#if i write the story in full

[ghostedbunnie]

mmm my brain is buzzing with an idea of knight! ghost stumbling upon a carriage getting robbed late at night. appearing like a monster that mothers warn their kids about when they misbehave, mask covering his face and after the bloodbath finishes and no one is left standing but him, he let's out a sigh before making his way to the carriage, one of the window is broken but the heavy curtains are drawn.

when he opens the door he doesn't expect to have the curtains thrown in his face and an absolutely feral maid trying to cut him with the shard of the window held so tight in her shaky hand that the other side cuts deep into her palm. something clicks in place for ghost in that moment, this little cornered thing protecting her mistress with ferocity of a tiger but with fear oozing out of her every pore.

with something that resembles a snort he knocks the shard out of her hand and pulls her out by the scruff as if she truly is just a little kitten showing her claws and he is finding it extremely amusing. the mistress is less of a fighter, he finds, it took one look at him all bloody and dark a picture straight out of nightmares and she passed out on the spot.

with the maid fighting him every step of the way he manages to bring them to his master, his king. turns out the mistress is a princess that was travelling to marry the king and for saving her life, he deserves a gift. anything of his choosing. anyone.

the maid could feel a cold sweat drip down her back when for the first time since they travelled together she heard his voice (she believed his vocabulary was made up of grunts and growls) when he pulled her in with his heavy gloved paw on the back of her neck, "I'll take 'er."

edit: full fic here

[arhvste]

“this is killing me.” kuroo mumbled as he tossed his phone to his side. “just trust me bro,” his best friend-turned roommate bokuto grinned. “this works everytime for me i swear!”

kuroo sighed before grabbing phone again to refresh his instagram story views once more. several people had already viewed the post-gym mirror selfie he’d taken in attempts to garner attention from one particular follower of his; you. “maybe it’s too cringe…” he muttered while over analysing the photo that had already gained a couple of likes within the twenty minutes it had already been up for. “nah.” bokuto reassured him and pat his friend on the shoulder. “you look sexy.” kuroo stared back at the two-toned haired boy. “… thanks bro.”

this isn’t something kuroo would typically post but times were tough and he was desperate. he’d seen you around campus but luck was not on his side when it came to scheduling and the two of you barely had class time together. yet the little class time you did share, kuroo hung onto it tightly and would let scenes of these weekly one hour classes replay in his head more often than he’d like to admit.

“i feel like a modern jay gatsby,” the ex volleyball captain huffed. “my selfie is the equivalent of the wild parties he’d throw in hopes to get daisy’s attention except i don’t want to post every night, i’ve already made myself cringe with this one post.” bokuto stared back at his friend blankly. “yeah… whatever that means.” kuroo frowned back “it’s a classic, you should know what i mean!”

how much longer was he going to have to wait? bokuto had promised him quick results with this method and so far he’d felt deceived and lied to. if talking to you when he got the chance wasn’t enough to get a conversation going outside the classroom, then social media seemed like the next best attempt to start interacting more.

what were you doing? why weren’t you viewing his story? could you even see his story? did he accidentally block you?

these questions ran through his mind as he quickly rushed to check to make sure he hadn’t for some reason blocked you from seeing his story. he half wished he did because then at least he’d know what on earth was taking you so damn long to see the photo he was increasingly starting to hate more the longer it was posted.

“this is stupid.” he stated as he faced bokuto who had zero concerns in his method in gaining someone’s attention. “it works you just have to wait, trust me.”

kuroo frowned as the little red hearts of others who weren’t you fluttered from the bottom corner of the photo. “look!” his best friend grinned as he leaned over kuroo’s shoulder and pointed to the screen of his phone. “you’re getting likes on it!”

“what’s the point if they’re not likes from the person i posted this for in the first place.” kuroo grumbled back in response. he couldn’t believe he’d been subjected to such an attempt to gain some attention from you. it was ridiculous.

it had been about forty five minutes since he’d posted it and he was slowly losing his mind. sure, the post was going to be up for twenty four hours (if he didn’t give into the voices in his head telling him to delete it) so forty five minutes was nothing, but the minutes were beginning to feel like hours and he was dying inside. why weren’t you viewing it already and what could possibly be keeping you off your phone right now?

“this is stupid.” he decided as notifications from his old team mates started to flash up on his screen. the last thing he needed was lev replying with ‘looksmaxing’ to a post that was secretly dedicated to you. “no, it’s barely been up!” bokuto whined. “you look hot so you should get some replies anyway what’s the big deal?”

pinching the bridge of his nose, kuroo huffed. “the big deal is the person i posted this for hasn’t replied!” what was the point in making sure to go to the gym during a rest day just to take this photo if he wasn’t going to at least make his existence more known to you? he’d even worked his legs enough to the point of managing to achieve the sweaty but sexy look. the muscles in his legs were dying, but his dignity sure as hell wouldn’t.

the college student opened up his phone with the intention to end the mental war inside his head once and for all by deleting the post altogether. bokuto watched his friend in defeat but his eyes flashed. “yes they did!” he yelled and pointed to the screen as your name flashed at the top of his screen.

kuroo’s heart jumped at the sight of your profile picture he’d made a daily routine of staring at and the now blue dot indicating a message from your profile in his inbox. to think he was going to delete this post just a second too, what were the chances?

psyching himself up, kuroo took a few quiet deep breathes before letting the time next to your message pass for a few minutes. he wasn’t an instagram warrior by any means, but he knew enough about general rules in order to not look desperate online.

bokuto watched over his friends shoulders as the two stared in anticipation awaiting the message kuroo had been dying for. this was it. leg day two times in a row was gruelling and he’d regret it for the next few days but it would have been worth it. the countless messages from his old teammates mocking his attempts at a thirst trap could be looked past now that you had finally given into the bait he’d so carefully laid. this is what he’d been waiting for. days of preparing and deciding how to gain your attention had finally paid off and he was about to reap the rewards he’d sown.

clicking the message with baited breath, his heart raced as bokuto’s grip of his shoulder tightened. finally.

‘the label on your shirt is sticking out, make sure to cut it’

“a wins a win.” bokuto filled the silence between the pair as kuroo stared at his phone with a blank expression. “… a wins a win…”

[controlledchaos1342-blog]

“Let’s have a battle!” Naive, vicious child. This is why I wear my mask these days. Before it was to hide, now it’s to make it all too clear ‘who’ I am to these people. I can see in their eyes that they don’t intend it to be a playful match like the small school-children getting a first taste of this life. They see me and my ‘disabled’ partner as easy prey.

I look to Missy and tilt my head, no need to say the question out loud. She simply nods and gives a responding “Kacha,” before jumping out to fight what ever opponent we were to face. If the brat was smart they’d send out a ground type like Sandslash or Graveler. It wouldn’t help them really, especially since this is a loose fight without stated rules so even if Missy couldn’t handle it Saoirce or Flicker could pick up the slack.

They aren’t smart, but they aren’t stupid enough to send a flying or water type in their cockyness. The opponent is a Ninetales. Arguably local to the area and no indication of its current power due to the fact it evolves with a stone rather then experience or even an attack.

“Natsume, Flamethrower!” The intention is clear, they want to surprise me with an instant death. I say nothing but instead shake my wrist. The bracelet jangles just audibly enough for Missy to know her own judgment is preferred, whatever that may be in this moment.

As the flames spew out of the large fox’s mouth straight at Missy, I still can’t tell the difference between “that’s a lot of hot air” and “Fourth degree burn incoming” so I can’t tell if having her jump out of the way will be required or a waste of energy. She, as a Pokemon from the wilds, has a better grasp on the flow of the magic needed for these attacks.

I can’t see what her choice is in the moment of truth, but when the flames go away, the stream cut off to avoid hitting me as I stood barely four feet behind her, I don’t see her. Merely a hole where she stood. The brat seems surprised but is quick to take on a prideful look. “Don’t touch the tails.” It took, quite honestly, far too long to be able to project my voice so easily across such a clearing. But such a skill is needed when you have no clue where your Pokemon is in a battle, when the fights are life or death and the attacks are roaring like storms and wildfires.

The brat is surprised once more and seems uneasy. ‘Word to the wise: Dig is a very useful TM for electric types.’ Missy finally pops out, across the field and right in place to grab the foreleg of the Ninetales. It yelps  and the brat asks what happened only for it to rear back, yanking Missy out of the ground and preventing her from dragging it into the hole to snap its leg or at least twist its ankle.

“Natsume, flamethrower now!” I’ll give the kid one thing, they have good reaction time for these developments. If they weren’t so vicious I’d want to give them some proper advice on how to survive and protect their team. As it stands I can’t bring myself to care, or rather can’t allow myself to care. Regardless, Missy’s left cheek pouch goes from an occasionally sparking live-wire effect to producing bolts arching well past the length of the fox’s tails.

‘Natsume’ doesn’t even get the barest licks of fire out past their muzzle before Missy had unleashed enough electricity to likely rival an electric chair. The fox falls, the rodent brushes herself off, the brat drops to their knees, and I approach.

For so long I had dreamed of being in this world, knowing full well that a cartoon and game series directed at children would sugar coat it. I knew there would be horrors and turmoil, especially in this particular iteration of such a world. It doesn’t stop me from hating these kinds of fights, it doesn’t stop me from looking at the Ninetales, something that was always shown to be majestic but laid before me seemed ragged and feral, and making sure to check if it was alive.

It’s been made clear to me, a Pokemon that fights for another, whether to protect the weak under its care or as a soldier under its leaders guidance, that they would rather fight to the end of that battle than be given paltry mercy. But there is a catch, when the battle doesn’t need to end in death then they can loose without dying or being disgraced. Is it disgrace even? At least, is it by the standards that most humans and even I myself understand it?

“Oi,” I speak up to grab the kid’s attention, “Natsume isn’t dead. Either continue the fight or forfeit and run to town for treatment, ya got that?” The brat of course looks up with hatred. Shaking, crying, do they even understand that they caused this themselves? That they intended to do unto me what they thought I had done unto them? “You wanted a fight. You had Natsume use as much power as she could to attack Missy. You did not, in any way, imply that it was a spar.”

Spars are odd things in this world. It’s generally agreed that when fighting with preschoolers and other such young ‘trainer’s that it is a spar. Spars aren’t allowed in official competitions unless the competition is built around them, such as contests and battle tents that let you rent a Pokemon. In true fights you’re expected to either fight to the death or be able to act fast enough to save your own Pokemon’s life. Spars you’re expected to hold back enough to not kill, though accidents can always happen, and you can ask for a break to use items or swap out a Pokemon safely.

The kid slumps, seeming to understand that they had no right to feel attacked when they had challenged, when if the roles were reversed they’d have made sure their own Pokemon knew not to show the slightest bit of mercy.

“I… How much do I owe you?” A cultural part of this whole world that I still struggle with. Typically people will just give you half of their current savings as compensation, compensation for challenging someone who was ‘better’ or compensation for not being a good enough challenge. Sometimes it’s treated more like prize money, sometimes people treat it like a bet and set the money aside ahead of time. It’s thankfully not uncommon for someone to refuse but it is sadly seen as extremely disgraceful, at least in this country, to accept the money if you had lost outside of preestablished conditions.

It’s also not unheard of, though exceedingly rare and universally considered a ‘dick move’ to instead be paid in conditions or requirements. It’s one thing to have them established before hand, it’s another to make demands when the person is arguably defenseless and heartbroken. I haven’t cared for societal rules in so long.

“Look after your Pokemon with reasonable care, as in make sure they can live a content life,” already the kid is flinching at my demands, likely less what I’m asking of them and more that it’s not going to be a simple matter of maybe not eating for a week, “never demand a battle, but instead request and back off if someone is opposed to the idea,” the second command is arguably good practice for if the kid manages to stay at this well into adulthood, as once you reach a certain proficiency and or age you’re expected to ease off a bit, to not just slaughter the next generation, “and spar with me next week. We can hash out the exacts and it doesn’t have to be exactly seven days from now.”

The kid nods, recalls Natsume, and runs back to the nearest town. Or maybe they’re running to the next town on their travels? I honestly didn’t notice where they came from before they challenged me. Regardless, Missy climbs up to my shoulder, damaged cheek facing out to the world so it can spark out safely. The sparks don’t stop me from gently rubbing her cheek, by this point in our travels the tingles of electricity running down my arm feels comforting.

“So, do you think you’d rather deal with it or do ya want to shunt it off to Saoirce? Yes-you, No-Saoirce,” I mumble as I start heading off to our current ‘campsite’, a small nook where I dropped my stuff while we scavenged for food in hopes of avoiding a store-run.

“Chu.” A no, fair enough. I can’t tell if Missy just doesn’t want to deal with being burned, which fair enough, if she simply thinks Saoirce would find the spar fun, which also is fair, or if Missy is hoping the brat will realize who they challenged. If she’s hoping to see the dawning horror the kid will feel when, if they realize they challenged ‘Z-Sama’ and attempted to kill my starter.

There’s always a chance the kid would never realize. After all Pikachu do naturally occur in some areas in this country, it’s not impossible to get an Eevee to evolve into any of its variants, especially if your foolish enough to lie and order a pet-grade Eevee rather then a combat-grade one. Even if the kid sees Flicker, Charmander are one of the Pokemon in the Starter’s Initiative Breeding Program so it just means having connections or filling out a bunch of paper work.

Even my mask, one modeled after the Hisuian Zoroark and my ‘namesake’, paired with the exact injuries on my team wouldn’t be concrete proof. The masks have gotten more popular when people saw me challenge and hold my own in the league so quickly. The injuries are fairly common either as accidents in combat or shameful intentions so it’s not impossible for someone to either randomly end up with team members that match mine or, in the cases of people I’d want to personally gut and skin alive, purposefully injure, arguably cripple multiple Pokemon just to copy.

The idea of purposeful copycats is even more infuriating when one remembers that there’s a random chance that damaging a Pikachu’s cheek-pouch will leave it incapable of using electrical attacks of any kind ever again. That there is never a way to know how such an injury will play out, that there is no way to guarantee the true problem will be fixed with a transplant, that the sparks and static is less important for combat and more an integral part of their culture and communication.

[tomfrogisblue]

i forgot to post this during june but i think one of the reasons qsmp was so important was how unapologetically Gay it was

for starters, the number of creators and admins involved who are irl queer of some variation, just chilling in a place where any kind of phobia would get Philza's legendary ban hammer faster than you could say "rainbow jelly"

and then the characters.

i remember showing up that first day and being shocked that somehow foolish had an ex-boyfriend already (I had missed the squidcraft lore apparently)

that server. gay. all the gay. all kinds of gay.

govermentally assigned platonic husbands that stayed together the whole time (despite one of them being gone for months at a time), not a chance in hell of infidelity. Proud fathers of two wonderful children.

governmentally assigned partners who yelled full volume at each other about cheating any time they were in the room together and between the two of them killed two children.

a grieving father and ex-convict becoming one of the most solid couples in the server, with a beautiful wedding and consistent public displays of affection via the in-game chat.

a demon ashamed of who she was and a lonely detective struggling with family trauma, now with a lil girl of their own, to love together and take care of, with more moms than could ever allow the little girl to ever be lonely herself.

a 2b2t warrior coming to terms with his sexuality with the support of his beautiful baby boy at his side, slowly but surely opening up to his eventual Brazilian Boyfriend. Where they went from the most cautious couple (baby steps) to the most sickeningly sweet couple on the server.

- and this list doesn't even scratch the surface.

gay characters, trans characters, ace characters, aroace characters, gender fluid characters, all kinds of relationships and families.

all presented without negativity or shame.

the point of the server was to exchange languages and cultures, without the biases and barriers seen so much in both the content creator scene and the wider world.

it also had a beautiful little side effect, practically by accident.

our lgbtqsmp.

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

"I'm here to pick up Dallas." Darry runs a hand absently up the back of his neck, looks past the desk and into the hall where they keep the cells.

He'd gotten the call half an hour ago in the middle of dinner but he'd had a sinkin' feelin' since this mornin'. Dallas had been gone when Darry had woken up, apparently still hacked off over a fight they'd had last night. He should have known really. Dallas' anger was visceral and volatile. An argument with one of the gang easily rolled into a multi-day affair endin' in a trip to the station. Like clock work.

"Last name?" Darry gives himself a shake and returns to the current moment. He blinks at the man behind the counter once, twice. "Dallas? His last name?" He prompts and Darry bites back on his annoyance.

"Winston." He shoves aside his instinct to ask new around here? "Dallas Winston."

The man looks back down over his paperwork and Darry clenches and unclenches the bottom of his shirt to keep himself from reachin' up to grab the back of his neck again. He was gonna throttle that kid. He means it.

"Sorry, I don't have a Winston here." That snaps Darry back and he cocks his head to the side. He'd known the cop that had called him. There was no way they had released the kid without it bein' directly into Darry's hands. "I got a Dallas here but the name's different."

"Blonde kid? Seventeen? Real blue eyes?" Darry ticks off Dallas' most identifiable features without listin' asshole kid with a death wish and an urge to pluck his older brother's last nerve.

The man looks back at his papers and nods to himself. "Nah, that's definitely him. Sorry sir, when we picked him up he was pretty sloshed. Must have mixed himself up. Gave us the name Curtis. Dallas Curtis."

Darry feels the anger drain right out of him. Glory.

He signs the paper the cop shoves towards him with a sigh he doesn't really mean, "That's him. That's my kid brother."

Maybe Darry would still throttle him, but no one would mention it if he held him extra close tonight. And they wouldn't talk about the fact Dallas hadn't touched a drop all afternoon.

[the-witchhunter]

DP x DC Camp

The Batfam force Damian to go to summer camp to socialize with kids his own age and have some normal childhood experiences

That’s all well and good, but normal does not describe his cabin’s councilor, one Daniel “for the love of Ancients call me Danny” Fenton

Between the son of the bat and a Fenton, camp is going to be weird

[lomlompurim]

respost separated from the og post bc I really liked this silly little thing I made

And a little extra of my own

little binghe has a goal in this life and it only gets worse once he mets sqq, no one dares to threaten his position as sqq's future wife, he literally was born to be his spouse!!

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Transferrable Skills Part 2

Transferrable Skills Masterlist

You don’t often use your MyFet beyond finding a group or conference to attend. You periodically clear out your messages, just in case an acquaintance wants to reach out. So you almost delete the message from the anonymous profile on autopilot, but the subject line intrigues you.

Interested in Distance Play, No Punishments - 14 Hrs Ago

Intrigued, you open it because… at least they read a little bit of your profile.

I noticed your profile because of your self-rope pictures. The rest of your profile is very interesting to me - specifically your engagement in solo play and dislike of punishment. I liked the post you made about obedience as an ongoing active choice.

I’m a man in my 30s with a classified job. I travel a lot, and I’m looking for someone to have a strictly long-distance arrangement with. I’m interested in: non-restrictive rope, obedience, behavior modification, praise. I’m sure there’s more, but I’ve written this message six times. Please let me know if you’re interested in discussing.

Well, that’s refreshingly straightforward and devoid of unsolicited smut. You read the message again, then click into his profile. G_987654321_ It’s… pretty bare. But if he’s got a classified job, that makes sense, right? Location: Antarctica. His age is listed as 33, and he’s listed himself as dominant and seeking acquaintances and play partners. Not interested in hookups, interested in casual nudity, obedience, praise. Hard limits of degradation and humiliation.

It’s not much more information than the message itself, but it’s more than some of the men who have asked if you want to meet up in private. You review his original message and bite your knuckle. Worst case scenario, he’s some troll who will call you a range of slurs and waste your time, and then you’ll block him. Best case scenario… he means what he says.

What are you looking for? Who, What, When, Where, and Why?

You send the message and log out of the app before you can chicken out. Your inner voice is grumbling (stupid stupid stupid), but that’s normal. You let yourself watch two and a half episodes of your latest show, and then make a hearty dinner.

You’re surprised when you pick your phone back up. One new message.

The whole time you’re cursing the app for glitching and logging you out and forgetting your password, you’re sure it’s not him. Most likely, it’s an event announcement from a friend or a bot. But you like going to events, so it’s worth it.

It’s a message. It’s from him.

Who: You and Me What: Praise-based, goal-oriented obedience play When: Twice weekly when we’re both available, but I won’t always be available. Sometimes weekly, sometimes a greater time between meet ups. Where: Virtual meetings. Video preferred, audio-only acceptable. First couple of discussions will be text based until I can get secure video set up. Why: Mutual relaxation and well being. Sexual connection preferred, but obviously not required.

Having a guide was helpful. Thank you.

Well… That’s something.

—

You follow Simon towards the fighting, which is not where you wanted to go. When you point this out, he barely acknowledges except to say “You don’t want to go the other way.” So you keep low and stay quiet and breathe like he told you to.

He leads you down a few halls and you don’t bother trying to remember the route. He seems to know where he’s going. One or twice he has you stop while he checks around a corner, but eventually, he herds you into a small conference room. You freeze when you see three men, but Simon drops the muzzle of his gun to the floor, so you must not be in too much danger.

“Who’s this then?” A man in tactical vest and boonie hat steps forward, and you sidle behind Simon before you know your feet are moving. He gives you a considering look before looking to Simon.

The man in question fishes you out from behind his and plants you in front of him with a heavy hand on your shoulder. “Found Bambi wandering the halls.”

Boonie Hat’s eyebrows pop up. “Bambi?”

“’Bout scared the piss out o’me,” Simon confirms.

“Well, that throws a wrench in things,” the other man says. “But there’s nothing for it. Stow her for now, we’ll keep her safe.”

Simon’s hand guides you to the other side of the large table and pushes you gently into a plush rolling chair. He puts his huge body between you and the others, who look at you curiously,

“Eyes up, li’l fawn,” he intones.

You aren’t sure how well you hide the flinch when you see the skull covering his face, again. He’s quiet as you look between his eyes, clasps his gloved hands in his lap so you can see them when you look over him.

There’s a lot of him to look over.

Now that you’re not moving, you can see the brown spots on the edge of his mask, flecked on his tactical vest. His thighs spread a bit beneath his black pants where they meet the table. His biceps bulge, which is a whole different experience in person than it is online. Theres a gun on his hip, and a knife. Two knives. Three. How many knives does a man need?

Enough for everyone’s throats. You have to bite back terrified giggles.

“You’re gonna stay ‘ere,” Simon tells you, interrupting your musing. Your horror must be plain on your face because he shushes you, again. “Shhh. Easy. This wing’s secure. Can’t keep you safe if I’m wonderin’ where you’ve wandered to. Acknowledge.”

“What if something goes wrong?” you blurt.

“You follow Price if you can't see or ‘ear me. ‘e's the Captain, outranks me,” Simon answers. He points to Boonie Hat, then to the black man, who smiles at you, and a white man with a mohawk, who looks at you like you’re the most fascinating thing he’s seen all day. “This is Gaz, that's Soap. You can't find the Captain, you sit tight and wait for one of them to retrieve you."

“But-!”

“Acknowledge, Bambi.”

You swallow back tears. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

“’M goin’ where the guns are,” he answers. “’S my job to take care of you, right? Acknowledge.”

It’s hard to get the words out, but you do. “Acknowledged. You have to take care of me.”

“’M not always going to be able to do that the way you want. Acknowledge.”

“Acknowledged. Not always the way I want.”

“’M gonna keep you safe as I can,” he says. “’Nd it’s okay that you’re scared. But this is my job. ‘S not a scene. So I can’t negotiate. Acknowledge.”

“It’s your job,” you say, taking a deep breath and letting it out. Unfortunately, you can feel the day catching up with you, and your eyes start to prickle. “It’s not a scene, we can’t negotiate right now. Acknowledged.”

The one called Gaz approaches from the other side of the table. “Ghost, we’ve got to get moving.”

Before you can integrate the realization that Simon is apparently called Ghost, the other one, Soap, peeks around Simon’s shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “This your bird, LT? Le’s get her tucked away, aye?”

Something about the way he asks if you are Simon’s bird, his girl, flips a switch in your brain. Because you’re not Simon’s girl. You’re not even supposed to have ever met in person. You’re an online sub, a weird, awkward, anxious person who couldn’t find an in person connection. And yeah, Simon-Also-Called-Ghost is an online Dom but apparently that’s because he’s running around Europe rescuing people from hostage situations!

It’s a little much.

You suck in a breath through your mouth as everything gets blurry with tears. Your whole body shakes with the sob that you try not to let out. You simultaneously want to lock every muscle in place and curl up on the ground to die.

A hiccup shakes you hard enough that you almost fall out of your chair.

Simon’s gloved hand grips the back of your head, and you’re guided to press your forehead against his thigh.

"Shhhhh," he whispers, and you can almost pretend that you’re listening to him in your ear from thousands of miles away. His pants are tough and scratchy, nothing like your pillow, but the steady pressure of his hand is so steadying. "It's okay. I know this isn't a scene, but the same rules apply. You feel overwhelmed, don’t know what to say, you hold up 4 fingers. No punishments for feeling something. Show me."

Holding up 4 fingers feels familiar. The way his hand cups the back of your skull doesn't. But it's still nice.

Sooner than you’d like, Simon guides you down off the chair and under the table. You can’t pay attention to the others, though you can see their boots on the other side of the room. Instead, you keep your eyes on his his right hand, stuck on the inane detail of skeleton themed gloves. Your dom wears skeleton gear to work. His work is killing some people and saving others.

That hand cups your chin and makes you look up into his face. His eyes are dark, piercing. His voice, when he speaks, sends shiver down your spine. “Stay. Acknowledge.”

You’re already about as low down as you can get, but you still duck your head as much as you can while keeping eye contact. “Acknowledged. Stay.”

His thumb caresses your cheek for a long moment. And then he’s standing. Chairs are pushed in to surround you, and four pairs of heavy boots dash from the room.

You curl up, hug yourself, and let the tears fall.

You wake up with a start. Your whole body hurts, shoulder and neck and hips tight like they haven’t been in a long time. And of course they are. You’re on the ground, lying under a conference table. Why the hell are you under a conference table? You’re not in college anymore, you’re too old for this shit.

And then you see a pair of huge boots round the edge of the table and remember.

Your heart is in your throat as two chairs are shifted away and a huge form drops into a crouch. A part of you flinches back from the mask, the tactical clothing, the blood you almost can’t see shining on his boot. But then you see those eyes and think, Oh. You came back for me.

[chuuyascumsock]

Roommate! Dazai who frequently sleeps in your bed because it’s more comfortable than his futon and uses it as an excuse to cuddle close to you since your bed isn’t that big. Dazai who can’t help but stare at you as you make a pot of coffee in nothing but an oversized shirt and underwear because you’ve grown comfortable enough to walk around in almost nothing. And Dazai who ends up pressing you against the counter and falling to his knees to slip your underwear down and spread your cheeks with the palms of his hands to eat you out from behind and moans loudly into your slick pussy as he laps up everything you have to offer.

[jays-doodle-spool]

someone should write a story where there’s ppl stuck in a time loop, but the pov is from someone who rlly doesn’t care. there’s a whole ‘protagonist group’ or whatever trying to figure out how to escape the loop but this dude has just kept living their life so no one has noticed that they’re also stuck. they’re just sipping the exact same coffee order for the hundredth time watching the group strategize at an adjacent table and thinkin “man, wonder if they’re gonna figure out how to fix that today.”

[kinardscake]

Chimney discovers a recipe for making Buck do whatever he wants him to do. Only 3 ingredients are needed: a daughter, a pilot and a toy.

He discovers it by accident when Buck and Tommy come over for dinner one day. And it’s a special “I need something and only you can help me” kind of dinner. So they go all out making Buck’s favorite foods hoping that he’d agree to babysit Jee-Yun for a few days while they go away on a shortest, tiniest vacation.

The dinner is over and it’s now or never. Chimney asks Jee-Yun to show Tommy her new toy helicopter while ‘Mommy and Daddy talk to uncle Buck’.

They start off by saying how much Jee-Yun loves him and how great it would be for her to spend so much time with her favorite uncle. And Buck just says “yes”, no hesitation, no questions, not needing them to convince him. That’s when Chimney realizes that Buck didn’t even look at them once, his eyes were fixed on his boyfriend playing with his niece the entire time.

A theory starts forming in his head, because Buck agreed way too easily. Of course, it could be because Buck loves Jee-Yun and his daughter is an angel (most of the time anyway), but his heart tells him it’s not it.

So, Chimney sets out to prove his newfound theory.

At Bobby and Athena’s house he ask Jee-Yun to go up to uncle Buck and Tommy and ask Tommy to give her a piggyback ride. Meanwhile Chimney asks Buck to take over his firehouse quarters’ cleaning duties next shift. Buck agrees.

At the Wilsons’ house Buck agrees to loan Chimney his precious car for a week.

At his house Buck agrees to name his firstborn child Howard.

At the firehouse team and family party Chimney and Maddie once again find themselves asking Buck to babysit Jee-Yun for a couple of days. Buck agrees, looking at them this time, a dreamy look in his eyes. He says he and Tommy love having her around. And they could use the practice.

Maddie jumps up in her seat and asks Buck if he’s thinking about starting a family with Tommy.

Buck shows her his left hand, his ring finger no longer empty. “We already have,” he says, “Asked each other last night.”

Tommy comes over with Jee-Yun on his shoulders, laughing and shrieking “Uncle Tommy” while he tickles her feet.

He sees the stunned expressions on his future in-laws’ faces and Buck twirling his ring, smiling wide.

Tommy laughs, connecting the dots. He sets Jee-Yun down. He grabs Buck’s hand and sits down next to him.

“Maddie and Chim are asking us to babysit Jee-Yun next week,” Buck says happily. “I said sure.”

“Seeing me and her worked like a charm again, huh?” Tommy laughs again while Buck shrugs his shoulders.

Tommy looks at Chimney and Maddie and says, “We’d be happy to,” and adds after a moment, “By the way, Howie. We’re not naming our first child Howard, I’m sorry.”

[childotkw]

Can I just say? Do you know how fucking discouraging it is to see this in the bookmarks of your fics?

Don't do this. It makes me, and probably a ton of others, feel like shit.

I will declare if my stories are abandoned, thank you very much.

[bluerosefox]

CAT Ghost INSTINCTS

Damian comes back to the manor one day with... a new school acquaintance (coughfriendcough) due to the fact they need to work on a school project together and Danny Fenton was the only one in that class that Damian would tolerate to have as a partner.

Everything about the kid seemed normal, heck very normal if a bit shy... or at least that was until the kid suddenly zero focused on a corner of the room and stared at it non blinking. Then after what felt like hours blinked once and returned to normal, chatting away like nothing happened.

....It also doesn't help that Alfred the cat... did the same thing.. at the same time as Danny.

Yeah something is... off about Damian's new friend.

[all3-stxr]

in my restless dreams

it's ridiculous. couldn't possibly be true.

that's what dazai kept telling himself.

there was no way. it couldn't have been you.

but the letter was there, in his hands. your signature handwriting ; the eccentric swoops at the end of each letter and the little hearts in your 'i's. and your name, in the beautiful cursive you always tried to teach him because he'd always say how he "adored it so much," but he could just never get it right.

and this town, your 'special place.' all of it pointed to you.

but there was just no way.

you had died of that damned disease three years ago.

so why was he here, looking for you?

even as he stared at his reflection is the dirty, bathroom mirror, one hand gently scaling the apple of his cheek as if to check if this was real, if he was even awake and not being plagued by another one of those nightmares of you coming back to him - he couldn't tell you.

he almost didn't recognize himself, looking in that mirror. it felt as if some stranger was staring back, face wizened from both age and stress, eyes sunken and weighed from those deep bags - the contrast was stark compared to how lively he looked the last time he was here.

he turned away, an exasperated sigh slipping out of his slightly chapped lips as he pushed his way out of the heavy door to the bathroom. "y/n. . . could you really be in this town?" the cold, afternoon wind felt crisp against his skin despite the bandages covering his body, providing some measure of warmth underneath his trench coat and slacks.

despite the clouded skies, the sun cast a faint glow over the forested area, making it look almost ethereal. fitting, if you asked dazai. if there were to be an angel trapped here, of course you'd light up the skies as well as you'd do any ordinary room.

the fog drifted casually all around him as he stepped out into the parking lot, his feet taking him over to the metal railing so he could gave out at the seemingly endless forest stretching before him.

he couldn't help but think of you. the way you'd laugh, the way you'd dress, the way your eyes would crinkle every time you'd smile, soft irises staring back into his with nothing but love. he missed that.

he missed you.

maybe that's why he was here. because deep down, he wanted to believe it was true. he wanted to believe that the letter really was from you, his beloved wife.

his everything.

in my restless dreams, i see that town.

silent hill.

you promised you'd take me there again someday. but you never did.

well, i'm alone there now. in our 'special place.'

waiting for you.

[otaku553]

Haha

[beastsovrevelation]

Captured Angel

Michael Langdon x F!Angel!Reader

Contains: vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, elements of coercion, implied loss of virginity, blasphemy, hierophilia

“Good, you’re awake.”

A chill ran down your spine. You had awakened in an unfamiliar room. Your head ached, your wings hung limp, and your limbs were heavy. The air was soaked to the last thread in malice. It made you nauseous. Gritting your teeth, you dragged yourself up, your mind aflame with a single thought – you had to get out. You looked around, but before you could spot a way of escape, you felt a presence. Dark... Darker than the blackest night. Your heart froze in your chest, a taste of iron suddenly coating your tongue. Though you had not seen his face, you could recognize him anywhere. Seven heads. Ten horns. His honeyed voice left a cold, oily trace on your very soul as he spoke. You drew a deep breath, and spun around, to meet a pair of piercing blue eyes.

His lips crooked into a smirk. Holding your gaze, he moved towards you. You drew back.   

“Get away from me, filthy Beast...” you snarled.

Deep down, you loathed yourself for the instinctive reaction. You were a soldier. You had a duty to stand your ground, and instead, you cowered. He promptly crossed the gap between you two.

“Ah-ah!” he scolded, clasping your chin “That’s not very nice, now, is it?..”

You grimaced. Michael Langdon. How ironic, for Satan’s son to bear your General’s name. The one who cast him out... You hoped it hurt the Evil One greatly. Michael caressed your cheek. You winced, and pushed his hand away. Sneering, he grabbed you by the throat.  

“Why am I here?” you hissed through gritted teeth.

He glanced down at your heaving chest.

“You’re my captive” he purred “Isn’t it obvious?”

You swallowed. Struggling would only worsen your chances, you knew as much. His gaze darkened with hunger as he watched you – like a wolf, salivating at a wounded deer. Your guts had coiled into a tight knot, a sickly sweet taste coating your mouth.

“Why didn’t your bootlickers kill me?” you asked, not quite certain if you wished to know the answer.

A chuckle escaped his lips. The Antichrist’s lecherous expression made your blood boil. How dare the abomination touch an angel of the Lord, you thought. A strange sensation was budding between your legs, but you pointedly ignored it, just as you ignored the feeling of unease clawing at the back of your skull.   

“That would’ve been a waste...” Michael tilted his head “They thought a gift would please me. They weren’t wrong...”

You snarled, attempting to pull away.

“Get your putrid hands off me!”

He tightened his grip on your neck.

“Hush” he coaxed in a mockingly gentle voice “I’m not going to hurt you, angel.”

“Vile creature...” you spat.

He pulled you closer. You bared your teeth, as your face almost crashed into his. Though you did not need air, the pressure on your throat was beginning to make you dizzy. Every nerve in your body screamed to fight - your muscles   had tensed, prepared for combat. You might have broken away. Escaped this unholy place. You should have at least tried... But, perhaps because of the mist gathering over your mind, your legs trembled underneath you. You found yourself staring at his mouth. His breath brushed against your skin, warm and silken. Your pulse leapt into a frenzy.

Michael snuck his other hand under your clothes. The captors had stripped you of your armour, and taken away your sword, leaving only your linen tunic to cover you. His fingertips caressed your thigh, slowly creeping upwards. You held your breath as you felt him part the soft folds of your skin.

You had never been fondled like this before. Carnal pleasure was forbidden for your kind. You should be disgusted, you understood as much. Still, the electric-like impulse roused by his touch paralyzed you, preventing you from breaking his arm.

He stroked your entrance. You stifled a gasp, your intimate muscles tightened in anticipation. Your hole was beginning to well with slick. Taking your lack of resistance for a welcome, he slipped two fingers inside you. The feeling of his skin against your sensitive membrane made your head spin, and you barely held back from bucking your hips into his hand.

He let go of your neck, only to wrap his arm around your waist. Keeping you steady, he spread his fingers wider, straining you until it hurt. You shuddered. He massaged the velvety walls of your flesh, driving you to the edge of madness. Aware of how much satisfaction hearing your cries would give him, you clenched your jaw. His skin grazed against a certain knot of nerves, and you nearly sunk to the ground as your legs buckled from the bolt of stimulation. Still, somehow, you did not make a sound.

It only made Michael more determined. He fixated on your sweet spot, leaving you to desperately clutch the lapels of his jacket. His mouth lingered but a thread away from yours - you felt his heartbeat echo against your rib cage. He narrowed his eyes, and pressed his thumb to your clit. Overwhelmed, you drew a sharp breath.

“Enjoying yourself, aren’t you?..” he teased “What is it, my dear? What do you want, hm?”

He pushed a third finger into your dripping slit. You whined in pleasure muddled with despair.

“Speak up, angel” he demanded.

Virtue be damned. Something tameless had infected you. Caught in the furor of sin, you eagerly cast your innocence aflame.

“I...” you stammered “I want... I need you to ravish me...”

Michael threw you onto the bed, and climbed on top of you. Laying flat on your back, your wings sprawled open, you looked up at him, your eyes sweetly half-lidded. His knee shoved between your thighs, he ripped the front of your tunic open. You sighed as cold air brushed against your nipples. He placed his hands on your breasts, savouring the softness of your bare skin. His eyes aflame with lust, he took a moment to admire your flushed, helpless body. Biting your bottom lip, you pushed your chest into his touch. He grabbed you by the throat again.

“You’re mine” he snarled “Mine alone...”

Against your better judgement, you nodded. Your gaze wandered down to his crotch, causing your mouth to immediately water. Michael’s lips crooked into a sleazy smirk. He unbuckled his pants, and slipped his underwear down. Your eyes widened as his hard cock sprung free. Large, but not obscenely so. You pulled the skirt of your tunic up, leaving your aching cunt at his mercy.

He pinned you down under his full weight. You wrapped your arms around him, savouring the feel of luxurious fabric under your fingers. Like an animal in heat, you craved to feel him inside. His eyes locked with yours, Michael clasped your leg, and positioned himself more comfortably. You blindly caught hold of his member, helping guide it into your hole.

Your heart skipped a beat – you let out a moan as your membranes clamped around him. Hardly giving you a moment to adjust, he began to move. The sudden strain roused a twinge, but it soon was obscured by shattering pleasure. No longer holding back your mewls and whimpers, you sank your nails into his back. Should the expensive suit get ruined, it will be his fault.

Michael groaned, his teeth bared in primal satisfaction. Your response only encouraged him, and he quickly picked up the pace. Each thrust sent a shattering wave of pleasure through your fevered nerves. You wrapped your legs around his waist, welcoming them. He traced the tip of his tongue over your neck. You hissed as his long hair tickled you, overwhelming your senses even more. He purred, and nipped at your jaw.

“Kiss me” you demanded.

He obeyed, leaning down to press his mouth against yours. You parted your lips for him, and allowed your tongues to battle for dominance.

“Say my name” he ordered, upon pulling away.

“I can’t...” you gasped in horror.

“Your general isn’t here...” he growled “It’s just you and me...” he pressed his face to your temple “Say my name, sweetheart. Show the Beast how much you’re enjoying your downfall.”

He pulled his cock almost all the was out, then slammed it back in, roughly grazing your sweet spot. Your cried out, and sank your fingers into his hair. You didn’t want to think about her. You loathed to imagine her disappointment in you. But his presence eclipsed her face. Drowned it in the storm of ecstasy ravaging you.

“Michael!”

“Good girl” he praised with a grin.

Shock after shock of ecstasy tore through your body, setting every cell of it aflame. Your forehead was laced in sweat. Your muscles quivered from the tension. You were close. Very close. Turned feral by the pleasure, he grabbed you by the wrists, thrusting into you with merciless force.

“Michael...” you moaned.

You couldn’t stand it anymore. You arched your back, trembling and convulsing as a scream escaped your throat. Michael threw his head back with a snarl. You had grown painfully tight around him, prompting him to reach his own release. You felt him spill inside you – it was the strangest, most pleasant sensation  you had ever experienced.

You collapsed into the pillows, limp and gasping for breath. He slumped down on top of you. For a moment, you allowed yourself to soak in the glowing haze of bliss. But, just when he had crept off of you, and was about to pull you into his arms, you leapt up. Using his surprise for your advantage, you climbed onto him – this time, you were the one to pin him down. You caught his gaze, and drew a dagger from underneath your ruined tunic. Afraid to molest their master’s gift, the devil worshippers had missed it.

“You will find the men who captured me, crucify them, and bleed them like pigs” you growled, pressing the blade against his throat “Do you understand me, Antichrist?”

A drop of blood sept from under the metal, glowing against his milky skin in a warning.

“Yes” he murmured, as his eyes blazed with adoration.