#FREE ME FROM THE BODILY EXHAUSTION

[catto-ohno]

Of course Boop time comes when I'm exhausted and it's 2 am

[dollsandmasks]

You know that moment where you have a crumb of free time and you could be writing, you could be finishing that fic, you could be catching up with your friends, you could take out your sketchbook and draw the most self-indulgent things, you could at least be reading or watching something interesting, but you happen to have a minor task that you don't want to do, your body is slightly uncomfortable from typical body things and your work has been a bit stressful today, so now you are in a restless scrolling more and opening the same three social media apps hoping that something will give you that hit and send your brain in motion and make you either work on tasks or do something fun.

Why am I procrastinating making a single phone call, and then doing fun things forever.

[littlefreya]

Pictures of You

Summary: While Sy is deployed, his new girlfriend sends him nudes, and now he must take care of 'business' himself while fantasizing about the things he would do to her.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x himself x OFC

Word count: 1,200

Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI), pure smut, graphic depiction of sex (male x female), male masturbation, bodily fluids, accidental creampie, dirty language, punishment, Freya using "peach". Being caught in the act. A bit of fluff. Not beta'd.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, translating, copying it, or parts of it and claiming it as your own*

A/N: It's been a while since I posted. I am working on a series (plural), but I got inspired by a lovely anon today. I'm not sure if I'm tagging anyone since my tag list is probably outdated and I'm not sure who still wants on. So, if you enjoyed, reblog, or comment, let me know. I'd appreciate it. 🖤

Pictures of You

At last, night unfurled, and the camp became quiet. 

The glorified Captain retired to his quarters, exhausted from a day of training recruits and tedious paperwork. This deployment would be long, and though he loved being The Captain - Logan Syverson was beginning to miss home.

It was all because of her. Sy shouldn't have caught feelings, long-distance relationships were never his thing, but damn, she was something else; a woman way above his league, pretty, hot as hell and way too smart to be with a military grunt like him.

Needless to say, fucking her made him feel like a god. 

Stripping down to his boxer, Sy slumped into his bed with a huff and reached for the private cell phone stuffed in his drawer. 

Twenty unanswered messages appeared on the screen—three of them from her.

Joy painted his face at the sight of her name. Ignoring everything else, he went directly to read her messages.

“Missing my big Sy”, the first message read. 

The other - “something to make you think of me.”  

The last message was simply an attachment. Curious, Sy tapped it open.

‘Fucking hell.’

The unmistakable pang of desire instantly surged through his groin. 

There she was, his sweet woman, naked and spread open like a present unwrapped, especially for him. She was sitting on her bed, one breast gripped by her palm with her nipple peeking through dark-painted nails while her other hand toyed with the sweet peach between her thighs. 

“Fuck,” Sy muttered. Already rock-hard. Absentmindedly, his hand massaged the hefty bulge through the fabric of his boxers, eliciting a deep groan from under his breath. 

‘What are you doing to me, babygirl?” 

It wasn’t just her naked body and the way her finger teased her own slit, but the look she gave him, the familiar neediness in her gaze, the way she bit her lip. 

Damn, if she was here right now… He’d fucking punish her for teasing him so bad! He’d pin her to the wall with his hand around her throat and show her what happens to naughty girls who like playing such wicked games. 

Now he had three fucking months to go, and all he could think of was how bad he wanted to be inside her tight little cunt.

‘Well, guess I’ll have to take care of this myself…’

Springing his cock free from his boxers, he ran his rough fingers up and down the length of his imposing shaft - slow at first, as Sy enjoyed taking his time, just as he would with her. His thumb rolled across the crown of his cock, gently grazing the tip while he imagined flipping her against the pitted wall in this room. Make her take it from behind so he could look at that perfect rounded ass of hers and watch his cock slipping in and out of her body. 

Still holding the photo open, he focused on her succulent cunt before spitting onto his open palm and griping himself once again. Tighter this time, he squeezed onto his girth and began to fuck his own hand. 

Pants and groans sputtered from his mouth, his chest heaving as he gradually picked up the pace. In his fantasy, he parted her ass cheeks and teased her dripping little hole until she begged him to fuck him. Then he forced himself all the way in, making her cry out. 

The sounds of her moans echoed in his memory, so helpless and desperate at the same time - he was nearly too much for her; that narrow cavern of hers could barely take his leviathan cock, but still, she took every pounding, becoming wetter around his shaft as her body not only yielded to accommodate him but lured him deeper inside. 

“I want inside you, babygirl…” Sy mumbled out loud, his hand now moving in ecstatic fervour. Sweat dripped down the contracting muscles of his abs. Soon, he felt himself swell even larger, and his sack strained with the desperate need for release. 

He tightened his grip, now choking his shaft and thinking of how it felt when she came around him. How she contracted all around his cock and shattered like glass smashing on the floor.

“Don’t come inside….” She’d warned him. She wasn’t on the pill. But this time, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from filling her full of his cum, and maybe… he wouldn’t want to… 

It was his fantasy, after all. 

“FUCK!!!” 

With the image spilling inside her, he allowed himself to be swept by the fierce waves of pleasure, his entire body buzzing with bliss as hot, thick ribbons of ecstasy spilt over his fingers. He might have shouted too loudly, but it’s not like he ever gave a fuck. 

It took Sy a few good minutes to climb down to earth, and then he chuckled hoarsely as he noticed the mess he had left on his hand. Shaking his head, he reached for a towel and wiped himself clean before returning to gaze at her photo. 

“What am I gonna do with you, doll?”

Well, there was an idea. He could repay the favour by sending her a photo of himself. Usually, he was against this type of stuff, but what she did was particularly risky for a woman, and if she was bold enough to treat him, he could do the same. Besides, they had three months until they could meet again. He better make sure she remembered who she belonged to.  

He stroked himself lightly. Still semi-hard, he wondered whether he could work himself to another erection this soon when a knock sounded at the door.

“Mother of f…. One moment !!!” 

Sy yelled. Irritated, he briefly tucked his shaft back in his boxers and jumped out of bed. The room smelled rancid, but Sy couldn’t bring himself to care. He couldn’t even bring himself to put on a shirt as he rushed to the door.

“What?” He grunted before getting to see who was on the other side.

‘Well, fuck me sideways.’

It was a woman because why the hell not? Private Hicks, to be precise. The young thing’s eyes flared with surprise and then snapped to the floor to avoid staring at her sweaty, half-naked superior, but not before catching a glance of his hairy, tattooed chest and the semi-erected bulge in his groin.

The strong scent of sweat and sex hit her nostrils like a smack in the face. It took everything not to curl her face. There was no need to put two and two together to realise what she had just intruded. 

“Sir.” Hicks saluted in badly hidden embarrassment. 

Sy let out a deep sigh. Clearly, she knew what he was doing before she arrived. She probably heard him come all over himself right before knocking. Frankly, he wasn’t ashamed. 

“Get on with it, Private.”

“Sir,” she repeated, her voice a slight tremble. “ I’m sorry to bother you… but the Major asked me to get you.” 

Sy scratched the back of his head and groaned deeply. “Tell him I’ll be there in 10.” 

Without any other comment, he shut the door, leaving Hicks to wander back to the Major’s office, all shaken and quaking. 

As she walked away, she couldn’t help but bite her lips. All across her body, she felt those little electric streams of excitement, and her breath suddenly became shallow. She shouldn’t have thought of her superior like this, on what he did behind that closed door just a moment before she arrived, but Captain Syverson was too hot to handle and, needless to say, too loud. 

Well, she’d have to take care of herself later…

[jamiethebeeart]

“But it’s not gay if he’s dead.” Danny’s head whipped around to stare down the street at two guys walking on the other side. He thought he was free of hearing that phrase ever again. Heart thudding in his ears, he crossed the street to tail these two guys. There was no way? Right? I mean Danny was something like 1,000 miles away from his hometown. There was no way two random guys in the big city of Gotham would’ve ever heard of –

“I don’t know man, it’s never been confirmed whether or not the “big guy” was actually… ya know?”

Danny seethed in frustration at the vague conversation. He stepped around a group of kids as he barely made the end of the crosswalk countdown.

“Nah, Red makes too many uncomfortable jokes about death to not have died.”

Danny sped up, weaving in between people to catch up before he lost the conversation in the din.

“It’s Gotham, we all make jokes about death.”

“Ya, but not like him. He seems to revel in them, like he actually kicked the bucket, permanent-like, not like those people who – I don’t know – cardiac arrest and are technically dead for a couple minutes until the EMTs get to them or whatever.”

A car puttered down the road – releasing a huge plume of exhaust in between Danny and the guys. Danny sighed, fully intending to return to his original path with the reassurance that they weren’t talking about Phantom. Then the next damned sentence came out of one of their mouths.

“Ok sure let’s say you’re right. Is it necrophilia if his body started decaying before coming back?”

‘Fuck it’ Danny thought as he turned back around. He had to see how this conversation ended – definitely not because the answer to that question kept him up night. Absolutely not. Call him a cat because he was just curious and not all at invested in the answer.

“Oh! Dude, shut the fuck up! Why would you – that’s disgusting! Are you kidding me!”

“Answer the question Mr. It’s Not Gay if He’s Dead – necrophiliac: yes or no?”

“No? Have you seen Red’s body? No way a dead guy could have muscles like that – I mean you gotta have working bodily functions right? To build muscles or whatever the fuck? Like have you seen his abs? Or, shit, just his arms - I mean swoon worthy, what I wouldn’t give to have him hold -”

“…….”

“- me…. What are ya looking at me like that for?”

“When, exactly, have you seen his abs.”

“Aaaah - that’s not the point –“

“Sure as hell hope that’s the point.” Red Hood stepped out of an alleyway they were walking past. Even with a helmet on, Danny swore the guy stared straight at him. He was so fucked getting caught listening in to this conversation – could he play it cool? Danny was cool right? Yeah, he could totally pull this off, act totally normal and keep walking. Hunching his shoulders some and turning his body away from the three men, he walked past. Or tried to. Red Hood caught the back of his shirt, stopping him from getting away. Unless Danny was willing to expose his powers to get out this situation, the best he could do was play dumb and hope Hood let him go without too much hassle.

“Boss!”

“Hey Boss – you didn’t happen to only hear the second half of that, did you?”

Red Hood growled, “the part about necrophilia or the part about my abs?”

Danny twisted his head back to see Goon #1 turn pale. “Uuuh – uh- um,” met Red Hood’s question.

A choreographed roll of the eyes, “Better question, why are you talking shit out on the streets and not paying attention to your little stalker,” Hood gestured to Danny.

“I’m not a stalker!” Danny huffed. His eyes widened. All three guys looked over at him. ‘SHIT’ Danny thought. He did not want to catch anyone’s attention more than he had, much less all three.

Goon No. 2 looked at him, as he resumed his squirming in Red Hood’s grasp, “So who are you?”

Danny glanced up to see Red Hood staring down at him. Today just wasn’t his day. “Hood,” Danny blurted out.

Silence. The tips of Danny’s ears turned bright red

“Uhm, I mean, a tourist?” “In Crime Alley, kid?”

"I'm not a kid," Danny muttered.

Hood shook Danny’s shirt hard enough to also shake Danny himself. “Try again. I’ve seen you around often enough to know that’s a lie.”

“It’s true!” Danny lied. “I was visiting the city, my wallet got pickpocketed with most of my money, so now I’m… kind of…. Stuck here? Indefinitely?”

Goon No. 1 laughed at him, “do ya think we’re dumb? You have a cellie right? No way you’re ‘stuck here’.”

“Exactly, so who do you work for? Penguin?” A jab towards Danny’s face. “Riddler?” Another jab and a step towards Danny. “Is it Two Face?” Another, even closer jab. Danny went cross-eyed looking at the finger in front of his nose.

“Back off,” Hood said. Danny breathed a sigh of relief at being given some space. And then the next words came out of Red Hood’s mouth, “Get lost you two – and stop gossiping on the street. And you-“ Hood turned back to Danny, “ – you’re coming with me.” Danny gulped. Today was going down as another shit day in the books for sure.

[pygmi-cygni]

couldn't resist - marc spector

cw: failed aftercare/pos, overstim intensely, a bit of begging, desperate moon boys, Bodily Fluid. cnc, both are in a consenting relationship

not...kinktober but definitely something.

You shifted, whining uncomfortably as Marc shifted your knees up to your chest. The muscles in your legs were Useless after Steven had pounded you into a pulp. Reduced to a melted mess, you spread limply over the soaked mattress. Steven had smothered you in kisses for a bit until you were both exhausted. Marc had fronted immediately after, patiently wetting a rag and swiping gently around your folds.

"Lay still," he murmured, stroking your knee comfortingly. "I don't wanna hurt you."

You tried to stop trembling, waves of aftershocks sending occasional shockwaves through your limbs. The torn edges of your focus slowly restitched themselves as the soothing warmth brushed over your raw skin. The rag was gone, and Marc had begun gently rubbing in lotion.

Deliriously, you curled into yourself. A nap sounded wonderful. He grunted and righted you, raising a dark eyebrow.

"Almost done, honey, just wait."

You huffed a petulant sigh. Your pussy ached for a break, even though Marc was being very gentle. Your pink folds were puffy and glistening, leftover arousal still leaking steadily. Steven had sucked you dry but the stimulation was a little too much. Marc hummed quietly, fingers trailing absentmindedly through the mess.

"M-Marc," you hissed, twitching away. He chuckled and the feeling disappeared.

"Sorry, got distracted," he said sheepishly. Carefully, he lowered your legs to the downy blanket. The dirty ones were hastily shoved to the unused side of the bed. Steven fucked you closest to the wall so he'd have something to brace against. How considerate - he'd left half of the bed free from cum.

Your eyelids were heavy while you watched Marc dispose of the rag and lotion. He returned shirtless and dressed for bed. You scrunched up tighter, muscles aching pleasantly.

"Spread your legs, baby, it'll feel better. You're adding to the pressure." Marc gripped your thighs and tugged you down, gently opening you up to the cool night air. You tensed, preparing for another round.

All done, no more teasing. After a moment, you relaxed, realizing he wanted you to calm down. Marc leaned against the bedframe, eyes trained on your blushing, fucked out form.

"You're so pretty," he cooed, a finger tracing your ankle. You smiled blearily and patted the mattress.

"Sleep w' me," you mumbled, tongue thick and throat raw. Marc didn't respond, mouth open slightly as he stared at your ruined cunt. His hand absently began stroking the bedpost, eyes dark and soulful. You whined louder.

"Marc."

His lusty gaze snapped to your face, something warm and hidden glowing inside.

"I love you," he murmured, "you know that?"

Confused, you nodded, still unsure why he hadn't joined you. Marc crawled over the bedframe and knelt over your legs, hands rubbing gently on your waist.

"Sorry, baby," he whispered in your ear, lips brushing your earlobe. Frowning, you tilted to look at him.

"Wha-"

He shucked his shorts and with a massive groan sheathed himself in your warm, abused core. You arched and hollered, nerves reigniting at the sudden sensation. Marc moaned and shuddered, hips pumping slowly as your folds sucked him in.

"I know, I know," he groaned, warm palms groping at your love-bitten breasts. The sticky heat of your pussy gripped him wonderfully, all soft and wet from Steven's round earlier. The whimpers and sobs rolling out of you were music to his ears as he fucked long and hard.

"C-couldn't resist," he hissed, biting back another moan, "you j-just ah looked so p-prettygodfuckuhh," the sudden pulse of your gummy walls made him seize up, shuddering to grip onto the headboard. Marc howled and ground harder, hips jutting into yours.

It was hot, raw pleasure inside. Your body and mind were warring - one drank in the pleasure and the other actively shunned it, twitching and moving away. Marc's strong hands kneaded into your pillowy thighs and you moaned loudly, pulsing around his length.

The hazy grip of pleasure was choking any logic from Marc's mind. He knew you needed rest; Steven had just fucked your brains out for two hours. But god when you stared at him with those big doe eyes and a positively dripping cunt...

He couldn't resist.

A painfully fast climax had you in a headlock, sending searing heat downwards. Waves of hot sticky slick poured out, ruining the fine job Marc had done of cleaning you up. The added heat made him shudder and groan, churning that syrupy mess inside. He wanted to nestle inside as far as he could go, drowning in pleasure and your musky heat. It was an addiction. He needed to feel every velvety smooth stroke inside.

"God, why, ugh, why right n-now?" you moaned, writhing under Marc's strong grip. He didn't respond, laser focused on the heavenly drag of your flesh against his. His thighs were shaking with the force of his pleasure.

"Jus' a little more," he grunted, ravenously devouring your plush lips. The honey-sweetness of your mouth coupled with the succulent feel of your silky cunt was a lethal combination. He'd have to sprint to last long enough.

Even in your state, Marc knew you could take it. Steven was gentle with you even at his worst. Whatever he'd done to you earlier wasn't close to your limit.

So he pounded harder, rocking the mattress with the pistoning of his hips. Each thrust made a loud, wet sound against your raw pussy. The bounce of your tits demanded attention, which he happily provided. The added stimulation sent you spiraling.

You could feel your insides molding around him, gasping deep when he stroked under your sternum. The thick, raw energy that rolled off of your boyfriend had you drooling, slumping into his grip. Marc took the hint and flipped you flat on your back.

The mattress squeaked in protest to his pace, your hips punching into the soft fabric. Any hopes of salvaging the sheets were....not a priority.

Marc whimpered and ground up higher, trying to fuse himself to you. The inebriating heat of your cunt was making him stupid, humping and moaning like a dog. You were divine like this, flushed and utterly ruined underneath him. The stiff peak of your clit flared and pulsed with need.

He dragged a calloused thumb over your pearl, sending another crippling wave of pleasure up your spine. You flexed and gushed around his length, stirring the magma in his stomach. Time was all mushy and Marc struggled to slow himself.

Pace yourself, slow down, he remembered. But it was too much, too hot, too wet and tight and-

"Oh h-hell," he choked, cock pulsing and blushing red as he staved off his climax. He knew you were close, and the thought of finishing together was too good to pass up.

"Come on," he urged, stroking your clit and sucking on your jaw, "you can do it, baby, come on-"

Limbs locking tight with pleasure, you sailed over the hurdle, soaking his lap with your slick. Marc rutted and throbbed into you, muffling his moans in your neck. His aborted thrusts pushed his spend back inside, gushing and sticking obscenely on your thighs.

"Oh, sweet thing made a mess, huh?" his voice teased as you shuddered and hiccupped. Your response was severed by the dragging sensation of him drawing backwards. You wailed, your overstimulated folds weeping his seed and yours. The creamy slick glistened on your red, aching flesh.

Icing on a cake, Marc thought blissfully, mindlessly rolling his hips into a pillow. You saw his slowly hardening length and dragged in a slow breath. A fat, wet tear bubbled down your cheek as you met his dark gaze.

"B-but-"

"M sorry," he breathed, reaching for you, "it's so hard to stop..."

@krakenkitty @ominoose @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma

@iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr @steven-grants-world

@ael-xander @to-be-a-sunshine @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @silvernight-m tags! comment to join!

[bloodycassian]

Reborn - Reader x Azriel. AN - thank you anon for this great prompt!

Requested - I don't know if your requests are open but I wanted to throw something in just in case.

An Azriel x reader, where AZ and reader have never met before, reader has been tortured and experimented on by the court of nightmares ( Keir ) she could be a shadowsinger, and they're mates, when the reader is in the verge of death for refusing to work with Keir, AZ feels it and begins to grow hectic without knowing the reason,  everyone in the inner court is confused until elain comes out of nowhere and tells everyone that his mate is in danger. ( Vision )

I have this on the back of my mind since reading some of your amazing work and couldn't stop thinking about it.

No amount of masturbation, drinking, or sparring helps the agitation under Azriel’s skin. It’s a constant, burning, itching thing that’s like a fucking disease upon his being. 

Sleep is his only relief, but even then he’s plagued with pain and darkness. It reminds him too much of the dank basement he’d been forced into when he was young, so he stays up. He’s exhausted and brooding and quick to snap at anyone who questions him. He knows he’s being a dick but according to the five healers he’d seen, there was nothing wrong. 

Nothing wrong, just like how his shadows weren’t some kind of magic, according to them. 

He’d refused to believe in healers all that much since the explanation Madja had given him about his diseased pets. The writhing, tentacles of night were a ‘bodily mutation of the highest level, tainted with fae magic’. Tainted. The word felt right for what they were, but that didn’t mean it stung any less. 

“We’ll invade here, and be able to plant our…” There was a beat of silence in Amren’s quick words, then her voice cut through his busybodied task like a knife “Azriel, are you even listening?” 

Truthfully, he hadn’t been. He’d been consumed by the ache again, the broiling sickness beneath his skin that had every muscle flexed in tension. His mind had other battles to fight. 

“What does it matter? You’ll carry out your plan with or without me. Keep talking, make yourself feel important, Amren.” His ill-tempered response came quick and laced with venom. One glance towards the small not-quite-fae female and his mind gave a twinge of regret. 

A lick of her power radiated, filling the room with something vibrant and undeniable. Cassian sucked in a breath, and a word from Rhys had her firey gaze snapping to him instead. “Take your dog from the important business then, High Lord.” Her words were precise, hissed. 

Azriel straightened. The insult didn’t land as well as Amren had wanted, in part because he couldn’t care less, another because the fire under his skin was reaching a peak that he had no idea how he survived every time it came around. He glanced to Rhys, who gave him a nod. Good. Let him free of this cage. 

He flung open the balcony doors with his cursed gift and sprinted off the ledge, launching himself into the summer air. 

+

Rats nibbled at your toes when you slept, scurrying away before you could catch them. Your senses weren’t even close to what they had been months ago. Before, you’d been able to catch at least two a week for extra sustenance. 

You told yourself that they’d learned, that they’d gotten quicker at their biting and fleeing. Truthfully, you could feel your strength waning every day. 

Living was no longer hope, and more of an inconvenience. 

But it was an inconvenience to Kier as well. And that meant you’d keep on living out of spite. 

The next female would appreciate it. 

“Arms up, legs together.” The order came with unnatural casualness that you’d grown used to. If you didn’t follow the orders, you were beaten until you either complied or were unconscious, so complying was really the only option. Especially when you were attempting to stay alive for as long as you could. 

It’s for the next girl. You chanted to yourself when the keeper made the injection. It stung like hundreds of bees attacking the same place, but the pain was familiar. A friend you welcomed before everything went sideways and the nausea rolled in. 

The drug Kier’s men gave was like none you’d experienced outside this cell. An incredible high, with a disastrous low. 

You convulsed on the floor moments later, your body still barely able to take the amount they dosed you with. You’d seen the liquid inside the damn thing grow each week, they were marking your progress with every one of them. So, with each dosing you made sure to put on some dramatics for them. 

The clawing at the throat was false, the sound of your screams only half-forced. The real, unforced reaction though, was always the shade of pallor your skin turned after every injection. The darkness that radiated from you like a bubble, the pain made physical. 

It hovered over your skin like an aura, tendrils of it washing over your forehead when the sweating started. It always started like this, for the first few hours - or possibly minutes, you weren’t sure once you were lost to the pain - they’d observe, and sometimes Kier himself would join, looking like a disappointed mother. Then, once the shaking subsided, and you were able to breathe normally, they’d release a rabbit into your cell. 

The same rabbit almost every damn time. After the first two weeks, you’d grabbed the first one and snapped it’s neck, hoping that Kier would be happy with the accomplishment and you’d earn something. You’d felt awful as it died in your hands, but the pain… if it stopped the pain, you’d kill anything. 

But time after time, they’d send in another rabbit, and though you begged for some kind of explanation of what they wished with the damn thing, they’d only observe. After a few hours of investigating, it’d eventually be removed and you’d wake up alone again.

Kier did not make an appearance today, and after your shaking stopped, neither did a rabbit.

“Where’s dinner?” You croaked, the tears stinging small cuts on your cheeks. Your friend never laughed or spoke, hardly even moved when he was in the vicinity of your cell. It was odd, even for a freak who enjoyed drugging and torturing others.

The male only stared, writing in his little notebook. He could at least humor you and tell you what he was so keenly logging. Some friend.

He opened the door, but instead of the rabbit jumping inside, he stepped forward, past the barrier and wards keeping you from breaking through. Your breathing halted. 

“Your reluctance to learn your gifts has given us no other option.”

+

“Did you lose a fight?” 

Nesta’s words normally bounced and slid right off Azriel, but with how volatile he was feeling, it took all his restraint not to snarl at her.

“Come on Az, where’s that quick wit?” She chided, crossing her legs at the knee beside her sister. 

His eyes drifted to Elain, the warm blush of her cheeks. Her lavender nightshirt made her seem so much more vulnerable than she was. He knew just how lethal the female could be, and admired her for it. His eyes drifted to the soft hair and round features that he’d once dreamt of. How foolish he’d been, how full of hope and bitterness. Now here he was, merely a ghost. A shell for pain to be housed in and nothing more. 

And here he stared at a garden of hope and light. The female who’d haunted his dreams for years. The opposite of the steel bitch that sat beside her. 

A pang of guilt pinched at him. “You’re ridiculous.” Was all he could muster at her. Nesta was trying to help, in her own way, he supposed. She was testing his limits and temper, even while balancing comforting words and attempting to heal her little sister’s mental wounds. Not to mention navigating the strange, untrained gift of Elain’s.

It wasn’t often that Azriel came to the house of wind proper. When he did, he usually confined himself to the dining area and the war room, where the formal dinners and meetings were held. He hadn’t walked the halls into the large internal library in a long, long while. No wonder they both had turned their chairs to face him when he’d cracked the door to find them both here. 

The large windows seemed crowded with the amount of books that surrounded them. The only source of light, aside from the twinkling magic fueled ones above. The room had always made Azriel feel claustrophobic, and now it set him on edge in a way different than it had before. 

Especially when Elain’s eyes bored into his own. His skin felt like it was shifting, pulling and pushing from just beneath. He was beginning to wonder if the healers had somehow missed a parasite of some kind. Something new perhaps, something they’d never seen before.

Elain’s eyes widened, her cheeks going from the pink blush to sickly pale in an instant. Her expression was unfocused, hazy - as if she were drunk. Azriel suddenly felt like he was intruding, like seeing her so vulnerable was something reserved for only those close to her. 

Nesta placed a hand on her shoulder and rubbed her sister’s back comfortingly. It was about as tender as Azriel had ever seen her, even with Cassian. He watched the hands that rubbed the Seer, recalling the intense desire he’d once felt for her. Embarrassment coated his cheeks, distracting him from the physical pain for a moment.

He’d wanted to be that support for her, once. Nesta’s hand seemed to grow in his vision, the embroidered collar of Elain’s nightshirt with it. He blinked rapidly, trying to refocus. The blackness around his eyes did not recede though. His bones ached, and his headache stabbed at him like a branding iron. He rubbed his temple, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“She needs help.” Elain gasped, coughing on a breath. Azriel wavered on his heels, something hard hitting his back, crushing his wings. 

He could barely hear the high strung sound of Elain’s voice. “She needs help, Azriel!”

+

He tore though the court, dragging Kier kicking and frothing with him. He’d received a few severe wounds from the cruel male, but nothing that a few patches of his siphons couldn’t hold together. 

The gushing stab wounds could wait. He had something far more important to tend to.

“You’re a bastard, a low-born inconsequential bastard, Shadowsinger.” Kier coughed as Azriel dragged his broken body with him. The crowd pushed and writhed around them, but his outstretched dagger kept any of the patrons from advancing. Several dark looks, hisses of death closed in around him, but he plowed through them all, working his way to the catacombs behind the stone chair that served as Rhys’s dark throne. 

“I may be a bastard-” Azriel grunted through his pain, now more fevored and intense than before. It was a wonder he’d even been able to make it here, but it did explain his sloppy handling of Kier once he’d found the male. 

“But at least I didn’t sell a daughter off as stock.” He tossed the would-be-king to the locked door of the catacombs, a part of him enjoyed the thunk his head made against the stone floor, even through the intense agony that ripped through him. 

This was not the place to show weakness. If he let his shadows drop, let the air of anything but a cold hearted killer go for even a moment he’d be trampled by the crowd. 

Kier rose slowly, muttering curses while he pulled out a key and slid the door to the side. He sketched a bow, waving Azriel in. Spit landed at Azriels feet as he crossed the threshold, and he hesitated in his step. A hiss rang out behind him, shuffling feet a song as the crowd quickly scooted back. He held his stance there for a moment, collecting the wrath that built in him. It writhed and twisted in his mind, his guts, his teeth throbbing with the urge to tare out Kier’s throat. 

The blistering heat flared again, this time in his jaw and he moved down the hall, towards the cells that an unfortunate assistant to Kier had described. 

He’d made their death quick, painless. 

+

You couldn’t scream, could hardly breathe with the weight that seemed to be growing in your chest. 

Not weight exactly, more like pressure. Internal pressure, like there was lava built up inside you with nowhere to go. And every rattling breath seemed to give it more life. You wheezed, weak with the exhaustion of fighting it. 

Your friend had given you three more of the injections, and promptly left when you began struggling against the binds at your hands and feet. One of them had ripped, you only knew because that was the hand that you’d used to claw at your chest with. 

The blood made going any further too slippery and exhausting.

There were far away sounds, but it all seemed too strange, so disjointed to be real. Screams and sharp clangs of metal, breaking glass and thudding. 

Your eyes slipped closed, and relief washed over you. The pressure eased, and the squeaky hinges of the door opened. Had death finally come? Was this the end of your cycle, and now they were bringing in a new victim to Kier’s experiments? 

There wasn’t much of a goodbye to the world, though. As sad as it was to not be able to see your family again, you were just grateful that the pain was receding. That finally there’d be no injections, no innocent rabbit and certainly no Kier around. 

The sounds were strange, a choking, strangled sound like the first time you’d killed the rabbit. Your eyes cracked open almost involuntarily to see what had happened. 

Outside your cell in a glow of blue light was a winged male, his hand wrist deep inside your friend’s chest. 

+

Blood is hotter than most people think it is. Azriel takes joy in it though, when it’s the blood of the truly vile ones. The male with the syringes and log book reeked of something spiced and foreign, something Azriel’d never encountered before. He would have asked, would have talked to the male if he’d not pulled a knife and threatened to ‘kill her’ as he backed away. 

There were no thoughts after that. And as he fell to the floor, Azriel reveled in the male’s labored breathing. Relief and heat flooded him, prickling him with a soaring joy he’d thought abandoned him long ago. He could laugh, if it weren’t for the absurdity of how it sounded to laugh at this moment.

 He plucked the book from his hands and shoved it into his belt behind him, his chest thrumming with joy.

He’d never been so filled with glee before, so overwhelmed with it after killing… Had he become broken in a sick way? Was he no better than the male he’d just killed? He looked to his hand, twisting it in the low light of his siphons. 

A wet, weak cough echoed off the walls and he spun, knife ready. 

Then the blade was on the floor as he rushed to the bars of the cell door, ripping it free of the rusted hinges. 

The female was gaunt, and frail. Yet his chest sang and though she looked moments from death, he couldn’t imagine more beauty. 

She clutched her chest, the blood there crusted and dry. “Thanks.” She croaked, voice barely a whisper. Shadows mounted around him, enclosing them in complete black. He would have thought he was winnowing if it weren't for the sorry excuse for a bed that stayed beneath her.

Azriel’s lips were moving, but he couldn’t tell what he was saying, even to his own ears. His mind, his body was a rushing river of every emotion at once, all cascading through his mind, to his chest and thrumming in his blood. Her eyes went wide and wild, searching his for a moment. His heart thundered in his ears.

What had his life been until now? Why was this moment such a climax to him so suddenly? All of it, the pain the agony, the stark moments of joy against it all - the brief moments of shared happiness that made it all worth it tore through his body like a flash floor. 

Tears pricked his eyes, and it was a curious thing to see them fall onto her neck and wash away the blood there. 

Then, a wet sigh from her lips, and her eyes stopped searching his. The rush of joy and sense of sanctuary ceased. His blood went quiet in his ears, and the room felt suddenly cold. The room silent around him, not even his shadows dared whisper.

His fingers hesitated over her cheek. When her next breath did not come, he shook her gently. Her eyes remained, staring blankly at the ceiling. 

This was truly a tomb now. 

“No…” He heard his own words that time. The word clattered through the cell like a bell tolling, echoing.

“Take her back.” A shadow hissed over his ear, caressing. 

He shook her again, the tears boiling over now, panic gripping him. 

“We know how.” another said. This voice was different, the same whispered tone and suggestion, but this was not one of his pets. He sent his own shadows skittering away, and a group of them stayed, unbound to him and unmoving from the cell. His heart skipped, fear upon fear pulling him into the icy abyss of despair. 

His own shadows returned, a broken syringe floating to him on their behest. They mingled with the others, reveling and dancing together though Azriel felt that he was slowly sinking.

“What am I supposed to do with this?!” He shouted at them, at nothing. He had truly lost his mind, hadn’t he?

“Save her.” The strange shadows told him. Just like Elain had said, overtaken by her visions.

 A tendril of the foreign shadow wrapped around his hand, locking the glass pieces there and slicing into his palm. The needle aimed directly to her chest, between the ribs, only a few inches from the heart. 

And what did he have to lose? The silence that surrounded him now was almost worse than the pain had been. Wouldn't pain at least be better than complete nothingness? To feel completely blank and unwritten as a being?

With a breath, and a part of his siphon’s power to support the broken syringe, he pushed into her skin. His own blood dribbled down the sides, mixing with hers. Through and through - until he knew that he’d met the same depth of a killing blow to an opponent’s heart. 

+

“Side, block, strike.” Cassian’s orders came out in demanding, practiced tones. Each step, each swipe of your blade met with one of Azriel’s shadows as a shield. 

His were still much, much stronger than yours, even after months of practice with them. Even with him showing you very intimately just how much they were capable of. Your cheeks blushed at the reminder of that. 

“No distractions, keep that shadow talk in the bedroom, Az.” Cassian scolded.

A smirk played at your mate’s face, and he hit you with a surprise swipe at your feet, left unprotected by your own shadows. 

You fell on your ass, cursing. 

Azriel offered a hand, panting at the exertion the sparring had taken. You were proud of that, at least. 

The first six months of training had been dedicated to building stamina, gaining back weight and muscle while balancing training your shadows to obey you. Six months ago, being able to spar with your mate had seemed like a far off dream that you’d never be capable of doing. 

But with his training, and Cassian’s encouragement, you were almost able to take him on stride for stride. Almost. 

So, you took his hand and pulled him towards you for a kiss. Then knocked his knees out from behind with a wave of your own shadows.

You smirked, and offered him a hand while Cassian boomed with laughter.

He allowed you to help him up, but cleaned in close, pecking a kiss on your cheek. 

“You’ll pay for that later.” He said in an intimate tone. A lick of his shadow wrapped around your thigh, snaking upwards. 

“Promise?” Your eyes sparkled at him, and the pain all those months ago had been worth it for this. 

[strwberri-milk]

Hello! I enjoyed your LaDS Incubus boys short. Please continue when you can. Spice is encouraged!

uhhhhh tbh idk what continue means :/// i could write some smut hcs but tbh w me, due to the fact that theyre incubi im taking some liberty so theres going to be more overlap but if you want smth more specific for any requests in general please elaborate!! im not actually very creative as a person and it takes me months to really gather up enough brainpower to write smth original - esp when its not smth im super invested in - so if this isnt what you wanted feel free to send a more specific request ive just done a general smut/incubi hcs but theyre not very long bc again. i think theres going to be some overlap here and i hate being too repetitive if i can help it!!

Zayne is methodical in the way he takes you. If you pay attention you can see the way he plans out his every move, primarily deriving his source of power from your pleasure. He takes mental notes of what you seem to like the most, not deviating too much from it because he likes seeing you squirm and writhe against him.

His favourite way to take you is on his tongue. He loves having his face buried between your legs, tongue licking and stroking slowly as he draws out your pleasure. Your nails dig into his scalp, trying desperately for him to make you cum but there's no way he's going to let you take charge. He wants to see you beg and beg, hiding his true intentions behind an indiscernible expression.

He doesn't stick around. He doesn't want either of you to get attached - as far as he's concerned getting attached would hurt the both of you. Once the two of you have gotten your fill he's out in a flash, leaving you waiting until the next time.

Xavier loves the feeling of you cumming on his cock. He rarely, if ever lets you cum on anything else. The way you feel clenching around him, the look on your face, the way your nails drag down his back or crumple at the sheets - all of it has his mind spinning. Thanks to this, he also tends to be a little greedy with your pleasure, working you into overstimulation over and over again until you're exhausted. That's his preferred way to feed on you.

Sometimes if he's feeling a little tired or you've had a long day he'll be sweet on you. His hands run down your body slowly as he shallowly fucks into you, grinding against your pelvis slowly. His fingers rub against the most sensitive part of your core, relishing in the sounds of your body as you pant and whine softly under his ministrations. He commits every sound to memory, eyes laser focused on every reaction you give him.

You think that he leaves after the two of you are done and for the most part he does. Sometimes though he'll stay secretly, watching over you as you sleep or appearing around you secretly. You don't notice it but he keeps an eye out for you on a decently frequent basis, somehow managing to bump into you by coincidence right when you happen to be thinking of him.

Rafayel loves making a mess of you. It's like Xavier and Zayne - your pleasure is the best way for him to feed off you and he makes it known. He's the most vocal of the three, telling you that you make such a lovely meal and you're such a sweet little thing that he just has to have you.

He loves watching your bodily fluids make a mess on your skin. He likes making you cum so much that you've got a puddle underneath you, sheets sheer with your pleasure. You're almost humiliated by how you're practically leaking just from the sound of his voice against your ear but he loves it, keeping your legs spread as his hands keep up his constant movements against you.

He'll never stay with you. He knows already that he's too close to getting attached and copes with it by acting extremely cold to you. When the two of you are having sex he acts like he's your lover, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he makes you cum over and over again but once you're done he simply dresses and leaves without so much as a goodbye.

[lqveharrington]

Silver Roses & Fallen Snow

10: The Gravestone (series masterlist)

summary: you and your father grieve your mother every year, and it’s the first year you don’t have Coriolanus to comfort you.

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

includes: death, fluff, angst, mentions of murder, anxiety, grief, manipulation, italics are flashbacks

wc: 2.7k +

a/n: are we rooting for coriolanus or finn???

Your heart was racing. You could feel the blood rushing through your body as your father told you what had happened. The tears were free falling down your face as you clawed at your chest, sobs filling the air with every breath you took.

“Let me see her!” You sobbed as your father held you close to his chest, running his fingers through your hair. “Daddy, let me see her!”

Your father shook his head, “I can’t let you do that, baby. She doesn't want you to see her like this.”

“I don’t care!” You hit his chest with your curled fists. “I want to see her!”

Adam Lovett just hugged you tighter in your attempts to escape his hold. You tried to resist, but the overwhelming emotions took over and you sobbed in his chest until all your tears were completely spent. And in the middle of the manor’s foyer, the father-daughter pair stayed there until you fell asleep with the thought of losing your mother. Inevitably.

You gasped and shot up from bed, clutching your aching heart. You pushed back your hair sticking to your face and breathed heavily until you got yourself to calm down, much slower than usual since you couldn’t find something you were looking for. Taking in short breaths to try and calm yourself, you glanced at the clock for the time.

4:00 AM

That wasn’t ideal.

It was the anniversary week of your mother’s death. She was bedridden until her final breath; which she used to give you one last hug before she was taken from you. This was the only week where you and your father were able to communicate properly with one another, the week where he would let you do anything. But you both spent most of the week by her grave, telling her everything that happened in your lives since she departed.

Whenever this week came and tormented your dreams, your father didn’t care if Coriolanus was over; for the sake of protecting you. But since you were on your own for the first time in years, you had to face the true depth of your misery with the full blow. In the past, Coriolanus would be your rock, your shield from the awful reality. He would ensure you would still eat, bathe, and interact with others through your despair. Now that he wasn’t here to be your personal checklist, you had to drag yourself out of bed to allow normal bodily functions to occur.

By the time you were done washing up properly and looking presentable enough to leave the room, it was already 6:30 AM. You sighed softly as you made the slow trek down to the dining room. The Avoxes cleaning the house nodded at you as you walked passed and sent you looks of pity.

You hated it when they did that. Not that you hated your Avoxes, but you didn’t need their pity. You’ve lived long enough without your mother to know it was disheartening without others needing to send their condolences. They were just being nice, you knew that, but it made your mood worsen.

Entering the dining hall, you spot your father picking at his breakfast, eyes more distant than usual. His whole demeanor was worse than it usually was during this week. He looked like he was lost in his own world, clothes and hair heavily disheveled. You quietly took your seat near him, watching his eyes snap toward you in an instant.

“Morning.” You murmur and search his eyes for any indication of your father’s past.

Adam stared at you with saddened eyes, running his fingers through his hair in exhaustion. “Morning, apple. How did you sleep last night?”

You rub your eyes, not registering the old nickname your father used for you. The clinking of the Avoxes preparing your breakfast canceled out anything you were thinking of. “Bad.”

“Nightmares?”

The silence that came afterward solidified your unspoken answer. It was still hard for the both of you to come to terms with the haunting nightmares of your mother’s pain, but it was something you learned to live with after a while. The soft clattering of your father’s utensils and the sound of the Avoxes bustling around in the manor distracted your mind a little longer before you spoke once more.

“Do I have anything planned today?” You ask quietly, finally taking a bite from the fruit on your plate. You hoped you had nothing planned at all this week, it didn’t matter how important any plan was.

Your father shook his head, slightly relieved you ate something. “Nothing this week. If you choose to stay home or go out, please have someone escort you.”

Silence took its place again until your father’s chair scraped against the hardwood floor, causing your eyes to shoot up toward him. He adjusted his suit and pulled out a pocket watch, shutting his eyes briefly before acknowledging you.

“I have a meeting today with the Head Game Maker today that apparently couldn’t be moved.” He states with disdain in his voice. “But after that, I’m gone for the whole day. If you need anything from me, you know where to find me.”

You bow your head down in grief, nodding softly. It was like this every day for the entire week, and neither of you cared to break the tradition. And as always, you asked the same question you did when you were a child.

“Can we eat dinner there?” You murmur, looking up at him before he can leave the dining hall completely.

“Of course, we can.”

Apparently, for a consecutive month, you could mourn. You mourned for Sejanus, the deaths of those in the games, and your mother. It was like your closet was filled with never-ending skirts and dresses of black — a void representing those lost to time. And at this rate, you’d be wearing black on the first day of University. Which, oddly enough, the uniforms for university were black and blue.

“I’m surprised you actually want to hang out with me outside of boxing and your stupid plans.” Finn sipped on his black tea as you walked side by side at the park, his black suit jacket hanging around your shoulders. Where he got more suits was not something you wanted to question.

“My plans aren’t stupid.” You throw a tired glare at him, taking his black tea and sipping it, grimacing at the liquid. It was like tasting mulch, and you wished you had your hot chocolate with you right now. The smell of the tea was enough to make you hurl.

He takes his cup back from you, nudging your shoulder. “You killed someone.”

“No one knows that.” You speak through your teeth, smiling at the old couple passing the both of you. When they walked past you, you gave Finn the middle finger, eliciting a hefty laugh from the man.

“Right, stupid.” He rolled his eyes affectionately before guiding you to sit on a park bench in front of the water fountain.

You watched the small ducks chase one another around before their mother broke them up, making you smile. It was rare for you to see animals in the Capitol, and surely the birds would have migrated soon as the colder months approached. Finn stared at you with a silent war raging in his mind, debating whether or not he should ask you why you wanted to hang out. And of course, he chose the former.

“I know you wouldn’t just ask to hang out out of nowhere, so why?” He asked slowly, frowning when your smile faded to a solemn, tight-lipped expression.

“I—“ You sigh, rubbing your eyes. “I can’t be alone right now. It’s my mother’s death week.” You lean your head back on the bench, shutting your eyes for temporary relief. “My father doesn’t like me going out on my own during this week because of… Well, everything that’s happened in our lives.”

Finn laced his hand with yours, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to tell me. Just relax.”

You peeled your eyes open to look at him, smiling softly. “I don’t say this enough to you, but thank you for everything.”

He kissed the side of your head, murmuring softly. “I’m always here for you.”

You flattened out your pleated black dress as you stepped out of the car toward the graveyard. You held your bouquet of white roses as you began the slow journey to your mother’s gravestone.

With each headstone you passed, you felt their history brush you. Died for our Country. A Father, A Son, A Brother. Lived for the hope of it all. Each personal story was engraved on their stones to tell those passing by that they were here and thriving.

Every year you came here, you stopped to read the newer ones. Many of the newer ones were those who died from old age or died as young as four due to unfair treatment due to the lack of medical attention. As you left a flower on the youngest gravestone you’ve seen in a while, your eye caught a glimpse of blonde hair by the willow tree where your mother’s grave was buried.

Blinking, you slowly stood up and you did in fact find Coriolanus Snow standing above your mother’s grave with a solemn look on his face. However, your father was standing beside him. You couldn’t hear them, but it seemed like they were talking about something important with how your father creased his brows in thought.

You watched them a little longer until shock decorated your face. Coriolanus Snow and Adam Lovett were shaking hands. To your understanding, that meant they made a deal. Coriolanus laid the bouquet of white tulips on your mother’s grave before taking his leave.

The urge to ask him what he was doing was strong. So, to your mind’s disappointment and your heart’s desire, curiosity got the better of you.

“Coriolanus,” You caught his arm as you walked toward him, his blue eyes burning a hole in yours. “What are you doing?”

“Paying my respects. She was like a mother to me too, beautiful.” Coriolanus gave you the smallest smile while his fingers came to play with the ends of your hair.

You look down at his hand before meeting his eyes again. “What were you and my father talking about?”

His lips turned up a little more, making you even more confused. “You.”

“Why?” You murmured as your eyes drifted back to the necklace hanging around his neck, the shine haunting you. “He isn’t the best to talk to this week.”

“I noticed.” He copied your volume, moving his hand down from your hair to your free hand, gently moving his thumb across your palm. “But I really am here to pay respects to your mother.”

You watched him trace his name on your hand and whispered a small, “Thank you.”

Coriolanus nodded and let go of your hand, meeting your eyes again. “I’m always here if you need me.”

You hesitated but let yourself give him a hug, burying your head in his chest like you used to. It still gave you comfort after everything that went down between the two of you. He carefully wrapped his arms around you, kissing the top of your head.

“Can you visit with me tomorrow?” You murmur as you pull away from him, eyes glazed from the overwhelming emotions.

“Of course.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering before giving you a curt nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

As he left, you watched his figure decrease in size until he was a speck leaving the graveyard. You sighed and made your way over to your father who was sitting on the plaid blanket waiting for you.

“How was your day?” He asked tentatively as you sat beside him, your hand extending out to place your bouquet next to Coriolanus’.

“Overwhelming.” You sigh and press your palms in your eyes, rubbing them. “Yours?”

“Just ready for it to be over.”

You sat quietly in front of your mother’s gravestone, wishing she was here to comfort the both of you. The rustling from the willow tree above kept you grounded as the scent of roses and lilacs filled your senses.

“How long have you been out here?” You look over at your father, noting his shaking hands and reddened face. “I know it’s still summer, but it’s getting colder—“

“Don’t worry about me.” He interrupted you and handed you a lighter for the candle. “Just tell your mama about your year.”

You lit the apple-scented candle and held onto the glass for comfort, staring into the burning orange and red. You messed with the ends of your black dress, eyes following the dancing flames before beginning your story.

“Hi, mama.” You murmured and sniffled softly, bringing a hand up to rub your eyes again. “This year was really rough… They made us mentor the District children in the games and I guess I got too attached to my tribute.” You paused, shutting your eyes for a second. “I graduated Academy, so I’ll be moving into University with Clemmie this semester… Uhm…”

You open your eyes to stare at your mother’s gravestone. It never occurred to you that whenever you were sitting in front of her you let all our defenses down and reverted back to that little girl who absolutely adored her parents.

“Daddy went all out for my birthday again this year. He had fireworks go off at the end of the party.” You laugh softly. “And of course, they were our favorite color. Coriolanus actually—“ You caught yourself and frowned at the mention of the blonde, fingers rubbing the glass. “Mama… You know the boy I told you I wanted to marry from years ago?”

You waited like she was going to answer back, eyes wandering over the engraved markings of Evelyn Lovett. “It didn’t end so well and… I guess what you said about fairy tales wasn't actually true.”

The breeze from the summer air brushed against your skin as you watched the flame burn out, making your frown deepen. You looked over at your father who was listening to you intently, handing him the candle and lighter.

“Did you talk to her yet?” You pluck the grass around you, staring tiredly at the plaid blanket.

“I did.” He sighed and gave you an understanding gaze. “You know the young Snow came to visit your mama, right?”

You nod, hand reaching up for your necklace that Coriolanus still had in his possession. “I spoke with him before he could leave.”

“Did he tell you what I said?”

You crease your brows and look over at him once more, “No… Was it important?”

He gave you a curt nod before handing you a letter from the woven basket. You carefully took the letter and peeled the Creed seal off, scanning its contents while your father continued speaking. Your eyes widened at each sentence, your hands tightening around the parchment in confusion, anger, and hope.

“Did you make another deal with Coriolanus about our relationship?” You ask as you cut your father off, voice barely above a whisper. “Just because the Creeds backed out of the engagement?”

“I…” Your father looked down at the blanket. “Yes.”

You rubbed your eyes again and crumpled up the paper, throwing it away. “Do you realize how many times my emotions have been toyed with in a span of one month? Do you know how much pain I’ve been through from just you and Coriolanus?”

“I thought you and Coriolanus—“

“Father, I’m trying.” You say desperately, trying to get him to understand you. “I’m trying to make amends with Coriolanus, I’m trying to gain his trust again. But all this? This just seems like going behind my back. Like I don’t matter to either one of you.”

The wind blew harsher on your skin as you received no response from your father. You scoffed and stood from your spot, smoothing out your dress before pressing a soft hand on your mother’s gravestone.

“I’m telling you right now,” You state to your father while looking down at your mother. “If you really want Coriolanus and I to stay together, don’t meddle with something that’s already broken. It’ll only break more.”

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©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[gay-dorito-dust]

Here’s a little Miguel fic that might be ooc or not idk, I’ll let you be the judge.

You might’ve gotten ahead of yourself in regards to your most recent mission as you were now paying the price by attempting to mend the cuts and other possible injuries over the bathroom sink,fully believing that your sudden absence would go completely unnoticed.

Unfortunately your absence didn’t go unnoticed by the one person you wished it would’ve; Miguel.

‘You here to lecture me about how I jump into things with careless abandon of mine and others safety or are you just going to continue standing menacingly at my doorway?’ You said without sparing him a single glance as you dabbed a generous amount of antiseptic onto a cotton pad. ‘I would but it seems as though you’ve already learnt that the hard way.’ Miguel replied, though his jaw did clench subconsciously at the sight of your injured form, but thankfully due to the shadow that was cast over his face from his bodily positioning in the doorway; it was practically impossible for you notice.

You attempt a shrug, ‘still alive to tell the tale though.’ You said, breathing heavily through your nose while biting back a hiss when pressing the cotton pad of antiseptic to the elongated but thin gash that spanned the entirety of your left forearm.

‘You’re doing it wrong.’ Miguel tells you and you couldn’t help but let out a halfhearted chuckle, finding this situation a tad humorous despite the fact that you and Miguel didn’t often see eye to eye on many things; so much so it often lead to heated debates between the pair of you that it ended in a much needed departure from the room in order cool from your hotheadedness.

‘Oh and how would you know what I’m doing is wrong?’ You snide, putting the now bloodied cotton pad to the side once the wound was cleared of filth. Miguel sighed as he puts a hand on his hip as he extended his other out towards you, ‘because i do and and if you’re as reckless as you are during missions at patching yourself up, then you might as well let me handle it.’ Too exhausted to fight him on this, you wearily sighed as you marched up to him and wordlessly put the bottle of antiseptic and a fresh cotton pad into his outstretched hand before retreating defeatedly to sit on the toilet seat.

You hated having to rely on others but to be forced to rely on Miguel was probably even worse, not that you didn’t trust him but you just didn’t want him to think of you as unreliable on-top of reckless and hardheaded; which you contradicted in saying that opinionated was the better suiting word. So you sat in silence as he came into your field of vision, lifting your head up ever so slightly with his free hand so that your eyes would be forced to lock.

‘Where else does it hurt.’ He asks you in a soft tone, letting his hand drop from your chin upon noticing how unnecessary long it lingered there. ‘My forehead.’ You then gestured with a hand towards the gash running across your forehead. ‘Alright, let’s get you patched up sweetheart.’ Miguel replied as he once again moved his hand to your face, where it then trailed to cupping your cheek in his palm for stability as he began to clear away the gunk from your wound, stopping now and then to reassure you when he noticed that you were in any form of discomfort.

It didn’t mean anything when you caught him looking, he was only looking for more wounds to treat before calling it a night and leaving.

It didn’t mean anything when his thumb would absentmindedly caress your skin, distracting you form the stinging sensation of the antiseptic working it’s magic.

It didn’t mean anything when Miguel asked you whether he was causing you discomfort with the tightness of your wound dressing as he patched up your wounds.

It didn’t mean anything when he told you that he’d be coming back to check up on your progress.

It defiantly didn’t mean anything when as you’re drifting off to sleep, after having been carried to bed, where Miguel pressed a kiss to your forehead along with a few words, ‘rest up, sweetheart. I’ll be sure to come back soon to make sure your not doing something stupid.’

It didn’t mean anything at all when a smile graced your lips soon after and a warmth spread throughout your entire form at the aspect of seeing Miguel; silently praying that the day would come sooner rather then later.

It defiantly didn’t mean anything at all.

[aealzx]

“Augustine-,” Don called in a mix of fear and warning as the blaster took aim, picking up his bo and reflexively rushing forward to at the very least act as a bodily shield if it came to it. But he wasn’t faster than the pulse of energy crashing into the back of Donnie’s shoulder, shattering the turbine and knocking him forward to the ground. Being almost directly under the source of the anti mystic energy now, Donnie could only give a strangled half scream that cut off and curled around himself, trying to smother his pounding head to get away from the crippling migraine. He didn’t even notice Augustine coming to stand near him, holding a small handgun pointed at him with her free hand.

“... Not going to elaborate on that, Donatello?” Augustine asked, watching as Don stopped where he was as soon as the gun was drawn, daring him to continue his warning. “You’ve continued to harass me, and caused irreparable damage to not only my research, but also my facility, and my employees. For weeks. I think it’s only fair that for once I get to claim what I’m after. I’m the one who brought these two to this dimension. Therefore they’re mine to contro-”

The monologue of twistedly justified complaints and demands from Augustine was cut off by an armored leg colliding with the side of her head, the handgun clattering to the floor along with her unconscious body. “Surprise, bitch!” Leo belted in a moment of uncharacteristic language acting as an outlet for his myriad of conflicting emotions. He had just escaped being captive, ran through too many rooms of people pulling guns on him with only blinking lights to guide him, and then came into a room with a lunatic holding a gun at a collapsed teenager. Mikey could only respond to the abrupt swing in the situation by belting out a short laugh, flopping onto his back once again, but this time in relief. Raphael just grinned with a mild snort, scooping Lil Mikey up into a cradle and finally leaving his hiding spot. The three brothers had all seen Leo sprinting through the smoke, but hadn’t reacted so they wouldn’t give Augustine any hints that he was there. The choice of words from their frazzled brother had caught them all off guard though.

The unusual behavior didn’t last long. When Don rushed over to the mystic nullifier to disable it, Leo dropped to his knees next to Donnie, hands hovering towards him. “Hey… can you hear me?” he asked softly, not wanting to cause the kid any more throbbing in his apparently already miserable brain. He almost breathed a sigh of relief when Donnie cracked his eyes open to look up at him after the abhorrent machine was turned off. But the breath caught in his lungs and he had to quickly lean away when Donnie’s hand flung up towards his face, an aggressive, snarling hiss escaping the smaller form. “Woah- that’s new,” Leo muttered, momentarily surprised at the sound. He couldn’t blame Donnie for reacting that way, especially after getting a better look at his pale face, shaking form, and hearing his ragged breaths. “I’m here to help. It’s okay-” Leo assured, reaching out again after shaking his head slightly to Don to keep him from approaching and potentially making the teen feel trapped.

Donnie had shoved himself upright, but hissed again when he noticed Leo’s hands moving towards him, pulling away. “Don’t….-kng touch me,” he half slurred, voice failing and apparently forcing an enormous amount of effort into talking, swinging a hand to awkwardly try and swat Leo away again.

Leo’s brows furrowed, unsure of how to react. His first thought was to just pull the kid close and comfort him, but he didn’t seem to want any contact at all. Was he hurting? He looked more dizzy and exhausted than in pain. Leo wasn’t sure what use repeating himself would be in this situation. And he also wasn’t used to kids refusing help when they were in such a state. He could see the budding tears in the teens eyes, so Leo knew he was at his limit. Yet he was also refusing to back down. As though he didn’t think there was actually anyone there to help him.

 Pursing his lips, Leo rapidly considered ideas and discarded them, feeling they would get the wrong response. After swatting him away Donnie’s hands had remained awkwardly in the air. But he was also swaying unsteadily, his gaze at nothing as he was apparently trying to collect himself enough to move. Or do something. It was a complete guess, but Leo took a gander and very gently moved his hands to loop his knuckles underneath Donnie’s shaking fingers. He didn’t grip Donnie’s hands in any manner, nor tried to move them. Just gave him somewhere to rest his limbs, and hopefully give him comforting physical contact and some sort of support that he had control over.

The touch caused Donnie to gasp, and flinch away slightly. But to Leo’s relief he didn’t pull away completely, or lash out. Just sat, staring at the hands his fingers were resting on in non comprehending confusion. His half focused eyes blinked at odd intervals, and fingers flexed experimentally while Leo remained in his chosen position, face an open book of worry.

After an uncomfortable stretch of motionless silence between them, Leo took another risk to speak up again. “...Can I take you to your brother?”

When Donnie’s gaze lifted to him with a squinted, unfocused stare, Leo slowly moved his head to look where Raphael was standing with Lil Mikey cradled carefully in his arms. Donnie’s gaze followed his, and when he saw Lil Mikey he drew a shuddering breath, leaning forward so far Leo thought he was going to fall over. But he dared not move yet, even as Donnie’s hand left his to weakly reach out towards Lil Mikey, the younger brother’s name a bare mumble of broken sounds.

“It’s okay Dee. They’re safe,” Mikey spoke softly, his concern for Donnie making it a little easier to ignore his throbbing arm and burning lungs.

Donnie didn’t seem to outwardly respond, but his gaze grew heavy as his eyes started to flutter, and form started to sag. Leo was afraid to startle him again, so forced himself to remain motionless until Donnie obviously collapsed. Only then did Leo reach his hands up to catch him, gently pulling him close to rest against his chest. “... I’m going to pick you up and take you to your brother now, okay?” he asked, even though he wasn’t sure if Donnie was still conscious, but he figured it was better to continue telling him what he was doing.

When he didn’t get a reaction, Leo just adjusted his grip on Donnie, scooping his arms under Donnie’s legs and easily hefting him up off the floor. As he rose to his feet Don took that as clearance to rush over, resting a palm on Donnie’s cheek before touching fingertips to his neck. “Slight fever, weak pulse…,” Don muttered, then pressed a finger against his headset while following Leo over to the rest of the group. “April, everyone is accounted for. Can you lead us out, and look up the video feed for the other Dontatello and send it to my phone? I need to see what they did…”

It wasn’t a comforting thing to hear from the ones that had rescued them, and as soon as Donnie was brought close enough Lil Mikey reached out his uninjured hand to quickly grab Donnie’s limp hand. At first he was worried he wouldn’t get a response, memories of Donnie’s motionless hand and unresponsive sleep coming to his mind. But after feeling Donnie’s fingers curl weakly around his, Lil Mikey gave a hesitant smile, giving Donnie’s hand a small squeeze back while allowing his cheek to rest against Raphael’s shoulder.

Watching the small exchange, Raphael was tempted to slap Augustine awake so he could give her a screaming lecture. But instead he motioned for Don to take the lead, making sure Mikey was still near him as well. “... Let’s get out of here,” Raphael directed, adjusting his position to be next to Leo. He didn’t want to force the two teens to have to let go of each other’s hands if he could help it. But then again that was only part of the reason to stick to his newly rescued brother’s side. Leo could only offer him a quick smile, and soft thanks before the worry returned to his features.

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Previous Next

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I was spamming Nier piano music while editing the writing on this one. TvT so good.

The next part is already up, cause this is about where it would tie in with Rise Leon, Raph and April. But I've caught up on what I have typed out, so the next part after that might be delayed again XDD I work in spurts |D

Also I took out Augustine quickly, I know, but this is supposed to be a short project, so I didn't want to wear myself out on her. Especially since she's just an insert plot device villain ¯\_(979)_/¯

Random coban tip I learned from my momma: if coban is wrapped in a figure 8 around the arm instead of straight around the elbow it can still apply enough pressure on the blood draw site without making it feel like you're squeezing your arm in half when you bend it ;P

[phyrexian-phucker]

So o just stumbled on this and I have no clue what it is other than being incredibly hot so could you please explain? I’ve just come from some human domestication guide and this popped up and idk how related it is but I’m intrigued if you can explain or send me some I places that I can find the info that would be fantastic

thank you very much and have a lovely day!!

Welcome!

This is a primarily TF kink blog focused on the Phyrexians, a type of creature from Magic: the Gathering. Very briefly, they are biomechanical hybrid people (though non-sapient life very much can be Phyrexianized, it's outside the scope of this explanation) that can turn non-Phyrexian creatures into more Phyrexians, through a process called compleation. They do this with the use of their reproductive/mnemonic bodily fluid, glistening oil. (Notably, the canon states that ALL bodily fluids of compleated organisms are replaced by glistening oil. I take that to its logical conclusion here.)

Exposure to glistening oil initially causes a condition called phyresis, which is the slow, infectious process of becoming more and more Phyrexian. (Metal grows out of you, you start crying black oil tears, etc. That's the process this post expands on.) This is usually concluded by a highly invasive surgical procedure that comprehensively augments and replaces the body parts of the subject with Phyrexian ones, the compleation itself. Newly compleated Phyrexians are often designed and intended for a specific purpose, determined by the one who performs the procedure. In general, though, Phyrexian body parts are very resilient and modular, easily changeable as long as one has access to replacements.

Notably, phyresis and compleation are not purely physical processes. The oil is a mind-altering substance, and the dominant ideas contained within it--which it passes on to anyone infected--usually concern the overarching Phyrexian religion and imperative to spread Phyrexia across the Multiverse. In the most recent incarnation of Phyrexia, this includes loyalty to the self-proclaimed Mother of Machines, Elesh Norn. She is dominant, haughty, arrogant, cruel, and a big fan of yonic imagery. Make of that what you will. She is also 12 feet tall, titanically strong, and forces people to worship her, sometimes by shoving them into walls.

So as a result, those who find their bodies changed by phyresis often also find their minds changing to crave and desire Phyrexia, and yearn to spread its glory by infecting others. (Disclaimer: Phyrexians are still very much sapient and free-willed people, and being Phyrexian by no means requires this blind loyalty. There are vast numbers of freedom fighter Phyrexians who oppose Norn's regime, also beyond the scope of this explanation.)

Some kinks that Phyrexians play in the space of include: corruption, transformation, body horror, surgery, mind control, hypnosis, cum/blood play, femdom, religion/worship kink. Not an exhaustive list--there is so much going on in this setting. This blog focuses on the first four but it's hard not to at least touch on the others occasionally due to the setting's nature.

For learning more, I compiled a list of some resources for a previous similar ask here.

Enjoy your stay >:)

[cyberrose2001]

Hello! May I request a TFP Ratchet x Gn! reader, scenario.

maybe Reader is always kinda just butting heads with Ratchet when it comes to the kids, care and health cause Rewder is a nurse.

TFP Ratchet x Nurse!GN!Reader

Being a nurse myself, I wrote a little bit of this from my own experience, so that's kinda fun :)

Here a lil oneshot for you anon, I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: SFW, Medical talk/terminology/tools (aka sharp object)

Word count: 781

You're exhausted. The pounding headache radiates to your sore feet as you shuffle into the Autobot base. You probably look like shit, and there's a good reason. You've come into contact with too many bodily fluids of different kinds today, and you sorely need a decontamination shower. Not to mention the number of times you've had to re-insert IV lines in a very, very confused elderly woman. You had given up the fight and called her doctor to tell him that you were not willing to get sucker punched in the guts again. Days like today make you question your career choice.

But as sucky as it is, it's also rewarding. Your knowledge and expertise have often helped the kids when they're injured, sick or straight-up infected by the blood of an ancient god of chaos inhabiting the very planet your sore legs are walking upon.

Yeah, other healthcare professionals could learn a thing or two from you.

Speaking of other 'healthcare professionals', Ratchet has been getting on your nerves more than usual lately. Ever since Raf almost died at the hands of dark energon, he insists that he helps with the health and wellbeing of the kids, despite knowing next to nothing about the anatomy and homeostasis of humans other than the fact that "If they get underfoot, they will go… squish." in his words. So, in his minimal spare time, he researched different diseases and injuries common among humans and the treatments for each. And while you appreciated his dedication to better his understanding of humans, he was becoming a hypochondriac in the process.

Like right now. You had walked in on Ratchet, giving Jack a complete head-to-toe assessment. The poor kid was lying face down on one of the human-sized gurneys while Ratchet poked and prodded at his back, and oh my god, is that a scalpel.

"Ratchet!" You call out, running over to the gurney as fast as your tired legs can manage, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Nurse Y/n, you're just in time!" Ratchet exclaims, "I have detected a malignant mass of cells on the left periscapular region of Jack's skin and require your assistance in its removal."

You could not have deadpanned at him any harder, "You got all that just by looking at it? Let me see."

Ratchet steps back as your dermatitis-ridden hands touch the 'malignant mass of cells' to examine it, and you roll your eyes to find that it's not what Ratchet thinks it was.

"Ratchet, that's just a mole." You say, then you give Jack a few pats on the back, "It's alright, nothing to worry about. You're free to go."

Jack drags himself off the gurney and hastily puts his shirt back on, mouthing a silent 'thank you' as he speed walks as fast as he can away from a very stunned Ratchet, who still wields his scalpel. You look back up at him with a very unimpressed look, folding your arms.

"Are you serious?" You say, "You were just gonna slice off a mole because you thought it was malignant?"

Ratchet huffs, putting down the scalpel before throwing his servos on his hips, rolling his optics, "If you had any competence at all, you would've already examined it months ago and determined that this 'mole' is, in fact, deadly!"

"He's had that thing for years since he was born!" You growl. Your patience is wearing thin like your skin that's been abused from all the alcohol gel you used today, "June told me he's already had it looked at. You need proper reason and consent from the patient before taking a blade to the skin. Jack was clearly unwilling. Did they not teach you this stuff in 'Robot Medical Ethics 101' or whatever the hell you call it?"

"Jack is a child," Ratchet scoffs yet again, and it's taking all of your strength not to climb up his chassis and strangle his neck cabling into oblivion, "I am a physician. I had merely overridden his consent and took matters into my own servos."

You facepalm so hard that you are sure your face has condensed into a black hole from the force. Frustrated, you then rub your forehead, "Look, I know you're trying to help the kids. I can see that. But I really need to shower before my legs collapse. How about I do that and then come back to teach you the proper method of patient evaluation and consent procedures?"

Ratchet quirks an optic ridge before a small smile ever so slightly creeps onto his dermas, "As much as I dislike the thought of a human teaching me about medical procedures, I would very much appreciate the gesture."

[quinloki]

Marco the Phoenix - Sweet

Requestor: @kazieai Reader Vibes Requested: AFAB she/her - no pronouns or bodily description was used in the final result. CW: Angst and amnesia, reminder of canon event deaths

When you’d woken up, there’d been a man sound asleep at your bedside. His fingers were intertwined with yours, and pure exhaustion must’ve taken him considering how dark the circles were around his eyes. Something about him had been reassuring and relaxing, despite the fact that you couldn’t remember anything about him.

Or yourself.

The room was unfamiliar, and a dull throb in your head was the only indication that something had happened and you were in the bed because you were healing. The air was fresh and warm, sunlight and a soft breeze coming into your room.

You’d pulled your hand away from his just so you could run your fingers through his hair. A muffled groan had been replaced with a contented look, his fitful expression softening as you combed through the blonde locks that topped his head.

The idea that he was a little like a pineapple came into your mind and you smiled to yourself, letting him rest a little more. You weren’t confined to the bed, and the door into the rest of the house was open. There was a glass of water by your bed, and a basin with a rag on the side of it.

Maybe you’d had a fever? Come down with a sudden illness and hit your head? The clues were pointing to that, but you couldn’t be sure. You felt well enough, but you could feel the weight of prolonged exhaustion in your own limbs.

Exhaustion that lasted long enough to etch dark circles into such an otherwise comforting face.

You sense the man at your bed stir before he started to move, eyes fluttering open to look up and focus on you. They flickered with a teal and gold light for a moment before he seemed to see you entirely.

“Hey,” you say softly, a smile on your lips.

“Hey.” He says back, sitting up and letting your hand cup his cheek as your fingers slip out of his hair. “How’re you feeling?”

“Head aches,” you admit. “And… I…” You hesitate, folding your hands in your lap, and looking away from him. There’s a pain in your gut you don’t completely understand, but at the same time you do.

Guilt.

“I don’t remember this place.”

Worry crosses his face, and a moment’s silence follows. “And… me?”

The look on your face is enough to answer his question and you can see exhaustion settle into his posture and expression. You reach out and put your hand over his, causing his gaze to meet yours.

“I… I feel like I can trust you though.” You admit, sheepish smile on your face. “You’ve been taking care of me, I can tell.”

He smiles at you, the expression breaking as pain crosses his features briefly. Clearing his throat he looks away, getting up quickly and turning away.

“Let me… get you something to eat.” He says, voice shuddering for a moment before he leaves the room entirely.

You weren’t sure what your relationship was with him. Family or romantic. He probably didn’t want to say until you had a chance to remember on your own, even with your declaration of trust.

A few moments later he returned with a breakfast in bed tray, an assortment of easy foods on it. He set it down and put a finger up before leaving the room again and coming back with two mugs of warm tea, setting one of them on your breakfast tray before sitting down beside you.

“I can leave you alone while you eat, yoi.” He says. “If you’d rather.”

You shake your head, pulling a grape free from the small bunch on the plate. “I feel like if I’m left alone I’ll become anxious.”

“Then… I won’t leave you alone until you tell me to.” He replies.

“Tell me about this place, while I eat… please.” You request, picking another grape free.

While you eat, he tells you about the island. It’s people. He tells you he’s a doctor on the island, and that the two of you have been sailing together before retiring from an exciting life and settling on this island. He speaks of old friends, old islands, old memories.

He never uses words like love, or pirate, but there’s a theme to the stories that feels decidedly swashbuckler-like. He speaks about his devil fruit, he speaks about loss, recounting the friends that have had to travel ahead of you.

Tears fall from your face without you realizing, and his warm hand brushes them away. You don’t admit you can’t bring any faces to mind, but there’s a sense of closeness that twists your heart.

“If you’re up for it, now that you’re done eating,” he begins, lifting the tray. “We can go for a walk.”

“I… want to,” you begin hesitantly.

“But?” He prompts setting the tray down in the kitchen before coming back into the room.

“I don’t know that I’d make it back to the house.”

“… You were always good at assessing your limits. Don’t worry, if you get worn out before we return, I’ll carry you, yoi.”

The two of you walk, enjoying the sun, the breeze, and the serenity of the island. He points out houses and families, gives you names, and occupations. Lets you repeat them and then says them again. As though he knows you don’t want to worry other people with your current predicament.

The two of you will get through it, there’s no need to worry others.

You end up walking to Pops and Ace’s graves. You put your hands against the smooth stone, letting your fingers run over the names.

“He was too young,” you say softly, finger slipping along the C in his name. “I… can’t see his face, but I feel like I remember flames and fire.” You tilt your head.

“He was a logia?” You ask.

He nods.

“That… makes sense. The fire in my mind wasn’t menacing.” You pull your hand away, hugging yourself, and trying to keep the tears welling up in your chest from bubbling over.

He says your name, it’s a word you remember, and it’s enough to break the gates. You sob, on you own for a breath, before long, warm arms are wrapped around you from behind. He hugs you over your own arms, tucked down low, head resting against yours.

“We loved him.” You say, words floating on your sorrow.

“We did.” He agrees quietly, arms tightening around you.

You stand there quietly for a long moment, before turning your head toward him, still wrapped in one another, eyes closed, warmed by the sun. A word walks along your heart, slipping through your veins, and dancing against your soul.

A name more comfortable than your own.

“Marco.”

You feel him flinch, feel the rush of warm air slip from his lips, and the careful shift of his arms as he seems desperate to hold you just a little bit closer.

“Yeah, pretty bird?” He replies, words light against your skin, hopeful but unsure.

“I loved you different.”

“You did.”

You turn inside his strong embrace that breaks like paper at your command, facing him directly. Your eyes searching his, flickers of teal and gold bursting emotions he’s trying to hide in his irises.

“I do.” You correct, hand soft against his cheek, eyes shifting along features that are new and comforting.

“You-.” He begins, a tear slipping down his cheek and curling around your fingers.

“Stay with me until I remember.” You mean the words as a plea, but they feel heavy, like a command that moves your hands past his cheeks. Fingers against the back of his neck, pulling him close.

“I will. Until then, and beyond it.” He promises, arms around your waist, pulling your body closer.

“Every time?” Your commanding tone is shattered, scared this moment will become a hazy memory of warm sunlight and little more.

“At least once more than needed.” He promises, warm lips brushing against yours, letting the soft gasp of air dance between you both for a moment before he pulls you in - holding you close and kissing you deeply.

The sweet kiss breaks, and he shifts, easily lifting you into his arms with such grace it almost feels more natural than walking on your own two legs.

“I can still walk.” You hum, arms around his shoulders, head nuzzled just under his jaw.

“I know,” he says sweetly, kissing the top of your head. “I just wanted you in my arms a little longer, yoi.”

[angelofsmalldeath-codeine]

Bumble anti celibacy billboards and sexual assault undertones

TW: gender violence; misogyny; discourse; no con language

Brace yourselves, it’s a long one

Bumble has launched a rebranding campaign targeting women, and using specifically women of colour or racially ambiguous on their billboards with a strong anti celibacy message.

It is short of saying “if you match or date, the man gets a hall pass to rape” because saying no is no longer an option.

The issue is much bigger than just the Bumble campaign.

Men are inflamed and incensed because women are pulling a uno reverse on them: here is our expectations. Now prove to us that you are a ‘high-value man’

Some of the things that men have been complaining about are:

Women are financially independent and self-sufficient. Therefore, will not settle for men whose only contribution to the relationship is their paycheque. Odds are he makes less money than her too

Women are less prone to be pressured into having children and renouncing their careers. Children and pregnancy are means to control women: it stagnates or flat out stop their careers, if they get divorced she will always be tied to him.

Women no longer want to be mothers to entitled men who wants them to pay 50/50 for everything regardless of income but won’t take on 50% of the workload around the house. It’s worse when there are children involved.

How are they ensuring they keep the upper hand?

These are just a few things going on in the US that unfortunately might be followed by other countries:

Striping women of their bodily autonomy. In the US some states have passed legislation preventing women from filing for divorce if they are pregnant.

Total abortion bans. See above child entrapment

Passing legislation to press criminal charges for life saving medical procedures related to reproductive and conceptive healthcare

Setting legal precedents where men can sue to subpoena medical records of current and ex-partners if they suspect the women had an abortion

Medical records being shared with police

Trying to pass legislation to list every single pregnant person in the country and track it. They can’t regulate guns but certainly can regulate uteruses

How is any of this related to the Bumble campaign?

The narrative is man must take back their power, take control over women. Educated, child free and financially independent women cannot be beaten down into submission.

If the campaign is “celibacy is not the answer” it won’t be restricted to dates from matching on an app. Marital rape is a huge problem and the discourse from the campaign legitimises it further.

We are still trying to explain that ‘NO MEANS NO’. When Bumble’s message translates into “no is not the right answer here”, what is expected to happen?

Women will be blamed even further for the sexual assaults they are almost guaranteed to suffer going on a date with a match from the app. And since “no is not the right answer” saying NO will count for nothing, but judges will say they don’t believe the woman said no. Judges will also blame women for using an app and “putting themselves in that situation”.

There are other issues with their latest campaign blaming women for not dating and showing them on beds because they are too exhausted. It is giving Hand Maids Tale too.

Bumble has removed the feature that allowed women to make the first move. So now that control of who accesses them is gone too.

It seems unrelated but humour me:

Women in the West are being exposed to the 4B movement and finding the words to articulate what many have been practising for years

Doctors advise people on how to advocate for themselves im a healthcare setting by demanding the reason for not ordering a test or providing a differential diagnosis to be put on their charts.

Lawyers and activists advise on how to not speak at all unless there is an attorney present. And when you are a minor, you must demand a legal guardian be present.

Seasoned activists teach how to safely protest.

Women bring injustices to light.

Accounts entirely dedicated to report on legislation that further strip women and other minorities from their rights being proposed or passed.

Accounts dedicated to discuss feminism and intersectionality educating people and making the conversation broader.

How are these topics related, you ask. Disseminating and fact checking information almost on real time whilst making knowledge available to groups that would not have access to it otherwise has never been good for the ruling class. Women can organise and debate. These debates demonstrate that the issues are endemic and systemic instead of isolated occurrences affecting them individually. And that, doesn’t suit men.

Why are governments in such a rush to ban platforms like TikTok and others with loose descriptions of inappropriate content? Informed people are harder to be manipulated.

I could write forever on this, and probably will write more because I am sure the podcast dude bros will be fully behind it because it chips away women’s agency even more.

I will go to my corner and foam on the mouth for a bit.

[hold-him-down]

PARKER:

47) Which aspects of comfort do you allow your whumpee to have, if you do so?

48) Do you ever discipline/torture your whumpee when they didn't do anything wrong? For maintenance, for showing off, just because you felt like it?

from this ask game.

47) Which aspects of comfort do you allow Leo to have, if you do so?

"I don't allow Leo to have or not have anything. He's an autonomous adult. I understand that some people hold contracts so that they can control every element their worker's existence, but I am not interested in that kind of relationship. If he needs comforted, he is fully capable of seeking it. If I am able to provide it, and if he's not being completely irrational in his request, then I provide it.

"I've accidentally pushed him past his limits a couple of times, but there was no major bodily damage inflicted." The annoyance in his voice rises with each word, and it's evident that, at his core, Parker believes himself. "Any time I've felt that he's been physically harmed, he's seen a doctor immediately. If I feel that he's overly exhausted, he sleeps, if he seems particularly anxious, he's welcome to seek whatever comfort he wants.

"I control so little of his day to day that it's truly appalling that this is even a topic of discussion. I care about what he eats. I care about how he presents himself. I care that he gets enough sleep and that he finds joy in the things that he does with his free time. I ask that he keep a level head when he's upset, and because I enjoy a sexual relationship with him that has gotten out of hand on occasion, suddenly I'm a narcissist? Or, worse, a whumper? Please. Spare me."

48) Do you ever discipline/torture Leo when he didn't do anything wrong? For maintenance, for showing off, just because you felt like it?

Parker takes a deep breath through his nose and waits at least ten seconds before responding. "The DLS is responsible for disciplining trainees. Parents are responsible for disciplining children. I have no responsibility or interest in disciplining Leo. If he doesn't meet what I need of him, I will simply exchange him for someone who can."

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi for the Wednesday prompts, i know we like to rag on Jace, but I've been thinking about the parabatai oath, specifically: your people are my people.

Could you write something where Jace and Alec are both protective of each other's significant other.

Malec obvi, but Jace doesn't have to be with Clary. And if you don't want to write Jace, maybe Alec is parabatai with Lydia instead.

Thanks, you're one of my fave SH writers, i always smile reading your stories!

okay i'm gonna admit, i did not use jace or lydia. i used my own very personally beloved oc, Mirai Lakecastle. Her mother was an active shadowhunter who made to retirement without retiring first for politics. which is, a big deal. she's older than alec and could run an institute however she doesn't want to deal with the politics of being 1st in command and enjoys being second. that is an amazing compliment and i hope you enjoy this!

-

“Parabatai,” Mirai mutters as she drags Alec’s half-conscious form down the shadows of the alley, “more like pain-in-the-ass-my-soul-is-tied to.”

“Love you too.” Alec mumbles, like he didn’t just completely ignore protocols to protect Mirai over himself.

“I’m your second!” she reminds him, “I go first. We promised that, remember.”

“Not ‘m second yet.” Alec grumbles back, still grouchy despite the bloodloss and poisoning, “you haven’t been promoted.”

Mirai snarls as she gets her strength rune activated and then hauls Alec over her shoulder, his stupidly big body nearly touching the floor on either side of where he’s draped over her body.

“I should have stolen your protein when we grew up.” She gripes, even though she’s normally the one forcing food on Alec, “kept you smaller when I realized how lanky you were going to get. How do you expect me to drag your ass out of things like this? You’re the one supposed to be picking me up like a pillow and running for safety.”

“You’d miss your mom’s birthday, if was you. My peopl', your peopl'. Your mine.” He mumbles, his lack of awareness probably why he even admits it and Mirai grits her teeth and runs faster, swearing to Raziel that someday, she’s going to remember this and get her revenge.

Alec sighs and pinches his nose, “not that I’m upset with you protecting Magnus. I’m just a little confused about how it came to, this.” He waves to where his parabatai is lying, a smug smirk on her tired but pain free face.  As soon as she learned what happened, Catarina had shown up and healed Mirai, refusing any payment and only giving Alec and his parabatai a considering look as she left. Which means that Mirai is fine and on magical drugs, even if she’ll still be bedridden for a day or two.

“Oh, you mean why did I bodily throw myself in front of him instead of trusting him to be able to dodge?” Mirai asks with a smirk and Alec is just sure something is about to bite his ass. “Because even if he’d been fine, he would have probably been injured or exhausted.”

“Yeah, but Magnus is my priority.” Alec is confused because while Magnus is important to him and Mirai respects that and their relationship, she’s never seemed to be overly caring of Alec’s private life. They are parabatai so that they can run the Institute smoothly and give their people the best leaders possible. Mirai cares about him and he about her, but they’ve always tried to keep a professional line between them and who they care about.

“It’s your anniversary tonight. I couldn’t let him miss it.”

Alec stares as Mirai gets the last word in and then shuts her eyes, slipping into sleep as Alec watches her.

—

“You little shit.” Alec murmurs and Mirai has to work to keep her lips from twitching and giving herself away. “That was six years ago, I can’t— no I can. You’re ridiculous enough that you’d do that.” He laughs a little wetly and he pauses and very carefully, presses his lips to her forehead in a display of affection that they rarely express with each other. Not because they don’t care, but because it’s easier to act like Commander and second than parabatai when the world throws so many hurdles at them. Caring is a danger and while Alec has exposed himself for Magnus, Mirai keeps herself apart and protected for a reason.

Someday she’ll die. Probably — hopefully she thinks selfishly — before Alec.

Because Alec needs a parabatai he can survive without if the worst happens and Mirai and he have always done their best to toe the line of someone close enough to share a soul with, but also a warrior they can send out to die. Like every time Mirai doesn’t go into battle in Alec’s stead, she’s not risking a piece of him, like Alec isn’t protecting a piece of her. Alec agreed to that burden, to risk having a part of his soul lost forever and Mirai will kill herself before she suffers being the last of their pair to go.

“Thank you.” Alec whispers against her curls, “for protecting my heart, Mirai.”

He leaves and Mirai opens her eyes, silent tears leaking from the corners and she smiles at the ceiling, “always, parabatai, your people are my people.” She whispers to the silence and she knows that even when its the most painful thing they’ve ever felt, neither will ever regret their bond.

The sacrifice they made, for the betterment of those who followed them and laid down their lives.