#is blade huge or is it just me

[tecchan]

[herd-reject-arts]

So I deliver mail now

Though it's not really part of the job, I can and will block a street to momentarily move a turtle across. There's a lot of water in the area, so a lot of street turtles. Luckily, my temporary route is 90% back roads and neighborhoods, so I'm not actually obstructing traffic. It was a nice Saturday afternoon, so literally no one was out on the roads. I just thought this phrasing was funny.

[melancholia00]

This is another of my headcanon and from the first episode I’d say Olrox was a priest or a teopixqui meaning “god guard.” He carries an obsidian dagger here:

And how precisely he aimed straight to the heart:

I’m just SAYING!

[zdusk]

Uh. Long time no see?!?!?!? Quick life update for anyone out there who follows me and still checks this site:

I bought a horse last year

Her name is Firefly (Princess Fairymount Firefly) and she is 2 and she is the love of my life. Also since I got her she has changed colour two times: her summer coat went from a lovely golden dun to a white winter coat to a burnt toast sort of winter-summer-shedding season look. But that buckskin dun is starting to peek thru her dark shoulders again so I'm pretty confident that she's going to return to her previous state and I probably haven't purchased a magical colour changing animal. Bummer.

When I got her, I thought I was getting a rising 3 year old whom I would be training this summer, but I found out recently that she's only turning 2 this May meaning she was only a year and a half old when I bought her. Super disappointing since that's put me off my plans by a whole year, but I'm not going to sell and look for something else because unfortunately I already love her so much and I have a feeling she's going to be worth her weight in gold. Like, she already IS worth her weight in gold and then some to me because she's got the calmest disposition I've EVER seen on a baby horse, but that just means I've found something so special and you'd really have to pry her from my cold dead hands at this point.

There's also my baby doggie Odin!!!!!!!!! I just led with the horse cuz yknow, a lot of my old mutuals here are sso girlies/boyies/themies so I figured the horse might be the more exciting news

He turned 3 last November and I have been raising him since he was an egg. For those of you who knew Hildi, this cringe ass thang is her successor and he's my best friend in the whole world to whom I tell all of my secrets. He LOVES to bark at children though which isn't really cool but we're working on that together. When he isn't barking at unsuspecting children, he's a FIEND for a game of frisbee‐ unfortunately he has also injured his paws TWICE while playing frisbee so its considered a high risk sport for him. That's just how goddamn serious he is about it. If frisbee was a thing at the Olympics he probably wouldn't win but he'd give it his best damn shot and headlines would call his loss 'tragic' but his attempt 'inspirational.' Wait isn't frisbee actually in the Olympics but it's just called discus instead? Hang on a sec I need to call Odin's agent

Odin was sort of the first breakthrough I had with the whole Finding Happiness thing. Like yes surviving the puppy phase was, in my opinion, similar to trying to survive a war, but its been so rewarding to care for and nurture something that has turned around and given me nothing but unconditional love in return. Like seriously, the feeling of being loved by this dog is so strong to the point that its almost overwhelming. He stares at me lovingly even while I'm brushing my teeth like look at this

He seriously breaks my heart ouuuughhhhhhhhhh Odin I love you more than I can put into words without you I'd be NOTHING!!!!!!

I'm probably the happiest I've been in like the last 10 years now. To those of you who knew me from age 16 to about 20-21, No You Didn't and I'm only like, half joking. You knew a very depressed version of me and tbh so did I, I'm still getting used to what happiness is like for me (turns out it's kinda stressful?!?!?!? But when you're the only horse person in the family looking after an animal that can get so stressed out that it gives itself stomach ulcers and dies, I think a healthy dose of stress isn't unusual. Those are a lot of important shots to call!) but it's been nice. I've been meeting new people and making new friends and having invaluable experiences. But also if you knew me from age 16 to 20-21 I am so sorry. I was a WEIRD kid. Now I'm a weird adult. How time flies, eh?

If any of the old wormy men or my other sso mutuals are reading this, I think about you sometimes. I hope life has been treating you well, and you've had lots of ups with your inevitable downs. I'd say I'll try to be more active, but I don't know how true that might be so for now all I can offer is a big fat 'we'll see.' I might just be giving this update to ghosts for all I know.

The funniest joke in this whole post was when I said this was a 'quick' life update and then wrote like 6 whole paragraphs haha classic Z

[fuckimrowan]

i say give the 7 more unhinged weapons

jason. an axe but there’s no handle. his bare hands. hazel. metal pole. a shield to bash in people’s heads. annabeth. mace on chains. need i elaborate frank. metal gauntlets. wolf teeth. percy. crescent moon blades. honorary sword guy, though. piper. a trumpet. the cornucopia because it’s inherently unhinged.

and leo just gets a huge fucking machine gun.

[despairforme]

"Oye... Nnoitra... show me yer weapon. I need 'ta compare if I got the biggest zanpakuto - remembered ya had a big one too!"

HAH? Did she seriously think SHE had the biggest Zanpakuto? What a fucking joke. Nnoitra arched his brow, before his expression turned smug, big teeth peeking out. He was one of the only Arrancar who walked around with his Zanpakuto drawn at all times. He couldn't exactly put Santa Teresa away. Back when he'd been the Octavo, he'd been able to wear his Zanpakuto on his back, but after he became the Quinto, and Santa Teresa doubled in size? That was no longer possible. His only option was to always carry his weapon, dragging it along and creating a trade-mark trail behind him, be it in the sand or in the stone of Las Noches.

She'd requested to see his weapon, and so he'd show her. He was briefly tempted to whip his dick out, just for fun - it was a good opportunity for that, but in the end he was too proud of Santa Teresa to make a joke right now. He swung the giant ax-like weapon around, placing it in front of the TINY chick. Santa Teresa was ENORMOUS. Taller than even Nnoitra himself, and oh so heavy. When Nnoitra thrust it into the ground to make it stand on display, a cloud of dust was kicked up. He grinned.

❝ Yeah, it's pretty big. ❞ Bigger than hers, for sure - even though she DID have a big one.

[displacer-beasts]

My new Hunter in Monster Hunter Wilds

I am trying to learn Charge Blade so badly this time

[lunar-gl1tch]

anyway sorry for being super flaky at the moment i'm having a bit of an extended depressive episode between fatigue and the fact my smap oshi had a sexual scandal during the holidays

i don't wanna go into it but it doesn't feel great

[tastycitrus]

me for some damn reason

[aestheticitii]

the thought of roy and lilina dancing after roy convinces his parents to have a wedding reception with their friends...

they talk about how lilina was hoping to get the bouquet for herself, after she comments that seeing her parents getting married would be so so wonderful. they talk about how she's seriously considering re-entering next year for that reason, because askr is the only time she can relive the times when her family was together, just like roy

and roy offers to pair up with her or otherwise help her in her quest. because he knows how much it would mean to her, because her very-obviously-in-love parents are half the reason she wants to get married

when she ends up hinting at who it is that she'd want her fairytale wedding with, he picks it up immediately because they used to talk about it all the time. how could they not?

after all, roy's dad leaves little love notes for his mom, and his mom rolls her eyes lovingly before carefully pasting them into a diary she keeps. she's got at least fifteen of those by the time she dies because he gives out at least one per day and he gets one kiss per so sometimes he writes more. after they spar, if she even just compliments him, his dad feels like he was the one who won their bout instead because he's so happy about it

she buys him a gift every time she heads to town because "it reminds me of you" but they're very, very loosely related things, so much so that even she can't recall what connection they have to her husband. she just thinks about him a lot and it shows in the way she accidentally slips into praising him any time someone says something remotely nice about him

meanwhile, everyone's quietly scared of lilina's mom because they know her dad will be furious if they disrespect or hurt her in any way—he's her biggest supporter and it's something she mentions often whenever lilina talks about wanting to get married. "find someone who supports you like your father supports me. and make sure to support him just as much."

and her mom goes out of her way to give him a singular wild flower—sometimes a weed—she found every day to let him know she's thinking of him. he keeps a list of their descriptions. anytime she complains about any sort of pain, he'll take it as an excuse to carry her around and even though she acts like she'd be fine if he didn't, she makes no moves to let go, even when she's teased about it

but like back to their dream wedding—lilina's dream wedding really is just what they both wanted, what they both talked about as kids. and roy's never really thought about it too hard, because in the back of his mind, he's always assumed it's going to be lilina walking down the aisle and well, he's already talked about it to her

she kisses him on the cheek when the dance ends and he asks, hesitating slightly before telling him that she's always liked him, and apologizes for taking the moment away from his parents

he asks her to dinner instead

lilina never gets to answer because everyone starts taking pictures with the bride and groom, and of course, lyn and eliwood insist on roy being in most of them.

but when he shows up at the place he mentioned, she's waiting for him.

[nevermore-grimes]

The Five Stages of Grief (With Chase)

Original art from Pinterest

Paracosm: The Ember Blade Chronicles

TEBC Saga: The War Saga

Summary: Nevermore's beginning to feel insecure as Peter's Guardian, but Chase is preoccupied with her poor choice of diet

Warnings/Tags: Chase is a bit of an asshole because of what Nevermore's eating. That's really it. Do enjoy the bit, though, lmaooo!

Word Count: 469

Nevermore knocked on Peter's door. "Peter? Kiddo? I made us Hot Pockets. Wanna grub and then go to Avengers-Eleven*?"

Peter opened the door. "Sorry, Nevermore. I'm about to go look at the stars with Mr. Stark."

"Oh." Nevermore held out the glass plate. "Still want a Hot Pocket?"

Peter apoligetically smiled and grabbed one. "Thank you. I'll be back later, okay?"

Nevermore watched him as he rushed off before whispering, "Okay."

She bitterly took a bite out of her Hot Pocket as she walked into the common area.

"You're really eating that garbage?" Chase was the first to notice her enter. "That's heart attack cuisine, and that's the nicest way I could say it."

"I dmmt rmm-m-bmm ashkmm phrr yrrr opmm-mm, Chmmsh.**" Nevermore had a large mouthful of Hot Pocket. She swallowed. "And, for your information, I'm not just eating. I'm eating my feelings!"

"You feel high levels of cholesterol?" Chase frowned.

"No!" Nevermore cried, "I feel stressed out!"

"Could be the cholesterol." Chase shrugged.

"Chase!" Nevermore scowled.

"Sorry," Chase scratched the back of his head. "But, just letting you know, I can make you comfort food that's actually good. I know you'd prefer it to that sack of grease."

"A garlic-covered sack of grease." Nevermore corrected. "And your food network dishes could never top the simple flavor of junk food." Nevermore took a slow and meaningful bite out of her Hot Pocket.

Chase gagged. "I think I just went through the five stages of grief."

The Five Stages of Grief (With Chase): Denial: I know Nevermore did not just bite that greasy garbage in front of me. Anger: Hot Pockets? Of all things, Hot Pockets?! It's disgusting! Fear: She's going to have a heart attack and die. Right in front of me! Bargaining: Maybe if I bake her another pie, she'll stop eating this slop. Acceptance: Okay. I now accept Nevermore's love for junk food.

"Anywho..." Chase cleared his throat. "You said you were stressed out?"

"Yeah," Chase patted the seat next to him, and Nevermore sat down. "Peter's been hanging out with Tony lately, and I guess I feel out of the loop."

Chase thought for a moment. "I don't really know what it's like to feel left out."

"I don't feel left out!" Nevermore argued, "I'm just tired of watching Tony..."

"Take your place?" Chase finished for her. Nevermore nodded. "Technically, from what I've heard, you took his."

"Well, yeah," Nevermore started. "But, I just... He makes his Bagel Bites stars, Chase. Stars! And he's rich and does cool stuff with Peter before I even have the chance to think of it."

"You have lots of money, too." Chase reminded her. "And you're cool."

Nevermore stood up. "Anyways, I'm going to bed. 'Night, Chase."

"'Night, Nevermore." Chase waved as she sped off... in the wrong direction.

*When I tell you this warship had everything, this warship had everything. I don't know what my aversion was to keeping it regular old Seven-Eleven, but please enjoy my Avengers-related knockoff, lmaooo!

**Translation: "I don't remember asking for your opinion, Chase."

[slumbering-shadows]

I finally bit the bullet and just made a new xbox account. My old one was originally made on my mom's email (I was very young and she watches too much dateline) and since it is a microsoft email, there is??? No way to change the email attached to the account without straight up deleting the email itself??? because Microsoft hates me personally i guess. Anyway that means that

1) when my mom changes her email password and forgets to tell me, I am locked out of my whole ass xbox until she answers me which could take anywhere from 10 minutes to 3 days. which doesn't seem like a lot but it is MY xbox. with MY games. and I should be able to play it on my schedule not hers.

2) I cannot personalize my account because it changes her email information. rip my mother's professional image because she still hasn't noticed I accidentally changed her pfp to a chibi stefano valentini like 6yesrs ago

3) if there's some sort of security issue where Microsoft says its time for 2 step verification, I either have to wait for her to send me the code from her email, OR, I have to get her to send me. the code. That Microsoft will text her. In order for me to sign into her email on my computer to grab the xbox code myself. both of which require both of us to be available at the exact same time bc those codes expire in 1 minute usually

4) cannot enter giveaways

5) my mother is petty and vindictive and I'm always terrified that if she gets into a Mood she will simply change the password and never let me into my xbox account ever again which will cost me (what I thought was) hundreds of dollars and literal years of progress

well turns out I only digitally own like 3 games. The rest of them are on disc or my husband's. So I'm not out so much money! However. There's no way to transfer my progress between accounts I don't think. Which means I get to completely replay diablo 3 (AGAIN!!! FUCKING AGAIN!!! THIRD FUCKING TIME!!!!!), the witcher 3, monster hunter world, and assassins creed origins.... from scratch. you know. huge long games. that I've sunk literally hundreds of hours into already. fucking hell

[angelsrcute]

I suck his dick, it's big, it's very-very big! ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙

◟♡ ˒ ʾʾ — who'd make you cockwarm him while he works, the door unlocked, his dick so close to your g-spot but he wouldn't let you move! hands keeping your waist in place as his dick keeps you all stuffed n warm.

“I'll be done soon, sweetheart, you can wait a little more right? So, be a good girl n stop movin’ so much.”

◟♡ ˒ ʾʾ — who'd praise you for sucking him off so good, tears forming at the corner of your eyes as you try not to gag on his huge dick. Guiding your tongue on his dick, gently holding your hair, shooting thick ropes of cum in your mouth.

“God, your mouth feels so good, my sweets. Keep goin’ alright? looking so pretty f’ me.”

◟♡ ˒ ʾʾ — who'd taunt n insult you while you gag on his dick, roughly grabbing your hair and making you take him fully. Your mascara n lipstick all ruined, eyes rollin’ back when he cums in your mouth. :(

“You look like some cheap whore like this, y'know. I bet you're getting wet from me degrading you, hm? As expected.”

◟♡ ˒ ʾʾ — who'd fuck you in a mating press, his big cock stretching your insides, hitting your womb. Pressin’ his hand on your tummy to feel his dick in you, making you whine. Your tummy already full from how much he cums, you definitely can't go for another round.. + he's gonna fuck you till you need a wheelchair.

“It won't fit? Don't worry, darlin’. Gonna make your cunt remember my dick, don't worry! Even if it does forgets, I'll just fuck ya again.”

◟♡ ˒ ʾʾ — who'd fuck you till your dumb n can only think of him and his dick if you do decide to act all bratty or he'd just tie you up n put a vibrator on your clit and watch as you squirm around trying to get a release, but he turns off the vibrator just when you're gonna cum. :(

"Should've thought before being like that, what did you expect, princess? acting all flirty with that random guy, trying to make me jealous."

◟♡ ˒ ʾʾ — who’re either super experienced from sleeping around or just fucking virgin losers, walkin’ around with that big ass dick in his pants.

— FYODOR, Leona, Dazai, NIKOLAI, Beel, Chuuya, Diavolo, SEBEK, Lucifer, Malleus, MAMMON, Jack, Blade, Neuvillette, Sampo, IDIA, Zhongli, Scara, CHILDE, TOJI, Jing yuan, Gojo, Sukuna, NANAMI, Dr. ratio, Wriothesley, ALHAITHAM, CATER + your favs.

[mssorceressupreme]

Let The World Burn

——— Pairing: Hwang In-Ho (or Young-Il) x reader

Summary: In-Ho would let the world burn for you, developing a huge soft spot and love for you, once you die in his arms, he’s determined to make sure everyone pays for it

Warnings: reader!death, angst, mentions of gunshots, daeho has ptsd, violence, swearing, mentions of blood, deaths

a/n: reader doesn’t know he’s the frontman fyi

———

The arena was a hellscape. The air smelled of gunpowder and fear, screams mingling with the deafening sound of gunfire. Shadows darted in and out of your vision as frantic players pushed past you, some tripping over fallen bodies, others using them as shields.

Every step you took felt like a battle against the tide of selfish desperation.

You clutched the heavy bag of bullets to your chest, your heart pounding wildly. Somewhere out there, Young-il was fighting, orchestrating this mess while holding together the fragile remnants of control.

Dae-ho cowered behind the bunk beds, leaning with his legs to his chest on his bunk bed, his hands trembling as he peeked out.

You’d told him to stay put, and thankfully, he listened. You couldn’t blame him for being terrified—it was every man for himself now, and his fear was written all over his face.

“Stay here,” you had told him, squeezing his shoulder as the fear and panic grew in his eyes. “I’ll find Young-il and Gi-hun. You’ll be okay, alright? I'll come back for you, you just stay put here.” You comforted, he trembled with fear, clutching his legs tighter at every gun shot.

He nodded, wide-eyed, and you’d forced yourself to turn away before the weight of the situation could settle over you. Now, pushing through the chaos, your focus narrowed. You had to find Young-il.

“Young-il!” you screamed, your voice raw as you ran through the area, running up the stairs, dodging bullets and panicked players. “Young-il!” It felt like a never-ending maze of death.

He was there, standing in the midst of the chaos like a storm given human form. His sharp features twisted in determination, his dark eyes scanning the crowd as he dodged bullets and ran from the chaos. You called out to him again, louder, but he didn’t hear you over the deafening sounds of death and desperation.

Before you could reach him, a frantic player shoved you from behind. You stumbled, dropping the bag of ammo and as you bent down to pick it up, a sharp burning pain ripped through your side. BANG! The world spun as your knees buckled. The ground was cold and unforgiving when you hit it, the bullets spilling out of the bag and scattering across the floor.

It was a surreal kind of agony, blinding and consuming. You tried to breathe, but it felt like your lungs had been punched.

Blood was warm against your hands as you pressed them to the wound, your vision blurring as tears welled in your eyes.

You tried again, your voice trembling as you whispered, “Young-il…”

Through the haze, you saw him turn, his eyes landing on you. For a moment, time froze. His face- usually so unreadable, so carefully controlled, cracked with raw emotion. Horror. Rage. Despair. He saw you.

And then he ran.

“Young-il...” you tried to say again, but the sound barely left your lips.

When he reached you, he dropped to his knees, his hands immediately pressing over yours to stem the bleeding.

“No,” he whispered, his voice shaking as his eyes darted across your body, assessing the damage.

“No, no, no! NOT HER!” His voice rose as he turned his fury to the guards, his tone sharper than a blade. “She’s not a target for fucks sake!”

His words carried the weight of command, but the guards hesitated only briefly. Young-il didn’t wait for an answer.

His focus snapped back to you, his hands trembling as he cradled you against his chest.

“Stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “Please, you have to stay with me. I can fix this. Just hold on, okay? Please.”

You blinked up at him, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Young-il…” His name was the only thing you could manage, but it was enough to draw his gaze back to you, his dark eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Don’t talk,” he said quickly, his hands pressing harder against your wound. “Save your strength. You’re going to be fine. I promise.”

There was a desperation in his voice that you’d never heard before, a vulnerability that broke through his steely exterior. It was almost enough to make you believe him. Almost.

A small, weak smile tugged at your lips. “You… always so serious,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I wanted… to help.”

“And you did,” he said fiercely, his voice trembling. “You did more than enough. Just stay. Please stay!"

Your hand, slick with blood, reached up to touch his face. He flinched at the contact, but didn’t pull away. “Thank you,” you whispered. “For caring.”

“No, no, no…” His voice cracked as your hand slipped away, falling limply to your side. “Don’t you dare…” His words dissolved into a choked sob as he pulled you closer. "FUCK!" He cried aloud, rocking you gently in his arms.

The chaos around him seemed to fade into nothingness as he held you, now lifeless, his world crumbling in his arms. His tears fell freely now, staining your already bloodied clothes. He pressed his forehead to yours, his breath ragged and uneven. "My Y/N..." he whispered. "My Y/N..."

And then, the grief turned to something darker.

When he finally looked up, his face was a mask of cold fury. He laid you down gently, brushing a hand over your face to close your eyes. Then he rose, his movements slow, deliberate.

The guard who had shot you barely had time to react before Young-il shot bullet which tore through his chest. One shot. Then another. And another. Now limp, the guard fell to the ground, dead.

“Young-il” Gi-hun’s voice called, but it was drowned out by the sound of gunfire as Young-il turned his wrath on the rest. He didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate. For a mere second, you had given him a glimmer of hope, he had reconsidered his actions for a short moment in time. He even thought about ending the games and running away to take care of you, and only you. But no, now, he remembered who he truly was. The man who had once orchestrated the games with calculated precision was gone, replaced by someone unrecognisable—a man consumed by amplified vengeance and grief. A man with no mercy. A man with no heart. Every last bit of empathy, washed away.

“For her,” he muttered under his breath as he fired another shot. “For her.”

Young-il had lost everything before. But losing you? That was a wound that would never heal. For you, he would destroy it all. Let the world burn. Let them all pay.

[thingswhatareawesome]

got serval (and lc) to 80, now all chars that i've put any work into are maxed, save for asta's lc still being at 75. but will finish that tomorrow. going to work on luka and sampo soon to have a dot team with serval. but that'll be after i (hopefully) get and max argenti and blade in 1.5/1.6.

traces are wip. traces are always wip.

[calebrity]

ataxia

sylus x fem reader

⤷ sylus wants kids, sweetie. lots of kids.

kind of a part 2 to this piece, but it can still serve as a lil standalone as well ♡ DAD SYLUS DAD SYLUS DAD SYLUS

cw ▻ nsfw, dubcon, breeding, pregnancy mentions, daddy kink, im a strong believer in sylus wanting a big family, whipped sylus, characters depicted are 18+, stockholm syndrome, yandere/obsessive tendencies, ~2.5k words

notes ▻ eeee they fr live in my head rent free </3 anyways take this crumb while i work on like other fics. daddy sylus is actually KILLING me like always on the noggin 😵‍💫

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

There’s a certain peace you feel, curled up on the leather couch, in watching your husband sit on his knees as the little ones crawl around the carpet, playing with them no different than a toddler would.

Not exactly a pleasant peace, by any means, but a simple, sort of resigned one. Your muscles seem to lose the tension, shoulders always piked high, ready for attack- or some other (meta)physical blow- slumping into rounded blades. You sigh.

Perhaps it’s the knowing that whatever bad thing that could’ve come- already has. Now, you’re experiencing the sloping aftereffects of it.

And this—

Sylus, with a beaming grin, letting out an almost breathless laugh as he scoops up one of the boys and twirls him overhead, the other kept by a protective hand at his side so he won’t bump on the corner of the coffee table—

Is just the fallout.

Ruby-red eyes flit over (and they always do sooner than later, like you’re a beacon in the middle of a dark sea) and crinkle at the edges. You’ve told him before that you don’t like when he throws the babies up in the sky like that, that if they were to suddenly fall, they can’t take flight like Mephisto. He must remember, because he lets out a little, woeful noise and carefully lowers him.

The smile remains, though, kilowatt and wide, a little starry-gazed like he’s inviting you to slip off the sofa and join him on the fluffy rug with your children.

The fatigue natural to post-pregnancy has already claimed you tonight, though. Truth be told, you’d have hesitated even if it didn’t. It’s fine, tending to your children on your own; his long absences leave you with massive windows of alone time with the little ones, and you actually enjoy it (save for the huge toll it takes on your energy, of course, but Luke and Kieran lend a hand where it counts- where they’re allowed).

That sentiment changes a bit, though, when your husband does get home. With his presence comes the cold reminder of how things really are, how you’re still an unwilling counterpart in all this- frilly gowns and jewels and the private chef he hires for fancy dinners (because he has the money for it) be damned.

You want to go home. That wish, hollow as it is, still stands.

…Even if it’s started staggering, in these last few months.

He’s always been more than content with just the two of you, but in the last several weeks, you compare Sylus’s emotional state to a suitcase packed too full, joy spilling out the sides. Evidently, he doesn’t try to close the zipper; he lets it happen with gladness, with his hands open and lifted, but you’re not sure he entirely knows what to do with himself. With these significant developments that are just as new to him (possibly even more, as much as that flummoxes you) as they are to you.

It’s as weird as it is endearing to see what having two children (twin boys, funnily enough) will do to your husband. But if there’s one thing you learned about Onychinus’s illustrious leader in the past couple years of your marriage—

It’s that he does not settle for less.

And when he draws closer, both little ones secured in his lap- dozing off because it’s already thirty minutes past their bedtime- and lifts your hand to place a chaste kiss there, rubbing your knuckles dotingly…

You can tell there’s something more he’s craving.

✿

“A girl,” he moans.

Sometimes- after you’ve just put down the boys for four consecutive nights in a row before collapsing in bed, your lover hardly having the opportunity to show his affections, all but guilted into letting you catch up on your sleep- it’s almost easy to forget how Sylus feels, your brain willing it away. How good he fucks you.

If you’re being more general- how good he takes care of you.

“Give me a girl this time, sweetie, just-“ a gasp, “one more.”

And vaguely, in the haze of sweat and burning hands, his thick, long cock plunging in and out of you deeply- slowly- your juices and his pre slicking between you, sticky as molasses, you wonder to yourself if he’s even convinced of that himself.

Just having one more, you mean.

The twins were unexpected: that right there is an understatement. You were hardly prepared for one rascal- all the countless evenings he spent buttering you up, so attentive, and then cumming into you with whispered vows to knock you up be damned— but when the xray revealed not one misshapen, little form in your womb, but two?

It was a bombshell.

Sylus, beside you (on the leather couch downstairs with your personal doctor he paid God knows how unreasonable a sum to show), had squeezed your hand in his and tried to mask half of his joy. The priority was in comforting you, helping you to realize that this was a good thing- a beautiful thing- that your life was not officially over and- hey, don’t worry, hasn’t he taken good care of you thus far? Surely, adding a couple little ones into the equation wouldn’t suddenly make it impossible.

You’re both very capable people, honey. Even more so together, with him. (Well, he assures you as much, anyway.)

Whether or not he could take care of you was never exactly the worry, though. The worry was that you’d be under his hand forever— and a baby? (two, you strictly correct. Two babies) You could kiss the last hope you had of ever weaseling out from his grip, or luxurious manor, goodbye.

He must know it, buried deep in the back of his head underneath the genuine layers of desire to simply start a family with you, his beloved girl, and flesh out more of a solid, burgeoning life; the silent promise underlying the pregnancy tests and inpromptu housecalls of your poor, overworked doctor.

That a family ties you to him forever.

A tether that’s damn near impossible to cut yourself loose from, even if you stood a punching chance at it to begin with. Glues you together in a way that even marriage doesn’t quite scratch the surface of. Your bond is perpetuated by blood, now. Flesh and bone. Your DNA, warped with his to create—

Monstrosities—

No, a harsh voice in the corner of your skull surprisingly snips back. They’re not monstrosities, far from it. All previous qualms nudged aside (and you had a lot, to be clear; hours spent sobbing and pushing helplessly at his chest as Sylus crooned and wrapped you in his arms proves that), doubts surrounding parenting and your own self preservation- your children are beautiful, that’s true. Healthy. Perfect.

If you’re being honest with yourself, and choose the high road here (the high road means willfully forgetting how involuntary this whole arrangement was in the first place)- they’re positively adorable. With his white hair spiking on their heads but your eyes and lips- and a shared penchant to land themselves into trouble, places they shouldn’t be before either of you stoops over to lift them out. Albeit, you’ll admit that their noses are still up for debate; it’s hard to pinpoint the resemblance when their faces are endearingly round, too chubby to really tell in this stage, but you secretly hope they’ll take after you in that regard.

You… don’t know how you’ll continue to operate if staring at your children is like staring at a mirror image of their father.

But… I mean, they’re fucking innocent in all this—

Your precious boys aren’t like their father. They… won’t be. You’ll make absolute sure of it.

“One more,” he chants, sucking in a long, thin breath through perfect teeth. And damn it all he feels good. So good. Maybe he had more than just one selfish, substratal reason for populating your otherwise fairly quiet home. Because you’re more obedient lately, wanting for it, almost… It gets him riled up in ways he could not begin to articulate. Hesitant still (sometimes he has this awful, basal fear that it’ll never go away, your trepidation towards him)- but sugar-sweet when you lie on the silken bed and present yourself with bashful cheeks that tell Sylus you hate yourself for it but have no real control in the moment.

You moan so prettily for him when he pries your thighs apart and presses them either side of your head, fashioning you like a butterfly, to slide in and out of you with ease. Melodic. Maybe he’s tone deaf to all songs save for you because he knows you, knows you like the back of his hand, pitch and lilt; he could pick out the voice of you in a crowd full of whooping people, he thinks.

Again, you blame your excitement on what he’s done to you. The twins’ pregnancy, the fluctuating hormones that have you bouncing between hysterical sobs and yanking your wide-eyed husband into impulsive, suffocating kisses before his fingers quickly settle around your middle. All the gentle erosion that he’s guided you through across the span of almost two years has left you worn and vulnerable.

But you suppose if something were to ever encourage a deeper bond- strengthen it- what else would it be than to take a man’s seed inside your womb and gift him with a bunch of unruly but cute kids? That’d gnaw away at just about anybody’s inhibitions, even if it grudges you to admit that. It lessens what remnant you held onto of this idea of ‘autonomy’, makes you fully lean onto him.

Sylus takes that news much, much better than you.

It’s… got to be more than physical between you now, you think distantly as he bullies his cockhead against your smooth walls, stroking a spongey spot in the bulwarks of you that makes your head go kaput. Like something spiritual, perhaps. He’s joined his soul with yours and that’s why you’ve been so obedient lately, so needy, clinging onto him and making his back your own personal scratching post as he plays at the idea of impregnating you again.

Oh, fuck, he’s such a bastard you hate him you hate him you—

You suppose your baby girl, inevitable to come somewhere down the line- whether that means during the next pregnancy or the third- won’t be like him, either.

She’ll be a sweetheart, and soft. Perhaps she’ll inherit her daddy’s crimson eyes or his smooth, sharp tongue, his inclination for success, but she’ll carry her mother’s heart with her. She will be kind.

Until someone like her daddy comes along. Flips her world on its head.

(And you know that having Sylus as her daddy would be the simple fact that staves off all potential men intending to prey on her, but still, the thought remains, niggling and bitter.)

“Take daddy’s cock, sweetie,” he goads, breath shot right from his lungs as he traps you beneath him- not that you’ve much the will to resist anymore- and moans over you. “You’ll take what he has to offer, won’t you? Your pretty belly will take all of it in?”

Tears prickle at your eyes when his flit down to your tummy, pupils swelling wildly as his jaw sets tight. He hisses through clenched teeth, cock giving a hot pulse accordingly.

It’s not difficult to imagine the bump there, the mound that’s not yet formed over a for now slim belly and wrinkled skin (stretch marks that you loathe but he worships on most nights, with your heels over his shoulder and his tongue lapping greedily at your pussy, palms kneading the flesh with reverence). It’s hardly been six months since you had the twins (a home birth, he’d insisted, because it was safer that way, more sterile, less stressful for you), but Sylus finds himself pining for your body to adapt to his seed again, for your breasts to plump and your stomach to round, your skin to glow.

(Your hands to reach for him because your emotions have been sat on one long rollercoaster ride and you can’t help whatever the fuck is going on inside you.)

“Sylus—“ You mewl, panting as he knocks his forehead to yours- with a whit more force than you think he’d meant, but he’s a little dazed right now, and your pussy feels so good, so don’t hold it against him, kitten- and grunts back. “Yes?” He breathes, and you liken the sound to a gust of wind, powerful and shaking.

“I- I don’t know,” you all but wail, desperately trying to tamp down your sounds of pleasure before they can escape. You’re failing.

Your reticence is for a number of reasons. First of all, your boys are just down the hall, swaddled in their respective cradles under their rotating airplane fixtures and sleeping soundly. You don’t have any intentions of changing that- especially for something as stupid and pathetic as essentially whoring yourself out to their father (and you’re not a whore, but you can’t help but feel like one when you start to bask in the attention he gives you- your hormones post-pregnancy compelling you to do all sorts of wild things).

And secondly, Luke and Kieran don’t renown you as stubborn for no reason, or your husband, lovingly, as a drama queen— and there’s a defiant part of you that does not want to see the satisfaction on his face when you start to crumble under his ministrations and open your mouth about it.

But all that, for Sylus, is a wonderful work in progress.

And if we’re to be crystal, for as much as the N109 Zone’s number one magnate prioritizes the end goal, he thoroughly enjoys the process.

“You don’t know what, Sweetie?” He whispers. It’s all he can manage right now, you’re squeezing him so tight. In that moment, the fog parts, and he knows with a hundred percent certainty that you do not want him to leave. Yes, your cunt is saying as much, and he rewards it with a carefully angled thrust right against your g-spot, but your face tells no different a story.

You’re beautiful. Perfection embodied. Makes him lose his breath a little.

“I-If I want a girl,” You heave. “If I want one at all.”

Something like dejection passes across his handsome visage then, or maybe it’s uncertainty that weakens the tight knotch in his brow as he inwardly struggles- between his approaching climax and the single mind he’s got to stuff you full of his release- for an appropriate answer. He doesn’t want to anger you. Doesn’t want to make you hate him, no, especially not when you’re finally starting to dip your toes in his waters after all his painstaking efforts to make you comfortable. Oh, God knows Sylus would kick himself for that.

…But this will be good for you. Having another, he means. It’ll be good for the both of you and if you’d just let him show you—

He’s painted the perfect demonstration of that quite well with the boys, hasn’t he? In this past handful of months, you’ve never looked happier and you’re positively glowing and all Sylus has ever wanted was to see your pretty face light with that dazzling, little smile. The twins he’s given you, unbidden as they initially were through your lens, make you so, so happy.

This will be so, so good.

Perfect.

If you’d just give in.

Oh, you’re so maddening sometimes but he adores you, every part and piece. He stoops over so his damp lips brush the lobe of your ear, the perspiration dotting his temple wetting your flushed cheeks. He croons, “You do. You do want it. I’ll show you, kitten, just how bad you need it. The twins need a sister, don’t you think? They won’t know anything other than playing rough, if not.”

Your fingertips squeeze into the lean planes of muscle of his back. He’s burning up, near feverish what with the heat sweltering between your sandwhiched bodies, but he gives a shiver in response like he’s enduring temperatures below freezing.

Panic, beneath the misty veneer of pleasure that makes your face go slack- and the subtle, inexplicable flash of something that almost convinces you Sylus is right, that you do want it- slips into the forefront of your muddled brain. Reaches a hand through the dirt and revives itself, reminding, no, no, you don’t want this, you don’t want him, you don’t want—

You let out a delicious gasp as he spears into you, the flesh of your thighs dimpling as he presses down the undersides of them. Firm, but gentle. It’s true, you’ve become considerably more flexible since meeting him- since having to accommodate him- but he’ll never give you anything more than you can take.

You’d never admit it, but there’s almost a little bit of comfort in knowing that.

“I-I’ll make sure they know how to play nice,” you force out, taking your lower lip in your mouth and suckling as the telltale rush of your climax draws nigh, hardening in your belly as it builds. “I’ll make sure they know how to be gentle, Sy!” Foreign to your own ears. Your voice is horrid as you belatedly register it, all sniveling and gasping- downright pathetic as you cling onto him for dear life and he ruts into you like a dog in heat.

You’re grasping at straws now, you know, but for as feeble as your excuses are, you hope they hit their mark. That they’ll get him to reconsider-

“But sweetie,” he breathes tenderly, “you’re already making sure I’m gentle,” he reminds in a pleasant voice, edged with the remnants of a self control that unravels at a steady pace. “How will you juggle between the three of us? Hm?”

His cockhead, fat and precise, catches on that spot in you that makes you go positively crazy and your eyes flutter back. You let out a strange, choked sound that he marvels at before he capitalizes on the reaction completely, buffetting away at the final walls you’d erected against him tonight.

All are near crumbled.

“I’ll find a way,” you nearly squeak- high-pitched and unconvincing because his mind’s already made- before he’s lolling your jaw back towards him and smashing his lips to yours in a decadent kiss, silencing your protests- for as weak as they are.

It’s close to visceral, the contact, wet lips melding hungrily with yours, trading groans and mewls as he effectively pistons his hips into you and paints colorful stars across the black span of your eyelids. In a word- invasive. Torpefying, all your limbs unfurling and slipping away from him in favor of curling into the sheets as your release approaches at whirlwind speeds, blunt fingernails clinging onto you so tight there’ll be bruises formed tomorrow- as well as an apologetic, rueful sigh on Sylus’s end, because he swears to God he’s trying to hold back—

Fucking mind-numbing.

And isn’t that just what you need? A quiet conscience? A shot of morphine fed through a needle straight into the veins, an emotional kind of tranquilizer or- or something to moderate the snarled mess your heart’s become all because of him—

It seems he’s cognizant then, pupils dilated madly as he finally blinks, of the hands that clench too tight- withdrawing them immediately from your thighs (regrettably, they remain cleaved open in a willing offer for him, shaking and red with his prints) to loop your wrists either side of your head. Holding your hands. Ever the romantic. You almost laugh, seconds off from that white-hot tidal wave of pleasure, at the irony of it all. Onychinus’s formidable, takes-no-bullshit leader, fucking you with all the grace of a big clumsy dog but all the love of one too— loyal and determined, bleeding heart on his sleeve.

He’s still kissing you, sucking on your tongue filthily, and all you can think of is waking the boys sleeping soundly next door how exquisite it feels, his thick member dragging in and out of your walls like it’s his right. Sylus certainly believes as much.

He’s ruined you too good for anyone else; you’re starting to believe it, too.

“There you go, kitten!” He gasps. “Let go. Just- fuck- let go for daddy. Such a good, good girl. Such a good mommy, you are. Our- oh, fuck, that’s it, that’s it, perfect- Our little girl will be so, so lucky to have you.”

When he comes, you do, too.