#but these are very quick and not detailed

[greyplainsttrpg]

Quick edit: capitalism did not invent money. Non-capitalist does not mean non-monetary (entirely). That's actually the exact kind of thinking that I'm talking about. Also Capitalism has elements of the economy that are not money. Like, capitalism is actually so specific. ANYWAYS...

So the capitalism point is less so: "they need to not use capitalism as the baseline" and moreso "uncritically using capitalism as the baseline naturalizes the ideological assumptions pushed by conservatives (especially by fascists) that capitalism is fundamentally natural, eternal, and permanent."

It is not like feudalism did not have money. The details of feudalism are complex and regional which is why I understand capitalism being the default. Things that *I* do when I run games in medieval fantasy:

Let's say that the party gets a magical sword. They take it to the local shop to try and sell it, but the merchant can't afford to buy it. In fact, nobody that they sell to can afford to buy it either. The merchant recommends going to the regional Duke. The party goes to the Duke, but he cannot afford it either because most of the taxes he collects are in grains, pelts, and labor at his nickel mine. However, he WILL trade you a section of land that he privately owns for the sword. He will maintain dominion of that land, thus he is responsible for maintaining its defense and he extracts taxes from it, but the majority of wealth accrued through that land is the party's to keep. Obviously, this wealth is not in money but in whatever resource is generated from that land. The party can either choose to accept or deny this offer. If they deny, they could instead go the church (who can probably actually afford to buy the sword outright), however they will only do business if it can be proven how this sword will advance their mission.

This kind of arrangement is technically more time consuming then the merchant at the beginning just having the appropriate amount of money upfront, however doing things in this style creates several effects:

It is much closer to how feudalism actually works.

These are moments of actual gameplay (as exchanges of social, political, and fiscal capital) that are interesting.

Sure, for a one-shot this might waste time that could be better spent on the intended adventure at hand, but this is much better for a "kitchen table games" where the objectives are wider reaching. Consider the possibility of doing business with the Duke: now an unaligned adventuring party has implicitly united themselves to that Duke meaning that they have made light enemies with competing nobles. The land that was sold might be that of a drunken knight who the Noble is using this land deal to remove the Knight from service, and now you have a very angry knight trying to take his land back. And remember, Knight is a legal term, so this "knight" might actually be a powerful wizard.

Musk apparently is considering the idea of buying hasbro to secure the rights to dnd. Thoughts?

I think it would be really funny if Musk managed to do to D&D what not a single "play another game" warrior could only ever dream of,

[quarterlifekitty]

A crumb of attention por favor

Your thoughts on which of the boys have a praise kink vs degradation kink vs general voice kink vs none of the above? Giving or receiving, I leave it in your capable hands

you do not want to know how much planning went into this post

cw: degrading dirty talk, daddy dom type dynamic

Gaz is very into giving praise. He loves seeing you light up. That's a must have for any sexual encounter for him. Like you could literally be giving him a really quick and dirty wank in a public bathroom at a gas station and he's still be like "god, you're so good at this-- I love you, babe". He could be convinced to be degrading, but it's never something really mean. If he calls you a slut, it's because he's saying "I love that you're such a slut for me, love". And he likes a bit of praise! Just affirms for him that you feel for him the way he feels for you. Doesn't really like to be degraded, it's too easy for him to take it to heart.

Soap wants to give all of it and he wants to get all of it. He's addicted to feeling you clench around him when he says that you're so cute and tight and wet and perfect. He likes calling you his dirty fuckin' slag as well-- he knows you're multi talented like that, and he wants you to know it too. It's all said with reverence, he loves that you match his freak. And I have said many times that this man is a dog. As such, he loves praise. Call him a good boy and he's gonna jackhammer you. Call him a naughty slut and he's gonna jackhammer you. He has a major voice kink, sometimes he gets hard when you call him on the phone for a completely mundane reason because he just likes hearing your voice. He could jerk off to you giving a lecture.

Ghost is a hard man to earn approval from. He hates that about himself once he realizes it. Giving praise just doesn't come very naturally to him, but he can spit absolute vitriol like it's his mother tongue. If you can handle it, he's going to ask if you like the way he's abusing your cunt. You'd better-- it's the only thing whores like you are good for. And he's the same way receiving. Praise makes him freeze up if it's laid on thick, he just doesn't know how to handle it. But he loves to be degraded. He knows he's a bastard, and he wants you to remind him while you milk him for all he's worth.

Price will give anything, and take nothing. It's all about what you deserve! And when he fucks you, he wants you so utterly deconstructed that you can barely speak. He wants you to be blubbering and crying and whining, you don't need words to serve beneath him. Your utter inability to string together a sentence is the best praise you could give him, really.

König is a somewhat insecure man. And once you get under his exterior, he's incredibly clingy, and can say some incredibly sappy things when he's going crazy from how your cunt feels wrapped around his cock. Quite honestly, he loses composure if you're someone he really likes, so a lot of his praise and degradation is in German, but the tone is easily identified. His beautiful girl, his perfect angel, the deliverance of heaven onto earth. And much like Gaz, his degradation is mostly just assurances about how desperate he knows you are for him, how you'd do anything for this thick fucking cock, wouldn't you? But don't worry, liebe, I'll never deny you what your body was made for. And fuck yes he wants your praise. He wants you to tell him how good he is at fucking you. He wants the most detailed performance report you can give. Oh, and to tell him you love him. He has a voice kink, and is extremely weak to your dirty talk. You can render him non-functional by whispering to him, no matter where you are.

Nikolai lives to praise you. You just have to deserve it. And he has a very specific brand of degradation. He likes to condescend you. My malyshka is just so needy for my cock, isn't she? Poor thing, just doesn't know how to survive without it. And he also likes to tell you to do something he knows you're too fucked stupid to do, then tease you for not being able to do it, or for being to little to struggle. Zoloste-- there's no getting away from your papochka, my love. And there's no way I'm letting this sweet little pussy escape me. And in terms of praise, he likes when you're sweet. When you treat him well. When you're kissing up and down his shaft with wet lips, telling him how much you love his cock, how thankful you are that he gives it to you and uses it to love you the way you need.

And if you did for some reason want to see how much planning went into this, this is how much:

[lustlovehart]

Soft Clipped Feathers

A/n: Really Self-Indulgent for Sundays realese today.

Pairing: Sunday x Reader

Summary: You’ve grown tired of staying in the hidden nest that is Sundays arms, yet you can’t bring yourself to really leave that comfort. So, you do the only thing that can alleviate this want, use Sundays infatuation for yourself. (1.3k words)

Warnings: [Yandere], Possesion, Manipulation, Implied NSFW & Suggestive, Reader lowkey plays with Sunday (And it backfires LMAO), Themes of codependency, Sunday and Reader get filthy? Very unholy you two, Tiny (Big) obsession from Sunday, Uhm they make out on the floor?? Idk if that needs a tag

There’s a certain petulance in the room you sit in. Stained windows filled with colorful sectors, unify into a beautiful image of a Dove… falling victim to the hunter who sang false truths in its flight of freedom.

“You’ve been staring at the window for quite some time.” The man who claims himself to be the representation of the holiest of days, speaks into the once-relaxing silence of the room. He displays himself as a savior, yet you know better than to trust hunters, they’ve always believed their prey to be the lone sustenance for their fortune. “It’s lovely isn’t it?”

“Not really. I just don’t feel like looking at a man flaunting his feathers.”

“You liked when that IPC worker did. Did you not?” Sunday takes a step closer, to the wooden bench you rest on, his gloved hand caressing your skin. He traces up your arm, thumb ghosting your lips, bestowing a gentle tap on your mouth. It’s akin to a kiss really, if you could count it.

It doesn’t matter though, you’ve kissed plenty of times, and it makes no difference whether you do it with or without clothes. Though, the remembrance makes you shudder. Fingers dancing on your skin, blankets surrounding your intertwined bodies. A romantic scene really, if it weren’t for the fact you imagined the cool cruel silver, to be a chilling night in penacony.

“No, that was just jealousy blinding you, Sunday.” The man pulls away, his wings fluttering ever so slightly.

“Jealousy is the trait of men with no virtues, inharmonious men.” He speaks the word inharmonious, like treason.

“Well, it seems this room is filled with impropriety then hm?” You lean further into the mahogany, hoping somehow, someway, the wood will take liquid form and drown you. Yet you know it won’t. A trio of buttons undo on your blouse from the action, Sunday watching with great intent.

A majority of your chest is now on full display, to Sunday and each piece of art in the room. The eyes in the stained glass, those sculpted pupils of those statues, yet the only gaze you feel is his. Halovian eyes dilate at the sight, he’s quick to look into your eyes when you notice his entrance.

The garment was far too tight on you, but you had no urge to change out of it. Perhaps an unconscious act of rebellion to Sundays put together attire, perfectly fitting his form.

“Your clothes are astray.” He points out the detail as if you didn’t know. You don’t have the chance to reply before you feel Sunday nudge his way into your spot on the bench, towering over you as gloved fingers quickly work to redo the buttons. “Still, it would be dishonorable, for you, if someone saw you this way.” He emphasizes the ‘for you’ as if you cared.

You clasp your hands around his, effectively pausing his movements. He inhales when you pull him down, wind rushing through his hair. This adrenaline is further ensued, when the only thing stopping him from touching bare skin, is the cloth he’s attempting to redo.

In truth, this is the only way you feel to have any control of your fate. His affections for you are wide, yet narrow too. Wide in a way you can feel yourself drown in this so-called adoration, but narrow to a point you could never fully move through it. The rare moments you have with him, where you have him in a cage, is when you entangle him in the love he sought from you so deeply.

Though, this cage will always be unlocked for a free bird like him. But for you, you’ll forever be doomed to roam on the floor, those soft feathers of yours, clipped to never breathe air again.

“If someone saw us like this, that would only solidify what you want.” Your voice is low, warm air blowing on Sunday's neck. His knee is placed between your legs, his elbow being the sole pillar from his ravish on your being. His eyes trail between your eyes and your lips, those golden optics widening when you suddenly lean up.

Now you’re truly testing a man of virtue. A dangerous endeavor indeed.

“What do you plan to do?” His question doesn’t match the look in his eyes, you should know, his eyes are centimeters from yours, and so are your lips. The wings from his head flutter down, gentle feathers caressing your skin; successfully covering the visage of your surroundings.

All that’s left to see is Sunday.

“Do you plan to do this, and go to sleep satisfied at testing my countenance?” You don’t answer him, yet again, he didn’t want a reply. “Or will you finally change your ways? As you’ve promised at confessional time and time again.”

Oh, he knew that was you?

“Sunday—” you’re cut short when a kiss is delegated on your temple, any retort dying immediately at his placating.

“It’s okay, I’ll forgive you,” His arm falls to brush your cheek, the leather from his glove squeaking at the movement. “As long as you listen.” he stops talking after the final sentence, only softly gazing into your eyes. It’s uncomfortable, and piercing. It’s a strikingly familiar gaze to that of a husband, which Sunday is anything but.

“You…” Your words are strained, it’s a pain to face the reality you willingly put yourself into with him. “Sunday…” You grit your teeth, roughly pushing Sunday to the marble floor, bodies falling in unison.

Once again, you’re left in the only position you feel comfortable, making Sunday fall victim to your charms. At this point. Your shirt has already fallen down your shoulder, and your back is on cold flooring.

You take a deep breath in, before enacting your act of rebellion to this so-called man of virtue. You shall strip this room of its purity. But, to be transparent…

There’s no purity left in this room, for it’s not a beautiful art gallery of glass and statues. It’s the home you’ve always lived in. It’s the cruelest joke of all, you have the freedom to go where you wish, but you don’t, you stay.

“This world isn’t kind,” Sunday kisses your palm as he lays his head on your chest, the soft beating of your heart turning his own. “Wait until I’ve made it so.” You’re not sure what he means, but you nod… at the time.

Maybe it’s because of his words, or maybe simply fear for the unkind world he speaks of. Sometimes, you wish for a reality where you step into this cruel world, only then do hatchlings grow strength in their wings.

Now though, wings that have been clipped, have no chance of regaining that opportunity.

In one motion, you take his handsome face into your palms, pulling him roughly to your lips, his own hands finding refuge on your waist, pulling you down into him. It’s filthy and self-indulgent, but all you can do.

When you disconnect to breathe, a trail of saliva connects your lips, a reminder of the everbinding hold he has on you. If you think positively, it could also refer to how deep this infatuation with you, has implemented itself into Sunday's core.

Maybe the simple sight of you, reminds Sunday what it is he strives to do in reality, create a sanctuary of peace. Not you though, he’s the only one allowed to feel your comfort.

You dive back in, ready to drown in the essence that is harmony, through his lips.

…

You wake up to the colorful sight of stained glass, the same sight of a Dove and a hunter invading your pupils. There’s something different though.

There’s a hole in place of the Dove's heart, the window shattered, but only in that sole spot.

The blanket draped over you slides off as you leave the marble platform, but you’re stopped when a firm forearm wraps around your waist, effectively pulling you back. You look back at the perpetrator with a glare.

“Sunday, you’re a man of manners, you’ll be late for… whatever you have going on today.” it’s a pathetic attempt to get him off. Of course it doesn’t work.

“You’re right, but I won’t be late.” you continue to stare at the image, only vaguely listening to Sunday's words.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?" Considering it’s only the morning after…. what you’ve done, your urge to be spiteful isn’t as strong as yesterdays. You wish that wasn’t so.

“You’re coming with me.” He says it so softly, it doesn’t register completely in your mind. But when it does, you wonder if the dove was attempting to warn you.

“You’re… Making me leave…?” You turn around, facing the man that continues to lay next to you.

“No, I’m making you stay, with me.”

…

It seems you’re no longer a bird with freedom to walk anywhere you want anymore either. You’re left flightless, and freedomless.

But…

“I see…” You don’t fight, not like he expected you to do. Not like… you expected to do so either. You lie back down, burying yourself into the blanket with him, burying yourself into Sunday. His arms surround you in a warm embrace.

Maybe it’s your own fault for flying into this hunters trap, with your own free will.

Hahaha, please come him with my 0 pity and 80 pulls Mr.Sunday :). Alsooo, I hope this is good, because, confession… I haven’t finished the penacony quest, only the first one 😬

[drivebypainter]

I redesigned my SVSSS OC as the start of my mission to create a design/reference sheet for all of the SVSSS characters!

(prev design)

Here’s her lore:

The lore behind He Mixin’s arrival:

Shang Qinghua, wasn’t one for extreme superstitions. However, he definitely believed he must have broken a hundred mirrors for him to have the luck he currently had. He was stuck doing paperwork and taxes not only for the entire sect, but the entire northern palace too! Not only that but it was only his first few years as a peak lord and already multiple disasters had happened!

So in order to to minimize any future problems, Shang Qinghua began praying to a god of luck and fortune. Sure it was probably useless and a waste of time, but it felt nice to do it. Soon the prayers turned into little out of the way tasks to increase his luck. The it turned into whole rituals before he sent a letter or before he went on a mission. It seemed to be working too! His paper work seemed easier and people began to turn in their work on time!

However one day it went all wrong. You see, Shang Qinghua in his rush to save a stack of paper from falling off his desk, he stuck his chop sticks straight up- in his bowl of rice! (Bad luck!)

After that once unfortunate moment, everything went wrong again. Taxes grew harder, people began to be late with their reports, and peaks began to have disasters every week!

Desperate to get back his luck, Shang Qinghua begged the little statue of the lucky and fortunate god for help. Shang Qinghua was surprised when the sound of the system suddenly sung in his head with a new mission!

[User01 has gained a new mission with a grand reward of a permanent buff on paperwork and other peakly duties! Does User01 want to accept this mission?]

Extremely excited, Shang Qinghua selected the yes button and immediately forgot about the mission, after the system only gave a vague [great see you in 12 years!]

Over the next 4 years, Shang Qinghua’s luck slowly increased again.. but it never got to the point from before, and in fact any increase of luck was barely appreciated due to his now PAINFUL headaches that he was getting all the time.

On the dawn of the 5th year, Shang Qinghua could no longer take it, and begged the system to end the mission. There was no way he could handle it anymore! The pain was too much!

The system remained silent so Shang Qinghua ran to Mu Qingfang for help. After a quick analysis, Mu Qingfang found the problem, there was something growing next to Shang Qinghua’s brain! Mu Qingfang went to remove the mass and suddenly out popped a whole 5 year old child! Shang Qinghua was horrified- but the child’s birth(?) aligned with the mission… so was this his buff for everything on his peak?

Shang Qinghua decided to name the child He Mixin, (which means “to celebrate superstition”), as a call back to all the silly things Shang Qinghua did in the name of luck!

As He Mixin grew up, Shang Qinghua gave up his superstitions and instead just relied on giving small prayers to the lucky god in thanks. After all, despite its craziness, Shang Qinghua now had his own little ‘good luck charm’.

He Mixin personality/details/how she interacts with others:

He Mixin is a very stubborn and hard worker. She works hard to get things done and to make her baba proud. (thought she’d never tell him that).

She has a lot of anger issues, resulting with dealing with “man-child” peak lords and annoying fellow disciples (and even more annoying fellow head disciples).

She is prone to bouts of impulsivity, as shown by her horrible hair that she did on a day where she wanted to be free of the excruciating heat caused by summer in CQMS.

She is sometimes called the Princess of An Ding, because she is the daughter of SQH and out of all the disciples on An Ding she is rather weak. (though off on her peak she is considered the most physically strong out of her fellow head disciples- despite that strength she is very much not a fighter.)((A Ding disciples have to be sturdy and capable in order to do the amount of physical labor they do)).

HMX doesn’t like a lot of people due to the fact her opinions are usually clouded by the fact she has to deal with their bullshit when she does paperwork.

HMX is lesbian yay.

HMX is friends with Feng Licheng (the Zui Xian head disciple) and Gao Hongxia (the Wan Jian head disciple). The three of them hang out regularly.

HMX was forced to go on play dates with FLC the moment he joined ZXP.

HMX has a huge crush on GHX (GHX is beautiful, kind and competent! AWOOGA!)

HMX is frenemies with Ming Fan because the guy is annoyingly bossy! No other reason! (MF and GHX are friends- HMX is insanely jealous every time they hang out)

HMX hates Yang Yixuan to the bone because the brat is Bai Zhan and Bai Zhan sucks (YYX is a pure baby who never did anything wrong.)

HMX’s relationship with SQH is sorta like begrudging father/daughter type deal. HMX wants, but then also doesn’t want, a father, and SQH doesn’t know how to deal with children LOL.

MBJ was shocked the first time he met HMX- “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU HAD A KID POP OUT OF YOUR HEAD???”

HMX was taught embroidery by SQH and now regularly does little embroidery projects on either her own clothes or on little scraps of paper.

Both Feng Licheng and Gao Hongxia belong to @sillygoofyqueer

[rigberts]

THIS IS AI ART

This isn't an indictment against OP because they didn't misidentify the artist nor did they claim it was theirs and just a quick search of Roger Haus reveals his Instagram where he calls himself an AI artist, which is fairly upfront about what he does compared to other people who post AI-generated art. However, given how the general attitude among many people on this website (including me) is "FUCK AI ART", I was a little confused at how popular this was, so I'm just letting all of you know (if you didn't know) that this is AI art, and not even a really subtle example. The hyena may look very convincing, but the girl's hair is full of strands and highlighted chunks that are placed kinda haphazardly to add detail without thought, and her shirt has a design that isnt paint splotches, but also isnt any recognizable print, again very haphazardly placed. Of course, human-made art isn't perfect or predictable and can look unusual, but it made me suspicious enough to look up the artist (thank you OP for listing it).

Again, not trying to harsh anyone's vibe or start a debate, just trying to make things a little more transparent.

-Roger Haus

[hoffmansgirl]

𝘿𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙍𝙊𝙐𝙎, 𝙏𝘼𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙀𝘿 & 𝙁𝙇𝘼𝙒𝙀𝘿 ⎯ father charlie mayhew

⠀⎯⎯⎯ read part one! .. 𝓶illion 𝓭ollar 𝓶an

₊˚⊹౨ৎ 𝓐'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: here it is! finally! i know a lot of people waited for this, so i hope you enjoy. please read the warnings before reading ⎯ this is dirtyyyy as hell. 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀. gore · murder · descriptive mentions of crimes & killing · blood(play). like, so much blood · masochism · blasphemy · charlie & reader refer to him as "god" · knife play · blood kink · oral (m!receiving + slight f!receiving) · finger sucking · unprotected piv · choking/breath play · cum eating · a cliffhanger at the end (: 𝘄𝗰. 5299

"Does it matter what tool do we use?", you asked inquisitively, running your fingertips over the cold surface of the chopping knife, as if you were trying to memorise every detail of it. You tilted your head slightly, and Charlie hummed, his hands resting on either side of you as he pressed his chest against your back. His chin rested on the top of your head — he took a deep breath, savouring the moment of silence, the warmness of your body against his; your smell invaded his senses, making his lips curve into a smile.

"This time — no", Charlie retorted, lifting his hand to rest it on top of yours. "But you still have to think this through. You're my smart girl, aren't you?", he run his fingers over the blunt side of the tool, and you nodded vigorously, making the Priest's heart swell with pride. "Tell me. Which one would you choose?".

You nibbled on your bottom lip, your gaze focusing on the tools in front of you.

"Easily, a gun. I would simply shot them in the head", you hesitated, turning towards Charlie, whose chocolate-like eyes were now flickering with adoration. He took a strand of your perfectly curled hair and twirled it around his pointer finger, humming appreciatively, encouraging you to continue. "They will be dead within seconds. No need to massacre their bodies before death. Then, we can use a saw to cut off their limbs. It should cut through the bones pretty easily — at least, that's what you said", you added, the corners of your mouth turning up as you battled your eyelashes at Charlie. He tugged on the strand of hair before cupping your cheek, and you snuggled into his palm, warmness spreading across your body.

"Indeed, love. You've been listening very carefully, learning so quick. Such a good little Angel", he cooed, making your heart flutter in your chest. "Let's get to work then, shall we?".

You nodded in response, and Charlie sent you a filthy, open-mouthed smirk, before leaning down to kiss you just as filthily. Your body responded to his naturally, melting into his warm embrace, your hands resting on his black shirt-covered chest, wishing nothing more but to see his body underneath. But it had to wait, and you knew it — it was hard to control the tingling sensation between your thighs as Charlie's lips brushed against you with such vigor and need, though. Your teeth clicked together as Charlie's hand tangled in your hair, causing a soft whimper to leave your mouth, your tongue rolling over his own messily. "Mmm, later", the priest mumbled lowly, pulling away just slightly — his swollen, wet lips brushed against yours as you stood there, breathing each others air, savouring the moment. The cold air of the basement hit your skin, and you trembled, your eyes snapping open to meet Charlie's gaze.

"Yes. Let's just... get it over with", you whispered softly, and he took a step back, nodding his head towards the counter behind you. You understood what he wanted — you blindly reached for the gun laying on the very edge of the table, reloading it, your every movement precise and slow. Charlie intertwined your fingers together, sending you a smile.

You were convinced everything would be fine as long as the two of you were together.

"Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand", Charlie's soothing voice reached your ears, filling the silence like the most beautiful song. You hanged your head, closing your eyes for a second, feeling his presence behind you; his cautious eyes following every movement of your steady hands. You passed the needle through the skin of a sex worker's arm, connecting it to torso of another's. You hummed softly as your knees dig into the cold, marble floor —yet, somehow, you loved the pain. You were almost finished sewing the body parts together under Charlie's gaze, as he gave you tips every now and then. You appreciated his work, appreciated how he let you be a part of his plan, appreciated how patient and helpful he was when it came to you and only you.

"I'm so thankful", you mumbled, lifting your eyes just for a second, meeting the Priest's gaze, before focusing on the needle still in your hand. A smile made its way onto your face, covered by a sheer, lacy, black veil, and Charlie's breath hitched at your beauty.

His greedy eyes roamed over your form, kneeling on the floor. You were wearing a long dress that matched the veil gracefully resting on your head.

Your hair fell on your back in cascades, silky and soft, glimmering in the dim, flickering lighting. Your long, fluttering lashes casted long shadows on your cheeks, and your lips were slightly parted as you focused on your task.

Charlie couldn't help the appreciative hum that left his mouth as he circled you, careful not to step on any of the blood pools or the poor people's body parts. "I mean it", your voice came out low and steady as you — yet again — stole him a quick glance. The left corner of your mouth quirked up as you finally finished, putting the needle and string down, admiring your and Charlie's — mostly his — masterpiece with tilted head. "Thank you for letting me help you. Thank you for showing me the world I haven't ever seen before. Thank you for loving me", you muttered slowly, and Charlie stopped in his tracks, now standing right in front of you. You lifted your gaze as his tall form towered over you — his eyes filled with adoration, pride, and the all familiar neediness.

"You make me so proud everyday", he spoke lowly, holding out his hand for you to grab. You slowly got up from your kneeling position, and he pulled you into his warm embrace, never letting go of your bloody hand — he lifted it to his mouth, pressing soft kisses on the back of your hand, humming at the metallic taste invading his senses. Your breath hitched as his lips met your fingers, the fresh blood now covering his mouth — the all familiar sight so erotic, you couldn't help but shudder, tapping two of your fingers against his lower lip delicately. Charlie obeyed, as he always did, taking them into his mouth without hesitation, his tongue lapping at the crimson liquid greedily. A quiet whine left his mouth as his lips closed around your digits, sucking them harshly, his hands now roaming over your lower back. His eyes met yours, dark and dangerous, even when you were the one stuffing his mouth with your fingers.

You pushed them further into his mouth before pulling out, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him. There was no rush in the way you moved, not even when he walked you back to press you against the wall, not when he pushed himself inside of you so hard it almost hurt — yet you loved every second of the pain. You always did with Charlie.

A breathless praises escaped his mouth as he fucked into you nice and deep, and for a moment, it was just the two of you — in the quietness of the abandoned Church, the corpses on the floor long forgotten as you turned into a babbling mess, surrounded by his powerful embrace. It made you feel powerful, too, as the two of you connected over and over again, a rush of adrenaline running down your spine, fireworks erupting in your stomach as you watched him with hooded eyes.

"I love you. I love you so much", Charlie panted, pressing his forehead against yours as he painted your walls white, holding on to you as if you were going to disappear any second now. You could only smile, brushing your fingers over his cheek, the softness of his skin perfectly matching the delicacy of his soul.

You loved watching Charlie hold his usual evening masses. Not only did he look effortlessly beautiful, but his words — always a little bit too personal and specific — touched your soul. You sat in the darkest corner, your hands folded in prayer as you savoured the moment, trying so hard to focus on his sermon — but everything about him was way too mesmerising. From his perfectly combed hair, to his glimmering eyes, to the way his lips moved as he spoke. The way his long eyelashes casted soft shadows on his cheeks, or the way his Adam's apple moved as he spoke. Your gaze travelled lower — your wide eyes following the way his fingers tightened around the platform as he read the Bible verses to the parishioners.

Your cheeks grew warm, and, as if he could sense your sudden fluster, his eyes scanned over the crowd of people, only to settle on you. Charlie knew he couldn't do much from his spot on the platform, but he felt powerful under your gaze — full of adoration and pride. You bit your lip, winking at him, and he gripped the platform tightly, his voice never shuddering. He sent you a last, lingering gaze before focusing on his work, completely — yet a silent promise of what was about to come lingered in the air between you.

Soon after, he said his goodbyes to the parishioners, turning away to snuff out the candles around the altar. You stayed in your seat, looking for the right moment to approach him as people began to leave. You got up, slowly and deliberately, smoothing out the wrinkles on your black dress, beginning to walk towards him. You knew he could feel your presence when you saw his shoulders relax, as the last person left the church, leaving the two of you alone.

"The sermon was beautiful", you whispered, and Charlie chuckled under his breath, turning towards you. His hands were on you in an instant, warm and comforting on your hips.

"Come on now, Angel", he smirked, tilting his head before leaning down to brush his lips against yours. "You were rather absent. Too busy eye-fucking me to focus on anything else, really".

You grinned, letting your hands trace the outline of his muscles through the thick material of the cassock he was wearing. "Mmm. Maybe. You just look so good. Couldn't help myself", you breathed out, closing your eyes before closing the remaining distance between you and kissing him.

Charlie responded immediately, soft groan leaving his mouth at the taste of you — a taste he missed so much. He pulled you closer, letting you feel his strong body against yours, the growing bulge in his pants brushing against your stomach. You smirked into the kiss, biting his bottom lip with enough force to draw blood. You lapped at the small wound greedily, moaning at the taste — you were convinced nothing could ever taste as good as him. You let Charlie's tongue tangle with your own, allowing him to taste his own blood. His soft groans, along with your occasional whines echoed through the air, your hands now travelling up his back to tangle in his hair.

"Mmm, I missed you", you managed to say between kisses, pushing him back blindly until he fell onto his chair — the very one he sat in during masses. Charlie took his cassock off hurriedly, before grabbing you by your thighs, forcing you to straddle his lap. He wasted no time as he latched his lips on your neck, scraping his teeth against the delicate skin before soothing the sting with his tongue. Your head fell back — your breathless moans filled the air, punctuated by the wet sounds of Charlie's mouth against your skin.

"Every inch of you is made for worship. You're perfect", he muttered, pressing kisses along your jawline as he clutched the lacy material of your dress in his hands. "You're a Goddess. A Divine Being. Made for me, and only me".

Your eyes fluttered shut at his words, and you let them settle in the silence between the two of you — your breathing became heavy as Charlie's lips brushed against your neck, his fingers tracing shapes on your thighs. The cross on the wall behind you caught your attention, but in that moment, there was no Jesus, no shame, no fear; all you could feel was Charlie and the power emanating from him.

"You, God, are my God, earnestly I seek you; I thirst for you, my whole being longs for you, in a dry and parched land where there is no water", your melodic, satin like voice filled the silence in Charlie's chamber as he washed the remains of blood from his face with the Holy Water. He swore he could almost feel the burning sensation in the places that the Water reached — as if God was punishing him for his sins. In that moment it didn't matter, though, not when your words reached his ears. He hummed appreciatively, turning towards your kneeling form.

"Very good. Worship Your God with not only words, but also actions". You nodded slowly as he now stood in front of you, with nothing but a white towel loosely wrapped around his waist. Your mouth began to salivate as you watched him, tall and powerful above you, his gaze both demanding and dangerous. Unhesitatingly, you reached for his towel, tugging it down in one, swift movement. Your breath hitched as his cock stood proudly right in front of your face, waiting to be taken care of.

"So pretty", you whispered softly, not sure of he'd even be able to hear — yet he did. He looked down at you with authority, small smile making its way on his lips before he reached down to tug on your hair, clearly inpatient. You fixed your posture, leaning forward, folding your hands, as Charlie slowly began to stroke his cock with his free hand.

A soft moan left his mouth at the contact, as he watched you with hooded eyes; one of his black shirts dangling from your figure, rolled up on your silky thighs. Charlie caught a sneak peek of your collarbones and neck as you hanged your head.

"He is the one you praise; he is your God, who performed for you those great and awesome wonders you saw with your own eyes", he panted lowly, moving his hand over his cock teasingly slow, as he held your hair tightly. Your lashes fluttered as you gazed up at him — the power he had over you in the moment only spurred him on further. "Open up. Wide", he instructed, tugging on your hair, forcing you to lift your head. You obeyed —your tongue lolling out of your mouth, eyes clouded with lust as you looked up for his approval.

There was no rush in his movements as he slowly positioned his leaking cock in front of your awaiting mouth, slapping the tip against your tongue. You hummed as the salty taste of his pre-cum invaded your senses, the smell of Charlie — wood, a strong cologne and a hint of incense — lingering in the air, making the moment even more intimate.

"Just like that, Angel", he smirked widely, his eyes not once leaving yours as he slowly thrusted into your mouth. "Worship your God".

You hollowed your cheeks around his cock, swirling your tongue around the tip just like he knew he liked it. Charlie hissed through clenched teeth, tangling his hand in your hair, holding you in place as his hips began to snap into your mouth with force. Your eyes began to water as his tip bruised the back of your throat, your still folded hands trembling as you struggled to breathe.

"You look so pretty with my dick in your mouth, on your knees — praying for me", he gasped, and you let out a moan, causing every muscle in his body to clench. He continued to use your mouth, as you slurped down on his cock, saliva mixed with his pre-cum dripping from the sides of your mouth — you weren't afraid of being messy, spurred by the groans leaving his mouth every time your wet, inviting mouth took all of his length in.

Charlie's thumb pressed against your forehead, as he continued to use your mouth, deaf to the desperate moans and gags leaving you. He drew a sign of the cross on your skin, causing a tingling sensation to spread all over your body. You doubled your efforts on his dick, your tongue lapping the pulsing vein on the underside of his shaft. Charlie whined and pushed you all the way down, forcing his length to rest deep in your throat — your hands flew to his thighs for balance, tears running down your cheeks as you struggled to breathe.

"A holy seed in your mouth, Angel", Charlie panted, his head falling back as he felt your throat convulse around him. "Take me. Take all of me in your pretty little throat — let me take over your body and soul".

All you could do was moan as his hips thrusted against your face one, two, three more times — before he pulled away, a string of saliva still connecting your swollen lips to his pretty, flushed tip. You sticked out your tongue while your hands moved up to close around his cock, jerking him off swiftly.

A few seconds and strokes of your hands later, and the hot spurts of his cum landed on your awaiting tongue, chin and cheeks, his hand on your head tightening as he struggled to stay upright.

"Oh my— Yes, fuck", he grunted desperately, and you smirked, closing your mouth around his tip to swallow every single drop he offered you.

You pulled away a while later, licking your lips, savouring the taste of his godly essence on your tongue. Charlie's chest was heaving with uneven breaths as he pulled you up by your shoulders. Your legs were shaking terribly, sore from the endless kneeling, but the burn in your lower abdomen was stronger than any pain.

"You're a real child of God", Charlie held both of your hands in his as he led you to his bed. Your knees buckled when they hit the bed frame, and you fell back against the sheets, moving up until your head met the pillow. Your hair was scattered around your head like a halo, and Charlie's breath hitched as he stood on the foot of the bed, in all his glory — his cock stood proud in the air, not yet fully satisfied.

You watched with a smile as he moved to grab a knife from his drawer. The bed creaked under Charlie's weight as he slowly moved to tower over you. His hand slid up your chest, slowly and teasingly, before the blunt side of the knife pressed against your — his — shirt-covered collarbone.

The thrill of being at his mercy — even though you knew he wouldn't hurt you — was electrifying, and you couldn't help the gasp that left your mouth at the sensation. Charlie hummed a few lines of a hymn, as his other hand grasped your thigh, his fingers tracing soft circles onto your skin. The blade moved against your chest, and he pressed it in harder, cutting through the black fabric.

"So pure... so special", he whispered, voice filled with adoration as he watched your chest rise and fall rapidly. You gasped as the cold air hit your hot skin, when Charlie slowly slid the shirt off your shoulders. Your boobs were now fully exposed to him, and he couldn't help a groan that left his mouth at the sight, his cock pressing between your bodies as he leaned down to brush his lips against the fading "C" on your sternum, that he carved out with his knife a few weeks ago. He knew it'd leave a scar, but that was his purpose — he wanted you to be marked as his for life. He let his tongue trace over the letter, lapping at your skin as if he was starved.

"Therefore, I urge you, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God — this is your true and proper worship", he mumbled, and your back arched off the bed as his mouth closed around your nipple, biting the sensitive bud softly, at which you whined. You tugged on the white sheets with force as he sucked, licked and lapped on your skin, breathless sounds leaving your mouth when the cold blade pressed against your skin yet again.

"Charlie— please", you managed to let out through gritted teeth, and he chuckled lowly — the sound vibrating against your skin, making you shiver.

You were growing impatient as Charlie finally let go of your nipple, his hand closing around your neck as he looked you up and down. "I need you so bad. I don’t want to wait". Your words came out strangled, as you struggled to breathe — due to his thumb now pressing against your pulse point with force.

"Greed is a sin", he tutted, before pressing the sharp edge of the knife into the skin of your hip. Blood was pouring from the little wound as he continued to move the blade down, creating a masterpiece of his own on your skin. He groaned when your blood streamed down your side, covering the sheets under you. Tears blurred your vision as you struggled against him, the pain and pleasure of being so obviously marked by him making you lightheaded.

Relief washed over your body when he was finished, leaving you trembling and crying — yet still, your sick mind was enjoying every second of it.

"Mine", Charlie groaned, before throwing the knife onto the bed and moving down your body to lap at your wounds. He wasn't afraid of being messy with you as he took a deep breath, savouring the smell of you, his tongue cleaning up the mess that he had made. The sting made your body twitch, as his hand left your throat, instead moving down your body to tug at the waistband of your panties. Your hips rose off the mattress, allowing him to do whatever he pleased — and so he did, taking your lace thong off greedily, his tongue still working against your crimson covered skin.

You couldn't take it no more — not when the pressure between your thighs became too much, the tension begging to be taken care of. With all the strength you had left, you tugged on his hair, pulling him in for a bruising kiss. You didn't mind the taste of your own blood on your tongue, moaning into his mouth, as Charlie's hands gripped your thighs, forcing them open when they threatened to close around his hips.

Your blood was smeared all over yours and Charlie's lips, chins and cheeks as you shared a filthy, open mouthed kiss, your tongues rolling over each other. Your hands pressed against his chest, nails digging into his skin as you felt his cock press against your clit. A groan left his mouth when you grinded your hips up, causing his tip to brush against your wet folds.

"God, please— I need your cock, I need it so bad, Charlie", you mumbled, sucking his lower lip into your mouth lewdly. He flipped the two of you over, wasting no time before positioning his cock on your entrance, and you sink down on him with an almost pornographic moan.

Your head tipped back as you grinded down against him, his hands closing on your waist in a bruising grasp. He panted lowly, eyes falling closed as he felt the warmness and wetness of your cunt squeezing him with force.

"Fuck, yeah", Charlie cried out, and you smirked, your eyes half-closed as you watched him tremble beneath you. You reached out for the knife that was long forgotten by him, pressing the flat side against his stomach, watching as his eyes widened.

"You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they were created and have their being", you chanted, at which a desperate groan left his mouth, urging you on further. You pressed the knife against his sternum, cutting through his skin as if it was paper. You carved out big cross on his skin as you began to bounce up and down on his cock.

"Amen", you whispered, and Charlie'a bottom lip trembled in pain as your fingers digged into the wound, coating your fingers in his blood. You put them in your mouth, moaning obscenely as Charlie's lips began to piston upwards, his tip hitting your cervix every time he bottomed out. Your tongue swirled around your digits, your eyes rolling back into your head at the metallic taste of Charlie's blood coating your tongue.

"You taste so good, my God", you groaned as your fingers left your mouth, and you coated them with yet another layer of the crimson liquid, before tapping them on his bottom lip. He obeyed, digging his fingers into the plush flesh of your thighs, as you pushed your bloody fingers deep into his mouth. He whined pathetically, the movements of his hips slowing as he savoured the taste of himself. You took the lead, watching as his eyes fluttered shut at the invasion in his mouth, your blood covering the lower part of his face — the sight so erotic it made you tremble and grind against him harder.

"Oh, shit— my Goodness", he cried out around your digits, and you chuckled, pulling them out of his mouth, instead putting both of your hands on both sides of him for balance, as you bounced up and down on his thick cock. It felt like he was tearing you apart with how deep he was, incoherent curses leaving your mouth as your hair fell down your sweaty, bloody face. You licked a stripe up his chest, tracing the bloody cross with your tongue, moaning at the taste. Charlie hissed, pushing your head down, urging you not to stop, his hips snapping up to meet yours; his hands on your ass, forcing you to bounce harder.

"Every single piece of you is made for sin", Charlie groaned, spanking your backside once, twice, thrice, until you couldn't breathe. Tears blurred your vision at the pain, but you could just grind harder, the friction of his lower stomach against your clit making you see stars. "You're so filthy. Like a fucking devil", he snarled, and you arched your back as his flat palm landed on your ass cheek yet again.

"Charlie, I'm— I'm gonna cum", you cried out, and he nodded, pulling you flush against his chest, lifting your hips just a little higher in the air — causing his cock to hit that sweet spot deep inside you.

Your hand closed around Charlie's throat, and he groaned appreciatively when you squeezed, your thumb brushing against the vein on the side of his neck. His cock twitched when he watched you, your lips brushing against his just slightly as you moaned for him — the look of pure pleasure on your face was almost too much for him to handle.

"Fuck, yes— choke me— choke me, just like that", he panted, and you felt his cock twitch inside you.

"Cum with me", you begged, leaning down to capture his lips in a kiss. Your blood mixed as your tongues swirled together, and you swallowed his breathless moans as he neared his peak.

Charlie's thrusts became sloppy as he lost his rhythm, and as he hit that particular spot in you, you were seeing stars, coming all over him. Your cunt convulsed around his cock, squeezing him so tightly it became hard for him to move as you screamed his name, the hand around his throat tightening. Your orgasm triggered his own. He was grunting profanities under his breath as ropes of his cum filled your womb, causing aftershocks to run down your core.

Charlie flipped you on your back, kissing down your body before reaching your messy, puffy pussy. His cum was leaking out of your spent hole, and his cock twitched yet again at the sight — this time, everything was about you, though. He lowered his head to swirl his tongue against your clit, before lapping up the remains of your mixed releases. He groaned at the taste, and you whined, your legs closing around his head as he devoured you as if you were the last meal he was going to have.

He licked the last, teasing stripe up to your clit before he pulled away, satisfied smile playing on his lips. He kissed the area around the wounds on your stomach before kissing you, letting you taste his and yours release on your tongue.

He quickly deepened the kiss, not yet satisfied — his cock pressed against your stomach, at which you moaned, letting him explore the inside of your mouth with his tongue.

It was before you heard a soft knock on the door — and whoever was on the other side, didn't wait for a response before barging into the room. Your eyes widened and Charlie pulled away quickly, turning towards the door with an expression you haven't quite seen on him yet — fear. His eyes widened with horror as he saw Sister Megan, holding an article in her hand, her mouth slightly agape at the sight of you, the most devout parishioner, in her favourite Priest's bed — both of you naked and covered in blood. A small smile made its way onto your face as you watched her stumble across the doorway, mumbling a quick "I'm sorry", before disappearing.

"Fuck!", Charlie screamed, and you run your hands over his back, trying to calm him down — as you already had a plan. "I'm dead. I am fucking dead!", he groaned, getting up from the bed, panic clearly visible on his face, his heart racing in his chest.

"Baby, calm down! Just— listen for a moment!", you shouted, shaking his shoulders in order to get him to pay attention. "She's not gonna tell anyone. I promise", your voice grew louder as he began to talk over you. He relaxed slightly at your unbothered expression — he knew you would never lie to him, and you had this incredible ability to calm him down even in the most stressful moments.

"We need to get rid of her", he said, at which you smirked, running your hands over his chest softly.

"Exactly what I'm thinking. But", you chimed, standing on your top toes to kiss him, before continuing. "It can wait. Just trust me. And... we still have some unfinished business to take care of". You looked down on his erect shaft, running your hands down his abs to wrap your hand around him. Charlie groaned, his head tilted back and teeth biting on his bottom lip. You smiled as you felt his heartbeat against your other hand, the connection between you two only getting stronger, better — more powerful.

It was a dangerous game you were playing, but as Charlie pulled you back onto the bed, capturing your lips in a kiss, you had no doubts about the future you and Charlie have ahead of you.

But firstly, you had to get rid of the obstacles — and kill Megan Duvall.

❝ hoffmansgirl © 2024 | do not copy, translate, recreate or plagiarise my content. 𝗡𝗜𝗖𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗔𝗦 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗩𝗘𝗭 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ❞

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[pmpmyread]

Forty Winks

Nanami Kento x f!reader, fluff.

It was a rainy mid-autumn afternoon when you first discovered this side of Nanami.

There was an urgent lightness to your steps as you ventured down the corridor lined by the classrooms that separated your office from Nanami’s. Thanks to a convoluted mission whose report took an inordinate amount of time to fill, you were late, or at least later than usual.

Usual.

What had started off as unscheduled, undefined engagements had now found a rather regular cadence; usually on Wednesday afternoons when both of your schedules tended to be less busy, usually towards the end limit of what could still count as being lunchtime, usually coordinated via a quick text on the morning of to confirm availabilities on both of your ends.

Serially impromptu was how you’d cautiously qualified these meetings in your mind, as you’d caught yourself subconsciously putting more effort than normal into applying your makeup on the Wednesday morning of your third meetup of the kind. 

Colleagues sharing good reads, the phrase you repeated to yourself, one that took on the weight of a mantra as you stood before your humble bookshelf a few days ago, absentmindedly flipping through the pages of the next novel you’d meticulously picked out for Nanami from your favorites.

The very same paperback you were clutching at this moment as you brought up your right knuckle to meet the wooden door with three knocks, only realizing that it wasn’t closed shut once your movement caused it to slide ajar.

You took a deep breath, ready to be confronted with the likely scenarios; perhaps you’d find Nanami diligently filling out a report from an earlier mission, with his jacket draped over his desk chair, his sleeves pulled back revealing his sinewy arms and his brows furrowed in concentration, or maybe he would be at his desktop computer reviewing someone else’s training plan, eyes fixed onto his screen with that steady gaze of his, his jaw clenched and his forehead wrinkled in focus.

Neither of which prepared you for what you found instead.

It took you a few seconds to spot him, seeing as he was assuming a rather unusual position in his reclined office chair, but there he was.

Nanami Kento, fast asleep.

In hindsight, not much thought had gone into crossing the threshold into the office, and quietly bringing the door to a close with a soft click. If any vestiges of hesitation remained, they were promptly shed as you got closer to Nanami and the details of his rare form became increasingly clear, like mist fading on a dull day.

His glasses were off, long since discarded on his desk. His hair was lightly tousled out of its place, his tie was slightly loosened at the knot, and the first button of his shirt was unfastened. Long fingers interlocked just over his abdomen where his hands were folded. His chair was angled back and facing his window.

His disposition was the most relaxed you’d ever seen him. A light, rhythmic snore was just barely audible over the sound of drizzle drumming against the glass panes. The lines of tension that normally tightened his face, the ones you’d seen soften only during the rare occasions he’d allowed his filter to momentarily slip, were now notably faded.

As you took in the surreal sight before your eyes, your mesmerization transfigured into wonder.

Did he slip into slumber while waiting for you?

Had he dozed off while gazing out as huge raindrops slipped and fell off the fiery scarlet maples?

He looked so tired lately, was he getting enough sleep?

Suddenly, the sleeping sorcerer lightly rustled in his chair, his eyebrows flexing into a slight frown, his lips twitching into a minute twist and his eyelids fluttering softly, hinting at a mystifying world of dreams behind his closed eyes. Only once he’d settled back into his rhythmic breathing did you slowly exhale the breath you did not realize you’d been holding.

This momentary dread jolted you back to reality; you truly had no business being in here, certainly not for as long as you were. You hesitated for a moment, deliberating the fate of what would be the damning evidence of your breach, the intimation that you had in fact witnessed him in this state.

Ultimately, boldness blotted out enough of the doubt that lingered in your mind and you opted to place the book in prominence between his screen and keyboard, in the exact spot you’d watched him place the previous volume you’d lent him a few weeks prior. As you turned around and retraced your steps back towards the door, you recited every prayer you knew, hoping to avoid the inevitably awkward encounter that would arise should he wake up before you had the chance to slink away. An encounter you’d now only delayed.

Only once you were back out in the safety of the hall and well on your way back to your office, did you allow your mind wander back to your contemplation, fuelled by the curiosity that underpinned your interactions with the 7:3 sorcerer, by the same interest which guided your careful selection of the books you lent him, and from which emerged yet another question.

What does Nanami Kento dream about?

Weaved between the shared moments that transformed serially impromptu into regularly scheduled, shared reads into shared meals and that saw colleagues slip into the fledging permissiveness of close friends, bridges were being built.

One of said bridges came in the form of a TV series, an adaptation of a book you’d both enjoyed. You’d started watching it on one of your not-so-impromptu shared lunch breaks, during which you’d admittedly spent more time squinting at your tablet in an attempt to focus your attention on the scenes playing out on the screen rather than the distracting warm presence of the man who’d innocuously scooted closer to get a better view of the screen.

An effort that proved to be futile; you ended up having to rewatch the entire episode at a later, less distracting time.

If convenience was the guise under which you’d first found yourself catching the next few episodes at Nanami’s apartment after an early shift bookended by a mission you’d cleared in an area within the proximity of his place, then a force of habit is what kept this practice going over the next few weeks, and reciprocity was what finally found you together in your home for the first time, on this snowy Saturday afternoon, primed to binge the remaining three episodes of the season.

A small habit, much like the one he was enacting right now, a few minutes into the next episode you were watching, one that you’d seen him engage in on your several past TV-watching sessions.

It would begin subtly, a slight adjustment of his posture, discernible only to your now-trained eye. He’d shift himself to the perfect angle to maintain both a line of sight with the screen and his face away from you.

You called him out once for dozing off, something he had evasively denied. But the slight upward curve of his lips, when you picked up the show the next time, as he’d rewound back to the closing scenes of the previous episode, citing the “need for a refresher”, told you everything you needed to know.

So you watched him in amusement now, shaking your head as you observed him make his gradual, calculated moves. Unlike the previous occasions, he was now in the foreign territory that was your small living room. You had two sofas at an L-shape right angle facing the TV. Nanami sat slightly reclined lengthwise on the longer one and you sat upright on the two-seater which was positioned slightly behind. In fact, he’d have an easier time setting himself up in this layout.

Good, you thought, it would make it that much easier to catch him.

You would have paused to admire him in this rare, relaxed, and unguarded form if you weren’t so busy attempting to catch him in the act.

Slowly, in a subtle, controlled movement, Nanami repositioned himself just low enough that his face was obscured from your sight. You watched, and you waited. After several minutes spent observing him, the now regularized rise and fall of the remote resting on his abdomen as he breathed gave you the assurance you needed to make your move.

You carefully leaned forward, your weight shifting towards the sofa’s arm, as you reached for the remote, a delicate balance maintained as you slowly descended your hand, poised like a claw machine, ready to grab the prize. Almost there, you thought as your fingers brushed against the familiar raised buttons of the remote.

A surprised yelp escaped your lips before you could mentally register the hand that had darted up and the fingers that clamped around your wrist to halt your movement. Nanami’s gentle but firm grasp was now the only thing keeping you from falling completely as you stumbled awkwardly, half-lunging, half-standing.

“Are we not watching anymore?” he inquired in his characteristic uninflected tone.

“I…weren’t you just asleep?” you answered his question with your own, your words both breathy and strained as you focused on maintaining your balance in your newfound awkward position.

“I wasn’t,” he said simply.

You scoffed. “I somehow doubt that…” You tried to get him to face you, but Nanami’s eyes remained trained on the screen. “Tell me then, what was the very last thing that happened?”

He described a sequence in detail, down to the specific lines of dialogue that were exchanged between the characters. Only then did he finally angle his face upwards to meet your gaze in an unreadable expression as he awaited your feedback.

You averted your eyes for a moment, turning your attention to the screen in an attempt to reorient yourself in the story, squinting at it much like you’d done with your tablet screen all those weeks ago, as the realization slowly dawned on you; that you couldn’t for the life of you confirm nor deny his recounting of the plot, that amidst your mad preoccupation with pinching Nanami in his slumberous endeavors, you had completely missed out on whatever narrative development that had just occurred throughout this episode.

When your gaze tentatively returned to his, you found a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Only now did you realize how close you were to him, your eyes drawn to the subtle imprints of his glasses on his nose, where a few freckles clustered like tiny specks of dust.

The nervousness inflicted by this sudden proximity did you no favors as you faltered in your balance, your extended leg beginning to tire. You moved to shift your balance back to your back leg to pull away, but Nanami acted before you did, picking up the remote and clasping it between the hand that he still held, brushing his fingers lightly against yours as he did, perhaps deliberately, before finally letting go.

“I was restfully attentive,” he casually said, as if to answer an unspoken question.

“Restfully attentive?” You could only repeat his oblique response, as you bewilderedly found your seat again, thrown off by just how swiftly your little plan had gone awry. “Really, Nanami… I—I’m just going to rewind it a bit, for good measure. I’m pretty sure you’re missing a few details,” you quickly added, not wanting to dwell on the details of the question you’d raised, but could not answer yourself.

“Oh am I, now?” He quipped, clearly unconvinced by your act, and you suddenly felt the burden of proof shifting to you in a turn of events you definitely did not see coming, a conundrum that was soon discarded to the back of your mind once you heard the soft sound of a chuckle emanating from him. You watched as his laughter rippled through his frame, rising like a melody and traveling to your warming ears.

And there it was again, a rare glimpse at Nanami’s unmasked side, the kind that triggered this now familiar warmth to course through you, warmer than the miso soup you’d downed after the sushi takeout you’d just shared, warmer than the golden rays of sunshine that pierced through the frosty air and filtered through your living room patio door.

As you rewound your show back a few scenes, your hand trembled ever so slightly at the indelible sensation of your contact. You distracted yourself by sorting through your theories, wondering whether Nanami was a light sleeper, or had truly been awake; pondering the predictability of the series’ story and the probability that he’d simply made some incredibly accurate, educated guesses.

Or maybe this was just something to take as is; another layer uncovered, another quirk you’d grow accustomed to, a funny bonding joke that would settle between you — that your sweet Nanami had a spontaneous napping habit, and that very few things could come between him and his forty winks.

You’d never been much of a napper yourself, convinced it would disrupt your already delicate sleep schedule. Today would mark the exception that highlighted this rule.

Kento and you were on a trip together, a short couple’s weekend getaway in a neighboring city. Unlike the first time you’d randomly found yourselves in this area for a mission, this time you were armed with a thorough plan to visit as many of the local gems as possible; a cafe, a specialized museum, an open-air market, another cafe. To say that you were determined would be an understatement.

So when you began feeling a hint of the fatigue you’d accumulated over the last few weeks of arduous work beginning to rear its ugly head only halfway through day one, you pushed it at bay, staunchly resisting the idea that perhaps your itinerary was more ambitious than what you’d anticipated.

Nanami had accustomed to your habits as much as you did to his, enough to take notice of the increased sluggishness of your movements, of the subtle drop in your energy levels, and of the heaviness in your eyes; enough to know that you were too stubborn and feel too guilty to entertain the idea of slowing down, much less to settle for anything close to resting unless he’d was the one to suggest it.

So it was only once he proposed spending the afternoon in, citing the fancy rooftop pool at the hotel you were staying at to be an adequate alternative location to spend the bulk of the afternoon, that you gave in to the latent need for rest.

The combination of a late spring breeze on a lightly cloudy day and of luxurious chaise lounges at an altitude that saw the city noisiness reduced to a faint city bustle several floors below would have ordinarily made for perfect conditions for Nanami to slip into a comfortable midday slumber. And yet, today, he wouldn’t catch a wink.

Another exception to another rule.

The book he’d brought with him remained open on his lap, on the same page it had been over the past twenty minutes, a testament to the fact that his attention had very much not been on it, but on your sleeping form on the chair next to him instead.

He’d watched you sleep on countless occasions before; in his bed, in yours, on nights when he resisted the pull of his own somnolence as he sought to anchor himself in a moment of wakeful contemplation that bookended a passionate encounter, on placid mornings when he woke a few minutes before his alarm as he often did, on that one occasion when you’d succumbed to slumber in the infirmary in the aftermath of a strenuous mission that left you only a little less than exhausted and Nanami more than perturbed.

But this was different.

It wasn’t the now familiar comfort brought on by the gentle rise and fall of your breath, nor your slightly parted lips, nor the way by which the afternoon sunshine highlighted the golden radiance of your skin, but the juxtaposition of your sleeping face against one particular high-rise building visible in the distance behind you that captured his mind into a contemplation that melded into memory:

Months prior, you were both enjoying some teas together as you sat on a park bench facing, among other things, a building that was still under what was seemingly interminable construction, one of many new developments in the metropolitan area. You’d spent the afternoon engaged in a conversation without fences, one of the many you’d come to have, speaking freely about everything and nothing.

A loud thud emanating from the construction site, drawing both your attentions to its source.

“I feel like this thing has been under construction since forever,” you’d remarked.

“It’s been far too long. Especially for what it looks like,” Nanami replied impassively.

“Not a fan of eccentric-looking buildings, Kento?” you said teasingly, referring to the unorthodox convex facade that formed the structure’s south side.

“I’m a fan of projects that are run efficiently, that don’t block out pedestrian access for six months longer than initially announced, and whose noises don’t scare off all the birds in the area.”

You couldn’t help but snicker at the deadpan acerbity embodied by his tone, one you’d come to adore.

“Hey, on the bright side, it sounds like the municipality won its case. I read that they’re imposing at least half of these units to be residential. So hopefully that should maintain some of the area’s charm, while still being a net positive for the urbanization efforts.”

Your remark was met by a non-committal hum from Nanami, followed by a pause before his response.

“Then I suppose we’ll just have to tolerate this accumulation of small despairs for a while longer.”

A sardonic sigh punctuated what you now recognized to be a refrain of his.

It was your turn to release a contemplative hum.

You had half a mind to let your commentary go. You couldn’t tell whether it was the combined sentiments of openness and closeness that had reigned over you that evening, or the sensation of Nanami’s curious gaze on you as he patiently afforded you the space to complete your thought, or something deeper and unnamed that compelled you to speak from the heart.

“Don’t you think it’s an accumulation of small moments as well?” You cleared your throat before continuing. “In six months, the build will be complete. Or at least, hopefully. After which workers will commute to it and run out countless dreary work days and celebrate wins within it. Others will move into the residential section, in which they will build their homes, and live their lives and express their love…”

You trailed off as your eyes were drawn to the very top of the structure, where a couple of roofers had made a sudden appearance. You felt Nanami’s head tilt upwards to follow your gaze, and you continued.

“And we’ll all have forgotten about those guys up there, about the blocked street, about the construction noises, about every little thing that went into the building creating this. The messy middle, the inconveniences, the points at which the project doesn’t seem to make much sense. One day, it will just be there, existing, in its ultimate form, this impressive, self-evident thing.”

The words had spilled from you so freely, and it was only in the silence that followed that it occurred to you that just how much you’d spoken, that perhaps you’d rambled too much. Once you finally worked up the courage to turn to face Kento, it was, unbeknownst to you, just in time to miss him tearing his contemplative gaze away from you and returning his attention to the building.

You got another hum from him, one which you couldn’t help but mimic this time, in your own playful tone.

“Hmm. Or am I being too rose-colored for Mr. Nanami Kento?” you asked only half-jokingly, poking at the side of his arm affectionately to bring levity to the moment.

“No, you aren’t,” would come Nanami’s reply after a moment of insight.

It came again now, as the memory of the deep words you’d uttered so lightheartedly echoed through Nanami’s mind, and as his eyes flicked from the now completed high-rise standing in the distance as sure as the snoozing woman in the forefront.

One day, it will just be there…

He was slowly pulled back to reality by the sudden movement of your stirring. Your eyes fluttered open and met his as you both emerged from your own hazy states between dreams and consciousness. Your beatific smile mirrored his, forming the anchor that would bring you both back to reality.

“Well… I see why you enjoy these siestas so much. I really needed that,” you said, breaking the silence.

Nanami watched you intently, captivated by your movements as you stretched and as your head tilted at the perfect angle to catch and hold the sunlight in your left eye, transforming it into a shimmering pool of amber.

… this impressive, self-evident thing.

“I hope you got to rest a bit as well?” you added, verbalizing the hint of curious concern betrayed by your eyes, one that did not go unnoticed by him.

He quietly nodded. A half-truth, one he would stick to as he remembered that yours was a nap you had only allowed yourself to take as long as he would do the same.

It was difficult for Nanami to imagine a time when your union wasn’t a foregone conclusion.

It was difficult for you to do the same, and yet, after all this time, you still couldn’t quite shake the familiar anxious flutter that traversed you whenever his gaze lingered on you with the intensity it carried right now, with tempered vulnerability, as if to telegraph sentiments in words unsaid.

You ripped your eyes from his only for the brief moment it took to glance at your smartwatch.

“I think we still have time to stroll by the port before it gets swarmed by the evening crowd, if you’re up for it?” you ventured, your tone coming through with more timidity than you’d intended.

“Let’s do it,” he replied, speaking for the first time since you woke.

“Okay. I’ll go freshen up and we can get going?”

You raised yourself from the chair, placing your hand on Nanami’s shoulder as you leaned down towards him in a swift movement to give him a quick peck. He had other intentions. He brought up his fingers to trace the line of your jaw, holding your chin gently yet firmly in place as he extended the brush of your lips into a slow, reverent kiss. The languid and unhurried caress of his tongue against yours pulled you out of the hastiness you’d almost reverted back to, like a wave breaking its crest, anchored you to the easy tenderness of the moment.

“You’re so wonderfully affectionate after your naps, Kento,” you murmured as he finally pulled away, “and I think now see why they put you in such a good mood.”

To this Nanami smiled, but said nothing, choosing to let you relish in the idea that his lifted mood was owed not to the cumulation of the small moments that led to the one you were having, but to the refreshing effect of a single midday nap.

[orcasoul]

The Lesser of Two Evils

Summery: Rome is the enemy but so are the people you've spent your whole life with. When faced with a desperate choice of life or death which enemy should you choose?

Warnings: Swearing, smut (eventual), threats of rape, sexual harassment, violence, gore, detailed injuries, angst, enemies(ish) to lovers, protective Marcus Acacius, age gap, OFC/reader

A/N: While daydreaming of this tale I envisioned it happening in Germania (thanks to the first Gladiator movie) so Alia/reader is Germanic. She's mid 30's, has long hair and is smaller than Marcus Acacius. I have done a bit of research of the ancient Germans as well as Ancient Romans but there will, no doubt be a lot of historical inaccuracies but hey, it's fan fiction baby, so anything goes! I hope you all enjoy...

Word count: 5,173

Part 1

The chaos is unrelenting, spreading like the roots of a weed, destroying everything it touches. The deafening clanging of steel against steel, the anguished screams of men in their last moments, the earth turning red; it's brutal and harrowing and raw, but it's necessary. It's for the glory of Rome. That truth alone is enough to drive Marcus Acacius in his rage fuelled onslaught. Body after body falls as his sword meets enemy flesh, every man put down means one less adversary for Rome.

With adrenaline and purpose flowing through him, he advances beside his men, slowly but surely, the goal seemingly just within reach. Impossible to tell if the sludgy ground beneath his feet is saturated with rain or blood. Impossible to tell the difference between the roars and wails of his brothers in arms and that of his foes. The carnage intensifies with every heaving breath, the sickening stench of iron assaulting his senses as he mercilessly ends yet another life, the heat from his victims blood steaming against the frigid air as it drips from his Gladius (sword).

A quick glance at his surroundings reveals a much more devastating encounter than Marcus had anticipated. The Gutones are a savage and ignorant people but they are cleary also very formidable. It will make the conquest all the more glorious for Rome. So, Marcus thunders on, meeting combatant after combatant in a gruelling test of strength and endurance. After dispatching his latest victim - some foolish man-child who believed he could take on a seasoned general, of all people - he turns to check over his shoulder just as a very large brute swings at his head with an axe. Marcus ducks at the last second, grinning at the now enraged man as he prepares for another swing.

Marcus counters the blow, holding his sword horizontally above his head. He throws the axe to the side, the momentum taking his attacker with it, causing him to stumble. Marcus, seizing the opportunity granted to him, spins to face the man, sword poised to deliver the final blow. In a split second Marcus is on his knees, a hot stabbing pain shooting across the back of his right thigh. Despite the throbbing and spasming in his leg, Marcus tries to stand but it's futile; all strength in his leg is gone. Looking up he's met with a sadistic and victorious smile from his assailant as he raises the axe above his head, ready to strike.

This is it! This is how it ends. In these last precious seconds of his life, Marcus becomes overwhelmed with a myriad of emotions and thoughts; what will become of his men? Will whomever succeeds him as general be worthy and commited to Rome? Will he be remembered and honoured for his steadfast dedication to expanding the empire? Marcus refuses to close his eyes for this moment; he will look his death defiantly in his cold blue eyes, refusing to show even an ounce of the crippling fear he feels right now.

Just as the object of his death swings towards him, a deep voice booms from behind him. "Alive! We need him alive!" The man before him stops mid swing, looking furiously in the voices' direction. However, before Marcus can look back the big brute flips his axe. The last thing Marcus sees is the thick, blunt handle, thrust towards his face before the world turns black.

Cold, dark, wet. That's what Marcus Acacius opens his eyes to. This is not Elysium. There's no warm sunshine, no cooling west wind, no lush green meadows with brooks of water and wine. In place of tranquillity and bliss there is only pain and suffering. Did he not lead a virtuous life? Why does Elysium not embrace him? He fights against the pull of his eyelids, rolling onto his back as his foggy mind struggles to make sense of his surroundings. It's the sudden and intense surge of pain in his leg that startles him back into reality. He's very much alive.

Wide eyed and groaning, Marcus reaches down to feel the afflicted area, fingers finding a damp and crudely applied strip of cloth. His instincts abruptly return, willing him to rise, to fight and survive. But instinct and will alone cannot overcome physicality. His vision darkens in the subdued torchlight as he tries - and fails - to push himself up, limbs aching and head throbbing furiously. He falls, landing face down on the muddy ground. Rolling over, he wipes the cold mud from his eyes and mouth, anger and frustration quickly building. His blurry vision clears only to reveal what looks like thick and rough wooden bars.

A cage! He's locked up like some worthless dog. The shame of it! Death would have been the favourable option, not this. Never this! "Well, look who's finally awake," a mocking voice jeered as the cage door swung open. Marcus gathered what remained of his strength and pushed himself up sit up, back resting against the cage bars and chest heaving from exertion. A man about his build and height wearing animal hyde and simple trousers strode over to Marcus, looking down on him like he was nothing more than horse shit. Marcus returned the sentiment by fixing him with a glare of pure revulsion.

"Who do you think you are staring at, slave!" The man literally spat at Marcus' feet. "Get in here!" he yelled impatiently while keeping eye contact with Marcus, no doubt to try and intimidate him. Marcus sat in confusion for a moment until movement behind the man caught his attention. You were quite small in stature compared to the lout barking orders at you, but that could also be due to the fact you had your head lowered and shoulders tucked into yourself, an unmistakable defensive posture. "Clean him up," his big meaty hand shoved you forward, nearly causing you to spill the fresh water from the jug you're carrying.

You managed to find your footing just before you almost fell into the prisoner. You dare not look at his face; the face of a monster. Never have you had to face a Roman before. You've heard countless stories about the "Red Demons" who consume the world, leaving death and destruction in their wake, and now you stand before one. You're not sure what to expect. Despite your best effort to remain collected, your hands begin to shake in fear. "Make sure he lives if you know what's good for you. He's no use to us dead."

Dread licks up your spine at the threat. With a lingering sneer thrown at the general, the man began to walk away, but stopped by the gate. "Careful around around that savage." You could hear the smirk in his mock warning. "Men like that always take what they like from women. It would be a shame if he defiled you, being the animal that he is." The sudden slam of the gate made you jump, the sound of the lock clicking into place causing your stomach to churn. You're trapped! Fear has you rooted to the spot.

Unsure of your next move you force yourself to at least look upon his face. His scowl send a cold shiver to every part of your being, his eyes slowly raking over your whole body and his lip curling as if the mere sight of you disgusts him. No change there then; it's how you've been viewed your whole life. His eyes, burning with hatred, settle on yours and you gulp. He says nothing; but he doesn't need to. The intensity of his glare says it all. Taking a steadying breath, you will yourself to sound more confident than you feel. "I, uh... need to clean your wound."

He remains motionless, staring you down. One uncertain step towards him is all it takes for his anger to burst forth. "Dont. Touch. Me!" he seeths as he awkwardly shuffles away from you, fighting against the ropes that bind his hands and feet. It's evident he's trying to mask the pain caused by moving. "Please...I won't hurt you." You suddenly feel ridiculous for stating the bleeding obvious. Of course you won't hurt him; couldn't if you tried. You can tell just by looking at him this man could snap you like a twig if he so desired, restraints or not. "No, leave me. I'd rather die than be a captive.'' "You don't understand," you begin to plead, stepping a bit closer. "If you die they'll blame me. They'll do terrible thi-" "I don't fucking care!" he spat, silencing you.

You know there's no point arguing; a cornered animal will always lash out. Anxiety pools in your gut. You just know you'll get hell for this. "Wigmar?" you call while you wait by the door. "Wigmar!" you shout this time. A minute later the man - Wigmar - returns looking annoyed. "What?!" he barks. "Uh... I can't... I mean... he won't let me come near," you say with a little shrug. "Please, it's not my fault." Wigmar looks at the prisoner then at you. "Useless cunt," he sneers and storms off. "Wait! You can't leave me here!" You slam your fist against the bars. You're thundering heartbeat fills your ears. Is he really going to leave me in here with him?! The thought makes you feel sick.

You open your mouth to call for Wigmar again but stop when you hear multiple footsteps approaching. He's returned with two more men. He unlocks the door and shoulders you out of the way, making straight for the general with the other two men. Grunts and snarls fill the air as the general is thrown face down and restrained. "Get on with it!" Wigmar shouts at you. For a moment you just stare, shocked at the brutal struggle taking place. "Now!" Wigmar's booming voice snaps you from your shock. Dropping to your knees beside the men, you quickly get to work, cleaning the stab wound, applying a mixture of honey, grease and herbs and wrapping a clean, dry dressing over the area. All the while the prisoner fought and thrashed on the ground.

As soon as you'd finished you packed all your supplies away, emptying the red tinted water from the jug and leapt to your feet, eager to distance yourself, even in this tiny space. The men, however, laughed the whole time, jeering and taunting the furious Roman. "Fucking animal," one of the men spat at the general as he now lay on his back, catching his breath. Visibly trembling with rage, Marcus forced himself to sit up, his eyes boring into every one of these bastards who had dared to put their hands on him. The disgraceful indignity these barbarians had just bestowed upon him only intensified the fury he was trying to contain. He has to keep a level head right now.

His focus shifted to you and he was taken aback when Wigmar viciously grabbed a fist full of your hair, yanking your head back so forcefully you couldn't do anything but yelp. Gods above. Is this how they treat their own people? "Next time handle this yourself," a red haired man stood in front of you and growled in your face. Marcus watched as you attempted to beg for release, only to have your words literally slapped from your mouth, the sound of a palm striking flesh louder than should have been possible. You continue to cry out in terror as you are bent over and dragged roughly by your hair from the cage. The gate slammed shut, locked once again, the encroaching night making it difficult for Marcus to see your retreating forms; all that remained were your desperate cries, piercing the otherwise still evening.

You couldn't get home quick enough. Not that you'd really considered this your "home" - just some dug out structure with a poorly maintained roof, once used for storage. Now said storage has a better residence than you. All that furnishes this place is a bed with a few fur blankets, a small table with a rickety stool and a few shelves that holds your clothes and very few personal items you have. The last of your tears had dried, leaving a stickyness to your cheeks, but your scalp is still burning.

This time you had lost a small clump of hair. Still, it could have been worse. With fatigue beginning to creep up on you, you take a seat on the low stool, pour some water from your waterskin into a bowl and begin cleaning the rags you had used on the prisoner when the door to your hut opened and a chill swept over you - but not from the night air. "Alia..." came a sickly sweet voice that instantly made your muscles size all over. Wincing internally you stand and turn to face your unwelcome guest. The tall intimidating figure filling your doorway slowly saunters over to where you stand. Just before he reaches you, you turn your back to him defiantly and sit down to continue with your task.

"What do you want, Bardulf?" you sigh, irritably. Bardulf grips your shouders, pulling you to your feet and spinning you to face him. "I want you to look at me when I'm talking to you!" he snarled, his stale breath invading your nostrils. You release a long breath and look up to meet his eyes. "That's better," Bardulf smirks. "Heard you were causing trouble tonight." "No," you shake your head. "The Roman... he wouldn't allow me to approach. I had to get help. What else was I supposed to do?"

Bardulf, still holding you in his iron grip looked you over and snickered, "Why didn't you just use your... influence on him and finally be of some use to us." Rolling your eyes, you shake yourself free of his hands and step backwards almost tripping over your stool. "You and I both know that's a load of horse shit. If I were a seeress, don't you think I would have saved myself from this hellhole before now?" "Careful..." Bardulf stood in your personal space now looking down at you with hate twisting his features. "One would think you're ungrateful of our hospitality." Adrenaline pumps through your body, making your hands shake. You clench your fists, trying to hide your fear. You want to scream at him, tell him exactly what you think of this so called "hospitality."

If being enslaved, beaten, humiliated and hated by your own people is "hospitality" then you have it in abundance. "Maybe..." Bardulf slowly ran his hands down your arms, his slimy touch like poison on your skin, "you'd prefer a different kind of hospitality." Disgusted, you open your mouth to protest but Bardluf's hands slip behind you, one on your back and one grabbing your arse. He slams you roughly against his body. You freeze in horror when you feel something hard press into your lower stomach. "Y... you wouldn't dare," you stammer, while trying to push him away. "Your father would have your balls!"

Bardulf grips your face with one hand so tightly, you hear your jaw click. His thin, pockmarked face is now an inch from yours and for a moment you fear he might actually make good on his threat. "My father won't be around much longer," he warned. "And I don't fear you like he does. Enjoy your protection for now, you little whore. When he's gone..." he turns your face and licks your cheek, repulsion and shock making you cringe as you swallow the bile rising up your throat, "you're all mine." Pain bursts in your knees as he throws you to the floor and walks away, chuckling proudly to himself. You sit in disbelief, staring at the door he'd just walked through, his ominous threat still ringing in your ears, You're all mine.

Surely when his elder brother succeeds their ailing father as chief he would still enforce his fathers rule. The only good thing to come from everyones fear of you was a command that no man shall ever wed, bed and breed you, lest you produce more of your "kind". But Bardulf had seemed so sure of his words, his intentions, and it fills your veins with icy cold dread. At a loss in this hopeless moment, all you can do is pull your scuffed knees to your chest, wrapping your arms protectively around yourself while silent tears of despair begin to fall.

The sound of dogs barking jolted Marcus from a fitful sleep. A sharp jab shoots through his skull as he sits bolt upright - momentarily confused by his surroundings. The hot sting in his thigh returns and he hisses through his teeth. Then it all comes back to him; the battle, the voice demanding his live capture, waking in this cage and... the fearful looking woman who'd treated his wound and was then dragged away, screaming. Marcus propped himself against the bars of his new abode, let his head fall back and sighed. How could he have let this happen?

It would have been better to die honourably in battle. This is his greatest shame. The barking is suddenly joined by the voices of several children nearby. Marcus watches the children playing with the dogs by some huts. It's looks so... normal; people going about their daily tasks. For the most part he is ignored, save for a few curious kids who decided to push their luck with him, only to run away in fear when he greeted them with a glower. Alone once again, Marcus' thoughts retrace the events that lead to his capture.

Could he have done anything different? Did he become to complacent on the battlefield? But the most pressing issue now is how will he get out of here. He's valuable to these people; that much is obvious otherwise his head would not still be attached to his body. But what do they want from him? If it's information, they can fuck themselves. No amount of torture would ever bring him to betray his soldiers. He'll die before that happens! But maybe neither has to happen.

If he can just find a weakness in this crude looking prison. Upon further inspection it appears to have been constructed in haste. Marcus rises to his knees, swallowing down the groan as his injured leg protests his movements with waves of pain and cramping. He tests every beam, every bar, hoping to discover a weakness somewhere. To his dismay, he finds none. Even the gate is secure. Marcus slumps down, dropping his head into his hands in frustration. A noise at the gate catches his attention. He recognises you as the same woman from last night, accompanied by the same man unlocking the gate.

As soon as you enter, he slams it shut, locks it and walks away. Yet again, you both stare at each other for what feels like an eternity before you clear your throat. "I brought you some food," you say, cautiously, setting down a bowl of stew in the centre of the cage. "I also need to change your bandage," you point to his leg after setting down a jug of water. He makes no attempt to move, to speak ... or to do anything, which you find peculiar. You decide on another approach, sitting on bent legs to seem less imposing.

You take off your bag and pull out your waterskin. "You must be thirsty," you coax gently, tossing the bottle to land at his feet. Marcus looks at the bottle, then at you before grabbing it and gulping it's contents. "You need to eat." You pick up the bowl, offering it in a gesture of goodwill. Again, silence. "You have to keep your strength up if you're going to heal." "What does it matter?" he finally speaks in a hoarse voice, narrowing his eyes at you. "If you die it will be my fault. The consequences would be... awful." You fear to think of what punishment would await you.

"You are not my responsibility, girl," the hostile man before you glowers. "But you're mine," you stressed, placing the bowl back down. "It's in your best interest to obey them. Trust me, resisting never ends well. You remember what happened last night." It wasn't a question, but a warning. Marcus can tell from your grave expression that you've suffered the ramifications of disobedience in the past. "Why?" You blink at him, confused. "Why... what?" "Why do they treat their own so abhorrently? You are one of them, are you not?"

You were not expecting him to ask questions of a personal nature. You've never considered yourself to be one of them, not since... that day. "I was born to this land and this tribe, yes..." is the best answer you can give. "So why would your own people-" "These are not my people!" you declared, indignation wrapped in your words. A flash of confusion crosses his face. "So you're a slave?" "Essentially," you respond, flatly. "What's your name, girl?" he asks after a few moments of silence. His frown softens somewhat as you search his deep brown eyes. "Why do you want to know my name?" you ask, unsure of where this conversation is heading.

"Just don't want to keep having to call you girl." After a moment of uncertainty you answer "Alia. What's yours?" "Marcus Acacius, General of the Armies of the north." You nod, pursing your lips. "Well Marcus Acacius, are you going to tear my throat out if I come any closer to tend to your leg?" Marcus rolls his eyes and huffs, "Do what you have to do." He clumsily slumps to his side, still bound at his hands and feet. You edge closer, bag in hand, still weary of the man in front of you. If the stories are true these monsters cannot be trusted. Marcus inhales sharply as you carefully unwrap the bandage and begin to cleanse the deep laceration at the back of his thigh.

The silence between you both is tense and charged. What only took a few minutes to clean and redress felt like aeons. The sooner you can get away from him, the better. Marcus shuffles onto his backside as you pack your bag. As you sand to leave Marcus breaks the awkward silence. "Why do they keep me alive?" "I don't know," you shrug. "Your life is clearly of value right now... but whatever the reason, it can't be good." Marcus' jaw visibly ticks as your words sink in. "Hmmm," he nods. You walk to the gate and call for Wigmar. Grunting, he comes over to let you out. Before exiting the cage you risk a glance over your shoulder and meet Marcus' eyes. It's Almost like he is studying you and it makes you shiver.

The day drags slowly for Marcus. Exhaustion still afflicts his body and mind, resulting in him drifting off every now and then, only to wake with a jolt each time. The damp ground on which he lays serves as a reminder of his newfound situation. He lays on his left side to keep his injury dry and clean. Half asleep he's suddenly startled by a yelp close by. His vision is blurry as he tries to focus, blinking heavily to clear his head. Then he sees you - about 20 feet away - caked in mud and struggling to get to your feet. A group of young women laugh and hurl insults at you, their laughter becoming hysterical as you slip and slide in your futile attempt to regain your footing and your dignity.

Marcus assumes you had just said something to them as you stood - he's too far away to make out your words - because a blond, who seems to be their leader, is now sneering in your face. He watches the whole interaction with puzzlement and also... pity? A part of him feels slighted on your behalf. You rush away, in obvious haste to put distance between you and your tormentors, eyes landing on Marcus' as he observes from between the bars. He can see, even from this distance, the redness around your eyes as you struggle to withhold the tears that threaten to spill. You quickly disappear down the bank and into a small, shabby hut as the women walk away giggling.

The fading warmth of the low sun spills across Marcus' face, the brightness intolerable even through closed eyelids. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he slowly pulls himself up to a sitting position, leaning against the bars. Footsteps once again catch his attention, his whole body instinctually on high alert. The cage door opens and three men file in, heading straight for him. He tries to fight them but it's hopeless. Two men force Marcus to his feet, both holding him up under each arm while the third holds the gate wide open. Determined to not go easily, Marcus thrashes and struggles as he's paraded through the village towards a long, rectangular building.

Marcus takes in the environment he now stands in; multiple beds with fur blankets line both walls, the wooden walls adorned with sconces, shields and various woven tapestries. Shelves in a corner at the far end hold pottery of different sizes and a large roaring firepit crackles in the centre of the room. Across from the firepit, sat in a large wooden chair draped in furs is an imposing but aged looking man wearing a dark green tunic, cinched at the waist by a thick leather belt. A fur pelt covers his shoulders and a gold band sits on his wrist. Marcus stares impassively at the man he can only assume is the chief.

Despite being in terrible pain, Marcus forces himself to stand tall, shoulders pulled back in a show of confidence and pride. The chief makes a show of giving Marcus a full once over, then with a mocking tone, says, "The General of Rome." Snide laughter arises from several men also present. "And you are...?" Marcus responds with a curl of his lip. "I am Adhelm, chief of the Gutones," the old man replied with an air of superiority. Marcus scoffed at the display of this mans self importance and for that he received a backhander from one of the men who brought him here. "Show some respect to your superiors!" he ordered in a low tone. Marcus turn his head forward, spitting blood onto the floor. "What do you want with me?"

Adhelm rose from his seat and stood face to face with Marcus, his eyes blazing with hate. "I will look into the eyes of my greatest enemy before he dies." Marcus returned the look of contempt but remained silent. "You and your scourge have bled the world dry! You have murdered, enslaved, defiled and brutalized us for so long. Now I shall have my vengeance." Adhelm returned to his chair with satisfaction written all over his weathered face. "So you spared my life just to take it?" Marcus huffed. "Exactly," Adhelm smirked. "Alia!" he barked while picking up the goblet from the arm of his chair. Marcus hadn't even noticed you tucked into the shadows by the wall.

His eyes followed as you hurried over and began filling the chiefs cup with wine, then slunk off with your head down. Adhelm continued, "Your death will send a message to your army and to Rome. At the next battle you will be presented to your men and then I will take great pleasure of relieving you of your head and limbs." Marcus felt the blood drain from his face, his stomach churning with both dread and anger. To be slain like a beast in front of his own men is unthinkable! His mere presence amongst his troops gives both inspiration and hope, so for them to have to witness the demise of their commander will significantly impact them.

But of course, that's the whole point; to crush moral and instil fear in your enemy. This piece of horse shit knows what he's doing. Marcus spat at he feet of the chief, screwing his face up in revulsion. "You're all nothing more than a bunch of barbaric heathens! You are mistaken if you believe my death will bring you victory. All you will do is bring the wrath of Rome upon you and your people to the likes of which have never been seen!" Adhelm raised his nose in the air, a pleased smile tugging at his lips. "We shall see, general. Take him back." With a wave of the chiefs hand Marcus is escorted out of the building and back to his prison.

All through the heated exchange you kept your head down, feigning disinterest while listening intently to every venomous word thrown back and forth by the two men. The silver lining to being practically invisible to these people meant you'd often overheard sensitive conversations regarding war stratagies, problems within the community, and even issues of a more intimate nature. You were never considered to be of any significance or even a threat, which is why you are now present while Adhelm dismissed all of his men to talk privately to his sons. "Kuno, Bardulf..." the chief began as he slouched back in his chair, trying to, but failing to stifle a deep, rattling cough, which resulted in him bringing up a bit of blood.

After a moment he continued, " You must both be made aware that this next battle will likely be my last." At that your head tipped up involuntarily, cautiously observing the conversation. "Father, you can't-" Adhelm raised a hand to silence Kuno. "I have accepted that I shall die soon. Either from battle or from what ails me. The future of our people, our way of life will depend on you, Kuno. You are strong and capable." Adhelm then looked to his second born. "Bardulf, I expect you to aid and council your chief accordingly. He will need all the support he can garner." "Of course, father," Bardulf bowed his head, reverently, "We will not fail you." Adhelm stood, walked over to his sons and clasped them both on their shoulders. "I am proud of you both."

You couldn't help but scoff quietly, rolling your eyes. Proud? Of what? Raising two arseholes. The second one being the cause of most of your misery for years. Maybe your reaction hadn't been as quiet as you'd thought because Bardulf is now glaring at you with pure detestation. You freeze, gulping down the lump in your throat while trying to remain calm. While Adhelm and Kuno continue to talk Bardulfs wrathful expression slowly dissolves into a sickening grin, his icy blue eyes dragging along your body, making your skin crawl. Unable to stand his gaze any longer, you drop your head down, willing the knot in your stomach to unclench. You're sure this isn't the end of it, judging by that maniacal grin; a promise that you won't get off that easily.

@myownwholewildworld @imherefordeanandbones @picketniffler @h0w-1-wanna-l1v3 @chrissy-forfucksakes-wakeup @meetmeatyourworst @yorksgirl @joeldjarin @echo-ethe @whirlwindrider29

Part 2 coming soon

[pixeltwix]

Alone Together Au (except it’s the other half left behind)

In which both Stanford and Fiddleford fall through the portal and both Stan and Emma May work together to bring them back (even with two people it still takes thirty years, oops)

Together though they keep a marriage of convenience so that the town doesn’t suspect anything odd of them. Everyone still thinks Stan is Stanford and Emma May simply says she got a divorce from her old husband and remarried

“Come one, come call, to see the awe inspiring ability of Madame Mystery! Only 30 bucks a pop, and there ain’t no refunds, the spirits hate refunds~“

Emma May works as a sort of telepath and psychic medium in the mystery shack before the Gleeful’s rolled into town. Her true inspiration however is from the twins mother, Caryn. She recalls all of her tricks and swindles she watched the woman do when she was younger and was happy to apply them for herself <3

All together though her get up resembles much more of a fairy godmother type appeal than anything else (which Mabel loves)

Even though Stan and Em were friends in the past it was still undoubtedly difficult to yknow, pass as a married couple at first.

Eventually they pulled it off effortlessly in public, but there’s still a lot of emotional turmoil behind closed doors. Em missing her actual husband desperately and Stan having to juggle that, Tate’s bitterness towards him, and the fake identity

They don’t hate each other or anything though, quite the opposite, they feel they’re the only support the other has after Tate moved out to live by the lake. Ultimately at the end of the day while it seems they’re just a ‘bitter old married couple’ they’ll be the first to back each other up

Emma May acquired a pretty nasty scar after the portal incident, so she began to style her bangs over her eyes to prevent anyone from seeing them. The only one who occasionally does is Stan, but when you’re working into the ams on a portal you can’t comprehend it’s hard to care too much about said scar

But this doesn’t stop Dipper from speculating what she could be hiding under the bangs

“I don’t know, but I reckon it feels like the end of the world.”

In order to convince Stan to come to Gravity Falls, Em sends the postcard copying Fords handwriting to bait him to Oregon. Once he shows up though he’s shocked to find his brother actually didn’t want to see him at all and it was instead her who wants to talk

She promptly explains she needs backup confronting Ford and Fiddleford because while she can get through to Fiddleford she worries no one can get through to Ford. Her last resort was asking for Stans help

Things do not..go very well though. Ford and Stan still fight, Fiddleford tries to break them up and accidentally gets shoved alongside Ford. Meanwhile Em is the only one close enough for Stan to actually grab hold of before the portal shuts off and the two are left alone together

And then the last silly detail atm regarding Tate

Little dude ✨hates✨ Stan

He blames him for his father falling through the portal and he absolutely detests the ‘uncle/friendly paternal’ type role he tries to fill as he grows up

He can’t help but feel bitter towards his mother as well considering she was so quick to marry Stan as well, even with the context of the situation, even if it was just on paper, even if he knows they’re working to get the two back. It still felt like a betrayal

Once he was old enough he moved out to live by the lake where he eventually opens his tackle shop, but fishing isn’t exactly the only job he has

Knowing Tate is potentially even more intelligent than his father he found the memory gun when he was around the twins age, made himself leader of the society of the blind eye as he’s ‘the heir’, and promptly continues to run the cult in the bg as he feels it’s what his dad would want him to do

[babyvivi]

Time for a new segment called....

Babyvivi's Diaper Opinions!!

In this part of the show Im going to go over all the diapers Ive tried and remember, so sit tight and enjoy~

Id also like to note that these are opinions and theyre not based on any evidence except my own experiences, if you don't agree, tell me and I may try them again in the future 💕💕

　『始めましょう！』

Starting off with my classic all time favorite we have goodnites!

Depicted: Goodnites 2023 series, "ripple design"

The Quick Summary:

I like them a lot, they're my first real use of diapers (aside from one off times as a little girl for grandma diapers Ill never know the brand of) and I latched onto them pretty quickly because I never remembered any of my potty training because I was so young. They're cute and they hold about one wetting for me now as a 28 year old woman. They fit better than ever before and they hold very well now, at least in some cases.... Overall I give them a 7/10! They are the standard, the easiest option, the underwear replacer, the babysteps into 24/7 diaper life. Theyre as respectable as it gets for childrens diapers!

The extra backstory (this is all true by the way, with some details minorly changed to hide my identity);

The reason why Ive used these for so long (and why I started using them in the first place) was because they're just so easily obtainable. Back when I was in my teens, I had a step sister who I lived with, and she had a bedwetting problem, I would rarely take one and wear it. I didn't really know at the time why I liked wearing them so much because I didn't even need them, but they were so comforting and soft that it just felt right to me. I would wear them sometimes while going to bed, and a few times going to school... it was a very calming experience for me. It was also a bit terrifying though as I had tried very hard to keep it a secret. I had never wet one at this time and I could only wear them rarely as I couldn't take too many in a short period of time. I hid them underneath my bed's headboard by stuffing them in the crevice between the mattress and the wall itself and every once in a while Id take one out and put it on as silently as I could while in bed with my older step sister sleeping in the bunk above me. I was thankfully never caught, but one morning I did wake up wearing only my goodnite because I had fallen asleep that way, and luckily for me I woke up before anyone had found me, but it was a close call for sure. My parents never knocked or anything so it was pretty risky to fall asleep like that.

Eventually I wore it out to the middle of the woods near my house and decided to try wetting it, I took off all my clothes aside from the goodnite and sat in the dirt like a big baby, it was cool and dirty, but I actually felt so free doing that. My mind felt so at ease that my urge to fight wetting myself relented and I released into my goodnite (after about a half hour trying very hard!).

There I sat, nature at my butt, some fall leaves and twigs at my feet, and a now familiar squish in my pants that I never knew I would love so much~. The sounds of the woods were so serene, the state I was in was one of pure bliss, and the time had slipped away, I sat there for a while just taking it all in, all up till my goodnite grew cold and the woods became dark. I cleaned myself up as best I could, put all my clothes back on, and headed back home.

When I had returned home, I threw my goodnite away in the garbage bin in front of the house hiding it under the other bags of garbage and made my way inside, and while the start of this story may have been warm and cozy, the rest of it was not. My heart sank, my stomach churled, I felt panicked and anxious. My dad had invaded my privacy again and "cleaned" my room while I was gone.

When my dad had "cleaned" my room before it had always just been an excuse to see if I was hiding anything. He would tear apart my room throwing clothes and things all over the ground and expect me to re-organize my room from there. Normally it wasn't a big deal, I don't have much to hide since I didn't do any drugs or anything like that, I was very well behaved actually, but that didn't matter to him. He was a bit of a control freak and was forced into a parent position because of my mom. He was never meant to be a dad really, so he tried using what he learned from his parents, overly strict invasive punishments for everything. In the past Ive known where he's checked and tried figuring out great ways around it. But this time was different, he checked under my bed. I knew this time I was in big trouble because he was standing there, waiting for me, silently.

He asked me to explain, I honestly couldnt. I blamed my sister for maybe throwing them around my room and one getting trapped under there. This actually worked, but it was a terrifying experience for me, and technically, I was caught. Next time Id have to be more careful, next time Id have to come up with a better excuse, next time Id have to never let him find out in the first place. So I moved my hiding place somewhere even sneakier, under my dresser drawers. Yep, you read that right, you know that small are underneath the bottom drawer that you'd have to either pull out the entire drawer to access or somehow bend your arm through the back to reach? That's what I did from that point on. I no longer could casually pull one out for the night, I had to make sure nobody was home for how much effort I had to put in to get them. I could quickly deposit them by reaching to the back of the drawer and dropping them in though!

This went on till my senior year in high school where my little step sis turned about 10 and finally didn't need her goodnites anymore, and so began my drought, but this didnt last for long anyway. The day I turned 18 my Dad kicked me out of the house (well, he offered that I pay 50% of the houses rent as a single woman with no job taking up one of the 3 rooms, with 6 total people, which was an offer I could only refuse.) I had to find housing quickly and a job, all while prepping to go to college.

Luckily the college I went to had "dorms" (near site apartments which were for people with extremely low income) and I moved in with 3 other roommates. A college friend, her friend, and his girlfriend, so rent was manageable at 1/4th what it would otherwise cost. I got a job at walmart, and they had me unloading trucks and stocking shelves. It was rough for a long time but I had enough money to get some things for myself, and I had one of the 3 bedrooms all to myself.

One day while working I was stocking the baby area and I saw new packaging for goodnites, they were cinderella designs on S/M goodnites. I instantly fell in love with the designs and had to get them. So I did, one day after work I checked out with a whole box, I had told my co-worker who had drove me to and from work that they were for a collector on etsy when he asked why I got them. I showed him that they were "limited edition" and he totally maybe probably believed me.

I made it home with the new goodnites in tow~ I unpacked them in my room and for the first time ever I was fully able to enjoy them all to myself with full privacy~~~~

I took pictures of the box, I posted them on ADISC, and I put them on and was absolutely thrilled! I felt like a goddess to be honest, I was sprawled out on my bed with nothing but a goodnite on and I felt way more beautiful than I ever had (mostly because I was a lot underweight but... thats an aside). I took some pictures of myself wearing them but then I deleted them before sharing on that same adisc thread. I felt alone in my love for diapers honestly. I had no real community, and I was just a silent observer at the time. I was absolutely thrilled about reading diaper stories from a young age, and I loved seeing other women wearing diapers (even though at this time I had still been in denial about being a lesbian), but I had never really talked about it to anyone. So I made a mistake, I posted some pics on 4chan. I was immediately doxxed. I was harassed. I learned my lesson and became more private than ever. This led to my first (of unfortunately multiple) experience with a stalker. I felt ashamed about it and denied this part of my life for a long time there after. I finished up my box and stopped doing anything related to abdl for years. The experience had been totally ruined, but theyre still my favorite goodnites of all time.

~Time skip a lot, with minor stories that arent all that important~

—And then I met a guy. After about 5 years of being together we had started a relationship, and I told him my darkest secret ever, that I enjoyed wearing diapers. He accepted it, he even said that he was interested, I'll spoil the story for you and inform you that he in fact was lying. After a long time of being with him I finally visited him in real life, and I wanted to try something brave, with his support I spent a week at his place wearing goodnites with everything 24/7. He started off with approval but kept his distance, and eventually by the end of the week he showed that he found it a little weird and disgusting. But this time I didn't close up about it. Wearing diapers is natural for me, it felt right, so I stood my ground. We broke up.

After that though I began wearing them at home, and I had started talking to this beautiful girl. Her name... well as far as any of you know, is @babyharuharu and she truly loved and accepted me for who I am without question. She made me feel like a goddess again, and I felt like the luckiest girl alive to be even allowed to be with her. I told her about the diapers, she loved it and mentioned she had some experience with it with an ex before, specifically with little space, but not diapers. Regardless she was excited to try out diapers with me, I had her try on one of my goodnites, she had so much fun. And from there we had tons of playtime together with this, eventually with her convincing me to try more and more.

The rest is gravy I guess, she started a tumblr, and after seeing how much fun she had on it, I started mine too. And thats about the end for ancient history. Ive been slowly moving out of pullups and into big girl diapers, but I still have a lot of fondness in my heart for goodnites. They mean a lot to me, theyve always been there for me, Theyre "normal" enough to buy as an adult woman that I dont have to make up silly stories of feel embarrassed. Theyre simple, theyre cute, theyre reliable.

Now for a significantly shorter segment about how they work:

You may be surprised to know that these are actually meant for children and not adults, well at least thats what the packaging says, but they fit very well for me!

They recently came out with blue leg guards which have a much better time holding everything in, so instead of leaking all the time, now its only some of the time~

When they released XL (after splitting L/XL) they increased the size and capacity ever so slightly, making them actually usable for a light wetter like myself.

They always have cute designs, and they always feel very much like wearing a cloud. They have very high ratings for the aesthetic and feel, but theyre not the best in terms of capacity or leaks.

Overall theyre cheap (about 1$ per goodnite or 1$ per wetting) they have a very slim profile and can be hidden under clothes, and they work just fine. They are my baseline for many reasons! I highly recommend them for anyone trying out diapers~

[cuntressgoingdigital]

in honor of the mma! abby x model! reader fic that is rotting in my drafts, i desperately wanna talk about the cute shit yall get into while pretending you're not dating

free palestine! click this link for more info

☆ abby is so aggressively offline, but you are chronically online. in particular, you’re a livestream fiend. it’s a cute way to interact with your fans and it passes time while you’re getting ready for events. you two spend so much time pretending you aren’t together, but on more than one occasion people have screenshotted a figure that looks like her in the background. buff, long blonde hair, kind of tall, she’s hard to miss. you take delight in fucking with people so whenever people ask in your comments you reply with a quick

“no that’s the ghost that haunts my apartment. she’s nice though.”

☆ re: you enjoy fucking with people, once your relationship status was official and you two had settled, you’d post pictures of the two of you out at dinner captioned with some variation of “just a couple of besties”. abby doesn’t get the joke at all, but is happy to participate. 

☆ paparazzi are constantly up your ass, and one day when you’re on what you thought was a secluded beach with abby, they snap a picture of abby kissing you along your neck, your fingers wrapped in her long blonde hair. then, someone leaked the address of the hotel you’d be staying at and you were bombarded by fans at the door. one of them screams at you “was that a picture of you and abby on the beach?”

thinking quickly on your feet, you respond “i haven’t been to the beach in years.” an obvious lie, but it sold the idea that you weren’t going to talk about it. 

☆ celebrity blind items are constantly being released, revealing details of your personal life. you have no idea who on your team is running their mouth, but there were plenty of worse things that could be revealed to the public. 

this A- list model was caught at the club sucking face with this rookie alliterative alphabet fighter. sources are saying they’ve been together for months, but neither are willing to confirm on or offline.

☆ finally, about a year into your relationship you and abby concoct this ridiculous hard launch for your relationship status. abby’s in las vegas for a pretty important main card fight. not a title fight, but she was still new on the scene and was trying to establish her relevance. she gets a devastating first round knockout with the nastiest punch to the jaw that you’ve seen in a minute. 

the crowd is in an uproar when the announcer and her team flood the octagon. they ask the standard “how do you feel?”, “do you have anything you wanna say to the fans?” 

then came the question she was waiting for. “what are you going to do once you get out of the octagon?” 

“i’m gonna go call my girlfriend.” she chuckles between sharp exhales, still riding the adrenaline from the fight. “she’s the first voice i wanna hear after every fight. she couldn’t be here tonight because she’s off in milan, but i know there’s no way she missed this.”

of course you were watching. it was no secret that you were a ufc fan. you’d been caught front row in the stadium a few times. even if abby wasn’t fighting, you tried not to miss the pay per view events. 

an hour later a photo was uploaded on your instagram of you holding your phone to your ear, still in your pajamas with the caption

absolutely loving milan <3 

it took very little time for “WE WERE RIGHT!” to start trending on twitter.

i WILL be writing more of them don't worry. idc if only 3 people like this, more is coming :P

[leafofkudzu]

Hooray hooray, it's Wintersd- oh, not quite yet, but happy December, everyone! I hope those of you in colder regions have a nice warm spot to bundle up and get cozy for the holidays! Meanwhile, the first Saturday of a new month is this Saturday, which means it's time for another art party hosted by my guild, [VS] Verdant Shield!

I've said this in almost two dozen posts now, but there are always news eyes around, so a quick tl;dr: art parties are a concept carried over from Final Fantasy XIV - in-game get-togethers for artists of all kinds to hang out, chat, and create together! For GW2 parties there's more of an emphasis on hanging out and gathering references during the party itself, and then in the days/weeks following to work on your creations at your own pace and then post to the shared art party tag. We've used the same one (#VSArtParty) since the very beginning so you can go allll the way back and explore what people have made!

Even more tl;dr is this: the ‘goal’ of an art party isn’t to be drawn, but to draw others, and share with the community!

Time and /squadjoin information is below the cut, but will also be posted again on the day of the party as things begin!

Location Information:

No fighting this time, we're in a nice no-combat corner of Snowden Drifts (the Southwest corner, to be precise!). There is a nearby dredge event that we might catch some dialogue from from time to time, but because we're up on the main part of the building across the bridge from it, no enemies should ever come close - simply relax and get cozy! Podaga Steading Waypoint has the matching name of course, but Skradden Waypoint (by the map entrance from Gendarran Fields) is just as close!

Time & Squad Details:

As is customary, we'll be having two parties - the first one on EU servers and the second on NA - with an hour break in between for those who may want to attend both!

The EU server party will begin at 9pm Central European Time (aka 3pm Eastern Standard Time or 4 hours before in-game reset). I'll be hosting this one on my EU alt account, so please either /whisper or /squadjoin Stormcaller Nell for a taxi invite if you don't end up on the right map!

The NA server party will begin 1 hour after the EU party's official end, at 7pm Eastern Standard Time (aka 1am Central European Time or at in-game reset). I'll be on my main account for this one and may switch 'host' characters a few times, but please /whisper or /squadjoin Freja Owlsong for a taxi invite if you don't see my customary white cat tag hanging around on your map!

Closing Words:

Feel free to consider this a Wintersday-themed party if you like! Because Anet likes to start their festivals midway through the month and I like to do the art parties at the start, it often means if I want to have a party during a festival it ends up awkwardly late, like Halloween in November..... but regardless! We just celebrate a bit earlier than the game does! Anyway!

Thank you everyone who comes out to these events and makes them so fun and memorable - there wouldn't be an art party without all of you! Take care of yourselves, keep yourselves warm, and I'll see you all this Saturday! ♥♥♥

[tokillamockingbird427]

Logan knew he did something wrong when he shot the deer.

It was his first. Not his first time shooting a gun mind you, he even had his own rifle at that point, but it was his first time killing something. Dad had been there to supervise him... and to tell him when to shoot. Just like he'd done with David the season prior.

Logan later learned most kids struggle killing their first prey animal. They get scared, procrastinate, even cry... Logan had not done any stalling. When Dad said "This is your shot." he shot. The deer stopped living. Then he turned to his father for approval and instead found him staring back with... surprise.

Dad had been quick to "fix his face" when Logan looked at him then. Schooling himself into neutrality and then praise, but Logan understands his initial reaction... it probably gave the wrong impression when his youngest son blithely followed the command to fire.

Of course it definitely did say something about Logan's psychology, but he doesn't think Dad got the right angle. Logan's logic had been this; "David did this already." And that thought had eliminated any hesitation before it bloomed. It had not been cold indifference that laid on the trigger. Logan very much understood the importance of the deer's life and weighed the worth of it's end... it's just that where David had tread Logan found a path easy to follow.

Logan was just glad Dad wasn't there to judge when he killed his first man.

--<x>--

This feels unfinished but like I've been sitting on this sort of idea for a while. I read somewhere a while ago smthn like "The hardest thing about teaching your child to hunt is getting them to end their first kill" and I had the idea that Logan would just.... not struggle because "Oh well David did this already, nbd." Speaks to their whole codependency yk? They cannot detangle themselves from another; When one of them does something they both take responsibility.

In my mind Elias kinda shuffles the detail of "My son didn't hesitate killing something the first time." away and just goes "Yeah he got a ten pointer!!!!" instead of realizing the psychological ramifications of his whole..... method? Raising the boys.

Also giving Logan some level of self awareness is gonna be one of my "things" from now on I think. Mostly because I can go "Just like me fr fr." but also because I think it'd be funny if he went "Yeah this ain't normal. I don't care tho. It works for me so whatever."

[sauronpasta]

Rings of Power Sauron/Galadriel Fic Rec Post of Fics that are Exactly my Taste: Part 1/? Canon Compliant/Divergent One-Shots

Since I have torn through too many Rings of Power fics to count since the season 2 finale, I thought it was time to compile the best of them into some lists and send it out into the universe. I think I'm the last person on earth who doesn't know how to make fancy photo edits, but I am over-caffeinated and sleep deprived and will provide semi-detailed reviews for each fic to make up for my post being plain and simple. So don't scroll by! All of these fics deserve to be read and re-read, and please leave these great writers comments if you do partake! Also, if you know of these authors having tumblr handles, please let me know so that I can tag them!

ouroboros by Amuria, 17k, E: Post-S2 Finale Time Loop Fic. Galadriel keeps ending up on the raft with Halbrand and tries to change what happened. The best part of this fic, other than the gorgeous prose, is that it takes a well-loved fanfic trope, the time loop, and really ups the stakes with relentless pacing. It's not just a different versions of the raft scene, but short loops, long loops, loops where she tries to kill Sauron, and loops where they find that they are good partners. It's disorienting in a good way, because you are along for the ride with Galadriel.

salt by thefudge, 2.5k, E: HIGHLY recommend, one of my favorite pieces of fan fiction ever. One word to describe this fic: trippy. It takes place on the raft, after the storm and before Halbrand and Galadriel are rescued by Elendil. Galadriel falls deeper and deeper into various deceptions of Sauron, leading her into an un-reality where time is meaningless. The very definition of Sauron playing with his food. Artsy porn at its finest, mind the tags on this one, but definitely give it a read if it's up your alley.

Dragged by the Crown by fawningbruises, 12k, E: This is more of a Sauron character study, with a bit of Morgoth/Sauron and Sauron/Galadriel. So many great descriptions of first age Silmarillion stories and locations from Sauron's POV. If you enjoy Sauron being slightly snarky and an often exhausted evil bureaucrat, this is the fic for you.

Half Life by audreystark, 7k, E: Porn with Plot at its finest. Galadriel is making trouble for Sauron while he travels around Harad distributing the nine rings. I like that this fic explores the particular Halbrand/Galadriel dynamic, but post-season 2 rather than backtracking to season 1. I also like that Halbrand is hot as hell and Galadriel fights him tooth and nail the entire time, but still wants him. Just a great quick read.

The Waiting Game by ninathena (@athenasnina), 2.5k, G: I love a touch of sadness and tragedy with my Sauron/Galadriel stories, and this little fic explores the potential for a moment that I think about a lot. Would Galadriel feel it when Sauron is finally defeated in the third age? More importantly, would they be able to see each other one last time? The biggest tragedy with them is that no matter what, they are still bonded. I won't give anything more away here, go read! You will feel things.

I will make a separate list for multi-chapter fics and AUs. Happy reading!

[popchrries]

chapter 8 - trivia night pt 1

w.c : 825

it had only been 15 minutes since you arrived—just enough time to get halfway through your cosmo and debate ordering something stronger—but with only 30 minutes left until trivia began, you let the thought slip into oblivion. nightfall lounge was tucked on the side of a busy downtown street, the kind of place people walked past a dozen times before realizing it was even there. it wasn’t much—low ceilings, sticky tables, the kind of purple-blue-green lighting that made everyone’s skin look worse—but there was something about it that made you stay. maybe it was the familiarity, or maybe it was just convenient.

yamada, kayama, and you were already in full swing in conversation. making time to go into detail about california, making sure to offer them a place to stay if they ever make the trip. one person remained quiet, keeping an ear to the conversation at hand, only speaking when spoken to. aizawa dressed in a more casual manner. hair tied up, bangs slightly covering his face, black v-neck long sleeve shirt showcasing the muscles the cloth attempted to hide. you took a moment to admire his new look when you came in, glancing over every now and then to make sure you were able to see everything. the more you looked, the more you felt a burning sensation on your face. was it the alcohol? or just him.

like clockwork, the conversation turned to titanforce, to jax. you knew it was coming—the way kayama’s smirk sharpened after her second drink, the way yamada leaned in like he was about to start a gossip session—but a small part of you had hope they didn’t know.

“how did you two meet? if i’m being honest, he seems a little old for you” kayama said, sipping her rum and coke like she was being interviewed on a late-night talk show.

you hesitated for half a second, chuckling softly to ease the tension that you were creating for yourself, slightly stiffening at the mention of him. “oh, uh, we originally met when i was doing an internship at the agency he was starting at,” you said, keeping your voice soft, casual, “and about the age…i’ve always had a thing for older men” ending with a grin as you look down at the hot pick cocktail.

“ooh that’s sexy” kayama said as she leaned back against her chair, slurring her words just a bit as the rum begins to enter her blood stream. yamada, on the other hand, began laughing loudly at the comment. aizawa, staying quiet, lifted his beer to take another sip, as his eyes begin to only focus on you, your face, and mainly your mouth. only just to make sure he can hear what you’re saying right?

you reached for your drink with a smile as you quickly took a chug. the condensation on the glass felt grounding, something solid in your hand.

“was that, like, an after-work thing?” kayama teasingly asked, yamada turning his full attention to you as he awaited your response.

you shrugged, trying to keep your expression neutral. “i guess at first it was, but it was because i wanted it to stay private” you said softly, the napkin under your hand already folded into a perfect square, then halved again.

the laughter came easily to them, but it scraped against your nerves.

“but his quirk! it’s so BAM and SMASH! very flashy and loud. and yours is, well, just so quick! no one sees you coming” yamada said, using his arms to express his emotions. “how did working together…even work? how could he keep up with you…LITERALLY?,” yamada continued loudly, leaning in at the end of the sentence. out of instinct, you move back in hesitation, hitting aizawa’s arm. you turn to look up at him, as you feel his hand against your lower back, steadying yourself as you found your balance again.

“hizashi calm down. everyone is this bar can hear you” aizawa said, sternly. yamada lifted his hands up out of defeat. “yeah yeah, ‘m sorry about that y/n, just got excited.”

you chuckle slightly as you move back to your normal sitting position and let yamada know it’s okay. after that, aizawa didn’t say a word, but you could feel his presence like a shadow. he was nursing his drink quietly, letting yamada and kayama take the reins, though you didn’t notice the way his dark eyes lingered on you. his gaze was steady, quietly perceptive, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d already figured it out—the slight tension in your voice, the way you were tearing that napkin into unrecognizable bits.

you didn’t look at him. you couldn’t.

“i’ll be right back,” you said abruptly, as you pushed yourself out of your chair, interrupting the two in front of you. you plastered a quick, tight smile on your face, the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes, before ducking out.

fun facts!

-keigo just went to miriko’s apartment as he waits for y/n to text him

-whoever decided to hang out on a friday in a bar downtown must not drive because the traffic was INSANE

-y/n was texting keigo AND following google maps as she tried to find her way to nightfall lounge

-once y/n found aizawa, she was star struck and had to take a moment to gasp before calming down and walking over to him

-y/n had a feeling they were going to bring up jax but they had never asked about him before so she had a little bit of hope in avoiding the subject all together

-what made y/n upset was that they didn’t want to learn her for herself, rather as a spokesperson who someone she isn’t involved with anymore

-all while this is happening, keigo is watching trhwoj downing the pack of dos equis he bought with y/n’s spare card

note: thank you all for your patience! i really hope this chapter was worth the wait! since this scene is very written heavy, i decided to split it into parts :) pt 2 will be out this week i promise! lots of love to you all <333

taglist: @mochroialainn @staygoldsquatchling02 @personally4runa @love-me-satoru @nightreader133 @fackeraccount @babypeapoddd @getoisinnocent @sluttyprincess503 @ackermansie [form in masterlist]

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[osleeplessflowero]

Hello! I was wondering if you could write a UT sans x reader (preferably fem but up to you!) where it's like a first kiss scenario? It's ok if you can't I don't mean to bother you, either way have a great day!

I absolutely can, thank you so much for sending in a request, Anon! I hope you enjoy :]

oneshot masterpost🩵

* Request Specifics: ❣️ Fem!Reader

first kiss🌨️ words: 2,256

Snow crunches beneath your boots as you walk, lightly tightening the scarf around your neck to keep warm. Winter has finally arrived, and with it comes various clouds releasing snow into the world and covering everywhere you can look with blankets of white. As you shift the earmuffs on your head slightly, you can't help but smile as you think of where you're going. Well, maybe not the location, but..who you're going to see.

Lightly sliding over a puddle of ice (and nearly tripping, but if there are no witnesses that totally didn't just happen), you come to a stop right outside of the colorfully decorated home you'd grown so fondly familiar with. A tall muscular snowskeleton shaped like Papyrus is visible in the front yard, and beside it lies a small mound of snow with "sans" written on it in marker. Never gets old.

You spot the front door opening, picking up your speed as you travel through their yard a bit to make it onto the front porch. Almost immediately, you're greeted with the sound of an energetic voice you'd grown to know and love.

"And So I'll Be Out For A While To Go Shopping With Mettaton! He Insists He Knows A Very Good Spot To Find Decorations, So It'll Be Good For The House! This Year I Refuse To Let Kathy From Down The Street Best Me- With Her Over The Top Inflatables.." Papyrus balls a hand into a fist, a determined look crossing his face before he stands back up. Looks like he'd been putting on his boots to head out. Once he turns and notices you, he perks up with a grin.

"Ah, Welcome! You've Arrived Just On Time!" He cheerfully greets you, gently ushering you inside out of the cold so you can warm up a bit. "Here, Stand By The Fire A Moment. I'll Call My Brother Down." He wiggles his browbones, earning a light flush from you that crosses your cheeks.

"Ah..thanks, Paps." You smile sheepishly, holding your gloved hands out towards the fireplace to warm up. With some quick thumps of his boots against the stairs, you listen as Papyrus tells Sans of your arrival (quite enthusiastically). After a few moments, the taller brother heads right back down to grab his phone from the kitchen. He heads over to the front door to pull it open soon after, turning to you.

"Don't Have Too Much Fun Out There, Lovebirds." He grins smugly.

You feel your face burn, knitting your brows together. "Paps!" ..Well, you can't exactly deny it now. You and Sans have been in a relationship for a few months now, taking things slow and steady. It seems like it was forever ago when you'd befriended the skeleton once monsters had finally surfaced..

"Farewell, I Expect Details This Evening!" He waves goodbye, before closing the door behind himself. You huff in amusement, turning a bit when you hear a warm chuckle by the stairs. A small smile crosses your face when you see him, lowering your warmed hands to your sides.

There the familiar lazy skeleton stands, hands stuffed in the pockets of his favorite blue jacket. He smiles as he looks at the door where his brother had just left, before turning to you. A light blue flush crosses his cheekbones for a moment as he walks over to join your side.

"hey, i'm glad you could make it. i know the cold's a lot harder on humans than it is for us. since, y'know.." He taps his skull, emphasizing the fact he has bones rather than skin. "it's good to see you."

"I'm really glad to see you too, Sans. I've been wanting to spend time with you for a while, and..well.. this is a good opportunity to, right?" You smile, giving his shoulder a gentle nudge. He chuckles, giving you a nod in reply.

"yeah, we can spend some time outside. oh yeah, that reminds me- hold up." He walks into the kitchen for a moment. You tilt your head in reply, curious to see what he's doing. He heads back out shortly after, handing you a thermos. "made some hot chocolate for ya. it'll help keep you a little warmer while we're out."

"Oh, thanks Sans. I've been wanting some for a while..did you read my mind?" You narrow your eyes at him, smiling a bit. He chuckles in reply.

"what can i say? i know you pretty well." He grins.

"Fair enough, you have a knack for that." You smile, putting the thermos in your Inventory. "Okay, ready to head out?" You hold out a gloved hand for him, watching as his eyelights drift from your hand to your face.

"yeah, if you are." He holds out his own hand, and you retract yours for a moment. "..what? what's wrong?"

"Is there anything attached to your hand?" You deadpan, looking over him for any signs of mischievous intent. His grin stretches wide, and he shakes his head with a chuckle.

"you know me too well. though, this time, i don't actually have anything there. man, it would've been funny if i did, though.. maybe next time." He watches as you hold your hand back out, taking it gently with his own. Both of your faces seem to flush a bit at once, and you avert your eyes from each other a moment. You've been together for a while, yet some things still manage to get your hearts racing..

You both take a shortcut outside, before beginning to walk together through the snow-covered neighborhood. A few people decorating in their yards wave as you pass with friendly smiles, earning some waves back from the both of you. You look over some of the decoration choices in awe, glancing over various light displays.

"These guys really take the holidays seriously." You think aloud, continuing to glance around the both of you. Sans watches your admiring with a fond smile, before he remembers to reply.

"yeah, they've started to kick things up a notch. paps gets super motivated to be the "best in our neighborhood". has this whole rivalry going on with a few of the others. he gets so pumped over something as simple as stringing up some lights. pretty adamant about winning this year. we've already got plenty of lights, but he insists on getting more with mettaton.. i can already tell he's going to make something big that i'll definitely get tangled up in."

"The horrors of having to do a ton of decorating..ooooh.." You hold up your free hand as if you were going to scare someone, earning another chuckle from the skeleton.

"look at you, being humerus." A giggle from you makes his grin stretch before he continues. "though, that's not the whole reason. i mean literally tangled up. like, getting stuck in lights and dangling until he can get me down. happens a lot."

"I can see it now.. maybe I could help you guys with additional decorating? I could prevent something like that from happening." You offer, earning a hum of contemplation from Sans.

"could be pretty fun with you around. i'm all for it." He winks, earning a light blush from you as you nudge his shoulder. The two of you focus again on the path ahead, making your way along the sidewalk and heading down a specific path. It's peacefully quiet for a moment, the two you enjoy the comfortable silence as snow lightly falls from the sky to add onto the various white blankets of snow on the ground.

"..it reminds me a lot of snowdin." You turn to look at him. "y'know, the place we lived in underground? down there it was always snowy. always cold. only times it really changed were for holidays, and even then..snow still stuck. climate was pretty weird down there." He looks up at the sky. The sun had started to set, making the sky a mix of various different colors where the clouds weren't covering it. Your eyes grow soft as you look over him.

"..Do you..miss it?" You ask, continuing to move along with him.

"well..sometimes i do. but that's how i imagine anyone with fond memories would be about a place where they grew up. though, at the same time.. i'm..really glad to be out of there. and up here, where there's..infinite possibilities. we're not just confined under the mountain anymore. all thanks to a little human kid who somehow managed to change everything.. it's wild, how things like that can happen." He's quiet for a moment. "..i think.."

He turns to you.

"i prefer being up here. it feels right to be. to be with you here, on the surface. ..maybe i was always meant to meet you. ..i wouldn't want things any other way, to tell you the truth.." You feel your breath hitch when his smile grows warm, causing you to feel warm inside. Your face quickly flushes before you turn away, earning another chuckle from him. Grasping at the thermos with your free hand to pull it from your Inventory, you hold it up to take a sip. You could just blame it on the cold, but..he probably knows the real reason..

As the sky grows darker, the area begins to glow more and more as you pass areas where lights had been strung up along a path. You glance behind yourself at the contrasting prints in the snow, smiling a bit before turning back. You move your hand away from his for a moment, before wrapping your arms around his that's next to you as you walk. One normally would consider skeletons to be cold, seeing as their bones typically are. But thanks to some additional magic on Sans' part, you'd found his body to be quite warm most of the time..

"i, uh..i heard about this from some people i passed on the way back from the library. sorry, librarby-" You snicker, before urging him to go on. "they said it'd be pretty nice to look at, and since we're a bit early it won't be too crowded. figured you might like it."

"I can't wait to see." You smile kindly at him, following his lead through a lights-covered archway. As the sun finally sets and the moon begins to rise, the area grows much darker than it had been a few moments prior. You glance around in confusion, before various lights finally begin to glow.

Eyes widening in awe, you look around the space. Various different displays cover the area, glowing with all sorts of different colors. You smile wide as you look over each of them, pointing out unique shapes to your datemate. Sans nods and looks when you point, cracking a few jokes about some of them.

"Aren't they beautiful? This is amazing!" You ask, looking at the tall tree made exclusively out of the lights. Sure, Sans could admit it's a beautiful and well crafted display. But in truth, he couldn't care less about that right now. A fond smile crosses his face, a light blue blush from his magic crossing his cheekbones as he admires your expressions. In a space filled with color..all he can seem to want to look at is you.

"..yeah.. beautiful."

You glance over once you hear the almost dreamy tone in his voice, feeling your face begin to burn when you realize what he means. Letting go of his arm, you turn to face him directly. He raises a browbone at you, before holding out his arms and pulling you a little closer to him.

"..Sans..we've..we've been together a while, and.. I was kinda..sorta..wondering if we could maybe?.." His smile shifts to one of reassurance as you struggle to find the right way to ask, before he lifts up a hand to press it against your cheek to get you to stop talking. Surely enough, it works.

"..i think this is a good spot for it..don't you?" He grins, and you can feel your heart rate pick up. Taking a breath, you quickly nod in response. "well, then what are we waiting for?"

Doing your best to calm your nerves, you lean forwards a bit and lean your forehead against his own. ..You'd been wanting to do this for a while, but..well..you weren't too sure when the right time to would be. Or..if Sans would even want to. But right now? ..Right now feels..right.

"..Being with you..has made me the happiest I've ever been, Sans. ..I want to stay with you forever."

"..well..you're stuck with me now that i've gotten attached, so..i don't think you have to worry about being too far from me."

You both share a soft laugh, before you lean forwards a bit more to press your lips against his teeth. The various colors around you all seem to just..blur together, the sounds of your surroundings growing muffled. You find yourself wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him a bit closer, him sharing the sentiment by keeping his arms around your waist. Snow gently continues to fall from the sky, decorating your clothes with bits of white.

A part of you wishes you could stop time, to be trapped in a moment like this forever. ..Even if things don't quite work like that..you can't say you'd ever forget today. It'll live on in your memory.. forever.