#it's very bad the worms of the brain are out of control

[hunsa-jars]

Last day of uner till february, just one exam before christmas I hope and almost finished with my last assignment so tomorrow you can expect a dash drowning

Also please look what I had to make for folk art and crafts class

[depravitycentral]

Demon Slayer Dick Headcannons (ft. the Hashira)

Tw: yandere, mentions of kidnapping, breeding, cumplay kinda, fem reader, MDNI

Featuring: Giyuu Tomioka, Kyojuro Rengoku, Tengen Uzui, Sanemi Shinazugawa, Obanai Iguro, Gyomei Himejima

It’s pretty – a pale color and perfectly smooth, feeling almost virginal with how perfectly unmarked it is. And of course, it is virginal – that much will become uncomfortably obvious the first time you touch him, Giyuu letting out a near pained grunt after a mere thirty seconds as his orgasm washes over him, embarrassment settling in his stomach because oh god, you must think he’s pathetic now.

Giyuu’s never been one for masturbation, and so the skin on his cock is genuinely extremely sensitive, having had very, very little experience being touched. Just a brush of your finger against his length makes him sputter a bit, Adam’s apple bobbing harshly as he gulps, embarrassment starting to creep up his spine because god, something so small shouldn’t feel so good, especially when it’s just over his robes, not even skin-to-skin contact. He’s bucking his hips at the smallest touch of your thumb against his tip, something like a whimper escaping him when you kitten lick at his base, peppering kisses up the length until you suckle at his tip and see the way his eyes roll back.

When he gets hard he gets rather embarrassed, always trying his best to be subtle about it and not draw attention to it, but the way he cowers over and tries to cover his groin with anything nearby is not nearly as smooth as he’d hope, his cheeks flushed ever so slightly pink over the bridge of his nose.

(And of course, the staring – eyes drilling holes into your body, trying desperately to not ogle at your clothed breasts or the sway of your hips, though he can’t resists a few glances that you’ll almost certainly notice.)

His balls are ever so slightly smaller than expected, not enough to be noticeable at first glance, but they easily fit together in your palm, the area sensitive enough to make him tear up a bit, biting his lip and trying to worm out of your grasp. But don’t be fooled – he likes it, something vaguely sounding like a whine slipping from his lips when you retract your hand, and if he’s especially needy for your attention and touch, he’ll even physically grab your hand and put it back, sucking in a breath and forcing his body to relax.

He's generally very quiet when he’s orgasming, the only visual cue being the way his face twists up into something entirely unexpected from the stoic, emotionless Hashira – he’s gasping, eyes fluttering closed and his eyebrows screwing together.

His body shakes, his abs visibly clenching and unclenching, his thighs flexing and his hips bucking in small, almost imperceptible thrusts, as if his body’s unsure of whether he wants to run away from the pleasure or get closer, impossibly close to have more and more of you. His cum doesn’t taste too bad – a neutral, musky flavor, though luckily without too much saltiness or bitterness.

This is great news for you, because while Giyuu won’t admit it, the feeling of your mouth on his cock has his whole body going slack, his vision becoming a bit splotchy because the sensation of something so warm and wet moving against him has every rational thought leaving his brain.

He’s normally not very adventurous or expressive in bed, trying hard to not turn you off and struggling to become relaxed enough to actually enjoy it, but something about the sight of you on your knees, looking up at him while his cock appears and disappears past your lips has him losing all control, a small moan of your name falling from him while he lightly thrusts his hips, not caring if he looks pathetic or depraved. Not when you’re mouthing at him, drool spilling from the corner of your lips, tongue prodding at his slit and suckling on his tip, as if you’re trying to coax the cum out of him. His cum is runny, and tends to stain things.

(Something alarming when you realize just how many of your clothing items have very, very similar mystery stains.)

He’s not picky about where he finishes, feeling grateful that you’re touching him at all, really, but if he had to choose, he’d pick inside of you because it just feels more intimate that way. It feels right, primal even, and he’ll often have to take a few minutes between rounds simply because his orgasms crash through him with such intensity that he can’t form a coherent thought for a few moments afterwards.

His favorite way for you to touch him is when you’re straddling him, riding him and pressing your hands against his chest for leverage. He generally likes positions where you’re in control more, finding himself enjoying the passive, observing role while you take the lead.

(It bruises his pride a bit to confess it, but there’s something so, so very arousing about the idea of being a mere object and tool for your pleasure. And when you’re scooping your hips atop him, grinding and bouncing on him like he’s nothing more than a toy to get off with, Giyuu finds his breath gets heavy, his palms sweaty, every clap of your ass against his thighs bringing him closer and closer to his inevitable orgasm.)

He likes the way you can make the pace and angle exactly what you need, the way he can feel every inch of your cunt sucking him in, and of course the visual. The way you look at him with sultry, pleasure-filled eyes, your lips parted in that pretty ‘o’ shape that he sees when he closes his eyes at night. He has a perfect view of his cock appearing and disappearing inside of you, his skin glistening with your slick and a pretty little ring of white sitting against the coarse black hair of his pelvis.

His hands will grip onto your hips tightly, almost too tight, the only way he can anchor himself in the moment, living and tangible proof that you’re really here with him, touching him, wanting him, and he’s gripping onto you as if he’s afraid it’s all still just a fantasy.

But you’ll see the way his eyes are constantly darting to your bouncing chest, unblinking and fascinated as he watches your nipples grow hard, the plap plap noise of your skin smacking against your ribcage making him practically drool.

(His grows even redder if you grab his hands and use them to cup your breasts, telling him in a breathy, slurred voice to touch me, please Giyuu then you’ll be taken aback by the way he immediately squeezes and gropes, kneading and pinching at your nipples with a voracity that makes your hips stutter. And when he leans in to kiss you, his tongue immediately pushing past your lips and tracing your teeth, just know that it’s a matter of time before his orgasm hits. A matter of seconds, really.)

He likes the intimacy, and how he can feel even more connected and close to you, all the while seeing the way his cock makes you feel.

It’s a solid five inches with average girth, a few thick veins decorating the underside of his length. Kyojuro’s average in nearly every way, with the stark exception being his stamina.

His refractory period is nearly non-existant – he seems to be always hard in your presence, always sporting at least a semi any time he catches a whiff of your scent or hears even the echo of your voice. And it’s obvious, too, in his uniform – there’s always a tent of some sort in his pants, and the truly unfortunate thing is that Kyojuro doesn’t seem to care. He’s not making any effort to hide it when it’s just the two of you, even subconsciously moving his haori back and jutting his hips out ever so slightly so that you’ll notice and perhaps even be enticed by what you’re seeing.

He’s not especially meticulous about grooming himself, feeling that sex should be natural and as you are. To shave would be removing a part of his authentic self, and so there’s always a rather thick bush of dark, curly hairs sitting at the base of his cock, brushing against your clit and making you squirm when he’s got you settled on his lap, warming him while he cuddles you and presses kisses against every inch of your skin he can reach.

(This of course also extends to you – he prefers you don’t shave or wax, and once you’re trapped under his roof he simply won’t let you, denying you access to anything sharp enough to cut. And he’ll make his appreciation for your natural body very, very obvious, even going so far as to bury his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply and sighing when he’s knelt between your legs, letting your scent engulf him as he licks his lips and dives into your cunt.)

He’s decently sensitive, always letting out these pleasured little sighs, a boyish grin sitting on his face every time you touch him because oh, isn’t this heaven, feeling your pretty lips and fingers and cunt on him, just as he’s so longed for?

His cum is warm. Like, unnervingly warm – he’s always running a few degrees warmer than you it seems, every cuddle and press of his body against your own feeling startingly hot, and when his cum lands on your skin it’ll feel like fire. Not painful, but right on the edge of it. It’s thick, too, having the consistency of melted ice cream and leaving a sort of residue on your skin that he’ll gladly lick off of you.

(Cuteness aggression tends to affront him after he’s orgasmed, still out of breath and staring down at your disheveled, messy state underneath him, his cum staining your skin and sweat lining your brow.)

His stamina is off the charts, capable of fucking you for hours on end and holding off his orgasm if he concentrates hard enough. However, his refractory period is also quite short, leading to him instead preferring to come multiple times and not edge himself as strongly, thinking that the act of orgasming for you is proof of how deeply he’s attracted to you, how strongly your touch and words and presence affect him.

And he’ll make you very aware of when he’s orgasming, too – he’s loud, groaning your name and all sorts of praises, that same breathless laughter falling from his lips as he buries his face against the crook of your neck, fingertips pressing against your skin so hard that bruises form the next morning.

(Which he’s inconsolable about, really, the next morning fussing over you and promising to never do it again, only to get lost in the pleasure a few nights later and leave you with fresh bruises. He’ll always beg you to scratch down his back as he thrusts into you as repayment, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the pain-tinged pleasure, proudly wearing your scratches as a badge of love. He’ll even brag to Tengen about it, proudly proclaiming that he’s able to pleasure you so well that you simply must mark him as yours.)

His favorite way for you to touch him is when he’s fucking you in a deep, intimate mating press. He likes the fact that he can get as deep as physically possible in this position, always angling his hips to brush against the front of your walls and against that spongey spot that makes you whine his name, the sound making his head spin and his tongue coming out to lick at his lips.

He loves feeling the way you clench down onto him, the grip you leave on him almost making it hard to pull out and push back in, and idea of you never wanting him to leave you only furthering his thrusts, becoming faster and more bruising.

He’ll have you hold one of your knees against your chest, the other tangled in his hair while he supports himself on his elbow, holding your other leg up while his other hand permanently rests against your clit, drawing circles and tracing the kanji of his name over and over again. The sound of his hips and balls clapping against your ass encourages him to move faster too, and the sight of your breasts bouncing and jiggling underneath him makes his head dip, enveloping a nipple in his mouth and sucking.

(Sucking hard enough to leave you squirming, almost as if he’s expecting something to come out – the mere thought makes him groan, teeth lightly nibbling at your skin and his hips stuttering ever so slightly.)

He just thinks the positions blends the perfect mix of intimacy, eye contact, physical touch, and pleasure, and this is his go-to position that he’ll always default to any time the two of you are naked with one another.

You can request something else, asking him with a sultry hand on his chest to take you from the back or let you ride him, but you’ll always find yourself eventually back up in this position, his sweaty chest brushing against your nipples as he moans and begs for you to tell him you love him.

It’s a girthy six inches, with a near comically large, bulbous tip. It’s the kind of cock that makes you immediately freeze, simultaneously intimidated and immediately salivating, and he knows it. He’s a fan of all things extravagant, and this certainly extends to his cock – there’s a rather obnoxious piercing sitting right underneath his tip, the small metal ball framing an acidy green gem that manages to brush against your g-spot perfectly when he’s got you bent over.

It’s a pretty pink color when he’s flaccid, but when he grows hard it turns to a deep near fuchsia color, never quite making it above the ninety degree mark because it’s simply too heavy. He takes great care in grooming himself, always making sure that he’s impeccably trimmed and clean. He likes to leave the dark pubic hairs in interesting designs and patterns, all sorts of shapes gracing his navel.

(He loves when you trace a fingers along the perimeter of the hair, his skin erupting into goosebumps at the feeling, his cock stirring to life because the tasing sensation is simply too much for him.)

He even takes the time to very carefully trim up his balls, wanting to make sure that everything is pristine and perfect when you touch him – he wants you to be impressed, after all, and he waits with baited breath the first time you see him nude, eyes watching your each and every expression because he wants to see exactly what you’re thinking and feeling.

(This happens every time he’s naked before you, even if it’s the hundredth time – he’ll even ask if you like what you see? Maybe you should taste it, too, to get the full picture.)

His cum is thick and tends to stay where it lands, often not dripping and instead just drying against your skin or lips or shirt or panties, wherever he feels the urge to finish. And he likes to mix it up – his favorite places are of course inside of you, your face, and your ass, but he’s game to try anything you’d like.

He likes to finish inside you when he’s feeling especially worn down or overwhelmed by his job, clutching onto you and groaning in your ear as he pushes himself as deeply as possibly and letting go, filling you with so much that it leaks out of you even with his cock still plugging you up.

He likes to finish on your face, too, because it’s just so dirty and taboo and you look so naughty when you’re looking up at him with your tongue lolled out, a flare of possessiveness and adrenaline making him feverishly fist his cock mere inches from your face, groaning out an uneven take it as he lands spurt after spurt in stripes across your face.

And of course, your ass – he loves to watch the fat bounce back against him as he fucks you, smacking at it and grabbing it in fistfuls, spreading your cheeks apart to get a better view of his cock fucking into you. And seeing it stained with his cum, even a bit dribbling down and settling into the folds and pockets of your cunt makes him whistle, giving himself just a few more strokes to ensure he’s given you every drop he can.

He’s loud when he’s finishing, always narrating what it feels like, groaning your name and even breathlessly laughing, still partially in awe because he’s fantasized about fucking you for so damn long, and you’re even better than he’d been hoping for. He also tends to thrust throughout the entirety of his orgasms, going even harder and faster, losing control for a few seconds because the pleasure is blinding him and driving him to fuck into you harder, faster, deeper, anything to prolong the pleasure your body is giving him.

His favorite way for you to touch his cock is when you’re giving him head while he reciprocates, in a somewhat modified 69 position. However, unlike the traditional, Tengen prefers to be on top of you – he likes the way he can hold onto your thighs, keeping you perfectly spread for him so that you can’t close him out or run when he gets you closer and closer.

Besides, the way he can (very) carefully thrust lightly down your throat from the angle gets his ears ringing, the sense of dominance he feels over you making him drool against your clit. He likes the depth he can get, and although he’s conscious of choking you, the small gagging noises you make when he goes just a hair too deep have precum dribbling against your tongue, his cock pulsing against your lips.

His favorite sexual experiences are when you’re both getting something out of it, and so he’s a big fan of pleasuring you simultaneously. But with this position he gets the most control, able to tease you and nose at your clit all the while letting his own pleasure steadily build.

And when he comes, something about the physical position makes him feel like he’s genuinely coming down your throat, cum settling against your uvula and dripping down your throat. It’s romantic, he thinks, and when your hands come up to grasp onto his thighs Tengen feels shivers roll down his spine because oh, you’re just so fucking cute.

He likes it, and when you pull off to take a small break, stroking at his cock, he likes when you run his tip along the outline of your lips, your cheeks, you jaw and collarbone, even your nipples if you can maneuver it. It makes him groan, licking long, flat stripes against your hole, a thumb working diligently, frantically at your clit because you’re getting him so very close and he needs you to come before he does.

It’s just a guilty pleasure of his, and while he won’t often request it, it’s his go-to when he’s been away from you for long missions, desperate to kiss you and taste you.

(And due to his near non-existent refractory period, it’s the warm up to fucking you good and proper.)

Sanemi’s overall thoroughly average in terms of length and girth, but the thing that sets him apart is how genuinely heavy his cock is. When you’re holding it in your palms, it weighs against your skin, feeling thick and intimidating, throbbing hard enough for you to feel. He’s got no experience before you, and when you first slowly exhale and marvel at his sheer weight, he grows embarrassed, terrified that you don’t like what you’re seeing.

(He won’t explicitly ask you if there’s something wrong with it, but he’s carefully watching your reactions, holding his breath and managing to mutter out a quit staring just to simply end the insecurity swimming in his chest.)

He’s scared that you’re disappointed, cheeks tinging pink and struggling to look you in the eye, but he’s putty in your hands the moment your skin touches his. When he’s got you bent over, hands groping and grabbing at every inch of your body that he can reach, you can feel how heavy he is inside of you, too – it’s impossible to ignore the way he’s bullying into you, stretching you and feeling like he’s practically in your throat with how overwhelming the sensation is.

Matching his length, a pair of sensitive balls sit firmly underneath his base, always a rosy pink color and twitching alongside his length when he’s especially hard. They’re extremely sensitive, however, and while Sanemi will never, ever tell you to stop touching him, you’ll see the way he clenches his fist and squeezes his eyes shut when you play with them just a hair too hard, the strained groan that falls from his lips sounding more pained than he wants it to.

He likes it though – you just have to be gentle, and if you really want to see him melt, gently suck on one and let your tongue loll around it like some sort of musky candy – it makes his cheeks go red, his lip stuck between his teeth and his hips twitching because oh fuck you look so damn good drooling all over him like that.

His cum is hot, and there’s a lot. He’s pent up – he doesn’t masturbate often, instead letting all the rage and irritation fester and channeling it into swinging his sword. And so, each time you touch him, Sanemi has so much to give you that it inevitably ends up leaking out of you.

If you’re on your knees for him, all pretty and staring up at him through doe-eyed lashes with pouty lips, he’s coming down your throat, grasping onto your hair and simply keeping you there, cum spilling out from the sides of your mouth because there’s simply too much and you can’t swallow quickly enough to keep up.

When he’s folding you into a mating press, mouth hot at your ear as he gasps and groans and growls, when he eventually calls out what vaguely sounds like your name in a slurred frenzy along with fuck and yes yes yes, he’s coming so much that it physically forces him out of your cunt, the sheer volume filling you up so well that there’s not even room for him.

And Sanemi absolutely loves to see you covered in it, too – he never suggests the idea because he doesn’t want it to feel disrespectful, but he absolutely loves to finish on your face. There’s something about the way you look underneath him, with your tongue lolling out and your palms pressing against his thighs as if bracing yourself that gets him throwing his head back, his orgasm ripping through him with enough force to leave his knees almost collapsing underneath him.

(And if you were to lick your lips and then reach out to lick him clean of every last drop? Well, please don’t say anything about the way he whimpers, a few sad, pathetic little spurts of cum ooze out, a last ditch attempt to give you absolutely everything he can.)

He’s a dribbler, cum oozing from the tip in a steady stream that never seems to end, and when he’s coming he always blindly reaches out to grab something to ground him. More often than not it’s you that he’s clutching onto, his grip tight enough to leave slight bruises (that he will feel incredibly guilty for the next morning). It’s to ground him, to remind him that you’re real, that you’re with him, that you’re not merely a figment of his imagination or some poor, pathetic stand-in that he can fuck and desperately pretend is you.

His favorite way for you to touch him is when you’re seated on his lap, straddling him with nothing separating you. He loves fucking you, of course, something primal and animalistic in him satisfied with the knowledge that he’s claiming you from the inside out, but there’s something equally pleasurable – if not more so – about the intimacy of simply holding you and feeling your cunt slowly and steadily grind against him.

He wants both of you completely nude, your tits pressing against his chest and your lips attached to his and he slowly guides your hips, a hand clutching at either side as he brings you forward and back, the wetness of your folds coating him in a thick layer of you and letting him slide easier.

It’s heaven to him – the perfect vantage point, though he’s much too embarrassed to admit why. Truthfully, it’s because the position almost feels like you’re holding him – he’ll often just wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you as tightly against him as possible, listening to your heartbeat and trying to match the rhythm of his breathing with yours.

Often, if he’s feeling particularly vulnerable or if he’s just returned from a long, grueling mission, he’ll slip a nipple into his mouth, gently suckling and biting, closing his eyes and focusing on the way that you’re so very warm and soft in his arms.

It’s comfort thing, more than anything else, as if being with you in such a raw, intimate way means that he’s safe, comfortable, loved and wanted. It’s sappy and he’d rather die than admit it, but you’ll notice the way his eyes grow red, tears prickling at the corners because it just feels so damn good to hold you like this.

He’s a bit shorter than average, coming in just slightly under five inches, but Obanai has a pretty significant girth – significant enough to get you gasping the first time he fucks you, the feeling of being so stretched out leaving you gasping for air.

You’ll always be able to tell when he’s close to coming because everything literally throbs – you can feel him pulsing inside of you, the sensation making you squirm because it’s so very arousing but so very weird against your walls. And it’s a constant, too – from the moment he gets hard, it’s constantly pulsing against your palm, his cheeks bright red and embarrassment running through him but he just can’t stop, too turned on by the sight and smell and taste of you, and his body is betraying that.

He’s pale everywhere on his body, delicate skin that’s shockingly soft and so, so very sensitive – one touch against his chest gets him shivering, every nerve in his body feeling on fire because all he can focus on is the fact that you’re willingly touching him and you’re so much softer than he’s imagined.

(And he’s extensively imagined. Frequently.)

His cock is pale, too, with hardly any color differentiation from base to tip. As he gets near his orgasm, the tip turns a pinkish color, the blood rushing in and leaving him dizzy, and his entire navel area turns a pink color too. He’s pale enough that if you try hard enough you can even see a few of the near-surface veins dipping down under the tuft of dark hair on his navel. And it’s a rare occurrence that Obanai shaves – it’s not for lack of trying, but rather that he’s simply worried that he’ll look strange without the hair to cover himself, worried that you won’t like what you’ll see if you can see the entire expanse of him.

(He’s insecure that he’s not perfect enough for you – that his cock is too small or his balls are shaped strangely, and a single compliment about it from you will have him going wide-eyed, swallowed hard and a large, insistent glob of pre-cum oozing from his tip because oh god, do you really mean it?)

His cum is watery and, quite frankly, doesn’t taste great. It’s remarkably bitter – your face screws up the first time it lands on your tongue, the sight making Obanai shrivel up in embarrassment, mortified that you’ll no longer want to touch him.

(He immediately tries to change his diet to almost exclusively foods he thinks will make him taste better, even swallowing his pride and approaching Tengen about it, embarrassment making it difficult to spit out the words.)

He’s a shooter, the arc looking truly pornographic because he tends to throw his head back when he’s coming, eyes squeezed tightly shut and almost a grimace overcoming his features, all while hips jut out and cum practically pours out of him. He prefers finishing on your stomach, simply because there’s something about the sight of you stained white that makes his possessiveness flare up. If it’s a particularly powerful orgasm (as they all are, when you’re the one touching him), he’ll be out of breath, cheeks still flushed pink as he hovers over you, mesmerized and letting his thumb dip into the cum, smearing it across your skin.

He likes it best when the two of you finish at the same time – simultaneous orgasms, if only because Obanai knows that as you get closer you tend to reach out and grab for whatever is nearest to you, and he’ll purposefully maneuver himself so that you’re clutching onto him, the sight of you moaning for him and shaking hurtling him towards his own orgasm.

(He’ll often scoop up a bit of his own cum and your slick, mixing them together with his fingers, swallowing heavily and letting his finger brush against his tongue, eyes rolling to the back of his head because the taste of you together is making his cock throb again, slowly rising up to ninety degrees, desperate to give you more more more.)

His favorite way for you to touch him is a slow, intimate handjob. He’s typically a little bit harsh when he’s touching himself, his tugs leaving his arm sore, his fingers clutched so tightly around his shaft that it’s nearly suffocating. And yet, when it’s your fingers wrapped around him, Obanai finds that there’s something indescribably sensual and passionate about the soft, slow strokes you give him. The softness of your fingers combined with the way you carefully, almost hesistantly grip him leaves his head spinning, the pleasure somehow feeling much more acute despite the lessened stimulation.

He likes the way your thumb comes up often to brush over slit, collected the precum and letting it guide your hand up and down, up and down, his toes curling and his fists clenching because you’re being such a damn tease, making his hips buck up over and over.

And there’s something about the eye contact that gets him panting – the attention leaves him squirming as you let your eyes rest on him, the intensity making every brush of your fingers against his sensitive skin amplify a thousand times.

He wants you to talk to him, to let your voice get all low, to call him all sorts of possessive petnames that only fluster him more, a pointed thrust against your fist with each name. My pretty boy is his favorite, even as embarrassing as it is, and if you lean in and kiss along his collarbone and jaw, complimenting him about his looks, his ability to care for you, how he makes you feel he’s immediately gasping, abs clenching wildly and his balls visibly clenching as he paints your hand white with cum, the liquidy consistency making it run down your knuckles like rivers, dripping down onto your thighs and making Obanai suck in a breath because fuck fuck fuck you’re still going and it’s so sensitive, too sensitive but he doesn’t want you to ever ever stop-

He wants to feel cared for, wanted, loved, and even something as simply as you jerking him off with a few well-timed flutter of your lashes and purred words leave him putty in your hands.

It’s big and Gyomei knows it. Easily a solid seven inches and thick enough to leave your fingers barely touching when you wrap them around his girth, even when he’s not fully hard. The skin is slightly tanner than the rest of him, with his tip flushing into an even darker shade matching the two low, heavy balls that sit snugly underneath his shaft, hefty enough to feel substantial in your palms as you cup and squeeze at them.

Tufts of dark hair decorate his navel, the curls thick and almost coarse, tickling your nose as you take him down your throat and tickling your clit as you oh so slowly inch your way down on his lap. Even the sight of him flaccid makes you suck in a sharp breath, nerves starting to eat away at you because there’s absolutely no fucking way it’s fitting inside of you. It just looks too heavy and big and full, veins protruding along the sides in enough detail that you can practically see them pulsing.  

And really, your fears aren’t unwarranted – Gyomei can feel the movement with every step he takes, the sensation of his cock brushing against his undergarments and his balls pressed against his thigh always leaving him slightly uncomfortable, always consciously aware of the feeling. (He’s extremely grateful for the loose nature of the Demon Slayer Corps uniform pants – otherwise, the bulge would be unbearably visible, even when he’s completely soft.)

All things considered, it takes Gyomei a long time to orgasm. He’s not terribly sensitive (not for a lack of experience – he has none, he’s just genuinely not the type to immediately buck his hips and gasp at the slightest bit of stimulation), but finds that steady, consistent pleasure is the golden ticket to finding his high.

Specifically, pleasure that involves a lot of lubricant: spit, slick, hell, even blood when you’re on your period and needing something to help relieve the pressure. He likes how smooth it all is – the slick schluck schluck sound of him rolling his hips into yours makes his knees weak, the wet feeling of your cunt clenching down on him enough to get him groaning lowly and grasping onto your hips hard enough to almost leave bruises. He’ll refuse to fuck you until you’re absolutely dripping, wet to the point of insanity because he’s been fingering you for what feels like hours and you can’t handle the teasing anymore.

It’s only then, after he’s brought you to your high some three times with his tongue and the pads of his index fingers that he’ll finally, finally press inside, moving slowly and chanting what sounds like prayers intermixed with your name under his breath, almost as if you’re some god he’s thanking over and over for the feeling of you.

It takes him a while to get off, but there’ll be a few signs that he’s getting close – his thrusts turn from deep, slow, almost tentative, to quicker and more clipped, the actions somehow feeling needier and more desperate because he’s holding you in place and his breath is stuttered as he gasps and exhales, pleasure hitting him like a tidal wave and sending his eyes rolling back.

He produces an almost obscene amount of cum with every orgasm, ropes spilling out in long, rather impressive spurts. It’s thick, almost viscous, leaving a residue against your skin that he’ll oftentimes idly rub at when he’s pulled you against his chest, cock still nestled inside you as tears flow down his cheeks from the intensity of it all. It’s bitter, almost earthy, and while Gyomei doesn’t expect you to swallow, you’ll be earned with the smallest, quietest little whimper once he hears you audibly gulping.

His favorite way for you to touch his cock is when you’re simply riding him. There’s something about the way you grip him in this position that makes his toes curl, his voice getting a hair deeper because it just feels too good. He likes the way you control the pace – sex feels better to him when you feel good, and having you dictate the speed, angle, and depth gives Gyomei an insight into exactly what you like.

(And he’s committing every detail to memory – the sounds you’re making, the way your nails bite into his chest as you steady yourself, the way your ass bounces against his thighs over and over, the tensing of your legs as his tip brushes against that spot that makes you gasp and moan his name…)

He likes the way he can feel more of you in this position, too – the curve of your ass pressing against his balls, the slight pressure pinching and giving him just the slightest bit of pain that makes blood rush south, cock throbbing inside of you because god he wants you to go even harder.

He can feel your stomach pressed against his navel when you lean forward in this position, your muscles growing tired and starting to give out, the softness of your skin against the overly sensitive area right above his shaft making him grasp onto your hips and thrust upwards, meeting you halfway and mumbling out your name as you whine.

It just feels more intimate this way – like you’re using him, like his body is just a tool for your pleasure. And really, that’s exactly how Gyomei sees it – his cock is your cock, and he’ll thank the heavens each and every time you so much as look at it.

[gothghostiie]

replaying some of mwii and price saying "slow and steady" has given me price teaching babysitter!reader how to suck cock brain worms

cw: oral/handjob (reader giving), Virgin/inexperienced! reader, implied age gap, facial, corruption kink if you squint, gn!reader

you're so fucking inexperienced, it almost makes him feel bad for getting as hard as he does when you look at him with those pretty eyes. you look at him with trust and admiration, his baby on your hip making it even worse. he wants to grab you, kiss you, manhandle you, fucking hell, if he could he'd press you face down into his pillow and take your innocence right then and there. but he had to go to some spontaneous meeting, he had to fucking leave you. he stays strong, smiling at you and ruffling your hair as he leaves. "behave, yea? both of ya." he says with a wink, your giggle making his cock twitch.

once in the car and on the road he's really debating jacking off so he doesn't have to go into the meeting with a boner, maybe it would even help him later so he doesn't get painfully hard the moment you say hi to him when he's back. he ultimately decides against it, he's a grown man for fucks sake, he needs to control himself. so he goes through the meeting, it gives him some distraction, at least until he's back in the car. it's already dark when he's coming back, quietly unlocking the door. he prays you're asleep so he can just put a blanket over you and let you sleep, but you're awake. you smile brightly as he comes in, a soft "hi Mr. Price!" coming from your lips.

"John." he corrects in a stern but gentle voice, taking off his jacket, it makes you chuckle.

"I'm sorry, John." you say in a teasing tone, sometimes he wonders if you really are this innocent or if you just act like it. but god, if he wasnt as stressed as he was from the god damn meeting his cock would already be hard again. he just sighs and drops on the couch next to you, head fallen back and body slack. you tilt your head with a frown. "whats wrong?" the words make his heart flutter.

"just stressed, is all. dont worry your little head, love." he murmurs, reaching out to gently pat you on the head. you hum a bit.

"is there anything i can do to help you relax?" you ask, his mind immediately down the gutter. he suddenly wants to tell you all the nasty things he wants to do to you, shove your face into his crotch to make you nuzzle his cock, but he just stares at the ceiling for what feels like hours before looking at you. he opens his mouth to speak, but the look on your face makes him stop. your eyes are wide and glued to the bulge in his jeans, your mouth hanging open. his cheeks turn pink in embarrassment, he fumbles with his words.

"bloody hell - fuck, 'm sorry, I-" he pauses as he looks at your face properly. the shock isnt mixed with disgust as he initially thought, oh no. it's the opposite. you look curious, almost intrigued. he holds his breath as you make eye contact, then asks quietly. "do you want to help?" he asks, voice low and husky, filled with anticipation and a bit of fear of rejection. "you don't have to, if you don't wanna." he says gently, making sure you don't feel forced.

"i.. I never.. did anything.." is all you can get out, voice tinged with embarrassment. despite already being very sure you're a Virgin he's still mildly surprised to hear you say it, eyebrows raising a bit.

"I can teach ya. if you want." you hesitate for just a second before nodding, his heart skips a beat.

"okay.." you say softly. he has to take a moment before he nods softly, hands going to his belt and trying to not just rip it open.

"I'll just show you, so you can get familiar with him, yea? if you wanna stop at any point you tell me. understood?" his tone is serious, he waits until you nod before letting his fat cock spring free, slipping his pants and underwear down just enough so you see his heavy balls. your face heats up, mouth dropping open again as you stare at it, the tight balls, the angry, red tip, all have been begging for release for hours, and finally they'll get it. he waits until you seem a bit more composed before reaching his hand to you. "gimme your hand darling." he orders gently, you put your hand into his. your skin feels like heaven under his calloused fingers, even better as he wraps it around his trembling cock. he groans, squeezing your hand as he holds it in place; your fingers can't even fully wrap around it. it twitches eagerly, tip weeping as he guides your hand up and down slowly. low moans escape his lips, eyes lidded as he holds back. "you okay bird?" he pants, his voice a bit more rough than usual.

you nod, your trembling hand slowly moving at your own pace, watching intently. it makes him chuckle, letting go of your hand and putting it on your head, petting you as a silent praise. "doin well, love. keep going for me, yea?" he murmurs, you nod again. his tip starts leaking precum, you bite your lip. "don't do that. your lips are so pretty darlin." he frowns, his own words burning the image of your lips wrapped around his dick into his brain. he hesitates before speaking again.

"want to try sucking it?" he asks gently, your eyes widen. you hesitate again, his hand cups your cheek softly. "don't worry. I'll help ya."

"..okay." you say, taking a breath. his hand slides to the back of your head, guiding you closer - kissing your forehead before guiding you down.

"open your mouth nice and wide. watch your teeth." you open up wide, tongue sticking out a bit, he guides you down just so the tip is in your mouth. "wrap your lips around it." you follow his order and he groans, straining to not cum right this second. he takes a breath before speaking again. "now suck a bit. start gently and slowly do more. run your tongue over it too." he instructs in a soft murmur. "it might taste a little funny." you suck softly and lick the tip, making a face and pulling back. he laughs, patting your head softly. "I warned you darling. that bad?" he grins as you lick your lips.

"no... just.. surprised me.." you admit in embarrassment, taking a deep breath before dipping your head and trying again. this time you don't pull back, John's hand rests on the back of your head as he breaths heavily.

"good job, sweetheart... thinking you can try bobbing ya head a bit?" his jaw is slack, eyes rolled back when you actually do it - way too fast and too deep for your first time. as much as he loves the feeling of his tip hitting the back of your throat, the immediate gag and your face scrunching up in discomfort break his heart. he grabs your head firmly but not roughly, pulling your head up just enough to make you look at him. "don't do that. who taught you that?" he asks sternly, you shrink a bit under his gaze.

he hums. "try again. do it slow and steady." he says lowly, the tone making you shiver. you nod softly, letting him push you down much, much slower, letting him guide your head as your lips wrap around his cock again. "there we go. just like that, bird." he groans, already closer than he wants to be. he slowly guides it deeper into your warm mouth, your adorable attempts at using your tongue making his tip leak again. it doesn't take long before his hips stutter. "fuck... gonna cum, angel..- " he grunts, voice strained as he pulls you back, free hand wrapping around the base of his cock to steady himself as he cums all over your face. you gasp loudly, eyes shut tied and mouth open in shock as the warm, sticky liquid hits your skin. his moans quickly turn into chuckle as he sees the state of you. "aw, sweetheart, are you alright?" he cackles, shaking his head.

still chuckling he reaches to the coffee table and grabs a tissue, wiping your face off quickly before pulling you to his chest, kissing your head. "there you are, good job darlin. you okay?" he asks again, rubbing your back as you nod. "good... I'll get you a cup of water."

───── ⋆⋅Taglist⋅⋆ ─────

@captainchrisstan @maplewhisk

[on-the-clear-blue]

So you know how there is a common fan theory that ghosts go through their death again on their death day? What about Jason going through it?

Feeling angsty crew, prepare yourselves

Trigger warnings: Jason death and all that comes with that, SA implications.

---

The first time it had happened it was in a LOA base, still catatonic and barely speaking, Jason was forced to train through the dark bruises that slowly appeared on his body, from his ribs and chest, to his fingers getting bent and crooked.

His trainers watched, not filled with concern but curiosity, an effect such a this had not been seen in the leauge in some time

As smoke was coughed up from his lungs and as bits of his flesh turned the same ghastly green as the pits, they watched, documenting it, unable to look away as the man boy seized and went still, finally.

---

The second time it happened, Jason was in Gotham, set up in a safe house, sirens and gun shots ringing out into the night, the sounds of his childhood.

He hadn't planned to stay long, only stopping by the safe house to grab a restock of ammo

Then came the phantom pains, tightness around his wrists, a deep, ever increasing sense of dread.

Jason staggered at the first ghostly strike to his head, hands flashing to his guns, scanning the room for what ever invisible foe that had struck him.

The next blow brought Jason to his knees, it hurt, oh God did it hurt, his head was pounding in a way that he barely remembered.

The feeling of his ribs crack robbed him of breath, a bone spur puncturing his lung, then came his hands, finger bones broke one at a time.

Jason curled himself up in a ball, just as he tired to years ago, tears streaming down his face under the metallic hood. The ticking demination of a clock ringing cruelly in his ears.

Then came the explosion, leaving his ears bleeding, eardrums ruptured, brain addled even more than the blunt force trauma caused.

With broken hands, Jason struggled to take off his helmet, as smoke poured out of his already damaged lungs. Smoke that clogged the helmet filters, that trapped it all around his face.

Jason Todd died a third time, the same way as the first two time that night.

---

It was a few years after the first time (that he remembered), that he found himself on a very bad day, he had found out that it always happened on the day he died, and he still didn't know what God had cursed him to relive it over and over again.

To add even more crap to his shittiest day, he was stuck in Wayne Manor.

The sense of dread was running though him, his hands were shaking terribly as he tried to just get away but his body wouldnt listen, he needed to leave get to his room, any room, hid away from his family, he didnt want them to see him like this didnt need them to be worried for him, he was so stupid, so idiotic to have forgotten what day it was, so wrapped up in having his family again that he forgot his curse.

---

Dick had a smile on his lips as he was about to jokingly throw a gaming controller at Jason, knowing he would likely start something to get his gaggle of siblings to do something together.

Yet it never left his hands, as he noticed Jason's eyes had gone glassy, a distant look in them, and a dull green sheen emanating from them.

Fear wormed it's way through him, Pit episodes had become less and less of a thing with his brother, something he was more than happy to see, but...this didn't seem to be the same thing.

Sending a concerned look to Tim, who has just walked into the room, even though he hoped (he thought they were over these, that Jason was getting better) Dick waved him back, if this was actually a Pit episode, he didnt need Jason to go off on Tim anymore than he had in the past.

Slowly approached his brother, Dick saw his eyes look into the middle distance, lost in his own head, "Littlewing? Jay I-I didnt..." His hand moved cautiously, coming into Jason's space and-

He flinched...Hard. Eyes flashing up at Dick but not seeing him, stuck deep in something else

Dicks heart dropped, Jason hadn't flinched when he had tried to touch him in years, not since a small boy in a ratty red hoodie was in Dicks old room, crying as he begged to not be sent back to the streets for them to "P-please don't t-touch me...I-Im sorry I-ill be good I promise"

But the words that came from Jason were far more haunting than what he uttered in fear, a voice hoarse and small came from him, slurred and heady with pain "Just...just let her go...C-can do anything to me...j-just let mom go..."

Bile, that was all Dick could taste as he held back what wanted to come up, he knew in a second what Jason was seeing, who Dick was to Jason's mind, trapped in memories.

He didn't know when he took a step back, didn't know when he had pulled away from his little brother until his back hit the wall, taking a shaky breath he forced himself back, He needed to be there, be there for his brother unlike...unlike last time.

"Jaybird it's me, Dickie? Jason..." he reached out agian, only to cringe back as his little brother flinch back, curling in on himself, his head tucked between his legs.

Dick didn't know Jason could look so small still, a distant thought bubbling up about maybe that's why he got so big, so he could never be that small again...but yet he was...

And Dick Hated It.

His hands fumbled for his phone, his fingers felt like lead, and all he could do is dial Ina number.

"Dad? Jason needs you..."

---

Bruce tore through the halls of his home with a fervor, his mind spinning with thoughts, from Dick’s description of what was happening this was a Pit episode of some sort, far different than any he had seen before.

The halls of his home never felt so long and never felt so claustrophobic.

Old demons in his mind cackled, bringing back the doubts of himself...if only he was just a little faster, a little less prideful...

Coming into the den, Bruce scanned the room, seeing his eldest kneeling by Jason, trying to be soothing while not touching him.

Dick face was hard and worried when he looked up at Bruce.

They shared a silent conversation, ending with Bruce taking Dick place on the floor, Dick in turn leaving to try and figure what was happening.

"Jaylad, Sweetheart, you have to breath, Jason?" It hurt to see his son flinch as he reached out, but Bruce pressed on, his fingers softly pressing against his son's pulse point on his wrist.

Dread spreads across Bruce's mind as he can hardly find a pulse, pulling his hand back the dread turns to horror as he see red and deep blue bruises start to from across Jason's face.

His eyes were open, dull instead of the bright they should be, his breathing sounded forced and-

It was his nightmares all over again.

Pushing past the fear, Bruce forced himself to pick Jason up, holding his dear boy so...so close to his chest, jaw shaking as he rushed through the halls once again.

He can't let his son die in his arms yet again.

---

Hours later, Bruce watches as Leslie called time of death, they did everything they could but it wasnt enough...his mind is disconnected from his body, a deep dark numbness burns within him and he just can't understand why...

Why the world seems to determined to make his family suffer? What had he done other than try and help, to cure the throbbing cancer that is Gotham? To help his fellow man live better and be happy...

His numbly looks around the med area, his children gathered, Dick is crying onto Cass's shoulder, Cass herself has tears but she refuses to shed them, Duke held his head in his hands, small shakings in his shoulders could only be crying, Stephanie was by Leslie, demanding answers and what happened with emotions think in her voice

Tim wasn't there, he was on the other side of the cave, running through data files, looking for anything that could cure this...Bruce would need to tell him to stop, that it was already over.

And Damian...his youngest just stood there, arms crossed and...politely blank was all Bruce could see, no mourning as the others. Just...waiting.

He was the only one not shocked when Jason groaned, sat up, cursed and promptly fell back onto the bed.

---

Damian sauntered over to where they had placed Todd, all of them still so careful with him, as if he would up and fall dead if someone was to as much as sneeze in his direction.

"Tt, Honestly it is as if they don't know this happens every year..." His own reliving of his deaths was far less dramatic.

Todd had the gall to look at him with confusion, and it took a moment for Damian to realize what his look ment "You never told them did you, Tt...Typical" shaking his head, Damian sat next to Jason's has-been death bed.

"Not all of us brought back from the dead suffer so spectacularly as you do Todd, as Jon would say...I believe this is a *Skill Issue*? Hashtag get good?" He didn't use the lingo lightly,

And of course, instead of being offended as he should, Todd just stared dumbly at him "This is when you banter, or has your repeated blunt force truama to the head bludgeoned you into stupidity?"

Shaking his head, Damian tutted "Clearly I have to do everything in this poor excuse for a social interaction" clearing his throat Damian put on a deeper voice as to mimic Jason "Shut it Demon Brat. I do truly hate that nickname. Oh woe is me why am i just a little bitch that can only suffer. Worry not dearest fuck up of a human being I can help you. Oh glory be you, you turly the greatest Robin. Oh only you say it now~"

Damian gave a dead pan stare at Todds slackjawed look, "Shut it, Jon is rubbing off and me and i cant for the life of me make it stop...but honestly if you wish to know more, seek out Phantom, though...you look pathetic enough that he might just find you first."

[pickyourpoisonandevolve]

Stars in Her Eyes

Part 2 here

Do you ever have thoughts that are absolute bangers, then realize “man I wish I was a better writer.” Anywho, brain worms, back again, Price is fighting self doubt about decisions in the field. Reader is fighting self doubts of ability and also a head ouchie. This was the compulsory preface my brain forces me to write before I can write the cool sex stuff. Metaphorical dinner before dessert. Big inspired by @beloveds-embrace , particularly the designationless!reader.

—

The blood today was excessive, to say the least. Bad intel, having to navigate this lab in the middle of nowhere Russia by foot in real time. Casualties. Thankfully the other side took more. And thankfully, none on the team, although the injuries were plenty. You were all very cognizant of the mental load needed to be a soldier but some days were easier than others. This one was the worst in a while.

Price and you were clearing a section of the building, warehouse by the looks of it. Doors locked leading to it, just to be met with rockets having eaten away at the walls like rats on the other side. Basically just outside, you thought to yourself, looking at the edges of concrete leading to treeline. Already beating yourself up about things outside of your control, Price sensed a distance in you. He felt it before you did half the time, although you’d never tell him that. “Head in the game, sergeant.” He pushed out.

You were a “great addition” to the 141, so sayeth official mission reports and calls to Laswell. Focused, fast, malleable in the field. But distant sometimes when out of the field. Not quite reclusive, like your lieutenant, but just distant. You were funny, sometimes even extroverted when you wanted to be. But something pulled you back, like a hand down a long hallway, snatching you into a dark room. Locked away and the key long gone.

Prices bite in his voice brought you back momentarily. “Hey, I said get in the fucking—“ A door blasts open and enemies filter through, a large man grabbing you amidst the motion, bringing you close to the edge of the floor that fell away to empty space, a few floors of nothing and the Siberian wilderness. Patting yourself down for a knife with one hand, and defending from being choked out with another, you start half in, half out mentally. Fighting should have been your priority, but the disappointment in Prices voice had you a little fractured. “I’m fucking this up, they won’t want me anymore, please don’t get rid of me, you’re the only—“

Price fighting through the rest of them, took cover as he saw you struggle. If you weren’t so distracted this would be one of the moments you’d love to watch him in. “A real flow state” Gaz called it once, as he moved as fluid as the wind. No wasted motion, a knife here, a bullet there. Propelled purely by the sake of making sure his team was okay. But you had his heart pounding. More than usual anyways. A half dozen men down, you stab at your assailants neck as Price makes it to you.

A double misfire in decision making, you think. As you stab at the man’s carotid arteries, Price heard more footsteps approaching. You just heard blood rushing and doubts. You just saw Prices angry face push you back into the void, hoping to god the snow and dead body behind you would break your fall. Your eyes would haunt him for a while. A broken “No” laying on his ears as he turned back.

—

Soap stayed quiet, keeping his eyes on his captain. Price was tearing through the now silent building, kicking doors in and scanning everything. Price reached them in a sorry state, covered in other people’s blood and moving as if he stopped he would die. “Lost ‘er in the east wing, need to get ‘er.” The rest of the team a little shaken by his lack of composure.

“Why the hell would she still be there?” Ghost fussed, making his way through hallways with the rest of the team.

“This part of the building was locked down tight. Seemed like they were protecting something, before Marakov damn near tore the fucking place down from the outside.” Gaz relayed. “She’s either there or in the woods shooting bears.”

Reaching the door to the wing, Price crowbarred it so fast, Ghost thought he threw his shoulder out. Wind and snow blasted down the corridor, as they filtered into the… room? Floor level hallway straight to the outdoors? Broken racking and file cabinets littered the floor, alongside snow and other detritus. Gaz noticed the bullet holes and gashes in the steel door. Someone tried to leave, but was unsuccessful. Sweeping the area they moved with purpose, until Price heard you first. Sniffling and singing, voice shaky. Coming around a corner to the view from the lower level this time, he saw you two. A large Russian, face down and bloodied in the snow. A missing jacket. A trail of various pieces of gear, and lastly you, curled up in a corner. Blood coming down your face from your hairline.

Their collective hearts broke at the sight, but only Ghost noticed his captains hands shaking. You were humming and singing a tune to yourself, rocking and rubbing your own chest, eyes unfocused watching the treeline.

“You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

You make me happy

When skies are gray

You’ll never know dear

How much I love you

Please don’t take

My sunshine away”

Without a word, your team got to work. Gaz and Soap called for evac, thanking god there was enough flat ground for the heli to land next to the building. Ghost went back to secure the door to other visitors, giving Price some privacy to approach you.

He put a hand on your shoulder, as you jumped. A secret he held close to his heart was how much he enjoyed looking in your eyes. Like those fancy pictures the satellites take. Dark at first glance but always more to see the longer you look. Like stars were born in them. But all he could see now was the dark. No lights present in the deep space. A concussion very present however. And, confusion. Then hurt. Whatever knife he didn’t know he had in his chest twisted as you spoke. “You threw me away, I’m—“ A gasp of air as you fought to navigate the fractured thoughts. His eyebrows twisted as he tried to understand. “It’s not like last time, like home. I belong here, with you all. I… I’m. I earned it this time. Please don’t leave me here.”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t, no tears sweetheart. What are you talking about, who’s throwing you away?” He choked out as he snatched you into his chest, fingers gingerly holding your scalp and his lips whispering into your hairline, fighting tears of his own. “I would never throw you away, love. I’m so sorry, I needed you safe. I… I needed you safe.”

The other three approached slowly, wind preventing them from hearing the interaction. Price saw you shift to look behind him as he composed himself. Standing up slowly he turned to the team. “Evac in 10. How is she?” Soap asked kneeling next to you, taking your hand in his.

“Concussion from the fall, cuts and bruises. Fighting hypothermia.” He replied, voice rougher than usual. “Take it easy, not sure she knows where she is right now.”

As the heli landed, hands grabbed and led you gently, a seatbelt around your waist and pats comforting you. Most eyes were closed on the ride back, trying to get some rest after a nightmare of a day. John’s eyes stayed on the horizon.

[silcobrainrot]

I was typing out a reply to this post and then I realized I lost the plot so bad that I didn't want to derail OP's point so here it is. OP's points that I'm reflecting on:

Zaun is a very fucked place with a very fucked system. He’s doing what he thinks needs to be done in order to at some point be able to rein it in and make it better. He wanted to give Zaun a fighting chance against Piltover. He wanted to make them equal. And in a place where there are no rules. And people talk with violence. You’re going to have to make some very awful choices in order to not only take control, but have enough power to fix it. He may not have been the one to change Zaun, but he’s raised the girl that could.

"but he’s raised the girl that could." SO fucking true and I wish s2 had let her. firing that rocket at the council was a promise to make their lives hell. i didn't need to see her as the leader of a movement but it would have been nice to see her enable and enact change just by being a powerful loose cannon. Act 1 almost gave us this but then she decided that Jinx was dead in ep 4 and then we don't see her do much of anything until she shows up to the battle in the finale. She could have spent the season being unhinged, having agency and making actual choices that have consequences for herself, Zaun, and Piltover (she was responsible for most of the inciting incidents in s1). The good consequences and the bad.

Let her run wild. Show her lose herself to her grief and anger and how much she misses him and how fucked all of this is. Then bring her back. Not in a redemption arc way, I don't think she needs that, but in a way where she finally understands what she wants her life to be. She mourns the loss, she comes out of her grief, she forgives herself for killing him because it's what he would have wanted, and for the first time ever, she gets to choose what her path in life will be. It's time to be her own person. She's not a hero, she'll never lose her enjoyment of violence and chaos, but she is no longer fueled by anger and hatred and vengeance.

Let Sevika use the stuff Jinx does on her own--avenging Silco and taking vengeance against Piltover--to lead a movement. Let Sevika struggle with keeping the people who worked under Silco loyal to the mission. Show us how Sevika got on good terms with Scar [the firelights' leader while Ekko was away] and what an alliance between the movement for change inspired by Jinx, and the firelights, could accomplish for Zaun. Bringing them hope that change is really possible. Getting them out of their homes and their "every man for himself" mentality and get them believing in something. Wanting more for themselves. Organizing. Community services. Shared resources. Fucking unionizing idk. We see so many of Zaun's worst people but there are normal people living in normal poverty just trying to get by down there, too. Show us the Zaun Silco had become so disconnected from due to isolation and obsession.

It started with Silco, despite how flawed his methods were and how they did so much damage to the Undercity. An evil he thought was necessary because he didn't know any other truth in life besides pain and misery. But it started with him, and it gets realized by his daughter and lieutenant. Sevika is probably the closest thing he had to a friend, who stuck by his side despite how much their methods were hurting the people they were trying to liberate. The people who worked closest to him, lived closest to him, and could see the flaws in both his methods and him as a man, finishing what he started.

But instead we get Jinx committing suicide and Sevika joining the council which. Jesus fucking christ I don't even want to get myself started on that bullshit. @wetnoodle thank you for the brain worm

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door - V

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters warnings: nsfw, blood, biting, violence, divider by animatedglittergraphics

5.  fight the good fight

When you wake again you are bouncing, bent in half slung over a man’s shoulder; the vampire hunter’s. You can tell from the intoxicating scent of his cologne, his sweat, his blood–him. It’s like catnip to you, and for a moment you just want to go back to sleep, and let him take you wherever he’s taking you. 

That’s a very bad idea, of course, and good on you for recognizing it through the haze of bloodloss and whatever other hold he has over you. You still do not understand what he is, or why he has such power over you. 

From what little you can see, it seems like you’re in a dark alley. There are sirens in the distance–the aftermath of the massacre in the club, you presume. He has got you far away. How long have you been out?

You struggle again, managing to worm free and get down, before the vampire hunter pins you against the wall of the building. “Stop that, you’ll hurt yourself,” he grouses, annoyed. He seems in much better shape than before, having stolen your blood. You, on the other hand, feel so weak you can barely stand. 

“Let go. Please let me go.” 

You must sound so pathetic that even this brutal killer softens for you. His grip changes slightly, holding you up against the wall by your waist. You have no delusions, however, that that can change in an instant. Yet…he’s looking at you with those sad dark eyes, like a man drowning. Even with the splatter of blood across his face and the crust of it dried in his long dark hair–he’s so handsome it hurts, and your fingers clench in his jacket, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, vampling. I saved you.” 

“You…ate me!” 

There is a tick at the corner of his well-formed mouth, betraying his amusement. 

“I took too much. Here, have some back.” He unbuttons his shirt further at the throat to display the strong column of his neck. Your vision zeroes on his jumping pulse like a laser sight, and you notice that intoxicating scent engulfing you again. It’s warm spices and your favorite flowers and pure man–it’s so good that you want to mold yourself to him and never let go. 

It’s a good trick, for a vampire hunter, and at least you are conscious enough to know now that it is a trick. 

“Stop that,” you scold, squeezing your eyes shut as you try to fight it.  

“I can’t help it,” he answers, his voice gone low in a way that shuts down your brain and skips straight your loins. He leans closer, his forehead nearly touching yours, engulfing you with the pure size of him and his hair swinging down to brush your face–he also smells like blood, which does not help you at all. “It’s…you. It’s us.”

“No,” you answer, mostly because you're afraid of someone having that kind of control over you, again. 

“It’s…rare,” he admits. “Who are you?”

“No one,” you insist. “I’m just a girl…who’s really good at being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” And really good at keeping a soft spot for the wrong man. You cannot stop yourself from thinking about John in that moment, and how just one night with him flung you into this strange and terrible supernatural world. Would you change it, if you could? Will there ever come a time, when the thought of him does not feel like talons digging your heart out of your chest? 

“Hmm. Maybe.” He lifts his hand to his throat, and you watch as his fingernails lengthen to sharp points, perfect for breaking his own skin in one neat, bloody line. “Here, milaya. My apology to you.” 

That ruby welling of his life’s essence smells marvelous, and you want to seal your mouth on it more than you’ve wanted anything in a good long while. Somehow, you manage to shake your head, even if minutely. “No, you’ll…enthrall me again or something. I don’t trust you.” 

He sighs. 

“I admit that I want you,” he acknowledges reluctantly. “But you need blood.”

“Yes. Let me go, and I’ll go get some. Again.” It annoys you in that moment that the efforts of your hunt all went to this man’s benefit. Dhampiro, don Juan had called him. Dhampir, you translate to English. Not human, by his own admission. 

Obviously.

He smirks a little down at you. “I saw you feed earlier. Why did you pick him?”

“He killed his wife.” 

“Ah. You like to play jury and executioner.”

“I didn’t kill him.” 

“You’ve killed others though. You’re sloppy about it too.” 

“Am not.” 

He laughs at you, a short, amused, huff, which is as good as an ‘are so’.

“What do you care?” 

“The High Table might start to care, if you make a big enough spectacle of yourself. Naughty little vampires get a visit from the Boogeyman, you know. You aren’t supposed to draw attention. There are rules.” 

“I don’t…know what any of that means,” you’re loathe to admit. 

There’s so much John Constantine could have chosen to fill you in on. Maybe he thought you’d figure it out on your own. Or maybe…he has as much trouble thinking straight around you, as you do him. If he felt a fraction of what you did, when this man before you took you–it’s no wonder you scared John off. Surrendering to that would not be easy for a man like John Constantine. 

“I’d say you need a coven to teach you, but considering what I’m going to do to the locals here…you’d better stick with me.”

“You’re…going to kill them all?” you ask, more intrigued than horrified by the thought. 

“Yes.” There is zero doubt in this man that he can do it, too. After what you saw…you guess you agree with him. Constantine is dangerous, but he could never wreak the sort of massacre this man unleashed in the club. 

And here you are, in his grasp. Well done. 

“Why?”

“Don Juan’s scheming to overthrow the High Table. They don’t like that.” 

“Wait, wait.” A hunger pang washes through you, and you grip his jacket a little harder, your knees weak. The blood dripping down his beautiful throat smells so good, but you realize this might be your chance to finally get some answers. “Who the fuck are the High Table?” 

“How do you not know that?”

“Why does everyone always ask me that instead of just fucking telling me the answer?” you snipe, practically vibrating with frustration. 

“You really have been so alone this whole time?” he asks, his dark eyes inexplicably softening for you. He looks down at you, cupping the side of your face with a paw of a hand, stroking your cheek with his thumb. Maybe it just feels good to be handled like you are something precious, rather than like a farm animal. Or maybe…you are losing your mind, but you have to close your eyes again, shielding yourself from the weight of that blackhole gaze.

“Yes.” You’re not proud of the way your voice cracks as you utter that one word. You hate it, that you think of John, and how he said he’d help you, but mostly he just disappeared on you. You know he has his own life, and his own problems…but he practically abandoned you, all while living right next door. 

It was a good trick, truth be told.  

“That’s a hard way to live. I would know.” His thumb is still stroking your cheek, and it feels so good, and you know this is madness. It has to be a trick. Everything is a fucking trick, with these guys. And yet…it’s as though you can feel this man’s loneliness, the weight of his solitude pressing down upon you, every time you look into his eyes. 

Maybe it’s because he kills everyone, you remind yourself, marveling at your unflagging ability to empathize with the most unavailable men you can find. 

“The High Table?” you prompt again through gritted teeth, trying not to give in to the urge to pull him close, to hide in the bend of his neck, to lose yourself in the heady taste of him and forget everything else. 

“They rule the Underworld. You. Me. Everything that goes bump in the night answers to Them.” He tells you this without condescension, and you could kiss him for that alone. 

“Demons too?”

“No, they’re Hell’s problem. Usually.”

“Then…the High Table are vampires?”

“Vampires. Weres. Sirens. Fey.” He tilts his head in thought. “I’m sure I’m missing something.”   

You nod, trying to digest this information while you are so starved you can hardly think. He’s named more things you didn’t even know existed, but you shouldn’t be surprised at this point. But then…if demons are Hell’s purview, what system of belief do the rest of them answer to? The magnitude of this question makes your head spin. Finding out that the Christian God was real was wild enough for you. What about the rest? 

“Wait…does this mean…all the Gods are real?”

Your leap of logic to the biggest existential question known to man seems to amuse him, the corner of his mouth curling for you. “Malyshka,” he scolds you softly. “You really want to discuss this here? Come on.”

He seems to think he’s taking you somewhere, but you resist again, bracing against the wall.   

“I’d rather…go home, if it’s the same to you.” you admit, winning yourself a tired sigh.

“I can’t…let you do that yet.” 

“Why not?”  

Again, he strokes your face with that big hand, and you feel as though he’s looking into your very soul. 

“You remind me of someone I once knew,” he admits. “A long time ago.”

Someone he lost, you infer from the longing that is woven into those words. Why does that make your heart ache for him?

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “But whoever she was…I’m not her.”

“No,” he agrees, but he tilts his head to examine you, like you are an amoeba under a microscope.  

“But the universe moves in circles, and something is happening here.” He inhales, and you see a flash of that eerie electric blue in his irises again. “I have to know what it is.”

Whatever you meant to say in answer is swallowed up by his mouth lowering to yours, a kiss that is somehow demanding and languorously slow. He claims your lips for his own, holding you to him as his tongue slides into your mouth, teasing you like you’ve done this a thousand times before. Maybe you don’t need to breathe, but he leaves you breathless all the same, overwhelmed by that pheromone scent and his hands on you, one paw at the back of your head guiding your mouth to his neck. He tastes like a miracle, strong and heady and so delicious as you drink him down mouthful by mouthful. His blood is so potent you feel your strength begin to return just from the first swallow, and the rest is pure high. 

You start to see some things, about this man whose blood is in your mouth. You see flashes of a forbidding dark forest, and fighting, so much fighting. A quaint little cottage in the woods, so humble, so warm. There is a woman whose touch feels like sunshine. ‘Yelena,’ he calls her. And with her hands in his hair and a smile on her lips she calls him…

“Jardani?”

 He jerks back to look at you with haunted eyes, pinning you to the wall with his big hand spanning your chest. Drunk on the want of him, you whine like a thwarted kitten, trying to return to the bloody font of his throat. He searches your face as though desperate for the answer to some crucial riddle written upon your features. “How…?” But does not give you the chance to answer, his mouth crashing over yours again with a new ardor, gripping you so hard that even you will have bruises. 

You cannot think. 

There is only the taste of him, intoxicating and wonderful and you cannot stop yourself from pulling at his clothes, holding him to you. You want to climb him, devour him, be inside him, as surely as his lightning-charged blood is raging through you. 

“Fuck,” you hiss when at last you manage to pull away, not for breath but just a break from this madness. What the fuck is he doing to you?

“Yeah?” he asks, seemingly with all seriousness, hoisting you against the wall with hands on your thighs like you weigh nothing at all. Your legs wrap around his waist out of instinct; he pins you with his hips, his manhood rock hard against your center. He grinds against you, his lips on your neck again, teasing open the wound he left earlier, and you can’t help but moan, soaking wet and aching to be filled. In that moment you don’t care that you’re in a dirty alley with a man you don’t even know. You know the heart of him, and right now you would swear unequivocally that he belonged to you. 

“Wow. You High Table assholes sure know how to treat a lady.”

The sound of that familiar voice makes you freeze, some small modicum of sanity returning to you. 

Your would-be lover is less civil, snarling at the newcomer in the alley. “Not a good time, Constantine.” 

“No time like the present, Wick. Put her down.”

With his attention fixed somewhere else, some modicum of clearer thought returns to you. Your first stop is pure mortification. 

There is John, standing tall with his legs spread in his usual black and white suit, and to his shoulder he is holding a large, golden…cross gun? Like he totally intends to use it if he has to. 

The sight of him makes your heart ache with longing. No tricks. No magic. You just…adore him, even while wrapped up in another man’s arms, and you realize you are as hopeless as you are smitten. That connection between you glows again. You feel it in your chest, and it helps clear the lustful ardor that a moment ago gripped you so completely.

Dhampir magic is some scary shit.

The vampire hunter–Jardani?–Wick?–looks at you as though you’ve said something out loud. His eyes narrow; he doesn’t seem to like it one bit. He does put you down, but holds you in front of him like a shield, his big hand at your throat. 

“Never thought the John Constantine would turn vampire’s familiar. Who knew?” taunts the dhampir behind you. 

“What?”

 Both men ignore your question, fixed on each other in this standoff. 

“Call it what you want,” Constantine answers stonily. “I’m the one holding the gun. Let her go.” 

“I don’t want to.”

“I see that. Nice, you always gotta use your Blood Lure to get laid?” 

“Hardly. Your little vampling here is a special girl.” 

“Yeah. But she doesn’t belong to you, Wick, so let her go.” 

“You love her?” 

Wide eyed, you can’t stop yourself from fixating on John at that question, gone grave-still in Wick’s unrelenting grasp. 

In answer, John mostly just grinds his teeth, his lower jaw jutting. “It’s complicated,” he finally admits, and though that’s never a good answer from a man, your treacherous undead heart still skips a beat.  

“I think she deserves better than it’s complicated.”

“Not from you, half breed. Let her go.” 

You feel Wick tense behind you, and you remember the absolute whirlwind of carnage he caused in the club a few blocks away, that supernatural berzerker rage that mowed down vampire after vampire. John is formidable, but you can’t help but think no one can stand up to that and live. “Please,” you say, appealing to the wall of a man behind you. “Please, just let us go.”

Wick growls deep in his chest–a chilling, primal sound that resonates through you, your every hair standing on end. 

His grip upon you flexes, as though his physical being abhors the very idea of it. You’re not really afraid for yourself now. You’re afraid for John, and unbidden you start to cry those bloody tears. “I love him,” you say in the most hushed whisper you can muster, and the moment it leaves your lips you know it’s true, and maybe it has been true since the night you made that grouchy man dinner, and he made you feel like you mattered to someone in this big mean city. “Please don’t hurt him.”

Somehow, this is the thing that seems to call this dangerous man down. For a moment his grip around your waist tightens; he inhales your scent deeply, his nose behind your ear sending a warm thrill down your spine. He speaks low, though you think John can probably hear him anyway. “He doesn’t look good, vampling. I won’t have to wait long for you.” 

Suddenly, he’s just gone. Disappeared into the shadows, as though he is made of night. 

Unsupported, you stumble, and fall right on your butt. 

John looks around warily with the strange gun at the ready, sweeping the alley like he can’t believe the dhampir had actually retreated. Slowly he crosses to you, impossibly tall from your vantage of the ground. He seemingly reluctantly offers you a hand. “You ok?” 

“No,” you answer truthfully, taking his hand, the warm strength of his grip a welcome boon. When he pulls you to your feet you want more than anything to just be in his arms. 

But all he offers you is a hard stare, and a brusque, “Come on,” as he pulls you towards the other end of the alley. 

It’s complicated, he’d said.  

Why does that have to feel right then like he hates your guts?

You’re getting tired of crying for this man. You remind yourself of this as the ball of despair rises in your throat and your eyes sting like mace. 

Did he hear you? If he heard your heartfelt confession to the dhampir, even if it saved his life…he did not like it at all. 

[maxwell-grant]

HEROFY: Annhilus.

A weird thing about where Annihilus stands nowadays is that, his original defining motivation was a complete and total fear of death, right? He was completely obsessed with preserving his own life to the extent of angling to murder everything else in the universe just so that nothing could ever possibly threaten his life ever again. But then after his major stint as a big bad in Annihilation and I think starting in Hickman Fantastic Four, he is instead defined as someone who is wholly incapable of dying (not just him, but everyone from the Negative Zone apparently) and who even actively wants it, still obsessed with death and slaughter but in an almost directly opposite way from his previous reason for it. Honestly, I love both approaches, I love Annihilus in general he's a very easy cosmic monster to love if nothing else because of the design, it's just it doesn't seem like they've ever conciliated these wildly different motivations. That's where I'd start, I think. Conciliating these two together.

Annihilus as a mutant spore who emerges near-fully formed as the first intelligent being born in the Negative Zone, completely incapable of getting answers to his existence and dealing with the creatures around him that keep trying to attack and hurt him, until this little nerdy cockroach stumbles on an alien spaceship and is brain-blasted with all the knowledge of his creators turning him into a near-immortal powerful new being who goes on to create new lifeforms, essentially ruling the primordial Negative Zone by default. Not out of any desire for conquest, but because it's the safest place to be, he figures. He doesn't yet know what it's like to want things, he is just fiercely obsessed with protecting himself from injury and death as a remaining defining primal instinct and so he creates the Cosmic Control Rod as essentially just a tool to protect him via combat, and then the Fantastic Four steal the rod from him.

They give it back after they're done with it, but in subsequent excursions to Earth, he learns what they were using it for. Over early attempts to attack this planet and the people that invaded his home the first time, so they may never invade again and never endanger him again, he learns what it feels like to die and come back. It feels nice. It feels good. It feeelssss sssssweet, ssssweeet death that brings resssurection. His greatest fear comes true and it's the first time he discovers joy. He learns that, not only is he immortal, but he has ways to prolong or save the lives of others. Death isn't scary at all, in fact it only made him stronger. He doesn't even need the rod anymore, it's basically just an Excalibur at this point to determine who rules the Zone. Hero Annihilus is driven thus by a desire to simply let everyone else in the universe join in on how awesome it is to live in the Negative Zone with him in charge, because on your boring mudball, you die, but in the Negative Zone, you can live.

It might take a few tries to convince him that the rest of the universe very much cannot come back from dying and very much does not share his enthusiasm about death and resurrection, but that in turn further drives him to share it. He will step up to prevent multiverse destroying catastrophes and refrain from murdering people not in his jurisdiction, but really, if everyone was in the Negative Zone, being slaughtered would just be a fun time that improves your life when you get it back. Skill issue on everyone else's part. The Negative Zone is great, guys, nobody has to die in it! His worms can bring you back everytime, if you don't just outright morph into something that molts and revives itself, like he did! We got trillions of bugs and technology and gladiator sports and tons of squirrels ever since Squirrel Girl's clone moved in, and if it's good enough for her it's definitely good enough for you.

There's at least 14 trillion and counting Negative Zoners already of the opinion that Annihilus is great and awesome and should rule everything forever, so democratically speaking, he's already a hero to more beings than the vast majority of Earth superheroes.

[postersofleon]

忘れない いつまでも 決して

After so many years, Leon and his wife fight another monster that brings deadly consequences to their relationship.

Content: Angst

Notes: she/her fem!character, i was inspired a bit by persona 3

Her hand single-handedly checked how full her clips were, "Honey," She looked at Leon, "I need a couple of more handgun bullets." For a second, she saw Leon shooting the BOW, he saw how his legs tangled around the creature, his hand dragging it's head up as he focused the bullets on its neck so it'll go directly in the brain. He'll be lost in his own world for a while.

Six bullets for ten zombies.

Her soft tongue caressed her molars, "Got it. Got it." She wanted to prep herself with mess she was handed. Her dominant foot kicked the gentle yet rubbery muscle of the zombie, the smell of the rotten flesh was more present. But there's no time to curse or complain. Her stepping was harsh, squishing the already broken knee into the bloody mess. The already darken blood spilled on the ground, oozing out of its wound and her end of the boot. Her fingers grabbed the zombie's ears and used all of her upper strength to flip the zombie above her.

"Fuck me." A small curse escaped her lips as the zombie was fully behind her, with the little time she had to beat the fast grabbers she squished the zombie's head with her boot.

One out of ten. She stood up quickly, ignoring all the brain and blood the zombie left. The zombie aimlessly waved his hands around. In that second, she could feel Krauser teaching her all over again. She grabbed the arms and broken them both, the bone was sticking out- advantage. She pulled his arms towards her, his entire body was close to her until her legs tangled with the zombie's and pushed him down. She grabbed her pistol and shot him on the eye.

Two out of ten.

One out of six.

She should've brought her assault rifle for this shit.

The ground shook thanks to the BOW, Leon was close- that was her chance to ask for more bullets. A shotgun. Even a combat knife would be fine. But there was no chance to even think, her eyes widen as the meaty creature pushed her down with it's knees.

She was already in a bad position. On the ground, her legs bended around like those silly plastic toys. The creature stepped on her, it's foot squished her chest- breaking every single bone without a second doubt. All of her bones entered her lungs, her heart, her... body. Her hand let go of her pistol, her other hand trying to claw the beast off her her. With every bullet Leon shot, the creature stepped harder and harder. Her mouth let out a gasp, "Leon..."

Her arm fell back down. Her blood mixed with the zombie's she killed, to die in the field was always a nightmare, but seeing, no, feeling it. It was worse.

When the BOW finally died, Leon jumped off the creature and looked down at the mess, his wife looking dead. Leon couldn't even control his thoughts to think positive, that his girl can survive this. But... no.

-

The BSAA's hospital wasn't always too busy for a very grim reason. Chris and Jill were unfortunately aware that most of their men, women, and others die more often than recovering. Chris and Jill were walking in a hurry today, two of their friends were here, and it wasn't a good reason. Jill's bobbed hair bounced up and down, her eyes stayed focused on the door. Chris was like his best friend. Every step felt heavy, as if someone made the gravity of Earth even heavier than it was.

The pair finally stopped. Neither could move as they heard Leon's loud sobs from the other side of the door. Chris looked down, another one dead because of him. Jill grabbed Chris's hand, she immediately knew what worm was digging itself inside his head. Slowly, the pair finally entered and saw Leon's wife connected on the machine.

Chris exhaled deeply, her body looked completely broken yet... machines were still connected to her. He couldn't even look at Leon, but the little his eyes caught was the pair dark brown hair that belonged to Leon and Rebecca. Rebecca looked queasy, that made Chris feel even worse; He wanted to ask desperately why Rebecca looked sick and why Leon's partner was still hooked up. His tongue felt heavy to even move.

Rebecca slowly dragged Jill and Chris outside, "Guys, it's so horrible." She mumbled weakly, her mouth was completely dried. She looked at the pair, "She... basically got stomped to death," She looked behind her, the door where it led to Leon and his wife. "But, the virus is... is trying to wake her up." Rebecca closed her eyes, "The machines are trying to keep her down, trying to keep her humanity that is left. To make sure, she dies as a human."

In cue, Leon's sobs broke out. He had married her since 2006, she was everything to him, and Chris felt even worse. "Fuck," Chris hit the wall beside him, his hand and now arm was buzzing with the aftermath of punching a wall. "I should've brought more men." He had trusted too much Leon and his wife's luck.

Both Jill and Rebbeca temporarily ignored Chris, "So, that machine is doing what?" Jill asked, her arms crossing against her chest.

The younger woman played with her glasses, "Well, it's trying to make her brain forget she is infected." She gently hit her hand with the glasses. Rebecca tapped her foot, "One of my students made it to help Alzheimer. I'm always impressed by them, especially when I see their idea flourish." But unluckily, the machine to help people remember was making the patient forget. "This virus is very similar to Las Plagas from '04, but it still holds what made T the T virus. If she dies, she will become a thing."

"A thing..." Chris mumbled. They were too scared to use the real word with a close friend.

"Leon wanted to avoid that," Rebecca looked at Chris, "He didn't want to shoot his wife on the head." Jill scowled a bit, "It'll be worse for him, Leon will think his wife has a chance to survive."

A bit flustered, Rebecca silently agreed with Jill, but what else can they do.

-

Leon went home for very small occasions, he grabbed his wife's socks and the little plushies he got in her in their first date. The hospital became his real home while his wife was... Leon didn't want to think about that just yet.

His hand gently caressed her cheek, her swallow breahing was fast and cruel which made Leon feel worse. "I know..." He wanted to coo his wife, "I was gone for a while, but I'm here now." Leon kissed her forehead, her body was cold and Leon hated it. He looked at the machine, her heart beat was slow, dangerously slow yet she remained human.

"I brought your socks..." Leon pulled himself away from his wife, "And that stupid overly big frog." He sat down. His eyes closed for a long time, and the whole world was quiet. All but that machine to measure her heart. "You are giving me hope." Leon forced his eyes to open. "You shouldn't do that." He sat down on the chair behind him, he leaned back and looked at the other machine. That other machine was mystery. He didn't understand it- it wasn't part of his business.

He whipped his head to the door and saw Rebecca, "Oh, hey. You got the..." Leon hated the word cure right now. It didn't feel like cure if she was going to die afterward. He wagged his finger around, "That thing, right?"

She nodded her head, "Yeah," She moved a bit and he saw another woman behind Rebecca, "She is the one who made the machine. She wants to see if the projector works." Rebecca mumbled weakly.

"Projector?" Leon's hand landed on his lap. Right, his wife was the first to try this stupid machine. "Why? What for?"

Rebecca cleared her throat, "Well, it allows to see the person's mind." Rebecca forced a fake smile, "We can see if- the possibility of-" Leon looked at the other woman, he knew he was a scary guy so he forced himself to look only at his wife. "C'mon, doctor." Leon mumbled, getting annoyed more and more, "Just check if your little toy works." The meek doctor followed Rebecca and hurried to check on the machine. Leon looked at his wife, wheezing weakly as the needle of the injection entered her skin.

"What test is this? Test 200?"

Rebecca sighed softly, "Leon, I know this is rough of time, but don't show your anger towards us." She slowly injected it to the bloodstream. Leon stayed quiet until he heard screams and voices. He jumped up, "What the hell?" He grabbed his gun, the panic of someone infecting the hospital came first. But he heard a voice. A voice he hasn't heard since 2013.

"You trust me?"

Leon Scott Kennedy glared at the noise.

Rebecca and the other doctor were frozen.

"Leon," Rebecca lifted her hands avoiding this chaos to worsen, "Calm down, it's the machine." Leon stomped his way towards the machine, he looked at the machine and saw the projection. His heart was beating faster and faster, he recognized the place so quickly it made his stomach drop. Raccoon City. He closed his eyes, "W-why is the machine showing this?" Leon grabbed the gun tightly.

So many fucking years yet, he fears that night worse.

"I-it's the first thing in her mind..." The poor nervous doctor mumbled. Leon took in a deep breath, pulling himself away. The sounds of Ada and his wife's voice bounced around the room.

"Oh, you like him?"

"N-no, I don't..."

"Sorry for kissing him, he just needs a boost. Someone needed to give it to him."

Leon looked at his wife, his hand grabbed her hand tightly, "Honey," He dropped the gun on the bed, "Honey, I'm here. We are save. We aren't in Raccoon anymore."

-

Every memory she had was the worst memory. Leon heard over and over as the doctor searched around his wife's head. Her blushing cheeks as she passed and passed through a million bad memories. The blood, the gore, and her eyes saw all the things that remained shut behind his girl's mind. And with every single noise, Leon was reminded of those days.

Leon felt uneasy that someone was entering his wife's head, poking around a place that he never even tried to poke around.

That was his girl.

Leon felt himself slump over on the chair, hearing again old conversations that they used to have. Her laughter. Her memories. Leon didn't know if this was good thing or bad thing, but his girl... Leon caressed her face, "I love you." He muttered. His tears slowly escaped his eyes, he barely cried and she barely saw the tears. Leon took a deep breath in as he cuddled with his nearly dying wife. His head rested on her shoulder as their life passed around through a machine.

His hand squeezed hers.

"I never told you this." Leon spoke in a whisper, his hand squeezing her tighter, "But I was so scared when we married. I was scared to have children and..." Leon clung to her. Her cold body was pressed into his warm one. "I regret it now. I regret not having a piece of you with me." Leon exhaled softly, his salty tears fell into her cheek. "I regret staying with the government. I... regret our last couple of years that you had to see me drink away my sorrow when I had the best person around."

"If I could see you smile again, that stupid cute twinkle in yours eyes..." Leon nuzzled against her body, his legs holding hers. Her unusual breathing was ignored. It was only him and her. All the way from Raccoon City to here. "I'll tell you that we should retire and go somewhere nice." He held her head tightly with his other hand. It was probably his imagination when he felt her hand squeeze his.

-

Leon was eating his hospital food for the second time of the day. He was knitting a small sweater with the socks he brought for his wife for a small plushie he bought in the small store in the first floor. "Well, I was thinking of remarrying you." Leon smiled, "We didn't have time to renew our vows so I don't see why not do it now."

Maybe Leon was in denial, but he liked the comfort of it.

He stood up and showed his wife the stuffed bear wearing her sock as a sweater. "He'll be the ring kid." He said, "We didn't have a huge wedding before and I don't think now is needed either." He rested it on her stomach. Leon held her hand; his fingers gently rubbing her skin. For a second, he could imagine his girl just sleeping in their bed while he is rambling over and over.

He kissed her forehead, "I won't enjoy our honeymoon alone, so don't worry." Leon caressed her cheek before kissing her cold cheek. "Once we are together again, it'll be fun." Leon sat on the bed and laid beside her again.

He wanted to desperately kiss, but his need and want for her affection disappeared when a low growl escaped her lips. Leon exhaled softly, he couldn't allow himself to move. Leon saw his beautiful wife turn into the monsters she fought for years. Her skin looked dried up, her eyes were sunken. The virus took her away in one last breath as she tried to look at Leon one last time.

Leon got off the bed as his wife stumbled towards him. Her body was gaining new limbs around her waist and her body was growing in size.

He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe.

The stupid machine was buzzing loudly.

He felt the ground shake as the monster approached him.

The world felt... very slow. Every detail of the world felt loud, Leon even noticed the drool that escaped the monster's mouth. Leon grabbed his gun and pointed it to it's head.

All Leon wanted to do was protect his wife. All the way since Raccoon City, and he won't stop now.

BANG!

[licncourt]

What in particular makes you like Louis so much?

What is about Louis that you love so much? What draws you to him? Also do you know any other Louis lover accounts?? x

My gross baby book Louis….that’s hard, I actually had to think about it because I’d never really sat down and wondered why, even though I've been licking his nasty head like a mother cat since I was like 14. Though in a way I guess I have since I keep writing fics trying to figure him out and understand what makes him tick and why I care. VC, especially IWTV/Louis as a character has been such a fixture of my teenage and adult life, basically ten years now. That’s crazy to think about!

The first thing I want to talk about as far as what makes Louis so interesting is just how unpalatable he is without that being the point of the character . He’s not explicitly a villain, but the narrative isn’t asking you to like him either, he’s a wildcard with no clear character typing to fall back on. He came from the author’s grief and you can really feel that from the start. He’s like grief in a lot of ways, they carry the same pain and ugliness but nothing really exists without it, it’s just the dark side of love. He’s not supposed to be likable, the point isn’t even for the reader to empathize with him. What you make of him is 100% up to you. He’s not there to sway you in any particular direction in his regard. He’s doesn’t care what you think anyway.

At the very least, we can say he’s not at all a roguish, charming antihero character like Lestat eventually settles into, but he never becomes the stereotypical brooding-vampire-with-a-moral-compass archetype that he would directly inspire in the future (Edward Cullen, Angel from Buffy, Stefan Salvatore, etc). He’s not less evil than Lestat or any other vampire and he certainly isn’t aspirational, but his flaws are extremely human in a way that’s almost jarring. Becoming a vampire didn’t make him anything he wasn’t already (as opposed to Lestat or Armand). It’s just a catalyst for the unveiling of his true self, good and bad. He’s the scorpion who stings the frog and an ouroboros trying to muster the courage to sever its own tail. He’s ruled by his intrinsic nature.

[More under the cut because my brain worm took over]

Akasha calls him the most predatory of all the vampires and in a way that’s true. He never does anything by halves and there’s a violence in him that doesn’t come from vampirism, it’s something much deeper and more inherent to him than that. I’ve compared him to the gay serial killer phenomenon for that reason. When he kills, you see his weakness (physical and mental) because it’s messy and brutal and sexual and animalistic, completely primal, there’s nothing elegant or darkly seductive about it. He’s not a romantic vampire aristocrat taking a little drink like Lestat, he’s more similar to the revenants from vampire folklore, a Nosferatu with a pretty face which is somehow more disturbing. It makes you want to look away and look deeper at the same time. It’s either control or carnage.

A large part of what makes him HIM rests on that control (and the lack thereof). It’s what makes Louis such a time bomb, but also so relatable even despite everything else about him. So many people can understand what it’s like to have an eating disorder and be on the brink of a binge that will just restart the cycle, an addict white knuckling sobriety, a religious gay person fighting every natural impulse they have in an attempt to stay out of Hell, a victim of sexual assault who feels damaged beyond their ability to repair, to be suicidal and angry and horny and hungry and have no idea where to put any of it because putting it anywhere feels like an inexcusable failure somehow so you’re just paralyzed.

There aren’t very many characters who simply EXIST the way he does, completely laid bare by the narrative with a strange neutrality that makes him sort of a mirror for your own personality and life experience. He’s completely evil, deeply sympathetic, and morally gray all at once in a manner that feels very true to life. I think we all know a Louis or have been one at some point. A victim whose actions are still inexcusable, a perpetrator who is also abused, someone pitiful and loathsome at the same time but both are equally valid. Someone who thinks they’re completely self aware but that couldn’t be further from the truth. The embodiment of “an explanation but not an excuse”.

His appeal comes from his lack of appeal in a lot of ways, and how he exists primarily in the subtext of the narrative. You have to go looking for Louis if you want to really find him in the story. Especially since IWTV is from his POV, you have to pick apart what he says from what that actually means because the gap is WIDE. Nothing is spoon fed to you with him, it’s a never ending struggle to untangle him from his own perception of himself, then Lestat’s perception of him, Armand’s perception, David’s perception, even Marius’ perception. He’s a constant and brutal voyeur of himself who’s always the subject of observation and attempts to explain who and what he is to such a degree that the character shatters into a kaleidoscope. He’s almost a Helen of Troy figure where his agency is constantly being vied for (though unsuccessfully) and he can never quite escape the narratives other people place onto him. The narrative itself condemns him when he tries.

Something about Louis (maybe his beauty and supposed weakness) makes every other character feel like they have him figured out (maybe the reader too, for a while) but the conclusions never align and you get the impression the real him is somewhere in the cracks. Because of that, I’m also very interested in his own internal narrative and morality. It’s consistent in its inconsistency. The way he looks at the world is completely absurd, but he also has an unwavering point of view that informs even the most seemingly inexplicable of actions and it makes itself known the more he insists otherwise. Eventually, the narrative turns on him via the author and this particular flaw doesn’t matter anymore because that narrative has already judged and sentenced him anyway.

He’s just a walking contradiction to untangle. He’s so sensitive and emotional but so incredibly cold and callous. His sexual orientation keeps him up at night for decades but owning human beings seemingly never does at all. He’s deeply intelligent but totally out of touch with reality. He’s equally self loathing and uppity. He’s female-coded so deeply that he somehow experiences misogyny but he’s also a paragon of white, wealthy male privilege, intrinsically feminine and intrinsically masculine. Everything is his fault and nothing is. Mother and maiden, passion and apathy, his own shadow self, life and death, Adam and Eve.

Even with all of that though, there’s a certain charm and very real, dimensional tenderness to him that feels jarring contrasted against his mundane evil and vice versa. He’s awkward and strange and you get the impression that he always has been, he loves his daughter more than anything in the world, his favorite movies are The Company of Wolves and Beauty and the Beast, he’ll forgive the people he cares for just about anything, he’s always curious and almost childlike in how he interacts with art and nature and beauty in general, he wants to go to church, he still wears clothes that mimic the silhouettes of his human life, he tries to be a good brother but never quite manages, he gets carried away with crushes, he grew up too fast but his frontal lobe had barely finished developing when he died. He gnaws on grass and wears dusty sweaters and hates white sugar. He can be repelled with a cross because he chooses to be.

It’s maddening how he’s ALMOST lovable and ALMOST irredeemable, but those two things coexist so closely that you can’t quite fit him into box no matter how hard you try. If anyone ever found the “right” box for him, the character of Louis would cease to exist. I hope I never fully figure him out because then the puzzle would be finished and I just don’t think that’s the point.

Anyway, there’s more I could say but I think that’s plenty for now! I hope that made some amount of sense at least.

Also I've been SO logged off for like a year so I have absolutely no idea who is actively Louisposting right now, but in terms of having good VC takes (Louis included) I will always trust @nasnyys @zisurru @swedenis-h @mothpdf and @loelett to not let me down!

[bunji-enthusiast]

Could you do nsfw hc for Tristan and Lancelot with a fem so

𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬

Sypnosis [As written in the request]

Characters [Tristan Liones, Lancelot]

Note || this took me some time to think about because I didn’t want to stray from their personalities in these headcanons, lmaooo. The brain worms possessed me probably. Please read of your own volition.

Tristan Liones

He genuinely takes stride in ensuring your pleasure over his, as embarrassing to him, Tristan enjoys the look on your face when you blank out; brought over the edge. He burns that to memory pretty well.

Not to say he gets greedy himself too sometimes, with some general coaxing on your end—he gets a little more confident in going in at it himself. Of course, he will stop all notion to make sure your okay if you even let out any sort of pained sounds. Tristan may be a bit ebbed on the rough department but he won’t continue unless he knows you’re okay.

He isn’t necessarily iffy about the idea of control, he doesn’t mind if it’s him or you. But being with you right there, matters more to him.

Tristan likes thigh-riding, doesn’t matter which side or position but he really, really likes it. Mainly to him, it exudes a sense of itimacy and confidence compared to other positions.

He has a basic understanding and rough idea of sexual intimacy initially, but through you, and getting to—more or less explore you; he had gotten better at taking care of you. But he does like being on the receiving end of the pleasure if you absolutely prefer taking the lead.

Missionary is the classic but most earnest position for him.

Tristan really, and I mean—REALLY likes kissing you during the session. May as well be knocked breathless more often by the kisses then by anything else your feeling.

He takes consent and boundaries very seriously, if you are feeling unsure or uncomfortable then he will stop. No ifs, ands or buts.

Dearest Tristan has a possessive streak, he likes leaving a few marks here and there. But where it cannot be seen, he wants you to be saved from the embarrassment of that later on.

A huge, huge thing for praising. Both giving and receiving, he wants to know if he’s doing good. But also, he always lets you know how good you make him feel.

Tristan can have a pretty mature take on the moment, but he be pretty silly as well, it doesn’t always have to be a particularly bad thing. But it always catches you off guard when he says something random (what he says can be up to you) in the moment, which completely removes the romantic atmosphere of it.

He prefers doing it with you in the absolute privacy of the bedroom, but Tristan can also be feeling risky about doing it with you in semi-public spaces. For example; a forest. But he would rather die if you two got interrupted by someone else, then deal with the embarrassment of the aftermath.

Tristan isn’t a quickie person, he really isn’t. He prefers the slow and steady, more proper thence the quickness. It would just bother him way too much afterwards, Tristan likes taking his time in the moment with you; he likes getting to know how you feel.

He has a roughly more then average stamina, but Tristan last less if receiving; he is pretty sensitive.

Tristan can be quick to tease surprisingly, but he isn’t the kind to spell out mean words (irregardless of being a more punishing type, he just can’t do that). He prefers a gentle tone, if that makes sense.

Afterwards, he won’t go to sleep quickly, but he will ensure you feel okay and take care of you before he thinks about falling asleep himself. He can be pretty sleepy afterwards otherwise though.

Lancelot

With this mischievous bastard, there’s no being quiet. He likes hearing how you sound, he’s incredibly adept at hearing, so Lancelot wants to be sure you are feeling good. Lancelot will stop if you happen to be in pain, just from a pained sound. He doesn’t want to injure you or cause you any pain.

He doesn’t have any reservations about positions, but he’s incredibly iffy about ones you’ve had tried together. But that’s all he’s kept to himself.

Munch, he’s one of the biggest munches you’ll ever meet. Lancelot’s got tounge for days, and he’ll make sure you know that. He in particular gets real excited about your pleasure when you lock your legs around his head. He likes how you taste and he is not ashamed to admit that.

Akin to Tristan, he values consent and boundaries. Lancelot won’t at all make you feel ashamed for wanting to stop, if you want to stop then that’s what is happening.

Overstimulation is indeed on the table, he kinda likes how fucked out you look, even if he ends up overstimulating himself in the process. But he will bring you back from it in due time.

Mark him up, go for it! He likes seeing it, during or after; Lancelot relishes it. Not that he doesn’t have a possessive sense of self, but when it’s you? Oh hell yes.

He can be a pretty risky person, but Lancelot prefers it to be just him and you — without the risk of interruption.

Lancelot lasts for a decent amount of time, but when he feels tapped out—he’ll let you know; and vice versa.

His initial understanding and idea of sexual intimacy was mostly next to nothing at first, only that he knew it was something that happened with the consenting parties involved. But he never imagined he’d be able to do such a thing with you, he has nicer view of it thanks to you.

If you or him get all bothered by eachother; maybe one way or the other, he’ll definitely do something about it as quick as possible. Don’t wanna prolong it, unless if it’s necessary.

Absolutely no quickies, he seldom likes the idea, but if you don’t want the quickie then he doesn’t either. Alongside you, he likes being in the moment with you, without such a limited time period.

We know Lancelot, he can tease you to no end. He just genuinely likes seeing how red you can get because of it, especially during the session.

Lancelot is, overall, rather tender in bed with a teasing streak, but don’t be mistaken — he will leave you panting, and shaking from an earth-shattering orgasm. The fox knows how to please a woman, the experience overtime helped.

In the moment, he does ruin it by being silly, but that will extend most of the time during the session. You will never completely feel serious about it when it’s with him, a couple laughs here and there really do have him looking at you like your the light that shines down on the world.

Lancelot, despite having vague moments of impatience, can be incredibly patient when it comes to sex. He likes riling you up.

Similar to Tristan; Aftercare king. It’s so important to him, and Lancelot will never fail to provide, even if you didn’t do anything intense. He’ll massage your thighs to ease the shaking after you cum, he’ll clean up your mess and prepare a warm bath for you. While you bathe, he’ll clean the sheet. Honestly — best boyfriend.

[many-but-one]

i believe survivors of RAMCOA when they talk about the abuse they suffered, but the one thing i cannot wrap my head around is how abusers purposefully program alters? and this makes the moral ocd worms in my brain go NUTS.

i think i dont understand bc not every child who goes through severe torture/abuse will develop DID/OSDD and it feels way more probable that abusers arent attempting to make alters so much as theyre conditioning certain responses (and if a childs brain happens to split these experiences into alters then thats a byproduct that benefits the abuser).

all of this makes me feel like a bad ally to RAMCOA survivors, and while its not your job to educate me would you mind explaining how the programming alters aspect works?

[Trigger warning: talking about how programming works and why not all children who experience RAMCOA develop DID or may not end up becoming fully programmed. Brief mentions of child death. Mentions of child torture. Nothing in detail, obviously. Also talking a lot about how the deprogramming process works. If you are a programmed system yourself and you worry this could be triggering, have grounding items nearby just in case.]

Note: when I say “successfully” or “properly” programmed system, I’m talking about in the eyes of the abusers. Also, this is talking about TBMC (torture based mind control) programmers. I have to put that disclaimer because you wouldn’t believe how many confused computer programmers I’ve gotten in comment sections on other socials.

So, the reason not every child who goes through RAMCOA develops DID is because developing DID requires some pre-requisites. Things like genetic predisposition to dissociate actually do make a big difference. Also, how early the abuse started. If someone goes through RAMCOA trauma, but not until they’re older and their personality has already begun integrating (which can happen younger in some children, even as young as around age 5-7, though some researchers have said personality integration can happen as late as the teen years) it will be significantly harder to develop DID and therefore properly program the child. In addition, how much access programmers have to the child, how long they had access to the child, and how much support the child has outside of the abuse are also contributing factors.

If programmers see this kid one week out of the month, the parents don’t know about it and therefore the kid has a relatively okay home life with love and support, and they only have access to the kid for a couple years, that’s not going to be good grounds for programmers being able to properly do what they want to do. Some may still try if they don’t have access to anyone else, but this rarely creates a “successful” programmed system. Conversely, if they see the kid every day or multiple days a week, a parent is in on it/they have a bad home life where abuse (of possibly a lesser magnitude but not always) occurs, the parents are neglectful or very busy and likely to not notice things, and they have access to this kid for several years, that makes for a better chance that this kid will be properly programmed.

Because of all of these factors, programmers will often pick children who they know have parents with PTSD or CPTSD (or a dissociative disorder, if the parent has disclosed that to them), who they can access early in their life or have prior history of abuse (so are more likely to already have begun developing a dissociative disorder), and whom they have access to frequently. Sometimes, the child’s parent will be programmed by the group themselves and be born quite literally just to be programmed by the group. Some groups take great care in keeping family groups within the group because that creates stronger loyalty bonds and gives them easy access to children to program. It’s not uncommon for a group goal to be for their grown programmed systems to have kids to eventually give to the group, which is why apprehending a programmed system and having them work on deprogramming before this can happen is essential.

A lot of kids that programmers desire to program actually end up “failing out” because they aren’t able to take to the programming. Depending on the group, this could mean they will end the kid’s life or they will just stop the programming-related abuse altogether. And contrary to what most people know, even successfully programmed children have loads of failed programs, or parts that didn’t take well to programming. Most of the time these parts who have failed programming will be put in “discard areas” in the system’s inner world, and they will be either forced into dormancy or they will be stuck there until amnesia barriers eventually break down as the grown person starts to work on deprogramming (if they ever do.) A successfully programmed system’s most active parts are parts who did not fail their programming, and these are often the most well-rounded parts retrofitted with a personality that would have likely been created by the abusers.

To add: there is often layers upon layers of amnesia even in these single well-rounded parts (that often end up having an alters-in-alters subsystem, and said part might not even be aware they have one) and the “top part” or most front-facing part of that subsystem may not even be aware they are programmed. At least, until a cue happens and their program starts running and they start doing things they wouldn’t normally be doing. A lot of programmed parts don’t even know their own cues or even what traumas they have that would have created their programming. They might know they have trauma, but the memories of the programming might be missing, or the context surrounding the programming traumas might be missing. Usually these cues and context behind the traumas are hidden in EPs or fragments that are buried pretty deep within their subsystems. Accessing these EPs in therapy is integral to the deprogramming process, as learning what manipulations were done to make a programmed part believe what they do is essential in undoing it. All deprogramming really is, is showing programmed parts that what their abusers made them believe was true is a lie and that they are not at risk to be harmed anymore if they no longer have contact with the group. (Cutting off a system’s communication with the group is first and foremost what they should do when deprogramming)

As for your assumption, that abusers are trying to condition children and these experiences happen to split an alter to hold the conditioned response, you are partially right. In some cases, especially in cases where it’s a single parent or a family unit doing this to their own kids, it’s often more likely that the parent is not fully aware that they are creating a DID system. This is where the difference between programming and conditioning is important to note. We made a video about this here: link to TikTok video.

However, in larger groups, programmers do know they are creating a system. DID is not some unknown secret to much of the world, and research about it is easy to find. Even inexperienced groups can find research on DID and how alters form very easily and use that to try and create a system in a child. Whether or not they will be successful with that info alone is hard to say. I was abused by two different groups, one of them inexperienced and one of them very experienced. The initial attempts at programming were often unsuccessful, and we assume they got in contact with the experienced group to learn more and they essentially showed our main handler/programmer how it was done. (We have memories of him being taught and observing/taking part as necessary to the teachings, so this is not speculation, we know this was the case.) Once we were in the hands of the experienced group, we became very well programmed and our system’s organization changed massively. On top of that, the inexperienced group was now experienced, so we actually have alters who are programmed by two separate groups, each loyal to their own group. Some of our parts were loyal to both because they were programmed by both. (“Were” loyal because we’ve deprogrammed significantly and they no longer feel loyal to the groups anymore.)

Like I said in my initial post, programming alters is actually not that complicated on the surface, though in practice it is difficult, and to create a well programmed system takes a lot of skill and intelligence. Skilled programmers are unfortunately often incredibly smart individuals. Anyone who’s been willing to speak with me about their programmers often cite them as being people with high level college degrees. Doctors, engineers, mathematicians, scientists, psychologists. If not a college degree, they often work in areas like police work, political work, religious ministry, or other city/county/state positions. If none of these, they (horrifyingly) tend to work in areas where children are often present. Pediatric doctors/nurses, summer camp counselors, Sunday school teachers, daycare attendants, nannying jobs, teaching, etc. While not all programmers will fit this bill, a lot of them do. In the world outside of their programming job, they are often well-liked by their community. This is not to say everyone in these positions is a programmer, also. Want to make that REALLY clear. Not every person with this job has a secret side job of torturing kids, these just happen to be common areas they tend to gravitate toward. They are often thrill-seeking sadists and egocentric. Having a position in their community in which they are consistently recognized for their accomplishments or adored is often important to them. Sometimes, programmers are also programmed themselves, especially in large groups with generational aspects involved.

Now that that’s out of the way, I’m not going to explain in explicit detail how programming works because that doesn’t make me comfortable to share, but a very dumbed down version of it is pretty simple:

1) torture child to create alter splits

2) get one of these splits to front via triggers related to the torture that caused them to split

3) indoctrinate them with a behavior or action that, if they do not do that action, means they will be punished further. While they are doing said action/being indoctrinated with certain beliefs, have a specific trigger or cue present so that when they see that trigger/cue in the future, they will immediately do the action/enforce the beliefs they have been taught.

4) repeat steps 1-3, basically.

This is why I explained that programming is kind of like conditioning on steroids. Except the child is severely manipulated, tortured, and has extreme threats of harm to self or others to reinforce it, and this is done repeatedly, to the point where it causes the alter extreme duress if they do not do their assigned task because if they didn’t do their task in the past (in childhood) they would be tortured or would have to witness other children be tortured. They will fully believe if they do not do the thing, they or others WILL be hurt, and they believe the programmers WILL know if they don’t, so they often just do it automatically in efforts to avoid the punishment they believe is coming. It is extremely hard for them to override the emotional flashbacks, somatic flashbacks, etc, if they try to resist doing the task. Adding onto that, programmers will often create alters who will punish parts in the inner world the same way the abusers would if they do not do their task, so that is another layer of fear on top of that. These programmed parts often cannot distinguish the difference between outer world torture and inner world torture, as they rarely get contact with the outside world except to do their tasks. So if they don’t do their task, they will be punished by alters in the inner world space and they may fully believe they are being punished in real life. Creating safe spaces for alters to go in the inner world if they don’t do their assigned task is an important part of deprogramming. Because once an alter realizes they will not be punished both externally and internally by not doing a certain action, they will be much less inclined to do said action.

If all of that sounds extremely messed up and fucks with your moral OCD, you’re right to feel that way. It is messed up. These people are vile, fucked up, and cruel. They often do not see the children as human beings and care not of how much this damages the child physically, psychologically, and emotionally. These children are dehumanized beyond belief. Many programmed parts of a system do not see themselves as human unless they were specifically meant to be human. Commonly created alters are things with no free will or no ability to think for themselves, such as angels, robots, and inanimate objects. If a child truly believes they cannot think for themselves, it will be harder to deprogram them. Which is why deprogramming often involves teaching the grown system that they are allowed to make choices outside of their group’s desires and control. It is not easy.

For those that read this and are feeling dissociated and/or anxious, remember your grounding techniques. Get some mints, cinnamon candies, or sour candies and munch. Smell a strong scented candle. Hold some ice or hand warmers in your hands. Look around the room and pick out items that you recognize to be from the present. Pet a cat/dog/[insert animal here] or hug a stuffed animal. Remember, it is currently 2024 and you are safe. Your abusers will not know you read this unless you tell them yourself. You are brave, capable, and safe. I believe in you and your healing journey.

Take care, everyone.

[artydonsgf]

please enjoy enemies to lovers with patrick! no one asked but i’m very into the idea of patrick being an annoying cocky shit because i want to fuck him<3

enjoy my sweets~

Enemies to Lovers with Patrick Zweig

- you guys met at age 12 when you started at the same tennis academy that patrick went to

- your dislike for one another wasn’t immediate, in fact you thought patrick was really cute at first

- sure he was a bit cocky and he had no clue what personal space meant but he made your heart flutter regardless

- your beef with him only developed when he randomly decided you were his enemy of the week cause you got a ball past him

- he went from shooting you little smiles to giving you cocky looks

- as you grew older, you really started to dislike him

- you became friends with his best friend art and that irked him real bad

- told you one day to step off his court and leave his best friend alone

- you’re a competitive piece of shit so you start training even more and your friendship with art deepens

- this was the turning point for both of you to really dislike one another

- art is fighting for his life listening to you both shit talk each other

- one day, art asks you if your hatred is actually just lust

- he basically suggests fucking patrick n seeing if your emotions cool off

- you choke on your water and glare at him n he never mentions it again

- sure patrick is extremely hot and you catch yourself watching his arms whenever he plays

- but thats only because despite hating him, you can’t deny he’s a phenomenal player

- art’s suggestion worms its way into your brain though

- everything comes to a head when you two get into an argument over if the ball was in or out

- patrick claims it was in but you say that since you’re literally closer, you can see that it’s out

- he storms over to your side of the court and you guys are yelling at each other

- he briefly glances at your lips and that’s all it takes

- yall end up making out for the rest of practice

- you go back to his place and despite wanting to have sex, you both just cuddle in bed completely silently

- when you both cool off, patrick tells you that you drive him mad but he wants to kiss you all the time

- from that point on, you guys are dating even though no one formally asked

- you still bicker like an old married couple but it’s a lot more loving now

- art is celebrating except now he needs to pry you guys off each other if he wants to hang out

- patrick tells you that he knew that he was gonna get with you one day

- he only really argued with you because he found it hot whenever you got worked up

- once you guys are dating, he’s locked in all the way

- your enemies become his enemies, no matter how petty

- hates your mean third grade teacher, the girl who laughed at you in high school, the ta who took points off your exam

- shit talker to the max

- you guys had a sleepover in your dorm once and you pulled out all your yearbooks to explain 10+ year drama and he is ENTHRALLED

- despite how fiery he is, he cools down with you

- loud cocky fuck boy patrick is gone to the world as long as you’re with him

NSFW

- who said patrick zweig MUNCH!!

- not really submissive or dominant, he likes to fight for control with you

- on dominant days he’s a hair puller and very into dirty talk

- on more submissive days, he wants praise and biting

- wild in bed

- loves angry sex, it’s a lot better than both of you yelling at each other

- extremely gentle with aftercare when yall have angry sex

- has the stamina of a fucking horse, you’ll be recovering from a round and he’s ready to go at it again

- likes to sext, he’ll randomly send you texts to inform you that he’s hard and he misses you

- hates going on tour in general but hates it even more because you have to stay behind and he gets extremely lonely

- that’s the only reason he still jerks off, otherwise youll take care of it for him

- good at aftercare but is quick to fall asleep when he’s done cleaning you up

- loves when you’re sore but also hates it cause he doesn’t wanna throw you off your game

- make out king, he knows how to use his tongue

- can genuinely stay up the entire night if it means you’re in bed with him

- loves kissing and biting you to leave hickies

- loves it when you leave hickies in visible places, it’s his way of telling the people who ogle at him that he’s happy n taken care of at home

[trashnotfound]

ARCANE WRITERS EXPLORE VIS MENTAL HEALTH AND TRAUMA CHALLENGE

If you really think about it Vi has never had the time to process her truama properly( I mean she’s literally been in fight or flight mode since she was like 7) and I’d love to see them explore that more in depths with how it would change her as a person but also how it would impact her actions. Would she be less guarded, not be a prone to fighting

We’ve seen how she handles mental breakdowns ( with alcohol and fighting, which kinda mimics her childhood surroundings. With her dad owning a bar and her constantly fighting) she automatically diverts her attention to the one thing she is 1 good at plus has known since she was very young. It’s almost like her comfort of sorts ( once again very BAD comfort she is not mentally OKAY)

But when you think about her and what she’s been through, it’s too much for a young mind to handle ( as we saw with jinx)

First she’s thrown into a prison, beat, tortured and isolated for god knows how long. By the time she’d process what has happened more would be on the horizon ( as we know she got beat almost daily) plus it probably lead to some stint in her development either mentally or physically ( which is a whole other can of worms to process)

then when she FINALLY gets out she learns her sister is a war criminal, her uncle has drugged the under city, she gets stabbed and beat up repeatedly, almost dies, gets kidnapped, mentally tortured and then witnesses her sister commit and act of terrorism

The only time in the show she could of mentally processed what she’s been through is the weeks after the attack on the council ( since she was staying with Cait * it’s assumed) but I doubt she would have since she was probably too busy making sure Cait was okay plus thinking about how to stop jinx. Or when’s she was a pitfighter but as we saw, she just drunk her issues away and when she felt that anger towards people she went and fought individuals who had no connect to that feeling, just to have an ounce of control over her mental state.

I’m getting the sense too that she was only taught how to protect others and not herself. She’s kinda self destructive ( in the nature of getting into usless fight, putting her self in danger and being impulsive) she doesn’t know what to do when mentally crashing, she doesn’t really know how to read her emotions properly and that leads to her impulsiveness because she thinks she’s feeling a specific way and thus acts upon that feeling. Not taking the time to process her emotion and figure out her thoughts!

I just think Vi is the most interesting character in arcane when you REALLY sit down and study her character. So much underling lore exists to her when you dig deep into her actions specifically and I’m so sad the writers didn’t focus on that this season. They could make her one of the MOST complex characters but just stick with “anger issues and she likes to fight” but they never explore WHY she does those things. I know a lot of it is *show and not tell* and as I said if you actually use your brain you can figure this out and use just general knowledge. their putting to much trust in the viewer to read between the lines. When most just wanna be told what’s going on and how characters feel or think.

I just really like Vi guys….

[frozenjokes]

Cubscarian but if they become alter egos...

Sculk!cub would just be those uncles that works in a black Market or something selling sculk and he's like "yuhhh come here and have a bag of sculk.... Yuhh spread th souls and spread the sculk" (worse case scenario it's vex anr just spreading vex magic with scar)

Grian is just WATCHING WATCHING WATCHING

I was going to draw a comic for this but 1) I am having a small wrist flare up and 2) I’m choosing kindness because it would have to be Long and I don’t care so instead you’re getting an elsa approved famous Long Answer 👍

This did make me have ideas. Skulk Cub (and Grian) already happened as skulk sickness is canon to the universe and acts a lot like a very contagious infection. If you’re interested in the specifics you can read Without Thorns where all this is explained, but the jist is this.

however

there have been no vex mentions or anything in any of the fics as it just hasn’t really come up, and given that scar and cub really only met properly when the fics begin, there would be no history. But this could certainly change! You can probably tell by the sheer amount of cubscar on my blog that I Like Convex. Cub and Scar can get a little possessed….. as a treat… me when the bestie and I find funny masks with an odd cryptic engraving above them so the first thing we do is put them on and kiss with tongue and uh oh. we aren’t alone in our bodies anymore! I actually am a huge fan of possession/losing control of your body as an angst thing but none of this would be angst it would be peak Silly because cub and scar are going to walk their asses home with their silly little wings and their silly little masks and their silly little maniacal laughs and scar will say hi Grian! I’ve developed a taste for human flesh! and Grian isn’t going to look up. but then cub and scar are going to start Evil Laughing at fucking nothing and Grian is going to:

wh. hey. wait one fucking second.

Grian had an extremely bad time during the duration of Cub’s skulk sickness. Not only was Cub galavanting across the countryside spreads sickness and generally just disappearing for hours-days at the time, he was super dying, and trying to stop someone who won’t listen to sense who is also super dying from skulk sickness is a bit of a stressful endeavor, really.

he won’t take this well. But as a new man with better coping skills, he is going to march his ass to Mumbo’s apartment and get support from his other friends like a stable and healthy adult 👍 that is. Until Mumbo makes a joke about Grian simply getting back at them by getting possessed himself. Then he gets the brain worms. Then NO ONE can stop him from doing something incredibly stupid! so mycelium, huh? how do we feel about mycelium.

cue two chaos causing maniacs (one of which is a MAJOR problem being that he is hOtgUy) feuding with one incredibly pissy shit stirrer (again, MAJOR ISSUE given that he is a celebrity) duking it out using the city as a playground, and if we’re being honest, probably having the time of their lives.

mumbo probably saves the day somehow. then they all kiss. cumscarian win or whatever.

all of this ends with a mother spore induced gender crisis and Grian starts using she/him pronouns as god fucking intended. happy hermitcrafting!

[dol-dee]

what does limone think of cow ladies,,,

cant stop thinking about her teasing me for needing to be milked so often, and she grabs and gropes me whenever she feels like just to get me all hot and flustered throughout the day, until im so needy and leaky and desperate to be milked,,,,,,,

dw they'd tease you for it but forgive you

"Ahaha- woww, I haven't even started and your brain is already leaking out between your legs.. how cute~" I know you came here for fun horny times, but you unknowingly (and unfortunately) opened a can of worms. So you will have to listen to me break down Limones deal and psyche a little first. Apologies <3 

So the thing with Limone, is that they’re a human fucker first and foremost unfortunately. 

Doesn’t mean they won’t have some fun with you, if you have a TF or two. But it’s a lot less likely that they will get fixated on you. (i.e.: starts pestering you 24/7 and takes notes on you in their encyclopedia when back at home like a freak)

(I wont say never, but both the characters they’re fixated on atm are full humans, with very bad awareness- who are also church related in some way, lol)

The sliding scale is essentially:

(Human) on one side and (Inhuman) Plantpeople on the other. Limone is a little off from the plant people position)

Basically, anyone who started out as a human and has gained a Transformation would still read as inherently more human, than inhuman to them, compared to wolf people for example. The more TFs a person has, the more they start to be in a weird, muddy inbetween area (still recognizable as human though and always more human than Limone) - but they might be a little less compelled because of that. That’s due to a few things:

(They subconsciously want to be seen as, treated and held to the same standard as a human. Even when they keep falling short of it lmao.  It’s debatable how successful they are in that regard but they go out of their way to suppress a lot of their instincts.)

Limone is technically a 100% plant person. I say technically, because theyre a plantperson gone wrong, gone inadvertently merged with a human- whoops. and unaware of it- whooooopsss Thus their biggest internal conflict is the way that speck of humanity clashes with their nature as a plant person and the inherent suffering that comes with humanity in general. They don’t like other plant people. Are disgusted by their natural inclinations, their lack of self control and unwitting cruelty*

‘I am NOT like them, Limone wants to snarl. Nothing like those other mindless drones, with no common sense or self control- Who pluck wings from insects just as easily as they do limbs from people just to sate their own sick curiosity.’

*(Little note to add here: in my personal canon, plant people are kind of  hive mind-ish and very much Fae-like in disposition. They are quite cheerful and bubbly and maybe even nice sometimes, but will be cruel at the drop of a hat and not even realize that’s what they’re doing. So imo they end up killing the majority of the people they abduct. Just by virtue of their carelessness, plus the over exhaustion due to sex and nectar overdoses)

Limone vaguely knows that something is wrong with them, but isn't aware of the what or why. They know how they *should* be and they know what they want to be. But they dont really fit into either category.  Too human to be like every other plant person npc, yet not human enough to truly fit in as one. So If they can't be what they physically are, and they feel this draw to people, then that must mean that they are a human. or at least a person. maybe?

They aren’t though. 

Emotions overwhelm them, because theyre not really supposed to experience them and even then, the range that they have (so far?) is limited. (And they cope with it by self harming; they abuse pain to force their body to overwrite any overwhelming/unpleasant emotions they’re feeling)

They pride themself on their self-control compared to regular plantpeople and the fact that they don’t rape or kill humans but Limone arguably, encroaches on that territory. It just veers on the side of dubcon rather than noncon. So it might be more gradual than outright force, but they keep poking, prodding and pestering until, Luci for example, gives in. They have a predatory/sadistic streak in them no matter how much they like to think that they de-fanged themself or are better than other plantpeople. They ofc wouldn't like it at all when if its put like that.

Then there's the obvious physical differences: They can morph their body to a degree, they have yellow skin, black sclera- yellow eyes, a black tongue and sharp teeth (even when they can rip them out and regrow them). They can’t die, can squish their own memories out of existence like pimples, can manipulate vines and grow plants easily. Substances don’t work on them. They wouldn’t even need to eat if they hadn’t made it so they could.

Because of (gestures at previous chunk of text) all of that, they tend to most easily grow fixated on humans with no TFs. Because they idolize humanity somewhat. Not to an unhealthy degree. They just adore humans and are fascinated by them. So infinitely complex and bright. No one human quite like the other.

You’re lucky though, because they are a very hedonistic person (and a whore) so they like to have fun. Wherever they remember you after or actively pursue you is a different story though.

Okay enough explanations- Time for dirty talk:

Yes, Limone would have a lot of fun teasing you. They’ve made themself lactate before, they know how agonizing it can be. How uncomfortable it is to run around with plump, full tits, practically begging to be milked.

It depends how sadistic they’re feeling at the time. They’d enjoy giving you immediate relief, just as much as being a lil mean.

With the first one they’d pull you on their lap and start to fondle you. Rubbing your nipples through your shirt until milk soaks it through. It’s then that they would milk you outright. Giggling and praising you for being such a good little cow for them. They’re sure you’re soaking through your underwear just like you did your shirt. They’d look forward to licking up your slick, after making you cum several times on their lap, tits finally dry and nipples sore.(Human substances is the closest they can get to a high)

If they’re feeling a little more mean and playful it will be a long, drawn out thing. That knowing gaze boring into you and so very humiliating when you can’t see anything but their mean little smile. They will work you up soo much. Fleeting touches, mean pinches, flicks and more groping. Sweetly asks you if you’re desperate enough to moo for them. There’s a 50/50 chance that they would still not milk you even if you do. Too entertained by your pathetic flush, teary eyes and pitifully drenched shirt. 

Just be prepared to get dropped like a hot potato if one of their current fixations crosses your path :(