#at first he sucks because he follows every rule to a T | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darnell-la · 1 month ago

Note

Thoughts on making Logan cum from just a vibrator no hand or anything??? I feel like he would be skeptical at first and it’s almost like a challenge

note: Logan is the time to say something won’t work, and when it does, he’ll punish you for it since you wanted it to work so bad.

Logan is subby and dom in the story. I genuinely think Logan can’t pick which one he wants to be.

———

“This is ridiculous, y/n,” Logan said as his girlfriend looked through her toy bag to find a perfect vibrator. “I swear, it’s not,” she assured the man before she finally found the toy.

“That little thing is gonna do somethin’ to me? C’mon, Bub, don’t waste our time,” Logan said, making her roll her eyes as she hopped right next to him. He had already taken his clothes off, so it’s not like he didn’t want to try.

“Just do something new for once,” Y/n said as she looked into his eyes. Those eyes were the death of him. “Just go ahead, fuck,” the man cussed as he flopped back onto the bed to get ready for the waste of time.

Y/n lifted Logan’s heavy shaft to rest on his stomach. He was already hard, but she knew he could get harder. She set the vibrator on the lowest number to start.

When the toy touched his balls, his body jolted lightly. “Mind reaction, Bub, that’s all,” Logan lied, knowing the feeling of that toy vibrating on his balls was a feeling he’d never felt.

“Whatever you say, babe,” Y/n said as she rubbed the vibrator around his sack, making sure every inch of him got the feel of vibration.

“Alright, babe, this ain’t-“ Before he could finish, y/n turned the vibrator up by 3, taking a very huge jump. “Fuck-“ Logan cut himself off with a hiss.

“Just because i-it’s rougher, doesn’t mean it’s gon work,” Logan said as his feet curled. Y/n couldn’t help but giggle at the way his body redacted. “Mhm hm,” Y/n hummed as she nodded her head.

This time, y/n moved upwards, following along his shaft slowly. Logan tried his best to keep in his growls, but they were getting hard to hide. They were too deep and long.

“Shit, wait-“ Logan said as he went to reach for her hand, but he stopped himself when she rolled over his tip. The man threw his head back as his mouth parted.

“Thought it wouldn’t do nothin’ to ya,” y/n giggled as she continued to rub up and down his shaft, even swirling the toy around his tip. “Yep, yep,” was all Logan said in a quick and fast tone.

Y/n felt her mouth water, knowing she wouldn’t last long from touching him, but she needed to prove him wrong and show him news things could be nice.

Instead of using her mouth on him, she spat on his cock to get him wet. Logan’s stomach stuttered as the vibrator rubbed over the wet spot and spread everywhere until he was fully wet.

“Baby, that's not- fair,” Logan could barely get out as his hands gripped the sheets. “And why not? Ian touch your cock yet, right?” Y/n asked as she leaned close to his face, pressing the vibrator onto his cock harder.

“Fuck, baby, stop that, I- You know this ain’t fair,” Logan tried making it seem like she wasn’t following the rules she made. “Stop being a big baby, and say you can’t handle a vibrator,

Logan refused, mouth shutting tight as he tried giving her a look to intimate her, but his eyes soon fell away from hers as he twitched.

“Y/n!” Logan shouted at the girl, not wanting to groan or moan, but he was getting there. Those noises were getting harder to keep in.

“Mhm, baby?” She asked as she leaned over his chest slowly. “Stop this shit- Fuck! Y/n, what t-the fuck,” Logan shouted again, eyes popping as her lips latched around one of his nipples.

Y/n hummed onto his chest, sending a different vibration through his body that he couldn’t handle.

“F-Fuck, y/n, please, stop,” Logan felt embarrassed, but hadn’t yet said the safe word he swore he wouldn’t need because this whole idea was stupid and wouldn’t do anything to him.

“Why?” She asked, lips still sucking down on him. “Fuck- Y/n, I swear to god, I’ll fucking- Fuck!” Logan couldn’t finish as she went on the highest level, jumping several numbed just to get a reaction out of him.

Logan’s eyes crossed before they rolled back. He felt gone like he wasn’t here with her anymore. He wanted to speak and say something. He wanted to moan but instead, different nerves in his body twitched before he let loose.

Ropes of hot thick cum spilled from his cock, getting everywhere he swore could never happen. Y/n lightly pulled the vibrator back as his cock twitched and moved by itself. She’s never seen his ick stand up like this. It’s like or had a mind of its own.

“S-S-Shit-“ Logan could barely finish as he kept cumming. His head was hard and looked hungry. His balls were stiff and twitching. She was ruining him and she hadn’t even touched it.

“Fuck- Stop!” Logan slapped the vibrator out of y/n’s hands to take a breath. He sounded as if he was hyperventilating, but she one he’d be fine. That why’s he leaned down towards his cock and took him in, sucking down on him as hard as he liked it.

“Y/n, fuck!” The man cried out, legs shaking as his back arched. He slapped his hands over his face, trying to hold himself together, but her lips kept rubbing every inch he had.

“Mhm hm?” Y/n asked as Logan’s hands slowly moved towards her head. “Fuck, fuck,” Logan looked down at her as he gripped hair and forced her down on him completely.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum-“ Logan repeated as his cock twitched. As soon as he felt himself releasing, he moved his hips upward, repeatedly hitting the back of y/n’s throat as she struggled to take him.

“God, I can’t stop- Can’t fucking stop,” was all Logan could say for the night. He used her throat for what felt like hours, repeatedly snapping into her mouth to chase his last orgasm, but it was never the last.

Logan had even grabbed the vibrator that was next to them to rub along his balls as he kept cumming down Y/n’s throat. He emptied anything he could. His body gave him no choice.

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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 1 year ago

Text

FOLIE Á DEUX ─── jonathan crane ✧

ೃ⁀➷ “Not all love is gentle. Sometimes it's gritty and dirty and possessive, sometimes it's not supposed to be careful or soft at all. Sometimes it feels like teeth.” - Azra T.

pairing. professor!jonathan crane x stalker!reader

summary. you’ve been stalking your professor for 8 months, keeping track of his movements with your diary. one day, said professor informs that you left something of yours behind in his office…

warnings. swearing, choking, p in v, dacryphilia, oral sex (f), dubcon (if u squint), stalking, breeding, orgasm delay/denial, unprotected sex, hair pulling, student-teacher relationship, SMUT UNDER THE CUT

word count. 4.5k

a/n. this is my first ever smut, so if it sucks i really do apologize. also, im kinda unsure where the plot on this one went, but whatever! lastly, i do try to keep all my fics gender-neutral, but seeing as this is smut, i had to choose, and the reader is afab.

“Miss [Name], please stay behind after class. I need just a moment's worth of your time.” Your professor said absently, not looking at you, when he handed back your essay on the human id.

You hummed, nodding your head carefully. “Yes, Professor Crane.”

Inwardly, you swooned at his choice of words: “I need just a moment's worth of your time.” He’d highlighted the existence of both you and him in the sentence, as if coexisting together, with one another, was plausible.

Later, when class ended, you’d packed up all your things, and walked into Professor Crane’s office off to the side, where he was tidying up.

“You asked me to stay behind, sir?”

“Yes,” Crane acknowledged your presence, looking at you squarely. “You forgot something in my office during our last tutoring session.”

Your eyes widened slightly, both at the fact you’d left one of your items behind, and that your Professor had seen the item, and knew it belonged to you. He hadn’t mistaken it as his own, or anyone else's - he knew it was yours.

“Oh!” You said, a beat later. “Thank you for telling me. Where is it, exactly?”

“Before we get to that matter - do take a seat - I believe we need to have a, ah, talk.” He gestured to the seat in front of his office desk, the same seat you sat on every Wednesday at 6:30 for the past few months.

“A talk, sir?” You pried, but sat down anyway, reveling in the one-on-one time you were experiencing with your favorite professor.

That was the main motivator for getting tutored by the man - you adored going in, having an entire hour of him all to yourself.

Prior, you pretended not to get some of his lessons, let your grade in his psychology class slip to a pitiful mark so low he couldn’t ignore it. You’d started the semester with a stellar grade, so he took it upon himself to offer tutoring - he knew you could understand his method of teaching, and theorized that you hadn’t been able to pay attention in class because of the sheer size of people attending.

In actuality, however, you understood everything completely - it was merely your obsessive attraction following him like the sound of thunder trailing behind lightning.

Crane scrubbed his face when you sat, thinking intently on what he wanted to say. “I need you to understand, Miss [Name], that a student-teacher relationship is completely taboo. Such a thing can never - should never, occur.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, and suddenly, you were reminded how you hadn’t seen that book in a while, you hadn’t read it when you woke up, when you went for lunch, you hadn’t even written anything about him for the day—

Your professor slid open one of his desk drawers, and pulled out the familiar pocket notebook you kept with yourself at all times.

“I’m telling you about rules, Miss [Name], because you forgot this.” He said, voice low. “And, pardon my intrusion, but the stuff you have written here is quite… intriguing.”

Your heart began racing in your chest, a cold sweat trailing down your back. “Professor, I- whatever you read in there—“ You began, but froze when he opened the notebook, thumbing through the pages.

Crane cleared his throat, looking intently at the words. His expression changed several times as his eyes flitted over your writing, and you felt your body burn with shame.

“January 26th. Professor's gloves were found in the nook of his podium. I was looking for the green apple he’d forgo from finishing, his teeth tracks fresh on the alabaster flesh, but found his winter wear instead. Gloves were brought home - I imagined he’d come over to mine, undressed his biting winter clothing, and forgot his sweet mittens here.” Your professor read your diary out loud. Crane looked like he enjoyed your shame being laid out bare, but you were too absorbed in a whirlwind of emotion to notice.

“P—Professor, please, I - I can explain, I didn’t mean anything—“

“April 17th. Professor came down with a flu, like I expected. I saw him walking in last week’s evening downpour and waited for what day this week he’d call in. Later, he bought cough syrup and aspirin at the convenience store. I watched him struggle to care for himself, covered head to toe in blankets, missing meals, barely able to keep upright. I wish professor knew how well I could care for him, how I fulfill his every request and need. I saw how touchy he was, how he fidgeted, that feverish want — I could satiate him like no-one else.”

His lips enunciated every word, and the longer he went on reading, the dizzier you felt; your professor, your darling, had found out - he had found out - he had found fucking out -

“Be honest with me, Miss [Name]. Do you stalk me?” Your professor said, slipping off his wire-framed glasses. The man leaned in closer now, elbows resting on the wooden desk.

Your eyes darted away from him, looking anywhere but forwards. You felt like you had been stripped away, so bare your professor could count how many ribs you had, how many minor hairline fractures your tattered bones had collected over the years. You tried to analyze the man’s reaction through your peripheral, but it was to no avail - he was as cold as he had been during class, during your entire time knowing the professor.

You breathed, in and out, analyzing the situation tenfold, precisely, trying to find a way out of this place alive, dignity intact. Then, you found it.

This man had ensnared you, entranced you with his delicious charm and carefully spoken words. You repeat inwardly to yourself: Crane knew all the right words, all the right places to touch. If he dared press charges, you would tell the world he hurt you first.

“Yes, Professor Crane.” You nodded, unabashed after deciding how to deal with everything. He can’t touch me with this. I’ll just go first: please, he took advantage of me! I needed to pass his class… and he offered a solution to me. He’s lying! Lying to you all. He just wants to destroy me… and hide his sin.

“The human body knows when someone’s watching them, but you haven’t noticed, not once in the 8 months I’ve watched you. You didn’t notice, even when I followed you home, even to Arkham. Every obscure outing you’ve had, I’ve been there.”

“I’m quite alarmed by this information, Miss [Name]. Moreso by the absence of your remorse.” Crane said, but mere seconds later a low laugh was drawn out of him, looking more amused than alarmed if anything.

Crane’s tone was husky, nearing a purr, and he clasped his large, calloused hands together contemplatively. “What were you going to do to me, Miss [Name]? Or were you just going to watch, standby my life?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, unable to respond to his provocations. You didn’t want to alarm him further, tell him you’d been planning to finally have him, once and for all, as soon as you got a hold of his house keys and got the chance to replicate your own pair. You didn’t tell him that you were barely restraining yourself from knocking him out during your tutoring sessions, wanting your darling all for yourself for more than an hour a week.

“Are you not afraid, Miss [Name]? What I can do to your life with this information? How I can ruin you, paint you mad enough to be admitted to Arkham?” he continued, closer than ever before and whispering in your ear. His plush lips brushed past the shell of your ear, making your heart skip a beat.

You winced, both from the feeling of him near you and his sweet voice spewing poison in your ear, but quickly composed yourself, for you knew things he didn’t know you knew.

Then - you weren’t quite sure what possessed you, but - your hand came up to his hair, tugging so he could hear you, “Professor - or, should I say… Scarecrow, what would you do, if I told the police what Gotham University’s psychology professor did in his spare time?”

“What would you do, if I plastered pictures of the renowned Doctor Jonathan Crane wearing the familiar burlap sack mask all over Gotham - especially in places the Batman frequented?”

“I can destroy you, sir.” Your voice was quiet, but dangerous, a terribly alluring thing, like a melody Crane heard a long time ago and remembered every time he smelt the must of an old piano. “Don’t push me.”

This time, Crane stilled, turning to face you fully. His gaze had darkened, looking at you through his long lashes. “My dear, you should’ve just told me how bad you wanted to find out how this fear-toxin of mine can break you.” He whispered, so quiet you had to strain yourself to hear.

With your professor's warm breath fanning on the nape of your neck, you couldn’t help how you squirmed, clenched your thighs together - especially when you had been dreaming of something like this for the past eight months. You couldn’t count how many times you found yourself with your hands down your pants at the thought of your darling professor having his way with you… controlling you completely.

You didn’t answer the man for a moment, gulping down the dryness in your throat. “Would you, sir? Would you let fear dominate me like those tortured souls in the Narrows?”

Crane’s eyes trailed across your face, then he pulled back, leaning in his chair, a grin all teeth and no tongue spreading across his lips. There was something there, you realized, something he noticed in the intone of your voice - had he noticed the neediness, the warble as your thoughts went elsewhere? The arch in your back, your body desperate to be as close to him as possible?

“Can I tell you what I think?” said Crane, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “I think you want me to. I think you want me to see you tremble… shake in fear… you want me to hear you beg. I think you want to be utterly consumed by me.”

The deep timbre of his voice, the suggestion in his words, how he stared you down with each syllable, sent electric shivers down your spine. You took in a sharp breath, leaning your head back to look at the ceiling, compose yourself, when—

Crane’s rough hand gripped at your throat, thumb caressing the little notch at the center, and your heart fluttered, jumping at his touch.

“Fear is an addicting, beautiful thing, is it not? You’re afraid of me, but you can’t help how fucking needy you are.” Your professor spoke, pressing down further on your neck. He had noticed.

His touch made your skin feel like it was on fire, the rough pads of his fingertips digging bruises into your delicate skin. It was the most delicious thing you had ever felt, and you leaned into it, despite the connotations of death by asphyxiation looming over your shoulder.

Your professor manhandled you, dragging your weak body over to his side of the desk, hand still curved neatly around your throat. You were growing dizzy, a fearful, pleasure-filled fog slowly clouding your mind, and you couldn’t speak. All you could do was let out little squeaks of surprise & pleasure, a moan rumbling out of you as he pressed down further.

Crane was saying something, but you couldn’t tell under the pressure. His facial expression was all you needed, however; his eyes were bloodshot, lustful, so laser-focused that, if looks could kill, you’d have been long gone, while a feral grin replaced his emotionless facade. Crane’s usually well-kept appearance had dissolved, and his hair was askew, tie loose, buttons haphazardly undone.

Suddenly, the man pressed himself flush against you, pressing his face into your hair, your neck - losing himself in you. His tongue flicked out, dragging a long stripe down the side of your neck, and you jumped, a startled whine tearing out of your choked-up throat.

His grip on you tightened. “What? I’m just having a taste. Is that so wrong?” At your wide eyes, and silent response, he let out a fitful laugh. “You’re coated in shame, darling. You’re sour.”

You squirmed - not because you didn’t enjoy it - you just couldn’t breathe, but Crane didn’t care. His fingernails were sharp, maybe even drawing some of your blood.

“Plea— sir, I can’t breathe,” you stuttered out raspily. His face remained unchanged while listening to your pathetic pleas, before he leaned in close.

“Beg for it. Beg like you’re terrified for your life. You might as well be,” he said, and he began pressing his thumb into the center of your throat, choking you fully now.

You nodded - as much as the allowance between his hand and your head allowed, anyway. “Professor, please,” you said breathily, “please let me go. I’ll do any- anything, just puh— please stop.”

“Ah, there it is,” Your professor cooed, eyes shutting at the sweet intone of your pleaing, distressed voice. He was losing himself in your words. “Keep going… and don’t forget the crying. It's my favorite part.”

“Let - me go! Please,” you whimpered helplessly, mustering thick, heavy tears to form at the corners of your eyes as you saw black spots dotting your vision.

A lump formed in your throat, choking your words. “Please… stop! Let me - breathe,” You said, leaning delightedly into his touch. His other hand was now digging painfully into your hip, as if the professor were focussing intensely on holding back.

“Look at you go,” Crane clicked his tongue, eyes opening and gazing deep into you. He pulled you in closer to him, letting go of your abused throat.

You finally breathed, taking in such large bouts of air you might’ve choked and keeled over right there. But then, Crane’s hands at your side crawed carefully to your rear, while the other hand came up to the crown of your head to pet you.

He whispered into the top of your head, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” You said raspily, your face pressed flat against his bandy chest.

His hand found the swell of your ass, fingers grabbing hold and squeezing so tight you were sure there’d be a bruise later, “About doing anything. For me.”

You nodded, still not looking at him. This answer didn’t please him, however, and the hand that had been petting you tangled through your hair and roughly pulled you away, to look up at him. “In words.”

“Y— yes. I’ll do anything for you.” You rattled off, prickling pain twisting in your scalp.

“You’ll be a good girl for me?”

“The best.”

A grin twisted his pink, plush lips, and he promptly pushed you face down flat against his cold, wooden desk. It was rough, and sudden, pain blooming in your side. But there was a tug in your lower stomach at the way he handled you, all selfish and touchy and focused solely on chasing after his own pleasure.

Crane’s hands roamed all over your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. His touch was insatiable, rubbing and petting and kneading at every part of your body.

His hands found your thighs, squeezing at the flesh, before hiking up your skirt and inspecting your panties. “Oh, you’re fucking soaked,” Crane rumbled out, voice like gravel. “You liked it, didn’t you? When I said I’d admit you to Arkham.”

Then, you heard him kneel down, and begin to press sloppy, wet kisses on your legs. “Be honest,” he said between kisses, “you want me to admit you, have you all to myself in isolation.”

You didn’t respond, instead whimpering and bucking forward when you could feel Crane’s sharp teeth brush over your sensitive skin. He noticed the effect he had on you, and you felt him smile against you.

“Please,” you keened out, not dissimilar to how you begged him just moments ago, “stop teasing, Professor.”

You felt Crane’s hot breath fan over your clothed mound, pausing for a moment to catch his breath. “Stop teasing, how?” he said at last, before suddenly pushing your panties to the side and licking a stripe up your cunt. He lapped at your lips, collecting your wetness on his tongue, but he didn’t go further.

“Pro - Professor,” you whined, grounding out a low moan. It wasn’t enough, and he knew it. He liked playing with you, making you squirm and shake and beg for more.

“What? This not enough for you?” He pulled away, and you hissed at the cold that hit you. Then, he tugged, hard, pulling both your underwear and your skirt down to your knees.

“You want me to eat you out till you’re a trembling fucking mess, don’t you?” He buried himself between your legs, “I knew you were a horny little slut.”

Finally, his tongue found you once more, and pushed deep into your folds. Crane’s tongue ran across every rivet your pussy had, before darting out to your clit, suckling at the velvet bundle of nerves. His touch drew out a high-pitched keen, your back arching.

You couldn’t see him, face still pressed against the wooden desk, but you could hear him, the filthy squelching of your pussy and his tongue making your knees buckle.

“Fuck, Jonathan,” you choked out, when he went deeper into your quivering hole, your body tingling like nothing you’d ever felt before. At your reaction, his name curling around your pretty little lips, he went faster, wet mouth brushing against you, licking you up and down, animalistic, following his instinct to a tee.

“Please, wait -“ You said, feeling the knot in your insides grow tighter, the heat washing over you like a steaming shower, toes curling in your flats.

“What?” He growled out beneath you, not letting up his assault on your cunt.

“I don’t - don’t wanna come on your tongue…” You said, shaking your head weakly against the desk. “Wanna - wanna feel you in me.”

Jonathan snorted, and continued to lap up your insides, “D’you think you have a fucking choice? Huh? I know you’re a whore, you could do this all day. I’ll just make you come again on my cock.”

Before you could protest, or even just whine at his words, you shut your eyes, feeling yourself come undone, your legs barely able to keep you upright. His hands had reached away from your thighs, rough fingers toying with your fleshy button, maximizing the climax washing over you tenfold.

“Jonathan, Jonathan!” You practically screamed out, heat in your stomach pulsing rapidly.

“Ugh, fuck,” You heard him say, “you’re creaming all over my fucking face.”

You were a complete mess by the time he pulled away from you, your high washing away as Crane wiped the come and wetness off his face.

“You came that hard, just on my tongue?” He mocked, fingers spreading your lips and observing your swollen pussy as you laid flat, weakly gripping the edge of the desk so you’d stay standing.

“Well,” he said, reaching down to his pants and undoing his belt buckle and fly, “M’not done with this sweet little cunt just yet.”

Your eyes widened, “I’m - I’m still sensitive, wait-“

Jonathan didn’t listen, however, letting his pants and boxers pool at his feet, stroking himself in the artificial light of his office, which smelt like sweat and sex.

He spat on his hand, first coating his cock in it, then your parted lips (which you theorized was just because he wanted to feel you up again), before lining up his thick head at your entrance. “God,” he groaned, “you’re so fucking wet.”

You keened at the intrusion you felt between your legs, “Jonathan, please, jus’ - give me a sec to rest —“ You were interrupted however, by the shock of how big he felt.

You hadn’t gotten a look at him, but as he let himself slowly enter you, you could tell it was bigger than anything you’d ever taken before. “You’re - you’re too big!” you squeaked out, “You won’t fit.”

He laughed, hands resting on your hips as he held you upright. “I’ll make it fit,” he said, before roughly pounding the rest of himself into you, stretching out your inexperienced cunt.

You choked, his fat cock pushing you wider than you’d ever been before, the pain biting at you, a burning feeling spreading within your lower body. “Jon- Jonathan,” was all you could say, as he slowly pulled out, pure relief written on your face, until he sank right back into you, somehow deeper than before.

Tears welled in your eyes, as he gripped harshly on the flesh of your hips, making you pound back and forth on him. His cock was hard, and thick, and he was forcing the thing deep within you at an excruciatingly quick pace. Your sensitivity was the cherry on top to this whole situation - you were trembling, body weak, shallow breaths and teary moans tearing out of you at the overstimulation.

Soon, however, the pain slowly dissolved into a filthy, exquisite pleasure that echoed throughout your entire body. The rhythm your professor had gotten to was downright perfect, filling you completely and making you clench in all the right places. Crane made your brain go foggy, focussing solely on the sound of your skin slapping against each other in the quiet, after-hours office, his taller frame encapsulating you completely.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he cooed, hands moving to splay across your ass and spread you open further. “How many cocks have taken this sweet pussy, huh?”

You gulped. “Just,” you started, but then your eyes rolled to the back of your head, stopping you mid-sentence as his length brushed up to your most sensitive spot.

“How,” he gripped you tighter, “many,” slipped out, “cocks!” then thrust into you roughly, rougher than before and making the desk screech forward a few inches.

“Just one!” You said at last, words choked up as his long cock pierced you.

“Just one, huh?” He said and began pounding in and out of you faster, rougher, needier, “I bet you didn’t even fucking come, you’re so tight. This pretty pussy of yours is practically virgin.”

“Uh-huh,” you said incoherently, thoughts blending together. “Jus’ a - a fucking virgin for you,” you babbled out, losing yourself in the fast-paced pleasure he was serving on a silver platter.

“That you are,” Jonathan growled, “you’re just my horny virgin. Mine.” Every thrust he plunged into you brushed up against that plush spot deep within you, making you drool, body going slack.

“Oh, jesus, you’re so fucked out,” he murmured, looking down at your limp, trembling form. “Drunk on my thick fucking cock.”

The ecstasy was becoming too much for you now, controlling you completely, like if he stopped fucking you right now you’d be so fucking needy, going slowly insane until he touched you again. You knew you wouldn’t be able to fuck anyone else and feel the same; he made you feel fucking feral, instinctual, your id going into drive and controlling you instead of logic. Your darling was the only one you wanted to offer yourself up completely to. He could do anything he fucking wanted to you, and you’d take it in stride.

“Jonathan,” you keened, feeling your walls clench around him tighter, “m’close.”

“No, you’re not,” he said, voice deep and dangerous, “keep that orgasm in, whore, till I tell you to.”

Your cheeks burned, distraught at the denial of your release, especially when his cock slipped out of you as he flipped you over. Quickly, however, he rammed his cock back into you. You were facing each other now, and you could see how hot and bothered he looked, despite how confident and careless his words had been as he fucked you.

His lips were bitten between his teeth, hair sticking to the sweat on his face, cheeks flushed. He was focussed entirely on getting back that rhythm, and you let him, watching how his gorgeous features contorted as your hot cunt sucked him in.

Your arms reached around his neck, and he promptly lifted your legs up to hook around his back, making him fill you even further.

“Fuck me!” You squealed, his shaft reaching places you didn’t know could be reached. It was getting harder to stop your impending orgasm, and your felt fucking sick at how sweetly he was stretching you, how you knew you couldn’t let go no matter what despite the delicious pleasure.

“Already am, baby,” he grumbled, rutting in and out of you at a dizzying pace. You felt his pace stutter, slightly, and you heard his small, revealing whines of pleasure as his head was nestled in the nook of your neck, and you knew he was close.

The thought of him coming in you made you tighten and tense, and he felt it, your back lifting off the desk in an arch.

“Fuck, how’d you get even tighter?” he said shakily, before sliding out of you so far he almost pulled out completely, then let his cock thrust into you so hard you saw stars dancing across your vision.

You merely mewled back at him in response.

“Come,” he said breathily, “come all over my thick— ugh, fuuuck, just like that, yes,” his sentence was cut off as you let go, letting the waves of pleasure surge through your body like electricity.

Your body shook, your knees trembled, and an animalistic whine slipped out of your bruise throat as he thrust into you jerkily. Just as quickly as you camez, he did too, and you felt Jonathan’s load shoot straight up into your worn-out cunt, not impeded by a condom of any sorts. Crane’s head cocked back as he did so, jaw clenching as he released his sweet and sticky liquid deep within you, warm and coating your walls completely.

For a moment, he laid atop of you, and you both kept silent, the office filled with nothing but your breathing and the sweet smell of come. Then, he pulled away, both of you wincing as his cock left you, his come dripping out of your weeping hole onto his office floors.

He pulled his underwear and pants back on, but revelled in your own crumpled form on his desk, your shirt hiked up, your skirt and panties hanging off your ankles, barely there. It was a shame he couldn’t have explored further up your body, groped those tits he loved seeing bounce during tutoring, but his need to fill your pussy up took precedent.

Jonathan swiped a finger into your cunt, collecting some of your combined liquid, and you flinched at the feeling. Then, he licked at his dirty finger. “Oh, baby,” he heaved, “we taste delectable mixed together.”

You raised a brow, then weakly lifted yourself off the desk, pulling up your panties and skirt (not without adoring the feeling of Jonathan’s fresh, wet come smearing all over your panties and sensitive cunt) before reaching for his hand. He leaned in towards you, and you lapped up the juice on his finger, grinning up at him.

Jonathan looked completely lost in your performance, brows knitted. “Jesus fucking christ,” he whispered under his breath, “where has a perfect little fucktoy like you been hiding from me?”

“Oh,” you said, nonchalant, “just stalking you.”

#jonathan crane x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #batman begins #scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane #scarecrow #jonathan crane smut #cillian murphy smut

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shankss-magnificent-ass · 2 years ago

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Imagine becoming a part of the red hair pirate's disembarking procedure

Part 2 of this post (it's free to view on Patreon, you just need an account I think)

Benn: *talking to the whole crew* Alright, we're going onto an island we've never been on before, and one we're not sure if anyone has ever landed here. We have protocol for this, and it's paramount that you follow it to a T.

Shanks: *whispers* oh shit, you know he's serious when he breaks out the big words.

Yassop: *snickers*

Benn: I'm going to give you a refresher on the rules.... We use the buddy system, no one gets to shit without their buddy.

You: Just what I always wanted, a poop buddy.

Shanks: *puts his arm around your shoulders* the only time our synchronized bowel movements are a blessing.

You: *rolls your eyes* at least we won't have to fight over who gets to use the bathrooms first.

Shanks: now I get what I have always dreamed of, to hold your hand and look deep into your eyes while we poop.

You: *shudders in horror* You're so weird.

Shanks: *plants a wet kiss on your cheek*

Benn: Now would those of you assigned to the exploration party please line up at the gangway for departure.

You: *goes to help Hongo prep a med pack for the exploration crew*

Hongo: *once the kit is finished* They're going to want you to take it to them.

You: Uh, okay? *takes it out to see them waiting patiently in line for them.

Benn: Excellent *takes the med kit and straps it to his pack* Now time for our kiss goodbye. *Bends down, so his forehead is level with your face*

You: Really?

Benn: yes, now hop to it.

You: *rolls your eyes, but gives each of them a forehead kiss*

The next island

You: *Currently too sick and infectious for Hongo to allow the crew in the med bay to get their kisses goodbye*

The exploration team: *has a horrible time on the island*

After getting back to the ship and getting the hell off that island

Benn: we barely got out of there, Hongo, you really need to get them back on their feet before the next island.

Hongo: *patching up Benn's shoulder* who are you talking about?

Shanks: My partner, obviously, we have the worst luck without them around.

Hongo: I'm sorry my skills aren't enough for you

Shanks: It's not that you aren't enough, because I have absolute faith in your skills. It's just I always feel bad, like I'm wasting your time, when I have to come to you for treatment every single time we step off the ship. Also being hurt sucks, if we can prevent it before that happens that'd be way better for everyone. I mean wouldn't you rather be conducting that research you've been working on for years?

Hongo: ....fair point, I'll have them up and at 'em as soon as possible. I'll also come up with some protocol to get y'all access even while they're sick.

Benn: how are you gonna manage that?

Hongo: *shrugs*I'll probably just stick 'em in a hazmat suit or something.

In the Port at the next island

You: *finally feeling better*

Hongo: I'm going to go refill my herb stores, I'll be back before dusk. *kisses you on the forehead, and presents his to you*

You: do I have to? I'm still sure this is how I got sick in the first place.

Hongo: *pulls out a pack of disposable alcohol pads, disinfects his forehead, and presents it again*

You: *sighs, but gives him a peck anyway* Buy more disinfectant while you're out, since y'all have convinced yourselves that I'm magic.

Hongo: *nods and walks down the gangplank to the dock*

Benn: We haven't decided you're magic, you know.

You: Oh really? Because you act like the world will crush you if you leave without me pressing my lips to your forehead.

Benn: It's not like that, it *growls in frustration*... we've noticed a pattern and most of us would rather not risk breaking that pattern. Okay, so suck it up and pucker up *pointing at his forehead and giving you his serious face*

You: *slaps one of the alcohol pads at his face.* Clean your oily forehead of yours first, I ain't gonna kiss it when it's clammy and gross.

Yassop: *laughs* you might need to give him two, since he's got such a big ass head.

Benn: *scoffs* Your forehead is bigger than mine, and where are you going?

Yassop: Deviating from the pattern, later. * steps off the gang plank and falls through the first dock plank he steps on, hitting his balls on the support beam, and gets slapped in the face by the other end of the plank before falling into the ocean*

The Crew present: *groan in sympathy as they protectively cup their own genitals*

Benn: dumbass

You: he doesn't learn, does he?

Shanks: Not quickly, he'll need to hurt himself a few times before it clicks.

You: ....we should make bets

Benn: two thousand on him falling down a flight of stairs next.

Shanks: You're on.

You: that's awful... and wrong, he's gonna get attacked by something in the water, and I'll bet ten thousand on it.

Coming Soon

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece scenario #one piece imagine #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #akagami no shanks #red hair shanks #benn beckman #yassop #hongo #hongou one piece #one piece hongo #red hair pirates #from the depths of the dragon's hoard #tma original #4/28/23 #no beta we die like men

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theoceansluvr · 4 months ago

Text

Percy Jackson x Soccer Player! Reader

warnings; yet again, injuries but not major ! author's notes; oh how i love doing requests ! :33 hope this is up to regular standard for the lovely anon that asked for it :D sorry if this wasn't as long as usual too-

first off, shout out to all the sports playing gals that keep requesting things !!

hope y'all are having fun in your sports whatever it may be :D

anywho

literally a tier practice buddy !

has crazy good reflexes and his kicks are strong as God knows what

another sport he is utterly clueless about so please explain the rules to him😭

messi fan. that's it, that's true headcanon

you have a lil tradition so that for every goal you make, you get a kiss !

it's a win-win situation because you get to score and he gets kissed

perfect deal in his eyes

probably really loud in the stands

not even probably he IS

you've probably kicked him in the nose with a ball before

it resulted in a very long apology session followed and an entire box of tissues used to help with the bloody nose

still a ref booer because "You didn't even mean to foul !" or whatever his excuse is

on that not, has definitely booed somebody for tripping you

it could be a complete accident and bro is still "BOOOO YOU SUCK !!"

he watches your games with you so you know what to practice

plays coach and draws drills and play for you

got insane flashbacks to blue lock when this was requested SOOOO

let's say you injury yourself and can't play

if it's a tear or pull, he's literally doing everything for you so you don't hurt yourself again

maybe a little more scared of you not being able to play again than you are.. only maybe because gods does having to quit your sport over an injury suck

(i lost it when i had to quit volleyball so i know that fear)

once you get better he helps you ease back into it because he'd be an idiot if he let you get hurt again

as if you don't have the same mindset, but you appreciate the help !

like i said I'm the basketball player one, soccer themed hoco/promposal

he's corny but you gotta love him !

takes you to all the local games so you can explain why that play way good or why it wasn't

still has no clue what you're talking about but you're too passionate for him to tell you that

like i said last time PEAK SPORTS COUPLE bc wdym the star kid on the swim team and the star player on the soccer team are dating !?

everybody wishes they were y'all im afraid 🙏🏾

to wrap this all up (my apologies for the shortness T^T i hope it was still good anon) he's your #1 supporter and will be there from high school till you go pro <9

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #percy jackson #pjo #pjo hoo toa #poems from the sea

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thisapplepielife · 4 months ago

Text

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Louisiana Rain

Day #20 - Under the Covers | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: E | CW: Sex, Brief Mentions of Past Trauma/Loss | POV: Gareth | Pairing: Gareth/Di (OC) | Tags: Future Fic, Established Relationship, Marriage, Post-Corroded Coffin, Gareth & Eddie are BFFs, Traveling Sucks, Delayed Flights, Coming Home, That Middle of the Night Quiet

This is set in the same 'verse as Tuesday's/Wildflowers, but is standalone.

He drops his bag at the front door and toes off his shoes, first one, then the other. Nudging them under the bench so they're out of the way. It's late. Way later than he should be tonight, but flight delay after flight delay has made this damn day hours longer than it was supposed to be.

That cut into his days off, which fucking sucks. He loves touring, loves being on the road, but that's only because he can balance it with time at home. Because there's nothing more important, definitely not the music industry. It'll chew you up and spit you out, in the blink of an eye.

He's still learning, still growing up, but that? That he knows. He learned it hard and fast in the woods of Louisiana at twenty-five. Plane crashed, friends and band, gone. He learned it at twenty-three, car being searched, drugs seized, sitting in the back of a podunk cop car.

He's thirty now, but feels somehow both older and younger at the same time.

It's pretty late, but Gareth dials Eddie's number, intending to let it ring once, and then hang up. That's their signal that he's home, that his plane landed, that he's fine.

But the line connects immediately, "You're late."

Gareth laughs, "Tell me about it. I didn't think I was ever getting out of the airport today."

Eddie makes a sound, a clucking noise with his tongue, so Gareth reassures him, "I'm fine. Just several delays. Nothing else to report."

He could tell him that he was stranded in the airport in Baton Rouge for six hours, but there's no sense in riling him up. Looking down over the trees as they finally took off, he couldn't know if they were actually flying over where their plane went down, their lives permanently changed, but it still felt slightly uncomfortable and if he squeezed the armrests extra tight, nobody would know but him.

"Okay," Eddie finally says, "see you tomorrow, kid."

It's not a question, but it doesn't need to be, because of course he wants to see Eddie.

Eddie doesn't say anything else, and the line goes dead.

Gareth wanted to say it's already tomorrow, turn Eddie's constant refrain back on him, but everybody knows it doesn't count unless you've slept, so Gareth isn't about to argue with him. Not if Eddie's finally come around to Gareth's way of thinking.

Gareth goes into the guest bathroom, not wanting to wake her, but needing to wash the plane off of him, all the same. And when he crawls into bed, under the covers, hair wet, but feeling much more like himself, she slides her arm over his waist.

"You finally made it," Di says. He'd called from every airport he'd been stuck in, a snowballed disaster of a day. It could have been fixed by chartering a private plane or a smaller aircraft, but there are rules Gareth follows, superstitions, and if he had to wait for the jet, he had to wait for the jet.

"Eddie called. Twice," Di says around a yawn, and Gareth laughs. Of course he did. Of course Eddie knew he was running late, and why, but still had to pick up and give him shit about it.

"Yeah, he picked up when I called," Gareth says.

She smiles against his chest, "He was worried. Even if I told him you were fine, just annoyed."

Eddie worries. It's what he does. Gareth can't blame him.

She slides her hand down his stomach, grazing the elastic band of his boxer briefs, "Too tired…or?"

He's never too tired for that, and he laughs, "I think I could be persuaded."

She laughs, and hooks her leg over his thighs, sliding on top of him. Palming him through his underwear.

"Let me do all the work," she says, and he grinds up into her hand, through the fabric between them.

He lifts his hips, helping her as she pulls his boxers off, tossing them over the side of the bed.

"Di," he breathes out, and then she lifts up her hips, and sinks down on him. Holy shit.

He was expecting some foreplay, expecting to go down on her first, and he definitely wasn't expecting her to be this goddamn wet.

He arches up, tilting his head back on the pillow.

"Goddamn," he breathes out, and she giggles.

He slides his hands up under the old t-shirt she's wearing, something he'd stolen from Eddie in another lifetime, and grips both of her hips, and feels his wedding ring pinch and dig into his other fingers as he squeezes. It's been five years, and he still can't believe she actually agreed to marry him.

She grinds down onto his dick, setting the pace, the angle, and he's really just along for the ride, here. Not that he has any complaints about that. It's not gonna take long, not for either of them, and that's okay. That's not what tonight is, they'll have time for that later, before he catches the next plane.

And he's right, she comes quickly, easily, clenching down on him, squeezing, pulsing and he follows her over the edge. Forcing his hips upwards, taking her up off the bed with him, as he comes.

She stays seated on his cock, leaning forward, laying against him. Her hands find both of his cheeks, holding his face. He trails his fingers up and down her spine, gently as he goes soft in her body. It's gonna be a mess if it all leaks back out onto him, but he really doesn't care.

She's the best thing that ever happened to him, and he still worries he might be the worst that ever happened to her, sometimes. He knows that's not true, not now. Water under the bridge, but the thought still worries him, poking the sore spots, from time to time, under the cover of night.

"I love you," he says, and she squeezes him tighter.

He's home.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

#corrodedcoffinfest #prompt twenty: under the covers #gareth stranger things #eddie munson #corroded coffin fic #ccf day twenty: under the covers #gareth fic #gareth (stranger things)#gareth & eddie #thisapplepielife: corrodedcoffinfest #thisapplepielife: short fic #wildflowers...and all the rest

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klausinamarink · 10 months ago

Text

Behind The Horizon

rating: T | cw: none | wc: 751 | tags: Annihilation AU, established relationship, vaguely post-canon | prompt: Love is being terrified but not letting that stop you from taking a leap

written for @steddielovemonth, the Annihilation au was inspired by @flowercrowngods's idea

The horizon was on fire.

That was Eddie's first knee-jerk reaction every time he looked outside and his eyes landed on the rippling screen of kaleidoscopic colours. Maybe it was because of the faint wisps curling up and disappearing to the sky like what a smoking fire would do. Maybe it was the way how both ends of the fortification expanded across the landscape with no end on either side.

Fortification. It wasn't technically the right word to call the Shimmer but Eddie kept referring to it as such. It felt more appropriate with how it had appeared out of the blue, completely surrounding the corpse of Hawkins as it had slowly expanded over the years. (Owens said it would be probably two years before the zone reached Indianapolis) Fires that burn and grow infinitely would have to be protecting something on the other side, inside the heart of its newfound castle.

Something that had made Steve into a comatose vessel several floors below Eddie's feet.

"I hope you have made your decision already, Mr. Munson." Owens said, suddenly appearing at his side.

Eddie stared a minute longer at the Shimmer until he could see the multicoloured gleams behind his eyelids. He sucked in a dry breath before he responded, "The deadline's still the same?"

"Fourteen hours from now."

He could still run away. He could still take whatever government-mandated brainwashing machine so he could forget about the new horrors of whatever the Upside Down was brewing next. If it was even the Upside Down. The Shimmer was too beautiful and entrancing to come from a hell dimension of monsters.

But he would end up returning to the same position he was in several days ago, wondering where Steve went and when he would come back home.

Eddie sighed, "Okay."

He was allowed to visit Steve one last time, three and half hours before the expedition. Eddie mechanically passed through the hissing plastic doors of the quarantine room, but he was ready to weep by the time he finally reached Steve's side. He wasn't allowed to touch Steve in case his unknown illness was skin-transferred, but Eddie never followed the rules. Besides, he was going to walk into an unknown area with several strangers and old faces that might last months.

Gently, he clasped his hand around Steve's. He almost expected his fiance to tighten the hold but Steve's fingers remained unmoved.

This finally broke Eddie.

He fell to his knees, keeping his hand on Steve as Eddie buried his face into the thin itchy blankets next to Steve's thigh. Quiet sobs racked his body. When a few escaped from his lips, it felt more like he was about to throw up.

"What am I doing?" Eddie pleaded, more to himself than to the silence in the room. He wished Steve could say something. That this would be the moment from the romance dramas where the love interest would open their eyes and whisper something corny like, "How about a kiss to make me feel better?"

Steve's eyes never opened.

But he was still breathing. Eddie watched his chest's rise and fall through teary eyes. He listened carefully to the faint hissing of oxygen and the heart monitor's monotonous beeping as if either machine would reveal their secrets to waking Steve up. His eyes wandered back to the other man's face, which had already paled and sunken more than the last time Eddie had seen him. Awful as he looked, it was better than coughing up bouts of blood after one sip of water.

Eddie doesn't care about his appearance. He always loved Steve, no matter how sick and greasy he looked. He doesn't want to forget his face if he were to face his overdue death on the other side of the fortification.

"When I come back, you better be awake." Eddie whispered as he started to kiss Steve's fingers, lingering on each one of the joints so he could taste and feel the faint pulse under the cold skin.

It was early in the morning when the expedition set out.

Eddie was already drenched with sweat before they started trekking to the Shimmer. Now that he was this close than ever, he could hear the growing thrumming of the fortification. Every inch of his body was screaming for him to turn around and run.

But he was too close.

As Eddie stepped through the iridescent barrier, it felt more like he had leapt off the edge into the abyss.

#klaus writes #steddie #stranger things #steddielovemonth

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fllagellant · 3 months ago

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14 + 19 for antioch & theris 15 + 21 for estel + hivaris :3

:33 THANK UUU … my boys ..

ask game here !!

14. who are they closest to from their family?

HmmmMM . Theris is probably his Keeper first .. then mother second #mamasboy . He was an only child since his mother couldn’ t have another child after him . So she doted Heavily on him and the Keeper was like . The third parental figure . His relationship with his dad is fine but he isn’ t the man Theris would go to if he needs serious advice yknow …. His dad also isn’ t a fan of how Theris is setting up his life pre inquisition . The whole Herald’ s Bodyguard thing almost makes him have a heart attack

Antioch is his younger siblings … two very young kids who he is both the cool older brother too and also the overbearing parent to . Yes you can ride the halla . Yes you can come watch me hunt . Dont you DARE pick up those skinning tools you WILL hurt yourself are you kidding me . Stand in the corner I am not arguing with you . He has that ‘ motherly instinct ‘ that also doesn’t work 9/10 but when it does …. He just loves his baby siblings so much and wants to be the person they’ ll feel comfortable talking to as they age

19. are they afraid of death?

Yes . But not their own … kinda . Both Theris and Antioch have sorta signed themselves onto this idea of duty and both of them understand that sacrifice may be required blah blah blah but that also doesn’ t mean the idea of the Other having to die for this cause doesn’ t make them feel Awful Things . + Antioch’ s whole thing is being the overreaching protector of His people . And His people right now are the inner circle + the inquisition at large . Therefore he Has to kill to keep them from dying . It’ s chill if he does tho !!! But it isn’ t bc Theris is one funeral away from learning necromancy,

It’ s a cycle of no They can’ t die . I can tho . But not them

15. preferred weapon of choice?

Estel loooove evil nightmare and blood magic but idk if that counts as a weapon . But big and intricate staves ? Yes please !!! Even better if it has a stabbing end !!!

Hivaris has homoerotic tension with every 2 handed maul he comes across . Every problem is a nail , and well ,

21. what is their biggest regret?

This one is so difficult I dont know Why . Earlier on it might have been Becoming a Grey Warden for both of them . But that does not last .. even with the sheer amount of drawbacks …

Estel regrets how the Circle formed them … if that makes sense .. made him bitter and ingrained both that instinct to follow orders and also the instinct to rebel against any sort of rule so it’ s just like . Well . I also think a part of them regrets not dying with the Archdemon but not really … unless ? Haha what if I prove everyone wrong and go down in a blaze of blood and glory and mark the word as an apostate and an elf that saved this shitty , shitty place . But then Estel looks in a mirror like nvm people need to Suffer me more

Hivaris . Okay I think his biggest regret he is conscious of is not being able to help his sister sooner . Like he does , sure , but he hates that it took so long for him to be able to do Anything for her , in his eyes . Also visiting her when he was a grey warden too like damn … maybe I should have avoided going home now she’ s just gonna worry about me . But subconsciously ? I think he regrets doing the ritual with Morrigan . After the fact it is that tug of guilt that she’ s going off Alone to birth and raise a kid that Is His . Like wow #absentfather … this sucks . He doesn’ t try to think about it because it was a ritual to trap the soul of the arch demon but its still a baby boy and everything that is His son at the end of the day

#:333 #dragon age #antioch #theris #estel #hivaris

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lorata · 2 years ago

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Speaking of the evil witch Gloria, how long was D homeless for? (I know she basically kicked him out in August but I don't remember when the Centre found out) Also Eibhlin would definitely resort to violence if she ever found out about what happened, but, did she ever find out? (Wait now that I think about it, that was probably included in his file right) Did you ever write out Lyme's initial reaction to his file? Like what stood out and made her go "this one, this right here is mine"? (Sorry about the amount of questions!)

he was homeless for just under 6 months? she kicked him out in August and he was picked up sometime in winter

I feel like Eibhlin would have found out eventually, probably when inquiring (tactfully) about Claudius' respiratory issues as he's the only one in the VV with chronic bronchitis. and he's like oh yeah yeah that goes back to when I was homeless as a kid, shit sucked

(eibhlin: kill bill sirens)

re: the last question, I DID write that for a prompt meme uhhhhh *checks math* sweet mercy, 10 years ago

I did not clean this up or anything but have a deep cut.

FIC BELOW:

Mentors tended to be a superstitious bunch; when dealing with the death of a tribute year after year after year, sometimes it was easier to pretend that at least some of it was up to a higher power that only needed to be appeased by wearing certain shoes, or not washing socks, or using a particular headset. Lyme never bothered with any of that; to her it felt more like courting bad luck, the exact opposite of the intention. What happened if that lucky mug broke, if something interrupted the prescribed routine?

No. Sitting and watching her kids die was bad enough without adding additional blame on herself because she didn't follow a particular ritual. Brutus didn't do it either -- no room for the supernatural when there were rules -- and the two of them let the others keep their habits. Everyone pretended not to notice anyway, and while Lyme didn't approve exactly, she still knew not to touch the coffee cup with the cracked handle if Chaff had a tribute last the bloodbath, and if she did a food run she only ever brought Wiress orange vegetables.

But Lyme wasn't completely immune, no matter how much she tried. Rather than enforced habits and catering to the capricious whim of luck, Lyme believed in something else: that tributes and mentors were meant to be, and that the spark of recognition should come soon, and strong.

It made mentoring harder than she'd like -- Brutus puts that kind of thought away until after he has a victor to look after, no point in going for mysticism when it just means that four times out of five they're destined for death -- but Lyme can't help it. Years and years ago, back when she first picked up a weapon in the training centre, Lyme felt her connection with swords like a jolt of lightning straight down her spine. Picking a tribute had that same moment of connection, of feeling right.

Other people, people with facile thoughts who didn't have to help children do their best not to die every year, might call it like falling in love at first sight. In a way it was, only so much more important than love; Lyme had never been in love, never wished for it and would be happy if it never afflicted her, but her tributes -- that mattered. Even if she only had them for a month or less.

The 67th Games are up next, and Lyme puts her name in for the boys. She loves Misha and would never take any of that back, but her first victor excepted, Lyme has always connected better with the boys, the angrier the better. She doesn't bother asking why; let the mentor analysts try to dredge up her psychological profile, but Lyme doesn't care. If ever a girl catches her fancy she'll take it, but the math favours the boys. Brutus and Nero take most of the girls anyway; Lyme does wonder, when she lets her mind go down that road, whether cross-sex mentoring is a kind of penance, since in order for them to stand here in the victors' box another Two got shipped home in a box of their own.

Teyla, the Head Trainer, hands Lyme the stack of files for the short list. "Here," she says. "We have a couple of strong candidates this year."

She doesn't tell Lyme which; they never do, preferring to see if the mentor's instinct lines up with the Centre testing. It usually does, though on occasion there have been surprises. Lyme picks up the first file -- a large, handsome boy named Raymon -- and flips through it. Good scores, of course, and his photos show him alternating between a winning smile and the typical Career scowl of intimidation. Lyme taps her finger against the table, then sets the file aside.

The next one's name is Linder, and Lyme pauses longer on this one -- he's meaner than Raymon, who uses size rather than meanness, and he nearly got cut for excessive violence in his field exam, gutting his final target and spreading the insides out over the grass -- and moves him up into the maybe pile before going on to the next.

The next file is three times the size of Linder's, and Lyme's eyebrows skyrocket. Teyla chuckles at her expression. "Yeah, we have a lot on this one. See what you think."

Lyme flips open the cover, glancing at the name -- Claudius, a good name, solid and Two without being on the nose -- and she leafs through to the photos before skidding to a stop. She sucks in a breath against the sudden ache in her chest, like she stopped a punch from Brutus with nothing more than her torso.

"Ah," Teyla says quietly. "I wondered if you'd pick him."

The seven-year-old who stares out at her from the page is ugly, as Centre children go; there's a note that says he doesn't pass the looks requirement but shows enough determination to allow for an exception at this stage. He has a sharp, crooked nose and dark grey eyes, and his expression is defiant and challenging, chin raised. But there's something in his eyes, a desperation that pinches them at the corners and shakes the hard line of his mouth, and Lyme recognizes it because she saw it on her own face, over twenty years ago.

This is not a boy who showed up to the Centre for the promise of good food and rough play, or who had the choice of attending or being expelled from school, or who wanted the status so he could brag to his friends about having the bracelet around his wrist. This is a boy who saw the Centre as a lifeline, and who, if they didn't take him, would have drowned.

Lyme swallows and turns the page. As the years pass he doesn't get any prettier -- worse, even, as the awkward stage of puberty takes what baby fat he had in his cheeks and makes him lean and almost rat-faced before his teenage years fill him out -- and the desperation doesn't fade. Each year it blazes out of him so fiercely Lyme almost expects it to radiate off the page like physical heat. He knows why he's here, what he needs to do, and he is going to do it.

If his scores weren't impressive then he wouldn't be on the list at all, but even so, Lyme's eyebrows creep back up her forehead. Top of his class in everything from weapons to endurance to media training, and he only has three kills to his name because the trainers didn't need to see any more. Even Lyme had four, their memories burned into her wrist in circles of scarlet ink.

In his hallucination test, when the trainers pumped him full of tracker jacker venom to see what they could dredge from the depths of his psyche, Claudius saw himself alone, unwanted. Lyme lets out a long breath and places her hands flat down on the table.

"What's the rest of it?" she asks, indicating the giant stack of pages.

"Just go through it," Teyla says, and Lyme gives her a look before moving on.

Foster records. Lyme hisses -- Two's system might not be the best but it's better than most, and almost all the kids placed into homes by the Centre are happy with their families -- because Claudius' file shows him bounced from home to home in unprecedented numbers. The foster families didn't want him; the group homes didn't want him. Each file is filled with complaints, of violence, jealousy, bouts of rage.

The final note is a form granting Claudius dispensation to live in the Centre dorms -- in Residential, with the fourteens and over -- from the age of seven. Lyme turns the paper over, stares at it and rereads it five times because that can't be right. No one has ever been given leave to stay in the dorms early, except for this boy. He grew up in the thick of it, surrounded by kids who'd taken their first kill -- when most kids his age were still getting used to playing dodgeball and not getting in trouble for breaking noses.

"He had massive behavioural issues," Teyla says, and Lyme reads through his psychological evaluations ever year and sees the same thing. "One of the neediest candidates we've had. We tried sending him home several times, giving him the chance to leave, but he wouldn't take it. He begged to stay, for us to let him volunteer."

Lyme frowns. "What happened to make him latch so hard?"

Teyla rifles through the pages and hands Lyme an incident report, then watches her carefully and nods as Lyme hisses in a sharp breath and grits her teeth. Allegations of abuse against his birth mother, including emotional cruelty and physical abandonment; she left him on the streets when he was seven, and the Centre didn't find out for almost six months. Since then, the file notes, Claudius developed a strong mother complex, drawn to female trainers who had children at home, though it didn't stop him from achieving a high pass on his first kill, a woman specifically chosen because she'd had children.

It's been a decade and a half since Lyme last saw her father, and her memories of him have faded to a dull sludge of discomfort and vague, swirling nausea in the back of her mind, but she remembers the feeling. How it felt to be a kid whose parents didn't love her, who learned to defend herself because she had to, and who turned to the one place that wouldn't punish her for turning into the only person she could in order to survive.

Lyme has already made up her mind, but she keeps going. There's a supplemental file marked for hers and the Head Trainer's eyes only, and Lyme hesitates for a moment before opening it. It's a sheaf of papers from his schools, starting from the year Claudius entered the Program and going on until he left at the age of thirteen, and Lyme can't remember the last time any candidate's file included anything other than academics.

She gets it as soon as she opens it to the first page, a 100-word essay entitled "My Favourite Victor".

My favourite Victor is Lyme, Claudius wrote in his large, childish handwriting, and he misspelled several words and mixed up letters like d and b fairly consistently, but Lyme reads on. I saw her Games last year. That's when I knew I wanted to be a Victor. Lyme isn't pretty but she's smart. Most other Victors are pretty but I like her because she's not. Because I'm not and people make fun of me but she's not and no one makes fun of her. So if Lyme can be a Victor and be not pretty then I can be not pretty and do great things too. I want to win the Hunger Games and then we can be friends and no one will hurt me ever again.

"There's more," Teyla says, and Lyme turns over the pages and sees that Claudius wrote about her for every essay he could get away with it. She's his favourite Victor, his role model, his hero, his vote for most influential person from District Two. There are crayon drawings of the two of them together, and Lyme recognizes herself even as a stick figure, hair cropped and arm muscles bulging.

By the end of the file Lyme is shaking, and she pushes it away and takes several long breaths. Her first instinct is to say no, to choose Raymon and be done with it because there have been supply delays and a handful of small uprisings all over Panem in the wake of Johanna Mason's victory and that means this year will be different. There's been no word but there's always something, a nastier Arena or an unusual twist, when the Capitol wants to send a message, and Lyme doesn't want to send this kid -- this desperate, broken boy who latched on to the Victors' Village as the only place that would ever love him -- to his death. He thinks he knows what he's doing, but like all of them, he has no idea.

Except. Except there's record of a conversation he had with one of the trainers, where he said that if they cut him he would kill himself because he had nothing else to live for. Lyme could still say no, and the Centre has this on file which means he'd be sent to an asylum on suicide watch until they could deprogram him, but even the thought of it burns in her like a swipe from a poisoned blade.

She can't say no. Not to those eyes, angry and desperate and doing their best to hide the dark flash of hope and greed. Not to this boy, who by all rights should have been trampled years ago but who still stands there, top of his class, and demands that the world pay attention.

"I want him," Lyme says, and she's surprised -- except not -- that her voice rasps hoarse in her throat.

"He'll be a challenge," Teyla says. "His looks alone will limit the kind of role he's able to play, regardless of what the Games require."

"I don't care. He's mine."

Teyla's mouth twitches up in a hint of a smile, and she nods. "I'll put you on the list for his mentor and tell the trainers. The decision will go out next month, but we'll keep the mentors from him until just before the Reaping. I'm not confident in his emotional state if he knows he's getting you."

Lyme nods. She signs the paperwork without recalling much of what she's doing, and when she leaves she has to fight the urge to run back inside, grab Claudius and pull him out, take him back to the Village with her, Games be damned. She doesn't; instead she scrawls her signature across the bottom of the page that signs his death warrant.

His eyes stick with her, burning in the back of her mind, long after she leaves the Centre and the gates of the Victors' Village close behind her.

#lorata answers #anonymous #we must be killers: tales from district 2 #oc: claudius #my writing

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labradork · 1 year ago

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I'm so frustrated. Rant under the cut.

So I guess I'd say Milo is dog selective. He went through a phase of barking and lunging at bigger dogs, and especially GSDs, which we worked through. But when he meets dogs, it's like a 50/50 chance that he'll get along with them or suddenly tense up and snap. And I think that's because of experiences he's had in the past: twice now we've had off-lead dogs run up to us, get right in Milo's face and then attack him completely unprovoked. On his first birthday three mastiff-looking dogs started fighting him at my feet, and I had to drop his lead and watch them chase him. Luckily he wasn't physically hurt but it was fucking traumatic, for both of us. Even after that he was okay until something similar happened in the woods near our house. After that he developed reactivity to bigger dogs, which we spent a lot of time and effort working through, and now he can comfortably pass dogs as long as they aren't right in his face.

So while I'd love for him to meet and befriend every dog we see, I made the decision to not let him meet strange dogs on walks because I don't think it's worth the risk of him snapping. I mostly take him to on-lead parks or walk him along busy roads to avoid meeting off-lead dogs for this reason.

So today at the on-lead park (on-lead because it's a habitat for several native birds, and this is clearly signposted around the park) probably 90% of the dogs we saw were off-lead. And some of them were calmly walking alongside their owner and left us alone. Fine.

We got to one of the car parks and someone opened a car door and a cocker spaniel started running at us. She was small and wasn't the type of dog Milo usually has a problem with but like I said, I don't like to take the risk. I called over to be careful because he isn't friendly and they tried and failed to recall her while I moved away.

We take opposite directions around the loop and eventually meet again, and again their dog runs up to Milo and ignores their recall. The dog is right beside us before I can move away and I don't have a lot of choice this time - and they greeted each other and were fine, which I had kinda suspected would be the case, and the other owners said he seemed fine and I explained that having been attacked in the past he can get scared when dogs run at him and he's on the lead, and that I just avoid meeting all dogs to avoid the risk. I say it's frustrating because sometimes he is friendly but I don't want to put other dogs at risk.

The guy nods and seems sympathetic but the lady starts telling me about the wonders of Cesar Milan and how she's trained her dog perfectly by hitting her when she misbehaves. She tries to demonstrate her perfectly trained dog by pointing down at her side and telling the dog to sit. Her dog ignores her. Milo moves to her side and sits. She continues explaining how her dog is perfectly trained and I need to "be tough" and "show him I'm the boss" and beat him. I suck at conflict so I just keep nodding til she runs out of things to say, then say it was nice to meet them and leave.

I constantly feel guilty that Milo isn't like "normal" dogs. I worry that I'm just too anxious, that I did something wrong or am doing something wrong. I wish I cared less so I could let my dog run around the woods and get in fights and act like it's not my fault like people have done to us. Part of me feels ridiculous and overdramatic, but another part of me has seen Milo be attacked and seen him snap at other dogs and I just don't want to break up another fucking dog fight on a quiet walk on my day off. I'm running out of places where I can safely walk my dog without constantly worrying about other people's dogs.

Mostly I'm angry. MY dog is on a lead. I'm FOLLOWING THE RULES. And other people treat me like an idiot because they aren't. It feels unfair. And I feel stupid for expecting fairness. And I'm sick of people who don't know what they're talking about telling me to hit my dog because that was NOT the first time I've been given that advice by someone with no control over their own dog and it makes me fucking sick.

#rant #personal #if anyone wants to give advice pls be gentle #because im really trying my best #reactive dog

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soulsxng · 1 year ago

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Rules, tag 10 followers you want to get to know better!

Tagged by: @sansloii Tagging: steal it from me!

Name: Aya, Riah, Rai-rai. I noticed there's a lot of people that pronounce Aya like...(the letter) A-yah, but it's actually Ai-yah. Riah is Rai-ah.

Star Sign: Sagittarius sun, Libra moon, Cancer rising!

Height: 5'9" (I shrank a little, weh.)

Middle name: It's a secret c: I'll just say that it's a super common one.

Put your itunes/spotify/youtube on shuffle. What are the first 6 songs that popped up? (*puts the bigass master youtube playlist on shuffle and shrugs tbh*)

Mon.ster H.unter: World - V.aal Ha.zak theme (FalKKonE metal arrange)

La La Latch (Pentatonix)

The Reverberation Ensemble (StudioEIM)

Requiem (Chogakusei cover)

Kisaragi Station (nqrse)

Put Your Records On (Corinne Bailey Rae)

Ever had a poem or song written about you: I have, a few times! When we were still in elementary school, my little bro wrote a poem about me for class. And then I had a group of friends write a song about me when I was in high school (I had been dealing with The Big C at the time and was in the hospital, and they wrote it to cheer me up. It made me cry orz)

When was the last time you played air guitar: I'm more of a random dancing/wiggling randomly when music is playing type. Oh! Actually, it was a few weeks ago, because I was messing with my little sister while I was visiting her at work. That was an air banjo though, from an inside joke I have with my siblings.

Who is your celebrity crush?: I don't think I have one? That feels like a cop out though, so I'll say that I'm a big fan of Ol.an Ro.gers? He's hilarious. Me, my wife, and a few of our friends got to meet him last year actually, and it was a lot of fun!

What’s a sound you hate; sound you love?: FUCKIN-- okay so there's a lot of bad sounds out there, but one that has been a pet peeve of mine for a long time? People chewing with their mouth open, or sucking on their teeth a lot. OH, ALSO SUPER HIGH PITCHED NOISES. Like when movies and stuff play that like...tinnitus noise sometimes?

As for a sound I like, uh...it's sort of hard to explain, but sometimes when you hear people singing a harmony, if the voices line up perfectly, you can naturally hear what's called an overtone. I might have to look for a video or something, but essentially, you can hear a pitch the next octave up from one of the harmonized notes even though nobody is singing it. It's super cool, and gives me goosebumps every time. It occurs in instrumental harmonies too, iirc?

Do you believe in ghosts?: Kinda? I guess it depends on the circumstance.

How about aliens: I mean, yeah. I think it's scarier to believe that we're the only planet out there with intelligent life and whatnot on it, than to believe that there's others out there that we just haven't encountered, yet. Also, the odds of that are just astronomically low anyway.

Do you drive?: I do! Where I live, it'd be kind of impossible to not have either me or Kei able to do so. Plus I just enjoy it overall, most of the time.

if so have you ever crashed: Nope! I've been driving for like 13 years now (started a little before I turned 15, shhh), and haven't had any accidents.

What was the last book you read?: Uhhh I think it was MDZS book...5? Whichever one just released earlier this month. Otherwise, it was The Starless Crown.

Do you like the smell of gasoline: Diesal, nah. It makes me gag. Regular gas...eh. I'm indifferent to it. Unless it's rancid gasoline, in which case, it also makes me gag.

What was the last movie you saw?: ...I think it was the D&D movie? I'm gonna be honest, I watch very little tv, and very few movies.

What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?: I guess it would be from when I was in like 9th grade? I was sledding with some friends, and we were at this massive hill, having fun and being stupid. It was fine, but there was part of the hill that the snow plows liked to push snow from the parking lot into. So there was a big snow pile off to the side, and because I'm in a state known for the bitter cold, these piles might as well have been-- as I referred to them when I was a teenager-- small glaciers lmao.

Anyway, random fun fact, but the average sled speed on a decently sized hill is like 20mph. (can't remember where I learned that though so don't quote me on it) This hill was especially steep, so I want to say that I was going even faster than that, I got bumped into by one of my friends about 3/4ths of the way down, and slammed into the of one of these frozen slowplow piles full force before I could stop myself or roll off the sled. I hit the entire right side of my body, but mostly my thigh.

The resulting bruise was so severe (It was a bone-deep bruise over most of it. The doctor that saw me afterwards thought I had been in a car crash!), that if you were to touch my right thigh even now, you can still feel the muscular scarring it left. Yeah though, it's from like...just a little above my knee, to just below my hip.

Do you have any obsessions right now?: Probably Eld.en R.ing. I've been on and off of obsession with that since it came out, and obviously rn is one of those "on" periods! Singing is always an obsession of mine, same with dog stuff (specifically training/behavior/health related stuff), aaaand...worldbuilding stuff. Like the deep, almost scientific worldbuilding stuff that I probably won't have any reason to share with anyone else, but will randomly babble at Kei about while she's captive in my car and my mind has clung to one idea in particular.

#[What's she getting us into now? -ooc-]#(You can't tell that I'm in a talkative mood today at all jfc #Yeah as for my playlists though #I tend to have them a lot more separated #and then have one 'master' playlist that I shove everything from all of my playlists into #that I usually use when I can't figure out what kind of music my brain is itching for atm #there's a little bit of everything on there tbh)

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bofetada-de-conos-goteandos · 2 months ago

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My wife has some pictures that men took with her at time when she was be a whore.

Some favorite is this two where she is having her dress pulled down expose for her tits and her little dress is pulling up all together at her waist so her ass and pussy are exposing to the camera. She have her face and tits press down on the ground and her hand are spreading her little pussy and ass open right there in car park for some small shops. Other one is her naked walking out of a room behind a bar. Both are from same guy on same day.

The first one happen second in the day and is have some people and business and all sort of cars in the back and she is with her pussy and ass spread for to see.

So the story of this the guy told to her that he like punish girls by expose of them in public way. He not like spanking or other things. He like to give direction to girls and them to be very obey if him and if they not to do things exactly the right ways he punish them with humiliating public exposing them and doing some public sex things.

So she is not very very experience about these things and agrees to this and did not make very many rules about doing this. She say she not being expose to children or to police or at any place where she is identity known or recorded by security cameras.

So thing for this guy is he tell to her he is to give her instruction and then pretend like he giving her different instruction so she is getting in trouble because she is doing the instructions he give her and pretend he did not give these instruction for her. So she is never know what the rule are and he always to say she did not follow the rule and is now to get punish for it. I’m not explain for this very good but I think is good enough. Is word gaslighting my wife say and say nobody say these word back then and this is what the thing he was get off about doing is call now todays.

I forget exact all of things but he is saying to her lots of thing like her wear pants and t shirt. Then he pick her up and she is wearing pants and t shirt. So after she is in the car he makes for her to take off all her clothes and he is driving around and she is naked. He say to her what kind of silly whore wear pants and t shirt when being picked up? He say to her when she is naked she need to kneel in her seat and suck his dick and she is with her ass and pussy pointing at her window during this dick sucking time. He is drive very slow next to semi trucks for most of this time. She say his dick is very nice and very hard. She is exciting by his confuse about her this way of dress the wrong way and gaslight her and now she is naked and sucking the dick in the car these way.

Then he tell her to put on there is dress he have in glove compartment for in case if some silly whore need it.

She put it on and it is probably he thinks is very tiny dress and silly looking except she is very tiny girl and so dress is very good fitting for on her. She think he is not happy and was hope for it is looking too small on to her and she going around with too small dress was going to be excite him for to have she is to do.

So he say they go to bar next. He plays darts game and this guy at the bar is somebody he knows very good. Manager is or maybe owner I don’t remember. So he is play darts with this guy and because it is early there is only like two other people there. My wife is not 21 but they give her some alcohol drink and they play the darts games. She is excite about being drink if alcohol at bar without have being 21.

The guy comes over and tell my wife she is drinking his drink and he have to teach her lesson about drinking his drink. He tell her show his friend who have the bar to see her tits. She expose tits for him. Then he says for her why are you showing your tits in a bar like a whore? He says it very loud and everybody looks. Then he says if you are want to behave like whore you show your pussy. Every silly whore know that showing they pussy is what everyone want to see.

She looks around and sees everyone is looking at her. Slowly she is show her pussy to the friend of the bar.

The guy who bring them there says guys over there want see your pussy now and point at a table and two guys who are look at her.

He say to them do you want to see her pussy?

They say sure and the guy says for her to go to they table and show two guys her pussy. Tell them is ok for touch if they want for touch.

So she walk to the table and lifts her tiny dress up. She say to the men they can touch if they want. One guy says for sure and puts his hand of her pussy. He says to her she is a naughty girl letting a dirty old man touching her pussy. He rub his wedding ring finger all over her pussy and pushes his wedding finger inside her. He say to her she have a pretty little pussy and is dirty girl making wet all of his wedding ring. The other guy use the beer bottle and making circles of one tit.

The guy who bring her say OK now to come back. The guy with fingering slap the ass hard when she turned around.

She is walking across the bar and she drop her dress and cover her tits back and he say to her she not having permission for cover up. Now she have to go into office with the guy who is owner or manager guy and make sure he sees everything he want to see.

She go into office with the guy and he tell her what he want to see is she to be naked sucking the dick. He open his pants and his dick is hard fir her to suck. So she take off her dress and kneel down and suck him and he cums very fast. She swallowing mostly and some is on to her face and tits. Then he pick up her dress and walk out office and hand it to guy who bring her. So she walks out with cum on her face and tits. Naked. That is one of the picture she have.

He use bar rag and wipe off some cum. He say a naughty whore is not need for to be all the way clean after suck the cum. She say he put his finger in her pussy now and she is soaking wet.

He tell her to get dress and time for going.

I am not remember what part happened next if this. She is not obey some way and he is pull away to the car park and she us show her pussy. That is the other picture.

Oh, he say to her in the car he not believe what a whore she is and how she is being finger by stranger and sucking dick and how can he take her any place if she is always behave like such desperate whore. So he pull over and teach her a lesson and make her to expose her pussy like that in parking and take picture.

She say he do some other things and in the evening after dinner he fuck her in the back seat if the car. She swallowed the cum and he drop her off. The camera she bring was part of the plan he have and he take it at beginning from her when take her clothes so he is use the camera for take some picture.

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drinasteinberg · 2 months ago

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The Light of the Abyss ( Prologue) The Arkona Purpure trilogy

Yarilo:

I was born a warrior. A leader. A protector. I know no fear nor have I ever felt it. I never do. My wounds bleed, but my skin bears no scars. I know what pain is. I have experienced it in all of its forms. I am a creator and a destructor. I take what I want and I give as much as I please. While everyone may whisper of my stubbornness, they shout in praise of my righteousness . There is an avalanche of rage running through my veins. Because I am rage. I am war. I know death well; it is the shadow of my sword. It follows me every step of my way, waiting for me to once finally kneel before her. I laugh in its face. To me, death is nothing but a rotting carcass. Because I am the one who holds the power in his hands. I am the first, the immortal one… I am God.

I am ageless. As old as the world itself. I am the son of Perun and Zhiva, the god of war and spring. Once, I asked my father why Svarog chose to endow me with both the fierceness of a warrior and the fucking tenderness of spring. He replied that it was the only way to rein in my thirst for blood. It was the only way to keep me in Yav and bring me to my senses. Bring me back home.

I spent my childhood and youth in the fiery depths of Nav. Surrounded by freaks and rotting stench, I took in the smell of fresh souls as Morana arched her back impaled upon my cock. She meant everything to me. She was everything I ever wanted, everything I needed. She brought out the worst in me and I worshiped her for it. With her, I was free. We didn’t put up with rules and Svarog’s laws. Veles observed our conquests with fatherly affection.

I used to hate springs, back when I was living in Nav. They made me feel less like myself, feel like I wasn’t strong enough. During the last hours of winter, my body would become overwhelmed by a strange emotion. But Morana knew me inside and out. She knew very well that the first spring morning would make my heart wonder whether what I was doing was right. That is why she teased me like the whore she was, used her gorgeous body and lustful holes, asking for me to prove that I was worthy of her. She asked for blood and I would give it to her. I would return from my hunt with butchered bodies of mortals and demigods. She enjoyed watching the disfigured bodies of virgins.

Morana didn’t let winter end; she did not allow for the spring inside me to wake up. During the first part of my life, I was void of any tenderness or conscience. I was a beast. Her personal beast.

When they imprisoned me in Yav, the only thing that kept me from giving in was my desire for her. I went through hell, but I didn’t crack. In my mind, I conjured the images of the soft creases of her skin and the delicious taste of her pussy. They made blood run into my dick. I was a crucified fool with a rock-hard erection. The absence of her lips that could suck away the pain hurt me more than anything Perun’s minions employed in order to make me come to my senses. Now I know that my father didn’t use everything he could and that this torture was merely a way to restrain me and keep me there for as long as possible. They knew that I would come to my senses as soon as I felt the magic of spring for the first time and they knew that the realization of truth would hurt me more than a millennium of ruthless whipping.

Even today, my conscience is not immune to the occasional painful recollections of all the evil things I had done in the past. The truth about myself, Veles and Morana was too much for me to handle. In my eyes and deep inside me, there was a burning flame of hate. All I wanted was to kill them. Because all I had ever known was how to kill. I needed their blood. I needed revenge. That is why everyone in Yav kept a close eye on me, day and night. First, I had to learn about Svarog’s laws and then I needed to learn how to deal with the conflict of the insane feelings inside me and figure out how to maintain a balance between them.

Soon, everyone realized that my emotions were permanently damaged. I satisfied my desire to kill in the fierce battles with the Navi and I quenched my thirst for the female body through encounters with wild ruslankas, fairies and eventually, mortals. Still, I remained void. I am the god of the fucking spring. There is a part of me that craves something more than mere physical pleasure or love for those who are closest to me. For centuries, I had tried in vain to shut down that part of myself, kill it if necessary. It was the one thing preventing me from feeling whole.

After the fall of Arkona and Perun’s transition to Prav, I became the ruler of Yav. Suddenly, the weight of the world landed on my back. I had no more time to think about myself, my past, the rage, the hate and the void inside of me. Over time, I slowly began to control my anger. I did everything I could in order to make sure I was a level-headed ruler. I was getting better at it, but from time to time, I would crack and let rage the take over. There were days when I would helplessly watch the Slavic people suffer and perish, unable to act due to Svarog’s laws; that is when the old beast inside me would come back. My wild side would suppress everything that was reasonable in me. I would storm into a battle without an army, without thinking. I didn’t mind the consequences, the warnings of Svanevit, Dazhbog and Zhiva; I would let the eruption of desire to kill guide me. Because I am rage. I am the warrior of rage.

And then, one winter, some forty years ago, I remained without a single artifact. The best solution was to impress my legacy into a direct descendant of a Slavic tribe.

On the island of Rugen, March 20, 1973, the Devan baby was born. I remember seeing her for the first time. She was crying hysterically. I looked at her, frowning, before performing the act of impression. Her screaming made me nervous and I knew it was a mistake to leave my legacy in a human being. I started thinking that perhaps an animal would have been a better choice, but I was running out of time and I had to do it. I was shocked when, just before I would impress my legacy into her, she stopped screaming and looked into my eyes. Although I knew it was impossible, I had the feeling that she could see me. Then she lifted her arms towards me and fell asleep. I took a step back and then leaned over the cradle once again. Although everything around her was still in the state of complete chaos, the little girl was sleeping like a lamb.

This one is going to be a major pain in the ass, I mumbled to myself and stormed out, leaving the coast of Rugen covered in my color.

#yarilo #drinasteinberg #slavic #slavic mythology #slavic gods #fantasy #the Arkona Purpure trilogy

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robotsprinkles · 2 years ago

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god I hate this writing class

what is the point of giving us both three word count limits, and restricting the length of the final animation/animatic

(this is one of my less valid criticisms of the class, being more to do with me just not liking the class already and not being fond of being forced to fit a story into as little as ninety seconds/2 A4 pages)

(I can do it, it's just not what I like doing)

I do not see the point in giving us a word count for the outline when we're already limited by having to fit the story into two A4 pages in screenplay formatting.

And I don't get the two A4 pages thing when we've already got a limit on the length the actual animation can be.

Just. pick one. hell, pick two. don't say "you have 300 words for the outline, 50 words for the synopsis, 2 A4 screenplay-formatted pages, and the final animation has to be 90 seconds or less"

I can fit far more than two screenplay-formatted A4 pages into three hundred words of outline and ninety seconds of animation, (hell, even thirty seconds of dialogue, depending on certain factors, takes far more than two A4 pages)

Like yeah, sure, I can write things that'll fit that criteria, but I'd really rather just have to follow one.

Because when I'm being forced to use the process of

core idea -> mind map -> for two stories (pick 2 word title) -> for two stories (write 10 word max logline, 50 word max synopsis, and 300 word max outline) -> pick one and write 2 A4 page-long script/screenplay for one -> make a 90 second animatic

(which I think is just a completely absurd process — and this is me talking. I'm an idiot who does things in the worst and least efficient way possible, and I think this is inefficient and a mess and a terrible way to do it — normally when I hate the method taught for something it's because I'm a jackass and an idiot who sucks at everything, not because I genuinely think it's stupid. Primary-High school essay writing formulae and creative writing rules notwithstanding)

I'm not saying restrictions or limitations in writing are bad (they're not) but I mean. forcing us to use a specific process? when basically every single source of good writing advice will tell you "this is a box of tools, pick them up, try them out, see what works for you, and throw out what doesn't"?

(This is ignoring that the guy teaching this class thinks protagony is entirely defined by "being the character who changes (the most) over the story's course" as opposed to being the character whose actions drive the plot or who the story focuses on and whatnot. Also apparently sherlock holmes just. doesn't exist according to this guy?)

(not being literal there. just. sherlock holmes is a famously static protagonist? To my memory, excluding a scandal in bohemia, for the most part ACD sherlock's personality, opinions, and outlook on things don't change in the stories he's in?)

anyway. back to the point. the process we had to do for this is just.

like especially as someone whose sense of how long things take is basically nonexistent outside of either things where I've remembered how long they are (my kettle takes about 2 minutes to boil, [x dish] takes about 30 minutes to make) or as a retrospect measurement (after some random thing is done, go "oh I think it's been around [x amount of time]" or "I bet it's [time of day] now", which itself only has a high percentage of me being right because I do it once every two to four months, and even then is only like. 50-70% of the time)

trying to estimate how much time a given dialogue exchange will take without actually writing it down and then timing myself reading it with proper cadence is like trying to put out a fire by thinking at it really hard

it would genuinely have been more efficient for me to have just. written a first draft of the screenplay based off one of my ideas, seen if that would even fit into two A4 pages, then read the dialogue while timing myself to see how long the animation would actually be, then redraft the damn thing to fit and actually be good.

instead of what I ended up doing, which was wasting an excessive amount of time trying to translate my thoughts and brain soup into coherently formatted notes

— which I didn't even manage because a mind map would end up as an incomprehensible web of lines with the occasional letter peaking out from behind, and my normal method of note taking is to only write the actual outline —

using those notes to write two outlines that fit comfortably into three hundred words, plus ten to thirty (and another outline that didn't fit because there was no way to make that idea work well within any of the limits at all)

then translating one of those outlines into a screenplay, which immediately went over 2 A4 pages, because 300 words of outline does not a 2 A4 page screenplay guarantee

and then rewriting the outline and screenplay three times until I gave up because it just wouldn't ever fit into 2 A4 pages (though it might fit into 90 seconds of animation. because page count and screen duration aren't the same thing)

then switching to the other outline and realising I'd need to cut an entire arc and subplot off the bat, translating what was left into a screenplay, realising that wouldn't fit into 2 A4 pages either, and rewriting both outline and screenplay until I ended up cutting all the dialogue and themes and major development out of the story because that was the only way to make the idea work

which like. yeah, sure. I could've (and should've picked a better idea)

but again, I have no sense of how long things take, and my normal writing projects and process aren't based around time or word count or anything.

and really, the only limitation that actually matters here is "can the story fit into 90 seconds". (and like. general quality requirements. but the outline word count doesn't matter at all

like if you're limiting the word count so people don't overdescribe scenes or character actions just. tell us not to do that and give examples of what's not allowed or something.

#robot rants about stuff #random robot rambles #also like. if the only criteria are ''under 90 seconds'' and ''the main character/protagonist has to have changed by the end of it''#and ''2 A4 pages/300 word outline max''#I could just make an RHG/Dojo Duel animation. That'd fit easily into those requirements #but I'm pretty sure ''90 second animation that's 55-78% fight scene'' isn't what you want #sorry for this I'm just. this is frustrating the hell out of me #like yeah I'm being an idiot and picking bad ideas for a 90 second story but I'm not interested the ideas that're easy to tell in 90 second #because they're either boring and cliche and basic and uninteresting and just. nothing.#or they're not the sort of story I want to write or I don't think I could do them justice #or they've been done already better than I could #(there are a lot of good stories that are/can be told in under 90 seconds but. a) they already exist so what's the point in me doing them #and b) they're still not the sort of thing I like to write. read and watch- yes- write? no)#(when I say ''they've been done already so what's the point in me doing them'' that's not like ''ideas and originality are everything''#it's ''I can't add anything to this-there's no contribution I could make that hasn't already been made'')

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thewickedxrp · 2 years ago

Photo

WELCOME YANG JAEJIN

⁠TO THE PROMISE LAND

DETAILS

age / age they appear: 24 occupation: hunter, chef, & waiter for fables. group: n/a

PERSONALITY

inside the hunter lives a monster called the paradox.

being kind and polite just to not upset someone was never yang jaejin’s forte, and he will do little to nothing to feign his disinterest and annoyance towards someone. of course, declaring out loud that he’s in the profession of killing supernaturals would simply be careless and stupid. and jaejin is anything but careless and stupid. he’s cold and calculated, meticulous, leaves hardly any trace behind. he’s organized and nearly obsessively clean, which may come as a surprise considering his profession. he likes to keep tabs on things, be on top of everything, even if it’s just to ease his anxiety-ridden brain. he is the calm before the storm in essence, mostly cool and collected but intimidating. and occasionally the big storm in him spills out. jaejin likes doing things according to plans and rules. whether those rules are invented and enforced by his family of hunters — well, who is he to blame of the disarray of this island?

behind the face of steel and shell seemingly empty of any decent human emotions hides the core of jaejin. and oh, does he hide it well. because jaejin doesn’t like to admit that he cares about others. he wants to keep those around him protected and well, even if he risks his own life every day doing it. for someone so well acquainted with his reflexes and the world around him, around people jaejin can be a little awkward and clumsy. jaejin might not be the guy to do favors to strangers, but he’s loyal and responsible to those he trusts. he has been set on his cause ever since he was raised into it, even more so after his mother’s death. though, as things stand, he occasionally finds himself questioning everything. how does he follow the code of conduct without hurting the one person he swore to protect?

HISTORY

tw: mentions of death, violence, blood, minor child neglect & abuse.

the first thing jaejin learns is that he should always be afraid.

it’s not all about the knowledge of what’s creeping in the dark. sure, learning that there are blood-sucking monsters and shapeshifters lurking around would make any 4-year-old fearful. becoming aware of what his father and his uncles really do when they leave in the evening. knowing none of them might come back this time. yet, that’s not the worst of it.

the worst of it is the practice itself. countless hours of physical exercise, until his knuckles turn blue from all the punching. jaejin’s father, the current head of the long line of hunters, pushing at him to go harder. faster. be better. him and his younger sister being locked up in a small room in order to train them how to escape a sticky situation. it’s a seven-year-old jaejin holding his first very own knife with shaky fingers as he goes on a hunt with his father ( he’s only watching and learning on his one, but the fear rattles within him nonetheless ). eventually the slowly passing years make him indifferent to it, the flashing nightmares not so frequent and the physicality almost like second nature. just as he realizes that he’s got it, life turns things around.

the second thing jaejin learns is that he has to be the strong one.

he has just turned fourteen, a lanky teenager just trying to grow into his skin. he goes to school, doesn’t really make friends, and helps around in the family-owned restaurant called fables. of course, fables is just a front for the hunters. all the head of the family really cares about is meeting important people in the esoteric backroom; sealing deals about guns, vampire teeth, werewolf skins and much more. the restaurant does accumulate some customers from people who like the quieter part of town. and yang minhee serves them with the best black pork and other traditional jeju dishes she masters. jaejin doesn’t really care either way; he just wishes he wouldn’t have to small-talk to the customers as much. that is, until one day in late january when his mother fails to return from a last minute werewolf hunt.

( the thing about a hunter going missing on a hunt is that you almost certainly know where they are. jaejin and his father find her [ or what’s left of her ] just outside the kang pack territory a day later. )

things change in the yang family after that. while he has always been demanding, yang jonghwan now turns explosive, callous. no mother to cool their father down, he pushes, pushes and pushes his children, even to the point of breaking. the hunting becomes an obsession, especially when it comes to the werewolves. once jaejin’s sister breaks down crying after a particularly cruel and painful practice. their father dismisses it as weakness. and jaejin, a teenager with a lot on his shoulders, is left to pick up the pieces. life continues like that; jaejin taking responsibility for things that he shouldn’t have to. he takes up cooking, tries hard to look after the restaurant their mother enjoyed so much. he makes elaborate plans for the hunters and swears to protect the humans of jeju no matter what it takes. he’s strong, just so everyone else doesn’t have to. but he’s also bitter, dreary; angry. and he is still afraid — afraid of losing anyone else.

the third thing jaejin learns is that life is bittersweet.

jaejin is twenty now, a young man much more toned and fitted into his body. he’s good at what he does; the tracking, the hunting, the cleanup. he’s a great chef and a great son ( even though he hates it, more often than not ). he’s still not good with people, but it’s not like he ever tries. he has everyone he needs right here. jaejin makes a detailed plan for the hunting group. an incredibly risky one, and jaejin has voiced as much, but his father doesn’t care when it’s the kang leader they’re after. the plan goes south after some time at the lair when they realize they’re being ambushed. and then a loud shriek halts everything. with utmost horror, jaejin realizes almost immediately who it is. and there she is, lying on the ground with a gashing bite wound to her shoulder, a big wolf hovering over her. jaejin’s sister is screaming for help with desperation filling her eyes, but it’s all just a little too late. the attacking wolf drags her, still screaming, with them.

he’s running, running, running. for the first time in his life, he’s ignoring all the orders and screams from his father. he tastes blood in his mouth and every one of his joints are aching, but he doesn’t stop. panic is starting to pool at the bottom of his stomach, rising up and up every minute. he’s trying to focus all his will on tracking. but when more minutes, feeling like hours, pass, and he finds nothing, the panic swells to his eyes. jaejin ends up losing their track a mile or two away from where he started. and he finally breaks, falls to his knees with a broken sob. they never find her ( but jaejin never stops trying ).

it’s not until almost three whole years later when jaejin has a meaningful encounter with a werewolf he’s tracking. “your sister! you know she’s alive, right? too bad she’s not on your side anymore!” jaejin stops; almost stops, until he realizes it’s just the wolf trying to save his own skin with cruel lies. after the wolf is dead, his words keep bugging at jaejin at night. why have they not found her if she’s dead? after meticulous research, jaejin comes to find he might not have been lied to, after all. and when she does contact him later, jaejin realizes the bittersweet nature of the situation. she’s alive. jaejin has searched for years, certain that he failed to protect the one person he wanted to protect the most, and she’s alive. but she’s not human anymore. and that is the reason why it has taken her all this time to tell jaejin that she’s not dead.

the fourth thing jaejin learns is that he may not know anything at all.

#wd:bio #wd:hunter #wd: lee minho #stray kids

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rennisaturate · 8 months ago

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she sucked her teeth, the soft click of her tongue followed by a huff of disbelief and shake of her head at his upset with her words. of course he had to find issue with her thought process. sariyah hated every moment of this, her head reminding her firmly again why entertaining him was a bad idea in the first place. " 'cause girls like me are toys f' men like you. steppin' stones to your trophy wives or pit stops t' the next fun time. not t' take to dinner, or care about, or want for anythin' else but to get off with. that's jus' how this all works... " because if she started expecting more, wanting it even the slightest bit, all it would be was setting herself up for easily avoidable disappointment and heartbreak.

it would've been different maybe if they'd met anywhere else but at the club. she didn't sleep with patrons. it was a fast track to complicating things in all the wrong ways, but he had been so hard to pass up. breaking one of her most steadfast rules would really only work for someone like lucifer. a likely once in a lifetime hookup, how could she ever say no and not wish later she hadn't?? lucky her to be living out the one outcome she wouldn't have ever bet on...

the hastiness of his ' i'm sorry ' made sariyah lightly recoil and sniffle, cursing herself in her head. no, no, don't cry, don't you fucking cry. her lashes were fluttering, willing her eyes to stay dry and partially to avoid his gaze, sure it'd only make it harder. but she could always feel his eyes on her, no matter where they were or what they were doing, up close or across the room. in her periphery she caught him reaching for her, and a single tear broke free as her eyes met with cerulean again. part of her thought she should tell him no, but she didn't really want to, so instead she closed her eyes, his touch a comfort she'd yearned for so badly it was nearly unbearable. as his voice met her ears once more, something warm and soft curled snugly around her rib cage and nestled itself in her chest.

her hands that had been gripping her coat tightly closed loosened a bit and she sighed, the pass of his thumb over her lip making a shiver travel pointedly down her spine. it shouldn't take so little, but suddenly the thought of refusing him felt as if she'd be tearing something vital out of her. even still, a small part of her was still bracing itself. forgiveness was so close for her, but not where it needed to be just yet, and she wouldn't say she forgave him if she didn't fully mean it. " i know... " she murmured, her voice quiet and froggy, as close as she could let herself get for the time being.

she nodded slowly at his offer to take her home, careful not to move too far from his hand. " okay... let's not walk. my feet are killin' me anyway, " which was true. she hadn't had many moments to sit all night due to how busy it'd been, and her body always ached when she got off work, no matter how used to it she was. her calves and thighs left with fewer bruises as time went on until she managed to be good at avoiding them, but tonight she could feel one forming on her shin where she'd hit a pole just a little too hard. the quicker she could get into a hot bath the better.

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒, then, wasn't it? This broken-record of lovelorn waltz. Lucifer, and his dismissive heart, of which tried everything it could to sabotage the very need he was starved of. If he were any less of a prideful man, might he realize that Sariyah was not an easily vexed woman, and might he realize how lucky he was that she was even speaking to him at this point, and had not written him off entirely the moment he stepped out of the limo. But he was not; Lukas was sick with pride, down to the bone, and it seeped its way through every genuine word that could have been mustered from his chest. No, of course, he could not be more honest than he just had, because to do so would mean Sariyah would get too close, and not just close enough, where he could withstand the danger of her love. In his mind, he was already imagining the two of them cuddled up on the couch, watching the next episode of their show, and this conversation was just a hurdle to that. Why could he not give a proper apology? Why could he not explain himself?

"Figured this out the first time?" he asked, pivoting their conversation to hinge on her words, which drove spear into his heart. He did feel the pain of it—he was not totally devoid of passion. The implication that she'd been right, the first time, when she'd given up on him, it echoed something searing and untouched; something that had been the reoccurring theme in his life that he refused, intrinsically, to process. Instead, he took offense. He took blatant offense, and his features hardened with it, and he huffed, and looked away from her. Only for a moment, before his gaze sought out hers again, out of yearning, again. "Why would you say that? I've never felt unsure about you." Pointing fingers. Placing blame. Deflecting, deflecting, deflecting. "I still don't. I just needed some goddamn time, Sari."

His features softened then, just slightly, in a forgiveness that was reserved in its hastiness solely for her. He'd learned quickly that it was difficult to stay angry with her. It was difficult to see the consequences of his actions, too, dressed upon her features. Shame, poisoning, consuming, it seeped its way down through Lucifer. Because perhaps she shouldn't—believe anything he said. He knew he was a goddamn liar. He knew it, and yet he felt this compulsion, to prove to her that he could be what she needed. That she, somehow, had made an honest man out of him. "I'm not... I needed time to figure out all of this, alright? I was overwhelmed. I turned off my phone. It was stupid, and I'm sorry."

A moment passed, as he searched her gaze, for that coveted forgiveness he so desperately pined for. And then he lifted his fingers, in a momentary hesitation, a murmur of, "Can I?" before reaching forward to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. In his touch's retreat, his thumb brushed at her cheekbone, and then palm found her cheek, where he cupped her face into his hand gently. "I'm not good with these things... I know I hurt you, and I shouldn't have ignored you, and I'm sorry." The words, this time, fell from his lips with an authenticity, calmer, serious. His thumb brushed along her lesser lip, gentle in its pursuit. "Let me take you home. Please? You have to be tired... Shouldn't walk in the cold alone." A pause. "If you don't want a ride, at least let me walk you home. I hate when you walk home this late."

#[ lmaoooo ]#[ she's like... pls be fr 🥴 ]#[ no worries !! u can always take however long u need 🥰 ]#convo:sariyah #c:saveit ft.lukas #iinfernc

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