#collapsed pyramid

[blackrainbowblade]

The Collapsed, Bent and Red Pyramids of Dahshur. Guest appearance by Ra.

Following the creation of Djoser's step pyramid, the Ancient Egyptians began to experiment with the true pyramid form. Snofru appears to have built no less than three pyramids. What happened to the Collapsed Pyramid is somewhat self explanatory. When it came to the Bent Pyramid, someone seem to have realised that if they continued to build at such a steep angle, they would soon have a Collapsed Pyramid Mark 2, so the angle was changed partway through to be less steep, leading to its characteristic 'bent profile. Finally, Snofru's labour force completed the Red Pyramid, the first true pyramid built in Egypt. It's not as large as the Great Pyramid on Giza, but it's y'know pretty big and impressive anyway. And as you can see by the landscape, delightfully empty of tourists! (Because somehow, most tourists groups forget that the Dahshur and Meidum cemetery complexes exist).

[slightlyartist]

Haha what if while Bill possesses Ford Pyramid Steve hypnotizes Fidds and they are four divas having intense beef with each other haha

[catandgirlcomic]

Albania, 1997

[rokosbasalisk]

I have never met anything more rage inducing than Lego 😃

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

you ever think about how stan disowned ford and then immediately in the very next episode went back to calling ford his brother

but he didn't. y'know. un-disown him. he only calls ford his brother when talking to the niblings (and completely ignores ford's existence when he's there) which makes me think he's just doing it so they don't realize that ford was kicked out of the family

[whimsyvixen]

𝔼𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕪 𝔹𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕤

Silent Hill Fic Rating: 18+ Pairing: Pyramid Head x Female Reader Synopsis/Excerpt: His helmet had jerked your way, the sudden movement making your heart drop to your stomach. You couldn't look away from him, mouth agape at the towering menace. You didn't understand how, but you felt him peruse your form--nausea hitting you when he let out a guttural growl and headed straight for you. WARNINGS/TAGS: Dark fic, rape/noncon elements, extremely dubious consent, explicit content, blood play, heavy NSFW, teratophilia(?), monster/human, choking, dacryphilia, rough sex, unprotected sex, forced orgasm, tummy bulge, creampie, very obvious size difference. ⚠️ READ THE TAGS: Please be aware this work contains content that the reader may feel uncomfortable with or otherwise triggered by. DO NOT READ if bothered by tags (no minors). ⚠️

A/N: I had to make sure to finish this one before Halloween! Sorry for the long wait, you guys! I got no tricks with me so I'm just going to hand over this little treat right here ! 🍬

You hid beneath a large table, hands over your mouth to control your breathing as the floor shook. You could feel your heart beating intensely, the organ wanting to burst out of your chest as pure terror seized you when the footsteps paused near your hiding spot.

He was right in front of you. The only being you encountered in the desolate town of Silent Hill.

The monster. 

~

He had emerged out of an alley, swarmed by bugs as he trudged his way through, his massive frame freezing you in place. His head was encumbered by a steel frame, pyramid in its shape and heavy in appearance if his tortured groans were anything to go by. His scarred torso and bulging arms were bare, showcasing the immense power he held as he dragged a massive knife behind him.

You couldn't contain your gasp when you caught sight of it.

His helmet had jerked your way, the sudden movement making your heart drop to your stomach. You couldn't look away from him, mouth agape at the towering menace. You didn't understand how, but you felt him peruse your form--nausea hitting you when he let out a guttural growl and headed straight for you.

Fuck!

You bolted then, nearly tripping over your own feet in your desperation to get away from him. With the amount of blood soaking him and those unnerving growls, you weren't willing to take a chance and find out what he would do to you. Too afraid to look back, you continued running in the abandoned town, losing sight of where you were as you tried to find somewhere to hide. 

What buildings you could make out were old and rundown, their windows smashed and doors creaking ominously. They would not provide you with the cover you needed. You could faintly hear him behind you, breaking into a cold sweat when you turned your head and couldn't spot him in the dense fog. 

When you caught sight of the abandoned school, your lungs felt like bursting and your legs ached from overexerting yourself to run. Your body needed to rest before you collapsed from the fatigue. It was a large enough building that finding you would be a tasking ordeal for the monster. Perhaps he would give up his search for you and allow you to find a way out of this hellish place. You could only hope that you lost him earlier and he wouldn’t know where you crawled off to. 

Running up the steps to the entrance, you were met with the despairing sight of chains wrapped around the steel doors. 

“No, no, no…” you pleaded, grabbing onto the chains in hopes they were loose enough to open the doors. Luck was on your side, because they were– chains pulling taut around the doors, opening just enough to allow someone to squeeze through with some difficulty. Struggling to wiggle your way through, you pushed with all your might and breathed a sigh of relief when you fell inside. 

Taking deep breaths, you looked around and tried to make sense of your surroundings. Needing to squint your eyes to adjust seeing in the dark, you could see a narrow hallway with dirty and rusty lockers lined along the walls. It was an uncanny sight, the broken down doors of the classrooms and splintering wood of the floor making you realize how decrepit this place was. It was so unkempt and old that you flinched when the floorboards creaked with every step you took. You felt like dying every time the floor protested your weight and critters ran spooked by the noise.

The hall turned a sharp corner to the left, more lockers and doors appearing on either side of the walls as before. It was then you noticed the broken elevator, the metal frame twisted in sharp angles and torn cables dangling from tears in the ceiling. If there was an elevator here, then that must mean there was a way up! 

Not caring this time about the noise you made, you hurried to the end of the hall trying to see if you could find some way to get to the second floor. If you could just get there, you would have the advantage of viewing who (or what) was below you on the ground. Maybe even spot a route or path out of this place. Passing by the restrooms, you nearly gagged when a putrid stench hit your nose. The buzzing of flies and roaches in the area made you squeamish, your face scrunching into a disgusted grimace at the dirty facilities before continuing your trek forward.

Finding the stairs was a much harder task than you expected. Faced with multiple locked areas of the building, you were forced to backtrack and navigate through other sections of the building to find another way up. It seemed like a dead end everywhere you turned. 

Just when you were about to give up, you finally spotted stairs leading to the upper floor. 

“Finally,” you muttered in exasperation. Your turtle neck shirt was damp with your sweat, clinging to your body so uncomfortably that you would definitely need a shower soon. Placing a hand on the cracked wall nearest you, you took a breather, closing your eyes as you tried to get your energy back up again. 

“Just a little bit more. Don’t give up yet.” 

Forcing your aching feet to move, you headed tiredly towards the stairs. Once you reached them, you walked up to the landing, turning left to continue climbing forward when you noticed something. 

“You have got to be kidding me?!”

A disbelieving look crossed your face. In front of you was a dilemma that nearly made you scream in frustration. The only way to the upper floor was barricaded with chairs and tables, furniture piled up haphazardly along the second set of stairs as if to ensure no one could get by it. It effectively put a stop to your plans. 

Maybe you could climb over the obstruction? No, you couldn’t risk something falling out of place and crushing you with its weight, causing you harm in the end. You thought about using the railing to skip past the hurdle of furniture, but hearing the creak of the brittle handrail when you held it had you rethinking that idea. Placing your hands on your hips, you tried thinking of how to get past this obstacle. Maybe taking it apart little by little would help?

Seeing as you had no choice, you started dismantling the barricade one chair at a time. The tables were too heavy and had your arms shaking from the effort of pulling them so you left them for last. Once you piled up enough chairs to give you room to move one of the tables, you shook your hands to prepare them to take the brunt of the weight. 

While you were busy with this task, you didn’t know you damned yourself.

What you didn’t know was when you squeezed through the gap of the entrance, your sweater caught on an edge and tore a strip of the pink cloth. You didn’t know it was like a beacon, its vibrant color contrasting from the dull and bleak setting of the school. You didn’t know he held it in his bloodied hand, bringing it to his hidden face as if to smell you. You didn’t see the shudder that went through him. You also didn't see him bursting through the shackled entrance of the school, breaking the chain to pieces as the steel doors lay bent beneath his foot.

However, you did feel the building shake following a loud crash. 

Startled at the muffled explosion, you released the legs of the table you were holding, crouching as you looked around wildly. The echoed sounds of doors being forced open could then be heard even from a distance. Lockers were slammed and torn off the walls, the clash of metal producing an awful screeching sound that resonated across the empty building.

What?! What was that?! You panicked internally, palms sweating as you hid behind the railing. What could’ve made that thunderous sound? Was it him?! It couldn’t be, could it? Trembling with fear, you realized you were a sitting duck. You couldn't go back the way you came or you’ll risk facing what caused that loud commotion.

When you heard a familiar growl, you couldn’t stop the tiny sob escaping your lips. It was HIM! When his steps edged closer to your location, your eyes wandered desperately around your cornered space and spotted a clothed table at the bottom of the stairs. Running down the stairs, you all but crawled beneath the table, tucking your feet in as you tried to make yourself as small as possible. You didn’t have any other option. The cloth provided you with enough cover to pull off not being seen and you could only pray you weren't found.

Eyes wide with fear, you held your breath when he turned the corner, the floor trembling with every heavy step of his boots. You could also hear the scrape of the giant sword he dragged with him, the shrill sound hurting your ears. You nearly bolted when you heard the locker doors being opened one by one before getting slammed shut.

Oh God, please, don't let him find me. Please, please, please. You shut your eyes tightly, clasping your hands against your mouth as you tried to keep as quiet as you could. The corner of your eyes teared up, a lump in your throat wanting to give way to sobs of distress the closer he got.

~

His trudging steps slowed as he surveyed the area. 

Pyramid Head tilted his head curiously, his helmet creaking with the action. He didn’t know where you hid but he could sense you near. When he pressed that piece of fabric to his helmed head, your intoxicating aroma set his nerves of fire, twisting his mind into a lustful haze–the urge to pillage and kill you getting stronger by the minute. 

When he heard that soft gasp earlier in the alley, he was stunned by your feminine form mere meters away from him. You were a small thing compared to him, the top of your head not even reaching his chest. Whatever surprise he felt was momentary, desire quickly flooding his veins as he drank in your lovely shape. How long since a pretty thing like you entered this infernal domain? How easy would it be to subdue you and make you a slave to his lust? What sounds could he coax from those wet lips of yours? His member twitched to life beneath his withered skirt, the thought of possessing you clouding his mind with lascivious images of your naked body beneath him.

When he took a step towards you, you ran like a frightened lamb.

Watching you turn around to flee– the distance growing between you with every passing second– Pyramid Head gripped his weapon tightly, anger consuming him as he followed right after you. 

As if he would allow you to escape him. 

He would take you. Tarnish that soft flesh and desecrate your soul until you were nothing but a bloody heap beneath him. 

He just needed to catch you first. 

Opening the lockers one by one, he couldn’t suppress his frustrated grumbles when you weren’t there. Where were you? He shifted his attention to the familiar clutter of furniture on the staircase, noting how neatly some chairs were piled in a corner–knowing that the times he’s ventured here, the chairs were never tampered in such a way. 

Realizing how close he must be to capturing you, he started up the stairs, dropping his weapon without a care as he tore down the barricade in a frenzy to find you. 

When his search proved fruitless, the veins in his arms and neck became more prominent from his fury. WHERE WERE YOU? Blind with rage, he smashed his fists against the broken furniture and the rotting walls, tearing everything in his wake as he roared loud enough to make his helmet vibrate violently from the sound. It hurt enough to cause him to rupture something and bleed, trails of blood dripping down his neck to mix with the blood of his other victims.

As he stood breathing heavily on the landing of the stairs, trying to shake off the cloud of anger consuming him, a faint creak was heard downstairs. He twisted his body to look behind him, crazily observing the area where he heard it from. 

There was a lone table. The once white cloth adorning it was an ugly shade of brown, time not being kind to as it had torn holes ruining it. He could care less about the useless piece of cloth. What had his undivided attention was the dainty fingers that could be seen poking out beneath it. 

There was a moment of silence before he charged down the stairs. 

Gripping the sides of the table, he flung it across the hall, old wood shattering to pieces when it smacked against the railing of the stairs. He paid little mind to the destruction he created, his focus landing entirely on your meek figure below him. A look of horror crossed your face, mouth open in shock as you stared up at him. A rumble of contentment echoed within his helmet having finally found his prize, quickly dropping down to his knees to grab you and pin you between his legs.

It didn’t take much to overpower you, Pyramid Head sitting on your thighs to lessen your squirming. Bunching the pink fabric in his hands, he tore your sweater apart like paper, your startled scream doing little to deter him. His bloodied hands groped the exposed flesh hungrily, smudging your torso with the red substance as you shrieked in disgust. The way the softness of your tummy gave under his firm hands had him addicted. He loved how weak and pliant your flesh was.

Your mounds were a sight too, spilling off the cups of the small band around your chest. He tore that off easily too, your bust jiggling from the action and making him groan at the sight. Much to his pleasure, he saw your skin pebble with goosebumps, the cool air of the room turning your nipples into tight buds.

His hands moved, thick fingers stroking over your breasts to test the doughy texture. You gasped, arching from the pressure, unknowingly pushing your chest against his palms. Much to your chagrin, the rough pads of his fingers sent a fire bolt careening from your nipples and through your quivering belly to ignite heat into your core. You bit your lip, ignoring the sensation as you tried shoving his hands away with your feeble strength. When he tugged harshly on the tips of your breasts, you let out a pained whine, the kittenish sound sending a shock of pleasure down his spine. He wished to tear you apart, bathe in your essence as he drank up your tortured cries.

He was reluctant to pull his hands away from you, your body smeared in a beautiful canvas of blood, but his need to fully claim you could not be denied.  Pyramid Head removed his hands from your breasts with a final rough squeeze, shifting one to rub his erection to alleviate some of his need, while the other hand trailed down to caress your clothed hip possessively.

He was bewitched by you, reverently stroking your skin with bloodied hands to dirty your purity. Shielding your breasts from his view, you were a vision with your head turned to the side, choking on a sob as you realized that despite how your mind protested his brutish touches, your body betrayed you when slickness dripped between your thighs.

At war with yourself, you didn't pay attention when his attention turned to the last article of clothing preserving your modesty.

Easing up on his weight, he shifted his body down to tug at your black jeans. When the tight fabric stuck around your hips, he grew irritated at the minor inconvenience. Before you could voice out a protest, he roughly flipped you over onto your stomach, shock coursing through you when he tore the denim to shreds at your sides, dragging the rest of it down your legs and taking your panties and shoes with them.

You could feel the heat in your face at the state of your nudity. He caressed your ass then– forcing an undignified yelp from you at the offensive touch– squeezing the globes on either palm, his nails digging into the fat hard enough to leave lasting bruises on your unblemished skin. 

"N-no! You're hurting me!" 

You hissed between your teeth, sharp aches blossoming from where his fingers pressed on your ass. You shivered with disgust when the blood on his hands dirtied your globes, matching it with the mess of your front.

Brushing a calloused finger along your vulva, he was met with the heat of your pussy. It had your body jerking to attention, the blood draining from your face in an instant. When he tried to insert the bloody finger inside you, you shook erratically, your hands scrambling for purchase on the floor to get away from him. 

Tired of your antics, he twisted you to your back, uncaring of the yelp that left you when the back of your head hit the floor with a loud thud. Holding you down with one hand around your neck, he nearly choked you as he began pulling impatiently at the fastenings of his long skirt to jerk himself free with his other. His body shook with excitement, enticed by your naked flesh even as you begged sweetly under him. 

He paid little mind to your frantic scratching on his arm, the pain miniscule when compared to the hard throbbing of his cock— the twitching member pulsating so strongly that it had his mind blazing from the painful pressure, a groan of distress escaping him the longer it was kept confined. Pain that would only be soothed once he was encompassed by the tight walls of your pussy. 

~

The state of your mind went into a panic when you saw it. What lay between those muscled thighs was a monstrosity. It would bring you nothing but pure anguish and misery, the way it could barely spring upward with its heavy weight. Accompanied by an equally heavy set of balls and prominent veins lining the length of it– it was more of an instrument of pain than that of pleasure, meant to punish and brutalize those that fell victim to it. 

A whimper left you before you started thrashing in earnest, clawing away at his arm to get away from that. 

"LET GO OF ME! NO! Y-YOU CAN'T-!" 

You didn't care that he could snap your neck in a second, didn't care that he could rip you limb from limb or crush your head with his bare hands. Those were much better options than the alternative he was hellbent on pursuing. 

What the hell?! How can he be that bi-!!? Your thoughts were interrupted when you felt monstrous hands grip your knees and pull them apart savagely, screaming at the painful ache in your pelvis following the rough motion. He knelt between your spread legs, his large thighs forcing you open and leaving you unable to close your legs.

"W-wait! Wait! Think about what you're doing, please?! It's not possi-?!" 

The blunt head of his cock tapped your entrance, the pearl of precum mixing with your wetness as he tried to nudge his way in. His size proved too much for your smaller frame, his dick sliding up your vulva in a failed attempt to penetrate you. The insistent push of his hips had you holding your breath, body freezing in place when the head of his cock threatened to breach your cunt only to slide along your labia once more. 

The rough motion had you panting, the repeated nudging on your clit causing your pelvis to twitch from the erotic stimulation. You couldn’t stop your body’s reaction to him, a pulsating heat shimmering beneath your skin. Taking a glance down, you shuddered at the sight of his cock sandwiched between your spread lips. It had your feminine channel burning for him despite your fear of him. Shame accompanied your arousal as you felt more of your natural fluids coating the underside of his dick and flowing down your ass in rivulets.

While you lay gasping at the dizzying sensation, you were ignorant to his growing agitation when he missed his mark again. He raised your hips higher, giving himself a better view of your leaking hole before grabbing his wet shaft with one hand and lining himself up once more. This time he was determined to properly defile you.

Your eyes fluttered open when he adjusted you, looking up at him in confusion as you tried to clear your mind. The momentary pleasure he had given you was obliterated in a second when you felt the press of his cock head stab its first inch inside your dripping pussy. 

Like a bucket of cold water hitting your face, you shrieked when the reality of your situation set in. Flinching from his touch, you tried twisting your hips away from him hoping to dislodge the stiff cock from its journey inside you. 

"No! You won't fit!"

Bucking your hips uselessly, you failed to realize that your swirling hips moved pleasantly around the tip, a dribble of cum shooting out of his cock to coat your insides– making you gasp when you felt it and him shudder strongly at the feel of your sweet cunt. Seeing how you were so lubricated for him, he repositioned himself above you, bracing a foot on the floor while keeping the other leg bent at the knee. Grabbing the back of your knees, he pushed them forward near your head, effectively placing you in a mating press of sorts.

Not giving you any time to protest, he thrusted half of himself in one diligent push.

You yelped at the sudden pain, eyes nearly popping out of your face as you felt your pussy stretch beyond its limit. Glimmer of tears rushed to your eyes, the pain making your mouth wobble as he pulled away– the drag of his cock against your inner walls nearly causing you to faint– only to cry out when he thrusted back in with more force. More of his cock violated your sore insides, rendering you a screaming mess as he continued to plunder your wrecked form. Too scared to look at the damage between your legs, you pushed against his firm stomach, pleading for him to stop or he'll kill you. 

A sharp jab into your swollen flesh had you crying out, arching your back as tears trailed down your face. No manner of preparation could’ve made his passage bearable, the stark difference between his gargantuan size and your regular size evident as you struggled to accommodate him.

He took you like a brute. Not caring about your distressed wails.

It hurt.

Maybe the pain was making you delirious, but beneath the agony, there was a thread of pleasure seeping through the cracks. You refused to believe it, the thought of your body betraying you in such a way nearly crumbling you.

…

…

 Then why were your hips moving timidly alongside his?

~

His hands bit into your sides, Pyramid Head lifting your lower body off the floor to smack against him, driving the rest of his cock inside your spasming pussy with a low groan.

It was a tight fit. 

Once the entirety of his throbbing cock was seathed inside your warm heat, he took the time to glance down at you. You were a sweaty mess of blood and tears, pained gasps emerging from your trembling lips as your body twitched uncontrollably from his claiming of you. Your entrance was stretched taut around his engorged cock, the blood smeared on your pelvis making him wonder if it was yours or from him. 

He was immune to your choked sobs, not feeling the least bit remorseful of his violent taking of you. Rather, he was pleased you survived. Many didn’t make it past this stage, but you proved to be a pleasant surprise. 

The snug walls of your cunt suddenly clenched around his dick, nearly making him cum on the spot. 

He pulled his hips back, hissing when your walls clamped down on him, making the task difficult before driving forward with purpose. Before long, your soaked entrance made his movements easier, his dick sliding much faster inside your straining pussy. Pained cries turned into soft mewls, your hips eventually moving in tandem with his with every brush of your clit. 

He paused midthrust to stare at the bulge in your tummy in fascination. It was a ghastly sight– the way your lower belly distended from his cock penetrating you. He pressed on the bump in an inquisitive manner, jolting in shock when your channel clenched around him erratically, a stream of fluid splashing on his lower belly following your loud shriek. 

The shock was momentary, Pyramid Head rubbing your secretion between his fingers to play with the strings. Bringing them beneath the helm of his helmet, he was overtaken with the smell of your lust. Even though you couldn’t meet his gaze, you could feel him staring at you in a hungry manner. He gave you little time to be embarrassed, hunching over you to place your legs above his elbows, spreading you further and spearing into you with brutal thrusts.

He couldn't stop the rapid succession of thrusts, driving into you faster and faster as his release built up with every plunge inside you.

~

You twisted helplessly, opening your mouth to voice out your pleasure as fire spread throughout your body. His fierce pace had you writhing wildly beneath him, shaking your head at the growing tension in your stomach– signaling another approaching orgasm. You didn’t want him to stop. Your womb clenched with every harsh jab of his monstrous dick against it, the pressure escalating with every second of your ruin.

“O-oh! Please, please, please–!!” You sobbed, not knowing if you wanted him to stop his rough onslaught on your poor body or begging for more as his hips collided violently between the juncture of your thighs. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed along the hall, your passionate cries and his low groans forever imprinted on your mind. Your legs grew tired, falling lax on either side of him, unable to keep up with his vigorous pace. 

He used you like nothing more than a cocksleeve, molding the shape of his cock in your tight pussy, his sac slapping lewdly against your ass.

It became too much. 

Your mind went blank when the knot in your belly finally snapped, letting out a scream of completion when intense heat spread throughout your shaking body. Your vaginal walls gripped him tightly, trying to milk him for all his worth, the sudden tightness forcing a growl to emerge from him. Tears escaped you, the painful pleasure driving you mad in his embrace.

White lights danced behind your eyelids, your orgasm turning you into a puddled mess of ecstasy even as he continued to ravage you.

The last thing you felt before closing your eyes in exhaustion was a scorching heat filling your insides, calloused fingers rubbing the bump in your tummy in wonder.

❣️🖤❣️Thank you for reading~! ❣️🖤❣️

I got another treat for my dear followers! You gotta know I'm posting NSFW Art to go with my fics as well~ (*^ ‿ <*)♡

🎃Happy Halloween, you guys! Stay safe out there!🎃

Full NSFW Art here ---> (⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠)

[bobcat-pie]

sajfkdlkajf the color just goes SO HARD

90% of robotlikers more often than not also like that one specific red-magenta color. We all just collectively share a hivemind.

[jellybeesblog]

𝙍𝘼𝘽𝘽𝙄𝙏 𝙃𝙊𝙇𝙀𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄: 𝓣𝓸𝓻𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓛𝓸𝓸𝓹

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 𝐔𝐏 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃ᝰ.ᐟ

𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚝'𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝙽𝚎𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝, 𝙰𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛, 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚂𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗; 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚢𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒 𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚜𝚎, 𝙴𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎 ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

The familiar silence brought her back to her senses as she slumped the upper half of her body against the table. Time seems to fly fast when you're doing something fun, right? (Name) tapped her pencil against the page of her sketchbook, her face resembled one of frustration. It was currently 21:03am and there was not a single trace of anyone or anything. “Maybe they're still preparing for it....I did ask Alfred yesterday to tell them that today's my 11th birthday.” A knock on the door interrupting her racing thoughts.

“Miss (Name)? Are you still awake?” She sprung up from her chair and rushed to open the door. Her eager eyes looked up at him hoping for good news but was met with a pitiful gaze. The outstretched smile slowed faded as her shoulders slumped down. “Are they are here...Right? To celebrate my birthday?” Alfred looked down at her small form in silent sorrow. The way she pulled at the sleeve of her nightgown using it to prevent the tears from falling, the tremble of her lower lip and her bloodshot eyes that avoided his own.

“I'm afraid not, Miss (Name).”

“Maybe next time...”

“Maybe.”

Each and every year whilst Bruce trained the rest of the family, (Name) was nothing more but a bystander. The moment she had set foot in the house no matter how hard she tried to get along with Dick, he'd brush her off offering his usual charismatic smile and a brief pat on the head. But as time passed, so did his attention on her. Jason wanted nothing to do with her and made it clear. She tried to sit next to him? Next (Name) knows he sits up and walks out of the room.

Tim acted as if he didn't notice her presence and carried on with his life. However if push comes to shove them she'd manage to get a sentence out of him. Each time you entered his office as a kid to show off your sketches, Bruce would always turn a blind eye to it. A glance was all you would get if you were lucky. Most of the time he was on his laptop typing away at it and during night he would become the masked hero, Batman. There was no time for you in his schedule and you knew it.

𝗦𝗼 𝘄𝗵𝘆 𝗱𝗶𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺?

“....ame?)”

“(Name)?”

“Young lady I'm talking to you!”

Your body jolted slightly as you snapped back into reality, the whole class was staring as the history teacher, Miss Bateman shook her head in disappointment. “You do know I've been calling you for like two minutes, correct?” You sat up straight on your chair from your desk and began to feel heat rising in your cheeks. “Sorry Miss Bateman I just-”

“Zoned out? Daydreaming? Honestly (Name) trying to get your attention is like trying talking to a brick wall. No response and it's as if I'm talking to myself. My question was name a famous structure that hasn't collapsed to this day.” You hadn't drank water since this morning so it was beginning to take a toll on your poor throat. “Pyramid of GiZA-” Your voice cracked a bit but it didn't seem to bother Miss Bateman who gave you a satisfied nod and continued to teach. “You should learn to pay more attention in class. No wonder why my grades are higher than yours.” You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

Damian also attended every class you went to and as always he had to leave a bitter comment that made you want to wrangle his throat. Not like you could without getting knocked down to the floor with a bleeding nose. “Nobody asked you dipshit. You always have some kind of comment for everything I do. Focus on your own life.” You whispered back before turning back to writing down notes. You felt the pinning gaze of some of your classmates burning at the back of your head. You had to admit that you envied him infact you were envious of your family.

Especially Stephanie, the girl of the family. They pampered her and treated her as though she were porcelain, you were nothing to her. Nothing to them. Sometimes you sit on the rooftops watching them fight and work together to defend their city. You wished you were special like them. Whilst Dick and Damian got all the attention at school with a few secret admirers here and there. Instead you were looked down upon and you would hear hushed whispers of rumors about you. Why you?

Decades later and you had finally gotten a job as a detective in order to be acknowledged and respected by Bruce and your siblings. Not because it was your dream to become one. Decaf coffee and stale bread was a delicacy at best and files full of cases unsolved stacked in piles on your desk as you would stay up late solving them and end up falling asleep on top of them.

Days became a blur as you worked on your cases, having to see the mutilated bodies of the deceased and again feeding off of scraps of food. Scars of the past decorating the skin of your clothed arms, scars that brought back memories. Some of your younger colleagues admired you from afar as you helped families and companies with their case with ease.

“You know Detective (Name)...Sometimes I wish I was like you.” You turned to face your younger colleague who leaned against the doorway, eyes as bright as street lamps following your movement. What they didn't expect was for you to laugh at them. And as your mocking laughter died down you turned back to your board full of pictures of cases you were almost done solving. “No you don't.”

You hadn't heard from your family for a long time- no you haven't heard from Alfred in for a long time and wondered how he was doing as you spun around your office chair, a bleak expression lingering for a moment on your face. As a kid, sleep was your only escape from reality but now the only thing you wanted to do was stay awake. Whenever you slept visions from the past pestered you with such intensity, you would wake up drenched in sweat, clothing soaked and clinging to your skin.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗮 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱

Standing on top of the Gotham Museum's roof, you looked down at the racing cars on the grimey streets of Gotham. It was raining heavily, the sound of the raindroplets colliding with the ground made you forget what you were about to do. All it took was a leap of 'faith'.

The next day your face was plastered all over the newspapers along with your body covered with blood stained cloth in order to censor the graphic scene of suicide. The death of (Name) Wayne.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍ᝰ.ᐟ

[benihana-circumcision]

Per primary sources (reassembled digital zines[¹], screenshotted facebook posts kept on flash drive archives[²], pastel Tumblr art[³],) the "Punk" was a mythological or archetypal "underdog" figure in late-anthropocene technophile civilization, believed by its followers and devotees to be situated in abstract spiritual opposition to the "Nazi" - similar parallels in history can be seen within Zoroastrian conceptions of Ahura Mazda and Angra Mainyu, though Ahura Mazda lacks the plucky, downtrodden connotation of "Punk"

Devotees would claim that certain things are "Punk" in an effort to lend their activities moral and political weight and contrast them against the dark spiritual figure of "The Nazi" in order to find solace in the notoriously meaning-deprived Anthropocene. The "Punk" as depicted by our incomplete primary source material was associated with patronizing Hot Topic (a pre-Starfish Incident minor religious franchise), guitars (We are unsure if the Punk was actually associated with any sort of musical motif due to none of the sources providing any artists or audio files), going to the public library, wearing unpainted denim jackets with embedded pyramidal studs, and "respecting pronouns." We are unsure why such a figure would lend outsized veneration to simple parts of speech, but the phrasing keeps cropping up in the research.

Punkist rituals included: Posting online, posting online about not posting online in an attempt to enact some sort of spiritual leverage against the world's ills, getting mad online, posting about how to make a makeshift incendiary munition / ritual object referred to as a "molotov cocktail" (worth noting that in all the archaeological sites in which we found records of such posts, we have yet to find any trace evidence of gelled gasoline, paraffin, or soaked textiles), making ornamental fabric patches with minimal and rudimentary effort, and getting mad online.

We are unaware of the nature of typical Punkist patterns of spiritual gathering, ritual music, or mass social interaction, as the sect seemed largely to be isolated from any larger non-digital social flow, with most of the available evidence being data mined from pre-Collapse smartphones found alongside the remains of people found in their bedrooms.

[spurbleu]

oldman!price x reader angsty (?) drabble

‧︎✳︎༚︎‧︎⁎︎°︎

age leaves john price in tantrum.

he despises what it’s done to his body. the creak in his knees when he walks, the strain in his shoulder when he reaches across the table. steam engine, ironclad and coal hot, neglected the rust on the belly of its stirrups. adopted a sudden fragility he cannot stand.

takes a literal force of nature to get him to retire, and he grieves it like a father. it, in all honesty, was one. taught him how to shoot straight, how to hold his men, how to be without feeling like he’s an imposter in his own skin. forced him to grow up- which is ironically exactly what ended their alliance.

nursed whiskeys, fattened ice kissing the base. smoked like somehow- fossilized in ligero- he’d find his youth again. blistered under reluctant mortality, indulged in fatal vices because if anything is putting him in the grave it’s a gun or a cigar.

a pot never boils watched, yet you stay at your designated post by the doorway while he broods (he’s a dramatic at heart), storm clouds stamped on the collapse of his shoulders.

if you were one of his soldiers, you let him fester.

but you were his wife.

it wasn’t like you hadn’t aged yourself, silver linings sprouting from your scalp, sun spots and bleached knuckles. even so, you found time to pick up his medications, comb through amateur food blogs for gut health and bone pain, roll the aches out of his shoulder before bed. you were kind- and it was insulting.

spitfire catching on the burs of his muttonchops- unfamiliar with dependence. he was a captain for Christ’s sake- alloy lighthouse, built by cement and sheer fucking will. he didn’t need to be hand fed vitamin C and dragged to yoga class. he pitched barbed wire, dug his shallow trench and intended lay in it.

until, one evening, thunder strikes him out of dewy acrimony. he clambers up the stairs, musk of tobacco and spite plants a grimy boot in the oak. he glances over the railing, and stills.

bathroom door, cutting swaddled atmosphere with thin bisque, a pyramid down the center of the hall that created the illusion of darker corners. centered in the odd, domestic scaffolding was you- shower damp and concentrated.

it was like watching a bird preen feathers. tugging at the sags, yanking at the silvers, skin pitching at the nostril and eyes narrowing into thin keyways. and if he squinted, sniper accuracy rendered tears. sallow river bed on your flushed cheeks, clumped lashes, a frown that broke hearts.

“you’re never struggling alone, John,” you had said one evening, when he had been foolishly apathetic, “i’ll make sure of that.”

he hadn’t said anything.

guilt squirms at the base of his neck. the stranger named comfort that swelled within your embrace unnerved him so much he had forgotten to introduce himself. and now, milking moonlit lighting, with a wife who thought he was hiding from her, he called himself what he had never been as a soldier.

a coward.

you were making tea the next morning, windows surrendering a warmth when the day was still docile. it was while you were humming that your husband, sneaky bastard, folds you into the plush of his chest, drowsy lips dragging on the cusp of your shoulder.

“you always look so beautiful in the mornin, darlin.”

and it was true. you’ve never looked better to the old man.

[iconbyunghun]

a gun and a hard lesson

Pairing: husband!Jin Hyun-pil x reader

Summary: Jin Hyun-pil had never considered himself a jealous man. With you, he had never felt the need to be... at least not until he saw you flirting (or so it seemed to him) with one of his men. Perhaps it was time to teach you how to behave like a proper wife.

Warnings: MDNI, Smut 18+, age gap (early-20s/50s), noncon/dubcon, gun kink, manipulation, degradation, violence, choking, fearplay, unconsciousness, psychological abuse

Word count: 2.9 k

a/n: I've tried to include as many warnings as possible because I feel like I went a little overboard

Jin Hyun-pil was a man confident in himself. Manipulative, ambitious, with the natural assurance of someone who could get whatever he wanted with just a charming smile and an enticing tone of voice that could easily lure any unsuspecting ear. That was how he had obtained everything he had—building his pyramid scheme empire on lies and false hopes, preying on the poor fools desperate to cling to any chance of a better life.

And that was exactly how he had gotten you—his sweet and enchanting wife.

From the very moment his eyes landed on you, your beauty and youth drew him in like a wild animal to easy prey. It hadn’t been difficult to get close to you, using his ties to your father and the man’s desperate need to recover financially. You were so trusting, so kind, that you quickly believed in him without a second thought, allowing yourself to fall in love. And sooner than he had expected, you were in his arms, surrendering yourself to him.

He wasn’t sure if he truly loved you; not that he had time to waste thinking about such nonsense. He only knew that he couldn’t bear to be without you—at least not physically—and he was willing to get rid of anyone who even considered interfering or taking you away, anyone who so much as looked at you with the wrong intentions.

Did that make him a jealous man? Not at all.

There was no need for that when your eyes had sparkled like stars from the very first moment you saw him. Not when he was the only man you had ever given yourself to, the only one you loved enough to leave your entire life behind and follow blindly when his financial scheme collapsed and he had to flee.

The only one you had sworn to love until death, before God… or well, at least in front of a questionable priest in an improvised chapel in Manila.

No, there was no reason to be jealous. Of course not.

Possessive.

That was a much better word to describe how he was with you. You were his wife, the one who had sworn loyalty to him, promised to stay together until death parted you, blah, blah, blah…

So why the hell did you look so entertained, laughing with one of his men while he stood behind you, guiding your hands to hold a gun and aim toward the empty horizon?

He returned late at night to the lavish mansion where they were temporarily hiding, reorganizing his operation. As he walked through the door, he found it strange that you weren’t there waiting for him like always—sweet, affectionate, wrapping him in hugs and kisses while whispering how much you had missed him.

One of his security men told him you were in the backyard.

The calm he had arrived with disappeared in an instant, replaced by a rising anger that sent fire through his veins the moment he saw the scene.

It wasn’t jealousy.

It was disgust—disgust at seeing that filthy brat wrapping his arms around you, HIS wife, while you laughed, so carefree, completely oblivious. His hands clenched into tight fists, and he cleared his throat as he approached.

"Having fun?"

You felt the boy behind you tense up and immediately step back, gripping the gun he had been using to teach you how to shoot. You held your breath for a moment before both of you turned to face the newcomer, your beloved husband.

On his face, you could see the barely contained anger behind his false smile, but you chose to ignore it as you stepped closer and wrapped your arms around him. You buried your face in the space between his neck and collarbone, inhaling his scent.

"Oppa, I missed you all day," you whispered sweetly.

You felt his hand settle on the small of your back, pulling you against his body with more force than necessary.

"Yeah, I can see how much you missed me."

From your position, you couldn’t see the way his mere gaze alone had the other man frozen in place, threatened without a single word.

"I want you in my office first thing tomorrow," he snapped without blinking.

The young man nodded quickly, swallowing hard.

"Let’s go," he said, this time to you.

His jaw tensed as he grabbed your forearm roughly, yanking you forward to match his pace as he strode into the mansion. He practically dragged you up the stairs, making you stumble.

"You’re hurting me," you complained once you reached the last step and managed to free yourself from his grip.

He didn’t respond. He simply kept walking toward the bedroom you shared. You followed, rubbing the spot where his grasp had left a burning sensation.

He opened the door and let you enter first before shutting it behind you, locking it with a click. Then, he turned to face you, his expression unreadable as his eyes scanned you from head to toe. His gaze lingered on your denim skirt—too short, barely brushing your knees—and on your V-neck blouse. Under different circumstances, he would have found you utterly charming. But today was not one of those days.

You didn’t know what to say. You hadn’t done anything wrong.

"Well?" he finally spoke.

Slowly, he pulled the gun from his pocket. You swallowed hard.

Never before had you felt such fear of him, but watching him slide out the magazine and inspect it with that chilling calmness made your stomach twist.

He clicked his tongue before carefully placing each piece back where it belonged, leaving the gun exactly as it had been. Then, without haste, he approached you, brandishing it in his hand.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" he spoke again, his tone even tenser.

You felt your legs weaken as he lifted the gun in front of you, bringing it close to your lips. It was a soft touch, but the cold metal sent a shiver down your spine, making you let out a shaky gasp.

"I didn’t do anything," you mumbled against the tip of the weapon.

That was definitely not the answer he wanted, and it only irritated him further.

With his free hand, he grabbed your hair, yanking you slightly backward. His grip was strong, and your lips parted in a pained whimper as he slowly dragged the gun down your exposed neck.

"H-Hyun-pil..." his name escaped your trembling lips like a plea.

His gaze was locked on you, on every pathetic expression that flickered across your pretty face. And beneath his look of irritation, there was a malicious glint of amusement. He imagined a thousand ways to teach you that you belonged only to him, that you had no right to be fooling around with another man.

"Little whore," he spat with disdain.

His grip on your hair only intensified. Tears began to pool at the corners of your eyes from the pain.

"I leave for a few hours, and you're already throwing yourself at the first man who crosses your path."

"That’s not true," you blurted out desperately.

You felt a momentary relief when he loosened his grip on your hair. But a sharp cry escaped you when he suddenly shoved you onto the mattress of the marital bed.

His broad frame loomed over you, his knees sinking into the mattress as he positioned himself between your legs, spreading them apart and pulling up the fabric of your skirt. Your cunt, barely covered by the thin fabric of your panties, was now fully exposed to him.

"Look at that," he murmured mockingly, his eyes fixated on the damp spot at the center of your underwear. "You're sick, getting wet because your husband is threatening you?… Or were you already turned on from having that idiot rubbing up against you?" He arched a brow, watching you intently.

You shook your head. "I swear I didn’t do anything wrong. I never would."

Your voice was a pitiful whimper, and he swore you were on the verge of tears. Maybe that’s exactly what he wanted. He loved it when you cried and begged for him—begged for him to fuck you, begged for his attention, begged for his love. Maybe the only thing left for you to beg for was your life.

You swallowed hard, your lips trembling as you watched him slide the gun down your body until it reached your core. He began a slow, teasing motion, the cold metal pressing against your sensitive nerves, making you wetter.

He leaned down, supporting himself on his free arm as he loomed closer.

"Why… my silly princess, why can't you just behave?" he spoke in a honeyed, mocking tone.

"I just wanted to learn how to use a gun," you tried to explain. "You never have time."

"Aw, did my little princess want to use a gun?" His gaze drifted between your legs, a morbid thought crossing his mind and making him smile maliciously. "Let me teach you, then."

He returns to his previous position. You don’t make a sound—not until he slides your underwear to the side, exposing your dripping pussy before pressing the cold metal tip against you. Your eyes widen at the sudden sensation, and a high-pitched moan escapes as you feel the hard texture of the metal against your folds.

Your legs tremble in a mix of fear and excitement; you were definitely screwed.

"I'm going to ruin this pretty pussy," he murmurs with delight, the hand that had been holding your panties now moving to your sex, spreading you open. He grips the weapon firmly, beginning to slide it inside your tight walls.

You gasp and moan, your body trembling beneath him. Hyun-pil’s gaze remains fixed on you, still thrusting torturously slow. He watches as you become a mess of ragged breaths, your chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes filled with both fear and that familiar longing you always show when he touches you. A pleased smile curls on his lips.

"What's wrong, baby?" He leans in closer, this time sliding the gun in and out of your slick entrance at an excruciating pace. "Are you scared of your beloved husband?"

A louder moan escapes your lips as his teeth sink into the delicate skin of your neck, pressing hard before he soothes the bite with his tongue, licking up the tiny drops of blood that bead from the wound.

His eyes flutter shut in pleasure, a quiet groan vibrating from his throat as his cock twitches in his pants at the sweet taste of your blood, even if it's just a tiny amount. His grip on the gun weakens slightly, sending a shiver through your body.

"Please… I'm scared," you beg, but he ignores you, pressing the object in with greater determination. You writhe beneath him, moaning in distress, forcing him to place his hand on your stomach, squeezing you even harder.

"Stupid bitch, stop squirming like a worm, or you’ll make me pull the trigger. Is that what you want?"

It takes you a few seconds to process his words before you quickly shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut and biting your lower lip. Your body is slowly adjusting to the cold metal forcing its way between your tight heat.

His hand on your stomach now slides under your blouse, roughly squeezing one of your breasts.

Your hips move instinctively, chasing the pleasure building in your stomach. Your legs tense—you were so close, and he knew those signs all too well. But that wasn’t what he wanted.

You gasp as the fullness is abruptly taken away. Slowly, you open your eyes, still breathless, only to see him lifting the gun to his lips. You hold your breath as he drags his tongue over the tip, licking up your slick. His eyes remain locked on yours as he flashes a lewd, satisfied grin.

Your brows knit together, and you try to squeeze your legs shut, desperately seeking some friction. You were so close. But you freeze when he points the gun directly at your face.

"Don’t even think about touching yourself," he snaps, moving closer. "Open that pretty mouth."

Your gaze flickers between his face and the barrel hovering just inches from you. This had to be a joke. How much longer was he going to drag this out?

"Didn’t you hear me?" he growls, exasperated, tapping your cheek lightly with the weapon, leaving a faint smear of your own wetness behind.

You do as you're told, and in an instant, your mouth is filled with cold metal. You can taste yourself on it. A choked gag builds in your throat as he pushes it in deeper.

His free hand moves to the zipper of his pants, pulling it down. He slides his hand inside his boxers, stroking himself for a moment as he watches you struggle not to choke on the gun in your mouth.

He lowers his underwear, and his thick cock springs free, the tip flushed red from the pressure he’s been holding back since he started his little torture.

He drags it between your folds, gathering your slickness, tapping teasingly against your entrance.

"You're going to listen carefully now, aren't you?"

You nod.

"You're not supposed to enjoy this… but you're just a filthy little pervert, aren't you?"

His voice comes out rough, and you let out a shaky moan as you feel the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

He slides into your wetness slowly, savoring the way your inner muscles cling to him. Closing his eyes for a moment, he lets out a heavy sigh, relishing the sensation.

Without giving you time to adjust, he starts moving inside you, simultaneously jostling the gun in your mouth. You whimper in pain as your cheeks tense and the barrel knocks against your teeth. You were a complete, dripping mess beneath him—soaking around his cock, drooling around the cold steel.

His hips slam into you mercilessly, filling you without an ounce of restraint, his balls slapping against your ass. The only sounds in the room are the rough, relentless thrusts and the pathetic, pleading noises spilling from your throat.

"Ah, fuck," he groans as your tight, sticky heat squeezes him even harder each time he brushes against that special spot inside you. "Don’t even think about cumming," he growls, eyes locked onto every flicker of expression on your face—pleasure and pain blending into one.

You look at him, pleading, drowning in sobs as your stomach tightens and your walls begin to tremble around him.

"Do it… and I swear the last thing you’ll feel will be my cock buried in your cunt and a bullet tearing through your throat."

With the little sanity you had left, you shut your eyes and held your breath for a few seconds, trying to detach yourself from the feeling of his cock splitting you open.

His relentless thrusts continued, and his hand now pressed against your throat. He squeezed hard enough for the veins in his arm to bulge and pulse—under different circumstances, that might have turned you on even more. But now, all you could do was think, fear, how the air slipping through your throat was becoming more and more scarce.

Your vision blurred inevitably, and you felt yourself fading little by little. The last thing your senses registered before losing consciousness was his thick release filling you to the deepest part of you, while he withdrew the gun and crashed his lips against yours in a hungry kiss.

When you woke up, your entire body ached, as if a car had run over you. Slowly, you began to open your eyes and noticed the room was engulfed in darkness. Then, you became aware that you were completely naked, though covered by the sheets.

Beside you, your husband was sitting, smoking with apparent ease. He turned his head slightly upon seeing you stir and let out a faint groan.

"I thought you wouldn’t wake up," he commented nonchalantly before exhaling a puff of smoke.

You gave him a wary look. He had never been gentle—neither in bed nor outside of it—but until now, things had never escalated to such intensity. And you didn’t know how to feel about it.

"What are you thinking, princess?"

He was going to drive you insane. You couldn’t read his mood at that moment. He seemed so calm… or maybe he was just pretending. Slowly, you adjusted yourself to sit beside him, pulling the sheet up to cover your chest.

"Would… would you be capable of killing me?" you asked in a near whisper, looking at him with fear.

He scanned your face, taking in your furrowed brows and the mix of sadness and apprehension in your expression.

"Jesus, of course not," he replied with a dry chuckle. "Not unless you really deserved it."

He set his cigarette down in the ashtray beside the bed.

His unbuttoned shirt fell open slightly as he settled back into position.

"You won’t do anything to deserve it, will you?" he asked, cupping your face in his hands and looking into your eyes, which shimmered despite the dim lighting.

"No, I swear I won’t," you whispered.

He smiled, pleased that you had learned your lesson, before kissing you. This time, the kiss was slow, and you couldn’t help but sigh as his beard scraped and pricked against your chin and lips.

You didn’t know who was more messed up... him, with his outbursts, or you, for being utterly at his mercy.

[mebis-reblogs]

So I heard iterators superstructures were originally gonna be pyramids, and that gave me an idea

we should play more with how an iterator collapse can look like i think

[growth-opportunities]

She’s officially too busty to be a cheerleader, so she might as well go goth!

All it took was one toppled pyramid and suddenly it was unsafe to have her on the team. Riley knew that it was her fault. She didn't need her fellow cheerleaders and their snide comments, talking about how the pyramid collapsed because it was "top-heavy." When she had joined the squad, she was a perky and pleasant B cup, but as the season went on, those B cups had grown and grown and grown. It was embarrassing to have to keep going back to the coach and ask for a bigger uniform, eventually having to have one custom made to fit her expanding bust. She added layer upon layer of sports bra in an effort to keep them contained, but nothing had worked. She had assumed that her teammates' teasing was all in good fun, but she could feel the sting now and she knew that it was mean and jealous and petty. They meant it. That night, Riley lay in bed, sobbing and cradling herself in her arms. She had lost everything. Her sport. Her community. Her "friends". She had nothing.

As she drifted aimlessly through the next week, the memory of herself from that night stuck in her head, the sight of herself in the mirror with mascara running down her face stuck in her head. She wore baggy sweatshirts despite the warming spring, anything to hide her bust, tugging the hood over her face whenever she saw one of her former teammates. She didn't know what they might have been talking about, but she couldn't have taken it if they were talking about her. By the time the next week rolled around, missing practice for the first time since joining the team, Riley found herself... relieved. Now having been rejected, looking at the whole team from the outside, Riley realized just how much work it was. Not just physically, but having to dress and act a certain way to appease the bitchy team captain. As all that pressure melted away, she found herself drifting back to the things she had suppressed. Metal and hard rock once again floated from her headphones. She dyed her hair back to her natural black, replacing her makeup palettes with blacks, purples, and greens. Sure, her old, dark clothing didn't really fit anymore, but it went nicely with the aesthetic.

By the time she came back to school the following Monday, Riley looked completely different. She had shed the shackles of being a Cheerleader, a thought that now made her shudder. This is who she really was and there was no sense in not going for it. It was gratifying when she walked past the captain and her boyfriend, listening to her berate him for staring as she passed by. With the way her tits bulged out of her bra, bouncing and wobbling with every confident step, she couldn't blame him. There was no need to hold anything back, including her growth. She lived in fear of it before but now she wished it would never stop.

[nottesilhouette]

sometimes I think about palestine.

sometimes I think about oranges.

sometimes I think about oranges, the way my father lights up, golden in the sun with a smile he reserves for special occasions, like when his children succeed or when the orange trees bloom.

sometimes I think about oranges, the way its peel makes a home under my nails, sprays oil until the smell of it lingers in the air, sharp and strong and livid in its joy.

sometimes I think about oranges, the way my sister stands over the grass, juice-sticky down to her elbows, and reaches her hand out to me anyways; I take it, and her skin sticks to mine.

sometimes I think about oranges, the way my mother passes up her slice, then another, then another, building pyramids of orange triangles built to last for her children.

sometimes I think about oranges, the way the knife pushes tension against the peel like a needle on my skin, slips past and cuts and spills juice like blood over my fingertips; if they are stained then I will walk the rest of my days with hands dyed.

sometimes I think about oranges, the way seeds settle between the thin flesh of each wedge, tough and safe and full of life, a victory as it grows into what it has always been destined for, reaching for the skies even as it collapses a universe of life into a single tiny stone.

sometimes I think about oranges, the way they litter the earth under my feet, rotted from the wind and the rain but so full of kindness it spills out over the edges, ready to give every drop of their soul to the earth if it means another flower will bloom in the spring.

sometimes I think about oranges, the way my best friend split an orange in her hands and held it out to me across land we cannot cross, the way each bite settles heavy in my stomach but light in my heart.

sometimes I think about oranges, the way sweetness coats my lips and tongue and teeth for hours, clingy; the way acid drips gentle into the cuts in my skin and stings, as if to tell me, "I'm here, I'm here, I'm still alive."

sometimes I think about you.

[rafeysvenicebitch]

Reader and Joe at LSU- football player x cheerleader trope

✧*̥˚Wishful Thinking˚

-ˋˏ[LSU!Joe Burrow x LSU cheerleader!reader]ˎˊ

The Louisiana heat clings to the air as the football team practices under the bright stadium lights. The cheer squad lines the sideline, running through routines, but your eyes keep drifting to Joe Burrow, the star quarterback. You swear he catches you staring every time he glances over, but you chalk it up to wishful thinking.

You’re mid-pyramid when a whistle blows, signaling the end of practice. The cheer squad collapses into laughter and chatter, packing up pom-poms and water bottles, but you can feel someone watching you.

“Hey! Y/N!”a deep voice calls from behind.

Turning, you see Joe, his helmet tucked under his arm, a playful grin on his face. His practice jersey clings to him in all the right ways, and his messy hair is damp with sweat.

“Hi, Joe,” you say, trying to sound casual, though your heart is pounding.

He gestures toward your cheer bag. “You guys work just as hard as we do out here. Maybe harder. You ever get tired of watching us?”

You laugh. “Not when the team’s this good.”

He steps closer, his grin widening. “Or is it just me you’re watching?”

Your cheeks heat up, but you don’t back down. “You think pretty highly of yourself, don’t you, Burrow?”

“Only because you give me a reason to,” he counters smoothly. “What do you say we grab some food after the game Friday? Win or lose, I owe you for all those cheers.”

You raise an eyebrow, pretending to consider it. “Only if you promise to throw at least three touchdowns. No pressure or anything.”

Joe chuckles, his confidence never wavering. “Deal. But just so you know, I’d have asked you even if we were playing dodgeball.” He pokes fun at your mistake.

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “Alright, Burrow. Don’t mess up on my account.”

He winks, backing away toward his teammates. “Never.”

As he jogs off, you hear one of your cheer friends teasing, “Looks like you’ve got the QB’s attention.”

You can’t help but smile, watching him go. “Maybe.”

But inside, you’re already counting down the days to Friday night.

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