#The World of the Noble Angels | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sceletaflores · 1 month ago

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come on into my bed with me (i know you want to)

pair: old man!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, some sad vibes because i can't function without them, large age gap (but isn't that obvious by now? mid 20s/old as fuck), established relationship but only kind of, falls in the logan 2017 timeline but very loosely, LONGINGGGG, gratuitous nickname use (kid, baby, honey, ect), nasty dirty talk cause he's old and gross, not so dry humping, JUST THE TIP RAHHHH, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this was heavily inspired by imogen heap's 'i am in love with you' because that song fucks so hard and it really gave me lots of old man logan vibes. i was just so overcome with nasty thoughts that the beat possessed me and i blacked out and listened to it on a constant repeat while i wrote this instead of doing my a&p work. kisses!

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

you can't sleep, logan left his door open...

Rain pelts at the smudged glass of your window, drops trailing down the span of the panes that you follow with your eyes.

It's been raining nearly all week, a rare thing in Mexico, especially somewhere as dry as Sonora.

You used to love the rain. You felt a special kind of comfort anytime night would come and there'd be a certain chill swirling through the air, that familiar scent of damp soil and wet stone rising as the first drops hit the ground.

In Sonora, rain is supposed to be a gift—a reprieve from the unrelenting heat, a chance for the dry earth to drink.

It should feel cleansing, like a reset of sorts, and maybe it would have a few months ago.

Now it just feels heavy, oppressive. Each raindrop splattering against the glass feels like a reminder of everything that's stuck, unmoving.

The soft noise of it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but it was still no match for your wandering mind.

You’ve been finding yourself here a lot recently, shrouded in the scratchy sheets of your bed in the quiet dark encompassing your room, mind racing.

It was raining the first night he touched you.

You've been with Logan and Charles for nine months.

A runaway hitchhiker turned caretaker after you fled from the meaningless scraps of your life back in Texas.

Logan found you on the side of the highway coming back from a shift in El Paso. One stop with the hazards on and a hasty conversation through a rolled down window later, you were throwing your bags in the back of his limo and climbing into the front seat.

You didn't realize until much later that he never truly asked you to stay, or to care for Charles alongside him.

It was only supposed to be a temporary arrangement, a roof over your head in exchange for your help. Watch over his ailing father for a few days while he went out to get him more medicine, that's what you settled on.

Yet somehow, here you are, nine months later.

You cook meals in a dusty kitchen that always smells faintly of motor oil, listen to Charles’ stories about a world you’ll never fully grasp, and watch Logan patch himself up in grim silence after he’s returned from whatever trouble found him this time.

It's strange how the days seemed to stretch endlessly, but the weeks have slipped past like a blink. You carved out a routine in this crumbling house in Sonora, built something that resembles a life even if it feels borrowed, like a second-hand coat that never quite fits right.

At first, you weren’t sure what kept you here. Maybe Charles.

You warmed to him almost immediately, drawn in by his gentle demeanor and the way he seemed to see right through you without a hint of judgment.

Even when his mind faltered, slipping into tangled memories or distant fragments of a life long past, he treated you with a kindness you hadn’t felt in years.

You’d come to think of him as a king, regal and noble. A king stripped of his castle, yet still wearing a crown, if ever so skewed—a king nonetheless.

You still aren’t sure, but you can’t shake the sense that leaving now would be like tearing off a scab—painful and unnecessary.

And then, one night, the rain came.

You remember it vividly, a torrent so sudden and unrelenting. The downpour soaking the dry dirt surrounding the plant.

You couldn’t help yourself from wandering out, stood barefoot on the porch as the cool air nipped at the skin of your arms and legs.

“You’re gonna catch a cold standin’ out here.” Logan said from somewhere behind you, his voice rough and low after the silence of a long shift.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t even glanced his way. “I like the rain.”

There was a beat of silence before he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. His hand had been hesitant at first, a brush of calloused fingers against your arm.

You didn’t pull away.

The heat of his palm felt scalding, causing goosebumps to pebble along your damp skin. His thumb swiped across the circular scar just above your elbow, a cigarette burn, one of many.

He didn’t say anything as he turned and walked back into the house. You learned quickly that Logan’s not the type to fill silences with empty words, but you both knew something shifted.

He came into your room later that night. The squeaky mattress of your bed dipping under his weight as he slid his hand down your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts, a silent question.

He didn’t kiss you, but the rain pattering against the tin roof was enough to swallow your soft moans and gasps.

You settled into something undefined—a constant push and pull of need and silence. Logan touched you when he needed to, and you let him because you wanted to.

It wasn’t love, not then. It wasn’t even comfort. But it was connection. A tenuous thread in the quiet storm of your lives.

You figured that was enough.

The rain hasn't slowed. If anything, the howl of the wind is stronger than before.

The soothing rhythm of droplets hitting your window turned aggressively sharp, like darts thrown against a worn cork board.

The boom of thunder is nearly in sync with the pulse of your core, aching and insistent in its need.

It’s been weeks since Logan touched you last, his endless cycle of guilt stronger than it's been before. He’s never outright said it, but you know it’s there.

The silence between you both has stretched longer than you'd like to admit, a quiet that isn't comfortable anymore.

You know he’s got it in his head that he’s somehow taken advantage of you. A perverted old man falling weak to the pretty, young thing taking up space in the bed two doors over from him.

The thought stirs something deep within you, a mix of frustration and confusion. He’s not wrong, not exactly—but he’s not right either. You aren’t a child, and you aren’t helpless. You knew what you wanted, what you needed.

And that hasn’t dared to change.

You shift in bed, the sheets tangling around your legs as your body hums with a restlessness you can’t shake. The air in your room feels thick, charged, and suffocating, a mirror of the space between you and Logan.

He doesn’t understand that you want him too, that you weren’t some helpless thing to be protected or shielded from his darkness. It eats at you until your skin is practically buzzing with it, buzzing with the need to show him.

There’s only so much silence you can take before it becomes too loud to ignore.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the hardwood cool against your bare feet. You know it’s late, but you don’t care.

You walk through the dimly lit hallway, the creak of the floorboards quiet under you as you make your way to Logan’s door. It’s cracked open, a yellow glow spilling through to guide you like a lighthouse guides its ships to shore.

When you reach the beat up wood you don’t hesitate, you push it open the slightest bit, peering through the widened gap.

He’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge you, but you know he knows you’re there.

You cross the threshold, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you pull the door shut behind you, leaning your back against it.

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice rougher than you intended.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he runs his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. The lamplight catches the sharp planes of his face, a familiar weariness etched into his features.

His fingers flex at his sides, and for a moment, you think he’s going to tell you to leave—to go back to your room where it’s safe, where you won’t make things more complicated than they already are. You almost brace for it.

But then he speaks.

“What’s wrong, kid.” His voice is nothing but a deep rumble, like gravel crunching underfoot.

You shrug noncommittally, hands messing with a stray thread hanging from the edge of your shorts. “Can’t sleep.”

Logan sighs long and slow through his nose, hands pressing into his thighs. “Thought you liked the rain.”

You smile faintly at the irony, chest swelling with something dangerous.

You take a step further into the room, pushing yourself off the closed door. The familiar scent of him invades your senses. It’s a mixture of leather, earth, and something raw—something undeniably him.

You stand there for a moment, letting the silence stretch thin and taut before you finally speak.

“Can I stay?” The words come out barely above a whisper, but they land like a crack of lightning.

You feel your heart thud painfully in your chest, not from fear, but from the sudden vulnerability that makes your skin burn.

The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in as you step forward, each movement slow and deliberate. You stop at the edge of his bed, the sheets pressing against the bare skin of your thighs.

Logan’s gaze flickers over his shoulder, meeting yours briefly before he looks away again, like he’s trying to convince himself that the ache in his chest isn’t real.

“You should go back to bed,” he says, voice gruff. “It’s late.”

“I don’t want to go back.” You shake your head even though he isn’t turned around to see it.

Without thinking, you crawl onto the bed, the comforter making soft shushing sounds under your hands and knees. You reach out, fingers brushing the back of his neck, the muscles there tight with strain.

Logan flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away, and that’s all the permission you need.

You shift closer, pressing your chest against his back, and letting your hands settle on his shoulders. The heat between you is electric, charged with something unsaid, something raw and undeniable.

“Please,” you whisper, your lips brushing against the back of his ear, your voice a mixture of defiance and desire.

Logan stiffens, but this time, you feel the shudder that runs through him, the way his body responds despite the walls he’s built around himself.

You know he’s torn, that he wants to fight this. You feel it in the tension that radiates from him, in the way his body seems to be fighting against the instinct to turn toward you.

But you don’t care anymore. You’re done with silence.

Your fingers slide down his back, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against your skin as you press yourself closer. Your breath is hot against his neck now, and you can feel the rapid pulse in his veins beneath your lips as you hover just above his skin, waiting.

“Logan…” Your voice is softer now, almost pleading. You don’t know what you’re asking for, but you don’t have to.

His hand comes up, brushing against your wrist as if testing, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean into him further, your lips brushing the curve of his neck, whispering into the tension that still hangs heavy between you. “Please.”

The last shreds of Logan’s resistance snap under the cloying weight of your touch.

He’s moving before you can even register what’s happening, rearing up with heavy hands that land on your shoulders to push you backwards.

You fall back onto the bed with a soft gasp, bouncing on the mattress once, twice, before Logan follows. His body settles over yours like a warm blanket, thick forearms braced on either side of your head to support his weight.

"Why couldn't you sleep, honey?" he asks, dark eyes boring into yours intense enough to get your stomach churning. The green of them is deeper than normal, like fresh moss growing over stone.

“I was thinking,” you whisper, breathless. Your pulse races beneath your skin, you wonder distantly if he can hear it too.

“Thinkin’ about what?” he presses, breath fanning over your lips temptingly.

Your brows furrow, a soft noise escaping you. You can't help but tell the truth. “About you.”

Logan hums, eyes trailing along your face slowly. He slots a knee between your thighs, groaning softly at the wet heat that seeps through to his jeans.

You gasp, hips bucking down instinctively. Your pussy aches desperately, leaking arousal into the cotton gusset of your panties.

His jaw clenches at the sound, muscle ticking just beneath the grey of his beard. “Is that right? You been layin' in that bed, thinkin' about me, gettin’ all worked up?"

Your face burns under his scrutiny, but you don’t shy away. You arch your back, pressing yourself as close to him as possible, letting the heat of your body speak for you.

“Yeah,” you breathe, the confession trembling on your lips. “I need you, it hurts.”

Logan exhales sharply, like the words knocked the air out of him. His hands slide from your shoulders, rough palms gliding down the skin of your arms before settling right under the swell of your breasts.

“Where’s it achin’, baby?” he asks softly, words almost getting lost in the dark of the room. “Show me.”

You let out a soft breath, reaching down to take his hand in yours.

Without breaking eye contact, you guide his hand down your trembling body until his palm rests over the apex of your thighs, where the damp fabric of your shorts clings to your swollen folds.

“Here,” you whisper, voice barely audible above the rain pounding against his window.

A low growl rumbles from deep in his chest, and his fingers press more firmly against you, feeling the slick heat that’s soaked through the thin cotton. His eyes darken further, the green almost swallowed by the black of his pupils.

Logan’s thumb drags over your clit, slow and deliberate, coaxing a needy whimper from your lips.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice thick. “You’re drippin’ for me, aren’t you? Didn’t even need to touch you, and you’re already so fuckin’ wet.”

You whimper softly, bucking your hips against his hand, desperate for more.

"I've been like this all night," you admit, your voice going high and needy. "Thinking about how good you make me feel. How much I want you."

Logan’s eyes lock onto yours, and there’s something new swirling through them, something you’ve never seen before.

A beat passes—too long—almost agonizing. His free hand lifts from your hip, gently cupping your cheek, fingers brushing against your skin, like he isn’t sure if he has the right to touch you like this.

His thumb brushes your lip, his gaze flicking to your mouth before returning to your eyes, asking for permission, even though neither of you had ever really needed it before.

"Logan," you say, the sound a little breathless, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift, but he doesn’t keep you waiting.

He closes the distance in a heartbeat, lips crashing into yours with a ferocity you didn’t expect.

It’s like the world around you falls away, leaving only the warmth of his lips, the taste of him, and the pressure of his body against yours. The raging storm outside dulling until it’s nothing but fuzzy background noise.

His kiss is rough, deep, urgent, but there’s something more in it, a slow unraveling. Like he’s trying to carve himself into you, a permanent mark, a reminder that he was here, even if he never says it out loud.

Logan tastes like rich smoke and whiskey, the sharp edge of him mixing with the sweet burn of need. It sends your head reeling, arms coming up to circle around his neck.

You can’t find the words to describe it, not with the way his fingers slide through the wetness gathering at your entrance, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Your hips thrust upward, begging for more, your body hungry for the release he’s just out of reach of giving.

“Want you inside me, Logan,” you moan desperately, slick lips brushing his with every word. “Please.”

Logan's body stiffens against yours at the sound of your pleading, his grip tightening on your cheek like he's trying to anchor himself in the reality of what you're asking.

“Shit,” he growls under his breath, his forehead pressing to yours as he closes his eyes. His chest heaves, the tension in his body palpable. "I—" he pauses, struggling to form the words, but you can see it in his eyes. He's conflicted, desperate, yet still hesitant.

You move against him, your body restless, your need undeniable, feeling the rigid outline of his hard cock pressed firmly against your thigh. A thick plane of heat that has your pussy clenching around the tips of his fingers.

You don’t want to push him, not anymore. But you’re past the point of waiting for permission.

Your lips meet his again, softer this time, coaxing, until he finally gives in, groaning against your mouth as he kisses you back with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper, your hands trailing down to the hem of his shirt, pushing it over the swell of his pecs.

His skin is hot under your fingertips, rough and familiar. Your fingers trail lightly across his chest, nails scratching through the salt and pepper hair dusted across his skin as you urge him closer.

“Just the tip,” Logan mutters under his breath, barely above a whisper. His voice hoarse, like he’s bargaining with himself. “Just to make you feel good, but that’s it, understand?”

You bite your lip, the edge of frustration gnawing at you. It’s not everything you need, not everything you want, but it's something. And right now, it’s enough.

You nod your head, hands already moving to the front of his jeans. You undo the button with shaking fingers, tugging the zipper down and pushing the worn denim away.

His cock springs free, already hard, leaking with the same desperation you feel. You run your fingers along his length, feeling the heat of him, the steady throb of his pulse.

Logan peels down the thin layer of your shorts, cursing under his breath when he finds you completely bare underneath, your slick pussy shining under the dim light.

You watch him, chest heaving, as he stares down at you—his eyes dark and full of something primal, something raw.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the outline of your wetness. He groans low in his throat, his thumb circling your clit once before moving down, dipping inside you just barely. “You’re perfect, baby.”

“Logan,” you whine, thighs spreading in a clear invitation. You patience is running exceedingly thin, your whole body alight with the feeling of a raging forest fire

“I know,” he mutters, placating. He takes the throbbing length of his cock in his hand, swiftly settling between your legs. “I know.”

The thick head drags through your folds, smearing pre-come along your skin and adding even more to the mess between your legs.

A quiet moan passes through your swollen lips, your muscles tightening as he slides himself along your clit. A slow back and forth movement that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

Logan grits his teeth, his breath shallow, as he finally aligns himself with your clenching hole.

The air around you feels charged, a taut thread stretched between anticipation and restraint. You shift your hips slightly, just enough to encourage him, your eyes locked on his as you beg him silently with your gaze.

Then, with a low growl that vibrates through you, he pushes forward, just enough to make you gasp in relief, the head of his cock sliding home in your entrance.

And though it’s only the tip, the sensation of him inside you is enough to set your world alight.

You can feel it, deep in your bones—the simmering, searing heat that makes everything else fade into the background.

Logan presses his lips to your forehead, his breath hot against your skin as he keeps his movements slow, deliberate, his hands holding your hips steady. "This is what you wanted, huh? Got you begging for it, honey," he growls softly. "Even if I’m only givin’ you a taste."

His hips roll languidly, staying true to his word and never sinking deeper than the thick head of his cock. His hand grips the base tightly, his fist fucking slow strokes over the length of himself to where he’s spreading your pussy open.

His scarred knuckles bump against your clit with every stroke, fanning the fire building in your lower stomach.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, honey,” he groans into the skin of your neck, the pace of his hips speeding up ever so slightly. “Feels like heaven.”

You claw at the skin of his back, touch wild and desperate. It takes everything in you not to shift your hips down, to sheath the rest of his cock deep inside your and lock your ankles around his back so he can never leave again.

Logan’s lips find your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he shifts against you. “Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice low, almost a command, yet laced with something tender. “Tell me you want me.”

You meet his gaze without hesitation, your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

The words come out without thought, raw and honest, and you see something in his eyes shift—a flicker of relief, of something deeper than lust.

Logan groans like he got shot, his body shuddering above you as a low growl tears its way from his chest. He fucks into you faster, short, quick thrusts that steal all the breath from your lungs.

Sparks go off behind your closed eyes, bright white and glittering. You can feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling as you grind up against him, meeting him halfway, needing more, needing release.

“Logan,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders harder, nails digging in. “I’m so close. Please—”

“Let go,” he growls, his pace increasing, his body pressing harder against yours. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

With his command, you unravel, the world spinning around you as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless, gasping for air, your body quivering beneath him as he holds you through it.

Logan follows, tearing himself from the tight grip of your pussy with a sharp jerk of his hips, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he shoots thick ropes of come over your slick folds.

Your body shakes at the feeling, a breathless whimper pulled from your slack lips at the sticky warmth of his release.

He collapses onto the mattress next to you, his body shuddering enough to match your own. The room falls into a deep silence, the only sounds your mingling breaths and the distant sound of thunder.

A sick sort of dread bursts through the sweet afterglow of your hazy mind, settling in your stomach like a lead weight. You think that this is the moment where Logan will realize what you’ve done, that he’ll retreat back into himself and send you away.

Send you back to your own room and leave you to lay in the cold aftermath of your own recklessness.

You brace for it, the instinct to pull away, to protect yourself from his withdrawal, but it never comes.

Instead, you feel his strong arm slide over your waist, pulling you closer, his body heat a stark contrast to the chill creeping in from the window.

His breath is warm against your neck as he shifts, his fingers tracing absent circles on your skin in a move that’s so endearingly human it has your chest aching.

"Stay here tonight?" he asks, his voice rough, almost a whisper.

Your heart clenches, tears burning at your waterline at the vulnerability of his tone. It breaks the dam inside you, relief and something dangerously close to love flooding your body in a bursting rush of water.

“Of course,” you murmur, your voice shaky.

Logan’s hand tightens around you, his thumb brushing over your ribs. He presses a soft kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder, settling onto the mattress with a slow breath.

You drift to sleep more relaxed than you’ve felt in years, even with the knowledge of the slow journey that lies ahead of you. It won’t be easy, it never is with Logan. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Because even though the rain falls, the desert doesn’t bloom overnight.

And neither do you.

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suzannahnatters · 2 years ago

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all RIGHT:

Why You're Writing Medieval (and Medieval-Coded) Women Wrong: A RANT

(Or, For the Love of God, People, Stop Pretending Victorian Style Gender Roles Applied to All of History)

This is a problem I see alllll over the place - I'll be reading a medieval-coded book and the women will be told they aren't allowed to fight or learn or work, that they are only supposed to get married, keep house and have babies, &c &c.

If I point this out ppl will be like "yes but there was misogyny back then! women were treated terribly!" and OK. Stop right there.

By & large, what we as a culture think of as misogyny & patriarchy is the expression prevalent in Victorian times - not medieval. (And NO, this is not me blaming Victorians for their theme park version of "medieval history". This is me blaming 21st century people for being ignorant & refusing to do their homework).

Yes, there was misogyny in medieval times, but 1) in many ways it was actually markedly less severe than Victorian misogyny, tyvm - and 2) it was of a quite different type. (Disclaimer: I am speaking specifically of Frankish, Western European medieval women rather than those in other parts of the world. This applies to a lesser extent in Byzantium and I am still learning about women in the medieval Islamic world.)

So, here are the 2 vital things to remember about women when writing medieval or medieval-coded societies

FIRST. Where in Victorian times the primary axes of prejudice were gender and race - so that a male labourer had more rights than a female of the higher classes, and a middle class white man would be treated with more respect than an African or Indian dignitary - In medieval times, the primary axis of prejudice was, overwhelmingly, class. Thus, Frankish crusader knights arguably felt more solidarity with their Muslim opponents of knightly status, than they did their own peasants. Faith and age were also medieval axes of prejudice - children and young people were exploited ruthlessly, sent into war or marriage at 15 (boys) or 12 (girls). Gender was less important.

What this meant was that a medieval woman could expect - indeed demand - to be treated more or less the same way the men of her class were. Where no ancient legal obstacle existed, such as Salic law, a king's daughter could and did expect to rule, even after marriage.

Women of the knightly class could & did arm & fight - something that required a MASSIVE outlay of money, which was obviously at their discretion & disposal. See: Sichelgaita, Isabel de Conches, the unnamed women fighting in armour as knights during the Third Crusade, as recorded by Muslim chroniclers.

Tolkien's Eowyn is a great example of this medieval attitude to class trumping race: complaining that she's being told not to fight, she stresses her class: "I am of the house of Eorl & not a serving woman". She claims her rights, not as a woman, but as a member of the warrior class and the ruling family. Similarly in Renaissance Venice a doge protested the practice which saw 80% of noble women locked into convents for life: if these had been men they would have been "born to command & govern the world". Their class ought to have exempted them from discrimination on the basis of sex.

So, tip #1 for writing medieval women: remember that their class always outweighed their gender. They might be subordinate to the men within their own class, but not to those below.

SECOND. Whereas Victorians saw women's highest calling as marriage & children - the "angel in the house" ennobling & improving their men on a spiritual but rarely practical level - Medievals by contrast prized virginity/celibacy above marriage, seeing it as a way for women to transcend their sex. Often as nuns, saints, mystics; sometimes as warriors, queens, & ladies; always as businesswomen & merchants, women could & did forge their own paths in life

When Elizabeth I claimed to have "the heart & stomach of a king" & adopted the persona of the virgin queen, this was the norm she appealed to. Women could do things; they just had to prove they were Not Like Other Girls. By Elizabeth's time things were already changing: it was the Reformation that switched the ideal to marriage, & the Enlightenment that divorced femininity from reason, aggression & public life.

For more on this topic, read Katherine Hager's article "Endowed With Manly Courage: Medieval Perceptions of Women in Combat" on women who transcended gender to occupy a liminal space as warrior/virgin/saint.

So, tip #2: remember that for medieval women, wife and mother wasn't the ideal, virgin saint was the ideal. By proving yourself "not like other girls" you could gain significant autonomy & freedom.

Finally a bonus tip: if writing about medieval women, be sure to read writing on women's issues from the time so as to understand the terms in which these women spoke about & defended their ambitions. Start with Christine de Pisan.

I learned all this doing the reading for WATCHERS OF OUTREMER, my series of historical fantasy novels set in the medieval crusader states, which were dominated by strong medieval women! Book 5, THE HOUSE OF MOURNING (forthcoming 2023) will focus, to a greater extent than any other novel I've ever yet read or written, on the experience of women during the crusades - as warriors, captives, and political leaders. I can't wait to share it with you all!

#watchers of outremer #medieval history #the lady of kingdoms #the house of mourning #writing #writing fantasy #female characters #medieval women #eowyn #the lord of the rings #lotr #history #historical fiction #fantasy #writing tip #writing advice

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hazem-khalil · 3 months ago

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Let me tell you about the largest and most dangerous prison in the world—a prison of genocide. This prison, called Gaza, stretches 41 kilometers in length, with a width varying between 6 to 12 kilometers, covering an area of 360 square kilometers. Inside this prison, children, the elderly, and even animals and cats live in fear. Everyone is punished here, and the cruelties seem endless.

In this prison, people are burned alive without reason. Others have their limbs amputated without anesthesia, because medicine is simply unavailable. There are those who are shot just for searching for water or food for themselves and their families. This is what happened to Ahmed’s cousin—he was out to get water for his children, only to be struck by a bomb. He died, leaving behind his children, including a newborn baby.

In this place, random shelling never stops. Everyone is constantly threatened—death, burning, or being imprisoned in an even smaller cell, where torture is inevitable. And of course, there is barely any food or water here. Only kind souls like you provide the little that helps these families survive in this massive prison.

Inside this prison, people are punished without reason, without trial, because international courts can do nothing, and injustice has become the norm. Everyone in Gaza must endure their sentence, though no one knows how long they will survive—whether they will succumb to hunger or be killed by the bombs before they can taste freedom.

This is the brutal reality for our families in Gaza. Please, don’t leave them to suffer in this prison. Help them escape this torment and breathe the air of freedom. Help evacuate Ahmed’s family—your generosity or even sharing their story can make you the reason they are saved, the reason they survive this cruel, unjust imprisonment.

@appsa @buttercuparry @turian @timetravellingkitty @schoolhater

@aces-and-angels @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness @malcriada @jezior0

@neptunerings @brokenbackmountain @khanger @determinate-negation

@transmutationisms @sylvianritual @imjustheretotrytohelp @bryo-zoan

@maaszeltov @heliopixels @zigcarnivorous @armysurplus

@executing @venus-is-in-bloom @lesbianmaxevans

@trans-to-the-misogyny @brutaliakhoa @furiousfinnstan @paparoach

@celadonwanderer @girlinafairytale @2tbssd @forgetfulrecord

@lesbianmaxevans @fading-event-608 @repulsion @noncathartic @gusherbug

@autisticmudkip @FUCKGIMP @tiredguyswag @briarhips @three-croissants

@fly-sky-high-09 @maoistyuri @noble-kale

@bilal-salah0

#free palestine #free gaza #palestine 🍉

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hritika13-tamboli · 6 months ago

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Jeon Jungkook Fic Recs List 4....

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Series :

Moonstruck || Werewolf & Vampire Hybrid!AU, Supernatural!AU | Hybrid!Jungkook x Hybrid!Reader | Werewolf!Taehyung x Hybrid!Reader (ft. BTS) || @jeonsweetpea

Summary: You couldn’t wait for Jungkook to break his sire bond with you. Not like you were thrilled an ungrateful brat was sired to you anyway. Just a hundred more days and it would all be over. He would no longer be loyal to you.

Chasing cars || brother's best friend!Jungkook x reader | forbidden love?au | college!au | slice of life!au || @oddinary4bts

Summary : when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

The Farmhouse || cowboy jungkook x reader | childhood bestfriends au | friends to lovers au |slice of life || @solecize

Summary : every summer on your grandpa's farm was real-life magic to your younger self, who left a piece of her heart in amber valley when the years went on and the town became nothing but a faint childhood memory. soon enough, you become rocked by his death and realize the dead end in your bustling city world. this leads to you making an abrupt decision. despite knowing nothing but designer purses and the corporate ladder, you uproot your entire life to take over your grandfather's old farm in the town you were desperately trying to remember - alongside a familiar face from your youth that permanently finds his way into your heart.

Fool for you || jungkook x reader | college au | fake dating au | strangers to friends to lovers au || @btsgotsvt-blog

Summary : When Jungkook is finally single, you shoot your shot.

Supercharged || Jungkook x reader | supernatural au | superheroes au / villain au | Enemies to lovers au || @btsmosphere

Summary: starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens?

Long way home || dilf!jk x best friend!reader | single dad jk | boxer!jk | friends to lovers au || @sparklingchim

Summary: jungkook's life makes an 180 degree turn when he's suddenly a single dad and while you're trying to help him come accustomed to the new circumstances, your long-standing friendship takes new turns as well.

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One-shot :

Meraki || grumpy!jk (+ photographer!jk) x sunshine!reader | not exactly e2l but more like "i find you pretty annoying" to lovers || @taegularities

MERAKI (v., Greek). "to do something with soul, creativity, or love; to put something of yourself in your work." Summary: Jungkook finds you irritating; far too energetic and insistent. But his perception of you changes bit by bit, minute by minute, when he's persuaded into spending an entire night with you at places he doesn't know.

Silent treatment || Gamer Jungkook x cat owner reader | Established relationship au || @angelic-vibez

Summary : Jungkook gives you a silent treatment after your cat ruins his whole gaming setup

But we loved too young || Bestfriend!jungkook x reader | friends to lovers au | lovers to strangers au | big timeskip au | college to adulthood au || @jl-micasea-fics

Summary : Jungkook is everything you’re not, the ying to your yang. Your tight knit friendship nurtured from childhood survived the major life events that most don’t, and to that end, you suppose you’re fated to be together, until unrequited longing is eventually noticed, and boundaries are forever crossed.

First class || rich student!jk x rich student!reader | universityau | bestfriends au || @girlygguk

Summary: in which you are just another spoiled, bitchy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby who has everyone at Yonsei University eating from the palm of your hand. and jeon jungkook, your spoiled, fuck-boy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby best friend, is always first in line to take a bite.

The witch sisters || heartthrobwitch!jk x witchfem!reader | witch au || @rkivepetals

Summary : When your seven witch sisters come across your almost- boyfriend.

Not like you || dilf!jungkook x boxer!jungkook x childhood enemy!reader | Enemies to lovers au || @oureuphoria

Summary: God had favourites. Jungkook figured that out early in his childhood, when every waking moment was spent trying to impress his parents at the expense of you. He ran away at 19 to escape the immeasurable pressure to succeed but he couldn't escape you. Six years and a daughter later, Jungkook met his childhood enemy again, except this time he didn't want to run.

Limerence || exes to lovers au | ex boyfriend!jk x ex girlfriend!reader || @kooktrash

Summary: a recent discovery of old VCR tapes takes you down a rabbit hole of self-pity, remembering what you once had and how it all went down the drain over youthful mistakes. suddenly, you find yourself playing back the old tapes of the best relationship you’ve ever had and all you can think about is how to get it back—if you could get it back

Infinity || Three-shot | alien!Jungkook x human!female reader | alien!AU | dystopian!AU | dark romance | S2L || @runariya

Summary: As the last human in existence, what will be your fate?

Sweet apple biscuits || Jungkook x reader || @rosaetae

Summary: a story about someone who receives letters from themselves ten years in the future and asks them to fix all their regrets and save a particular boy.

“Hold him and love him. Tell him how you feel. Tell him how much he means to you. And whatever you do, never let go of him.”

Disney+ and bust || app developer jungkook x reader | Established relationship au || @1kook

Summary : There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb. It’s not. It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door.

The lucky ones || Jungkook x reader | University!AU | Soulmate!AU || @today-we-will-survive

Summary: unique soulmate mark stains the skin around your right eye, making you an outcast in a world where everyone has a mark showing where their soulmate will first touch them. Unlike others with marks on their palms, arms, or cheeks, your eye mark sets you apart, leaving you to question its meaning and the fate of your soulmate.

Some way, some how || autoshop owner!jk x businesswoman!oc | slice of life | childhood crushes | friends to lovers || @1kook

Summary: Maybe you don’t know Jungkook as well as you thought you did. Maybe he doesn’t know you.

It was always you || naval aviator!jungkook x professor!reader + editor!jungkook | childhood friends to lovers au || @hueseok

Summary: as long as you remember, you’ve always had the fattest crush on your childhood friend, jeon jungkook. it never blossomed into something more though, because that’s what happens when life naturally takes it course—you grow up, you move on, and you pretend that those feelings never existed in order to maintain the good friendship that remained between the two of you over the years.

so when he visits you after work one day, asking you to marry him, you do everything you can to refuse, because the reason he’s asking you isn’t due to the fact that he finally realized that he loved you after all this time, but because he thinks he’s doing you a big favor.

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whereserpentswalk · 3 months ago

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Reblog to give your entity a warm blanket and a bed. Look under the cut to see what meeting your entity is like!

Undead: You can see them, below the pale starless lights from the skyscrapers above, and the shine of streetlamps and headlights. It's scary to see them wandering the street, they look human at first, wearing a long black trench coat, and a wide brimmed hat, but when you look into their eyes, they look so still and cold, unbreathing and unblinking, no matter how much makeup and wax repairs their flesh they're so obviously dead. Yet you walk closer, and realize they look alone, look as if they have nowhere to go, sympathetically you offer them some money and they begin telling you a story that begins a long long time ago...

Faerie: You seem them flying at your window, human shaped yet so clearly not human, looking at you as if they've never seen a person before. Their entire body is a sandy green, with hair the color of pussy willows, and eyes the color of jade, you think they're wearing plate armor, but you realize they have an exoskeleton like that of a mantis or a grasshopper, with four transparent wings shining in the sunlight. They inspect you as if they've never seen something like you before, they seem to need help but when you move towards them they seem afraid. You open the window for them to come in, and they rush into your bed, warm as if they haven't been warm in a very long time.

Vampire: You seem them first waiting for the local train, sitting there, a slender completely genderless humanoid, with bluish white skin and eyes a piercing blue. They slowly play guitar as you wait, and you take a moment to listen. After they get on the train with you, you strike up conversation, and young as they look, they speak as if they have seen all of humanity's history, as if they've lived more lifetimes then you could ever know. They eventually life up their facemask for you, and you can see that their mouth isn't humanlike at all, it's massive with many moving parts and blade like fangs, like the mouth of a viper. And their skin so cold, you can even feel batlike wings below their coat as you put an arm around them. You let them drink some of your blood from your hand, and it feels so good, so intimate, and you pet their head as you let yourself fill them.

Dragon: You thought you could see them changing their form out of the corner of your eye, a massive, scaled creature with many heads landing on the city streets, and slowly shrinking down to the form of a human, fixing some minor details, and changing the color of their eyes from orange-red to something more human-passing before they talk to you. They study you strangely, asking about how certain technology works, taking interest in your kind's society, your religion, your mating habits. They seem so smart yet so naive to this world that they've walked into. Awkwardly they ask if they can stay with you for a while, to learn more about how such strange creatures live.

Cyborg: You can see them, sitting at a cafe, looking out as if trying to think of a long-forgotten memory, long since eaten by the sands of time. Layers of clothing covers their body, as if they're hiding something. Worried they're lonely you strike up conversation with them, and though they seem shy at first, they eventually seem happy to have had a chance to talk to you. Their scarf slips for a moment, and they become afraid you saw something, but you hold them and say that it's ok, and their body feels so hard, as if they barely have any skin below their head, and warm like a computer being desperately cooled down by fans, like a churning machine. They open their coat to show you what they were hiding, and you can see a chest made entirely out of steel and wires, all their flesh long since cut away, you can see that even their eyes are screens. You assure them that it's ok... it's ok...

Nature spirit: Slowly they walk to your door, as if they know nowhere else to go. They don't look human at all, they're made out of rock, and sand, and animal bones, two large antlers sticking out of a skull head. There's something broken and distorted and wrong about whatever they are. They rush to a cactus you've kept on your desk and gain the last of their sustenance from them. You can see visions when you look into their eyes, visions of a desert paved over by lawns and by highways, drowning it in chlorinated water. You turn up the heat, and let a blanket lay on top of them, as you let the tears of a dead world pour out through their hollow eyes.

Face stealer: It rushes towards you, crawling through the alleyways where nobody will hear your cries for help. The massive black creature, with mortal faces hanging off the side of its segmented body. It stops an inch from your face, it could rip you to shreds with its fangs, but it doesn't It can tell there's something different with you, and you reach out your hand, slowly trying to pet it, and then it rushes back, not letting you feel the cold of its body. But it can see you, and it knows you now as an ally to its undying cause...

Angel: You see them in a cold studio, abandoned for the night, the unfinished paintings looking down on both you and them. Their body is doll like, segmented, and textured as if it looks like white and blue porcelain, but with cracks filled with gold. As you approach them, they let their wings spread. They seem to assume you're afraid of them, assume you'll hurt them, assume that they deserve it. But you don't, and they're shocked that you don't hate them at all. You let them step closer, and you can see their eyes, a radiant golden light replaced with something pale and cool. You tell them that they have nothing to apologize for, as they try to apologize just for existing as they do.

Game entity: It's strange that the system is even working in this condition. And this game doesn't seem to exist at all outside of this one copy. Messages keep coming to you, and it's like the characters inside, as primitive and pixilated as they are, as talking to you directly. And you can see the message beyond the screen, beyond the music and the flashing lights, and the message says help, and the message begs to be freed, and the message is for you.

Werewolf: They come up to you from out of the twisted woods of the park, human and fleshy as their form is, they don't act human, it's as if they want to be pet or fed. And when you approach them, they back away as an animal would too. Their muscular body is contrasted by clothing they seem to have forgotten how to wear, you can see a human mind in there, but one that's been lost for a very long time. You give them a piece of food, they are about to rip it apart like a beast but something about you reminds them of something, and they eat it as if they were human.

Goblin: Small, and skinny, and pale, you think they're a human at first, but the pointed ears and sharp teeth reveal otherwise. They inspect you, slowly trying to figure out what you are, trying to square your modern clothing with their iron armor and flowing cape. For a moment it looks as if they'll kill you, but for some reason they choose not to. They ended up in a subway station, but it seems they came from lower down, you wonder if they've seen the sun at all. Maybe you can show them, you try to ask them, but they don't understand your language, but they want to, they certainly want to...

Demon: you can see them looking out at the sea, a human head and chest, but nothing else fitting in with this world, tentacles in place of their arms, and feet like a crab's wing's like a seagull's and teeth like a shark's, and a lamprey's neck and head where their genitals should be. They look at you with their eyes, confused and disturbed by this world, by the moon and the sun and the towers in the distance. They tilt their head, as if you share a face with the creature who bound them to this realm. Most people would be afraid of such a creature, but you understand, understand that they didn't choose to be here, and wonder why such a horror exists in this world, and if they would rather not be within the place they call home. You apologize if you scared them, and they reply with a similar statement...

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caplanbuckybarnes · 3 months ago

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In the Lonely Shadows

Summary: Crowely's always there to help convince you everything's going to be okay after Dean leaves with Lisa & Ben.

Requested by my beloved wife @midnight-moonlight-and-mars sometime back in March. LOL, sorry it’s been forever, my love.

Request: I've got a Crowley request! It can be platonic or romantic. It takes place the year Sam is resurrected and dean is living with Lisa. The reader was close with the Winchesters but after the fight with Lucifer dean abandoned the reader to be with Lisa and cas never answers ( unrequited love maybe?) so the reader teams up with Crowley and becomes like a bounty hunter for him for Lucifer loyalists.

A/N: It's technically not Crowley x reader since she's pining for Dean. Oops, but I hope you enjoy this all the same, my love.

WC: 1054

Warnings: mentions of loneliness, and blood, the reader feels abandoned and unloved, crowley’s nice, however.

Read on Ao3!

It had been months since Dean had made his choice. The memory still stung—he chose normalcy, Lisa, and a life far from the chaos... far from you.

The moment Dean drove away to that suburban dream with Lisa and Ben, it was like a wound ripping open and never closing. You didn’t hear from him again, and there was no check-in or phone call—just silence. Castiel, too, was gone, leaving nothing but the ghost of his presence. Prayers went unanswered, and you were left alone with the echoes of battles fought and lives lost.

It was after Lucifer fell that everything seemed to break apart. Sam was gone—dead, you thought. Dean buried himself in the illusion of family, and you… well, you weren’t sure what you had anymore. There was no going back to who you were before the apocalypse, and your heart ached with unspoken feelings, ones that Dean never noticed.

He never loved you the way you loved him.

In the emptiness that followed, Crowley found you. The King of Hell always had impeccable timing. "You look like a stray," Crowley had said the night you crossed paths in some dingy bar in some forgotten town. "Lost your boys, I see. Shame. You were always good at what you do."

You could've walked away, but what was left? With nowhere to go and no one to fight for, you accepted Crowley’s offer—a devil's bargain, becoming a bounty hunter for Hell, tracking down Lucifer loyalists who still believed in the fallen archangel’s cause. It was dark work, but it was work, and it kept your mind from drowning in grief and longing.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. Hunting for Crowley meant betraying everything you’d once stood for, but that world had abandoned you first.

Months later, you stood in the ruins of an old church, blood splattered across the stone walls and broken angelic statues depicting Saints. The demon you’d tracked was a fanatic, a true believer in Lucifer’s return. You wiped your blade clean, not even flinching as the body burned to ash behind you. It was mechanical now—kill, move on. Feel nothing.

Crowley appeared, as he often did after a job well done. He smirked, his eyes gleaming with something close to pride. "Well done, love. Another one bites the dust."

You didn’t respond, just holstered your blade and looked out into the night. The stars were out, a stark reminder of the heaven you couldn’t reach, of the angel who had left without a word.

"You know, I’ve always admired your efficiency," Crowley continued, walking up beside you. "But there’s something hollow in it. Still pining for the good ol' days? For Dean? You haven’t been the same since the Moose and Not Moose fled away from the lifestyle."

The mention of Dean's name sent a wave of cold through you, but you kept your face neutral. Crowley was good at finding cracks in your armor, but you weren’t going to let him in. Not tonight.

"He made his choice," you said flatly. "I made mine."

"Yes, yes, he’s playing house while you do the dirty work. How noble of him," Crowley mocked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "But you and I both know it’s eating you up inside. It’s killing you that he’s living a life that you so desperately crave with him."

You glanced at Crowley, your jaw tight. "What's your point?"

Crowley chuckled, his smile dark. "My point, darling, is that the past always catches up to us. Dean may think he can run from it, but he can’t. Sooner or later, he’ll come crawling back to this life—and to you. And when he does, what will you do? Welcome him with open arms? Or remind him of what he left behind?"

You stared at Crowley, his words sinking in deeper than you wanted to admit. You could pretend that Dean didn’t matter anymore, that you had moved on. But the truth was, no matter how many demons you killed or how many deals you made, there was still a part of you that longed for the life you had before everything went to hell. The part that still loved him. The piece of yur heart where Dean and Sam would wake you up in the mornings with the scents of breakfast wafting through the morning air.

But the man Dean had become—the one who chose Lisa, who walked away without a word—wasn’t the man you had fallen for. Maybe he never was.

"I don’t owe him anything," you said, though your voice sounded hollow even to you.

Crowley’s grin widened, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. "That’s the spirit. But don’t be too quick to write him off. You never know when an old flame might reignite."

That night, alone in a dingy motel room, you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at your phone. You hadn’t tried calling Dean since the day he left, and you weren’t about to now. But your fingers hovered over Castiel’s number, the angel who had disappeared like smoke as Dean had done so long ago.

You had prayed to him, begged for his help, for some sign that you weren’t completely forsaken. But he, like Dean, was gone.

With a bitter sigh, you tossed the phone aside and laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe Crowley was right. Maybe the past never really stayed buried. But what did it matter? You had made your choice, too. You had become something else—something darker, harder.Something you hardly recognized when you’d glanced at your reflection.

The only thing that lingered was the ache. The unspoken words, the love that was never returned, and the haunting thought that in another life, maybe things could have been different.

But this was the life you had now, and there was no going back.

Outside, the world continued its chaotic dance of light and shadow, of good and evil. And you, standing somewhere in between, were left to hunt in the darkness. Alone.

The wind howled against the motel window, but you barely noticed as sleep finally claimed you, the weight of a broken heart your only companion, not noticing the door opening to see a figure standing in the threshold holding a quickly packed luggage bag.

[PART TWO]

tags!

EVERYTHING PERM: @nekoannie-chan @kjs-s @notyourtypicalrose @mistressofallthingsgeeky

SPN FOREVER PERM: @amelia-song-pond @salt-n-burn-em-all @kenzieam @flamencodiva-reblogs @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

DEAN WINCHESTER: @fandom-princess-forevermore

#dean winchester x reader

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toto-the-cactus · 2 months ago

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Primarchs + Daughters

My perception of how each Primarch would behave when nosediving into parenthood if they had daughters. Enjoy!

I wanna personally thank @moodymisty because a great deal of their works inspired this piece.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Lion El’jonson

The embodiment of 'tough love' made man. Having a daughter doesn’t do much to soften this guy… or at least that’s what others believe. The Dark Angels Legion are probably the only ones aware of the small gestures the Primarch often gives to his little girl in the safety that privacy offers. Where Lion lacks words of compassionate and parental love, he appropriately makes up for it with actions. He isn’t one to go over the top and prefers to give modest gifts to his daughter as the last thing the man wants is to raise a spoiled brat. Father-daughter bonding time can be summarized with strenuous training using the sword. This man will not let his precious Princess go through life without learning how to protect herself, even if he has made an oath to forever shield her too.

Fulgrim

The complete antithesis of Lion. Where this man views the Emperor as the perfection anyone should strive to reach, his beautiful daughter comes close to the second place in fulfilling that ideal. There’s a big fat chance that he teared up a little when his little gem called him Papa for the first time, but managed to wear his ever unshakable mask because he absolutely refuses to break character even in private. Has the mistaken notion that his baby is a blank canvas ready to be painted to its fullest potential; aka, molding her to what HE wants and expects of her. Fulgrim probably spoils her rotten but only through conditions that she must follow, as the Primarch understands the importance of fighting and earning for what you wish to obtain. He makes sure that any of his gene-sons are in her company as he refuses to let even a single scratch happen to his little girl. Honestly, a grown-up version of Fulgrim’s child has the chances to go both opposites of the spectrum with no in betweens: A shy aristocratic lady who is unable to speak her own mind or a completely haughty, sharp and manipulative noble woman. Too much to unpack there, yo.

Perturabo

(Slaps this bastard's head loudly) This bad boy can fit so much family trauma in it! Okay no but seriously, there’s a good reason why so many people agree that this bitch has a thing for gilded cages and all the fucked up poetry that comes with it. The good ol’ classic Greek tragedy of Medea. Perturabo may have big and insane expectations for his gene-sons but when it comes to having a daughter? The apple of his eyes. The sunshine of his life. For this Primarch, his little princess is the only living thing in the entire universe that loves him genuinely and unconditionally, making his love the equivalent of a child crushing a bird between his hands. While still easy to anger and with a resting-bitch face, he is incredibly tame and careful with his girl; always making sure that she is well versed in all kinds of science and engineering that could easily label her as a genius (but we all know how stressful can be to try and live up to big expectations). Most of his Legion finds the child either an annoyance or don’t even care enough beyond the factual point of her being the child of their mighty Primarch, beyond that? This poor girl is probably the loneliest child to ever grace the world. Remember that I referred to this like the Tragedy of Medea? Yeah…

Jaghatai Khan

Probably one of the few best papa-tier out there. This man will see his little daughter and think the only thing a good parent should do: To love and guide. He’ll be not afraid to say “I love you” to his baby girl no matter where they are, but he’ll know when to be stern and wise so she grows to be a fine and humble woman. Honestly, this guy would learn how to make a sling just for the single purpose of having his precious princess close while also being excited to teach her how to ride on a horse like he did in his childhood. The thing that makes this dude the best in this list is that if his daughter ever expresses to follow a different path in life like becoming a remembrancer or anything that doesn’t involve the Imperium, this Chad of a man will look deep into her eyes and tell her that he’ll support her no matter what. The only thing he asks is that she stays in contact as he’ll miss her terribly. Kudos to him, fr.

Leman Russ

Another one for the ‘tough love’ guys list, yo! On his defense! Hear me out… in his defense, this guy was literally raised first by Fenrisian wolves before even knowing what a proper bath entailed, so of course he’ll sometimes be a bit too much on his poor little baby girl. Roughhousing was his best first approach to teach her how to fight, trying to make his little pup have some proper backbone worthy of being called the child of a Primarch. Sometimes he’ll get carried away (either with words or actions) and is in those moments when Leman would learn what genuine and heavy guilt feels like; a very alien emotion for someone as brutal and fierce as he is. There’s no worse feeling than knowing that you are the reason behind your daughter’s tears. No one would ever say it out loud, but the way this giant of a man apologizes is by slowly and silently hugging his little girl while pouting until she hugs him back. He may suck at expressing verbally his love towards his baby, but actions are his best way to communicate and this is something his daughter eventually learns and accepts from him. Forgot to add that the entire Space Wolves Legion are not only suffocatingly protective of their Primarch’s child, but everyone takes turns when she asks them for piggy-rides or let her braid their hair.

Rogal Dorn

I don’t wanna be too mean to this poor man but lord have some mercy, trying to squeeze any emotion that doesn’t range to watching paint dry from this damn guy is already a miracle on its own. He’s probably the kind of dude that’ll leave his poor daughter in the care of his astartes and serfs while he works. Workaholic in bold, yo. It literally will take watching his poor little princess cry her eyes out for him to attempt some bonding time but man he just sucks at trying not to have a stick up his ass (Again, I’m not trying to be mean but god this is painful). This is the kind of man, besides Guilliman, that will search high and low for some paternity books to help him. At the end this father-daughter relationship can be salvageable by having a heart to heart between them both and even then, is the poor girl the one that gives more than she receives. Honestly, any daughter from Dorn has the patience of a saint. Besides this Primarch's ineptitude to properly communicate his feelings, everything else doesn’t change the fact that he loves his little princess and will do anything to make her as happy as possible so he gets some brownie points for the try.

I'll later write the second and third part of this, I swear <333

#warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #wh40k #primarchs #lion el'jonson #fulgrim #perturabo #jaghatai khan #leman russ #rogal dorn #fatherhood #very very slightly implied primarch x reader #if you squint #implied child negligence #implied yandere perturabo #primarchs as girl dads #my writing

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yandere-daydreams · 1 month ago

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If we are going vaguely medieval au I propose Nanami as the very exhausted master of the coin trying to regulate all of prince gojos spending habits, and who keeps the member of some minor noble house that in severe dept to the crown, in his quarters. After all you came here willingly to try to beg for some sort of extension on your family debts, so it's perfectly reasonable for him to slap a ring on your finger, eat you out when he comes home stressed, and hide the fact that in the end your family has to face their repercussions for owing the crown. But it doesn't matter, you bear his name now, so you're nice and safe

there truly is not universe wherein that poor man isn't chronically overworked T-T at least, in this world, he knows that after every long day tending to the national treasury and tailoring the frivolous king's desires to better suit that month's allotted budget, he can drag his weary head home to you - his sweet light spouse, an angel descended from the heavens for no other purpose than to bake and sing and remain so blissfully unaware of the troubles outside the walls of his modest, countryside estate. he'd never ask you to tend to him, but you make sure he always come home to warm meal and a soft place to rest his feet and, best of all, a welcoming body to bury himself within as he works out that day's frustrations. it's a selfish thought, but if he had it his way, there'd be no moment where some part of him wasn't connected to some part of you - whether it's his fingers intertwined with yours or your lips wrapped around his cock as he reviews the king's coffer's for the thousandth time. were the world a kinder place, he'd never have to go a moment without your company. it's a shame that it's not.

that's why your little home has to be as warm as it is, as safe as it is. that's why, when you gather your courage and ask him about the family you once bargained on behalf of, he can never quite find the resolve to tell you that they were executed only days after your wedding, that the childhood home you speak so fondly of was torn down and the property gifted to one of the king's favored lords, that there's nothing left for you outside of these walls save for a loving husband and all the many things he can provide to you. he may be burdened with the knowledge of your futile sacrifice, but you don't have to be so weighed down. the only thing that should ever cross your mind is how best to please your doting, loving husband - lest he be forced to resort to more taxing methods of preserving his little slice of perfection.

#personal #anon ask #yandere nanami #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere #yandere x reader

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al0v3w1tch · 2 months ago

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݁݁˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚ Lady Persephone… Yesterday was Lady Persephone’s worship day. Because I hadn’t gotten much sleep the previous night, I completely forgot to make a post for her. I hope this helps teach you how to worship Her and Her mythology. ✾ Who is Persephone? Persephone is the daughter of the Olympian Gods, Zeus, and Demeter, she is the Goddess of spring, agriculture, reincarnation, and Queen of the Underworld; She is widely associated with growth, fertility, and love as well as everlasting pureness/youth. Her most famous myth is Her abduction by Hades, Her husband/uncle. ✾ Mythology. After Persephone was born, Her home was the Overworld alongside her mother Demeter. While she was picking flowers alongside the spring nymphs, the earth opened and She was abducted by Hades on His chariot. After Her abduction, Demeter struggled to keep up her divine duties and the earth started to die without Persephone, due to this, Hermes was sent to the Underworld to collect Persephone but before She left the Underworld; Hades tricked Persephone into eating pomegranate seeds. Due to this, Persephone now spends half the year in the Overworld and the other half in the Underworld which explains the seasons. Depending on the myth, Persephone is the mother of Dionysus after Zeus assaulted Her, however, the myth was changed later on as the ancient Greeks believed that having their chief God assaulting His daughter was too evil of Him. Nowadays, Dionysus was changed to Zagerus and He is known to be Hades’ son instead. Melionë was also a result of Zeus assaulting His daughter as He tricked Her by disguising Himself as Hades, although, modern interpretations of the myth have Hades be Her father, like Zagerus. Persephone also was associated with the Orpheus and Eurydice myth; when Orpheus descended into the Underworld to retrieve Eurydice, he managed to make a song so beautiful and heartbreaking that Hades became sympathetic toward him and offered Orpheus that he could take Eurydice back but the catch was he wasn’t allowed to turn back to see if Eurydice was behind him or even touch her to lead him out of the Underworld. Hades did this to test Orpheus’ love for his wife and how much he cared for her.

✾ Symbols and Offerings. Symbols: -Pomegranate. -Torches. -Seeds. -Flowers. -Skulls. -Bones. Offerings: -Any type of flowers (can be fake). -Pomegranate (fake, scents or food). -Found bones (Remember to thank the animal and leave an offering for them as a way of respect). -Tarot decks you associate with her. -Nuts and seeds. -Fruit. -Anything with grains. -Anything minty. -Jewellery. -Poetry or any kind of art related to Her. -Floral/fruity scented candles. -Dried herbs or flowers. -Crystals: angel aura quartz, rose quartz, and opalite. -Drinks like tea, hot chocolate, water, milk or honey. -Bat, ram, deer or dog imagery. Persephone shares an altar with Lord Hades so if you wish to see altar inspiration, here is the post I made for Hades: https://www.tumblr.com/al0v3w1tch/766671508589477888/%E0%BD%90-%E0%BD%8B-lord-hades-today-is-lord?source=share ✾ Prayers. -Fair-haired Persephone, daughter of Demeter, friend of the nymphs, merry-hearted girls who dance bearefooted and play, carefree, in grassy fields, wreathed in bright spring flowers.

The joy of life is yours, goddess, the comfort of sun on skin, the dear bonds of friendship, the refuge of a mother’s love.

Well-crowned Persephone, bride of noble Hades, queen of the afterworld, clothed in fine silks, adorned with jewels, enthroned in glory, friend to those who have passed from this world into yours, advocate of the dead and the wronged.

Kindly Persephone, womanly one, of transformation do you know much, of the ways of the earth do you know much; of the life after life do you know much.

Gracious goddess, friend of mortals, I praise you and thank you for your gifts.

-Persephone, glorious goddess, fair one with hair that flows like ripened grain, eyes that catch the clear blue sky, a smile sweet yet shadowed, O light-footed one who dances in flowered fields, I praise you.Persephone, lovely one who knows the feel of sun on skin, who knows as well the press of cold stone against warm flesh, in the world of the living, no maid is so alive as you.

In the world of the dead, Persephone, you reign as queen, crowned with riches unsurpassed, enthroned in splendor, honored above all others.

Goddess, child of earth, bride of the darkness, I honor you. -Persephone, glorious goddess, fair one

with hair that flows like ripened grain, eyes that catch

the clear blue sky, a smile sweet yet shadowed,

O light-footed one who dances in flowered fields,

I praise you. Persephone, lovely one who knows

the feel of sun on skin, who knows as well the press

of cold stone against warm flesh, in the world

of the living, no maid is so alive as you.

In the world of the dead, Persephone, you reign

as queen, crowned with riches unsurpassed, enthroned

in splendor, honored above all others. Goddess,

child of the earth, bride of the darkness, I honor you. ✾ Blessed be.

#paganism #hellenicpaganism #pagan #hellenicpagan #witch #witchcraft #aphrodite #hades #persephone #apollo #dionysus #hestia #greek deities #hellenic polytheism #persephone worship #witchcore #witchblr

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covenofagatha · 1 month ago

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hey soooooo if your requests are still open... what do you think about a pt. 3 with Father Agatha where she fucks reader on the altar with her strap (the church is empty)... like... and Agatha has reader recite the Rosary, and for every mystery completed reader gets an orgasm... and maybe Agatha has like a breeding kink sort of and says she wants to make reader the next virgin mary...

obviously if you want and feel comfortable with all this, i really truly love all your stories!!

Hooooooly shit this was insane i immediately had to write this

also the rosary is so long 😩

Forgive me, Father (part 3)

What the request said lol

Word count: 3200

Warnings: light bondage, religious sex, altar sex, fingering, oral, strap on, cum lube, breeding kink, spanking, dubcon, priest agatha is so corrupt, naive reader, think this is it

The next time you go to confession, you don’t even make it into the booth before Father Agatha intercepts you, almost like she’s been waiting.

“Come back for more, angel?” She asks, sitting in a pew, facing the altar. You almost walked right by her without noticing.

You look around the rest of the church. There’s no one else in sight. She taps the spot on the bench next to her and you sit.

Just the close proximity makes your heart beat faster.

“What are you doing here?” You ask.

Father Agatha shrugs. “I like to sit in here when it’s empty and pray. Helps me connect with God, I can hear him better.”

You frown and try to quiet your thoughts and your breathing to see if you can hear anything. “What is God saying right now?” If you had looked closer, you would’ve seen the smirk on her lips as you played right into her trap before she reset her face.

“Nothing good,” she sighs heavily and your eyes widen in fear. “Do you remember the Annunciation?”

“Of course,” you answer with a nod. “When the angel Gabriel came down and told Mary that she was pregnant with Jesus because she had found favor with God.” You had strived to live a life as pure as Mary had, and thanks to Father Agatha, you feel like you’re on the right path.

She gives you a wry smile, her eyes still racked with seriousness. “And do you remember why God sent his only son down to us?”

“To save us from sin,” you say immediately. The most noble sacrifice anyone could make.

“And it worked for a while,” Father Agatha says sadly. “But now sin is running rampant again. However, God has an idea for how to stop it.”

Your mouth falls open a little. You had no idea it was getting that bad out in the world. You make it your mission to help the priest, no matter what it takes. “What does He need? What can we do?”

“Another vessel, for another child. A pure of heart maiden, just like Mary was,” she says, finally meeting your eyes. Your heart skips a beat.

“Me? Carry God’s child? But–”

She cuts you off. “Proverbs 3:5 says, ‘Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.’ I know it may be scary, angel, but I am here to help. I will shepherd the child unto you, if you so wish to help God in this way.”

You think for a moment, weighing your options. It has always been a dream to be a true steward of the Lord, and everyone has to do their part. You remember a verse from Psalms. “The Lord is my strength and my shield; in him my heart trusts, and I am helped; my heart exults, and with my song I give thanks to him,” you recite and Agatha smiles, very pleased.

She stands up, brushing past you and walking up the stairs to the altar. You follow her.

“How is this going to work?” You question. The Bible doesn’t go into specifics with Mary.

“Patience, angel,” Father Agatha says, pulling out the bread and wine of Christ for Communion and a rosary. “There are many things we will need to do in order to get you ready to take the child.”

She holds up the wafer and you bow, holding out your hands. She doesn’t move, just raises an eyebrow. You stand there for a second, dumbfounded.

“What are other ways you can take Communion?” She says, glancing down to the floor. A light clicks in your head and, for the third time in front of her, you drop to your knees.

This time, you open your mouth and stick out your tongue, and she places the bread on it, holding eye contact. Her gaze burns into you and you can’t help but feel that same heat you always do with her. Once you swallow, she presses the chalice of wine to your lips and you let her pour some down your throat.

The air is so charged around the two of you and you wonder if this is part of the ceremony.

“Stand up,” she orders and you shoot to your feet. She flips you around and lifts you up so you’re sitting on the altar and you gasp.

“I can’t be on this,” you protest but she shushes you.

“It’s okay, angel,” she says soothingly, hands coming to rub your thighs. Her touch feels good and it momentarily makes you forget about your qualms. “God will allow it since he knows the burden you’re about to bear. Now, do you remember that special toy I used on you last time?”

You nod, feeling the wetness in your underwear grow as you think back to that memory. The way it felt so big, the way it stretched you out, the way it felt when you orgasmed over it.

Father Agatha is wearing pants today, you notice for the first time, and she unzips them to pull something out.

Unlike the one from last time, which was purple, this one is skin colored and has two round things on the bottom. She squeezes the globes under the toy and a dribble of white liquid comes out from the tip.

“What is that?” You ask in awe. You wonder what it would taste like.

She swipes at the bead of moisture and holds it up so you can get a better look. “This is a different type of tool, one that can hold cum.” She says the new word slowly so you can remember it. “This is what’s going to go inside your little pussy, this is what’s going to fill you up with the new child of Christ.”

For some reason, the thought of having the cum inside you makes you grow even hotter. “Okay,” you say earnestly. She chuckles at how ready you are.

“Not quite yet, angel. Remember how we had to work up to it last time? We will need to do the same. But don’t fret. I’ll make it just as enjoyable.”

She takes the rosary off the altar next to you and waits for you to hold out your arms. Instead of wrapping them around your hands the right way, she twists them around your wrists so you can’t move. A flare involuntarily courses through you at the thought of being bound.

“Now, be a good girl, and complete your rosary. For each mystery, you’ll get a reward,” she says with a wink, and pulls you closer to the edge of the altar. You watch what she’s doing with bated breath and she bends down so her face is just a breath away from your pussy.

She pushes up your skirt and slides your underwear to the side, and when her finger slides through your folds, you make the sign of the cross.

“I believe in God, the Father Almighty,” you begin with the Apostles’ creed. When you get to the Our Father, the memory of you saying this while her fingers were warming you up last time hits you like a train. She finds your clit easily and rubs it, your voice jumping up an octave.

You make it through that prayer and the three Hail Mary’s with little trouble while she continues just stroking up and down your pussy, feeling it get wetter under her fingertips.

The Glory Be and the Fatima prayer also come out smoothly as Father Agatha is only teasing.

You announce the first mystery, Annunciation, and you’re saying the Our Father again when she suddenly slides a finger into you, grinning at the way you gasp and tighten around it.

She pumps it in and out lazily while you stutter through the rest of the prayer and then she pulls out. You feel empty and she tugs you off the altar and spins you around so that your ribs are pressing into it and your elbows rest on top, hands still tied tightly together by the chain.

This time, she tugs your skirt and underwear off and the cool church air makes you shiver. She grabs your buttcheeks and you gasp.

“Did your parents spank you when you were a child?” She asks and for some reason, you feel yourself get even wetter at the promise her words hold.

You nod. “Yes,” you whisper.

“Do not withhold discipline from a child; if you strike him with a rod, he will not die. If you strike him with a rod, you will save his soul from Sheol,” she quotes. “We need to make sure your body is completely cleansed. You have ten Hail Mary’s, so for each one, I’ll give you a spank.”

Your breath comes out in stutters and you feel like you’re about to pass out from overheating. The ache inside you is only getting worse.

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death, Amen.”

She slaps you before you even have the time to brace yourself.

The sound echoes throughout the empty church and you clasp your hands so hard that your knuckles turn white.

“Hail Mary, full of grace,” you say again, eyes rolling to look up at the ceiling like you’re talking straight to God.

Another spank. This time, your body rocks forward against the altar and it knocks the wind out of your lungs.

“Hail Mary…”

Spank.

“Hail Mary…”

Spank.

“Hail Mary…”

Spank.

“Hail Mary…”

Spank.

“Hail Mary…”

Spank.

You still have three more to go and you’re a mess.

The wetness between your legs has grown to a flood and is dripping down your legs. Your butt stings and the cold air works to soothe it, but every time you get a semblance of a relief, she hits you again.

“Hail…Mary…” You take your time on the eighth, dragging it out over a minute to give yourself some time to breathe and recover. She chuckles evilly, rubbing your butt.

Spank.

On the ninth time, it doesn’t even feel like you’re saying real words anymore and you can barely register the pain anymore.

Spank.

When you finally choke out the tenth one, she hits both of your cheeks as hard as she can at the same time and you groan loudly.

“Father Agatha,” you whimper and she soothes the aches with her palms.

“You did so well, angel, so perfect for me. I promise that you are completely purified now and ready for pleasure. But before we get to that, let’s say the Glory Be and the Fatima prayer together.”

She turns you around so you lock eyes with the priest and chant the two prayers and then you announce the second mystery, the Visitation, and start the Our Father. Father Agatha watches with a fond smile on your face and as you’re still speaking, she nudges your feet apart so your stance is wider.

When you begin the ten Hail Mary’s again, she reaches down and slides two fingers inside you with no resistance at all because of how wet you are.

You momentarily stop talking and the priest moans.

“You’re so wet and warm around me, angel,” she mumbles quietly and you wish your hands weren’t tied together so you could reach out and touch her.

You resume the prayer and she picks up her pace, twisting and curling, and your recitation is broken up with small gasps and whimpers. Instinctually, you raise your leg up and rest it around her and she chuckles.

It was clearly the right thing to do because her fingers can somehow get deeper inside you and your head falls back. You’re clenching tighter and you’re getting close as you keep spitting out the words, having been on the edge for awhile since her spanking.

“Ah ah,” she tuts, slowing down for a second. “You have four more. No orgasm until then.” You whine, pleading with your eyes, but she just smirks and raises a brow, waiting for you to continue.

You say the words so fast it sounds like you’re auctioning off your soul to the highest bidder.

And Father Agatha, of course, has won.

She finally strokes your clit when you finish the tenth and you spasm all over her two fingers, hands pulling so tightly against the rosary that you think you might have indents tomorrow.

She gently moves her fingers in and out while you finish up the second mystery with the Glory Be and the Fatima Prayer.

When you’re announcing the third mystery, the Birth of Our Lord, she sinks down to her knees in front of you and you forget to speak.

You shake your head, trying to figure out what she’s doing, when she lifts a leg up over her shoulder and leans close to your pussy to blow on it.

Your hips jump and you almost fall, and she helps you rest your back against the altar for balance.

“What are you doing?” You say in a hushed voice.

“Say the prayers,” she orders and sucks gentle kisses into your inner thighs. Her mouth on that extremely sensitive place makes you keen as you start to say the Our Father again. But when you begin on the Hail Mary’s, her tongue slides through your folds and it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

A loud moan claws its way out of your throat and you manage to loosen the rosary around your wrists just enough so you can entangle your hands in her hair. You had no idea that someone could put their mouth on that part of you, but you want Father Agatha to stay there forever.

She stops and nips at your thigh as a warning to keep going. It is so hard to keep your mind from completely blanking on the words with her hot tongue swirling your clit the way it is, but you somehow manage to make it through four quickly.

You buck your hips without any sort of rhythm against her face, gasping out the words to the prayer. Her tongue dips into your pussy and strokes against your walls and you think you might die and ascend before God can put his baby in you.

Like the last time, it’s clear that she won’t let you orgasm unless you finish the mystery, so you speed through again, pretty sure you miss chunks of the prayer at a time.

Finally, you get to the tenth one, and when you’re almost done, she slides three fingers into you, curls them, and sucks on your clit roughly.

You orgasm, absolutely drenching her face and fingers again.

She moves your leg down and stands up, smearing her fingers across your face.

“How was that?” She asks, smirking.

“Oh my gosh, I didn’t even know something could feel that good,” you gush.

And then she grabs the toy and drags it through your folds and you second guess that when she circles your clit with the tip. She presses down lightly and the pressure makes you squirm.

“Are you ready for me to fill you up?”

Your heart leaps, but really, you’d do anything to have her inside you again. Two orgasms hasn’t been enough to satiate you and you want to know what it’s like for her cum to be inside you.

“Please, Father, fill me up.” The words sound dirty falling from your mouth but she just grins and flips you back around, putting you back into the same position as earlier.

“Fourth mystery,” she demands and your head falls forward onto your chained arms as she pushes the tip in. Even though you are wet and stretched out, there’s still a slight burn.

The Presentation. You announce it and say the Our Father while she ruts in and out of you, never going in further than the tip.

You start on the Hail Mary’s and it takes her the entire first one to slide the entire way in. Your voice sounds strangled as you keep talking and she slowly starts to grind into you.

When you get to the third one, she stops being gentle and begins roughly thrusting, your rips slamming against the altar again and again. She reaches a hand around to rub at your clit and you clench tightly on the toy.

Father Agatha starts saying things while you keep reciting your prayers and she’s just loud enough to hear over your words.

“Angel, you’re so perfect, stretched around my cock like this, can’t wait to fill you up, to breed you, watch my cum drip out of you, God you’re taking me so well, need to do this every day, can’t wait to breed you.”

You don’t really know what she means when she says she wants to breed you, but just based on the way she sounds when she says it, like it’s making her feel as hot as you do, makes you even more wet.

At this point, you don’t even know if you’re saying the right prayer but things just keep spilling out of your mouth and you go with it. You don’t know how many you’ve said or how many you have left, all you can think about is Father Agatha.

“You’re so close, angel, just one more and then I’ll make you into the next Virgin Mary with my cum,” she grunts into your ear and you gasp out the words.

“Amen,” you finally pant out, and you can feel her hand brush past you as she reaches down between her own legs, and the next thing you know, a warmth spreads through you. It triggers your own orgasm, feeling your walls being painted with her cum, and she gently thrusts in and out while you seize around her. “Did it work?” You ask weakly.

Father Agatha strokes your hair as she says the Glory Be and the Fatima prayer herself. You realize that you forgot to say those after your second orgasm, but you can’t find it in you to care. Since you’re carrying God’s child, you don’t think He will either.

“I’m going to stay inside you like this to keep the cum in while you say the fifth mystery. It’s called cockwarming. This way, we can try to let it take hold.”

You nod and begin on the Finding in the Temple. Since she isn’t moving, you aren’t constantly distracted and you’re able to get through the Hail Mary’s without too much of a hassle, although the feeling of being full still is forefront on your mind.

When you finish the rosary, she pulls out, turns you to face her, and you gasp at the feeling of her cum oozing out of you.

“But, it was supposed to stay inside me!” You cry, watching in horror as it leaks out and down your legs.

Father Agatha frowns and collects it with her fingers. “Something must have gone wrong,” she says and then looks up to meet your eyes. “Guess we’ll just have to try again.”

#agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness smut #agatha smut #agatha all along

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