#Triggering Content Ahead Beware

[animasola86]

F o r g e t f u l 🎀 3 / 4

After you fainted, you find yourself in a different position, even more vulnerable than before, subject to a punishment you don't deserve. Or do you? And why does it excite you so much?

a dominant woman X a submissive girl with a memory problem

WARNINGS: F!Reader-insert! NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Mistress/pet. Domme/sub. Manipulation. Gaslighting. Praise kink. Dubcon elements. Humiliation. Exhibition(ism). Bondage. Impact play (canes, floggers, paddles, riding crops). Fingering. Forced orgasm. Squirting. Object insertion. Vaginal fisting. (More tags on AO3.) WORDS: 5k

A/N: As this is still a scene with a mixed audience, it's implied that Reader gets fingered by a man. If you don't like that, you can imagine somebody else of course. It's barely mentioned, just a bit of a size difference to what she knew before, so technically not that big of a deal. I wanted to warn you nevertheless! (I don't even know why I mention this tiny detail when the whole chapter is full of things that are much, much worse... so beware: this is the roughest part of the series.)

1 🎀 2 🎀 3 🎀 4

And then there's pain. A sudden slap, then another, left cheek, right cheek, your head whipping around under the force. You gasp, mouth wide open, eyelids fluttering, and as your eyes open fully, you stare ahead in shock, realizing it's not over yet, but the relief is tainted by a deep hurt, a coughing fit that makes you keel over, which you can, surprisingly. No more leather strap on your stomach, no more ties around your wrists and ankles.

You can lean in and cough your heart out, raspy breaths trying to find their way into your lungs. The pain is all around you for a moment, until you slowly calm down again, pushed back into soft cushions, a hand wiping at your sweat-slick skin. You blink your eyes into focus and see your roommate. Mistress. The beautiful woman who decided to make you her pet. Somehow there's clarity in this moment, as air floods your system, reviving your numb body with agonizing tingles.

No more dildo gag stuffed in your throat, no more restraints. What happened? You probably fainted. Did you ruin the scene? Fear crashes through you as you find Mistress' eyes. They are hard and dark, but there's something else on her pretty face: concern. For you? Or for the event she planned for such a long time? You reach up a shaking hand, trying to connect to her, your lips parting, but no words coming out.

The muscle in her jaw twitches before she looks away, nodding to someone you can't see. Hands grab you, no longer groping or exploring, but grabbing and gripping, forcing you into a sitting position before they turn you around onto your stomach. You let it happen, you're too weak to protest, still caught in your mind, fighting the guilt creeping up on you. Your arms and legs are strapped to the extensions of the table again, leaving you in a spread-eagle position, it's just your head that hangs off the edge.

There's no strap around your back, holding you down, allowing whoever is handling you to pull your hips up so your ass is sticking out more. A pillow is propped under your stomach to help with the elevation. You breathe deeply, forcing yourself to calm down somehow. The position feels familiar, but you can't remember any pictures depicting it. No. But there are other memories that suddenly flush your clouded mind. And they don't make it any better.

A helpless sniffle escapes you, reminding the people around you that you can issue noises, and apparently that's not something they want to hear. Someone grabs your chin, pulls your head up, you blink, trying to see anything, but before you can, something is stuffed into your mouth, holding your teeth open. At least it's not another dildo gag obstructing your throat. But the motion triggers more memories, hazy ones, red ones, of pain...

Instinctively you bite down on the object, it's soft but sturdy, allowing your teeth to sink in some while not allowing for anything else. You feel your saliva trickling past your lips and down your chin, the drip of it swallowed by the shuffling noises around you.

“My dear guests, there has been a slight change of plans,” you hear Mistress' voice, velvety, raw, vibrating through your core like a gentle caress. Though her words don't calm you in the slightest. “Seems like my pet decided to faint on us a little too early, the poor thing. I apologize, I know we haven't really started yet. You will still get your turn with her, do not worry. But to get her back on track and focused, I need your help. For those willing, my assistants will provide a variety of impact play items to you, please choose one each and gather around the table.”

Your nape tingles, deep shivers crashing down your spine as you whine into your gag, struggling against your restraints. A hand presses on your back, holding you still. Your breaths are erratic, your lips trembling as you part them, more spit running down your chin.

“If you may, you will take turns. Please remember that only the flogger and the whip may hit her back, focus any other item on her rear and thighs. Canes can impact her palms and soles.”

Mistress' instructions send even more shudders down your body, and to your growing horror, you feel how someone twists your arms to turn your hands palm up. Someone else starts pulling off your shoes, before your stockings follow. Your garter belt is gone too.

Now completely naked and vulnerable, strapped to a table, with the prospect of being spanked in various ways, you feel your heart thundering in your chest, your breaths frantic, and maybe if you force yourself into hyperventilating, you can faint again and won't have to witness any of this. But someone seems to notice when you feel two hands on your head, pulling it up slightly before a face appears in your blurred vision.

Mistress. “Pet, I need you to calm down,” she says sternly. “Do not fight this, it will only make it worse. You know that, right?”

You want to shake your head, staring at her pleadingly. How should you know this? You've never been spanked before, or have you? Well. There are faint memories, but then again, there were no pictures. No lasting marks on your body that would suggest anything like this. Or maybe you just can't remember? A pathetic sniffle makes it past the silicone bar between your teeth.

“Bite down on your gag, relax, breathe deeply. You will have enough time to react and process each blow. I am not cruel, you know that, but you fainted on me, and you came without permission, remember?”

You frown at her, wanting to protest (how were you supposed to ask for your orgasm with a dildo rammed down your throat?), but she clicks her tongue and shakes her head, her hand rubbing along your cheek.

“Be a good girl for me, okay? Don't embarrass me now,” she says, giving you a pointed look. “I know you can endure this. You've done so before. Your body can handle it. Just let go, pretty girl,” she adds softly, leaning in to press her full lips to your sweaty forehead. “Do it for me.”

Your stomach fills with a strange heat, and you find yourself nodding into her hand. She smiles at you, further pushing you down a road you don't want to be on, but you know you have to, you want to, for her. Anything for her.

She lets go of you and steps away, her fingers brushing along your tense shoulders. You focus on your breathing, ignoring the tingling of your limbs, and worst of all: the arousal settling deep in your core. How can this possibly arouse you? What is wrong with you? But soon the doubts and questions grow quieter as anticipation makes you anxious, and giddy.

An eerie silence settles all around you, until you hear Mistress' voice again. “Allow me to deliver the first blow,” she narrates what can only be your downfall.

You brace to her words, wondering what object she chose. Strangely enough you feel her fingers between your spread legs, pointy fingernails scraping over sensitive flesh. She seems to stand right between your thighs, one hand resting on your hip, the other exploring your folds.

“Look at this,” she says to the audience you cannot see. “She wants this. She gets off on it.” Her fingers dip into your slick, a lewd squelching sound echoing through the quiet room. You feel your cheeks burning up in embarrassment. “So do not hesitate when you play with her. She can handle this. Give her your best shot.”

And with that she lets go of your hip before her flat hand finds your right ass cheek with a reverberating slap, the impact so severe your whole body jerks against your restraints, a muffled scream trying to make it past your gag. A deep pain settles right beneath your skin, scorching and throbbing, but with her fingers suddenly slipping into your cunt, you feel conflicted.

She's curling them, pressing her fingertips into your soft flesh, before she hits the same ass cheek again, the same spot, and you clench hard around her digits, crying out, back arching, hips bucking, the pain so intense it bleeds into a strange kind of pleasure. And it was just her hand, you realize through the red fog in your head. You can't even imagine what other objects may feel like on your skin.

Of course you don't have to wait long. Mistress keeps her fingers in your pulsing pussy (you realize she is the only one not wearing gloves) as she starts directing her planned out event. “If you may, we will start with a cane to the palm. Proceed.”

You hate how she announces it, it only makes it worse, knowing where to expect the pain, it makes you flinch even before the thin item hits you. Though when it does, hard and sharp and sudden after all, you scream into your gag, convulsing hard on the table, trying to pull your hand away or turn it, but the ties around your wrists sit too tight. As you still process the stinging pain radiating from your palm, a weird throbbing thing sitting right under your skin, your other hand is hit with the same sensation, a rapid whoosh in the air, a hard and precise hit, causing you to writhe and shriek again.

As you struggle you feel someone holding down your fingers to keep your hand in position. It feels warm, your blood pumping erratically into the welts you're sure are blooming on your palms. All the while, Mistress' fingers sit still in your cunt, a gentle pressure, and you try to focus on that, on her making sure you're still okay during this endeavor.

“Feet next,” she says, and you sniffle, curling your toes in anticipation, but when the cane hits the bare sole of your left foot, it's like nothing you've ever felt. Even more painful than on your hands, the wooden stick thrashes against your soft skin, digging deep, or so it feels, a sting like a stab right into your nerves. You wail helplessly, body jerking, hips grinding against Mistress' hand.

To your biggest shame, your walls clench tightly around her fingers, muscles contracting as the pain crashes through your body, turning into a burning wave of pleasure – only to be disrupted by another sharp sting to your other foot, leaving you lightheaded and breathless as you bite down hard on the gag in your mouth.

“Thank you,” you hear the velvety voice from seemingly far away, even though she is still standing between your legs. “How do you think she's done? Will we allow her one orgasm? What do you say? Aye or no?”

Hushed voices echo through the room, barely able to penetrate the thick fog in your head. The pain still throbs warm and unrelenting under your bruised skin, your heart thundering in the same rhythm. A chorus of “Aye!” breaks through your dizziness, and you sigh against your gag when you feel the fingers in your cunt moving, in and out, slowly, the pad of her fingertips rubbing over your sensitive spots, poking and prodding.

“Come on, pet, you heard the people. Come for us, show us what you can do,” Mistress chants behind you, pushing and pulling her digits in and out faster, her thumb pressing hard onto the plug you've almost forgotten about.

Your whimpers are muffled, your stomach tensing up under her ministrations. Her hand moves in a quick sawing motion, her pinky brushing against your clit while her other fingers are pressed deeper into your fluttering cunt, thumb teasing your ass. In and out it goes, faster, harder, and the heat builds, wet and scorching deep inside you. You thrash in your restraints, hips stuttering, thighs twitching, the squelching noises growing louder and more obscene.

You couldn't care less, panting into your gag, eyes squeezed shut, focused on riding this high for as long as you're allowed. Mistress gets even faster, really ramming her hand against you, into you, parting your tense muscles until you suddenly freeze, almost choking on your own breath as your orgasm comes crashing down on you hard, the sensation so intense your body convulses uncontrollably, twitching against the fingers poking deep, and when they suddenly retreat, leaving you gaping and spasming around nothing, something warm and wet shoots from your core in twitchy jets, and a strange wave of awing noises washes over you.

Your core keeps trembling, pussy pulsing, the relief so intense you can barely breathe, before you collapse onto the table, completely exhausted. A wet hand wipes over your throbbing ass cheek, giving it a gentle slap you barely register.

“Well done, pet, what a show,” Mistress says through the cotton in your head. “Let's see if we can make her squirt again. Commence the play, ladies and gentlemen. Floggers next.”

Her words reach your brain, but they don't make much sense. You're still somewhat floating, pleasure bigger than the pain that comes when you feel the various tails of the whip hit your upper back. It's almost a caress, a gentle stroking, but unlike the cane hits, they are not reduced to just one. Someone keeps hitting the soft leather bands against your back, and each blow gets stronger, harder, until the pain finally settles under your skin, making you squirm and cry out into your gag.

The warm throbbing is spread out more, some spots more sensitive than others, but you're not allowed to focus on them, or turn them into pleasure even, when Mistress announces the next object. You can't really hear what it is, you only notice that her voice sounds from above your head now, and shortly after, you hear the clicking of her camera. Your core is hopelessly empty now, still spasming a little, with your muscles clenching around the butt plug instead.

Bracing for whatever comes next, you are still not ready when it hits you, the sudden impact a loud echoing thud, before the pain crashes through your nerves. Something wide and flat has hit your left ass cheek, and through the shivers, you feel someone standing behind you between your legs, a gloved hand gripping the base of your plug. You whimper against your gag, grinding your hips to get away from the sensation, but whoever is in charge is unrelenting, poking and pulling at the plug before you feel your muscles giving way to release it.

With it gone, you feel something warm and wet dripping from your clenching hole. The lube, you remember faintly, and you focus back on the memory of Mistress preparing your ass. You'd go back to that ten times over, anything but the continued pain from being spanked. A different set of fingers pokes at your sphincter, larger and thicker than a woman's hand, and you squirm, feeling the burning sting of your hole being stretched, muscles protesting, cold air hitting your heated flesh.

It's a strange sensation when the digits drill into you in a turning motion, pushing deep and with force, and you clench around them instinctively. At the same time as you feel knuckles pressing against your rim, another dull thud, a reverberating slap, makes your body jerk, your ass cheek burning under the flat surface of what you can only assume to be a paddle. It hits you again, and the fingers move inside your ass, in and out, forcing against your tense muscles, as you wail helplessly, hot tears streaming down your already warm cheeks.

A rhythm begins, fingers push in, the paddle comes down, stretch, slap, pain, fingers pull out, relief, fingers go back in, stab, push, drill deeper, another paddle blow, always on the same spot, pain blooms deep within you, it's all around, spreading, hot and heavy, tingling, throbbing, igniting the bruises on your palms and soles, and on your back, and still there's a strangely soothing heat building in your core.

Your muscles contract around the invading digits, your hole puckering around them, the motion getting faster, the paddle blows quicker, until they bleed together, and you scream a muffled scream as your body convulses uncontrollably, the mixture of pain and pleasure sinking right into your clit, and it throbs and pulses, your cunt clenching around nothing, and still you come, hard, thighs twitching, toes curling, straining your bruised skin, all of it combines into an orgasm that leaves you dizzy and seeing stars dancing at the edge of your vision.

The fingers in your ass disappear, replaced with the plug again, but instead of tensing around the narrow neck, your muscles pull it in, too loose to assume their original state, and you feel it slipping in all the way, deeper than before, though nobody seems to care, and before you know it, you feel something solid press against your pussy, a hard edge forcing its way into your entrance, but it doesn't quite seem to fit.

“Try the handle first,” you hear a faint voice. “You have to fuck her open, the tight little thing.”

The words make you even more dizzy, and you tense up badly when you feel something being pushed into you, slow but relentlessly, prodding until it slips in, swallowed by your clenching walls. You groan into your gag at the pressure and stretch, a strange fullness adding to the overall tenseness of your body. You try to breathe against it, adjust to it, but it only makes your heart beat faster when you realize it doesn't change anything.

The item in your cunt is moved then, pulled out and pushed in, its edges dragging along your soft flesh, poking at the plug stuck in your ass. At first the rhythm is almost relaxing, a continuous thrusting, but then whoever controls it, gets bored and impatient, and it goes from a slow in and out to a rapid pumping, and you gasp and moan, your muffled noises mixing with the hushed chatter around you.

It's dizzying how fast you're being penetrated, pummeled, hammered, drilled, your muscles giving way, allowing more to slip in, more to push deeper, and a strange pain like a stab crashes through your nerves as it is being pushed as deep as possible, poking right at your cervix. You freeze then, hoping to alleviate the pressure, your breaths erratic, limbs twitching, but it's even worse when it's pulled back with a sudden motion that feels as if you're being split right open.

You're left gaping, empty, your walls fluttering, a deep burning thrumming through your body. It doesn't take long for a new pain to take your breath away. It's bigger, wider at one side, flat, and you know as if seeing it behind your tight eyelids, that the entire paddle is forced into your widened cunt. A low groan escapes you as it fills you up, more and more, pushing deep, aiming straight for your cervix. Stars and black spots dance at the edge of your vision, your body struggling to cope with all the sensations.

For a moment it just sits there, impaling you deeply, the stretch aching low in your stomach. But it gives you time to adjust, at least a little, breathe around it, relax your tense eyebrows, and you even open your eyes (not that you would see anything but feet and legs in your current position). Drool keeps dripping from your open mouth, your teeth and jaw aching with how hard you're biting down on the silicone rod, but it's a good distraction from whatever is happening behind you.

Subdued voices, chatter and laughter alike, ring in your ears, the click and shutter noises of a camera taking countless pictures of your predicament, and the memory of finding these pictures in the first place, of seeing your cunt stretched around various objects, gives you a strange sort of comfort, knowing you've done this before, knowing your body can handle it, can return to normal afterward, meaning it may be over soon. Hopefully.

Though looking back, and it's hazy at best, but you try, you realize that, from a spectator's standpoint, nothing much has happened. There was this girl strapped to a table, a dildo gag in her throat, wrists and ankles tied, and strangers were allowed to touch her with gloved hands, cut off her clothes, grope her breasts and poke her cunt. She came once by the fingers of a random person, then bullied herself into unconsciousness for no apparent reason.

Coming back, she had been turned onto her stomach, tied up again, gagged once more, and had to endure cane hits to her palms and soles, a flogger to the back, and a rather tame spanking of her soft ass, then was allowed to come and squirted, before somebody decided to ram a paddle up her pussy. Looking at it this way, you suddenly know it is far from being over.

Something is shifting behind you, the object in your cunt poked and prodded at, pushed further, harder against your cervix, before it is being turned, its flat shape causing your walls to drag along it, the pressure changes, muscles stretched into a different direction, and all you can do is groan and whine at the fullness. It must sit (with its widest part) horizontally now, counter-intuitive to the natural form of your slit, and it burns, the stretch feels forced, making it almost impossible to breathe.

It does, however, allow your ass to relax, and in doing so, you give a little clench, a little push, and the plug that has been swallowed by your tense muscles pops out slightly, seemingly catches on the handle of the paddle poking out of you, before you hear a faint clattering noise when it leaves you that is followed by a strange murmur going through the room. A tsking sound comes to your ear. A hand grabs your chin, pulls up your head. You can still only see someone's legs, the top of their thighs, a black dress sitting tightly around them.

“Oh, pet, you shouldn't have done that,” Mistress coos. You blink tears away, trying to look up but being unable to. “Bring me the riding crop,” she adds, causing you to shiver and breathe harder in an instant.

She lets go of you, and you see her walking away, the clicking of her heels like an ominous echo, a vibration you can feel in your very core. In your attempt to ground yourself, brace for whatever comes next, you clench your hands into fists, using the sudden sting of pain in your palms to distract yourself further. It doesn't help much when the first blow lands on your body, right between your ass cheeks, directly against your puckered hole.

You scream into your gag, body convulsing under the impact, the pain sharp and stinging, and so concentrated it makes you clench around the unyielding object stuck in your cunt, which hurts even more as your muscles can't really get it to move. Your head is spinning, hanging loosely off the table, all the blood that's not pulsing under your bruised skin rushing into it, your limbs twitch with the aftershocks. Another blow hits the same spot, and the pain burns through you like wildfire, igniting every single nerve. You howl hopelessly, your sphincter positively aflame by now.

A third blow lands on it, sending another shock wave through your body, this one accompanied by a sudden motion in your cunt as the paddle is being pulled out slightly, only to be shoved back in with force, hard, unrelenting, parting your soft flesh, sinking deep, poking your furthest point with agonizing precision. Your noises bleed into muffled whines and grunts and cries, your body overwhelmed by all the different sensations. You feel even more lightheaded and breathless as the motion repeats, quicker and quicker, rapid sawing motions of an object that wasn't designed to fit into a human like this.

Add to that the throbbing pain in your asshole, and you find yourself on the verge of fainting all over again. But amidst the searing pain, a bubble of something hot grows bigger, expanding inside you, easing your nerves, your muscles, and for a moment it feels good, good enough for your whines to morph into moans, your body shuddering under the assault of sensations, and as it reaches its peak, when your back arches and your eyes roll back, when your hips stutter and your cunt flutters around the object plunging in and out, you find yourself floating, frozen in time and space for a few seconds as pure bliss explodes around you like fireworks.

With your mind filled with burning cotton that takes over everything, the aches of your body barely register, they're just a faint thrumming, throbbing, stinging, a numbing pain that doesn't matter as you ride your high – and when the paddle is pulled from your depths, a last impossible stretch, you think it's finally over, you can finally sink into the void, but luck is not on your side.

Something else replaced the rigid object, something warmer, a bit softer, and it slips into your cunt with ease, making you groan, your muscles clenching around it. And just as you slowly come down from your high, the thing inside you starts moving, and you feel it, its shape, its strength, what its attached to.

At first it's a gentle pushing and pulling, a barely there back and forth motion, before it begins to pummel your insides with not so gentle bumps, internal little nudges that stretch your walls, and you realize it's a hand, its knuckles dragging over your soft flesh, your depths molding into its shape as it pushes and pushes, a literal fist giving your cervix tiny little punches.

And the more it moves, the stranger it all feels, the rougher its movements, bigger swings, deeper pushes, and all you can do is squirm on the table, struggle against your restraints, howl into your gag, your body convulsing erratically as the fist keeps pummeling into your depths with force and vigor, eager to push you over the edge all over again.

Pain and pleasure melt together into a whirlwind of sensations, leaving you breathless and lightheaded, crying and groaning, moaning and wailing, until you lose all control over your limbs and muscles as they twitch and spasm, and your core weeps, your wetness squelching out with every plunge of the hand. It changes form then, gets thinner, pointier, still hacking away inside of you, unrelenting, bullying all those sensitive spots that give yet another layer to the strange mixture of pain and pleasure.

You can barely breathe, barely function, and it all ends when the fist is being pulled from your tightening walls with a sudden tug, leaving you gaping, your muscles clenching in confusion, but the heat just shoots out of you in erratic spasms, as you groan and grunt and moan into your gag, head spinning, body just twitching, no longer yours.

Before you can fall into nothingness, however, you hear a set of footsteps, then two hands grab your face, one is wet and warm, the other almost cool in contrast. A soothing shushing sound comes to your ears, and you blink your eyes into focus, or you try, everything's blurry, there's a thrumming ache all around you, mixed with an overwhelming feeling of weightlessness. The leather strap around your head is loosened, relieving the strain on your jaw as the gag falls away, allowing a little river of drool to leave your mouth. The hands are back to wipe at it, clean your chin and your trembling lips.

“My good girl,” you hear Mistress' velvety voice close to you as she leans her forehead against yours, crouched before you as she is, and you blink again, trying to see her pretty face, her deep eyes, and the first thing you do see is the smile on her full lips. “You've been so good. Look at you, you took this so well. Such a good girl,” she keeps praising you, rubbing your sweat-slick cheeks, her wet thumb brushing against your bottom lip and into your mouth, making you taste something sweet and tangy, and you realize it's your own taste. But you can barely react to it, it doesn't matter anyway. You did good, she said so, you made her proud, right?

She leans in and presses her lips to yours, a short but sweet kiss that tingles in the back of your cloudy mind. You wish you would have the strength to reply to her ministrations, but you can't really move, still stuck in a place outside of your own body, though she keeps peppering your face with gentle pecks, brushing your hair out of your forehead, caressing your jaw, cradling your head. She's so gentle, and the contrast to how she treated the rest of your body makes you shudder deeply.

Slowly you come back to yourself, your limbs itching, your butt hurting, your cunt throbbing. You let out a little groan against her lips, and she leans away, watching you. “Do you need a break, pet?” she asks quietly, and you want to tell her to stop it altogether, no breaks, breaks mean it will continue eventually, and you can't keep going like this. Everything hurts, you feel so empty and boneless. But seeing her so close to you, still feeling the tingles of her kisses, how can you say no to this woman?

“Yes, please, Mistress,” you croak out, your voice nothing more than a rasping breath spilling from your swollen lips, raw and rough from all the voiceless screaming, but she understands you all the same. She nods, caressing your cheek, before she stands up and addresses the people you completely forgot about by now.

“Ladies and gentlemen, dear guests, I thank you for your attention and participation thus far. We are taking a little break, so if you like, I invite you to grab another drink and some snacks from the buffet in the entrance hall. We will be back shortly.”

1 🎀 2 🎀 3 🎀 4

End notes: Well. Was the ending worth all the horrors before that? I hope so. More aftercare in the next chapter, we're through the worst, I promise! Stay tuned!

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Saturday!

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

[the-whispers-of-death]

hi, Ive been writing and want to post fics in the future and I saw your post about tagging fics correctly. I’m not super knowledgeable on that could you give some examples on how to correctly tag fics? and then especially with dark fics, smut, fluff etc. as well?? sorry if you’ve already posted something about it I couldn’t find it ☺️

I haven't really made a post on how to properly tag posts (I say posts instead of fics because I'm talking strictly about Tumblr writings and not Ao3 works) but I'll do it now!

(NOTE: This post became so long that I'm too lazy to go through fully and edit it. So beware of any typos.)

How to Properly Tag Your Posts:

So I'm assuming that you already know how to tag posts in general. There's a section at the bottom of the post where it says "add tags to help people find your post" and you can just add up to 30 tags.

It's recommended that you at least have five tags, as the first five (I believe it's five, I'm going based off of memory of me seeing that somewhere) are specifically used to push your post out into the Tumblr world for everyone to see. That's not to say you can't use more than five, it's just that five is like the minimum you should use if you want people to see your posts.

Onto how to properly tag your posts.

How To Properly Tag "x reader" Posts:

First, I will be talking about how to properly tag your posts using the example x reader posts (because this issue was the start of this entire thing).

If you're writing with a female reader in mind (ie you use she/her pronouns to refer to the Reader or you use feminine terms ((good girl, wife, girlfriend, waitress, queen))), you should tag your post as female reader. Now there's many different ways you can tag it as female reader:

fem!reader

fem reader

female!reader

female reader

f!reader

f reader

x fem!reader

x female reader

x f!reader

There's also tagging it as "(Character) x female reader" (any of the female reader variations listed above). "(Character)" is just used in place for the character in which the reader is romancing/in a romance with. Just input whatever character is being romanced and voilà!

For example, if you wrote a Simon "Ghost" Riley fic with a female reader, you can tag it: "simon ghost riley x female reader" or "simon ghost riley x fem!reader".

(NOTE: I believe the use of capitalization ((or lack thereof )) is key to posts being tagged correctly and showing up in that specific tag, simply because after posting, any tag that I've had something capitalized is lowercase when posted. I don't know if this truly makes a difference, but I try my best to just do lowercase when tagging anyways.)

Now for any other reader (male reader and gender neutral reader), the same thing applies but with those variation of male reader tags and gender neutral reader tags: male reader, mreader, m!reader, gender neutral reader, gnreader, gn!reader.

How to Properly Tag Dark Fic Posts:

Now tagging for dark fics! Here are the most common tags I see when seeing properly tagged dark fics. (Before I scroll.)

dark fic

darkfic

dead dove

dead dove do not eat

tw: (input whatever trigger here)

cw: (input whatever content warning here)

Not a lot, but again, I don't read a lot of dark fics. I'll expand on trigger warning (tw) and content warning (cw) tags because I know how I worded that might be confusing.

So for example, say you're writing something with stalking. You'd tag it as "tw: stalking" or "cw: stalking". So basically anything you feel like you need to warn readers ahead of time before they go further into the post, you tag it using trigger warning or content warning followed by that thing.

Also, I believe it's good to add content/trigger warnings onto the post itself as well as tagging it with the content/trigger warnings. Just so that those who like dark fics can see what is in the post instead of looking in the tags (if the post is very long and doesn't have a "read more" thing, then a reader will have to scroll all the way down just to see the tags).

How to Properly Tag Smut and Fluff:

And lastly, we'll be talking about to properly tag smut and fluff. (Because there's also a problem in the COD fandom where smut isn't properly tagged.)

When tagging a smutty fic, it's important to not only tag it as smut, but also to tag what you may see in the post. (Similar to dark fics, but you don't have to put tw/cw in the tag.)

Examples of this would be:

tw: smut (I know I said you don't have to put tw/cw, but I do this tag simply just to cover my bases)

smut

bottom reader

bottom male reader

top reader

top male reader

sub reader

sub male reader

dom reader

dom male reader

x bottom reader

x bottom male reader

x top reader

x top male reader

x sub reader

x sub male reader

x dom reader

x dom male reader

(input whatever is being done in the post ((ie: oral)))

I'm going to stop there, because if I continue, the list will be very long and I've covered the gist of it. (Hopefully).

Now, again, I recommend also labeling in the post what's going on in the post, just because I know from personal experience that I don't really check the tags (until I've hit something where I'm like "is this tagged correctly, because this post should fall under my tagging filter) and it's just so nice to know what type of reader (bottom/top or sub/dom) the post is written for.

Now for fluff, it's easier because you can just tag it as "fluff" or "sfw". Not much needs to be done for tagging fluff. You can just tag it as fluff.

Some More Things of Note:

I have two more things to talk about. The first being the "read more" feature.

The "read more" feature can be put on your post when you start a new paragraph/start writing your post, as a whole set of options appear when you make a new paragraph/click on the "type here" when staring writing. (At least on web you can do that. On mobile, the read more feature is down at the bottom, right below where you can enter the tags.)

The "read more" symbol looks like this (and it's the same symbol on both mobile and web):

(Forgive my terrible screenshot abilities.)

Just click that symbol and it'll have a squiggly line with the words "keep reading" in between (and after posting it'll just appear as the words). The reason to use this post is when you have a very long post, as it will help others when they stumble upon your post while searching in a particular tag.

The last thing I wanted to talk about was the content label of post.

You find content label at the bottom right next to post (when you're on the web) or at the top right next to post when you click the meatball menu (when you're on mobile). The default is set to "For Everyone" but you can change it to mature (and select why it's mature, either for sexual themes, violence, or drug and alcohol addiction). Changing the content label of your post to mature can help give an extra security measure in addition to tagging your post.

So say you're writing a dark fic or smut, you can choose to change it to mature for violence (for a dark fic) or change it to mature for sexual themes (for smut). Just toggle on whichever you feel best fits the post and if the reader has that specific content hidden, it'll hide the post.

Anyways, that's all I can think of right now. I hope this post helped you!

(EDIT: I can't believe I wrote this post and forgot to talk about angst! Anyways, I hope whoever asked this is still reading this post, so they can know this answer.

So for angst, I'd follow the same steps for tagging dark fics with the tags being: tw: angst (again just to cover my bases), angst, and then input whatever tw/cw you want.

Again, I'd also label it on post that it has angst and then the content warnings for said angst.)

[ten-cent-sleuth]

A Galling Yoke, Part 11

<- Prev | Next ->

for the Cathartic Shower or Sudden Realisation, Drowning or Drowning Your Sorrows, and Fingore or Electrocution squares on my July Break Bingo card

See this post for main info, including a masterlist and synopsis. See this post for warnings.

Word Count: 3.7k

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x f!Reader

Rating: Mature (for potential triggers, not for sexual content)

BEWARE THE CONTENT WARNINGS POSTED ABOVE. If you are not comfortable with them, you can read the first part of the chapter, stop at the line break, and skip to the author’s notes for more information.

Nobody bothered you for the coming days. Acquaintances steered clear of Voss House, though the Little Season was by now in full swing, and your staff steered clear of you, though you tried your best not to be too dull or ill tempered with them. Mrs Rogers still kept you company, but you could not entertain much conversation despite your yearning to confide in her all your devastation about William and all your doubts about what you’d gone through with Sherlock. The closest you had managed was a few minutes’ exchange—

“Sherlock knows about Edmund. He knows about me.”

“Oh… I am sorry, ma’am; I know you do not like to be reminded of it.”

“It was terrible, Mrs Rogers. It is terrible.”

“Did he react badly? He never did strike me as the sort to judge a lady for a cad’s behaviour.”

“No, I believe not that he… That is, I know not. I gave him not a chance to properly react, whether it would have been badly or not. But no, his core reaction seemed to be one of concern—and one of apology.”

“Then…he made you not feel pitied, or shameful?”

“Not the guilty sort of shame, merely…merely humiliated, the way one would feel if one made a fool of oneself in public and was laughed at. If… If that makes any sense…”

“It does, my dear. I understand.”

“Perhaps a little pitied, as well. Though I suppose I ought not to be surprised by that. If a battered wife is not blamed, she is to be pitied, is she not?”

“I do not pity you, and you know I do not blame you.”

“…It is only, he had such a sad look about him when he found out. His eyes…”

“There is nothing wrong with being sad about such a situation, is there, ma’am? I am sad some days, when I recall how the master treated you solely to feel better about himself. I am sad whenever I recall how he made you feel—whenever I see how he still makes you feel. Are you not?”

“Indeed, I suppose there are times… Sad, and angry also. I wish I never had to recall.”

“Of course, my lady. But there is nothing wrong with remembering and thinking about it either. Ignorance is a much graver failing than knowledge.”

You had thought of Sherlock then, of how much he prized knowledge, of how much he was discomfited by lack of it, of how much he had wanted knowledge of you.

“Was Mr Holmes’s failing making you feel exposed and embarrassed, or making you think about what you have not spoken of in a very long time?” she had asked, and the answer you felt in your breast had been too tumultuous and nebulous to verbalise.

Mrs Rogers had given you much to think about, but you tried to not have time to think. You busied yourself with catching up on the household affairs you had neglected for the investigation, and then getting as far ahead as you could with them; who knew if Lord Coltidge would have the time to ensure Voss House was running smoothly when things inevitably got hectic once you turned yourself into Scotland Yard?

Then that got you thinking: once you were convicted, your widow’s portion would revert to its original owners, wouldn’t it? Which meant your father would get the house back—it had been bestowed to Edmund as part of your dowry and only became yours upon his demise—and you could not leave your servants vulnerable to him, so you prepared protections for their jobs and arranged for alternate incomes if they had to leave.

You sent the Sulyards an invitation to come by Voss House at any time and at long last clear out Edmund’s effects. You finished up needlework projects lying around and said your goodbyes to your book collection. You went through your chambers and chose what could be given away. You did everything you could to ensure you would slip away from this world, this life, with as few ripples as possible. No unfinished business, no loose ends—

Blinking, you set down the ledger you’d been reviewing and stared out the study window. As you drifted over to the glass pane, the thoughts whirled faster and faster around your head until the tornado sucked the breath out of you: Sherlock had said professional killers didn’t leave loose ends—yet Miss Algar, a trackable witness who had seen the entire murder, remained breathing and even comfortable—so William must have gotten involved—how?—not sure, but somehow he kept the hitman from getting to Miss Algar—so William must have hired Mrs Kinley too—makes sense, who else but Viscount of Pashbroke would expend such liabilities—but it would be equally in character for Viscount of Pashbroke to hand over the reins of everything to the Earl of Coltidge once he broke about the murder—when it rains, it pours—but if your father hadn’t gotten rid of her, he approved of her, which meant she was the talebearing sort of employee—goodness, remember when Mrs Tattershall promised not to tell Father about the frog incident but then she did?—goodness, remember how he knew about your visit to Miss Algar before anyone in London had?—but if Mrs Kinley had always been indiscreet, might she be in contact with the hitman?—no loose ends—yes, ’tis possible she was not even aware, ’tis possible the hitman had snuck into her circle of acquaintances—she had called her charge’s attack an “accident”!—oh yes, ’tis entirely possible she blissfully did not realise the danger she was in, the danger of being a loose end.

By the time you pressed a steadying palm to the window, you were resolved to make sure Mrs Kinley and Miss Algar were safe. Even if it were a long shot, verification that they were prepared should your arrest upset whatever precarious balance with which the hitman had gotten comfortable was not a task you could leave for someone after the fact.

In the hackney to Cable Street, you couldn’t help but think that Sherlock would have come to this conclusion sooner, if only you had kept him apprised of all that you had learnt. If you had told him about Lord Coltidge’s uncommonly familiar knowledge of London on dit… If you had told him William was responsible for Edmund’s death but you felt responsible regardless…

You shook your head. Stop. You could not forget the very valid reason you had not told him: these were your burdens to bear, and he would be better off not learning of them, just as he would have been better off not learning how much pain you carried in you.

Mrs Rogers’s recent words popped into your imagination, and you stewed in them for the rest of the carriage ride.

As you alighted from it in front of Miss Algar’s building, wincing at the aching stiffness in your right leg, you regretted not having spent your time planning what to say instead, but that did not turn out to be so great a problem.

The conversation with Mrs Kinley did not last very long.

The landlord had once again happily led you to the correct flat, but this time, the nurse did not even let you past the threshold. Dogged, you had pleaded your case to her on her doorstep, you whispering furtively your concerns and she exclaiming unreservedly her indignation.

“I have no doubt that you know of whom I speak,” you had thrown out as a last-ditch effort.

“Oh, the impudence! Always a-comin’ hereabouts and a-tellin’ me what to do, just because you’re a great lady and I’m a lowly worker! A noble or not, I think I’d well know if a man I knew had bloody hands!”

“If you would merely tell me if my description sounds like anybody you—”

“Out with you! Out, out, else I scream for the peelers!”

You flinched as the door slammed in your face.

Massaging your vindictive knee—it still had not quite forgiven you for forcing it to run from 221b Baker Street; a part of you couldn’t help but agree—you thought once again of Sherlock. Ignorance is the curse of God indeed. He would have had no patience for Mrs Kinley’s pride getting in the way of the case. Gracious, was this even within the purview of an investigation anymore?

With a sigh, you walked haltingly to the side of the building, leaned against it, and looked up at the sky. What to do? What to do, what to do? You had not planned—or particularly wished, though you did paradoxically long—to see Sherlock, at least not outside of Whitehall Place, but perhaps his assistance would be necessary to protect Miss Algar…

Deliberating over your options, you let quite some time pass. You had not come to a conclusion when movement in your periphery caught your attention. You started to turn, but something else in the air caught your eye: Was it flurrying? Could these really be the first snowflakes?

Before you could confirm, something struck you in the side of the head and—

—cold. Hmm. What? Your thoughts were sluggish—treacle dripping through your fingers. What had you just been thinking? What had been the first half of…?

A shiver wracked through you. Oh, right. It was too cold. You hated the cold. Why was it so cold?

You shivered again, and this time you noticed something strange: your arms were held down. Held…or tied? And your legs. Your legs too. Tied down.

Now that you were really waking up, you could also tell something was on your face—rough, musty, but light and not completely opaque. That wasn’t so bad, though you endeavoured to keep your breaths shallow so you didn’t inhale too much of the material or whatever dirt it might carry. The real discomfort was under you, a stiff board that was brutal on your shoulders, not to mention the cramps sure to come with your right leg being unable to stretch or relax properly. All in all, you had no clue how you had ended up in this situation.

Clue. Heavens, if Sherlock were here, he’d have probably deduced which sector of London you found yourself in and how much time had passed.

But Sherlock wasn’t here—and he wasn’t coming.

You shuddered, this time not only from the cold.

“Oh, apologies, m’lady—oughtay get a fire goin’?”

You squirmed at the unfamiliar voice. Had the speaker been there this whole time, watching you? If he had just arrived, how had you not heard a door creak?

“Who are you?” Foolish; he would never answer that. “Why did you take me? What are you going to do?”

Now that you were listening to yourself, you realised your voice had a peculiar echo. You must be in a large chamber of some sort—at least as wide and as tall as a ballroom, but where in London could he have taken you that was like that yet secluded enough for nefarious activities?

“Y’sure y’wish fo’ me to answer tha’?” mused your abductor.

You gulped. If he were the hitman—and, really, who else would he be?—you were now a loose end.

“It won’t be so bad, m’lady, if y’just tells me wha’ oi wanna know.” His pause was as menacing as his words. “Why’s ’olmes lookin’ into the ole nemmo on Cable? He know ’bout me?”

“Does he know what about you?” you huffed wryly. “I do not know who you are, you—”

The frigidity hit you first—it was acute, stinging, and miserable. It pierced your skin, freezing you right to the bone all across your body. You didn’t realise it was really only touching your face until it stopped.

“Now that weren’t a very prudent answer, m’lady. You gots a be’ah one?”

“What do you mean? What do you mean?” This time, you were entirely sincere in your confusion: you were so breathless and so cold you couldn’t quite remember what he’d asked you, much less figure out how to answer. And you didn’t know what he had done to you—your senses were too restricted and disoriented for that—but you knew you didn’t want him to do it again, ever.

But then he heaved a sigh, and your heart seizing with realisation, you tensed for—

A thick, heavy paw clamped over your mouth and nose, the now smothering cloth across your face tight against your nostrils. And it was damp, now. It was then that you realised what exactly was happening: he was pouring water on you, right onto you, and you couldn’t breathe.

For minutes—or perhaps seconds, instants, but for a long time, you clawed at your restraints and jerked around on the board, all in vain, all the while flailing to tell whether you were inhaling or exhaling. Filthy water cascading down your nose, muddy panic flooding up your airway, you begged, you sobbed, for it to stop.

Could he hear? Could he understand?

“Anything, I shall tell you anything,” you screamed—your drowning mind screamed—your drowned mouth tried to scream.

Would you drown? Would you die here?

And then it stopped. The water stopped. The pleading and the pain did not.

You heaved as much as you could while still strapped to the board, your lungs shrieking for air.

Air, air, air—

Please, please, please—

“Bleedin’ toffah,” scoffed your tormentor. “Y’need a minute t’stop bla’erin’ nonsense, does you? Blasted no-abilities can’t ’andle nuffin’, not even a bi’ ov fisherman’s dau’er wivout all the box ov toys…”

Quivering with panic and hiccuped tears, you listened to him walk away and sluggishly understood that you indeed hadn’t spoken aloud. A quiet, drenched part of you was grateful—and ashamed that you had tried to—but largely you were horrified that this meant he would return and that meant the water would return and—

The suffocating material, with your shaking, falls, falls to the floor but more importantly falls off. You gasp with relief, even if you still can’t see or breathe clearly from the force of your sobs. Through blurry vision, however, you actually managed to see where you were: a warehouse, dusty and empty, nothing of note, nothing of use… But it’s so bare that your darting eyes notice holes in the wall with wires sticking out—wires not entirely covered in rubber. Naked wires.

And you started to properly calm down as a plan took shape…

“Awite, m’lady, I ’ope you— Wo’ the—!”

Your gaze shot to the man approaching you, walking out of the shadows, and your brow jumped up. That nose, that jawline, that forehead—those were memorable features that you had seen before, that you had seen on Miss Algar’s nurse. You had a rapid stream of thoughts then—of course, of course, William would have accepted a recommendation from his murderous employee about whom to hire for their witness!—but it was dammed by the stony look on your present company as he stormed over to you. Close up, he was a veritable boulder, large and robust, strong- and angry-looking.

“You seen me face!”

You blinked up at him. It had escaped you that anyone knowing his identity would be a big deal to him, but yes, you had seen his face, and you weren’t likely to forget it.

“Dratted Barney Rubble,” he snarled as his calloused hand grabbed at the board you were lying on.

You went rigid in anticipation as he dragged the board—and, you realised now, it was more of a worktable with wheels—in the direction whence he’d come. But when you saw where he was taking you, a rusting basin double the volume of a clawfoot slipper tub, your rising fear went the way of your previous panic. The plan was solidifying.

Chest tightening, you steeled yourself to do just one last little thing…

“Y’re gonna give me the answers oi want,” he muttered, “’cause y’re a ’ole lotta wo’k, m’lady. Take my lump of ice and make this wurf my while, eh?”

His sinister chuckle was the last thing you heard before he threw cloth once more over your head and your ears greyed out with a dull pounding. You knew what was coming. And you had just enough time to hold your breath; then the water started pouring.

For as long as you could, you resisted, determined not to feel that tidal wave of wild terror and compromise your honour again. And you made it over the first swell. You even fought down some of the second surge of rolling nausea and desperate fright! But confound it, how did the water keep coming, simply water and water and—

“Gaugh!”

Exhale—

No, no, no—

Inhale—

Water, constant, splashing, filling—

You gagged as it invaded what should have only had air.

Water, crisp, biting, freezing—

And you kept gagging, unable to find equilibrium now that your defence had crumbled.

Water, mucky, churning, nauseating—

You panted for oxygen, but in its stead your mouth sucked in liquid and moistened cloth. Your only recourse was this: The plan. The plan, the plan, the plan. Remember the plan.

And after some eternity, the tide receded, the pounding quieted, and the sinister chuckle repeated.

“Well, yer maiden-crypt?” he questioned. “’Ow much’s ’olmes know ’bout me an’ the ole Draylus—whatsit—Mistuh ’onourable E’mund?”

The plan. The plan. The plan.

You nodded rapidly under the cloth and rasped out, “Yes, I—I shall tell— He— Mr Holmes, he knows that— Oh, oh goodness— But he still cannot be certain whether—”

There was a rattling slam, and you didn’t have to pretend to flinch. “Ge’ i’ togever!” he shouted. “Oi don’t understa’ nuffin’ y’re sayin’!”

Pushing past your dread, you yanked at your restraints and cried, “Forgive me. Please, forgive me—I shall tell you anything, but no more water, please, please, I cannot—”

You allowed a bit of the hysteria you were feeling deep within your ribcage to spill out in gasping breaths and incoherent pleas. It was cathartic, but above all, it worked.

“Damnation,” he hissed through clenched teeth as he threw away the rag on your head and untied the straps around your arms and legs. “Wou’ja calm it now, m’lady? Oi promise you, no mo’ wa’er iv you tell me—”

Sitting up and scanning the room to reorient yourself, you let his aggravated appeasements wash over you, and when you were ready, with a deep breath, you leapt off the table and shoved him into the basin.

It was deep enough that his head actually went underwater, his shoulders banging into the bottom. You didn’t wait for him to regain his senses and scramble back to the surface.

“Please, God, let this work,” you whispered, grabbing the closest wire exposed in the wall. You shoved it into the water, as close to the man thrashing for purchase in the basin as you dared—but nothing happened.

Sherlock’s face flashed in your head, animated as he explained open and closed circuits. Open: no current. You glanced back at the hole in the wall and saw more heads of copper. Need current. Grinding your jaw, you snatched one with your free hand and had your hard-earned breath knocked right out of you.

Electric agony jumped out of the wires and punched straight through you. Your body felt crumpled from top to bottom with the force of it.

But through the contractions violently commanding your muscles, Sherlock’s voice rang out between your ears: “Electricity shall move more easily through the pump water…” Well, this water was dirtier than any pump water, certainly more so than Sherlock’s fancy deionised stuff.

“…but it always takes the most direct path.” 

Move, you ordered yourself, struggling to eye the “most direct path” through the sweaty haze of sheer hurt. Move. Move. MOVE.

Just as your captor pushed his head out of the water, you threw your spasming fists open and watched the wires fall on opposite sides of the man. He screamed. He screamed, and you stumbled back, not so much because the volume deafened as because the despair punctured.

Between pushing him into the water and dropping the wires beside him passed mere seconds—seven, maybe eight—but your mind was hurtling at such breakneck speed with all the ways the plan could go wrong that it felt like you were waiting before you could finally leave him behind and run.

You did not run very well.

Your right leg was taut, the knee barely creaking along; your arms were dead weight at your sides, your entire torso felt weak and fuzzy, and the nerves throughout your body were quite literally fried.

But you did very efficiently drag yourself out of that crumbling building, onto the street, and down many sidewalks of the City in search of an area of London you recognised.

Dear Lord, is it snowing? was your first lucid thought. And it was. You hobbled along, pressing a palm to walls and fences to keep yourself upright and awake, and watched the flakes drift to the ground. The thought that now you would die, watered down as you were in freezing temperatures, entered your mind and was met with much less perturbation as the thought that you would die there had been. Perhaps because you would not be as ashamed to lose your life to nature as you would be to lose it to a hired killer. Or perhaps simply because you were in shock.

Yet your brain did not feel muddled, but rather cleared of many troubles, of thoughts as large and as weighted as pennies. Indeed, when the first person to approach you among all those giving you strange looks asked, “Madam, are you in need of assistance?”, you had an answer ready—

“I am. Please, know you the way to Baker Street?”

For with a mind newly cleared, you knew that you—even if it meant feeling exposed and embarrassed, even if it meant speaking of things you didn’t want to think about, even if it meant letting him in—would only ever want to go to one person for help, for safety: Sherlock Holmes.

Thank you for reading. If you stopped at the line break (provided by @firefly-graphics, whose graphics are very cool), you can DM me (or send an ask, but you’ll have to be off anon) and I’ll give you a summary. This is not necessary though; the skipped section has some character development and meaningful parallels, but nothing plot-wise that you can’t figure out in the next chapter. Everyone else, I hope you enjoyed the warehouse scene (which I am Quite dissatisfied with and will be revising the heck out of for AO3). I have no doubt that I screwed up some facts; to a certain extent, I did so knowingly for the plot, but still feel free to point out errors or inaccuracies with the science or the Cockney and I’ll hope to rectify them. Feedback is always welcome!

Taglist [comment below if you’d like to be added!]: @theyaremorethanjustfictional

[kilvalir]

kilvalir's choices works

Below the read more, you will find a compilation of all the choices content I've made so far. Beware of it lives within spoilers, not all the titles of the works ahead are spoiler-free.

Tags

These are the tags I normally use on my own creations.

Writing: #my writing Edits: #my edits Memes: #my memes Below are the tags I use for my own favourite it lives within main character, mr pink-hair up there, Vax Vũ-Verdant, and all content related to him, including those made by me, and those not made by me. Vax in general: #OC: Vax Vax with Lincoln: #Vaxlinc

Writing

A note on trigger warnings: all my writing lists any potential content warnings at the top of the work, with the work itself under a "read more" button.

1. Lincoln x MC angst fic - Heal what has been hurt (change the fate's design), part 1, part 2 2. Abel x MC ficlet - click 3. Excerpt of an unfinished Abel x MC angst - click 4. Abel x MC (ish) - a sinister Judas Kiss piece - click 5. Abel x MC joke fic - click 6. Pictures of You - ILW Main Cast Angst - click 7. In Progress Lincoln x MC Angst - part 1 8. Excerpt of a soft Lincoln x MC WIP - click 9. Little ILW MC Angst Piece - click

Edits

Another note on trigger warnings: warnings for edits are shown by caution emojis and what the warning is for, after the link. e.g ⚠️EXAMPLE ⚠️

Fake CGS and Book Covers:

1. Bashful Abel in a suit - click 2. Horror Abel - click⚠️GUNS ⚠️ 3. Horror Abel looming behind ILW MC - click ⚠️BODY HORROR ⚠️ 4. Suited Up Abel Leaning - click 5. ILW MC (Feens!) striding menacingly through an alley - click 6. Eiko x MOTY MC cover edit - click 7. Abel x ILW MC (Hilkka) reading by a tree - click 8. Blades MC (Raine) flying on a drake - click 9. Blades MC (Maiele), Tyril, and Imtura in battle - click 10. Martin Vanderweil x LOA MC edit - click 11. Gabe x Cas ready for battle - click

Sprite Edits (Part 1!):

1. Abel in Rowan's glasses - click 2. Sleeveless Abel with long hair - click 3. Long-hair Abel in a flower crown - click 4. ILW MC in Abel's sweater - click 5. Pirate Abel #1 - click 6. Pirate Abel #2 - click 7. Pirate Abel #3 - click 8. Horror Abel - click ⚠️BODY HORROR ⚠️ 9. Grandpa Abel - click 10. Crying Abel - click ⚠️DEATH AND ILW SPOILERS ⚠️ 11. Bearded Abel and beardless Lincoln - click 12. Merman Abel - click 13. Abel x ILW MC heist suits - click 14. Amalia dressed as her younger self - click 15. Lincoln dressed as his younger self - click 16. Beckett (TE) as a wood nymph - click 17. Lincoln as an elf - click 18. Tom as a mage - click 19. Jean Jacket Lincoln with his hair down - click 20. Nik Ryder if he was in ATV - click 21. ILW MC (Vax) lookbook - click ⚠️ILW SPOILERS ⚠️ 22. ILW MC (Vax) expressions - click 23. ILW MC (Vax) in the ILW ballroom dress - click 24. ILW MC (Vax) in an immortal desires dress - click ⚠️ILW SPOILERS ⚠️ 25. ILW MC (Rowan) as a snow queen - click 26. TE MC (Anitha) as a mermaid - click 27. Blades MC as a shadow court member - click 28. Desire and Decorum MC as a fairy - click 29. ILW MC (Vax) pride edits - click

Sprite Edits (Part 2!)

30. Lincoln x MC edits - click⚠️ILW SPOILERS ⚠️ 31. ILW MC's Goth Mom - click 32. LOA MC x Martin Vanderweil edits - click 33. ILW OC Expression Sheet - click 34. ILW OC Full Body Sprite - click 35. ILW MC (Nishiki) Robes Outfit - click ⚠️ILW SPOILERS ⚠️ 36. ILW MC (Nishiki) Casual Outfit - click 37. ILW MC (Vax) lit up with Power - click ⚠️ILW SPOILERS ⚠️ 38. ILW MC (Vax) Before and After GIFs - click ⚠️FLASHING IMAGES, ILW SPOILERS ⚠️

Misc. Edits:

1. Rheya (BB) fragment piece, with the cracks removed - click ⚠️BLOOD AND BLOODBOUND B2 SPOILERS⚠️ 2. Abel Valentines Cards - click 3. Abel Moodboard - click 4. Gaius (BB) fragment piece, with the cracks removed - click ⚠️BLOOD, DEAD PEOPLE, AND BLOODBOUND B1 SPOILERS⚠️

Art

1. LOA MC x Martin Vanderweil portraits - click

Memes

1. Abel vs Connor - click ⚠️ILW SPOILERS ⚠️ 2. Abel, Jocelyn, and ILW mc - someone will die... - click 3. Horror Connor when you flirt with more than one person - click 4. Abel, Annie, and mentioned MC - she thinks it's fancy? - click 5. Lincoln x MC - a smile might be nice... - click 6. Devon, Power MC - I'm literally shaking.. - click 7. Abel x MC - no principles - click 8. MC and most LIs - please sir, can I have some more? - click 9. Lincoln x MC - breakfast takes a turn - click 10. Abel and Lincoln - on the matter of sleep.. click 11. ILW MC - the key to happiness.. click 12. Abel & ILW MC - frown meme uno reverse (follow up to #5) - click 13. ILW - quit telling everyone I'm dead! - click ⚠️ILW SPOILERS ⚠️

[don-forever]

Semen Retention Guide

How to quit porn

Written 2022 - 2024

Below is a guide to help you better understand your addiction and help you quit porn for good.

Find Peace. †

-------------------------------------------------

Pre

*Nothing is scientifically proven and is just my experience

*Document subject to change

*I kept track of every relapse for about 6 months to gain data, and recorded my mindset during the first few weeks of retention to better understand addiction and what causes relapses.

How to Start

Planning ahead (in my experience) is more effective than starting immediately. I find that planning ahead gives you time to come to terms with the End. Plan retention 1 week ahead for best results.

Tip: If you keep planning ahead then delaying it saying "I'll do it next week" then it means you dont WANT to get better. Dont lie to yourself. Make your decision certain.

Triggers

Instagram and Other Social Medias (uninstall)

Uninstall instagram for good.

Uninstall all social medias.

Triggers are the downfall of any man. Taking glances and peeks of sexual content will destroy you. You can't withstand it. You must run from it.

If you must use social media then beware that the internet has become plagued with lust. You have been warned.

Mindless Socialization

Mindless communication is the act of texting people with the sole purpose of avoiding solitude and filling a void. Before texting, ask yourself what are you trying to gain from the person you are talking to. Mindlessly texting random people you are attracted to, or your ex, or a tinder match will not fill your void. It will only make you horny which will cause you to masturbate OR will lead to sex, which will turn your porn addiction into a sex addiction (which is way worse). Once the sex stops the porn addiction will return.

Dating apps can also be a form of mindless socialization. Seeing a variety of women flash before your eyes triggers the dopamine receptors and can prime you for lust. You also risk seeing lustful images that can tempt you. This is how I see it: We are what we eat. If at 2am I am swiping past countless images of different beautiful women, then these photos will be on my subconscious mind. This subconscious programing will only lead to more fast paced dopamine addiction. Think about what dating apps are. A lonely person judging somebody by their appearance and swipes hoping to find fulfillment. If this fulfillment isn't met the void within grows. If you don't match with anyone the void grows more.

Dating apps aren't all bad. I have used dating apps and met great people and formed meaningful connections. It's nothing wrong with meeting people. But, I have also used these apps and relapsed because I had sexual conversations with women or because I primed my subconscious mind with lust by swiping through endless images. They have hurt me more than they have helped me. Use at your own risk.

Socializing should be pure. Ideally in person. Authentic. One must be comfortable and in love with themselves before searching for love outwardly. Socialization should be healthy and not be centered around sex. Socialization should not be used to fill a void.

Some women will not have your best interest in mind and talk about sex even though you are on retention. Beware of this.

To insure your intentions are pure it is best to wait until you feel comfortable before socializing with women to avoid relapse from lust, rejection, or unmet expectations.

Proper Socialization

Porn isolates us from the outside word. It sexualizes the brain while making us socially anxious and insecure. Heavy porn users have trouble talking to people they find attractive. This inability to properly socialize creates a void and that void creates more porn use. This creates a cycle. That is why I believe the purest form of socialization is in person. I believe it is necessary to readjust to society little by little. Learning how to be in the real world will get you real friends and real relationships. This will remove your desire for watching porn even more.

I can make a book on how to talk to people.

Explicit Content (stay off explicit sites)

Avoid / Remove anything that can lead to relapse.

Again, get rid of ALL avenues for temptation.

Lack of Sleep / Energy

Willpower is exhaustible. Strength is exhaustible. Sleep early / Eat healthy to get the energy needed to withstand the battle.

Most of my relapses occurred 2am - 5am. I should have been sleep.

Boredom (preoccupy self)

When there is too much time on your hands, there is nothing stopping you from masturbating. Exercise, Take walks, Sit with family, Etc. To preoccupy self. Create a healthier routine.

Days where you know you will have a lot of free time, create a schedule or have plans set aside. The less you plan ahead the more likely you will have free time on your hands. The more free time, the bigger the urge to masturbate.

Tip: Plan some things in public. It gets you out the house and out your head. It gives you a sense of what life really is.

First 4 weeks are hardest (in my experience).

Meditate more frequently and pray more frequently. Take walks more often. Be in public more. Sleep earlier. Cold showers. Hobbies. Etc.

Lustful thought

Lustful thoughts are like seeds.

If you look at one person lustfully, it may not do much. But, as time goes on and you get more horny, that seed will grow into something much more. The more seeds you plant the less likely you are to win.

Keep your mind away from lust or you risk having those same lustful thoughts reemerge in the future when you lack the willpower to overcome them.

Do not think lustfully at all. One can be horny without being lustful.

A crack in the dam will cause the water to spill in due time.

Keep your mind seedless.

Keep your dam without cracks.

Wet Dreams

Wet dreams do not count as a relapse. Days after wet dreams (in my experience) are some of the best days. In my research I've found that I was most social after a wet dream. I felt a renewal. This may not be true to all people and the renewal may not come after every wet dream.

Side note: When horny do not try to force a wet dream. Do not look at lusty things before bed. It will not lead to a wet dream. It will only plant seeds. Horniness doesn't increase chances of wet dreams. Wet dreams occur on a biological clock (Mine are about once a month). Horniness caused by trying to force a wet dream will only plant seeds. Too many seeds and you will be plagued with horniness and your chances of success when plagued are near 0.

-----------------------------------

EVERY TIME I relapse I write down the specific reason so I can know what my triggers and weaknesses are. I write down my emotions before relapse to better understand what thoughts lead me to relapsing. I also write down the time i relapsed to better understand when I'm more susceptible to failure. I recommend you do the same. It's very helpful.

Sudden Spike

A sudden spike is a random surge of horniness.

Upon these spikes, one must immediately release them in a healthy way.

(Cold shower, Taking a walk, pushups, etc.)

The bible says: "Run from temptation" So upon being tempted, get rid of it immediately.

I found that these spikes only last 10 minutes or less, so stay mindful of that before you do anything drastic.

I also found that

1) constant and consistent exercise, meditation, etc may reduce the intensity of spikes one will have. (Due to the energy that leads horniness being used before it reaches high levels.)

2) the less amount of lustful seeds planted, the less spikes one will have.

Less seeds planted = Less spikes

More exercise = Weaker spikes

Overcome Darkness

Anger, Sadness, Fear, Loneliness, Stress, etc.

Along with sudden spikes you may feel long lasting changes in mood or may be more sensitive to the problems in your life. This is good because one must feel to heal.

These inner demons are a main cause to addictions due to our need to escape pain. I have gotten in arguments and then later that day watched porn. Our mood definitely effects our urge for relapse.

This is very important.

Your mood CAN CAUSE your horniness. If someone irritates you that day it is best to take precautions BEFORE HAND. If you are stressed, upset, angry, etc. it is best to take precautions BEFORE HAND.

You more than likely WILL get horny soon.

Heal.

Incorporate shadow:

Withdrawal causes negative emotions to occur because they can no longer be suppressed by porn use. When these emotions occur you are more likely to relapse shortly after, if you do not pay attention.

Listen to these emotions instead of running from them. Incorporate them into your being.

Fill the void.

Loneliness:

Avoid socializing aimlessly. Horniness leads to loneliness which leads to desire which leads to relapse when desires aren't met.

Find peace in solitude and in the now.

If you do socialize, it should be in person. Face to face. Learn how to be confident. Learn how to be a functioning member of society. Socialize without lust or expectation of something more. Talk to strangers. Smile at people. Be confident.

Reprogram your mind to real life. If you have to socialize online then make sure there is honesty healthy intent behind it, and make sure it will lead to an honest in person date eventually.

Anger / Resentment:

Speak your truth. Leave once truth is spoken. Do not be afraid. Do not be discouraged. God is with you.

Meditate.

Release expectations.

Heal.

Sadness / Anxiety:

Ask the self "why?". Listen and you will hear the answer.

Relapse

After relapse reset streak back to 0 and go on another streak.

Do not masturbate again or you will fall back into addiction.

Easy Peasy

I recommend reading The Easy Peasy Way to Quit Pornography. It's a good book.

Tips

View horniness as a good thing. Something to be proud of. Something to be held on to. View horniness as VITALITY. The more you view it as something you need to get rid of, the more you'll fill your brain with negative emotions that will cause relapse.

Retention with friends can help or hurt you. Their strengths may become your strengths, but their failures may lead to your failures. Choose wisely.

Don't forget your truth. You may lie to yourself sooner or later. Who will win? Who is stronger?

You may experience vivid dreams.

In ancient alchemy, the philosopher's stone is believed to be a substance that can turn lead into gold and turn humans immortal. This immortality, however, was not the end goal, but a necessary step to achieve what comes next. In the same way, semen retention is not the end. It is a means to it. If you treat semen retention as the end goal you will feel your "benefits" leave if you relapse. Use semen retention as a tool to achieve a greater purpose, not as the purpose itself.

When the body begins to fail get it back in order. The mind is harder to fix than the body in this case, so do not let the wreckage spread. If your mind fails and you are confused, keep faith. The spirit is harder to fix than the mind. Do not lose your spirit if you lose your mind.

When I quit porn I had no end goal. No set time. I just said "I'm done." If I said "I'll just go one month", then I would relapse eventually because my heart wasn't 100% dedicated to quitting my addiction. You must be ready to 100% give it all up. FOR GOOD. Until then you will constantly fail. Think about all the negatives. Think about what your life has come to. Think about how much worse it would be if you never quit this habit. Think about how great you will be if you quit. Its all or nothing. Small goals will yield smaller results.

The Key

Christ is the only way out of the darkness. Porn addiction is a demonic attack that makes you susceptible to more demonic attacks. The ONLY way to ward off such demons is through a relationship with Christ. Read the bible. Put on your SPIRITUAL armor. It is impossible to quit porn through your power alone. The spirit of God is needed to ward off all spiritual forces.

"For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand."

- Ephesians 6:12-13

Jesus loves you more than you can ever imagine. No matter how dark your life may feel, and no matter how deep you are in addiction, He loves you regardless. When society rejects you, remember that you are enough for him. He is by your side, and He always will be.

Final

Once the first wall of your defense is broken the rest will break in just a matter of time.

Do not allow seeds of doubt or negativity to seep in. Do not allow your thoughts to stray from the path. Do not question your journey.

Willpower is exhaustible. Without aim, willpower will fail. So, without a REASON to remain strong, the first wall will break. Do not allow your first wall to be broken. Have aim. Have a reason to stay strong. A reason to not fold. Have Something / Someone to fight for. Something to fight towards.

Reach the peak of your existence.

It is your purpose.

Reach for more.

God bless.

Forever.

End.

[eclectic-anthropologist]

alr let’s get this show on the road everybody

HELLO I’m Volta, locally known as Pubba as well. I go by they/them, but I’ll go with whatever the situation calls for. I’m 18 and studying to be an anthropologist. I’m also a raging lesbian 🏳️‍🌈

I enjoy various dark fantasy media, horror genres, and anything in between. I like to draw and write, mostly character studies and worldbuilding. I’ll probably be drawing a bit of gore, body horror, and various triggering content so BEWARE OF THAT PLEASE

auhhhh feel free to ask me stuff and i’ll probably answer it :)

List of media/things(?) I enjoy way too much (long list ahead) (i will be adding more):

Castlevania (both the games and shows)

The Locked Tomb series

Dorohedoro (anime + manga)

Fear and Hunger + Termina

Hades I + II games

Little Nightmares ( I + II)

Reanimal (yeah so what if it’s just a trailer rn i love it)

The Arcana mobile game

Love, Death, + Robots

Arcane (i only watched for Sevika)

Mob Psycho 100 (I only watched for Mob)

Jurassic Park (movies + books)

Greek, Aztec / Mayan, Filipino, Celtic, Egyptian mythology (there’s so many others…)

The Crane Wives band

[miehczyslaw]

♡

ABOUT ME

↬ hi im marcy / mar! mid 20s // he!they // nonbinary lesbian // lawful romantic boygirl in a meat suit ↬ i draw things sometimes &like hedgehogs, the horror genre, DOGS: B&C, teeth (as in the calcified structure), santigold's music and to shot at most pairings with the yuri beam. i also post fanfic on ao3 by the same username :)

talk to me wheneverrrr

ABOUT THE BLOG

exclusive art sideblog

✶ all drawings are made traditionally with a pencil a scaner and a dream ✶ my current hyperfixation is one piece but i've drawn other things and like lots of fandoms so you'll probably see them here too ✶ rarepair &genderswap enthusiast. multiship (GL, HL, BL, polyam). fixed dynamics onLY unless otherwise specified—beware of some problematique(tm) ships/content(!) ALL FICTIONAL. I DO NOT CONDONE IT IRL. ocassional gore/suggestive themes also. anything triggering will be properly tagged

FAQ

even if i doubt it will be necessary at all

"can i repost your art on other sites like twitter/pinterest/instagram if i credit you?" no sorry

"can i use your art as icons/pfps, headers, sidebars, wallpapers for my cellphone/computer stuff like that?" ye go ahead!! credits are greatly appreciated 👍

"why do you draw/despict XYZ character as XYZ thing?" bc i want to

"but my interpretation of XYZ character clashes with yours/i dont agree with it/it confuses me" ok then it is what it is! im gonna keep doing my thing though

TAGS

⊰ art tag: #marcydraws.jpg (all) // sybilline & kier (ocs) ⊰ any questions i receive are answered as #askbox.txt ⊰ (in progress) fandom list here

[blastintriumph]

hello all!! this is a rp blog for bakugo katsuki of my hero academia, written by milk. on my pinned post, you'll find all relevant links/info here for my blog. i am completely caught up with both the mha anime and manga, so beware of spoilers ahead. if i'm not here, you can probably find me on one of my other blogs: @uravityplus @impishsensei @muryonokansei @fatuispolaris @balemccn

please be sure to read my rules before interacting/following.

carrd || interest check || wishlist || pinned credit || divider credit

for ease of access, my rules are also placed under the cut!

I will interact with mutuals only. If I follow you I want to interact, so don’t hesitate to send me asks or IM me with plot ideas! I’m willing to RP with OCs & characters from other series. Personal blogs, please do not follow/reblog/like my posts.

I’m okay with one-liners, crack, multi-para, novella… everything! Feel free to send in any ask memes if we haven’t roleplayed before. Ask memes are a great way to break the ice so I really don’t mind. If I follow you that means I want to rp with you so if you’re ever unsure and worried you might be bothering me, don’t. I’m duplicate friendly.

If I haven’t replied in two weeks (and I’m not on a hiatus) that means I probably lost our thread or it’s sitting somewhere in my drafts and I haven’t noticed it, so please message me to remind me about it. I won’t be annoyed or upset. I drop RPs sometimes out of a loss of interest but please don’t blame yourself. It is always a personal thing that has nothing to do with anyone else as a roleplayer. I’m always happy to start/write more regardless of dropping previous threads.

I practice character-exclusive shipping, so I will only ship with one version of a character. My deku is @mightiboy and my todoroki is @celesticlnstcrs, so they are the only deku and todoroki i'll ship with. Additionally, @mightiboy is my exclusive deku period, so they're the only deku i will write with.

Although I am 27 years old, I won't be writing explicit smut on this blog. Suggestive jokes might appear, but nothing explicit. Non-sexual nsfw (heavy or triggering topics, violence, etc.) will be present and tagged. That being said, I have no issues with others writing it and I don't have any triggers I need tagged. If you do, please feel free to ask and I will tag anything you need.

Don't involve me with drama or send messages telling me to reblog callout posts or anything like that. I don't care for getting involved with petty rp drama. If it's something actually serious, I've likely already seen it on the dash and have taken note. Seriously, I will hardblock anyone that pesters me with nonsense drama.

Despite not writing explicit sexual content, I ask that minors DON’T follow my blog. I don’t want to be the reason anyone sees something inappropriate for their age. If you’re a minor & I accidentally followed you, let me know & I’ll unfollow you immediately.

[martybutch]

marty - 24 - aromantic fagdyke butch mutt - any pronouns

hellooo this is my blog where i post about my deepest desires or whatever. if you know me irl no you dont

boundaries, fun facts and other things under the cut

fun facts about me:

-i have DID. i have no idea if anyones gonna wanna specify themselves when theyre posting, but content may vary wildly and thats mostly why

-i am a switch and a verse AND a dog. woof. i feel comfortable doing most positions and dynamics and im pretty proud of that

-i was on testosterone for 3 years before having to stop for various reasons. i dont intend to get back on it atm but things may change

-sometimes i really like women and sometimes i really like men. this is related to the DID stuff. most of the time i id as a lesbian but things get complicated. please be respectful! identity is complicated

boundaries:

-my asks are open for whatever you wanna send. i might not respond to stuff im not into but if you wanna shoot your shot go ahead, i dont bite unless you want me to

-soft nos are watersports, feet, exhibitionism (subbing) and voyerism

-hard nos are scat, diapers, ageplay, vore/CANNIBALISM, INCEST KINKS, SNUFF, and RACEPLAY. idc what you do in your free time, these are just my boundaries. some of these are really triggering for me and i may block you if you post about it just for my own wellbeing

kinks:

primal play, pet play, intox, degradation, exhibitionism, orgasm denial, edging, overstimulation, free use, cbt, impact play, sensory deprivation, breath play, waxplay, breeding, plushification, consensual somno, and light objectification. i used to have cnc as a hard no but ive recently overcome some stuff and im experimenting w it so beware.

the more obscure scenarios im into are satanic ritual roleplay (like, cartoonishly over the top) and roleplaying as a chew toy for a really bitey partner

i have other kinks i may talk about that dont have specific names that i know of which will be tagged as #misc

ill be tagging everything i post about accordingly. my talk tag is #marty musings

xoxo

[unanchored-ship]

Hello and welcome to my blog!

You can call me Unanchored, Ship, or a combination of the two! (it's my blog name after all),,, or Shippo :3

Pfp and banner art by me! (obviously please do not take my art and post it as your own)

Things you need to know before stepping into this boat:

Everyone has their own opinions! If you disagree with something, that's fine!

I like drawing and writing(though you will rarely ever see a piece of writing most of the time). Ship art ahead!! It's in the name!! Content will include whump/angst/somewhat suggestive things, so beware of that!

Obviously I do not condone any of the horrible actions shown or mentioned on this blog. My content does not intend to glorify all that stuff!

This blog is really for fun. don't take anything I do seriously

To navigate this blog I have created some tags to group posts and help y'all! I started tagging my old posts with these but gave up 20 posts in so some posts will unfortunately not be tagged properly and won't show up when you go through the tag :,(

(however, specific people and specific aus should be tagged properly so that is an option x)

The groups in question:

#unanchored reblogs -> as the name suggests #unanchored ted talks -> text posts. any rambles in the tags are also included #unanchored books -> fics and other forms of writing. trust me i will never use this #unanchored art -> art in general #unanchored dreams -> occasionally I will post about some weird dreams I've had... #ship to history -> any history related things. >>More specific tags for history: #mexicoposting, (#texasposting), (#gachupinposting) #antebellum, #polkposting (yes that is its own tag), #my lil twink <- Shrewsbury posts lmao(it's been here for a while but I thought I would just say), #my wife <- Guadalupe Victoria posts! #stuarts and friends <- stuart family in england along with others associated with them, #prussiaposting #warrior spotted <- Vicente Guerrero posts!! #species alamanii <- Lucas Alaman posts!!! #ourple boy <- Pedro Celestino Negrete posts!!!!

#ship to chemistry -> as the name suggests. Includes ocs based off chemistry. #ship to biology -> same thing as ship to chemistry but biology #boat of AUs -> any AU content. #boat of ocs -> oc related content. Does not include chemistry/biology ocs as they are usually personifications. Includes others' ocs as well! #friendly sailing -> content I make about other people’s stuff. I don't have any personal tags for potentially triggering things but I will try to tag everything properly. I recommend filtering out #whump tag and #suggestive as the main ones here but filter out whatever you need just in case. Also, I'm a bad at trigger warnings so I will put #dead dove whenever there are potentially disturbing things. I use #tw for triggers. #captains guard -> my original posts (reblogs may be included if they have a good amount of my work such as art or text) (all tags mentioned also apply to other people’s stuff!)(other than #friendly sailing and #captains guard lol that's only MY content)

You don't have to worry about explicit NSFW, that's not posted here! It might be implied, but most of my #suggestive art doesn't go any farther beyond that!

Please don't spread hate, misinformation, or anything along those lines here!

And remember, if you don't like it here, you can always leave :)

Will update this if I ever decide to share some of my own stories or AUs and need a big post to explain it all. Keep on winning y'all!

[1stunseeliefaelass]

Strife's Younger Years Part 2

Strife was determined to understand more of what happened that day. He'd find out somehow, and he couldn't really sleep now anyway. Picking up a nearby crystal, he used a smidge of magic to call his elder brother. The crystal began to quietly pulse with light and a quiet rhythm of sound. He didn't expect much, beyond Death being slightly pissed off at how late it was for both of them. Strife lived in a hunter style shack in the Fae Realm, whilst Death still lived in his humble abode within that dead world. Both places always seemed to be close when it came to time zones and stuff. Didn't make Death's home any less depressing. Strife mused on Death's choice of home for a time before hearing his crystal emit a louder beep of sorts, a sign Death had finally answered.

Death had finally, truly fallen asleep. Sleeping was never easy for him, due to nightmares and the occasional night terrors. So naturally him being woken up now was annoying to say the least. He growled as he tried to ignore it for a moment, but the pulsing light and sounds from his crystal persisted. Finally he sat up slowly and reached clumsily for the crystal. Now that he was paying attention, the way the sounds...well...sounded and the frequency they emitted from the crystal, indicated who was contacting him. Sighing he answered at last,

"Strife....it's late."

"I know dude I know. But I really need to talk to you man." Strife told him earnestly. He heard a sigh before Death spoke again,

"Is it an emergency? Or important...to some extent?"

"First off....maybe? Secondly it's kind of important." Strife said a bit unsure himself.

"Can it wait til morning perhaps....I just got to sleep." Death inquired.

"I know sleeping is hard as fuck for you. But I really need to get this out. Can we please just talk bro? Please?" Strife asked desperately, and immediately regretting sounding like that. He furrowed his brow in annoyance at yet another sigh from Death, this time deeper.

"Alright....do you want to talk over crystal? Or shall we speak in person?" Death asked him at last after a pause.

"I'd prefer to talk in person, if ya don't mind." Strife stated simply, hiding a bit concern in his tone.

Death picked up on it regardless and felt a twinge of guilt for being annoyed. Or at least showing that he was annoyed. Regardless he told Strife to come by his home and began to prepare for what he figured might be a lengthy discussion. He tried as quietly as he could to prepare two cups of tea. Mostly for himself to stay awake through the chat, but he figured Strife might appreciate the gesture at least. He heard a little puppy like yawn from nearby and looked down to see a small pet bed with Fuzzball stretching in it before looking up at Death a bit annoyed himself. Then he heard Dust's wings flapping, and could swear the bird looked grumpy.

"Sorry you two. It's going to be a late one. But I won't force you to pay attention. Feel free to go back to bed." Death told them simply.

Dust preened a little bit before placing his head back under his wing again. Fuzzball in the meantime went in a few circles in his bed, stamped his little paws on it, then laid back down to sleep. Death finished the tea before too long and just as he'd set up the table, he heard a knock. As expected, Strife was at the door. He came in quickly and rubbed his neck,

"Hey big bro....hehe..."

"Hi. So then, let's talk shall we?" Death stated before leading him to the table.

Strife noticed the tea and decided he may as well at least try one cup. He wasn't that fond of tea usually, but since Death was being 'nice' enough to host him, he may was be polite and try it. It was refreshing at least, with a faint hint of a caffeine taste in there. He didn't comment on it though, instead telling Death,

"So about why I'm here..."

"Yes we've established that, but go on." Death said sarcastically.

Strife glared at him briefly before saying, "I'm just worried you'll brush me off again. Like you do everytime I ask about this."

"What are you talking about?"

"Bitch don't play dumb with me. You know what I'm talking about." Strife insisted.

Death simply shrugged, leading to Strife saying with an annoyed tone, "The dreams about me being a little kid, like itty bitty? Where I see you and Absalom beating the shit out of each other?"

Death stopped midsip and placed his cup down, "Ah yes....that again."

"I want answers Death, legit answers. I don't want you to brush me off again, or to give some bullshit answer that doesn't make sense." Strife insisted.

"What do you want me to say? Beyond that it was a memory?" Death asked him.

"Dumbass I just told you. Quit playin' and just tell me what the hell went down that day! I want to know that much, and I wanna know why it happened too!" Strife demanded, even slamming his fist on the table.

Death remained collected however, and thought for a moment. Then finally asked Strife cautiously, "Why do you want to know? And are you SURE you want to know?"

"I'm pretty fucking sure at this point Death. And I wanna know because I want to be able to understand it. Maybe then I'll stop dreaming about this shit. You stopped having dreams about when Ale witnessed your creation after you met up with her again. You didn't settle for the bullshit answers Absalom gave you, you sought them yourself and kept pushing for the truth. And you GOT IT. So why SHOULD I SETTLE then huh? Why should I not keep trying to get you to finally tell me the truth damn it?" Strife stated in earnest.

Death thought for longer this time. Realizing that, yes, he had been doing what Absalom did to him originally. Only he'd done it to Strife for a lot longer than Absalom did it towards him. After a long moment of silent contemplation, he sighed softly and finally looked up at Strife. Noting his younger brother's rising anger, he softened his tone as he answered him,

"You're right. I should've known you'd not settle, because I influenced you to not do so. You deserve to know the truth, just as much as I once did. So to start with..."

Strife waited patiently as Death unraveled part of the bindings on his arms. He normally would've taken them off before bed, but simply forgot to this time. Death then spoke a few silent syllables before a ball of light appeared between them both. Strife leaned forward, and found himself shocked at seeing the faint scars along his wrists. Mouthing a what the fuck as he sat back again in shock. Death nodded and began wrapping his arm back up again,

"These are the result of Absalom's constant pressures on me. Absalom had no heirs to speak of, so that meant I was to step up. I'm sure you remember that much clearly."

Strife nodded, "Yeah. And now that I think about it, you and Absalom had similar fights to the one in my memory. You got physical with each other a lot when you trying to get him to tell you the truth about Ale. And later on as we started to slowly become tired of everything, the fist fights started again."

"Yes. But bare in mind, these fights were VERY one sided back then. I never put my all into them, which led to me losing more often than not. I also made a habit of trying not to fight in front of you three when I had a mind to remember that. And the fights weren't all that went down. I never spoke of this, as I didn't want to worry either of you. And I don't need you to worry now, I broke that habit a long time ago. Thanks to Ale's help mostly, bless her soul."

"Ok so what didn't we see?" Strife asked concerned.

"Absalom often pushed me to beyond my limits when grooming me for leadership of our race, should he ever die. The pressure was often high to the point of anxiety. I learned to hide it when in front of others, because Absalom made damn sure of it. It started with him being the one to inflict the cuts. Overtime, he'd force me to do it while practically brainwashing me into believing it was....'for my own good'. I knew this habit was a bad one deep down, that it wasn't helping me. That it only made everything worse. But before long, I didn't know what else to do."

Strife, noting his brother's shameful tone, asked gently, "Is that why you went to Ale?"

Death only nodded at the question.

"But..what does this have to do with my memories again? Just wondering?" Strife inquired a bit confused.

"Because the first time Absalom and I ever got physical, was that day. I came across him abusing you in an attempt to..'toughen you up' as he put it. I couldn't let it continue, not on my watch. But after forcing him out of the tent, I saw he wasn't finished. To prevent you from being involved, I told you to wait in the tent. I never realized you'd left the tent at all. That you were watching at Absalom wiped the dirt with me in that ring. I was just about unable to keep it up much longer, my body was on fire and close to giving out on me. That's when you rushed between us and demanded Absalom stop, in the only way you knew how. Being a toddler and all." Death stated quietly.

"Yeah I remember that much. But what happened after that? I just remember suddenly waking up in your tent again."

"Absalom took your little gesture as a challenge, laughing before backhanding you. It was enough to knock you clean out. I scooped you up briefly, and in a mix of panic and rage, I went for Absalom again. That was the only physical altercation I ever won against him. I was exhausted afterwards, but still made an effort to carry you back to my tent for your safety. I didn't let myself rest and forced myself not to pass out, wanting to make sure you were ok before I finally let go."

"I do remember that seemingly after that point, you made sure Absalom never touched me again. Not that he didn't try." Strife said a bit amazed.

"Yeah. I also did my best to make sure he backed off with abusing you in other ways. Be it through overdoing it with training, purposely trying to get you killed through bullshit 'missions', etc." Death said simply, rubbing his temple slightly.

"Maybe we can continue this later on or something? You're tired as fuck, and I don't wanna keep you up much longer." Strife said getting up to leave.

Death simply chuckled, "Right. Well goodnight and see you later Strife."

"Night bro, see ya around." Strife said leaving the house.

Death remained at the table for time, staring into the half empty cup of tea in front of him. He then suddenly jolted in realization before rushing to the door. He called to Strife upon opening it, and Strife turned around from where he was. He was only a few feet away from Mayhem.

"What was spoken about in this house, stays in here! Got it?! The others don't need to know what I've told you tonight!" Death shouted to him.

"Don't worry bro, you know I'll keep your secrets any day! I still have mine after all!" Strife shouted back contently.

Death accepted the answer before going back inside, locking the door behind him. He then laid back down in his bed at last, taking a while to pass out again as he thought of their discussion. Even looking down at his binded arms again. He said one final thing to himself,

"Why did I EVER idolize you, I'll never understand it Absalom. Nor will I understand why I keep grieving for you."

With that he finally fell back into a deep sleep. Strife did much the same, he couldn't help but wonder however,

"Just how much pain do you live with everyday? Seriously Death."

[s-trip-tease]

A kind of character analysis

My take on Michael “I Should Have Been Placed in Therapy A Long Time Ago” Burnham.

Be aware, spoilers are below the cut as well as mentions of trauma so be careful.

 Michael Burnham is a woman who has had trauma surface consistently through her life, starting with witnessing the murder of her biological parents. She said they would have been safe had they had not remained so Michael could enjoy a spacial anomaly. 

   She was then nearly murdered when the Vulcan extremists bombed her school and was only saved when Sarek put a part of his Katra in her.

And then there was the whole Shenzhou incident that lead to her being convicted for mutiny.

  Michael consistently shoulders the blame for everything bad that has happened to her and everyone around her. 

   She blamed herself for her parents dying because she wanted to see the anomaly and she tried to flee her foster family on Vulcan for fear that they were going to end up dying and finally, shouldered all of the blame for mutiny. 

   She seems to use herself as a buffer for all things bad in regards to those she cares about, willing to accept responsibility for everything. We see this with Spock.

   Through it has been confirmed that Michael did a Terrible Awful to Spock and that she constantly feels remorse for her actions. Her explanation was that she was afraid to allow anyone to come to close to her in fear it would result in them dying.  It also confirms from the last episode on January 31st that Michael has tried to reach out to Spock but Spock was not responding. Michael asserts to Amanda that she would continue doing whatever she could to help Spock.”

   Now, in my mind, I think “Well, it’s not all of Michael’s problem at this point. Spock needs to play a role.” And he does. Spock needs to play an active roll in the mending the gap between them. But Michael, who definitely shoulders everything has claimed responsibility for mending her relationship with Spock with little to no mention of Spock needing to do anything at all. In fact, Spock is heard telling that Michael that she “assumes every burden is hers alone” in a trailer which means that Spock is more than aware of Michael’s ability to put herself in a bad position to buffer all of the bad, all of the hate and all of the anger.  

 I don’t know if Sarek and Amanda fully knew what they were doing when they adopted Michael. Sarek, we know is a less than stellar father who wanted this girl to be used to help Spock function around humans and Amanda, although loving both of her kids unconditionally, used Michael to express all of the love and all of the joy she felt she couldn’t do for Spock. Michael’s unresolved trauma and self-hate comes out in the form of absorbing everything negative so no one else has to bare it and acting impulsively as a result

 Bottom line is, Michael needs a healing arc and Vulcan mental health is absolute shit.

IDK I could be wrong.

[platrom]

One Last Time.

Midoriya x Reader, Bakugou x Reader (eventually/partially)

WORD COUNT: 6.9k-7k words

NOTE:. A ginormous thank you to my beta reader for dealing with my rambles and pouting over Midoriya. I’m just a hopeless romantic. 😔 I’m sorry I didn’t give you all a happy ending this time, but there is a part two.

And please comment! Reading your guy's comments are huge motivators and I have a blast interacting with you all. 😊

TW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, alcohol abuse, mentions of alcohol poisoning, addiction(s), panic attacks, spiraling, unhealthy habits, poor mindset, depression, unstable mental health, mentions of a mental hospital, mentions of insanity, manipulation, reader & bakugou & midoriya are childhood best friends, frequent mentions of midoriya (though little actual interaction between him and the reader), cursing, miscommunication, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff (somewhat, i tried, i swear), mentions and description of horrible family past and toxic friends, memories (good and bad), reader's solitude from others, ominous voice(s) in reader's head, suicide, manga spoilers, mutual pining, midoriya being blind to emotions, Bakugou being observant, cliffhanger.

Please be cautious while reading this, majority of the content written about is considered heavily triggering to many. Please take a look at all warnings before proceeding (with caution). If you are struggling with any of the topics discussed, please seek professional help. It will get better.

BEWARE ALL READERS: PROCEED WITH CAUTION. DARK CONTENT AHEAD.

One last time, you promised to yourself as you laid flat on your bed, body sinking into the mattress. The exhaustion of your previous activities bled through the remnants of your remaining adrenaline, the pain settling deep within your heart and bones.

This is the last time.

Did it really count as a promise if there was no one else but yourself to keep it and hold yourself accountable? Promises were meant to be held by two different souls— whether it be with another person, an animal (such as pet or that random squirrel you kept on seeing in your backyard), or even a stuffed animal (those beady eyes were always judging people, you knew it). Nevertheless, promises still and always required another party.

"Maybe the mind counts as another soul," you mumbled tiredly. Turning your head, the bright and bloody digital clock read "2:37 AM." There was no point in arguing with yourself now.

Indeed, there was no point in putting up a fight when the depths of your exhaustion crept upon you, its long and thick tendrils grasping your loose limbs and pulling you underwater into an endless milky-way of black.

Yet, a fleeting thought appeared in your mind as your eyes fluttered shut, body and mind fully succumbing to the dark.

If only Midoriya knew.

If only Midoriya knew.

It was a mantra that rung in your ears ruthlessly throughout the following day. From the moment you awoke and with every hour, those simple yet painstaking words lingered in the corners of your mind, worming its way into every single activity you participated in. Whether it be mundane activities such as walking, eating, reading or anything else, the thought never escaped you.

Poor loving, caring, generous, and selfless Midoriya. He would be disappointed in you if he discovered your nighttime activities; the terror you put yourself through again and again, willingly. You were poisoning your body with your actions and behavior, but you didn't care. You stopped caring ages ago.

Rushing into convenience stores, drinking eagerly until everything blurred and the world become a swirl of bright colors and flashing lights. Then, rushing off into the night and to the cliff you and Midoriya discovered as teenagers all those years ago.

There, each time, you would stand at the edge, staring into the abyss of water below you. The salty liquid gleamed and glistened under the starry sky, leaving you wishing that you shone that bright. The water lapped and splashed against the rocks, dousing them with a salty spray that fueled the growth of the algae. Kelp swirled in the water, swaying in all directions teasingly as it coaxed you to jump below and never resurface.

"'Why come up when you can stay down below forever? With no worries or troubles. With no one to bother or hurt. Why don't you join us down below?'"

It was tempting; you had to admit. The amount of times your resistance nearly broke and you took the temptation would have shattered Midoriya's heart into thousands of pieces, leaving it beyond repair.

You couldn't do that to him.

Not to your Midoriya.

Not to the same toddler who would grab your hand in excitement whenever he saw you at the playground, wordlessly letting go of his mother's hand to sprint over to you. He would pull you up from your spot in the sandbox to press your foreheads together, lively and innocent green eyes gazing mesmerizingly into your (e/c) ones.

Not to the same boy in middle school who was constantly bullied by his peers and never spared a glance by the adults around him. The one who would always smile at you, despite the tears that welled in his eyes whenever he was brutally beaten up by his childhood best friend due to the lack of a quirk in a world fueled by them. The sweetheart who would offer you half his lunch if you forgot yours, or would gush over his hero analysis' books and the latest pro-hero battles.

Not to the high school boy who endangered his life countless times to protect you and your classmates when you both were at UA. The boy who would grab your hand when he felt you slipping from reality and pull you close to his chest, hugging you as if you were his last lifeline- not as if he was yours. The teenager who would tell you all of his deepest and darkest secrets- whether it be of his quirk from All Might, relationship with your mutual peers, or stories of fights against villains.

Not to the vigilante boy whose tears stained the paper of the goodbye letter he wrote to you when he chose to leave UA. The one whose scrawls could not stop describing the excruciating pain he felt to be leaving such an important piece of him behind. The person who impacted him the most, who loved and cared for him for all of those years. The only person that killed him the most to hurt.

You. That was you.

And when he came back, when the students and teachers of UA were able to bring him back, his first request was to see you. And when he couldn't? He was pissed, to say the least. The cold and snappy responses he gave afterwards presented that idea straight enough.

Midoriya never knew what happened to you during the period he left UA for. None of his classmates knew and all of the adults at UA refused to inform Midoriya of your disappearance.

Eventually, you came back.

He and the others didn't need to know about the disturbing thoughts that plagued your mind every passing second. The ones that clouded your senses with every breath you took. It would have been too gruesome to let them in. To show them the scratched and fissured layers beneath your skin.

They couldn't know about the days you spent secluded in a room, hugging yourself as tears streamed from your eyes, down your cheeks and onto the hospital gown you wore. They couldn't know about the way you shrieked in agony and covered your ears with your hands as those mocking voices became too loud and powerful for you to fight.

Simply, it would be too much for them. They wouldn't be able to comprehend or fathom why you had these voices- you didn't yourself. You didn't understand why they chose you out of all the possible victims in the spectrum of people. They would never listen to your distressed howls of desperation as you cried out for them to just "shut up for once!"

Maybe, that was why you stood where you were today. Why you were upright facing the sky, instead of downwards in the soil.

Possibly, that was why you chose to drink until you were blackout drunk- sick, tired, and ready to finally slip from the world's grasps.

You could never be vulnerable. Not again. Not once more. Not after all those times the people who you thought loved and cared for you ended up shredding your heart to pieces. They had seized you in their claws when you were at your weakest, and squeezed until you split at the seams and bursted into millions of fragments. Every single person. Your family, your friends, your peers. Everyone and everything.

As a result, you had become numb. You had became so numb that when the pain struck, it would burn and sizzle before you froze your emotions, before you drowned yourself with liquor and nearly met the angels above. Maybe, those angels wouldn't hurt you like everyone else did. You doubted it. Heaven wouldn't accept you anyway.

"You don't deserve a happy ending."

You had gone off the rails, nobody could help you now. Not Midoriya, not your family, not your friends, not your colleagues, not your neighbors, no one. Not even a therapist.

"You're better off dead than alive. You'll be doing everyone a favor instead."

He would never know.

Unless he caught me.

You shivered at the mere thought, cowering into yourself. It would never, ever happen.

You wouldn't allow it.

Even if it was the last thing you did.

It was a Monday and you were five hours into your shift at the agency, head buried deep in blueprints on hero costumes. These specific costume upgrades had taken months to plan, requiring you to go and scout and research different materials, test them, and undergo many processes of elimination. Red Riot and Dynamight had come to you for assistance (despite having their own support team), and Deku as well. It was as clear as day that they only trusted you with this task, but the demand of time it entailed was overwhelming and had put a block in all of your other projects.

Luckily, merely the final touches were being added and then you could begin building. The materials you had narrowed down to were purchased in bulk and begging to be melted, reformed, and melded to your liking.

You could just hear their cries.

Their pleads for change.

"Just like yours."

No, you shook your head in agitation, clenching your jaw. The once steady pace of your heartbeat picked up furiously, leaving you to inhale uneven, shallow breaths that set your lungs ablaze.

Not right now, you pleaded, grinding your teeth. Tears sprung from your eyes and you screwed them shut, a sense of hopelessness washing over you. You curled into yourself.

Calm down, you told yourself. Don't listen to them, (Name). You're fine. You're okay. It's just work. Just work. Just keep working.

It was easier said than done. Every muscle in your body felt excruciatingly tight, as if you had run a marathon and immediately sat down  for hours afterwards. Everything was frozen, and if you tried to move far, you would break further. The strings that held together your mind, soul, and body were stretched thin and ripping at the middle. Once they tore, you would be long gone. The structure that you called your body would become a jail cell, locking you in the depths of your mind for eternity.

With every shaky breath you took, you sunk deeper into your lost state of mind. The voices began to yell obnoxiously inside your head, blocking every coherent thought that attempted to pry its way through the impervious seal of destruction that had enveloped you. Your ears rang as loud as the church bells in the town square— it felt as if blood was pouring out of your earlobes and down your skin, until it reached the ground.

There was screaming somewhere- near or far, you didn't know. Your body shook violently as you fell from your chair and onto the ground. Tools clattered around you and papers flew everywhere, your precious blueprints were lost in the sea of a mess you contrived.

Every breath you took was shallow and fast, each irregular and suffocating. Your lungs burned and a timorous feeling stirred in your stomach, sending you haywire.

Nothing was going to be okay. You couldn't do this. You weren't meant to survive. You weren't built for this.

I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't, you repeated in your head.

"Yes," the voice agreed. "You can't, you can't, you can't. Just give up, (Name). It's time to give up."

You didn't want to give up.

"Are you sure?"

You didn't want to die today.

"Why not?"

You couldn't leave all that you worked for behind. Everything you fought for.

"You're just going to lose it eventually. Why does it matter?"

You couldn't leave behind your family and friends.

"They don't care about you. Why do you think they haven't spoken to you in ages? They're all fake, just like you."

You needed something to fight for. Something to keep you grounded.

"No!" cried the voice.

There was no way to win against the hindering voice. You knew that. Time and time again, every pitiful attempt at effacing it would be proved futile. No matter how vigorously you fought, how bodacious your efforts were, your audacious acts were rendered a perilous failure that you would pay for dearly later on.

Although you couldn't win wars, you could win battles.

You cracked your eyes open, pupils peering through a blur of gray as you lifted your head to the light. Pain shot through your bones, and you began to tug at the strings of your sanity in an attempt to regain yourself.

This is progress. I can do this.

The hands on your ears fell to the floor, laying on the cool marble tile below you. The contrast of the subzero-temperature like ground against your blazing and blistering hot skin left you balling your fists in stagger. This had to be how Todoroki's hands felt whenever they touched. The feeling was akin to having ice situated on a burn.

It felt like you were coming back to life.

The ringing in your ears was nearly gone.

Slowly but surely, your breath evened out. The air that entered your lungs were not disarrayed breaths of air, but now timed and even.

In the distance, down the hall, a rush of footsteps could be heard. Frequently, heroes would enter and exit the floor, since all the technicians at the agency were congregated in the same location. Pro-heroes saved lives and as a result, damaged their gear— it was logical that there was constant activity in this section of the building.

However, you were in no state to be interacting with others.

The evidence of your misery was strewn across the floor, with your tools laying around haphazardly and your papers splayed everywhere. If anyone entered, they would conclude that something had happened to you.

And you would not let them even reach that idea.

Swiftly, you rose from your seated position and began to clean the mess on the ground. In one swipe, at least three tools were clutched and dropped into their respective areas. Papers were either crumbled and tossed into the bin beside your desk or stacked neatly. The office would have to look pristine and immaculate.

Just like a criminal, you had to cover your own traces. You had to stay vigilant and weary. Or else, you would be caught.

"Just like you will be."

"WHAT WOULD the world be like, if everyone was good?" Midoriya sighed, tipping his head back as the sweltering afternoon rays of heat beat down upon you both. His fluffy curls were soaked with sweat, reminding you of a puppy's dripping, wet fur after a bath.

He looked awfully adorable, despite the fact that both of you had been running for the past few hours. Midoriya was training for his second Sports Festival and this time, he wholeheartedly believed (and hoped) he would reach the top three. His first year at UA was one that taught him there was more than just his quirk— he had always known he had to train his body to accommodate for the raw and brute power that came along with such a quirk, but he didn't quite understand it. He just did as he was told. He followed All Might's words, all of his mentor's words, but never took the time to consider what they were saying.

It wasn't until after countless villain attacks, constant injuries, and the grueling hell that rained upon him after discovering his true quirks did he comprehend what he was being told.

You were proud of him, then. Your Midoriya, the same boy you grew up with was slowly becoming a real pro-hero (you would have said hero, but you knew he was born one. However, society would have never accepted him as a "pro-hero" if he did not have All Might's quirk). His younger self would have shed tears of joy at the sight of himself then.

He would never be that same Deku, the one who would cower in fear at the wrath of "Kacchan."

A giggle ripped through your lips as you fell onto the bed of grass below you, dirt sinking through your fingertips. The grass grazed your skin like a gentle kiss, sending small tingles down to your toes. "Izuku, you do realize everyone's definition of good is different universally, right?" You heard a small peep of confusion beside you.

Ignoring him, you continued. “Some of us think the definition of 'doing good' is treating others like human beings, which is really the bare minimum in all cases. In comparison, others argue that it means not to be selfish, but selfless. Like helping and paying attention to others around you, but that could just be what's expected from everyone for someone else. Possibly, for those heroes you aspire to be like, saving lives is the equivalent of being a good person. We all have different opinions on definitions and ideas so controversial like those. Be more specific."

Taking a deep breath after your mouthful, you shook your hands and kicked out your legs. Midoriya laid down on his back as well, stretching his arms out so his hand would brush against yours. A quiet "oh" escaped your throat at the contact, and you swore electricity passed between you both.

Midoriya made no reaction, so you ignored the tingles that lingered in your fingertips and the hairs that raised on your arms and neck. It was likely you imagined those currents that passed between you both.

That happened a lot.

Too often.

"You sound like Mr. Aizawa, you know," Midoriya commented, sparing you a glance before he chuckled. "Old and wise."

Feigning annoyance, you shifted your hips to move you onto your side and kicked Midoriya's calf, lips pressed together in a thin smile.

"Say that again and I'll have you in a headlock, Deku," you threatened, pushing yourself up  from the bed of smooth grass and into a kneeling position. With a menacing grin, you cracked your knuckles, "I may be no hero, but I can kick ass; even yours."

At your words, a challenging grin grew on his face. Midoriya could never back down from a challenge, especially not one from you. "Oh, you think so?"

In a matter of seconds, you lept onto him, rolling around in the dirt. Arms and legs were flung and choked laughs escaped both your throats. Midoriya was much stronger, you knew that. But you could win with brains.

"I know so!" you countered.

Midoriya liked your confidence. A lot.

Well, he really liked you. So much that it hurt him.

Though, you would never know; you couldn't.

He couldn't risk losing you. Not now, not ever. So he would always settle for being your best friend. Something was always better than nothing.

He couldn't get greedy now, your value to him was worth more than any of the riches in the universe. One could argue you mattered more to him than his own future career as a hero.

Therefore, he would stand by your side idly, waiting for the moment for your hands to brush together so he could intertwine his fingers with yours. He would always wait for you. He would wait until you noticed him and his love. He would wait for you to learn to love him like he loved you.

Forever and always.

Always and forever.

It's only three minutes until this elevator comes and I can go, you reassured yourself. Work had been hectic, to put it lightly. With the unforeseen panic attack in your office earlier, persisting through repairs of practically pulverized gear and assembling new gadgets had proven to be a trial that left you fatigued.

Thankfully, the pattering of footsteps that had echoed in the hallway during your episode had been nothing but a ruse (and you firmly believed that the voice had made you conceive them). After tidying your trashed office, guzzling an entire bottle of water, and coating a thin, glossy sheen of chapstick onto your chapped lips, you had courageously exited the security of your office to check for any people in the hallway.

After all, you had an image to keep.

Fortunately, the universe had granted you that good omen and decided to not torture you further.

I doubt it'll grant me anymore, you pursed your lips sourly, merely huffing once the elevator reached your floor and its metal doors slid open for you. There were no other passengers, leaving you to revel in the delectation of silence, even if it was for a few measly minutes.

Something is always better than nothing, you internally argued. There's always good in a bad day- just like now. My day was poor, but the rest of my evening will be a substantial improvement from earlier.

Occupied by your uplifting and heartening thoughts, it felt as if your trip from the fifteenth floor (your floor) to the ground floor had gone by rapidly. Typically, your elevator trips were awkward, uncomfortable, and appeared to be prolonged misery graced from the hells bellow. A sudden ding signaled the reach of your destination and once the doors slid open, you squeezed through the crowd of people beginning to pile in.

The lobby of the agency was a spacious area, filled with luxurious yet cozy couches and loveseats, as well as countless offices. Workers paced back and forth, brows knitted and mouths tense. Sidekicks, interns, and heroes were in nearly ever corner. Some appeared to be littered with deep gashes and gnarly bruises, while others were unscathed. Certainly, the Deku Agency was a zestful and active one; one you were more than elated to escape.

Vigilantly, you swerved past your vexed colleagues and ignored the receptionist's buoyant chirp of farewell, lunging through the glass doors and stumbling into the outside.

You continued to strut forward, fists clenched tight and eyes narrowed. If you looked as if you were seconds from detonating, people would blatantly ignore you and try to escape your supposed incoming wrath.

Just like Bakugou.

Within seconds you covered most of the distance from the entrance of the agency to the edge of the building. However, when you were about to turn around the corner, a hasty hand promptly grabbed your shoulder with such brute strength you were sure could break your brittle bones. A horrified gasp left your throat, a sickening feeling brewing deep within your gut. Involuntarily, your eyes squeezed shut as you hit your assailant's chest, and a familiar, gruff voice immediately made your head shoot up.

"Don't scream, idiot," Bakugou warned, piercing vermillion eyes boring into yours. A medical mask covered his mouth and he wore a black baseball cap. "I'm not going to hurt you, just need'a talk to you."

Like a fish, you gaped stupidly at him, heart ricocheting through your chest. Looming over you at twice your height and size was Bakugo Katsuki, Lord Explosion Murder God Dynamight, the Top Two Pro-Hero.

Midoriya's biggest rival.

Also, both Midoriya's and your childhood best friend.

"Katsuki, you bitch-!" you hissed, pounding your fist against his solid chest. "You're dressed like this and don't expect me to scream the minute some suspicious looking guy grabs me from a corner?!"

Bakugou frowned as you ran your mouth, watching your eyebrows knit in exasperation and frustration. Piqued by your attitude, he clamped his free hand over your mouth with a groan and a roll of his eyes. "You done running your damn mouth off? I didn't come here to listen to your rambling."

Appalled, you shook your head and pulled yourself out of his grasp (you knew he didn't try and hold you back, if he wanted to he could have easily). With a sneer, you diverged from his path and strutted ahead.

You were not in the mood for Bakugou's bullshit today.

Without missing a beat, he followed behind you. His heavy footsteps stayed in time with your lighter ones- signifying he wasn't going to let you go until he got what he wanted.

Abruptly, you stopped and spun to face him, pointing your finger at him accusingly. "Say whatever you want to say, but make sure it's quick. I don't have time for this."

You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow, foot tapping against the pavement impatiently. Irked, Bakugou clicked his tongue at you and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"You've been acting off. It's showing," Bakugou bluntly stated. He was never one to beat around the bush when it came to others. Especially you, despite all the years of being acquainted. You reacted poorly with confrontation, he was well aware of that. Alas, it was the only way he knew to reach out to you, and possibly help you.

To be your hero.

Pressing your lips together tightly, you mustered your finest smile, gaze cold and blank. "I should be heading home, it'll get dark soon." At once, you stepped away from Bakugou, only to feel a hot, coarse hand engulf your wrist seconds later.

"You can't hide it, (Name)," he murmured, breath fanning against your neck. Gently, his giant and callused hand enveloped your tinier one, knocking the breath out of your lungs. Due to the nature of his quirk, his body temperature ran at a significantly higher temperature than most who did not obtain a pyromancer quirk. Although many found his heat to be overwhelming and suffocating, Bakugou was always a source of warmth that could melt even the iciest bits of you.

"Don't let him in. Don't do it," the voice whispered in your ear. "He's going to hurt you too."

"I'm not hiding anything," you retorted, eyes trained steadily on your feet. "I have nothing to hide."

His response was immediate. "That's a lie."

He knows.

You knew he knew. Bakugou always knew. Bakugou goddamn Katsuki always knew. He was a nosy little shit; always had been and always would be. He got it from his mother.

You knew that.

He knew that.

You just comprehended it too late. You were too slow. You couldn't keep up.

"You're just not good enough."

You knew that. You knew it. You always did. You just never accepted it.

"You've always been pathetic. Just give up."

They were right. They always were. Why did you even try?

You should've listened to them earlier. Tears began to fill your eyes, blurring your vision. You wretched your wrist out of his grasp and walked away. All words that flew from his mouth fell deaf upon your ears.

You couldn't let him see you so weak.

"Oi, (Name)! Get back here!" Bakugou hollered. There was a twinge of concern in his voice.

Don't hurt him too, (Name).

Your lips were locked, mouth dry and throat parched. Words refused to escape your sealed lips. Only tears fell and the urge to run and disappear felt possible.

So, that's what you did.

You ran from Bakugou and sprinted past people for countless blocks. There were not enough fingers on your hands to count how many times you crossed illegally and nearly slammed into an innumerable amount of cars, but you didn't care.

You never cared.

The familiar white lights of your treasured store came into view. A small smile graced your lips as you stumbled past a group of sketchy teenagers and into the vast parking lot. Finally, you could leave everyone and everything behind and learn how to let go.

You could learn how to not be selfish.

Just like Midoriya.

7:23 PM

7-11, the classic convenience store of Japan. Whether it be heroes, students, children, or elders, you could find people of all walks of life at the epoxy-floored store notorious for its delicious treats and savory dishes.

It was unfortunate that this homely store for many was considered your link to the retreat of your issues. When you were younger, you would have never pictured to use such a place like this as your method to get black-out drunk.

Except, this was the present; all that mattered was now.

Hurriedly, you staggered inside and carelessly swung a red hand basket onto your forearm and followed the familiar tiled path down to the cooler, where all their drinks were stored.

Various liquids were stored on the cool shelves: plastic water bottles with droplets of condensation sliding down their sides, glass containers filled with numerous types of teas, different types of milks stored in cartons, and your frequently visited section of them all— the alcoholic beverages. There were a couple of selections of beers, as well as fruity cocktails that were spiked with heavy amounts of rum.

Although the store wasn't too large on its variation in spirits, you didn't care. A drink was a drink. It served a purpose and you would accomplish that goal no matter the consequence.

The remnants of tears on your face dried once the chilly air of the refrigerator blasted against your skin, merely adding to the sting of your eyes. Every single muscle in your body was sore from your sprinting to flee from Bakugou— as a support hero, you never engaged in physical activity as much. It was a rough estimate, but you could guess that you had run at least a little bit less than three miles before you reached here.

Karma was one hell of a bitch.

Heedlessly, you grabbed a pack of beers and walked to the checkout counter. Picking up a couple of chocolate bars, you tossed them onto the counter, impatiently waiting for the employee to scan your items before you vanished back into the night.

"Your ID, ma'am?" requested the worker. Sluggishly, you pulled out your card and handed it to him, watching his eyes inspect the information printed on the plastic. With a nod, he handed your card back and totaled the cost before asking for your form of payment.

"Cash," you replied with a strained smile, pulling out a wad of bills.

The man finished checking out your items and bagging them, only to meekly mutter a tired, "Stay safe." You nodded in response, not trusting your voice.

Hurrying out the door, a quavered, muttered "thank you" fluttered past your lips and into the rosy evening, for no one's ears but your own.

Beer always tasted bitter to you. Every single time you picked up a bottle, can, or glass of it, it tasted bitter. Whether or not it was mixed with fresh fruit in the fermentation process or more than the common amount of yeast was used to make it sweeter, it still was harsh on your tongue and just as pungent.

Howbeit, you couldn't get enough of it. A disputant could argue that it was the easy access of beer that left you coming back to it- how effortless it was to just pick up a pack of beers, check-out, and go on your merry way. Employees paid little to no attention to those who bought beer. They all assumed beer drinkers were abortive alcoholics looking for a quick fix.

If you had wanted wine, champagne, rum, vodka or any other alcoholic beverage, a worker would have to be brought to take the drink out of its glass enclosure. Then, suspicion would arise. Questions would be asked.

It had occurred before.

You didn't care to think about it now though. Not when you had guzzled down two beers and were nursing your third. The other two bottles had been tossed haphazardly beside you on the grass, your legs dangling helplessly over the edge.

In the distance, the sun was setting. Warm hues filled the sky- layers of ruby red began at the top, far above your head, until it slowly melted into a borderline lobster red, becoming tangerine, slowly blending together to manifest a banana yellow that eventually turned into a lemon-like shade of yellow, until you could view no more.

The water below your feet was just as dark as you remembered it; its waves lapped at the stones below you, the water playfully skimming the sides of the boulders before receding back into the endless body of water.

Tears slipped down the apple of your cheeks, sliding down to your jaw and off, descending down to the oblivion of water beneath the cliff.

Bakugou's words resided in your heart, clouding your mind.

"You've been acting off. It's showing . . . You can't hide it, (Name)."

They know. They knew.

"They always knew," laughed the voice. "You can certainly try and hide it, but it doesn't mean it worked."

"They always knew, but they never said anything," you sobbed, pulling your knees to your chest, cradling your body close. "They never cared!"

"Exactly!" cried the voice. "That's what I've been telling you all this time! They never cared about you!"

The voice was right. You should've listened to them earlier. They knew what they were talking about. You knew that. They knew that.

Why didn't you listen earlier?

They were always right, in the end.

So, why did you fight before?

Midoriya, I always fought for Midoriya. Just for him.

You brought your beer bottle to your lips and guzzled it down, choking on your snot, tears, and the brew in your frantic gulp of the drink.

Wheezing, you tossed the glass to the side and laid back, grabbing your face in your hands as you curled into a fetal position.

What an idiot you were. Caring for a man, once a boy, that really was only a part of your memories. Your dreams, who only felt like your imagination. You and Izuku rarely spoke. Truthfully, you hadn't spoken in days, weeks, and possibly even months.

Midoriya had probably forgotten about you, just like everyone else had.

He was just like the rest. Midoriya Izuku, your childhood best friend, childhood crush, was just like every other person in your life- he hurt you exactly as they did. If not, more.

Midoriya was your everything. As children, you had protected him and stood by his side no matter how rocky the terrain became. He was supposed to be the one stable thing in your life, just like you were for him.

You fool.

You were nothing to Midoriya. You should have recognized that earlier. Once he entered UA, he had met fantastic people like Uraraka and Iida and didn't need you anymore.

Those thoughts weren't new, they had occurred before. Foolishly, you chose to ignore them. Now, you knew you were wrong for doing so.

A melancholic feeling settled over you as you downed the remaining bottles of beer, watching the sunset become a blur of black. The once colored hues of the sky faded into the sinister obsidian, with twinkling lights shining in the distance. The grass below you did not feel the same as it once had. Numerous times before, it had been soft, calming, and grounding. The blades of green always gently brushed against your skin, tickling your neck.

Presently, it prickled you, profoundly digging its leafy tips into you. It was a contrast to the loving embrace you were used to. Instead, it restricted you and attempted to pull you under.

It didn't feel right.

Nothing did.

"Then, why are you still here?" the voice questioned.

"I don't know," you whispered back, a wave of fresh tears welling up in your eyes. "I really don't."

Lifting yourself up, you kicked your feet in an attempt to shake out the jitters and calm yourself. The entire world felt like it was crashing down on you, but you couldn't properly react to it correctly, how you thought you were supposed to react.

What was wrong with you?

Why were you still here?

Why did you keep trying?

Why?

The intrusive thought sent you doubling over; you clasped your hands over your ears and hunched forward, face pointing towards the water. How long had you been here for? You definitely had lost your phone hours ago. It didn't matter, you wanted this to be over. Just for it to finally end.

"Do it, (Name)."

Jumping off the cliff wouldn't be a painless death, nor quick, but it would suffice. You were bound to be poisoned from the alcohol and if you happened to just hit your head on the way down? Easy as pie.

Shakily, you stood up despite the ache screaming within your bones. Every part of you was shaking, your teeth were chattering, your knees were knocking together, and your stomach had curled in on itself.

This is for the best, you told yourself. Just jump and it'll all be over.

"Jump!" echoed the voice. A watery grin spread across your face.

You squatted down, mimicking the awkward position of a jump squat.

"Jump!" it repeated.

"I'm so sorry, Izuku," you choked, spilling your deepest pains to the wind, the trees, and ocean below you. "I know you don't care about me, but I'm still sorry."

You were leaving without a trace. With nobody able to contact you or track you. With no farewells, appreciative notes, or apologies.

Maybe it was meant to be.

Not you and Midoriya.

Just you and yourself.

All alone.

It was nearly involuntarily how quick you threw yourself off the cliff, eyes shut tight as you felt the world around you fall. It was finally ending.

"NO!" a voice cried, somewhere above you. You didn't care enough about it to open your eyes.

Once again.

Weightless, free. Those were the words that could only describe how you felt. It was better this way. The voice was right.

As always.

"(Y/N)!"

Close. You were so close to dipping your feet in the water. You knew it.

You wanted to see this, to have one last memory before you died. The sight wouldn't be the prettiest, but you would cherish it even after your death.

The lids of your eyes flew open. Everything around you appeared as if it was falling with you. They were blurs of objects as you passed by them at inhuman speeds.

Nearly there.

You were nearly there.

Until you weren't.

Until someone caught you.

Until a multitude of what felt to be thick tendrils wrapped themselves around you as the tips of your toes skimmed the water, snatching you from the grips of death.

Until you were being pulled back up to this person, this monster, and into their rather warm hold. They hugged you close to their chest, so close that you could hear the erratic pounding of their heart.

Incoherent blubbers tumbled out of their mouth as they rocked you slowly, tucking your face into the crook of their neck. Your eyes fluttered shut, mind unable to process what had just happened.

They were warm, so warm. And you were tired. A little nap wouldn't hurt.

Not at all.

Their pleads for you to stay awake were unheard as you succumbed to the darkest depths of your mind, to the aching of your heart and body.

All alone.

Once again.

As always.

If you want a part 2, you're gonna have to threaten me for it or else it may never come. 🤭

Thank you for reading and I'll see you in part two! Consider checking out any of my other stories for content similar to this!

#© platrom, plot / writing / banners & headers. do not repost, reblogs are appreciated! please consider leaving a comment and a heart! <3

PART 1 (HERE) / PART 2

[chans-bad-girl]

I just read through all of your works and I love how you write. That changbin one had me 🥵💨. I also like your skz reactions a lot! I never requested anything like this, but I was wondering if you could do a skz reaction to you having a mark kink? Like bruises and scratches, things like that lol. Or like maybe just one members reaction? Whatever works for you! Thanks 💖

Skz reactions: marking kink

!!Beware: mature content ahead!!

hard kinks/trigger warnings: none? (feel free to lmk if I should add something)

warnings (but in short because we're not trying to write the length of a grocery list for a wedding): switch!skz and reader engaging in sexual activities of which the focal point of my elaboration is the marking kink

Chan

how long would it take for him to lose his mind, you ask?

.01 second

because the literal millisecond you say marking kink he's sucking on your neck

"one more so you can remember me when I'm gone."

and when you accidentally scratch his back a bit he goes

"you like em on me too?"

then says you can scratch his back all you want

will know from the way you dimple your fingertips in his skin how close you are

loves sucking on your lip for good measure after he left your thighs and collarbones all bruised with hickeys

"look, you're literal art. with love bites."

Minho

greet the master of teasing (after seungmin djdjdjd)

"you want me to suck here?"

will only lightly kiss your tummy first

then move to your thighs

and his face: gone

all you get to sense of him is his mouth sucking hickeys

u bet this sneaky mf will have the hickeys spell out a crooked m

loves the thought of marking you with a "making you his"-connotation

"now everyone knows you belong with me."

cuming in you is his personal favorite though

likes when you're cunning with it too and do little things like nibble on his earlobe

soft strokes on his back that gradually turn to pressing down on his skin

will make him literally lose his mind

watch this man lose every ounce of dominance by the time he's close

Changbin

spanking becomes his primary love language the second you tell him you like being marked

"look at my bunny, such a pretty red ass. all because of master's spankings."

will definitely call you out on how wet you've gotten from it

will also spank your pussy

and loves seeing you squirm as a reaction

isn't a big fan of biting and sucking, really just loves the marks his hands leave (scratching, bruises,...)

and here is the key to make him soft for you: kiss on his thighs or arms, leave some hickeys and mimick his domineering attitude

either he'll call you a brat or just let you do whatever

because when he doesn't have the energy, he likes being reminded how dedicated you are to him

after all, the man's a leo

also, he's soft under that "I like dark"-shell so show him some love

Hyunjin:

his lips

have you seen this man's lips?

damn

so once you say it he'd be a bit confused like

huh marks?

but then he just smiles for a second, looks you in the eye and ambitiously goes for your neck

will also pull at your hair a bit

and nibble at your ear

loves it when you do the same to him

likes leaving hickeys on your collar bones and stays sucking on a spot with a linger

spanks you also but only until some redness appears

when you moan, he moans back

also, please suck his nipples, this man is a sucker for that

Felix

will just smile at you and go at it as a reaction

uses his teeth

bites your bottom lip while you make out

would implement it into foreplay

sucks not only at your nipples but also on your cleavage so it leaves a small mark

not too obvious but if somebody looks there on purpose they'll see

bites at your thighs a bit too before eating you out

wants to try being marked as well

as soon as you get the opportunity to go down on him, you trail hickeys down from his stomach to his pelvis

and he tenses up when you grab his boner and gently suck this pre-cum off his tip

also imagine him moaning and squirming while you go down on him oh my god he's probably the only man that I actively wanna suck off

Jisung

would be the one wanting to be marked

literally before you can even say anything he's already mentioned he likes it

throws his head back to give you better access

closes his eyes when you leave nail imprints on his shoulders because, for him, it's THE sign that he's making you feel good

also likes it a bit messy, meaning that he likes getting lost in your messy hair and the anklet that slaps his back

bonus point if the anklet leaves imprints also

will also give back to you when you give him consent to and actually admit you kinda have uhm a marking kink

will smile at you like "cute that you're so shy about it when you always scream like you're at one of my concerts"

so get ready for Jisung to leave his own little teeth imprints and sucks here and there

Seungmin

ugh will not stop licking spots like a puppy because "can't give you everything at once, don't wanna overwhelm you"

will use that as an excuse you painfully tease you

picks up on all the small turn ons so foreplay will be 50% marking

because he knows it's one of your biggest kinks

will take his time

but I stay thinking that, as soon as he let's go, he'll REALLY let go

like dandy boy Seungmin can't always have a perfectly gentle personality

he cracks

and when you actually ASK him to mark you

so when you actually verbalize what he's already picked up

then, congratulations, you have managed to remove to constraints on the bull

have fun babes😉

also for some reason I feel like he'd be into ropes

so tying you up and then the imprints of them on you

or on him

it's kinda a theme of restriction and letting loose with him

Jeongin

he marks you however it's convenient for him atm

loves to show off his muscles to you

so he'll grip at your hip and leave a little red mark

hold you up against a wall and leave red spots on your torso

loves sucking on your neck and shoulders, especially during missionary

also slapping is a big one with him

loves to see the redness and jiggling of your thighs/ass

when he's in baby bread mood and just likes being taken care of after a long day, he likes some hickeys and how they look at him

maybe also like receiving some scratches on the back

but all in all likes marking you a bit more

[ryuzakemo128]

Stranger Things - Headcanons Part Five

Warning: 18+ only, Minors beware if you read this you might be scarred for life.

Trigger Warning: Contains Swearing, mentions of abuse, smut, sexual content

Author's Note: These will be updated after I get more ideas.

Billy Hargrove x Marianna

SFW

Before they're dating

Marianna approaches him several times, subtly hitting on him and making sure he's left flustered in some shape or form because she finds it hot when he's like that.

Marianna often used the nickname Sunbeam to just drive it straight home afterwards.

Marianna understands that things at home can be awful and the trauma that comes from it. So whenever it happens she usually says "If you want to hang out just let me know." She also doesn't hint or speak about it if he didn't want to.

Marianna doesn't get intimidated by him, his threats don't work. If they were bullets they wouldn't do any damage. So when she finds him in the aftermath of what happened between him and his father. Her blood boils and she hates the human race that much more.

On the first date, she usually buys a few flowers to give him along with the date already being paid for ahead of time. The date consisted of taking him to a restaurant and then taking him to the movies afterwards.

Dating

Marianna has asked him several times to pose for her paintings. However, she never seems to get a solid answer from him.

Marianna buys him 100 red roses on Valentine's day each year.

Marianna likes to call Billy, Sunbeam when she's hitting on him. She also likes to call him Grumpy whenever he walks away from her.

Marianna also buys him quite a few presents on Valentine's day, Christmas and his birthday. Whenever he asks why she does it her response each time is "I spoil the people I love and care about. There's nothing else to it."

Marianna uses the stereotypical pet names guys use for their girlfriends, usually in private.

As Marianna's first gift to Billy, she gave him an enameled ring with the words "Till Death" written on it.

(Image below is the example of what the ring would look like.)

NSFW

Hatef--k by The Bravery describes most of it. I suggest that you give it a listen to it.

Aftercare is a big thing that happens after sex. When it's especially rough that night.

[marshmallowprotection]

The Garden of Obsession is a week-long event where you can explore a side of Saeran Choi as the world caves in around him.

Whether you want to explore Ray’s infatuation and yearning to treat you like his favorite doll, Suit Saeran’s drive to possess a toy he can control instead of being the one controlled, Unknown’s unwavering desire to hold you like the shiny new thing on the playground that only he can own, or something else entirely, this is the time to explore those perspectives. 

From November 15th - 21st. 

RULES: 

Tag your writing/art with #thegardenofobsession2021 so it’ll be easy to locate for everyone. I’ll be sharing your works and reblogging them using that tag on my blog as well—so you’ll know where to look if you’re curious—and it’ll be simple to navigate. 

These can be simply Saeran-focused, Saeran x MC, Saeran x You, Saeran x Reader, or Saeran x CMC [Custom MC]. There’s no cap limit on how much you can draw or write, nor is there a bare minimum. Write or draw as much as you want to your heart’s content. This week is all about Saeran’s relationships with his precious MCs across the routes as he struggles between what it means to want someone as much as he does. 

Tag and label your works appropriately for all necessary triggers and content warnings that you feel are important. NSFW content won’t be shared on this blog if you choose to create it. However, it can be added to a collection on AO3 if you choose to post it there since it can be age-restricted and locked to adults only. Non-Consensual acts aren’t wanted, be they NSFW, just to make that abundantly clear ahead of time. 

Any questions? Ask away. 

PROMPTS:

Day 1: BEGONIA - Beware

Day 2: JONQUIL - Desire for Affection Returned

Day 3: CARNATION (STRIPED) - Wishing to be Yours

Day 4: POPPY - Eternal Sleep

Day 5: PETUNIA - Resentment

Day 6: LILAC -The First Feeling of Love & Spring.

Day 7: HYACINTH (YELLOW) - Jealousy