#Steel Mace

[creeperthescamp]

what (or who) convinced y'all to get into tes?

i think when I was about 15 a family friend showed me skyrim since i was already into fallout, and she was showing me her dunmer assassin with her little house and her wife and I was like 'yea that looks pretty cool, i might try it out sometime'

however as soon as she mentioned there were cat people I immediately went 'OH FUCK I need this game RIGHT NOW' lmao I don't even remember if I knew anything else about the game! the existence of the khajiit was all I needed to know (and that you could be gay)

[ladystoneboobs]

The princess might even have considered Willas Tyrell, crippled leg and all, but her father refused to send her to Highgarden to meet him. She tried to go despite him, with Tyene's help . . . but Prince Oberyn caught them at Vaith and brought them back. -Arianne II, aFfC

suddenly, out of nowhere, intriuged by what this match would have been like if she'd made it to highgarden, bc every tyrell besides willas is racist toward the dornish. or at least mace and olenna def are and they blame oberyn for will's injury even tho willas himself doesn't. but maybe margaery and garlan could be happy for their union (loras can be kind of a dick so i'm just assuming he shares his dad's racism), a crippled reacherman and a headstrong dornishwoman against the world.

[kultofathena]

Tod Cutler – Steel Medieval Star Mace 10th -11th Century – 2 Star Version

[thesalonsisters]

steel mace training is going well. Need to re-purple the hair soon.

[bunnymajo]

Surge gives her chocolate to Amy with a nervous smile and Kit and Thristle are watching enviously while holding their own chocolate.

Thistle isn't sitting by and watching, Thistle is coming at Amy with the steel chair

Only for Thistle to be instantly shot into orbit by all three of them. Maybe he'll come back down by next Valentines

[charlietheepicwriter7]

"Grandfather."

Ra's knew who the boy was the moment he'd snuck into the room. He'd allowed the child--more man than child now, but everyone was a child compared to him--moments to steel himself while Ra's refrained from acknowledging his presence. The boy's breath was barely audible but unsteady, and a drop of something fell to the floor.

His grandson was injured. "Danyal," he greeted and finally gazed upon him for the first time in seven years.

Danyal had grown into his father's height, yet stayed lean in regards to his musculature. His black hair had grown out of the League-regulation haircut, held back in a messy braid. He held himself as strong as he could, but kept an arm wrapped around his stomach. His shirt--standard American teenage garb, he dismissed--was spotted with blood and he could see bandages poking out from under the cloth.

With great care, Danyal knelt before the Demon Head and recited the Oath of Loyalty.

Ra's watched.

The boy's tongue, fat with English, spoke the League's variant of Arabic with the grace of a mace to the head, yet his words were clear. He took his time speaking the oath, carefully sounding out words, working hard to avoid mispronunciation. The Oath in question was the older version, from before Deathstroke's insurrection, but Danyal spoke it with a calm certainty that it would be accepted.

And without a doubt, it would be accepted.

Talia's eldest son had been born from her body instead of through science, a mistake that nearly cost her the child and damaged him upon birth. While the best doctors in the world saved his life, Danyal Al Ghul would always be weak in a fight, always prone to illness, always struggling to excel. When it became clear that the boy couldn't become the next Demon Head, Ra's sent Talia to create a replacement while arrangements were made for her first child to be taught business and science, for the betterment of the League. Danyal, very much his father's child, thrived in his intellectual pursuits while Damian grew and developed into a budding assassin.

But Danyal was more like his father than he'd ever knew. Ra's couldn't miss the signs of one of his family turning away from the League. Not the mission--Danyal had written several university level papers defending the environment by the time the boy was 10--but Ra's methods...

Ra's had a conundrum. Danyal was a dedicated conservationist; once the boy was an adult, Ra's was certain he'd take the world by storm and bring the League to new heights. But if he forced his methods onto Danyal, he could create an enemy of him, just as his father was.

Ra's gave Danyal an offer; Danyal would be allowed to leave the League and live a normal life if and only if he faked his own death in such a way that reinforced Damian's loyalty to the League of Assassins.

Danyal had been hesitant at first, but past his test with flying colors. Instigating one of the more unstable assassins into organizing a coup, cutting the insurgents off near immediately, but "dying" protecting both his younger brother and mother. It was a masterful performance. Even Talia hadn't known about the deceit.

And yet, here he was, on his knees, pledging loyalty. Danyal knew what that meant, knew what he was returning to, which morals he would be allowed to keep.

"And what do you bring with you, child of no one?" Why should the League accept the return of this child, who left once before?

Danyal met his eyes. "I bring with me, my team, who are loyal to me and me alone. I bring with me, research surrounding the Lazarus Pits, in origins and further uses for the waters." Ra's raised an eyebrow, and Danyal smirked. "I bring with me, my knowledge, nurtured within this very home and sharpened in the world outside. I bring with me, my weapons, built with my own hands. I bring with me... my body, finally healthy and whole." He brought his head down to the floor, trembling with pain. "I bring my whole self to the Demon's Head, for Him to accept or reject."

Ra's smiled. "By the shadows that guard our order and the blood that binds us, I accept this oath. From this day forward, you are an instrument of the League, a harbinger of justice, and a weapon in the hand of Ra's Al Ghul."

Danyal returned to his feet, swaying percariously. He needed immediate medical attention. Despite this, he continued, "Long live the League of Assassins. Long live Ra's Al Ghul."

And he collapsed onto the floor.

[finsterhund]

My brain has decided to grace me with "fisher price corn popper mace" where the handle is the handle but instead of the popping chamber the head of the mace is hollow plastic with the balls inside.

My head is all woozy and I am dizzy so time for bed but have a visual.

[writers-potion]

Writing Weapons (4): Clubs, Maces, Axes, Slings and Arrows

Clubs & Maces

Maces are refined versions of clubs, usually made from steel and flanged or spiked.

Perfect for smashing and plate armour and for crushing skulls.

When used on horseback, the rider uses continuous swining motion and leans to the side to hit.

Type of Fight Scene: gritty, historical fiction, smashing armour

Typical user: brawny male with broad shoulders nad bulging biceps

Mostly used in: historical fiction - Stone Age to Middle Ages

Main Action: smash, crush, bludgeon, batter

Main motion: downwards

Typical injury: crushed bones, crushed skull

Strategy for lethal fight: crush skull

Disadvantages: heavy, need to get closer to the opponent

Batle Axes

Used by a peasant or lumberjack

Special battle axes are bigger and heavier, with longer handles

A weapons for attack rather than defence, good at cleaving through armour

Can break through enemy shields and kill a charging horse.

They require intense training, so users are highly skilled elite soldiers, often aristocrats.

Types of Fight Scene: gritty, brutal, battles, attack, historical fiction, fantasy fiction, cutting through armour

Typical User: tall brawny male with broad shoulders and bulging biceps, courageous, elite soldier, Viking, Saxon

Mostly Used In: European Dark Ages to Middle Ages

Main Action: cleave, hack, chop, cut, split

Main Motion: downwards

Typical Injury: severed large limbs, split skulls, cleaved torsos

Strategy for Lethal Fight: severe the arm which holds the sword or the shield, or cleave torso from top to bottom, or cut off a lef then split the skull

Disadvantages: big and heavy

Bows and Arrows

They are weapons of mass use. Hundred of arrows are shot at the enemy to inflict as mcuh damagne as possible from a distance.

In the middle of the battle and for close combat, they're useless.

Castles were designed for the use of bows and arrows, with narrow windows called 'archer slits'. The top of the outer walls were desgined so archers could shoot while remaining under cover.

Arrows are relateively cheap and quickly to produce. Tips an be metal or sharpened stone, wood, bone, glass splinters, etc.

Pieces of feather at the end help the arrows fly better, but knowing which part of the feather to attach how and where is much -treasured knowledge.

Characters can learn the basics of archery can be done quickly at an emergency. However, to be really good it takes years of practice.

Most important skill is to be able to shoot many arrows in quick succession.

Stone Slings

Stone slings are cheap to make - it only takes a piece of leather, string and ammunition are simply pebbls lying around.

This makes it good for low-tech historical periods and for characters of all ages and physical capacities.

Doesn't require great physical strength, but a lot of practice is required to achieve accuracy.

Different cultures have different techniques for holding and releasing, none of which includes the continuous frantic whirling around beloved by moview makers. Rotatin is usually done once or twice, or not at all.

(1) the slinger hooks the end of the sling over her fingers (2) holds the hand above the shoulder so the sling's bag with the stone in it hangs down behind her shoulder. (3) flings it straight forward.

Blunders to Avoid

Depicting an axeman as an unkilled brute who chops blindly.

Battles where the archers shoot when sword fighters are already engaged in close fighting

[pupsmailbox]

ROBOT ID PACK

NAMES ⌇　aerobot.　agatha.　ai.　alan.　alethea.　alexia.　algernon.　alistair.　alpha.　amaryllis.　ambrose.　androbot.　androic.　andromeda.　angelica.　antenna.　arabella.　araminta.　arcade.　auto.　automaton.　axel.　axis.　badnik.　bionel.　bolt.　byte.　care.　celline.　cello.　chip.　chipique.　clank.　cloniste.　clonoid.　cobot.　codelle.　cole.　curiosity.　cy.　cyber.　cybette.　cybion.　cypher.　data.　dell.　della.　delpha.　delta.　digi.　dot.　droid.　droidess.　droidis.　dronette.　echo.　elektra.　euna.　eva.　eve.　fritz.　giga.　gizmo.　glitch.　grey.　gynoid.　helix.　holo.　holodir.　hydra.　ida.　jet.　kaput.　kinect.　krudzu.　linion.　mac.　mace.　machibella.　machina.　mal.　malware.　mation.　mech.　mecha.　mechael.　mechan．ace.　metal.　metalia.　metalish.　micro.　motherboard.　motor.　nano.　neo.　nucleus.　nyquist.　orbit.　parallel.　pip.　pixel.　prime.　primus.　proto.　quantum.　radar.　radius.　ram.　ray.　reflect.　reflectette.　robo.　robonaut.　rusty.　satellite.　scrappy.　selsyn.　sentiex.　servo.　shard.　siri.　solar.　sonar.　spark.　sparkie.　sparky.　sputnik.　steele.　sterling.　stochastic.　synchro.　synie.　synthett.　talus.　terra.　tin.　tink.　tobor.　ultramarine.　ultron.　unimate.　unit.　virus.　waldo.　zip.

PRONOUNS ⌇　00/00.　01/01.　0101/0101.　11/11.　1010/1010.　10110/101.　ai/ai.　algo/algorithm.　android/android.　app/app.　auto/auto.　auto/automated.　auto/automaton.　axis/axi.　beep/boop.　bio/bionic.　bio/bioplastic.　blast/blast.　bo/bot.　bolt/bolt.　bot/bot.　buffer/buffer.　byte/byte.　cell/cell.　chaos/chaos.　chi/chip.　click/click.　clo/clone.　code/code.　coil/recoil.　command/command.　compute/computer.　core/core.　cyb/cyborg.　cyber/cyber.　data/data.　dev/device.　device/device.　dig/digital.　digi/digital.　droi/droid.　droid/droid.　e/exe.　electric/electric.　entry/entries.　exo/exoskeleton.　gear/gear.　gli/glitch.　glitch/glitch.　hack/hack.　ho/holo.　holo/holo.　hologram/hologram.　in/install.　intra/intranet.　link/link.　machi/machine.　mal/malfunction.　mal/malware.　mech/mech.　mecha/mechanical.　mechanic/mechanic.　metal/metal.　metro/metro.　motor/motor.　neo/neo.　neon/neon.　nuclear/nuclear.　propeller/propeller.　radar/radar.　retro/retro.　robo/robo.　robo/robot.　robot/robot.　rubber/rubber.　satellite/satellite.　sca/scan.　shard/shard.　shine/shiny.　signal/signal.　solar/solar.　steel/steel.　stem/stem.　swi/switch.　syn/synth.　syn/synthetic.　tech/tech.　techno/techno.　test/test.　text/text.　turing/turing.　vi/viru.　web/site.　web/web.　whirr/whirr.　wi/wifi.　wire/wire.　wired/wired.　⚙️/⚙️.　🔧/🔧.　🔩/🔩.　🛠//🛠.　🤖/🤖.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 61

part 1 | part 60 | ao3

cw: mentions of canonical minor character death

Chapter 14

It's twilight by the time they make their way to Rick's place — gnat clouds swarming, sun dipped low, Lover's Lake an inky smudge beyond the blur of passing pines. Steve’s not totally sure how they got here, this dusty service road that's more pothole than pavement; one minute he's bitching about doomed love and double VHS, the next he’s taking the scenic route to a drug den.

There were some important moments in between, he’s pretty sure.

He’s also pretty sure he blacked out somewhere around the moment the morning news reported that an-unidentified-Hawkins-student-who-very-well-could-be-Eddie-Munson was found dead in his fucking trailer.

Kinda difficult to resurface from that one.

Feels like his soul’s got swimmer’s ear.

Even hours later — after Dustin and Max burst into Family Video talking a mile a minute about how Eddie was alive and they needed to use the phones; after Ernie stupidly gave a reporter Steve’s name, swearing up and down on the TV that his neighbor Steve Harrington was an upstanding young man who would never do something like this; after they spent an agonizingly long afternoon lying low and taking backroads to avoid the cops because the cops probably suspect Steve of murder now, oh god—

“It’s this next right up ahead,” Max says from the back seat. There's a map spread over the bench between her and Dustin, and Steve blinks himself awake; gives her a nod in the rearview.

Beside her, Dustin’s munching on Twizzlers he stole from the store — window down, easy slouch, just way too chipper for the situation at hand. "So Steve," he says conversationally, "now that you're a fugitive, does that mean—?"

Steve cuts Robin a pleading look.

Robin reaches back and smacks the little twerp upside the head.

"Ow!" Dustin whines.

"Shut up, please," Robin smiles.

Max makes a sound like she's trying not to laugh and checks the map again. "Right here," she says, pointing. "After that weird tree stump."

They turn onto another road that could be generously described as paved, once, several decades ago, and eventually, the winding path lets out onto a slightly nicer street. Aging but cared for, Holland Road is a crowded row of little lake houses, trailers and shacks with manicured shrubs and chipped fence paint, weeds growing through the sidewalks beneath pristine American flags. Steve pulls into the driveway of #2121.

It looks abandoned. Dark inside and out, a truck parked on the curb that's likely been there for a while, its tires sagging in a mulch of old wet leaves. There’s an autumn wreath on the front door.

“You sure this is the place?” he asks as they climb out of the car.

Max sasses him for questioning her navigation skills, Dustin unsuccessfully tries to land a revenge slap on Robin — a move that earns him a retaliation wedgie and a wrestling match he was never gonna win — and Steve pops the trunk and feels a hundred years old. Feels every bit the exhausted dad trying to keep the family road trip together as he grabs his nail bat and slings his duffel over his shoulder.

"You planning to spend the night?" Dustin teases from Robin's armpit, still bent double where she's got him in a headlock.

"No, just-" he drops the bag at their feet with a grunt, “doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

Dustin’s eyes bug out. “Is that a can of goddamn bear mace?”

“Keep your voice down!” Steve hisses.

“You keep your voice down!”

"Should I just go ahead and choke him out?" Robin offers.

Steve considers it for a second: knock 'em all out, stuff 'em back inside the car. Go do this shit quietly by himself.

He rolls his eyes and puts his hands on his hips.

"You're no fun," she pouts, but she lets Dustin go.

Dustin grabs flashlights and walkies out of the bag, passes them around the circle. They take a moment to steel themselves — huddled together in the dark, shoulders tense, the creepy house looming ahead. Sharp shadows stretch toward them. Croaking sounds creeping from the edges of the lake.

Robin puts her flashlight under her chin like she's about to tell a scary story. "Alright, kiddos," she says in a deep, ominous voice. "Let's go rescue Steve's ex."

Stunned silence in the sudden vacuum her words create. Steve lets out a tired sigh. Dustin’s jaw is on the curb.

“His WHAT?” Dustin shouts.

Oh, my god. “He’s not my ex."

Robin rolls her eyes and says ‘sure’ under her breath, and Max turns to Dustin, laughing. “You didn’t know they were a thing?”

“We’re not—” Steve tries again.

“What were you trying to get them back together for then?”

She seems genuinely curious. Dustin seems three seconds from spontaneous combustion. “What was I WHAT?!” he yelps, limbs everywhere. Reminds Steve of Eddie so bad it hurts.

“Okay,” Steve interrupts, clapping them both on the shoulder; drops his voice to a harsh whisper. “In case you two forgot, we’re here to rescue Eddie.”

“Who you’re dating.”

Dustin’s voice is small, disconnected, his gaze far away. Like he’s shellshocked.

“Jesus Christ.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “I— Yes. No. It’s complicated.”

Max snorts at his answer, Dustin makes a series of faces like he's gonna need seven years to process, and Robin interrupts his crisis by waving her flashlight like a traffic guard, walking backward up the hill as she directs them toward the house.

“Why don’t we just go find him first?” she suggests, making a rainbow with her hands, flinging light through the grimy windows. “And then Stevie here can answer alllll your big gay questions.”

Steve glares at Robin. Dustin glares at him, narrowed eyes for a full ten seconds like 'yeah, you fucking better,' and then he takes off up the driveway hollering Eddie's name.

—

part 62

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[auspicioustidings]

Kinktober Day 26

This is a reworked version of the original day 26 taking into account feedback.

Moniker: Mace Risk Level: High. Mace is a permanent resident of the Kennel. Brief: Cervix-bullying, degredation Safeword: Refer to first brief. Mace may push limits now he has you to himself. Ghost will be right outside - Price

You took a deep breath outside of the door and steeled yourself. Bastard had you in a pretty little summer dress, no underwear. The fabric was exceedingly rippable and you suspected that was on purpose. Cervix-bullying didn’t sound like something that was going to be fully pleasant, but then when he had fucked you with his fist you hadn’t thought that could possibly feel good and you came anyway.

Ok, you could do this, was Mace really so fucking scary? If anything he was just annoying around the Kennel. You didn’t think you had been around one another outwith this room without bickering. You pushed the door open, letting it close behind you while you took in the room. Not that there was anything to take in, it was entirely bare, just concrete floor and walls and one very large, fully dressed man.

“Mace.”

“Sweet thing.”

After a beat you leapt into action, twisting around and grabbing the door handle to get the fuck back out. He laughed and in two large steps was on you, grabbing your arm and ripping you back from the door before throwing you to the ground. It fucking hurt and you could feel that the dress was covering sweet fuck all with how you were sprawled. Fucking asshole.

“Wanker!”

“Nah not today, don’t use my hand when there’s a perfectly good pussy” he said, crouching next to you and trailing a finger up your bare leg. “Perfectly good may be a stretch hm? Hear you’ve been getting your little cunt wrecked by whoever asks. Fucking loose slut.”

“If I’m such a loose slut then why do you want me?” you shot back, maybe a little too smug about the very clear outline of hard cock pressing against the fabric of his trousers.

“Maybe I don’t and you’re just a convenient hole” he mused, the rest of his fingers joining the first as he squeezed your upper thigh hard, clearly enjoying the spill of fat around his digits and the little pained winch you gave.

“Or maybe you do and you fought to get another day with me before my contract is up.”

You held his eyes, not willing to submit as fully to him as you did for the likes of Price. A little because you were pretty sure Mace had no interest in a sweet submissive either, he wanted some bite. It was something you had learned during your interactions with him outside of the play room. Even in his interactions with others you saw it. He would wind Soap up something awful, annoy Gaz until the usually laid back man was about ready to get into a fight. You didn’t miss that he seemed to take such a particular interest in those Ghost was close to.

But mostly it was because you weren’t an idiot. There were very few people in this place for which full submission wasn’t a very dangerous concept.

“Punched König’s lights out sweet thing, he’s nursing a fractured jaw.”

You tried not to react to that, but by the glimmer of dark delight in his eyes you had failed and given away how that made your heart race and your cunt clench. Had they really fought for today? The idea of two of the biggest monsters here violently trying to assert a claim for your time shouldn’t have been hot, and yet you were pretty sure you were leaving a wet spot on the flimsy fabric of your dress.

“Must have been a cheap shot.”

“Aww, you defending your daddy? Or were you his momma? Hard to keep track with that one.”

His big body was looming over you, getting closer as his hand squeezed once more before starting to climb up between your leg.

“You jealous?”

“No need, doubt you get this sloppy wet for him. Nah, this is all for me isn’t it?”

His hand cupped your pussy, his middle finger dipping in to test just how wet you were. Wasn’t like you could do much about how soaked your cunt was. Mace was just… fuck he was so dripping with danger and your stupid brain had been so wildly traumatised by war that it took the alarm bells and turned them into arousal. Had it always been that way, or had weeks being the play thing of soldiers created that reaction in you?

“Maybe it’s not and you’re just a convenient cock.”

He barked a laugh and then manhandled you onto your knees, shoving your face down onto the floor as he unbuckled his belt to fish out his cock with absolutely no ceremony. He only tapped his already leaking tip on your hole once in warning before he crammed himself inside you.

Both of you moaned. You forgot how fucking good he felt, how heavy his scarred cock was inside of you.

“You got a silky pussy sweet thing, doubt anyone here could afford it if it wasn’t the military paying. Fucking luxurious, bet Ghost would hate to see his princess stuffed full of my spunk. Gonna fucking ruin it.”

Jesus the floor was uncomfortable, already the scrape of concrete had torn one of the straps of your dress, your tit uncomfortably close to escaping the pathetic bodice and being shredded to pieces with no barrier between skin and ground. And yet it felt right with him to have the constant edge of potential pain, the terror of mutilation being a breath away while your cunt took a pounding that it was craving.

“Ruin my pussy? You’re barely even fucking me” you taunted between pants.

“Not your pussy I’m gonna dirty up and ruin, this cock in going straight into your fucking womb you stupid bitch. I’m going to turn you inside out” he growled.

He wrestled your hips where he wanted them, your back screaming from how it was bent. From experience you knew when he was bringing out the degradation you were about to get your guts rearranged, so you tried to brace yourself. You joined your back in screaming soon after, a strangled yelp leaving you when he thrust back in and this angle sent him so much deeper.

“You feel that slut?”

“Oh my God, holy fuck” you choked, because you did.

His tip was hitting your cervix and it felt insane, like the sharp pain and teeth grinding discomfort of smacking your funny bone off of a hard surface. You tried to drag your body forward a little, one of your nails snapping as it clawed at the floor. He wouldn’t let you budge, completely overpowering you and using your body like a fleshlight.

“She can’t hold up against me for ever sweet thing, open up. Let me the fuck in” he cooed, hammering you sensitive spongy flesh.

Logically you knew that wasn’t possible, but the threat of it was sinking into you like a guillotine sinking through the back of your neck. Could he really punch through? You’d fucking die, he’d rip your womb apart and then he’d dump his cum on the wreckage.

“N-no, Mace fuck! Ah, that hurts” you cried.

It did. You pussy tried to ignore the sharp bite of pain every time he smashed against your cervix and focus on how good the stretch was, but it was too much. The scrape of your exposed skin on the concrete floor added to the pain and it was becoming miserable despite how you tried to push through and enjoy it.

“Quit whining, this is what a hole is for” he grunted, removing a hand from your waist to wrench on of your arms in position to have your hand at your pussy before he put his hand back on your waist to keep fucking you.

You tried to play with your clit, tried to get enough pleasure for the pain to start feeling good. It wasn’t working, but none the less your pussy was clenching around him only in an attempt to get his cock out rather than suck it further in. His laughed moan told you all you needed to know about how it felt for him.

“Mace please” you begged. “It’s too much.”

As much as you knew he’d rather keep going just how you were, you were also more or less warning him that you were going to need to safeword if he didn’t change it up. You nearly sobbed with relief when he pulled out.

“Such a fucking spoiled little princess” he spat while he stood and then hoisted you up to your feet and bullied you against on of the walls, spinning you so your hands were planted and your ass was up, your throbbing hole on display for him.

You screeched when he pounded back into you, trying to wriggle to make things more comfortable and being punished for it with a brutal smack on your ass. He forced your hips back where the angle meant he was bruising your already screaming cervix.

“Not doing everything for you, get your hand on your useless cunt already.”

You didn’t think it would do much good, but this time playing with your clit did feel better. The scrape of concrete was gone now, your knees aching but not being actively split open anymore. The one hand bracing you against the wall hurt, but it was nowhere near as bad as being on the floor had been.

It was hard to focus in on the bundle of nerves giving you pleasure when his cock was busy giving you unreal pain, but you were almost deliriously determined to cum. It felt like a fight with him, like he wanted to make a point that your pleasure was secondary. God it was basically just like how you bickered, constantly trying to come out on top.

You had to be rough with yourself, your fingers furiously rubbing your rapidly swelling clit. It was like a neck and neck race you thought, you just trying to keep a minuscule lead over the pain and trying to cross the finish line before it could claim victory.

“Fuck you” you hissed at him as you fought to cum.

“You’re softening up sweet thing, I can fucking feel it.”

He sounded out of it and you mostly ignored his rambling, violently embracing the orgasm that smacked into you with brutal force. It wasn’t pleasure, not with how your pussy was trying to milk and eject his cock at the same time, but it was a viciously satisfying victory.

Or it was until you actually felt his tip push a little further than should have been possible. Blinding white pain shot through you body at only the barest hint of a stretch of your cervix. You were going to throw up. Oh God.

Terror flooded through you as he frantically tried to use his cock like a battering ram.

“Fuck fuck I’m going to fucking get inside. You’re going to open, holy fuck!”

“Red! Red!” you screamed.

There was shouting and then you were empty and crumpled on the ground shivering and crying. Fingers were between your legs and there was yelling but you were disorientated from that blast of pain and the shock of him genuinely nearly breaking you.

“I don’t think so. She looks swollen and sore, but nothing inside is torn up. The scrapes and bruising everywhere else should be ok.”

Price, that was Price’s deep rumbling voice.

“Calm the fuck down!”

“Fuck off!”

That was Ghost and Mace and you looked over to the racket, finding Ghost trying to wrestle Mace into submission to get him to calm down. You caught his eyes for a moment and saw something dark and vulnerable there.

Him and Nikto were two sides of the same coin you thought. Nikto wanted so desperately to prove a connection with visible marks on the outside, blood smeared on skin, his brand burned into flesh. For Mace he needed an invisible claim on the inside. His cum inside your womb, deeper than anyone else would ever go.

You didn’t think either of them would ever be able to leave the Kennel. But they could be tempered, they could be given enough to soothe the violent possessiveness that drove them without letting it get too far. A tattoo or a scar for Nikto maybe, a plug for Mace to keep all of his cum inside your body for as long as he needed or your open mouth willing to take his spit and cum and blood.

You broke eye contact and burrowed your face into Price’s warm chest, willing your brain to switch off and let him coddle you.

If you let your thoughts keep spinning out about how you were sure you could make them happy, you were going to wind up asking to stay.

[lazyneonrabbitt]

I've been seeing some words in the tags and thought, hey, why not. I hope it's any good!

Daryl x male!reader

Being the new guy in the recruitment party was scary.

You ran with Aaron, who had a mace for a hand and was a badass.

And Daryl, who was probably the biggest walking distraction you had ever seen. He was everything you wanted to be, or to have? You weren't sure you just knew the crush you had on him was obvious to Aaron, and Daryl was luckily oblivious to it.

Daryl did always look out for you, though. He cared for his party members and whowed it in many different ways, like heading into a store to find you new, sturdy steel-toed boots after seeing you shove walkers to the ground and stomping their skull with worn out shoes that could easily tear if you did that more often.

"C'mon, give 'em a test run." He'd call out after knocking a walker down on its stomach and holding it down for you to crush its skull with much more ease now.

Next time you guys were going out on a run when the weather got a bit colder Daryl made sure to find you a thick leather jacket. You thanked him only for it looking really good and wondering how he knew you wanted a cool jacket, but when he told you why he gave it to you it was even better. "Walker won't tear this as easy as yer other coat. Will bite through it so don' go bein' reckless now just cus ya look badass." The pat on your shoulder radiated through your entire body as heat rose to your cheeks and Aaron laughed from next to Daryl. "Looks good on you, you two match now."

Aaron found it hilarious how you had confessed to being head over heels with the huntsman but always declined when he told you to go make a move. "He clearly wouldn't mind if you cooked dinner for him or let him teach you stuff about his bike." With a fork pointed at you from across the dinnertable he continued. "Which you still need to ride, by the way." The way he made a fece when he said 'ride' had you almost choke on your dinner. You swallowed the food and coughed. "Oh come on! Just when I take a bite, really?" You both laughed and Aaron decided to drop the teasing, letting you finish your dinner in peace.

The next day he found Daryl working in the garage, deciding to go fish for a bit so he could see where he was on the spectrum of liking you.

It was difficult to fish when he couldn't just outright ask seeing Daryl didn't talk about these things, but he managed to learn he was absolutely fine with having you around and teaching you stuff. He counted that as a win.

A couple of weeks passed and Aaron was getting tired of seeing his friends be a bunch of dumbasses and rung them up for a supply run to a stocked warehouse to take whatever they could fit in the car.

"Where do you expect me to sit, dude?" You stared at the car's trunk, backseat and passenger seat stuffed full of random crap you disn't even know the community needed. Only when Aaron pointed out you could ride back with Daryl the hint dropped. You didn't really need all this junk, he just wanted you two to admit your feelings.

"Hop on, yer with me." Daryl was already seated on his bike and waiting for you to join him, watching you approach slowly and get on the bike with awkward movement.

"Now hold on tight, ya don't wanna fall." He revved the engine but didn't drive off yet, instead looking over his shoulder. "Said hold on tight. Tha' aint' tight, kid."

You pressed further into his back, but still he grabbed your hands and wrapped your arms closer around him. "Tha's tight. Now lets go home of we wanna be done unpackin' all tha' crap 'fore nightfall."

With that, you were off to home.

You never imagined how amazing it felt to ride on a motorcycle, but maybe that was because of how you were squished against Daryl's back.

Which was something Daryl was enjoying an awful lot too, if he had to admit. He really had to invite you on solo hunts more often.

It was in fact far into the evening when you had finally empties out the car and sorted all the items. Tired and sore you bid the men goodnight and headed home, in dire need of sleep.

Daryl had taken you out on a hunting trip not long after. "Pretty boy like ya shouldn't be out there unprepared." He claimed while teaching you how to soften your steps and breath through the process of keeping aim on a target far away. You managed to catch only one small animal but Daryl still called it a successful hunt and took you home to continue the teachings by showing you how to clean and skin in preparation for cooking.

You shared dinner together and hung out on the couch, going over the day, how proud Daryl was of your quick learning and how thankful you were for him teaching you.

Daryl came back from the kitchen with new drinks and sat down closer than before, setting the glasses down on the table and lounging back. He lifted an arm to drape around you and pull you against his side, finally gathering the courage to do what Aaron told him to, in his own Daryl way of words of course.

"I like havin' ya around, kid. Stick around fer a while longer?"

[kultofathena]

Tod Cutler – Steel Medieval Star Mace 10th -11th Century – 1 Star Version

[redsrooftopprincess]

Sunglasses

Mid-Teen Turtles, Bro fic

Warnings: Autistic Character, Emotional Overwhelm, Guns, Eyes

Headcanons: Autistic Donnie, Donnie and Raph are twins (You can thank @the-cauldron-witch for this one. She said it and now it's forever in my brain)

"Just give them to me!"

"No! Hell no! I found em!"

"I know you f-" Donatello sighs, removes his glasses, and rubs his eyes, losing patience with his twin. "I know you found them, I just want to modify them a little."

It's not like he doesn't get it. The sunglasses are a big deal. But with Raph deciding he's going to be the one to punch first and not really bother with questions, his eyes need more protection than anyone's. Even outside of combat. More than once, he's found himself on the wrong end of some scared human's can of mace.

"Raph, they're plastic, if they shatter, that plastic is going in your eyes." Donnie insists.

"And if you're the one that shatters em, ain't gonna be no 'if' about it. No Donnie. I'll take my chances." Raphael storms off to his room, taking the glasses with him.

Three hours later, while his brother is sleeping, Don takes them anyway.

It's an act of sacrilege in this home, to take something like this. Something important. Practical and that fits them perfectly. He understands what this means. They don't have much, to put it very gently, so what little they have, what little they can find, and scavenge, and build themselves, is sacred.

But he hates it. Every time Raph throws himself into the meat grinder. Raph's eyesight is decent, and Donnie has a vested interest in making sure it stays that way. They've had so many talks about defensive equipment for his eyes that just end in Raph storming off. But he keeps trying. He has to.

The last attempt, involved trying to convince Raphael to let him build him goggles, but even for someone with a total of three other creatures on the planet to compare himself to, Raphael is vain. They all are, in a way, about certain things. Donnie gets it. They have no control over the fact that they aren't human, so what they *can* control about their bodies is important.

They had found them last night, attached to a discarded sporting goods mascot. They were scuffed and had a crack in them, but holy shit they fit! A pair of glasses that fits that Raphael is willing to wear. Donnie was excited! Finally!

He works through the day, and as expected, Donatello is informed the moment his brother wakes up by way of his name thundering through the lair in a rage. The glasses are not on the nightstand where Raph had left them.

Don winces, thankful to whatever power ensured he finished the project by nightfall, and tenses as he hears his brother storming towards the lab. If Raph had woken up half an hour before, he would have come in to see them in pieces, and would have *properly* freaked out. At least Donnie has a chance of talking him down now that they're finished and functional.

Don takes a deep breath and stands, preparing for the onslaught. When his brother comes into the room, his open hands are up in a placating gesture, "Okay, I know what you're gonna say and-"

"What the fuck Donnie?" He roars, backing his brother into one of the steel tables in the lab. "Where the fuck are they?"

"I promise, they're fine, I just wanted to-"

A soft, familiar sound rings through the air like a gunshot, freezing both of them, as their father clears his throat. He waits patiently for an explanation.

"I found some glasses yesterday, Dad. Ones that actually fit, and he took em for some fu-" Raphael chokes on the almost swear when his father raises an eyebrow, and clears his throat before continuing, "some science experiment."

Their father narrows his eyes at Donatello, who has the good sense to look ashamed. "Dad, if Raph is gonna be wearing them out on the street, I don't want them to break and hurt his eyes. I just wanted to make them stronger. That's all." He says, resisting the urge to shoot an annoyed look at his thick headed brother.

"Did you ask your brother if he would allow this?"

"Yes, Father."

"Did he offer them to you?"

Don hesitates and his father waits, "Well... No... but-"

"I told him no. I specifically told him no," Raphael cuts in. Splinter shoots him a look and he shuts up.

"But I just wanted them to actually protect his eyes! They were a time bomb! If he got hit in the face, he was gonna go blind!"

"Were?! Where the fuck are they, Donnie?" He demands, not even registering the swear word. He looks around and spots them on the work bench. Walking over, he snatches them up.

They look... exactly the same. Only they're heavier.

"I gave them a steel core and shatter proofed the lenses," Donnie snaps, only a little bitterness coming through, "you're welcome."

Raphael wants to be grateful, he really does. They're fine. Better than fine. In addition to the practical changes, his brother had gone so far as to buff out some of the scratches and they looked almost new. But the adrenaline from potentially losing something precious is still coursing through his veins and he's still angry at the violation. He doesn't look up.

"Was there a chance, Donatello," their father asks after a moment, "that in an effort to improve these glasses, you could have broken them beyond repair?"

"Well, I mean, there's always a chance of that happening," he admits, "...but I was careful!" he almost whines.

"Then you will spend the next hour in the hashi while you think of a way to apologize to your brother," Splinter looks at Raphael, "is this acceptable to you?"

Raph glares at him, silent, and nods.

They avoid the topic of the glasses altogether over the next week. Tempers wane, and Donnie serves his punishment, spending 20 hours of his lab time helping Raph with the Motorcycle he's been trying to build. The incident isn't mentioned again.

It's Wednesday night and they're downtown shutting down a gang fight. Pretty normal for this part of town. They thought they'd disarmed all of them first thing, standard protocol. They must have missed one.

The shot rings out, and Raph goes down, hands over his eyes.

Donnie takes out the last three, including the shooter, and sprints to his brother's side. Removing Raphael's hands from his face, they find the bullet stuck in one of the lenses. The glass is broken, but the shatterproof coating kept the shards together and out of Raph's eye.

They look up at each other, shocked at the close call, and Donnie tries *really* hard not to look smug. They make their way home soon after.

After showering and getting ready to sleep for the day, Raph wanders down to the lab.

"Hey, can I talk to you?"

Donnie looks up from the graphics card he's repairing and turns around in his chair. He nods.

"Sorry I gave you such a hard time about... you know. I know you were just trying to help."

"Dude, no," Donnie says, "You and Dad were right, what I did wasn't okay. It's just..." He sighs, "You're always the first one in, you know, and- I mean, you're right in the middle of everything... If you suddenly can't see... It's just, not being able to see sucks..." Donnie tries really hard to fight the overwhelm. Tapping the desk to keep himself grounded. This is important, damn it. If he loses it, this conversation is going nowhere

He's tried, he's tried before, but the thought of losing his twin terrifies him. His brother is reckless, and it's Donnie's job to make sure that doesn't get him killed.

He clenches his fists, his voice shutting down. Fuck. His jaw tightens and tears of worry and frustration prickle behind pleading eyes that meet Raphael's. He hopes his brother understands. He usually does. Emotions are hard for Donnie, expressing them, doubley so.

"Okay, how 'bout this," Raph offers, letting him off the hook. He tosses Donnie one of the small, metal brain teaser puzzles on his desk, "I'll agree to hear you out when it comes to my shit, as long as you don't just take it to play with. Deal?"

"Cool. Now," Raph says, pulling the glasses out of his pocket. He'd left the bullet in. It looked cool. "There something we can do about this?"

Don nods emphatically, eyes on the puzzle.

Donnie looks up as the metal rings fall apart in his hands and nods, smiling, "I have a few ideas..."

....

Tag list

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @milykins

[ellaa-writes]

Good Dög

authors note: Part 2, part 1 here. In the same Universe as The Beast Within series. Can't wait to expanded the world more. But anyways, enjoy! :) (wow did not notice i reached 200 followers!)

summary: His favourite words include; down boy, good dog, heel, fetch and his most favourite, get 'em. Well trained, and listens good. Loyal through and through. Always striving to be the absolute best. Ready to attack at all times, always on guard. Loves discipline, either giving or receiving. Working for a criminal mastermind, lurking in the shadows. You both trying not to be seen or noticed but after one unlucky night, all you both can see are the ghosts. He invades your life, if you both like it or not.

tags: Alternative Universe. A/b/o dynamics. Female reader. Lots of trauma in this one. Mentions of a dead body. Mentions of weapons, self defense. Reader has a panic attack. Simon saves the day once again. Slightly stalking Simon. not proof read

Two weeks passed since that fateful night at the corner store. Your days were filled with nightmares, and those eyes and that voice were always there to save you. Too pull you back into the light, always waking up with your heart pounding.

The police realeased your belonging back to you, you didn't bother telling anyone. If you did they would just urge you to seek out help, to talk to someone. But you can't afford that right now, you were already overworking yourself trying to save up enough money to move out of this hell hole.

Two weeks and not a word from him, Simon. You laid awake most mornings and nights, wondering what he was doing and if he thought about you to.

You felt silly for thinking that, sure Beta and Alpha relationships were common. Hell your parents were in a Beta/Alpha relationship. But you always felt unworthy, never meeting someone that sparked your interest as much as that Alpha did.

You had a few days off, only because the law required it. But if it was up to your employer you would have been working today.

You decided to get out of your apartment, to go for a walk, to try and not thinking about the cold steel on your throat and that evil smile. Anytime it crept into your mind you would wipe it away. Shove it back down with all the other shit you refused to face.

It was a beautiful day in the city, lucky for you it was a weekend. People littered the streets, groups walking together and chatting. The restaurants had their patios open, only if you had friends you thought. You'd be out there, drinking your fancy drink, eating your fancy food and smiling and laughing. Reminiscing about the good ol' days, but you had none of that. Instead you watched from a far, wishing that one day you'd wake up in a new body, new life.

But that never got you far. You've always been a keep your head down and don't stay for long type of gal. Having been alone in this world for longer than you remember not being.

You lost your mother young, and your dad left all together. Not wanting to raise a child by himself, being a single widowed father. Instead he forgot about you and met someone else. Started a new family, one where you weren't in the picture.

Living in foster care after foster care, until your turned of age and was pushed out into this unforgiving world.

You found yourself staring at the people, laughing and enjoying their time. You were staring for too long, sometimes lost in your own world. Taking your eyes off the people out on the patio, you began casing things out.

Since the accident, you've been on edge more. Keeping a small pocket knife on you at all time, and a can of bear mace. As regular mace wouldn't take down a drugged up Alpha.

As you were looking around you noticed something, or someone. The eyes that haunted your dreams, staring at you from across the street. The same eyes and voice from the corner store.

It couldn't be, you must be imagining it. That feeling of uneasiness creeping up from spine, your brain telling you to run. So you did, you spun around and decided this was a bad idea. Leaving your apartment was stupid. Mentally beating yourself up as you sped walked down the block. Trying to get as much distance between you and those eyes.

They didn't scare you, not intentionally. But you were seeing things, they weren't real. Taking a short cut through the back alley, not wanting to waste anymore time. You were too much in your own head, speeding down the desolate alley, not noticing the fast approaching footsteps behind you.

All you felt was the hands grabbing your arm, and in an instant you were spun around. Your bear mace in hand ready to spray at the intruder. But before you could it was knocked out of your hand. Flying into the brick wall beside you.

And there he was, Simon. It was real, you did see him. "You could kill someone like that." you snapped at him. Picking up your now busted can of bear spray. Hoping you can get another one soon. "Plan on using that on anyone?" he asked. His voice just as husky as the first time you heard it. Your heart skipped a beat, holding in the breath you just took, your core getting tingly.

"Well not anymore." you huffed, shoving the broken can into your bag. "Had anymore run ins?" he asked, noticing the small knife next to the can. "No." you were shuffling on your feet. Not wanting to be here anymore. "Just precaution." you explained.

You hated the way he was looking at you, his head tilted. He was judging you, noticing things about you that even you didn't.

The tenseness in your body, the way you were constantly looking around you, how you held your bag tight to your body. Your quick movements and that look in your eyes. The one he knew so well, the same look he'd have often.

You looked like a lost doe, eyes frantic and legs wobbly. He pitied you, knowing the inner battle raging on inside of you. One that he wish he could take away.

"How have ya been holdn' up?" he asked. Stupid question he thought. He knew from just looking at you, that if a big gust of wind were to come you'd crumble like a dry leaf in autumn.

"I uhhh-" you didn't know what to say. Do you lie to him now? "I'm getting by." you replied. Knowing that didn't fully answer his question.

You were running, not psychically but mentally. Your movements becoming more frantic, your eyes wide with fear, the lost doe cornered and trying to find a way out.

Simon knew this, as he felt it often. He did the only thing he could think of, and he wasn't sure if it was even going to work. He purred, he never purred before. Not even sure if he was doing the damn thing right, but it was pure Alpha instinct. A female in stress can sore the nose, the smell permeating far. Letting everyone know, it was old basic biology, things have evolved since then.

The purr was deep and low, sounding like a bike engine off in the distance. As he slowly stepped closer to you, making sure his shoulder were laxed and his scent enclosing around you like a bubble.

You didn't know what was happening, you felt the tightness in your chest. You began struggling to breath, wanting to dive into the garbage bin and hide. To scream, cry, kick and bite. All these emotions coursing through your body, you hands shaking. Trying to grip onto your arms, hugging yourself tight. Rubbing you neck against your shoulder. Trying anything to make this feeling go away.

Simon wrapped you in his arms, pushing your head into his chest. That's when you finally heard it, the low purring coming from it. It soothed you, making you feel like a pup being cradled by its father.

He held you tight to his chest, enclosing both of you in a bubble of his scent. Blocking out all other noise and smells. His juvenile attempt at consoling you were working, you began sucking in even and deep breaths. The tightness in your chest and back relaxing, you unwrapped your arms from yourself and wrapped them around Simon.

If you were anyone else and this was any other moment he'd he ripping your limbs off. But it was you.

The nights he'd spend wide awake, thinking about you. Everytime he closed his eyes he'd see your dead lifeless body, your dead soulless eyes staring back up at him. He couldn't sleep the first time, he had to make sure you were alright. Sneaking into a vacant apartment across the street, just to make sure she was alright, he told himself.

But it was nightly, then daily. Ignoring his own work to watch night and day. Making sure nothing could or would happen to you. He didn't know what got into himself, why he had these strong feelings towards you. What made you so special.

What made you different from the rest, you haunted him night and night out. And you were alive, so why does he keep seeing your dead body everywhere he turns.

His boss noticed he'd been quiter than normal, which is saying a lot for him. A conversation he had while sitting in his bosses office one night. He use to hate the man, seeing him as enemy number one. Making it his dying mission to take him down, to take him out.

But when shit hit the fan, and Simon was sent to prison. His years of decidated and hard work went down the drain, along with his life. He was a walking reminder, the people he considered close some even close enough to be family, all cut him off. Discarding him like he was yesterday's trash.

The man across from him in the office, sitting on the stiff leather chair. The man that went by König, he was the only one that was their for him. When he was realeased from prison, he was their at the gate. Leaning up against a black sports car. Simon thought he was dead, everyone at least still thinks he is.

He gave Simon an offer, a too good to be true offer. Turning it down, vowing to never cross that line. To go over to the other side. But after finding out that no one gave a shit, that him going to prison didn't change anything. Him taking the fall and paying the price. Just to have them all act like he never existed. So he didn't.

Death by fire, he found it fitting. He felt like his whole existence was flawed, the moment his mother became knocked up with him. A bastard growing in her belly. She left him like the rest did.

But what made you so special, it was a question that he didn't know if he'd ever get an answer to.

For two whole weeks he couldn't shake you. Lying too himself that he wasn't stalking you, that when you were gone for work, that he wasn't breaking into your place. To make sure the windows were sealed and the smoker detector wasn't low on batteries. He even fixed the buzzing from your fridge, something you did notice but chalked it up to old appliances.

If he knew any better he'd say he was infatuated with you.

With you still wrapped in his arms he brought you back to your apartment. Using your key to unlock your door, carrying you into your bedroom. Setting you down and wrapping you up. "I'll be back." he told you. Leaving for only a moment, coming back with a bag of hot food.

It was late in the night when he finally left. You were tucked into bed, everything locked and secured. He didn't like the idea of leaving you alone, but he'd be right cross the street. Having rented out the space after squatting in it for a few days. Paying for two rents wasn't ideal, but in his mind it was only tempory.

You guys talked for hours, you telling him about your past in foster care. How you saved up everything you could to move here and get this place. Only for you to now do the same so you could get out.

You told him about your dream to live out on the country side, to live a small village. To have a farm, yellow house and maybe a few pups running around. But how that dream seemed to slip away faster and faster everyday.

As he settled into postion, on the weathered chair at the window. Watching people flow in and out of the street below. His mind asked the same question it always did when he found himself in this spot. Why you? What was so special about you. But now he also thought about how he wanted to give you, your dream.

The yellow house, the farm to look after and of course the one thing he never would have wanted or thought of wanting....pups.