#Laurel Slick

[cursivebloodlines]

[text] Why did you like one of my pics from 2014? - dougie

[TEXT]: nope, i didn't. definitely didn't. you must've been seeing things [TEXT]: Because why would i do that right? that's weird. that's very weird and stalkerish and i would never do that. [TEXT]: if i did then i must've been half asleep or something. didn't even know i did it. yeah. because that would be weird. very weird and i definitely have other things to be doing than stalking your accounts so [TEXT (that most definitely is not intended for her, he's probably trying to send it to Eric instead or something)]: mate, i thought you said if you clicked it again quickly enough they wouldn't get the notification. she definitely knows! help what do i do???

@overnightheartbeats | text message prompts ;; accepting

[fawninthesnow]

𝐎𝐟 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝 & 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝: Pt 1, Sands of the Conquered

Lucius Verus x fem!

Summary: Former Gladiator, Emperor Lucius, takes his rightful property-- the wife of his conquered enemy.

Warnings/Contains: fem character, slow burn, f4m, smut, unprotected sex, spit as lube, cock warming, public hum!l!, h@nd jobs, no proofreading, etc

a/n: slowburn warning!

SPOILERS for GLADIATOR I, II

Follow, like & Reblog pls

She had not known of the terror down in the city square. All she saw was smoke. A single, continuous line of smoke coming from miles away. The woman held her robe and squinted harder. The warning flame? No, who would come here. Through rain and drought to the East of Africa, Somalia. Any man, any army would be a fool to do so.

In her slumber that night, she tossed around in cotton sheets, hotter than usual. Slick and sticky sweat stuck to her skin, and her mouth was agape, breathing harshly to cool herself down. Hooves clomped on the pathway and bright torches held in the hands of savage men, forcing themselves onto her property. The shout of a command echoed through her open foyer. The woman rose from bed, gasping for air. “We are here on account of the Holy Roman Emperor and Court. Any man, woman or child! Show yourself!” The woman left her bed and with her infant daughter, slipped into her wardrobe, trying to calm her breath. “Show yourselves or we will burn this home to the ground.” As they shouted, making her ears ring, she shut her eyes. From the shelf inside the wardrobe, she grabbed a bottle of orange liquid.

“Please forgive me.” Into her daughter's mouth, the woman spilled a bit of the medicine. The girl fell into a deep sleep and rested on the young woman’s bosom.

“I can hear your breathing.” A voice, deep and unwavering, spoke into the small gap of the wardrobe doors. “I hear two.” He said playfully. Chills ran down her spine as he stood only a few inches from her.

The mother shut her eyes. “I- I’m so sorry…” She said softly. The emperor opened the wardrobe and helped her out by hand.

They sat together on plush cushions. Her bench was across from his. “This is a beautiful home…”

“Thank you, emperor…” Her gaze stayed on the floor. Even in her peripheral vision, all she could see was his feet.

“I am…not here to kill you.” His men waited outside each entrance, watching over the quaint home. “Your husband, he did something bad. You seem young so I’ll explain things softly.” She nodded, his accent coating his words. “He betrayed the people of Rome, my people. He was a murderer and a manipulative man. Unfortunately, your husband died by my hand outside of the city.” She cried onto her child’s clothing, holding onto the baby tightly. “I am aware he has many wives…and you are the youngest.”

“If you are here to hurt my baby or strip me of my titles, please spare us.”

“I am not here for that. How old are you?” The young woman did not speak for a few moments, “I asked you a question.” Emperor Lucius said sternly.

“I am seventeen.” Her voice just above a whisper.

“Not yet twenty-five. Excuse me, Miss.” She nodded. He stood and stepped outside. After a while of words and laughter, he came back inside. “I’ll have you.” He said in the foyer of her home. For the first time, she raised her head to him, the gold, leather and bronze armor on his body, the golden laurels on his head, the rings on his knuckles, although rough and scarred from battle. “Put her on a horse with the child. We leave now.” The young woman rushed to grab a wrap for her baby, enveloping herself inside of it before they raised her up on a horse behind the emperor.

With each hour, the men would offer her bread, cheese, fruits– exotic and domestic, pastries, and soups, all to which she declined. When they would stop at dining halls, she stood in the corner, rocking her child. She peeled the skin off grapes with her teeth before feeding it to the girl. She did the same with rye bread before offering the little girl water from the flowing drinking fountain outside the dining hall. After, the woman gently caressed the baby’s cheek before giving her the sedative again. Soon, the baby rested on her shoulder as she sat on the side of the fountain.

The men were rowdy, mostly drunk. Swords, spears and other weapons were thrown about carelessly and armor was left on horses and against the wall. “You need to eat.” The emperor brought the woman a plate.

“I am not hungry.”

“She can’t be the only one that eats.” The woman took the plate from his hands and sat it to the side. “You must understand, you are my responsibility now. I killed your husband, so now you are my property. You need to eat.”

She spitefully sucked her teeth before standing, “I am my own woman. I have been for months.”

“Your breasts are but tender buds, and you nearly fell off the horse more times than I can count. You are not nearly a woman.”

“My husband made me a woman! How dare you.”

“Your husband gave a child to a child.” The young woman’s lips pressed, and her gaze fell. “Yes, you are mature, in many ways, no doubt. However, you are what I say.”

She raised a hand to the guard and servant he assigned to her. “If I am yours, why should I be watched over by these men. Why-”

“Don’t raise your voice at me.” He lifted her chin to allow his eyes to bore into hers. His were a shade of dusk blue, seductively terrifying. “They are here to protect you, not babysit. But if you’d like, I will dismiss them.”

“I- I,” She looked around the town at the commoners watching the campaign of men and the emperor. Their clothes were but scraps, and their frames were frail. Over by the entrance to the dining hall, armored men threw food towards a herd of people, desperate and savage. She held her baby tighter. “They may stay.”

“So be it.” He spoke softly, stepping closer to the young woman. “Her name?”

“Yasmeen.”

“May I hold her?” The woman hesitated before offering the baby to the emperor. The man held her in his arms gently as if her skin were made of wet paper and her bones of thin glass. “She’s beautiful. What a creation…you should be proud.” His thumb traced over her cheeks and forehead before his hand enveloped her small head. The child nuzzled in his palm; a bit of her saliva went down her cheek as she rested. “I was told you had a son when I set out. Macrinus, he didn’t live to see the birth of her, I guess.”

“Nearly all of us, his wives, were left with girls.” She nervously looked over the child’s expression.

“Baby girls are just beautiful…he should have been grateful.” His fingers rub the child’s soft hair and kiss her forehead before offering the child back to her mother. “Eat or I'll take her away this time.” He would never do such a thing, but it made her obey him.

At dawn, she was awoken by a servant, “The Emperor needs you outside now, the men are ready.”

Emperor Lucius gathered his men, some stood by their horses, others sat on top. The young woman left the sleeping quarters in a gown and shawl, her long curls flowed down her backside and towards the floor as she cradled her child in her arms. “How did you sleep?” He asked after helping her onto his horse. She began to wrap the baby to her breasts using long cloths in order to use her hands to hold sturdy onto his sides.

Pt 1: End <3

Follow, like pls

[1800titz]

UNSPOOL 2 | first time anal

soft, boyfriend au

preview

He knees his way around to straddle your thighs, pressed flush together, and risks a wayward glance to where he’s feeding his cock. 

“Fuck— baby.”

You feel a prod against one of your arms to get your attention (they’re bent, tucked to your sides like bird wings), and then a more insistent tug when he wraps his palm across the back, drawing your arm back, rolling your shoulder. 

“Put— here,” he grunts, maneuvering one of your hands out, back, to press flat against the pillowy flesh of one of your ass cheeks. He’s huffing. Sounding a little strangled. Soaked in undiluted need. “Both.” 

At the angle, only his cockhead stays tucked into your rim, and when you wriggle to cast both of your hands back in obedience, the self-imposed way that you fuck back against him leaves your shoulders shivering. 

“Spread for me, baby, spread— yeah. Fuck. Just like that, good girl,” he rolls his hips forward, head ducked, breath shuddering, inkpools unwavering, as you squeeze your fingers into your skin and pry your ass apart embarrassingly wide to give him the view of the way your littlest hole swallows his cock up. 

It’s so pretty that it’s almost sickening— makes his breath stutter in his throat— the view of the way his heavy, fat cock looks tucked into you. Your taut rim, all slick with generously applied lubricant. Strained and abused by the stretch. Making room for him. Your little pussy, so pretty, shimmering and throbbing emptily when he cocks his head to catch a glimpse around, under the heft of his cock eclipsing it. 

Your thighs are wet. Slick, drenched, he can see them glinting from the insides, where the messy coating of your slick dribbled from your pussy to your legs. Got smeared across the backs with the way he ground into you and—

“Oh,” you mewl, fingers twitching where you hold yourself open, as he grinds down, into you, eyes glued to the way every inch sinks in. Until there’s nowhere left to look— until his laurels are practically kissing the twin-set of dimples at the base of your spin, until his mons is flush with the cleft of your ass. 

[nanaluvbug]

🧀🥪🌶️🥭 The Ravening War portraits  🧀🥪🌶️🥭

patreon * twitch * shop  

[ID: a series of digitally illustrated portraits showing - top left to bottom right - Bishop Raphaniel Charlock (an old radish man with a big red head and large white eyebrows & a scraggly beard. he wears green and gold robes with symbols of the bulb and he smirks at the viewer) Karna Solara (a skinny young chili pepper woman with wavy green hair, freckled light green skin with red blooms on her cheeks. she wears a chili pepper hood lined with small pepper seeds and stares cagily ahead) Thane Delissandro Katzon (a muscular young beef man with bright pinkish skin with small skin variations to resemble pastrami and dark burgundy hair. he wears a bread headress with a swirl of rye covering his ears and he looks ahead, optimistic and determined) Queen Amangeaux Epicée du Peche (a bright mango woman with orange skin, big red hair adorned with a green laurel, and sparkling green/gold makeup. she wears large gold hoop earrings and a high leafy collar) and Colin Provolone (a scraggly cheese man with waxy yellow skin and dark slicked back hair and patchy dark facial hair. he wears a muted, ratty blue bandana around his neck and raises a scarred brow at the viewer with a smirk) End ID.)

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 17 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇aressss

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The heavy doors of the palace burst open as a breathless soldier stumbled inside, his face pale and slick with sweat. Raphael, reclining lazily on a cushioned chair with a goblet of wine in hand, barely spared him a glance. He was far more interested in admiring the deep red marks he had left on Y/n’s skin earlier that night. The sight of them brought him a twisted sense of satisfaction.

But when the soldier collapsed onto one knee before him, head bowed in urgency, Raphael’s grip on the goblet tightened. “My lord,” the soldier gasped, still catching his breath. “The men you sent—”

Raphael’s eyes finally flickered over to him, his once relaxed posture now tense. “Yes? What of them?” His voice was dangerously low.

The soldier hesitated, gulping.

“They’re dead.”

Silence.

The air in the chamber seemed to thicken. Raphael’s fingers twitched, his jaw clenching so tightly it could crack. The room felt smaller, the flickering torches casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. “All of them?” he finally asked, his voice eerily calm.

“Slaughtered.” The soldier refused to look up. “Not a single one returned, my lord.” Raphael’s heart pounded. He forced himself to breathe. No. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were meant to send a warning, not be wiped out like insects.

That meant—

He suddenly stood, sending the goblet crashing to the floor, wine splattering like blood across the marble. The sound echoed through the hall. The soldier flinched. Raphael didn’t waste another moment. He turned sharply on his heel and stormed down the halls, his steps echoing violently against the stone. Servants scrambled out of his way as he made his way toward his older brother’s chamber.

Endymion would not be pleased.

Raphael shoved the doors open without announcing himself, his chest still heaving. Endymion was seated near the fireplace, dressed in only a loose tunic, his thick black hair slightly damp from an earlier bath. He had a goblet in hand, though unlike Raphael, he seemed to be pacing himself, taking slow sips as if the world outside wasn’t on the verge of war. He barely looked up. “You’re making a lot of noise, brother.”

Raphael gritted his teeth and marched closer. “The men I sent—they’re dead.”Endymion exhaled through his nose as if he had expected this. He set the goblet down on the nearby table with deliberate slowness.

“And now you panic?” Endymion murmured, rubbing his temple.

“This isn’t a joke, Endymion!” Raphael snapped. “Telemachus and his crew are here! They’re picking us off like dogs, they’re coming!” Finally, Endymion stood, moving toward a large chest at the corner of the room. He opened it with a slow creak, reaching inside before pulling out something that glinted under the firelight.

A helmet.

Not just any helmet, a decorative one, carved with intricate details of goldeon laurels and obsidian lines running down the sides. It was meant to represent both royalty and war, a symbol of a warrior meant to lead armies. Endymion turned to face Raphael, holding it out with a groan.

“Then prepare for a real war, little brother.”

Raphael stared at the helmet, his heart still hammering in his chest. He slowly reached out, running his fingers over the cold metal. Endymion sighed, shaking his head. “You should have killed Telemachus the moment you took his wife. But no—you had to play with your food.” His blue eyes flickered over Raphael’s face with mild disdain. “And now, you’re dealing with the consequences.”

Raphael gripped the helmet tighter, his nails pressing into the metal. No. He wasn’t going to let that bastard take y/n back.

If war was what Telemachus wanted.

Then war was exactly what he would get.

——

The night air was thick with the scent of salt and damp earth as Antinous sat alone near the edge of the camp, sharpening his dagger with slow, methodical strokes. The others were sleeping, their bodies heavy with exhaustion, but he, he couldn’t sleep. Not with that voice still ringing in his head. It had been there in battle, deep and commanding, flooding his veins with rage, power. It wasn’t his own voice, he knew that much. And yet, it had felt… familiar.

He flexed his fingers, staring at his calloused hands. He should be worried. Should be unnerved. But instead, something in his gut itched—not with fear, but anticipation.

Then—a shift in the air.

Antinous froze. The wind had gone still. The usual sounds of the night, distant waves, rustling leaves, vanished. A presence loomed behind him, heavy and unmistakable. Without thinking, he moved. His instincts took over as he whirled around, fist flying toward whoever had dared to sneak up on him—

But it never landed.

A hand caught his punch mid-air.

Strong. Unyielding. Antinous’ breath hitched as his eyes met the figure standing before him. Tall. Broad shouldered. Cloaked in deep crimson. His skin was bronzed from war, his arms lined with scars, not from wounds, but from victories. His eyes, glowing like embers in a dying fire—bored into Antinous with a knowing smirk.

Ares.

Antinous felt his heartbeat slam against his ribs. He tried to yank his fist away, but Ares’ grip tightened just slightly—a silent reminder of his strength. “You’ve got a hell of a swing,” Ares mused, tilting his head. “But if you’re going to try and hit a god, boy, at least aim to kill.” Antinous barely heard him over the roar of his own pulse. Ares released his hand, stepping back just enough to observe him, eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

“You’ve felt it, haven’t you?” The god’s voice was smooth, dangerous. “That power, surging in your bones, guiding your blade.” He leaned in slightly, smirking. “My power.” Antinous swallowed hard, his grip tightening around his dagger. He wanted to deny it—to question it—but deep down, he already knew the truth. That voice in battle. That rage. That strength.

It had been Ares all along.

——

Antinous took a shaky breath, his fingers still curled tightly around his dagger. He should’ve been afraid. Should’ve felt something other than the burning fire still coursing through his veins. But instead, all he felt was that same thrumming anticipation clawing at his insides. His voice was steady when he finally spoke. “Why me?”

Ares’ smirk widened. “Why not you?”

Antinous clenched his jaw. “Don’t give me that divine cryptic shit, why have you been in my head? Why are you helping me?”

Ares let out a low chuckle, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Help? Is that what you think this is?” His gaze flicked over Antinous, sharp and assessing. “I don’t help mortals, boy. I favor the ones that earn it.”

He stepped forward, his presence alone enough to make the air feel heavier. “You—you’re all brute strength. Unrelenting force. A blade with no hesitation.” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something wild. “You’re my kind of soldier.” Antinous swallowed, his breath slow and controlled. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t back down. Ares noticed. And grinned.

“You remind me of the men in Troy.” The god’s voice dripped with amusement. “Ah, the Trojan War… Now that was a battle. Blood, chaos, glorious carnage. I had so much fun watching fools rip each other apart for the gods’ little game.”

Antinous furrowed his brows. “And now?”

Ares let out a sharp breath, pacing slightly. “Now, I sense the same game being played all over again.” He gestured broadly to the sky. “The others are meddling, slinking around behind the scenes, shifting the tides of war for their own amusement. Just like before.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Pathetic.” Then, his gaze snapped back to Antinous, burning with excitement.

“But that just means more bloodshed. More war. And that—” He pointed at Antinous, his smirk growing feral, “that is why I’m here.” Antinous inhaled slowly. He should’ve felt used, like some pawn in a god’s game. But instead, he felt something else. That same hunger he’d felt in battle. That thrill.

Ares leaned in, voice dropping to something almost intimate. “Tell me, boy—” his grin widened, “don’t you want to see how far your strength can take you? Antinous stared at Ares, the war god’s grin widening as if he already knew the answer. And maybe he did. Maybe he had seen the fire burning in Antinous’s chest long before Antinous himself had realized it.

Strength. Power. Bloodshed.

Antinous had never cared for the gods’ games, but this—this was different. Ares wasn’t offering empty words or divine riddles. He was offering strength. And Antinous wanted it. He straightened his back, smirking. “Fine. Train me. Show me how to win this war.”

Ares let out a deep, satisfied laugh. “That’s what I like to hear.” He clapped a heavy hand on Antinous’s shoulder, his grip like iron. “But be warned, boy. My training is not for the weak-willed.”

Antinous scoffed. “Do I look weak to you?”

Ares grinned, but before he could respond—

“Antinous!”

A loud, annoyed voice cut through the night. Antinous turned just in time to see Eurymachus stomping toward him, arms crossed and looking thoroughly pissed off. “There you are, you bastard—what the hell are you doing out here?”

Antinous blinked. “I—”

“Don’t even start.” Eurymachus grabbed him by the arm, ignoring how much stronger Antinous was. “You disappear in the middle of the night, and now I find you talking to air like a lunatic? I swear, if I have to deal with one more—“

Ares just raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Hmph. You mortals get cranky so easily.”

Antinous sighed. “Eurymachus, let go.”

“No.” Eurymachus yanked him harder. “We’re going back to camp before you get yourself killed doing—whatever the hell this is.”

Antinous growled. “I’m training—”

“You’re sleeping.” Eurymachus shot back, already dragging him toward camp. “And if you even think about sneaking off again, I’ll personally throw you onto the front door of all of those Skiaphos soldiers.”

Ares just laughed as Antinous grumbled, letting himself be dragged off. “Try not to get too soft before training, boy,” the god called after him. “We start soon.” Antinous just smirked, already looking forward to it.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress

@f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches

@sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy

@0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl

@dazedemery @tsmaruchan

@holywizardprincess @galaxygurlll @pjopinkk

@h0ne4bee @minteaspoon @zendoesstuff

@yuvany @xo-cuteplosion-xo

[polo-drone-055]

The Golden Army meets The Polo Drones: Part 1

Written at the command of and in collaboration with @hypnogold

Sitting in a coffee shop looking stressed is Richard the captain of the Golden Army Football Club.

Richard calls a close confidant. His stress getting the best of him Richard is speaking loudly.

“It was worse than you can imagine.”

“No! The Silver Collective didn’t win the match. We gave it to them on their own silver platter. We weren’t united. We lacked focus. Had no energy. What’s worse is that this was predictable. I should have acted sooner.”

"Yeah, I saw the red flags. The past few weeks I noticed the Bros off the field were eating rich foods at restaurants, smoking, attending all the festivals and going to late night movies."

"They were beginning to sleep in, miss workouts, and spend more time talking about their accomplishments on the pitch than actually focusing on their drills. I used our beach outing to try and bring back discipline, unity, and ambition. Obviously it didn’t work."

"Then there is our new wingback. Christian! #55."

"I have no idea what to do with that situation."

"If most of the team is losing focus he is overly ambitious. You saw how he stayed up too often, despite my instructions, allowed space out wide for Silver to fill letting them score and losing us the match."

"Now the media and fans are out for him. The headlines are nonstop: “Christian is worthless!” “Sack #55!" “This guy is crap!” The fans throw beer, food, drinks and all sorts of stuff at him. When out about the city he is constantly cursed at."

"He feels awful and has apologized repeatedly to the Bros."

"Christian is working extra hard to refine his skills but does not seem to be improving. No matter how much I and the Bros encourage him, work with him, and give him shoulders to lean on things are not changing."

"Bro, thanks for letting me get this off my chest. You’re the best."

"No, I’m not giving up. We will rise and conquer. We are Golden strong! Later Bro!"

As Richard finishes the call a man who had been standing at the counter behind him approaches saying “Excuse me, I could not help but hear your conversation.”

Startled by the interruption Richard looks up and is taken aback by the man wearing a black Fred Perry polo with distinctive yellow details including a laurel wreath embroidered on the chest with the top button fastened. The fabric had a glossy sheen to it, almost rubbery or latex-like.

Dazed, Richard responds “What?”

“I heard your conversation and can feel your frustration. I know you are trying your hardest.”

Staring at the polo and only half listening Richard mumbles “Yeah Bro”

“Your Golden Army Club is top of the league.”

Richard nods.

While speaking the man sits down and touches Richard whose golden spiral appears in his eyes.

“Everything will work out. It will be okay.”

As Richard’s arm and gold jersey brush against the polo a warmth and peace comes over him. His golden spiral which had been dim begins to brighten.

“We can help you be more focused, more intense, more synchronized. Your mates will once again work as a team, a unit. You will not be defeated again. Feel your confidence return.”

The man moves closer so that more of the smooth slick sheen of the polo is rubbing against Richard who can’t resist running his palms over it. The feel is tantalizing.

“Yes, feel it. Feel the intensity come over you. Do you like how it feels?"

"Yeah Bro," Richard says with more focus and intensity.

"I have another one you want it?" The man holds out the polo for Richard to see.

"Feel it. Feel the strength, confidence and conviction exuding from it. Imagine possessing all those traits yourself forever."

Without hesitation Richard viciously grabs the polo and puts it on. The immediate sensation of being tightly wrapped and constricted is immense. The smooth slick surface feels both isolating and sensual.

"Oh Bro!!!!" Richard exclaims running his hands all over his torso experiencing sensations as never before. “We will improve. We will grow” His voice becoming monotone and robotic as he speaks. “We will defeat. We will improve. We will grow. We will defeat.

With every repetition Richard’s strength, confidence and conviction deepens. The gold within accepts that to be on the top, to be the best it must be more focused, more intense, more synchronized. It must unite with polo.

Totally in sync with absolute confidence and conviction of their purpose the two leave the coffee shop heading for Club Pulse where Christian is waiting.

[shivunin]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tags @bumblewarden and @greypetrel!

Tagging back @chanafehs @elfroot-and-laurels @bitchesofostwick @inquisimer @star--nymph @pinayelf @dungeons-and-dragon-age @ell-vellan @midmorninggrey

Still working on the "Lenore breaks her leg" piece. I've totally rewritten the beginning and like it much more now! It has a much more actiony start than it used to.

(453 Words | CW: Discussion of a broken and poorly mended bone)

As she moved, the spell took effect. Pain swelled within her and broke like a wave, the bone in her leg mending over and over again until it had multiplied itself enough to break the skin. She screamed without knowing it, without hearing it, as if the pain itself made a tunnel from her leg to her throat and poured itself forth from there.  Bolts laden with electricity shot from somewhere in the distance, hammering into the unbalanced Venatori’s back. He stumbled, neatly tripping over one of the many spurs of bone now projecting from Rook’s leg.  “Rook,” Lucanis shouted from what seemed like a great distance, “hold on!” 

She’d no idea what she could possibly be holding on to when the whole world was shaking like a freshly reanimated corpse, but she tried anyway. She must have fallen at some point in the chaos because her hands scrabbled at stone and dirt now, not thin air. If her leg hadn’t hurt so badly, her elbows and tailbone would no doubt be aching from the impact. The Venatori, now bleeding profusely, staggered to his feet. Behind him, a violet blur felled first one, then another of the remaining Venatori who stood between Lucanis and Rook. There were few of them left, which was probably good. It still wouldn’t save her if she fell to this one right now.  Her staff had fallen behind her. Rook dragged herself backward, scrambling for it, but her hands were slick with something and she couldn’t get a good grip. Bellara was running toward them, but was intercepted by another Venatori. Only five left now. If she just held out— The violet blur spread tenebrous wings and shot closer, impossibly fast. Fast enough? It was hard to say. Everything looked—felt—so very strange. Her hand wrapped around the polished wood of her staff at last, though it fought to slip from her grasp. The Venatori lifted his sword and swung, a blow that would connect precisely with her breastbone.  Unbidden, her mind began to recite, in clinical and removed tones, precisely what would happen to her body when the blow connected: if her sternum did not collapse, one of the sternocostal joints would. The force of the blow would penetrate her chest, likely striking her heart. If it did not, it would certainly rupture the pleural cavity and steal her breath away. The latter would not kill her immediately. She’d tended plenty of corpses that’d taken at least one more blow to die after this precise strike. If she hung on for long enough, one of the potions the others carried could still heal her. If not… If not, she’d already shown Emmrich exactly where she wanted to be buried.

[kabr0ztrousers]

Kabr0z Writes Episode 16: Fae Deals, part 1

Also entitled: The Prince 

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes Anthology here

CWs: Kidnap; faeries (evil); mtf transformation; brainwashing; loss of agency;

A/N: Another 3 parter, though be warned, the Fae offer no happy endings 

########################################

Another lonely Saturday afternoon scrolling Grindr, another dozen or so men who ghosted you basically as soon as you sent a picture. You're not exactly Mr. Universe sure, but it's not like you're hideous. That's when you get a message. Someone up to meet anonymously. You started chatting.

They're... A little odd, all thee, thou and wherefore, but it's a vibe so you went with it. You sent an image of yourself, he sent one back. Wow, this guy must be into cosplay, or at least have one hell of a fashion sense, a toned Blonde twink wearing a laurel wreath and a leather tunic? You weren't going to turn that down. He wanted to meet at the stone circle in the park. That place always gave you the willies, it'd been there since at least the Roman conquest and was the centrepiece of no end of local legend.

On the other hand, if there was anything to worry about, the dozens of teens who spent their evenings drinking there would have found it. You pulled on your boots, slicked back your hair, and set off.

He was already waiting for you, sat on the altarstone. His face lit up when he saw you, he looked different in the daylight, his skin looked softer, his cheekbones higher, sharper. You thought nothing of it, you couldn't take a decent photo either, and this guy was magnetic.

"Good day, my good sir!" There was that middle-English affect again, "May I have your name?"

"A bit forward, considering" You laughed, then gave it to him. 

As the word left your mouth you felt strange. He grabbed your hand and started spinning you around the circle. You felt a little silly frolicking around a public park in the middle of the day, but you couldn't help yourself. 

Faster and faster you turned, the park around you melting away, replaced by a dense forest. The man smirked at you "I should introduce myself. You may refer to me by my title: Prince of Spring, Master of the Wylde Hunt, Lord of the Prifddinas Forest. Or simply 'My Lord' will do. Now, come with me, pet."

He strode into the woods, you couldn't help but follow at his heels. Mile upon mile you walked, the undergrowth parting for the Prince, forcing you to hurry after him before the vines closed around your ankles. Getting left behind here felt like a bad idea.

He led you on to a lodge in a small clearing, sounds of revelry coming from inside. You followed him in, he greeted a dozen other men, all dressed similarly to him, all speaking in that same middle English dialect

You were beginning to suspect, you may not be in Wales any more.

Something compelled you to follow him up the stairs. You couldn't help but dote on him as he drew you depeer and deeper into the lodge.

He led you into a bedroom, decorated with pelts and mounted heads, but all you could see was him as his gaze transfixed you. 

With a touch, you were undressed. The clothes falling from you in rags, leaving you stood before him, fully erect.

You dropped to your knees and opened his pants, pulling his flaccid cock from his trousers and sucked it into your mouth. You were desperate. Every twitch of his hardening cock filling you with need. You wanted to give yourself to him more and more. You pulled the rock-hard cock out, slick and shiny with your spit and climbed onto the bed, displaying your ass for him.

The prince grabbed your dangling cock and jerked it "Not very becoming for a mistress. Nothing I can't fix, pet"

You came hard in his hand. Over and over, spurting cum over his hand as he relentlessly worked you over. You could feel yourself getting smaller in his hands. The more he rubbed you over the more you shrank until you could feel your cock and your balls receding into you. He kept rubbing, fingering the clit and labia where your manhood used to be. Faster and faster he rubbed, a tingling started in your chest and your belly. You massaged your chest, feeling new breasts develop under your hand as your body hair fell away. 

The prince flipped you over, pushing his cock against your virgin cunt "And now, my right of primae nocta"

You could only whimper with desire, stroking his bare chest as he penetrated you. It was everything you could want, you gasped as he filled you. 

He fucked like an animal, rough and deep. You clawed at his back, humping against him as you came. The orgasm killed any thoughts you had left, jaw hanging open and eyes rolling. You could only moan and hump, wordlessly begging for him to fill your newly-grown womb with his seed.

The Prince of Spring was gracious, and obliged you, burying himself in you as he filled you with hot cum. You could feel every spurt as it flowed into you.

He stayed in you for a few minutes, staring into your glazed eyes, studying you

"Yes. I think we'll make good use of you"

[stuffymcstuffsworld]

Don't mess with our dad

The great general Furfur was attacked. Somehow, winding up in the hospital with several cuts, a concussion, 3 broken ribs, his left kneecap broken, and a dislocated jaw. The large demon pouting about whatever had occurred.

A nurse walked in and smiled. "Look, general! Someone sent you a "get" well gift!" Showing him the large boutique of flowers that she arranged in the vase next to his bed. As well as a small card. For a demon like Furfur, who understood the meaning of several plants for research purposes that was anything but a gift.

13 types of flowers hidden away in disguised present. 13 flowers, basically screaming at him the same message. It was actually kinda cute how passive-aggressive the warning in it came.

Yellow carnations, meaning rejection. Columbine stood for foolishness, and the Geranium empathized that by adding folly and stupidity to the mix. Hydrangea showed signs of heartless or frigid affection. The lavender indicates deep signals of mistrust.

Orange Lily screams out hatred with its loud coloration. Marigold showed off grief and jealousy, but considering there were also Yellow Roses added, also implying jealousy and infidelity, he knew which way the message leaned. Then came the Peonies for bashfulness and shame.

The Poppies were a consolation of sorts as the Snapdragons spoke of deception and grace. The Zinnia were absent in affection while the Lotus tried to offer enlightenment and rebirth. Something along the lines of... 'Get lost, you jealous pig. I wouldn't even trust you in the next life.'

On the card, there was the entire misfit class, and several of them were holding a "get" well soon banner. It was rather sweet until he spotted his two trainees holding a sign over their heads. In big bold letters, it said. 'DON'T PICK ON DAD AGAIN!'.

Even that was somewhat amusing... until he remembered how he ended up here in the first place. A shudder rushed down his spine cause a brief grunt to escape as it pasted his ribs. Maybe he should wait a bit before he ever decides to visit again.

**the day before**

It was just an average weekend spent at home. All the kids were over and causing mischief. Balam currently had an energetic Clara on his shoulders whilst Iruma and Lied clung to his legs.

Kamui was sitting with Kerori and Elizabetta currently having tea. Alice and Sabro were fighting again, but they weren't destroying anything, so you chalked that up for a win. Picero was taking a nap on his cloud while Goemon, Allocer, and Jazz seemed to be playing some kind of card game.

Which left Soi, who was currently trying to sneak up on Balam with one of your freshly made flower crowns. You giggled as you watched the two of them playfully participate in a game of now you see me. Every time Balam-San would turn to acknowledge the little demon, he would disappear.

Overall, it was a lovely day. Too bad something had to ruin it. A shadow loomed over you, and you glanced up recognizing your uninvited guest. "Hiya cutie, did ya miss me?" General Furfur.

You gave him a blank stare in return. "What are you doing here?" The disinterest in you tone making the answer to his question very clear. "Aw, don't be so cold. Didn't we have fun last time?" That slick smirk stretching across his face.

"I believe I told you already. I don't waste my time with people who don't raise my interest. You had it, but you lost it just as quickly. It's not my fault if you can't maintain something." You shrug before turning back to watch your kids.

Somehow, Soi had either snuck up a tree without Balam-San noticing or the demon had let the boy think that. Either way, he hung precariously above the gargoyles head, shushing a giggling Clara as he dropped the laurel on top of their dad's head.

Shichirou, for his part, blinked and pretended to be surprised when he reached up to touch his head. "What do you even see in him?" You heard the frustration in his voice, and you stiffened.

"I mean, he's so weird, I heard he constantly carried creepy books around as a student, and he is constantly mumbling strange nonsense. So what's there to even like?" You could feel your nails digging into your flesh, your teeth clenching together like a steel trap.

"And you know even if he is strong, he's more of a pacifist, not very demon like if you ask me." Every word seemed to grate on your skin. How dare he?!? How dare he scoff at your husband/mate/whatever this relationship had escalated to.

Standing up, you were ready to send him flying through the garden wall. Only.... someone beat you to it? Well, more like two demon's cause it seemed Alice and Sabro had heard the red demon trash talking their master.

It seems all of your children had heard to actually as they proceeded to gang up on the large general before he could stand. Kicking punching scratching, you even saw iruma bitting him!! Balam cautiously approached you and wrapped an arm around your waist.

"Are you alright?" He whispers softly in your ear, brushing his woven feathers behind your ear as he does. You glance over to him. Seeing your present still firmly in place wrapped by strong vines around his neck. The pretty stone sort of winking in the light.

Reaching up, you wiped your shocked tears off of your face in surprise. Oh! You hadn't realized you were crying. "Yeah, it's just..." looking back in time to see Clara and Sabro holding a large hammer and smashing it on one of Furfurs legs.

"I'm just so proud!" The tears of shock quickly turning into one's of joy. "Look at my babies fighting to defend you! Oh, where's my camera?!" You quickly grabbed your phone and started taking pictures.

The gargoyle shifted somewhere between nervous but also proud. "Shouldn't we stop them?" You waved off his concern. "It will be fine as long as they don't kill him."

[cherhys]

A Laurel Wreath to Keep

Gladiator!Cassian x Princess!Reader AU

Summary: Your father, the Emperor, is adamant that you are assigned a bodyguard befitting your station. While he is confident that the man for the job will be found competing in the Coliseum, you aren’t entirely convinced. At the very least, until he participates…

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Slight gore (canon-typical violence), some historical inaccuracies (I mean cmon)

Notes: You mean you haven’t thought about Gladiator Cassian?…Weird. Let me put you on with this fic then. ;)

The hot sun beat down on your skin, your sweat-slick back sticking to the cool marble of your chair. The faint breeze did little to cool you down, the copper stench of blood assaulting your senses. You turned away from the gore to look at your father, the Emperor, who clapped along with the other spectators in the Coliseum. 

The games never interested you much. The needless violence everyone revelled in was beyond your understanding. Usually, you’d be able to circumvent the gladiatorial games with pouting lips and a couple of batted lashes at your father but today was not to be. Your father insisted that you would enjoy today–just as he insisted the first time he brought you to the games, and the time thereafter, and thereafter. 

However, there was an objective to watching the games today that went beyond basking in bloodshed. Your father was resolute that you necessitated a new bodyguard and what better place to find a man worthy of laying his life down for the princess?

According to the Emperor at least.

You scowled at the brutish men before you, all eager to please the bloodthirst of the crowd. A shudder ran down your spine at the manic look in their eyes; one had to be mad in order to bludgeon another man's skull while he pleaded for mercy.

While the death of their opponents wasn’t the goal of most gladiators—a simple surrender would suffice with the crowd’s and Emperor’s benevolence—this particular beast hadn’t seemed satisfied until the sand flowed with his foe’s blood. 

The crowd roared their approval, temporarily appeased. The winner threw his head back and roared at the sky, scarlet splattered on his armour. Even from a distance, you could tell the monster of a man towered above the common populace. He spread his thick arms wide and turned slowly towards the stands of the Coliseum, relishing the kill. 

“What about that one, my dear?” Your father’s words pulled you away from the grotesque drippings on the pommel of the winner's gladius. 

You briefly glanced at him, contempt in your tone, “That one?”

“Why of course! Didn’t you see how he defeated all his opponents?” Unfortunately, you thought. Visions of exposed viscera flashed through your mind and you quickly shook the grisly memories away.

“I fear he’d crush my skull too if he felt so inclined.” You murmured, wincing at the deafening crowd. They’d begun chanting the monster’s name now.

“Pardon me?” Your father’s sudden question caught you off guard, and you quickly smoothed the most princess-worthy smile on your face.

“Nothing, Father. I merely think that he wouldn’t be well suited as my bodyguard.” A bead of sweat rolled down your stiff spine as your father contemplated your words. 

Please don’t burden me with this beast. 

Your blood only cooled as you noticed the gladiator approaching the dais where you sat, his frenzied gaze fixed on you. 

Your father loosed a sigh and abruptly stood, addressing the arena, “You have done well Aptonetus! Has he not?” The crowd boomed with approval. A greasy smile spread across Aptonetus’s face, his stare still stuck on you. Goosebumps covered your skin despite the sweltering weather. 

“You have won many matches in the arena, but will you seek more glory if given the opportunity?”

Finally, his gaze shifted to your father, and Aptonetus bowed his head in acknowledgment. 

“With honour, Your Majesty.”

As if he had a choice in the matter. 

The emperor smiled widely, indulging in his acquiescence, “From Pompeii, I present a tiro who has made a name for himself in the gladiatorial school. The Lord of Bloodshed they call him!”

The crowd exclaimed—a tiro? Someone who has never fought in the arena was meant to compete against a veteran like Aptonetus?

However, murmurs arose through the Coliseum; you couldn’t help but wonder how talented this tiro was that he had been bestowed such a vicious nickname. It was no matter—you were sure his warm blood would soon stain the sands like the fallen gladiators before him. Aptonetus seemed to think the same, that oily smirk back on his face. The sudden uproar of the crowd signalled the entrance of who was to be Aptonetus’s new opponent. 

He emerged into the beating sun, leather sandals padding along the sand. The cheering of the crowd suddenly seemed distant as you took in the war god walking before you. This gladiator may have been a tiro, but he walked with the confidence of a man who had conquered battlefields—and would do so again. The light reflected off his golden helm—his face hidden—and like many of the gladiators, that was the extent of his armour. His tan chest was bare, glistening with a sheen of sweat. You could’ve sworn a drop rolled down between the cavity of his abdominal muscles, bracketed by a perfectly shaped V. Your eyebrows rose as you noticed the swirling tattoos that adorned his broad shoulders, partially reaching down his powerful arms. This was a man who was sculpted with the most careful hand, by the finest of artists. 

No matter his physical prowess, you remained stoic. With a title like Lord of Bloodshed, you’re sure his bloodlust matches that of Aptonetus’s—if not worse. 

However, as the man stood in front of the dais to kneel before your father, a shred of doubt probed your conscience. The look in his hazel eyes was not one of madness, but sheer determination. Those same bright eyes locked on yours, and you lifted your chin imperiously. You would see if he was worth your favour. 

“Your Majesty, I present myself to you. I offer you my blade and my life.” 

Despite the words being meant for your father, his deep voice was a sweet caress. As the fresh gladiator stood at your father’s behest, his words took on a new meaning once he glanced your way again. You tightened your clasped hands. 

“Go on, men! Give us a good fight!” 

With that final proclamation by the emperor, the roar of the crowd began anew. Aptonetus and the new gladiator took up their positions at opposite ends of the arena. The Coliseum held its breath, anticipating the fight to come. 

Aptonetus wiped his soiled sword on the canvas cloth around his hips, a sharp smile gleaming even from below his helm. 

The new gladiator hoisted his shield, wicked gladius at the ready. You could count his breaths; in, out, in, out—

The war trumpet blared. 

The men quickly jumped into action, sand kicking at their feet. With a thunderous ring, steel clashed against steel. 

Your jaw gaped in awe; you had never seen anyone fight like this, gladiator or trained militia. Where Aptonetus was near brutish in his swinging, sword swooping in large arcs as he hurtled toward his opponent, the new gladiator seemed to dance on his feet. The tiro’s moves were all carefully calculated. Place a right foot here, a left foot there, and he’s drawn Aptonetus within his reach. His gladius arced with control, never any energy wasted. Despite his hulking size, he was fast and easily dodged the inefficient attempts of Aptonetus. 

The crowd was just as stunned, for no one had ever kept up with Aptonetus so thoroughly, and for so long. The fight was clearly taking its toll on the veteran gladiator, every breath looking more ragged than the last. Meanwhile, his opponent never missed a beat. 

You leaned towards your father, loath to take your eyes off of the battling men lest you miss anything. 

“Who is he?” You breathed, as if speaking any louder would break the spell of the match. 

“He’s a volunteer, my dear. He opted to join the fighting school in exchange for a roof over his head and food in his belly.” The emperor shook his head lightly, a disbelieving smile on his face. Your heart ached, envisioning a poor boy with nothing to his name having to learn violence in order to survive.

Their swords flash, the hypnotic clashing of metal matching the rapid beating of your heart. Aptonetus was slowing, surely to be devoured in due time by his more swift opponent. In a desperate bid to reclaim the pace of the fight, Aptonetus lunged with a roar, sword arm thrown wide. 

A crack resounded through the Coliseum as the new gladiator slammed his shield down onto Aptonetus’s wrist, breaking the bones. Aptonetus dropped his sword with a howl of pain, gripping his already bruising wrist. Refusing to back down, he squared his shoulders and prepared for a brawl. Only the new gladiator would take no such chances. He punched the butt of his sword into Aptonetus’s abdomen, effectively dropping him to the ground. 

The veteran gladiator attempted to stagger to his feet but the hit had found its mark, and he failed to catch his breath. In the next few moments, the tiro had the point of his sword poised at the neck of Aptonetus. 

A beat of shock pulsed through the crowd before they erupted into cheers, the noise only escalating as Aptonetus finally lifted his finger, signalling his surrender and the end of the match. The drums beat rhythmically to celebrate, and you found yourself clapping with a smile on your face. 

He was breathtaking and entirely magnificent. He fought with grace, with respect. This was a gladiator who you could watch until the end of your days. But more importantly—

“Him,” You whispered, “I want him as my bodyguard.”

The surrender of Aptonetus invoked the voting procedure, the crowd to decide his fate. The newly victorious gladiator took in the Coliseum, sword still pointed, to watch the people make clear their desire. Overwhelmingly, they turned their thumbs down.

Kill him, they decided. 

The veteran gladiator glanced around, bewildered at the booing of an audience that had once chanted his name. While watching the vote of the crowd, the victor turned to gaze at the dais, hazel eyes locking on yours. He tilted his head in question, And you? He seemed to say.

A slow smile bloomed across your face, his breath catching. In all his years at the gladiatorial school, he had never gotten to see the famed princess of the Empire. Finally being in your otherworldly presence—he understood the enchantment, the popularity, even the songs he had heard performed in your honour. 

You nodded and winked conspiratorially at him (his chest swelled a little with male pride at that), decidedly pointing your thumb down. 

Kill him indeed. 

The moment isn’t lost on Aptonetus and he uses the distraction to fling sand up into the victor’s eyes. The man stumbles back and Aptonetus tackles him to the ground, a brawl ensuing. The crowd’s gasps are lost on you as you stand abruptly, fixated on the two men grappling in the sand. Sweat-slicked limbs and golden helms wrestle around, making it difficult to determine who has the upper hand. Sand flings up around them while officials rush over to separate the two. 

Your heart is in your throat, hands clasped tightly in front of your chest.

In a move your eyes are too slow to follow, the young gladiator manages to pin Aptonetus beneath him, thick thighs straddling his lower back. Aptonetus’s face is in the sand, sputtering as he tries to raise himself off of the ground. He roars in defiance, but the sound is cut off by the slick sound of a dagger sinking into the base of his skull. The victor digs the blade in until the gladiator beneath him is no longer twitching. 

The officials arrive just as the chaos ends, the victor already having lifted himself from Aptonetus’s dead body. His hazel gaze is severe through his helm as he stares at the corpse, fists clenched at having to unnecessarily take a life. 

Before your father can step up to offer his congratulations, you shift to the front of the dais, the Empror’s protests falling on deaf ears.

 “Glorious victor!” His head snaps over to you, his brain quickly bypassing his shock to approach where you stand. The man kneels before you, his head bowed. 

“Let us hear it for the Lord of Bloodshed and his marvellous display!” The audience booms in response, just as enamoured with the man’s craft as you were. 

You lower your voice, your words only for him now, “What is your name?”

He looks up at you, reverence colouring his tone, “Cassian, Your Highness.”

“Cassian,” The name delectably rolls off your tongue, his jaw clenching at the ease with which it leaves your lips. He wants to hear you say it a million more times. “Do take off your helmet Cassian.”

Cassian ripped his helmet off with haste, placing it on the sand beside him. Your chest constricts at the face of the living Adonis before you. Sweaty thick locks fell around his angular, flushed face. Dark lashes frame earnest hazel eyes, near molten in the sun. Stubble lightly covered his strong jaw, his pink lips pulling back to reveal a stellar grin you couldn’t help but match. 

Once again, you raise your voice, “It is with this laurel wreath,” An attendant quickly brought over the leafy crown, “That I congratulate you on your triumph today. You will be rightfully compensated with the rewards your contract stipulates.”

You took the wreath and gently placed it on his head, his heated gaze never leaving yours. 

“I’m sure I will see you soon, Cassian.”

His breath hitched, eyes searching your face, “I hope so, Princess.”

Your light chuckle had his cheeks pinking, the flush only spreading down his chest once you pat his sweat-damp head, “No need for hope, Cassian. I’ll get what I want.”

With that, you stepped away, Cassian’s heavy stare burning into you. You addressed the crowd a final time, “To Cassian! Our newest victor!”

The crowd began to chant his name, and you returned to your seat, already scheming how to convince your father that Cassian would be your perfect bodyguard.

Final Notes: Part 2? Let me know what you think :) 

Fun History Facts—Voting to pardon a gladiator was a real thing that was done in the event of surrender. Mark Antony had a troupe of gladiators as his personal bodyguard and other upper-class citizens would also hire gladiators at times. A tiro is a gladiator fighting his first-ever public match. Aptonetus was a real gladiator! Much like his fictional counterpart, he was a veteran who was defeated by a newcomer, Spiculus. Cassian is loosely inspired by both Spiculus and Marcus Atilius, some of the more famous gladiators. Ok, the history lesson is now over.

[nateggi]

quick doodle of my ver of genderbent/earth 11 supersons !! might make some changes for an actual drawing later

i struggled between giving talia short or long hair but i love the look of short !! i imagine it to be a bit longer than damian’s hair and slicked back instead of up, also kept her piercings bc they look cool

for laurels hair tho i was inspired by clark’s comment abt jon growing his hair out for a rockstar look so i referenced some 80s fem rock looks :] !!!! and i kept the hair band !

[kimberly40]

Where I’m From:

I am from strong men and women.

Ancestors who had hardships and challenges.

I am from the rocking chair, from cornbread

and sweet tea.

I’m from breaking beans and fried apple pies.

I’m from dinners on the ground and baptisms in the creek.

I’m from gravel roads and slick banks

And seeking shade under a tree.

I am from mountain laurel, deep-rutted creekbeds, damp, musty moss, from hay stacks and straws, blue sky with a gentle breeze.

I am from all these moments. I am proud, country, mud on the knees. I’ll go down fighting.

-Kim Wright. Pictured- 1990 My Granny and Pappy Carpenter’s house in North Cove in McDowell County.

[taste-thewaste]

For the touch starved prompts:

“I never knew I could feel this loved.” for Firstprince

and/or

“Is this ok?” for TayNick

🙏❤️

Hi Laurel, thanks! going with the taynick one for now because apparently i'm into some smut tonight lol

"Is this ok?" Nick breathes into Taylor's mouth, and when he nods his agreement, he thrusts his fingers even deeper inside of Taylor. He greedily swallows down the answering moan that falls from Taylor's lips. It's been 42 days since they've last seen each other and they are stepping back into things as those no time has passed. Still, Nick is still a little bit nervous, still has to check to make sure. At least, that's what it started as. He nibbles on Taylor's ear. "Is this ok?" "God, Nicky, yes," Taylor grunts, and Nick bites him even harder. His fingers still move inside of Taylor and he finds the very center of him, opens him up wide. Nick slicks up his cock and pushes inside of Taylor after that, starting to move slowly. "Oh, Nick, Christ," Taylor gasps, digging his fingernails into Nick's hips. "And this, babydoll...is this ok?" Taylor's answer comes in rolled eyes and beaded sweat and a dripping cock.

send me a firstprince or taynick touch-starved prompt!

[astra-galaxie]

Hello there Astra!! I adore your hcs a lot, reading them really makes my day. Your takes on characters, or any aspect of CC at all has taken my interest since day one! If possible, do you have any headcanons for Justin Lawson, since I'm quite curious on your take on him! Thank you, have a great day :D

Aw! You’re going to make me blush! Thank you so much! It means a lot to me to hear that!🥰💕

I have done headcanons for Justin in the past, but he has a lot of material I can work with, so I’m sure I can create some new ones for you to enjoy!

Justin had a section of Abigail's wedding dress (that wasn't stained by her blood) turned into a handkerchief with her initials and their wedding date embroidered on it. Even though the wedding never got to happen and Justin would never dirty the handkerchief, he carries it to always have a piece of Abigail with him

He's an avid reader and has an extensive collection of books

He uses pomade to keep his hair slick and well-kept. There will be no stray hairs on his watch!

Justin learned how to use a gun after Abigail's death. While he hates unnecessary bloodshed, Justin wanted to be able to protect himself as he began his endeavour to bring a new age of justice to Concordia

He doesn't know how to dress down. Even if you tell him to dress casually, he'll still show up in a full suit, complete with a matching hat. The most “casual” clothes this man owns are his sleeping ones! (And those don't count!)

When he graduated from law school, Justin’s friend, Walter Cumberbatch, gifted him a pocket watch to commemorate the event. The watch features the scales of justice surrounded by a laurel wreath engraved on the cover and Justin’s initials on the back

He suffers from insomnia. It grew worse as he started climbing the political ladder and was at its peak when he was mayor. The stress of the job and trying to “fix” Concordia’s justice system didn’t help, and many nights were sleepless for Justin

Justin still buys bottles of the perfume Abigail loved wearing. While he tries to forget about her tragic end, he still wants to remember the good memories involving her. One of the ways he does this is by spraying the perfume she always wore when he finds himself lost in the memory of her murder. Smelling the sweet, floral aroma instantly brings Abigail’s smiling face to his mind, and he can even hear her laughter again

It was somewhat unintentional that multiple of these involved Abigail, so I hope you don't mind! The headcanons just came to me, and they were too good to leave out!

Thank you for the ask! (And again for the compliments!💕)

[angelisverba]

yn wanting to top mafia!harry and we know that ends with him doing all the work…

and he would be smirking the whole time until she admits she needs his help 🤓

he’d be leaning against the headboard with his hands on his abdomen, just kinda looking at her and running his tongue along the inside of his cheek bc he knooowwss she’s about to give up. her thighs are quivering and she can’t really catch her breath. she doesn’t have a good rhythm bc she can’t decide if she wants to bounce on his cock or drag her hips back and forth with her clit pressed against the space where his dick starts. AND she’s not really coming down all the way on his because he’s just so big and unless he’s the one doing the fucking so that the spongey tip hits that sweet spot inside her, she’s not really reaching that point where she explodes.

so harry is so so so smug. the only reason why they’re in this position is because she dug his nails into him his shoulders when he tried to lay her down and huffed out a “nuh uh” like a spoiled little brat.

“baby i can feel how close you are to coming with the way your pussy is leaking and squeezing all over my dick, and you can never make yourself cum on top. don’t be a brat and let daddy fuck you the way he knows you want him to,” he mumbled against the skin of her shoulder, his hands around her waist in preparation to toss her on the bed. his cock was fat and swollen, and she was sitting right on top of him, the seam of her pussy hot against his length. harry wasn’t even mad, it had been a decent day of collecting money, he was just trying to give his baby what she wanted.

“no, daddy” she stated. shaking her head with her eyes half lidded and her hips writhing with slick staining harry’s skin.

and because he was feeling generous, he let her. because he wanted to watch her work herself up and then crumble when she couldn’t break, he let her. because he loved her and would give her whatever she wanted, he let her.

y/n never took him more than two-thirds of the way on her own because she was scared, so she never went deep enough to actually feel him. feel him the way that broke her. she never sat against him for that one second break, so her thighs were aching before she even made it up again the fifth time. and she was going too slow. she was shaking, her palms splayed against the laurels on harry’s hips, completely supporting herself and using her upper body to lift her cunt off him and slide his thickness back into her.

whines and little hiccups of stuttered breathing staggered from her lips, and harry hadn’t even let out a groan.

in fact, he was fighting a chuckle. his smirk was breaking into a mean grin, and despite the fact that his hands looked casually perched on his ribs, they were itching to take her hips and fuck up into her.

he was going to wait for her to say it first. for her to-

“i can’t do it, daddy.”

“sorry sweetheart, what? couldn’t catch that over your panting,”

“i can’t do it, please help me daddy,”

“isn’t that so sweet. you want daddy to help you?”

“yes, please”

“didn’t i tell you to let me take care of you from the beginning?”

“yes,”

“are you going to do as i say now?”

she nodded, her eyes big and wet and pleading because her clit was pulsing and it was almost uncomfortable how horny she felt. harry brushed her hair behind her ears and away from her sweaty forehead and brought her in for a tender kiss. his teeth gently nipping hers and his lips suckling on her tongue. when they broke apart, his hands smoothed up her thighs.

harry looked into her eyes as he gripped her hips, and snarled, “this’ll teach you to listen to daddy, babygirl.”

y/n landed on her back, her thigh hitched over his hip as he slammed his dick into her to the hilt, hitting a spot so deep in her she cried out like a hurt animal. pulling out slowly, he watched her scrunched face, how relief settled before he thrusted again and she whined.

again and again he did this, until her nails dig into his biceps and she began to tilt her hips up to meet him in a slow grinding motion.

“please, please daddy i’m-“

“yeah, puppy? almost?”

“mhm, daddy, please”

“go on baby, give it to me.”

harry pistols in and out her, hitting deep inside her everytime until she clenches around his cock and her back arches so her tits brush his chest. she’s mumbling thank you’s and i feel so good’s when her face digs into his shoulder and she pressed a kiss in a very sensitive spot that does it for him.

he’s cumming inside her with a broken moan, nuzzling against her and loosing all rhythm just like she was before her, but he’s still the strong one. he’s still the one holding her when she stops shaking.

[shapeshiftersvt]

Big Update Post

Hiya, shapeshifters!

We have some announcements to make this evening.

Here’s the short of it:

The Shapeshifters website will be temporarily down this Sunday evening, March 3, 2024 at Midnight EST.

When it comes back up, you’ll find a shiny new website that is organized the same way with a couple of exceptions.

The Off-the-Rack Sale and Holographic listings will be temporarily delisted.

The Goth listings will be renamed. You will find Rainbow Constellations, Monster Mouths, and a couple of new options listed under Cosmic Horror.

The Skin Tone listings will have brand new additional color skin tone options!

The Island Time listings will also have a new option available.

The Binding 101 FAQ will be rolled into its own section in the FAQ.

There will be a brand new Events Page!

The blog will be temporarily disabled.

If you’re curious about the long of it, keep reading.

For everyone else, we appreciate your patience during this transition! Like so many other transitions, we’re delighted about where it’s going. 

Website Downtime

Shapeshifters is finally moving to Shopify! We’ve done a lot of work over the past few months building a more organized, streamlined website that will be easier to access for you and update for us. On Sunday night, we’ll shut down the current website to pause orders so that we can migrate everything cleanly.

Off-the-Rack and Holographic Listings

The Off-the-Rack listings will be delisted to give us a chance to reorganize the remaining stock so we don’t accidentally double-sell anything. 

The Holographic listings will be delisted while we assess our fabric options. Long-time customers might notice that we’ve removed Liquid Metal and Oil Slick from the Holo listings; we’re sourcing replacements and new options throughout spring. Once we know our options, we’ll either re-launch the Holo listings, or move the currently available fabric Prism to another home so it won’t be all alone anymore.

If you’ve been eyeing either Prism or an Off-the-Rack, buy it before Sunday if you can!

Expanded Skin Tone Range

We’re very excited to announce three new skin tone options will be available after the website migration: Pine, Chestnut, and Laurel! Pine is a pale shade, while Chestnut and Laurel are both on the darker end of the spectrum.

And, the new and improved Skin Tone listings will be the perfect place to see the results of our latest photoshoot! We’re excited for y’all to get to see these photos around the site and on the listings. We sought out models of color with darker skintones both to fill a gap in the modeled photos in our listings, and to show off our darker skin tones. All of our models were amazing, our photographer was great, and the photos are fantastic! We really leaned into the cozy Vermont vibes for this one.

Events Page

We’re going to events again! Hooray!

And we’re not just going to conventions and conferences and Pride festivals. We’re also talking queer markets, fashion shows, and binder sewing workshops!

That’s right, some lucky folks in the New England area will have the opportunity to take an in-person class with Eli, our head tailor and the developer of our DIY Binder Sewing Kits. They will walk you, step-by-step, through sewing your own custom-sized binder and help you troubleshoot along the way. These workshops are designed for sewists of any level and do not require you to own a sewing machine.

If you’d like to host a sewing workshop or would like to have us at any other event, educational, celebratory, fashionable or otherwise, please contact us!

Thanks once again  for bearing with us during this transition and we can’t wait for you all to see the new site!