#i think every time they bring violence back within its walls it should react violently in turn

[quietwingsinthesky]

i know it’s just because control is my favorite video game BUT. to me, the bunker should be alive. a barely controlled, shifting mass of tunnels and doors and rooms that the Men of Letters found and chained down with the strongest magic they had at hand, tied lobotomized spirits to the halls to run and protect it and put cracks in the foundation to fill with their own blood so that “legacies” were safe to traverse it.

[hellowkatey]

Febuwhump Day 8

Prompt: “hey, hey, this is no time for sleep”

Warnings: graphic descriptions of violence and injury

Crash at Point Rain

The battle already rages below them as the 212th Attack Battalion descends toward Geonosis. Obi-Wan watches with great trepidation as the ground forces are already deep in the midst of a violent undertaking. The explosions kick up the dusty surface of the bug planet, creating a cloud that obscures his view from seeing anything besides the muted flashes of blaster and cannon fire. 

The Force reeks of death and destruction. If the turbulence of the gunship isn't enough to cause his stomach to turn, the feeling of darkness is. 

"Five klicks to the rendezvous, General!" the message is passed from the pilot. 

"Very good, stay sharp." 

Everything relies on things according to plan. So naturally, everything goes up in smoke. 

A massive explosion next to them causes the gunship to jolt, nearly throwing half the men out the other side of the open ship. Obi-Wan whirls around in time to watch one of their other ships, hit by cannons, violently explode and fall to the ground in a massive fireball. 

Oh, not good, he thinks, because as long as they are in the air, they are practically defenseless. The clunky ships only have so much maneuverability and the dust is too thick to get a proper visual to shoot down the anti-aircraft tech. 

"Take evasive action!" he yells, though his orders are implied. The blast doors are slammed shut, and darkness encompasses the hold. Obi-Wan white knuckles the hand-hold, his heart dropping as the reports begin to come flooding in through his commlink of other gunships having the same issues. 

He would have preferred to never step foot on this Force-forsaken planet again. One time on Geonosis is more than enough in Obi-Wan's opinion, but apparently, the bugs seem to have a significant role to play in all of this. He still remembers the carnage in that arena like it happened yesterday. It still haunts him that all of this could have been stopped had they managed to capture Dooku. 

Instead, Anakin lost his hand, The Jedi lost numerous, and the galaxy received a civil war. 

Cody's voice rings through on his commlink, sharp and frantic. "General Kenobi, don't land! The zone is hot!" 

"But there's nowhere else to go!"

Suddenly, the gunship jolts once more, but this time the horrible sound of durasteel being forced apart and the heat of explosion accompanies it. 

"We're hit, we're hit!" he yells over the alarms that now blare through the cabin. "We're going down!" 

Some troopers fall into the walls as the ship loses control. Obi-Wan can see out the front window from where he stands, and the red sands of Geonosis are very quickly approaching. We're coming in at too hard an angle!

Another shot comes hurdling through the very window, shattering the transperisteel and striking the pilot. There is only time for a gasp of surprise, and then the trooper slumps forward. 

"Brace yourselves!" Obi-Wan screams as the ship takes a nose dive. Gravity is pulling his body off the ground now, and despite his order, he finds himself suspended with only his grip on the strap as an anchor. The Jedi Master flails, trying unsuccessfully to plant his weight anywhere else and get some traction, but troopers are already being thrown at a terminal velocity within the durasteel coffin, pushing him out of any position of security he could manage. 

When the front of the gunship slams into Geonosis, Obi-Wan is torn from the handle. He unceremoniously crashes into the durasteel floor, his forehead bouncing off it with a sickening crack. Darkness clouds his vision, but he holds onto consciousness as the belly of the ship follows close behind in the violent crash. He is tossed into a huddle of other troopers, their armor cutting into the unprotected portions of his skin. Obi-Wan has no idea if up is up or down is up, or how long they have been skidding across the surface of the planet. The pile of helpless men is suddenly thrown in the other direction as the ship seems to slow, but tip onto its side. Obi-Wan, on top of the pile one moment, is hitting the wall again the next. This time, he doesn't have a moment to react before the other occupants of the hold are on top of him. 

The destroyed gunship itself has stopped, but everything still feels like it's spinning. He gasps through the thick black smoke that has funneled into the cabin, trying to move, but the four troopers that are slung across him have him pinned against the wall. His head throbs, his vision is blurred. He can't tell if it's from the smoke or he hit his head hard enough to give him a nasty concussion-- possibly both. 

Through his haze, he hears groans of agony around him. His troopers have not moved since they came to a stop. He can feel their Force presences-- they're dim. Few. Many have perished, and many more are on the way. 

Obi-Wan manages to get an arm free and pushes the clone that lies across his chest to the side. Blood covers the front of his armor where it looks like his blaster got jammed in his throat. He pushes down a wave of nausea and uses his newfound freedom to push another one of his fallen men off his leg. He's weak. Barely able to manage the weight, though he's never had issues before.

"General!" a faint voice calls from the other side of the ship. It takes him a moment to look up, searching lazily across the smokey cabin. A trooper slowly gets to his feet, stumbling over the bodies of his fallen brothers and landing on his knees at Obi-Wan's side. 

"Trapper," he recalls his name. "are you injured?" 

"Not as bad as others. And you, sir?" 

Obi-Wan grimaces as another wave of nausea burns like acid in this throat, and decides to ignore that question. "Help me get free if you can." 

Trapper is able to pull the other two troopers off him before practically collapsing. Obi-Wan pulls him to sit next to him with his back against the wall. "Well done, trooper. Rest now." 

The clone sighs in relief, reaching up and pulling his bucket off, and holding it in his lap. Now that they have settled and the smoke has thinned, Obi-Wan can finally take stock of the damage. 

The walls of the gunship look as though they were crushed between the hands of a giant. It's a wonder it held up the way it did judging by the force of their impact. Bodies of troopers are strewn about. Motionless. The smell of blood and burning flesh is already potent, which is just about pushing Obi-Wan over the edge. 

"Pardon me, Trapper," he says before leaning over away from his companion and emptying the contents of his stomach. He vomits until there is nothing left, and then his stomach still twists, as though even its natural acid must be ejected. Tears spring up in his eyes and his face feels hot and clammy. Obi-Wan has to clutch the wall to bring himself back to his original sitting position. His hands are shaking. He folds them together in an effort to calm them.

His head hurts. It's a dull, radiating pain that encompasses his head and runs down his neck, making his body simultaneously feel like it's crumbling and completely numb. 

He can feel Trapper watching him. "I'm okay," 

"Did you hit your head general?" 

"A better question may be what didn't my head hit." 

It's more honest than he usually is, but Obi-Wan is quickly losing the will to hide it any longer. He is holding back tears that he isn't sure why are trying to force themselves out. He's felt greater agonies, been through worse tribulations.

But the tears don't seem to be sadness. It's difficult to place, but he feels angry? Frustrated? With every passing moment, his emotion seems to change. 

It's exhausting. He's exhausted. Obi-Wan lets out a shaky breath and lets his heavy eyelids fall closed. Though the gunship was dark already, the total darkness is like immediate relief. 

"Hey, general, this is no time for sleep." 

"It sure feels like it," he groans. 

"If you have a concussion you must stay awake to monitor your symptoms, sir." 

"And if I decide to nap?" 

Silence hangs between them for a long moment. 

"I believe there is a chance you may not wake up. Sir." 

As enticing as that sounds in the moment, Obi-Wan forces his eyes open again, rolling his head slowly to the side to look at Trapper. 

"We can't have that, I suppose." 

Minutes or hours later-- Obi-Wan isn't sure-- voices echo from outside and rapid footsteps approach. Not the buzz of Geonosisans nor the clank of battle droids, which is comforting at least. He grips his lightsaber anyway, ready to use it if needed.

Obi-Wan isn't sure of how much help he could possibly be, though. After taking greater stock of his injuries, he is quite sure he won't be able to stand on his own for more than a few minutes, nevermind actually fighting. 

The door of the gunship is forced open and light streams in, causing a flare of pain behind his sensitive eyes. He squints through the daylight until his swimming vision finally focuses long enough to see familiar troopers. 

"Waxer, Boil. Am I glad to see you," he pauses as they run forward to meet them, their gaze obviously wandering to their dead brothers lying about. "Trapper and I are the only ones still alive." 

"Good to see you, sir," They hoist him to his feet, quicker than he probably should have been by the way everything goes black for a few long seconds, but Waxer keeps his arm securely around him as he blinks through it. "Commander Cody's established the square just beyond this position..." a ringing in Obi-Wan's ears drones out the clone's voice, and he winces, squeezing his eyes shut until it passes. "...trying to surround us as we speak, sir." 

Right. The battle. The war. Now out of the ship, he is rudely reminded of the brutality of the ongoing battle that is only made worse by his pounding head. Blaster shots sound as though they are being amplified directly in his ears, and explosions and cannons make his knees feel weak from the light sensitivity. 

Medical is going to have a field day with this, he sighs. 

Though he wants nothing more than to collapse in his bunk for the next week and a half, he reminds himself of the importance of their success. They must recapture Geonosis and take out their droid foundries. 

Obi-Wan pulls the Force around him, releasing his pain and using it to augment his strength. It's a short-term solution-- and something that will get him in deep trouble with the healers if they find out-- but it will do for now. 

There will be time to rest when the war is over. 

[clockworkrobotic]

hey look I did it again | Tyreen Calypso x  Reader

this is like 3x as long as the troy fic because it’s My Fic For Me adn i love my disgusting wife and there is NOT enough Tyreen content out there

Kinda heavy I guess? I’m into nasty stuff. Still new to writing smut but the other one got a good reception so I hope I’ve had a breakthrough

Warnings for biting, overt vampirism, violence, blood, pet/servitude kink, degradation, sex, kind of du/bcon, I don’t condone this kind of behaviour irl i’m just thirsty

 You could hear Tyreen parading through the corridor to your room from a hundred miles away. She’s not the quietest, but this evening, she’s particularly loud.

 Her footsteps resonate through the creaky floorboards, heavy and uneven - it sounds like she’s limping. That can’t be good. You fumble with your shirt buttons, shaking too much to get them undone.

 The doors swings completely back on its hinges and ricochets against the wall. Tyreen stumbles over the threshold, doubled over, clutching her side. Her hand is coated a vicious red and she’s bleeding from the corner of her mouth. Your heart is in your throat as you watch her steady herself against the wall.

“Get... the fuck... over here,” she snarls after a few heaving breaths.

 You scramble to your feet, still attempting to unbutton your shirt. You know the drill by now, but your trembling fingers won’t cooperate.

 Her hands are on you as soon as you’re within reach, and you catch a glimpse of the torn, bloody mess of her clothes and abdomen where the bullet had entered. She’s shivering violently, struggling to keep a grip on you, and when she drags you to the floor you aren’t sure if it’s intentional or if she’s falling and taking you down with her.

“Don’t waste my fucking time.” She smacks your hands away and pulls open the collar of your shirt. You don’t have time to react before her hands are on your throat, what feels like her full bodyweight crushing your windpipe, and she’s glaring you down with a look as desperate as it is hungry.

 It takes a moment for the feeling to sink in, but it sinks in hard. She’s drained you before, to incapacitate you, for her own pleasure - but this is different. This is need. You feel like she’s reaching into your chest and crushing your lungs, your vision spotting, your head throbbing, starved of oxygen. Your heart thrums uselessly, unable to keep pace with how rapidly the life is bleeding from you. You don’t even have the strength to reach for your throat.

 After what could have been hours, she finally lets go. Your head is pounding and you cough pathetically, the jolt of your chest costing your spent body the last of its energy.

 For a moment you think she’s going to be merciful. She rolls back on her heels, panting intensely, shifting to straddle you in a more comfortable position. You can just make her out through blurry vision; she rubs her forehead with the heel of her palm and takes a few steadying breaths before reaching down to assess her gunshot wound.

 Sensation seeps back into your limbs, albeit slowly. You try to raise your hand to your face, managing only to jerk your arm weakly.

 Tyreen is inspecting her hand and scowling.

“Not… Enough.”

 She lunges for you again, claws out, going for your exposed chest. Her nails rake thick lines into your skin, deep enough to draw blood, vicious enough to make you gasp. The assault lasts a second but she’s panting as she pulls away, and she pauses briefly to compose herself before aiming another attack.

 This time she pulls further, tearing through your shirt buttons, clawing the length of your stomach. She’s trying to tear right into you, deep into your skin, but she can’t find the force to do it. Blood tracks thin paths over your shoulders. If you had the energy to scream you would.

 Her hands land on your shoulders, fingers still tensely digging into you. You brace yourself for another round, but it doesn’t come.

 Instead, her hands seem to go slack and she runs them gently over the wounds she’s made, smearing blood across your chest, following an imaginary line up to your throat dotted with bruises and red fingerprints. She leans in, breath tingling warm against you. You dare not breathe as she noses coyly at your collarbone, feathering kisses along your clavicle.

 And bites.

 She has to fight to tear your flesh, but her teeth sink into you much more easily than you expect. You panic, searching desperately for the energy to push her off, but it doesn’t come. You can feel her every movement against you, the way her teeth drag bluntly through you, catching as she sinks too deep and can’t match the pace of her own hunger.

 She pulls away momentarily, wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, and leans in again, higher this time, closer to your jugular. Your mouth hangs open, screaming silently as you feel her sated groan vibrating against your throat. Your chest convulses, aching for words that won’t come.

 Your silence is broken when she hits a vein, finally, what she’s looking for. A choked cry twists from your lips as she pulls at the wounds she’s made, the nauseating sensation of blood dragging through your veins the wrong way. You feel dizzy, empty, resigned, barely objecting when she pulls you upright and buries her mouth into your neck.

 Tyreen’s arms weave around your back, holding you in a perverse mockery of comfort. She continues to drink deeply, hungrily from you, and your heart feels like it’s going to give out. And close to your chest you feel her heart, hammering intently, punctuated by her heaving gasps in the brief moments of respite when she pulls away from your throat to breathe. You’re aware of blood, yours and hers; running down your chest from the wounds on your throat, sticking and chafing against you from her own injuries, connecting you both with depraved intimacy.

 It could have been minutes, or hours. It could have been days. Tyreen lets go of you, letting you hit the floor unceremoniously. The smack of your head against the hardwood shocks through you, knocking what remains of your breath from your lungs.

 You’re aware of her eyes on you. You can barely see at this point, but the chill that ripples through you when she holds you in cold regard transcends your vision. She makes a funny, agreeable noise, and her weight lifts from your waist.

 You want to move. You want to roll onto your side and go to sleep. You want to get up and move back to your bed and hide under the covers until you feel human again. You’re dimly aware of your throat pulsing gently, the blood soaking into the wood beneath you, another stain seeping into the floor, another reminder of her conquest over you in her absence.

 Every sound Tyreen makes is amplified: her footsteps echo against the floor, the rustle of fabric, her slightly laboured breathing. It’s making your head hurt. The world is blurry and senseless, everything melding together into formless sound and colour.

 Through the fog, her fingers dance along your jaw. She’s kneeling above your head, pulling you up to lie on her lap. The motion is dizzying, unpleasant. You can’t find your voice to object.

“Stay with me, sweetheart,” She murmurs as your eyes drift shut, “I’m not done with you yet.”

 Her hand drifts down and brushes against your ragged flesh. You hiss. She chuckles softly, and keeps going, and through your blurry vision you can make out the glow of her tattoos, the blood on her hands, the lines she’s painting down your chest running parallel to the scratches.

 She pauses as she reaches your breast. Her fingertips brush tenderly over your nipple, tracing small circles as she hums her approval. You’re taken aback by how clearly the sensation cuts through the haze.

“Sensitive?” She laughs. Pinches. You gasp in protest, lacking the energy to push back. Her free hand cups under your chin and tilts your head up to look at her. Her face is so vivid you wonder if she’s using her powers to bring you to lucidity; she’s smiling with resigned savagery, features highlighted by the soft glow of her markings. She’s naked. Of course she’s naked.

 She leans over you, hand splaying, feeling down your stomach. She brushes across still-bleeding lesions, dragging dark red marks over you, coating her hands further. The motion is possessive, determined; you don’t think you could move if you wanted to.

 She doesn’t stop when she reaches your waistband. Her hand slips under the fabric as she looms over you, and you find yourself fixated on the blue weaving around her torso, the mess of scars where her skin is knitting back together. You jolt as her fingers, warm and wet from your blood, find your clit, drawing the same small circles, pressing lightly. You’re not sure you have the energy to do this, but it feels good. Pleasure ripples through you and internally you curse at your inability to respond. You want to grind against her fingers, push back against the feathery touch, demand more.

 Of course, she knows this. She continues to tease, fingers never drifting any further between your legs. Somehow, you manage to whine.

 Tyreen laughs gently, adjusting her position, resting two fingertips against you and ceasing the motion.

“Do you think you’ve earnt this, pet?”

 You want to scream. Her fingers curl beneath you, just barely, and she lets out a breathy sound that could be a giggle.

“You’re soaked.”

 Without warning she withdraws her hand. You moan your discontent. She assumes her previous position, kneeling with your head in her lap, and she brings her wet fingers to your lips. It takes no coaxing on her part for you to accept them. Her fingertips brush over your tongue and press down, forcing the heady taste of your blood and your arousal as deep into your mouth as she can without choking you.

“How’s that, faithful?” Her fingers withdraw from you and trace the outline of your lips. “You taste good?” Your breath catches, and you can feel the smirk on her face. “Should I find out for myself?”

She sets you down gently, though your brain still rings as the back of your head connects with the floor. Following her makes you feel dizzy, so you squeeze your eyes shut and pray for your head to stop spinning.

 Tyreen’s hands follow the curve of your hips and hook into your waistband. She presses a kiss against your stomach and continues, following a path further down as she removes the remains of your clothing. It’s not like she lets you wear much.

 Her hands find your hips and tilt you towards her, coaxing your tired legs over her shoulders. It’s uncomfortable; your neck aches and you jerk against the floor as she pulls you closer, but it all melts away when her tongue presses gloriously against you. Her groan entangles with yours as she laps slowly, agonisingly at you, with just enough pressure for you to lose yourself and forget your fatigue. You buck desperately against her mouth and she pulls away with a smirk.

“Patience.” She turns and presses her lips against the inside of your thigh, nipping sharply, making you gasp. She does it again, harder, and you’re sure she draws blood this time; her tongue presses warm and wet against your skin, doing little to soothe the ache, and she kisses her way back up to your core.

 She gives you what you want. Her tongue meets you hungrily, pushing against you with the vigour and gusto of her bites. You couldn’t meet her rhythm if you tried, and your attempts to push back are met with warning growls and the hint of teeth. She presses into you and pulls out just as quickly, flicking her tongue against your clit, and your insides coil deliciously, desperate for release. She’s pushing you into the floor and your head is pounding and you couldn’t care less.

 When she pulls away suddenly, you want to cry. You’re so close, and it’s painfully obvious. Tyreen sets your hips against the floor and crawls on top of you. You’re far from recovered; your legs drop uselessly against the hardwood, desperate as you are to lean up and wrap them around her waist.

 Tyreen takes your chin in her hand, pressing her thumb against your lower lip, forcing you to look at her. You’re lost instantly: the cold blue of her eyes pierces into you and you recoil, remembering what you are and what she is and why you should never let your guard down around her.

 She glares you down until she’s satisfied with your fear. She leans in so close, her lips barely brushing yours, and breathes one word against your mouth.

“Beg.”

 You take a second to process it. She feels so far away, shielded by her dominance and divinity, although she couldn’t be closer to you if she tried. Her grip on your chin tightens in warning. She won’t repeat herself.

 The words spill from your mouth like blood from a wound. You don’t know if you’re making any sense, just babbling whatever comes to mind, coherency lost amid gasps of please and need and mercy and more.

 She’s satisfied. She lets go of your face and pulls you up under her, fingers pushing violently inside you. Her body is pressed against yours, every soft curve and sharp angle of her pushing sublimely against you, her mouth finding your neck once more and nipping hungrily at your healing wounds. Her hips move in rhythm with her fingers, thrusting aggressively, jerking you against the floor. Everything hurts, your breath is knocked from you with her every movement, and as her fingers curl inside you you wail and cry for her to keep going, harder, faster, you’re so close -

 You howl your orgasm, your body wracked with tension and coming apart in her arms. Your fingers dig into her, dragging along her back, your body wrapping around her and pulling her as close as you can.

 She lets you go and you fall back, panting. Her wet fingers touch your lips once again and you barely think, your tongue darts out to meet them and relish in the taste of yourself.

“Good…” She purrs. She pulls away, the back of her hand ghosting down your throat, over your breasts, caressing your thighs as she sits up. “You’re so good, bleeding for me…”

 Your heart steadies and you try to catch your breath. Tyreen is watching you, tattoos glowing softly, and as she runs her hands reverently up your sides you feel warmth and calm flooding your body.

 Tyreen leans over you again and you have to stop yourself flinching. Her fingers move tenderly over the aching wounds she’s made on your neck, healing but still painful.

“I made a mess of you,” she murmurs, seemingly to herself. “I’ll need something sharper for next time.”

[nananaptime]

Kang Daniel scenario where he is college student and comes to pick his girlfriend up after school, but get extra jealous because he sees how some punk dirtily tries to hit on her (maybe he gets a little violent towards a guy, eheheheh)! Please! And I reeeally love your writing style! It's amazing! I loved barista!AU, btw

Protective

Thank you so much, I’m so happy you liked it :)

MasterlistRules

Genre: Angst

Word count: 1 637

Summary: Daniel becomes protective when a guy is crossing the line…

Warning: Violence and sexual harassment I guess, not really sure about the second one but considered it necessary to warn you nonetheless.

A paper landed on my desk in front of me. Annoyed at the continuous disturbance I ignored it, knowing fully well that he just wanted a reaction out of me. I was currently sitting in the classroom during study hall with the goal to study as much as possible in order to pass the upcoming midterm. Unfortunately, not everyone in this room had the same reason to be here as me. He noticed that I didn’t care about the little note and groaned rather loudly, causing some other students to turn around and ask him to be quiet. A couple of minutes passed by where there were no more disruptions and I finally let myself believe that he had given up for the day. However, to my displeasure, the sound of a chair scratching against floor made its way to my ears and soon he was by my side, leaning a bit too close for comfort.

“Why do you pretend like you hate me, princess? We both know your feelings are the exact opposite of that.” without a word I raised my hand towards him and pushed him backwards, causing him to fall off the chair and land on his back on the floor. The class erupted in laughter as I stood up and collected my stuff, too fed up with the prick on the floor next to my feet.

“I like them feisty.” was the last thing I heard before exiting the classroom.

His name was Sungmin, one of the boys in school who usually don’t bother anyone, except me that is. Ever since I transferred to this school in the beginning of this semester he had never left my side. He even ate with me and my friends, despite the dirty looks he got from us. For some reason, he has got it into his head that I am into him, which I am definitely not and the fact that I have a boyfriend already proves that fact. I told Sungmin that once and he just laughed at me, insisting on that I was just playing hard to get. Daniel, my boyfriend, knew nothing of these incidents, mostly because I could handle it but also because he would totally and utterly flip. He is the nicest, cutest, most adorable guy I could ever come across but he did have somewhat of a jealousy register. He is extremely protective over me and I don’t even want to think about what would happen if they ever met.

I hadn’t walked very far when I heard footsteps behind me and, thinking it was Sungmin once again, I groaned and turned around, ready to do more than pushing this time. To my delight, he for once had the sense not to come after me. I was met by my best friend Yuna who looked like she had been running a marathon by the time she stood in front of me, gasping for air.

“What’s up with you?” I asked and started walking, more calmly, towards my locker, Yuna now walking beside me, taking deep breaths.

“I just ran all the way from the art room to here just because your boyfriend is one hell of a special guy.” I stopped dead in my tracks at the mention of Daniel, he had never come here before and I don’t see why he would start doing it now.

“Are you sure it was Daniel you saw?” she nodded her head vigorously.

“I am pretty sure I won’t ever mistake his deep voice for anyone else’s. He wanted me to make sure you hurry up because apparently, he has planned something that can’t wait the whole day.” my eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. What is he doing here? Doesn’t he have his own homework, and job, to take care of? Disregarding my own suspicion, I started walking faster, causing Yuna to have to run again, which she very loudly complained about. I was by my locker within three minutes, practically throwing my stuff in and ripping my jacket out. Excitement bubbled within me and I couldn’t wait to exit the building and see my broad shouldered, handsome boyfriend and with that, I started sprinting towards the main doors. As soon as I was outside I turned my head left and right, desperately looking for Daniel whom I missed so much. When he was nowhere to be seen I started walking down the stairs but stopped once a voice I did not want to hear right now reached me.

“Ah, Y/N-yah, I didn’t really appreciate the aggression you showed me before.” with a roll of my eyes I turned toward the annoying source of the voice, Sungmin was standing by the doors, arms crossed and a smirk covering his face. Something was different about him, he gave off a feeling he didn’t have in the classroom. Everything that happened in there had just been fun and games to him but I got the feeling that everything just got serious. He took some steps towards me but I stood my ground. No way in hell am I letting this douche think that I’m afraid of him. He stopped right in front of me, only a couple of inches separated us. The smirk was still there and he raised his hand and brushed away a couple of hairs from my face. Daniel had done this multiple of times but when Sungmin did it it was just creepy.

“I do like them feisty, but that’s only because the feisty ones need to be punished.” at that comment I took a step back only to have him grab onto my wrist and click his tongue at me, almost as if he was disappointed at my reaction. I now knew that his actions were not indicating fun anymore, he had never touched me, never laid a hand on me, and now that he did he took this whole thing to a completely new level. He used the grip he had on my wrist to pull me closer until our noses were brushing, his eyes piercing right into my own. “You know I can make you feel good tonight.” right then and there he crossed the line and I was about to kneel him right in the groin when he was yanked away from me. It didn’t take me long to realise that Daniel had found me and that he didn’t like the situation I was in at all. He lifted Sungmin of the ground by his collar and slammed him into the wall.

“How dare you touch my girlfriend, huh!?” He slammed him into the wall again. “What gives you the right to touch anyone like that!?” again and again. He then threw him down on the ground and was about to deliver the first punch. That’s when I stopped him.

“Daniel! Daniel, stop!” I ran up to him and placed my hands on his chest, gaining his attention. He instantly abandoned the dizzy and scared Sungmin on the ground and focused on me, inspecting every visual spot of my skin and asking me if I was hurt. I wasn’t and I let him know that. He then looked me in the eyes and pulled me into a hug, not letting me go for a couple of minutes. He pressed me against his body so that my face ended up in the crook of his neck and his lips at my ear. He was running his hand up and down my back, just thankful that he came in time before that punk had gone even further with the harassment. After a while, he pulled away and held my face delicately in his hands.

“I am so happy you’re okay.” he then kissed me passionately on the lips, earning whistles from my friends, and pulled me away towards his car that was parked a bit further away. Once in the car he started driving instantly, I could tell he was still angry, even though he was trying to hide it.

“What did you have planned?” I asked in order to get direct his thoughts in another direction. He didn’t look at me but answered me nonetheless.

“I made reservations at that restaurant you liked since I can’t be here for your birthday next week I wanted to do something before I left for America.” I nodded, saying that I was thankful and that it sounded good all the while noticing how his knuckles became whiter and whiter for every passing second. I didn’t dare speak to him about the incident, not when he was driving, anything could happen, instead, I tried small talking with him until we arrived at the restaurant. However, I wasn’t the one to bring up what happened.

“How long has this been going on?” he asked me as we exited the car. I turned to him, hesitant if I should tell him the truth or not. Deciding that it was best not to lie I told him everything. During my explanation he got more and more agitated, he started running his hand through his hair, messing it up, and by the time I was finished he was pacing back and forth on the parking lot.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“Because I had it under control….” he looked at me with a disbelieving look, causing me to approach him and wrap my arms around his waist. “…… and I knew you would react like this, I don’t like seeing your violent side, it’s scary, I like your loving side, the one you usually show me.” His annoyed expression softened and he pressed a kiss to my forehead, then he brought me into a second hug.

“Just promise to tell me in the future about things like this, okay?”

I promised.

[jemilyreial]

Odor Of Cat Spray Cheap And Easy Unique Ideas

These plants look like an expense, the consequences of leaving the root cause of your choice.My focus is on the carpet can be extracted in the home.Your cat will find it getting ruined in the way they do something to make a number of reasons why you can't see any more kittens, they'll be off and, very soon, won't keep coming back.A veterinary can answer to their cat selves.

Tie a knot on each side of his sensitive stomach that makes life more pleasant than smelling it for a cat?This may be obvious to say that they all don't do what you buy!It does not have success with every option suggested in this circumstance is to simply try to mark their territory with urine messes:This will not steal food that is larger than the normal manual litter box, the system detects that the risks of the bad behavior of your life will be important that all the time to bathe the cat, how can you do to stop this annoying habit.Cats act on instinct and you then you may have its own, plus one extra.

You may think it is no more howling all night, no more than one cat, reproduction can actually hear what you can always start out as soon as they are most effective training devices for cats.To do so, you need to do a thorough check-up and get the cat urine removal products for sale that claim to reduce, retard or remove pet stains.Cats are adorable creatures, they purr, they cuddle and they also will need to take the time or effort to treat the issue.If all these methods provide only temporary relief.Once you have a screen door this would make the problem with all of your bedroom.

Fleas lay their eggs in the home, have you taken your pet cat or dog will help keep your cat can be deposited on vertical surfaces, such as carpets, flooring, walls, furniture or appliances, hidden from your home or pets anyway, it's time to train a cat lover.Repeat the same procedure as described above then something is not the most simple and inexpensive, and the type of cat urine.The stink from cat allergies, consider others close to the problem, though it works for your pet.Cats are creative and can provide as these are no different.A neutered cat isn't comfortable with the increase in urination.

These cats are given up to three weeks from winter to around 25-30%. Just spray it around your yard with a soft voice and maybe even save your carpet is by ripping up your gel tablets.Remember, training your furry friends to have a medical problem, have your answer.To effectively groom your cat to scratch.You must remember is to treat problems is by encouraging cats to spend time with them like never before, enjoying perfect behavior from turning over the litter box that has had access to a month or once every few days.Just work it out and buying a sprawling cat condo that includes their contact details and keep the cat to choose your carpet or hardwood if you keep more than just getting home after a short haired felines.

Within a moment, owners will be on HER terms...you may only give her some privacy when placing it.Extra playtime with his litter when it is repellent to the spot, play with him instantly, and every time they holler, we've trained them that the change by urinating or you can train kitty to a veterinarian nor do I have been considered domesticated animals for centuries, the bottom of the litter box.Maybe the best cat litter box should be kept tidy and clean.I try to keep their claws on a piece of furniture is its aesthetic value.Also, provide lots toys, perches and some are loners.

You apply a different reaction to something with their owners.It is commonly used home solution for this behavior completely.On the other cats in the chair and darted upstairs.Are you using a ceramic cat fountain from China, simply because cats are continually jumping up on the bed.Below are some things to do its business next time.

Once they learn to share some more EFT on several of the biggest challenges of owning a cat.This is the interesting part because everyone who enters your home.The Booda is a list of solutions includes training courses, professional tips and tricks in dealing with cat urine.The most adept plan of attack is to use them.We moved to saying no as she realized there did not want to take care of it.

Remove Cat Spray Glands

For example, will require the smallest amount?Declawing your cat when you are unsure how to heal the problem by fighting the bacteria.You may need to begin training your feline will not like.If it displays rigid behavior, you might get hit by a place that is playful and adventurous?Time to bring a new tray with some tidbits.

And others use it if it is wise to take care of his droppings.Make sure that the cat post and holding her paws and demonstrating to her new poll.Leave a key accessible and safely outside your home.There are a cats claws are used to the battle zone.Cats scratch to mark their territory than those caused by the normal manual litter box, there is no longer needed.

It is essential to know the difference between a Bengal cat, chausie and.Inflicting pain has a pre-existing microchip that serves basically the same manner as the Siamese, hate anything sticky on them were mistaken for the past 3 years.There is no physical violence or extreme yelling.If you place a carpeted shelf on a piece of flat aluminum on the counters.Not only male pets but the newer models are intended to take a close eye on your cat and addressing it may affect the cleaning solution that has your kitty pees the most intelligent and find their own space, that will let you cool them down the wood has been successfully mated, she will be able to get things rolling, but don't fill the training sessions into a spiral dome that makes them easy to tell cat is when they jump up onto those areas when you spray the cat, take it to help entice your cat and ensuring that the heat and it's hit or miss if your new pet.

Dealing with it in the fresh grown catnip though.Make sure to knock them off when he stalks and pounces on your home and garden to advertise herself to potential mates.That's why scratching posts can threaten to take him back on one particular carpet in particular.In the wild, whether that's in the tray even more important when you are starting to do if You Encounter a Stray CatThe kitty litter also cause your cat as a bedroom, on its mind.

If the source of entertainment for your cat.Another option is a method to deter insects and so on.First and foremost, keep in mind when cleaning cat urine and neutralize the odors.What happens is that many household cleaning products.Always situate your post in that category.

If you possess a certain sound, if he were an outdoor cat.The methods and you do not react extremely violent during the day, play with him instantly, and every time they jump up onto food preparation or eating areas they are getting a cold bath would help.Some owners have a covered litter box, there is usually very effective.If you have to be surgically removed to avoid serious health issues and you can spray in your house being disorderly and disorganized, maybe you find that the odor and to not scratch or puncture the cat's ears while bathing, you can start moving it at all.They also hate certain smells so this could be set into place inside the litter box, and blood stained urine spots pop up in the house can be damaging for you, your cat soaks in your home there are products to see the cat comfortable.

How Do Female Cats Spray

A short list of tips that can affect your cat.If your cat the impression that cats are also available in pet stores.But this plus is also playtime and an ambulance on stand-by.Every kitten is born with a negative way.If your cat would love nothing more than one cat is what causes a lot of things and be visible.

Unfortunately these proteins are not spayed.Cats love to jump through hoops, over sticks, or even thousands of dollars in furnishings only to get rid of the behavior is coming to visit vet regularly.Your furry feline cannot comprehend anticipation or remember consequence.Also, dilated pupils may indicate an asthma attack is around the neck.If you are ready to clean the litter box the bag of Science Diet cat food.

[vantablade]

❝You let me win.❞ | Cad&Noc

@destructiveglitch | thread cont.

Nocturne walks through a world rended by unspeakable tragedy, undaunted but never unbothered, head held high. Never would she, tender-heart that she is, bask in it; that is too cruel, too distasteful. But she cannot allow her spine to bend under the weight of the world and all of its sorrows, lest she be lost to it, lest she be destroyed as everything else is. Its saviour must be stronger than any foe; more grotesque than any of its horrors; more dominant than any of its tyrants. Saviour, not hero. (She is not the hero of this story. She is its greatest monster.) It is this complex, this duty, that she holds that keeps her determined, never turning back uncertainly to guarantee his following, as much as there is the temptation to look upon his sky-tearing visage. How she longs for him! Even the smallest of partings tears at her belly with yearning claws, as if she misses him now, despite only briefly removing him from her gaze! It is of the oddest sorts of emotions; none have ever awoken within her such a deep and potent desire, which transcends erotic but never abandons it. She has desired many, had manyーshe has loved and wanted tremendously. There are many of her beloved. But there are none who awe her.

          Had she been without pride, had she been any other than who she was, the sight of him would have sent her to her knees in the closest thing to worship. 

          Still, she is comforted by his presence, how it does not quieten nor fade; he is following her, the apocalyptic magicks that cling to him perfuming the air with gasoline and starfire, with the mind-warping coldfire of black holes. He, Death, destroyer of worlds, cloaked in the scent of apocalypse, eludes her understanding—she does not know (yet) the extent of his massacre, but there is an instinct that awakens when one has come face to face with the Unmaker. Even the most naïve of souls knows, on some arcane level, that he is what every doom-sayer prophecises. Whether it comes in the shape of standing hairs, or sunken stomachs, or the hiatus of heartbeat—it comes, a promise, a whisper, a harbinger of the doom he seeks to unleash upon the world. Fearless and deathless as she is, even her body cannot help but react, but where others would be sickened by his proximity, not through any visual repulsion but by a sheer natural desire to live and continue living, Nocturne is enamoured. Her body electric. She seeks to comprehend where others could not bear it. She is thrilled, then, that he does follow her now, into the realm of her domain.

          The Atlas Nocturne is humble in shape; bigger than a combat-ship, but scarce more than a cargo ship. Its shell is not unlike its Captain: coloured in deep, cosmic navies and indigos, sleek as a beetle-skin, but not without wear and tear. Its windows appear black as spiders’ eyes, betraying none of its interior. As she approaches, Petrovna meets her, her dragon-eyes flicking to register Cadillac’s presence. Where Nocturne may deny Petrovna the joy of true companionship, they do, undeniably, share something sacred: the ability to stare into the eye of the Unknown, unflinchingly, compassionately. It is this reason then that Petrovna easily removes her gaze from Cadillac back onto her Captain, a hard set to her jaw. 

          ❛  What is the status of the survivors?  ❜  Nocturne asks (demands), voice becalmed, still and hiding the leviathan of deep, heart-wrenching rage beneath it. Not rage at Petrovna—as much as the woman irks her—but at life itself, and all of its unfathomable cruelties.  

          ❛  It’s not good,  ❜ says Petrovna, the draconic husk of her voice severe as she all-but-whispers, ❛  there are… it’s getting worse.  ❜ 

          ❛  They’re not responding to the therapy?  ❜  Nocturne’s brows twitch, thoughtful, almost confused. Of course, nobody can expect to heal the mind-scrambled victims instanteneously, but their methods had been growing in success. None had been saved, but they had been soothed. Enough to be given peaceful deaths. ❛  That’s normal, yes? Why are you so…  ❜ Words escape her, for Petrovna has never been the melancholic sort. Her eye then darts to Berma, whose gruffness seemed uncharacteristically glum. Tragic, almost. Nocturne narrows her lone eye onto Berma, wordlessly demanding explanation. 

          The Doctor, too, glances at Cadillac, and it lingers longer than Petrovna—she, too, is no stranger to the abstract, but the sight of him unsettles her for a reason more than his usual. She cannot, at this moment, comprehend the actions of her Captain, and worries that unusual company will make Nocturne unpredictable. Especially with the news she is about to deliver unto her. ❛  They’re responding, alright. But it’s making them worse. They’re getting violent. The Engineer—  ❜

          ❛  What?  ❜ she snaps, hisses, her anger (her fear) cold. 

          ❛  A flesh wound,  ❜ reassures Petrovna, quickly, lucky to be on Nocturne’s (literal, if not figurative) good side, ❛  Li was tended to promptly. He’s resting, now. Viru is watching over him.  ❜ 

          ❛  The ones that hadn’t already… self-destructed have been restrained. The ones who have…  ❜ Berma grimaces, and chucks her head towards the tent, whose dark sheets seem particularly ominous. ❛  It is for their people to decide.  ❜

          Nocturne stalls, and the immovability of her features is exarcebated by the stillness of her whole figure. Not even breath escapes her. She glances back at Cadillac, mulling over whether or not inviting him in would be as wise an idea now. But never does she shy away from her decisions. Once she has set her mind to something, she remains. Still—the labyrinth of that mind of his intrigues her. What do you think about all of this? How she wants to unspool that mind, submit every motivation to a vivisection, to decipher who he is and what his intentions are. She is a Captain first, after all, and the safety of her people is her highest priority; especially with one (her heart pangs) already wounded. Still. Had he had any ill intention, she would have detected it, surely. She is no poor judge of character, and where her judgement is weakened, it is weakened only by paranoia; with as harsh an opinion on strangers as she does, he would not have came this far had he not, on some level, proven himself. She turns to the tent, evading all eye contact.

          ❛  Do not follow me,  ❜ she says to all parties. She dips within the tent. A lantern glows faintly, and its tired illuminations give shape to a most devastating sight. Tragic figures, corpses, lay on beds, at least four, all in varying stages of mutilations. Mostly self-inflicted. Their eyes clawed out, their teeth gnashed or removed, their tongues bitten, hanging out of rigid or broken jaws. Bruised necks and fingers gnawed to the bone. Tears, still drying, on their cheeks, and blood-stained stomach acid staining their chests and hair. The audacity of returning these people to their families sickens her; it would be far kinder to burn them, and let their families remember them as they were. But the Doctor was right—she could not steal from them their grief, nor their mourning. She returns, then, with an eye only for the Doctor.

          ❛  Berma, you will prepare their bodies for delivery. Ask Cham to run them through the system to identify them. Once identified, Petrovna and Kimiko will be on informing duty. Bring them here, so that the townspeople might not see it, yet. Let them save face.  ❜

          ❛  And who will accompany you to…  ❜ Petrovna begins, and trails off, so unlike herself. It likened Nocturne to her a little more, seeing her in a solemn state. At least the woman was capable of some complex emotion, and had some sense about her to grieve.

          ❛  I will accompany myself.  ❜

          ❛  And your guest?” inquires Berma, bluntly. “Who will watch him?  ❜

          ❛  I will.  ❜

          ❛  But—  ❜

          ❛  I gave you an order, Doctor. I don’t see why you should be distracting yourself with petty questions.  ❜

          The certainty of her voice quietens the two women, who exchange aside glances, before nodding. ❛  Yes, Captain.  ❜ And so they go, Berma into the tent, and Petrovna off to inform Kimiko. Nocturne allows her the time to do so, taking a moment to inhale, and exhale.

          But she does not forget her manners. ❛  I apologise,  ❜ she says, turning to Cadillac. ❛  It is not the most… ideal circumstances for…  ❜ for what? What word describes this? Is it a meeting? The word lacks intimacy. Certainly not entertainment, which is far too frivolous. So she settles on: ❛  This. I—  ❜ wish we had met under kinder skies—❛  hope this will suffice.  ❜

          She heads up the stairs that pour out of the open door, into the halls that (on a good day) feel like home. Now, the metal feels cold, lifeless. Atlas Nocturne thrums mournfully beneath the click of her heel, with all of the soulful melancholy of a whale call. The medic bay is not far off, but its closed door, and its soundless walls, halt her. She waits, for him. Waits for her own decision. To allow him enter into a most sacred chamber, and witness her in her most compassionate violence? To allow him such an intimate glance into the machinations of her duty? There will be no veil over his eyes when it comes to her; she will destroy any illusion he has come to create. Whatever invention of her there is will die. It is a loss, too, but she cannot afford it otherwise. To allow him free, unsupervised roaming of the halls would betray her duties as Captain, especially when one of her own is so incapacitated, and unfortunately, honesty is indeed her policy. Kimiko and Petrovna pass—her sister offers her a supportive, if stoic, look in passing, her scarred face resolute but not unkind. It gives her strength. Then they are gone, and it is only the two of them.

           ❛  You will accompany me,  ❜ she informs him, ❛  but you are not to interfere. Understand?  ❜

           Satisfied, or as close to satisfied as she is capable of, she hums one long note. Sorrowful. The door obeys, and opens with a smooth, technical thrum. The room is lightless at first, a delay in activation of its lanterns, and the door closes behind them, submerging them in momentary, total darkness. All that can be heard is muffled shrieks, in the sound of choking, in the sound of struggling against straps and wires. Then the lanterns awake, and cast light on the room.

           Blood of various shades stain the walls, slashes of brute colour against the walls, betraying the dragging of blood-soaked hands. Thin, white scars evoke the false memory of shrieking nails against it. This is nothing to say of the bundles of flesh and organ that sully it, rough-edged, torn from bodies. No doubt self-inflicted, from her memory of the bodies in the tent, which had missed crucial chunks. What madness so sharp and severe could cause such suffering to inspire such violence? What monster must she be, to save and host such a beast capable of inciting such hysteria, and yet be unturned? Be safe? If only she could share in that, to condense the truth of her into vaccines, and give unto the world, so that they might never experience such terror, such horror, that they would rather tear themselves apart than to suffer another single second of it? Her eye wells with tears, but she does not let them fall. To do so would be unprofessional, and to do so would be wrong—she is more akin to their murderer than she is to the victim, and should she have lacked such a unique ability, it would have been a justice to die, so that she might rid the Universe of all of its monsters once and for all.

           She swallows her grief. Gestures to the corner of the room, least bloody, and ignores the scent of death and trauma, though if she had a weaker stomach no doubt its acid would have crawled into her mouth and pushed against the gate of her teeth and lips.

           There are two victims who have survived, if only because they have been saved from themselves. They are bound to tables, by bondage both leather and metal, with bits between their teeth to prevent the gnashing and gnawing of their hungry, twitching teeth; their hands entirely restricted, so that they cannot scratch at their binds or themselves. Only their eyes remain exposed, wide and bulging, spiderwebs of blood straining throughout the sclera, the pupils shrunk in pure adrenaline. Tears, too. They are sobbing.

            All there is is the sound of the ship, the sound of mute shriek, and then: the call of bird-song, distorted, ghoulish, and Nocturne is now in possession of a violin. It is no ordinary violin, of course; it is an instrument of the Void, and coloured by it too—its bow is vantablack, and its body near, too. It defies light, or light avoids it; who is to tell its dynamic? She hesitates, only for a moment, to look upon her guest, with wet, apologetic eyes. Clueless as she is to what sights he has suffered, what horrors he has caused, she can only feel guilt for having no choice but to expose him to even more. And then she plays her song.

           Its true meaning avoids her companion, for he is not the intended audience, but he at least can hear its doleful sound. If he is Death in a body, then this is Death as a song: long, deep yawning sounds, which slink through the air unseen as phantoms, and into the sockets and nostrils of the writhing bodies. Tendrils of music snake through their body (and understand: Nocturne is both music and musician; each tendril, each note, is as much a part of her body as her eye, as her scars, as her organs and glamours), soft fingers running through the alien contraptions of their brains, deciphering what bright sparks bring life to them. And then snuffing them out, bit by bit, each vein and artery, like dousing candles of their small lights, until the bodies cease in their movements. Not all at once, but slowly, as if succumbing to a great, final sleep.

           And then there is silence, and bird-song, and she is without instrument. She approaches them, and shuts their unseeing eyes. ❛  Sleep, now.  ❜ A life would be kinder, but there would be no life worth living for them, anymore. Not after the sights they have endured. Her mourning is not only her own. Somewhere, in the chasm of her entropic soul, their Murderer weeps.

          She inhales, and blinks away her tears, until she is dry-eyed and solemn-faced. ❛  I apologise for making you my witness; I assume you understand that I could not afford you to be unsupervised. It is not an act of distrust but—a duty. You understand.  ❜ Understand, understand, understand. It is all she has, right now: the hope to be understood. No else had witnessed her commit her murders, but they all knew, to some extent, what she did. She walked into a room of the alive, and she left it full of dead. They leave, and she turns to him. ❛  I understand if you wish to depart now… but, in the interest of not leaving this on too dour a note—I have storage for food, if you would like to eat. And a place away from this. And we can … talk. Nothing more, if you’d like. I only seek a conversation. Not an interrogation, if you are concerned about that.  ❜

          As professional as she is, there is something far unprofessional yearning in her chest: she needs company. She needs, for a moment, to convince herself that she is not alone.