#that ability to be so powerful and brutal

[obsidian-pages777]

What makes you Intimidating to your Enemies? Your godforsaken Opps.[Warrior Women theme]

Top Left to Right = Pile 1->Pile 2. Bottom Left to Right= Pile 3->Pile 4

Introduction

This Reading is exclusively for people who have that survivor vibe to them. If you have any Godforsaken Opps that truly should have no place in your life given all the good that you have been doing. This is for you. Got Inspired to make this Since reading some articles on the Feminine Archetype of The Warrior Woman.

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1st Pile : Strength

You exude inner power and confidence, which intimidates others. Your ability to remain calm and composed, even under pressure, demonstrates control and resilience. Enemies may find it challenging to undermine you because of your unshakeable resolve and self-assurance.

Intuitively I feel that you always have a game plan against your enemies. You have immense inner strength that allows you to endure more than any simple challenge. The fact that you can think on your feet and find ways to face your challenges in a way that it matches your intricate plans is how you are a reckoning force. If this is not the energy you are in right now, you will get there soon. You fall into the man with the plan category. You are using your logic for this game. You are succeeding way more than they would like you too, They themselves do not trust that they win this war against you. Your Opps are sure to fail since you are Following the correct guidance.

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2nd Pile : The Emperor (Upright)

You are seen as a figure of authority and structure. Your enemies may fear your ability to organize, strategize, and command respect. You project stability and a no-nonsense attitude, making it hard for others to outmaneuver or challenge your dominance.

Intuitively i actually feel like you not only have the plan but you are in the middle stages of dealing with your opps. You might get there soon if not. I feel like you have found for yourself given you intrinsic confidence represented by the Emperor you are or you already have manifested powerful allies. If not allies, they are people who will work in your favor in order to defeat your Opps. Cool game. Keep it up.

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3rd Pile : The Tower (Upright)

Your unpredictability and willingness to disrupt the status quo can be intimidating. You have the power to dismantle false structures or illusions, leaving your enemies exposed. This capacity for sudden and transformative action makes others wary of crossing you.

You are as i intuitively feel happens to be one of the stronger forces to be reckoned with. You head in to challenges almost impulsively. This is you acting based on your most primitive intrinsic gut feelings. This makes you an unpredictable sort of a threat. This makes your enemies shiver in their little spines since i sense that your opps do not have much backbone.

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4th Pile: Queen of Swords (Upright)

You possess sharp intellect and clear judgment. Your ability to see through deception and articulate your thoughts with precision can be unnerving. Enemies may fear your wit, as you have a talent for cutting through lies and addressing issues with brutal honesty.

I can intuitively sense that you are completely grounded and have a clear plan and in fact you have multiple plans if plan A does not work out then Plan B if not Plan C and so on. You are using your intuitive senses and logic and visionary abilities the right way. If you get any of your Opps communicating with you it is a sign that you served them some of their own medicine in a way that suited them and they are throwing a fit already. You ate and left no Crumbs. They might have to get a Harvard Graduated Mastermind to come defeat you. But what if they start liking you too huh? Now that's a crazy story line for your life story. I love this for you guys.

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[asiantransformations]

From KorKor to GongGong.

JunHao couldn’t believe how far he’d fallen. Once, he had everything—a loving girlfriend, a thriving business, and a body that turned heads everywhere he went. Now, all of that was gone. The debt he owed the Chinese mafia hadn’t just taken his money or his livelihood. They had taken him.

It all started years ago when his business began to crumble. Desperate to stay afloat, he’d taken a loan from the wrong people. Rumors of the Chinese mafia’s brutal, unorthodox debt collection methods had been whispered around town, but JunHao never imagined he’d become one of their victims.

At 35, JunHao had been the epitome of masculinity. Years of waking up at dawn to lift weights in his makeshift gym-esque courtyard had sculpted his body into a oriental masterpiece. His biceps, thick and powerful, could split the sleeves of any shirt. His abs, chiseled and defined, were a testament to his discipline. And his manhood—well, his girlfriend used to blush just thinking about it. JunHao was proud of his natural endowment, which had always made him feel invincible, as if he were destined for greatness.

But that was before. Now, at 70 years old and trapped in a frail, withered body, he was a shadow of his former self.

Determined to confront the man who had taken everything from him, JunHao arrived at Mr. Chen’s opulent mansion. The doors were opened by two towering young men, their muscles bulging against their tailored suits. Their chiseled jaws and cocky smiles hinted at their borrowed origins. JunHao knew these weren’t their real bodies—probably stolen from aspiring athletes or struggling gym rats who couldn’t pay their dues.

The guards dragged JunHao through the mansion’s marble hallways, past walls adorned with priceless artwork. The air was thick with the scent of testosterone and power. Finally, they arrived at the courtyard.

And there he was—JunHao's old body, lounging in a hot tub like a god.

Mr. Chen, now inhabiting JunHao's former body, looked like a vision of strength and virility. His light, sculpted chest glistened with water, the ridges of his abs catching the sunlight. He grabbed his growing cock and let out a sexy, alpha groan. A black necklace with the Chinese Mafia's logo now rested against his broad chest. He oozed confidence, his powerful legs stretched out lazily as if he owned the world.

When he saw JunHao, his lips curled into a smug smile. “JunHao!” he boomed, his voice deep and commanding—JunHao's voice. “Come to admire your handiwork?”

JunHao's heart twisted in his chest. Hearing his voice come from someone else, especially someone who was desecrating everything he’d worked for, was unbearable.

Mr. Chen stood, water cascading down his muscular frame. He flexed his biceps, their size seemingly even more pronounced than when JunHao had owned them. “This body,” Mr. Chen said, running his hands over his chest and abs, “is a masterpiece. A gift from you to me.”

He laughed, grabbing his stiffening crotch with an audacious smirk. “And this? This is a real treasure. Your little secret, huh? What they say about Chinese people, isn't true apparently. Don’t worry, I’m putting it to good use now. Let’s just say it’s… thriving in the right hands.”

JunHao's face burned with shame. He’d always been proud of his virility, his ability to satisfy his girlfriend and leave her breathless. Now, Mr. Chen was flaunting it like a trophy, using it in ways that made JunHao's stomach churn.

Mr. Chen stepped out of the hot tub, water dripping down his thick thighs. “You know, JunHao, I’ve never felt more alive. This body—it’s a machine. The stamina, the strength… And let’s not even get started on the bedroom. Let’s just say the boys can’t get enough.”

He flexed again, this time making a show of clenching his pecs. “I don’t know how you kept this gem hidden for so long. If I’d known what you were packing, I’d have taken it sooner.”

JunHao couldn’t take it anymore. He dropped to his knees, his frail body trembling. “Please,” he begged. “I want my body back. I’ll do anything.”

Mr. Chen chuckled, the sound rich and mocking. “Anything, you say?” He gestured for one of his guards to get him another bottle of beer. Taking a long sip, he let some spill down his chest, then wiped it off with a slow, deliberate motion. “You couldn’t handle this body anymore, old man. Look at you—pathetic.”

He stepped closer, towering over JunHao. “But I’ll tell you what,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “I’m feeling generous. I’ll give you a new body—not this one, of course. This beauty is staying right where it is. But I can get you something… better than the sack of bones you’re in now. A younger body. Maybe even a little attractive.”

JunHao's heart leapt. “You’d do that?”

“Sure,” Mr. Chen said with a grin taking of his sunglasses seductively. “On one condition.”

JunHao's hope faltered. “What condition?”

“You’ll become my personal servant,” Mr. Chen said, leaning in close. “Every day, you’ll oil this body, shave this chest, and make sure it looks its best. You will also be my own personal cum dump. You should know how virile I am now and my precious liquids aren't to be just spilled on the ground. You’ll clean my mansion, pour my drinks, and watch as I live the life you gave up. And maybe—maybe—I’ll consider giving you a slightly better body in return. A body that will please my sexual needs more.”

JunHao's stomach kept being churned. The thought of serving Mr. Chen, of watching him flaunt what was once his, let alone serving and pleasuring a body that was once his, was unbearable. Yet what choice did he have? To live the rest of his days as an old, broken man was equally unthinkable.

“So,” Mr. Chen said, flexing his biceps one more time for emphasis. “What’s it gonna be, JunHao? Serve me, or rot in that pathetic shell of yours?”

JunHao looked up at his former body, now radiating power and confidence, and felt his world closing in.

"Okay."

[renaissanceofthearts]

[Kakashi Hatake]

(STAR GAZER)

As the leader of Team 7, Kakashi is a source of wisdom and training for Naruto and his friends. However, he is far from your stereotypical sensei and comes complete with his own distinct personality, touching back story, and an awesome arsenal of impressive jutsu.

As Naruto, Sasuke and Sakura grow in strength, Kakashi’s role as a teacher becomes less prominent and his ability as a warrior comes to the forefront, as showcased in the battles against Pain, Obito, and Kaguya, with the Sharingan user fighting alongside his former students on an even level.

Aside from his (literally) electrifying battle scenes, Kakashi is known for his many quirks, such as his penchant for adult fiction and his unfaltering ability to turn up late for any and all appointments. Despite his comical tendencies, Kakashi has arguably one of the best character arcs in the entire series, starting out as an arrogant and brutal young ninja and transforming into a kind-hearted and selfless leader.

There is some debate within the Naruto fandom as to how exactly Kakashi developed the Mangekyou version of his Sharingan eye. The character first uses the technique on-screen during his battle with Akatsuki member Deidara in Naruto Shippuden, but it is later confirmed that Kakashi actually attained the power as a child at the exact same time Obito gained it, shortly after Rin had died.

There is no definitive answer on why Kakashi waited so long to unleash his upgraded eye. Some believe that he didn’t actually realize he possessed such a power until seeing Itachi use it during their own fight. Others posit that the younger Kakashi didn’t have enough chakra to pull off such grandiose techniques.

[POST 877]

[wildsaltair]

for everyone’s consideration and my destruction

[katabay]

Do you have specific fiction authors that you like to read? What aspects of a story make you want to really dig your fingers in it? Is it horror?

I’ve got a couple! Keigo Higashino for sure. anything Naoki Urasawa does: I will be reading it. Priest (Guardian and Mo Du are all time favorites). also KJ Charles and Andrew A Smith!

ngl I don’t really have a concrete list of favorite fiction writers, I spent several days thinking about this one: like, I have favorite books for sure, but I don’t often find myself considering an author to be a favorite just because their book blew my mind. I’ve only read three of Andrew A Smith’s works, but he’s here because he gave an interview years that changed my entire approach to storytelling, and I still revisit it whenever I start editing a story.

honestly the big thing is that I like character!! I like compelling characters (extremely varied definition of compelling, it doesn’t have to be much, but it does have to have something) I like it when something goes full throttle into whatever it wants to be. I’ll watch a slow paced slice of life romance with the same amount of enthusiasm that I had for Devil Judge, and the 1vs10 beat down in Ipman takes up just as much space in my brain as the ‘let’s not see each other from now on,’ breakup in the Heirs (but for extremely different reasons lmao)

however. if I have to pick something more thematically specific: I like seeing people in power get what they have coming to them, I like explorations and confrontations of political and social injustices. kingdom is one of my favorite shows, and the horror is great, but it was the political-class-power aspect of it that solidified it as a memorable watch to me. kamen rider build did something fundamental to the circuitry of my brain. etc.

[bosspigeon]

man i wish i could draw comics i had such a good idea for a rly good character backstory one for Moss

[autistic-beshelar]

this sure is a great commentary on how easy it is to do horrific things to people if you dehumanise them enough

[bop-shop]

tiktok: quokkalover56

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

An AU where Tintin is a crime lord, inspired by @jerseyhobby 's post here!

Detective Rastapopoulus is one of the most brilliant minds in his department. His talent has been long overlooked due to his status as an immigrant, but when a new teenage menace starts to stir up the streets, Rastapopoulus's knack for digging into the murky depths of the criminal underworld is called upon.

His target is only known by his alias, Tintin. At just seventeen he already has a few bank heists, smuggling operations and a chain of illegal clubs under his belt. He operates like a phantom, making himself hardly known. Those who have had business with him never recall him raising his voice, as he simply does not need to. Manners go a long way, and manners are an effective mask for the brutality required to maintain such an operation.

Few are confirmed to know him personally. He has his beloved dog, Snowy, who has a taste for expensive jewelry, and his right hand man, a pickpocket-turned jewel thief he met in Shanghai. Together they are unstoppable, nothing is outside their reach - and when the Karaboudjan, a large shipping vessel goes missing, along with its crew and captain, Rastapopoulus just knows they are involved. If only he can keep his temper and ego in check, he might just be able to finally put an end to Tintin's reign of chaos, and perhaps earn the recognition he so desperately craves.

I think an AU where Tintin uses his abilities for crime would be an interesting way to see how he's impacted people he's met, so for this take I have only inverted Tintin and Rastapopoulos - Haddock is still an honest man, but his vulnerability leaves him open to being manipulated. He becomes Tintin's equivalent to Allan Thompson, only this time motivated by fear for his life rather than money. Alcohol, threats and his rock-bottom self esteem keep him in line.

Calculus is scammed by Tintin for his inventions, leaving him feeling deeply betrayed as he is someone with strong morals. He vows revenge, his tunnel vision leading him down incredibly destructive paths. He was initially targeted by Tintin because he just seemed naive and easy to exploit, but Tintin severly underestimates him, despite Chang's warnings. Not only does Tintin have the law on his tail, but a mad scientist with nothing left to lose, who has access to devastating explosives.

Chang simply wants somewhere he belongs. Canonically he's stolen from cops before, so there's no doubt that if Tintin dragged him into crime he would follow along - but he may start to doubt if their bond is built more on what he can do for him rather than his value as a person.

Rastapopoulos this time gets to use his cunning to catch a slippery crime lord, but he still has the same shortcomings as his canon counterpart. He sorely craves attention and praise. He has a terrible short temper. He craves power and influence. He starts to use increasingly questionable methods for his investigation, as his higher ups breathe down his neck for being incapable of catching a couple of queer teenage hoodlums.

Tintin himself isn't motivated by money or power, he's looking for thrills and control over his life. Canonically he's rather emotionally shut off, and he's no different here. He doesn't let himself get too attached to anyone else. Unlike canon Rastapopoulos, I can imagine a crime lord Tintin pouring money and resources into communities in need, and opening up spaces for marginalised groups like bars for queer people. He still wants to do good deep down, but just doesn't quite believe he is a good person.

[ririblogsss]

Oh

(This idea has been done before butttt I still wanna explore it)

What if instead of the JL believing that phantom is a ghost they just believe he is a very much overpowered meta with stereotypical ghost powers.

like in this AU, Phantom would have successfully gotten in contact the JL and got the GIW shot down, the JL thinking that the GIW were making false claims about a different species so they could experiment on metahumans with unique abilities. The Fentons works are under extreme watch and everything they do / want to research is heavily reviewed. Phantom ended up joining the Young Justice league.

So because JL assumed that Dannys 'ghost form' was just to keep his ID from being reveled, as no one would look for his real ideantity and if they did they would look at people who have died. Batman thought it was a genius strategy.

But then one of his teammates (im thinking either RR of Superboy) mentions that in all this time phantom hasn't aged a single bit

(I'm thinking that his ghost look never aged since he died, basically forever 14 in that form)

And Dannys brutally honest like "Of course I don't age im dead" while rolling his eyes.

And everyone stops and takes a full look at him really analyzing him.

And his teammate just has the loading screen on their heads and they just say: oh I thought that you that-

And they can't even complete a sentence cause their baffled.

And Dannys shrugs like it isn't a big deal: Yeah I've said this before, lab accident I died but came back. Anyways I have paperwork to do royal duties u know.

And he just leaves everyone to have a mental crisis over someone they knew died at such a young age and that they came back only to protect people.

Meanwhile Batman's over in the corner inputting 100s of questions into google

'Is it legal to adopt the ghost of a child'

'Can someone call cps on a families ghost'

'how to take care of ghosts 101'

'what do ghosts like'

'ghost customs'

[sunsets-and-crows]

Claws

Thinking about how excited Syus will be when he meets you in his human life, one where he doesn't have claws.

If Sylus’ claws were anything like the talons of other animals, sharp, tough and made from keratin, they’d probably lack the sensitivity of human skin right? Claws are built for strength and precision, not for fine-tuned sensations. In his dragon form: he could touch, sure, but never really feel. Everything would be dulled, fleeting, like wearing gloves or pressing your fingers against glass to touch a hand on the other side. Softness, heat, the delicate texture of skin - it would all be a vague pressure, a constant reminder that he could never hold anything delicate without ruining it.

But now, in his human life, it was as if the gods had handed him salvation wrapped in smooth skin and scarred knuckles. His hands - alive, real - were suddenly made for touch. Where his claws had been brutal precision, his fingers were reverence incarnate. The man is experiencing true touch for the first time, he's suddenly hyperaware of everything. The softness of your cheek? Heavenly. The silkiness of your hair? A revelation. The curve of your body beneath his hands? Enough to make him lose his damn mind., turning him feral.

And let’s not forget - this man would be obsessed with the contrast. Where his claws once tore through flesh and scales, his human hands now worship your body. He’d be almost weeping at how tenderly he can hold you, feeling the pulse beneath your skin, the heat radiating from you. Every little shiver, every sigh, every slight twitch beneath his touch would make his breath catch.

Sylus wouldn’t just touch you - he’d memorise you. Because after a lifetime of dull sensation, feeling you would be a kind of salvation. A reminder that he’s human now. That you’re real. And that, for the first time, he’s capable of experiencing you the way he’s always longed to. Like I'm sure he misses being a dragon right? That's his true form. But now he can touch you so much more intimately.

Sylus couldn’t stop thinking about his hands on you - human hands, strong and scarred, yes, but without the claws that once kept him a world away. It was as if the universe were apologising, granting him this form and, with it, the ability to feel you. To touch without hesitation, without fear of breaking something so precious. And gods, you were precious.

When he first brushed the pad of his thumb across your cheek, he nearly lost himself, feeling the tell-tale sting of tears prickling his eyes. His breath stilled in his chest, his throat dry as he traced the curve of your face, his thumb brushing softly against your lower lip. He marveled at the way his hands could experience you, so different from the sensation in his past life. Your skin gave beneath his touch as though you’d been made of the finest silk, warm and pliant. His hands shook - this creature of power, reduced to something tender, vulnerable. The lump in his throat swelled as he traced the curve of your jaw, every nerve in his body alight with disbelief.

“You’re real,” he murmured, his voice frayed and raw. His crimson eyes wide with something vulnerable. For so long, he had dreamed of holding you without the fear of tearing you apart. And now here you were, soft and impossibly human, letting him touch you. He didn’t have to pull away, didn’t have to fear shredding you apart with an errant motion.

You stared at him, confusion flickering across your features as his thumb traced the curve of your cheek, lingering like he was committing you to memory. There was something in his eyes - softness, longing, love - that didn’t make sense. Not to you.

To Sylus, it was everything. Each motion of his fingers poured out a devotion you couldn’t recognise, couldn’t return. It wasn’t your fault; the memories that should have connected you to him - moments of fire and flight, lifetimes of love and loss - were lost, swallowed up by time or fate.

She doesn’t remember.

The realization tore at him every time you looked at him like this - like he was a stranger. A stranger with hands that shook as he touched you, as though afraid you might slip through his grasp. You were here, now, yet still out of reach. It didn’t stop him. Nothing would stop him.

He traced your face with reverence, his voice low, almost broken. “I’ll remind you,” he whispered, as if making a promise to himself. “Even if it takes a lifetime.”

The first time he braided your hair was seared into his memory with the same intensity as the sun scorching the horizon on the plains. He’d always admired your hair - how it shimmered like liquid in the light - but feeling it slip between his fingers was an entirely new kind of pleasure. It was silk spun into strands, each section gliding so smoothly that he paused often, distracted by the sensation. His large hands, which had once been tipped with razor-sharp talons, now worked with gentle precision, twisting and weaving each section of hair into something beautiful. It shimmered between them, the strands gliding so effortlessly that he forgot what he was doing half the time. His fingers lingered, threading and unthreading, so gentle you might’ve thought him afraid. He whispered things to himself as he worked - praises, almost prayers. Perfect.

But for all those soft touches, Sylus craved more. He had always been a creature of need, a being meant to hoard and devour desire and you were his most dangerous indulgence. And when he finally had you beneath him, bare and trembling, he felt that dangerous edge of hunger blur into a new kind of worship.

His hands explored you like they’d been made for it, each touch deliberate, almost reverent. His thick fingers dragged slowly over the slopes of your body, mapping every dip and curve, every inch of skin that drew a gasp from you. The sensation of your softness giving way to him was intoxicating - a pliant warmth he could lose himself in.

And when he pressed his fingers into you for the first time, he nearly groaned aloud at how you welcomed him. His breath hitched, a groan slipping unbidden from his lips as your body welcomed him. You were wet, silken, warm - a sensation so profound he swore his vision blurred. He flexed his thick fingers, feeling you pulse and cling to him as though you’d been made for this.

“Perfect,” he rasped, voice rough as gravel. He pressed his other palm flat against your hips, holding you still when you squirmed. His crimson gaze burned as he watched the way your body responded, the flush spreading down your chest, the gasps spilling from your lips. “I could do this forever,” he murmured, curling his fingers until he found that spot that had you arching beneath him. “Watch you come apart on my hands alone.”

Each moan and gasp he pulled from you ignited his own desire until he was no better than the humans he used to devour for the same crime. This was humanity, this was what feeling truly was.

His mind spun with the contrast - once, those hands had been weapons, tools for destruction. But now, they coaxed pleasure from you with an ease that made his heart race. It drove him mad, the privilege of it. How you let him hold you, mark you, ruin you - and yet, there you were, looking at him like he’d placed the stars in the sky. Sylus gripped you tighter, palms sliding possessively over your thighs, your hips, the curves that had been haunting him since that first, fateful touch.

In this life, Sylus didn’t need his claws to leave you ruined. He had you, undone and gasping, by the sheer force of his hands alone. He curled his fingers inside you, finding the spot that had you throwing your head back and bucking up to press his fingers deeper inside you. As he drank in the sound of your whimpers and the flush blooming across your chest, Sylus finally understood the truth:

You were his treasure - one he could touch, hold, and break apart as many times as he liked. And gods, he planned to.

➽──────────────────────────────────❥

One day, I might be able to write something about a different LI. Today is not that day. This started as pure horny thoughts about Sylus' hands and now I don't know how to behave.

[devilander]

a mirror in half-light

18+ 1.5k. homelander x supe f!reader. blood, dirty talking, cunnilingus, use of telepathic powers, acts of violence mentioned (not between reader and HL)

From someone so concerned with shielding his mind, Homelander quickly comes to appreciate your telephatic powers and how useful they can be. Especially during a boring Seven meeting.

prompt sent by @infinetlyforgotten, thank you so much 🤍

When you were first introduced to the Seven, many, including your new colleagues, compared you to Mindstorm. Sure, there were some similarities—the ability to see a person’s thoughts or to project specific images. But that’s where it ended. 

The ace up to your sleeve, which distinguishes you and earned your supe name as Quickstep, is both your telepathic precognition, giving you leverage in hand to hand combat, and your crown and glory—possession. Supe or non-supes, all could have their minds hijacked by you; an ability Vought decided not to publicize. 

Your fellow partners in fighting crime knew, though; and from day one you could feel Homelander watching you with suspicion, a stare so filled with distaste your knees almost buckled. 

Seeing you in a corridor, Homelander signaled for you to approach.

“Quickstep,” he sneered, invading your personal space until he towered over you and your neck ached from looking so high up. “If I catch you using your little powers on me, be sure I’ll crack your spine. It’ll be easier than stomping on an ant. Got it?” His sudden artificial smile did nothing to lessen the weight of his words. 

Homelander was your hero, always, since childhood. Not only that, ever since you saw him for the first time, the shining blue eyes, the softness of his blonde hair, that commanding voice... You were a goner. And he most certainly knew. The disappointment almost, almost broke your heart. 

Little by little, however, with the unspoken promise you wouldn’t pry on his mind, you’d grown close. Partners in fighting crime, yeah, of course, but you had his back, no matter what. 

In one of your missions together, Homelander smeared in an innocent’s blood from head to toe, your first instinct was to help him—clean the mess. And you couldn’t lie, him in his violence and brutality did something to you. 

“Hey, you,” you murmured. “Let me help you, okay? Let me take care of it. Let me protect you.”

Surprisingly, he acquiesced. It took no more than minutes to possess the mind of some poor bystanders, having them fight and commit atrocious acts; they wouldn’t know what came over them and Vought would be too happy not to disclose. In quick action, the narrative changed; from rabid supe, to terrorist crowd. 

Later, you found yourself in his penthouse, in his bathtub, naked and cleaning the gore as he squeezed your waist. When you sealed your relationship with a bloodied kiss, you knew there was no turning back—and you loved it. Loved his quirks, his humor, his beautiful nose and soft hair, loved his flaws and all that came with it. Loved the tie that bound you forever. 

“I love you. I love you so much,” you whispered in his ear as you lay in his bed, a few hours before your meeting with the rest of the Seven. “I ache for you all the time. It overflows, sometimes.” You giggled, remembering when your desire burned you so passionately, so intensely, your mind had one focal point: Homelander and what he could do to your body. Without realizing, all your wants and needs were suddenly projected on his mind.

In the first time, you were fearful he’d throw a fit, but he simply grinned devilish at you. 

“Wow,” he laughed. “If I’d known more about your dirty little mind I would have put it to use a long time ago, babe.” 

After that, it became a fixture, in bed, in daily moments where voicing your thoughts wasn’t an option, or in missions when silent communication was useful. And bit by bit, he delighted in it, veritable proof of your devotion and love.

As it were, in this stolen moment, cuddled in his bed, he answered. “And I love you, my darling, My own mirror.” He nuzzled your neck. “No need to scream in my mind, I’m gonna eat your pretty pussy until you beg me to stop.” 

“I’d never,” you said breathily. 

Slowly kissing from your collarbone, to your stomach and thighs, mischievously looking you in the eye as he bit and kissed and licked everywhere around your cunt. His strength was enough to keep you in the exact place he wanted. Such a delicious torture. 

Finally he turned his attention to your clit, dragging his tongue over it in elaborate patterns—he was relentless, and you both moaned at the contact. You were loud, thrashing and screaming at the slightest touch, but only for him. He played your body perfectly. 

Your hands found his hair, soft to the touch, and yanked, wanting him closer and he groaned—the vibrations going straight to your core. Soon he started tongue-fucking, just as you liked it, going deep and slow, alternating to trace your slit from your asshole to your clit; not one part of you ignored. 

“Fuck, you taste so good. You’re fucking made for me, your pussy is mine, mine, understand that?”

“It’s yours! It’s all yours. Please, Homelander, please—”

“Please what?”

“Let me come, let me come in your mouth, I want to feel you.” It was all too much, the mess his tongue made, the wetness running down your pussy and dripping in the mattress.

Moaning, he plunged two fingers deep inside you, as he squeezed your ass, bringing you even closer. You cried from the pleasure he woke in you, and even in this madness you caressed his hair, closing your legs until he was in the position you liked most: with a perfect view of his face, his soft locks, his bright eyes. 

He smirked, squeezing you tighter, until you no longer touched the bed, and he slapped your ass so hard your whole body trembled. 

“Like that, princess? Like when I do whatever the fuck I want with your sweet body? Now show me. Show me what you want.” 

You complied instantly. 

You imagined him feasting on your pussy, licking it all until his spit and your slick became one and the same. His fingers marking your ass, your thighs; biting so deeply even your invulnerable skin would cleave to his superior strength. You wanted his tongue deep inside you, for yours on end, fucking your pussy so good your legs would spasm and you would scream for all the Tower to hear, pussy clenching just the way he liked. You wanted it all—Homelander slurping on your clit and swirling his tongue, making you squirt and swallowing it all, leaving his chin a beautiful fucking mess. 

In the aftermath, body boneless and exhausted, you wanted his fingers, for him to drag it all over your juices and make you swallow and gag on it. Then, in a little tenderness, he'd give you a breathtaking kiss, further proof of your intimate lovemaking. 

As you projected all of this on his mind, his smile grew bigger, more wicked. And you knew he'd deliver it, or even more. 

“You really are such a slut.” You giggled; it was all in the game.

Later on, as all the Seven were debating their latest terrorist attack, and what plan they'd need to put in action, all you could think was Homelander. His hands on you, his tongue lapping at your clit and his disheveled hair—which, you noticed, he didn't fix for the meeting. It wasn't fair, he was too mean at taunting you.

You couldn't keep your eyes off of him and he knew. Flashes of your morning together ran through your mind. No matter how satisfied you'd been, you wanted more, again, all the time. You wanted his kisses and devastation, his head between your legs and his mouth both teasing and giving you the most world-shattering pleasure. 

You wanted to caress his hair, your newfound obsession, while he fucked you, hiting that sweet spot and filling you up with his come.

In your daydreams, you tuned out from the conversation, and like being burned you found Homelander staring straight at you, an expression oh so familiar. Unintentionally he'd become the spectator of your fantasies. 

Rising from his chair so quickly you barely caught it, Homelander said, “That's enough for today. I have other things to take care of. Quickstep, you stay.”

Whispers of complaint were quickly shut down, as Homelander glared at them until each and everyone left the room.

“Well, well, seems like someone is still wantin' for more.”

He laid his hands on your chair, then turned it so you were face to face. 

“I couldn't help it,” you smirked. “I can't get enough.”

“But that's not fair, don't you think?" He clucked his tongue. "It's your turn to please me.” He pulled you from the chair, and manhandled you until you fell to your knees with a thud. “Now, princess, get to work.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

Jason will forever be my comfort character, forever and always

Jason knew from an early age that love was conditional. This was especially more so if you lived in Gotham, and if that was the case then love was more or less something that’s purely transactional. The moment you lose the ability to give anything to someone else, you’re more then likely left to die in an alleyway or in a far away abandoned warehouse that was rigged to blow up.

Love was a weapon utilised in every possible way then what it was meant to be used for, and so Jason didn’t grow up with a very good experience with love or what others claimed as love.

Yet he read books where love was pure, love was powerful and empowering to the people who had the chance to experience it, love was scary and brutal as it was beautiful and something everyone desires to have in their life; whether or not it was real for everyone will chase after it blindly and carelessly as though their self worth was dependent on such an emotion.

He’s read books where love could break someone so badly that they can’t get up, where love can cause more cuts and wounds than knives and other weapons could ever inflict. He’s read books where love has left people wonder their self worth and if anyone else could love them as deeply and truly as the person who had just walked out of the door.

However Jason wondered that if people did love that deeply, wouldn’t you want to stay with that person even through the toughest times of their lives? Help them pull through instead of abandoning them when they were in the most need of their life? To Jason that didn’t sound like love at all as he couldn’t help but see himself in these characters that only saw the worst in themselves, truly believing that love wasn’t for them nor ever will in how their entire lives was the biggest example of such.

However all that changed with time the moment you entered his life and for good.

Jason was on the defensive as his eyes wouldn’t leave you as all you did was simple things for him unprovoked, unwarranted, as though you wanted to do these things for him. You would care for his books as though they were irreplaceable while rearranging them in alphabetical order, clean his weaponry and armour before he could early in the morning, and even would him breakfast in the morning when you noticed that he didn’t eat nearly as much as he should to properly function.

Jason didn’t know how to feel, nor how he could repay you back in response and even when he did, you would just brush him off and tell him that you could handle it, telling him that he shouldn’t worry about doing anything for you purely because you did things for him one day.

‘I just wanted to do these things for you.’ You tell him with a smile. ‘You’re a busy man and you don’t have nearly enough time to catch up to everything and I merely wanted to help clear your schedule somewhat while you’ve got your hand full.’ You add and Jason could only stare at you.

‘You wanted to?’ He said with a raised brow. ‘Sweetheart, there’s no such thing as people doing things for others out of the kindness of their heart, everyone wants something in the end as nobody is above their own desires.’ He then crossed his arms over his chest as a look of unconvincing overcame his face at your words.

You frown at this but didn’t hold such views against him, Gotham wasn’t a city where love was genuine and not corrupt nor unhealthy to some extent, if anything your heart ached for him as you could only imagine a young Jason having to learn this cruel lesson in the worst possible way; one that left a permeant scar upon his heart that would ache painfully as a reminder that in a city of Gotham love didn’t exist unless it was for transactional or conventional purposes for even more corrupt figureheads.

‘Love shouldn’t be used to hurt people, it should be used to help people and allow them to gain the strength to let others into their heart and trusting that person to not stab them in the back, love should be used between friends, family and lovers and no one else who could corrupt an innocent emotion such as love.’ You stepped closer to him as you watched his eyes and the flickering of emotions within them as his jaw clench and he would straighten his posture as though he was trying to scare you off with his height, it wasn’t working.

‘Love should help you realise that the love you’ve been receiving is not love at all, Jason you deserve love much like everyone else, for someone will look at you and see a beautiful man with scars that tell stories that they can only hope you’ll be ready to share with one day at your own comfortability.’ You finished as you rested your hand upon his bicep, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch, as your thumb caresses a faint scar of his. It wasn’t a touch tender as anything Jason had experienced before and it both frightened and intrigued him at how much he needed this.

Had he found the love that the books he’s read in the past promised? That child in him said yes with such an eagerness, but he was still uncertain but knew that he felt safer with you than he did anyone else, and that was certainly a start in his eyes.

[lilislegacy]

I really wish we could get a scene where Percy reaches his breaking point and uses all his abilities at once. I want to see a proper earthquake. I want to see what he can do with his control over storms. Like, I want to see him move mountains - literally move mountains - to take care of business. Maybe the world is about to end. Maybe Annabeth is in danger. Maybe Estelle is in danger. Maybe his own children are in danger. There are several things that could make him so angry and scared that his limits shatter.

Children of Poseidon, even demigods, are often referred to as monsters. Because like the sea, they are brutal and merciless. And Poseidon has implied that Percy has surpassed every hero he’s ever seen, even hercules, when it comes to his capabilities and determination. Leo and Hazel have said you can physically feel and see his power, even if he’s not doing anything. I want to see Percy really tap into the godly part of him. I want him to send his enemies running for their mommies. And I want to read it from someone else’s point of view. Someone who can describe what it really looks and feels like.

Becasue imagine the most frightening, intimidating man you’ve even seen - his wolffish glare, embodied by his sharp features, frightening enough to paralyze you in fear - flying straight towards you on an angry black pegasus. Hundreds of other angry pegasi fan out on either side of him, looking like something out of a mythical nightmare. Then a dark, gigantic wave spanning several miles, taller than mountains, rises behind him. It’s towering over the valleys and hills, casting a shadow over the land, and coming right towards you, ready to demolish and drown every semblance of your existence. Then all of a sudden the entire sky is dark and the air is cold, and the storm hits you with unforgiving force. The brutal winds and sharp cold rain is so strong that you can barely stand. The booming cracks of thunder make your ears ring, and the blinding bolts of lightning light up the sky like electricity is at war with itself. And now… now the entire earth is shaking. The ground is rumbling beneath you so violently that every part of your body is painfully trembling, your teeth chattering and eyes bouncing. The earth around you is splitting into wide chasms, boulders tumbling and tress falling. Oh also a fucking volcano just blew up. It’s suddenly hard to breath as rock and dirt rain down on you, and you’re about to be burned and buried by miles worth of molten ash. Pompeii part 2, brought to you by Perseus Jackson.

Only this is 10x worse, because every natural element is out for your complete and utter destruction.

Because Percy controls all of that. And if he hits his breaking point, there’s no telling what he could do if he set his mind to it.

[loeh]

BooHoo

Milf!reader continuation

Marrying Lant Agriche, the ruthless head of the notorious Agriche family, was never a life you envisioned for yourself. But fate had other plans, and now, here you were, trapped in a world you never chose. You had two children: Irvyn and Ilysia, twins. Despite your hopes that they would inherit only your traits, they both carried their father's dark hair and the haunting, ruby-red eyes that marked them as his children—a constant reminder of the bloodline you had been forced to join.

Growing up, painting had always been your sanctuary. It was your escape from a world that could never truly understand you. From a young age, you dedicated yourself to your craft, perfecting it until you knew you could paint even if you lost your sight—an ability you alone truly grasped.

But your family, the (L/n) lineage, was known for far more than just artistic talent. They were descendants of demons—beings capable of unimaginable destruction. For forty generations, your family had carried the legacy of these dark forces, but it was only you who had inherited the full brunt of the demon’s abilities. You could commune with the dead, summon creatures from other realms, and manipulate forces no mortal should control. The world soon took notice of your powers, and suitors came—hungry to claim the strength they believed would make them invincible.

But none of them stirred your heart. Your heart had already been taken by someone who did not belong to your world—someone outside the reach of bloodshed and darkness. And so, you vowed never to marry, to end the (L/n) bloodline with yourself. Your parents, understanding the dangers of your gifts, supported this decision, knowing all too well the havoc your power could bring. They feared for you, and for anyone who would come too close to your world.

Then came Lant Agriche. A vile man, the head of a family built on cruelty and manipulation. He had over four wives and countless children—each one a pawn in his ruthless quest for power. Lant made it clear that he intended to make you his wife, and no refusal was accepted. His power and arrogance were suffocating. But Lant did not understand rejection. When you refused him, he threatened violence, promising to destroy your parents, and the man who had captured your heart. In the end, you had no choice but to surrender. Your life as you knew it shattered, and with it, the nightmare of your bloodline’s legacy became a brutal reality.

You were forced into a marriage with a man whose cruelty knew no bounds, and soon, you were pregnant with his children.

Irvyn and Ilysia came into the world—your children, born from the very man you despised. For a long time, you wanted to hate them. They were the living proof of the bond you were forced into—a bond forged through deceit and violence. Yet, you couldn’t. You could never hate them, no matter the circumstances of their birth. They were your flesh and blood, and they were all you had left.

Luckily—or perhaps unluckily—your children did not inherit the full extent of your demonic powers. They did not possess the terrifying abilities you had, nor the dark legacy of your bloodline. In many ways, this was a blessing. But you knew the world would never see them as ordinary. They would always carry the weight of their father's name, and that was a burden you would have to protect them from at all costs.

So you made a vow. You would protect them. You would train them, make them stronger, teach them how to survive in a world that was not kind to those like them. They would grow up not as pawns in a dangerous game, but as individuals capable of taking control of their own fate. You would help them escape this hellhole. You would give them a chance to live their lives to the fullest, free from the darkness that threatened to consume them.

Now, at just seven years old, Irvyn and Ilysia were already deadly in their own ways. They were perceptive, clever, and more than capable of navigating the treacherous world you had been forced to endure. They were still children, but you saw the fire in their eyes—the same defiance you once held within yourself. You would protect that spark, no matter what it took, and one day, they would rise above the curse of the Agriche name. They would be stronger than you ever were. They would be free.

[dark-konohagakure2]

just aizen and baby trapping... can you see the vision... just him being a yan and breeding his squad member bc she keeps going agasint his word, aizen doesnt want her to ingure herself, after all aizen needs her for his plan..

tw: noncon, breeding, baby trapping, manipulation, power imbalance, abuse, size difference, humiliation, forced orgasm, sensory manipulation

All characters depicted are 18+

Aizen is a very calm man, frighteningly so, it would take the most dire of dire circumstances for him to so much as break a sweat, let alone lose his cold composure. Very few things irritate him, although insubordination is one thing he can't stand for, especially if it's continuously being done by the same person over and over again.

Normally Aizen would murder or mentally break anyone who'd dare to defy him, but he can't do that in this special case, this minion of his is required for his grand plan, and losing her would be a minor setback, a slight annoyance even. She's a tiny piece in his vast puzzle, but even the absence of the smallest of pieces will make the picture look incomplete. So instead of murdering or imprisoning her, Aizen has a different way to force her to remain by his side.

Aizen could easily just use his ability to instil feelings of adoration into her, but that would be too easy, not very fun for him. While usually a very serious man, Aizen does desire some recreation from time to time, and he isn't fully immune to desiring pleasures of the flesh, and if he can use those pleasures to ensure his plan stays on track, then Aizen will gladly indulge himself on her.

Aizen doesn't need to worry about getting her alone, he knows Las Noches inside and out, so if he needs to find her, he'll do so very quickly, whether she's preoccupied or not. Aizen's expression is unreadable, he's smiling like usual, but it doesn't reach his eyes, it never does reach those cold, calculating eyes of his. His touch is deceptively gentle yet firm as he holds her in place, his words as vague as usual.

"Why are you so insistent on defying me, hmm? Are you perhaps upset about not having enough responsibilities in my ranks? Well don't worry, I'll give you the most important responsibility of them all..."

His vagueness doesn't last very long when his intentions become very clear, as he pulls down her underwear, keeping her in place with his superior strength and size. Aizen is only doing this to remind her of his authority and to give her his 'responsibilities', but that doesn't mean he can't have a bit of fun with it, cruelly mocking her for being such a silly girl in thinking she can defy him without consequence, his mockery of her not stopping when when he's balls deep in her.

He isn't gentle, but he isn't rutting into her like an untamed beast in heat, he's not a simpleton who thinks with the head between his legs, instead he'll move at a pace that's somehow both too slow and too fast at the same time, the tip of his long cock brutally poking against her cervix with each thrust as he prepares to bestow her with his progeny.

Somebody walking in on them is a very real possibility, in fact she won't even know if someone is able to see them or is watching them, because Aizen will manipulate her perception to make it impossible for her to see anybody but him, so she has no clue if they're alone or surrounded by spectators. He's feeling especially cruel, so Aizen will tell her how good a show she's putting on for his Espada, even if they're completely alone.

There is one word that can be used to perfectly encapsulate Aizen's entire being: manipulation. Aizen can manipulate people with both his words and his Kyoka Suigetsu. In this case, Aizen will use his Kanzen Saimin to control not her mind, but her bodies reactions. He won't tell her that he's controlling her body of course, letting her believe that she's cumming uncontrollably on his cock all on her own.

"My my, cumming again are we? Your mouth might lie, but your body certainly doesn't... This is precisely why you're more suited for breeding than fighting."

Aizen will walk away from this lovely little encounter feeling very accomplished. Not only did he put a wayward puzzle piece back into it's proper place, but he ensured that it stays there permanenty. He doesn't really care about having a child, children aren't very interesting for him to interact with, but she certainly needs a baby in her fertile little womb, it'll do wonders to keep her compliant.