#eventual title if i can flesh it out / pull it together is

[xxsabitoxx]

How JJK Men Eat Pussy 2.0

Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna, Yuta, Itadori, Megumi

Warnings: All characters are 18+, this post is explicit smut. As if you couldn’t tell that from the title

A/N: Funny story, I forgot I already wrote this same concept last year… but since I didn’t realize until I finished writing this… imma post it anyways. But if you’d like to see my original thoughts on this topic, you can see them here with an additional 2 characters lol

Gojo Satoru

He is relentless, especially when he’s in the mood to go down on you. These little moods of his will have him between your legs for hours, multiple times a day. You always like to joke that he knows when you’re ovulating because somehow these little moods seem to fall in sync. If Satoru goes more than three days without you, it’s like he’s going through withdrawals. He’s skilled with his tongue, he’s able to move it in ways and speeds you didn’t know a man could. Typically he’s a tease, he’ll edge you until you have an orgasm so pathetic you can’t even call it one. Ya know, the kinds where you come and don’t feel that satisfaction, just the pulsating ache of needing more. But recently, Satoru discovered how much more fun it is to overstimulate you. He loves the way your finger’s bury in his hair and try to tug him off as he sucks on your clit until you’re sobbing and begging him to ease up. He’ll keep your thighs spread wide, large hands effortlessly keeping them in place while they desperately try and close. He’s also the type to see those “pineapple make’s your cum sweet” articles and come home with enough pineapples to feed a village. He’s not even embarrassed about his reasoning, even if it’s just a myth, his sweet tooth can’t pass up the opportunity. Satoru loves your natural taste, but you surprised him with edible lubes in various fruity and sweet flavors one night… you still recall seeing the sun rise. 

Geto Suguru

He’s a god at eating pussy and you can’t convince me otherwise. Suguru has always been about your pleasure over his, not to say he doesn’t have his selfish moments, but your pleasure is just so much fun to him. He loves the noise, the facial expressions, the smell, the taste. The first time he went down on you, you were convinced he was lying about it being his first time. The ability just came naturally to Suguru. Like Satoru, Suguru loves to tease you. He’ll focus all of his attention on your dripping entrance, only stimulating your clit if his nose bumps it. He loves the way you squirm, his nails leaving crescent shaped nail marks in the plump flesh of your thighs as he holds you in place. He loves your breathless gasps, his long hair tickling your thighs as he eats you out, only adding to the stimulation that’s making your toes curl. Suguru loves to make you beg, pulling his mouth away from your cunt to just barely flick his tongue over your clit. He’ll stop all together just to taunt you until you’re sobbing, begging him to do something. He has a whole album on his phone dedicated to you, most of the content being videos of him eating you out, some he even made you take just so he could see the camera shake with your effort to keep it straight and hear your noises better. He puts on a show for you, slurping and sucking and moaning just to feel your thighs tremble as you moan with him. 

Nanami Kento

Eating you out is a stress reliever for Nanami… so it happens like very fucking day. Lord help me this man will spend hours edging you, cheek pressed into your thigh as he lazily licks and nips at your cunt. He can’t think about anything but you when he is between our legs, moaning and whining his name like a beautiful lullaby. He’ll let you cum eventually, but for the time being you are completely at his mercy. Nanami is the type to wake you up with his head between your legs, especially on nights where he comes home late and you’re already passed out in bed. He’ll make out with your cunt honestly, licking and sucking and nipping at your folds until he can’t tell if you’re wet from his saliva or your own arousal. The answer is both. He doesn’t care for any of the fancy shit, so don’t bother with flavored lubes or eating particular fruits to try and alter your taste, he just wants you and you alone. I feel like this man has a scent kink so the smell of your arousal honestly gets him going even more. He prefers eating you out in bed, mostly because he’s tired and nothing feels better to him than laying on his plush mattress while using your thighs as his pillow. He’s a whore for face sitting by the way, even less of his energy needs to be put into  that, especially when you’re grinding your cunt against his tongue. Nanami’s other favorite thing to do is use his tie to bind your wrists, that way you really can’t interrupt him.

Fushiguro Toji

I had to restart Toji’s so many times because I got too aggressive. Listen, this bummy ass bitch will eat you out till the sunrises and he will make a fucking mess of you while he does it. Toji will eat you out and finger fuck you until you’re screaming. He’ll give you a “break” by stuffing you full with his dick and then get back to work eating you out again after he blew his load in you. Filthy bitch. He’ll eat you out anytime, anywhere, any position. He’ll never turn down the opportunity and depending on your relationship with him, this bitch may even charge you for his services. Which is just another way he likes to tease you, watching you whine and squirm while you cough up the money he wants. He’ll call you pathetic as he gets on his knees and basically rips your underwear off of you, commenting the whole time about how much of a whore you are… like he ain’t selling his body to you rn. This man will somehow make you feel inferior, but you can’t be bothered when his tongue is lapping at your cunt like a starved man. Toji will make sure your thighs and your cunt are swollen, bruised, overstimulated, and sore by the time he’s done with you. Your cunt is puffy from his sucking and biting, thighs littered in dark marks and teeth indents. He'd go as far as to find a marker and write “cum dumpster” on you if he was really in the mood to see you sob.

Ryomen Sukuna

Listen, you thought Toji could be mean? Sukuna is ten times worse. The thing is, the king of curses actually likes to eat pussy but he won’t admit it. But that is not to say he can’t live without it, Sukuna is selfish and really only prefers things that pleasure him in the process. But, when you’re sobbing, pathetically begging him to go down on you, he may just crack. Especially if you’re looking at him with watery eyes, swollen lips from sucking him off, your neck littered with bite marks and bruises. Oh, and, if you’ve made him cum, he’s more likely to agree and indulge you. If you manage to convince the king of curses to go down on you, don’t expect him to be easy on you. His nails are digging into the flesh of your thighs, blood dripping slowly as he eats you out with so much force it’s borderline painful. He’s using his tongue and his teeth, nipping at your folds and even grazing your clit with them until he can tell your sobs are a breathless mix of pleasure and pain. If we’re talking true form Sukuna, I promise you he won’t stop until you’ve blacked out. He’ll use one set of arms to hold your waist while the other set keeps your thighs spread. He’s forcefully dragging your cunt over the long tongue that protrudes from his stomach, occasionally stopping just to hold you still as he spreads you open and stuffs you with the same tongue, watching you yelp and moan as he toys with you. 

Okkotsu Yuta

If you look up the definition of “pussy drunk” you’ll see a picture of Yuta. This man cannot go down on you without becoming delirious. Your body puts him in a trance, he can’t even explain the way you make him feel. Yuta is all about body worship and his favorite way to go about it is having his face shoved between your legs for hours. He’s just as vocal as you are while he eats you out, groaning and whining against your cunt until the vibrations are making your eyes roll back as you cum again. He’ll be kneading your thighs as he eats, squeezing them like stress balls and hitting nerves that send sparks of electricity all the way to your toes and all the way up to the base of your neck. Without even trying, Yuta will manage to overstimulate you until you’re unironically going cross-eyed, fingers twitching as they bury in his hair and try to pull him off so you can catch your breath. Yuta is still a bit shy when it comes to being intimate outside of the privacy of your home. But that doesn’t mean he won’t drag you into the nearest bathroom and eat you out against the bathroom stall. In this sense, he’s almost cocky when someone unknowingly enters the bathroom only to see two sets of feet in one of the stalls. Not to mention the noises are echoing. Yuta lives to see your eyes going wide from embarrassment as he doesn’t stop, your noises are uncontrollable as he tongue fucks you. The poor bastard who entered the bathroom with the intention of properly using it just muttered under their breath and walked out.

Itadori Yuji

Yuji is eager, so, so damn eager. He wants to do anything and everything that brings you pleasure so when it comes to eating you out, he’s determined to be great at it. Yuji is the type to ask you for “practice” or “lessons” which is just his way of indirectly asking if he can eat you out. Most of the time, it’s an offer you can’t refuse, because as fate would have it, Yuji isn’t bad at anything. He’s so praise focused, eyes glued to your face as he flicks his tongue along your folds and waits for you to tell him he’s doing good. He’ll slow down when your praise isn’t coming fast enough because he wants you to beg. Yuji is a sucker for adding fingers to the mix, as much as he loves making you cum with just his tongue, he sees no point in limiting your pleasure for his own confidence boost. Kind of contradictory since he likes when you beg. Yuji is also the type to wake you up with his head between your legs, just slowly lapping at your cunt while also rutting his hips into the mattress, trying to not wake you up until you’re coming. He finds it so pretty when you wake up gasping, completely unable to restrict any of your noises as you orgasm. It’s important to mention that Yuji is a sucker for 69-ing and face sitting, he loves, loves, feeling your plush thighs caging in his head. He can’t get enough of the way your body settles so nicely into him, no longer afraid of “suffocating him” by sitting all the way down on him.

Fushiguro Megumi

He won’t admit it but he loves to eat you out. Megumi is shy at heart so even if he’s been with you for years, he can still get embarrassed when telling you how badly he wants to go down on you. He’s focused when he does get between your legs, hands gripping your thighs or hips while his tongue laps greedily at your cunt. Megumi loves to tongue fuck you, just because he knows it’s not enough stimulation to make you cum but enough to make you embarrassingly wet. He’s a bit mean at first, not willing to let you come until he feels you’ve earned it. He’ll stop abruptly just to sink his teeth into your inner thighs, not stopping until you’re gasping as the pain turns bruising. He’ll admire the teeth indents he’s left on your skin while his nails are scratching down your other thigh, tongue moving to wiggle against your clit until your hips are bucking. Megumi finds toys to be very hit or miss, but he’s found a love for stuffing you with a vibrator while putting all of his attention on your clit. Megumi’s preferred method of “torture” depends on his mood, either he’ll edge you until you’re begging or overstimulate you until you’re crying. He’s very private when it comes to these things… unless he’s jealous. Much like Yuta, he will not hesitate to drag you somewhere private while out in public to remind you of who you belong to. 

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

BABY GIRL

Pairing - Jackson Rippner x fem!reader

Summary - Jackson likes to keep you doped up for both of your safety.

Warnings - Non-con, dub-con, drugging, manipulation, degrading, p in v, edging.

Word count - 1.9k+

Notes - Guess who wanted to work on one of her WIP's but decided to watch Red Eye and just had to write another one about my favourite boy.

You laid on the bed, completely naked against his body, he only wore his boxers, your left leg draped over his hips, his hand slowly caressing your back as your face was pressed up against his lean bare chest. 

The audio of the television was muffled, your sight blurred as you slowly breathed in and out. The sheets were hardly covering your flesh, but you were too dazed to pay attention to it. The sensation of his large fingers caressing your tender skin was enough to earn gentle moans from your soft lips. His cold blue eyes watched you like a hawk. Almost skeptical that you would commence a ploy against him, despite your doped state. 

Jackson Rippner was fascinated by you. The moment he saw you, he knew that you would be his. It was unfortunate with the circumstances you met under. Star crossed lovers in his opinion, a bit of a spiced uniqueness to your relationship.  

You were assigned to investigate him for terrorism. Many times you were warned about your high levels of ambition, your eagerness put you in danger. But you were always too stubborn to listen to your superiors. 

“Jackson” you murmured against his chest, almost drooling. He sighed lightly, his hand rubbing circles around your lower back. 

“Yes baby?” He asked softly, there was silence for a brief moment. Jackson waited patiently for you to respond as you raised your heavy head. 

“Are you going to keep me drugged up forever” you slowly questioned, your eyes ached to stay open, your thoughts blurred with sweet nothings. 

There was this blank, emotionless stare from him. As he was questioning himself, he really did wonder what he’d do with you in the long run. The thought of him keeping you mindless for the rest of your days made the blood rush to his cock. Only being mentally capable to muse the thought of him touching, fucking, loving you. 

But then he also wanted to take you out for an expensive dinner, vacate at a ski resort, hold you from behind as you cook him a loving homemade meal. Jackson never considered himself a romantic, but different people create a better you. The idea of having a life as one together made his heart flutter. 

“No baby girl” he answered eventually. 

“When will you stop” you breathed out, a small smile on your lips, a thread of hope. There was a small grin on his lips as his hands gently rubbed your hips. 

“When I know you’ll be a good girl for me” Jackson mocked, pulling you completely over his hips to saddle him. 

“I am a good girl” you countered, your head felt heavy yet your thoughts light. 

“Because you’re drugged up” he laughed softly, his large hand caressing your cheek as your face fell limp on him. 

“Touché” you snorted and he patted your cheek a couple of times. Sluggestly, you lifted your head back up, looking at him with innocent eyes. “Please sir, I promise to be good” you assured, but your small smile was all so devilish. 

That title always got the blood flowing to his cock. You could already feel his size growing underneath you. 

“Really? You cross your heart, hope to die, type of promise?” Jackson razzed, flashing you a toothy grin as his fingers slowly moved closer to your core.

“Yes sir” you promised, batting your eyes towards him. 

“Oh baby girl, how can I be so sure?” He toyed, titling his head to you. 

The scratches on his face were faint. Whenever he sobered you up, you were quick to get in every shot you could at him. However, you were foolish not to carefully plan out your scheme to escape, or as you preferred to do, attempting to kill him. 

“Because I love you cock Jacky” you moaned, his fingers toying with your clit. 

Within a blink, Jackson had flipped you onto your back. Holding your throat down against the mattress and huffing, flaring his teeth at you. “What did I tell you?” He snarled, his thumb rubbing over your chin.  

“You hate being called Jacky” you choked out, but you were still grinning at him. 

“And I thought you wanted to be a good girl” he pouted to you. 

“I do” you almost sang, coughing at the restriction to your throat. 

“Fix your mistake then” Jackson ordered calmly. 

“Because I love your cock, sir” you choked out, emphasizing the correction. With the release of your throat, Jackson sighed. 

“That’s a good whore” Jacksont grinned at you, flexing his hips forward. You pouted to him. “My good whore” he corrected himself, dropping his lips onto your neck.

It was pointless, trying to deny the sensation Jackson always brought over your body. It was too much effort to try to hide the pleasure he always bathed you in. 

This is where you belonged, underneath him, figuratively and literally. 

In small circular motions, his tongue swished over your heated skin, his hands ran slowly up and down your torso, his fingers playfully scratching at your nerves, his stubble tickled you. Your arms gradually enveloped around his back, your fingernails scraping at his skin lightly. 

“I’ll always take care of you baby girl. You know that right?” Jackson asked as he pushed his boxers down enough to free his throbbing length. 

“Yes, Jackson” you breathed out, laying your head back carelessly. 

“Could have gotten you killed, interfering with my business, like a little fucking brat. But I saved you…” Jackson grinned as he lined himself up with your gushing entrance.  

“No Jackson” you shook your head, moaning out softly as he gently pushed himself inside of you. 

“Who are you lying to?” Jackson snorted as he rested himself completely inside of our canal.

“This isn’t living” you countered, your hands rising up to the back of his neck, your legs raising up to your hips in unison.

Jackson couldn’t help but to laugh as his hips snapped back and forward. His lower lip was stuck in between his teeth as he searched for the perfect pace and speed.

“For someone who is constantly high, you sure as hell are conscious” he remarked, his hands holding onto your sides.

“I was always smarter than you” you murmured, biting onto your lower lip. 

Jackson laughed gently as his teeth nipped at your earlobe. 

“Yet look at where you are now. Be my good girl, I want to spoil you rotten. Don’t you want those things?” He toyed, his fingers rubbing your sensitive bud. 

“Yes Jackson” you answered emotionlessly. 

Most of the time it was easier to give him what he wanted, your complete submission. You were always so weak, tired, feeling out of body. The effect his touch had on your body was the biggest punishment. If you weren’t always so high, you’d be heavily humiliated with how badly you craved him. The control he had over your body was frightening, he was your puppeteer, always pulling on your strings despite how desperately you tried to cut yourself free. 

“I want to give you the world” he professed as he found the perfect rhythm to fuck you to. 

“I want to kill you” you whined out, face twitching as the high stimulation took over full steam ahead.

“No you don’t, you could never do such a thing” he mumbled, his hands pinning yours above your head. 

“But I’ve tried” you groaned as he hit your cervix. 

“And that’s okay” he assured you, kissing you in a sloppy manner as if to comfort your distressed thoughts. “You’re learning to be my good girl, yeah?” Jackson asked, teasing your bundle of nerves as he kept your pleasure swimming by the edge. 

“Yes Jackson” you shamefully admitted, your eyes swelled with tears as his thrusts became more painful. 

His mouth fell open into a large smirk at the sight of you crying. It was one of his favorite looks of yours. Over mere seconds, your tears formed into a stream as you sobbed underneath him. The clarity of your predicament washed over you once more. 

“Yeah, you’re so fucking pathetic. Acting like a tough, stuck up bitch. But you’re nothing but a little whore for cock, my cock to be precise” he grunted, feeling your walls clench around his throbbing size.

The sounds of your troubled moans always felt like a melody to him. The mixture between your logical and sensual thoughts left you in shame. Jackson kissed you deeply, your mouth was wide open but you refused to kiss him back. The taste of your tears made him growl like a wolf.

“Fuck, your director would be so disappointed in you. Everyone thinks you’re fucking dead. So get the stupid thoughts of breaking free out of that little mind of yours” he sneered, his free hand holding your chin in place as you tried to turn your head to the side. 

“Stop talking Jackson” you whimpered, desperately trying to focus on the pleasure and not his taunting words. 

“No one is looking for you. I have no tails, nobody cares about me. Only you did, you felt it too from the beginning, just like I did, our connection” he grinned as his balls slapped against your entrance. 

“Shut up Jackson” you whined as you felt your climax build. 

But Jackson loved watching you cry. It was amusing to watch your emotional strength crash, it was pleasing to look at your humiliation. A wonderful reminder of how reliable you are on him. Jackson loved to pull your strings around, to keep you on your hands and knees as he yanked you across the dirt. 

“Bet you wanted me to steal you away from your useless life. Now your biggest stress is wondering how many times you’ll get to squeeze my cock each day” he moaned out, kissing your tears away. 

“Shut the fuck up Jackson!” You screamed out as loud as you could, your weak body thrashed under him but it quickly left you exhausted. 

“Someone’s getting sober” Jackson pointed out with a grin, holding you down effortlessly. “Might just keep you tied up instead, I like your screams” he winked to you. 

“Please stop, please, please” you begged repetitively as he continued to fuck you senselessly. 

“Then tell me what I want to hear” he sighed, his hand combing back his damp hair from the sweat that trailed down his forehead.

“N-no” you shook your head, you could feel him twitch rapidly inside of you.  

You knew exactly what he wanted you to say. It was the thing you hated doing most. He always wanted you to say it when you were so close to finishing. 

“Please” he toyed, playfully begging you as he kept your built orgasm dangling from the edge.  

“Come on baby girl, make me feel good” he grunted as he smacked your rear. 

There was another weak shake of your head so Jackson held his body still inside of you. Pathetically, just like he always described you as, you whined out at the pressure built in your core. All you wanted to do right now was come undone, feel something good in this torture. But Jackson stared at you sternly, menacingly. His hands pressed down on your hips as you tried to rock yourself around him. 

“I-I love you” you admitted, your cheeks beet red. 

Instead of fucking you senselessly like you assumed he would. Jackson pulled himself out and jerked himself over you. Quickly, his white ropes of semen sprayed over your sweaty stomach. You panted, looking at the mess he made on you as your distressed expression made him chuckle silently. 

“I love you too” he replied blankly. 

As you caught your weak breath, Jackson laid his body on top of yours, his fingers touched your sensitive core, gently teasing you. You moaned out, ready to do anything to free yourself of your painful climax. 

“But so, drugged or tied?” Jackson cocked an eyebrow to you.

[youraverageaemondsimp]

DILF!Aemond Targaryern, DILF!Aegon ii Targaryen x Reader (Separate) // HEADCANONS/DRABBLE.

WARNINGS: slight smut, mdni, afab!reader, age gap, breeding kink (aemond), p in v sex (aemond), unprotected sex (aemond), cunnilingus (aegon), oral f receiving (aegon), + not proof read.

(this is technically not a full blown hcs but neither is it a full drabble, so that's why I added both in the title)

WC: 1.3k total (aemond + aegon parts)

Aemond Targaryen !!

You knew that you definitely needed an older guy after your immature and toxic break up with the guy around your age, who treated you with almost no value.

But what you didn't expect was to catch the eye of your dad's boss during an event you had attended with him, he was in his early thirties with 2 children with his former divorced wife, Floris Baratheon.

Your relationship began quite formally at first, with him being a complete gentleman, asking you about your educational background, what job you were doing and he had asked for your number ‘just in case’ you need a job if you lose the current one, it felt more like a job offer than a normal conversation.

Until he began to text you good mornings, ask you about your day — at first he would do just that, and leave a smiley emoji after your response, but as time passed on, and you felt more comfortable around each other, he began to share a few personal things.

He had opened up about his divorce with his wife, how it affected him and the kids, — oh the kids, he would share pictures of them when he would be the one spending time with him, he had told you that he was fighting for full custody since Floris was basically neglecting them when they're spending time with her, and you wished him luck.

Soon you both begin to meet up, go on dates, he was stoic, with no expression on his face so it was hard to read through him, but eventually you'd learn to decipher his micro expressions.

You couldn't ignore the way he made you feel anymore, and you made it official, your dad was shocked and angry thinking Aemond had abused his power to get to you but once you explained everything, he calmed down.

You moved out of your apartment into his house, he had given you heads up about the kids that they're hard to handle and dont welcome strangers that easily, but you had told him that you'll manage everything.

And eventually you got along with the kids, and everything in life seemed to be moving fast from there onwards, Aemond got full custody of the kids after proving the neglect they were facing from the mother's side. Which you congratulate him about.

He would often stare at you when you'd play with the kids, he couldn't help but have the thought of your stomach swollen with his child, he'd eventually confess to you about it during your intimate moments.

“Oh fuck— yes right there!” You throw your head back against the pillows as Aemond thrusts into at full force, his desperate hands grabbing any flesh he could find, giving it a tight squeeze. You moaned as you peaked, as his tip repeatedly hit your sweet spot.

“I'm coming.” He grunts, “Jeez— I want to finish inside you so bad, watch you grow round with my child– fuck— I can only imagine the sight.” His words made you feel warm on the inside, and when he went to pull out, you locked your legs around his waist, to which he was surprised by, “Do it inside me then.” You say seductively and he immediately begins to thrust rapidly, he finishes inside you with a moan, painting your walls white before he pulls out, watching intently as his seed drips out of your cunt.

“Mhm, I think Aerys and Rhaegal would love to have a little sister.” He says as he plops down next to you, pulling you into his arms, “I think they would.” You reaffirm, rubbing your thighs together, feeling even more turned on as his seed sticks to your thighs.

“We should definitely make sure it takes.” You tell him, implying at a second round and he smirks knowingly.

Aegon ii Targaryen !!

You met him in a club you went to when you tried to destress because of your exams. He immediately took a liking to you, at first you had guessed that he'd be around your age, so imagine your surprise when you found out that he was in his mid thirties.

He laughed when you told him about it, he was extremely outgoing, in fact, too outgoing and so much of an extrovert.

You both immediately clicked, enjoying each other's company and finally exchanged numbers. He had drunk too much and eventually overshared everything about how his wife passed away in childbirth, leaving him with a child who he is working hard to raise.

“I try my best to raise him, but it gets too tiring. You know, I had hired a nanny, but I wish I could just quit my job and spend more time with him.” He shares, “Where do you work?” You ask curiously, “Hightower Co.” and your eyes widen at that, “Isn't that a really difficult place to get into? Their employee selection rate is super low, and I heard their manager is quite picky.” you shrug and he chuckles, “Well I guess I am indeed picky sometimes.”

“what.”

You apologised immediately after feeling embarrassed, he had revealed that his grandfather owns the company and basically wants his family members to run and manage it, though it screams nepotism, most of the hightowers and their extended family are extremely good at their ages, there were only a few select non-family members that were able to make to a non-basic worker status.

Things ended awkwardly after that, but nonetheless, you both communicated with each other from time to time, he would send you cute pictures and videos of himself and his son doing random stuff, or just bonding which warmed your heart.

After a month of talking, you both decide to get into a relationship, you knew it was quick, but you couldn't help it when you got along so well, he would often bring his child on the dates with you, which you didn't mind, but rather had more fun cause this would allow you to go non-romantic dates which are rather comforting.

If there was one thing which you didn't expect of Aegon ; was his sexual appetite, which he had a lot of, you were surprised by how much stamina he has, and how he's willing to go more than 3 rounds at a time, it sometimes exhausted you because you'd be too overstimulated to even continue.

You still remember how he had fingered you whilst at the family dinner under the table while maintaining a conversation with his grandfather, you tried so hard to not make a noise. He eventually finished what he started in his bedroom.

His favourite thing to do is eat you out, he loves the expressions and noises you make and how messy it would be afterwards.

“Aegon— ahh— hmm pls–” You blabber out incoherent noises whilst you grip his hair, pushing his face further into your cunt which he takes in obediently, lapping his tongue up and down and suckling on your clit as if his life depended on it.

The whimpers and noises you let out only motivated him further to continue his ministrations, he dipped down further while his tongue pushes past the folds of your cunt before entering it, the angle caused his nose to be pressed into your clit, nudging against it while Aegon greedily ate you out.

He pushed his tongue in and out before he licked a long strip up to your clit and once again, latched himself onto it, you moaned when you felt his teeth slightly graze against it.

He sucked on your clit which caused you to peak while holding his face tightly against your cunt, your vision went white at the intensity of the orgasm and your body trembled as you calmed down.

Yet Aegon did not stop, you pulled his hair in an effort to pull away, but he grabbed your hand and held it away while he continued to devour you, you whimpered as the overstimulation hit you, trying to wriggle away from his face yet he still didn't budge and continued sucking, nibbling and biting your clit.

After all, he had no intentions of stopping until you were a mess.

[gladiatorcunt]

summary: priest!leto x afab!reader x priest!paul (title from scorpio by pour vous)

cw: blasphemy if i’m being so real, spit roasting, reader is lowkey losing it but they’ll be okay, dubcon, pwp-ish (there’s set up but it’s not that long imo), mention of paul being into predator/prey, daddy kink coded without the actual daddy kink, horror elements, unreliable narrator vibes, mention of them being willing to non con reader if things didn’t go their way, no incest between leto & paul 💀, reader’s their sad loser turned attic spouse, mention of eventual impreg, implied soft dom!leto & mean dom!paul, religious practice inaccuracies, possibly predictable plot twists, implied painful anal but reader’s too out of it to feel it, implied natural aphrodisiac in their spit, reader bleeds

wc: 2.5k

block & move on if uncomfortable,

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You’ve been feeling… lost. The trees keep secrets from you and the clouds mix together like egg whites. You wish you knew what kind of pill you need to be on, you wish you knew what was wrong with you. You’re paranoid and seeing blank eyes watching you through the brick and mortar of your apartment. Your skin burns hotter than hell and sometimes you think that there are claws grabbing at your ankles when you sleep.

Church hasn’t been something you’ve bothered to attend since you were a kid, but you yearn for it now.

You pull your tattered coat around yourself as you step into the ancient building. The Church of Caladan is the oldest church in the country, if not the world. You hope you don’t look silly when you take caution with how hard your feet hit the stone. ‘You break it, you buy it’ must apply to old churches too.

Your unease rolls off you in waves, and a couple nearby priests seem to sense it in the same way that horses can sense fear. For a second you imagine bursting into flames, but there are hands groping your flesh through the great hellfire.

They’re about even in height, though one is clearly older. The gray hair weaved into his temples suits him more than it shows his age. The younger man has the same dark and wavy hair, but his gaze is a touch more haggard and rife with burden.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn't have burst in here…. I'm just looking around.” You rush to explain so they would go away, internally cringing at yourself.

“No, we want newcomers to feel comfortable enough to ask questions. I’m Leto,” He says and shakes your hand. “And this is my son, Paul. He’s recently started working here at the church with me.”

Paul steps up to shake your head as well, his mouth doesn’t move but you swear that the corners twitch. The stained glass windows cast a multicolored hue on his eyes and you find yourself lost in the swirling pools of light. Then black holes swallow the brightness in the irises, cosmic cannibalism.

You blink in alarm and awkwardly take a step back from the two priests. Father and son share a look between them that has the hairs on the back of your neck standing them.

Leto clears his throat and pointedly grabs your hands in both of his, encapsulating them in his warmth.

“You’ll have to forgive him, Paul’s never dealt with a lamb as darling as you before. He’s never dealt with one at all actually, you two can go through this together.”

Paul smiles but it fits all wrong, with teeth that should be fangs and with a tongue that appears forked. You blink again and all is well, the man before you fits his human skin like a glove. Maybe you should give them the benefit of the doubt, you’re convinced you’re going crazy anyway and Priests would never be capable of hurting someone. Ghosts aren’t real and Demons are just a crazed mother’s bedtime story.

“Um, okay. Thank you for accepting me.” That’s all you want, deep down, and they know that. “I felt moved to be here, I can’t explain it.”

Leto nods and Paul rubs your shoulder in sympathy. They would hiss that they know full well what called you here, but you might bleat and scurry away. You make a sad picture, abandoned and half insane, but that’s what they are for. To soothe and to serve you, to purify you from the inside out.

“Then all the more reason to stay and sit for a moment, don’t you think?” Paul finally speaks, the boyish tone surprising you.

“Paul’s right, let’s get this jacket off you, poor lamb. You must be freezing to death.” Leto coos, shushing your protests and carefully pulling the cheap thing off of you.

They take you on a little tour of sorts, pointing out the architectural details of the building itself as well as passionately delving into its history. Centuries of worship and service to the community, strangely never having sustained any kind of property damage. The priests speak of the church as if they were wandering through the halls all this time, and they chuckle when they tease you about how relieved they were that you didn’t suffer from a nosebleed. They’re quite common apparently.

“I think that should do it, i’d hate to think that we’ve been talking your ear off, dear.” Leto says, rubbing the inside of your wrist and directing you towards the large piano on the stage at the front of the church.

He must notice the sudden spark in your eyes at the sight, because his crow’s feet wrinkles deepen as he pulls the black piano bench out. Leto’s palm spreads out wide and he gives the leather seat a firm pat, signaling for you to sit down. Butterflies swirl in your stomach with anxiety but you feel too shy to refuse the clearly eager offer. You take a seat in front of an onyx grand piano far grander than you’re used to seeing in a church.

Leto soon occupies the space next to you. The bench is small enough that your thigh is pressing against his, warmth bleeds through your clothes and the indication of muscle really makes you wish you were alone in your room with a rose toy. You place your fingers on the pristinely polished keys and clumsily play some hodgepodge of a melody that you remember from your childhood. A mix of tchaikovsky and children's church songs.

You jump and play the wrong note when you feel thick fingers slide up your thigh. Your cheeks burn with heat but you focus on the music. Leto sighs with sugary sweet satisfaction but doesn’t move his fingers any further. He also doesn’t try to play, it’s almost like he only wants to bask in the domesticity of watching you perform. You think you hear him whisper “That’s it, who knew such a talented lamb would be gracing our doorstep?”

You get a flash of riding him on the piano, gasping into his hair chest when it breaks under the weight of your passion. Thin fingers come from behind to caress your ass as it moves, much colder than the cock you’re bouncing on. Then it fades away, and you’re back to making a fool of yourself with your little song.

Paul watches from the pulpit, eyes drinking in the way your curves expand and move as you squirm. His grip tightens on the bright wood but you’re none the wiser. You almost forget that he’s even there, something which he realizes because he strolls to stand behind you and his father. The music stops once you feel his breath on your neck and he bends down to tenderly pull your hair off of your shoulder, getting himself acquainted with the texture as he rubs his fingertips down the strands.

A distant voice calls out for Leto and he stands, smiling apologetically and thanking you for the performance. You feel adrift as you watch him walk away, reminding yourself that a man like him has other things to do than coddle you.

Paul slides a hand down your back and guides you down to the pew right up front, with a view of center stage, sitting right beside you with a wink. Once Leto returns, you spot the silver tray of communion wafers in his hands. The tray is set on the pulpit by his side.

The older man's eyes darken as he puts one in his mouth, and your brain shuts down when he snatches your face in his rough palms and kisses you sense no less. The wafer cracks as his tongue passes it into your mouth, the salty crumbs oddly making you crave something even saltier. There’s a sticky sweet sensation traveling through your body as you exchange saliva with him, your brain feels so foggy.

You break away, curling your hands into the collar of Leto’s uniform.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Your voice is small and not completely filled with disgust, you’re honestly too desperate for some form of human contact to make good decisions.

“We’re helping you, honey.” Leto purrs into the seam of your mouth, shaking his head in apparent fondness.

You’re too cute for your own good, at least they don’t have to worry about covering their tracks. Any incubus or succubus would be glad to get a hold of someone as lonely as you, but they wouldn’t love you like you deserve. You haven’t been watched by anyone as long as you’ve been watched by them. He hopes that Paul doesn’t shove his foot in his mouth and let it slip that he wished you gave them the opportunity to take you by force. His son carries a torch for a bit of predator and prey action, he likes playing with his food too much. You’re different from the scrambling mice that get torn to bits, though, you’re forever.

Plus, if you don’t get it now, he has no problems with explaining everything when you’re too weak to get up and try to run away.

Paul buries his face in your neck, spilling the vial of wine he had in his pocket down your shirt. It soaks the tank top underneath and though you try with all your might to wriggle away, the desire to resist gets brushed away under a heavy fog.

It’s nice to be touched, to be wanted after a lifetime of feeling the exact opposite. Perhaps this is why the lord guided you to his grandest home, so you could take his prophets into your body.

The black vanishes from Paul’s eyes and you sink against his chest, making out with his father as your eyes roll back into your head.

No words are uttered verbally as Paul shuffles to the side and pulls you to lie back on the pew’s cushion. Leto deprives you of his tongue and gives you a chance to breathe, which both men do with you in sync, resting their foreheads against you.

The nectar on your tongue tastes divine, little lamb, a voice whispers in your mind.

Let us give you purpose so you no longer need to roam, another begs.

You’re crying from the relief of having your mouth filled, Paul tilts your head up by your chin as he slowly slides his cock into your mouth. The ridges and bumps of what feels like piercings sends a jolt of arousal through you.

“Fuck-” He hisses and rubs your neck, watching you adjust to the stretch. “So warm-”

Leto tuts and clamps his hands around your hips, you’re already too fucked out to register sharp black claws taking care of your clothes. Leaving you bare. A shiver passes through your body as he drags his huge hand down to your pussy, being mindful not to accidentally scratch you. He intends for there to be no blood, this time, not a lot.

You gag on Paul’s length when Leto slams your hips against his pelvis, grinding not one but two large cocks against your cunt. If you were looking at his face, you’d see pitch black eyes and intimidating fangs, but all you can focus on is the hazy candle light and what must be someone playing an organ.

You catch a view of one of the stained class windows, a pair of angels cradling a lamb. It’s the only damaged part of the church, with cracks running along the angel’s wings. You’d think it’s a sneeze away from shattering entirely. Your view of it is blurred by Paul’s quick thrusts, gagging on it again. Drools drip onto the red carpet.

Leto grabs one of Paul’s curled horns and yanks his head to the side, scolding at him to be nicer to you. You’ve clearly never taken three cocks inside you, the one you’re servicing is proving to be overwhelming enough. Again, Paul’s new to this experience as well, just in a different way than you are. In a sense, it’s like he was born yesterday. The older man relays this to you through your choked moans and tears, assuring you that he’s taught Paul how to clean up his messes and be grateful. Something like this will be no different.

“Hush, beloved. I would have gladly speared your mouth but you would be dead before I could cum inside it.”

You see God in the sky when Leto slaps the tapered tip of one of his dicks against your slick entrance, God sees you when he gets the tight walls of ass to wrap around the other. Unbeknownst to you, it’s funny how so many things are, your blood pools around his balls. You’re in pain sure but you’ve never felt as much pleasure as you have in this instance. Both “Priests” smell your blood and well, only your body can tell the rest of the story. Later you’ll wake up to find that the building around you has ruby walls and it seems to be breathing. The shooting pain in your left hand is the result of two iron rings being chiseled into the bone of your ring finger.

The four leathery wings protruding from your back, with spikes poking out from the joints, are waiting to be discovered. As are the nubs sprouting out of your hair.

For now beads of sweat highlight your bouncing tits, Paul gropes one and Leto runs the edge of his claw along the side of the other. They’re hissing words that string together and disappear in the blink of an eye, voices slurred and sticky. Their babbling stops and starts again as you reflexively swallow around Paul’s cock when he skull fucks you without warning. They laugh too, but you can at least pretend that Leto’s tone is kinder.

“Alright, alright. That’s enough teasing.”

“But father-“

“I said no. And don’t think for a second that you’re getting anything else but their mouth.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“You lack self control, it wouldn’t be suitable for conception to occur like this. As delectable as their quivering cunt is, demons shouldn’t abstain from courting.”

“You’re saying that as you’re balls deep inside of them.”

“Don’t start with me, Paul.”

All while you’re making gurgling sounds in between the younger priest’s thighs. You hear growls that sound like a mountain lion’s emitting from both men, and the heavy thumps of something flapping in the air gets you holes clenching around Leto. Both men feverishly scratch up and down your limp body, but you’re so enraptured by the chorus of angels happening outside. You have no sense of time, it’s minutes or it’s hours before their cum spills inside of you. There’s too much to possibly keep it all inside, a good amount of it leaks from your cunt and your throat. Leto feels like Christ incarnate when you squirt all over him and yourself with the dumbest expression on your face. Multicolored pieces of glass fall down around you with the loud chime of an invisible bell.

[thatacotargirl]

Flower of the Dawn Court

Please enjoy this little oneshot 🌼🌸

Summary: It is Thesan's wedding day and all of Prythian seems to have been invited. His daughter's, y/n and Dalia, have played wedding planners ahead of their father's big day; but nothing ever goes to plan when the 7 High Lords come together.

This oneshot is set at the beginning of A Court of Mist and Fury.

Reader's POV

It was a beautiful, warm morning in Dawn Court. The sun had slowly started to rise over the horizon, the birds were singing their love songs quietly, the tune carried by the breeze. You were stood on the balcony of your bedroom, a coffee in hand, enjoying the peacefulness of nature before the day fully erupted.

Today was your father's wedding day. After his experiences under the mountain, he hadn't waited a single second before letting the Captain know his true feelings and the pair agreed to marry as soon as feasibly possible. The wedding was the first to take place since Amarantha was slain and it felt like all of Prythian had been invited to Dawn, including the remaining 6 High Lords.

A door opens to my left and I turn to see Dalia, my sister, appear with a steaming cup of coffee to join me. Dalia and I were adopted by Thesan as babies when we were left on his doorstep. Dalia arrived a few months before I did, but Thesan treated us like we were his own flesh and blood; raising us in Dawn amongst the greats. Rumour had it that Dalia was even next in line to inherit the title of High Lady of Dawn, despite not being a blood relation. I grin at my sister as she reaches out an arm to embrace me.

"I can't believe the day is finally here", she says, pulling me closer into her side.

"He deserves this, every bit of happiness the world can offer him and more". Dalia nods her head in agreement as we gaze out over the gardens, watching the staff begin to set up the arch and the seats for the ceremony.

Turning the my wardrobe, I pull out the dress that was custom made for today. A beautiful shade of deep crimson with golds heels and jewellery to match. Dalia was to wear similar, only hers was a deep shade of blood orange. We looked magnificent.

"Time to get ready", I grin to my sister, as she rushes forward to pull her dress from the hanger.

Several hours later and both Dalia and I were dressed and ready, our hair and make-up perfect. We watched with tears in our eyes as Thesan and the Captain shared their first moment of seeing each other dressed for their wedding, and took more photos than there were stars in the sky as our newfound family of 4. We could hear the hustle and bustle of guests arriving and taking their seats, and soon the bell called to let us know it was time for the ceremony to begin.

"I love you girls with all my heart", my father said, pulling Dalia and I in for a hug. When we finally let him go, he walked to the entranceway and began his walk up the aisle.

Dalia and I were next. Our heritage remained unknown, with neither of us caring too much to know more about the family that had abandoned us, but it was clear from which court's we heralded. Dalia was without a doubt a descendant of the Day Court, her power to wield sunbeams could rival even the most talented magic in her native lands. I, however, was born of Spring; and beheld the power to command flowers. Dalia used to tease me that I had the 'flower power' when we were children, especially when our father was teaching us how to manage our powers and I accidentally caused flowers to bloom from every wall, floor, and ceiling of the Dawn Court palace. One time I even bloomed a flower from the top of my head and couldn't quite grasp my magic enough to make it vanish - leaving me with a real-life flower crown for several days. Thankfully, Dalia and I had mastered our powers eventually, and could put them to good use today.

Arms linked, we walked down the aisle, smiling around to our many guests. Dalia commanded the sunlight to shine down and spotlight our father, with wisps of sunbeams dancing around the garden to the tune of the choir. With soft gestures of my arms, I yielded flowers from my fingertips, allowing them to fall from the sky amongst the seats and along the aisle. As we rounded off to the alter, kissing our father's cheeks as we went, we watched as the Captain appeared at the entrance of the walkway.

The ceremony was nothing short of jaw-droppingly beautiful, and the crowd roared with delight as our father and the Captain were pronounced married. The 4 of us embraced at the altar and we walked hand in hand back down the aisle towards the evening celebrations.

On arrival at the reception, with a glass of champagne in hand, Dalia and I made our way around the guests to welcome them to Dawn. The High Lords had all agreed to attend and many were staying in rooms at the palace tonight, allowing them to indulge in the festivities to their heart's content. Only Kallias of Winter and Beron of Autumn were leaving tonight; Kallias to return home with his heavily pregnant wife, and Beron because - well - he's Beron.

A brief disagreement caught our attention as we turned in the direction of the Night Court table. Rhysand and his Inner Circle were all present for the wedding, as was Rhysand's plus one - Feyre Cursebreaker. It was made public soon after what happened under the mountain that Rhysand and Feyre had made a bargain that she stay at the Night Court for a week per month, and it looked like Rhysand had decided to take that week now, stealing Feyre as his guest to the wedding so that Tamlin wasn't able to. Dalia chuckled, clearly enjoying the drama of it all. Honestly, Prythian was slowly turning into a real-life drama production these days.

We approached their table to greet them, bowing to Rhysand and offering our hand to the Inner Circle members.

"Thank you for attending the wedding, High Lord", Dalia offered, her head still bowed as she addressed Rhysand.

"It was our pleasure, Dalia, thank you for inviting us. The ceremony was wonderful", he replied.

As you made your way around the table, greeting each member, you reached out a hand to greet Feyre. Although she sat with a frown on her face, her body caved inwards and away from Rhysand, she offered out her hand to shake yours.

"Thank you for coming, Feyre", you offered gently. You felt her hand untense in yours as you addressed her personally, and she relaxed her posture slightly.

"It was a beautiful day. Your's and your sister's powers are really something else, I know my sister Elain would love to be able to create flowers at her whim".

You smile as you withdraw your hand and Feyre looks up to meet your eyes. You see her's widen and she quietly gasps. Not quietly enough, however, to evade the notice of everyone sat at the table, who turn to look at you with confusion.

"Is everything ok, Feyre?" you ask with concern, taking a step backwards in case you startled her.

"I'd know those eyes anywhere".

You look at her your face laced with confusion, as you turn to look at Dalia for assistance. She offers you a shrug as you both turn to Rhysand, hoping for an explanation. He, too, however, looks completely at a loss.

"Feyre?", he asks, reaching out a hand to touch her shoulder. The entire table is silent, waiting for Feyre to respond, but her eyes remain frozen on yours.

"Feyre?", you try, crouching down to be in front of her seat.

"I'd know those eyes anywhere", she repeats. "I fell in love with them".

The entire table exchanges confused glances, now becoming concerned that Feyre is speaking in tongues and not making any sense. You stand and turn to Rhysand, about to offer to get Thesan in case Feyre needed a healer, when Amren, Rhysand's second in command, also gasps.

"By the Cauldron", is all she could get out, looking past your shoulder to the crowd behind you.

You turn, trying to find the source of Amren's shock, only to lock eyes with a pair of matching emerald ones that were staring back at you, widened in surprise. Eyes that mirrored yours in every way. Eyes that could belong to no one other than your biological father.

The High Lord of Spring.

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober 22 - Bleeding Through Bandages

title: misfortune placed these worlds in us

fandom: limited life smp

welcome back to my bad boys au!! i never expected to write more of it lol now i need to name it

cw: blood and injury, implied/referenced abuse

~

A string of whispered curses is all that escapes Grian’s lips, as he clicks on the dim overhead light.

He isn’t usually the one who gets hurt on missions—usually, it’s Jimmy. Jimmy may be the best shot in all the gang, but he’s clumsier than anyone Grian’s ever known. It’s honestly fitting that the first time they met, Jimmy was bleeding to death from a bullet to the lung.

  But now Grian’s been hit, and if he doesn’t stop it from bleeding, the others will insist on calling the mission here and heading back to the manor, which cannot happen. He already had to let himself get captured—a bullet in the thigh isn’t going to stop him.

Before he does anything—thrown into this locked closet as he was—he spits out his ear piece from where he’d been hiding it in the back of his mouth. Hopefully it still functions.

Then he shimmies his trousers off and sets to taking care of the wound.

The closet they’d put him in is by no means empty—it’s a janitor’s closet, well-stocked with cleaning supplies and essentials, and Grian grabs a roll of toilet paper off the shelf and wraps it around the bullet wound.

The bullet hadn’t gone in far, buried maybe an inch deep into his flesh. If he doesn’t try to pull it out, he should be good to go in an emergency. He can clean it and remove the bullet later—for now, he just needs to staunch the bleeding.

Even wrapping it around five times doesn’t stop the blood that blooms through the paper, so he tosses the roll to the side and roots around on a shelf, digging through the cardboard box there for any sort of rag. There’s nothing there, but the box beside it has a collection of dirty rags, some kind of polish smeared on them.

Is it worse to put this on the wound, or let it bleed freely?

Screw it, it’s got toilet paper on it. Grian puts the rag atop the toilet paper, ties it around his leg. It’s almost tight enough to be a tourniquet, with how short the rag is, which maybe should help? Grian doesn’t know enough about wounds.

He doesn’t get hurt a lot, but when he does, it rarely affects him. Mumbo has always bemoaned his high pain tolerance, ever since they were in high school together and Grian could walk away from a fight without even noticing the bruises and cuts all over him.

That was how he’d gotten a place in the Bad Boys, actually. Sixteen years old, at a corrupt high school and living with an abusive roommate, Grian had fallen into gang fights too young and had eventually gotten picked up by one.

Too many kids got lost to violence like that. Grian was just one example, amid countless others. As soon as he had enough rapport in the Bad Boys, he’d helped to establish the standard that they didn’t work with anyone under eighteen. In the past five years, Jimmy has been the only exception.

Jimmy’s eighteen, now, and he’s chosen to stick with the Bad Boys in light of his recent adulthood, likely to get closer to getting his own apartment.

Everyone has a motivation for joining up—Grian’s had been protection. He’d made far too many enemies in high school, and he’s certain that his old roommate would have no qualms about killing him if he wasn’t associated with one of the most powerful gangs in the area. 

Jimmy’s reason is his sister.

The only time he talked about her was when they first met him. Grian and Joel were fleeing a successful mission, only to find Jimmy on the ground, struggling to breathe around the bullet hole in his chest. He’d mentioned his sister, how much she meant to him, how he needed to get her safe.

As far as Grian knows, he hasn’t managed it yet. Jimmy always looks like he’s carrying a bonfire in his chest, his shoulders weighed down by the logs he keeps feeding it. He’s angry and tired and frustrated, but he never talks about why he feels that way. He just spends hours shooting at practice targets and sparring and moping around the manor, a plastic flosser always jutting out from his mouth. He leaves on weekends, presumably to go home, and always comes back in a worse mood than before.

The only thing that softens the sharp edges of his personality is feeling useful—like being on a mission. That had quickly propelled him into the strike side of the gang, despite his youth. Grian and Joel, already a team, had decided to show him the ropes, and it had turned their team of two into three as they became the only people who would tolerate Jimmy.

He isn’t a bad kid. He isn’t a bad kid at all, he just doesn’t know how to keep a lid on his emotions. He probably didn’t get a lot of attention growing up, poor kid.

Grian shakes himself from his thoughts, checks his watch. Almost midnight. Joel and Jimmy should be doing the final sweep now—they’ll be able to let him out of this closet, then they can pick up any remaining valuables and head out.

It isn’t often the three of them get assigned to a stealth mission. Grian’s not bad at them, but Jimmy’s terrible at sneaking and lying, and Joel’s more suited for sniping, so they usually handle intimidation or company deals. Grian had been relieved for the change of pace—until he was spotted. Now he just has to sit in this closet, waiting for either his team to track him down or the enemy to move him somewhere more secure.

Hopefully his team arrives first.

Grian rubs his earpiece off on his shirt, tucks it into his ear. He’s only had to stick it in his mouth once before, and it had luckily still functioned that time. He can only hope he’s had the same luck.

“Hello?” he whispers, tapping twice on it to activate the mic. “Red to Green and Yellow. Do you copy?”

“We copy,” Joel crackles back immediately. “Thought you were gonna stay silent.”

“Yeah, well. Got myself into a bit of a sticky situation. Check any closets down the fourth hall, yeah?”

“Why, did you leave something?”

“Yeah. Me.”

Jimmy unmutes just to laugh at him.

“I’m flipping you off so hard right now,” Grian says, not actually flipping anyone off. He pulls his trousers back up over his bandaged leg, buttons them. “Yeah, they grabbed me and locked me in here. They thought I was leftover from the recon mission, though, and not the start of a new patrol.”

“So the cover isn’t blown?” Joel asks.

“Nope. They’re even less on their guard, actually.”

“Cool. I’m actually heading down that hall right now. Yellow’s on the second floor, still.”

“Almost done, here,” Jimmy announces. “I’ll be back down soon.”

Grian stuffs the roll of toilet paper into his pocket and stands up, shaking out his feet. It definitely hurts to put weight on his injured leg, but he can walk it off.

The lock clicks and the door swings open just as he’s reaching up for the pull switch on the lightbulb. Joel grins at him, eyes sparkling with mirth behind his lowered sunglasses.

“Little bird locked in a cage?” he asks innocently. Grian shoves him, follows him out. He grabs Joel’s gun from the holster and clips it into his own (where his gun was confiscated from him upon being shoved into that closet).

“Hey!” “Use your spare.”

Jimmy joins them in the stairwell at the end of the hallway, and together they go down the flight of stairs. The rub of his jeans against his leg chafes his injury, but Grian just grits his teeth and rolls with it. They’re almost done, anyway. Just a quick check of the ground floor, then off to the van.

Most of the lights in the building are off, but some reason, there’s one flickering light at the bottom of the stairwell. Grian glares at it, then moves forward to take point—but Joel stops him, grabbing his sleeve and turning him around.

“What’s this?” Joel gestures to his leg.

“It’s nothing,” Grian says easily, shifting to try and hide his leg. Did it bleed through his jeans already? Maybe it’s worse than he thought. . . .

“You’re bleeding, you idiot, did you get hurt?”

“It’s barely a scratch. Come on, we’re—”

Too late. Joel unbuttons Grian’s jeans (Jimmy wolf-whistles obnoxiously), tugs them down just enough to see the dirty rag—now soaked with blood.

“Did you get stabbed?” Joel asks, dumbfounded. “Why are you walking on it?”

“It’s fine,” Grian says. “We can finish the mission, don’t worry about it—”

“You need to get back to the manor, there probably isn’t anything down here—”

Grian casts his eyes around, looking for any sort of way to distract Joel—

Jimmy’s looking on, chewing on one of those constant flossers, and seemingly without his notice, there’s blood trickling down his arm. Perfect.

“Timmy’s bleeding, too,” Grian says, nodding toward him, and Joel immediately drops Grian’s leg to turn toward Jimmy. Grian uses that opportunity to pull his trousers back up.

“What? You too? Am I surrounded by self-sacrificing morons—?”

“What?” Jimmy glances down at his arm. His eyes widen for a fraction of a second, then he hides it behind his back. “No. No, I’m not.”

Joel glares at him. “Mate, I just saw it. You’re bleeding.”

“I—” Jimmy glances around, something almost panicked seeping into his expression. “I—yeah, but it isn’t from this. It’s just—it’s just a little cut, don’t worry about it.”

Joel isn’t having any of that. He tugs Jimmy’s jean jacket off, rolls up his shirt sleeve.

Just above Jimmy’s elbow is a white bandage, wrapped around the bicep. Even in the flickering light, it’s clearly soaked through with blood, some of it seeping out around and dripping down his arm.

“What? When did this happen?” Joel asks, confused. Grian wants to know the same thing—Jimmy didn’t report running into any trouble. Was he just carrying bandages on him?

“It’s from yesterday, I’m fine,” Jimmy says. He looks like he wants to talk about it as much as he wants to eat a lemon. He looks like a tiger trying to sleep that keeps getting poked. He looks like he wants to bite Joel’s head off.

“Sorry, but I’m gonna need more information than that.”

“I fell, okay?” says Jimmy. He rolls his shirt sleeve back down, slapping Joel’s hands away. “I tripped, tried to catch myself on a wall, and caught my arm on a door hinge. It isn’t deep. Let’s keep going.”

It worked as a distraction, apparently, because Joel just shakes his head and mutters something about needing to be careful, before leading the way into the basement. But, for all it got him, Grian just feels like something’s squirming in the depths of his stomach.

Jimmy’s lying.

He won’t meet Grian’s eyes, he would barely even look at Joel. His temper, usually subdued on a mission, had flared briefly, and his hands are still clenched into fists.

He’s lying.

He didn’t fall onto a door hinge.

He probably got into a fight.

You’re supposed to report if you get into any fights with rival gangs, but most people don’t do that. Sometimes it’s embarrassment, sometimes it’s out of fear of punishment, sometimes it’s because they don’t want to be stopped from retaliating.

With Jimmy, it’s probably the latter.

So when they get back to the van, and Joel’s driving them to the manor, Grian speaks up.

“Tim, who’d you get in a fight with?”

Grian sees him stiffen in the front seat. Usually, Grian sits there, but Joel had banished him to the back in order to put his leg up.

“I—I didn’t.”

He’s definitely lying.

“Sure, and I totally didn’t get shot in the leg.”

“Wait, you got shot?” Joel demands. “I thought—geez, Grian, you should have told me, I thought it was just a stab wound or something—”

“Timmy—”

“I didn’t get in a fight,” Jimmy says hotly, turning to look out the window. “I swore I wouldn’t, remember?”

“Yeah, well, that injury wasn’t caused by a door hinge,” Grian scoffs. “People don’t fall onto door hinges, what kind of excuse is that?”

“You weren’t there! And I said—I tripped, and—”

“Sure. You just tripped badly enough that—”

“Grian?” Joel interrupts, a note of warning in his voice. “Shut up.”

The surprise of the command is enough to cause Grian to fall silent. Jimmy keeps looking out the window, uncharacteristically quiet.

No one speaks for the rest of the ride. Grian gets settled into medical and Jimmy disappears, likely for his usual bed (or, perhaps, for the gym, where he can beat on the punching bag until he’s too exhausted to be angry).

“What was that about?” Grian asks, once he and Joel are alone (and he’s hooked up to some IV fluids, his leg properly stitched up).

Joel rubs a hand across his face. “Jimmy’s definitely lying,” he says. “But . . . I don’t think he fought anyone, either. Jimmy would tell us if he got in a fight, wouldn’t he?”

“I mean, maybe. You never know with Tim.”

“Look, Grian—” Joel sits down next to him. There’s something oddly solemn in his face, something that gives Grian pause. “I—I had a friend in high school,” Joel starts. Grian restrains the snarky comment that rises to his lips.

“His name was Oli. Every time I saw him, he had a new bruise. And every time, he made up some excuse—that he walked into a door, or tripped down his front steps, or . . . or tripped, and fell onto a door hinge. Things like that, you know? It was like that every day. Until CPS got called on his family, and I never saw him again.”

The letters CPS sink deep into Grian’s mind. He gapes. Joel shifts uncomfortably.

“He still lives at home, doesn’t he?” Joel says. “He’s just a kid. And whenever he ever mentions his sister, it’s about getting an apartment so he can get her safe. I just—”

“You—you think his parents . . . what, hit him?” Grian asks, cringing.

An awkward sadness weighs down Joel’s shoulders as he shrugs. “I think . . . I think it’s possible. Really, really possible.”

That isn’t rare. In this profession, it’s not a surprise to hear of child abuse.

But . . . Jimmy?

How could anyone hurt Jimmy?

It . . . it adds up, if he thinks about it. It adds up, because isn’t Jimmy always coming in after the weekend with new bruises? Isn’t he always grumbling about clumsiness and accidents? Hasn’t Grian confronted him several times about getting into fights, and each time Jimmy had just argued with him until they both stormed out of the room?

Grian feels sick just to think of it. If Jimmy’s not safe at home, how bad had it been to incite him to seek out gang protection?

“If you’re right—and I’m not saying you are—we should help him with that apartment,” Grian says. Joel nods his agreement.

“Yeah. And soon.”

[set-phasers-to-whump]

forever doesn't seem so far away

prompt: not realizing they're injured, "it's not my blood"

whumpee: illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

hi here's yet another installment of me beating illya to shit, hope you enjoy! title (slightly edited) from you by benny blanco

“It’s not my blood,” Illya says, before Napoleon can get a word in edgewise. 

Given that his skin is about three shades too pale and that there’s a rather visible tear in his shirt, sticky with blood, Napoleon is less than convinced. 

“You sure about that?”

“I think I would know, if I was injured.”

“Just…look down, would you?”

Illya glances down at himself, evidently for the first time. He pokes at the tear experimentally, winces, pulls back his hand. 

“You still wanna play the ‘not my blood’ card?”

“How…” He looks lost, like he can’t believe he couldn’t have realized. 

“Adrenaline’s a hell of a drug,” Napoleon puts forth, stepping forwards to steady Illya with a hand on his arm when he sees him falter, just for a second. 

He guides Illya to sit on the nearest surface, a wicker dining chair that he’s frankly shocked can bear any weight at all. 

“Sit tight. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

Illya sits without protest. Napoleon hurries for the kit—if Illya can’t be bothered to at least pretend to fight against medical care, he knows it must hurt a hell of a lot. 

When he returns, Illya has taken the liberty of extricating himself from his shirt. He’s paler still from the effort, torso smeared with blood. 

Napoleon eyes him critically. It looks like a knife wound. Long, potentially deep. Possibly it’ll need stitches. 

“Let’s see what we’re working with,” he says, and sets to work immediately. 

Cleaning away blood from Illya’s skin feels almost routine by now. When the wound is revealed, free of distracting smears, Napoleon takes a second to assess. 

“I think it might—”

Illya cuts him off with a nod. “I know.” He’s already tensed up, waiting for the inevitable. 

Napoleon doesn’t prolong the wait. He just gets to it, sterilizing and threading the needle, washing out the wound again for good measure. 

It’s a well-rehearsed dance. Illya’s stiffness, his affected stoicism, betrayed as such in the way that he flexes the muscles in his jaw when the needle first enters his skin, the way he shakily exhales after Napoleon ties off the thread. 

Napoleon’s fingers are steady and light. He never thinks of Illya himself when he’s working. Never attaches the flesh and blood to the image of his partner. He’s not sure whether he’d be able to do it so surely, so neatly, if he thought about anything other than needle, thread, and skin. 

When it’s over, he washes up, and Illya becomes Illya again. Napoleon cleans the skin around the fresh stitches as gently as he can get away with, applies a bandage, scrubs the blood from his palms.

It is not yet dark outside, but Napoleon can see the exhaustion in Illya’s eyes. Wordlessly, he offers his hand, knowing Illya will wait a beat before allowing himself to take it. 

He tugs his partner to his feet, careful but not delicate, and lets him choose the direction. 

Illya picks the couch. He doesn’t want to sleep, then, which is only natural and entirely expected. 

They settle on the couch, legs stretched out onto the coffee table, closer together than strictly necessary. 

Napoleon knows how this will go. How Illya will make a valiant effort to remain awake until something approaching a normal bedtime, so that his body’s rhythm won’t be thrown off, even in the wake of a bloody injury and a field surgery. How he’ll slowly lose the battle with himself, blinking longer and longer. How, eventually, sleep will take him despite his best efforts. And how his head will come to rest first on Napoleon’s shoulder and then on his lap, when this first position becomes rather uncomfortable for Napoleon and he shifts his partner’s sleeping form so carefully that he doesn’t so much as stir. 

And how they will wake up, a few hours later, necks and backs aching from the choice of the couch over the bed, and make their way to that bed for a proper sleep. 

How they will wake in the morning, limbs tangled together, more well rested than either of them ever is on their own, and how Illya will look at him, soft in the morning light, and how Napoleon will wish that Illya would look at him like that forever. 

thanks for reading and hope you liked it!!!! fun fact i am currently drinking tea from my tmfu mug while posting lol

[vestigialpersonality]

Last week @theameba1436 tagged me for WIP Whenever and now that I'm back in my right mind I've been staring at my WIPs for HOURS trying to figure out what to share because it seems like I only ever share excerpts of existential crisis.

So here's a change of pace! These are the first 500ish words angry, horny violence that was supposed to be a GortWeek fic that has since taken on a mind of its own. I've got no idea if/when it'll actually be done, but just know that the working title is "bhaalspawn cuck chair" (in which Durge is forced to watch a vivisection but isn't allowed to participate).

Tagging @vialae @nonbinaryeye @picathartidae @winebearcat @dandelion-bride anyone else interested.

"Temper, temper." The words were accompanied by a hiss of pain. A boot came to rest on Keres' shoulder with enough pressure to be a warning. Drops of blood fell around him like raindrops— onto the floor, his hands, his neck.

The cold touch of metal against his neck was enough to rouse Keres from his slumber and the lock which clicked shut like punctuation was enough for him to launch forward in a fury of teeth and claws. He felt soft flesh part under his nails, but his assault was cut short in a flash of purple light and blinding agony. A sensation so intense he could taste it as he felt as if his nerves were being peeled and flayed. It was over in a matter of moments, but it left him in a tangled, gasping heap on the floor as his body sparked with residual pain.

"Fuck yourself, Gortash," Keres wheezed and struggled to lift his head. The metallic scent of blood overpowered the scents of damp and mildew which typically clung to every corner of this place like a curtain.

"You wound me," Gortash replied, his voice anything but repentant. The pressure against Keres' shoulder doubled as Gortash leaned forward and pulled the sheet from the bed to wipe away the blood which leaked steadily from the gashes across his broad chest. "I take time out of my busy schedule to prepare something special just for you, and before you even have a chance to see it you're spitting vitriol."

"Fuck you, take it off," Keres spat as he clawed at the collar around his neck. He didn't have to see it to know what it was— one of those damnable collars which had been affixed to all of the gnomes within the foundry. The crystals set into the metal glowed an ominous purple which only grew brighter until he withdrew his hand and placed it flat against the floor.

This place was usually a comfort, with its creaking metal and the cold absence of life, but the rug had been pulled from underneath him by this little escapade. Suddenly it was suffocating. He felt caged. Trapped. Cold steel against the back of his neck. Sharp prongs dug into the soft flesh beside his larynx and threatened to draw blood if he swallowed too hard.

"I will," Gortash said and paused briefly as he removed his foot from Keres' shoulder. "Eventually. Once you prove you can follow instructions. Now be a good boy and stand up."

Keres growled low in his throat, but said nothing as he was coaxed to his feet with strong hands and mocking words. Every instinct within him screamed betrayal, called for retribution, demanded he lunge forward and rend flesh from bone. Demanded he pull apart the wounds with claws and teeth and tongue until there was little hope of piecing the tattered skin back together. But even as his mind prompted him with images of what could be, what should be, he followed with slow, shaky footsteps.

Like a good boy.

[francis-writes]

95 cazador szarr !! (the worst man)

A/N: I love your choice lol It was a bit complicated because it's basically a chant for Odin, reciting his many names and titles (Wise One, Wolfspeaker, God of the Hanged, Pale One, Attacking Rider etc) so I decided to make au where Cazador manages to ascend and you are his consort (but in all honesty, you feel more like a humble worshipper)

Living with Cazador, even as his lover, was never easy and normal person could hardly call it a relationship. But when he promised to make you his consort after ascension, for a little moment you hoped that something would change for the better. That you would get more respect, and - what’s more important - feel safer in his palace.

Of course, all hopes fell apart.

Sure, Cazador reached his godhood. Everyday he gained new powers and abilities. As his consort, you lived like royalty. Other spawns respected you, mostly out of fear of Cazador. You didn't need to worry about landing in the dungeons or getting tortured... at least as long as you obeyed your Master. Who seemed to be more emotionally distant from you each day.

Cazador Szarr never was a partner you could have a heart-to-heart conversation with, but before he was at least normal person. Undead but still made of blood and flesh. He was your powerful Master but he still could be hurt, he still seemed to have human emotions. Now he only focused on expanding his power and building his empire. Carnal pleasures now interested him less than constant meetings with gods or Hell lords. Now you were less afraid for your own fate, than worried what his intrigues can bring upon you both.

At this moment, you were laying in your shared bed, and observing Cazador leaning over some letter. You slept with him as his spouse but if you could, you would spend that time anywhere else. You were afraid to move and break this silence as if you were in some temple during adoration.

Eventually you pulled yourself together and asked in a quiet gentle voice:

"Master?"

No matter how close you were, you didn't feel like it was proper to call him by his name, especially, when he became something god-like. Cazador himself never suggested that you could adress him different so you prefered not to risk his reaction.

He looked up from the document.

"Yes, pet?"

"Can I... somehow help you? Do you have any command for me, Master?"

He smiled but it didn't comfort you a little bit.

"I'm grateful for your devotion but there's nothing you could help me with"

He stood up, came closer to bed and took your face in his cold hand, caressing your cheek with his thumb.

"You're my beloved consort but you wouldn't understand things I am now invested in. It's too much for the mortal minds... your only duty now is to stay by my side forever. And never go against my will"

[scuderlia]

haircut!anon again: ok. wow. had to slam my phone down in my uni computer lab and wait until i could string together a coherent thought again. first off like au itself on back burner your MIND and the way you construct this narrative is INCREDIBLE and so raw adn true and pulling on the queer (as in deviant and as in gay) hair experince sooo deeply i feel soooooo deeply you are a magician. further. i was PICTURING max in braids and god fuck the tenderness of charles and max setting their mise en place and sitting together and braiding her hair before their prey comes in…. god. jesus. i can't stop re-reading the snippets. FUCK! sorry this isn't coherent thoughts after all. max and control and cutting charles' hair. fuck me uppp….

anon! i spent so long smiling like an idiot because of this ask, at this point you're basically my betrothed <3

but yeah, you get it. at the core of max and charles' relationship is truly their hounded devotion and acceptance of one another. the queer experience really is defined by those you hold close, and it's been interesting (for me) to try and thread that idea through this greater story about desire and hunger in a way that feels genuine. i've pulled on a lot of my personal experiences of being a young lesbian and being guarded about sexuality, but ultimately it all comes back to (like you mentioned) the idea of relinquishing some control and feeling comfortable enough with someone to let go of the safety of doing things alone.

i also love love love giving characters their own little rituals, and seeing as how max and charles both have a lot of emotional connections to their hair/haircuts/etc. the braids were an easy decision.

(more about max and her relationship to hair below the cut)

there's this really interesting article by Amelia Abraham titled 'What butch queer identity has to do with hair' that got put out by Dazed in 2022. it primarily covers a photography exhibition called Close Shave—which centers itself around butch haircuts and identity—but also goes into the cultural relevance of 'masc' hairstyles and their role in queer (mainly lesbian) expression.

i remembered and re-read it when i was in the early stages of fleshing-out max's character. i recommend the article to everyone, but especially people who are maybe looking to better understand the history of butch optics, and kind of where i'm coming from with some of max's characterization.

(see one of my favorite quotes from the article below)

While having short hair and identifying as butch don’t necessarily come as a pair, for butch people, haircuts can be transformational – getting your hair cut off brings you closer to your gender identity.

like I mentioned in the the answer to your previous ask, max's haircut kind of serves as a physical manifestation of her relationship with her father, and more specifically, how that relationship influences her feelings of shame (and eventually acceptance) towards her own sexuality.

part of the reason that max is so struck by charles saying she'd let her cut her hair is in large part because, for max, hair is incredibly representative of an individual's ability to control how others perceive and relate to them. by breaking the ritual with her mother, charles is essentially showing max that she not only finds comfort with her, but also trusts her enough to have her identity placed in her hands.

i could honestly talk about this forever... since body politics and queerness are things i'm just genuinely very passionate about... but i will save the innocent bystanders of this blog from having to read through all of that in one sitting.

(anyways, i'm so happy that people are as invested in this as i am... keep sending me long asks like this... if you couldn't already tell i'll take any opportunity to talk more about this au)

[witchywriterlythings]

The Start of Something Feral

There was something alluring and pride-inducing about drawing the attention of a god, someone she learned about in classes as a myth, as someone worshiped for generations and is still talked about with respect, if not that same reverence, today. There is something powerful in the way she should be afraid of him, afraid of the earth that shakes under his heavy feet and the way the waves crash ever more violently when he’s in her bed.

She feels nothing but dizzying adrenaline when she goes to the library to look up his name, to see who she is letting take her over, and finds Wanax next to his name. She sees how he was king before his younger brother came to be in the eyes of man, how his story was changed over and over again by mortals who looked at the seas and were afraid.

Sally sometimes feels as if she would drown in Poseidon’s presence if he weren’t actively choosing to spare her.

She teases him closer with her knowledge, whispering how she knows what to call him now. “Poseidonos Wanax,” she breathes next to his ear and feels the vibrations of his growl under her hands as he tears at her dress in an attempt to reach more skin. She repeats all of the titles she can remember reading in a chant form of his name, gasping as sharp teeth dig into her flesh just enough to bruise.

She delights in it because she is nineteen and she doesn’t know any better.

Eventually, Sally will realize her mistake and refuse to give him a name. He is simply the father of her child, not something physical that can come back to steal away what happiness she has left. She will hate herself for her naivety and blind adoration of something she didn’t understand, but she will forgive herself when she sees Percy reach for her for the first time.

She will be aware that gods have different morals than the mortals they observe from their heavenly seats; she need only think of Demate and Despoina, who were once both his wives and his sister and daughter. She need only think of how he claimed Demate as his wife, the same as Zeus. The kings of gods seem to have a habit of raping women to force them into marriage.

This Sally Jackson thinks back to when he left her standing there on the beach, a pregnancy test in hand and ideas about how their life could be. He promises her a palace under the sea where he can take care of them both, and all she can hear is, let me hide you away, my secret. She does not cry when he turns to the waves, and she does not walk away despite how much she wishes to flee. She will not turn her back on him again, even if today he is only Poseidon. Earthshaker and god of the seas.

She gets angry and plasters on smiles because she refuses to let her emotions get the better of her again. She lets herself be tired only in the studio apartment she managed to pull together with the money her uncle left in her savings. She snarls in the mirror as she wonders what kind of monster she might raise if she lets herself hate their father.

This Sally takes one look at the bundle placed in her arms by a nurse with furrowed brows, one who asked if there was anyone they could call and could only give pity when the answer was no. Sally is twenty years old and lets the snarl she practiced in the mirror appear when one of the doctors mentions putting up her son for adoption.

Percy gurgles at her even when the nurses flinch away, pulling at her lip until she presses them both to his forehead.

“I love you, baby, and we are never ever getting separated. Not if I can help it.”

This Sally flinches away from breastfeeding her son only six weeks after leaving the hospital, surprised by the pink mess coming out of her nipples instead of the milk she was expecting. She cleans herself and Percy, ignoring how he whines for more until she can see the teeth marks marring her flesh. They aren’t deep enough for her to be concerned about him taking more than blood and milk with him, and for that, she is thankful. She checks his mouth and sees regular teeth, all pearly white, until the point that hides behind each one appears. Two rows of teeth. Huh.

She can’t afford formula, and Percy doesn’t seem to mind the blood anyway. She might be more concerned if she wasn’t working night shifts under the table at whatever job she could find that would let her take her son.

Or, more accurately, she smiles too sharply when her boss tries to deny her bringing Percy to work with her in a sling and then promptly ignores his warnings and does it anyway. She is the best “customer service rep” he’s ever had, with women cooing over her sleeping son as they buy their wine, stopping by specifically to “check up” on them even as Sally hears them sneering behind her turned back. She takes every barb, every yell from some creep in the streets who thinks her an easy target, and fuels her ability to do it again the next day.

This Sally scraps and saves and gets Percy into preschool at two even though most of the children are a year older, despite their “all children must be potty trained” rule because Percy likes the sound of the water flushing, and it saved her on diapers to teach him how to use it first. This Sally gets a call at the end of the year from a disturbed woman claiming Percy killed something and “he just doesn’t seem to be fitting in with the older kids; I really think he’d be better off somewhere else.”

Her outrage over how a snake was able to get into her son’s cot is ignored as they are pushed out the door, and if she is ignoring the bite marks on the dead thing's tail, that’s no one’s business but hers.

She debates setting up shrines for the goddess of luck and a few others who might help her son in exchange for recognition, but she knows that goes both ways and eyes on her son are not something she needs. Sometimes she lets her cookie dough fall into the flames while thinking generally of her few classes on the Greek pantheon, ignoring the times it dissipates on contact. She never dares when her son is home.

This Sally storms her way across the boroughs of New York as she drives them to Montauk, putting her son in the sand a safe enough distance away as she screams her fury to the waves. She doesn’t care if he sent the cyclopes to the school, if he was checking on his son, or if it was just another monster who got too close. She screams until her voice gives out. She flips it off anyway and storms back into the cabin, tucking Percy safely into bed.

This Sally Jackson raises her son to be kind first and angry second. This Sally Jackson teaches her son to keep his hair long so it covers the scales on the back of his neck. This Sally Jackson teaches her son to paint his nails pretty colors because they turned black and hard around his tenth birthday.

This Sally Jackson raised her son to know his heritage. To know who and what his father is because she refuses to lie to her son. To keep him soft when the world will sooner rip into his belly and feast. She raises her son with a knife in his hands and sharpened claws as a last resort.

This Sally Jackson hopes to turn her son into a shark because if the rest of the world thinks that’s what he is, if that is what they think he hides, she can breathe.

[daxwritesstories]

College AU Part 3: You're So Cool

Scene 1: One of the Boys

(Scene title by Katy Perry)

INT. Theater Room - Day

Connor is sitting alone in one of the middle rows. Class hasn't started yet. A few other students are sitting down but most are standing in the aisles chatting. Connor looks around the room at the other students. Eventually his eyes land on Cyra, who is chatting with a couple girls.

CONNOR: Hey! Cutie with the red hair!

Cyra stops talking and looks at Connor. The other girls look over too, wondering who's yelling.

CONNOR: Yes, you. C'mere.

Now curious, Cyra walks over to where Connor is sitting.

CYRA: Can I help you?

CONNOR: The guy I normally sit with isn't here today. Wanna sit together?

CYRA: Mm... Sure, but only because you called me cute.

Connor laughs and Cyra sits down next to him.

CONNOR: Thanks. Now I won't be alone.

Cyra smiles and sets her bag down on the floor in front of her seat.

CONNOR: I'm Connor by the way. I just moved here so I don't know a lot of people yet. Uh, my brother's actually one of the profs at this school.

That catches Cyra's attention and she squints to get a closer look at Connor's face.

CYRA: Wait, are you Connor Diaz?

Connor seems surprised that she knows his last name.

CONNOR: Yeah. Do I know you from somewhere?

CYRA: Yeah. You're Tony's brother, right? I'm Cyra Drake. I'm friends with Tony.

Connor's jaw drops and he smiles.

CONNOR: No way! Cyra Drake in the flesh?

Cyra puts her hand under her chin and smiles.

CYRA: I'm the real deal. So you're the infamous Connor I've heard so much about.

CONNOR: Tony doesn't talk about me that much, does he?

CYRA: Well apparently you're always doing some crazy shit so...

Connor laughs.

CONNOR: I'm not as bad as he says I am.

CYRA (sarcastically): Sure you aren't.

CONNOR (sarcastically): Oh? Then I'm sure you're just as crazy as he says you are.

CYRA: Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm definitely crazy.

Connor laughs again.

CONNOR: Good. I like crazy.

Cyra smiles at Connor, who smiles back.

Scene 2: Arabella

(Scene title by Arctic Monkeys)

INT. Biology Lab - Afternoon

Celia is sitting at one of the desks by herself, looking at her phone.

Arabella walks into the classroom and immediately notices Celia. She walks over to her desk.

ARABELLA: Celia!

Celia looks up from her phone to see who called her.

CELIA: Hey Arabella.

ARABELLA: Looks like we both got into the botany program. Should we be lab partners?

CELIA: Sure.

Arabella sets her bag down on the desk and sits in the seat next to Celia.

ARABELLA: Congratulations, by the way. I don't know about you but I had a hard time getting into this program.

CELIA: Thanks! Yeah, it was hard for me too. But we did it!

ARABELLA: We did.

Arabella pulls a textbook out of her bag and starts flipping through the pages.

ARABELLA: So, who's your roommate?

CELIA: Cyra.

Arabella laughs.

ARABELLA: Wow. Good luck with that. You'll never guess who my roommate is.

Celia smiles.

CELIA: Tell me.

ARABELLA: It's Celeste.

CELIA: Oh! Like...?

ARABELLA: Yeah. That Celeste.

Celia laughs.

CELIA: I shouldn't be laughing, but that's really funny.

ARABELLA: Yeah. Like, what are the odds?

The pair fall silent for a moment as Arabella contemplates something. Then she leans in closer to Celia.

ARABELLA: So... what did you do over the summer?

Celia shrugs.

CELIA: Not much. I spent some time with friends but I mostly just stayed home.

ARABELLA: Fair, fair. No dates though?

CELIA: Um... no. Haven't really had the energy for that. Why?

Arabella smiles and gently brushes Celia's hair out of her face.

ARABELLA: Just... wondering...

Celia blushes and looks at Arabella nervously. Arabella just giggles.

Scene 3: Boys Boys Boys

(Scene title by Lady Gaga)

INT. Connor & Devin's dorm - Morning

Connor is lying on his bed, listening to music. He has his eyes closed, looking relaxed.

The lock on the door suddenly turns, catching Connor's attention. He sits up and takes his headphones off as the door slowly opens.

Devin steps into the room, pulling a suitcase behind him. He stops when he notices Connor there.

DEVIN: Oh, hey! Are you Connor? I'm Devin.

Connor smiles.

CONNOR: You finally decided to show up!

Devin laughs and pulls his suitcase all the way in. He closes the door behind him.

DEVIN: Yeah, there was a screw-up with my flight and it got rescheduled for the next week.

CONNOR: Damn. That's a long time to wait.

DEVIN: I know. I hope I didn't miss too much in my classes.

CONNOR: I'm sure you'll be fine.

Devin lays his suitcase on the floor and opens it.

CONNOR: You know, I was really enjoying having the dorm to myself.

Devin laughs and grabs a hoodie from his suitcase.

DEVIN: Yeah, well–

Devin stands up and pulls the hoodie that he's already wearing over his head. His t-shirt underneath lifts a bit as he raises his arms, revealing some of his muscular body. Connor stares at him shamelessly and bites his lip.

DEVIN: You'll have to put up with me now.

CONNOR: Eh, I think we'll get along...

Devin throws his hoodie on the floor, swapping it for the new one. He notices Connor staring at him but doesn't say anything.

CONNOR: Are you straight?

Devin laughs as he finishes putting on the fresh hoodie.

DEVIN: Uh, yeah. I'm assuming you're not?

CONNOR: I'll fuck anyone.

Connor keeps looking Devin up and down. Devin smiles and nods.

DEVIN: Fair enough. Well, I'm not homophobic or anything so you don't have to worry about that.

Connor smiles and Devin goes back to emptying his suitcase.

CONNOR: I wasn't worried. I get a good vibe from you.

Devin holds up an "ok" symbol with his hand. Since he's facing away from the other bed, Connor freely checks him out.

CONNOR: So... you got a type?

Devin smiles.

DEVIN: Hitting on me already?

Connor laughs.

CONNOR: Just wondering... I can't be the first guy to ever hit on you.

DEVIN: Nope. Definitely not the first.

Devin opens one of the dresser drawers and starts piling clothes into it.

DEVIN: My type is hot girls.

CONNOR: Ayy, something we can agree on!

Devin laughs.

Scene 4: You're So Cool

(Scene title by Nicole Dollanganger)

INT. Music Classroom - Morning

Cyra is sitting in on one of Roman's classes. She sits next to Drew at the back of the class but they aren't talking to each other, listening to the prof instead. Roman is discussing music theory.

A knock at the door catches Cyra's and Drew's attention, along with a few other students who are in the back row. Drew moves to stand up but Cyra stops him by putting her hand on his leg.

CYRA (quietly): I'll get it. I'm not even in this class.

Drew snickers. Cyra smiles at him and gets up, walking towards the door.

INT. Hallway - Morning

We see a shot of the door as Cyra opens it. Someone is standing in front of the door but we can only see their side. Cyra's eyes widen when she sees this person, but she quickly regains her composure and shuts the door.

CYRA: Hi...

We finally see that the person standing at the door is Ace. He has long, wavy black hair and is wearing a lot of makeup. His clothes look expensive, a fur sweater, perfectly fitted jeans and designer shoes. He is standing there impatiently, holding a fabric bag in one of his hands.

ACE: Is Roman in there?

CYRA: Uh, yeah. He's in the middle of a lecture though.

ACE: How annoying. When will he be done?

Cyra shrugs.

CYRA: I dunno. This isn't even my class.

Ace gives her a confused look.

ACE: Huh?

CYRA: Roman invited me to sit in on his classes.

ACE: Hm...

CYRA: What?

ACE: How old are you?

CYRA: I'm eighteen.

Cyra tilts her head in confusion.

CYRA: Why do you ask?

ACE: Just wondering...

Ace glances at the door behind Cyra and sighs.

ACE: Well, since you're here, be a doll and give this to Roman for me.

Ace holds the bag out towards Cyra.

CYRA: What is it?

ACE: Mind your own business.

Cyra ignores Ace and looks inside the bag.

CYRA: Clothes.

ACE: Roman left them at my dorm.

CYRA: What? Why was he at–

ACE: Connect the dots, nosey.

Cyra shuts her mouth, a bit taken aback by Ace snapping at her. Ace rolls his eyes and flips his hair over his shoulder.

ACE: Anyway... tell the prof I said hi~

Ace turns around and starts walking away.

CYRA: Sure... Wait!

Ace stops and looks back at Cyra.

CYRA: What's your name?

ACE: Ace Diamond. And yours?

CYRA: Cyra Drake.

Ace raises an eyebrow when he hears Cyra's name. He doesn't say anything about it though.

ACE: Hm. Well I'll see you around.

Ace continues walking away.

CYRA: See you...

Cyra waits until Ace is out of earshot before quietly finishing her sentence.

CYRA: ...I hope.

Cyra pauses to think for a moment. She seems to suddenly have a lot on her mind. She soon goes back into the classroom though.

[tacticaltaxonomist]

Could we please have a bit of info on

Savour every bite

Spirit rifle au

Zombie au

Just the titles sound really interesting!

Yes you can, these are some of my favourites!!!

Spirit Rifle: This fic is a direct continuation of "Faded Flesh" by Nouna (with permission, highly recommend I love this fic so much), Soap get's Ghost safe, a smidgen of worldbuilding, and Price finding out about Soap.

Zombie AU: The fic is obvs soapghost and *post 141*. soap n ghost worked together, they had hella chemistry, they love their jobs too much to even *think* about threatening that with acting on that chemistry, so they just left things mutually unresolved. No bad blood or hurt feelings, it never went beyond barely-passes-for-flirting and very occasional eye-fucking. The whole makarov thing is wrapped up and 141 disbanded since it's purpose is done and everyone goes on with their job.  The fic starts a couple years past that and it's also a couple years into stereotypical zombie apocalypse setting, societal collapse, small communities of varying moralities, blah blah who cares. 

The person, infected, *Zombie* if you like, suddenly moves diffrerent though. Stands up straight, looks directly at him. Ghost is close enough now, maybe twelve meters, to make out that it's a man. Tall, dark hair, dressed from neck to toe, even sporting gloves despite the warm weather, all covered except for his head, suntanned skin but more importantly *unstained*.  *Fuck*. "Been a while since I saw a face like that," the man calls out.  There are several things wrong with this. Take a moment to figure what's wrong with this. Ghost's face if covered with a black balaclava that has a skull face painted on it. He's speaking english even though they're in rural germany. His accent is scottish. He sounds impossibly, *achingly* familiar. And Ghost can't reply. He steps closer, cautiously, slowly, he *needs* to get close enough to make out the face. To see if it's really him.   "The quiet type then?" Ghost nods and takes another step.  "How bout this then. The mask-" he drawls it just the same as he had seven- eight-nine? years ago- "take it off." Ghost almost let's out a laugh, and shakes his head.  "Yeah that's fair, wouldn't know who to look for under that thing anyway, yeah?" He's grinning now, his eyes are the palest blue, a deep old scar on his chin, a new one that healed badly splitting his eyebrow and cheek. Brown hair grown out a bit but he clearly kept the mohawk. Soap. Undeniable and beautifully alive. All Ghost wants to do is pull him close, crush him into a hug, a mirror of their 'goodbye'. Reenact the most honest they've ever (wordlessly) expressed their affections for another before separating forever, each headed for different units, different purposes. Until now.  And Ghost can't. Mustn't. It's too dangerous. He can't risk it, he couldn't *bear* it. 

Savour every bite of you: Cannibalism fic, if this is not your jam just move on. Soap is a cannibal, he is not embarassed or grossed out by himself, but he does know that he has to be smart and secretive about it. He rarely indulges. He's well aware it's fucked up, but like, he also doesn't really get it. Ghost has intrusive thoughts about wanting to cannibalise people ever since roba fed him meat, but is very ashamed and unsettled by that craving and never acts (fully) on it. Soaps thing comes out through a bit of torture that their capturer thoguht was so clever, except Soap was very disturbingly excited for it. The rest of the fic is Ghost wrapping his head around all this and eventual Soapghost.

[sergeantnarwhalwrites]

Word Find Tag

I was tagged by @winterandwords awhile ago! Thanks for the tag and sorry it took me forever to respond! My words are fill, fall, feel, and fail.

Uhhh I tag @jezifster @kashas-stuff @the-void-writes @chayscribbles (Only if you want! Definitely an open tag as well)

Y’all’s words are sink, star, shine, scar

Fill (wip: Appetite)

A smile found its way onto my face. Teeth bared to my attackers in pain and glee. Unknowing they were sheathed in blood from my swelling face.

I laughed filled with this unexpected joy. I was starving. I could imagine myself shoveling food into my mouth, no longer overcome with the dread and nausea of consumption.

“More! More!” I cried out desperately. 

Fall (wip: Monster Story 2.0)

You’re an idiot. 

They fell back, ass skidding across unforgiving pavement. 

They clumsily rose to their feet nearly colliding into the wall working to hold them up. They panted from the action. 

Adrenaline pumping far too intensely to feel the bruises they’d be covered in later. They leaned against the wall, huffing weakly when a figure came across teary vision. 

You’re an idiot. 

Feel (wip has no title. XD This is just a rewrite of an aggressive kiss)

She knew she’d feel it tomorrow. The way the woman’s nails dug into her skin, threating to pierce her cheek and her neck. 

She grasped tightly on the woman’s butt, Grip so tight her hand was beginning to cramp. She fought through the discomfort determined to win this battle of lips. Pulling the woman as close as she could with the same hand. Forcing their bodies to be flush with one another. 

Their lips smashed together after a brief intermission. Further followed by a course of grunts and clashing teeth. The tings of pain only pushing one another further. 

Feverish pants echoing off the halls before her teeth found their home on the woman’s lip. Biting down on the flesh perched between her teeth until she drew blood and a hiss of pain from the woman.

Fail (Fucked at Five sort of lol)

Ian snorted at that one. So Elliot can look beyond his own thoughts, wouldn’t have guessed. 

“Sure they saved me from getting chopped up or thrown on display. I’m gratetful but now--”, Ian clawed at the dirt beneath him, unbothered by the dirt clumping beneath his nails. “We’re no more than soldiers for their selfishness. I’m tired of being reprimanded for something they could do themselves. Tired of being a failure in their eyes.”

Elliot remained quiet at that eventually letting a cough slip past. 

“Laying into them today huh?” 

“More like they were laying into me!” Ian found himself needing to defend himself, “This would be far easier if they were just more clear with what they wanted and I don’t know less...” 

“Uppity and secretive.” Elliot chimed in knowingly with a long sigh. 

“Now that’s a turn of events. Never thought you’d say anything negative about the elder morphers.” 

“I was just being honest. I never said they were perfect.” Elliot defended breaking off a twig and throwing it down at Ian, “They have our interests at heart. Sometimes they just suck at showing it”

[theeverlastingshade]

plastic death- glass beach

I was more apprehensive going into the 2nd glass beach record, plastic death, than I have been for any record that I can think of throughout the last several years. The band's excellent, aptly titled debut LP, the first glass beach album, was a true lightning in a bottle fusion of emo, prog, art rock, and chiptune that sounded completely unlike anything before and after, and it defined the sound of emo's 5th wave as we know it. They dropped a great EP titled 1015 the following year, and an album consisting of their peers remixing songs from their first record dropped the year after that, but it wasn't until last year that news of gb’s true follow-up began to materialize. Both singles, "the cia" and "rare animal", respectively, were strong returns to form that retained the band's urgent, tuneful strengths, but neither sounded like the band was really pushing their sound forward in any particularly exciting ways. Thankfully my fears quickly dissipated, as pd has turned out to be yet another triumph from a band as delightfully confounding and idiosyncratic as ever.

The opening song, "coelacanth" is a far-cry from the explosive emo epic that opened their first record with its disarming slow-burn build despite eventually hitting a frantic guitar coda, and it effectively sets the tone for this record's most notable shift. On pd, the influence of prog has been amplified to a disarmingly pervasive degree. While prog has always been a significant component of their sound, with the push/pull of prog's ambitious scope against emo's immediacy being a large part of their allure from the jump, the scales tip far more in favor of the former this time around. The songs are stranger, more enveloping, and more often than not take some time before completely revealing themselves. There are still terrific melodies scattered throughout, particularly on those aforementioned singles, as well as the two highlights "puppy" and "cul-de-sac", that incorporate go for broke gang vocal harmonies that seem gleefully at odds with the prog undercurrent, but they’re still ultimately in service of it. Thankfully, the heightened level of proficiency, obtuse structures, and sonic ambition never come at the expense of deeply heartfelt songcraft.

Where tfgba was more direct with its thematic concerns in a grandiose, music theater-leaning presentation, pd is far more oblique without completely shedding their melodramatic flair. The bright acoustic guitar pop of breather "guitar song", is probably the most musically straightforward song on the pd, but the lyrics are a stream of consciousness seeming concoction of surrealist musings "On doric legs/Tail to head, or the ourobors won't flow/Only love, drunk isotope/Your burning hearth, your self-appointed silhouette" that are superbly juxtaposed here, and indicative of the general lyrical shift. Front person J McClendon has stated that "motion" is a comment on the relentless, dehumanizing demands imposed by capitalism, which is beautifully realized by the menacing horns and racing rhythms alongside J's unnerving vocals "I am not a person/Beyond my own success/Beneath my chitin jacket/I wear no human flesh" while the droning string-laden reverie “the killer” uses imagery of a hunter mercy killing a fox as an allegory for living in the suburbs “A trail of blood/Crimson and warm splattered across the ragged bush/“Oh little fox, you got caught in the hunter’s trap””. Themes of wasted youth, mental illness, greed, and alienation emerge throughout the course of pd, and despite not being as straightforward, each song is rendered with a sharper, more emotionally honest eye for detail than on their prior work.

True to form, the best songs on pd are the ones that lull you into a sense of familiarity before seamlessly pulling the rug out from underneath you and taking you somewhere completely unexpected with a profound sense of urgency. Early highlight "slip under the door" weaves together ambient electronic music, post-hardcore, art-rock, and screamo alone within the course of 5 minutes in a masterful display of dynamics and sequencing, but they never exceed their depth, and the audacity never overshadows the fact that they're completely pulling something this absurdly ambitious off. A song like "cul-de-sac" begins fairly straightforward but then just continues to build into this soaring, rapid-fire strumming riff-fest that never loses sight of a strong melody, whereas a song like "puppy" is a slow and steady emo strut that seemingly out nowhere erupts into the most cathartic coda that I'll probably hear all year. And on the sprawling, nearly 10 minute centerpiece, "commatose", the band's deft fusion of prog and emo (with a little of that classic gb chiptune spice) is most acutely felt as the song unravels into a nervy fantasia of emotional outbursts and virtuosity in service of vulnerability. It's an astonishing tour de force that feels like pd's answer to "Yoshi's Island", but its scope is even grander.

The 5 years between records paid off tremendously for gb as pd is the rare sophomore album that matches and even improves on the promise of a classic debut. While gb are hardly the first band to draw influence from music as seemingly disparate as Charles Mingus and Aphex Twin, they remain the rare sort of band that filters their avant-garde aspirations into music that bleeds with an overt, unabashedly humanistic pulse. There's a remarkable level of depth at every turn here, and the band's thrilling juxtapositions and deliriously eclectic impulses have resulted in a record that's unusually thrilling in scope with an approachability that seems to completely defy prog convention in the best way imaginable. So much of pd shouldn't work on paper, but the band's musicianship has caught up to their ambitions in a way that really allows these kind of experiments to work. The songs on pd don't sound like the sort of thing that I can really imagine anyone else even attempting, save for probably "guitar song". It's staggering to think of where gb could go on LP3 if they approach it with this kind of breathing room between records.

Essentials: "commatose", "cul-de-sac", "puppy"

[mikewheelerfan2022]

So, I’ve only fleshed out some of these AUs. Most of them are just ideas right now. And because of that, most of the titles will be subject to change. So if there’s an asterisk next to the name, it’s a placeholder.

Ninja Swap AU-

An AU where all of the ninja swap elements, and roles (sometimes).

Wu ↔️ Garmadon (Wu gets bit instead, their elements stay the same)

Lloyd ↔️ Morro (Lloyd has wind and is a ghost, Morro has energy and is the Green Ninja)

Kai ↔️ Nya (Kai is the Cobalt Ninja with water, Nya is the Maroon Ninja with fire) 

Cole ↔️ Jay (Cole is the Gold Ninja with lightning, Jay is the Bronze Ninja with earth)

Zane ↔️ Pixal (Zane is Samurai X, Pixal is the Silver Ninja with ice)

AI Jay AU-

J.A.Y (still figuring out the adjective) was an advanced AI created by Milton Dyer to be a guide for players in Prime Empire, although Jay also gave Dyer advice on the game. In-game, he was Superstar Rockin’ Jay, who was the leader of a place where players could hang out and recharge. Jay would give them tips in exchange for coins. Being the only two AI in Prime Empire, Jay and Unagami became friends. 

But everything changed when Prime Empire was shut down. Jay took it the best he could, becoming friends with Scott. But Unagami refused to accept it, and tried to get the game back up and running using any means necessary. He eventually lured Libby, the Master of Lightning in, and started using her like a battery.

Jay eventually found out, and was absolutely horrified by Unagami’s actions. He helped get Libby out of the game, using her lightning powers to do it. And that got him out of the game too. They decided to stay together, and Jay took the form of a human toddler to pretend to be her kid.

Eventually, Libby died due to her being drained so much. But before she died, she made Jay the new Master of Lightning. After she died, Jay didn’t know what to do, so he just ran. Eventually he ended up at Ed and Edna’s, who adopted him. They never found out he wasn’t human, because he made sure to pretend to age. They just thought he was great with technology.

He kept all of this a secret from the ninja until Season 12. Instead of Jay activating the game, somebody else did. And he started to kind of be pulled into the game and lose his physical form, but he tried to hide it. At least until he was pulled in completely. Then, he was forced to fulfill his role as one of the game’s AI. And confront his past. I haven’t decided what happens in Season 12 yet though, but obviously the ninja find out. 

Quiet Ones AU-

After Possession, Lloyd needs some time alone. So he starts going on a few small solo missions. One of those missions is to protect the Jade Princess Harumi while her parents are away on business. During that time, they become close. Lloyd opens up to her about missing his father. And Harumi subtly introduces the idea of bringing Garmadon back via the Oni masks.

Lloyd thinks it’s a cruel joke, but when he gets back he can’t help himself from investigating. And he realizes that not only would it work, but he’s part Oni as well. Although Lloyd realizes it wouldn’t be the man he knew, he’s clouded with grief. He immediately sneaks out to see Harumi and tells her he wants to do it. Harumi is a great manipulator, and she gets Lloyd to agree that they need help and should form the Sons of Garmadon.

They both take on the mantle of The Quiet One. Harumi wears a purple kimono and mask with white accents. Lloyd wears a purple gi and mask with black accents. They both start recruiting people for it, and in the beginning they’re very active leaders. But Lloyd can’t use the excuse of solo missions forever, as the others want him on team missions again. And so he leaves it to Harumi, but stays in contact (I know Pixal can trace communications, but Lloyd disguises them and Pixal has no reason to be suspicious).

Lloyd starts having doubts, the SoG seems like a very violent group. And they were bringing his father back for good, not evil. But Harumi tells him it’s fine, it’s necessary to get the masks. She also encourages him to start practicing with his Oni power, because that could make it easier for them to get the masks. It’s now around Hands of Time, and Wu is too incapacitated to fully notice, but he does get suspicious of Lloyd.

The Oni power makes Lloyd a bit insane, and Lloyd and Harumi are basically evil together now (but Lloyd still thinks he’s doing it for a good reason). When they get separated from ninja in the jungle, they no longer have to hide. So when both Lloyd and Harumi come out of the Oni Temple, not fighting at all, the ninja finally realize. I haven’t decided how the rest of SoG and Hunted goes yet.

By the way, the members of the Sons of Garmadon know there are two Quiet Ones, but they don’t know who they are. Only Ultra Violet, Killow, and Mr. E do. This is because if one of the members gets captured, they can’t tell the police who the Quiet Ones are. They also just say “The Quiet One” instead of “Quiet Ones,” which is why the ninja think it’s only Harumi.

Ninjago SW AU-

SW stands for Star Wars.

Garmadon takes the role of Darth Vader. Lloyd takes the role of Luke. Wu takes the role of Obi-Wan. The Overlord takes the role of The Emperor. Misako takes the role of Padme, I guess. Harumi rakes the role of Mara Jade. And the FSM takes the role of the Force.

Kai and Nya are both Mandalorians, from Clan Smith. They grew up on Mandalore. Cole is human, his father is a famous entertainer. He’s from Coruscant. Jay grew up on Tatooine with Ed and Edna. Zane is a robot who was raised on Hoth by Dr. Julien.

After Garmadon turned to the dark side, Misako left Lloyd at a boarding school on her home planet, Naboo. Then she travels between different planets with Jedi Temples to try to find out more about the property of the Chosen One. Lloyd grows up not knowing his mom was queen or that his father is Darth (choose name later). That’s until Wu finds him, and starts training him in the Force. He tells Lloyd that Darth (placeholder) killed his father. 

He had already recruited all the other ninja by then (Lloyd is the same age as them). He chose them because they all have unique force powers passed down through generations. All except Lloyd, who’s the Chosen One. Nya starts out as a Mandalorian before finding out she’s the Jedi of Water. Also, they find Pixal along the way eventually. Nya is the pilot until Pixal is.

The ninja’s parents were Jedi too. Maya and Ray were Jedi who went into hiding after Order 66, and couldn’t return to Mandalore because they were kind of ostracized for being Jedi. Lilly was kicked out of the order for falling in love with Lou. She died of sickness before Order 66. Libber was also kicked out, and managed to drop Jay off on Tatooine before being killed by clones (who also killed ex-Jedi). Zane was built by Dr. Julien and chosen by the Jedi of Ice as his successor, after Order 66 Zane and Dr. Julien went into hiding on Hoth. 

The prequels played out mostly the same, but with Garmadon and Wu instead of Anakin and Obi-Wan. The main events start a few years before A New Hope, so they’re stretched out more. There’s also a fair amount of differences, but obviously I keep the “No, I am your father” moment.

Elemental Fusion AU*-

An AU where they all merge with their elements.

The Golden Emperor AU*-

An AU with the original ending to Crystalized (Lloyd becoming evil, killing the Overlord, and taking his place.)

Ghost Shifter AU*-

An AU where Cole discovers he can still turn into a ghost after Crystalized (but each time he’s stuck longer).

Reincarnation AU*-

An Au where Lloyd is a reincarnation of the FSM.

Vampire Cole AU*-

An AU where Yang is a vampire and turns Cole into a vampire instead of a ghost.

Obligatory DotD rewrite*-

DotD rewrite, Cole becomes a villain after being forgotten.

Oni Cole AU*-

An AU where Cole discovers he’s part Oni in Hunted. Except maybe he can’t transform out of his Oni form (haven’t decided yet).

Ghost Cousins AU-

An AU where Lloyd runs away from Darkley’s but doesn’t survive, and so he ends up in the Cursed Realm with Morro.

Prince of Shintaro AU-

An AU where Lou is the King of Shintaro, making Cole the prince. Vania is his adopted sister.

Currently unnamed AU*-

A next gen AU (Nya and Jay have a boy and girl, Cole and Kai adored two boys, Zane and Pixal have a girl, and Lloyd and Harumi have no kids or a girl)

Evil Kai AU*-

An Au where Kai actually becomes evil in Tournament of Elements, he doesn’t pretend. And he has the staff for longer.

And I want to make one that’s centered on Nya, and one centered on Zane. But the ideas haven’t come to me yet.

ANYONE that has a Ninjago AU omfg, please spill, I really want to hear ur guys’ ideas, AUs are so awesome and it’s so cool that creativity can bring so much insane stuff, DROP THEM NEOWWWWWW (and if u reblog don’t put it in tags…😞) I want to read them, I’m curious…