#vile stunt

[baileyartblog]

I have so many versions of the Scarecrow but I wanted to try and do a more original take on him! Big ol info dump about him under the cut :3c

Born Josephine Keeny, Yonatan Crane uses his knowledge of chemistry and biology to keep his lycanthropy at bay, lest he go hog wild and start eating people.

When completely in control he is a court-ordered psychiatrist, truly believing that even the most vile criminal can be rehabilitated. Unfortunately for those who refuse change, he resorts to various ways of training them to fear their own crimes. Failed experimentation gives him the ingredients needed to stay human, so he gets over failure quickly. He's highly intelligent, softly spoken, and can be extremely passive-aggressive. He WILL hold a grudge. Despite having studied psychology and knowing it well, he has very poor social skills.

If he fails to prevent a transformation he turns into the Scarebeast, a wild and powerful animal capable of self-awareness but not of speech. The Scarebeast is akin to that of a wild animal and so is harmless if it doesn't feel threatened. You could even pat, brush, and ride the Scarebeast if it sees you as a friend. Transforming back into a human puts great strain on Yonatan's body and mind, meaning that he can be left in an altered state for days to weeks afterwards- This state is the Scarecrow, who is between animal and human. The Scarecrow will run at you on all fours unprovoked and is in fact more dangerous than the Scarebeast in terms of rage and vindictiveness.

The scars covering Yonatan's body are from medical experimentation and strain from transformation, but a majority of them are from the abuse inflicted by his great-grandmother growing up. He was born out of wedlock and was noticeably not white, so the woman treated him as less than human. His condition became obvious and so he was seen as being from the devil, suffering failed exorcisms and various abuse. Growing into a socially stunted but physically beautiful young girl, his guardian felt that he would use his looks for evil and so poisoned his mind into believing he was hideous - Something that he never stopped believing. Ironically she never injured his face as that would then make the abuse too obvious.

His first-ever transformation caused his guardian to suffer a fatal heart attack, and he lived off her corpse for several days before fleeing. He never knew his parents, but he knew about them from photos and journals kept hidden in the house he grew up in; Choosing to change his first name to reflect his half-Jewish mother and taking his surname from his Native American father. He feels entirely disconnected from those cultures and has only recently been studying to learn more.

[backonrepeat]

Given how Sceleritas Fel prompts Durge to kill their lover in the game, most posts and fics I've read feature him being against Durge getting involved with Gortash, romantic or otherwise, because they need to focus on their mission. Totally makes sense, probably what happened given what we see in game.

But. What about wingman Sceleritas Fel? Just for the hilarity of it all. Maybe he deems the Chosen of Bane worthy enough of his master's attention, maybe he just views the whole thing as a chance to further enhance Bhaal's power. In any case he's determined to help his master bang Gortash, cue murderous socially stunted Durge taking romantic advice from their psycho, even more socially maladjusted butler in order to seduce Gortash.

"You should shower in some blood before meeting with Lord Gortash, dear master, it does wonders for your skin and brings out your eyes"

"Why, yes, I do think Bane's chosen will appreciate your thoughtful gift, my dark master. Nothing quite says romance like a dozen bloody hearts in a box"

"I'm sure Lord Gortash enjoyed your date together, oh vile master, who doesn't love a bit of ritualistic slaughter? Why, the way you disemboweled your last victim was simply sublime! If that didn't prompt him to make a move it may just be he's a bit of a prude..."

[qingxin-dream]

“The Afterparty”

summary | lyney is the face of fontaine’s entertainment industry, stealing hearts with every flourish of his magic. however, in the night, lyney tends to entertain a different kind of crowd.

warnings | written pre-4.0, ooc lyney, light yandere themes (stalking/manipulation/obsession), a sprinkle of smut (creampie/implied dubcon) [18+, MDNI], brief mention of drugs/alcohol, reader is neutral but wears a dress, lyney uses a little french

genre | yandere, slight smut

word count | 1.6k

pairing | lyney x reader

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It’s no mystery that the Great Magician of Fontaine is a man of many talents. His shows are famous across Teyvat for their grandeur and flare. Beautiful venues draped in red curtains frame the scene before a sea of velvety theater seats, skilled acrobats maneuver themselves among rings suspended in the air. Blazes of fire erupt from the stage dramatically. A master of misdirection, the audience falls for his tricks every time as he effortlessly makes the impossible possible.

Lyney is incredibly perceptive. He knows how to read people, as a showman can read his audience, a small smug smile crinkling the corner of his eyes if you’re paying attention. It’s an art form—the way he flips through the pages of your soul, licking his fingers to reveal the next juicy detail with ease. Rarely ever does anyone truly surprise someone as cynical as him, who has been personally privy to the vile nature of the Fatui.

A life of fame is never kind to anyone. The planning and training for shows is incredibly rigorous. Executing the stunts in front of a live audience is equally thrilling and terrifying. Without fail, the crowd is mesmerized and the show ends in a shower of roses and marriage proposals. Rinse and repeat. Though, this is only what Lyney allows the public to know of him.

It’s after hours, when the theater is empty and the stage is dim, when the mask begins to slip.

Lyney is the lead, the star, and as such he maintains his appearance by rubbing elbows with the elite of Fontaine. You’d never catch him amid the nightlife of the city, no. You wouldn’t believe the sheer grandeur of the dazzling, flamboyant parties thrown every night at the country’s largest mansions.

It was Arlecchino who insisted that he attends these lavish parties, rampant with the city’s darkest vices between drugs, alcohol, and sex. But Lyney is a cynical man, so this much is to be expected of wealthy aristocrats.

It was all a façade, couldn’t they see? It sickened him, how gullible people were and how obsessed they were with status. Not to mention the inevitable hordes of women who threw themselves at him.

Nevertheless, Lyney played the game well and with a bewitching, handsome smile. Eventually he had learned to take pleasure in this little game.

As fate would have it, you let your friend convince you to crash one of these extravagant parties with them. You had heard whispers of what takes place at night behind the golden gates of Fontaine’s richest residences. Why wouldn’t you want to have a taste of the finest wine, dressed in designer, getting lost in the magnificent corridors of a packed mansion of partygoers?

It’s something straight from the movies.

You emerged from the bushes to sneak inside, which wasn’t that difficult surprisingly. You wore your best dress, not knowing what to expect. It was a floor length, silky black dress with a sexy slit that traveled all the way up to your mid-thigh. You had a lovely string of pearls dangling from your pretty neck. A classic choice.

Unfortunately for you, Lyney is a man who is extremely attentive to his surroundings. After all, an illusionist must be a master of his environment as well. The moment he spots you, a mere reflection of something new and fascinating for him to discover, he gravitates to you smoothly.

“Mm, I don’t believe we’ve met,” his voice is an alluring, a well-practiced approach. Before you could even answer, Lyney had already taken note of your little mannerisms and nuances just in these few passing moments. He had already adjusted the figurative mirrors of misdirection in this little trick, assuring your undivided attention.

You glance to your friend, who isn’t there. Oh. You had been cornered without even the opportunity to explore the party.

More of a wallflower type, you found yourself struggling to conjure up a confident answer. You were acutely aware of who this gentleman is, and his egotistical demeanor was already a huge turn off.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know who I am,” he chuckled lightheartedly, yet there was a peculiar undertone hidden beneath. It was hard to place. He kisses your hand. “Lyney, the Great Magician.”

You withdrew your hand, unable to hide the way your eyebrows crinkled together with disinterest. Perhaps you should’ve been more prepared for these guests to be more brazen and unapologetic when they see something—or someone—they want.

Taking no for an answer is not even in the realm of possibility for these people.

The party continued on, gorgeous partygoers dancing and drinking to their heart’s content. All the while, Lyney kept his eyes trained on you. It wasn’t necessarily out of admiration; rather, it was curiosity. Why didn’t you bat your eyelashes at him like a good girl? Bite your lip when he kissed your hand?

He followed you like a ghost, slinking through the crowd tactfully to observe you. You were a rare creature indeed. None of the other women could hold a candle to you. Archons, he felt this unsettling churning in his stomach everyone your glimmering irises met his. His heart would tense instantaneously, threatening to explode within his chest.

You saw through Lyney from the moment he kissed your hand, and he hated it.

Through the night, you both danced this delicate tango around the massive mansion, a palpable tension tethering him to you. He was equally appalled and fascinated by you, never wasting any opportunity to slip in an innocent question or two to learn about you.

“A beautiful lady like you in a place like this… Do you feel lost in Wonderland yet, Alice?” Lyney had persuaded you to follow him to an unoccupied balcony, closing the French doors behind him.

He stalks toward you, his soft lavender irises cool and calculated. In an ashy flourish of embers, a deck of onyx cards materialized in his gloved hands. It had taken all evening, but just enough wine had passed beyond your lips to give Lyney the opportunity to disarm you.

“Not scared of a little fire, are you, love?” His voice was warm and inviting as a hearth, though it held a hint of mischief like that of a crackling inferno. Each mysterious card in his hand is shuffled with a distinct flick.

You were much more susceptible to his charm now more than ever, allowing him to weave glittering silk strands of harmless sweet nothings to entice you. Had you taken a step back, you would’ve seen the web for what it is. The grand reveal was imminent.

“Now, now, don’t fret. I won’t let anything harm you, chérie,” Lyney chuckles lightheartedly, as if he hadn’t been playing and pawing at you like a cat ready to pounce all night.

Your poor little breath hitched at every whisper and touch he gifted you. It started by fatefully picking the Queen of Hearts from his custom deck of cards. You should’ve known better. Maybe you should’ve picked the one next to it. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered.

Lyney’s lilac eyes spark with intrigue at your choice. How fitting. Had you paid any attention to the magician’s sneaky maneuvers, you would have seen that every card in the deck was from the suite of Hearts.

The illusion of choice.

He takes this as an opportunity to step closer, his hands reaching forward. Your chest is beating wildly, begging for relief from how he intoxicates you with just a flutter of his long lashes.

Lyney rests his hands on the marble railing on either side of your hips, drinking in your anticipation, your fear, and your desire. A small, smug smirk pulls at the corner of his pretty lips. He takes the liberty of helping you meet his gaze by bringing his wrist to his mouth, white teeth tugging to remove his glove. Your body feels weightless when he lifts your chin with his bare index finger and thumb.

The Great Magician would argue that he took extreme precautions to ensure the success of this escapade. It was all carefully calculated and orchestrated according to his whim. He had you exactly where he wanted you, blissfully unaware of how deep these exhilarating feelings for you had rooted themselves into his guarded heart.

“Do you feel the magic in my fingertips? Hehe, tonight’s show will be a private event for only for you, mon trésor.”

The night was a blur. Fading in and out of consciousness, one moment you were dancing with him in empty halls and the next you were enveloped in his embrace against a wall. Lyney would pin your hands above your head before pushing you onto the bed, catapulting you into his next breathtaking trick like one of the acrobats in his show.

The silhouettes of your frames were shadowed in the moonlight that bathed the sheets in silver. Lyney skillfully unzipped your dress. Clothes fell to the wayside, vanishing in a flourish of passion. There was no denying it. He had to have you, and you were such a willing participant in his performance.

Of course, the wealthy partygoers were none the wiser, the echoes of pleasure the Great Magician was able to rip from your lungs were easily deafened by the music of their own opulent fantasies.

What is a magician if not an artist who must mark what is rightfully his—painting your womb with a decadent display, a growl escaping his throat.

However, Lyney is a perfectionist. When he catches a glimpse of his seed spilling out of you, he is quick to stuff his slender fingers into your overstimulated hole and seal the masterpiece with a final kiss on your bruised lips.

“Magnifique…” ❤️

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Israel is intentionally starving Palestinians and should be held accountable for war crimes – and genocide, according to the UN’s leading expert on the right to food. Hunger and severe malnutrition are widespread in the Gaza Strip, where about 2.2 million Palestinians are facing severe shortages resulting from Israel destroying food supplies and severely restricting the flow of food, medicines and other humanitarian supplies. Aid trucks and Palestinians waiting for humanitarian relief have come under Israeli fire. “There is no reason to intentionally block the passage of humanitarian aid or intentionally obliterate small-scale fishing vessels, greenhouses and orchards in Gaza – other than to deny people access to food,” Michael Fakhri, the UN special rapporteur on the right to food, told the Guardian. “Intentionally depriving people of food is clearly a war crime. Israel has announced its intention to destroy the Palestinian people, in whole or in part, simply for being Palestinian. In my view as a UN human rights expert, this is now a situation of genocide. This means the state of Israel in its entirety is culpable and should be held accountable – not just individuals or this government or that person.”

[...]

“The speed of malnourishment of young children is also astounding. The bombing and people being killed directly is brutal, but this starvation – and the wasting and stunting of children – is torturous and vile. It will have a long-term impact on the population physically, cognitively and morally … All things indicate that this has been intentional,” said Fakhri, a law professor at the University of Oregon. Intentionally starving civilians by “depriving them of objects indispensable to their survival, including willfully impeding relief supplies” is a war crime, according to the Rome statute of the international criminal court. Indispensable objects include food, water and shelter – which Israel is systematically denying Palestinians. Starvation is a war crime under the Geneva conventions and the Rome statute. It was also recognized as a war crime and general violation of international law by the UN security council in 2018.

[...]

The speed of the malnutrition crisis speaks to the fact that even before this war, half of Gazans were food insecure and almost 80% relied on humanitarian aid due to the 16-year blockade. A 2019 study on small-scale agriculture in the Palestinian territories found that “the Israeli occupation is the most important single driver of food and nutrition insecurity.” “It was already a very fragile situation due to Israel’s chokehold on what goes in and out of Gaza. So when the war started, Israel was very easily able to make everyone go hungry because they had most people on the brink,” said Fakhri.

[watchmegetobsessed]

ON REPEAT

A/N: we all saw the vid of him tongueing his guitar... yeah... the devil works hard but i work harder

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

WARNING: sexual content

SUMMARY: As his personal assistant, you definitely shouldn't be havin dirty thoughts of Harry, especially not about the way his tongue on his guitar. But it's hard to resist and you need relief, but you never thought your boss would be more than willing to help you out.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

You watch it happen and in a third of a second you are no different than the screaming girls out there in the pit and the stands, only that you can’t scream from the top of your lungs when Harry mimics to be playing his guitar with his tongue.

It’s vile. It’s maddening and it should definitely not turn you on the way it does, because he is your boss. He is not just a rock star for you, a person far out of your reach, he is your job, you manage his everyday life for a living so you surely should not be having dirty thoughts at the sight of his tongue on a guitar’s neck.

But you do. You very much do and the fantasies are so bad you can actually feel your panties getting wet in an instant as you stand by the stage and watch him carry his performance on as if he didn’t just destroy all ovaries in the arena and because there’s probably hundreds of videos now of his little stunt, you know it will continue to sweep through the whole world by the morning.

The after show period is the same as always. Harry runs off stage, he changes faster than lightning and before the first people could step out of the arena the two of you are in the backseat of a car, heading out to avoid the traffic his own show usually creates.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he comments.

You don’t dare to look at him, especially not because you can smell him from this close, locked up together in the car. The smell of his shower gel from before the show is still lingering on his skin but it is not mixed with his sweat, the smell of his own body that you spent two hours to stare at and have the most ravenous and lustful thoughts you’ve ever had since you’ve realized you have a crush on your boss.

This is what hell must be like.

“I’m good, just tired,” you shrug and continue staring out the window. You can feel his excruciating gaze on you, it’s burning your skin, but you keep your eyes on the outside world, hoping to survive this five minute car ride without moaning or whimpering in front of him.

You practically run to your room once you’ve parted ways in the hallway and when you throw yourself onto the perfectly made bed you scream into the pillow, letting out the pent up frustration you battled with all evening.

Out of all men in the world why did you have to fall for your boss? Why do you find him the best looking man to ever exist? Your body and mind has betrayed you and now you have to bear the consequences of it.

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip when you pull your phone out and go online, looking for a video of the guitar stunt. It takes about five seconds to stumble upon it and because it was taken by a fan, it was recorded from a lower point and it just adds to the weight of it.

You watch it over and over and over… and over again.

And before you could even realize what you’re doing, your hand is between your legs, applying pressure at the right spot over your shorts, your heart beat is picking up and an occasional swear word leaves your parted lips every once in a while.

What you don’t notice is that you did not close your room’s door fully when you rushed inside, so when Harry comes over to ask if he could grab your phone charger, because his just died, he can easily push the door open and step inside without making a sound when he hears your whimpers and the video playing over and over again.

He knows which part it is, he remembers it clearly, because he knew it would make his fans go crazy, but he did not expect to catch you watching it back… and enjoy it this much.

He stays hidden for a bit and selfishly listens to your sounds. Adrenaline boosts through his veins as he realizes that you’re playing with yourself while watching the video of him and well… it is definitely doing things to him.

Just like the shorts you were wearing tonight, all those silky skin you were showing, the curve of your ass peeking out from underneath, Harry had to take a second shower when he saw you bend down for something. And now he caught you playing with yourself while thinking about him.

He knows he has to make a decision. Walk out, close the door and pretend he never heard anything or walk in and do what he’s been fantasizing about probably since he hired you to be his assistant.

His legs move before the decision is processed in his mind.

He walks out from his hiding spot and it takes a moment for you to register his presence and realize that it’s not just a hallucination, he did in fact just walk into your room while you were masturbating to a video of him.

“Oh my God!” you scream and the phone goes flying out of your hands, dropping to the floor, but the video is still playing. Your heart is threatening to burst right out of your chest and jump to Harry’s feet and you’re trying to grab the sheets to cover yourself even though you’re not naked, but Harry is quick to climb onto the bed and stop you from doing it. To put some more distance between the two of you, you push up against the headboard and shut your legs closed tight, horror etched onto your face as your mind is racing, trying to find a way to explain yourself, but you know there’s nothing you could say that would get you out of this mess.

Harry, on the other hand, is enjoying this more than he should, probably. The shame on your face, the way your body is still in a state of lust but also in shock, this is thrilling, knowing he did this to you, the woman who is usually so laid back he can’t ever read your body language.

His eyes are glued to your face as he reaches out and places his hands on your trembling knees. Part of him is disappointed you’re not rambling, trying to talk yourself out of it, but it’s also hot that you are not denying what you’ve been just caught doing.

“Open your legs, Y/N,” he speaks up in a husky, gut wrenching voice and if you weren’t scared for your life (and job), you might have come just from that.

When you don’t move, just stare back at him, he applies the tiniest bit of pressure on your knees to push them apart and your body gives up resistance instantly.

The hunger that flashes through his eyes when he sees that you’ve drenched your panties and shorts good enough to have a visible spot on them, right in front of him now sends a shiver down your spine. And then when he reaches out and runs just one single finger, his middle finger down the seam, you fear your soul has left your body.

“I can leave you and finish on your own, Y/N. Or I can do it for you. Your choice.”

Fuck, your mind feels so heavy and fogged up, you are not in the state to make a decision, let alone one that could have an effect on your life, but it’s like there’s an emergency window has been broken and something else has taken over you, you find yourself speaking up.

“I want you to do it.”

The smirk that spreads across his face twists your inside and you don’t even have time to process it when he climbs over you like a hungry lion and claims your mouth in a deep, demanding kiss that has you seeing stars.

With his mouth still devouring your lips, one of his hands move to grab yours and brings it over to his head.

“If you want to grab onto something, it can only be my hair, understood?” he talks against your mouth and all you can do is nod and let out a whimper. He smirks, so pleased with himself before moving back down and sitting down between your now open legs. He hooks his fingers into your shorts and underwear at the same time and then tugs them down with a swift motion, baring you in front of him, revealing just how much he has turned you on.

“Fuck, baby. Look at you! So wet and ready for me. It’s not the first time I’ve turned you on, right?” His eyes snap up to meet you as he reaches out and runs two of his fingers down your cunt. The touch feels like electricity, your whole body reacts and your knees start shaking.

“No,” you breathe out.

“That’s what I thought,” he chuckles lowly. “Next time, Y/N, you’re coming straight to me. No toying, no touching yourself, I want to be the only one to make you come. Understood?”

You just nod again, but this time he doesn’t take it as an answer.

“I need you to use your pretty voice.”

“Understood,” you manage to speak out, but the word melts into a moan when his fingers start circling on your clit.

“Good girl.”

Fast and graciously, he gets onto his stomach and before you could even appreciate the sight of him between your legs, his mouth latches onto your pussy and it’s game over for you.

You vaguely remember his request to only hold onto his hair and that’s what you do, you grab his chocolate curls with so much force it stings his scalp, but it also sends waves of pleasure down is groin as well while.

It shouldn’t be a surprise to you that he is fucking amazing in it, that Harry Styles can eat pussy like he does it for a living, that his mouth and tongue know exactly what to do to have your eyes roll to the back of your head from the pleasure. It’s scandalous that he is so good at everything and deep down you already know you’ll never find a man who could eat you out like this ever again.

“Harry, of my God!” you groan out, your back arching when you feel his tongue pushing inside you before it’s replaced by his fingers again.

Harry has heard you say his name a million times in every possible way. Or so he thought. Because this lustful, begging, whiny way is a new way and it is easily his favorite now.

He would want nothing more than to have you some on his mouth, but he also want to selfishly eat up your moans as you orgasm, so right before you could reach your peak he pulls back. You’re just about to complain when he moves up your body and his mouth occupies yours, his hand remaining between your legs, two fingers curling inside you just as he kisses you again. You shake and squirm and his fingers are working their magic on you and you realize you should be giving back as well.

With your lips attached to his you manage to reach down and into his pants, Harry tries to protest, only wanting this to be about you but he is too late and when he feels your hand wrap around his cock, giving him a delicious squeeze, the words die down in his throat.

You both are one big mess. Hands between each other’s legs, mouths hungrily colliding, it’s a state that’s almost too much but you also don’t want this to ever end. When you can feel your orgasm threatening to tip over the edge you start to stroke him faster and harder which earns the most beautiful, torturous moan to bubble from his throat.

You come hard and long, gasping for air, his name rolling off your tongue and into his mouth and he swallows it already wanting more. Your hands fall out of rhythm for a bit, but as soon as you’re coming off your high you return to pleasuring him and when you hook a leg over his waist the position ending up with his tip pressing against your pussy he gives you a look that says he is just about to chase after you.

A few more strokes and he is coming over your stomach, spilling his pleasure onto your shirt and the bedsheet as well, but you couldn’t care less. You keep your hands moving until you know he has given you his all and then you both roll to your back and stare up at the ceiling in your post orgasm haze.

You have absolutely no idea how much time passes before Harry pushes himself up from the bed and disappears in the bathroom only to return with a damp towel. Climbing back next to you he gently cleans you up between your legs and also wipes your stomach before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss above your belly button. Throwing the towel beside the bed he moves closer and curls an arm around your waist as he holds himself up on his other arm, looking down at you with bright, gleaming eyes.

“What?” you ask when he just keeps staring at you.

“I know I shouldn’t be talking about work right now, but I need you to do something.”

For a moment you fear that the aftermath of it all will be a disaster and he is bringing up work because he wants this to be just a one time thing and might be already regretting it.

“Okay,” you breathe out with wide eyes, which makes Harry laugh.

“I need you to cancel your rooms for the rest of the tour.”

“What?” Terror flashes through your body for a moment, thinking that he is about to fire you.

“You’re gonna sleep in my room, because I want to do this every night. On repeat. And even more.”

This fucker.

Smacking his chest you groan in relief as he just keeps laughing at your reaction.

“You couldn’t have possibly thought I would kick you out after this. Y/N, what kind of man do you think I am?” he pretends to be hurt.

“An asshole! That’s what you are!”

“But you want this asshole, right? In your bed.” He leans down and kisses you. “Between your legs.” Another kiss. “All the time. Right?”

“Fuck off,” you mumble, but pull his face down anyway, kissing away your frustration with how much you truly want and how cocky he will be about this for probably the longest time ever.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[blessedbyahuntress]

Hello! I've recently become interested in your work and would like to experiment with your wonderful performance!

If to Percy Jackson and the reader|Hecate's daughter? The girl is constantly immersed in rituals and exploration of her capabilities. And the case is based on the fact that the reader has learned to take on a male form and flaunts this ability to her boyfriend. Like, she becomes just a guy and leaves all her features and appearance.

It would be interesting to use any explanations like: «well, I'm a witch» or «you're asking the daughter of the goddess of magic…»

I apologize if any of this is not clear. English is not my native language, so I relied on a translator....🦝

Boyfriend or Girlfriend?

Pairing: Percy Jackson x Daughter!of!Hecate!Reader

Warnings: A teeny bit of cursing

Word count: 575

“Ah, ha!” 

You were stooped over a cauldron in your cabin, bottling what was possibly the hardest potion you’d ever made. The blue-green liquid sloshing around inside reminded you of your boyfriend��s, Percy Jackson’s, eyes. Oh, how little patience you had; you could hardly contain your nervous energy as you continued pouring in the potion, a small smile playing across your lips.

You licked your lips, trying to prepare yourself for downing the liquid. You put down the ladle you’d been holding and took a deep breath. 

Just as you trickled about half of the potion down your throat, the door burst open.

“Y/N!” Your sister, Lou Ellen, called as she walked into the Hecate cabin. Then she froze, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Who are you?” She asked, eyes flickering from you, to the potion in your hand, and back to you.

“Y/N,” you answered. You frowned. Your voice was different- deeper, louder. 

Lou raised her eyebrows. “Nice try,” she scoffed. “Who do you think you're playing at? You’re literally a male.”

You gasped softly, holding your hands out in front of you- large hands, probably large enough to fit around a volleyball. “It worked,” you murmured. 

“Yes!” You shouted after the shock wore off. “I did it! After several days, I did it!”

Lou pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh, gods,” she muttered. “It really is you.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, sticking your tongue out. Once you were done with your antics, you straightened. “Would you, by any chance, know where Percy is?”

~

Lou did know, but it took you two more hours to arrive at the lake; you had to get help from your siblings to make another potion that would turn you back into a girl. 

Percy was sitting on the shore, legs crossed as he studied the water with his sea-green eyes. He turned his head slightly as he heard your approach. 

“Hey, Seaweed brain,” you said, sitting down beside him.

Percy smiled at the use of your favorite nickname for him. “How’s it going, Princess?” He greeted.

You shrugged casually, even though pulling this stunt on your boyfriend had your nerves on end. “Nothing much. You?”

Percy picked up a stone, twirling it in between his fingers. “Jason beat me at sparring again,” he sighed. 

His gaze was pulled away from you, back onto the rocking waves of the lake. You smirked, uncorking the potion. The smell that hit you was unexpected, but it traveled on the wind quickly; you had to do this fast. 

You chugged about a quarter of it down, holding back a wince as the horrible taste caught up with you.

Percy looked over, his eyes widening. “Holy fuck!” He yelped, leaping away from you. “Where did you come from?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “My mother,” you answered. “Where else?”

Percy opened and closed his mouth for what seemed like forever. “Uh… bring my girlfriend back, please.”

You snorted. “Gladly.”

Exchanging another vile for the one in your hand, you brought it up to your lips, giving Percy teasing salute with it. You gulped it down, thanking the gods above that this one tasted sweet instead of bitter. 

Percy raised his eyebrows at you. “That was not funny. How did you even do that?”

“Well, my beloved Seaweed Brain, I’m a witch.” You started giggling. “And c’mon! It was at least a little bit funny.”

[tomorrowusa]

Trump probably can't win the presidential election without North Carolina. 🤔💡

It would be difficult though not out of the question for Kamala Harris to win without Pennsylvania. But it would be close to impossible for Donald Trump to win without taking North Carolina.

If Trump loses North Carolina, it could be an early night — and curtains for GOP

Democrats hope that momentum determines the presidential winner and even changes the contours of election night. North Carolina polls close early, at 7:30 p.m. Moreover, state law allows processing of mail-in votes well before Election Day, making an early count possible. (Some states, including Pennsylvania and Wisconsin, cannot start processing until Election Day, which could result in delays of several days before a winner is determined.) Should Harris win North Carolina’s 16 electoral votes, Trump’s chances of victory diminish greatly. He would need a virtual sweep of other battleground states (and likely all of the blue-wall states).

A quick reminder that North Carolina was the state which gave Trump his narrowest victory in 2020. It was won in 2008 by Barack Obama. So we're not exactly talking Tennessee or Idaho here.

An early-evening victory in a state Democrats have not won for 16 years would reverberate through the country, potentially depressing GOP turnout in Western states and diminishing the appetite for stunts to refuse certification of results in states such as Arizona and Georgia (which would not be determinative if Harris holds the blue wall and wins North Carolina).

Republicans are more likely to vote on Election Day than Democrats who have adopted early voting in greater numbers than Republicans. So an early call for Harris-Walz in North Carolina on the night of the election would more likely depress Republican votes in the Western US.

One thing which may negatively affect Trump in the state is the awful Republican candidate for governor of North Carolina.

[T]he North Carolina governor’s race might have a “reverse coattails” effect. The Republican nominee, Lt. Gov. Mark Robinson, is an extremist conspiracy nut, a “fount of social media conspiracy theories and vile proclamations about the LGBT community, Jews, and other minority group,” the Daily Beast noted this year. From Holocaust denial to thundering that “some folks need killing” to his support for an abortion ban from “zero weeks,” he symbolizes everything wrong with today’s MAGA Republican Party. Robinson’s Democratic opponent, Josh Stein, the state attorney general, has opened a 10-point lead. If Democrats tie Robinson (a Trump favorite) to Trump, voters might run from both. At the very least, Republicans could suffer a drop in turnout as disgusted North Carolinians simply stay home.

A better than average turnout of Dems in NC would help flip the state. If you live just over the border in deep red South Carolina or Tennessee then consider doing some volunteer work in North Carolina. It could have an impact which extends far beyond the Tar Heel State.

[moodymisty]

Oh boy I have been waiting to be able to put in a request! Wanna start of by saying, love your writing and especially your Cato fic ^^ A joy to read.

Im curious about if you would write in more details how Cato is sweet for his lady? Or maybe is 'sweet' not the correct word, but I will love to read you thoughts about the relationship that is not all about sweaty action. Are the couple able to be subtle or sneaky enough to flirt out in the open? How are they acting behind closhed doors, is it then you will seen the Cato acting more bombastic on his feelings toward the diplomat?

I hope you will like this request ^^ keep it up with the great writing.

Author’s note: Sure, lets have some of that sweet Cato action <3

Relationships: Cato Sicarius/Fem!Reader

Warnings: None really

Cato, once he gets over his constipated emotional crush stage, is a white knight. Maybe less so in the way Titus is, but he is still a bit dramatic. It's all in private though, or only around a few people he knows his reputation is safe with.

Offering his hand to help you down, shielding you from rain or sun with his cape are some examples.

But he does a decent job of making it just seem like he's being polite, abit perhaps having a bit of favoritism. So he isn't going to blow the secret by acting a fool.

In private, he's a bit more overtly romantic as you'd epxect. But he's also super confused and out of his depth; Being an astartes. The most he's heard about romance is from jokes from other astartes (not the best information source to begin with) of from the other serfs, whom he's found himself listening in on quite a bit more as of late.

That one male serf said that baseline women like...What? That doesn't sound right but maybe she will...

Though as sneaky as he is, he isn't totally perfect. Even his men, as emotionally stunted as they are have noticed the soft stares he'll give you while you talk, or while you're working on your dateslate and he simply watches. Similarly now you always sit right beside him, when before you would do anything to be away from him.

Loves to kiss your forehead. There's something about it that feels while romantic, also a bit protective. He is a captain yes, at times of your retinue, but he also is your protector at all times now.

He cannot flirt. It's not possible. You've tried to subtlety teach him but he is just not able to. The best you are able to get out of him is a 'your attire looks good today.', or that you look shorter than usual. You've just chocked it up to 'astartes speak' flirting and take what you can get. It's cute in it's own way, apart from the time Ventris told you that your small fingers would be good for poking eyes out, and Cato promptly smacked him? You assumed it must've been another weird astartes flirt.

You once joked with him while alone together that since he has two hearts, he must be able to love someone double the amount you could. It was a stupid joke and you promptly rolled your eyes at yourself and moved on, but Cato really liked it and always remembers it.

bonus: You begged him for like a solid 3 weeks straight to let you try a taste of his astartes gruel, before he finally caved and let you have a taste. You promptly threw up, making Sicarius laugh so hard the other marines though something was wrong with him, as they'd never heard the man let out more than an amused chuckle. To this day he still hasn't let you get over it.

"That tastes vile Cato! Why can't you just eat my food!" "Because you don't have 400 kilos of muscle and fat to maintain, my love."

[mymarifae]

yesterday someone on strawpage asked me what made me go from a dr. ratio hater to a dr. ratio enjoyer and that response took me. four hours . to put together. so you know what i'm going to share my thoughts here too. here's why i like this ⬇️ jackass a lot now!!!!!!!!!!!

he's a tricky character! the first interactions we get with him are so off-putting and unpleasant that i feel like a lot of people are like "wow, this guy is a self-absorbed dick, i don't respect him at all. can he go away" - i know that was my reaction! and he IS a dick. but like. listen.

it's really, really, REALLY easy to misconstrue 90% of his words and actions. it doesn't help that he has the speech patterns of a haughty asshole. and it alsooooooo doesn't help that aventurine's stunt in penacony required orchestrating a "betrayal" between himself and ratio. i think some of the things ratio said during All That constitutes the bulk of most people's persisting dislike of him. So:

1. everything ratio did and said was exactly what aventurine asked him to. this was all pre-negotiated. i think aventurine's insecurities acting up and the way he started doubting whether ratio was truly just acting threw some people off as well, but there is plentyyyyyy of evidence that no, ratio does not hate him and was not waiting for the perfect opportunity to stab him in the back and rid himself of this "damned gambler" but i'll get more into that in a sec ok? i have another bullet point to make first. and it's important so read it carefully ok? promise?

2. any comments from ratio pertaining to aventurine's race were said to fuel the narrative SUNDAY was building in his head probably from the second he learned which ipc executive would be coming to penacony.

aventurine's plan hinged on sunday's prejudice. he needed sunday to think of him as a liar, a cheat, a silver-tongued honeypot - basically, every avgin stereotype floating around in the universe. he needed to invoke a sense of insult. how could someone so... despicable invade the family's sweet dream? he needed sunday to be so wound up over his presence in penacony that he couldn't resist the urge to put The Vile Avgin back in his place. idk THIS ("this" being the real world parallels of how the catholic church ethnically cleansed the rroma during the 16th and 17th centuries) is a whooooole issue in itself that i don't have the time to go into rn because we're supposed to be talking about dr. ratio. oops

anyway the important thing to understand is that ratio absolutely does not look down upon aventurine's heritage. he was acting, with aventurine's blessing, to feed into sunday's biases. and he wasn't even good at it 😭... like look at this exchange from 2.0:

one snarky comment from aventurine and his ass is immediately Apologizing. his ass that's supposed to be acting like he doesn't respect or like aventurine At All. in fact, aventurine's "even under the watchful eye of the harmony..." comment feels a liiiiittle pointed lol. it's a subtle warning to ratio! like, "hey, dumbass, did you forget we're being monitored at all times?? knock it off."

and like this isn't even the only time ratio breaks character and puts aventurine's plan in jeopardy. he learns nothing from this interaction because it's worse next time. lmao:

this stupid fuckignb note. is extremely significant in manyyyy ways so we have to talk about it. first of all, stopping to check on aventurine's condition and to say "tell me if you can't hold on any longer" RIGHT IN FRONT OF SUNDAY (basically, since the family was monitoring everything and a few minutes later we see one of gopher wood's birds hanging out in that general area)?? BRO

if he wanted to, this brief interaction would have been enough for sunday to call their bluff. and aventurine knew that; many of his lines here feel like attempts to redirect ratio into picking the act back up and to stop trying to help him.

next, the stupid fuckignb note's contents. yes yes the second half is very sweet and it's all anyone ever wants to talk about and i understand because it probably meant the world to aventurine especially in that moment but i need you to look at the first half

ratio gave aventurine the answer..? he. gave him the answer. you might be wondering why this matters at all and i'll just have to redirect you to his actions in 1.6, wherein he notably refused to give any answers and let asta, stelle, and like everyone else on the space station flounder, learn from their floundering, and - ultimately - Grow

ratio is a teacher through and through. if someone isn't one of those "geniuses" he wants nothing to do with, they're a potential student in his eyes. and everything that happened in mundane troubles was the space station's final exam, so to speak. his inaction wasn't out of cruelty or because he didn't care about the fate of all the people on the station - obviously he did, because he was the one using the phase flame to teleport the missing researchers to safety...

he posited himself as a safety net in case things went horribly terribly wrong, but he left most of it up to stelle and asta, because he believed in them. they had all the information they needed; they just needed to figure out how to utilize it. and if they failed, well... they had their safety net, and failure is a learning experience too. like, ratio wants people to learn. he wants them to have all the skills and knowledge they could possibly need to take charge of their lives.

the "geniuses" of the world, the head honchos, the impossibly rich 0.0001%? whatever you want to call them, there's always this Upper Level in society that can do things "ordinary" people can never dream of doing. their way of life is simply unattainable. ratio disagrees. he believes that anyone can do anything, if someone would only take the time to teach them. and he's chosen to be one of those teachers! instead of sitting on his ass and just theorizing about a better, fairer society, he's doing what he can to make a difference.

(not so self-centered after all, huh?)

so like. when you remember how much of a teacher ratio is, like this is a philosophy ingrained in his very bone marrow, it's a pretty big fucking deal that he just GAVE aventurine the answer he needed. it shows how concerned he was! and how guilty he felt about the part he had to play!!!! his words and actions were so far removed from his actual thoughts and feelings that he literally HAD to put the whole operation at risk to remind aventurine that he doesn't view him the same way sunday did, give him a safety net, AND let him know it's there. because at this point he felt that the plan was too risky and he cared too much

like honestly i think he hoped aventurine would read the note before putting on his "performance" and readjust accordingly. but then he didn't <3 and acheron had to remind him that it was still sitting in his pocket <3 if she hadn't said anything about it i don't think he would have opened it adgsmbfdndhfbkjjbg <3 oh i love a mess <3 anyway i think this serves as a suitable refute for the "dr. ratio was racist towards aventurine" sentiment that continues to fly around in some parts of the fandom, so? MOVING ON

i ended up talking about this already, but looking more closely at how ratio looks at the world was a biiiiiig part of why he grew on me So Much. it's all actually really noble and worth admiring. again, he just talks like a dick so it's easy to get confused LMFAO

he never received nous' recognition not just because he "cares too much" (as you'll see some people vaguely claim and then not elaborate), but because he fundamentally disagrees with the ideology that allows the genius society, the path of erudition, and even nous themself to exist.

there's like... a certain "threshold" of intelligence and knowledge that nous operates off of. the unknown, the near-or-actually-impossible to comprehend, things that the average person would never be able to grasp and would never care to try because it's simply beyond them - that's all nous cares about. but ratio doesn't believe this threshold exists. he doesn't believe in knowledge that cannot be taught. just to reiterate: he believes anyone can learn anything if someone teaches them, and they will care if they know someone will be there to teach them.

but if anyone can follow the footsteps of geniuses, then Genius is no longer a superior echelon of society. the end goal the erudition seeks is no longer "beyond the limits of mortal wisdom."

nous rejected ratio because he rejected them - long before he fully understood that he did so.

i think he only ever tried to seek their recognition because it was expected so highly of him. like, he was a prodigy child, absorbing new information and collecting phds at the speed of light. of course every adult around him was like, "oh yeah this kid's a future genius society member" and then they told him this. over and over. and he was like, Okay, so this is the path i'm supposed to embark on, and i must do it and i must succeed (or i'll let them down; i'll be a disappointment, a failure, a waste of resources and all the hopes and dreams everyone's pinned onto me.)

he spent a good few years trying and failing to conform to nous' surprisingly (ironically?) boxed-in mindset. but they ignored him, probably because they predicted that even IF they recognized him while he seemingly ascribed more closely to the erudition's beliefs, he would ultimately wander off and "waste" time trying to nurture the achievements of "mere" mortals instead. and then he had to sit there and be like ok i apparently fucking failed at the one thing i thought i was supposed to do with my life, What Now

and this results in the dr ratio we meet in game. still haughty, still has an attitude problem and a bad temper, still has a tendency to talk down to people (i think though at this point his condescending tone is more of a defense mechanism and a way of isolating himself from others before he is once again rejected from a "part" of society after trying, trying, and then Failing to conform to a box), but! considerably more humble and far more focused on others than himself. he cares, ok. he cares an awful fucking lot. he believes in the good of humanity. humanity's ability to do good, to grow... to find the answers to its problems, implement them, and save itself.

plus, "character that's very admirable and very kind and loving IN THEIR OWN WAY (<- this is important because ratio isn't any of these things in a traditional sense and that's another part of why i've come to like him; it's interesting) but is cursed to just sort of talk like a total jackass forever" is an extremely entertaining concept

one other thing that's less significant than realizing ^^^^^^^ALL OF THAT. GOD .but still played a big part in my warming up to him, is how fond he is of those stupid rubber ducks and the goofy poses his statues are in. and also how his very first introductory cutscene is him playing chess BADLY (😭😭😭😭) against himself. that speaks to a sense of whimsy and playfulness that he doesn't have much of an outlet for. which i find... cute. and an aspect of his character that's a ton of fun to play around with

IN CONCLUSION: i mean he's okay i guess

[yanverse]

i would let ilya do illegal things to my cervix, that man is so hot.

oh? :)

(cws: DDNE, gn!darling, noncon, hate sex, blood as lube, knives, impact play, choking, biting, degradation)

"Shut up, just shut up," he huffs in your ear. he says it like he's not half the problem; like the squeaking of the dense bedframe and the sloppy shluck shluck shluck shluck of his hips wetly kissing your ass isn't as noisy as you are. your plump lips swollen from hungry kisses and nips that aren't playful anymore, but possessive--they quiver between Ilya's fingers as his grip loosens somewhat, but when he forces his hand back hard over your mouth the cycle repeats all over again.

his eyes are redder than usual today. a rosy scarlet dyed to a crimson hue. they're dark and angry and they scare you but only a little bit, just a little, cause that pinprick of fear makes you clench harder around him when he bears down on you with that solemn glare. you're a pain in his ass.

so he wants to be a pain in yours.

"you're going to lick it when I'm done here," a growl rumbles through his pale throat, doused in scratches and bite marks. not from you, not today, but from the last inmate on death row who gave him more problems than satisfaction at execution. some of them can be wily, but few ever really manage to retaliate. "no teeth this time."

maybe he had his mind occupied by the stunt you'd pulled the night before. pretending to orgasm, in the hopes he wouldn't drag it out as long as usual? it was a new low for you. it pissed him off. but not quite as much as you biting his finger when he tries to grab your jaw open.

"ah-!" a gasp rips out of him, secondary only to the harsh, echoing smack of his open palm coming down on your cheek. you can barely get a squeak of breath out as his other hand clamps around your throat, which makes the sound of his next slap with a backhand ring torturously in your ears. "don't you ever pull that again!" Ilya yanks you up by the throat no more than an inch from his nose, seething. "you little shit."

still buried within you, he can no doubt feel the distant pulse of your heartbeat through his groin. it gets thicker when he sees blood, tastes it--there's beads of it bubbling at the teeth marks on his finger. Ilya sighs, groans quietly in the interim of silence. the blood smudges his lips as he sucks on the pulsing wound. something twitches inside you. when his smirk stretches wide and slow across his face, it's obvious that you're in for an even rougher time.

Ilya throws you over on your stomach, cock swollen and aching when he drags it out with a vile squelch. you can't quite see what he's doing from over your shoulder, you're so tuckered out, but you can hear it. the gradual slice of a blade across flesh, the soft hah, ah of pain as Ilya grits his teeth. the wet sliding of flesh on flesh when he brings his hand down and it's sticky, warm with fresh blood that he soaks his stiff length in before fingering into you as if he's performing some kind of demonic sacrifice. the knife clatters to the floor behind him like a ritualistic drumbeat.

"use your teeth if you want." he mutters against your ear as his lithe body slots up against your back, knees poised by your thighs for him to settle his weight down on top of you. no escape. his toned arm comes around and his bicep halts in front of your face--but the grip of his long fingers tightening in your hair is in no way comforting. it isn't a cushion, his body, but a barrier. a wall between you and escape. "you'll want more lube in a little bit anyways."

how ominous. but you couldn't be serene with the elf's dark smirk curving against your ear, and the confidence with which he presses your legs apart to slide in--because you don't get a break, and he doesn't care if you can't take it all. that's not an option for his little sex doll, despite you believing you seriously deserve any rights, which is just laughable. this is what you were made for, so you just have to shut up and take him like a good, obedient pet.

[whorediaries-09]

shameless;

pairing- rockstar!sirius black x reader warning(s)- substances, 18+ content, hurt/comfort. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- absolutely hate this one ❗

masterlist of 'the seven lives;' series

the slut club

now that you have me, do you want me still?

your throat was raw from shouting the lyrics of the songs you’d penned on a drunk night. but as the line between pretence and reality ended, his kisses became history, hidden behind cigarettes or the occasional puff of weed that painted your skin backstage. his fingers wrapped around your throat, you turned putty into his hold, craving him carnally. the weariness engulfed both of your bodies; the feelings consumed the both of you. his touch was like electricity shooting through every inch of your body as he delicately stripped away every piece of clothing on your skin that restricted him to touch your skin. it always began like this, in the cold echo substances and weariness.

his hands wrapped around your throat, pushing his tongue deeper into your mouth as he ravaged you. he swallowed your moans and whimpers, wrapping your legs around his waist. the beads on his jeans which resembled a star poked the skin of your bare thighs. his fingers dug into your waist as he cradled you, pushing you against the cold metal of your vanity trailer. your fingers numb and shaky, the buttons on his sheer black vest popped open. his lips attached onto your neck, his sharp canine finding home onto the warmth of the blood that ran through your veins.

the pants fell on the floor, the metal of his ridiculous thick belt falling with a muffled clank on the soft carpet. his fingers gathered your arousal against his rough padded fingers, causing a soft moan from your lips. he pushed his fingers into your mouth, letting your taste melt into your taste buds.

‘you’re so pretty stargirl, with my fingers down your throat like that,’ he gasped, pushing himself into you. you pulled him closer at the nickname, as he slowly thrusted into you.

*-

you hated it. you hated the fact that even though it was supposed to be just a public stunt, to prevent his fangirls or groupies, to jump on his bones every time he took a step outside. you hated the fact the public stunt continued into the haze of privacy, leaving you breathless with lip bruising kisses and marks on your neck you had to feed the paparazzi. you hated the fact your heart echoed into deep faltering emotions every second when he was with you, every time he kissed you, every time he felt you. you hated the fact that you were nothing but a pawn in the game for his security.

you had to step out to buy groceries in his jacket. again, a ploy, for flashes or clicks of cameras. it was as if you could feel his hands on your body. the leather jacket around your body smelled like worn leather and parchment, infused with the scent of his musk cologne and cigarettes. you could hear the nicknames that elicited out his throat as he rammed into you, pinning you down to the hard mattress in your trailer. and even though you were drunk, high and hot, the image of his melting eye makeup and his touches melted into you.

sure enough, it ended up on a celeb gossip instagram page. it wasn’t a rumour, it was true- an eye candy for people to feed on. the self-made artist dating a nepo baby who ran away from the clutches of his abusive parents. a classic cliched move that worked every time.

curious, you scrolled through the comments. while most of them were positive, beaming or gushing about the relationship, and how the playboy rockstar had finally settled down for somebody who’d control him, some were…rather rude. none of them about sirius, but you. calling you unimaginable slurs, pathetic inhumane words. it was disgusting, how they narrowed you down to someone based on who you dated, and not your talent. when he was the one with successful parents in the industry, the one who had his name signed with any record in the book even before he was born.

it was vile, cruel, and pathetic. walking into the room of your hotel. you threw the packet of groceries on the floor. you could feel a lump form in your throat, tears threatening to spill from your waterline. a few fruits rolled on the cold ceramic, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. your heart thumped against your ribcage.

a seemingly indistinguishable heat spread in your chest as you broke down, sliding down on the cold wall. you clutched your knees to your chest, resting your head on them as you cried, letting out the fury and melancholy.

did it matter to him? the name calling, the slurs you got called by random people on the internet who didn’t know how much hard work you put into your career? did he care? or were you truly just a pawn in the game?

*-

sirius could feel it. that something was wrong. he could feel it when you shuddered under his touch. he could feel it when you skin was unusually cold under his lips. he could feel it when your heart thumped irregularly fast as his touch wandered over your waist. he knew something was wrong.

but you had your strong suite on as you continued to sing, arching your hips against his crotch as you did so. he turned you around, dipping you then curling an arm on your back. he tried to meet your eyes as he sang his part of the song, but you were determined to not meet his gaze. it made him worry. had he done something?

he turned you around again, carefully missing the step where you had to kiss his neck while he sang. he didn’t want you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with. he wrapped his arms around your chest, just below your breasts, breathing onto your neck as you ended the song with the final lyrics. it was last song, that got the crowd clapping and cheering.

bidding them goodbye, the band went off stage with a sirius reeling into his thoughts. he wondered whether the things between the both of you got complicated because of the fake dating agreement. he knew it was an asshole move, just because he couldn’t get the words out of his mouth, just because he couldn’t admit his feelings about you, he held you hostage, telling you he was tired of his random fangirls that jumped on his bones every time he let him have a piece of himself. he held you for himself, just so you he could love you silently. it wasn’t fair to you, because you deserved the love without thinking it was feigned or a ploy. but was troubled.

he hated to hurt you and tell you he was yours. but he did it anyway.

*-

he found you in the vanity van, wiping off your makeup. it wasn’t a part of your usual routine. usually, you’d smoke rolls of weed or take pictures yourself post-concert. sometimes his lips and touch carried you backstage. but never this. for the first time in the night, you locked your eyes with his. through your mirror.

he was wearing the costume he wore on the stage. several earrings hanging of his ears, silver chains intertwined with each other which peeked through the half buttoned up sheer shirt. the tattoos were inked all over his body. the boot flared jeans hung low on his narrow waist. his combat boots hid beneath the denim.

‘hi stargirl,’ he said. his voice was heavy and raw.

‘drink some fucking water,’ you ordered. even though you hated how he made you feel at the moment, you couldn’t help but care for him. you watched as he took the water bottle from your dresser, gulping it down.

‘hi, stargirl,’ he said again, now much closer to you. his eyes were unusually dark and you wondered whether that was the play of the lights.

‘what are you here for? speak up, black,’

‘i can’t come and check up on my girlfriend?’ he countered. while you tried to keep your voice playful and chill, he caught up on the bitterness of your voice. neither did he miss the way you furiously tightened the hold on the tissue in your hand.

‘right. listen black, you’re not getting another fuck play from me. the pda we do is for the public eye only,’ you said, a sternness in your voice.

‘i’m not here for another fuck- what the heck do you mean?’ he asked, nearing you. you tore your eyes away from him as his hot breath fanned over your neck. he turned your chair around, sitting on his knees. he took your hands into his.

‘have I done something?’ he asked, trying to meet your eyes. your gaze burned through the metal wall of the van. he could feel the heat radiate off you as he watched your expression soften, your stony barrier melt. in a cruel haze, you elicited out a cry that made his heart bruise. but it was good, he thought. it meant you were letting him in, communicating your thoughts and feelings with him.

‘yes, you fucking have! you’ve bound me to something i- i- never wanted to do. i just agreed to it because i fucking love you. because you fucking mean so much to me, but you- you’re just using me as a pawn to protect yourself. the world isn’t as easy for me as it is for you! all people have done is now burden me into a slut that has no other personality than her playboy rockstar boyfriend. all of this just to fucking protect you. all of this because i’m stupid, because i love you. fuck you sirius!’  you sobbed.

‘i- i’m sorry.’ he whispered as you sobbed, letting the tears soak into his pale skin.

‘a sorry? a fucking sorry fixes shit up?’

‘i didn’t want this for you. i- i love you. i did this just to bind you to me. it was an asshole, selfish move, but i cannot string words to express my love for you.’

you sniffled, setting your forehead on his. your stomach churned as the realization crept onto you. the tension grew thicker and thicker, the inches between you grew smaller and smaller and the heart beats palpitated faster and faster. neither of you said anything, but it was as if your souls spoke to each other.

‘you can’t love me,’ you finally spoke. he squeezed your hand.

‘i do. you can’t decide or judge how i feel about you,’ you took in a long breath.

‘you’re not playing with me right now, are you?’

‘no.’ he confirmed, his voice strong and confident. breathing heavy, you lowered your nose to touch with is.

‘then show me. show me that you’ll want me when you’ll have me. show me you’ll me screaming out your lungs for me. show me you’ll need me more than you want to.’

‘anything for you, my stargirl,’

the emotions were naked. in a shameless haze when you spread apart you legs for him, he ripped apart your tights. in the raw spiral of love and lust, he trailed his fingers on your bare thighs. the cold metal of his rings contrasted against your warm skin. you felt yourself getting needy by every second, and for the first time, you weren’t afraid to face his need more than you wanted to. for the first time, you weren’t afraid to live your dreams.

for the first time, you were loving someone that was yours.

he pressed his tongue onto your clit, his tongue piercing cold on your warm folds. delving two fingers into you, he sucked on your clit. he drew out an unholy moan, raw from the depths of your throat, as you convulsed around his fingers. rubbing his calloused, rough fingers on your clit, you felt him ravage into you like a starved man. his stubble rubbed against your inner thighs, scratching them raw. you wrapped your legs around his head, bringing your fingers into his hair, pulling him closer. he lapped up on you like a dog. your lungs screamed out for him as you felt yourself clench around his curling fingers, your orgasm coiling in your stomach. you felt it explode out of your body and paint his tongue when his voice melted into your eardrums.

‘cum for me, stargirl,’

the stars were white behind your irises, the kisses on your thighs hot and naked. he trailed his lips onto your shaking thighs, promising you his kisses won’t be history ever again.

***************************************

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @alexaduke (if you want to be tagged please reply under this post!)

[josephquinnswhore]

Hi

What about a fic where the reader and Pedro are working to together and one of them has an accident while doing a stunt

And that they were dating in secret and they go into panic mode when it happens

Bunch of fluff and angst

Accidents Happen - pedro pascal x female reader

Summary: you insisted on doing your own stunts for the Kingsman movie, you get badly hurt.

Word Count: 2.2k

Content Warning: doing stunts, weapons, knives, whips, head injury, mentions of blood.

Note: they’ll be on the set of “kingsman” cause I feel like agent whiskey does a lot of stunts lol (let’s pretend Pedro can use the lasso ;) Also love this idea thanks for requesting!!

Secretly dating Pedro Pascal wasn’t something that was easy to hide, he was the heartthrob of the internet and he was a very open book. His people pleasing tendencies had him opening up to everyone just to make them comfortable in his presence. It was fairly new, you’d only been together for just over 12 months, your first anniversary was spent at home over dinner and wine; watching your favourite movies, most of them being Disney or Nick Cage movies, cause let’s face it, he was a phenomenal actor.

Being an actor and working with your secret boyfriend was even harder. You were having to put up two acts, one in being your character Agent Brandy, working alongside other well known actors as a team of secret agents, playing the good guys, you’d read your script and to your surprise, Pedro’s character “Jack Whiskey” kills your character after she finds out that Jack was going to destroy the cure, there were a few stunts that production had warned and offered you may need a stunt double for. But you refused; you had done some stunts in other movies before, you knew you could handle a whip and lasso.

You and Pedro were in position, both in costume and in a room full of camera men and producers ready to watch you play the scene out, the scene in which had all the stunts.

“3,2,1, ACTION.”

You stare at Agent Whisky, brows furrowed and huffing, your hand lingering above your knife ready to fight after you learned of jacks betrayal. “How could you, Jack? Lives are at stake here, the world is at stake. It’s not too late for you to redeem yourself, just hand me the cure and we can work this out.”

He scoffs, accent heavy in his mock fury, “over my dead body, Brandy,” you grunt, “so be it.” Your hand is quick to reach for your knife, pressing the button as to extend the blade. He moves swiftly, quicker than you could react, the lasso in his hands within seconds, spinning it and catching your arms around your torso, the rope pulling tight making you drop the prop, pulling your legs together and you fall onto the mat on the floor. He leans over you, “should’ve minded your damn business, we could’ve been somethin special sugar.” He winks before picking up your knife and jams it into the floor next to you, you’re gasping and heaving as he walks out of the building.

“Cut! That was incredible, I want to reshoot the lasso scene, perhaps we can get Brandy tied up a little quicker, just to get more action into the scene.”

You’re untied from the lasso, Pedro offers you a hand in his costume, smile on his lips as you stand, wishing the warmth of his hands didn’t have to leave yours. You stand about 8 feet from him, in your defensive position, hand above knife ready for the scene to begin.

“Ready in, 3, 2, 1, ACTION.”

“How could you do this to us Jack, the world is at stake, millions of lives are at stake here.” You lower your hand away from the knife, going a little off script to make a more emotional scene, “please, just give me the vile and you can come back from this, we can get away from all of this agent nonsense.” You hold your hand out to him, a soft look in your eyes as you waited for him to surrender the cure that would save millions of lives. He scoffs, pulling his lasso out of his back pocket quickly, emotion quickly turned resentful, he swung the lasso quickly and your arms were bound by your torso. “Please jack, don’t do this.” He pulls the lasso tighter, encouraging you to shut up. “It’s a real shame you didn’t join me sugar, could’ve changed the world, you an me.” With a swift yank of his arm you fell, your body spinning off course from the mat you were meant to land on and your head hits the corner of a chair seat.

“Fuck!” You wail in agony, unable to hold the sore spot on your head.

“CUT. Get medical in here now, we’ve got a head injury.”

You feel lightheaded, your own cries of anguish are drowned out by the dozens of voices crowding you, unwrapping the lasso from your torso. Pedro kneels over you, his hands on either side of your face, his eyes full of tears with a fearful look on his face. “Fuck what have I done.” He brushes his hands over your head to get the hair out of your face, when he feels-something. He pulls his hand back to see it’s coated in slick warm blood, your blood. “She’s bleeding, her heads bleeding!” Pedro exclaims desperately, a man from the film crew tosses him a shirt, Pedro holds it to your head and sees how fast the white shirt is staining red. He can’t stop the tears from falling at how unresponsive you are.

“Move out of the way the paramedics are here!” Your producer exclaims. Pedro is hesitating to move, his body frozen in shock at what he’s done to you. The paramedics put a neck brace on you before picking you up onto the stretcher and wheeling you out to the ambulance.

“Pedro, for all our sakes and your own, go with her.”

He doesn’t waste another second following you, explaining to the paramedics, “she’s my fiancé.” He lies, they’re not, but he’s thinking he should after this, after this feeling of dread that he’s going to lose you, he’s never been so afraid in his life.

The wailing of the ambulance siren is drowned out by him being stuck in his head, guilt and self blame for changing the way he was meant to do the stunt on the script. How would you ever forgive him? He held your hand as it rests on your chest, the monitor connected to your finger reads a low, but steady heartbeat and low blood pressure.

He refused to leave the hospital, he sat on an old dinky green chair, the stuffing had started to fall out because the stitching was ripped. No matter how badly his joints ached he refused to move, the nurses bringing him water every so often as he’s dehydrating himself from having cried for hours on end. You were in surgery, they said that your head has actually split open, they weren’t sure how long it would take to operate or how long it would take for you to wake up, but he was feeling the guilt full force.

A doctor comes up to the nurse at reception and she gives Pedro a look. “Okay, thank you. I’ll pass it on.” She thanks the doctor quietly before standing from her desk and walking over to Pedro. “Let’s go for a walk, shall we?” He nods solemnly and stands, his legs wobbling from sitting for so long. His boots squeak on the hospital floors, he gets weird looks from other patients and nurses they pass as he’s still in costume.

“She’s stable, she had to have 50 stitches, she’ll be okay eventually but, it’s possible she may have short term memory loss, she may not-we just thought you should be aware of that possibility.”

Pedro frowns, “memory loss?” The nurse nods sympathetically, “it’s possible.” They come to a stop after what feels like an eternity. He stops outside of a room, the letters 31B on the door in bold letters. The nurse opens the door and Pedro’s heart stops beating in his chest when he sees you.

You’re connected to a few monitors, a drip is inserted into your arm. Your eyes are sunken and your skin is pale. Black half circles are dark underneath your eyes, you look so fragile, so unwell. “She lost a lot of blood. She’s due for another blood transfusion within the next two hours. You may take a seat if you’d like, I’ll bring you something from the canteen.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, sitting down in the leather chair that was slightly more comfortable than the one in the waiting room. His eyes feel heavy as they droop, exhaustion overcoming him from todays events.

Your head throbs as you come into consciousness. Your eyes blink hard in an attempt to open them. When they open your eyes are squinted, the bright lights pulling a groan from you, wishing the lights were turned off. You look around the room, head still attached to the pillow as your head feels to heavy to lift.

You see Pedro sitting in the chair next to the bed, his face is red and puffy, he has huge bags under his eyes and your heart physically aches while you’re remembering what happened to you. The monitor beside you beeps loudly and constantly, your heart rate becoming abnormally high for its usual base rate. The beeping wakes Pedro up, he shuffles in his sleep before prying his eyes open, looking at you starting right at him which startled him.

“Hey.” His voice was hoarse, vulnerable. “Hi.” You whisper, your throat in desperate need of water to rid your cotton mouth.

The nurse comes walking in, seeing your heart rate, “it’s totally normal waking up from surgery, so don’t panic. We’ll get some more pain meds sent in straight away, how are you feeling?” Your eyes are half shut, looking at the woman in scrubs as you groan, “sore.” She puts your clipboard back onto the end of your bed, moving to your right side to check your temperature. “36.2. Temps good. What’s the last thing you remember?” You frown, not wanting to remember the pain and guilt Pedro had been through at the sake of your pain.

“I remember doing a stunt with Pedro, I think I fell and hit my head and waking up here.”

Pedro shakes his head, knowing that’s not the whole truth. The nurse nods, “okay, get some more rest if you can. I’ll get those pain meds back to you as soon as we can.”

The silence in the room was defeating, the noise ringing in your ears as you internally begged him to speak. He didn’t, so you did.

“I know I didn’t fall, it’s not your fault Pedro, we both messed up.” You turn your head to look at him and he’s still in his costume which makes you smile. “I thought I lost you. They said you might wake up with amnesia and you’d forget me.”

You reach out to him, holding his hand and weakly caressing his knuckles. “How could I ever forget you baby?” He finally looks at you, brown orbs watering at your kindness. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” “You did everything right to deserve me.”

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Pedro questions, his finger hovering above the play button as it’s paused right before your and his scene, when it happened.

It’s been a couple of months since your incident, unfortunately due to the severity of your head injury you were unable to continue filming, your producers were kind enough to pay you for the entirety of the film. You had given them permission to use the last take they filmed, they said the chemistry and emotion the two of you had brought to the movie was something they wanted to keep, and the lasso scene they had edited to make it look like a full on action movie. Of course during this whole incident, people had found out that you and Pedro were dating. Some weirdo in the hospital snapped pictures of the two of you kissing, you addressed it and admitted that you’d been together for a while now. Thankfully the fans have been nothing but supportive, but they’ve been asking if you’ve seen the new movie, saying you did a phenomenal job, praising you and Pedro for your work. You decided it was finally time to watch it.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” You exhale a shaky breath, Pedro presses the play button and he holds you close to him. His arms drawing circles down your arms to keep you grounded while you both watch the familiar scene unfold before you. “They have great chemistry don’t you think?” Pedro laughs, “yeah they sure do. Maybe they should just get married or something.”

The vulnerability of the scene nearly had you in tears, the music and editing was incredible. You tense as you brace yourself for the scene. You can’t will yourself to even blink let alone look away while it happens. You look to Pedro and sigh, “I’m okay, it’s just.. intense to relive all of that.” He kisses your temple, “I know baby, you’re so strong and I’m so proud of you.” You turn to him, “I’m proud of you too, you know.” He raises an eyebrow at you, “proud of me for what?” You snuggle into him, the warmth spreading between you like a house fire. “For not blaming yourself and for being there for me.”

“Always gonna be here for you baby.” You turn your attention back to the next scene where you were replaced with a stunt double who did the remainder of your scenes, so they decided not to kill your character off.

“Hey she’s pretty hot.” You jest. Pedro shrugs at the unfamiliar body with your face that’s been edited to it, “she doesn’t have an ass like you though.” He gives your ass a quick squeeze and you squeal. “You’re so lucky I love you,” his lips meet yours in a soft kiss, “I know honey, I am lucky.”

[evolutionsvoid]

When the betrayal occurred, dragon kind earned the ire of the Church, and thus the hate of the entire land. To besiege the holy city, to burn the great cathedrals and attack the beloved Ichor. Such blasphemy and treason can never be forgiven. So it was there that it was decided that the dragons would perish, their ties to the Church severed and the armies now aimed at their throats. Throughout the land, the dragons would become hated symbols, and even commoners would spit upon the mere mention of their name. The dragons earned themselves powerful enemies, but man was not the first to despise them. There are others who hate the dragons with a terrible passion, who can never forget a grudge that has haunted their kind since ancient times.

It is common knowledge that Oliphants hate dragons, flying into a rampage whenever one is sensed. They never took well with the ancient dragons, but didn't stand a chance against such massive foes. However, with their stunted descendants now roaming the lands, these great beasts finally have suitable targets for their disgust. When a Lesser Dragon and an Oliphant meet, it is usually a battle to the death, neither side willing to surrender to their ancient foe. Even trained Oliphants strain against their orders and conditioning when faced with the opportunity for vengeance, and owners struggle to keep them free of the fray. As it stands, no one truly knows why the Oliphants hate the dragons so, but now that the vile reptiles are forsaken in the eyes of the Church, folk are eager to join their rampage.

With this knowledge in mind, it is no wonder why this abomination gained such a title. Oliphants and dragons do not mix, until now, when a select few of their kind have been warped by Eitr. For whatever reason, they were exposed and thus have become monsters. Thus have gained the title of Primal Paradox. These beasts are a mix of Oliphant and dragon, born by the leaking Eitr. Their hide is armored by scale, and their snouts now breathe Primal Flame. From this mutation comes great power and strength, and also a violent rage.

Primal Paradoxes appear to retain the knowledge of the Oliphants' grudge, as well as know that the blood of dragons flows in their veins. Within them is a battle between these two sides, in constant war with parts that can never mix. The Primal Paradox is a creature of ceaseless violence and anger, disgusted by the world and even itself. It cannot stomach its own existence, nor the world that created them. Thus they destroy and burn all around them, terrorizing and trumpeting til they finally meet their end. Some find this endless rampage a good thing, as they inevitably burn themselves out. Primal Paradoxes do not live long, as they are either slain or their bodies give out from stress and its self-destructive tendencies. But many are not willing to wait for this to happen, as they carve a path of carnage wherever they roam, smashing and burning all. Yet their armored hide is difficult to pierce, and their snout spews great plumes of Primal Flame. Their forelimbs punch and smash, while webbed ears fan the fires of their hate. Their lives are of constant chaos and din, only falling silent when the blade cuts them down. Death is where they find peace, and so many hunters feel obligated to grant these monstrosities that final comfort.

Despite their dual warring natures, folk have noted that their mutation is quite thorough. While other Primal Beasts show mere shades of Eitr and dragon scale, the Primal Paradox is fully armored and efficiently wields Primal Flame. There is no tainting in their fire, no humors turned wrong. Some would swear this form fits them like a glove, despite their endless self-loathing. It bears the question of the Oliphants and Eitr. Are these two sides truly separate from one another? Does their hate come from an outsider's perspective, or is this grudge born closer than we believe? Perhaps man wasn't the only creature burned by the treasonous nature of dragons...

--------------------------------

"Primal Paradox"

Aaaaand there be the last of the Primal Beasts! Well, for now! The month is coming to an end but, to no surprise, I failed in posting all the dragony stuff I wanted, so expect to see more rolling into September! Call it Sept-Ember or something like that!

[celticcrossanon]

I hope that vile worm named Prince Harry is starting to feel ashamed of his latest PR stunt by visiting victims of the LA wildfires. He and Meghan deserve to be blasted all over TV, radio, podcasts and social media for what they did. The Markles make the British Royal Family look sooooo good in comparison!

Hi Nonny,

I agree. What they did was horrible and they deserve every bit of censure they get for it. It makes me feel sick to think about it. Meghan has done this twice before (Uvalde and the murdered girl in South Africa), so I expected the complete lack of empathy from her, but for Harry to join in is a new low for him. I don't have any respect for him left to lose, but he has now lowered himself to an irredeemable level in my eyes.

[1800naveen]

Making that post because I don't give a fuck. I don't bother with hiding your user because fuck your privacy.

I checked your profile and you ship Feysand, that tells me everything I need to know about you. Now, let's look at this paragraph again! The whole thing!

"Starting with meeting with the governors of the palaces and getting them to agree never to serve, shelter, or entertain Keir or ANYONE from the court of nightmares." Did you get that? I hope so.

When Rhysand said anyone, he didn't only mean Keir and his soldiers, he meant anyone who was born from Hewn City. Women, men, children. Anyone who hails from Hewn City will not experience the same comfort as the citizens of Velaris.

The inner circle believes that everyone down there is evil and vile but that can't be true, can't it? If someone like Mor came from there and was a dreamer, that means there are more dreamers. There are innocent women and children who suffer in the court of nightmares but Rhysand and his inner circle leaves them to rot. Mor hasn't done anything for the women and she left centuries ago.

You want to know why I said they would like Jim Crow? It's because of shit like that. People were denied shelter, service, entertainment, get opportunities, etc. That's exactly what Rhysand said about anyone from Hewn City coming into Velaris. They had to deal with Rhysand coming down to Hewn City only to torment them so more in their miserable lives. That little stunt Feysand did in ACOMAF was straight up disgusting. Getting freaky in front of your people? Can you imagine the women seeing that? That Rhysand is acting like this with his lady? They also had to watch Rhysand break Keir's arm for calling Feyre a whore which is well deserved but Rhys doing that but not helping the women who had suffered at the hands of men for many years? Some high lord he is. Here's the racism part I was talking about:

"The Illyrians are pieces of shit," he said too quietly. I opened my mouth and shut it. Shadows gathered around his wings, trailing off him and onto the thick red rug. "They train and train as warriors, and yet when they don't come home, their families make us into villains for sending them to war?" "Their families have lost something irreplaceable," I said carefully. Azriel waved a scared hand, his cobalt Siphons glinting with the movement as his fingers cut through the air. "They're hypocrites." This is from A court of frost and starlight. Azriel is talking like that about the Illyrians even though HE IS A ILLYRIAN. That is internalized racism in my eyes. Because why would talk about your own people like that?

"Get your facts checked." I got my shit checked, I won't be making posts on this app if I DIDN'T have my facts. I have read the series, I wouldn't make posts like this if I didn't read it. Do yourself a favor and block me.

I hate Rhysand, Feysand (as a ship), the inner circle, and I love to talk shit about them. That shit that Rhysand did to Feyre UTM is one of the reasons I hate that bat bastard. "He had me dance until I was sick, and once I was done retching, told me to begin dancing again." ACOTAR, Chapter 39. He never gave her a true apology for what he did to her and that's fucking horrid. He had no reason to do that. That isn't protection, that's abusing a innocent woman. Don't act like he's a good guy when he did all of this to his "Feyre Darling".

Hating this series is awesome, give it a try. And you didn't reply to my comment, how come? I was hoping we would start a argument. I don't need people like YOU in my damn comments. Please do yourself a favor and block me now, save yourself the pain. Try filtering out the anti Rhysand and anti inner circle tags if you don't want to see shit like that. I saw a little post on your blog about seeing a post from a Rhysand and IC hater. I know it's about me, I be lurking at times.

I do hope you see this and I hope you give me a good ol' block!🙂 Either you block me or I block you. Any comment from a pro Rhysand or pro inner circle, I am not taking it seriously. I don't need bitches like YOU around and I'm sure you don't want a bitch like ME around.

READ THE FUCKING TAGS, YOU FUCKTARD. YOU AIN'T WELCOME HERE. WHY WOULD YOU MAKE YOURSELF SUFFER BY READING FROM ANTI FEYSAND OR ANTI IC PEOPLE? IF YOU'RE A FAN OF EITHER, YOU STAY AWAY FROM IT. I want you to know that I compared Rhysand and Feyre to Donald and Melania Trump, called him and the inner circle fascists, and compared him to Bill Cosby!🥰 Here's one, here's another, and the last one!

🎵Now when I came out, I told you it was just about Rhysand. Then you had to open your mouth with a motherfucking opinion. Well, this is how we gonna do this; Fuck Feysand (Feyre deserves better), fuck Rhysand, fuck the inner circle as a staff, family, and a motherfucking crew! And if you want to be down with this, then fuck you too!🎵

Be sure to read the tags this time, much love and take care! No but seriously, just block me. Make it better for yourself. I say this with genuine.

Made a post, just for you and your dumbass comment.