#an object? unclean

[aceissomunster]

panel redraw!

[widowshill]

If you're still doing character bingo and haven't gotten her yet: Laura Murdoch Collins <3

a few people requested her and i think it's because everyone knows that i'm batshit (ha) insane about this woman. what if bertha mason was a blonde femme fatale in the middle of collinsport's most toxic manslaughter polycule. i'm in love with her. laura collins wants to grill me to a crisp? medium or medium well my beautiful beloved terrible wife?

[braintapes]

i am so glad for acne positive posts <3 i was fortunate that i didnt grow up with any expectations for how my body 'Should' be or made to feel bad about anything at all...except for acne, the one thing i Was made to feel very gross and repellent for having. 'no one will be interested in you if you have a face full of acne/acne scars' which i always thought was such a Weird hangup to have... even now, while i don't feel ashamed for having it, i do get some insecurity going outside showing my face...so it makes me rly happy when i see genuine warmth and positivity abt it :'>

[gaast]

Learning about a type of OCD I've never heard of and being like "huh that sounds familiar" and pairing that with my ungodly amounts of hand-cleaning and thinking that a lot of what I do is demanded of me at least in part by my moral code and kind of just... wondering.

[konigsblog]

Touch starved!reader and kidnapper! Konig PLEASE

It feels immoral and wrong for you to enjoy König's perverted, unclean touch.

He keeps you locked away with a thick metal chain wrapped tightly around your neck, isolated from society and your beloved family members for his own selfish benefit. It's completely self-centred, your dismay and misery only profiting him. He isolates you from your friends and family to keep you all for himself and to protect you from ill and deranged perverts like himself. He's had a careful, predatory, and watchful gaze on you for longer than you realise, and now, he has you exactly where he wants you.

König lives deep within a tall, looming, and freezing forest, far from society where your only source of human interaction unfortunately has to be the depraved bastard who abducted you. Any attempts at escaping would leave you succumbing to your painful, inevitable fate.

You feel disgusted with yourself for craving his sinful touch, for enjoying the way he dotes on you, gushes about how stinkin' adorable you are while his grimey, filthy hands explore your form, pushing apart your thighs eagerly and desperately. You mourn the life you once had, your mind deteriorating quickly as a result of König's torment and treatment, being conditioned to adore him and accept what he considers ‘love’. You claim it's nothing more than a natural instinct as a result of the lack of communication and interaction you've had with another human, but deep down, your heart yearns to be held by König, to be an object for his satisfaction, sexual or not. The way he cradles you lights something up within you.

You haven't been held like this and loved on in such a long time that you can't help but greedily crave more. Fuck, you go out of your way to be touched by him, to feel those strong and protective hands caress your plush figure while he whispers the most sinister and wicked things into your ear, his terrifying and perverse obsession with you only worsening day by day.

[tavina-writes]

Why Is the Unclean Realm Called That?

Okay so, I was salty yesterday but I am calm! Today!

Let's talk about the name of the Qinghe Nie Sect Seat and why it's translated as "The Unclean Realm" and what thematic implications this name ties into.

The Chinese characters for Unclean Realm is 不净世 (bujingshi), and translating this as "unclean realm" is not inherently a bad translation at all! It gets the idea across and it's short and pity, like Nightless City for 不夜天城 (Buyetiancheng) or Cloud Recesses for 云深不知处 (yunshenbuzhichu). Unfortunately English words tend to have more syllables in them than Chinese words and the other unfortunate thing about like, translation especially for subtitles is that you have to get the translation across in the same amount as it takes for the characters to talk because most casual viewers are not pausing their screens to read translator notes especially when the thing in question is actually just, far more complicated to explain than just a sentence.

Now, to get into 不净世 (bujingshi) and what it actually means, we do have to look at the concept it comes from: 不净观(bujingguan)/asubhabhāvanā, which is a Theravāda Buddhism concept that focuses on the contemplation of defects (also on occasion translated as the contemplation of the foul/decay) especially in the sense of contemplating one's own physical decay as a meditative exercise that reminds practioners to let go of the world/worldly desires bc of the commonality of like "yeah all life in the world will eventually become a corpse and decay, so while we're here don't be too fussed about wealth and glory and power and having objects"

So, in that sense, the Bujingshi is "the realm where we let go of physical desires because eventually we all become one with the world through decay and there is no reason to contemplate wealth and material objects." Does this. Sound like someone's philosophy. Does this remind you of that line from the book that says Nie Mingjue does not care for money, women, wine, or glory.

Does it perhaps also ironically tie into his fierce corpse or Nie Huaisang contemplating decay as a state of being throughout the second life? Perhaps!

But really this is a very clever and philosophical name that ties into so much of the Nie Sect's whole deal, and seeing it being treated as kind of a haha funny thing or a totally mysterious weird thing to be called is kind of. Depressing at times.

[loveandpeaceanddoughnuts]

unclean // long distance scout!Levi x Reader

[cw: hurt/comfort, canon-typical gore, mental health, angst]

Levi narrows his eyes as he scrubs the rough bar of soap between his palms. The scummy bubbles at the bottom of the bucket are tinged a pale, visceral pink in the fading twilight.

He swallows down bile at the sight of it, disgusted by the way the gore clings to him, burrowed into the lines on his hands and the beds of his nails.

It’s filthy. There’s no running water in a camp this far outside the walls, so he fills and refills the bucket whenever it gets too murky for him to stand. He feels briefly guilty for the waste of so much clean water before disgust blots it out.

Finally, the droplets from his scoured hands run clear. The tightness in his chest loosens, just barely. Enough to take a full breath. His hands burn from the shitty ration soap, but it’s better than leaving them unclean.

Levi staggers into his tent and pulls the cloth flap tightly shut. There, in the privacy of darkness, he permits himself to collapse. He digs his nails into his forearm to keep from crying.

He still feels tainted. He smells a phantom stench of the battlefield rising from his hair, his clothes, even though he’s cleaned them. He can still feel the stomach-churning steam of fallen Titans against his face.

He wants to soak himself in scalding water, wants to slough off layers of himself until he reaches something that has never been stained with blood. But Levi is no longer sure that there is anything left within him that isn’t contaminated, if there ever even was.

After all, he’s seen enough of his comrades ripped apart, enough of his friends turned into unrecognizable meat. There’s nothing sacred hiding underneath their skin. Why would he be any different?

Levi spreads out his bedroll carefully, making sure that the interior doesn’t touch the ground. He always packs and unpacks it the same way, so one half remains pristine. It gives him a little comfort.

He mechanically lights a lantern, running on routine. He rifles through his pack and comes up with your picture. You had asked Jean to make a sketch of you, and Levi begrudgingly admitted that it was a very good likeness. He’s taken it with him on every mission since you gave it to him.

With your picture beside his pillow, Levi relaxes another fraction. He’s survived today, and more importantly, so did his squad. He tries to focus on that and not the sting of his hands, scrubbed raw.

As he moves to dim the lantern, his eyes catch on a flash of metal in his pack. Metal that shouldn’t be there. Levi swears under his breath as he lifts out the unfamiliar object, preparing for anything.

Almost anything, that is. He doesn’t expect a tiny metal tin, certainly doesn’t expect the paper covered in your handwriting folded around it. He unwraps it carefully and holds it up to the light.

My love,

I wish I could be there with you. Know that you never leave my thoughts. And because I have the privilege of knowing you well, I fear that you are suffering more than you admit.

There is nothing that could ever taint you in my eyes. No amount of filth that I would not gladly wash clean, knowing you were beneath it.

Please don’t be annoyed that I spent money on this- I’d been saving and thought there could be no better purpose. I hope it brings you the comfort that I cannot while you’re beyond the walls.

Come home to me soon, my Levi.

The words blur with tears before he reaches the end, but Levi doesn’t let them fall. At least, not until he opens the tin and sees that it is full of lotion, not the tallow you rub into his skin when it cracks and bleeds on bad days, but real lotion from the pompous merchants in the inner walls.

It’s a ridiculous luxury, made more ridiculous by its place here in the wilderness, in a soldier’s tent. But it smells like you, and though he can hardly bear to disturb the pristine surface, it feels like heaven as he hesitantly smears it across his hand.

It soothes the pain instantly. You must have known it would. That’s what makes him cry at last- the burden and the blessing of being known, being loved all the more for the knowing.

He uses an entire precious layer of the lotion on his hands then extinguishes the lantern and curls onto his blanket. He holds his hands over his face and breathes you in, allowing peace to settle warily on his aching chest.

[oatlystrawberryicecream]

the way that some people talk about jason and batman and the joker is so jarring to me because it relies on some unspoken assumptions that i will never buy into

1. the assumption that taking a life inevitably always makes the person who did it worse. killing someone isn’t always this earth shattering thing that harms the person who does it and fundamentally changes their outlook on things. i guess if you have never met a veteran or someone who survived an armed robbery or any number of other things you might make that mistake, but like some of the people who fought in wwii came home and were normal members of the community and the times that their bullets hit the mark were not necessarily the parts of the war that kept them up at night. these assumptions that once you kill you are wicked and have to feel bad and do this whole show of repentance are insidious. if you are gonna look at all this through the lens of christian morality you should at least be aware that that is what you are doing but you cant have just one character be wicked and unclean because of his actions when the bible says that everyone is wicked and unclean by our nature and all sins are equal. a lot of people object to that view but if thats how you see it batman and jason and the joker are all sinners and are all as bad as each other so at least be consistant about how you apply that moral framework.

2. the assumption that being robin or being taken in and trained by bruce means full agreement with and acceptance of every part of bruce’s personal philosophy on justice and morality. jason was a homeless child and even if all this was explicitly laid out for him he could not have agreed since he needed bruce as a matter of survival. bruce’s ideology is extremely important to him and he can teach it to his children all he wants but they are not beholden to it above all else the way he thinks they should be. jason has to live according to his own beliefs regardless of how unacceptable bruce finds it and it is unfair and hypocritical of bruce to get bent out of shape about it.

3. the assumption that killing is always bad. maybe i have listened to too many episodes of behind the bastards but some people will do significant and appalling damage to others no matter what unless they are dead. those people can’t be allowed to keep causing harm. it isn’t glorious and there is no honor about it but it is right and just that they be stopped. there is no reason to strive for purity or ideological high ground when you can provide a measure of safety and justice to victims and prevent future harm instead.

4. the assumption that bruce didn’t have to answer to jason. parents have a duty to their children and it is my opinion that that duty does not end when the child dies. bruce adopted jason and made himself responsible and accountable for everything that happened to jason under his care. that responsibility was ignored over many instances. i am not going to detail the things that led to jason’s death here but it was not good or effective parenting. after jason’s death the disrespect starts pretty immediately with bruce compromising evidence of his murder in order to preserve his ability to continue as batman and continues with bruce getting rid of pretty much all traces of jason’s presence in his life. he is only spoken of as a mistake, a lost cause, or a cautionary tale and is assigned blame for his own death, a death that batman never bothered to fully investigate since he was buried next to the woman who led him into the trap. a new kid is endangered and the joker and batman both continue doing whatever they want as if jason’s life only matters for the way it affects them. bruce needs to answer for all of this, as his son jason has a right to expect more from his father. now the extent to which that extends can be debated but it is clear to me that jason deserved better from bruce.

conclusion: killing is accepted in society in certain circumstances, you may or may not agree with this but self defense laws and even things like jury nullification exist because people knew there should be some wiggle room since no one could have the full context of every situation that would ever arise. ending a life is not normal or ideal but it is not an unfathomably rare experience and it does not always weigh on the person who does it. bruce has never to my knowledge killed someone so he has no idea how he would actually respond but that still isn’t even what jason was asking him to do. all he had to do was be present and not move and he would have been the only parental figure who didn’t let jason down.

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Ñuha drakarītsos (dark!Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

synopsis: Aemond attacks Harrenhal and decides he deserves a spoil of war. And he doesn´t take lightly to any objections.

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, (public) humiliation, non-consensual sex, oral sex (m receiving), penetrative sex, reader getting treated like a toy, angst, no happy end, afab reader

word count: 3.1k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by @targaryen-dynasty

Adrenaline races through your body as you run through the halls of Harrenhal. Keeping your bare feet moving over the hard stone ground and your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Your loud, huffing breath is the only thing you hear besides it. You don't remember losing your shoes or ripping the skirts of your dress. It does not matter now though. All that matters is getting out of the castle and away from the men invading it or die trying. But you refuse to give up without a fight.

You can count the number of hallways on one hand, when you get caught by a knight and despite your struggles, are forced back to the inner courtyard. There you get pushed towards the other woman from the castle, who had all been rounded up like scared animals. Clinging to one another, shaking and crying hysterically. Your eyes flit over the yard. Knights are pushing around lords and servants, rounding up more women. The screams mixed with the scent of fire entering your nose is disorienting. Your head spins from the cacophony around you and then silently everything goes quiet as he enters the courtyard. That piercing blue eye burns into your body for just a moment before eyeing the rest of his and his men's work. His voice is heard barking orders at his men and then Aemond Targaryen stands before all of you, lips pressed together in a thin line and his hands behind his perfectly straight back.

With a methodical carefulness the prince regards all of you, looking down his nose. After walking the line, he comes back around to stand in front of you.

“You.” He says plainly.

Before you know what exactly he means by that, you get pushed a few steps forward and your clothes are ripped off your body. A gasp goes through the group behind you, the women cowering away to further single you out as Aemond walks towards you.

Inches away from you, he stills. One of his large, rough hands finds it´s way onto your thigh, the thumb sliding over the inside to graze your folds. Instinctively your legs squeeze together tightly, a thick layer of goosebumps spreads over your body, yet while it brought a sardonic smile to his lips, yours are graced by a snarl. His touch wanders upwards, leaving a burning trace in its wake that makes you feel the need to purge. Acidic taste burns its way up your oesophagus, overwhelming you entirely as the burning trails over the curve of your breasts to stop right under your jawline.

He runs a thumb over your lip ring, tracing the curve of your lip before finally releasing your chin.

“Unclean.” He mutters, sounding unimpressed at the dirt and ash that had accumulated on your skin. 

The smirk returns to his face as he reaches out and grabs onto your cheek.

He leans in close, his warm breath against your skin as he whispers. “You´re going to make a perfect little whore for me.”

The only answer he gets is a growl from deep within your body.

A soldier gets called over to wrap his cape over your shoulder. It is wet with drying blood and smells of the fires that had been set all around the castle, leaving you uncomfortable. Though it gives a sense of modesty.

The thought of which goes flying as soon as Aemond wraps an arm around your waist, to without much decorum, pick you up over his shoulder. To no avail you kick your legs and hit the back of the prince’s armour, which only gets regarded with a tightening of his grip.

Somehow, he manages to get you on top of Vhagar, trapping you between his arms. “Now. Are you going to behave yourself?” He asks firmly but doesn't wait for an answer as he commands Vhagar to take flight.

He doesn´t need to. It was more of an order than a question really. It is not like you could do much anyway without falling off the massive dragon and breaking your neck if you are lucky.

“Let me go!” You break your silence against him once you are far away enough from the castle for the screams on the ground to fall silent.

“Or mayhap you could give yourself to me right here.” He muses aloud.

“I will never give myself to you willingly.” You spit out the bitter tasting words. “And if you truly believe there to be even the slightest chance of it, you must be a bigger fool than the usurper himself.”

Aemond smiles coldly at your defiant words, enjoying the fact that you were unable to fully submit to him. He leans forward and bites down hard enough on your neck to break the skin where his teeth marked your flesh. It stings horribly, yet he seemed to find pleasure in your pain. 

“And yet here you are, unable to do anything but sit in my lap and take whatever I choose to give you.” He purred softly, running his fingers over your hair gently before suddenly yanking it back harshly in a makeshift ponytail, causing tears to spring to your eyes.

The sharp pain running through your scalp lets up only moments after, yet as Aemond lets up on your throbbing tresses, he immediately begins pinching at your breasts through the fabric that hangs around your shoulders still.

“Perhaps I should break more than just your will?” He asked with a sinister grin, reaching between your thighs to pinch at them as well.

The sensation makes you jump in the dragon's saddle, only saved from falling by his arms around you and holding onto the next best thing you can find, which luckily is the pommel.

Your heart beats wildly out of your chest and while the wind howls in your ears, carrying over a loud amused laugh from behind your back.

By the time you reach the capital and the red keep, you feel ready to pass out. Even if in all technicality the way doesn’t take long on dragon back, the prince´s relentless teasing and humiliation has you so on edge that it becomes straining.

When Vhagar finally lands and your feet feel some solid ground under their soles, you are immediately restrained by the wrists behind your back. At first you have half a mind of making a run for it, but one look into Aemond's eye tells you that there wasn't a worse idea in the world right now and that his treatment would become only worse if you followed up on that instinct. So, you comply with him as he nudges you in the back to get you to walk. Stumbling after him as he leads the way towards his chambers, you shiver under the judging glances of passing royalty and servants alike. Hearing their whispers about the now open and thus very revealing cape had you clench your fists.

You want to yell at them, rage, defend yourself, run. Anything to make you feel less helpless, but there is no way you would survive that. So, you keep following Aemond, keeping your thoughts to yourself and focusing on the stone floors. Even if their gazes burnt into your body just like his steel blue eyes had back at Harrenhal, you wouldn't meet their eyes. Doing so would only serve to lose the last smidgeof respect you had preserved for yourself.

Somehow the walk through the castle feels even longer than the flight from Harrenhal. Perhaps because it is linked to the much greater shame of being seen in this position, a shame that feels like boulders weighing you down from your stomach.

Eventually he does open the doors to his private chambers to you though, closing them behind you, before coming up to.

Even the way he moves marks him as a predator. The slow steps, cold, ever calculating eyes, the way his head always moves before his body. Always planning something that no matter how hard you try, you can never seem to keep up with. Smelling and getting off on the fear of his prey.

You notice that you have let yourself get lost in thought, when Aemond pulls the cloak off your shoulders and loudly calls in some maids.

On his order they give you what must be the roughest bath ever. Scrubbing until your skin is reddened, but at least it rides you off the dirt and smell of smoke and dragon.

You are given the grace to be dried off, but one look tells you that you won't be given any new clothes.

Instead, once the women hand you over to Aemond again, with arguably pitying gazes, you find yourself held down on the mattress.

With leather straps your wrists and ankles get bound to the bed posts in an embarrassingly open position. And no matter how hard you pull on them, the restraints do not budge, leaving you in that position for anyone that would walk in the room to see.

“Do not worry. You will learn to love being under my control.” Aemond runs the back of his fingers over your burning cheeks.

An amused chuckle leaves his lungs as you turn your head to snap after the slender digits.

“I will never love being under your control. I surely will not ever love anything associated with you.” You pick up the fight against the smooth leather once more, yet all it does is cut into your skin.

“It's quite amusing to watch someone resist so hard.” The blond remarks. “But ultimately futile.”

He leans in close again, his hot breath brushing against your ear as he whispers. “You will learn to crave my touch as much as you fear it.”

Without a warning he bites down on your earlobe, causing you to cry out in pain and shock.

“Fuck you…” You hiss back at him.

Aemond smirks at your response, his eye gleaming with a mix of dominance and pleasure.

“I think I quite enjoy hearing you say that. Although I would much rather do that to you.” His hand wanders down between your legs again to forcefully push two fingers inside of you.

You cry out, a strangled sound that claws its way out of your lungs, but he does not relent. The sensation of his fingers penetrating is brutal, making you want to scream, but you bite your tongue instead. Under no circumstances would you give Aemond that satisfaction, if you could prevent it. Yet your thighs squeeze together tightly.

The action now elicits a deep growl from his throat, warning you to better behave or he might not be so kind as he is at the moment.

“Now be a good girl and spread your legs for me.” He continues to force his fingers inside of you, tearing at your sensibilities as he watches your face twist in discomfort and humiliation. His violation fuelling your hatred for him only further.

Eventually you have no other choice but to let your legs fall apart.

“That´s a good girl.” Aemond purrs.

His other hands slides up the middle of your body to rest loosely around the base of your neck.

Though he doesn't restrict your breathing yet, it hitches in your throat still. Aemond is unpredictable, even if you were to follow each of his commands.

Then suddenly his fingers leave your aching cunny. The same moment the rustling of clothes fills the room alongside your shallow inhalation.

Even with his hand away from your neck, you only dare to look at the prince from the corner of your eyes. It proves to be enough to take in the sight of pale skin, being exposed until even his breaches fall to the ground.

Aemond grabs your hair to force your lips open in a gasp. Without wasting time, his hardened length gets buried deep in your throat, forcing you to gag and choke as your body desperately tries to adapt to his long cock. Meanwhile Aemond, with a deep groan, began to thrust into you harshly. Tears burn in your eyes and flow over when you see the look of cruel joy in his darkened one. The wet sounds of the blond fucking your throat are beyond lewd and loud enough to be heard by the guards outside the door for sure. At the same time, you can´t stay quiet at the intrusion. Your lungs refuse to be silenced. Even if your cries for help are muffled and masked by the sounds of deep moans, you don´t give up hope one of them would take pity on you.

But nothing happens. The doors stay closed, no one intervenes, the leather cuffs do not budge for you to find a way out yourself. And you are forced to listen to your torturers irregular breathing and expressions of pleasure.

By the time he pulls out of your mouth with a wet pop, Aemond´s cock is soaked with a mix of spit and pre cum, the mixture dribbling down to his stones and wetting your chin from your swollen lips.

However, the assault has not found its end yet.

Aemond climbs in between your legs and lines up his slickened length at your in fear tightened opening. Your fists clench in preparation until the knuckles turn pale. None of it is enough to help against the pain.

Without preparation and with one swift motion, Aemond buries himself inside your core until he bottoms out.

“There we go.” He coos in a taunting tone over your stifled scream. “Feeling nice and full now, are we not, ñuha drakarītsos? My little dragonfire.”

Again, there is no break. He pulled out slowly to give you just the smallest moment to breathe, only to push back in even harsher than before. Every time he thrusts into you, a new scream claws its way out of your lungs, long after they are raw and hurt almost as much as the rest of your body.

Aemond reaches deep inside of you, stretching your still narrowed core, the curve of it making sure to hit all the most sensitive spots inside and out with the assistance of one large hand coming down to rub circles into your pearl to get you to loosen up.

His efforts, to your detriment, are fruitful sooner than late.

Under Aemond´s ministrations your body begins to betray you. Writhing and squirming against your will. The way liquid fire flows through your veins, calling for more and the feel of his stones slapping against your backside with every thrust. At the same time bile rises in your throat from how wrong this is. This shouldn´t make you feel good. None of it.

“Are you finally realising your place in the world, ñuha drakarītsos? Are you ready to give in to me?” Aemond leans down to let his breath tickle your ear.

His hand finds its way around your throat again, warning you not to say the wrong thing.

“Never. I will never bow my head to a levereter like you…” You are cut off by Aemond´s hand squeezing your throat tight enough to cut off any air flow.

Helplessly you gasp for air, as he keeps rutting into you, unflinching. Luckily your torturer shows a smidge of mercy, letting go of your neck just as the black dots begin to dance in your vision begin to grow.

“I will give you another chance. Are you ready to submit to me?” He puts extra emphasis on every word as he spits them out like sone expired food.

“You may ask as often as you wish. My answer will not change.” You shoot back in the same tone, spitting in his face afterwards.

“Oh, I will make you regret this.” The prince growls angrier than you had ever seen anyone. It is not a threat, especially not one made idly. It is a promise that he means to fulfil.

Until long past sunset, Aemond pounds you into the mattress, to a point where you pass overstimulation by a longshot. His seed leaks out of your swollen, numb folds to stain the bed sheets. A red print of his hand signals where he had cut off your breath repeatedly. And still he kept thrusting into you at a brutal pace. Where he still takes the strength from to keep it up you aren´t sure. And if you are honest with yourself, his efforts to make you submit have you unable to coherently think anything at the moment.

Much to Aemond´s delight, he is able to observe your head rolling from side to side weakly, your whole body shaking uncontrollably, the fight entirely gone from your spent muscles. At least for now. You have resorted to begging him to stop on a barely coherent mumbling tone, raw from everything that has happened prior, which is answered by a wolfish smirk as Aemond finally slows his hip movements.

The slower thrusts allow him to lean down one last time to suck purple and blue marks into the sensitive skin around the one his hand had left earlier. Some pitiful, scratchy and quite hurtful whines leave your mouth in response to the prince´s doings. Observing his masterpiece it only takes Aemond a few more pumps to climax one last time.

Through hazy eyes and an even hazier mind you barely register him pulling out. Your senses are overwhelmed by the low light of the moon reflecting off his hair to make it shimmer like liquid silver and the stench of has previously transpired. You are exhausted, eyes barely able to keep open as Aemond gets off the bed to clean his cock and get redressed.

Once he is finished caring for himself, the blond, releases your weakened limbs from the restraints. Then he climbs in bed next to you, though he makes no attempt to share his blanket with you, nor show any care towards your still far-gone mind. Why would he you were naught more than a spoil of war, a toy to be used and thrown away once it became too broken. He seemed to sense however that there was some fight left in you, even if at the moment you did not.

“You better be ready to bow to me on the morrow. Or there will be more punishment. I do not mind either way. It is up to you if I will your dream or your worst nightmare.” Aemond rasps, the tiredness in his voice clearly audible even through the fog that seemed to want to stay in your brain. You don´t remember much of what followed that night. Somehow he ended up with one of his arms laid loosely over your middle. Though the air between the two of you remains as hostile as before.

He knows there is no fondness for him in your heart, no trust. He can’t blame you for it. In all honesty he does not even care much for it. You belonged to him now either way. His little dragonfire.

[rottenpumpkin13]

What would happen if Zack filled in for Lazard?

Zack gives everyone gold stars to boost morale. Sephiroth gets a gold star on his chest (which he does not object to), Genesis gets one on his coat and is very smug about it, Angeal gets one on the Buster Sword when his back is turned, Kunsel gets one on his helmet, even Cloud gets 2 gold stars because even though he's not SOLDIER, he's twice as special in Zack's eyes.

Hopefully this will distract everyone from how Zack is secretly micromanaging their lives.

*In Lazard's office, the phone rings*

Sephiroth: Aren't you going to answer it?

Zack: Right, one second!

*Zack answers it*

Zack: STAY AWAY FROM HIM. GO AWAY. BE GONE, UNCLEAN ENTITY.

*Zack hangs up*

Genesis: What was that??

Zack: Oh, that was professor Hojo. He wanted Sephiroth to go see him.

Sephiroth: <3

Zack: By the way, can you guys call Cloud up here? He needs to know that I'm giving him a raise.

Genesis: He doesn't work here.

Zack: Ah, you're right. Then I'm giving him your job.

Genesis:

[mostly-mundane-atla]

Things Inupiaq culture doesn't traditionally have:

Kings/royalty (requiring tribute from the people you lead is seen as tyranical and tyrants are killed when possible)

A cash economy (dentallium shells were valued by many other cultures and sometimes were used as money in international trade, but not among fellow Inupiat)

Agriculture (we are traditionally a hunter-gatherer people seasonally following the herds, fish, and ripening greens and berries)

Corporal punishment (you aren't even supposed to yell at people or even scold children)

Slavery (you could argue this one since women were sometimes captured and taken as wives; but this is typically regarded as an ancient and morally questionable practice. The Inupiat didn't believe in owning people or their labor, only at best associating through marriage, blood relation, or wife-exchange)

Primogeniture as a hard-fast rule (Inupiat culture was traditionally patriarchal so a son may inherit his father's status as a family patriarch if he is already a father at this time, but material inheritence was not guaranteed to work that way)

A written language (historians were assigned to memorize records, family trees, and the like)

Human or animal sacrifices (would be considered cruel and wasteful)

Formal vs informal language (socio-economic class is mutable and does not affect language)

Gendered pronouns (our language uses pronouns to indicate tone of a sentence the way many languages use pronunciation, as well as relationship between subject and object in complex sentences and in all cases whether the subject is singular, dual, or plural and if the sentence is in first, second, or third person. An absolute fuckton of pronouns and none of them are gendered)

Raw meat taboo (except in the case of pregnancy; the arctic climate means the weather was not too far off from refrigerator or freezer temperatures, if not colder, and underground storage was often placed around frozen methane deposits known as permafrost)

Dog meat taboo (dogs were helpful as beasts of burden or sometimes hunting companions but when there's a famine you gotta eat what you can)

Many ceremonies taken for granted (for example, if a man and woman mutually agreed they were married, that was the only wedding required. We had big celebrations for survival, and women got incredible face tattoos for coming of age, but many lifestages were celebrated more low-key with little pomp and circumstance)

Shirts (you didn't wear anything underneath your atigi, and if it was too warm for it, you took it off. Yes, even women. Presbyterian missionaries thought we were godless sluts for our tits out ways)

Virginity marriage requirement (it was best if a woman hadn't had sex before but only because we lived in small communities and you have to keep track of bloodlines. Having sex didn't make girls unclean or impure and unwed mothers were taken care of by their families and weren't stigmatized)

Required monogomy (men could have multiple wives and women could have multiple husbands, wife exchange was a means of fostering allegiance, and the main problem with cheating is that it involved lying and prioritizing pleasure over duties like making sure your husband doesn't fall to his death while hunting. In stories about cheating and revenge, the cheater and retaliating jealous partner are both depicted as in the wrong)

There are more, but these i feel provide a pretty good basic idea of the culture. You can use these bits of info as Water Tribe worldbuilding inspo if you want, but i won't pester you into it. I just think my culture is neat and wanted to share ^-^

[mightyflamethrower]

“Name me a single objective we’ve ever set out to accomplish that we’ve failed on. Name me one, in all of our history. Not one!”

-President Joe Biden, August 16, 2023 

Joe Biden in one of his now accustomed angry “get off my grass” moods dared the press to find just one of his policies/objectives that has not worked. Silence followed.

Perhaps it was polite to say nothing, given even the media knows almost every enacted Biden policy has failed.

Here is a summation of what he should instead apologize for.

Biden in late summer 2021 sought a 20th anniversary celebration of 9/11 and the 2001 subsequent invasion of Afghanistan. He wished to be the landmark president that yanked everyone out of Afghanistan after 20 years in country. But the result was the greatest military humiliation of the United States since the flight from Vietnam in 1975.

Consider the ripples of Biden’s disaster. U.S. deterrence was crippled worldwide. China, Russia, Iran, and North Korea almost immediately began to bluster or return to their chronic harassment of U.S. and allied ships and planes. We left thousands of allied Afghans to face Taliban retribution, along with some Western contractors.

Biden abandoned a $1 billion embassy, and a $300 million remodeled Bagram airbase strategically located not far from China and Russia, and easily defensible. Perhaps $50 billion in U.S. weaponry and supplies were abandoned and now find their way into the international terrorist mart.

All our pride flags, our multimillion gender studies programs at Kabul University, and our George Floyd murals did not just come to naught, but were replaced by the Taliban’s anti-homosexual campaigns, burkas, and detestation of any trace of American popular culture.

Vladimir Putin sized up the skedaddle. He collated it with Biden’s unhinged quip that he would not get too excited if Putin just staged a “minor” invasion of Ukraine. He remembered Biden’s earlier request to Putin to modulate Russian hacking to exempt a few humanitarian American institutions. Then Russia concluded of our shaky Commander-in-Chief that he either did not care or could do nothing about another Russian invasion.

The result so far is more than 500,000 dead and wounded in the war, a Verdun-stand-off along with fortified lines, the steady depletion of our munitions and weapon stocks, and a new China/Russia/Iran/North Korean axis, with wink and nod assistance from NATO Turkey.

Biden blew up the Abraham accords, nudged Saudi Arabia and the Gulf States over to the dark side of Iran, China, and Russia. He humiliated the U.S. on the eve of the midterms by callously begging the likes of Iran, Venezuela, Russia, and Saudi Arabia to pump more oil that he had damned as unclean at home and cut back its production. In Bidenomics, instead of producing oil, the president begs autocracies to export it to us at high prices while he drains the nation’s strategic petroleum reserve for short-term political advantage.

Biden deliberately alienated Israel by openly interfering in its domestic politics. He pursued the crackpot Iran Deal while his special Iranian envoy was removed for disclosing classified information.

No one can explain why Biden ignored the Chinese balloon espionage caper, kept mum about the engineered Covid virus that escaped the Wuhan lab, said not a word about a Chinese biolab discovered in rural California, and had his envoys either bow before Chinese leaders or take their insults in silence—other than he is either cognitively challenged or leveraged by his decade-long grifting partnership with his son Hunter.

Yet another Biden’s legacy will be erasing the southern border and with it, U.S. immigration law. Over seven million aliens simply crossed into the U.S. illegally with Biden’s tacit sanction—without audits, background checks, vaccinations, and COVID testing, much less English fluency, skills, or high-school diplomas.

Biden’s only immigration accomplishment was to render the entire illegal sanctuary city movement a cruel joke. Given the flood, mostly rich urban and vacation home dwellers made it very clear that while they fully support millions swarming into poor Latino communities of southern Texas and Arizona, they do not want any illegal aliens fouling their carefully cultivated nests.

Biden is mum about the 100,000 fentanyl deaths from cartel-imported and Chinese-supplied drugs across his open border. He seems to like the idea that Mexican President Obrador periodically mouths off, ordering his vast expatriate community to vote Democratic and against Trump.

Despite all the pseudo-blue collar dissimulation about Old Joe Biden from Scranton, he has little empathy for the working classes. Indeed, he derides them as chumps and dregs, urges miners to learn coding as the world covets their coal, and studiously avoids getting anywhere near the toxic mess in East Palestine, Ohio, or so far the moonscape on Maui.

Bidenomics is a synonym for printing up to $6 billion dollars at precisely the time post-Covid consumer demand was soaring, while previously dormant supply chains were months behind rebooting production and transportation. Biden is on track to increase the national debt more than any one-term president.

In Biden’s weird logic, if he raised the price of energy, gasoline, and key food staples 20-30 percent since his inauguration without a commensurate rise in wages, and then saw the worst inflation in 40 years occasionally decline from record highs one month to the next, then he “beat inflation.”

But the reason why more than 60 percent of the nation has no confidence in Bidenomics is because it destroyed their household budgets. Gas is nearly twice what it was in January 2021. Interest rates have about tripled. Key staple foods are often twice as costly—meat, vegetables, and fruits especially.

Biden has ended through his weaponized Attorney General Merrick Garland the age-old American commitment to equal justice under the law. The FBI, DOJ, CIA, and IRS are hopelessly politically compromised. Many of their bureaucrats serve as retrieval agents for lost Biden family incriminating laptops, diaries, and guns. In sum, Biden criminalized opposing political views.

Biden has unleashed the administrative state for the first time in history to destroy the Republican primary front runner and his likely opponent. His legacy will be the corruption of U.S. jurisprudence and the obliteration of the American reputation for transparent permanent government that should be always above politics, bribery, and corruption.

If in the future, an on-the-make conservative prosecutor in West Virginia, Utah, or Mississippi wishes to make a national name, then he has ample precedent to indict a Democrat President for receiving bad legal advice, questioning the integrity of an election, or using social media to express doubt that the new non-Election-Day balloting was on the up-and-up, or supposedly overvaluing his real estate.

The Biden family’s decade-long family grifting will likely expose Joe Biden as the first president in U.S. history who fitted precisely the Constitution’s definition of impeachment and removal—given his “high crimes and misdemeanors” appear “bribery”-related. If further evidence shows he altered U.S. foreign policy in accordance with the wishes from his benefactors in Ukraine, China, or Romania, then he committed constitutionally-defined “treason” as well.

Defunding the police, and pandemics of exempted looting, shoplifting, smashing, and grabbing, and carjacking merit no administrative attention. Nor does the ongoing systematic destruction of our blue bicoastal cities, Los Angeles, New York, Portland, San Francisco, Seattle, and Washington, D.C. All that, along with the disasters in East Palestine or Maui are out of sight, out of mind from a day at the beach at Biden’s mysteriously purchased nearly 6,000 square-foot beachfront mansion.

Biden ran on Barack Obama-like 2004 rhetoric (“Well, I say to them tonight, there is not a liberal America and a conservative America — there is the United States of America).”

And like Obama, he used that ecumenical sophistry to gain office only to divide further the U.S. No sooner than he was elected, we began hearing from the great unifier eerie screaming harangues about “semi-fascists” and “ultra-MAGA” dangerous zealots, replete with red-and black Phantom of the Opera backdrops.

What followed the unifying rhetoric was often amnesties and exemptions for violent offenders during the 120 days of rioting, looting, killing, and attacks on police officers in summer 2020.  In contrast, his administration lied when it alleged that numerous officers had died at the hands of the January 6 rioters. In addition, the Biden administration mandated long-term incarceration of many who committed no illegal act other than acting like buffoons and “illegally parading.”

The message was exemptions for torching a federal courthouse, a police precinct, or historic church or attempting to break into the White House grounds to get a president and his family—but long prison terms for wearing cow horns, a fur vest, and trespassing peacefully like a lost fool in the Capitol.

Finally, Biden’s most glaring failure was simply being unpresidential. He snaps at reporters, and shouts at importune times. He can no longer read off a big-print teleprompter. Even before a global audience, he cannot kick his lifelong creepy habit of turkey-gobbling on children necks, blowing into their ears and hair of young girls, and squeezing women far too long and far too hard.

His frailty redefined American presidential campaigning as basement seclusion and outsourcing propaganda to the media. And his disabilities only intensified during his presidency. Biden begins his day late and quits early. He has recalibrated the presidency as a 5-hour, 3-day a week job.

If Trump was the great exaggerator, Biden is our foremost liar. Little in his biography can be fully believed. He lies about everything from his train rides to the death of his son to his relationship with Biden-family foreign collaborators, to vaccinations to the economy. Anytime Biden mentions places visited, miles flown, or rails ridden, he is likely lying.

Biden continues with impunity because the media feels that a mentally challenged fabulist is preferable to Donald Trump and so contextualizes or ignores his falsehoods. Never has a U.S. president fallen and stumbled or gotten lost on stage so frequently—or been a single small trip away from incapacity.

So, yes, Biden’s initiatives have succeeded only in the sense of becoming successfully enacted—and therefore nearly destroying the country.

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

Autistic Sensory Differences

What are they?

Autistic people experience the sensory world very differently from non-Autistic people. One Autistic person might be hyper-sensitive to certain sensory experiences, and do whatever to avoid them, whereas another might be hypo-sensitive and crave heavy sensory input (or both/a mix). Sensory differences include the main 5 senses:

Sight

Sound

Touch

Smell

Taste

addition to 3 lesser-known senses:

Interception

Movement

Balance

SIGHT: A person might struggle with intense eye contact, bright lights, a chaotic mix of colours or a lack of visuals for support. Another might seek out loud colours, lots of lighting or certain visuals (e.g. shiny things).

What might help:

Sunglasses to block out light

Reducing eye contact

Using visual prompts such as labels/lists

Using calm/dim/ mood lighting

SOUND: A person might struggle with loud/sudden noises, overlapping voices, certain pitches or a lack of noise. Another might seek out loud music, repetitive sounds/words/songs or white noise.

What might help:

Using subtitles for videos when the audio is too overwhelming

Wearing headphones to reduce noise/utilise music for comfort

Using ear plugs to lower background volume

TOUCH: A person might struggle with rough surfaces and textures, the feeling of dirt or unclean skin, clothes labels or human contact (e.g. hugs, handshakes etc.).

Another might seek out objects to squeeze, fabrics to feel or people to embrace.

What might help:

Setting a boundary to not be touched without consent

Removing fabrics and materials from your environment that you dislike

Find clothes with stamped labels rather than ones with external tags

SMELL: A person might struggle with strong or pungent smells, odours that are too overwhelming for them, or just too many different smells at once. Another might seek out powerful smells or like to overload themselves on favourite scents.

What might help:

Keep to hand something that smells nice to you to counter any bad smells

Use unscented products

Use candles, diffusers or air fresheners to surround yourself with comforting smells

TASTE: A person might struggle with different textures in food (e.g. soft with crunchy), certain flavours or unfamiliar foods. Another might seek out hot/spicy/sour foods or chewy/stimmy foods.

What might help:

Providing familiar/safe foods at meals

Don't force trying new foods if not interested

Be aware of clashing textures

INTERCEPTION (processing info about physical needs on and inside the body):

A person might struggle with recognising physical needs (e.g. going to the toilet, feeling unwell, needing to eat/drink) whilst another might feel them intensely.

What might help:

Creating routines/alarms/reminders for fulfilling bodily needs

Be well prepared/equipped to fulfil needs e.g. taking water with you to places

Fulfilling bodily needs earlier to avoid pains of thirst, hunger, full bladder etc.

MOUEMENT (Proprioception): A person might struggle with an overly aware sense of body positioning, becoming tired easily from movement or disliking tight clothes. Another might seek out physical activity (running, climbing etc.), have less awareness of personal space and have a need to fidget/cannot remain still.

What might help:

Use of deep-pressure products like weighted blankets

Keeping active through slower movements, e.g. walking instead of running

BALANCE (Vestibular): A person might struggle with sensitivities to balance and spatial orientation if moving too fast or have difficulties with motion sickness.

Another might struggle with not moving at all or seek out movements such as dancing and swinging around.

What might help:

Using trampolines, rollercoasters, rocking chairs to meet vestibular needs

Physical support such as with stairs to help control balance with steps

Autisticality

Autism

Sensory Processing

[strangelittlestories]

I once knew a librarian who worked in a quite strange and esoteric - and also poorly funded - library.

They struggled a lot with the books falling off shelves - it was like these tomes had lives of their own and objected to being confined.

The librarian wrote to management and requested an increased budget, just to buy a few tasteful statues (or even just wooden blocks) to keep the recalcitrant books propped up.

Of course, the request was denied. It really was a lean time for these once proud public spaces.

So this librarian went to the darkest recesses of the library and sought out the weirdest, most arcane books from the library’s oldest corners.

They drew out a series of chalk circles, lit many dribbly candles, then spoke some words from the books.

A number of small demons - imps really - appeared in a puff of sulfur.

“All hail the dark wizard!” The chittered. “Praise the brimstone king! The fallen puppeteer! The fiend-wrangler! What dark bidding do you have for us?”

“Shush.” Said the librarian. “This is a library.”

“Sorry…” Whispered the imps, somewhat cowed. “What do you wish of us? What contract would you - the chief of the silence that falls like the sky - make with we creatures of the dark flame?”

“All I want,” Explained the librarian patiently, “Is for you to stand still and silent in your little summoning circles, and prop up the books next to you.”

“...that … that’s all?” The imps asked incredulously.

“That’s it. Now do as I ask please, lest I become displeased and shush you again.”

“We are unworthy to be stretched upon the rack of your shushing! We poor, wretched, unclean things do not deserve even to be wrecked upon the will of your late fees! We shall … shush.”

And from that day on, the library’s books were all kept neatly on their shelves.

I asked the librarian once, if using these petty demons in this fashion was strictly ethical.

To this the librarian only replied:

“The book-ends justify the book-means.”

[0oolookitsme]

Feel Special Now?

Type - One-Shoty Blurb

Verse - Devil!Harry x (Vampire) Assassin!Y/n

Word Count - 1.5k

Warnings - Mentions of blood and knives.

A/n - The last Kinktober fic you guys! This one is giving less kinky and more halloween-y, but believe me they are being so horny lmao. Hope you enjoy <3

Kinks - Knife Play, Biting (as in drinking blood), Marking

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

The sun hadn't risen yet, but Y/n was up. Well, she was up all night, every night. But sometimes, she would just close her eyes and lay on Harry's side to pretend she was sleeping while he snored and sometimes mumbled things in his sleep.

But she hadn't laid beside Harry for as long as the darkness swallowed the sun that night. Instead, she got up the moment Harry's hand slipped from her waist and decided to clean and sharpen up her knives.

It was a bad habit she had, assassinating people and leaving her knives uncleaned. Harry often called her out for that, teasing that she wasn't someone whose hands were clean after all. Even when both of them knew that Harry's hands too, often seemed to be stained by blood.

Once she returned from washing all of her daggers, swords, and knives, she went straight to the room away from the one she shared with Harry in order to not wake him with the sound of her sharpening the blades.

Focusing on any change in Harry's heartbeat, Y/n sat down cross legged upon finding it beating in the same peaceful rhythm it does when he sleeps. She kept busy like that until an idea struck her mind out of the blue, causing her to leave her sharp objects out in the open out of excitement.

It was obvious that no one was going to dare and mess with them, but there were always exceptions.

Once she was inside the bedroom again, it struck her that she should check the time first – a smile creeping up on her mouth on noticing it was just about time for Harry to wake up.

So she crept closer and closer to his laying body, sitting beside his hips before lying down herself. She brought her hand that held the knife she'd just killed with two nights ago – and cleaned it just now – up in front of her.

She placed the cunning tip of the knife on Harry's temple, hovering it along the lows and highs of his cheek bone and cupid's bow. When she pressed the cool metal of the blade flat against his neck, Harry jerked awake – pining her on the mattress beside him in an instant.

He sighed a deep breath upon seeing her delighted face, kissing just above her upper lip in relief. "Could've killed y' right here," he spoke, removing his hold from her neck and laying flat on his back again.

Y/n laughed then, turning to face him with the knife still in her hand. "But you didn't," she grinned, tracing his jawline with the pointy-tip.

"Y' don't get to mess with the devil, pretty," Harry chuckled, letting her do her thing for a little longer.

Removing her knife, she herself got closer to whisper in his ear, "then who does?"

Harry opened his eyes to take her in for a second before he had her under him again. "No one," he also whispered in her ear, a smirk forming on his face when he felt her cheeks warm up under the graze of his lips.

"I should get that pass though, don't you think?" She said softly. "How else will I know I'm special?" Flaunting a faux pout on her lips, she pulled his leg.

Harry pressed a chaste kiss on her lips then, kissing her for a little longer than a peck. Then, he moved onto pressing his lips on the cold skin of her face – her temples, her forehead, her cheeks, nose, chin and finally a peck on her lips that had been stretched in a wide smile again.

"Well, i don't go around kissing every inch of just anyone's skin, do I now? Hm?" Harry asked her, lowering to nip the skin at the lock of her jaw.

"Don't hold anyone else close myself to keep them warm, don't let someone else draw my blood – does that not make it known that you are special to me, love?" Harry asked again, revelling at her silence and heavy breathing.

"Especially don't let anyone this close to me," he murmured, licking at the skin he had just bit.

Y/n laid there at a loss of words due to the close proximity between them, her breathing uneven as Harry continued marking her skin. Her back arched off of the bed when he undid the ties of her dress at the waist, letting the flimsy material slip down her skin and reveal her breasts to him.

"Don't touch anyone like this," Harry breathed, leaving open mouthed kisses across her chest before he took her hardened nipple in his mouth and sucked on it. He held her other breast, flicking its bud and twisting it gently.

"Never let anyone get away without burning into ashes by my touch," he whispered, shifting his attention on her other breast, snaking his arm around her waist.

She laid there, not listening to what he was saying, only focusing on his hot touch over her cold skin. She revelled at the feel of his lips kissing and biting her, leaving a mark on her skin everywhere his mouth went. Her hands slipped into his unruly hair, clutching the curls lightly.

A moan escaped her throat, making Harry chuckle. He shifted so he was face-to-face with her again, and tucked a fallen strand of her hair behind her ear. He softly asked her to open her eyes, brushing her cheekbone with his thumb.

Y/n's dazed gaze met with his, and saw a sight she swore wasn't real. He hovered above her – his skin glowing, pillowy lips plump and maroon, eyes so green and inviting that she almost jumped in.

"Feed," Harry told her as he tilted his head in a manner that gave her free access to his neck. He lowered his body on hers, moving closer to her mouth so that she couldn't resist herself.

Y/n had mastered the art of resisting blood, but it all came crashing down on her when it was Harry who was offering – especially after hightening her senses. It was a way in which he teased her, mocked her of her weakness that dawned on her when she even breathed the same sir as him.

She breathed in deeply, his skin almost brushing against nose as she resisted giving in. Her jaw hurt from how hard she was clenching her teeth, her nostrils flared and eyes shut. The scent of his blood was making her brain spiral – she was losing control over her own thoughts. Her hand pressed against the back of Harry's head, fisting his hair.

Opening her mouth, she inhaled deeply and almost lost her senses when the huge whiff of his scent entered her nose and hit her square in the chest, knocking her breath back out. Her jaw clicked as she bared her teeth out, tracing the soft skin of his neck until she found the vein that connected to one of the arteries leading straight out of his heart.

Veins grew prominent under the soft skin around her eyes, hints of redness leaking in the white of her eyes. She sunk her teeth slowly into his soft flesh, cutting through the layers of his skin until she grazed the artery.

Harry kept on brushing his thumb over the cold skin of her neck, breathing deeply as he felt the pleasurable sting of pain at the feeling of her sharp canines piercing his skin somberly. They were going to leave a mark, surely.

Once she finally grazed harshly enough, blood gushed into her mouth. The warmth of it quickly had her intoxicated as she sucked harder and harder. Her nose smushed against his skin as she tried tearing further, getting drunk on him – on his scent, his blood, the scent of his blood.

It all clogged her senses. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she tried to stop herself – yet, she was drawing up his blood so briskly that it had started trickling out of the corners of her mouth.

Feeling like she was going to drown in his blood, she hastened to pull out her teeth and detach her mouth from his skin. She heaved, out of breath and feeling as if she was smelling too much of him, drinking too much of him. He fogged her brain for a minute, before she blinked her eyes open again – her sight slowly focusing in on him.

Harry wasn't moving from atop of her, and anxiety immediately crawled up her back at the thought of having drunk too much of his blood.

She moved her hand to touch him, and sighed when she felt his skin was still warm. "H-harry?" She stuttered, moving her shoulder to stir him.

He started laughing then, his body shaking as his cackle only grew louder and more open-mouthed. He raised his head to look at her and pressed his open mouth against her cheek. "Sweet, sweet, Y/n," he breathed, a grin on his mouth.

"Did I frighten you, hm?" He cooed at her, grazing his teeth against her skin.

Sighing in great relief, Y/n hugged him closer to her. "You'll be the death of me."

"But I am, death; darling. And I am, verily yours," Harry smiled, pressing his lips against her cold lips. "Feel special now?"

[sportsbianism]

you can become a pariah by allowing your mind to touch taboo intellectual objects. unclean topics.