#i will answer the rest of the asks eventually

[zletros-creations]

(Meant to finish this the next day, but oh well, here we go.)

I dreamt of incessant laughter and clinking gold, only to realize that it was not a dream and that I was slowly being roused from sleep. My eyes shot open, and I roared as my heavy hand slammed down around the child who had made a hill out of gold in order to slide down. They fell due to the tremor and landed squarely on their rump. Surely, that would mean something to them, but the child only beemed up at me with a smile that could blind. I groaned in frustration and lifted the child again, this time by their arm, and I was not particularly careful not to sever it. But I did make sure to apply enough pressure to cause pain, and yet, they showed no sign of it, I'd heard of such a curse, mortals whose bodies wouldn't warn them of the perils of pain, or death. And this child clearly had no experience with either.

I released them several feet above the ground and let them hit the cold stone. They stumbled and struggled to their feet, and they finally showed an expression that was not infuriating joy. They showed understanding, as if they had realized for the first time ever that their body was fallible, and all it took was a sprained ankle and possibly a dislocated knee, but what they did next shocked even I. They sat, and with one hand holding the leg steady, the other pushed with all its might their knee, and a loud pop followed. After rolling their knee a few times, they stood proud and jumped up with their hands outstretched towards me. "Again, again!"

I could do nothing, then, but let out a bellowing laugh that shook the very mountain. The child laughed hard alongside me. I brought an eye down to finally fully look at them. "You are small, but I hesitate to say that you are without might! Maybe the gods sent you here because they knew only I could foster such peerless mortal spirit! Very well, clearly the toil of mortal living is beneath you, so I shall teach you of draconian dominance and to master the art of plunder!" I picked the child up once again, but this time with great care. "But first, you must be given a name befitting of a dragon kin, hmm... I shall call you... Dalekonir!"

"Dalkiner!" The child attempted to echo.

"Close enough," I brought the child to a corner of my den and unleashed my fire breath into the wall. Eventually, a burrow formed large enough to consider it a room just a few feet from the floor. I used my talons to carve out a ladder from the ground to the cavity and placed the child inside. "This will be your den. Protect it with your life, and of course," I grabbed a small handful of gold and dropped it at the feet of the child, "every dragonkin requires a hoard, this is a good start but we will grow it soon enough."

After that, Dalekonir and I flew off to a nearby village. Houses of wood and straw didn't last a moment against my firey breath, and I had intentionally left one building untouched. It had the hallmark signs of a blacksmith, an art which I, or moreso Dalekonir, required. I landed outside the business and demanded the inhabitants come before me. Soon after, a large man exited the building, tears and hatred in his eyes.

"Are you this hamlet's blacksmith!?" He grimmaced. I slammed my hand down in front of him. "Answer me! Or I burn your home like the rest and go find another!"

"What does a wyrm want with my craft!?" I huffed and lowered my wings to the earth. Without prompting, Dalekonir slid down my wing from off my back and landed squarely on the ground. They marveled at the burning houses and seemed to entirely ignore the dying screams. If my biology had allowed it, I would have smiled at the blacksmith as he saw in the horror the child's joy.

"They require arms and armor. Will you make it?" I asked not as a request, but a warning. He looked at me in disbelief.

"She- she's a child, even if I made her armor, she'd outgrow it by winter!"

"Obviously!" I snapped. "If you made it out of steel or Iron, that is."

"Then what magical material would you have it made from?"

I flicked my razorsharp talons. "I'd have you make it from my own scales. It will fuse to her flesh, grow alongside her, break her, and build her back stronger."

"You monster! She'll suffer! She'll hate you, and one day, she will be your undoing." I laughed, and the blacksmith flinched.

"I am not the only monster in your midst! She feels no pain, she fears no peril, and now I have all but confirmed, she knows no sympathy!" We both looked upon Dalekonir as she poked the charred corpses of a mother and her child. Giggling as they fell apart. The blacksmith's expression soured greatly. "Do me this service, and you shall be spared alongside your family, deny me, and I think you should know." I opened my mouth, and a bright orange glow emanated from the back of my throat. The blacksmith looked down in defeat.

I removed several scales from my forearm and cauterized the wound with my breath. The blacksmith took the girl for measurements and began working my scales. He worked tirelessly for days while I oversaw his progress, scarce letting him retreat into his home, only when he collapsed did I let him sleep. By the end of the week, he presented to me the final product. A little big, but that hardly mattered. I took the armor and Dalekonir and before I flew off, I delivered to the blacksmith a healthy ox, to help them relocate.

Back at my lair, Dalekonir needed little convincing to don the armor. Once she had put it on, I had her stand perfectly still as I recited words no dragon ever expects to utter. An ancient rite used to turn mortals dragonborn. A downright forbidden ritual to most, but I credit all I have to the gods, and in all my experience, this is what they wanted by sending this child to me. As the ritual was spoken, Dalekonir's heart glowed, and they couldn't help but laugh at what should have burned like hellfire, but to them I'm certain it felt more like a mother's embrace. My own heart began to glow, and it felt as though I was being repeatedly struck by the electric breath of a blue dragon. The armor began to shrink and fit tightly to Dalekonir's skin, and their uproarious laughter grew and deepened. Once the words were finished being spoken, I lowered my head to barrage the newly scale-clad child with intense flame. They made a flowing motion with their hands and curled their fingers slowly, watching the flame flow around them in complete awe. Finally, I closed my mouth. And Dalekonir was newly Dragonborn.

Fierce as any dragon, and twice as daring, the name Dalekonir would ring out through history as a conquerer, a dragon tamer and slayer, and good friend of the most fearsome red dragon across all the earth.

You are a centuries-old dragon, respected by many and feared by all. You've seen many things in your life. Never has a child wandered into your den. Never has a child gazed up at you in awe and deemed you a 'giant scaly puppy.' You are unsure of how to handle this.

[owuwi]

JACKIE TAYLOR.ᐟ

➤ jackie taylor x loser!fem!reader hcs

⤷ cw: no crash au, bullying, nothing romantic happens yet

✦ part two (coming soon...)

──────────────────────

── .✦ jackie who always had her eye on you. she was worried about you since she had never seen you with any friends, and the only people who approached you only did so to shove you against the lockers. the need to protect others came natural to her, though she chose to wait a bit with you. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who regretted her decision the moment she heard how jeff and his friends talked about you. she was used to the boys talking horrible about almost everyone at school, yet it didn't mean she liked their immature behavior. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who ignored her boyfriend's "warnings" about you and tried talking to you one day in class. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who couldn't understand why she felt so nervous to talk to you. what if you thought she was messing with you? she tried not to overthink about it too much—it was only making her even more nervous and it was very likely for you to notice her weird behavior—. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who quietly sat down next to you in spanish class and stared at you for fifteen minutes, her eyes not once leaving the pen you were holding onto and using to draw on your left hand, before eventually speaking up, . ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who thought asking you about the upcoming project was going to be a great way of getting to know you. truth be told, she had watched way too many rom-coms where the popular one asks the nerdy one to study and they end making out instead. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie whose eyes widened the moment she questioned herself on why she thought about those movies. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who managed to talk to you without making her stutter noticeable, though having a hard time maintaining eye contact. the sentence "i was wondering if you could help me out with the project. maybe we could even do it together?" had never made the girl shake in her seat until that moment. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who felt a pang in her chest the moment you asked her if she was joking, her answer—"no! of course not"—immediately leaving her lips without any sort of hesitation. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who swore the class was way too short than it usually was. did she seriously spent that long gaining the courage to talk to you? ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who didn't help with your skepticism as she said a quick goodbye before grabbing her stuff and rapidly walking out of the classroom. what you didn't know was how she immediately cursed herself under her breath for acting so stupid in front of you. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who was dying to see you again and show you a more normal behavior, and whose wants were accomplished—yet not in the way she expected—. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who didn't hesitate in defending you the moment she saw the way a guy pinned you against the locker and snatched your portapros off your head, anger bubbling inside of her as she watched the asshole snap your headphones in half. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

"hey! what is wrong with you?" she immediately asked, rushing over to where you were and pushing the guy away from you. "you're going to buy her new ones, got it?" she added, her tone firm and leaving no room for doubt.

"whatever, jackie." the guy simply said, rolling his eyes and walking away from the scene—clearly not taking the girl's words seriously—.

── .✦ jackie who didn't want to leave you alone for the rest of the day. she needed to make sure you were okay, even if that meant following you around like a lost puppy. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who understood why you were quieter than usual. not only were you not used to having her presence around but you were also really mad about what just happened. jackie knew how much you used your headphones and how much you enjoyed music. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who knew she had to face a very confused jeff after school. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

"so... i heard something went down earlier. what exactly happened?" he asked her, shifting on his bed and getting closer to jackie to rest his head on her stomach. "and what were you thinking?" he quickly continued, clearly feeling worried about his girlfriend.

"she's a nice girl. what do you all have against her?" she snapped, looking down at the boy with a heartbroken gaze.

── .✦ jackie who couldn't wrap her mind around jeff's "reasons"; they didn't even make any sense! she tried to make him see how childish he was acting yet he wouldn't listen, which ended up in the couple having an argument. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who started getting closer to you. whether it was small talking in the hallways or sitting down with you at lunch, she loved spending time with you. you were such a kind soul and she truly wanted to get to know you more. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who didn't care how many times she had to swear she wasn't pulling a prank on you, she'd do whatever was necessary to make you feel comfortable around her. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who immediately felt oh so happy the moment you looked out for her to show her the new spider-man 2099 comic you got. she didn't know shit about spider-man, especially not that one, but seeing how excited you were to talk about it was the only thing that mattered to her. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who wasn't expecting the yellowjackets to bring up her new friendship with you. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

"how's it going with your uh... little friend?" tai asked jackie, clearly trying her best to hold back a smirk—though her tone of voice said it all. "great!" she quickly replied, looking at her teammates with a bright smile plastered on her face.

"isn't she the reason why you fought with jeff?" shauna asked, not realizing how easily her words could get misunderstood. van couldn't help but let out a laugh; the rest of the girls looking at each other—confused. "uh yeah. i just don't get why he has to be such a dick sometimes." the locker room went silent again. the girls had seen you around and most of them started greeting you after seeing how already close you were to jackie.

"i mean, shit, the two of you are really close." nat intervened, scratching the back of her head before jolting as lottie smacked her shoulder. "we're happy you two are friends. she seems—... interesting." lottie spoke up, a tight smile forming on her lips.

── .✦ jackie who didn't understand why her friends were acting so weird about you; she couldn't stop thinking about what nat said. the two of you had indeed gotten really close to each other, not even discussing about the spanish project anymore, but what was wrong with that? she knew there was something else her team was referring to, and a small part of her knew what it was. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who couldn't stop thinking about you. you were her friend, of course it was normal for certain stuff to remind her of you. whether it was something as obvious as a comic book or as simple as a dinosaur plushie, you suddenly invaded her mind. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who didn't think twice when she saw the new audio techina model; the new headphones worth $800. she knew you were going to lose your mind and she couldn't wait to see you again. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who started realizing how giddy she felt when she thought about you and your cute mannerisms. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

[aroselaine]

Sex Curse

Masterlist, AO3 Cas x AFAB!fem!Reader Word count: 5.4k Summary: Castiel gets hit with a sex curse on a hunt. He goes to you with the hope you have the cure 🤭

Content: smut!! sex curse (f*ck or die), praise kink, making out, body worship, p in v sex, innocent cas, cas loses his virginity, switch!castiel, breast play, cowgirl, missionary, oral sex fem!recieving, cumplay, no use of Y/N

A/N - YALL I AM SICK this has to be the freakiest thing I've ever written ;) This is the fic from the last poll and the finished version of Sex Curse (Sneak Peek), I'm so sorry it took a bit but I hope this makes up for it ☺️ Also PS click HERE to join the tag list!!

On the outside, the case didn’t seem like anything special. The article titled "Two Victims Found Dead in Cult-Like Ritual" had caught your attention. After arriving in the small town, you quickly discovered a witch who was targeting virgins and using their blood for spellwork. It was nasty, but unfortunately common in your line of work. As the designated researcher of the Winchester duo, you figured you'd be of little to no use in this case.

Your days often consisted of long library stays and obscure lectures from forgotten professors. And while you occasionally joined a hunt, you’d be lying if you said it was where your natural talents lay.

Sam, Dean, and Cas had left hours ago. You’d offered to accompany them, but they claimed it wasn’t necessary. Someone needed to “protect home base,” as Dean had put it. Home base being a motel room that hadn’t been remodeled since the 70s. In reality, you knew they just wanted you researching the ever looming apocalypse 24/7—but you didn’t mind. It gave you an uninterrupted evening, which was incredibly rare on the road.

You sat cross-legged on the bed, a book resting in your lap, humming softly to yourself as you scribbled down notes. Having long since changed out of your typical day to day outfit, you wore only a tank top and some boy short underwear. With the boys out, you had the freedom to wear whatever you pleased and you were not wasting the opportunity. The Book of Enoch sat open before you. You had read the book far too many times, but with the issue at hand, you decided it needed a closer look. It was an ancient Jewish religious text that fascinated you with its descriptions of demon origins, the fall of angels, and the birth of Nephilim. You thought of Castiel as you read—your own personal angel and greatest philosophical resource. You wondered if he had seen what was depicted… if he had participated.

Your thoughts were cut off as your phone rang loudly from the bedside table. Flipping it open, you saw the screen flash DEAN OTHER PHONE and clicked Answer.

“Hey Dean, everything alright?” you asked casually.

“No. Listen—something went wrong. It’s Cas.” He spoke quickly, voice gruff. “The witch hit him with a spell and he’s—” Dean cut himself off.

“He’s what?” Your voice clipped, fear bubbling up inside you.

He sighed over the phone. “Look, I think we’ve seen something like it before. He’ll be fine, but the curse is a bitch.”

“What is it, Dean?” You were already getting off the bed, ready to prepare ingredients for whatever cure you’d need to make.

“It’s a sex curse.” His words made you freeze. “It’ll wear off eventually… after he—you know. We were gonna try getting him a chick at the local bar, but he’s refusing.”

You were silent for a moment as your brain caught up. “So if he doesn’t have sex, then what?” your voice was meek.

“He’ll die. At least we think so. I’m not sure if it’s different for angels.” Dean groaned, and you could picture him running a hand over his face in exasperation. “I wouldn’t have called you if I didn’t need to.”

Your heart stopped.

“We told him it wasn’t a good idea, but he wants to go to you. He thinks you might be able to find a cure in time."

“Dean—I’ve never seen anything like this. I don’t even know where to begin—”

A fluttering of wings behind you made you pause.

You hung up the phone and turned around.

You felt your chest constrict at the sight in front of you. Castiel stood stiffly in the center of your motel room, his eyes darting around until they landed on you. He looked disoriented, and you watched as a painful looking shiver racked his body.

“Castiel” you spoke softly, as if speaking to a wild animal.

His eyes stayed trained on you as his brows furrowed. “Something’s wrong.”

You took a slow step toward him. “I know. Dean told me. You were hit with a curse.”

His hands twitched at his sides. “I thought I was injured, but there’s no wound. It just… burns. I no longer feel in control of my vessel.” He closed his eyes, jaw tightening. “I’m trying to heal myself but it isn’t working.”

“Okay–” you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t know what Dean told you, but I don’t know how to fix this,” you admitted, walking over to the spell books you had open on the nearby desk. You grabbed the most promising one, and flipped through it. 

“I’ve read about lust spells, compulsion magic—but this? This sounds more advanced than anything I know. Do you happen to know what the witch said when she cursed you, Dean didn’t say on the phone.” you asked, looking up from the book. Castiel’s eyes darkened slightly as he tried to focus on your words, but there was something hazy behind his gaze — like he couldn’t quite pay attention, his eyes drifting up and down your body. You felt your cheeks heat up as you remembered what you were wearing, knowing it certainly wasn’t helping.

“I… don’t know what she said,” he admitted, voice strained. “There was blood. Symbols. She pressed her hand to my chest and whispered something—It might have been latin. And then it started.”

You nodded, flipping frantically through the spellbook, scanning for anything remotely similar. You were met with pages on siren magic, succubi, enchantment sigils—but nothing that described this exact situation.

“Well, we know it’s a sex curse.” you said carefully, eyes flicking up to him.

He blinked, confused. “I don’t understand. What does that mean?”

You hesitated, your fingers freezing mid-turn on the page. “It’s… a spell that targets desire. It forces your body to crave intimacy. Physical release. And if you don’t… it can kill you. Although, I’m not entirely sure what it will do to you.”

Castiel stood still, processing. “Angels aren’t—we’re not meant to experience that,” he said slowly, his hand pressing against his chest like he could calm the burning beneath his skin. “My grace is reacting abnormally. I’ve never felt this before –” he paused, “I won’t be able to hold it off much longer”.

You stepped closer, carefully, placing the book down on the desk. “That’s what the curse does. It’s made to make you feel powerless until you… give in.”

He groaned softly—just a breath, but it hit you in the chest. His posture slouched for the first time, looking more human than you had ever seen him.

“I can feel it spreading,” he said, his voice cracking. “It’s worse now. The closer you get to me – the more I feel it. I can’t—I can’t stop thinking of you.” his eyes went wide, as if realizing what he just said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Hey, hey.” You stepped closer and gently grabbed his arm. He was burning up, his grace fighting to keep the vessel stable. “Don’t apologize. It’s the curse, Cas. It’s feeding off the closest connection you have—and that happens to be me right now.”

His breath caught, and he looked at you like he wanted to say something else but didn’t know how.

You pulled him gently toward the bed. “Sit down. Just breathe for a second. I’m going to keep looking, okay?”

He sat, clearly struggling not to reach for you again. His fingers gripped the edge of the blanket like he needed the grounding.

As he adjusted himself on the bed, your eyes unintentionally flicked downward—and then you froze.

There was a noticeable bulge in his slacks, and the way he quickly tugged his trench coat over his lap didn’t escape your attention. His face flushed, a rare sight, and he looked anywhere but at you. The tension in his jaw hardened as though he could will the arousal away by sheer force of will.

You looked away quickly, not wanting to embarrass him further—but it was too late. He’d seen the glance.

“I—I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “I don’t understand. It’s never happened before and I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you said quickly, voice soft. “I know you can’t help it. It’s not your fault, Cas.”

He nodded to himself, like your words had made the entire situation okay. You watched the subtle tremble in his hands, the tension rippling through his vessel like something primal was trying to claw its way out. 

“You’re wrong you know”, he spoke, his voice low and hoarse. “About the curse – it isn’t abstract desire.”

Your eyes met his, wide with surprise. He wasn’t looking at you like the angel you knew. He was looking at you how a man looked at a woman. Your heart clenched at the intensity.

“Even when it first hit me,” he continued, voice strained like every word physically pained him, “I could only think of you”.

You swallowed hard, your heart thudding loud in your ears.

“Castiel… you don’t know what you’re saying” you whispered, unsure whether to comfort or pull away.

“I tried to resist it,” he said, eyes pleading. “But my body—this vessel—reacted. Your voice. Your hands. Your warmth. It’s all I could think about, all I can think about.”

He looked down at the ground, curling in on himself. “You’ve always been the object of my desires” he admitted, almost ashamed. “It’s not right for me to feel this way.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

The room felt too quiet as his words settled over you. You’ve always been the object of my desires. You hadn't expected that. Not from the angel who once looked at humanity like a mystery to be solved, not felt.

Your fingers itched to reach for him, to offer comfort and relief from the spell coursing through his veins. But fear rooted you in place. Fear that this wasn’t real. That it wasn’t truly him speaking, but the curse bending his thoughts. 

“Cas…” you breathed, voice thick with emotion. “I care about you.”

He looked at you like those words alone kept him breathing.

“That’s why I need to be honest,” you added gently, stepping closer. “This spell—it might be making your emotions stronger, or confusing them. And I need to know that what you’re feeling… what you’re saying—it’s really you.”

His gaze faltered, pain flashing in his eyes, but you didn’t let the silence stretch too long.

“You have always been important to me, even before any of this. And once we break this spell—if you still feel the same—I’ll be right here. I promise.”

He trembled, hands fisting the blanket, but he nodded ever so slightly.

You turned to the desk and sat down, grabbing an old leather book. Its pages smelled of dust and rose petals, and you prayed it held something useful.

“I’m going to fix this,” you whispered, fingers brushing the parchment. “Just… keep holding on. Stay with me, okay?”

Behind you, his voice came like a vow, quiet and unwavering. “I am with you.” You flipped through the pages feverishly, trying to focus despite the way your heart thundered with every broken breath Castiel took behind you.

Each passing second, his quiet groans grew louder and more desperate. At first, he’d been sitting up, fists clenched tight around the motel blanket—but now, out of the corner of your eye, you could see he had maneuvered onto his side.

You couldn’t look at him directly, not yet.

The low, ragged sound of his breathing. The guttural edge to his voice. The way he whispered your name once—so soft, you almost thought you imagined it. Each noise hit you in a way that made your cheeks flush and your thighs tense.

You shut your eyes for a second, battling the wave of heat curling through you. This wasn’t the time. He was suffering. He needed your help, not your hormones. But god, his voice—it was doing things to you.

A small part of you, dark and aching, wanted to drop the book and crawl over to him. To help him. To give him the relief he needed—maybe the relief you needed, too.

Instead, you forced your attention on the book in front of you—rereading lines over and over, trying to make sense of sigils and latin descriptions. “Come on,” you whispered, scanning over the faded script. 

Behind you, the mattress creaked softly, followed by a particularly loud and strained groan that cut off in a shallow gasp.

Worried he was hurt, you turned to look at Cas. 

Your mind went blank as you took in the scene before you. Castiel was curled around a pillow, his eyes screwed shut as he pressed it to his groin. His hips moved slowly and mindlessly, humping the pillow as breathless moans fell from his lips. You couldn’t look away as the ache between your legs became harder to ignore. It was so wrong—the angel didn’t know what he was doing, and there you were, watching him.

You shook your head and looked back down at the book, more motivated than ever to find a cure. You flipped through the pages, hoping you’d missed something. Skimming quickly, you felt your heart stop as a Latin phrase caught your attention: Intimitas maledictio sororis agnetis—the intimacy curse of Sister Agnes. The name rang alarm bells in your mind as you remembered: Agnes had been a nun-turned-witch who had dedicated her life to undoing curses.

You read the paragraph, your heart rate skyrocketing as you realized it was the curse Cas had been hit with. If anyone had found a cure to the curse, it would have been her. Reading to the bottom, you found the last sentence: There is no cure other than physical intimacy. You felt your lungs constrict, unable to say anything as you reread the lines over and over again. There is no cure. Your worst fears were confirmed, and your chest ached for the angel.

Shutting the book softly, you stood up from the chair and glanced over at Cas. If possible, he was even more disheveled from when you had last looked. His lip was now tucked between his teeth in an effort to be quiet as he moved against the pillow. So lost in finding his release, he didn’t even notice you had gotten up. 

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you moved toward him, sitting gently on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped with your weight, and his eyes fluttered open, finding you through a haze of pain and need. His lip slipped from between his teeth, cheeks burning with shame as his hips stuttered to a stop. It was the most sinful look you had ever seen, and it had come from an angel. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, wincing as he turned his face away, like he couldn't bear for you to see him like this. “It hurts—”

You leaned closer, your voice soft and warm. “Shh, Cas. Don’t apologize,” you whispered, resisting the urge to reach out to him, knowing it would only make it worse. He seemed to sag with relief at your words, his body instinctively moving again, still trembling under the weight of the curse.

“There is no cure then,” his voice broken and tired. It was a statement, not a question.

You swallowed hard, wishing you could tell him something different .“No, I’m so sorry. I checked everything, only physical intimacy can break the curse. It’s a miracle you’re doing as well as you are.” You lowered your eyes to your lap, giving him privacy even as every instinct screamed at you to help. “I can keep looking if you want, but— I don’t think you have much time before it gets worse.”

He didn’t say anything, but you heard the soft ruffling of sheets as he struggled to sit up, and when you finally met his eyes again, your heart ached.

He leaned back against the headboard, trembling with restraint. Your gaze dropped before you could stop yourself, and your cheeks burned at the sight of the obvious need straining against his pants. He tensed, grabbing the pillow to hide himself, his whole body taut with the effort.

Your chest tightened painfully at the sight. You didn’t look away from him this time. You stayed with him.

“What do I do?” he asked, voice breaking into a desperate whine.

“What do you want to do, Castiel?” you asked softly. His fingers tightened around the pillow, knuckles white, as he fought with himself. You could see it — the battle between needing relief and fighting the curse.

“I want you,” he finally whispered, voice so low it was almost a prayer. His eyes found yours, desperate and searching. “Please help me.”

Your heart broke a little more, and without hesitation, you leaned closer “Cas,” you murmured, your voice full of certainty. “I’ve got you sweetheart.”

You brushed your fingers along his jaw, feeling the slight tremble beneath your touch. His eyes flickered with something raw and aching — a desperation so fierce it made your chest tighten. Without giving yourself time to second-guess, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

Knowing it was his first time, you started gentle, your lips moving softly, giving him time to adjust — but Cas had no more patience left.

The moment he felt your mouth on his, a broken, needy moan tore from his chest. His kiss was messy and devouring. His mouth moved against yours, hot and desperate, the lack of control sending a shudder through you as he fought to get you closer.

Realizing the pillow on his lap was in the way, you grabbed it and tossed it to the other side of the bed, your lips still fused to his as you climbed onto his lap.

You gasped as you straddled him, the unmistakable hardness in his pants sending shivers through you as you pressed down against him. The angel groaned at the contact, his hands flying to your hips, gripping you tightly enough to bruise as he dominated your mouth.

You cradled his head, only pulling back when you needed air. A soft, needy whimper left his mouth at the loss of your lips, the sound so wrecked it made your heart stutter. His displeasure didn’t last long though — you immediately attacked his neck, kissing and licking until you found his sweet spot.

Sucking down hard, you felt his hips roll up into you, desperate for friction.

"More," he gasped out, voice wrecked. "Please, more, please—"

You lifted from his neck, hushing him gently. “Can you remove your clothes for me, angel?” you asked sweetly, running a soothing hand through his hair.

He looked up at you, utterly undone, one hand shakily lifting from your hips. With a soft snap of his fingers, his clothes disappeared, leaving him in nothing but white boxers.

You couldn't help but bite your lip at the ethereal sight beneath you.

"Beautiful," you murmured, running a hand over his chest appreciatively, letting your fingers wander over his toned abdomen and the trail of hair leading downward.

Cas groaned at your praise, his head thrown back against the headboard as he arched into your touch, his hands once again gripping your hips.

Not wanting to keep him waiting, you shifted lower, trailing kisses down his body. You licked and nibbled at his heated skin, his hands moving to guide your head as you traveled further down.

Finally reaching his waistband, you paused, looking up at him. He met your gaze, his brows furrowed and his eyes dark with arousal.

“I’m going to take these off now, is that alright?” you asked softly, running a hand slowly over his thigh.

He nodded eagerly, words tumbling out between panting breaths. "Yes, yes, oh father, yes—"

At his desperate confirmation, you moved to remove his boxers — but before you could, another snap of his fingers had them vanishing.

You gasped as you took him in fully, unable to tear your eyes away.

His cock was pulsing with need, a bead of precum dripping from the tip. You licked your lips as you took him in, fully aware you had most certainly soaked through your underwear.

“I need to see you,” Castiel whined, as if you'd ever deny him, his hand still cradling your head.

You only smiled up at him, gently slipping out of his grasp to reach for your tank top. Without a second thought, you pulled it over your head.

You watched as he bit the inside of his cheek, eyes fixed on your chest, his hands trembling as he raised them, silently asking for permission.

You nodded, taking his hands and placing them on your breasts. He squeezed them experimentally, and you moaned softly at the contact — the sound drawing his eyes back up to your face.

That moan must’ve triggered something in him, because suddenly his hands gripped your waist and he pulled you back down onto his cock, only the thin fabric of your underwear separating you.

He sat up, burying his face in your chest as his hips ground up into you.

You gasped at the sudden friction as he began moving you — forward, backward — guiding your body over him. Your eyes rolled back at the sensation, a moan ripping from your throat as his lips latched onto your chest. He kissed you reverently, worshipping you with every breathy groan, before finding your nipple and giving it a soft suck that had you reeling.

He continued grinding you against him, dragging your soaked center along the length of his cock, his hands holding you in place as he moved beneath you. His movements instinctual as he blindly followed his pleasure.

Your own hands found his shoulders for support, fingers digging in as the pressure grew just right — the thick length of him beneath you sending you spiraling.

You moaned his name, grabbing at him as he continued relentlessly.

“More,” he whimpered into your skin. “It hurts, I need more—”

“Take my underwear off, sweetheart,” you breathed, voice wrecked with need. The ache must have been torture for him by now.

You didn’t have to ask twice. With another snap of his fingers, your underwear vanished, leaving you bare and pressed directly against him.

The sudden wet heat made him gasp — the surprised moan that left his mouth was nothing short of sinful.

Reaching down between you, you curled your fingers around him, causing his jaw to go slack as you guided his tip to your entrance. Lifting your hips slightly, you sank down on him slowly.

Your back arched as his cock split you open. Despite how ready you thought you were, you still felt a slight burn as he stretched you out, filling you completely.

A sputtered gasp broke through your haze, drawing your attention down to him. Castiel’s hooded gaze locked onto yours, all heat and need, his hands shaking with restraint as you inched lower until you were fully seated on him.

You brought a hand to his hair, brushing the fringe from his forehead as his chest rose and fell rapidly.

“You’re doing so good for me,” you murmured breathlessly, adjusting to his size.

He whined, pressing his head into your hand.

“I don’t know what to — you feel incredible, I can’t —" he stammered, his hips stuttering as he fought to stay still.

“I know, I know. I got you," you soothed, moving your hands to his shoulders. Slowly, you lifted yourself until only the tip of him remained inside you, before dropping back down, taking him fully once more.

A deep, almost primal growl ripped from his chest, the sound sending a shudder through you and making you flutter around him.

“Keep going,” he begged, voice wrecked, “please — keep going.”

You set a slow, grinding pace at first, rolling your hips in small, deliberate circles that had Castiel's hands flying to your waist, clutching you like a lifeline. His head tipped back against the pillow, throat bared, jaw tight with the effort to hold himself together.

Every little movement of yours pulled a ragged moan from him, his body trembling beneath you.

"You're perfect," he rasped, voice rough like gravel. "So beautiful."

Your heart thudded at his words, heat pooling low in your belly as you quickened your pace. The delicious friction of him filling you, dragging against every nerve ending inside you, made you whimper against his neck.

He bucked up instinctively, chasing the feeling, and you cried out softly at the sudden, deeper thrust.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, but you shook your head quickly, burying your face against his jaw.

"Don't stop," you breathed, your voice a broken plea. "I need you, Cas."

That was all it took to shatter whatever fragile control he had left.

His hands shifted from your hips to under your ass, and in one fluid motion, he sat up, holding you against him, buried so deep inside you it felt like he could never be close enough.

His mouth found yours again — desperate, consuming — as he thrust up into you, rhythm messy and urgent.

You moaned into his kiss, clutching his shoulders, feeling the slick slide of your bodies, the raw need spiraling higher and higher between you both.

Every time he moved, you felt your walls flutter helplessly around him, felt him pulse inside you, and it drove you closer to the edge.

"Please," he begged again, voice trembling against your lips. "Something is— I can't — I'm—"

"I know," you whispered, kissing him fiercely. "It’s okay, let go for me, Castiel."

At your words, Cas groaned deep in his chest, the sound vibrating against your skin as he thrust up harder, chasing the release he was barely holding back from.

Your bodies moved together in a frantic, perfect rhythm, every stroke sending a fresh wave of pleasure flooding through you.

You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders as he hit something inside you that made your vision blur.

"Cas," you gasped, breaking the kiss, forehead pressing to his as your breathing hitched. "I'm so close—"

"Yes—please," he rasped, his voice desperate, wrecked. "I feel it."

You nodded frantically, hips grinding down against him, the tension winding tighter and tighter until it snapped.

Pleasure crashed over you in a tidal wave, your body trembling as you cried out his name, walls clenching around him.

The feel of you unraveling in his arms broke him completely.

With a hoarse shout, Castiel buried himself deep inside you and came undone, hips jerking helplessly as he spilled into you, holding you impossibly close.

You clung to him as you came down from your high, expecting to feel him begin to soften inside you — the curse finally sated.

But instead, he grew even more desperate. His body trembled as he gripped you tightly, his cock still throbbing deep inside.

“It’s not over,” he gritted out, pain etched across his face as his body radiated heat.

Your hand, still unsteady, reached for his cheek, guiding his gaze back to yours.

“Take what you need, sweetheart. It’s okay,” you whispered, watching his eyes go wide at your words. “I want you to take me.”

A guttural groan tore from his throat as he grabbed you, flipping you beneath him in one smooth motion.

Then he moved — his hips snapping into yours at a pace that was nothing short of inhuman.

You moaned loudly at the stimulation against your already sensitive core, the sounds high and mindless as he fucked you, his cock impossibly deep with the new angle. One particular thrust made you cry out — a sharp, broken scream — as he slammed into your g-spot.

The sound caught his attention. He adjusted his angle slightly, now thrusting upward with precision, his tip hitting that spongy spot inside you every time. You clenched around him, helpless under the intensity, and he growled low in your ear, burying his face in your neck to kiss along your skin the same way you had done to him earlier.

The familiar coil tightened quickly in your stomach, and before you could even form the words to warn him, it snapped. Your vision went white as your second climax tore through you, your pussy fluttering wildly around him, milking him with each wave of release.

It was too much — he groaned against your skin, hips faltering before he spilled into you again, your name like a prayer on his lips as he fell weightless onto you.

You brought shaking hands to his back as you held him, gently stroking him while you both came down from your highs.

“It’s done,” he murmured into your neck, breaking the silence.

You leaned forward and kissed the top of his head, saying nothing as you continued to hold him, your hands gliding over the firm muscles of his back as he softened inside you.

A warmth began to slip down your thighs, and you cringed slightly as his cum seeped out of you. Cas felt it too. He sat up slowly, pulling out of you with a soft hiss before inspecting the mess between your legs.

You watched him curiously as his head tilted, his eyes fixed on where his release pooled from your core. Before you could ask what he was doing, he reached out and slid a finger through it, making you whine at the overstimulation. Then, to your surprise, he brought that finger to his mouth, sucking it clean. Your breath caught in your throat.

Before you could form words, he lowered his head between your legs and licked a slow stripe up your slit. You moaned at the overwhelming sensitivity, your hands flying to his hair as his tongue moved deliberately, gently. He groaned low in his chest, burying his face in you as he lapped at your pussy, cleaning you with devout focus.

When he’d determined you were clean, he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thighs before looking up at you with those soft, doe eyes.

You were speechless as he moved back up, lying beside you and resting his head on your chest.

With a snap of his fingers, you were both clean and dry — which made your mind spiral with questions, the main one being: Why hadn’t he done that in the first place? Not that you were complaining.

“Where did you learn that?” you blurted, still a little breathless as you looked down at the angel.

“A video on Dean’s computer,” he said softly into your chest, making you erupt with laughter as you pressed a kiss into his hair.

His head lifted, eyes searching yours with concern. “Did you not like it?” he asked, genuinely unsure.

You smiled and kissed him softly on the lips. “I really liked it,” you murmured, a playful glint in your eye.

That earned a boyish grin from him before he settled back down, cheek resting contentedly against your chest.

You ran your fingers slowly through his hair, feeling the tension melt from his body as he laid against you. The silence warm and soothing as you held him.

But after a few moments, you felt him shift.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible.

You blinked, glancing down at him. “For what?”

“For the curse. For doing that to you,” he said, his voice tinged with guilt. “You deserve better. I never wanted to hurt you. ”

You cupped his cheek, gently guiding him to look up at you. His eyes — those beautiful, stormy eyes — were clouded with worry.

“You didn’t hurt me, Cas,” you said softly, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone. “You could never hurt me. I knew what I was doing. I chose to be with you — curse or not.”

His lips parted, like he wanted to argue, but the words didn’t come. You leaned in and kissed him again, this time slow and comforting.

“I love you,” you whispered against his mouth. “And I want you”.

He exhaled shakily and tucked himself back into your embrace, wrapping his arms around you as if afraid to let go.

“Thank you, I love you,” he said quietly.

You kissed the top of his head once more, letting your fingers trace idle shapes along his back.

“Always.”

tags: @scary-noodlesblog, @alitzel02, @ser4phim-on-e4rth, @vengeance139, @olaflookalike, @strawberrymochikitty

[paracosm-draw]

First of all, I love your art and writing so much (currently obsessing over you slave!anakin au)!

For the kiss prompt thing, I would like to ask for the one given before one of them leaves for something dangerous cause I’m an angst junky 👉🏻👈🏻

Absolutely no pressure to fulfill tho!

I'm such a slow writer but I promise you I will fulfill all the prompts I received eventually 😇

Here's another one ! You wanted angst, peach ? I'll give you angst 😌 Hope you enjoy 💕

---

“I don’t like that you're going alone.”

Obi-Wan looks away from where he's adjusting his utility belt, meeting Anakin’s thunderous eyes through the mirror in front of him.

His boy stands in the middle of their shared quarters, arms tightly crossed against his chest, a scowl on his face that didn’t leave since the Council assigned Obi-Wan his next imminent mission. Imminent as in he's already running out of time if they’re gonna have another argument.

“I think I understood the first twelve times.”

Anakin’s scowl deepens. His presence in the Force is like a hurricane ; violent, unpredictable and dangerous. Not for Obi-Wan, but for anyone who decided to take him away from Anakin and to send him alone on a negotiation mission on a planet reputed for his absence of laws and his criminality rate higher than Master Yoda’s midichlorian count.

“This is not a joke to me, Obi-Wan. That mission is bantha shit, the Council should know better. I'm not letting their stupidity risk your life-”

“Watch your tone.” Obi-Wan snaps, turning around to confront him. It’s been a day, and Anakin is on a loop. He will not listen to another insulting and pointless speech. “Use some respect when you talk about the Council. Should I remind you that I'm still part of it ? Are you calling me stupid as well ?”

Anakin glares at him but has the wisdom not to talk back. Obi-Wan can see the way his jaw works, teeth grinding so hard it looks painful, even from there. His mechanic hand spasms in a fist against his ribs, the line of his shoulders drawn in a tense line. He's angry but again, this isn’t something Obi-Wan is afraid of. It’s rather usual, in fact. The first emotion that comes to Anakin when he doesn't know how to deal with the other ones ; frustration, anxiety, fear. It’s easier that way, for him. Except Obi-Wan is tired of suffering the consequences of his constant fury.

“That’s not what I meant.” Anakin mutters finally. His hand uncurls to hold his side and Obi-Wan can briefly witness the vulnerability flashing on his face. It makes his guts tighten painfully.

“I know.” He sighs.

Picking his lightsaber from the table between them, he clips it to his belt before walking to Anakin. The boy looks at him, still angry but unsure, searching for something on his face Obi-Wan isn’t sure he has the answer to.

“Look.” He says calmly, resting a hand on Anakin's forearm. He can almost feel the tension running under his skin. “Your presence is required somewhere else and is essential there. The Council can’t afford to send us both on the same missions all the time, you know that.”

Anakin frowns and looks away, but he nods curly. Of course he knows that, but it doesn't mean he agrees with it.

“I’m gonna be alright.” Obi-Wan assures, because this is the heart of the problem. “I promise you.”

“You can’t be sure.” Anakin replies stubbornly. “If I was there to have your back-”

“Yes, but you can't.” Obi-Wan interrupts him, not unkindly but firmly. “It’s been decided and you can’t change it. Now, this conversation is over. I need to meet my troops at the hangar bay.”

“Fine.” Anakin spits and steps away from him, refusing to meet his eyes. The anger is back, suffocating in the Force. When he talks his voice is dripping with it, cold and impersonal. “May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan.”

It hits Obi-Wan in the chest with the surgical precision of a stab wound. This is not how they part, and Anakin knows it. They never, never fly away from each other in anger or in sorrow. It’s a rule, and Anakin just threw it at Obi-Wan’s feet.

Obi-Wan knows that it's Anakin’s way of playing his last card. It doesn’t make it right. It doesn’t make it okay. Obi-Wan won’t fold. He can't. So he orders the pieces of his heart to hold together for a while longer and opens his mouth to say something. Anything. A peace offering, a plea. Anakin turns his back to him. He might have slapped him the face it would have been less painful.

“If this is how you want to do it…” He murmurs, grabbing his robe on the back of a chair and turning to the door. “Goodbye, Anakin.”

There’s a part of him that wants to turn back as soon as he crosses the threshold of their quarters, to snuggle into Anakin's arms and to beg him not to let him go without a word. But the other one, the one that's hurt and disappointed, the one that struggles to put boundaries in their relationship, reminds him he's doing the right thing by not giving in to all his demands, especially when they're unjustified by honor or duty.

The short walk to the hangar bay doesn’t allow him much time to put his heart in check and to conceal the sadness simmering behind his features. It’s always harder when it’s Anakin who’s the cause of it. Balance, which is inherent to the Jedi life, is such a fragile thing to maintain when feelings are involved.

This is why attachment is forbidden. He thinks bitterly as he steps into the hangar.

The moment he meets his Commander, his polished mask of Jedi Master and General of the GAR is back on. He can’t afford to think about Anakin with what’s at stake.

He closes his side of the bond and focuses on the debrief. He’s not going alone, despite what Anakin says. He’s going with a bunch of his best men, in case he needs someone to have his back if things get ugly. And he’s going with Cody, who he trusts with his life.

He'll be alone for the negotiations, that’s right. But who’s trying to negotiate peace treaties with a garrison on their back ? His troop will wait in the ship, ready to intervene only if he feels the need to. That exact part was the one Anakin disapproved of.

Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Obi-Wan takes a breath and gives the first flickers of emotions bubbling in his chest to the Force. He doesn’t want to think about Anakin right now. But it seems to be proving more difficult than expected.

“Everything’s alright, General ?” Cody asks next to him, lifting his eyes from the datapad he's holding to give Obi-Wan a questioning look.

He’s a perceptive man, Cody. Obi-Wan appreciates him for it. He forces a light smile on his lips and nods.

“Yes, thank you Commander. Let’s not waste more time, I’d rather wrap this as soon as possible.”

“Of course, Sir.” Cody gives him an hesitant look. He opens his mouth before deciding against it and turns away, gesturing to his men to move along.

Obi-Wan watches as the troop embarks into the mouth of the ship, feeling strangely out of his body. For all he wants to get this done, there’s something stronger compelling his feet to stillness. He doesn’t like to leave like this, with a weight pressing down on his stomach. What- What if Anakin's right ? What if something happens to him and the last memory Anakin keeps is of them being angry at each other ? The thought makes him sick. This is not something he wants and he's pretty sure this is not something Anakin wants either and still, they’re both too proud to admit it. Anakin prefers to hide behind his anger and Obi-Wan… Obi-Wan drapes himself in a false sense of duty as he marches to the ship. He’s a Jedi, first and foremost. Duty will always come first, alw-

“Obi-Wan !”

The exclamation echoes through the hangar bay the moment the sole of his boot presses against the ramp of the ship. His heart misses a beat.

“Obi-Wan, wait ! Wait-”

He turns around, just in time for Anakin to join him, grab him by the shoulders and crash their lips together with such strength he would have tripped down if the boy hadn’t pulled him in a secure embrace.

He lets out a surprised gasp as Anakin presses a million kisses against his mouth, frantic and out of breath.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Forgive me. I don't want to let you leave like this. Please-”

He’s shaking so bad Obi-Wan has to gently slip his arms out of his grip to cup his face between his hands. He doesn't even think before speaking.

“I forgive you.” Of course he does. In spite of everything, Anakin will always stay his sweetest weakness.

He doesn't have time to elaborate because Anakin is once again chasing after his mouth, and Obi-Wan never really learned how to deny him anything. He kisses him back, grabbing the curls at the base of his skull and pulling him closer. Anakin's arms move to tighten around his waist until there’s no space left between them. Until there’s only closeness and comfort and the maelstrom of unsaid things hanging above their heads.

Anakin kisses him like it’s the last time, with the ardor of a man in love - or in despair. He holds him like he never wants to let him go, and Obi-Wan believes that’s probably the case. For a while he lets himself be held, be loved and comforted. It eases something in his chest, to know that Anakin decided to overcome his pride because he couldn't bear the idea of letting him leave like that. To hear him apologize. Their relationship is not easy and never was, but they're slowly getting there.

“I have to go, love.” He eventually murmurs gently against Anakin’s lips. The hold on his waist tightens slightly.

“You come back to me, alright ?”

“Of course.” Obi-Wan softly kisses his brow, fingers resting against the back of his neck.

“In one piece.” Anakin precises, moving slightly to embrace Obi-Wan completely, holding him tight against his chest.

“You’re the one to talk.” Obi-Wan chuckles. He rests his head on Anakin’s shoulder and presses his palm against his heart, allowing himself a tiny minute. “I promise you.”

“You better.” Anakin mutters against his hair. “Or I come pick you up myself, the Council be damned.”

“Oh, I'm sure.” Obi-Wan smiles. He feels lighter. Ready to leave.

He counts another three heartbeats before he pulls away from Anakin’s warmth. His boy looks sad and worried. He gently smoothes the crease between his eyebrows with his thumb and gives him a last, sweet kiss on the lips. There are some cheers behind them, on the ship. He tries to ignore them but the blush spreading on his cheeks betrays him.

“Wait for me, alright ?” He asks with a brush of his fingers against Anakin's jaw.

Anakin nods, taking his hand in his own and bringing it to his mouth where he places a kiss on his knuckles.

“Come back quickly.”

“Will do.” Obi-Wan promises before stepping away and onto the ramp. There are some words stuck in his throat, there, just at the base of his tongue…

He's on the platform of the ship when Anakin's voice rises once more.

“Obi-Wan ?”

Obi-Wan turns to him one last time. The engines are already running, the sound of them filling in the room with a deep noise. Anakin talks quietly but Obi-Wan hears him clear as day, above the engines as well as in their bond.

“I love you.”

Obi-Wan’s heart stutters in his chest.

The ship starts to buzz with the strength of the engines pulling it from the ground. The words are here, so close. They move from the back of his throat to the tip of his tongue.

“So do I.”

And he knows Anakin heard him when the doors close on his smile.

[jellywords01]

Bakugo x reader //snippet from a fic I'm writing

WC: 1k

You lead him along the balcony corridor, past multiple apartment doors, until you reach the right one. Usually, an automatic light flickers on if movement is detected in the area, but the landlord is taking his sweet time to fix whatever issue caused it to fail a few weeks ago.

So, there you both stand, hands clasped together, the summer night around you makes your foreheads damp and your clothes stick to your bodies. The impending rain is palpable with every breath you take.

You start to play with his fingers and caress his skin, grateful that it’s too dark for him to see how flustered you are. Your cheeks are seething hot with affection for him, and you hope it’s conveyed through the comfortable silence between you. Eventually, though, he speaks up.

“This yours?” he asks, nodding toward the door behind you.

“Yeah.” you breathe.

You consider giving in to the butterflies in your stomach. To throw caution into the wind and pull him inside the apartment, arms slung over his broad shoulders, around his neck. With your lips on his. But like a soap bubble, you think, the relationship between you is still too fragile, despite its beauty.

“Don’t wait so long to call me next time, y’hear?”

You giggle at that.

“I promise I won’t. I just didn’t want to come off as desperate. I needed to remain cool and mysterious in your eyes.”

The irony in your voice teases a genuine grin out of him, which, unfortunately, is barely visible in the darkness. But you can hear it in his voice when he replies.

“Cool and mysterious, right. Let me know when you find that person, because I went on a date with the goofiest fucking idiot t’day, I tell ya that.”

You slap his shoulder indignantly. When he calls out an “Oi!”, as he usually does when anyone opposes him, you have to shush him, reminding you both that you are still, in fact, standing in front of your neighbors’ doors in the middle of the night.

You hide your laughter in his broad chest, and he takes the opportunity to sling his arms around you. He sways you both from side to side for a bit, until you look up and cup his cheeks.

“I had a wonderful evening, thank you.”

A beat passes, then he rasps a quiet “y’welcome”, that almost gets lost in the sound of the cicadas’ calls.

Another beat passes you by, without Bakugo closing the tantalizing distance between your mouths. You get on your tip toes just a bit and bump your nose with his, while snaking your arms around his neck.

You feel his hot breath on your skin and his hands find your waist, your lower back. Yet, he hesitates.

“Is- Is this okay?”

You answer by finally connecting your lips. Warmth pools in your stomach when a sultry noise leaves his throat involuntarily. One of your hands cards through his hair at the back of his neck and his tongue slips into your mouth. The kiss is heated, but not too messy. You can tell he has a hard time controlling himself, because every restraint he shows in the kiss, he's lost elsewhere.

You’re pressed up against your door, his palms around the fat of your ass, the small of your back, clutching the fabric of your outfit here and there.

A seething hot coil tightens in your lower abdomen when his lips find your neck. Your skin sizzles upon the impact and you can barely suppress an airy moan escaping your throat.

With the remaining brain function that hasn’t yet been lost to pure instinct and desire, you push him away, gently but firmly.

The two of you catch your breaths and your hand remains on his chest all the while. Faint pitter patter reaches your ears. First you think the rain will remain light and fleeting, before the pour becomes heavy, as the individual drops become bigger.

“God damn it.” he says. He rests his forehead against yours.

You giggle again, lighter this time. The embarrassment of the intense heat from a minute ago still radiating off you.

“Text me when you get home, please.”

You press a quick peck to his cheek, wanting to send him off on his way, but before you know it, his lips are on yours again.

This time, the kiss is firm, slow and his hands envelop your face this time. Katsuki might not be a man who dedicates his time to saying lovey-dovey things, but he still manages to convey his honest affection when he wants to.

It makes your feelings for him bloom even brighter.

“You better call me during my lunch break tomorrow.” he says when you both finally manage to separate.

You promise him to do exactly that and thank him for bringing you home. He remains where he stands for longer than necessary, as if it’s physically straining to distance himself from you again.

His silhouette disappears down the stairs, to the exit of your apartment complex. His shoulders are pulled up to his ears and you can imagine him cussing out the rain when he walks over to his car.

You involuntarily hide your face in your hands and a breathy, little giggle escapes you. The keys jingle in your hand and a familiar scent welcomes you home. A satisfying click echoes through your entrance area, where a bunch of your shoes are neatly arranged, so that they’re not in the way of the door. You make sure to lock it, before sliding down its cold, smooth surface.

And there you sit now, satisfyingly exhausted, like after having spent the day at the beach, swimming and laughing and playing volleyball. Your skin is hot, still, after having made contact with the powerful warmth of Bakugo Katsuki.

Time passes, although you are unsure of how much exactly. You can’t bring yourself to care about anything else at this moment than to soak up all the remaining sensations of the goodbye you two shared. It’s the same feeling you get after eating a delicious meal with people you love and cherish. Nobody wants to be the first to get up, because it will break the magic of this here shared connection.

A fleeting, ethereal glimmer, like the surface of a soap bubble.

[windowtotheabbey]

thinking about father anthony....

you join his mass one day jus 2 watch him talk n support him, not bc you actually believe in this shit. cant deny man is he hot in that fuckass outfit. he comes up to u n asks if u enjoyed his sermon n ur like "well i enjoyed you in this sexy thing" and he offers a little laugh n his face heats up but he moves on bc .. sins r not ok!!!

lbrh you've always found him hot i mean LOOK AT HIM. sometimes at night you let your fantasies get the better of you and you work it out on the remix

can u imagine if one day he's staying over, or if you're at his. he hears shuffling n stuff n little moans so he gets. a little worried n comes over to the door, pressin an ear against it. he hears his name so naturally he opens the door ,, your hands between your legs n the other on your breast , kneading flesh and he kinda jus . stands and stares bless

eventually he scrambles out of the room and you're covering up.

after the initial embarrassment, coming back out to the living room and he's sat on the couch and internally losing his mind and praying for god's guidance. and lord have mercy he's gonna need it with the way you walk around and kneel in front of him, resting a hand on his knee. you say he could've watched, helped even. his face is heating up and he can barely look at you.

he starts harping on about how sex is only for procreation, and your eyes roll out of your skull as you stand up, taking a deep breath.

"nothing wrong with a little fun here and there," you'd say, "have you even jacked off since you converted?" his silence gives you the answer. poor things probably all pent up. you glance down, just to assess the situation. as expected, he's as hard as a goddamn rock. there's even a slight wet patch forming at the crotch of his pants. cute.

you look around the room, deciding to give anthony some space. "well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. you're lucky i don't have my toys with me or that would've been a worse sight for you."

you start to leave, turning back around momentarily to look at him, and he was already looking at you. "oh, and you should probably sort that out," you'd say, gesturing to the situation in his pants. that's when he'd look down and realize, and his face would get impossibly redder. a hand coming up to rub his face as he tries to make himself smaller, or hide his obvious bulge from you.

after about an hour or two, you were genuinely starting to wonder if you'd pushed him too far or made him uncomfortable. you stared up at the ceiling, breathing deeply. you hadn't entirely expected him to stop in, but you hadn't heard anything from the living room since you left it. little did you know, he had since made his way to the bathroom, wondering what the hell to do with himself because touching was entirely off the table.

he stood there, staring at himself and thinking for a while, occasionally closing his eyes and seeing your previous activities in his mind again. 45 minutes went by, and he was still hard. no matter what he tried to think of to get that damn memory out of his mind, and he thought of some pretty weird shit, but his mind always quickly wandered back to you. how your fingers circled your clit, your other hands pinching your nipple. you certainly had a way of getting on his nerves.

once wouldn't hurt anyone, right?

he could (and will) confess this whole situation tomorrow, for now he settled with pushing his jeans down to his mid thighs, boxers following along. his tip was reaching just below his belly button, and he briefly thought about how far down your throat he could get, if you could take it all.

"fuck" he whispers, turning the tap on and splashing his face with cold water. he leaned against the sink, eyes closed and breathing heavy. after trying (and failing) to talk himself out of this one last time, he finally brings a hand to wrap around his cock, squeezing slightly with a hiss. a slow pump of his fist has him digging his fingers into the ceramic. he takes his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down to hold back a groan the best he could.

his mind goes back to you, ignoring the voice in the back of his head that screamed at him that what he was doing was wrong. he knows it is, but right now, he can't bring himself to care. he wonders how you'd look under him, hooking your legs behind his back as he fucks into you. he wonders if you'd like it soft, loving, or if you'd let him stuff his dick so deep inside you that you're sure your cervix will be bruised the next day.

anthony let's out a shaky breath, breaking his hand away momentarily to spit on his hand to ease the movements just a bit more. his hand resumes its motions, thumb occasionally coming to tease his slit.

and soon enough, he's fucking his fist, imagining it's you instead, taking his cock like the good girl he knows you are. his eyes squeezed shut, focusing on not being too loud. he just hopes you can't hear the slick sound of skin on skin, and his breathy moans. he's close, he can feel that coil twisting in his gut. your name is on his tongue, spilling from his lips in quick succession. he's almost there, so close so close so -

yall have got to learn how to knock before entering an occupied room.

[marukrawler]

The Dan Rant™️Part 1

This whole thing was actually brought about by my trying to answer this ask and getting too deeply invested 🗿

This first part only covers my thoughts on S1 Dan but the rest will (hopefully) be added in due time.

Season 1

Dan starts out as your typical shounen protagonist: quick-tempered, easily excitable and always spoiling for a fight to prove he's the best. He meets the level-headed Drago whose very existence creates the first obstacle in Dan's journey; the uncomfortable truth that Bakugan isn't merely a game.

Dan's first lesson is that he needs to take things seriously because he's essentially playing with the lives of others and using them as pawns. This sparks the famous argument between Dan and Drago in episode 3, when Drago chastises Dan for his careless playstyle that got his fellow Bakugan sent to the Death Dimension.

In the Japanese dub, Drago tells Dan that if he only cares about saving Drago and not his other Bakugan, then that makes him no different from Masquerade's minions. This comparison is not only apt but also very interesting when it comes to Dan's character. Runo is characterized as someone who fiercely loves her Bakugan and views them as her friends, which is mirrored in her playing style and how she fights as strategically as possible so she doesn’t lose them. But if Dan doesn't care how his actions will affect the lives of his Bakugan, then with what convictions can he reject Masquerade's philosophy and the callous way he plays this game?

Moving on. Dan understands the importance of strategy after losing to Ryo and he goes to find and apologize to Drago. Character development! Yippie!

Once the Shun storyline plays out, Dan is back to bad-mouthing him again. However, to our collective surprise, it turns out that Shun isn't nearly as self-absorbed as Dan made him out to be! He was grieving the death of his mother and pulled away from the Bakugan game indefinitely as a result, something that Dan seemingly couldn't accept. Dan doesn't inform his friends about Shun’s current state, discourages them from reaching out to him and then gets upset when they do it behind his back when he's the one who didn't tell them why Shun left the team to begin with. I don't think I need to point out how incredibly selfish it is to act in this manner toward your best friend in their moment of need.

This three-episode arc ends with Dan and Shun teaming up to defeat Masquerade and Shun deciding to return to the team. I’ve had my issues with the show stating that this decision was influenced by Dan in any way, shape or form when, if anything, it was influenced by Runo, Marucho and most importantly, Skyress.

Dan was actively keeping Shun away from the group instead of bringing him back in and yet somehow, he's being credited as the one who changed Shun’s mind and made him realize what’s really important when Skyress was the one who encouraged him to seek out his friends. Shun’s speech in episode 13 not only allows Dan to not have to own up to his actions but it also casts him in a positive light despite how terrible he's been to Shun. It's the kind of resolution where you think Dan grew as a character and learned something, but he didn't.

Throughout the show, but most notably in the first season, we are shown that empathy is not Dan's strongest suit. He dismisses Drago’s concerns and refuses to fight in a way that protects his Bakugan from death until he realizes that doing so does him no good in battle, he drags Shun’s name through the mud while said best friend is grieving, he gets mad at Marucho and Runo for reaching out to Shun, he is oblivious to the somber atmosphere after Julie lost Billy to Masquerade, he pressures Marucho for information and then suggests ditching him while Marucho is also grieving the death of his friend, he tries bossing Shun around and then tells him to leave when Shun refuses to listen to him, and so on.

Dan eventually does apologize to Shun after Drago talked some sense into him, but he doesn't apologize to Marucho for his behavior. And speaking of Drago, I think this conversation he had with Dan in episode 20 perfectly encapsulates one of Dan’s flaws, namely that he wants people to understand his feelings, but he doesn’t make the effort to understand theirs.

Dan is socially inept at best and selfish at worst, and I know most people will write off his behavior as being the result of his age, but then I urge you to consider: what’s his excuse in MS1 when he’s at the cusp of adulthood? What about everyone else in his friend group who, mind you, are the same age as him and still show basic understanding and courtesy toward someone who’s mourning the loss of a loved one? I’m not saying it’s bad to have character flaws (if addressed), I’m just saying there’s nothing to excuse this behavior in Dan, but the usual justification is “well, he’s a kid. And kids are assholes sometimes.” Which is true but more often than not, Dan is the only asshole.

There’s also the matter of Dan’s actions usually being brushed under the rug while Runo is known for being a ranging bitch for doing not even half of what he’s done, but that’s neither here nor there.

The dysfunctionality in the Brawlers that span from episode 19 to episode 22 is both intriguing and aggravating. Dan starts it by pressuring Marucho into giving him information that he doesn’t have (Masquerade’s hideout) and then says they should leave Marucho behind, prompting Runo to argue with Dan in defense of Marucho. Julie gets involved as well, and they all split apart. Next episode, the rift between them is widened once again thanks to Dan, whose priorities doesn’t align with that of his friends. He not only gets into it with Runo and Marucho but with Shun as well, almost driving Shun away from the team. Next episode, there’s an awkward tension between Dan, Runo and Marucho but somehow the issues shift to Dan and Runo who apologize to each other and Marucho receives no apology from Dan.

Dan’s apology to Runo ultimately means nothing from a narrative standpoint because it fails to convey his lack of consideration toward Marucho’s feelings, which was the whole reason all this discord within the team even began. By comparison, his apology to Shun in episode 20 was much better executed and thoughtful, which is baffling because this is the sincere and heartfelt apology that Dan should’ve given to Shun in episode 13 but for some reason, he’s giving it now when it’s not really all that warranted? And Marucho is left with zilch. Cool.

I’m sure that at this point, there’s probably a lot of you saying “Oh my God, you’re being way too critical of Dan. Insensitive? Unempathetic? You’re obviously forgetting how nice Dan was being to Alice when she struggled to tell everyone that Michael was her grandfather! Or the time Dan was being super understanding toward Runo when she decided to quit Bakugan! You’re just trying to make him look bad!”

And yes, those scenes did happen. But personally, they never made any sense to me because of how contradictory they were.

You’re telling me that Dan is able to accept Alice’s reluctance to share critical information with the group—information that was extremely important in their search for the Infinity Core—when he didn’t extend the same courtesy to Marucho the day after he lost Preyas?

You’re telling me that Dan could easily accept Runo quitting Bakugan with absolutely no reason given—while they were on a quest to evolve their Bakugan—but Shun distancing himself from the game because his mom died before Masquerade had even showed up is an unforgivable act?

Anyhow, it's time for the trials! Dan’s trial starts off unclear but in a similar fashion to Masquerade’s fights against the top ranked Battlers, Dan has to defeat his team to get Drago to evolve.

It’s possible that the clown suits reflected Dan’s view of his friends, namely that he doesn’t take their strength seriously as Battlers, or something similar. It could also be foreshadowing Masquerade’s true identity: The first clown was evading Dan’s attempts at demasking them until Dan won the battle and took their mask off, only to find out he had been battling a friend all along.

Dan’s later trial of facing and defeating his friends severely lacks any and all tension because while everyone else has (1) trump card, Dan has two. He only seems to display any personal growth during his battles with Julie and Shun: Julie intentionally puts herself in a position where she could end up hurt if Dan unleashes his finishing move, seeking to test his resolve to win at any cost and berating Dan when he doesn’t take their fight seriously. Shun likewise chastises Dan when he’s been knocked down, asking if this is the extent of his resolve to save Vestroia and where their rivalry ends.

Dan ultimately proves them wrong and beats them, with him and Drago reaffirming their bond as partners in their battle against Shun and Skyress, the pair who arguably has the closest bond out of the whole group. The other matches weren’t really anything worth writing about because Dan doesn’t learn anything and there’s nothing to be excited about since Dan has a fusion ability card that automatically lets him win.

These battles could’ve been what separated Dan’s trial from Masquerade’s power-hungry quest—Masquerade used his minions as nothing but steppingstones to achieve ultimate power but by battling his friends, Dan could’ve learned something from each of them that helped him mature or grow smarter in battle, something unique from each of them that he could take with him in his final battle with Masquerade. Maybe Dan could’ve defeated his friends as a result of knowing their strategies and personalities intimately, something that would also prove how much he knows about each of them. But alas, that’s not what actually happened.

His personal trial was, in my opinion, a wasted opportunity to showcase his growth, especially when Julie, Marucho and Shun had such meaningful lessons that helped them overcome their issues with self-esteem, self-loathing, and self-isolation.

Nevertheless, Dan comes out of his trial with a renewed sense of determination and the will to fight for Earth and Vestroia alongside his friends. That already shows how far he’s come since the first few episodes.

Dan vs Masquerade also shows Dan stressing the seriousness of their current situation and urging Masquerade to stop doing Naga’s bidding. I like how, in a fun little reversal of episode 2, Dan is the one to remind Masquerade how fun Bakugan can be as merely a game.

This is getting long-winded LMAO and I don’t really think there’s much else to comment on in this final stretch of episodes. There’s a moment where Dan randomly makes a comment about the park where he and Runo met as toddlers but somehow, he kept messing up her name when they met in real life later on lol. If he remembered that, then it HAD to be because Fafnir showed him Runo’s trial. I don’t believe he would remember it on his own.

There’s also a moment in the final battle against Naga where everyone rallies around Dan, and he realizes that he’s not fighting by himself and there’s a nice little message about the power of friendship. Very cool. Wish this had stuck throughout the entire show but Oh Well.

The ending scene with Dan and Runo going on a date would’ve been superb if Dan hadn’t demonstrated his lack of social awareness yet again by commenting on Runo’s weight but I guess that’s asking for the impossible.

Even so, you’re definitely left with the feeling of Dan having grown up throughout the season and changed into something resembling a leader. At the very least, he seems to care more about others.

But then, uh, season 2 happens.

[onegianthotmess]

Telemachus and Eurydice asking Odysseus to tell them the stories of his scars a while after he returns home.

Ody is a bit confused, but when he sees both of his children looking up at him with big, wondering doe eyes, he can’t really say no. He lets them pick one out to start with, one on his face that goes across his nose and just under his right eye. Ody goes into detail about how it was during the war in Troy, how he came face to face with a stray enemy soldier while he was trying to be stealthy. It was a quick altercation that almost ended in Ody being blinded, but his reflexes allowed him to only get away with a mildly deep wound before he killed the soldier.

The twins continue to beg for more stories, pointing at different scars and curiously asking how he got them. And Ody answers to the best of his ability while he restrains himself from just smothering his adorable children with love.

He tells them about the bite scar on his ankle from one of the sirens, where some debris slashed at his left shoulder during the first encounter with Poseidon, the little dent in his back where Circe’s dagger cut him before he pushed her off him, the small scars littered about his body that he got while he was training under Athena as her protege, the scars on his shins from running through brambles in an attempt to get away from Calypso, the battle scars from Troy and Polyphemus, and the tiny scars on his hands where they’d bitten him when they started teething before he left for war.

Both Tele and Eury listen patiently, sitting in front of their father like giddy children as Ody waves and gestured with his hands while telling his stories. And a pregnant Penelope watches the scene from afar with an amused and fond expression on her face.

These stories take up days and both the Prince and Princess pout like toddlers being denied a special treat when their mother comes over and tells them that they can listen to more scar stories in the morning. And Tele and Eury both attempt to use puppy eyes on Ody to get just one more story out of him—it almost works until he sees Pen look at him with an arched brow and a “fucking try me, I dare you and don’t care that I’m pregnant” look gleaming in her eye. Ody does eventually side with his wife, patting his children’s heads and telling them that he’d tell them an even more exciting story tomorrow, making them perk up and go to bed almost instantly. But not before receiving pats and kisses on the forehead from their parents.

And as Ody watches his children tiredly but giddily go to their rooms, he can’t help but feel warm. He thought he’d never get to see those childish sides of his beloved little ones, the sides that came with shiny doe eyes and excitement over simple pleasures and complete enthusiasm while listening to stories and playing games. But, he’d managed to get a small golden sliver of them, somehow. And when he fell asleep next to Penelope, hand resting on her now swollen baby bump, Ody had all the proof he needed for his final thought of the day…

…he truly was the luckiest man to ever live.

[that-house]

I wanna host a ttrpg where a bunch of mostly ordinary folks are sent into a strange haunted house of madness dungeon type thing to kill a stupidly powerful vampire/magic user person.

What system would you recommend? DnD feels like a bad thing for this...

And what is your go to ttrpg anyway?

Given your second ask, where you mentioned wanting them to get stronger over time and such while in the dungeon, honestly? Dungeon crawls are basically the only thing D&D 5e does well. The sole good use case of Dungeons and Dragons (unless you’re a freak like me) is as a grindy resource management simulator. Very few people actually run their D&D games like this because they got it in their heads that it’s about the importance of queer found family as opposed to desperately rationing spell slots and torches.

There’s definitely going to be some initial tonal mismatch but as resources run low your players will need to actually consider when to fight and when to run. As long as running is always theoretically possible, I think you could give them a pretty nightmarish experience. Heavily restrict their access to long rests (hell, maybe even *never* give them a long rest and just have them gain new resources on leveling up but not refresh lost resources), and eventually even encounters that should be easy wind up seriously dangerous just because a spell cast here isn’t available elsewhere.

If you’re looking for a more Horror-related experience that still ends in a crazy fight, I might recommend a reflavor of CAIN. The PCs are all psychics but you could always just cut into how many powers they start with and pass out more as the game progresses. CAIN is meant for a structure more based around doing a bunch of missions, but I imagine you could hack together some solid approximation of a one mission structure, or run each section of the house like its own mission.

Beyond CAIN, i can’t think of much in the way of horror systems that encourage dungeon crawling, where the expectation is that you eventually get stronger and kick a load of ass. Mind you i have like 600 rpg rulebooks saved and haven’t read anywhere close to all of em, so, I’m sure there’s something out there. You might consider asking @/theresattrpgforthat, a blog much more dedicated to answering these sorts of questions.

As for your second question: I think D&D 5e is a terrible system that makes unreasonable demands of the DM and encourages a style of play that I personally don’t find very enjoyable.

That being said, I’m very very good at running D&D 5e the way I want it run, to the point that I’ve had a player say he’s never going to touch the system again unless I’m running it. I just give my players Kill Six Billion Demons-tier bullshit like the Universe Slash and set them loose in a sandbox full of powerful assholes.

D&D statblocks are designed with the intent that you’re fighting 4 level-appropriate encounters per day. I design my statblocks to hold up against a party of level 16 PCs (that could probably each individually wipe the floor with a non-homebrew party their same level) going nova in their only fight of the day, and I find that when the enemies are well designed and the players have fun abilities that force them to actually make meaningful decisions, D&D combat is actually pretty fun! It is not, however, really worth playing D&D like this unless you’re a freak like me who gets off on game design

[liriostigre]

hi there! hope you're having a great day <3

i love all the art and artists you mention in your quizzes (secretly very excited for if u post a 2024 one), i was just wondering if you have any favourite tumblr accounts that post about art?

thank you! 💘

Hiii 💐 thanks so much for appreciating my quizzes!

I don't really follow art blogs, I follow personal blogs very similar to my main blog, so my mutuals also have tags for art, muisc, film, literature, etc. That's how I discover some artists/art on Tumblr, but it's mainly the Wikipedia app for me 🥰!!! When you read an article about an artist you like you'll see links to other artists and links related to the art movements or sometimes the artist's influences, mentors, relatives, friends, lovers. I spend hours reading Wikipedia articles (which obviously come with images lol) until I don't remember what was the article I started with 😬

My answer got too long so check under the cut, but basically if something catches my eye I always look it up on the internet! Always!!!

I always check out artists (not only visual arts) mentioned in the books I read. These are some I highlighted in The Savage Detectives and Of Human Bondage:

Another source for me is albums cover art, so I always research those. Here are some faves:

There are always a lot of art references in movies too (again, not only visual arts; it could be a character reading/mentioning a book or even the soundtrack), so one thing leads to another and that's how I discover art in general.

I also watch and read interviews of musicians, writers and filmmakers, and I'm always checking the Genius lyrics annotations and I watch/read/ listen to what they mention/reference. So I get pretty good books and movies recs. A few examples:

Sorry I couldn't rec blogs but I hope this was helpful anyway 💌

[theghoulboysblog]

Hiiii I’m a new follow to your account cos I love the ghoul boys! I’ve been rewatching old episodes of Weird Wonderful World and it still blows me away how much tenderness is stored in that silly show 😭😭😭

What is it about WWW that makes them so sweet to each other?? (Not complaining lol)

HELLO! :) THANK YOU FOR FOLLOWING AND I AM SO SORRY FOR RESPONDING SO LATE 😭 i put this in my drafts to come back to later and forgot about it cause i’m me 😭🙏

AND YES I KNOW OMG 😭 EVERY EPISODE OF WWW MAKES ME FEEL LIKE IM INTRUDING LMFAOOO. like i’m third wheeling on my own internet??? 😔 my own phone??? ☹️

as soon as these two get together alone, whether it be to eat together for food files or to do cute activities for WWW, they turn into big sweet ol’ saps and I LOVE IT <3

besties :)

[the-narwhals-awaken]

Bloody Hearts Bingo Day 12

Prompt: Smile, General | Sunshine smile/smile like sunshine

Kisuke let his breathing slow. Despite what many people thought, the main part of his soulscape- the 'welcoming hall', so to speak- was not a charnel house. It was not a laboratory, or a killing field, or a mirror of a place he'd ever been as an adult.

The part he was currently sitting in, kneeling in front of a tea-table, was a noble's recieving hall, every aspect perfected and made of exquisite quality materials. Even the Great Noble Houses- the ones still in prominence, at least- could not boast of such quality, but Benihime would settle for nothing less in her domain, especially in the parts of it that outsiders were permitted to step within. Many presumed much, but those who stepped in the realm of the Crimson Princess were reminded very directly that her title came with weight.

Kisuke poured two cups of tea- one for him, one for his princess. Benihime knelt across from him, her usual layers of immaculate robes slimmed down to two worn over an almost-sheer red dress. Still, she looked the royalty that he pretended not to be. "It will be war."

He nodded, taking a sip of his tea. It was a blend he never shared- tasting far too much like blood for others to be pleased, but the iron tang settled the part of him made for killing. "First Aizen, then onii-san, then chichi-ue." Names had power, and he would not forget who they were to him. "It will be slow to end."

"You will prepare them," she said, relentless as the tide, "they are ours and everyone who sees them will know."

"They will be safer if it is not immediately obvious that they are ours," he countered, watching as she took her own long sip, "if only to allow for people to underestimate them."

She shrugged. "They are young- they will be underestimated. Mark them and make sure they know whose they are- they will kneel happily at our feet and all shall know who we are." The one downside of Benihime's viciousness was a significant distaste for concealing their power and ability to the degree Kisuke preferred to work at. It was a fair point- he often made himself seem a fool for no reason, preferring to be mocked than feared, while she would rather be feared for what they were than mocked for what they were not.

Kisuke had to force the image out of his head. The thought of any of them- strong and clever and growing more so by the day- going to their knees willingly, happily, was intoxicating, and he could not be distracted while planning. "They will lose trust, lose chances- too many people hate me for association to be safe."

Benihime smiled like the sun- sharp and unrelenting, impossible to ignore and just as able to bring things to life as ruin them. "Either they will keep them close because they need them or they will die, Kisa-chan. You know as well as I that you will bring them along and they will be damned because of it."

He bowed his head, acknowledging her words. "Very well. Yet we will go slow- steadily build it up, let it slide under the awareness of those who do not know to look. Let them see and yet be blind, let them have all the pieces and be unable to piece together the solution."

The smile on Benihime's face at his words reminded Kisuke that despite the way many spirits often socialized, space blurring and weaving together, Benihime had always had as much space as she'd needed. "And as for yourself?" She gestured rather pointedly to a clothing stand that appeared almost out of nowhere.

The robes that hung on it were a set that Kisuke hadn't worn since they'd been fitted. Rich and deeply embroidered, the fabrics were suited for a prince- which, despite his protestations, he was. More importantly, they were meant for a prince to go to war in, layers of silk forming armor and each thread soaked in power till it almost dripped off of it.

"Not yet, my princess," Kisuke said, averting his gaze and taking another sip of tea. "Perhaps for Chichi-ue." He stood, running his fingers along the topmost layer of fabric, then gently flicking it back to where it was stored. "Greaves, perhaps? Some form of shin guard, as well. Perhaps a chestpiece, but we'd have to adjust that to mobility and hiding well and I'd rather wait till after this next round of growth spurts finishes before we worry about something like that."

Benihime simply steered him away from the tea-table, pushing him back down to his knees in the middle of the hall, just in front of her seat- a low bench, crafted as elegantly as everything else there but almost understated despite it. "You know they'll have to find out, before this is done." It was the kindest thing she'd said all evening- just as he could be harsh, she could be gentle, though for both of them even their kindest touches were barely restrained from drawing blood.

Kisuke bowed his head and hummed acknowledgement. A weight settled on his head, and he knew what she'd done- long ago, when they were both children scrabbling for survival in the Rukongai, she'd hidden the part of him that shone with his father's power. Now she was returning it to him, ensuring that he could not hide.

A crown was a small price to pay, in the end, for the fulfillment of all his duties.

[lunar-wandering]

someone's going through my giggle glow au tag and i would like to once again say that i miss that au so much

[lskamil27]

Hey, do you have any rpg maker horror/rpg maker game recommendations?

RPG MAKER GAME RECOMMENDATIONS,,, Oh boy,,!

I have some that I do like a lot, however, there is a chance some people may not be TOO crazy about it since I am someone who likes it a lot when a game has lots of lore & story that I can bite into and think about more when I’m done!!

I think, right now, what I like as of right now ( these are not ranked in any particular order ):

1. Fausts Alptraum - Free to Download, Artbook You Have to Pay For: A game about a girl named Elisabeth who visits her family’s old home after a funeral, being trapped inside and having to get out.

A BIIIGGG favorite of mine, due to having a nice balance of awe and admiration of its art direction, while balancing tension and unease as you explore

2. Angels of Death - Pay to Play: A game about a girl named Rachel who wakes up in a building and is forced to progress through its floor levels to get out, each floor having a leader who seek to hunt her down.

Another favorite of mine, because I love the story and characters! The symbolism and juxtaposition of Rachel and Zac is so fun, along with plot that had me hooked into it! ( I will say, I am not the best at playing high stress games so I had to watch play-throughs to see the endings LMAO )

3. Mad Father - Pay to Play: About a young girl named Aya who lives alone with her mad doctor of a father, and his assistant. Aya is forced to confront the horrors of her father’s crimes to try and save him when she hears his screams on this particular night.

This was a game I had gotten into when I was WAYY younger! It definitely left a lasting impact on me since I am a big fan of medical & body horror now. I don’t know how to say it, but trust me!! It’s a lot of fun!

4. Fear and Hunger - Pay to Play: Between a cast of 4 playable characters, you are tempted by a personal quest that leads to the Dungeons of Fear & Hunger, unaware of the horrors and depravity that lies inside.

This is a big time favorite of mine, HOWEVER - I do not recommend this to everyone, as the triggers and violence in this game can be extreme for some others to go through. I highly recommend reading any available list of triggers for this game before trying it out, because the content is pretty dark. However, I do like it for its art direction, the lore and its characters, that the creator has made for it’s story and sequel!

5. Flesh, Blood & Concrete - Free to Play: Focused on the protagonist, Lera, who’s car breaks down on a snowy and is invited into the apartment building nearby by a young girl named Nika. Exploring the strange building, Lera encounters unsettling visuals and strange feelings of deja vu.

I recently just played this, and I adore it a lot for the story that has been crafted by the creator, with its message - as well as the welcoming, yet unsettling art direction it has, with the various home-y apartments and depictions of meat & flesh.

Now, these aren’t RPG Maker games themselves, but I will recommend them because I think they are fun to play on free time:

Soul Void - Free to Play: Gameboy pixel style, regarding the protagonist who explores a strange world, looking for a way out. Very beautiful art, and beautiful message!

Saint Spell’s Love Guide to the Magical Student’s Spellbook - Free to Play: Pixel Visual Dating Sim, very pretty, very fun routes to play, my friends and I loved playing it during our lunch breaks in uni!!

[allylikethecat]

omg more prompts!! would love to see matty holding hands with george while he’s stressed out about something and then maybe later laying his head in george’s lap🥺

HELLO THERE ANON,

You sent me this WONDERFUL intimacy prompt literally three months ago, BUT I finally did it, I finally filled it! Better late than never? Right? I want to apologize though for taking so long to get to it, and thank you so much for sending it in. I hope that you're still around to see the response! I ended up combining the two- I hope that was okay! Please let me know what you think! Additionally, if anyone else wants to send in any intimacy prompts, the list can be found here. I can't guarantee that it won't take me three months to finish the next one, but I promise that I *will* eventually. I really enjoy working on prompt fills and even if it takes me forever to actually sit down and write them, just know that I am in fact always thinking about them!

Thank you so much for requesting this prompt, your patience since I am the worst and it took me months, for reading, and for your continued support! I look forward to hearing what you think!

❤️Ally

WARNINGS: Reference to past drug abuse

Holding hands during a stressful situation & Resting your head on your partner's lap

Matty hated flying. He hated the drive to the airport. He hated that they were always, inevitably, caught in stop and go traffic that made his already nervous belly churn, nausea burning the back of his throat. He hated leaving his bag with the airline agent, the worry that it would get lost, that it would get stolen, that it wouldn’t make it to his final destination even as he obsessively tracked its air tagged location on his phone. He hated going through security and border control. He hated taking off his jacket, and shoving his backpack into the plastic bin. He hated the scrutiny of the security agents as they took in his tattoos and the scars on his arms. He was always, without fail, pulled for random, additional screening. He always tried to smile good naturedly, anxiety bubbling in his gut, even if he knew he wasn’t truly chosen at random, drug dogs sniffing his ankles as they swabbed his hands for explosives. At least he got to carry his own passport now, it was no longer in Jamie’s clutches as if he was going to run off to score the second he was left unattended. (He never had even considered fleeing an airport to score, however, he had considered fleeing an airport to run back to the flat he shared with George and hide under the covers of their bed.)

He hated making his way through the crowded terminal, people rushing around him, knocking into him, suffocating him as he tried to remember how to breathe. The straps of his backpack digging into his shoulder. He knew there would be a red mark on the skin when he sat it down, there always was. He loved their fans, he loved them more than anything, but he hated that he could feel their eyes on him as he moved through the airport, taking pictures of him with his eyes downcast, the brim of his baseball hat pulled low as if it would be able to fully hide his mop of curls. Only for the pictures to end up on Twitter moments later, which led to more eyes seeking his location. The braver ones would approach him and ask for a picture with him rather than just of him from a distance. He would force a smile, his arm stiffly around their shoulders as he tried to focus on his breathing, his palms sweating as every fiber of his being screamed danger and run. He hated that they always seemed to be assigned the gate furthest away from the main artery of the terminal. He hated that his anxiety meant he needed to lay eyes on the gate, that he needed to verify that it was real before he could wait with the rest of their group in the lounge. 

He hated that once he had dropped off his bag, and made it through security, and checked on his gate, that it was time to wait. Matty was not a patient person, he was even less patient when he was stressed, wanting things the way he wanted them right this instant. Demanding, George had called him one time with an amused smile and love shining in his eyes.

At this particular instant, he was both stressed and demanding, gripping George’s hand as if it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth as he dragged him through the crowded corridor towards their gate. He was more stressed than even his usual airport levels of airport anxiety. He hadn’t slept the night before, tossing and turning, worrying about the ten hour flight from LA to London they would be embarking on the next morning, popping piece after piece of nicotine gum as they inched towards departures in their rental van. They had played the last show of the tour the night before, and Matty was burnt out and ready to go home. Once at the airport, he had been, as usual, pulled for additional screening, the man that patted him down rough and inconsiderate. He had been stopped by a duo of fans less than five minutes later, forcing a smile as he tried to swallow down anxious tears threatening to spill. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his blood rushing in his ears as a man speaking loudly on the phone bumped into him, splashing him with iced coffee.

“You’re okay,” George soothed, giving Matty’s sweaty hand a comforting squeeze of his own, as the man turned away from them, glaring, as if they were the ones not watching where they were going. He swiped his thumb reassuringly against the back of Matty’s hand. 

“The gate is just up ahead,” George said, pointing with his free hand to B37. “We still have an hour ‘til boarding.” 

Matty nodded, wishing that seeing the gate with his own eyes would have loosened some of the tension in his chest, the way it usually did. George gave his hand another squeeze and Matty swallowed hard. George had calluses on his fingers and across his palm from years of playing the drums professionally, Matty loved that they slotted perfectly against his own guitarists calluses. Matty loved that George’s hands were so much bigger than his own, dwarfing his hand, his fingers wrapping fully around his own, engulfing them, protecting them from the outside world. He loved that even when he was shaking, even when his palms were disgustingly damp and sweaty, George never let go. He might have been the one clinging to George, but really, George was the one holding onto him. He closed his eyes, and tried to focus on the feel, on the weight of George’s hand, intertwined with his own. He could still feel his heart beating in his ears, but he no longer felt like he was going to drift away, like he was going to be pulled out to sea by the current and lost forever.

George pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Matty’s head. “Let's head up to the lounge, I would kill for a cup of coffee.” 

Matty let himself be led through the crowd, their hands connected as if George was the tugboat guiding Matty’s ship to shore. George showed their passes to the hostess and they were granted access, the rest of their group already sprawled out on the couches, bags at their feet, coffee in hand. Matty swallowed a yawn, he was exhausted, and knew that coffee would help, but he also knew he wouldn’t be able to stomach the acidic liquid at the moment.

Matty sat down on an open two seater. Matty hated that he had to let go of George’s hand as he made his way over to the coffee bar, pleased that they were reunited a moment later, a steaming paper cup in George’s hand. He dropped into the seat next to him and without thinking Matty found himself leaning over, not caring that technically they were in public, to rest his head in George’s lap. 

“I just want to go home,” Matty said softly as George tugged Matty’s hat off to run his fingers through the messy squashed curls. 

“Soon love,” said George, “we’ll be home soon.”

[the-whispers-of-death]

cute thing about my ocs:

Void likes to hold hands. also Void @ Kali: "you are my (3rd) dad. you're my dad boogie woogie woogie" (if you get the vine referance)

Selga purrs and his chest noticably vibrates when he does so

not very cute thing about my ocs:

due to.... well everything they've been through they're desensitized to violence and are casually very violent with eachother at times and throw around threats like it's candy (one moment they're throwing hands, beating the absolute dogshit out of eachother and the next they're snuggling in a pile)

Romanas spontaniously hurts himself at times mostly when already frustrated (banging his head against tables/walls, scratching/biting himself the works) i will not let this man rest ✌️❤️

I don't understand the vine reference (never was on vine when it was alive), but Kali would happily hold Void's hand if he let him.

Selga and Stone can purr together, because Stone too purrs.

Stone, anytime your ocs are being violent and careless with each other: Please don't.

Romanas moves to hurt himself and Stone just picks him up and holds him in air jail like he's a cat.