the Soulmater and how a name can change her life upside down. As you approached your apartment, the sight of Robert’s car was a beacon of hope. You quickened your pace, eager to close the distance between you and the answers that lay within the small, silver package he had procured for you. 

“Did you get it?” you asked Robert, your voice trembling with anticipation.

“Yes, take it easy,” he reassured you, holding up the bag. “Let's go to your room.” His calmness was an anchor in the storm of your emotions.

Inside, Robert handed you the silver package. The Soulmater was smaller than you expected, fitting snugly in your palm. It was unassuming, yet it held the power to alter the course of your life. You hesitated before pressing the power button, your finger hovering over the decision that would unveil your heart's true desire.

The familiarity of your own space was a stark contrast to the chaos of your emotions. The walls held memories of laughter and tears, of dreams and plans made. It was here, in the sanctity of your room, that you would take the leap into the unknown. 

“What's wrong? Do you want me to leave you alone?” Robert asked, sensing your hesitation.

“No, it's just... I'm scared,” you admitted, meeting his understanding gaze. The fear was a tangible thing, a shadow that loomed over you.

“Whatever the result, it'll be okay. Remember, you can return it unused,” he reminded her. His words were a lifeline, a reminder that no matter the outcome, you had the power to choose your path. Robert’s presence was a steadying force, together, you both sat on the edge of your bed. With each passing second, the anticipation built, a crescendo of hope and fear that threatened to overwhelm you. 

And then, after putting her data on the device you pressed the button, and the world as you knew it shifted.

At that moment, you didn't need a Soulmater to tell you that Mark was not the one for you. The realization hit you like a wave, cold and unyielding. You had become complacent, accepting whatever life threw at you without protest. Your father's passing had been a wake-up call, prompting you to reassess your life and the choices you were making. It was this introspection that led you to go and try the Soulmater, and now, you are certainly using it was the right decision.

The screen scrolled, and after an agonizing wait that seemed like years but only was a couple minutes long, a name and date appeared: Alexia Putellas - 02/04/1994.

“Alexia Putellas? My soulmate is a woman?” you whispered, a mix of shock and curiosity in your voice. The revelation was a puzzle piece that didn't fit the picture you had of your life, yet it was undeniably yours.

#woso fanfics #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #woso

[ghouljams]

You know, i try to forget the fact that ghost is from *manchester*

But also i live in manchester, and there is 6 foot something ex military engineer with a shitty mullet and tatoos from his wrists up to his neck, bulky as hell, who repairs the machines at my work place once a month and has basically the same accent and it drives me insane. Not love or lust or anything along those lines, just fangirl brains in overload 😤😔💀

Also really love android!ghost i can imagine the workspace as being in one of those enormous caverns under the tram lines cutting through manchester, near cornbrook, where the old rail bridge rots, for atmosphere? And yea android ghost would totally have the sorrows of a manchester working man and he watches you as the rail rumbles overhead in typical dreary weather because it rains everyday. Maybe it rusts the gears where his heart should be. Your writing is sooo damnn good it makes me feel things ;^;b

Currently the reader and Ghost are on a military base, so the workshop is more of a hole in the wall filled to the brim with bits and baubles of tech. I always imagine it as somewhere between cassette futurism(the gold standard of greebling) and hard cyberpunk. Big blocky screen tvs precariously placed with lines of code and old sonic games looping over them. Cables hanging from the ceiling and stringing between various computer towers. dimly lit save the few dental lights that the reader can wheel about(sort of) to whatever they're working on. A wooden workbench, a soldering iron, an iron stool. A box of drawers holding screws and tools strewn about. Organized chaos.

but back in Manchester? It was rotten, dreary. Huddled close to Simon to siphon some of the heat off of him as you handed over half your sandwich. Complaining about the rain to the closest thing you have to a friend. Scraping rust off of every bot that clamors through the doors of the shop you're apprenticing at. Simon offers you some of his mum's cookies, you pass him the thermos of tea you made this morning, dab some anti-bacterial on the cut under his eye. You feel old. You're so young.

You both talk about leaving, finding somewhere better, anywhere really. Just to get away and see the world. Two kids trying to make things a little easier for each other.

Anyway! I think it's fun to have a man to ogle at work. Very important for morale. I need more tattooed muscular men to look at with sinful eyes. Love me some eye candy.

#ghoul speaks #x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #mw2 ghost #ghost cod #cyberpunk au #android!ghost

[brucewaynehater101]

Okay, you know that hc where Tim Reincarnates as The Trash of the Bat Family? It got me thinking of him scamming and making the "Real League of Assassins". He integrates Pru, Z and Owens early, makes them his people (or assassins disguised as servants).

"Where's the coffee?"

Owens, pouring chamomile tea, "We're all out of coffee, Sir."

"Energy drinks?"

Pru, throwing a trash bag away. "All gone too, Sir."

He integrates Kon before he experiences the SA with Tana Moon and other ladies, and Kon becomes his bodyguard.

"Are we doing something bad?"

"Oh, we're doing something veeeeery bad. To Lex Luthor."

Tim rescuing Damian.

"You're Damian Al Ghul Wayne. You're an Al Ghul and a Wayne. You can do whatever you want. I'm not taking care of you."

Damian, not trusting this lying bastard, secretly follows him around. Tim knows Damian is, and begrudgingly just accepts Damian into his fold until he reaches Gotham again.

"If you die, Timothy, I will dominate the world, kill everyone, and then myself."

I love these additions so much!!!

The "Real League of Assassins" is such a petty name, and I live for it. Just Tim as a kid and his little League of Assassins (depending on how far back he went into the past and how soon he aquires the OG best assassin squad). It would be double hilarious if his "Real League of Assassins" doesn't actually kill anyone, but I also respect Tim's right to commit murder however he deems fit. I like to imagine how mad Ra's would get at the name.

Part of Tim's asshole cover comes from Pru. There's two ways this can go. One, Pru is her complete self in front of everyone (she will break someone's nose no matter their price tag). This causes major scandals and issues for Tim cause how could he hire someone who behaves like that? Or Two, Pru is creepily pleasant and respectful around other company, and Tim continues to act like usual around her. This causes people to pity Pru for having such a horrible boss.

I also live for Bodyguard Kon AUs. You know the two of them are playing a "I know your sickly Victorian child looking ass can beat me up, but I will pretend I don't know this until you tell me why" with a "please stop saving me from every small things because I know you know a sunburn isn't going to kill me." It's dealer's choice on how soon Kon finds out about Tim's vigilante gig. Also, if Kon is a bodyguard in this, is he also Superboy or the equivalent? Does he become a superhero once he finds out about Tim's heroism? There's no way Kon would stick around Tim if he believed the persona Tim kept up.

Cue Tim accidentally forming the YJ again, but this time it's hidden from the JL radars and is a closely guarded secret.

As far as Damian, I absolutely love that quote you included. It's so Damian coded and I live for him threatening to take over the world. I also want to see Tim's reaction and how concerned he is over Damian threatening to kill himself. As an older brother, he legit could care less about Damian managing to kill the entire world. It's Damian wanting to die that scares him.

As far as the AU, Tim is trying so hard to distance himself from the Waynes that his dumbass shouldn't have picked up Damian in person. He was probably too anxious to leave it to someone else, but now he has a tiny suspicious assassin who reluctantly became fond of him.

There's a few different ways this can play out.

One, Tim picks up Damian in his vigilante costume and never unmasks to Damian. The little tot starts to think of this vigilante as maybe a brother before being given to Bruce (angst of abandonment tied with identity shenanigans. How soon does Damian realize that Timothy "Trash" Drake is the one to save him from the League?).

Two, Tim starts off with his secret identity in tact but reveals himself while traveling back. They bond, Damian is left at Bruce's, and, to the surprise of literally all the Waynes, the kid is seen constantly talking to the complete jerk Timothy Drake. Damian is actually nicer to this douchebag stranger than he is to some of his family members. What's equally shocking is how kind Tim is to Damian. Tim hasn't been cruel to children before, but he hasn't gone out of his way to be nice either. This cues investigations into Tim by the batfam.

Three, Damian refuses to go live with his dad and sticks around Tim when they return to Gotham. Depending on when Tim rescues Damian, Tim's fake uncle adopts Damian, and they become brothers legally. When Bruce finds out Damian is his son, he doesn't take the excuse, "I found him on the streets!" from Tim seriously.

#dc comics #dc universe #tim drake #dc au #damian wayne #kon el #dc prudence #thank you for the ask!!!! #y'all remember to be careful when adding romantic relationships to time travel #timkon is cute but the age difference (even though Tim's body regresses) could get spooky here

[ystrike1]

One Husband Is Enough - By Go Seon-young (8/10)

What would it be like to have a charm level of 999? Everybody loves you. You just have to look your victim in the eye to have their love. Lust is seconds away from you at every moment. You have multiple stalkers. Wait. Being popular is starting to sound awful...

An everyday office worker accidentally curses her new body. She decided to max out her Charm stat, which completely destroyed the game story the second she reincarnated.

The maids, butlers, and men at the ball were all supposed to ignore Crochetta. She's just an illegitimate daughter. Her father, The Count, was just keeping her pretty face around to marry off. She's supposed to be the butt of every joke, but after she wakes up with Charm....men stalk her around the ballroom in packs. They fight over the right to sniff her dropped handkerchief.

It's horrible. Everyone who spends a minute alone with her turns into a pervert. An animal with only one thought in mind. Crochetta isn't exactly "Charming". That game stat measures how attractive the protagonist is to other characters. At level 999....well she's in danger all the time.

It works like this.

Minor characters like maids and butlers can't even resist for a second.

Other noble ladies will chat with her for a minute, before they randomly try to kiss her.

The men behave like monsters and they blame her for seducing them.

The plot twist is the three male leads ARE affected by her Charm, but to a lesser degree. They do "fall for her", but they notice how unnatural her Charm is. Which makes for an interesting story.

Crochetta's old fiance went mad the same day she acquired "Charm". He became overwhelmed with joy and jealousy. He was in heaven. He had the right to marry the most attractive woman in the land. When the maids dared to fawn over his bride...he went on a rampage. The walls of the Counts mansion turned red.

The family tried to cover up the incident.

The Count did it because he's obsessed with his daughter now. Now, Crochetta must find a husband that can protect her. Her father is no longer interested in marrying her off.

He wants to lock her away in the tower, and keep her Charm a secret.

His secret.

*vomits*

Crown Prince Ethian believes she is the ultimate weapon. A woman that can be used to make the political world his slave. If every man loves his Queen fanatically revolution and true power will be in his grasp!!!

That's his story, but he seems pretty obsessed.

The issue is Charm doesn't guarantee loyalty or sweet love. The Prince is incredibly lustful, and it's obvious he would have multiple lovers with Crochetta as his main squeeze and prize.

The Duke reacts more violently. Arnold believes Crochetta has poisoned him. His one obsession is money. He actually hates women. His immediate lust for Crochetta is literally foreign to him. He runs from her like a scared animal, but not before he pushes her around. She kind of deserves it. Crochetta is looking for a marriage of convenience. A man who can protect her.

Her intentions are not pure.

The Knight, Rosen, is a very chaste man.

He saves Crochetta from a gang of admirers, and he seems completely unaffected.

She kisses him on the cheek to test him, and even then he seems fine.

Then, her carriage rolls away and he drops to his knees.

The Prince proposes.

He says he will kill her if she refuses.

If another man marries her he will gain a massive amount of influence. A bride powerful allies will serve and die for.

Also, it looks like he is affected by her Charm. He's just not stupid about it.

He offers her what she needs, but he's too cunning to let her control him.

If she wants his protection she'll have to let him have....everything.

She visits the Duke out of desperation, because the Prince is terrifying.

He runs like a coward. Deep in his heart he knows the lust in him is wrong.

Crochetta also knows that chasing him is wrong, but the Prince is too damn scary.

Their relationship develops a little bit, but the Duke continues to resist her Charm.

Rosen hasn't appeared again yet.

I have no idea who the winner will be. Crochetta will have a heavy fate. There's no escape from the obsession around her.

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #webtoon #Go Seon-young #One Husband Is Enough

[luminiamore]

plug connie springer x black stripper reader

warnings: boy is down bad, a little bit of mikasa x reader??, mikasa is famous heree, connie is a tease, he’s also hispanic asf, ya’ll didn’t even make it to the club, hints of yandere, mirror action, he fucks u while he’s crossfaded, wall sex, he talks a lot, dude is rambling, good ole cream pie, gotta love breeding

a/n: i got carried away (⌒_⌒;)

can you guys tell i like my men desperate lol, this is so long i might make this a series (4.9k words)

one down, like five more to goooo

The lifestyle of stripping was something you truly couldn’t get enough of. The late nights. The smooth poles. Dancing on those smooth poles. And most importantly, the money. Oh fuck, how you loved the money. Living the fast life gave you such a rush that you adored it just as much as you hated it.

It’s not your first choice, not by a long shot. You were raised in Jamaica, New York. And your parents., you loved them. Honestly, you did, but you would probably be the most miserable person in the world if you kept heeding their strict Christian views.

You tried everything to reach up to their impossibly high standards. They wanted you to get an A in every assignment? Try A+. They wanted you to wear less revealing clothes because ‘No man will ever want you’? You’re showing up to your classes in turtlenecks just to keep their mouths shut.

You even made it a routine to clean the entire house top to bottom on Sundays since they started complaining that ‘You never do anything around this house.’ It was beyond annoying. You were fucking tired.

Growing up in Notre Dame School of Manhattan was nothing short of horrible. Proclaimed ‘good girls’ snorting more than half a line of coke in the school bathrooms. Drugs you aren’t even sure how they got access to, but then again, they are rich white kids. Teachers and hypocritical professors pretend to be oblivious to the bullshit drama their students are in. Your parents’ oblivion for keeping you here is even greater. Even after sharing stories with them, they would advise you to be more like the students at your school.

It was a miracle you didn’t turn out that far gone, despite what your profession is currently. You’ve smoked a little weed here and there. Experience some sort of awakening tripping off shrooms the weekend your parents took a trip to Barbados.

Without you, of course. Despite this, you were always taken care of. Your differences in opinion would never justify their abandonment of you. You knew they loved you when they got you a ticket to see The Weeknd live after you got a perfect score on your final, not after telling you their opinions on the matter, of course.

‘I don’t know why you listen to such devil music.’

‘I should’ve never gotten you this trash.’

The guilt you felt for wanting to have fun kept you from almost going. You went anyway, choosing to avoid allowing their misery to affect you.

Everything was fine; you played along with this draining game, and everything was fine. Until they decided to kick you out for finding a small baggie of blow (that wasn’t even yours) peeking out from the top of your purse. You don’t even know how it got there.

Honestly, you didn’t. You tried to communicate that while they were packing all the clothes they could find in your closet into two medium-sized luggage bags. But they wouldn’t listen, opting for screaming so loud you could see the neighbors peeking through the window. At the very least, they were kind enough not to throw them onto the concrete ground. Their stubbornness was unyielding. You just couldn’t get through to them.

You were able to rent an apartment you had put a deposit on a month before this happened because of the money in your savings account. Unfortunately, your funds were only sufficient for rent for two months due to groceries and other necessities.

When graduation came, your parents were nowhere to be found, so you realized that you had to find a means of earning money before you ended up sleeping on the streets.

You tried looking for a ’regular’ job -- a barista, a waitress, even applied to be a fucking bartender. It’s not as easy as it seems when those who already have one talk about finding a job. Why do they claim that they need to hire immediately and yet still reject you? Considering that your lack of work experience prevents you from being hired, you feign a little on your resume. Turns out, you’re not a very good liar.

Where was pretty privilege when you needed it?!

Despite applying to 500 companies, none could offer you a job within the next two weeks, which happened to be when your rent was due.

You really had no other option. You took your pretty ass and marched to the nearest club. Which happened to be the... Hustlers club? Why did that sound familiar? 

Upon entering, you outright demanded to speak with the person in charge, and when you saw him, he demanded that he offer you a job. Lucky for you, the owner happened to be there that day. He observed the little moment you had when you stormed in..well, he observed the way your tits bounced in your low-cut tee and immediately pulled you into his office.

He had the thought that you would make him a lot of money if you worked for him, and he’s sure his business partner would agree if she saw you. He just had to make sure.

A figure appeared in the corner, striking up from the edge of his desk and making a slight sniffling noise. A girl, a beautiful one with distinct Asian features. Her leather skirt was short, only barely covering past 2 inches of her thigh. Her tits were pushed up to a necklace in a black corset-like top. An ornamental gold necklace.. with the letter M.

Wait. Is that-

That’s where it dawned on you why the name of this club sounded so familiar. On a random Tuesday afternoon, you find yourself standing in front of a celebrity. You were standing in front of Mikasa Ackerman. The Mikasa Ackerman. As in, owner of Mirror Palais, the highest-paid model in Japan, co-owner of one of the best clubs in New York, Mikasa Ackerman. Oh shit.

You remember seeing her on an Instagram reel in front of this very club, along with the other owner. The other owner, his name was.. what was it again? He swivels you around to face him, almost as if he hears your thoughts,

“Eren Yeager, sweetheart.”

A soft handshake accompanied by a gentle tone. He was quick to introduce you to the beautiful eyes that stayed fixed on your face since you walked into the dimly lit room. Eren guides you towards the brown leather couch where his friend is sitting,

“And, this is the lovely Mikasa. I’m sure you sure you know who she is.”

Feeling intimidated by her intense gaze, you nodded quickly and stumbled a bit when introducing yourself. Her following words didn’t calm your nerves anyhow,

“A real pleasure meeting you, beautiful.”

Eren could tell that Mikasa already liked you; the girl was practically fucking you with her eyes. But he wasn’t here for that; he cleared his throat to draw attention to him in the room. He had a goal in mind: to get you signed up. Eren wanted you dancing in his club today.

He sits you down and swiftly gets into business mode.

‘What kind of position are you looking for?’

‘What’s the minimum salary you want to earn here?’

He tries to get a sense of what you’re looking for before proposing to work as a stripper. Although he wants you to, he can compromise. Server position and the minimum salary you asked for was $65,000.

“And I’m not leaving til I get that or something better.”

Well, you wanted better, right? Eren explains to you that his club didn’t have any more waitress positions and Mikasa...

Well, that day, you found out that she was really good with words. She did a great job at convincing you that you’d make double the amount you asked for moving your perfect body on the pole. I mean...

“Look at that body of yours. You’d be pretty famous here, sweetheart.”

And shit, she was right. You really couldn’t blame the girls who never wanted to leave, simply too addicted to the drugs, to the fast life, especially to the money. The amount of money you made every night was simply insurmountable. And you found it funny because it wasn’t just the money. Really, it wasn’t.

The sensation that occurs when your lower body rotates on the pole. The art of dancing like this ignited such a passion from you. The attention, from the men and the women. One of the most popular clubs in the city had you as a crowd favorite. You knew it shouldn’t be something you liked; you never wanted to get too wrapped up in a life like this. But shit, it was sensational.

You didn’t let it slip, even though you shined on the stage. There are people who would take advantage of you even more if they knew you actually enjoyed what you do; you know this. When it was time to go, you left with no hesitation. You had to remind yourself of what you were here for, to provide and care for yourself until you find a better job.

And you stuck to that goal for a solid five months; nothing deterred you. Of course, that’s what you’re thinking. In reality, from the very first moment Eren had you on that pole, you found yourself coming back for one reason. Even if you weren’t subconsciously aware of it, him.

Connie, you heard the owner greet one day. He was definitely attractive. There was something about him, something about how he threw money at you and only you. Your body shivered without fail due to the gray eyes that watched your every move. The way he man spreads and tilts his head back when taking a hit, revealing neck tattoos that you know cover his stomach under that black Nike Tech hoodie. He was so fucking fine.

Only a few men can pull off a buzz cut. How does he do it so effortlessly? Maybe it was the color? How would he change it like it was nothing every two weeks?

You noticed he had a thin mustache, and when you got closer to his face.. Fuck. Was that a diamond nose ring?

He was a drug dealer. You caught that three months ago. Around that point, he began asking for you to exclusively serve his section. Eren had no problem with that; after all, this was his friend. But Connie started getting.. greedy. He wanted more than that. He started getting bold. He wanted your body on that twirling solely for him.

“Hell no.”

Eren filled the quiet section. Your body was followed by both green and gray eyes as you moved on the stage, with Connie’s eyes being more intense and focused compared to the other. The thriving club was filled with both of them enjoying a glass of Richard Hennessy Cognac in the VIP area.

Connie never had a good relationship with mixing Henny and weed. He was aware of that. He has a tendency to indulge in sinful thoughts. He didn’t let that stop him from rolling the blunt anyway.

His mind would get drawn towards dangerous places, mainly when he saw you. The way your thong disappeared between your cheeks under your lacey two-piece made him ready to fuck you right there. To show those perverted and prickly eyes that stuck like glue onto you that they could never have you. That you were his. Or, you will be.

Connie hasn’t even fucked you yet. Hasn’t gone anywhere near the sticky wetness he knows you have in between your legs.

You two indulge in what you could only describe as subtle grinding in the back rooms. All the dancing that you’re supposed to be doing on the pole, you’re doing on his lap instead. It was against the rules; you especially knew this. That didn’t stop either of you. Well, more so Connie than you.

At first, his best friend was against it. The customers you brought in were earning him at least $100k a night. While his other show girls were beautiful, you radiated a different type of aura onto the stage. You were something different. It was genuinely insane how you could move, you didn’t even have prior training. You found that every night, you got better than the previous; it was a natural talent.

Connie, being Connie, offered Eren twice that amount for every night he gets to spend with you alone. That was every night you were on the clock, besides, he had no problem making that back by the next day. When it came to his girl, there was never a problem for him.

And Connie never regretted the amount he spent on you. Being alone with you was something he had grown to crave incessantly. To him? It was worth it. He’d get so excited to just walk into the back room and find you waiting for him. All pretty, just tempting him to ruin you. Then, when you start performing in front of him, your body moves in a way that would hypnotize the stoic man.

And it wasn’t just your body to Connie. There was a certain allure to you. He was observant of the way you moved, spoke, and behaved. He understood that someone like you doesn’t come by every day. He just had to have you, own you. Your body, your fucking soul, everything you possessed, he wanted it for himself. He didn’t care if it sounded selfish; he’s okay with being that when it comes to you.

It’s reasonable to assume that he would have the final say on what you wear for him since he was the only person you would dance for, right? That was the route he took to get your number. That’s the reason you got a text from him while you were getting ready to shower for your night shift.

One of his friends- Was he talking about Mikasa?

You could have given it more thought, but your shift was only an hour away, and Connie was on his way. Using a small gray towel, you drape it onto the fat of your wet boobs. Your hands lather your Shea Butter oil on the top of your left thigh quickly, but you stop when your doorbell rings.

“Coming!”

You yelp, quickly slip on your slippers, and move toward the door. The man had always taken you home, and on the other side of the coin, he always took you to work. You didn’t bother asking how he knew your address the first time, afraid that it would spark an answer you’re not ready to hear. Occasionally, if you were too intoxicated to carry yourself to your apartment, he would act as your knight in shining armor and hold you in bridal fashion to your door without saying a word.

It should have been simple enough: he goes in and gets out. And it would have been that simple if he hadn’t seen your pink lacy thong loosely hanging off your door knob. He was simply a man, one who desired to feel every part of you. The tip of that thong was hanging out of his pockets when Connie left your apartment that night.

Swinging your door open makes you almost breathless. Connie was a tall person. Everything about him just screamed: big. He was easily over 6 feet 2 inches tall, and he came to your door carrying a medium-sized shopping bag. You step back, observing as he comes in right after taking his slides off by your door.

“You’re here early, Con. I’m not ready yet.” You whisper, still a little perplexed he’s already here. Despite the amount of money you know he has, you rarely ever see him in anything other than a white tee and black sweats. Today was no different. Minor differences in each pair made it clear that they were different every time. You suppose it had something to do with his dangerous line of work.

He hands you the cream-colored bag, and his eyes never leave your lips all the while. You suddenly became very conscious that you were breathing the same air as Connie, who appeared right in front of you. He leans in, the ghost of his lips felt against your collarbone,

“You smell good,” His tatted hands sneakily climbed their way onto your wide hips. Before muttering a curse under his breath, he squeezes once. For the first time since meeting you, Connie isn’t being truthful. He didn’t come to your apartment to take you to your job. Tonight, he had different intentions.

He came tonight to put a full stop to the cat-and-mouse game that you guys have been playing for the past five months. Two fully packed blunts and three shots of Don Julio convinced him that his attraction towards you was not going away.

He should’ve realized it when he started making a habit of watching over you outside of the strip club. She needs someone to protect her, he thinks. You don’t pay attention to your surroundings. You have no idea, don’t you? Your beauty could easily lead to someone from the club becoming obsessed and following you. Anyone who wasn’t him.

He also should’ve realized it when he started beating his dick into overstimulation to your pictures on Instagram. And after your shift. Of course, before your shift. Eren witnessed him having to excuse himself during your shift because his dick was painfully throbbing against his boxers.

Connie really liked you. And somewhere in that twisted mind of his, he believed that you two were truly meant for each other. He should’ve never waited this long, “Put this on, ma.”

He pushes the bag towards your chest and moves your hips in the direction of your room. Your thighs twitch as you hum and make a little run to the end of your hall. He follows after you slowly, eyes shifting to the way your ass peaks out from under the towel.

This scene feels oddly familiar. A predator stalking its prey, just waiting for the right moment to pounce. You didn’t know what Connie came here to do; in your mind, you were just getting ready for work. He almost felt sorry for you, almost felt sorry for how he was going to ruin you, almost.

He made sure to take his time approaching your door so that you could be ready and prepared for him when he arrived. And you didn’t disappoint. In front of your vanity makeup mirror, you were sat on the cushion chair. Applying what looked like oil from a flower bottle onto your neck.

You look better in the dress than he expected. Your fat tits sitting so perfectly, and the lace meshing with your skin. You pretended to ignore him behind your seat, starting to feel the weight of his presence around you. This was probably the thinnest item you had ever owned, yet his hands pressing on your shoulders made your skin feel like it was on hot volcanic soil.

You catch his eye in the mirror, and despite your flustered state, he doesn’t grant you the satisfaction of looking away. Not even while his hands lower down to your rib cage, right under your plush boobs. Especially not even while his giant palms wrap around the fabric covering your nipple in a tight grip.

You gasp, a moan bottling in your throat, “C-Con!”

It could have been the way you uttered his name or the way your head pressed against his chest. Regardless, Connie lost control and dropped his head into the crook of your neck, beginning to sprinkle small, wet kisses. He grips harder, and you... you get louder.

“You drive me fucking insane,” Your flesh is now exposed to his hands as they slip into the dress. “Skin so soft,” He kneads his hands into your chest, squeezing as if he’s hoping milk will pour out of them. He groans, “God, you’re so perfect mama.” The thought of that makes a shiver run down his body.

Poor Mikasa, she spent all night working on that dress once she heard it was for you. Connie didn’t even let it last for a good ten minutes before you heard a faint rip sound in the midst of your whimpers.

Your brain is struggling to keep up with the speed of everything happening. You attempt to tilt your head back, but he shuts it down right away. “Eyes on the mirror.” He moves one hand to your throat, keeping you still. You feel your body shake under his hold, twitching slightly from his small attack. You didn’t have the courage to look away, not even as far as you could.

“I’ve been so patient.” Squeezing your left nipple, he drops his fingers down the ripped material until they reach the top of your pussy lips. “Cumming to the thought of your pretty face like a fucking teenager,” His words bring a mewl to your lips. Your body starts sweating, nervous at the way his fingers are just rubbing circles around your skin.

Would he pull away if your hips jerked against his hand? You hoped against all odds that he wouldn’t. You’ve never allowed yourself to feel this desperate for anyone, but being around Connie left you like this. You were at a loss for what to do. Your thoughts were racing to find something, anything, that would bring him closer to you.

It’s unclear what motivated him to answer your prayers. But in the next moment, he pushed his middle finger into the center of where your slick was overflowing onto the cushion. He creates slight tap sounds with the puddle between your fat lips, playing with you.

Your eyes close for just a second and burst wide open when you feel a sudden intrusion in your sticky hole. “A-Ah!” A sob leaves your lips, your eyes falling back to your face in the mirror when you register his next words,

“Eyes on the mirror, mama. I haven’t done anything to you yet,” As Connie slowly moves his fingers into and out of your dripping core, his eyes struggle to keep track of your face in the mirror or the stain you’re beginning to make on his digits.

He settles with the stain you’re creating. He’s massaging your walls in a way that you can’t help but cover them in a creamy white. It’s impossible not to moan with shaky breaths, whispering his name. He figures the wait was worth it. His dreams couldn’t have prepared him for the real thing. It was more noisy, was more sticky, and it was.. real.

What do you taste like?

Your hips shake as he suddenly removes his fingers from you. You whimper, annoyed by the absence of the touch of fingers on your wet walls, but you stop yourself when you see his movements in the mirror. His mouth wraps around his middle and ring finger, sucking your juices to the fullest. Your breathing stops when he moans, “You taste so fucking good.”

Connie silently pulls you up from your seat and presses you against the nearest wall, causing the ripped dress to fall to the floor. Instantly, your back arched into the prominent bulge that was pressing on your bare ass. Your thoughts wander back to your last session with Connie in the backroom. All that desperate grinding.

“You were squeezing so tight around my fingers,” He pushes his sweat down to remove his throbbing hard dick with a little effort. “Y’gonna squeeze my dick like that next?”

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

You jump every time the base of his cock slaps down on your ass. Both of his hands grip your sides, his eyes rolling back as he slides his dick back and forth in between your leaking pussy lips.

“Oh f-fuck! Connie,”

Your voice cracks when you call out for him, and he smiles. He cannot deny that this is the perfect thing; it was always meant to be like this. He spreads your cheeks as wide as he can, lining his tip up to your hole that’s clenching around nothing.

“Yeah, b-baby?” Fuck, you were so wet. “Want me to fuck you? Want- Oh fuck. Want Connie to make you scream?”

Your lips tremble, and you try to slide his dick inside you by pushing your hips back. He lets you, too weak himself, to stop you from taking what you wanted. All you can think right now is Connie, Connie, fucking Connie.

“Shittt. Want y-y’to to make me cum! P-please!”

Pushing him even further inside without his help proves to him that you truly want him to make you scream. You’re barely making it halfway with his thick and long build. Connie is incredibly proud of you right now, taking his dick like a desperate bitch and moaning to fuck the rest of his inches in.

He pulls a little of himself out of you, only to flush his hips abruptly against yours with one single push. Groaning at the same time you gasp out, he whispers in your ear, “Scream for daddy, mama.”

You were so full. His cock tip was touching places that you’ve never been to on your own before, causing your mind to go haywire. His pressure against your cervix was so intense it would have been painful if you weren’t so wet. You oblige almost embarrassingly quickly the moment you feel his dick drag at a steady pace inside of you.

Connie regrets not having done this sooner, as the drugs he took earlier are still mixing in his system, alternating and speeding up his thoughts. His body was ablaze. You’re covering the entire length of his dick with your juices, causing him to become frantic and desperate to get more out of you. His thrusts match his crave. You were warm, and your cries were heaven to his ears, “Big! Y’re so b-big, daddy!”

You’re not complaining, far from it, as he tears your pussy to shreds. In fact, you’re taking him so well, and he praises you for it. Like he said, you were made for this moment, for him. You’re such a,

“Good girl. Fuck! My g-good girl takes me so well,”

He can hear your slick drip on the floor below you despite the smacking sound in your room. You’re so needy for him, as he is for you. The walls echoed with your wailing sounds as you fucked him back, making Connie shudder.

He’s gonna cum. He can feel his balls churning as they slap repeatedly against your twitching clit. Fuck. He’s gonna cum so deep inside you he prays it reaches your womb. Although it’s his first time exploring the depths of your perfect cunt, he recognizes that you’re also going to cum.

He can tell by the way your legs are shaking rapidly, by the way, your moans get higher in pitch, by the way, you’re whispering his name out like a prayer. And he’s determined to make you cum before him. Do you squirt? Do you cream? He thinks he’ll die and go to heaven if it’s both. Your next plea erupts another groan to tumble out his mouth,

“M’gonna- M’gonna cum! O-oh fuck- M’gonna cum so h-hard.”

Holding your arms behind your back with his tatted hand, he moves his hips inside you at a faster pace than ever before. “Shit. Me t-too, mama.” He angles his waist to keep pressing into that spongy spot that makes you tremble. “Just like that. Cum, baby. C-cum all over this fat dick.”

Small tears start to fall down your brown cheeks, and your back arches sharply on Connie, causing your stomach to clench at once. The man above you receives both your cream and squirt splashing from your sweet core, and you weep. Your muffled moans fill the air as he cranes your neck towards him for a nasty, drooling kiss.

As he gets closer to his orgasm, his rapid thrusts become sloppy and crazed, and his heart beats twice as fast as he sees the beauty fucked out underneath him. The more Connie moved inside of you, the more he swayed. Your essence was covering his lower half so much that he couldn’t wait another minute before dumping his kids against your cervix, a shaky moan accompanying his release.

His thrusts slow down, causing tiny drops to spill onto the floor, but his lips never leave yours, and he has to remind himself to let you breathe when you start to whine against his mouth. He lets you go and instead presses tiny kisses against your panting mouth.

Both of you, Connie in particular, were on cloud nine. Your clenching onto him brings Connie’s mind back to Earth, but he is not satisfied. He wanted to go again. He needed it, so it was only natural he started moving at a steadfast pace inside you again.

“Again. Let’s go a-again, mama. Shitt. Your pussy is so-”

Before that night, you’ve never experienced pleasure on this level. Connie took you, on every corner of the house. Both of you left unaware of Eren’s multiple missed calls as he fucked his cum into you like a dog in heat. It’s safe to say that you didn’t show up for work that night or the night after. Connie made sure you never danced at a strip club again.

@hatake05 @thickbihhwitdagapp 🫶🏾

#lumiwrites #plug connie #connie springer x black reader smut #18+ content #aot smau #aot smut #aot x black reader #aot x reader #aot x black y/n #connie springer #connie x black reader #connie x black y/n #connie x you #mikasa ackerman #mikasa aot #connie aot #connie attack on titan #eren yeager x black reader #eren yeager #mikasa x reader #mikasa x black reader #aot fanfiction #x black reader smut

[sinsirellaxx]

The prince of your dreams

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Warning: canon-typical violence.

A/N: Should this be a story/one shot? Would you be interested? Let me know!

PS: I'm currently obsessed with Daemon ... 😤

You had heard tales of dragons – they were told to be majestic but fearful creatures. And everyone who has heard of dragons also knows of the history of the dragon riders.

Just like every other girl, you had dreamed of your prince in shining armor – but instead of a white horse, the prince of your dreams came on dragon back.

A decade later you were taught that the prince on dragon back wouldn’t be your dream prince but the prince of your nightmares – setting your whole world on fire. Screams of panic and grief filled the usually silent night air followed by the sound of destruction. The smell of sulfur and fire woke you from your peaceful slumber, the distant cries of your folk drawing you from the comfort of your warm bed.

You clumsily stumbled out of your bed, almost tripping in your haste to reach the window – you could feel your heart in your throat as you pushed aside the curtains.

Hell – your eyes were met with the sight of a sea of fire – people were running out of their homes and onto the streets, trying to hide from the spreading fire.

Confusion overcame you and left you motionless – it looked like it rained lava.

Frantic knocking on your door pulled you away from your window. Your mother’s panicked voice calling out to you, telling you you had to leave.

Grabbing a silk robe, you threw it around you before rushing out, your mother’s weirdly cold hands grabbing you and pulling you along. You had never seen your mother that distressed before. You wondered why. It was just a fire – right?

You asked your mother why she was so scared, but she didn’t answer, instead she continued running.

Before you could repeat your question, a sudden heat tickled your back, the sound of concrete crumbling followed by the crackling of fire overwhelmed your senses as you forced your head to turn around as much as possible. One half of your home lay in ashes – you would have died if not for your mother. Your eyes widened as the grip on your mother’s hand tightened, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest.

When you finally made it outside you almost crashed into your neighbors, your home had completely been engulfed in flames by now as you maneuvered through the crowded city. It was complete chaos. When you heard a monstrous screeching sound you stopped in your tracks, turning around to locate the sound.

Your whole body froze, eyes wide as you took in the sight in front of you. A huge beast with wings hovered in front of you, teeth barred and its silhouette casting a shadow over you – swallowing you in complete darkness.

It was a dragon.

Remembering the tales from your childhood your eyes immediately looked for a dragon rider – it had to have one, right?

And sure enough, your eyes spot a knight with blonde-silver hair on the back of the beast – just like the prince of your dreams. But instead of swooping in to save and love you he wreaked havoc over your city, burning everything and everyone without a second thought.

Fire and blood.

#hotd daemon #daemon targaryen x reader #prince daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd imagines #fire and blood #a song of ice and fire

[sophieeeet]

Her Warmth, My Peace

<<<Pairing : Bf!Jay x Gf!FemReader

<<<Synopsis: As Soon as you came into Jay's life things weren't the way it used to be and He Loves that

<<<Genre: Nonidol!Jay x nonidol FemReader , Fluff, Tooth-roting fluff , Jay's in so much Love ( as well as reader) , Realisation of Love etc

Jay’s side of the bed wouldn't even be called Jay's anymore. you sleep there nearly every day, blaming it on how the pillows smell of him.

Jay’s clothes aren't his anymore, you're sleeping in his shorts and t-shirt tonight. you wore his shirt yesterday, and took his ties for some clothes experiments last week.

Jay’s sacred Guitars are no longer his own, he finds you on the floor as you try to make up a new Melodies out of it & Sometimes you just forgot to put them back at its place, leaving them on floor or table.

Jay's Love for Making food has Grown more as he made his mission to try out recipes that you picked out for him to make every weekend, Even though sometimes they don't turn out to be great you still devour his creation like it's not bland in taste only for Jay to practically steal the plate forcefully from you as it's not healthy to eat a Raw Steak as he settles for a take out while laughing at your pout

Jay’s mugs are now shared, always in the dishwasher even when he doesn't recall using them at all.

Jay’s thoughts don't belong just to him anymore. you'd bug him about it all day if he doesn't share what he's thinking so he, with an exasperated sigh while chuckling at your intrigued expression, tells you what's on his mind.

Jay’s salary doesn't go straight to his savings account like it used to, instead taking a portion of it to spend on you. 'you' means gifts, flowers, dates, Restaurants, trips, trinkets, and so on.

Jay’s weekends aren't as quiet as they once were; now they're chaotic, full of so much of you.

Jay’s fridge is full nowadays. candy, leftovers, ice cream, cheese, cake, bread, and the list goes on. so many things that don't go along with his diet fill the once-empty shelves.

Jay doesn't spend as much time in his study as before you moved in. now old books are left to collect dust, long forgotten in a room that's never lit. even when he decides to pick one up and read it, it's the minute that he sees your face the book is tossed away.

Jay's Happiness still comes from days off, but now it's because those days are spent with you. days when he slept long and ignores the world are long gone, now he gets to sit and focus on you, watching as everything else becomes nothing but background noise.

Jay has always been sure he's not looking for marriage, at least not right now. but he swears that ring looks so perfect for you. there's no way he'd miss it.

Jay stands in front of the bathroom mirror 5 minutes late every day because you're still figuring out how to fix his tie the right way without any help. he can't seem to rush you, though what's being precisely on time have on your little giggles as you sit on the sink and struggle to finish a task he could have done in under a minute?

Jay has been spending so much time eating as of late, more time than he can afford. while he used to finish a meal in approximately fifteen minutes, now dinners could stretch to two hours. he couldn't get off the table early when you sit across from him, talking and joking and doing anything that's not eating. he simply can't possibly not indulge in the little conversations, appreciating every moment he gets to spend in your presence.

Jay’s trip to his Parents house isn’t like before anymore as He’s grinning from ear to ear as he listens to your and his mother rant about something but he can’t seem to focus as his eyes stays on and his mother.

It isn’t like before when at dining table all his parents could ever talk about is You making Jay indulge in every conversation as he states what’s your like and dislike.

Jay’s life wouldn't even be called his anymore. you're a storm, invading his life all at once, bringing in your chaos along with you. you've infatuated him, you've assailed his senses and changed his very being. every time Jay’s eyes align with yours, he prays your presence isn't a fleeting one. he silently hopes you don't leave as suddenly as you came, that you plan to stay.

#park jeongseong #jay park #enha imagines #enha fluff #enha x reader #enhypen #enha #jake enhypen #jay enhypen #yang jungwon #lee heeseung #sim jaeyun #sunghoon #kim sunoo #niki #kpop #jay smut #jay smau #kpop smau #enhypen smut #enhypen smau

[rebelliousstories]

Vaultie

Relationship: Cooper “The Ghoul” Howard x Reader

Fandom: Fallout

Request: Yes by @silverose365

Warnings: Angst, Strong Language, Fluff, Allusions to Cannibalism

Word Count: 2,119

Main Masterlist: Here

Fallout Masterlist: Here

Summary: If Cooper Howard had a nickel for every time he came across an escaped vault dweller looking to find her father and to change the world…

The sight of the blue Vault-Tec wandering through the Wasteland made The Ghoul let out a low growl. How many of these people were going to be popping up? He watched her wander around, trying to talk to some people, but they had just turned her away at the first sight of blue. She was not much different than the other Vaultie he had come across. Same kind of naive look in her eyes, along with hope. Hope was a commodity up here. Just as he was finishing up his last drink at the one bar within a hundred miles that would actually take his caps, this vault dweller strolled right on up to him.

“Excuse me, I was wondering if you were interested in a trade.” She pitched, shoulders back and a determined look on her face.

“Sorry darlin’, not interested in a whore tonight.” Howard spoke with a low drawl. He got great joy of seeing the appalled look on the vault girl’s face.

“Oh, I’m not a- that’s, that’s not what I was offering. I was wondering if you could tell me how to get to this location. I have caps.” Pulling a piece of paper from her suit, she procured a pencil as well from a separate pouch. She put those items in one hand, and she wrestled with a bag on her hip that Cooper could hear the clanking of bottle caps coming from. The paper and pencil were set down in front of the ghoul, and she got her caps ready to give away. He grabbed the paper from the table and eyed her wearily as he read the address.

“Now what’s a vault dweller like you,” he gestured to her, “doing in a place like this,” motioning to their surroundings, “and looking for a place like this?” He finished by holding up the paper.

“I’m looking into Vault-Tec. The experiment they were running in my vault, it was barbaric to say the least. And when I found out things that I should not have, I escaped to here. The people down there, they don’t know any different than their life that has been played with and manipulated.” She explained, sitting down in the chair across from The Ghoul.

“Well, that is some might fine ideas. Afraid it won’t get you nowhere up here. Every few years, someone has a great idea to save the world. But it’s just a load of horseshit.” Cooper went on, fiddling with the paper in his hands.

“Look, I don’t particularly care about that. I’m on my own mission, and I need help to navigate this place. Now, what do you say? Fifty caps for directions on how to get there?” This Vaultie was testing his patience, but fifty caps is fifty caps. Without a word, Cooper wrote down on the piece of paper all the directions she would need. After that it was up to her to interpret and follow them.

“The caps?” He held out his hand while holding back the paper. Once the bottle caps were placed n his grasp, he counted them quickly, before handing over the paper and pencil to the Vaultie. But when she leaned in close, that is when he saw it. Words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them.

“I didn’t catch your name, darlin’.” Cooper prompted, tugging back the paper at the last second before she could grasp it.

“I didn’t throw it. May I please have my paper and pencil back?” She tried one more time to swipe them, but Cooper was faster than she was.

“Be warned now. You go lookin’ into Vault-Tec, you probably not gonna like what you find. It’s a whole mess of an operation.” He stated, low and slow. There was something about this girl in front of him that he just could not put his finger on.

“I appreciate the concern, but I’m going to find out what they’re doing, and expose them.” Finally, she was able to get her hands on the paper and pencil in his other hand. She stood from the table, and turned to to leave when something that Cooper said caught her attention.

“You never know who is gonna be the one behind the shitstorm. Could be someone close to you. I don’t think your mind can handle the truth once you find it out, Vaultie.” Her face was thick with confusion, and then it was full of fury.

“I don’t give a fuck what you think I can and can’t handle. And I don’t know what kind of grudge you hold against us, but I couldn’t really care less. Besides, you took my caps so surely you can’t hate me that much.” And with that, she made her way out of the bar, and into the sweltering day ahead.

Cooper sat in that bar for a good long while nursing his final drink. This vault dweller was certainly different than the previous one. She could hold her own but to what end? Surely, she was not going to last long in the Wasteland. Downing the rest of the liquor, he threw some caps on to the table, pocketed the rest and set out. It was not hard for him to find her; the tracks in the sand making it easy. But he kept a distance from her, and made sure she never knew he was there.

As they traveled, Cooper saw less and less of a vault dweller, and more of a surface dweller in her. The way she negotiated, carried herself, and overall acted; you would never be able to tell she came from a vault had it not been for that blue jumpsuit. He never intervened, always waiting on the sidelines. But he did keep an eye on this determined vault dweller. The scariest part of her journey was when they came across fiends.

“Hello, little lady. What are you doin’ out here?” A man leered at her, crowding her against the side of the building that Cooper had hid behind. He watched intently, waiting to see if he would need to intervene.

“I’m just passing through. Excuse me.” She tried to move past the man, but he shoved her back. Another fiend came around to crowd her in, and another, and another, and another. She was outnumbered five to one, and was looking around in a desperate attempt to find an opening. Cooper moved his duster back and had his hand on his pistol, ready to dispatch of these men. However, that thought made him pause. What was he doing following this girl on her journey? Maybe that other vault dweller was making him soft. No, it could not be.

“Oh, she’s got manners. That’s a real sweet thing to come out of your mouth. Hopefully the rest of you is that sweet.” The leader made a move to grab her, and Cooper was ready to draw his pistol when a shot rang out.

The lead fiend dropped to the ground dead. Her gun was still smoking, and she wasted no time in shooting the four other men who tried to touch her again. By the end, she was splattered with blood and breathing heavily. She began to loot through their bodies while Cooper moved further back in the shadows. He tried to make no noise, but a rock slipped from under his feet and made the Vaultie’s head whip around to where he was standing. There was a beat of silence, but she turned back to her task at hand when she did not hear anything else.

From then on, Cooper had no reason not to trust that she could handle herself. It had been so long that he had cared for anyone other than himself. The feeling was so foreign now, but it crept in without his say so. The unknowing duo walked for days and days, until finally their destination came into view. The broken, and abandoned building stood tall even with all thee destruction around it. She made her way in, but Cooper remained outside. The Ghoul found the shadiest spot alongside the building, and stopped for a rest and water.

The vault dweller began to look around the decrepit building, finding the floor where Vault-Tec records were held, and began to climb the stairs. There was nothing stopping her now; she could see the finish line. Once she was inside the Vault-Tec office, she Egan rifling through the files on the desks. What she found, astounded her.

Hundreds of vaults, and their subsequent experiments. The depth of human depravity never ceased to amaze her. While the description of her vault made her angry, the others made her blood boil. Human lives treated like lab rats in a sick and twisted experiment for society’s so called betterment. Stowing the files in her bag, she began to look around for information from before the vaults. Files detailing how they would get people down into those vaults that they created were littered about. But the more she read, the more the was enraged. However, there was one file that caught her attention.

Pages that described the bombings in great detail, dated hundreds of years ago. And she read through everyone. She was losing daylight, but she needed to read through everything. Her eyes scanned hundreds of words, and was trying to process everything when she finally go to the page that was used as the sign off sheets for the bombings. When she read the names of those who signed off, her heart dropped. The file slipped out of her hand, and there was no feeling left in her body.

Her father signed off on these bombs.

It took a while for the feeling to return to her limbs. When it finally all hit her, a scream tore through her vocal chords before she could stop it. All the pent up emotions and memories that now felt scarred; it was all coming out now. She calmed herself down, and snatched the file from the ground. As much as she hated it, she knew it was going to be important. There was no way around it if she wanted to help the people in the vaults.

Making her way back outside the building, the sunset ahead was painting the sky in a brilliant red with streaks of purple and orange. She went to turn the side of the building and was met with The Ghoul that had first helped her with the directions that led her here. He was leaning against the building, but was quick to stand up straight when he heard her round the corner. His undead heart broke just a little bit when he saw the broke look on her face. It was so different to the determined face that she held, even in the times that she should have been scared out of her wits.

“You alright there, Vaultie?” His tone was laced with concern that was not normal anymore. Cooper stepped closer, opened his arms, and brought her in close. She tried to fight, but her arms felt weak even to her as she tried to hit the ghoul before her. Her punches did not even make a dent in the man, but he let her get all of her frustration out before he knew the inevitable drop. And drop she did. Once her energy and anger were exhausted, her legs gave way and she collapsed in Cooper.

“Calm down there, darlin’. You’re alright now. The pain’ll go away soon.” He comforted the girl in his arms.

“Did you know?” She whispered, her voice hoarse.

“Yes.” He replied.

“I know it stings, darlin’. I warned you not to go lookin’. Knew you wouldn’t like what you found.” Howard continued, now stroking his gloved hand over her hair.

“But I needed to. I need to know what is going on. It’s so sheltered down there, and people are so naive. They deserve to know,” came her soft cry. It broke his heart even further apart.

“You’re doin’ a very selfless thing here. You’re gonna be alright though. Already survived bein’ up here for this long. You’ll make it up here Vaultie.” It was comforting to hear such kind words after being on the surface and away from home for so long.

All the girl did was nod into The Ghoul’s chest. She was going to be fine, and she was going to help the people in the vaults. Her mind was alright made up; she was no longer going to be a vault dweller and apart of their twisted system. She was now a surface dweller, and really needed to get rid of her jumpsuit.

#rebelliousstories #writing #cooper the ghoul howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard imagine #cooper howard #the ghoul imagine #the ghoul fallout #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul #fallout imagine #fallout

[looneyleyle]

the self-destructive habits of a hopeless romantic ~ j. hughes

synopsis: monetizing one's self-sabotaging habits, surprisingly, has its downfalls. one of them being leaving that one attractive hockey player that is an absolute gentleman who loves you with his whole entire heart.

warnings: self-sabotage, self-deprecation, angsty (but with happy ending)

word count: 3425 words

note: once again unedited but i wanted to get this one out there

???'s pov

time and time again, the world has seen the self destructive habits of humans. well, that makes it seem serious. the world has seen the countless missed opportunities due to a fear of another's reaction. the world has seen the blunders due to saving face. the world has seen the heartbreaks due to miscommunication. time and time again, the world has seen how people sabotage their own lives for the dumbest reasons.

esther graham was no different.

in fact, she capitalized on her ability to put herself into the worst emotional distress possible. every heartbreak produced a great work of literature that would nearly sell out in bookstores all over the northeast. she wasn't a new york times best seller by any means, but she was a small town writer from mont vernon, new hampshire. she made a name for herself during her time at hamilton college in their creative writing program. in her junior year of college, she published her first book, woes of a teenage failure, a novel following what could have been for a young college drop out named sophia. the book was a hit amongst her peers and professors, and by word of mouth, ended up selling 200 copies. the book, as ms. graham remarked, was her own "what-if" story, as she almost dropped out of college the beginning of her sophomore year.

and how do i know so much about ms. graham?

well, because i am ms. esther graham.

and i'm here to tell you all about the biggest blunder of my life.

after my first book, i hit major writing block. i would stare at my computer screen for hours just to delete the only three words that i could come up with. i would sit in coffee shops, pen in hand, ready for inspiration to strike, and yet, nothing. i was nearing the end of my college career, riding on the coattails of my first and only book's success, and couldn't figure out how to continue. my professors taught me plenty of ways to try and combat writer's block, but nothing worked.

until i met ryan. a devilishly handsome man all the way from the cheese state of wisconsin, who was meeting up with some college friends for the annual boston beanpot. we had our meet cute at a nearby pizza joint, in which i sat down and started chatting with him, thinking he was a publisher that i was supposed to meet with. after realizing my blunder when he had absolutely no idea what an anthology was, he asked if i wanted to join him and his friends at the beanpot, as one of their friends had cancelled, leaving them with an extra ticket.

ryan and i dated for four months. we would take turns traveling between my college in new york and his in wisconsin until eventually it became too much, or should i say, too little for him, and he broke it off. in my rage and complete depression from the breakup, i wrote my next hit, until the sun sets, a 142-page anthology of gut-wrenching poems, which was eventually integrated into hamilton college's curriculum for their young adult modern literature class. i was quite proud of that.

after that, i found myself yet again staring at blanks screens and empty notepads.

that is, until chloe. a beautiful new york native whom i had actually met while dating ryan. she was a hostess at a restaurant ryan and i would always go to. she was pursuing her masters in psychology, which gave me fascinating insights and tactics to use in my books. we were never officially together, but we had something for almost three months before she was whisked off by some californian named ella. i never saw her again, which prompted my next book, the ninth floor, a murder mystery following a closeted lesbian couple in 1940's hollywood (it was one of the girlfriends the whole time).

at this point, when i hit a creative block for the third time, i realized that i needed my heart or brain to be in absolute shambles in order to produce my best work. i needed to be at some sort of life crisis, and the easiest way to do so was to love another and let that love be ripped out of your life.

so, i began dating for the sake of my career. it was like i sought out the most manipulative, scummy people in the world who were able to get away with it just because they were attractive. over the course of a year, my first year out of college, i dated a total of three men and one woman, and poured my emotions out into a collection of short stories titled lavender.

and that was when i met jack.

i was in new jersey for a book signing at this little bookstore which, as it turns out, was right by the prudential center. as i left the bookstore, i was nearly run over by an overly excited man-child with a giant bag slung upon his shoulder.

"luke, watch out, you nearly killed that woman!" a voice yelled from where the man came from.

"i'm so sorry about that miss, my brother can get a bit overexcited sometimes." looking at the person talking to me, i found a young, very attractive brunet with the most adorable smile. i straightened myself up instinctively, wanting to appear presentable.

"no worries. if you don't mind me asking, what got him so riled up that he almost trampled me?" the man let out a laugh at my statement.

"of course, we owe you at least that much for your near-death experience. he just got nominated for the calder trophy." he explained, as if those words meant anything to me. seeing my blank stare, he clarified. "a rookie of the year award. we play for the new jersey devils." the boy in question came up and joined us, grinning ear to ear.

"ahhh, i see. i'm not a big hockey watcher, which i know is absolute blasphemy for someone who grew up in new hampshire." his jaw nearly dropped.

"you're from up here and don't like hockey? we have to change that." he exclaimed. in my peripheral vision, i could see his brother trying to hide his laughter at his brother's forwardness.

"ill have to come and watch a game sometime." i mused.

"we have a game coming up next week against the blue jackets. i could maybe snatch you a seat in exchange for your number." he proposed. his brother snorted at that, having to turn around to hide his obvious laughter. the man paid his brother no mind, just looking at me with a big smile on his face.

"trying to bribe me mister?"

"is it working?" i put my hand out and he immediately put his phone in my hand, adding my information into his contacts.

"esther? that's nice, you look like a esther." i quirked an eyebrow at him, but continued on anyways.

"and you? what should i call you?"

"call me yours. or jack, either works." the brother was doubled over on the floor at this point, jack finally acknowledging him by kicking him slightly, making him fall over.

"anyways, ms. esther, we have to get going, but ill see you next week at our game." he put out his hand for me to shake.

"you've got yourself a deal jack."

and just like that, jack and i started talking. his eagerness was cute, he texted me no more than ten minutes after meeting me. we talked every day, mainly on calls, asking each other questions and such to get to know each other.

and sure enough, the next week, i found myself back in new jersey watching the brothers play. i assumed jack was going to be some sort of benchwarmer or something, but that didn't seem to be the case. despite my lack of hockey knowledge, i could tell the boy was good, and he had quite a fan base if the amount of women wearing his jersey meant anything. and i felt severely out of place, simply wearing a grey sweater and jeans, unlike everyone else in the stands, decked out in red.

after that, i found myself going to a couple more hockey games, for no particular reason. jack would try to explain the game over video calls and our occasional coffee meet ups, but i couldn't for the life of me wrap my head around it. why do they all get off the ice every five seconds? and what the hell is offsides?? jack always laughed at my confusion, telling me that i'd get it one day.

we spent a couple months thriving off of video chats and once-in-a-blue-moon hangouts, until i got a job as an editor for a local paper. i was good at editing, always having good grammar and an eye for design, but it wasn't my dream. despite it not being my dream, i needed a stable income, and fast. my mind was devoid of ideas, and it didn't seem like that would change any time soon.

plus, it helped that this stable income happened to be in new york city, putting me a lot closer to a certain someone. and, with me being closer, that certain someone would pop on by a lot more than before. and eventually, chinese takeout dinners turned into staying the night, which turned into coming up for the weekend, which turned into the line of friendship being crossed into something more.

and then, i made the dumbest mistake of my life.

i let him go.

now, i know what you must be thinking. he must have done something wrong, he must have cheated or neglected me or done something so completely unforgivable that i would just throw away the most amazing thing in my life. and i wish i was here to tell you that was the truth.

but it wasn't.

jack was nothing but a gentleman, and i was just a broken girl doing the only thing i knew how to do: leave. i like to tell myself that it was for my career, that i needed to write another book, that i wasn't fulfilled in my job and that i was putting myself first by doing this, but i was perfectly content with my life. i was an editor for a major publishing company, i started writing little happy poems about my mundane life with jack, and wanted nothing more. i had no reason to run away. i just woke up in his bed one day and realized that i wanted to spend the rest of my life with him, and i couldn't accept that. i had gotten so used to leaving people that i assumed that they would leave me if i hadn't done so first, and i couldn't lose the one real thing i ever had.

so naturally, my self-destructive, self-sabotaging self let him go, the exact opposite of what i wanted.

and when i got back to my apartment after writing jack a confusing and half-assed letter, i cried. i cried and cried and cried, and i always wrote about characters crying until they couldn't anymore, but that day, i couldn't find the end to my tears. for hours tears would either slowly leak or violently pour from my eyes, and they never did end, not even when i passed out on my couch from exhaustion.

and after a week, i was expecting to pick myself up and start writing my next best seller, coping with my writing. but i sat there, and my florescent computer screen simply sat there, staring back at me. and when i left my apartment for a change of scenery, the blank pages of my notebook mocked me. i flipped through past works, all of them being little poems about jack, and the waterworks continued, right in the middle of a starbucks.

after a week and four days, i couldn't take it. i had to make things right, i had to at least see him. it always worked in the books, right? someone makes a huge mistake, they break up, they see each other again and realize they're both miserable without each other and then get back together and live happily ever after.

when i knocked on the door to jack's apartment, i was met with an unimpressed looking luke. at the sight of him, the waterworks started up again.

"you're an idiot, you know that?" i nodded furiously at this, sobs wrecking through my body. i couldn't see through the tears in my eyes, but i could tell the luke hadn't moved a muscle.

"he deserved better and you know that." i felt my soul being crushed. "i mean, a letter? seriously esther? and a half-assed one at that. i know damn well you don't have a degree in creative writing for that bullshit."

i opened my mouth to explain, but nothing came up. what would i say, that i was a broken person? cop out. that i did it to everyone? not much better. that i got scared? fucking coward.

"if you think that you deserve to see my brother, then i'll let you in." he told me, moving out of the way, door open wide. i just stood there, staring at him through teary eyes. my brain cheered, finally able to go in, but my feet wouldn't move.

my heart still clenched and ached, and with every thought of moving forward, into that apartment, it hurt more. jack didn't deserve this. after all the nights of him reading my poems about him and praising my work, after all the sweet things he'd say when i was down, after all the little acts of kindness he showed me, after all the love he poured into us, he didn't deserve to be broken by me. hurt people hurt people, the scholars had that right. he didn't deserve to be broken.

and so, i got ready to leave, again.

"i'm sorry." was all i said, turning around with heavy legs and a heavy heart. i heard luke let out a sigh as i walked away, closing the door behind him.

a couple of days went by and i found myself back at their apartment. i knew they wouldn't be there, they had an away game in anaheim the night before, and i knew from my time with jack that they would always spend the night in the city before coming back, especially after a win, a 5-0 win no less.

i stood there in front of their door, a small box in my hands, contemplating. jack didn't deserve this, but a selfish part of me needed this. i placed the box gingerly outside of their door and left the building. if the box was taken by some nosy neighbor, or thrown in the trash by some janitor, then it would be fate. it would be a sign to move on. but, there was a chance that jack and luke would come back to their apartment, and would pick up the box, and jack would recognize my handwriting. and, instead of throwing the box in the trash like any normal self-respecting person receiving a box from their shitty ex, he would take it to his room, and open it up to see my notebook, with a bookmark starting at the pages when i first started seeing him. and he would read the poems and maybe, just maybe, he'd see the note written on the bookmark to meet me at the park near his apartment, and maybe, just maybe, he'd be willing to hear me out.

i went to that park every single day for exactly one month and six days, always arriving by 1 pm, never late. and i would stay there until 4 pm, waiting.

on the 37th day, i was sitting there, editing, funnily enough, a sports column about the recent devils and islanders game. i watched it, absolutely terrible game it was, the islanders beating the devils for the first time in the season. our sports journalist, while passionate and very knowledgeable about seemingly every sport out there, had a knack for writing long, run-on sentences that reflected his rambling nature. as i sat there on the same park bench i had been sitting on for the previous 36 days, a figure stopped in front of me. i finished up the sentence i was working on before looking up.

and while i hate cliches, the wind was absolutely knocked out of my lungs.

"h-hey jack." i started, immediately putting away my work, giving him my full attention.

"hey esther." a shiver ran down my spine from him just saying my name. it had been so long, and while it lost its loving tone, i welcomed it with open arms. jack moved, taking the spot next to me, looking out at the trees in front of us. when it became apparent he wasn't going to say anything, i started the conversation.

"i see you read the notebook."

"i finished it three weeks ago." he replied, voice lacking its usual emotion. tears welled up in my eyes. three weeks.

"oh."

"i came here immediately after finishing it." i felt my eyes bulge out of their sockets at that. he continued, "i went to that bench over there and watched as you fidgeted in your spot, looking frantically at everyone who passed by. i watched the next day as you sat in the pouring rain with no umbrella. i sat over on that bench every day that i was here since reading your notebook."

a silence fell upon us, my mind reeling, trying to figure out what he was trying to say, from his emotionless face to the fact that he came.

"do you know how much it hurt? waking up to empty sheets and some half-assed note with the lamest excuses on earth?" i hadn't really paid mind to the tears rolling down my cheeks until he brought that up, sending me back to that morning, quickly scribbling out some gibberish before leaving the best part of my life behind.

"i was going to wait another month, y'know. to see if you were still gonna come here every day."

"so why didn't you?" i asked, sniffling intensely, trying to calm down my sobs.

"luke said i was absolutely miserable without you. coach told me i wasn't focused. my teammates pointed out that i barely left my apartment. the icing on the cake was when my mom started asking if you would be coming over to the lakehouse this summer. i realized, as pathetic as it seems, that i can't live without you."

my attempts at stopping my crying were thrown out the window at that. i could probably fill the hudson river with the amount of tears i had shed over the past two months.

"how can i make it up to you. please, please let me make it up to you." i begged, fully facing him, my hands angrily playing with the sleeves of my shirt because if i didn't, i would be reaching out to the man in front of me.

"never pull that shit again." he bargained, looking me dead in the eyes for the first time in months. and in that moment, i saw just how bad he was doing. sunken eyes with heavy bags, his skin dull, hair slightly unkempt under his hat.

"never again." i promised, putting out my pinky to him, something he would always do when he promised me to not get hurt in games. he let out a hoarse laugh, looking away from me, and when he looked back, i saw the tears brewing in his eyes. he took my pinky in his and held it there, between us.

"now, i'm not gonna just take you right back after all that. that was really shitty and i need some time to get over that. but, as i've found out, i can't really function without you. so maybe you could start with coming to my games again, and i could take you out for coffee next week."

"sounds perfect."

i accepted my life as an editor for the local newspaper, accepted that i probably wouldn't write another page-turning sell-out book, accepted that i was completely content with whatever happened to me, so long as jack was there with me.

and with that, my self-destructive, soul-crushing, heart-breaking tendencies reached their end.

#jack hughes #jack hughes x oc #new jersey devils #fanfic

[kissmguts]

I saw you said requests are open and thought I’d send one! (Can I be 🦙anon?? If that isn’t taken by someone else!)

Imagine being Aiden’s sibling (and Ben’s cousin) and dating Tyler. Like just what that’d be like? And also had a thought like I could just see happening with being Aiden’s sibling and dating Tyler 💀.

But like Aiden always unintentionally stopping them from kissing?? Even just a simple kiss on the cheek because he keeps unintentionally interrupting/making it awkward every time. Even funnier if they have yet to have a first kiss and Aiden keeps unintentionally stopping it from happening without realizing?? 😭💀

SO FAR, SO CLOSE

author's note : you can be llama anon (i love ur brain)

concept : being aiden’s sibling AND tyler’s gf? genre : headcanons content : curse words, you’re involved with the phantom world stuff

⠀ › ⠀being aiden’s sibling meant handling annoying situations ⠀ › ⠀growing up, aiden was unintentionally your “patience trainer” ⠀ › ⠀unless you have the same personality as him (which would be way worse than the phantom world, you guys would be the cause of world destruction) ⠀ › ⠀dating tyler at the same time meant dealing with both their bullshit ⠀ › ⠀tyler does try to keep it cool, he doesn’t wanna bother you by shit talking your own brother ⠀ › ⠀tyler gets all “aiden was such a… rascal! he was being so!” he would pause to use the right words ⠀ › ⠀gets irritated when aiden interrupts your kisses to the point he literally accuses aiden of doing it on purpose ⠀ › ⠀”i swear you’re trying to start a fight!” tyler complained ⠀ › ⠀“what happened?” aiden scratched his cheek with a dumb smile ⠀ › ⠀tyler would sometimes blurt out cursewords at aiden “you dumb #### i will #### you! i swear to god!” ⠀ › ⠀at some point tyler would have actually yelled at aiden “i can’t even kiss my own girlfriend because of your lemon-headed ass always having to be everywhere!” ⠀ › ⠀like the twins, it was some unspoken rule to aiden that you wouldn't leave his sight unless you're just in your room chilling.

bonus:

⠀ › ⠀absolute chaos in the phantom world honestly. ⠀ › ⠀tyler would check on his sister and you first, obviously ⠀ › ⠀when tyler would save you from a phantom, he would heavily breathe and ask “you okay?” with his weapon up (blushing n kicking my feet) ⠀ › ⠀aiden would smile at this and kill the next phantom before tyler could and ask you “you okay?” before giggling ⠀ › ⠀tyler’s eye would literally be twitching and the others would have to remind them about the serious situation ⠀ › ⠀so many situations where they exchange “that’s my sibling!” and “that’s my girlfriend!” ⠀ › ⠀whenever you are going out on a date with tyler, aiden would come with you to “drop you off” ⠀ › ⠀you could feel the tension when aiden says goodbye with that eat-shitting grin on his face

#tyler hernandez x reader #sbg x reader #school bus graveyard x reader #school bus graveyard #sbg #sbg (webtoon) #sbg tyler #tyler sbg #aiden sbg #aiden clark #aiden clark sbg #sbg aiden #tyler x reader #aiden x reader

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝕱𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝕾𝖆𝖑𝖛𝖆𝖌𝖊

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Proceeds to do anything, but work on the WIPs*

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗:

Маленький целитель - Little Healer(Russian)

TW // SMUT/NSFW, Noncon and Dubcon, Anal, Overstimulation, Mating Press, Massaging? Yandere Themes, Death, Body Horror.

“Svi” is what she called him, nicknamed him. His original name being far too difficult for her to pronounce. Always managing to mispronounce “slav” at the end of his name “Sviatoslav.” He couldn’t tell if he should be angry at her or not for it, and at first he was.

He was grumpy that he had a human helping him on his recovery. Helping him wrap his flesh wounds. Helping him reconstruct and rewire the bionic parts of himself. Not that she had good enough technology to repair it, but he wasn’t one to whine if it improved his helpless position at the moment. He can always upgrade the work done on him when he was back steadily on his feet.

Though, he would grumble and hiss lowly every time she would try and help him. Turning his body away from her as much as he could from her approaching organic hands. The metal pistons replacing his stomach groaning in protest.

He was already injured enough, he was in no shape or form to move after he got jumped by a warband of feral marines. Their goal to leave him spewing his own lifeline on the forest floor as they were successful of smashing their gauntlets in between his armor and ripping them off like some scavengers. It pained him, it felt like his own limbs were being torn apart and they might as well have been if he hadn’t learned about their group and his heavy warfare tactics. He was barely alive when he found himself in the humans… shed, taking a rest there or his death bed if it wasn’t for the human to find him in their shed.

He questions nightly why the human would save him, an Iron hand. He knows they were not the most pleasing to be around considering their passive-aggressive behavior. Throne, even he was being aggressive towards her, he knows he is, but he doesn’t do anything to correct it. Not when she growls back at him to stay put.

It silence him the first time she got fed up with him moving away from her. Hissing and puffing up at her when she suddenly snarled at him, telling him to stop moving or else she would switch a wire in him. Not that would do much to him and mildly irritate him, but it was the bravery of her saying such demands, such threats to him. He actually stayed still the first time since she started his recovery process. His eyes carefully watching her work delicately across his organic skin and between his bionic parts. How come he didn’t notice her grace before?

He watches her intently everyday then. Ever so silent with a few growls and hisses here and there when she touches a sensitive nerve between flesh and metal, but he doesn’t move away from her. He awaits for her to return to him three times a day, giving him meals to savor on his organic tongue. Sometimes, it’s a little untimely for her arrival that he gets agitated, but she always manages to show up when he was just about to make a move himself to find her.

Within these times of his recovery by her hand. He learns to like, even love her appearance. His hearts in his chest beating just a bit more when he sees her, then deeply ache when she leaves him. It confused him at first until he remembered that “bonds” were a thing in this world.

Was this his bonded? Or was this some sort of psyker trickery playing on him? No, he had way too much self-discipline to have tricks played on him. This was a calling, for him. This bond was his, wholly his. He knows it.

He made her stay with him a night after she delivered his last meal of the day. His half-worked metal arm shooting out and wrapping around her waist and pulling her in his lap. Bringing her back flush against his torso as his metal fingers lightly left tiny circles on her clothed skin above her stomach. Feeling how she slowly relaxed in his embrace. A bit unsure at first, but she leaned back to rest on him rather than leaning away from him.

He sits there, dozing there for a while. His nose nuzzling the top of her head, thinking, enjoying her scent that brought him sudden comfort to his senses. His fingers still circling on top of her clothing until they stop, simply resting on top of his bonded.

His eyes suddenly snap open in a glare and he snarls when he feels her trying to escape his grasp, his willing embrace. Her smaller figure freezing up in her movements to leave him as he shifts in his spot. His form curling over hers while his arms wrap around her torso and pull her back to him, feeling her plush breasts under her layers of clothing. His head leaning down and nuzzle into the side of her neck, his want to just nip at her skin rising as she side eyes him.

“I have someone else to attend to you know.” She mentions and he honestly doesn’t care. He has smelt that other human on her. Not exactly a partner nor a friend, but he can smell the faint whiff of the… attraction this human had for his bonded. His Маленький целитель(little healer.)

He growls in her ear when she makes another attempt to move anyway for him. His hands lightly gripping the sides of her body, pressing into her clothing in a warning. Her scent changing there for a second before she huffs at him, wiggling and settling back into his lap.

“Fine.” She grumbles back at him, shifting in his lap again. Agitating him as he almost growls again, but it turns into a quiet purr as she nuzzles up against his exposed neck. Her arms wrapping up and around his shoulders as much as she could. Settling his their little disagreement.

His hearts ache once again as she leaves him in the cold morning. A reassuring coo falling from her lips. Promising him of her return while a whine of his own nearly left his throat as he swallows it down. His tongue ruffly pressing up against the back of his teeth.

He… he needed more.

He doesn’t know what got into him when he finds himself rising off the dusty ground. His head nearly having a wooden beam above him take him back down, but he proceeds, leaning through the old doorway of the shed. The pistons in his body feeling remarkably better and moveable than the first time he’s tried to move before.

His Маленький целитель(little healer) has gotten better in repairing his bionic attachments. His flesh wounds were no match for her, having healed up quickly with his healing factor. Throne, he should reward her for taking him under her delicate hands just as she was rewarding him with another life. He knows she could have killed him right there, on the spot, but she never held anything towards him. She was… patient with him.

His tongue twists when he picks up the fresh scent of the male through the air, his eyes narrowing at the sudden smell of him. He has never smelt the male so close before. Was he hunting? But it didn’t seem like this one was the type to hunt, he was more like a lazy human, incompetent. Was this male perhaps following his Маленький целитель?(little healer?)

Oh, that thought made him flex his iron hand. A soft shink coming off each finger.

His pistons work hard for him to move at a quick, but stalking pace. Still needing the appropriate parts to work efficiently that only he can get, but he’s silently grateful for the his Маленький целитель(little healer) work or else he wouldn’t be able to protect her.

That word, “protect” screams at him mentally. Urging him to overwork himself to find himself at the edge of his Маленький целитель(little healer) nest. He was sure he would be a thing of steaming metal if he didn’t stop to scope out her nest in front of him. Looking for all the possible exits and opportunities someone might “sneak” in.

He lowly growls into the cold, morning air. A cloud of his exhale and steaming joints surrounding him, his body too hot for the air to cool him off. His eyes searching over the nest for an obvious opening, and he finds an open back door.

He shoots forward when a surprised shout comes from inside of the house. His figure quickly crossing the yard and leaning through an open back door of the nest. Chuffs and clicks coming from him as he stands still for a moment inside of the nest to hear where the commotion is coming from. His head snapping into the pinpointed direction before his body makes a move himself.

“Y-you are not supposed to be here.” He hears his Маленький целитель(little healer) swallow as he comes around an archway, leaning down through it.

“I was worried for you! I keep seeing you go out back of your house, and you usually return before 12, but you didn’t last night!” The male in front of his Маленький целитель(little healer) speaks, twirling an object in his hands.

“You’ve been stalking me?” His Маленький целитель(little healer) questions, keeping her eyes on the male as she slowly backs away from the ever approaching male. The object in his hand becoming a type of knife.

“Now that makes me sound bad!” The male whines, stepping closer. “I was just making sure you and your house was protected!”

“I think, me and you are thinking two different things.” She states.

“No, we are thinking the same things.” The males tone suddenly changed. Sviatoslav fingers slowly moving in anticipation.

“No, we are not.” She rejects boldly.

“Yes, we are.” The male argues, flipping the knife once more in his hand. Stalking forward, oh so stupidly towards his Маленький целитель(little healer.)

He shoots out of the dark then. His iron hand dragging the smaller male up to his much higher level. His silver eyes glaring dangerously down into the males fear stricken eyes. A hiss rumbling through Sviatoslav teeth as the male struggles in his firm hold, his knife stabbing at his iron arm, creating sparks.

Sviatoslav wants to throw the corrupt male across the room. Smash his head through a wall, but he also wants to make sure this… boy stays dead and what’s better than to do that with his own bear hands?

Forcefully putting the male back down on his feet. His hands wrapped around his jaw before pushing through the males mouth, breaking some of the males teeth out to do so as he cry’s out in pain. The males tears running down his cheeks as his fingers positioning on the roof of his mouth and the bottom of his mouth and then he pulls.

The sickening snap of his jaw being ripped from his head cracks out. His once white teeth intact to the jaw, now bloody and flying throughout the room, little tinks sounding across the wooden floorboards. His head, now with no jaw bleeds down the front of the body, pooling below where the body still stands before the knees give up, kneeling below him before flopping to the side. A pool of blood surrounding the twitching body.

Sviatoslav simply rumbles at the sight, throwing the bottom jaw in his hand back to the dying body. The jaw bone cracking underneath the force of his throw.

When he turns back around to see his Маленький целитель(little healer) he purrs quietly at her shocked form, attempting to soothe her as her eyes looked between him and the body that occasionally twitches in its own pool of blood, on her floor, just behind her countertop. He coos at her again, curling his towering form around her and nuzzles into her neck. His breath fanning against her skin as flakes of cold blood touch her skin, sending a shiver through her body. His hands settling on her hips, tracing tiny circles on them.

“S-Svi.” She whispers to him, finally choosing to look at him instead. Her heart pounding in her chest as he gently pushes her towards the island in the room and she hesitantly obeys. Whether it was by shock or not, he still gives her a pleased grumble before he turns her around and softly pushes against her back with his iron hand. His hands pressing down into the curve of her spine as she leans down onto the countertop.

He can smell her uncertainty at his actions, previous and now. How she tenses up when he drags his hands down the more softer parts of her body. How her breath is more quieter than usual.

He leans his body down on top of her. His chest pressing against her back as he softly nuzzles and chuffs quietly at the back of her neck. Attempting to soothe his Маленький целитель(little healer) again.

He knows he has killed someone right in front of her and it’s reasonable for her to be… concerned with him, but he wants her to know he won’t do such a thing to his savior that gave him another chance of his life. He wants to protect and heal her just as she did to him. He wants to show her that she can trust him just as he trusted her to not kill him when she could have.

His hands tug at the loop holes on her pants. His chest rumbling against her back as he starts to kiss at her neck and shoulders. His hips pressing up against her *ss as he eyes how her hands tighten and loosen, still unsure with him.

He stops and coos questionably when she slowly sighs underneath him. His form leaning up to watch as she shimmy’s out of her pants and underwear, letting them lay at her ankles. Her cheeks highlighting from the light above them.

“Just… not through my folds, alright?” She tells him, her face turning red at his staring, unable to make eye contact with him.

He purrs loudly this time, unlike his usual quiet purrs. He body leaning forward again to capture her lips in his, a surprised gasp coming from her as his hands presses and grips her butt cheeks together.

His tongue slips pass her teeth and overwhelms her mouth with his, claiming anything hers as his. His hand fiddling with his cod piece as he works on making his Маленький целитель(little healer) breathless, dizzy on him by just his mouth. Her hand resting on his lower jaw encouraging him.

Leaning back from his Маленький целитель(little healer) to let her breathe. A string of their saliva connected their mouths together until Sviatoslav pressed his chest back into her back, his teeth lightly nipping at her neck and shoulder as she leans back down on the countertop.

Finally freeing his c*ck, he uses her and his arousal to coat his c*ck as lube. Teasing her wet folds with his length as his hands grip and massage her cheeks, opening up her pulsing *ss for him. His c*ck slowly dragging back and forth between her folds before pressing onto her unyielding hole. He had to push a little harder before he popped into her hole with a ‘plop.’

He groans as she whines breathlessly underneath him, her hands immediately gripping the other side of the countertop. Her breaths coming in short the more he slowly edges himself into her tight hole. Her walls pulsing around him, trying to push him back out.

“Svi…” She whines quietly at him. His hands massaging her skin and muscles in order to relax her smaller body, his hands nearly wrapped around her waist fully.

Such a small little thing, he rumbles to himself. Waiting on her to relax before he can start to thrust into her. He doesn’t what to ruin her just yet despite her body tightening around him as he groans again.

She huffs against the counter top when he starts to move, her body rocking with him. Still a bit tight, but he wouldn’t want it any other way. He loves how she tightens around him, how she claws at the countertop to support herself. Not like he was gripping at her hips himself, like she was going to leave him, move away from him. His nose nuzzling into the back of her neck as well.

“S-Svi…” She moans when he goes a little deeper, a little faster that he has her on her tippy toes. Groaning up at him, begging him to rail her again and again and he can’t help but oblige. Growling into her ear as he leans over her some more, putting her into a type of mating press against the cold countertop.

His hands drag along her thigh with his lips suckling on her neck before he picks up her leg and puts it on the countertop for more access into her hole. His hands coming back up on her hips to keep her in place.

She gasps and chokes on thin air as he “slips” out of her and through her wet folds. A squelch-like sound coming out as he buries himself to the hilt before dragging back out. Her body jerking forward in surprise as he pulls her back down on his c*ck with a growl. Her body shaking around him as her toes curl.

“Svi! Svi!” She cries at him. Her hands patting back at him, wanting him off of her and he snarls next to her ear at her. His iron hand coming up to thread through her hair and pin her head to the countertop as tears run down her cheeks. Slobs wreaking through her body.

See what happens when one will try and court you? Try and take you away from me Маленький целитель?(little healer?)

He continues to snarl and growl at his Маленький целитель(little healer) when she try’s to push him off of her. His iron grip never letting her move away from him as he listens to how she cry’s and mewls at him at the same time. Indecisive of she wants to do.

“Svi, p-please!” She begs at him, almost unable to form words to him. Yet he just snaps at her neck in return.

Let him reward you just as you rewarded him, Маленький целитель.(little healer). Let him take care of you and heal you now.

His Маленький целитель(little healer) cry’s out as he burys himself to the hilt. One hand coming up to stop her hand from gripping onto a near by butter knife as he purrs almost darkly in her ear. His other hand keeping her still as she tries to wiggle away from him. His c*ck pumping his seed into her womb as she tenses up beneath him. Her head throwing back as she bites her lip to quiet her moans.

He lowly moans himself as he could feel his seed leak from her hole and around his c*ck, only to puddle down the inside of her thighs and down into her clothing at her ankles. His lips continuing to lap at her sweating neck, tasting her salty sweat on his tongue.

“…Siv.” She heaves breathlessly at him. Her head trying to nuzzle him back as he chirrs lowly, but happily. Then he chuckles as she gasps out again when he snap his hips forward, back into her throbbing core.

Throne, he’s going to have her anywhere he pleased. The kitchen counter top, the wall, the flooring, the dinner table, the top of the couch, the bathroom wall, outside, the nest, in front of the dead man. He was not stopping until he is done. Until his Маленький целитель(little healer) passes out in his arms. He had to reward his Маленький целитель(little healer) after all. For taking such good care of him when he was at his lowest.

Let him take care of you now, Маленький целитель.(little healer).

#space marine husbandry sentience #warhammer 40k #fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #space marine #space marine x reader #adeptus astartes x reader #adeptus astartes #iron hands #oc: sviatoslav #tw: smut #tw: yandere #tw: dubcon #tw: noncon #tw: overstimulation #tw: body horror #tw: death #monogamy #oh…his storyline got dark quick #rut time for the iron hand? #he got a wii bit eager #I miss the wii #puns are not intended

[entities-of-posts]

I had a lot of grotesque dreams last night but I'll save you two of the stranger ones.

The first was that I was doing an assignment for my Biology class, but every time I answered one question, another question appeared and the assignment kept getting longer. I was doing it on the due date and it was so upsetting.

The second was that there were plants growing between my brother's teeth. I didn't believe him when he told me until I saw it, and then I freaked out.

I think they were stress dreams, if that affects any identification.

The second is the Corruption; for the first, it’s difficult to say… the urgency and neverending nature of it could be linked to the Hunt, or perhaps it could be said that you feel Buried under the ever-expanding task. Maybe the feeling of impending doom as the deadline approaches could even be the End… but hear me out now.

Some may call me a conspiracy theorist for this, but theories I have! Have you ever heard of the concept of the Dull?

The reasoning goes as such; humans love balance, love symmetry. The prevalence of inversion theory when it comes to the Fears prove this. And human imagination molds Them. But currently, one Entity is without a dance partner; the newest, still forming Extinction. There is an imbalance, a void waiting to be filled. And what would mirror the Terrible Change? The fear of nothing ever changing. Being stuck in this state of things, monotony, boredom, every day just the same as the last and the next and the next and the next forevermore. This is exhibit A.

Exhibit B: something happened in recent years. Something that left a large part of the world’s population stuck at home, the days bleeding into each other, getting cabin fever, going stir-crazy trying to escape the tedium. An event like this, on such a scale… couldn’t it be the perfect push for Something to start coalescing?

I call it the Dull, the Forever And Ever And Ever And Ever, the Broken Clock. Apathy and endless repetition, lifeless routine, rows and rows of identical greige-painted suburban homes. Always through the same motions with no end in sight. It will always be like this.

Consider it:)

#apologies for using this to springboard my Dull theory. it will happen again. #the corruption #the hunt #the buried #the end #the dull #oneiric studies

[tarot-archives]

Can I get a uhhhhhh laios with a guy/gn reader who has an equally autistic special interest in general biology and ecosystems that would 100% encompass monsters as well? Asking for a friend that just happens to be me (stg idk if I wanna smooch laios or be him tbh lmao)

an: though i haven’t written for an autistic yn, i’ll try to make it realistic. if i’d done something wrong, please tell me. i focused more on general dungeon ecology for y/n.

if marcille is studying about dungeon ecosystems while laios is more interested in monsters you would be the best of both worlds.

there’s just something thrilling about dungeon ecology, how it all interacts, every thing that fall under it and so on and so forth.

you’re a tall-man researcher, using every bit of your time to find out more about dungeons, and not just the ones in melini. it would have been good to join the magic academy, but since you don’t posses any talent for magic, you can’t enter.

it made you sad since they had a dungeon making class.

nevertheless, it won’t stomp your dreams of researching! you’ve read and copied countless of books you can get your hands on. eventually you settled in meleni where a newly discovered dungeon was found.

your room was filled with countless of journals, trinkets from dungeons and volumes of books you read many time before.

and on your first dungeon party, you were very ecstatic. too bad you had to leave because they’d only go to the easier upper floors. you wanted to head to the lowest level after all!

and that’s where you meet up with the touden party!

you will love marcille’s vast dungeon knowledge. she would love to teach you new things. much to chilchuck’s dismay, you have boosted her ego. endless praises for marcille and simply doting around her because she’s filled with knowledge.

“ah, long lifespans are so great. i’d spend all my life dedicating to dungeon ecology if i could” -y/n after every lecture apparently.

then monster facts with laios will be endless. he lent you his dungeon food guide and you surprisingly have a copy too! you took notes from the things he had written in the margin. much to chilchuck’s demise (again) both you and laios keep on talking and he can’t sleep :((

“eating monsters? can’t say i have thought about it, but do you ever think about their nutritional values? the high level of mana concentration must vary from non-dungeon born same species! This needed to be compared and studied!” -y/n when laios introduced his monster eating thoughts.

toshiro will have another person to ask about his life in the east. but he likes how you keep more time to yourself writing in the journals. he finds your drawing to be artistic. after seeing your difficulties with papers, toshiro will teach you about yotsume toji—a book binding process from his country. he’s happy to see you using it after he taught you.

though you won’t talk with namari much, you admire he strength as a dwarf. she keeps her past to herself, which you at least respect. but you’d talk about the different weapons used and other things she did as a blacksmith. her knowledge on materials is very handy. you write about the different dungeon materials on your journal along with the best weapons against monsters.

chilchuck, our lock expert, and the most unknown member of your party… you admire his knowledge on traps and have written about his experiences with various dungeon traps and ways of disarming them.

falin, she joins you as you ask questions to marcille or laios. she listens to you talk about your dungeon experiences and she tells you about her’s. you let her read the journals you made along the way.

On the day falin was eaten by the dragon, your journal wasn’t transported with you. So now, you join laios to rescue his sister and to save you journals!!

Request? Open!

#laios touden x reader #dungeon meshi x reader #laios x reader #torta talks

[hotcat-lol]

NOW LET'S TALK ABOUT ZOMBIEHEART AU

Although this au is dedicated to zombie themes, it's not related to a virus , etc.

THANK YOU FOR SUPPORTING THE IDEA!

the story begins with the fact that I'm this world , every toon that loses its heart also loses it's mind. The toon stops feeling physical pain and loses many emotions including the feeling of joy, they are unhappy and obsessed with the possibility of regainig their heart.

This world is a very cold, as if it's eternal autumn oitside. But it wasn't always like this, Ortensia is the only cartoon , who , without a heart , could give everyone care and return them the joy of life, she was not just a queen , but a savior.

But soon she passed a way (the events of the orig. Game ) and Oswald, going crazy with despair , became even more obsessed with getting a heart , he created a mutant from his 66 children , and ordered this to grab everyone who has a heart (it just want to play and don't listen their father)

Years pass , the Oswald become more and more like a crazy rabbit , he doesn't even sleep anymore. And at this time , Mickey gets into the Wasteland.

Mickey is scared, he has to hide from the inhabitants of the Wasteland, while trying to escape, on his way he meets Gus, who is one of the few who does good to him….. And also Oswald….. at first they don’t get along, and the rabbit, instead of speaking clearly, simply growls at him, but soon, having decided to save this world, Mickey unites with them into one team and hurries to return peace to this small country

(Thank for read this🥺)

Ask questions if you want

#oswald the lucky rabbit #epic mickey #mickey mouse #zomieheart au #ortensia the cat

[monstersdownthepath]

Milestone Monster: Ragathiel, General of Vengeance

CR 26

Lawful Good Huge Outsider

Bestiary 6, pg. 114-115 (image taken from the cover of Chronicle of the Righteous)

There are many things in common between this Empyreal Lord and the last one we looked at on this blog. In most ways, Ragathiel and Vildeis couldn't be more different; Vildeis was born a perfect angel, while Ragathiel was born a devil and fought against his own nature and his very being to become one. Vildeis was so traumatized by the existence of Evil that she tore out her own eyes so she wouldn't have to see it, while Ragathiel's only wound of note was caused by his father, the Archdevil Dispater. Vildeis bears her scars openly and eschews any armor but the miles of bloodstained bandages over her form, while Ragathiel shields himself in gleaming golden armor to give the impression of an impervious, faultless soldier. Vildeis wields a simple dagger with terrifying effectiveness against single foes, while Ragathiel wields a dramatic two-handed, flaming blade.

But at the end of the day, both of them have the same goal: The eradication of Evil. And they both have the same problem: They're worryingly single-minded about it. Other Archons even worry about Ragathiel's bloodlust, something possibly justified considering how unfortunate his Divine Obedience is, demanding a death every time it's invoked. Despite whatever worry they may have for him, though, Ragathiel seems wholly committed to the battle against fiends of all forms, but especially against the devils and their ilk, whom he executes with impunity and without mercy. His mission is tireless, but one he performs without hesitation or regret. So long as Hell continues to reach its greasy little hands beyond its borders, Ragathiel will be there to stab at its fingers until it retreats... and, on occasion, venturing into the infernal lands to strike it directly.

The General of Vengeance is among the fiercest of all the Empyreal Lords, not afraid to lead his armies from the front at every opportunity, but his approach has some key differences from Vildeis'; she tirelessly wanders with no home or lair of her own, striking down Evil as it crosses her, effectively launching spontaneous campaigns which last only as long as they must in order to eradicate immediate foes before moving on to the next target. Ragathiel is more careful and arguably more thorough, retreating to a grand military base in Heaven to carefully plan his every assault to maximize its impact and the length of time it will take Hell to make another move. He's noted to be a brilliant tactician whose plans have rarely failed, but his prowess truly shines on the battlefield. Once he's landed in the fray he's a sight to behold, as though holy fire itself took up a sword to burn away the corruption trying to infect the world.

Let's see just what that looks like...

Let's start with the basics, since I feel like I have to bring it up every time I spot it: as an angel, Ragathiel projects a 20ft Protective Aura which shields everyone inside (himself included) from the forces of Evil, granting a +4 deflection bonus to AC and a +4 resistance bonus to saving throws against them. The aura also hedges out Evil summoned creatures, grants additional saving throws against charms and compulsions, and blocks hostile spell effects if they're 3rd level or less. No Fireball, no Slow, no Magic Missile, no targeted Dispel Magic, Blindness/Deafness, Silence... The list goes on, with both Ragathiel and any of his nearby allies benefiting from the protection.

It goes without saying that his allies aren't restricted by this; they can throw out all the Fireballs they want! In fact, Fireball specifically is encouraged, but we'll get to why in just a moment...

For now we'll continue with the basics, and it's hard to get more basic than Ragathiel. You take one look at him, and you can immediately tell what he is and what he's going to do: respectively, he's an angelic Paladin in specialized full-plate (Golden Armor, in fact; +5 full-plate with no downsides to his speed or checks!), and he's going to hit you very, very hard with a very, very big sword. His +5 Evil-Outsider-Bane Flaming Burst Holy Bastard Sword is a paragraph of a weapon created for the express purpose of beating devils back to Hell, dealing 3d8+21 damage at base, +2d6 vs Evil creatures and an extra 2d6+2 against Evil Outsiders specifically, and 1d6 Fire damage (1d10 if the sword critically hits, and it threatens a critical on a 17 or higher) as a ribbon on top. In addition to swinging his sword upwards to four times a round, he's got five Burning Wings that can be used as part of his Full-Attack, each one dealing 1d8+5 plus 1d6 Fire damage per hit and forcing a struck enemy to succeed a DC 39 Reflex save or burst into flames for 1d6 more damage a round.

And of course, he wouldn't be a Paladin if he didn't have Smite Evil. He's got it 7 times a day, in fact, and any of his allies within his Primal Aura can expend 2 uses to give all of his allies within the 30ft aura the benefits of Smite Evil against a single target. That's +9 to AC, +9 to attack rolls, and +20 to the first damage roll a given creature makes each round for a whole battalion against one specific target, +40 to damage if the target is an Evil Outsider (and ONLY Evil Outsiders; Ragathiel doesn't get bonus damage against Dragons and Undead!). If the General of Vengeance is leading a charge against a specific diabolic power, all his allies need to do is invoke his Primal Aura, and suddenly even meager footsoldiers can be hitting the main boss as hard as a Barbarian five levels above them! With health to match, as he can freely use Shield Other to help tank hits his more fragile companions would normally fold to.

Even if he has no reinforcements to invoke this power, he's got Gate 1/day to open a doorway right to Heaven to bring them in, shielding and empowering them with his auras. A quick Time Stop also lets him run around and use his 3/day Blessing of Fervor with no lost time to give two dozen plus Turbo Hastes out with each use, and throw out his 3/day Quickened Blade Barrier between each use to trim the battlefield into something more accommodating and prevent an easy enemy retreat.

Ragathiel fights best when surrounded by allies, for more reasons than just his long list of buffs and auras. His Righteous Mantle directly notes his bloodline relation to a demigoddess of fire, granting him numerous fiery blessings; namely, he absorbs Fire damage, treating all incoming Fire damage as healing instead, AND his Fire damage completely ignores any Fire Resistance and Immunity possessed by devils while dealing double damage to them! This is an INCREDIBLE ability... and would be far more useful in a vacuum if he had more than just token Fire damage on his attacks. Indeed, Ragathiel has only one bit of fire in his kit that isn't attached to his wings or weapon, a 1/day Meteor Swarm he's incentivized to drop directly into his own space once he's in melee with a bunch of devils, damaging them (and everything around them) while restoring a good chunk of his own HP. It also means his allies can freely throw Fireballs, Walls of Fire, Meteor Swarms, and other such effects of their own directly at him, which not only harms enemies, but restores his health!

No, his at-will Fire of Judgment doesn't deal any Fire damage, I checked; it burns an Evil creature for 1d6 (1d10 if they're an Outsider, Dragon, or Undead) damage each round with 'cleansing positive energy.'

At the very least, absorbing Fire damage means a great deal of devils suddenly have portions of their arsenal taken from them... though it, ironically, doesn't aid him against his own father, Dispater, who has no Fire damage in his kit. Rather, his Devil's Bane kicks in; this ability gives him +4 to caster level checks against devils, to his own saving throws when saving against diabolic magic, and to the save DCs of all his spells when a devil is being targeted, and this bonus becomes +8 when against Dispater. Dispater actually cannot affect Ragathiel with any of his spells thanks to this, and the General himself has a small chance of landing his own abilities against his father's otherwise towering saving throws!

And while we're on the topic of resilience, why not see how sturdy Ragathiel is? Because, as you may have guessed, the man's nearly impossible to harm in a way that matters. His DR 20 can't be pierced unless the weapon is Epic and Evil, while his Regeneration can only be suppressed by the powers of a deific or Mythic being. He's got the Demigod Suite of status immunities (notably NOT immune to disease, fear, paralysis, stun, or sleep, but those will be rendered non-issues soon) as well as immunity to Acid and Cold damage, and though his saves are ALREADY high, just look back upwards at everything he's got to bolster them!

And then. there it is, the penultimate quality listed on his statblock right before it gets into the rest of his abilities: Lay on Freaking Hands. 10 times a day as a swift action, Ragathiel can give himself an encouraging slap on the chest to restore 17d6 health to himself. Except it's not just 17d6! Righteous Mantle grants him +2 HP per healing dice rolled whenever he magically regains any health, which has no effect on his own healing spell (because it's freaking Heal at 3/day), but it means every LoH use grants him 17d6+34 HP. He can also apply ANY Paladin Mercy to his ability without restriction! And... well, here's the best part:

He can use Lay on Hands no matter what. There is NO condition or effect in the game which prevents him from using this ability as a swift action to wipe away whatever is inhibiting his actions. This means even if he's nauseated, stunned, paralyzed, asleep, staggered, or unconscious due to HP damage, he can wipe the condition off with all the difficulty of a particularly stubborn scab. Thanks to his empowered Lay on Hands and his own demigod immunities, there is NO status ailment in the game besides outright death that can inhibit him unless all 10 of his uses for the day are burned through, because he can use his swift action to break himself out of the effect and still have his entire turn afterwards.

It is probably not surprising that most of Ragathiel's enemies view him as an unkillable juggernaut, ridiculously durable even by the standards of demigods. In high level Pathfinder, rocket tag is ever-prevalent; you need to be able to shut down your enemies before they do the same to you. Well, when battling the General of Vengeance, it's likely you can't. He's all but guaranteed to get his round off, especially if he's high in the initiative order. Unless, I suppose, you put him to sleep, then nauseate, stun, and paralyze him in a single round, since as-written he can only wipe off one a round. Good luck with that, especially if you're a devil!

You can read more about him here.

#Milestone Monster #Monster Spotlight #CR 26 and up #Pathfinder #dungeons and dragons