#v. ｢ verse • on the beat. ｣

[carnivoraformes]

@crimsontwins asked, "Those are bold words for someone in stabbing range." Sera to Childe

Tumblr Text Posts || Status: Accepting

Ooops. It was in that moment he knew hindsight maybe 20 /20 but he had missed the mark so badly he was walking on thin ice in the middle of a blizzard.

Putting his hands up in a sorry attempt at a placating gesture he tried to not let his nervousness show as he said, "Sera, I promise I only used Foul Legacy this time because I had no other choice. I promise I wasn't getting into a fight I couldn't win this time."

And this time he really didn't have the option, the men that had been assigned to him were woefully ill equipped for doing much besides staying out of his way despite being outmanned with people far better trained than I had been warned about.

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

transcribed some old lyrics i wrote cause i found the again after years and i like keeping a record, but damn the last four lines of it slapped so guess whos creating a whole fake country song from them<3 i missed poetry.

[bellsliturgy]

@sonxflight: [care] + “Let me guess, I should ‘see the other guy’?” ( for V )

jack's dry words bring a toothy grin to v's face, despite the swelling in his cheek, eyelids, and the pressure of the other man's fingers on his chin holding his head in place. in his own hand were a couple of his teeth, cradled in fingers to be replanted by viktor whenever they had the chance to go visit him. ice pressed against his other cheek, a snicker escapes him, trying not to move too much while jack tends to his wounds.

"hell yea you should," he says, words slurred by blood, "beat their asses good an' hard. an' i'd do it over again too if i could. they won't be fuckin' around in these parts for a while." he chortles again, but it's stopped as he flinches from the ice pressing against his nose, "agh--fuck that's cold... ow--"

[holyfated]

@lunarscaled liked for a starter!

❝ You're desperate to bring him back, aren't you? ❞ While she did not mean to come off as cruel, her smile says otherwise. It fascinated her, how they stand before her with all the things Gita had suggested they grab for her in order to begin the process of reviving the dead.

[llumimoon]

Btw just changed up the page navigation layout for The Talk comic !! I’ll make a master post of all the pages after the comic is finished bc LMAO all those links increasing every page killed me

[starsinshadows]

kaz brekker tag dump

⭐ 

[bloodcrave]

@v-jestica

       SHE STIRS THE LARGE POT, humming quietly before drawing in a deep breath, grabbing up another bit of spices, and dashing it in. face would scrunch, thoughtful, then seeming satisfied. a nearly deep red stew, a few UNUSUAL elements lending to the coloration. "don't get me wrong, raw is best, but sometimes when the person was, like... into a bunch of crap, it does better with some additional flavors."

[myrkulsapxstle]

receiver finds sender covered in blood

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃, 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃, 𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐅𝐅!

"Orin."

Indeed, since they'd recruited the Changeling out of the depths of Bhaal's Temple - watched her rampage as the Slayer against the likes of her father's chosen Assassins before turning her blade to their cause - the camp had been nothing short of chaotic.

And chaos was what was before him this day.

The former General sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Who dared to provoke the rage of the Slayer this time?"

[earnednight]

the  whistle  that  sluices  out  of  him  is  low  -  appreciative  in  all  the  ways  it  shouldn’t  be  as  wing  pushes  the  blunted  tip  of  an  escrima  stick  into  the  poor  soul’s  shoulder.  or,  into  what  he  assumes  was  a  shoulder  in  its  past  life.  pushing  until  its  form  topples  over  ;  hitting  the  ground  with  a  heavy  thud.  where  it  twitches  thrice  more  from  the  aftershocks  of  his  weapon  before  stilling  completely.    “solomon  grundy's  got  nothing  on  you,  huh?”    but  he’s  not  talking  to  -  whatever  the  thing  at  his  feet  is  supposed  to  be  -  oh  no,  it’s  solely  directed  at  mr.  tall,  dark  &  scary.  looming  in  his  sunday’s  best  at  the  threshold.  

standing  point  blank  between  himself  &  the  only  reasonable  exit  dick’s  clocked  in  this  hell-site  of  a  stronghold.    well    –  he  could  try  the  vents  but  that  thing  he’d  seen,  with  the  over  friendly  tongue,  had  scampered  in  there  &  honestly,  this  seemed  a  better  option  than  that.  

“you  know  -  ”  wing  starts,  pushing  away  from  the  gore-riddled  ground  ;  flipping  the  sleek  shaft  of  his  weapon  between  his  fingers  once  before  promptly  slotting  it  into  the  confines  of  its  holster.  “while  i  found  the  girl  in  the  red  dress’  company  pleasant.”  ada  wong,  if    the  files  they  had  appropriated  from  the  dso  &  bsaa  were  correct.  &  considering  they  hadn’t  been  wrong  yet  —    “she  wasn’t  exactly  the  welcome  party  i  was  hoping  for.” 

small start for @insurged's wesker.

[acoldsovereign]

{{ Also, before I confuse anyone because I can sense an anon coming on-

Maiz is not ashamed or embarrassed of what she did to gain Trunks' attention. She is mortified (hiding her face in her hands) because she is compelled to be Vulnerable™ and that is a big Ick for her, even at that stage of their relationship where she doesn't exactly qualify as a tyrant/dictator anymore. She is uncomfortable because she's never, EVER, ever told Trunks why she did any of those things nor has she been THAT candid about how she felt about him and how exactly those feelings turned into fondness into (a sick, twisted yet genuine form of) love. It is the equivalent of telling your crush you like them and they say they like you back but then they ask you WHY you like them and you're shitting your pants because you didn't expect to be put on the spot like that.

Unfortunately I am a cruel, sadistic God and I don't care, get uncomfy so you can grow, NERD

[leaderintitleonly]

He turns the page carefully. The book seems handwritten in some sort of runic letters. "T'was a time befer I was a caught- uh, a thought! Uh, when the story takes place. Befer our folk flame to these hands- I mean, tame to these clams-" He sighs. "Tryin' to translate while readin' ain't all it's cracked up to be." Doc clears his throat. "War. Us lower folk fightin' fer our lives 'gainst the Thane an' 'igher folk. Towns sent off their best, hopin' there might be a chance we'd be given the same pantses- erm, uh, chances like those livin' 'bove us in the mountain halls." He turns the page. "A lad livin' in the chilliest valley, where winter seemed endless was sayin' farewell to 'is beloved. 'E takes 'er to the lake, standin' on the pier, one lined wit' trees wit' harlot- uh, no no, scarlet! Red, I mean red, r-red blossoms!" He pales, adjusts his collar, and continues the story. "F-fer this short time, it's blue an' beautiful. It'll be frozen once the autumn grows longer... Lad takes 'er hands an' promises to fight so hard the Thane ain't got no choice but to recognize the lower clans fer once. Tha' it ain't gonna take more than weeks." Doc slowly turns the page. "But will ya wait fer me? He asks. An' course she answers she'll wait. Long as it takes, she says. She'll wait fer 'im. Right there, at the lake. The young lass tucks a blossom into 'is beard and the fella finds a pretty blossom to place 'ind 'er ear..." He glances over the book and raises his eyebrows.

"...But it ain't weeks. It's years... The lad is old an' beaten when 'e returns 'ome. Lower folk 'ave been ordered to collect their belongings. Was exile fer the lower clans. Fella's been gone fer forty years, only to return to see 'is entire town packin' up to walk off to the unknown... Forty years. Ain't much to folk like me, but fer a marriage minded dwarven lass, that's a long time. He's sure she's moved on. But the fella decides to go to the lake. It's winter. Snow's floatin' down an' the fella asks somebody nearby if he's seen 'er. 'Course I 'ave, 'e says. She's at the lake. Been there fer forty years. He's filled wit' hope! Goes towards the pier...! And there she is... Pretty as a picture. Frozen beneath the lake, jus' as the lad remembered 'er the day 'e left. Flower still 'ind the ear. She waited." Doc slams the book shut. "My people ain't really in the business o' havin' happy endings."

[carnivoraformes]

@bishonenprince asked, ❛  well clearly you enjoy it since you’re still here. ❜ - Aventurine

🌙 * ― 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃 || Status: Accepting

"Now, now. I never said I wasn't enjoying myself." Which while true, if he were completely honest, he wasn't.

He hated this, and hated knowing that he was sliding towards the losing end of this little game. It was a game of darts, hardly as intense of as a game of poker with more money on the table than the average person made in a decade. But that just served to hurt his pride even more.

It bothered him, so he couldn't simply let it go. Nor could he run away when it was a matter of pride on the line. No matter how negligible the loss should be.

"One more round? Hmmm?" He asked, reaching down to pull on of the darts from the board. "We can make it interesting, the winner buys a round of drinks for the other. Just warning you now, my taste in alcohol is rather expensive."

[gutsby]

Ruined!

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel is an old man who struggles to cum sometimes. You’ve got time to kill and a tight hole to fill.

Warnings: 18+. Peepaw brainrot + a dash of anorgasmia. Unprotected p-in-v, cockwarming, age gap, daddy kink.

Note: Finals are whooping my ass left & right. This is a quickie.

Word count: 1.2k | Part of the Waiting Game ‘verse

Surely he was hurting you now.

Joel Miller had a kink for many, many fun activities, but splitting a sweet young thing like you over his cock to the point you were almost in tears was just not one of them.

At the same time your poor, surely-bruised walls pulsed around his hardened length, he felt a pang of guilt. His balls were pressed against your ass like two lead weights, soaked with the remains of your third release, and his mind was at war with itself—keep fucking you like this? Pull out and offer his sincerest apologies for not being able to cum? A boy your age would’ve never had you waiting around like that, aching around his cock, much less begging for something as simple as a cumshot.

He decided to go straight to the source. Leaning over your prone body on the bed before him, he was careful not to rut his hips or jostle his dick around too much.

Joel pressed a hot, stubbled kiss to your cheek, then:

“‘S’it too much, baby? She need a break, maybe?”

Joel thumbed at that space where your body ended and his began and nearly lost his mind to the pearly-white slick that had accumulated with time. Two hours time, he had to remind himself while you moaned and writhed and bucked your ass back. Your cunt was choking him.

Crying, too.

Your eyes flew open the moment his words reached you.

“You kiddin’ me, Miller?! I could do this shit all day.”

Sometimes Joel forgot you were only in your twenties. Really, the thought only occasionally crossed his mind in moments like these—or when your father, his best friend, happened to bring you up—but when it did, it hit him hard. You were young. Lively. Surely far too spry and full of life to be messing around with a man as old as him.

Joel’s guilt ran almost commensurate with his pleasure when he felt you anchor your feet on the bed and start to fuck yourself back and forth over his still-throbbing dick.

Almost.

He planted a hand beside your head and grinned. He let you fuck him. Felt you pull off, crawl up the bed a little, then beckon him back to your body, where your ass was now pointing up and your back was arched in invitation.

Almost.

“You know I can’t sleep without your cum inside me.”

And you made a point to spread your knees and look behind you with a smile as sweet as Milo’s tea, fingers drumming a beat against the bedspread in anticipation.

“You do wanna fill me up, don’t you, daddy?” you teased.

Yeah, no. The guilt was gone. Joel could worry about being a depraved old man when he was done cumming.

Then he was back inside you, driving his hips until every last inch of him was wrapped snug within your wet and velvety embrace, and he sighed. A real protracted one, like the kind he was liable to exhale after climbing two flights of stairs, or else just hoisting himself off the sofa. Or lifting you in his arms and fucking you hard against the hood of his Bronco. Any time. Any place. You were kind enough to oblige him with the best cardio of his life, so the least Joel could do now was make you cum again.

He snatched your hands up in one of his own and placed your wrists at the base of your spine. With his other, free set of fingers he took to rubbing your clit gently.

“SON OF A—”

“—good girl.”

You let out a bloodcurdling scream into your pillow and secretly hoped this man’s dick would never deflate again. Not with the way he was sawing his thing back and forth and dragging you to the edge, circling your clit like you were the single most precious thing in the world to him.

“Oh, sweet pea, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Like he could feel the tears staining the cushion himself.

“Mmrooonme,” you cried into it, voice garbled by cotton.

“What’s’at, honey? Can’t hear ya.”

Joel then bent at the waist, pretending to be leaning in to hear you better, when really he knew he’d be digging in your guts with that big, bulbous head of his and making you squeal again. Hands still held captive behind you, you inched your chin back on the pillow so your moans could be heard even louder while Joel sped up.

“You— ruined me,” you repeated. Now clear as ever.

Joel tried to hide his smile and glanced down between your body and his. Then, while his ring finger joined the other two to make their tight, light circles, he returned,

“Ruined? Pussy feels just fine t’me.”

You’d kill him if he wasn’t so good at this. You turned your head more to meet his eyes from the corner of yours.

“No. Ruined me. For anyone else.”

Probably forever.

“Good.”

You knew he liked it that way.

You saw it in his eyes. Felt it in his touch. The hefty, broad, and greying Joel Miller had been loafing around on this earth long enough to know how to claim what was his. When his hips knocked yours to lay you flat on the bed, you already knew what was coming next.

First, his arms came to rest on either side of your body.

“Shit,” you whimpered.

Next, his lips went trailing down to your ear.

“Just a little more, sugar—that’s it,” he murmured while his hips sank in, and you felt that big, delicious stretch.

Then he released your hands so they were free to squeeze the sheets, and when they did, his moved over them—lacing his fingers through your own—and his lips pressed a kiss to your jaw. He held you in a tender grasp. His breath was hot on your neck, and the whole of his body was blanketing yours. Joel knew you liked it like that, which is why he made sure not to leave an inch of space in between. He was grunting, rutting, holding you close while his cock drilled a maddening pace inside you.

“You ruined me too, y’know,” he mumbled into your skin.

His nose was flush with the side of your cheek, nudging inward. Begging you to turn your head just a little more so he could kiss you. Weak as you were, you obliged.

And you moaned against that grey, stubbled chin of his when the thrusts above you had your cunt grinding the bed, rubbing that soft and helpless nub on the sheets.

“C’mon— let daddy have it,” he growled, “Let daddy have it and make it his, huh? That okay by you, baby?”

It was.

More than okay, as confirmed by the orgasm that tore through your body moments later while your teeth sank into the flesh of Joel’s lower lip and your cunt clenched and soaked over him whole. Joel wedged his tongue in your mouth and fucked you through it. His broad and callused hands were like iron around your own, holding you tight and keeping you still amidst a maelstrom of pleasure that combed over your every last nerve.

He licked into your mouth. Licked over it. Took the sick and distinct pleasure of knowing no one but him got to see you like this, with your jaw hanging slack and your eyes rolling back and your whines repeating quietly, ‘Daddydaddypleasedaddyfuckohfuckdontstop.’

Maybe ruined wasn’t such a bad thing to be at all.

[vanbredevoort]

Anonymous asked: -- the demon hand reaches for her chin and tilts it up. he gazes upon her with piercing eyes.' When you're born noxian, you d i e a noxian, lydia. it will claim you, or i will. and to both, you answer ' (have this skdhajdgaj swain w h y)

"The fact that I was born in Noxus doesn't make me a noxian, Grand General. Not after the war, not after what you've DONE to an empire that had potential-- Potential you crushed under your hand because you crave POWER more than you'd like to admit, and you want to build it on blood."

She did not like being touched, yet she knew better than to test the depths of his power. The hand was just a reminder of how low he was willing to go for his goals, and she was smart enough not to become another victim of it.

"That's your problem, Grand General. That's what made you fall right into LeBlanc's deception. The Black Rose shall bloom once more", she repeated LeBlanc's words, knowing what it would cause. Fuck pretense. Fuck being careful-- maybe she wasn't that smart, "And it will be your doom. Demacia's doom. The entirety of Runeterra will perish because of your blindness. You toy with DEATH, constantly, you built an empire on top of CORPSES and you wait for trees to bloom there-- when only crows follow you."

She stared at him with defiance.

I'll not be another piece in your game.I'll not be a pawn for Noxus.

"You insist on ignoring what's right under your nose--- Bones make for shitty beams if you're trying to build an empire. And you... oh, Swain, you're consistent with it. Ignored Demacia's stubborness, lost land. Ignored Ionia's strenght, lost a hand. And now Viego is at your doorstep! The ruination! And since you don't know LOVE, you don't know how to stop it. You're helpless, as Viego was to keep daggers away from his love."

Her fingers clenched, fiddling close to the dagger hidden underneath her dress. Her own dagger. Isolde and Lydia would, eventually, have similar fates.

"Why do you want my help? Would you make of me another Katarina? I don't answer to you, Swain. I don't answer to Noxus. I don't answer to nations. I answer to my master, and he's beyond your petty charades and your broken morals."

[smiletimeisrunningout]

@fantasywritten liked this

"Emma." Emma had swung around ready to stab and stopped, mouth falling open as she stared up at him, at the monster that still infested her dreams - he couldn't be there. It wasn't real. But she was still frozen on the spot, her arm falling and letting her knife drop on the ground as her eyes followed his movements, and suddenly she was just a girl again, facing the man who had nearly ripped her heart out a decade ago. And because she had stopped fighting, obviously no one had attacked; she could feel the confusion in Kate's voice as she called her name, saw Jack look at them, feet behind him. And then with one hit of the back of his hand he sent her flying and rolling down the slope. She heard the others shout for her and tried to regain her breath, head spinning after hitting a rock, and heard the noises of her friends fighting, trying to reach her, but he was on her a moment later, punching her straight in the face. And again, and again, and again. "Told you it wasn't over," he gloated, and she instinctively tried to crawl away in between the hits, but he kicked her to turn her again-and then moved to avoid being shot. Emma saw his grin right before he ran through the trees again but couldn't do anything except cough and spit blood, curling on the ground and trying to soothe the pain in her ribs.

After the general panic she had been carried to the tent and tended by a surprisingly gentle, if shocked, Jack who tried to ask a few questions about how she obviously knew him, but got no answers, with Kate brushing her hair soothingly while he had to stich her shoulder from the fall and check on her broken face. She kept staring at the tent, arms crossed against her stomach, eyes shining with unshed tears while she heard them talk about her outside, and felt Sayid come in because yes, of course they'd send him in, or let him in if he felt bad enough for her even though they weren't on the best terms now, and she hated how much she wanted to hide in his arms and let him comfort her, protect her-she wasn't a girl anymore, damn it. She was a woman, she knew how to fight. And he was the last person she could ask for help to. He had felt lied to and betrayed. She didn't deserve his help. She wanted him to be there so badly. "It was that guy." Her voice was as broken and small as she had expected it to be, and she unfolded her arms enough to let her finger trace down the scar on her chest. "From my nightmares."

[theothervonkarmagirl]

He was so worked up on her behalf. She'd be lying if she wasn't a little touched.

"Now, even he's not crazy enough for that. Unless you count him telling me to kiss his ass, which I did not appreciate. I'm sure he'd straighten up if you had a discussion with him, though. He does respect you, after all~"

"He's asking you for money?!" Kaneda feels his blood boil. "What the fuck is wrong with that numbskull!? We don't ask money from ya'll, that's not cool!"

Oh he's going to beat the crap out of that guy. "He hasn't asked you to do anything else has he? Like kiss or something???"