#anti-red hate cw

[leggerefiore]

Could you perhaps do some HCs for if you cooked a meal for the anti gravity hair trio (and anyone else you fancy including)?

cw: fluff, making food for your partner

characters: Lear, Grimsley, Volo, N

👑Lear💎

🪙 The prince was a difficult man to please with gifts. He was raised on the finest of things with no regard for lower quality goods. It was doubtless that it was rare his mouth consumed things not made by the most talented of talented chess. Of which, you were painfully aware that you were not. Yet, still, a desire consumed you to make something for him. Food was a form of love that was subtle but powerful. Making something for someone you loved… You struggled with your confidence as you worked away in the villa's kitchen. It was a bit more laborious than you had expected – though you had put in extra effort for Lear.

🪙 In the end, you asked for a cart and a cover to push your meal back to your quarters with Lear. The staff had stared at you for a moment, likely a bit offended that you had cooked all by yourself rather than letting them do it for you. You were to be a noble at this point, so it was no doubt shocking. In the privacy of your room, you prepared a low table with plates and drinks and called for Lear from his office. He walked into the room, seemingly curious as to why you had been gone for long. His eyes went to the table. Your explanation about making him lunch had him blink. You were asked to clarify if you had a chef prepare lunch for you both. A shake of your head had him blink again.

🪙 He took a seat, carefully eyeing the not properly set table and reached a hand to grab a utensil he found most appropriate. Pasta was swirled around a fork as he gathered some sauce with it. Your eyes watched closely. The food was eaten by him. For a moment, it was completely silent. Your heart raced with anticipation. Had you upset him? Perhaps it was not to his taste… This effort likely had all been in vain. Though… He went in for more and nodded. One of his usual grins split his face. “Hmph,” he placed his fork down after he had finished eating, “That was wonderful. You truly prepared that by yourself? I am utterly impressed. I may ask for you to cook for me again.” He then let out a cry when you tackled him into a hug, far too overwhelmed with joy.

♠️Grimsley❤️

♤ The gambler… He was quite an oddity. High-class food was often something he sought out, yet it was not always necessarily something that he could afford. You knew Grimsley would not put himself above fast food places, but it was not rather clear what he actually liked. He was a difficult read at the best of times, and he never seemed overly interested in letting you too far in. This failed to deter you as you stood in the kitchen, debating intensely. He may not even come home this evening despite you asking him to. You shook off your hesitation.

♡ The scent of searing meat ruminated across the apartment alongside the spice mix you had figured Grimsley would enjoy. His reputation as a vampire had given you an idea. The meat caramelised before your eyes from the raw tinge to a fair brown. The sear marks were plainly present as you sat it on a plate and measured the internal temperature. Perfectly ready. You made yours in the style that you preferred. Just as you finished preparing the table, light footsteps trailed in from the entrance hall. There he stood, eyeing the food on the table curiously. You informed him that you had made dinner for him as a surprise. His reply was to pull back a chair and sit down. You imitated him.

◇ He cut into the steak and watched as some red mixed into the juices that flowed from the flesh. He flashed his sharp teeth as he brought the meat to his mouth to consume. It was obvious that he enjoyed it ‐ Or, at least, was putting in a clear effort to show how much he enjoyed it. Nervousness ate at your mind. What if he hated it? Your decisions had been made based on food you had seen him eat out on dates. Swallowing, you watched him rest his head on his hand. “Darling,” he spoke in his usual cadence of something close to a tease, “I genuinely like it. You know I like it at this rarity. I'm impressed you even used seasonings I like. Stop looking so nervous.” You somehow found yourself kissing him when you both had finished your meal. Another compliment left his lips, making you sigh. Grimsley was probably easier to please than you would think.

💫Volo📜

⭐️ The merchant was not of this era. It was clear from his attire and obvious dissonance with this modern world. While he worked quickly to mask these weaknesses and blend in with the world, you could see through him. It was far too easy with the knowledge that you held of him. The relationship that you had with the blond in the past was not something you could ever forget. Volo clearly had felt much the same as he approached you on Pasio, often without warning. You paced around your lodging's kitchen in deep thought. What would he enjoy? While he had a few candies in the village but in Hisui, meals in the wilds were mostly whatever one could get their hands on. You sighed as you stared at the stove.

⭐️ Spring was here, so you felt oddly inspired to make something akin to available things in Hisui. Canola blossoms were easy enough to obtain at a market, and a white stock was just as easy to purchase pre-made. You had a rich, earthy smell ruminating in your home as you heated the stock while mixing in some traditional mustard and ground sesame. It was more of a side dish, but you planned to make a more filling dish alongside it. Everything came together as you finished up the main dish of a similar constitution. More canola blossoms came together with bamboo shoots, tofu, and spam to create an amalgamation. Volo showing up just as you finished setting the table was little surprise – you had invited him after all. A simple question of what this was from him was met by your simple explanation of a meal. He seemed to sit at the table with a little bit of scepticism. You joined him.

⭐️ He began with the side dish, naturally. The greens entered his mouth as he closed his eyes. Something like a hum left him. You pondered if he actually liked it. There was nothing so dissimilar to anything available in Hisui. He moved onto the main dish, easily imitated his previous actions. The spam, heated and given a healthier coating than its original tone, made him raise a brow. The tofu and bamboo shoots were otherwise fine. Your heart raced. Really… You had no idea why you wanted to cook for him. You should hate him. “… I must say that this was delicious,” his grey eye met your own, “You're quite capable in a kitchen, aren't you? I usually held little regard for what I ate…” You nodded but were got off-guard when he approached you and caught your chin in his hand. “Why don't I show you my appreciation?” Anticipation suddenly knotted in your stomach.

🌿N👑

🟢 The green-haired man was a difficult read sometimes. Not that he meant to be, but he was simply quite hard to understand. Though, he did try for you. A lot. You sighed. Meat was a no-go for N. Wanting to cook something for him was haunting your mind… His gentle smile. You groaned. Something like a stew or soup seemed best. There was still a bit of remaining cold from the changing seasons. You sighed as you gazed at the pot again. He would likely enjoy anything you made for him, but you wanted it to be to his tastes. Your heart raced at the thought of getting a genuine smile out of him. You stood up tall and grabbed various things out from around the kitchen.

🟢 Chilli. A nice, simple, familiar dish. N would like it. The cold of the evening could be fought off by the spiced dish. You mixed in a tomato base with a few chillis and various other ingredients. A bell pepper for some texture alongside beans and diced tomatoes. A quick spice mix brought an aromatic scent into the air and made you sigh. He would like this. You reassured yourself as you mixed everything together and let it simmer. Just as it finished, N seemed to reemerge from wherever he had gone off to today. He announced his return with his soft voice was you filled two bowls. He blinked at your offering. A simple explanation of making dinner led to a sweet smile from him.

🟢 Easily, he sat at the table with you and began to eat the stew. You felt it was quite good, but you worried that even the mild spice you kept it at might be too much for N. Though, he seemed unbothered as he ate it. You let out a relieved breath. He quickly even finished the bowl. Shock coursed through you. Why had you panicked so much? N would never be harsh… His softness and gentleness are what attracted you to him. He gave a loving smile as you finished your own bowl. “… You used the peppers that I grew for you,” he noted, “I'm glad… This was delicious. Thank you for cooking for me.” Your heart was filled with too much love. You rushed over to hug him. He returned the affection just as well.

[valentine-cafe]

PRETTY PRETTY PLEASE can I get a tiramisu :3 *mouth foams*

[ amab reader ! ] ★ 781 <3

OKAY so we all now Alessio is a merc on the hunt to kill everyone in the anti-enigma organization. IMAGINE being his s/o AND his partner in crime.

Imagine being there to help him kill and obliterate his enemies, slit their throats with hatred that reflects his own. Hear him praise you for being a big help in the middle of a gunfight (GAHSGHD)

The amount of bastards to kill wasn't enough to get the remaining adrenaline off, so you steam off by giving him a good old fucking in the ass at an alley because home is too far away 😋😋😋 guh i need him so BAD

ALSO HAPPY 2K!!!!!! YOU GUYS DESERVE IT SM 🩷🩷🩷🩷

— 🍓

🍒 𓂃 𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑼𝑷 : tiramisu !! . . . inhuman mercenary ⊹ top m. reader .

. ᘛ 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔​​​​​​​﹕verse 781 ꮽ  alessio arias

 𐔌𖹭 ˖ ࣪  who's that ?⠀﹕a cocky, comedic and charismatic mercenary. immortal and inhuman, punkgoth

ּ  ֗ recepit ℘ ... partners in crime, painting the streets red with the blood of remedy members. only to find your boyfriend and you fucking in an empty alleyway after ⊹ cw ٬٬ smut . semi-public sex . alleyway sex ⊹ cw : tysm love ! really hope you enjoy this and that your contest goes well !!

Oh, you ran the town red. A pair of skilled assailants so nurtured in the art of the kill. Who could possibly stand in your way? His mind linked with yours, much like his body across the battlefield. Like fire and ice, bullet and blade — you danced carnage's waltz across your enemies.

"Look at you, tesoro."

You catch his lilted call across the field, just in time you'd snap your line of vision to witness him slice down another brute. Hair slicked in crimson along the edges that tickle his half-mask. With blood on his hands, he casts you a wink. "Untouchable ain't you?"

You might not be able to sit it, but his smirk's so evident as he braces his dagger after a swift flick to rid the crimson. "Think you can cover for me? Or you getting tired?"

"For you? Anything."

Your flirtatious croon glints his eyes and he's off a second later with you hot on his trail. Slaughter never looked so fine.

It's like this almost every night of the week. Strung up with him exacting justice on Remedy. How they hate to see you coming — but how you both love to make a scene. Your bloodthirst matched his. It's what he adores about you. You could keep up with him.

Especially when you've got him shoved against an alleyway wall. Muscled legs tight around your waist and lips locking in the most desperate, depraved manner. Spit and slurs merging as you fervently hump up into his abused hole.

Five minutes. It's only been five minutes since you snatched him by the leather of his jacket and slammed him into the wall. But he's always so ready for you. Especially with emerald hues blown in adrenaline and his body eager for yours.

"What's wrong baby? Huh?" You huff a laugh, tightening your grip around his jaw while the other fists his thigh. "Awww, you gettin' tired?"

"Fuuck - ah - f-fuck you -"

"You are, baby. Gettin' fucked so good."

The squeeze around your cock nearly drives you insane. He nurses that one, throbbing vein so well. In retaliation you bury your teeth into his neck and shallow your thrusts. Causing ripples over his blushing ass while he whines and struggles to hold on.

Breaths catch in his throat. Whimpers and moans spill like the blood still staining his clothes. You suck dark hickies all over his olive skin and shoot a hand around his cock. Eager to make him break first. It's what he gets for his big mouth.

"C'mon," you hiss, lips ghosting his again. "C'mon, gimme another. Know you were creamin' yourself like hell early."

You squeeze around his tip, he returns the favour by clenching up — whether intentional or not. Seems he'll be taking you down with him. Especially when his cum starts drippling down his fat cockhead and messing the front of your shirt.

"Mi - mio - a-amorciitttoooo," he breaks. Every muscle tenses and you yank him back into a fiery, messy kiss. Tongue shoved to meet his pierced one. Coiling. Controlling. As your thrusts turn near brutal and you're certain he'll be raw by tomorrow morning.

The tightness in your stomach snaps. You rasp and shove deeper into him. Grinding shallowly so that you smear your seed all over. Doesn't mean you stop. If anything, you drop him to his feet and pull out for only a moment.

"Yeah yeah, know you miss it." You respond to his whines with a rough chuckle as you shove his front into the wall and bully your dick back into his fucked-out hole. Humping on him until his eyes roll back and his drool's hitting the floor.

Will the both of you even make it home? You're not sure. You're only just getting started.

꒰ ۪ ˖ ࣪ 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑢 ... info ꮽ mlist ꮽ verse ꮽ wiki .

[lorelune]

bathtime

|| blade x reader || M || captive reader x necrobiome blade || wc: 5.1k  || ao3 || previous + next ->

Even the best bath water will find it difficult to cleanse 'sin'.

minors, antis, and ageless blogs dni

notes: well hello :3c welcome to part 3 of the architect-verse :3cc been cooking on this one for awhile 🙏 yandere blade is such a guy and scummy manipulative mommy kafka is so fun to write :3ccc thank you for beloved @ofmermaidstories for doing a read through on this one 🥺♥!! enjoy enjoy enjoy 💓

CW: dark content, yandere blade, captive/pet reader, discussions of noncon, references to past noncon on blade while he was underage and as an adult, references to past noncon on reader, use of the word rape, violence/thoughts of violence, past yingxing/dan feng, toxic blade/kafka

It’s normal for Blade to return to the Stellaron Hunters’ main vessel covered in assorted types of gore. Scraps of rent flesh, smears of blood, bile, scales— tendons and sinew wrapped under his forearms, clinging from the pressure of impact light-years away. The smell of it clings to him, still fresh, just barely beginning to rot. He stews in it during his typical return in small, covert starships. He half-suffocates with the stench of death.  

This is typical. Blade does not carry any opinion about it. If anything, he welcomes the potential of asphyxiation, though it never comes. 

Most routinely, Kafka will greet him as he returns and take him to clean up. Occasionally, when she is indisposed, Silver Wolf will be forced to hose him down in the communal gym shower or Sam will dunk him in the bath by the scruff of his neck. Blade does not... particularly enjoy the latter two options. Though he isn't sure entirely why, and he doesn't tend to dwell on it either. 

When Kafka collects him, it is easier, if nothing else. Less fuss, less grimacing over the smell of burgeoning rot and complaining that Blade should do this prior to arriving home. Blade doesn't care about the other Stellaron Hunters’ complaints, not really, but it does make the ordeal longer than it needs to be. 

(And maybe, maybe, he does not like being drenched in bone-chilling water and soaked clothing. He hates it.) 

Kafka will lead Blade back to her own room, strip him, and give him a warm bath. Frequently, she’ll take off her own clothing and join him. She’ll hold him close, his back to her front. Kafka likes when she is able to cow him into resting against her front, cow him into resting his cheek against her breasts while she scrubs away the worst of the grime. 

Never mind that they share the same, red-tinged bathwater. 

(Occasionally, things escalate. Touch that volleys between innocent and clinical and sexual. Kafka will stroke down the planes of his body, reach for his cock, and bring him to release. It’s— it's nice. He thinks. He can't tell.) 

It's hard to tell anything in the steam of the bath. Though Kafka's presence renders his mara mute, proximity makes it writhe regardless. It is not a soundless beast, though it loses its words. Muddy feelings, rather than anything clear cut. It's a reprieve regardless. 

This is why Blade prefers to be cleaned by Kafka. 

... 

This mission, however, Blade receives a text from Kafka during his return journey that she will be out. Along with Silver Wolf. And that Sam is charging and shouldn't be disturbed.  

However— 

Kafka: 

why don't you see if our little stray is up for a bath, bladie? 

There's a thought. One Blade hadn't considered. 

(There's a whisper of a refusal in the back of his mind. 'No'. Blade is not sure why. It is quiet but sure of itself.) 

Blade: 

When will you be back. 

Kafka: 

tomorrow. don't wait up until then. listen, just ask. 

Kafka's mind weaving does not work over text. But it is, regardless, difficult to resist her command. This is habit. 

Blade idles outside of your room. He has dripped mess across the vessel and left little piles of flesh and muscle in his wake. The quiet sound of blood splattering against the floor (his, maybe, though his regeneration should be almost complete) makes him aware of this. 

It feels uncouth to enter your room like this. 

Blade shakes himself off and leaks scarlet droplets against the metal paneling. methodically, he releases the five locks on your door. Each clicks when fully disarmed, and by the time Blade enters, you're already looking up at the door, eyes wide. 

You're tucked into bed with a soft blanket over your lap. A tablet (a gift from silver wolf at Kafka's behest. For 'good behavior'. Not connected to any internet, but you've told Blade it helps pass the time.) 

The device is promptly forgotten as you push yourself out of bed, "Aeons, Blade, what happened? Are you hurt?" 

You approach him with no caution. It's reckless. It's foolish, especially with this much adrenaline tumbling around between his eyes and in his veins. He has the distinct urge to shove you away and into the floor. Compress you until you break and bleed and bleed and break. 

Blade does not. 

Instead, he lets you flit around him. He lets you draw your own conclusions. 

You are not foolish. You know he is dangerous; he knows you know this. It is your... good nature that creases the surely-soft skin between your brows. It's your kindness that has you frazzled, shaking in your hands as you hover over him. Searching for wounds that are mostly healed. 

"Blade, I said, are you hurt?" You ask, voice strained, bent at the waist while examining a slice in his pants. A lance had torn his calve wide open. It has already healed. 

"I'm fine." 

"Sure." You don't sound convinced, frowning. "You look like shit. Am I really supposed to believe that?" 

"I have already healed. my injuries are no longer a concern." 

"... Really?" 

"I am an abomination of Yaoshi. This is my nature." 

You already know this, yet you look defeated. Your jaw is tight. "Uh-huh. Alright. Fuck, do you feel alright?" 

"I'm fine. I need to be clean." 

"... Alright?" 

"I need to bathe." 

"... I see that... Do you want me to call Kafka?" 

"She's off ship." 

"Oh, fuck." you curse and shake your head. "I-is she going to be back soon?" 

"No. Help me instead." 

"M-me?" Your voice trembles and you take a fearful step back. Ever the skittish thing. something in him— sort of him— vibrates. 

"Yes." 

"Can you— not?" 

"It's cumbersome to wash on my own." 

"I see." You run a hand over your cheeks and adjust the wide collar of your shirt. It’s too big. It’s one of his— probably? A sleep shirt. One that Kafka stole from him to give to you. He knows you own several. "Alright. Okay. Fine. Fuck, I-I can help." 

You shoo him into your bathroom. 

You turn away from him almost immediately, poking around in a cabinet, plucking brightly colored products and muttering under your breath. Kafka mentioned that isolation is getting to you more than you think. She thinks it's cute. 

Blade wordlessly begins to strip. First off is his blood-soaked overcoat, shredded around his ribs and with massive gouges taken out of the back. Then his undershirt. Followed by his pants. One of his belts rings a metallic clink as he undoes it. 

You choose this moment to turn around and your eyes go wide. 

"BLADE!" You cover your eyes, dropping a bottle. "What are you— you can't just do that." 

"Do what?" 

"Get... naked?" 

"You are going to help me bathe. This is necessary." 

"I understand that." You sound exasperated. Your voice is shaky. The tone is pulling something in the back of his mind. The corners of his lips almost want to curl upwards. "But you can't just strip without warning. Aeons, have some manners." 

Blade nearly laughs— good-naturedly. The urge to is something dormant and poisonous. Seldom used. Usually it's a sharp impulse, but it's almost warm now. Tepid and pleasant.  

(All for you.) 

You cover your eyes as you fumble to turn on the tap, "At least go rinse off a little in the shower first, please?" 

Doable, albeit difficult. Blade grunts something akin to an affirmative and finds your shower. He turns the water on (hot or cold doesn't seem... relevant) and steps in. The spray pours down from the ceiling, sending the worst of the gore down the drain. 

Blade does not move for quite some time.  

"Blade?" you ask warily. "You... done in there?" 

It takes him a moment to reply. The cold spray lags him, "Yes." 

"... Can you come out? The bath is ready." 

He idles, thinking about your question. The softness of your voice. The candle that he can smell, lit on the countertop. You yourself, dressed in soft lounge clothes and covered in scars that strangers gave you. He thinks about the way skin and muscle rend under his blade. The way yours could. Under him. Under— 

"Blade." 

You open the glass shower door, worry-eyed. 

He blinks at you. 

Gently, you grab his arm. He flinches with it. Has half a mind to slam you into the tile until you pop like an perfectly ripe fruit— 

But he doesn't. 

"C’mon, bath time," you coax him out, dripping, careful to not look down. It’s a preservation of modesty. It feels useless, Blade thinks, as he pulls away to clamor into the bath. 

... There are bubbles. Fragrant and herbal, with a soft oil shimmering on the top of the water. It is the perfect temperature. It feels... good. He forgets how nice warmth is. He softens. You heave out a sigh and settle next to him, outside the bath. There's a dampened washcloth, already in your hand. 

"Is it okay if I touch you?" You ask. 

"I don't care." 

"Give me a yes or a no,” you press him, glaring a little. You roll up your sleeves and rise to your knees. 

"Yes, then." He does not care. Do you not understand? 

(You probably don't. You definitely don't.) 

Your expression is unreadable as you dunk the rag into the bathwater and begin to wash him. First his right arm, then his left. Gently rubbing him down, taking extra care with his hands. The rag is gentle over his stiff fingers. You check under each of his nails individually. 

You’re meticulous. 

You ask a question or two about how he washes himself, specifically his hair, but Blade can't give you answers. Kafka stocks his bathroom. His bottles are numbered, and he never deviates from their preassigned order. It is easier that way. Even in Kafka’s tub, she tends to use the same order of expensive-looking products that she favors.  

The treatment you’re currently giving him is not routine.  

The ends of your sleeves dip into the water as you stretch over the tub, toward his legs. Your tongue peaks out from your lips, bitten in concentration. (It’s cute.) Blade feels... compelled to assist you. He raises his leg up at the knee. Just as carefully, you scrub him down, and then focus on his other leg.  

The experience fills him with a sense of unease.  

(It’s too tender.) 

(You treat him too delicately. Even Kafka acknowledges the damage he carries, and her touch is only gentle to punctuate a roughness later on. She toys with him— it’s a farce. The way you touch him is too kind. You are too kind for him. It reminds him— makes him feel the ghost of a touch from hands more delicate and powerful than your own. From a different lifetime, blotted by Mara, corrupted and molten in his mind—) 

“Blade—?” Your voice is shaking, shattering. You’re frozen at the side of the tub.  

Blade blinks. 

He has his hand wrapped around your wrist; his grip swallowing the fragile limb. The force of it is bruising. He holds it under the water, forcing you to lean over the tub. You are submerged up to your elbow. Your expression is pinched, afraid. Your pupils pinpricked.  

An animal snared. 

His grip tightens.  

“Let go, please.” You ask, lip wobbling.  

He does not want to let go. He really does not want to let go. Blade cannot trace the feeling, it’s miasmatic. It was a bad idea to have you assist in bathing him. Mara webs itself behind his eyes. His jaw locks and breathes hard through his nose. He wants to sink his teeth into your throat. 

“Please, stop,” You whine— whimper while tugging against his hold. You are half bent over the bath. Your eyes water, all shiny.  

The tone does something to him. Many people plead around him— for their life, mercy, favor. It’s useless. He does not care. He has no reason to care. There are scripts to follow. However— there’s no script here. Just the warm suds, the blood pumping through your veins, and Blade’s tunneling vision. 

With a sharp pull, he drags you into the bath. 

You fall in headfirst. Instantly, you clamor at the side of the tub and his submerged legs to get yourself back above water. You scramble. It’s— cute. Your hair is slicked down around your face and forehead, eyes wide as you pant. His legs bracket your body. He tightens his thighs around you.  

Your thin clothes are soaked and cling to you. Fabric over curves and folds over your flesh. Blade’s half-hard and feels bad about it. 

(He can’t trace why. It’s far from the first time he’s been physically aroused in relation to you. It always makes him feel bad. Not with Mara, but something personal and sour and less mad. He hates it. He’s almost torn out a rib over the feeling.) 

You hover, frozen, between his legs. The only sounds in the bathroom are your panting breaths and the drips rolling off your body, into the bathwater. You swallow, trembling, but remaining otherwise unmoving. It occurs to Blade after a few tense moments that you are waiting for him to strike.  

Always like a little, frightened animal.  

(Something in him writhes.) 

He moves quickly, shooting a hand out to fist into your hair. His grip is unyielding, giving you no slack (though, he doesn’t yank and pull as he could. He could tear out chunks if he wanted. He just doesn’t want you to move.) He wants you closer— maybe. He wants you far away, thrown through one of the ship's thick windows and into the vacuum of space and dead. 

(Though, it wouldn’t be as satisfying for the void of space to kill you. He’d rather do it. He wants to do it, if you’re going to die.) 

You whine and paw at his wrists, babbling something.  

Blade feels disgusting as he drags your body to his, his chest to your back, and he curls over your form. His arms wind around your waist and squeeze. You scratch at him, beg maybe— he can’t tell, his ears are ringing. Your fists that slam into his shoulders and skull feel like swats from a declawed kitten. He doesn’t budge despite your protests.  

You stop fighting when you realize he isn’t hurting you. 

Blade doesn’t... want to hurt you. He thinks. Not really. Not in the way that Mara is screaming at him to. He isn’t content, you’re too warm and too alive to be this close to his body, but it's not bad. Contact both scratches an itch under his skin and aggravates a wound. It’s like a bath with Kafka, but worse— 

(Because part of him wants this.) 

Blade flinches when you go slack against him, chest heaving out breath. Even this little ‘scrap’ has tired you out. You’ve become weakened in your confined state— even if you really wanted to fight him, you don’t have the physical strength to be able to. 

You sniffle, covered in soaked clothes and soap suds. 

“Don’t cry.” Blade says without thinking. His voice is shot, dead-pan.  

Trembling, you shake your head, “I w-won’t.” 

It’s a lie. You’re already shaking in his arms. 

It’s— unfair. You’re most used to him, and less wary of him than Kafka. Part of him, a loud but small part of his mind, thinks that a bath together could be enjoyable— if he wasn’t washing blood and filth from his hair, and you weren’t shivering in your soaked day clothes. 

(‘This could be nice’, it urges.)  

His hands rub over your sides in small circles at the idea. 

You gasp and squirm, looking back at him with wild eyes, “Blade, please—” 

He stops, but his hold around your waist doesn’t waver. You sigh and lean back into his chest, deflating. Your eyes go half-lidded as you look toward the ceiling. They look— dull. Light and life drained. Like how they did when he and Kafka first collected you from that gilded planet. 

Blade knows that look— a dull mind and an active body. Your breath is still a bit too fast. Your heart is the same, running a prey-like rhythm. He assumes that you have left your body, gone elsewhere. 

“Hey.” He shakes you lightly, dragging you back to the cooling bath. “Help with my hair.” 

“... Hair?” You ask, voice soft and dreamy. “... Do you need me to wash it?” 

“Yes.” 

“... Okay.” You nod after a moment and rotate in his lap.  

Your shoulders sag forward as you fumble for shampoo and squirt a generous amount into your palm. Half of it misses and the gel sinks into the bathwater below.  

It’s unfair— part of him says again— he wants to tear it out and shred it between his teeth or under his blade. It screams that it's unfair that you dote on a creature like him. It’s unfair that you must shiver while lathering and rinsing his hair. That your pretty lips tremble with fear.  

The Mara writhes. He has not been human in so long. He does not deserve the gentleness you so often give him. Especially now, when he has dragged you closer, made you filthy with the stench of blood, and forced you so close. He wants to bite out your throat as you tip forward to grab a brightly colored bottle of oil and begin to work through the knots in his air. 

You are frowning. You are crying. 

He wants to eat you. 

Blade reaches for your chest, studying the way that the fabric clings to your skin-gone-gooseflesh. He finds the top button of your soft blouse in his own unsteady hands and undoes it. You freeze when he does, breath catching. 

You don’t breathe as he undoes another button.  

Then another. 

And another.  

You don’t breathe until the garment is nearly off. Just one button secures the fabric. He can see the peak of your breasts under the fabric, nipples pebbled in the cold. You’re so cold.  

(Blade wishes, dead Yingxing wishes, that he were warmer.) 

Your hand shoots out and wraps around his wrist, and in a small voice, you beg, “Please, d-don’t.” 

“You’re cold.” Blade says. He reaches past you, sloshing water, to turn on the spigot for hot water. “You will stay cold if you wear wet clothes.” 

You look at him strangely. At first, it’s wounded. Like you’ve been lanced through with Shard Sword, and now bear the gaping wound. It morphs to one of confusion, then you bite your lip. And grab his hands in your own and stare at them. 

“... That’s all?” You ask. 

“Mostly.” Blade replies. There’s— more. Far more. But nothing that is concrete enough, or important enough, to share with you. It would more than likely aggravate his spitting Mara.  

“Okay.” You reply, looking up from your joined hands. Your eyes are round and watery. “You’re not trying to rape me?” 

He freezes.  

The word ‘rape’ pulls something disgusting and festering up from Blade’s guts. Something he wants to purge. He has the distinct urge to lean over the side of the time and vomit, but he hasn’t eaten in the last forty-eight hours, so there’s nothing to heave up. So instead, he is still.  

It’s like he can feel the rot. He’s not sure why. He knows what the word means, he is pretty sure he has been raped. Probably. Either when he was a young child, a refugee fleeing a massacred world, or maybe when he was the bedmate to a dragon. Maybe, probably, from Kafka, any number of times. Maybe last week. His mind is cloudy.  

What constitutes rape is foggy.  

He knows it would mean that he wants to have sex with you, and you wouldn’t want to have sex with him. 

And Blade— 

(He— He— doesn’t want to have sex with you? Or he does. Maybe. He wants to be close to you, inside you. He wants to curl around you and make you swear to never leave. He wants— he wants so much. Blade is selfish. But—) 

Not like that, he doesn’t think. Others have been, he’s sure— he’s sure.  

Mara pours into his mind, and he remembers then. Pieces of times, fragments of old memories, of rape. Of violation of all kinds.  

(At the hands of borisins holding him down as he screamed and cried, his body too little to do any fighting in the jaws of an Abundance beast.) 

(A tradesman who allowed him to stowaway on a cargo ship, destined for the Luofu. ‘Payment’ — the man had called it. For safe passage and a little sack of rice.) 

(Dan Feng, during one of his draconic ruts. He was the Child of a Cosmic Horror, ultimately. That’s all Aeons are, anyways. Yingxing had been split on his cock so many times, so full, he bled for a day, even with Dan Feng fussing over him with his cloudhymns, lucid-in-mind and torn apart by so much guilt for a wildly proud man.) 

(Kafka, a few days after she first picked him up from the surface of the asteroid Jingliu had been beating him into. Kafka, a few weeks after that— in a hotel that stank of blue emory roses. Kafka, a few weeks ago, draped over his shoulders between missions. There’s more. Memories drenched in the smell of her rich perfume. They tangle in feelings of comfort and revulsion.) 

Blade doesn’t want to do any of that to you. 

(He wants something with you— but—) 

(Not like that. He doesn’t want you to hurt.) 

“I’m not going to rape you.” He tells you. He hardly sounds like himself as the Mara quiets. 

He thumbs over your lips. There’s a scar in the middle of them where they had been split, repeatedly, and then healed over. You’d told him once that one of your old keepers used to deprive you of water if he felt like it. Your breath is hot against his fingertip. 

You say nothing, but your breath is still fast and shaky. Your eyes are wide. A feral, wild animal.  

“I’m not.” Blade tries to reassure you. You flinch with the sound of his voice. “You’re freezing. The bath can be refilled with warm water. Bathe.” 

Tears break over your lower lashes as you stare at him. He stares back. 

(He wonders what you’re thinking. If you have as much trouble thinking as he does— you probably do. You’ve sustained head trauma. Traumas. You’re both torn-up wrecks, maybe. It could provide him with some solace.) 

“... Okay.” You rub your eyes with balled up hands and laugh. “Okay.” 

Blade then helps you peel off your shirt. Then your shorts and underwear. When you’re bare, Blade drains most of the water from the, leaving you both with a layer of clinging bubbles protecting the barest bits of your modesty. You cover your chest and center with your hands, keeping your head down. Hiding your throat. 

He refills the tub with more soap— too much probably. Mountains of bubbles appear as he dumps in a glug of shimmering, emerald-colored oil. It swirls into the water as it rises. You relax as it rises over your chest. Your eyelids droop. You look so tired. 

Blade washes you like you did him.  

You face each other as he does. Your gaze never leaves him, though it goes glassy again. Unfocused. Blade can feel your heartbeat through your skin, slowing more and more with each pass of the warm, soapy rag he is using. He massages products into your hair. He thinks that he may be doing so in the correct order. He hopes he is. 

This close, he can see all of you. Most of you. Feel you too. He feels ridges and bumps of scars. Chunks of flesh that have been torn from you, replaced by cicatrix, uneven and unnatural under his touch. You shudder when he touches you, shivering despite the heat of the room. You’re sensitive. He doesn’t want Kafka to know. 

You feel different like this. Blade is unable to place why. 

When he is through with you, steam and bubbles still rising from the bath, you drag him closer. Your fingers dig into his biceps, latching on and scrambling to get closer. 

“... You really mean it, don’t you?” You ask. Your eyes are still unfocused. “You’re not going to? You’re not fucking with me?” 

“... What are you talking about?”  

An unrestrained smile stretches over your face, “You do mean it. You do. You do.” 

Blade can only guess what you mean. You clearly will not (or cannot) tell him. You shiver against a full body thing against him. It makes him uneasy. He flips you by the hips, so that your back is to his chest, and he can curl over your shoulders. He cast a shadow into the water. 

Indulgently, he presses his nose into your cheek. You smell like fresh soap and skin. He thinks if he licked you, you’d taste like salt. 

He doesn’t. 

When that’s all he does, you laugh.  

It’s a belting thing, the kind of sound that’s punched from your gut with the same force that could break ribs. Blade can imagine the sound and sensation of it obliterating your insides as your laughter bounces around the tile of the bathroom. It’s manic. It’s an unwell sound. You clutch a fist over your chest as you howl.  

You don’t stop for a while. 

It’s clearly too much. Blade can feel it. The sound echoes in his chest. It must be shredding yours.  

His arm wraps around your midsection as you do, and he tries to press you closer— he thinks. He thinks it might help. Your breath starts to shake, each inhale pitching high and sharp. You’re hyperventilating around your laughter. You’re hysterical, but don’t fight his hold. Even as tears drip down your cheeks, splattering into the bathwater. 

Blade says your name— it should come out sharply. He means it to. 

However, it is gentle. His voice is hushed and rough. 

“You’re alright.” He squeezes you until the breath is forced from your lungs, and there’s no fuel for your laughter anymore. “You’re okay.” 

With a choked, quiet sob, you reply, “I know.” 

... 

It’s later— much later. Maybe the next day.  

Your room still doesn’t have any way to keep time other than your little tablet, which has been powered off and charges across the room on top of your dresser, so Blade can only guess. 

He lays beside you in bed, propped up on an elbow. You sleep next time to him, relaxed and soft-jawed. The soft duvet is pulled up to your collarbones, and you curl into Blade. He’s— warmer than the rest of your room. Even if he does run too cold to be properly alive.  

He runs the side of his index finger over your face.  

You had been so tired after leaving the bath, you’d hardly been able to dress yourself— you hadn’t been able to. Blade to pick out sleep clothes and help you get into them. He chose whatever he could find that seemed. Soft. 

(A flowing, soft teal top and white shorts with golden thread sewn in the seams.) 

You fell asleep quickly after that and have been ever since. Blade had only meant to sit on the edge of your mattress.  

That did not happen. 

Instead, he’s tucked next to you. One of your hands fists the front of his shirt, and your body is angled toward him. Seeking. Wanting. 

Blade could take. 

He recognizes that. 

It’s a thought, though, not a temptation. Not after the bath. Not after feeling the ways in which your body has been torn apart and so painstakingly put itself back together. You are not a creature of Abundance, you are not built to live forever and to repair yourself endlessly like he is. Your vitality is finite. Every scar your flesh must restitch takes something from you and it will not be replaced.  

You will end. 

Your bedroom door clicks, five times, then opens with a whoosh of air. Kafka stands in the doorframe. A sickly-sweet smile stains her mouth. Her lipstick is the is freshly applied and glossy. 

“I see you got all cleaned up, Bladie,” her voice is silken and smooth. He could drown in it. “Was our little pup helpful?” 

“... Yes.” 

“Good.” Kafka hums. Her heels click against the floor, and she takes a place next to you. Even as the mattress dips, you don’t stir. “You’re so helpful with training them. Good boy.” 

Blade pauses his petting of you to glare and grunt at Kafka. She looks delighted. 

“I wasn’t aware I was assisting with any sort of training.” 

“It’s all implicit. As long as they’re getting comfortable, that’s what counts. Don’t worry your pretty little head about anything else.” 

Blade doesn’t like that answer.  

“I don’t want to see them hurt,” Blade says. 

“That’s sweet of you.” 

“I mean it, Kafka.” 

“I know, I know.” Kafka laughs. She sighs and falls into the bed, over the cushy duvet. She spoons you, flattening herself to your back and winding her arms around your waist. Your brow wrinkles and a little whimper scratches from your throat. “I’d like to see our new puppy kept in one piece too, Bladie. I’ve grown quite fond of them. However, we are both beholden to Destiny. If one of Elio’s scripts—” 

“I know.” Blade snaps. 

He does not want to think about it. 

His hand that had been petting you winds tightly into your hair and your face scrunches up.  

“Listen, Bladie, everything’s alright. You’re okay.” Kafka soothes, dropping a kiss onto your cheek. It leaves a smear. Kafka works Blade’s hand out of your hair. “Be good and keep them company while I give Elio a mission report.” 

“That’s what I have been doing.” 

“Then, keep it up.” 

Kafka rolls out of bed with a sigh, not a hair out of place. She leaves the room almost soundlessly, the door clicking as it relocks. Five times. 

Blade does as Kafka says. He keeps you company, sinking down into the mattress beside you. He wipes away the lipstick left over your cheek and presses a kiss to the spot. He lingers there.  

Kafka can have— a lot of him. But, perhaps, he will covet you, all for himself.  

(If the Mara in his mind had not been suppressed, perhaps he would have heard: 

(FOOL FOOL FOOL! DO YOU NOT REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU COVET AND CLING? DO NOT FORGET YOUR SINS! DO NOT FORGET HIS SINS—!) 

Instead, his mind is quiet. He pulls you closer and sleeps. Space is dead around him, and you are dead to the world in his undying arms. 

Blade thinks he likes when you bathe with him.  

[angst-is-love-angst-is-life]

THIS

Also can we talk about the fact that he not only JOINED Red Death, but didn’t give a single shit when Barry was kidnapped and tortured (mild electrocution is still torture imo) until the very last minute when he’s kind of like ‘oh shit I’m on the bad guy team’

And you’re telling me we’re supposed to like this guy?!

I've just realized something:

Mark Blaine is like Ralph Dibny - he's supposed to be a jerk that grows into Team Flash and becomes a hero.

But Chillblaine wishes he had the character development Elongated Man got. Say what you will about Ralph Dibny - as much as you wanted to punch him in the face in S4, at least he got his shit together in later seasons. His more jerkish traits were toned down, he himself got a lot of nice and funny scenes with various members of Team Flash (for example - he helped Killer Frost experience new things or talked with Joe about Barry's fate in Crisis on the Infinite Earths). Even in S4 his constant circle of trying to be better hero, getting discouraged, getting a pep talk from Team Flash, rince and repeat, was something. At least there was some effort put into his change.

Meanwhile with Chillblaine we are to assume that he is a good guy now, because of his relationship with Frost. We don't see how he went from being a supervillain to being a superhero. He just is. Deal with it. He doesn't evene interact much with other members of Team Flash, so when he pours his heart out and says that he loves Barry so much because he gave him "countless second chances" it just rings hollow. Because his relationship with Barry is virtually non-existant.

[yellow-computer-mouse]

𝕆ℕ𝔼 𝕆𝔽 𝕌𝕊 - ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ɪɴꜰᴏ

[plain text: one of us - collective info]

ɴᴀᴍᴇ ✧ Oscar/Yellow/Bane

ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴꜱ ✧ he/him

ᴀɢᴇ ✧ minor

ᴅɴɪ ✧ anti-endos, radqueers, proshippers, anti-radinclus (eg: anti-lesboy)

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

𝔻𝕀𝕍𝕀𝔻𝔼𝔻 𝕐𝔼𝕋 𝔼ℚ𝕌𝔸𝕃 - 🇹​​🇦​​🇬​​🇸

[plain text: divided yet equal - tags]

ᴘᴏꜱᴛꜱ ✧ yellow yaps

ɴᴏɴ-ᴜᴛᴍᴠ ✧ not skeletons

ɴᴏɴ-ᴡᴏꜰ ✧ not dragons

ɴᴏɴ-ᴀʀᴛ ✧ not art

ᴀꜱᴋꜱ ✧ yellow! in the ask box

ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟꜱ ✧ mutuals <3

ꜱᴏʀᴛɪɴɢ ✧ [headmate] [emojis] //

ᴡɪʟʟ ᴡᴏᴏᴅ ✧ i love will woob <3

ᴘᴏʀᴛᴀʟ ✧ thinking with portals

ꜱʟɪᴍᴇ ʀᴀɴᴄʜᴇʀ ✧ just gooping around

ʀᴏᴛ ɪɴ ᴘᴀʀᴀᴅɪꜱᴇ ✧ rip my paradise bro

ᴇᴘɪᴄ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ✧ this is pretty epic

ɪꜱᴏᴘᴏᴅꜱ ✧ i love isopod <3

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

𝕌ℙ𝕆ℕ 𝕋ℍ𝔼 𝕋ℍℝ𝕆ℕ𝔼 - ​🇩​​🇪​​🇸​​🇨​​🇷​​🇮​​🇵​​🇹​​🇮​​🇴​​🇳

[plain text: upon the throne - description]

✧ We are The Bloodbane System (previously The Tulpar System). Our origin is ɴᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴜꜱɪɴᴇꜱꜱ. Mutuals may ask.

[plain text: none of your business]

✧ We ask that you interact with caution and care. We do not bite, but we can.

✧ We have auDHD and anxiety, as well as a whole host of other things. You may ask if you like.

✧ We will not state our age, but mutuals may ask privately. Our birthday is July 28th.

✧ Hate will be blocked. We do not feed the trolls. If you are curious, please ask ᴋɪɴᴅʟʏ, and we shall answer.

[plain text: kindly]

✧ We are taken by our wonderful boyfriend @ihateasthma <3 You should go check out their blog, if you like.

[plain text: @/ihateasthma]

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

𝕀𝕄𝕄𝕆ℝ𝕋𝔸𝕃𝕀ℤ𝔼𝔻 𝕀ℕ ℝ𝔼𝔻 - ​🇱​​🇮​​🇳​​🇰​​🇸​

[plain text: immortalized in red - links]

✧ Epic: the Musical server

✧ Age regression server

✧ General server

✧ Strawpage (CW: Eyestrain)

✧ Carrd

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

𝔽𝕆𝕃𝕃𝕆𝕎 𝕋ℍ𝔼 ℂ𝔸𝕌𝕊𝔼 - ​🇴​​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​​🇷​ ​🇧​​🇱​​🇴​​🇬​​🇸​

[plain text: follow the cause - other blogs]

ꜱʏꜱᴛᴇᴍ ✧ @teeth-and-bones-and-blood

ᴀɢᴇʀᴇ ✧ @little-bloodbane-nettles

ꜱᴛɪᴍꜱ/ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ ✧ @glitches-and-static

ʙᴜɢꜱ ✧ @yellow-loves-bugs

ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜᴡᴀꜱʜɪɴɢ ✧ @number1daisukefan

ᴇᴘɪᴄ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴠᴇꜱ ✧ @my-name-is-nooobody

ɪᴄᴀʀᴜꜱ'ꜱ ✧ @come-rest-your-bones-next-to-me

ᴀᴘᴏʟʟᴏ'ꜱ ✧ @alwayssummerwhenhesaround

ʀᴇʟɪɢɪᴏᴜꜱ ✧ @dearolympusabove

ᴅᴇɪᴄɪᴅᴇ'ꜱ ✧ @de1c1de

ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜᴡᴀꜱʜɪɴɢ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴠᴇꜱ ✧ @tulpar-transmissions

ʀʏᴀɴ'ꜱ ✧ @iwaitforyou001

ꜱɪɴ + ᴄʀᴇꜱᴄᴇɴᴛ'ꜱ ✧ @bow-to-your-king

ᴅᴜꜱᴛ'ꜱ ✧ @two-coffins-for-sleep

ɢɪᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ ✧ @your-fave-hates-billionaires

ᴡᴏꜰ ᴀꜱᴋ 1 ✧ @wof-adoption-au

ᴡᴏꜰ ᴀꜱᴋ 2 ✧ @ask-hs-jade-winglet

ᴡᴏꜰ ᴏᴄ ᴀꜱᴋ ✧ @wofsidequesters

ᴊɪᴍᴍʏ ʀᴘ ✧ @everyones-favorite-co-pilot

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[userboxes by @/angryuserboxes]

[141shousewife]

NSFW Price x Fat Wife Drabble >:)

Minors DNI I will EAT u like a nerds gummy cluster

Length: 1.2k Words

CW: NSFW, ANTI DADDY KINK PRICE!! Price x Fat reader, Implied Black reader, Price is married to reader, Female Reader, condescension, mocking, fingering, PiV, dirty talk,

THIS IS ONLY MY OPINION! DON'T EAT ME PLEASE

Also if u have a problem with the reader being fat n black.... IDK what to tell u gworl.

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I have one main qualm with Price x reader NSFW content. I see one reoccurring theme/headcannon:

price = daddy dirty talk

And I hate to say it but everyone else is wrong about it and I am the one who to is correct.

Price, when called daddy, looks around for a child. Being a middle aged white man with a grown in beard- accidents do happen with chubby cheeked tots who grab onto his unsuspecting leg in grocery stores and assume that he is their father.

John has been called "Daddy" many times in his life, and since he is a man who aims to please, it's been more than once that he has let it slide during one night stands.

But with you?

His girl??

His WIFE????

Price does not like to be called daddy. His spine shivers and his body rejects the implication that your attraction to him is rooted in a negative experience with your own father.

He prefers to be called other things

"Baby" especially when you call him for dinner, "Honey" is nice when you're calling for him in front of others to show your love from him, "Sweetheart" specifically when you're angry with him- because he loves the way that you maintain warmth, and lastly "John"

That one is Johns favorite because he hears it the most between breathy moans. His name is barely audible when it slides out of your mouth as his hands work you over and make you needy and pliable.

But daddy is not one that he would choose.

But does this mean that John is sterile and boring in the bedroom ?

Not even close.

John puts his ALL into pleasing you.

He loves to catch you right as you're getting into bed for the night. He always starts with watching from the bed as you stand in the bathroom finishing your bedtime routine. Where John's head lays he can see your back as you rub the last of your sweet smelling lotion onto your wide shoulders and soft arms and tie the bow at the front of your bonnet. When finished- you turn around and wow.

Wow.

Wow.

John is raking his eyes over your round and soft body, covered in a flowy pink night dress and he could just cry over how beautiful you are. Your body sits beautifully beneath the dress, your nipples poking through and visible from the coolness in the room, your arms shifting into being crossed over your chest-

"-Baby, did you hear me?" Your sweet voice beckons him back to reality as your brown eyes graze over him for any recognition of being lucid.

"I'm so sorry honey, I was thinking. What did you say?" John immediately feels guilty for missing what you said and instead oggling you like a dog would do a slab of meat.

"I said what are you looking at me like that for?"

John looks at you. Caught. Red handed. (more like red tip right now but that neither here nor there")

The smile that spreads over your face immediately says: 'i know what you want- and im prepared to give it to you.'

He looks at you and lowers his tone into a rasp. It hits you in a way that makes you feel like you can't deny him his requests.

"Come -ere."

Your body seems to walk toward the large plush bed without your permission.

You look at him doe eyed "what?" You can't tell why you're also whispering but it feels right.

He, in one move, tosses the comforter off of his lower half and sits up to grab your wide hips.

"You're acting like you caught me with my hand in the cookie jar, but you're just as wound up as me. Aren't ya?"

You stare at him breathlessly not realizing that the previous question was not rhetorical

John reaches him hand up and under your night gown and rubs your slit through your panties.

"I said: Aren't ya?"

You feel dizzy and unbalanced from the sensation and grip onto his shoulder to steady yourself.

"I am- I want you to- hah -touch me. Please"

You normally aren't this sensitive but the way that he is talking to you is making you weak.

"Look at me. Where do you want me to touch you. Cmon use your words?"

You try to just moan in response as he slows his pace.

"God- you're difficult. Is this it?"

John quickly inserts his fingers and begins pumping them as you hold onto his shoulders and writhe from the contact.

He only continues to rub the spongy spot inside of you and speak to you in a cooing, mocking tone- "What? That feel good? Are you gonna keep fucking yourself on my fingers until that cum drips down my wrist?"

You start to feel the heat and coiling in your stomach about to snap.

"Yes, John, please!"

Right as your vision is about to white out in pleasure, you tell John pulling his fingers out.

Whining in frustration you push out "John I was so close why would yo-"

The rest of you sentence is cut off as John stands up and moves behind you and roughly bends you over, making the excess fat on your body jiggle with the impact of you hitting the bed and pulling off your panties.

Your complaints are quickly silenced as John grabs for a pillow to put beneath your soft tummy. You moan clench around nothing as he lewdly leans down and spits on your entrance to make himself fit well.

"Your pussy is such a hungry little thing- you just needed some proper dick to shut you up huh?"

Your eyes begin to roll back into your head as you feel the rough stretch of John repeatedly pushing his dick inside to the hilt, exiting, and pushing inside again.

You can barely breathe- let alone form thoughts when he fucks you like this.

His raspy moans and quiet curses only push you closer to you orgasm.

He quickens his pace and you know you are done for- you aren't going to be able to hold it.

"John, pleasepleaseplease. I'm gonna- I'm- "

Completely invested in making you crazy- John slides his hand around your wide hip and plays with your clit and begins to talk into your ear in a condescending tone.

"You're gonna what huh? What are you gonna do? Are you gonna cum all over this dick baby?"

You can't even respond because that statement makes your vision completely go away as you babble incoherently and make a mess down John's thick, hairy thighs.

You don't notice during your orgasm but as you squeeze down into Price you begin to fuck back into him, roughly slamming your round ass onto him, making John completely incapable of holding out.

John fills you with a keening low moan as you finally begin to slow down

"Babyyy- fuck. -hah -just like thatttt."

John grabs onto the fat of your hip and buries himself inside and gives you the last of his orgasm.

He pulls out, cleans you off, lets you use the bathroom, and gets into bed and wraps his arms around your soft waist.

As you both quietly breathe slower and slower John finally speaks with an eyeroll-

"You definitely knew what you were pulling with that outfit. You know I'm a mumu man.

[plurality-is-mundane]

CW: this is about hatemail and we are snarky about it.

We made this blog because we want everyone to feel welcome. If you have a problem with our blog, please just block us. We won't be mad.

Friends! Guess what!? We got our very first Anti-endo hatemail! They told us to stop using the traumagenic tags and we are the reason people hate Endos. Lmao.

We would like to take this opportunity to reiterate.

Everyone. Is. Welcome. Here.

We will use tags for both traumagenic and endogenic systems. Because we are Inclusive.

Anyone who whinges about this will immediately be blocked. This is a safe space for everyone.

Below is a set of instructions on how to curate your Tumblr Experience.

Everyone deserves to know our blog exists, and everyone has the right to submit their daily moments to our blog. If I don't tag traumagenic then traumagenics won't know our blog exists.

Psst, we're traumagenic too. We deserve to take up space in the tags that apply to us.

If you would like to no longer see posts from Plurality is Mundane. You can block the

#Plurality is Mundane

and/or

#Mundane Plurality

tags respectively. We try to tag all our posts with those.

Dont come crying to us because you refuse to curate your own online experience. Not our problem!

Now, if you don't know how to blocklist tags please allow us to show you through a series of screenshots. If you are using a screen reader, I am also writing out these instructions, step by step.

First you go to YOUR blog and locate the gear ⚙️ icon in the upper right corner of your screen.

Next, you will see the first section titled Account Settings

Click that.

You are now in the Settings Menu.

Near the bottom you will find a section titled Content You See.

Click on that.

I have a bunch of political BS in my Filtered Content. Plus some anti-endo stuff.

In the upper right corner of this screen is a button that says +New clicking this will bring up a pop-up where you can type the tag you wish to filter.

In this case you may wish to type Plurality is Mundane or Mundane Plurality.

You do this one tag at a time, clicking +New for each tag you wish to block.

If you scroll down, you will also see a section for Filtered Post Content, which blocks keywords in the text body. Our posts don't usually contain keywords like that, but you may wish to add this.

But a better alternative to this would be simply to block our blog. You are very much welcome to do that.

Simply click the three dots next to our username on our posts and it will bring up a menu. At the bottom it will say Block [Username] in red text.

[sugarzfilled]

Intro post! (˶˃⤙˂˶)

Hi! Welcome to my little sweet store...! Just kidding,this is my introduction post!(⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ I am fairly new to Tumblr,so this will...be a little messy and silly,sowwy

Basic info˚. ! ! 🎀

-˚꒰🐾My name is Choccy or Rinny

-˚꒰🐾Pronouns:she/her! & Cis female

-˚꒰🐾Sexuality:I am bisexual

-˚꒰🐾Age:17 yrs old (⁠๑⁠•⁠﹏⁠•⁠)

-˚꒰🐾Spa/eng (´⁠⊙⁠ω⁠⊙⁠`⁠)⁠！

--˚꒰🐾i have kinda (smt very) trouble understanding tones and sarcasm,jokes,etc,so please use tone tags while talking to me o ask me smt,thx u! 💌

-˚꒰🐾Likes:Jirai Kei, Yandere anime genre, Mahō shōjo genre, Shoujo genre, color pink, Pastel Colors, My sweet piano, My melody, in general Sanrio, Vocaloid, Nichijou, Azumanga, Nekopara, South park, DC Comics(Specially Batfam and Constantine), Red Pandas, Kitties, Puppies, Bunnies, Cute Things, Needy Streamer Overload, Moe art/artstyle,2000s web/internet, Frutiger aero, Girly girlies (my ocs mwahaha) and their daddies, Agere and Petre, Jojifuku style,Lolita Style and more!

-˚꒰🐾I am Comshipper, Darkshipper, Proshipper and selfshipper! ʚ🍮ɞ

-˚꒰🐾I will yapping about my silly selfship ideas,little things about my ocs, uploading one or another draw and mayyybe get a few friends on the way (⁠＾⁠∇⁠＾⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♪๑ ｡ﾟ◞

-˚꒰🐾About my ocs;Here

꒰ 💌 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 🥛 ꒱

BYF! (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠)!

-📣⋆.ೃ࿔*:･I use a kaomoji's,so...yeah

-📣⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🔓 and 🔐

-📣⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Content Warnings:I post about incest, loli, Kodocon, noncon, age gaps,All of it will be tagged with TW ((thing)) and CW ((thing))

-📣⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Im kinda freaky and smetimes i will reblog/post suggestive stuff (not too graphic btw) so if that make u uncomfy,dni plz

-📣⋆.ೃ࿔*:･I block freely

୧ ‧₊˚ 🎀 ⋅° ୨୧⋆.˚✂️.𖥔 ݁ ˖࣪ ִֶ

DNI (⁠ノ⁠｀⁠Д⁠´⁠)⁠ノ⁠彡⁠┻⁠━⁠┻💢

🥩♡୨୧-Antis

🥩♡୨୧-Doubles(mayyyybe?)

🥩♡୨୧-Mean people

🥩♡୨୧-No super duper detailed dni,i dont care who interacts with me,just don't be mean towards me or hateful ┻⁠━⁠┻⁠︵⁠└⁠(⁠´⁠_⁠｀⁠└⁠)

୧ 🎀 , 𖦹 ˙ ✦ 💤 ༅

F/O'S🎀🍮🍓🦴🐾(all of them romantic!)

Bruce Wayne DC Comics (very selective sharing)🦇

Dick Grayson DC Comics (very selective sharing)🦇

Jason Todd DC Comics (very selective sharing)🦇

Mark grayson INVINCIBLE (very selective sharing)🦸🏻‍♂️

Jack James Bright/Dr Bright SCP containment breach (Non-Sharing‼️‼️ DNI If double) 💉🩸

Jimmy MOUTHWASHING (Sharing!) 👁️

James sunderland Silent Hill 2 and Silent Hill 2 Remake (absolutely Non-sharing❗⚠️ DNI If double and i will block you If yume or double )💭🛏️

Ethan winters Resident Evil 7: Biohazard and Resident Evil: Village (selective sharing) 🧟🔫

TAGS! ᛝ(ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈ )ᛝ

⊹˚ʚ🍰ɞ⊹˖RinnyYapping🍫 <---(Normal posting,when im talking)

⊹˚ʚ🍰ɞ⊹˖RinnyReblogs🩷📎 <---(My reblogs)

⊹˚ʚ🍰ɞ⊹˖RinnyWrites💌 <---(My writing)

⊹˚ʚ🍰ɞ⊹˖Selfship🍓 <---(My self shipping/Oc x Canon posts)

⊹˚ʚ🍰ɞ⊹˖Want to continue?✨🪄 <---(Self reblogs)

⊹˚ʚ🍰ɞ⊹˖RinnyAnswers🐰 <---(If i'm lucky for someone ask or send me anything)

⊹˚ʚ🍰ɞ⊹˖🍓☘️Answers/🧸🪡🧵Answers/🩷💉 Answers <---(the same of above,but with one of my ocs!)

⊹˚ʚ🍰ɞ⊹˖BatfamService🧹☕୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

⊹˚ʚ🍰ɞ⊹˖MarkService🧹☕୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

⊹˚ʚ🍰ɞ⊹˖JimmyService🧹☕୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

⊹˚ʚ🍰ɞ⊹˖BrightService🧹☕୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

⊹˚ʚ🍰ɞ⊹JamesSunderlandService☕୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

⊹˚ʚ🍰ɞ⊹˖EthanService🧹☕୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

(↑ Posting / Reblogs about one of these fandom/characters)

Aaand thats all! If i forget about something or think of more, I will add them later o⁠(⁠(⁠*⁠^⁠▽⁠^⁠*⁠)⁠)⁠o

Thx you for reading!

🍫 here's a chocolate for u and have a womderful day miao miao! (ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ)

[broodwoof]

meta that's mostly about vivienne and her pro-circle views, but also touches on both sera and anders. I love them all and that shows, none of this is character hate, but I'm trying to explore the nuance at play here

adding character hate on this post will get you blocked

cws: mentions of the following: abuse; starvation; murder

obviously sera and vivienne are very, very different from each other... but I think one important commonality between them is a desire to avoid anarchy as a solution

sera doesn't want the red jennies to become a new political power - she wants to keep the current batch of nobles on edge, knowing that the "red jenny" may come for them if they fuck up too much. she also doesn't want to take out all the current nobles bc she knows that new ones will rise to take their place. she hates the nobles, but she also sees how an anarchist revolution would harm the very people she cares about, those she's trying to help as a red jenny

vivienne doesn't want to abolish the circles, but she also doesn't want to permit the abuses within them... but she, quite realistically, views the destruction of the chantry/subsequent vote for the dissolution of the circles as an inciting factor in the mage-templar war

anders' actions gave people new and immediate reason to fear mages. whether he was right to do it or not - and I tend to think he was - does not preclude it having consequences, even those that directly harm the very group he was trying to liberate

further, the function of the circles as a place for mages to train is necessary, and is also why I personally tend to feel a little uncomfortable with direct parallels being made to rl groups. no minority or oppressed group in rl can accidentally burn down the family barn because they get upset. I'm all for ppl making these connections if that works for them, but I always look at things first and foremost as existing within their canon context, not referencing reality outside of it

with that in mind... training mages is necessary. they need to be able to avoid possession, to learn to control their abilities, etc. does it need to be in a circle tower? no! ofc not! but there does need to be a form of training

vivienne sees the circles as fulfilling that role. the dissolution of them plunged mages into uncertainty - the anarchy she is so opposed to. who will train new mages now? how will they even be discovered?

in banter with dorian, sera once mentions a mage who got picked up by the templars, so he's "better now." dorian reacted with shock, asking if she knew what the southern circles are like, and she replied that he got three square meals a day, a cot. and he wouldn't starve or be killed in the street, both of which she'd seen

this isn't saying circles are the ideal, because they have abuses occurring within them too. the one in kirkwall seemed to be the worst, but we can't know the extent of it in every circle throughout time. it is, however, a place with a severe power imbalance and stark controls placed upon people as a matter of course

it is also the current and only solution within a large part of thedas. without it, what will happen to those kids who get mad and burn a building down? will the non-mages around them be kind, or will they be brutal? will they be able to turn them over to rogue apostates?

this is the problem with anarchy imo - some systems absolutely deserve to be destroyed, but there are a LOT of people who are going to fall through the cracks in an anarchist revolution

so, tl;dr: anders was right. and vivienne is right. circles are bad, but they are also the only system in place rn. and sera and vivienne have an anti-anarchy pov that they share, which is very interesting to me.

[neuship-zone]

Intro post + DNI and Userboxes

Heya, you can call me Damien, or Rye, or whatever you want honestly. This is my sideblog. As you've probably guessed, I'm a neutralshipper. This is blog is dedicated to asking and answering questions about shipcourse, discussing darker topics in fiction, and ships/fandom stuff in general (because I am NOT clogging my main with that stuff).

I am multifandom, and I am willing to talk about ships in all media as well as general darker themes such as paraphillias and abuse in fiction (tagged with tws ofc). I may also talk about my own works/planned works when relevant.

I'm also a selfshipper and mixed origin median with multiple fableings, some of which are in relationships or actively crushing on other characters. You can find a list of who exactly I'm in a relationship with below:

Feel free to block any tags related to content you don't wanna see.

I always tag relevant fandoms. Feel free to block any that you don't want to see.

Asks are tagged #asks

Anon hate gets tagged as well

I post #hot takes where I'll yap about an opinion I deem unpopular for a bit

Shipcourse posts will be tagged #shipcourse with any relevant stances (eg proship) also tagged. The stances tagged do not indicate my views unless otherwise stated.

Posts about triggering stuff will be tagged as "tw _____" or "cw _____"

I DO like monster/robot x human and non-sexual selfcest (between adults ofc). I consider myself a lightshipper.

Occasionally I post about paraphilias and ask questions to radqueers. Such posts are tagged #pro para and #radqueer respectively, but please note that I am not a rq and don't really support them.

Here's a up-to-date list of all the fandoms I know I'm in:

This should go without saying but yes, I like TCOAAL and will post about it. If you hate that game, this is your warning.

I also occasionally post about the Boyfriends webtoon (although I don't consider myself a part of the fandom).

My pfp is a neuship/peacefic flag made by @slowlyshamelesscolor

My new banner is another neutralship flag made by @dupsydidahop

My old banner was a (likely unserious) anti-discourse flag made by @femmefarmer

Link is here:

Feel free to ask me questions about my views on shipcourse. All views are open for debate, but hate/harassment will NOT be tolerated.

Generally, I:

- am ship and let ship

- encourage blocking

- do not encourage darkships but overall don't care if people like them (I even have maybe one or two I don't mind seeing)

- do not believe fiction affects people on a 1:1 basis (mainly because I'm an aroace fictosexual and so am living proof that that's kinda bs)

- am STRONGLY anti-harassment, pro-mental health, pro-para (and pro-recovery), and anti-xenosatanist

- will ask questions to anyone, even people I disagree with. I am always up for discussion unless the discussion is going nowhere and/or negatively impacting my health

!!! DO NOT SEND ASKS FOR DONATONS !!!

They will be deleted. I don't generally reblog donations, but my main blog, @felix-01000101 should have some there (including a masterlist of Palestinian/Gaza donos if you want them)

Note:

This blog uses the following definitions:

Proship - someone who is generally anti-harassment and SALS, and believes taste in fiction does not dictate IRL beliefs, may or may not like or support comships/darkships

Antiship - someone who believes fiction DOES dictate IRL beliefs, generally does not believe in SALS, may or may not be anti-harassment

Comship - A ship that is "complex" (Comship = complex ship). Examples include enemies to lovers and monster x human. A comshipper may or may not be proship.

Darkship - A comship that would be illegal in real life (eg incest, minor x adult), or otherwise problematic or "dark" (eg abuser x victim). Darkshippers are usually proship but not always.

Neutralship/neuship - Someone who is neither antiship nor proship. They may be antiship or proship leaning, but choose not to label themselves on either side.

(Note that these are rather loose definitions, since these are essentially labels people choose to use, and as with all labels, usage can get tricky)

DNI:

There is no DNI for this blog, but I block freely. If you're going to fakeclaim me, call me names, talk to me unprompted about your kinks, etc, I will just block you (or milk you for entertainment, idk)

Credit to @pleasantcherryblossomtreenight for most of these ^^

[alidoesgaming]

Vault-Tec Calling - The Day The Bombs Fell

Series Masterlist here!

Summary: It was just a day until the bombs fell.

CW: Anti-Communism themes, nuclear bombing, war

Aemyra should've known. Nate was excitedly planning for their future. The last time he did that was two days before he was shipped out to go fight in Anchorage. She hated that stupid, pointless war. Her thoughts were that there were more pressing matters on the home front.

For God's sake, drug usage was rampant and there were homeless veterans all around the greater Boston area. Science was advancing in all the wrong places. Surely, the United States government could yield to the Chinese.

Nate tried to tell her then that it was her hormones causing these "unpatriotic" thoughts. He was a soldier through and through, one in a line of dozens in his family. Aemyra loved him, truly. Even if his blood ran, as he called it, "red, white, and star spangled blue" and it diminished his thinking critically of his orders and his government. She always said she could be logical enough for the both of them.

She should have known.

The Vault-Tec representative came knocking at their door for what felt like the thirtieth time that month.

"Congratulations! You've been pre-selected for entrance into the local vault, Vault 111," he said enthusiastically.

He had the slimy charm of a salesman without ever asking for a dime. It was Nate's military service, he had explained, and she had no reason to question it. Most of their community was like them. Veterans and their families, coming to settle down after war. She was the only wife there that had a degree in law, but many of the women were much better homemakers than she could ever hope to be.

Aemyra pre-registered their family into entry. It would make the process smoother in case of "total nuclear annihilation". Less paperwork and fuss was always best for her.

When he left and she went to care for Shaun, Nate followed her. He was talking about taking Shaun to the park that weekend. It was almost Halloween. They should go and take Shaun to enjoy the weather before winter came.

God, she wanted to go back.

Codsworth called for them from the living room. Aemyra entered the room only to hear the news breaking of confirmed nuclear detonations. Plural. All over the country. It was no longer a drill like all United States citizens were used to. It was real.

They ran outside. Their neighbors were panicked, the military moving in. They had to get to the Vault. Their son, their baby, deserved to grow up. They had to get there.

As they approached the gates, both military and Vault-Tec personnel were guarding the gate. That damned Vault-Tec representative was there, pleading to get in.

"But I AM Vault-Tec," he exclaimed. But it was to no avail, the soldiers preparing to open fire on anyone trying to push their luck.

Once he ran, she rushed forward and gave the man her name. Nate's name. They were urged to follow, quickly. She looked back to Nate, wondering what he thought about his precious government now that they were willing to gun innocent people down for no other reason than being scared. But she couldn't think too much about that.

They were put onto a platform, one that would take them down into the Vault. She was safe, Nate was safe, Shaun was safe. They were going to live.

And then the bomb fell before they could be lowered.

The heat rushed over their heads just before the platform was down far enough for them to be sealed away. But it's okay. It was far away enough. It had to be.

><><><><><><><

Taglist: @zaldritzosrose

Let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist!

[blackoutlandish]

yeah i know!!! it's rlly sad how she would hurt greys like that. glad to c u sticking up for them!!

fuck you fuck you fuck you

I didn’t want to have to deal with this. But people like her, and people like you, just murdered an entire neighborhood in Okaha, so apparently we’re at a point in history where this shitting bullfuck has to be addressed explicitly.

The people wronged were red. The orange filmed herself murdering reds. And was accused of OOCI for it. Because someone like you thought that was the only thing wrong with her actions.

M U R D E R !   I S !   B A D !

[blackoutlandish]

her wardrobe isn't described often enough to be sure, but I think you're right. Some of the difference might be that closer to the end she's borrowing more clothes? Your theory makes the ambiguous scene about two-thirds through, where it's not clear if she's about to kill someone again or not, when she leaves, and her dress is described as sunset-colored - well. it doesn't make it *less* ambiguous but it certainly adds *weight* to it. (*my* theory is that she didn't, but it could go either way)

yeah, it’s not really overt and even if it’s there i’m not totally convinced it’s intentional, it’s almost subliminal

[blackoutlandish]

Even if you didn't hold the gun that killed one you've killed reds. You have countless readers who listened to you for years as you told them that reds needed to be killed. Who knows how many minds you've changed. How many people would have supported red rights if not for you. Who turned into the sort of people who take "commissions" and say reds lunged at them and burn down districts. You are an awful person, and I hope you die. You would deserve it.

I hope that writing this felt good for you, because I really don’t see how it does any good for me. What should I do differently, now, based on my past mistakes?

I’m still publishing this ask, so that people can see that tumblr is full of people who support red rights, that it isn’t just a weird niche fringe movement. But killing me won’t undo whatever wrongs I’ve caused. It’ll just stop me from working to make the world better in future.

Also, I don’t think I ever supported vigilantism against reds. When I didn’t think they were people, my position was that getting angry at animals is like shouting at the wind.

[blackoutlandish]

There aren't, actually, that many cleans who think reds are people, and even less that feel able to say so openly, and even less who can reasonably drop everything and swap to an equatorial country that might still get bombed off the face of Amenta. I think you've got a decent chance if swapping in is really what you want to do.

Thanks. :)

Rationally, I hope there are lots of better candidates than me; but selfishly, I hope I can get in.

[blackoutlandish]

Is it just my imagination, or does Tahak’s wardrobe shift from red to orange over the course of her redemption arc?