#so starvation is such a painful way to die. fuck you

[simptasia]

personally i don’t think anything should cost money. if it were up to me, we’d star trek this shit up and do away with that needless cause of so much suffering

however. bare min? we should at least make it so things that humans (and animals) literally need to live? that should be free. so that would be: food, water, medicine, housing, and the means for temperature control

those five things, at the very least, should be an undeniable right to all living beings. the fact that so many people can’t wrap their minds around that baffles me. and tells me my dream of No Money is a long way away

#sigh #''but people have to EARN these things!'' you're sick and demented #why should a person have to earn being alive #''but resources!'' we no longer live in a time when any of these things are rare #we don't HAVE to make the tough choices about who lives or dies gosh damn it #there is enough food and water and housing. the idea that there isn't is a fucking lie #to keep the rich cunts in power #they want us to think food is rare #''but some people don't deserve food'' 1. ur evil and 2. it's not a matter of deserving #fact of the matter is people literally have to eat and drink and be warm #we DIE without those things. and fun fact: living organisms tend to wanna avoid death #so starvation is such a painful way to die. fuck you #i was talking with my friend the other way and something obvious came to mind: #and that's ''gosh damn humans have to eat a lot. we gotta do that every day. multiple times. it's such a constant thing'' #and i didn't mean that in a bad way. i was just musing. Bitches Gotta Eat #sure you CAN go days without eating but you fucking shouldn't #i'm annoyed #i'm so annoyed by capitalism and money and i yearn for star trek :( #oh also entertainment and art and creative expression are totally human needs too. like we'd go insane without them #but i was going for the basic physical needs. sustenance. means to correct aliments. a home base for living. warmth or coolness #like. the You'd Die Without It needs

[syrupfog]

Ahhhhh. Soulmates AU where Sanji has built his whole life around the fact that somewhere out there he has a soulmate. 

Like, it’s the only thing that kept him going, kept him moving forward. An entire childhood of being told by his siblings, by his father, that he’s unloveable—

And the only proof he has, after his mum’s gone, is that somewhere out there is someone who’s DESTINED to love him. The universe has SWORN it. 

Even when he’s getting bruised and bloodied and told he’s worthless from the siblings who have all the love of their father.

Even when he spends his days in a dungeon, the light filtering in from the high window barely visible through his iron helmet, alone and cold. 

Even when he’s slowly dying from starvation, stranded on a rock. 

The one truth Sanji knows is that he has someone who loves him.

He spends his time at the Baratie flirting with anything that moves, but is thoroughly aware underneath it all that he’s worthless. That’s been drilled into him since birth. 

If he’s able to make a woman happy for a moment, then he will, but that’s not for his own sake.

He feels confident, having had years to think on it, that there is one single person in the world who CAN love him. And Sanji feels sorry for them, because he knows he doesn’t deserve that love, but all the same he selfishly looks forward to finding them.

And then— he meets him. 

It’s everything the books — and his mum — described it as. The world bursting into colour, the feeling of RIGHTNESS slotting into place. The man (that’s surprising) has green hair and three earrings and three swords and it feels like fate. It IS fate.

And then the man — Zoro — green hair and three earrings and the only thing Sanji has ever wanted, the person he’s centred his whole life around — he tells Sanji that he doesn’t believe in soulmates. Doesn’t want the universe to be in charge of his own destiny.

And Sanji breaks. 

He— doesn’t know what to do with his life now. He joins the crew because Luffy asks, because the only thing he clings to right now is that SOMEONE wants him. But. 

Zoro doesn’t. 

His soulmate. 

The only one MEANT for him. 

And what does that say about Sanji?

He hates Zoro. HATES. 

He fights him at every chance. Wages war with words and kicks. 

He’s drowning inside. Unmoored. The knowledge that he’s entirely unloveable is a burden too great to bear. 

They sail onward and Sanji cooks and fights and cooks and fights and drowns.

Something shifts at Thriller Bark. 

Sanji’s there when Zoro attempts to sacrifice himself. And Sanji HATES him for it. He hates him because in all this time traveling together, try as he might, hate him as much as he does, Sanji’s never been able to stop loving him.

And if anyone’s going to die for this fucking crew, it’s going to be the one who’s so worthless he cant even have a soulmate who loves him back. 

He knocks Zoro out of the way, faces Kuma head on. 

The pain in his side a moment later feels like the Baratie betrayal all over again

Later, on the ship keeping vigil at Zoro’s bedside, he waits until Chopper’s gone and then weeps, face red and blotchy, ugly loud wails as he falls apart, staining the sheets with tears and snot. It should’ve been him. 

He doesn’t stop until a hand wraps around his wrist.

“Cook,” Zoro says, voice painfully rough. “Why the fuck— did you do that?” 

Sanji tries to hide his tears, replace them with that familiar anger. “What?” he asks. “Try to keep you alive?” 

“No,” says Zoro. “Fucking— sacrifice yourself.” 

Sanji frowns. “I’m the best option.”

Zoro, injured as he is, gapes at him. “You’re the cook,” he says. “We need you.” 

Sanji tries to pull his wrist from Zoro grasp. “You need a cook,” he says. “You can find another.” 

“You’re crew,” Zoro says. 

“You can FIND. ANOTHER.” Sanji grits.

“No, we CAN’T,” Zoro yells, grip tightening. 

“You already THREW ME AWAY!” Sanji screams. 

Zoro’s fingers go slack and Sanji gets up and runs from the room.

It’s another week before Zoro can leave the infirmary but when he does, Sanji finds himself cornered in the kitchen, fast enough he can’t plan an escape. 

Zoro’s face is set, serious, Sanji’s gearing up for a fight despite Zoro’s injuries. 

He storms in and pushes Sanji up against the back wall. “I was WRONG,” he says, arms bracketing Sanji in. 

“Wh— no,” Sanji squeaks, trying to find a way around him. 

“Yes I WAS,” Zoro emphasises. “Franky says I was stupid and self protective, but I lied. I’ve loved you from the moment I fucking saw you.”

“No, you DIDN’T,” Sanji says, a rushing in his ears as he looks anywhere but AT Zoro. “Because I’m UNLOVEABLE.” 

Zoro’s breath hitches, and he grabs Sanji’s chin in his hand, forcing him none too gently face to face. 

“You’re fucking not,” he snarls. “Because *I* love you.”

Sanji REALLY can’t handle this. “Stop,” he pleads. “You can’t— it’s okay. I’ve always known that I’m worthless, you don’t have to try to convince me otherwise.” You already did, he thinks. “Just— I can’t handle you lying like this. To me.”

“You’re not—“ Zoro looks at him in shock. “You’re not WORTHLESS, Cook, what the hell? And you’re not unloveable, you’re not any of that shit! I thought you’d be a distraction from my dream, that’s why I said that shit, and I’m SORRY. But I was fucking wrong.”

Sanji is still shaking his head — or he’s just plain shaking now— because it’s too late. He KNOWS this is who he is, doesn’t understand why Zoro is LYING. 

“It’s okay,” he says, making eye contact, placating. “I won’t let this — me— interfere with protecting the crew.”

Zoro growls and lunges forward, capturing Sanji’s lips in a bruising kiss. It hurts, Sanji gasps into his mouth, it— feels like truth. 

“I love you,” Zoro says, low. “Tell me how I can prove it.” 

Sanji chases the kiss before recovering. “I don’t know,” he says, small, uncertain.

Zoro grasps his arms, his waist, his neck, like a desperate man searching, he settles on cupping Sanji’s face, leaning his forehead against him. “I’ll prove it,” he says. “Something in your head is fucked up, Cook, it’s wrong. You’re loved. I fucking swear it.”

Sanji’s still shaking, tears rushing unbidden to his eyes. He doesn’t get it but — he wants it. Desperately he wants it. “Tell me again,” he says, voice small, scared. 

“I love you,” Zoro says. “I’m sorry. I love you.” 

Like a mantra. 

Sanji kisses him, afraid to initiate, but Zoro responds with a vengeance. “

I love you,” Zoro says again, like a prayer. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you.” Someday, Sanji will know it intrinsically. But for now it’s good enough to hear it. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you.”

#zosan #my writing

[ashthemadwriter-archived]

So, I don't know where the hell this came from but I did something.

TW: NSFW content, Friends with benefits, Unstablished relationship, Vaginal penetration

Needy, needy boys.

He's always been taken for a playboy. He comes over in the middle of the night, gets what he wants and then you'll never hear of him...

...until he's in the mood again. Then he comes back with a straight face like nothing happened, everything's fine and he's not treating you like some kind of doll he only plays with whenever he feels like it. And you're stupid, so fucking stupid as your arms are always open, welcoming him into your little corner of solitude.

But after a while, something happens. His smiles are more genuine, his embrace feels warmer than before and most importantly, when you wake up in the morning he's there, already up, staring at your face with a somewhat unknown look.

Then he's gone again. His absence lasts longer than usual. You don't know if you should text him. Would you come off as clingy? This is probably a bad idea. If he wanted to hear from you he would have at least given you a ring. Are you done? Is he abandoning you for someone else? Someone prettier, with bigger eyes and a smaller waist... Doubts and insecurities fill your head, days turn Into months, hope gets lost in your sleepless nights until that night, that one night that makes you feel everything and nothing at the same time.

After receiving that one text "I'm outside", you run to the door to see if you aren't dreaming and this isn't just a figment of your imagination, and there he is, standing in front of you, looking all different. Good different or bad? You can't really tell, and you know what? You don't feel like putting much thought to it either.

He slams his lips onto yours, your clothes are taken, torn apart laying on the floor, you somehow find your way into the shower, the cold water makes you gasp and cling onto him even more. You're soaked under the water but you don't feel clean, body tainted with lust and desire.

Things are happening fast but it's not the same anymore. There's no mind games this time cause he's so needy and been dying out of starvation. Instead of his teeth sinking in your skin it's his kisses, penetrating your flesh, your blood, your soul. He's kissing your soul and you're holding him with a deathly grip, never having enough. Nobody talks. It's just meaningless sinful sounds and kisses, kisses, kisses. He's so needily passionate and it's beautiful; making you feel whole, significant. His lips trap your bottom one and suck it in. He's breathing loudly, you've been kissing for quite a while now but every time you try to part he doesn't let you. It's like he wants to die, drown in your kisses, or perhaps he finds them more addicting than oxygen.

It won't be long till you feel your release approaching and he feels it just as precisely as you, you've literally become one now and he knows your body like the back of his hand. He puts his skills into use and thrusts rapidly, taking his frustration out on your cunt and you're fine with it. He's been deeper than this before but it's never felt this intimate. All his actions are rushed and you know he's not going somewhere; he's just suddenly so needy and you adore it already.

You're shaking, he's shaking and with another thrust, you're gone. Your body is still caged in his strong arms, but your soul has fallen into the land of euphoria. Everything feels numb, the water that's now marking your skin red, the pain in your back, your chest, your heart. It's just him, him and you're in love, glad that he's in love too. You scream as he keeps thrusting through your orgasm and he moans in your mouth, loudly. It's needy, so needy, but so stunning that you can't complain.

When you come down from your high, he finally parts away. You're both panting and desperate for air but there's something miraculously. You look at each other and he's eyes are talking, it's proof that he wants, you needs you, can't get by without you. Looking at this messed up man under the cruel whips of hot water, you find yourself in love. Ah what a beautiful feeling it is, to be able to love and to feel loved. He's with you now, you won't be waiting for him anymore, he'll always be here, that's what you're thinking.

But the next morning he's gone, and this time for good; because you made him feel something,

That he doesn't deserve you.

DAZAI, Ranpo, NIKOLAI, OIKAWA, IWAIZUMI, Kuroo, SUNA, Osamu, Shinazugawa, UZUI, GOJO, Fushiguro, Geto, EREN, MELLO, Vanitas

#dazai x reader #ranpo x reader #nikolai x reader #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi x reader #osamu x reader #kuroo x reader #suna x reader #shinazugawa x reader #uzui x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #fushiguro x reader #eren x reader #mello x reader #vanitas x reader #dazai smut #ranpo smut #nikolai smut #oikawa smut #iwaizumi smut #kuroo smut #suna smut #osamu smut #Shinazugawa smut #uzui smut #gojo smut #geto smut #fushiguro smut #eren smut

[angelofacidx]

Pet pt 2

CW: Drugging, kidnapping, abuse, etc you get it

Part 1:

Your wrists had been rubbed raw and blistered from the constant use of handcuffs and your incessant thrashing. The collar, Simon quickly found out, was not a good fit for you. When determined enough you could slip it over your head, squishing down your nose and tugging strands of hair out. It had been eight—no, nine. Nine days after your first escape attempt. You track the days from their computer in the office, straining your leg as far as it will from your fixed position on the floor until your foot bumps the keyboard and brings the monitor to life. Nine days since the incident, and fifteen since you’ve been taken.

The screened side door was open like an invitation when you’d gotten free from the collar, and who were you to deny a mercy? Your captors seemed to be gone every three or four days for a couple hours to make the trek into town. If memory served, you’d have about an hour before they got back. It was now or never. You were off like a bullet, whizzing through the yard and beginning your journey onto the desolate dirt road. Maybe there’d be a car to help you, or hit you. You didn’t care at this point.

About a mile up the road your prayers were answered. A big black beat up truck sat just to the side of the road, parked, and—Oh fuck. Johnny was the first one out of the vehicle, a deeply wounded expression on his face as he paced towards you, frozen in fear. You didn’t even register Simon following behind him.

“Told ya Johnny. Can’t trust mutts to behave.” Simon announced, smugly.

He set you up. He wanted to catch you in the act. The bastard.

Your memories come to a dead stop, the pain in your ankles taking the forefront of your mind. They’d snapped them when you escaped, as easily as busting open a glow stick. Your punishment left you unable to walk or stand, only crawl on your hands and knees, wobbly like a puppy.

The door to the office opened slowly, letting you know from the action alone that it was Johnny and not Simon who would swing the door open so hard it hit the wall.

“Brought ye some food and a blanket.” His voice calm as he puts the plate on the floor for you and drapes the blanket over the hard surface of the crate you’d been sleeping in at night.

You watch him take a seat on the office chair, his hand extending to your head and offering you a few reassuring and affectionate pats. As much as you hate to admit it, the act of kindness doesn’t go unappreciated.

“Simon says if ye eat up we can take ye in the yard tomorrow. Good for ye to get some air.” He says, offering you a small smile.

Your gaze shifts down to the plate on the floor. The same leftovers that had been prepared for you since you started your little hunger strike. There was no way you’d eat off of the plate with your mouth like a dog. Sure, it was a weird hill to die on but you wanted the dignity of a table god dammit. Simon warned you that you’d be served the same cold leftovers until you caved or died of starvation. The choice was yours.

“Not hungry.” You grumble up to Johnny, wincing slightly as you try to shift away from the plate. Your ankle pain makes itself very known.

“C’mon sweetheart. I ken yer starving.” He says with a click of his tongue, picking up a piece of cold chicken off the plate.

“Open up.” He hums, extending it towards your mouth.

You do open up alright, but completely pass the food and opt for sinking your canine teeth into poor Johnny’s forearm. It’s petty and childish and not something you’d normally do, but you want him to feel a fraction of the pain you do. They want a wild animal? They’ll get one.

Johnny lurches back with a hiss, holding his arm and trying to rub out the grooves your teeth left to give himself some relief. Satisfaction washes over you for all of two seconds before your face smashes into the ground, a boot holding down the base of your skull.

“Stupid bitch.” Simon grunts from above, pressing harder until you squirm and cry out.

The boot is replaced by Simon’s hand weaving itself into your hair and yanking you up to meet his icy gaze. How is he always so quiet? How long had he been standing there?

“I’m done with your little games and tantrums. Open the fuck up. Now.” He says, his voice pure venom and malice.

You follow his demand, letting your lips part and head tilt back, balancing on your aching knees and trying to keep pressure off your injured ligaments.

“This is your fault too,” Simon quips as he rips down Johnny’s pants and boxers revealing his soft cock. “Coddled it too much. Now it thinks actions don’t have consequences.”

Johnny’s hips are pushed forward until his pelvic bone meets your nose and his cock is guided into your mouth by Simon’s hand. Feeling it begin to harden makes your eyes widen, beginning to sputter and choke, but Simon simply forces you back down onto him.

“Stay.” He commands, lowering his tone and exiting the room.

Johnny casts his eyes down to you, his expression half lust and half pity, his lower lip jutting out slightly as he tries to reassure you with a hand through your hair. It works temporarily and you scold yourself for feeling anything for someone who had a hand in your capture.

Simon returns shortly with a single long black paracord woven between his fingers. Quickly, the cord is secured around the base of your skull and meets around Johnny’s ass where he loops it a few times before tying it off; effectively trapping you to Johnny’s pelvis with his dick crammed down your throat.

“I will be back in an hour and we will try dinner and bed time again.” Simon announces before slamming the door, leaving you to overstimulate Johnny’s cock with your sputtering as you fight to breathe.

You’ll definitely take this as a lesson.

#cod #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #soapghost #ghoap x reader #ghoap #dark k!nk

[lokischocolatefountain]

Mercy

My entry for the Haunted Hoedown created by @inklore and @psychedelic-ink. Day 7- stranded au or slasher / summer camp au + sex in the woods or somewhere public (added bonus if it includes knife, blood, hunter x prey kink)

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: 18+ (Major character death, stranded in the woods, post apocalyptic life, non con, mentions of previous experiences of non con, suicidal reader)

Summary: Stranded alone in the woods and left to die, all you can ask of Joel Miller is the mercy of a quick death. He is willing to give it to you, but he needs something for himself as well.

A/N: It’s another Joel Miller weekend here at lokischocolatefountain. I have a husband!Javi locked and loaded, ready to go. But Joel demand my attention once again for the haunted hoedown. So Javi has to wait another week.

You were safe.

Well, safe from the men who had captured you. But other dangers awaited. If you were lucky, it would just be starvation, an encounter with a wild animal or a fucking heart attack. But you didn’t think your good luck would stretch that far. You were already that the raiders who killed and raided the belongings of the men who captured you did not seem interested in you. It was a goddamn miracle.

Ropes bound your arms behind your back and your legs to each other. Either the ropes were tied too tight or you had become weaker over the past ten days of captivity. They didn’t have much food to spare you. Only the small pieces of rotting meat that they fed to you on the condition that you suck their cocks.

It wasn’t as though you had a choice when tied up the way you were. There were other women held captive with you- younger, prettier, less willing to comply and more appealing to the men as they liked a challenge. You were one of the older models, beaten ragged by life both before and after the world fell apart. For them, a woman was a woman. No matter how broken you were, there was always more to break. No matter your age or how fucking crazy you’d gone from survival, you had a pair of tits and three holes. For most men, it was more than they could dream of. For you, separated from your group and all alone, it was the only thing you could barter.

Now there was no need for any of it. You would decay on the ground along with the fallen leaves and the blood you’d spilled when the men cut through your clothes. The last of the women after another one decayed just a couple feet away from you. Yours was a fate better than the girls who were taken away by the raiders. Experience had taught you that. The last time you’d been in the hands of such a group, you were younger. They used you to their heart’s content and then sold you to a man for a good price- a whole goat, a bag of rice, a record player and a couple of vinyls, and a leather jacket. Pretty good stuff. If you had to valuate yourself now, you’d probably go for a small fraction of that- maybe just the leather jacket.

You would no longer go for the same price. You no longer had the strength to kill the man who purchased you like you were just a thing.

You swallowed, your throat aching for water. But all you got was the piercing pain of a hundred jagged pebbles scratching your throat. One of the factoids from an old encyclopedia popped up in your head: It takes x days for dehydration to cause death. Unfortunately, your brain hadn’t thought to pay more attention to the number, leaving you with no information.

What you knew was that it took one day of dehydration to wish for death.

Daylight withered away and darkness descended in the woods, matching the darkness of your thoughts. In the pitch black night with no stars or even a sliver of the moon, whether your eyes were open or closed did not matter. In the times before, it was advised for women to return home before nightfall. As though danger only lurked in darkness. As though men did not behave atrociously in broad daylight. Shaking on the ground from the cold, dehydrated, near death, your biggest fear was still man.

It was why the snapping of twigs and crunching of leaves under a heavy footfall struck more fear in you than the sight of the infected ever did. Man.

Measured. Careful. Not infected. Man.

He could just be passing by.

It could’ve been delusions inspired by dehydration and starvation, but the footsteps sounded just a little louder as the seconds passed. He was getting closer.

Joel Miller didn’t know, but your body already played to his beat, your heartbeats responding to the sound of his footsteps. Pills from Atlanta passed on to him from his contact rested in his backpack, the currency with the highest value in the QZ. His hand itched to take one pill for himself. Just one. The nightmares of losing his child flashed before his eyes even before he could succumb to the weariness of the journey and sleep. A pill would help.

Don’t get high on your own supply.

He needed to be at his best state of mind since he was traveling alone now, his companion having been taken out by a clicker on their journey. But God was it tempting.

Darkness enveloped the woods. The moon and stars had abandoned Earth for the night, afraid that if they shone their light on the land, they’d see its haunting wreckage. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but it still played tricks on him. For a second, he believed he might have seen a figure move on the ground.

Leaves rustled and crunched beneath his feet. His hands immediate grabbed the gun he had at the ready, the muzzle pointed to the ground. It hit something— someone, he realized when it gasped.

“Please,” your low, shaky voice begged. “Please shoot me.”

He would’ve thought he misheard. Who’d ask to be shot when threatened with a gun? But such was the world in which they’d lived. Death was sometimes more desirable than whatever horrors life had to offer. Joel had survived, somehow. Violence and the sheer human instinct for self preservation kept him around until now, even a decade and a half after the collapse of society.

He brought a lighter close to the ground and lit it, the little golden flame illuminating your bloodied and bruised. He noticed that your arms were bound behind your back and legs tied together at your ankles.

Joel understood you didn’t have long. A day maybe. Longer if you were fed and hydrated. He himself was not interested in charity. If someone else happened by you and you were able to convince them to toss you a piece of bread… But you didn’t want charity. You asked for his bullet, not sustenance.

Bullets didn’t grow on trees.

“Good news. You’ll be dead by daybreak.”

“Please,” you whimpered in a low gravelly voice, mustering up all your energy to beg for this small act of mercy.

You hadn’t asked for his precious rations or water. Only that he finish you off with the weapon he pointed at you. He dropped his belongings somewhere in the vicinity, not bothering to dignify your request with a response.

Joel lied down on the ground in the vicinity in a sleeping bag, his pack serving as a pillow. Sleep did not come easy. He merely rested his eyes, his sense attuned to his surroundings even when he was meant to rest.

When the sun rose, he rolled his sleeping bag and set it inside a hollow tree before heading to the pond nearby. He returned, having washed up, ready to resume his journey back to the QZ. Curious about you, he went to the site where you were last night.

“Please,” you begged once again. “Before you leave. Please.”

He nudged you with his boot, your weakening body rolling to the side and giving him a good view. One bullet. But what a waste of a good body. He could help you in return for something for himself. There was a brothel in the QZ, of course. The oldest profession carried on right under FEDRA’s nose. They pretended to not notice. Sometimes, they’d conduct a raid and arrest some women under the guise of maintaining the law. An excuse for the FEDRA guys to have the women for themselves for the night.

Joel did not indulge in such services. He didn’t see the point in spending precious ration cards just to get off. His spit and left hand were enough for him to get by. But you were free of cost.

“Since you asked so nicely…” he drawled, withdrawing his knife from its holster. He sliced through the ropes that bound your ankles together. You didn’t know his intentions though you’d come to expect it from men over the years. If he wanted to take advantage, he surely would’ve gone ahead with it last night. Sure, Joel hadn’t intended it at first. But now that you were available…

Reliable contraception had died with the world. Too risk averse in this specific matter, he’s contented himself with the rare blowjob. Pussy was a delicacy he hadn’t had in a while. You didn’t protest as he tore your pants off of you, finding skin beneath.

“Be good and I might just kill you in the end, darlin’…” he promised and you spread your legs, cooperating, being good so he would consider it. You didn’t know when the next person would pass by this place. Even if someone did before you could die a slow death, there was no assurance that they’d kill you rather than prolong your miserable existence.

“Wha’s your name?”

“Joel.”

Joel. Joel brought a damp cloth to your face, wiping the blood and dirt off you. It was…strange. It felt as though you were being taken care of. It wasn’t the case of course. But it felt good to believe he was taking care of you. It was the first bit of humanity you’d experienced in a very long time.

The blade slipped under your half torn t-shirt, cutting up the fabric that had done a poor job so far of giving you any dignity. His large hand roamed your now naked torso. Calluses caught on your somehow soft skin. The sensation was the first pleasant thing you’d felt in a long time. You attempted unconsciously to lean into his touch, but your weakness kept you glued to the ground. Even the cold blade of his knife felt good. You’d gone mad, surely. This was definitely a stage of delusion caused by your dehydration and starvation.

He cupped your cheek and leaned down, capturing your lips with his. It was as though you’d forgotten to kiss. The men who took interest in you were less concerned with making use of your lips for a kiss. If Joel had put his cock between them, you would’ve known better what to do. It seemed he’d also forgotten. He wasn’t kissing you. He bit and sucked and devoured.

Your hands were still tied behind you. They dug into your back. But it didn’t hurt as much as Joel’s hand supping your tits. Even the animals who last had you under their control were gentler than this. But you weren’t too offended. It hurt. But there would be sweet death at the end of all this pain. So you embraced it fully, letting out nothing but a little whimper as a sign that you were at all affected by his touch.

Even in your state of near death, you could tell that he was a handsome man. Grey interspersed black curls on his head. Patchy beard hid rugged, sun damaged skin. His aquiline nose would’ve inspired sinful thoughts in you had you been further away from death. In a normal world, he would’ve been getting a drink at a bar and you would’ve noticed him.

Joel spit on his hand and rubbed it around on your dry cunt. With his thumb and forefinger, he parted your cunt lips before inserting his middle finger. Inch by painful inch, he penetrated your unwilling body that was attached to a very willing mind. There was no water left to be spared to wetten your cunt for the man.

“C-cut me,” you suggested, desiring the penetration to be smoother. If this was the last time you got to be fucked, it wouldn’t hurt to hurt a little to enjoy the last few minutes on the mortal plane. “Bl-blood.”

He seemed to understand your weak implication. You hissed as the sharp edge of his knife cut through the top layers of your skin. Red blood oozed out and he swept his hand over it, collecting the blood and smearing it over your cunt. He slipped a finger inside you, lubricating your hole with your own blood.

He knelt over you, his knees on either side of your body. Then he unzipped his jeans, the teeth of the zipper making a scratching metal sound. He was a good length, girth and veiny. He stroked himself as he stared at your bloodied hole.

Fucking a dying woman using her own blood as lube. Of all the messed up things he had done, this was easily on the top ten. Not that he maintained an actual list. Despite her decrepit state, she looked welcoming with her legs spread out and eyes on his cock. He bent your legs at your knees, your body pliant in its weakness. You were a thing of rare beauty in his journey. Nature had reclaimed its place, growing between abandoned cars and splitting into giant overpasses. This, you, were another part of nature to him.

Woman, all beautiful in your vulnerability, laid out to be claimed.

He guided his cock between your legs and forced himself in. Red lube you’d given up for him to use on you coated his cock, reminding him of the violence of his desire. He twitched inside you as he pushed in, a perverse sort of excitement stimulating him.

He brought the knife up to your neck and rested the blunt edge against your throat. You gulped. Your eyes widened. Your breaths quickened. Your cunt clenched around his cock and Oh God how divine you felt this way.

You’d asked for death, practically begged for it. But fear was not something you could prevent. Your wretched mortal body was programmed with the foolishness of wanting to stay alive.

“Been so long,” he muttered when he bottomed out inside you. Though you’d had many men inside you, it’d been long since any stretched you out so good. You took a deep breath and wished you had your hands free. You were overcome by a sudden urge to touch him. To run you hands down his sturdy arms and solid chest. It’d been so long since you wished.

“Good?” You asked, squeezing his cock. He smiled and bent forward to kiss you. Your lips, your chin, along your jaw. It was tender. Too tender for sex in the woods with your clothes torn off and your thigh bleeding into the soil.

He began to move, pulling out just a little before pushing back in. He savored it. After all, this could be his last chance at a cunt for a very long time. He grabbed on to your tits to use as handles, making you squeeze around him. Your lips let out a painful little whine, but he didn’t feel guilty. What bad did a little more pain do? You were going to die anyway. If you weren’t making use of your tits and cunt, at least he could enjoy them.

“So good…” he praised and you responded in kind, thrusting back weakly. “Yeah? You like that, cunt?” He asked, using the crude word in place of your name. He didn’t even know your name. But Cunt was appropriate for the purpose you served. You nodded. “I really struck gold in the fucking woods of all places, huh.”

“Good cunt,” he praised, the words shooting straight into said body part.

“Feelin’ good?”

You nodded, unable to say much else under the assault of the sensations. You didn’t have to for he claimed your lips once again in a kiss. He was better this time and so were you. Your lips stayed connected with his just like your pussy with his cock, devouring each other in desperation for a taste of something good in all the wretchedness.

Joel’s cock drilled into you. Merciless, fast, painful. All you knew before was hunger and suffering. With him, it had all disappeared. It was just Joel now. He consumed you, turning you from a discarded body passed from one raider to the other to Good Cunt. You liked the sound of those words on his lips.

“Just like that, Cunt,” he hissed as you milked his cock, your thighs cramping as your muscles contracted. Something pulled somewhere and you screamed in pain and your cunt tightened for him. Warm cum spilled inside you, the sensation a distracting relief in the midst of the pain.

Tears slipped down the sides of your face, cooling your skin.

“Did well. Did so well, Cunt,” he praised as he tucked himself back inside. He hadn’t felt so good in forever. Such a relief. Such an unburdening of stress and anxiety over his smuggling and its chances of success. He zipped himself up and bent over to retrieve his weapons.

“How do you want to go?” He asked, weighing the gun in one hand and knife in another as he looked down at your debauched body.

You made your choice, thanked him for his mercy and closed your eyes.

.

.

.

My Masterlist

#joel x reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal character fanfic #tlou x reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x ofc #joel miller x oc #haunted hoedown #hauntedhoedown #all that i've inflicted on the world

[lilykatelyn-blog]

𝓓𝓪𝔂 15 - 𝓚.𝓢𝓜

Pairing: VampireDom!Seungmin x WitchSub!Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff

theme: blood

Warnings: Feeding, blood, choking, marking, penetration, oral (m), no prep, making out, no prep, bulge kink, established relations, d/s dynamics.

note: tell me if I should rewrite it, this was written in a rush.

“Bitch, I’m hungry, let me eat first.” You huffed, pushing your boyfriend away. “I’m more hungry!” He retorted, following you into the kitchen. “You can survive, I won’t. I’ll die from starvation.” You groaned, grabbing a few chips and eating them. “Good, you’ve eaten. Please let me feed from you~” he whined, pulling you on his lap, making both of you sit on the couch. “Babe, I love you, but let me adjust.” You shuffled, careful not to stimulate his dick in any way, you already had a problem to deal with. “Done? Good, I’m hungry.” He muttered, nosing your neck and giving it a few kisses after dragging his teeth across the smooth skin. Giving it a soft kiss, he looked up at you for permission, waiting for your nod. Once you nodded, he sunk his teeth in, earning a soft hiss from you. The sensation always started off painful and then turned pleasurable, almost always ending with sex if both parties weren’t too tired. As pleasant as it was, it sometimes was taxing for both of you, taking a lot from both your bodies. The pleasant feeling took over your senses, and obviously his from the feeling of something hard poking your thigh. “You’re okay?” He asked, rubbing your sides up and down to soothe you after the process. “Mhm, just a tiny bit horny.” You mumbled, settling your head in the crook of his neck to regain your breath. “Mm, me too. As you know already,” chuckling he softly removed you from his neck and gave you a short kiss, which soon turned long and passionate. Your head was spinning from the loss of air and from the sudden intimacy, opening your mouth as an attempt to gain air, he took that as an opportunity to lick inside your mouth. Both your tongues got tangled in a battle which you always lost, but never failed to try to win.

“fuck, I need to feel you.” He pushed you on your knees, shoving down his jeans and boxers, throwing them in some unknown corner of your living room. He started stroking his half hard cock, pumping himself to be fully erect. “Suck, princess.” Giving him a few kisses to the head of his dick, you took his head into your mouth, slowly inching down until you got about halfway down. You took a deep breath through your nose, sinking down until your nose hit his pelvic bone. You were gagging violently and trying to calm your throat down, he felt unbelievable pleasure, moaning and grunting, he grabbed a handful of your hair and started fucking your face. “Fuuuck,” all the profanities leaving his mouth only spurred you on, hollowing your cheeks and fuming so hard that you could audibly hear the noise of your sucking. “Fuck! Ughhhhh.” His release coming out in little spurts, flowing into your mouth. “Swallow, pretty.” He softly caressed your cheek, completely doing a 180° after how he fucked your face. He moaned at the sight of you swallowing his cum. “Lie down on the couch.” He commanded. “Gonna fuck you, you don’t need any prep, hm?” Fuck that was hot, and to top it off he took your panties off with his teeth. Slowly entering you, the pleasure was unbelievable. Both of you moaned at the stretch. He felt like his cock would be cut off with how hard you clenched. He looked at you for confirmation to move, waiting for that small nod for the green light. Slowly pushing in and out, both of you moaned in sync. You both never managed to last long after he fed off of you, it was probably the sensitivity from both parties. “Fuck fuck fuckkkkkk, seungminnie.” His hand went up to your throat and tightened his grip, sure to leave a small mark. “Fuck Jagi, look.” He pressed your hand on your stomach, feeling the outline of his cock in your stomach. “Fuck!” You came all over his cock, only edging him closer.

“Fuck I’m coming.” His thrusts only sped up, you brought your nails down his back, surely going to have to be soothed with a cooling balm. He pulled out just in time, coming all over your stomach. “Fuck, that was good.” He whined, burying his head in your neck after you two showered. “Mmm, let’s sleep.”

#Skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #Seungmin x reader #Kim Seungmin x reader #skz seungmin #Stray kids seungmin #seungmin fanfic #kim seungmin fanfic #Lily’s kinktober

[infinite-orangepeel]

✨steddie ficlet: switchy energy, eddie tops then steve does, boys in love and filthy about it, face slapping, choking, religious imagery, daddy kink, breeding kink, pet play, brief reference to somnophilia, dacryphilia

eddie munson fucks like he’s reconciling with tragedy, has something septic and lethal clawing it’s way out of his ribs, and needs to beat the odds before doomsday arrives.

his touch is quick. hot. fervent and skimming—reading between the lines so he can drag steve straight to the end with him.

there is no sanctity about the beginning or middle. everything made there is a blur of sticky heat and noise. slicking off their writhing bodies like midsummer rain.

hipbones jagged. ink infecting every available inch of his skin. eddie’s thrusts are punishing. his moans knock the wind from steve’s lungs.

there is a rapid pulse, brief reprise, and the desperate need to be the concrete vessel for each other’s pain and pleasure.

slaps followed by a dirty kiss. gnawing lips. sucking marrow. red everywhere in the dim light of the room.

they dig their hearts out to present as gifts. small thanks for a lifetime of whatever this is. filthy. lovely. reciprocal confessions kept behind teeth.

they touch each other and the world is remade.

“daddy’s little toy,” eddie growls into steve’s ear; biting, licking, choking, and bruising as he grinds impossibly deeper into a place no one else has ever been, “gonna fuck you so dumb you forget your own name, baby. gonna fuck you so dumb, you only remember mine.”

it’s ravenous. starvation. pulling hair. salted tears. lighting matches. naked truth and a reckless fire that burns from within. annihilates everything in its path.

hand in hand; they break flesh only to repair it under the influence of divine creation.

body to body.

face to face.

heart to heart.

violet stains across their skin. graciously erasing the damages done by those who were too afraid to love them back.

“i love you. i’d kill for you.”

steve’s voice bubbles up to the surface like cheap jewelry tossed into the river at the conclusion of a tired romance.

“there’s a monster in you, isn’t there, baby boy?”

“yes,” steve utters like a devestatimg hymn, “and there’s one in you. in your heart. next to mine. vicious and beautiful.”

eddie’s strong. dominant. hands locked into place on steve’s slender waist like it’s life or death or something greater. beyond him. beyond them. hold tight or die trying.

“i love you and your violent teeth. i love you and your bitchy attitude—all the terrible extremes you’re capable of,” eddie’s breath hitches, but his hands never falter as he fucks him harder, “slap me hard, baby boy—fuck—i’m yours. make it so no one else ever wonders if they can have me.”

“they can’t,” steve whimpers brokenly as he slaps eddie across the face with the utmost adoration, “i’d ruin anyone who tried—fuck—you feel so good, daddy.”

when they switch positions, it’s steve’s knees failing to uphold their promise. collapsing face down into sweat, musk, the stained pillowcase, and abundant sensation.

trembling. shaking. pathetic.

drifting off into lust and want and worship.

babbling ‘more,’ ‘harder,’ ‘faster,’ ‘please, sir;’ like those are the only words he knows.

but, no matter how low he gets, no matter how far he slips—steve will not break.

eddie won’t let him.

eddie will sink his own ship, decimate the grounds, throw himself overboard, before he ever lets steve fade to black.

it’s a cruel love.

damned. perfect. edging sin and purity at the same time.

taking them to the brink and yanking the chain back at the final moment.

letting everything oxidize for longer than is ever necessary. torture. agony. young love.

poetry in the making.

“dumb puppy,” eddie berates, grazing a soothing hand over steve’s reddened ass—spanked ruthlessly by the man he loves, “rutt against the bed—rub yourself raw. that’s it—good boy. perfect boy. best boy for daddy. like you dirty. like you messy. so pretty.”

eddie pours salt into steve’s wounds, laughs giddily at his groans, licks them clean. starts again. pretends.

kisses scars and smirks as he bites down on the constellations covering steve’s back.

breaking apart the universe in his mouth like a confectionary gobstopper. shattered into shrapnel. slack at the tease of thick fingers wrapping around his throat.

nothing will ever be the same and he likes it that way.

“daddy, ‘s so good—wanna be your slut forever. would let you use me in my sleep—trust you—love you—need you—“

steve sobs into damp sheets. fucks his ass back onto eddie’s cock. tastes heat and pennies and holy worship on his lolling tongue.

brave boy takes whatever’s given to him. a beating, fist in his ass, teeth to his jugular, cock spurting load after load into his puffy hole. accepts it all with thanks and gratitude and brown eyes as dark and muse-worthy as the midnight sky.

“cumming inside you, pup. gonna fill you until your tummy’s fat and pregnant. gonna make it take this time. promise.”

eddie links their pinkies next to steve’s head on the mattress—the old thing creaks. smacks into the wall. calls out to neighbors and friends and pedestrians that this is where love is being born and made.

raw. wet. obscene and borderline criminal if you were to walk in at precisely the wrong moment.

make no mistake.

this is heaven. this is where they belong.

paradisium. the end all be all. nothing compares. rose colored glasses stay on for the show and ever after. they are blind to any other possibility. bravely human in the midst of something distinctly wild.

“i’m a mommy,” steve laughs deliriously when eddie cums with a roaring moan and a chorus of sweet declarations to his boy, “i’m a mommy. mommy. mommy. gonna get all round so quick—everyone’s gonna know. i’m gonna be beautiful.”

when steve cums it’s quieter. tangled up in innocent delusion and blushing fantasy—he sees stars in the familiar trap of eddie’s fist. stroking. bleating. aching as his balls tighten up and his head feels featherlight as if full of gossamer fabric.

release is near silent. choked out. eddie laps at his stomach in the aftermath. dips the tip of his tongue in his bellybutton. sparks tears of joy and sighs into his neck where he nuzzles and praises the love of his life for every good deed he’s ever done.

and the bad ones, too.

in the bath.

later.

they share dreams. touch for a second time. slow and easy. fingers caressing tender spots and pushing love into each other where it’s needed.

steve with his legs spread wide. eddie moving up and down with a gentle rhythm. rocking his hips to the beat of steve harrington’s golden heart. spit. bubbles. cum. water that finally runs cold.

“i wish i could live inside you,” eddie whispers when it’s over.

“you already do.”

thank you for reading !! please feel free to live feedback, pop into my inbox with your thoughts, or comment here (it always brightens my day to read through 💛)

taglist (message me to be added or removed at any time <3): @estrellami-1 @disastardly @ilovecupcakesandtea @the-redthread @asbealthgn @bestofbucky @vampireinthesun @carlyv @shrimply-a-menace @lordrrascal @jjoesjonas @malachitedevil @anxiouseds @gay-little-bitch @jhrc666 @pinkdaisies1998 @mcneen @perseus-notjackson @eiddets @corroded-coffin-groupie @three-possums-playing-human @stevesbipanic @plutoshelm @arkenstoned @indiearr @they-reap-what-we-sow @gleek4twd @bunnyweasley23 @livingoutload @a-little-unsteddie @novelnovella @rugbertgoeshome @neverlandwaitingforme @anglhrts @swiss-cheeze @livsters @messrs-weasley

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie brainrot #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #fruity four #stranger things #steve harrington/eddie munson #eddie x steve #steddie fic recs #steddie writers #steddie writer #steddie excerpt #steddie wip #steddie ao3 #ao3 writers #steddie my beloved #steddie fanfiction #steddie fic #ao3 steddie fics

[muirmarie]

mcspirk month mYEAR planning post

idk if anyone likes these (these being planning posts), but here, it feels weird to have it tucked away in my notes when my BTHB and mcspirk bingo planning posts are on here, so. anywho. you know the drill: this is just me rambling, feel free to ignore!!

the bolded are those i still don't have a plan for <3 - as per my usual these are all tos unless otherwise noted

Day 1: Forced Proximity (“this isn’t a blessing,” mccoy hisses. “one day,” the king says, “you’ll see that is it.” - the one where spock and kirk cannot get more than an arm's length away from mccoy for 30 days w/o causing him debilitating pain)

Day 2: Touch-starved (spock and kirk cuddle mccoy out of touch starvation - this is like 75% done, I just need to finish it)

Day 3: Only One Bed (established mckirk to mcspirk. um. very nsfw. by far the most nsfw i’ve ever even considered writing lmao. currently sitting at almost 12k, probably will be around 15-17k all told. i don't even know how to describe this. kirk aggressively helping spock play gay chicken with mccoy until mccoy finally believes spock wants both of them, idk.)

Day 4: Hand Holding (maybe the one where spock & kirk slowly gaslight mccoy into holding hands with them - yes the tags are spones but i am very certain kirk would be very happy to gaslight mccoy into hand-holding as well)

Day 5: [hurt comfort or against a wall (no story planned)]

Day 6: Protective McCoy (no story planned)

Day 7: Hand Kink (the one where spock is cucked w/ hand sex lmao)

Day 8: Public Display of Affection (would you still love and/or employ me if i was a worm?)

Day 9: Spock is a Hopeless Romantic (the flirty spock one probably?)

Day 10: [Hands or a bonus (no story planned)]

Day 11: Fuck or Die (vulcan sex magic hanahaki, this is, like. I have elements of it, but it’s not nailed down yet quite how it works. it's a vulcan disease but naturally mccoy's the one who gets it.)

Day 12: Aliens Made them Do It (the plato’s stepchildren one - i've been poking at this one since. like. january lmao. it's maybe 30% done, but it's not gonna be super long, i'm just slow with it. it is. hm. not a fluffy story. the platonians decide that mccoy simply needs to learn to say yes to them. how helpful they have spock and kirk around to help underscore the point.)

Day 13: [time loop or sex in a three way body swap or a bonus (no story planned, BUT do I really wanna write another time loop fic and/or can I really handle writing another smut fic lmao. If I did do time loop tho it would be the one where Kirk refuses to leave the time loop until he can solve the no-win scenario, i just don’t know how that goes yet. The sex in a three way body swap would be the AOS mcspirkura one, probably. Or the tos spones to mcspirk one. idk idk.)]

Day 14: Tarsus IV (kirk: i always knew i’d die alone. this is....jim character study, i think? I do need to come up w/ a happy (or at least: not sad) ending for it tho. So I’m still Thinking about this one.)

Day 15: Fake Dating (the one where the royal is trying to marry mccoy in order to keep him, and spock and kirk independently decide to fake date him to save him. also sarek loves trashy romance books. background uhura/scotty.)

Day 16: Lost the Ability to Speak (bones and uhura signing in federation common sign language - yes that's vague but all i need is something to center around tbh)

Day 17: McCoy Hurt w/ Spock & Kirk Comfort (this is like 95% of what i write lmao but i don’t have a specific plot yet)

Day 18: [Jealous Bones OR Oral Fixation (no story planned but it it’s jealousy it’s not gonna be traditional jealousy, bc I’m generally not a fan of jealousy storylines (unless all parties are unaware that they’re jealous - those I find VERY funny)]

Day 19: [Kirk is Missing, Presumed Dead or a bonus - probably a bonus (no story planned)]

Day 20: Accidental Voyeurism (okay the one where mccoy wakes up and his arm is trapped underneath kirk’s head and spock’s holding that hand as he’s laying on top of kirk and making out with him. I will have to find a plot tho. a reason. a Reason. It’s not established spirk either)

Day 21: Bondage (heh established spirk discovering mccoy’s penchant for getting tied up and/or tying others up and then literally not able to shut up about their platonic friends private habits for like a solid three months. they only care platonically of course. you don’t need those other ppl to tie you up bones you’ve got us. this one’s about 10% started.)

Day 22: Mirrorverse (mirrorverse katra sharing, it’s a whole thing, this is out of my wheelhouse but i have some Ideas, but this one isn’t going to be anytime soon)

Day 23: [reunion or teasing or a bonus (no story planned) - *eta actually for teasing i could maybe do the one where spock conducts an "experiment" in a private lab where he has mccoy & kirk work on a project for him while he gets extremely handsy w/ them - he's doing a study ("study" - they're all aware this is just spock's ideal version of foreplay) about human arousal in a working environment, and they're supposed to not let him distract them*]

Day 24: Temporary Blindness (this is going to be such a long messy mccoy whump story tbh. orpheus and eurydice part two. before i can even really start it tho i have to decide on pov, because that….really affects things for this one. but i mostly know how the story goes. also not anytime soon tho, maybe not even this year)

Day 25: Praise Kink (i COULD go temporary awkward ability if i don’t want to write anything too sexy, but the planned version is, like, kirk blossoms like a bashful babe and spock is genuinely moved when it comes to praise, but mccoy turns bright red and wants them to stop? BUT they like so much the way he flushes and struggles to accept the praise that they ask him to be good for them because THEY like it, and so he’s absolutely mortified but still? allows it for them? and they of course like it because they want to make him accept it.)

Day 26: Expectations vs Reality (counseling fic! The one where spock and kirk are dating but still somehow drag mccoy to their relationship counseling.)

Day 27: Vacation Gone Awry (no story planned)

Day 28: Awkward Spock (checking for pulse over the liver instead of the wrist because he forgets where human hearts are when jim or leonard is hurt)

Day 29: Getting Interrupted (mcspirk sexy 3d chess - that’s right they’re interrupting mccoy’s WORK lmao)

Day 30: Desperate Measures (the enemy within one that’s 80% finished where kirk’s wolf and sheep sides both have to have sex w/ mccoy while spock melds with them both, all for very important science reasons - don’t worry about it.)

Day 31: Insecurity (*eta - mccoy gets out of a LDR and is bummed, and kirk tries to cheer him up by putting his name up for the underground "sexiest starfleet officer" bracket that scotty & uhura are running, to prove to mccoy that ppl find him attractive. unfortunately it turns out the crew finds him VERY attractive, kirk is having some jealously-related revelations, spock is gonna kill jim if he has to watch mccoy get asked out one more time, and mcco is yay close to having a nervous breakdown from being turned into a sex symbol*)

Bonus 1: nightmares (look this is fucked, just trust me this is a very messy thing and it is very fucked and i have to make all my maths fit together before i write it or it will feel too flimsy and fall apart, but. kirk's trapped in a nightmare by a parasite that bleeds into the waking world (there are reasons for it) that cause physical damage to mccoy. spock melds w/ kirk to try to change the dream. this has unexpected side effects. - this one WILL be written for mcspirk month i just don't know what day i'm replacing yet.)

Bonus 2: pet names (i think i might be able to fit the kiss me/fuck me fic into this prompt but i’m not 100% sure yet - aka the one where mccoy & kirk use “kiss me” as a SFW swear for “fuck me” and “don’t make me kiss you” as a SFW swear for “fuck you” and annoy everyone around them w/ this silly in joke until one time mccoy says “kiss me” w/o thinking to spock, and spock’s just. hmm. don’t mind if i do. and kirk thinks it’s so funny he starts kissing mccoy all the time as WELL. very pre-them even realizing they want a relationship (except for spock, spock has Plans, thank you). this will be written at SOME point, it depends if i need another bonus/if it fits the prompt enough.)

Other bonuses i’d consider if i need them, but no stories planned: blindfolds, misuse of the bond, uhura helps them out.

Other vague stories i have that i could rotate until they might fit a prompt: pacific rim au, space forgetties, [number]+1 of mccoy getting kissed awake/the +1 getting kissed to shut him up, spock going through the wringer re: mccoy getting hurt (that was written spones but could easily by mcspirk), empath era katra au, post-empath spock won't stop touching mccoy, katra transfer requires a kiss, this isn’t even all of them, it genuinely is absurd how many tag spirals i’ve written like this lmaoooo /sigh 

#mine

[mink-place]

How La Squadra Di Esecuzione would react to someone trying to/smacking their s/o!

Tw: harm, death.

Risotto Nero

Sees their intention, reacts fast so they aren't touching his s/o.

“That was a dumb decission.” he uses his stand to pull blades from his arm flesh, looks how their expression changes and soon they start screaming.

He's really annoyed.

While they're screaming in pain, Risotto grabs his partner and goes away, he's still mad, but he'll slowly calm down.

Prosciutto

He also sees their intention and before they can reach his partner, Prosciutto grabs his hand and twists it.

“Of course, you're so clever.” he says ironically and pushes them to the floor “We won't waste any more time on you, so get lost.”

They're running in fear, they wouldn't want to mess with Prosciutto.

Formaggio

When they raise their hand to smack his partner, he punches them straight in the face.

“Ha, nice try pal, but you're too slow.” kicks them to the ground “and too stupid.” smiles and mocks them.

Kicks them a few more times just to ensure they aren't getting up.

“Shall we continue our walk?” asks his s/o and they continue walking while the other person is almost knocked in the ground.

Melone

When he sees they're going to smack their s/o, he pulls his s/o out of his reach.

“We aren't looking for trouble, maybe you would like to get lost.” he isn't looking for a fight.

Maybe he'll scare them away with his weird attitude, but if he doesn't, he'll run away with his s/o.

Ghiaccio

Couldn't react as fast as he would want, so probably the person will smack their s/o.

But, now they have an angry Ghiaccio who's looking at them with rage and soon they're frozen to the ground.

“What did you thINK YOU WERE FUCKING DOING?!” he really tried to start calm at the beggining, but soon he was yelling.

“STUPID, HOW DARE YOU TO EVEN TOUCH THEM!?” and there it is, Ghiaccio has lost his mind and starts yelling italian curses at them while they're just frozen with an horror expression.

“Now...” he finally calms down a little bit “enjoy your day, or maybe even the rest of your life.” looks at them “because trying to broke the ice would break you in pieces.” and with this he goes away with his partner.

Illuso

Now, this is quite simple, he sees them, he sends them to the mirror world.

“Because of their dumb try, they'll die from starvation or dehydration. Hope they'll learn their lesson” smiles and looks at his partner.

“Alright, let's go. This won't ruin our day.”

Easy.

Pesci

Now, there are two options.

He instantly run away with his s/o, he doesn't think he can be capable of confronting someone.

Or he gains some courage to fight the aggressor with Beach Boy and kills them.

Either way, he'll make sure his partner is safe.

I ran out of ideas with the last one, sorry :[

I also don't have ideas to more headcanons or stuff, so if you have any idea, please, send it to my inbox :]

#jjba #jojos bizarre adventure #jjba part 5 #jjba vento aureo #jjba la squadra #la squadra di esecuzione #la squadra x reader #risotto nero #risotto nero x reader #risotto x reader #prosciutto x reader #prosciutto #illuso #illuso x reader #formaggio #formaggio x reader #melone #melone x reader #ghiaccio #ghiaccio x reader #pesci #pesci x reader #mink-place

[whumpacabra]

New Tricks

Angst, crying, exhaustion, fever, touch starvation, scars, local anesthetic, stitches, painful wound treatment, pain medication, needle mention, fear of electrocution, anticipated violence, referenced character death, past torture, implied past noncon

[Directly follows Bad Dog]

The Wolf waited. He drank every second of gentle touch he could get and he waited for the price to be exacted on his already rent flesh.

It never came.

He cried himself to exhaustion, nauseous with the knowledge he was too tired, that it would kill him to take any more punishment. (He didn’t want to die.) But the hands that pulled his tear stained face from the agent’s tear soaked shirt were gentle, holding his jaw like it was a fragile thing. And the eyes looking down at him - alien with their pity - had no sharp edges trying to cut into his own pain glazed eyes.

“I - I have a medkit. Would you - do you need help, stitching up your back?”

The Wolf stared up at him, too tired to process the words beyond ‘help.’ He didn’t get help - he got treatment. He recovered enough to be broken again. But there was a finality to the way this man said that word, like it meant something more than a temporary state of being.

“Okay. I’m - I’m just going to get my medkit, alright? Alright.” Jackson was talking more to himself, and the Wolf was fine with that. The words were starting to blur together, the sound of a particular voice that didn’t come with hurt or insults or harsh hands. Jackson’s gentle hands propped the Wolf against the edge of the tub, an arm draped over the side and his head resting against the cool false porcelain plastic. He was so fucking cold. He just wanted to curl up somewhere warm and sleep.

(He wanted to crack open Jackson’s rib cage and slot himself between his lungs.)

He was shivering intermittently when Jackson returned (had he been gone long?) but the Wolf was just happy to have that warm presence hovering near him again. The agent sat beside him, the space between the sink and tub a cramped and uncomfortable place to fit two grown men, but the Wolf didn’t mind.

(How odd, that just hours before he would dread having another warm blooded body close to his, and now - now, with this one, he wanted to cling to that warmth like a leech.)

The click and snap of a syringe being prepped had the Wolf open his eyes, glancing over his shoulder at Jackson, who offered a nervous smile.

“It’s a local anesthetic - is that alright?” The Wolf blinked at him, and then looked away. He didn’t know how to answer questions about his comfort, his wants. (He just wanted to sleep.) The kiss of the needle was expected, but the bloom of cool numbness it bestowed where it pricked his back was a welcome surprise.

“I’m - I need to clean these. Even with the anesthetic it might hurt.” The Wolf could feel those alien eyes watching the back of his head, so he nodded. “Sorry.” Jackson had nothing to apologize for.

The sting of antiseptic was absent, but the pressure and prickle of exposed flesh being prodded and debris teased away was a familiar sensation. His handler had cut into him on the first night, reckless with rage. The Wolf tried not to dwell on the memory, but a tremor shivered up his spine as Jackson worked, gentle hands pausing.

“Are you alright?” Another nod. Another soft ‘sorry’ that felt unwarranted. It was the Wolf’s fault for being weak. He tried to focus on the steady rhythm of Jackson’s stitches, oddly difficult to anticipate with his pain numbed flesh.

Three days of those deep cuts left exposed, open to the air and sweat and worse. They would scar, badly, like the cuts that ran from his right hip to his spine, skin ridged and thick with scar tissue. His handler wanted them to scar badly. He wanted the Wolf to remember - to remember that he -

A sob caught in his throat, the shock collar still heavy around his neck. It wasn’t set to voice activation - he didn’t think it was - but it had shocked him earlier. Had his handler done that? Had his handler survived and was watching and would kill Jackson or have him kill Jackson and - ?

“Easy love, I’m almost done. You’re doing so well.” A voice so soft and so different from the barking orders and snarled insults he was acclimated to. The Wolf blinked away fresh tears, struggling to find his voice, a hoarse whisper rising from his ragged throat.

“Is he dead?” Three little words; a question he couldn’t stand to know the answer to. A question he needed to know the answer to if he ever wanted to sleep again. Jackson’s hands, cold - so cold against the Wolf’s burning, numbed skin - stilled, a steady palm pressed to a small expanse of uncut flesh. But not too hard, mindful of his bruises.

“Yes. Agent Smith is gone. He’s dead.” The Wolf could hear a question in those words, but he was too relieved to consider it. Jackson - anyone - could kill him, let him die badly, alone, and bloody, and he would die happy. He outlived his handler. A victory he didn’t know he needed.

Jackson resumed his steady handed stitches, and the Wolf let his head drop, thoughts running watery and disconnected. The hum of the light above. The creak of the window pane holding back the wind. The footsteps in the room above - light, belonging to a child, a bed creaking and muffled voices soft with sleepy affection.

“You’re warm.” He sure as hell didn’t feel warm. The Wolf looked over his shoulder at Jackson, instinctively flinching as a hand came toward his face, but he relaxed into the icy touch pressed to his forehead. He almost missed it when it left. “Here, are you allergic to Advil?”

The Wolf looked down at the red pill and the almost comically small paper cup with a swallow’s worth of water. His stomach ached, hunger and nausea fighting for recognition even as he downed the medication and splash of liquid. He had taken harsher drugs with less in his stomach. (Not that what was roiling in his gut was pleasant or nutritious.)

With a shudder he rested against the tub once again, Jackson’s hands and sterilizing wipes traveling away from the oldest, deepest cuts. The antiseptic stung, a familiar pain that burned like acid over his wounds. But Jackson didn’t linger, didn’t press the antiseptic deeper into his flesh. He stitched the deepest wounds, bandaged the rest, and worried over surface level burns as though the Wolf could still feel them after the years of his handler’s habit leaving its mark.

By the time Jackson was putting away his medkit, the first grey glow of dawn was seeping through the rain dappled window. The Wolf hadn’t moved in hours, sitting still and as comfortable as he could be while Jackson worked. He was so tired. And when he limped out of the bathroom after Jackson, there was a wonderful nest of blankets and pillows waiting on the soft carpeted floor.

“You take the bed, I don’t mind sleeping on the floor - besides, your back could…” Jackson trailed off as the Wolf wandered to the crude bed on the floor, dropping harshly to his knees and collapsing into the softness.

In his daze of exhaustion, he barely registered the anxious horror of knowing Jackson wanted him on the bed. That was a problem for a well rested Wolf. That was something he could handle tomorrow, that he could survive tomorrow, that he could stomach tomorrow.

Right now, there was a soft surface below him, a heater humming to his right, and a painlessness to his injuries that should have frightened him.

But he was too tired, so he slept.

[Directly before In for a Penny]

(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)

Taglist: @stargeode

#whump #angst #crying #exhaustion #fever #touch starvation #local anesthetic #stitches #painful wound treatment #pain medication #needle mention #shock collar #past torture #implied past noncon #anticipated violence #referenced character death #freelancers #shhhh he eepy <- my sleep schedule is so fucked. why do town council meetings run until 1 AM. #(it is kinda my/our fault for pestering them abt [redacted] buttttt whateves.)

[unhingedbehavior]

Me up at 4 AM arguing with a person who is no longer in the argument

People who commit suicide are not PATHETIC.

Stop using such mean and belittling words for someone who experienced traumas that pushed them to that point.

You have no idea about the shit they went through.

You have NO idea how long and hard they fought to prevent themselves from going that route.

There is no fucking possible way for any person to feel the threshold of somebody’s else pain.

Even if they seemed to have carried it well, it doesn’t make the weight less heavy.

In the same way that you call somebody who is severely depressed, anxious, and traumatized,

would you call a soldier who is shot and killed by a bullet pathetic too?

So, if somebody is mentally abused & neglected NONSTOP without receiving proper treatment to heal, why does it make them pathetic to finally decide that it’s time for their pain to end?

Like the body, it can only withstand so much neglect and abuse. When it does not have enough blood, water, or nutrients, there will be signs. The moment that the body is deprived of healing to the point where the damage is irreversible, it chooses to die; whether it’s due to blood loss, terminal dehydration, or starvation.

Why do people with mental health issues receive less empathy just because the severity of their wounds don’t physically show?

Like the physical body, there ARE signs of somebody having active suicidal thoughts and it is society’s job to recognize how serious those signs are. We cannot blame a patient for their pain. We cannot blame the decease for their cause of death.

I am not saying they are not a factor to their death because yes, we all are accountable for the well being of our body and mind. But, is it so hard to expand that closed mind of yours and maybe think that taking care of themselves is still not enough? Is it impossible to think that even if somebody takes care of themselves, they still require healing and assistance? Is it impossible for factors such as environment, genetics, or trauma to overrule self sufficiency because of how permanently damaged they are?

No. It’s not impossible. Every situation is different but with most cases of suicide victims, they are always brushed aside and disregarded.

How could you spit such arrogance about a person’s situation without knowing what led them there in the first place? Nobody deserves such unkind words, whether dead or alive.

So why show resentment towards them when in the end, you know they would’ve wanted to lived too if they were guaranteed a better chance of a high quality life?

#tw depressing stuff #mentally drained #mentally exhausted #grief journal #griefandloss #grieving #complex ptsd #tw sui vent #tw sui ideation

[sadistic-kiss]

I’m crying this sukuna x reader drawing took me about a week to finish, I got so tired of looking at it I didn’t even want to finish coloring it. Sorry if it’s not too great but give me some time to cook 👩‍🍳, I’ll get there someday 😭.

Drawing for my Vampire Sukuna x Reader story * Bloody Inheritance * Chapter 2: King of the Dead

(Don’t worry the story is complete with 25 chapters if you want more click here 👩‍🍳)

Warning: Sexual Content and Smut, MDI

***************************************

Sukuna stared at you silently, his eyes scrutinizing as they crawled over your form, then they stopped at your eyes, catching your gaze. "The mark."

"Hm? What about it?"

"It's where I need to bite you."

You choked, "Ah... huh? I- I can't like- like cut my hand and put it into a cup?"

Sukuna chuckled, "Nope. I need to bite you here." He tapped your chest and you leaned back with both hands placed on top of your mark. "That is where the mark is right?"

"Yes bu-"

"Come on with it."

"Th-there has to be another way!"

"There's not."

"I-"

"Are you scared?"

"N- y-yes..."

Sukuna hummed as he placed a hand on his chin, "Most of the time people say it's best when they are having sex. Do you want me to fuck you first?"

"No!" You gasped feeling your body burst with heat.

Sukuna laughed at your embarrassment. Then he released a groan holding his stomach, he looked as though he was in pain.

"Are you okay?" You questioned him worriedly.

"Just dying of starvation here."

"Alright fine..." You slip your cardigan off leaving you in a thin purple top that showed more than enough cleavage. You held the cardigan tight within your lap, ready to put it back on when he was done.

Sukuna moved his hand onto your back your body tense as he shifted toward you, "Relax. It's not as bad as you think." His fangs popped out again and just as he moved to bite you you gasped placing a hand on his chest. His eyes darted up to yours as you looked at him pleadingly.

"You... you won't kill me right?"

Sukuna's lip twitched into a smirk, "Like I said. If you die I die."

You nodded your head as you closed your eyes tightly. You felt his tongue upon you first and then he bit down right on top of your mark. You let out a little yelp pulling back but Sukuna wrapped his arms around you keeping you in place. He moaned into your chest as he drank from you greedily. The initial bite was painful but then it didn't feel bad, it sort of felt good. You sat quietly listening to him suck and moan as he drank his fill. You pressed your lips tightly a slight moan deep within your throat. A light trail of blood slipped down your breast and you cursed the fact your mark was in such an intimate place.

Your vision darkened and you felt faint, the feeling came upon you suddenly.

"Sukuna...please..." You gasped.

He retracted his teeth with a hungry growl chasing the blood that dropped between your breasts with his tongue. Then he pulled back, his eyes lidded as he looked at your weak form. Your body went limp within his hold.

~Read the rest here~

#fanfiction #sukuna #jujutsukaisen #jujutsu kaisen #reader x sukuna #ryoumensukuna #sukuna ryomen #smutwarning #vampire #smut #sexualcontent #dominantman #sukuna ryoumen smut #reader #protective sukuna

[izzystizzys]

steddyhands soulmates brainworm where in some magical post-canon (maybe s1? s2?) timeline the revenge is boarded by (gasp) actual capable pirates

izzy isn‘t up on deck when it happens, which is how it happens in the first place, and quite frankly he had a bad feeling about dropping anchor this close to port (insert past blackbeard shenanigans that turned him grey a good decade before anyone else) but when does anyone ever listen to his years of experience and expertise on this clown boat anyways

and. ok interlude. obviously they’re soulmates. obviously izzy has said nothing about it. he’s a fucked up little man with the selfesteem of a wet limpet this is selfexplanatory. obviously ed and stede are Eyeing him, but stede’s too repressed to say anything about it and ed’s too unwilling to admit he’s a very similar brand of fucked up to do much about it.

so. back to the program. even izzy cannot fight a whole entire crew - given that it is both the size it should be for a ship twice as large as the revenge and actually trained, go figure. does he still try? absolutely. everything comes screeching to a halt when someone gets a gun aimed at black pete’s head though, and they’re all rounded up on deck. there is no getting out of this one, izzy knows - he’s been on the other end of this too often not to. he wonders which one they’ll kill first, maybe fang or ivan to make a point, they’re on the stronger end of the crew -

“well well, what have we here?” the captain says, stopping in front of izzy with a leer that would usually see him relieved of one of his hands. he lifts the sharp edge of his sword to izzy’s neck, tracing the edges of the swallow izzy is cursing himself for putting in such a visible spot. “the polite thing to do here seems to inform you for the sizeable bounty on your head, hands.”

izzy sneers out a get fucked, and realizes several things at once: 1, edward cut off his beard just a week ago last, and is currently lounging in the last silk robe onboard. 2, bonnet has not a single frippery left in his closet, and has been forced into the man’s equivalent of torture (sensible clothes). 3, there’s no way charlie vane, who’s currently backhanding him to the ground, didn’t recognize at least edward.

and, 4: it may have been a mistake leaving the man to die of starvation and also marooning three years ago. obviously he can hold a grudge. should’ve shot him and be done with it.

this, izzy thinks as he’s manhandled over to where they’ve set up a plank to cross to vane’s ship, is where on the queen anne, the crew would’ve jumped into one of blackbeards ingenius rescue plans. scratch that, on the queen this would’ve never happened because the people are competent. the revenge’s crew is just shouting a lot and- whoa, he’s upright again.

vane is still smiling, the unsettling fucker, when he circles izzy’s gloved wrist with iron pressure. “you know”, he says, conversationally, “i’ve always wondered, about your mark.” cold fingers slide the glove off his hand, roll up his sleeve. izzy tries to squirm away from it, tries to throw his head back and break someone’s nose, but this is not pirate playgroup - this is a group of actual competents, a fact he curses silently as the mark is exposed to open air, a perfect match for his captains’. there’s a sharp chorus of gasps and then horrible silence that izzy cannot face, closing his eyes instead.

“hm”, vane says, “thought so.” and then pain explodes at the back of izzy’s head, and the world really does fade away.

#steddyhands #ofmd fic idea #charlie saw izzy washing years ago and instantly decided to hold on to Sensitive Information #the prick (justified??) #i lovr izzynapping fics and i think he should get to damsel a bit (he will rescue himself while the revenge is still figuring out rigging) #izzy hands exists at the crossroads of pathetic little meow meow and only competent person for miles to me #ed and stede staring at each other: what the fuck #stede: did you know??? how did you not know??? you were married for twenty years!!! #ed: we were MARRIED??? #that bit will never stop being funny #having to contend with the fact that you’re head over heels for your best friend/worst enemy #oh no he’s hot! (true love edition) #oh no he’s also kidnapped and about to be hanged! (no clickbait) #they try to pull off a daring rescue only to find izzy lounging by the revenge holding charlie vane at gunpoint back on deck #he is after all the only competent person for miles #do they get their shit together or does izzy lalalala i cant hear what youre saying hands refuse to accept their love right away? #who knows all i know is i want them to schlonk it silly style after cringefailing out of rescuing izzy #increasingly unhinged tags warning

[cedar-sunshine]

Star Excerpt

I've been going back and forth on posting this for a while, but here it is! Feat: Tristan being depressed, Ori being a little off-putting. This is the VERY beginning of star, the opening words. Comment if you want me to post more anytime/if you liked it!

TWs- internalized transphobia (not incredibly overt), discussion of SI, discussion of death, discussion and minor representation of visual hallucinations.

I wrote this when I was dealing with REALLY severe depression and it hasn't been seriously edited since, so I can't vouch for it being great. Hope you enjoy it!

Tristan

It's getting cold faster than usual this year.

It feels like just yesterday that the first couple of leaves fell from the maples, but now I'm walking over ground that cracks and snaps with frost, and my breath hangs in the air like fog.

With hope, the coming winter will pass just as quickly as fall has been, collapsing in on itself in what remains of my mind. Realistically, I'll probably die before that can happen. The main question now is whether I'll die from the sickness, starvation, hypothermia, murder, or the other option. Guessing which one is going to finally take me out is the only thing left in my life that I could call entertaining, in a twisted, fucked up way. There's also a chance I eat the wrong plant and die from poisoning, but I'd argue that that falls under the last option, especially as I've practically memorized the plants in the northwest. It's been my only pastime for the past year and a half, if you don't count vivid fantasies of my own impending death.

You're never really aware of all the interesting ways one can die until you are, aren't you?

As it is, I've decided that my most likely fate will be turning back on my trail, finding the people who I've been running from with less and less conviction for the past eight months, and letting myself be ripped to pieces in whatever horrifying fashion they desire. It wouldn't be much worse than what's going on in my head already, I'd guess. And they'd be right in whatever gruesome thing they have planned for me. It's not like I haven't been asking for this since I ran.

I'm not exactly sure where I'm going, other than a vague idea of 'east'. If I even have the direction right. For all I know, I've been going in circles for months. I can see the mountains in the distance, though, so I can't be too far off. I know the silhouette of the rockies.

My half-formed plan when I first fled was to get to the rockies and find refuge in a cave, gathering food like a bear in the fall, and then count on my pursuers not being able to survive in the mountains. I'm not sure why I had thought that a half-dead, psychotic fifteen year old with identity confusion would survive out there any better than they would, but it's the only plan I have, and without a plan, I don't really have much to do other than sit down and die.

Honestly, that option has been sounding pretty nice lately.

Still, I'm nothing if not a creature of inertia. Every step, every breath, every heartbeat, only exists because I've lost the energy to do anything other than stay the same. What is in motion stays in motion, even as the friction of my brain tears at me to just stop.

I'm not sure why I don't.

The sun is bleeding up from the horizon, lighting the clouds near it a pinkish golden color, bringing color to a gray sky. The mountains are saturated with dark, vivid blue shadows and patches of gleaming white snow that hurts to look at.

The light burns my eyes, and I refocus my gaze on the ground in front of me where brown and orange leaves are encased in frost, crunching under my footsteps. With the frost, I'll be leaving pretty clear footsteps until the sun fully rises, but I can't bring myself to care. A brutal, ritualistic death, no matter how gory and painful, seems no worse than the other option.

I try to avoid thinking about the future. Whenever I do, the pull to just stop gets almost overwhelming, and the panic that causes makes everything around it worse. The stability of my mind is nothing but a coin flip, and when it's landed on heads, I try to do all I can to avoid flipping it again.

Still, the future isn't the most avoidable thing.

As I watch my worn-out shoes leave a trail in the frost and leaves, my thoughts can't help but drift towards one of my many taboo subjects.

What happens next is perhaps the scariest question I can pose to myself, mostly because I don't actually know the answer.

I can feel my pulse lift and the fog of my mind start to thicken and creep towards the lucidity I've held for almost a week now, if you ignore the flashes of blood and corpses that don't exist hanging from trees in the edges of my vision. My hands clench and unclench, fingers racing along my palms, ruined nails scratching at my rough skin.

It's not proper for a girl to have such un-ladylike hands.

It's not proper for a girl to cut her hair and hide in the woods on her own, either, is it?

Perhaps the question of what's proper for a girl isn't the most important thing right now.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my burning mind. This part of the forest doesn't have as much undergrowth as usual- notably, it's missing the rampant salal and huckleberries that I've been seeing around here, along with the old growth trees and logs that scaffold the way for smaller plants. I'd guess that it was clear-cut before the disaster, and is maybe five years out from it.

I wonder if the forest knows that it's safe now, that the power tools are dead and the constant consumerist demand has died with most of the world's population. I wonder if its trauma will live on in its occupants, teaching its deer to flee at any movement and its flowers to hide in the deepest, thickest tangles of plants. I wonder if it knows that the world has changed. Maybe it can feel that the human feet that used to trample it have lessened, and maybe it feeds on the corpses and can taste their disease and fear. Perhaps it remains unaware, always living in fear of the next hunting season or the return of the lumber companies and hikers who tear up the native plants and bring with them grasses and Himalayan blackberries. Perhaps it can see me walking through its trees and it wonders what a child so clearly unfit for this life is doing. Perhaps it waits for me to give up and die, so it can welcome me to its soil and bring me home. Perhaps it sees me as only another of the ones that have torn it from its roots and killed its children and brothers, and it only feels distrust and hatred. Perhaps it still wishes I would give up and die, but only so my threatening existence ends.

Perhaps it's just wood and leaves, and I've truly lost what's left of my mind.

I wonder what it thinks of me, if it looks beyond my humanness and sees that the blood running through my veins is the same as what pulses in its children, a cousin of the golden sap that bleeds from its bark. I wonder who it sees.

A girl with rough hands and a shattered mind, maybe. Or a boy who's met death and come back, rather unwillingly. Maybe it only sees a scared child running blindly, or an animal that sacrificed its humanity to keep its straining, breaking heart beating in its chest. Maybe something else entirely, something that's fading away from the inside out and barely even still going.

I wonder who I would see, if I was brave enough to look.

Orion

I go over the bear trap one last time, making sure that it's not being blocked by anything. It's on its last legs, rusty and creaky. It's not a pretty beast, but it does the job, even if the job might give me tetanus one day. I don't really have another option right now, so I choose to remain positive. I have it set on a rough game trail, with the jaws and trigger covered in vines and leaves. I've got a camp set up in a small cave by a cliff less than a mile from the trap, so I can check it every evening, along with the rope ones that I have on other trails. With luck, I'll get something in a couple days, hopefully big enough to last me through the winter. I dream of the day when I get a moose in my traps.

Once I get a catch, I can dry the meat for the winter, and then next spring I'll keep going east and get over the mountains. The east of the mountains is more habitable than the west, so I'll keep looking for a town of survivors there.

I know that there are people out there, and I know that those people have probably grouped up and started rebuilding societies. It'll take a bit to convince them that I'm not sick, and that I'm not there to steal their resources, but I know I can do it. People like me. I like to think that I've held on to most of my charm through what I can only really describe as the apocalypse. Maybe I'll start a family, if I meet someone there who's sweet and pretty, someone who thinks I am too. Maybe we can find a stray dog and live a small, nice life. I just need to take it step by step, and the next step is finding food.

I've always wished that I knew a bit more about plants, especially since the sickness hit and I've been doing this all on my own. I know the basics- thimbleberries, chanterelles, cedar- but not much more than that. I think it'd be helpful to be one of those people who can dig food from the ground during winter. I'm dealing, though. Perhaps a diet consisting mainly of meat isn't the healthiest thing, but I'd say that I'm actually doing pretty well, given the whole apocalypse situation.

The cliff that I've made my temporary home in is only maybe ten or fifteen feet tall, on the base of a relatively steep hill. The cave's entrance is much shorter than me, but if I crouch, I can get in and into the more sizable inner part, where I still can't really stand up. I have coils of rope shoved into a corner, and I toss my beat-up backpack on top of them before sitting on my equally used sleeping bag. It's developed rips and holes that make it not much more useful than a warm blanket, but a warm blanket is still something.

I've adopted a crepuscular lifestyle more recently, altering my waking time to match that of the wildlife. I set my traps early in the morning and check them long after the sun sets. It took me a bit, but I get around five hours of sleep every time I try, amounting to maybe ten every day. I spend the rest of my time either maintaining my body or fantasizing about the town I'll find in eastern Washington. It's not the most exciting life, but it's nice to have some routine in a world like this.

I don't feel very tired yet, so I pull over my backpack and dump its contents on the base of the cave, searching through them. My two extra knives are tied together with a worn out length of twine, along with my flint in its' case, and my bunched-up, too-large raincoat unfolds on the ground, along with a medley of other things, but it only takes me a few moments to find what I was looking for.

When I was a kid, I got three journals for one of my birthdays. I wrote through one of them before the virus hit, and the second one was finished frantically in the first few months. Those two will be burnt to ashes when I have the time, kindling soaked with things that aren't worth remembering. The one I've been using for the past year or so is about halfway through, with my ideas and feelings journaled about once a week. Most of it is plans, maps, paths over the mountains, dotted with records of where I set traps. I'm no artist, but I've sketched out ideas of what a surviving society might look like. Abstract maps are my strength.

I flip to a new page and pull my pencil out of the inner pocket on my backpack, and begin writing.

When I wake in the evening, my head rests uncomfortably on my open journal, with a messy, half finished list of the steps I'll need to take to get over the rockies. My spine aches from being curled up like a dead shrimp for hours, and when I stretch it cracks more than I think should be healthy. It's colder than it was in the morning, but I push myself to get up and shove my stuff back into my bag.

The sky is gray outside, and the air is that sort of sharp cold that hurts a bit to breathe. Every inhale reminds me that winter is soon, and that I'll be over the rockies by this time next year. Maybe I'll even have found my survivors by then, and I'll have my little life set up. I'm sure any little budding village would be happy to have a young member with trapping knowledge, someone who can contribute and still has his whole life ahead of him.

The trail I've set my traps on takes about two hours to fully complete, and a bit more with my care to avoid my own traps. I've made that mistake once, and I never plan to make it again.

The bear trap is surprisingly well hidden for a metal jaw in the leaves- its rust blends in with the leaves scattered over it, and if I wasn't aware of its existence and studying every step I take, there's a good chance I'd lose a leg to it. I feel a twinge of apology for whatever poor thing gets caught in my trap, but we all need to eat. Anyways, it's probably no more violent than any of the other ways a thing could die out here.

I return to my little cave as the first couple of raindrops start hitting the leaves, and I curl up in my sleeping bag to stay warm as I watch the rain fall.

It's hypnotizing, in a way. The quiet roar is the loudest thing in the woods, and it drowns out any other sound. Within half an hour, the rain has turned from a gentle patter to a downpour, turning the world gray outside of the cave. The cave has a helpful slant that keeps the water from running down to where I'm sitting, but the cold still ends up saturating my skin, soaking through me just as quickly as the rain would.

I lie down and turn away from the cave entrance. There's no better time to sleep than during a rainstorm.

☆☆☆

That's chapter one of star! Thanks for reading (:

#writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing blog #writerscommunity #🌟star tag🌟 #excerpts #my writing #🌟excerpt from star🌟

[case-57-with-the-enclosure]

✒️ Fic Dissecting Time

My highlights for lost in the dark (he's got a heavy heart) chapter 1, by @definitelynotshouting

definitelynotaroughdraft (definitelynotshouting) on AO3

This dissection will consist of highlights and commentary on the transcribed fragments.

Please be sure to read the tags and cws, we're going by dead dove rulings.

Spoilers ahead.

This is by no means anything formal- it's the writer equivalent of putting all your toys on a single line.

The author has a very lovely rant here that gives the piece context- but im sure you know that, if you read their notes 👁 please read this fic. then come back and agree with me.

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Rating: Mature

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: Gen, M/M

Fandom: Hermitcraft SMP, 3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series

Relationship: Charles | Grian/Ryan | GoodTimesWithScar; Charles | Grian & Ryan | GoodTimesWithScar; Oliver Brotherhood | Mumbo Jumbo & Charles | Grian; Charles | Grian & Xisumavoid; Charles | Grian & Pearl | PearlescentMoon; Charles | Grian & TangoTek; Jimmy | Solidarity/TangoTek

Character: Charles | Grian, Ryan | GoodTimesWithScar, Oliver Brotherhood |

Mumbo Jumbo, Xisumavoid (Video Blogging RPF); Pearl | PearlescentMoon; TangoTek (Video Blogging RPF); Hermitcraft Ensemble

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Charles | Grian, Charles | Grian Angst, Watcher Charles | Grian,

Watchers, Charles | Grian Needs a Hug, Suicide Attempt, Suicidal

Thoughts, Starvation, Eating Disorders, Parasites, &lt;-- the watchers

are parasitic, Body Horror, Trauma, Eventual Happy Ending, Recovery,

Self-Harm, my guy be in SITUATIONS, Winged Charles | Grian, Identity

Issues, every single tag i add makes me realize how hard im making

grian go through it, rip king you'll get a happy ending i promise,

Misunderstandings, Worldbuilding, sooo much worldbuilding, Not RPF,

Not Beta Read

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its been a while since I've read angst for the sake of hurting and yknow what? i missed this feeling of controled despair.

And, Grian realizes, with a flicker of– of something undefinable (he can't say it's excitement, because he isn't actually keen to die– but it's something. A bit like hope, a lot like loss, in the shape of grief and threaded, ultimately, with desperate relief) (...)"

(sobbing, wheezing, heart-ached) what the fuck. what the actual fuck.

The devastation yawns in the deepest pits of his heart, in his very code, and threatens to tear him apart at the seams.

"the devastation yawns" alright. next time just gut me with a knife it'll be quicker than DESINTEGRATING MY SOUL LIKE THIS???? i love that, i love that so badly.

"Grian grits his teeth, then lifts his hand and opens his mouth, sinking them into the base of his thumb. Copper sings on his tongue; the spike of burning pain forces his eyes inward, drawing his attention and keeping it there as blood fills his mouth, thick and tacky."

AUGH thats it!!!! thats what this fic tastes like- burning copper, not as in copper that's been burnt, but as in copper that leaves a painful heat as it goes down your throat, that you can feel cruising your chest and guts as it makes its way down your stomach. (positive).

"(...) he chokes out, and that seems to break whatever trance Xisuma, Pearl, and Tango have been in this entire time. They rush forward, eating the distance between them in rapid strides, until they're all crouched around Grian."

gods i LOVE the use of "eating" here. its so visual and tangible i love it

"Voices rise around him in a cacophonous symphony, but Grian no longer has the strength to parse them. He sinks, dribbling into the abyss like molasses from a bottle. The darkness consumes him. He does not dream."

"He does not dream" my stomach hurts this is so good. tasty tasty angst. also molasses. the molassiest word ever.

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Overall feelings on this first chapter:

that was. so tactile and textured- i need to hold it in my hands and press my palms into it, and let the spikes in its texture hurt my hands a little. its so good, the wording makes it so engaging and leaves you enraptured on its flowing narrative- you sure did put that guy in situations huh

if you've read all the way over here: hi ü hope you don't mind this block of text of cero coherent analysis. i had fun.

i have to attend to my life now before i run late, so I'll return to this piece and its dissection soon (hopefully in some hours?)

#i didn't know I'd do another one of this but they're so much fun #and i plan on doing the other 3 chapters so like :> #I'll figure out the tags for this sideblog later #✒️ fic dissection 🔬

[cluelesswithadashofsmartass]

My newest project: These Bitches Need Therapy: Westeros Edition. Specifically the Dance of Dragons era.

A/N-This is meant for a female reader, but make the names whatever you want. You’re also 18 because its hotd and shit happens. The italics are you thinking. I own nothing.

CW: swearing, mentions of blood, death, and everything else that comes with medieval life

Part 1: Why me?!

“That was a fucking trip,” you say, turning off the newest episode of House of the Dragon.

If Viserys was my dad, I would’ve ripped him a new one. Who would allow their laboring wife to be cut open with no pain meds? All of is was for nothing and Aemma and their son died anyway.

And he marries his daughter’s best friend? This bitch is doing himself no favors, especially if he and Alicent have any sons. Rhaenyra’s claim to the Iron Throne would be challenged and if I remember the book correctly, would spark a bloody civil war.

I blame Jaehaerys for choosing Viserys over Rhaenys and I blame Otto Hightower for being a scheming, power hungry schlub. That being said, the episode was amazing. I can’t wait for the next one.

You get ready for the night and go to sleep with dragons and high born idiots filling your dreams.

————————–———————————————

the universe said: And I took that personally.

———————————————————————

You wake up sitting on the ground against the wall of a building, likely a butcher’s due to the smell of blood and meat coming from it. Two men in gold cloaks and armor walk past you and send a confused and disdainful glance your way.

Gold cloaks? Armor? Wait a minute.

You stand up and lean against the butcher’s, taking in your surroundings. People and horse drawn carts were moving at varying speeds down the thin pathways and dirt roads in front of you. They were in clothes that you had only seen in period shows and movies. Speaking of period shows, the smell was certainly accurate. The scent of excrement, both human and animal, was strong and nearly made you gag.

You look down and see that your dressed in the clothes you had been wearing before you sat down to watch House of the Dragon. Wait…

I’m dreaming. I have to be dreaming. There is no way that I woke up in Westeros and in Flea Botttom no less. I’m definitely going to die, if not from disease or starvation or murder then from the fucking civil war that these aristocratic idiots will start in the future!

You reach into your jeans and find a piece of paper crumpled up in your front right pocket. It reads:

‘Dear (Y/N) (L/N),

You may be wondering why you are here. It is because you have knowledge that will be useful in these coming years. The future you have seen will come to fruition and many will die unless you do something. This was not done by accident. You have been given great power that can make or break kings and queens. Look in the bag next to you and find the small leather journal. Within it contains intimate knowledge and instructions that will help you in your assignment. The bag itself is magic and contains objects that may be useful to you depending on the situation you find yourself in. I realize that this is the last place that you want to be, but you are the only one who can help these people. They need an outside and frankly, modern perspective, especially the royal family. I will talk to you through the journal everyday to assist you. Just write the questions you have down at night in the back of the journal and they will be answered when you wake up.

Best of luck,

Lucia, Mistress of Fate’

What the actual fuck?

You notice the brown messenger bag. Fuming, you reach inside and find the leather journal along with a black hooded cloak, a ballpoint pen, a drawstring coin purse, and a sheathed knife. You open the journal and flip to the front page.

‘Make your way to the Red Keep and keep a low profile.’

This is so stupid! Why should I have to risk my life and conform to these inbred fucks? I should be in my bed, in my house, and in my time period. I shouldn’t be here because some lady wants to play God and throw me into this medieval hellscape. But, I’m going to die anyway so I might as well make my time interesting.

You pull on the cloak and draw up the hood. Better for these people not to see the sweatshirt, tank top, jeans, and sneaker combo right away. You sling the messenger bag over your shoulder and make your way over to the line in front of a food stall. The woman at the counter was selling skewers of meat, peppers, and onions. Food was food, so you get out the coin purse. You glance up and see a man looking at you in an unidentifiable, yet unsettling way. You take out the knife and attach the sheath to the loops of your jeans.

It’s your turn after five people. The woman looks confused at your clothes and opens her mouth to question who the hell you were, but shuts up at the copper coin you place on the counter of her stall and hands you a skewer. You silently nod your thanks and walk across the dirt road to a bench outside of what looks like a bakery, being mindful of the horse carts.

Biting into a pepper, you open the journal to the first page again. It says the same thing. You might as well get to walking. The Red Keep is a long way from where you are now.

————————baby timeskip————————

You’re panting by the time you get the to the Sept. You lean back on the outside of the Sept, grateful for the cool marble against your flushed, sweaty skin.

You look back up and see the Red Keep in the distance. With a huff, you push off the wall and stand upright to start walking again.

And not even a minute into the long walk to the keep, a slender body collides into you. Both you of you fall back in opposite directions; you into a pile of cabbage and the stranger, a girl after you looked closely, into the dirt road. A horse was galloping fast toward her, its hooves in the perfect position to cave in her skull. The rider wasn’t paying attention as he was more focused on trying to bring his mount back under control.

Welp. I guess I can cross ‘save someone’ off on my bucket list.

You scramble towards the girl and yank her off the ground by the forearms; apparently you pulled too hard since she cried out in pain. Her cry alerted some guards in the near vicinity. The guards had a sigil emblazoned on their armor, some kind of tower. However, you didn’t stop to dwell on it as you were busy trying to get the fuck away from them.

It didn’t take them long to catch up with you. They seized your elbows and hauled you the rest of the way to the Red Keep, likely to the dungeons for seemingly attacking a highborn girl.

So much for keeping a low profile.

——————time skip because I’m lazy————

You get tossed into a dark cell; your belongings had been taken from you, save for the journal. Minutes blur together as you wondered if this would be the way you died. At least your sweatshirt provides some warmth.

All of a sudden, the cell door bursts in and an armored guard stands in the doorway holding a flickering torch. You raise a hand to shield your eyes against the flames.

“On ya feet, woman. Can’t ‘ave ya late to ya own trial,” he said with a rotted sneer.

He fastened chains akin to handcuffs to your wrists and pulled you up to stand by your shoulder. He then grabs the chain connecting the chains and pulls you along behind him up the stairs.

While walking, you think back to the sigil on the guards’ armor.

A tower. Tower. Tower… A high tower? Yes, Hightower! Wait…a Hightower? Oh fuck me…

Your fears were confirmed when the guard left you in front of the man himself. Lord Otto of House Hightower, Hand of the King to King Viserys of House Targaryen, King of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, looked down on you with a well deserved glower from a cushioned stool. The king himself sat on the Iron Throne with a similar look.

And the girl you pulled out of the road is standing a little ways from them with some other ladies, Queen Aemma and Princess Rhaenyra among them, with an uncertain expression on her face. A girl you now recognize as Lady Alicent of House Hightower, daughter of the Hand, and future Queen Consort to King Viserys.

Lucia, if I lose my fucking head, I will find you and kill you, slowly.

A/N- If this gets 80+ notes, I’ll write a second part. Also, my inbox is open. Ask me things!

#newfic #house of the dragon #hotd season 1 #self insert #y/n #dream travel #hotd rp #hotd x reader #young rhaenyra #rhaenyra targaryen #viserys targaryen #otto hightower #viserys x aemma #aemma targaryen #alicent hightower #young alicent #alicent x viserys #game of thrones #westeros #kings landing #shit hits the fan