#if you saw this earlier you didn’t

[genesisclub]

I was going to post my writing of usuk relationship but i decided that instead of doing that I would post my headcannons about Arthur’s family and his parents but don’t worry I’ll post my writings within a reasonable amount of time!

Also before I start let me say, If this doesn’t make much sense please spare me :(( trying to find something clear cut on ancient European history is not easy especially when it comes to pre-Roman Britain so I really had to take my own liberties with this—anyways! Onto the topic at hand

England was the only one to be born from Rome. The rest of his siblings were born from the tribal representatives; Pictis, Briton, and Gaels. His mother was Albion but when Rome arrived she was forced to change her name to Britannia. However, Albion was not a Celtic tribe. She only represented the land where of these tribes went to and lived on.

While Albion never represented anything specific, once she married and had a child with the representative, Briton she fully embraced the Brittonic culture and language. And it was his culture and language that she taught to her two youngest children, Wales and England. She taught them both Common Brittonic which was the language of Briton and it’s a language that only Wales and England can still speak fluently. Though England was not a son of Briton, that was Wales, she still wanted to make sure her child of Rome knew that he was just as much of a Briton as he was a Roman; she didn’t want Rome to indoctrinate their son with the same hatred towards Briton that he has.

Onto Scotland and Ireland, Scotland is the oldest child of Albion and his father was The Picts. Ireland is the second oldest, the only girl, and her father was The Gaels. Should also mention that Ireland was not raised by Albion; she lived with her father away from the main isle. I have no specific reason for this, The Gaels simply wanted their daughter to come with him and Albion wasn’t complaining.

Sadly, I don’t have much to say about these two as they weren’t involved much with Rome nor the empires conquest of Britain. While Scotland had gotten invaded, it was not fully as the Roman’s were unsuccessful and left the majority of Scotland unconquered. Though in the world of personifications, once Rome had invaded the lower British isles where Scotland was living with his mother and brother, he left them to go in the northern areas where his father was for his own safety. And for Ireland, they were never invaded by the Roman’s. Though I have this idea that Albion kept the Ireland being her daughter a secret from Rome in an effort to protect her which in turn made Ireland being the sister of England, Wales, and Scotland something England only discovered centuries later.

Now onto the invasion—I don’t actually have that much to say about the invasion but more so about the ending results. The invasion ended with Briton death (I’ll talk more about my HCs on nations deaths later but just know Briton died after losing a fight and got his heart eaten), Albion being forced to change her name to Britannia and marry Rome, and the birth of Albus who is the child of Rome and Britannia.

England only got a governmental title after the death of his mother. He did not have a province to represent until the split of Roman Britain and the creation of Britannia Superior and Inferior which he took the mantle of Superior, effectively replacing his mother. And after Rome fell he was called Englaland. So during his Rome-Britain years but before his mother’s death he was just called by his human name at the time, Albus.

Now the reason I made England the Superior was because the capital was of Britannia Superior was called Londinium which would later on become London. And for Wales, he represented the province of Britannia Inferior even though he should’ve been Britannia Superior. This was done because Rome did not like Wales, and he did not like Wales because Wales was the child of Briton. Before the death of Britannia, Rome would just ignore the child’s existence but once she was gone all Rome had left to represent and eventually replace her was their own son and the son she had with another whom he hates.

Ending this on a note: I know Birton was the umbrella term for the tribes in the isles but Celtic Britons were also known as The Britons so that’s why I’m using Briton but just know Briton is supposed to represent the Celtic Briton tribe.

[multiseb21]

divorced parents at their son’s parent-teacher conference

[magspeaches]

Wasn’t vibing with this until I started drawing the blood lol this one’s for you Minthy

[ifyoucandaniel]

Dark Matter by @mysterycyclone and art by @spidey-art 🖤

she’s finally finished!! this has been in the works for like nine months now, but i wanted only the best so she truly feels like my baby after all the time and work that went into it.

i wish i could have found a way to include more of the gotham/batfamily side of things in this since thats literally the premise, but honestly i have so many batman binds peter deserves a bind all to himself 🖤

this is one of my all time favorite fics ever and i knew as soon as i read it that i would have to make a bind worthy of it and i’m pretty happy with it! i actually scraped my entire original design that i came up with back in like january when the last chapter came out because i realized it just wasn’t the direction i wanted to go with it. so when i couldn’t find anything that really matched what i had in mind for the chapter number designs and headers i drew my own. please be kind, abstract goop is not my usual style lol

anyways! everyone should read this and check out @spidey-art ‘s art because it’s beautiful and they were so kind as to let me use it for this bind!!!

DO NOT BUY OR SELL FANFICTION! please respect fandom and the authors and learn bookbinding or ask a friend who binds! this was entirely handmade and not for sale!

[hauntingyourself]

Lord Huron has been rotting my brains for the better part of the year so far. This is the result of that

[parasitoidism]

Coping with beating innocent sin rn

[hartteart]

if you hate yourself so much why don’t you hatemarry yourself?

[phibsies]

been playing captain toad’s treasure tracker over the weekend and i think its a very silly game ;3

[forestborg]

Who could possibly be causing Lae’zel to make this face ?

(It’s Shadowheart. Obviously it’s Shadowheart. She’s in the full version on Twitter 😌).

[storiesoflilies]

gladiator!toji was never rattled by anything.

the sky could fall and crumble into ash and dust. towns and cities could be swept away by the wrath of the sea, and he would not bat an eye. the gods themselves could descend from the heavens above, demand his obeisance and loyalty, and still, he would not break or bow before them.

the only thing that mattered to him was his love, the woman who meant more to him than his own life.

he’d bled for her and killed in her name, breathed for her, and would die for her. everything that carved him into who he was belonged to her, to love her and only her.

however, gladiator!tengen was testing his limits.

the cocky, overly flashy gladiator was his ally now, fighting alongside him in the arena. whether they liked it or not, they were bound to each other by sand and blood. any poor souls set against them died screaming in a puddle of their own sweat and piss.

a midnight spear and two thundering blades.

the two favorite gladiators of rome.

tengen was wildly fearless, spitting in the face of death and mocking the harbringer for being too slow to catch him. he favored the attention above all else – the glory of battle – and didn’t seem to care for anything else at all.

except for what belonged to toji, it seemed.

toji knew tengen watched him, maroon eyes following his sweeping gaze over the raucous crowd and settle on his love. his innocent, precious, naive love who believed it was pure coincidence that tengen would always seem to wave in her direction, sending a grin and a careless wink her way.

tengen was with him now, leaning against the bars of his cell, his forearms flexing as he smirked at toji. “my hearing is excellent, you know?”

toji was in no mood for tengen’s quips. he was still coming down from the high of chasing his love and her pleasure. “and?” he grunted disinterestedly.

the gladiator’s white hair glistened in the moonlight that shone through the narrow slit in the stone, and tengen grinned. “so, i can hear every little noise she makes with you.”

a crack of a whip; toji’s fingers twitched dangerously.

“ah, she’s sounds so pretty. i’m jealous of you, fushiguro. you somehow get to sneak away and indulge yourself every night.”

thunder roared in toji’s ears, and he shot straight up to his feet his bed, his muscles itching for a fight.

“oh, don’t worry,” tengen continued, an irritating lilt in his voice. “i take pleasure in listening to you both, so i won’t tell a soul.”

toji’s eyes blazed with a green wildfire. “i’m going to kill you in your sleep.”

tengen laughed, a great, thunderous thing that seemed to shake the very stone of the colosseum. the gladiator was absolutely unperturbed by toji’s threat, as if it were no more than a speck of sand beneath his boots.

“ah, come now! you should be nicer to me,” he chided sarcastically. “especially now that i know your little secret.”

toji deadpanned, a knot of stone in stomach. “what do you want?”

tengen’s eyes flashed with restless rubies and something toji had somehow failed to notice until now. it was something he saw reflected in his love’s eyes every night when she cried his name. something he was made for, that tengen seemed to be made of too.

“it would be easier to keep your secret if it was mine too.”

©storiesoflilies 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[pretendingday]

ACT III

[fastboatsmojito]

🕸️𖤐 Promptober Day Six - Knife Kink 𖤐🕸️

| a/n; switched around a few days on the schedule because this has been marinating since September and driving me crazy <3

Promptober schedule here!

| cw; 18+ smut btc, please please be safe, this is fiction!!! Knife play obviously, only Halloween-y because of the weather, afab! Gn reader, degradation, Scott being mean and nasty, a little dacryphilia, a splash of hair pulling, size kink if you squint, slapping (once), he talks to you like a bad dog for a second my fault, no mention of condoms - b safe !! Matching each others FREAK

| wc; 1,666 <3

He’s doing it again, pulling the folding knife out of its meticulous place in his pocket and sliding it open in the seat next to you. He never used it unless he had to but you saw it often enough for it to make your head spin, and without fail anytime it was out your eyes were glued to it.

To his fingers gripping the handle with more care than was usual for him, it was hard to look away when that attentive, analytical side of him came out.

This time simply for the invisible-to-anyone-that-isn’t-a-clean-freak string attached to the hem of his shirt, cutting it off quick and clean as you stared, eyes locked on the silver tucked between his fingers.

He looked up at you as you dazed, low voice finally emerging you out of your brain.

“Why do you do that?” He asked simply, watching you blankly as you froze.

“Do what?” You weren’t completely sure what he was asking, blindly hoping that the way his hand slightly twitched around the knife in his grasp wasn’t a sign he could suddenly read your mind and every filthy thought encompassing it.

“Stare at me like that every time I use this.” He’s carefully pointing the blade at you now, eyes following it before landing back on your own. He doesn’t sound mad but he might as well be the way you’re shifting in your seat like he’s scolding you.

“I don’t-“ You shake your head, scrambling to find the words that just won’t come out, he’s being frustratingly direct and it’s only adding to the familiar ache you tend to feel around him.

“Don’t lie. Just answer the question.”

“I just, um-“ Your eyes moved to your hands as you spoke, the eye contact suddenly too intense to handle.

“I think it’s kinda hot- when you use it.” Your words were pressed against each other, coming out just above a whisper as you anxiously tapped your fingers against your thigh.

“Use…” You sighed as he pushed you to say exactly what you meant, your face heating up at his suggestive tone.

“Your knife.” You look up only after you say it, subconsciously pressing your thighs together as he examined your every reaction, pausing even the movement of his jaw to observe your own.

His hand still holding the knife paired with his stern voice and intense stare was quickly turning you into a puddle, and it wasn’t not obvious.

“Right.” He nodded simply, gauging your reaction. Everything seemingly frozen in time resumed, the stationary gum in his mouth back to keeping him focused, his fingers pushing the knife closed before shoving it back into his pocket.

For a second you were scared he thought it was gross, shamefully watching as he opened his car door to get out. Half expecting him to call you a fucking freak, and he usually would, but you figured he was either into it as much as you were or uncharacteristically sparing your feelings to use it against you later.

He sighed at your uncomforted expression and leaned over to unbuckle your seatbelt before getting out and walking over to open your door.

“Come on.” He tilted his head towards the motel rooms just behind him, reassuringly placing a hand on the back of your neck as he guided you into his room.

——

It wasn’t long before you were on the bed under him as he sat on his knees between your open legs, gasping when he flicked the knife open and rested it just under the hem of your underwear.

The quiet pattering of the rain against the windows and the lull of your shared heartbeats kept you just grounded enough to not slip all the way into your head.

Into the steady chill outside that was cut off by the door, and brought back in again through the cool blade lying on your skin. Into the comfort in knowing that you were safe even with the unavoidable threat of something so sharp against something so fragile.

It felt suffocating in the same way your head gets fuzzy when you go just a few seconds too long underwater, an agonizing instinct to pull yourself back up and a louder, sharper, sicker need to see how long you can stay under.

“I won’t hurt you on purpose but you have to be still, okay?” Your eyes were stuck on the smooth silver, humming when his other hand moved to the nape of your neck, pulling your hair just enough to bring your now tear-brimmed eyes back to him.

“I mean it. Don’t need you bleeding out all over the bed, got it?” You nodded until the hand still gripping your hair tightened.

“I got it, I trust you.” You both knew you meant it, you’d be scared if anyone else held your life in their hands like this but this is Scotty - a nickname he’d only ever let leave your mouth - he was always so precise and observant, you knew you had no real reason to be worried.

“I know.” The hand behind your head suddenly soothing, the dull side of the knife slowly dragging down your leg as he leaned in to kiss you. It was soft, sweet, everything you knew he wasn’t about to be and you basked in it, always savoring every second of sweetness he spared before giving you what you really wanted - what you needed.

You whined when he pulled away anyway, desperation falling over you as he took his time, hand behind your head moving down to your hip to keep you still as he moved the tip of the knife to your inner thigh.

You weren’t sure exactly what he was about to do but even in the low lit room you could see the faintest smile on his face. Every move he made felt calculated, like he’d planned every second of it in his head days before.

He gripped your waist tighter before he tipped the knife down so the width of it was just against the wet spot on the fabric between your legs, closely watching the way your mouth fell open at the sudden cold.

The silver gift you got for him - that he swore he wouldn’t wear out of the house - fell out from his black undershirt, glistening against his neck. Your hands moved from the bed either side of you to appreciate the jewelry you knew he’d look good in - he wasn’t always great at talking about how he felt but he knew just well enough how to show it.

He carefully brought the knife away from you and lightly trailed it all the way up your body, over every part of you it could reach, finally drawing over your collarbone before slowly creeping back down again.

You lost count of just how many times he’d done it - you couldn’t possibly be wetter and he couldn’t possibly care less - admiring the soft pleas falling from your mouth, knife-less hand now on the side of your face as his thumb wiped away the tears of frustration pouring out of you.

“Scott, please-“ You begged for what felt like the millionth time, he was clearly enjoying tantalizing you, sighing and pulling back and finally bringing his hands to drag the ruined fabric down and off of you.

You pouted when he closed the knife and set it down on the bed, shaking his head and pointing a finger at you when you moved to sit up.

“Stay.” He said firmly, bed creaking just so as he stood up to free himself from his pants, eyes focused on your own as you waited on him. He could do this for hours and he had, letting you whine and beg and cry for it first. He wouldn’t this time, noticeably impatient as he resumed his previous position over you.

Before you could ask - or more accurately beg, he sat down on the bed, head resting against the headboard before signaling for you to come up with two fingers. He promptly grabbed your hips so you were sitting on his lap before reaching for the closed knife once again.

Your bare cunt was situated on the bulge under you, your hands planted on your thighs. He wrapped the still-closed knife wielding hand around you to lift you up, lazily pulling his dick out with the other. It was irritating how easy it was for him, so casually showing off his strength when you were alone.

He covered himself in the slick dripping out of you, groaning when he swiftly sat you down on him, keeping you motionless over him with a hand at your waist.

He flipped open the knife with his other hand away from you, undeniably feeling you clench around him when he finally brought the cold blade up to your skin again. He had the perfect view in this position, enough control over where his hands were precisely placed to keep you safe even with a knife at your throat.

“I knew you were far from innocent, sweetheart, but this is really fucked up.” You barely heard it over the rain that was rapidly hitting the windows. Ignoring the filthily mocked nickname and filthier implication, you let go of the breath you’d been holding since you confessed your dirty little secret.

His sharp comment finally leaving his mouth and taking with it all of the worry running through you that, even while literally inside of you, he’d think less of you for it.

You were practically just cockwarming at this point, pawing at his chest to try and convince him to fucking move already. You knew he’d be moving your hips for you soon but you complained anyway.

Rolling your eyes and hastily circling your hips at his seeming lack of urgency, earning yourself a cautionarily soft slap on the cheek.

“You’re mean.” You cried, almost throwing your head back in protest before he held the blade under your chin to keep you steady in place.

“Careful. Thought I told you not to move. Be good and stay still for me so I don’t have to explain to everyone that you asked for this, yeah?”

<333

[abigail]

yesterday ☆

[heshemejoshi]

sketch. trying to figure out how to draw him in a way i like

[weaveandwood]

WIP

[wlwanakin]

SEPARATION CAN BE A TERRIFYING THING.

sabédala + dead ringers

queen’s peril by ek johnston / cronenberg on cronenberg by david cronenberg and chris rodley / the phantom menace (1999) dir. george lucas / dead ringers (1988) dir. david cronenberg / queen’s shadow by ek johnston / dead ringers screenplay by norman snider and david cronenberg / queen’s hope by ek johnston