#they're both so passionate and use their anger and their passions as weapons in their fight against demacia and its mageseekers

[diveyne]

just wrote a ted talk about sylas and sylas/morgana thank you for listening

#LIKE #IMO SYLAS IS SUCH A DEEPLY MISUNDERSTOOD CHARACTER #AND IM SO PASSIONATE ABOUT HIM #I KNOW I JUST YELL ABOUT HOW HOT HE IS BUT HE'S MORE THAN A PIECE OF MEAT TO ME!!!!!!!! #there are so many parallels between sylas's and morgana's stories #they are so alike #they're both so passionate and use their anger and their passions as weapons in their fight against demacia and its mageseekers #people are so quick to brush sylas off as just this #angry brute who just yells and hurts people but that simply isn't the case #he might not be a good man but he's fighting for the right thing #and i can't find it in me to blame him #like coming from a perspective of someone who comes from a culture of people who #have been oppressed for centuries and snuffed out and forced to be indoctrinated and assimilated into mainland japanese culture #and that people were killed for simply being different and punished for speaking their own language like #sure they are two different things but the similarity in that vs like #mages being punished for being born with magic and persecuted for that alone #makes me sympathetic to sylas #idk man i skdjbcsd i love sylas #and he's actually quite similar to morgana #ooc. #hc. #this is going in my hc tag ksjbcds

[prettyboypistol]

How the TF2 Mercs De-stress/Manage Anger

Scout

Actually a stereotypical movie bad boy about it. Cigarette, batting cage, and punching bags his emotions out. Shouts at people and shoves them out of his way, throat closed up in welled up emotions, his lungs refusing to give him air as the tightness of slamming against the metaphorical wall of frustration feels like it kills him inside. You know what? Being so tired you can barely register the world around? It's better than feeling like an elephant trapped in a jam jar.

Soldier

Works out and represses the expressions unless he's in battle. That's actually where he gets most of his energy. He thinks of all the shit that pissed him off or made him feel small and uses that flicker of rage as the start of the firecracker of a soldier on the field. Doesn't talk about his emotions much and doesn't see any need to. Yeah, a few drinks in and he gets sappy, but that's normal. Anger usually gets metal pipes bent or people's faces bashed in. Usually both.

Pyro

Expresses anger and stress as overexcitabiliy and hyperactivity. A constant overstimulation mode. Referencing the comics, Pyro won't hesitate to kill a bitch knowingly if they are pissed off. They're the reason it's called a "crime of passion". High spikes of anger followed by a low simmer of calmness. Actually pretty good about deep breaths when it comes to mild annoyances or daily stress, but the over the top bullshit absolutely gets an over the top reaction.

Heavy

Intimidation and powerplay is the name of Heavy's game. Sharp glares and a clear body message of "I will snap your spine if you breathe near me." This comes from his time in the gulag, when he had to keep himself and his family safe. Looking murderous when upset had a lot of advantages. When it actually comes to relieving the anger, he's an isolationist. Def thinks over the situation over and over again as he distracts himself with one of his hobbies. Usually not reading because his mind wanders off too much to focus on the pages.

Engineer

Hyperactive workaholic. He locks himself in his workshop and doesn't leave until he makes something either revolutionary or a man made horror you could only fathom in your nightmares. Whatever, he can sell it to the Administrator as a torture device. Who cares. Engie isn't much of a talker so much as he is a ranter. He grumbles and shouts to himself in a one way conversation as he tightens that one bolt that gave him trouble. Only once has he dented one of his sentries with his wrench when the energy was too much to comprehend.

Demoman

As is his usual solution, he drinks. He drinks and he talks. It doesn't matter to who or even if people are with him. Talking and bitching helps him to understand the situation, get his feelings validated, and develop more points of view. If that doesn't work, there's always testing his explosives. That release of emotions as he watches the burn pile explode is cathartic in a way. Pyro usually joins in and watches the fire, giving Demo someone to talk to.

Sniper

Also an isolationist, but you couldn't tell either way unless you pissed him off while talking to him. If it's just him, then you wouldn't even know that motherfucker was milliseconds away from starting a fight. Mutters to himself softly, barely able to hear the words himself as he shoots at sodacans and empty food containers all lined up by his van. Long drives while music plays in the background is one of his guilty pleasures when he can get away with it. If you ask what's bothering him he'll have a 50/50 between shrugging and saying a dismissive "it's nothing, just woke up wrong" or will barely explain it, but get the just of it accurately.

Spy

Tries to work through it physically, not emotionally. Man's has never talked about his emotions in his life and you won't make him start now. Usually very bitchy when something pisses him off, and his weapon of choice is personal insults. It's a funny thing really. He needs to feel superior by putting others down because the anger and stress makes him feel weak. There is only one good way to snap him out of a bad mood: casually praise him. "Nice work, Spy." "I knew I could count on you." "Thanks Spy, you're a lifesaver." Are instant soothers. It's nice to be acknowledged.

Medic

Workaholic worse than Engie. This man is really out here about to create an elderitch horror because he stubbed his toe and spilled his coffee. Strained smiles and snide comments are his language when he's had a bad day. If someone directly irritates him, that man is a solid 6'1 minimum and is built. He will and continue to physically intimidate people. Has violent fantasies as a cope.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 sniper #tf2 x reader #fanfiction #tf2 medic #tf2 spy #tf2 demoman #tf2 engineer #scout tf2 #tf2 scout #tf2 pyro #tf2 soldier #sniper x reader #tf2 headcannons #prettyboy pistol

[keravnous]

desperado! ; tangerine/fem!reader (smut 18+)

read pt. 1 here | read pt. 3 here | read pt. 4 here

The Twins are laying low in Amsterdam. Growing bored of being stuck in the hideout all day, Tangerine decides to explore what the shifty parts of the city have to offer at night.

word count: 12,9k

warnings: i mean if atj can dance then tangerine can too, tango dancing bc it's very sexy and steamy ok; car sex, head while driving, oral (male receiving), masturbation (female), fingering, rough and passionate sex, undernegotiated kinks: (light) spanking, daddy kink (once or twice), unprotected sex, choking, pet names, dirty talk, name calling, hotel sex; they steal a car bc why not, short intro from tangerine's pov, small glimpses into his dysfunctionality, rather slow story development at the beginning, i still have very strong feelings about this angry man so please, have this

title is from the song of the same name, desperado by rihanna

the songs they're dancing to are esta noche en vivo by carlos libedinsky and otra luna by narcotango

mel said: kinda sad we didnt get to suck his dick in bathroom b!tch and I said: same

The air is still warm and a little humid despite the late hour, filled with laughter and the sweet, sweet smell of alcohol and marihuana, sweat and summer. Tangerine takes another drag from his cigarette, watches how the smoke curls into the dark sky, illuminated by the colourful lights of the city. He takes a deep breath.

He sighs, relishes in the way his shoulders relax. He feels alive -- again; finally. It's a real relief, has his limbs going a little slack. He had felt anger clawing at his chest for the past week now, the beast inside ripping his skin to shreds and lashing out with its razor-sharp claws - mostly at his brother. But since he had left the flat about an hour ago it has been curled up rather peacefully in his chest, with a satisfied purr in sync with his heartbeat.

Next to him, the water in the canals lays calmly, reflecting the city's lights and echoing the clinking of glasses and music that wafts through the streets. Tangerine passes by a restaurant, people sitting outside under string lights, drinking, chatting, eating and he watches them as he strolls by. They radiate happiness and it catches onto him like a wave, has him smiling at the sight. He takes another drag of his cigarette, enjoys the way the smoke burns in his throat. Jesus Christ, how he had missed this.

There just aren't enough books, good books, that can keep him holed up in a small flat for a whole fucking month. And thus, he had decided to break - well, bend - the rules a little tonight.

Their contact, Henk, had told him about that one spot where one could get anything: from alcohol to various drugs and weapons, maybe even a hitman. If one's lucky. And Tangerine does feel a whole lot of fucking luck pumping through his veins tonight, making him feel a little light-headed, stardust at the heels of his shoes.

His chest feels light and his feet are practically flying over the cobblestones, a smile toying with the corners of his mouth as he lays his head back, watches the illuminated sky above - exhales smoke, inhales the night.

A group of students staggers by, laughing and cheering, passing a bottle of liquor around. His gaze follows them, nostalgia tearing at his heartstrings as he remembers the times when Lemon and him were just that - young and without a care in the world.

Now, their hands are sticky with blood - metaphorically, he had washed his well and thoroughly after last month's job went wrong - and they are both in hiding. Again.

Lemon insisted it would be careless to go out at night, at any time of the day really - "That's bollocks, mate. You can't just go out, can ya? What if they sent someone after us?" -, but especially if it was just to have some fun. Because fuck fun, right?

But, there is nothing else to do anyways, with the way his brain always, always finds a way back to his own recent failure and how it was linked to Bolivia.

Bolivia -- it still leaves him sleepless and shaking sometimes, just like tonight.

Tangerine had been pacing the living room craving a drink until Lemon fell asleep, and then decided that he needed a change of scenery, something to take his mind of the carnage and its debris.

"Yeah, let's just all go fuckin' insane in that flat, huh", Tangerine huffs to himself, looking at his phone. It beeps, signalling him that he is getting closer to his destination. His feet carry him through the streets of Amsterdam, a warm summer breeze rustles his silk shirt and cools his warm skin as he passes by restaurants, bars and closed book and flower shops.

Eventually, he comes to a halt in front of a launderette: Wassen bij Muriel.

The neon lights inside are on, illuminating the sidewalk in a cold white. He blinks. There is no one inside but an old lady behind the counter and a grimly looking man sitting on a plastic stool in the back corner. He can hear faint music coming from behind the glass door.

To an unsuspecting tourist it would look like a rancid shop but to him, it doesn't. Tangerine knows better, has been to a lot of places like this.

"Alright", he says - lets his neck crack once, twice and throws his cigarette away - before pushing the door open, the bell above ringing.

***

You watch your friend leaning down towards the young woman, sitting in a darkened corner. Your father never wanted you to befriend any of his third or fourth row dealers but you never were one to follow rules, always going for the next thrill, the next rush of adrenaline. But tonight, there's been no rush so far, no tingling of your veins - just pure and blank boredom.

You had picked out your favourite dress in the prospect of being offered to dance with a handsome stranger, even ditched on the underwear to make sure the thin fabric hugged your curves nicely, but the men in here are mostly uninteresting, ordinary - simple dealers or lowlife thugs, street criminals that steal money from unwary tourists.

You watch how your friend, with a quick sleight of hand, exchanges cocaine for money, laughing at the woman like she is an old friend and then makes his way back to the bar. He winks at you and squeezes past a young couple, orders himself a drink.

You swirl your glass between your fingers, watching the remaining puddle of wine running up and down its walls - dripping down like blood - and then bring it up to your lips, emptying it in one sip. The taste is warm and full, rich and you close your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself to get lost in the strumming of the band's contrabass and the red wine on your tongue. It reminds you of that one time in Bogotá, when you and your father had visited his suppliers - wine and music melting together with the summer heat, having you dream of the jungle, old villages, and the beaches of private islands off the coast.

Your father had dragged you along once more, this time to Amsterdam, despite your pleas not to - "You will have to take over one day and I want you to be prepared" - and you were gladly sneaking away when your friend invited you to spend the night at his favourite bar.

It is a tango joint and a beautiful place, an old basement with low ceilings and a small bar, people and furniture bathed in colourful neon lights. Purple and red are dancing across faces and sweaty bodies - swirling over the dance floor or pressed against the cold walls, tongues shoved into mouths - reflecting off glasses and expensive jewellery.

It is a place where people like you and your friends get together: the upcoming generation of an international crime elite, sons and daughters throwing away their parents’ blood or drug money, getting high and drunk hidden by the shadows of the night, staying awake until the sun rises again. It's a place where people like you mix and mingle with those working for your families, a welcome change to a certain hierarchy at something a civilian would naively call a safe space.

You open your eyes again, as the band starts to play a new song, blinking while your eyes adjust to the dim, colourful lights. There still are couples swirling across the dance floor to the sensual rhythm of the tango, that the small band in the back is playing. You let out a sigh at both, the loneliness and the boredom creeping in on you, and turn around on your barstool to order yourself another drink as --

Your shoulder suddenly connects heavily with something firm and warm - triggering a muttered Fuckin' hell - and a second later the man, who you just bumped into, turns around. He looks pissed, left eye twitching.

"'M sorry", you say quickly, a little taken aback by both: his anger and his beauty. The former doesn't seem to last very long, with his lips tilting up a little, eyes gleaming mischievously while they dance over your frame.

"Apology accepted, love", he has a strong northern British accent, like some of your father's business partners do.

But he is arguably a lot more handsome than any of them are. Dark, combed, and slicked back hair that curls right over his shoulders building a nice contrast to his light blue, short-sleeved silk shirt, unbuttoned down to his belly - exposing golden jewellery. The necklace shines warmly against his pale skin, glimmering purple in the dim lights.

It might be the alcohol and the loneliness but you really, really want to just dart one hand out, run it over his chest and his neck, feeling his warmth and the few locks of chest hair, smelling and tasting the scent of summer on his skin.

You wonder what he does, what his profession is. The 70s porn-stache, vintage Rolex and golden rings scream Miami and you can't help but imagine him in the hot sun, bare chested, blood on his hands - red red red - cutting open bricks of cocaine -

"May I get you a drink, love?", his voice pulls you out of your daydreams and you blink. He must've caught you staring.

You know, that men like him usually mean trouble. And yet, you can hear yourself say: "That'd be very nice, thank you."

He lifts two fingers up, signalling the man behind the bar that he wants to order something and you notice that his knuckles are bruised. Blue and green mixing with the red of the scab, partially healed. There are scars on his forearm, meandering between his tattoos and up up up his arm below the soft, expensive silk of his shirt.

The goosebumps that erupt on your skin are nothing but pleasant as you immediately know what type of man he is. Everyone in here is on the market for something: drugs, love, sex, guns - but rarely does one sell murder. Real, cold-blooded murder. Ruthless, fast, dirty.

He's trying to hide it but watching him as he discusses the menu with the bartender, it sticks out like a sore thumb: the well-mannered gestures crash with his fucked-up hands, the way he's dressed like a drug-selling pimp refuses to fit in with his sugar-coated talk and the way he moves can't hide a lingering anger, like a raging beast pacing in a cage.

It is a carefully put together façade, but it's no use against you. You know men like him and you know them well. They don't scare you - quite the opposite, and thus the pure and utter danger he emits has excitement tingling in your stomach. As fucked up as it is: it makes you want him - adrenaline kicking in, shooting a tingle right between your legs.

He turns around again and you lean forward a little, deciding to make your move soon.

"'S a Mezcal Margarita alright with you, love?", he asks and you throw him your most charming smile, nodding.

"We'll take two then, mate", he nods and slides a few bucks over the counter, watches the bartender pouring liquid into a cocktail tumbler.

"Sooo", the man turns around towards you and grins, shows some teeth as his hand vanishes in the pocket of his linen trousers, pulls out a cigarette and lights it up. He's taking a looong deliberate drag, puffing out the smoke, "What's your name, sweetie?"

"Y/N", you reply, gaze dropping to his lips and back up, where his gaze catches yours. He has beautiful eyes, blue like the fucking sea and the purple neon lights make them glow with mischief and smugness - dark and oddly promising, inviting - framed by long lashes.

One of your fingers brushes over his hand, that is resting on the counter. The wooden surface is sticky with half-dried alcohol. His gaze holds yours while he takes another drag of his cigarette. You just might lose yourself in the hue that dances over his eyes.

"And you are?", you say, just loud enough to be audible over the music.

His gaze drops to your fingers that are brushing over his golden rings and he chuckles: "Don't ya try stealing those, sugar, I know that fuckin' trick", and you smile innocently, as he leans in a little, "Name's Tangerine, love." There are cheers erupting from the dancefloor, the rhythm of the music picking up.

You pout playfully and his eyes dance over your face, glimmering mischievously. "Oh", you sigh, "And here I was, thinking you'd may even give me your real name."

"Can't, love, m'sorry."

"Mh pity -- who did you kill?"

"Who said I killed someone?", he's dangerously close now, voice a low rumble.

"Your hands", your fingers dance over the crust of his knuckles and his eyes gleam. For a moment he says nothing and then, towering over your sitting form, voice low and rough:

"Aren't ya afraid o'me, love?"

"Terribly", and he grins at that, his eyes holding yours captive.

"Bet you are", Tangerine hums, barely audible and sticks his cigarette between his lips, one hand darting up, has his thumb gently grazing over your chin.

The touch is nice, soft and gentle but firm, in full control. It makes your chest tingle, sends a wave of pleasure through your body. His eyes flick over your face and you find yourself growing a little hot under his gaze. You wonder is he's going to lean in, ditch his cigarette and --

The bartender places two glasses in front of you and it makes you snap out of it for a second, noticing how close Tangerine got. His thighs are touching your knees and his face is so so close to yours, noses mere inches apart.

"Thanks, mate", Tangerine says, pulls the glasses closer. You watch him - slender fingers getting a little wet with condensed water, cigarette between his lips, chain and bracelet rustling with the sudden movement. There's a thin film of sweat glistening on his chest and it has your thighs clench with raw and utter want, wanting to put your lips onto the firm the muscles, licking his skin clean.

The way his body still presses against your knees, is electrifying and you decide to invite him in more. You let your knees fall apart, making way for him. His gaze drops down and he chuckles to himself but moves in nonetheless, one of his hands gently coming to a rest on your thigh, holding you close and in place. The touch shoves the soft, flowy silk of your cowl dress aside, the slit in the fabric exposing your thigh. Tangerine's hand is warm on your skin, rings pressing cooly against your hot flesh, as he starts groping you - thumb digging into your thigh and you gasp quietly.

"Been wantin' to ask -- what's a pretty girl like you doin' in a place like this, huh?", he says, cigarette bobbing up and down in the corner of his mouth.

"My friend sells blow here", you say truthfully - not a full lie and yet not the complete truth, but you know better than to trust a stranger with your ties to your family's business - and piqued interest flickers through his gaze.

Tangerine then, very languidly, takes another looong drag from his cigarette and taps some of the ash on the counter, holding your gaze with his own. "D'you sell yourself, love?"

You laugh at that, violently shaking your head. "Hell, no."

He chuckles, eyes roaming over your face. "Well, looks like I got myself a good girl, then eh?", he knows what he is doing, voice low and deep and you swallow.

"I wouldn't say so", you whisper, "But why don't you come a bit closer and find out?"

Tangerine flashes a grin, shows his bright bright teeth, one of his hands coming up and stroking his moustache while he shakes his head in disbelief.

It's stupid. Very fucking stupid. He shouldn't. He should get the fuck out of here - quickly. This is dangerous. She might be, too.

Instead, he looks up again. Ah, fuck it - fuck the rules. Lemon will get it - maybe. Ultimately, he will, simply has to - with the beast inside rattling the cage.

Tangerine leans in, his hand on your thigh sneaking up, making its way over your hip, your side and then cups your body, thumb digging into your flesh underneath your tit. Your heartbeat picks up as he pulls you close and you nearly yelp, scooting forward on the barstool, your hand coming up and grasping his forearm, holding on to him. "Well, why don't we fuckin' drink to that then, love?", he rasps, the hand resting on the bar pulls your glass in.

With a shaking hand you take it, fingers closing in around the cool glass and you watch him raising his, bud of cigarette nearly touching it. He is exhilarating, demanding and firm underneath the attire of a gentleman and it has your head swimming, wetness pooling between your legs. Excitement bubbles up in your chest, wondering where the night may, will lead.

"Cheers, love", Tangerine smirks and winks at you, both your glasses clink. He is still so so close, your knees still hitting his hips and his tongue runs over the edge, licks the salt away slowly, playfully until he downs half the Margarita in one go, like it's water.

You raise one brow, carefully taking a sip. The salt on the edge of the glass tingles on your lips and the liquor burns nicely in your throat as you take another. It's a hellishly strong cocktail and you wonder if he's a regular drinker. A lot of people like him - call them what you like, assassins, killers, hitmen - are.

Tangerine eyes the glass in his hand, weighs it from left to right a little, then nods to himself in approval while you take another sip. He instead downs the other half of the cocktail and puts the glass back on the counter. It's a quick, routinely movement and you come to realize that you may be right. You decide to not give it too much thought, because he's hot and he freed you from the boredom threatening to swallow you whole tonight and because everything about him has your blood singing with the gleeful promise of adrenaline. You put your glass next to his and look up at him through your lashes. He catches the invitation.

Tangerine throws his cigarette into his empty glass and then leans in again. The tip of his nose brushing over yours, the sensual music entangling both of you as his gaze flicks over your face.

You hook one leg around his waist and he moves in closer, pressing yourself against him, one hand on his arm - to anyone looking over you might even seem like an actual couple, enjoying the night out - and hunger burns in his eyes. His lips brush over yours and you know he's toying with you, keen on him leaning in to fucking kiss you already --

The music stops.

There's sudden silence as the band passes a bottle of whiskey around and the two of you freeze, blinking dumbfoundedly. The silence is odd, stalling both of you but you can't help it, feeling like drowning in the dark dark blue of his eyes, shimmering with green in the purple light. You can hear Tangerine breathe quietly with him being so utterly close to you and it's nice, comfortingly human and you can't help but smile against his lips still hovering over yours, a gentle gesture that is being reciprocated by him.

You're a little dizzy with it too, the alcohol, lack of fresh air and his body warmth mixing together, making you a little unsteady. He has pure and raw want tingling in your belly, your hand on his upper arm clenching around the firm muscles a little, thumb brushing over the soft material. And then, just as the music picks up again, his lips brush against yours: "You don't happen to wanna dance, do ya, love?"

"Fuck yes, thought you'd never ask", and Tangerine laughs, a deep, pleasant sound that rumbles in his chest and offers you his hand.

Yours runs down down down his arm and closes around his, while he's making some room for you to slip off of the barstool and then he's pulling you close again - your body pressing smack against his side as he's dragging you along to the makeshift dance floor.

The crowd still cheers, applauds the band and the bandoneon plays the few first chords of a new song. Tangerine gently takes your hand in his, thumb cupping your index and middle finger as your palm rests against his. His other hand sneaks around your waist and rests and the small of your back, holding you close. He looks at you and you feel like drowning in his eyes, pupils blown wide and you wonder when he'll show first signs of being drunk, with the way you already feel a little warm, light-headed. In a few minutes, maybe an hour you'll learn that he holds his liquor way better than you hold your own.

He is even closer to you now than before at the bar and now you can smell his perfume through the thick cloud of smoke that wavers through the basement's air - he smells nice, deep and rich of citrus and a little of vanilla and cigarettes, reminds you of the summer you've spent in Palermo once.

Tangerine gently places one hand below your shoulder and yours comes up, rests on his shoulder, just as he starts to move to the music. He takes a step backwards, guiding your forward and gently guides you through the crowd - a steady back and forth in rhythm with the tango.

Tangerine's hand still holds yours, guides your arm until it is stretched out and then it abandons your hand, runs down down down your arm very gently, pads of his fingers brushing over your soft skin, hairs on your arms rising. A shiver runs down your spine as his fingers cradle back between yours, a smile tugging at his lips.

One of his legs pushes between yours while he manoeuvres you backwards, hand on your waist holding you close. Tangerine presses himself against you, heat radiating off of his body with both your arms still stretched out and you grip his hand tightly, leaning back. You arch your back, raising one leg and hooking it around his waist as his gaze locks with yours. You can feel his crotch pressing against yours, with the way the skirt of your dress hikes up your legs. He is warm and a little hard already, has the breath hitching in your throat and arousal igniting your loins.

Tangerine leans down a little, lips still curled up in smile and then pulls you up like you weigh nothing and you stretch your legs in a delicate, slight split as he twirls you around, your chest firmly resting against his.

His arm presses onto your back, holds you close until your feet touch the ground once more and he immediately guides you sideways with a few long and slow strides until he comes to a halt. One of your arms wraps around his shoulders as he holds you close and you stretch your leg out, your heel gliding forward over the concrete floor of the basement, stretching your leg out in front of you and then gently sliding it backwards into a deep lunge, your body following the movement. You lean back and Tangerine follows, leans down and towers over your body.

He holds you there for a moment, chest rising and falling, brows furrowed a little before he carefully helps you back up - immediately embracing your body once more.

The music speeds up and so does he while guiding you over the dancefloor, face close to yours with unbreaking eye contact as you swirl over the concrete.

At the next strum of the contrabass, you take a step back, arching your back. Very playfully you sway your hips, shoulders loosely following while one of hands rests on his forearm, the other lays in his hand, feet tapping the floor rhythmically with the movement of your hips.

You know that he has a perfect view of your body, your hard nipples being visible through the thin fabric of your dress. His gaze drops down, watches how the silk plays with your curves, eyes growing a little darker. You move in and Tangerine pulls you close, your hand intertwined with his resting on his chest and his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, moustache tingling. "No underwear, I reckon, love?", he hums, the fingers of his other hand brushing over your waist.

And you shake your head, whispering: "No, none", and it has his eyebrows shooting up in surprise, a low chuckle escaping his throat. "Fuck me", he breathes and holds you close while moving over the dancefloor, one hand gently but firmly resting on your ass cheek, hiking the hem of your dress up a little.

The touch ignites you and you press against him, leaning in, nose brushing over his jaw, eyelids fluttering. You are pressed against each other, movements slowing down and blooming into a languid sensuality in dance: long strides, toying with him a little - turning your head away, stretching your arm out, only for his hand to gently caress it - feet wrapping around his calf, leg pushing between his. Tangerine is patient with the little game you are playing, unerringly keeping the lead and you in your place.

You wonder if he fucks like he dances. It makes your skin going hot, imagination running wild and breath hitching.

The song ebbs and the crowd applauds and the two of you come to a halt as well, but not parting, not partaking in the celebration of the band. You are clawing to him, breath going fast and heavy and so does his, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. His hand momentarily rejects your waist to brush through his hair and then returns. His touch is firm, a little rough and you sigh contently.

Some people are looking your way, intrigued by what got over the two of you, enticed by each other and oblivious to the surrounding world. It's a dangerous thing - letting your guard down, for both of you - but you couldn't care less.

Tangerine smirks down at you and licks his lips. "D'ya know what ya do to me, dove?", he says quietly and you know but you feel the same, and thus, your hand brushes over his shoulder to his neck and you nestle your bods against his.

You wonder if he can feel your raising heartbeat, smell the lust and the excitement spreading in your body. You look up at him, fingers burying themselves in his locks.

"Mhm - do you?", you reply just as quietly and Tangerine chuckles, eyes falling shut.

Your bodies stay like that, closely pressing against each other with the music picking back up. You gently rest your forehead on his temple, leaning onto him as he holds you close. You can't help it, you just want to fucking touch him and your hand runs over his shoulder to the front, gently moves up his throat and then cups his jaw, fingers brushing over the clean-shaven skin. It's soft and warm and you can feel, hear him take a deep breath.

Moving across the floor slowly, Tangerine's body turns into an anchor for your long, ardent strides; his strong arms holding you up during each turn, muscles twitching beneath your touch. He is so so close to you, so warm - each one of his steps lingering with desire and it washes over you like a wave, has the hairs on your body standing up.

You sink against him, falling into his embrace, arms clinging around his neck and his hand is pressed on your shoulder, the other remains in the air uselessly as he looks down in surprise, brows furrowed. He can see, feel your chest heaving, a quiet whimper escaping your mouth.

Then, his lips curl into a smug grin.

Tangerine carefully twirls you around, hands gripping your waist and pulling you closer. Your back rests against his chest and you can feel the tip of his nose brushing through your hair as his hands move over your body - one resting on your belly, the other gently cupping you below your breast, feeling the way your heart races against your ribcage, and his touch sends shivers down your spine, has arousal shooting right between your legs. You remain this way for a few beats, the blood in your veins pumping with the rhythm of the music, feeling his strong frame pressing against you - his breath on your temple and his cologne wrapping you in. His body radiates warmth and you can feel his chest rising against your back, his hardening dick pressing against your ass.

Lust tingles in your stomach looking up at him and, at the next strum of the contrabass, you take his hand and twirl out of his embrace. Tangerine follows and pulls you back in and your hand crawls up his arm, another one resting on his neck. His gaze locks with yours as he leans down, tip of his nose brushing against yours.

The hands on your back keeps you close, a dark shadow resting over his eyes, turning them into a deep deep sea. He slowly guides you forward with two long strides and then firmly hooks one arm around you, lunges backward a little and you follow his movement, bending your leg and resting it against his groin. His hard cock presses against your thigh, and he leans in, lips brushing over yours before straightening both of you back up, heels of your shoes connecting firmly with the ground. Tangerine swirls you over the floor and manoeuvres you through the dancing couples, until he eventually, when the space arises, grabs your hips once more. You let yourself fall, upper body leaning back delicately, enthralled by his strength and the way he guides you through the dance, and he pulls you back up.

Your hand runs up his chest, fingers clawing at the silk as your gazes lock once more. You suck in a few breaths, his scent clouding up your mind, hand running higher and higher, thumb cupping his cheek and fingers resting in his hair behind his ear, earring pressing cooly against your skin.

His lips are slightly agape, eyes you up and down, while his hand presses you close. "Yeah, fuck, you wanna take this elsewhere, love?", he rasps and you nod, eyelids fluttering with the hidden promise.

All the while Tangerine navigates you through the crowd, he holds you close, blood pumping in your ears with the way the music makes your chest vibrate, his scent clouding up your mind - only him him him.

As soon as you are out on the street Tangerine is onto you again, pulls you close in the bright lights of the laundrette and kisses you like a starving man. His arms wrap around your waist, pressing you against him, tits flush against his chest, as his tongue licks into your mouth. Your hands run up his arms, one of them curling his neck and the other cupping his jaw. You can feel his hard dick through his linen slacks and it makes you hot all over, wetness pooling between your legs. You break the kiss, heaving against his lips.

"Fuck", Tangerine huffs, hand on your waist wandering down, cupping one of your ass cheeks. You mewl, eyelids fluttering. You're desperate to touch him, for him to fuck you.

"My hotel's nearby", you whisper and it sounds so fucking needy, "We could take the tram?"

"Yeah sure, lead the way", and you do, stealing another long and sloppy, hungry kiss from him and then he's pulling you close, holds you by his side as the two of you rush down the streets of Amsterdam - heels clicking, sweet nothings on the tip of your tongues. Some people turn their heads, voyeurism kicking in at the oddly hot couple with the air around them cracking with their energy, watching how the two of you rush by - the woman giggling and clearly a little drunk, hands roaming all over the man's chest, while he holds her close, thick British accent wrapping her in.

That is, until he stops dead in his tracks next to an alley on a rather empty street.

"Oi, wait a bloody minute, love -- would'ya look at that", Tangerine looks down an alleyway and you lean in closer, trying to get a look at what he's seeing, peaking over his shoulder on the tip of your toes. His hand is still resting on your waist, fingers splayed out.

"What?", there's nothing. Just cars parked beneath a warmly glowing streetlight in a dark alley.

"That", his finger darts out and points at a beige convertible.

"I -- that's a car?"

He looks a you, a little offended.

"That's not just a car, love. That's a 1966 Cadillac Coupe DeVille."

You blink, watching him while he eyes the vehicle, fingers brushing over his stache absent-mindedly.

"What are you thinking 'bout?", and it doesn't even take him a second to reply: "I wanna steal it."

Well, that's a surprise. "You wanna steal the car?"

"Yeah, I got this fuckin' thing -- 's kinda like compulsion, innit?"

You raise your eyebrows and he looks at you, lips curling up in an amused smile that's looks an awful lot like Sugar I can't change it, now can I? and before he can come up with something witty to go along with it, you say: "Yeah fuck, alright. Let's do it."

He laughs, eyes you up and down. "Ya naughty little girl, eh."

You can feel your skin growing hot, hand brushing over his forearm, leaning in a little. His eyes gleam. "Show me what you can do, babe", and he does, wraps one arm around your hips and strolls over to the car, carefully eyeing the alley.

The windows are rolled down and he grins. "That's an easy one, love, watch it", his hand brushes over your hip and the touch has goosebumps erupting on your arms, running down down your back and you nod - fuck yes, you'll watch.

Tangerine leans against the driver side's door and reaches inside through the rolled down window. You don't know what exactly he's doing but you can see the way his muscles work underneath the blue silk, as he grabs the handle and then, suddenly lifts the door a little out of its frame. The lock bursts, and for a second your muscles tense, body anticipating alarms going off and reading to flee.

Nothing happens; no sirens erupting - just the door swinging open lazily.

Apparently; obviously this is not his first time stealing a car. The thought of him just taking what he wants does something funny to your stomach.

You peak inside. It is an old-timer, with one large seating bench in the front, instead of two seats. Tangerine is holding the door open for you.

"After you, Lady", and he fucking winks at you.

Crawling onto the seats you make sure to make a little show out of it. You can feel his gaze roaming over your body as you bend down, until you eventually sit down in the middle of the front row seat. Tangerine sits down next to you and you immediately close the distance between the two of you, pulling one leg up, knee resting firmly on the soft beige leather and pressing against his thigh. The fabric of your dress hikes up, the slit exposing your leg up up up to your groin.

The sight distracts him for second, as you throw a look over your shoulder and out of the rear window, into the night. The alley still lays silent and deserted - but for how much longer? Tangerine watches you tensing up next to him.

"Easy, love, just a minute", he huffs and pulls an envelope out of his pocket, takes out a set of lockpicks.

"Oh, so you just carry that around with you?", you blurt out, blinking.

"Yeah", he says casually, bends down a little, trying to get a good look beneath the steering wheel.

If you were to be more of a thief and less of a drug lord's lazy daughter, you'd be able to identify his choice as a Lishi lockpick.

You watch him as he carefully sticks it into the keyhole of the ignition, slooowly starts to move the tool forward and feeling for the contact of the wafer. Quiet clicking sounds fill the humid air.

You can tell, that Tangerine is showing off a little, trying to impress you with speed and precision. He squints his eyes a little, brows furrowing and eyeing the small lock while carefully turning it clockwise.

It jams.

"Bastard", Tangerine curses underneath, pulls the reader of the lockpick back and carefully feels for the missing contact, tuuurns it --

The engine jolts alive, purrs lowly and the headlights snap on.

"There ya go", he mutters, "Piece 'o piss, eh?"

You snort at his vulgar cockney but you must agree - it did not take him more than two to three minutes, from breaking the lock to starting the engine. It shouldn't, but it does turn you on a little.

Tangerine is slamming the door shut and whips out his phone, handing it over to you. "Type in the address, love, would ya?"

You do and then quickly discard it into the cupholder - you want him and your fingertips tingle with it, wanting to touch him and being touched by him. The female voice - uncanny valley personified - of the google maps assistant pipes up and if you weren't so very fucking intoxicated by him you would laugh.

Instead, a fresh wave of desperate lust takes over you and your hands are onto him again in no time, one crawling up his arm, the other resting on his thigh and feeling his muscles work as he backs the Cadillac up. Tangerine chuckles, throws you a quick look before he is steering the car out of the alley.

You are aching for him to touch you, to be closer to you, hand tugging at his shirt a little while you lean in, nose brushing over the side of his throat.

"Jesus, love", he huffs, "Can't keep ya'self together, can ya?"

And you mewl, shake your head and then your lips are closing in around the exposed crook of his neck. Your tongue laps over the sweaty, hot skin, tasting him - his cologne mixing bitterly with his sweat and you hum, gently sucking at his soft skin.

"Fuckin' hell", Tangerine's right hand abandons the steering wheel, coming to a rest on your exposed thigh brushing over your skin. The tone of his voice has your head swimming, spurring you on, encouraging you. Your eyelids flutter as your tongue comes loose:

"Want me to suck your cock while driving?", you say, looking at him - the tips of your fingers are playfully brushing over his shoulder, silk of his shirt rustling under the feather-light touch.

He snorts, shakes his head a little with disbelief, before looking back at you. It seems to click.

"Bloody hell, you're serious, aren't ya?", and you blush a little. You can see the way his Adam’s apple bops as he swallows, eyes aimlessly darting over the road, considering.

The google maps assistant pipes up again, chirps out the directions and then falls silent again.

"Yeah, no, that's a very lovely idea", he rasps, and then: "C'mon love, get to it."

And you do, mouth watering at the same time your sight drops down to his linen slacks, the fabric wrapping around his muscular thighs nicely and pressing firmly to his crotch, exposing the outlines of his hard dick straining it.

Your hand wanders up his leg - feeling his muscles twitch as he hammers down the gas pedal, racing by the light switching from yellow to green - and then sour fingers close in around his cock. It is large and hot through the fabric and just feeling it has fresh arousal pooling between your legs, making you hum, before rubbing his bulge through his trousers. Tangerine's right hand leaves your thigh and comes to a rest on your neck, thumb rubbing over your warm skin and making way for you, giving you some space and encouraging you further.

It's a nice, somewhat patronizing touch that is pushing all the right buttons, has you quivering with excitement.

You make quick work of his slacks, pulling the zipper down - already bowing down a little, stretching your lower leg out on the seat behind you - until you open the fly up. There's a damp stain on his dark silk boxers and your mouth fucking waters, before you pull the hem down. His cock springs free lazily and your breath hitches.

Tangerine's cock is large, cut and a little curved, resting between neatly trimmed pubic hair - vein at the bottom pulsing and the tip already flushed, precum glistening in the low light of the passing street lamps.

You can't wait to suck it, taste it, feel it inside of you -- you are fucking hungry for it, spit pooling around your tongue and heart beating in your chest. Arching your back while bowing down between his lower body and the steering wheel, you put your lips onto his dick, kissing from the base to the top, his musky scent wrapping you in, clouding your mind. You can hear him hum, a nice and deep sound, and the city rushing by through the rolled down window.

Your tongue flicks over the head of his dick, lapping at the precum, circling it. The way he tastes - salt and musk - has your head swimming a little, wetness pooling between your legs.

It makes your brain go mushy, hazy and one of your hands brushes over his thigh, desperate to being closer tohim, to make it feel good for him, caressing the warm skin beneath your touch before you blink up at him.

"Fuck, you got a nice cock", you nearly moan as your tongue betrays your brain, impatiently opening your mouth and letting him slide in a little, feeling him pressing hard and hot against your tongue.

"Shit", Tangerine laughs roughly, hand grabbing your neck as his dick twitches against your tongue, "D'ya even hear yourself speak, girl? Fuck."

You smile to yourself, a little coy, and you start to move your hand up up up his muscular thigh, palming his balls through the linen and then grabbing the base of his cock, slowly jerking him. Tangerine groans, breathing loudly, the city passing by.

Spit runs down his dick over taking him in deeper, pools between your fingers and you flick your wrist, moving your hand in rhythm with your tongue.

The car comes to a halt at the next red light, as Tangerine hits the brakes carefully. Your eyelids flutter and then your gaze darts up, meets his while you are releasing his dick from your mouth a little.

Tangerine moans deeply as tongue swirling around the thick head of his dick once more, his gaze boring into yours. "Isn't that just a lovely sight", he groans, right hand brushing through your hair, while the left grabs the steering wheel hard.

Tangerine watches you, traffic light long forgotten, how your tongue licks over his cock, your eyes looking up at him through your lashes. "You fuckin' minx -- ya do like behavin' like a slut, don't ya", and you smile against his cock, a quiet Uh-huh leaving your lips, before they close in around the tip of his dick.

His eyelids flutter as you start to suck, bobbing your head a little, tongue rubbing over the tip of his cock. "Fuckin' hell", he puffs his cheeks and throws his head back a little, exhales theatrically. The traffic light switches from yellow to green and you let him sink deeper into your mouth - the engine roars. You are certain he's close to breaking the speed limit, veins bursting with adrenaline and testosterone but you couldn't care less, the musky taste of his cock hazing your mind, lust taking over.

You feel yourself growing wet, cunt aching and you surrender to yourself, complying to your body's wishes, as one of your hands slooowly dips between your legs and underneath the hem of your dress. Your fingers brush up your thighs and over your slick folds, mentally thanking yourself for not putting any underwear on, mostly due to the unbearable heat and your skin-tight dress - but it sure does come in handy now, too. Your index finger flicks over your clit, just as his cock slides deeper into your mouth.

It feels fucking nice, the way Tangerine's dick is hard and heavy and hot on your tongue, his taste and scent engulfing you, the way you rub your clit has lust spreading through your body, moaning around his cock.

And then suddenly, Tangerine hits the breaks, hand hammering down on the horn. One of your hands darts out, barely catching onto the dashboard as you are thrown forward. Blood rushes in your ears, hastily sucking in a few breaths through your nose while you sputter around his cock.

The maps assistant chimes up in that second, reminding the driver that he will need to go right at the next intersection but --

"Ya fuckin' prick, imma fuckin' shoot ya in the fuckin' head ya stupid twat -", Tangerine yells and your head immediately pipes up, abandoning his dick and looking out of the windshield. Tangerine is just speeding up, passing by the car in front of him, angrily looking inside. "Ya dirty fuckin' chav, I got a right fuckin' lady with me 'ere, ya git", he spits and the man slowly turns his head. First, he looks at Tangerine, a cascade of insults flying his way and then he looks at you, smudged mascara and spit on your chin, your lips wet with it. You can see the wheels in his head turning, eyes growing wide as they drop down to one of your hands - the one that is still holding Tangerine's cock - vanishing between his legs. The man blinks and Tangerine flashes him the finger, before speeding by.

"Fuck about -- that fuckin' arsehole, love, could've killed ya drivin' like that", he grumbles, throws him one last look in the mirror, "Seriously, where did that prick get his license, the bloody fuckin' lottery?"

Tangerine's eye twitches and you can see his pulse speeding up, aorta pressing thickly against his neck, pumping. He is like a force of nature and a mental image of him, covered in bruises, blood and sweat flashes before your eyes - chest heaving and knuckles bruised, hair curling and framing his face like a halo, dripping with blood.

"You're so fuckin' hot when you're angry", you mumble and then you're bending down again, tongue licking over his cock, from the base all the way up the top, flicking around its head and then gliiiding back down.

A growl, a real fucking growl, leaves his chest, hand on your neck tightening. "You better get fuckin' back to it, love, Jesus fuckin' Christ", his voice is coarse and it gets you going, makes you wet wet wet and has your head diving back in, tongue lolling out of your mouth as his dick slides back in.

"Atta girl, fuck", he groans and then his hips jolt up, pushing his dick deep into your mouth and you hum around it. You start to bob your head up and down, meeting his thrusts - your hand abandons the dashboard to clutch his thigh, nails digging into the flesh a little.

Tangerine moans at both, your hot and wet mouth sucking him off and the slight pain that blooms in his thigh, dangerously mixing with the anger pulsing in his chest and he throws his head back.

"Just like that, fuckin' hell love", his hips buck, shoving himself deeper into your mouth. The sudden intrusion has you choking a little as he hits the back of your throat, spit gathering around the corners of your mouth while you sputter around his dick - jaw going slack and his hand finding its way into your hair, fisting it as he starts to fuck into your mouth.

Holding your head in place his cock hits the back of your throat, steals your breath. Your nose is buried in his pubes, inhaling his scent - sweat and musk - more saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth, wetting his locks. You relax your throat and whimper around his dick, the way he uses you has fresh wetness spreading between your folds, squelching sounds filling the air as your finger is joined by a second, rubbing tight circles over your clit.

You moan around his cock, strangled noises escaping your throat while your rock back against your fingers, choking around the head of his cock hitting your throat.

"Shh, shh shh", he tuts, a little breathless, "Daddy's got ya, mh pretty girl? Lemme just--"

Tangerine's right hand lets go off your hair and then you can feel it sneak past your back, a feather-light touch brushing over the silk of your dress. It travels further and then grabs your ass, the sudden rough touch has you moaning around his dick once more. Your eyelids flutter as he pulls the fabric up up up, fists it and exposes you to whoever or whatever may rush past the passenger side's window. Your fingers speed up at the thought while his hand kneads the flesh of your cheeks.

"Fuckin' pretty", he hums, taking another quick look at the way your head bobs up and down his cock, "All over my cock like that, pretty fuckin' slut."

His hand wanders further down and before you can process it, one of his fingers circles your hole, feeling your slick and your plump folds. "Jesus Christ", he nearly groans, "You just love sucking cock, don't ya?"

That you do, whining around his base as the thick head of his dick hits the back of your throat again, with your fingers still working your clit. "Let me help you with that, love", and with that he pushes one finger in, up to his golden onyx ring, nestles it snugly between your hot walls. They clench around him and the sensation - the lingering promise of more - has you squirming a little.

Tangerine gives you what you want, need - finger curling a little, digits brushing over your spongy hot walls, before he slooowly pulls it back out. It circles your hole once more, quickly joined by a second, before he pushes them in again, starting to fuck you fast.

You moan, feet kicking a little and eyes tearing up at the sensation, with his dick pushing further into your throat and your fingers rubbing your clit, quickly has your muscles clench and cunt squirting.

"Yeah, just right 'ere, love, huh? Gettin'ya all loose 'n wet f'me? Such a good girl, aren't ya?", obscene sounds fill the air as he fucks your slick back into you, bottoms his fingers out, rubbing over the spot that has you seeing stars.

Tangerine moans deep in his chest as his cock starts to fuck into your mouth again and you let him use your throat gladly while his fingers pump in and out of your cunt, accompanied by the way your fingers flick over your clit rapidly.

The lack of fresh oxygen has you bucking against his hand, choking and sputtering around his cock that rams deeply in your throat but your stomach still flutters with it, lust igniting your loins and limbs tingling with it.

You can feel the muscles in your abdomen clenching, heart racing in your chest. Your fucking close and he seems to notice, too, his moans barely reaching your ears through the blood pumping and engine roaring. Tangerine nestles his fingers deep deep inside of you, rubbing over your walls and the spot that has you seeing stars, eyes falling shut and moaning against his cock.

It is all too much and your chest heaves as you finally cum, muscles clenching around his fingers, hips stuttering. His dick pulls back a little, tip resting hot and heavy against your tongue and then, his movements still.

"Open up your pretty mouth, doll, lemme see", he rasps, barely keeps an eye out to the street and you comply, fucked out mind making everything a little hazy, a little slow. Your jaw goes slack as you open your mouth, giving him a perfect view of his dick resting on your tongue.

Tangerine looks at you: mascara pooling beneath your eyes, lips swollen and red and jaw wet with spit and then comes too, shoots ropes of hot cum into your mouth. He watches the way it paints your tongue white, some of it landing on your upper lip, slooowly dripping down, running over your chin.

You swallow and then your tongue darts out, licks over your lips and then darts out, licks his cock clean, too.

Slowly, with your mind still foggy and limbs a little heavy already, you get back up. Your fingers brush through his remaining cum on your chin, wiping it away and letting them slip into your mouth, licking them clean. "Jesus, love", Tangerine's voice is a little coarse, gaze darting back and forth between your mouth and the street, as he carefully pulls his fingers out of you and your body closer instead.

You yelp, pressing yourself onto him, of your knees resting between his spread legs. None of you fucking care anymore, lust tugging at your brains dangerously, daringly. His hand, fingers still wet with your juices, brushes over your waist, grabs your ass and you lean in, lick over his throat, tasting his sweat and cologne.

"Can't wait for you to fuck me", you rasp, hands brushing over his chest, his necklace jingling, down down down, hand brushing over his cock and carefully putting it away, his clothing back in place.

Tangerine huffs, google assistant chiming out a direction, indicator clicking loudly as he sets it and then his hand comes up quickly, grabs your chin hard and holds your head in place. You look at him, deer in the headlights, holding your breath and then he's pulling you close, locks his lips with yours. He can taste himself on your tongue licking into your mouth, pulls you close.

You don't know how you made it to the fucking hotel alive, with Tangerine's hands roaming over your body, lips locking occasionally while he was speeding down the streets, cutting corners and red lights.

The two of you barely make it through the lobby and into the elevator, until Tangerine is onto you once more, presses your back flat against the cold, bronze metal. "I'll fuck ya so good, love", his dick is already hard again, pressing against you through the linen of his trousers and the satin of your dress, "'S gon' be all you'll be thinkin'bout for the next weeks." In a little more than an hour you will come to realize that he is right. You will be thinking about it for weeks. But now, there are only his lips roaming over your throat, occupying your mind and letting you drift back to a hazy, lustful state, with his hands feeling up your hips, your waist.

Eventually, the elevator piiings lazily and the two of you rush out it, like you are on the run from your own lust, hand clutching his as you quickly make your way down the hall to your suite. You unlock the door and turn the dimmed lights on inside. The room's just like you left it, guns and cash on the coffee table, soft light coming from the bedroom on the left. The window there is still opened, a soft breeze rolling in through the light curtains.

Tangerine throws the door shut behind himself and immediately grabs you by your waist, pulls you onto him, hand on your back on your ass as he leans down, devours you with a kiss. His tongue pushes into your mouth while he manoeuvres you backwards through your suite. Your hands dart out, catching the doorframe of the bedroom and you grab it hard, using it as leverage as you push back against him, your crotch rubbing against his. Tangerine grins against your lips and grabs your hips hard, makes you moan into the kiss.

He breaks it, chest heaving a little. "Fuck, love, imma ruin ya." Your breath hitches at that and your hands let go of the doorframe, wrapping around his neck instead like you're on some sort of fucking autopilot. "Yeah fuck, please", you whisper.

It takes Tangerine a moment, gaze growing a little soft before the beast takes over again, a gleaming dark hue turning the blue into an endless ocean and he hoists you up, carries you over to the bed.

He is carrying you like a caveman would his bagged prey and he tears at your dress just the same, one hand shoving the straps down your shoulders. Then he's onto the zipper, sliiides it down and throws you onto the bed.

You land onto the duvet with a soft thud, tits bouncing a little and his gaze follows the movement hungrily, before he tugs at the hem of your dress, pulls it down and throws it to the ground carelessly.

Tangerine just watches, gaze hungrily moving over your naked form, slooowly starts to undress himself. His slender fingers unbutton the silky shirt, button by button in an agonizingly slow speed. You know he's deliberately taking his time with you and it works, has your body quivering with anticipation and lust, one of your own hands running up your body, cupping your tit. He lifts a brow as he watches you tweaking your nipple and the haughty disdain has your head swimming, legs falling apart. "Please", you whisper, pussy aching for his touch, "--Need you."

The silk falls open, still hugging his shoulder and Tangerine continues watching you, playing with a ring on his finger, just like he's playing with you. It's cruel but it has lust building up in your belly, shooting arousal down between your legs and making fresh wetness pool between your folds in a way that you just know, that his touch will be heavenly.

And yet, impatience taking over, you mewl and in a desperate attempt for any sort of attention - for him to just fucking touch you again - you scramble to your knees, stretching out on the mattress and pressing your body flat onto it, ass high in the air. You know that he'll see it: your wet cunt, glistening in the dim light, hole clenching desperately around nothing. You feel exposed and at his mercy alone, and the degradation and danger of being unarmed like this in the presence of a killer, has your heart racing, thighs rubbing together for any sort of fucking friction.

Tangerine bellows out a laugh, surprised and dark, can't really hide either how turned on he is, and then his hand comes down on your ass. The sound bounces off the walls and has your bods jolting forward, first a gasp and then a moan falling from your lips, hands fisting the sheets. "Ya dirty fuckin' whore", he groans, hand groping your already reddening flesh. You can hear the silk flowing down to the ground and then he is pressing his crotch against you, fine linen against your wet cunt.

It's electrifying, the rather rough material pressing against your soft skin, your slick immediately wetting the fabric as your start to roll your hips against it, rutting over his clothed dick. Tangerine's cock is so so hard, hotly pulsing through the linen and you can feel its curve pressing against your pussy. You whimper, hips stuttering.

"Jesus Christ, love, can feel ya through my fucking pants -- lemme see", Tangerine groans and then grabs your hips hard, stalling your desperate movement, shoving them forward a little. You can feel his gaze dancing over your cunt, hear him whistle lowly, hands spreading your ass cheeks, assessing your slick. One of them comes loose and then --

He gives your cunt a light slap - the slight pain and degradation making your head swim - has you squirming on the mattress, a whiny Daddy, please escaping your lips. Your mind fogs up, all hazy with lust and his perfume, aching your back for him, pressing your chest flat against the sheets.

Tangerine pouts at you, eyes gleaming playfully. "D'you wan'it that bad, love?", and you nod nod nod, wiggling your hips as you chant - a desperate Yes yes yes escaping your lips, muffled by the mattress - hands uselessly darting out for any leverage.

His middle finger runs through your folds and you tremble, goosebumps erupting on your arms, spreading all over your body. He spreads your slick and his other hand comes up, kneads the flesh of your ass, spreading your cheeks further apart. "Always fuckin' wet f'me, innit? Picture perfect cunt ya got, love."

You mewl, throwing a glance over your shoulder to see him watching your hole clench around nothing. His eyes gleam. "Shit", you huff out as his finger brushes over your clit, feet curling a little and he grins smugly - Bastard - and gives your ass another sharp slap. You groan and then his hands are off you, making work of his trousers.

You watch him get fully undressed and your mouth waters at the sight. Tangerine's body is covered in scars, smaller round ones from bullets and larger, longer ones from knives and nasty fist fights and you want to crawl to him on your knees, kiss and lick them, worship them and him - his body, his tool of death - like he's your very personal reincarnation of Ares.

His dick springs free as he drops his boxers, completely exposing his muscular body to you, dusted on body hair and tattoos and scars scars scars and in the moment, that you can see precum glistening on the tip of his cock, you realize that you had already missed it. You fucking missed his dick. The thought has warmth spreading on your cheeks.

There's a light pat on your hip. "C'mon love, turn around. Wanna see your face while I fuck you nice and proper", he hums and your eyelids flutter, humming deeply in your throat at the proposition, turning around and laying on your back.

The mattress dips as he sinks down on his knees, chest flushed a little - the golden necklace dangling between your bodies - and then he's onto you, crawls over your body like an animal, leaves sloppy kisses on your skin, tongue licking over your nipples, stache tickling.

"Oh fuck", you huff, hands darting out and finding his hair, gently tugging at it. Tangerine's lips move over your throat and he sucks, makingyou gasp, throwing your head back as he marks you up.

"Spread ya legs f'me, sweetie", he rasps against your jaw and you do, knees falling apart. He grabs his dick with one hand, the other one supporting his own weight next to your head, rubs himself along your folds, using your slick as lube. "There ya fuckin' go", he huffs and then the thick head of his cock presses against your hole.

"Fuck, yes", you whimper, hot with anticipation, one hand leaving his hair and clutching around his shoulder. And then, he finally - fucking finally - puuushes in, your hole stretching around his girth a little, dull pain spreading excitement across your body.

Tangerine groans. It's a low and honest sound, has his chest vibrating against yours while he looks down to where your bodies meet. "Shit, fuckin' hell", he says, hand abandoning his dick as he slowly slides into you, fills you up and spreads your walls, grabbing your inner thigh instead. The way he spreads your legs is delicious and you hum, his dick is completely seated inside of you.

He lifts his gaze once more, looks at you. His eyes are dark, a stormy stormy sea, a few loose strands falling into his face, curls of his hair freeing themselves from the hair gel. He looks like a fucking god. "Fuck", you say, lowly, hole fluttering around him, stomach tingling at the sight.

"Ya cunt's so fuckin' tight, love", he growls and you can hear, feel it on your skin, that he is having a hard time holding back, "'S perfect, Jesus Christ."

Tangerine rolls his hips, once, twice and you moan, fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulder. "'S good for ya, too, love?", his nose brushes over yours, lips ghosting over your cheek. "Yeah, fuck", you huff, and then he's onto you, licks over your lips with his tongue and shoves it into your mouth, invites himself in. You lick over it, lips locking with his, stealing the air from both of your lungs. It is a sloppy kiss charged with energy and lust, your hands tugging at his curls, making the thrusts of his dick more feral, as he forces himself in deeper, groaning into your mouth. In return you moan, chest heaving against his, tits rubbing over the muscular skin.

His lips brush over the corner of your mouth, breathes against it, stache tingling a little as they move down to your throat, kissing and nibbling at the skin, marking you up.

"Fuck", you gasp at the stinging sensation, pulling his hair and he groans.

It feels nice; the way he is fucking you - you push away the thought that it's dangerously close to actually making love - the way he feels inside of you, how his body feels against yours, but it's also not enough. You need more.

A whine escapes your mouth, all desperate and needy and breathless and his movements still for a second.

Then, Tangerine looks up at you, dark blue eyes meeting yours. "Tell me what you want", he whispers, hand groping your thigh and dick buried deep deep inside of you. You can feel it twitch inside of you and your breath hitches. "Want -- want you to fuck me", you say quietly, "Like - hard."

"Aint' ya just a fuckin' dream, poppet", he growls and then his lips are unto you once more, licking into your mouth, teeth catching your lower lip; licking and kissing your lips until their sore while picking up a faster rhythm, pounding into you.

Tangerine eventually breaks away from you, leaves you panting and straightens up until he's kneeling between your legs - rolls his hips into you with his dick fucking in and out your hole, accompanied by an obscene squelching sound. One of his hands grabs your thigh hard, rings digging into the flesh, and then he's hoisting it up, resting your ankle on his shoulder and you moan at both: how deep his cock now pushes into you and the way Tangerine looks.

A thin layer of sweat covers his cheeks and his upper body, chest and cheeks flushed, a few strands of hair falling into his face as his brows are furrowed, lips slightly parted. You can hear him breathe heavily, occasionally moaning when your walls clench around his cock, squeezing him. He looks like a fucking porn star, with his defined muscles working beneath the skin and the golden jewellery, a soft summer breeze rolling in through the opened window, toying with his hair. Tangerine's gaze is glued to his dick that rhythmically pumps in and out of you, watches the way your juices squelch around the base of his cock, balls slapping against your wet skin.

His free hand runs up your belly and cups one of your tits, squeezes it, rolls the nipple between his fingers - the bracelet around his wrist jingles and the rings are cold against your skin. You hum deeply, breath ragged and fingers clawing at the sheets desperate for any leverage, while his deep thrusts throw you back and forth like a fucking ragdoll, tits bouncing and gasps falling from your lips.

Your mouth falls agape, watching Tangerine through hooded eyes and dark lashes and his gaze crawls up up up your body until it meets yours. It is accompanied by his hand, ditching your tit, and brushing up your neck, cupping your jaw and then falling in the crook beneath it, pressing down. The sudden lack of air has the muscles in your legs tensing and he feels it, too, mischief illuminating his face, his eyes, as you gasp for air. You know he could kill you then and there, watch you as your lights fade out and as fucked up as it is, it has your rutting your hips against him, spurring him on.

Tangerine furrows his brows and picks up a quicker rhythm, hand closing in tighter around your throat, rings pressing down onto your windpipe, and you lay your head back, feeling the stretch as he's choking you. The lack of fresh oxygen has your chest heaving, body surrendering to him and the way his cock pumps into your hole fast and deep, lust igniting your nerves. Tangerine can feel you clenching around his dick, wetting his trimmed pubic hair as you squirt, slick dripping down his balls and staining the sheets below. The beast inside him roars, thrums against the bars of its cage, his ribs and he sees your eyelids fluttering, cheeks prettily reddened.

"Atta girl", he groans, fingers giving in a little and you suck in a few deep breaths, before he presses them back down again. It's too soon and your hands dart up, clutching in around his wrist, bracelet jostling and clinking under your touch.

The cage breaks.

Suddenly, quickly, with the force and speed of a predatory animal, Tangerine lets go off your throat and flicks his wrist, catches both of yours in an iron grip and pins them above your head, down onto the mattress. His body follows the stretch of yours, bending over you, holding his own weight up with a hand that crashes down next to your chest. He is feral and it should scare you, especially as air floods your system again, lifts your mind out of your foggy state just a little, but it just doesn't no fight or flight kicking in. The way Tangerine hovers over you now has your leg on his shoulder bend, too, allowing his dick to fuck into you deeper, delicate pain from the stretch of your back igniting your loins.

Ragged breaths escape his throat while he pounds, ruts into you and you lose yourself in both, the sound of his utter pleasure and the way your body feels: on fire, chest tight with your approaching orgasm and raw lust, pure want, that chews up the ends of your nerves, has your limbs tingling.

Tangerine's hand keeps your wrists in that iron grip of his as he rolls his hips into you, dick hitting your cervix, his fingers digging into the flesh of your wrists. You throw your head back, gasping with each of his thrusts and his eyes follow your movement hungrily, groans as your eyes roll back. There's a strong pull in your abdomen and your hole flutters around his cock, his balls slap against your wet skin.

"Fuck fuck fuck", you whine, high pitched moans falling from your hips as he ruts into you, "I'm gonna cum, oh shit --"

Tangerine's eyes fall shut, a throaty moan erupting deep from his chest when your muscles tighten around him. "Yeah, shit love -- that's it, fuckin' cum f'me", he rasps, forehead coming down to a rest on your shoulder.

And you do after a few more of his deep thrusts, whining and legs kicking a little, shakes erupting in your chest as you press against him. Everything goes white as you ride your orgasm out on his dick, moaning and gasping as he does, too, shoots thick and hot ropes of cum into you, painting your walls and pulsing deep inside of you.

Tangerine moans, coarse and raw and his chest heaves, presses his nose into the crook of your neck - but you barely notice it, too far gone, mouth agape and legs shaking.

It takes you a while to come down again, eyelids fluttering open lazily. There's a hand on your cheek, a deep hum near your ear. "Welcome back, love", Tangerine says quietly and then, "Ya did so good for me, eh?" You mewl, stretching your legs a little. Your whole body feels sore, his cum leaking out of you and into the sheets. All you want to so is to get up and clean yourself up, but your legs are so so heavy and you just feel so so tired. Tangerine seems to notice, too.

"You stay here, darlin', imma get you something to clean you up", Tangerine says, voice coarse but soft and he gets up, just as a fresh breeze rolls in through the curtains, blows them up and sends them flying a little. The forecast prognosed heavy rainfall for next week. The air already smells like it a little - damp and mushy.

The breeze cools your sweaty skin, has you sighing with content while you watch Tangerine's naked form as he is walking to your bathroom, muscles in his legs and butt working nicely with each step.

***

It has been over a week and this is his third night. It starts to feel like a fucking stake out.

He feels incredibly silly. Silly for coming here again. Silly for lying to Lemon - again. Silly for ordering two Margaritas. Silly for drinking both.

Tangerine leans against the bar, elbows planted firmly on the sticky wood, smoking a cigarette. The band, same musicians, play a soft and melancholic tango. The air had cooled down a little after yesterday’s rain and maybe, just maybe, that'll be the summer's first soft goodbye before it will go down in a last great huzzah with a hot Indian summer before autumn takes over the city.

He wonders if he will still be in Amsterdam by then, if he and Lemon will watch the leaves fall. There is an offer for a job in Japan and he is considering to take it. He'll have to talk to Lemon about it.

"Anything else for you, Sir?", the bartender asks. And Tangerine nods, orders another Margarita. The bartender takes the empty glasses away and he stares at the wood. Oh, he's just so bloody fucking silly, isn't he?

He takes another drag from his cigarette, shifts his weight from one foot to another and rubs his eyes. She won't come. He knows.

She just won't. Tangerine did have a suspicion who she was, has heard stories about her father and he knew, as soon as he had laid eyes on her, that he was in big, big trouble. He wonders if he had already taken her away, wanting better for his daughter than a no-good ordinary killer. Did not want the danger in his life that came with a man, who potentially could be holding his daughter for ransom at some point or worse, could get her killed.

He gets it, though. He would probably do just the same.

"There you go, Sir", the bartender says and Tangerine just nods, suddenly feels very very exhausted and just barely notices that something, someone is moving next to him.

"Can you still afford to buy me one, too?", a familiar voice says, "Or did you burn it all on car insurance?" He chuckles, feels a sudden burst of energy surging through his veins, straightens back up and slowly turns around to her.

"Wasn't my fault, 'prick was driving like a fuckin' loony."

She chuckles and the noise makes his head swim, a strange fluttering feeling in his stomach. He wants to tear his chest open and claw at it, rip it out. That is how much it fucking scares him. How much she scares him.

"Wasn't sure if you were coming back", she says, casually, calmly like she thought about it so much she's just used to it by now.

"I'm not leavin' that soon, love", he says, signals the bartender that another Margarita is in order.

"Where you going?"

"Tokyo, love. Probably -- most likely."

"Come back in one piece then", her smile is genuine. And he knows, that he just has to now.

#tangerine #tangerine x reader #tangerine smut #tangerine x y/n #tangerine bullet train #tangerine x you #tangerine x fem!reader #tangerine imagine #my writing #smut #bullet train #bullet train 2022 #aaron taylor johnson

[cross-my-heartt]

Rewriting Rebels Thrawn (Part one?)

Hello everyone, I was planning to do some comparison posts for Rebels Thrawn and canon book Thrawn (because as it turns out they are very different) but then I got another idea:

What if I took scenes from Rebels and reimagined them to better fit Thrawn's portrayal in the canon trilogy and Ascendancy? This way we not only get to talk about CB Thrawn but also compare him to his Rebels counterpart.

So this is what we'll be doing here!

Also, I want to point out that this post isn't meant to dump on the Rebels version. Both are valid iterations and which one you prefer is up to you. This is merely a fun little exercise for myself and a post for those potentially curious to know more about CB Thrawn.

So without further ado, here's the scene we'll be looking at for this post (minor spoilers ahead):

There are three things here that will need addressing:

One, Thrawn's open display of anger. Two, his demonstration of physical violence. And finally, what motivated them in the first place (ie Slavin referring to the Klaikori as trash and suggesting they get rid of it).

In the show this scene suggests that Thrawn is the calm polite type whose composure is only a veneer. The kind of character who's unpredictable because they're cool and suave on the surface but show their true colors when provoked.

Canon book Thrawn, in contrast, demonstrates a composure that is very much real. He is so composed in fact that it often throws his opponents off balance, especially if they're purposefully trying to get a rise from him.

On the rare occasion he does display anger it's usually through a tensity or rigidness of sort (lips thinning, posture going stiff, his tone turning tense, etc.) and his overall manner becomes more cold and clipped as opposed to aggressive or passionate.

He is also a capable fighter but only resorts to physical violence if it serves a purpose. For instance, the first time he and Eli are in a fight, Eli doesn't even realize Thrawn can hold his own because he's holding back as part of a bigger plan.

In general CB Thrawn is more likely to intimidate opponents by revealing his ability to defeat them, making his weapon of choice verbal intimidation. Add to that a lack of sadistic inclinations and you get a character who's unlikely to resort to violence as long as there are other means of achieving his goals.

Can he be ruthless? Yes. But not in a situation that doesn't call for it. Which brings us to the thing that prompted his outburst:

Slavin's comment is something that's unlikely to elicit such a reaction in book canon Thrawn. Namely because he's more than used to people's attitude towards his art obsession. He's been ridiculed for it in both the Empire and in his home world and he never reacts to it aggressively (the few instances he's open about his feelings on it, he's more resigned than angry).

Thrawn faced similar alienation (pun intended) in the Empire for being an alien and even then Eli seemed to get more upset on his behalf than Thrawn did. Because again, he's used to it.

Now. With all of that said.

How would I rewrite this scene to fit book canon.

For starters, Thrawn keeps his composure, merely telling Slavin that his opinion is the reason why he's not calling the shots in this situation. When Slavin asks him what he means, Thrawn tells him that he's clearly not capable of appreciating the Kalikori's value, implying Slavin's incompetence.

Even better, Thrawn gets confused when his comment angers Slavin - in the books Thrawn is often incapable of distinguishing compliments and insults from factual statements - and he politely apologizes to Slavin, telling him that he didn't mean his words as an insult but was merely stating the facts.

Throughout the whole scene he's neither condescending nor annoyed or smug. He keeps a calm steady tone and leaves Slavin feeling wrong-footed and humiliated.

So the whole thing would look something like this:

"We should just destroy that piece of Twi'lek trash."

"And that is why, captain, you are not the one making the decisions here."

"What? What do you mean by that?"

"I am merely saying that you are unequipped to appreciate the value the Kalikori holds for us."

"Unequipped?" [Slavin sputters, indignant] "I would like to point out, sir, that I have been here on Ryloth far longer than you have."

[Thrawn stops and blinks at him]

"My apologies, captain, my comment seems to have offended you. I did not mean to cause any offense. I was merely stating the facts as they are."

[he turns and continues walking as if the topic is closed]

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm conducting an experiment that requires my attendance."

Alright, that concludes this scene! My subpar writing aside, I'm curious to hear what any book fans might think. I won't be going through each and every one of Thrawn's scenes but I hope to cover those that are the most obvious candidates for a rewrite (and oh boy, hopefully none of them will need as much revision as this one).

#thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #thrawn trilogy #thrawn trilogy spoilers #thrawn books #sw rebels #rebels thrawn

[romeulusroy]

Growing Up With Dick Would Include:

Bruce took you in when you were a kid, just a few years younger than Dick

He was ecstatic to have a younger sibling

"Y/n, this is your big brother."

He'd already been with Bruce long enough to understand this arrangement wasn't one he wanted for anyone else

So, he took you under his wing

At first he was scaring you with his cynicism

You were grieving your parents, your family, and now the new one you had sounded terrifying

Dick felt awful for scaring you, he didn't mean it at all, he just wanted you to be prepared - Bruce wasn't warm and fuzzy, he didn't want you to get your hopes up, that's all

"I'm sorry y/n."

He was right though

It didn't take long for Bruce to start training you

You used your anger from him and from your circumstances

Dick saw a lot of himself in you

He gave you advice whether or not you really wanted it, knowing if you didn't improve that would only upset Bruce more

"Stand with your feet more apart. . ."

You brushed him off, thinking he was just being a know-it-all

That is, until you get hurt because of it

You never saw your brother so upset, so worried

"Have you been here all night?"

"Maybe."

You hear him yelling at Bruce after you're safe that he pushed you too hard, that he was being cruel to you

"They need to learn."

"They're just a kid!"

After that, you always listened to what he had to say, not because you were scared of getting hurt, but because you were afraid that it would make Dick leave

Sometimes he was so close to running away, he'd confide in you, that if just one more thing happened he'd be packing his bags

You couldn't bear the thought of living in that place without him

It wasn't all work and no play though

You'd sneak into Dicks room when you had nightmares and he'd tell you all about growing up in the circus

"Did you get to eat cotton candy for dinner?"

"Every night."

"Wow."

He reminded you that just because your family was gone, it didn't mean that they were forgotten, wanting you to talk about all the good memories you had

It was important not to forget them, he made sure you knew that

You two would sneak downstairs and watch movies when Bruce was away, Alfred always popping the popcorn perfectly

Fighting over which movie you wanted to watch

"No scary movies."

"Why not?"

"Because you won't be able to sleep tonight."

"I'm not a baby."

He always makes it a special day on your birthday, even though Bruce believes it's not worth the fuss

The cake he baked was runny and the frosting melted, but it was the best birthday you ever had

Befriending Donna, who takes her place as your replacement mother

They take their roles very seriously which annoys you to no end

"You're not my parents, you know."

"You need someone to look out for you."

They make sure you're never alone on missions, helping from the sidelines

As you grow older, their lectures go from "be careful" to "if you ever drink too much, call one of us to come get you"

And you do, mostly Donna, who lectures you after your hangover is done vs. Dick who yells the whole way home

"You guys are insufferable."

"That's a pretty big word, y/n."

The three of you get into all kinds of trouble

Taking the Batmobile for joy rides

Using Bruces technology to look up all your crushes even though they both insist you won't date until you're thirty

Making prank phone calls to the Justice League

"Does everyone have an uncle that's an alien?"

"I think that's just us."

"Oh."

Thinking of leaving this life behind becomes a more prominent thought as you get older

You're not sure if you ever really could

It's such a big part of your life, your identity

Donna is the first to insist you give it up, find something you're passionate about

Dick is a little more hesitant

He wants you to be happy, but he knows he won't be able to look after you as much when you're apart

He just wants you to be safe

Eventually you do

You leave the suit, the weapons, everything

Not long after, Dick leaves too . . .

#headcanon #dick grayson #dick grayson headcanon #dick grayson x reader #nightwing #nightwing headcanon #nightwing x reader #titans #titans headcanon #titans x reader

[night-lakmen]

"I grant the gift of leadership and dominion over the skies."

"I grant the gift of harmonious unions and enduring partnerships."

"I grant the gift of swift communication and clever wit."

"I grant the gift of valor and unyielding courage in battle."

"I grant the gift of music and healing"

"I grant the gift of the wilderness and the moon's guidance."

"I grant the gift of magnetic attraction and boundless passion."

"I grant the gift of innovative creations and unparalleled artistry."

"I grant the gift of abundant harvests and flourishing growth."

"I grant the gift of insightful knowledge and strategic foresight."

"I grant the gift of ecstatic celebrations and uninhibited revelry."

"I grant the gift of comforting homes and welcoming hearths."

In the majestic hall of Olympus, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation. The grandeur of the surroundings, adorned with celestial motifs and shimmering lights, created a backdrop fit for the gods. As the deities assembled, their diverse presence filled the space, each one exuding an aura of power and grace.

At the heart of the gathering, a glowing golden pulse captured everyone's attention. Its radiant light cast a soft, ethereal glow, casting shadows that danced across the marble floors and reflecting off the intricate frescoes that adorned the walls. The gentle hum of conversation ceased as all eyes turned to the pulsating orb, its rhythmic throbbing a testament to the divine energy it contained.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the golden pulse began to split into two halves. They spun ever so slowly, one clockwise and the other anticlockwise almost like they were two ends of the same spectrum. Two halves seperated just so one didn't become too powerful or destructive, forever meant to need to the other to function.

Hades, who had been summoned to Olympus from his own domain simply for the present occasion, spoke up with his words filled in a sense of disdain for the family he had tried to distance himself from simply due to their habits. "Bestowing such gifts on mortals is cruel! We're gods, we control our own domains. Expecting two young children to bear such a heavy responsibility, having their life already written down before they're allowed to be born- it's downright cruel!"

The other gods looked at each other and then back at Hades, the words of the God of the underworld shaking some of their own guilt. The big three had to put a pause to their own pact for the task in hand, find a surrogate for the burning merges of power which would make the host a living weapon, a sheild, a blade for the gods which would protect the forefront of Olympus. Fates were cruel, but it was the best thing for the gods to do. The threat of monsters constantly trying to over throw Olympus meant they'd need someone who would be able to fight the threat with the force of all of them.

Someone human.

Poseidon, his trident held loosely by his side, nodded solemnly. "It was a necessary decision," he agreed, his voice steady and resolute. As much as the God wanted to take his words back, he knew him taking his words back would mean the responsibility would be given to Zeus- and both Hades and Poseidon did not trust Zeus with choosing a suitable mortal to mother the host of the power.

The king of the gods turned his head towards Hades, his stormy eyes narrowing in dangerous rage.

"You question our decisions, Hades, yet you offer no solutions," Zeus retorted, his voice tinged with a hint of thunderous anger. "You speak of cruelty, yet you fail to see the greater purpose. We cannot afford to let Olympus fall to the whims of fate and chance. We must act with decisiveness and strength to protect our realm. Tell us at once if you want to back up your words, we do not have time to waste."

With a reluctant sigh, Hades moved towards the center of the gathering where the golden pulses had once been. He reached out, hesitating for a moment before his fingers closed around one of the warm power hotspots. As he lifted it, the pulsating energy slowly transformed, its vibrant glow dissipating to reveal an exquisite fruit. The fruit was a deep shade of e/c, its surface adorned with specks of shimmering gold, casting a mesmerizing pattern against the light.

As Hades backed away, his gaze locked with Poseidon's, who had approached the second pulsating hotspot. With a solemn expression, Poseidon picked up the other glowing orb of energy. Similar to Hades's, the energy gradually settled, giving way to a stunning fruit. This one was a radiant shade of azure blue, its skin smooth and glossy, emanating a sense of calm and tranquility.

As Poseidon turned to leave, his trident glinted in the soft glow of the hall. Zeus, noticing his departure, called out, "Poseidon, where do you think you're going?"

Poseidon paused, his expression sour as he glanced back at Zeus. "Since we're supposed to find a surrogate for the host," he remarked, his tone laced with bitterness, "I already have a woman in mind. If you don't mind, I must go woo her properly."

With a dismissive flick of his hand, Poseidon turned on his heel and strode out of the hall, leaving behind a trail of tension and uncertainty in his wake. The gods could feel the cold emotions radiating off the other god who held the e/c colored fruit on his palm. The cold specks in it seemed to swirl in his sight, a cold fist closing around his heart.

Lowering the hand, he too turned around from the other gods and walked away with the intention of staying in the underworld, by his wife's side so as to spare him the pain of fathering a child who would be raised as a lamb of sacrifice. The father he'd never asked to be, but now was forced to bear, for the sake of Olympus' survival.

With heavy hearts and troubled minds, the remaining gods and goddesses slowly dispersed, their footsteps echoing solemnly against the marble floors of the grand hall. Each deity carried with them the weight of the decisions made and the uncertainties of the future. The spots which had once held the pulsating energies lay barren, slowly turning darker as fates sealed their cruel iron hand over the heads of the children who'd be unlucky enough to be born under the curse.

The curse of power. The curse of strength.

The curse of being chosen by the gods.

#luke castellan #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fluff #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo luke #demigods #luke castellan fanfic #the last olympian #luke castellan smut #luke castellan pjo

[iguana-eyanna]

The Villain You'd Thought I'd Be

Pairing: Matt Murdock x villain reader

Summary: You thought you'd have enough time with Matt when you two escaped, but happiness comes with consequences

Warning: violence, weapon use, death

a/n: This took so long to write! this will be the last part of this series, so I hope you enjoy!

Matt breathes in and out his nose, lying on a bed. The sun that warmed his face lets him know it's about breakfast time. He hears a soft grunt next to him, moving their hand closer to his naked chest.

He kisses your forehead, making you snuggle closer to him.

"Morning." He whispers.

"What time is it?" You ask, groaning in his chest.

He chuckles a bit, feeling his chest vibrate.

"I think it's almost ten?" He guesses.

You turn around and see your clock on your night stand to make sure.

"9:50 a.m., You must be a wizard." You joked, making Matt hold you closer as he laughed more. You were then both at eye level with each other, taking in each other's presence.

"I'll make us breakfast" he whispers, kissing your temple. You groan a bit, but you feel hungry. Sitting up, you see him get out of the bed as you see his toned body while wearing sweats. You smirk, throwing yourself in his pillow. You suddenly hear a ping from your phone and reach out to see a text on your home screen.

Your breath gets stuck in your throat, seeing it was from Wesley.

Fisk is getting impatient.

You straighten yp, trying to think of a response.

Ever since your disappearance last week, you told Wesley that you wanted more time and you'll return with Daredevil yourself. You and Matt haven't talked about it since not wanting to pop the bubble you two have made together.

I'll give you what you want Saturday night.

You see that he read it, but didn't reply. He knows that you're able to deliver, or else your life depended on it.

As you get out of bed and head to your kitchen, you caught a whiff of pancakes and eggs.

"I wanted to serve you in bed." Matt says, as he's still flipping food on the skillet.

"I'd rather be here with you." You said, hugging him from behind.

Soon, you two ate by the dining table and lounged around in your living room. You haven't gone out of your luxurious apartment, fearing that Fisk's spies would catch you in public.

For the past few days, they were either full of passionate nights as you drank white wine in your bedroom or the picket fence life when you two would mindlessly dance around your house listening to your record player.

Each moment was blissful.

Now you were on the couch, kissing every inch on Matt’s face as held you tightly.

“I gotta ask... when you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?" Matt asks.

You hum in thought, biting your lip.

"A music teacher."

"Really?" He asks as you two sat up.

"Yeah, I always loved music at a young age. During college, I had to find an internship in order to graduate. I saw a flyer for a part-time job at a public school. I think they just needed the kids to join a curriculum after school so their homeroom teacher wouldn't burst into flames. I applied and got the job as a music teacher for the rest of the school year playing piano, ukulele, and guitar. Guess those kids made an impact on me 'cause I loved it so much."

"Wow, that's pretty cool." Matt says.

"Yeah, took me back to simpler times. Guess you can say I'm in the wrong profession." You chuckled, hoping he'd join in.

But there was dead silence.

"Don't, don't go back to them." Matt says.

You look down at your lap, as the uneasiness of this topic was hard to avoid now.

"If I stay, they're going to find us. I can't let that happen." You said.

"Then we go to the feds, I know some people who can help." Matt assured you, but you get from the couch.

"You know damn well no one escapes from Fisk."

Matt gets up as well, feeling the anger build.

"Then we'll find another way, together." He says, holding your hand

You look down, your heart breaking. This was the man you've been hunting down, but also the person you've been falling hard for. He's wanting to give everything up, for you.

"I know what we could do, but that means ending him... for good."

Matt feels helpless. He's tried his hardest to do what's right, to not submit to the sins he has already left behind.

But being here with you was his saving grace, as he never felt more alive in his life than with you.

He closes in the gap between you and holds you close, as his features crumble down.

"I would choose forever only if it’s with you."

You hold his face in your hands as you connected foreheads.

"We'll finally get that happy ending, together..."

You two then planned to get Fisk offguard. You'll lull Fisk into a vegetative state with your powers while Matt fights off anyone that stops your way. The only way to start this plan was if he got backup. So when he appeared at the office with you by his side, Foggy and Karen were upset. Matt and you told them of how you got your powers and that you've been working for FIsk all of this time.

"You broke my friend's heart, tortured him under the orders of your boss that's been trying to kill him, took him away for days without us knowing, and you want us to help you?" Foggy asks in a rage.

Karen looks at you, betrayed.

"Taking out Fisk like this isn't right, you know it too, Matt."

Matt held your hand as he speaks up to his friends.

"The last time I went after Fisk, I thought I lost an inch of my life. I am here, asking you to help us and end this fight for good."

You look at them as the guilt began to crawl on your back.

"What I did wasn't right, but I had no choice. Fisk thought he could form me into something sinister, but not anymore. I'm done with fighting, we're done with hiding."

Foggy looks at Matt, worried. When he realizes that you never let go of Matt's hand, he saw that you were worried too.

"Damn it." Foggy mutters as he lightly punched the desk in front of him.

He looks at you two, placing his hands on his hips.

"What do you want us to do?" Foggy asks.

"I'll deliver Matt to Fisk at a new shipping port, we'll sail across the bay and we'll take him out before the ship anchors. You'll wait for us at the destination and drive us out."

Karen crosses her arm, unimpressed.

"Fisk will know if Matt is at full strength. I'd think he'll notice he's not beaten to a pulp." Karen says.

You give Matt a side glance as he tightens his grip on your hand.

"That's when you come in. My powers have no limitations, so I need you to stop me if I hurt Matt by placing him under a spell."

She shoots up from her seat.

"You are not doing that to him!" She says, overprotectively.

Matt takes a step forward.

"It'll be the only way Fisk will know I'm not at full potential. She said it will only last about an hour and I'll return back at full strength. I trust her."

Karen shakes her head and left the office, not speaking to you or Matt. Foggy chases after her.

"Well, that was better than I expected." Matt said.

You huff when you sat down on the desk, staring out at the window.

"They don't want to lose you, I'd react like that too."

Matt joins you on the edge of the desk and lowers his head to the floor.

"We thought this out, right?" He asks.

You scoff and give a dry laugh.

"Only you could make a joke at a time like this." You said, nudging his shoulder.

You look at him, feeling a sort of guilt.

"Did you mean that you said? That you trust me? I mean, I almost killed you."

Matt moves his head to your direction.

"I do. More than you know."

You place the side of your head on his shoulder.

"We really didn't think this through." You said.

"They'll come around. I promised I'd come to them first if I wanted to take down Fisk, they have every part in this fight as we do. Then, we can live the lives we always wanted, together. "

You smile at the thought of a provincial life with Matt, making your heart shed off the ice it was once protected by.

"Together." You said, intertwining your hand in his.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wesley and Fisk come out of the car at the meet up. They both look slightly irritated as they await you.

Soon, they see a car drive up and see you dressed in dark attire. Your leather heeled boots echo onto the pavement.

"Where were you?" Fisk asks.

"I thought to have fun with the devil himself, wanted to see what was all of the trouble since your guys can't catch him."

Wesley walks up, his jaw locked.

"Survivors said that you left them to die when you let him escape." He says, joining his hands in front of him.

Your gaze darkens, but you scoff.

"You really going to trust them? They were sloppy: made his restraints lose so he fought his way out. It was their fault, so they had to pay the price."

Fisk didn't reply when Wesley turned to him, trying to see your game.

"Where is he?" Fisks asks.

You turn around and walk towards the trunk of your car. Fisk motions to Wesley for him to follow you. When you open your trunk, It reveals a body bag, but Wesley isn't impressed.

"Open it." He demands.

You show no emotion and unzip it, revealing the masked Daredevil.

"Used my powers, he's pretty useless if you want anything out of him." You said.

Wesley turns to Fisk and nods his head.

"Zip him up and we'll have someone take him in. We need to talk, privately."

"Fine." You said. You left the car as you followed Fisk and Wesley to a private room on the ship. The room was small, but very elegant for Fisk's comfort. Windows surrounded the area as you see the front deck and the night sky. Once you settle, Fisk pours you and him a drink.

"I have to admit, you surprised me." Fisk said, cooly.

"You know I always deliver." You said.

"That is true. Some had doubts." Fisk said, giving a side eye to Wesley.

You cross your legs, giving an innocence look. Wesley never liked you before.

"Oh really?" You ask, taunting him.

He doesn't display much emotion, but you know he's biting his tongue.

Fisk gets out of his chair and walks around the room.

"Don't place the blame on him, some doubt came from me as well. I know how rebellious you can be, including your... love affairs."

The hairs on your neck started to stick like pins. You remember getting your powers for the first time. You felt invincible, wanting to lure men you attracted and left them for dead. Wesley had to clean up the mess like he always does for you. Fisk told you that caving into your powers is a dangerous thing, especially when they're driven by desire.

"I'm not like that anymore, you know that."

He gives a dry chuckle as he puts down his cup.

"Yes I do. You changed a lot. But I need to know where your loyalties lie."

A light brightens outside. You get up from your chair and peer down, almost gasping.

Dozens of bodyguards surrounded an unconscious Daredevil that was chained to the ground. He was forced on his knees, his head lulling side to side.

"I'm surprised you didn't unmask him." Fisks asks.

"I didn't see the fun in it." You said in a small voice, your eyes still locked on him.

Fisk comes closer to you, coldly smiling.

"I want you to do the honors." He says.

You swear you felt your heart dropped in your stomach as you look up, almost horrified.

You didn't have time to respond as Fisk gave you a box.

"A gift from me. What better way to use it then on the devil of Hell's Kitchen?"

You forced yourself to fake a smile.

"It'll be an honor."

Once you walked away to the staircase, you try your hardest not to waiver. Everything was set in slow motion. You arrive on the deck, as all eyes were on you. You uncover the box's lid and see a gun sitting on the cushion like a diamond necklace.

Typical of Fisk, dramatizing everything he did

Your eyes centered on Matt who still looked unconscious. Your cold hands lifted the gun from inside and you lifted it up in the air, slowly raising your arm and facing it to the one you loved.

"Hey." a whisper called out to you.

You look down and see Matt lifting his head, grinning in a small manner.

"Still have faith in us?" he asks.

You couldn't help but smile in relief.

"Still do, keep your head low."

You twirled around to the guards and let out a scream. Everyone is forced on their knees, trying to cover their ears but it was no use. They were powerless under your voice.

You know their will be more guards coming your way and helped Matt out of his bonds.

"We really need to stop meeting like this." he joked.

You chuckle, as you try hard to not kiss him when he throws quips like that. You help him to his feet and hear more coming.

"How many do you think are on the boat?" He asks.

"Maybe 30 tops." You said.

"I handled more." He said, ready to throw his punhces.

"Apparently, you don't know me well enough." You said. The first guard that came charging at you both, you dodged down and swooped him from under his legs, knocking him out as you strike him with your knee.

Matt was impressed, but shortly stopped as he punched another guard.

You two were almost invincible, fighting side by side. You turn around, thinking it may be over, but Fisk looms over you with fury in his eyes.

You were about to open your mouth, but Fisk grabbed you by the throat and lifted you in the air.

Matt turns around as he hears you struggle and ran towards you, but Wesley stepped in his way, pointing a gun at him.

"Not your turn yet." Wesley said in a monotone voice.

All you could do was try to wriggle out of Fisk's grip but it got harder to focus.

"I gave you your gift, I gave you a career, and this is what you give back to me? Betrayal?" Fisks screams.

All you could do is smile wickedly at him with hysteria.

"Guess I'm not the villain you'd thought I'd be."

You found a pocket knife in your pocket and took it out, slicing Fisk's arm. He lets go of you, screaming in pain. You landed on the floor, already feeling the bruising around your neck. When you look up, you see Matt trying to get to you. Little did he know, Wesley was pointing his gun at him.

"No." you whispered. With your last strength, you got up and drew in a breath, releasing one final song.

Fisk falls on his knees, trying to shut out your voice as well as Wesley. But the gun went off, and you only had enough time to hold onto Matt as you pushed yourself and Matt overboard.

You felt the impact of the water as your body hit it, and swim upwards. You gasp for air, trying to look for Matt. You see him struggle a few feet away from you, so you scream out for him so he could hear your voice.

He holds onto you tightly as you grabbed him firmly.

"Don't- let go" You stammered as you helped him steady himself in the water.

Fisk and Wesley get up and look over the ship, as they lost you and Daredevil in the darkness of the night.

"What now?" Wesely asks.

"Right now, we'll assume they're dead. There's bigger fish to fry." Wilson said as the two make their way back inside.

As morning rose, Foggy and Karen were sitting in a rental.

"They should have came hours ago." Foggy says.

Karen looks down at her phone, trying to see if any of you texted or call.

"Still no reply."

Foggy shakes his head and unbuckles his seat belt, getting out of the car.

"I need to get out, I can't stand not doing anything."

They were parked by the opposite dock of where you promised to meet them, and Foggy decided to walk down the rocky path that connected the water. He looks casually over the water, thinking he sees an abnormal rock that the water pushed forward. But somehow, it looked more round and red, with two pointy ears sticking out.

"Karen!" Foggy yelled out, as he started running towards the helmet. Soon, he sees his friends' bodies as they washed up on shore. Matt still clung out to you as both of you appeared unconscious.

Foggy tears Matt off of you and performs CPR.

"C'mon man." Foggy whispers, as he keeps pushing down.

Karen runs over and sees what's happening and begins to pale. She resumed running as she tries to perform CPR on you.

Soon, Matt coughs out water and tries to breathe.

"Matt buddy, we're here," Foggy says, trying to calm him down.

"Where- Where is she?" Matt asks as he was still coughing. Foggy was about to point out that Karen was trying to resuscitate you, but his face fell. Karen could only look down at you with blood on her hands, seeing the bullet wound in your side.

Matt could smell the blood, that was all he was smelling.

"No, no no no no." He murmured, trying to crawl to you. Foggy tried to help but pushed him aside.

Matt held your cold body in his arms, as he tried to heart beat or hear you say something, anything to him

"Come back to me." Matt begged, rocking you in his arms.

He screamed out in pain as his two friends stood behind him, looking at their friend who lost everything.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Matt walked along the sidewalk, smiling to himself.

He finally came to his destination at a busy entrance to a catholic school. Matt took out his visitor's pass and walked along the hallways.

"Hi Mr. Murdock, we've just prepared the room for you." Shelly, the middle aged receptionist said as she took his arm.

"Thanks for having me come, Shell." Matt said.

"Of course, the kids love you. Especially since you're dating their music teacher." She said, opening the door.

"-now everyone! I'd like you to welcome Mr. Matt Murdock from Nelson, Murdock, and Page: Attorneys at Law!" A voice said out loud to busy kids.

They all cheered as Matt enters to the front of the room, folding his walking stick.

"It's great to be here! I work at a law firm that I and my friends made together..."

He talked about his job and had a few questions from the kids. But the last one that made him slightly turn was when he was going to marry their teacher.

The dismissal bell finally rang and all the kids left, saying goodbye to their guest speaker and teacher. A pair of heels goes up to Matt, smirking at him.

"I hope I didn't bore them." Matt said.

"You didn't, they loved you." You said, smiling.

You survived the incident from the boat two years ago. You didn't know if it was your powers or if the bullet go through all the way: you were still alive. Matt could hear a faint heartbeat and told his friends to drive you to the nearest hospital.

You woke up a few days later, seeing Matt by your side. Since then, you two became closer and you found a great place to restart your life, working as a music teacher at a catholic middle school.

"Shall we head out?" Matt asks.

You hum in agreement as you and Matt planned to get something by the cafe next door and have a small picnic.

"Yep, I'm starving. Anything else planned?" You ask jokingly.

Matt chuckles as he had a ring in his pocket as he wanted to propose to you.

"Eh, Got a trick up my sleeve. Nothing too special."

You roll your eyes as you hold Matt's hand as you walk out of your classroom.

"Be careful, Mr. Murdock... I'll torture it right out of you. I always have a lasting effect on you."

Matt grins before kissing you as you made it outside.

"That you do, my siren... that you do"

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x vigilante!reader #dare devil #dare devil x reader #matt murdock #marvel #oc marvel

[johnlocsin-johnyakuza]

How Sifu taught me not to give up

For @goldenhydreigon47, @theelispace, @deceitfulmelvinator, @katanafoxdrawsthings, @experiment14-12, @oogaboogaspookyman, @jokurr-d-phantom, @akachan3000, @kid-az and anyone else who see's this post.

If you have been watching my gameplay on Sifu, I could assume you know what the game is. It is a Kung-Fu styled beat-em up game, the story about a martial arts student embarking on a journey of revenge against the 5 martial arts masters responsible for the death of their father. The game is very difficult with a large learning curve with it, with multiple mechanics you'd have to master. Defending against enemies, attacking, parrying, dodging, learning all the skills available. Sifu has a death mechanic where every time you die, you'll age up, and while you will be healed, if you pass and die over the age of 70, it's game over. You wouldn't get through by just button mashing, you'd have to practice your moves, learn your enemies, and being able to react and counter. Sifu doesn't play around, just like Sekiro. Sifu is all about taking your time to grow and learn as the player, not rushing things. The aging shows the player how long it can take for someone to learn and improve over your lifetime. Spamming wouldn't work, you have to engage all of the games systems, and Sifu's system of combat is amazing, the game is meant to be learned, studied, and not brute forced.

Upon playing through the game, avenging my characters father at the end, you could expect applause, but instead... remorse. You end up becoming a killer, killing someone who murdered our characters family, sure they killed our father, but now I was the killer. This led to the bad ending, you may have achieved your goal, won, and pushed through quitting on a path, you grew, but what for? This puts the game in an empathetic view. Exacting revenge wasn't how the game wanted me to tackle it. You could die over and over, like a cycle, and that's what the game can be, a cycle that keeps going if you don't break it. That's when the second playthrough starts, with another goal, Wude. In ancient Chinese martial arts, Wude is the idea where one must possess both strong character and admirable behavior to overcome any obstacle.

Showing our adversaries mercy in the face of hostility shows our respect to them rather falling to their violent level. Instead of pushing through, you now have to learn to quit. Quit playing aggressively, quit going on the offensively, quit trying to avenge your father, because that's never wanted he wanted you to do anyways. He didn't want you to weaponize your rage to become a murderer, he wanted you to grow. Turn your passion into patience, and harden your determination, but not to forgetting empathy. Sifu isn't a game about punching and kicking, but change your way you think about fighting, and seeing life's challenges.

Sifu taught me how to be okay with letting go with what you think is your main objective. Sifu is about forgiveness, forgiving others, and yourself, it's about letting go of rage, anger, hatred, sadness, self-negativity. As easier as the easier path of giving up can be, the much more difficult path of forgiveness and compassion is more encouraged by the game, and by picking the harder path of letting go of pain, anger, and vengeance, our character smiles.

I was used to giving out before reaching the finish line, and living with that regret. I regret not doing enough for my family, I regret not trying harder to succeed in my studies, I regret not always forgiving myself and continuing to hate myself, I regret a-lot of things that I started and not having the motivation to follow through with. It's why me becoming a more determined and stronger person means so much to me, for the satisfaction that I stuck with something. As silly as it sounds, I'm so proud of myself. Even if Sifu, a game about fighting taught me how to stick through things when they're hard, in equal measure, it shows you permission to let go and move on, refraining the choices of not continuing down a path as steps in a cycle, rather than quitting.

Had I not let go of these paths and goals that I had, and trying to forget and run away from them, I wouldn't be the person I am writing this, and actually... I've never felt so much more happier in where I am.

Sifu may look like a story of revenge, but its a tale of growth in spite of vengeance. How quitting and giving up are two very different things. To quit is not to mean defeat, mindfully stepping away is not a failure, even more so if you wish to come back. Sifu didn't teach me to just keep going, but to refrain my life's failures, my middling achievements, my inability to get through this endless stack of work. It helped refrain all of that, as another step in my path to becoming who I am. Even when you quit, you're not a failure. If you let go of hatred, pain, frustration, and self-negativity, you could grow even higher than where you could be.

It was as Kiryu said:

"Some are born with talent, and some aren't. That's true. But that said... Those with talent never make it through talent alone. You have to overcome. Find boundaries, and break them. The only way to grow is by overcoming challenges.”

#sifu #sifu game

[mintytea-exe]

notre dame by paris paloma reminds me so much of The Silt Verses so I MUST write about it

‼️spoilers for the entire series so far‼️

This reminds me so much of Paige and Hayward's position in Season 3. They didn't choose to be the leaders of a cause, Paige says so herself in Chapter 32 that their intention was to create a weapon that could be used by victims and martyrs. Instead their faith has become an international movement, one neither of them could have imagined. They created a god that shakes the concept of faith in the world they inhabit. Yet Paige is isolated by it. She's the prophet of a god she created, one that reflects the turmoil over her mother's death and directly results in her father's death. She trusts Hayward but disagrees with him. She's become less of a participant in her own faith and more of an observer, and she's deeply unhappy. Hayward, in comparison, has found both hope and meaning. He's still lying, but he's lying for a cause he believes in. He's charismatic and likeable, a natural leader where Paige is not. He doesn't revel in the choices he has to make, but understands they're necessary.

Any line about exile automatically makes me think of Carpenter. She is an exile multiple times over. She believes herself to be exiled from her own humanity, but due to the guilt and shame clearly expressed in her interaction with the Sorrow-And-Shame (Chapter 24) it's clear that she is incredibly human. Exiled from her family, partially imposed upon her by their deaths and partially self-imposed by her choice to change her name. Exiled from the Parish of Tide and Flesh when she loses her faith and defects at the end of season 1, and by Faulkner pinning Mason's death on her at the end of season 2. She found meaning in acting for the Parish, and going on pilgrimages when she was 18. She found meaning in the Cairn Maiden, but it is not her calling. She helps Paige and Hayward because it gives her life direction. She's spent her whole life running, yes, but she's also spent her whole life searching for meaning.

This section just reminds me of the world building of The Silt Verses as a whole. In a world full of so much inequality, suffering is inevitable. It's what makes Paige and Hayward's creation of the Many Below/Woundtree so powerful, and such a threat. So many people have been wronged by the system that the Linger Straits and the Peninsula have both been built on and that sorrow can only last so long before it turns to anger.

I think this is equal parts both Faulkner and Carpenter. Of course, Faulkner could very well be described as a sinner but he is looked up to as a Katabasian and Prophet of the River (albeit due to his manipulation and charisma). In many ways he does belong, or at least he strives to belong. But he's an outsider to the faith, constantly having to prove himself worthy at every turn. In comparison, Carpenter should feel belonging - her family were extremely influential within the Parish. Except she doesn't belong either. Both of these characters struggle with their own identity and belonging, although in very different ways.

Faith genuinely seems to give people in The Silt Verses comfort (the Children of the Woundtree, the Parish of Tide and Flesh). The final line fits a number of characters: Acantha, Carpenter, Faulkner and Paige. Acantha buries the dead, she exudes so much kindness in her worship of the Cairn Maiden. She provides peace to the desperate, who can no longer find it in anything other than a restful death. Carpenter, but acting for the Cairn Maiden, and with her inclination to help save others, is similar to Acantha. She's far less patient, and much snarkier, but she has a genuine passion to care for a look after others. This is even sometimes to her own detriment (Chapters 19, 29 and 34). Faulkner believes himself to be a prophet, he perhaps has an elevated sense of his own importance and acts according to it. But he's very capable of acknowledging when his actions have doomed others (chapter 28) and when he has failed. He has confidence in his own skills as a leader. Paige is the most unwilling in her position in "looking down". She has had this role thrust upon her, where others look up to her for guidance. Her god's role is to help the desperate and hopeless. Again she is an observer of what she has created, and has very little control over it.

#the silt verses #tsv podcast #paige duplass #hayward tsv #sister carpenter #brother faulkner #stewardess acantha #wow minty is actually doing some media analysis??? #the silt verses spoilers #paris paloma

[sunlightandsuffering]

Eremika fucking throughout canon is so fun to think about because Eren's character can fit so many different sex dynamics depending on which part of the story it is.

Suit Eren in Marley making slow passionate love to Mikasa in an abandoned tent on that last night they were together when they partied with the 104th. Him prioritising her needs above all else, fingering her and eating her out, leading her through multiple orgasms before he even enters her.

Then the next time they have sex it's with Manbun Eren. Forcing her on her knees and receiving the sloppiest blowjob possible as he fucks her face. Giving her barely any time to breathe, messing up her face and causing saliva and cum to spill down onto her chin and scarf. Bending her over and pounding her pussy while muttering dirty things to her, spanking her ass to get her to say the things he wants, that she belongs to him, that her pussy is his and he can do whatever he wants to her.

Then cut to Cabin Eren. Mikasa's beefy husband who's probably an amazing balance between those other 2. Being both attentive and caring to his partner's needs while also being perfectly capable and willing to use all his strength to pound Mikasa into their comfortable shared bed.

This man's range is immaculate. Probably why he's my fave 🥰

EREN HAS THE RANGE!! BUT YES U UNDERSTAND THE AGENDA!! He is both! He is a service dom and a mean dom and i love him for it, like suit Eren just gaining his sexual bearings, learning how to give Mika what she wants, what she needs, pleasing her for the first time. And then manbun Eren who has been starved for her touch ever since, dreamed about fucking her again, being inside of her, how those dreams went from sweet love making to rough fucking the longer he was without her. How he'd ruin her, take out one of humanity's greatest weapons by fucking her silly, and this secret unbridled rage that's been filling inside him, anger with the world for how it is, that he can't just have her, that they're on opposing sides. Cabin Eren is his final form lol, he's usually sweet, a good mix of rough and loving but every so often the fever overtakes him and he has to properly fuck her into their bed, breaking headboards, cracking wood. I LOVE HIM YOUR HONOUR !

[msfbgraves]

I just remembered that scene in Mobverse…Terry had a dream about Daniel at the mercy of two other Alphas, which was pretty much a r*pe fantasy. Luckily when he told Daniel about it, Daniel found it funny how worked up Terry was. Recalling that now, and the aftermath of the actual marital r*pe that happened makes me wonder if this was all not only Terry taking out his anger at the LaRusso family, and especially Michael—but also fulfilling, subconsciously that is, a deep and dark hidden fantasy of him actually wanting to do such a thing to his spouse. Terry after all loves control and dominance and absolute possession—and when these are not kept in check, this could be a result. Darker angels indeed, then.

They're a very passionate couple and for me, this is a razor sharp edge of passion mixed with entitlement and a strange sort of intimacy. There's something defiantly sacrificial about Daniel, the way he, in canon, always flirts with danger. And Terry always uses sex as a weapon and that is something more men in relationships do (TIG wrote himself a character in Black Point that does it, but Walter White does it, Rhett Butler does it, Donald Draper does it). Having said that, there are plenty of characters and men that don't have that vibe at all. (Much as Michael scares me, I can't see him doing that.)

For Terry it's simply a way that passion could possibly manifest, but, he has so many other ways to live passionately - fierce, and I mean fierce love, which is an enormous high in itself - that he doesn't need to go there. He's known since the night it happened that whatever he was trying to do was in no way worth it. We all have urges we know it's stupid to indulge in. I know it's easy to judge people for having darker urges at all - I know many readers of Knights and Pawns don't like how much of a flirt I've made Daniel here - but as long as you don't indulge in things that hurt others, I think it's only human to have your thoughts wander before going: "No, that's not a good idea." So I don't judge Daniel for being a tease and I don't judge Terry for thinking like an edgelord, but I do judge them for acting on it. Terry can have all the urges he wants - Daniel's into a lot of it himself - but that night he raped Daniel it wasn't about sex or fantasies or desire, even if they were mixed in it - it was a man taking his anger out and feeding his ego in the most intimate, cowardly, sneaky way possible, using all the privilege of his culture (he's Daniel's mate, he's entitled to sex, many would agree, and many would think it to be Daniel's job to channel Terry's rage, because isn't that what omegas do?). It's a f-cked up situation, every pun intended,because could Daniel have filed for divorce Terry might have gotten his mind out of the gutter and never attempted it. But Daniel's boxed in, and he's trusted Terry enough to let himself forget and make peace - till Terry betrayed him.

But that is also part of life. Sometimes people who love us hurt us - deeply. But if you choose not to sever the relationship, and so far Daniel has chosen not to, both parties need to mend fences. However justified Daniel's anger, however little choice he has, the ball is in his court.

#knights and pawns #Tw marital rape #marital problems #Tw rape #Rape culture

[duck-in-the-universe]

"Leaving Deslocar? What, the whole fucking planet? Ha, yeah, as if. Listen, this place'll chew ya up and spit ya out, sure, but I wouldn't leave if you were givin' out first class tickets to the stars."

Alonze (he/she/they), a former bandit, now fresh out of jail, with nowhere else to go.

Info:

Was the last to join the scavenging group, and acts as hired guns basically, protecting the group from rivals and bandits

Desmona (one of the younger members of the crew) didn't like her at first because she can be kind of... a lot

And since Desmona didn't like him, Glass didn't either

Also by the time Alonze joins, he's the only one that doesn't know sign and therefore can't communicate with Glass, which doesn't help their relationship

Eventually they both warm up to her

Used to know Sprocket, which is how they nail the bodyguard job so easily

The two of them used to be part of a crew of bandits a while back, but after Sprocket- well after Alonze got arrested, it was a while before they saw each other again

She used to have two of those old colt-inspired pistols, but Sprocket was only able to hang onto one for her

Shoot first, ask questions later kinda gal

They're very quick to anger, and very impulsive

This makes him good at thinking on his feet, and good in high-pressure situations, but not very good at making a plan and carrying it through

This drives Sprocket insane

An excellent shot, cares very deeply for their weapons

Cares deeply for a lot of things, really

He's very passionate, and opinionated, has a stance on anything and everything and will die on any hill

Apathy???? never heard of her

#planet deslocar #alonze tag #world building #sci-fi #sci-fa #painting #art #cowboys cowboys cowboys #:DD #pretty sure this was the first design of the bunch i finished #just a funky little cowboy

[dhampiravidi]

D&D OC - Renee LeBeau

template from here:

BASIC DESCRIPTION

Full Name: Raen [Ray-in] Li Darkhelm Freevale Age: plot-dependent; late 20s Species: Fey'ri (Fey'ri, Illuskan, Drow, Shou) Gender: Genderfluid (she/they) Sexuality: Bisexual (Biromantic)

APPEARANCE (FC is Janel Parrish)

Raen stands at 5'4.5" (1.64 m). She has a toned frame that is somewhat lithe for her height, and light skin that tends to tan rather than burn in the sun. Her facial features come from her mother, with the exception of her eye color (black sclera with red irises), which comes from her father. She has dark, wavy, chin-length hair, and both her ears (which are pointed) have been pierced multiple times. When she isn't shapeshifting to hide them, her fey'ri/demonic traits are her fangs/sharp canines, her equally sharp (and very durable) black nails/claws, and 4" (10 cm) four black convex horns, the last of which rest atop her head like pillars supporting a roof. Raen wears light armor in the form of a close-fitting top with bracers and hidden padding, relaxed black pants, and dusky leather boots. The fabrics are all in various shades of grey, and they're wrapped in several belts; these are used to distract others from the secret pockets lining her clothes. (Outfit image used is by Julia Kovalyova of DeviantArt.)

PERSONALITY

Raen has always been an adventurous, excitable, and passionate person. In a way, she takes after both of her biological parents. Most people tend to say she reminds them of her dad, Remy, because of her eyes, smirk, natural charm, confidence, and tendency to flirt (for fun or for manipulation). Others say she reminds them of her mother, Haelwyn, because of her face and mannerisms. Some even say she gets her spunk and defensiveness from her other mom, Arenna. Regardless, Raen is her own person. She’s a hedonist who secretly cares a lot about doing the right thing (even if she breaks some rules along the way).

BACKGROUND

Chaotic Neutral; Sorcerer/Rogue (similar to the Arcane Trickster): Raen was born to the Fey'ri Rogue Remy Freevale and the Half-Drow Li Haelwyn. She was raised by both of them, as well as their Dhampir wife Arenna Darkhelm, all of whom had experience as adventurers. The trio had healthy relationships with each other, their child, and their friends in Xavier's Guild--not to mention a lot of money--so Raen grew up fairly happy. She always looked up to her parents, so she put lots of effort into learning to read, write, fight, play cards, and master the spells of her chosen domains. Still, the world is cruel. Raen disliked having to hide her demonic physical characteristics when she went out. On top of that, she saw the wealth gap for what it was. Thievery became an outlet for her anger and a way to get cute clothes. She rarely got caught, as her father, who used to be part of the Grayclaws thieves' guild in Tantras, taught her everything he knew. When she was old enough to make her own way, Raen politely told her parents that she wanted to use her inheritance for adventuring (and managing her own band of thieves) rather than studying at a university. They weren't enthusiastic, but they did accept her choice. She still writes to them...when she has time.

SKILLS

Acrobatics - can cartwheel and scale buildings w/o difficulty Deception - skilled at lying and fabricating emotions Persuasion - good at encouraging others to do her bidding Intimidation - can scare others into acting how she wants

OTHER PROFICIENCIES/LANGUAGE

Tools: Playing Card Set, Poisoner's Kit, Thieves' Tools Spells: of the Trickery and Diabolic domains Languages: Common, Thieves’ Cant, Elvish, bit of Undercommon Weapons: dagger, light crossbow, darts (blowgun)

EXTRA

Elves typically are given a simple, unisex first name at birth. Then, when they reach adulthood, they choose a gendered, more complex first name. Because Raen is genderfluid, she chose to continue going by her given name (though, as someone who is of Elvish and Fey'ri descent, she's hardly lived a quarter of her possible lifespan). Li is her biological mother's last name. Freevale is her father's last name, which was given to him by the man in the Grayclaws who adopted him.

#renee: headcanon #D&D oc

[demigodkin-diana-amazones]

VISION: PHOENIX SYMBOL ON TREE: SIGN OF MARS CLAIMING ME?:

Recently, I had a vision of a phoenix symbol appearing to me. In the vision, I was wearing imperial Roman armour and a warrior braid. I touched a tree trunk with the palm of my hand.

Then, a sense of strength surged through my arm. My hand caught ablaze, but I didn't burn. Instead, my hand burnt a phoenix symbol onto the trunk and it simultaneously tattooed into my arm, except with the letters, SPQR. The phoenix symbol, on the tree-trunk turned into a silhouette of itself made of fire.

After that, the firey energy from the phoenix symbol on the tree then quickly, but gradually spread throughout it.

Lastly, sparks rained from the tree branches.

Could you please tell me what you think this vision might mean? Could it be a sign from Mars that he claiming me & is there for me?

NOTES:

-The anacronym, 'SPQR' stands for 'Senatus PopulesQue Romanus', in Latin, which means 'senate & people of Rome'. This anacronym was painted onto the ancient Roman war flag. So, maybe it's a sign that Mars is indeed claiming me.

-Eagles are not only a sacred symbol of Jupiter, but also a sacred symbol of Mars, because they're on the Roman war flag.

-Vultures are also a sacred symbol of Mars, in Roman mythology. Eagles, vultures and phoenixes are closely related to each-other.

-In the collective conscience of the Romans (inherited in our Roman DNA & programmed by Mars), the phoenix is a symbol of the fallen Rome rising from the ashes like the phoenix. In other words, Rome never truly fell. Instead, it ressurected to the heavens, was restored/repopulated and lives in the spirits of many. Phoenixes are immortal, because they keep being reborn forever. Rome is known as the eternal city.

-The elements of the god, Mars are fire and earth. Fire represents his brave, furious, determined, unrelenting, patrioticly loving and passionate warrior spirit. It also represents the eternal fire of Rome that keeps it alive. Also, fire represents all The Fires of Rome, fires in Roman wars, as well as the Mount Vesuvius Eruptions, which fuel our anger and hence our strength.

Earth represents the homeland Rome we fight for, the weight of the world on our shoulders, holding your ground and being loyally bounded to the battlefield. The Earth also represents not being afraid to get dirty, the place our sweat/blood/tears shall be shed and unrelenting in a barren wasteland without food/water. Also, earth represents the place our enemies shall bleed/be buried, the soil that shall be made Roman, where the spoils of war shall be dug up and the world that shall become ours. Lastly, Mars created the Romans from the soil. He scuplted them in his image and brought them to life. He gave them his strength, as well as warrior spirit and the beauty of Venus. So, the full-blooded Romans are all technically demigod children of both Mars and Venus.

-Bronze-coloured earth has more significance for Mars. Bronze is the colour that the Greek/Roman civilians, warriors and demigods were forged by Mars (Greek: Ares) from. He also made their metaphysical blood liquid bronze. It's also the material of their armour and weapons.

Mortals, demigods and warriors are the Bronze race. Oracles, psychics and divinities (known & unknown. esp. lunar ones. Excluding demigods) are the silver race. The known gods and solar divinities are the gold race.

The gold race uses celestial gold military equipment and the silver race uses celestial silver military equipment. They can both destroy anyone using celestial bronze or silver.

The silver race uses celestial silver military equipment. They can destroy anyone using celestial bronze, but not necessarily celestial gold. It should be noted that oracles and psychics still can't kill demigods, in transcendental form. Also, that some members of the silver race can destroy those with celestial gold military equipment, because they are almost as powerful.

The bronze race uses celestial bronze military equipment. Celestial bronze can only destroy mortals, monsters and those using the same material. It should be noted that mortals don't use celestial bronze, but the normal one, so can't kill a demigod, in transcendental form. Also, that a demigod can destroy an oracle or psychic using celestial silver military equipment, in this form. Mortals can destroy oracles and psychics with normal bronze military equipment, in physical form. They can't destroy oracles, in their transcendental form.

-Red-coloured earth has even more significance to Mars. Red is the sacred colour of Rome. It's the colour of courage, determination, relentlessness, patriotic love, fury in battle, passionate warrior spirit, the SPQR flag, the Roman military uniform and the blood that's shed on the battlefield.

-The ancient Roman soldiers had a tattoo burnt into their skin-probably signifying their rank, cohort and number. That way, they could be more easily identified in battle and couldn't lie about whether they're the tenth.

-The surge of energy that I felt, in the vision could be Mars lending me his strength.

-The tree could represent something to do with my Roman ancestry. Maybe exchanging strength with them. Or them passing on the Roman legacy.

-The tattoo could represent me being claimed by Mars and becoming a permanent member of his demigod legion.

-Children of Mars have fire and earth powers.

-My mortal, as well as demigod spirit have fire and earth powers. My divine-self has air, water and light powers. Both my selves have storm powers as storms are related to war and the Roman war flag. So, I have power over the sky, earth and sea.

The phoenix symbol appeared like this:

#demigodkin

[pastel9girlbunny000die]

Shanks/Usopp/Ace x abusive reader.s/o

Warning: Kissing, abuse, Nyctophobia, claustrophobia, sexual abuse, little nsfw!

Thanks for the request Omega-ish

Hope you enjoy❤

Portgas D. Shanks 🍺

🍺The Four Emperors are the four most dangerous and powerful pirate captains in the world. 

🍺And yes Shanks is one of them, and on top of that his a alpha.

🍺His a strong, passionate and brave man.

🍺Just by looks others might get the wrong idea thinking his cocky high ego and rude

🍺And you'd think a man like that only bat an eye for the most high class omegas, only to get in their pants.

🍺Buttttt!!!! NO

🍺Shanks is none of that, his a free spirit loving childlike man, Shanks is an extremely laid-back, preferring to take his time he doesn't rush things

🍺The first time he met his s/o...

🍺You sorta snuck on board his ship, it didn't take long for one of the crew to surprisingly find you.

🍺At first you didn't talk to him nor look him in his eyes, for your own sake you were too scared.

🍺So he let you be

🍺But couldn't ignored the way you looked, torn clothes, dirty skin, bruised and heavily scarred skin, messy hair and life drained eyes.

🍺It made him sick to the core. Just by looking at you he knew you went through horrible things

🍺He doesn't dare speak up, he doesn't want to remind you of those horrible things.

🍺As time went on

🍺Multiple times a day he goes below deck giving you something to eat and drink, than chat your ears off.

🍺He'd tell you about his many adventures, all the islands he been too how he met each of his crew, he even dig out the most personal things like how he lost his arm and how he got the three scars over his eye. With many more stories.

🍺It made you happy hearing them all feeling free with this red hair man, he made you smile laugh talk and sead tears of happiness, since you met him

🍺He even gave you a name. A place to belong and protected you, he thought you how to defend yourself and be badass. You learned how to read, write, cooking much much more

🍺He became your Alpha and claimed you as his omega, forming a strong bond connecting your hearts and souls forever.

🍺It made you glad that you snuck aboard his ship.

🍺Dispense having a new life living it to the fullest. Your heart is still scarred.

🍺Your fear came to life again when The Red Force docked at the same island you escaped from the first time you snuck on Shanks ship.

🍺Your alpha is the first to know your distress.

🍺But you chose to lie and tell him your okay, even though he didn't believe you he still You made sure to stuck to his side 24/7.

🍺It made him happy that you seek comfort from him but also placed him on high alert.

🍺Yes Shanks knows why you don't wanna be here and he makes sure this is only a quick restock in and out.

🍺Not staying for a drink or party.

🍺It was hard for you too open up to him but he was sure to listen to every word that left your mouth.

🍺(Any person of your choice) they where horrible people, using omegas for slavery abusing them to the breaking point, once brought the omega can be used for anything of the owners choice.

🍺All the torture and pain you felt locked up in a cage days ends night ends.

🍺It made Shanks furious and angry, but he knows that he couldn't do anything what has been done can't be un done

🍺All he could do is comfort you, purr in your ear brushing away your tears.

🍺From then you knew he'd always be yours heart body and soul

🍺Give you anything.

🍺And everything.

🍺But the tables turned quickly when you and him ran into (Any person of your choice) the person who abused Shanks omega for years.

🍺In anger (Any person of your choice) tried to lure you back to them, while you quiver behind Shanks hiding in his cape, he could feel your smaller from trembling pressing your face in his thoracic spine and hands gripping his shirt.

🍺He could smell the change in your scent it wasn't sweet or loving anymore it was replaced with (Displeased smell of your choice), it made his inner alpha very protective of you.

🍺Now Shanks isn't the kind of man that would turn to violence and rudeness in this kind of situations.

🍺At was at this point the guy came near you two wanting to rip you off your alpha, but didn't go to well for him when Shanks Haoshoku Haki hit him, (Any person of your choice) drop to the ground knocked out.

🍺it was no surprise that Shanks s/o wasn't affected, they're strong but there are some fears that can leave a person trembling and hopeless

🍺But none less Shanks will protect his omega. Even if you cower in fear.

***

Usopp (Sniper King)🏹

🏹Personally you hate alphas, and because of that Luffy had a hard time getting you to join his crew, 90% of the crew is alpha's

🏹But you joined anyway

🏹When Usopp first met his s/o he like any other saw you pretty strong confidence and level headed, but being a great liar like himself he could see the fake smile

🏹He decided to just stay out of it. But he couldn't help but wanting to get closer to you, get to know you and enjoy time with you

🏹First of all you really like Usopp ever since you step foot on Marry, he was funny goofy and outspoken brave

🏹And you like him so much that you'd even back him up in a fight, he's a real cute beta

🏹Yes, you read that right... Usopp s/o thought that he was a beta, he doesn't necessarily act like an alpha he has no confidence high pride or cocky ego.

🏹Blindly with the idea of him being a beta, made you grew closer to him, forming a great friendship making everlasting memories and moments

🏹At a point you confessed your feelings and he accepted them making you the happiest omega alive.

🏹It made him happy too

🏹But you two haven't mated/marked each other yet. It doesn't mean you haven't created a unbreakable bond

🏹But you also haven't told him about your childhood and what happened, not ready to dig out all the pain and suffering

🏹That was until you two got separated from the others trying to get back to the Thousand Sunny and crew

🏹Somehow you guys docked at the wrong island, with a flesh eating gigantic snake living on it.

🏹And Yes... it was currently chasing Usopp and his s/o though the forest.

🏹"Run run run! Its going to eat us!" Usopp cried dragging his s/o along with him running for thier lives

🏹Well you see the both of you would've easily beaten the crab out of the thing.. if ya didn't leave your weapons on the Sunny.

🏹Luckily for you, Usopp spotted a old mine tunnel in your path of crisis without thinking he rushed you two in.

🏹Now here's the thing-

🏹When Usopp's s/o where a child they where sold off to a group of mountain bandits and they didn't treat their "item" with care, they locked you up in a cage and tortured you for days whipping you breaking you down mentally and physically and on special days they shut you in a box and shove you into darkness

🏹You develop claustrophobia and Nyctophobia, which wasn't good you have been able to avoid them for long

🏹But in this situation it brought up both.

🏹The tunnel was blocked with a death end and you two took too many turns you couldn't see the daylights anymore along with the place being small for two people.

🏹The little light Usopp managed to make wasn't working well for you.

🏹Your breath became heavier the walls felt like their closing in, your heart beat filled your ears beating faster and faster, your body paralyzed your vision somehow became blurry.

🏹You were having a panic attack before you knew it.

🏹"(Y/n) babe. What's wrong?" Usopp caught on real quick smelling the change in your scent and hearing soft whimpers leave your lips as tears stream down your face.

🏹It made the alpha in him click taking control, crouching down in front of you taking your hands into his

🏹His scent reaching you for the first time it was so strong and powerful the purr from him calmed your body and mind.

🏹His alpha reaching out for your omega the first time ever, you saw the thing you hate with passion and Usopp was one of them

🏹But different you knew him for a long time and shared so much with him, his nothing like them he genuinely loved care protect you without expecting anything in return.

🏹Calming you and scenting you the best of his ability.

🏹Not thinking at all you told him in a broken voice with tears about your phobias and the abuse you suffered as a child.

🏹Opening up your most venerable side.

🏹He truly felt connected to you finally broke your walls, without trying.

🏹He continue to comfort you telling you silly stories and making you giggle here and there.

🏹While you both waited for the others to find you, it didn't take long

🏹That night he made sure to claim you as his, marking you and all promise to protect you and help you overcome your fears

🏹He even accepted you as you are.

***

Portgas D. Ace🔥

🔥Ace met you when he joined Whitebeard, that's when he became attached to you.

🔥Wherever you go he goes, his always by your side, if he or you don't have a mission that is.

🔥Truthfully Ace doesn't know much about your pass and that doesn't bother him, but your still not a very open person.

🔥At least he knows little things about he was able to pick up on the way like how your strong and brave, but also quite and patient how you are less social and older than him but looks hella young.

🔥But what catch his attention is all your scars they must have been from great battles but the most painful one is the one on your nape it looked as if skin was torn off leaving a nasty mark.

🔥But it was mostly covered by a shirt (or your hair if you have long hair).

🔥For you Ace is the sweetest and most honorable person you've met his cute and badass.

🔥But you love how he pouts when you treat him like a child, or baby him. It made you happy to care for him, feed him clean after him giving him much attention.

🔥It made your connection with the alpha much stronger without needing to say a word you two feel in love over the years

🔥Creating a very strong relationship and a loving one at that. You did hesitate to become his it gave you doubts and anxiety.

🔥But what you fear the most was mating with him you fear having to explain your scars near your private.

🔥Its all case of "him" that man what he did to you was no forgiving matter.

🔥That's till one night Ace and his s/o was in the perfect mood, bodies against one and other hands exploring your cloths covered flesh.

🔥He was about to unbuckle your pants which made you shot in defense pushing him away as he came crashing down the bed.

🔥At first he thought he did something wrong, seeing your face upset and pain expression.

🔥both sitting in silence, your scent increasing but with a smell to make sure Ace stayed away but his Alpha fought it wanting to be near you not leaving you in this state.

🔥He didn't made you say anything didn't ask anything just hugged you tightly to his chest rubbing your back.

🔥A long quite moment passed still in his arms you open your mouth begging him not to leave you. Tears sobbing hiccups and mumbling words left your lips

🔥"Calm down tell me what's wrong?" He kept his voice soft and purred more.

🔥"I-i use to b-be marr-married." Half a loath off your chest, it seemed Ace didn't care so what if you where married before your now here with him and your his that's all that mattered.

🔥But it all changed when you continued

🔥You were married once before. To a man you thought was truly your soul mate, you two where happy but it all shattered when you tried having children.

🔥You tried and tried and tried. But nothing.

🔥Slowly he started becoming less of the man you knew, he became rough and untenable during your "activities". He made you bleed and didn't stop when pleading for it he.

🔥He began using his alpha voice on you, scaring you. Breaking you down.

🔥Not long after he became a drunk, hitting cutting and sexually abusing you.

🔥You had enough tearing out his mark/bite, escaping his claws, but he chased after you, till you literally ran into Whitebeard, the pirate captain defended you, beat the living shit out of him, took you in treated you with respect and care.

🔥You became his daughter/son. You became one of the most strongest and feared pirate under Whitebeard. (And the old geezer is damn proud of you!)

🔥After hearing all that Ace accepted you even more, loving you with care as he continue to praise your body analyze ever curve, scar, soft squeezy place (Butt/Boobs😏) .

🔥Till he reached your private parts down below seeing the stretch marks and abusive places.

🔥He must've think its disgusting and not worth it anymore, just through you in the back. And be forgotten - That's what you thought.

🔥But instead he gave you a night you'd never forget, he was so gentle and considerate letting you take the lead. Along with marking you as his mate forever no regrets.

🔥lest just say, the following week you came on to some morning sickness, It was like destiny was telling you Ace is the only one no one else would work.

🔥Fire First Ace is your Alpha. And you his omega.

#one piece #fanfic #fem reader #male reader #portgas d. shanks #shanks #Usopp #portgas d. ace #ace #one piece x reader #one piece fanfic #request

[fairycosmos]

the way our bodies look is almost entirely predetermined by genetics, this is how ur arms are, literally fuck the brainwashing making u think they're anything less than the optimal form ur dna chose for u. i'm ur age too and i'm so MAD at all the years wasted to disordered eating and SO MAD so many girls suffer like this... enjoy ur chocolate today(buttons slap), eat enough tomorrow, stop policing ur own body, ur literally perfect, not ugly, not sexy, just fucking existing + doing it perfectly.

damn another reason to hate my fuck ass parents LOL nah just joakin........this is so lovely and passionate and sincere, dude im :(( in love with your mind perhaps?? your perspective??? i wish it would permeate the rest of the world so we could all finally know peace??? like you’re so right. honestly our bodies really are just genetic coincidences .....they should be the most neutral part of our existences.  instead they’re weaponized by capitalism/sexism and turned into sources of fear and self hatred. ultimately used as a means to control us. sigh. i totally understand your anger and i’m honestly right there with you. every girl and woman i know has engaged with disordered eating at some point. it’s fucking sad to witness. and it’s not easy to fix, either, once those ideas about beauty and worth and food have been implanted, subliminally and overtly. i think i’ll deal with it for the rest of my life, it never fully goes away for me :/ but yeah (buttons really are That bitch!!), i had some and i’ll probably end up eating tomorrow evening out of hunger so. it was just in the moment i thought if i eat these now i cant eat tomorrow, i dont know. i had an unhealthy meal today so felt bad about eating extra on top of that. something something calories and seeing myself in reflective surfaces and my arms. anyway im going to try to stop policing my own body for u and for me bc it really is pointless !! a complete waste of time and energy !! i’m not as bad as when i was like 15, i’ve actually made progress. i just need to find some balance again and build a routine. i hope you can show yourself this same energy and that we can both continue to exist freely, with the knowledge that theres LITERALLY no wrong way to inhabit the skin we’re in. no matter what bull shit the world tries to sell us so they can make a profit off of our discomfort !! thank you so much for this, you’re an angel. seriously 🥰

#tw ed #ed tw #tw food #tw body image #anon