#vanatas

[worldofvanatas]

death of a country

my girlhood was unscarred by bullets, tormented by chores and schoolwork under the hot sun and boys, not soldiers.

i remember the beautiful sand dunes where i would play, when the light colored the sand white and violet in nighttime before being stained red with blood.

i remember when they built new buildings and trains ran ten minutes late, when alarms signaled the end of school and the beginning of life, not bombing raids and the end of it.

now those buildings are rubble and the train comes once a week, taking me to hundreds of boats anchored in port, telling me my country has died.

i could not believe it and stayed by the ocean for years, waiting for god to kiss my country and bring it back to life, but no use.

i left my girlhood behind and stepped on a boat, taking me to a new country where i fell asleep to the sound of rain and cars, not distant artillery.

where there were roads of stone, not dirt and walls of glass, not stone and green grass and trees as far as the eye can see.

oh, i wondered to myself what a lucky place, where i died in the cold, not warmth, surrounded by green, not white, to the sound of rain and cars, not explosions.

[ailourous]

cherrypepsicola doodle,,, i have them on the brain,,, i lob them so,,, <33

[the-raven-lady]

Vanatas: I am in misery-- Zakyr: I save dick by giving it CPR~ Shrike: REESE'S PUFFS! REESE'S PUFFS!

I love @mothiir and her trash fire trio

original image

[lalunanne]

[mothiir]

!!!!!!

I love this so much they all look perfect ❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️

@mothiir I really really REALLY love your Night Lords trio, and finally dared to draw them. I hope that's alright with you and that I got them somewhat right ^^°

Can't wait to read more about them ♥️🐼

[kaizokuou-ni-naru]

huge fan of the fact that ivankov was already making up new pronouns for herself as a kid. she self-references as ヴォレ/vore here, a modified/accented version of the masculine ore, as opposed to the ヴァタシ/vatashi (modified feminine/formal pronoun watashi) she uses in the present.

she's also using the regular masculine omae for 'you' here instead of the vanata that she uses in the present, which is an accented version of the more formal (and more commonly used by women) anata. so her particular speech style has gotten notably more feminine between this flashback and the present, but has always been distinctly silly!

[mothiir]

team bonding

cw: gangbang, noncon, night lords being night lords. face-fucking. everyone gets quite sticky.

—

—

—

“I’m not translating that,” says Zakyr, and it takes a moment for Vanatas to register the refusal — he’s completely lost in the velvet-soft slickness wrapped around his cock, the sweet-salt scent of fear filling the air, the way your belly distends unnaturally with each thrust, pillowing upwards. All that pliant, delicious flesh; of so much more use to him when it is securely attached to your body, rather than hanging in curtains around the ship. He is so, so glad that he and his brothers got to you before some of the more bloodthirsty of his legion; equally glad that — despite his damnable personality — Zakyr is the best hand to hand fighter in the Claw, and that Shrike is such an excellent shot. They half-killed four other Night Lords to make sure you ended up sandwiched between them, rather than under another, or — worse still — in the flaying pits, which would have been such a waste. Shrike is currently taking his due from your throat, his black eyes glazed with pleasure as he attempts to force his way past your uvula. The obscene wet glucking noises of your gag reflex — and the whimpering forced out around his prick in a slurry of sound and drool — is more erotic than it has any right to be, and Vanatas can’t make up his mind on where to look: his own prick, bullying away your insides to make space for himself; or your throat, stretched to breaking point, until he can practically see the veins of Shrike’s prick.

He isn’t really enamoured with the thought of Shrike’s prick, nor does he especially enjoy the sight of his brother’s balls — even if they are dragging across your face and occasionally stifling your already-stuttering breaths from your nose — so he redirects his attention to your stomach, and —

Wait. What did Zakyr say?

He looks up, pausing mid-thrust. You whine; he’s almost hilt deep, stuffing you agonisingly full.

“What did you say?”

“I said I’m not translating that,” says Zakyr, a little sulkily. He’s seated on one of the benches that ring the shower room, his arms folded across his chest. There is very little privacy aboard this ship; they’ve barred and bolted the doors to stop any of their brothers wandering by and wanting to take a turn.

“Why not?”

Shrike adjusts his hold, compensating for the change in tempo, cupping the back of your head with something that could be mistaken for tenderness — if he wasn’t fucking your throat with the trivial abandon of one who would continue even if you were to black out. Knowing Shrike, he’d probably prefer it if you did, the monumental pervert.

“Because you said to tell her to say that you’re the biggest she’s ever had. That’s not true.’

“It — it doesn’t matter if it’s true,” Vanatas snaps, working his hips in tiny little circles, grinding the head of his cock up against the fleshy entrance to your womb. You squeal in pain — or, at least, try to. The sound emerges as a gargled mess as Shrike strokes your throat, practically jerking himself off through the stretched-tight skin.

“But it isn’t. And I’m going to have her after you, and I was planning on having her say that, and that —“ Zakyr sounds a little smug now, his boyish face curling into a smirk. “—that would be true.”

It would be. Vanatas refuses to admit that. Zakyr is freakishly large, even for an Astartes. Clearly, the geneseed he was given took all the energy it spared on developing brain cells and converted it into height and bulk.

“Doesn’t matter,” Shrike opines. “Just - just let it drop. Fuck, she’s got such a tight throat — I’m going to make her swallow it all — tell her that, Zak. Tell her she’s going to swallow all my cum and then — then never get any rations again, she’s only going to eat what she can suck out of my balls, so if she wants to live she’ll do a damn good job.”

Both Vanatas and Zakyr exchange a look that is half revolted and half impressed. Shrike may seem somewhat straightforward — see problem, shoot problem, problem gone — but he has an unexpectedly fascinating imagination.

“Could we do that?” Zakyr says, as Vanatas begins to thrust once more — he can’t not, even when his brothers irk him so. You’re all warm and soft and tight, the best thing he thinks he’s ever been inside, and all he wants to do is hump deeper, and faster, and harder, until his seed is leaking out of your cunt and swelling your belly. You cry out — this time the sound is unruffled, since Shrike has pulled out, and is smearing his prick all over your face, glossing your skin with your spittle and his pre-cum.

“I — I think so —“ Shrike pants, clearly drawing close to climax. “Say it to her Zak, say it, tell her that she’s just a — a cocksleeve who‘ll live, breathe and drink my cum — “

“Our cum,” Vanatas corrects, still just a little sore about Zakyr’s refusal. He’s not officially the leader, but damn it he’s the oldest, and you were his idea! Mostly.

“—our cum, I don’t give a shit — tell her Zak —“

Zakyr translates hurriedly, either out of the goodness of his own heart, or — more likely — because he finds the sound of his brother panting his name in a needy pre-orgasm whine disconcerting. You sob, hard and broken, choking on your own spit, the angle making it hard for you to gulp in air, even without Shrike’s cock rammed down your throat.

Vanatas’ Gothic is abysmal, but he understands a few words. Enough to know what you are whimpering:

“Please, please, please — please stop —“

By the False Emperor’s left ballsack, it’s the sweetest thing he’s heard in an age. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of your soft sobbing, or your adorable hapless pleas, or the prey-animal fear in your eyes. He buries himself in deep — you wail in agony — and cums so hard he sees stars, your tight cunt milking every last scrap of cum, welcoming him in deep. Almost at the same time, Shrike finishes, painting your face and throat white, his hand sliding back and forth over his shaft to make sure that you’re thoroughly covered. It clings to your eyelashes, mixes with your tears, hangs in glutinous strands over your lips.

“Fuck, that was amazing,” Shrike pants, grinning down at you. One hand still cupping your head, supporting you, he starts to scoop his seed onto your panting mouth. “Clean up. There’s a good girl. Zakyr? Tell her that. Tell her she’s a good girl.”

“No, tell her she’s a worthless little slut for the legion, and she’s going to spend her days chained to my bed with her arse in the air,” Vanatas snaps, still wedged inside you. You’re tight enough around his cock to keep him buried inside, plugging his seed into you, where it belongs. He can feel himself stirring, already getting ready for another round — you feel it too, his cock starting to stiffen, and you wail in despair — a sound swiftly turned into wet gagging as Shrike coats his fingers in his own cum and rams them into your throat.

“Nice nutritious meal for the little fledgeling,” he says, with a dopey smile. “That’s all you’re getting, isn’t it? I’ll starve you until your red heart beats through your skin, yes I will, and you’ll beg me for it, open mouthed like the itty bitty baby bird you are —“

Zakyr isn’t translating anymore. Instead he gestures impatiently to his own lap.

“My turn. Bring her here.”

Both Vanatas and Shrike glower at him.

“Lazy bastard,” Vanatas grumbles, but he still obeys: lifting you up so you’re nestled against his chest, his cock still inside. Shrike presses closer, unwilling to stop his new favourite hobby of finger-feeding you his ejaculate. You lick at his fingers with mindless, fucked-out obedience, sucking at the webbing between them. Shrike coos.

“So cute. She’s going to look so cute all chained up in my bedroom —“

“My bedroom,” Vanatas growls, with a little half-thrust between your thighs, working his hardening cock through his own cum. It squelches obscenely and you utter another miserable wail.

Zakyr shows his teeth. “Bring her here now.” The change in tone — from his usual amiable chatter, to the growling harmonics of an angry Astartes — has Vanatas reaching for a weapon that isn’t there. He recovers swiftly, however, scooping you up off his prick — you sob, and Shrike whines as you’re taken away from his probing fingers — and unceremoniously dropping you onto Zakyr’s lap. He notes, with no small amount of satisfaction, that you’re dripping his cum all over Zakyr’s thighs.

Zakyr doesn’t seem to notice, however, or he does not care. He kisses your cheek, nuzzling at your neck, running his tongue over the bite-marks that Vanatas and Shrike have already left. There’s barely a space on your throat that isn’t garlanded with black-purple bruising, where they sucked and nipped and licked. Zakyr finds a just-healing wound and works it open with his tongue, his throat bobbing as he suckles, humming contentedly at the taste of your blood.

“Delicious,” he sighs, in Gothic. “Delicious little mortal. We’re going to eat you up, my brothers and I. But don’t worry. You won’t die. We won’t let you die.”

Vanatas has no idea what Zakyr is saying, but whatever it is seems to sink right to your marrow and break something deep inside. You start to sob, tears struggling past the gobbets of cum on your face. Zakyr smiles like a wolf, and forces your legs over his lap, angling his cock upwards with one hand.

“Sit on it,” he says. “I want to watch you put it in.”

Your little shoulders shake with another sob as you take his cock in hand and awkwardly shuffle over it. Your cunt is already stretched and sore, but it clearly pains you to take Zakyr — you whimper and hiccup, and all the while Zakyr just watches you, smiling. He doesn’t make a move to help you as you wriggle your hips, brace yourself, and sink down. You cry out, and he hums satisfaction.

“The rest now. Get it all in there, or I’ll flay your skin in strips. Don’t think I won’t.”

You take another deep, fortifying breath, perched up on the balls of your feet, looking for all the world like a nervous little songbird — and then you drop down, forcing him deeper into your guts, your hands grasping at your own sides, simply for something to cling to. Zakyr leans back, folds his arms behind his head, resting against the wall. Enjoying the view.

“Faster, fledgeling. Deeper. You’re going to learn to please me eventually, you should start now.”

Wondering if Shrike is having a hissy-fit over the use of the nickname he thought up, Vanatas looks sidelong at his brother — only to see that the other Astartes has taken himself in hand, and is stroking his cock to the sight of you trying your best to get Zakyr’s cock inside you.

“What?” Shrike says, completely unashamed.

Vanatas considers, then decides that it really isn’t the worst thing that he’s done in the presence of his brothers, and copies Shrike. His hand is slick with your juices and his cum, and the smell is intoxicating. Sweet, musky, terrified, helpless, hopeless —

You’re riding Zakyr in earnest now, your thighs tense and straining, your palms resting on his chest for support. Tears drip freely down your face and Zakyr thumbs them away — carefully avoiding the remnants of Shrike’s climax — and licks them up.

“Good girl — tight, sweet little mortal —“

In his excitement, he’s started to lapse back into his native tongue. His black eyes are bright and unhinged with glee. You sob openly, and suddenly collapse into his lap, your strength failing you.

“I can’t,” you say. “I can’t, it hurts, I can’t — “

“You can’t? Can’t ride me anymore? Lazy little piece of cunt, — just as well I’m in a good mood.”

He scoops you up by the hips and starts bouncing you on his cock, ragdolling you — each thrust forces out more of Vanatas’s spend, frothing pink around your thighs, mingling with where one (or all) of them have torn you, made you bleed. Vanatas’ mouth waters at the sight. When Zakyr is done, he’ll bury himself back in there, make sure that he fills you back up —

The slap of flesh on flesh is almost loud enough to drown out your desperate sobbing and your half-swallowed cries. When Zakyr cums, it’s with an intensity that takes even him by surprise; his eyes widen, and you wail. Shrike, moving with a speed rarely seen out of combat, steps over, grabs your hair, and forces your head backwards, the spongy head of his cock wedging into your mouth just as he finishes. You have no choice but to swallow, even if half of his cum ends up spilling out, down onto your chest.

Zakyr groans, sinking his teeth into the meat of your shoulder. Blood spills between his fangs at once, and he drinks greedily for a moment, before pulling back to lick the wound clean.

Shrike presses his forehead to thr crown of your head, panting for breath.

Vanatas clears his throat delicately.

“My turn,” he says

[glamboyl]

Bunny Buggy by Bram Vanata

[mothiir]

Vanatas at the front done with everyone’s shit, zakyr behind him considering starting shit, and shrike in the air looking for bitches

"After receiving a tip about a family of Burrowing Owls on the eastern edge of Cheyenne, a photographer rushed to the location in late June. The owlets seemed nearly ready to leave their burrows. Over the years, the photographer has perfected a method using a GoPro on a small tripod, set to take a photo every 5 seconds. They leave the camera behind, allowing the owls to feel comfortable. The challenge lies in the long wait to see if the effort pays off. This shot was taken on June 28th."

📷 Peter Arnold

[rude-rat]

“maybe drawing dicks can be our always”

[what-on-earth-is-love]

everytime i see weirder and weirder mispronounciations of the word "vanitas"

[the-raven-lady]

Is their near death experience the same thing each time or do they get to choose their near death experience? And if so do you think they make little school project boards about it.

“Poison and its effects on astartes”

“Jumping off of buildings: how high is too high?”

“Catachanian jungle flora vs 1 space marine.”

“How much energy drinks will it take to stop my heart?”

“Glue. it’s not yummy”

I think it's poison each time, but I don't think Karras was super clear about that in the Deathwatch novel either.

The energy drinks one of actually just Vanatas and his recaf @mothiir

[ask-the-smol-karkat]

*shoosh paps*

[homestuckhaironstuff]

John and Karkat's hair on Midoriya and Bakugou from Boku no Hero Academia!?

ok - last one of these though. I have done about 5 versions already. 

[mothiir]

I have a request for Night Lord/BT serf swaps. From either side. I want to see the serfs being so confused and scared (and maybe a bit aroused too).

i felt so genuinely mean writing this :’) poor sock machine cannot catch a break.

cw: noncon, night lords being night lords.

—

—

“For the last time,” Shrike says, “I did not eat our serf!”

“She vanished without a trace,” Zakyr says. “And you’re the one always threatening to devour her —“

“I say I am going to eat her cunt, that means something very different — look, the room stinks of the warp, clearly something happened last jump, and I am sure it will switch back soon! And until it does we have the other succulent little mortal —“

“Are you really so faithless?” Vanatas growls. “You are the one who tattooed the wench with your approximation of art; I thought you would want to hesitate before getting your cock wet with some other piece of cunt!”

“…yes,” Zakyr says, apparently unmoved in the face of his brother’s moral grandstanding. “Who would do such a thing. Who would have a serf that they apparently like so much that they get stroppy if they cannot have her pet their hair while they sleep, only to clamber atop of the next warm body when she was not available?”

Vanatas huffs, then moans. “Oh, that’s it — no, it is different. I — fuck — I found her, she’s mine, it’s just —“

He moans; the sound almost loud enough to drown out the pathetic snivelling of the strange woman in his lap, riding him. She wears a white tunic, with a black cross stitched into it; her skirt has been torn aside. She wasn’t wearing undergarments, something Vanatas considered a sign from the Night Haunter that clearly this girl was destined for him.

“Hurts,” she mumbles, in Gothic, and Vanatas — whose grasp of the language has improved dramatically since Zakyr demanded ‘sharing the serf’ as payment for his translation services — leans forward to whisper in her ear.

“Good. Yes. Take it. Take me. All the way inside you, keep crying, you’re going to make me cum —“

Shrike pouts. “You don’t think any of that is true—you just don’t want to share!”

“I saw her first, she’s mine. And when the other one comes back, then we’ll keep this one and she can have a friend! Human women like being kept in pairs, I think.”

Shrike glowers, fumbling with his crotch plate, sending it clattering to the ground. He takes himself in hand, ignoring Zakyr’s protests — he might not be able to fuck this new serf yet, but he can make everyone else incredibly uncomfortable, and that will have to do for now.

—

“So…I mend socks?” you say, eyes wide.

“Yes. Just that — wait, why are you hugging me?”

[wally-b-feed]

Aci Vanata