#(it's up to you)

[profoundmakerdreamerss-blog]

Tomarry AU where Tom HATES this book he read because his favourite character dies a miserable death. So what if his favorite character was a no-named side villain? Why does it matter that he only had like seven lines (seven is Tom's favourite number anyways)? He was still gorgeous, smart and strong and beautiful — and it doesn't matter that others think he isn't all that because they would never know him— understand him like TOM DOES.

An AU where Tom has a healthy obsession with a character named Harry Potter, a no named baron's son who was the first to go against the king (MC's father, and the mc who is incidentally known as Draco Malfoy, ahem anyways); he tries to “poison” him. But he gets caught or to be more precise he ends up sacrificing himself for the common girl Hermione Granger (the female lead, I'm sorry guys but imagine the fucking drama.) who gets blamed for his transgressions.

But that is not why Tom falls for this weak villain, no — it's because he respects how this no-named orphan became a baron on his own two feet without anyone being there for him especially in a world where old money and title is everything— and he hates how he had to give his life for the MC to notice the female lead? (Harry is better looking and smarter than her anyways — Tom, in an online forum perhaps.)

Anyways, now imagine Tom dying (he hated it so yes he ends up looking for immorality anyways.) and waking up in the world he hated. Now imagine, Tom Riddle, waking up in the body of a Duke who wasn't even given a name in the novel. (He would know because he has a photographic memory, ok? It's totally not because he read it more than 14 times) and then saying fuck it and owning it.

Just think, Tom taking over the world slowly with his worldly knowledge while trying to keep Harry alive because even though he was right about Harry being smart; the guy treats his life like Draco treats his money - you get the idea.

[reality-detective]

NCSWIC- "Nothing Can Stop What Is Coming"

What can't be stopped? TRUTH!

And there's a lot of people who aren't ready to hear the truth. Why? 👇

NOBODY ESCAPES THIS!

The battlefield is the 14" between your mind and your heart. The mind is the devil, inside of you(evil begins with a thought, lack of faith), the heart(is where love is), it's the God within you. If you get a bad feeling in your gut about anything? Listen to that because that is God trying to tell you something.

You're fighting a spiritual battle... The mind to the heart = | (the vertical part of the cross), the devil to the angel = - (the horizontal part). The gut (your 2nd brain) is closer to the heart. The † is where the battlefield is and it's what you are fighting for, to save yourself.

Why is the devil on your left shoulder? Why is the Angel on your right shoulder? 👇

A wise man’s heart turns him toward the right [which is the way of blessing], but a fool’s heart turns him toward the left [which is the way of condemnation].

Ecclesiastes 10:2

Go Within or Go Without and don't follow the herd.👇

“Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad and easy to travel is the path that leads the way to destruction and eternal loss, and there are many who enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow and difficult to travel is the path that leads the way to [everlasting] life, and there are few who find it."

Matthew 7: 13-14

It's Your Yin and Your Yang 👇

It's a war within to conquer your darkness so you spend more time in the light. Once you bring everything within you into proper balance ⚖️ the battle stops. 👇

The devil and the angel vanish and all that's left is the "I AM" within you.

YOU are the way to the TRUTH and the LIGHT!

No one is coming to save you.

Once you realize this, you will see and feel a whole lot more, your intuition comes to life and everything is clearly visible. 🤔

[2btheanswertothequestion]

Okay hear me out.. this: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMYmB1Vj4/ as Steve actually agrees to sit down for once at Hellfire

"... he picks you up by your breastplate straps and pushes you against the wall. He screams in your face; bits of spittle hit your chin."

Eddie grins, all his teeth on display, as he describes the scene, but he's the only one. Everyone else is fidgeting in their seats or grimly contemplating their next actions.

Tension hangs thick in the room. They're nearing the end of the session and were so close to exiting the catacombs when they ran into another enemy encounter: ghouls, four of them. Their party of nine will probably make it out mostly unscathed, but it's still an obstacle between them and aboveground.

And worst of all? One of the ghouls just grabbed their least experienced member.

Steve stares at the miniatures representing him and the ghoul, listening to Eddie with a furrow between his eyes. For someone who needed months of aggravating pleading to even sit down at the table, he's been really serious about playing. No one would fault him for showing up merely to be a nuisance in the quest of teaching them to accept 'no' as an answer (well, actually, they would fault him, but they'd also, like, understand why he'd do it). But he hasn't done that! He's put in the effort to be a model player and has barely partaken in any shitheaded shenanigans.

Which is why it's a bit of a surprise when, once Eddie finishes, Steve looks him straight in the eye and asks:

"Can I flirt with him?"

Splutters and groans erupt from around the table. Eddie himself barks out a shocked laugh. Steve simply raises an eyebrow in question, coolness personified.

Still snickering, Eddie shakes his head. "No, man. You can't do that."

"Why not? I'll use my charms and convince him to let us pass."

"Ghouls are immune to charm spells-"

"Hey, it's not a spell! S'all natural!"

"-and why would you want to flirt with it?"

Propping his elbow on the tabletop, Steve rests his chin on the palm of his hand and smiles, almost coquettishly.

"Maybe being pushed into a wall by a strong man turns me on?"

More groans, louder and more dramatic. Heads tossing and eyes rolling. Which might be why none of them notice that their fearless dungeon master has turned the deepest shade of crimson.

No one except Steve, who's yet to break eye contact with him.

Eddie sighs, burying his face in his hands out of frustration (and only out of frustration). He says, voice muffled, "You still can't do that. There's no reason for him to be affected – his goal is to eat you. Persuading him to do anything is a waste of time."

Steve hums. "So, he won't be affected?"

"Exactly," Eddie says after a moment, peeking through his fingers. "He won't."

"Hm. Guess I'll try to push him off me, then."

Nodding, Eddie removes his hands. He's still slightly pink, but that could just as well be due to the basement's stuffy atmosphere.

"Do an athletics check."

And if he's casting semi-distracted glances toward Steve for the remainder of the session, his players are too absorbed by the game to notice.

(It's not until the next morning that Dustin jerks away from his Lucky Charms to exclaim "That's what that sonuvabitch meant!")

(Claudia immediately scolds him for swearing at the breakfast table.)

[mahgyu]

Starting a new series after this one of smuts + audios ends would be nice, but what could the theme be? I'm interested in hearing suggestions if you have any.

[thebearme]

I call this post "the duality of midnight drawing"

[estherlehnsherr]

one week of stressing and nerves gave birth to my first edit) aegon and aemond's dynamic is just too good and I'm very proud of my creation😌

[nicsian]

Gempearl posting..

There is something so intimate about the idea of life series Pearl having this urge to want to believe in Gem despite knowing how the outcome will be, despite knowing what will happen when they face their swords against each other on burning wood.

The way the grass singes to ash on their feet, the way their eyes flash that dangerous color..but they both understand what's at stake here, Gem knows now what her life has become. Pearl has seen this outcome too many times to want to wish for a miracle. She's not unhinged this time, she's not alone, but for some reason, this may be the loneliest she has ever felt.

But still, Pearl protects Gem. She holds her close at night, rough, scarred hands meet soft petal fingers, fingers that soon will look like Pearl's. She leaves a kiss on their intertwined hands and feels the soft breath of Gem's lungs rising up and down while she sleeps blissfully.

Their time is at its end, but their rosy cheeks and twinkling laughter is something they keep locked safe, in a butterfly box.

[radiance1]

I've been thinking about it for a good bit and, well. I've realized that because of my status as the originater of said idea I, in fact, can make an alternative route to said idea.

Alright, so we know that Danny can turn into an eastern dragon, and that prince Aragon, who can turn into a western dragon, wants to marry him because of that and also political power and status.

So, what if Danny lost that battle? The battle that nailed it in the coffin that he had to run away from the life he was currently living because Aragon somehow managed to get on a level of strength where he could beat Danny and marry him?

Danny quite literally had to be dragged kicking and screaming when the day he had to marry Aragon came. He didn't care who it was, he clawed, bite, hit and wailed at every ghost who came to escort him, so much so that the Observants called Aragon to put him back into submission.

Sure, before this Danny didn't have a great opinion of them, nor a terrible one. But after this, whatever opinion he had of them took a nosedive through the earth so hard it appeared in the depths of outerspace.

Not physically but still, you get the point.

Prince Aragon basically acted like he was the Ghost Prince and Danny was his consort. Even though it was the other way around. He used his newfound political power to take back over the kingdom his sister stole from him.

(They did have to form new crowns, though. Since the Crown of Fire and the Ring of Rage wasn't even royal property but stuff Priah Dark just, well, had and nobody wants to wake him up again either.)

Aragon was a cruel, arrogant and ill-tempered man, he wasn't great to his sister and he wasn't great to Danny either. If Danny disagreed with him, he would just force him to agree though physical might.

Danny could not care less about that man, and if he could he would kill him. But since you can't kill ghosts he just had to deal with it. Aragon refused to let him leave the zone, a decision that Danny didn't agree with and with all the things Danny didn't agree with when it came to Aragon, it came to a fight.

Which Aragon wins.

(Danny hated that man with a passion, he put a goddamn collar on him. One that prevented him from speaking, prevented him from wailing.)

So Danny had to stay in the Ghost Zone, in Aragon's Kingdom. Unable to see his family and friends, unable to go to school, unable to live a normal life.

The only ally he felt he had was Dorathea, who was basically stuck in the same position he was. They grew a great deal closer, stuck under Aragon, since they were family now at least it was with someone Danny could say with certainty he liked.

His family and friends tried to get him out of this, they failed, Aragon was much too powerful for them to fight, even if he was with them, he lacked the one thing that proved a massive threat to Aragon. He didn't want them to die, so he quite literally pleaded and begged for Aragon to spare them.

Aragon did.

He liked seeing one of the catalysts that put into motion his fall from grace begging beneath him. Pleading with him to spare mere humans, it was all the sweeter and amusing to watch him do so when not a sound could leave his lips.

Danny just holed himself up in his room, it was a lavish room, really. With a giant bed, fluffy pillows and sheets, and decorations made of probably expensive stuff. Danny couldn't really find it in himself to actually care about whatever was in his room, he just slept, ate occasionally, limited the only person to enter his room being Dorathea (Not that Aragon cared, if he wanted something he would just force his way in, really.), and unwillingly attend whatever ball or party Aragon would throw, be sad about how Dorathea was sent prevented from seeing him.

That was how it would be for no doubt eternity. The husband of a certified asshole who didn't care for him and saw him as an accessory at best.

He cursed the Observants, who condemned him to this fate.

Until one day, like any other, were Danny laid around. He got summoned, how? He didn't know. No one was even supposed to know he existed since he never did anything to put himself out there or any options to summon him.

He was in human form when he appeared on the other side. He wasn't in the ghost zone anymore, he knew, yet it still seemed like a fantasy. He didn't who summoned, why or how they managed to do so, he was just happy.

Another group busted through the doors and into the room, fighting against the people who summoned him. It was a quick fit, the summoners folding easily under the assault of the other group.

Want to know what the funniest thing was?

The people who summoned him, did so on accident trying to summon Pariah dark.

It was, so funny to him that he just. Broke down laughing. Sure, it sounded more like pained wheezing perhaps, but he couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation he found himself in, he laughed and held onto his stomach, curled into a ball, even.

Because hey, some guy who smokes in a brown coat just told him that he was summoned on accident!

And then promptly started crying.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Thinking about Sam asking Steve, "What makes you happy?" And when he doesn't have an answer, Sam starts paying attention to try and parse out little pieces of happiness from him. Once, he sees Steve doodling with a pen on the back of some extra receipt paper when they go out to lunch, Sam leading the charge to get him used to non-boiled future food 😉 They're waiting for Steve's card to be returned to him and, okay, damn, the history books left out that Steve's a pretty decent drawer. Sam can work with that... watching the quirk of Steve's mouth as he doodles.

So, Sam gets him some nice art supplies. No dollar-store pens or regular #2 pencils. Some expensive, apparently high-quality (according to the Internet, it really is helpful sometimes, ha) graphite pencils, a set of micron pens, and the appropriate watercolor paper, brushes, and pigment. The final cost is eye-popping to Sam in spite of his understanding of modern pricing. It's worth it, though. Because Steve uses them. He starts carrying a sketchbook along with his list book. And, eventually, he shyly shows Sam some of what he's worked on.

The sprawl of Central Park...

A broken section of sidewalk, grass creeping through the space made by the roots of an elder tree...

The skyline view from Steve's apartment...

A dog...

A potted plant sitting on Steve's balcony with a label that reads "my sadness buddy" (a gift from Natasha)...

An empty folding chair from the VA...

A steaming cardboard coffee cup.

Sam is blown away by the beauty of what Steve can create. He wonders, but he doesn't ask if Steve's ever had nice, vivid art supplies before. There's something impressive about the colors and way he experiments, pulling beauty out of nothing, with his new art supplies. But, also, there's something especially impressive about what he can do with any old pen or pencil lying about. Sam finds himself smiling, thinking about that old saying he's heard, a poor craftsman blames his tools. Steve is bluntly a master craftsman--in everything he does, he puts his entire heart into it. It's strange he hasn't drawn any faces or people, though. (There's definitely something there. Sam's gonna have to see what that's about, too.)

[jt1674]

[yourlovelyspace]

I'll gladly take the risk💝

[twistedshipper]

prompt: rooftop | Arthur/Morgana | Not Rated | Major Character Death

{i swear i loved you until my dying day} for @merlinmicrofic

They couldn’t decide when it started, but they both knew the end.

Arthur recalled the beginning in the burgeoning month of June. 

The sweet breeze had rustled her hair where she stood on the rooftop overlooking the grounds, those dark locks he remembered wishing he’d run his hands through.

She’d arrived in Camelot an orphan, and her grief, he supposed, had left her sullen and grim, though with a heart aflame.

He’d spent the summer watching her in secret with a distant look in her eye, slinking after his training to catch her in her spot, and it was only when the leaves turned their dusky gold that he considered joining her.

Morgana remembered the start as if it were yesterday, a rare October afternoon without cloud, but a susurrus of wind tugging the oakleaves so that they dropped, spinning in freefall.

That was how she’d felt, though she wouldn’t admit it, about Uther’s son as she watched him from the rooftop training in the yard.

The wind tousled his hair, so bright as to be the sun. She hated thinking him beautiful, if only because it was true, and he knew it. One secret she swore to take to her grave.

Little surprised her, but Arthur Pendragon shyly approaching her caused her to smile, his presence sparking within her what had smoldered after Gorlois’s death.

They’d bonded that day, for though she suspected him invulnerable to pain, he admitted that he too grieved, shadowed by his mother’s absence, and when the sky darkened to night, they decided to meet there again in secret.

At first their visits were frequent, but then grew more apart. Neither could explain it, only that each became troubled with his own apprehensions—Arthur, his princely duties, Morgana, her nightmares.

Arthur fell in love; Morgana fantasized running away. Then when her gift became known to her, her anger burned so dark she plotted to bring down Uther’s dynasty; Arthur, who’d been as close to her as kin, became just that, forcing her to leave Camelot for good and the prince-now-King aching for his sister-turned-enemy.

It was dawn when they met in an unnamed wood, Morgana, cold in her triumph, and Arthur, lying with a jagged piece of blade nearing his heart.

But his heart had broken long before then; likewise, so had Morgana’s.

Neither had desired this, yet here they were at the end of a long, weary road, both having enacted their father’s sins. It was over, no chance for reconciliation.

When Merlin plunged Excalibur into Morgana’s breast, Arthur watched her fall and die beside him, too spent for tears as he gazed at the vacant look in her eyes.

He envisioned her in her youth, those cherished memories they’d shared when they were young upon the rooftop of Camelot, gazing out at the wide-open sky, blue as far as the eye could see.

With his dying breaths, he wondered if he’d only spoken once that he loved her, would it have changed anything?

[reality-detective]

Here 👇 is the military email address to report EVERYONE involved in the covid scam.... report doctors, nurses, admins, judges, magistrates, media, medical admins and all others involved in forcing you to wear a mask, get tested or get a jab, please share this 👇 with others.

EMAIL TO REPORT TO: 👇

saf.ighotline@us.af.mil

It's up to you to get these complicit minions out of their positions and face their judgement. I for one will be reporting the VA and my doctor. I could think of several businesses to report as well, including my bank who pushed the masks... But I didn't comply with any of them.

Make sure it was forced and not you just complying otherwise you may find yourself in a pickle. Be honest and do the right thing. 🤔

[hallokatzchen]

Sacrifice (NSFW fic)

Dark!Miguel O’Hara/Female Reader

Contains: Kidnapping, non-con, PIV sex, belly bulge, violence, blood, cannibalism, death.

Word count: 1157

Mictlāntēcutli or Mictlantecuhtli (Nahuatl pronunciation: [mik.t͡ɬaːn.ˈteːkʷ.t͡ɬi], meaning "Lord of Mictlan"), in Aztec mythology, is a god of the dead and the king of Mictlan (Chicunauhmictlan), the lowest and northernmost section of the underworld. He is one of the principal gods of the Aztecs and is the most prominent of several gods and goddesses of death and the underworld. The worship of Mictlantecuhtli sometimes involved ritual cannibalism, with human flesh being consumed in and around the temple.

You felt the wind knock from your lungs, and the last thing you saw was a flash of blue and red before everything went black.

When you finally came to, you felt your back rocking against a cold concrete floor. Your arms were raised above your head, your hands pinned down by the wrists by his large hand. A heavy weight pressed on top of you, and an immense pain shot through your pelvis. You tried to open your eyes, but your lids stung when they pulled against a sticky substance that covered your face like a blindfold, holding them shut.

You had no idea where you were, but judging from the way the sound of his heavy breathing, and the wet slap of skin against skin echoed it had to be the abandoned warehouse at the outer edges of the city.

“Not the best temple...”, His voice strained a bit while he pushed up to support his weight on his free hand so he could look down at you. Your hair and skin sullied by the dirt and debris on the floor. “But I work with what I can”, He chuckled and pulled back for a slow roll of his hips when he heard you whimper beneath him.

When he was fully seated inside of you again he slipped his hand under your shoulder and rocked back to sit up on his knees, effortlessly pulling you up against his chest. He shifted to a sitting position and dipped his head down to drag his long tongue up your neck to taste your sweat while the hand that held your wrists tugged your arms behind your back. With a subtle flex of his forearm muscles, a gob of webbing expelled from the top of his wrist to bind your hands together behind your back.

He leaned back and rested on his elbows to admire his work. You were dirty and exhausted. Your body trembling as you lean back to put your bound hands on his thigh in a futile attempt to alleviate the pressure of being impaled on his massive cock. You shudder and let out a strained gasp when Miguel's hand comes up to cover your breast, and his fingers tighten just enough for his claws to come out against your skin.

“Ride me...”

His voice was quiet yet commanding, and you immediately did as you were told when you felt his hand constrict upon your breast, threatening to drive his claws through your skin. He pulled his hand away and left a trail of thin red lines over your skin when you began to erratically move up and down on his thick shaft.

His hand settled on your hip, and you cried out when you felt his fingers curl against it to punch his claws into your skin. His hand tensed to grip you firmly as he planted his feet on the ground to buck into you, driving himself deeper with each powerful snap of his hips.

You grit your teeth at the literal sharp pain in your hip while you involuntarily bounced on his cock. Your breath coming in short bursts, and tears welling up behind the webbing over your eyes when you feel the head of his cock punch repeatedly into your cervix.

With a breathy laugh he stilled his hips and removed his claws from your skin. “Keep going...” He purred while bringing his bloodied fingers to his lips to lick them clean. His tongue sliding out and laving over his fingers before sucking them one by one while he watched you struggle to take him. Despite the amount of pain you were in and the weakness in your left leg thanks to Miguel's claws, you managed to find some resemblance of a rhythm as you slid yourself up and down his length.

Your lips parted for a series of heaving breaths, and that's when Miguel reached up to press his index finger to your quivering lip. He watched with heavy lidded eyes as he pushed his finger past your lips to feel the warm wetness of the inside of your mouth before he slowly slid his finger down to trace over your chin and down your neck.

When his finger reached the base of your neck, he let it linger for a moment at the space between your collarbones. He licked his lips and his mouth pulled into a wicked smile when he allowed his claw to come out and catch into the delicate skin.

A strangled gasp caught in your throat at the sharp sensation at the base of your neck. You froze and your mouth gaped for a silent scream when you felt his finger slowly descend to split open your skin.

Miguel's smile turned into a grin that exposed his fangs as he watched his claw slice you open. His cock twitched when your blood began to seep out and run over his hand the farther down he went, and his breath came out as a moan when he felt your blood pour down onto his skin.

When his claw reached your navel, he turned his hand to make a grisly 'come hither' gesture that drove his clawed finger deep into your flesh before he pulled it away.

He sat up and wrapped his arms around you to pull you tight against his chest. You shuddered when you heard a low growl that vibrated through your eviscerated torso, and a gurgling breath escaped your lips when his powerful arms tightened around you. A sickening squelching sound echoed through the warehouse when the sudden constriction caused your blood to gush and cover both you and Miguel in gore, his eyes rolling back in pure ecstasy when he felt your warm red wash over him.

A ragged breath left you when he released his crushing grip, and you found yourself underneath him again when he shifted to lay you on your back. He hovered over you for a moment. Your own blood dripping down on yourself as Miguel rocked his hips into you. Practically salivating when he looked down to see the outline of his cock moving under the open flesh of your sliced belly.

He kept this slow pace while he leaned down to place a surprisingly gentle kiss near the hinge of your jaw before the murmur of his mother tongue filled your ear.

“All for you... all for you...” He chanted with each slow roll of his hips. His climax growing closer and closer, spurred on by the sound of your labored breath.

“My lord... My god...”

His head dipped down to drag his tongue along the side of your neck, breathing hotly against your skin when he feels his fangs grow long and sharp.

“... My Mictlāntēcutli”, He rasped and sank his teeth deep into your throat. Your soft flesh tearing away with an arterial spray when his climax finally comes.

[au-not-alternate]

tumblr. tumblr do you see my vision

also yes you get to see my 2012 April design early. rejoice.