#i wrote at 2am

[wberry-foodfight]

Meryl and Milly find Eriks in tristamp s.2

Vash: "But why did you come all the way here?"

Meryl: "I offered to clear your name back then. And I am going to keep my word"

Milly: "And I'm helping!"

Vash: "Well, it's nice of you, ladies, but I don't think I have a name anymore. For them I'm Eriks. Let it stay like that"

-----------------

[proneterror204]

"Do you want to continue being a vigilante?" Batman asked his new ward Danny aka Phantom.

Danny stopped, looked confused and glanced at the batfamily like he didn't understand what was asked. " want? What does 'want' have to do with anything? I became a vigilante because I was needed, because I was the only one capable. Are you Batman because you wanted to be or because you were needed. Does anyone become a hero because they want to be or because they're needed? I wanted to become an astronaut. I never wanted to be a hero and I wasn't wanted as a hero, but I was needed or the people I loved would die. So my question is. Am I needed?"

The entire bat family is staring at him worriedly

[lazylittledragon]

'i'll just do a couple of doodles of mombin™/platonic stobin parents' nevermind, borderline graphic novel

[iheartmonaco]

HI CAN YOU PLEASE WRITE A FULL FIC ON THE VERSTAPPEN GOOD BOY TEXTS PLEASEEE

Good Boy

MV1 X GN!reader

Summary: max verstappen with a praise kink that's it that's the fic

Warnings: suggestive

Inspired by these texts

It started as a joke, really, when you said "you're such a good boy" to Max for the first time.

What shocked you was his reaction to it— the Dutchman, blunt as ever, replied, "I want to hear that in your actual voice, not through texts."

So here you were, with Max's head in your lap, petting him like he does to the cats. A soft sigh left his half-open mouth. You couldn't help but think of it as the perfect opportunity to try out what could be an amazing new addition to your sex lives.

As Max was coming close to the end of his ramble about the day's race, you ran your fingers through his hair and spoke softly, "You did so good today, baby. I'm so proud of you."

It was barely the starting, just typical praise you would always give him after a race, but his reaction was always so adorable you couldn't help but melt. Featherlight pink dusted his cheeks. "Mhm," he replied, lips pressed together in a small smile.

"Such a good boy, always making me so proud."

Heat rushed to his cheeks, cherry red now, as he struggled to keep a straight face. "Thank you, schatje."

You resumed patting his head, cooing softly, "You like that, baby? Like when I call you a good boy?"

Max was looking up at you with sultry eyes and his pupils blown wide. "Yeah," he whispered.

"Then why don't you get on your knees and give me a good reason to call you that, hm?" Max moved instantly, on his knees in front of you in what seemed to be 2 seconds at most. "You know what to do, right, pretty boy?"

He nodded, lips parted as his chest heaved for oxygen. He looked a little dizzy, pupils blown out and blushing down to his chest, and you were loving the effect the simple words had on him.

"Words, baby."

He swallowed dryly, his breath on your thigh. "Yes, schatje, please. Let me please you."

You decided to tease him a while longer, cupping his chin with one hand. "And why should Iet you do that, baby?"

His fingers toyed with the waistband of your sweatpants. "Because I wan— I wanna be a good boy. For you."

You lifted you hips, letting him take your pants off. "Oh, you already are, Max...

"you're such a good boy."

[losersolace]

solangelo have opposite styles AND opposite tastes in food. nico has the BIGGEST sweet tooth while will is more of a bitter/savory guy. them getting coffee and nico (dressed like he’s going to a funeral) gets the sweetest most tooth-rotting sugary abomination while will (dressed head to toe in patterns and fun colors) just gets black coffee

[localapparently]

/ orv epilogue + sp identity spoilers , cw blood

!! Please do NOT reupload my comics / works anywhere !!

(Read right to left)

[inklore]

JOEL IS SUCH A SAP AFTER SEX.

To keep you from pulling away from him after you’ve both come, he’ll grip the back of your neck, his palm rough and hot against your sweaty skin, his nail digging into the skin of your hip to keep you in place. 

“No, not yet," he’ll say in that ragged voice he gets when he’s just got done fucking you. When he’s just finished coming inside of you, both of your chests heaving, bodies spent and exhausted from fucking. 

Joel taking his time with you. 

Manhandling your body into different positions—your legs on his shoulders, hands at your hips to lift you off the bed because he knows your legs shake from the spots he hits when your hips are at the right angle. His cock driving deep inside of you, the tip pushing against that sensitive spot against your walls that has his name pulling from your lungs like he’s choking it out of you. 

Your ass in the air for him, his palm on your back to push you further into the mattress because he loves watching you grip the pillow, loves the incoherent noises and drool that’s muffled into the plush cotton as he thrusts his cock into you at a relentless pace. Leaving bite marks on your shoulder, teeth imprints, he runs his tongue along later. 

Your tits in his hand as you ride him. a hand around your throat as he feels the tremble of your legs the closer you get to coming. The exasperation in your breaths and moans as you pump yourself down on his cock. 

“That’s it, that’s it. Take from me, baby, take all of it.” He grunts as you come on his cock, squeezing and clenching around him enough to make his release hit head on with yours, a deep grunt tensing him forward as he comes inside of you. 

And after all is said and done, he just wants you pressed against his chest. 

The fingers at your hip refusing to let you move from him, the palm at the back of your neck pulling you down so your mouths meet in a passionate kiss that leaves you even more breathless, and yearning for the intimacy that always follows fucking. 

The gentle loll of the afterglow that Joel fucking loves. 

Your head on his chest, his face pressed against your head. Fingers rubbing against your back. “Just stay right here,” he whispers. Soothes. Pleads. 

[kentopedia]

satoru gojo, who’s loved you from afar until your husband dies in shibuya. who helps you back up on your feet when you’re not sure you have any reason to live. who helps you raise the child you were supposed to have with kento, even though he’d never even known of her existence.

you learn to love satoru, and he loves you and your daughter just the same. but you will always ache a bit, chest twisting in pain, when your daughter, with her pretty brown eyes, starts calling satoru dad.

and though you see traces of kento in her everyday, you never correct her. satoru is content to play the role of the father, though they look nothing alike, and she will question it when she’s older.

but, for now, it’s easier. there’s no good way to tell a child that her real father is a man she will only know through photographs.

[kyouka-supremacy]

Atsushi arriving to a bar to help Akutagawa after the latter got wasted (can't hold his alcohol) and finding him sobbing, his head lying aimlessly against the counter, a pool of tears underneath his face, and Atsushi is already mentally preparing his “you're worthy of love even Dazai-san believes that” pep talk when he suddenly notices the abandoned phone lying besides him open on a web search of “how long do tigers live”

[venic-of-paper]

Normal

((I love @bamsara ‘s take on the characters in “The Rehabilitation of Death” and reading that fic led me to draw this so go check it out, very fun stuff))

Edit: Bro I checked this drawing multiple times how did i miss writing 'the' twice when The One Who Waits speaks....

[crybaby-bkg]

Bakugou who is clingier than he’d like to admit. Not because he’s insecure or doesn’t trust you or whatever bullshit some might think, no. He just loves your presence, your aura, the sweetness that always surrounds you. It’s always just a reminder for him to chill out, to be vulnerable, to love you open and honestly.

Pouts a little when he asks you to go somewhere with him, but you tell him you can’t right now, you’re busy. He’s grumbling under his breath the whole time, and returns sooner than he usually would.

But the moments where you do follow him—he loves it. Convinces you to join him in you guys’ home gym, and just loves it when you’re there beside him. You guys don’t even have to talk half the time, he just wants to be near you. Sometimes you’re corny and kiss him every time he does a sit up or push up, but a lot of the times, you just sit there quietly beside him. Pull out a blanket and book, lay on the floor next to him while he does his reps, sit on the bench beside him and blast your music. He feels more at peace during those moments.

Or, he wants to cook you something (because that’s his very own love language). He sets you on the counter beside him, talking to himself and to you occasionally. You bump him with your toes and he bites at your hands when they reach for the still hot food. He feeds you a little once it cools down, but after that, he goes back to cooking. Only this time, he presses his side as much as he can to your legs, kissing you when too much time passes by.

also!!! when he comes home after a long day and wants to shower. He doesn’t necessarily need you to do anything for him, besides provide the comfort you always do with just your presence. You talk to him quietly about your day, doing your skincare routine when he brushes his teeth after he gets out.

He just really loves being near you, even if it’s spent mostly in silence, because you’re the only thing he needs in order to function.

[uriekukistan]

JJK 265: The Role of a Sorcerer

one of the focal points of jjk since the beginning has been the roles and responsibilities of jujutsu sorcerers. it's a question that gets thrown around a lot between different characters: as sorcerers, what is the right way to live? it's a driving force behind many of the major events of the story, and the cause of fragmentation, where different paths could have been taken, but weren't. and in one chapter, yuuji dismantles it all.

as much as i'd love to talk about this when it comes to every character, i picked a few that i think are interesting (to me) and carry a lot of weight throughout the story to discuss, including gojo & geto, megumi, yuuta, and, of course, the man of the hour, yuuji.

Gojo & Geto

the main difference between them right from the start is the way they view their roles as sorcerers, and this fragmentation influences their trajectories going forward, and the trajectory of jjk as a whole.

at the start, geto believes that his role as a sorcerer is to protect non-jujutsu sorcerers. as someone who is strong, he must protect those who are weak, and he must keep those who are also strong in check. he accepts this as his role without much question, and he takes it seriously.

in contrast, gojo thinks that idea is, well, garbage, and he argues with geto about it, calling him self-righteous for thinking that way. where geto focuses his concept of his role on those who are weak, gojo focuses his on those who are strong. his role is simply to be strong. he acts to get stronger and prove that strength.

another place where their opinions diverge in conceptualizing their roles as sorcerers is when it comes to finding meaning in their actions. where gojo doesn't think there needs to be meaning in their actions, geto disagrees.

ultimately, his search for meaning leads to his downfall, as he reaches the conclusion that being a sorcerer is a thankless job, cleaning up after and saving the humans from their uncontrolled cursed energy. he decides that sorcerers are the ones who need protection from humans, because they are subjected to the horrors that humans generate, while those humans live in ignorance.

meanwhile, as gojo matures, he doesn't ditch the idea that strength is what matters as a sorcerer, but he shifts his idea of role to raising a generation of strong sorcerers who can rely on each other. and ultimately, these leads to his downfall too. thoughts on this here under point 1.

regardless, their ideas of their roles are major driving factors of their decisions, and therefore the plot of jjk. their roles are what doom them to their respective fates.

Megumi

megumi has made damn sure we know what he believes his role is. he's a sorcerer, not a hero. he doesn't save people because he has to or because it's the right to do. he saves the people he wants to save. that's all.

he uses his conscience to decide who he wants to save, and that is his decided role.

and this is what dooms him too. his decision to save yuuji is what left him vulnerable to sukuna, and his desire to save tsumiki from the culling games left him open to be manipulated by yorozu, as she pretended to be his sister in order to take advantage of what megumi was willing to do so she could play her own version of the culling games. that shock and hurt is what let sukuna latch onto him so easily, and submerge his soul in the depths of his body.

Yuuta

yuuta decides that his role is to not let others be alone. of course, this is most notable when it comes to gojo, but it's shown throughout jjk0 as well, such as when he refuses to let inumaki go against the curse that geto planted alone.

he also expresses this to yuuji after he fake executes him. he makes sure yuuji knows that he isn't alone in his feelings, and that he's not to blame. empathy is one of yuuta's strongest traits, and he makes it his role.

this is why he is willing to go as far as taking gojo's body, because he knows how gojo has to toss aside his humanity to fight all of these special grade curses (for example, when he used his domain expansions while humans were around despite knowing it would cause damage to them), and he doesn't want him to be alone in his inhumanity.

and while yuuta isn't dead yet, his role has doomed him, because, well...

Yuuji

now we come to yuuji, the sorcerer who shakes this concept to its core in jjk 265.

he's someone who'd decided his role before he even became a sorcerer. he wants to help people, and he wants to guide them to proper deaths.

he also accpets his role as sukuna's vessel, and tries to maintain those two parts of his chosen role simultaneously. however, as we know, he fails to balance being sukuna's vessel and saving people in shibuya (i hesitate to use the word fail because it was not a failure of yuuji's, but i hope you know what i mean).

this causes a shift in his idea of his role, especially once megumi asks for his help in the culling games. he embraces this role as a cog. he will help out fushiguro, he'll help unseal gojo, and then he will die. that is his new role.

quote from yuuji in 265:

until recently, i thought i should simply live to fulfill my role as i understood it. i thought if i died like that, i could at least consider it a proper death. but now, i feel like that's not entirely right. ... just the tiny fragments of memories that make up a person drifting elsewhere give value to a human life. ... people aren't tools. we aren't born with any set roles

yuuji completely rejects the idea that people are defined by theid roles at all, whether they are jujutsu sorcerers or not. he sheds his mindset that he needs to help people, or give them proper deaths, or fulfill a role than die in order to be worth something. instead, he accepts the value of his life as a collection of all the things he's experienced and the people he’s known.

and in doing this, he shakes the world of jujutsu kaisen to its core, and creates another crack in the cycle.

[miffmuff]

I don't see enough content of amnesiac Rob, like when he first fell out the void, just got disfigured, has no memory of anything. Which is a shame I think that's cool idea to explore, what is means to have your entire identity stripped away from you.

Oh he's like freshly disfigured too, I don't think it would feel the most pleasant! Sighh he makes me sick sighhhhh

[punk-in-docs]

A song of rage and salty waves: part I

— Emperor Geta x reader (Salacia)

— 2.5k words

— Read all parts here: Part I — Part II — Part III — Part IV

Summary; You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa. Salacia. And now you are sent to Rome for your father in the Senate. There you will catch the attention of Geta; in all the wrong and darkest of ways— any reblog and comments are greatly appreciated 💙💙💙

TW!! some dub con/ threat/violence/basically forced marriage/forced smut situation/Geta is such a vile human being/Macrinus is villain sorry denzel ily

You’re imprisoned in Rome.

You certainly didn’t come here of your own free will. Your father had tugged you here from Corsica. Employed clever charm with letters and schemes from his high position in the senate.

As the role of your sex; you were born to obey.

He sent you imported silken stolas the colours of cornflowers or lazurite, with gold fibulae at the shoulders. Gem inlaid jewellery, rings to decorate every finger, and earrings the sway. A golden net for your hair. Wheedled you into coming to join him. Sending servants to travel with you and take heed of your every comfort.

He made sure you dined on plump fresh fruit. Seafood of lobsters and crabs. Drank wine so rich dark it looked black.

You despise it. The stone pillars and temples. And gods of old. Eyes watch you everywhere. See you. Follow you.The governing heat and noise and sweaty heaving mass of all forms of life.

You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa.

Salacia. The ocean nymph and the being of your name. Crowned with seaweed in your hair. Sea foam dripping off your fingers. Ripped from your home, an isle by the sea, at the whim of another.

Imprisoned here in this cold marble city. A fish out of water. Gasping dry on the shore.

Pulled inland and stolen away. You can’t hear gulls or waves anymore. It sickens you. Heart pangs that throb for home.

When you arrived, pulled back your folded palla down to your shoulders. He welcomed you with open arms and fondness. Wrists linked in gold cuffs. Tugged you to his chest and embraced you warmly. Hissed in your ear - abrasive like harsh sea spray - spies are everywhere.

He needed you close by. For reasons you had yet to fathom.

You dined like spoilt deity’s. Breads and wines, fish, fruits from far regions fattened by the suns heat, and succulent meat roasted in sweet cassia spices on a spit.

He had urns of flowers - picked by the servant - placed in every room. Lilies, juniper branches still bearing dark fruit, lavender, oleanders.

Companions join him and he is boastful of you. A nubile creature offered placement at a table of old muddled men. He introduces you to trusted friends and advisors in the senate.

One man in particular takes keen interest as to your recent arrival. His name was Macrinus. Man of information and resources. Dealt in cunning and cruelty though you found him sincerely charming. Your father watched you with a desperate eye.

Macrinus bore a smile so dazzling and blinding it made you dizzy; made think of the sun god. Apollo and his light cast across golden wheat fields. Notes of fine music. He sipped his wine slow, as he learned the flavour of your name. Where you came from. Understanding the rolling sea foam in your veins.

There’s a game to be held at the coliseum. He will have your father as his guest - and you by a very pretty extension. He nods at you; his eyes glimmer like pooled liquid gold in the half lit dark. It almost makes you feel safe.

They dine and drink into the small hours. Yet you slip away.

You watched this awful city out your window that night in your silk dress the colour of night time tidal waves. The air is stale. Carrion to you. Hot. Full of dust and sweat. Here, It smells like mulberry trees and a green garden waiting for blessed rain.

You couldn’t hear the sea. Or your sisters. Your mothers humming as she wove cloth and mended clothes. And you wept.

Salt found in your tears to be your only sacred comfort of home.

~

You are soft to this hard stone city. The coliseum is magnificent. As large as it is those who hold their powerful fists over its rule. Clutched in gold. Fine for the rich. Deadly for the slaves and warriors thrown into the pit at the whim of others. Met with carnivore teeth and sand and death.

The senators, generals, and the rich merchants watch from their perch, up among the gods they serve, presiding in shade and clothed in perfumed silks and jewels. Ladies and men both.

Your hair took hours to fasten in its current coiled style. Plaited and weaved. Your dress is the colour of the softest blue shore. Your servant lavished your arms and fingers in golden finery. A serpent cuff coiled around your arm. Skin draped in lemon oil because it’s the small piece of Corsica you carry here with you. Serenity to push against this place of gore, butchery and death.

You find yourself seated here amongst giants. Macrinus is seated one side. Your father the other. He fondly lays his hand across yours in gentle touch.

His palm is damp. Gold rings wet.

His face looks haggard with age. The lines by his eyes more prominent. Rome is poisoning him. The golden apple just a fingertip shy of his reach. St Bartholomew flayed and stripped of skin piece by piece. Schemes and plots lay thick in his mind like rot. Sweat beads down across his brow and the thinning salt pepper of his hair.

He says something to Macrinus that you’re too absorbed to hear. It’s low. Dragged through a growl. He appears unmoved, with a slow flick of his eyes to you. Watching this finery and loudness devour you. Your eyes so full wide and round. Salt and innocence entwined.

You all rise when the emperors pass by, Geta and Caracalla, who stride in, garbed in gold and cloaks. Come to take their rightful place at the mouth of the box where you are seated.

They are like twin suns to the Roman people. Lion gold hair kissed by fire. They burn and twist and shine with it. Make noises like gold coins that clack when they move. Strung in riches and golden crowns of olive leaves and branches.

Together they make you think of Romulus and Remus. Raised rabid by wolves. And they certainly make an impression. You’ve heard tale of the voracious nature of the blood sport they all but live for. Faces limned in the glory of gore.

The crowd cheers for them. They nod and wave but it appears barbed. The games begin with a wave of applause and a regal hand.

Caracalla twists and casts an eye in your direction. Seeing new meat.

The way you sit sedately and can’t cast your mind into the butchery and violence happening below. The clash of steel. The hollow squelching cries that proceed death. The spill of viscera and the scatter of brain matter from split heads.

Each new gash or split in skin made them smile. The taint of blood. Metallic sour. Spilling of offal and exposed bone.

He tilts his head like a clever wolf. Eyes darken. His sneer as terrible as a skulls. He leans across and whispers something to his brother with a knock of his arm to gain attention.

Another set of wolfish eyes join the first in hooking to your skin. Silly soft girl. Made of gentle sea breezes and lapping blue waves calm and soft enough to wade in. Pearl shining in moonlight. So watery and weak. So good. Untouchable.

Geta swept his gaze on you from head to toe. Appraising you hungrily through greedy eyes. The beauty of your figure in that soft folds of that stola. The gold that crushed your neck. Broaches at your fair shoulders. Hair glistening and finely arranged.

He liked the way you winced when another sword blow came. The pull of your brows and how you had to look away. He wanted you gathered up in his lap; fingers crushing your jaw as he turned your head; force you to watch as the men cleaved at each other and drew blood. Hacked off limbs. Laugh at your revulsion.

Looking at you sat there; He has an urge to take his dagger, slit that fine silk from your shoulders and bare your real beauty. Grab it off you and snatch your dress down. Spoil himself on your curves. Grab your breasts. He’s sure you’ve tits that even a goddess would envy. He’d reel you in by grabbing your ass that definitely needs a spank and some attention.

You’re even prettier than some of the finest whores he’s had grace his bed. They never kept his interest too long. Too entwined in filth and sin like him; you look pure as a vestal virgin.

He likes that. He wants to pluck it off you and spoil it.

You don’t dare meet his eyes. Of course you don’t. He’s an emperor. He could have you executed for looking at him wrongly. Instead; you wring your hands in your lap and squirm. Close your eyes tighter with every dying wail.

He turns back to the fight. As do you. A gasp flies from your mouth when you draw your eyes to one of the measly soldiers in the arena. Your father left his seat to stand, mouth gaping.

You saw the familiar arrangement of strong limbs. Garbed in warriors clothing. The way his arms shook holding a sword. Inexperienced and struggling. The fight was not fair. The same head of hair that matched your own.

Your oldest brother.

Macrinus grinned. “He’s not my finest fighter. But I wager he’ll be good sport.” He smirks.

Your father turned, cursed the gods, and exploded with venomous rage. Flew for the man with his fists. Grabbed his clothing. You tried to restrain the storm of his temper - but then you’d got that trait from somewhere hadn’t you? - an ocean thrashing wild and free. Terrifying in its rage.

“You promised me.” Your father roared. Spittle flying.

“I never promised to protect your traitor of a son. Let us see if the gods spare him. Yes?” Macrinus commented.

You couldn’t take your eyes from the pit. Nor could your father. He clutched to you like he could barely stand. Weakened and shrinking. Hand a vice on your shoulder. It burned like the sting of sun but you couldn’t shrug him off.

Your brother was meeting with an opponent far larger than he was. A Retiarius. Helmet, trident, dagger and a net.

Of which had currently knocked your brother to the blood dusted dirt. Spearing the trident deep into his thigh. Pinning him to earth like a bug. His cry of pain ringing out. Blood sheeted down one side of his head. His scream is the most horrible thing you’d ever heard.

You can’t help it. Where you’re stood, you cry out. It pours forth from you.

The Retiarius loomed over your bother like a terrible storm cloud. Looking up at the stands for direction. The whole audience cheered and screamed for more.

Geta stood up and the crowd bayed. He sneered at the sight before him. All the power of a god; crammed into a mortal man.

He raised his arm. And hesitated for a moment. Before he smirked. And pointed his thumb right up.

Death.

Your father wailed. The huge lumbering gladiator descended onto your brother. Flinging the net off and cutting his throat in one fast slice. Blood poured and pooled around lifeless eyes. Stained the sand.

Macrinus stood to his feet and clapped along with everyone else. The emperors’ laughed like hyenas at the sight. Blood and pain only made their smiles grow.

Before you knew what was happening, the palace guards had you and your father surrounded. Hands viced around your arms. Your shoulders. Your father too.

Traitor. He decried. A traitor in the senate. The tarpeian rock.

Just like his now dead son. People’s poised against the glory of Rome. Against Caracalla and Geta. Death to all.

Macrinus spoke harshly to the guards to release you. He backhanded you across your cheek. Your eye felt like it was going to burst. Cheek flamed with fire. Lip cut and bleeding down your chin from his ring.

He then wasted little time in digging his fingers into your finely done hair. Hauled you along screaming. Tears streaming.

Your father could only watch, limbs wrenching forwards in terror to help, as Macrinus marched you across the stands to where they sat.

He threw you to the ground like a feral animal. Tumbled you onto your knees. Skimmed your hands. As you squirmed and cried at your body twisted to his cruelty.

“Your majesties. I have personally uncovered a traitor in your court. Senator Aurelius. Not only was his first born placed in rebellion against Rome. But he himself has been sowing seeds of treason in your senate. I bring you his filthy kin as recompense…” He spat at the Emperors. Releasing your mussed hair to throw you to their feet.

They examined you as one would a creature. Nothing of humanity left. Devoid of any feeling. You crawled slowly to your elbows. Tried to claw away sobs. Raising up but not daring to look at them. You weren’t worthy. You feared them.

Geta was the one who rose slowly to his feet. Coming to stand before you. “We are most grateful for your revelation, Macrinus. You will be rewarded for such loyal service.” Though he spoke to him, his eyes never left you.

You father shouted and cried pleas. They go unheard. He snaps to the guards who hold him. “Silence that treacherous snake-“ he barks. They beat him into submission.

You stay cowering on the ground. In amongst the gritty dirt, and the blood like those slaves and gladiators. That’s how they saw you. That’s how much you were worth. Held in the same regard as the dirt on their shoes.

You feel a ring clad hand tip a finger under your chin. Blood dripping down onto that digit as he made you raise your head to look at him until your neck hurt.

“What is your name, pretty little traitor-“ He sneers. Because that is all you are. They’ve tarred and feathered you with the same brush.

You give it to him through tears that run freely. You give this awful golden haired emperor with dark lecherous eyes your name.

“Salacia.” You cry. Voice watery and cloaked in heavy salty sobs. Lips parted. So soft and pliable. Lovely and ripe and waiting for him. A gift from the gods-

He tilts his head down at you. Looking like some sun gold lion. Showing his canines in a cruel white smile.

“Imprison them. Both.” He smirks.

He thinks he may have them bring him your fathers head on a platter. Strangulation seemed too soft. Too forgiving. He had to make an example of you.

He had a particular way in mind for your fate. He watched you get led away crying as he sucked your sweet blood off his thumb.

You tasted like salt and sea foam

~

Tagging in the hopes this finds its way to the right people—

@indouloureux @trashmouth-richie @atabigail @lunatictardis @waywardrose @ceriseheaven @hillarymurray4 @lurkingprincess @ramona-thorns @joequinnswhore @iliveforotps @eddiesskittle @roosterisdaddy36 @rose-tinted @lluviamg06 @ravensfromvalhalla @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @morganamoonstone @gvtosbith @munsonswhore @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-titties @anaisweird @cinnamoncunt @red-lipstick-bisexual @wheels-of-despair @tvserie-s-world @callmeloverr @ho-for-joequinn-fics @bettyfrommars @rip-quizilla @songforeddiemunson @usedtobecooler @peachesandfiends @littlelioncub43 @heyndrix @babybluebex @blueywrites @joejoequinnquinn @cool-nick-miller @sheneedsrocknroll92 @rehfan @pedgito @dracomaledicte @gamingaquarius @mypoisonedvine @ddejavvu @sharp-and-swift @chaptersleftunwritten

[passionateseadruid]

[miuszn]

imagine ellie fucking u w her strap ..

♡ restraining ur hands bc she finds it so sexy , she wants to be in complete control of u

♡ she’s definitely the type to slide the strap along ur slit to tease you before actually putting it in , loving how frustrated , impatient , and whiny u get

♡ she starts slowly sliding inside you , but quickly fills you up without letting you adjust first causing you to cry out from the mix of pain and pleasure

♡ quickly picks up the pace and fucks u faster while teasing u for how needy u are , but she knows u enjoy her treating u like this

♡ u insist u can ride her and she chuckles , knowing you’re gonna struggle . “ got tired of always just laying there , baby ? i don’t mind it , you look gorgeous . “

♡ ur able to do it for a bit and then u start struggling , so she insists on her fucking you in missionary again

♡ might i add , she loves fucking you in missionary . she loves looking at your face while she ruins u and forces u to maintain eye contact while overstimulating u

♡ sososo gentle when she’s not being mean tho , always making sure ur fine and she’s not being too rough <3

ib : this video ( not exactly , just inspo )