#most of the time the most destructive thing that almost got me dead is the the werewolf curse itself

[kanerallels]

RebelCaptain "and they lived" au? And/or "had a special but forgotten meeting as children" au (is that a thing xD) 🥺 Happy Star Wars Day!

OHHHHH FRIEND. That is DEFINITELY a thing and it happens to be a thing I DEEPLY LOVE so I hope you enjoy this:

“Our contact is on Pantora.”

“Pantora?” Jyn sounded taken aback, and Cassian glanced at her.

“You know it?”

She nodded, slowly. “My—I’ve been there before. When I was little. I only remember parts of it.”

When she was little. So with her parents, Cassian guessed, and didn’t press the issue. “Well, you’re about to go there again. Should be a quick in and out mission. The contact will leave the intel at a dead drop spot, and we’ll pick it up. Got it?”

Jyn nodded, her expression going serious, the way it always did before a mission. “Got it.”

They came out of hyperspace above Pantora minutes later, and had landed within half an hour. It was odd, Cassian reflected, how a place came back to you, even if you’d only been there once or twice, far younger.

He’d been to Pantora on a few runs with Maarva and Clem, when he wasn’t much older than seventeen, to sell what they’d scavenged. Apparently they’d had a good buyer there, because it hadn’t been near Ferrix. But whoever had bought from them paid well enough that they’d returned quite a few times.

Now, he wondered who it was. If they’d been connected to the contact they were following up with, or if it was just a coincidence. Less and less seemed that way these days—but despite Chirrut’s best attempts, Cassian usually wasn’t one to believe in fate, or the will of the Force. Not most days, anyways.

As they moved through the streets, he saw Jyn looking around, studying the sturdy but beautiful buildings around them. Pantora wasn’t Naboo or Alderaan in its natural beauty, and it certainly wasn’t Coruscant, but there was still something about it. Or maybe it was just the memories Cassian saw in so many of the street corners.

“See anything you remember?” he asked as Jyn paused, studying a tea shop thoughtfully.

“I think…we stopped there,” she said, voice distant. “I didn’t like the tea I got, so Papa drank it for me, and promised to get me another treat. Mama said he’d spoil me, but…I remember her smiling.” She shook her head, glancing at Cassian as if waiting for a reprimand, a reminder that they should focus.

He didn’t want to offer one. He wanted to say that they could stop on the way back, have tea, and spend a little time looking for more memories of the family she’d lost far too young. He understood what that was like.

But he also knew they had a contact to meet and an Empire to avoid, and with Skywalker’s destruction of the Death Star things were more dangerous than ever.

So he met her gaze, let her see that he wasn’t impatient or judgemental, then quietly said, “This way. We’ll cut through the square.”

She nodded, the smallest hint of a smile turning up the corner of her mouth, and they kept going.

The square was another one of those uniquely beautiful places on Pantora. For one thing, it was an actual square—a wide expanse in the middle of all the buildings and shops of bricks, bracketed in by flowering trees and lined with benches, a fountain in the middle. The bricks that made up the pavement were brightly colored, and asymmetrical in shape, like each one had been handcrafted by someone different. It was a patchwork of colors, and Cassian remembered Maarva had loved it.

He felt himself slow a little as he crossed it, almost coming to a stop by the fountain where he’d tossed pebbles—credits were too scarce to waste in water, and pebbles were common enough—just to see the water stir.

As he moved level with the fountain, he sensed the absence of someone at his side. Turning, he saw Jyn had stopped between two of the flowering trees, staring at the brickwork.

Moving back to her side in a few strides, Cassian said, “Hey. Everything good?”

“I…remember this place,” she said in a slow, wondering voice. “I stopped to look at the bricks because they were so pretty, and when I looked up…Mama and Papa were gone.” She looked up at him, brown eyes meeting his, and said, “And then…a boy found me. And helped me.”

For a moment, Cassian didn’t know what she was saying, and then it hit him. Because he remembered this, too.

He was waiting for Maarva and Clem to get back from their meeting, tossing pebbles into the fountain aimlessly. The sunlight was warm on his back, and he’d only been keeping half an eye out for stormtroopers when he saw it.

Or rather, her. A little girl, on her tiptoes, picking flowers from the trees. A brilliant smile lit up her face, like she had no other care in the world. Like the sun above them could never cast a shadow. 

It had reminded Cassian of his little sister, who he’d lost, and he’d watched just a heartbeat longer than he usually would have.

Which had turned out to be a good thing. Because the next thing he knew, an Imperial patrol was marching into the square. Everyone else knew to move, to keep their heads down. But the little girl didn’t move. Her head held high, she kept about her business, and Cassian had known it was only a matter of time.

Sure enough, one of the passing troopers pushed roughly past her, and she felt with a cry, the flowers she held scattering to the wind. Cassian had been on his feet before he knew what he was doing. Closing the distance between them, he’d pulled the girl to her feet and out of sight behind the fountain, away from the Imperials.

She wasn’t crying, even though the heels of her hands were scraped, and there were tears in her eyes. She looked angry, more than anything else. “You okay?” Cassian asked her, kneeling in front of her, and she nodded in a little jerk.

“They made me drop my flowers,” she said, her crisp Core World accent sharp in every syllable, and Cassian wondered who this girl was, what she was doing here. Where her parents were.

“I know,” he said. “But you can still see them in the trees.”

“It’s not fair,” she muttered, blinking hard.

“They never are.”

“They should be.”

Cassian had to smile at her vehemence. “They should. Maybe the only way to make things fair is to do it yourself.”

She nodded, ever so serious as she blinked away the tears, and Cassian asked, “Do you know where your parents are?”

She shook her head. “They were walking ahead, and I wanted to look at the trees. So I stayed here.”

Not a hint of fear in her voice, and Cassian couldn’t help but admire it a little. “Let’s go find them,” he said, and she took his hand without prompting.

Maarva and Clem had been furiously worried when he got back. But it was worth it to see the little girl’s delight when she saw her parents. None of her emotions seemed mild—all bright and crackling like lightning. And her parents were equally relieved to see her, her father sweeping her into his arms.

He’d left them like that, remembering the little girl’s bravery and ferocity. But only for a little while. Soon the memory faded away. Until then.

Cassian stared at Jyn, seeing the echo of the little girl she’d been in her eyes.  Still fierce, still brave. “That was you,” he said slowly.

A breeze caught a few of the petals and tangled them in her hair as she nodded. “It was. I remember telling my papa how nice you were…” she trailed off, and Cassian could see a hundred unspoken thoughts in her eyes. “You came for me, even then.”

“I always will.” The words slipped out, simple and true as all the other things he’d never said, but always meant. There seemed to be far too many, and he couldn’t carry them all forever.

A smile crossed her face. “I know.”

Another heartbeat passed, and then Jyn spoke, her tone back to normal. “We should keep moving.” Before Cassian could even move, she had, stepping past him and sweeping her hair back behind her ears, sending the loose petals scattering to the ground.

Cassian caught one as it fell, and tucked it into his pocket.

[saengart]

me and my friend's ocs for our current dnd run: curse of strahd.

satyr girl cerceruska the spirit bard belongs to @puyoupuyou

The serious looking elf is Neberius @mmimilin 's baby

Viorel the druid is @solitarypowder's

mine is a alchoholic half orc blood hunter his name is Fiachna he is also in order of lycan <3 (yes i was miserably exposed after a few sessions ☠️)

it is my first time playing a long campaige and it's been a wild ride. we've just finish arc 1, 12 session in. So many times my son almost die and im enjoying it so far

[oceantornadoo]

the ex-wife chronicles pt.1 (ex husband!john price x f!reader)

masterlist | next

follow and turn on notifications: @tornadoowarning

John Price loves Kate Laswell. She’s like an older sister to him, a brusque sort of bond built by survival and betrayal.

He hates one thing about her: how much she loves her wife.

“You’re takin’ leave?” John huffs into the speak of his phone, his shoulder pressing it into his ear. “Soap’s going to be recovering for months, and Ghost with him. Our main enemy is dead. I was offered two months of leave as compensation for the past year so yes, John, I am taking leave so I can actually see my wife for more than a meal.” John sighs discontentedly, already knowing this means he’ll have to be interacting with others who don’t understand his team. It’s a sneaky mistake he tries to slip into the conversation, testing the waters.

“Not that my men won’t enjoy the two months of leave-” Kate cuts him off with a chuckle. Damn it. “I’m assigning a temporary contact for you. I trust her with my life and I think you will too. She will be giving me updates every week.” John sighs again like a disappointed grandfather. “She’s experienced in managing field trauma as well, so she’ll be like a field therapist but with my clearance. The higher-ups were shaken by Soap getting shot and reassurance that the team will exist in six months. She’ll help Ghost reacclimate, Soap recover, and put you and Gaz back together. Lord knows you need it.” John really can’t deny that. The shell-shocked look that hides behind Gaz’s eyes every time he enters the hospital. Simon sits vigil at Johnny’s bedside, scaring off the most seasoned doctors with one glare. John doesn’t even want to know what he looks like since he’s only shaved once since Johnny got shot three weeks ago. It’s like penance since one of his men almost died. “You sayin’ we’ll have two months of team bonding while you fuck off on your honeymoon?” He can hear a smile in Kate’s tone as she replies, “We’re calling it a vow renewal. I’ll send you a postcard.”

The next ten minutes are spent reading emails about the logistics of this ‘team-bonding’. Compulsory group activities made for specialized military teams. None of that holding-hands bullshit but real strategies to use on and off the field. Breathing techniques, yoga, massages, visualization techniques, while reacclimating them to a battlefield. Each team member will be assigned a different therapist and the woman Laswell is sending will be ensuring that therapy is attended. Laswell still hasn’t sent over the personnel file, something about ‘not wanting to ruin the surprise’ which John only grunted at, watching the end of his cigar burn closer and closer to his hand. The spark of him reminds him of the bullet-hole in Johnny’s head, a starburst of destruction. Maybe a little therapy wouldn’t hurt.

“She gets there tomorrow. She’ll be staying on base and in your section of housing, easier access for emergencies.” What emergencies? The constant nightmares that bleed into John’s days? “We don’t have an extra room.” Kate’s silent for a second. “Soap-” “Is off limits. Jesus, Kate.” She’s silent and he can hear her flipping through files, likely looking at the base’s layout. “Actually, I have a better idea. The isolation housing.” It’s usually used as punishment for unruly recruits, a bit like that Parent Trap movie his nieces used to watch. Ex-nieces.

Four bedrooms with a shared bathroom, updated plumbing but an isolated location. Perfect for forcing soldiers who don’t like each other together until they’re used to the smell of each other’s shit. Unfortunately perfect for two months of team bonding. “There’s no office.” Kate snorts at his protest. “Use Ghost’s. He’s required to show up but it’s not like he’ll be sleeping there. I bet he won’t even step foot into the room.” John sighs in defeat at her solution. A part of him knows his team needs this but it irks him, knowing they’re going to be fattened up like chickens just to be slaughtered the moment they’re able to fight. It doesn’t escape them that this is an investment that requires results. More time off means they’re expected to come back polished like new, shoving the memory of Johnny getting shot into a corner and compartmentalizing. Christ, that’s dark, even for him.

“Fine.” Kate hums. “She’ll be there at 0800 tomorrow. If you want to be a good host, I’d make sure the barracks are ready by tonight.” John murmurs his goodbye and wonders how the hell he’s supposed to get his team to report for duty tomorrow.

-

“Sir.” Heart machines beep in the background on Simon’s side of the call. John slides a hand down his desk, tracing the wood grain as he imagines the phantom pain the man is going through. “How’s Soap?” He can hear a ruffling of fabric, like Simon’s masked head is turning to confirm Johnny exists before replying. “They’re sayin’ it was a graze but the shock waves caused more damage.” Right. The image John sees every night, that of a gaping wound in Johnny’s head, is not actually true. The bullet only grazed, due to the reflexes of his sergeant, but all the blood at the scene made it look much worse. Doctors didn’t even need to do surgery, just a worrying amount of tests and shock at Johnny’s ability to survive. John knows all this information of course, but he also knows Simon needs to keep saying it to remind himself that it’s true.

“He starts therapy in a week.” John replies. Simon grunts. This timeline was suggested by the doctors but John has now confirmed it, something he knows Simon hates. “When he starts, you’re expected back on base.” Simon does not sputter. He’s not built for it. However, John knows the man enough to hear the instinct of doing so in the back of the man’s throat. When Simon doesn’t hang up, John continues. “We’re not gettin’ shipped out for a while. As long as you’re on base durin’ the day, I don’t care where you’re sleepin’. The PT facility is only a 15 minute drive from base.” Translation: I don’t care that you’re sleeping with Johnny. The biggest concession John can make without acknowledging it, something he knows Simon will hate. The speaker crackles, Simon muffling it with a gloved hand. He can imagine the man turning to Johnny, the two conversing in that language only they know. Finally, the speaker becomes clear. “See you in seven days, sir.” John says goodbye and the line cuts.

He dials Gaz next. Although the call connects instantly, he imagines the signal traversing north to Lancashire, where Gaz decided to take off after they were all given personal leave. His family home, not his usual flat in London. A choice John would make as well, if he had a family home to go back to. Not a tragedy like Simon but simply…unattached. His parents died from old age a few years ago and he was the only child of two only children. He’d gone back to his own London flat, but memories of his men playing poker in his living room, Johnny laughing and happy, had been too haunting.

“Sir?” Gaz greets him apprehensively. “Alrigh’, Gaz?” The man pauses, the check-in catching him off-guard. John mentally notes that’s a reaction he doesn’t want in the future. Something to bring up at this godforsaken team bonding experience. “Yessir.” He keeps going when John doesn’t say anything, trying to drag a response out of the sergeant. “Bit of rest and relaxation. Been checkin’ in with Soap when Ghost picks up his phone.” John hums, eyes flicking back to the team bonding itinerary in front of him. “Rest’s over, Gaz. There’s a flight for you at your old airfield. It’ll take off in four hours, 0800 sharp.” Four hours, the most he could give Gaz for some goodbyes, a sorely needed morale boost for the next few months. “Thank you, sir. See you soon.” For the second time today, John hangs up on a call he didn’t want to make.

The rest of the day passes in a haze of paperwork. John scrounges up a pre-wrapped sandwich from mess and eats it with two-fingers of whiskey. A feast fit for a king. Sleep overtakes him in fits and starts, a reminder that he needs a clear mind for tomorrow is the only reason he forces himself to slow his breathing and give in.

-

Gaz arrived late last night. They watch a helicopter land at exactly 0805, wind whipping around their jackets as they squint in the morning sun. Their hats do almost nothing to block it. A few familiar faces hop off, men who tagged along in the flight from the Manchester base back to London. It’s only after they clear the area that you emerge.

Standard base gear with a black hoodie thrown over your t-shirt to wear off the morning chill. You’ve got sunglasses on, blocking the glare that’s sent John squinting. It’s only when you pull them off your face and into the crown of your hair does John realize who he’s looking at.

It’s been ten years since he saw his ex-wife. He did not expect a reunion on a spring Tuesday morning.

John’s well-trained enough to swear in a low tone that doesn’t catch Gaz’s ears. The man has a sunny smile on his face, his hand stuck out for a handshake. “You must be Kyle Garrick.” You say, stopping in front of the men as you shake Gaz’s hand firmly. “Got our files memorized already, Doc?” You laugh, a sharp, tinkling sound that sends an almost-shiver down John’s spine. “No,” you pause to look John up and down, “call it process of elimination.” You don’t bother to shake his hand. Instead, you wait until your eyes catch and nod, like you are cordial colleagues. Like you weren’t his wife once upon a time (it was only a year, his brain whispers). John tips his hat and turns to lead you back to the isolation barracks. In the background, he can hear Gaz recovering well, asking questions about the flight and how you know Kate.

John gives a half-hearted tour, a hard feat to complete when he refuses to meet your eyes. There’s mainly a lot of gesturing and grumbling about how this won’t be a spot to frequent since you’re getting moved to the other barracks. John feels out of character, particularly moody on what was supposed to be a new start of a day. Instead, you, the woman he hasn’t thought about for years (well, maybe a little bit), is at his heels, expected to be his new boss.

The walk to the barracks takes half an hour. Gaz offered to take your bag and now he’s paying for it, his shoulder slumping as he carries the pile of bricks. If John still knew you, he would guess there’s a few of your well-worn books in there. But he doesn’t (know you, that is), so he pretends his sergeant needs to up his bicep routine. How should he kill Kate Laswell? Maybe not answer her calls until she shows up at base so he can get the drop on her. Or show up on her vow renewal vacation and dress her down in front of her wife. All terrible ideas, spun to distract him from the fact that you are hiking a grassy hill a meter behind him, about to enter your new cohabitated home for the next two months. And share a bathroom.

“Christ, Captain, they couldn’tve given it a new paint job?” The gray paint outside the building is flaking, but at least it’s updated inside. John guides them in, pointing out room assignments. You pass by him in a whiff of a new perfume scent he hasn’t smelled and silent outrage, a deadly combination. “Fancy a tea, sir?” John’s about to shake his head until he remembers. He rounds the hallway of bedrooms into the small kitchen, where empty shelves sit. “Looks like we need a restock, Sergeant.” Gaz sighs. John fishes out the new Visa Laswell sent over as part of their ‘bonding budget’. “Don’t steal from mess, go to the store.” It’s at least an hour trip to the parking lot, the shops, and back. Enough time for an argument with his ex-wife, hopefully. Gaz looks a little dazed at the sudden power in his hands. “How much can I buy, sir?” Ghost may love his tea but Gaz is obsessed with candy, always trying a new kind whenever they’re deployed. Somehow, the kid still has perfect teeth. Also, John is still mad at Laswell. “Whatever catches your eye, Sergeant.” He’s gone in a flash, the front door banging on the way out as he yells ‘thank you, sir’ over his shoulder. John sighs.

He finds you in your bedroom, predictably pulling out books from your go-bag. Your shoulders tense when he purposefully stomps up to your doorframe, waiting. You speak at the same time.

“Look, I didn’t know-”

“I don’t know what Laswell told you but-”

You stop at the same time as well, glaring at each other from opposite sides of the room. He gestures at you to go first, a gentleman move that has you rolling your eyes. “I didn’t know it was your team. I owed Laswell a favor and didn’t have anything on my docket, so when she said she needed me to piece some men back together, I volunteered for the challenge.” He takes you in as you talk. The confidence in your squared shoulders is new, no longer faked. Your hairstyle is different as is your makeup, a fact that shouldn’t surprise him. The only thing that stays the same is the bracelet at your wrist, a slim sentimental piece of metal. 

“That what you do now? Piece men back together?” You shrug, turning away from him to unpack. “You know I was never meant to be a regular field doctor. I’ve got both my security clearance and psychiatry background - it’s a unique combination. I get to pick my cases without a lot of paperwork and without worrying whose war I’m fighting. I like what I do.” The message is clear. You are morally above John and you’re proud of it, a fact he sees in your now-relaxed shoulders. You stack books near your bedside, then toss a bag of toiletries on the freshly-made bed. Turning back around to face him, you cross your arms and raise your eyebrows. At least your frustrated look hasn’t changed.

“We gonna have a problem, John? I thought you were a Captain, all professional.” He edges closer into the room, crossing some invisible barrier. “No problem. I’m capable of burying a decade-old history.” You huff, tilting your chin to meet his eyes. It’s you and him for a second, staring. Not reminiscing but remembering. The ghosts of your past fights, long dead and forgotten, are suddenly brought back to life with one blink. Meeting when you were both young and dumb, a whirlwind engagement, an angst-filled marriage. The whole process of it is a two-year blip in his memory from nearly ten years ago. No prenup but no shared assets either, everything you both were and are belonging to the military. Like knocking two dolls together and being disappointed when nothing forms between them.

He only thinks about your marriage when he’s drunk. Drunk and alone. Drunk and with a pretty thing under him, only to blink and remember what you felt like.

Other than that, he doesn’t think about his failed marriage.

John sticks his hand out and you take it. Miraculously, your hand is not as callused as his and he wants to ask why, how you don’t bear the scars of sewing soldiers back together, occasionally pricking your own thumb and watching it bleed. The moment is gone when you let go.

-

a few things

i will not be doing a taglist, they stress me out

this has been in my drafts for weeks, i have one more chapter written but don't expect timely updates

this is mainly going to be fast-burn bc they have a history and i get impatient if there's no smut

no clue how long this is going to be but pls enjoy!

tag: fic: formerly mrs. price

[sukeruton-san]

A Coffee Heart pt 4

First Previous Next

Red Robin found the apartment building his twin brother has been staying at with his adoptive parents. he is on the third floor, Apt 307, window is also unlocked.

He heads inside too investigate, he doesn't expect what he walked into.

_______________________________________________

Today has been a good day. No attacks of any kind against his person. Not to much destruction with his parents fiddling and he got a shit load of caffeine in his veins. So, it has been a good day.

" Danny-O look!!!" His dad holds up what looks like a death ray on steroids, he said so as well.

" I call it 'The Fenton Ecto-destruct' it's suppose to deconstruct ectoplasmic-entities into more of a liquid substance so we can get to the core Evan easier!!" So it is a death ray on steroids but worse because it's for the already dead.

"Cool, cool hay have you seen the plates I can't find them "

" I think there in with the ghost equipment I'll go get them!!" Dad sets down Fenton Ecto-destruct and hurries of to the makeshift lab in the spare room.

"And make the trip long" he mutters under his breath before picking up the device and takes it apart,rearranging some parts, and adding somethings aswell. Then he puts it together again placing it down where it was before.

"Found them!!" The plates get handed to him " now to test The Fenton Ecto-destruct!!!" He pulls the trigger

.

.

.

" Aww, it doesn't work, maybe I need to add more wires for the energy output!" Putting the ray in his pocket he heads back to the lab

" Don't think it will work at all with what I did to it" chuckling to himself he puts the plates in the cabinet before heading to his room for the time being half way there he feels like something isn't right

He looks around spotting an ajar window, tensing he closes it. Feeling movement to he's right he throws the nearest object to him, which is a box cutter, into a wall next to the sheepish face of Red Robin

" Ancients, you scared the shit out of me"

"Sorry, my bad "

Crossing his arms" Mind telling me why your here"

" May have over heard you conversation with your dad and got suspicious about it. Your quick with your hands it took you 10 minutes tops to rearrange the ray your dad built"

" Thank you, and sorry for disrupting your patrol or whatever you were doing " he rubs the back of his neck " you don't happen to know of places that dispose of lots of metal and equipment that don't interfere with rogues and or criminals do you, I don't want my parents interacting with anyone like that here with our stay but also don't want them in public."

The vigilante ferros his brows before stating" there's one in downtown Gotham that doesn't have much activity going on with it. Also are you okay your parents sound like rogues already and I Don't like it."

"They haven't killed anyone so far, so their fine for the most part just don't want them nere thing and or people that can make them worse then they already are."

" You haven't answered the first question tho also 'so far' isn't as reassuring as you think"

" Their fine, really" there was a ominous thump in the background " I am going to check that out, you have a good day" he hurries of too the destination the sound came from leaving a worried vigilante behind

_______________________________________________

The situation is worsening by the minute first he hears and sees the conversation between Danny and Mr. Fenton about something that can vary well kill Danny if the thing misfires. Next Danny's ability to deconstruct and rearrange or build upon things in fast pases hents that he has to do that often which means there are lots of potential weapons and or devices that can harm Danny or others aswell.

Third is that Danny knew that he was here and acted accordingly to the situation. he almost got my head with that box cutter if he didn't dodge in time. Fourth is the aparint need to keep his adoptive parents from rouges because they might learn from them when he is positive they already are rouges.

Last and most noteworthy is Danny's avoidance to answering the question if he was Okay.

He has a lot to unfold and first is the implied lab that the Fenton's are working in.

[rosenclaws]

Hi again! 👋

I'm throwing another request at ya since you did such an awesome job with the last fic idea I requested. (Thank you again for that)

This time with the OG Logan and all his kitty cat hair glory lol.

The reader has similar powers to scarlet witch. Like telekinetic powers, levitation, etc. Can it be a scenario where she loses connection (like how wanda feels connected to vision) with Logan and thinks that he's dead and she just snaps. The villians who claims they killed him mock her and she pulls the move like wanda did in Endgame where she's like you took everything from me, and the villians don't know who she is and she's like you will and just goes full beast mode on the villians involved.

Bonus, Logans alive, he just was knocked out real bad and sees the whole fight happen and was like wow I love her and they reunite and it ends all fluffy with a kiss, maybe a proposal? Lol 😘

Heartbeat || Logan Howlett x Reader

a/n: This was such a great request and I have to say I really loved writing this. I did. go a little angstier than I thought I would and its darker than I expected it to turn out but I really hope you like it. Your mutant name is firefly. Also. I still haven't seen the movies so I apologize if its not accurate to how the X-Men work or anything im sorry sdakfjl;

warnings: fake out death, violence, blood, killing, angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending, the reader goes on a rampage, he calls you honey, reader almost dies, creepy ass villian guy.

wc: 2.3k

"You alright there honey?" Logan's hand gently rests on your shoulder.

You're staring blankly out the jet window, watching the clouds pass by as you ready yourself for what is pretty much a suicide mission. A whole organization that had been hiding underground, dedicated to eradicating mutants.

They've studied you. Planned. They know things, your strengths, your weaknesses. A few people had infiltrated their base and what they found...It made you shiver. Photos and articles and deeply personal information.

They had photos of you and Logan.

It made you paranoid sometimes. Like they were always watching. So you had to put a stop to it as soon as possible. You didn't go on missions often. Your powers were, quite destructive. Powerful yes but not always needed but the X-Men needed everyone they could. You take a deep breath and try to smile convincingly.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Logan snorts and cocks an eyebrow.

"You're lying right through those pretty teeth." There's an air of fear in the jet. You all know what might happen if you don't succeed.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay. Promise."

"Yeah they're no match for the Wolverine and Firefly." Scott teases making Logan roll his eyes. Scott just loved messing with Logan, taking any jab he can to lighten the mood.

"Can it bub." He turns his attention back to you, happy to see a small smile on your face. Logan takes your hand and places it on his chest. Your hands glow as you reach deep and feel his heartbeat.

"See?" You take a deep breath as you listen.

Sometimes you got too much into your own head. Your powers were tricky and when you got overwhelmed Logan always knew how to calm you down. The world around you fades as you focus on the beat of his heart. The rise and fall of his chest. He was your rock. The jet jolts and Logan holds onto you as you stumble.

"Think I got time for a quick smoke before we head out?"

"No you do not." Storm walks up to the two of you, she shoos Logan away who reluctantly leaves.

"We're landing in 10 minutes, are you ready Firefly?" You take a deep breath and nod.

You stare at your hands as you little particles of orange start to sprout from your fingers. You had control of your powers most of the time but they were still a work in progress but you knew that this mission was important so you couldn't afford to lose control.

Once the jet lands Scott and Storm tell everyone the plan again. This was for the future of mutant kind and there was a lot at stake. Each of you had a small usb drive that would corrupt and destroy any files still left in their system. Infiltrate and destroy all of their plans.

"Do you feel like pancakes?" Logan asks as you step out of the jet.

"What?" He shrugs and stands a little taller.

"There's this diner, open all night. Thought that after you'd want to get something to eat." You know what he's doing. Trying to make you feel better, to believe that you'll make it out alive. You can't die if you have a plans.

"Sure Logan, pancakes sounds great."

"Then it's a date." Logan heads in the opposite direction of you.

He's part of the brute force while you slip into the shadows. Still it pains you to be away from him. A storm rumbles in the distance and you hurry off to your position, afraid of what was to come. Still you keep going.

This was going to end tonight.

"Shit!" You hiss as a bullet wizzes past you.

Things had went to shit pretty quickly and it's an all out brawl now. With a wave of your hands soldiers go flying to who knows where. You sneak behind one and infiltrate his mind. Using his fears to show you exactly where the main computer was being held. He falls to the ground and you step over him as you sneak inside.

It was getting bad, you could feel it. Feel the tiredness and pain your friends were feeling. The guards fall one by one as you make it to the center console room. Exhaustion was creeping up on you. Your powers exerting every bit of strength you had. Still you knew what had to be done.

You plugged in the usb drive and watched as the system crashes, deleting every single bit of information they could have on the X-Men. Then you slowly envelop the console with your powers, crushing it until there's nothing left. You press your finger to your ear, alerting the team you had wiped their main computer in the comms. There's nothing but static on the other end.

"Guys?" You feel your heart start to race as you run out of the building.

"Hello? Anyone? Storm, Jean, Logan?" Still nothing.

Suddenly you feel this horrible, horrible pit in your chest. You stop in your tracks. Blood running cold as terrible feeling washes over you. Logan. You can't explain it, but somethings wrong.

"Logan!" You plead into your comms for him to respond.

You burst through the doors and back onto the field. Your breath hitching as you see the destruction in front of you. For any normal villain's they would have been nothing in the way of you guys, but these people knew exactly who you were. Exactly how to stop each and every one of you.

It was a losing battle.

Your eyes dart around as you send blast after blast, trying to help but with every move of your hands you feel weaker. Suddenly you hear a loud yell, you turn around to see Logan driving his claws deep into the chest of someone. You feel relieved seeing him still standing.

"Logan!" You call out to him and he looks your way. There's blood splattered all over his face and he looks worried. He runs towards you as fast as he could go.

"Get down!" He roars.

BANG

It all happens so slowly.

You look to your side to see a man with a gun aimed right at you. The exhaustion plagues your brain as you react too late. You see Logan running at you. A desperate look in his face as he jumps at you. You hit the ground and so does Logan. He rolls away and lays still. To your horror there's a bullet right in his forehead.

"Logan!" You screech.

You scramble to his side. He's not getting up. Why is he not getting up? He heals. He should be fine. His healing factor should have kicked in so why isn't he getting up. You reach out to him but someone grabs your leg before you can. Your hands dig into the ground as you're yanked back. Dragged to the center of the field.

"Get the fuck off me!" You kick your feet and scream loudly.

Your hands glow but you're face is shoved to the ground, a foot on your neck slowly stopping the air from entering your lungs. You can feel your strength draining. You try and use your powers but you can't.

"He's dead sweetheart. Think we don't know about that neat little regeneration of his?" The man above you laughs and you start to feel sick.

"We're not fucking stupid." He takes his foot off your neck and you gasp for air. He reaches down and grabs you by the neck, forcing you to turn and look at Logan.

"Where's that healing of his now?" Logan remains unmoving, you try and reach out to him. Using any bit of your power to search for him but nothing. You can't feel anything. Tears start to fall as you let out an anguished cry.

"I thought you were supposed to be strong? We heard so much about you and now look at you." He lets go of your neck and you crawl to your knees. Clutching your chest as sobs wrack your body.

"Don't worry though," You hear a gun cock behind you.

"It'll be over soon. Go ahead and say hi to your little boyfriend for us."

You look up at him and feel nothing but an overwhelming amount of pure rage. How fucking dare they. They threatened your life, your friends, your world. They took your peace. They took Logan. The love of your life, he died saving you. Your hands glow bright orange, your chest heaving as you glare at the man standing in front of you.

"Oh look at that, looks like you can do something." He sneers. You chuckle darkly. Tilting your head to the side you smile. Your eyes start to glow as you become strangely calm.

"You took everything from me...So I'm going to take it all from you." You scream as a large wave of energy bursts from your body.

A wave knocking back everyone in your radius including your team. The line of friend and foe blur as you go on a rampage. Disposing of anyone who came after you with ease.

"Firefly!" Storm calls out to you, you were becoming uncontrollable. No one can even get near you. Jean tries to get into your head but you block her out.

No one can get to you now.

They took him from you and you were going to make him pay. You stalk to the ones that were foolish enough to stay. Though they were crawling away now, pleading for mercy. It almost makes you laugh. They were showing no mercy when they planned to eradicate you and your friends. Why would you show them any now?

"That's enough!" Scott fires a beam to stop you in your tracks.

"They're surrendering." He reaches out to you but you push him away.

"I don't care." You snarl. You raise your hand and lift the stragglers up in the air. You're about to slam them to the ground but someone grabs onto your wrist.

"Stop!" The grip is tight as they spin you around. The glow in your eyes fade as you take in who stands in front of you.

"Logan?" You whisper. You try and shake your hand free but he doesn't budge.

"Let them go, honey." He says gently.

"They tried to kill you." You feel the fire come back but Logan does everything he can to calm it.

"But they didn't. They can't hurt us anymore." Still you don't move. He loosens the grip on your hand, taking your other hand and placing it on his chest.

"I'm alive, just feel." Slowly you lower your hand, softly letting the men fall as the rest of the team deal with them as you collapse into Logan's arms.

"I thought you were dead!” You cried. You rest your head against his chest, hand still gripping his suit.

“You weren’t moving and I, I couldn’t feel you.” He cradles the back of your head and holds you tight.

“I’m so sorry I scared you honey, I’m alive. Just knocked out for a little bit.” Logan feels horrible.

Maybe if he had been a little quicker you both would be okay and you wouldn’t have had to deal with any of that. He grabs your face and kisses you with an intensity you've never felt. It's sloppy and desperate but full of life. He's alive. He's telling you that he's alive.

When you pull apart there's still tears streaming down your face. Still so overwhelmed from everything. He lets you cry into his chest as he soothes you. Wiping away the tears as they come.

"I love you so much." He whispers so only you can hear.

The rest of the team watch but don’t say a word. Letting the two of you sit there as long as you need. Soon your tears dry up but you don’t let go of Logan.

It’s a quiet walk to the jet. Everyone is absolutely drained. You lean on Logan's shoulder as he draws shapes on your thigh with his thumb. Your hand rests on his wrist, pressing into his pulse just to make sure he's still breathing.

"Pancakes." You say quietly. Logan looks over in slight confusion.

"Huh?"

"You promised me pancakes," You crack a tired smile.

Logan stares at you for a moment before laughing in disbelief. The weight of what happened finally catching up to him. How close he was to losing it all, how close you were to complete destruction. The toll it's taken on everyone in the jet. The last thing on anyone's mind mind should be doing anything other than sleeping for a week yet pancakes feel like the best fucking idea ever.

"Yeah we can get pancakes honey, as many as you want." He kisses your forehead and places his chin on your head.

"With chocolate chips?" You ask playfully.

"I'll make 'em put in extra. Just for you." You hum happily as you lean in closer to him.

It's still a long flight back and one by one everyone starts to fall asleep. Soon it's just the rumbling of the plane. You look up to see Logan has fallen asleep, you watch his chest rise and fall. Just for a little bit.

He grumbles in his sleep, twitching slightly. There's a scowl on his face as he starts to shift more. Quietly you tap your fingers against his head, taking away his nightmares. He stops moving, relaxing under your touch. You smile softly as you slide your hand down to his chest.

Closing your eyes you feel his heart again. In the back of your mind swirls the horrible memories of today but you choose to ignore them for now. You close your eyes and allow yourself to rest. The steady beat of his heart acting as the perfect lullaby.

Just a steady reminder that everythings okay, there's nothing to fear anymore.

Thump

Thump

Thump

[writememysticfalls]

7 Minutes in Heaven | Damon Salvatore

Summary: You're stuck in the prison world with Damon Salvatore, college hottie and your worst enemy. You find yourself in a steamy situation with him...

Pairing: Damon Salvatore x witch!reader

Genre: Enemies to lovers AU, Badboy!Damon, Witch!Y/n, Set in S6 in the prison world

Word Count: <1k

You walked in to the Salvatore living room to find Damon breaking off pieces of the coffee table and throwing them at the wall to create tiny explosions.

“Great” he said without turning. “It's the fun police. Look, it'll all be fixed by tomorrow. Groundhog-Yay, am I right?”

You had been trapped in this other world, forced to repeatedly relive the same day, for over three months. It didn't matter what you did, as the world was reset every day.

Damon threw another piece of wood, and it burst into flame in the air.

“Witchy?” Damon said, spinning around.

You smiled. “If you're going to self-destruct, at least do it properly.”

You flung, burned and destroyed until most of the living room was a smoking mess. Sitting in the centre of it, Damon knocked back a bottle of bourbon.

“Gimme,” you said, sitting down next to him.

“Woah,” Damon said. “This place has officially broken you.”

“Ha-ha,” you said, grabbing the bottle. You gulped down some bourbon, then coughed, pressing your hand over your mouth. “Why do you drink this stuff?” you croaked.

“You're doing it all wrong,” Damon said, taking a gulp and holding it in his mouth. “Leave it on your tongue,” he swallowed, “then feel the burn in your throat.”

You followed his instructions, then sighed with joy. “I see. My chest feels so warm I almost forget that my heart is a cold, empty pit of sadness.”

“A-ha,” Damon said. “You've finally got bourbon.” He threw the empty bottle, shattering it. “I… told Elena I never wanted to see her or hear her voice again. I crushed her. And now… I’m dead. And that's how she'll remember me.”

You nodded. “You wanna talk crappy goodbyes? The last thing that I said to my boyfriend before getting stuck here was that he was a jerk."

You both laughed, so hard that you started hiccupping.

“You're such a nerd,” Damon said. “Honestly, what did your boyfriend see in you? I've seen the guy, he's jacked. He has options.”

“Um, Elena could've had Stefan. Why the hell did she pick you?” you said.

You rested your head on Damon’s shoulder. It felt so good that you snuggled into his chest. Slowly, Damon let a hand stroke your hair and then rested it on your shoulder. It was the first time you had touched since you had arrived here. Neither of you spoke for a while, just enjoying this moment of frozen time.

You felt Damon’s eyes on you, and slowly looked up at him. He had that rare wide-eyed expression on that made him look almost gentle.

“You might be an uptight - witch, but you're a decent drinking buddy,” Damon murmured.

“You might be a self-absorbed, murderous jerk… but you're not so bad yourself,” you replied.

Damon leaned into you, his face open and questioning. You let your eyes slip shut. Briefly, your lips met. Damon was clearly a good kisser. His lips were soft and sweet, surprisingly gentle. You wondered if Damon had kissed Elena and Caroline the same way - and you quickly pulled away.

“Nope,” you said, jumping to your feet. “Nope, nope, nope.”

Damon shuddered. “The phrase - ‘not even if we were the last people on earth’ springs to mind.”

You crossed your arms, gazing into the fireplace. “Mention this to no one?”

“No one,” Damon agreed.

​—

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

[celaenaeiln]

i mean this in the most neutral tone, but, im genuinely confused with this eldest daughter syndrome dick thing? as far as i know, he never lives in the manor with other batsiblings and personally take care of them except damian, and just "yeets" from any possible trouble or tension within the siblings or when they have issues with bruce

No worries I totally get it! And I'm here to deliver!

First, to be fair to Dick, no one lives in the manor aside from Damian and sometimes Tim.

Dick lives in Bludhaven, Steph lives in Gotham U? She's been in and out of comics but otherwise her own house. Cass lives in Leslie's clinic, Tim alternates between the Titans and the manor, Jason lives anywhere that doesn't have Bruce, and Duke lives with his uncle.

However that doesn't mean they don't all rely on him.

I think the confusion comes from scenes like this-

Batman: Urban Legends Issue #10

Where it seems like Dick just left Tim to deal with Bruce on his own. But-

Batman: Urban Legends Issue #10

Dick called him. When Tim when to him for advice, he gave him advice but also knew it couldn't just stop there. So he called Bruce to get it through his thick head that he's allowed to be happy. If there's anyone that can change Bruce's mind on anything it's Dick.

Which brings me to my next instance of Dick acting as the mediator and emotional burden lifter of his family. When each batkid dies (or almost dies in Dick's case), Bruce grieves in a different way. With Jason he took it out on criminals, with Tim he took it out on himself, with Dick he took it out on criminals and heroes, and with Damian, he wanted to undo what happened. He torments Jason about it, goes too hard on the criminals, gets worsened by Barbara, gets helped a little by Selina but also feels a billion times worse about Damian's death so-

Batman and Robin (2011) Issue #23

He locks himself in a simulator for days trying to see and fix where he went from when Heretic killed Damian. Nothing gets through to him so Alfred pulls out the Big Guns - he calls in Dick.

Batman and Robin (2011) Issue #23

"Richard just came in from Chicago to--"

"Talk some sense into me?"

"Yes, I've implored you to shut this...thing off and join the living, but you have turned a deaf ear for days."

"This calling in the cavalry routine is getting old, Alfred."

Since the dawn of Batman and Robin, Dick has always acted as the mediator for Bruce and the family. Always.

With Dick's help, finally, after days, Damian's saved.

Batman and Robin (2011) Issue #23

And Dick finally brings Bruce back to life.

Batman and Robin (2011) Issue #23

He took a destructive, dead-man-walking and breathed life and hope back into him to stop him from taking his grief and anger out on his family and criminals.

Also-

LOOK AT THE WAY THEY'RE SEATED. DICK IS LITERALLY BRUCE'S THERAPIST.

Batman and Robin (2011) Issue #23

Calling in the cavalry always works.

Of course there's times when Dick doesn't help mediate. But the issue is not that he doesn't want to or he pushes it off, it's that he can't. What the hell are you supposed to do when the mediator who mediates all your problems is themself broken?

Dick really wants to help Tim but he can't. He can't find it in himself to barely live right now because Donna-his platonic soulmate-is dead.

Teen Titans/Outsiders Secret Files

He really can't.

Teen Titans/Outsiders Secret Files

She was his sister too. Pretty much blood.

I actually think the fact that Dick doesn't live in the manor makes the fact that he still takes care of all his siblings and their problems with Bruce even more important. To calm and rationalize down Bruce and take care of his siblings, he's constantly flying or driving back and forth between different cities, dropping his cases and work, ignoring his problems, just to be there for them.

For another example, when Dick hears that the newest Batman is causing problems in Gotham and Bruce just abandoned Tim to deal with everything and Tim nearly got hurt, he comes all the way back to Gotham to rail Bruce out for doing that to him.

Robin (1993) Issue #8

When Bruce teams with Damian their relationship so tumultuous but once again Dick steps in.

Batman: The Return

"I need a partner who can stay focused and keep up."

"Bruce, come on! I made a career out of not doing anything I was told when I was Robin. He gave up everything for this. You can't just take it away...you can't cut him out."

He keeps Robin from being fired and continues being Damian's support system.

It's not just mediating though, Dick fully steps in to take care of the batfamily whenever Bruce absconds or there's trouble.

Batman and Robin Eternal Issue #24

He's like the command center of the family.

This picture just embodies his role.

Batman (2011) Issue #15

And as Bruce once said-

Batman: Urban Legends Issue #22

He's really the eldest daughter and caretaker.

[arcane-vagabond]

Fool's Fare: Chapter Eight

Fool's Fare: Chapter Eight

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Content Warning: Cursing, Talks of a curse, Arguing, Feelings of Betrayal, Feelings of being used, Mentions of broken hearts, Verbal abuse (kinda), Mentions of death of a parent, Talk of the supernatural, Mentions of abandonment, Suicide mention, Reveals. I think that's it, but please let me know!

Word Count: 3.2k

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist

Guilt was almost never rational. It was the monster that crept into your emotions, turning sorrow into pain, anger into wrath. It didn’t care for things like logic or forgiveness. It fed on the destruction it created, leaving behind ruin and sometimes even catastrophe.

You felt guilty for the disappearance of your father. Maybe if you had begged him to stay that last day, had pleaded for him to not go like your instincts told you to, he would still be around and things would be better. Your mother would never have died of a broken heart, your brother wouldn’t be suffering the effects of a curse that were not his to bear, and the ache that lay inside your chest wouldn’t be throbbing from your conversation with Captain Jake Seresin of the Hangman.

Water lapped against the rowboat as two of the men pulled and pushed the oars through the water. You sat in between Mickey and Bradley, refusing to meet the gaze of the blond who sat across from you. His green eyes bore into your profile, willing you to turn and look at him, but you stubbornly looked out at the dark waters that surrounded you, the mist not allowing you to see very far, not that there was much to be seen.

Mickey fidgeted uncomfortably next to you as his gaze darted between you and the captain, his fingers tugging on his sleeves as he chewed on his bottom lip. You could feel Bradley’s eyes on you as well, drilling a hole into the back of you head. You let out an annoyed huff, tapping your foot gently against the floor of the boat as you crossed your arms.

You wished a rogue wave would come and swallow you whole.

The shore grew closer and closer with each passing moment, and soon the men around you were hopping out into the shallow waters, still eerily dark and murky despite being so close to land. Mickey and Bradley got out on either side of you followed by Jake and Javy, leaving you the last one to exit. You stood to get out, a hand coming into your line of sight. You paused to look at it before glancing up to see Jake still looking at you, eyes shining with something you couldn’t place. You scowled at him, batting his hand away and taking one step out of the boat and into the water. The sand shifted, causing you to stumble, and Jake’s hands wrapped around you to keep you steady. He helped you onto firmer ground before you pushed him away from you with a glare.

“I’m fine,” you snapped, brushing your clothes off, “I had it.”

“Sure you did,” he muttered, not taking his eyes off of you. His brow creased as he frowned, and you let out a huff, stomping over towards where Bradley and Mickey stood. His gaze lingered, but you didn’t turn look back at him, instead choosing to watch as the men dragged the boats further up onto the shore, weighing them down with nearby stones so that they wouldn’t float away once the tide came in.

It was then that you allowed yourself to look around, taking in the jungle scene around you.

Loud cries from the different birds sounded all around you, some squawking and others chirping as they hopped along the branches. You heard the chattering of other creatures as well, watching as shadows darted about above you as well as in the brush surrounding. The mist clung to your skin, and the air was surprisingly cool for what should be the tropics. Perhaps the ship had been blown farther off course than anyone had previously thought.

Rustling sounded from behind you, and you whirled around. Your hand flew to the sword that lay strapped to your side, unsheathing it a few inches as you waited for whatever was there to show itself. Your muscles tensed as more rustling sounded, the large leaves moving, and you sucked in a breath as your eyes widened, the creature revealing itself in one quick motion.

The sound of your sword unsheathing all the way and swinging in the air filled the small clearing, and Jake was met with the business end of the sharp weapon, tip stopping just shy of his chin. His own eyes widened as he stared at it, quickly darting up to meet yours. It took you a moment to process what was happening before you, and you scowled at him, lowering the sword and sheathing it once more as he let out a nervous chuckle.

“Little jumpy, huh Guppy?”

You ignored him, face still set into a scowl as you took a few steps around the clearing. A strange energy filled the air, one that set your heart hammering inside your chest and the blood in your veins zapping with energy. Your fingers twitched at your sides, everything becoming intense around you. The air started to feel almost suffocating, the noises becoming louder, the foliage becoming brighter. Your eyes darted around as an overwhelming sense of dread gripped you, your chest starting to rise and fall rapidly as the sensations grew. You took a few tentative steps around the clearing, willing the sensations to stop, to slow down. It was all so much.

“Guppy?”

A hand grabbed yours, and the steadiness of it grounded you. Your head whipped around to look at Jake, uncertainty coloring his features as he studied you. The colors faded back to normal, the sounds became quieter, and the energy swirling around you became less stifling. Your breathing returned to normal, and it was then that you realized that tears prickled at your lash line. You wiped them away quickly, clearing your throat and pulling away from the blond to inspect the far side of the clearing.

“Are you okay?” He pressed, taking a hesitant step towards you. You waved him off, schooling your features as you heard the sound of a river nearby.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, refusing to meet his eyes. Of course you were still mad at him, who wouldn’t be after what you found out in the cabin? He had been using you for months, getting closer to you only to relieve the effects of the curse that plagued him. He had wormed his way behind your walls and into your heart, and you hated him for making you care about him. You had been played for a fool, and the very thought had you clenching your fists with rage.

“Guppy, please-”

“What do you want from me?” You snapped, whirling around to face him, nostrils flaring and eyes blazing. “What? Are you upset that you let your little secret slip out? That I’m basically just some kind of pain relief for you, and that’s the only reason you’re interested in me at all?”

A frown tugged on his lips, brow pinched in distress as he shook his head.

“That’s not what I meant at all, sweet girl,” he murmured, stepping closer and reaching out a hand to you. You took a step back, face guarded as you watched him. He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair as he regarded you.

“Listen to me,” he said firmly, eyes set in determination as he finished crossing the distance between you two. He made no move to touch you, but you sucked in a breath at the proximity. “I know you think I’ve been using you, but I haven’t. If I wanted to use you, don’t you think I would have gone farther than we ever did? I know what I’m saying may not mean much to you right now, but I swear it, Guppy. I swear on everything that I care about in this world, I was not using you.”

You studied him for a moment, mulling over his words. Perhaps he had a point. If he was using you, surely he would have done a lot more than just hold you? You pressed your lips together firmly, frowning at him.

“I’ll tell you what,” he murmured, eyes shining as they looked at you, “I won’t touch you again unless it’s to protect you or because you want me to.”

Your brow furrowed, frown growing deeper as you regarded him. He swallowed thickly, nodding more to himself than to you.

“I mean it,” he whispered, backing away just a step. “I won’t touch you unless absolutely necessary. When-if you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

Before you could answer, the leaves began to move again, and both of you turned to watch as Javy stepped into the clearing. Jake stiffened next to you, a look of irritation flashing across his face before he schooled them into one of cool indifference.

“What is it, Javy?” He drawled, sounding almost bored as his quarter master glanced between the two of you, a look of knowing mixed with annoyance plastered on his own face.

“You’re going to want to check this out,” he said finally, fixing Jake with a hard look. Jake nodded, looking back at you and gesturing for you to follow as he walked after Javy back towards the beach. You moved to leave, stopping when you heard a strange noise, almost like a song. A shiver ran up your spine as you looked back, dread filling the pit in your stomach as the sound happened again, closer to the beach this time.

“Guppy, let’s go!”

You jumped at the sound of Jake’s stern voice, whirling around and following quickly after the two men.

The men were all gathered in a clearing of trees along the water, a wooden hut on stilts sat above the water, a set of steps leading onto firmer land while another set led directly into the water. You would never have known the structure was there unless you stumbled upon it. The trees hid it from view of the beach, the foliage packed so densely that you had to really push your way through it. You stumbled out onto the other side, Bradley reaching out to steady you as you tripped over a tree root.

You wondered why he never told you that your presence brought him relief like Jake said it did.

Jake inspected the structure, walking along the side of it before looking at Javy.

“Any of you been inside yet?” He asked, frowning at the surrounding men. The quarter master shook his head, hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the area.

“No,” he answered. “No one has been in yet. I wanted you to be the first to see it.”

Jake nodded, turning his attention back to the group.

“Where’s Benedict and Joshua?” He frowned.

“No one’s seen them since just after we landed,” Javy replied. Jake cursed, shaking his head.

“Alright, let’s check this place out,” he muttered, already heading up the steps. Javy was close behind followed by two more men, then Mickey, then you, and finally Bradley brought up the rear.

“We’ll keep watch out here,” one of the men called out nervously. Jake glanced over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow before shrugging.

“Suit yourself,” he drawled, waving a hand dismissively at them.

The hut was tiny, but still somehow contained item after items along the floors, the shelves, and every other surface that was available. A strange hum filled the air, not unlike what you felt in the clearing when you were with Jake. Several bottles held mysterious items suspended in liquid, and you found yourself clutching onto Bradley, fingers twitching nervously as your heartbeat picked up.

“It looks abandoned,” Mickey muttered, eyeing a spider as it crept across a dusty, old book.

“I wonder who lived here,” you whispered, worried that something might be listening. A floorboard creaked from the far side of the room, and all of you turned to see a haggard-looking woman standing in the doorway. Hands flew to swords, and the woman let out a low chuckle.

“You won’t be needing weapons here, sailors,” she purred, her voice surprisingly pleasant sounding despite her outward appearance. Her hair was matted, crawling down the length of her back in black strands. Her skin was pale like moonlight, skin pulled tight against the bones that lay underneath. Her eyes glinted dangerously in the light, like the eyes of a predator ready to strike at the first opportunity. Despite all of it though, you could see that she had once been a beautiful woman.

“Who the hell are you?” Jake snapped, voice gruff with warning as he glared at her. She flashed him a sharp smile, lips pulled back almost too far as she regarded him with predatory eyes.

“I am one who watches over this place,” she said sweetly, hands gesturing all around her. Javy took a half step forward to stand at Jake’s back.

“Where are we?” Thequarter master asked, eyes hard as they watched the woman glide around the table that occupied the center of the room.

“You find yourselves at the isle where broken hearts go to rest, the poor dears,” she smiled, dark eyes shifting to stare straight at you. You stiffened in your spot next to Bradley, shuffling to try and hide behind him as best you could. The woman’s smile grew even wider, skin stretching in a way that it shouldn’t as her eyes gleamed with excitement.

“Your heart is so heavy,” she crooned, moving towards you, and your hands latched onto the back of Bradley’s shirt as her eyes danced with glee. “You’ll make a fine addition to my brood.”

“Not happening,” Bradley hissed, reaching an arm back to push you further behind him as he puffed out his chest, eyes narrowing at the woman in warning.

“It must be so lonely,” she continued, ignoring Bradley and the way they others shifted around the room, “to know that soon it will be just you who stands in this world. Those around you have fallen, left you for either the hereafter. And soon what you have left will fall to a curse that has nothing to do with you.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, your heart lurching in your chest as the weight of her words hit you, the familiar prickle starting in your eyes as you pressed your lips firmly together.

“That’s not going to happen,” you whispered weakly.

“Oh my sweet girl,” she cooed, reaching a hand out to touch you. “It will. When it does, I will be here to comfort you along with the others.”

“Who are the others?”

Her finger stopped only centimeters from you, her head turning slowly to lock on to Jake who still glared at her. She cocked her head to the side, the smile fading from her face as her features morphed from friendly to cold and calculating.

“Were you not listening?” She rasped, eyes narrowing dangerously. “The ones who live here have all suffered broken hearts.”

“We didn’t see anyone else on the island,” one of the crewman muttered towards Jake, but the woman ignored him. The smile slowly crawled across her face once more, though this was held promise of malice rather than the half-baked attempt at comfort she had given you.

“You are also one who is familiar with disappointment and heartbreak,” she sighed, walking slowly towards the captain. “You almost remind me of my son, the poor boy that he was.”

She stopped when Jake’s jaw clenched, glee returning to her dark eyes as she continued.

“Look at you,” she cooed at him, her saccharine tone sending another wave of chills down your spine. “What would your mother think of you now? The poor, bastard son she raised in his father’s house. Working night and day to earn her place as well as her son’s, your father never once acknowledging you as his own despite his lack of an heir.”

Jake’s nostrils flared as he glared at the woman, her lips curled into a dangerous smile as she let out a low chuckle.

“Your kind, loving mother doing everything she could to protect you from the reality of your situation,” she cooed. “But then she fell ill, didn’t she? And then she passed, and there was no one left to protect the child that you were. You were cast out of the only home you had ever known at only seven years, forced to wander the streets with any scraps you could find as your meals. It wasn’t until that old captain took you under his wing that you had a place to call home again.”

Jake said nothing, but if looks could kill, you were sure the woman would have died ten times over already. The woman clucked at him, smile once again fading, lips turned downward into a disappointed frown.

“Nothing to say about your poor, dead mother, hm?” She taunted, looking mildly put out at his lack of a reaction. Her eyes lit up suddenly, the smile returning once more.

“But that wasn’t your first encounter with heartbreak, was it?” She mused. “Not only have you suffered your own, but you’ve inflicted it on another, haven’t you?”

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” Jake spat, fists clenched at his side, fingers twitching with restraint.

“Broken hearts are my business,” she huffed, eyes slowly shifting back towards you. “Has he ever told you why he was cursed?”

“He slept with the woman that Davy Jones was in love with,” you replied uneasily, glancing at Jake. The color had drained from his face as he watched the woman contort with laughter, the sound echoing through the room as she cackled.

“Is that all he told you?” She grinned, eyes shining wildly.

“Be quiet,” Jake snapped, stepping forward with a warning on his face. Fear ensnared his features.

“Why should I?” The woman grinned. “I think the truth deserved to be spoken. Her story deserves to be told.”

“Please don’t,” Jake begged, eyes darting between you and the woman now. “Please.”

“Davy Jones is not the kind of man to curse another because his affections are spurned,” the woman continued, ignoring the captain. “No, he wouldn’t be so cruel as to curse someone with no just cause. Jones was in love with the woman, yes, but he respected her choice enough to let her run into the arms of the man she had chosen.”

“Stop,” Jake murmured quietly, leaning against the table for support as he hung his head.

“So you do feel shame after all,” the woman cackled, though no humor was laced in her tone. “You know what you did was wrong. You knew she loved you, and like the vain, prideful youth you were, you threw her to the side once you had had your fill. No regards to the love she gave you, nothing in your heart for that woman. Tell me, did you feel anything for her before Davy Jones cursed you? Or is it the curse that made you see the error of your ways?”

“Enough,” he whispered, eyes pressed tightly shut as his shoulders hunched in on himself.

“Or perhaps,” the woman hummed thoughtfully, “it was the moment she threw herself off the cliffs into the water below that changed your heart.”

A/N: Wow, what a reveal! Can't wait to hear what y'all think of that one lol Anyway, gentle reminder that I no longer do tag lists! If you would like to receive notifications on when I post, please follow my sideblog: @arcanevagabond-library and turn on post notifications! As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! You can also find me on AO3 under arcane-vagabond. Until next time!

[joshsilverseyebrow]

peter steele for KERRANG! Magazine (1999),

(VIA BiggestBaddestWolve ON REDDIT)

(OP has said it suffered some water damage, so i’m transcribing what i can read from the first full sentence i can make out. but i hope you still enjoy!)

THE DYING GAME

“I’m waiting for the strength to kill myself…” PETER STEELE

But, consistent with recent interviews in which he’s disparaged the album as a “waste of money,” he’s about as interested in playing his record company's hard sell games as the Pope is in the contents of Pamela Anderson's bikini. He admits that he's only here at all because “I promised the other guys (guitarist Kenny Hickey, keyboardist Josh Silver and drummer Johnny Kelly) that I'd do my job.”

Steele's apathy is all the more surprising given that “World Coming Down” is his band's most complete, cohesive and fully-realized work to date. It's also arguably the New York quartet's bleakest recording: an album which resonates with world-weary cynicism and self-loathing and sees Steele cheerlessly embracing self-destructive urges and yearning for descent into oblivion.

Given his huge appetite for sarcasm and deadpan piss-taking, the album's none-more-black atmosphere verges on goth-metal parody - but today it's disturbingly evident that Steele's current dark mood isn't just an ironic affectation.

"I FEEL like a total ingrate," he sighs, slumping his massive frame into a leather-bound armchair as we retire to the hotel bar. "I have a great life, I have my health, my family and friend; I'm not the worst-looking person in the world, I've got a half-way decent band - and yet I'm not happy. I'm just waiting for the strength to kill myself."

From other rock stars, such whinging might seem like mere melodrama. But when Peter Steele admits to suicidal thoughts, his matter-of-fact musings are coloured by personal experience. On October 15, 1989, tanked up with alcohol and self-pity, the vocalist slashed both his wrists and crawled into the back seat of his car to die. “At that time it was because my girlfriend had left me and took 95 per cent of me with her. I thought I could not go on without her,” he sighs.

“Obviously I was wrong.

“The worst part was actually

coming home and hearing that my ex-girlfriend's mother had phoned my Mom and told her that i'd been hammering on her door with blood dripping from me. That was really embarrassing.”

At the risk of sounding unsympathetic, isn't slashing your wrists more of an attention-seeking act than a genuine suicide attempt?

"I wanted to shoot myself in the head," he shrugs, "but I couldn't get a gun - which is kinda ironic, considering you seem to be able to buy a gun on every corner in Brooklyn. Okay, it was probably not a wholehearted attempt last time - but next time it will be. Life is a game, and like cards sometimes you have to know when to stop playing. l'm not getting anything out of this any more.”

You must have fans writing to you telling you that Type O Negative's music has got them through difficult times - what do you think those fans are going to make of what you're saying today?

Steele shrugs, and drains his first glass of red wine.

“I’d advise anyone who's depressed to stop reading right now,” he smiles.

THE SHADOW of death hangs ominously over “World Coming Down,” Songs like “Everyone I Love Is Dead” and “Everything Dies” are rested in tragic personal experiences for Peter Steele.

The album was written in the aftermath of the death of his father on February 14, 1995, and recorded during a period when Steele lost an aunt and uncle and watched his mother battle againat serious illness for almost a year in a New York hospital.

"I expected her to die," Steele says quietly, "and unfortunately I still think she'll be next to go. One of the most traumatic things in life is loving someone and watching them die and knowing you can't help them. I just don't know how to handle watching people die. Maybe It's cowardice but I truly wish I'm next. I've tried everything in excess - Prozac, alcohol, cocaine and women - in an effort to deal with life. Nothing works for me.”

Steele says that his parents never discussed his own suicide attempt, but admits: "I think I hurt them a lot." The death of his father, has had a "profound effect" on the singer.

Is there anything you wish you'd asked your father before he died?

“I’d just like to have asked, Why didn't you spend more time with me?,” Steele says, sounding uncharacteristically vulnerable. “When I was a kid and he'd come home from work, it was like Superman coming to the house, but I always felt like I was some little happy dog that was always underfoot and he was always trying to kick me away.”

The youngest of six children - he has five elder sisters - Steele can trace his current feelings of worthlessness right back to his childhood.

“I used to feel that I was an unsuccessful abortion,” he sighs. "That I’d pulled myself out of the bottom of the bucket and lived. I remember when school would start, my father would say things like, ‘Now we have to buy him clothes’, and I’d just wish I could unzip my skin, crawl out and slime myself under the bed and die. I felt like such a piece of shit.

“My mother still doesn't have a good word for my father,” he reveals.

“I don't think she ever forgave him for inflicting kids upon her. I'd love to say to her, 'Mom, if he was such a prick, why did you stay?’ He didn't seem a bad guy to me. I think he was just tired by the time I was born. My mother had me when she was 39 and my father was about 41.”

No offence intended, but as the youngest of six kids, did you consider the possibility that your conception might have been a mistake?

“Put it this way, there was an average of three years between my sisters, but there was eight years between me and my nearest sister,” Steele replies without flinching. “I know I'm just the result of a biological urge at four in the morning when the pharmacy was closed."

DEATH FIRST impinged upon Peter Steele's consciousness at the age of seven, when his grandfather passed away (“I didn't really understand what was going on but I saw my mother was crying, and thought that it was probably my fault,” he notes). Born of Russian and Icelandic parentage, Steele grew up in the middle of two theo-fascistic ideologies - Catholicism on one side and the Orthodox church on other”, and although he recalls praying after the deaths of his grandfather and uncle, he rejects the Christian notion of life after death.

“If Hell does exist, then I'm certainly going there,” he smiles. “I actually think it's cruel that someone who suffered their whole life is just going to go to the grave and share the same fate as people like Hitler or Stalin, who deserve to go to Hell, But no one said life is fair.”

Do you believe you have a soul?

“No, I'm just a very inefficient meat machine lubricated with mucus and semen,” he answers.

And you don't fear dying?

“I don't fear death, but i fear dying.” Steele confesses. “The thought of being in a car accident or being burned and lying in a hospital suffering is horrible. I don't like pain - If I found out I had cancer, l'd probably rob a bunch of banks and hope I'd get shot by the police.”

So when you shuffle off this mortal coil, how would you like to go?

“I've been thinking of the cleanest way to kill myself recently,” he admits.

“Everyone talks about poisoning themselves - but you vomit and shit everywhere, which is not cool. A shot in the head would be ideal, but I'd feel sorry for the person who had to clean my f**king brains up.

“I’ve got a tidier solution, actually," he smiles. "I want to attach a water pipe to the wall of my house and then take one of my weightlifting bars, sharpen the end like a spear and place it into the top of the pipe about 40 feet off the ground, with a rope attached. Then I'd lie under the other end of the pipe, point it at my temple and let go of the rope. Gravity would take its course and it wouldn't be too messy. That would be a neat end to all this misery.”

You don't go along with the view that suicide is the coward's way out?

“No, anyone who kills him or herself automatically gains my respect,” Steele shrugs, betraying not a flicker of a smile. “No one knows what lies beyond, and it's a trip from which there is no return. You have to admire anyone who'll willingly step into the unknown.”

You don't think it's a selfish act?

“It is, but I don't think if I killed myself 'd be affecting anyone detrimentally.” he considers. “If I had a wife and child I might think differently.

“I'm starting to think that children are maybe what I need, actually,” he continues. “Maybe bringing new life into the world is a way of replacing the void you feel when you lose someone. At the moment, though, I don't think that I could be so cruel to a woman as to implant her with my demon seed.”

SUCH COMMENTS are a reminder that even when discussing grave matters, Peter Steele's bone-dry sense of humour is never far from the surface. The singer concedes that “sarcasm has always been part of my insecurity” and admits: “It's a strange thing that when I'm lying people believe me, and when I'm telling the truth they don't.” But he insists that he's deadly serious about initiating his own exit from this life.

“I know someday I'll do it, I just don't know when,” he smiles. “When I feel l've become more of a burden than a help to those around me, It'll be time to take that swan-dive from the World Trade Centre. But one of the things that gives me a slight glimmer of happiness is irritating people, so l continue to live just to annoy them.

“But nothing gives me pleasure ary more,” he sighs, gulping down the dregs of his second glass of wine. “I’ve become really nihilistic and I just wonder who's going to be next to die. And I pray to God - if She's listening - that it's me.”

TYPE O Negative's ‘World Coming Down' album is out now.

[verysium]

『02』 原神: genshin impact recs

魈: xiao

preta by @itoshisoup

"People think that ghosts are born exclusively of resentment, but they can also be born of love. Between those driven by resentment and those driven by love, which do you think cling most strongly to their suffering?" Xiao replies without pause, his gaze unfocused yet fixed upon something you cannot see. "Love." After a yaksha saves your life on the Plains of Guili, you insist on joining him in his war against the evils of Liyue. As the two of you encounter hungry ghosts and resentful spirits, you learn about the ones haunting him. notes: incomplete but intricately woven together; heavy emphasis on chinese culture, wuxia/xianxia genres; if you have watched any historical cdrama, you will like this fic; xingqiu and chongyun are wrapped up into the dynamic; xiao wishes to protect you for centuries; him and his paradoxes; not being strong enough to be considered invincible but still strong enough to try

公子: childe

thin ice by @falconcoast

childe is that senior frat boy on teyvat university’s campus. the one who majors in economics because he’s on scholarship to play sports. the one who is way too loud and you can hear him all the way across campus. the one who’s daddy’s money rich because he’s already sponsored, even while just in the ncaa. the one who manages to get everyone to swoon over him.  oh, right. and your favorite title for him: the one hockey captain who hogs all of your free time to skate after lessons because he always steals it.  all you want to do is do your job and teach skating lessons to the kids to keep your mind off the year-old mess with your figure skating, maybe even get an hour of skating in afterwards as a reward. that is, until the hockey coach sits you down and tells you that surprise! you’re the new team manager for liyue’s hockey team! ...it can’t be that hard to manage twenty or so boys and their captain, childe, right? spoilers: it absolutely is.  notes: wonderfully curated modern skating/hockey AU; childe is so american white boy in this; teucer being adorable; diluc and kaeya sibling dynamic is well-established; university and post-grad plans; figuring out your life and then working other people into it

国崩: scaramouche

tea screen by @after-witch

The trembling voice of the tea apprentice carries through the room, and though you can’t see him, you imagine he must be shaking. Who wouldn’t be, tasked with gaining the approval from the Sixth of the Eleven Fatui Harbringers?  notes: forced marriage and abuse; tea ceremony; sort of reminds me of the edo period; examination of womanhood within a patriarchal society; sexy, sad, and scary all at once; i pity the reader at the end; cycle of love and violence

a simple cup of tea by @after-witch

You have to be prepared and poised and perfect. But it’s hard to be all those things, even with the looming threat of your husband sitting next to you, when you’ve got a secret hidden underneath your clothes... notes: reader grapples with lust and objectification; unhealthy dynamic but portrayed realistically in an almost historical setting; reader is unable to separate her identity as wife apart from her husband; women being defined in the context of men; could be a social satire on traditional gender roles if you squint

love is a dog from hell by @itoshisoup

"A will is something you don't have. That's why you'll follow mine." notes: this fic is the reason why i do not think the concept of ownership in love would translate well into real life because it would be so self-destructive; reader struggles with aftermath of abuse and mistakes possession for protection; realistic depiction of unhealthy relationships; the fatui is exactly the dark criminal organization it is supposed to be; human trafficking and child sexual abuse; scaramouche is so goddamn funny i can't

钟离: zhongli

spoil of war by @bye-bye-sunbird

In the dead of night, you hear the sea calling your name. Sometimes the sound is as soft as a love song, gracing your skin in a gentle breeze that lures you to the seashore where the waves can finally lay claim on you. Other times, the sea strikes the land in a deafening, challenging roar. "Really now... How long do you think those mountains of his will stand in my way?" notes: accurate depiction of characters because archon war morax was genuinely terrifying; zhongli trying to deny his obsessive tendencies; rivalry with osial; reader is essentially sanctified as a symbol of innocent purity; imagine having two spiritual gods pine after you while you are helplessly stuck in the middle of their tug-of-war and simultaneously trying to mourn; that is basically the entire premise of this fic

迪卢克: diluc ragnvindr

the parent trap by @falconcoast

twelve years ago, you got married to a man who had swept you off your feet in a little under two years. diluc was like a prince out a of storybook; effortlessly charming, strikingly handsome, and a kind man. you were supposed to live happily ever after at that winery, running a wedding planning empire, having a family, and growing old together.  until it all goes off script with a divorce. flash forward, and the only remnant of diluc that is with you is your daughter, dawn. the only piece of you that remains with diluc is your other daughter and dawn’s twin sister, phoenix.  it isn’t until both of your children get you and your ex-husband in a bit of mess that you realize that maybe, just maybe, you still harbor feelings for diluc.  or maybe it’s the wine talking. notes: one of my favorite comfort fics; i am a sucker for second-chance romance; diluc and reader now older but still being the same bumbling idiots they were when young; at this point the children have more situational awareness than them; based on the original movie; treat yourself to a cup of tea and a friday night with this work and trust me life will be good

博士: il dottore

deus in absentia by @bound-in-parchment

The first time was a coincidence. The second time was a fluke. But the third time? You were starting to think it was fate. Or, more likely, a calculated trap. notes: at this point we can just scrap whatever mihoyo puts out and use this work as canon instead; the world building is so originally creative; this author must possess such a giant sexy brain; reader is basically adopted by dottore and forced to be his apprentice/assistant; idea of losing yourself to your own ambitions; slow-burn to the max; reader is oblivious to full extent of feelings until it is too late; tragic to the point i need a time machine to resurrect them

dream a little of me by @bound-in-parchment

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. notes: soulmate trope but with the two most aromantic fools to ever exist; zandik drowns himself in the river of denial; comic dynamic between segments; music and failed dreams; reader actually has a backstory dark enough to match dottore's character; does not shy away from the uncomfortable and gritty aspects of trauma, abuse, and literal mental insanity

chemistry / magnum opus by @jessamine-rose

In the realm of science, love and insanity are closely intertwined mysteries. Disillusioned with the world, you had long forgotten its beauty until the wise doctor gives you a change of perspective. notes: by far the most accurate characterization of akademiya zandik; he hates you then hates himself then hates the world for allowing your paths to cross; treats you as an objective experiment but then wonders why he's suddenly humanizing you; slow-burn; zandik is selfish and machiavellian and somehow you fit into that equation

the only hope i had was the freedom of death by your hands that held me together by @tiens-letters

It was a burden. The weight of the power you hold in all the land. Any human who has enough ambition would dare to covet it and any god even given divine powers would lust after it. You were powerful, able to end civilizations and make a new world altogether. Many would think that you are a sovereign being but you too are limited to mortality than what most would believe. You were human with a blessing of a god and you felt cursed and dirty. notes: honestly the ending made me so mad but take it as a good sign; basically entails the circumstances that would drive dottore to become somewhat capable of love; what is done cannot be undone; zandik finally meeting someone who is wiser and more depressed than him; deluding himself into thinking he could ever be domestically normal; somewhat idolizes/idealizes reader; themes of betrayal and misunderstanding

富者: pantalone

house cat / alea iacta est by @jessamine-rose

Your entire life has been a gilded cage. The gods refuse to grant your greatest wish, and so you have resigned yourself to the will of destiny. But what happens when the red string of fate is severed and replaced with the silver chains of the Regrator? notes: liyue nobility; dishonest business and financial deals; reader is a cat hybrid but i didn't notice until part two because the plot was so good; pantalone is the mastermind behind all his interactions with reader; heavy manipulation and orchestrations; wolf in sheep's clothing; alternate ending found here

隊長: il capitano

herbarium / fairytale / forget-me-not / astilbe by @jessamine-rose

You had long given up on wishes and happy endings. After what you believed to be the end of your tragic story, you resigned yourself to a shadow of a life with only your books and flowers to keep you company…until the vestiges of Windblume brought forth a mysterious stranger and a new ending for your dark fairytale. notes: capitano being the strong stoic protector of a delicately fragile reader; manipulation is so subtle and that is what makes it alarming; somewhat stirred my daddy issues because he is so parental; reader struggles between accepting his love versus hating him for taking away her personal agency; flower motifs

[signanothername]

UT/UTMV Lore Asks Masterpost (part 3)

All masterposts

This will include lore/ characterization asks (part 2)

*tip! Those in red text will contain an explicit discussion/visual display of some sort of trigger/content warning, these could be blood, emotional or physical abuse, emotional manipulation, death, self destructive behaviors, implied or discussed suicidal ideation, suggestive content or other sensitive topics

*tip! Those in orange text will contain an implied or mentioned trigger/content warning but no explicit discussion/visual display

*tip! Asks with 💬 are without art, only text

Let me know if I missed color coding anything :)

Cluster B💬

Does Cross know he has NPD?💬

I do believe in canon Killer has both DID and ASPD💬

If Nightmare somehow got his claws on Cross what would he first do?💬

What does nightmare think of dream/ if nightmare could would he go back to his passive form? 💬

Nightmare can use his subordinates sort of like binoculars/surveillance 💬

I love the way you characterize Dream, and I love that he has an angry side.💬

Does your nightmare gender or gendern't

Mirror mirror on the wall who's the gayest of them all

what does Nightmare do when he's in a "good mood"? 💬

Have you heard of "Blue Joins The Bad Sanses"? I was wondering what it would be like if something like that happened in your AU? 💬

what if blueberror then? 💬

Do you think Fatal and Blueberror could be friends?

if you’re version of san’s (sanes?) had a CHECK box, what do you think the little notes would say in each?

do your interpretation of skeles need to breathe?💬

Can we get a timeline of your comics?💬

I have questions with the timeline💬

What would Horror do if Nightmare killed his Pap?💬

Why would nightmare kill anyone 💬

does Murder!Sanses frustrate Nightmare the most? 💬

is your nightmare atleast... Good in close combat Or like... He can get knocked out easily?

His whole being is different and yet exactly the same

Does Nightmare turn to stone?💬

Is the said ending suspiciously tree shaped? Tree related perhaps??💬

DOES NIGHTMARE TURN INTO A TREE OF NEGATIVE FEELINGS💬

I want all of their suffering to be at least "worth it" in the end 💬

it's just an ending 💬

he almost starts getting better or he actually just kinda goes ‘you know what, yeah i deserve this’ 💬

Is the bittersweet thing like watching your old dog (Nightmare) acting better, then the next day finding them dead at your feet when you wake up? 💬

Killer carrying Cross on his back is so special to me, that's such an older brother thing.

is he watching anyone else? Dust, Color?💬

You drew Error's little heart shaped nose AAAAAAA 🤍

You said there is little Nightmare wouldn’t do to cross for betraying him, does that include s/a?💬

How do you feel about interpretations of killer and NM’s relationship with Killer being a S/a victim from nm sexually abusing him?💬

does Nightmare ever indulge in a little sweet treat?

☆on the topic of nightmare preferring sweet foods💬

Opinions on aroace nightmare?💬

Imagine you think you're talking to someone else but then they randomly become nightmare because it was nightmare the entire time. 💬

how do you think it will go if Color met Passive Nightmare? 💬

What would horror’s reaction be to uncorrupted nightmare?💬

What if nightmare would shapeshift in to color to fuck with killer?

Would Killer have an interest with XGaster and Cross and maybe there relation with each or would Killer not care at all?💬

Does the oopy goopy deal with any nightmares/night terrors?💬

Wouldn't killer know about nightmare at one point?💬

would murder time trio get along to geniually be friends, or does it stay situational?💬

Had Nightmare ever transformed into color right in front of him?💬

Nightmare (only for a few moments) genuinely looks hurt over the fact that Horror’s never told his brother about him.💬

wouldn’t Swap get killed pretty easily? 💬

[yeesandhaws]

guess who just finished TROP s2 and has a lot to say about it (specifically the last episode)?

that's right, yours truly. (these are just thoughts in the order i remember them in tbh this lacks organization it is PURELY a rant). also, i'm NOT a tolkien purist by any stretch. i just started reading the silmarilion (literally today) and i'm not super picky about media so whether or not this story is at all accurate to what he's written, i enjoyed it nonetheless and don't want to hear about "oh but it's not accurate to-" it's a loose adaptation. obviously it's not gonna be accurate to the book. i'm sure the book is great. that doesn't mean this show wasn't good too. get over it. anyways, with that out of the way, here are my actual thoughts. also warning for spoilers (duh) but also this came out a good bit ago so like... i'm the one behind the curve here.

first off, i somehow managed to not cry when celebrimbor died! not at all out of lack of sorrow, i almost vomited 4 times over the course of the scene. most likely my lack of tears was because i knew it was going to happen - in a way i'm happy they did not spare us the details of celebrimbor's death and made it just as cruel and horrific as it ought to have been (and no offense, but to anyone who actually still finds sauron hot after this season and in particular s2ep8, what in the actual hell?) but also like... HE SAID IT!!! (and by it i mean "lord of the rings"). celebrimbor died an honorable death, despite the suffering he endured, and that i respect so greatly. i may cry myself to sleep over him, who knows? his suffering hurts me on a deep, deep level. do i have a new comfort character? perchance.

secondly, the burning of the texts of celebrimbor actually sickened me to my core yet again! lots of things in this episode that sickened me to my core, lots and lots. the sheer scale of destruction was actually portrayed so well, watching this city i grew to admire and love so dearly get completely razed was so so agonizing! but that one scene in the battle with that one elf who was super cool until he got shot down like 5 seconds later? excellent cinematography there (at least to the eye of a layperson such as myself)

and speaking of fighting and whatnot, ELROND IS SO FINE!!! i did not think i'd find TROP elrond pretty or hot or anything ever! and yet, upon seeing the man fight (and god knows getting a man all bloodied and bruised does wonders to my heart - also his CURLSSS LIKE AUGH--) and absolutely COOK in the battlefield, my opinion has been swayed, let's just say. and I’ve always loved elrond as a character despite his flaws (like i know it was pretty lame of him to just let isildur walk away with the ring, and by pretty lame i mean REALLY lame. but i support elrond rights and wrongs, and hopefully they give reason for this in the show? maybe there was already reason in the books and i just forgot? it’s been a hot minute since i read LOTR). i think he is just such a bright soul and not just pretty but also smart and very helpful, i feel like he compensates for his mistakes by actively mending bridges and being cool and understanding and wise - also, upon seeing his misery over the destruction of celebrimbor’s work, i feel even more endeared towards him and his bookishness and just vast knowledge he possesses, like it makes so much sense why he seems to thirst for knowledge so, after seeing it so cruelly destroyed in front of his eyes? maybe I’m over analyzing but i like my take on things. anyways, i could go on and on about him in both LOTR and the hobbit (books and movies) and why i think he’s awesome sauce but ok that's enough fangirling over elrond. back to my rant.

third off, ADAR??? like i knew he died because spoilers or whatever but my god. ohhh my god. his entire character has me agonizing over what-ifs of peace and harmony and i never thought i'd catch myself dead feeling bad for this guy because yk evil but NO! NOT EVIL! and his death was so tragic! his babies killed him! i was really starting to feel for the uruk but NAHHHH. it struck a very similar chord to boromir's death in the movies when he's like, "the little ones--" LIKE THE SAME SORT OF JUST DREADFUL SORROW FLOODED THROUGH ME! to think that there truly could have been peace, to think that it all could have been so vastly different. i don't want to think about it, it'll enrage me and make me sad. the light of power calls to those with weak minds and burns those who try to resist it or something, idk what i’m on. but adar’s death is representative of a lot of things. real world things, specifically. so of course i'm thinking about it because what's life without a lil doozy to cry yourself to sleep to?

what DID make me tear up, corny as one may consider it, was the whole poppy speech at the end of the episode, and what made me properly cry was the gandalf and tom bombadil (my darling) singing. cathartic as hell. i'm a sucker for corny cheesy stuff. but also like it is LITERALLY halflings, gandalf, and tom-mfing-bombadil, the most whimsical beings in middle-earth. they have the right to be cheesy, and we all have the right to enjoy it. tolkien songs always make me cry, though. always. i’ve got personal lore with them. and on the note of the ending, i kinda wish it had just ended with the singing scene, because while i understand the end serves its heroic elvish cliffhanger purpose, there was a certain LOTR-ness to the song that was honestly more hopeful than the actual ending scene. i love sappy endings. that much is obvious.

to be quite honest, neither the arondir and isildur subplot nor the numenor subplot were very good or entertaining to me. i dunno, i found myself bored. but, maybe upon the father-son reunion of elendil and isildur some stuff will happen? like obviously stuff will happen because of the plot but it was just frustrating watching all of the numenor drama and the weird romances in the arondir and isildur realm - not to be a hater but i was SO disinterested. also so very infuriating watching numenor fall into the hands of pharazon. i’m sure that frustration was the goal but at the same time it’s just ANNOYING also given the fact that we know elendil dies and isildur messes up, it’s just annoying watching them being all noble and whatnot only to know that elendil just dies and isildur for all his nobility in the show, succumbs to this desire (and i understand, i do, but it’s just dreadful and sad).

either way, berek is my favorite TROP horse and i love his roman nose. and speaking of horses, moment of silence for elrond's horse. he was SO justified for raging upon the horse’s death. he is a horse girl, and that is something i can relate to deeply.

aaaand i still have more to say. rest is for the weak. one thing that kinda annoyed me was the whole durin thing. i LOVED the corruption with the ring, i loved watching the fallout of that. but i think the thing this show struggles with is keeping the sort of… for lack of better explanation, corniness, at bay. there is a time and place for everything. gandalf and tom have the license for it in my mind, as a bit of silliness is part of their charm. but the whole, “i never let you win the arm wrestles” thing before the balrog swallowed up durin the second (i think he’s the second??) was just SO contrived. but i also am a bit of a hater sometimes, so maybe that’s just me. also let’s be so for real idk how mountains work but i feel like with the amount of thrashing about that balrog did, there’d be some more damage to khazad-dûm as a whole. but again, idk how mountains work in that much detail, and i am MORE than willing to partake in some suspension of disbelief to keep the plot chugging along. that being said, i adore prince durin and disa (MY QUEEEEEN AHHH), and i also adore durin and elrond. i adore elrond generally but also like durin and elrond are so sweet and lovely i adore their bromance. it was frustrating to watch them show up at the tail end of battle and do kind of nothing but also i get it :(

and now i get to talk about sauron. god, i’ve always hated him and luckily never even found the appeal of halbrand, but now? i’ve unlocked new levels of hatred never seen before. listen, listen, i knowww people like their sexy villain, but sexy is as sexy does, and sauron does not do sexy things. i know it’s a deliberate choice to make sauron an ‘attractive’ character, and that is conveyed really well in the show! but as an audience like GUYS HE IS NOT FIXABLE. YOU CANNOT FIX HIM. HE IS PURE EVIL. please, let’s not try to give him an inkling of redemption. he doesn’t deserve it. i didn’t really jive with the whole galadriel/sauron thing that was going on, but i think the show did a good job of portraying it in a way that wasn’t actually hot and rather disturbing! like they did SUCH a good job of exposing what a conniving, manipulative (pardon my french) bastard sauron is - like the dialogue was something straight out of those PSAs i had to watch in my health class talking about abusive relationships. it was perfectly infuriating, watching sauron gaslight these brilliant minds and genuinely good-intentioned people into mere tools for his will.

and speaking of those mere tools, CELEBRIMBOR AND SAURON. they may in fact take over my entire being. silvergifting genuinely sickens me (in a good way) to my very core because here we have two characters who matched each other’s freak PERFECTLY while still being so damn awful for each other. like i’ve said in previous posts, the genuine anguish i felt watching celebrimbor’s light and genius and genuine enthusiasm for both halbrand and his work turn into something like obsession, turning him into a mere lapdog for this “lord of gifts,” and ultimately watching his suffering to escape this mental (and physical) bonds placed upon him only for his life’s work. in a sense, to be completely obliterated along with him was something that actually shook me to my core. obviously he lives on through legend and memory, but the contrast between the elf he was and the elf he became by the end of it all was just so so so so so sad. again, celebrimbor being my newfound favorite in a sense only further fuels my hatred for sauron. he tarnished a mind so bright as the stars and a heart so pure as them too, using celebrimbor’s want for a magnum opus against himself, convincing him that the blame was his — to me, this was a genuinely enragingly good portrayal of the abuse sauron subjects his victims to, treading the line of seduction and cruelty. and yet, one thing that celebrimbor said in his dying breaths really stood out to me. “shadow of morogth.” now i do not know a lot about the lore yet, but to me it is just so very powerful that sauron is considered but a shadow of a much more powerful evil. i don’t think the tears he shed after killing celebrimbor were out of guilt, per se, but rather because he knows that in the eyes of those who he wants to instill fear into, he will always be second place. he will never be the most feared, for even his name cannot be spoken without mention of his master. a much deserved curse, if you ask me. also, little silvergifting-minded of me, but I’d like to think that if sauron really was crying tears of guilt, it was because he lost the mind that understood the same thirst for perfection that he wanted. celebrimbor and sauron, both masters of their craft and striving for perfection, for a legacy. if i had watched arcane I’d say they’re slightly jayvik coded (at least with sauron as halbrand) but more toxic, but I haven’t seen arcane so i don’t know if that is a correct comparison at all.

holy mother of god, get me a PHD in yapology with the amount of stuff i’ve managed to say. anyways, overall, i really liked this show. despite its certain flaws and lackluster plots, i found it super enjoyable. feel free to leave your takes in the comments or whatever, i have so much to say

[tojisparasite]

TW- feet, God, power imbalance, kidnapping, dub-con, master/slave dynamic

A/N- Hiii (´∀｀) !! just wanted to quickly tag @naoyasgf for the foot idea AND giving me her thoughts on this imagine. i hope whoever reads this enjoys it as well <3 Thank you! there is one typo here that i missed and can’t seem to find so sorry abt that! ^^

𓆩My god, my tourniquet𓆪

a world where your f/o is a god(dess) amongst men and has been for well over a thousand years…

the people adore them, their preachers are considered enlightened and stand within their good graces! but your f/o seems almost bored of all the devotion and never-ending attention. some prayers are being answered depending on how merciful they want to be that day or they even cause disaster to happen within your mortal world. they did what they wanted and they indulged in that every second of each day.

all this peace and destruction they bring into the world and they still feel a sort of emptiness, someone as highly thought about and well-loved should never feel empty or dissatisfied! it irks them greatly because no matter how many souls they reap out of their own pure selfishness or how many miracles they cause nothing feels fulfilling.

they decide to go into the human world to go searching for what this could be the cause of, perhaps there were people fighting against their word?

as they walk the streets everything seems to be in order, there are more worshippers than non-believers… thankfully.

then you bump into them, you must have been running late or running from someone or something! either way, you didn’t even notice the figure in front of you—how careless of you to not feel the essence of your own god(dess) up close.

when they took a look at the person who so rudely ran into them they felt something they have never felt since their creation… they don’t know what it is yet it disgusts them, or so they think.

“I’m sorry!” you shout as you returned to dashing down the crowded streets in the middle of the day. where you were going, they didn’t know; not yet at least.

they spent the most of their day in the mortal world deep in thought, what was it about you of all humans that made them feel so… odd?

eventually they go back to their kingdom that was light years away from your world, their personal servants ready to serve as always. your f/o dismisses them, they didn’t want lowly servants to serve them any more…

they wanted you to serve them.

it could only make sense! they were so empty because they were in need of a new servant, and you were so cute, absolutely clueless of the situation you got yourself into. it made them desire your presence and your servitude even more.

your f/o wasted no time to appear into your home—finding you was not at all difficult, they simply had to think of your clueless little face and now know everything about you.

“you poor thing, not at all meant for the human world.” they lowered themself to coo into your ear, you were in such a deep sleep. you must’ve been comfortable knowing your god(dess) was coming to rescue you from the mortal world, you were so willing already and that made something in them feel alive—this was as close as they could get to feeling what a mortal felt when they saw the thing or person they adored.

without hesitation they cradled you, keeping you in a protective embrace. before you could open your eyes, there you were. in the holy kingdom, the world you only heard about in scriptures and sermons.

“did i… did i die?” your voice was so soft it was hardly audible had you not been in the arms of your f/o.

your f/o chuckled and shook their head, reassuring you that you are not quite dead—but you won’t be returning ‘home’ anymore. home was with them! aren’t you grateful?

you seemed to have adjusted as well as you possibly could, learning you duties as a servant. but when your f/o was bored they’ll pull you onto their lap, saying it was an order that you had to stay put right their with them.

your new life didn’t seem too bad, you were the beloved companion/servant for your f/o. no one bothered you and you didn’t bother them, you remained at the side of your god(dess).

eventually, all your thoughts turned to pleasing them and only them. some days you fulfilled their wishes, no matter how strange it was—be it kissing almost every crevice of their body, bathing them, feeding them. occasionally they would force you to be doted on by them, they would claim you’re terrible at taking care of yourself.

months pass (at least you’d assume so), and your f/o has a peculiar request for today.

“get on your knees and kiss my feet.”

“what?”

your f/o had a small sneer forming already, irritated by your question. you never dared question them till now. why now? why not when you had to bathe the body of a thousand year old being? you genuinely drew the line at kissing their feet?

“did i stutter? grovel beneath me and kiss my feet.” they spoke firmly while gripping the back of your hair, pushing you downwards till you were on your knees at last. they sat back down in their seat to watch as you stared up at them with glossy eyes and flushed cheeks—you were humiliated and they loved it.

“you look pathetic here stop looking at me.” they rolled their eyes and tapped their shoe against your lips, “go on.”

your hands trembled as you took hold of their ankle, pressing a small kiss to the material.

“you can do better than that,” they scoffed and rolled their eyes, “you don’t kiss the rest of my body like that. are you basically saying you don’t love your god(dess)?” they questioned. they felt almost insulted by your reluctance but managed to keep their cool. see how benevolent they could be towards you?

“no! but—” your voice crackled whilst you tried to explain yourself.

“then properly kiss it.” they pressed the shoe against your lips harder this time, your teeth indenting on the insides of your mouth. they refused to hear any pathetic excuse you tried to muster up.

you swallowed a thick pool of saliva before obliging and kissing their shoe better.

you couldn’t even begin to think about why they wanted this. there was never no reasoning or explanation for their desires, if they want it they got it. no questions asked.

you pressed a more meaningful kiss to the tip of the shoe, then another, then one more for good measure; all while keeping their ankle in your grasp.

they loved how obedient you were, how eager you were to please them. they loved you so much in their own twisted little way.

you took it up a notch slightly and removed their shoe, then their sock. pecking the sole of their foot. warm, wet trails were being left behind from your soft and delicate lips.

“you love this don’t you? worshipping your god(dess). kissing my foot that graces the ground you and i share? this is the closest you’ll get to feeling like my equal, pet.” they let out a soft chuckle. they were amused by your seemingly innocent obedience. no matter how much time has passed to them you’ll always look like their clueless pet.

meanwhile, all you did was press more kisses all around their foot. humming in response as a way to signal that you agreed with them. how could you disagree with someone who could end you without a second thought.

seeing how well you responded to this command, they looked forward to pushing you for the sake of another disgusting desire.

- Cherub 🐾🍡

[tarithenurse]

I lose control

Fandom: Fireforce / Enn enn no shouboutai.

Pairing/starring: Shinmon Benimaru x fem!reader.

Word count: 1498.

Content: So much desperate smut. Honestly, there is no plot at all and barely any emotions except raw need.

A/N: As per usual please like, comment, reblog. Here’s my TAGLIST and my MASTERLIST for more.

I lose control

--- Benimaru’s PoV ---

There is noise everywhere he turns as Asakusa celebrates the destruction before the rebuilding of a house where a soul has been brought to rest: firecrackers, people laughing and cheering, his men regaling those who want to listen with the story to honour the dead. Off to the side, the carpenters are already planning together with the family who lost their house. The twins are tormenting Konro, high on sugar from candy.

And Benimaru?

Sitting in the middle of it all, he wishes he was elsewhere. It doesn’t matter where.

Gaze flitting from one happy face to another, he finally finds what he’s looking for and he know where he wants to go and with whom.

You feel the gaze on you like hot oil slicking your body. Turning just a bit, you get to meet the mismatched eyes of the captain of the Special Fire Force and you nod at him, thoughts immediately spiralling to things that never will be.

--- Reader’s PoV ---

You love Benimaru – everyone does but you suspect that you might be more smitten than most. It’s just too bad that he’s known to never having accepted any of the many advances from anyone. Turning away again, you sigh, tampering the need in your core. Why’d he have to be hot as well as kind?

A cheer erupts and you join halfheartedly before draining you glass. It feels like the party is over for you and so you get up.

--- Benimaru’s PoV ---

She’s gone by the time he’s made it over to her seat. He had been stopped several times along the way and other than being awkward it was for once frustrating as it kept him from his goal. But Benimaru knows Asakusa and all who live there.

This time, he ignores the people coming towards him, holding his hands up to signal “not now” as he hurries to get out of the crowd and down the quieter side street.

There. He sees the back of her turning down an alley and he doubles his pace to catch up.

Maybe she’s heard the sound of his footsteps despite the noise of the party reaching this far. Maybe it’s pure coincident. Either way, she’s waiting by a front door as he turns the corner and she turns to face him as he draws near.

His heart is hammering in his chest. A wild need is driving him, one he rarely feels but can’t bring under control now. Won’t.

There’s a flicker of surprise in her eyes when she opens that pretty mouth of hers: “Waka?”

He’s got her caged in an instant, his arms on either side of her body, palms against the door behind her.

“Tell me to leave and I will,” he growls, knowing it’s true although it would be hard for him to do.

She doesn’t say anything, just reaches a hand out to drag through his shaggy hair, nails scraping his scalp.

He’s done for. Lips crashing upon her soft mouth, swallowing a gasp greedily. His arms wrap around her body, pulling her closer and she’s so pliable. Breasts pressing against his chest and he swears he can feel her heart jackhammer away. A slender arm has wound its way around his neck, keys jangling between the fingers as the other hand slides down his back.

It’s all he can do to contain himself for now, breaking the kiss long enough to whisper hoarsely: “Inside. Now.”

Turning her forcefully, Benimaru presses himself against her back, hands roaming her chest and feeling perky nipples through the clothes. Tweaking one, he makes her miss the keyhole on the first attempt but she manages the second time and their shared weight pushes the door open so they almost fall in.

The captain is only partially aware enough to close the door behind them with a kick that shakes the walls. And he is almost furious at having to slow down and unlace the heavy boots but then she’s on her knees before him, doing it for him while looking up with big pleading eyes and her mouth is right there, slightly open before his bulge. Benimaru unabashedly groan when she nuzzles against his crotch and his fingers tangle in her hair.

“There,” she mumbles, hands drifting from now loose laces to his ass and thigh.

They manage to disentangle long enough to step out of their footwear and make it all of two meters further. Then he’s on her again, rough hands pulling up the skirt so he has access to the apex of her thighs.

“Fuck,” he groans, fingers feeling the more than damp silk.

--- Reader’s PoV ---

You’re clinging to him, breath coming hard and fast as you rock your hips to chase that friction from his fingers. Still with a barrier of fabric in between, you can feel how slick you are for him already.

He’s growling against your throat, teeth digging into you to leave a bruise, probably. Mark you? The idea is tantalizing.

You don’t get to consider the possibility further, though, as he suddenly hoists you into his arms, hands under your ass. Automatically, you legs wrap around his waist and you find yourself grinding against his erection.

“Need you,” he rasps, striding into your home.

You’re working desperately to loosen his clothes, getting to feel his skin, but your attempts are thwarted as he tosses you on your bed. He is much quicker at dealing with his clothes himself and you are tempted to admire what becomes visible but burning desire is forcing you to mirror his actions, ridding yourself of your own clothes until you both are kneeling in the bed before each other. Naked.

Benimaru takes a moment to look you up and down, a hand slowly pumping himself.

Your core aching to replace his hand and your thighs are rubbing together, bringing his attention to where you need it and he’s on you in a heartbeat, pushing you back into the mattress and parting your legs so he can see your folds shimmery with need. He swipes a finger through your folds only to bring the now wet tips to his mouth, licking the juices off with a hum.

Then he spreads your legs wider, fingers digging into the plush of your thighs to keep you in place as he licks a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit, flicking at the bud to make your breath hitch.

Your fingers dig into his soft hair, guiding him for a little bit until he has learned where you want him. Afterwards you keep your hands there simply to keep grounded because it feels so fucking good. Your toes are curling, your legs trying to clamp together around Benimaru but he’s keeping you spread for him. A knot in you stomach forms so quickly. You can’t breathe.

“I’m -”

“Mhm,” he hums against your puffy petals.

The vibration is what sends you, body seizing and a moan pushing up through your throat. And Benimaru just laps it all up greedily.

He doesn’t let you come down. Not really. Because the short moment it takes him to reposition himself over you, guiding the tip of his cock to your still quivering entrance is not enough and so when he pushes in, he extends the high.

Your hands are clawing for better purchase, having had to abandon his hair. Now you leave red marks down his back, little newmoons on his ass.

Pushing deeper, the curve of his cock fits you perfectly, hitting the right spot as he begins to rut into you.

There’s nothing sweet about it. Just pure fucking. He slams into you, growling into your neck where he’s nuzzled his face. He lies on you completely, pulling you down on his cock by your shoulders as if he’s trying to disappear into you with each thrust.

You have to fight to breathe, each bit of oxygen pushed out of you right away by him and by your own body that’s betraying you by still throbbing and burning as you keep cuming. Walls clamped tight around his cock, your clit pulsing unbearably.

“Fuck,” Benimaru growls before biting into your shoulder to stifle a deep groan as he rams into you once, twice, then stills.

You can barely feel it, how his cock throbs as it sends his seed deep into you – you are too sensitive to be sure what’s him and what’s you. Clinging onto him, you wait for reality to come back...hopefully bringing your vision with it.

He pulls out slowly, pushing himself up from you. He’s got you caged in still, but it doesn’t matter because you couldn’t move even if you wanted to.

Balancing on an arm, he grabs you jaw to turn your head to him. The kiss is searing, holding some promise that neither of you have the words for right now. But you understand.

This won’t be the last time.

[nausikaaa]

one of the things that most drives me to write my novel is honestly spite towards the amount of AUs i see where people are like "oh what if Odysseus adopted Astyanax instead of killing him, then everything would be okay!" because not only is it a blatant cop out to excuse Odysseus's worst moment (arguably- he also conspired to sacrifice a teenage girl and hide it from her mother, tortured a few guys, killed sleeping men, and framed a dude and got him stoned to death) but it also feels so incredibly disrespectful to Astyanax and his relatives.

first of all, where is Andromache in this situation?? does she know her son is alive, or has she been left believing he's dead? even if she does know he's alive, which is the slightly nicer option, i'm pretty sure she would still rather her son and last remnant of her dead husband be with her, his mother, not the man who was responsible for the destruction of her home and mass murder, rape and enslavement of her people. that cannot seem like a secure position in her eyes. that's a hostage situation. and maternal deprivation can seriously fuck up both mothers and children!

also, Odysseus took Hecabe in the war, and by many accounts he almost immediatly lost his temper and killed her because she wound him up by grieving too excessively. you know, because almost all of her family were killed? you really think he would be able to keep a cool head around a screaming baby who has been taken from his mother?

finally, Odysseus ends up running from one dangerous situation to another for three years. in that first year all his ships apart from his own get smashed up and the people on them cannibalised, and since he never mentions any women after that point, we have to assume the women he and his men took as slaves were on those ships. sucks to be them. (what's that? we have no proof he took any Trojan women (except Hecabe) as slaves? fair enough, that's true, though it's unlikely he didn't. but he does admit with his full chest to taking the Cicones women as slaves so. you know. (god imagine getting cannibalised and knowing that if Odysseus had just stayed in his lane you could be safe and happy instead. the Odyssey from the Cicones' perspective is actually horrifying. their families murdered and them kidnapped just to be killed and eaten and it glossed over in one paragraph... i'm getting distracted.)) so with no women present, what the hell is baby Astyanax eating? no wetnurse in sight. honestly if you're gonna woobify Odysseus this much at least make him breastfeed.

everyone he knows dies, and then he's trapped on an island for seven more years. that evidently messes his head up a bit, but just imagine how it would effect a kid. those crucial early years spent being flooded with stress hormones, then the developmental years spent in almost total isolation. OH AND THEN he gets home and Odysseus murders 100-something men (deserved) and 12 women (debatable) and mutilates a man ("hey kid, come look, I did this to your uncle Deiphobus too!")

Astyanax in this situation is going to be MESSED UP. we actually have a case study for this- the Roman emperor Tiberius, who also spent his early years on the run, in near constant danger (with his mother, at least)- he grew into a sullen teenager, then a bitter man, then turned extremely antisocial and abusive once he came to power, to the point of starving several family members he didn't like to death. this may be an extreme example, and him holding so much power certainly exacerbated things, but the issue was clearly rooted in childhood trauma.

and the thing is, i do think it can be done interestingly! i would love to see an AU where Odysseus takes Astyanax, but the reality of such an ubringing is shown. he can't regulate stress, he thinks everyone will leave him or die eventually, he's socially stunted, and over time he comes to understand that he will always be seen as an outsider and enemy in Greece. the internal conflict of realising that his supposed father facilitated the genocide of his people and stole him to spare his own conscience, and he has a family somewhere that believe him dead and he will never be able to truly connect with, because he fears he isn't Trojan enough either- he doesn't know the language, can't name the gods, hasn't worn the clothing or attended the festivals (i once saw one of these AU people refer to this as Astyanax's "biological history" and almost blacked out from rage. IT'S HIS FUCKING FAMILY AND CULTURE!!!) but nope, it's always just "everything is great, Astyanax loves his new family!!" it could be complex, but no. he NEVER seeks out his mother in these AUs, she can go to her grave thinking her son was murdered before his first birthday for all they care. it's child trafficking being presented as cute and fluffy.

so yeah. in my AU, Odysseus spares Astyanax the actual murder but still leaves him to essentially die, because it's about his own conscience, not the actual baby in his arms. and Astyanax does not forgive him. he is raised by Oenone (Paris's first wife, a mountain nymph) and Cassandra (who also miraculously survives (Odysseus adopting Cassandra AUs wind me up even more- THAT IS A GROWN WOMAN!! YOU TORTURED HER TWIN BROTHER YOU KILLED HER MOTHER OH MY GODDD it's so infantilising)) to actually know his history and heritage, so when he does eventually set out to find his mother, he knows who he is, and if he crosses paths with Odysseus it's on fucking sight, though luckily, Telegonus is already on it. OH YEAH! Telegonus! while Odysseus is raising somebody else's kid he's actually got a whole other one he doesn't even know about! now there's an ending for this AU, those two team up to kill him on behalf of their mistreated mothers.

and as a bonus, in my novel we get to see Odysseus be almost the worst person in the entire story (though he's pretty tied with Diomedes, Ajax and Agamemnon because all these men suck), because the war crimes are part of the appeal and i'm not afraid of complex characters. for all the vitriol i've written here, i actually really like Odysseus, i just want him to be portrayed accurately as a massive bastard.

[pricescancerstickk]

Vladimir Makarov x Reader

(C.w mentions of death, tell me if I missed any, au different than the game.)

W.c : 1.0k

It was a shocker how you’d been those receiving gifts. The writing in russian had given it away, You’d think he was trying to hide the fact it was him but really, he seemed like he was toying with you. You knew he wasn’t the type of guy to write or send letters, Makarov preferred luring in his victims, but to you he was making it obvious it was him

He haunted you for so many years.

The way the screen cuts to the next scene just made you wonder. If he was dead or alive. But the one with a gift box and a note attached to it?

That note in russian. It was too much to bear. Makarov was alive and out to find out where you were and get his revenge against 141. But for you, this was a warning to be on your guard too. For you.

Makarov couldve been anywhere in the world. You thought to yourself. But how would you know? That bastard knew you. You were hiding-. If makarov finds what he wants. There is no stopping what he would do. He was a cruel bastard. And he probably would not only want revenge. That was in his nature the man had only known destruction his entire life, with a bleeding heart and hadn’t shown any guilt for the killing of bystanders

It brings you to his partner in crime almost, Ivan

ivan. A trained mercenary in the group of elite killers that Vladimir had. If you were captured by someone like him. Then you would most likely be dead within the day if not the hour. Ivan, the ultranationalist. The second most important man to makarov’s group. But even he hadn’t a clue where your location was. You had been in hiding for quite some time after 141 disbanded. But makarov had the ability to get you in some sort of way. Whether by his men, or himself. Ivan... He was makarovs partner in crime to a certain point. You had seen him before. But one that wasn’t as dangerous as makarov. It was ivan who got you, but makarov who is sending the notes and the warnings. Ivan, ivan can’t track you. He is just a soldier. But makarov? He is a leader. He probably knows where you are already..

That bastard would probably be coming after you himself now. You needed to keep hiding. If not that, then run. He probably knows more about you than you think. Makarov could be hiding in a forest and then he could pop up right behind you in an instant. You thought to yourself. But you know. You would never run. Even if it meant you could be dead.. You would not run.

You only remembered Vladimir to be the same guy who was selling carpets back then,,

a carpet seller. A carpet seller was the man who was the cause of everything...a simple carpet seller. Makarov a simple carpet seller. It sounded a bit foolish but at the same time you had been living in the arab world for most of your life, so it made sense that such a thing could happen. But makarov? He was supposed to be a good man, an honest good man who did not mean any wrong. But he had been wrong from the start. So wrong. It was all a front. Atleast that was where you had first met him. His little carpet shop. A man in the east world selling carpets. Nothing wrong with that. Was he an honest man though? Now you question those very words. Was he really? It was all a facade. A facade behind all the atrocities that he must’ve been doing. All the people that have suffered under his cruel reign. All the people he had sold weapons too. The soldiers that he had killed. That he himself was hiding away and making himself out to be a saint.

When really he was the devil in disguise, you were hiding in the dark corner of the warehouse. He had seen you. And you hadn’t known what had happened. You felt his gaze upon you. So you kept to that corner. Waiting for the opportunity to get out and away. But you never got that opportunity. The base was now in flames and 141 was no more. It had been the end of days for them. But it had also been the end of days for you in a way, you were a hunted girl. With no friends or anyone to turn too.

You had no one to turn to. It was that night he had you in the corner of the wall That night he had you in the corner. So many other things had happened. But the image of him was burnt into your mind. The memory of him seeing you had been seared into your brain. His stare. The cruel look in his eyes. The look of a predator, like a lion stalking its prey. And the prey had found itself cornered. The prey was you. The hunted. Hunted yet again. You had nothing against the Russian. Albeit, yes he was the enemy. He killed millions and was responsible for the lives of them, you didn’t have anything personal against him, but even if that was that, he still needed to get rid of.

Necessarily, he wasn’t planning on killing you, but then it really struck him when you were bold to try and infiltrate their base, but he had caught you that night.

Makarov was a vile man, the damage he caused was immense and it began with a carpet shop?

“убери от меня руки!” You begged , pleas falling on deaf ears as he made his way around to you. He was mocking you with how slow he was going, harsh nails digging into your wrists, slamming you down on the floor pinning you down, the harsh stare in his eyes burned through you, it was engraved into your mind. You wrists had turned red it ached like hell

“So my little whore knows Russian?”

Your knees began to tremble at the sound of his voice alone. That one sentence was enough to shake you to the core and cause any confidence you had left to be stripped away from you. You wanted to cry and shake in fear. But instead you froze. Your knees trembled. And you felt as though you had just walked into the belly of the beast, you despised him, you wished the nightmare would be over, he was responsible for the death of all your friends.

But he was still after you, you didn’t know why. You wouldn’t know. If it was put more into summary,

He thought of you more as a toy then a enemy.